Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ringing.

That’s all you hear.

High-pitched wails pierce your eardrums, painting them useless to any other sounds.

Blood.

All you taste.

All you smell.

All you see.

Warm blood seeps into your mouth.

It tastes like metal.

The provider of this crimson liquid lays motionless on the ground.

A rock the size of a loaf of bread in your shaking hands.

Blood covered the stone.

His blood calls upon you from the ground on which it was spilled, like Abel's blood called from the soil to God when Cain murdered his brother in a fit of rage and jealousy.

Why? It begs for a response.

For that, you don’t know the answer.

Your trembling hands drop the rock. It lands a few centimeters from your blood covered shoes. You don’t have the mind to care. You don't have the mind to do anything besides stare in terror and disbelief at the damage you caused.

There’s no fixing this.

You’re terrified.

An unfamiliar buzz rises in your head, like thousands of bees are flying around your head every nano-second.

Maybe your day of judgment is coming quicker than you thought.

—

QUACK
QUACK
QUACK
QUA-

The obnoxious quacking stops as your fingers squeeze around the power button on your phone.

6:00.

You lay in bed for a few more seconds, chasing the last few moments of sleep. It doesn't work, so you shove the heavy quilts off of your legs and slide out of bed. Goosebumps rise as the cold air hits your exposed legs. You shiver, then step over to your window.

The sun was just beginning to rise, little slivers of light ready for the world to bask in its golden glow. You turn on your heels and trudge past your small dresser. On top of it sits a picture of you and Dad, with you sitting in his lap while he strums his beloved but old guitar and sings to you. His broken watch sits beside his picture, the one you gave him for his birthday. The hands don’t work, the face is cracked in multiple places, but you keep it. It reminds you of him.

Beside them, almost like a taunt, lays his Iraq Service Medal and dog tags that you swear still have flecks of blood in them, no matter how hard you scrub. A lump starts to rise in your throat before you swallow it back and quicken your pace to the kitchen.

You pass through the living room on the way to your kitchen. Your two Bloodhounds, Claire and Colter, lay sprawled out on the couch. They raise their heads to look at you before jumping not-so-gracefully onto the hardwood to follow you. You enter the kitchen and yawn.

"Good mornin', guys,” you manage to get out before you're attacked by slobbering beasts. You laugh as they start to play-fight, with Claire trying to swallow Colter's head whole.

"You hungry?" You ask, however you know the answer. They dance around your feet like little ankle-biter dogs, as if they're not five times bigger. You stumble as you make your way to their food bucket. You take off the lid, fill the cup in the bucket full of food, then dump it into their bowls. They scarf it down like they've never had a meal a day in their lives. You laugh again before deciding to make your own breakfast. You reach into a cabinet above your coffee machine and grab the coffee grounds. You open the top of the coffee maker and pour the grounds into it. You set the grounds beside the machine then grab an empty mug beside the sink and fill it with water. You dump the water into the pot then flick the top back down. You press the ON button then squat down to grab the toaster. The loud gurgle of the coffee machine manages to drown out the loud slurps coming from the dogs. You untangle the plugs and rise back up, hitting your head on the counter.

"Motherfucker," you mutter as you rub the back of your head.

You plug the toaster in and pry open the bread box. You grab a loaf of bread out, open it, and slip two slices into the heating toaster. You tie the loaf of bread up, then shove it back into the box. You make your way to the fridge and grab a Mason jar full of strawberry jam out. You set it onto the table then wrap your fingers around the silverware drawer, pulling it open then grabbing a butter knife. Your toast pops up just as the coffee maker beeps, so you fumble with the hot toast as you try to set it onto a plate while also trying to take the pot off of the stand. It all works out in the end, even if you almost dropped your coffee mug twice.

You sit down then grab the butter knife and unscrew the jam lid. You take a big glob of jam and spread it onto the toast, relishing in the scents blessing your nose. The only sounds were Claire and Colter eating and your soft chewing. The sun had gotten higher in the sky, the birds were singing their morning ballads. It was your own, secluded heaven.

You smell it before you taste it.

Blood. 

You brush it aside, maybe it's not blood, maybe you’re smelling things. You take another bite of toast. The metallic taste of blood coats your taste buds. You spit out the piece of toast, and rise quickly, your hands flying to your mouth. You discover the blood is coming from your nose and not your mouth, and run to the bathroom, attempting to not fall on the way there. Your attempts are futile, as you trip over a dog toy left on a rug and fall forward, slamming down hard on both of your knees. You skid across the floor and wince as you feel skin being ripped away from your legs.

"Fuckin' hell," you curse before shoving yourself up and to the bathroom. You finally reach the bathroom and fumble for a light switch. The lights flicker on and you step to the toilet, tearing a chunk of toilet paper off of the roll and patting down both knees, which had caused blood to stream down your legs. Blood runs through your open, chapped lips from your nose. You raise a hand to swipe away the blood as more replaces it. You jump on the counter and rummage through the medicine cabinet, quickly finding Neosporin and large, square band-aids. You dab blood which had begun to bead on top of the wounds with the rest of the bloodied toilet paper. You pop the cap on the Neosporin and place a healthy glob on both knees, gently rubbing it over the scrapes. You place both band-aids over both knees, and smack the band-aids down. You jump down from the counter and grab more toilet paper, wad it up then shove it into both nostrils. A soft pit-pat signifies the hounds are nearing the bathroom. You squeeze soap into your hands and turn on the faucet. Scalding hot water streams out, making you jump and hiss in pain. You feel fur by your legs, and look down. Your two beloved hounds stand by your feet, sniffing at your knees. Their noses tickle, and you laugh. You grab a small towel from beside the sink and dry your hands. You throw it on the counter and head back to the kitchen.

What the fuck was that?

Shrugging it off, you sit back down at the table and finish your breakfast. Colter lays his massive head on your legs, and looks up at you pleadingly with those droopy eyes. Claire busies herself with cleaning out their food bowls. After finishing breakfast-which meant giving the dogs the last few bites of toast-you headed to your room to get dressed. You slid open your closet doors, and grabbed the first shirt you saw. It was for a big-name seed company a little ways down the mountain. It was well loved and worn-the multiple small holes littering it proved that. You toss the shirt onto your bed and walk over to your dresser. You yank open a drawer, and take out a pair of Levi’s blue jeans. You toss them on the bed too, as well as your undergarments.

You quickly dress, then ball your sleep clothes into a tight ball and walk to the kitchen. Off the kitchen sits your small washer. A clothing line hung outside, just a few feet away from the window over the sink. You dump the clothes into the washer then walk back to your room. The hounds have relocated back to the couch where you found them this morning. As soon as you cross the threshold into the bathroom, a terrible pounding rises in your head, as if someone was drilling into your skull. It was so intense, you stumble forwards and grab onto the counter before you fall. You cry out as the pressure intensifies, but you force yourself to stand. You open your eyes and are transfixed on the mirror in front of you. Or rather, the image behind you.

(NIMM DEINE FICKEN MEDIZIN)

Behind you stands quite the odd figure. IT is incredibly tall, easily towering over you. IT is so tall IT ’s neck cranes to look down at you. IT ’s skin-if you could call it that- is off-white, the color of decomposing bones. IT wore a crisp, black suit with a blood red tie. IT had no face, only a skull with a golden tooth in the top gum, one of the incisors. IT had hollow eye sockets, but you could feel the burn of IT ’s intense gaze. Static roared in your ears, drowning out any other sounds. It was gibberish, but you could make out words. The creature didn’t seem happy.

(DU VERDAMMTE FOTZE, ICH KANN DEIN SCHWEIN RIECHEN)

  IT was covered in what appeared to be moldy cheese cloth, hence the yellowish color. IT seemed to be sending out negative aura waves of some kind, you felt absolutely miserable in IT ‘s presence. IT was nightmare fuel reincarnated: IT made horror movie villains look like children’s cartoon characters. You blinked, and IT was gone.

Your eyes focus on yourself back in the mirror, and all the sound returns to the world. Your head pounds painfully. You press your fingers down hard on your temples, as if that’d ground you. It works, but only a bit. During that odd interaction, your nose had started bleeding for the second time. You push yourself away from the sink and tear off a few squares of toilet paper. You wad them up then shove it up your nose.

“The hell was that,” you mutter out loud to no one in particular. You wait for your nose to stop bleeding so you can finish getting ready. You walk over to your bed and grab your phone from the charger. Your background lights up the screen, it’s a picture of you and your coworker and friend, Hank. You slide up and unlock it, checking your texts. At one point, another one of your coworkers, Jack, had texted. Something about his truck broke down and he needs a ride.

Sure, you reply.

What time are you gonna be here? You hadn’t expected him to reply so early.

Gonna leave in about 5 minutes, be there in 15.

Ok was his response.

You text your mother good morning, then shove your phone in your back pocket. You enter the bathroom, and throw away your bloody tissues. You wipe a hand across your nose, no blood comes away with it. You start your skincare routine, which consists of lathering it in CeraVe then scrubbing it all off. You get all the product off, then go to raise your head out of the sink, which you ultimately slam your head against the faucet.

“Well, God damn,” you say through clenched teeth. You rub the back of your head, where there’s bound to be a goose egg popping up. Water runs into your eyes, blurring your vision as you stumble over to your towel rack. You dry your face, then hang your towel back up. You step out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, where you grab a Carhartt sweatshirt out of your closet. You rummage through the drawers in the table beside your bed. You grab your holster and .44 Magnum and slip the holster on your belt. You flick out the barrel on your caliber and count the bullets. Only 2. Your fingers dance around the drawer until you find more bullets. You shove the shells into the chamber then snap it shut. You grab your wallet and stick it in your back pocket. Your gaze wanders up to the top of your dresser, to Dad’s picture. You trace your fingers over his face, the hole he left in your heart felt bigger than ever. You set down the picture, beside where his dog tags lay. You slip them over your head, shoving them underneath your sweatshirt. They burned your skin through your shirt. You grab his silver watch, clasping it around your wrist. You slide your sleeve back over it then walk out before you do something stupid, like cry.

“Claire, Colter, come here!” you call as you make your way to the kitchen. You hear two loud thumps as they tumble off of the couch. You pull out a chair and grab your boots from beside the table. You slip them over your feet as your hounds' nails click against the porcelain tile. You bend over to tie them, and instantly two droopy faces are shoved into yours. You laugh as they cover your face in slobber. You finish tying your boots and push the dogs away gently, standing up and pushing the chair back under the table. You walk over to the door and slip on your jean jacket, then grab your collection of keys from the hook. Both dogs have their faces shoved against the door, trying to push through the atoms that made it impossible. You open it and they sprint out to the same tree, chasing a squirrel that isn’t even there. Their tails point straight up as they run into the woods surrounding you, on the scent of an unfortunate animal. You grab your keys from your pocket and walk over to your ‘94 Ford-350. You slide the key into the keyhole and unlock it, swinging the door open. You start the engine, hearing the engine purr loudly. You decide to let it warm up a bit before you leave.

You shut the door and walk back to your chicken coop at the back of the house with your hands shoved in your pockets. You round the pen and take your hands from your pockets, then grab a woven basket from beside their food bags. You reach inside the food bag and gather a scoop, filling it up with food. You push open their wooden door and enter the coop. They flock around your ankles, ready to eat. You pour the food in their hanging feeder and they trip over each other in the pursuit of food. You step over them to their nests. One mother hen sits in one of the nests along the wall, staring you down, practically daring you to take her eggs. You leave her be and take the eggs from the other nests. Exactly a dozen. You gently place them inside of the basket and walk back out of the coop. You bolt the door tightly, then walk back to the house. You open the door and walk over to the kitchen. You grab an empty carton from beside the fridge and place the eggs into the carton, then sit the carton in the fridge. You grab the basket then walk back out to the chickens. You sit the basket back by the food bags and exchange it for a water pail. You walk over to the small water pump beside the house and begin to pump water for the chickens. When the pail is full, you stop and grab the pail’s handle and pick it up. You walk back to the chickens, sloshing water onto your boots and the ground in the process. You unbolt the door to the chickens and pour the water into their waterer. The chickens pecked away at their food. You look at the nests and the hen is still there. You don’t mind. Baby chicks are pretty cute. You walk back out the door then set the pail down. You make your way to your truck.

You step around the house and stand beside your truck. You look around the trees surrounding you and your eyes catch on a white tailed deer. You count the buck’s horns. 10-pointer. If only it was deer season. You grab the keys from the ignition and call for the dogs.

“Colter! Claire! Come here!” you shout. A few moments later, you hear the sound of two large bodies moving through the brush. For such a praised hunting breed, they definitely weren’t quiet. You walk to the door when you see them break through the edge of the woods. You open the door and they run inside, running and jumping on the couch.

“Bye guys!” you call out to them before shutting and locking the door. You walk over to your truck and slide into the driver’s seat. You pull your phone from your back pocket and check the time. 6:45. Perfect, just on time. You quickly text Jack.

On my way

His reply comes a few seconds later.

Ok

You slip into reverse then back up. You switch to drive and pull out of your small driveway to Jack’s home. He lives about 9 miles away from you, and he lives off the road you take down the mountain, so it’s never an inconvenience to pick him up.

Unbeknownst to you, you were being watched by a male with orange goggles and sharp hatchets hooked to his belt.

Hatchets just itching to be used.

Hatchets craving to taste your blood.

-

You flick through the radio stations before the smooth sounds of Fingers to the Bone fills your ears. You turn it up then take your hand away from the radio and place it on the wheel. 

“I work my fingers to the bone, not a pretty little penny have I got to show,” the song starts to play.

You glance at your calloused hands as the song carries on.

"I lift my voice to the forces above, the Lords of labor and the Goddess of love, ain't I been a good, hard-workin', faithful servant and son?” you sang along.

“Then the sky turns black, and it cracks with a thunderin' voice 'Work is what you are when you're breathin' in and out 'till your final breath falls to the floor,” the song keeps playing. The song ends, then switches to Johnny Cash, then The Devil Makes Three. You turn down the road to Jack’s. You make it there just as Man Tap ends. Jack walks out of his door, carrying his water jug. You turn down the radio as he opens the door.

“Good mornin’,” he says, slamming the door and adjusting the seat.

“Good mornin’,’ you reply back, “you want somethin’ to eat or drink? We’ll go to FastBreak,” you ask.

“Sure, I could use a coffee,” he answers. He reaches over to the radio and turns it up. Hank Jr plays. You two sit in a comfortable silence. You near civilization and slow down to turn into the gas station. You pull up beside a pump and stop the truck.

“I’m gonna head in, what do ya want?” Jack asks.

“Mmm,” you hum as you open the gas cap and punch in the information to the gas pump, “coffee, two creamers, bit of sugar, and a Little Debbie snack cake. Whatever’s fine,” you reply. Jack nods. 

“M gonna go to the bathroom, might be a few,” he says before backing away.

“Okay,” you reply, then shove the gas pump into the gas tank.

You stand in silence for a few moments before a car pulls into the lot, to the pump opposite to you. You glance at it then avert your eyes. For some odd reason, you feel sorrowful, miserable. You glance up again as you hear the engine shut off and a door slam.

(You fucking bitch-)

There stands a man with bushy mutton chops. He’s got the thickest sideburns you’ve ever seen. He stares at the ground with dark brown eyes, so dark they look black. He has a strong nose, and thick eyebrows. His mouth is down turned into an everlasting frown. Dark circles sit underneath his eyes, with eye-bags big enough to hold your dead lift PR in them. He has thick hair just as dark as his eyes. His solemn gaze flicks up to yours. You’re hit with a wave of negative emotions. Anger, fear, hopelessness. It’s so intense and raw that it makes your hands falter on the gas pump handle and your knees buckle. He looks away from you then walks into the gas station. When he walks away, you instantly feel better. Those negative emotions were gone, leaving you confused. As he opens the gas station door, the passenger side door of his car opens. Out steps a tall man, taller than the man before. He had icy blue eyes, with neatly trimmed hair and nice features. His features weren’t rugged, instead softer on the eyes. He had a scar on his upper lip that slightly pulled his lip upwards, allowing you to see a sliver of his teeth. You look back at the pump, it’s rude to stare.

You’re hit with another wave of emotions, this time not as negative. The waves were annoyance and frustration. The man pops open the fuel tank and taps in the amount of cash and gas into the pump. He unscrews the gas cap and shoves the gas pump handle in it. Your gas handle clicks shut, and you let it drip to rid it of excess gas, then set it back on the stand. Those negative emotions are back. You turn to look at the door as Jack comes out with the other man trailing a few feet behind him. Jack holds a small bag of goods and two coffees in his hands. The man holds a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, one of which he had already opened and shoved a cigarette into his mouth. His hands shake greatly, you can tell from your spot beside the pumps, as he flicks the lighter to flame, and the end of the cigarette is engulfed in flames. He puts away the lighter and cigarette pack and takes the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing smoke into the air. You screw the cap back onto the tank, then close the fuel tank. Jack walks over to the truck as you open up your door. You slide in and start it and he opens the door.

“Here’s yer coffee, two creamers, sugar,” he says, then hands it to you.

“Thank ya,” you reply. You set it inside of the cup holder in between the front seats.

“Yer welcome,” he grunts as he slides into the passenger seat. You start up the truck then drive forwards, making a big circle to turn onto the road. The man with thick sideburns made his way to his friend, though you could tell they were in some sort of disagreement. You didn’t linger on it too much, not your bulls, not your rodeo.

You pull into the mine parking lot as the clock reads 7:05. Perfect, just on time. The sun begins to rise, everything glowing in the orange-blue light. You pull in an empty spot and turn off your truck, then grab your coffee and snacks for later. You lock your doors then shove your keys into your pocket and walk up the steps to the office. Jack holds the door open for you.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

“Welcome,” he replies quietly.

Behind a desk sits your supervisor, Hank. He was one of the oldest workers, he was the same age as your dad would be, so you treated him like a second father and he treated you as another child.

“Good mornin’ kids,” he yawns out.

“Mornin’, Hank,” you fight back a yawn. You set down your bag of goods and coffee on the desk Hank sits at. Jack greets him as you walk over to one of the computers sitting on a desk. You both clock in then dress in your gear. Hank was already in his, so he didn’t join you in strapping everything on. Hank reaches over and grabs your coffee cup and takes a sip.

“Hey,” you playfully snap, “that’s mine.”

Hank makes a disgusted face. “All yours, too sweet for me.”

Jack chuckles. “There’s not a lot in there, old man.”

Hank slouches deeper in his chair. “You kids and yer sugar.” He yawns.

“Just waitin’ on Ennis,'' Hank says. You nod then look over to Jack. The faintest blush covers the tips of his ears. You give Hank a knowing look. A few minutes later, Ennis walks in.

“Took ya long enough,” you joke.

He gives you an unamused glare.

“Not all of us wake up at the ass crack of dawn,” he says.

“Maybe you should get up early, maybe we wouldn’t be waitin’ on yer ass all the time,” Hank counters.

“I do get up early,” he replies, walking over to the computer you and Jack both used. His hand brushes Jack’s back as he passes by. Jack coughs into his fist.

“Oh yeah? How early?” Hank questions, leaning forward in his plush chair.

Ennis pauses for a moment.

“7:10,” he mutters.

“What?” you exclaim, “It’s 7:25 right now!”

“I done told you not all of us wake up early!” he snaps back, holding back a laugh. He leans backwards against the desk with his hands in his front pockets. You lean back in your chair, a smile sitting on your lips.

“Maybe I’ll start showin’ up to yer house to get ya up. Drive around the yard, blare the horn at five in the morning,” you laugh. “Better yet, I’ll send Jackie Boy to get ya up,” you joke as Hank laughs. Jack’s ears are now the color of tomatoes.

“Shut up, you fuckers,” Jack gets out before he laughs.

Ennis just laughs. If you were wrong, may the Devil have your soul, but you swear his cheeks were a bit flushed and his eyes shone brighter in the lighting.

Ennis pushes away from the desk he was leaning on. He straps on his gear then turns expectantly towards everyone.

“What’re y’all sittin’ there fer? Let’s get goin’!” He announces, then turns and exits a side door into the entrance to the mine.

You all stand and follow him into the mine.

—

“C’mon, y’all, I’m buyin’,” Hank says as you shut off your excavator and climb down the steps. Jack and Ennis turn off their machines and meet you and Hank in the middle. You take your mining carts up the slope to the office. It’s a quiet ride, it has to be. For everyone’s safety. You arrive at the office and you grab your keys and phone. Hank grabs his wallet and you head out to your truck. You unlock it and Hank sits in the passenger seat, Jack and Ennis in the back. You fire up the engine and reverse, then speed out of the lot, rolling coal like highschool boys in their first truck. Hank gives you the directions and you follow, eventually pulling into the parking lot of a small diner named Glenn’s. You pull in an empty spot, turn your truck off, and everyone tumbles out. You kill the engine and slam your door shut. You all walk to the door.

“Ladies first,” you say, holding the door open for the men. Hank snorts.

A sweet elderly woman stands behind the counter.

“Y’all sit down wherever, I’ll be with ya in a minute,” she calls before disappearing into the back.

Hank leads your party to a booth in the very back. As you pass by the tables, no one seems to be here, besides one man. As you sit down, you accidentally make eye contact with him.

(NIMM DEINE FICKEN MEDIZIN)

You saw blood covered hands. You saw, presumably, a woman, in a once white sweatshirt covered in coal dust, and wore a cracked, coal covered mask. Electric blue eyes bore into yours, reading your soul like a book. Where the mouth should be was a gaping black hole. Coal colored hair fell around the mask and rested on the shoulders of the dirty hoodie. You then saw the back silhouette of a man in a yellow hoodie with a rifle strapped to his back. You could almost smell him: the metallic scent of blood and agony. You knew he was speaking, you just didn’t know what he went on about. It must’ve been stressful, for his hands were clasped tightly behind him, so tight his fists shook. He was replaced by a man in an orange jacket. Smoke curled around his head, swirling directly into yours. His hair was dark brown, something about the color seemed familiar. You blink, and you’re back in the diner. Fingers were snapping in front of your face. Your eyes flick over to Hank staring at you with an increasing amount of worry etched on his face.

“You okay?” He asks, genuinely concerned. You rub at your eyes.

“Yeah. Just spaced out for a minute,” you reply.

You still smell cigarette smoke.

You steal another look at the man you locked eyes with. He had curly dark brown hair cut into a messy, curly mullet, like it hadn’t been cut in a while. His eyes were russet brown and down-turned, and he had tan skin. Freckles kissed every centimeter of his face. He had high cheekbones, a strong, once straight nose that had a crook on the bridge, a strong jaw, and small cheeks. Beard scruff lined his strong jaw. He had two piercings on his bottom lip, snake bites if you remember correctly. He didn’t look much older than you, maybe two years tops. His arms and face were littered in small scars, but that’s common having a job as a laborer. The strangest thing about him was the piece of cotton taped on the side of his mouth. His brown eyes stared down into his mug, seemingly lost in thought. You tear your eyes away. Had your mother been here, she’d have chewed your ass for staring at him for too long.

Hank turns to you.

“So, how’s life?”

“Just peachy,” you reply. The sweet elderly woman from the register comes over to your table. She hands everyone an old, battered menu.

“Do we know what we want to drink?” She asks, flipping her notepad to a new page. Everyone picks coffee. She scribbles that down on her notepad. Your eyes drop from her face to her nametag. Ruth, it read.

“Be lookin’ for what ya want, I’ll be back with yer drinks,” she says, smiling at each of you then turning and disappearing to the back again. The guys make small talk about menu choices while you look at the man again. He is attractive, you wouldn’t deny, but there was something off about him. You just couldn’t place your finger on it.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you tell the guys before sliding out of the booth.

“What d’ya want?” Hank asks.

“Cheeseburger and fries,” you say as you walk farther away from them and closer to the strange man. As you get closer, you notice his attire. A gray, dirty plumbing shirt, with dark blue Levi’s and Carhartt work boots. He wore a silver watch on his wrist. A dirty big-name seed company hat sits beside him on the booth. He notices your presence near him and glances up and makes eye contact with you. Your eyes flit away, embarrassed at being caught. You continue walking to the bathroom, this time feeling eyes burn holes through the clothes on your back. You shove open the bathroom door and sit on the toilet. You finish up and stare at yourself in the mirror as soap is pumped into your hand.

You scrub away at your hands, letting your thoughts wander. What was that strange creature? Why did I get waves of emotions? You look down at your soapy hands. Your hands are black with dust. You blink and they're drenched in blood.

(Please, help me-)

You begin to panic as you shove them under the faucet, and black water comes away, not bloody water. You let out a breath of relief. You pump more soap into your hands and continue scrubbing away. You scrub extra hard at your nails, trying in vain to rid them of the stained black dust that embedded itself under your nails and in every crack and crevice of your hands. You give up trying to get all of it washed away and wash the soap off then dry your hands and walk back out and past that man. You feel eyes on you again. You near the table and see three steaming cups of coffee in front of the guys, one in front of your empty seat.

“Glad you could join us,” Ennis says.

You take a sip of your coffee, the burn scalds away your taste buds.

“Glad you could be in my presence,” you quip.

Ennis rolls his eyes. “We ordered for you. Hope you like grits and corned-beef-hash,” he says, voice as serious as he could muster. You snort.

Jack begins to tell a crazy story about a bar fight, and you listen along, but pull out your phone. You noticed that your mother had texted back.

Good morning, sweetheart. How’s your morning so far? How’s Ennis and the others? The text read. She loved your mining friends, but especially Ennis. They were like peas and carrots. You type out your reply.

My morning is fine so far. We’re at Glenn’s getting dinner then we’re gonna head back to work. Ennis is a mess like usual, we’ve been on his ass about him almost showing up late.

You hit send then sit your phone back down. A few moments later, she replies.

Ennis! That boy’s a mess! Tell him I’ll kick his ass if he’s late again.

You reach across the table to Ennis and let him read the text. He laughs then grabs your phone to type his response. His fingers tap rapidly on your phone while your eyes flick back to that strange man. There’s something…. alluring about him. You couldn’t figure it out. And that bothered you. Greatly. You snap your head back to your group of guys. You shove those feelings down and out of your system. For all you know, he could be some freak serial killer that eats his victims' remains. Hell, there could be a decapitated head in his refrigerator at home for all you know. Ennis hits send and gives you back your phone. You look down at his response.

Not if I kick yours first

Ennis btw

You laugh. Ruth disappears behind the back and comes out a few moments later, holding a platter of food on top of her arm, somehow managing to balance it on her frail arms. She scuttles over to your table and balances it on the edge. She hands everyone their plates, yours first.

“Thank you,” you say as you grab the plate from her gnarled hands.

“Yer welcome, honey,” she replies, then grabs another plate and passes it to Jack. She gives the others their platters of food and rests the tray on her hip.

“If y’all need anythin’, just holler,” Ruth says, cocking her hip.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hank thanks.

She walks away and you all dig in. Where you sat, you had a perfect view of the man. You noticed that every so often, his head would snap to the side, as if he was violently popping his neck. The intensity and aggressiveness of which his neck jerked made you wonder if he couldn’t control it. His neck snapped to the side again, and he grimaced. He opened his eyes and instantly made eye contact with you. Your eyes flitted away, embarrassed, as if you’d been caught in an inappropriate act. It was only eye contact, so why did it feel so intense?

After a while, your party and the man finished your meals. Ruth had given Hank the bill, and the guys were figuring out a tip. Another person had wandered into the diner, a pretty woman with straight black hair and blue eyes the color of lightning from storm clouds-just like the woman from your vision-you stopped there. It’s just a coincidence, there’s plenty of people with coal covered clothes and black hair. Hell, Jack’s hair was black. But those eyes….those were eyes you’d never forget in a million lifetimes. They stared directly through you, reading your soul like an English major reading Shakespeare. Those eyes saw you for what you were.

A murderer.

Those intense emotions were back, this time annoyance and bitterness. You didn’t know what you were annoyed at. She sat at a table farthest away from everyone. The man glanced at her a few times, however she never spared him a glance, instead staring through you the entire time, only breaking to give sweet Ruth her order.

“Okay, we got the tip figured. Let’s roll,” Hank says, dropping a few bills on the table. Everyone made their way out of the booth and to the counter where Hank made small talk with a man behind the counter, who you guessed was Glenn. He wore a greasy apron with the words “Kiss The Cook” printed on it. Ruth stood beside him, cleaning the counter top.

“Ma’am, you heard anything about the murders? I think they're all related somehow. Everyone I talk to at work don’t believe me, besides [Name] here,” Jack says to Ruth, his voice a low whisper. Ruth stopped cleaning the counter top and sighed.

“Cops say it’s all connected. To what, only God knows. I heard the murders was all done in three ways, an axe, a gun, or a blunt object. We’ve,” she says, motioning to Glenn, “got a few grandkids running around. I’m scared to death, worryin’ about them. It’s a full time job,” she jokes, but you can all tell there’s a lot of truth behind that statement.

She continues talking. “My granddaughter, only girl, is gonna turn five in May. Sweetest thing you’ve ever seen, she ‘bout gives me tooth rot.”

You and Jack laugh.

“I got a niece, Stevie. She’ll be five in June. Her mama left, and her dad’s tryin’ best he can. She’s got a mean streak, but she’s all smiles with me,” Jack gets a twinkle in his eye, the one he gets when he talks about things he loves. You’ve noticed that very twinkle when he talks about Ennis.

“Same boat as my grandbabies, their daddy left. Not even the Lord knows why or where he went. Never left a note, never said goodbye. Just up and left. Never paid a penny of child support either,” Ruth huffs.

“Stevie’s mama left when she was two. Don’t remember much, but she’ll be fine without her,” Jack frowns. “My brother tries, and he’s not amazin’ but no one is.”

Ruth chuckles. “Amen to that, hon. At the end of the day, we’re all tryin’ to get through purgatory,” she finishes up.

Jack and you both nod. It's silent for a few moments before Hank breaks it.

“Thank you for the food. Have a good day,” Hank says before turning and walking to the door. You all say your goodbyes then follow. Hank reaches your Ford and leans against the hood.

“Careful there, tubby. Don’t wanna dent up my truck,” you jokingly chide.

He scoffs then pulls a pack of Marlboro cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He grabs a cigarette then looks at everyone.

“Want one?” he asks. Ennis and Jack both decline, however you take one.

“Ya know, these are gonna kill you one day,” you tell Hank, half joking.

“Better now than later,” he replies, grabbing a lighter from his pocket and lighting up the end. His brown eyes hook on yours.

“Plus, I don’t hear you complainin’.” He tosses you the lighter. You light the end and take a drag, then blow it out into the air. You turn the lighter over in your hands as Hank pulls out his phone. He fiddles with it then walks around to the other side of your truck with the phone held to his ear. Just then, the bell above the door rings. You glance up and see the man who you’d been hardcore staring at.

“Got light?” he asks, his voice wore a thick German accent, it was very noticeable. His words were almost indecipherable, a heavy German accent mixed with southern wasn’t very understandable. You toss him the lighter. His hands shoved down the pockets of his jeans, searching for a cigarette. He finds one and shoves it in between his lips. He flicks the lighter on and the end is engulfed in flames. At the sight of the fire, he seems to pale. Strange , you think to yourself. He puts out the lighter and takes the cigarette out of his mouth and blows out a cloud of smoke. He tosses the lighter back to you then leans backwards, against the building. Every so often, you glance at him and his eyes flit away quickly. For a while, you stand there like that, up until Hank comes back.

“We ready?” Hank asks. Everyone nods as you take the last drag then squish it beneath your boots. You feel eyes on you. You look and find the man staring at you. His eyes flick away again, embarrassed. You all pile into your truck and head back to the mines. You stare at the man’s reflection in the mirror until you’re gone. When you get back to work, you continue where you left off.

-

You stumble out of the mines at God knows when in the early hours of the morning. Everyone jumps into their trucks, eager to leave. You start to get in before you realize your phone is in the office.

You turn back, and suddenly, the office is gone.

The coal mine is gone.

All the colors are taken from the world, only blacks and whites and grays are visible.

There’s a high pitched squeal in your ears. Your head throbs, and you smell blood.

You’re in a field and that creature who stood in the mirror behind you. You’re too transfixed to move. IT glares at you with no eyes before disappearing. Suddenly, glimpses of your friends and family dying are burned into your eyelids.

A figure you assume to be Hank with his head bashed in.

An open casket.

You walk to it against your will.

Ennis lying in his own blood.

The open casket starts to leak blood as you near it.

You place a hand on the edge of the casket.

Your mother with an axe in her back.

A woman's hand reaches up from the blood-soaked casket and wraps its cold, dead hand around your wrist.

You see IT again. IT levitates across the ground, gliding easily over to you. You try to run, but you’re paralyzed.

The closer IT gets, the worse you feel. Nausea hits you like a tsunami.

Blood pours in buckets from your nose, and it feels like your head was split open.

It’s all gone as soon as it started. You gasp and fall to your knees. You’ve never been more happy to see solid ground. You shut your eyes tightly, willing away the sights of your family and friends dead. there for a moment to deal with your pounding head. The color slowly returns to the world. When your head doesn’t feel as bad, you grab onto your truck and haul yourself up on shaking hands. Your eyes were puffy and red, you’d been crying, you noticed in the side mirrors. You took trembling steps to the office, trying to hurry but not being able to. You make it there and grab your phone and stumble to your truck. You climb into the driver’s seat and rest your head on the steering wheel. Tears pool in your eyes. You let one fall before straightening and turning the key in the ignition. The engine roars and you have no problem speeding out of there.

You’re in a daze when you get home. Feed animals, shower, sleep. You wish to put this day behind you. Just as you’re about to fall asleep, the man from the diner pops into your head. You dimly wonder if he’s actually a murderer or not before falling into a deep slumber.

-

Time marches on, as always. There’s no slowing or stopping it. The entire fiasco was now two weeks ago and no sights of the man from the diner or IT . You believe that’s a miracle in disguise.

It’s a normal Wednesday morning. You get up, go to work, and go on your lunch break. Hank offers to pay for lunch, and everyone agrees. You take the rickety old mineshaft up to the office.

You all stand quietly in the elevator. The lights flicker and the elevator swings harshly to the side, crashing into the rock wall.

"Fuck!" Everyone stumbles to the side. Jack slams into Ennis, you slam into Hank then everyone falls backwards as the elevator swings to the other side and hits another rock wall.

You grunt in pain as Hank's heavier body falls onto yours. The elevator swings to the side again, and everyone skids painfully across the metal floor. You grab onto the bars to try and haul yourself up. Your feet slide against the floor and collide with Hank's nose. He grunts in pain.

"Sorry!" You call to him.

"'S okay," he says through gritted teeth.

Everyone else holds onto a bar and eventually the elevator stops swinging. It finally stills and you cautiously stand. You help the others up and see Hank's nose bleeding profusely.

"Fuck man, I'm sorry," you apologize.

"'S okay, it wasn't yer fault," he replies. He presses the top button and the elevator slowly descends upwards. 

As soon as everyone steps onto the gravel, you can tell something’s wrong. Everyone exchanges glances.

It’s not just you that feels the shift in the air.

You place a hand over the caliber attached to your belt to calm yourself. The men pull their guns out of their holsters and point them at the ground, both hands on the grip. Hank crosses to the office door and you all follow quickly. Hank looks back at everyone before counting down from five.

"Three.... two.... one!" He says before wrapping his hand around the door handle and shoving. Hank rushes in, Jack and Ennis right behind him, you taking up the rear.

You take a step inside and are stopped in your tracks by the stench that is all too familiar to you.

The smell of fresh, warm blood.

Chapter Text

Lainey, your receptionist, lay slumped in her chair with her head split in half.

You were transfixed as her brain slowly pulsed inside of her head. You remember reading somewhere that your brain is still active for seconds to hours after death. You doubted that still applied when your brain is split open like a summer watermelon.

Blood covered every inch of her skin. It soaked into her clothes, staining her forever. Her glassy, dull eyes were wide with fear. Blood slowly trickled down her face from the gaping hole in her head.

( NIMM DEINE FICKEN MEDIZIN )

“[Name]!” Hank asks, snapping his fingers in front of your face. You gasp out of the trance you must’ve been in.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” He questions.

“‘M fine, fine. Just spaced out,” you reply as you stare at Lainey.

“Ya looked a little sick there. I wanted to be sure you wasn’t tappin’ out on me,” he says, placing a hand on your cheek and tilting your head to check for any injuries you might’ve gotten from the elevator.

You watch as gore slowly slides down the rip in Lainey’s head. Her carotid arteries twitched every so often, sending a mist of blood through the air. Hank lets his hand drop from your face and steps over to Lainey. Everyone knew that they had something going on, it was pretty damn obvious. Hank stands in front of her, trying his hardest to not let the tears fall that desperately wanted to escape. He leans forward and kisses her cheek then places his fingers over her eyelids, closing them so she wouldn’t have to see the horrors of this world. Her severed veins spray a mist of blood onto Hank’s face, speckling his freckled skin and mixing with his own blood.

Jack walks over to the phone attached to the wall and picks it up. He presses it up to his ear and is silent for a few moments.

“Fuck, it’s dead,” he says, dropping it where it bounces around on the cord and hits the wall. Hank bends down and grabs Lainey’s bloody and smashed phone. He rummages in her pockets for her keys only to come up empty. Something glints through the blood and gore and you bend down to pick it up.

It’s the bottom half of Lainey’s car key.

You check your pockets for your own keys, only to come up short.

“Don’t got my keys either,” you say as you all stare at each other. The guys check their pockets and sure enough, no keys or phones.

The next town is thirty miles away, there’s no way you make it in time, before whoever murdered Lainey exited the mine and found you. It’s miles upon miles of open road and woods. You could hide in the woods, but who’s to say you wouldn’t get lost? Lord knows how far back those woods stretched, and it was pretty damn far. The road was just about untraveled, save for the miners and a few truckers who had a load to take to one of the big cities down the mountain and didn’t wanna deal with the city traffic.

What you have to do hits you like a freight train.

“Well, fuck,” Ennis says, puffing out a large breath of air. Everyone stands silent for a few moments before Hank speaks.

“Let’s pray whoever did this ain’t goin’ down the mine. We’ll take the elevator and find some truck keys and a phone then hightail out of here,” Hank says then clicks his safety on and unclips his magazine then checks the bullets. Jack and Ennis do the same as you walk out the door and to the elevator you went up. You shove your gun into your holster and press the button and the doors open.

“[Name]?” Ennis calls.

You take a step on the metal grate and the elevator plummets down.

You hear a chorus of gasps as the elevator stops for a moment then falls back down. It stalls again and heavy footsteps pound the ground as the men near you. You hear your own scream of fear erupt from your throat as you stare down in the darkness. Hands are wrapped around your torso, your arms, anything they could get purchase on as the elevator finally falls down. You get yanked backwards and onto gravel. You’re pressed against someone’s chest. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you hyperventilate.

You whirl backwards to find yourself pressed against Hank’s sturdy chest. He places gentle hands on your biceps.

“Ya okay after that?” He asks.

Your breathing slows and you finally answer him.

“Yeah, didn’t know it was gonna fall on me,” you reply. Jack and Ennis hold out their hands for you to take and haul you up to your feet.

“Guess that rules that out,” Jack says. Ennis nods in agreement. You stand in silence for a bit before you all wordlessly turn to the mine entrance and walk back into the mine.

Your new graves.

You make your way to a small clearing and stop. A loader sits almost in the middle, still running. A bloody handprint sits on the side of the ladder. Hank holds a hand up for everyone to stop before he raises his gun and climbs into the loader. He makes it to the cab and pauses before ripping open the door and aiming his gun inside. He stares for a moment before turning and calling to you.

“James is dead. It’s….fuckin’ awful ,” he says, turning back to the cab. You climb up the ladder and peer inside.

The only reason you knew it was James was his decapitated head. His body was literally ripped apart. Blood and viscera covered the inside of the cab. Hot, thick blood slowly oozed down the walls and windows. Bloody bones that still had flesh on them were scattered across the floor and seat. Something glinted on the speedometer and you reached a hand to take it.

It was circular and felt like jelly. You rubbed a thumb across it to clear some of the blood and James’ blue eye stared back at you. Your eyes widen and you feel your stomach churn. You drop what you now know is James’ eye. It bounces across the floor and rolls until it hits a bloodied work boot. Bile rises in your throat and suddenly the cab is too small. You step out on the landing and fly down the ladder, swallowing back the bile that threatened to rise. You bend over and cup a hand over your mouth.

Hank steps out of the cab and climbs down the ladder, leaving bloody shoe prints on it. You feel a hand on your back and you glance at the ground where boots stand in your peripherals. It’s Jack.

“Ya good?” He asks.

You will away the puke and straighten up. You wipe a hand across your brow and it comes away slick with sweat.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m good,” you reply. Jack removes his hand from your back and everyone keeps going forwards.

“PLEASE, GOD NO-” a voice screams before it is silenced. Everyone stops in their tracks.

You drive your Ford-350 down a lonely back country road lined with thick woods on either side. Your eyelids droop heavily as you glance at the clock on the dash.

2:33.

God, you wanted to sleep so bad it almost drove you crazy. The only sounds were your wheels turning on the gravel and the fiddle of Amarillo by Morning on the radio. You yawn and take a hand off of the wheel to rub at your tired eyes.

You blink, and a black dog runs across the road, right in front of your truck. Your eyes snap open wider as you slam on the breaks to let it pass and to not kill the damn thing. It crosses safely and you press on the gas gently, and continue down the road, this time more cautious. 

You continue on until a scream rings through the quiet woods. Your head snaps to the right, where it came from.

The hell was that? 

You turn down the radio and roll down your window, head craned to see what in God’s name that was. You sit for what felt like an hour before easing on the gas. You roll down your passenger window and-

“[Name]!” A voice shouts.

Your eyes snap open and Hank’s soft brown stare deep into your own. 

“Stay with me,” he says sternly. You snap out of your stupor and nod. The guys huddle around you protectively, ensuring you won’t fall behind or get wrapped up in your mind.

You pass more corpses, you noticed a pattern in the ways they died. Some had a gunshot wound in their head, some were bashed in by what you guessed was a blunt object, then the others ended up like James. Their dead yet watchful eyes glared at you from their hollowing sockets.

Walking further into the core of the Earth, the screams get louder and echo around the walls and into your ears. Gunshots ring out, accompanied with the CRUNCH of bones inside bodies breaking and a nauseating SQUELCH . Occasionally, maniacal laughter would carry through the tunnels. Forcing yourself to not let your mind wander back to the night you tried not to remember and the event that was currently banging on your front door, you find your thoughts on your father.

-

You look up at him with tears blurring your vision.

“Oh, baby,” he croons as you start to cry. He drops his military-issued bags then picks you up in his arms and you feel his warm, comforting hands wipe away your tears.

“I’ll be back, don’t worry,” he says, craning his neck down to be eye-to-eye with you.

You take one of his big hands in your smaller ones.

“Promise?” You whisper.

He smiles.

“Promise.”

-

Hank stops suddenly in front of you and you run into his back. He pays you no mind as Ennis starts to speak but is silenced when Hank holds his hand up.

You can faintly hear the screams of victims before they’re silenced forever.

Hank slowly steps forward. Everyone stays silent and still.

Hank enters one of the large caverns where you’d carve into the Earth. He points his gun around at all the machinery and when he decides it’s safe, he motions for everyone to continue moving. As you got closer to the end, you encountered countless unmoving bodies. What freaked you out the most was that the bodies were still fresh . Fresh as in the muscles involuntarily flexed, the skin turned ashen, the blood was still reacting to the oxygen. Their lips weren’t pale, the hands weren’t blue, their eyes weren’t sunken in-that scared you the most. They’d been dead for maybe five minutes tops.

That meant the killer was very, very close.

You continue on before you begin to hear voices. You can’t make out the words but as you enter the current cavern you were currently mining in, words began to shape. Hank rushes everyone behind a loader tire before you’re seen.

“Ain’t there supposed to be a few more?” A gruff voice, presumably a male, asks.

“Yeah, four others,” another voice rang out, warped by some sort of voice changer.

“You ssssuh-sssuh-sure?” A German accent asks.

“I’m sure, Rogers. Shut up so we can listen,” the warped voice snaps.

“Ich schwöre, Brian, wenn du falsch liegst, werde ich dich wie ein Schwein ficken,” the German voice said. You got lost in your mind as you racked your brain for why that voice sounded so familiar.

The voices continue to bicker like children when the realization almost causes you to gasp.

It’s the man from the diner.

You grasp Hank’s hand tightly in yours. He turns to you, confused.

It’s the man from the diner , you mouth. His eyes widened in surprise before risking a quick glance to the middle of the cavern where the men stood. He looks back at you and nods to confirm your suspicion.

“What’re we gonna do?” Ennis murmurs lowly to Hank. Hank’s brows furrow as he thinks of a possible solution and your mind wanders.

Another scream echos through the dark and once quiet woods. Your heart rate begins to speed up, ready to fight or flee. The greenery shakes and a figure crawls out from the underbrush.

Your blood turns to ice in your veins.

It was a man. He had only his upper body, his feet to his waist nowhere to be found. His intestines dragged against the ground as he noticed your truck sitting still and cried out for help.

“PLEASE, HELP ME!”

His nose was broken beyond repair, blood streams down his face from the gaping hole where his right eye should be. Gore slips down the cavern in his eye, vitreous liquid spilling down his face and running into his mouth. A small chunk of his iris slides down the rivers of blood covering his face and falls into his mouth that currently wails for help. Bile rises in your throat and you slap a hand over your mouth.

An odd buzz rises in your mind, like your brain had filled with TV static. Ringing starts low and quiet in your ears, before it rises in pitch and volume until all you hear is ringing, drowning out the man’s pleads for you to help.

You’re not in control of your body as you open your truck door and step out. It’s like an out of body experience when-

You blink.

“We’ll shoot ‘em, grab our shit, and get the hell outta Dodge,” Hank whispers.

Everyone takes their stance and aims their guns in front of them. Jack and Ennis peak around one side of the loader tire while you and Hank look around the other. Once everyone’s in position, Hank nods. 

You hesitate.

B A N G

B A N G

B A N G

B A N G

Four shots fired, only one hit their mark.

A man in a yellow hoodie and black mask falls to the ground as a bullet engrains itself into his forehead. The black pistol he held fell and clattered against the ground.

Another man in an orange Carhartt jacket and a white feminine mask was hit twice, once in the abdomen then the right shoulder.

The man from the diner had a bullet sized hole in his throat. You swear you could see the other walls of the cavern through it. You hesitated, too wrapped up in the memory of his handsome face in the diner and missed your shot. He doesn’t seem to mind, and turns to your hiding spot while the other man doubles over and says some words that would make a your grandma whack him upside the head with a hairbrush.

For a single moment, you meet the familiar eyes of the man from the diner. He wore odd goggles over his eyes that you couldn’t see the color of because of how much blood and guts covered him. He was absolutely drenched in blood. He wore a bloodstained mouthguard and the same boots you first saw him in. Two hatchets hung from his belt. Judging based on how bloody he was, you confirmed he was the one who ripped the bodies apart. Underneath his mask, he smiles, you can tell by his cheeks rising, and he sprints at you.

You can’t will yourself to move. It’s when he raises a hatchet above his head and Hank yanks you forwards to run that you take off, running behind another tire. The hatchet sails behind your head, slamming against the hard wall and lodging itself between chunks of heavy rock. The man slows to a cocky walk and rips it out of the wall like it was nothing, making eye contact with you the entire time. You turn around and run harder.

“Holy shit balls!” Ennis says, chest heaving from adrenaline and sprinting. The man from the diner chases as well, calling out to his friend.

“Alright thu-there, Timmy?”

“ SHUT UP ROGERS !” Comes his raged reply. You’re hit with a tsunami of anger and you feel your blood boil in your veins from it.

You swivel your waist so you’re looking at the man but you’re still running forwards. You fire at him again, but that does nothing to slow him. He starts to gain on you and you turn around and run harder. Damn, he’s fast.

You abruptly slide underneath a truck and take off running from the other side. His sights seem to be set on you as he slides under and gives chase again.

There were plenty of places to hide, most of the machinery was in this cavern. You zig-zag around drills and tires until you hide inside of a tire.

Fuck, why didn’t I stay with the guys? You mentally slap yourself. 

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your heavy breathing as you hear his shoes stop pounding the ground and walk.

“Luh-luh-little pig, little pig, where did you go?” He calls out. In the dim lighting, his goggles glow. You risk a peek around the tire and his back is to you, allowing you to see his frazzled mullet.

His head whips around suddenly, and his mask had fallen down during his chase. A large rip on the side of his mouth stretched across his cheek. You could see inside of his mouth, and you almost gagged upon seeing his tongue run over his teeth, a hungry predator catching sight of harmless prey.

“Found you,” is all he says before launching himself at you like a starved dog looking at meat.

You shriek and start running.

Duck, left, straight, right, you develop a pattern to lose him. You felt like Danny running through the hedge maze from his deranged father. You could only pray you lost him as you ran like a scared rabbit.

“Little pig, little pig, let me in!” He cries out from behind you. You gasp as you struggle to breathe. Your chest heaves with every breath, your leg muscles burn with exertion, your heart pounds wildly in your chest. Adrenaline makes a home in your veins as your feet pound the ground with everything you have. 

You pass by a massive tire and feel arms wrapped around your waist. Before you can scream, a thick hand is slapped over your mouth, muffling your efforts. You’re held against a broad chest. It’s not until you take a deep breath that the scent is familiar.

“Shh, it’s me,” Hank murmurs, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. You visibly calm, and he releases you.

“I got separated from Jack and Ennis. The other man’s up and madder than a hornet in a coke can. How about diner man?”

You lean against the tire and catch your breath.

“Fuckin’ psycho bitch,” you pant out. You straighten up and start to talk before you’re cut off by a wail of pain and a silenced cry of a name. You stare at Hank with wide eyes before you both run in the direction where the scream came from. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what you saw.

Jack lay in a puddle of blood. Blood poured from his chest, directly above his heart. Ennis kneeled beside him, pressing down on Jack’s chest. Ennis noticed you and Hank standing motionless behind him.

“Please,” he sobbed out, “we gotta help him.”

A large hatchet wound laid over his heart. You put two and two together and felt your heart drop.

You all knew there was no saving him. A slash to the heart is fatal, no matter how much you hope and pray it isn’t.

Wordlessly, Jack placed his hands on Ennis’ face. The tears that Ennis tried to not let fall now fell freely, slipping down his cheeks and onto Jack’s hands. Jack stares into Ennis’ eyes. A wordless argument stood in between them. Ennis shoves his face forwards and his lips meet Jack’s. They pull away after a few moments and stare at each other. Ennis presses his forehead against Jack’s and they stay like that, even as Jack’s eyes dull and his tears dry. Ennis takes a shuttering inhale then places his fingers over Jack’s eyelids and closes them gently. His lips ghost over his forehead then he stands up. Blood stains his jeans and hands, yet he doesn’t care as he wipes away his tears with a bloody hand.

No words are spoken as you continue to where your phones and keys were, watching out for the murderers. You hear loud footsteps grow louder until they’re on the other side of a drilling machine. Everyone presses up against the large tire as the man nears the corner of the drill. Ennis flicks open the blade on his pocket knife and you realize what he’s about to do a moment too late.

“ You killed Jack, you fucker !” Ennis screams, then jumps on the man’s back, pocket knife raising and falling rapidly.

“Ennis, no !” Hank shouts and charges the men fighting. The man in orange flailed around wildly, trying to fling Ennis from his back.

B A N G

B A N G

You stare at the scene unfolding, confused. You run your hands down your body, you weren’t shot. Who was?

Your question is answered when Ennis lets out a pained grunt and tumbles off of the man’s back. Hank tackles the man and they begin to brawl on the hard ground.

“[Name], take Ennis and run,” Hank grunts out.

You will your body forward and shove your gun into your holster. You drag Ennis a few feet away behind a tire, leaving a blood soaked trail behind. He groans in pain as you readjust your grip on him and continue to drag him.

“I know, but I gotta get you safe,” you murmur apologetically. You managed to drag him a few hundred yards away, a few twists and turns would lead you back to Hank and the man. In the back of your mind, you pray Hank’s okay.

Blood pours in buckets around the two of you as it streams from his stomach. You drop his hand and drop to your knees beside him.

Two bullet holes riddled his torso, one in his stomach and the other in his chest, over his lung.

You pressed your hands over the holes, trying in vain to stop the blood from flowing. He winces as you apply more and more pressure. Sticky, hot blood stains your fingers as he raises a shaky hand to rest over yours. Tears prickle in your eyes as you look up at him through your brows. His face was already paling, his eyes growing less blue and more gray by the second. 

“Sing,” he whispers. The tears grow harsher in your eyes, begging to be let out.

“Ennis, I don’t-”

“Sing. Please. My dyin’ wish,” he breathes out a chuckle. Through his pained laughter, you hear the slight wheeze he takes as he has to breathe. He’s trying to fight it, but it’s inevitable. His lung will collapse.

"But-"

"Please," he's begging you now.

You look in the direction of Hank and the man in orange. You hear strained grunts and huffs as they fight. You take your caliber from your holster and click on the safety then lay it beside you.

You look back down to Ennis. “Okay.”

You clear your throat as you shuffle to where his head rests in your lap.

“The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms.” Your voice wavered as you struggled not to cry.

“When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken. So I bowed my head, and I cried.” Ennis graces you with the biggest smile he can muster as blood begins to stain his teeth.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” Tears begin to fall down your cheeks as you reminisce on the night you met Ennis.

“Hey, lonely. You look like you could use a buddy.” You glance up from what must’ve been your fifteen shot of the night. You drank Southern Comfort, but you weren’t very comforted. You wanted to drown in your sorrows alone, but he seemed like he had other plans.

“Not interested,” you shot him down quickly.

“I’ve always loved you, and made you happy, and nothing else could come between. But now-” you cut yourself off with an ugly snort, “but now you’ve left me to love another. You have shattered all of my dreams,” you’re starting to make those ugly sobbing hiccups that you do when you cry, but you have no mind to care.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray.” Tears fall down Ennis’ face freely. 

“Not interested in that,” he says, a sly grin on his face. A familiar tune begins to blare from the old, worn out jukebox in the corner of the bar. Hoops and hollers fill the bar as everyone recognizes the song. Come on Eileen. Ennis turns to look at the jukebox then back to you.

“Living room routine?” He holds his palm out for you to take. You stare at his outstretched hand then back at him. You smile and grab his hand.

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.” You look at Ennis, not wanting to miss a thing.

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.” Your voice trails into a whisper as your emotions sweep you under.

Ennis’ thumb sweeps across your cheek, wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop coming no matter what.

“Please don’t take my sunshine away,” you repeat. You’d give anything to go back to that night, suddenly realizing you wasted so much time. Death was unforgiving, relentless. You’d seen what death does to families. It’d happened in your own. 

You’d never held a dying man in your arms. Your breath came out in hiccuping, gut wrenching sobs as you held Ennis closer. You heard him inhale and exhale for the last time and that opened the floodgates. 

You were too wrapped up in your sorrow to check on Hank and the man. Over time, the man in yellow had somehow survived a fucking gunshot wound through the head then overpowered Hank and was currently beating the shit out of him.

“Rogers! Get your head out of your ass and fuckin’ get  them !”

You dimly wonder what they’re talking about when a sharp pain rings across your skull, coming from the back of your head. Your face slams against the rock floor. You feel disoriented, spots swam in your vision and the world spun.

What-who- 

A hand threads through your hair and yanks. Your world shifts and makes you nauseous. You yelp and grab at the hand attached to your head. Strands of hair snap and break. You do everything you can, digging your nails into their skin, raking up and down as fast as you can in your bewildered and terrified state. You’re dragged across the ground on your stomach and the rocks underneath you scratch and scar up your skin, dirt stinging the small wounds. You remember your gun and let go of their hand to grab it. As soon as you pull your caliber out, a swift kick is aimed at your hand and your gun goes flying, sailing through the air then skidding across the floor. There goes that plan.

“ Let go of me-” you scream as you struggle. You lace your fingers through their bloody hands and you know who it is. You pull against their fingers, but it’s like pushing a concrete wall.

Their grip in your hair loosens and you breathe out in relief.

THUNK.

CRUNCH!

Your head slams into the pavement as a boot hits the back of your head, and hard. You gasp as your hands try to reach to your face to hold your broken nose but cry out again as a boot stomps on your hand.

CRUNCH!

“FUCK!” You wail as you feel bones in your hand break. Tears spring in your eyes again.

A heavy weight sits on your back. As it makes impact with your body, you wheeze out a breath. His thighs straddle your back. His knees press into your forearms, keeping them pinned down. A bloody hand grabs the top of your head roughly, wrenching your head to the side to watch the scene unfold before you.

The man in yellow stood over a semi-conscious Hank, a bloody crowbar in hand. The man in orange laid a few feet away, dead.

“Hank!” You cry out to him. He lies facing you. His eyes open at the sound of your distress, and he reaches out to you. The man in yellow slams the crowbar down onto his hand.

You gasp in pain, as if you were the one hit. You can feel his bones break in his palm and fingers. He cries through his teeth.

“Tie them up, Rogers,” the man in yellow orders the man on top of you, Rogers, you guessed.

“NO!” You yell, thrashing wildly underneath him. Your protest is nothing to him as he reaches a few feet in front of you. His body covers yours, his erratic breath fans over your head, dusting your ears and sending wisps of your hair flying. You slam your head backwards into him, and he almost topples over from the force. You buck against him, but he quickly overpowers you.

Rope begins to wrap around your hands. Your arms are yanked behind you, and are tied together with the rope. He loops it and you know what he’s doing.

He’s hog-tying you like livestock. You were nothing but a lamb to the slaughter.

You struggle against him harder and harder. A quick punch to the back of the head sends your head careening forwards, back into the rocks. Gravel cuts your face open by small wounds and slow drips of blood fall onto rock. He ties your legs together and straddles your back as if you were a comfortable chair. His hands press the side of your face into the rocks and he leans in close to your ear.

“The fffffffuh-fuh-fun is about to begin,” he whispers, then grins.

You meet his psychotic eyes.

“Rot in hell, ya psycho bitch.”

He laughs at that. “Fiesty, Ich mag es.”

He turns to the man in yellow, giving him the go-ahead.

He brings the crowbar down on Hank’s head.

“NO!” You wail. Tears fall down your cheeks, mixing with blood.

He raises it high above his head.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare! I’ll kill you!” You shriek.

He ignores you and slams the crowbar into Hank’s head. This time, you hear a loud CRACK as his skull begins to burst open. Hank cries out.

You manage to rip your hand from underneath his knee and claw at the ground, your nails cracking and breaking in the process. You didn't get very far, due to the rope binding your hands together.

"You bastard! You fuckin' bastard!" You yell.

The man raises it.

“Please, don’t, I’ll do anything,” you beg. The man above you, Rogers, leans his mouth close to your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it.

“Sssssssuh-suh-suh-suh-sweet, mourning lamb, there’ssss nothing you can do.”

A disgusting squelch rings in your ears.

“Please stop! Stop it! Hank, get up!” You yell. Blood ran down your face, mixing with your warm tears and running into your mouth, swirling with your saliva.

The crowbar slams into Hank’s head and you shut your eyes. Hank screams with every hit and you can hear the sounds of his skull slowly caving in. Calloused fingers wrench your eyes open to watch the life bleed out of Hank with his blood. Hank’s brown, weathered eyes stare at you the entire time. The emotions show through them like glass-anger, fear, sorrow.

Regret.

“Please get up,” you murmur to him.

The crowbar comes down again and again and again, until Hank’s skull had caved in. The man gave him one last hit and took a few steps back. A pool of blood stood around Hank and his killer. Muscle, blood, bits of skull fragments and hair, and other viscera laid where Hank’s head once was. You still saw his brown eyes through all the gore.

They stared through your soul. Judging. Watching. Waiting. Knowing .

You fell slack in Rogers’ hold. You have never been so utterly hopeless in your life. Hank was dead, Jack was dead, Ennis was dead, every single worker was dead. No one could save you. Everyone told you working in the mines was a death wish, it’d just leave you in an early grave. 

You never believed them then. Now you regret it.

Your heart pounds in your ears as the two men talk. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the roar of your heart. You stare at Hank’s body. Guilt washed over you like water. You wished you could go back in time, prevent all this from happening. Maybe everyone would still be alive. You wish you were stronger. You should’ve killed Rogers when you had the chance. 

God, you felt so stupid . You were to blame. You should’ve shot him in the head. You hesitated before pulling the trigger. That caused Hank his life. Your hesitation cost your friends their lives. The only one that would’ve came after you would’ve been the man in orange. Four against one was fairer.

“ Please don’t take my sunshine away. ”  

You open your eyes.

B A N G

The man in yellow’s head explodes as a bullet rips through skull and brain like it’s nothing. Blood and brain and skull pieces splatter everywhere, on you, Rogers, and the ground. A bit of brain falls on your forehead. Chunks of flesh desperately hold onto the man’s neck as he falls backwards. 

You turn to look at who fired the shot, your savior, but your view was blocked by Rogers. His rises off of you quickly and unsheathes the hatchets that hung on his hips, raising them high above his head-

B A N G

His kneecap was blown out, making him stumble as he threw the hatchet. Thankfully, you don’t hear the hatchet connect with flesh, and another bullet fires as whoever it is dodges the fast throw. The bullet embeds itself in his forehead, and his head explodes in the same gooey mess that painted the ground a couple feet away, leaving him to crumple to the ground in a heap. You see your savior.

Jill.

You weren’t close friends, not like Jack and Ennis were, but you’d still make small talk. She was hilarious to be around. A hastily made tourniquet fastened around her left thigh, dried blood smeared on her body, she looked like an angel in person.

“[Name]! Are you okay?” She runs over to you and whips out a pocket knife, severing the ropes holding you.

“‘S fine as I can be,” you reply, shoving yourself up as your head spins. Jill’s hand reaches out to hold you steady.

“What’s wrong?” She asks. You groan.

“Concussion. Hurts,” you grunt out. Blood still streams from your nose and you spit out a glob of saliva and blood onto the ground. She helps you stand and you shuffle over to Hank. You stare down at him sadly. Jill walks away, giving you your privacy.

You bend down and grab his left hand. His old wedding band from his only ex-wife sat on it. You slip it off his finger and take off your father’s dog tags. You loop the ring around the chain and tighten it, slipping the tags back around your neck.

“I’m sorry ‘bout Hank. Is anyone else alive?” Jill asks, genuine sympathy in her voice.

“I’d lie and say it’s fine, but it ain’t. ‘N not that I know of. Me, Hank, Jack, and Ennis was the only ones until-” you cut yourself off as a lump lodges in your throat. Jill nods once, knowing too well what your sentence would end in.

“Me and Rick heard the gunshots and screams. We hid underneath a mine cart. When those fuckers passed us, we went over to them bodies and covered ourselves in blood then played dead. We…. we decided to come out and try to kill them. Didn’t work,” she says with a forceful, hollow chuckle.

“Twink with hatchets got ‘em.”

You turned your gaze from Hank to her.

“‘M sorry.”

She brushes you off.

“Got him back, didn’t I?”

You nod.

“Here's your gun," she says, then hands you your caliber.

"Let’s get out of here,” Jill announces, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You wrap one around her waist and take out your gun. You slowly begin your travel up to the mine entrance and to freedom. As you got closer, you heard distant thunderclaps and the roar of rain. While you walked, you and Jill talked about anything, everything. Your families, your past lovers, stories from high school, whatever came to mind. Anything to distract yourself from the sins behind you.

Jill had her phone, and she called the police. Due to the 30 miles between the nearest town, they wouldn’t be there for a while. That was fine, you could wait. Your nose had slowed to a distant drip. It still hurt, but was now a dull ache. Your adrenaline had worn off, leaving you tired and exhausted as the beatings got to your tired body.

Unknown to you, the men were slowly rising. Their blood soaked back into their bodies, bones regrew, limbs snapped back into place. Rage filled their veins: rage that they had been bested by unworthy mortals .

They regrew with renewed rage, and may God have mercy on whoever stands in their path.

-

You and Jill stopped near the entrance, her wounded thigh finally getting to her. You dragged her along, bracing a hand on the packed dirt. Lightning crashed against the dark sky, and following it, thunder boomed through the skies and your ears, rain pelted the ground. Wind nipped at your faces, chiling you straight to the bone. 

“Hey Jill?” You call to her.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna get Mexican after this?”

CRACK!

SQUISH!

Jill’s eyes widen and her mouth gapes open like a fish out of water as she struggles to speak.

“Jill?” You ask, growing increasingly worried as she doesn’t answer. Your back is to the storm roaring behind you, and Jill’s to the dark mine. She slumps forward and you catch her in your arms.

“Jill?” You panic and pull her closer. Hot, sticky blood runs down her back, over your hands, staining the air with the all too familiar scent of blood and misery. It isn’t until you feel the hatchet protruding from her spine do you realize what happened. You stare over her shoulder as she takes gasping breaths and there stands Rogers, his other hatchet in hand.

Behind him, emerging from the shadows, walks out the men in orange and yellow. The man in orange holds his bloody crowbar, the other holds a pistol.

“The fuck ?” You mutter, perplexed. A cold sweat beads on your skin as you size the men up. Through the blood on Rogers’ forehead, there’s an angry, red rash where a bullet once killed him, where skin cells are still raw and growing. 

No one moves as you all stand in silence. Jill stopped breathing a long time ago, her dead weight heavy in your tired arms. Lighting crashes against the sky and illuminates the three men in front of you. You can barely hear the thunder over your scared heartbeat.

You see it out of the corner of your eye as the man in yellow begins to raise his gun. You instantly take a step backwards and Rogers takes a step forwards. The man in yellow raises his gun fully and Rogers notices.

“Thu-they’re mine ,” he snarls, like a vicious dog.

And in that moment, you have an idea. It could not even work, but there’s a possibility.

You take off running into the office.

“Oh, great fuckin’ job , Rogers!” The man in orange booms as everyone gives chase.

You run past Lainey’s dead body, as flies begin to dance around in her wounds. Your plan went something along the lines of this: In the basement sat the old heater. The heater was from the first year the coal mine was established and the office was built, 1920. It hadn’t ever been replaced, and you had to check it three times a day and pull out the little knob to allow pressure to release into the air, thus cooling it down. If you didn’t, it’d get too hot and burn everyone out. You could adjust the temperature to rise, but not down. That’s what was so dangerous about it. Getting it replaced had been a heated discussion at board meetings, or so you were told. The heater was absolutely massive , with 250 pounds per square inch. You didn’t know how hot it could go, but it was pretty damn hot. On one of your recent trips down to the basement, you remember seeing a lot of cans of gasoline, extras for all the machinery. Why they kept it so close to the heater was beyond you, but you weren’t gonna complain if they were all full.

The men ran directly behind you, death licking at your heels every step you took. Your tired legs pounded the ground with everything you had, despite wanting to collapse from exhaustion. You willed your body forwards and out of their grasps. Another left, straight, right, down, straight, right, straight, left. The constant change in direction helped to slow the men down the tiniest fraction. All you needed was a few seconds and your plan could work.

Their heavy footsteps fall behind you, in sync with the loud thrum of your heartbeat.

Fucking fuck!  Your mind screamed. They’re too damn close !

You whip out your caliber and fire a few blind shots.

“Fuck!” Came a strangled cry. The man in orange tumbled down and the other didn’t didn’t stop to check on him. You turn and fire twice at the man in yellow, and hit him in the leg both times. You waste no time checking if they’re alive before running right. You pause as you prepare to fire at Rogers and take a defensive step forward.

The only thing that comes from your caliber is a hollow clicking.

Shit ! I’m outta bullets !

You shove the gun into your holster as you think of what to do to buy you enough time. You fly down a small set of stairs and the idea comes to you.

Your good hand flies down to your jeans and you pull out your pocket knife. You flick the blade open and sprint down the hallway. You round the corner and stop momentarily. You lean backwards on your trail leg and push off of the ground and Rogers slams into you, sending you both stumbling to the floor. You land beside him and you scramble to stab him. The tip of your pocket knife drags on his Adam's apple as he pushes his forearm against yours. You grunt and push back with all the strength you have left. The tip sinks back into his neck before he shoves you back and you sail backwards, landing on your tailbone, sending waves of pain through your spine.

A kick is aimed at your head, and you lie flat on the floor to avoid it. You stab your knife into his calf, and drag it down, severing muscle and skin in a bloody mess. He swings a punch, and it connects, sending your head to slam against the concrete floor. 

THUNK !

Spots dance in your vision, and you swear he just made your concussion worse.

“Fuck,” you grumble before punching him square in the nose.

CRUNCH !

Blood pours from his nose as you break the bones in it.

“Aggressiv, das gefällt mir.”

With that, he lunges towards you. You shriek as you instinctively scramble backwards. Both of his hands wrap around your right ankle and begin to twist, bending your bones in a way they’re not supposed to be bent. He applies more force and-

SNAP !

You let out a blood-curdling screech. Your ankle lays at an odd angle on the ground, now useless. Tears rim your eyes as you stare at the man. He only grins like a devil back.

“You sick fuck,” you whisper. Suddenly, you reach forwards, knife raised, and stab him in the chest. His hand comes up and slaps your knife from your hand. You drag yourself against the ground, desperately grabbing for your knife. Your fingers graze the handle and a hand is wrapped around your foot. You grab it as you’re yanked backwards by your broken ankle. You muffle a whimper through your teeth as the broken bones grind together.

You’re pulled back into him. The backs of your thighs lay on his upper thighs. He leans over you and raises a hand for a punch.

“Rot in hell, you fucking bastard,” you grit out before swinging your knife in a large arc. The arc ends as you plunge your knife into his ear, ripping downwards and ending at his collar bone. His blood splatters downwards onto your body and face. He slams his fist into your nose.

CRUNCH !

The shards of bone in your nose shatter and scatter underneath your skin. Your head snaps backwards as you cry out. He punches again, this time hitting your lip. It bursts and a thin stream of crimson drips from your bottom lip. You grip the handle of your knife with all you have and yank it from his neck.

You flip it in your hand and cry out victoriously as you jab your knife upwards, straight into his under chin, where his tongue sat. You drag down, slicing his tongue in half, rendering him useless to speak. You rip your knife out of his chin and shove him off of you. You shove yourself up and make yourself keep going.

You limp down the hallway, holding onto the walls for the support that your ankle didn’t give, never looking back. You wince every time you put the slightest amount of weight on your ankle. You continue your search for the basement. The closer you get, the hotter you feel. Sweat begins to bead on your skin. You step into a utility closet not far from the basement and reach for the top shelf. There you find a two-barrel shotgun and a few boxes of bullets. On your first day at the mine, Hank showed you around. All closets had guns in them, safety precautions for an incident that happened more than 20 years ago. You shove the barrel open and push two bullets in, cocking it and relishing in the sound. 

That sound promised death and destruction, the end of everything new. 

You keep going until the basement door stands in front of you.

You open the door and shut it tightly behind you. You stumble over to the heater and look at the thermometer.

120 degrees Fahrenheit. The needle was slowly climbing to the end of the red zone. When the needle hits the end, you’d better run. You press the little knob down farther into the heater. You close all of the openings and stand back. The needle steadily rose hotter and hotter. You hobble over to a small cabinet, and open it.

Inside sits a few gas cans. You pick them up, and they’re filled to the brim with gasoline.

“ Thank God ,” you mutter. You set them out and open one and begin pouring it everywhere. On the old books that were sure to help the fire start, on the wooden shelves that had coal dust embedded in every crevice, on the heater itself, everything else in the room. When all the cans had ran out, you chucked them in a corner and stood in the middle of the room, shotgun at the ready.

Eventually, three shadows cross the threshold of the basement.

You sigh quietly. 

You all stare at one another, sizing the other up. The man in yellow makes a move to step forward and you fire your gun with no second thoughts. The bullet tears through his throat, making him grab at his neck to stop the blood flow. Rogers raises a hatchet above his head and lets it fly.

CRUNCH !

The blade embeds itself in your left shoulder blade. You scream, and stumble backwards, falling to the floor. Your hands wrap around the handle. What feels like fire has engulfed the left side of your body. Tears burn in your eyes as you try to rip it out. You wail. This hurt the most, more than anything that had happened today. Rogers takes his sweet time walking over to you. He grabs the handle with one hand and yanks it from your shoulder, seemingly effortlessly. You shriek from the pain and tears fall from your eyes.

The man in orange stalks over to you. Those negative waves of emotion are back, and this time you can’t tell if it’s you or him. He reaches you and grabs the front of your shirt and starts to drag you across the ground. 

“Let go of me!” You snarl at him and squirm against his hold. He pulls you upwards, onto your feet, and slams your back against the heater. You hiss as the heat burns through your clothes, scorching your skin. A gloved, bloody hand grabs your face, forcing you to stare into the brown eyes behind the mask. 

His other hand snakes to his waistband, and for a moment, you’re scared he might do something inappropriate. That thought is forgotten when he unclips a pocket knife from his jeans and flicks it open. He brings it awful close to your skin, and you take a sharp breath.

“Listen to me, and listen to me good. Whatever you have planned, won’t keep us away if you live. We will regrow. We will find you. And we won’t be so generous next time,” he threatens, and you know he means every word he said. You risk a glance over to the thermometer.

210.

God, you feel like if the blood loss and the three murderous men standing in front of you won’t kill you, the heat will. Your backside burns as it’s pressed hard against the heater. Sweat drips down you in buckets. You can practically cut the humidity in the air with a butterknife. A few more minutes and this whole place will be sky high. You need to keep them distracted for another minute or so then try to get the hell outta here. You can see your breath taint the air as you speak.

“This is generous?” You bark out a laugh. “Hell, this ain’t nothin’. Ever been bullriding? Fuck, you wanna talk about a beatin’,” you say.

“Ya remind me of a bull. Easily pissed off, all muscle, no brain,” you taunt. The hand with his pocket knife in it raises and stabs into your hatchet wound. Your grin screws into an open mouthed moan of pain. From his reaction, you can tell your insult got to him. Through the pain, you put a smirk on your face and glance over to the thermometer.

240.

The temperature was rising, and quickly.

“You a little thin between the ears?” You laugh in his face. The knife stabs deeper into your wound.

The man in yellow steps forward. 

“Keep your cool, Masky, or I’ll do it. This is your one chance, don’t blow it,” the man in yellow warbles. You feel there’s a little more behind that statement as Masky tenses in front of you. Blood runs down your shoulder and your eyes begin to droop from the blood loss.

A single bead of sweat drips down your neck, sliding down the valley across your spine.

“You aren’t leaving this place alone. Only way you're gonna leave by yourself is over my dead body,” he says flatly, though you feel it’s more of an demand.

You look at the thermometer. It was so high you couldn’t see the needle from where you stood. A high-pitched, neverending squeal rang through the sweltering room. It was time for you to leave, and fast.

“You’re wrong about that first part, Masky ,” You say his name just to piss him off.

“Ya ever seen a horror movie? Ya know what happens at the end?” You look straight into the face of death and aren’t scared. Prior fear has melted and twisted into a red hot rage that ran thickly through your veins. Rage for all the fucked-up shit that happened to your friends, who didn’t deserve to have their lives to violently taken from them. You open your eyes wider, ignoring the pain radiating throughout your entire body.

“The psycho fuck gets killed. The final girl escapes. Happily ever fuckin’ after. Wanna know who you are?”

His brown eyes glare into yours, clearly not amused.

“The psychotic freak who’s never gotten his dick wet a day in his life. I’m the final girl. And final girls always-” you cut yourself off as you try to lean on your snapped ankle.

“Fuckin-” you bend your knee as you prepare your final stand.

“WIN!” You scream as you kick your good leg into him as hard as you can, sending him flailing backwards and you pressing against the heater.

You smell burnt clothes when you pull away, but don’t pay any mind to it as you make a beeline for the door. Out of your peripherals, Rogers chucks a hatchet at your body and you instinctively duck. It whistles through the air before finding its last target, the man in yellow.

The hatchet digs into his head, ripping through muscle like it’s nothing. The man’s body swings backwards from the force, taking his feet out from under him. Rogers sprints towards you, an anger that previously wasn’t there before shining in his eyes.

You limp to the door, and reach it just in time. You slam it on Rogers, and he shoves against it.

You dig your feet into the ground as they slide from Rogers’ strength. You grunt and shove your back harder against it.

“Let go asshole!” You snap at him. He responds by pressing harder, making you slide farther across the ground. The toe of his boot snakes around the door and that gives you a spike of adrenaline. You regain your footing, and place both hands on the door. You grit your teeth as your muscles burn underneath your skin and you walk the door into its hinges. Rogers presses with all his odd strength against the door, and with one last push, the door slams into the hinges. Someone had messed up the doorknob down here, and the lock was on your side. No one cared enough to change it, and you were suddenly grateful no one did.

Wood splinters as Rogers slams against the door. It pauses, and suddenly the sound of metal on wood sends you sprinting through the empty halls. The entire building is now hotter than hell, and it’s only a matter of time if the heater causes an explosion or the electricity heating up does.

You stumble through the halls, unable to think of anything but getting the fuck out. Nothing matters anymore, no injuries, no losses, as you struggle to the entrance.

The high-pitched squeal was so loud you could barely hear it.

It’s not until you stumble past Lainey’s body and see Hank’s worn jean jacket on a hook do you snap out of your survival driven trance. You become insecure of the blood on your hands and wipe them on your bloody jeans, not that it did much. You hesitantly grabbed the bottom of his jacket, raising it to your face and taking a deep inhale, despite your mind screaming at you to get out.

Get out! What are you doing?

WWWWHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

A loud sound breaks through your sadness and your head whips to the hallways down to the basement. 

“Fuck!” You yell as you rip Hank’s jacket off of the hook and rush over to the cubbies that held your keys and phone. You grab them with your good hand and limp quickly to the doorway. Panic overrides any other thought as you rip open the door and step outside of the office.

BBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

Chapter Text

BBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

A great flame raced up from the basement, so hot it made everything around it char and blacken. The windows shattered from the heat as everything went up in flames.

A flame licked up your back, scorching your clothes and hair. You flew through the air from the force of the explosion. It roared in your ears, making you deaf to anything else. You hit the ground suddenly and roughly, rolling over a few times before finally stopping. The gravel cut at your abused body, cutting into your skin and leaving scrapes in its wake.

You lay on the ground for a moment, nauseous due to being flung in the air like a rag doll. Small fires still burn on your clothes and you panic. You begin to pat yourself down, and roll around on the ground a few times. The fires still, and your head slumps onto the rocks. Tears burn in your eyes. Hank’s jacket was thankfully unharmed, save for your bloody hand prints.

Rain pelts the ground hard. The raindrops feel like ice as they hit, chilling you to the bone. You’d take it after standing that close to the heater. 

You lay there for what felt like hours. Eventually, you push yourself up to stare at the destruction in front of you.

A laugh bubbles out of your throat. You sound like a lunatic, laughing so hard that tears fall then you’re cupping your face in your hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Your throat was hoarse and dry as you cried your heart out.

Lightning rips across the sky, breaking clouds and illuminating the sky. Thunder follows, echoing in your ears.

In the distance, police sirens and ambulances wail. You don’t hear them, and only realize they’re there when blue and red lights flash on the fire. A firetruck screams, and another red light is added to the countless blue and red. You keep crying, huddled over in the parking lot. Doors slam and heavy footsteps hurry over to you.

A hand is placed on your shoulder.

Soft murmurs fill the air.

“[Ma’am/Sir/Mx], are you okay?” A female voice almost yells at you.

“No,” you reply quickly, still bawling.

Someone carefully takes your hands from your face and wipes your tears with a kleenex. Their actions are futile, as more tears replace them immediately. Gentle hands grab your arms and an arm wraps around your torso. They drag you over to the back of an ambulance and lay you on the stretcher. They take your phone and keys, but you refuse to let go of Hank’s jacket, and they let you keep it, closing the doors on the ambulance. A few EMTs sit in the back and tend to your smaller wounds, checking your vitals and making sure you’re stable. The blood loss finally shines through, now that you’re no longer running on adrenaline and an instinct to survive.

Your eyelids droop and you close your eyes, faintly hearing the sounds of panicked EMTs rushing about, trying to keep you conscious.

You close your eyes and allow your body to rest.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

You hesitantly open your eyes.

The blinding light of fluorescent hospital lighting floods your vision. You blink away the discomfort. Your head throbs painfully. You groan, raising a hand to your head, where you feel rough bandages wrapped around it. Multiple needles stick into your veins, pumping fluids back into your body.

“[Name]!” A female’s voice shrieks. A chair is scraped across the floor and arms are wrapped tightly around your torso, a face nuzzles into your neck affectionately. You hug back, confused, before you smell the familiar perfume. It’s lavender and vanilla.

“Mama,” you breathe out, and hug as tight as your broken body will let you.

Tears wet your neck, and you find yourself crying as well.

“Let me look at you,” your mother says, pulling away but still holding you in her embrace. Her thumbs rub comforting circles into your biceps as her eyes rake over every single cut and bruise on your face. You stare into her warm [e/c] eyes, the crows feet that lay beside her eyes, every single hard-earned wrinkle and imperfection that laid on her skin.

“How’s my babies?” You ask.

She smiles. “Just fine, but they’re mad you haven’t come home yet.”

A knock on the door interrupts you, and you whirl to the door. Your vision swims, and nausea rises in your throat. You moan and snap your eyes shut.

“Lay down, you got a concussion,” your mother says, gently laying you back down on the hospital bed.

A female doctor steps in, wearing dark blue scrubs and a stethoscope.

“Ah, [Name], you’re awake. You had quite the day yesterday. I’m Doctor Lana Greene, pleasure to meet you,” she announces, walking over to your bed and shaking your mother’s hand.

You see her lips moving but can’t hear what she’s saying.

“What?” You ask loudly, barely being able to hear yourself.

“I said that I’ll be taking care of you until you’re fully healed. So, to start, I’ll be going over your condition,” she spoke louder, and spoke with an air of intelligence and you could tell she knew what she was talking about.

“You have a grade three concussion from being hit so hard and taking multiple hits. You may experience speech difficulty, amnesia, vomiting, seeing spots. Brain damage is a potential risk in your situation, so tests will be run soon. Your right ankle is broken, along with your left hand and nose. We expect your ankle to heal fully with time, but your hand and nose, we aren’t sure about. The bones in your nose were shattered and moved underneath your skin, and surgery will most likely be needed to re-correct those bones.”

“The same with your hand, your phalanxes are shattered and scattered underneath the skin. Surgery will also be needed. If those bones don’t regrow after surgery, you may need to get artificial bones to replace them,” she continues.

“You have first and second degree burns on your back. Not too bad, they should go down with the right treatment. You were hit on the left side of your upper body by an ax. The hit cracked your clavicle in half, and ripped through supraspinatus and subscapularis muscle. You’re extremely lucky the hit didn’t cut any lower, it would’ve severed your pulmonary artery in half, and you would’ve died.”

You feel your mother physically stiffen beside you on the bed. With your non-broken hand, you lace your fingers together and squeeze. She squeezes anxiously back.

“You will need surgery to recorrect your bones. They were pushed to opposite sides, and it is doubtful they’ll regrow naturally. Now, for the worst of it,” she sighs solemnly and looks straight into your eyes.

“You have severe hearing loss in both ears, it’s worse on the left.”

Your eyes widen and your jaw hangs open.

“W-what?” You stutter in absolute disbelief.

“You have severe hearing loss. This is due to your close proximity to the explosion. Hearing aids will be needed….” her voice trails off as your mind wanders. You prided yourself on your decent hearing, what will you be without it? Tears build up in your eyes and before you know it, you’re hunched over sobbing, holding your face in your hands as your mother rubs your back.

“You also have a number of less major injuries. There’s bruises and cuts all over your body, and those will heal with time. Your right cheek and cheekbone is swollen and bruised, but the swelling will go down if you ice it and the bruise will fade,” she finishes.

“I am very sorry this happened to you, [Name]. Truly, I am. I will give you as much time as you need,” Dr Lana says, saying something to your mother that you can’t hear. Your mother replies and Lana nods, walking out of the room.

Your mother comforts you, murmuring words that you can’t hear yet can feel her breath on your cheeks. A few minutes later, a nurse in soft blue scrubs walks in carrying a tray of food.

“Good afternoon, [Name],” she says politely, moving the table beside your bed over your body and setting down the tray. You look at your meal, your stomach growling. You hadn’t realized you were hungry until food was in front of you.

There was a small bowl of broth with a few pieces of roast and chunks of potatoes floating in it. A sad excuse for a roll sat in one of the miniscule compartments in the tray. A small cup of water sat beside the soup.

It wasn’t the best meal you’ve ever seen, but escaping death does that to a person. You grab the plastic spoon and begin to shovel food in your mouth, not coming up for air. Your mother gives you an annoyed look, but lets it go. The nurse exits the room, and you take a big gulp of water. You dive back in and within two minutes, your entire plate is cleaned. You look up at your mother.

“No more?”

She giggles at your expression. 

“Your portions are bein’ controlled. You gotta start slow to not upset your stomach. You went a long time without eating and lost a ton of blood,” she explains. You huff and lean back.

“That’s bullshit.”

She laughs and moves your table away so she can sit closer. You lean forwards and she wraps an arm around your shoulder, squeezing you tightly against her. It’s silent for a few minutes, save for the beeping of the heart monitor and all the other machinery you’re hooked up to, before you break it.

“Mama, why do people die?”

She sighs. “It’s just life. Don’t know why, just is.”

“Do you miss Dad?”

She smiles sadly at you. “All the time. There’s not a moment where I don’t.”

“I miss him. And Hank. And everyone else,” you mutter miserably. Your mother presses her lips into your cheek.

“I tell you what, soon as you’re out of here, I’m buying you some liquor,” she laughs. You give her a shocked look. She never approved of you drinking, and now she wants to buy you some?

“Van Winkle, moonshine, whatever you want,” she continues. Your shock turns into a smile.

“Moonshine. Haven’t had it since I was young,” you reply, giggling. You sit in silence as you think back to childhood when you’d have a fever or other illness. Your mother’s cure was always a small cup of moonshine with honey and lemon.

“I found somethin’ I think you’ll want,” she says as she walks over to the small chair a few feet away from your bed. On the plush chair sits a black tarp bag. She reaches into it, blocking your view of what she’s grabbing with her body. You crane your neck as far as you can, mindful of the bandages restricting movement.

She walks back over, her arms filled with an assortment of things. A jean jacket and a photo album are the things you can pick out. She lays everything on the bed and you look down at it.

A weathered, bloody pocket Bible, a half used bottle of men’s cologne, and an old photo album. Other small things lay on the bed, including a Catholic rosary, a few other necklaces, your father’s broken watch, and small rings.

“Look at this,” she said, passing you the photo album. You take it with your good hand and struggle to open it. Her warm palms press against the tops of your hands and help you open it. Inside sits a picture of you and your father by a campfire. He’s holding you as you roast a marshmallow. You grin and stare up at your mother.

“Where’d you find this?” You ask.

“Attic. They,” she motioned her arm around, talking about the medical staff, “let me grab some things to stay overnight. I knew I made one but couldn't find it. So, I looked where I kept everything else.”

You brush your fingers over the picture, almost too scared to touch it for fear it would crumble to dust. Your mother turns the page and there’s a picture of you and your sister, June, swimming in the creek behind your childhood home. You continue to flip the pages, smiling as memories come flooding back. There’s a picture of your mother on her wedding day, looking beautiful as ever in her white dress as she walked down the aisle. Decorating the empty space around the picture were more pictures of you, June, and your father. The next few pages were more wedding pictures. Your mother flipped the page and there sat your childhood dog, Timber, asleep with you and June on either side of him, also asleep. She continues flipping the pages and you make small comments, reminiscing when times were simpler. 

Your mother turns the page and a picture of your father decked out in his Marine blues is glued to it. You both fall silent. Wordlessly, your mother shuts it and sets it on your bedside table. She reaches for the bottle of cologne and hands it to you.

You lift it to your nose and sniff.

It’s Hank’s cologne.

You turn to your mother, shocked. “How’d you get this?”

She bashfully smiles. “Hank left his truck unlocked. When all the bodies and reporters were gone, I snuck in and grabbed it.”

Hank leaving his truck unlocked felt like a stab to the heart. He thought he’d get in and drive home. A single teardrop falls from your eye. You brush it away quickly.

“Where’s his jacket?” You ask.

“The hospital’s washin’ it,” she answers without missing a beat. “Got you that so you can replace the smell.”

It’s stupid, but your eyes tear up again. “Thank you, Mama.”

She smiles softly at you. “You’re welcome.”

She grabs the small Bible and hands it to you. “Found this too.”

The cover was bloodstained. The edges of the pages were thick with blood. You look at it confused, then back at your mother.

“Hank’s pocket. EMTs found it and gave it to me ‘cause bodies can’t have a personal belonging or whatever.”

You nod then skim through the verses. You set down the Bible and she hands you the jewelry. You recognize the dog tags as your father’s and are shocked at the lack of blood on them.

“I cleaned ‘em,” your mother says, holding a ring up in the lighting.

You set the tags on your bedside table beside everything else. The necklaces were your grandmother’s. You run your fingers over one, yet you don’t recognize it. It was a turquoise bird on wire and had a screw-on clasp. It looked handmade, but not like the ones your grandmother made.

“Was this Granny’s?” You ask, confused.

“No. Ennis’. Found it in his truck as well. The rosary was Jack’s. Hung off his rearview mirror.”

“Oh,” you say, your voice dropping. You grab your father’s watch and slide it over your wrist. All specks of blood are gone, and you run your fingers over the broken face. Underneath it sits the hands, forever pointing at 2:33.

A knock interrupts you. Dr Lana steps in your hospital room.

“[Name], we want to run your brain-scan tests. Doctor Jenner is ready to see you,” she says. Your mother picks the stuff up from your lap and sits it with everything else on the table. A few nurses file in the room and grab the handles on the sides of your bed.

“I’m gonna run down to the cafeteria real quick,” your mother says, rising from your bed and standing off to the side.

You nod as they wheel you through the door and to wherever it is they run brain tests.

-

A little while later, you’re brought back to your room where your mother sits in the chair watching the television and eating chips. A bag you don’t recognize sits beside the chair.

“Who’s bag?” You ask as you’re placed where you sat before and the nurses walk out. A knock makes you turn your head slowly to the door. 

The door clicks and in walks June.

“Holy shit!” You cry as she runs over to you, hugging you tightly. You rest your forehead on her collarbone and breathe in her familiar scent. She smelled like your shared childhood. Nostalgic and comforting, her honeysuckle perfume wafts into your nose. 

You’re reminded of childhood, where the biggest issue was the sun going down at nine and you couldn’t play outside anymore. You remember sucking the honey from the flowers, loving the sweet taste of it with the slightly bitter bite underneath. You remember chasing fireflies and squealing in delight when you grabbed one; you remember sitting cross-legged on the floor, elbow-to-elbow with June, watching Saturday morning cartoons on the box TV your father had set up, the cereal in the bowls that sat on your laps slowly becoming soggy.

You blink as tears fall.

“I got you somethin’,” she mutters directly in your ear. She reaches into her jean jacket pocket and brings out a small, blue velvet covered jewelry box. She grabs a red velvet one and hands it to your mother, seeing that she had made her way over to your side.

“Open it,” she chides. Your mother pries hers open in no time, gasping at whatever sat inside. 

You hold your box in the palm of your broken hand and pry it open with your opposite hand. Inside sits an oval-shaped golden locket. The designs on the outside are intricate and beautiful, floral arrangements fading into swirls and dips of shiny gold. 

“Oh, June, this is gorgeous,” your mother says, smiling brightly at June.

“Thank ya, Mama,” she grins back. June’s warm fingers slide over your own and she undoes the small clasp on the side, opening it up.

A picture of your mother and father on their wedding day stares back at you on one side. On the other sits a picture of you and June hugging each other tightly, faces shoved close to the other, a cheek pressed against the other’s. June still had braces at the time, so it had to be close to the summer after your senior year of highschool. The soft smile you already wore grew. You look over at your mother as she slaps a hand over her mouth, instantly tearing up at whatever her locket held.

“What’s wrong, Mama?” You ask. Wordlessly, she hands you her locket and you pass her yours. In hers sits a picture of your father dipping her in some smoke filled honky-tonk, large smiles stretched across their faces. Just from looking, you can tell they were both laughing. The other side holds a picture of you and June as young teenagers, both sitting on the wooden steps, you with a makeup brush and a blush container, dabbing a small amount onto her cheeks.

You both look at June before enveloping her in a massive hug. She’s squished in between you as you hold her tighter. This brings another round of tears, and you comfort each other as you cry.

-

About a month had passed since the incident and your hospital stay. Every night was spent waking up, screaming, drenched in a cold sweat. Screams run rampant throughout your ears and there is nothing you can do to silence them. Blood soaked corpses lay in your vision and dead hands reach out to you, threatening to make you suffer the same fate they did.

Ignoring that, your ankle had been healing up nicely, you could now put weight on it without falling. Your nose and hand had to have surgery, and you were finally regaining movement in your left hand. Your nose had the slightest crook in it, but you took it in pride as a reminder that you’d walked through hell and made it out. 

You had gotten hearing aids, paid for by your insurance that was covered by the coal mine and you hated them. They felt uncomfortable in your ears, but you could hear. You’d tough it out for that reason only. Your collar bones had to be placed back together and binded. Scars littered your body, the biggest stretching across your left collar bone. Stitches were stapled into the small wounds on your face and arms from the gravel. All in all, you’d healed up almost perfectly, save for your nose, limp from your right ankle, and limited movement of your right hand and left shoulder.

On the day you were discharged from the hospital, you wore the jewelry of the fallen. You had sprayed Hank’s jacket in his signature cologne, and you were delighted to find that his cologne covered the stench of the hospital perfectly. The necklaces bounced softly against your sternum with every step you took. 

You hold two bags, one for your mother and June, as you walk out the sliding doors of the hospital. You were advised to take it easy, your body was still healing. Your mother walks a few steps in front of you, leading you to her car.

You slowly look around the parking lot, searching for her car, yet you don’t find it.

“Mama, where’s yer car?” You ask, confused. She doesn’t reply and keeps walking to the back of the lot. You’re even more confused, but it soon melts away into shock.

In the corner in the back of the light, there stands your truck in all her glory. You gasp.

The sun glints off of her blue coat, making her look shiny and clean. It’s clear she’d been washed recently, small rivets of water dripped down and onto the asphalt. You turn to June.

“So this is what you did this mornin’?” You ask, laughing in delight. June nods.

“She was dirty, so I gave her a wash. She looks brand new, don’t she?”

You raise your arms carefully and wrap them around June, squeezing as tight as you could. She slips the keys into your palm and you smile brighter.

“Thank you,” you mutter into her ear.

“Yer welcome,” she replies, pulling away and squeezing your hands gently.

You walk over to her, smoothing your hand across the doors, brushing away stray water droplets. You slip your key into the lock and are hit by the welcoming smell of the air fresheners that hang from the rearview mirror. You unlock the other doors and shove the bags in the backseat. You slip into the driver’s side and shove the key into the ignition, turning it and reveling in the roar of the engine. Your mother slips into the passenger side and June sits in the back.

You put your hand on the gearshift, prepared to reverse out of the parking spot, but you pause. Both women turn to look at you. Wordlessly, you grab Jack’s rosary and slip it over your head then slide it over your rearview mirror. The cross dangles in front of the radio, bouncing against it slightly.

You mess with the radio, turning it to a local station, then reverse. You pull out of the parking lot, turn onto the highway, and turn down the radio to hear the engine roar as you speed up. You turn the radio back up as you drive back up into the mountains.

Silver Stallion by The Highwaymen comes on and you hum along. You roll your windows down and let the warm summer in, wind ruffling up your hair and sending small whisps flying.

You pull into your small drive and make your way to your house. Everyone rolls up their windows and you stop a few yards away from your door. You turn your truck off and shut you door, then grab the bags from the back. June will be staying with you for a while, just until you’re healed enough that you can do things on your own. You were still weak and hurting, the hurt had just quieted down.

The others grab the last few and you stride over to the door, taking long steps, excited to see your dogs. Howls and brays are muffled by the door. You shove the key in the lock and turn it then shove the door open. Claire and Colter rush out, immediately jumping on you.

“Oh, my babies!” You cry as you fall to your knees, kissing and hugging all over them.

The Hell you endured finally caught up with you. You’ll never see Hank smile, or watch Ennis do something stupid then hear Jack’s laughter ring in your ears. Never will you see Hank give Lainey small, shy grins when he believed no one was watching. Or watch Jill flirt with random men in small, run-down honky-tonks for free drinks. No more early morning coffee and snack cakes with Jack, no more lunches spent in a small diner, the sounds of old country drifting through the air and dissolving in the background of your conversations.

And that breaks you.

You wail into your pillow, trying to wish away the hole in your heart that was once filled with your friends. That was how you spent every night before sleeping. Sleep still did nothing to silence your loud mind, screams and cries echoing around in your ears, images of your friends being brutally murdered in front of you bouncing around your head. You woke up, drenched in a cold sweat, with tears running down your face and snot slipping into your open mouth, gasping pathetically for air. You took everything you could get your hands on to sleep at night, yet nothing worked. Melatonin, prescriptions from the pharmacy, even liquor did jack shit to shield you from the horrors you relive every single night.

Your nightmares had many stars: Hank, Jack, Ennis, Rogers and his murder posse, and many others. The creature in the suit made an appearance every single night; as soon as he appeared, you woke up screaming. You saw a strange symbol in your nightmares, it looked like a circle with an X mark through it.

Your days were spent laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, your eyes deceiving you and twisting devilish faces into the wood above you. When your mind got bored of that, you’d roll over and stare at your father’s picture on your dresser until you cried.

You couldn’t even go on your phone, due to your lockscreen being a picture of Hank. Anytime you saw his jacket, you were drowned in memories. Despite that, you slept cuddled in his jean jacket every night. It’d have to be washed almost everyday-courtesy of your sweaty body when you awoke-but you’d spray it with his cologne and wish it was Hank’s arms wrapped around you instead of your own. You wished you could hear Ennis bitch about the price of gas, or not getting enough “beauty sleep” (his words not yours), or whatever he wanted to complain about. Jack would laugh in the middle of Ennis’ rants, making Ennis flustered at the attention.

You’d give your life if it meant they still had theirs.

One night, June somehow convinces you to go out for dinner with her and some of her friends. You didn’t know them, they were a few years younger and had just passed the legal age to drink. 

Trying to drink with them was like trying to ride a young bronc.

You tapped out after what you guessed was your fiftieth shot of whiskey. It was stupid, you know, but you grab your truck keys and struggle to find June in the crowd. You were exhausted and your hearing aids were picking up the background noise which annoyed you to no end.

“June?” You call, peering over heads and looking for the familiar mane of [h/c] hair. A few people turn to look at you then return to their drinks and conversations.

“June-bug?” You try again. Cigarette smoke fills the air, making it harder to see anything beside the people in front of you. You hear her laughter to your right, and your head snaps to the side. You try to make your way peacefully through the crowd, to no avail, eventually deciding on shoving around drunk people. 

“Watch it! I’ll take ya outside ‘n beat the holy hell outta ya, ya bitch!” One drunk, middle-aged man slurs.

“Not interested, bald-ass,” you snap back, not turning around to give him the time of day.

You finally reach June by a pool table, where she hangs off of a man’s arm who’s just as drunk as she is. She giggles as he whispers slurred mutters into her ear, only stopping to take a sip from his glass of whiskey on the edge of the pool table and shoot, missing almost every play in his intoxicated state. When he finally makes a ball in a pocket, his arm slips from her waist to her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. 

Your protective older-sibling instincts take over for a minute, and your fists clench at your sides, ready to storm in and swing. When she gives a delighted squeal and slaps his chest playfully, you cool off and walk over to her. She turns to you, her eyes glassy and her cheeks flushed from the alcohol and male attention.

“[Name!] You should join, it’s super fun,” she says, her words running together. Her breath smells like beer, and it’s clear she won’t be riding home with you tonight.

“‘M leavin’,” you say.

Her smile drops from her face as she sputters. “Whu-what? Why?” Her hands grab your own, suddenly forgetting about the man beside her.

“‘M tired. ‘N Claire and Colter need fed,” you reply, pulling her into a hug. Her arms wrap around your body, pulling you closer to her.

“Ya can’t go, it’s just gettin’ started,” she cackles. You smile then kiss her cheek. She smells like beer and honeysuckle. Sooner or later, she’ll smell like her companion’s cologne.

“I gotta. Can I trust yer date?” You say, standing up straighter and fixing the coldest gaze you can muster on the man. It works, because he practically withers under your harsh glare.

“Tyler? He’s fine, yeah. After this we’re gunna go to his house and-”

“Okay, don’t need to know,” you cut her off. She giggles.

“Bye, June-bug,” you say, detaching yourself from her hold.

“Bye, [Name],” she replies, kissing your cheek before turning back to her date. You pat her on the shoulder then push through the crowd of people. Loud music blares as people dance around you, their bodies moving in rhythm with the tune. You cross the threshold and stop by your truck.

You dig through Hank’s jacket pockets and find a half finished pack of Marlboros. You fish out your lighter and light your cig, then shove it back in your pocket where it clinks against your phone. You take an inhale then pull the cig out of your lips to exhale as you whip out your phone.

2:33.

“Damn, it’s late” you mutter. You were originally thinking of calling your mother to pick you up, but you figured she’d be pissed at you waking her up. You lean on the side of your truck as you work on your cigarette and mess around on your phone, finally changing your lockscreen to a picture of Claire and Colter. Your cigarette has been reduced to a smoldering stump, so you stamp it out under your boots and climb into your Ford. You fire it up and tear out of the parking lot of the small honky tonk you’d never remember the name of.

You make your way home and pull into the drive. Suddenly, it feels as if you’ve been punched in the gut. Your eyes widen and you rip a hand from the wheel to your lips. You slam on the breaks, put your truck in park, and stumble over to the side of the road and it’s there that you vomit. 

It gushes upwards in hot streams, burning your throat and mouth. You retch and retch and retch until you can’t anymore. You cough and wipe a hand across your mouth, smearing leftover puke and snot on your face. 

Maybe it was the alcohol.

No matter how much you desperately try to believe that, you know it wasn’t the whiskey. No, not when you begin to smell blood.

Your hands fly up to your nose and sure enough, they come away bloody.

You stare down at them in utter shock. Your hands tremble slightly.

A dog howls, the sound muffled by walls and doors and windows-

And it’s coming from your home.

You snap from your daze and race to your truck, throwing it into drive and tearing up the driveway. Gravel kicks out behind you, dust flies behind your truck. You barely stop before you rip the gearshift into park and jump out, slamming the door behind you.

You near the door and are instantly hit by the overwhelming and all-too-familiar scent of fresh blood.

“No,” you whisper into the night.

Your hands shake like leaves as you stare at your door.

Crimson sin stains the once beautiful oak, sliding down in small droplets. Your breath catches in your throat.

Your shaking hand reaches for the doorknob, slipping from the blood. You push it open, the old wood creaking on its hinges.

You locked the door.

Your hand pauses. You take your hand from the doorknob and step backwards, careful to keep your eyes on the door, back to your truck. You turn around for a moment to grab your .44 from the door’s side pocket then whirl back to the door and stalk towards it. You position your hands on the grip and kick your door open, blood smearing on the tip of your boot.

Never in a million years would you ever be prepared for what sits in front of you.

Claire lays in a pool of blood.

Her blood.

“No,” you whisper again.

You feel the world give out from under you as you fall to your knees.

Her stomach was split open where an autopsy would be performed. Her guts lay sticking out from her body, blood soaking her short, once tan and black fur.

“No,” you say, louder this time, your gun falling out of your hands and clattering against the floor.

Smudges of blood lay behind her body, and you crane your neck to see them.

TOO LATE

EXODUS 12:23

“No no no no no no NO!” Your voice rises in volume until you’re shrieking at the top of your lungs.

In the Bible, God had Moses and the Israelites sacrifice lambs then smear the blood on their doors so that their first-born sons would live while God passed over the land and smited every Egyptian first-born.

TOO LATE

“NO! God fucking damnit -” your voice cracks and the tears begin to flow.

From the bathroom, Colter’s howls and moans sync with your wails of grief, symphonizing in an oddly beautiful way.

-

That’s when you decide it’s time to leave.

Shoving yourself up from the ground, you proceed to call the cops then your mother. She gets there quicker than the cops ever could and holds you while you bawl onto her shoulder.

Colter was placed in your mother’s car. He drooled all over the backseat as he slept. You drank big gulps of water and tried every single trick in the book to hide your whiskey tainted breath. You couldn't deal with a DUI right now, not when your dog laid murdered inside of your home.

The cops show up finally, blue and red lighting flashing on your once peaceful home. Through sobs, you manage to tell them what happened. Seeing Claire dead on the floor sobered you up quickly. 

You have never been more stone cold sober in your entire life.

Yellow tape wraps around your home and a few yards beside it. Officers stand near your driveway, keeping pesky reporters from entering the crime scene and disturbing potential evidence. Flashing lights shine in your eyes, painting everything in red and blue hues.

“Do you know of anyone who would be tempted to do this?” The sheriff asks, his sheriff’s hat high upon his head.

You know exactly who it was. But they’re supposed to be dead . No one could survive an explosion, not even those sicko fucks. Then again, they did survive gunshots to their heads, so maybe it wasn’t impossible.

“Maybe,” is all you say. His blue eyes scrutinize you, trying to dig deep under your skin for the answer. When he doesn’t find it, he sighs and begins to order his men around.

“I need all canine units to search the woods in a fifty mile radius! The killer couldn’t have gotten far on foot!” He barks. The dogs practically drag their owners through the treelines, noses pressed hard against the dirt, searching for a whiff of anything suspicious. He turns back to you once the dogs disappear from sight, swallowed up by the thick foliage. Just as he’s about to say something, one female and one male officer step out your door and quickly walk over to you.

“[Mrs/Mr/Mx] [Name], there were no signs of theft. Nothing was rummaged through, no money taken, nothing,” the female says, a pretty dark skinned woman with nut brown eyes.

“We did find something odd, though,” the man speaks up, a white man with green eyes and freckles.

He passes a polaroid picture in a plastic baggie to you wordlessly. You stare at it confused. It’s just a picture of your wall. You look up at him, the question burning in your eyes, and he points to something on the wall. You look and all the blood drains from your face.

It’s a circle with an X through it written in blood.

Claire’s blood.

In the back of your mind, you know that symbol is somehow tied to Rogers, Tim, and the man in yellow. You don’t know how, you just know .

You pass the picture back to him, staring at the gravel. You’re silent, but your mind races.

You were hoping this wasn’t them, that they were actually dead. 

Guess you were wrong.

“[Name], do you recognize that symbol?” The female asks. Your mother squeezes your arm affectionately, tethering you to the earth and comforting you at the same time.

“No,” you finally say, your voice raspy from lack of use.

The police stare at you unconvinced. They figure out you won’t talk and halt their observation. The man and woman walk back to the house, looking for evidence of a break in on your door. The sheriff turns to you-Shane something-and addresses you and your mother.

“I think it’d be best if [Name] here stays with you for the rest of the night.”

Your mother nods.

“We’ll finish this up and give you a call later this morning when we’re done,” he finishes. You dismiss yourself and climb into your mother’s car, waiting in the deafening silence for what feels like hours. You pull your phone from your pocket and check the time.

3:12.

Your eyes catch on Claire in the background and tears prickle in your eyes. You shut your phone off and throw your head back against the seat, trying to will away the tears.

Finally, your mother opens the car door and slides in. No words are exchanged; they aren’t needed. Unspoken words hang in the air between you. She isn’t mad about getting woken up in the dead of night, nor you getting drunk and driving home.

She’s sympathetic, understanding the hurt you feel for Claire’s death.

Everyday you thank the Lord that you got an understanding mother.

-

The next morning, you pitch the idea to her of leaving. The event earlier that morning solidified your hidden desire to move somewhere far away. Of course, she was upset about not being able to see you, but understood why you needed to.

“Will you come back and visit?” She asked, arms wrapped tight around you. June wraps her arms around you both and you take a large inhale, breathing in her honeysuckle perfume as if it’d be the last time you ever smelled it.

“Of course,” you reply, smiling.

You started out small, selling your chickens and smaller items. You progressively got bolder and bolder until there was a FOR SALE sign outside of what was once your home as Colter jumps in the cab of your truck. Before you drove down the driveway for the very last time, you kiss your mother good-bye as she and June wrap their arms around you tightly.

“You answer my calls everyday, you hear?” Your mother demands.

“Yes, Mama,” you reply, giggling lightly. She pulls back and her eyes flick over your face, soaking up every detail and small flaw in your skin. June separates and stares at your face, giving you the same caring gaze that your mother did. They pull you back in and your mother speaks.

“Be safe, okay,” she whispers, voice on the edge of tears.

“I will, Mama,” you whisper back. They hesitantly let you go and stand a little bit away from your truck door as you climb in. Colter sticks his head through your open window and your mother gives him good-bye kisses and ear scratches. Her attention turns back to you and you see her bottom lip tremble as she fights back tears. She bites down on her lip hard as you push the key into the ignition, firing up the truck.

“I love you, [Name],” June calls.

“I love you too, June-bug.”

“I love you, baby. Don’t you forget it,” your mother says, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks.

“I love you too, Mama.”

You pull your truck into reverse then push into drive, flinging rocks behind you. Your eyes glue to June and your mother in the mirror. June takes a few steps towards you but stops. Tears stain their faces, and with a start, you realize you’re crying as well. You stop where gravel turns to road and wipe your tears with the cuffs of Hank’s jacket. Your gaze fixes on them one last time in the mirror and you slowly turn onto the road, staring at them until the woods obstructs your view of them.

-

It’s been about two weeks since you left. You’ve been slowly making your way across the country, stopping at night in shady hotels in towns with a population of fifty and eating whatever shitty fast food you can find. You drifted, never staying in one spot for too long, always on the move. For what, you didn’t know.

You’re somewhere in Oklahoma when you stop for the night. As you drove into the minuscule town, a neon bar sign catches your eye. Once you get a room for the night and get Colter situated, you drive back to the bar, craving a drink. One drink, then you’d leave.

You yank open the glass door and the bar is surprisingly empty and quiet. Only a few others occupy it, a handful of men and the bartender. George Strait plays like a whisper through the otherwise silent air as you walk your way over to the bar and sit down on an old rickety stool. You slap some money down on the counter and the bartender takes your request.

“Fireball.”

He turns to the shelves behind him and brings out a glass and your preferred liquor. He’s a balding man with tattoos in blue jeans and a muscle shirt. He slides it over to you and you take a sip, relishing in the burn sliding down your throat.

The door behind you opens, but you don’t care enough to look. Boots stomp across the floor, accompanied by a quieter clink. The boots stop right beside you. Your gaze flicks over to the boots and you’re met with cowboy boots with spurs strapped to the heel.

“This seat taken?” A male voice asks, deep with a foreign twang. The only ‘ twangs’ you’d heard was Southern, so this was a welcome change. You suddenly remember the man was waiting for an answer.

“Knock yourself out,” you reply. The man sits on the barstool beside you and the scent of horses and outdoors hits you like a slap in the face. Your eyes flick over to him and you’re met with arguably the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your whole life.

A pair of beautiful blue eyes stares back at you. Nicely shaped eyebrows sit above those dazzling eyes, and you find yourself in a daze as you stare into the electrifying blue. He had a straight nose with freckles dusted along his tan cheeks. A light brown, weathered cowboy hat sits upon his head of soft brown curls, blown frizzy by the wind from the dusty plains of Oklahoma. A thick mustache and trimmed beard lined his jaw and under his nose. His pink lips looked soft and pillowy, and you can just imagine yourself kissing them, feeling how soft they were first hand as his lips press into yours-

Wow.

You’re aware of your face burning hotter than the fiery pits of hell and you force your eyes back down to your drink. The bartender takes his order and you hear that velvety voice of his. You rack your mind for what his twang was. He wasn’t Southern, had to be Northern, maybe even Canadian. Your eyes flick back to him as he tips his drink back. His lips press against the glass and you’ve never wanted to be a glass of whiskey more than right now-

Okay.

Your face burned brighter, embarrassed at your own thoughts, as if somehow he was a mind reader and could hear your inappropriate thoughts. You look back down at your drink, your hand clenching the glass so tight your knuckles were white. You take another sip and attempt to calm down, afraid you’d do something unwise if left to your instincts.

He wore a pearl snap button up with plaid designs covering it, paired with Wrangler jeans and leather chaps. His right hand raised up to grab his hat off his head-and oh my sweet Jesus his hands- and he's got perfect hat hair. His hands were rough and scarred, thickly muscled from working with his hands for what you guessed was years. He set his hat in front of him on the table.

Fortunately or unfortunately for you, he addresses you.

“What brought you in ‘ere?” His voice rasps. “Yer clearly not from ‘round ‘ere.”

“‘M not,” you admit. “Bouncin’ ‘round.”

“Like a cowpoke. What’s yer name, honey?” The pet name in any other context would make you cringe uncontrollably. However, all you can think about is how right that name sounds falling from his lips and how your insides begin to feel all warm and fuzzy.

“[Name]. [Name] [Last Name]. What ‘bout you?” You direct the attention on him.

“Zach. Zach Thompson.”

Chapter Text

“Zach. Zach Thompson.”

And with that name, a whole new world is created in front of you.

“Say, you got a job? I know gentlemen ain’t ‘posed to ask that, but I’d like to know,” he asks, those blue eyes bearing into yours.

“No. ‘M from Kentucky. You hear about the massacre at Western Mining?”

He nods. You drop the bomb.

“I survived that. So I’m involuntarily unemployed.” There it is.

His face lights up in recognition.

“Oh, no wonder yer name sounded familiar. ‘M sorry you went through that,” he says, and it feels genuine coming from his lips. Many people said that to you when they realized who you were, but you felt it was out of obligation. From him, however, it felt like he sounded genuinely sad for you.

“Well, I’m a cowpoke too. Been driftin’ all over the Western frontier, lookin’ to make a few dimes. Right now, ‘m workin’ for this gentleman on his wild horse ranch.”

You lean towards him, interested in learning everything you can about this handsome stranger.

“He’d love another set of hands,” his eyes flick down to your palms and you smile.

“I don’t know much ‘bout horses,” you say honestly.

“That’s alright, I’ll teach you,” he replies, stretching his arms high above his head. You look down and analyze his clothes better. A silver belt buckle sat above his pelvis. The pattern on his shirt was light red and white. It fit him nicely, stretching across his muscled arms and what you’d do to feel those muscles under your nails-

Alrighty then.

He downs his glass in a large gulp. A small droplet falls from the corner of his lip and slides down then soaks into his beard. He sets the glass back down and turns to you.

“Can I get yer number?”

With no hesitation, you nod and fumble for your phone, not wishing to let this moment pass by.

You exchange numbers and secretly, you put a smile by his name.

“Well, I best get goin’,” he announces, stepping off of his barstool.

“Could I walk you to yer car?” He asks, holding his hand out for you to take. For a singular moment, you’re transported back to a busier bar where you were attempting to drown in cheap whiskey. A man in jeans offers his hand to you. You blink back to the present and stare at his outstretched hand.

What if he ends up like Ennis, Hank, Jack? So many others?

You swallow back your fears as you turn and finish your drink in one big gulp. You wipe your mouth on your hand and turn back to him.

Aided with alcohol, you grab his hand. The first thing you notice is how your hands fit together, almost like a nearly finished puzzle and the last piece. It seems he notices this too, for when you go to look at his face, his eyes are on your intertwined hands and a boyish grin has taken over his features. His cheeks flush pink, and you’re glad he feels how you do.

The second thing you notice is how calloused and rough his hands are. You unconsciously rub your thumb against the rough skin and his blush deepens. Turning away from you, he grabs his hat from the bar and slips it on his head.

“Shall we?” He asks, bowing slightly. You let out a giggle at him and start walking to the door. You dodge and weave around tables, sometimes pressing your body close to his. So close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him, making you gravitate closer to him. He smells like horses and outdoors with a slight undertone of Marlboro cigarettes. You find the scent oddly comforting. 

You wouldn’t mind spending your life vacations in bed with him, your face pressed into his neck, taking in the comforting scents that you already associated with him.

When you get to the door, he breaks from your side to open it. You miss the warmth his hand brought, desperately craving the heat that had been taken.

“Such a gentleman,” you giggle, laying a hand on his arm. He laughs, and you think you just found your favorite song.

He takes up his spot beside you and grabs your hand again. You lead him over to your truck. Beside it sits a younger ford, you figured the latest year was 2005. It was also a F-350, but had a Norstar truck bed on the back. A lonely bale of straw sat on it, alongside a cooler.

“That’s my truck,” he says, pointing at it.

“This is mine,” you reply, patting the hood of your 350.

Staring at you with those blue eyes, he looks like a Marlboro ad. He looked and acted the part, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was secretly a poster child for them.

As he stares at you, you feel butterflies wiggle out of their cocoons and begin to take flight in your stomach. You both are pulled towards another by a nonexistent string. The toes of your boots stand over top of his when you realize what you’re doing. His face is so close to yours, you can make out small crows feet by his eyes. He has two small freckles under his right eye, something you never would’ve noticed while you were far away.

The question swims in his eyes, and you nod quickly. You’ve never wanted anything more than this.

Your eyelids flutter shut as you lean in. His lips meet yours and it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of. His lips are soft and pliant against your own, moving in a slow, shy rhythm. All you can think of is him, him, him as he brings his hands up and cups your face, rough hands soothing on your burning cheeks, deepening the kiss. You place your hands on top of his and lace your fingers through his fingers, resting your palms against the backs of his hands. You can feel your heart begin to beat with his.

Eventually you separate. You slowly peek open your eyes and you believe you just found an angel on earth.

His eyes are closed, his lips still slightly puckered, savoring the kiss you shared. He looks at peace, as if all the planets lined up, like he found a home for his wandering soul. He cracks open his eyes and graces you with the most amazing picture you’ve ever seen.

He smiles.

He leans forwards and rests his forehead on yours, breathing in your scent like it’s oxygen. You smile back and that’s the moment you decide maybe all things happen for a reason.

-

The next day, you meet up with Zach at the horse ranch. You’re hired and by the next week, you’re roping horses. You had an old mare named Milly as a child, but she passed when you were five. You weren’t lying when you said you didn’t know much about horses, but Zach was understanding and taught you everything. You couldn’t have asked for a better teacher, he was a know-it-all when it came to horses. 

Zach had opened his doors for you and Colter to stay. He took the couch while you took the bed. Everynight, you thought about asking him to sleep in the bed for a change. Your fear of rejection got to you, and you could never ask him. Besides, Colter took up ¾ of the bed anyway.

You still woke up every night, tears in your eyes and sweat staining your clothes. Zach would rush in and hold you until you calmed down. He didn’t ask what you dreamed about, he didn’t want to know. He was more than willing to hold your body close to his and listen to your slowing heartbeat.

You and Zach were taking things slow, trying to get to know each other before jumping right in a relationship. Many nights were spent slow dancing in his kitchen while music played, sharing a bottle of wine to calm your nerves. You cooked, which meant he did the actual cooking while you sang and danced around. After meals were done, he’d ask to dance, and you’d never say no to him. He’d wrap his arms around your waist while you wrapped yours around his neck. 

You danced too close for ‘friends taking things slow’, but who was watching?

A few months passed in the blink of an eye and fall was coming upon you quickly. The air was crisp and cold and leaves began to turn brown with the changes.

“[Name]?” Zach says to you, one September night.

“Mhm?” You hum in reply, spinning in a circle in the middle of the kitchen while Zach stands at the stove.

“I’m thinkin’ ‘bout leavin’.”

You stop mid-twirl and stare at his back.

“What?”

“Somewhere farther West. But I don’t wanna leave you.”

The blood in your veins feels like honey with his claim.

“I wanna-” He pauses. “I wanna take you with me.”

You grin brighter than the sun. You walk up behind him and slide your arms around his torso, lacing your hands together on his stomach and resting your head between his shoulder blades.

“I’d go anywhere with you, Zach,” you admit.

You can hear his smile in his voice.

“Perfect.”

A day later, you pack up and prepare to drive cross country again. You open the door to your Ford and Colter jumps in, climbing over the console and sitting in the passenger side seat. You get an odd feeling of déjà vu, seeing Colter lay in your seat.

You turn to Zach. He stood a few feet away, leaning against the door of his Ford, silently admiring you. You both take a few steps and meet in the middle. Gravel shifts underfoot as you step closer and closer. Birds chirp loudly in the background. The sun shines through the canopy, small bursts of light illuminating Zach’s eyes.

He stares at you, eyes roving over every detail in your face. Embarrassed at his much appreciated attention, your eyes dip down to his clothes. You busy yourself with smoothing out the wrinkles in his short sleeved blue button up. He wears his infamous hat upon his mane of brown curls, along with Wranglers and his worn boots. He had taken off his spurs and hung them over his rearview mirror for the time being.

His shirt matches his eyes.

You raise your head to tell him this realization when you see said eyes mere inches from yours. You pause for a moment, starting to twist your gold locket with your fingers as a nervous habit, before speaking.

“Yer shirt matches yer eyes.”

He smiles and your knees buckle.

“Yer smile could light up a dark room,” he says, moving his hands to your waist to rub gently at the waistband of your blue jeans.

A shy smile takes over your mouth, before you reach up and place your hands on the sides of his face and pull him in.

He’s surprised for a moment but sinks into your kiss. His hands flex around your hips and you smile against his mouth.

You break apart and rest your forehead against his. He opens his eyes and grins boyishly. You slide your hands from his face to his neck.

“Where’re we headin’ to?” You ask.

“I was thinkin’ Colorado.”

“Perfect,” you say, leaning into another kiss. This one is shorter, and he’s the one that breaks it.

“We’ll meet at a gas station a hundred miles from ‘ere. I need gas,” he utters in between small pecks to your lips.

“Or ya can’t go too long without seein’ me,” you tease, starting to giggle.

“I can’t,” he replies, swooping back in for one final kiss. You pull him into a hug, resting your face in his neck, breathing in the scent that you’d always associate with him. He buries his nose in your hair and you feel his lips lightly kiss your head.

“Be safe,” you whisper.

“You too,” he whispers back.

You hesitantly separate and your arms drop to your sides, missing the heat his body gave you. You climb into your truck and fire it up.

“You lead the way!” You yell over the roar of the engine. He nods and walks over to his Ford and fires it up as well. He waves to you out the window and you wave back. You both drive down the gravel driveway and your eyes catch in the rearview mirror as you watch the house you’d spent the last few months in fade with the dust.

-

A few days later, you’re driving over the state line of Colorado. Zach had called along the way to rent a house for the two of you and Colter, as well as line up jobs at a big-name bison ranch.

“Zach?” You ask the first night you stay in your temporary home. Zach stands at the stove while you set the table. It’s become your nightly routine.

“[Name]?” He asks back.

“Will you sleep with me?”

You can see the flush rise on his ears.

“Uh-” he chokes out.

“Not like that!” You cry out.

“I meant like, sleepin’ in the same bed, not-not that,” you clarify, though you weren’t opposed to the first part.

“Yeah, if yer comfortable with it,” he replies, still blushing like a virgin at a brothel.

You smile. “‘Course I am.”

Later that night, after showering and everything else, you sit against the headboard with the covers pooling around your waist as you scroll mindlessly on your phone.

KNOCK
KNOCK

Your eyes flick to the door.

“Come in!” You call, plugging your phone in and setting it down on the bedside table then take out your hearing aids, also laying them on their charging ports. In walks Zach, wearing basketball shorts and no shirt. Your eyes widen and you’ve never felt a flush rise faster on your face. On his right rib sits a tattoo of a dog. A name and two dates are scrawled under it. His shirts left nothing to the imagination, and you thank God for that.

Freckles covered his torso and arms. His arms were nicely sculpted, as if Michelangelo himself carved him out of marble. He was an absolute work of art, and you feel yourself fall a bit deeper in love with him. He stares nervously at you. To rid him of his nerves, you pat the space beside you. He smiles and walks over then slides under the covers with you. He sits back against the headboard and you turn your head to grin at him. 

He graces you with the first of many smiles shared before sleeping.

You turn off the lamp on your bedside table and move your body to face Zach’s. You both shyly move to the other, placing featherlight touches on each other's skin. It seems Zach needs this, and he presses his face into your neck, his lips ghosting over your collar bone. His arms slide around your waist, dragging you close into him. You reciprocate by wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers burying in his long, curly hair.

You rub small circles into his scalp, breathing in this moment, before he speaks.

“[Name], do you love me?”

“Of course,” you respond without even thinking. It’s true, you do love him. And from what you can tell, he loves you back.

“Would you date me?”

You sigh, halting your movements in his hair.

“I’m a bit too fucked up to date right now. Yeah, I think about us datin’ all the time, but I wanna wait a bit,” you reply honestly. He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks.

“If it’s time you want, I’ll wait ‘til the sun turns to ashes.”

Your heart melts even more at his bold statement. You don’t respond, instead you place a kiss on his forehead.

“Good night, Zach.”

“Good night, [Name].”

-

When you awake the next morning, you’re still in the same position as you fell asleep in. At some point in the night, Colter had jumped up and laid sprawled out on your side, pushing you impossibly closer to Zach. Soft beams of light fall over your faces. Zach looks like an angel with the light making a slight halo around his curls. You lay there for what feels like hours, just simply admiring him, wondering how lucky you got.

I didn’t have any nightmares.

Your eyes widen and your mouth drops open slightly. Your wide eyes focus on Zach as his eyelids begin to twitch. Blue peeks out from under his long eyelashes and as soon as he gazes upon your face, he gives you his infamous grin that you’ve only seen him use for you.

He murmurs something. You see his lips moving, slightly distracted at the sight of them puffy from sleep, before you give him a confused look.

“Ya didn’t wake up once,” he repeats. You smile and start talking.

“No nightmares or nothin’.”

“Really?” He says excitedly, smiling brighter.

“Yup.”

You begin to wonder if you found the solution to one of your many problems. You hadn’t had a human sleep next to you since you broke up with your ex almost a year ago. You had Colter and Claire-

The name alone makes you want to cry like a child. You bite back tears and Zach notices.

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly, voice gentle and calming against the storm of guilt stirring in your mind.

“I-” is all you get out before you start sobbing. Zach shoots up and wraps his arms around you, pulling your body into his, resting your head on his bare chest. His rough hands rub circles on your clothed back, murmuring words you’d never hear again into your ears as you let it all out. Your palms lay on his shoulders, pulling him even closer. 

Human touch was good for someone like you, you found. It’s nice to have a chest to wail on, quite therapeutic. The only affection and touch you got was from the coal miners, and you’d share hugs and pats on the back after a near-death experience, like when a loader had flipped with you in it. You came out mostly unscathed, save for a large gash on your right arm that turned to a scar. You’d never gotten more pats and full body hugs in your entire life.

Eventually you have no tears left to cry. Snot and tears stain Zach’s chest, a few salty tears running down and soaking into the waistband of his shorts.

“Sorry,” you apologize, taking the covers and wiping away the evidence of your breakdown.

“Nothin’ to apologize fer,” Zach replies, “Happens to the best of us.” He pushes you back slightly, hands moving to cup your face and he wipes away a stray tear falling down your cheek.

“And you’re the best of us.”

You smile through your tears and the words tumble out on your tongue before you can stop them.

“I love you.”

He’s taken aback and so are you. He surely remembered the conversation you had before bed last night. It takes him a few moments to reply, shocked by your words.

“I love you too.”

Zach and you spend the next few years drifting all over the West, picking up jobs whenever you could. Currently, you were stationed in Montana, working at a large cattle ranch, the largest Montana had to offer. It’s winter, and Montana winters were no joke. Everyday was spent keeping the cattle alive through the harsh and unrelenting cold.

Every anniversary of the coal mine massacre was spent sobbing into Zach’s welcoming and loving arms. It was hard, living with the things you’d survived, but for Zach, your mother and sister, and your animals, it was worth every teardrop. Since sleeping with Zach, you rarely had nightmares. They’d come in short bursts, and were much more violent spaced out.

The bloody casket was a recurring symbol, as well as the circle with an X through it. You’d lived with it for a year before you finally decided to try out therapy. You were put under some sleeping pill for a while, as well as an anxiety med. You stopped taking the sleeping pill but stayed on the anxiety one. Your mental health was finally healing; you were healing. You were slowly coming to terms with what happened, and learning how to deal with the pain healthily. You went on horse rides as a healthy habit.

You never had a set trail, you’d just drift where the wind took you. You usually rode bareback, not bothering to go through the effort of saddling up Mary. Once your mind was clear, you’d turn around and come back.

You called your mother and June every night, giving them updates on your life. They would fly out to wherever you stayed during the summer, then leave a month or so later. You hadn’t been back to Appalachia since you left, so when your mother visited, she’d give you all the drama. Ole Merle up the street from your mother’s house cheated on his wife of fifty years with her cousin, someone had a baby, someone from highschool got married, other drama talks. You, June, and your mother would share a case of Miller High Life and talk about everything and anything while Zach sipped a bottle, confused out of his mind. You did your best to fill him in on everything, but there’s only so much he can understand not being there. Some things you had to experience to understand.

June had gotten married to Tyler from the bar, and her stomach swelled quickly with the promise of a child. She had her wedding near your home, and went on their honeymoon to Mexico. You liked Tyler, he was a good man. He was perfect for June, the complete opposite of her, but they made it work.

You live in a small farmhouse on a few acres of land with Zach, two dogs and a few horses, and thoughts begin to sprout in your mind, thoughts of settling down here, getting another dog, raising a child or two, growing old together, spending every night sitting in wooden rocking chairs, watching the sun go down over Montana’s glorious mountains.

You hadn’t voiced these opinions to Zach, scared he’d reject your ideas. Though you secretly wish for more, you’re content with what you have. A two story farmhouse occupied with Colter and Zach and your newest addition, Tom the Australian Shepard. An older mare, a younger mare, and a young stallion, named Jenny, Mary, and Arthur.

You awake slowly. You peel your eyes open and in front of you lies Zach. His blue eyes are shut with sleep. His face is relaxed and at peace. He’s wrapped up in your arms, you fear if you move any closer you’ll be permanently morphed to him. Low lighting from the wall light falls softly on Zach’s face, ensuring your belief that he’s an angel on Earth. Colter and Tom lay at the foot of the bed, snoring louder than a backfiring chainsaw.

You slowly rub your hands up and down on his bare back, lulling him deeper into sleep.

The curves and valleys between hard earned muscles remind you of the hills and flat expanses where you met him. You snuggle closer to him, resting your forehead on his. You’re content to lay here for years with him, just staring at his beautiful face.

Sadly, your shifting awakes him, and he focuses on you with those dazzling eyes that made you fall in love. Anytime he looks at you, you fall deeper and deeper in love with him. He smiles sweetly.

You fall a bit deeper.

“Good mornin’,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the bridge of your nose. His facial hair scratches your face, and you giggle. In return, you press a kiss to his jaw.

“Good mornin’.”

“You wanna get up?”

“Meh,” you reply. He smiles and curls his arms tighter around you, dragging your bare body back to his. He presses a short kiss into your neck and sighs. A few moments later, he’s asleep. Listening to his even breathing and little snores, you follow him into the peaceful release of sleep.

You wake a little bit later and smell bacon frying in the air. You stretch your arms out and find the bed empty. You raise your head and look around your bedroom. Zach is nowhere to be found, and neither are the dogs. Your eyes flick down to the piles of clothes where you both discarded them last night. Your cheeks flush with the reminder of what you did before sleeping. His clothes are gone, but yours are nicely folded. Sunrise orange filters through the blinds and you peek outside the window.

The sunrise slowly peeked over the mountains, painting everything in that golden glow you’ve always loved. White, powdery snow covers the ground. You can faintly see Colter and Tom romping in the distance.

You shove the covers off of your body and sigh gratefully as the warm air hits you. You quickly dress and gently open the bedroom door.

“Zach?” You call out.

“Ducky?” Comes his reply. Ducky was his new term of endearment for you, and you found it sweet. You walk down the stairs and step into the kitchen. There, Zach stands at the stove, frying a pan of bacon for the two of you, and the dogs sit drooling at his feet. A plate of toast, a plate of eggs, and a growing pile of bacon sat beside the stove. The floorboards creak under your feet and Zach turns his head and meets you with a smile.

You’ve never seen anything more beautiful in your entire life.

“Makin’ breakfast,” he announces. He turns back to the stove and flips the slices. He grabs a finished piece and breaks it into two, then hands it to the dogs. They inhale it, not even stopping to chew. You walk over to the stop and grab the plate of toast. He presses a kiss to your temple and you fall in love a bit more. You place the toast on the table then grab a jar of jam and the butter dish from the refrigerator. You place them on the table beside the toast and start the coffee. Once it’s finished, you pour it in your mugs and set them on the table. You grab the creamers and set them down too. Zach finishes up the bacon and joins you at the table, having already fixed you a plate.

You take the first bite and previously hadn’t realized how hungry you were. You’d already inhaled half of your plate by the time Zach got ⅓ of his eaten. Swallowing back a mouthful of eggs, you decide to bring up the thoughts clouding your mind. Now would be the perfect time while you’re in a domestic setting.

“Zach?”

He hums in response, looking up at you through his eyebrows.

“I was thinkin’,” you start hesitantly.

“That’s scary,” he jokes, chuckling to himself. You laugh.

“About… us .”

“Are you leavin’ me?” He asks quickly, dropping his fork on his plate in shock and looking at you with wide eyes. You can practically hear his heart beat race.

“No!” You shout. You lower your voice and clarify.

“I’ll leave you when the desert floods and the grass turns blue.” He leans his head back.

“Oh, Thank God. Don’t know what I’d do without ya.” A lovesick grin crosses your face.

“I…uhm…” you struggle to find the right words. Your mind screams at you to just spit it out.

“I wanna settle down,” you finally blurt out. Zach looks at you, urging you to go on.

“I wanna buy this house, get married, get another dog, maybe have children, if you’d like to. I wanna do it with you .”

Zach looks at you with a knowing grin. He reaches out a hand and laces his fingers through yours on the table.

“I want that too.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “You do?”

“From the moment I started talkin’ to ya.”

He’s telling the truth. You dip your head and smile.

“I’ll talk to Bobby Monday ‘bout buyin’ this place.”

You smile at him. Despite all the hell you’ve been through, you’re lucky enough to find a man that loves you and will love you even after death.

You finish breakfast, wash up the dishes while Zach puts everything away, then head to the bedroom to dress. It’s November in Montana, so dressing warm was always a necessity. You both pull on some wool underclothes then flannel shirts and sweatshirts. You put on jeans and loop your belts around your waists. You slip multiple layers of socks on then tie your wild rags around your throats. You shove your hearing aids in your ears. You were grateful for them, they allowed you to hear things that the other ranchers couldn’t, like predators in the distance.

Zach struggles to tie his wild rag and you take it from his hands and loop it perfectly. He gives you a quick peck on the lips and you grin. You walk to the door and grab your coats from the hooks on the wall. You slip your wool-lined chaps over your jeans and slide on your boots made for snow and chill. Zach grabs your felt hat from the hook and places it over your head. It falls over your eyes and he adjusts it, swooping in to kiss you on the cheek. You place his on his unruly curls and you both grab your shotguns from under the bench and some spare ammo. Zach opens the door for you and the dogs and they rush out, snowflakes falling around them. Zach pockets your keys and you step outside.

Your spurs click quietly in the silence of the morning. Snow flurries fall everywhere, including your felt hats. The snow crunches quietly underfoot as you walk back to the small barn that held your animals. Zach was going to hook up your trailer to your truck while you fed the horses and got them ready. In the first stall stands the eldest mare, Jenny.

“Good mornin’ Jenny,” you say, mixing her senior supplements in with her bucket of feed. Jenny was a retired barrel racing horse, but she still had it in her to run. She’s an American Quarter horse, with light brown hair and a dark brown mane. You open her stall and step in. You set down her food and grab her heated water bucket and hay net. You drop them outside of her gate and walk over to the other mare’s stall, Mary. She’s also an American Quarter horse, but is darker than Jenny. She has a pitch black mane and stands a few hands taller than Jenny.

“Good mornin’, Mary.” You hear a disgruntled neigh from the stall beside her.

“Good mornin’, Arthur,” you giggle. Arthur is Zach’s horse. He’s a beautiful Appaloosa, with a brown coat and speckled in white spots.

You grab both of their buckets from where they sit on the outside and mix their food up. You set their buckets back inside and grab their hay nets and water buckets. They all chow down as you fill up their buckets and nets, and by the time you finish with the last net, they’re all staring at you expectantly.

Zach backs the trailer by the entrance to the barn and puts the truck in park then shuts it off. He greets you with a smile and takes the hay nets from your hands.

“I’ll put ‘em in the trailer.” You nod and he turns and opens the trailer door. He disappears then comes back a few moments later, hands empty. You walk over to the wall and grab your wool pad and a woven blanket. You open Mary’s gate then place them on her back. You stroll back to the wall where the saddle stands are and pick your saddle up. Zach opens the gate and you set it on the pad and blanket.

You pull your right stirrup over the saddle and drop your front and back cinch down and walk to the other side of her to saddle it. You reach underneath and grab the front cinch and hold it against her coat, then you grab the latigo strap and slide it on the cinch ring. You continue to wrap the latigo twice more then tie it around the ring. You pull up the back cinch and buckle it, shoving your hand through to make sure there’s enough room. 

“Ducky?” You hear Zach call. You turn and he’s lugging his saddle to Arthur’s stall. You rush over and open the door for him. He steps in and throws it over Arthur’s back.

“Thank ya.”

“No problem.”

You walk back to Mary and start on the breast collar and slip the strap through the ring then buckle it. You lay it across her chest and fasten it on the other side. Once you’re satisfied with it, you squat down and hook it on the D-ring of the front cinch. You straighten back up and start on her bridle. You hold the bit in your hand and gently coax your thumb into her mouth. Once she opens her mouth, you slide the bit in and allow her to move it to where she sees fit. You slide the top of the bridle over her ears and buckle it around her face, taking care to not fasten it too tight. You buckle the throat latch loosely. You let the stirrup down and grab your reins and lead her into the trailer. She follows obediently. You latch the gate that separates Mary and Arthur in the trailer and she begins to munch on hay.

You step out and make your way to Zach. He’s finishing on his breast collar and his bridle hangs off of the saddle horn. You grab a few ropes from the wall and shove them in a compartment in the trailer. You slip your gloves into your belt then open Jenny’s gate and step in. You rub her neck as you wait for him to finish up. Jenny stops eating to allow you better access to her head and neck. Zach leads Arthur into the trailer and shuts it behind him then walks back into the barn. You give Jenny a kiss on the jaw. She turns back to her hay and Zach waits outside of the gate for you. You step out and he stares deep into your eyes. 

You grow bashful under his gaze and step closer to him and straighten his coat.

“[Name],” he says softly. You look up and are reminded of leaving the first house you lived in together. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Your gaze follows the freckles covering his paler skin. They trail down to his lips, the curve of his nose, his breathtaking eyes. Zach leans in and presses his lips to yours. You melt into the kiss, hands coming up to grasp at his face. He pulls away and chuckles, his breath fanning over your cheeks.

“What?” You ask, brows furrowing but a smile stays on your lips.

“You taste like a horse,” he cackles. You can’t help but laugh with him. You hand him his gloves and walk over to your truck, letting out giggles every so often. You can’t look at each other without bursting into fits of giggles. You both get in your pickup and you fire the engine up. You stop by the house and Zach puts the dogs in. He jumps back in and you drive towards your work. You check the clock on the dash.

8:40.

You turn up George Strait on the radio and turn out of your drive and onto a snowy road.

-

Night had fallen hours ago, but everyone was still there. A calf had gone missing, and it was your job to find it before you left. All the ranch hands were sent in different directions, you being closest to Zach and a female rider named Emily. Em is sweeter than cherry pie, she’s one of your best friends. You had saddled up and rode into the woods God knows how long ago.

You pull your pack of Marlboro reds and a lighter from your coat pocket. You hold your cigarette in your lips and light it. You put the lighter back in your pocket and take the cig from your lips. You exhale a cloud of smoke. The taste of tobacco was comforting to you, it brought you something to dwell on while you searched, it kept your mind clear and open. Silence wasn’t good for your thoughts, that’s when you’d see the bloodied casket and strange symbol. Occasionally, you’d hear a scream as a hatchet tore through flesh-

Calm down.

You take another drag and hold the smoke in your lungs for a moment longer.

Focus .

You blow out the smoke and take an inhale through your nose. The crisp and cold air is a nice wake up call.

Mary’s hooves are silenced by the white snow underneath you. Your shotgun rubs gently against your heavily covered outer thigh. Your saddle had a holster for your shotgun, which you were thankful for. You bought the saddle from a Northerner-

You smell the unmistakable scent of blood.

The air was thick with the heavy scent of iron that you know all too well.

Your nose wrinkles, memories rushing back faster than you could handle.

Hank.

Sweet, mourning lamb, there’s nothing-

FOCUS!

Blood stains the snow a few feet away. Your head snaps to it so hard you think you just gave yourself whiplash. A few stray droplets lay on the snow about a foot away from you. You pull the reins and Mary slowly steps closer to it. You instinctively pull your shotgun from the hostler and cock it. Your thumb fiddles with the safety and your finger itches on the trigger.

Moo! You hear a soft cry of pain in the distance. You dig your spurs into Mary’s side and she’s off. You gallop around trees, attempting to duck under branches, but you still get hit with thorns and stray branches as you follow a trail of blood.

Blood pools around an old oak tree and twigs snap.

You round the tree and there lays the calf with a coyote feasting on it. In a mere millisecond, you flick off the safety and a bullet embeds itself in the coyote’s forehead. It slumps to the ground and you scramble off of Mary to the wounded calf.

“Zach! Emily! I found her!” Your cigarette juts from your lips as you scream into the night. The hereford calf moos weakly. A large wound rips across her neck. She’s bleeding profusely. Just like Ennis-

Focus !

You snap back to the present and press your hands against her neck, putting pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. You hear a twig snap in front of you and look up.

You’re met with IT .

You let out a blood curdling screech and snow flies out from under you as you try to get away. You smell the blood beginning to pour from your nose and you scream again. The familiar roar of angry bees overtakes any other thoughts and you press your hands against your head to try and drown it out. IT isn’t happy, not at all. You understand immediately that IT set all this up; IT took the calf from her mother, led her to a hungry coyote, allowed it to sink its sharp teeth into the calf’s skin, allowed you to find it to threaten you.

Through the assault, you manage to open your mouth and cry out.

A weak moo beside you brings you to your senses and you shove yourself up to your feet. Snow falls behind you as you run to grab your shotgun from the saddle. You flick off the safety and fire the other shot at IT .

B A N G

Just as you think the bullet will rip through IT , IT disappears. Instantly, you can think clearly and the flood coming from your nose dulls down to a drip. You wipe your nose on your coat sleeve.

“ Zach !” You shriek.

When you don’t hear any hoofbeats, you decide to say fuck it and unbutton your coat. You slip it off your arms and wrap it around her shivering body. Your body mourns the loss of heat, but she needs it more. You shove your shotgun in the holster and anxiously scoop her up, listening attentively for her sounds of discomfort. You place your boot in the stirrup and haul yourself up and onto Mary’s back with the calf in your arms. You press her furry body close to yours, trying to give her more heat. You squeeze your legs around Mary and urge her on.

“Go’on girl. Hurry,” you say through gritted teeth.

She seems to understand, and starts in a fast gallop. She leads you around trees as you hold tightly onto the calf.

“ Zach ! I found ‘er!” You call with everything you have. You take your Marlboro from your mouth and hold it in between your fingers. You continue shouting until your voice is hoarse and cracking and your throat hurts. Your work pays off, and you hear hoofbeats in the distance. Lights fall on the trees around you. You break through the tree line and a moment later, Zach breaks through beside you.

“Holy fuck,” he says. Blood has long ago soaked through your coat, and you can feel the life draining from the calf. Zach looks quizzically at your nose.

“Tree branch,” you lie. He nods.

Mary gallops to the gate and Zach climbs off of Arthur and opens it for you. You race to the house and Emily and the ranch owner, Mr. Johnson, takes her from your arms. They carry her into the house where a vet awaits. 

You tie Mary’s reins to one of the posts and stomp out your cigarette and rush inside. Zach follows close behind and the calf lays on the kitchen table. Chairs were shoved away and Mr. Johnson holds his wife as the vet begins to operate on the calf. He brings his stethoscope away from her heavy rising and falling chest.

“She’s lost a lotta blood. Get her mother and I can do a blood transfusion,” he orders. You, Emily, and Zach all rush outside and untie your horses’ reins then hop on their backs. You rush down to the pasture and another ranch hand, Jimmy, opens the gate for you guys. You run in and search quickly for her mother. You find the ear tag with the closest number and waste no time in twirling your rope high above your head and casting it out on the mother. It catches on her horns and with Zach and Emily roping around her horns as well, you three manage to pull her out of the pasture and to the house.

The next bit is a blur. The vet takes blood from the mother, stitches up the calf, gives her a blood transfusion. Mrs. Johnson coaxes liquids down the calf’s throat to help it regain energy. You stand out on the porch with the other ranch hands, smoking another Marlboro. You stare out at the black night and you feel your thoughts wander.

Blood.

Iron scented.

Ennis.

Jack.

Hank.

Claire.

You feel a burning on the back of your hand and look down. Your cigarette ash had fallen onto the railing and rubbed against your skin. A small pile had built up. You wondered how long you’d been stuck in your mind. 

You brush it away and take another drag then feel an arm against yours. Your gaze flicks over to Zach. You shiver and press a little closer into him. With the adrenaline spike wearing off, you’d never realized how cold you’d gotten since taking off your coat. Zach notices your shiver and shrugs off his own coat. He places it on your shoulders. You shove your arms through and revel in the scent of him. You press the collar into your nose and sigh. It’s quiet for a few moments, save for the small talk of the ranch hands behind you, when Zach breaks it.

“She’ll be alright. Doc says she’ll regain energy soon and we’ll be able to put her with mama back in the barn.” Your shoulders relax with the good news.

“Thank God,” you mutter. Zach is quiet for a few moments before you hear an excited yell from the kitchen.

“She’s standin’!” Mrs. Johnson squeals. Everyone runs across the porch and into the house. Sure enough, the little calf slowly steps across the kitchen tiles. They’re slick, and her hooves slide as she steps. She does a small run to the living room carpet. Her head dips down to sniff at it. A white bandage lays tight around her neck. You smile as she smells something odd and bucks her hooves in the air.

A little while later, everyone walks her back down to the barn, giving her treats and ear rubs. She trots into the barn and finds her mother. She nurses while her mother licks her sides, grooming her baby. When she’s done nursing, she turns to you as the doors slide shut. For a mere moment, her chocolate eyes bear into yours, and she seems to understand what you did.

You and Zach hold hands as everyone trails back up to the house. Mr. Johnson passes around Coors Lights and finds lawn chairs for everyone. No one’s left yet, which you find odd. You and Zach are usually some of the last ones to leave. Some other ranch hands start a fire and everyone gathers around it. You set a chair beside you for Zach. Speaking of him, he’s been gone for some time. He said he had to piss when you made it to the house and he still hadn’t made it back yet.

“Hey, has anyone seen Zach?” You ask the ranch hands. You feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn and no one’s there. You turn back around, confused, before you see Zach kneeling in front of you.

Holding a ring box.

Your eyes widen and your jaw drops. You hear laughter from around you but pay no attention to it.

“[Name], I’ve loved you since I met you in that honky tonk all them years ago. Everyday I spend with ya, I fall in love a bit more.” He takes your hand and squeezes it affectionately.

“I love you for you . You’re hilarious, and sweet, and the toughest person I know.” Tears begin to burn in your eyes but you can’t look away from his blue irises that hold so much love and care  for you.

You begin to zone out as he pours out his heart at your feet. You’re in shock, you can’t believe what’s happening is real.

“[Name] [Last Name], will you make me the happiest man ever and marry me?” You blink out of your thoughts and find his blue eyes staring at you hopefully.

“Of course, yes, yes, a million times yes!” You say, jumping up from your chair and hugging him. You don’t care about the ring, you just want him. You roll around on the ground intertwined in each other’s arms and hear cheering from around you. Everyone has a phone out and recorded the whole proposal. You and Zach sit up. He slips the ring on your finger, and you gasp at the beauty of it.

It’s a silver band with a small [b/s] in the middle of it. It's ingrained with intricate details that look exactly like June's necklace. You fumble for it and pull it out, and sure enough, it's the same design. It’s light on your finger and fits perfectly. You turn to him.

You press your lips to his and the cheering continues.

Chapter Text

Wind whips against your frame harshly.

The wind moans lowly through your ears, howling desperately. For what, you didn’t know.

You grit your teeth against the cold and clutch onto Mary’s split reins tighter.

Snow dusts every visible inch of you. It gathers on top of your felt hat, eventually drifting away with the wind. Your gaze turns to Zach a few feet away. He’s freezing as well, his silhouette illuminated by the lantern he hung off of Arthur’s reins so you could see in front of you. His back was hunched over, trying to curl in to conserve heat. It was one of Montana’s many blizzards of the winter, and snowflakes flew at you from every direction. Harsh, bitter wind bit the sections of your skin that was uncovered, which wasn’t much but was still enough to make you cold.

Mary snorts under you, just as sick of the cold as you are. You pat her neck with your gloved hand.

“I know, girl. Almost there.”

You had to move the herd of over a thousand heads to a bigger pasture about 20 miles away. An even bigger blizzard was due to hit you within the next day, and the barn in the usual pasture had been damaged early on in the storm.

A particularly rough gust of wind hits you and you sway on top of Mary’s back. Had it not been for your death grip on the saddle horn and your feet shoved in the stirrups, you’d have fallen off miles ago. You turn back to Mary and see the cattle in front of you stop. You look to Zach’s back as he calls ahead.

“What’s the holdup?”

Silence.

A twig snaps.

You snap your head to the right. A few cattle ears twitch, but no one else seems to notice it.

The wind howls in your ears, moaning and wailing a siren’s song. As you stare into the inky black of the forest, you swear you see orange goggles glaring right back at you.

Your blood runs colder than ice in your veins. Fear prickles up your spine, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

The cattle in front of you start to move and with hearing an annoyed snort from under you, you’re snapped out of the stupor you were in. You can’t shake the feeling you’re being watched, no matter how far you travel. You can feel eyes singeing through your layers of clothes, leaving scars in their wake. Scars that you haven’t thought of for years.

You stare deep into the woods again.

A skeleton’s hand wraps around the trunk of a tree along the treeline. You stare, transfixed. It curls a cheese-clothed finger at you, beckoning you closer. There’s a golden ring on one of IT ’s fingers. IT peaks IT S head around the tree at you. Skulls can’t smile, but damn, you swear IT smirks at you.

IT cackles, a deep, ancient laugh, as if IT hadn’t used IT s voice for centuries. IT laughs at your misfortune.

“Can’t…….essssccaaaapppeeeee,” IT draws out, low and languid.

You see Hank’s smashed head flicker throughout your vision.

You hear your blood-curdling shrieks, begging the man in yellow to stop.

Ennis wailing while Jack loses life by the millisecond.

Ennis bleeding out while you cry over his dead body.

“ Can’t forgeeeeeettttttt…. ”

“ Stuck hereeeee… ”

“ FOREVERRRRRRR…… ”

IT laughs at your guilt. You blink and feel cold tears drip down your cheeks.

“Honey?” Zach calls. You whip your head to face him. He stands only a foot away. He stares at you, worry written all over his handsome features. You turn back to the forest, and the skeleton hand is gone. Zach guides Arthur to stand beside Mary. He reaches into his pocket and produces a handkerchief.

He places one hand on your jaw, the other holds the cloth. He tilts your head upwards gently.

“Yer nose is bleedin’,” he says softly, voice full of concern. You feel sticky blood smear under your nose before Zach wipes it away. He lets go of your jaw and shoves his hankie back in his pocket. He fixes those gorgeous blue eyes on you.

“You okay?” He asks. You nod, shaking yourself out of it. He stares at you, unbelieving. You lean over and place a kiss on the visible part of his cheek. His long eyelashes tickle the bridge of your nose as his eyes follow your face. You pull away and turn Mary’s reins.

“How much farther?” You can’t help but ask. Zach turns and looks into the distance. You look as well.

“‘Bout a few minutes. Then we’ll turn around and come back.” You nod.

“Okay.”

Zach takes his place a few feet away and the herd continues on. You make it to the barn and everyone corrals the cattle inside. Once the door is closed and the cattle have enough food and unfrozen water, you ride back to the ranch house. The entire way back, your mind races.

Did they find me?

What if they hurt Zach?

No, I'd rather die than let them lay a finger on Zach , you decide. 

Your gaze flicks down to your gloved hand where your engagement ring sits underneath. You feel a grin overtake your face upon thinking of it.

“What’cha thinkin’ ‘bout there, ducky?” A voice rings in your thoughts. You look up and find Zach in front of you. All the other riders have dismounted and led their horses to their trailers. You both climb off of your mounts and begin to slowly make your way to your own trailer. You walk in silence for a few moments as you ponder.

“You ‘n me. Gettin’ married.” Zach laughs.

“Crazy, ain’t it?” You nod.

“Yeah. I’m glad we met,” you say truthfully. You’ve made it to your trailer and you stop beside it, facing each other.

“Me too. I don’t know what I’d do without ya,” Zach grins. You turn away to hide your smile and uncinch Mary’s saddle. Zach takes it from your arms along with the saddle pad and reins and walks away to shove it on the saddle racks. You lead Mary into the trailer, stocking her hay net as she chomps hay gratefully. You shut the gate behind her and carry Arthur’s saddle as Zach leads him into the trailer as well. You put up the reins and saddle pad and make your way back to Zach. He gives Arthur a few parting pats and walks out. You shove the door shut and lock it, turning to Zach.

You walk closer to each other, stepping into the other’s body heat. The tips of your boots cover his and his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into a hug. You attempt to rest your forehead on his, as your hat brims limited that, and sigh, staring at him. His warm breath fans across your face and you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

Snowflakes dust his long eyelashes as he stares at you with those loving blue eyes. You smile softly, bringing him into a kiss. He responds with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. You’re both dead on your feet, all you wanna do is sleep. You separate.

“I don’t know what I’d do without ya either,” you smile. Zach kisses your lips again, holding you in his embrace for a few more moments. You part, walking over to the doors of your truck. You climb into the driver’s side while Zach sits in the passenger’s seat. You take off your hat and set it brim up on the dash. Zach does as well. You fire up the engine and slowly make your way down the drive to exit the ranch.

You smooth your sweaty palms down your [WD/S]. Your efforts are futile, sweat immediately beads as you take them away.

“Nervous?” Emily asks, adjusting your hair from behind you.

“Yeah,” you reply, smoothing your hands down your body again. You see Emily walk over to you in the reflection and place a hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t be. I think Zach’ll be an even bigger mess than you are,” she jokes. You let out a breathy chuckle.

Winter had faded to spring, and before you know it, it’s your wedding day.

“Give me another shot.” Your bridesmaids laugh. Emily hands you the bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. You shrug and press the bottle to your lips, taking a generous gulp. The ranch hands giggle as your mother rushes over and snatches it from you.

“You don’t wanna trip down the aisle, do you?” She scolds with a smile on her face. She sets it down on the table a few feet away and comes back to stand behind you. She shoos the bridesmaids out as they grab their flowers and leave. June rushes over and hugs you tightly. She pulls away and places her hands on your shoulders. She smiles.

“Chin up, [Name]. I’ll be waitin’ fer you.”

You smile back. She grabs her flowers and gives you one last grin. She shuts the door behind you and your mother wraps her arms around you, placing a kiss on your shoulder. It’s silent for a few moments as she tries to find the words to say.

“I remember how excited your daddy was when we found out I was pregnant. He did cartwheels all around the waiting room,” she chuckles. You giggle.

“When we found out we were havin’ you, he was the happiest man alive,” she says fondly.

“When you finally got here, he cried harder than I did during labor,” she laughs, her voice ringing like bells in your ears.

“He was obsessed with you from day one, long before, actually. He’d walk around with a picture of your ultrasound in his wallet, showin’ it to everyone. Your nursery was filled with toys, diapers, everythin’. You was always Daddy’s baby, I got jealous,” she admits. You bring your hands up and lace them in your mother’s, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“He’d put you to bed, he’d calm you down when you was fussin’. He’d feed you when you wouldn’t eat for me. For a while, we were a picture perfect family, just me, you, and yer daddy. Then June came along. She was a total mama’s girl. Your daddy got you to obsess over, and I got June, so we was even.”

“Life got even better. We had two beautiful children, stable jobs. You two was growin’ in the blink of an eye. When you got older, you took June under yer wing. Showed her the best patches of honeysuckle, read her your favorite books till she’d fall asleep on your shoulder. You’d slip on Daddy’s boots and saddle up Milly and ride off into the sunset, and June would be laughin’ up a storm,” she smiles, and takes one of her hands from yours and wipes away a tear. You feel your own begin to rise in your eyes.

“Then the attack in 2001 happened. Your father enlisted in the Marine Corps to fight. He went to train in Atlanta, then flew to California. We’d go months without contact. It scared me. But he finally got to come home,” she smiles. You remember his absence before he passed.

“We spent a couple years together. Then, he was called to fight in Iraq. He didn’t think he’d make it back,” her voice wavers as she fights back a sob.

“So, he told me to give you somethin’ on your wedding day.” She removes her arms from around you and steps outside of the room. A few moments later, she comes back holding a black gift box.She hands it to you, battling tears that would not stay back. You hesitantly open it, and let out a gasp at what you see.

Daddy’s boots.

The ones he wore everyday. They were just as dirty and worn as you remembered them. His spurs still sit on the heels. You take them out and something falls from the bag. You bend down to grab it and realize it’s a note. You open it and look at what it says.

To my beautiful [Name]. If you’re reading this, it means I can’t walk you down the aisle like I wish I could. But with these boots, you can listen to the stomps and imagine it’s me.

A tear drop stains the aged paper, messing up the me .

Remember I’m with you always. I love you, [Name]. Love, Dad.

You bite your lip to hold back your crying. You run your finger lightly over his signature.

Love, Dad.

You set the note down on your table and hug your mother as hard as you can. You let a few tears slip loose. You part and you take off the boots you originally wore. You carefully grab the worn leather of your father’s boots and slip one over your foot. The supple leather molds perfectly to your feet, as if these boots were designed for you. Your mother always joked about how you had your father’s feet. You assumed she was making fun of you, you finally know the truth.

You slide the other one on and smile. You step back into the reflection of the mirror and smile upon hearing the click of the heels on the floor. The spurs jingle and it sounds like music to your ears. Your mother hands you your bouquet of flowers and wipes away your tears with her fingers.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says, voice cracking. “Daddy would be too.” You smile, trying to swallow back tears. She offers you her arm and you take it. She arranges your bouquet one last time and looks at you.

“You ready?”

You smile softly.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

You step out of your bedroom and there sits Colter and Tom, both wearing bow ties and nicely bathed. You grab Colter’s leash and your mother grabs Tom’s. You make your way down the stairs and the house is empty, all the guests wait in the backyard. You step outside and Mary and Arthur stand tall, already saddled up.

“Sit,” you order Colter and Tom. They obey and you and your mother climb onto your horses. Wildflowers line a long aisle in front of you and once you’re situated in the saddle, you let out a heavy breath.

I can do this.

You begin your descent to the altar, Colter and Tom walking beside you, never straying from your side. About a yard away, June and Tyler sit on horseback. You can faintly hear music coming from the reception area and you smile. You see a flash and look to where a photographer crouches in the tall flowers. You giggle and turn back to what the future holds.

-

You make it to where other horses stand hitched up. You and your mother dismount, and tie Mary and Arthur to the posts, giving them pats for a job well done. One of Zach’s uncles stocks a hay feeder for them and they start to chow down. Your mother reaches over to you and adjusts your father dog tags and your golden locket around your neck. She presses a kiss to your forehead as you step onto the aisle. White curtains block your view of the altar and the audience. You lace arms and wait for your cue. Laughter rings as June and Tyler dance to their places. Your mother straps the flower baskets to the dogs, angled to where the petals will fall. You give Colter and Tom some last minute ear scratches and they trot down the aisle. You hear laughter and coos as everyone sees them.

You let out a shaky breath. Your mother glances over to you.

“Don’t be nervous and think of the people. Think of the person you’re gonna see” she advises. Your thoughts begin to wander as you think of your soon-to-be-husband.

I wonder how handsome he looks.

Before you know it, the beginning of All Your’n starts.

Angry buzzing rises in your mind.

You smell blood.

No no NO!

This cannot happen today!

Your head flicks to the treeline in the distance and you see IT .

GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

You scream in your mind.

The buzzing grows louder.

Your hands curl into fists and you grit your teeth so hard you think they’ve cracked.

LEAVE ME ALONE!

You blink, and IT ’s gone.

Did I imagine that?

You look over to your mother. She glances at you when you don’t step forward. She does a double take when she sees your nose.

“Holy shit, [Name]! What happened?” She asks worriedly, waving a relative of Zach’s over. They bring a tissue and your mother dabs away the blood.

“I-I don’t know-” you say dumbfounded. She wipes away the blood and gives the tissue to the relative. They rush over to a trash can and throw it away.

“Drivin’ through the roadwork, oh the work they took forever on, the road cones blur like memories of the miles we shared between.”

You squeeze your mothers arm tightly and begin walking forwards. You push aside the curtains and everyone stands, clapping and whistling and cheering.

“The place you learned to say your prayers, the place I took to prayin’.”

You don’t care about the audience.

Zach stands at the altar, looking as handsome as ever. He looks dashing in his nice blue jeans, his black blazer, his nicest boots on, and his black hat on his slightly tamed mess of curls.

“Loadin’ in and breakin’ down my road dog, door deal dreams.”

He makes eye contact with you and bursts into tears. You feel your own tears slip down your cheeks and your face hurts with how hard you’re smiling.

“Long before we ever met, I made up my direction, long before I knew the half of half that I’m sure of now.”

You’re in a lovesick daze as you stare at Zach. You’re in a dream, there’s no way this is happening.

It is happening. Enjoy it.

“And though I’d say it ain’t the way that you’d a-gone about it,”

Relatives and friends wave and smile at you. You have half the mind to give a small wave back, never taking your eyes off of Zach.

You glance over to the pews and pictures of Hank, Jack, Ennis, and every other friend lost in the massacre sit there, each with something meaningful from them. Hank’s jacket and pocket Bible. Jack’s rosary. Ennis’ turquoise bird necklace. Your father decked out in his Marine blues, his uniform folded in front of his picture. Everyone else you’d loved and lost.

“You follow me and lead me on and never let me down.”

“So I’ll love you ‘til my lungs give out, I ain’t lyin’.”

“I’m all your’n, and you’re all mine.”

You’re a few feet away from Zach, but it feels like a hundred miles. One of his groomsmen, his brother Cody, passes him a tissue and claps him on the shoulder. Zach tries his best to wipe his tears but they come back just as soon as they leave.

“There ain’t two ways around it, there ain’t no tryin’ ‘bout it,”

You take the last few steps to the small platform where the officiant and Zach stand. Zach reaches out a hand and helps you up. You smile even wider as he touches you.

“I’m all your’n, and you’re all mine.”

Zach takes both of your hands in his own and stares deep into your eyes. The officiant says a few welcoming words, cracking a joke or two along the way.

He talks more but if you’re being honest, you don’t hear a word he says. You’re too busy staring at the man in front of you. You feel your heart about to burst with happiness. You never understood people that claimed how their wedding was the happiest day of their life.

Now you understand it.

The officiant calls for you to say your vows. Zach takes a deep breath and clears his throat, not pulling out his vow card.

“[Name], I don't even know where to start, so I'll start from the beginning. My life has always felt like one big unanswered question. I've spent years praying for God to send me someone.”

Tears fall down your cheeks.

“I truly believe I found the answer to my question. I never wanna miss any smile, any smile, any tear you make. I wanna be there for you through it all. Sometimes, when you're asleep, I find myself thinking, 'what if I never wake up tomorrow?'. I pray to let you know every single day that I love you, just in case there's no tomorrow. Tomorrow isn't promised. Nothing is, besides the love I feel for you. I love you, [Name]. Words can hardly express my love, so I pray my actions show what my words fail to.”

The audience claps loudly, whistles and whoops carrying through your ears. Cody pats Zach on the back as the officiant asks for your vows.

“Zach, I’ve known you for three years. Since then, we’ve lived in 7 states, visited 20, lived in several campgrounds, 5 apartments, 11 rental homes, a tent, a van, on cattle and wild horse ranches, a house we built by ourselves.” A tear slips down your cheek.

“We’ve vacationed in Mexico and ended up on a one way flight to Puerto Rico. We’ve worked side by side in the heat, in the cold, and everything in between. We’ve delivered milk in negative temperatures, saved a-one-too-many calves in Montana winters, drove from Oregon to Oklahoma in a beat-up 1970 Volkswagen van we paid 100 bucks for outside of the airport.” You laugh at the last line. Zach smiles and laughs as well.

“But I’d never change a thing. We’ve experienced love and loss. Success and failure. Riches and ruins. I feel like I’ve lived a thousand years with you. I’d love to live a thousand more with you by my side.”

He graces you with the sweetest grin you’ve ever seen.

“Meetin’ you in that honky tonk in Oklahoma was the best damn thing that ever happened to me. We both got issues, but we work through them as a couple. As a team. You’re my husband, now and forever. I can’t wait to sit on the porch in our rockin’ chairs and watch the sun go down over Montana’s mountains. I can’t wait to spend every night holdin’ you tight and thankin’ God I found you.”

“Zach, I love you. I always will.”

“I love you too,” He says back instinctively.

The audience bursts into applause at your heartfelt words. You hear a few sniffles and noses being blown into tissues.

The ringbearer, Zach’s niece and Cody’s daughter, Abby, comes up a few moments later. Zach takes your ring and you take his. The cool metal is reassuring against your fingertips. The officiant talks, but you’re silently wishing he’d hurry it up so you can kiss Zach. Seeing him all dressed up has lit a fire in your stomach, and you’re ready for some alone time.

“Wear these rings as a reminder of those vows,” the officiant says.

“Zach, if you will place the ring on [Name]’s finger.” Zach slides the ring over your finger and it feels like the puzzle that’s called life has finally been finished. The ring was the final piece you needed.

You smile.

“[Name], place the ring on Zach’s finger.” You slide the ring on his finger and see his face visibly soften. He’s thinking the same thing I am.

You intertwine hands and stare into each other’s eyes.

“Zachary Thompson, do you promise to love and cherish [Name] [Last Name] every step of the way?”

“Yes,” Zach says immediately. The officiant turns to you.

“[Name] [Last Name], do you promise to love and cherish Zachary Thompson every step of the way?”

“Yes,” you blurt out, as he barely had time to finish his sentence.

“Zachary Thompson, do you take [Name] [Last Name] to be your lawfully wedded [wife/husband/partner]?”

“I do.”

“[Name] [Last Name], do you take Zachary Thompson to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“Then, by the power vested in me by God above, I now pronounce you husband and [wife/husband].” He snaps the Bible shut and looks both of you in the eyes. Your palms sweat in anticipation.

“You may now kiss the [bride/groom].” He barely gets out the last word before you and Zach lurch towards the other. You wrap your arms around his neck and he wraps his around your waist and the moment you’ve been waiting for ever since he proposed finally comes.

You press your lips to his. It’s a bit messy, a kiss of pent-up passion and genuine happiness spilling together into one. He kisses you like he’ll never get the chance to ever again. It leaves you breathless and spiraling, as one kiss from him is never enough.

Whoops and whistles fill the air along with clapping. You don’t leave his embrace, instead he dips you slightly. Your leg rises up to press against his hip and his arm slides down to smooth over your rear and up the bottom of your thigh. Wolf whistles fill the air at the action. You finally separate, taking gasping breaths. You smile at each other and he scoops you into a bridal carry.

He whistles and Colter and Tom trot at his heels as he carries you to the reception tent. Cameras flash as you pass, and you feel giddy, but in a good way.

The guests filter in through the doors quickly as you and Zach take a few pictures and sign your marriage license while everyone settles in. Zach has an affectionate hand touching you in every picture, even the ones signing for your marriage to be official.

The groomsmen and bridesmaids filter into the reception tent and you hold Zach’s hand tightly as it’s soon your time to go. He squeezes it reassuringly.

“You look beautiful,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. You smile.

“You look pretty handsome yourself,” you reply, straightening his lapel.

He grins at you.

“Have I told ya I love ya today?”

You giggle and shake your head no.

“I love ya.” He peppers your face in kisses and you close your eyes.

You hear the unmistakable shutter of a camera. You peel your eyes open and there stands a photographer getting a few candid photos.

Your face burns from being caught in such an intimate act, as if you didn’t just swap spit in front of your joined family.

The chords of Lady May ring out. You take Zach’s arm again and let out a shaky breath. You step into the reception tent and cheers ring out around you, almost blocking out the music.

You and Zach make your way to the head table. It’s an old door made into a table by Zach. A loveseat made of wood and leather sits behind it. Bouquets of wildflowers sit around the table and loveseat. A card that reads ‘Mr and [Mrs/Mr/Mx] Thompson’ stands on the table, along with two plates and silverware. A cowhide rug sits underneath the table and loveseat.

You take your seats behind the table and Zach’s mother steps up and tests the microphone. She begins her speech but you can’t tell what she says. Zach’s hand rests on your hip and it burns at you through your clothing, lighting that fire yet again.

She finishes up her speech and Zach removes his hand from your hip to clap. He sneaks his hand to lace with yours under the table. Your mother starts her speech. She finishes up and Cody takes the stage. June’s finally up and you attempt to pay more attention to her.

“The best day of [Name]’s life is when they met me.” The guests laugh, you included.

“Kiddin’.” She gives you a quick glance with a smirk on her face.

“I’m a younger sister, so it’s my job to embarrass [Name].” She goes off listing your most embarrassing moments as you cackle. The rest of the reception blurs, including Zach’s dance with his mother. Time slows just enough for your dance with your mother to Landslide.

You waltz slowly around the reception tent as guests grab finger foods. Your mother sings softly as you spin.

“But time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I’m gettin’ older too,” she murmurs softly. You press your forehead to hers.

“I love you, Mama.”

“And I love you, [Name].”

Landslide ends and your mother gives you a tight hug. You part and Zach offers you his hand as your mother walks back to her seat, wiping away tears as she sits down.

The beginning of Forever and Ever, Amen plays and you smile at Zach. He places a hand on your hip and holds your hand in his free one. You set a hand behind his neck and hold his other hand. You begin to two-step, then he spins you around. He pulls you back in and you lock in a gentle sway as the music plays.

"You may think that I'm talkin' foolish, you've heard that I'm wild and free,” Zach sings along.

“You may wonder how, I can promise you now, this love that I feel for you always will be.”

“But you're not just time that I'm killin', I'm no longer one of those guys,” he murmurs, his breath sending goosebumps across your skin.

“As sure as I live, this love that I give is gonna be yours until the day that I die,” He spins you around.

“Oh baby, I'm gonna love you forever, forever and ever, amen. As long as old men sit and talk about the weather, as long as old women sit and talk about old men,” he sings, kissing your forehead as you dance.

"If you wonder how long I'll be faithful, I'll be happy to tell you again. I'm gonna love you, forever and ever, forever and ever, amen."

The rest of the reception blurs. You lose count of how many people tell you congratulations. Miller High Life is passed around like water, and you’ve had a few too many based on your dancing. You eat in between songs, rushing back out when a higher energy song plays. You cut the cake and give each other forkfuls. You’ve been kissed on the cheeks so much you think they’re permanently stained with pink and red lipstick. At the end of the night, you’re exhausted but happy. The guests mingle about, slowly making their way to their vehicles and back home. The last guests to leave are June and Tyler. Once they’re gone, you and Zach walk back home.

Crickets and bullfrogs sing in a choir around you as you walk hand in hand to your house. Your shared footfalls act as the drums, and both of your spurs ring out like tiny cymbals. Colter and Tom run around you, play-fighting and tackling each other. You both laugh at their antics.

You step inside your home and sigh. The dogs run upstairs and you feel hands on your waist, spinning you around. You face Zach. He moves his hands up to cradle your face.

“Ya know I love ya, right?” You nod. He smooths his thumbs over your cheeks.

“I don’t think I show ya enough.” He presses his lips to yours, taking your breath away for what feels like the millionth time that night. 

He pulls away for a moment to speak.

“I love you, [Mrs/Mr/Mx] Thompson.”

“And I love you, Mr. Thompson,” you smile. He drops his arms from you and heads to the kitchen to feed the animals. You shed your boots on the mat near the door and go upstairs. You enter your bedroom and peel your sweaty [dress/suit] from your skin, draping it over plastic hangers. You set the [dress/suit] in your closet and make your way to the bathroom. You take off your jewelry and lay them on the counter beside your towel. You turn the water on and wait for it to warm up. 

You step into the shower and sigh at the feeling of the hot water against your aching muscles. You lather shampoo and conditioner into your hair and Zach steps into the bathroom. He undresses and joins you. No words are spoken as you bathe; words aren’t needed. You shut off the water and dry off, slipping into one of Zach’s sleeping shirts and your underwear.

You lace your fingers through Zach’s and lead him to bed. You wrap your arms around each other like you’ll never get to ever again.

So I’ll love you ‘till my lungs give out, I ain’t lyin’.

I’m all your’n and you’re all mine.

IMMER SCHAUEN

KANN NICHT ENTKOMMEN

Chapter Text

“For there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; neither hid, that shall not be known. Therefore whatsoever ye have spoken in darkness shall be heard in the light; and that which ye have spoken in the ear in closets shall be proclaimed upon the housetops.” Luke 12:2-3.

Black.

Ringing.

Blood.

Hot, fresh blood.

Everywhere.

Covering you.

Staining your skin.

Sin drips from your hands and slides down your throat.

A figure lays a few feet away. Their face is blurred, yet you recognize their build.

“ ZACH! ”

Someone shakes your shoulders violently. Your eyes snap open and you shove whoever’s shaking you. They grab your wrists and you begin to panic, bucking as hard as you can to get away. Your vision is blurred from sleep, making you panic even more. Their hands slide up your arms and pull you into a sturdy chest. The hands leave your arms and one snakes around your waist, the other on your head, running fingers through your hair.

A faint murmur rings through your ears. The tone is familiar.

You wipe at your eyes and blink to rid yourself of sleep. Your vision clears and you see the freckled chest and arms you spend every night admiring. Your breathing is heavy, your chest heaving and falling rapidly.

“[Name]?” Zach asks. Your eyes zero in on him and you wrap your arms around him, sobbing up a storm. He hugs you just as tight as you sob into his chest.

“I-I had a dream-” No, that was a nightmare.

“I dreamed that-that I-” You cut yourself off, too scared to tell him.

I had a nightmare that I ate someone. Maybe you.

Thankfully, Zach understands it’s too much to say. He pulls you even closer to him and lets you cry it all out. You swallow back a lump of snot and that opens the floodgates.

You rip yourself from his hold and race to the bathroom, fighting back the vomit that threatens to spew from your throat. You make it there in time and drop to your knees, shoving your head into the toilet.

What comes up makes you cry even harder.

Blood and dissolving chunks of flesh.

Zach kneels behind you, holding back your hair, but you know he’s staring into the toilet in horror.

Skin sticks in between your teeth and you’re so nauseous you could pass out. You retch and retch and retch and your sins just keep coming. You’re so lightheaded you feel like you could slump over the toilet you were currently puking your guts into.

Or rather, someone else’s guts.

You cough as the stream finally stops. You take in shuddering breaths, your chest heaving. You wipe a hand across your face and smear snot and vomit from your chin. Zach rubs a comforting hand up and down your back.

“What was that about?” He murmurs, tone worried, though he attempted to not show it. You knew exactly what he meant.

“Go check on Colter and Tom. And Mary, Arthur, Jenny. Hurry,” you boss. He leaves your side with a reassuring pat on your shoulder and you hear the door slam a bit later. Nails scrape across floorboards as Colter and Tom wander into the bathroom.

Colter shoves his droopy face into yours and you giggle. Tom wiggles his way under your arms and into your lap, shoving his butt into the air for you to scratch. With the help of Colter and Tom, you calm down. You place your hands onto the toilet seat and shove yourself up. You flush the toilet and watch your sins drain away. Colter and Tom weave in between your legs as you shuffle into the kitchen, slumping into a chair. Your stomach growls loudly, demanding food, but you feel like if you eat, you’ll puke. 

You’ve sat in the kitchen, staring at the clock on the oven for what feels like hours when Zach waltzes back in. You look at him for the verdict.

“They’re all okay,” he answers your silent question. You visibly soften, and slump deeper into the chair. He stands in front of you, hands on his hips.

“Do you feel okay to eat anythin’? I can call Mr. Johnson and tell ‘em you’re sick.”

You shake your head no. You swallow back your spit and the feeling of your tongue in your mouth is enough to make you tremble.

“No. I’ll puke up whatever I eat.” Zach nods.

“I’ll call Mr. Johnson. But you should eat something, you can’t get better on an empty stomach,” he lectures. You let out a breathy chuckle.

“You sound like my mother.”

He doesn’t answer and instead walks over to a cabinet and grabs the tin of saltine crackers. He opens them and sits them in front of you.

“Try ‘n eat, okay?” He gives you his best puppy-dog eyes. You stare into them, trying to not give in. It’s a lost battle, and you begrudgingly grab a cracker. You gnaw on it as Zach leaves the room to call. You attempt to listen in on the conversation.

“Mr. Johnson, my [wife/husband/partner] is sick. They just woke up at,” you assume he checks his watch, “3:12 and puked.”

Mr. Johnson’s voice is muffled on the other end of the line.

“Uhm….I really don’t know. I’ll keep watch on [Name] and let you know.”

More muffled words.

You manage to swallow a small bite of cracker. You feel like doing a cartwheel.

“Okay……Uh huh……….Alrighty then. Thank you so much, David. I’ll see you soon, hopefully.” He ends the call and enters the kitchen. You’ve made it about halfway through the cracker. Zach takes a seat at the other end of the small table and watches you eat. He stares at you, analyzing every inch of you. You feel embarrassed at puking in front of him, yet you don’t know why. He’s seen you bare, held you as you cry, watched you get thrown off of a bull and break your nose. He rises unexpectedly, causing Colter and Tom to jump at your feet.

Zach stands beside you and places a hand on your forehead.

“You’re cold,” he murmurs, gliding his long fingers across your temples. He stares down at you. You’ve finished your cracker and begin to munch on another one, thinking of anything to get your mind off of the nightmare.

ES KOMMET

A voice screams inside of your head. It echoes through your ears and you clasp your hands over them. You screw your eyes shut. Zach places his hands on your cheeks and attempts to get you to look at him.

LAUFEN SIE SOLANGE SIE NOCH KÖNNEN

You yelp in pain. You can feel Zach’s worry as the assault in your mind continues. He’s fretting about, trying anything he can to get you to snap out of it.

A droplet of blood lands on the table.

Zach stares in horror as more droplets quickly fall beside it. His eyes snap to your face and blood begins to stream from both nostrils. Your hands are still clamped tight over your ears.

“Stay here!” He yells as he sprints to the counter and rips off a paper towel.

It’s not like I can do anything else.

He rushes back over to you and wipes away the blood that runs down your skin in rivets. It’s fruitless, as more replaces it.

Your mouth gapes open.

“ ES KOMMT. BEREITET EUCH, STERBLICHE, DENN DER SCHWARZE KÖNIG WIRD EINTREFFEN. ”

The voice that comes from your throat is ancient and raspy. It sounds almost…. demonic .

Zach’s jaw goes slack as black blood begins to ooze from your mouth and nose. It’s so thick and black it resembles tar. It stains your skin and teeth, and leaves a nasty aftertaste in your mouth. It tastes like the corpse of every pregnant teen. Your eyes snap open and instead of the usual [e/c], they’re blacker than night.

Zach takes a step backwards. “What-what are you? Where’s my [wife/husband/partner]?” He shouts at you. Your head snaps to him.

“ FEAR ME, BOY, FOR I AM DEATH. YOUR TIME IS NIGH. ” The inky depths of your eyes focus on Zach and fear paralyzes him, going straight to his heart.

“ DO NOT FEAR DEATH. YOUR PATHETIC LIFE IS WORSE THAN ANY SUFFERING I COULD BRING. ” You cackle something evil. Letting out that devil’s cackle, children are born stillborn, grandparents’ hearts stop, and a mother finds her child’s rabbits lifeless in their cages.

No, it’s not [Name] , Zach reminds himself.

“ YOUR TIME IS DAWNING. KEEP THAT IN MIND.” With that, your head slumps forwards and slams against the kitchen table. Zach gapes at you, mind racing.

Am I gonna die?

He shakes his head. You’re more important.

He closes the distance he created and gently raises your head from the table. He checks your pulse and finds your heart still beating. He breathes out a sigh of relief. He picks you up, bridal style, and carries you to the bathroom. During the paranormal experience he just witnessed, Tom and Colter ran to the bedroom and hid.

Zach lowers the toilet lid and sits you down on top of it. He opens the closet and brings out a washcloth. He runs water over it then gently wipes your face with it. As he wipes away the sins you didn’t commit, his mind races.

What did it mean ‘my time is nigh’?

Am I actually gonna die?

He’s wiped your face clean, and he leans back to stare at his handiwork. Your nose has stopped bleeding, and all the spilled blood has vanished from your face. His gaze travels down to your clothes. They’re stained with dried blood. He picks you up again and carries you to your bedroom. He lays you down on the bed and steps over to your shared closet. He picks you out a pair of shorts and one of his shirts, along with your undergarments. He walks over to you and sets your clothes beside you then takes a step back. When he undressed you, you were conscious and helpful. Your dead-weight would prove to be a challenge.

A few minutes later, and he’s got you dressed and cleaned up. Fatigue is finally hitting him, and he picks you up to move back the covers. You’re feeling a bit better, as you unconsciously wrap your arms and legs around him and nuzzle your face into his neck. He detaches you from his body and lays you under the covers. You involuntarily groan at the loss of contact and he slides under the covers. You snuggle up against him as he pulls the covers over his own body.

Zach presses a sweet kiss to your temple.

“I love you, [Name],” he murmurs softly. He squeezes your body tighter to him and tries to succumb to sleep.

YOUR TIME IS NIGH

You awake as light filters through your blinds. You blink your crusted eyes and groan. Your head throbs something awful. A shift beside you has you turning your head.

Zach lays beside you, looking as heavenly as ever. He peeks his eyes open at you and smiles. He raises his hand up and begins to stroke your face with his fingertips.

“Ya alright, honey? You gave me a scare,” he chuckles, though you can tell he finds no humor in it. Your eyebrows furrow.

“Scare?”

“Yeah. You acted...possessed. You started talkin’ like a demon. Black blood poured from yer nose ‘n mouth. Yer eyes turned black,” he confesses. You stare at him, wide eyed.

“You said somethin’ in another language. German, maybe?” He looks at you for confirmation. You shrug.

“Anyways, whatever...possessed you, said it was death.” Zach swallows back the lump in his throat.

“Said my time was nigh.”

Your heart drops at those words. Tears brim your eyelashes. You place a hand on his chest.

“As long as I’m here, no one’ll touch you. I swear on everythin’ holy I’ll keep you safe.” You stare straight into his eyes, and you know you’ll have to die to protect him.

You’re not blind or dumb, you’ve noticed things going haywire for a while. The doors just the slightest bit ajar, chairs pushed out too far, hygiene products like toothbrushes and toothpaste missing without a trace. There was odder paraphernalia missing, like your used underwear from the laundry hamper. You tried to brush it off as simply misplacing things, but you can’t deny it any longer.

They found you.

And you doubt luck will strike you twice.

You make a solemn vow to yourself.

I am going to do everything I possibly can to keep Zach alive and safe. Even if I die.

The rest of the day is quite uneventful. You and Zach spend the day in bed, watching movies and taking naps. Every chance you got, you kneeled on the hardwood floors and begged for God, for anyone to answer your pleading prayers.

Keep Zach safe. Please.

You don’t know when they’ll come, it could be within the next five minutes, hours, days, weeks, hell, it could even be a month.

It’s dinnertime, time for your usual routine. Zach stands at the oven, multiple pots firing up on the stovetop. He trusted you with making a dessert, so you were mixing together brownie batter. You hum along to the song on the radio, hips swaying slightly. You throw the measuring cup into the sink then backtrack to the fridge to grab the eggs. You crack a couple then throw the shells into a smaller bowl. You take a peek at the box and realize you didn’t add vegetable oil. You grab the vegetable oil from a cabinet and reach for the measuring cup in the sink when something outside of the window catches your eyes.

Rogers.

He stood a few hundred yards away, masked and goggled face illuminated by the moonlight. Your eyes flicked down to his waist. There sat his hatchets. Light reflects off of the metal and you swear you can see flecks of blood. You swallow down a lump in your throat. You can’t seem to breathe.

The sound of plastic hitting tile reaches your ears, along with the feeling of liquid spilling across your bare feet, yet you can’t look away. You feel frozen as he begins to slowly walk towards you. You hear a call of your name from behind you. A hand grabs your shoulder and you whirl, fists clenched. It’s only Zach.

“What’s wrong-” You point at Rogers. Zach’s eyes travel your finger and his brows furrow. He knows who that man is. He storms out of the kitchen and rushes to your bedroom where your gun cabinet stands. You hear the click of shells inside of boxes, smell the scent of gunpowder, but you can’t follow him. All you do is stare as Rogers makes his way to you. When he nears the edge of your horse stables, you decide to act. You turn and attempt to run, however, your feet go right out from under you and you plummet to the ground. You grunt and push yourself up, looking at what made you fall. In your shock, you had dropped the open vegetable oil, making yourself slip. You mentally facepalm before making your way to the bathroom as quickly as you can.

“Colter! Tommy!” You yell, calling for your dogs. They trot over to you and you herd them into the bathroom quickly, locking the door.

KNOCK
KNOCK

Your head snaps to the direction of the front door. Damn , you’d forgotten how fast they are. You grab your trusted caliber from your holster and aim it at the door. The doorknob twists but it’s locked. Zach stands at your shoulder, double-barrel shotgun in hand.

CRASH !

The sound of glass breaking makes you jolt. You and Zach both stare towards the back of the house where the noise came from. Your eyes meet his.

Without another word, you slowly creep towards the back of the house, hands squeezing the grip tightly. Your bare foot steps on a few shards of broken glass and you wince, looking down to stare at the small pile you stand on.

Wait, if there’s glass right here and there’s no windows here….

You can’t even finish your thought when Masky comes barreling at you from the corner. He charges at you like a bull, and you leap out of his way. He holds a knife the size of your forearm up. You lower into a fighting position. His hair’s a bit longer, sideburns a bit thicker, but still the same asshole that killed your friends.

He jabs that knife at you and you dodge. He’s improved since you last fought him, he’s a lot faster and agile this time.

“Damn,” you manage to pant in between sidesteps and blocks, “you’ve gotten better.”

“You’ve gotten worse.” He attempts a swipe at your neck that has you reeling backwards. You stumble up the first few steps, gaining the high ground, before vaulting over the banister and making a run for it. You fire a few shots behind you and one hits, based on the grunt of pain and the thump you hear. His gloved hands hold his blown out knee as he writhes on the ground in pain. You stare down at him. He’s going nowhere with that knee.

You wrestle his gun from his hand and place it against his temple.

“Ain’t karma a bitch?” You ask, your lips curling into a smirk.

You pull the trigger.

You hurry back to the kitchen where your phone sits on the counter. You pick it up quickly, dialing the police.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“A man just broke into my house,” you say, going to stand beside Zach in front of the door.

“Another’s tryin’ to break down the door.” You slip on your boots.

“Are these men armed?” You hear the clicking of keyboard keys over the phone.

“Yes.”

BANG

The door rattles in its frame as Rogers kicks it. The operator pauses on the other end of the line.

“Can you get somewhere safe?”

You glance at Zach. “No.”

“What are they armed with?”

“One had a knife. Other has hatchets.”

She hums, fingers rapidly typing away.

“What’s your address?”

“4701 Old County Road.”

BANG

“Do you have any way to defend yourself?”

“Yes.”

BANG

Zach’s finger tenses on the trigger.

BANG

It’s silent for a few moments until you hear knocking.

“Little pigsssss, little pigssss, let me cuh-cuh-come in!” The voice that haunted your nightmares for years had become real. Fear paralyzes you and you don’t hear the operator begging for a response.

“Not by the hair on your chu-chu-chinny-chin-ccchhhuuu-chin!” His voice rises a few octaves, rising from a raspy tone to the voice of a prepubescent boy who just inhaled helium from a balloon.

“Then I’ll huff,” he says in his throaty, Southern and German hiss, “and I’ll puff, and I’ll BLOW YOUR HOUSE IN !” He yells the last part, slamming a hatchet against the door.

You jump back in fear, your fingers tightening on your phone.

“[Ma’am/Sir]? Are you alright?”

“Please hurry,” you beg, voice but a whisper, before hanging up. You shove your phone in your back pocket and pull out your caliber, turning off the safety.

The sounds of metal against word grow more rapid, and wood splinters to the ground. An aggressive hit causes a hole to form, and you see the familiar orange goggles pressed up against the hole.

The brown eyes they hide stare straight at you.

“ HERE, PIGGY, PIGGY, PIGGY !”

You were so scared your heart felt like it could drop out your ass and sink into the ground. You swallow back the fear that threatened to immobilize you and raise your gun, pointing directly where his eye was.

You fire without a second thought.

He jerks back as blood and vitreous body paint the door. Small shards of orange glass shatter on the ground.

Bullseye!

“You bitch!” He snarls, his humorous tone gone. He raises his hatchet again, this time faster and more hostile, and slams it repeatedly against the door. The dime-sized hole has morphed into a large gash and he shoves arm through, fumbling for the lock. Zach acts before you do, and blows his hand clean off.

Blood, bone, flesh, and fingernails rain onto the floor, and a bit of blood splatters onto your faces. You turn to him with wide eyes.

He shrugs. “Buckshot.”

Rogers yanks his arm through the hole and you can hear the air whistle as he raises his hatchet.

BANG

BANG

Two more hits and the door is about to splinter in half.

You and Zach ready yourselves.

CRASH!

Your heads whip to the back of the house, the opposite direction of where Masky came from.

“The man in yellow,” you whisper.

“Who the hell’s that ?” Zach snaps, turning back to the door.

Fuck !

You whirl back to the door. You don’t wanna leave him alone, as Rogers is royally pissed off. But you also don’t want the man in yellow to sneak up on you. You grit your teeth, frustrated.

You look at Zach.

“Go on. I can hold my own,” he orders, hands tightening on the gun.

You nod, not really believing him, before running to the back of the house. He readies himself and cocks the shotgun.

Your boots slam against the hardwood floors. You don’t care about stealth anymore, you don’t have time . You make it to the laundry room and take a step in as the butt of a gun is slammed against your temple.

“Fuck!” You cry out as you stumble to the floor, spots swimming in your vision. The whole world shakes as you take another hit to the head, this time by a boot. Your face slams against the ground, a sickening crack echoing out as your nose shatters for the hundredth time. Your eyes snap shut from the pain.

Another kick hits your ribs and you slump on your side, curling into yourself as your ribs feel like they’re about to be smashed in. You crack your eyes open and just as you thought, man in yellow was currently beating your ass. You grit your teeth. You raise your caliber and fire some lead into his torso. You hear a warped grunt from under his mask as crimson blossoms against his hoodie.

You push yourself up and swing your gun at him as hard as you can, catching him across the face and sending him careening to the ground. He struggles to regain his footing and you kick him as hard as you can, your spurs catching the fabric of his mask and ripping it slightly.

He rips a knife from inside his boot and swipes at your leg, making you jump back to avoid the blade. He attempts a swipe at the back of your knee and you stomp onto his hand, making him drop the blade. You jump on his back, sending him crashing against the floor with your added weight. You both reach for his knife. His fingertips graze it and you wrap an arm around his neck, yanking him up and back and cutting off his air flow. He scrambled beneath you, bucking wildly in an attempt to get you off, but you won’t move. Your fingers wrap around the handle of his knife and you grab it, moving your arm out of the way and slicing it across his neck quickly and cleanly. Blood pours onto the floor like a waterfall and his head slumps forwards as you get up, wiping the blood on your jeans and pocketing his knife.

You grab his gun, a little pistol, and hurry back to Zach.

The door is mostly gone, barely hanging on by a splinter when you stand by Zach’s side again.

B A N G

And with that, the door splinters open. There’s a large hole, about 2 feet high and 1 foot wide, that Rogers pushes himself through, snapping wood as if it was a pencil.

B A N G

B A N G

With every shot, Rogers’ body snaps backwards, but he keeps coming. You’ll never forget his face.

His brown eye was zeroed in on you, his mouthguard had fallen and allowed you to see the wound on his cheek. Where his left eye should’ve been sat a gaping cavity, filled with vitreous body and blood. Said liquids ran down his face, slipping into his mouth. Bile rose in your throat. His mouth was twisted downward into a snarl. His expression was contorted into one of rage and genuine insanity. 

His left hand was nothing but a bloody stump. Blood continuously rained against your floors, staining it forever with the sins you’ll remember. He raises his right hand, hatchet shining in your lamp lighting, and throws it.

It flies towards you quickly. You duck, it barely misses your forehead. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Zach lead towards him, shotgun raised like a baseball bat.

CRACK!

You stare, wide eyed, as the shotgun breaks in half over Rogers’ head. He stumbles and catches himself on the couch. His head snaps to Zach as Zach swings at his head with the broken barrel.

Rogers slams to the ground, trying to catch himself on his forearms. He lays on his side, pushing himself up by his arms. He hawks out a large glob of blood and spit, along with a bloodied tooth.

He glares up at Zach through his eyebrows and broken goggles, gritting his teeth so tight you can hear them break. Rogers is up within a millisecond and tackles your husband to the ground. They roll around on the floor, swinging with everything they have. You stare, shocked, before an arm is wrapped around your waist and you’re lifted into the air. Your arms flail around, wildly trying to find purchase on anything. You’re thrown over a back, another arm joining the one around your waist. You land on your spine, and you groan in pain.

You buck wildly, trying to free yourself from the hold you’re in. A gloved hand cards through your hair and pushes forwards.

C R A C K

You gasp in pain. Of all the broken noses you’ve had, this one hurt the most.

Your head is raised back up then slammed down again. Your nose hurts like hell, and must look like a squash based on the hits you just took. You take gasping breaths as one of your airflows was just smashed, and feel a cold blade placed against your neck. You gulp as it digs into your skin roughly. Rogers and Zach wrestle around on the ground, and clearly Zach has the upper hand. Quite literally.

Whoever holds you clears their throat. It’s a woman’s voice, despite how deep and gruff it is. Zach glances at you, and instantly pales as he sees the blade against your neck. Rogers swings at Zach, and manages a pretty good hook on his jaw. Rogers clambers on top of him, sliding his arm around his neck and putting him in a headlock. Your hands grapple behind you for anything you can hit. The blade is pushed deeper into your neck and you still.

“Rogers!” Calls the one pinning you down. “Rogers!”

“ TOBY !” She roars. Rogers, who you now know is Toby, makes eye contact with her.

“What?” He snaps.

“That’s enough. We got them. Go grab Masky and Hoody and let’s go ,” she orders. Toby squeezes a bit tighter, and you cry out before you can stop yourself.

“Stop! You’ll kill him!”

Toby turns and gives you a sadistic grin. “Hope so.”

Zach’s eyes roll into the back of his head and Toby lets him drop to the floor, then rises off of his back. He walks to find Masky and Hoody, who you guessed was the man in yellow. You stare at Zach’s face-down, unconscious body, tears welling up in your eyes. Every breath you take presses the knife into your neck. You try to wiggle underneath her, but she presses the knife deeper into your neck, opening a shallow wound. You still.

“Don’t,” she hisses in your ear.

You start to sniffle and begin to make hiccupping sobs, trying desperately not to, for the sharp blade digs into your throat with every whine. Your eyes catch on a wedding picture on the mantel. It’s you and Zach sharing your first kiss as a married couple. Tears spill down your cheeks and onto the hardwood floor.

I’m so sorry, Zach. You want to cry out.

A shift of weight on top of you has you opening your eyes in fear. Your eyes land on Zach. You see his arm slowly shift. You wonder what he’s doing before it hits you. He keeps his pocket knife on that side. Zach slowly digs in his pocket for his knife. You can see the outline of it from where you lay. He slowly rolls to face you. He peeks open a blue eye and makes eye contact with you.

‘3….2…1…’ he mouths, then flicks open his knife and tosses it to you. Your hands were kept free, and you snatch it as the woman on top of you realizes what happened. You blindly swing backwards, and want to cry of relief as you hear the telltale sound of a knife plunging into skin. You shove her off of you and rip your knife from her neck. You raise it again and stab it deep into her neck again, and again, and again, and again, until her neck is a bloodied hole and blood paints your hands and face. You get a better look at the woman who held you down.

She also wears a mask, but this one is twisted into one of horror. Brushes of coal covered it, along with her bloodsoaked white sweatshirt. Her darker-than-night black hair spilled out of her hood and mask, and she wore dark blue jeans. Her electrifying eyes were so familiar it sent a shiver down your spine.

It’s the woman from the diner.

You shove yourself up and hurry over to Zach. You wrap an arm around him and haul him up, barely holding him up. You both hobble over to the door, certainly alerting Toby of your movements, but you don’t care. You snatch your keys from the hook and stumble off of the porch and to your truck.

If you’d had your hearing aids in, you would’ve heard the all too familiar sound.

WHOOSH!

CRUNCH.

Toby’s hatchet embeds itself deeply in Zach’s shoulder, almost exactly where he’d gotten you all those years ago. Zach stumbles forwards and out of your arms, and you cry out.

“ ZACH! ” You shriek, so loud you’re barely able to hear yourself. A hatchet sticks out from his left shoulder, blood spilling out from the wound. He yelps in pain. You drop to your knees beside him, hands trembling and blood roaring in your ears.

“Oh shit, oh my- you’re gonna be okay, honey,” you babble, feeling fear strike your heart. You can’t hear the crunching of gravel underfoot as Toby makes his way to you.

W H A C K

A heavy hit is delivered to the side of your head and you slump to the gravel, stars swimming in your eyes. Your thoughts scramble, and you feel nauseous. You can faintly hear the jingle of keys and a door opening. The roar of an engine. Gravel shifting as Toby walks back into your home. You open your eyes, fighting off the overwhelming urge to pass out, and attempt to army-crawl over to Zach. He twitches on the ground in pain, and you feel like crying. You take your shaky hands and reach into your back pocket, producing your phone. By some miracle, it managed to stay in your pocket. You put it into Zach’s hand.

“Zach…..I’m….sorry….I love....you,” You stutter out. You hide it under his body, trying to hide it from Toby. Rough hands grab at you, tying your hands and feet together. You’re yanked up, ungracefully, and thrown into the backseat of your truck, laying beside the woman’s dead body. Surprise, surprise, Masky and Hoody were alive. Hoody took over the driver’s seat, with Masky in the passenger seat. Your door is still open, and you can see Zach laying in a pool of blood.

Tears spill freely down your face, slipping into your mouth and staining your seats.

“ ZACH !” You wail. Toby slams your door roughly, making the entire truck shake. He climbs up front, in between Masky and Hoody. Slow Hand plays softly from the radio as Hoody throws it into reverse and peels out of your driveway, surely flinging rocks on Zach. Rage fills your veins. 

But there’s nothing you can do.

Nothing you can do besides cry and stare at the seats.

Your legs lay on the woman’s lap yet you can’t move. How they tied you up made mobility impossible. You curse them in your mind, your hands balled into tight fists.

“ Darlin’ don’t say a word, I’ve already heard what your body’s sayin’ to mine. ”

You danced with Zach to this song. It feels like a lifetime ago, and more tears spill down your cheeks as you think of him. Sweet, sweet Zach. He never deserved any of this.

You cry from the unfairness of it all. You cry for the past, for the present, and for the future, if you even have one.

“ You want a man with a slow hand, you want a lover with an easy touch. ”

The music fades out as your eyes droop, exhausted from everything you just experienced, and the last thing you remember is feeling eyes watch you.

“ Baby, believe me, I understand. When it comes to love, you want a slow hand. ”

Chapter Text

The first time you wake, it’s still dark outside.

“.......There’s so much whiskey in his coke, it’ll make her nose bend, but she swears that his love is a damn Godsend, she’s known God since she was a child……,” lyrics from a song you’re too delirious to understand ring quietly through your ears.

You close your eyes, and the seconds tick by like hours.

“She’s an Oklahoma smokeshow, he’s an asshole from back home. She’ll never make it out alive.”

You can faintly hear humming. While you were unconscious, someone had moved you, probably the woman you stabbed to death. You lay, legs cramped against the door, face smushed into your leather seating, hands and feet still bound tightly. You can barely move your fingers. Your eyes flit around your cab.

Just in your peripherals, you can see the dirtied jeans of the woman you killed. Your eyes flit in front of you. You can barely make out Toby’s silhouette against the darkness. If you squint hard enough, you can see a few tufts of brown hair from the driver’s seat. Hoody must’ve taken his mask off, or he traded places with Masky. Based on the window cracked and the scent of cigarette smoke, you assume Masky is driving. Your nose scrunches. Smoking? In your truck? When you get out of this, you’re gonna give him a new flavor of hell for that.

“I’ll be here, I’ve been up all night, thinkin’ about a life with you and I, one you’ll never know, ‘cause you’re a small town smokeshow.”

The humming turns into soft singing.

“Well, I’ll be here, I’ve been up all night, thinkin’ about a life with you and I, one you’ll never know, ‘cause you’re a small town smokeshow.”

The music swells and your eyelids droop, still exhausted from the shit you were put through.

You feel a stare on you when you close your eyes and succumb to exhaustion.

-

The second time you awake, it isn’t as peaceful.

“Rise and shine, ssshu-shu-sunshine!” A voice yells, yanking you from the cab of your truck. You’re thrown over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Wait-” you protest, still groggy from sleep, but you’re silenced as a glove is shoved in your mouth. You dangle helplessly as the rest of the murder clan climbs out of your truck. Masky shoves your keys in his bloodied coat pocket, and your fingers curl into fists. There’s nothing you can do besides glare as Masky and Hoody walk past you. The woman stands beside you, so you’re being carried by-

Toby.

Your scream of terror is silenced by the glove in your mouth, however you buck like a bronc to escape his tight hold. Your terrified eyes meet the icy glare from the woman and you panic even more, if that was possible. Fear overrides any other function you have, and you’re hellbent on getting as far away from that monster as possible.

The world spins for a moment before pain radiates through your back. Your head slams against hard ground. You see stars and the wind escapes your lungs, leaving you breathless. You attempt to breathe when a hand wraps around your throat and a body plops onto yours.

Lips graze your ear.

“Shut your damn mouth, hündin,” Toby mutters, his breath sending wisps of your hair flying softly.

“I shut it for you. Be still. Verstehen?” The hand around your neck applies a bit of pressure. You let out a wheezy squeak at that. You stare at his blood-caked face with fear in your eyes. You don’t know what he meant by shutting your mouth for you, nor do you want to find out. You nod like a bobblehead. His hand releases your throat and he clambers off of your body. He yanks you up and over his shoulder, balancing you like you weigh nothing.

You stare at the dirt and roots underfoot, too scared to look at the woman. The small glance you shared was enough to strike fear deep into your heart. You never want those haunting eyes focused on your own. Her sweatshirt was soaked with blood, which made you beam slightly with pride.

Words aren’t spoken as you’re lugged through the forest. The only sounds are the sounds of dirt shifting and twigs snapping underfoot, along with the occasional tic from Toby. You lose track of time-not that you ever knew what time it was in the first place-but it feels like hours of wandering through this place. Finally, you enter a large field of flowers. Purple, white, yellow, red, and orange all bloom in your vision. This place would be gorgeous to have a picnic with Zach-

Zach .

You feel all the air evaporate from your lungs, leaving you gasping for breath. Your eyes wet almost immediately.

Is Zach dead?

Is he alive?

I need answers!

You’re unceremoniously dropped on the ground, stunting you out of your stupor. You look up, and Toby stands above you, looking down at you like a child looks at a new toy. The others couldn’t be bothered, with Masky standing a little ways away smoking a cigarette, Hoody checking a watch on his wrist, and the woman drawing things in the dirt with her gloved fingers.

Toby reaches down to you, and you involuntarily flinch. He cracks a smile at that. He rips the glove from your mouth and words spew out like vomit.

“Is Zach alive? Is he okay? Where is he? ” You ask quickly.

“Slow down, flitzer. Zach is alive, very sadly.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“He is in hospital. Ich wünschte, er wäre es nicht,” he mutters under his breath. You stare at him blankly.

“Where are we?”

It isn’t Toby that answers, it’s Masky.

“Yellowstone. Hurry the fuck up, Toby, IT is coming. We don’t have much time.”

Your brows furrow at the mention of IT . You don’t have much time to ponder, as Toby roughly grabs your arm and drags you to the roots of a large tree. You still can’t do much with your legs and hands tied, so there’s nothing you can do. You let yourself be dragged like a ragdoll by this monster of a man.

He lays you roughly by a large oak tree. You remember that only because Zach told you tree types during a quiet horse ride one day. Toby removes a rope from his hip, hung on the same clips his hatchets are on. At this angle, you can see him a bit better. His face was covered in dried blood, and curls of his dark hair stuck to his forehead and neck. His eye and hand had regrown, unfortunately. He had ditched the mouthguard completely, letting you see the nasty rip that put his teeth on display. His russet brown eyes flick over your figure as he unwinds the rope and walks behind the back of the tree. He rounds you, holding the rope in both hands. You zero in on his hand. It looks like normal, nothing could’ve tipped you off that it had been completely blown apart hours prior.

He yanks you against the trunk of the tree, wrapping the rope around your torso tightly and pinning your arms in front of you. He disappears from sight, walking the rope around the tree again. You find your thoughts drifting to Zach.

You still wear your wedding ring. Your eyes catch on it. It’s just as beautiful as ever, even through the blood staining the metal. It was Zach’s grandma’s. And her grandma’s. And on and on. You rub your thumb gently over the small gem. Tears brim your eyes.

Toby wraps the rope around your torso again.

A single teardrop falls from your eyes and onto the gem.

Toby ties the rope in a cutesy bow over your torso. He steps back, hands on his hips, like a craftsman admiring his handiwork.

“There! Master will be pleased. For your sake, I hope,” you don’t like the uncertainty his words convey.

“Toby! IT is coming! Let’s go !” Masky barks. The woman and Hoody have already made their way back to your truck, and you watch them disappear into the treeline.

“Wait-” you say as Toby rushes over to Masky and they quickly follow Hoody and the woman.

“You bastards! Come back! Let me go!” You scream as loud as you possibly can, vocal cords burning. They don’t spare you another glance and they too disappear.

The birds chirp in the trees, singing their sweet love songs. The wind blows gently, sending your hair to billow in the soft breeze. It's comfortable and warm. The sun kisses your skin and you feel as if you could fall asleep here-under different circumstances. A raven stands on a branch directly above you. You stare up at it, transfixed.

It sounds out a single caw.

The other birds fall silent.

The wind blows quite a bit harsher, chilling you slightly.

A cloud covers the sun.

You watch as the flowers around you wilt and die. Your eyebrows furrow.

The wind picks up even harsher and you shiver.

What feels like a pickaxe digs into your skull. You cry out in pain.

Blood .

You smell blood.

Blood bursts from your nose like an erupting geyser and slips into your mouth and down your chin.

The wind roars in your ears, whispering threats of violence and destruction.

Your eyes catch on a white figure in the distance.

Time slows and eventually stops. You’re frozen in time as IT cuts IT s say through time itself. You feel like your soul escaped your body, and all you can do is watch.

No- please, God no-

Your soul is slammed back into your body and you cough. Panic takes over as you fight against the rope fastening you to the tree. You do everything you can to try and escape, biting and pulling at the ropes, trying to shimmy your way out of it, but it’s fruitless.

IT makes IT s way over to you. You take a loop of the bow Toby tied in your mouth and pull, trying to unfasten the rope. IT is now a foot away and you stare up, transfixed.

Inky tendrils protrude from IT s back, curling and twisting in the air. You don’t understand how IT s moving- IT seems to be gliding.

You stare up into the face of death and it’s just as scary as you remember.

Cheese-cloth covered bones, golden canine tooth, black suit and red tie hanging loosely off IT s skeletal frame. The angle you’re at sends shadows casting over IT s face, making IT even more haunting. IT stands still in front of you before moving a freakishly long arm and extending a finger towards you. You try in vain to get away from IT .

IT s index finger touches your forehead, right between your eyebrows. 

Your body snaps forward, arching your back away from the tree and snapping your head upwards to stare into IT s empty eye sockets.

You see the bloody coffin. A dead body, with an odd neon green liquid seeping from its veins instead of red blood. Hoody’s back. Masky’s back and cigarette smoking clouding your vision. The woman, maskless and hood down. She’s very beautiful, in a way you can’t fathom. Not supermodel pretty, but ghastly pretty. Her ice blue eyes bear into your own. A man in all black with a blue mask covering his face. Black tears that resemble tar drip slowly down the mask. A face with burned eyelids and a chelsea smile. A little girl in a pink, blood-stained dress, clutching a teddy bear. A woman with a clock in her eye. She was too, hauntingly beautiful. A creature with elongated limbs and a face of horror, with eyes that show nothing but insanity and genuine madness. And Toby. Toby, Toby, Toby. You watch Toby’s back muscles ripple under his shirt as he chucks one of those hatchets at an unknown target. Standing on a porch in the pouring rain with Toby way too close. A shared glance in a room full of the people you just saw and more. Lighting crashing against the sky as you run through woods with all you have. A desk cluttered with art supplies. Your own hands holding a bloody knife. The glimpses pass by even faster and you find it difficult to focus on one. They all blur together.

DU WEISST WAS DU ZU TUN HAST

An ancient voice rang through your head, making all your neurons stand on edge.

Your head hurts so bad you feel like you could pass out. You feel nausea hit you in tidal waves. You’re so cold . It’s the middle of summer, why do you feel like you’re stuck in the middle of Antarctica?

It grows to a swell and you’re alone again. All the color soaks back into the world. The birds chip as if nothing had happened. The blood that streamed from your nose now stilled to a slow drip. The wind blows softly. Your wrist burns like hell, so you look down and twist your forearm to the side.

There, where your veins are most prominent, on the inside of your right wrist, sits a black circle with an x through it.

A single droplet of blood falls on it and the blood sizzles, as if it touched a hot pan. You hiss in pain.

You know what the mark means.

You’re marked. You’re IT s property.

You’re never gonna get out of this.

You stare emptily at flower petals drifting with the breeze for what feels like hours. You fear for the future, and mourn your past.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you’re out like a light.

You awake a bit later, and realize Toby kneels in front of you and is untying your rope. He cuts the ropes binding your hands and feet together. Your consciousness swims in and out as you struggle to get a grip.

Toby notices your mark and presses his thumb down on it. It burns, and you break through the barrier between consciousness and unconsciousness. You hiss in pain, attempting to swat his hand away. He giggles. Masky stalks over to you.

“ IT spared you. Good. There’s shit we gotta do, hurry your ass up,” he barks orders like an army general. Toby pulls you up and, without allowing you to regain your bearings, tugs you along with him. Your head hurts like a bitch, your ears ring, your wrist feels like a fire was just lit underneath it, and your bones are sore from the position you passed out in. You just have to keep trucking along.

You stumble behind him, tripping over stray roots and rocks. The only reason you stay upright is because of his iron grip on your bicep. You try to rip your arm from his grasp, but to no avail.

You’re guided through the foliage, growing closer and closer to the heart of the woods. Hoody walks with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. It’s mostly quiet, save for the stomping of hurried footsteps on hard earth. A trail begins to make itself evident and you hurry along the worn path. You grow fearful of what this leads to. A murder house? A pit of dead bodies? None of your conspiracies are true, for you stop in front of a log cabin. It was small, and looked quite cozy. Two rocking chairs sat on the porch next to a small table. The roof was tin, and it seemed to only be one story tall.

“Isssss the bastard here?” Toby asks from beside you, still not letting go of you. You hate his hands on you-he tried to murder your husband, for Christ’s sake! Hoody nods. You walk up the stairs, Toby taking two at a time and dragging you with him, leaving you to stumble up the stairs. Masky knocks on the wooden door. Seconds blend together before the door opens and a little girl’s face peaks out.

It’s the little girl in the pink, bloodsoaked dress. Her eyes shine with recognition before they fall on you and lose all the shine they once held. Her bright green eyes seem to see straight through you.

Hoody bends to her height.

“Sally, is Jack here?” Sally nods, still eyeing you. Hoody notices her distrust and takes a large step over to you. He reaches for your wrist and you flinch. You can’t see him, but you can tell he rolls his eyes under the mask. He grabs your wrist despite your obvious apprehensiveness and yanks you forward. He shows her the mark you held on your wrist. She stares at it quizzically. He presses a thumb into it and you yelp. Sally closes the door and for a moment, you’re a bit worried she won’t let you in. You hear a bolt unlatch and the door swings wide open.

“Come in!” Sally says cheerfully. She says it so sweet, you could almost forget the blood staining her pink dress and the blood sticking her brown curls to her face. Hoody drops your wrist and you’re rushed inside. Sally shuts and bolts the door behind you.

“Follow me!” She says, skipping down a hallway. A coffee table sits surrounded by a couch and a couple plush chairs in the living room. Stuffed animals sit on top of the coffee table, along with plastic tea cups in front of them. An opened poptart in its wrapper sits in an empty spot. You guessed that’s where Sally was before you arrived. A TV box sits on a stand on the far wall, playing cartoons. You recognize the coyote on screen. The Road Runner Show. You loved that show growing up. The entire scene is so domestic and innocent, it makes your heart pang with an odd sense of guilt.

A kitchen takes up the opposite end, with cabinets upon cabinets lining the walls. A large fridge takes up a large gap, along with a dishwasher and a small sink. A box of opened poptarts sits on the small dining table. Anatomy graphs take up space where pictures should’ve been. Your eyebrows furrow.

Is Jack her father? What dad lets his daughter run around bleeding?

You have no more time to ponder, for you feel a hand on the small of your back, pushing you forwards. You lurch forwards, no choice but to follow Sally and the others. The hand still rests on your back. You reach back and rip the hand from your body. The hand is cold. You glance behind you.

It was Toby’s hand. He makes eye contact with you and your eyes flit away. He’s still bloodied, having not changed out of the clothes he kidnapped you in. The scent of iron is heavy in the air. You wrinkle your nose in Toby’s direction. However, as you get closer to the back of the house, it’s clear it’s not just Toby. No, the air itself is bloodsoaked. Sally stops before a door where the scent is strongest. She knocks on it gently. You hear the clink of metal tools before silence takes its place..

“Jack? Brian and Tim and Toby and Kate and someone else are here,” She rattles off your names carelessly. You glance to Hoody and Masky. You guessed Brian was Hoody, Tim was Masky, and Kate was obviously the woman. You based that off of who’s physically close to Sally in this moment. Tim sighs from under his mask.

The door opens and you’re met with an extremely tall man in black with a blue mask covering his face.

You remember seeing him as well.

The eye sockets are completely black, not allowing you to see his emotion.

“Gentleman, lady. And who do we have here?” A soothing voice rumbles from under the mask.

“[Name]. Master just recruited them,” Tim answers for you.

Jack barks out a laugh. “Here for Sickness medication? Ha! No such luck,” he snickers dryly.

“We’re here for the body,” Hoody says. You hate how ominous that statement is. Jack nods.

“Come in.” He waves his hand and you file through the door. What lays before you makes bile rise in your throat, and not just because of whatever ‘Sickness’ he mentioned.

A body lays on a morgue table. Various surgical tools lay beside it, from scissors to bonesaws to needles. What makes your blood run cold isn’t the corpse on the table.

It’s the neon green veins inside the body, full of unnaturally colored blood.

“Another one with green blood. I have ran tests, scanned every book I have, even went so far as to look beyond the grave for divine help. But I cannot find what causes this. It is unheard of,” Jack says with an air of intelligence.

“Maybe try hhhuh-harder,” Toby snaps, voice full of abhorrence.

Jack turns to where Toby stands, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed across his chest and his legs crossed at the ankle.

“I doubt you have the patience or the brain power to even begin to fathom what to do in my position in this situation,” Jack fires back without missing a beat. Toby rips a hatchet from his hip and raises it slightly.

“You callin’ me stupid, mutterficker?” He hisses, voice dangerously low, taking quick steps towards him. Brian grabs his arm and stops him dead in his tracks.

“Out of line. Fix it,” he snarls, shoving Toby back to the wall. Toby snorts like a bull before shoving his hatchet back onto his waist and resuming his original position.

“Anyways, I’ve begun to believe it could be…..” His low voice fades into the back of your mind as you step closer to the body. Your eyes are drawn to the green veins. You trace your finger along the corpse’s cold, pale skin, following a vein when your fingers rub over a barely noticeable bump, in the crook of the elbow. You turn to the others.

“Did you notice any bumps?” Jack pauses in the middle of his sentence.

“On the elbow here?” You continue. He shakes his head no, stepping over to you. You rub a bit harder on it. It feels like an injection site. Based on the position, some sort of injection for a drug, for it sat in top of a vein.

You step back and allow Jack to feel it. His mask turns to you.

“I feel nothing.”

“Take off a glove. I barely felt it.” He obeys and removes a black glove. Underneath his skin is ashy gray. He doesn’t have fingers, rather sharp, black claws. He gently glides the claws over the smooth skin and feels for the bump. He nods when he finds it.

“It feels like an injection area of some kind,” he admits.

“You tried a drug test?” You ask.

“No,” he replies, quickly grabbing a thin needle and a vial. He sticks the needle into the vein and takes a sample of the green blood, depositing it into the vial. He hurries over to a microscope and takes a slide from a small box. He lets a couple droplets fall onto the slide then turns on his microscope. He pulls the mask up and the sight makes you stifle a gasp.

He has no eyes. Where his eyes should be sat inky depths. The same substance that dripped down his mask oozed down his gray cheeks. He was once a beautiful man, his bone structure showed that. He has a nice, strong nose, and thick eyebrows. His gray lips, formerly pink, are plush and pillowy. Auburn hair falls around his face, framing it perfectly. He’s like a demon, made of temptation and vainly gorgeous.

You look back to the slide with the droplets of blood, cheeks burning. You sound like a creep.

He adjusts the knobs and puts his sockets to the eyepieces. He makes quiet noises under his breath, little hums and tuts. He moves the objectives to the highest power-100, white stripe.

He pulls away, shutting off the microscope.

“I see why He chose you.” You’re taken aback at the compliment, if not a bit pleased.

“You made a good decision by having me run a drug test. The green blood isn't what I thought it was-the reason the blood shows up like that is because it has been influenced by a drug .” You feel yourself beam with pride.

“Whatever drug is used changes the blood color. It takes over red blood cells and kills them off quickly.”

“If it’s like any other drugs, then it travels to the brain,” you add.

Jack hums. “Correct.” He rummages through a drawer and pulls out a notepad and pencil. He scrawls out a summary of your conclusions onto a yellow notepad. His handwriting is oddly good for his physical state.

He sets the notepad and pencil on the morgue table.

“I need all of you to travel to the house this Killer was found in. Try and find me a fresh body, a needle, more blood samples, anything will be of use.” He hands you all a few vials, along with plenty of needles. You stuff them into your jean pockets.

“Don’t yuh-you have enough bodies, Jack?” Toby asks, voice highly annoyed. He refuses the vials and needles.

Jack rounds onto Toby.

“I am free to add to that list, Tobias . Now go.”

The air is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Toby stares at Jack and everyone stills, ready for a fight. Toby grinds his teeth together in his mouth, his jaw popping painfully in the process.

“Fine,” he snaps, storming out of the room. You give Jack one last glance before following the others out the door. Sally walks beside you.

“Is that your dad?” You ask.

“Nope!” She replies cheerfully. She’s a ball of sunshine, you suddenly wish to take her away from all this. The bodies in the morgue, the scent of death and blood, yet she still seems happy.

“Papa likes Jack, so I stay with Jack.”

“Who’s Papa?” You can’t help but ask.

“Him!” You know the ‘Him’ she’s referring to. IT .

You hum. Toby storms out the door, slamming it behind him, making the entire foundation tremble. Tim just sighs as he reopens it and steps outside. Brian and Kate follow suit. You’ve just crossed the threshold when skinny arms wrap around your waist.

Sally clings onto you as tight as her little arms allow her to.

“Promise me you’ll be back? Mr. Death would love another friend!” She whines, holding up her bloodied teddy bear she must’ve grabbed from the coffee table.

“I’d love to, Sally,” you say, squatting down to her height. She wraps her arms around your shoulders and you hug back. She buries her face between your collar and jaw, and there’s no weight at all. You let yourself melt into the hug. You’ll never admit it outloud, but you need a hug. You need a shoulder to cry on, warm and comforting arms to embrace you. You wish Zach was the one comforting you, wrapping his strong, muscled arms around you.

“[Name]!” Toby snaps. “Lass uns gehen!” He shouts something at you. You pull away from Sally, rising back to your height and ruffling up her hair a bit.

“See ya later, alligator.”

She giggles. “After while, crocodile.”

You join Toby and the others at the steps and begin your descent back into the forest. You take one last glance at Sally, and she sits in one of the rocking chairs with Mr. Death on her lap. She notices your stare and waves, making her teddy wave as well. You let a smile paint your lips and wave back. You disappear into the treeline and Brian leads you in the direction of the house the victim once occupied.

Toby is practically foaming with rage.

“Pompöses Arschloch, denkt, er ist so viel besser als ich, ich zeige dir die Muschi,” he mutters under his breath, kicking at stray rocks. Based on context clues, you conclude that Jack and Toby don’t get along. You make a mental note to ask Sally the next time you see her.

Your eyes glance over to Kate. She hasn’t said a word this entire trip. She’s a woman of few words.

You walk for what feels like forever, and in the time you’d walked from Jack’s to this ‘killer’s’ house, Toby had mutilated: five trees, two unlucky squirrels, one rabbit, and countless foliage. You made another mental note to never piss Toby off as bad as Jack did. Toby seemed to genuinely loathe Jack; you’d hate to be on the receiving end of that hate. However, Jack held his own. You both feared and admired him for that.

You walk past a 1967 Chevrolet Impala with weeds growing all round it, some growing straight into the frame. You whistle appreciatively; it was once a beauty of a car, but time had worn it down, along with lack of care. The hood was open, and if it hadn’t been open, you’d have never seen the green blood under the hood. You stop dead in your tracks. Toby slams into you, sending you stumbling forwards.

“Watch-” you hold a hand out to hush him. His eyebrows furrow in anger and his eyes widen. You hurry over to the hood and sure enough, there’s a large glob of neon green blood under the hood, with a lot of flecks on the grill. You wave the others over to it.

“Shit,” Kate breathes out.

You glance over to her. “Shit’s right.”

Everyone stares in shock, even Toby. It appears that a head was possibly bashed underneath the hood. Not enough to crack it open, but enough to hurt.

Something wet falls onto your forehead. You slowly look up as another droplet of blood falls just above your eyebrow.

Chapter Text

“And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.” Revelation 6:8.

There, a body hangs limply, arms spread like a raven in flight, torso ripped open, with its ribs torn to point in the same direction the arms did. Intestines barely hang inside the body. Sunbleached flies buzz around the large wound. A gust of wind hits just perfectly, and the small intestine comes tumbling out, and straight onto you.

You can’t move quick enough and they fall on top of you. You shriek. If you put peanut butter in a condom, that’s what an intestine would feel like. You grab at the slippery material and yank it off of you, cringing the entire time. Toby bursts into laughter, doubling over and holding his stomach. You glare at him. This causes him to fall to his knees, now in hysterics.

“There’s a body for Jack,” Tim grumbles, moving to the base of the tree. The body is suspended in between two thick branches, hanging there with vines wrapped around its wrists. Your eyebrows furrow. The murder didn’t appear to happen that long ago, rigor mortis had yet to set in. Brian sets down the duffel bag and scales up the tree and cuts the vines suspending it. Thankfully, you had moved away, and the body hits the ground, not you.

You all crowd around the dead body, even Toby, whose curiosity overtook his laughter. The head was a bit caved in, you guessed it was bashed on the hood. The wound on the abdomen was a clean slice, from the upper sternum all the way down to the 5th lunar vertebra. You peer inside the open cavity; the heart is gone.

“The heart’s gone,” you mutter to no one in particular. You look a bit closer at the face. The victim was a man, based on the bone structure. The eyes are gone as well, completely gouged out. You bend down to look under the Impala and kicked underneath the body sits an open toolbox, with a battery and some jumper cables next to it.

“He was workin’ on the car before he died,” you announce. “Someone must’ve come up behind ‘im and slammed the hood on his head.”

“Yeah, but who did that?” Tim asks. Your face twists into a frown.

“I don’t know.”

Tim grabs the limp body and tosses it at Toby.

“Carry it, pack mule.”

Toby throws it over his shoulder, not even caring that green blood drips down his back. You grimace. Kate walks briskly to the house. You follow a few paces behind her. Once all on the porch, Brian pulls a gun from his waistband and aims it at the door. Kate pulls a knife from her boot and holds it defensively. They stare at each other, Kate counting down the seconds on her fingers, before she lurches forward and kicks the door open. The door swings open with no resistance, and Brian storms in, gun raised. Kate hurries in behind him.

A few seconds pass as they do a quick sweep of the first room, then Brian waves for everyone else to come inside. You file in and you’re shocked at what you see.

Neon green blood covers almost every surface. From your perspective, a couch flipped on its back hides a body, only a hand covered in the neon green blood you’ll see everytime you close your eyes is visible. The scent of decaying bodies and blood fills your nostrils and you feel nauseous. Flies sing in a Sunday church choir around all the bodies. A fly buzzes around Toby's ear for a moment and his hand jerks up and hits it to the wall, leaving it to fall dead on the floor.

Another body lies in a sea of glass with broken splinters of wood around the edges. A fireplace poker is shoved down its throat, and its mouth is opened in a grotesque expression of horror. Its heart is also taken, based on the gaping hole, along with its eyes. You guess this is another man, also based on bone structure and body shape. A dying fire sits in the fireplace, coals barely burning. A knocked over fireplace poker set lays beside the fire. Tim walks around the couch to the stairs. He jogs up them, grimacing at the body behind the couch. Brian follows him. You and Kate make your way deeper into the house.

You wished she’d leave from your side, you could possibly escape with all the others distracted, but it seems she’d realized your secret plan.

You make your way into the kitchen. A lukewarm pot of noodles sits on the stovetop, still on the lowest knob. You smell it-chicken noodle soup. Yummy. You move on.

A sitting room holds a body with a snapped neck. However, this time it’s a female. She appears to have fought back, as she’s covered in bruises shaped like fingertips and angry hands. The distance between here and the kitchen makes you wonder if she tried to escape before she died.

“I think she made noodles, then heard the murders and tried to run but something came up behind ‘er and got ‘er,” you tell Kate. She crouches down.

“Yeah, think she fought back too.” She points to a knife a few feet away from her body. “She got ‘em good.” The knife was soaked in green blood, and based on her appearance, it wasn’t her own. The woman also lacked a heart and eyes. Her nose was crooked due to a previous breakage, but didn’t look very recent.

You move on, following the small loop back to the first room, the living room. You both start up the stairs and meet Brian and Tim at the top.

“Found another guy and a woman,” Tim rasps.

“I need a smoke,” he mutters, scooting past you and stepping onto the porch.

You and Kate do a double check of the rooms. A man lays on his bed, tied to the bed with rope. You frown.

“What’s the rope about?” You ask Kate. She grabs a journal beside the bed. She flips it open to the last page, dated a few hours prior.

“Morgan keeps complainin’ about headaches. He’s been throwin’ up blood and has a fever of 115 Fahrenheit,” she reads. Your jaw drops at the temperature.

“He’s gettin’ more and more aggressive, and we’re worried. Chris is also violent. He broke Lily’s nose the other day, just for askin’ him a question. We’re all scared of him and we don’t understand why he’s actin’ like this,” Kate continues. You peek onto the page. The writing ends there.

Kate keeps hold of it and flips through a few previous pages.

“Jack’ll be happy. Maybe whatever made Morgan sick has to do with this mystery drug,” she says. Suddenly, her head snaps to the wall. You stare dumbfounded. She sprints out of the room and into a bedroom next door. You guess she hears something else, because she rushes over to the bed and gestures for you to grab the other end. You push the bed to the opposite end, and there sits a trap door where the bed used to lay.

“Brian!” Kate yells. Stomps quickly make their way over to you. Brian pokes his head in. Kate points to the trapdoor.

“Go get the other two. Hurry!” Brian rushes out and comes back a few moments later with a disgruntled Tim and an excited Toby.

“Let’s open thisssss bitch, meine Beile sind hungrig!” He rips his hatchets from his hips, sliding the blades together and they let out a loud squeal. Brian and Tim pull out their pistols. Kate grabs the small metal ring and counts down the seconds on her fingers. As she hits zero, she pulls up and opens the door. What’s inside makes your jaw drop for the second time.

Someone’s in there. And alive.

You scream, tripping as you scramble backwards.

His eyes are gone, and green blood and vitreous liquids slide down his face and into his open, wailing mouth. A large gash in his forehead allowed you to see off-white bone. A boney hand grabs the hardwood floor and pulls the body up. His veins are bright green and he’s so pale, you can almost see straight through his body. Multiple fingernails are cracked and a few are ripped completely off.

“What the fuck-” Tim yells, bewildered.

He’s pulled himself up from the hiding spot and currently lays stomach down on the floor. His legs dangle behind him, bent at odd angles in various places. You scream again, still in shock.

His head snaps to you and suddenly he’s crawling towards you quickly. You watch as his few remaining fingernails snap off.

You clamber backwards on your ass, trying and failing to stand up. A hand wraps around your ankle, and tight. You shriek, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“ HE DID THIS TO ME! ” He screams in your face, neon green blood and vitreous liquid flying from his mouth onto your face. Your back hits the wall.

“ RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN! TAKE IT AND YOU’LL BE SAVED! ” He shrieks, shoving his face to yours and attempting to rip your face off with his teeth. Your hands come up and you place one hand on his slippery forehead and the other on his chin. You’re panicking; you hear the blood roar in your ears.

The angry gnashing of teeth and his tortured screams are all you can hear. The scent of death is heavy on his tongue.

“Get-off-of-me!” You manage to get out. For a wounded man on the brink of death, he sure was strong. His teeth graze your cheekbone.

B A N G

His weight is taken off of you. You hear the sound of wood breaking. A hand wraps around your forearm and yanks you up. It’s Kate.

Your chest heaves as you regain your bearings. Brian stands with his pistol still raised, Tim with his rested by his side. Toby stands over the cannibalistic man in the rubble of what used to be a bookshelf. Toby kicks the man in the ribs repeatedly. He curls in, wailing as Toby kicks the shit out of him.

“Kleine muschi, ich darf sie ausprobieren,” he snarls in that dangerously low and clear voice.

“ Toby ,” Brian says calmly. Toby steps back, his neck snapping to the side rapidly and his hands shaking with a barely controlled rage.

Brian steps closer to the man and squats beside him.

“ Christopher, what do you mean ‘He did this to you’? And what do you want [Name] to take ?”

“Hungry-so-hungry-,” he grunts out. Brian takes a protein bar from his pocket and dangles it in front of Chris’ face.

“I have food here, and if you t ell me you can have this ,” Brian orders.

“ HE RUINED ME! ” Chris screams in Brian’s face. “ HE MADE ME THIS WAY !”

“ What do you want [Name] to take ?”

“The Cure-” he pauses suddenly. He wraps his hands around his throat and squeezes. His face grows purple and he lets out small choking noises.

“ Damnit !” Brian curses, attempting to pry his hands from his throat. Tim rushes over and together they try to stop him. Chris’ eyes roll into the back of his head, and the blood vessels in his eyes are neon green.

Chris gives one final twitch and he’s still.

“ Shit! Shit! Shit! ” Tim yells, turning and punching the wall. A large hole stands where his fist just was. Brian sighs.

“ We’ll return to Jack and give him the information and bodies. We have to hurry, the Rake is out, and hungry as always. ” Toby picks up Chris’ dead body and snickers.

“Hate for it to get ssssssuh-suh-sexy, here,” he walks past you and pinches your ass. You squeak in shock, and swing a fist at his head. It catches him on his ear and he whirls to you, hatchet raised. Kate stands in between you two and glares at Toby.

“You’re bein’ an ass Toby, you deserved that.” She places a hand on his chest and shoves him towards the door. Toby picks up the man tied to the bed in the next room, and Tim and Brian pick up the rest. You carry the journal and duffel bag Brian previously held. You’re confused on how you’ll get to Jack’s if ‘the Rake’ is out. Based on Brian’s tone, the Rake wasn’t something you’re dying to meet.

Everyone gathers in a circle. Kate takes a small black ball from her pocket, the size of a marble, and crunches it under her foot. Black smoke wafts out, surrounding everyone. The world shifts and you hear a loud POP !

You stumble forwards and fall onto your hands and knees. Toby giggles from behind you. You look up and you’re suddenly at Jack’s home. Sally sits on the front porch in the rocking chair she was in when you left. You dimly wonder if she ever moved from her spot when she jumps up, noticing you guys.

“[Name]! You came back!” She squeals. She holds the door open as everyone trails inside, holding corpses. As soon as Toby’s inside, she rushes in and wraps her skinny little arms around your waist. You hug back instantly. You don’t even know how old she is, but you know you’ll protect this little girl with your life.

Her cartoons have been switched to a Scooby-Doo movie. Everyone seems to forget about you as they carry corpses back to Jack in his….what is that room? An operating room? A morgue? Both, if you’re being honest.

With everyone gone, you find your chance put in front of you on a silver platter.

“Let’s hurry, Sally,” you whisper, hoisting her up on your hip. She wraps her arms around your neck.

“Where are we going?” She asks. Up close, you see freckles hidden under the blood that still coats her head. You frown at that.

“Away from here.” You open the door and quietly shut it behind you. Night had finally fallen, and it was pitch black out.

“Wait, [Name]-” Sally says, tone unsure, slightly scared.

“Shh, we gotta be quiet,” you whisper, stepping off the porch and breaking into a sprint. You disappear into the treeline with Sally in your arms.

“[Name]- the Rake is out-” she can’t finish her sentence as an ear splitting shriek pierces the air. You stop dead in your tracks. Sally stares into the darkness, wide eyes full of fear.

Leaves rustle to your right, the hip Sally’s on. You both stare. You swear you see glowing white eyes.

It’s dead silent.

The silence is broken as a white figure with elongated limbs and white eyes jumps from the underbrush. Its mouth hangs open in a silent scream of horror. Claws protrude from its hands, sharp enough to rip through bone. Screams of horror escape both you and Sally, and you turn back the way you came.

Adrenaline takes over and you vault over fallen trees and roots like a world champion hurdler, ignoring the burning in your lungs and legs. You’d rather die than let this creature from hell get Sally.

“[Name]! Sally!” A voice screams in the distance.

“Over here-” You yell back, before you’re cut off by your own banshee shriek. The creature sunk one of its serrated claws into your torso. You fall forwards, doing your best to not land on Sally. She lands a foot away, scrambling onto her feet.

“Go-run-” You’re cut off again as it digs another claw into your flesh. It flips you over as Sally scampers away. It lowers its face close to yours, mimicking your scream perfectly. Your eyebrows furrow in shock.

Its jaw rises and falls rapidly as it tries to take a chunk of your face. You put your hands on its face, desperately trying to push it away. You raise your leg up to kick it but before you do, it sinks another claw into you, this time on the other side of your torso. You scream, an end-of-your-wits, warbling kind of scream.

Blood soaks your shirt and jacket and you’ve lost so much blood it’s a struggle to fight back. Tears slip freely down your cheeks. It feels like your insides are on fire; you’re being ripped apart.

All you can smell is iron and the hard packed dirt you’re about to die on.

Your muscles burn with exertion.

This thing sure is strong.

Just like Zach was.

Sweet, sweet Zach.

Your handsome cowboy. He’d always fought for you, and might lose his life trying to protect you.

You should’ve protected him. 

You failed.

He lies in a hospital bed, slowly dying.

You lay in the dirt, also slowly dying.

A modern Romeo and Juliet.

Your lover struggles to breathe thousands of miles away.

You cough up crimson sin. It sputters up from your lungs and through your trachea, finally spilling out your mouth.

You deserve this.

What’s the point of living anymore?

You’ll never see Zach again.

You’ll spend the rest of your days doing IT s bidding.

Suddenly, a violent death at the hands of this monstrosity doesn’t sound as bad as being IT s slave for as long as you live.

You finally stop pushing back.

It sinks its razor-sharp teeth into your neck, biting through thick skin and pulling a chunk away.

You let out a blood-curdling shriek.

Toby crashes through the treeline and a flash of silver is all you see.

A rage-filled wail erupts from the thing. It whirls to where Toby stands, one hatchet in hand and angry eyes. The other hatchet protrudes from the thing’s boney white back. Black blood spills from the large wound in its back and drips steadily onto you, mixing with your own.

It lets go of you and leaps towards Toby. He meets it head-on and it’s a blur of white and screams.

You lay in a puddle of your own blood, chest heaving and tears sliding down your temples and soaking into the dirt.

Figures move around the dogfight that is the thing and Toby.

You feel lightheaded.

A hand grabs your shoulder.

“ I woke to kitchen smoke, you dancin’ like God’s moved in you before ,” a familiar voice whispers.

Your head snaps to the side and you find you’re still in the forest.

You hear a melodic humming replace the voice.

“Look me in my eyes, I don’t wanna hide, I’ve been waitin’ fer you all damn night.”

Loving hands grip your own tightly.

“Zach?” You call out.

“ Sundress I’ll undress with nails on your skin, turnin’ white, '' you're lifted into someone’s sturdy arms.

You snuggle closer into the chest you find behind the arms, and catch a whiff of cologne.

It smells like Zach.

That’s the last thought you have before you embrace the darkness.

Chapter Text

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Your eyes slowly peel open to find fluorescent lights blinding your vision.

A hand holds your own.

Still lucid, you squeeze the hand to ground yourself.

“Thu-thu-thu-thu-they’re awake!” A voice calls.

You clench your jaw, jerking your hand from his.

Multiple faces loom over yours.

Jack’s painstakingly handsome features, a man with thick sideburns and harsh brown eyes, a man with a sandy brown mustache and bright blue eyes, the hauntingly beautiful woman you know as Kate, and Sally’s worried features.

“[Name]!” she squeals, “you’re awake!” She clambers onto your bed and lays on top of you, burying her face into your neck. You wheeze at her body weight, your torso strangely painful.

“Easy, Sally,” Jack utters calmly, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her off of you.

“[Name] had quite the night. It is best to give them space.”

You frown, thoughts a bit foggy.

“What…what happened?” The man with sideburns snorts.

“You were bein’ a fuckin’ dipshit, that’s what.”

“Tim,” the other man snaps. Tim looks awfully familiar.

“What?” He whirls to the man. “I’m tellin’ it how it is. They were bein’ fuckin’ stupid, and that’s the truth.”

“Yeah,” you hear Toby agree, “thu-that was pretty dumb, honig.”

“You’re saved, [Name]. Master decided your injuries were grave enough, and poked through your thoughts and found you ain’t as dumb as we thought,” the other man says, a Southern accent apparent in his voice. He looks familiar as well.

“Lucky motherfucker,” Tim mutters. You look down to your ribs, where you’re covered by a thin sheet, like they use in hospitals.

“What happened?” You ask again, not getting a straight answer.

“You attempted to escape with Sally. The Rake caught you, and Toby, as much as I hate to admit it, saved you,” Jack says, and you can hear the slight disgust in his voice as he addresses Toby. Toby picks up on this as well, and flips him off.

“You appear to be under the impression Sally wants to leave. She cannot,” Jack starts. You stare at him quizzically.

“ IT found her wandering around, stuck between two realms; life and the afterlife. Her heart held hatred deep within it, so she could not pass to the afterlife. She floated around, causing mischief, a poltergeist. IT gave her a physical body and revenge on the one who wronged her. She has been entrusted with me, and is content with me,” Jack explains. You nod.

“If you try to escape with her again, I will inflict punishment of my own,” he threatens, voice low and promising.

“I won’t,” you reply honestly. The injuries you sustained hurt like a mother, you believe whatever the Rake did, Jack could do twenty times worse.

“What’d it do to me?” You ask.

“Tried to eat you. It survives on human flesh, and is fed by humans who IT allows to wander into the forest, and traitors of the Mark.”

Traitors of the Mark?

Your eyebrows furrow. That’s a question for another time.

“You have severe internal bleeding, along with a couple of broken ribs and a wound on your neck. Because you’ve been Marked, you will find you heal faster than normal humans do. You should be back to normal in a few hours or so,” Jack announces.

“Better be,” Toby scoffs, “verrückter Slawe will be here.”

“I am thankful for the bodies you brought me, they’ll be very enlightening. Now that you’re awake, tell me what you saw,” Jack addresses you.

“All the bodies had their eyes and heart missin’. They all took that drug, and we found one that was alive. Fucker said somethin’ ‘bout ‘the Cure’ then killed himself,” you put air quotes around the cure.

“He acted like he couldn’t say it but let it slip,” the man adds with his slow Southern drawl.

“First one we found in a tree with his torso ripped open. He was hung up like a bird, for some reason. I think he was workin’ on a car in the front when someone ran up behind ‘im and slammed the hood on his head, then did all that.” Jack nods, urging you to continue.

“Another we found in the middle of a broken coffee table with a poker down his throat. There was a woman with a snapped neck and it looked like she fought back. Kate and I went upstairs and found a guy tied to the bed. There was a journal by him.”

“Kate gave me the journal. From what I’ve read from the entries, there’s a drug nicknamed the ‘Cure’. Taking this causes green blood, and can also cause high temperatures, some form of hallucinations, headaches, vomiting blood, aggression, and discoloration of the skin. Past photographs of Chris show he was quite tan,” Jack begins to explain.

“Chris mentioned being ‘saved’ and ‘He did this to me’, along with paragraphs in the journal ranting about the same things. To my understanding, something has been created to break free of His control,” he finishes.

“Idioten,” Toby mutters under his breath.

“I agree. It’s suicide to go against Him, and only Jeff has lived to tell the tale,” Tim comments, crossing his arms against his chest and leaning against your bed.

“The drug is quite impressive. It appears to not only disrupt the body, but also the mind as well. Fascinating,” he breathes.

“Uh-uh-alright, homosexuell. Cuh-cuh-cuh-can we trust you around these bodies?” Toby snaps.

Jack turns to him, cool as a cucumber, and speaks.

“Can you utter a sentence without stuttering?”

Tim barks out a laugh. Brian lets a smile slip through his steel facade and Kate and Sally both giggle.

Toby glares at Jack with absolute hatred burning in his eyes. He lunges toward Jack, throwing curses and foreign words at the man.

“ Deine Mutter ist eine Hure! Sie hat so viele gefickt, dass du deinen Daddy nicht kennst! Du hast es verdient, dass dir die Augen weggenommen werden, hässlicher Bastard! Deine eigene Mama hat sich die Augen ausgestochen, damit sie dein verdammtes hässliches Gesicht nicht sehen muss, du Fotze !” He screams, never stuttering or stopping to breathe. Tim and the other man grab Toby by the arms, dragging him through the doorway. The door slams behind them and you can still hear Toby.

“ Ich werde die Sekte finden und dich auf dem Silbertablett dorthin schicken, du dummer Scheißer !”

Jack turns to you. “Try to get up. We will have company.”

Your hands wrap around the safety railings on the bed and you attempt to pull yourself up. Sally puts a hand on your back to help, and Jack gently removes it. Your insides ache with the movement, but you have to get up. You can’t be weak.

Get the fuck up!

With a victorious smile, you’re in a sitting position. Sally pumps her arms in the air, cheering for you.

“Yay, [Name]!” You let a small chuckle escape your lips and your grin twists into a grimace. You place your hands cautiously on your abdomen, quietly groaning in pain.

“Get up,” Jack orders. You grit your teeth and grab hold on the railings on the bed. You slowly swing your legs over, cursing up a storm in your brain. Your bare feet hit the cold tile and you shiver.

You push yourself up, swaying slightly on your feet. Jack takes a step forward, hand out to catch you. You take a step forward, then another, then another, and suddenly you’re walking circles around the bed. You turn to Jack and Sally with a smile on your face.

“Good job, [Name]. Kate and I will fetch clothes for you, and Sally will help you dress. Excuse us,” he murmurs, turning and taking quick, long strides out of the room. Kate follows closely behind. Sally quickly takes the chance to stand beside you.

“What’s the deal with Toby and Jack?” You ask her, tilting your head to look down at her.

“They’ve never liked each other,” she replies.

“How come?”

She shrugs. “Don’t know.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I lost count. I ran out of fingers and toes to count,” she wiggles them and giggles. You chuckle. You sit in silence for a few minutes before the door opens and in walks Jack, holding a bundle of clothes.

“My apologies if the clothes do not fit the best. I can only make due with what I have,” Jack apologizes, setting the nicely folded clothes onto the hospital bed you previously laid on.

“It’s alright,” you reassure him. His blue mask turns to you.

“Hurry and get dressed. Company will arrive sooner than I thought. They will be bringing more bodies, so I require all the room I have.”

You nod. He quickly exits, shutting the door softly behind him. You turn to Sally and bend down. She carefully guides your hospital gown over your head. You shiver instantly as cold air hits your skin. You pull the jeans Jack gave you over your legs. They’re a bit big, but nothing you haven’t dealt with before. Sally helps you pull on your shirt-an old, worn The Judds t-shirt that had definitely seen better days.

You grab your belt from the bed, pleased Jack had saved it, and loop it around your waist. You run your fingers through your hair, untangling the knots it had tangled in. Once you’re done, you toss your gown on the bed and slowly sit to pull on your socks. Like the jeans, they’re big, but you won’t complain. You slide your boots over your feet, the leather that’s molded to fit you feet comforting in an unfamiliar place. Sally helps you steady yourself and takes your hand. She leads you from the room, down the hallway, into the living room.

Toby lays slouched on the couch, taking up much of the space. Tim paces nervously behind him, hands clenched and muttering to himself. Jack sits in one of the chairs, and the other man takes up the other. Kate stands behind him. Looney Toons plays on the TV. Toby lays engrossed with the screen. There’s a sense of unease from everyone in the room, save for Toby and Sally. Sally drags you to the couch, shoving Toby’s legs away and allowing you to sit down.

“Watch it, kid,” he warns, tone unthreatening despite his words. Sally sticks her tongue out at him, plopping down beside you. You sit in between Toby and Sally. You feel nervous so close to Toby, as if he’d have a hatchet at your throat any second.

His boots rest heavily in your lap, and you whirl to him, annoyed. He stares at you innocently.

“What is whu-wrong?”

“Get your feet off me,” you hiss, shoving his feet away from you.

“Ah ah ah, honig. Du bist meine Schlampe,” he grins, the rip in his mouth widening. Your face twists into one of disgust. He places his feet back in your lap. Before you can snap something, a heavy pounding on the door interrupts you.

“Jack! Open up, dipshit!” A gruff voice yells. The voice sounds like they’ve smoked since birth.

Jack stands and straightens, rolling his shoulders back. His footsteps are light despite his figure as he steps over to the door.

“Ah, Jeff, Natalie. Lovely to see you,” he proclaims, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Shove it, доктор гей,” a feminine voice replies, shoving past him and into the house.

There stands the other hauntingly beautiful woman from your glimpses. A clock sat in her right eye, and you swear you could hear it ticking. She was pale as a ghost, with curly brown hair that looked as if she’d just been electrocuted. She wore a white tank top stained with what you assumed was blood, with low-rise jeans and a thick fur coat. Black ink on her left shoulder peeked from underneath her fur coat. Her bright green eye bounces around the room before it eventually lands on you. She smiles, stitches in her cheeks becoming evident, as you hadn’t noticed them before.

“свежее мясо,” she giggles, stepping towards you quickly. Toby jumps up, standing in front of you protectively.

“Meins, mistkerl,” he warns, voice low, hands brushing the hatchets on his hips. The woman sticks her bottom lip out, pouting.

“But Tobes, you said I was yours,” she whines.

“Thu-that was long ago. Let go,” he demands. Her green eye pierces straight through him, and no one in the room breathes as you all watch the silent showdown. She steps close to him, fingers dancing along the handle of a knife previously hidden by her fur coat.

“They a good fuck?” She giggles, a sly grin slipping across her mouth.

“Better than you,” Toby sneers. Her malicious smile drops.

“Why, you stuttering-”

“Enough,” Tim snaps. They both fall silent.

“I trust you know where to put the bodies?” Jack asks.

“I ain’t stupid, stupid,” a man with a chelsea smile cackles. You recognize him from your vision. He hefts two bodies dripping green blood over his shoulders and walks down the hallway to the morgue. Natalie steps outside then lugs a mutilated body through the doorway and to the back. The man rises from the chair and slips a black frowny mask over his face. You guess that’s Brian.

Everyone takes their previous seats, aside from Brian, who stands in front of the window, watching the woods, his arms clasped tightly behind him. Toby drapes his legs over your lap. You give him an annoyed glare, but decide against fighting with him. Natalie and the smiling man file back in and Natalie sits on the arm of the couch, practically sitting on Toby’s lap. The smiling man takes up Brian’s seat and pulls a butchering knife from his bloodstained hoodie pocket and absentmindedly flips it in the air. Kate’s hand wanders to the gun on her waistband.

You take this silence to observe the newcomers. Natalie and Toby have some type of history, most likely sexual, due to her attitude towards him. Whatever they had must’ve ended on his part. Natalie is beautiful, you won’t deny it.

The smiling man- you think back to what Jack said when he greeted them- Jeff. His name is Jeff.

Jeff’s skin is ghastly white, charred black in multiple spots and deformed due to burns. His eyelids are gone, and he stares dully at everyone through pale blue eyes, sizing them up for a fight. A chelsea smile is carved into his face, stretching from ear to ear. You can see all of his rotting teeth inside his deep red gums. Hair darker than night falls from his head, draping across his back and shoulders like a hood. It’s patchy in places, with some chunks outright missing.

He notices your stare and flicks his eyes to you. His eyes wander appreciatively across your figure, snapping back up to your eyes and his tongue peeks out from his mouth, licking his lips like a dog looking at a porkchop. You visibly cringe, shifting the tiniest bit away from him and closer to Toby.

“ I’m sure you’ve all heard what’s going on, ” Brian starts, voice warped.

“We’d be stupid not to,” Jeff rasps, flipping his knife faster.

“ We have new information you haven’t heard. Patience, Jeffery. ”

Jeff rolls his eyes, and you grimace. His scleras are the same color as his skin.

“ There is some sort of drug Traitors of the Mark call ‘The Cure’. This disturbs the body, causing fevers, high temperatures, and vomiting blood. There’s also the obvious green veins and blood. However, it has been brought to our attention that this drug also affects the mind. Aggression and paranoia rises, and makes whoever took it irritable .”

“Duh-did you take it, Buh-buh-Brian?” Toby asks, giggling slightly. Brian doesn’t answer, and instead clenches his fists together so tight you can see them shake.

“ This drug breaks free of His control. We’ve no new leads as to who could be distributing this, nor if there’s a higher power behind it.”

“Higher power?” Natalie questions.

“ Zalgo .” With that word, everyone freezes. The energy in the air has shifted. It thrums uneasily. The word sends a pang of fear deep into your heart; Toby has stiffened beside you. If this ‘Zalgo’ makes Toby uneasy, you should be running for the hills.

“ If it is Him, we should expect another war. ” Everyone in the room holds somber expressions, besides Jeff.

“I say, BRING IT ON PUSSIES !” He screams, stabbing his knife into the arm of the chair as if it was a slab of butter. Little bits of stuffing spills out when he pulls his knife out, and Jack sighs.

“Do we have a plan?” You ask.

“ Yes ,” Brian replies, pulling a map from his pocket. He unfolds it and smoothes it over the coffee table. Everyone rises and crowds around the table. It’s a map of the woods. Near the edges of the woods, scribbled in ink, are odd words. North portal, West portal, South portal, East portal.

Your eyebrows furrow.

“ All of you know the Slender Woods are accessible from every other wooded area. Kate and I have devised a plan: all of you are to travel to every squat-house, every single one, and look for Traitors. Do not, under any circumstances, tell the lessers what is happening. If they think that this problem slipped by Master, they will turn on us.”

“So?” Toby questions, “those chu-chicken shits are no match for me.”

“ Yes, but there are strength in numbers. If Zalgo is behind this, and all the lessers join him, our higher-ups will be at great risk. You remember what happened last time. ”

There was a war before this? And you didn’t know about it? You decide to ask Sally about it the first chance you get.

“ Natalie, Jeff, you cover the East. Jack, Sally, the West. Tim and I will cover the South. Toby, Kate, and [Name], the North.”

You take a peek at the map. An area labeled ‘Master’s Domain’ lays in the North. A shiver runs up your spine at the thought of being near to Him.

“ Record your findings and if there’s any Traitors, eliminate them. Chose the most sensible of the Traitors, and bring them to Tim and I for questioning. ” You’d hate to see what questioning entails.

“ Any questions ?”

“Yeah,” Natalie announces. Brian nods his head at her.

“Why is it that as soon as they show up, things go to shit?” She asks, pointing a finger at you. Brian sighs.

“ Natalie, let’s not be rash -”

“No! Little сука shows up and suddenly lessers are dropping like flies! Do they even have the Mark?” She reaches for you, fast as lighting, and flips your wrist over.

Your Mark grins up at her tauntingly.

You can practically see steam billowing from her ears.

“Whatever! Jeff, let’s go!” she snaps, stomping out of the house and slamming the door so hard the entire foundation shakes.

Brian sighs again. Tim fumbles for his pack of cigarettes, and his hands tremble as he takes one out, making him spill the majority of them. You bend down and help him pick them up, however you keep one for yourself. He stares at you quizzically.

“Can I have one?” You ask, staring into his deep brown eyes hopefully. He grumbles to himself, then straightens up and walks outside. You follow him.

He pulls a lighter from his pocket, lighting his up. You hold yours in between your lips, and he lights it for you. You take a deep inhale of the smoke, instantly relaxing at the familiar taste of tobacco.

Marlboro reminds you of better days. Of days spent with Zach at your side. At the reminder of him, you feel like crying.

You blink your tears away. Tim will think you’re weak. Don’t cry.

Tim leans against the banister, staring at the expanse of woods. The sky is gray and lifeless. A drizzle hangs over you like a bad idea.

It’s silent between the two of you, save for almost quiet exhales and breaths.

“I’m sorry about…uh…Zach,” Tim murmurs. You turn to him, dead silent. What can you say?

It’s okay? I’m fine?

He took you from your husband, and tried to kill him. He slaughtered your friends without a single care.

“I know….what it’s like to…….to lose…someone you love,” he spits out, as if the words physically hurt him to utter.

“Who’d you lose?” You ask.

Tim opens his mouth to answer but is cut off as the door opens and Toby steps out.

“C’mon, Schätzchen. Tuh-tons to duh-do, tons to ssssssss-suh-see!” Kate follows Toby as he stands next to you. He takes your cigarette from your open lips and takes a deep drag off of it, blowing the smoke into the brisk air. He sets it in your hand. You cringe and stomp it out with the tip of your boot.

“Thu-thu-that wassss perfect cigarette, blödmann!” He whines. You ignore him as Kate holds out a jean jacket for you.

“It’ll be a bit chilly.” You slip it over your shoulders. You catch a whiff of the collar and freeze.

Hank’s jacket.

“ You all have two weeks to find Traitors. Try to find out more about the ‘Cure’ as well ,” Brian orders, standing near Tim on the porch.

Kate and Toby start down the steps. You quickly follow. Kate and Toby walk on either side of you, both protecting you and making sure you won’t bolt for it. You walk to the treeline and as you step into the dense forest, you take a look behind you. Sally waves from the porch. You wave back and she gives you a toothy grin.

You turn back around to face forward. It seems to have dropped a few degrees since you stepped in the woods.

You hug Hank’s jacket tighter around yourself. A hard object in one of the pockets has you quickly taking it out to look at it.

June’s heart locket she gave you. You crack it open and stare fondly at the pictures inside.

You quickly close it and shove it back in your pocket, rubbing your thumb along the heart-shaped locket.

Chapter Text

You’ve been walking for God knows how long. The Sun had never been visible from behind the thick clouds across the sky. Your teeth chatter as you wrap your arms tight around your cold body. If something’s gonna kill you, it’ll be hypothermia.

You look over to Toby. He walks, happy as a clam, completely oblivious to the frigid air. Kate also has her arms wrapped around herself. You see a yellow light poke out from behind a tree.

“Almost there,” Kate mutters, her words almost falling on deaf ears. All you can hear is the slow pump of blood in your ears. You all quicken your pace. Toby’s neck snaps to the side and groans painfully. His hands tremble in excitement and his face twists into a malevolent smile. His eyes glint with hunger you doubt food can suffice.

Finally, you reach the source of the light. In front of you stands a dilapidated white house. Paint peels from the siding, and many shingles are gone. One of the windows on the porch is covered in plastic wrap and cardboard. The porch is one gust of wind away from blowing down. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the house is abandoned. You faintly hear voices muffled by the walls.

Kate steps in front of you. She quickly goes up the broken stairs, pounding her fist on the door. You and Toby quickly follow.

“For fuck’s sake-” A female’s voice snaps, yanking open the door. “The fuck you want-” she cuts herself off as she realizes who stands in front of her. Her pale face whitens even more, to the point she appears translucent. She’s a young woman, with orange hair and freckles across her face. A cross tattoo sits under her right eye. Her eyes flick from Kate, to Toby, to you, back to Kate.

“Uh-Kate-what’re-what-what’re you doing here?” She asks. Panic and fear is evident in her features.

“Classified business,” Kate steps closer to her and the girl flinches. Hard . Kate pushes past the girl and you’re afraid she’ll pass out. You step into the living room where multiple people sit in armchairs and on couches, watching a box TV. Their heads all turn to Kate and stare wide-eyed.

Toby shoves the girl out of his way, and she stumbles backward. You step past her, sending her an apologetic glance. Toby practically trembles in excitement.

“Kate! Toby! To what do we owe the pleasure?” An older man asks. Mid-thirties, you guess. You analyze him closer. His skin is dark. Bags sit under his eyes. His pupils are huge, and you squint to see the blood vessels in his scleras.

Neon green.

You glance over to Kate. She analyzes him as well. Toby isn’t paying a lick of attention, instead staring at the others with wide eyes.

“House check-up,” she slams her shoulder into his as she passes to the rest of the house, sending him sprawling.

“[Name], follow me. Toby, stay,” she orders. Toby giggles, taking his hatchets from his hips and moving to lean against the wall. He slides the blades together, making uncomfortable eye contact with everyone lounging in the room. All squirm in their seats.

You step into the kitchen area. Cracked tiles lay on the floor. A barely running refrigerator stands in between two cabinets. Kate begins to rip open cabinets, sifting around the junk inside. You do the same, and soon enough, every single drawer and cabinet is open and nothing yet. You follow her into the next room where a twisting staircase stands. You destroy bedrooms, leaving clothes and other clutter on the floor.

You make your way up the stairs, and there’s only one more bedroom left. So far there’s been nothing besides the man with green blood. You begin to grow a bit hopeless. You step into a bedroom, and Kate ransacks the closet while you search the bed and bedside table. You pull open the drawer and your jaw drops.

A recently used needle. A few drops of the Cure sit inside the syringe attached to the needle. You gasp. Kate turns.

“What?”

Breathless, you turn to her and hold up the syringe.

She steps over to you in a few strides, taking the syringe carefully from your palm. She places it in her pocket. You quickly scan the rest of the drawer, and the only thing in there is a lonely dust bunny.

You peer under the bed. A black briefcase is pressed against the wall, almost hidden from sight. You crawl under and snatch the briefcase. You set it on the bed and quickly snap the locks open. You open the briefcase lid, almost giddy with excitement.

Bingo.

Multiple vials of the Cure sit inside. You count them. 10 vials. Kate slowly takes a vial out, holding it in the light. It’s a bit more liquidy than you imagined, but blood is thicker than water.

You look at Kate. She stares back. You can feel the excitement radiating off of her. You both speak.

“Jackpot.”

She shoves the vial back into the briefcase and shuts it carefully.

“You think all of ‘em are on it?” You whisper.

“Yeah. All of them checked at least one box: paleness, green veins. We got ‘em,” her voice breaks into a smile under her horrific mask.

“What’re we gonna do?” You ask as you begin to walk down the steps to the living room.

“Confront them. There’s two ways out; out the front door then in the kitchen. You stand in the kitchen doorway and Toby will guard the door,” you walk through the kitchen. “Here, take my gun.” She hands her pistol to you. You feel the familiar weight in your hands. You check the clip. It’s a full round. You click off the safety as Kate steps into the living room.

Wordlessly, she sets the briefcase on top of the table. Their pale faces get even paler.

“Oh-ho-ho-ho! Shu-shit!” Toby laughs. “Du bist am Arsch!”

They all stare at the briefcase like it’ll grow arms and start strangling them.

“The fuck is this?” Kate asks, tone menacing. You admit, she’s a bit terrifying. She’s an absolute unit; she’s taller than most men, buffer than most men, and much faster than a normal person. Her electric eyes could paralyze you with a single glare.

You imagine yourself in their shoes. A tall, muscled woman forces her way into your home, finds your drug, then confronts you. Many of them shrink under her glaring.

“You fuckin’ mute? Talk,” she demands. She stares at them for a few moments.

“I said talk !” She yells, taking a knife from her waistband and plunging it deep into the thigh of the woman closest to her. The air is filled with the woman’s pained wails. Still, no one speaks. Kate turns to Toby.

“Toby, do what you must.” Kate steps back, folding her arms behind her and leaning against the wall beside the TV.

A wolfish grin takes over Toby’s features. He flips his hatchets in his hands. Suddenly, he leaps onto the couch, sinking his hatchet deep into the head of a man.

C R U N C H!

Terrified screams ring through the air as Toby rips his hatchet from the man’s head. Blood spurts out of the cavern that used to be a head. A spray of blood lands on Toby’s face. His eyes bounce around his victims, the pupils so small you can barely see them. His russet eyes land on a woman. He swings his hatchet, quickly severing her arm from the elbow down. She shrieks in terror. Toby chucks his hatchet into the stomach of another man. He stares in horror at the weapon protruding from his abdomen. Toby whirls back to the woman. He slips his fingers into her mouth, resting a hand on her chin. The other hand rests on the top of her mouth. He tightens his grip and rips.

CRACK !

Her mouth is nothing more than a gaping hole. Her jaw snaps off of her skull, dangling limply on her chest. Green blood runs down her body in thick rivets. She slumps over in her armchair.

Toby disappears in a tornado of blood and death and destruction. You watch the scene unfurl with a hand over your mouth, eyes wide in horror. Limbs smack against walls and furniture as bodies are mutilated.

Finally, the girl who answered the door is the only one alive. She stares, shellshocked, at the horror around her.

Toby stands where the coffee table used to be, hatchets dripping with blood by his sides. His wild eyes flick around the horror he created. He pants, chest rising and falling rapidly. He’s drenched in blood. You're transported to a time when it was your friends’ blood he was covered in.

The girl lets out a shuddering sob and he turns to her, like a hound on the scent of a wounded deer.

“Don’t. I need her alive,” Kate orders. Toby steps away from her, slipping his hatchets back onto his hips. His hands shake by his sides and his neck jerks to the side.

“We need to leave. [Name], grab the briefcase. I’ll keep an eye on her. We gotta make it back to Jack’s before sundown,” You quickly spring into action, shutting the case of blood-covered vials and holding it. You slip Kate’s gun into your waistband. Kate yanks the girl up from the chair. She presses the knife she sunk into one of the girl’s comrades legs threateningly into her back.

“Move,” she snarls. You and Kate lead the girl outside.

“Where’s-” you turn to the house and in the doorway stands Toby.

He holds a severed arm in his hand. His russet eyes stare deep into yours as he brings the arm to his mouth and bites. He rips a chunk of flesh away from bone. Blood pools around the edges of the wound before dripping down and falling on the dilapidated wooden porch. You feel your face curl into one of disgust. Toby chokes down the chunk of flesh, gulping loudly. Small bits of blood stream out of the corner of his mouth and his gaping oral wound. He jumps down the steps, landing with a loud grunt. He stops beside you.

He smiles, allowing you to see every single scrap of flesh in between his teeth. His teeth are stained with sin. He runs his tongue over his gums and teeth, smearing bits of fat around.

“Want some?” A speck of flesh flies out of his mouth and lands on your cheek.

You wipe it away quickly, trying to ignore the churning in your stomach. You turn to Kate.

“I’m ready.” You begin your embark back to Jack’s. Kate quickly explained to you that lessers, as they were still undergoing what Kate called the ‘Changing’, being that close to Him would fry their brains.

"So that's why they're taking the Cure? To break from his mind control?"

"Yes. Breaking away from Him isn't unheard of, but these numbers are worrying."

"Since I'm a lesser, how can I go near him?”

Kate’s silent for a moment. “He’s taken an interest in you.”

You can’t tell if it’s the cold that sends shivers up your spine or the ominous tone of which she speaks.

-

You’ve been walking for a while, nothing to do but listen to distant shrieks and the sounds of Toby devouring a human arm. Obnoxious smacking of lips, wet slurps as he sucks blood from underneath the skin, crunching as he rips skin from bones and throws the bones behind him, his obscene panting and groans of pleasure as he devours human flesh.

God, he’s a creep.

He walks on the side where his wound is visible, allowing you to see chewed up skin and muscle and fat. You visibly cringe, trying desperately to ignore the bile rising in your throat. The girl sobs into her hands quietly. Small sniffles escape her hands, then she presses her hands tighter over her mouth. A small bit of sympathy shoots through you; it wasn’t that long ago that you were in a position like hers. Ripped away from the life you love, a husband you love. Your vision blurs as tears pop up like a bad headache.

Jack’s home is in the distance. You like Jack’s home; it’s very cozy, if you can ignore everything that goes on inside the walls.

A loud shriek sounds out from the distance.

Everyone whirls to the source of the sound.

“The Rake. Hurry,” Kate mutters, pushing the girl forward and quickening her pace. You and Toby follow. A bolt of fear strikes your heart. You were just attacked by that monstrosity: it isn’t something you’d like to meet again.

You break through the treeline and rush onto Jack’s porch. You all file in. You sigh as the warm air hits you. Sally lays sprawled out on the couch. Her head turns to you.

“[Name]!” She squeals, jumping up and rushing over to hug you. She wraps her skinny arms around your waist, burying her head in your stomach.

“Sally! Where’s Jack?” You ask.

“In the back,” she replies. Kate drags the girl by her forearm down the hallway to the morgue. The girl turns and makes terrified eye contact with you.

Your hands clench into fists.

I’m sorry .

She disappears from sight and Toby wanders off, presumably to find something else to bother. Sally guides you to the couch and you lay down, staring blankly at the TV displaying a cartoon episode. You dimly remember watching it as a child.

As you and Sally lay on the couch together, your thoughts wander.

How’s Zach?

Is he alive?

You close your eyes as you begin to pray.

Dear Lord, please, please, please, let Zach be okay. Let him be alive and well. That’s all I ask of you, Father.

Your eyes open to watch Sally curl into you. She reminds you of a heater.

Aided by the warm air and exhaustion from the past few days' events, your eyes begin to droop.

Please, Lord, let Zach be okay. Please.

Chapter Text

”The wicked shall be a ransom for the righteous, and the transgressor for the upright.” Proverbs 21:18

You open your eyes. Your shared room with your sister greets you.

You turn over in your bed. Her sleeping form rests in the other twin bed on the opposite wall.

You throw your covers off of you, stepping onto the chilled floor. You stumble down the steps, sleep still clouding your eyes and mind.

You look around the kitchen, looking for Mama. You can faintly hear music from the screened in porch.

You push open the door and Mama sits in her rocking chair, patching up a quilt. She turns to you and her e/c eyes light up.

“Mornin’, baby.”

“Mornin’, Mama,” you reply, walking over to her, ducking under the cover and clambering onto her lap. She covers you with the quilt as she sews and softly hums. You rest your head on her collarbone.

“If we make it through December, everythin’s gonna be alright, I know,” Mama mutters softly.

No words are shared. You stare into the tree line and see a white tailed buck. 10-point horns.

You point to it. Mama follows your finger and smiles.

You’re silent for a little while longer when Mama speaks.

“You know, I thought I raised you better.”

You turn to her, eyebrows furrowed.

“I mean, killin’ people? I’m ashamed,” she continues as she sews.

“I don’t have a choice, Mama,” you try to defend yourself.

“You always have a choice. What’ll it be? Continue your life of sin or escape?”

“I can’t escape, Mama. I’m stuck. I hate it but I can’t leave. I know it’s wrong but I can’t leave Sally alone. Or Kate.”

She’s silent.

“It’s not right.”

She’s still silent.

“You’ve got a good heart, [Name]. Do what you believe is right.”

You sit on the steps of Jack’s porch, a Marlboro red jutting from your chapped lips. Your eyes are rimmed with red, due to the cold. With every loose end, He begins to lose His temper. You can practically feel the air crackle with His anger. His moods affect the weather: warmer when he’s pleased, bitter cold when he’s mad.

Small snow flurries fall around you. The forest is covered in pure white snow. If you can forget everything, it’s quite beautiful. The snow dusted treetops look gorgeous.

You take your Marlboro from your lips, blowing the smoke into the air. You savor the taste of tobacco; it reminds you of better times. Times when you rode horses and worked on ranches with…..with…….

Who are you thinking of?

Your eyebrows furrow.

You remember a man. A man you loved.

You can’t remember his name.

You can picture his face.

Blue eyes, strong nose, freckled, tan skin. Soft, brown curls. Nicely shaped arms. Nice hands. Very nice hands. A wedding band on his left ring finger. If you remember correctly, you were married to him.

You flick away the ash on your cigarette and place it back between your lips, taking a long drag.

“I hear the clickin’ of the dominoes, you’re shakin’ up a game,” you murmur as you exhale the smoke.

It's moments like these, the times you're alone in the calm of the tornado you've gotten swept into, that you remember the life you left behind. You remember the mountains of Montana, the flat plains of Oklahoma, the scorching deserts of Arizona. You remember the way the light shined in your husband's striking blue eyes. You remember the freedom of riding bareback, the tug of rope against your rough palms as you lassoed a calf to tag it. You remember the love that coursed through you at the feeling of your husband against you, showing his love to you. You remember whiskey sliding down your throat, burning and soothing at the same time. You constantly find yourself struggling with such a strong emotion it causes you physical pain.

“And if we lose a hand, I bet I’ll know just who’s to blame.”

Yearning. You yearn for your life back. You'd give everything just to kiss your husband one last time. You're starved for his love with no way to feed it. You wait for him, wait for him to ride in on horseback and save you from the hell you're trapped in, whisk you back to the normalcy you'd come to love with your entire being. If you were a queen, you'd give up your kingdom for a kiss on his skin. You'd trade riches for just a glimpse of his grin. You'd donate all your blood just to hear your favorite song, the sounds of his laughter that reminded you strongly of bells. You will always love your husband. Nothing these devils you're surrounded with can change that. He is a tear in your soul, one that you'll carry with you for the rest of time.

You think of a brighter time. Smoke filled room, small folding table in front of you. Two people across from you on the other side. A man and a woman. The man you love beside you.

“But if we hit twenty-one, if we make that call, I bet I’ll sit here in my chair, just feelin’ ten feet tall,” the handsome man beside you in your memory sings with the voice of an angel.

“And we’re caught up in the riff-raff, circlin’ ‘round the sun,” the folks on the other side sing along. The woman shakes up a tin of dominoes.

“It takes a whole lot of blood and tears just to really love someone,” you turn to the man and he smiles. You’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

“But when it comes back around, that’s heaven on earth, you never know ‘till the end my friend what your love is really worth.”

“Are you crackin’ jokes with the common folks? Are you servin’ to the well to do?” You turn to the man and stare deep into his blue eyes.

“I’ve traveled ‘round and I ain’t found nobody quite like you,” you all sing along.

“And is all this livin’ meant to be or a happy accident? Well, in my heart you pay no rent, well, in my heart you pay no rent,” you lean forwards, resting your forehead on the man’s. His smile grows brighter and he presses his lips onto yours.

“[Name].”

“Huh?” Your head snaps up, turning to where you heard the voice. It’s Kate.

“You weren’t movin’ for a while,” she says, sitting beside you on the porch steps.

“Just thinkin’,” you reply, flicking the ash from your cigarette. You both sit in silence for a while, you quietly humming the words to a song you can’t remember.

“Now we’re shakin’ up the dominoes beneath the neon light,” Kate mutters, so quietly you can barely hear her. You turn your head to her.

“Knowin’ anybody else out there couldn’t put up a better fight,” you finish. She looks at you, electric eyes staring into your soul.

“But the fightin’ time’s over and it’s all gone,” she continues.

“You pick up the pieces and we try to carry on.”

You both join together in a lousy choir.

“Are you crackin’ jokes with the common folks? Are you servin’ to the well to do? I’ve traveled ‘round, and I ain’t found nobody quite like you,” you’re reminded, for a moment, of the husband you left behind.

Zach.

“And is all this livin’ meant to be or a happy accident? Well, in my heart you pay no rent, don’t cost you nothin’, not a single cent,” Kate leads.

“Time together, well is time well spent,” you follow.

“In my heart you pay no rent, in my heart you pay no rent,” you both quietly finish the song. You sit in silence before Kate breaks it.

“I used to love them. Turnpike Troubadours,” she comments.

You hum. “I did, too. So did my husband.”

You can feel the awkwardness and regret come off of her like waves.

“‘M sorry,” she mutters.

“‘S okay.” It’s not okay. Why do you say that? Things aren’t okay, why are you acting like they are?

“I knew someone like that. That meant a lot to me,” she coughs into her fist. You take another drag of your cigarette. You hum in response.

“His name was Evan. Met him in highschool. He was my best friend.”

“What happened?” You ask, positioning yourself to face her with your entire body.

“Well, He chose me. So I had to go. I wandered ‘round an old mine. ‘Bout went blind down there,” she sniffles, wiping her nose on her hand. You don’t blame her; it’s damn cold.

“He led Brian to me. Brian helped me out. I was covered in blood,” her rough voice is tinged with sadness.

“Why…..why were you bloody?”

“....Before…before Brian found me, Evan found me first,” she whispers, shame coating her voice.

“He……He made me do it. I was so hungry, and couldn’t see-” Her voice wavers, hands shaking. You wrap your arm around her, pulling her into your body. She rests her head on your shoulder, letting a few tears slip.

“I…I couldn’t help it,” she admits, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I was starvin’ , and-and-he was there-” Kate, the strongest woman you know, breaks down into a sobbing mess in your arms. You’re like a priest in confession with strangers.

There’s something intimate in the way she cries. She sobs like she’s finally letting out years of pent up emotions. You place your hand on the back of her neck, guiding her face into your neck. Salty, cold tears pepper your skin, sliding down your neck and soaking into your sweatshirt. Your arms wrap around her, rubbing soothing circles on her back. Your cigarette turns to ash in your fingers.

You hold her as she cries. Jealousy flares up inside you; you need a good cry, why does she get one?

You push down your envy and continue to let her sob it all out. Eventually, her sobs grow quiet and she lets out small sniffles as she catches her breath. She lifts her head from your shoulder and looks you in the eyes. The absence of her mask allows you to see her pale skin, reddened by the cold and her outburst. Her blue eyes shine and her eyes are bloodshot. Her pale nose is bright red. She wipes away snot from her nose, her hoodie sleeves rubbing roughly against her sensitive nose.

“Thank you,” she whispers into the frigid night. She rests her forehead on yours. You smile for the first time in a while.

“Anytime.”

You stay there, staring into each other's eyes, reveling in the comfort of a woman. There’s no better comfort than that from a woman who loves you. It’s silent before you speak.

“I loved my husband. He was amazin’. Loved him to pieces. Still do,” you admit.

“We met in Oklahoma. Knew right from the moment I met him that I loved him. He was funny and smart. He had a big heart. He made me feel worthy of love, even though I didn’t think I deserved it,” you mutter the last bit, dropping your gaze from her eyes to your dirt-caked fingernails.

“We all deserve love. Even Proxies.” Your eyes flick back to her, raising an eyebrow.

“Who do you love?” She smiles.

“It’s not romantic, but I love Brian. I’ve known him for years. We were the first Proxies. You heard about the war with Zalgo?” You shake your head no.

“Well,” she sighs, “Zalgo was born from the depths of Hell. He was born of fire and sin. He managed to escape Hell and began to wreak havoc on the world. He challenged Master for his domain, hoping for a place where he could watch the world burn. Master only had us two Proxies, and a couple hundred lessers. Zalgo unleashed plagues upon us followers. He wiped out our flanks, until it was just me and Brian.”

“Master recruited Toby, Tim, Jack, and Jeff once he saw his numbers dropping. We managed to weaken Zalgo. Master delivered the final hit and sent him back to Hell. But Zalgo has worshippers all over the world. I’m guessin’ the Cure is a way for him to gain support and find a vessel.”

“Vessel?” You question.

“For Zalgo to regain his previous power, he needs to possess a human he believes is worthy. People try to summon him, hopin’ to be ‘lucky’ enough to be a vessel. Dumbasses don’t know what they’re messin’ with,” she sighs, putting air quotes around lucky.

“Zalgo returning means perdition for everyone . There is not a soul that will be spared, even his own followers. We barely survived the first time. And if he comes back, he’s got a nasty grudge against us.”

You hum.

“Huh-huh-hey, guh-gaybos, new information,” Toby calls from inside the house. You and Kate break away to turn to him. You both flip him the bird at the same time, turning to the other and giggling like schoolgirls. You stand up, brushing off the back of your pants and stomping out what was left of your cigarette. You and Kate wander inside and out of the cold.

Brian, Tim, Jack, Jeff, Sally, and Natalie lounge around the living room. A map is spread across the coffee table. It’s a sight as familiar as your own name.

“An inside source has figured out a dealer of this Cure,” Brian starts.

“Who’s the source?” Natalie asks.

“Confidential,” Brian replies, throwing a picture onto the coffee table. You all crowd to take a look.

“Steven Miller. White man, 30s, chosen by Master because of his high IQ.”

“Wuh-wuh-won’t have a high IQ when I luh-lodge a hatchet in his buh-buh-buh-brain,” Toby comments.

“[Name], you will be accompanying Tim and I to question him. Toby and Kate are coming as well. Natalie and Jeff, chill out for the time being. We leave at nightfall. Depending on the information we get out of him, we might not be back here for a while. Pack a small bag of necessities. Meet back here at six o’clock,” with that, he turns and walks outside. Tim follows. Kate motions for you to follow her deeper into the house. You hurry after her.

You enter a room farther down from the morgue. Two closets sit inside the room. Kate opens one. It’s full of women’s clothes of all sizes. You open the other one. Men’s clothes, also in all sizes. A black duffel bag sits on the floor inside the closet. It looks oddly familiar. Kate bends down to unzip it. You take a peek inside. It’s packed full of your clothes. Your jaw drops.

“Figured you'd want clothes that actually fit you,” Kate claims. You smile as you siffle through the items. Plenty of jeans and sweatshirts. You raise a sweatshirt to your face. It was Zach’s. You press your nose to the collar.

It smells like him.

You inhale the scent that you’ll always remember as him.  Horses, outdoors, and Marlboro Reds. How could you ever forget? Zach was as familiar to you as your own name.

Tears rim your eyes as you look over to Kate. She smiles sadly at you. You wish you could tell what she’s thinking. Is she regretful and ashamed for ruining your life? Does she feel guilt? Does she lay in bed at night, wishing she could take it all back? When you envelope her into a hug and her strong arms squeeze you tight, you know the answers to all those questions.

You release her then look at the rest of the items. Tucked far down lays a picture of you and Zach on your wedding day. It’s wallet sized. You rub your thumb over Zach’s face. It’s a picture of both of you dancing like heathens, laughing up a storm with permanent smiles on your face.

Your mind flashes to a glimpse of Zach in a hospital bed, hooked up to various machinery. You whirl to Kate.

“Is….is Zach….is he okay?”

Kate nods. “Yes. I went into a nearby town and called the hospital. They claimed he’s doin’ great. He’s healin’ nicely and is goin’ to physical therapy.”

You feel like you can finally breathe, like a weight has been lifted from your chest.

“Thank you, Kate. You’re my only friend in this place.”

Friend, even though she took you from your husband.

“Likewise,” she replies, reaching deeper into the closet. She produces your felt hat. She sets it over your head. You smile as you feel the familiar material and weight upon your head.

“Head up, [cowgirl/cowboy].”

You laugh. You remove it from your head, slipping the picture of you and Zach into the sweatband, like a lucky charm. You slip it back over your head, pinching the crease.

-

It’s nearing 6. You, Kate, and Toby all eat a final meal at Jack’s table. The meal consisted of ramen noodles, but still. Quite gourmet when you’ve been surviving on scraps for weeks.

Toby slurps up his noodles, chewing loudly. His wound on the side of his mouth is uncovered. A bit of chewed up noodle falls out. You cringe, scooting your chair closer to Kate and Sally.

The door opens and a cold gust of wind carries inside. In walks Tim and Brian. Brian has an AK-47 strapped to his back, along with a small black duffel bag. On his upper thigh sits a holster with his pistol in it. A cigarette juts out of Tim’s mouth. His white mask is pushed up, allowing you to see his face. His sideburns are out of control, sticking up in different directions on his face. Stubble coats his chin and jaw, along with his upper lip.

“Your razor break, Tim?” You jokingly chide. He flips you off in response.

Instead of a gun, a knife is strapped to Tim’s thigh. A black backpack sits on his back. He holds a crowbar in his right hand, his left one coming up to take his cigarette from his chapped lips.

“We ready?” He asks. Toby shoves the rest of his noodles down his throat, smacking his lips. You give him a disgusted side-eye. You and Kate finish your noodles, standing and setting your bowls in the sink.

Kate walks to retrieve your bags as you wash up the dishes for Jack. It’s the least you can do. You dry your hands just as Kate enters with your bags.

Kate slings her backpack over her shoulders, handing you your duffel bag. You walk over to the door and slip on Hank’s jean jacket. You unzip your duffel bag, grabbing a wild rag. You tie it around your neck, zipping your duffel then throwing it over a shoulder. You set your hat on your head.

Skinny arms wrap around your waist. You place your hands over the soft skin surrounding you.

“I’m gonna miss you, [Name].” You pat Sally’s hands, turning in her hold. You bend over to hug her properly.

“I’ll miss you too, Sally.” You squeeze her tight. Something tells you that you won’t see her for a while.

Toby’s boots stomp against the ground as he makes his way to stand by the door.

“C’mon, heiße Schnitte,” Toby snickers. You pat Sally’s back. You pull away and she stands on her tip-toes to kiss your cheek.

“Bye, [Name],” she gives you another quick hug. You wave goodbye as Tim and Brian step outside into the brisk air. You and Kate follow. Toby brings up the rear, slamming the door shut behind everyone. Brian pulls a small map from his pocket.

“Straight.” He steps off of the porch and heads to the treeline. You follow in the same formation as you exited Jack’s home. You take one last look at Jack’s house, the closest thing you’ll have to a home, before following Brian into the woods.

A strange taste settles on your tongue.

Something’s wrong.

-

You’ve been walking for literal hours. Your legs burn with exertion.

“Can’t we just use the black marbles?” You whine quietly.

“No,” Tim replies.

“Why not?”

“It’d be too obvious.” You roll your eyes.

“Shh,” Brian hisses, motioning for you to stop. You can see a light filter through the trees. It appears to be a street lamp.

You quietly shift closer to the treeline, the soft snow thankfully silent underfoot. Your eyebrows furrow. You peek from behind the trees.

A figure shrouded in shadow stands beneath a street lamp. A weathered bench stands behind him. Eerie green eyes are barely visible from the figure’s face.

“Steven,” Tim mutters. You all pause for a breath, taking him in. He holds a black briefcase. And wears a trench coat. Totally not suspicious.

“What’s the plan?” You ask.

“I suh-say we kill thu-thu-the fucker,” Toby replies, making to pull his hatchets from his hips. Without thinking, you grab his wrists tightly. His russet eyes fall heavy on your face.

“No,” you mutter, slowly taking your hands from him. You try your hardest to ignore the electric feeling that his skin on yours left behind.

It’s quiet for a few moments until Brian turns to you.

“I have an idea.”

The idea was to break your nose.

Tim holds you down while Kate clamps a hand over your mouth.

“Ready?” Brian asks, fist raised.

You nod.

C R A C K

“ FUCK !” Comes your muffled reaction. Your nose shatters and blood instantly streams down your face, slipping into your cracked lips. Kate releases you and you let out a silenced whimper of pain.

“Alright, stage two. You’re gonna run over to him and put on your best helpless act,” Brian instructs. You rub your broken nose painfully.

“Take this, just in case,” Kate hands you her knife. You tuck it into your pocket. You rise to your feet. You take off your hat, handing it to Kate.

“Ready?” Tim asks, hands on your shoulders. You nod.

He shoves you forwards, and you tumble to the ground out of the trees.

Act .

You whirl behind you, painting a terrified expression on your face. You feel the others eyes heavy on your skin.

You dig your heels into the snow and propel yourself forwards, doing a perfect job at stumbling and falling. For the cherry on top, you let out scared whimpers and gasps as you run from something. You look in front of you and make eye contact with Steven.

Gotcha.

You sprint over to him, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders.

“Please, sir, you gotta help me!” You wail into the night.

Steven looks worse for wear. A 5 o’clock shadow covers his jaw and lower cheeks. Eyebags sag down his cheeks. Dull green eyes stare at you wide eyed. He’s a mouthbreather. His hot, smelly breath fan across your cheeks. You fight the urge to gag. You focus on his emotional waves.

Confusion.

You’re a bit confused yourself. As a Lesser, his emotional waves should be stronger than this.

You don’t need him confused. You need him compliant.

“Please, help me! I was takin’ a walk and something started chasin’ me!” You whirl back to the treeline. You make eye contact with Kate. She gives a curt nod. You turn back to Steven.

“Uh-” Steven starts.

“Please!” You wail, throwing yourself onto him.

He places a hand on your shoulder, standing you up.

“Listen-”

“PLEASE!” You shriek. He throws his free hand up.

“Okay! Okay! Just stop screaming!”

He reaches into his trench coat pocket and you let a smug grin wash over your lips. It’s replaced by a scared expression as he hands you a white hankie for your bloody nose.

“Here, sit-sit down.” He guides you down on the bench behind the two of you. You quickly soak his hankie in blood. You sit in silence before you gesture to his briefcase.

“What you got?”

He glances to it then away. “Nothing.”

You give him a blank stare. “It’s obviously gotta have somethin’ in it. I doubt people walk around with empty briefcases.”

He laughs, an ugly seal bark. “Got me there, sweetheart.”

“What’s in it?”

“Oh, just some stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Confidential,” he lets out that ugly laugh again. What you’d do to use Kate’s knife and silence that repulsive laugh-

You place a hand high on his thigh. You lean over to him.

“I’ll show you my stuff if you show me what’s in that briefcase,” you purr into his ear, voice sultry and seductive. His ears burn magenta.

“C’mon, just wanna see ,” you drawl, palming over the growing tent in his pants.

He sucks in a harsh breath.

“Fine.”

He sets the briefcase onto his lap. He snaps the locks. He opens it.

Vials upon vials of the Cure.

“Ooh, aren’t those pretty,” you marvel, taking a vial and holding it up to the light.

“Oh, be careful with that-” he says, reaching for it. You snap it farther away.

“Don’t think so, big boy ,” you flirt. “Who do you get it from? I might want some if you’re my dealer,” you suggestively wink.

This entire interaction has taken years from your life.

“Ever heard of Zalgo?”

Your jaw clenches.

Shit .

“Uh huh. Listen, could I have some? I don’t have any money, but I do have another form of payment,” you giggle, grabbing his dick forcefully. He jolts forward, mouth falling open into a wide mouthed gasp. While he’s distracted, you pull Kate’s knife from your waistband and flick it open in the silence of the night.

You press it against his neck.

His eyes, previously clouded over with lust, sharpen upon the feeling of sharp cold metal against his skin.

“You’re gonna tell me who and where the main supplier is. If you don’t know, I’m gonna kill you. If you know but don’t tell me, I’m gonna kill you. If you tell me, I might let you go. I’m feelin’,” you sigh, digging the tip of Kate’s knife into his skin. A small green drop of blood beads on his skin before running behind the collar of his trench coat, “frisky.”

“I ain’t-”

You dig the knife into his skin, opening a shallow wound.

“Okay!” He yelps.

“I get the Cure from an old warehouse in Wyoming. My dealer is some chick with a clock in her eye.”

Your eyes widen.

No. Fucking. Way .

Chapter Text

"Suffer does the wolf, crawling to thee;
Promising a big fire, any fire;
Saying I’m the one, he’s gonna take me;
I’m on fire, I’m on fire, I’m on fire;
Suffering is nigh, drawing to me;
Calling me the one, I’m the white light;
Beautiful, finite." Ptolemaea, Ethel Cain.

Daddy died on a Tuesday.

You were handed a folded up flag by one of his commanding officers, along with Daddy’s uniform. You had to keep up a strong facade as your mother broke down in tears, sinking to her knees. June was even younger than you, and cried because Mama cried.

You remember the closed casket funeral held for your father. People lined the sidewalks to pay their respects.

You’ll never forget the hollow look in your mother’s eyes as she stared accusingly at the Lord up on the cross.

Why, Lord?

Tim loads his clip as you stare out the window. Jeff twirls his knife as everyone moves about, sharpening weapons and loading guns. Toby snaps his neck to the side, a nasty CRACK echoing. You can very faintly hear him muttering under his breath.

“Hätte es wissen müssen, dieser Schlampe war nicht zu trauen,” his eyes flicker around the edge of the woods surrounding you as allies make their way to Jack’s.

A monochromatic clown makes its way to you.

“Jack!” Sally screeches, throwing open the door and jumping into his arms. He plants a kiss on her cheek. The scene makes you smile softly.

Maybe there’s happiness in Hell.

Natalie had given Jeff some stupid excuse and escaped your grasp, probably knowing that slimeball would tattle.

Don’t worry, you’ll find her anyway.

“Alright,” Brian announces, mask over his face and shotgun strapped to his back.

“As many of you know, Clockwork has betrayed us. She has aided with the distribution of the Cure, turning someone from Master’s control, and this is viewed as treason. She is to be exterminated.”

“We have done some digging, and we will travel to Wyoming to catch her in the warehouse. Some of you will follow, others will stay here and eliminate the Traitors. [Name], Toby, Kate, you three will head to Wyoming and catch her. Eliminate all conspiring with her. Bring her back alive, please. Master will punish her as He sees fit. Everybody else shall stay here and begin the massacre.” You and Kate give him a firm nod. Toby shows no sign of hearing him. With Toby, his mind could be in Hawaii by now.

“Be ruthless. Show no mercy. Kill. Now go ,” Brian orders. Everyone shuffles out the door, sprinting to different sections of the woods. Brian and Tim stand beside the three of you on the porch. Tim turns to you.

“You can beat her, but don’t kill her. I wanna do that,” he instructs.

“You’ll have to fight me for that,” you respond.

It’s quiet for a moment.

“Be careful, [Name],” Tim says softly, voice full of care. You’re almost taken aback, this is the nicest he’s ever spoken to you before.

“I will,” you promise.

The air feels stale as you say the words. A pit pools in your gut.

What if you can’t keep your promise?

Tim and Brian disappear behind the treeline.

You, Kate, and Toby all join hands, shattering a black marble around your feet. Black smoke engulfs you and your stomach feels queasy as you cut through time.

Even the iron still fears the rot

You stumble forwards as Toby and Kate’s grips on your hands keep you upright.

You’ve landed in a field. In the vast distance sits a dilapidated warehouse.

You inwardly groan. Couldn’t it have teleported you closer?

You begin the walk to the warehouse. It’s eerily quiet. Not even birds chirp.

The pit in your stomach grows into a black hole. Your anxiety feeds it.

Are we making a mistake?

A broken door allows you to step inside the warehouse. Flies buzz everywhere, swarming the walls and floor. A body lies in front of you, dried green blood spilled across the floor. Flies dance across the body, laying eggs as maggots worm around inside the body. You fight the urge to vomit.

You enter a different room where railroad tracks lie. Large doors stand on either side. Catwalks line the high ceilings.

Something isn’t fucking right.

SHING!

THUNK.

SPLAT!

Your body feels weightless as you grapple at your neck. You’re met with the handle of a knife.

“[Name]!” You hear Kate scream before something is placed in her mouth, muffling her screams.

Toby lets out animalistic growls as his arms are pinned to his sides by dark figures.

You stumble forwards, your knees turning to jello. The world swims as thick, hot blood runs down your neck, soaking into your jacket.

“Whu-What?” You hear yourself ask.

A boot lands on the back of your head, sending you face first into the concrete floor.

C R A C K

Your nose bursts in a bloody splatter.

You squeeze your eyes shut in pain, gritting your teeth.

I AM THE FACE OF LOVE’S RAGE

You squint open your eyes.

You’re met with one green eye, full of malice and hatred.

Natalie.

“Lovely to see you, cunt,” she speaks with her thick accent. “I knew you’d follow, dumbass.”

Blood seeps into your mouth. You smile.

“Uh-huh, sure. I’d figure you have a tracker on him. Make sure he doesn’t fuck some prettier bitch, like me ,” you smart off.

Her boot lands across your face.

“Learn your place, членосос,” she hisses. “Master would like to see you. But first, I will have fun with you.”

She drives her foot into your stomach as your body curls in on itself. She doesn’t stop, even when cracking is audible. You hack up blood, turning to her with a mischievous smile.

“That all you got, crackwhore?”

Her teeth grind to sand as she glares at you.

“I’ll rip your heart out!”

“Now, now, Natasha, be easy on our guests,” a smooth male voice utters.

“You know I hate that name,” Natalie growls.

A male figure slinks down the stairs from a catwalk.

His face obscured in shadow, he speaks again.

“You may be wondering who I am,” he starts.

“The fuck I’m not,” Toby sneers, “I just wanna kill you.” You and Kate trade a glance. That’s the most he’s said loudly in the past few hours.

“Ah, that will come in due time, my friend.”

“I ain’t your friend,” Toby objects, voice cool as a cucumber. You can tell he’s about to burst like a volcano.

“But first, why don’t I have some fun with my friend here, hm?” The dim lighting hides his face from you as he makes his way over to you. Large hands rub on the back of your thighs, sliding across your glutes, where the hand squeezes.

“No-” you protest.

God loves you, but not enough to save you.

His fist slams into your temple, sending your head slamming against the concrete underneath you. Spots swim in your vision and your sight blurs.

No!

Stay awake!

Your mind screams at you.

Fight back!

Your eyelids flutter closed.

As you fall fast into unconsciousness, you can dimly hear a voice above you. 

It sounds like the devil himself.

“That’s right, fall asleep, little lamb, this will all be over soooooonnnnnnnn….” His voice trails off and lowers in pitch as you succumb to your injuries.

A belt coming undone.

Pitch black.

The belt clinking to the ground.

Darkness.

Hands around your waist, too rough, too hard, too unwelcome .

Black.

Your jeans are yanked down, exposing your underwear and covered rear.

The cool air floats around and chills on your legs, trying its hardest to awake you from this nightmare.

“Stop,” you mutter softly, pushing weakly against the hands rubbing on your thighs.

Your words fall upon deaf ears and you feel lips pressing against the shell of your ear.

“Sweet mourning lamb, there is nothing you can do.”

SWEET MOURNING LAMB, THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO

What fear a man like you brings upon a woman like me.

The hands return to your waist, rubbing harshly on your skin, caressing your smooth, untainted skin.

“Stop.”

“Stop.”

“I….don’t……whu-...want…..to.” You manage to choke out through your clenched mouth.

The hands don’t listen and pinch one of your cheeks, and hard .

You flinch and the voice chuckles.

“I’ve wanted this from the moment I saw you in the mansion all those months ago.”

“I knew you found me, and I let you.”

“I heard you, felt you, want you, need you.”

“Stop.”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” you repeat like a mantra.

You realize what’s about to happen and fear clouds your heart and mind.

Your numb fingers reach outwards, desperate for anything to use as a weapon. You feel like a caged animal, instinctual fear and a need for safety overtaking your body as you figure out a way to get out of this.

Kate and Toby fight against their captors.

“ [Name] !” Comes a muffled cry.

“Stop.”

The tips of your fingers graze a weathered brick.

“Stop.”

Your fingers wrap around it and slowly drag it over to you. You curse in your mind for your slowness.

Your fingers slip off of it and it crashes to the ground.

He doesn’t notice nor care. His fingers slide underneath your underwear, smoothing against the warm skin.

“Stop.”

You regain your grip and hold onto the brick like a lifeline.

“Stop!” You shriek like a banshee, swinging your arm backwards and slamming the brick into his head with everything you have. He lets out a pained yelp and falls off of your body with a cry. You scramble up as fast as you can and straddle his waist with your legs then raise the brick again.

A hunger for blood burns in your eyes and for a moment, you think of Zach. Sweet Zach, your handsome cowboy. Your mouth curls into a snarl and you bring the brick down, shattering his nose and blood flings on your enraged face.

“I-”

You raise and bring the brick down in fierce movements.

“AM-”

You slam the brick down and his lips burst. You hear tiny cracks that must be his teeth breaking. 

“THE-”

Blood seeps into his mouth when he goes to cry out, and you see gaps between his bloodstained teeth. This thought makes you angrier and you slam the brick down again.

“FACE-”

Again.

“OF-”

Again.

“LOVE’S-”

Again.

“RAGE!”

You finish shrieking, going at his head like an animal. His face has succumbed to nothing more than a bloody pocket. Blood splatters on your face as you slam the brick over and over again into his face, not satisfied with the sight of his corpse.

You continue like this before hands wrap underneath your armpits and yank you backwards.

“ NO !” You scream, thrashing around in their hold. The brick is ripped from your hand as you thrash. A moment later, it’s slammed into your temple. Your head snaps to the side as stars dance in your vision.

“Shut up!” You hear a growl. You focus your eyes and see Natalie in front of you.

“You bitch! Let me go!” You lunge at her, but the arms around you squeeze you tighter.

“You are not taking this from me,” she hisses in your face, swinging the brick at your head. Your head snaps to the sides with every hit, and new wounds open. An extra hard hit has you slumping over as whoever held you up let you go.

You lay on your back, hands weakly shoving at Natalie. She stops beating you with the brick, and has moved down to your legs where your jeans lay in a puddle around your feet. Her cold hands wrap around your ankle as you kick her with your free one. Her nose cracks and blood pours down her face.

S N A P!

You howl in pain. Your ankle sits at an awkward ankle. Through your blurry vision, you can see a bone sticking out.

"So you don't escape when I have my fun with you."

Natalie slams the brick over and over into your head.

Blood spurts from your head as your eyes close.

Blackbird singin’ in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly , your father’s voice sings sweetly to you.

“[Name]!” A voice calls weakly.

SM ASH!

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.

SMASH!

Blackbird singin’ in the dead of night, take these sunken eyes and learn to see.

SMASH!

"[NAME]!"

"FUCKIN' FIGHT!"

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free.

SMASH!

"Please get up, [Name]!"

Blackbird, fly.

Blackbird, fly.

And fly, you do.

C’mon, sweetheart. I’ve been waiting for you.

Am I making you sick?

Am I making you sick?

Am I making you sick?

Am I making you sick?

Chapter Text

"So clean the house, clear the drawers/
Mop the floors, stand tall/
Like no one's ever been here before or at all/
And don't you mention all the inches/
That are scraped on the door frame/
We all know you tip toed up to 4'1 back in '08/
If you could see 'em now, you'd be proud/
But you'd think they's yuppies/
Your funeral was beautiful/
I bet God heard you coming," Pink Skies, Zach Bryan.

Toby stares at your body. Your eyes, dull and open, lips slightly parted as blood spills out. You look…..at peace.

Natalie checks your pulse.

“Dead.”

Kate lets out a sob beside him.

Toby’s world has come crashing down at his feet.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Toby whispers, voice serious.

“You threatening me?” Natalie asks.

“It’s a promise,” he hisses, “I’m gonna kill you. I’ll rip you to shreds, cheap whore.”

Natalie’s face turns red.

“You like this cheap whore, though.”

“I wouldn’t piss on fire to save you.”

Toby begins to shake as an odd feeling overtakes him. His heart hurts. Tears prickle in his eyes and his bottom lip trembles. There’s a queer pressure on his chest. He doesn’t like this. He needs to move, fight, kill. Anything to get rid of this feeling.

Natalie stomps up the catwalk where that man came from. She disappears behind a door. Toby suddenly fights against his captors, attempting to catch them off guard. They whirl him around, bashing his head into the wall.

“Calm down.”

Toby grits his teeth. How can he calm down when he just saw you die? You, the only one who’s made him feel anything other than lust or hatred, like ever. He can’t remember much, only bits and pieces of his life before Him .

Toby does know that he’s never met someone like you.

Or loved a soul like you.

Natalie comes back, strutting down the stairs from the catwalk. Red hot rage burns in Toby’s blood, festering and boiling. His mouth twists into a wolf’s snarl.

He raises a leg, slamming it into the southern region of one of his captors. He swings a fist at the other’s face, grinning as he hears a crack of a bone. He rips his hatchets from his hips, slamming one deep into the head of one of Kate’s captors. A hollow squelch echos as he viciously rips it from the cavern where a head once was. He turns to the other one, who has shoved Kate away and runs at him with a raised knife.

Toby swings his hatchet like a baseball bat.

The man’s head slides cleanly off his shoulders. So clean in fact, that it takes a few seconds for blood to spurt out of his severed arteries and pour down his body. He slumps to the ground, twitching furiously. Natalie sprints back up the stairs to the catwalk. Toby gives chase.

Toby chucks a hatchet at her, grunting as it speeds through the air.

SLICE!

Natalie cries out as her left hand and half of her forearm drops to the metal grates of the catwalk.

“YOU BITCH!” She shrieks, holding her mangled stump. Using her only hand, she reaches into her pocket and grabs a black marble. Toby sprints at her, arms pumping as hard as they can, feet flying underneath him. He raises his other hatchet and chucks it.

The hatchet flies through the cloud of smoke and clangs to the grates. Toby’s teeth grind to sand. He picks up his hatchet, clipping it to his waist. He walks back to the other one and also clips it. He stomps down the steps, walking back to your body.

Wordlessly, one of his arms loops underneath your thighs, the other on your shoulder blades. He picks you up as if you weighed less than a feather. His eyes flick down to your lips. He presses his lips softly to yours.

You taste like death.

He licks your blood from his lips. Shifting you in his arms so he has a free hand, he closes your eyes. Kate stares at the interaction. Without speaking, Toby and Kate both head outside. Snow falls lightly on the ground. Kate takes the marbles from her pocket, crushing them underfoot. Everyone disappears as the black smoke twists around limbs.

Toby feels nothing at all as he stomps up the stairs. He lays you in the morgue in Jack’s home. He stares at your unmoving body on the embalming table. Your beautiful face is now nothing but an empty cavern of blood and regret. Toby’s fingers trace over your neck, collarbones, dipping down to feel your heart through your shirt. It’s silent, no faint thump under his fingertips.

Toby pulls a chair to sit beside your lifeless body. One of his warm hands finds your cold one. 

His hand squeezes yours tightly.

Toby sits like that for a while, simply holding your hand, thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. Even as Allies begin to file in Jack’s door, covered in neon green blood and muscles screaming in exertion, he doesn’t move. Kate wanders in. Toby doesn’t acknowledge her. She takes the necklaces from your neck and slips them onto her own. She stares at your body. A single tear drop slips down her cheek and she turns away, rushing outside before she sobs. Toby hears a door slam and a few moments later, muffled wailing.

Jack slips inside a while later. He takes off his mask, laying it on a counter.

“Do you want them buried or cremated?” He asks.

“Cremated,” Toby responds, voice cracking from lack of use. Jack nods. Toby rises, walking out with one last look at you. He sits on the couch, staring out the window. He can smell Jack burning your body. The others eat and talk amongst themselves. Not Toby.

How can he eat when you can’t anymore?

When Brian and Tim got back, it was decided there would be a headstone crafted in remembrance of you. Your ashes would be left on a shelf in Jack’s living room.

Kate and Toby had to inform Master of your death and the events leading up to it. They walked to a clearing in the woods and pressed their Marks. After a few moments, the world began to be devoid of any color. The pure white snow seemed to pale the slightest.

Master emerges from the forest in front of them.

WHAT BRINGS YOU TO ME, CHILDREN

“[Name] is dead,” Toby speaks bluntly.

He seems to think for a moment.

HOW

“Clockwork is a Traitor. She’s been conspiring with Zalgo to make the Cure. There was a man in the warehouse…..” Kate’s voice fades out in Toby’s mind as he imagines how he’ll kill Natalie.

Axe to the head? No, too quick. She deserves to suffer. Subject her to torture until she breaks and begs for death? Yes.

I SEE

He nods.

I SHALL CRAFT A HEADSTONE

A headstone appears in front of them with your name and picture.

PREPARE FOR WAR BETWEEN ZALGO AND I

[NAME]’S FUNERAL WILL TAKE PLACE TONIGHT AT DUSK AT JACK’S ABODE

Toby and Kate both nod. Master fades into the snow around them and they carry your gravestone back to Jack’s. They decide on a spot where wildflowers grow in the spring and summer months.

Toby sits in one of the chairs in the living room, staring at the couch where you spent your time.

He wishes he could throw the couch out so he doesn't have to see you everytime he looks. He sees you in every corner of this house. He itches to burn it down.

Master Himself made it to your funeral. Your funeral wasn’t much of a funeral, at least from what Toby remembers. No one spoke, simply reminiscing. Master laid a single flower, a chrysanthemum, on your headstone.

Toby buries himself in his job, slaughtering Traitors left and right. What else is there to do? He hasn’t slept much since you died. The one time he did, your face haunted his dream. He awoke in a cold sweat. He hasn’t eaten or drank anything either. If it wasn’t for His power, he’d be dead. One night, he finds himself in front of your gravestone. He places a wilted rose he stole months ago on your grave. He planned to give you the flower fresh, an attempt to start over, however, you hated him. You'd rather eat glass than accept a flower, a symbol of romance, from him.

His fingertips gloss over your name.

“Sometimes….I miss you so much…I-I don’t know what to do,” he mutters, voice catching. He has so much he wants to say, but he can’t.

His mouth opens and closes. He feels like a fool. He rises unsteadily, stumbling back into the house. He locks himself in a room as warm tears slide down his face.

Chapter Text

"Crawling from Hell, fallen from Grace/
There's nothing left for you to take/
Driving the nail through my mistakes/
So we can reincarnate/
We lie down, we're sore and sick/
We fall down, sink or swim/
Underground the remedy for who we are/
And what lies beneath," Reincarnate, Motionless In White.

You rise from the cold table you lay on.

Heart pounding, smelling like death, lungs desperately craving air.

Master.

You’re driven out of a familiar place, yet you cannot see. You have to rely on the magnetic force pulling you towards your Master.

The chirping of birds falls upon deaf ears. The breeze softly rustles your blood-soaked clothes.

“MASTER!” The scream rips from your grated lips. You feel the hard dirt underneath. You can see the image in your mind. Master, strong as ever, staring down at you. You’re inferior to Him.

“I SWEAR, I WILL DO BETTER! I WON’T EVER FAIL YOU AGAIN!”

He stares at you with the minutest of interest.

“PLEASE, I WILL KILL ANYONE WHO DARES DISOBEY YOU!”

He outstretches a hand towards you. You sense Him getting closer and reach for Him. He holds your hand and your tongue is ready to bow and confess your filthy sins.

He breathes life into you, full of hatred and the burning desire for retribution.

You are reincarnated into a shell of your former self, alive only to serve your Master, your Savior, your Messiah.

Under a sea of stars, with distant gunfire and blood-curdling wails, you awaken.

Chapter Text

"For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." -Ephesians 6:12

"As the riders loped on by him/
He heard one call his name/
'If you wanna save your soul from hell a-riding on our range/
Then cowboy change your ways today/
Or with us you will ride/
Trying to catch the devil's herd/
Across these endless skies," (Ghost) Riders In The Sky, Johnny Cash.

Master restores your sight, regrows your gaping wounds to just ugly jagged scars, heals your broken bones. You cannot stop babbling your praises to Him.

DO NOT FAIL ME AGAIN OR ELSE

It’s not a threat, it’s a promise.

“I intend not to.” You turn your eyes to Jack’s home.

GO, CHILD

GET REVENGE

You walk back to Jack’s home. Hatred rears its ugly head in your gut. Just wait until you find Natalie. 

Make her pay

You sit on the couch, awaiting the return of the Allies. You hear branches breaking in the distance. A quick glance to the window on the porch shows Tim and Brian making their way through the brush. Both men are drenched in green blood. Exhaustion is evident from the slouch in their posture.

You sit pin-straight on the couch. Tim opens the door, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of you. The remains of you sit on a shelf overlooking the living room.

“Why’d you-” Brian questions before he sees you. It’s so quiet you can hear a water droplet fall from the faucet in the bathroom.

“[Name]?” Tim questions.

As the others file in, all having similar reactions to you alive, there’s only one you wish to see.

Natalie.

Kate and Toby walk in together. Toby stares in disbelief. You rise.

Toby rushes toward you, arms outstretched for a hug. He wraps his arms tightly around you. You stand awkwardly, arms pinned to your sides. He holds you for what feels like hours.

“I’ve muh-muh-missed you, liebling,” he whispers into your ear. You shrug him off, turning to Brian.

“Where’s Natalie?”

Hate drags its tongue up your spine, settling in your brain like a kitten ready for a nap.

She killed you. She disobeyed your Savior.

“She escaped the warehouse. We have a strong idea of where she is and we have a plan.”

You fold your arms in front of your chest, covering your most vital organs.

“Shoot.”

“Ambush.”

“I get to take her out.”

“If I don’t get to her first,” Kate challenges.

Your jaw clenches. “She’s mine .”

A much needed shower and a new change of clothes later, you’re tucking a gun into your holster as Kate silently slips into the guest bedroom. You nod to her. She holds something in her hands. She steps closer, opening her hands to show you.

Dogtags and a wedding band. You give her a confused look.

“They were yours.”

You scrunch your brows, grasping for a time when you called them yours. Fuzzy bits of memories pop up before they’re replaced by nothingness. Regardless, you take the items and slip them on. The wedding band is a bit loose on your ring finger.

She lingers while you stick a pocket knife into your jeans.

“[Name]?”

“Hm?”

“What do you remember?” You raise your head.

“What do you mean?”

“With us.” You purse your lips.

“Nothin’ much. Natalie killed me, Traitors of the Mark, names. That’s pretty much it.”

“Nothin’ before?”

“Not a thing.” You bite your tongue. You remember your sins. Killing that man in the forest all those years ago, watching all your coworkers get slaughtered in front of you, leading a poor man you married to his demise, and the life you’re currently trapped in. All of these, simply because you were at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Okay, just wonderin’.” She walks over to the door, stopping.

“[Name].....I’m…I’m sorry.” She opens the door and strolls back to the living room.

Don’t get distracted.

Get revenge.

You take a peek down at the dogtags.

John [Last Name].

You head out of the guest bedroom, joining the others in the living room. Brian nods to Tim, and everyone files out of the house.

The plan is simple.

Tim’s group will take out all the Traitors. Brian’s group, which you’re in, will get the drop on Natalie. She’ll die by your hands. How will you kill her? Shoot her? Too quick. Beat her with a brick for a taste of her own medicine? Karma at its finest.

“And suh-so, I told that fat bitch, ‘You’re too fat to eat’, and thu-thu-thu-the bitch was off-fuh-fuh-fended!” Toby hasn’t shut up since your return. You’ve blocked him out for the most part. You can’t get distracted.

“Toby, shut the fuck up,” Hoody hisses. Toby doesn’t listen, instead choosing to keep talking. A hard punch to the back of the head from Hoody and he shuts up pretty quickly. 

Your group arrives at a dilapidated house in the depths of the woods. Windows are shattered beyond repair, paint flakes off the siding as you stare, and the lock on the door is stuck in the frame. The roof is about to cave in underneath the weight of the snow.

You pause. You can practically smell Natalie’s scent in the air.

Hoody nods to the others and everyone disappears into the foliage surrounding you. Hoody hands you a pair of brass knuckles.

“Make it hurt,” he mutters. You nod.

“I will.”

“Don’t kill her. We need information.”

“No promises.”

You and Hoody share a look before he too disappears. You pop your neck, sliding the brass knuckles onto your fingers. You quietly tread up the steps, careful to not make a noise. You slip through the crack in the door and the scent of mildew and mold hits your nostrils.

You can hear a fork scraping across a plate a few rooms away. You smirk, tip toeing into the kitchen. There she sits, back to you, stuffing her face like a hog.

Your fingers flex in the brass knuckles and you have to physically restrain yourself from grabbing her by the throat and watching in glee as life leaves her eye. You creep up behind her.

B A M 

The brass knuckles connect with her temple, sending her crashing to the floor from her chair.

“The fuck?” She gasps. You don’t give her any time to think as you grab her by the hair and yank her up, smashing her head on the table. An uppercut to the jaw has her reeling backwards, scrambling to get up. She hits the cabinets, pulling herself up. Blood streams from a cut above her eye and her temple. She spits out a tooth.

“Back for round two? Not fair, сука.”

“Says you.”

She sneers, voice full of mockery. “Should’ve payed more attention.”

“I could say the same for you.” She flicks open a pocket knife and rushes at you. You block every stab she attempts to make with your forearms. You swing your fists. Left, right, left. All three connect and you finish it with a kick to the stomach. She doubles over, wheezing.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins.

“Tired? No wonder Toby doesn’t want you,” you mock.

“I’ll kill you again!” She shrieks, swiping at your face with the knife. You duck. She angles her hand to stab again, the knife flying in an arc. The tip of it grazes your cheek. You slap it from her hand and it slides across the dirt covered wooden flooring. She reaches behind her and grabs a skillet from the stove and hammers it into your head.

C L A N G

You stumble, stars swimming in your vision. You grab the edge of the counter to stabilize you. You glare at her, a new rage taking over your muscles, bones, and mind.

Kill her.

K I L L  H E R

You stomp over to her, grabbing the wrist that holds the skillet. You twist, making her arm bend at an odd angle. She drops it. You swing the brass knuckles into her face. The contact makes blood spurt from her cheek as she falls to the ground. You sit on top of her, legs straddling her waist. You slam fist after fist into her face. Bones crack and blood begins to pool around her head. Your hands are drenched and blood is speckled onto your face like grotesque freckles. The brass knuckles Hoody gave you are now crimson.

It feels good as she struggles underneath you, wailing for her life. It feels good to be the one behind the gun.

Her legs kick against your back. You don’t care.

K I L L  H E R
K I L L  H E R
K I L L  H E R  

Hands wrap themselves under your armpits and you’re yanked off of her. You give Natalie’s unconscious body a smug smirk.

I won.

Hoody, Masky, Toby, and Kate all stand in the kitchen. Toby’s hands are still on you, sitting cautiously on your ribs. Masky nudges Natalie with the tip of his boot.

“Damn, you did a number on her.” Something catches your eye on the floor and you bend down to pick it up. You hold it up in the light.

Natalie’s tooth. You tuck it in your pocket. Masky checks her pulse.

“Still fightin’. Hopefully you didn’t cause too much brain damage so she can spill.” He lifts her up with a grunt, balancing her over his shoulder. Toby walks over to you, his fingertips grazing your forehead. You wince. Blood coats his skin where you touch. His fingers brush against one of your many scars. 

“You’re bleeding, meine geliebte.” You step away from his touch. His touch felt burlesque, as if he was trying to imitate a lover fretting about their partner’s injuries.

Which you’re not.

“Got hit with a skillet.” He hums, staring at you with sad eyes. His eyebrows crease slightly, as if he’s fighting the urge to do something. You feel locked in a stare off, as if he’s got you under a spell. His head jerks to the side, ending your moment.

The upper half of a man’s corpse crawls toward you. “Help me,” he gasps, tears streaming down his face from his eye. The other one slides down his face, carried by a river of blood.

“God, please, help me damnit!”

You walk past Toby, following Masky out of the house. The others join you as you make your way back to Jack’s. Snow falls gently onto your eyelashes and hair as you trudge through the snow. Unbeknownst to you, Toby stares at you like you hung the stars and moon.

Once you arrive at Jack’s, Masky dumps Natalie in the basement. He handcuffs her to a metal pole. Masky takes off his mask, and you can feel him shift back to Tim.

“I need a smoke,” he huffs.

“Me too,” you agree, following him up the stairs. You slam the door. Sally and the monochromatic clown you now know as Laughing Jack stand guard by the doors. Well, you’d hardly call it standing guard. LJ takes candy from his abdomen and they chomp on the sugar.

Tim pulls out a pack of Camels from his pocket, along with a lighter. He hands you one, sticking another in between his lips. He lights his and you lean over so he can light yours. After yours is engulfed in flames, he puts his lighter away and you both lean on the banister. You take inhales and blow out the smoke. You and Tim let out satisfied sighs.

“That’s the shit,” he says.

“Agreed,” you hum. You lean there, taking drags of your cigs.

“Tim?”

“Hm?”

“You ever been in love?” He puffs out the smoke.

“Once.”

“What happened?”

He sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Lotta shit. I loved him. Still do.”

It’s quiet again.

“I had a husband.”

“I know.”

The door behind you opens and Jeff pokes his head out.

“Natalie is awake. And she’s pissed.” You finish your cigs, crushing them underneath your shoes. You and Tim follow Jeff to the basement where Natalie sits chained up. She screams, the voice deep and ancient.

“Let me out, fuckers, so I can kill every last one of you,” she pulls against the handcuffs. You hear the bending of metal.

“That won’t hold her for long,” you voice, worrying. Your hand ghosts over the gun in your holster.

“What the fuck’s up with her?” Tim asks Brian.

“Natalie’s gone.”

“What do you mean?” You question.

“Zalgo has taken her place.”

Chapter Text

KILL HER

You frown. Natalie-Zalgo- screams, the sound of a demon’s screech.

“LET ME OUT!” The voice yells again. Natalie’s body yanks against the handcuffs.

C L A N K.

S N A P!

The handcuffs chaining her snap. You barely have time to gasp as she flies at you, sending both of you crashing into a wall.

CRUNCH.

You groan as blood begins to trickle down your neck from your head. A pulsing feeling envelopes your brain, making it hard to think.

“[Name]!” You hear Toby and Kate scream as they attempt to come to your aid, weapons raised. Zalgo shoots a hand out at them and they fly backwards, also slamming into a wall. They disappear in a pile of old bricks and wood. Zalgo turns back to you.

“You fucked up my plan. I’ll fucking kill you,” he hisses. He raises a hand, ready to punch you. Tim’s crowbar wraps around his neck and Tim yanks him off of you. You shakily rise. Zalgo stands in the middle of a circle as the others take turns hitting him. Brian unloads a clip into Zalgo. Natalie’s body snaps with the impact of every bullet.

K I L L  H I M

Your head snaps to the rubble where Kate and Toby lay. You stumble over to it, falling on your knees and shoving asides broken pieces of wood and brick. You drag Kate out, along with Toby. Kate moans lowly, blood pouring from a deep wound on the side of her head. Your fingers brush against Toby’s neck, searching for a familiar beat. 

A small part of you feels relieved that he’s alright.

You take his hatchets, turning back to face Zalgo. Jeff takes a leap at him, and he’s also thrown against the wall. 

K I L L  H I M

Zalgo stomps, the action sending a shockwave through the basement. The others stumble, getting thrown back into walls. You slam backwards into the steps. Broken boards dig into your back, send a wave of pain up your spine. Natalie’s head turns to you. Red eyes, imbued with archaic languages, stare straight into your soul.

K I L L  H I M

F O R  M A S T E R

You give Zalgo your own murderous glare.

“For Master,” you murmur. You rise from the broken steps, popping your neck side to side.

“Ya gonna kill me?” You ask. “Come fuckin’ get me .” You sprint up the steps. You hear the pounding of feet on wood behind you. You sprint through the house, bursting through the front door and onto the porch.

You stop a little ways away from the edge of the forest. You turn, awaiting Zalgo. Natalie’s body stops.

“Ha! Foolish mortal, why did you stop?”

Your shoulders roll back. You take a deep inhale, then exhale. Snow falls lightly on your hair and eyelashes. You focus your eyes on Natalie’s form. This is where you make your last stand.

“I challenge you.” Zalgo cackles.

“If you kill me, you can challenge Master and possibly take over the woods. If I kill you, I’ll drag you straight to hell.” Zalgo guffaws, holding Natalie’s stomach in laughter.

“I shall win.”

“We’ll see,” you shoot back. Zalgo leans back, crossing Natalie’s arms over her chest.

“You know, we are alike, you and I. You have a fire in you, a warrior’s spirit. I admire that.”

You grit your teeth.

“I’m nothin’ like you .”

He laughs. Chills run down your spine.

“To the death.”

“To the death.”

Natalie’s skin begins to shift. Her skin pushes out in odd places. The tearing of flesh travels through the air. You watch in horror as Natalie’s skin becomes loose and falls off of her body. Instead of muscle, guts, and bone underneath, red skin lies underneath.

Natalie’s skin falls completely off as Zalgo runs a hand up to his face, basking in the cool air hitting his skin for the first time in decades. Zalgo takes a step out of Natalie’s skin.

The creature that stares back would make you tremble in another life.

Red skin, the color of blood, covers him. He’s taller than you by a lot, at least 2 feet. He’s close to Master in height. Two sets of eyes glare down at you. Multiple limbs stretch from his sides. Sharp claws sit at the end of all his hands. Horns, similar to those of a cow, sit atop his head.

“Let’s start this.” He sprints at you. You ready Toby’s hatchets. Zalgo swings an arm in a punch and you dodge, rolling on your shoulder and slicing off a hand. Another hand regrows just as soon as you sliced it off. He swings another arm, sending you sprawling backwards into the snow.

You grit your teeth as the cold soaks into your clothes. He runs at you again, swinging another arm. You block with your forearm. He throws another punch and this time, you jump up to avoid it. You drive your knee straight into his jaw, sending him to stumble a step. You kick off from his head and land on your feet a foot away. He grabs his jaw, snapping it back into place with a pop!

He smiles, showing razor sharp teeth. “Impressive.”

He runs back at you, quicker this time. He plunges a fist deep into your gut. You hear multiple ribs crack. You hunch over, spitting out blood. You step back, taking a fast step forward and flinging yourself at his head. You dig the hatchet into his head, splitting his head straight down the skull. Blood and bits of brain splatter across the pure white snow. Instead of dying like anyone else would, he grabs you by the neck and slams you against the snow. Stars swim in your vision as you watch in awe as the two halves of his head regrow, coming back together like two magnets.

“Simply wonderful. You’ve lasted longer than any other human I’ve fought,” he praises.

You push yourself up, shoving away the pain that currently radiates through your entire being. Your body screams for you to stop.

You notice something. Zalgo’s head isn’t perfect. It’s still lumpy. You look at his hand you severed. Looks good as gold.

Does damaging his brain prevent him from properly healing?

You grip both of Toby’s hatchets, staring up at the monster who might be your end. You take another deep breath. Flashes of forgotten memories flicker through your head. Sitting with unfamiliar people at dinner tables, riding horses and sorting cattle, it all comes back to you. Faces are blurred and voices are fuzzy.

“You remind me greatly of myself.”

You frown.

“I already told you, I’m nothin’ like you!” You scream, running at him. He attempts to grab you, but you duck under his arm and whirl, sinking Toby’s hatchet into his abdomen. You dig it across his skin. Blood and organs splatter against the snow. You attempt to scale up his back, but an arm striking your abdomen ends it as you feel more ribs crack. You fly through the air, landing in a heap a couple yards away. You lay in a fetal position, arms cradling your torso.

GET UP!

With shaky hands, you push yourself up. It’s hard to breathe, each breath feels labored. Your chest feels tight as you cough. Your blood races through your veins. Throbbing pain envelopes one side of your chest.

Deep red blood streams from Zalgo’s stomach where you cut him. Just as you thought, his body is slowly and improperly rehealing. You rush at the other again. Time passes as hits are exchanged and blood splatters against the both of you, a mixture of each other’s blood.

You sprint toward Zalgo, chest rising and falling as you pant rapidly. Blood runs down your face from your broken nose. Your hair sticks to the back of your neck from your head injury from previously. It’s getting harder to breathe.

You leap, swinging Toby’s hatchets in a wide arc. Time seems to slow as Zalgo makes eye contact with you. You see an emotion in his eye, one you can’t name.

You sink the hatchets deep into his head, right into both sides of his brain. He stumbles backward, throwing you back to the ground as his hands tremble. You land on your back. All the air rushes from your lungs, making you desperately gasp for air. Pain envelopes your entire chest. Blood roars in your ears. You struggle for air as Zalgo falls to his back a few feet away. Blood pours in buckets out of his head as his red eyes flick around the cloudy sky. Two sets of eyes are closed as blood pools in them. You slowly stand.

Red eyes catch on your figure slowly walking towards him.

Throughout the thousands upon thousands of millennials Zalgo has lived, he’s only met his match once. The Black King.

He’s also only felt this feeling once.

Fear.

Fear envelopes his whole being as you slowly stalk towards him. It takes over his mind and heart as you open your mouth.

“You know, I thought more about what you said. We are alike. I didn’t wanna accept it, but a part of me knew you were right,” you admit, stepping closer to him.

“In another life, we could’ve been allies. But you threatened my Master, warped my comrades minds, destroyed so many lives.” Your eyes flick to the remains of Natalie.

“Killin’ you won’t right any wrongs,” half of your voice is covered by your hair as a gust of wind hits.

“But I keep my promises.”

Zalgo stares as you stand completely still, glaring down at him.

A whimper falls from his lips. His heart races and you can hear it. It sounds like a frightened rabbit rushing through the forest from a wolf.

Tha-thunk tha-thunk tha-thunk-

A cry of fear escapes his throat. His arms scramble backwards as his feet dig for purchase in the crunchy snow. He rises, tripping over himself from his fear. You start your slow pursuit as he stumbles through the snow, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck- repeats in his mind as he runs through the snowy forest, where limbs and shadows seem to laugh as he passes. Your steps seem amplified in his ears as you make your way to him.

He sprints as hard as he can. He passes a large tree and stumbles over a root.

SNAP!

He looks to his foot. It’s caught in the large root. He yanks at it, whimpering as he tries to pull it out.

Crunch…..crunch……crunch.

He swears he can see your silhouette. He rips his foot from the root, limping forward. His fingers dig into the snow as he drags himself away.

You grab his injured ankle, yanking him backwards. You flip him onto his back.

“You might come back from what I do. I don’t know,” you shrug. “But I do know I’m gonna kill you. Even if you come back, I will kill you. Change your name, whatever the fuck else, I will still find you. And I will kill you every single fuckin’ time ,” your voice drops dangerously low.

You move to stand over him. He stares up at you, tears in his eyes.

“Please,” he begs softly. You stare hard into his red eyes.

And you show no mercy.

You plunge your fist deep into his chest. You grab his heart, shoving it through his back.

SQUELCH!

Blood covers your hand as you rip his heart back through his body to you. It pulses quickly in your palm. Zalgo lets out a howl of anguish. Blood spurts from his body and his heart. He slumps backward in the snow, hands clutching at his chest. His body twitches and convulses. His red eyes stare up at you, fear written across them. You watch the life drain from his eyes. You grab one of his arms in your free hand and drag him back to Jack’s home.

A sense of satisfaction fills you. You killed the being that threatened your savior.

Blood slowly drips from your nose.

You stand in front of Jack’s home. Everyone else stands outside, staring at you with confused expressions. Brian has an arm around Kate, holding her up. Tim has Toby as well. You stop about a foot away and lay Zalgo’s corpse on the ground. You toss his heart nearby his body.

You sway on your feet. Toby steps away from Tim, slowly walking toward you. You watch him approach. He stands directly in front of you. He stares deep into your eyes, and you stare back. You place your bloodied hands on his face. His hands come up to gently hold your wrists. You can feel the blood on your arms stain his palms and fingertips.

Your eyes flicker down to his plush lips.

You pull his face forward, capturing his lips in a kiss.

Chapter Text

You wear a cross around your neck. More specifically, a rosary. It hung from the mirror of the old Ford Master had given you. 

You sit on a two-story farmhouse porch, rocking back and forth in an old, wooden chair. A Marlboro red juts from your lip. A cold can of Budweiser sits beside your ashtray on a busted old table. The sun slowly sets over the mountains of Montana. It’s quiet. Peaceful. You’d spend all of eternity here. Master decided you deserved a break after all you’d been through and sent you out to find a home. He walked you out of the forest Himself, and on an old country road sat a '94 F-350 with a gooseneck horse trailer hooked up behind it. There was an American Quarter horse with a black mane and russet hair in the trailer. You named her Mary.

The smooth fiddle of Purgatory carries through the almost silent air as you tap your foot in tune.

You felt an odd calling to this house, like this where you’re meant to be. You don’t understand the significance of it, it was just some old farmhouse.

The house seemed to be vacant, and thankfully had all of the furniture. The property also had a nice horse barn and a baling tractor. Acres upon acres of uncut grass sit before you. I’ll bale all that tomorrow, you decide.

You guess this is your purgatory, but you have no hopes of going to heaven when you die. If you die. The rest of your days will be spent loitering about this home, and occasionally doing your Master’s bidding. A hollow ache has filled your heart, like there’s something you’re missing. But you don’t know what.

Natalie had a gravestone made in her honor. You and Toby were strongly against it. Almost everyone was, but Master decided His opinion overruled anyone else’s. And who were you to argue?

Speaking of Toby, your relationship is, well, complicated , to say the least. You both turn to the other for something neither of you has felt for a long time.

It starts with a night of groping hands and sweet sighs. It ends with waking up in tangled sheets, shame and guilt dousing your every nerve, and silently slipping on your clothes. You always leave a glass of water by his bedside, never leaving a note. Toby understands your predicament.

You inhale. You blow out the smoke, grabbing your can of Busweiser. You chug it. You crush the can, tossing it towards the door. You lean forward, grabbing another can from the cooler by your feet. You crack it open, taking a small sip.

You take another drag of your cigarette. You cough, smoke billowing from your nostrils and mouth. Getting almost all of your ribs broken and multiple of said ribs puncturing your lungs is quite the injury to bounce back from, even with Master’s healing abilities.

You doubt Toby knows who you truly are. Or anyone, really. If so, everyone would steer clear of you. You can see it in everyone’s eyes; you’re a shell of the person you once were. Whatever took over the caverns of your body fills your heart and soul with rage and hatred.

A monster took your place. A sinful, Mephistophelian monster.

You have a way of channeling this beast inside of you. You let it out during missions. Even Toby turns away when the monster steps in.

Your cigarette turns to ash in the tray. You walk through the screen door, holding your beer cans and lock the door, along with the wooden door. You slip off your boots and jean jacket, hanging the jacket from a hook. You do your rounds and make sure every window and door is locked. You eat a dinner consisting of anything edible you find in the fridge and the rest of your Budweiser, and take a nice, long, hot shower.

You’re walking upstairs to bed when a small string with a metal circle on the end hangs down from the ceiling. You look up, and there stands an attic door. Confused, you pull the string, and down folds a ladder. Your eyebrows furrow as you climb up said ladder. You enter the attic, which is full of boxes upon boxes of miscellaneous items.

[NAME] AND ZACH WEDDING BOX #2 is messily scrawled on one. You rack your brain for a good while. Why’s your name on this box? Curious, you slide the lid off. It’s filled with pictures, scraps of fabrics, and flowers long wilted. You take out the picture on top. It’s in a black frame.

The picture is you, wearing wedding attire, and some man with curly brown hair and blue eyes. You stare deeply into each other's eyes.

[Name] and Zach.

So Zach was your husband.

Who you left widowed. Not voluntarily. A red hot rage burns at Toby and Tim and Brian and most of all, Him, for doing this to you. They ruined everything you had, took it from you like stealing candy from a child, then laughed in your face when you demanded it back.

Static buzzes in your mind. The feeling of rage is shoved as quickly out of your mind as it entered.

Do not disobey your Savior.

A fine layer of dust had settled over the picture. You wipe it away gently with your palm. After staring at the picture for what feels like hours, you set it down and grab another.

Another picture of you in wedding attire, holding a bouquet of flowers. A woman walks you down the aisle.

Mama.

No amount of forced amnesia would ever make you forget the woman you came from. You have the same eyes as her.

You trace your fingers over her face. You get an idea and rush down the ladder to your bedroom. You grab your journal and hurry back in the attic. There, you go through pictures upon pictures, taking a few from some frames, including pictures of Zach and your mother and your sister, June, that you found in another picture, and put them into your journal, writing down dates from the photos.

You stare hard at a picture of you and Zach. He’s dipping you, eyes glued to you as you look at the camera, both of you smiling and laughing.

He really loved you.

Tears fill your eyes, falling down your cheeks and you’re left with no one to comfort you but a picture of this handsome stranger you once called yours sitting in a dusty picture frame.