Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lights. Smoke. Everything is under control and out of control. This is perfect, perfect for now. Moving against each other, leaning on each other, holding each other. He’s together and alone and he loves it. This is the emptiness filled. They laugh into the music, and they feel nothing.

The music is slow but strikes a chord with the party-goers. Freaks, rich, young, all brought to nothing here, they all want to forget, let go of the mania of life. They sway with one another, they feel the spirit of the lyrics. His hands drift down the person in front of him, grabbing and touching the energy. The champagne and stars are cellophane dreams and Styrofoam hearts, he squeezes them dry. The air is thick with their sweat and breath, the heaviness of smoke hanging over them. He pushes the limits, leans down and tastes the sweat of their neck, and the dance continues.

He drove his small beat up Chevy to the dirt clearing, shifting the engine to a stop. His boots hit the cold ground, and he opened the back of the truck, releasing a bouncy Bernese mountain dog. She gave a few happy woofs at her freedom before loping into the bushes. He laughed and narrated the dog's actions

“Hello, and welcome to… Nature. A ‘Bernese Mountain Dog’ rains terror down on the peace-” He was cut off in his monologue as Ellie bolted at him, almost bowling him over before racing back towards the woods.

"Hey! Rascal you..."

She was one of the few things he could confidently say he...cared about. She was company even when he wanted to be alone, uncontrolled and comfortable. He remembered feeling like she was just a burden when he got her, a secret he had to keep from people. She was a weakness, after all, a fondness he couldn't reveal. Besides, taking her for walks and being around her had felt like a distraction from the addiction, a distraction from the indulgences and fame. He'd grown to love her recently, the unyielding loyalty and general partnership-pack-leader-thing that dogs had.

Things were thrown into a beaten green cart, and prepared for the schelp up to the cabin. He threw his weight into the cart to push it over the crooked bridge and cursed the land for ruining his creation. The freeze and thaw of the rich permafrost took no heed to how much work you threw into it-It had taken an entire year to level the wood and bury it deep in the swamp bottom, yet the ice still had it's way. It was one of the appeals of being stripped down like this, the ice happened and sometimes you had to push your cart over a precarious bridge. Life simply was at some point.

It had been a while since he'd come here, almost four years. The negligence of the trail was clear, overgrowth from the earlier summers reaching into the path and swatting his legs and face. Ellie took no heed to this, romping underneath the bridge through the shallow swamp water. She was already predictably covered from the chest down in swamp and melting snow, charging between trees, up to the cabin, and back down to him without thought, only to bounce from foot to foot as she waited for him to catch up.

She comes closer, her hands trail on his chest, move to his mask. He’s bored with her. The taste of the liquor on her tongue is endearing, but not enough. He doesn’t deny her request however, he lets her hands go over him. He has no reason to say no.

“Slow down, friend.” He reached out a hand to pet the top of her head as she bounded past him, towards the cabin. It’d been all too long since he’d been free of the mess that was his life. The taxes and the rumors and the questions were frustrating, and the time to go somewhere and not have a microphone stuck in his face was extremely overdue. Besides, the inner city felt claustrophobic-too many people, too much to do and cover for. The job of having things was a surprisingly big load-counterintuitively, everything felt harder when it was supposed to be easier. Quality meant simplicity, right? Wrong. So now he was here, milking the true quality out of the land.

A glass raises to his lips and he throws back more, nodding to the music and the voices and the beat of the alcohol burning through him. He likes this, people like him. It isn’t difficult to gain their trust.

He pushed harder at the cart, forcing it slowly up the hill to where the cabin gleamed. Sun illuminated dark windows and the golden shine of treated wood greeted him, familiar and rustic, a simpler living. The flight and drive up had taken most of the earlier parts of the day, and the sun was already setting, outlining the sharp snow covered points of mountains to the west of the structure. Birch trees stood aglow, the sun going down their trunks and setting them off against the icy landscape. The cold was returning for the night, already reaching its lavender tendrils across the sky. He’d missed this. The cabin was an old family friend’s, built twenty or so years before his time. The running water only worked in summer, electricity relied on two solar panels, and heat and cooking space was provided by a single cast iron woodstove, well worn from the years.

When he was young, the older man would bring him, a sort of home away from home. They’d spend day after day hauling wood for the fire, cleaning and cooking. In the evenings they would move to intelligent and shy conversation-it was a wholesome place The place had been the birthplace of a lot of fond memories-falling out of canoes, catching a tiny inedible trout, nearly chopping off a toe cutting wood. It felt like home here, even in the middle of nowhere.

It’s wrong, and he loves it. He loves the distraction of the women and the money, the useless money. He’s tasting the cocaine and grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

He reached the top of the slush covered hill, already covered in a film of sweat from the heavy work. Two water coolers to last him a week or so, food, and clothing were carried to the porch, taking him two trips before he flipped the wagon to avoid collecting melting snow, and went up the stairs to the wooden door, testing the handle before making his way to the screen room door entrance. He stomped off his boots in the porch, opening the door into the cabin and bracing himself to be attacked by an army of squirrels, a homeless man, or a hoard of zambies.

The paranoia. They see under the mask, they watch and take note and let him go on, but for what? The cheap thrills, the dead quiet?

Nothing came except cold, musty air, the cold of the long winter having seeped in and stayed with the wood like an icebox. As expected, he would have to keep his gear on until he made a fire and brought everything in. The survival aspect tinged him once again as a satisfying act of rebellion. He could do things here that wealthy people had only heard about. A deep sense of pride washed through him this time at the entire prospect as he headed back out to lug in a cooler, dragging it determinedly to lift it to the kitchen counter.

He feels no guilt, and he likes it that way. It’s fun, it’s easy, and it’s available. Nothing stops him. He laughs at death and she laughs with him.

Ellie rumbled through the porch and into the house behind him, tracking wet footprints as she tumbled through the perimeter. The mess would be annoying to clean up later, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her not to. He hadn't gotten to spend nearly enough time with her with all the work and press conferences surrounding them. A few muddy footprints was deserved by now. He climbed the stairs besides her, reaching the upstairs closet and turning on the electricity. He’d have to ration his use to the radio and coffee maker with the current voltage. All he really needed was wood to keep going-he had enough for a few weeks, but he’d have to start finding groves to bring down if he was going to stay longer. This summer he could probably do without the wood, but it’d be a good time to ration and collect for the next winter. Comforting plans went through his head about the future-a comfortable self sustained future. A future alone, ah yes. Nothing like the hermit life.

The life of a king.

He lit a fire, and it took him a few hours to clean up and unpack enough to make dinner. Cold foods were left in a cooler on the porch-now barely lit with cold indigo-and everything else was carefully stowed in the cupboards and kitchen. The wood stove was hot enough to cook on, so he warmed up some canned soup before bed. It began to dawn upon him that he didn’t have any other meal plans besides what easy-to-prepare food he’d brought. The shame of forgetting how to cook something decent hit him suddenly. Stupid fucking parents, stupid, stupid, stupid…

He reached up to take off his glasses, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Why he was deciding to suppress this now was a little beyond him-he was basically alone out here. Well, besides Ellie. He had to stay strong in front of her. Pack leader...all that. Right.

He slumped down into the couch, rolling on his side to stare at the fire. Flames licked the glass and wrought iron, roaring and crackling with satisfaction. He began to zone out, and his eyes drifted closed.

The cold of the extinguished fire woke him up, weak embers emitting a reddish glow through the grates. Blearily he groped for his glasses and squinted at his watch. Two.

He groggily got up rubbing his face as he searched for kindling. His feet stumbled over to the table and he grabbed a folder, crumpling some of the paper in his hands as he walked back. The fire built back to it’s comforting roar.

He grabbed a comforter before he laid back on the couch, falling back into uneasy sleep.

Chapter Text

His eyelids hurt when he opened them the next morning, and he dragged himself out of bed to open the front door for Ellie. The spring air hit him like a cold fog and he closed the door abruptly at the feeling, startled. What time was it...ten? He could use a few more hours….
Wait, nope, no no no, nuh-huh he was a changed, reasonable man who got up at a reasonable time and didn’t spew foul language at the dawn of a beautiful new day. The fact that life had continued while he was asleep was a remarkable thing, after all. He should be thankful he was awoken to such a great sunrise, to light and life and beauty...

He blindly stumbled back to the couch, managing to stub his toe on the end table and simultaneously bite his tongue
“FUCKING DAMNIT sun, STUPID wilderness, FUCK GODDAMN. “
As if to add insult to injury, Ellie barked outside, excited by his string of expletives and wanting to come back in.
“HOLY FUCK…”

He rolled off the couch blindly, hitting the floor in his momentary tantrum

“ ...DAMNIT.”

This used to be so easy.

Getting up was a struggle, but he finally (shamefully) limped to the door and let her in. The light was already spilling down the valleys and mountains, lighting the whole landscape-at least, from what his nearly blind, glasses-less eyes could tell. Birds were chirping through the melt, the dripping of snow punctuating his panting wrath. What a way to start the morning.

Breakfast would fix things. Maybe some pancakes, some coffee...ideas swarmed his sleep starved brain. His hands reached for his glasses, and he headed to the table, barely taking in the surroundings even with sight. His cooking was rough and ridden with mistakes, but he had finished his angry spiel for the morning. Today would be a better day, even if he couldn't cook good pancakes and even if he'd endured the worst pain imaginable at a moment when he was most weak. The day's plans were short-he had to get groceries and clean, simple tasks. Ellie would want to run around a bit...maybe he'd explore the melt with her? It seemed calming enough.

He got dressed in flannel and jeans, old worn out clothes from years ago. Everything he’d brought had been dug up from hiking stores and the like, but still, he enjoyed the reminiscence of an old shirt. Old things had a smell, secrets and memories, little rips in the elbows and soft fabric from the weight of existence. And regardless, he needed older clothes-new ones would tip off too much suspicion. He'd build up from the past.

~~~~

A fan punctuated the silence, turning slowly on it’s one-hundred-eighty degree rotation. The wind barely dried sweat before it reappeared, dripping down forehead to the folds of a neck, down the collar and into the gentle slope of her bosom, a dangerous place. The day was humid but she let the heat seep into her like a sponge, let the sweat drip down her arms and build beneath her tight, fake nails.
She was a woman who enjoyed a challenge, broad shouldered with hair pulled back in a tight bun and heavy gold jewelry that pressed against her flesh to announce each movement like a jangling procession. There was power in her, fierceness even, cheekbones slender and cutting with a sheen of sweat like gold gilding on her broad forehead.

She wrote in light pencil on her crossword, side stepping arrogance for precision in her decisions. She was indecisive. Ladle or spoon? Jalapeno or Habanero? She’d never been good at the puzzles, but it was entertaining all the same, to work at something as time consuming and pointless. Entertainment in the burning, the extreme, heat.

“Jacqueline?”

She looked up from her puzzle, surprised. “Yes?”

A man was standing in her office. He wasn’t a typical barrel chested father looking to have someone watch a suspicious boyfriend. He was small, delicate and fair. His eyes held a hollowness, a balance she felt unsure about. There wasn’t a hard edge on him.

She would have no trouble with him. He seemed as weak as a skittish rabbit, manipulated at the fair like a toy. A dreamer, a wisher, a thinker, but not a doer.

“You find people..right?”

“Part of my business is to do what I can, and occasionally, yes, I find people.”

He was unhindered “An important person is missing.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I um…” Drips of sweat ran down to his collar, soaking into the wrinkled fabric. He rubbed at his neck, weakened further by the humidity. “I don’t really know him.”

“A name?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

She gave a loud sigh, disregarding his entire request with the sound.

“Please, you have to find him. I can pay you.”

“I can’t find someone if you have nothing. I might as well find someone who’s never been born, someone completely imaginary. You’re wasting my time.” Her voice held an accusatory tone as if he’d interrupted something infinitely more important. He shifted his stance to her crispness, struck but not completely deterred. Surprising.

~~~
“Forty-five thirty-six. Credit or debit?”
   
“Cash.” The man handed over two twenties and a ten

“So...3 gallons of milk, bag of flour, bag of sugar...eggs...Need any help getting it out?”

“I’m good, thanks. I’ll just do two trips…”

The clerk nodded understandingly, a look of relief flitting nearly unnoticeable over his face before he went back to bagging and checking. The man could take a few difficult trips back and forth from the entrance to the store-it was cold outside anyhow, and he didn’t want to cause more trouble if he could already take it. It was better if he was the only one to deal with his groceries anyways-paranoia still plagued his mind in these social settings. Would anyone recognize him? His voice?

“Stay safe out there!!”

“...Thanks.”

He heaved bags into the bed of the truck, brushing snow out with his bare hand to make a space. It was a clear and clammy day, melt and humidity filling the air and seepin into everything. Nothing was going to get home without getting damp somewhat. That’s what it was now...Home? The label felt right for the cabin. He was a new man, a man who lived in a cabin.

The new man needed a name.

His mind ran over what names he could have. Something realistic? He didn’t want to be too stereotypical or forced with the decision. Something that represented him, something he liked…

A nickname would probably come around one way or another.

~~~

“Please, I promise, I’ll make it worth your while…”

“Give me something to go off of.”

“Okay okay...just...let me think. He did have a name...I mean, everyone knew what he called himself, but it wasn’t really name, just a server.”

“Everyone? Why aren’t they out finding him?”

“They are, probably.”

She set down her crossword. The frail boy of a man had sparked her curiosity, and she wasn’t about to show it.

“What’s the name of this...server you’re talking about.”

He began to rub the fabric of his shirt together with his thumbs, which she quickly took notice of. This man was anxious but somehow looked confident in the anxiety, clear-headed. Scared?

“Chaos.”
   
“Chaos? What do you do there?”

“Talk. Listen mostly.” He looked suddenly to the wall, burying his hands in his pockets with a mixed expression she couldn’t discern. Why was he so concerned about not being able to listen to someone speak? What was the man on ‘Chaos’ saying anyways? Thoughts of occultism and terrorism drifted through her mind easily, and she leaned forward without thinking, interest piqued.
“What does he say?”

“Things.”

She leaned back, tapping her fingers on her chair. He was trying to hide something. It was written on his stance, his tone, his avoidance. What she couldn’t tell was what-she could tell almost nothing from him at first glance. He felt original, uncertain...indefinite…

“You’re thinking a lot.”

“It’s my job.”

   “Alright...can you do it then?” He was anxious to get a response, an affirmation. He was staring her down, not fierce but unyielding, begging, pleading, pulling her apart.

   “Fine.”

She conceded to his mental game, trying to ignore the small upturn of his lips, the silent, hidden smirk. He took a pen from his pocket, scribbling down a number and web address wordlessly before turning heel and walking out, closing the door behind him. As quickly as he'd come, he'd left. She didn't even know his name.

Chapter Text

The wind flows in and out, clicking branches together musically. The lake’s ice breaks apart and clear, dark water is uncovered, newly unlade yet still dormant in the cool air. Beneath it lies a swimming fish, slithering cold beneath the glassy mirror. It’s eyes are cold, unseeing yet blindly searching, treading along the bottom as it waits. It’s should be dead-it nearly is-but it’s kept unfrozen through its continuous movement. It swims to stay alive.
Slices of sunlight cut through the sky with the rising sun. They run through the tops of the trees, sliding down bark as the star climbs farther into the sky. As it sheds the horizon, sunlight filters on the icy lake, reflecting into the air in a spectacular glow. The lake is a window to the earth.

The darkness of deepness remains beneath, a shadow to it’s bright counterpart. Somewhere beneath, the fish glints dull silver, a polished spot in the muddy bottom murk. Somewhere beneath, it feels the light of the sun, the warmth of season change, and swims away. Maybe it’s accustomed to the cold-but the warmth of spring will continue inevitably. The earth will turn, and the fish will feel the light of life again.

~~~

The man chopped wood. He felt clear-headed and free in the wilderness, the view of mountains barely on the horizon, and so far, the vacation-therapy felt like it was working. The freedom made him feel like another person, uncaged and alone. Chopping, chopping with no cares in the world, no one to tell him to stop. He could chop forever, and who would tell him to do otherwise? Absolutely no one. Not one person. Except himself. God this was boring.

He swung the axe into a stump, reaching up to stretch his arms. Goddamn, he was still so WEAK. Arm day couldn’t be every single day here, could it? Life wasn’t that hard. Except that life was comparatively easier before he decided to venture into the great yonder. Out in the open wilderness, every task felt like a fight for survival, a reminder that he was (surprisingly) still alive. Little victories, he supposed.

~~~

“Just a LITTLE BIT MORE!”

A man sweated heavily, holding a large shaven tree with four other people. They were moving slowly across a wooden deck frame, each step careful and weary.

“COME ON JUST CENTIMETERS YOU GUYS!!”

“SHUT UP AND KEEP MOVING!!” Someone in the group loudly protested, voice close to a screech. He was small and held himself so, but his irish accent and sarcasm cut the words deeper. This did nothing to deter the enthusiastic leader as he continued to screech encouragement from his position holding the log.

“COME ON COME ON!!”

They hovered the trunk, aligning dowels shakily.

“LET GO JUST LET IT GO!! DON’T HOLD IT BACK ANYMORE!!”

“HOLY SHIT FELIX WE GET IT!”
They let go in tandem, letting the log fall with a loud thump onto the others. Silence followed the act, punctuated with heavy breathing and misty air.

“...It’s...It’s…It’s beautiful. I’m so proud. We ought to monumentalize this.”

“I’m pretty sure the small lake you left is enough to remember it by.”

“Hey! Fuck you. Ken, you’ve got enough sweat in your beard to use it as a mop. Don’t you dare say that to ME ever again! Don’t you dare!”

“You can’t make me do anything.”

“Don’t make me do something I wouldn’t want to do.”

“OOOooohh are you ready for the SMACKDOWN Felix?”

“I’m gonna smack YOUR down!!”

Ignoring his own poor grammar, he ran at Ken, attempting to bowl him over. He was caught almost immediately in a headlock which Ken could barely maintain because he was laughing too hard. They stumbled around in a messy tangle of weak punches and laughter.

“Boys! BOYS!”

A third man knocked his way between the two of him, solidly separating the two with a grin. Though he wasn’t superbly tall, the confidence he carried gave him a certain control over the group. Underneath it he was just a screechy as the rest.

“Break it up. It's already getting dark and I don't want to die of HYPOTHERMIA in the middle of the GODDAMN forest just because you guys decided to have a tickle fight. Jack’s in danger-he’s the smallest, least contributing member of our group. Unless you’re ready to sacrifice him for your own survival-”

“Hey!” Jack yelled from his position of putting away the tools.

“Eh, Come on.” Felix gently pushed away from Ken, “Ken would definitely be the most delicious.”

“Pretty sure we’d eat you first, Felix, you’re the saltiest bitch here.”

Felix guffawed, shaking his head as he picked up his jacket and rubbed his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. The rest of the group fell into a quiet silence as they worked to pack up, folding tarps and picking up the remaining saws and various tools.
It wasn’t long before Mark broke the silence, telling Jack ‘your momma jokes’

“Your momma’s so ugly, even hello kitty said goodbye.”

“Well...your momma’s so ugly...even Scooby Doo couldn’t solve that mystery...”

“...That wasn’t that good.”

“Your momma’s so fat she went to McDonalds and they had to call Wendy’s for backup.” Ken added quickly, trying to keep the streak of jokes going.

Felix grinned at that, interjecting.
“Your momma’s so stupid, she put two quarters in her ears and thought she was listening to 50cent.”

“That was worse!!”

Mark broke out laughing, and Jack started laughing at Mark’s laugh, both laughing more as the other pealed out their own chuckles. Ken rolled his eyes, motioning for Felix to help him with a generator.

Ken had always been “responsible”, at least compared to the rest of the group. In elementary school Ken was bigger, taller, and generally the older-seeming one. He’d been a distant giant for a good portion of their childhood.

Felix was also an outcast in some ways-his innate ability to pick up talents and patterns gave other kids in his grade a reason to build resentment for him-he crossed the boundary from being good into being too good, being a teacher’s pet. Nobody actively picked on him, but nobody wanted to be around him either. Why be around someone who would only make you feel worse about your own achievements?

So, inevitably, something formed between the two of them. They recognized one another as fellow students at first, unlikeable at that-but something undeniable fell between them, something mysterious and sudden. Neither knew what the curiosity was, how the unmistakable draw to one another occurred, but they fit together-a friendly giant and an annoying know it all, playing make-believe and Pokémon. Mark and Jack later intruded on the loneliness of two, bursting in later in the year. Though the change should have been rough and upsetting, they simply meshed in with their own vagabond circumstances. The group formed a small posse, a gang of nerds, picking up and loosing various other friends along the way. Yet the four of them remained reliable to one another throughout it all.

“Come ON!! Get in the car!!” Jack yelled, having apparently moved on from his momentary chuckling breakdown.

Everyone piled in the car, pushing and shoving as they fought over shotgun, the position finally given to Ken, who Felix argued would not put his feet on the dash.
“C’mon Dorothy let’s go...” he whined,  as the engine shuddered. He smacked it a few more times, perking up as the engine rumbled to a satisfying purr. The instances were probably unrelated, but this didn’t stop Felix from hitting the dashboard with triumph at the accomplishment. The old, red, 1983 Volkswagen Rabbit had seen more than it’s fair share of hands to the dashboard, as everyone in the group had driven it at least once on some adventure or another.

Jack seized the aux cord from his position in the middle back, plugging in with incomparable speed, and setting a couple of Alt-J songs to play.
Half an hour in, Ken was asleep and snuffling a little as he rearranged himself against the window. From the back, Felix could hear Mark groan both dramatically and obnoxiously.

    “Jackkkkkkkkkk I can't listen to this frikin indie, folk, hipster music any longer.” Mark whined comically  “Gimme the meeeeemmeeesss”
   
“It’s not indie or folk, Mark. It’s just good, catchy music. Alt-J’s a respectable musician.”

    Mark continued to groan with growing volume, causing Ken to wake up abruptly. He hit his head on the top of the small car and groaned irritably. Mark seized the opportunity of confusion, grabbing the aux cord from the center console, and kicking Felix’s seat multiple times in the process as Jack tried to wrestle it back.

    “Oh no you don't ya filthy animal. Ken help me here!!”

“It was soothing, I fell asleep.”

    Jack pushed at the seat in response, to engrossed in trying to get leverage to respond.

    “Jeez! Ladies! Keep it PG back there! I’m going to get whiplash with how much seat kicking you're doing, and one of you if going to have to pay for my medical b--”

    “YES!” Mark interrupted. “My incredible strength and dashingly good looks win me the power of the orb! Orb almighty! Play me your enchanting melody!!”

Within minutes, ‘Bring me to Life’ by Evanescence blasted through the shitty speakers of the car. Felix slammed on the gas at the sudden change in noise and everyone in the car seemed to groan collectively except Jack who barked out a cackle despite his loss. Felix rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but belt out some lyrics in the chorus, purposefully letting his voice crack obnoxiously.

    “SAVVVVEEE MEEEEE”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the car ride consisted of many more arguments and wrestling matches over the aux cord, which at one point almost caused Felix to pull over and slap the collective backseat. But after driving for another hour and going through the entirety of a Nickelback album, even Mark began to wind down. Everyone began to fall asleep, save Felix, who yanked the aux cord out of the console. He flicked through the stations, settling on a station playing, what the silky voiced radio host called “Undercurrents” He relaxed a little and focused on the road.

The sun had long since set, and the windows of the car had fogged up with the combined condensation of the four men. Felix pulled onto the road leading to his tiny apartment, too tired to drive everyone home to their respective parts of town.
He pulled into the driveway and smoothly turned off the engine, humming along to the last notes of a remix, giving a glance to the backseat. Jack’s head lay lolled on Mark’s shoulder, precarious on it’s way to fall to Mark’s lap. Mark didn’t look any better, his head tilted back uncomfortably. Felix forced back a smile, looking to Ken, who was starting to wake up.

“Is this home?” He asked, in a rather loud, groany southern accent. Felix slowly leaned shushed him, mashing a finger to his lips

“No words, Ken. Shuuuh. Look.”

“It’s a miracle.” Ken whispered.

“Well, fuck me in the ass.” Felix said simultaneously

Ken struggled to hold back a snort, and failed, as Mark's eyes slowly crept open, his lashes fluttering against his askewed glasses for a few innocent moments before he realised his situation, and moved to slowly push Jack off his shoulder. Felix quickly turned back to face the front, getting out of the car in a completely unsuspicious manner.

“Uuuuuuuuughhh.” Mark said exhaustively, wearing out the groan before he was finished. He stretched his arms behind his head, the cramped space only allowing him to press his hands against the roof.  when Jack tried to fall back on his shoulder, Mark pushed him away.

“My ne-eck….Jack, don’t make me kick you.”

“I’m sorry.” Jack said quietly

Though the act could have easily been blamed on the time and how tired everyone was, it still came off as subtly abnormal for Jack, furtive, even. Felix knew better than to comment on the submission-the two, though friends, had a strange love of one another, a give and take that felt old and comfortable between them. Most of it seemed on Jack’s side, with adoration so deep and strong that it seated next to sheer idolatry which explained the uncertainty. Mark was more of a mystery, a hardened shell of both real and fake confidence and self respect. If there was anything as close to the praise Jack had for him within, he kept it deep seated and diligently quiet.

It was all a little more complex than Felix wanted to think about. If they wanted to be all close like that, that wasn’t really his problem. The problem he did have was with their staring and chemistry all the time over small things-and not talking about it. Seriously, they needed a therapist or an hour together or something to talk it out.

Pushing past each other and setting down bags in the hallways, the group settled into their usual “staying-at-Felix’s-house” places-Ken on the left side of Felix’s bed, Mark on the right, and Jack in the middle while Felix settled on the couch, fluffing up a a few throw pillows and making a nest. He’d rather sleep alone in the stillness of the pull-out than with the elbow mattress of four people on a queen sized bed. Besides, he’d always been a little too gangly to sleep comfortably with more than one person-and being this late, he really couldn’t give a fuck whether or not he was kicked out of his bed. It was crap anyways.

~~~

Felix laid awake with the thought of the cabin in his mind, burning its image through him. The cold Alaska morning was still dark as pitch and mildly cold, the moon layered beneath clouds with the breaking of night. It was if something was possessing him, some old tiredness treading through his thoughts and blurring them as he got up and looked out. To live in a wilderness like the empty darkness ahead of him, to run through the light of the full moon and feel the breaking of dry air across him-the connection felt live and sparking yet unconnected like a downed telephone pole. It was strange and dissociative, unlike him-the primal understanding and communication to such silence was immense, heavy in his chest and his throat as if the beauty would come pouring out of him.

When he awoke, snow had fallen.

Chapter Text

He was a smart man.

No one would dare deny it. Some would even call him a genius, though the term didn’t suit him well. He didn’t solve problems for the sake of learning like a genius would, but for the sake of survival, to push his head above the others and breath. Those who moved with the world like that bent to its will, and bending meant loosening your own wills, giving up what you wanted for second best. A smart man knew he could take the power, and knew not to be haughty when he did. A smart man knew to keep quiet, to play the game.

He rested the Remington 1911 on his palm gently, pulling out the clip and inspecting it before popping it back in. He straightened his jacket and buttoned it, looking at himself in the mirror. Hair cropped short, blank, blue eyes, solidly built. The person in the mirror was satisfyingly unreadable.

He adjusted his tie and pulled down his mask, tucking the pistol beneath his belt and jacket before stepping from the bathroom into the hallway. The dark red walls held him claustrophobically, flanking him on either side as he strode through, his shoes clicking quietly on polished pine. He had no fear to his stance, no hesitation. He held the room and the silence held it’s breath.

He turned the handle of the brass doorknob at the end of the hall and swung the door open, his gait slow and each step meaningful, provoking, aggressive-

    “Gentlemen.”

Entrancing.

His voice was accented playfully, something close to New York or Jersey. It was friendly, a spiraling dancing tone that accentuated and roughened every word just barely . He smiled a little bit, the corners of his mask lifting at the corners.

    “Your work lately has been increasingly demanding. You all know this started out as a small...business...but catering to our customers is a necessity. To continue towards our goal, we need to be as accommodating as possible, alright? I need you guys to listen more, pay attention more...it’s all about the customer.”

Someone cleared their throat in the back and the man slowly turned around, duly surprised.

    “Hm?”
   
    “Oh nothing.”

The man’s smile had faded back into the mask’s threatening blankness, but in only moments, he turned on heel away, seemingly having forgotten his destination. Teasing.

    “Just a few weeks ago, I seriously considered letting this business go. There simply aren't enough people looking to take down a...say...Franz Ferdinand or anything!! I mean, this whole thing, it seemed crazy out of the gate, I gotta say. But your commitment is just fantastic, it’s inspiring to me. Sales went up-which means there are people out there, wanting our service...You guys are bringing in a turnaround. I’m proud.”

He paused, watching their eager expressions. People were always happy to be complimented, it was infectious, diseased...stupid.

    “But I get the feeling some of you really want it for yourself. Kill the bad people, save the good ones, go home and sleep happy. It’s….idiotic.”

Each was careful to hide his intent, but the man could see glimmers of doubt flashing in their eyes.
    “It’s just plain dumb. I mean, who are you? A psychic? God? Me?”

He laughed and the group did too, eased of the tension. Yes, this was good.
   
    “You can never tell who’s the right one, and that shouldn’t be your concern. I ask you now, what is right these days? When everyone’s cheating, the honest one doesn’t get the best grade, no..."

He licked his lips, stopping in the middle of his thought to look down at the seated group. The twenty three people seated watched him, pleased and agreeable, sucking up and nodding along with every word he said

"Cheaters win."

    He let out a sigh and in a flash of movement, he pulled the gun from his hip and shot, and a head snapped back, dead. The noise sucked out of the room, and for a moment, the man could only hear his own steady breathing, like sleep. He tucked the gun back into his belt, feeling a slight malaise rise in his stomach before he pushed it down, letting out a sigh and a small chuckle.

    “Well, that wraps it up. Everything else you want to know I can answer over private message. Dismissed.”

He walked to the door, past the body and stunned looks without a second glance. Showing weakness now would break his flawless allure. His seamless, soulless appearance. They saw him this way and he had to hold onto that, to flaunt it and ooze their presumption. Part of him screamed to run but he squelched the feeling in his chest, going out and not looking back.

Suffocated. Did no one ask for window when the hall was being built? He needed the air, the freedom of being able to look out, to see out…
And be seen…

Getting back the office he let loose a quiet, unintelligible groan-the only defeat he’d admit. It was strange-lately he’d been feeling this-the morose dread, the cooped up cagey feeling of being trapped. He was freer than most people-he’d admit that-but freedom meant difference, a line between them. He couldn’t walk on the beach. He couldn’t pick up the mail on his own. He couldn’t leave the house.

He could kill anyone he pleased. He could go anywhere he wanted. He could have whatever illegality money could buy. These were enviable things.

He walked through his office and slid a card, allowing him into the room next door. Finally private, he moved to sit in a leather recliner in the corner, getting out a cigarette and lighting it.The room was set up in a rather scholarly way, with books and brown leather on the edges of the desk, but the walls were a glaring dark blue that made the atmosphere feel cooler, darker, offset only by the few pieces of white trim around the air conditioner. He turned it on, relaxing slightly as the coolness hit edges of his mask, drying the sweat from the exposed skin. The urge to take it off surged, and he reached up, fingers gripping at the edge.
His hand came away with a pinprick, spreading stained, dark, fireworks of rich wine and overflowing. Drips smashing craters into the vinyl acacia flooring, echoing wounds and casualty-yes, that was how he’d done it-how interesting and convenient a word to describe both an event and a feeling-sticky gushes filled his mouth, coppery and warm, and he closed his eyes rapidly, calm dissolving into panic as he struggled to breath

He blinked away the vision, coughing, and took a drag from the forgotten cigarette. His mask barely covered his mouth now, and his shaky breath chained off the last cigarette into another. Yeah, it was unhealthy-he’d probably die from this sooner than assassination. Lung cancer or something. Could you choke on cigarettes? Funny, ideas like these.

A few cigarettes later he was breathing more normally, the fog dampening the room to a more constant state. The next order of business was to find something else to do, and to post an update on the minor loss the company had suffered. Loss because he was gone, minor because like things, that man could be bought and replaced. He’d then have to check in on messaging and requests, answer those, arrange something for...tomorrow? Tonight? He could arrange something by midnight, get the word out. A remembrance of life, perhaps. That was cute.

~~~~~~

Snow had fallen.

This was not an unforeseen development-weather changed fast, weather was unpredictable, it was the way climate change worked.

And yet, he’d never envisioned it happening to him. Unforeseen weather, that was. Usually, he was attentive to these things. Bad things didn’t happen often, not in his world. He’d been pampered with southern exposure for too long.

    He resigned his thoughts to the couch, staring at the fire in an effort to entertain himself.

“Wow…..fire....”

It was the first time he’d talked in days, and the pleasing feeling of speaking again washed over him.

“Better than anime.”

This said aloud made himself laugh, and Ellie lifted her head from the rug.

“I need something else to do, I know. I’m lonely as fuck, Ellie. I mean, you’re great company, don’t get me wrong-but I need a hobby.”

“I need a hobby…”

The house was so easily filled with noise as it was void of it, and he moved to the radio, turning it on.

Music.

Arctic Cactus Hour?

He made a face, but seeing as there were no other stations that the radio could connect to, he left the radio on. Banjos were definitely...not his thing. Maybe he’d learn to like it, like everything else.

Unsatisfied with just music, he wandered over to the collection of books stacked neatly on the other side of the room. Amongst the multitude of bird-identification books on northern bird types and waterfowl were a handful of older books. A few of the titles stood out to him as books he’d heard about or read while in high school.

Classics. Every old man had a shelf of them, it was inevitable. Only the young or ignorant hadn't read all of the thought provoking and hard to comprehend Russian authors. Was he ignorant for not being able to recognize them? Who cared. He had plenty of time to waste on a couple of books-more than enough time to finish the entire bookshelf. He'd never been a huge reader, but this was him turning over a new leaf-a leaf that had self respect, patience and maturity on the other side.

He studied the titles a little longer, trying to channel his inner scholar, before tugging out a book called “The Ice Palace”. He hadn’t heard of it in any aspect, but that was okay-the title seemed ominous, and more or less like something philosophical, and it fit his environment. An Ice palace-how romantic. Like a French short film or something. Either way, it’d be something to think about, something to keep his mind from murmuring on the fact that he hadn’t done anything to save the wood yet. The wood was inconsequential-he was surrounded by trees, right? No problem.

Throwing himself across a green leather loveseat in front of the fire, he began reading

~~~~~~~~~

The man hid himself on the balcony, watching. A hoard of fifty or so wandered below him, taking the refreshments and the offerings he’d left. Now they were milling like ants, civil and introductory. Something about seeing them sobor bored him. People were just so….simple. No, not even that….controlled. Emotions locked up, desires locked up, curiosities dampened for the sake of societal expectation. It was kind of cute how people tried to keep those urges under control.

Aw, who was he kidding. He needed the structure to weave through it. Logic had gotten people pretty far, no matter how boring it was.

He took a sip of champagne.

What a time to wane philosophical! He wasn’t even slightly shit-faced- well, maybe a little-and he was already feeling the philosophy and thought melting off of him. People really underestimated the therapeutic value of parties, the opportunity to think and explore the darker recesses communally. Well, not quite like...Eh, fuck it, the metaphor was close.

He yawned, taking a breath before throwing back another swallow of champagne. Why did it have to be champagne? So expensive, and for such wastes of time. Frankly, he didn’t even like the taste. For something to drink around formal occasions, it felt like the opposite of celebration or...anything really. Just watery pretentiousness.

And for god's sake, this wasn’t even worth it.

Closing his eyes, he strapped his mask on and headed downstairs. He should have laced the champagne, it would have made anything interesting. Foreplay was overrated at this point-they all knew what they were here for-so why weren’t they just doing it?

~~~

He woke up with a sharp breath. The air was cooler than he remembered….

“Auuuugggggggghhhhhhh.….”

He dragged himself off of the loveseat, disrupting the cushions and nearly tripping over a beat up coffee table as he stumbled to the nearly extinguished fire

“Ungh...shit….this again.”

Cold iron and soot brushed his arms as he attempted to restart it with a few pieces of balled up folder. He remained diligent, feeding the fire progressively larger and larger pieces of wood. He checked his watch and noticed with disappointment that it was already around 3 in the evening. Soot was under his fingernails and the house was still with condensation-breath cold and panting out plumes of smoke. He continued to build the fire, and finally he tried to finish his efforts by attempting to shove a large piece of firewood through the upper opening. Flames licked up the log as he jammed it in half in half out, startled. It was stuck, diagonally, in the stove, being quickly consumed by the building blaze,

“Ohhhh.....fuck....”

He hit the log in with his hands, but pulled back as a wave of hot hair practically singed the hair off his arm. Adrenaline surged through his body and in a quick moment of decisiveness, he lifted his boot clad foot and kicked it in, slamming the top loading panel shut with a shaky breath. The fire roared even louder, hungrily, as the log was consumed. He crouched down to shut the dampers and slow down the oxygen feeding into the fire-too much and he'd burn the place down.

What a life lesson to wake up to-thank god it was only the afternoon. Had it been the middle of the night or early morning, he doubted he’d have been able to kick a log in like that.

Sitting back on the cold leather couch, he closed his eyes and tried to let the adrenaline wash over him, willed himself to not shiver. This was his life now. He had to be tough about it-it was no use being freaked out about a log that was too long. Sometimes life handed you a badly cut piece of wood and you had to jam it in your fire anyways. Like being at boy scouts and not knowing anyone except that one asshole from elementary, you had to make do with what was given to you. The corners of his mouth turned up at the thought.

Yet there was still something, outside his thinking, something about the fire. It caught and consumed so readily, how it had reached for his hands even as he pulled back-it had pulled out something like a memory.

Boldly, he walked to the corner of the room and took a pipe, filling it. This shit was ridiculous. They knew that this whole thing was going to hell. They knew it, why did they wait? Did they want to seem moral?

“Are you-”

He ignored whoever had asked him something and lit up, colors strengthening, the energy returning to his rotting being.“Fuck you,” He said through his teeth, sounding about half as aggressive as he’d intended.

“You’re Cryaotic?”

“No.” He took another toke.

“I mean, this is your house.”

“Yes.” The lights were blurring, gentle, calming music.

“So you’re Cryaotic.”

“Sure, I guess.” He hung onto the words, sure that they sounded stupider now that he was halfway gone.

“Okay.”

He nodded, holding the pipe delicately and staring at the person in front of him.

“Why okay?”

“Just wanted to thank you. Dan was a real idiot.”

“Hm.”

“I’m glad he’s gone.”

“...It wasn’t for you...”

The man was silent, acknowledging but knowing it wasn’t his place to speak.

“Can I have some?”

"It's a party, go ahead."

He wished he could forget.

He put the heels of his hands against his eyelids, trying not to endure the memory that flooded him. Why had he been like that? Why had he been such a blatant maniac? He'd organized his thoughts and suppressed emotions so readily, so easily-he'd SHOT a man in the face.

He didn't even remember...

He resorting to just pressing his eyes closed, trying to concentrate on breathing and pushing back the thoughts. He took care of himself. He lived in the woods, he owned next to nothing...

This was not Cryaotic, this was someone changed

Ellie wandered over to him, nudging her head against his before trying to jump on the couch besides him. He put a shaky hand on her head and took a deep breath.

He was Cry: and this was the start of something new.

Chapter Text

The windows were foggy. Through them, one could see the blurry outlines of movement, a video slowed down. Through a foggy window, one moving thing was indistinguishable from the next. If only someone could wipe the surface, or open the window. Or, perhaps, break the glass
 
Jacqueline turned away from the window, frustrated. She didn’t have time for this thoughtful bullshit, if anything stopping her work was just more stressful than continuing it. Accessing information on The Chaos server for hours was a bitch, and so far she didn’t have any helpful information as to its location. The website she’d been given had crashed both Chrome(mistake) and Torr (better but still shit)  Ultimately, the entire thing felt like a waste of time.
What information she had gotten was a blog which off-handed mentioned that the site had gone up in 2012, then disappeared around 2016. This piqued her interest. Nothing just disappeared. The hole of information would reveal more if she knew anything-but she had almost nothing. It’d be pointless trying to determine what information was missing if she hadn’t had any information in the first place. What she needed was someone who knew more of what had existed before the internet bleaching.
The man who’d met her.
 
She just wasn’t armed with the right skillset for this hacking mumbo-jumbo. What computer work she’d ever done had just been research-she was more of a hands on gal-yet this man had chosen her. It couldn’t have been a mistake, the man had known her name, had come in with his slight and misleading appearance and brought her poignant information. It was flattering, but she felt suspicious- it was all too stereotypical, bringing her the information with no explanation.
Was he trying to watch her run in circles?
 
~~~
 
As Felix stepped out of the shower, he absentmindedly wondered whether or not to go and buy some breakfast for the entire work crew or just for himself.
.   
    He headed out to start up the car. The radio was still set on the quiet station from the night before, and he tiredly plugged in his phone, opting for something upbeat that would keep him awake. The entire car was still in its former wreck, someone’s phone on the backseat. He pocketed it for later.
 
    “Alright...alright....Coffee, alright.”
 
The car peeled out and he headed to the first store that looked open-a Fred Meyers’ Starbucks. There, he ordered a couple of drinks, uncertain about what everyone would like. Mark didn’t like coffee, Jack did, Ken didn’t care... He got two chai teas just in case, cursing the fact that he couldn’t quite remember. He didn’t pay attention to those little things, not very much-not that they weren’t important, just that he already had his mental storage nearly full with other idiosyncrasies of other people. People liked it when you remembered the little things they did. She always had.
 
Next stop was for real food. It was tempting to just not buy food for the rest of him, but he resigned to getting a couple of the fast food breakfasts available at Carl's Jr. They could find things on their own in the house, it was really just the thought.
 
Thoughtfulness. Gentleness. People seemed to like him better when he did little things like this, got food and the whole shebang. Giving attention, miraculously, made him feel somehow better, and he appreciated stepping out of the spotlight, running behind the scenes. It wasn’t his usual shtick, but it was a distraction.
 
Done with his shopping, he sat down at a table, alone in the early morning darkness. It wasn’t even dawn yet, and what time was it again? 8:30? Stupid global warm-wait, no, it was time zones. Yeah, time zones! Time zones could go get fucked, making him feel tired at normal times in the morning.
 
He yawned dramatically, taking the alone-ness as a time to imagine being around people, entertaining.
    “Carl’s junior? More like-” His joke faded off as he couldn’t come up with any actually good pun.
   
    “Never mind.”
 
He liked to speak aloud, tired or not-pretending he had an audience prepared him for when there actually was one. It was good practice, in the shower or in the car, or in an empty Carl’s Junior. All the best jokes had to have some preparation, right?
 
~~~
 
It wasn’t on the actual case, but she’d found the man who’d requested her service-where he lived, and more importantly, his name-Robin Orwell. He seemed a stereotypical resident geek, except somehow more weird and hard to pin down. He was part of an art group, but didn’t seem to have ever made anything himself. He also held a long running track record with a psychological institute, though privacy and legality kept her from finding out why.
 
All this information came through his phone number which he had carelessly given her as he’d left, and she felt like some sort of genius. It was invigorating to get somewhere, even if it was a tiny step worth next to nothing. Sure, she could have just...called him...but the knowledge she had was empowering. She had something to hold over him, something to stay ahead. Fuck him and his mysterious case, and fuck him for not leaving more.
 
Excited and finally feeling in control, she finally picked up the phone, dialing.
 
“Hello?”
 
“Hello, detective. Nice work finding me.”
 
She leaned forward in her swivel chair, suddenly exposed.    “Excuse me?!”
 
“Your research. Very good. You should have come to visit me though, it’d be better to meet in person.”
 
“...Mr. Orwell I’ll have you know I took a Krav Maga class a couple of years ago-” She started, grasping for something to interrogate.
 
“Jacqueline, let’s meet at four, tomorrow. The nice coffeeshop near your office.”
 
She felt completely thrown off the rails, angry and intimidated. How dare he call her by her first name...she was going to interrogate him, not the other way around. And yet, here she was, completely disarmed at the fact that the guy KNEW. Knowing her name and address wasn’t a huge advantage-but he knew why she’d called. He knew what she knew-and somehow, it negated all her information
 
But two could play this game. There was no way in hell she was giving up this quick. Showing weakness would give him another tool against her. She quickly pushed her concern away to respond calmly and untouched.
 
“No tricks. No bullshit.”
 
“No tricks.” He mimicked, and the line dropped.
~~~
 
Felix walked into the entryway and shut the door behind him with his foot. After shucking his shoes off into the corner he took the stairs a few at a time, setting his food on the counter and going to the cabinet for plates. He set the table, opening the box of pancakes and the two breakfast sandwiches. The tables was set, the meal was ready-all he needed were his three disciples and some motherfucking gratitude.
 
    “...Felix?”
 
He whipped around, startled. Jack was standing there, still in his clothes from the night before.
 
“What? Hey, good morning.”
 
“Yeah.”
   
Felix gave a sarcastic smile, slightly pissed with the treatment.
 
“Go ahead, sit, eat.”
 
“Felix.”
   
“Hm?”
 
“Are you okay?”
 
...And this shit again. By now, he was just pissed everyone kept asking-and besides that, Jack was the last person he’d want to talk to about anything. Not that anything needed to be talked about. Fucking stupid.
“I’m fine. I’m just awake.”
 
“You know, you can like...talk-”
 
“-’to you, anytime if I need to’, Yeah, okay, I get it.” Felix quickly dismissed, getting up and grabbing a glass. He couldn’t talk if his mouth was full of water.
 
“Felix, it’s like, I know we don’t really talk about this sort of stuff all the time it’s just you don’t seem-”
 
“I know I know I KNOW okay! I’m alright! It’s chill, Jack. Just...it’s all good. Don’t worry.”
 
“Fine.”
 
Felix turned on the faucet and filled a cup of water. Jack was busy chuckling over his exaggeration, and he sipped on his water. It was surprisingly palatable-no noticeable flavors of metal or other recognisable elements. This really was a standard of living. The cabin would be worth it.
 
“You going to sell this house?”
 
Felix choked on his water.
 
“W-Why would you ask that?”
 
“You’re building another house, Felix. You’ve gotta be movin’ on, right?”
 
“No, I’m asking you why you’d ask that.” The half sarcastic comment was weakened through his coughing
   
“I didn’t mean anything by it!”
 
Felix cleared his throat for non-dramatic purposes, hand gripping his water cup tight. There was no reason to be angry so early in the morning. Jack just...didn’t know what he was talking about.
 
“Just drop it for now, alright?”
 
“Alright. Just know I’m here for you and-”
 
“Yeah, alright, alright. Enough of that.”
 
Jack shrugged back to his pancakes, seeming a bit thankful. The obligation everyone seemed to have for asking Felix about his woes and suffering was both worrying and annoying-worrying because it meant people were concerned and knew more than they should, and annoying because people were CONCERNED, and knew MORE than they SHOULD.
 
It..
 
hadn’t been recent anyways.
 
“Mmmm Good morning.” It was Mark, looking surprisingly awake, hair wet from the shower which Felix had given him no express permission to use.
 
“I bought pancakes.”
 
“Righty-o. You get them this morning?”
 
“Mmhm.”
 
Mark took his pancakes and stood in the kitchen, leaning on the countertop.
 
“Thanks dad. Bless. I planned to actually work sometime this afternoon, this is good motivation.”
 
Felix smiled a bit at that, thankful for the break in the tension.
 
“It’s just thanks for the cabin thing.”
 
“Oh, that? No problem, man.”
 
“Yeah, no big deal man. We know how good it does ya to have a couple more people working all the stuff with you. Safer that way too.” Jack interjected, enjoying the tangent.
 
Mark hummed in agreement through his mouthful of pancakes.
 
Felix tried to keep his smile, trying to feel grateful. They were good friends. No big deal. Just...where was Ken anyways? Ken was usually somewhere up and moving around earlier than this- and it felt weird to not have him as a barrier against the questions. Quietly, he left the room, leaving Mark and Jack to joke or banter about something.
 
“Ken.”
 
“....”
 
Ken was asleep on the bed still, curled up in all the blankets.
 
“Ken you gotta get home. Wife and the kid.”
 
“Mmmmohmygoodness you’re right.”
 
“I’m always right!”
 
Ken chuckled sarcastically into his pillow “My back hurts so much.”
 
“Did you pull it or something?”
 
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Classically, Ken was being unspecific about himself, and Felix saw right through it. More rather, he saw the same thing in himself.
 
“Come on man. You gotta figure this shit out. Old man.”
 
“Guh, leave me alone." br />  
Felix sighed, frustrated with the entire thing, but not about to be a bitch. Felix was, after all, no bitch. But, ironically, he was going to bury this frustration just as Ken was burying his responsibilities.
 
“Yeah, alright. I got you food. Want me to bring it here? Let you get dressed and stuff?”
 
“I’m gonna take a shower real quick.”
 
“Yeah, that might help.”
 
“Exactly. Hot water does miracles.”
 
Felix responded with a sort-of-smile and Ken gave him one back, sort of understanding. He hadn’t asked for the pity, and yet here it was. It was good-hearted, and yet...
 
“Alright.”
 
“Yeah. Go back and host.”
 
“Right.” Felix got up to leave, opening the door and heading to the hallway, trying to stay cool. The sooner he could be alone, the sooner he’d feel a little more at ease.
 
“Hey Felix, Me and Jack are gonna need rides back.” Mark called from the living room.
“You don’t have cars?” Felix called, bewildered that he was still necessary to Jack and Mark’s connection.
 
“No, I mean, yeah, Signe’s got mine, but she’s working. They dropped us off! Yeah!” Jack yelled
 
“Yeah.” Mark agreed quickly “It’s not a problem to drop us off, right? Sorry.”
 
“No, no it’s fine.” Felix said, moving back into the kitchen to face two “Now?”
 
“I mean, if it’s not a huge burden. I know you have a lot of things to deal with.” Mark said, smiling just a little. “I do too. Gotta get home and do more recording. Gonna be really fun this week and next, got this one writer-comedian coming on...”
 
Jack nodded along, and Felix found himself buckling to the suggestion. Mark had a way with words, working for his own podcast seemed to make him more convincing. It was soothing, yet knowing that he was being manipulated left a sour taste in his mouth. He headed down the stairs, listening to the chattering Mark had sparked and trying to ignore it.
 
They got into the car and Felix started it, pulling out to head to where Jack’s apartment was. The droning on in the backseat was pretty contained to mostly Mark and Jack, who were arguing gently over the next color Mark would dye his hair.
 
“It should be symbolic I think.”
 
“I liked it pink.”
 
“Well, what’s the symbolic of?”
 
“...I don’t know?” Jack shrugged “It’s not really my decision. Ask your listeners or callers or whatever. If it was from me, it wouldn’t be symbolic to anyone really.”
 
“Jack it’d be symbolic of you!”
 
“Oh how sweet.” Jack guffawed.
 
Mark laughed lightly “You’re right though, I should find some reason to do it. What do you like Felix? Pink?”
 
“What?” Felix hadn’t been paying attention\
 
“My hair, my GOR-geous mane.”
 
“Oh. Um…” Felix kept his gaze on the road, “The red’s alright.”
 
Mark seemed unsatisfied, but Jack left no room for silence, interrupting, “Come on Felix really think about it.”
 
“I don’t know? Blue? Or green. Whatever.”
 
“Green’s my color though!” Jack laughed.
 
The road wound into neighborhood, and Felix relaxed a little more. He’d be free soon, free to figure his own stuff out-Ken had his own car, he trusted Ken with the house- and he could go do errands, or drive around.
 
Soon.
 
“Thanks duuude!” Jack loudly yelled as he stepped out of the passenger seat. Felix couldn’t help but give a small smile to him, chuckling a quiet goodbye and pulling away from the curb stiffly, trying to maintain a speed that didn’t give off too much of his urgency to ditch him. The engine hummed thoughtfully, and his mind drifted to the possibility of getting that sound checked out. Dorothy was constantly losing little pieces of plastic and the trunk leaked water, but those were just little things to work around. If the engine was broken somehow, well….he barely had money for food from his savings and the occasional check from his parents. Getting another car was out of the question, it’d be giving in, and giving up on Dorothy. Good old Dorothy, always there for him…
 
“You alright?”
 
    Good lord, more of this. “Mark, I’m fine. Just thinking.”
Or he had been, until he’d been interrupted and thrown back into thinking about his problematic mindset. God, it was every time someone brought up if he was okay that he started to feel more and more aware of the whole incident. Mark had, thankfully, given up for the moment, staring out the window. Good.
 
    “So, how’s Am-”
 
    “I think I know what you’re going through.”
 
    Felix, thrown off by the interruption, let the statement hang in the air for a moment, watching Mark from the corner of his eye. Mark, meanwhile, looking concentrated, opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, clearly debating what he was going to say next.
 
    “Look...I just….you have to talk to someone.”
 
    “I’m talking to you right now.” Felix weakly countered.
 
    “No, you’re not. Just...I understand what it’s like.”
 
    “Like what’s like?”
 
    Mark paused for a moment again, and Felix gave his most confused and sarcastic look to the road, hoping Mark would take note and step off.
 
“Like, losing someone. I get that.”
 
“What?” Felix countered, feigning innocence.
 
“I understand you don’t want to confront it, but I feel like it’s something that we need to address.”
 
Felix bit his cheek, bringing his thoughts back to Dorothy and the road, which was hugely more important. They were still quite a ways from Mark’s apartment, which meant he’d need the distraction of driving to drown out Mark’s droning on and on. The radio might fall for Mark’s manipulation but Felix wasn’t buying it. It was funny that Mark tried, and Felix forced himself to smile defensively.
 
“I care about you. I’m always available to vent to, or talk to, because I know that sometimes that darkness is really difficult to pull yourself out of. I know it might not be now that you come around, bu-”
 
Felix interrupted to laugh. “The darkness is killing me oh-h woe is me oh-hhh.”
 
Mark was silent, and Felix could tell he’d gotten under the skin.
 
Good.
 
    Mark took a deep breath, putting on a more condescending tone. “I know you’re not taking me seriously, but I hope you keep that in mind.”
 
    “Well just back off. I didn’t ask you to take care of me.” Felix cut back, the still defensively coy tone in his voice.
 
    “Yeah, well I didn’t really sign up to either. Sorry I care about you, sorry I’m worried. Stop being a prick about what other people do to help you and approach you.”
 
    “Fuck off.”
 
    “You make yourself so difficult to be around, you know that?”
   
    “I didn’t want you around me in the first place, Mark. You think you’re so good. You think you can steal Jack and muscle your way into everything and give me therapy like you’re my friend and not just...a bitch.” Felix retorted, the words stampeding out and trampling the validity of his argument.
 
    “Well, I thought I was your friend, but all you’ve done is act like a child to me. I’ve been trying so hard to be there for you, and all you do is push me away, like you do all your other friends.”
 
    “I DON’T push them away-” Felix stopped mid sentence, stung. The car pulled up to the curb, and he parked, taking a deep breath.
 
    “I’m sorry I’m being so rough with you, I just don’t feel like I’m able to get through to you at all lately, and frankly I think all of us are getting tired of all of your b-”
 
    “You have work to do.” It was swallowing gravel. Felix stared out the windshield, feeling empty.
Mark looked back only once as he headed to his apartment, and Felix, putting the pieces of his barrier together, pulled away from the curb.

Chapter Text

Cry stood, confidently, flagging in hand, with his back to the house. Cold wind whipped against his back as he wrapped a piece around a birch, tearing off and tying it. He moved a few steps further into the brush, sun at his back as he broke off branches in search of his next tree.

Wrap, tear, tie.

The weather was surprisingly cold-a spring cold snap wasn’t unwelcome, however. Cry felt he was becoming stronger every time he went out and learned, and the difficulty of the work gauged the feeling of accomplishment. Even in the menial task of tying the flagging.

He nearly tripped as Ellie stepped onto his snowshoe, trying to ride along. About to curse he refrained to merely grimacing, moving along to a cottonwood. Condensation fogged his glasses

Wrap, tear, tie.

The trail was going to be around the lake-at least, that was the plan. Following the trail he roughly remembered was difficult so far. He’d never really been an outdoors guy-when he was younger it was all video games and laying around the house, doing chores with mom. She’d never really pushed him to do much more, and thus he’d never really wanted it. But living that way, without responsibilities...

Wrap, tear-

...being invited to the cabin was huge. It was cold, dry. There were actual seasons, which was weird, in comparison to hot Florida. And because of that, he feigned hating it for a long time, not speaking in the first week with the old man. But despite that, he’d been the one to receive the property statement. The old man had trusted in him more than his mother or his sister...or brother...or father...had in his life. And yet, Cry knew so little in the ways of actually keeping the cabin together. The fire was nearly all luck and lighter fluid, and the ax incident was more proof of his inability.
Ellie threw a branch at his feet. He paused in his process, bending down to pick up the stick and throw it to the woods. Ellie tore through the snowy underbrush after it.

-tie.

Not just accomplishment, but frustration in himself fueled his march. He wasn’t worthy of this property. Something in him just didn’t fit here. He tore off another branch and threw it to Ellie, who caught and demolished as systematically as he tore and tied.

She woofed for another, and he stomped through the snow, looking for the next trees to guide his trail.
~~~

Felix stared at the steam rising from his cup. He didn’t even like tea, but he still found himself brewing up a cup of red velvet black when he’d gotten home. It’d appeared in the house at some point, a gift he hadn’t received...maybe he’d given it? He wasn’t quite sure, he barely remembered the silly things like that. But having the warm mug in his hands gave him some sort of relaxation, letting him forget his actions from before, focus. The tea was dark, the mug was light, emptiness next to wholeness. Wholeness to worth, emptiness to aloneness...

Tea needed milk.

He got up and fetched the half and half, smelling it to be sure it hadn’t gone rancid since he’d last used it, and mixed it into his tea. His mind wandered on the well trodden trail to his guilt, Mark coming to mind. Mark had always been a too good suck-up, but the honesty that had been in his voice still ate at Felix. There was no way what he said had meant anything-Of course everyone cared for him, sure, he knew that. But Mark, saying he wasn’t trying? He couldn’t have really meant it. Mark had no idea how hard Felix was trying. Getting out of bed was trying, building the cabin was trying. Without her next to him, Felix felt just...different. World changed, like he was living in slow motion. It wasn’t that he liked aloneness, but accepting a replacement to that was a notion he could barely imagine. Mark clearly didn’t understand THAT.

Satisfied at where his mind had left him, he sipped his tea, burning his tongue in the process.

He didn’t need them to help him. He needed them to back off while he figured out his own issues. He needed space, work done...

The thought of the cabin made him itch to escape there. Alone, he could work during the week while everyone did their jobs. He had nothing else planned really, and they’d need another tree to find by the next weekend anyways.

Abandoning his tea, he got up and went to pack his bags.

~~~

The gravel road jostled the car as Felix, determined as ever, sped to the end of the dirt road and slowed the car to a stop. He pulled the handbrake and got out, slamming the door behind him and hefting his backpack from the back, putting it on. He’d leave his bag of clothes and legitimate sleeping gear for when he’d find somewhere to sleep in town.

It was chillier than he expected. Though the weather wasn’t much colder than it usually was, the wind was already nipping at his uncovered ears and blowing through his clothes. He threw his backpack to the ground and rummaged through it for a bomber hat, pulling it over his head without regard for a recognizable style.

Bitterly, he recalled the times he’d loved coordinating outfits, looking aesthetic. Some part of him still wanted that, but the energy for it had left him shortly after the accident. Now getting dressed was more of an obligation to everyone than an actual concern.

He marched into the woods, down his own familiar trail, his face stinging in the wind. The trail went through a large clearing, open to what would usually be the beautiful, frozen lake. Now, the clearing was a funnel for the wind, bringing the snow off of the lake and buffeting it into the clearing. Dunes were forming, all that snow from all over.

He shrugged his coat up in an effort to cover his face until he got deeper into the forest. The sun was out and the air was clear, yet everything still felt humid, chilling. He could barely feel cold with the amount of adrenaline running through him though, the determination to finish this or at least get close. The trees clattered in the wind, and he stopped at his abandoned tarp. Even in just a few days, the wet snow had coated it, and he brushed it off before pulling the corner of it off, retrieving the chainsaw from underneath. If he could even get a few trees down, he’d be further along than before-finding the right size tree was the trick. Once he had some down, he could process the wood and set the logs. Start at the bottom. Get more done. Get working. Stop thinking.

He checked the gas on the saw. Enough to get through a few trees-and that’d be enough. It wasn’t like he’d suddenly find a grove of perfectly sized trees. Even two was stretching it-He could haul back one, maybe, by himself. They were heavy, sure, but he’d done this for a while. It’d be no problem, it’d be nothing. He marched into the forest, wonderfully self-assured.

The places where they’d gone were still visible with their footprints. Even the drifted snow couldn’t cover the marks were logs had been dragged or slid over tarps and through to the worksite. The trick now was to find where the snow wasn’t already trodden on, what wasn’t already pillaged. Probably somewhere north east from the site, along the side of the first lake.

The lakes were all connected in a string of beaver dams along the main river. All the lakes looked similar in the snow, but Felix could remember when he’d named them in the summer. All of the names were various personifications of their general shape, or from video games he’d played when he had time. Now his schedule was so busy he barely had time to think about that sort of thing, what with the moving out and selling everything. He continued on his unbroken trail, feet breaking through the wet snow to the crisp ice layer underneath, then to more powdery snow beneath. It felt like spring was never going to break through-it was March, wasn’t it? Snow still on the ground, cold still breaking through him, snow still blowing into his face. The wind was blowing to his left now as he moved across the clearing, and further into the brush it still followed. Being close to the lake was probably the issue, and being on the south side of it. North was where the wind came from. Usually.

He blinked rapidly against the snow, marching on through the trees. All the forest looked the same, a little like a crappy game where every tree was just one tree copy and pasted throughout. He hummed softly to himself against the wind, something tuneless and soothing. It wasn’t like he needed to forget the walking part of walking, but he needed to focus. Not doing something would just let him fade in and out as he walked, forget he was walking. He didn’t want to forget where he’d gone.

Wait. Fuck.

Well, he’d follow the footprints on the way back.

What he needed to keep an eye out for were big, well developed spruce and birch trees. The other trees this far north didn’t grow past bushes-willow’s were too small and sappy, and cottonwoods...well...he hadn’t seen a well grown one yet, which meant that a stand was most likely out of reach from the worksite, seeing as that was the area he frequented.
The snow was becoming deeper where he was marching. He was definitely off of the main path now-the cold, half melted snow was seeping through his boots, pleasant, cold. Now he was getting somewhere.

~~~

“Ohhhh...the weather outside is frightful..” Cry softly sang to himself, stopping himself to laugh a little.

“But the fire, is suuure delightful.”

His fingers twisted through another piece of marking tape, burning a little from the repetitive motion. Damn...another thing to remember next time he went into town. Water and gloves. And maybe dog food. Ellie was pretty wild already but he wasn’t sure if she could eat raw game yet.

Ah, who was he kidding. He didn’t even know how to hunt. But it couldn’t be that hard, right? Supposedly it was all about patience anyways, and he had a lot of time for being patient.

“And since we’ve no place to go…” He paused to breath for a second, a little out of breath in the cold,

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it SNOW!”

Ellie barked with his sudden volume change, excited. She caught onto him really quickly, trying to shout along with him. Being loud was nice, reminded him he was alive.

“I uh...the weather outside is...christmas….” Ellie barked again and he nodded to himself. Sounded about right.

“And the cookies are sure...delicious?”

He smiled a little. They were getting closer to the edge of the lake. It would be a scenic trail, good for a nice walk. He could imagine it now, autumn or something, a slight breeze rustling the leaves on his trail, Ellie’s soft fur brushing his hand before she galloped ahead of him and ran back. Sweaty but good sweaty, not too tired, Maybe sit in a clearing, watch the water. If he could haul out the axe, he might be able to get a good clearing for a sitting spot.

A cold gust of wind suddenly hit his back, pushing him a little off balance. He grabbed a tree for support, and Ellie stood stock still, letting the wind ruffle her wrong.

Huh.

“Ellie!”

She turned, and gave a small bark, something wary and concerning, but came back to put her nose on his hand, acknowledge. What…

Footprints.

His breath caught in his throat, surrounding himself with quiet as he hastily set his things on the hard shell of snow, leaning down to look closer. Boot prints, fresh, one set. Something being dragged along. A ski pole? No pole tracks though. It was pressed in hard, from something heavy or dense or something, but it was a weird line. Maybe whoever it was dragging a stick. Or a...bag?

The tracks seemed to come towards the cabin from a ways back, curved around trees in a switchback-y style. No specific path, good. It was heading like he was, down to the lakeside.

Why would someone go to the lakeside? Were they lost? The lake WAS a good vantage point-but lost from where? He had no neighbors, no one close enough to be HERE.

Actually, where WAS here? He turned around, looking for the cabin. Out of sight. He’d gone far, apparently.

There was a good chance the person didn’t know where they were. But...what now? What if they heard him? He knew talking had been a mistake. Even out here wasn’t alone. He was never alone, he needed to start assuming as much.

He didn’t have his gun on him. He had ribbon, something could work there. All he needed to do was follow the footprints and keep quiet. How would he handle Ellie? Make a leash maybe with the ribbon. What then? And the object the person was carrying, what if it was some weapon or something? An attack would need to be as stealthy as he could make it-

He took out the ribbon and bent down, letting Ellie come near him before reaching for her collar-wait, no collar. The ribbon felt flimsy, not enough time.

“Ellie. Sh.” Last resort. He pressed his finger to his lips, put his hand flat at her, stiff. She bounced a little, impatient, and he sighed. She was a liability, but he’d need to work around that. Let Ellie run to the person, get behind, use the ribbon.

~~~

Felix sweated underneath his clothes, eyes up as he marched on, on the lookout for a good tree to mark. It had been...what, an hour or two? He’d found a small tree for firewood to bring back if prospects weren’t good, but he still searched, hoping to see something worth coming back for. Best to stock up early, wood for the cabin.

And besides, the whir on the cold wood had made carrying the chainsaw all worth it, Even if it didn’t get much done he was getting somewhere, making some sort of progress.

Wind buffeted his face, and he forced his chin further into his collar, scruffy beard tickling the polyester. Crap weather for hiking but he trod on, legs automatic with a the unkillable determination as a pack horse. Not thinking was key to hard work.

“OOf-”
A sudden slope caught his foot and he stumbled, throwing the weight of the chainsaw forward to keep balance as he fell back, letting out a stream of Swedish swears as he slid down the rest of the hill. Reaching the bottom he laid for a moment, shocked, breathing hard.

Cold seeping, cheeks burning, numb. He took a deep breath and threw the chainsaw down in an attempt to get up with better footing, only to the blown over on the way up as the wind hit him again. His hair whipped against his face in sweaty pieces, ears stinging. He’d never come up a hill in his loop so where the fuck was he?

A clearing.

It was ahead by only a few steps, a big clearing. Marsh. Lake? He could probably spy his badly placed (stupid) clearing from there and walk the edge to it. Hat, where was his hat? His ear were numb and he turned around for it, digging through the snow he’d dislodged on his slide down. His gloves found it and he shook it out, pulling it on and embracing the warm sounds of his own breathing, his heart racing in his ears.

~~~

Cry crept through the woods, slow and silent, hand ready to grab Ellie if she bolted. Somehow he doubted it-she had moved behind him, stepping in his tracks as if she understood his movements, the seriousness and precaution he was taking.

“Javla FAnn-”

Cry quickly crouched behind a tree, startled by the sudden noise. Ellie’s ears pricked and she tensed, on the brink of darting forward.

“Ellie...Ellie No. No!” He said quietly, clapping his mitted hands in an attempt to get her attention. She looked at him, questioning.

“Come on Ellie...Please...uh...treat?”

At the prospect of a treat she broke her tense position and let out a loud bark.

“Ellie NO. Ellie No! Fuck!”

He had to go now. Fingers knotting in the ribbon, he ran forward, letting out some noise as branches whipped him in the face like punishment for the failed attack. His feet slid from underneath him, and his back hit the ground, knocking the breath out of him. He floundered back up, glasses askew, feeling idiotic. He practically deserved to be intruded upon. This was ridiculous-wait.
The intruder was ahead, back to him. Opportunity. Only seconds before Ellie noticed.

The ribbon tightened in his hands and he sprinted, breath coming out fast as he threw his arms around and pulled, knee against the person’s back.

~~~
Something stunned him in the back and Felix fell forward as an arm threw itself over his head. It was straining against his collar-plastic?- and he reached up, fingernails scraping, trying to break it. Miraculously, the plastic broke and with the resistance gone, he fell forward, scrambling for the chainsaw . They caught his leg and he kicked them off, panting as he dragged himself to a standing position and lunged for the clearing, only to feel his ankle twist in the deep snow, caught on some bush or small branch or something.

Still he dragged on, his staggering falling into running as he hit the clearing of snow, and a dog was running with him, barking, trying to nip at him. He swung the chainsaw in a sort of defensive maneuver which made no impact but stuttered him to a halt. The dog barked loudly, friendly, but Felix stepped back adrenaline racing through as his foot punched through snow easier. He could see the person still in the woods, digging through the snow. The dog jumped again and Felix stepped back, only to feel a crack and cold water wash over his calf. Uneven, he fell back, the chainsaw hitting ice as he broke through.

The fish scattered from the turbulence above it.

~~~
Cry struggled, close to yelling but so intently focused as he gripped tighter, pushing the guy forward, pulling, and the ribbon snapped. Surprised, Cry fell on his back, prone and angry. This was going horribly-Ellie was barking, excited, adding to the cacophony of noise ringing through his ears, his own thrumming heart.

As the person got up, Cry wrenched himself forward, trying to grab for something, anything. He needed to regain purchase. His fingers curled around a foot for a second before he was kicked, square in the face.

Crack.

His glasses bent in the middle, and were thrown off of his face into the snow. Shocked, he reeled back, crawling after them like Velma from Scooby Doo. This was probably the worst, most unplanned fight he’d gotten himself into. How could have been so stupid to forget that the collars of jackets were high up? Or about Ellie??

Ellie’s barking went into the distance, and Cry kept searching, rifling through the snow until at last he found his frames and put them on his face, still snow covered, foggy, but at least somewhat clear.
Gunshot. Yelling. He searched the landscape, eyes catching on a hole in the ice.

“Fuck!! FUCK!! ELLIE!!”

Splashing from the hole in the ice caught his attention, and half blinded he ran onto the lake. Ellie could be in there. Just as the man couldn’t leave, Ellie couldn’t leave. It wasn’t going to happen like that.

Reaching the thinner ice, he crouched then crawled, trying to balance his weight. She was half in the water and half out, scrabbling, tired, soaked. He just needed to grab her, pull her out so she could run back. This was good. This was convenient, actually. Just one reach.

He grabbed her by the scruff somewhat and leaned back hard, pulling with what adrenaline was still working through him. Convenient, that the person break through the ice. Everything was going horribly but somehow nature had blessed and forgiven him, providing such an opportunity. A perfect way to dispose of a body. And yet some nagging feeling was crawling over his skin, colder than the snow up his shirt or dripping off his glasses in wet clumps.

Frantically, he found himself searching the water with his hands, reaching, grabbing, pulling at the polyester jacket, the mitted hands. The ice was cracking more with the weight of both of them as Cry leaned back again, heaving the heavy torso of the stranger onto the lake. His mind felt empty, thoughtless, as the man sputtered for breath, hand reaching and holding Cry’s forearm tight. He didn’t speak as Cry crawled back, pulling him along the ice and closer to the shore.

Reaching thicker ice, Cry stood up, reluctantly pulling the stranger with him, who took only moments to start limping with him.. Ellie, onshore, barked feebly and Cry reached down to put a hand on her head but continued on, over the shore line, dragging the stranger with him. The man was taller than him, but only slightly, bearded and gangly. Cry had gotten very little of his face in view, and still the thought of seeing it was blurred by the exhilaration and raw survival instinct that was overloading his thinking.

Almost on cue, the man on his shoulder went completely limp, and Cry struggled to support him on the way down. He heaved the man up by the armpits, wondering what he was doing but knowing it was too late to go back.

Chapter Text

Cry burst through the cabin door, snow melting off his eyebrows and in his hair. The fire was out, conveniently, but he dragged the man in front of the wood stove, setting him down before getting back up himself, trying to decide what to do first. He needed to get the fire back, blankets, bandages maybe. Did he have bandages. No, now that he thought about it. Another thing he’d forgotten in his escape.

He started to stand up, feeling enormous resistance of his body, aching from resting for even a moment. His mind had one train of thought running through it, and he wasn’t sure what it was. Survival maybe? Determination? It felt more like desperation to save this person.

Cry’s attention went back to the guy, who lay silent, chest moving almost imperceptibly. Finally, he could actually end this, just put a pillow over his head or something. But just as down at the lake, the idea of killing the stranger felt somehow morally wrong. He was just...a guy. A real guy too, not some sociopathic business person, someone greedy and awful. No, just a person.

A very very cold person. There was one thing he remembered about cold, from a time he’d fallen out of the canoe into the lake- he’d gotten out freezing and wet, but the old man had made him strip off the wet clothes, even though it seemed like he’d be colder without them. Water in clothes made you colder it was just...a thing.

So, with some difficulty, he unzipped the man’s soggy jacket and gently laid it on the floor next to him. The man’s hands were cold, stiff and dead feeling but Cry decided not to think about it, moving on to undressing the rest of him. The pants and shoes were difficult, but as soon as he got them off, Cry realized something was wrong with the guy’s foot. Swollen. Broken? No, dislocated.

Closing his eyes tight, he steadied his nerves and snapped it back in, half expecting the man to wake up and grab him by the throat or something. But the stranger only let out a low groan, eyelids fluttering. Cry got up again, his back straining as he sifted through his dresser to find his warmest clothes. Maybe just...put him on the couch and leave clothes next to him? He wasn’t sure whether he actually wanted to dry off and dress the guy while he was still unconscious. But then again, the guy might find it strange to wake up nearly naked and wrapped up in front of a stranger’s fire anyways.

So gently he dressed the guy, struggling to roll him over and put on the sleeves to the shirt, before lifting the dude up by the armpits again onto the couch in front of the fire. He needed to be on guard if the man woke up and tried to attack him again, or writhe around. Cry wasn’t quite sure what damage was done to the man’s head but it was likely that he’d hit it while falling through or coming out of the ice.

It all felt like a blur still, the entire incident. He felt weak everywhere, probably from adrenaline.

The guy wasn’t going anywhere with an ankle like that, and Cry pulled up a chair, close enough to observe but not be within arms reach. Just to close his eyes for...a second.

~~~

It was the big day, and she was nervous. She felt oddly like she was going on a big date and not an investigative trip. But...a coffee shop. What was casual for a brown woman to wear in a coffee shop? This wasn’t really her territory, she was more of an office coffee person, when she drank coffee at all. She never liked hot drinks anyways. Wasn’t a coffee shop oddly conspicuous of a man trying to hide his identity?

All these things ran through her mind as she chose a fairly typical blouse and pair of khakis, and headed out.

~~~

Blackness. Darkness was what he reached through. A sleepwalking man, fish swam around him. He fought for breath, and the darkness held him, his feet.

~~~

The coffee shop was more packed than she expected. Apparently people liked coffee more than she’d paid attention, which was almost comical, considering the main aspect of her job was to pay attention. And in the way of attention, she didn’t see the man who’d called her anywhere. She ordered iced tea, the drink she felt most comfortable ordering, and sat at a table for two, draping her purse over her left side, easily accessible.
Still, no one.

She felt uncomfortable, but pulled her sunglasses down, and a sudoku out. Of all the things she wasn’t prepared for, a stake out was not one of them. Her element was as the hunter, and waiting was giving her a chance for a better foothold. Lionel Richie was playing softly. The exit was next to the bathrooms, an easy escape besides through the more conspicuous front doors. Two baristas, one at the front and the other serving orders. Six customers, herself not included, and none of them the cool, wispy voiced Orwell.

She looked to her sudoku, bored and filling in two numbers before surveying again. The crowd was bigger, at least three more people had come in, teens, kids and were ordering. A barista was missing, probably fetching more supplies. She looked back down.

A jingle, the door was opened again. She looked up slowly, playing curious. A man in a black suit, blue and white striped tie. Coiffed hair, cuff links. He looked directly out of a commercial for mens wear, which was odd but not strange in itself. A stripe was tattooed on his left ring finger, his eyebrows thick eyebrows providing little expression to his rather neutral stare into the wall.

The barista hadn’t returned, and the remaining one was struggling to manage the new orders. Jacqueline set her sudoku down and pretended to check her phone instead, but a gust of wind made her look up almost immediately.

The back door was open, the barista still gone. A woman was sitting in the back of the room in full view, wearing a yellow sundress, horn rimmed sunglasses. A tattoo of an ace of spades was visible just below the collar of her dress.

Something about her was simultaneously very belonging and completely out of place, but Jacqueline stayed put in her position, her crow’s nest. She could be drawing assumptions.

~~~~

A groan woke him up. Or rather, Cry realized he was sleeping and jolted awake. The stranger was moving around, curling his fist in and out, clenching and unclenching.

How long had Cry been asleep? An hour or two? He felt hungry and slightly concerned with the stranger’s state, so he got up, stretched, cracked his sore neck and nearly fell over. Ellie raised her head curiously from her position of lying next to the glowing fire, only slightly burning now, and Cry walked over to put another log in.

“I’m so sorry…”

Cry was startled by the pleading voice, but the stranger still lay asleep, clenching his fist. He was murmuring more, incomprehensible, it sounded like he was explaining something important. Cry turned back to the fire.

Him being here meant they had something in common. Whether it was to find Cry or just to find himself, the man had come deep into the woods, walked far past the restrictions and far away from civilization. He had walked non stop for miles, probably. Distracted by himself or by walking or by the sounds of breaking snow and wind. Cry related to it.

But by no means did he feel warm or cuddly about the whole thing just because they had something in common. He’d pulled the man from the water, and now he had no idea what to do with him. He was keeping him, that was for sure, at least until he was better. But what then? Keep the man here forever?

And what would he say? ‘Sorry I sicced my dog on you and tried to strangle you. You were trespassing and I don’t like that.’

He didn’t feel like a full meal, and fetched some crackers and cheese. His movements felt stiff as he ate, watching Ellie. She was asleep, probably had been for a while. Without her, he wasn’t sure where he’d be. He wouldn’t have kept the stranger.

The papers floated into his head, the documents, and he got up to put more into the fire. If the man woke up, Cry would need to be more careful about what was hidden and what wasn’t. The gun, for instance, needed a more inconspicuous place than on the floor with all of his other things. It’d been a week and he still hadn’t even checked out the whole cabin.

He got up with the resolve to figure out everything before the stranger awoke. Things needed to be prepared, like a place for the man to be kept. Conveniently, among the cabin’s open space kitchen, loft, living room and bedroom, there was one bedroom separated from the rest of the cabin. Cry had been sleeping there, but seeing as it isolated the stranger, he remade the bed for it to be the man’s new room. Folders and the guns were hidden in a panel in the upstairs loft wall, where Cry discovered an entire stash of various old liquors, left behind. At the end of his housework, he stripped down and changed, putting his clothes with the mans’ on the foldable drying rack behind the stove .

He wasn’t sure how he’d slept in even a few minutes in wet clothes. He felt anxious to get things done now, to keep watch. He couldn’t trust this stranger any more than someone who’d meant to come out here-because maybe that was the plan. Maybe someone had sent this guy out here as a decoy, to see what Cry would do.

His eyes immediately went to the window, the lake. The hole was still there, snow covering it from the now blizzardy conditions, but not well enough to make it vanish. It was still there, the dark crevasse, cracks invisible beneath the snow. Anyone could see past the thick wet flakes and know, especially someone planning to infiltrate his safe place. How quickly had they found him here. Had he really been so sloppy? Maybe the grocer had actually recognized his voice, followed him.

Doggedly, he sat back in his chair, watching the stranger again. He looked more colored, blonde hair, scraggly stubble, cheeks rosey with the warmth of inside. Innocent, really, which made him all the more suspicious.

Cry sighed, and got up to pace as the man began muttering again.

“I’m so sorry...I’m so sorry...I’m so sorry….”

~~~
Jacqueline stared at the woman in the yellow dress, a sort of focused frustration in the back of her mouth. She wasn’t someone to dislike people immediately for their race, but something about this white woman made her attacked. On top of this, she was suspiciously placed there, like someone had just air-dropped the “art-hoe-aesthetic” white model into the cafe.

But the card. The card was off-putting, and the man’s tattooed ring. She knew assumptions were bad, but the connection felt there. The two of them made no eye contact, but Jacqueline could feel some connection between them, just waiting.

The man was behind her, the woman a few tables away from her. They’d almost triangulated her militarily. But where was their third person?

“Ma’am, would you like anything to go with that coffee?”

“No, I’m alright.”

The waiter moved and she felt it, the trapped feeling she was so unacquainted with. People weren’t usually this organized, especially on the cases she worked. She slowly stood up, hand in her purse, and there was another jingle on the door.

Robin Orwell.

He didn’t order, but set something on the counter for the barista, with a weak sort of fake smile.

“Jackie…I’m sorry I’m late.” He sat down across from her, rested his gawky elbows on the table.

“You brought a couple of people with you.”

“Just as a precaution, to see what you’d do, if you’d notice. We’re dealing with a very dangerous guy.”

Jacqueline felt frustrated that Robin had dragged her so far in. She was an alright detective, but she knew she knew her limits well. She wasn’t a bad shot, but she wasn’t the best either. She was better at finding cheating husbands, not dangerous criminals. “Then involve the police or something. I don’t do that kind of work.”

“My friends aren’t really clean to do that.” He sighed, seeming actually weak from the weight of it “I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t have to.”

“Well, that’s sure flattering.”

“Don’t be flattered.”

She felt annoyed by his arrogant attitude, but dampened her temper “Who are they?”

“Concerned friends of the guy we’re looking for. They’re just here for support though, I don’t think you’ll see them again.”

“Hmph. Not if I don’t have to, thank you.”

~~~~

Ceiling fan.

The first moving thing that Felix fixed his eyes on. Rotating around

and

around.

A hospital, no.

There was a lot of wood above him, hospitals didn’t do that

Where was he then?

Ufgh, the guy with the floss. The guy with the dog. The

plastic around his

throat.

Eyes, close. Open.
“Uuuuuugggggggh.”

His ankle felt numb, his whole body cold. Had he gotten wet? His head hurt.

He rolled his aching body onto his side.

Blink more.

His mind still a little fuzzy, there was a wood stove, glowing orange. It was starting to come together, he was inside someone’s house. Who’s?

A guy was coming down the stairs behind the stove, bearded, wearing broken glasses.

“Hey. Hey!” He barked, his chest hurting with the movement. “You took me. You-” He didn’t have the word in his head for a moment. It wasn’t really a kidnap, not like a normal one.

The guy stopped on the stairs, staring at him. His mouth was sort of open.

“You’re a kidnapper.” Felix said in a sort of wonder

“No I-” The man responded before stopping himself completely, shutting his mouth tight. How come the man wouldn’t admit to his actions?

“Why am I-Why did you get me?”

The man was silent, watching him. He looked afraid.

Great, a crazy old man had captured him. He probably thought Felix was his long dead wife or something.

“I, uh, I need to go.” He shifted to move his hands, surprised to find them unfettered and free. Oh geez. The man probably wanted him to run so Felix could be hunted like game. The man would probably let Felix outside, then shoot him from the deck or track him or something. He needed to get out quick, then. Better to be hunted than shot in the middle of some nowhere cabin that he couldn’t be found at.

He pushed his hands on the couch, trying to sit up, head pounding.

“Wait don’t-”

He froze at the sound of the man’s voice again, but set his foot on the ground, putting weight-
"Javla FAN.” Pain shot through his ankle, and he fell back onto the couch. The stove burned hot in front of him. “What did you do?!”

“You dislocated...your ankle…” The man seemed to be struggling to come up with the words, which Felix felt glad for at least. He was starting to remember more of what had happened...earlier that day? Yesterday?

“What day is it?”

“I don’t know.” The man no longer seemed startled, sitting on a chair near the fire to watch Felix on the floor. “Today?”

Felix chuckled a little, his chest hurt with the movement. Of course. What luck he had to run into a man in the woods and dislocate his ankle, then get kidnapped and not remember the whole thing.

Wait.

“I need my chainsaw back.”

“Oh uh...I lost...it.”

“How do you lose a chainsaw?”

The man hesitated for a moment, looking defensive for a few brief moments before his face hardened, decisive. “You’re not getting it back. It fell in the lake.”

Felix’s breath caught. He felt crushed-he couldn’t afford another chainsaw, he needed it to continue building the cabin, the cabin for him to finally find himself. His compass was askew. “I dropped it didn’t I.”

“You dropped it.”

“You choked me!”

The man got up with a sigh, clearly not about to reveal what his intention had been. But Felix was nothing if not persistent.

“You choked me and took me here. Why did you do this? What do you want from me?”

The man didn’t budge “Are you hungry?”

Felix bitterly kept silent.

“I’ll get you some food.”
Weirdly the man was being friendly. Probably fattening Felix up for a meal.

“Can I leave?”

“When your ankle’s better. You’d die out there if it isn’t healed.”

“Put me in a sled and take me.”

“No.” The man returned with cheese and apples, something Felix was well acquainted with.

“No?”

“You’re staying until you’re better.”

“You’ve trapped me!” Felix couldn’t stop thinking about the cabin, unattended. His friends. His ankle-how would he do work on a bum ankle?! “How am I supposed to trust you?”

The man shrugged and sat back in the chair next to Felix’s couch, setting the food between them. The man picked up a slice and ate, clearly trying to encourage Felix to do so as well. Felix tentatively began to eat, realizing how hungry he was. The food disappeared quickly, and as they finished their silent meal, the man broke in.

“My name is Cry. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”

Felix was surprised but quick to respond “Felix.”

The man got up, dusting off invisible dirt from his pants and taking the food away with a sigh. Felix watched the fire crackle in the silence, amazed by the structure he’d been brought into, the wood stove-heated cabin. It was dark outside, and wet snow was falling. Two lights were on in the cabin, the kitchen and dining room, but the whole house was illuminated by the light. It was built rather homely as one large room.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Four hours.”

“Oh.” Felix felt awkward waiting for more information, but none came.

Chapter Text

Jaqueline wasn’t sure what the point was, while she walked back to her office, Orwell in tow. The interaction at the coffee shop had felt like a bold display of power that she hadn’t really needed to see—after she had looked up Robin’s mysterious life, she was intrigued enough. It was just…why? Why did she need to see the strange, zombie like “Chaos Server” participants, or whoever they were? And more than that, why her? She felt extremely out of her league and felt annoyed that Orwell thought she was capable of the search he seemed to be doing better than her. All this culminated into one question that she spoke aloud, as they reached the door to her office.

“What do you want me to do here that those people can’t?”

“You like puzzles?” He didn’t-exactly answer.

“Yes--”

“I want you to put the pieces together, the one’s I’m giving you.”

Now she was getting frustrated. She turned to him, “What pieces have you given me? I don’t have any evidence, I don’t have dates, or places or even a person. I can’t just go search for something that, as far as I know, doesn’t exist.”

“I wanted to give you a big piece today.”

“Oh, wow, about time.” She snapped rather sarcastically before she could stop herself. She needed to at least seem professional and in control. “What is it?” She followed.

“I have a picture for you. Well, it’s more of an artifact. Let’s go inside.”

“Right.” Jaqueline realized they were still standing outside the office and so she turned the key in the lock, and stepped in. She gestured at the guest chair for Orwell and sat in her own. After sitting, Orwell reached into his shoulder bag—an ugly, grey and brown thing, obviously worn—and pulled out a picture. It was glossy, one of those photos that had been printed from a Costco or something of the like. She took it from him and squinted at the image.

“What…is this?” She knew full well what it was but was hoping she was wrong.

“It’s a man, and his head is—“

“—Yeah.” Her mouth was dry. *This* was why she hadn’t joined the police. She couldn’t handle gore, blood. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the picture. A natural question bubbled to her mind.

“Who took this?”

Orwell paused for a moment, seemingly calculating his answer before responding, “I did.”

“No...” She immediately said. Something was wrong about that answer. She couldn’t place her finger on it, but she was starting to realize when Orwell was lying. Probably because he wasn’t good at it. She knew he wouldn’t let her just say that without proof, so she started scanning the picture, her analytical brain moving past the horrific nature of what she was looking at. Finally, her eyes settled on the date in the corner and the pieces came together.

“You were hospitalized in May through August of 2016. This photo was taken in June of 2016. Unless the state of New York is lying about you being institutionalized and falsified their dates due to some pay off by your friends, it’s just fact that you wouldn’t be allowed near a scene like this, much less allowed to photograph it. You may have received this photo in your institution, but that’s also unlikely. I’d guess it was mailed or given to you afterwards. I think you know the person who took the picture, and you might even know them personally. No one just gives a picture like this to a stranger, unless they can be trusted.” She looked up to Orwell, who was giving her a faint smile.

“You’re right. But if it’s such a sensitive piece of information, why would I give it to you?”

‘You hired me’ seemed to be the obvious answer, but with Orwell it was never that surface level. She thought for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
“Do you consider me close to you, Orwell?”

“Please, call me Robin.” Another answer that wasn’t an answer.

“You must be desperate. People have abandoned you. The person who gave you this wanted you to solve this, but you couldn’t. Did you have a falling out?”

This time, Orwell was seeming to wear down, but he didn’t seem upset about it. It was probably because if he let her figure out the conspiracy, he didn’t have to say it. “You’re on the right track.”
~~~
Cry puttered around the cabin, trying to think of anything more to say to the man— well, Felix. He hadn’t even really thought about how he was planning to get Felix into the room. He felt confused by how his usually very ordered train of thought was falling apart, how he couldn’t seem to think through any plan and just make the right decision. Emotions were getting lodged in his mind, blocking all the obvious solutions.

Ellie had woken up, but was still extremely docile, probably still exhausted from the near death she’d experienced. He reached down to touch the top of her damp head, and she sat down. He looked down at Ellie, then back up at Felix, who was staring into a corner of the cabin, his mouth twitching. It was clear he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t really come up with it. So, Cry tried his best to help him.

“Do you have to be somewhere?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Felix shot back. “Or, more, I thought you would know, seeing as you stole me away from what I needed to do and made me drop my stuff and now I can’t get it back and—”

“Hey, look, ok, you’re right but—” Cry didn’t know how to explain himself, “I’m really sorry, but you trespassed on my property and I didn’t know who you were, and I was confused. You seem about as dangerous to me as I probably seem to you.”

“I didn’t try to choke you out and get my dog to kill you and drown you in a lake.”

Cry didn’t really know how to respond to that. “I…slipped.” No, that wasn’t believable, he needed to change the subject, “Look, if you want to be alone for a bit, I have that bedroom set up for you. I have food and water if you need it, and I’m drying your clothes. It shouldn’t be very long until I can get you out of here.” That was mostly true. He did want to help the guy, but he had no idea whether to let him go or not. He still hadn’t decided. Confusing emotions, rattling in his brain.

“Fine.” Felix said somewhat aggressively. He pushed himself off the couch, and very carefully started to limp towards the room Cry had referred to. Cry waited until Felix was in his room and had shut the door to sit on the couch himself. He still felt exhausted. There were two more beds connected to the open room, one up the stairs, and the day-bed near the door—but Cry couldn’t convince himself to sleep in either one. He gathered some blankets from the upstairs and set some outside of Felix’s room, before bringing the rest of them to the couch Felix had been on. He would tend the fire, and maybe that would ease Felix’s mind that Cry didn’t mean to harm him.

~~~
Felix limped to the bedroom Cry had shown him. As soon as the door was closed, he began to plot ways of escape. How was it that people in movies did it? Lulling their kidnapper into a false sense of security by being submissive, right? He hadn’t really started doing that, and, to be frank, he wanted to leave NOW. More than that, he needed to leave, because…because his friends would notice, and he had to finish the cabin.

He reached into his pocket to find that what he was wearing wasn’t his clothes. Oh, right, his clothes were drying on the rack behind the fireplace. But he couldn’t leave the room without Cry or whoever he was noticing him.

So, he waited, laid on the bed and waited. Getting dunked in the stupid-cold lake had really worn on him, and his head hurt from a likely concussion, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. He needed to leave. But first, he needed to find his phone. He needed to let people know where he was. Maybe they could track him and find him.

He rolled over to stare at the alarm clock next to the bed. 11:30. The red numbers were burning into his eyes, and he blinked a few times. How was there electricity here? There were no powerlines around.

He rolled back onto his back and kept thinking. If he could just get his phone… He hadn’t heard any rustling in the other room for a while now. Maybe he could just open the door, and sneak to the drying rack….

He pushed himself up out of bed, a headrush hitting him almost immediately. He blinked a few times, but continued, carefully putting weight on his feet. He grimaced at the pain in his ankle, but slowly stood, only to nearly sway into the wall in front of him. Fuck, could he really do this? It didn’t matter.

Using the wall to lean against, he found his way to the door and turned the handle. The door opened easily, a little too easily. He slowly peeked out of the opened sliver.

Cry was on the couch, across from the stove and drying rack. All the light in the room was radiating from the fire in the stove, which meant that Felix was relatively in the dark. This was a dangerous mission. But the fear fueled Felix as he opened the door fully and crouched. His ankle shot pain through him, and he quickly transitioned to being on his knees. The lower he was to the ground, the more he could hide behind the stove.

He slowly crawled, ignoring the pile of neatly folded blankets outside the door, and over to the drying rack. He grasped desperately until he found his own jacket, soaking wet. Undeterred, he felt each corner of the jacket, trying to remember which pocket his phone was in. Why wasn’t it there?

Desperately, he searched for his pants. Maybe he’d put them in those pockets, maybe they were there. Finding those, he finally felt the rectangle of the device in his pocket. He could barely contain his excitement as he pulled it out, pressed the power button.

It turned on.

Holy shit, this was his ticket out. Holy shit, he’d made it. All he had to do was wait. He waited for the home screen to appear, but in only a few moments, the screen faded to black. No, this couldn’t be happening, no, no, no.

He pressed the power button again. This time it didn’t turn on.

He squeezed his eyes shut as helplessness washed over him. This couldn’t be happening, he couldn’t be trapped here like this. He couldn’t just…this couldn’t be…

That’s when he heard movement. He froze. The dog was getting up. She was walking towards him. Felix tried to not hyperventilate, but his breathing was already quickening, his hands were shaking.

The phone fell on the ground in a loud clatter.

Fuck!

Felix’s head snapped up to look at where Cry was sleeping, and he watched as Cry shifted, but didn’t wake up. Good.

He needed to be more real with himself—he might be able to fix the device if he just held onto it and could hide it from the too-kind kidnapper.

So, he pocketed the dead phone and inched back to his room, slowly closing the door with an audible click. As soon as he was behind the door, he painfully stood up and hobbled around the room, trying to decide what to do with the phone. He finally settled on the dresser across from the bed, going to the bottom drawer and stuffing it in underneath some sheets.

God, he was exhausted. The day was too long. He couldn’t even remember when he’d started, when he’d left town and ended up in the woods. And now it was what, 12:15?
He shut the drawer and limped to the bed, slowly sitting down and getting under the covers. He felt slightly more secure knowing he had something