serendipdipity01
serendipdipity01
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serendipdipity01 · 28 days ago
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xvii. 𝐭𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝
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𝐭𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝
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[ ₂₀₂₁! ]
Natalie stepped out of the police station first.
The door hissed shut behind her, but she didn't look back. Her boots hit the concrete with a sharp rhythm, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her black jacket, eyes trained on the gravel lot like it might give her answers. There was something closed-off in the line of her shoulders. Not angry, not yet. Just—tired. Guarded.
Behind her, the door creaked open again.
Misty followed, humming something cheerfully tuneless under her breath as she adjusted her glasses and stepped into the sun like it was just another day. She held her purse tight under one arm like a briefcase and gave a chipper little wave to the sheriff inside before letting the door swing shut behind her. Not a care in the world.
Then came Annie.
She hesitated in the doorway.
Her fingers lingered on the edge of the frame, eyes scanning the lot ahead before stepping forward like the air itself had changed. And it had. Because there, across the pavement, leaning against the side of an old cat with the same pissed-off expression she used to wear in high school—
Was Molly.
Arms crossed, jaw clenched, one boot tapping the dirt like she was daring them to speak first.
No one moved for a second. The silence was heavy, crackling, like the moment before a storm hits. And then—
"Where's Travis?" Natalie asked, looking around.
"Why's your house empty?" Misty chimed in, practically bouncing. "I mean, no animals? No people? Not even a goat? Very suspicious." The woman's eyes widened, as if she just remembered something. "You have a daughter! How old is she? What's her name?"
"You could've called," Natalie snapped, slightly pushing Misty to the side. Natalie took a half-step forward, arms crossing low across her chest. "You let everyone think you were dead."
Molly blinked. Her lip trembled—just a flicker. She hadn't looked at any of them directly until now—and even then, her eyes skipped past Misty, past Natalie, and landed squarely on Annie.
And Annie still hadn't said a word.
She stepped forward slowly, her shoes crunching over grit and dust, until she stood just a few feet away. Close enough to see the fine lines around Molly's eyes. The way her scowl wasn't quite hiding the tremble in her jaw.
She wasn't angry.
She was wrecked.
"Where the hell have you been for the last twenty-five years?" Annie asked, her voice low. Steady. But full of something deeper—grief, disbelief, ache.
Molly scoffed, her scowl deepening. Her guard slammed back into place like a reflex. "I think you know where I've been," she said, reaching for the car door, yanking it open with a metallic creak. "Since you were standing inside my fucking house." She paused, the door still open, her hand tightening on the handle. Then, slowly, she turned back around, brows drawn. "How the hell did you even find it?"
Misty pushed up her glasses, perking up. "Oh, just some citizen detective perks!" She beamed, like she'd just won bingo. "Your mail was being forwarded through a rural P.O. box registered to your fake name, but it was still easy to find. I cross-referenced a couple things from your—"
"Misty, you're so fucking weird," Molly muttered with a short, frustrated laugh, dragging a hand down her face.
"You didn't return any of my calls." Annie's voice cut through again—taking another step forward, voice tight with hurt. "I mean—was picking up a damn phone really too much?"
Molly looked at her, long and strange.
She looked older now, Annie realized. Not just in her face—though the sun lines and slight tiredness around the mouth were new—but in the way she held herself. Like someone who hadn't stopped moving in years. Someone who didn't quite know how to.
"What was I supposed to say, Annie?" Molly laughed, but there was no joy in it. The woman ran a hand through her dark hair, the edge of anger faltering. "We needed the silence. Don't pretend you didn't, too."
Annie didn't answer. Her arms stayed at her sides, stiff. She furrowed her brow, studying her old best friend, as if trying to see what was left beneath all that silence. Natalie reached out and brushed Annie's arm with the backs of her fingers. Just a touch. Enough to send a shiver down her spine.
Then she turned to Molly.
"Did you send the postcards?" Natalie asked.
Molly blinked. "What—postcards? Are you serious?" She shook her head. "Did you not get the memo that we barely leave the house? Travis is always working, I've been at my dad's place all week. We don't exactly have time to... I don't know, go on a luxury vacation."
"No, Molly," Annie reached into her purse, shaking her head at the woman's confusion. "They're not vacation postcards."
Annie dipped her hand into her purse and pulled out the tattered postcard, pressing it into Molly's palm. The woman's eyes widened as she traced the symbol sketched across the back. "Holy shit." She turned it over, eyes locking on the symbol.
"We need to talk to Travis," Misty announced. "Maybe he knows something?"
"No," Molly snapped, looking up at the blonde woman. "Hell no, you're not bothering him. I don't—"
"Molly." Annie looked into her eyes, calm but firm. "This is serious. Whoever sent those postcards—they aren't just fucking around like some joke." She took a step forward. Her eyes didn't flinch. "I think something's happening."
For a beat, Molly stared at the asphalt, tension in her jaw loosening. She looked down at the postcard, her thumb tracing the shape of the symbol once, then again. Her other hand fumbled for her phone. She tapped the screen, sighed, and let her hand drop. "Shit. He's not gonna pick up his phone." She muttered to herself.
She looked up slowly, studying the three women in front of her. And for the first time... something cracked in her.
"He's working late at the ranch. Fine. You can come." Her voice wavered, but her eyes glistened with vulnerability. "He's not going to like it, but... come."
Annie nodded, relief flickering through her chest. Annie offered a small, grateful smile. Molly didn't return it, but didn't look away either. "I can ride with you, we can catch up." Annie said after a second, sending a sheepish smile over to Natalie. "You and Misty follow?"
Misty bounced on her heels, excitement taking over as she grinned at the women in the group. With a heavy sigh, Natalie playfully rolled her eyes at Annie. "Fine."
The curly-haired woman clapped her hands, jumping. "Alright, team! Let's head out!" she chirped, already skipping toward her tiny blue Fiat, its paint gleaming in the afternoon light.
Molly raised an eyebrow as she watched the blonde disappear, muttering under her breath as she slid into the driver's seat of her car. "We're not in fucking Scooby-Doo, Misty!"
Annie lingered, turning to face Natalie. Natalie gave her one last look—half-exasperated, half something else—and Annie stepped toward her, hesitated, then said under her breath, "Don't let her drive, okay?"
Natalie smirked. "Oh, she's not driving."
Annie chuckled, pressing Natalie's hand once—just a light squeeze. "Good luck," Annie whispered. Natalie answered with a small nod, eyes soft, then turned and headed towards Misty's car.
Then, Annie crossed to Molly's passenger side, listening to the engine hum to life. Inside the car, the engine hummed to life. She climbed in, settling into the passenger seat. They pulled out of the station lot, the road unfolding before them—worn blacktop under heavy sky—and headed toward Willow Brook Ranch.
‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧
It was a long drive to the ranch, though it felt even longer with the silence hanging thick between them — not sharp, not angry, just... full. Weighted. The kind of quiet that says everything too loud. The sky had gone hazy with late evening light, streaks of gold fading into the horizon. Molly kept her eyes glued to the road ahead, jaw clenched tight, knuckles pale on the steering wheel. She didn't speak. Didn't even glance at Annie.
Annie sat beside her, twisted toward the window, watching as the last of the sun peeled itself off the horizon. The sky was a burnt pink now, bruised and bleeding into lavender, stretching over endless acres of rust-colored dirt and empty fields. They passed a few cattle grazing behind a sagging wire fence, a lone tractor rusting out near a collapsed barn. Even the wind felt far away.
It was different out here. Still in a way that made your skin itch. Wiskayok wasn't exactly bustling, but it had noise — radios in open windows, traffic on Main Street, kids shouting outside the gas station. This? This was absence. Space. A thousand kinds of quiet.
But she could see why it had comforted Molly and Travis for so long.
Annie snuck a look at Molly.
Her profile was sharp in the dusky light, shadows catching in the hollow beneath her cheekbone. Older, sure — deeper lines around her mouth, more sun in her skin — but the shape of her was still so familiar. The dark eyes. The stubborn set of her jaw. The way she held herself like she was bracing for something. Always ready for a fight, even when no one was throwing punches.
Annie swallowed. She felt like she was seeing two people at once — the girl she'd loved like a sister, who used to sleep next to her under pine boughs and whisper dumb jokes into the dark... and this woman she barely knew.
Her gaze drifted around the cab of the truck. The dash was worn, the AC vents decorated with cheap plastic clips that probably used to smell like something fruity. A half-crushed paper coffee cup sat in the console. And then — in the back seat — something caught her eye.
A car seat.
It was just barely visible in the rearview mirror. Stickers peeling off the side. A juice box straw wrapper curled in the corner. A glittery velcro shoe was resting upside down beside it.
Annie's gaze softened immediately as she felt something pull in her chest — not a snap, not quite — more like a thread tugging loose. She hadn't really let herself think about what it meant — what it would feel like to see a trace of Molly's life now, made visible like that. She pictured a small girl in that seat. Legs swinging. Dancing along to the radio. Grinning. Asking ten questions a minute.
Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to.
"What's her name?"
Molly didn't answer right away. She blinked, like she'd forgotten Annie was even there, then glanced over quickly before returning her eyes to the road. "What's who's name?"
"Your daughter."
A beat passed. Then Molly looked back at the road, cleared her throat.
"Dahlia."
Annie repeated it under her breath, like it might bloom into meaning if she said it aloud. "Dahlia." Her lips curved faintly. "That was always your favorite flower, wasn't it?"
Molly's mouth twitched. A ghost of a smile. "Still is. Travis thought it sounded too fancy, but I told him it was either that or name her after a Nirvana song."
That made Annie laugh — real and soft and sudden. "She lucked out, then. Imagine naming her Floyd."
Molly barked a laugh. "Right? Or Pennyroyal."
"Jesus."
They both laughed for a moment, and then — without meaning to — Molly kept talking.
"She's... a lot," she said, her voice warming in real time. "In a good way, I mean. She never shuts up. And she's always making things up — stories, songs, whole worlds in her head. She told her teacher last week that Travis used to train bears in the circus."
Annie choked. "What?"
"And Travis just went with it," Molly continued, shaking her head. "Showed up to the parent-teacher meeting in flannel and a beanie and told them she wasn't wrong. I thought the poor woman was gonna pass out."
Laughter burst from Annie, warm and full in her chest. She leaned back, letting it ring out like a bell. For a second, it felt like they were teenagers again.
Annie laughed again, and Molly kept going — like the words had been waiting. "She's obsessed with goats. We don't even have goats, but she draws them constantly. And she makes up names — like Princess Fluffernut and Sir Hooves. I think that's why Travis takes her to the ranch so much." Her voice faltered, just a little. Her smile dimmed. "She reminds me of Javi sometimes."
Annie turned, the smile fading from her face. "Yeah?"
Molly nodded once, eyes still fixed ahead. "She's got his eyes. Not just the color — the way he'd look at things like he wanted to figure it out. Like every little thing meant something." Her voice caught slightly, then she shook her head. Silence fell again, heavier this time. Molly gripped the wheel tighter, like she could drive through the ache if she held on hard enough. "Sorry," she murmured, barely audible. "Anyway." There was a pause. Then she glanced sideways. "You've got kids too, right?
Annie nodded. "Two." She looked out the window. "Esme's my oldest. Seventeen. She just got her license, so now I basically never see my car."
Molly laughed, a little incredulously. "Seventeen? Jesus. That's wild."
"Yeah, tell me about it." The brunette shook her head with a smile. "She's... sharp. Like, dangerously sharp. I can't get anything past her. She's always two steps ahead of me, like she's waiting for me to screw up so she can roll her eyes."
"She sounds terrifying."
"Oh, she is. But she's good, you know? She's got this heart. Won't admit it, of course. But it's there." Annie shrugs, then gets a teasing smile on her face. "And I'm pretty sure she's got a crush on Shauna's kid."
Molly blinked. "Shauna's kid?"
Molly tilted her head, intrigued. "She dating anyone?"
Annie let out a soft huff. "I think she's got a thing for Callie Sadecki."
Molly blinked. "Shauna's kid?"
Annie nods, confirming. "Callie Sadecki."
"Sadecki? As in—"
"Yep." Annie chuckles. "And Esme always tries to act like she doesn't care, but then I caught them playing footsies under the table in my class."
"God, they're worse than we were back then."
Annie chuckled, then added, "Rowan's fifteen. He's quieter. He does game a lot though. Talks more to his friends through that headset than he talks to me some days." She smiles a little, wistfully. "But he's so sweet. Thoughtful. He still says thank you, still holds the door. He's super protective of his sister, too. And he doesn't like attention. But if he loves you, you'll never go a day without knowing it."
Molly looked at her, something soft flickering behind her eyes. "Sounds like you raised them right, Annie."
Annie gave a little shrug. "I did as well as I could." She hesitated. Her voice dropped again. "They're growing so fast. I blink, and they're taller. Louder. More distant. I can't... I can't protect them the way I used to. You ever feel like that? With Dahlia?"
Molly's hands flexed on the wheel. "Every single damn day," she murmured.
Annie lets the next thought slip out before she could stop it. "Esme reminds me of Natalie sometimes."
Molly's head turned slowly. "Yeah. That tracks. She's her mom, after all."
Annie's head snaps over, her eyebrows furrowing. "Wait, what?"
Molly's brows furrowed like she hadn't expected that reaction. "I mean... you and Natalie. Last time I saw you two, it was a thing. And the way you looked at each other today, like you—"
"They're not hers," Annie said quickly. "They're mine. I mean—they're mine and Thomas's."
Molly went quiet. Her brow furrowed, like she hadn't quite processed what she'd just heard. Then she looked over again—sharper now, eyes narrowing slightly. Like she was trying to rewind a memory she couldn't quite believe. "Thomas?"
"Thomas Fielding."
Annie nodded once, tight-lipped. "Thomas Fielding."
The name landed between them like a dropped weight. Molly blinked, once, twice—her silence stretching long enough to feel pointed. She rubbed her thumb across the steering wheel, then glanced at Annie again with a look that was half incredulous, half something softer. Like she wanted to understand, but wasn't sure how to ask.
"Holy shit," she said eventually. "You married Thomas Fielding? From your church? The one who... the one who used to follow you around like a damn golden retriever?"
Annie laughed—reflexive, thin. The sound broke halfway out. She reached for her ring, twisting it on her finger like it might come off. "That's the one."
"You married him?"
It wasn't judgmental. But it wasn't neutral, either.
Annie flushed. She couldn't meet Molly's eyes. "We reconnected a few years after... everything. It made sense... at the time."
She didn't say I loved him.
Didn't say I'm happy.
Didn't say He knows me.
Molly didn't answer. Her eyes stayed on the road, the edges of her mouth drawn down. The headlights caught dust rising off the gravel, a soft storm of gold and gray. She exhaled hard through her nose, shaking her head.
"Huh." Then, lower, almost to herself, she tilted her head. "I always figured you stayed with Natalie. I mean, I never saw you again, but... I just assumed..."
Annie didn't respond. Not right away. She stared at her wedding ring, thumb brushing the edge. "Yeah. A lot of people assumed that." Her voice was almost bitter. Her ring felt like it was burning against her skin. Her voice barely held. "It's complicated."
Molly didn't press. She just nodded slowly, lips pursed. She didn't press. The look in Annie's eyes — sad, a little far away — said enough. "I didn't mean for it to be like this." Her voice cracked faintly. "With you. With us. The silence. The distance. I didn't mean to leave like I did."
Annie turned toward her, her chest pulling tight.
"I missed you," Molly added, voice barely above a whisper. "I really did."
Annie didn't speak. But slowly, deliberately, she reached across the console. Her fingers wrap around Molly's. 
Not a squeeze.
Just contact.
Just presence.
"I missed you, too."
‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧
The gravel crunched beneath the tires as Molly turned into the long, winding drive of Willow Brook Ranch. The headlights carved twin beams through the dark, catching on fence posts, scrubby tufts of grass, and a rusting mailbox half swallowed by weeds. The house ahead was barely more than a silhouette—low and dark, shutters drawn, porch vacant. A single bulb flickered above the barn in the distance, casting a faint halo across the dirt. That was the only sign of life.
Molly pulled to a slow stop, her truck idling for a breath before she cut the engine. Behind them, Misty's blue Fiat bounced to a halt a little too close, its tiny engine coughing into silence. No one moved at first. The stillness settled in like a held breath. Crickets chirped from the fields. Somewhere far off, an owl called once.
Annie stepped out of the truck, her boots meeting gravel with a soft crunch. Molly climbed out beside her, arms folded tightly over her chest as she scanned the property.
"I swore he took Dahlia with him on this shift," Molly murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. "But I don't see his truck anywhere." She squinted toward the barn, frowning. "Maybe he's out back. Dahlia's been dragging him to the field every night this week."
"Adorable," Misty chirped, hopping down from the Fiat like they were arriving for a picnic. Her eyes sparkled. "Or suspicious."
Annie shot her a look. "Not everything is a murder plot, Misty."
Misty gave a wide-eyed shrug, all innocence. "I'm just saying. Places like this hide secrets." She clapped her hands once, too cheerfully for the setting. "Okay! Natalie and I will check the windows—maybe someone left a light on."
Natalie looked like she'd rather chew glass than play Scooby-Doo with Misty again, but didn't protest. She just muttered something under her breath and followed her around the porch.
Annie's eyes lingered on Natalie's back as she walked away, her silhouette cutting sharp in the night. Then she turned and followed Molly, who was already heading toward the barn. Each step felt quieter than the last, gravel giving way to packed earth, the hum of the flickering bulb above the barn growing louder.
The barn loomed larger with every footfall—its red paint faded to pink-gray, peeling like old sunburn. One of the double doors stood cracked an inch open. Not enough to see anything. Just enough to feel wrong.
Molly slowed. Her boots shuffled against the dirt. Then she stopped.
"He usually locks up before he leaves," she muttered.
Annie's stomach tensed. "What?"
"I said—he always locks up," Molly repeated, sharper now. Her posture stiffened, and she moved forward again, faster.
Annie's eyes flicked to the sky, then to the treeline. Something crawled under her skin.
Molly reached for the barn door. She didn't open it. Just pressed her fingers to the wood. Her breath shook. "It's too quiet," she whispered.
Annie looked back toward the house. Misty and Natalie had disappeared behind the porch. The silence pressed in.
Then Molly screamed.
It was sharp and raw—a sound that ripped through Annie like a blade. She bolted forward, gravel flying beneath her boots. "Molly?"
The barn door was already swinging open. Molly stood just inside, frozen. The flickering bulb cast long shadows across her face. Her hand was clamped over her mouth.
Annie ran to her. "Molly, what—"
She saw it.
A man's body hung from a thick chain looped over the barn's crane beam. Back turned. Swinging slightly.
Molly let out a sob and dropped to her knees. "No—no, no, no—"
Annie hit the ground beside her, grabbing her shoulders. "Molly! Look at me—Molly, please."
Molly's eyes snapped to hers, wild and tear-streaked. Her fingers dug into Annie's jacket.
Footsteps behind them. Natalie appeared first, freezing when she saw the body. Her face went slack with shock. Misty followed, wide-eyed, her breath catching. She adjusted her glasses slowly.
"Oh," Misty breathed. "Oh, wow."
Annie held onto Molly, steadying her.
"I thought he took Dahlia—I thought—he wouldn't have done this. Not with her here. He wouldn't have—" Molly broke off into sobs.
"I know, I know." Annie whispered, looking back over to the body, but her brows furrowed. She lifted her head, staring at the man's back. She pushed gently at Molly's shoulder — not unkindly—until Molly let go of her jacket. Then she slowly stood up, stepping forward a little.
Something wasn't right.
Natalie watched her as if she's lost her mind. "Annie, what the hell are you doing?"
"Hold on a second," Annie murmured, her voice too steady for the room. She moved closer, her eyes flicking from the body to the barn walls, then back. She took a smaller step forward. Just enough to see the profile of the man's face. "It's not him."
Molly's head jerked up, her eyes bloodshot and her tear-slicked face twisted in confusion. "What do you mean it's not him?" she asked, her voice hoarse and shaking.
Annie didn't answer at first. She stepped closer to the hanging body, her hands trembling but her gaze razor-sharp. Her mind was somewhere else — not in the barn, not in the panic — but back in Travis and Molly's house, looking at the photo. That photo od Travis and Molly — was one of the only images she'd seen of him in decades. But, it was easy to study.
And she had studied it.
Not just with her eyes, but with the part of her brain that had spent a lifetime teaching teenagers how to break down the human form — how to sketch what they saw, not what they assumed. Gesture lines. Bone structure. Proportions. How someone carried their weight, where their tension lived.
The man hanging in front of her didn't match the man in the photo. His center of gravity was too high. Shoulders narrower. Arms longer. The beard wasn't the same fullness. The jaw was wrong — angled differently. Even the way the boots sat on his feet — heavy, unfamiliar, not worn-in the way Travis's had been.
Annie's brow furrowed. She took another step forward, angling her head, letting instinct take over. Not just memory. Training.
This is what she taught. How to notice. How to see.
Annie turned her head slowly, her voice steady. "I'm telling you," she said, with complete certainty. "It's not Travis."
Misty blinked, tilting her head. "What? Are you sure it's not him? You barely saw—"
"I'm sure."
Natalie took a step forward, her expression all serious. "You think someone set this up?"
Before anyone could answer, a voice rang out from just outside the barn. "Hello?" They froze. The voice came again. "Is someone out here?" Natalie stepped in front of the group, standing protectively. She glanced behind her, looking at the worried faces of everyone. Then the voice spoke again, clearer this time. "Molly? Is that your car?"
Molly's breath caught. She knew that voice. "Travis," she whispered.
Then they were all moving.
Feet pounding. Gravel scattering. Searching.
"Mommy?"
A smaller voice now. Molly spun.
Molly's breath caught. She knew that voice. "Travis," she whispered.
Then they were all moving toward the barn door. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they glanced in different directions for the sound of the voice. "Mommy?"
A smaller voice now. Molly spun.
Dahlia was standing on the edge of the pasture, one foot on gravel, one foot still in the tall grass. Her stuffed animal dangled in one hand. Her eyes were wide and shining in the dim light, blinking up at her mother. Travis stood just behind her, flashlight in one hand, the other resting protectively on her shoulder. He was squinting toward the barn. Unknowing. Unbothered.
Just another night coming back from the stables.
Molly didn't think. She ran. Her boots slammed the ground. Her arms opened as a hiccup of breath escaped her chest as she reached them. She dropped to her knees and swept Dahlia up into a crushing hug. "You're okay, baby—you're okay—thank God—" Kisses scattered across Dahlia's cheeks. The little girl giggled softly, confused, but warm.
"We were feedin' the horses." Dahlia mumbled sleepily, like none of this was strange at all.
Molly looked up. Travis.
Her voice cracked. "I thought you were—" She let out a breath that got caught halfway, like her lungs didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She picked up Dahlia, holding her in her arms as she looked at the man. "Travis."
He gave her a lopsided smile. Still confused. Still not seeing anything that was wrong. "I didn't know you were coming. Everything okay?" He asked quietly, seeing their daughter already slipping into a deep sleep, Travis smiled softly before looking into Molly's eyes. "Sorry, I know I have her out too late and—" He paused, his eyebrows furrowing as Annie, Natalie, and Misty near the grass.
Annie stopped first, hand rising automatically to her mouth. She didn't speak. Natalie let out a low curse under her breath, too stunned to say more. Misty tilted her head, eyebrows raising in curiosity, and then she waved.
Travis didn't say anything at first. He just looked. And in that moment, his whole expression shifted. His mouth opened slightly, his hand gripping the flashlight tighter, knuckles whitening. "What's going on?"
Molly didn't answer with words. Her hand rose slowly, pressing against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Like she still wasn't sure he was actually there.
Dahlia stirred in her arms—too heavy now. Molly turned as she gently handed Dahlia to Annie. Annie took her instinctively, arms wrapping around the girl like she'd done it a thousand times, even though it's been years since she held anyone that small. Dahlia smelled like sleep, dirt, and strawberry shampoo.
Annie stared at her, cataloging the features. The sharp curve of her nose. The slant of her jaw. Her chin was Travis's. The wide, curious mouth — definitely Molly's. But the eyes — when they fluttered open for a second — looked familiar in another way.
Molly leaned in to Travis, whispered something in his ear. His face changed. His brow furrowed. His lips parted.
Then he ran.
The barn door opened, and the man disappeared inside. A beat passed. Then a gasp. Travis stumbled back out through the door, breathing hard, staring at the shape inside like it still might move.
Then—
whup-whup-whup.
A sound in the sky. It was far off, but close enough to see the flash of blue and red in the distance.
They all went still.
"Did someone call the cops?" Misty asked, turning abruptly to Natalie. Nobody answered, looking at the lights. Misty's eyes darted to Annie, then to Molly. "Because if one of us didn't, someone else knows we're here—"
"Why the hell would they?" Natalie snapped. Her posture shifted—soldier-ready. Jaw tight.
Molly looked at Travis, who was slowly making his way back over, at Annie holding Dahlia, then over her shoulder toward the road. "Who would even know where we are?"
Annie adjusted the position of Dahlia in her arms, her voice low. "That's what I'm trying to figure out." The sirens slowed, warbled, then cut out entirely. Blue and red lights still flashed in the distance. "But we have to go. Now."
𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐙 — 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗋 —  [ ᵖᵒʳᵗʳᵃʸᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵍᵃᵇʳⁱᵉˡ ˡᵘⁿᵃ ]
𝐃𝐀𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐙 — 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗆 —  [ ᵖᵒʳᵗʳᵃʸ��ᵈ ᵇʸ ˢᶜᵃʳˡᵉᵗᵗ ᵉˢᵗᵉᵛᵉᶻ ]
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
First off—
HELLO?? YES, I AM ALIVE. I swear. If you've been staring at your screen like "Did she die? Did she abandon the fic? Did the wilderness finally take her?" — surprise! The only thing dying was my face.
If you missed the message board post (which you should absolutely be following, by the way — that's where I post about fic updates, teaser lines, and what songs Annie Jo probably listens to while spiraling) I had a very cute little allergic reaction last week. My face puffed up, messed with my eyes in a major way. Like, vision-blurring, light-sensitivity, face-on-fire kind of way. It was giving plague.
Super fun. 10/10 do not recommend.
BUT I HAVE RISEN and returned to do what I do best: emotionally torment Annie Jo Chambers like it's my God-given calling.
Now... this chapter. This chapter.
We're officially in the mess-around-and-find-out era of the story!
Annie and Molly? Driving through grief, memory, and years of unspoken things like it's I-95 at golden hour. Just a good old-fashioned road trip with your childhood best friend... while carrying a truckload of unresolved trauma and the possibility of a dead husband.
Natalie? Getting mistaken for the other mom of Annie's kids and Annie (not really) saying absolutely ANYTHING to correct it. Gay panic. Gay silence. Gay rights. 
"That's not my husband's corpse!"?? I warned you we were changing some things. Apologies to the Travis haters (I do not trust you). Condolences to the Travis lovers (I am you). 
All we know is someone else is... swinging from the barn rafters like a Scooby-Doo villain and no one knows who he is. 
And let's talk about that barn scene — because I really wanted it to feel like you were stepping into a nightmare. The kind where everything is too quiet, too still, and every breath feels like it might shatter something. Then suddenly, Travis and Dahlia are just there — soft, warm, safe — like stumbling into a dream you didn't dare believe was real.
Annie holding Molly's daughter for the first time?? That's a little soul-crusher for the road.
And beneath all that? The plot is brewing.
Natalie's confession is still hanging in the air, Thomas is being mentioned (regrettably), and the entire group is realizing that someone wanted them to find that body. Will I tell you who's body it is yet? Of course not.
Here's why:
Do I know who I just killed off? Absolutely not.
Is it Travis? No. He's safe. For now.
Will I figure it out in a few chapters? Probably. Maybe. I'm waiting for the wilderness to speak to me in riddles and hallucinations like a good Yellowjackets writer.
Am I spiraling while also plotting Doomcoming? Oh, 100%.
We're all in this together. One big, emotionally unstable story cult. Love that for us.
Thank you for sticking around (unlike my immune system). Your comments, votes, theories, and chaos keep this fic alive and screaming. If you're enjoying the story, please consider voting, commenting, or adding it to your library — it genuinely helps more than you know. And yes, I read every unhinged theory. And yes, I will scream about them.
Question of the Chapter: What are your favorite yellowjackets headcanons? (and also make some up for this story pls)
Bonus Question: Who do you think is swinging in the barn? I'm taking applications.  Go wild. I'm serious. (It's not Thomas... sorry.)
Bonus Unhinged Question: What's the worst possible name Molly could've given her kid if Travis hadn't let her name her Dahlia? (Pennyroyal is already canonically on the table. Go worse.)
Until next time!!
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serendipdipity01 · 29 days ago
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Bring back commenting on people's fanficssssss, bring back discussions!!
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serendipdipity01 · 29 days ago
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xvi. 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐜
mary on a cross - yellowjackets ♱ CHAPTER SIXTEEN series masterlist
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𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐜
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[ ₁₉₉₆! ]
"Holy shit, I think this is the best thing I've ever tasted."
Mari groaned, sinking her teeth into another strip of roasted venison, grease smearing the corners of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut with dramatized bliss. "No, seriously. This is better than that one time I snuck into my neighbor's backyard barbecue and pretended to be their cousin."
Laughter rolled out around the fire in messy, overlapping waves. Someone snorted. Van clapped her hands once and leaned back on her elbows, face split into a grin.
Annie sat cross-legged between Laura Lee and Natalie, her piece of meat resting carefully in her palm. She took small bites, trying not to tear into it too fast—even though her stomach felt like a hollow pit and the smell alone was enough to make her dizzy. The fire crackled and spat in front of them, its glow stretching long over pine needles and smoke-stained cheeks. The taste was wild, metallic, seared in ash and desperation—and somehow perfect.
She glanced over, catching Natalie watching her.
Natalie sat sprawled out beside her, one leg bent, the other stretched toward the flames. Her face was sun-touched and tired in a beautiful, weathered kind of way. She smirked when Annie met her eyes and tilted her chin toward the meat in Annie's hand. "Compliments to the chef," she said, voice low and amused.
Annie felt heat rise in her chest—warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. She ducked her head, smiling softly. "Thanks," she murmured, fingers tugging gently at a loose thread on her sleeve. She didn't need to look again to feel the way Natalie's gaze lingered on her.
The fire burned low. Smoke curled into the dark.
Natalie's smile lingered, softening a little as she watched her.
Later, the meal was long gone. Picked clean from the sticks they were cooked on. Fingers wiped on pant legs. Bellies full in a way they hadn't been in too long. Conversation ebbed into a tired kind of contentment—soft sighs, mumbled jokes, someone humming low under their breath.
Annie leaned forward, elbows on her knees, watching the flames flicker and collapse into embers. Her face felt warm. Her limbs loose. Natalie shifted beside her, changed now into a thin T-shirt that kept slipping off one shoulder. The skin there caught the firelight like it had its own quiet glow.
"You still thinking about the deer?" Natalie asked, nudging her gently with an elbow.
Annie blinked, startled from her thoughts. "Huh?"
"You're staring into the fire like you're gonna marry it."
She snorted softly. "It was just... good."
"It was really good." Natalie tilted her head back to stare up at the sky. "You're amazing, Annie."
Annie turned to look at the girl, her eyes wide. The air between them shifted, and the silence wasn't empty now, but full. It curled low in her stomach and made her suddenly aware of everything. The flicker of firelight, the ache in her ribs, the way the skin of her arm just barely brushed against Natalie's bare shoulder.
It was so slight. Just a breath of contact. But it was enough to send a shock of heat down her spine. She didn't move. Couldn't.
Natalie turned her head. Her eyes found Annie's again—and held.
The corners of her mouth lifted, not quite a smile. Her expression had gone quiet. Intimate. Like she was looking straight through the noise of the night and seeing only her.
And then she leaned in.
Not all at once. Not bold. Just barely. Just enough that Annie felt the ghost of her breath. Her heart thundered. She didn't look away.
There was a beat—maybe two—where it felt like the world stilled, and all she could see was the freckle near Natalie's jaw, the sleep-mussed hair falling into her eyes, the way her mouth parted like she might say something or—
Then—
Music.
A beat. A bassline.
Both their heads turned sharply toward the cabin.
Montell Jordan.
The moment broke like glass. Annie blinked, startled back into her body.
Natalie was already smiling again, pushing herself to her feet like nothing had happened. "No way," she said, standing.
Is that—" Annie started, breath catching. She looked at Natalie, wide-eyed.
"The dance," Natalie confirmed, already on her feet. "Oh my God—come on."
She reached out, hand extended. Annie stared at it. Her pulse stuttered. And then—slowly, deliberately—she slid her hand into Natalie's. Their fingers laced without effort. Without thought.
And Annie let it happen.
Because it was easier than asking what would've happened if the music hadn't started.
The cold bit at their feet as they sprinted across the clearing, hearts thudding. The door to the cabin flew open with a creak and a thud, letting out the full blast of music and warmth.
Inside, the room had transformed. The girls were in pajamas, flannel pants, and old t-shirts, bouncing on the balls of their feet, hair flying loose, smiles bright and alive. It felt like being yanked out of a nightmare and thrown into a sleepover memory. Giddy. Free.
Van spotted them at the doorway, running over to greet them. "Nat! Annie! You came just in time!"
She grabbed them both, spinning them into the center as Mari shouted, "One, two, three, four!"
The room exploded.
Annie's body moved before her brain did. Left arm, right arm, cross step. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't matter. Every move came back, beat by beat, the way a dream sometimes does hours after you wake. She caught Natalie's eye, and they both started laughing, stumbling through the choreography. The team had made this dance two years ago at a sleepover, half-sober off warm soda and sugar, and now—here in a cabin in the middle of nowhere—it still lived in their bodies.
Their hips swayed. Their arms flailed.
For the first time in weeks, they were teenagers again. Girls who knew dances by heart and wore each other's clothes and laughed until their stomachs ached.
Off to the side, Coach Ben leaned against the wall with a look of bemused disbelief. Javi and Travis hovered beside him, watching the girls with a mix of awe and confusion.
Molly twirled over, hair flying behind her, and grabbed Javi by the wrist. "Let's go, Javi."
"What? No—" Javi groaned, but his smile gave him away.
"Shush, you know it." She shoved him into the circle, and he stumbled into the beat, dancing.
Then her eyes locked on Travis. She pointed.
"No," he said immediately. "No way. I don't dance."
Molly narrowed her eyes. "Too bad."
She grabbed his arm before he could bolt and pulled him in. He resisted half-heartedly, then gave in. Her arms slipped around his neck. His hands hovered at her waist for a moment before settling there, uncertain but steady.
They danced.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't coordinated. But it was something else—somewhere between intimate and hilarious. Travis laughed under his breath. Molly leaned into it, her fingers curling gently at the base of his neck.
Everyone glowed. Happy in the purest sense.
Annie slowed down just a little, catching her breath, and turned to look at Natalie.
She wasn't dancing anymore. Just swaying. Eyes closed. Arms loose above her head. The beat seemed to live inside her, thrumming in her bones. Her hair clung to her neck. Her lips parted like she was breathing it all in. Every edge of her had softened.
Annie froze.
She felt like she was watching something private. Something holy. Her heart gave a stuttering kick.
She didn't look away.
But the song stuttered.
Crackled.
Then cut.
A wave of groans filled the cabin.
"Goddammit!" Van scrambled over to the corner, crouching beside the Walkman like it had personally betrayed her.
Jackie crossed her arms. "What happened?"
"I don't know!" Van snapped. "Has hitting something ever fixed it?"
Mari shrugged. "Try blowing on it."
Van blew into the cassette compartment like a Nintendo cartridge.
Then—
Creak.
Everyone went still.
The sound came from directly above them. Wood. Slow. Dragging.
Annie's blood turned to ice. She stared at the ceiling, eyes wide. She glanced at Laura Lee instinctively, who was already gripping her cross.
"Uh," Jackie said, her voice tight. "The fuck was that?"
Lottie's brow furrowed as she turned to look at everyone. "You heard it too?" Annie met her eyes. Something in her chest twisted.
Taissa stepped forward, placing her hands on her hips. "It was probably a branch."
Mari turned to her, sharp and pale. "Inside? On the floor?" Taissa exhaled through her nose, slow and tight, like she was counting to ten in her head. "What if it's... him?" Mari whispered. Her voice was barely audible, but the words sent a ripple through the room.
Shauna rolled her eyes, stepping closer to Annie. "What, the dead guy?"
"Um. Yeah."
"You know what it probably was?" Natalie shifted beside Annie, leaning just slightly closer. A smirk quickly grew on her face. "The dead guy's missing fingers trying to find their way home."
A startled noise escaped Annie—a groan caught somewhere between exasperation and laughter—and she elbowed her. "Natalie, gross!"
Natalie grinned, unbothered, her eyes catching hers just for a second too long.
Taissa looked like she was about to reprimand her, but the stern crease of her brow cracked, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. "You really have to encourage them?"
"You got to admit," Akilah spoke, glancing up toward the ceiling. "It didn't sound like it was on the roof."
Jackie let out a dramatic sigh, throwing up her arms. "Fine, then it was a rat or a raccoon, or something. I don't know, it—"
"We're not at home, Jackie," Molly said flatly, crossing her arms. Her voice carried a weight that quieted even Jackie. Travis stood behind her, his presence solid, his expression unreadable.
Jackie glared at the Serrano girl for opposing her, opening her mouth to say something, but Lottie shushed her, raising a hand. Shh...listen."
Silence.
The room stilled.
Outside, the trees whispered in the wind. The fire crackled in the hearth, a sharp pop splitting the silence. Somewhere beyond the walls, an owl hooted. A branch creaked.
Then—nothing.
Mari swallowed audibly, lowering her head. "Well... I don't hear it now..."
Annie reached out, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. "We all heard it before. You're not going crazy."
"Annie Jo, come on—" Taissa started.
"All right, all right. You know what I think it was?" Coach Ben finally stepped in, running a hand down his face. The man let out a sigh, glancing around at the worried faces inside the cabin. "I think the ghost decided it was time to get some sleep. And we should probably do the same, yeah?"
Reluctant murmurs passed through the room. One by one, the group began to splinter—grabbing spare blankets and pillows, piling close together and preparing for bed.
"I'll put out the fire," Molly called, already stepping into her shoes and heading for the door.
The cold met her like a slap—sharp and biting. The fire outside had burned low, mostly embers now, glowing orange in a bed of ash. She crouched, dragging a stick through them, nudging the heat apart. Sparks lifted into the night like fireflies, fading before they could reach the stars.
"You look beautiful in the moonlight."
She froze.
Her head turned slowly. Travis stood a few feet behind her, the light catching in his hair, his arms loose at his sides. There was something different in the way he looked at her—less guarded. Not exactly confident. But open.
Molly straightened, brushing her palms on her thighs. "Seriously? That's your line?"
He gave a small shrug, barely visible in the dark. "I meant it."
She tilted her head, watching him. "Are you always this cheesy?"
"Only when I can't help it," he said, quieter now.
A breath passed between them.
Then he stepped closer. Just a little. Close enough that she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched like he wasn't sure what to do with them. Her heart gave a traitorous thump.
When his hand brushed hers—light and cautious, just a graze—it sent a spark up her arm.
She didn't pull away.
The space between them collapsed slowly. Not a kiss so much as a question, one she answered when she leaned in and met him halfway.
The first touch was hesitant, their noses bumping slightly. Then his hand found the small of her back, and hers slid up into the fabric of his shirt, curling there. The kiss deepened, still gentle but real now and full of heat.
For a moment, the forest didn't exist. The cold didn't bite. The world fell away.
Meanwhile, in one of the smaller rooms, Annie peeled off her jeans and stepped into a pair of soft pajama shorts, tugging an oversized T-shirt down over her hips. Her fingers paused at the hem for a moment, then rose to brush at her cheek, smearing soot she hadn't known was there. Under the fabric, her ribs still pulsed with that dull, manageable ache—no longer sharp, but stubborn, a reminder of the crash and everything that came after.
The room was quiet. Just the hush of the wind against the cabin and the faint, lingering talking from the main room. She exhaled, slow, and stepped barefoot into the hallway.
The wood beneath her feet was cool. Almost grounding.
And then—
She saw her.
Natalie stood in the doorway like a shadow that had waited for her. One shoulder propped against the frame, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair was messy, falling into her eyes. There was something unreadable in her expression—too soft to be casual, too still to be anything but deliberate.
She didn't speak.
Annie stopped. Her pulse skipped.
"Hey," she said quietly, like the word might break something if it came out too loud.
Natalie's lips curved into a faint, tired smile. "Hey."
That was all. But it stayed between them, pressing into the silence like a question neither of them wanted to ask.
The hallway felt too narrow. Too quiet. Annie's hand curled at her side, fingers twitching like they needed something to do.
She hesitated, throat dry. "You wanna... stay in here tonight?"
The question landed soft. Almost shy. Like it hadn't fully made it through her own filter.
Natalie didn't look away. She nodded once.
Annie stepped back into the room, letting Natalie follow. She moved slowly, quietly, giving Natalie space without saying why. The door creaked as it closed behind them.
The cot wasn't big. It never had been. They each took a side, pulling the blankets up to their shoulders like a shared shield.
Their bodies didn't touch. Not yet.
But the distance between them was electric.
Annie lay on her side, facing Natalie, her cheek pressing gently into the fabric of her pillow. She could hear Natalie's breathing—uneven, maybe. Or maybe that was just her own. Every inch of her skin felt tight with awareness. Of the blankets. Of the dark. Of Natalie.
A part of her brain—the part shaped like church pews and cross necklaces and whispered prayers—told her this wasn't right. That what she felt, what she wanted, wasn't godly. Wasn't real. Wasn't allowed.
But the ache didn't go away. Not when Natalie was lying beside her, close enough to touch, her face just barely visible in the moonlight seeping through the cracks in the walls.
Natalie hadn't moved. But she wasn't asleep. Annie could feel it—that quiet tension, like Natalie was holding her breath, too scared to reach, too scared to not.
Beneath the blanket, her hand twitched. Shifted.
Fingers moved across rough fabric. Hesitated. Then—brushed against another.
Natalie didn't pull away.
Annie swallowed, her breath catching as Natalie's fingers threaded between hers, slow and deliberate. Her hand was cool, callused at the tips, the kind of touch that didn't ask for anything but still meant something.
Annie's hand curled tighter around it. Careful. Cautious. But steady.
Neither of them said a word.
They just stayed like that, palms pressed together between them, still and warm in the quiet.
The fire outside had long since gone out.
But inside—
In this small room, beneath this shared blanket—
They were not cold.
And Annie, for all the noise still in her head, didn't feel alone.
Not at all.
‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧
Annie woke to a sharp, coiling pain low in her stomach.
At first, she thought it was hunger. Or maybe another nightmare. But the ache only grew, blooming deeper in her abdomen until she had no choice but to curl around it, clutching her arms tight over her middle. A soft groan escaped her lips as she blinked blearily into the dim morning light seeping through the cabin window.
Beside her, Natalie stirred with a ragged exhale, one bare arm flopping over her eyes before she let out a gritted, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
She rolled toward Annie, propping herself up on an elbow and grimacing. Her hair was wild, sticking to one side of her face. Her shirt was twisted around her ribs. "You too?" she muttered, her voice thick with sleep.
Annie could barely nod. "Yeah," she whispered, teeth clenched. "I think I'm dying."
Natalie gave a quiet, humorless laugh. "Awesome."
The air in the cabin was heavy and stale. Warm from too many bodies, but not comforting. Annie peeled the blankets off, wincing as the movement jostled the cramps already making her nauseous. She pulled on her jacket with slow, stiff fingers, then followed Natalie outside.
A few girls were already up, moving slowly, stiff-limbed and bleary-eyed.
Akilah stood near the fire, a ladle in one hand and a folded rag over her shoulder. Her expression was grim but composed, like a nurse during triage.
"Seems like we've all officially synced up," Annie muttered as they approached the girl, gesturing vaguely at the girls hunched near the pots.
Natalie gave a low, pained grunt in response.
"Morning," Akilah greeted. "Used cloths on the left, breakfast on the right." Her voice softened just a little. "There's a few extra rags in the cabin, but try to be generous."
Annie barely heard her. Her eyes had drifted toward the firepit, where two large pots hung suspended over the flames. One steamed faintly. The other—
She gagged and turned away quickly, pressing the back of her wrist to her mouth.
"I honestly don't think I can move anymore," she muttered, voice tight with pain.
Natalie touched her elbow lightly, guiding her toward the closest log bench by the fire. "C'mon. Sit before you face-plant."
They sank down near Travis and Molly, who were already huddled close to the flames. Molly looked awful—skin pale beneath her freckles, dark shadows blooming beneath her eyes. Her Yellowjackets hoodie swallowed her, sleeves pulled down over her hands.
"Kill me," she groaned into her knees.
Travis sat beside her, looking like he didn't know whether to flee or offer a hug. "What am I supposed to be doing right now, Mols?"
"Not asking that," she snapped, sharp enough to make him recoil slightly. But her voice trembled, and her eyes pinched with another cramp. Then, softer, she added, "Just... shut up and sit there."
Travis shut up. He stayed. His hand hovered awkwardly before settling on her back, rubbing slow, unsure circles.
And she didn't tell him to stop.
Annie sank gratefully on a log near the warmth of the fire, letting the heat seep into her skin. Her stomach still twisted in waves, but being near the others made it... tolerable. Familiar, in a weird, horrible way. Natalie sat beside her, arms crossed over her own middle, quietly suffering.
The misery was almost comforting in how universal it was.
Mari showed up a few minutes later, her hoodie cinched tight around her face and her arms clamped across her chest. She flopped down on a log with an exaggerated groan. "I swear to God, I'm about to throw someone into the lake."
Natalie snorted, head tipped back. "Rough morning?"
Mari playfully rolled her eyes, lips twisted into a devilish grin. "Oh, please. You two had a pretty nice morning."
Annie froze.
Her cheeks flushed hot, and she stole a glance quickly Natalie— who was suddenly very focused on the fire.
Mari grinned wider, savoring the reaction. "I'm just messing around with you." But before Annie could respond, Mati twisted over her shoulder toward the trees—and her expression soured. "Speaking of throwing someone into the lake..." she muttered.
They all looked over as Jackie stumbled out from the cabin, yawning. She squinted into the light, then began moving toward them. Mari stood abruptly, grabbed an empty water bucket from beside the fire, and marched over to intercept her. She thrust it hard into Jackie's chest.
"How about getting some more water?" she said, saccharine and savage all at once. "Breakfast isn't going anywhere."
Jackie blinked, caught off guard by the force behind the gesture. "Seriously?"
Mari didn't move. "Very."
Jackie looked around—for backup, maybe. For sympathy. But all she got was blank stares. Even Shauna, who had just emerged behind them, said nothing. She only crossed her arms and stared quietly past her.
"Fine," Jackie muttered, clutching the bucket and trudging off toward the trees.
Shauna lingered by the fire, arms crossed tight over her chest, her gaze locked on the spot where Jackie had vanished. Her shoulders were stiff. Not angry stiff—just... closed off. Braced for something.
Annie watched her from the edge of the log, eyebrows drawing together. The firelight flickered over Shauna's face, revealing the taut lines around her eyes, the faint shadows beneath them. She looked different from the others—not like someone doubled over in pain from the cramps most of them were suffering through.
Just... worn down.
Annie scooted a little closer, patting the open spot beside her with one hand. "You can sit," she offered gently, voice soft so it wouldn't startle. "We don't bite, Shauna."
Shauna blinked like she was coming out of a daze. Her lips parted—then pressed together again. She hesitated, then lowered herself onto the log beside Annie, her posture still guarded but grateful. The wood creaked under her weight.
"Thanks," she murmured.
They sat in silence for a few seconds. The kind that wasn't awkward, exactly—just quiet. Thoughtful. Annie glanced at her sideways. "You doing okay?"
Shauna gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm fine," she said automatically.
But Annie didn't buy it. There was something brittle in her voice. Something that didn't quite line up.
Before she could ask again, a rustling came from the edge of the clearing.
Jackie stumbled back into view, red-faced and out of breath, the water bucket clutched in both hands. Her steps were slow, uneven, like the weight of the bucket was pulling her down—not that it looked particularly full. Water sloshed at the bottom, barely enough to soak a rag.
She stopped just short of the fire and set the bucket down with a soft thud, not looking at anyone.
Her eyes met Shauna's.
And Shauna looked back with something Annie couldn't quite read. Her face didn't move much—but her posture changed, just slightly. Shoulders falling a notch. Eyes softening.
There was no smile. But there was recognition.
Not forgiveness, exactly.
More like pity.
Or guilt.
Annie frowned, watching the exchange. The look passed between them like a current, invisible but strong enough to leave her uneasy.
Something was up.
Jackie broke the moment first, turning abruptly and walking away from the fire without a word. Her shoulders were set like concrete. No one stopped her. No one said thank you.
The others fell back into conversation like she hadn't been there at all.
Except for Molly, who let out a dry, bitter laugh and leaned harder against Travis's shoulder. "Not even enough water to rinse a rag," she muttered, glancing at the half-empty bucket like it had personally offended her. "When is she gonna pull her weight?"
Travis didn't respond right away. His arm came up, hovering a moment before settling around Molly's back, rubbing in small circles again. It was awkward, but not unkind. He looked like he was trying.
"Let's walk a bit," he said eventually. "Might help."
Molly sighed like she hated the idea but pushed herself to her feet anyway, leaning into him as they drifted toward the trees.
That left just Annie, Shauna, and Natalie by the fire—embers hissing softly, smoke rising like breath into the chilly air.
Annie glanced over at Shauna again.
The girl had pulled her sleeves down over her hands, rubbing at the fabric like she was trying to warm her palms. She didn't speak. Just stared into the flames with that same tired look Annie had noticed before—like there was a whole other conversation happening behind her eyes, one no one else could hear.
Annie didn't push her. But she didn't move away either.
And somehow, sitting there together, it felt like they understood each other just a little more.
‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧
The woods were quieter than they had any right to be. Not peaceful—just... still. Like even the wind was holding its breath.
Travis walked a few paces ahead, his shoulders tense under his T-shirt, hands stuffed into his pockets. Pine needles crunched under his sneakers. The air was warm and sticky, the kind of humid that clung to skin and made breath feel thick in your throat. His hair was damp at the nape, curling just a little.
Behind him, Molly trudged along, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, tugging at the ends like they might hold her together. She'd gotten skinnier since the crash—she could feel it in the way her clothes hung different, in the way her hips ached when she walked too far. Her stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself, and her lower back had been throbbing for the last two hours.
Everything hurt.
But she wasn't about to say that out loud.
They passed a crooked stream, just a slick ribbon of water crawling over rocks. Dragonflies hovered, their wings a blur. Somewhere above them, a branch creaked, but neither of them flinched.
"You ever think about how stupid this all is?" Molly asked, her voice low and worn out.
Travis slowed a little, turning his head. "Stupid?"
She caught up to him with a wince and crossed her arms tightly over her middle. "Yeah. Like—great. We're stranded. We're all synced up like some kind of bloody coven. No Advil. No real food. Jackie's big contribution is dropping a bucket and fixing her hair in the reflection."
She huffed. "And somehow I still care what I look like in the morning. Like it matters."
That got a laugh out of him—quiet, breathy, like he hadn't expected it to happen. "You've always cared about that."
"Yeah, well," she muttered. "Even a plane crash can't destroy my vanity." But the laugh faded from her face as quickly as it had come. She looked down at her sneakers, kicking at a pinecone. "It's starting to feel normal," she said quietly. "That's the freaky part."
Travis's expression shifted—something behind his eyes pulling inward. "Yeah," he murmured. "Like... this is just how it's gonna be now."
They came to a half-rotted log, its bark stripped clean and the middle sun-bleached and hollowed. Molly sat down heavily, a groan escaping her lips as she folded forward, pressing her elbows into her thighs.
"God," she muttered, eyes squeezed shut. "It's like someone's stabbing me with a fork."
Travis hesitated, then sat beside her, careful not to take up too much space. Their knees brushed, and he didn't move away. For a while, the only sound was their breathing and the faint whisper of wind moving through the leaves.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing," he said finally, voice low.
Molly turned her head, one brow raised. "With...?"
He shrugged, staring down at his hands. "You. When you're hurting. Or when you're quiet. I always feel like I'm gonna mess it up."
"I don't always know what I'm supposed to be doing," he said quietly.
She blinked at him. Travis didn't seem like the kind of guy who talked like that—not easily, anyway. Most days he barely got through full sentences without looking like he wanted to disappear.
"I mean..." he rubbed the back of his neck. "You don't really let people take care of you."
Her jaw tensed.
"Yeah, well. Someone had to step up," she said, her voice tight. "My mom worked doubles. My dad took off when I was ten, and when he finally started calling again it was just to ask if I could lie to the lawyer about who I wanted to live with." She shook her head. "So yeah. I kinda got used to figuring shit out on my own."
Travis was quiet for a beat. Then—
"My dad used to cheat on my mom," he said. "I think she knew. She stayed anyway. Pretended like nothing was wrong—until we were watching. Then it was all kisses and 'have a good day, honey.'" His mouth twitched in something that wasn't quite a smile. "I hated that. The pretending."
Molly looked at him. Really looked.
It hit her all at once—how young he was. How young they both were. Barely eighteen. Still in the in-between, not quite kids, not quite anything else. No idea what they were doing, or how to carry someone else's pain without spilling their own. But he was trying. Clumsily. Earnestly. Like it mattered.
"I don't need you to fix it," she said softly, almost surprised by the truth of it. "The cramps. The mess. Everything."
He glanced sideways at her, lips twitching in a half-smile. "Good. 'Cause I'm not really qualified."
She gave a breathy laugh, one that caught in her chest. "But you make it easier."
That made him pause—just for a heartbeat—like he wasn't used to hearing that. Then he nodded, gaze flicking down to where their knees barely touched.
Their shoulders brushed, warm through layers of cotton. His hand hovered for a second. Then it drifted down, slow and unsure, grazing the hem of her hoodie where it bunched awkwardly at her thigh. His fingers curled partway—then stilled, waiting.
"Is this okay?" he asked, voice low.
Molly didn't say anything. She just turned into him—slowly—and slid her hand into his. Laced their fingers together, palm to palm. Her breath hitched when his thumb dragged lightly across her knuckles, grounding and electric all at once.
And for a minute, that was enough.
But then—
She looked up.
So did he.
There was barely a breath between them.
His other hand came up, tentative, fingers trailing along the side of her jaw, then up into her hair. The gentleness made her stomach tighten. Not with pain this time, but with something else. Something warm and hollowing and real.
And then he kissed her.
It wasn't clumsy this time.
It was soft and deep and just a little too much, the way it always got with two lovesick teenagers. Her hoodie bunched between them. His hand slid to the small of her back, pressing lightly, like he needed her closer. Her mouth opened under his. She kissed him back harder than she meant to. And he didn't stop her.
Her hips tensed with a sharp pull of pain, and she broke away with a tiny gasp, forehead dropping against his collarbone. He froze.
"Molly—shit. Sorry—"
"No," she whispered, catching her breath. "It's okay. I just—" She let out a half-laugh, half-groan. "Still feel like I got punched in the uterus."
He huffed softly, brushing his lips against her temple. "Yeah. Okay."
For a minute, they just breathed together. Tangled hands. Her face tucked into his shoulder. The air thick with summer heat and unspoken things.
"I don't know what we're doing," she said after a while. Her voice was quieter now, more fragile. "I don't even know what this is."
Travis was quiet for a moment. Then he squeezed her hand and said, "Me neither."
But he didn't let go.
And neither did she.
Because whatever this was—it was theirs. Awkward. A little painful. A little too fast. But honest.
And sometimes, in the middle of nowhere, with cramps and hunger and dread curling under your skin—that was the closest thing to comfort you could get.
Not perfect.
But real.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
This chapter came with a little delay (sorry!! life has been a lot! also, apologies for the short filler chapter), but we're back, and unfortunately... so are cramps. 
Truly nothing like syncing up with all the other other girls in the middle of the woods while starving, emotionally unraveling, and trying not to die. But hey! At least they're all suffering together. That's what team bonding is, right?
We'll ask Jackie later.
I really loved writing the smaller, softer moments in this one. The quiet tenderness between Annie and Natalie continues to melt me. They almost kissed (!!!), but we're still deep in the slow-burn closet of religious trauma and confused teenage yearning.
Don't worry. I'm making them suffer for it (but it IS coming soon, I promise).
Also, Molly and Travis??? That deeply teenage "I don't know what we're doing but I want to keep doing it" vibe!!! I want to protect them both with my entire life. These two are just trying to make each other feel human in a world that keeps getting worse. Can't wait to see what they're up to in their adult lives!!
Oh, and Shauna and Annie? I'm watching that friendship bloom, too. Slowly. Carefully. Like something green growing out of all this rot.
Thank you so much for your patience and for sticking with the story! Your comments, votes, and general reactions give me life (especially the theories—yes, I see them). If you're enjoying the story, please consider voting, sharing to your library, or even posting to your message boards!
Question of the Chapter: Which character would you accidentally fall in love with in the woods? Be honest.
Bonus Question: Now that we're super close, what are your biggest predictions for Doomcoming? It's gonna have quite a few moving parts to it...
Doomcoming is on the horizon. Sleep well, my friends.
Until next time!!
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serendipdipity01 · 1 month ago
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PSA to all FF readers!
Hi. I want to take a moment to speak directly from the heart—not to be rude, not to attack anyone, but to set a boundary that honestly should not need to be explained. I write fanfiction because I love it. Because storytelling is a passion, and creating something that resonates with people is one of the most fulfilling things I can do. But lately, that love has been tested, and I need to say something for the sake of my peace and for every other writer who’s been through the same.
Writing fanfiction is something most of us do for free. We are not paid. We are not professionally obligated. We’re not under contract. We write when we can, how we can, and on our own time. And most importantly—we are human beings with lives, jobs, families, classes, responsibilities, and real-world exhaustion. Many of us are in school. Many of us work long hours. Some of us are doing both. In my case, I work a full-time job, and yet someone recently messaged me during my 30-minute lunch break—not to say hello or ask how I was doing, but to demand I continue writing the fic they had requested. I had already mentioned I was at work, that I only had that half-hour to rest, to breathe, to eat something—and I was still being told to “check in” constantly during the writing process and update them on where I was in the fic. I want to be very clear: that’s not okay. That’s not excitement—that’s entitlement. That’s not engagement—that’s pressure. And it completely took the joy out of the creative process.
There is nothing wrong with being excited about a fic. We love when people are excited. We love when people engage with the stories we write. But there is a line between excitement and control—and that line gets crossed when people start demanding specific plotlines, insisting that we recreate exact scenes from movies, or telling us that certain things “have to” happen. Saying “this must take place right after this exact scene,” or “the fic has to go in this direction,” or “if you don’t write it this way I’m not reading it”—none of that is respectful. You’re allowed to want things. You’re allowed to imagine your own scenarios. But you are not allowed to control someone else’s story. Fanfiction is not a commission. It is not a transaction. It is a gift. You can’t unwrap a gift and then complain that it’s not the color you wanted. You can’t ask someone to pour hours into something and then tell them to change it once it’s done because you didn’t like the way they wrote their own story.
And on that note: once a fic is finished, it’s finished. It is deeply discouraging to be asked—after spending hours writing and editing and formatting—to turn a one-shot into a multi-part series or rewrite entire scenes to better match someone’s vision. It’s unfair to expect more when a writer already gave you their time and creativity. Just because you wanted ten more scenes doesn’t mean we’re obligated to write them. And if a writer chooses to say no to a follow-up request, that boundary must be honored. You are not entitled to ask “why.” You are not owed a reason. Sometimes it’s because we’re busy. Sometimes it’s because the ask wasn’t inspiring. Sometimes it’s because we’re burnt out, tired, or simply not interested. All of those reasons are valid.
It’s also not okay to repeatedly message us throughout the day, every few minutes, just to ask where the fic is or how much progress we’ve made. If we haven’t updated you, it’s because we’re either still writing or not able to write in that moment. Pestering us doesn’t help. It only adds stress. And if we don’t answer right away, it doesn’t mean we’re ignoring you—it probably means we’re living life. Because again, we are not writing machines. We are people. People who want to enjoy writing. People who want to love this space.
If you really love fanfiction—if you value the stories and the writers behind them—then the best thing you can do is treat us with kindness, patience, and respect. Don’t just like our posts—reblog them. Don’t just consume the story—thank the person who gave it to you. If someone does take your request, don’t micromanage them. And if they don’t? Don’t take it personally. We are here to write with love. Not under pressure. Not on a schedule. Not at the cost of our peace.
This fandom space can be something beautiful if we allow it to be. But that means letting go of entitlement and embracing appreciation. It means allowing writers to write—not demanding that they perform. So please, just let us breathe. Let us create freely. And above all else, let us be human.
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serendipdipity01 · 1 month ago
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propoganda i am TOTALLY falling for:
-lotties big brown eyes
-lotties big brown eyes
-lotties big brown eyes
-lotties prophecies of doom
-lotties big brown eyes
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serendipdipity01 · 1 month ago
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start making more travis fics NOW. ive read them all and now i have nothing to do
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serendipdipity01 · 1 month ago
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couldn’t be more relatable
me when i'm 3 fanfics behind, haven't posted in weeks, but i managed to cook up an OC that no one is gonna give a damn about
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serendipdipity01 · 1 month ago
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hey guys! give me some grace as i take time to upload the chapters!!
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serendipdipity01 · 1 month ago
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How I look like rn begging yall for sum nat x reader fics
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serendipdipity01 · 1 month ago
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Midfielder - no#4 - eighteen - "the medic"
JULIETTE "JULI" ANNE FOSTER (FC: Taylor russell)
Juliette Anne Foster was born 13th of September 1978 in a small Catholic town in Northern France. She was an astute teenager with a flair for the dramatics and, eventually, one of the few survivors of the flight 2525 crash.
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"the picture on the wall you're scared of looks just like you,"
Pre-crash:
ᡣ𐭩 Born in France but moved to America at eight after her mother began to get sick (she passed away during Juli's sophomore year, soon after her brother had left for college)
ᡣ𐭩 She was the daughter of a pastor (Thomas Foster Sr) and practically grew up in Bible school and the benches at Sunday mass.
ᡣ𐭩 She never quite fit in to Wiskayok, as a mixed girl with a foreign accent she was bullied and harassed, learning to keep to herself.
ᡣ𐭩 While considering herself merely a social smoker you'd be hard-pressed to find a moment where she didn't have a cigarette between her lips.
ᡣ𐭩 Soccer became a passion of hers in middle school after she had begged her parents to let her try out for the team.
ᡣ𐭩 She befriended Taissa in her freshman year of highschool the two girls bonding over shared experiences and attitudes.
ᡣ𐭩 Juli's the second oldest of four and the oldest daughter, leading her to be almost solely responsible for her siblings after her mother died and her father started drinking. .
ᡣ𐭩 She opposes Taissa 's plan but hardly tries to fight her on it. While friendly enough with Nat she's closer to Taissa and hence doesn't want to cause an argument.
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"she kneels down and holds the frozen dove, pigeons fall like snowflakes at the border,"
In the woods:
ᡣ𐭩 Juli becomes the medic In the woods, her first aid skills being good from a lifetime of caring for her siblings and the younger kids at church.
ᡣ𐭩 She resents the responsibility but is still soft and caring with her patients.
ᡣ𐭩 Juli stays downstairs during the seance, when Lottie starts speaking French they call her up but she arrives too late to add anything useful.
ᡣ𐭩 When Taissa proposes her rescue mission Juli stays behind, relishing the quiet moment it gives her.
ᡣ𐭩 During doomcoming Juli slips off early and shares a dance with Nat before they rush back to the cabin to see the fallout of the Jackie/Travis situation.
ᡣ𐭩 Juli and Nat sort of start dating in early winter, neither really talk exactly about what it means.
ᡣ𐭩 Winter is boring to Juli, she's relieved that no-one 's actively trying to get themselves killed though she's worried about Javi.
ᡣ𐭩 She participates in the cannibalism just like the others but stays behind for the hunt.
ᡣ𐭩 Juli votes guilty in the trial which causes a fight between her and Nat. It's almost resolved when they both object to the yellowjackets keeping Ben suffering but they're not quite as close
ᡣ𐭩 Juli absolutely flips out on Taissa when she objects to them going home, it's probably the angriest Juli gets in the woods.
ᡣ𐭩 Juliette takes part in the black box plot, trying to prolong the hunt to give Nat more time.
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"what's left is only bittersweet, for the rest of my life, admitting the best is behind me,"
Post rescue:
ᡣ𐭩 Juli returns to Wiskayok to find out that her Father had died of liver disease while she was in the wilderness.
ᡣ𐭩 She skips town a year after rescue, still within new jersey but away from the lingering memory of the crash.
ᡣ𐭩 As of 2001 Juli works at the till at a cinema, renting a small apartment and going to poor art galleries in the evening, where she meets Sawyer J Good, a southern woman who's just about five years older than her.
ᡣ𐭩 They date for the majority of the next seven or so years. Though Juli does still see Nat at a couple points during this time period.
ᡣ𐭩 On the tenth anniversary of their rescue Juliette drives her car off a bridge. No-one who knew her had predicted it, from all outside perspectives she'd been doing well. The autopsy report showed alcohol in her system.
ᡣ𐭩 Her funeral was small and rather hostile, Her brother getting into a physical fight with Nat after it had ended.
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"I don't want to be there when you break glass and I don't want to be there when they drag you out"
Symbolism and hallucinations:
ᡣ𐭩 Juli's animal motif is primarily a moose (strength, independence, self reliance). It's represented through elaborate hallucinations in which Juli sees a small child with the head of a moose wailing. This happens primarily at significant moments, during or after the fact (the cabin burning, Javi dying). Or during dreams where she sees a regular moose, stalking through the forest.
ᡣ𐭩 The first time the moose-child appears is when Juli and the others go to help bring Van back to the cabin after the wolf attack and the last is during her death, the moose-child appears in the middle of the road, causing her to swerve off the side of the bridge. (Though it does also appear in her plane scene, talking to Juli in french about the wilderness "Il ne prend pas, il donne, il a toujours donné." [Forgive my French, translation is roughly 'it doesn't take, it gives, it's always given']
ᡣ𐭩 Juli goes into the hallucination cave (?) with Shauna, Van and Akilah during season 3. Her hallucination is of her father's church, submerged ankle deep in the lake, as she walks down the aisle and organ and a choir start to play. The church is empty save for the moose-headed child at the front. This is the first time it speaks to Juli, making a small comment in french before merging into the stained glass window behind it.
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"Beloved of John, I get it all wrong, I read you for some kind of poem,"
Religion & the wilderness:
ᡣ𐭩 Throughout her life Juli remains staunchly a skeptic, the rational part of her brain being unable to reckon with the idea of something supernatural happening. Her view on The wilderness is much similar to her view on Religion, she accepts it as a possibility, though, dislikes the ideas and practices even if it did turn out to be the case.
ᡣ𐭩 During the woods she opposes Lottie's cult, her reasons are somewhat of a mix between Taissa 's and Natalie's; she thinks it's irrational and also Unhealthy and dangerous.
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"you can do what you want to, whenever you want to,"
Relationships:
ᡣ𐭩 Nat&Juli: they admired each other even before the crash. Though they love each other their relationship will always be strained by the woods and what happened out there. Also, they both have a poor experience with romance and connection, Juli being especially unwilling to have heart-to-heart type conversations about her feelings.
ᡣ𐭩 Javi&Juli: Javi is Juli's stand in sibling in the woods, he reminds her of one of her sisters, Mary. With both of them spending a lot of time hanging around the cabin they're quite close, his death absolutely shatters Juli.
ᡣ𐭩 Taissa&Juli: they're close before the crash and stay mostly in touch after. in the wilderness they grow a bit distant, though, they remain fond of eachother despite everything.
ᡣ𐭩 Misty&Juli: Misty admires Juli, being an apprentice of sorts to her in the woods. It takes some time but Juli equally finds herself growing fond of Misty and by the second year they're almost friends. Juli turns a blind eye to the possibility that Misty killed Kristen, wanting to see the best in her friend. Misty is the first to learn of Juli's death and the one to alert the others. She gives an over-earnest speech at Juli's funeral which Juli herself would've laughed at.
ᡣ𐭩 Thomas&Juli: the Foster siblings have never had an easy relationship. Thomas was around four years older than Juli and always pushed into masculine roles and Hobbies, never really being encouraged to play with Juli or their younger twin sisters. Thomas goes to College shortly after their mother's death, leaving Juli alone to deal with their spiraling father and sisters. They never quite get over that, even in the years after Juli's rescued.
ᡣ𐭩 Sawyer (Juli's post crash gf)&Juli: while Juli doesn't quite love Sawyer she cares for her and the two are close to happy. Sawyer's stable and easy to talk to, Juli likes not having to think about the woods or the cannibalism she can just be a stupid 20-something-year-old. Sawyer isn't stupid, she knows that Nat will always come before her and she does her best to reckon with that.
[songs: nettles- Ethel Cain, Orange- big thief, Eugene - Sufjan Stevens, be there - low, John my beloved - Sufjan stevens, Ballad of big nothing - Elliot smith]
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serendipdipity01 · 2 months ago
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sophie thatcher look alike contest in my bed tonight?
—credits to whoever made this on pinterest
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serendipdipity01 · 2 months ago
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i think i’ve read every single nat scatorccio x reader fic on this app
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serendipdipity01 · 2 months ago
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xv. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝
mary on a cross - yellowjackets ♱ CHAPTER FIFTEEN series masterlist
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𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝
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[ ₁₉₉₆! ]
The woods were quiet, but not peaceful. Not anymore.
It was the kind of quiet that pressed against your ribs and made everything feel a little tighter, like the trees were holding their breath. A stillness thick with waiting, with what might happen next.
Annie Jo stood a ways off from the porch, her arms folded across her chest—not shivering, exactly, but bracing. Her shoes were planted in the soft dirt, and she could feel the damp cool of it rising through the soles. Somewhere behind her, a pine branch creaked in the breeze. She didn’t flinch, but her jaw clenched.
On the porch, Coach Ben leaned hard on his crutch, the wood of it thudding faintly as he adjusted his stance. His voice carried just enough for Annie to catch pieces of it—"longer than we expected” and “relying on each other”—but mostly, it was low and deliberate. He stood like someone who had done all the arguing already. Natalie was at his left, arms crossed, jacket hanging open, her face unreadable but sharpened with focus. Her blonde hair caught the light in dull streaks. Annie couldn’t stop looking at her.
She looked...far away. Like she was already halfway gone.
Travis stood on the other side, silent and tense, the rifle slung over one shoulder like it belonged there. His mouth was a hard line, eyes locked on something past the trees. A flock of crows startled in the distance, their wings slapping the air.
The three of them looked like they’d already been carved away from the rest of them. Not just volunteers anymore—something else now. Annie couldn’t find the word for it.
Beside her, Molly shifted, arms crossed tightly, her gaze fixed on Travis. Annie noticed the way she’d been bouncing one foot against the dirt, just slightly, like her nerves were asking her to move.
She elbowed her gently. “So,” Annie murmured, voice low. “You gonna make me guess, or were you planning on spilling eventually?”
Molly snorted under her breath, but it came out smaller than usual. “Jesus, Annie.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“It’s not a confirmation either.”
Annie turned to face her, arching a brow. “You kissed him.”
Molly rolled her eyes, but the tips of her ears flushed pink. “You wanna try saying that louder, or...?”
The teasing fell a little flat between them—not because it wasn’t true, but because it was. Because something had shifted. Annie could feel it in the silence that followed. The kind that came when you knew someone long enough to feel what they weren’t saying.
Molly’s voice dropped. “He’s not my boyfriend or anything.”
Annie didn’t say anything.
Molly looked down, tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Not officially. We just... kissed. That’s all.”
Annie followed her gaze toward the porch. Travis was nodding at something Coach Ben said, but Natalie was speaking now too, leaning slightly forward, her expression focused and stark.
“He said sorry,” Molly added, barely audible. “And I think he meant it.”
Annie glanced back at her best friend—really looked at her. There was something careful in Molly’s posture, like she hadn’t quite let herself exhale yet. Something tender under the usual edge.
“I think he did too,” Annie said softly.
Molly didn’t smile, but her shoulders dropped, just barely.
They stood in silence, watching as Coach Ben pointed toward the woods, gesturing with the kind of finality that meant the conversation was over. He shifted his crutch and turned slowly toward the cabin, disappearing through the door with a loud slam that startled the birds again.
Annie flinched. Her eyes jumped to Natalie.
Still on the porch, Natalie was bent low, tying one of her boots tighter. Travis stood beside her, adjusting the strap of the pack slung over his shoulder. It was too big for him, sagging slightly, but no one offered to help.
Molly started forward, her steps heavier than usual. Annie followed without thinking.
Natalie looked up first when they approached, but she didn’t speak.
Molly stopped a few feet from Travis and rocked on her heels—uncharacteristically nervous. Her hands were stuffed into her jacket pockets, and for a second she didn’t say anything.
Then, with a small shake of her head, she muttered, “Don’t take any hero risks, okay?”
Travis turned to her, the faintest crease forming between his brows. “I won’t.”
A pause.
Molly’s voice dropped, quiet and careful. “I mean it. Don’t try to prove anything. Just... come back, okay?”
She wasn’t teasing anymore. There was something in her tone—frayed around the edges, but steady. Something real. It caught Travis off guard. Annie could see it happen, like a ripple across the surface of a pond. His posture shifted slightly, the tension in his shoulders loosening just enough to betray the vulnerability underneath.
He looked at her.
Really looked.
And for once, he didn’t hide.
“I will,” he said. Simple. Honest.
Molly stared at him for another heartbeat, like she wasn’t sure she believed it yet. Then, wordlessly, she stepped closer and rose onto her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Not dramatic. Not bold. But it landed with the weight of something that mattered.
Travis blinked, visibly surprised—but he didn’t pull back. If anything, his body leaned just barely toward hers, like the gravity between them had shifted.
When Molly stepped away again, her face was already hardening—not cold, but shielded. Like she didn’t want to give anyone time to read too much into it. Not even Annie. Especially not Travis.
Annie, for her part, tried not to stare.
So she turned instead. Faced the one person who mattered more in this moment than her own questions.
Natalie stood a few steps off, fingers flexing around the strap of the rifle. Her mouth was set, but her shoulders weren’t. She looked ready for anything and exhausted by all of it. And when Annie stepped into her periphery, Natalie turned like she’d been waiting for her all along.
“How are you feeling?” Annie asked, softer now. The question hung in the space between them—not idle, not casual.
Natalie’s eyes flicked toward her, then down. Her lashes were pale in the sunlight, casting faint shadows on her cheekbones. “Peachy,” she muttered. Dry, but there was no bite to it.
Annie huffed out a small breath—not quite a laugh, but close enough. She took a step closer.
They weren’t touching.
But they could’ve been.
That same almost-electric hum sat between them, delicate and warm and difficult to name. It was never just about proximity with Natalie—it was about everything that hadn’t been said yet. All the quiet things Annie Jo was too afraid to say aloud. Not because they weren’t true. But because they were.
“I mean it,” Annie said, eyes flicking toward Natalie’s hand wrapped around the rifle strap. “Come back in one piece.”
Natalie tilted her head, that familiar quirk of her lips hovering just on the edge of a smirk. “That an order?”
Annie’s smile softened, matching Natalie’s tilt of the head. “A suggestion.”
That earned a breath of something close to a laugh. Natalie looked down again, biting at the inside of her cheek—almost shy. The wind lifted a strand of her hair, and she didn’t bother to tuck it away.
“I’ll be careful,” she said, quieter now. It didn’t sound like a promise to herself. It sounded like one for Annie.
“You better,” Annie said, and when she didn’t step back, neither did Natalie.
For a moment, they just stood there. Suspended in something unspoken.
Close.
Quiet.
Annie’s hand twitched at her side. She thought about what it felt like—Natalie’s fingers laced with hers. The feeling still echoing somewhere in her chest. The way Natalie had looked at her like she already knew what she was thinking before she could even say anything.
And maybe she did.
But Annie wasn’t ready to face that fact. Not entirely. Not yet.
Still—Natalie was here. Right in front of her. And she wasn’t pulling away.
Annie’s gaze dipped to Natalie’s mouth, just for a second. Not to stare. Just to remember what it looked like when she smiled.
Natalie noticed.
Her fingers shifted where they clutched the strap, just barely brushing against the back of Annie’s hand. It was the lightest touch—but it buzzed down Annie’s spine like a secret.
Then Travis cleared his throat nearby. “We’re losing daylight.”
Natalie’s body pivoted instinctively toward the treeline, but her eyes lingered on Annie’s a moment longer. Long enough to say something without words.
Annie didn’t say anything either.
She just nodded once, and in that nod was everything she couldn’t let herself speak out loud.
And she let her go.
But not with indifference. Not with detachment.
But with a slow, shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Natalie shifted the rifle over her shoulder, her eyes sweeping between the girls. “We’ll see you guys soon,” She said.
Annie managed a small wave. It trembled slightly, then curled halfway, like her hand wasn’t sure whether to reach forward or fall away. The corners of her mouth tried to pull into something that might’ve resembled a smile, but it stopped before it got there.
All she could do was watch as Natalie turned away, following Travis into the trees.
Molly stepped up beside her, silent as she crossed her arms. They both watched the woods swallow them — Natalie and Travis becoming two shapes, then shadows, the simply part of the gold-dappled green. The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of hope and dread and all the things they didn’t say out loud anymore.
And under all of it, wrapped tight in the aching of her ribs, Annie felt something shift.
She blinked once. Then again. And let it settle.
Several minutes passed. Maybe more. Long enough that the quiet returned to something natural, even if it didn’t feel safe.
Then the cabin door creaked, and Akilah stepped out into the sunlight. Her braid caught the breeze as she scanned the clearing. “Hey,” she called. “You two wanna help us check the trail? See if there’s any berries?”
Molly glanced at Annie, eyes still searching the woods.
Annie nodded, slow. “Yeah,” she said. “We’re coming.”
She looked back once more—toward where the trees had closed behind them.
And then she turned away.
‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧
It had been nearly thirty minutes of walking—slow, quiet, and increasingly tense. The trees had grown thicker the deeper they went, the canopy above stretching wide and tangled, filtering the sun into soft, flickering shadows. The air was damp with dew and the scent of crushed greenery, and every few steps, Annie Jo had to duck beneath a low branch or step carefully around a nest of roots curling up through the earth like the forest was trying to trip her.
Her stomach growled again—louder this time—and she pressed a hand against it, wincing. It didn’t help. Every time it happened, she was reminded of how long it had been since any of them had eaten more than a little bit of stale granola.
Up ahead, Molly walked side-by-side with Akilah, the two of them exchanging quiet comments, occasionally pausing to study a bush or consult each other on plants they didn’t quite recognize. Laura Lee trailed behind them—closer to Annie than the rest. Her arms swung stiffly at her sides and she glanced back every couple of minutes to look at her sister.
Eventually, she slowed her steps, letting a few yards fall between them and the others. Annie noticed.
Laura Lee glanced back again, met her eyes, and gave a small, sheepish smile. “Hi,” she said softly, almost like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to speak first.
Annie glanced sideways and offered a tired smile. “Hey.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Just the sound of birds overhead and the gentle crunch of their boots on pine needles.
Laura Lee let out a small breath, falling into step beside her. The trail narrowed slightly, forcing them to walk close.
“This part of the woods feels different,” Laura Lee said quietly, voice almost lost in the wind. “Like it’s older than the rest.”
Annie looked sideways at her. “You mean, like… haunted?”
“No.” Laura Lee gave a short laugh. “I mean… maybe. But I was thinking more like... sacred. Like the trees are listening.”
“That’s worse,” Annie said, but she smiled a little. “Stop creeping me out.”
Laura Lee bumped her shoulder gently. “Sorry.”
Annie bumped her back.
“Are you still wearing your cross?” Laura asked after a minute, and her tone wasn’t judgemental. Just curious.
Annie reached up instinctively and touched the tiny silver pendant at her collarbone, fingers brushing the cool metal. “Yeah.”
“Good,” Laura said, voice low. “I feel better knowing you’ve got it on.”
Annie didn’t answer, but she didn’t pull away either. For once, the quiet between them didn’t feel jagged. Just... familiar.
“I missed you,” Laura Lee said suddenly.
Annie’s throat tightened. “I didn’t go anywhere.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s what made it worse.”
Annie blinked hard, heart tugging. Their arms brushed. It wasn’t deliberate, but Annie didn’t pull away. Then—somewhere between exhaustion and affection—she let out a sudden laugh.
Laura Lee laughed, too. It cracked something open between them—an easy, breathless kind of warmth that hadn’t lived there in weeks. They looked at each other, grinning like idiots. For a moment, it was just them again—sisters in sync, like before the crash, before the tension, before everything cracked open and let the wilderness in.
“Come on,” Laura Lee said, already picking up speed. “They’re getting ahead.”
Then, without a word, they picked up their pace, jogging to catch up with the rest of the group.
The trees began to open up into a wide, sun-dappled hollow. Not quite a meadow, not quite a clearing—just a break in the woods where the earth dipped slightly and wild plants had taken full advantage. Moss coated the rocks, and low, tangled bushes sprawled in thick clusters. It felt private, tucked away, like a secret the forest had reluctantly decided to share.
Annie Jo slowed to a stop beside her sister, breathing in the green-sweet smell of the leaves. Despite everything, a small smile tugged at her lips.
“This place is kind of pretty,” Laura said.
Annie nodded. “Yeah.”
Misty stepped in beside them, eyes wide as she scanned the undergrowth. “Look!” she said, crouching beside a dense patch of grass. “There’s a berry bush.”
Sure enough, nestled between two small boulders, a modest cluster of dark berries glistened in the sunlight.
“Wait,” Annie said, brows pulling together as she stepped forward. “Misty, I don’t think—”
Before Misty could bring one to her mouth, Akilah came skidding over, out of breath. She reached out and slapped Misty’s wrist, sending the berry flying to the ground.
“Don’t eat that kind!” she said, panting slightly. “It’s poisonous.”
Annie’s eyes widened. So did Laura Lee’s.
“Like, ‘kill you’ poisonous?” Van asked, strolling up behind them, eyebrows raised. “Or like, ‘trip your balls off’ poisonous?”
Annie’s eyes rested on the berry at Misty’s feet. “Or maybe it’s like a mild stomach thing?”
Akilah frowned, glancing around as everyone gathered around her for an answer. “What? I don’t know. My Girl Scout troop leader didn’t get all that specific about it.”
Molly laughed, arms crossed loosely. “That seems like kind of an important detail.”
“Yeah,” Van chimed in. “Like—don’t let Suzie die in the woods. You’d think that’d be a badge or something.”
“I’d call it the ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ badge,” Molly added with a grin.
From behind them, Taissa crouched beside another bush, gesturing with a tilt of her head. “Akilah?” she called gently.
Everyone turned.
Akilah walked over slowly, eyeing the bush with practiced suspicion. Then shook her head. “Okay, now those I know for sure will make you puke. Don’t touch it.”
Misty let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, could you just show us something that’s actually edible so we can get going?”
Annie stepped toward her and laid a hand on her shoulder. Her voice was soft, careful. “Hey. We’re all hungry, Misty. We’re doing our best.”
Misty looked at her, something flickering behind her eyes. She didn’t brush her off—but her face crumpled slightly. “It’s not that…” she muttered.
Taissa stood up, brushing her palms on her pants. “Then what’s the big hurry?”
Van cocked a smirk. “Coach need a sponge bath?”
There was a beat of silence. Then laughter.
Annie froze, blinking. “Oh—wow. Okay, then…” She awkwardly pulled her hand back, moving closer to Laura Lee. Even she had to admit Misty obviously had a thing for Coach Ben—but still.
Misty stood there for a beat too long, eyes scanning the group like she was looking for someone to understand her. When she found no one, her jaw tensed. She turned on her heel , muttering something unintelligible under her breath as she stormed into the trees.
“Misty, we didn’t mean—” Annie started, her grin fading. She took a step after Misty—but stopped when she caught Lottie standing just outside the clearing, half-turned toward a tree, her head cocked at a strange angle.
Annie veered toward her.
“Lottie?” she called gently.
The girl didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, she turned to look over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were wide—focused.
“There’s something carved in the bark,” she murmured. “Come look.”
Annie stepped closer, heart starting to pick up pace.
“What kind of something?”
Lottie didn’t answer. She stepped aside, and Annie saw it.
The symbol was carved low into the trunk. Circular. Jagged lines spidering out from the center. At the top there was a triangle, and at the bottom, a hook-like shape. It looked wrong. Like it didn’t belong to the tree—or anything else natural.
“It’s a symbol,” Lottie said, her voice somewhere between reverent and afraid.
Annie stared. Then—just like before—it hit her.
A sudden thrum behind her eyes. Her head throbbed, sharp and rhythmic. Like something inside her skull was trying to get out.
She winced, squeezing her eyes shut, pressing the heel of her palm to her temple.
“Annie…” Lottie stepped closer, tilting her head. Her hand found Annie’s forearm, gentle and grounding.
The pain ebbed. Not completely, but enough to breathe.
Annie opened her eyes slowly. Her heartbeat was still fast.
Lottie looked at her strangely. “Has that happened before?”
Before Annie could answer, a voice rang out from deeper in the woods.
“Guys!” Jackie called.
They both turned, wide-eyed.
Lottie’s hand slipped to the small of Annie’s back. “We should go,” she said softly, but her eyes stayed fixed on the symbol.
Annie hesitated, then nodded.
They walked back toward the clearing, silent and shaken, rejoining Laura Lee and Molly just as Jackie called out again.
Whatever had just happened—it wasn’t over. Not yet.
“Guys,” Jackie called again—louder this time.
Van turned toward the sound, a flicker of irritation rising on her face. Jackie had been calling out for a while now, never saying what she'd found, just repeating herself. “What?” the girl called back, voice tight with annoyance.
Molly let out a sharp sigh. “I swear to God, if it’s more berries—”
But then Jackie called out again—shorter, breathless. “You need to see this.”
That did it.
They moved as a group, feet crunching over twigs and fallen leaves, pushing through a patch of saplings until the woods cracked open again. Annie pushed aside a low-hanging branch—and froze.
Just past the clearing, nestled between two trees like something the forest had half-swallowed, was a plane.
A real one.
A small, rust-caked propeller plane, its faded blue paint chipped and peeling, vines crawling over its frame like veins. The front windshield was fogged with dust. There were only two seats visible through the glass, both worn and weather-stained. The entire thing sat askew, one wing tilted into a bed of ferns, as if it had crash-landed decades ago and simply… never left.
“Holy fuck,” Van whispered, stepping forward.
Taissa’s bag slipped from her shoulder and hit the ground with a dull thud. “How the hell did this get here?”
“It must’ve belonged to the dead guy,” Jackie said, already approaching the side of the fuselage like it was a strange animal she thought she could tame.
Annie Jo stayed back.
Something about the plane made her skin crawl. Maybe it was the way the vines seemed too intentional, too thick around the wheels. Or the fact that the forest had grown so tightly around it, like it had been here long before any of them were born. Like it had been waiting.
A cold shiver slid down her spine, and she took a slow step forward.
Molly was already walking the perimeter, running her fingers lightly along the dented metal. “It’s smaller than I expected,” she said. “Like... it’s basically a toy.”
“It looks like Grandpa’s,” Laura Lee said quietly, standing beside Annie. She stepped forward toward the door.
Annie felt her pulse tick up. “Laur…”
“I’m just looking,” Laura said, her face softening as she glanced at her sister’s weary expression. “It’s okay.”
She pulled the door open with a creak, and a burst of stale, musty air hit her. Inside, the cockpit was cramped—just two seats, both stiff with mold, and an instrument panel. Laura stepped inside, brushing her fingers across the console.
“It’s the same layout,” she murmured. “Throttle, flaps, ignition… it’s like his. I wonder if it works?”
Annie looked away, exhaling through her nose. Everyone else was starting to crowd around, faces lit with something dangerously close to hope.
“Laura Lee…” she muttered.
Van had wandered to the front of the plane, fingers grazing the edge of the propeller. She gave it a small spin. It whined a little, then clicked to a stop.
Annie almost smiled at the simplicity of it—Van’s curiosity—but the moment shattered when the plane sputtered to life.
The engine coughed once. Then again.
Then it roared.
Annie’s head snapped up. “Laura!”
The propeller whirled forward with a mechanical shriek, wheels grinding against the earth. The plane lurched forward with a jolt.
“Turn it off!” Annie yelled, stumbling back. “Laura Lee!”
The plane didn’t stop.
It rolled forward, slow but steady, wheels fighting the vines beneath them. The sound filled the clearing—metal and rust and wind, the scream of something waking up when it shouldn’t have.
And Van—Van was just standing there.
Frozen.
Eyes wide.
Jackie darted in front of her, throwing an arm out as if to shield her, but it wouldn’t be enough—not from a moving plane, not from this.
Annie didn’t think.
She ran.
The air rushed past her ears, the world narrowing into adrenaline and noise. She shoved Jackie aside, yanked Van back by the arm, and threw herself in front of the plane—
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Waited for the slam of metal and bone.
Waited—
And then—
Nothing.
Silence.
When she opened her eyes, the propeller had stopped spinning.
The nose of the plane was inches from her face.
Inches.
Her reflection trembled in the metal—wide-eyed and breathless.
Behind her, the rest of the girls stared, frozen. Molly’s hand was clamped over her mouth. Taissa looked like she couldn’t move. Lottie had gone pale.
And Laura Lee was already climbing out of the cockpit, her face stricken with horror.
“Oh my God—Annie Jo—”
She jumped down from the entrance, stumbling across the clearing, her sneakers slipping in the moss. When she reached her sister, she didn’t hesitate. She threw her arms around Annie and held tight.
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think—I thought I could control it, I thought—”
Annie’s chest rose and fell against her sister’s. Her heartbeat was a drum against her ribs. “I hate planes,” she breathed.
Laura gave a wet laugh—part sob, part disbelief.
“I tried to stop it. I really tried.”
Annie pulled back, took her sister’s hands in hers, and nodded slowly. “I know, Laur. I know.”
Molly finally reached them, out of breath. “Jesus Christ, Annie. You almost��died.”
“I’m fine,” Annie said, blinking hard. The rest of the group gathered around them, checking in on the girl. “I’m okay, guys. Really.”
Laura Lee’s fingers found the chain around her neck. She clutched the silver cross tightly, chest heaving. Annie mirrored her instinctively, touching her own necklace.
Jackie cleared her throat, stepping closer. “No one got hurt. It’s okay, Laura Lee.”
But it wasn’t. Not really.
Because something was off.
Annie looked back at the plane. The others were cautiously circling it again, whispering low.
Then Lottie moved.
She stepped forward, past the group, her eyes fixed on the ground. On the wheels.
Annie watched her squat down and reach out and touch one of the vines—thick, twisted, and rooted deep into the soil. The vines—there were too many. Too tight. They weren’t snapped or torn. They weren’t even disturbed. The wheels had moved—but the vines hadn’t.
Lottie turned to her, eyes wide and shining. Her voice was barely a whisper.
“It didn’t want him to leave.”
‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧
After the plane incident, no one really said much.
There was a kind of dazed quiet hanging over them now—like the clearing had pressed itself into everyone’s skin, and no one knew how to peel it off. The group eventually drifted back into motion, returning to their slow, halfhearted foraging. They walked in a looser cluster than before, not quite speaking. The tension from before hadn’t disappeared so much as it had shifted into something quieter. Laura Lee stayed glued to Annie Jo’s side, their arms occasionally brushing as they stepped over roots and ducked beneath branches. Annie’s chest still felt tight.
They didn’t find much.
A few scattered bushes, some small, bitter berries that Akilah deemed edible but “not worth fighting over.” Enough for a few mouthfuls each, if that. No one said it out loud, but they were all thinking the same thing—if Travis and Natalie didn’t come back with something… they were screwed.
By the time they returned to the cabin, the sun was slanting lower, the shadows starting to stretch.
Annie Jo sat on the top step of the porch, arms crossed, gaze drifting out past the trees. Her legs were muddy from the walk, and she was chewing the inside of her cheek. Not from hunger this time. Not really. Her eyes flicked sideways to where Lottie stood near the treeline, still distant. Still quiet.
She was thinking about what Lottie had said back at the clearing.
It didn’t want him to leave.
Her fingers pressed against the edge of the step, nails digging into the grain. She didn’t know what it was. But whatever had happened—whatever that symbol was, the one carved into the bark like it had always been there—it hadn’t let go of her yet. The sound in her head had dulled, but the memory of it still echoed, like the aftershock of a migraine.
Annie didn’t even hear her sister until she felt the weight of her presence settle beside her on the porch step.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Laura Lee asked softly.
Annie blinked, pulled from her thoughts. She turned, finding Laura already watching her—blue eyes wide, searching, apologetic.
“I’m fine,” Annie said, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “All in one piece, see?”
She raised her arms halfway, like she was making a joke of it. But her voice cracked just a little.
Laura didn’t laugh.
She just kept looking at her like she was waiting for Annie to really mean it.
“I could’ve hurt you,” Laura murmured. Her fingers worked anxiously at the small gold cross around her neck, twisting it tight between thumb and forefinger. “I didn’t think the engine would actually—”
“Laura Lee Chambers,” Annie’s voice cut through gently, firm in the way only a twin could manage. “You didn’t hurt me.”
Laura blinked.
“But I could’ve.”
“You didn’t.”
The silence after that was warm and awful. Shared between them like a scar that hadn’t yet formed.
Annie sighed softly and leaned sideways, resting her head against Laura’s shoulder. After a moment, she felt Laura tilt her head down, resting it on top of Annie’s like they were puzzle pieces finding their fit again.
They stayed that way for a while. Just the two of them, breathing. No words. No movement.
It was a closeness they’d had since the womb—buried beneath years of bickering, of church lectures, of whispered confessions in the dark. Of Annie pretending she didn’t need it. Of Laura Lee pretending she didn’t either.
But here, now, they just were.
“I’m glad we’re okay,” Laura whispered eventually. Her voice was so quiet it almost got lost in the wind.
Annie’s throat tightened. She closed her eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”
“I love you.”
Annie felt something sharp wedge behind her ribs.
She whispered back, “I love you too, Laur.”
And just like that, something settled.
Before either of them could say more, movement stirred at the edge of the woods.
Twigs cracked. A low grunt of effort echoed between the trees. Then came the sound of gasps—soft, stunned.
Annie’s head jerked up. She stood quickly, Laura just a step behind.
Emerging from the trees, dirt-streaked and sweating, were Natalie and Travis. And they were dragging the massive weight of a deer between them.
Annie’s head jerked up, eyes going wide. She stood quickly, Laura following close behind.
“Woah,” she breathed.
They hauled the animal into the clearing just beside the porch. Its legs folded awkwardly, the fur slick in places, matted in others. Van rushed forward to help them lower it. Everyone else began to crowd around.
Coach Ben hobbled up slowly, a rare smile blooming on his usually grim face. “Nice work, you two.”
Annie’s eyes found Natalie almost instantly.
She was filthy—smeared in dirt, sweat curling damp at her temples, a bruise blooming faintly on her jaw—but she looked brighter than Annie had ever seen her. There was something in the way she carried herself, something wild and alive and impossibly calm. Their eyes met across the deer. Something lit in Annie’s chest. Something that curled deep and secret and soft.
Natalie gave the faintest smile. Annie looked away, cheeks flushed.
Travis cleared his throat, standing straighter. “It was all Natalie,” he said.
Natalie turned to him, a little startled. A beat passed, and she gave him a quick, appreciative nod. It wasn’t tense—just quiet. New.
Then Travis turned and made his way over to Molly. He didn’t say anything—just stepped in and wrapped his arms around her.
Molly’s breath hitched audibly. She froze for a heartbeat, then melted against him, fingers clutching at the back of his shirt. She tucked her head beneath his chin, eyes squeezed shut like she couldn’t believe he was really there.
Annie watched them, a faint smile tugging at her lips. It was the first real moment of softness she’d seen on Molly’s face since the crash.
Then Natalie moved again, wiping the back of her hand across her brow. She glanced toward the deer, then at Coach Ben.
“So… what do we do with it now?”
Ben reached for the hunting knife hanging at his belt. “First thing we do is bleed it. Who wants to try?”
Silence.
Everyone stiffened. Some looked away.
She took the knife without hesitation, crouched down, and pressed her knee into the dirt. The blade moved quick and clean across the deer’s throat. Blood spilled in a rush—dark, steaming, staining the grass.
Annie turned away with a grimace. “Gross…”
She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and tried not to gag.
And even though she wasn’t looking, she could still feel the moment everything changed.
They finally had real food.
“So… what now?” Mari asked, tearing her eyes away from the animal.
She had one arm crossed over her chest, the other gripping her elbow, as if keeping herself from getting any closer. The deer lay sprawled on the earth like a felled god—its legs stiff, eyes glassy, the blood still fresh on its neck where Shauna had opened its throat. The clearing smelled like copper and pine.
Coach Ben shrugged from where he stood, leaning slightly on his crutch. “Well… we cook it.”
Silence.
An eerie kind of stillness settled over the group, the only sound the distant whistle of wind threading through the trees.
No one moved.
They just… looked at each other. Blank, expectant, a little horrified. Shauna’s hands were stained red and hovering midair like she wasn’t quite sure what to do next. Ben didn’t offer any more instruction. Maybe he didn’t know how to.
Annie felt it in her chest—a prickle of dread, a building urgency. She took a step forward, clearing her throat.
“If Shauna finishes the skinning,” she said, voice careful but steady, “I can cook it.”
A few heads turned toward her.
“I… I cook a lot back home,” Annie added, brushing her palms on her jeans. “It shouldn’t be that different, right?”
She felt Laura Lee’s eyes on her first—supportive, trusting—but the others followed.
A few heads turned. Annie wasn’t the kind of girl most of them thought of in survival terms. She didn’t know how to hunt or stitch wounds or identify fungi—but she knew food. She knew the science and the love and the comfort of it.
Shauna turned, her expression breaking into something like surprise. “You sure?”
Annie nodded, a little more certain now. “Yeah. My mom taught me. I can do it.” There was something reassuring about the memory of her mom standing over a skillet in their kitchen, humming softly to herself while the house filled with garlic and thyme. “It’s just like home. Just over a fire and no pan, yeah? I can do it.”
Shauna looked down at the half-skinned deer, then back at Annie. A smile curled on her face—small, almost private. “Then let’s do it together.”
Travis and Van dragged the deer over to a tree stump where they could prepare the meal. Annie and Shauna crouched beside the deer. Shauna took the knife again, focused and careful, while Annie remained just close enough to study the movements. She kept her hands clean for now, readying space near the fire, pulling sticks into a pile, arranging rocks to hold up the flat metal rack she’d found in the wreckage.
“You’re good at this,” Shauna said quietly as she sliced down the deer’s belly.
Annie blinked. “At… standing nearby and pretending not to throw up?”
Shauna huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “No. At just… stepping up.”
Annie looked down, cheeks coloring. “I didn’t feel like I could help with anything before.”
“You’re helping now.”
They worked in tandem, voices low as the rest of the group drifted off to find wood or clean up. They talked—soft, quiet things. About Shauna’s mom’s chicken pot pie. About how Annie’s dad always burned eggs. About how neither of them had ever eaten venison before.
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
Annie hadn’t spent much time with Shauna before. Not one-on-one. She always seemed like Jackie’s shadow. Perfect. Polished. But there was something else underneath all that—solidness, sharpness, a kind of sadness that mirrored Annie’s own in a way she hadn’t expected.
They didn’t need to say the heavier things aloud. It was enough to know they were both carrying them.
And as Shauna finished peeling the hide away, Natalie approached from the trees, dropping a bundle of dry sticks by the fire pit.
“Got what you need for the fire,” Natalie said, brushing dirt from her palms.
Her voice was a little hoarse from the hike, but steady. She stood there at the edge of the clearing, hair pulled back into a ponytail, some pieces falling messily across her face, her shoes caked in mud and blood. Her sleeves were rolled up, and the strap of the rifle had left a faint red line across her collarbone.
Annie looked up from where she was crouched near the meat. The fire crackled behind her, sending a faint golden light across her face. She tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear and offered a shy, lopsided smile.
“Hi.”
Natalie blinked. A slow, crooked smile tugged at her lips. “Hi.”
The air between them felt warmer than it should’ve. Close. Charged in a way neither of them seemed to know how to navigate.
Annie stood, brushing her hands on her jeans, then on her thighs again, like she couldn’t decide what to do with them. “You… um. You did great.”
Natalie’s eyebrows lifted, unsure. “What?”
Annie swallowed, her voice softer now. “With the deer. I mean… getting it. That was—you were amazing. Thank you.”
Color bloomed across her cheeks like heat from the fire. She wasn’t looking directly at Natalie anymore, instead at the space just to her left, like making eye contact would unravel something inside her.
Natalie laughed under her breath, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She reached up to scratch the back of her neck, clearly just as uncomfortable. “Oh. Yeah. No problem.”
They stood there, awkwardly mirroring each other—hands twitching, breaths shallow. Neither moved. Their bodies didn’t touch, not quite, but Annie’s shoulder was just inches from Natalie’s arm. It was the kind of closeness that made your skin aware of itself.
Shauna looked between them with an expression that hovered somewhere between knowing and amused. “I’ll go check on the fire.”
She stood, wiping her hands on a rag as she walked off, leaving them alone like it was intentional. Like she was gifting them a moment.
Annie watched her go, then turned back to Natalie, who hadn’t said anything else.
They blinked at each other. Long enough for it to become a little funny.
“So,” Annie finally said, voice pitched light with nervousness. “Ever… um. Ever hunted before?”
Natalie paused, her smile dropping, but then she quickly recovered. Chuckling, she shook her head. “Not unless you count chasing raccoons out of the dumpster behind the 7-Eleven.”
Annie laughed, and the sound lit something up inside Natalie—sharp and warm and unexpected.
“Well,” Annie said, nudging the toe of her boot against a rock. “This was a step up.”
“Yeah,” Natalie said. She tilted her head. “Still feels kind of… weird, though. Like it was alive. And now it’s… not.”
“Yeah,” Annie echoed. She glanced at the skinned meat on the stump. “But we needed it.”
Natalie watched her face as she spoke—soft but certain, like someone still learning what conviction felt like in her mouth. There was something about Annie Jo Chambers that always caught Natalie a little off guard. Not just the sweetness, but the way she tried to hide it behind logic and nerves. The way she smiled like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to.
“You’re, um,” Natalie started, then stopped.
Annie widened her eyes, stopping. “I’m what?”
Natalie cleared her throat. “You’re good at this. You know, the whole… cooking thing.”
Annie’s cheeks went pink again. She looked down and bit the inside of her cheek. “I just like… feeding people?”
“It’s a good thing to like,” Natalie said, a little too earnest.
Another beat of silence stretched between them. Comfortable, but fragile.
From across the clearing, someone called, “Annie, are you almost done?”
Sounded like Taissa—or maybe Akilah. The rest of the group had gathered around the fire, voices rising and falling like low waves.
Annie gave Natalie a sheepish smile. “Duty calls.”
She bent to grab a few of the cleaner cuts of meat, her hands a little shaky from the cold, and turned to walk away. But then—halfway to the fire—she glanced over her shoulder.
Natalie was still watching her.
Annie smiled, small and crooked and full of something unspoken. A spark lit in her eyes—like gratitude, or fondness, or the early stages of something she wasn’t ready to name.
Natalie’s breath caught.
She smiled back, slower. Warmer.
And then Annie turned, stepping toward the others.
But Natalie didn’t move.
She just stood there, hand dropping from her hip, the sound of the fire crackling behind her as her heart started to beat faster.
She watched Annie the whole way across the clearing—the way her braid swayed gently against her back, the way she crouched near the fire again, sleeves rolled up and focused. The way her laugh sounded when someone asked her a question and she answered, shy but steady.
And it hit her all at once.
Not like lightning. Not like a movie.
Just… quiet.
Natalie didn’t believe in anything. Never had. Not after everything she’d seen. Not after everything she'd lived through.
But Annie Jo Chambers felt like something sacred anyway.
And maybe that was worse.
Because Natalie didn’t know what to do with sacred.
So she stood there, frozen in the middle of the clearing, watching Annie laugh softly at something Shauna said—and realized, with the same kind of helplessness that came when you stumbled off a cliff and felt gravity take over—
Except, she already fallen.
Hard.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
The woods contain multitudes, huh?
This chapter was a lot. We had Misty almost eating poison. Annie almost getting decapitated by her own twin. Some very ominous carvings. And then suddenly—deer! Survival! Blood! Trauma! But also maybe… dinner? Dinner date?
You decide.
I loved writing the Laura Lee and Annie Jo stuff this time around. There’s something so tender about their bond finally beginning to repair itself, even with everything crumbling around them. Like, I know they fight, I know they’re different, but their hearts are so tethered. I’m gonna cry again just thinking about it. I want readers to feel how much they love each other, because, well… we know what’s coming. And I don’t want to talk about it yet.
Also? Shoutout to Annie Jo stepping into the chef position. She’s definitely not a hunter. She’s not a fighter (sometimes). But she is the girl who will make sure everyone eats. And suddenly Shauna and Annie are bonding?? Survival really brings people together. 
Oh, but Shauna definitely knows about Natalie and Annie.
 The way they can barely look at each other without blushing? The way they say hi like it means everything? I don’t even know what to call it anymore—it's really a game of will they, won't they...
Natalie standing there stunned, like she'd never seen someone carry meat before. Iconic. She’s already a goner and doesn’t even know it.
Anyway, thank you so much for sticking with this story. It means everything. If you’re enjoying it, please consider voting, commenting, or adding it to your library. Even a “Natalie is so down bad it hurts” gives me life.
Question of the Chapter: Be honest—would you have volunteered to skin the deer?
Bonus Question of the Chapter: When do we think Annie and Natalie will finally get together (I have no clue...)?
Reminder: Doomcoming is approaching. Let that dread settle in....
Until next time!!
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serendipdipity01 · 2 months ago
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go checkout my tiktok, i post a lot!!
user: p0isonyouth.wp
(just posted two yellowjackets fanfic edits, but feel free to scroll through my profile!!)
(also, please comment… nobody ever comments…)
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serendipdipity01 · 2 months ago
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serendipdipity01 · 2 months ago
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xiv. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲
mary on a cross - yellowjackets ♱ CHAPTER FOURTEEN series masterlist
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲
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[ ₂₀₂₁! ]
By the time Annie Jo got home from school, the sky had gone flat and gray, the kind of gray that smothered shadows and made every edge feel blurred. The air tasted like metal. Her heels clicked a hollow rhythm across the foyer tile—too sharp, too clean, too alone. The smell of roasted carrots and rosemary lingered from dinner prep, but the warmth didn't reach her. Her head throbbed from fluorescent light and the sharp echo of Natalie's voice.
You never asked me to.
You were supposed to come with me.
You still owe me this.
The words had been echoing since she left the art wing, since she slammed her classroom door behind her and leaned against the cold cinderblock wall like it might hold her upright. They clung to her skin, her coat, her steering wheel. They pulsed through traffic. Through the silence of her car parked in the driveway. Through the door of the home she'd built over a life she thought she'd buried for good.
The living room looked almost staged—like she'd walked into a picture of some sort of domestic calm. Rowan lay belly-down on the rug in front of the TV, slack-jawed and focused, a controller gripped tightly in his hands. Esme sat curled in the green armchair by the window, a book splayed open on her lap, though she clearly wasn't reading. In the kitchen, Thomas wiped down the counter in slow, precise circles, even though it was already clean.
She paused in the doorway long enough to kiss the top of Rowan's head. "Hey, baby."
He didn't look up. "Hey, Mom."
Esme glanced over the rim of her book, her eyebrow raising. "You're home late."
"Yeah." Annie's voice came out softer than she meant it to. "Long day."
She crossed to kiss her daughter's temple, the gesture automatic, familiar. Her hand lingered just a beat longer than usual.
Then she turned toward the stairs.
She was halfway up the stairs when her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Pack a bag. Weekend road trip. We'll be there at 9 :) Unknown Number: It's Misty :)
Annie stared at the screen.
She stopped mid-step.
For a second, she just stared at the screen. The text glared back at her like a dare. She exhaled sharply, thumb frozen above the reply.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," she muttered, jamming the phone back into her pocket.
She climbed the rest of the stairs faster, her hand skimming the banister like a tether. As soon as she hit the bedroom, she yanked the door shut behind her, as if that could hold the rest of her life at bay.
"Of course Misty found my number. Of course she uses emoticons," she said aloud, yanking open the closet with a clatter. "Of course this is happening now."
The hangers scraped against the rod. Hoodies, jeans, hiking boots she hadn't touched in years. What did you even bring for a road trip with Misty fucking Quigley and Natalie Scatorccio?
A crucifix? Gloves? A Bible? A bottle of wine?
"Jesus Christ," she mumbled, rubbing her forehead. "What the hell am I doing?"
She groaned and dropped to her knees, reaching for the dusty overnight bag on the bottom shelf. But as she pulled it free, something shifted in the corner—something heavy that thudded softly against the floorboards.
A box.
Just an old, ordinary box—creased at the corners, sealed with yellowed packing tape that curled like brittle petals. She didn't remember putting it there. But something about it made her stomach flip.
She dragged it out carefully, set it on the edge of the bed, and just... stared at it for a moment.
Then she peeled the tape back.
Inside: a photo strip from a booth, two girls crammed cheek-to-cheek, both of them blurry from laughter. A flyer for a concert she didn't remember attending. A folded napkin with a love note.
And under all that, half-buried like an afterthought—
The jacket.
Natalie's jacket.
Black leather, crumpled and cracking at the seams. A smear of something like old wax on the collar. One cuff matted with dirt so deeply it looked like it had grown there. It still bore the shape of a body.
And it smelled like her. Not just Natalie, but that whole forgotten version of her—of them. Smoke and winter pine and rain on gravel. The scent hit her so fast it stole the breath from her chest.
Her hand hovered above it, unsure. Then she reached out—slowly, reverently—and touched the lapel.
The world narrowed to the texture beneath her fingers.
She lifted it.
Folded it against her chest like it might keep her warm again. Like it might hold a heartbeat. Her arms wrapped around it instinctively.
God, it was heavier than she remembered. She hadn't realized she was shaking until she felt the tremor in her jaw.
The grief came all at once, quiet but furious. Her knees curled beneath her, and she sank onto the edge of the bed, rocking slightly. She didn't sob. She didn't wail. But tears slid down her cheeks, hot and soundless, and she didn't wipe them away.
"I didn't leave," she whispered, the words slipping out like a secret. ""You never asked me to stay."
But even as she said it, the memory was already shifting. Natalie's voice, brittle and raw.
You never asked me to.
You were supposed to come with me.
You still owe me this.
A knock on the door jolted her upright.
She shoved the jacket behind her, fast and clumsy, like a teenager caught sneaking a cigarette out the window. Her pulse jumped. Her mouth tasted like rust.
The door creaked open a second later.
Thomas.
He stepped in like he already knew what he was walking into. The soft click of the door behind him felt final somehow—too gentle to be innocent. He still wore his button-down from work, sleeves rolled to the elbow, his wedding band glinting under the overhead light. His shoes were off. His face was tired.
His eyes swept the room—open closet, the bag half-packed on the bed, the mess she hadn't bothered to hide.
And then they landed on her. On her red-rimmed eyes, the jacket-shaped lump she was very clearly sitting in front of.
"Are you going somewhere?" he asked. His voice was quiet, but it held shape. Steel under cotton.
Annie straightened without meaning to. Her throat felt tight. "Yeah. Just the weekend. Girl's trip."
He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. "Girls' trip?"
She forced a breath out through her nose. "Misty invited me."
Thomas's brow twitched. "Does this 'girls' trip' involve Natalie Scatorccio?"
Annie hesitated a second too long. "Why would it?"
He lifted his chin slightly. "Because Misty Quigley doesn't go anywhere without Natalie Scatorccio anymore."
"It's harmless," she said.
Thomas crossed his arms. "You're not a teenager anymore, Annie."
"No." She stood now. Taller. Sharper. "I'm a grown woman. Who doesn't need permission to leave her house."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch. "You're still married."
"To you, yeah. Not to the past."
He pushed off the doorframe and came into the room, slow but purposeful, like he was trying not to step on broken glass. "You think this is just the past? That it doesn't still live in your bones? That it won't bleed into everything you've built?"
Annie's chest rose, breath clipped.
"You think the kids don't notice?" he continued. "When you go quiet? When you start slipping?"
"I'm not slipping."
"You're shaking." She didn't respond, slipping off her heels and putting on tennis shoes. Thomas moved around the bed, into her field of vision. "You're being reckless."
"I'm being honest."
"You're being you again."
That landed like a slap.
She turned to face him, full. "You mean when I start remembering?"
"I mean when you stop pretending." His voice cracked, but he didn't back down. "You came back from that place a ghost. You didn't talk for weeks. You wouldn't eat unless someone gave you permission. Your slept on the floor parents said you slept on the ground instead of a bed until she showed up. And then—" He stopped himself, then pressed forward anyway. "And then after we got married, and you got pregnant, you wouldn't even hold Esme the first few days we brought her home. You said you were afraid you'd drop her. Afraid she'd cry and you wouldn't hear her. That you'd forget she was real."
Annie flinched like it hit her physically.
"You still wake up checking the locks," he said, quieter now. "You still sleep closest to the door... when you do sleep in the room."
Her voice was thin when it came. "You think I don't remember?"
"I think you're forgetting why we agreed not to talk about it. Why we never told the kids."
"That was your idea."
"You didn't fight me on it."
"Because I didn't want to shatter them," she snapped.
Thomas's voice rose—louder than she'd heard it in months. "And what, you think this won't? You think walking out that door with her won't open everything you've been trying to bury?"
Her hands balled into fists. "Maybe it should."
His face went rigid. "You think they deserve that kind of pain?"
"They deserve the truth."
"And what about me?" His words landed heavy. "What do I deserve?"
Annie stared at him. "You think this is about you?"
He stepped forward, not touching her, but close enough that she could smell the soap on his skin, the coffee on his breath.
"I know what she meant to you," he said.
Her stomach dropped.
"You don't—"
"I do." He swallowed hard. "I always have."
The silence that followed wasn't quiet—it was a ringing, vibrating kind of absence.
"You never said anything," Annie whispered.
"Because I thought I could be enough."
She blinked. Her throat burned.
"But you're still chasing her," he added, softer now.
Annie's mouth opened. No words came.
"I'm not chasing her," she finally said, voice shaking. "I'm... answering her." She took a step back. "That's different."
Thomas's expression collapsed in on itself. Something tender and furious. Something broken.
Then, suddenly, he grabbed her wrist.
"Don't do this," he said, low and desperate. "You're making a mistake."
Annie yanked her arm free. Her breath was shaky but her grip on the bag was steady.
"No," she said. "I made the mistake twenty years ago. When I stayed."
Downstairs, the horn blared. One short, smug honk.
Thomas turned to the sound like it had physically struck him.
Annie didn't move. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder. Then walked right past him.
Rowan was still on the floor, still deep in whatever pixelated world he was controlling with his thumbs.
Annie crouched beside him, reached out to touch his shoulder. "Hey. Keep an eye on your sister, alright?"
"She's older than me," he said, distracted.
Annie kissed his hair. "Exactly."
Esme stood near the front door now, arms folded like she'd been watching for a while. There was a question in her face. One she already knew the answer to.
"You're going?"
Annie nodded. "Just for the weekend."
"With her?"
Annie hesitated. "With some old friends."
Esme narrowed her eyes. "Your bible study group. That one lady...is she the one from your drawer?"
Annie stilled.
Esme didn't wait for an answer.
Annie stepped forward, brushing hair back from her daughter's face. She pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Be good. I'll be back Sunday."
Then she reached for the door.
"Annie—" Thomas called from the stairs.
She didn't turn around.
The porch light snapped on as she stepped outside.
And there she was.
Natalie leaned against Misty's blue Fiat like she'd been carved into it. Same cocky stance, same half-smirk curling beneath tired eyes. Her hair was shorter now, and brown. There was dirt on her boots. A cigarette was tucked between her fingers.
Her jacket was the same.
Everything else was different.
"You're late," Annie said.
Natalie shrugged. "You're lucky I didn't send Misty up to knock. She brought cookies."
That pulled a smile. Just a little one.
Annie descended the steps slowly. One foot in front of the other.
"So?" she asked. "Where exactly are you dragging me?"
Natalie flicked the lighter, lit her cigarette, and exhaled. Smoke curled like ribbon between them.
"We're going to visit some old friends," she said, turning to look at the woman. "Molly and Travis."
‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧
Three hours into the drive, the sky had turned into to that particular blue that looked almost electric in the light. The road stretched endlessly ahead, slicing through a thicket of pine and bare-limbed birch like a scar. The world outside was silent—nothing but trees and mist and the rhythmic hum of tires over cracked asphalt.
Natalie drove like she always had—one hand on the wheel, one arm slung out the window. Her cigarette was long gone, but her fingers still tapped against the door in idle memory. Every now and then, her eyes flicked to the passenger seat.
Annie Jo was asleep, head tipped slightly toward the window, her mouth parted just enough to fog the glass.
Natalie took her in.
Her hair was different now—dyed a warm, nondescript brown that dulled the edge of her face—but Natalie still knew that face by heart. The sharp ridge of her cheekbone, the faint scar above her eyebrow, the way her mouth twitched in her sleep like she was bracing for bad news.
She looked older, sure. Worn in the way that meant she'd built a life and let it grind her down a little. The glint in her eyes was dimmer, like someone had turned the brightness down years ago and never turned it back up.
But she was still Annie.
The real one—the one who used to laugh loudest by the lake, who made lopsided snowmen with twigs for arms and held Natalie's hand under the blankets at night when the wind screamed through the trees.
God, she still slept with her hands curled into fists.
From the back seat, Misty had been talking nonstop since they passed mile marker sixty-two.
"—and I found out late that he was stealing office supplies from his job. And I'm not talking about just, like, staplers. And then there was hiking guy—"
Natalie didn't answer. She kept her eyes forward, except when they darted back to Annie again.
"—but afterwards he asked me for my socks. And he still never called, but—"
A beat passed. Another.
Misty leaned forward, her arms draped over the seat like a nosy little sister. "You still love her, don't you?"
Natalie blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Misty grinned, eyes wide and glinting. "I said, you still love her. Annie."
Natalie scowled, her mouth tightening into a hard line. "Jesus, Misty."
"What?" Misty asked, all too innocently, tilting her head. "It's not like it's a secret. She was your first love."
There was something dangerously wistful in her tone — not mocking, not even invasive, just... sincere. Dreamy, almost. Like she was flipping through an old scrapbook no one else remembered. "I used to think you two were gonna get married one day," she added, like it was obvious. "Before, you know... everything."
Natalie didn't answer. Her hands tensed against the steering wheel, knuckles whitening, jaw clenched so tight she could feel it in her ears. But her gaze, involuntarily, flicked over to Annie again — still curled against the window in the passenger seat, breath fogging the glass, hair mussed from sleep. The collar of her shirt had slipped to one side. Her necklace glinted faintly beneath it — the silver cross. Laura Lee's.
"You still look at her the same way," Misty said softly, quieter now, almost like she didn't mean for it to be heard. "That has to mean something."
Natalie's stomach twisted. She forced her eyes back to the road, like looking too long would betray her. She wanted to tell Misty to shut the hell up, to stop poking at things buried long ago — but there was a pulse beneath her ribs now that hadn't been there in years.
And Misty wasn't wrong.
Then, as if someone had flipped a switch inside her, Misty sat up straighter. "Oh—turn left up here," she chirped, bright again. "We're here."
Natalie eased her foot onto the brake and turned off the cracked two-lane highway, tires grinding against gravel as they passed between towering trees. The road narrowed, branches clawing at the sky above like fingers closing in. The air seemed heavier here. Still. Like the trees were holding their breath.
Annie stirred as they bounced over a pothole, her hand twitching against the door. She blinked groggily, eyes adjusting to the dimming light. "Where the hell are we?"
Natalie reached across the console, brushing her knuckles gently along Annie's arm. Her skin was warm — real. Present. "Rise and shine. We're at Molly and Travis's."
Annie sat up slowly, her spine unfolding with a quiet crack. She pushed her hair back, blinking toward the trees as the car crept forward. "So this is where they went, huh?"
Her voice was hoarse from sleep, but there was something else layered beneath it — disbelief, maybe. Or a dull ache that came from realizing you were only ever meant to be part of someone's before.
Misty leaned forward again, practically vibrating with commentary. "Middle of nowhere. Creepy house in the country. Feels like the start of a true crime podcast," she said brightly. "We're the cold open."
The gravel drive opened into a clearing choked with weeds and brambles. And there it was.
The house sat at the far end of the lot like it had been dropped there and forgotten. One of the awnings had snapped clean off, lying in the grass like a broken rib. The windows were layered with curling newspaper — yellowed, brittle, faded headlines from a world that had kept turning without them. There were no lights. No smoke from the chimney. No vehicle in sight.
It didn't look abandoned. It looked erased.
They got out of the car slowly. Everything around them was so quiet it buzzed, thick with the sound of nothing. Not even birdsong. Not even wind.
Natalie stepped forward first, boots crunching against the gravel. Her flannel was still loosely tied around her waist, the sleeves swinging as she walked. Misty bounced beside her. Annie hung back for a beat, eyes narrowed as she took in the house — the hollowness of it. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, like she was holding herself together.
"You should've brought your rifle," Misty remarked offhandedly as they approached the porch.
Natalie stopped and turned toward her, eyes narrowed. "What?"
"I mean, come on. We haven't seen either of them in twenty-five years," Misty said with a little shrug.
"They wanted to rebuild their lives," Annie said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Can you blame them?"
Misty tilted her head, trailing behind. "No, but it's a little weird, isn't it? Moving out to the sticks? Changing their names?" The small group walked up the wooden porch steps, approaching the door. "It's got Unabomber written all over it."
Natalie rolled her eyes and stepped up to the door. She knocked once. Then again, harder. The sound echoed, too loud in the silence.
No answer.
She hit the door harder, her knuckles stinging.
Still nothing.
Leaning forward, she squinted through a thin space where the newspaper had peeled back from the glass. "Looks empty."
Annie wandered to the side of the porch, peering through the shadows toward the clearing. A rusted swing set stood crooked near the edge of the trees, one chain missing. "Molly took her car when she left Wiskayok," she said, her voice soft. "I don't see it."
Something shifted behind her — fast, sudden, too close — and Annie flinched, her whole body tightening as she whipped around.
Misty stood there, barely an inch away, hands clasped behind her back like a child trying to look innocent.
"Jesus Christ, Misty."
"Sorry," Misty chirped. "Just reporting my findings. No car. Very mysterious."
Annie was still glaring when she turned toward the front door — just in time to see Natalie pulling her flannel off her arm and wrapping it around her fist.
Annie's stomach dropped. "Wait—Nat—"
But it was too late.
Natalie drew back her arm and punched the glass beside the handle. It shattered in a sharp, crystalline burst, spiderwebbing outward as shards rained to the porch floor.
Annie winced. Misty clapped.
"That works too!" Misty beamed, already stepping forward to peek through the hole.
"Natalie... I don't know if this is a good idea," Annie said warily, inching closer as Natalie reached through the jagged opening.
"Relax," Natalie muttered, reaching through the broken pane. Her fingers found the lock, twisted, and the door creaked open.
Misty slipped inside first, humming to herself. "Adventure time!"
Natalie followed, shaking glass off her flannel. Annie lingered on the threshold for half a second longer, listening. But there was only silence. Heavy and thick like it was watching her.
Then she stepped in.
The air inside was cool, tinged with pine cleaner and something fainter — dust, maybe. Or the lingering smell of wood left to rot in stillness. The house wasn't trashed, but it was wrong. The wrong kind of empty. No photos on the walls. No keys in the bowl. No mail stacked on the counter. Not even shoes by the door.
Just... nothing.
"Yikes," Misty said lightly, nudging Annie with her elbow as she wandered into the hall. "Someone could use a trip to Tuesday Morning."
Annie ignored her. She was already walking faster, moving past the empty living room and down the narrow hall. In the kitchen, she stopped.
A bottle of whiskey sat on the counter. Two glasses. One empty. One full.
"Guys—" she started.
But Misty cut in, sing-song again. "You know, it's never a good sign when suspects live like hermits. We see this kind of thing all the time."
Natalie and Annie turned at the same time.
"Who is we?"
"Aren't you a nurse?"
Misty sniffed, flipping open a drawer. "It is common knowledge that the less a suspect owns, the creepier they turn out to be." She rummaged around with no concern for boundaries, humming as she rifled through cutlery and old takeout menus.
Then—"Oh!"
She held something up triumphantly.
A photograph.
Travis and Molly. Older. Standing in front of this very house, the pine trees stark behind them. Travis had a beard, his hair falling on his shoulders. Molly wore a faded denim jacket, her hair longer than Annie remembered, falling in soft waves over their shoulders. They were smiling — not at the camera, but at each other. Molly's arms rested low, covering her midsection, and Travis's hand curved protectively around her side, fingers splayed wide, his eyes fixed on her like he was memorizing the moment.
"Aw. Cute," Misty said, handing it to Annie before continuing on.
Annie froze.
The picture felt strange in her hands — warm from Misty's fingers, cold from time. She stared down at it like it might say something. Travis's eyes were harder now. Molly looked tired. Older than she should've been.
They didn't see each other at the hospital, and she hadn't even seen them leave the plane once they came back. Just glimpses. Stretchers. Flashes. Photographers shouting their names. Annie had tried to keep in touch. Letters. A few phone calls. But eventually, even Molly's voice had started to sound like an echo.
Behind her, Natalie stepped close.
Her arm ghosted around Annie's waist, fingertips grazing the small of her back as she leaned in to see.
Annie's breath caught. Her chest didn't move.
"You okay?" Natalie murmured.
Annie turned her head — slowly — and their eyes locked. For a moment, everything else receded. The walls. The photo. Even Misty's presence.
Natalie opened her mouth, like she was about to say something—
—and then Misty slammed the drawer shut.
Natalie flinched and stepped away fast, muttering something under her breath before walking over to the other woman. "Hey, Misty?" She said a little too loudly. "Can you check the trash out back? I saw a can."
Misty's face lit up. "Oh, that's a really good idea! You know, you can learn so much about people by going through their personal refuse." She beamed at Annie. "Be right back!"
She disappeared through the back door with a little bounce.
Natalie exhaled hard, walking to the whiskey glass Annie had noticed earlier. She picked it up, sniffed once, then frowned.
"Someone was here recently," Annie said, still watching her.
Natalie didn't reply. She was still listening. Not just to the silence — but for the thing beneath it.
Annie turned toward the fridge and opened it.
Stale air drifted out. One takeout container. A jar of mustard. Half a lemon.
"It's... kind of empty in here."
Natalie quirked an eyebrow. "You're starting to sound like Misty."
Annie shut the fridge with a soft thunk. "I'm just saying. You don't think something happened, do you?"
For a long moment, Natalie said nothing.
Then she turned toward the hallway.
Annie followed — footsteps quiet, heart loud.
‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧
The hallway stretched narrow and dim, paneled in cheap, peeling wood that bowed slightly in the middle — like the house was tired of holding itself together. The floor creaked beneath their steps, old boards groaning as Natalie led the way, her boots deliberately quiet. Annie followed close behind, hands at her sides, heart rising in her throat with every door they passed.
Each one was closed.
Each one felt like it could contain a secret too large for the frame behind it.
They stopped at the end of the hall. The bedroom.
Natalie reached out and turned the knob. The door swung inward with a slow, dry groan.
The room was spare. A bed — unmade. A flannel tossed across it, rumpled, still holding the shape of a shoulder. A nightstand. A half-drunk bottle of water. An old book face-down on the floor, its pages splayed like wings.
Natalie stepped forward, picking up the flannel. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers, frowning. She didn't say anything more.
Annie lingered in the doorway, gaze flicking around the room. A shiver crawled across her arms — not from the cold, but something harder to name. Presence, maybe. Or absence trying too hard to stay hidden.
Then something caught her eye.
Across the hall, just barely visible through a cracked door: a flicker of pink.
Her breath caught.
"I'll be right back," she murmured, stepping away from the bedroom. Natalie glanced over but didn't follow — not yet.
Annie pushed open the door gently.
It was a child's room.
Smaller than she expected. The walls were painted with faded butterflies and clouds, the brushstrokes shaky and uneven — like someone had done it by hand. A cracked plastic dollhouse stood in one corner. A unicorn nightlight was still plugged into the wall. The air inside was different somehow — softer, but more haunted.
The bed was small. The covers a tangle of cartoon horses and glittery pink thread. A bookshelf leaned crookedly against the far wall. On the pillow sat a plush toy.
A bear.
Worn, pale gold. One of the ears had come halfway unstitched. The stitching was pink.
Annie's legs gave out before she realized she was moving.
She sank to the floor beside the bed, her hands trembling as she reached out and touched the bear. Her fingertips traced the fabric, and something inside her cracked open like a fault line.
Laura Lee.
Laura Lee had a bear just like this — not identical, but close enough that it slammed into Annie like a punch to the ribs. She could see her sister's small hands wrapped around its body during long church sermons, see it tucked under her arm as they tread through the forest. See Laura Lee's smile, warm and stubborn and full of hope, holding it before she stepped into the plane.
Annie drew in a shaky breath.
Her vision blurred.
She wasn't prepared for this.
Not the room. Not the bear. Not the reminder that some parts of them — even the best parts — had stayed buried long after they clawed their way out of those woods.
She didn't hear Natalie's footsteps until they stopped just outside the door.
"Annie?"
Her voice was quiet. Gentle.
Annie didn't move.
Natalie stepped inside. Her eyes swept the room, landing first on the dollhouse, then the bear, then Annie crouched on the floor, her shoulders hunched like she was trying to fold herself into nothing.
Natalie's voice softened further. "They have a daughter?"
Annie looked up. Her cheeks were damp, but she hadn't noticed when she started crying.
She nodded. Slowly.
Natalie took another step closer. Her hands hovered at her sides, like she didn't know what she was allowed to do — didn't know if comfort would be welcome, or if it would undo them both.
Annie sniffed. She brushed at her face, wiping the tears away with the heel of her hand, then gently placed the bear back on the pillow like it was sacred. Like it still belonged to someone who needed it.
Before either of them could say anything else—
Footsteps. Sharp. Clumsy. Coming fast.
Misty rounded the corner with a triumphant grin, holding a crumpled paper in her hand.
"Well, Travis and Molly definitely haven't been getting their vegetables," she announced. Then she paused, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the room. "Well. Holy hell."
Annie stood quickly, trying to compose herself, trying to fold the grief back into her bones where no one could see it.
"What's that?" she asked, nodding to the paper in Misty's hands.
"Travis's pay stub," Misty replied, beaming like she'd won a prize. "Looks like he's been working at a place called Willow Brook Ranch." She peered around the room again with exaggerated curiosity. "And it looks like we know why Molly doesn't have one."
Natalie stepped past them both without a word, brushing Annie's arm as she went. The touch was light, but grounding.
She walked back into the kitchen, her gaze catching again on the bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter. Her brow furrowed.
"That's a $200 bottle."
Misty whistled, mock-impressed. "That's expensive taste for someone with a kid and a minimum wage job."
Annie stepped in behind them, her arms wrapped tight around herself.
"Or someone trying to forget something," she said quietly.
Natalie turned, looking at her. She didn't smile. But her eyes softened.
The moment hung — strange and still — until all three of them jumped at the sound of footsteps outside.
Fast.
Boots on the porch.
Natalie's body shifted instantly. She stepped in front of Annie, protective, her shoulders squared as the door creaked open and a man in a sheriff's uniform entered the kitchen.
Gun drawn.
"Freeze," he barked.
Natalie didn't flinch. Annie froze. Misty lifted her hands in the air, slowly, like she was expecting this and a little thrilled by it.
The officer's gaze swept the room, landing on each of them like he was taking inventory. "Hands where I can see them."
Annie's heart stuttered. She raised her arms, voice trembling. "We're not— We didn't mean—"
"Don't say anything," he snapped, then pointed at her. "On your knees."
Misty dropped immediately, her palms up like she was posing for a mugshot. Annie followed, slower, her knees pressing into the linoleum.
She glanced at Natalie, who was still standing.
Still calm.
Still not raising her hands.
"Lady," the officer said, voice tight, "I will shoot you."
"Natalie, please," Annie said, her voice small and shaking.
Natalie looked down at her — and something in her face changed. The hardness cracked. She let out a breath, slow and resigned, and finally raised her arms.
"There," she said dryly, lowering to the floor beside Annie. "Like that?"
Her knee brushed against Annie's.
It was the first time they'd knelt together in years.
And the first time Annie felt like the past wasn't quite done with them yet.
‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧
This was not the first time Annie Jo Chambers had been arrested.
The first time had been with Natalie.
The last time, she'd been nineteen, barely holding it together.
Natalie was brunette, not bleaching it ever again once they got rescued. She had a cigarette tucked between her fingers. Annie had just started painting again, desperate half-formed things in rust and red that made her mother cry when she found them.
She and Natalie had stolen a six-pack of cheap beer they didn't even want, but needed for a 7-Eleven—and sprinted into the night like the world might forgive them if they could just outrun the grief. They were both drunk off something stronger than beer—off the heat of summer, off the ache of pretending they weren't broken. Post-crash, post-funerals, post-rehab attempt number one for Natalie, and still they'd told themselves they could be normal. That the world hadn't changed around them.
They'd barely made it half a block before the red and blue lights lit up behind them. Annie remembered the cuffs, the metal seat of the cruiser, the sour smell of the holding cell. But more than that, she remembered Natalie—beside her, grinning like it was all a joke.
And she remembered laughing with her.
Not because it was funny. But because it felt like something solid. Like proof they were still alive. Like maybe if they laughed loud enough, the world wouldn't hear them scream.
Annie didn't feel like laughing now.
She sat beside Misty on the cold metal bench, arms crossed, her eyes locked on the speckled linoleum beneath her shoes. Natalie leaned against the far wall of the holding cell, silent, but Annie could feel her gaze.
Misty clapped her hands once, cheerful as ever. "The ol' slammer," she said brightly. "It certainly smells the way I thought it would."
No one responded.
Undeterred, she leaned in between Annie and Natalie, stage-whispering just loud enough for the bored deputy nearby to hear. "I bet he thinks we're hookers."
"Oh my God." Annie slid her hands down her face. "You have got to be kidding me."
Natalie exhaled sharply. Not quite a laugh. More like disbelief, worn thin at the edges.
"I shouldn't even be in this situation," Annie muttered, dragging her hands down her face and glaring at the bars. "How the hell did we get here?"
"She stole my battery cable," Natalie said coolly, pushing off the wall, walking toward Misty.
Annie's head snapped up. "What?"
"Misty, why would you fucking do that?"
Misty blinked, all wounded innocence. "I wanted to come with you, and I didn't think you'd let me. Was I wrong?"
Annie opened her mouth to say something—she wasn't even sure what—but then the officer appeared, keys jangling, his face a mask of disinterest. "Phone calls."
The woman let out a long breath and leaned back, fingers pressing against her lips. "I can't call Thomas," she muttered, mostly to herself. "He's already pissed. If he finds out about this, after..."
She cut herself off.
But it was enough.
Natalie turned her head toward her, interest piqued. Annie could feel the weight of her attention again—quiet, steady, knowing.
The officer unlocked the door and glanced at his clipboard. "Scatorchio first."
Natalie rolled her eyes as she stepped out. "It's Scatorccio."
Annie watched her go, the cell door clanging shut behind her. Silence settled.
"I know who to call if her person doesn't work out," she said lightly, tapping her fingers against the bench.
Annie turned her head, suspicious. "Who? Are you with someone?"
Misty just smiled, pulling a card from her back pocket with a little flourish. "Not with anyone at the moment," she said, handing it to Annie. "But I like to keep options open."
Annie turned the card over. Her eyebrows shot up. "Kevyn Tan? As in—Natalie's Kevyn? From high school?" Annie gaped at her. "You're not serious."
Misty just winked.
Annie stared at her. "You're dating Kevyn Tan?"
"Texting," Misty corrected. "Back and forth. Witty banter. Light flirtation. He thinks I'm her."
Annie's jaw dropped further. Misty plucked the card from her hands, winked, and slid it back into her pocket. "Are you out of your mind, Misty?"
"I never said I wasn't!" Misty chirped, tucking the card back into her pocket.
The cell door buzzed open.
Natalie stepped back in like a storm cloud—shoulders tight, jaw set, her eyes sharp with fury that hadn't found a place to land yet.
Annie straightened instinctively, furrowing her brow as the guard shut the door behind her. Natalie didn't say anything at first. She just stood there, like she was trying to burn a hole in the concrete floor.
"Who'd you call?" Misty asked, too brightly, swinging her legs like she was waiting for recess.
Natalie didn't look at her. "Someone I thought was a friend," she muttered. "But I guess I was wrong."
She sank onto the bench beside Annie, exhaling like the fight had drained out of her the second she sat down. Her thigh brushed against Annie's. She didn't move away.
Misty stood and dusted off her skirt theatrically. "Guess it's my turn, Annie." She smiled, just a little too pleased with herself, and pivoted toward the door as the officer opened it again.
Annie didn't reply. She was still reeling from the whole Kevyn Tan situation. Her thoughts tangled around Misty's grin, the card still hot in her pocket.
But that all slid to the background when she glanced sideways.
Natalie was sitting still. Staring ahead. Her hands clenched into fists on her lap.
"Who'd you actually call?" Annie asked, voice low.
Natalie didn't answer right away. Her jaw worked. Then—"Taissa."
That name landed like a stone dropped in a quiet room.
Annie blinked. "Wait. Taissa? As in our... Taissa?"
Natalie gave the barest nod. "She was paying for my rehab."
Annie's mouth opened, but nothing came out. The word rehab echoed in her skull, and the rest of the room dropped into silence, like someone had shut the door on everything else.
Natalie glanced over, lips pressed into a thin line. "I just got out. Two days ago."
That landed like a blow to the chest. Annie didn't even notice she was holding her breath until it stung her lungs.
"You—wait." She leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. "You told her where we are?"
"Yeah." Natalie's eyes flicked down to the floor. "She told me to go home."
Annie swallowed hard. Her pulse thundered in her throat. "You were in rehab?" she asked again, softer this time. "You went... back?"
Natalie gave a small, humorless shrug. "In and out. Last couple years."
The words hit like slow-moving debris—one after the other, stacking until Annie could barely breathe under them. She looked down at Natalie's hands. The same hands that had once held hers under blood-orange skies, beside firelight, in the raw, terrifying quiet of the woods. They looked older now, thinner. But still—familiar.
Still hers.
Annie's voice cracked when she tried to speak. "Nat... I should've—I should've been there. I shouldn't have just left you like that."
Natalie turned to her. Her face wasn't hard. It wasn't bitter. It was... tired. Sad. Open.
"You think I should've let you leave?"
Annie blinked. She could still see it—Natalie on the street that day, cigarette trembling in her fingers, her voice flat when she'd said, "If you want to go, go. You should have left a long time ago." Like it didn't kill her to say it. Like she hadn't already died once, in those woods.
That memory had haunted her for years.
She looked up at Natalie, but Natalie didn't look at her. "I didn't think you'd stay if I asked you to. And if you had... I probably would've broken you, too."
Their eyes met. And for a heartbeat, there was no air in the world.
It was like the wilderness came rushing back all at once—the weight of snow, the reek of smoke, the taste of blood and pine sap and something sweeter, something only they knew. It all came back in the way Natalie was looking at her now.
Annie reached out before she could stop herself. Her fingers found Natalie's—just barely. One brush. A pause. Then Natalie's hand turned, slow and deliberate, and their fingers laced together.
She didn't squeeze.
She just held on.
Annie stared at their joined hands. It felt too warm. Too familiar. Like a part of herself she'd buried under the concrete of a quiet life was stirring. Crawling back to the surface.
She blinked hard. Her thumb twitched.
And then she pulled back—not fully, not enough to break the touch—but enough to draw a line.
"I have a husband," she said, her voice as thin and brittle as old paper. "I have kids."
"I know."
Natalie didn't flinch. She just said it. Quiet. Certain.
"I know," she repeated. "But that doesn't change the way I felt."
Annie looked at her, throat aching.
Natalie's voice broke, soft and rough all at once.
"It doesn't change the way I still feel."
Annie froze.
There was no accusation in her tone. No bitterness. Just truth. A devastating, irreversible truth that had been living in both of them for twenty-five years, feral and silent.
"I never stopped," Natalie added, breath catching. "God, Annie. I never fucking stopped."
Annie closed her eyes, her chest pulling tight like it might cave in.
"I wanted you to ask me to stay," she whispered. "That day. I waited for you to say something. Anything."
"I know." Natalie's voice was a rasp. "I wanted to. But I thought I'd already ruined you."
Annie's breath came fast and shaky. She couldn't look at her.
"I built a life," she said. "I built this whole life because I thought it would make the wanting go away."
"Did it?" Natalie asked.
Annie didn't answer. She couldn't.
Their fingers brushed again. This time, Annie didn't pull away.
But before she could say what she was thinking—before she could shatter completely—the buzzer rang, and the cell door clicked open.
Misty's voice cut through like a splash of cold water. "Your friend phoned a winner," she sang.
The moment shattered.
Annie jerked back. Natalie stood slower, rubbing her hands on her jeans like she was trying to scrub the moment off her skin.
Annie stood. Natalie did too, slower.
"What?" Annie blinked. "Seriously?"
"Yup!" Misty chirped, spinning on her heel. "Let's go, ladies."
Natalie narrowed her eyes. "Who did you call?"
Misty grinned. "Oh, just someone I thought was a friend. And it turns out I was right." She tossed a glance at Annie, who was giving her a look. "Okay, Mom. Fine, it was Kevyn Tan," Misty said, chipper.
Natalie stopped walking. "Kevyn?" Her voice cracked. She looked at Annie, eyes wide. "You—knew she had Kevyn's number?"
Annie looked like she'd been caught holding a knife. "She didn't tell me the whole story."
"Well," Misty said, breezing ahead, "he thinks I'm you. It's a long story."
Natalie blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
Misty chuckled, turning down the hall. They reached the processing area—fluorescent lights, plastic bins, a bored deputy behind a plexiglass window. Natalie muttered a few choice words under her breath as Misty happily skipped over to retrieve her purse.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Natalie asked.
Misty turned to grin at her. "That I'd be useful."
Annie took a few steps away, trying not to get dragged into whatever explosion was coming next.
And then—
"I don't give a damn what your protocol is—what do you mean you're not going to tell me who broke into my house?"
The voice cut through the air like a whip.
Annie turned, her body freezing. That voice.
It was louder now, clearer. Female. Frustrated. Sharp-edged, but familiar under all that fire. She took a few steps around the corner—and saw her.
She took a cautious step toward the sound. Her breath caught.
There was a woman at the front desk, arguing with the deputy, arms crossed, eyes blazing. She wore scuffed boots, dark jeans, a battered flannel with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair was shorter than it had been, darker, tangled at the ends. There was a little scar above her left eyebrow that Annie didn't remember.
But the curve of her mouth. The line of her shoulders.
Annie's knees locked.
She took another step. The world narrowed around her.
Natalie and Misty followed, slowing behind her.
"Annie," Natalie asked, her voice wary. "What are you—"
The woman at the desk went still.
Her shoulders lifted, rigid.
Slowly, she turned.
Their eyes locked.
The floor dropped out from under Annie Jo Chambers.
"Molly?" she said, voice breaking.
Molly's mouth parted. Her face shifted in an instant—anger draining into something like shock, then disbelief, then grief, all tangled together.
"...Annie?" she breathed.
And for one long, raw second, the room disappeared.
It was just them.
And twenty-five years of silence rose like a tide between them, threatening to drown everything that had come after.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Time really is fake in emotional crises.
Thank you so much for making it through this one. This was our first adult timeline-only chapter, and honestly, it was a lot.
And I know I threw a LOT of information at you guys, haha.
Thank you for letting me take my time as I pull Annie Jo back into the wreckage she thought she'd buried. I promise, every part of this is intentional. Every silence, every flash of memory, every cigarette, every terrible Misty monologue... it's all building to something.
But since I threw a lot your way... let's break it down, shall we?
Part One: Annie Jo walked out of the life she built — a carefully managed illusion of safety and control — and straight into Natalie's passenger seat. Thomas said the quiet part out loud ("you're still chasing her"), and Annie said the even louder part right back ("I made the mistake twenty years ago. When I stayed."). And then Natalie shows up on her porch like a ghost in a leather jacket. The moment Annie chooses to go with her and Misty? That's the real beginning of this chapter.
Part Two: Nat has a confession. Misty playing third-wheel therapist with zero shame?? Iconic. The house they arrive at? More memory than architecture. A place built by two people trying to erase the past and failing.  (Also: the flannel punch-through-the-glass moment lives rent-free in my head.)
Part Three: The child's room. The bear. The flashback to Laura Lee. The grief Annie Jo has. The photo. The whiskey. The unraveling. And then that final image: three women kneeling on a kitchen floor, side-by-side, twenty-five years too late. The past isn't just knocking anymore. It's already inside.
Part Four: Arrested. Again. (Natalie and Annie were always a little too good at making bad choices together.) It comes out that Misty flirts with Kevyn Tan via stolen identity, not creepy at all. Natalie's been in and out of rehab. Annie's been hiding behind motherhood like it's a shield. They hold hands for the first time in decades. It's gentle. It's world-ending. It's too much and not enough.
Molly. Molly.
All it takes is her voice. One glimpse. And everything Annie's built — every wall, every mile, every lie she's told herself about who she is and who she loved — starts to crack. Years of silence. And now they're face to face.
Like I said at the beginning of the book, I'm gonna kind of change some things from the adult timeline plot, because there are just so many dang plotholes. But please don't let that stop you from reading, I have a plan for this book, and so far (I'm hoping) you guys are enjoying it!
This chapter was Annie Jo and Natalie finally cracking—really cracking. Years of silence and longing and grief shoved into one tiny metal bench. They still love each other. They never stopped. But life happened. Time happened. And now they're both sitting in the wreckage of the lives they built apart, still reaching. Still afraid.
If this chapter made your heart ache, or your jaw drop, or your brain scream "WHAT?!" feel free to let me know in the comments. I live for your reactions, and they help me keep this story going strong. If you're enjoying the fic, don't forget to vote and add it to your library! It helps so much. Even a quick "I feel unwell (affectionate)" makes my day.
Question of the Chapter - I actually don't have one! I was hoping that you guys would like to ask me questions in the comments? They can be about the story, characters, this chapter my writing in general, etc. I know a lot of you are wondering about some characters and like their relationships and friendships and headcanons! I promise you I have answers!
Until next time!!
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serendipdipity01 · 2 months ago
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xiii. 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞
mary on a cross - yellowjackets ♱ CHAPTER THIRTEEN series masterlist
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𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞
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[ ₁₉₉₆! ]
The earth was soft beneath their shoes, padded with a thick pine needles and rocks. It muffled their footsteps as Coach Ben led what remained of the group deeper into the woods for the last challenge. The trees rose high and mottled with shadow, their branches netting the late-afternoon sunlight into golden bars across the girls' shoulders and backs.
Sweat shone at their temples, and even the chirping of birds had dulled into something quieter—watchful, maybe.
Only Natalie, Travis, and Mari remained in the hunting challenge.
Most of the JV had peeled off earlier, trickling back toward the cabin with mumbled complaints and dramatic sighs.
Coach Ben came to a stop near a clearing, where a fallen branch had been wedged between two trees like a makeshift table. Van and a couple of others ran down to the branch, lining some aluminum cans across it. A gust of wind would've been enough to take them down.
He leaned on his crutch, sweat staining the collar of his shirt. "Alright," he said, voice loud enough to cut through the heat. "Now that we've narrowed down the field, here's how this is gonna go down."
Natalie tugged the sleeves of her jacket up slightly, arms crossed.
"One final round for all the marbles. You got five targets, five shots each." Ben said, holding the rifle out toward Mari. "Mari, can you start us off?"
Mari stepped forward, but not without hesitation. Her palms wiped once, then again on her shorts before she took the rifle. She cradled it wrong at first—too high—then corrected herself with a muttered swear.
Behind Annie, someone shuffled closer.
She didn't have to look to know it was her sister.
Laura Lee stepped closer to Ben, crossing her arms, and said softly, "Just a thought, but shouldn't we be saving bullets?"
Ben glanced over at her, readjusting his crutch. "Yeah, in theory, but lucky for us, the nutjob who lived here before was apparently hoarding for the apocalypse."
"I'd rather have peanut butter," Annie muttered as she stepped over to a mossy patch just off the trail. She sat beside Misty on a log with a quiet exhale, one hand pressing into her thigh to take the weight off her legs. "Would've been nice if he'd hoarded something edible."
She didn't say it very loudly, but Misty giggled like it was a joke meant for her.
Laura Lee hesitated a beat, then trailed after her sister. She sat down gently, tucking the hem of her pale yellow sweater beneath her knees like they were at church and not stranded in the woods. Her body stayed upright, poised in that tentative way she always carried when she didn't trust the space around her. Annie could feel the tension radiating from her, even without looking.
It was familiar—Laura Lee had always done that. Clutched her sleeves, held herself a little too still. Back when they were kids, she'd grip the edges of her bedspread like it might anchor her through a thunderstorm.
Misty leaned toward them, eyes wide and curious, like she was watching something unfold behind glass. "Do you two ever, like... think the same thought at the exact same time? Or wake up from the same dream?"
Annie blinked.
Laura Lee turned her head slowly, raising an eyebrow.
The silence between them was mutual, practiced.
Misty kept smiling. "Is that a yes?"
Annie bent to scratch at a mosquito bite on her ankle, her fingers brushing across skin flushed pink from irritation. She made a vague face. "No?"
Her voice came out too uncertain to be convincing.
Misty just hummed, apparently satisfied.
They lapsed into quiet. The trees swayed overhead, casting shifting shadows across the forest floor. Something small chattered in the distance—maybe a squirrel, maybe something worse.
Mari stepped forward into the clearing and knelt on one knee.
The rifle looked oversized in her hands, like a prop from a different world. She adjusted her grip, cautious and deliberate, her fingers curled too politely around the weapon. Her eyes narrowed down the sight.
No one spoke.
The air held still, waiting.
She pulled the trigger—and the crack echoed through the trees.
The can didn't move.
Mari lowered the gun and stared at it, slightly confused.
From behind her, Travis let out a long, annoyed groan. "The cans. You're—you're aiming for the cans."
Annie looked up sharply, her shoulders squaring. "Seriously?" she muttered, already shifting forward like she was about to say more—but Mari beat her to it.
"Shut up!"
The dark-haired girl's voice came out higher than she meant it to, her embarrassment fighting with the recoil. She aimed again, trying to shake it off, but her hands weren't as steady anymore.
From the opposite side of Travis, Natalie crossed her arms. "Do you like being this way?"
Travis's head whipped around, sending a glare towards the girl. "If you shit the bed again, are you gonna ask for another do-over?"
The tension between them hung taut as a wire.
But Mari had already pulled the trigger again—missed once more—and then, finally, a clean hit. One of the cans clattered off the branch and hit the dirt.
Ben gave her a nod. "Good, Mari." he said, and Mari shoved the rifle into Travis's hands without a word.
He adjusted the rifle like he'd been known how to hold it his entire life. Annie hated how natural it looked.
One shot. Can down.
Second. Another hit.
Third. The metallic thunk echoed, crisp and sure.
Then the fourth shot—missed.
The silence after the miss was brief, almost too brief to register, before Natalie's smirk curled like smoke. "So close, Flex."
It was the wrong thing to say.
Travis turned, sharp and sudden, his shoes skidding in the loose pine needles. The rifle came with him.
And then—he was pointing it. Right at her.
"Don't," He hissed. "fucking call me that."
The woods went dead quiet. The wind held its breath. Even the birds seemed to fall silent in the trees.
Annie lurched forward, adrenaline spiking— "Hey—!"
But Laura Lee's hand snapped out, gripping Annie's arm in a way that was sharper than expected. She held her sister back, her eyes locked on the gun. "Annie, don't."
Travis's hands were trembling—just slightly, but enough. The barrel of the gun didn't lower. Natalie didn't flinch. She didn't back down. She just stared back, cool and unbothered, though Annie could see her jaw clenching.
"Jesus Christ," Ben muttered, already stepping forward with his weight shifting hard onto the crutch. "Martinez, put it down. Now."
Nothing.
That's when Molly appeared—shoes thudding fast through the brush, her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes locked on the scene in a heartbeat. "Travis," she said, firm and unblinking. "Why the hell are you pointing a gun at her?"
No answer.
Natalie didn't move. She was staring him down with the kind of unblinking steadiness that was somehow more unsettling than panic. Her arms stayed folded across her chest.
"Travis," Molly said again, softer this time. "Put the gun down."
Still shaking.
She stepped closer. Not fast—slow, like she was approaching a wounded animal. She didn't reach for him yet.
"It's okay. Come on."
Her voice had gentled, gone almost hollow. She moved between him and Natalie, raising a hand—not to stop him, but to place it carefully, deliberately, over the barrel.
"I've got it," she whispered. "You don't need to hold it anymore."
For a second, he didn't move. Then, finally, with something like a shudder running through him, he let the rifle go.
Molly took it and turned, handing it off to Natalie without ceremony.
Ben exhaled sharply, not quite sure what to do. "Alright, that's uh... yeah. That was good shooting, Martinez. But don't ever do that again."
Molly touched Travis's arm, barely. "Let's go."
He didn't protest.
They moved away from the group, further toward the darker part of the woods, the kind of space where voices softened and memories tended to echo. And the rest of them stayed behind, watching until they disappeared between the trees.
‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧
They didn't speak for a while.
The forest swallowed the sound of the others—just the hush of wind threading through pine needles, the crunch of dried leaves under their feet. Travis walked with his head down, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear. Molly said nothing. She just walked ahead of him, slow and steady, until the trees thickened around a half-rotted log streaked with lichen and shadow. Then she stopped. Sat.
He didn't.
She didn't look at him. Didn't move, didn't fill the space with anything easy or soft. Her thumbs worked the fraying edge of her sleeve, unraveling a thread.
It was a long time before he spoke.
"I wasn't gonna shoot her."
She didn't turn her head. Just let out a quiet, humorless breath. "Yeah. That's not really the point."
Travis winced. "I know."
His voice was hoarse, barely above the breeze.
"I just—she said that thing, and it was like I snapped. Like all this shit that's been stuck in my head just... broke loose. And suddenly I couldn't hear anything else."
A sharp flick of her eyes to him. "So you pointed a gun at her."
He flinched again. "I wasn't gonna pull the trigger."
"You shouldn't have had to decide."
Her voice wasn't angry, exactly. But it wasn't kind, either. It was sharp-edged and tired, and more honest than he probably deserved.
He hesitated, then sat down a few feet from her. Not close. Not yet.
"I know I fucked up," he muttered.
She didn't answer. Her jaw was set tight.
"I didn't mean to scare anyone," he added.
"You scared me."
That landed harder than anything else. Travis flinched like she'd struck him.
"I didn't mean to—" He started, dropping his head, fingers digging into his knees. "I swear to God, I didn't mean to scare you."
Molly didn't nod. Didn't say she forgave him. Just stared straight ahead at the trees. "What did she even say to you?"
"She called me Flex."
Molly blinked, slow. "Still don't get what that means."
"You... you don't know?"
"No."
Travis let out a hollow laugh, then scratched at the back of his neck like he wished he hadn't said anything.
"In seventh grade, I had surgery. Big one. My back—there's a scar, like half a foot long. Bobby Farleigh saw it in the locker room, made up some story that I'd had a rib removed so I could... you know. Suck my own dick."
Molly's expression twisted. "Jesus."
"Yeah. After that, it stuck. Flex. They all called me that, like I was some freak show."
Her mouth tightened. "That's disgusting."
"I know."
A long pause.
"It doesn't excuse what I did. I just... when she said it, it was like I was back there. Stupid and cornered and small. And I reacted like a jackass."
She was quiet for a moment, drumming her fingers on the log. The brunette looked over at him, sighing. "You did more than react, Travis."
"I know."
Molly rubbed her hands along her thighs, trying to scrub off the cold. Or the adrenaline. Or the image of him holding that gun, arm locked, jaw clenched. Her chest ached just remembering it.
"I didn't flinch," she said, softly. "But my heart was racing so hard it felt like it might break through my ribs."
Travis looked over, startled.
"I've—" she hesitated, then shook her head. "It's not the first time I've been near a gun. Not the first time one's been pointed at someone I care about."
That quiet admission changed something in the air between them.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Molly exhaled, sharp and tight.
"You don't get to be reckless with that kind of power. Especially not here. Not anymore. If you're going to hunt for us, then you need to at least be safe about it."
His shoulders dropped. He looked wrecked.
"I'm trying," he said.
"Try harder."
Another silence. Not comfortable. Not clean. But necessary.
Eventually, he spoke again.
"The other thing I said. About the porno. About how none of you look like her."
Molly's stomach twisted. She kept her face still.
"That wasn't a joke. It was just mean. And I knew it would hit you. And I said it anyway."
"You made me feel invisible."
Her voice broke, but only barely. Just a crack in the foundation.
"I already spend half my life trying to be enough. Trying to be useful, smart, strong, pretty—whatever the hell people want me to be. And then you said that, and it was like... of course. Of course it's not enough. I'm not enough."
Travis looked gutted. His eyes were wide, full of something raw.
"I don't even want to look like her," Molly said. "That's the thing. I just wanted to believe someone could look at me and want me anyway."
Travis was staring at her with wide eyes. Like she'd cracked something open in him. His fists had clenched tight in his lap. He reached toward her, then stopped himself. Let his hand drop.
"I see you," he said, fiercely. "I do. You're—fuck, I see you more than anyone."
"You didn't," she said. "Not when it counted."
He nodded, throat bobbing. "I know. And I'm sorry. For real."
"You owe Natalie an apology too."
"I'll do it."
This time, she nodded. But it wasn't forgiveness. Not yet.
He shifted, cautious. "You were... kind of a badass, by the way."
She raised an eyebrow. "With the gun?"
"You didn't even blink."
"I was blinking inside," she muttered. "A lot."
He looked at her, really looked. "You're braver than me."
"Damn right I am."
His eyes dropped to her hands, where her fingers were twisted in her sleeves. He reached out slowly, brushed his knuckles against hers—soft, uncertain. She was still holding herself tight. Still guarding the parts of her he'd cracked.
But he tried anyway.
"You still... like me?" he asked, not quite teasing.
Molly didn't move her hand away.
Her gaze flicked toward him. "You really know how to pick your moments."
"I didn't say I was smart."
A beat passed.
"You want to kiss me," she said, flat.
He nodded, sheepish. "Yeah. But only if—"
"Don't say 'only if you want to,'" she cut in. "I know that part."
He gave a soft laugh, but she didn't answer right away.
Because it wasn't just about a kiss anymore.
It meant something now. It meant letting herself be seen. Letting herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she could be wanted—not for who she was supposed to be, not for who she could become if she tried harder—but for this. For the girl with sleeves tugged over her hands and tears still drying on her cheeks. For the girl who flinched but stepped forward anyway.
The thought alone made her chest tighten.
What if he only wanted her when she was falling apart?
What if he looked at her too closely and changed his mind?
But then—he was still looking. Not with pity. Not with guilt. Just with this quiet, unshakable attention that made it hard to breathe.
Molly's fingers moved, slow and uncertain, until they found his. She let her hand settle in his palm—nervous and warm and real.
Travis stilled.
And when she leaned forward, it wasn't a dramatic gesture. It was gentle. Like she was stepping into something fragile. Like she was letting herself want.
Their foreheads touched first. A quiet pause, suspended between two heartbeats.
"If I let you... that doesn't mean you're off the hook."
"I know."
"And if you hurt me again—"
"I won't."
"—I'll shoot you myself."
Travis nodded solemnly, slightly afraid of the girl. "Fair."
She looked at him. Really looked. Then—slowly—leaned forward.
And then—her lips found his.
It wasn't rushed. Wasn't wild or desperate.
It was steady. Careful. His mouth moved like he was still asking permission even after she'd already given it. Like he was afraid the moment might vanish if he pushed too hard.
Molly kissed him back with a kind of trembling certainty. Like she was giving him her trust one inch at a time. Like she was learning what it meant to be chosen, not because she'd hidden anything, but in spite of everything she'd shown.
It was the kind of kiss that didn't need to go further to mean more.
When they pulled apart, their noses bumped lightly, and their foreheads rested against each other's. Neither moved.
Their breaths synced without trying—shallow, quiet, full of something close to awe.
"I'm still pissed at you," she whispered.
"I'd be worried if you weren't."
Molly stood first. Brushed dirt from the backs of her legs. She didn't wait for him to offer a hand—she didn't need him to. But when he stood beside her, she looked at him with something a little steadier in her gaze. Like she wasn't just hoping he'd be better.
Like she was going to watch him do it.
But a start.
"I'm coming with you," she said, nodding toward the trees.
"You don't have to."
"I know," she said.
Then they walked, not hand in hand, but shoulder to shoulder—like something had shifted between them, even if it still needed mending.
And this time, the quiet between them didn't ache.
It breathed.
‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧
The woods were quiet again when Natalie stepped forward.
Pine shadows dappled her face as she moved toward the makeshift shooting line, boots crunching through dried leaves and broken needles. Her mouth was set, unreadable, but Annie Jo could see the tension in her jaw—just barely. She hadn't said anything after what happened with Travis. Not a joke. Not even a smirk. She just stood back, arms crossed, waiting for Ben's nod.
Annie swallowed and followed after her, Laura Lee at her side. Neither of them spoke until they reached her.
"You alright?" Annie asked, her voice low but steady.
Natalie didn't look at her right away. Her eyes were still on the cans. Ten in a row. Silver, dented, balanced like promises. Finally, she gave a small nod. "Yeah."
Laura Lee shifted beside them, tugging at her sleeves. She hesitated, then said—softly, but clear enough to be heard—
"You've got this."
Natalie blinked, eyes flicking to her like she hadn't expected her to speak at all, let alone offer anything close to kindness. She didn't smile, not exactly, but something flickered in her face. Something lighter.
"...Thanks," she said.
Annie's gaze slid between the two of them. Her chest felt oddly warm. Like something had just started to thaw.
They stepped back.
Natalie picked up the rifle.
She checked the weight first, the balance. Adjusted her stance. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she raised the stock to her shoulder, one boot slipping back for leverage. The barrel stilled—aimed. Measured.
Annie held her breath.
Please hit it, she thought. Please.
The crack of the shot shattered the quiet.
The first can dropped like it had been yanked from a string.
Annie's breath escaped in a rush.
Then the second.
The third.
The fourth.
And the fifth, with a final metallic thud, fell from the branch and tumbled into the brush.
Silence.
And then Ben muttered, stunned: "Holy shit."
Natalie lowered the rifle.
For a second, no one moved. Then Misty let out a loud whoop, and someone—probably Akilah—clapped once, then again, and the sound broke the stillness like a spark catching dry tinder. Cheers followed. Laughs. Even Mari looked halfway impressed.
Annie turned toward her sister, a wide grin threatening to split her face. Laura Lee smiled too, a little wary, but genuine.
And then—footsteps.
Molly and Travis reappeared from the edge of the trees, stepping back into view. His head was down. Shoulders lower now. Less tightly wound. His expression unreadable, but something in his posture had softened, like he'd finally exhaled.
Annie didn't move at first. But then her feet shifted, and she found herself stepping toward Natalie again. Close enough to stand beside her. Close enough to cross her arms and glance sideways like she wasn't checking to see if Natalie was okay again.
She was. Of course she was. She'd just knocked every can off the damn branch like it was nothing.
Travis stopped a few feet away. Hesitated.
Molly nudged him with her elbow.
He shot her a look.
"Go," she said under her breath, nudging him again.
Annie watched him approach with narrowed eyes. She caught Natalie tensing beside her too. But he didn't say anything smug. Didn't even raise his eyes right away.
He just stopped in front of her, gaze on the dirt, and held out his hand.
"Good job," he said, voice low.
Natalie blinked. Her brows lifted slightly—surprised. Then she looked down at his hand. Looked at Annie, who raised her eyebrows in silent disbelief.
Annie's gaze shifted to Molly, who gave a helpless shrug and half-smile, as if to say don't look at me—I just got him this far.
Natalie took the handshake.
It was quick, awkward, but real.
Ben limped up behind them, using his crutch to navigate the uneven ground. He stopped just beside the two teens, looking between them like he was still half-waiting for someone to snap again.
"Well," he said finally, "if the two of you can manage to work together without shooting each other—or anyone else—you're our hunters."
Natalie raised a brow. "That official?"
"As official as anything gets out here." Ben's mouth twitched in what might have been a smile.
Travis huffed out a laugh. Natalie almost smiled.
"I'm in," she said.
"Yeah," Travis added, after a beat. "Okay."
Ben nodded, satisfied. "Good. We'll meet at the porch in an hour. Then we'll let you off for the first hunt."
Annie didn't say anything. But as they all turned to head back toward camp, she stayed a half-step behind Natalie, watching the way the light slid across the other girl's jawline, catching in the strands of her hair. There was dirt smudged along Natalie's arm, her cheeks still flushed from the adrenaline, her mouth tugged into that crooked half-smile like she knew she'd just owned the whole damn field.
Annie didn't understand what it meant that Laura Lee had offered encouragement—sincere, even awkward in its sincerity—or that Travis had managed to look Natalie in the eye and not follow it up with a snide remark. She didn't know what to do with the knot in her chest when Natalie pulled that trigger five times and didn't miss once.
But she knew how it felt.
Like something inside her had been holding its breath. Like maybe—just maybe—it meant something.
She didn't say that aloud.
Instead, as they reached the edge of the trees and the cabin came back into view, Annie leaned over just slightly toward Natalie, lowering her voice so only she could hear.
"So..." Annie tilted her head toward Natalie, voice pitched just above a whisper. "You and Travis gonna hug it out, next? Or do we think he and Molly are about to get married in the woods?"
Natalie huffed a laugh through her nose, bumping Annie's arm with her own. "Please. If they kiss, I'm throwing myself off a cliff."
"They are definitely gonna kiss," Annie said, matter-of-fact, with that drawl she used when she was teasing but also not. "You don't walk into the barrel of a gun for someone and not make out afterward. I read Romeo and Juliet, Nat."
Natalie shot her a look. "Okay, first of all, they die. Second of all, you're literally the worst."
"Yet here you are. Still walking next to me."
Natalie opened her mouth—probably to fire something back—but the words never came. Her gaze caught on Annie instead, lingered for a breath too long. Just long enough to see the flush of color rising on her cheeks, the way her laughter still trembled on her lips. She bit down on her own lower lip, barely, like she was trying to swallow a thought she didn't know what to do with.
Annie felt it—noticed it. Her heart stumbled a little.
Neither of them said anything.
They both turned to glance across the clearing, where Molly and Travis were trailing behind the others—talking in hushed voices, their bodies slightly angled toward each other. And as if on cue, Travis looked over and caught them watching.
So did Molly.
Both of them raised their eyebrows in perfect unison, like they knew exactly what Annie and Natalie were doing.
Natalie groaned and slapped a hand over her face. "We are so obvious."
"I'm sorry, we?" Annie said, blinking with faux innocence. "I'm merely a spectator. An innocent bystander."
"Yeah, okay," Natalie muttered, but she was smiling again, that tight-lipped kind of smile like she didn't quite know how to let it all the way out yet.
Annie swatted at her gently, still laughing—and that was when it happened. Natalie looked at her again, fully, like she was taking something in. And this time when her fingers brushed against Annie's, she didn't pull away.
She let them linger.
Annie's laugh softened, the bright edges fading into something smaller, quieter. It hovered between them for a moment like mist—warm and fleeting. Then her palm shifted against Natalie's, just the tiniest movement, like a thought she hadn't finished saying. Her fingers brushed once... then curled in.
And Natalie let her.
No jokes. No teasing. Just a heartbeat-long pause, and then her fingers folded into Annie's like they'd always been meant to.
They didn't look at each other.
Didn't need to.
They just kept walking—slow and side by side, like they were trying not to scare the moment away. The silence between them wasn't tense anymore. It was steady. Quietly charged. Like they were learning something about each other in real time and neither of them knew quite what to do with it yet.
Travis watched them go, his brows pulling together like he was trying to solve a math problem he hadn't studied for.
Then—without preamble—he reached out and grabbed Molly's hand.
She flinched. "What the—?"
But he didn't let go. Not right away. His grip was warm and just a little awkward, like he hadn't fully thought it through.
"I'm trying to keep up," he said, completely straight-faced. "I think we're getting out-romanced."
Molly narrowed her eyes, skeptical, but her mouth was already twitching. "By Annie Jo and Natalie?"
"I mean..." He tilted his head, still peering down the path where the girls had disappeared. "You saw that hand-holding, right?"
That got a laugh out of her—quiet, but real. She let his hand stay in hers for a beat longer before slipping out of his grasp and raising an eyebrow at him. "Okay, Romeo."
He leaned closer, dropping his voice like they were conspiring. "Wait... are they, like, a thing?"
Molly didn't look after Annie and Natalie.
Didn't roll her eyes either.
She just smirked, casually shoving her hands into the sleeves of her jacket as she turned toward camp.
"Who knows," she said. Then added with a shrug, "Maybe the woods are working some kind of magic."
Travis squinted. "Like cursed or romantic?"
"Wouldn't you like to know."
And with that, she walked off ahead of him, her steps light, like she didn't mind being followed but wasn't about to slow down for anyone.
Travis blinked, then jogged a few paces to catch up, muttering under his breath.
"Definitely cursed."
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
And that, friends, is how you go from pointing a rifle at someone... to hand-holding in the span of a single chapter. The duality of man.
thank you so much for sticking through this one! It was a pretty loaded chapter! It was intense, vulnerable, a little scary, and then somehow weirdly romantic? (Shoutout to the woods for being both a trauma zone and a romance incubator.)
This chapter felt like a true turning point — not just in terms of survival skills (RIP Mari's aim), but in the way these characters are starting to see each other clearly for the first time. Molly and Travis had to break something open to reach each other. Natalie and Annie Jo are finally realizing that maybe the thing between them isn't just tension anymore. And Laura Lee??? Actually encouraging Natalie??? Growth and acceptance!! Our favorite ally!!
I loved writing Natalie's moment at the end — her quiet power, Annie's breathless support, and the little brush of fingers that turned into something so soft it hurt. (If you felt a flutter in your chest, no you didn't.) And they're lowkey being public about it!!
Also, Travis trying to "catch up" emotionally after realizing Annie and Natalie might be winning best couple is my fave.
If you're enjoying the story, it would mean so much if you comment and repost. Even just a "this chapter gave me feelings??" helps me keep going. 
Question of the Chapter: How many cans would you knock off the branch?
Until next time!!
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