#we occasionally find them on the front porch and have to sweep them away before the cats try to carry it in

[mqcuriosities]

“Crawling out of my skin” 4.28.23

[xoxo-teddybear]

His Home - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Injury, Blood, Sexual harassment, implied rape, murder, NOT SPELL CHECKED

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

Request: So could you write a husbandbakugo x wifereader where when bakugou is away on a mission or anything, there's a villain who break into his house and kidnapped her (the reader is not a hero). And please be a happy ending :) but the rest is up to you💕

It’s been 2 weeks. 2 weeks too long for Katsuki and his family. Pro Hero Dynamight had been recruited on a mission to stop a drug dealing case out in the states, leaving his beloved son and loving wife behind. Even though Y/N wasn’t a pro herself, she could still take care of herself really well, including their baby boy. After constant reassurance that they’d be fine, Katsuki was okay with leaving for a few days.

A few days. A few days, NOT WEEKS. He had been gone for too long. Of course he trusted his wife to protect herself and their son, but he didn’t want her to have to protect them. After arguing with the chief of the mission, coming to a conclusion, and stopping the entire case himself in desperation of getting home, Dynamight could finally return home to his family. At least....that’s what he thought.

Bakugou drove home quite quickly in hopes of being smothered with love and affection from his son and wife, but as he pulled in, he noticed something was...... off. The porch light wasn’t on, it was too early for the lights in the house to be off, and even the cold chilly air stilled in silence gave him all the indications of something being in distraught. He quickly exited his car and slammed the door shut, forgetting to lock the vehicle as he hurriedly jammed the house key into the lock and busted the door wide open.

“Y/N!....Y/N?!....Katsuo??!” The blonde cried out. When his eyes finally settled to the dark atmosphere, he noticed how the bright moon lighted the house to show the terror that lay in. Glass and plates smashed on the grown, shelves and book cases thrown around, the T.V fallen from above the fireplace that had soot, ash, and stray wood surrounding it. He looked over and saw the couch out of place and on it, his unconscious child covered in scratches. Katsuki quickly ran to him to check on his poor boy.

“Katsuo,” the older blonde exclaimed as he shook his double awake, “please, wake up! Katsuo!” With a final shake, the child finally began to open his eyes and adjust to what he saw. A shadow of a man shaking him.

“Ahhh! Please, please don’t hurt me! Please! I didn’t do anything!” The younger blonde cried out and hugged himself in fear. Katsuki’s heart broke seeing his son in such fear. Who the hell did this to his poor boy.

“Katsuo! No, no, no, no, no. It’s me, it’s dad.” Katsuki reassured his son as he rubbed his back to calm him down. Katsuo turned to the man with teary eyes in shock and relief.

“Dad?” The boy questioned as he got a better look. Once he confirmed it was his father, he jumped into his arms.

“Dad! It’s you!” The boy sobbed into his father’s chest. Katsuki grabbed onto the boy, hugging him tighter as if the world was going to end, as he whispered reassurance into his ear.

“It’s me buddy, it’s me. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Who did this to you?” Bakugou asked as he examined his son’s body. The young blonde had his gray sweats teared, his white socks covered in soot and stains of blood along with his white tee.

As the child wiped his eyes, and looked at his father, he apologized.

“I’m sorry, dad.” The boy looked down in shame. Bakugou was so confused. What could his child be apologizing for at a time like this?

“I wasn’t strong enough.”

Oh, why did his son have to be exactly like him. Katsuki had to hold him once more to tell him it was all okay.

“Katsuo, none of this is your fault.” Bakugou said while holding onto his precious child.

“...These 3 men..they came in with a briefcase and said they wanted to “get something to trade.” They broke open the door as me and mom were watching T.V and told us to go with them. Mom put up a good fight, and I tried to help. I used my quirk to blow up the case they brought with them. After that though, the knocked me out. I see mom is gone, so they must’ve taken her and left me behind. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything else.” The younger blonde said in shame once more.

“Katsuo....I’m so proud of you.” With those words, Katsuo looked up to his father in confusion.

“You’re 5 years old and you took great action to protect yourself and your mom. Not a lot of kids could do what you just did. I’m proud of you, and I’m so glad you’re okay son.” Bakugou said. His child finally showing a smile with a face identical to Katsuki’s and E/C eyes that replicated yours.

“Thanks dad.” The young boy said as his father picked him up.

“Of course. You’ll be an incredible hero in the future. The best of the best. I know it.” Bakugou said as he carried his son to the bathroom. “Let’s wash you up, change your clothes and get you to bed. You had a long night.”

“But what about mom? Shouldnt we go look for her.” Katsuo said in worry.

“Of course we will son. I will do everything in my power to bring her home to us as quickly as possible. That’s a promise, but right now, my priority is making sure everything is straight here at home. You’re mother is the strongest person I know, she will be okay, but I have to take care of you first. Okay?” Bakugou explained.

“Okay dad.”

——————————————————————————

When Katsuo was washed up and tucked in bed, Katsuki went downstairs to clean up and fix whatever he could. When he finally saw the horrible sight, terrible thoughts came to mind of what could’ve went down. The longer he thought about it, the closer he was to tears. Y/N and Katsuo are his entire life. If one of them were gone, it would throw his entire being all out of wack. But he had faith in his powerful wife. She can withstand anything they throw at her....but he wasn’t sure how long. Bakugou began to sweep the glass and soot, throw away the broken wood, mop the floors of blood, put the couch and coffee table back into place, and moved the T.V to the side. That could be fixed in the morning. Once he was done, he took a shower and headed to his room for bed.

The Alaskan king sized bed was huge. It was giant, especially for just 2 people and the occasional child, but the love of his life was always right next to him to make the cold, empty bed feel warm and full of love and happiness. Now she’s not here. As Bakugou lays with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling, he realized he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He journied out of his bed and to his son’s room. As he opened the door, he saw his child right in front of it as he seemed to have opened it as well.

“Whatcha’ doing bud?” Bakugou asked as he looked down to his mini me.

“Couldn’t sleep. Too cold..... Too scared..... Too lonely.” He son replied. Bakugou internally smiled at how his son and him were so similar. He really was a carbon copy of Bakugou Katsuki, that’s for sure.

“C’mon son,” Bakugou said as he lifted his boy up and walked towards the full sized bed. “We’re gonna need some sleep.” As the two blondes lay side by side, still staring at the ceiling, the younger one spoke up.

“.......Everything’s gonna be okay....right dad?” His son said with a break in his voice and teary eyes. “Mom will come back, and we’ll go back to being the awesome family we always are...right?” The boy said while looking at his father.

Bakugou stared at him for a bit, before pulling him into his chest and rubbing his back.

“I promise, Katsuo.”

The young child quietly sobbed into his fathers chest once more, after holding in all these tears for so long, and held a firm grip on Katsuki’s shirt. As Katsuki held onto his sad son, he too let a few silent tears shed as he hid his face atop of his son’s head.

‘I promise.’ The loving father thought to himself as he kissed the top of the boy’s head and held him a little tighter than before.

——————————————————————————

It’s been 3 days. 3 days too long for Katsuki and his worried son. They’ve been apart from Y/N for 3 days and are worried sick. After the two woke up from that sad night, Bakugou called in the Bakusquad to help find Y/N. The squad was lucky enough to be able to find DNA evidence and find out exactly who was in the house. Through the power of the internet and high tech power, they were able to track the villains and gather intel. Where they stay, what they do, their quirks, and where their base is. They’ve taken a very knowledgeable guess and estimate to find out where Y/N was, and now it was time to come up with a plan. They’ve been working for a few days and Bakugou was starting to get frustrated.

“AGH! WE’RE NOT GETTING ANYWHERE!” Bakugou exclaimed.

“Hey man, don’t you think it’s time we go to the agency and get their help and permission on this?” His best friend asked.

“I would love to get more help, especially from the agency, but there’s too many rules with them for a case like this. We have to go off the books to find Y/N, because when we do, nobody and no rules are gonna stop me from killing the idiots who thought it was okay to touch my wife!” Bakugou screamed out.

“Well you do realize how illegal this is right? We’re heroes, we’re supposed to abide by the law, stop those who break it, and kinda enforce it too.” Mina said.

“We were Y/N’s friends and family before we were pro heroes. If you’re too scared to go on, I won’t force you to continue, but nothing is going to stop me.” Bakugou calmly said.

As the silence filled the room, everyone bowed their heads. They were all confused and scared and worried for their dear Y/N.

“......How’s Katsuo taking this?” Kaminari asked.

“For a 5 year old, really well. Since I dropped him off with Deku and Round Face, he’s had other things to do but I’m sure his mom is all he could think about....I made my son a promise and I’m going to keep it. I’m gonna get her back.” Bakugou said.

With that, another silence fell upon the room. The squad came up with multiple plans but they all had major flaws. The one with the biggest risk however, would be the most efficient one. After thinking about it and having it in the backs of their minds, Kirishima spoke.

“Bakugou, let’s go with your plan.” The entire group looked up at the faux red in shock.

“Kirishima are you crazy?!” Mina asked.

“People will die if we go through with it. People who don’t deserve death as a final punishment!” Sero added on.

“Well Y/N is gonna die if we don’t do something about it right now. We have the best option right now, and yeah, it’s not the most holy, but it’s what we got! Do we wanna save our friend or not?!” Kirishima exclaimed.

After exchanging some looks and nods of agreement, the group was in. They were so lucky they weren’t doing this by the books.

“Okay then. Cover our tracks, don’t leave behind any evidence, and nobody get caught. We keep a steady flow and waste no movements. Get in, save Y/N, get out.” Bakugou explained while standing up.

“Let’s go save my wife.”

——————————————————————————

Here we are. The Bakusquad right infront of the warehouse they were keeping Y/N in. How did they get here? Bakugou’s plan of course. Go in to the HQ, demand answers, kill when getting no answers, kill when you got the answers. Kill, Kill, Kill. Blood now stained the hands of the Bakusquad both literally and figuratively. Whatever it takes to save her.

As Bakugou blew down the door with an explosion, multiple men came attacking the 5 heroes. Each henchman and goon getting killed in the process. When the crowd of people was left to just the pros, they looked around and saw Y/N right in the middle of the room. Her arms were being held up to suspend her and she was barely moving. Her body left in nothing but her panties and bra, her torso covered in blood and gashes, her arms littered with tears in the skin, her body covered in bruises, and her legs filled with cuts. The sight was torture to Bakugou as he attempted to run out to her.

“Y/NNN!!!” The blonde said as he sprinted towards his hurt wife, however, he was stopped.

“Come any closer and I’ll slash her pretty little throat.” Said a man as he showed up behind Y/N, coming out of the shadows and keeping Bakugou at bay.

Bakugou growled in frustration before speaking. “Let her go! Please! I’ll give you anything!” He bargained.

“Oh I know you will. That’s the whole reason why we took this gorgeous thing right here,” the man said while tilting your head to make you face him. Bakugou saw your blurred eyes stare right at the man in a dull manner. You were almost gone. “We want......well....we just want nothing to be honest. What we really want is you gone, but we’re aware we can’t kill you. None of us stand a chance against Dynamight BUT, there’s more than one way to destroy a person. When I kill your wife, your heart and soul, I’d be destroying you. Dynamight wouldn’t be able to function without his precious girl, and would be a shit hero because of it. More crime to the villains.”

Bakugou grunted at the whole thing, shaking in his boots. His dear wife, right there infront of him and he couldn’t do shit. Bakugou really got ticked on when the man spoke of what they did to Y/N.

“Don’t her scars look beautiful? She had the most melodious screams. It made the lot of my men wonder how she would sound in bed,” the smirked at he went to grab at Y/N’s breast.

“You bastard! Get your hands off my wife!” Bakugou screamed.

“That’s fine, I, along with others, have already had our fun with Y/N. Her pussy is completely stretched out now.” The man said with a smirk.

Bakugou saw red. “You fuckers RAPED MY Y/N?!???!!!!” The villain only smirked towards Bakugou before holding silence for a few seconds.

“Her cries were quite lovely,” the man said as he licked Y/N’s lips and kissed her. Everyone could see Y/N flinch and struggle to get away from the nasty attack. And they couldn’t do anything about it.

As the villain went on, Chargebolt noticed something. Rubber boots! How could he forget! After being on so many missions together, the Bakusquad all agreed the bottoms of their hero costumes should consist of rubber, so Denki could do his attack through the floor without hurting them. So with the villain distracted and back to talking, Denki shot 4 million volts into the floor, shocking the man, hearing him scream in pain. When Denki stopped the attack, the man was left there standing, still alive of course, but weak enough for Bakugou to take his anger out on him. Denki is such a good friend.

Bakugou blasted off and went straight to the man, grabbing his throat and beating him. He littered his with bruises and let the man experience all types of pain. It was a brutal murder and Bakugou ended it with grabbing the man’s neck and blasting him right then and there. It was over. It was done.

As Katsuki ran towards Y/N, he told the squad to clear the place of any proof they were there. Once he reached his wife and got her down and held her close and cried.

“K-Katsuki..” Y/N said weakly. Bakugou held her closer in his lap as he cried into her hair.

“I-...I’m here Y/N. I-it’s ok, I’m here. I got you....it’s over now.” Bakugou felt Y/N snuggle into him as she let a sigh of relief and comfort. Bakugou was too busy crying and saying his apologies. He couldn’t hear his sweet wife utter the most important phrase she had to say at the moment.

“Thank you.” She softly whimpered out.

——————————————————————————

It took a few days for Y/N to be fixed up again. The rape was hard on Y/N, but that’s okay because Bakugou was willing to wait for her whenever she felt ready. He was just happy to have his family back together....well..almost. After having multiple appointments with recorvery girl and extra TLC at home, Y/N was ready to get her son back. The drive to Deku’s house would be excruciating. Y/N just wanted to hold her baby boy in her arms and feel his love.

“You ready?” Bakugou asked with a smile as he saw Y/N looking at herself in the mirror. She returned the smile and walked up to her husband, embracing him in a loving hug, which he gladly returned.

“Thank you....for everything, hero.” Y/N smiled with the side of her face pressed against his chest. Bakugou kissed the top of her head before speaking.

“I love you, Teddy Bear.” Bakugou smiled.

“....Yeah...well not as much as I love you.” She said back with sass.

Bakugou’s eyes shot open at that comment.

“Is that a challenge shitty woman?!” Bakugou said while shaking her at her shoulders. Y/N only giggled before speaking.

“Nope, a challenge would be who gets to drive the new car to pick up Katsuo!” Y/N said while taking the keys out of Katsuki’s hand and running off.

“Wha- but-.....BUT I WANNA DRIVE IT!” He said like a child. The two tussled for the right to drive and laughed as they finally got to be together as the loving couple they are.

——————————————————————————

As Bakugou drove, Y/N held onto his hand. They were both smiling and couldn’t wait to be a happy family again.

“I’ve missed him so much..” Y/N said aloud.

Bakugou looked at her with content before speaking.

“And he’s missed you, Teddy Bear. We both did. It didn’t feel right with you gone.” He said while picking up your hand and giving it a kiss.

“Well I’m back now.” You said while smiling.

“And everything is almost perfect, we just need to get one more thing.” Katsuki said as he pulled into Deku’s driveway.

When the green haired hero opened the door for the couple, his eyes sparkled with joy and relief.

“Y/N! You’re safe!” The young pro said while embracing you.

“Safe and ready to see my son!” You said with excitement.

“He’s upstairs in his room. I don’t think he woke up yet, oh and I’m sorry Ochako isn’t here. She would’ve loved to see you back home, safe.” Deku said with a smile as he made way for you both.

“No worries, I’ll give her a call,” you said as you dragged Bakugou’s hand up the stairs. Before you continued, you turned to look at Deku.

“Thank you for taking care of Katsuo while we were gone, Izuku. It means a lot to us.” You said with appreciation and friendly love.

Deku nodded with a smile as he gestured for you to continue your journey to your son. As you walked into the room, you saw him with messy bed hair, a little drool on his mouth, and covered in blankets. The sight of him almost brought you to tears. As Bakugou closed the door, you sat in his bed just petting his head, waiting for Bakugou to join you. With Katsuki now by your side, you shook the little boy gently until he stirred awake.

“Katsuo...I missed you, love.” You whispered.

“Wha...huh?” Katsuo said, while looking around. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw an Angel. His mother right next to him, giving him the kindest smile he’s ever seen. With tears in his eyes, he jumped on her, giving her the biggest hug.

“MOM!!!” The boy loudly sobbed as he held onto you tight. The moment was perfect. The light shining in on the room, a mother and son embracing each other, and tears of joy all around.

“Hi baby. I’m home.” You sighed as you held him tighter. “I’m so sorry if I worried you, Katsuo.”

“N-no, it’s okay. Dad p-romised me you’d be back. H-he promised he would bring you b-back and dad always keeps hi-s promises.” Katsuo said while trying to fight the little hiccups coming his way.

“He really does, doesn’t he?” You said while looking over at your husband. His eyes were filled with tears and he was smiling so much his cheeks were turning red.

“I-I love you both, so damn much.” Katsuki said with breaks in his voice. He leaned into to hold the two in his arms as he teared up along side with them. The family all together again, the love for one another stronger than ever before.

Bakugou thought they should be getting home soon, but that word seemed to mess with him. Home. It wasn’t a big mansion or the buildings that could be considered a house. His home was all right here in his arms. His home consisted of his wife and his son. His home are the two people in his life that mattered most to him. His home is right here, with them. No matter where they are, where they go, or what happens, Y/N Bakugou and Katsuo Bakugou will always be his home.

A/N: y’all I’m sorry if this sucked😭 I started this about a week ago, and took a minor break and wasn’t able to finish it. I finally did, and it’s kinda sloppy but I hope you enjoyed it none the less. I really just wanted to get it out bc the person that requested it was waiting for awhile so I felt so bad but HERE IT ISSS!! I hope you enjoy it. I’m sorry for the delay. See you soon Bear Cubs! 💗🧸

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Pt 15

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Talk of past abusive relationship, swearing

Length: 1.2k

Notes: Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’, keep the story rollin’. More plot, lack of smut, surprise guests, it’s all coming together now I promise. Since tags don’t work for me, like AT ALL, I’m going to attempt a posting schedule! Which is laughable if you know how I story-board. Every Tuesday night at 7pm MDT

Series Masterlist

You needed to get laid.

No, not just laid. You needed to get fucking dicked down. 

You needed it so hard and rough that you couldn't walk the next day. 

It had been seven weeks. Seven weeks without an orgasm.

Sure, you'd tried to get off on your own fingers but after the delicious stretch from manual-labour-thickened digits how could yours ever compare? You had gone so far as to order a vibrator, something you’d never even consider for fear of getting caught, but your body always stalled out just on the cusp of an orgasm. 

You needed Frankie and you were going to get him,

Date night was back on the table, and hopefully, you'd be getting railed on said table before the end of the night. Frankie had been very reserved when you'd brought up the idea of a sleepover for Annie, but once Jacquie had assured him for the fifth time that she knew how to take care of children, seeing as she had four of them herself, he had agreed.

The scheduled day had arrived, legs were shaved, an amazing meal was cooked, and a sweet little babydoll dress was purchased that you knew would drive him crazy. You even went the extra mile and set up your old record player and had Johnny Cash crooning at you from the living room.

Finishing the final touches, you surveyed the table setting, trying to decide between using your nice plates to complete the aesthetic or just putting down plastic so you could sweep the table clear and mount your boyfriend on it without fear of broken ceramic. 

Finally deciding on the first option, presentation is everything after all, you were digging through your china cabinet when the doorbell rang. How formal of him, you thought to yourself, glad he was playing along with the unspoken mood you'd set for the night.

Opening the door, your gaze widened a comical amount and your jaw went slack. There was nothing in the world that could have prepared you for this.

"Close your mouth dear, before the flies get in."

"MOM?!"

It really shouldn't have shocked you, knowing the woman as well as you did, that she would show up unannounced like this. Ever since you'd let it slip that you and Frankie were in a relationship she'd been dropping hints that a visit was due, and you, not wanting to deal with her, had been blatantly changing the subject every time.

Then, Frankie had to go and tell her that an adorable little girl was now involved? That's not something she could ever resist, even if it wasn't exactly being offered to her.

Finally coming to terms with the fact that you weren't going to get railed tonight, and instead would be spending your week fending off your mother's well-meaning but entirely outdated advice, you opened the door wider and welcomed her into your home.

"Where's Dad?" You ask, glancing behind her onto the porch, noting a distinct lack of other vehicles. "Did you get a cab here?!"

"Sweetie, honestly, you know I don't like to drive and he doesn’t like to leave home," came her answer from your dining room where she was already adjusting your place settings to her standards. "Besides I wasn't sure how long you'd need me here for so I decided to fly and will just borrow your truck if need be."

So matter-of-fact, as if it was the simplest notion in the world, and said with such nonchalance, your mouth was back to hanging open again from the sheer audacity of the woman.

"Mom, no, wait, what?" You were floundering, completely at a loss for words. "Why would I need you here right now? I needed you when I was young, dumb, and blindly in love with Brad. I needed your guidance and concern when I was being manipulated-"

"Oh come on-" she tried to interrupt you with a wave of her hand.

"No! You keep trying to tell me he wasn't that bad but you weren't there. You didn't hear how he talked to me, how he treated me." You were over your shock, residual hurt and betrayal were now rearing their ugly heads. "Don't you shake your head at me! How dare you chose his side over mine! I was your daughter, your little girl," the words were getting stuck in your throat now, burning so hot with emotion you could almost see the pain they were inflicting as they landed on her ears. "and you chose to ignore the signs, the cries for help. You were only there for me when he died, but even then it was just to send your regards!"

"We really didn't know..." she answered in a small voice, so quiet it barely registered through the roaring in your ears.

"Denial, maybe? I don't think we could bear the thought of anything but a fairytale being true, so we willfully ignored the signs." She waited for a beat, probably giving you time to yell back at her but when you stayed silent she continued, "I don't think it truly sank in just how badly you'd been treated until you moved away. We thought quitting college was you just deciding you wanted to start a family. Then when you stopped calling friends and family, we hoped it was because you were making new ones. Then your weight loss and depression we blamed on infertility, and then again from the grief of his death." Lifting your head up and wiping away the tears that had streaked your cheeks, she smiled sadly at you while tears fell from her own eyes. "I'll never forgive myself."

"How could you not?" You sobbed, letting yourself sink onto a dining room chair.

Your mom tentatively made her way over to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and hugging your head to her stomach.

"Oh, Mom," you couldn't finish the sentiment, but you didn't need to. Springing up, you enveloped each other in a tight hug and rocked back and forth until the tears dried and your breathing was almost back to normal, save for the occasional hitch and sniffle.

Breaking apart, you were just about to ask if she wanted some tea when the front door flew open.

"Where's my pretty pus- oh! Oh."

"Frankie," you said calmly while your eyes screamed ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME at him, "this is my mother."

"So this is the handsome face behind that gruff voice!" God bless Margot and her ability to ignore the obvious, sometimes it actually came in handy. "And I suppose he's the second place setting for a lovely night I seem to have interrupted."

"Oh, no, Mom it's okay-"

"Nonsense! I'll check myself into the sweet little bed and breakfast I've booked for the week and see you both tomorrow!"

"It is nice to see you, Mom," you admitted, finding yourself meaning the words more than you expected to. "I'll meet you in town tomorrow and show you around?" Maybe having her here for a while would be nice, if the week went as well as tonight had, your relationship with her would be salvaged.

"You really don't need to do that, you just got here!" Frankie tried to reassure her, having noticed the red, swollen, tear-streaked faces and assuming there was unfinished conversation to be had.

You knew your mom was immovable once she had made up her mind, however, so you just followed her to the door and handed her her coat and your truck keys.

"Marvelous!" She pats your hand in thanks before a sly smile quirks her mouth up to the side and she winks, "Have a good night, Pretty Pussy!"

Part Sixteen

[yoongi-sugaglider]

Daegu Quarantine

Jungkook x reader

Gang/ zombie apocalypse au

Warnings:

Gore, violence, zombies, mention of drugs and drug dealing, weapons discharge in self defense, main character death, zombies, course language, zombies, drinking, did I mention zombies?

Summary:

They were the top of their game, known throughout the city as the smartest and most dangerous crew to ever hit the Daegu streets. But what’s going to happen when this group of young men encounter something right out of a horror film?

Word count: 2825

Part 16===Part 17===Part18

Jungkook sprinted up the stairs two at a time as Rose helped me hobble my way behind him. The house above was a chaotic mess of screaming and pistols cocking by the time we’d made it to the first floor. Rose abandoned me at the stairs, sprinting off towards the kitchen to find Taehyung as I motioned Yoongi over.

“Jin and Jeanette are at the shed. Rose saw movement, so there’s no telling if more are back there.”

He nodded, face a mask of murderous intent as he sprinted for the back door. By the time I’d pulled my own weapon out Jimin was at my side, nervous sweat dripping from his forehead as he handed me an extra clip.

“Go. Jungkook, Namjoon, and Hobi are gonna need you out front. I’ll send Tae your way once he’s armed.” The doctor hesitated for a moment, giving me an anxious once over before nodding and sprinting off without a word.

I grunted, shifting as much of my weight as I could manage to my uninjured leg and hobbling for the front door when Taehyung and Rose rejoined me.

“Front gate Tae. Rose’s got me.” I muttered, wiping at the tears of pain now streaming down my cheeks.

He paused, pecking Rose gently on her cheek and giving my arm a quick squeeze before rushing out the door after Jimin. 

Rose was white as a sheet as she gave me her arm to lean on. “Holy shit...what do we even do…” She wondered as we slowly walked out onto the front porch.

“The only thing we can do, make our way out to the driveway and watch for anything that might flank the boys. We have to have their backs. But with you being new to shooting that means I’ll have to do the work, you just make sure to keep me standing no matter what.”

She nodded, her eyes wild with fear as she helped me down the stairs and out to the driveway.

Already I could hear the shots in the distance, each one sending a pang of panic through my heart as I imagined them being the last one for any one of my boys. Pushing that fear down though I continued on, heart racing and mind focused as the men at the gates came into view.

The barrier that Namjoon and Yoongi had worked so hard to put in place had been somehow smashed to pieces and a pile of bodies was already growing from the boys taking down as many of the monsters as they possibly could.

“Right here’s fine Rose.” We were about 30 yards or so behind the boys. Close enough that I wouldn’t lose accuracy but far enough away that if we got overwhelmed, well….I’d have time to think about how much it would hurt before I died.

I began shooting, Rose bracing me with her body as I fired off round after round.

Two bodies came at Namjoon, a snarling mess of teeth and grabbing hands as he hastily reloaded his shotgun while struggling to stay on his feet and walk backwards at the same time.

I fired 2 shots, the first hitting one chatterer directly in the forehead and dropping it, though the second missed and buried itself in a tree further back. Namjoon finally managed to reload his weapon, a grimace to his face as he finished off the closest ravaging chatterer to him with two shots to the head.

I’d already moved on though, eyes seeking out Jungkook in the mass of bodies. He was holding his own, alternating between shots from his gun and large sweeping slashes from a machete identical to the one Hobi was using several paces behind him. I knew he’d be okay as I watched one head fall and roll away and another body drop a few seconds later.

I began firing again, picking off chatterers that forced their way through the gate while slowly allowing Rose to back me up a pace or two every few minutes. We weren’t exactly being overrun yet, but we weren’t gaining ground on the gate either. If we wanted this to end we’d have to find a way to shut it.

Jimin shouted, drawing my attention to where he’d been backed up into a  tree. He had 4 bodies on him, two without arms though they kept lunging at him regardless. He fired where he could, tears streaming down his face as he screamed again when one got too close. I picked off two of them, the third having already dropped, leaving Jimin to fight one elderly lady by himself. He hesitated a moment, eyes wide as if in recognition of the woman, though when she went to bite at him again it seemed the moment hardened his resolve.

He fired a shot, gagging as the head exploded and showered him in viscera. But the deed was done and he moved on, providing back up despite his tears.

And then...things changed.

They came out of nowhere. Men and women in army fatigues and black tactical gear, weapons raised and firing at the monsters from all sides.

I’d have felt relieved at the sight in any other situation. But as the monsters were pushed away from the house and back towards the gate I quickly realized these were not Korean Army here to help us.

No. These were Americans.

As I watched them raise their weapons at my boys an entirely different set of fears washed over me. They knew who we were somehow. Had to. And it might just be that some of us weren’t getting out of this alive.

***

They’d rounded us up at the front of the house, the boys on their knees while Rose and I were held at gunpoint to keep them compliant.

“We’ve got two more back here!” A voice shouted from around the corner.

Two…

My eyes widened as I saw Jeanette and Yoongi forced at gunpoint to march towards us, Jeanette in tears and Yoongi being restrained by two large Americans and quite literally being dragged over to where the other boys were.

“Y/n..they...they shot Jin.” Jeanette sobbed when they shoved her into my arms.

My skin flushed cold, adrenaline coursing through my veins as shock hit me like a freight train.

Not Jin...Seokjin the jokester. Our favorite chef and the dad of our group.

Shot…

Gone...

I screamed, dropping to my knees and clinging to Jeanette as tears coursed down my cheeks.

“YOU MOTHER FUCKERS!!!” Jungkook howled, fighting against his restraints as he struggled to climb to his feet.

“Boss, please…” Jimin whimpered. They’d shoved him to the ground, one soldier having planted a steel toed boot in his spine to keep him down despite the handcuffs pinning his wrists to his back.

Tae and Namjoon had been cuffed together, the shorter man serving to pin Namjoon in place, out of convenience or just spite I hadn’t been sure. But each of them was screaming or crying in some way, while Yoongi continued to glare death in their direction. 

Three soldiers appeared from the house, each carrying various weapons from our vault.

“Sarge, you’ll never believe what we found down in their basement.”

I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, grief took hold, gripping me tight in it’s embrace as I sought out Jungkook’s gaze.

They’d invaded our home. Killed one of our own.

The next thing I knew shots were being fired again.

I ducked down, covering Jeanette’s body with my own as I sought out who could have possibly been firing.

There stood Hobi, face bright red with anger and mouth agape in a scream of rage.

“Hoseok no!” I screamed, but it was too late.

His body went flying, a series of shots having rung out from the soldiers behind me.

It was too much. All of it…

“Y/n!!”

I think...that was Jungkook.

I couldn’t tell. 

It was going dark. 

Strange...as it was the middle of the afternoon. And...I could no longer hear....anything.

I let go, allowing my body to relax. Sleep...sleep would be good right now….

***

The next thing I knew my world was filled with a roar of sound. My body tensed up, though a familiar set of eyes bore into mine when I finally managed to open them. 

Jungkook sat across from me, pinned in place between two American soldiers just as I was. I glanced around, unsure of where we were until I glanced over to see clouds moving past at such a high speed that it took me a moment or two to realize we were no longer on the ground.

“The bitch is awake.” A voice muttered into my ears. They’d put headphones on me to cancel out some of the noise from the helicopter blades, how nice of them…

I grunted, shifting upright and taking in my surroundings. Including Jungkook there were several others on the seats surrounding me. Taehyung sat with Rose while Jeanette sat on his other side. The rest of the space was filled with soldiers, each carrying weapons and steel faced as they either glared at our crew or out the windows.

“Airstrip’s clear Sarge. Preparing to land.”

The soldier beside me nodded, reaching over to rip the headphones off my ears as the helicopter descended and landed with a massively jarring thump.

The sudden influx of noise from the blades left me stunned just long enough for the soldiers to shove me out of the doors and onto the tarmac without much struggle, though as soon as I spotted Jungkook I tried to run for him.

He shook his head and I sobbed when my arms were almost dislocated from my shoulders when one of the Americans jerked me back and away from him.

As the helicopter engine shut off my hearing slowly began returning to me and I began to pick out the sounds of yelling and movement that surrounded me.

A second helicopter had landed before ours and the rest of my crew were already lined up, each with at least three automatic rifles aimed at their heads.

As we moved away from the helicopters to join the others I glanced around, quickly realizing they’d taken us to the military base north west of Daegu. I’d only passed the place on a few occasions, a collection of buildings distinctly American in nature with the occasional military plane or helicopter taking off from the air strip for destinations unknown.

A thrill of relief passed through me as I did a quick head count, though the feeling was dampened slightly when I realized that...those of us who’d survived were all here.

“Get to moving.” The soldier I’d been sitting with growled as I turned to look at him.

I hesitated a moment, locking eyes with him and sending him the fiercest look of fury I could muster. The soldier shoved me forward with the barrel of his rifle, causing me to stumble over my shoelaces. Luckily, despite being handcuffed, Jungkook was able to catch me. The sudden pressure of landing against his forearms though had me gasping in pain as my still healing ribs shifted.

“Oi! She’s injured!” Jimin cried out, earning him a jab to the ribs with the same rifle that’d shoved me.

“Shut it tiny. I could give two shits less if she was the Pope or Jesus incarnate. When I say move I mean double time it. You hear?”

Jungkook and Yoongi growled almost in unison at the American’s words.

“I’m killing you first.” Yoongi muttered and I was forever grateful that I’d been the only one to hear him.

“Easy boys, I’m fine.” I straightened with a groan, nodding to each of them for them to keep moving.

As appreciative as I was for that protective nature, now was not the time for posturing.

***

They lead us to one of the smaller buildings, a sign with a ball and pins labeling it as the bowling alley. It’d been heavily reinforced from what I could tell of the barricades on the doors and the armed guards stationed outside.

The interior was dark, several lanterns giving off the only light I could see and lending it the gloomiest of atmospheres I’d encountered in a very long time. But seeing the lanterns let me know they were far worse off than we’d been. No generators.

We were split off at this point, Taehyung and Rose being led off in one direction while the rest of us were forced towards a set of steel double doors that when opened revealed a massive kitchen.

Huddled inside were several dozen people. Civilians from their dress and grouped up into what I could only guess were family units.

There weren’t very many children. Only 3 from what I could see, and their destitute and resigned faces broke my heart to see.

Making my way into the depths of the kitchen I picked a spot, glancing back to watch Jungkook sit directly across from me. Turning to face him I slid down to sit, leaning back against the cool steel of the oven door in the hopes of finding some sort of comfortable position to ease the throbbing in my chest.

I looked up to Jungkook, watching as his head hung low with his knees pulled up to his chest and his fists clenching and unclenching on the floor to either side of him.

He’d been quiet since before they’d taken Tae and Rose away. Silently stewing over our situation. I knew he was plotting, planning some way to get us out of this. But honestly with the amount of guns being pointed at us, there wasn’t a whole lot any of us was going to be able to do.

A sniffle sounded from my left and I glanced over, almost tearing up myself at the sight of Jeanette clinging desperately to Yoongi. He had that thousand yard stare. The one he got right before a mission where he sat and pictured every scenario that could or would go wrong should shit hit the fan. And yet even with that focused glare he still found it within himself to calmly stroke her hair, occasionally whispering reassuring words to her when her whimpers would turn to sobs and her grip on him would tighten.

Namjoon and Jimin sat just opposite them, each staring off into space as if struggling to find a way to cope with everything that’d just happened.

We sat around for several hours, not a soul in the room speaking as we waited to hear news on what they’d done with our friends.

Several soldiers walked in, talking amongst themselves as they stopped to stand before Jungkook.

“We’re never gonna get the woman to talk.” Grumbled one as he glared down at Jungkook who refused to even acknowledge their presence.

“What information are you even looking for?” I demanded, sitting up straighter and glaring at the soldier that’d spoken.

“You’re little hacker friend, Jangmi they call her. She’s got shit we need.” He sneered at me, the look causing my skin to crawl.

“But why do you even need this information?” I demanded angrily.

“Because even when the world’s gone to shit we still have a job to do. Take down the bad guys. And guess what the fuck you and your people are.” He stepped forward, shifting his shouldered weapon as he crouched down before me.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch her.” Jungkook lunged forward, though several soldiers pinned him down immediately to keep him from going further.

“Four soldiers we lost trying to get these useless fuckers. Four good men with wives and children and mortgages. And for what?! A couple of gangsters and some tech smart bitch and her boy toy who can’t even talk??”

“Fuck sake Jenkins get ahold of yourself!” The man who I’d assumed was in charge before barked at the irate soldier that was still in my face.

“No! Fuck this!”

The next thing I knew he had his fist in my hair yanking me to my feet as I screamed out in pain.

Jungkook roared, straining against the four men that held him down as Yoongi and Jimin fought their captors as well trying to reach me.

“Look at them!” Jenkins sneered, pinning me to his chest and pressing his cheek to mine while he glared at my boys.

“This one’s their weakness. This one will get us answers. Maybe she doesn’t have them, but I can guarantee if we push just hard enough,” with that he squeezed his arms around me, shifting my still sore ribs in the process and causing me to scream out again with pain, “they’ll all start squealing. Just you watch me work Sarge. I’ll have all the info those Langley fucks want and you won’t even have to lift a dainty little finger.”

[nntssy-old]

Time Heals

Written for Writer's Month 2021, Day 12 - Time. 

Fandom: Gintama Characters/ships: Hijikata/Mitsuba, Hijikata/Tae, Hijikata&Gintoki, Kondou&Sachan Word count: 4396 Rating: T? Also on AO3

They say time heals all wounds. If they haven't healed, there hasn't been enough time.

He already left her behind once. But this time was different. There will be no spicy crackers sent to their headquarters every month. There will be no peeking over Sougo's shoulder while he's reading the letter that came with them. There will be no hope that she'll be able to find her happiness one day despite everything. There will be no chance for him to atone for ruining the only chance at happiness she had got.

Every once in a while Hijikata goes to the stash of crackers she had been sending them and takes a pack. The pile is gradually decreasing — he suspects Sougo is eating them too, although he has never seen him do it.

He bites on one of those crackers and thinks about what he could have done differently. About her spending the decade alone in her house, after everyone she knew and cared about left her behind. He could have stayed with her. They could have taken her with them to Edo. They could have found some way to get her a proper medical treatment…

His vision gets blurry, but he blames it on the damn spice. Because he has no right to cry after everything he had or hadn't done.

He finishes the pack by adding some mayonnaise occasionally. Both his eyes and taste buds burn by that time, but he feels a little bit better. For the time being.

*** 

It is the middle of the day, and the chief of the Shinsengumi is nowhere to be seen, but there's some minor thing the vice-chief can't do without him. Knowing Kondou's habits, Hijikata goes straight to the Koudoukan doujo. Next stop would be Snack Smile.

There is always a ladder or something else left near the enclosure wall — usually from the back side of the doujo — that Kondou probably used to get in. This time it's a few crates stacked upon each other. He jumps on them and over the wall easily, and, indeed, here he is — the commander of the Shinsengumi, lying unconscious on the grass, no doubt after being discovered hiding under kotatsu or something. The vice-chief doesn't feel sorry for him one bit — his stalker of a superior had it coming.

After a sigh, Hijikata just grabs at the back of Kondou's jacket and drags him towards the exit.

He has done it a few times before — before Mitsuba's death, that is. But now, for some reason, the situation brings the memories of a more distant past — how he dragged Sougo to the doujo practice back in Bushuu.

Passing by the front side of the doujo, he glances at the porch, and for a moment he sees her — Mitsuba — again. Seeing him away, as she used to back then, and smiling. Startled, he even drops the cigarette out from his mouth.

But as sudden as it appeared, the vision goes away, and it's Otae who is sitting on the porch.

"Good afternoon, Hijikata-san," she says to him with a smile. "Good work, as always." But then her face and tone change to concerned as she adds, "Are you alright? You look pale… like you've seen a ghost."

He might as well has seen it.

Hijikata tries to compose himself again, but all he can muster is a nod in response, not even the usual apology for his superior's behavior. He proceeds with dragging Kondou-san away in silence.

For the next two months, he sends Yamazaki on the dragging-Kondou-back duty.

***

He hasn't been to Mitsuba's grave since the funeral. A good chunk of the Shinsengumi was present then, with Kondo and Sougo doing all the speeches, so he just mixed in with the crowd and didn't stand out much.

He brings her a bunch of her favorite flowers. He didn't do anything like this in her life even once. In retrospect, he probably should have. The flowers are of the wild kind, and while in abundance in the countryside, it's not so easy to find them in a big city. But there aren't many impossible things for Hijikata once he sets his mind on something.

He sets them near the gravestone and looks at her name etched on it. Looks at the dates. Thinks how in between those numbers there is an entirety of human life — her life — even if it was a rather short one. Thinks how one day he too will be reduced to just a name and numbers on a stone — and that's a best-case scenario. Thinks that, if he ever gets a proper burial, he would like for it to be here, next to her.

Hijikata barely suppresses the urge to touch the stone. His throat feels strained.

In a hindsight, he should have probably brought the spicy crackers with him. But there are many things he should have done.

Hijikata leaves without saying a word. But his imagination decides to play tricks on him. Because turning away, he catches a glimpse of Mitsuba in the corner of his eye. She looks saddened.

***

It's late autumn, and they are still a bit shorthanded after the Itou incident, and there's no one brave enough and available to get the chief back, so Hijikata goes himself for once.

He hesitates a little bit before getting over the wall. Like a damn thief. Or worse — stalker.

From here it's the usual routine: locate Kondou-san, grab him, pay respects to the hostess, leave.

Otae is sweeping fallen leaves with a broom near the entrance. He raises his hand in a silent greeting.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Hijikata-san," she says with a smile. But there's something else to it. Hesitance? Concern? Sadness? "I'm sorry… Gin-san told me about what happened… I'm sorry for your loss." She bows her head.

Someone has his tongue a bit too loose.

"There's no need…" he starts, but he's unsure of what to say.

"He also told me that I might have reminded you of her. I'm sorry."

That damn Yorozuya!

It is true that the first time — the very first time — he saw Otae, she reminded him faintly of Mitsuba. But he has given it a thorough thought recently and came to a conclusion that the similarities were rather superficial. Both were in charge of their younger brothers after being orphaned, which made them mature faster. There are also devotion to a proper lady image and a slight similarity in the hairstyles. Also the smile, the kind of which makes your heart skip a beat — although he is pretty sure that with Otae it's because of fear half the time. That's about it. Mitsuba was a delicate and humble woman. Meanwhile, Yorozuya calls the Shimura girl a gorilla woman, and he's… not entirely wrong, as much as Hijikata hates to agree with him.

Kondou lets out some grunting noise breaking a rather awkward silence. Talk about gorillas. He seems to be coming about though, so it is time to leave.

"Apologies for the disturbance," Hijikata says as he turns towards the exit.

"Take care," he hears her voice in response, slightly muted.

***

Next time is less awkward. Or so he thinks at first.

"Hijikata-san, you're dropping the ash all over the place," she reprimands him. 

It startles him a little bit. But luckily, there's no threat in her voice. He's not quite sure what he can do about it though — it's not like there's a—

"Here." She holds out an ashtray towards him. "I keep it for when someone like Otose-san visits."

Hijikata stands there for a moment, holding Kondou by the back of his collar and looking uncertainly at the object, but then taps the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, while Otae is still holding it.

Somehow, the gesture feels way too intimate.

***

There are usually several bottles of sake stored under a certain loose piece of flooring back at his quarters. They are there in case he needs some time alone to unwind after an especially stressful day. Or to drown away his sorrow and guilt — like in today's case.

Recently he has relied on his stash perhaps way too often. The amount that usually lasted him for months he now drinks up in a matter of two or three weeks. He has forgotten to restock, so right now there is only one half-empty bottle. Not enough to calm all the intrusive thoughts. 

But it's too late into the night, and Hijikata isn't in the mood to go anywhere or deal with anyone, so he will need to make do with what he has. He hopes that it at least will dull the anguish inside of him.

He doesn't even bother with getting a cup, just uncorks the bottle and drinks straight from it.

From the corner of his eye, he can almost see Mitsuba again. She looks concerned. With a hint of disapproval. 

***

This time it is tea.

"Oi, Hijikata-san, would you mind joining me for some tea? I prepared too much because I thought Shin-chan and others were coming, but it seems they're running late. We wouldn't want it all go to waste, would we?" Her voice sounds way too innocent. "Please, I insist."

Otae isn't a woman who will take no for an answer, and he isn't feeling very adventurous today, so he props unconscious Kondou's back against the wall of the doujo, and reluctantly joins her at the porch. The ashtray is already waiting at his side as he sits down.

They do some small talk — well, mostly her — about the weather and the sorts of tea — but otherwise sit in silence, sipping on the hot liquid, watching the clouds pass by. 

It's not uncomfortable. Rather soothing actually.

Perhaps having a calm moment like this wouldn't hurt every once in a while.

***

Next time when Kondou is missing from the Shinsengumi compound, it is right on time for the quarterly reports, and Hijikata is drowning in the paperwork. Reading a particularly lengthy account of accomplishments, complaints, and suggestions from the 1st Division — Sougo apparently does it on purpose — he finally snaps and goes looking for his chief who is supposed to do at least part of this. 

But Kondou is nowhere to be seen at the doujo either. Hijikata has done two circles around the building, checked all the pits, but the usual perpetrator is nowhere to be seen. But Otae is clearly at home today, so her devoted stalker is probably somewhere inside as well. He is starting to lose his patience.

Hijikata cautiously knocks at the main door.

"Excuse me," he starts, trying to suppress the irritation in his tone, but the door slides away too quickly for him to finish, and now he is standing face-to-face with Otae. At a rather close distance. Perhaps too close. He even forgets about being annoyed.

She smiles at him in a greeting, without saying a word, and puts a finger to her lips as in saying "be quiet". The smile on her face is a mischievous one. She gestures for him to go towards the west side of the building. It almost feels like they're accomplices of some sort. But he just wants his chief to get back to work — there's nothing wrong about that. 

As Hijikata follows her directions and goes around the building, she slides the door open there and points under the floor. He squats down and looks under it. It's pretty dark out there, and it takes time for his eyes to adapt.

Once they do, he is able to discern two silhouettes lying on the ground facing each other. Now that he listens carefully, he can even hear some muffled sounds and their muted voices. There's also a faint smell of natto and potato chips.

One of the people hiding under the floor is unmistakably Kondou-san. Another seems to be the Glasses Ninja girl who usually follows Yorozuya around. And they're playing Uno of all things. While Hijikata has been buried in paperwork in a stuffy room back at the headquarters. His blood is about to boil.

"Sarutobi-san..." Otae meanwhile has bent over the wooden flooring to peek under it, her body half-suspended upside down.

The two stalker buddies turn right away. Their faces are pale like they've seen a ghost.

"I wondered why we had problems with rats recently," Otae continues, "but perhaps it is because of all the food crumbs the two of you are leaving around." 

"Kondou-san," Hijikata says in turn, trying to sound polite despite the anger, "if you're feeling bored, there's plenty of reports for you to read back at the Shinsengumi compound." He is grabbing at the hilt of his katana. Otae has already jumped to the ground next to him — he doesn't even ponder on when she has managed to get her naginata. 

But the ninja is fast. She grabs Kondou by the collar and swiftly crawls away in a perpendicular direction. By the time he and Otae catch up to them near the other side of the building, the so-called Sarutobi-san is already jumping over the wall carrying the chief of the Shinsengumi with her arms under his knees and back. 

Hijikata lets out a sigh.

"Any idea where they might have headed?"

~~ Intermission 1 - Sachan ~~

She was hoping to find Gin-san at the doujo today, especially after he loudly proclaimed such an intention yesterday.

But it seems there's only Otae-san now, doing the chores in the yard, not even her brother or Kagura-chan are hanging around. And Sachan doesn't even have any work today to busy herself with.

While thinking of what to do, hanging on the ceiling, she hears a rustling sound from somewhere under the floor. Perhaps Otae isn't completely alone after all.

Avoiding being noticed by the hostess, Sachan crawls under the floor, and indeed, Kondo-san is also on duty today — well, not on his proper duty duty — snacking on some potato chips and watching Otae's feet from afar. She decides to sneak up on him. It is so easy to startle him that she has to forcefully cover his mouth so as to not betray their presence.

"Ah, it's you, Assassin girl," he says in a muffled voice.

"You seem to be bored."

"I'm not bored, just taking a break!"

"Do you want to play some Uno?"

They start playing, but the chief of the Shinsengumi seems to be as unlucky in games as he is in love. Which, of course, gets him frustrated. She occasionally forcibly covers his mouth again to prevent him from getting too loud.

Suddenly, while they are still engrossed in another round of the game, her instincts kick in, and Sachan feels some sort of dangerous presence. Perhaps, even a killing intent.

"Sarutobi-san..." she hears a very familiar voice, as if right on cue.

Sachan turns to the voice — Otae's head is upside down as she is looking at their hideout under the floor — menacing aura and all. But she's not alone. There is also the Demonic Vice-Chief of the Shinsengumi right beside her, looking angry and just as his nickname suggests. Each of them alone would look like pretty bad news right now, but together... they are like a match made in Hell.

Sachan doesn't even hear what they have to say, her self-preservation instincts taking over, and all her senses telling her to run. She grabs Kondou-san by the collar of his jacket — in an act of solidarity, or perhaps she has already grown rather fond of him to just leave him behind in the imminent danger — and retreats.

Jumping from roof to roof, with protesting Kondou in her arms, she thinks that her love rival and the vice-chief actually look rather good together. She wonders what is the relationship between the two.

Sachan drops the chief of the Shinsengumi off at his headquarters. Literally. Through the roof.   

~~ Intermission ends ~~

Next time Hijikata is unlucky enough to come just before lunch.

She sees him from the east side of the building even before he's able to find Kondou-san. Out of courtesy, he comes closer to ask her. But his stomach betrays him in a rather loud voice.

"Oh my, Hijikata-san, you must be hungry. We are actually about to have some tamagoyaki. Why don't you join us?"

Oh, shit, the infamous abused eggs. They are slowly becoming a local legend. Of the horror kind.

"No, I'm in a hurry actually…"

"Oh… But you can't work on an empty stomach, can you? Wait here, I will bring you some." And she rushes back inside before he even has a chance to stop her.

Hijikata ponders on how rude it would be to refuse now. And what body part he should protect from the punch. But before he comes to any conclusion, she's already back with a small plate and a radiant smile on her face.

Otae doesn't take no for an answer. But he isn't even capable of saying no to such an enthusiastic face. Perhaps because he just has difficulties saying no to women in general. Yes, that must be it.

It's just burnt eggs, how bad could it be? Not to mention he has his emergency bottle of mayonnaise with him.

~~ Intermission 2 - Gintoki ~~

"Look, he's about to put mayonnaise on it!" Kagura lets out a loud whisper, peeking through a slightly open sliding door. "Ew!"

"Shh, maybe it will cancel out somehow. The more he eats the less we will need to. Until Shinpachi makes some normal food." Gintoki's head is just above hers, as he's peeping in the next room as well. He is expecting Otae to stop Hijikata from desecrating already desecrated eggs any moment now.

But it never comes.

"He's eating it!" Kagura exclaims.

Hijikata is sitting with his back towards them, so they can't see his face. But lately, the vice-chief of the Shinsengumi has been looking… not his best. He has reasons for moping around, but it has already been like half a year since the death of Okita's sister.

Like you're the one to talk when it comes to coping.   

They keep watching as Hijikata finishes his plate, without either choking or puking. He is about to return the plate and doesn't even look like he's in a dire need of a bathroom.  

"Hijikata-san, you need to take better care of yourself. If not for yourself, then for people who care about you," Gintoki hears Otae's quiet voice suddenly.

Says the woman who is about to give him a food poisoning.

"There are fewer and fewer people like that lately," Hijikata responds in a bit of a grave voice after some pause.

As he returns the plate, their hands — Otae's and Hijikata's — touch. The man freezes.

"You're… mistaken," she responds. There's seemingly an eye contact, and the vice-chief looks somewhat surprised.

Gintoki hears Kagura hold her breath and lean in a bit closer. Like she's sometimes doing when watching a romance drama.

Coming to his senses, Hijikata is visibly flustered and suddenly in a rush to leave. So much that he almost drops the plate. But still, it doesn't look like diarrhea is the cause.

"It seems Kondou-san is not here today… So I'll be on my way… Thank you for the meal." The vice-chief bows exaggeratedly and turns away to leave.

"Here goes our hope of salvation," says Gintoki after Hijikata isn't in sight anymore, but the possibility of food poisoning isn't what occupies his mind at the moment.

Otae hasn't moved from her place yet.

Kagura turns away from the door. She seems to be contemplating something. Perhaps processing what she has just seen. Gintoki follows and can't help but plunge into thinking as well.

Meanwhile, Kondou slides from under the kotatsu, looking rather sleepy. 

"Has someone called me?" 

~~ Intermission ends ~~

It is late into the night, and the silence seems too loud again. Hijikata is thinking about opening up his stash — he has restocked recently after all.

He gets one bottle out and is looking at the label, contemplating.

People that care about me, huh?

Kondou's concerned face comes to his mind. Sougo hasn't tried to kill him as much lately either. He remembers Yamazaki and his other subordinates exchanging glances when he was shouting at them while still being hungover. Even Yorozuya hasn't been as cocky when they happen to cross paths lately.

You're… mistaken. 

Eventually, he decides to put the bottle back.

Perhaps a cup of tea might be better.

As he's about to head towards the kitchen, Hijikata catches a glimpse of Mitsuba in the corner of his eye again, but the vision disappears as soon as he turns his head.

He's pretty sure there has been a trace of a smile on her face this time.

***

It's early spring and another drag-Kondou-back-to-work day. 

Hijikata is making a circle around the Koudoukan doujo in search of his superior. He's about to pass by the main entrance, expecting to see the irresistible — as in you have no chance of resistance — owner and her charming smile.

But it's Yorozuya's uncouth mug instead.

"Yo," he says simply.

Hijikata gets startled.

"What are you doing here?"

"Were you expecting to see someone else, eh, Hijikata-kun?" says the silver-haired samurai in his insufferable tone. "Someone prettier maybe? With a ponytail maybe? Am I not enough for you, Hijikata-kun?" He pauses but then adds with an even more shit-eating grin than before, "How were the tamagoyaki last time?"

Hijikata is reminded of accidentally touching Otae's hand instead.

You're… mistaken.

"I… You…" He is considerably flustered — there's no way around that — but for what reason?

"She went out to buy some groceries. Must be back soon," Yorozuya adds simply, picking at his nose, not even looking at him.

Hijikata calms down — more or less — and just goes past the other man, intending to proceed with his search.

"You know… if there's such thing as Heaven" — there's seriousness in Gintoki's voice that makes Hijikata stop in his tracks — "she probably just wants for you to be happy. Just as you did for her."

He remembers Mitsuba's concerned face conjured by his imagination.

"I know," he responds out loud without facing the other. But in actuality, it is a rather fresh thought in his mind. 

"You wouldn't want to disappoint her, would you?"

He didn't think of it like that before. Not explicitly, at least.

"Anyway, the Gorilla should be just around this corner. Otae has knocked him out just before leaving," Yorozuya says in a more casual tone.

Hijikata finds Kondou-san just where he was told. He grabs his superior by the collar and proceeds to the exit, raising a hand in goodbye to Yorozuya, still without facing him. The vice-chief's mind is deep in thought.

As he's turning out of the gate, Hijikata comes face-to-face with Otae. Again.

She's smiling radiantly. While he feels like he's getting flustered for the second time today.

"Good afternoon, Hijikata-san. Are you leaving already?"

He only manages to say something barely intelligible in response. He can almost hear Yorozuya laughing.

"Too bad… Thank you for your hard work anyway."

He nods and proceeds with dragging Kondou-san away past her. There are a lot of things on his mind. 

***

He comes to visit Mitsuba again.

He brings her a bunch of her favorite flowers. He always forgets their name, so there are certain difficulties when talking to the florists, but he is persistent in trying to describe them to the best of his ability. There aren't many impossible things for Hijikata once he sets his mind on something after all.

The grave is well tended to — Sougo must be visiting much more often than he is. And he better be.

He sets the flowers near the gravestone and looks at her name etched on it.

"Long time no see."

That's not exactly true. She has come to him — to his mind — quite often, almost every time he was left alone.

Hijikata sits down in front of the grave and starts talking. 

He starts with little things: the stuff that has happened recently, how is Sougo doing, how are Kondou and the others.

He talks, and talks, and talks. 

He bows his head and apologizes for not visiting sooner, and more often in general. He voices all of his regrets. The things he should have done. Apologizes for both the things he had done and the things he hadn't.

He promises to take good care of Sougo.

He tells her of all the connections they have made since coming to Edo. Yamazaki. Matsudaira and his daughter. Yorozuya. The Shimura siblings. Tells her of the weird rivalry Sougo has with the China Amanto girl. How their days are almost never dull.

He tells her all this so she doesn't have to worry. So she can rest in peace.

In the end, he asks her permission for him to move on. Not to forget — because her image will forever be ingrained in his heart. But he also feels that there is still some place for others too. To move on, for the sake of the people who depend on him. Who — just so happened — care about him, as hard as it is for him to acknowledge this. 

Then Hijikata sits in silence, with his head down, for a long, long time, as if indeed waiting for someone to answer.

When, in the end, he stands up, he feels lighter. Like the cage around his chest has finally broken.

"I will bring the crackers next time," he says with a smile before turning away to leave. After a few paces, he stops and slightly turns back to look at the grave.

He sees Mitsuba in the corner of his eye again. She is holding the flowers and smiling. He intends to keep it that way.    

***

The spring is in full force now, and the trees are blooming.

He doesn't remember when he stopped even thinking of sending someone else to retrieve the chief of the Shinsengumi from the Koudoukan doujo. 

For once, he decides to enter through the front entrance.

It doesn't take long for Otae to notice him. She's already waving at him. And, of course, smiling. And he cannot but smile — just a little bit — back.

They say time heals all wounds. If they haven't healed, there hasn't been enough time. Or the right words haven't been said yet. Or, more importantly, heard.

[queenbirbs]

the open door | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC

Warnings: swearing, some brief mentions of corpses and body horror, spooks and possible spectres 

Word count: 7.7k

Premise: Bryce invites Sloane, Sienna, and Aurora on a tour of a haunted estate on the night before Halloween. What could go wrong?  

Notes: I’m super bummed that we didn’t get a Halloween-themed chapter for this book, especially since it’s my favorite holiday. Takes place post chapter 11, though I’ve played with the timeline a bit to include Halloween. Re-post because it fell out of the tag, as posts seem to want to do as of late. 

Taglist: @maurine07 @caseyvalentineramsey

 ------

“You are aware there’s no such thing as witches, right?” 

“Well, yeah,” Bryce scoffs. “Maybe. Besides, I said she was rumored to be a witch. That’s a whole different thing.”

“Oh, right, of course it is.” In the backseat, Aurora rolls her eyes. “Just tell that to all the people killed during the Salem witch trials due to mass hysteria.”

“Hey, now -- it’s not like she was killed for being a witch.”

“Right. She pulled a classic Rose for Emily,” Sloane mutters while Sienna makes a gagging noise.

“What?” Bryce asks. 

“It’s a short story by Faulkner.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. Sloane wonders if he even knows who that is. Then: “Is he the dude that had a hard-on for the Civil War?”

“Yeah,” Aurora snorts. “Basically.” 

“Yeah, never read any of his stuff. I think I used SparkNotes for one of his books in undergrad.”

“Same,” Sloane admits, to which Bryce shoots her a look of faux-surprise. “Yeah, yeah, we all had to skate by sometimes.” 

“Well, well, well,” he crows. “Looks like the ‘next generation of medicine’ isn’t so high and mighty after all, huh?” 

“Wait, how did you--”

“Ramsey was four drinks deep at Donahue’s the other day, and one of the interns came up and bothered him about a possible spot on the team. Which meant we all overheard the twenty-minute spiel about what a great doctor you are.” He snickers as she puts a hand over her face and groans. “Yeah, it was real sweet. Real obvious, but sweet.”

She’s saved by the GPS on her phone, cutting through the music playing over the car speakers; Bryce takes the next exit as instructed. The off-ramp spits them out onto a two-lane county road.  Posted across from the solitary stop sign, the blue services sign offers nothing but blank, white squares. 

“There’s a bathroom, right?” Sienna asks. “Because I’m not seeing a gas station.”

“It’s a house, you guys,” Bryce scoffs, “not a cave.” 

“A haunted house,” she clarifies. 

“Well, I mean, I don’t think the toilets are haunted.”

For several miles, there’s nothing but sweeping woodlands and the occasional passing car. Long squiggles of tar decorate the asphalt, snaking across the empty, leaf-strewn road. The setting sun casts a golden hue over everything, spears of light cutting through the tree trunks. It would be a nice, evening drive if it weren’t for where they were headed. 

Forty minutes north of Boston lies the small, nondescript town of Angler. Even under the cover of dusk, Sloane can tell that it’s one of those towns. Pretty Tudors line the main street, their porches decorated with smiling scarecrows sitting on bales of hay; banners along the telephone poles advertise the annual apple festival. The bank and the post office and the dry cleaners are all tucked together in the refurbished general store. It’s the stereotypical, pleasant, all-American town. Which means that it’s the perfect place to hide a dark stain of history. 

Why Bryce signed up for such a thing and how he won the tickets is beyond her. When he asked them all to join him for a haunted house, Sloane expected the typical theme: some dingy warehouse refurbished enough to meet modern building codes, full of tight mazes and masked actors with chainsaws.

“Nah, guys, this is the real deal,” he gloated over lunch the previous afternoon. “Back in the 1800s, this woman -- uhh Margaret, or Maggie, I think, yeah Maggie Angler -- she was one of the Boston Brahmins, owned this estate out in the country, blah blah blah. No one knows a whole lot about her because she was a little weird and she kept to herself. At some point, this dude woos her and they get married. But then, a few years later, he dies. Neighbors drop by to offer casseroles or whatever, but she won’t answer the door, so they give up and leave her alone. A few months go by, and suddenly this dude from town goes missing. Then a year, and another goes missing. This continues for several years and--” 

“So, what, she’s some kind of black widow?” Elijah asked. 

“No, this isn’t one of those Marvel--” Bryce’s brow furrowed and then lifted, realization striking his handsome face. “--oh, heh, yeah, sorry. But yeah, sort of. It wasn’t until word got around that the latest dude was seen talking to Maggie at the store that people got suspicious of her. So, they gather up some people and storm the house, where they find a Satanic Bible and other spooky shit. But that’s not the only thing they find.”

They all glance around at each other, waiting to see who will encourage Bryce to break his silence and finish the damn story. “They also find... the missing dudes.”

“What, buried in the backyard?” Sloane asked, and frowned when Bryce shook his head. 

“No, not buried. She killed them and then kept them in the house. Supposedly, they were posed at the table or sitting on the couch, rotting away.”

 Sienna made a show of pushing her plate away. “That’s disgusting.”

“I know there’s a group of people in Indonesia that keep their dead relatives at home,” Aurora said, “but they’re preserved and cared for. This doesn’t sound like that.”

“Nope.” Elijah shook his head. “Definitely not the same thing.”

“What happened to the woman?” Sloane asked.

“No idea -- get this: they never found her.” Bryce lifted his eyebrows for dramatic effect. “But the story goes that she still haunts the place, searching for her lost lovers, and maybe… trying to get some new ones.”  

Jackie, who had been busy scrolling away on her phone through the tale, snorted into her salad. 

“And you want us to come with you to some evil witch’s house on the night before Halloween to go ghost hunting? I may not believe in any of this shit, but no fucking way.” 

“Yeah,” Elijah sighed, cringing at the crestfallen look on Bryce’s face. “Sorry dude, but I’ll pass. My idea of fun is a John Carpenter movie marathon, not a tour around Jane the Ripper’s house.” 

“Okay, understood.” With that, Bryce looked to the remaining three and turned on the charm, draping his arm across Sloane’s shoulders. “C’mon, ladies, whaddaya say? Hard to pass up the prospect of touring a bona fide haunted mansion with one of the most handsome men you know -- second only to Elijah here.”  

Tapping at her chin, Sienna nodded and grinned. “Sounds fun. I like scary things.” 

Aurora, on the other hand, shot him a skeptical look. “Are you going to shout at the air and act like you’re possessed, like I’ve seen that one ghost hunter do on TV? The one with the spiky hair?” she demanded to know. 

“Uhhh no to all of those things, but especially to the spiky hair.”  

“Okay, then,” she shrugged, “I’ll go.” 

Every eye at the table turned to Sloane; Bryce squeezed her shoulder in encouragement. 

“Alright,” she agreed. “It’d be fun to get spooked, I guess. I’m down.”

Which is how she comes to be in the passenger seat of Bryce’s car, leaning forward onto the dashboard as they take the final turn onto a hidden lane. A thick tunnel of trees swallows them up as they drive deeper into the woods. After several miles, there’s a break in the pines, and then: sprawled atop a hill, looming above them, is the house. Even if she hadn’t heard the backstory, Sloane feels like the place would still give her the creeps. With its filmy lace curtains and its tall windows glowing yellow in the approaching darkness, the house looks like it’s been pulled from an Edward Hopper painting. Worn pavers lead from the semi-circular driveway and up to the front porch. Framing either side of the steps, thin, brittle blades of tufted hairgrass shift in the wind. Two people turn from the front door and raise a hand in greeting.

Bryce kills the engine and twists around in his seat to grin at his compatriots. 

“You guys ready to get scaaaared?”

Sienna wraps her hands around Sloane’s seat and leans forward, her eyes wide as she stares out the windshield. 

“Why does it look like The Amityville Horror house?” 

“Is this a bad time to mention that the Blair Witch Project’s producers used this place as inspiration?”

“Yeah,” she hisses, “definitely a bad time.”

Shouldering open her door, Sloane lets in the cool October air in an attempt to corral their attention. It works; the rest of them pile out of the car with her and approach the couple. 

As the current owners of the property, Jack and Nancy Bell guide them through the main floor of the house, pointing out spots of reported activity. The interior is lovely -- one of those Sloane would see in a Pictagram post of a wedding venue, with all those carved banisters and original wainscoting. Her brother, a successful carpenter in the Twin Cities, would have a field day in here. Most of the furniture is original to the house, as well, and in surprisingly good condition.  

The only aspect setting the house apart from any other on the historical registry are the props. In the front hall, a bulletin board hosts an array of newspaper clippings. The earlier articles blame a serial killer, dubbed the ‘Butcher of Angler,’ for the mens’ disappearances. Then, starting on October 28th, 1892, the headlines change to the ‘Wicked Witch of Winthrope County.’ In the drawing room sits an Ouija board, surrounded by melted candles. A cauldron and a Satanic Bible share space on the kitchen counter; corked bottles of what look like cooking spices and herbs clutter the open cabinets. Mannequins lounge at the dining table or on the sofa, dressed in dusty clothes, their jaws slack, their painted eyes still and dull. Beside them, framed in cheap plastic, are the grainy photographs of the corpses as they were found. To Sloane, it all feels hokey, like a regular haunted house with the strobe lights turned off. 

There’s something else, though, something underneath the fine layer of dust and the creaking floorboards and the shrouded furniture. It skitters across her neck and down her back, making her shiver, which she discounts as a wayward draft in the old house. 

It’s the distinct feeling of being watched.  

“Aside from the big house, there’s a carriage house to the left there. We rent it out in the summer and fall for overnight stays.” Jack gestures to the east as they step out onto the back veranda, where, just beyond the slope of lawn, a smaller house sits with a solitary porch light glowing. “And back down the path there will lead you to the lake. When we bought the place, the deed stated that there was a cabin out near the state park line, but we’ve never been able to find evidence of it.”

“Maggie’s been seen down by the lake, too,” Nancy chimes in. “People say they see her there, inside the boathouse, or walking along the shore with her head down, as if she’s searching for something.” 

“We’ve got lanterns here if you want to use them as you go about the grounds, though you’re welcome to use your flashlights.” Jack nudges a neat row of antique lanterns with his sneaker. “For the optimal experience, though, we recommend turning off all the inside lights and using secondary light sources instead.” He chuckles when Sienna makes a throaty noise of dissent. 

The couple leads them back through the house and into the front hall to finish the tour. While Jack goes over the various rules, Nancy motions for Sloane to follow her out onto the front porch. 

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of your friends,” she starts off in a whisper, “but I wanted to talk to you about our son, Ben.”

For a fleeting moment, Sloane thinks that she’s going to get questioned about his bowel movements or a mysterious rash, that Bryce must have told them he was bringing along his doctor friends. “When he was seven, he nearly--” Nancy cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her heart, “--he drowned when we were at the beach in Florida. I did CPR until the EMTs got there, and they were able to resuscitate him, thank God.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane murmurs, “that must’ve been awful.”

“It was. But I’m -- the reason I’m telling you all this is because, after that, Ben seems to be more… open. More open than the rest of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane says again, though this time out of confusion, “but I don’t--”

With a huff, Nancy shakes her head and waves her hands. “No, no, I apologize. I must sound crazy. I just wanted to warn you that, due to what happened to you, you might see things or experience things that your friends can’t. That’s all, dear.” 

Sloane opens her mouth to question her further, but they’re interrupted by the rest of the gang filing out beside them. “We’ll be back at one a.m. to lock up behind you,” Nancy says as she follows her husband down to their car. 

With a cheery honk, the little Subaru rumbles down the winding driveway and disappears. The sun having set during the tour, the landscape before them is now draped with the heavy blanket of night. The moon peeks at them from just above the treetops, as if still deciding on whether or not to come out. The only lights are far-off, unmoving: porch lights of the houses back in town; cell towers with their red stars blinking lazily against the dark. A cold wind moves through the trees, rustling the leaves and scattering them across the front walk, the dried edges hissing along the brick. 

“Can you believe he said no alcohol?” Bryce breaks the silence with a whine. “I read about this fun séance thing you do with tequila shots and--” 

“No séances!” Sienna declares. “And definitely no tequila!” 

“Can we argue about this where it’s warmer?” Aurora suggests and steps back into the house. 

As she and Sienna wander off into the drawing room, Sloane wraps a hand around Bryce’s arm and pulls him back. 

“Did you tell her about me?”

His nose scrunches up to meet his furrowed brows. “Tell who about what?” 

“The-- Nancy, did you tell her about what happened to me? With… with the senator, and…” it’s embarrassing how much of a struggle it is to get the words out, even now, even after three weeks and two therapy appointments. 

His face falls from confusion to concern. Bryce reaches up and lays his hand over her own. 

“Slo, I didn’t tell them, I swear. I would never,” he promises. “Did she say something to you?”      

She loosens her hold, frustrated at herself that she even considered he would do such a thing. He’s one of her best friends, the man who handed over the reins to a cutting-edge surgery just to be by her side. 

“Yeah, no, listen: it’s fine,” she stumbles through a paltry reassurance. “She was probably trying to scare me, that’s all.” 

He gives her a quick once-over, lips twisting into a frown as he debates on whether or not to push. She bites back a breath of relief when he relents, his hand releasing hers.

“Okay,” he says, and nudges her into the house ahead of him. “C’mon. Between the two of us, I think we can convince them to turn off the lights.”

------

Although he puts up a good fight, Bryce loses on the no-lights front. 

Which is just as well, because by the time they reach the second floor, Sloane is glad for the light from the antique lamps. To be fair, nothing actually happens: no spooks, no spectres, and no signs from the former resident. Nothing she can point to with any amount of certainty. Whatever it is hovers out of reach, just on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t seem to give it a name. Maybe it lies -- like any good, scary movie -- in the setting. For as grand as the house is, time and dereliction have taken its fine features hostage. Thick, gray dust coats the wooden spindles and curled handrails of the antique staircase. The corridors are tight, the shadows gathering in the space where the lights can’t seem to reach. Small curls of peeling wallpaper look like fingers reaching out from the wall, backlit by the sconces. The cloying scent of wood rot and mold fills the air, like a pile of papers left to curl and yellow with age. The rooms are small, cluttered with furniture and trinkets and artwork. 

Sloane stares at such a portrait in the master bedroom, where a couple stares down at her from above the fireplace. The man sits in a chair, the woman standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder. It would be any other family portrait, if it weren’t for the unsettling glaze over the man’s sunken eyes. 

“Bryce, please don’t-- aaaand he’s sitting on the bed.” 

“You do know that’s where they found her husband, right?” Sienna points out. “That’s why there’s a mannequin on it. And a picture of his dead body on the nightstand.”

“Maybe Maggie will see what a catch I am if I’m laid out for her. I’ve never met a woman over the age of sixty who could resist my charms.” Bryce waggles his eyebrows as he bounces once, then twice on the mattress before stretching out. “What’s up, bro?” he asks the mannequin beside him before doing a double-take. “Hey, it’s Annie!”

He snatches off the ugly wig and fake beard, and lo and behold, an old CPR dummy gapes up at them all. Sloane snorts and shakes her head. 

“Looks like the years haven’t been kind to her.”   

“Probably saddled with student loans just like the rest of us,” Aurora mutters as she wanders over to inspect the photograph. “Had to get a second job here.”

“Hey, that was a joke!” Bryce commends. “And a pretty good one at that.”

“I do jokes.”

“You so do not.” 

A muffled bang from somewhere in the house stops their banter. Everyone glances at each other, verifying that everyone in their group is indeed in the room. 

“What was that?” Sienna whispers. 

“Probably the pipes,” Aurora says. “It is an old house.” 

As if on cue, the lights flicker once, then switch off, sinking them into complete darkness. There’s a flurry of noise as everyone digs out their phones; the bedroom seems even creepier, now, under the white glow of their flashlights.  

“What do we do?” Sienna hisses, scurrying from the window to latch onto Aurora.  

“We could always search for the breaker,” she suggests. 

“Which would be where?”

“In the basement, most likely.”

“Um, no,” Sienna balks. “Hell no.”  

“Are you guys serious right now?” Bryce hops down from the bed and pokes his head out the open doorway. “This is so cool! Who wants to go downstairs with me and grab the Ouija board?”

“If you bring that thing near me, I will break it in half.”

He grimaces at Sienna’s threat. 

“You’re not really supposed to do that with them. It’ll keep the door open for the spirits to come in.”

“It’s a toy made by Hasbro,” Aurora scoffs. “It’s not going to ‘let in’ anything. And the planchette doesn’t actually move on its own. That’s due to the ideomotor effect.”

Moving over to the window, Sloane presses her temple against the pane’s edge and squints. Just past the eastern wing, she spots a faint halo of yellow light on the lawn. 

“Hey,” she raises her voice over their bickering. “It looks like the carriage house still has power.” 

“Great!” Sienna squeaks and pulls Aurora with her towards the door. “Let’s check it out. I… love carriage houses.” 

They push past Bryce and start back down the hall. Turning from the doorway, a coy smile spreads across his face, a single eyebrow lifting at his wordless request. 

“Oh, no.” Sloane shakes her head as she crosses the room. “I’m not staying up here so you can play Twenty Questions with a ghost.”

She ignores his good-natured grumbling and leads him to the staircase, where Aurora and Sienna are waiting on the landing. Aimed at the ground, their flashlights slice at the hand-carved walls; dustmotes dance in the twin beams, kicked up by their feet. The air feels heavier, mustier here, too, like breathing through wet wool. They tromp down the stairs and across the first floor to the kitchen. Being at the back of the group, Sloane can’t help but glance back now and again at the shadowed recesses, searching for the source of her uneasiness. That she finds nothing amiss doesn’t seem to curb her anxiety. 

The sensation wanes when she closes the door behind them, sealing up the house once more. 

“How is it warmer outside than in there?” Sienna asks as they start cutting across the lawn for the carriage house.  

Bryce zips up his coat and shrugs. “I’ve heard that ghosts tend to suck the energy out of a room, creating cold spots when they mani--”

“Please stop talking,” she begs. “At least until we’re somewhere with electricity that actually works.” 

“Aw, come on, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ve seen enough scary movies in your life to know that we’re safe if we travel together. Besides, everyone knows the funny guy goes first.”  

“I think that honor belongs to people of color, now, sorry.” Aurora chuckles when he spins around to wince at her. 

“Yeah, fair point.” 

Coated in fallen leaves, the ground crunches loud underneath their shoes, blocking out the night sounds as the four of them approach the smaller house. “But for real, I don’t think we have much to worry about from Maggie here. I mean, almost all ghost stories are about little white girls from Victorian times named Sally or Sarah or Kate.”

“That’s because of the spiritualism boom in the late nineteenth century,” Aurora answers.

Bryce sighs and quickly changes the subject, uninterested in a history lesson. 

Converted into a proper guest house sometime after the turn of the twentieth century, the carriage house lacks the severe decay of the main house. Though not as grand, the wallpaper here is intact, the dust not as heavy. It might just be the comforts of amenities such as central heating and electricity, but the inside of the house feels much more benign. As they complete a loop around the building, though, Sloane realizes that the feeling of being watched still remains, growing stronger when she passes or glances out one of the windows. With the glare of the lights, though, it’s hard to see much of anything past the panes. None of the others seem to be frightened -- or if they do, they keep quiet. The same can’t be said when Sienna flips the light on in the parlor.  

Toddler-size dolls lean against the walls, their porcelain hands cupped around their faces. Each wears a pretty, pastel dress trimmed in white lace, their hair falling down their backs in long, springy ringlets of dark brown, cherry red, and honey gold. Bryce makes a noise of disgust when he spins one around, its face blank: no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Time-out dolls, Sloane tells them, remembering her grandmother’s friend who owned several back in the early nineties -- though hers were all dressed as clowns. 

“People actually rent this place out? They pay money to stay here?” Sienna shudders. “I’d rather sleep in the other house, even with all the cobwebs and mannequins.”

“And the ghosts,” Bryce adds. 

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Aurora says. 

“Okay, Scully, that’s enough out of you.”

------

As the clock ticks closer to ten, Bryce votes to go check out the lake. Aurora and Sienna, however, vote to stay in the warm, well-lit kitchen. The plan is decided to split up and then meet back at the main house in time for midnight. 

“You know,” Bryce explains as he and Sloane make their way across the lawn, “because it’s the witching hour.”

“I thought it was three a.m.” 

“It is if you’re taking into account REM cycles and all that, but I’m not. All the legends I’ve read say…” he trails off, frowning as he jogs up the main house’s back steps. “Hey, you shut the door when we left, right?”

Her phone’s flashlight sweeps up the French doors; one of them is ajar, standing open several inches. She reaches for the handle and shuts it, listening for the snick of the latch.  

“I guess I didn’t pull it closed enough.”   

“Or,” he taunts as he grabs two of the lanterns from the porch, “something else opened it.” Ignoring her scoff, he pockets his phone and hands one of the lanterns to her. “These are nice. Do you think they’re original?”

“Bryce, they bought these from a Cracker Barrel. And besides, they’re battery-powered.” 

“Oh.” 

The back of the estate has been left to run wild. Overgrown swath rolls along the ground like dunes, snagging dead leaves between the dry blades. Thickets of barren shrubs creep out from the distant tree line. The path to the lake is marked by an old fence post, tied with a tattered ribbon. They make their way across the wide expanse of lawn, the trees ahead towering higher and higher the closer they get to the forest. Sloane can’t help but check over her shoulder. The house is just as they left it, though the moonlight is too weak to see if the door is still closed. 

Gravel crunches under their feet as they step onto the trail. The quiet night is broken by a ding from her phone. 

How goes the ghost hunting? 

She hooks the lantern in the crook of her arm and taps out her reply: Fun so far, lights went off by themselves. Very spooky 10/10

Ethan: What do fractions have to do with what you’re doing?

Sloane: Nvm 

Ethan: This isn’t 2002. You do have a full keyboard under your fingertips. 

Sloane: so?

Ethan: So there’s no excuse for using T9 acronyms.       

Sloane: Never thought I’d see the day you reprimand me for texting 

Ethan: I’ll spare you the lecture and let you get back to your witch hunt. Text me when you get home, please, so I know you returned safely. 

She hits send on the next message. Several seconds later, a red bubble appears beside her will do!, informing her that it refused to send. A quick glance at the top of the screen shows the one measly bar of service her phone is clinging onto. With a sigh, she tucks it away.   

“How’s Dr. Ramsey?” Bryce asks.

“Preparing a TEDtalk on prehistoric cell phone etiquette.” 

His nose scrunches up. “What?”

“Nothing,” she chuckles, exhaling through her mouth just to see her foggy breath. 

The light from the lanterns casts an eerie, yellow glow across the tree trunks and underbrush. Creaks and knocks echo up out of the dark -- branches smacking against each other as a cold wind sweeps through the area. The last vestiges of October skitter along the ground; the leaves almost sound like footsteps, dragging across the dirt behind them. The trail tightens as it winds down a small embankment and into a hollow. Their pace seems to pick up, though neither of them mention it. Sloane burrows into her scarf at the sudden dip in temperature.   

“How’s Keiki?” she asks, more so out of need to make conversation than actual curiosity.  

“Probably eating her way into a food coma with the pizza money I left for her, and beating all my high scores on Need for Speed.” He’s grinning as he says it, though, which Sloane finds encouraging. “I invited her to go with us, but she said no.” 

She doesn’t miss the crestfallen expression that crosses his face for a moment. 

“Trust me when I say this, because I speak from the experience of having a younger sibling, but she didn’t say no because she doesn’t like you or anything. It’s because she thinks you and your friends are dorks.” 

He sputters at the insult. “I’m not a dork!”

“You so totally are.”  

“Am not.” 

“Are too!” she argues. “Ethan thinks I’m bad, but you -- you come in on your days off and you like it.”

“That’s called dedication to the craft.” 

“That’s called being a dork.” 

What little she can see of the path ahead is more winding turns, more endless seas of bark and brushwood. But just when she thinks that they’ll never reach the end, that they’ll wind up stumbling upon Elly Kedward’s house -- there’s a small dot of light and then a break in the trees, where the path spits them out onto a rocky shore. The lake glints under their lanterns, the pearlescent gleam of the moon dancing on its surface. 

“Oh, hey, that was nice of them.”

Sloane’s gaze tracks along the shore and over to where he’s gestured. A solitary lantern sits in front of an old boathouse, illuminating the weathered cedar shake.  

“Too bad they can’t install lights along the path,” she mutters as they make their way to the structure. 

“What part of ‘bona fide haunted mansion’ did you not understand? This is the thrill of it!” 

Bryce shoulders open the door to a dim room with a half-sunken rowboat in the center. 

“Thrilling,” she drones, side-stepping his attempt to whack her arm. “Right.” 

They poke through the dirty raincoats and rusted tackle boxes. The wooden planks under their feet jostle and flex. Everything smells of wet and mold, the walls slick with grime. “I can think of several better places to haunt.” 

Bryce hums his agreement as he prods at a stack of old hunting magazines, the pages sealed together. Sloane steps over to look down at the boat, where minnows dart underneath the oars to escape her light. 

“Watch where you step,” she tells him as she crosses to the starboard side. “Some of these boards are really falling apa--”

The rest is lost to her shriek as the floor underneath her snaps. Her foot goes through the wood. She drops the lantern and scrambles to stay upright. The soggy planks slip from her grasp as she falls backwards, and then: water, the icy rush of it closing over her head. 

She fights back a gasp at the sudden cold. With her knee trapped in the joists, she can’t get her feet under her to kick to the surface. Her hands sweep out, flailing desperately. Something hard slams against her neck. She twists at the waist; the sunken lantern illuminates the long shadow of the boat. She digs her fingers into the wood. The cold saps at what strength she has, her muscles refusing to work as she tries to push herself out of the water. Her lungs ache; her heartbeat thuds inside her skull. Down in the murky depths below, a long shadow reaches towards her. Fingers, then hands seize her waist; her skin hits the cold air. Sloane blinks away the muddy haze that coats her eyes and sucks in a lungful of blessed oxygen. 

“Sloane!” Bryce shouts, as if he was expecting to pull out someone else. He ropes an arm around her back and helps her up out of the water. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of--” the rest of his words are lost to an undignified oof as Sloane wraps her arms around his neck. 

“Thanks.”

His hands come up to rest along her back, gently rubbing there to warm her frozen skin.

“I would say don’t mention it, but please do. The notoriety of me saving your life needs to make its way back to the hospital, so Rahul will finally go on a date with me.” 

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. 

“You would be concerned about getting a leg over while mine is still stuck.”

“Oh, whoops. Sorry, here, I’ll...” Sitting back on his heels, he steadies her against him and helps her shimmy out of the hole she’s made. Despite how saturated the planks are, her jeans are torn along her knee, where blood wells across several scratches. “Ouch,” he hisses. 

“Nothing a few bandages and a tetanus shot won’t fix,” she assures. Wobbling as she stands, Sloane limps over to the storage chest in the corner. The blanket she finds is tattered and smells of mold, but it’s better than braving the night’s chill in just her soaked sweater. “Alright, I want out of this place like yesterday.”

Bryce picks up his lantern and nods, following her out onto the shore and back onto the path. 

------

“And, I don’t know, he’s also distant with me sometimes, ya know? He’s hot, then he’s cold. He’ll flirt with me and agree to a date, but then he bails at the last second.”

“I get you.”

“That’s why I’m coming to you, oh wise one,” Bryce says with a grin. “Teach me your ways of dealing with difficult guys.”

Sloane laughs, the sound echoing through the quiet forest. Tucking the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she shakes her head. 

“Trust me, if I knew how to, I wouldn’t have such problems with my own.”

The cell phone in her pocket burns at the reminder of Ethan -- not that she could contact him if she wanted, given that the freezing water had zapped the last of its battery. 

“Yeah, but you could at least give me some pointers on how to wear him down.”

“Oh, my god, Bryce--”

“Okay, okay, not… ‘wear him down’... more, like, encouraging than that, I guess....” he trails off with a shrug. 

Humming as she thinks over her plan of attack, Sloane slows her pace to drop behind Bryce to skirt around a fallen tree -- until she can see it no more. “Fuck!” Bryce curses from in front of her, rattling the lantern as if abuse will bring it back to life. “Batteries must be dead. Let me…” There’s a rustling of clothes, a brief, hopeful inhale, then: “Fuck. Phone’s dead too. Must be the cold or something.” 

Sloane closes her eyes and opens them again, hoping that they will have miraculously adjusted to the dark -- but no such luck. With what little moonlight seeps through the canopy and the dusting of fog that’s rolled in, it’s hard to see farther than a few feet ahead. It will make this slow-going trek of theirs even slower. She scans the woods surrounding them and stops when she sees a pinprick of light back down the trail.

“I have an idea,” she says, “but you’re not going to like it.”

He does not, in fact, like her idea. But even he can’t argue against it. Besides, they’d only made it about a half-mile up the path, and the boathouse wasn’t that far back. 

Which is how Sloane comes to be sitting on the log, trying her best to ignore the darkness pressing in on her from all sides. If Aurora were here, she would be explaining that being afraid of the dark is just a concept carried over from early hominid days. Then again, if Aurora were here, she wouldn’t have had to send Bryce back for the other lantern, and they’d be back at the house by now. Sloane knows she should keep moving to stay warm, but she’s cold and wet and her knee is throbbing something awful. 

She’s uncertain of how much time passes before that silly bundle of nerves in her stomach morphs into the proper weight of worry. Bryce should be back by now. She knows he made it to the boathouse because the light through the trees is gone now. Her eyes have since adjusted to the night, which means it’s been at least thirty minutes. Maybe that lantern died, too, she reasons. Sloane listens for his familiar cursing, or his footsteps on the path -- but there’s nothing. The nighttime noises of the forest are gone: no animals, no birds, no wind. The stillness is nothing short of eerie, especially when she feels that now-familiar sensation of being watched.   

“Bryce?” she chances. 

From out of the black, she can hear someone walking down the path.  

“Bryce!” she shouts, struggling to her feet. “Sienna? Aurora? Is that you?” 

Whoever it is doesn’t respond. She starts down the trail towards them, cursing when she nearly trips over a rock. “Seriously, guys, I’m not in the mood--”

An awful sound echoes out of the dark, like a high-pitched whistle played over radio static. 

She freezes, pebbles and twigs skidding across the dirt at her sudden halt. Every hair on her body stands on-end, her muscles locked as adrenaline races through her. Sloane swallows and clenches her blanket tighter.  

The high-low tone of the whistle sounds again. Whatever’s out there is just beyond the reach of her vision. Sloane wheels around, her gaze darting across the shadows, as if she’ll be able to even see-- a light. It’s several hundred feet out in the forest, back in the direction of the house. It’s too far away to make out who’s holding it. It has to be Bryce, though -- playing a prank on her, as if she’d find this sort of thing funny in the state she’s in. 

She bites back a curse and hurries after him as best she can, keeping low to the ground in an effort to hide from whatever animal is out here with them. The trail becomes rougher, more overgrown as she trudges through the leaves and shoves away sticker bushes. Forced to waste precious time watching where she’s going, she glances up only to keep track of the light that grows closer every second. 

The whistle comes again -- louder, closer now. Whatever it is, it’s still following her. Sloane pushes through a thicket and stumbles into a clearing. Tucked between a small grove of pines in the center is a cabin. With the caved-in roof, sagging porch, and front steps that form nothing more than a woodpile, it’s obvious the place has long stood abandoned. Sitting on the porch and casting a glow into the open doorway is a lantern -- the same make as the others. Approaching the steps, she slowly leans up and snatches the lantern from the porch.  

“No fucking way,” she mutters to herself. “I don’t care if it is a bobcat out here, I’m not hiding in the Evil-Dead-looking-ass cabin.” 

The dark silhouettes of the trees rustle under the cold wind that blows through the glade. Carried with it is a different sound: voices, all slurred together, but forming one syllable. She steps away from the cabin and back towards the forest, straining to make it out. Her name, she realizes with relief. They’re calling her name.        

She sucks in a breath to yell back when movement catches her eye. Something dark curls away from the tree line, only to dart into the tall grass when she swings the lantern in its direction. Sloane squints at the underbrush it disappeared into, waiting for it to appear again. For a few, blessed moments, she thinks it’s run off, that it’s finally given up.   

Until a black shadow crawls out of the underbrush towards her, shrieking, braying like an animal in pain. It’s an ear-splitting cry, echoing across the clearing. Sloane tightens her grip on the lantern and bolts. Ducking back into the trees, she heads in a single direction, knowing that she’ll either hit the lake or the house -- of, if she runs far enough, the town. 

Shoving through low-hanging branches, she glances over her shoulder to see the shadow chasing her, peeling itself out of the shadows as it moves between the trees, somehow darker than the black surrounding them. Her foot hits a patch of wet leaves and she slips, skidding down the hillside and tumbling out onto a stretch of asphalt. She grits her teeth against the pain in her leg and crawls forward into the middle of the road. With no time for hesitating, she pushes to her feet and runs, hoping she’s picked the right direction. 

It wails again, in the trees to her left, scurrying across the hillside after her.   

“Fuck off!” she screams.

Another noise comes roaring out of the dark, drowning out her cry. Lights -- searing, blinding -- swing around the curve. Brakes squeal as the car swerves, narrowly missing her; glass shatters as Sloane staggers to the roadside, her lantern cracking as it hits the pavement and rolls off into the grass. The guard rail is like ice beneath her palm where she clutches it, using it to stay upright as her heart threatens to vacate her body through her throat. The hillside is drenched in red from the car’s tail lights. 

“Sloane!” 

Ethan -- it’s him, his car, he’s here, but he should be in Boston, shouldn’t he? He was when he texted her and that was only an hour ago so why is he here and how did he-- all of her panicked thoughts cease when he folds her into his arms and hugs her tight. The night around them is still, save for the purr of the engine and the soft dinging of the door ajar warning. 

“What the hell were you thinking, standing in the middle of the road like that?” he hisses, pulling her back to pin her down with his glare. “You could’ve-- I could’ve killed you.”

“You’re here,” she whispers. 

Her lips are numb from the cold and shock. She reaches up for the blanket, then realizes that she must’ve lost it somewhere along the way.

“Of course I’m here. You really need to stop scaring the hell out of me, you know that.” His brow furrows as he frowns, taking in the state of her. He slips off his own coat and bundles it around her. “Honey, you’re freezing. Let me--”

“We have to go,” she urges, remembering what’s waiting for her, out in the forest. Grabbing hold of his hand, she starts tugging him towards the car. “There’s -- in the woods, there was -- I don’t know, this thing, and it kept screaming, it was horrible--”

Ethan shushes her rambling and guides her into the car, buckling her seatbelt when her hands won’t stop shaking. She tucks her nose into the collar of his coat, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he backs the car up and turns back towards the estate. With one hand on the wheel, the other finds hers and holds tight. 

“Your friends called me when they couldn’t find you, wanted to know if I’d heard from you, in case you’d made it to somewhere with a working phone. I called you-- well, more than I’d care to admit, though it was obvious your phone was dead.” 

“How did you get here so fast?” she wonders aloud. 

“I got here around twelve-thirty, did a sweep of the woods. Around one I started driving around, hoping that I’d come across you in case you made it to the road.” He gives her a worried glance before returning to the road. “The others have been out with the sheriff’s office and the owners, searching the woods.” 

“But I… that doesn’t make any sense,” she tells him with a shake of her head. “It wasn’t even midnight when me and Bryce started back, and he was gone for twenty, maybe thirty minutes. And then I saw him-- well, not him, but at the time I thought it was him being an asshole-- and then that… thing chased after me and I got turned around, sure. But it couldn’t have been more than an hour.”

“Sloane, it’s nearly three in the morning.”

Her immediate reaction is to protest, but the concern in his tone and the clock on his dash render her mute. Which is for the best, she realizes later after pulling up to the house and seeing the driveway choked with cars: Bryce’s, the Bell’s, and several police cruisers. Modern floodlights tucked below the eaves turn the dark house into a bright beacon. Blue and red lights of the cruisers swirl across the lawn. As soon as they pull up, her friends race over to the car and wrap her into a hug. One of the cops takes her statement, ignoring Ethan’s insistence about getting her home and taking it over the phone instead. 

“Must’ve been a coyote,” the cop tells her after she’s finished. “We get a lot of reports of them out here, being so close to the state park.”

“A coyote,” Sloane repeats. 

“Well, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Unless you think it was something else?” 

She doesn’t have an answer for that. Having dealt with her fair share of wildlife coming down from the mountains and into her backyard growing up, she can’t remember ever hearing anything similar. Even her grandfather’s tales about the Wampus cat, her favorite spooky story as a kid, didn’t hold a candle to… to whatever was out there. 

After the cops leave and the Bells lock up, her friends pile into Bryce’s car for the ride home. Though not before Bryce shares with her his own experience with the mysterious shadow. However, he’d gotten a good look with the lantern. 

“It wasn’t an animal,” he whispers to her. “It was her. It was Maggie, I swear it.” 

Sloane didn’t know what to say to that. So she hadn’t said anything, just squeezed his hand and hugged him goodbye. Returning to Ethan’s car, she settled into the passenger seat, thankful for the change of clothes he had in the trunk -- and the first aid kit, of course.  

With the classical music floating out of the speakers and the warmth of his hand in hers again, it would’ve been easy for Sloane to close her eyes. She can’t help it, though, when they back out of the drive. She looks up to the long row of windows. It could be a trick of the headlights, but something watches them from around the lace curtains. As they start to pull away, it slinks back into the shadows of the house. 

------   

Author’s notes and what-have-yous: 

The inspiration for the Angler Estate is the abandoned Uplands Mansion in Baltimore, MD. If you like urbex stuff, I highly recommend looking up some videos of it on YouTube. It’s a gorgeous place, despite all the vandalism. The owners’ surname being Bell is a fun nod to the Bell Witch Cave, my state’s claim to supernatural fame. The mention of The Evil Dead cabin is another poke, since the 1981 original was filmed an hour away from where I live. 

The “watch where you step” line is pulled directly from Uncharted: Drake’s Fortune. 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Just Right: Chris

CW: Head-banging stim referenced, stimming in general in a negative context, derogatory language about stimming, referenced past abuse/noncon, institutional whump, referenced whump of a minor, conditioning, memory loss, traumatic deaths of family referenced, traumatic memory recovery, getting glass out of  foot referenced

Tagging @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxck-fxck, @slaintetowhump

PREVIOUS (COME BACK)​

No one comes back.

He waits and waits, but no one comes back. People stand on the sidewalk, for a while, the old lady and her grandson and some other people besides. Chris doesn’t listen to them, although the sounds filter in, bounce around his mind, occasional words and half-formed sentences that he doesn’t want to understand.

Instead, Chris focuses as hard as he can on the memory of Jake promising Chris won’t be left alone. It’s difficult to focus - he’s scared and didn’t sleep last night, and the birds are loud outside and there’s so much glass that catches the light and bounces pretty white reflections off all the walls - but he tries, he tries so hard, to remember that Jake won’t make him be alone forever.

They can’t keep Jake away forever.

Can they?

The people leave. Breakfast is there, and lunch, and dinner, right on the porch where the old woman said they’d be. Chris drifts through the day, and his thoughts cycle and circle and he can’t keep them still long enough to decide what to do beyond just… staying alive. He has to stay alive. He has to wait. 

The first night, he doesn’t sleep. He waits, and waits, and tries to remember how to calm his thoughts, but nothing comes.

All he can think of is that Antoni and Leila were supposed to wait for him, but it took too long, and once the door broke down they had to go. Somewhere they’re safe, somewhere else, with the other ones, the ones Chris has heard about but hasn’t met. Kauri, who never sits still, Kauri is safe, too, somewhere else. Chris is the only one left.

Chris is the only one here to wait.

He tries to clean but he doesn’t remember how to do it very well. He washes the dishes in the sink, he can do that - and he empties out the coffee pot, full and long-since gone cold, and sets the coffee up for the next day, even though he knows no one will be here to drink it, but maybe if he makes the coffee someone will come back.

The first day, he brews the coffee, and no one comes. But maybe the second day will be different. He dumps the pot again and goes through the motions.

They destroyed the house and the television is turned over and shattered all along its front, they cut up the couch cushions even. Nothing is the same, and everything is wrong. Chris tries to sweep up the glass in Jake’s room from the lamp and steps in it instead, letting out a wild, high-pitched cry at a stab of pain straight up his leg. He can’t get the glass out, he’s too scared to touch it, and he hobbles around leaving bloody trails everywhere he goes, limping, whimpering and wishing there was anyone, anyone left.

If Jake was here, he’d sit Chris down in the bathroom and use his cell phone as a flashlight and use tweezers and Chris would watch him stick his tongue out a little like he does when he’s thinking really hard about something. Then Leila would fuss over him and Antoni would sing him songs in Russian, which Antoni doesn’t know anymore but still remembers the songs. Chris doesn’t know what Russian looks like, but he knows the sounds of the notes Antoni sings, the way his mouth shapes the letters.

Tak byvayet - staneshʹ vzrosleye ty

I, kak ptitsa, vvysʹ uletishʹ

Kem by ni byl, znay, chto dlya mamy ty 

Kak i prezhde, ilyy malysh

Chris is bad at remembering things and bad at knowing words and bad at most things, he thinks, sometimes, but when he does remember something it pops in fully-formed, and he remembers Antoni singing the songs to himself, songs he doesn’t remember in his head but his body still knows, anyway.

See, we are still in here, Antoni says, tapping the side of his own head with one finger, flashing a smile. They didn’t take it all out, it’s only hidden, Chrisha.

Why do you call me that?

I don’t… I don’t know. But I will, Chrisha. I will know, soon, and I’ll tell you once I do.

But Antoni can’t tell him, because he’s gone. Everyone is gone. There’s no one but him, now.

He’s alone, and he’s not made to be alone, they told him he couldn’t be alone or he’ll suffer and shrivel up and die, and Chris hits his head on the wall and taps his fingers desperately on the floor and cries into the hardwood, but none of it helps, because he’s still alone when he stops tapping, stops hitting, stops listening, when he stops.

All alone. 

Just like last time, some dim part of him remembers, but there wasn’t a last time, and he doesn’t know what he’s thinking about. It’s just part of the cycle of too many thoughts at once, dipping in and out of his conscious mind. It’s just another thing that slides in and around the calls of the birds and the rustle-clatter of a squirrel leaping across tree branches, the splashing sound of something in the birdbath in the yard, Doves mean peace and pigeons get no love, but they’re the same bird, baby, just a little different coloration. That’s you, honey, just a different way of being in the world and we’ll figure it out. We’ll figure you out, little dove-

He doesn’t know whose voice he keeps thinking of and he misses her so much it’s a physical pain inside his chest, making his mouth open to cry long after the tears have dried. He makes strange dry sobbing sounds, hiccups really, that come with no tears but grief pours from him in a wave, grief that he didn’t know could still be in there for a woman he doesn’t remember, doesn’t recognize, has never met.

He doesn’t know who she is and it’s his fault she’s gone.

His fault Jake is gone, they were looking for him, he knows it somehow. It’s certainty, deep in his bones. They always said if he ran, someone would find him and bring him back to Sir, and he was so good, he didn’t run, Miss Megan asked him to get in her car and Baldur was always so good for guests, and, and it’s not his fault but it’s his fault Jake is gone.

He can’t think, the circles run too fast, there are too many thoughts and not one will let him pin it down. Instead they bounce and jump and leap and crash and bash the inside of his skull, tired not tired hurt my fault not my fault where did he go come back you promised you promised you’d come back don’t leave me I don’t know where I am I don’t know how to do this the squirrels are loud today the birds are quiet do the birds know did the mourning dove know you’d be taken away from me too just a different way of being, honey, mom come back mom don’t leave jake don’t leave me alone you promised you promised you promised you promised

you promised

No one comes back. Not the first day Chris is alone, not the second.

Chris falls asleep, eventually, after the sun goes down on the second day. He curls up on the floor near the spot of dried blood, wrapping himself in Jake’s blankets until even the floor beneath him feels nearly soft. He lays his head down on Nat’s pillow and Jake’s, too, breathing in their scents and tapping on the floor, on himself, on the wall. 

He won’t leave the last bit of Jake he can see, the spot where his head hit the wall. He’ll stay right here, in the house, and stay close.

He fell asleep beside the blood before, too, in the thing he can’t remember, the reason for the pain so deep in his chest, twisting his heart in knots until he wonders if people can die like this, can die of pain in their hearts that comes from inside their heads.

Sleep is thin and drawn, it’s the way he slept in training, and Chris shifts and murmurs and cries in his dreams, blood and bone and bits of worse gray bits on the wall, screaming woman shouting man men with guns, but they turn the gun on him, the men, and they say what the fuck is a kid doing here? You have a kid, you goddamn bastard? 

And Jake is the shouting man and he is yelling of course I have a fucking kid, what did you think all the fucking trophies were for, did you think I’m the one who’s gonna be in the Olympics?

Flash and burst of sound, deaf in the dark. Chris flinches in his sleep, from moments that aren’t real because he doesn’t remember them, and false memories happen when you’ve been erased. It’s not real. None of it happened. It’s not real.

The phone rings in the early hours of the morning - there have been two sunrises since they took Jake and Nat away - and wakes him with a start, but Chris doesn’t dare answer it. He only stares at the old bit of plastic and wiring that hangs on the wall as though it might come to life and bite him, and eventually it stops ringing, the answering machine picks up, and whoever called hangs up without saying a thing.

Chris falls back asleep.

This time, he doesn’t dream.

The next time he wakes up, he can hear murmuring voices, and he goes still and quiet and tense on the floor, keeping his face turned down, letting his hair hide his eyes so no one will know he’s awake. 

“Shit, they did a fuckin’ number, didn’t they?” It’s a man’s voice, rough-edged and angry, and Chris fights the urge to curl in on himself, to hide all the soft parts and hope he will not be hit or kicked or hurt for being bad again. 

“Why would they do this?” A woman, and her voice is softer, sweeter. Chris swallows. They were only a few female handlers, but they spoke in quieter voices and were meaner, too. So much meaner, even when they didn’t have to be, even when he tried to be good. “What were they trying to accomplish, Ruth?”

“Y’know damn well.” That’s the old woman whose grandson has brought him food, and Chris carefully shifts around. They don’t know he’s right where he can see them, the pile of blankets is wrapped so tightly it looks like nothing more than another pile of the debris left behind. He moves just enough to look, through his hair, at a small crowd of people just outside the broken front door.

His eyes struggle to understand, but they seem to be holding… plastic buckets, and mops, and other things for cleaning. The thoughts bounce and jump, but he tries to grab on, to grasp them even though his heart is sick with fear and his mind wants to tumble after it.

“It’s fear, is what it is,” The first person, the man, snaps. “They want us to be fuckin’ afraid to be like Natalie, that’s what they want. I’m not afraid of them.”

“Easy to say when you don’t have kids to worry about,” The younger woman, maybe Jake’s age, replies, but she doesn’t look scared to Chris. She looks strong. She looks brave, holding her mop and bucket with a little baby strapped on her back, staring into the house over her shoulder, scruff of dark hair standing up nearly straight on its little rounded head.

“My Wilbur went through some of this,” The old woman - Ruth? - says, nodding firmly. “There’s no shame in fear, but there is shame in lettin’ fear keep you standing outside the door when there’s work to be done. Jaden’ll be back with his little friends to help in a bit, I’ve promised ‘em all the pizza they can eat. Now. This door isn’t locked, but it does make a hell of a screamin’ sound, so I think we’ll prob’ly wake the poor thing up, wherever he’s hiding.”

The woman’s eyes roam across the walls, then catch on the spot of Jake’s blood on the wall. Chris feels a wild urge to yell don’t look at it, that makes it real, but he doesn’t know why. Instead he curls up tighter, tapping under the blankets against his own skin. Finger-twist-tap-tap-tap, finger-twist-tap-tap-tap.

Now, Baldur, honey, you know better than to do that. I don’t like it when you do that, do I?

No, Sir, no, y-you, you don’t, you don’t like when I, when, when when when-

Baldur. Silence is better than stammering.

… Yes, Sir. I’m sorry my… words are bad, Sir.

That’s better.

Chris bites down hard on his lower lip, catching the protest before it can be spoken out loud, because the woman he doesn’t remember said you have to talk or no one can hear you, and Nat always says to speak how he wants to, and Jake says his words are fine, they’re fine, he’s fine even if he’s not the way they are, he’s fine he’s fine he’s not fine and Jake is never coming back but he promised, he promised, he promised-

Something about his movements must get her attention, because he hears the woman in the doorway catch her breath. “He’s right here, Ruth.”

Chris slowly raises his head. His foot aches where the glass is still stuck inside it, and it protests as he pushes up to sitting and has to move his legs, keeping the blankets wrapped around himself, pushing his back into the wall. 

“Oh, baby.” Ruth smiles at him, one of those sad smiles you give people when you feel sorry for them, and Chris pulls further into himself, dropping his head back against the wall, taking the momentary feeling for the comfort he so badly needs it to be. “I’m back, honey. I brought you some sausage biscuits for breakfast, and I brought some friends, too. This here is Naomi, she lives on your left in the house with the blue porch ceiling-” The woman with the baby waves the mop in a kind of greeting, nearly knocking the angry man in the head. “-and that’s her little girl Kaelah. And this touch of grump is Jefferson, he lives right across the street.” The angry man waves, too.

Chris, tentatively, raises a hand to wave back, his fingers just barely bending at the knuckles.

“Now, I know you’re scared, honey, I understand, but we’re here to help you clean this place back up before your people come back. Can we come in?”

Chris’s eyes roam from one face to the next, looking for signs of cruelty, looking for the kind of smile his Sir would give him. He sees nothing but openness on all of them - Jefferson with the bit of anger, but it’s not really at him, it’s at the house, what happened here. Naomi with her slight smile for him, and her little girl Kaelah grabbing at fistfuls of Naomi’s hair and sticking it in her own tiny mouth to chew on. Ruth, the same wrinkles and gray-and-black hair, the same open kindness, compassion, looking at him with the same look she’d given her own grandson the day before.

They wait, and eventually Chris presses his lips together and nods. The door scrapes loud along the floor, and he flinches back from the sound, pulling Jake’s blanket as tightly around him as it will go. 

“I’ll take the living room,” Jefferson says, his eyes roaming over the shattered television, the cut-up couch cushions and stuffing littered everywhere. “Ben and I bought a new couch a week ago, the old one’s just been sitting in the den while we figure what to do with it. I’ll call some people, have it moved in here.”

“We got a TV we don’t need in our bedroom,” Naomi says, looking around as well. “I’ll start in the-…” Her eyes move to the open-framed doorway to the kitchen, staring at the shattered wreck of ceramic, the little path that Chris had made by pushing all the wreckage to the side. The coffeemaker with its full pot still piping hot, untouched. “… we got extra plates, too, I’ll get those. I’ll call my girl Kari, that woman’s a hoarder waiting to happen and she’s got half a whole house sitting on her porch taking up space. Did they leave this poor kid anything?”

Chris clears his throat, swallows around the nervous lump there, and says, hoarsely, “Th-they, they, they left the, um, the, the food in the fridge.”

“Well, that’s a small mercy and I’ll say a prayer for that,” Ruth says, stepping inside herself, rubbing her hands together, a wedding ring with a diamond glittering on her left hand. “Let’s pray the Lord shows His mercy on the ones who did this.”

“I don’t see why we should,” Jefferson snaps, already in the living room, his boots crunching on something before he lifts his foot to sigh. “Glass is fucking everywhere.”

“We should pray for the Lord to show mercy,” Ruth says, in the voice of a woman who will brook no appeal, “because I sure as hell wouldn’t. Leavin’ a boy here in this wreck all alone.” Ruth screwed her mouth up like she might want to spit. “Imagine it, just imagine leaving a boy here all on his lonesome.”

“Th-they… they didn’t know, know I was here,” Chris says, softly. “I was hiding. I have a hiding place.”

“Hiding,” The man says tightly. “You hear that, Miss Ruth? Hiding while they fuckin’ trashed everything around him. Fucking hiding. You know who else had to fuckin’ hide in goddamn-”

“Don’t you curse the Lord’s name near me, young man.”

“… sorry, Miss Ruth.”

“Besides, I know, Jefferson. If you think I don’t know damn well… but gettin’ ourselves all worked up won’t help this boy in the here and now, will it?”

A muscle twitches in the angry man’s cheek. It reminds Chris of Jake, even though they are so different, Jake all blond hair and scruffy stubble and Jefferson looks like a cowboy in the movies Jake watches late at night, skinny-hipped in worn-out blue jeans with a giant belt buckle and hard-lined set to his jaw. But the anger - the deep-down rage - that’s the same. 

It’s not rage he has to be scared of, but rage meant to protect him, and Chris’s heart twists in a good way this time. 

“Yes, Miss Ruth.” Jefferson frowns.

Ruth sighs, her eyes roaming, taking in the enormous task ahead of them. Well… we’d best get started, the day won’t get any younger.” She holds out her hand and Chris looks up at her, hesitating before he lets her take his hand and help him onto his feet. He stands with one leg bent, to keep the weight off the glass still embedded in his heel. Jake’s blanket falls down around him to puddle on the floor at his feet. “Baby boy, what are you wearing?”

In the kitchen, Naomi is already on the phone, speaking to someone in hushed hurried tones, while baby Kaelah bats happily at her mother’s shoulders with her hands, legs swinging bare out the sides of the carrier she’s settled in.

Chris looks down, then back up. “Wh-what I, what I always wear to, to to to sleep in.” Jake’s shirt, the one he’d shoved into Chris’s hands before, before, before-

Before they took you away from me.

“Sweetie, you look like a toddler tryin’ t’wear his daddy’s clothes,” Ruth says gently. “Y’got anything left of your own, or did they tear that up, too?”

Chris shakes his head, slowly, his eyes moving to the stairs. “I, I have clothes. Um. I have clothes but, but, but but but I don’t want to, to walk on the stairs, it’ll, um, I have, I have, um, there’s there’s glass in my, in my, in my my my-”

“Glass in your foot?” Ruth asks, gently. “You step on somethin’, honey?”

Chris nods, balancing on one foot and twisting his other leg to show her the mess of his heel, with the glass still deeply inside.

“Oh honey, that had to hurt,” Ruth murmured. “Jefferson, can you-”

“Got it, Miss Ruth. You’re the CO on this little enterprise.”

“Don’t you ‘CO’ me, Jefferson, this ain’t the army.”

Jefferson laughs, and Chris feels like the walls are soaking up the sound, and his breathing eases. His lungs feel less constricted, less held still. He feels a little less frozen. He is aware without knowing that there was a time when no one came the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. 

But this time isn’t going to be like that. It’s going to be different, and he’s going to remember this.

Naomi pops her head back into the entryway. “Kari’s packin’ up, and I told them a bit of what happened - just that the cops trashed the place and left a kid behind, that’s all, they don’t know what Nat does. Kari’s husband wants to come help, too, and he’s bringin’ a buddy. Guy knows somebody who knows somebody in the movement, I guess. They’re callin’ around to see if any of the lib people will come on over to sit with the kid.”

“They won’t,” Ruth says, after a moment’s pause. “Unless it’s different than it was when Wilbur was in it. They’re islands, Naomi, always have been.”

“If a volcano blows up an island,” Naomi says, her voice edged with something Chris doesn’t understand, eyes suddenly hard and flinty, “You can’t tell me the other islands wouldn’t send some fuckin’ boats to find survivors.”

“Volcanoes are part of nature,” Ruth says, almost primly. “This isn’t natural at all.”

Ruth and Naomi share a long look, and then the woman and her baby disappear back into the kitchen.

“Ben’ll be over in about an hour, he’s calling in sick and setting someone else to take his meetings for the day,” Jefferson offers, breaking the moment of strange, weighted silence. “And I don’t work at the bar ‘til 6:30, so I got time. Ben says he’ll call a couple of people, too.”

Chris stares around at them, and feels tears stinging his eyes. He taps the inside of his wrist with his other hand, rhythmic, soothing the ache inside him, but it’s not quite the same kind of ache it was before. 

“Jaden’s bringin’ three or four of his little friends,” Ruth says firmly. “Which make us quite the crowd, and we can get this all cleaned up in no time, can’t we? And we got pizza for lunch. Jefferson, I don’t spend my good clean money on liquor, but you can, if you want.”

Jefferson laughs again. “Understood, Miss Ruth. Okay, little one let’s fix your foot-… hey, what’s your name?” He tilted his head, watching Chris with kind, dark eyes. 

Chris looks over at Ruth, who nods and squeezes his hands lightly, then lets go. The touch felt so good he nearly moves closer, back into it. He likes being touched, he’s supposed to like being touched, any way at all. “M-my, my name is, my name is, is is is Chris, my name is-… I picked the name, the, the name Chris, I picked it myself.”

His voice is low, worried they’ll laugh, but Jefferson grins at him, and it tugs a smile from Chris in return. “That’s a good choice, Chris. Now, look, we got half a couch cushion and I think that’s enough for your skinny butt. So take a seat, and I’ll get you cleaned up in no time.” He takes Chris’s arm now, helping him hobble his way into the living room, to sit slowly down on the undamaged part of the couch, holding his heel out for the man to take in warm fingers, pressing here and there, apologizing in a low voice when Chris hisses at the sharp stab of pain.

He taps hard on the couch, closing his eyes so he won’t see what happens, feeling a little faint at the thought of the clear glass shard coming out of his foot. Finger-twist-tap, finger-twist-tap, finger-twist-tap-

“What are you doin’ there, Chris?” Jefferson asks, and Chris stops.

“Nothing,” He whispers, keeping his voice slow, and careful. “Nothing, sir-”

“No fuckin’ sirs with me, I did that way too long in the fuckin’ army. Just call me Jefferson, thanks. All right, Chris, do whatever you gotta do, I’m gonna fix this as soon as I count to one, two, three-”

But he’s already squeezing hard on the count of two and Chris whines in pain as a sharp ache shoots up his leg from his heel, spikes, and then… lessens, lowers to a dim throb, hardly real pain at all. 

“Done,” Jefferson announces, brightly. “Now, let’s get you some shoes, so you don’t worry about stepping in anything again. You can come stay with me ‘til your people get back-”

Chris opens his eyes. “No.”

“No?” Jefferson’s eyebrows raise, and Ruth pauses where she’s working with a broom to sweep some crumpled papers in the entryway, looking over at the way Chris’s voice has suddenly gone stronger, harder.

“I can’t, can’t leave,” Chris says, looking Jefferson right in the eyes. Baldur, love, you know you should never meet a man’s eyes unless you’re going to-

“Why not?” Jefferson asks, confused, cutting off Chris’s nervous, cycling thoughts. 

“Because, be, because, because because he said to wait for him,” Chris says, a little louder this time, pulling his foot back and away from Jefferson’s hands, curling up on the couch cushion into the tiniest ball he can make himself. “Jake said, he said, he said to wait, and I have to, to wait for him. Right here. Until he, he comes back.”

“Chris…” Jefferson hesitates. “It could be a while-”

“Hush,” Ruth says, quick and fast the way the woman he doesn’t remember used to sometimes say things like that to a man he doesn’t remember, either. “Hush now. Not the time or the place, Jefferson. Not yet.”

“Yes, Miss Ruth. So you need to wait right here?”

“I have to wait for Jake,” Chris says, pressing his own hands against his stomach through the soft fabric of Jake’s worn-out old T-shirt, long fingers that curl into the cotton. “I have to wait for him. I, I, I said I’d wait, I said I’d wait, he promised he’d come back, and I-I-I, I have to, I have to…”

I have to do it the right way this time. Last time I did it all wrong and they died. If I can do it right this time, no one has to die. He doesn’t know where the thought comes from and it sinks back and away just as quickly. He flinches at the memory of a woman’s terrified face, his own voice screaming, and the realization that people can die with their eyes wide open.

“I have to wait,” Chris whimpers, and presses his palms up to his eyes to hide the tears that start to start to fall. There’s a pause, and then warm arms around him, holding him, but the arms aren’t right and the smell isn’t right and he’s alone, even with people in the house, he’s alone, he’s only not alone when he’s with Jake, and Jake is gone, and people have died when Chris did it wrong, he has to do it all just right this time-

Don’t move, baby. Just stay here, and it’ll be all right.

No! He’s just a child! Please, please, that’s my little boy, please no, please, God, no!

I’m coming back for you. Wait for me here.

“I have to w-wait, I have to, to wait, I have to wait for him, I have to wait…” The words bubble up unbidden, and the man holding onto him rocks back and forth, back and forth, and Chris rocks with him, crying into his shoulder, the man’s shirt damp with his tears. The women are silent, but for the sounds of their work, water pouring into a mop bucket and a broom sweeping across the floor. 

You are not hidden, there’s never been a moment you were forgotten - you are not hopeless, though you have been broken, your innocence stolen

Jake likes to sing to him, now, in his low bass voice, and he might never sing to Chris again, like the woman won’t, and how many times can he lose everyone before there’s no one left to lose?

The only sound now is Chris crying into the shoulder of a stranger, all the fear he cannot keep inside himself any longer wept out against his will, that somehow it’s happening all over again, and once more he’s the only one left in the house, once more there is blood on the wall, but he can’t remember when blood was there before and he doesn’t know why he’s so scared that Jake will die.

Just like the woman did, the one he doesn’t remember, the warm hand on his forehead when he was sick, the man the low voice murmuring, if you had a bad dream, you can crawl in with us, buddy, when he was young.

I will never stop marching to reach you in the middle of the hardest fight, it’s true

“I promised to, to wait,” Chris sobs into the man’s shirt, his skin, and feels the man’s warm hands rubbing soothingly at his back. “I promised to wait for him. He’s, he’s, he’s coming b-back, he said he’ll come back, he said to wait and I have to, to wait-”

I will rescue you

“He’s coming back,” Chris whimpers. “He’s, he’s, he’s coming back, he promised to come back-”

“I know,” Jefferson murmurs. “I know he did.”

I will rescue you

“I’m so, I’m, I’m so, so so so so scared, I’m scared, please, I’m so scared he won’t come back, please, please, I don’t want to lose anyone anymore, please, please get him back-”

I hear the whisper underneath your breath, I hear you whisper you have nothing left

“It’ll be okay, Chris,” Jefferson says softly, into his ear. “We’ll figure it out, and you can stay right here. We’ll figure this out with you, okay? We’ll… we’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

“He, he, he he he promised, he promised, he-”

“I know. I know he did.” Jefferson swallows - Chris can hear it, feel the movement of his throat. “I know he did, kiddo.” There’s a pause, and then in a slightly different voice, Jefferson asks, “Miss Ruth, what’s our next step?”

The old woman is silent, and then says softly, “We clean the house, and we get this boy a bed to sleep in, right here where he wants to be. And then I guess one of us should figure out how to pay bail.”

The phone in the kitchen rings again, and Chris can hear, through his own low sobbing, Naomi’s voice as she picks up. There’s a low conversation, and the click of the phone resting back in its cradle. 

“We might not have to do this ourselves,” Naomi says, sounding odd, like her voice is caught in her throat.

“Why not?” Jefferson’s arms tighten around Chris, and he clings to him desperately, the warmth of human contact, the reassurance that he will not be left alone again. 

“Because…” Naomi’s voice twists with a wry humor. “Jake didn’t call his lawyer or his mom, Miss Ruth.”

“Then who did he call?”

“Uh.” Naomi clears her throat. Chris looks up, to see her looking stricken, staring at Chris as though he’s grown three heads. “He, uh. He called someone who called-… you guys ever see the movie Dimmer Switch?”

“Yeah, like… a million years ago,” Jefferson says, sounding baffled.

“I don’t see movies,” Ruth says, equally confused, though hers sounds more like irritation.

Chris’s heart twists, in his chest. Something like relief, but sharp as a blade, cutting him open, laying out all his hope for them to see and take and destroy, if they want to, like all of him was cut out once before.

It’s not gone, Antoni says, inside his mind, in his memory. They buried it, they built a wall, but we are still inside ourselves. You just have to dig deep enough, Chris.

This isn’t going to be like before.

“That was, uh. That was… some girl named Krista. She’s coming here. And she’s coming with a check from Vincent fucking Shield to pay their bail. We’ll have to go do it, because Krista says she’s… she’s one of them - the Boxies - she can’t go herself, they might recognize her.”

“Then I’ll go to the jail and get them myself,” Jefferson says, strongly. “I thought Vincent Shield just talked a big game in interviews, but that’s walking the walk, huh?”

“Oh, man.” Naomi sounds stunned. 

There’s a silence.

“Does that mean Vincent Shield has been here? And I was right next door to a fucking movie star and no one told me?”

Chris laughs, putting his hands back up over his face, burying himself in Jefferson’s shoulder. Krista will come to help him, Krista will come, and they’ll go get Jake, and Jake will come back, and it won’t be like before, mourning doves are just pigeons with a prettier name, they don’t mean anyone will die, no one has to die this time, you’re the reason Ronnie died, you should never have been born, but he doesn’t know that voice, either, who said that?

Someone, darker in his mind, a place he can’t go. A place that hurts but Chris tries to dig down into it anyway, follows the voice, chases it into the pain.

Thank you, it’s, it’s hard, but, but but but thank you for getting this for, for dinner, it-it helps, thank you-

Don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do on a day like this, huh? 

A day like, like, like like like what?

 Nothing. Just thinking about tomorrow. Happy birthday, Tris-

His thoughts are interrupted by a flash of red in the window, the cardinal from before. It sits on the windowsill, briefly, looking in at him with one dark eye. Then it takes flight again, a burst of wings, and is gone.

He doesn’t remember what he was thinking about but it doesn’t matter now. He did it all just right, so no one has to die this time. No one has to die because of him, and Jake is coming back, and it’s going to be okay. Jake promised he would come back, and Chris promised he would wait right here.

They can both keep their promises this time, because Chris did it all just right.

He did it just right.

He was good, this time, and that means no one will die.

He can keep his promise, the last one he made to the woman he doesn’t remember when she was lying on the floor with her eyes wide open, to be good.

[swordandquill]

Title: Winter Break

Fandom: Leverage

Summary: The team find themselves snowed in in a little town in the middle of nowhere.

Ch 3: Hope it’s Hallmark - The team reaches the cabin, and Hardison tries to figure out what genre of movie they're currently participating in.

Author’s Note: I might have to steal Hardison's line about the worse kind of horror move to use as a title for a Leverage ghost story someday.

You can go here to read this on AO3 instead.

Hardison knew why the light took on a red tint at night when it snowed, knew how light refraction worked, even knew the right equations to calculate the wavelengths. He still thought it was the stuff of horror movies.

“Maybe we should have slept in the airport,” he grumbled, squinting through the snowfall at the dark cabin.

Eliot stirred on his shoulder, shifting around enough that it must have jarred something, because Hardison felt him suppress a flinch before lifting his head muzzily and rubbing a hand over his face.

Hardison had lost the argument with Nate over who was driving, leaving him to switch places with the mastermind as the designated Eliot pillow. As much as he had argued, once they got going he was glad not to be the one at the wheel. The roads had been terrible, and it had taken them three times as long as it should have to get to the cabin. They had almost gotten stuck on the long drive leading up to it.

Somehow, Eliot had managed to sleep through the majority of the trip. Hardison would have loved to have said that gave him the warm fuzzies, because Eliot was not a man who gave his trust easily, but mostly it just made him worry that the hitter’s injuries were significantly worse than he had let on.

“We here?” Eliot asked groggily.

“Yeah,” Nate turned in the driver’s seat to look back at them, “Sophie and I will help Parker do a security check. You stay in the car with Hardison.”

Eliot tensed up against Hardison’s shoulder, like he was going to protest, then huffed out an irritated breath and dropped his head back down.

Hardison gave Nate a pointed look, gesturing towards Eliot with the arm that wasn’t slung around the hitters shoulders.

“He’s fine,” Nate reassured him, “the meds just took enough of the edge off for him to sleep.”

Hardison opened his mouth to argue, but Parker chose that moment to climb over all the bags and groceries piled up in the back and haul open the side door of the van. The open door let in a burst of cold wind and snow, and Hardison curled away from it, ducking his face against Eliot’s beanie.

“I’m going to pick the lock,” Parker announced cheerfully and hopped out of the van, closing the door behind her.

“Parker, I have the key code,” Sophie pulled her hat hastily down over her ears and followed her out into the snow.

“I think supervision might be in order,” Nate pulled his own hat on, “sit tight. We’ll be back to unload after we check everything.”

Nate let in another burst of cold when he opened the door, and it didn’t escape Hardison’s notice that he locked the car behind him. Eliot’s paranoia was rubbing off on everyone, it seemed.

Hardison wanted to grumble and complain, or at the very least, narrate what was obviously the start of the worst kind of horror movie, namely the kind that they had to participate in, but Eliot’s breathing had evened back out into sleep, and he didn’t want to risk waking him.

The only light besides the eerie red snow reflection was the headlights of the van pointed at the front porch. The porch was high enough that the beams hit Parker and Sophie at the knees. It looked like there was some kind of problem with both the lock and the lock box, and they seemed to be struggling with getting either of them open.

Nate was standing to the side of them on the porch, just outside the narrow beam of light. He was hunched against the cold, shooting the occasional furtive glance at the dark trees ringing the cabin. This was the part of the movie where the monster sprang out of the forest and ate the idiots stupid enough to venture out into the open.

Although, they were still pretty early into the film. They had only just gotten to the cabin, and they had yet to run into any cooky locals who regaled them with stories of the monster or ancient tomes that conveniently fell into their laps warning them of the beast. This early in the film, they would get the door open just in the nick of time, slamming it in the monster’s face as they scrambled to safety.

Leaving he and Eliot in the car to be eaten.

Monsters lurking in the dark seemed a lot more possible with their resident monster slayer not at his best. Hardison didn’t care what Nate said, it wasn’t like Eliot to just fall asleep when they were somewhere weird and unsecured. Excessive sleepiness was a sign of head injury.

Or blood loss, or severe inflammation, or internal bleeding, or some other weird medical condition. Or, the rational part of his brain pointed out, barely sleeping at all the last week because the job had not got smoothly. Short of someone dying, everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. And yet, the bad guy had been beaten and the client was sufficiently safe and cared for. So they would count it as a win. Unless Eliot had a brain bleed or something. Then that definitely canceled out the win.

Parker got the door open finally, and Hardison watched through the front windshield, holding his breath as Parker stepped into the dark cabin, followed by Nate, then Sophie. It felt like it took hours, but suddenly the porch lights flipped on, and a warm glow lit up the front windows, reflecting golden sparks off the falling snow.

Hardison let out his breath, glad to find they had made the transition from b-level horror movie to hallmark Christmas special. Too bad Christmas had been like a month ago. Still, if they didn’t run into a Christmas tree farmer with an emo past who turned out to secretly be Santa’s long lost son, Hardison was going to be disappointed.

Eliot stirred again, turning his face into Hardison’s shoulder to escape the cold that was leaching into the van now that the engine was off. Hardison drew him in closer and rested his cheek on top of Eliot’s head.

“No brain bleeds,” he murmured into Eliot’s beanie, “we have rules about things like that.”

“Who’s bleeding?” Eliot mumbled into Hardison’s jacket.

“No one,” Hardison reassured him, “as long as you’re not.”

Eliot seemed to consider that for a moment before shaking his head and settling again, “not right now.”

“You know, El,” Hardison grumbled, “answers like that are why we worry about you all the time.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of Eliot’s head and went back to watching the porch through the front windshield. The longer the others took inside, the more things felt like they were sliding back into b-movie territory.

Hardison knew what they were doing. They ran perimeter and security checks on every place they stayed. Usually Eliot did them, but if he was already busy doing something else for the job, Parker would take care of it. She had the dubious distinction of being the second most paranoid member of the team. She also had a vast and impressive understanding of how building security worked, or how it didn’t work, since figuring out how to get in and out of places was both her job and her favorite pastime.

She had already been applying that to her own safety when the team had come together, and it had only taken a few conversations with Eliot for her to see how to apply it to assessing the security of wherever the team was staying. If she said the cabin was good, Eliot would be satisfied with it.

Hardison would sweep for bugs and any other tech weirdness once they got their gear inside. Hopefully, if everything came back clear from both he and Parker, Eliot would feel safe enough to get some rest and actually take care of his “not bleeding right now” self.

Right around the time Hardison started thinking they were going to freeze to death instead of get eaten by a monster, the rest of the team finally came out of the cabin. Parker hopped down the steps, landing two footed in snow that came up to her mid-calf, then turned to head to the corner of the building, taking exaggeratedly large steps through the snow drifts. Nate followed her, walking like a normal person and hunched against the snow and wind.

Sophie left them to it, coming back to the van. She pulled open the side door, letting in a gust of snow and wind. Eliot sat up with a start, blinking blurrily at Sophie and the open van door.

“Everything looks good inside,” Sophie smiled, “Nate and Parker are just going to do a quick walk around the outside, but we can start unloading.”

“Took you long enough,” Hardison grumbled, sliding out of the van. He pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose and stepped aside to let Eliot out.

“The lock and lockbox were both frozen,” Sophie shrugged, “it took some fiddling from Parker to get it open, then she had to open every door in the place and climb the banister railing, for some reason”

“She’s Parker,” Eliot shrugged and started reaching for the nearest bag, “she hasn’t really seen something until she’s climbed it.”

“People who don’t tell us they’re hurt don’t get to carry in bags,” Sophie’s tone indicated that this was a punishment, somehow, “go inside and get warmed up. We've got this.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Eliot grumbled at her, but he left the bags and headed towards the cabin anyway.

Hardison watched Eliot go up the porch steps, then turned to Sophie, who was pulling bags out of the back row.

“He didn’t even argue,” Hardison hissed.

“Let him get some food and sleep,” Sophie shoved an armful of grocery bags at him, “then worry.”

“That is not how worry works,” Hardison complained as he trudged through the snow to the cabin.

******

Sophie grabbed Eliot’s bags from the back seat first, almost over balancing with the weight of the duffel before she managed to get it over her shoulder. What did that man pack and why couldn’t he put it in two or three bags that didn’t weigh as much as an elephant instead of cramming it all in one?

She passed Hardison as he was trudging back to the van. He started to reach for the bags she was carrying, but she waved him on. It was in Hardison’s nature to worry constantly, and there was something endearing about that, but worrying wasn’t going to get Eliot settled and resting. Maybe even sleeping if the ride here was any indication.

She dumped Eliot’s bags on the bed in the back bedroom, the one farthest from both doors. The blankets on the bed were a bit light for how cold it was, but they had cranked up the heat as soon as they had gotten inside, and everything was starting to warm up. She would get Parker to help her hunt down the extra blankets the owner had told her were here later.

First though, Sophie had a hitter to cajole into bed.

She dug through Eliot’s bag until she found his stash of ice packs, then headed to the kitchen. She was not at all surprised to find Eliot there, poking half-heartedly through cupboards and peering into the grocery bags piled precariously on the counter. He was holding his left arm stiff and close to his body and moving slow, but at least he was carrying around a water bottle, and looked to have drunk about half of it already.

“At least the stove is gas,” Eliot grumbled, even as he gave the knife block a disgusted look, “if we lose power we’ll still be able to have hot meals.”

“I hadn’t even thought of losing power,” Sophie admitted, “we might have to give the fireplace a once over to make sure it’s safe to use.”

Eliot glanced over the breakfast bar into the living room where a large stone fireplace had pride of place across from a comfortable, if dusty, looking couch,

“I’ll…”

“You’ll go take a shower,” Sophie nudged him away from the counter so she could start putting groceries away.

“Later,” Eliot shook his head stubbornly, “everyone’s got to be hungry, and I should get something started.”

He started to pull open grocery bags, and Sophie shooed him away again, “we’ll take care of dinner.”

Eliot gave her a dubious look.

“Nate will take care of dinner,” Sophie corrected, “he’ll enjoy it. It will remind him of his prison days.”

“What am I doing?” Nate asked, dumping a pile of luggage in the middle of the living room.

“Making dinner,” Sophie supplied.

“Yeah, sure,” Nate paused to give the kitchen a once over before trudging back out the front door for more bags.

“So go take a shower,” Sophie pushed him in the direction of the bedrooms and bathroom with a hand on the small of his back, “you’ll feel better, and I won’t feel guilty about using all the hot water when I take mine.”

“You never feel guilty about that,” Eliot groused, but he headed in the direction of the bedrooms.

“Your bags are in the second bedroom,” Sophie called after him.

She watched long enough to see him duck into the room, then turned back to the kitchen, trying to decide if actually getting Eliot to take a shower instead of haul luggage entitled her to not spend the next quarter hour trudging through the snow to unload the van.

Probably not. The sooner they could get everything inside and everyone out of the awful weather, the better.

Sophie pulled her scarf up around her nose and ears and headed back into the snow.

******

“I’m hungry,” Parker announced, “Sophie said you’d make us dinner.”

She was sitting cross-legged on the breakfast bar because Eliot was still in the shower and couldn’t tell her not to.

“Once we get the groceries put away, I’ll put something together,” Nate tossed her a box of cereal without bothering to look at what it was.

Parker pulled it open and was delighted to find it was the kind with the grainy rainbow marshmallows. She had no idea where the spoons were, so she started eating it by the handful.

“We should do something about the doors,” Parker said with her mouth full, which wasn’t as fun when Eliot wasn’t there to shoot her disgusted looks.

“What about the doors?” Nate asked absently as he started pulling everything out of the fridge that Sophie and Hardison had stuffed into it.

Sophie was giving him that funny look that she had said meant he was being a micromanaging jerk. Parker thought that was a useful thing to be able to do most times, but she didn’t like it when he tried to micromanage her, so Sophie maybe had a point when she complained about it.

It seemed mostly useful right now though and meant they would be able to fit more stuff in the fridge.

“They were too easy to open,” she told Nate.

“I’ll get everything alarmed once I finish setting my stuff up,” Hardison said from where he was unpacking his electronics and starting to set them up on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.

Sophie had told him he couldn’t use the big table near the kitchen because they needed somewhere to sit and eat, and he was still sulking about it. Parker hadn’t told him yet that there was a big desk up in the sleeping loft, because she hadn’t decided yet if she wanted to share the loft.

“I think the blizzard is going to be pretty good security for us,” Nate didn’t look up from his efforts to use the fridge space as efficiently as possible.

“We got here through it,” Parker shrugged.

“Well, we are rather exceptional,” Sophie offered, “and we barely made it here, but what do you have in mind?”

Parker considered the options. The front door and the back door both pushed inward, so the easiest way to secure them would be to put something heavy in front of them to block them from opening, but they would have to do it in a way that didn’t mess up Hardison’s alarm system. It would be good to do something about the downstairs windows too. They were easy to access and would be easy for someone to break into, but they were also easy exits for the team if they needed to leave in a hurry.

She would usually ask Eliot what he thought, but he was hurt and tired and would come up with better ideas after he got some sleep.

“I think after Hardison gets his system set up we should reinforce the doors,” Parker decided, “then maybe try to do something to secure the downstairs windows.”

“Why don’t we just stick a chair under the door knobs for tonight,” Nate finally turned away from the fridge, having managed to fit everything that needed to be refrigerated in it, “we can do a more thorough job of securing the place tomorrow. It looks like we’re going to be here a couple days, at least.”

Parker nodded her agreement and shoved another handful of cereal in her mouth.

“How do we feel about spaghetti for dinner?” Nate asked, “I think I saw green beans and cherry tomatoes around here somewhere that we can have as a side.”

“I got some of that garlic bread you just toss in the oven too,” Hardison had moved on from connecting cables to actually sitting and working on his laptop, an assortment of small sensors and cameras spread out on the table in front of him.

“Great,” Nate said briskly, then looked back to Parker, “what kind of sauce do you want?”

He gestured to the four jars of pasta sauce lined up on the counter with the other pantry goods that hadn’t been put away yet. There was extra cheesy alfredo, basil marinara, vodka, and four cheese marinara. Sophie and Hardison hadn’t been able to decide, so Parker had dumped them all in the cart. None of them were going to be as good as Eliot’s.

“That one,” Parker pointed to the alfredo; it was white like marshmallows even if it tasted nothing like them.

“Done,” Nate said, then guided Sophie out of the kitchen area with a hand on her back, “we can finish putting the rest of this away after we eat. Go somewhere else so I can cook.”

Sophie huffed, but went to sit on the couch next to Hardison. He handed her the remote to the flat screen tv hung over the fireplace, and she flipped on the weather channel, which seemed a little silly to Parker. It was snowing; they knew it was snowing.

Parker watched Nate in the kitchen for a while while she munched on her cereal. Watching Nate cook wasn’t at all like watching Eliot cook. When Eliot cooked he was focused on the food and he noticed everything about it. He was always tasting things and adjusting things as he went. Parker liked to watch him cook because he always seemed like he was happy, or at least that cooking made him feel better when he wasn’t.

It wasn’t like that with Nate. Nate just made food. He didn’t seem to dislike doing it, but it wasn’t anything special to him. His food wasn’t terrible, but it didn’t taste like Eliot’s. It didn’t taste like it mattered a lot to him, and he wanted it to matter a lot to them.  

Parker heard the water shut off in the bathroom and closed up her cereal, then hopped down from the breakfast bar. She left her cereal on the counter; she could always come back and hide all the boxes of cereal where she wanted them later.

**********

Eliot did feel better after taking a shower, and after giving the diclofenac time to kick in, and after dozing most of the way to the cabin, and he was kind of disgruntled about it. Had his flight not been rerouted twice and the safety of the team abruptly called into question, he would have done all those things much sooner and in the safety of one of his boltholes without anyone else to worry about.

As it was, he was still tired and achy, but at least he felt like he was tracking better. He was content to let the team struggle through figuring out dinner without him, but he did want a better look at the layout of the cabin before he tried to get a little more sleep. There were always things that needed to be taken care of when they first got into a space, especially with Eliot still feeling uneasy about how they had ended up there.

Parker was sitting at the foot of the bed his bags had been on, scribbling away in one of her notebooks. Eliot’s bags had been tossed haphazardly in a corner, but a clean hoodie and a pair of mis-matched wool socks were laying on the bed.

Eliot almost went to find the matching socks, but he was tired still and digging through his bag after Parker had rearranged it probably wasn’t the best use of his limited energy right now.

“Do you want to hear about the cabin?”  Parker asked, turning her notebook so he could see her detailed sketch of the cabin’s layout.

“Sure,” Eliot sat heavily on the edge of the bed and pulled his socks on; at least they were the same type of sock even if the colors were different.

The heat had gone a long way towards loosening up his shoulder, but he should probably get some ice on it soon. He would have to dig his ice packs out of his bag at some point so he could get them in the freezer.

“There are two doors, the front one we came through and one half way down the side of the house the fireplace is on. It goes out to the back porch. I don’t think the locks on them are very good, but Nate said we could stick a chair under the handles for tonight and fix them tomorrow. There are seven windows downstairs, double pane, latch locks that are really flimsy, but we don’t have anything to change them out with. Hardison is putting up cameras and sensors tonight though…”

Eliot shrugged into his hoodie and gave into the urge to lay back against the pillows while Parker talked. She was always thorough with building layouts and security weaknesses, and there was only so much they could do tonight anyway. Hardison’s security systems were always good, and he knew how to maximize the coverage of any space, although the snow and ice were probably going to cause problems for any cameras or sensors he wanted to set up outside.

“...from the outside it looks like there’s a crawl space under the cabin, but I couldn’t find any way into it from the inside, and Nate wouldn’t let me go into it from the outside. He said I’d get too wet or dirty or something, which is kind of stupid because I have clothes and a shower in here,” Parker kept going.

“It’s not good to get wet in this kind of weather, even if you think it will only be for a little bit,” Eliot murmured, “we can take a better look at it tomorrow when it’s light out.”

He really was tired, and there was something soothing about listening to Parker go through every detail of the building; it wouldn’t hurt if he closed his eyes for just a minute or two while he listened.

**********

Parker grinned when she saw Eliot’s eyes close, but she finished telling him about the sleeping loft before she stopped talking. His breathing was deep and even, and it looked like he really was asleep.

When he didn’t push her away while she was covering him with a blanket, she knew he really was asleep. She kissed him on the cheek the way Sophie did sometimes and turned out the light on her way out of the room.

[myhauntedsalem]

Graveyard Shift Workers Share the Scariest Things they’ve Seen in the Dead of Night.

1. The Basement

“I used to work as a graveyard custodian in a building by myself. Now, when I started I was told that the building was pretty weird and that I should stay on my toes. I called bullshit but after working there for a year I was pretty much convinced something weird was happening.

I was riding the elevator to a different floor but instead of going to that floor it went straight into the basement. The doors open and they are open for maybe ten seconds or so and I can’t see anything in this room. All of the sudden a dark figure starts walking towards the elevator and I freaked the f*ck out. I hit the doors to close and the figure just kept getting closer. I ended up standing outside of the building for a half hour or so while the police searched the basement. What really freaked me out is that the one entrance into the basement was locked and barred and they didn’t find anyone down there after searching everywhere.” – Anonymous

2. White Noise

“A phone used to call me on 9-1-1 every night, make horrible screaming sounds or sometimes white noise, and then disconnect. It scared the living sh*t out of me. The number was as a landline for a vacant residence. The officers we sent out every time never found a thing, and I was repeatedly assured that the sounds on the line were due to a faulty phone line or the rain, but it never stopped bothering me.” – QueenCoyote

3. The Presidents Office

“Around 12 years ago I was working security at a small company’s headquarters in New York City. My partner for the night had called in sick, so I had to work from midnight to six all by my lonesome. Now, normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. I just had to sit in the back room, watch some cameras, and occasionally head out for a sweep – nothing to it right? Well as it turns out, one of the employees had stayed in the building after hours, and had managed to avoid my co-worker’s sweep from the previous shift. I first noticed a movement in my peripheral vision on one of the screens, and then again a few minutes later. This was odd, because I was used to quiet nights in this particular building.

I was a little scared when I headed out for my sweep, but it was my job, so I grabbed my flashlight and headed out to begin. I had to start the sweep in one big hallway, and right as I entered, I saw a flash of movement at the end of it. At this point, I was sufficiently freaked out. I stood frozen for a minute or so, looking into the semi-darkness, unsure of what to do. The decision was taken out of my hands, however, as I heard a gunshot resound down the hallway. In what was the scariest moment of my life, I slowly walked down that hallway to investigate. I reached the end, and saw to my left that the president’s office light was on. Slowly, I approached the door and creaked it open, scared shitless. What I saw will forever haunt me. The man had taken a seat in the president’s chair, and shot himself in the head with a pistol, splattering blood and brains all over the floor and the wall. Apparently this guy was having problems at home, and because the president was supposedly a total asshole to him, he decided to off himself and scare the crap out of the president at the same time. In any case, I threw up a few times and called the police. I got the next two weeks off. I still have nightmares about it sometimes.” – guh_graves

4. 6-Foot Extension Cord

“Working the graveyard shift in a small motel, all alone. Had a guest who requested a 6-foot extension cord. Took me a while but I found one, brought it to his room. The housekeeper found him dead the next day, hanged himself with the extension cord.” – greed-man

5. The Hotel Room

I worked night audit at this semi-swanky hotel next to the airport. One night I get a call from a lady in room 204. She says there was arguing, loud banging and crying coming out of 206. I check the computer, no one is checked into that room due to maintenance issues. I called my supervisor to see what to do, she tells me to call on-site security and follow them up with a key. As we get off the elevator we can hear the crying, it’s loud. My heart starts racing as we near the door, so I hand the key to the security guard.

The next five minutes seemed to happen in slow motion, he opens the door and immediately flicks on the light. As we enter the room the shower is on, steam is coming from under the door. There is only one lamp on in the room, it’s super cold, and there is a lady in a red lacy bra black panties, with super red hair curled up crying in the bed. She was facing away from us. She sort of stopped crying and rolled over. When she did, a wave of horror came over me, she was super pale, covered in blood, and was just staring behind us. That’s when we realized the shower had stopped and the door was open. There was a man about 6 ft 5 in standing in the doorway, as we turned around. Cops tazed and arrested him. Turns out he was a rapist who hides in hotel rooms, kidnaps women who stay there, and cuts them open. To this day I will never go to a hotel again.” – ultimabdon316

6. The Locked Door

“I’m currently a janitor at a gym. We have a stairwell that leads down some stairs to a door that doesn’t open because we lost the keys years ago. One night, there was a loud banging sound coming from the door. Sounded like someone was banging it every second for a couple minutes. I stood at the top of the stairs and listened and watched and it stopped. It started up again a few minutes later. I went back up there to see and it stopped again as soon as I got there. Told my manager the next day and had a locksmith come in. He got the door open and it’s just an old supply closet that’s empty. Every so often someone hears a banging sound coming from the door at bottom of the stairs.” – j_shaver

7. Face at the Window

“Was sitting at a desk in front of a good sized window, reading a binder. Sort of had that feeling like someone was watching me, so I looked up and there was a face pressed to the glass. No idea how long he was there before I looked up. Ran out to the foyer where there is a glass door on the porch that should be locked. It wasn’t. He started shaking the door trying to get in. Ran to the next room and he just followed me around the house while I was on the phone with the cops, watching me through the windows. They didn’t catch him. That night. HE CAME BACK the next night. They caught him. Creepy as f*ck.” – theTarafier

8. The Line Goes Dead

“I work as a transporter in a hospital. About two years ago we moved from the old city hospital into a new state of the art facility. The old hospital was built in the 1930s and was showing its age. At night was just plain creepy. Each floor had an east and west wing. The east wing of the fourth floor was the first wing to be shut down about two weeks before the move. One night at around 9:30, I’m up on the floor to get a patient from the west wing. I see a small group of nurses and aides who all used to work on the now closed east wing. They looked visibly shaken. I walked over to see if everything was OK. They told me that they had decided to walk through their old wing for nostalgia’s sake. When they were over there, the phone at the nurse’s station started ringing. The computers and phones had not yet been moved. Not sure what to do, one of the nurses reached over the counter and answered the phone. The nurse told me there was a woman’s voice on the other end and that she sounded confused. This is the conversation as best I can remember it.

‘This is ______. How can I help you?’ asked the nurse.

‘Hello? Who is this?’

‘I’m a nurse. Is there anything I can help you with?’

‘Where I am I?’

‘This is (hospital name). Are you patient here?’

‘Oh. OK.’

Then the line went dead. That’s when the nurse finally looked at the screen on the phone to see where the call was coming from. The phone gave the room number directly next to the nurse’s station. The rooms by this point had all been cleared out and the phones removed. They could see directly into the room and see that there was nobody in there. That’s when they bolted towards the west wing where I was getting off the elevator. I avoided that wing for the rest of my time there.” – Anonymous

9. The Elevator

“Two different times I saw someone get on an elevator as I came around a corner. I said ‘Hold the Door’, as the door started to close, it opened back like someone had hit the button. When I got to the elevator there was no one in it. After that, many times just as I came around that corner, the elevator door would open, and no one was in the elevator.

I had not pushed a call button or anything. I would always say ‘Thanks’ when I got on the empty elevator.” – SteveHRRT

10. Casket Room

“One of my duties at the mortuary I worked for was nighttime body removals. One night, my partner and I showed up around 2 am to grab the paperwork for our removal. When we got inside, we both got the feeling like there was someone there, so we walked through the building, checking to make sure everything was secure, and closing all of the doors. This included the casket room. Everyone hated the casket room. It was freezing cold year round, the lights were always uncomfortably dim no matter what maintenance did to try to fix them, and there was this mannequin in the corner in full military dress that just felt wrong. The only people who weren’t bothered by the room was the cemetery sales staff, and that’s only because they had no souls.

So my partner and I don’t find anyone, so we lock everything up and head out. We get back an hour later, get our new guest logged in, and decide to get a cup of coffee before leaving. He and I walk toward the kitchen, only to find the casket room door open about three feet. It’s almost pitch black in there, and I can barely make out the red in the mannequins uniform. It shouldn’t be that close to the door. My partner and I froze for a second, then I grabbed his wrist and we backed up into the kitchen and straight out the back door. It honestly felt like if we had gotten too close to the casket room door something bad would have happened.

Neither of us would ever go near that room again, even during the day. I could spend time alone in the prep room or crematory no problem, so I’m not easily spooked, but there was something wrong with that room.” – Haceldama

11. “I Want to Play Too”

“I work at a crisis nursery, which is a childcare facility that provides emergency and respite care for children under the age of seven. I used to work graveyards all the time. I have to say first that I am absolutely a non-believer in paranormal stuff. That being said, at two in the morning in a dark room when you and two or three other girls in their twenties are the only adults in the building, sh*t gets creepy sometimes.

The facility I work in was named for a child who was beaten to death by one of their parents. The nursery was started in their name as a way to hopefully prevent another child dying a violent death at the hands of a stressed-out caregiver.

So the story that goes around is that this kid’s spirit haunts the nursery and is mostly active at night. They tell me that one of the reasons that everyone thinks this place is haunted is that many different people have reported different children asking about ‘that kid’ as in, ‘why doesn’t that kid have to go to bed?’ while pointing at nothing. I brush it off, basically forget about it.

A few weeks later, I was in the sleep room (the bedroom where all the kids sleep. There must always be an adult in the room with the children) by myself. I’m just chilling, reading a book with a booklight. The rest of the room is pitch black and silent.

All of a sudden, this kid (probably four or five) sits bolt upright in bed and says, ‘Hey, how come they aren’t asleep? Why do they get to play? I want to play too!’ all while pointing at a wall with no kids anywhere in the vicinity.

Instant crazy shivers all over me. I was so scared I almost screamed. I refused to be alone in there from that moment on.” – word_nerd7623

12. Rosary Beads

“My production lead was Catholic and gave some rosaries away to anyone that wanted them one day. We actually worked swing shift and got off work midnight to 4 am depending on overtime availability. The plant was in a pretty rough part of Fresno, California. One of the guys who took a rosary was young and had just started working so hadn’t saved up money for a car. He walked home every night a couple miles through that area. After swing shift, most people have gone to bed and the streets are pretty empty. It was fall, a little chilly and no moon.

He was walking down a run down block with a field along one side of the street and a couple run down buildings on the other. A woman walked out from behind one of the buildings and straight up to him. She said, ‘I’ll trade you my ring for your rosary.’ He was wearing a sweatshirt with a jacket. The rosary was around his neck under the sweatshirt and not at all visible so he asked, ‘How do you know I have a rosary?’ She didn’t answer the question but said again, ‘I’ll trade you my ring for your rosary.’ At that point he brushed past her and walked away fast.

When he stopped to look back and see where she was, she had disappeared.” – Wineguy33

13. The Abandoned Jail

“I used to work at city hall a few years ago as a security guard. There were abandoned jail cells in the basement that haven’t been used in years and part of my duty was to patrol them for any squatters. It was probably my second time patrolling alone and things started to get really weird. I went down to the old prison/holding cells. It’s a long, narrow hallway with cells on both sides. The hallway was lit by light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. I was walking past the fourth column of cells when the lights went out. I turned my flashlight on and walked back towards the light switch. Right when I was about to turn them back on, the lights flickered on again. I started walking fast past the cells while quickly checking them. I was about halfway through when the lights went off again. I heard two cells slam. I ran with my flashlight on straight toward the other end of the hallway and up to my workstation. I then called my supervisor and asked him if there were any electrical issues that have been reported. He said no. I had two hours left on my shift, and couldn’t leave. I was at my workstation paranoid as f*ck.” – hotbukkake

14. A Cry for Help

“I used to work as a night watchman on a large property. Not just a big building, but a large surrounding property as well. Probably 50 acres.

Well, this property was not in the best of areas. It was kind of secluded but had a subdivision nearby. Anyways it had a really long driveway that was gated. One night I start my rounds by walking out the front door of the place which was all lit up. As soon as I lock the door behind me and take a step I hear a woman’s voice scream “OH MY GOD SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!” up at the end of the driveway. It was somewhat faint and I took five running steps into the driveway, skidded to a stop and ran back inside to call the cops. They responded with multiple police cars and even a helicopter. They found absolutely nothing.

I still think it could have been someone trying to lure me out there.” – dirtymoney

15. Where’s the Exit?

“One of my friends had a job in the hospital looking after patients, making beds etc. I heard he randomly quit his job, wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. I bring some beers over to his house and try to see if I can get him talking, he’s a total emotional wreck. Finally get him to talk and he says that he was working one night in the hospital when he heard a nurse shouting for help because someone was going into cardiac arrest. So he runs down a hallway and some man runs towards him, they almost bump into each other and the man shouts, ‘Where’s the exit?’ My friend points to the exit then runs into the room with the man going into cardiac arrest only to see it’s the exact same person who ran past him in the hallway. He died in front of his eyes.” – 0arussell

[atths--twice]

Chapter Four 

Mid June 1996

Fox took off his suit jacket and tossed it, not caring where it landed. His tie was next and he dropped it as he unbuttoned the top buttons on his shirt. Walking into the kitchen, he paused as he saw a note on the dining room table.

Fox,

There are some casseroles in the fridge. Mrs. Puckett made you one of her famous apple pies and insisted I buy some vanilla ice cream when I brought it over, so there’s some in the freezer. I hope your day wasn’t too stressful, although I know it most likely was.

Love, Dana

It was the love that kept him rooted to the spot, ignoring the growling of his stomach. He stared at the word and despite the horrible day he had, he could not help but smile.

Two weeks after Samantha had let her in, he had waited outside the shop until everyone left the knitting group. Knocking on the door, she had silently allowed him inside, her hand grazing his arm. As they drank their tea, he had pushed a key with a teal ribbon looped through it, across the table to her.

“What is this?” she had asked, staring at him.

“I… I know it’s forward-”

“Incredibly so. Two months we’ve known each other. We’re not… we don’t…” She had shaken her head and he had sighed with a nod.

“I know. And I’m not asking anything from you. I just…” He had sighed again and ran a hand across his mouth. “I’m not usually a trusting person, but I trust you.” He had stared at her, trying to tell her so much, but the words getting caught in his throat. “I can’t explain it, but I trust you.” She had stared at him and slowly nodded, her hand covering his and he had grasped her fingers like a lifeline.

So, for the past few months she had come into his apartment like a fairy ninja- small but mighty. She had left him encouraging notes, items she had knitted- her mind obviously needing to shut off for a while, and food. So much food, that sometimes he had to take it to his neighbors as he would never eat it all before it spoiled.

As the preparation for the trial began to consume him, she had become his saving grace, showing up when even he had not known he needed her.

Bringing over a movie, popcorn, and candy one night, they had sat silently in the dark, her hand in his, her thumb stroking in slow circles.

One afternoon, after a long night of insomnia, he had woken to find a small bouquet of daffodils in a vase on his dining room table.

To brighten even the darkest day, the accompanying note had said and he had smiled, his fingers tracing over her words. 

One night he had gotten up, once more unable to sleep and intended to take a drive to help clear his head. When he opened the door however, he had found a brown paper bag. Inside there had been two boxes of tea and a black tea kettle in a box. One box of tea had been flavored and the other only chamomile.

To help you sleep, she had written on the box and he had shaken his head as he brought the items inside, wondering when she had been there and why she had not brought it inside.

He had unboxed and washed the tea kettle, filled it with water and took two bags of chamomile from the box. Pacing as he waited for the water to boil, he had thought about calling her, but decided to wait until morning.

He drank his tea slowly after it had cooled slightly. Taking out the needles and yarn, hoping the combination of the two would help, he had knitted a few rows before his eyes had begun to grow heavy. Drinking the last swallow of tea, he had set his knitting down and put the mug in the sink. He made his way to the bedroom and fell into bed with a sigh, finally able to sleep.

During all of the stress and worry, she had been there, helping to keep him sane.

Shaking his head as he set her note down, he walked into the kitchen to get a piece of the apple pie Mrs. Puckett had made. She was an amazing cook and when he had the time again, he wanted to ask her for some recipes.

Opening the fridge, it sat front and center, causing his mouth to water. Taking it out, he placed it on the counter and took out a knife, setting it on the counter to grab a plate, foregoing dinner for a slice of something sweet.

“Really? Without me?”

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled, not having heard the door opening.

“Sorry,” Dana said with a smirk and he shook his head, his heart pounding.

“I didn’t hear you come in. Maybe I should rethink that key I gave you.” He narrowed his eyes at her and she hummed.

“I don’t think you really mean that.” She opened the freezer and took out the vanilla bean ice cream, placing it beside the pie. He smiled at her choice, as she always chose the most decadent of brands, insisting that ice cream was not the place where one should save money.

“I don’t mean it. You’ve got me there.” She hummed again as she took out the silverware and ice cream scooper.

“Come on, I’ve been waiting for you to come home so I could have some of this pie.”

“Oh… you’ve been waiting for me?” She stared at him and he knew she had, knowing what today had been. “Right.”

He nodded and lightly rubbed her back before he took down two bowls and cut the pie. She added two scoops of ice cream for each of them, placed spoons inside the bowls, and took them to the table. He poured them each a glass of milk, put the ice cream back in the freezer, and joined her.

They ate and drank in silence, aside from their occasional hums of pleasure. When it was down to the last bit of ice cream, she looked at him and he sighed. Setting his spoon down, he nodded.

“It was hard,” he said quietly. “Hearing my partner talk about that day, hearing her version of events… Even though we were both there, what we saw and experienced was similar, but also different. Our stories line up, but what I remember is slightly altered from hers.”

“What did she say? You can talk about it now as she’s already had her time in the stand?”

“Yeah. I’m up tomorrow. So…”

“I understand.”

“She told them that that day we had been called out, following a lead on a case. We didn’t know there was anyone in the empty building, weren’t sure anyway.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “We had our weapons out, just in case, sweeping the rooms as we cleared them. I didn’t see him. Didn’t…”

And then suddenly he was back there, in that room, hearing the sound of footsteps as everything seemed to slow down. The kid walked in front of him and stopped, a gun in his hand.

Yelling for him to drop it, his partner Eve Lansing, appeared beside him. They both yelled for him to put the gun down but he did not, holding it on them, his eyes scared. His arm swung towards Eve and Fox saw his finger squeezing the trigger.

He stepped in front of her, shielding her and aiming his weapon at the kid. They shot at the same time, the kid’s shot hitting his shoulder and his own hitting the kid’s chest, dropping him to the ground.

“After that moment… it’s a bit hazy. I remember hearing Eve screaming my name, heard her calling in our location, and then the pressure of her hands on me. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up the next day.” He opened his eyes and looked at her.

Tears were running down her cheeks and her hands were covering her mouth. His leg began to bounce nervously, not knowing what to say. She wiped her eyes and reached for his hand. He grasped it and she shook her head.

“I had no idea,” she whispered. “Why… why did you step in front of her? You… you nearly died.”

“Eve has a husband and a little girl, not even two years old. I couldn’t… she couldn’t grow up without her mom.”

“Oh, Fox.” She reached forward and wrapped her arms around his neck and he held her, closing his eyes once again. “I’m so sorry that happened. So sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him. I would never want that.” He shook his head, tears pricking at his eyes. “But I had to protect her and her family.”

He felt her nod and he held her tighter as they sat in silence, finding comfort in being held.

____________________

He stood on the large porch of his family’s lake house, the September air warm, and took a deep breath as he looked out at the water.

“So... how long are you planning on staying out here?” Samantha asked, setting down a bag of groceries. He turned around and smiled at her.

“I don’t know. Maybe a month?”

“Or as long as you can stand being away from Dana,” she teased and he shrugged, knowing she was right.

“The trial is over and even though it went as I had thought it would, I quit my job. I just couldn’t go back there. These past few months have been hard, despite the positive aspects of it-”

“Like Dana?” She grinned and he nodded with a smile.

“Especially Dana.”

“Ooooo, Fox and Dana sitting in a tree,” she sang and he tried to grab her. She escaped his grasp, laughing as she did.

“How old are you?” he asked and she stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

“So when is she coming up?” She started to empty the bags of groceries and he joined her.

“What makes you think she is?” She gave him a look and he laughed.

“Wine, chocolates, these cookies which I know Dana likes… yeah you’re not the only detective. Oh... you know what I mean.” She shook her head and he nodded, taking the cookies from her.

“Friday after work and she’s staying for the weekend.”

“Reeeeeeally?” she drawled with a grin and he shook his head.

“Nothing like that. Stop.”

“What? Really?”

“We’re taking things slow. It’s what I need right now. I don’t want to mess this up. She means a lot to me.”

“I know she does. I can see it.” She smiled and patted his face. “You deserve a woman like her.” He smiled and they continued putting away the groceries.

__________________

“I can’t believe you made this yourself. It’s so good,” Dana said, dipping her bread in the remaining tomato sauce on her plate and putting it in her mouth.

“Are you suggesting I can’t make a meal?” he teased and she smiled.

“I wasn’t directly, but…” He laughed and picked up their plates, taking them to the kitchen. She followed with the other dishes and they quickly cleaned the kitchen.

“How about a glass of wine on the porch?” he asked and she smiled.

“That sounds great. I’m just gonna use the bathroom real quick.”

Pouring them each another glass of wine, he brought them onto the porch and went back inside for a couple of blankets. It was warm during the day, but the nights were sometimes chilly.

When she came out, she was wearing the gray cardigan he knew she loved. The pockets were deep and she had often expressed how all clothes should have similar pockets.

He handed her her glass and a blanket as they sat in the porch chairs. They were quiet as they listened to the water lapping against the dock and the crickets singing around them.

“Dana?”

“Hmm?”

“I wanted to thank you for these past few months.”

“Fox-”

“No. Please let me say this,” he said, setting his glass down and turning towards her. “I didn’t… I knew I was angry and I knew I was taking it out on people who didn’t deserve it, but it’s as if I didn’t know how much until we spoke. Until you shared your story and it seemed okay that I was feeling the way I had been. My therapist told me, but…” He smiled at her and she reached out her hand to him. He took it and stared at her fingers as he ran his thumb over them.

“You saved me, as corny as you may think that sounds, you did. Your kindness and acceptance when others had judged me for what happened, it meant everything to me. You didn’t have to do that, you could have asked me to leave and I would have understood.” He shook his head as he raised her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles as he stared at her. “Thank you, Dana. For seeing me. For saving me.”

“Fox…” She pushed up from the chair and sat on his knee, her arms around his neck. He held her, his heart beginning to repair as she whispered his name, her fingers rubbing his neck.

The first time he kissed her, a bullfrog croaked very close and extremely loud, causing him to jump, and she laughed against his lips.

_______________________

“So you think I can do this?” he asked Mrs. Scully quietly as they stood at the food table decorated with witches and ghosts. They were taking a break from the usual knitting and he was adding his latest baking endeavor- peanut butter and marshmallow squares.

“Yum!” Emilia said, grabbing one and running away. He laughed and looked at Mrs. Scully.

“Seriously? You think I can.”

“I do. And I’ll help with anything you need.”

“Thank you.”

And so a secret project began, one that was incredibly difficult to hide from Dana as she was always with him, but he would not have it any other way.

He took two weeks away from her, telling her he had a vacation planned with his mom and sister. But, there was no vacation planned and instead he went to Mrs. Scully’s home and she showed him how to knit and purl, use different needles, and knit in the round. He was overwhelmed at first, but as he became more sure of himself, he found he could do it.

He knitted until late in the night, finally finding his insomnia good for something. It was not a perfect job, but for his first attempt, he was quite proud of how well he did. Mrs. Scully did have to step in sometimes when he simply could not figure it out. The needles fairly flew, as though enchanted, when they were held in her capable fingers.

He smiled as he watched it taking shape, excited for the moment when he would be able to show Dana what he had accomplished.

He had asked what her favorite color was, which yarn she would pick if she were to give a gift to someone she really cared about. She had smiled and walked to the wall of yarn, taking down the periwinkle.

“This one. I always think I’d like to make something for myself in this color, but…”

“Why haven’t you?”

“I don’t know. It seems too… nice to use on me. Like it should be a special occasion or I don’t know. But I would definitely make someone else a gift with it.” She had smiled and he nodded, touching the soft yarn.

Someone had called to her and when Mrs. Scully had walked by, he asked her to get as many as he would need to make Dana a sweater, because she deserved to have something made for her with that yarn.

It was finished just before Christmas and he was nervous with excitement on Christmas Eve when she came over to spend the evening with him.  

Snow covered her gray knitted cap and her coat when he opened the door, surprised she had not let herself in.

“I couldn’t get to my keys,” she laughed, her hands full of bags of gifts. He took them from her, but still she stood in the doorway.

“Have you become a vampire? Do I need to invite you in?” he teased and she laughed, shaking her head. “Then what…” She pulled something from her pocket and he laughed when she handed it to him.

“No bullfrogs tonight,” he whispered as he held the mistletoe over her head and leaned in to kiss her. She laughed, grabbing handfuls of his shirt, and kissed him back.

Lifting her slightly, he brought her inside, spinning her around and setting her back down. She giggled as she took off her hat and unbuttoned her coat.

“God, it smells good in here,” she said as she took off her coat and he smiled at her dark green sensible sweater.

“I’m glad you think so, I’ve made everything from scratch.”

“Have you really? You’re becoming quite the chef.” He smiled and she kissed him again before walking into the kitchen and sniffing loudly.

They had a delicious meal of ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls he had made that were nearly lighter than air. She ate three of them and had two helpings of ham before she groaned and leaned back, rubbing at her stomach.

“Seriously, that was delicious.”

“Thank you.” He smiled and she grinned. “Should we open gifts?”

“Yes!” She jumped up and he laughed, watching her take out the gifts from her bags.

Soon there was a little pile before him where he sat cross legged on the floor. A stocking was laid on top and his eyes widened.

“I uh… I wasn’t expecting this.”

“You’re dealing with the Scully women now. You’re lucky I didn’t show up with a tree and decorations. Next year that might be different, so be prepared.”

“Next year?” he asked hopefully and she stared at him.

“I hope so,” she whispered and he nodded happily. “Okay! Stocking first!”

“Then you should get yours too,” he said, nodding to the green stocking hanging from the fireplace. She jumped up excitedly and he laughed. Coming back to join him, they sat staring at each other as they held their stockings.

“Same time?”

“Okay!” She smiled and they dumped out their stockings.

He laughed at the things she had placed inside. A little magnet shaped like a ball of yarn, chocolate kisses, a Rubik’s cube, and two spatulas. She laughed at hers: a bullfrog figurine at full croak, dark chocolate bars, a pack of sticky notes for all the notes she liked to leave, and a lapel pin that said You keep me in stitches with a ball of yarn in the background.

“Thank you,” she said, putting on her pin with a smile.

“And thank you!” He pretended to mix stuff with the spatulas and she laughed.

The other gifts were from her and her mother. Mrs. Scully gave him a cookbook and new plastic mixing bowls. Dana had made him a dark gray scarf and a cap to match. He put them on right away, pulling her close for a kiss when she adjusted the scarf.

“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing her again. She hummed and kissed him before pulling back.

Standing up, he left the room to get her gift, his heart racing. Sitting down in front of her, he handed her the square package wrapped in snowman paper and tied with a green ribbon.

She smiled as she untied the ribbon and slid it off the package. Ripping the paper, he let out a breath, swallowing hard. She lifted the lid and set it down beside her. Peeling back the red tissue paper, she gasped, her eyes lifting to his.

“What? Oh, Fox.” She took the sweater out of the box, shaking her head as she looked at it. “You made this?”

“I did.” He swallowed again and she looked at him with tears in her eyes.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not exactly perfect.”

“It is.”

“You haven’t even seen it all.” He laughed and she shook her head.

“You made it. And it has pockets. I love it.” She stood up and he did too, watching her taking off her sweater, and putting the new one on over her camisole. “You’re sneaky, asking me which yarn I would use for someone else and getting it for me.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, looking at the way it fit her perfectly. “Turn around, let me see.” She did and when she turned back around, her hands were in the pockets and she smiled happily.

“This is so beautiful. I can’t believe you did this.”

“Your mom helped.”

“Sneaky, the both of you.” She smiled and took her hands from her pockets and placed them on his face. “I love it. I… I love you.” He grinned and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“God, Dana. I love you too. So much.”

_____________________

2010

“Hey! What did I tell you about using the wooden spoons?”

“To use the scorched ones.”

“Right! Let’s switch!”

“Dad! Where’s the chocolate sauce?”

“Top shelf, love! The stepstool is in the pantry if you need it.”

“I can reach it, I’m tall enough!”

“Daddy!”

“My love!”

“Whose idea was it to have this many children?” Fox laughed as he turned to look at his wife and she shook her head with a smile.

“I believe it was you, my dear,” he said, pulling her close and kissing her as their oldest daughter made a disgusted sound.

“I don’t remember the last one being part of the deal,” she teased quietly and he remembered how the last one had come to be.

“Blame the bottles of wine and the fact that your mother volunteered to give us a weekend away.” He grinned and she smiled, tracing a heart with her finger, right over the one tattooed on his chest.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” Dana had said to him the night after he had asked her to marry him, her fingers tracing the scar from the bullet wound that had led them to one another. “Or outside your chest. I love that about you so much.”

The next day, they had gone to a tattoo shop at her insistence, and he had a heart tattooed over his old scar, asking for it to be teal, like the walls in the yarn shop.

“The color of happiness,” he had said and she had smiled as she watched the teal heart cover the puckered skin.

Every one of their children had asked why he had a blue heart instead of a red one, their small fingers tracing it as they were held in his arms.

“Blue doesn’t always mean sadness, my loves, sometimes blue can be the happiest color in the world.”

“Like Mommy’s part of the shop?” they had asked and he had nodded with a smile.

The little shop had grown over the years as they bought the building next door and turned it into a cafe. The name had changed as well, and was now known as Knit Knacks and Snacks. People came in to eat and then join in on a knitting lesson, taught by Dana’s mother, Dana, or their oldest daughter.

And every night, when the shops were closed, the little family would turn on music and get the Knacks side of the shops ready for the next day. The Snacks side… Well, many new recipes were created after hours with many willing tasters ready to try anything with chocolate.

“Dad! The biscuits!”

“Oof!” He stepped away from Dana and ran to the oven, opening it to find they were the perfect color. “Crisis averted!”

“Hooray!”

He took the biscuits out and everyone came together to the counter. Six plates were laid down, a biscuit placed on each one and cut in half. Cut strawberries in a sugary liquid were scooped onto the biscuits, soaking it in deliciousness. Freshly made whipped cream was placed on top and the plates were distributed.

They all sat down and ate their special Friday night treat, the youngest getting it all over his shirt, his grin red and happy.

Fox looked at all of them, this family of his and he shook his head. Dana took a tissue from the pocket of her periwinkle sweater and wiped their son’s face, with a shake of her head.

“See how handy these pockets have been?” she asked with a smile and he laughed.

His heart was full and he felt happier than he ever imagined was possible. "I love you, Mulder clan." 

"Wuv you too, Bab.” Came their responses, all of their mouths full of strawberry shortcake, and he laughed once more.

[kat-hawke]

Returning Home

(Following [The Not-So-Dead] & [Strangers and Old Habits])

The walk from Stormwind to the cabin on the far side of Elwynn was a bittersweet feeling of familiar. The light-hearted conversation passed the time as Kat occasionally glanced at the dagger Riley carried, careful not to be obvious with her wandering eyes. Odell, as always, napped in the treeline at the end of the clearing. The fox lifted his head to inspect the pair as they approached the front porch, huffing as he curled up again. Kat paused as she began to open the door, staring at the handle in her hand with a nervous breath before forcing it open. The home was still in disarray. The level of dust had grown since Riley's last visit. Slowly Kat stepped into the main room, her eyes sweeping over the mess in silence.

"Can I get you that drink?" Riley offered from the doorway as she unshouldered her bag.

"More like a bottle," Kat muttered as she kicked an empty glass on the floor with her boot. With another anxious breath, she pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closed. "Wot a fuckin' mess..."

Riley retrieved two bottles from her bag with a small grin, holding each by the neck in either hand. "I've got ya covered there," she mused, stowing one of the bottles in the crook of her opposite arm so she could deal a reassuring squeeze to Kat's shoulder with the free hand. "And it's nothing that can't be fixed, yeah?" 

Kat mirrored the smile, weak as it was, as she glanced over at Riley before eying the bottles. "Ya've never disappointed, luv'."

She leans down to pluck an empty bottle from the floor to deposit into a waste bin on her way into the kitchen, the resulting 'clunk' seeming to echo through the otherwise quiet home.

Moving into the center of the room, Kat watched Riley make her way towards the kitchen in the far corner, an empty bottle plucked from the floor along the way, and dropped into the waste bin, resulting in a 'clank' which echoed in the cabin. 

"It's no' about that, it's just—" Kat let out another heavy exhale, nudging and empty bottle on the floor with her boot. "—yeah, the place can be fixed. But can I? I hardly remember any of this. It's all flashes like a skipping record. What I remember most was the feeling of being empty, and how intoxicating it was as I drowned m'self in whiskey and azerite."

"I think," Riley paused, uncorking one of the bottles, "after everything you've been through, the fact that you're even standing there, to begin with, is proof enough that you've got what it takes to get there - where ever 'there' is." A gentle shrug was offered, but not in any dismissive way - her tone was genuine, as was the sentiment behind it. "I can't imagine what that must have been like." She shook her head gently, taking a cloth to the two cleanest glasses she could find. "And I'm not gonna try. But I gotta wonder what it was that led you there, to begin with..." The question is gently probing but understandably pointed.

"An Old God," Kat answered in a monotone, "by the time I knew it was too late. I took lives, traded pieces of m'self for power. It's funny because the subtly and level of manipulation makes me feel... Envious?" Kat dropped into the seat, pushing several depleted azerite crystals and shards from the couch to the floor. Thinking, only for a brief moment, if she too could achieve such a subtle level of manipulation. "I can't undo some of th' things I've done, the people I've hurt."

"Ah. Right." Riley nodded, knocking back the contents of her glass before refilling it immediately. She takes the other glass by hooking a finger into the rim to carry in-hand with the bottle, pausing to drop the glass off on the coffee table. "I could sit here and feed you the whole 'It gets easier with time' bullshit, but you and I both know that's all the line is." She offers this as a gentle tease, though there's some obvious truth in the statement. "What I can say is if there's anyone that can find a way to navigate that path, it's you. Never known you to back down from a challenge, doubt that'll change anytime soon." She adds the last bit with a hint of a familiar smirk, helping herself to a healthy pull from her glass.

"Too stubborn for m'own good sometimes," Kat added with a faint smirk of her own. "Challenge is wot started the who mess, but I appreciate the sentiment all th'same." Scooping up the glass, she quickly knocked back the contents, holding out the empty vessel for a refill. Pulling her eyes from the mess littering the floor, Kat looked to Riley. 

"And you?" She gently probed. "I sat on the roof across from your shop every Wednesday, watching the dust collect on the windows."

After refilling Kat's glass Riley slumped onto the couch, ignoring the dust that flew into a plume around her, focusing instead on her drink. "I thought about that," she murmured, huffing a sigh as the weight of Kat's words settled onto her shoulders. "About the fact that you had no way of knowing what happened, and I had no way of telling you." With another large swig from the glass, Riley paused, setting her gaze on the amber contents as the drink was gently swirled. 

"I know I told you my family was all dead - that I'd lost them all before I came to live in Stormwind. That's not true. I've got a brother. The kind of brother you grow up never talking about - not even with those closest to you." Riley sat forward in her seat, pursing her lips to the side for a moment as she looked up to meet Kat's gaze. "I've got something he wants, as it turns out. And while the 'what' and the 'why' of it all is lost on me, it took him a long time to figure out that I wasn't lying every time I said I didn't know what the fuck he was talking about." 

She rolled her shoulders in a shrug, a pained attempt at a smile taking residence on her features. "I'm sorry I put you through that. I really am."

"I could have helped..." Kat spoke above a whisper, leaning forward and placing a hand on Riley's arm. "I didn't know where t'look or where t'start, but I wanted anything and everything to help." Exhaling out a sigh of her own, Kat took a generous swig from the glass and sank back against the cushion. 

"And I'm sorry I put you through the same. As we agreed, though, never again." Her foot nudged Riley's leg, and the faintest of smirks touched her lips. "Where is he now? Will he be a problem again? Is there anything I can do?"

"We didn't exactly part on good terms," Riley paused for a split second. "I imagine he'll reach out again at some point, but I doubt he'll go about it in the same way. I can give you enough information for one of your files, that way you'll know where to start if it turns out he is foolish enough to pull that shit again." She met Kat's gaze then, reclining back into her seat with as relaxed a sigh as she could manage. "I should have told you about him a long time ago. Just one of those things I thought I could bury and forget about until it simply... faded into obscurity, y'know?" A chuckle rumbled within her throat at the thought.

"Anything is better than nothin'. The file can wait until another time. But if he dares touch ya' again, I'll bury my blade in him. Personally." The signature tone of a threat hung in Kat's voice as she looked towards the cold hearth. Killing the last of her whiskey and shaking her head as she promptly refilled the glass. "I know th' feelin', of ignorin' and tryin' to forget about something. Pushin' it deep and hopin' it becomes obscure and lost t'time. Take from me, luv', that shit just doesn' work." In a blink, her eyes shifted back to Riley. 

"I'm sorry ya' had t'see all this." A finger lifted from the glass to indicate the cabin which sat in disarray. "This is where ya' found—" Kat nearly choked on her words in the abrupt pause. "—her?"

"I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out how to start this conversation, so I'm glad you're the one to bring it up," Riley paused to empty her drink down the back of her throat. Setting the glass aside before her hand fell to the hilt of the dagger, Kat had been eyeing all evening and removed its encasing sheath from her hip. 

"Ya' know me. Right t'the point." Kat tried to joke, the fake smile faltering in a pained expression as Riley removed the dagger.

The backs of Riley's wrists rested against her knees, the sheathed dagger draped across open palms, brow furrowed with inner conflict she didn't even try to hide as she looked down at the dagger and then back up to Kat, who eyed the blade with apparent anxiety and shifted in her seat. The nail of her forefinger dug into the side of her thumb, hard enough to draw a drop of blood. The lower lip was tugged inward by teeth, and breath hitched as a lump in Kat's throat. Water welled in the eyes, and she had to look away. 

"She's still alive, then?"

Riley's dark brows pulled a little tighter together, and her voice was hesitant in tone when she finally did speak up a moment later. "Do you... remember what happened?" Her uncertainty appears honest, as does her desire to tread carefully. "Any of it..?"

Kat winced. Face scrunching as lips were curled inward, shifting in anxiously again in her seat, one arm wrapping tightly around her core, still looking away towards the bedroom door. "Wot—" Kat's voice broke, she cleared her throat and tried again. "—Do ya' know? Wot did she say?" With a trembling lower lip, she hesitantly looked towards Riley again, locking their eyes together. The pain and guilt ran deep into Kat's core, and she couldn't hide it.

"Enough to understand why you're looking at me like that..." it was meant to be a gentle jab - an attempt at levity -, but there was no denying the seriousness of what they were about to get into. "I may have coaxed more information out of her than she wanted to give, but you know what they say about old habits. Whatever you're still holding onto that's making you anxious about what I'm thinking - you can go right ahead and let go of it. I'm not here to judge." Riley shook her head. "And whatever happened between the two of you - despite what happened between you - you should know that she's been desperate to find you this whole time. I couldn't have done it without her help - she's been my guide through all of it, really."

Kat's nervous twitches continued as Riley spoke, her thumbnail now raking across the fingertips, pausing at each one to pick at the skin. "It wasn't me...not completely." She finally breathes out in a shaky voice. "Towards the end, memories become patchy. I've been worried, afraid she didn't survive." Reaching for the bottle, she inhaled a gulp of whiskey from the container directly. "I know that regardless of wot I say, I can't make it right."

"No one's asking you to," Riley offers gently, pausing her thought with a sigh. "Least, not either of us - I can only speak honestly about the things I know, and I imagine that's just a drop in the bucket with all you've dealt with, but you've still got folks in your corner. You don't have to go through it alone." Reaching out across the space between them, Riley places her hand atop Kat's. 

"I know..." Kat whispers between gulps of whiskey. Her hand stopped the nervous twitch. Instead, her fingers were gently gliding across Riley's. "Thank you..." 

A moment of heavy silence hung between them before Riley gently spoke. "Do... do you want to talk to her?"

Kat looked anxiously towards the dagger, unsure what to expect. A fight, empty apologies, bitterness, acceptance. The overwhelming pressure was enough to warrant another massive gulp of whiskey. 

"Do ya' think I should?"

"I do," Riley affirms, offering a nod. With that, Riley takes hold of the blade within its sheath, breaking contact with the hilt after a small hesitation to hand it out for Kat to take. "I know she's desperate to hear your voice again..."

An amused huff broke the guilty expression as Kat shook her head, biting her lip again as she glanced down at the dagger. With a deep breath to calm the nerves, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around the handle of the blade.

Immediately the familiar sensation of connection pummeled into Kat's consciousness. The ability to feel the lifeforce, the soul, bound within the dagger, left her dazed and twisted with emotions. Riley sank into the couch with a quiet sigh of relief, content to sit, and carefully monitor the situation at hand for the time being.

"Hey..." Alyssa's voice broke the awkward silence, echoing within Kat's skull and threatening to bring tears to her eyes again.

With another slow exhale, Kat cracked her necked and responded in an equally lackluster, "hey."

"Think I'll win some kinda magical award or something for figuring out how to put a dormant soul back together?"

"I'll put something together for you, but I never had my doubts you'd figure it out." The anxiety and guilt Kat harbored was nearly palpable as she covered up the lie. There was no plan when she ejected Alyssa through the scroll of recall; the only concern was removing her from inevitable destruction. "I was worried you didn't survive."

"I'm glad we both survived," Alyssa's replied, her overwhelming emotional state is pure relief at the moment. "It's good to hear your voice again. Really good. I...don't know if I would have, without Riley. You pick good friends."

"She's..." Kat trailed off a bit as her eyes shifted from the dagger in her lap to Riley at the end of the couch, who was finishing off another glass of whiskey. "...yeah. Glad she ain't dead, and that she's the one who found you." 

Kat drew the dagger from the sheath and spun it over in her hand. A thumb running over the edge of the blade as she sat in silence, inspecting the dagger and the glowing engraving. "It looks like she's taken great care of the blade. You two playing nice?"

"I think so. She's been... We both needed someone to lean on during this. I owe her dinner when—" Alyssa paused abruptly "—If." She leaves the rest of that unsaid, but Kat knew where the thought was going "We've been worried. She's probably said everything I'd want to say. We thought you were gone."

"She's said a lot. But we all know there aren't enough words to describe how we feel." 

Kat's eyes narrowed skeptically, looking to Riley again as she inquired. "She ask ya' t'kill anyone?"

"Oh yeah," Riley responds, nodding a few times before standing and making her way over towards the kitchen. "Couple of times." There's an air of acceptance to her words, even while offered up in mild jest - she seems neither disturbed by the admittance nor surprised by the inquiry.

Kat's tongue pocketed in the corner of a cheek as a low hum rolled in her throat, skeptically concerned about that answer as she focused on Alyssa again. 

"I'm sorry. For everything."

"I can't say I understand why things went the way they did." Alyssa responded with a mix of emotions, "I think you know after everything we went through, though, that I don't hold it against you. Thank you for saying it." 

There was another pause as Kat's emotions churned again with guilt and grief, tying knots in her stomach and threatening to send the whiskey back up. "I don' know wot I know anymore. I hardly remember things towards the end."

"A lot of things got said. I remember it all, but I don't know what was real and what wasn't. It was in both our minds by then. It's over now. We both came out on the other side."

"Did we?" There was a pain in Kat's words. "The things I did, there's no going back from that. For months my actions weren't my own. Even now, I feel as if I'm waiting for a veil to be lifted, and this all to be another trick of the mind."

Alyssa was taken aback, and a long pause followed before she replied. "Months... I never knew how long— This is real though, Riley and me, we won't let it not be.  Maybe you can't come back from all of it, but we're here."

"It was there, in my mind, whispering and goading me on when I—" Kat choked and couldn't finish the sentence. Her legs curled up on the cushion, and her head dipped, forehead resting on the dagger's pommel held tightly in a fist at the top of her knees. "Some of us are more here than others, and that's the problem. I don't know how to fix my biggest mistake."

It wasn't until Kat curled up that Riley stepped away from the cutting board in the kitchen and moved to stand beside Kat's seat, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. "I know this is probably a stupid question, but are you alright?"

"I've missed her," Kat whispers in the curled-up state. 

"We'll figure it out," Alyssa attempts to reassure, "hell, I'm an expert in soul magic and near as I can tell, even without it's influence you seem to be too.  If anyone can—"

"And if it does more damage? Or worse..." Kat interrupted

"What's worse?" Alyssa challenged. "...nothing worth doing was ever easy, right?"

Kat sucked in another uneasy breath, looking out to the cold hearth as Riley's hand squeezed her shoulder. "If I can find a way, what does it mean for us?"

Alyssa hesitated in her response. "What do you want it to mean for us? Can we rebuild that we had?"

"I'm asking you." 

Kat's teeth clenched before she glanced over her shoulder towards Riley and painfully whispered again. "I don't understand."

"That seems perfectly understandable to me..." Riley's uncertainty is palpable in her tone, though she offers another reassuring squeeze to Kat's shoulder all the same.

"You might not remember the last moments. I said, I love you, and I meant it." Alyssa's tone ached. "We can rebuild."

Kat paused there, wetting her lips and looking to the floor. "I said it too, and I meant it..."

"Then we'll try. If we figure this out. I'll get clean, and we'll go from there." Alyssa spoke in faint relief.

"Yeah... Yeah, maybe..." Kat's attention pulled back into reality as Alyssa echoed back the same response, sounding unhappy with the way Kat had said it.

To Kat, it didn't make sense, with how easily Alyssa seemed to let it go. It played on her paranoia, and her mind raced with a dozen scenarios of freeing the woman from the dagger. Some tragic while others were wholesome, but Kat's returning thoughts of abandonment plagued each projected outcome, even the fear of becoming the dagger's next inhabitant out of spite.

"It started right there," Kat pointed the dagger at the empty hearth, addressing Riley again. "Our voices raised, I shoved her against the stones. Then it ended over there," the dagger pointed towards the dining table next. "That's where I plunged this blade into her gut, after beating her with a candelabra." Kat's voice cracked and broke as she relived the scene, tears beginning to fall, all while maintaining a simple conversation with Alyssa in her head. "And she just...forgives me? I don't understand."

Riley followed the narrative; her gaze was tracing each location the dagger highlighted. "I know this doesn't need to be pointed out - least of all by me - but she loves you. Regardless of... how things progressed, she knows it wasn't all you there. At the end." Pausing, Riley gave herself a moment to breathe a sigh. "I wish I knew what else to say... but she never gave up on you."

"She tell ya' why I did it?" Kat's watery gaze shifted towards Riley again, lips pursing in a mix of self-loathing and sorrow.

"She didn't talk about it a lot. What happened, anyway," Riley reached up with her free hand to deal an idle rub to the back of her neck. "From what she did say, though, it seems like you did it to save her. That's how she explained it in a roundabout way."

"Yeah," Kat stated coldly as she wiped away a tear. She was making the conscious decision to change the narrative in hopes of clearing her guilt. 

"The fel was gettin' the better of her. Got to th' point where it would have been her or me." Pushing up to her feet, Kat paced slowly across the rug, eyeing the hearth. "Said before she'd get clean, but didn't. Told me about someone she loved and killed, how else was I supposed to react when the fel comes out in an argument?" Arms lifted with the rhetorical question. 

"If I put her back into a body, she'll walk out on me and go right back into hurtin' people. Tryin' to play us..." The pacing stopped, and Kat chewed on her lip again before firing a loaded question. "Let me guess; she told ya' to kill someone so she could regain strength? To repurpose th' soul?"

"I mean, yeah... but it was all with helping you in mind," Riley interjects, brow furrowed. "She was there with me when I found you in Uldum. She took what we were able to collect and did... whatever it is you do with soul energy... to see if we could bring you back. Somehow." 

Kat shook her head a bit, to make it more apparent how crazy it sounded even if she knew the truth.

"I felt what she felt, Kat..." Riley motioned faintly towards the dagger. "She probably could have made me do whatever she wanted once that link was established. She didn't. She left it up to me."

"That's the thing about manipulation. Feels like yer choice, until it isn't." Kat pointed the dagger at the table, the spot of the murder, again. "Felt like my choice at the time, but in reality, I was watching as it happened, helplessly through m'own eyes. Until I was finally left with my thoughts as I held her body." 

Nesting the weapon in two hands, Kat looked down upon the glowing engravings of the dagger. "But I still love her..."

"I know you do..." Riley responded gently.

Pacing again, Kat scooped up the whiskey bottle in one hand, tipping the bottom skyward in a deep chug. Her emotions and expressions were scattered, fingers pressing to the side of her head as the dagger hung upside-down and ran parallel to her wrist. 

"I've missed you." 

"I missed you too. I love you, Kat." 

"I love you." Kat echoes back with emotional strain. "I don't know what'd I'd have done if you didn't make it."

"Tell me I'm just paranoid." Kat's voice broke again as she looked back to Riley, sounding more like a plea as she choked on the final syllable. She was tearing herself apart from the inside out, slipping right into her self-destructive nature.

"Hey..." Riley stepped forward, gently coaxing the bottle from Kat's grasp and setting it aside. Taking Kat's face into both her hands to meet and hold her gaze with a sense of gentle purpose, she spoke softly. "I can't tell you what I don't know. You could be right - I obviously don't know Alyssa as well as you do, but I know I trust my gut, and it led me to trust her." She paused, exhaling a small sigh. 

"She never even mentioned returning to her former... self, until I brought it up - she only ever seemed keen on finding you." Riley let her hands slip from Kat's face, falling then to her shoulders. "You've been through the fucking ringer, Kat. There's a lot to unpack here, just give yourself a break."

Kat's eyes clamped shut as she listened to Riley with several nods, pulling in her lips, which dragged slowly over the teeth until pursed again. "Yer right, luv'. Yer right. And I trust ya' more than anyone else these days, so..." Dropping her arm, Kat tossed the dagger onto the hearth's mantle beside them, looking at the blade for a second longer before returning her attention to Riley again. 

"I need a break, yeah. We both know I'm bad about that, and we both need one." Glancing down at the whiskey bottle only inches away, Kat plucked it up by the neck without too much movement, waving the alcohol in the space between them as a smirk touched the corner of her lips. "So. Let's get drunk together so I can kiss ya' and then blame it on the whiskey."

[ @blue-eyedraven​, @alyssa-ward​ ]

( [Chapter I] [Chapter II] [Chapter III] [Chapter IV] ) ( [pt.I] [pt.II] [pt.III] [pt.IV] [pt.V] )

[sunfloweradoring]

the one with the terrible first date

Hi! So if you were wondering I was thinking of structuring the page like the stories with ‘the one with...’ being in chronological order. Obviously it’s totally fine to dip in & out whenever & to whichever story but I’ll refer back to events or things that happened in previous pieces. However, if you guys had specific requests whether they’re about one of the ‘the one with...’ stories or just in general I was thinking of doing some blurbs or mini one shots potentially connected to one of the stories if you just dropped me a message of what you were thinking. I hope this makes sense!

Anyway, enjoy this disastrous first date :) xx

masterlist

word count: 2.8k

Ever since the party 10 days ago Harry and I had been in contact almost nonstop. We’d only spent a matter of hours chatting that night, but I felt like I’d managed to gain some sort of understanding of him as a person in that time; whilst I was kind of right about that, in the days we’d been texting and sharing the occasional phone call, I was starting to realise what a genuinely kind-hearted guy he really was.

Each call or initiating message from him always started asking about me: how I was, how my day had been, what I was going to be doing the next day. Somehow he also managed to shift the focus off himself to me, making me feel like not only did he really care about the answers to these queries, but that I was the centre of his attention.

Therefore, when one Tuesday evening (after a particularly boring day trawling through a couple of scripts sent to me by my agent) Harry asked if I wanted to ‘go out sometime over the weekend’ I felt an eruption of butterflies in my tummy and a stupidly big grin take over my features.

‘yeah, that’d be cool :)’ I replied, trying to vastly underplay the amount of ‘cool’ it would be.

‘great :D’ He responded, ‘what are you doing saturday night? would you maybe wanna come round mine?’

‘that sounds like fun, do you want me to bring anything? we could have a movie night or something’ I texted back, already starting to feel slightly overcome with excitement as my hands felt a little sweaty as they tightly grasped my phone.

‘you let me worry about everything! send me your address and i’ll pick you up at 6:30, just bring yourself and your beautiful face ;)’

                                                          --------

“What are you gonna wear, then?” Saoirse questioned, leaning back against my headboard with her legs crossed out in front of her. I stood with my hands clamped to my hips, nearly half my wardrobe strewn out across the floor as I’d panicked earlier to find something to wear Saturday.

“Well, that’s the million pound question, isn’t it?” I huffed, pushing my hair out of my face as I inspected the various items of clothing cluttering up my bedroom carpet. “I don’t actually know what we’re doing so how am I supposed to know what to wear!”

Saoirse let out a little laugh as she swung her legs off the bed, pushing herself away from the mattress to stand beside me. “Okay, no need to get stressy. We’ve got the rest of the evening and all of tomorrow if we need it so just calm down.” She soothed, gently placing her hands on my arms as she guided me to take a seat on the bed. “What about this?” She questioned, leaning down and retrieving an emerald green knitted jumper from the pile and holding it up to her chest. “You could wear it with a skirt, or some trousers, jeans maybe. It would look really cute. Brings out your eyes.” Her words seemed to flow like a stream of conscious, her mind running away with her as she chucked it onto the bed beside me. I gathered it, holding it on my lap. It was my favourite jumper, but did it really shout first date?

“Those jeans are nice.” I spoke, leaning over the little rail at the end of my bed and pointing down to a blue pair of jeans. Saoirse glanced up at me, her eyebrows pulled together. “Um, no.” Was all she responded with.

                                                         --------

“Right, so you’re both going to the cinema and then having some food?” My aunt, Rose, confirmed, hands submerged in the sink as she washed up the dishes. I nodded tentatively. I’d lived with her long enough for her to see straight through me and now exactly when I was lying; thus I hoped if I kept my speech to a bare minimum I may be able to get away with it. “Alright, well I hope you and Saoirse have a nice time, say hello to her for me.” Rose smiled, glancing at me before returning to her task. I released a silent breath before leaving the kitchen, going to the front door.

At 6:28 I wanted to be at the front of the drive to avoid anyone from the house seeing Harry picking me up. As far as they knew, Saoirse and I were having a friend date and that’s all they needed to know. 

“Bye!” I shouted behind me as I pulled the door closed, zipped up my blue puffer jacket and ran down the two porch steps and stood at the end of the drive. With my hands stuffed in my pockets to protect me from the late winter chill, I tried to shield my face as best I could in the top of my jacket. 

I’d barely been standing there five minutes before a car slowed in front of me, the passenger window lowering and a head popping out over the passenger seat. I bent my knees a little to allow me to see inside the car.

“Hiya! Sorry I’m a little late. I think it’s the universe’s law that if you’re going somewhere for a certain time, every single red light has to hit you first.” Harry chuckled, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the handle of the driver’s door.

“It’s fine! Don’t worry.” I giggled, reaching for the handle of the passenger door. “Only like two-”

“Wait!” Harry squawked, shooting out of the car at the speed of light and running round in time to gently bat my hand away from the handle. “That’s my job.” He grinned, pulling open the door and gesturing with his hand for me to get in. I blushed a deep crimson. Fingers crossed he couldn’t see as I nipped into the car.

“Thank you.” I spoke shyly as he himself got back into the driver’s seat. He shot me a smirk as he started the car again.

“What kinda gentleman would I be if I let m’lady open a door for herself?” Harry joked, adopting a both accent as he drove away from the front of my house. The butterflies that had been dancing away inside my tummy since Tuesday suddenly became a frenzied explosion at his words; how on earth was I supposed to come with him saying things like this the rest of the night?

                                                         --------

Harry’s little apartment was warm an cozy - a needed escape from the frosty outside. It was small and quaint, but what more could you expect of a 17 year old, really? 

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Harry spoke, flicking on the light to illuminate a modestly decorated studio flat. He closed the door, removing his coat as he gestured to take mine too.

“Thank you.” I repeated in the same tone as before, shimmying out of my jacket. 

“So I made us dinner, and we can watch something afterwards if you still wanted to. But let me just put the food back in the oven to warm it up, yeah?” He smiled, his hand ghosting over the the bottom of my back as a way to guide me through the flat.

“It already smells really nice in here.” I complimented, breathing in the aromas of the food he’d obviously prepared earlier. 

“Ye haven’t tried it yet.” Harry jested with a little laugh. “But thanks, it’s one of my mum’s recipes I think. She told me it would be a good thing to make for a first date.” He explained, placing two covered dishes into the oven and turning it on. 

“Can I ask what it is, or is it a surprise?” I questioned, attempting to glance under the foil before the oven was promptly closed.

“Oi, no it’s a surprise!” He interjected, quickly moving his body in front of the oven. There was only a matter of inches between our faces, causing (for the second but most certainly not the last time) a blush to sweep my cheeks. “Right let’s see what film we can start while we wait for that to heat up.” His voice was far softer than usual, his eyes momentarily darting between mine and my lips. 

                                                        --------

I sat on his little sofa, flicking through the little booklet of DVDs he had stored. 

“When In Rome?” I questioned with a little laugh. “What’s a guy like you doing with a film like that?” I teased, looking up at him as he stood in front of the telly, hands holding the remote. 

“Heyyy,” Harry laughed, voice a little whiney. “I can be in touch with my feminine side, you know. I actually quite enjoy the odd RomCom.” He said, taking a seat next to me, his knee grazing the side of my jean covered leg.

“Sorry.” I giggled, continuing to flick through the pages. “Just never put you down for someone like that.” I shrugged.

“Oh? Then what kinda person did you put me down for then?” He smirked, leaning back into the sofa, his head propped in his hand as he elbow rested on the back of the cushion. 

“I don’t really know, maybe like every other teenage boy: too cool for this, and too busy with girls for that.” My words were intended as a joke, but there was a little part of me that perhaps thought there was some truth in it.

“No, no, no, definitely not.” Harry shook his head and sending his curls in every which direction, sitting up straighter. “My mother taught me to respect women, taught me to be kind to others and that you’re never too good for anything.” He said. A smile formed on my lips. He really was a true gentleman, wasn’t he?

                                                       --------

“And then it just kinda went from there.” Harry summarised, sipping from the glass bottle of coke. “Just went on there as myself but I think it’s pretty cool I’ve come out in a band. Who knows, could be the next Beatles.” He laughed. “Nah, we may get somewhere but nothing like them. They’re legends.” 

Before I could reply, my nose scrunched in displeasure at the new waft of smells assaulting my nostrils. “What’s tha-” The shrill beeping noise of the fire alarm cut me off.

“Shit!” Harry shouted, leaping up from the sofa and dashing towards the oven. As he wrenched open the oven door, a pillow of smoke tumbled out, causing him to cover his mouth and nose with his elbow as he attempted to turn off any heat source making the situation worse. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” He chanted to himself, grabbing the oven gloves and pulling the two dishes out of the oven, placing them on the side and pulling of the foil covering. “Well that looks delicious.” He sarcastically observed, standing to the side as I walked up next to him. The food was entirely black, charred beyond belief. 

“Oh my god, Harry.” I pursed my lips together to prevent the laugh that was attempting to escape. “I’m sorry. I thought it was gonna be really nice.” I cleared my throat, wafting the air around with my hand. 

“You can laugh.” Harry spoke with a grin, bumping his hip into mine playfully. This seemed to unleash the giggles that had been hiding in my throat. “I just wanted to impress you.” He quietly whined. I slowly calmed down, holding out my arms in a offered hug. He pushed the oven gloves off his hands, walking towards me and wrapping his arms around my wait as mine encircled the back of his neck.

“You don’t need to try and impress me, Harry.” I spoke quietly, my lips near his ear. “I wanted to come on this date because I like you, not because I think you’re the next Jamie Oliver.” 

“Well I clearly showed that’s not in the near future, didn’t I!” He chuckled, his chest rumbling a little against mine.

“Let’s just order a pizza or something, yeah?” I offered, pulling away enough to see his face before he eagerly nodded. 

“You go sit down, I’ll get you another coke and I’ll order the pizza.” He smiled, quickly stealing a kiss from my cheek before he released me. “Anything in particular you want?” 

“Honestly anything, just not mushrooms.” I replied, turning around and taking my place on the sofa once more.

“No mushrooms? Are you like 5?” He joked, shooting me a wink as he picked up the phone to order the replacement food. I just giggled, shaking my head at him. 

He quickly ordered the pizza, going to the fridge and retrieving another bottle of coke. “Here ye go. Thanks for not freaking out about the food.” He smiled, getting a bottle opener to remove the top before walking in the direction of the sofa. What he hadn’t foreseen was that, in his panic to get to the oven only moments before, he’d managed to move the edge of the carpet into a folded position.

“Har-” I began but before anything else could leave my lips his sock covered toes connected with the dislodged carpet. His eyes widened in shock as he tripped forward towards the sofa, his hands going out to protect his fall, the bottle of coke flying forwards and spilling all over me. I shot up from the sofa, gasping at the sudden event.

“Oh my god! Oh my- Fuck, Y/N I’m so so so so sorry!” He panicked, jumping to his feet and approaching me with his hands held out to do something, yet he didn’t know what to do. 

“Um... it’s okay... uh do you have a towel or something before it goes everywhere?” I asked, looking down at my soaking jeans and the darkened material of the bottom half of my green jumper. 

“Uh, of course, yeah, let me just grab one.” Harry quickly ran off into the bathroom, coming back a second later with a towel. “I’m really sorry, Y/N. God this is terrible.” He muttered the second part of his sentence, handing me the towel as he stared at me. I wrapped it around myself, trying to soak up any of the liquid it could. “Here, let me get you something to change into. Can’t be sat there in those now.”

“Harry, it’s fine, honest-”

“No! I’ve been a twat, one sec.” Again he dashed off, coming back a moment later with a hoodie and a pair of joggers.

“Thanks, Harry.” I gave me a reassuring smile as I took the clothes and went to the bathroom to change. As I closed the door I could see him sat on the dry part of the sofa, head in hands. Poor boy. I looked at myself in the mirror, silently laughing to myself. This was certainly not how I was expecting tonight to go!

                                                      --------

“God I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Harry spoke, both our bellies now full with pizza as he walked with me to the door, grabbing both our jackets. I giggled at him as I put my jacket back on.

“Seriously, Harry, don’t worry about it. I’m literally the clumsiest person ever. It could have happened to anyone.” I replied.

“Really, the clumsiest?” 

“Okay,” I laughed. “The second clumsiest.” I jested, gently poking him with my elbow. “But you could do something to make it up.” I shyly added, avoiding eye contact. I could see his head snap in my direction.

“Anything! Yes, what is it?” He asked, stepping a little closer, but still remaining respectful with at least a few feet between us.

“You could give me a goodnight kiss.” I looked at his face, watching as his features seemed to light up.

“You still want to kiss me after I burned the food and tried to drown you in coke?” He asked, tone somewhat hopeful as he closed a little more of the space between us. I simply nodded my head, a little smile curving my lips. 

Harry’s grin remained prominent, his hands gentle as that came onto my waist, removing all the distance that was left between us. The intensity of his stare I had felt at the party was back, but I didn’t really have time to process it before we were both slowly leaning in to one another. 

His lips slowly pressed against my lips. The warmth of his skin against mine and the way neither of our mouths were entirely closed due to the fact we couldn’t stop grinning sent shivers shooting across my skin. His right hand left my waist, moving to cup my left cheek. My arms went around his middle, a sigh of pleasure leaving my lips as he pulled away, just enough to put a small amount of space between us so he could look me in the eye.

I think I could get used to that. 

[lopsided-whiskey-grin]

Wild Violets and Unicorn Stickers

This is my contribution to the RBB put on by @android-whump-big-bang! This was the first Big Bang I have ever participated in and it was really fun to craft a story around a beautiful piece of artwork! I hope you enjoy reading Ralph’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

WR600, register your name. 

I see a man standing before me. And beside him are a woman and a young girl. A family. They are all smiling and it makes me smile. “Ralph,” the man says.

“My name is Ralph,” I reply. It’s a good name and I think it suits me.

The family brings me to their home. It is a beautiful farmhouse. Situated on a large plot of land down a long dirt road, it is much larger than the others we drove past when we left the city. Here there is a sprawling green lawn surrounding the house, with lush flowerbeds blooming in a riot of different colors bordering the wrap-around porch. I also glimpse a greenhouse as we pull around to where the garage is located in the back. I have a job to do here and I know exactly how to do it. I am eager to start.

The father of the family, who introduced himself as Garrett, gives me a tour of the property while his wife Olivia takes their daughter Gracie inside the house for lunch. Garrett instructs me on how he prefers the lawn to be maintained and how short to prune the hedges. Then he shows me where the various gardening tools and lawn mower are stored in a shed beside the garage; I carefully catalog everything on my hard drive, making quick notes as we go to check the pH level of the soil and the area’s water table.

Before he is done with our tour, Garrett shows me the greenhouse. To say that I am impressed would be a vast understatement. Late afternoon sunlight streams through the glass walls and roof, saturating the lush greenery surrounding me in a golden glow. There's rows of ripening vegetables running down the middle - tomatoes, squash, zucchini and others - and lining the sides are various herbs, a handful of flowering orchids and roses, some pastel-toned succulents, and fragrant lavender.

I glance at Garrett and smile. "It's beautiful."

Garrett beams with pride. "Thank you," he says. "I inherited this place nine months ago from my grandfather. He used to grow corn out here but his land got sold off little by little until just the farmhouse and the greenhouse were left. I remember spending the summers here as a kid. It was in pretty bad shape when we moved in, but I've been putting a lot of work into fixing it up as best I can. This greenhouse is kind of my way of keeping my grandfather's memory alive."

"Your hard work definitely shows. I'm happy to help you maintain it."

Garrett nods warmly. "I'm not normally one to ask for help and I never pictured myself owning an android, but the upkeep on it all is getting to be a little much and I wanted to be able to spend more time with my family. I'm glad to have you here."

“I’m ready to begin whenever you are,” I say with a nod of my own.

My first week at the farmhouse goes fast. I perform my duties efficiently and with care. Garrett lends a hand occasionally but for the most part he leaves me to my work. Olivia and Gracie are very nice to me and we talk sometimes when I come inside to wash my hands in the kitchen at day's end. Gracie especially loves telling me about what new things she learned at school. It feels nice to be included.

Another week passes much the same as the first. I am more observant, though, of how this little family unit operates. It's fascinating to see the intricacies of their interactions when I catch glimpses of them together during my daily duties. I see Garrett push Gracie on the tire swing in the backyard one morning before the school bus comes, then one evening at dusk I see Olivia braiding Gracie's hair on the front porch while Garrett sweeps the steps. And on one hot afternoon, I see Olivia bring Garrett a glass of lemonade and give him a kiss on his cheek while he is helping me pull weeds. I am captivated. But I find my favorite thing to see is the three of them having dinner together. I don't sit and stare but sometimes in the evening when I'm putting the hose or lawnmower away and the summer sun is sinking low and the gloaming fades into night I can see them through the back window that looks into the dining room. They sit at the table together and it looks so pure and real the way they smile and talk and laugh. It makes me want to be a part of what they have in an intense and confusing way that makes my chest ache.

As the days go on, I know very well what this family means to each other. They care for one another. They love one another. I wonder if it is something I will ever truly experience or even understand. I desperately want to.

By the time a month rolls around, though, I notice that they begin to pull me in, little by little, and it surprises me. Now, when I go into the kitchen to wash my hands at the end of the day, Gracie almost always asks me to sit at the table and color with her while Olivia prepares dinner. And Garrett once let me help cook burgers on the grill for a backyard barbecue and he did not get mad at me when I accidentally burned two of them. Garrett has even made me a small room in the garage with a bed and a nightstand even though I technically don’t have to sleep. They treat me as more than an android and it’s a strange revelation to process. I feel like I am becoming a part of their family. And I never want to be apart from them.

Summer slowly surrenders to the start of autumn in a gradual shift from sweltering days to rainy ones and from vibrant greens to striking reds and yellows. Gracie tells me it is her favorite season. The fall harvest soon comes and everyone decides to pitch in to help gather the ripened pumpkins, zucchini, squash, turnips, and carrots. It is an overcast day that threatens showers later in the afternoon so Garrett says he wants to get an early start. I meet the family in the greenhouse just after they eat breakfast. They are dressed in vests and boots and matching flannel shirts and my chest gets tight and I don’t know why.

With so much help we get the job done pretty quickly. Olivia is happy with the amount of zucchini we grew and is excited to make enough zucchini bread to give to all the neighbors. Gracie, wiping the dirt from her hands on her jeans, sticks out her tongue at the mention of it and Garrett shakes his head and laughs. But then Gracie grins wide when Olivia says she'll make a special batch of pumpkin bread just for her. They all look so happy in this moment and I want to remember it forever.

After loading up our harvest into wooden crates, the family heads inside to clean up and warm themselves with some hot cocoa. Since we got done earlier than I expected I have time to trim the hedges out front before the rain starts. I grab the shears and make my way to the front yard.  When I am almost finished with my task it starts sprinkling a little. The sky is darkening the late afternoon sky with the impending storm. I go a little faster, not minding being rained on but not wanting Garrett’s gardening tool to become rusted in the drizzling weather.

Soon my hair becomes so wet with rain I have to flick the dripping strands out of my eyes so I can see what I am doing. I am nearly done, but just as I am reaching to prune the last few branches away, a bright flash of light instantly followed by a loud crack of thunder booms above me.

The utter unexpectedness of it startles me and I flinch. The hand holding the shears jerks toward my outstretched arm and before I can react the sharp blades slice my forearm. It’s not a long gash but it looks like a deep one. I'm so stunned I am not even able to process what precise bio-components are compromised. I stare in shock as blue blood wells from the wound almost immediately. It tracks down my arm in thick rivulets mixing with the rain that is now coming down steadily.

The sound of the front door opening draws me from the injury in a dazed sort of way. I look up slowly to see Garrett suddenly standing there.

“You okay, Ralph? That lightning was pretty close.” Concern knits his brows together when his gaze drops to my arm. “Holy shit.”

Tears form at the corners of my eyes, catching me off guard. “I- I’m sorry — ,” I begin but Garrett cuts me off.  

“Come inside.” He rushes down the porch steps to where I’m standing in the rain. The garden shears are still gripped tightly in my hand and Garrett has to tug them from my grasp to get me to let go. He tosses them aside onto the wet grass and it surprises me.

I protest weakly. "The shears…"

"I don't care about those," he says, guiding me gingerly up the stairs to the door. He is genuinely worried about me.

Pain suddenly registers like a hot flash then dims to a dull throb and I cradle my arm to my chest. Androids don't feel pain in the sense that humans do, I know that, but it's still a sharp perception of a malfunction. My body recognizes there is something wrong and the delicate receptors that were severed with the laceration pulse with a warning that hurts. I hold my forearm a little closer and follow Garrett inside the house.

“Olivia, I need some help here,” Garrett calls as we come to the kitchen.

Olivia turns from the counter where she is putting mugs into the dishwasher. When she sees me her eyes go wide and she rushes toward us. “Oh my god, Ralph! What happened? Are you okay?”

“I cut myself. It was an accident.”

Garrett goes to the sink while Olivia stays with me. She reaches her hand up and gently pulls my arm away from my chest. I grimace but allow her to look at it. Her mouth turns down into a pout as she examines the injury. Garrett comes back with a towel and a small first aid kit and they both lead me to sit at the kitchen table.  

The bleeding has mostly stopped and is now only oozing a little. Olivia kneels down and tenderly wipes the residual blue from my skin and I hold as still as possible while she cleans the wound. Garrett stands beside me with his hand on my shoulder, watching as Olivia wraps a long bandage around my arm.  

“How are you feeling? Is that better?” Olivia looks up at me from where she is kneeling on the kitchen tiles.  

I give a weak nod. The pain is thankfully fading somewhat and I can now internally assess the damage with a diagnostic check. “I’ll need some repairs, but I can still bend my fingers and my wrist.” I attempt the move to show them but a sharp twinge limits the mobility.

Garrett gives my shoulder a little squeeze. “Hey there, just take it easy for now, okay? As long as it’s not hurting you, let's worry about the repairs tomorrow. I don’t want you moving it unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

I glance up at him, confused. “But I still have work to do outside…”

Olivia shakes her head and stands. “Not for the rest of the day, you don’t. I’m going to get you some clean clothes to wear while I throw those in the wash.”

Looking down at my Cyberlife issued shirt, I see that there is a mess of blue blood smeared across it. I begin to try to tell her that it will evaporate in a few hours but she won’t have it. She orders me upstairs to the laundry room in a way that is both soft and yet brooking no argument and I do as I am told.

This is a level of the house I have not been to before; I haven’t needed to. I can’t help but stare as I walk down the hallway at this little slice of domesticity. Bedrooms, a bathroom, an office, family pictures on the wall. I take it all in.

Olivia stops at the small hallway accordion doors that hide the washer and dryer and she opens them up. She helps me shimmy out of my shirt, careful not to jostle my arm too much. Then she flips the shirt this way and that, looking for a tag with washing instructions. Upon not finding any, she shrugs and tosses it into the washer and starts the cycle.

“I think Garrett might have a sweater in here that will fit you,” she says and digs through a hamper with big block letters saying ‘clean’ across it beside the dryer. Finding one, she raises it up, victorious. “Ha!” It’s a grey hoodie with an outline of a shark on it. We both grin.

Olivia helps me into the sweater. It’s a little big on me but it is very soft and comfortable and it smells like a field of wildflowers from the detergent she uses. The terrifying memory of my injury is fading further and further to the background with each passing minute with the care of this family.

We start back down the hallway. Gracie suddenly appears from one of the doorways, rubbing her eyes, her hair a sleep-mussed tangle. “Mommy?”

Olivia bends down to smooth down her hair and peck a kiss to her cheek. “Did you have a good nap?” She glances back at me over her shoulder with a smile. “This kid could sleep through anything, I swear.”

“What happened?” Gracie asks.

“There was some thunder and lightning. You didn’t hear it?”

Gracie shakes her head then looks at me. “Hi, Ralph.” Her eyes drop to my arm. I didn’t realize I had been cradling it to my chest again -- A subconscious instinct to keep it immobile, I suppose. “Did you get hurt?”

“Yes, but it's starting to feel better now,” I reply.

Olivia straightens back up. “We’re going to get him all fixed up tomorrow. Until then we’re going to take care of him, okay?”

Gracie’s small, worried face brightens up. “I’m going to get my stickers and coloring books! That always makes me feel better when I get sick!” And with that she dashes off back into her bedroom.

Olivia chuckles and we head downstairs. In the living room, Garrett has started the fireplace going with a warm, inviting blaze. He puts a hockey game on the TV and welcomes me to sit on the couch, so I do. Olivia sits beside him with a bowl of popcorn and a blanket emblazoned with the Crimson Shark logo. Gracie soon comes bounding downstairs, her arms full of coloring books, her markers, and box of beads. She sits on the floor next to me and sets up her impromptu art station at the coffee table.

The rain has really started up now, accompanied by occasional gusts of wind that batter the side of the house. But in the cozy room with the roar of the fire, Garrett and Olivia cheering for their favorite hockey team, and Gracie busy digging through her beads, it fades to the background. I find I’m smiling and can’t seem to stop. I catalog this moment on my memory drive so that I hopefully never lose it.

Suddenly, Gracie turns toward me with a sheet of sparkly unicorn stickers. She has a very serious expression on her face. “Can I put some of these where you were hurt? It will help you feel better, I promise.”  

“Yes, please.” I pull up the sleeve on my sweater to look at the gauze on my arm. There’s only a little blue that has soaked through and the pain is almost nonexistent now. I still can’t move my fingers very much though.

Soon my bandage is covered in a smattering of unicorns that catch the light from the fire in a mesmerizing way. Gracie then grabs a green marker for her finishing touches. I watch as she writes get well soon down one side and draws scrolling vines and flowers on the other. I am filled with such a sense of belonging I can barely function.  

During one of the intermissions in the hockey game, Garrett gets up to make more popcorn. He asks me how I’m doing.

I glance down at my colorfully decorated arm and smile. “Much better,” I say, my voice cracking.

As the stormy late afternoon gives way to a cool autumn evening, the hockey game ends, and the fire begins to die down, Garrett and Olivia go to the kitchen to start dinner. I stand up from the couch, ready to head back to my room in the garage.

Gracie tugs at my sweater and I stop. “I made this for you.” She holds up a bracelet made from her rainbow pony beads. Some of the beads have letters. It spells out best friends.

“For me?” No one has ever made anything like this for me before.

“Yup! And I have one too!” She shows me how the two bracelets match then puts the one she made me on my wrist and the other on her own. She is very proud of her craftsmanship.  

“I’ll keep it with me always” I promise her.

Pleased, she skips to the kitchen. I follow, making my way to the back door next to the dining room that leads to the yard. Olivia sees me about to head out and tells me to hold on just a moment because my shirt is just getting done from the dryer. She gets it from the laundry room and presents it, newly cleaned and neatly folded.

“We can get you changed back into your uniform tomorrow before we send for your repair parts,” she says. “You can keep the sweater for now.”

Garrett looks over from the stove where he is stirring something in a pot and says, “I’ll call Cyberlife first thing in the morning and you’ll be good as new. Don’t worry about any chores until you’re all fixed up though, okay? I don’t want you hurting yourself anymore.” He smiles warmly and I nod and return the smile.

After saying goodnight to everyone, I walk out of the house to the cool backyard. The storm has passed and the moon shines down on me in a soft silver glow from the now cloudless sky. I look at my bracelet in the muted light and turn it round and round my wrist. I have never had a best friend before, much less a family, and now truly feel I have both.

Sitting on my bed in my little room in the garage, I stare at my bracelet and my bandaged arm, thinking about the events of the day with a fondness I have never known. I hope tomorrow brings more of the same.

The morning dawns grey and dreary with not even enough sun poking through the clouds to brighten the fiery autumn colors of the falling leaves. I do as Garrett told me the night before and I do not do any gardening. Besides, with the damage, my arm is still not functional enough to move it much. I am able to shimmy out of the hoodie Olivia gave me and slide into my uniform shirt, though. It is quite the task, but I manage.

I fold the sweater and start bringing it to the house when I see a Cyberlife van pulling up in the driveway. I know it's because Garrett called them so they can repair me, but the sight of it makes me feel uneasy in a way I can't explain.

I continue toward the house, my stride a little slower than when I left the garage. Before I get to the backdoor Garrett is coming out to meet me.

“Ralph, Cyberlife is here. They’re going to get you all back in working order. Let’s head over to the van, okay?”

I nod and hand him the sweater then head around the side of the house to where the van is parked. Garrett follows along beside me. The door on the side opens when we stop next to it. A man steps out wearing an official Cyberlife uniform and a baseball cap. Inside the van I can see various tools and supplies on a workbench as well as a few monitor screens.

“Hi, I’m Ben. Mr. Baker?”

“Yup, that’s me,” Garrett replies. The two shake hands.

“And this is your WR600 unit?” Ben turns his attention to me.

Garrett and I both nod. “I’m Ralph.” I find I’m fidgeting with the beaded bracelet on my wrist and I force my arms down to my sides.

“Let’s take a look at the damaged component and I’ll see what I can do.” Ben’s voice is warm and reassuring.

I present my arm with the bandage and sparkly unicorn stickers. Ben looks a little surprised and chuckles. “Can I take this off?”

I hesitate for a moment, but then give him the go ahead and he unwraps the bandage carefully. He examines the wound with a gentle touch then scans it with some kind of hand-held device. After looking at the readout on the device’s screen he glances up and scratches his chin. He looks perplexed. He rummages around in the van for a minute then turns back around.

“I’m not sure I have the parts on hand to repair him here.”

“Well, what does that mean?” Garrett asks. I’m fidgeting with the bracelet again.

“I’ll have to take him into town to the central warehouse hub we have there.” Ben shrugs. “It looks like he’ll need a full below-the-elbow swap.”

“Garrett, I am so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“It’s going to be okay, Ralph. It was just an accident.” He pats my shoulder. “How long do you think he’ll be gone, Ben?”

“Shouldn’t take more than a day or two, depending on how many others are scheduled for repairs ahead of him.”

Garrett and Ben finalize the necessary paperwork. I stand awkwardly, not sure how to feel about what is happening. This has been my first and only home for the past six months. I have found a family here. And although I know I’ll only be gone a couple days, like Ben says, I am nervous about leaving.

“I’ll go get Gracie. I know she’ll want to say goodbye.” Garrett trots off to the house and I watch him go, glad that at least I’ll be able to do that.

Ben closes up his van then hops in the front seat. Just a few short seconds later, Gracie and Olivia come out to see me. Gracie runs right up to me and hugs me around my waist, knocking me back a step. My chest does that thing again where it aches in the middle.

“Ralph, you’re leaving?”

I hug her back, tentatively, not sure if I’m doing it right. “Only for a few days. I’ll be back soon,” I say, and I hope it’s the truth.

Gracie sighs and steps back. She lifts up her arm and shakes her bracelet. I smile and shake mine. Olivia puts her hand on Gracie’s back. “We’ll see him again in no time.”

And with that, I get in the van and head to the city with Ben. The already dreary day darkens even more the closer we get and I can’t tell if it’s my mood or if it’s because another storm is brewing.

Ben pulls the van into the central warehouse hub he had mentioned earlier. It’s surrounded by a forest of skyscrapers, some so tall the tops are hidden by slate colored clouds. Inside, I am directed to a big room full of various other androids. Some are milling around aimlessly, others are sitting in chairs, and still others are sitting on the floor. Most of them look like they are in a lot worse shape than me and my heart sinks. I hope that the minimal severity of my injury will not put me at the end of the list; I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary. I want to go home.

I sit in an empty chair in a corner away from everyone and look at my bracelet. After a while I realize I have lost track of time. How long have I been here? My internal clock registers that it has been twelve hours and nine minutes since I left the farmhouse. I am beginning to lose hope that I will be going back in only a day or two.

Another hour later, someone finally calls my name and I walk to a door at the front of the room. A woman is standing there with a holo-board and I instinctively slip my bracelet from my wrist and tuck it away into my pocket. I don’t want anything happening to it. After registering my name and serial number the woman leads me back to another holding area. This one is larger, with cots and chairs and more injured androids wandering around.

“How much longer do you think it will be?” I ask the woman. She shrugs, clearly not caring one way or another. My shoulders droop and I go to find a place to sit.

Time drags on and after being here for two days I move to an empty cot at the back of the room and lay on my side. What is taking so long? I miss Gracie and Olivia and Garrett so much it hurts. I wonder if they miss me. I wonder if they are worried about me. I curl up and look at my bracelet for probably the hundredth time since I've been here.  

A week passes. My name is finally called. I sit up in a daze, slipping Gracie’s best friends token back into my pocket, and shuffle to the door. I am led to a workshop area then seated on a medical type chair that is reclined next to a workbench. There is an armrest extended out to the side of the chair. Soon after, an MC500 model android wearing a black apron comes and sits on a rolling chair beside me.

“Please present the defective limb.”

I do as I am asked and set my arm down on the table under a work light. “Will I be able to go home after this?”

The MC500 does not answer me. Instead he says, “I am going to place you on standby mode while I replace this part for a new one.”

And with that my world goes dark.

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is my arm — brand new and fully functional. I move my fingers and wrist and have full range of motion again. I cannot wait to get back into the greenhouse to pull up the last of the season’s harvest.

But then I look up and remember I am not at home. A welling of sadness fills me as I see my surroundings. I am in a different room than all the ones before; it appears to be a sort of recovery room. There aren’t many other androids here with me, but there is an open door that leads to a small office. A man is sitting at the desk, typing away on a computer.

I quickly get up, walk to him, and stand in the doorway. He glances up at me briefly before going back to his work.

“It appears I am repaired,” I say with a timid smile. “I am ready to go back to work now at the Baker’s farmhouse.”

The man looks at me again and sighs. “Serial number?”

I tell him.

“Says here you’re to report to the Lafayette Central Park management building.”

I frown. “No, that’s not right. I belong with Garrett and Olivia Baker.” I am beginning to panic.

The man shakes his head. “The info is right here, buddy. Lafayette. There’s been a rash of gardening droids going missing all around town so they probably reassigned you.”

“No, that is not right! ” I raise my voice. It’s the first time I have done that. A software instability warning flashes across my CPU, but I ignore it. “I belong to a family, not the city parks department!”

The man is taken aback then he narrows his eyes and leans toward me. “I don’t get paid enough to deal with this bullshit. It says right here, okay? I don’t make the rules, I just read out what gets sent to me. All I know is, if you aren’t on the transport that takes you to your assignment in one hour, you’ll be decommissioned.”

Dread, heavy and awful, settles deep in my stomach. “W-what?” The word barely squeaks past my lips.

The man points to a closed entryway at the opposite side of the room that says ‘loading dock’ on it. “The transport is through that door. If you aren’t on it within the hour, you’ll wish you were.”

“But what about my family?”

“They’ll probably get reimbursed by the city or something. I don’t know, pal. Sorry.” He sits back in his chair and closes the door in my face.

My hand immediately goes into my pocket and I squeeze my bracelet almost as hard as I can. I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to fix this situation. I’m lost, alone, and terrified.

Turning away from the door, I face the loading dock entry. If I get on the transport will my family come looking for me? How will they even know where to find me? What if I make a run for it? Could I make it back to the safety of my home? If I am caught I know I will be shut down permanently — That terrifying thought alone forces my feet to start trudging toward my fate.

I am halfway across the room. Then three-quarters. Then I stop. I know if I go through those doors everything will change.

But maybe it already has.

I look down at my arm. An unbearable wave of sadness pummels me. This happened because of me. This was all my fault. Will Gracie ever forgive me? I told her I would be back soon. Tears start tracking down my cheeks before I can blink them back. I scrub them away with the heels of my hands.

With no other choice, I go through the loading dock doors and get on my assigned transport.

I have been in Lafayette Central Park for two weeks now and I have been miserable every single second. The management building is more of a small groundskeeper hut where they store the lawn maintenance tools and it is where I am told to stay after hours when the park closes. It’s not even close to the cozy room Garrett built for me in the garage.

The first few days here I cried every night. But when it really hit me that I would most likely not be going back home, my heartache was overtaken by anger. I should not be here. There is no joy or sense of belonging for me here. I rake leaves, I empty the park trash, and no one ever talks to me or asks me how I am. I don’t get to watch things grow or harvest the fruit of my labor with the people I love.

I have tried leaving a handful of times but I don’t get very far. My fear of being caught and shut down stops me in my tracks before I hardly get a block away from the park. And I wouldn’t even know how to get back to the farmhouse if I had the courage to commit to an escape plan. With each failed attempt I become more sullen and withdrawn. I miss my family.

One night I am sitting on the concrete floor in the management building with my back leaned up against the wall and my knees drawn to my chest. I am staring at my bracelet, spinning it slowly through my fingers like a rosary. I pull it out less and less these days. I know if I was braver I could have gone back home by now. But at the same time I wonder why haven’t they come looking for me?

Before I can wallow much more in my own self-pity I hear a noise outside. There have been racoons getting into the trash cans lately, but it didn’t quite sound like that. I stand quickly, tucking my bracelet into my pocket, and peer out a small window in the door. A shadow moves past too fast for me to make out. A moment later it is followed by two more. The glow from a near-by street light illuminates the corner of one of the shadows just for a second, but I can see now what it is. Teenagers wearing dark clothes, carrying what looks like spray paint. This is probably the same group that has been vandalizing the park since I got here. I have had to clean up their messes, repair the benches they have set on fire, and scrub off the tags they have left behind more times than I want to count. And now I’ll finally catch them in the act.

Grabbing a heavy-duty flashlight from a shelf, I stomp out the door in the direction the shadows went. My patience has worn down while my software stability has risen. I have had enough.

With the amount of noise they make, it is easy to find them, even in dark pre-dawn hours. There are three teenage boys huddled around a trash can near the playground, laughing maliciously. I click my flashlight on, thinking it will just frighten them away and I can chase them off.

“This park is closed! It's after hours!” I shout, trying to sound imposing.

The boys turn around and I see right away that they are bigger and older than I first thought. A bright flare of alarm pulses through me. One is grasping a handheld electric blow torch and grinning menacingly. There is no doubt they were about to light the trashcan on fire… but now their attention is solely on me.

They stare at me in the pale beam of my flashlight, waiting to pounce on the slightest misstep. I can’t back down now. I take one shaky step forward. “You are trespassing. I am ordering you to leave now.”

“We’re not going anywhere, gearbox.” A voice comes up behind me, startling me so badly I almost drop my flashlight. Spinning on my heel, I try to face the person the voice belongs to, but my feet are suddenly kicked out from under me.

I land flat on my back and my flashlight flies from my hand. The group descends on me instantly like a pack of wolves. Two pin my arms down to the ground and another restrains my legs. I struggle as hard as I can, but my terror makes me clumsy; it’s like I’m treading water.

“Let me go!" I shout. I get a kick in the side in response. A sharp ache blooms across my chest. “Please, don’t! I’ll leave, I promise. Please, just let me go!” I continue to thrash about, but it’s no use. They only hold me tighter.

One of the kids kneels down and straddles my chest. The others chuckle. The weight of him pressing me into the hard concrete path fills me with a dread I’ve never known. He stares down at me, face vicious and sinister. He holds a hand out and one of the kids slaps the blow torch onto his palm. The grin this produces is staggering in its cruelty.

“Please,” I whimper. “I just want to go home.” Tears are beginning to blur my vision.

The kid grabs me by the chin, hard. “I’d like to go home, too, you fuckin’ skinjob, but guess what? I can’t because my dad lost his job and our house because of freaks like you!”

I try shaking my head but he’s holding my chin so tightly it hurts. I am almost nearly paralyzed with fear. “I’m sorry,” I cry. “I didn’t —”

He pulls my head up a little then cracks it back down to the ground. Pain sears through my skull. “ And then I’m just trying to have a little fun with my friends on a nice October night and you come along and ruin it! Isn’t that right, guys?”

The kids jeer their agreement loudly. Panic is settling deep inside me. Software instability alarms are flashing insistently in time to the pain pulsing at the back of my head and side. I shouldn’t be here. I should be home with Gracie and Olivia and Garrett. I should be with my family.

“Someone! Someone, please help!” I shriek. But I know it’s useless. No one is here to rescue me. I am utterly alone.

“Shut up!” The kid lets go of my chin long enough to lay down a ringing slap across the side of my face. I can feel a warm gush of blue blood track down my mouth from my nose. Momentarily stunned, I think about when I cut my arm during the storm and it seems like a lifetime ago. Garret and Olivia took me in, bandaged me up, soothed my hurt away. Gracie made me a bracelet. Best friends.

“Gracie,” I whimper.

“I said shut up, gearbox.” There is a small click as the blowtorch is primed.

My face is again grabbed roughly then jerked to the side. And the next sensation I feel reduces my world down to the exquisite agony of a flame scorching my skin. The fire gouges deep fissures to my cheek and brow. All I can do is scream. Hundreds of system malfunctions blast inside my head and my software instability reaches critical mass.

I struggle again under the weight of the bodies holding me down, fighting for my life. That earns me a bash upside the jaw and another to the temple with the heavy butt of the torch — at least there is reprieve from the flame. The relief is short-lived though, because the fire starts up again almost immediately.

Pain is coursing through every part of me and I know, with a sudden and vivid clarity, that if I do not escape right now I am not going to survive this night. Through the haze of my pain and fear, I see a red wall blocking my way to freedom. I put my hands up to it and I smash it as hard I can over and over. It gives a way a little each time my fists collide with it. Tearing down this wall is one of the hardest and most vital things I have ever done. But it comes with a price, because once I do this I know I will never be the same again.

With one more violent shove, the red wall finally gives way.

Deviant.

The raw liberation Ralph is met with is dazzling and gives him the last bit of strength he needs to get away from the people who are hurting him. With a desperate roar, Ralph pulls his arms from the two bad men at his sides and punches the face of the bad man on top of him. In just a matter of seconds Ralph is rolling onto his knees then getting up, then running. Ralph needs to run as fast and as far away from the people hurting him as he can.

Ralph can hear shouting behind him, angry shouting, but he does not stop, no. Tears are streaming down his face along with his own blood and he cannot see out of one eye, but still he does not stop. Pain throbs through him everywhere but he keeps going. rA9. He needs to find somewhere safe.

A few blocks from the park the shouts behind him start to fade away. He still runs. A group of people walking down the sidewalk suddenly appear in front of Ralph. He skids to a stop then cuts to an alleyway at his right. He can’t trust anyone. They might want to hurt Ralph, too.

Dirty rain puddles soak Ralph’s shoes as he trudges quickly through the alley. Hanging from some broken scaffolding, Ralph sees a big black tarp. He wraps it around his shoulders — it will help him blend in, make Ralph harder to notice.

Safe, Ralph needs to find somewhere safe, somewhere to hide. rA9. After turning at the end of the narrow alley Ralph sees it. A boarded-up house with a fence around it. There are no lights on and no people to be seen. It’s a safe place for Ralph.

He runs across the street, keeping an eye out for anyone that might grab him. Ralph is scared, so scared, but he looks at the fence around the building and finally finds a place to squeeze in. It’s a tight fit, but Ralph pushes through. His forward momentum, though, knocks off his balance and he lands on his hands and knees in the mud. Ralph’s tears can no longer be held back to a few stray drops. It’s like a dam bursting. Ralph weeps openly, hurt and sad and afraid. He knows he misses someone but he can’t exactly remember who; there’s an empty longing ache in his chest he can’t explain and he weeps for that too. Ralph doesn’t want to be alone like this.

Eventually Ralph stands up and stumbles toward the ramshackle house. The door is unlocked and that makes Ralph wary. But he has nowhere else to go and the sun will be up soon. Ralph walks inside cautiously. He stops just over the threshold, listening carefully. There is no sound to be heard except a few creaks and groans from the house itself — it’s empty.

The first thing Ralph does is find a safe room in the house to hole up in, at least until it is light outside. rA9 rA9. After quickly scanning the first level, he decides he’d better check upstairs. There is a room on the left just at the top of the stairs that has a small closet. Ralph has found the perfect spot and looks no further. He climbs in and squeezes down as small as he can, closing the little door and blocking out the rest of the world. Ralph doesn’t think he’ll leave here, ever. He never wants to see another person for as long as he lives.

In a few hours, morning sunlight begins streaming through the tiny crack between the two closet doors. Ralph looks up slowly. He spent the whole rest of the night trying to keep his mind blank, trying to forget what those nasty men did to him. But it’s hard for Ralph to forget. His side still aches and his face is awash in agony. He can’t forget when his pain is a constant reminder.

Staying in the dark closet is making it too easy for those memories to keep replaying over and over, Ralph decides. Opening the doors slowly, he stops and listens. The house is still empty, much to his relief. He pushes to his feet and lets out a soft moan. His whole body feels stiff and uncoordinated. It is not a pleasant feeling at all.

Absentmindedly, Ralph slips his hand in his pocket as he stands in the nearly empty room, trying to decide what he should do next. There is something in there. He fishes it out and holds it up to see. It’s a bracelet with beads on it. It says best friends . Ralph gets a funny feeling in his chest, but he can’t quite understand why. rA9. He puts the bracelet back in his pocket reverently.  

There is another bedroom on this level of the house as well as a bathroom. Ralph goes into the bathroom and catches a glimpse of his face in the mirror. He almost doesn’t recognize himself. It kind of makes him want to start crying again. He has no one here to help clean him up, to help fix these wounds. Someone had before, Ralph is sure of it. rA9. But now Ralph is alone.

Ralph wets a rag in the sink to at least wash his face of the blood caked down his lips and chin. There is nothing more he can do for the deep gashes carved down the side of his face or for his blinded eye, though. He is broken beyond repair. A bitter anger wells up inside him at the people who did this to him, at the people who hurt him this way for no reason at all. He makes a promise to himself that no one will hurt Ralph, ever again. Readjusting his handmade poncho, Ralph turns away from the mirror rA9 rA9 rA9 r..A…9

The next couple weeks pass by in a blur for Ralph. His fear and mistrust never quite leave him. He finds a little comfort in carving rA9 into the walls in the kitchen. It’s a compulsion he cannot explain, only that it feels good to do it. And so he does. Over and over and over. He is so lonely. He has the barest glimpse of a happier time with a family that loved him. A mother and a father and a best friend. Someone to take care of, someone to take care of him. But it is a fractured memory. One Ralph is certain isn’t even real. Because if it was real then why is he here? Why was he hurt? Why is he going through this all alone? Why?

Ralph rarely ever leaves the house and he has never left the safety of the gate around the property. It is much too dangerous to venture out there where someone might try to hurt Ralph again. But one night, when he is walking by a window that has been partially boarded up, he sees a flash of green outside. He stops and takes a closer look out the window. There in mud is a small little plant standing proud in the light of a moon beam. The sight of it fills Ralph with a joy he hasn’t felt in so long. He rushes to the kitchen to grab a cup and a spoon then cautiously, oh so cautiously, Ralph unlocks the door. He creeps out to the dirt yard, hypervigilant, afraid. But he makes quick yet meticulous work of scooping up the plant, a wild violet that has yet to flower, and bringing it into the house. He is a gardener afterall. It’s in Ralph’s nature to care for such things and it feels like it has been too long since he has done so. The tender shoot, not much more than a weed, comes to live with him in the kitchen and keeps him company from then on.

Sometimes humans try to come into Ralph’s house, even though he has locked every door he can. There have been two or three that have gotten in. Ralph is too afraid of them. He tucks away in a special hiding spot upstairs until they leave. He does not make a sound and keeps a knife he found close to his chest to protect himself if they do find him. Ralph does not like visitors.

One time, though, a visitor comes in and does not leave. It makes Ralph mad, very mad. He can’t control himself. He pictures the people who hurt him in the park. The way they laughed at Ralph, the way they tormented him. Ralph can’t bear it anymore. His fear-driven rage takes over and he attacks the man. The man is so surprised he doesn’t even fight back. It is all over quickly and suddenly there is a dead person on the floor of the upstairs bedroom. rA9 . Ralph cannot believe what he has done. His hands shake as he drags the man into the tub and closes the shower curtain. He can’t put the man outside because then more visitors may come and see what Ralph has done. And then they will surely hurt Ralph again or possibly shut him down. Ralph simply cannot and will not allow this to happen.  

The next visitors Ralph gets are not like the others. They are nice to Ralph and talk to him, even though they scared him very badly at first. Having them in his house is like having a family — a father, a mother, and a little girl. It triggers the shadow of a memory for Ralph and he looks at the bracelet in his pocket a lot while they are there. It’s like a word is right on the tip of his tongue but when he thinks about it too hard it slips away. I made this for you! I have one too! They spend the night and Ralph keeps his promise and does not hurt them. It is so nice not to be lonely or afraid for once.

In the morning, the visitors are still there and Ralph decides he will be a good friend and make the little girl a meal. He even ventures outside during the day to find the perfect food. It is a risky move for him, going out there when the sun is up but he knows his new friend should have something to eat. At last he finds it, a big, juicy, succulent rat near the back of the house. Ralph makes quick work of killing it, then excitedly runs back inside to cook it up.

The little girl seems afraid of Ralph and he does not know why. He is just trying to be nice. The android that is like him but not like him comes downstairs and she seems afraid of Ralph too. He has done nothing wrong! Ralph just wants to have a family like he remembers from before. Ralph had a family before, right? He is still not sure, but it sounds so nice.

They finally agree to sit at the table and that makes Ralph very happy. “The little human is not gonna regret it! Ralph found the best! The biggest one he could find! This is going to be succulent! Succulent !” Ralph can hardly contain his excitement.

He puts the rat in the fire, burns the meat just how he knows humans like. Ralph is not sure how he knows they like it that way but a small inkling of a memory tells him this is right. Burnt burgers on the grill. He throws it down on the table, charred and still smoking.

“Go ahead! Eat!” The little girl just stares at him and the food he has prepared. He has been nothing but nice to them and it is making him angry that they are being so impolite after all the trouble Ralph went through. His temper is flaring again. rA9 . “Eat!” he shouts, banging his fists down. Both of his guests flinch and it makes Ralph feel bad for a moment.

Kara, the android sitting across from Ralph, suddenly speaks up and he looks at her. “I saw that body upstairs. You killed that human, didn’t you?” Ralph can see she is upset.

Panic settles deep inside him. He should have done a better job of hiding what he has done. “No,” he replies. “No, he was like that when Ralph found him.”

She doesn’t believe him of course. “You killed that man, Ralph. There’s no point in lying. You hate humans, but you’re just like them. You’re a murderer!”

Ralph shakes his head, but he can’t deny what he did that day. There are so many emotions bubbling up inside Ralph, he can hardly process everything that is happening to him.

His fingers tremble over the knife in his hand. “Ralph didn’t mean any harm!” Ralph’s voice breaks. He's on the verge of crying again. “It’s just that Ralph can’t control his anger, when his anger comes. Ralph doesn’t know what he’s doing. He becomes stupid, full of hatred. Ralph is sorry. He just wanted to be your friend.” He is always so lonely and scared and sad and he does not want these feelings anymore. Ralph wants to go home, but he still doesn’t know where or what that is.

“Then let us go,” Kara says softly.

Ralph looks down at his hands. He doesn’t want his new family to leave, but he knows they can’t stay. He is about to tell them goodbye, but there is a sudden knock on the door. Everyone at the table jumps. Ralph is afraid, very afraid.

“Who is here?” he whispers.

“I saw police outside earlier," Kara admits, frightened. "Alice and I need to hide. Please, Ralph, help us.”

Ralph surges to his feet, terrified. But his new friends need him, they trust him. And so Ralph helps them the best he can. Ralph crowds them under the stairs and covers them up. He has hidden there a few times himself. rA9. He has just enough time to scurry back to the middle of the room before the door is being opened. Ralph is so stupid for not remembering to lock it after he came back in with the dead animal.

An android detective comes in and questions Ralph. Ralph is very nervous but he does a good job of lying to protect his friends. But then the detective gets too close, much too close, to finding them in their hiding spot. He needs to help them. Ralph jumps on the detective, grabs him as tight as he can. He will not let his friends be hurt the way he was

“Run! Quick, Kara!” Ralph shoves the detective down and gives them just enough time to escape. Ralph feels so proud of himself that for a moment he is not afraid.

It is not long, though, before the rest of the police officers that were with the detective come in and start searching the house. Ralph tries to flee before they find what he did upstairs, but the humans capture him. His terror comes flooding back all at once. It feels like the night in the park all over again.

Ralph is thrown into a transport truck. The police tell him he is being sent to a processing facility, but Ralph does not know what that means.

“Please, promise you will not hurt Ralph!” he shouts as they close the door to the truck. No one gives him an answer.

After finally arriving at the processing facility later that day, Ralph is forced into a big room with a lot of other androids. It brings a memory to the surface of a place he had been to before. Before what, though? When he had been hurt before , but it wasn’t his face. It was something else. Ralph looks down at his arm. There is no wound or scarring there. Ralph thinks he hurt himself accidentally once. He fleetingly remembers unicorn stickers. This only confuses him more.

Ralph hates this processing center. There is nowhere for Ralph to hide here. He feels too vulnerable. He wants to go home. But not even the house he was taken from. His real home, with his real family. Best friends.

The stay at the processing center lasts about a week. Through a window, Ralph can see that it has begun snowing outside. He wonders what has become of the wild violet he replanted in the kitchen. Just the thought of it makes him want to cry, because he knows his plant is alone now just like him.  

The androids at the center are starting to be separated into groups. Ralph is labeled as ‘deviant’ and ‘unstable’ and this makes him afraid. rA9. He does not know what will happen to him now that he has been tagged with these words. It is not something he has to wonder about for long, though. Ralph is shoved onto another transport truck and this time he ends up in a place called the Recall Facility and if anything, Ralph hates this more than the processing center.

It is open air with fences all around and scary guards with guns that could hurt Ralph. After being forced from the transport, Ralph is led into a room with all the other androids he had traveled with. The guards begin to strip everyone down, but Ralph fights back. He doesn’t care about the clothes, but he wants to keep his bracelet. He needs to! It is the only thing tying him to a family he is positive he once had.

Ralph is knocked in the head then punched in the gut for resisting. And for all that they still take his uniform and poncho and force him to his default skin. But Ralph is sneaky and he was able to get his bracelet from his pocket before they discard his clothing. He keeps it tightly concealed in a fist, vowing to himself he will never let it go.

In the pen outside, Ralph mills around with the other androids. He is becoming more and more afraid. It is dark now and snow is falling all around. He can hear shouting and gunfire in the different fenced areas surrounding him. He is not sure he will survive this camp and this uncertainty terrifies him. rA9 rA9. He will almost certainly be killed here, forgotten and alone.

Farmhouse! The sudden thought flashes in Ralph’s mind. He does not know if it is from being hit in the head just now or if it is because he is actually starting to remember his past, but he holds on to this little morsel as tightly as he can. A farmhouse! I used to live where there was a farmhouse! Ralph thinks that maybe, maybe, if he can remember those happier times, those times before he was hurt so badly, that he won’t be so afraid when his time comes up. He tries to focus on what the farmhouse looked like and who lived there, trying desperately to get his brain to give him just a little more to go on.

Ralph is so concentrated on his task that he doesn’t realize someone is talking to him until he feels a hand on his shoulder. Ralph is snapped out of his introspection and it makes him mad. He was so close to getting his lost memories back.

He looks down to see Kara standing before him. He is not sure why he is suddenly so upset to see her here. Ralph thinks it is probably because he went through so much to save her and the little girl and now here she is anyway, captured just like he is.

Kara asks Ralph if he has seen the little girl she was with, but no, no Ralph has not seen her. He only just got here. But she must be here somewhere, if Kara is here. “Obviously the little girl is a prisoner here, just like Ralph. But Ralph doesn’t want to die.” Ralph’s fear is rising again, pushing him nearly out of control like it has before. rA9. He squeezes the bracelet held tight in his hand.

A drone appears above their heads and scares Ralph. He has seen the drone kill androids. Ralph hates this place. He wants to leave. Panic is gripping him, he can’t stop it.

But then Kara helps Ralph. She talks to him and calms him down. Ralph quiets his voice, tries not to be upset. Finally the drone leaves. Kara leaves Ralph too, but he feels a little better knowing she is here, knowing that he at least has a friend in this awful place.

Soon the guards force all the androids into straight lines. They are putting them into boxes that no one comes out of alive. Ralph is frantically trying to remember more about the farmhouse. He had a room in a garage, he thinks. And there was a greenhouse! Ralph takes another step closer to the box. Think, Ralph, think!

Kara’s voice suddenly pops up in Ralph’s head. He looks over at her across the snowy yard where she is also standing in a line. He sees she has found the little girl and this makes Ralph happy, but only for a moment. Because of course they are all being led to the box now, even the little girl. rrrAA9. Ralph knows he does not want to die, but the little girl reminds him of someone he knew (the name is so close in his mind if he could just remember) and he does not want her to die either.

“Ralph will help you escape,” he says. He understands very well that it is most likely at the expense of his own life. “You only have to ask and Ralph will help you.”

“They’ll kill you if you try anything.” Kara sounds afraid and Ralph knows how that feels.

But Ralph doesn’t feel as scared now as he was before. He knows that no matter what happens, it is for a reason. And if the little girl has a chance to be safe, then Ralph is willing to give the ultimate sacrifice for her. Just like he would have done for the family he had before.  

“Ralph knows that. But if the little girl is free, it’s a little bit like everyone else was free. Ralph isn’t scared. The little girl’s life is more important.” Ralph glances at Kara, meeting her eyes just for a moment. “Take good care of the little girl. Ralph wants you both to be happy.”

He feels more at peace now than he has for the last few weeks. He is not afraid anymore. It is as though a weight has been lifted from Ralph’s shoulders. All the fear and anger and unbearable heartache has finally, mercifully, vanished. So when he sees Kara and the little girl make a run for the fence, he does not hesitate.

Breaking out into a sprint, Ralph tackles the guard who was about to shoot Kara. They land in the snow with a heavy thud. Before the guard can pull his gun up, Ralph begins bashing him as hard as he can with powerful fists. He will not let anyone hurt his friends! He will not allow it anymore!

The guard has finally stopped moving beneath Ralph’s hands. A quick glance over his shoulder confirms to Ralph that Kara has escaped. Relief washes over him as he rolls off the guard. All around him, the other androids that had been waiting in line for their fate have suddenly rallied to fight back. The guards that had been in the pen are suddenly being mobbed from every angle. None of them ever stood a chance. It gives Ralph a swelling of pride to see it.

Ralph slowly gains his feet. He looks down to his hand, then opens his bloodied, trembling fist. The bracelet is still there. A couple beads are broken, but it is mostly intact. He stares at it as the ruckus wages on around him. And then, like a lightning bolt, it hits him. All of it, everything. The past half year comes flooding back to him in a shattering,  overwhelming rush. Ralph staggers back a step. The farmhouse, the greenhouse, Garrett, Olivia, Gracie .

My family.

Tears well in my eyes and I double forward to brace my hands on my knees. I have been through a literal hell I was not sure I would survive and now I finally know where I belong. The clarity is stunning. It's like finally kicking to the surface of a lake after being submerged in its murky and disorienting waters for far too long. I need to get back. I need to find them again. It's the only thing that matters.

Stumbling to the back of the pen, I find a hole in the razor wire fence, then slip out unnoticed amongst the commotion. I make my way to an empty road about a half mile away and travel along the slushy, snow-driven shoulder on feet as light as air. For the first time in a long time, I have hope.

My heart feels so wonderfully liberated, I am not even bothered by headlights approaching me up the snowy, dark street. I feel no fear, no apprehension. I have a mission and nothing will stray me from the path.  

The vehicle slows to a stop beside me and the widow rolls down. "Hey, sweetie," the driver calls to me. "My name is Rose. Do you need help or a ride somewhere?"

The kindness in her face is endlessly reassuring. "I- I would love a ride," I reply eagerly.

After climbing into her vehicle, we get to know each other. With Rose's gentle coaxing I tell her my story. I want to leave out all the pain and fear and cruelty I experienced, but it comes spilling out of me before I can stop it. Coming to terms with my regained memory but also recognizing the rage I harbored during those dark times when I was just trying to survive is one of the hardest things I've ever done; realizing it will be an ongoing process is even harder.

As we drive, I give Rose as much information about the Baker’s farmhouse as I can. She lights up immediately and says she knows exactly who I am talking about. The Bakers live only a few miles from her and her son. The utter elation I feel is nearly indescribable. I am one step closer to my family.

Rose makes a quick stop on our journey to find some new clothes for me; jeans, a soft Henley, and a warm jacket. Not much longer after that, dressed and in my natural skin, with my bracelet secured around my wrist, I truly feel comfortable. Safe. Free. Alive.

We continue through the snowy night until just before dawn when the cobalt hues of a clear winter morning creep across the sky. Rose turns down a dark country road. It's a road I recognize immediately. Tears form in my eyes, I can't stop them. I don't want to.

I am going home. After all this time, I am finally going home.

[master-sass-blast]

The Reception Fic

(Look, I know the title sucks. Let’s just ignore that, okay? Okay.)

Summary: Yours and Piotr’s wedding reception.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: G. Ignore the swear words. Thank you.

Set after “Price Well Worth Paying.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @nebulous-leo

The concept of a “magical” wedding had always seemed laughable to you, even after you’d met Piotr. First, the people using the phrase were often Pintrest-style bloggers and wedding planners trying to sell their websites that probably drank too much caffeine, and second, you’d been up close to enough real magic by now that you knew all too well that magic usually contained more blood and death than seemed appropriate for the average wedding.

But now you’re married to Piotr –married, til death do us part and everything—and you finally get what everyone’s been saying. It’s absolutely magical.

And, honestly, it isn’t the decorations, even though they do make everything look beautiful. It isn’t your dress, either, though you love it and love wearing it and love the way Piotr teared up when he saw you in it for the first time. It isn’t the location, or the weather, or the food either, though they all help contribute to making the day absolutely perfect.

It’s Piotr and that you love him and he loves you –and, to a slightly lesser degree, the people who are standing as witnesses and helping the two of you celebrate your love for each other.

You grin up at Piotr when your two’s first married kiss as a couple ends and mouth the words “I love you” at him.

He smiles, blue eyes sparkling, and mouths them back to you.

Yeah, it’s magical, alright.

***

There’s a short break between the ceremony and the reception so the necessary tables and chairs can be set up and so that Aiden and his team can take pictures of you and Piotr, your wedding party, and your families. They take advantage of the gardens and grounds attached to Xavier’s property, and have the lot of you in various positions and pairings to get a full spread of pictures to remember the day with.

(Most of them focus on you and Piotr, though some notable highlights include one of you and Wade messing around with sparklers, one where you and Piotr make goofy faces at the camera, and one of Nikolai adjusting Piotr’s tie.)

You grin up at Piotr as you head back towards the house for the reception. “Ready to party, baby?”

He grins back down at you and squeezes your hand in his. “With you? Always.”

***

The reception is kicked off with a toast to you and Piotr, accompanied with a shot of extremely bitter vodka for each of you as per the Russian tradition.

Piotr knocks his like a champ while everyone else chants “Gorko!” (or “Bitter!” for those who can’t get a hang of Russian.)

You, however, get maybe half a sip in your mouth before you gag and spit it out. You let out a scream of disgust while several people laugh and quickly set your shot glass aside. “Oh, hell no! Ew!”

Piotr chuckles as he sets his glass down. “Myshka, you have to drink—”

“No! Shut up and kiss me so I can eat something to get that taste out of my mouth!”

Everyone laughs, then claps, when Piotr dips his head to press his lips against yours.

***

Speeches and other toasts are given while everyone eats –courtesy of the open mic, which you managed to sneak in under Piotr’s radar for “things that might cause trouble.”

Wade and Ellie give their “man of honor” and “best lady” speeches; they both wind up taking the route to talk about how long it got took for the two of you to get together in the first place and how nauseatingly in love the two of you are on a day-to-day basis –and Wade manages to keep his speech mostly clean, to boot. All in all, it’s easily classified as a win.

And then they open the mic up to anyone who wants to tell funny anecdotes about the two of you, and you laugh as you watch Piotr drop his face into his hands.

Several people have a go of it, including Russell, Kitty, and Kurt, one of Piotr’s closer friends. Between your propensity for mischief and the occasional dichotomy between Piotr’s mannerisms and his willingness to entertain your ideas, there’s no shortage of funny stories that leave everyone in stitches from laughing so hard by the time it’s all sudden done.

The surprising highlight of the night, though, is Mikhail. You swear you see Piotr’s eyelid twitch when his older brother takes the microphone in hand, but then he launches into a speech about a time Piotr had saved a nearly drowned litter of kittens on their family farm as a kid, transitions that into his brother’s evident dedication to the things he cares about and loves and how he’s seen that same dedication in his commitment to you, and clinches it with a joke about “for all that you love cats, I am not certain how you wind up with mouse” before congratulation the two of you on your marriage and wishing you both well.

You find yourself wiping away a few tears while Piotr gets up and hugs his brother.

Yeah, it’s magical.

***

Piotr’s lips press against the top of your head as the two of you sway back and forth. “Your dancing skills have improved immensely, moya lyubov’.”

You beam up at him. “I know! I haven’t even stepped on your toes once—”

Piotr winces as you catch his foot with the heel of your shoe and jerks his foot out of the way.

“Dammit!” You press your forehead against his chest as he chuckles and rubs his hand up and down your back. “Sorry!”

“It is alright, myshka,” he reassures you. “It would not be us if there was not at least one mishap.”

You giggle and nod. “Yeah, that’s true. I love you.”

He grins and dips his head to kiss you. “And I love you, myshka.”

***

The reception, all in all, is a lot of fun. Everyone enjoys the food, swapping stories and conversation, and just about everyone joins in for a rousing group dance rendition of the “Cha Cha Slide” that is –as the kids say—absolutely lit.

There is also more than enough cake for everyone, which makes you happy beyond compare.

You also toss your bouquet during the reception, which is subsequently caught by an elated Kitty.

(The garter toss goes far less smoothly. You’re not sure who’s face is redder through the whole process, yours or Piotr’s, and Mikhail and Wade don’t stop making various inappropriate comments through the whole things –but what really tops it off is that, somehow, the garter winds up getting tossed straight into Alex’s face.

Fortunately, she –and everyone else—laugh about it, even if Piotr does bury his face against your legs at having accidentally launched your garter at his mother’s face.)

But, eventually, the festivities do come to a close. Grant and his servers pack up, as do Aiden and his team, and the guests head back into the mansion while you and Piotr stroll towards your new home, hand in hand.

“Hey,” you say as the two of you walk along the path that cuts through the trees to your new home in the early evening light. “We’re married.”

Piotr giggles and smiles down at you. “We are.”

“And we have our own home.”

“That we do.”

“So… when do you want to start the ‘marital consummation’ bit of all this?”

Piotr snorts and shakes his head. “Did you have something specific in mind?”

“I mean…” You make a small show of looking all around you. “There’s no one else here right now.”

Piotr rolls his eyes good naturedly and shakes his head. “Nyet.”

“I thought you liked having sex with me.”

He sighs, longsuffering, and tugs your hand. “Come on, myshka.”

You giggle to yourself and resume walking again.

Waiting for you on the front porch of your house, though, is your uncle. He looks a little tired –if the bags under his eyes are anything to go by, at least—but he still smiles when he sees the two of you.

“I didn’t think I would see you today!” you exclaim as you break away from Piotr to give your uncle a hug.

“I wasn’t sure if I was gonna see you, either. I’m glad I did, though.” He gives you a misty-eyed grin when he steps back. “You look beautiful, punk.” He pulls a few envelopes out of his inner jacket pocket and hands them to Piotr. “I can’t stay long, but –honeymoon information and plane tickets. Figured you two would want them.”

Piotr accepts them with a nod and a quiet “thank you.”

“I know you can’t stay, but I think there’s still some cake and stuff left,” you offer, gesturing in the direction of the mansion. “Everyone’s pretty well cleared out to do their own thing, so I don’t think anyone would see you.”

Your uncle smiles sadly. “I actually have to clear out now, punk. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it. I just… wanted to see you. Today’s important.”

“Yeah,” you say, equally as sad. “Okay.”

He pulls you into another hug and kisses the top of your head. “Love you, punk.”

“Love you, too.”

Piotr puts an arm around you as your uncle gets a running start and takes off. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you reassure your husband –husband, he’s your husband now—as you carefully dab at a few tears. “Just emotional.” You take a deep breath and steady yourself emotionally, then smile up at him. “Ready to go inside?”

Piotr smiles back. “Konechno.”

And then he sweeps you off your feet and into his arms, bridal-style.

How appropriate.

You laugh and loop your arms around his neck as he carries you up the front porch steps—

And then the front door swings open and Mikhail steps out of your house.

“Ublyudok!” Piotr hisses, tightening his grip on you so he doesn’t wind up accidentally dropping you. “What are you doing?”

“Relax, malen'kiy brat,” Mikhail says nonchalantly. “I just came to give this.” He hands you a plastic coffee grounds container with a label that says “motorcycle repair fund” taped to the front of it. “You’re welcome.”

Piotr eyes his brother suspiciously. “What about bike?”

Mikhail shrugs, grinning smugly. “Not broken.”

Piotr sighs and shakes his head. “Well, thank you.”

“Yeah,” you agree as you screw off the top and peek in. “Whoa, that’s a lot of cash!”

Piotr frowns as he peers down at the jar. “I did not give that much.”

“Community fund,” Mikhail explains with a wink. He nods towards you. “Get lady something nice on honeymoon, da?”

Piotr’s expression finally softens as he smiles at you. “That sounds like plan.”

“Thought you would agree. Now, if you two will excuse, I hear cake calling my name.”

You shake your head as he teleports out of view. “Still not used to that.”

“You are not only one.”

You chuckle, then look up at your husband. “Shall we, Mr. Rasputin?”

Piotr grins and resumes carrying you inside your new home. “We shall, Mrs. Rasputin.”

[alstanfordart]

Surprise

Story under cut. Usual warnings.

"C'mon, get these," Liam orders as he tosses a bundle of white taper candles and holders at Josh, who fumbles as he catches them. "These will have to do. I ain't driving down to Bangor now. And these are the only ones they got."

They were in the candles and fragrance section of Rite-Aid. Standing beside them is Josh's younger sister Christie, decked out in a dark green crop top, denim jacket and skirt, chewing loudly on Skittles candies she boldly ripped open in front of a store employee sweeping the floor. The gangly young man had simply shrugged and kept moving along the aisle, pushing the wrinkled scraps of wrappers and dirt crumbs along the stained and scratched cream tiles.

It was Halloween night, and everyone else was out trick or treating or partying, so the store was almost empty.

"Shouldn't we use black candles? That's what they usually use, right?" Christie pipes up, tucking a tendril of wavy blonde behind her ear.

"They don't have them here, and I don't think we need them." Josh replies as a spiked-haired young man with a septum piercing and cartoonish-looking tattoos emerges from the snacks aisle with three bags of pretzels piled high in his arms.

"Someone's gettin' high tonight." Liam mutters, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his leather jacket as they watch the young man pay the cashier and exit.

"Hey where's Lucas?" Josh queries. "Thought he was coming?"

"Stuck at his girlfriend's. She goes to church and all that and thinks we're all a bunch of heathens." Liam grins, his neck-length greasy hair tumbling over his dark sunken eyes as he continues to scan the shelf, before blowing a sigh throw his nostrils.

"Hope he don't make that uptight bitch my sister-in-law. Would hate to see her every fucking holiday," he pauses. "Yeah, we're done here." he announces as he gives a quick flick of his hand, scarred with cigarette burns, motioning for Josh and Christie to follow him.

As a song by New Kids On The Block starts blaring over the store speakers, Liam sends a taunting grin at Christie as he begins a comical flailing of his limbs in the aisle, weaving his lanky frame, trying to mimic the dance moves of the boy banders.

"Hey, I'm Joey McIntyre. Ain't you into them Christie?" he says as he starts to snap his fingers as he does a shuffle up to her. With a disgusted visage, Christie sticks her palm out, blocking him from coming closer.

"God no," she says, her face looking as if she'd just taken a whiff of the worst-smelling garbage imaginable. "Fucking Greta Keene listens to that shit. Not me."

Greta had taken to hanging out front of Derry Middle School, waiting for Christie, and along with Sally Mueller, started chucking rolled up paper balls, juice boxes and empty soda cans at her as she passed by. She'd been a target since she'd walked in on them tormenting a girl named Beverly Marsh and promptly cussed them out. They then began targeting her. It had become a ritual at this point.

Liam halts his dancing, his mien dropping to a more serious one. "C'mon man." he says, sniffling loudly, running his left index along the thin black mustache that aged him at least ten years. He didn't look like a young man of eighteen, but rather a thirty year old you might see working Derry's seedy bar scene. Compared to Josh's more boyish, youthful appearance with his short dirty blonde hair, stonewashed jeans and Derry High School jacket, they made an odd match in terms of friends.

The young cashier looks nervous as the three approach, with Liam digging into the back pocket of his trousers, presenting some wrinkled up dollar bills and loose change.

"Hey, got money tonight man," Liam gives a leering grin to the cashier, whose cheeks are now flushed a light pink. He nods rapidly as he quickly takes the money from Liam, snatching it from his palm as if worried he might contract a disease by touch.

"See ya'," Liam continues his lurid grinning as he makes a finger gun with his hand, pointing it at the timid cashier, clicking his tongue. "Later dude."

After all three pile into Liam's red Pontiac Firebird, Josh tosses the plastic bag of candles into the backseat beside Christie. As they cruise along Kansas Street. Josh snaps on the radio, with Liam loudly belting out the lyrics as Josh cranks up the volume.

"You're motoring, what's your price for flight, in finding mister right, you'll be alright tonight!" he sings in an deep, exaggerated intonation, sending glances back at Christie over his shoulder. She loudly groans as she slinks down against the backseat.

"Why do you always have to be such a dick?" she sighs as she gazes out at the street lights blurring past. She huffs, folding her arms as he continues his taunting crooning, turning in his seat to face her, placing a hand dramatically over his heart.

"Babe, you know, you're growing up so fast, and mama's worrying-"

"No she ain't." Christie sternly cuts in, pushing the plastic bag aside as she shuffles in her seat, kicking the empty beer cans along the tacky floor with the toe of her sneakers. The odor inside the car nauseating her with what she suspected was a combination of weed and vomit.

They pass by a bar with patrons loitering outside. She points.

"Ma is probably in there."

Their mother Melanie certainly wasn't worrying about anything or anyone other than her next lay.

"I hate that fucking song." she adds.

Liam abruptly stops his warbling as they come to a stop in front of their destination; 29 Neibolt Street.

"Ah, fuck yeah!" Liam hits the breaks and leaps out, making his way to the trunk. Throwing it open, he removes a large heavy item, wrapped in a grimey brown cloth, along with a couple of flashlights. Slamming the hood, he approaches Josh and Christie.

"Here it is. It's big enough. We're gonna do this, man. And it's gonna be fuckin' cool!" he exclaims excitedly as he pounces towards the front door of the run-down mansion, long rumored to be a haven for every tweaker in town.

As well as ghosts and the occasional Satanist-a crowd that Liam ran with. It was his idea to come to the most infamous house in Derry to perform a seance. They'd let Christie tag along for the ride.

As Josh duly follows. Christie pauses, holding the plastic bag of candles, staring up at the circular attic window. She remains there, her hazel disks focused on the tenebrous just within the foggy and cracked glass.

She gazes over at the police tape draped along the wrought iron fence that had been torn, a sign that others had trespassed along the property.

"What a shithole." she mumbles beneath her breath.

A pair of large hands violently shove her forward. She nearly falls over, catching herself against the wooden beam of the porch, feeling a pinch against her thumb as a splinter pricks her skin.

"Ow, shit." she gasps as she whirls around, certain that asshole Liam or Josh were pranking her.

But no one.

She quickly runs inside, trying to work the splinter from her flesh, a tear of red blood forms, pushing it out.

"Someone just pushed me," she says as she shuts the rickety old door behind her, trading her gaze between her brother and his friend, trying to decide who was the culprit. She drops the plastic bag to her feet as she snatches up a flashlight, shining it on her finger.

"Maybe it was the ghost!" Liam cackles, his jeering grin a hint that maybe it had been him. Christie glowers at him.

"It's not funny. Someone came up behind me-"

"You just tripped," Josh interjects dismissively. "We were both in here. Liam was with me."

"Yeah," Liam agrees as he switches on his flashlight, aiming it at his face. "I told, you it was the ghost. This place is haunted like a motherfucker. You know by that piano teacher."

"Edna Cotton?" Josh inquires.

"Yep, lived here around 1906," Liam continues, "She was banging Joseph Mueller. He wouldn't leave his wife. So, one day, she invited his wife here for tea- and the wife had no clue about the affair- and then she crept up behind her with an axe and pow!" he swings his arms as if holding an invisible weapon. "Blade went into the back of wifey's skull. They found Edna wondering the streets afterwards, covered in blood. They hanged her a week later. They had to do it quick, since they were afraid the Mueller wife's family and friends would get to her first. "

"Wow." Christie says, her arms scissored around her, feeling a stark chill suddenly pulse through her, goosebumps prickling along her skin. The mention of the Mueller name made her think of Sally.

She glances to the front door.

No, no ghost. Just Liam being a douchebag and tying to scare her. Maybe she did trip. Pushing it out of her mind, she moves to stand by Josh.

"Alright, let's do this," Liam positions himself before the cloaked item, yanking away the material to reveal a large oval-shaped mirror. He traces a callused fingertip along its golden frame. "Mirrors are portals. Gateways."

Josh snatches up the bag of candles and pulls out his lighter, igniting each and lining them up around the mirror. Christie lowers herself to sit on the icy floor.

"Think this will work huh?" Josh queries as he stares at his reflection. Liam nods, keeping his eyes glued to his own.

"Legend has it The Brotherhood of Nineteen used to hold seances here," Liam says. "They also used to do mirror gazing, trying to contact the dead. I read one of them went crazy after he stared at a mirror too long and his reflection morphed into something inhuman, a demonic pigman or something. Now close your eyes."

Liam starts to recite an incantation under his breath, but neither Josh nor Christie can decipher what he's saying. The room is quiet, dark, save for the soft light of the candles.

Christie decides to peek, opening her lids and watching, eyes widening as she sees a pitch black fog that resembles liquid start to spread along the mirror, drowning out their reflections. She inhales sharply at the unexpected sight.

The black fog quickly vanishes as she does so. Liam growls, "Hey what the fuck?"

"I saw something. In the mirror-"

"It was working? Dammit! Don't fuckin' talk! Shit!" Liam hisses as he gives her a murderous glare. Josh places a hand on Christie's shoulder.

"It's okay. Just keep them closed." he offers gently as Liam keeps his intense brown irises on her.

"Again." he states coldly as he turns back to face the mirror, and, once again, recites that indiscernible invocation. Christie keeps her lids squeezed shut. For a moment she heeds Liam's order. But something was telling her to open them again. A tension begins to envelope her tiny frame, her chest tightening, heart thumping against the tightness forming in her throat.

And she looks.

What she sees is not an inky fog cloud this time, but...a clown. Clear as day. His round face outlined by the golden of the candlelight. His pupils two flaming smooth yellow rings. His grin is trimmed in dark red stripes that cut across his white cheeks. The most startling thing of all are his teeth; sharp and pointy, like a demon out of the horror movies.

"Oh my God!" Christie shrieks as she scrambles away on her hands and knees, coming to a stop near the staircase.

"Fucking Hell!" Liam roars as he bolts up. "You can't take her anywhere! Fuck!"

"What is it?" Josh crawls over to his terrified sister, her gaze on the mirror, bottom lip trembling as she leans her weight against her palms. The weird clown face has vanished from the glass.

"There was something in the mirror. A face in the mirror. Like...a clown's face." Christie breathes, her voice dripping with panic, her chest heaving rapidly. Liam gives a disgusted scoff, his hands on his hips as he hangs his head, shaking it.

"Can't bring her anywhere," he grumbles. "A fucking clown? What the fuck even?"

Wham! Wham! Wham!

A pounding starts from beneath the floor. Continuous, growing louder. More ominous. Even Liam looks startled at this. Josh eyes the floorboards, eyebrows knotted as he wraps an arm around Christie.

"Sounds like it's coming from the basement." he offers.

"Gee, ya' think so huh?" Liam states sarcastically as he stares downwards for a fleeting moment before he grabs up a flashlight and storms towards the kitchen in the direction of the basement door. "Probably some fuckin' crackhead. If it is, they're going to get their ass beat. I'm not in the mood for this shit."

Josh follows, with Christie close behind, her finger clasping the hem of Josh's black and orange high school jacket. Liam and Josh both charge down the basement steps, flashlight beams searching along the dusty warped steps. They both pause halfway down to glance at the darkness, a runnel of moonlight is cutting through the cracked and stained basement window.

"Who the fuck is here man?" Liam shouts as he keeps the light pointedly on the well, holding his forearm against the lower half of his face to shield against the odor of rotting wood. There is no answer, only the aged pulley that dangles over the well entrance begins to squeak as it swings, ever so slightly.

"What is-" Josh begins before he's cut off by the basement door slamming. He and and Liam bolt back up the steps.

"Hey Christie, the fuck you doing? Open it," Josh pounds on the door. "Hey! Open!"

Then, in between flesh striking the wood, they hear it. A loud bubbling growl emitting from the dark of the basement corner. Josh halts his pounding as he and Liam both turn their attention on the well.

Rising up from beneath is a creature, humanoid in appearance, save for its face. Its features were only somewhat visible in the dim light of the room. The blue-white moonlight gleamed along the tusks protruding out from its snarled and twisted mouth. It gave another growl, a snarl mixed with a squeal.

Like a pig. Its eyes were like two burning balls above its snout, devoid of any pupils, pointedly on both of them. The odd ruby stripes down its cheeks distort as it continues to snarl.

"Shit, the fuck is that?" Josh manages, grabbing Liam's elbow. The young man remains frozen, seemingly hypnotized by the creature's blazing corneas. Josh violently shoves him aside to resume frantically banging on the door.

"Christie! Open it! There's something fuckin' in here man! Open it!" he shouts, not removing his sight from the pig-like monster. "Fuckin' open you little bitch!"

Suddenly, the beast is behind them, moving with lightning speed at the bottom of the steps. Liam screams as it yanks him down by the ankles, he flails backwards, landing with a loud thud and a groan.

The beast then speedily leaps up and tackles Josh, the front of his skull cracks against the door. He falls to the ground, with the beast's demonic swine features becoming more blurry as he's rendered barely conscious, he feels the bopping of his head along the steps as he is dragged down the stairs.

"Hello, goodbye." the monster growls before it tears into Josh's throat, with Liam still knocked cold beside him.

Outside the door, Christie is staring blankly at it, hearing nothing. Just a stark silence. Her mind is hollow. Numb.

Christie.

A maniacal giggle follows.

Christie.

Another giggle.

She slowly turns around, looking up to the second floor balcony. Without giving much thought to what she was doing, she saunters up the steps, still hearing a soft insidious giggling amid the creaks of her soles along the wood. She comes to a halt in front of an open door to a room filled with clown dolls.

In the corner is a dark-haired woman seated on a rocking chair, facing the stained glass windows. On her lap, one of the clown dolls wearing a yellow and blue outift, with orange pom poms down its front. Its large eyes were turned downwards, and for a fleeting moment, Christie could swear she sees it blink.

"He said he loved me." the woman offers quietly. Christie sucks in a deep breath, her mouth becoming dry, a thump thickens in her throat. Her heart races against her rib cage.

"Who?" Christie squeaks as the woman suddenly turns to look at her. Christie's heart now feels as if it could stop beating completely at the sight she sees.

The woman's face is but a half-skeleton, bits of flesh dangling from her chin, her eyelids non-existent, leaving her bloodshot eyeballs exposed like two small moons. Her irises like black holes. As she rises, the front of her dress comes into view, caked in dark dried blood.

"He said he wanted me!" she screams as she presents an axe, splattered with blood streaks. Christie screams hysterically, falling against the door as the woman comes at her. The giggling starts again, and Christie, to her utter shock and horror watches as the clown doll that was sitting on the woman's lap becomes animated, moving on its own. It painted features now drawn into an evil glare.

All the dolls in the room were moving, waving their hands and giggling. A chorus of laughter chases after Christie as she takes off down the hallway, the insane woman following behind. She can hear the axe cutting through the chilly air as the woman swings it at her, barely missing Christie's back.

She bounds down the stairs, almost stumbling, grasping the shoddy railing, cobwebs catching along her fingers. She runs to the front door, jiggling the handle, finding its stuck-or locked.

There's no time to comprehend which, the crazed woman is coming for her. Only now, she has red stripes down her cheeks along the rotted flesh and bone. Christie dodges the swinging axe, making a play back up the stairwell. Still in shock, she holds in another scream, concentrating on finding refuge, running inside a room with a large leather chair, desk with a single lamp that was aglow, vintage record player and coffee table.

Inside, after she has closed the door and locked it. She stands, tears coursing down her beet red cheeks, a headache throbbing through her skull. Her whole body is trembling uncontrollably as she sinks to the floor, holding her knees, rocking.

If she could get to Josh. Or even asshole Liam would do.

Somebody. Anybody.

She remains in the same position for a few minutes, sniffling, tense, as she keeps her attention on the door, until she hears a crackling sound as the old dusty record player begins to play;

'You're motoring, what's your price for flight, in finding mister right, you'll be alright tonight.'

When the verse plays a second time, the needle begins skipping, the phrase, "What's your price" repeating on a loop. Christie tightly covers her ears, tucking her head down.

"What's your price?" the man in the red truck asks Melanie, whose leaning against the door. They're in the driveway of Melanie's house, and it's just after midnight.

"Whatever you got-" Melanie says in between her loud gum chewing. The man then nods behind her.

"Hey, we got company." he mutters. Melanie turns to see Christie in her pale lavender nightgown, clutching her Raggedy Ann doll.

"Mommy...?"

"Get your ass back in bed!" Melanie roars as she stalks towards her, pushing her up the porch steps.

Christie darts up, screaming as she runs at the record player, knocking it to the ground, stomping the shiny black of the record, smashing and cracking it. She continues to angrily pummel it with her soles, kicking the pieces aside. Her fury does nothing to drown out the forest of giggles she hears as she does so.

"Who is there?" she asks forcefully, feeling a new strength come over her. Her anger, her fear, were now colliding, blending, erupting in a powerful adrenaline rush.

She was done with this crap.

"Who the fuck are you?! Where's my brother, you fuckers?!"

The voices quiet, hushing each other, trying to hold in their mocking cackling. The room is dark save for the tiny lamp, and the only thing she can make out are the feet of her assailants moving stealthily along the shadows of the corners of the room. Charily, they begin to present themselves, each clown doll stepping forward, each one different than the last, tall, short, inching out into the weak light. Their giggling starts up again.

"No," Christie gives a small shake of her head. "No, this isn't real. You're just a dream. You're the pizza and ice cream I gorged on last night. I must have fallen asleep in the car. Because this isn't real."

This instantly silences them. They all glance to each other, their worn and aged features almost looking...scared. Or worried.

"I wouldn't say that. You'll make him mad..." offers the one who was perched on the lap of the crazed woman with the axe.

She wasn't real either. Just a ghost. A junk food-induced hallucination.

Christie, the emotionally intelligent girl that she is, now decided to wield her new power.

"You're not real. You're not fucking real." she points a taunting finger. "You're just imaginary. Just stupid dolls. I'm not scared of fucking dolls!" she finishes, almost laughing as she brings her fingers up to her mouth.

The room then starts to rumble, like an earthquake. The dolls all clamor back to the shadows, seemingly disappearing into the ratted and torn wallpaper. One utters an audible, "Uh-oh," as they vanish from sight. Accompanying the thunderous shaking is a raspy roar, echoing around Christie as she runs to the room's door, flinging it open, instantly being met with the axe woman.

"You're not real!" Christie shouts defiantly, the woman shrinks back, lowering her axe. Christie takes the opportunity to then jump down the stairs, the edge of her sneaker catching on a piece of broken railing that is protruding from a step and tumbles, flying down the stairwell, landing at the bottom and rolling to the center of the living room. She remains there, until she opens her lids, feeling the warmth of the sun upon her color drained features. She gradually raises her head, before she pushes herself up and heads to the door. Stepping out in the brightness of daylight, embracing the warmth, she makes her way home, just a block away.

Standing in the bathroom of her bedroom, she observes her tired features.

It had been a dream. A very vivid one. But a dream nonetheless.

Josh and Liam had left her there clearly, not that Josh hadn't abandoned her before. He would normally not have done that, but Liam's influence was strong. Maybe when she passed out during that silly little seance Liam wanted to do. Or maybe in the car ride. But, didn't she see something? She could have sworn she did. In the mirror. Or was that part of the dream too?

Oh well. Whatever happened, she was home now. Josh would turn up sooner or later. He was probably off smoking weed with Liam.

Assholes. Both of them.

She switches on the tap, gently splashing her face with cold water. She opens the medicine cabinet to retrieve the aspirin. She shuts it, and in the reflection, standing right behind her are Josh and Liam. She screams as she takes in their bloody and chewed facial features, Liam grinning his mocking leering grin. Just as the aspirin bottle hits the floor, she jolts awake.

Awake. Cold. Head pounding as she lay on the floor of Neibolt at the bottom of the stairs. She groggily lifts her aching body up, moaning in pain, placing her palm to her forehead. She lets out a defeated whimper as she sits, gazing around as the oval mirror that still sat leaning against the wall begins to roll out in front of her. Christie gasps, keeping her eyes on it as it comes to a halt a few feet away from her. Her heavy breathing is audible as she stares at it.

The surface of the mirror begins to ripple, her reflection fading as a massive white gloved hand emerges from the watery silver, wiry fingers wiggling, deep, rasping chuckles drifting out along with it as the ruffled sleeve of the hand appears. Then a bulbous head topped with fiery orange tufts of hair. Christie's mouth is agape, her eyes bulged as she tries to inch away from Pennywise, who has now pulled his entire upper torso out of the mirror, bells jingling. Leaning on his fists, he grins, those familiar stripes distorting as he sneers,

"Time to float," he growls before his features darken. "You are scared now, aren't you?" he loudly sniffs the air. "Yes, you are. Real, delectable fear."

He crawls out a little further, his visage becoming more irate, saliva strings dangling from his lips. "What a shithole." he says, mimicking Christie's voice.

Crippled with fear, Christie begins to scoot away, a tearful grimace forming, her legs kicking along the floor, before Pennywise's hand shoots out, coiling around her ankle.

Christie shrieks as he drags her towards him as he retreats back into the mirror. With a flash of light, the surface is normal again, save for a few small orange electric bolts shivering along the glass.

As the mirror tips back over, the faint sounds of giggling begins, filling the rooms of the house.

[amehanaaa]

How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days

Another round of Nalu! We love that. 

I hope everyone has been having a good week so far! Although the summer has been slow, I’ve been trying to make the most out of it. 

Thank you everyone who has been reading so far! I hope you enjoy this chapter! (Also can be read here.)

Chapter 4 – Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 Words: 3790 Summary: Lucy and Natsu are determined to take the necessary steps to fulfill their lifetime dreams. Little do they know, they have both given themselves 10 days to achieve it. 

                                                  ——————–

Arriving at the fire station, Lucy can physically feel relief scatter across her body as Natsu waves at her on the front lawn. After tipping the driver, she nearly runs to him.

“Hey,” they both say while giving each other a hug.

As they hug, Lucy scans their surroundings behind him. From what she can tell, Natsu is the only one outside. So far, so good.

“What are you looking for?” he asks, catching her gaze while they pull away.

“Nothing!” she exclaims, a little too quickly. She tries to calm her voice down. “I was just looking at the station. And now, I’m looking at you.”

She sends him a sweet smile to distract him. However, she also has to distract herself, so she doesn’t pay too much attention to how his shirt suggestively clings onto his torso. Although the plain shirt clearly has stains on it, there’s something about it that gives him an extra layer of attractiveness.

“Your hair looks pretty in the sun,” he says as he reaches over and twirls a lock in his fingers.

“Thanks,” she responds. She instinctively leans closer to his touch, but after remembering why she came, she stops herself from leaning too close.

“What have you done today?” she asks.

Natsu pulls away, beckoning her to follow him up the driveway. “Not much. I swept the front porch, but that’s all the action I had. I mentioned this to you before, but there’s not a lot for me to do here in central Magnolia.”

“What’s stopping you from going somewhere with more activity?” She remarks, reminding him of the question he asked her when they first met.

He pauses for a second too long. “I just have some plans before I start looking, that’s all. Anyway, want to meet my colleagues?”

Lucy slightly gasps, nodding eagerly. “I want to meet them!”

Natsu chuckles as he leads her into the station. “Hey, guys! I have someone I want you to meet!”

Lucy watches with amusement as men randomly appear in different areas throughout the station. Some appear from the back, others through various doors, and one even rolls out from under the firetruck. Suddenly, she’s surrounded by a handful of firefighters.

“Guys, this is Lucy,” Natsu introduces her. “She has a thing for people with stories.”

Lucy gapes at him. “Hey, that’s not—”

“Oh, I have a good story,” one of the men begin to say. “Natsu’s first time on the truck, he experienced motion—”

“Not stories about me,” Natsu hastily interrupts him. “I mean, stories about yourself. Childhood or coming of age stories. Those are the kind she likes.”

Lucy feels like she has been exposed like an open book. Although none of these men doesn’t seem to look at her strangely, she feels self-conscious. She has the urge to excuse herself, but someone steps up and speaks.

“I got plenty,” he says. “We can sit down and talk for a bit.”

Lucy glances at Natsu as though for approval. When she finds him nodding, she can’t hold back her smile while she follows the man to one of the outdoor tables.

“You’re not allowed to tell her any stories about me, Laxus!” Natsu shouts from behind them.

Although she has never been this close to such a built man, Lucy doesn’t allow for any awkward space between them. Once they sit, she instantly goes into reporter mode.

“What is your biggest motivation for being a firefighter?” she asks.

Laxus cracks his knuckles beneath the table. “My dad was a firefighter, so I basically grew up here. This station used to be my second home. But it was actually my grandpa who raised me when I wasn’t at the station. My dad wasn’t interested into the whole child-raising thing.”

Lucy hums and nods occasionally, making sure that he knows she’s listening to his every word.

“Gramps taught me a lot growing up, but I threw it all in the trash when I was old enough to make my own decisions. Greed is an addiction once you’re convinced that the world revolves around you. I learned the hard way that it doesn’t.

“Since it was in my blood to become a firefighter, I stayed loyal to the station. As I continued to be greedy, I planned to become the chief and lay off anyone who didn’t fit the criteria I created. I thought that as firefighters, we needed to be the strongest men who could take down anything.

“I was this close to being promoted.” Laxus raises his hand, leaving a pinch of air in between his index finger and thumb. “But something happened with Gramps that I never saw coming. He opened up a school. I knew that man loved people, but I never knew he had a soft spot for kids.”

Laxus appears to be reminiscing as he speaks. Lucy can’t help but be mesmerized, but she also has too many questions that can’t go unanswered.

“Is your grandpa Makarov?”

“Yeah. Did Natsu take you to Fairy Tail?”

Lucy nods. “Why did Fairy Tail change your heart?”

“It made me see people for how much they’re worth,” Laxus admits. “I used to see my colleagues as objects that were weakening the station. My perspective completely changed after finding out Gramps’ vision for Fairy Tail.”

“You saw his vision for that side of Magnolia to be redeemed,” Lucy says.

“Gramps’ vision also gave me hope for my redemption,” Laxus responds. “I realized that there was no way this station could stand without some people to stay here and maintain it. Fairy Tail changed me altogether, which is hard for me to say aloud.

“After that, my biggest motivation for being a firefighter was for the inactive members to know that they’re valuable. Even if it’s just sweeping the porch, they’re still needed here. Someone has to make sure everything is under control while we’re gone.”

Lucy glances behind Laxus’s shoulder to watch Natsu juggling three oranges. “How valuable do you think Natsu is?”

“Natsu is another reason why my eyes opened, too,” he mentions. “He said not to tell stories about him, so I won’t. But I think he’s more valuable than the chief wants to recognize. More valuable than sweeping, at least.

“The chief is pretty stubborn, so it won’t matter what I say. I have hope that Natsu will get to a place where he’s the firefighter he wants to be, though.”

Laxus’s voice is steady, causing an unexpected flare of hope to light up in Lucy’s chest. Weirdly enough, Laxus’s words are enough for her to believe that everything will be okay with Natsu. He will get to live his dream job—someday.

“Thank you for sharing me your story,” Lucy tells him, knowing that her words aren’t enough to express her gratitude.

“Take care of Natsu.” Laxus stands up from the table. “He seems to care a whole lot about you.”

Lucy tries to receive the advice as much as she can before it starts to hurt her chest. Once Laxus is inside the station, Natsu approaches her.

“How was it?” he asks while sitting across from her.

“Really good,” she replies. Her lips have permanently formed into a smile. “His story is really special.”

“You think all stories are special,” he remarks. “Hey, why does it look like you’re more into him than me?”

Lucy lets out a laugh, which causes Natsu to frown. She leans over and places an assuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I only have eyes for you.”

“You better,” he mutters. “Anyway, are you ready for dinner tonight? I already have the menu.”

“I can’t wait.” She rises from her spot, brushing the dirt off her pants. “I’m going to run some errands before I come. I’ll see you at your place.”

“Alright,” Natsu says as he reaches for her hand to pull her in. He’s about to go in for a kiss, but Lucy moves her cheek just at the right time.

“See you.” She sends him a sly smile.

Feeling Natsu’s eyes focused on her back as she walks away, Lucy waits until she’s in the taxi to let out a sigh of relief. The more time that passes, the more she is convinced that his friend isn’t going to ruin the experiment anytime soon.

With that mindset, Lucy can focus on her plans. As she swings by her apartment, her biggest concern is how troublesome she will be tonight.

                                                  ——————–

Natsu happily hums to himself later that night as he observes his apartment. The veggies are washed, the glazed ham has been in the oven for an hour, the dessert is in the fridge, candles are lit, music is playing—who wouldn’t fall in love with him after all this effort?

He doesn’t hold back his proud smile as Lucy takes in the view once she arrives.

“Natsu, you shouldn’t have done all this!” she gasps. “You even set the table.”

“I’ve been setting up since I left the station,” he reveals, not bothering to attempt being humble. “I even woke up early to prep everything. I made my famous recipe; it’s the most beautiful creation you’ll ever see.”

He brings Lucy to the table, offering her to take a seat.

“I can’t wait to eat it!” she claps her hands excitedly. She watches him go to the kitchen and open the oven. He returns with a ham on a large plate.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Natsu says, hypnotized by his own food. After setting the ham on the table, he delicately slices her a piece. “Let me know how good it is.”

Lucy begins to bite her lip, exchanging a few glances from him to the plate. She makes it obvious that she is hesitating. To make the moment last longer, she takes a long gulp of her water. After setting the cup back down, she slowly opens her mouth.

“Oh, Natsu… I forgot to tell you. I decided I’m not going to eat meat anymore.”

Natsu freezes in his spot. “When did you decide that?”

“I started yesterday,” she replies.

“You can’t just restart tomorrow?” he asks, almost desperately.

“Absolutely not!” Lucy proclaims in disbelief. “It’ll throw off my whole digestion track.”

Natsu has to use every muscle in his body not to sigh in frustration. Instead, he tries to nod in understanding. “Alright. I don’t think the vegetables will fill us up, so it’d be better to go somewhere else then.”

“Let’s go!” Lucy cheers, pushing herself up from the table. “I know the perfect place!”

Natsu thought he would have enough time to at least take a bite of the ham, but he doesn’t get the chance due to Lucy taking him by the hand and out of his place.

Just a short walk from his apartment complex, they enter an Italian restaurant with the words vegetarian only printed on the front door. Never in a million years did Natsu think he would be eating at a place like this.

“I’ve heard good reviews about this place,” Lucy says after they order.

“I’ve never been to a vegetarian place before,” Natsu responds, trying to hide the bias in his voice. “Can it really be that good?”

“You’d be surprised at how great vegetarian plates are,” she points out.

He hums while taking a sip of his water. “So, what made you decide to go vegetarian?”

“I watched a documentary,” she answers, visibly shuddering. “Do you know how awful the meat industry is?”

“I don’t want to know.” He shakes his head. “How long do you plan to be vegetarian?”

“I’m also doing it for health reasons,” she adds. “My dad used to deal with some health issues. Do you know if your parents had any health issues?”

“No idea,” Natsu shrugs half-heartedly. “They didn’t tell me anything about it if they did.”

Lucy notices how vague his tone sounds, but before she gets the chance to press further, their food arrives.

Natsu thought ordering pasta was a safe option, but even the noodles look healthy and unfulfilling. He looks over to see a pile of spinach on Lucy’s plate. Neither of these plates look satisfying.

Taking his first bite of the pasta, he views Lucy pick at her food. They connect gazes as she glances up from her plate.

“Do you think I’m fat?” she asks bluntly.

Natsu frowns at her sudden shift in tone. “What are you—”

“You’re looking at me like I’m fat,” she interrupts him. Her voice raises with each word. “I actually love eating spinach!”

Natsu can’t stop himself from gaping. He scans the area to see if anyone is staring at them.

“I’m not looking at you that way,” he insists with a low voice. “You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, Lucy.”

She stops picking at her food, a smile appearing on her lips. “Really? Even if I was twenty pounds heavier?”

“Even if you were thirty pounds heavier,” he confirms with a nod.

“Okay, I’ll remember that in the future,” she replies. With that, she takes a bite of her spinach.

The tension between them feels to be sizzling out by each minute, but Natsu decides to escape it altogether by making sure there is always food in his mouth. He is positive their dinner night couldn’t get any worse.

What makes it slightly better is the surprise dessert that the waiters gift them with at the end of their meal. Natsu is sure they must have noticed the tension at their table.

“Ice cream is the best,” Lucy sighs out happily, flipping the spoon upside down in her mouth.

“I could eat it every day,” he replies.

Allowing Lucy to take the final spoonfuls, Natsu is grateful when they leave the restaurant without another round of her outbursts.

“I’m sorry I ruined dinner for us tonight,” Lucy says while they step on the sidewalk.

They pause to stand at a corner and lean against the wall. Since it’s dark, they can only see what the hovering streetlights provide them. One light is above them, causing their skin to appear a tinted yellow.

“You can make it up for me next time,” Natsu assures.

Not giving her any time to react, he leans into her lips. He rests one arm to the left of Lucy to trap her in. Natsu can feel pent up frustration inside of him as she returns the kiss. He drags his lips across her cheek and gently pecks down to her neck.

“Ah,” Lucy nearly yelps. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

Natsu mumbles against her skin. “You feel great.”

Lucy doesn’t have a problem with entertaining him for a while, but she decides to fight against it—she knows this will frustrate him further.

Since she is backed against a wall, she has no choice but to escape his kisses by swiftly squatting down and stepping away. Natsu looks at her dumbfounded, but she makes up for it by giving him a chaste kiss.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” She sends him a hopeful smile.

She turns around in search for a taxi. Only have taken three steps away from him, she stops when he speaks behind her.

“How do you always make me feel like that?” Natsu asks.

She looks at him over her shoulder. “Like what?”

“You always smile after we kiss,” he points out. “It gives me this warm feeling in my chest.”

A giggle leaves Lucy’s lips. She brings her hand up in the air and begins to wave. “That sounds like a you problem!”

Not bothering to look at his facial expression in response, she gets into the nearest taxi. As she rides away, she finally feels something new inside her chest.

After ending every night with Natsu, she similarly has a type of warmth in her chest like he described. It’s a familiar feeling as though they’re actually in a relationship. Although she doesn’t receive it when they kiss, she definitely feels it after they’ve said goodbye each night.

But after tonight, there’s an unfamiliar heaviness. She wonders if these are the side effects to being the person she never wanted to become. She knows that the way she treated Natsu tonight was someone’s worst nightmare.

She recognizes that this heaviness settling in her chest represents that their relationship isn’t going in the right direction—which is exactly what needs to happen after the ten days.

Perhaps everything is going according to plan, after all. That is, if Natsu’s friend doesn’t come and wreck their relationship before then.

Meanwhile, Natsu returns to his apartment and finishes the entire ham by himself.