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direwombat · 10 months

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[ EMBRACE ]: sender wraps their arms around the receiver and holds them close in an effort to conserve body heat during a snow storm. 🤍 for your choice of ship 🤍

i never got around to writing the jakesyb "snowed-in" fic i had wanted to write last year, so this was a nice prompt for me to return to that idea <3 tysm!

Rating: T Word Count: 2.9k

By all accounts, Sybille really should be dead.

The plummet down Ozhigwan Falls alone should have done her in. With a Bliss arrow in her shoulder, she was dead weight before she fell over the railing off the road above. She must have hit the water at just the right time and gotten caught in the surge of the roiling rapids before her brains dashed across the rocks, and, improbably, she didn’t drown before her body washed up somewhere along the shores.

The fact that Jacob had found her so quickly afterwards, shivering in the shallows and barely conscious, was a fucking miracle.

Yet there he was, pulling her from the water and holding her close, carrying her to safety just before the world went white in a flurry of snow. “Stay with me, Jackrabbit,” he kept muttering, never entirely sure whether she could hear him. “Need you to stay awake, sweetheart. C’mon, we’re almost there.”

Inside a tiny, two room cabin, he’d lit a fire, stripped her of her clothes and swiftly got her dry and warm. He had draped his body over her back and Boomer, who she supposes must have helped him find her, curled up against her front.

Throughout the course of the next day, he had dried her clothes, heated extra blankets near the fire, checked her pulse and fed her tea and warm broth until her body temperature returned to normal. Her teeth still occasionally chatter, and a violent shudder rips through her every now and then, but she’s finally lucid, and standing. The heavy quilt pulled from the bed hasn’t left her shoulders, but she’s moving and capable of heating her own tea and broth without his help.

She’s leaning against the counter with Boomer at her feet, nursing another cup of tea. Jacob had braved the elements to make the short trek to the woodshed out back in search for more firewood. Whoever occupied the cabin before them only had a small stack left by the fireplace. It had been enough to nurse her back to half-strength, but if the storm keeps raging the way it has been, they’re going to need more.

He takes long enough that she almost starts to worry. She’s actively considering sticking her head out the door to call out and try to guide him back when he comes barging in. He’s caked from head to toe in snow, but in his arms is a bundle of wood wrapped in a tarp to keep it dry. The tip of his nose and his ears are a vibrant pink from the biting cold.

Dusting the snow free from his hair and beard, he looks at her wearily. “This is all we got,” he says. His boots thud heavily across the wooden floor as he carries the bundle of logs to the fireplace. “We’re gonna have to ration it.”

She frowns, watching him unwrap the tarp. There isn’t a lot of wood. They had burned nearly that much just getting her warm again. And even with the fire currently going, frost is creeping along the edges of the window panes. “How far can we stretch it?” she asks nervously.

“Four days, tops,” he grunts. “Ain’t gonna be fun.”

She shifts her weight and pulls the blanket a little tighter. “Think the blizzard’ll last that long?” The storms she’s used to are tropical and tend to run out of steam not long after hitting land. But snow is an entirely different beast — one she’s not even close to being familiar with. For all she knows, the storm and its gusting squalls could go on so long it buries them alive.

“Probably not,” he shrugs, “but it’ll take us a day or two to dig ourselves out.”

Judging by the state of his jeans, it looks like the snow is already up to his shins. If it keeps snowing at this rate, then maybe it actually will bury them. Her tongue darts out to wet her chapped lips. “Y’ain’t happen to see a snowmobile in that shed, too, did ya?” She keeps her tone light and joking, trying to sound braver than she actually feels. Even if they dig themselves out, it’ll just be a waste of energy if they don’t have a way to travel across all that snow. The Whitetails are already treacherous in the summer, and they’ll only get more dangerous as the sharp claws of winter pierce deep into the county.

Jacob huffs a quiet laugh, the corners of his lips quirking ever so slightly upwards. “Not quite.”

She sets her mug down on the counter. “Well, what did ya find?”

“Snowshoes. Two pairs.”

It doesn’t matter if they’re fitted properly. They’ll take whatever they can get, and it’s better than trying to trudge through the snow without them. But there’s still the issue of Boomer. No way in Hell she’s leaving him behind to fend for himself, and while she’s willing to carry him on her shoulders down the mountain, she’d prefer not to. “What about Boomer?” she asks.

“Drag him on the wood sled?” Jacob suggests.

She sighs again, deeper and wearier. Boomer’s a smart dog. He’ll understand that it’s easier for him to ride along rather than trying to keep track of him in the snowdrifts, right? She glances down to where he’s sitting near her feet. He looks up at her with soft brown eyes, and she can’t help but to scratch between his ears. “It’ll be like goin’ for a ride, huh?” she asks him.

Boomer’s head cocks to the side, his ears perking up and tail swishing at the mention of a ride.

“Sure,” Jacob says. He groans as shifts to sit down on the couch. Deft fingers make quick work of his laces, and he’s kicking off his boots. “But for now, we’re stuck here. Snow’s not showing any sign of letting up. All we can do is wait it out.”

Slipping her fingers through the mug’s handle, she plods over to sit on the opposite end of the couch from him. Boomer follows, hopping up to sit between them. Anxiety churns in her gut. She’s completely out of her element. Hurricanes and sandstorms she knows how to handle — but snow? The farthest north in the United States she’s ever been was Fort Sill, Oklahoma, and that was just for her ten weeks of basic training. Sure she’s lived through the winter season, but she doesn’t know Winter the way Northerners do.

The thought of even admitting it puts a bitter taste in her mouth, but she needs Jacob’s expertise here. The Cult’s been in Hope County for the better part of a decade. He’s far more experienced in dealing with the bitter cold and ice.

Outside, the wind gusts with enough force to rattle the windows, and as it passes over the chimney, it makes a low, howling sound that reminds her of the wolves lurking in the trees. Her heart hammers in her chest and Boomer instinctively presses himself closer to her. A shudder rolls down her spine as she recalls the story Jacob had told her about Miller, and she looks at him hesitantly. “Y’ain’t gonna go Donner Party on me, are ya?” she asks quietly.

His eyes flash and his jaw clenches. The dying flames cast stark shadows across his face, making him look far more harrowing than he had a moment before. The heaviness of his brow makes his eyes appear sunken into his skull, and something — guilt? regret? — lurks behind them; a shadow underneath the ice.

He’s the first to break eye contact, leaning forward to grab the iron poker and prodding at the still burning logs. “If it’s something you’re that worried about, then if it comes to that, you’re more than welcome to kill me.”

There’s a weight to it. A resignation and acceptance of fate that only comes when you’ve spent your entire life with one foot in the grave. It’s an exhausting way to live, surviving on borrowed time. He’d let her kill him. Wants her to even, especially if it meant that she could stay alive.

The “and eat me” hangs between them, loudly unspoken.

Self-sacrificial bastard.

“Well, we ain’t there yet,” she says firmly. There are still some non-perishables in the kitchen cupboards. “So, what do we need to do?”

He sighs heavily and pulls back. “Seal the windows and doors with any clothes or blankets we can find. Anywhere you feel a draft, plug it. Anything we don’t use for that, we bring in here to set up in front of the fireplace,” he says calmly. “Let the faucets drip, open up any cabinets that have pipes underneath, and pray nothing bursts. Once all that’s done, not much else we can do other than huddle for warmth.”

She’s mid-sip as he finishes, and she sputters half of it back into the mug. “Excuse me?”

When he finally turns to meet her gaze once again, he regards her with aloof skepticism. “You got a problem with that?”

For the first time since her body temperature came back to normal, heat rushes to her face. “No,” she says shortly.

“We need to keep the cold out and conserve as much heat as possible,” he explains evenly. “Best way to do that is to stay near the fire and use our body heat until we absolutely need to stoke it again.”

This is just like when he had to warm her core. There was nothing romantic in the way he touched her — no stray caresses or fingers wandering further south than absolutely necessary. It was all about survival. And it still is.

It’s difficult to see through the bulk of the blanket, but her shoulders slump. “Fine,” she sighs. “You take care of the pipes n’ I’ll get the blankets?”

“Sure.”

They both rise to tend to their duties. Sybille sets her mug down and gathers a pile of clothes from the dresser in the bedroom. She begins shoving the garments by every door and window sill in the house, blocking off any cracks that the frigid air outside might slip through.The blankets Jacob had pulled out in order to get her warm are neatly folded and stacked on the shelf above the mantelpiece.

She pulls them down and suddenly wishes Augustine was there.

Back when they were kids — when Mama had left Daddy and it was just the three of them — every time a hurricane rolled through, the three of them would gather all the blankets and pillows in the living room, light a few candles. Once they were settled, cocooned in the safety of their pillow fort, Mama would read to them until the storm was over and the power came back on.

She didn’t realize it then, was too busy keeping a brave face so her baby brother didn’t get scared, but those forts were just as much for her as they were for him.

She can kill a man a dozen different ways without a weapon, but she’s powerless against Mother Nature’s wrath.

When Jacob emerges from the bathroom after opening the taps just enough to let the faucets drip, she calls out to him from the bedroom. “Hey. Help me carry the mattress over.”

He cocks his head to the side and curiously steps into the bedroom.

Her hands are hooked under one corner to lift it from the frame. She shrugs to motion him closer. “C’mon. Lift.”

His lips curl up into something that could generously be called a smile. “What’re you doing?”

“Makin’ the best of a bad situation,” she says shortly. “Now, you gonna help or not?”

The sound that slips from between his lips is an honest to God laugh. A warm, dare she say affectionate one. The floorboards creak underfoot as he approaches the opposite corner. Together, they hoist the mattress from the frame and carry it to drop in front of the fireplace. It falls to the ground with a solid thump, fanning the flames and making them dance.

Once it’s down, Sybille wastes no time pulling the cushions from the couch and arranging them into a fort shape. In a grand gesture she takes a duvet and drapes it over the top to give it a roof. Boomer sniffs at the structure, placing a tentative paw on the mattress, and ducking his head inside. With a few testing steps, he deems the construction sound, and turns in circles before plopping down with a pleased huff.

“Well, the dog likes it,” Jacob says. The words are gruff, but every last one of them is belied by the warm look in his eyes as they flick between her and Boomer.

“Hush, you,” she chastises before dragging over a basket of yarn and knitting needles she had found. Crawling inside after boomer, she settles beside him and starts going through the various colorful skeins. “Now get your ass in here and get comfy. It’s gonna be a long goddamn night.”

“Alright, alright. Give me a minute,” he rumbles.

She hears walk off somewhere across the room and he returns a few moments later with a book in hand. He grunts getting down on his hands and knees and sits himself on the other side of the mattress from her. With the three of them sitting so close and with a blanket overhead, the space between them is quick to warm.

Time passes in silence, not a single word uttered between them. Just the howling wind, crackling fire, and Boomer’s snoring to keep them company. Jacob reads and Sybille tries to remember how her mother’s hands moved when she was knitting. By the time the flames flicker and fade, she has a few tangled masses of yarn while Jacob has made significant progress in the novel he’d chosen.

It’s…bizarrely comfortable.

The light begins to fade, and as it does, the temperature drops. When Jacob’s eyes are straining to read the page and she can no longer count her stitches, they simply sit and watch as the flames die until they’re nothing but glowing embers.

Sybille hugs her quilt tighter and pulls the edge over her head. Boomer inches closer to her until he’s nearly curled up in her lap. But after a while it isn’t enough. Their breath comes out in visible puffs. The chattering of her teeth return and her fingers are ice cold. It’s baffling to her how Jacob isn’t showing even the slightest signs of being cold. No shivering, no rubbing his hands together or over his arms, just the slight flush to his nose and ears.

Then again, he is larger than she is. He’s got more muscle and fat compared to her whip-thin build.

She always did get cold easily.

After a long while, Jacob leans out of the pillow fort to toss a singular log into the ashes and strikes a match to bring the fire back to life. His knees pop as he sits back down and he lets out a low groan. Settling back in, he spares her a glance, only to see that she’s nearly disappeared inside her quilt.

He huffs a quiet laugh and shakes his head. “C’mere,” he says.

His voice pulls her from her half-doze. She hums sleepily and looks blearily at him with heavy lidded eyes.

“I said: c’mere,” he repeats, and this time he holds his arm out, his own blanket spreading welcomingly to invite her in. “Gotta conserve heat, remember?”

Her eyes narrow warily. The space between his arm and chest is the perfect little pocket for her to curl up in. It calls her name, and while she’s stuck here with a man who’s technically her enemy, she also supposes there’s no pride or honor in freezing to death because she’s too stubborn to accept the help he’s offering.

Boomer groans in complaint as she gently pushes him off her lap, and she shuffles over to Jacob. His arm wraps around her shoulders, drawing her close. She instinctively leans against him and rests her head against his shoulder. The quilt slips off her head, back down to her shoulders, revealing her tousled dark hair, and she all but melts into him.

Christ, he’s a fucking radiator. Big, solid, and warm, she wants nothing more than for him to hold her like this for the rest of her life.

“Better?” Jacob asks, once she’s relaxed into him.

“Shut up,” she grouses.

His chest vibrates as he chuckles quietly, lulling her back into her twilight sleep, and he presses his lips to the top of her head. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, and nothing more.

Boomer crawls over to drape himself across both their laps, enjoying and adding to the little pocket of heat they’ve made.

The storm rages on, dark heavy clouds blotting out the moon and stars. Gusts of wind push the snow about, rattling the windows, and howling hauntingly as it passes over the chimney. The entire cabin creaks and groans, the wood contracting as the temperature drops. As the fire dies down once more, they wait until the embers have nearly gone cold before Jacob tosses another log into the fireplace.

The world outside is cold and hostile, but inside the cabin — inside the pillow fort — Sybille has never felt safer.

It feels like Family.

It feels like Home.

#r: define your meaning of war #i will never get tired of playing with syb's need to put up a brave face vs her desperate desire to feel safe and protected #i love writing her when she's vulnerable <3 #anyway. here's some cozy jakesyb+boomer (aka her ideal family unit) to kick off the winter/holiday season #my fic

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