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netherfeildren · 8 months

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Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 1. Genus: Tragedy

Series Masterlist ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you.

She'll still come for you.

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Light Angst; Slow Burn; Shocking Considering the Implications of Me and This Trope but Alas; Biologically Assigned Soulmates; Power Dynamics; Topping From the Bottom; Government Controlled Reproduction; Segregation of the Designations; Institutionalized Sexism; Vaguely Handmaidien Undertones; Incredibly Soft Despite the Tags; Be Not Afraid, Dear Reader!; Yearning; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Competence Kink; Alpha Joel; Omega MC; Very Soft Joel; Older and Jaded Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Age Gap; Size Difference; Size Kink

A/N: I've found there is an absolutely shocking lack of A/B/O in this fandom, and this is my contribution to begin rectifying that. I swear that despite the way the tags read, this is entirely and sickeningly sweet soft, comfort, caretaking fic.

Share thoughts, please. It's sort of a different one.

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

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Genus : Tragedy

To a one Mr. Joel Miller,

500 Sheahan Road

Clallam Bay, WA 98326

United States

We are writing to inform you that as of January 8th, 2015 there remain two weeks until your designated omega’s twenty second birthday, and a year since she has come of age. We have made several attempts to contact you with no response. As mandated by the federal government, you must collect her by January 22nd, 2015 or she will be distributed to another individual of the designation alpha who would be willing to accommodate her.

The omega’s evaluations are all up to date, and she has displayed pristine results in both health and behavioral tests. It is estimated that her first heat will occur soon, and we strongly encourage you to collect before the fever starts and our facility is forced to place her with another willing alpha that may see the process through. As she is part of the Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program, and is biologically paired to an alpha already, that being you, if not collected she would be placed in the bidding pool and distributed to the highest offer.

Again, we strongly encourage you to contact our facility with a response on your decision as soon as possible so that we may prepare the omega. We would like to remind you that these creatures are delicate, and unexpected changes to their habitats and surroundings cause high levels of distress. It is of the utmost importance that we proceed in accordance with the omega’s nature.

Enclosed is a brief note from your omega that she has requested to attach:

Dear sir,

I hope that you are well. I have been told that you have not decided if you will come for me, but I ask that you please do. I have been waiting, but they have told me I cannot wait anymore, and I do not know what will happen to me if you don’t come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do.

And at the bottom, in a pristine and swirly pen, and kindly, her signature, there for him to see. The name of the woman, or girl, who seems to have taken all of Joel’s choices from him. He follows the letters with the nail of his thumb, scratching at the ink as if he could make it disappear, make the reality of this poor thing out there in the world waiting for him, disappear.

At the outbreak of the designations, twelve years ago, there had been mass hysteria, mass chaos, a terrible uncertainty of how the world could continue on, segregated into biological designations as it had suddenly become. Thought to be a product of the dwindling population rates, some whispered a government experiment gone awry, a freak genetic mutation had begun to appear within the biological markers of certain people.

Designations: Alpha, Beta, Omega.

It was not that society had unfolded, lost sight of itself, it was more so that from one day to the next, a new and unknown sort of hierarchy had been established, those that were, those that were not. Those that could live their lives as they’d always done, unruled by their biological urges, and those now marked as something new and different and set by a different sort of mandates.

Joel had been one of these people.

The designations had become controlled, weaponized, systemized, almost immediately. Almost. Before the government had mobilized and taken stock and hold of the situation, there had been a momentary lapse of order. Chaos wearing the names and faces of the people he’d once known, people that should have been safe or protected, protective. The true nature of the dynamics were quickly revealed. Obvious: an unmated alpha in need of an omega was a volatile thing, quick to aggression, hungry for violence. Less so: an omega, once thought self sufficient, independent, autonomous, was found to be at times fragile, vulnerable, full of necessity. Both connected by that string of desperation that could only be soothed in a pairing of the two. The desperate drama of being no longer only yourself.

It should have been an obvious thing, the mutation, a byproduct of the dwindling population levels, reproduction rates, was in service of something that would correct this misdirection of nature. Alphas and omegas were, are, idealized pairings for one another in terms of reproduction, in terms of biological pairings. It should have been obvious that this would be wielded as a means of control. It should have been obvious that this was an untenable situation that would cast people into roles that left no choice for autonomy, for freedom.

It should have been obvious to Joel, who almost immediately, and even though he had been well into adulthood, a father to a young daughter, presented as an alpha, growing pains once again this late into his life. It should have been obvious that this was a situation that should have necessitated greater care, vigilance, protection. After all, this was the role of an alpha. He should have listened to this new nature of his that was suddenly, demandingly, presenting itself, acted quicker, stronger, with more wisdom. But he’d failed, he’d continued to fail for years to come after that terrible night when the world had turned back to its base nature in a hedonistic attempt for the preservation of humanity.

Alphas were immediately feared, ostracized, and above all else, obvious. A designation was not a thing a person could hide, especially not an alpha, the truth of their nature. Many were gunned down in the streets at the start, imprisoned, experimented on and sold, debased and tortured. They’d been caught, him and Sarah, separated from Tommy trying to escape the madness. She had, in her innocence and without designation, still only herself, still only his little girl, been caught in the crossfire of a world's desire to tame or trap something it could not understand.

Joel had, in many and the worst of ways, been caught in the crossfire too.

With time, years and the sort of suffering that can only be forced upon anything that is different or out of the norm, a system had been created. Government mandated programs, laws, registries that kept track of the designations. A hierarchy in which those that were essentially and biologically considered stronger than what a normal human should be, were ostracized, exiled, denigrated, muzzled, and those that would be considered weakest, left without any voice at all, without freedom either.

The Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program had been established for the continued preservation and furthering of reproductive rates. A registry was created in which all those with the designation either alpha or omega had to present themselves on, biological markers determined, all choices stripped. The program served as a match making machine, when two biological markers presented themselves as compatible, as mates of one another, an omega was assigned to an alpha for keeping. To do with as they’d see fit.

He had gotten word of her only last year. Twelve years of solitude, of nothing, of running from a girl with green eyes he’d not been able to protect and the reality of himself he detested, the what and why of who he was. He’d left Austin, wandered and hidden and groveled in the dirt like a worm until he’d finally found a quiet place to settle. A place alone, undisturbed. And for so long, he’d not been happy, surely, but he had been. Joel had been.

He looks down at the letter in his hand, dragging his thumbnail over the swoop and slope of her signature once again. This was a person who, as mandated by law or biology or fucking whatever, had been deemed as his. His other half, mate, ball and chain. The terrible reminder of what he really was and could not escape, in the form and shape of his perfect opposite.

Last year, when he’d gotten word of her existence, that she’d reached the age of twenty one and was now ready and available for his retrieving, he’d balled up the letter and thrown it with such weightless force into the fireplace in his living room that the air filled wad of paper had fallen limp and nothingful just shy of the flames, rolling in the ashes and dust, coating the reality of this imposed, undesired fate in dark soot. He’d been so angry he’d gone out and howled at the moon like the beast the world would have themselves believe he truly was.

He did not want to be an alpha. He did not want an omega. He did not want to live off the coast of Clallam Bay alone in this house he’d built with his bare hands because he had no other use of them now, no other function or purpose or meaning. He did not want it to be now, he wanted it to be twelve years ago. He wanted to still be a father.

He did not want to be an alpha.

He did not want an omega.

He crumples the letter in his fist, looking out at the bay over the edge of the cliffs from where the cabin is perched. From his spot on the deck he can see as far out as the sea allows, sight stopping suddenly as if the edge of the world had dropped off a ledge. Sometimes he longed, so, so badly, to go find that edge, to drop off it as well. He had only tried once. Never again. The grizzle of scar tissue at his temple, a testament to yet another one of his failures.

The first summons had come two weeks before her twenty-first birthday, and he’d laughed, after the anger, he’d laughed. A girl-woman of only twenty one years, deemed of age, for the role the government or God had deemed her ready for, served up on a platter to him for his own ravaging. For the correction of what nature told was an anomaly that only their coming together could solve. It was sick, disgusting. He wanted no part of it. And so, despite the knowledge that this poor thing was out there, in some government facility, places they took omegas, many orphans, but also, oftentimes separating them from their families for so called safe keeping, just another word for kidnapping. Rearing and breeding and no choices, no choices for any of them ever.

He’d ignored it, turned a blind eye and a revolted heart away from it all, and shirked the supposed responsibilities he owed this omega who he knew nothing about, who knew nothing about him. But nature is, after all, a terrible and inescapable thing. And not even so much the nature of his designation, although that did, unfailingly, play a part in his demise, surely, but the nature of his character, of Joel’s heart, that was the true heavy player. He was not the sort of man who could turn away from someone who’d rely on him, who’d need him. A responsibility. That was, he convinced himself, all he should or could see her as. And for a year there’d been a sort of tugging of a string from behind his navel, an umbilical cord connecting him to his ignored fate. He hated it all. He wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted to rot in his aloneness and misery and bitterness, fester in the fear that lived around him from the world. It’s why he’d come here, it’s why he’d exiled himself. Balanced on the tightrope border between the Salish Sea and the Makah Reservation on this high and pristine cliffside cut from the crust of the earth; he was left entirely alone, at peace with only his own chaotic demons to torment him. He wanted it this way, he wanted this; please, please, he’d already given away so much, lost so much of himself. Should he also be forced into this too? To sacrifice the terrible peace of his solitude to save this poor creature that was being forced on him. He wanted to say no, that he didn’t give a fuck, that what would happen to her could, it was no business of his. But those words… another willing alpha, bidding pool, highest offer… they made him see, not even red, black, black and devastating anger or rage or something horrible and base, and what could only be a product of mother nature railing against him for ignoring what he truly was. Something that whispered terrible words of mine, mine, fucking mine. A hiss he did not recognize, did not want to admit he recognized.

He was old, weathered and beaten and past his prime. Unmated. At the end of his line and unmated and purposeless, and his bones were tired, but itching and clamoring within the confines of his skin that this was wrong, that he was wrong, and that he needed to right this immediately.

That she’s waiting, and dear sir, I do not know what will become of me if you do not come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do.

And so Joel goes to her because he knows she is waiting, because fate or purpose or nature is not a thing to be ignored forever.

“It’s her birthday today,” the caretaker says, voice ascetic and cold and direct. Not a voice, Joel thinks, for soft things; cadence that has his teeth on edge, hackles raised. “You’ve arrived just in time. She’s been asking for you, and we’d just set her name in the pool, ready to release for auction tomorrow.” That black rage muddies the corners of his vision, and he focuses on the cold shock of the blank white hallway they’re making their way down. Hospital-like, barren and hard, this place, facility, prison, they keep them in, the omegas in the program. He feels slightly sick, uninhibitedly angry as if his teeth would fall out of his skull, as if he could throw himself to the ground as a child throws a fit, spew his anger for the world to see how much he does not want this, how vehemently he’s opposed to it all.

“She may seem young and small, but she’s twenty two now. She’s ready, and she’ll take it as you wish. It’s what she was made for.”

Joel seriously considers, just for a moment, killing the cretinous little man beside him. Take it, he says as if he has any right to speak of you taking anything that Joel would give you, as if it’s any of his business, anything he could ever understand if the beta stench oozing off of him is any indication. He hums nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement. If he parts his teeth he’ll take out a chunk of flesh. He should behave, there are easily frightened things nearby.

White doors with a small circular window at the center line the hall on either side, endlessly down the length of the seemingly endless corridor. The caretaker, white scrubs, pristine like the rest of everything here, and Joel feels suddenly huge and bestial and brutish, marring and dirtying this place that is supposed to be of peace and quiet for the fragile things locked inside.

A terrible place that makes him desolately depressed. You’ve been here so long, and he had not come, and it’s all just one more tally of failure on his rap sheet.

When they finally stop before a singular door, the number fourteen emblazoned in large black, bold print just beneath the small viewing window, Joel suddenly feels– he can’t say for certain, he doesn’t know, or doesn't want to acknowledge the truth of the voices and sounds ringing in his ears, but he knows, recognizes it for the sound of the moment Sarah died all those years ago. His past and present suddenly clashing to meet here in this antiseptic white void, before the door to this fate that’s clamored in quiet waiting for exactly a year today. The sound of her voice, calling his name, saying it hurts, Tommy, his shouts ringing loud and then ebbing soft and as lifeless as she was while the reality of what they were living came to pass before Joel too, could realize. He’d left too, his brother, ran from the truth of Joel at the first easy opportunity. And she’s just there, her voice and her eyes and the feel of her is just there in his mind, on the tip of the tongue of his memory, and then the man opens the door and then there you are.

He feels worse now, hulking, deformed, malformed like he was born wrong. “I’ll give you a moment,” the man says low, that cold voice monotone and almost too quiet to bear now. Joel feels he needs something loud and shocking. He fears he won’t fit through the door. “It’s better if you meet for the first time without distractions. She knows you’re coming.”

He thinks he asks if you’re sleeping, he can’t be sure, but he feels the vibrations of his throat work, his jaw move as if it’d come unhinged, his tongue swollen in his mouth, gums fat and painful, full of bile and terrible memories, and he is a badly made thing in need of some goodness in this moment. And then a shift of the small lump beneath the blankets, the reality of the moment snaps into focus, he steps inside the white box cage you’re kept in. The door shuts behind him, and then it is only him, the thing he would not be, and you, the thing he would not want.

He doesn’t decide it until he finally peers into your eyes, that he can’t, will not, keep you.

Wide, luminous and wet, but not afraid, wholly curious, peering up at him from above the edge of a thick wool blanket. Something drab and gray and stiff looking that immediately sets him on edge, brings that anger back, just the simple sight of the blanket. The two of you stare at each other in silence, the weight of that thing that tells of what you are, sitting heavy between the two of you as he looks down at you from his great height, presence that should be intimidating and cowing, looming over your prone and small form on the bed. But despite his stance, something swelling within him causing him to puff up like an angry dog and want to bear his teeth at you, despite the curtain of tears in your eyes, there’s nothing of the stench of fear.

He shuts his eyes to the sight of you, huffing long and bullish through his nose, mistake, the scent of you, God, help me, and he listens to the rustle and shift of the blankets, opens his eyes to see a little nose peeking out from beneath the gray, drab thing to sniff primly at the air he’s now filling with his presence.

Soft and warm and woman, the smell of a cunt that belongs to him. That’s what it is at its basest. More complexly: vanilla, bergamot, juniper berries, sweat and fever and salt. Taking a plunge off the cliffside, bypassing the sharp teeth of rocks that would kill you, waiting for the dark ice shock of sea and finding nothing but molten life. This is what you smell like.

Worst of all, there is something in you that smells of him. His, yes, but not what he means, not his, him. Something that smells of recognition, like the two of you are the same.

Something chained inside of him rattles at the bars of its cage, desperate to be let out and quenched.

He steps back, frightened at your movement, at the reality of what the two of you are, so obvious here in this cage, at your perking up, your recognition of who and what he is, what he’s come for. You don’t speak, but you tell him. You wriggle beneath the covers, shimmying to turn and face him more fully, still clutching the blanket up high over your mouth, still covering half of your face, and he wants to bark at you to let him see, that he needs to see, but he grinds his teeth together. Molars going to dust down his throat, muscle wrapped around his mandible strung so tight he fears the fibers of it might burst and pop.

You settle on your side facing him now, and then something to beguile him, to bring him to his knees muzzled and obedient and calm, the sweetest, sultry little crooning cry. Something provoking, alluring, something to beckon him to you in surrender and acceptance and welcome, come from your chest up your throat to his ears. He jerks back at the sound, your big eyes still expectant and wet but demanding now. I am here waiting for you. I have been here waiting for you. Come now. He steps back to your bedside, a too small, too stiff metal railed cot he’s going to wrap around that fucking guard, caretaker, idiot, whatever he is when he comes back, falls to his knees, and your little fingers peek out and up and over the edge of the blanket now. And you surprise him doubly, tenfold, more than he can comprehend – but he already decided he will not keep you, he already made up his mind – when you say: “You came. You remembered me.”

He could never have forgotten.

A low hum, a sound to make your eyelids flutter and your legs shift beneath the heavily draped blankets. “Today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? Would you like to come home with me as your gift?”

He could never have forgotten.

The house that the large man who you’d waited your whole life and then a year for, brings you to – and you can’t be entirely sure, for you’ve so little experience or knowledge – but from what you can think you’re feeling now, from what you can decide, is lovely.

He had taken you in a car, a truck, you like the sound of the word, —ck, —ck, —ck, and driven a long while, through the big city which you’d seen little of, between forest and beside sea, and then finally up a long and winding road and more forest, more trees and green than you’d ever seen in your entire life, until you’d come to a cliffside, the backyard a drop off of air and rock and endless dark water, and a small house perched just there at the edge. Wooden slats, weather beaten and salt lashed, a copper sloped roof, and two pert chimneys, despite the not large area of the house, cabin. It looks, very much, as if it had grown straight from the cliff rock, sprouted by the forest, strong bones that spoke resolutely of remaining where they were no matter how hard the wind howled.

“How did it get here?” You ask the man, alpha, who’s name is Joel who has finally come for you after a life and a year of waiting.

“I made it,” and his voice is rough and demanding of attention, demanding of you, even if you don’t know, although, you do understand, what it is he’s demanding.

And you think, yes, of course. It looks a little, a lot, like him. Obvious, that it came from him.

It would be easy to think that you’re nothing but young and stupid and untried. Just a little omega kept in a cage. But you feel, after this life, not life, of being you and the thing you are, that you’re none of those things despite it all. You had lived, you had been out in the world at one time, even if briefly, even if only as a child, green and inexperienced and innocent, and although you still remain all those things, you had been out there at one point. You had never had a mother or a father, dead when you were an infant, killed in the outbreak, but you had lived with your aunt, your mother’s, many years older, sister, until you’d been ten years old. So you see, and he should see too, this man now before you, this alpha, that you were untried and inexperienced and young compared to him, but you’d had a decade of real life, even if it was the life of a child, even if afterwards it was a not life, but the before, that counted very, very much to you and so deserved respect and acknowledgement. And he should see that, although you do not know, you do understand.

After your aunt had died, and they’d taken you, first to the orphanage, and then to the place for omegas, after you’d started to mature and develop, perhaps that real life had ended. Or been put on hold, waiting for him, this alpha who seems, for all intents and purposes and from what you can gather from his sullen silence and dark looks, nothing like pleased at your presence here now. But then there was the: today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? And yes, yes it is your birthday.

It’s your birthday, and you’re free. And yes, you’d lived the not life in the white box for so long, and yes, you are, in fractions, so afraid and knowing so little of the world, but you do know that you want to live and to see the sky.

You want to see the sky every single day.

His big clunking truck rolls to a slow stop before the house, a wide deck wrapping around the entire boxed thing of it, and he starts to move, unclipping his belt, grabbing the bag he’d brought with him stuffed with his clothes he’d promptly tucked and folded you into when he’d shuffled you into the cabin of his truck, and you’d been all thank you, sir, to which he’d given a shake of his head, only Joel. Only Joel. No other words, no other directions, only his hands pulling your strings like a puppet. You had accepted it for the chance to feel his touch, to familiarize yourself with the closeness of him.

You want to know things. You want to know him.

He’d barely said a word the entire drive here, but you could be patient, and they’d prepared you for this, after all. They’d prepared you long and well and told you all they thought you’d need to know. So you find yourself, and not at all shockingly, as you’d waited so long for this, for him, for freedom and the sky, and look, now there’s even sea too, not even a little bit afraid, only anticipatory in bated breath, stuttering heart, excitement.

You had never seen the sea before, and you want to know things. You want to know him.

He jumps heavy and thudding form the truck, and you start to shift, something suddenly frantic and clawing rolling in your chest when you realize he’s leaving the confines of the small space the two of you had found yourselves encased in together, the warm heat from the vents blowing his smell, his smell, all around you. You’d never encountered anything like it before. Salted vetiver and warm cardamom, something sweet and musked and heavy like what your fingers taste like after you’ve pet long and needy at that soft wet place between your legs when the hurt was so tight you felt nothing would sate it. It’s a scent that you think would devastate to have taken away now that you’ve tasted it. And it’s everywhere as the two of you’d sat in his staunchly imposed silence on the truck ride to this place he was bringing you to, his home at what seems like the end of the world. It’s in your nose and down your throat, heavy and cloying and sweet on your tongue, wrapping around your waist and covering your skin and your hands so that you’d even pressed your palms entirely over your face and rubbed yourself like a cat, coating yourself in him.

The door slams, bringing you out of his scent induced reverie and back to the present, and you scramble to undo your buckle too, even though when he’d clipped it for you he’d very sternly said to not take it off, desperate to follow him wherever he’d go. But you realize quickly he’s coming around the front of the truck to your door, and then he’s there pulling it open and letting in a biting gust of wind come off the sea and up the cliffside to slash you across the face with its icy rancor. You shiver, teeth clattering and chattering in your mouth, trying to gather the blankets he’d cocooned you in, his too big, so soft clothes, more tightly around yourself, and find your feet.

He gives a rough but soothing noise, and easy as anything, plucks you up and out of the seat and into his arms, kicking the door closed behind him as he goes. Into his arms. You hold yourself stiff and wide eyed, chewing on the tips of your frozen cold fingers, and staring at him this closely, it’s shocking. Large, had been the first thing. Tall and broad and thick the way they’d said alphas are. This you had expected. The rest, you had not. The eyes, you think, more than anything. His eyes, a strange mix of hazel and brown, but dark. Eyes, that even in your greenness, you can recognize as sad and angry. And the creases at the corners, between his brows, the gray threaded through the lush, dark curls and at the corners of the hair along his jaw. He looks like he would be someone’s father. The patch of bare skin, heart shaped, amongst the whiskers. He’s beautiful, and unthinkingly, or perhaps entirely intentional, you stick out one of your saliva soaked fingers and poke him gently there, only a small prod, to feel what the heart feels like. His gait stops instantly, that permanent frown he’d worn since you’d first laid eyes on him, deepening. “Don’t do that,” he gruffs, continuing his steps up the porch now, the dark, heavy boots you’d noted as he’d taken you from the facility falling thunk, thunk on the wooden boards beneath. He’d not given you shoes of your own. And at his tone, the grumpy look, you have the inexplicable urge to laugh. To laugh at him. Surly, you want to tease, but swallow it, itchy fingertips back into the warmth of your mouth to stop yourself from touching again.

Another gust blows against the two of you as he somehow transfers you, cradled into only one arm, to pull the jingle of keys from his pocket, and you’re jarred with painful shivers, huddling closer into the unbelievably broad expanse of his chest, the unbelievably steaming warm slab. At the touch of your cheek against his collarbone you realize all he’s wearing is a simple, green flannel, no coat, nothing warm. “Aren’t you cold?” It seems suddenly, supremely important you ask, head shooting back up. He peers down his nose at you, finally getting the door open, and his eyes are a very peculiar sort of dark, you cock your head at him, a very strange sort of creature this man is, who’s come to collect you, who you’d waited all your life and a year for.

“I’m fine,” he says.

You don’t believe him.

He sets you down on a large, dark leather sofa, chocolate, the hide smooth and worn and lived in. The rest of the house, not only a house, also a home, for it’s obvious in the way of his things, the way they’re arranged and fixed and the way they too live here, not only exist here. I’ll be like that too, you think. It’s all comfortable, it’s all warm, like a den and a place to relax and be protected, juxtaposed by the sight beyond the large windows, nothing but dark, violent sea as you’ve never before seen.

He really had found a perch at the edge of the world, brought you here to perch as well.

There’s a large fireplace, inlaid with large slabs of dark stone and thick beams of wood, and yes, this too is also obvious in a peculiar and particular way. The house very much looks like it was made by the hands of a single man in some way that you cannot specifically say, but can obviously see the truth of. He made this house, and then he came for you and now he’s brought you here, and you feel, suddenly, so pleased and warm and right. Everything feels so, so right. You sigh dreamily, suffused at once with a tight, deep heat at the pit of your belly, the scent of him everywhere, bubbles floating up from the bottom of you and seeming to pop out your ears. You lean back into the deep couch, wiggling this way and that, rubbing your bottom into the soft cushions to snuggle up, bringing the neck of his sweater he’d put you in up to your nose to breathe deep and long.

He’s moving around, arranging things this way and that, a thick log in the slumbering coals, a pillow here, another blanket atop you, not looking at you, setting a wide berth once he’s settled the throw, not talking to you. It’s fine, let him do as he pleases and needs, you’ll sit here and watch. You can tell he doesn’t like to talk, that words cost him something, and you know so little, but you understand this. Words do cost something, truths, the truth of your before life and your not life. The truth of those realities cost. So, yes, you understand, and he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to yet. And looking at him, you realize that everything inside of you feels soft and bruised and little. And yet, despite all that, ready, in want and need of him. Ready to be big.

Joel.

You must say the word out loud, his name, for he stops and finally turns to face you. There is something vibrational within him. Different. You’ve never seen a creature as such. You’d never seen an alpha before, not since you’d presented, you’ve never been around one. The caretakers were all always betas, people who would not be affected by the omega’s presence and fluctuations.

He swallows once, twice, twitches and jerks and heaves a big sigh. He’s so full of energy as you, suddenly, in opposition, feel so sleepy and drowsy and ready to close your eyes and only feel warm and relaxed. You like his house, you might love it, even.

Your eyelids droop low, slow blinks, and you watch his face fold into a frown. You want to laugh, he does that so much. They’d said that alphas could have big tempers, that they could be brash and aggressive and loud, but that the omega would naturally temper that. You think it may be true because as you watch him through the weave of your lashes, his frown deepening the longer he stares at you slowly drowsing on his couch which you hope he’ll never make you move from, the jitters and the shakes and the trembling that he’d seemed, just a moment ago, to be so full of, begin to quietly abate.

He takes a step toward you, another and another until his shins meet the edge of the sofa, and you snuggle deeper into the cushions, making yourself into as little a ball as possible, so full of sleepiness.

“How do you feel?”

“I like your house so much,” you slur, head drooping, lashes drooping.

He clicks his tongue, makes that rumbly noise you think is an alpha thing because it has your eyes suddenly clicking open, sleep haze clearing momentarily so that you can look up at him again, and he’s looking at you so peculiarly. You scrunch your nose up at him, there’s no need to look at you so, you’re only an omega, only a little tired, nothing to stare at so strangely.

“I’m–” he clears his throat, makes that rumble, growl, huff sound again, “I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

And oh, he’s so nice, you tell him, and, “I am. I’m so comfortable.” You melt further into the couch, and he crouches down to peer at you more directly, pulling a soft pillow from the opposite end and tucking it under your head, the large, rough cup of his paw cradling your skull, big fingers weaving through your hair. He arranges you so gently, like he’d take care of you. Like you’re here, finally, finally, you’re here to be taken care of.

It’s what they’d said would happen, and you’d waited so long. You’d waited too long to be let out of the white box, for him to come, to see the sky. And now there was so much; of him, of the house, of the sky, of your whole life and the sea.

You nuzzle your head into his big hand, the heat of it searing your scalp, your ear tucked into his palm. “Brave girl,” he hums. He has such a deep voice, a good voice for an alpha, you think, a very good voice. You feel it vibrating in your toes and in your eyelashes and in your belly. “You’ve been through a great deal, haven’t you?” You want to say yes, you want to remind him that you’d waited for him for so very long, and that when you woke up, if you remembered, you’d be very cross with him for taking so long to come for you.

“You rest now,” he says. “It’s all alright now.” Yes, a very good voice.

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

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strawberryforks · 8 months

Text

blue walls, blue eyes, and the blue blanket // cole walter x reader

summary: you don’t have a good home life and end up unofficially moving in with the walter boys.

warnings: physical & verbal abuse, underage drinking, counsellors depicted in a negative light, swearing, canon divergence–jackie’s family never passes away, so while katherine and her mother are still good friends, they’ve not met/moved in with the walters.

word count: 5957

there’s a ding, and the principal is speaking over the pa. everyone stops what they’re doing so nothing is missed. after all, this doesn’t happen often.

the teacher freezes, dry erase marker still pressed firmly against the board, the end squishing and ink bleeding atop the letter he was writing and danny, who’s sitting beside you, gives you a look. you know its meaning, recognize the weight behind it, and know this routine. you stand up quickly. the backs of your knees slam into the hard plastic you had been sitting on and the chair goes skittering back, bumping into the pair of desks behind you.

you’re too tired to send that apologetic smile to anyone else. fortunately danny isn’t. making sure you aren’t alone, aren’t the only one being disruptive and making noise in an otherwise silent classroom, he braces a hand on the back of his chair, twisting around, to face your wide-eyed classmates. “sorry about that,” he whispers.

your movements are all harsh. they’re fast and full of annoyance, as you swipe your textbook, pencil kit, and water bottle off your desk and into your awaiting tote bag.

standing up, you make your way to the door. the teacher stares daggers at you the entire way. They go to grab your arm and you flinch away. “don’t touch me,” you grit, hands gripping around the doorknob so tightly it hurts. air is hitting your face, propelled towards you by the door you shoved open, when you hear your dismissal “please send y/n l/n to guidance,” spoken over the announcements. your teacher follows you out into the hallway, shouting instructions that you reluctantly follow, after you.

you count the tiles on your way. nearly running into the blue door, you end at fifty six.

ms jacobs, tara, as she’ll insist you call her, is a nice enough lady. she has curly brown hair, brown eyes, and perfectly painted on lipstick. she looks disarming, as a counsellor with the numbers of everyone that could ruin your life on speed dial, you suppose she has to. still, this isn’t new. she leads you further into the room and gestures to a chair “take a seat.”

when you don't, her smile becomes more strained. “please, y/n. this doesn’t need to be difficult, we just need to have a chat.”

you sigh, shoulders sagging as you plop down into the hundredth blue thing in this office. doors, trim, there’s a ridiculous amount of the colour and you don’t like it. blue, represents sadness. it’s something you’ve had enough of. sure, there’s other colours. posters upon posters–some neon, and green leaves stuck onto a large potted plant. there’s other colours just like there’s other feelings, but the one you’re stuck on, the one you can’t get over is sadness; it's blue.

“i hate the colour blue, Ms. Jacobs.” You tell her.

“why?” she asks, interested in you opening up further. you don’t.

“are you going to give me the run-down? tell me what i can and can’t say?”

her brows furrow. “do i need to? i called you here to talk about your grades but if there’s something else going on–”

“there isn’t ms jacobs. i do appreciate the concern, though. about my grades. they’re passing, i don’t see the problem.” you didn’t have a single grade above fifty five. it was hard to, when all of your teachers assigned heaps and heaps of homework and you would rather take a deep-dive into hellfire, brimstone, and lakes of lava, then return to the place you were expected to complete it at.

“call me tara.” you don’t.

“ms jacobs, if it would make you happy, i’ll try harder.”

“it would, y/n. thank you.”

you gather your things and stand. a glance at your phone lets you know your second class is over, so you plan to head to the cafeteria. “and y/n, just know that whatever you say to me is confidential.” Unless you are or are planning to hurt yourself, someone else, or if someone is hurting you.

“bye ms jacobs.”

walking into the cafeteria was masochistic in a way, when they were serving your favourite food, and you had no lunch or money to buy any with. still, in your hurried text chain with danny, this is where you had decided to meet. If you had to sit with the theatre kids to score some time with your friend, you would, although it would be better if you could grab him and go somewhere that didn’t make your mouth water and stomach ache.

walking over to his table, you noticed alex was there too. Just chatting with his brother. You and alex weren’t the best friends, but he was nice enough, and like issac, lee, nathan, and cole, you had his number written down in your notepad under the ‘just in case’ column. you didn’t mind alex, he was polite and much like his brother, danny, never made you feel less than. alex was always armed with a smile.

“danny!” you called, announcing your presence so you wouldn’t scare anyone. you smiled at Alex who as expected, mirrored your expression. “nice to see you. mind if I cut in and steal your brother?”

alex nods, “be my guest. i’ll see you at the end of the day danny!”

he leaves and then you’re pulling danny up and along with you. he barely has time to grab his lunchbox before the two of you are leaving the cafeteria and heading outside. you slump down against the brick wall and danny takes a seat across from you. cross-legged, he pulls out two sandwiches and hands one to you. you eyes widen.

“i’m pretty observant,” he supplies, shrugging.

“thank you, d” you eat the sandwich, and it’s a good one. “do you have plans after school?” ‘please don’t be busy, please don’t be busy, please don’t be busy’ you repeat in your head over and over again. it’s a mantra, you’re manifesting. hoping, hoping, hoping.

“y/n/n, i’m sorry, i actually do. erin tried out for the school’s production and she wants help going over her lines–i would invite you to tag along but…”

“no, no!” yoy laugh. manifesting doesn’t work, mantras are pointless, and shit, what are you supposed to do about tonight? “no, danny. don’t worry about it. i know you like erin and this is the perfect opportunity! if she’s asking for help with lines–i mean you’re awesome–but let’s be real, you can go over lines with anyone. so, if she’s asking you specifically for help, that's such a good–a really good sign!”

you two talk for a while longer but it’s easy to see your mind is elsewhere.

the bell rings, you head to your last classes, and then home.

you’ve got to go home.

well, to your house. that place, those four walls, they stopped being your home a long time ago. when your dad got drunk and your mom got mean.

cole walter pulls up beside you on your way home. his truck slows down, nearly to a stop, and you keep walking. your headphones are on and you’re pretending you can’t hear him. you can, but, you hope he’ll tire of shouting, slam his food on the gas pedal, and leave you in a cloud of dust. “y/n, hey! l/n, you need a ride or what?”

the truck stops, pulls off the side of the road and then you’re hearing a door slam and cringing, face crinkling as you realise you should’ve just said no. shouted it, even.

cole walter jogs up to you. he knows your house is quite far away. too far away to be walking. he calls to you again but you’re still walking forward. he places his hand on your shoulder. you know he’s there. you know he’s beside him and still you fucking flinch. the second time today and you're feeling pathetic. you shouldn’t be–really shouldn’t be. it’s not your fault that people can’t seem to respect the concept of personal space, not your fault that your trust has been violated, shredded and spat out, so many times that touch makes you jump. makes you want to jump, or crawl, your way out of your own skin. you flip your headphones down, letting them fall around your neck, but turning your music up a few clicks so you can still hear it. music is your vice, but no one’s complaining because it’s better than alcohol or drugs or, i don't know, being an asshole–you do that too. unintentionally sometimes. like now.

“what?” you snap. on the defensive.

cole isn’t surprised by your flinching. You were dead to the world, listening to music so loud he could hear it from where he stood paces away from you. if he were you–if it was your hand that had sat down onto his shoulder and surprised him he probably would have shouted. he caught you off guard, he was sorry. both of his hands stuck up in the air. “that’s my bad. sorry for scaring you.”

“sorry for–” you guess he did scare you. in a way. “it’s fine. what are you doing here?” you take your time looking at cole. his sharp jaw, full lips, his blue eyes. usually you hate that colour, but on him? it’s not so bad.

“offering you a ride. youe place is pretty far from here, yeah?”

“it is but i like walking.”

“walking is fine and all, but it’s getting colder and it gets dark around five now. by the time you make it home it’ll be past that. my truck has heat, comfy seats, and i’ll even let you have aux.”

you’re not a stranger to the effect cole walter has on everyone. not at all. when he smiles at you, you feel your cheeks warm. you’re an idiot for not taking him up on that offer. your feet already ache and your legs burn.

some things hurt more, though.

actions, all of them, have consequences.

“i’m fine, cole. but thank you. you’re sweet.”

he shakes his head. you aren’t walking anymore, instead, stopped on the side of the road just waiting. this conversation, it’s going places. places you don’t like. “i can’t let you walk home alone. not in good conscience.”

he’s jogging back to his truck and pulling up beside you. he’s leaning over the centre console and pushing the door open. leaning over further, and helping you up, not starting to drive again until your seatbelt is buckled. if only that was the least of your worries. if. only.

“so what do you want to play?”

you plug in your phone and queue up your playlist. a sad song blasts and you hit skip very quickly, not missing the questioning look cole sends you. you laugh, “don’t tell me you’ve never listened to sad music while you’re reading.”

“i don’t read much, and most of the music i listen to is because of the lyrics. those ones were… dark.”

choosing to disregard most of his statement, you echoed his words back to him. “you don’t read much?”

“alex reads a lot. you two would get along.”

“shared interests aren’t everything. we don’t have much in common but i enjoy your company and danny and i click and we both hate each other's favourite tv show with a passion.”

“what show is that?” you tell him and he grins. “that’s my favourite too–seriously. we should get together and watch it sometime.”

“i’d love that!” so, shared interests aren’t everything, but they’re certainly something. you smile for a couple more kilometres and then it gets harder. when you see the sign with your civic on it, you know that the ride, no matter how awesome it was, and how much fun you had, wasn’t worth it.

you hop out of the truck–cole offered to walk you to the door but you denied, knowing you were already in for it. “thank you, though.”

He nodded. “i can give you a ride tomorrow, too. anytime you need one, really. just ask–or get danny to. I really don’t mind.” you smile. thank him again and climb out of the truck. you walk confidently until he pulls out of the long driveway and onto the road. then you sigh, and it’s because of cole’s conscience that you get home before it’s dark enough for you to slip in unnoticed.

you pause on the porch. you don’t want to go in, but you don’t have a choice. not really. what are your other options? run off into the woods and let yourself be some colorado woodland creature’s lunch? knowing what’s coming, it doesn’t sound too bad. you open the door and nearly sob when the wind slams it shut behind you.

your heart beats hard in your chest like your father’s boots do on the floor. “where the hell have you been! days, gone for days. you couldn’t call, couldn’t fucking text,” with each word, most of them slurred, he storms closer. it’s not even suppertime and his eyes are glassed over with that familiar film, his breath a pungent reminder, as obvious as the one in his hand, of what he’s been drinking all day. your mother is behind him in the hallway, puffing on a cigarette, uninterested. “there’s no respect! ya here the brat? thinking they run the place. comin’ and goin without a care.”

“i don’t–i know i don’t run the place.”

“damn right you don’t!” the half empty–you’ve never been a glass-half-full type of person, not growing up in this–bottle of beer come flying at the wall. it hits just above your head, the liquid and brown pieces of glass falling all over you.

“look what you made me do now! gone and spilled m’drink.”

you had taken your converse off at the door. always being yelled at for trekking in mud and dirtying the floor, the hurried steps you take backwards, hurt. your dad is wearing work boots, steel toe, but the only thing between you and the broken glass is a thin pair of socks. your skin splits. the light blue fabric on your feet turns dark red.

you whimper and each step hurts more than the last. then you bump into the wall. “dad, please.”

“calling me tha’ like you think it’ll make me forgive you. fuck,” he throws a glance over his shoulder. “how’d we make something so… so pathetic?”

your mom shrugs, like she hasn’t a clue, either.

“dad, please. i’m sorry, okay? i’ll call next time.”

“there won’t be a fucking next time! get your shit and get out. all we do for you, all we do and you’re still impossible. keep you fed, clothed, give you a place to sleep and just get attitude, attitude, and disrespect. i’m done being disrespected. done!”

“you can’t just kick me out! i have nowhere to go.” you yell. you yelled. you yelled. oh god. oh hell. oh shit. you see his leg rear back and you go to jump out of the way. you’ve already been kicked out–you just need to get out, and quickly. you jump over his leg but then his fist is wrapped in your hair and you’re falling. then the boot you dodged is slamming into you side. again, again, again. tears are streaming down your face. you’re sobbing.

then he’s picking you up by your shirt. lifting you, dragging you. he opens the door, grabs your bag, your shoes, and throws them outside. then, then he throws you. you land on the porch, body aching and pressing into the hardwood.

the door slams and you’re still sobbing. you’re pretty sure that your new mantra is ‘fuck’. it’s what you repeat over and over again as you drag yourself up and away from the front door. You need to get away, you need to get away. You really need to. creating distance between you and that door, you and those people, is priority.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.”

running isn’t really in the cards for you. you limp away and don’t miss your mother peering out the kitchen window. you guess that from her perspective you do look pathetic. but no more pathetic than your dad, the grown man who had to hurt you to feel powerful and get his point across. your pace is terrible but the darker it gets, the further you get. you’re in the woods now, with no idea where exactly you are and not much supplies. maybe you will end up as woodland creature dinner. there’s not much you can do to help it now. you think about calling someone and then you realise your phone isn’t in your bag. you start to shake. choked laughter bubbles it’s way out of your throat. you’re laughing and then the hysterics shift and you’re sobbing. arms wrapped tightly around yourself you cry for what must be hours.

later, slumped against a tree trunk you decide to tackle your feet. one problem at a time, one shard at a time. you pluck pieces out of your skin and the blood makes you feel nauseous. when the job is done, you slide your socks back on, and walk towards the sound that comforts you most. Rushing water. you find a river, and kneel at its edge. you wash your socks, yourself, and dry on a stone in the sun. you scrub the dirt and grime from your feet. when your socks are mostly dry and the cuts have stopped gushing blood, you put on your shoes and lace them up. then you follow the river. you’ll reach town soon enough. your face isn’t marred, just the rest of you, all hidden beneath layers of clothes–a long sleeve, a flannel, blue jeans.

ideally, you’ll find danny.

you don’t live in an ideal world. the boy you find is not danny but he wants something you can give and has something you need–a place to sleep. you do so without clothes, lying next to him. What you did was in the dark, would stay that way, because before he woke, before you were made to converse with the nameless boy, you dressed and snuck out. the walk of shame was just that, shameful. you felt horrendous. your body still hurt and you found yourself walking into a cafe you knew haley, will’s wife worked at.

asking for handouts made your stomach sour but you couldn’t do much else.

haley was scrubbing down a table when you approached her. “hey, haley.”

“y/n, hey, how’s it going?” then she turned to you and realised, not good. that it was not going good. you shot her a flattened smile. “i really hate to ask. like, i really really do, but i haven’t eaten in a bit and was wondering–”

“yeah, yes. of course. just have a seat, i’ll grab you… do you have any dietary restrictions?” you answer her, and when she comes back, handing you a wrapped meal you thank her profusely. “is there anything you need done around here? i appreciate this so much, but i don’t want to take advantage. i can clean–i’m not a great cook but I can make coffee.”

“you don’t need to do anything. you aren’t taking advantage. not at all. is there anything else i can do for you? anyone i can call? your parents?”

fear fills your eyes and perceptive as ever, she catches it. “not them, please.” is what you whisper. haley nods, disappears behind the counter and makes a phone call. then, she dotes on you for the next ten minutes until wil pulls up outside. he comes in, walks over to your table and sits down across from you.

you’re pretty sure you’ve been caught. the ruse, it’s very much up.

“what’s going on, y/n?”

you shrug and sip at the hot chocolate haley made for you. “well, come on. you don’t have to say anything right now but let’s get you home.” you stand, ready to go anywhere but, and will stops you. “my parent’s home, danny’s. katherine knows you’re coming. come on, kid.”

you follow him to the car. most of the drive is silent, but you thank him when the walter’s house homes into view and katherine is waiting outside on the porch with a smile. up the few stairs, and you head straight for her. you’re grateful for her gentle nature, because as you throw your arms around her and squeeze, she simply rests hers on your back, rubbing soothing circles. “they–they kicked me out.”

she takes a minute to respond, only because she finds this hard to process. you were a good kid, a great one, and she, having so many of her own, couldn’t think of a single thing that would make her abandon or discard one of her own children. “you’ll stay with us then.” it isn’t a question and you’re glad because how would you have answered? your mouth is dry but your eyes aren’t.

you sit in danny’s room. he isn’t home from school yet but he will be soon. katherine and george are upstairs making room for you. you feel like a burden, they assure you that you are not.

you’re waiting for danny, only he isn't who makes it home first. it’s cole. he walks in, tosses his bag down onto the bed, none the wiser that there’s another person in the room. his back faces you and he’s rifling through a drawer when he hears you hiccup. he turns around quickly. Sees you, crying in his brother's bed and immediately his brows are furrowed. “y/n?” he walks closer. the bed is near to the ground so he drops onto his knees. he’s close to you know but he’s made himself less intimidating. “y/n/n? hey.”

“hi Cole.”

“are you okay?”

“i’ve been better.”

cole doesn’t ask, he doesn’t push. instead he opens his laptop, logs into his netflix and puts on the favourite show you both discussed watching together. when the two of you are settled. him on the floor, face resting on the mattress, where you’re curled up in a blanket that belongs to his brother, he breaks the silence. “do you want me to get danny?”

“where is he?”

“he’s with erin at the school. i think they’re going over details for the production. but i can go get him if you need him. do you need him?”

you shake your head. as danny’s best friend you were the biggest ‘derin’ shipper there was. plus, cole was here. he made things okay. “no, no thanks. i don’t really want you to go anywhere if that’s okay?”

“that’s more than okay, but i will say, my bed is comfier.”

you smile for the first time in a bit, looking at the uncomfortable position he has himself in. “yeah? well, we should definitely watch this, over there then.”

“my thoughts exactly.” cole grabs the laptop, grabs you, still wrapped in the blanket he tells himself he’ll replace from the linen closet, and carries both over to his bed. you squeal a bit and bite back a real whimper when his hand touches what you know has to be a massive bruise, sitting you down.

you fall asleep, leaning against him. he pauses the show, closes his laptop, and promises to resume it when you’re awake to watch it with him. then he sends a threatening text to his brother, danny.

COLE: Y/n/n has had a rough day and is sleeping in our room

COLE: Wake her up and you’ll get hit

DANNY: is she okay??? ALSO since when do you call her y/n/n???

COLE: I’ll see you later

COLE: Tell Erin hi for me

DANNY: fuck off

george and katherine didn’t receive that same threatening text but when they peeked into the room to check on you and found you cuddled up against cole, snoring lightly, and looking peaceful they left you be. your room was ready and in the morning you moved into it. your clothes were dirty and katherine washed them for you but in the meantime… well it was her dresses or… or what you went with.

you knocked your fist against the door and cole opened it, shirtless.

“hey cole,” look at his face. just his face. only his face.

“hey y/n. What can i help you with?”

your hand flew to the back of your neck which you rubbed awkwardly. “can i, uh… would you mind if I borrowed a pair of jeans and a belt?” cole chuckled, then realised you were completely serious. then he gave you the jeans. then the belt. “need a shirt too?”

you laughed, cheeks stained pink. “i wouldn’t mind…”

he handed you the plain black one in his hand. “riding with me to school?”

“if i’ve got shotgun.”

“‘course.” he said, grinning.

you headed upstairs and got changed. the pants were big but with the belt, and them cuffed they fit alright. then, came the shirt. it fell mid thigh but once you tucked it in a bit it didn’t look too terrible. you brushed your hair, your teeth, and headed downstairs. george looked at you with wide eyes and you shrugged, “i don’t really like dresses?”

katherine sighed. “we’ll get you some clothes after school.”

“from the thrift store!” you amended.

she rolled her eyes but agreed anyway. then, you were sitting beside cole on the way to school, during the one class you shared, and at lunchtime. you weren’t ditching danny, just his time was split between you and erin now. they started dating. they were sweet, good for and to, each other.

you’d only been living with the walters for two days, but everything was great. until cole invited you to the lake house. two coolers had you feeling buzzed and when it was your first turn, playing ‘truth or dare’, you picked truth and ended up faced with a question you didn’t want to answer. so you turned, and pressed your lips to cole’s. his lips parted in surprise, but then he kissed you back, tongue slipping into your mouth as he deepened the kiss. his hands flew to cup your face, your eyes were shut, and you were feeling things. until someone whistled and another yelled: “get a room!”

next round, you were three coolers in and ballsy enough to pick dare. “i dare you to jump into the lake!”

you rolled your eyes. like that was difficult. sure, it was a bit chilly, but you’d been in the river days ago. rushing water compared to water the sun had beat down on all day was nothing. you grinned, and ran to the edge of the dock, canon-balling and sending water flying everywhere. when you surfaced you saw the asshole who wore cole’s jersey shaking water out of his hair like a dog. you grinned, and started to swim back over when you saw something that caused you to sober up quickly. the foundation and powder you had painted on top of the hand shaped bruise on your arm had worn off. gone. It was gone and fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck.

when you didn’t get out of the water immediately cole was curious. when your face reflected horror, he was concerned.

“you good?” you weren’t. he walked over to the edge and dipped his hand in. the water was freezing. “come on out, you’ll get sick.”

you shook your head, plastering a clearly fake smile on your face. “my immune system is really strong and i want to swim! i’ll be fine cole, gonna go that way.” you make a gesture with your head and begin to paddle in that general direction. away from the lakehouse, away from the people, away from the party. away from cole—or, you tried to get away from cole. he walked on the bank, steps matching your strokes as he followed you. “get out of the water, y/n.” you were still swimming, and now cole was having to duck under and climb over branches and bushes to continue following. now, you couldn’t even hear the people at the lake house.

“no thank you.”

“don’t be stubborn. this was—it was funny thirty minutes ago! It’s lost the charm. just get out, we’ll go back and…”

“i don’t want to go back.”

“then we’ll go home. would that make you happy? we can leave, we don't have to go back to school, i can take you home.”

“i want to stay in the water, cole.”

“y/n, just get out of the fucking lake. it’s not that hard! i don’t understand why you won’t—“

you’re in waist deep water and all of you is submerged until it isn’t. you stand up quickly. teats sting your eyes and emotion clogs your throat. “you don’t understand, huh?” your voice breaks, shatters, and cracks. “does this help? do you see why when i say i want to keep swimming, i mean it? do you see why i want to stay in the water cole?”

he sees something. he sees bruises on your arms. deep purple handprints put there by too big hands and with too much force—force that never should have been used on you. he’s blinking, his eyes are seeing but his mind isn’t thinking, not fast enough.

“do you see?!” you’re shouting now, sobbing too. “because the makeup washed off and now you can see it. bow everyone can. everyone will see and then they’ll report it and i’ll end up in the system in an equally shitty situation! cole,” another wave of sobs interrupts, “cole don’t make me get out of the water.” he doesn’t, he climbs in with you. water soaks his boots, the bottoms of his jeans, you hear it slosh as he takes large steps and closes the distance between you both. “y/n/n.”

“what?” it’s a sob, a plea.

“we’re going to get out of the lake. i’m going to walk you through the woods, out to the road and then i’m going to go get my truck. i’ll be ten minutes tops. i’ll grab my hoodie too.”

“it’s… it’s back on the chair.”

“the red one, i know.”

“okay…”

cole keeps his word, but after five minutes you hear his truck. it stops, he hops out. he sets the hoodie on top of you and you shimmy into it. “No one will see, no one you don’t want to know, will know. but y/n, you will never go back there, okay? not to that house, not ever, because if you go, i’m following, and the things i do, most authorities will not agree with.”

“i don’t ever want to go back there.”

“you won’t ever have to.”

“thank you.”

“don’t thank me for helping you with something that never should’ve happened. we’ll get you some ice as soon as we’re home.” cole cranks the heat up and angles the fans to point your way.

he opens your door for you and walks closely behind you. no one else is home—katherine and george both working and the others at school. cole raids the freezer for anything remotely icey and heads up to your room. he makes a pit-stop to grab his laptop and some snacks from a drawer none of his brothers would ever know about. he steals the blanket you like off of danny’s bed too—the soft one with the blue plaid.

you both watch the show, he looks concerned when you press the frozen peas to your side too. you lift your shirt, show him the damage and he freezes. “ugly, huh?”

“nothing about you has ever been ugly, y/n/n but jesus, maybe we should go to a hospital.”

“flattery will get you everywhere cole but there’s no denying i looked like van gogh fucked up starry night—and no hospital. they’d like immediately call someone. plus i think they’re just bruised and not broken so that’s good.”

“i’m sorry that this happened to you.”

“oh don’t do that. i hate when people apologise for things that aren’t their fault.”

“can i apologise for danny, then? for him not realising what was happening sooner?” cole asked. people weren’t perfect, you realised that then, cole having said the first thing that genuinely upset you. this was no one’s fault. No one but your scum of the earth parent’s.

“no. danny didn’t do anything wrong. i didn’t want him to know and usually i’m good at hiding these things.” a bitter laugh, and: “usually.”

“i blame the alcohol, but, i guess it’s nice that you know.”

“i’m glad i know.”

and he is. he carries your bag, your books, even goes thrifting with you and katherine. “i like this one,” he’d said, holding up a shirt that barely had any fabric to it. you rolled your eyes for the fiftieth time and picked out a baggy graphic tee shirt instead.

at school he walks you to and from your classes. he sits with you at lunch and helps you come up with excuses—none so awesome that they work without the grin and charm he lays on your pe teacher.

weeks later, your bruises were healed, and to the blind eye, the only indication you’d been abused was the occasional flinching. cole tended to call out his moves before he made them, especially if you weren’t sure exactly where he was. your arguments–few and far between, seriously, the only thing you’d argued about so far was where you went for lunch, were had with calm voices and distance between the two of you. cole was perfect. he never caught you off guard, he was just always there.

wouls see you getting anxious and move closer. “i’m going to hold your hand,” he’d whisper. when you needed someone to talk to it was always him because he was always there.

then, one night, the two of you were sitting on that same blue plaid blanket. the one you loved–the one cole had paid danny $40 for. you were both staring up at the same stars, both wondering the same thing: when had you become so close? you weren’t sure if there was a turning point, a particular defining moment, but cole had taken danny’s place in your heart as ‘best friend’. cole had done that and more. he was more to you than that. he baked your favourite pastry, would go just about anywhere with you, and he made you smile. he made you feel safe. he had told no one your secret–but katherine and george had a clue, enough of one that they welcomed you with open arms and seldomly raised their voices. enough of one, that for that first few weeks, the ice was always restocked in the freezer.

they had an idea.

but cole knew. knew everything. knew and made you feel okay in spite of everything. he knew and still.. still looked at you like… like that. cole, he leaned in closer. you waited and listened. “i’m going to kiss you. because i want to. because i love you how you deserve to be loved. and not because of some truth or dare game.

“it wasn’t bad though, right? because i thought it was a pretty good ki–”

cole walter kept his word. he kissed you, and sure, the kiss at the lake house was good. this one was just better.

#cole walter x reader #cole walter #cole walter x y/n #cole walter x you #mlwtwb #mlwtwb imagines #cole walter imagines #my life with the walter boys #danny walter #alex walter

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caxde · 4 months

Text

disposible heroes | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary Eddie is assumed to be dead, you belived it, until music found his way into your live again, and a promise he's still alive is evident (7.2k)

warnings fem!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn, idiots in love!!!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!, canon-ish complaiant?

a/n: thank you to @sage-glowstick for all your help as I was writing this <33

“You know I’m here if you need me, right?” Robin’s voice felt as if it were coming from a thousand miles away, even if she was beside you, her fingers running through your hair, petting you softly.

“I know” Your voice came out croaky, heavy, raspy. Tears were still falling from your eyes, you felt them, the coldness of the salty water running down your reddened and hot cheek.

“Anything you need.” She repeated, wiping it away, her finger on the apple of your cheek a bit longer, trying to make you feel seen.

“It just doesn't feel real.” You whispered, not being able to actually say it fully out loud.

“I know.” She imitated your low tone, standing up from the bed as she looked out the window. “It’s a lovely day out, we could go for a walk.”

“In a bit, maybe.” You gave her a forced, half smile to her. She imitated it before nodding, standing up to finally leave the room, leaving the door ajar.

It was a good day out, sunny and without a cloud, the leaves on the tree outside your window moving slowly.

But he wasn’t there.

As far as you knew, his body still laid lifeless on the fractured darkened ground of the upside down.

And you hadn’t saved him.

Guilt consumed you.

It was worse, you had to lie to Wayne, you had to lie to the only person that knew him as much as you did, that cared for him as much as you did.

You buried an empty coffin a couple of weeks ago.

And all you had was an old shirt of his, and his guitar pick necklace you had once gifted him.

Your hands closed around it, one last tear falling down as you did so. I miss you, i’m sorry were the only thoughts running through your mind.

After a long time of just thinking, your eyes vacant and your thoughts going a bit too fast. As soon as Robin came to check on you once again, she knew where you were headed off to.

The mix he had made you was still in your car, playing his music as if he was next to you. If you concentrated enough, you could still hear him sing them, in his usual chaotic goofy voice and tone he always used to get you to laugh, though if he was being sirius or was in his own little world he actually had a beautiful voice, an angelical one if you were the one listening.

A weird combination of crying and laughter was now consuming you, as you finally parked your car in the same spot you had for the last few weeks.

It was a weird feeling, you became more yourself the closer you walked to his grave, the closer you came to seeing his name carved in stone, the fuller you felt, as if he was walking beside you.

The wind rustled in the leaves, as birds stopped singing, the sun still shining, your skin soaking it in, your puffy eyes squinting harder because of it.

It was a very scenic moment, you thought as you sat down in front of the carved stone.

“Hey Moon.” You whispered with a heavy heart. The stinging coming back to the back of your head as you looked at the faded graffiti you had cleaned yesterday. “I brought you a bit of music, I thought you might like it.” You fumbled through your bag, trying to find the little portable cassette player you had saved up for, that he had drawn in the back of with one of his markers. EM was here could still be seen in a faint white ink. “I finally got you the Metallica cassette you wanted.” You half smiled, trying not to break down again.

The first guitar notes from the song battery filled the air, you let your body hit the ground right as the bass started, your feet stomping at the melody.

“You’d love to play the guitar solo of this one.” You teased him, mumbling to the sky, your eyes closed, your body relaxing a bit more.

The little portable player was starting to make that funny noise it had been making for the last couple of days, that dirty interference that made you angry every time, interrupting your time, it only infuriated you more now that you were here, trying to be close to him once more. Your arm reached to it, your eyes yet unopened, spanking it a bit, hopeful that it would go away.

It didn’t.

It started going in and out of focus, as if something was tampering with it, or water had crawled in, making the switch to the next song sound as if it was coming from deep underwater, as if a wave had just engulfed the speaker.

“Fuck’s sake.” You complained through gritted teeth, grabbing it and holding it up, wiggling it a bit. As you did, the muffled sound went away, and the thing that should not be started playing.

You lowered the volume, and let the speaker sit next to your ear, letting it sing only for you.

It didn’t give you any trouble for a while, until it started acting up again. This time, the volume went up and down. At first you thought it was random, until you started paying attention. It seemed like a message, and grief invaded you enough to make you believe impossible things.

Your shaking hands grabbed it, pulling it a top of your lap, looking back at where his name was carved before whispering “Don’t fuck with me” as you played the backwards button. Letting the song start from the beginning once again. “I swear to god Eddie if you’re fucking with me I’ll kill you again.” You spat as you mumbled angrily at the air, hoping to be right.

To your astonished surprise, it seemed to work.

The volume went up, as if it was a code, as if he was screaming. If you were honest, you could feel him screaming and yelling the lyrics in that chaotic voice you learned to love and miss.

The very first word of the song spiked up messenger, it felt obvious enough, though it could just be a dumb coincidence. lurking beneath the sea made the volume go up, lowering immediately after it. You kept listening, writing it on the sketch pad you always carried in your bag.

Once the song ended, the previous blank paper had sparesed lyrics over it.

It read a confusing mess that you had to bring to Dustin as soon as possible. You recited it over and over again while you were speeding on the car.

The motor of your car was louder with every gear shift you made, the little orange arrow in your speedometer kept rising, but you payed it no mind. In a similar manner, you didn’t care if your car skidded anytime you made a left turn, the only thing in your mind where the little words you had heard louder than the others.

You didn’t care if your car blocked his driveway, or if the keys were still in the ignition. The bag on your left shoulder felt havier now that it was guarding the little instrument that felt magic. You hands where still shaking and you could stop fidgeting with his necklace, moving it one swipe left and two right as you made your way to Dustin’s front door, not sure what to say, not sure what to do. You were now anxiously looking down at your feet, and the way they moved through the cobblestone, the bumps that they left on your feet.

You gathered enough courage to bang on his door.

But he was taking a bit too long.

Bang

He still hadn’t come down stairs.

Bang Bang Bang Bang

“Jesus what?” He finally opened the door, the usual annoyed look on his face disappearing once he the way your lips were pressed together.

“Upstairs, now. Code red.”

“Can you read it again?” Dustin asked, a pen in his own hand.

“Messenger. Lurking beneath the sea. Forbidden site. Shadows. Underground. Fallen city, living death.” You looked at him, sharing a deep breath. “Then it repeats, Lurking beneath the sea, and ends with not dead”

Dustin stood up, pacing around his room while his hands fidgeted with the pen he had.

“And you’re sure it worked normally before you arrived at the grave?” He inquired, his words pausing between them as he usually did when he was trying to figure out something.

“Look I know it sounds stupid, but… I… It can’t be a coincidence.” He acknowledged just how hopeful and defeated you were, and he gifted you a smile.

“I wanna believe it too, I just, can I hear it now?” You nodded, while you took the little player out of the bag and played the song again. It sounded crystal clear, no interference, no change in volume. “And it changed volume once you were…”

“Yeah, I told you.”

“We should go there, I’ll ask the others to join us there.” He grabbed the talkie while he handed you the phone, letting you call into family video, the number already dialed up.

“Family Video this is Steve how may I help you today?” He sounded as bored as he always was, you could tell he was playing with the telephone chord.

“Steve, can you take your break now?” Your voice was quieter than usual, and that pulled him in, you heard how his elbows hit the table, and the receiver was caught between his cheek and his shoulder.

“Hey honey, everything okay?” His tone was sharper now, you felt the way he was measuring his words, he had become rather used to spreading kindness and handling you with care ever since you had come back, you had no time for that kind of nonsense right now.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking you to skip work in the middle of the day.” Your words were coming out sharper and colder than you intended for them to. Irony stinging like a dagger.

“A simple no would also work, y’know.” He answered, a bit hurt, but mostly worried. He knew the number was coming from Dustin’s house, and the only reason you had to go over his house was for one he didn’t dare to think about.

Mostly because the last time you had barged in with Dustin into Family Video he ended diving into cold water, and with a few scars to remember those days by.

“Can you take your break or not? We kinnda need both of you.” You were impatient now, you were speaking faster, snappier, quicker.

“What the hell is going on?” You could physically see him holding the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed while he loudly breathed out into the receiver.

“Steve! Please?” You were begging now, the frustration of wanting to let him know everything all at once, while trying to be careful to not say too much, the fear that someone might listen to you, the impotence of not being able to do enough, it was all enough to create tears that wouldn’t fall.

“Breathe out.” He reminded you. He didn’t know what was going on, or why you seemed to be so aggravated, but he could tell that it was important enough, a sense of urgency clear in your voice. He took a second, looking at Robin while his eyebrows raised she called the ‘the decision look’ and she knew better than to oppose it. “Is this a code red?” He finally asked, wanting and needing you to say no, his head falling deeper once he heard your muffled yes. “Where are we meeting?”

“Graveyard.” You answer quickly, the iron taste in the inside of your mouth becomes more prominent now that you are speaking again. “Pick Nance up.” You told him before hanging up.

You gave a quick glance over your shoulder to check on Dustin. His words were fast paced, he started the second one while the first was still finishing in his mouth, he had no time to lose, which in a weird way, was reassuring for you. Someone cared as deeply as you did, it made you feel not that alone, seen in a way.

You found your way downstairs, your feet feeling heavier and your chest tightening, a fast thought entered your mind, as it grew bigger so did the worry that accompanied it. What do we do if he is alive?

If Eddie really is alive, and he has been there, all by himself for the last weeks he must be pissed off. Not only that, as far as you remembered he was incredibly injured, so he could be right at death's door, a slip away from being actually gone. And if that was really the case, and he was bloodied, starving and a whisper away from death, you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t at least just try, you had to try.

But then again, that panic was shared.

Dustin did not talk while you drove. He didn’t complain while you smoked one of his cigarettes that he had left on your glove compartment, he limited himself to stay still, biting his thumb as a response to the nervousness that was now deep inside his body.

You parked where you had a mere hour ago, and the birds sang until you found your way next to his gravestone. You looked at Dustin, needing reassurance, he just nodded. Weirdly enough, you were both in a lost for words.

You sat in silence, looking at his name with clear sandness in both of your faces, you hid a whimper, culpability making its way into your body.

“I feel insane.” You confessed as you buried your face into the palm of your hands. Needing just a second to process it all.

“You’re not the only one.” Dustin added, looking back as soon as he heard a familiar car pull into the secluded place you both were, he gave you a soft pad on your shoulder, his head nodding to it so you’d look.

Steve emerged from the burgundy car, closely followed by Robin, Nancy and Jonathan.

Robin’s eyebrows were raised in concern as she ran to where you were, she wasn’t a fiscal touch person, but lately she had been giving you hugs every chance she had, and this time it was no different. It felt familiar, a sense of reassurance you desperately needed.

“What’s going on?” She whispered into your ear, pulling away slowly, looking deep into your eyes. You waited for the other three to make their way up hill, Nancy’s knuckles were white with how much strength she was holding Jonathan’s hand.

“He’s alive.” Is all you could bring yourself to say, before breaking down.

You weren’t even sure why you were crying this time, maybe it just felt good to say it outloud, maybe it was just too much to manage, or maybe you just needed to relise your bottled up emotions. It didn’t matter.

Nancy’s eyes widened, as Jonathan looked at her, not really understanding why you’d say that. Meanwhile, Steve’s arms crossed in front of his chest, he was having a hard time following you.

“What are you talking about?” Steve’s voice was not only lower, his tone had never been as serious, not a trace or irony or sarcasm in them.

“Dustin?” You plead for help, you didn’t think you could manage to explain it all again. Your hands were busy fidgeting with the cassette player, tracing over the speaker, wishing that it would happen again.

“She uh… Well…” Dustin was having a hard time, the possibility that you might be right was a bit overpowering for him.

“I came over, and played him the new record.” You gestured to the empty cassette case with the white crosses on it, Robin picked it up and looked at it closely, smiling in that that’s sweet way that she does when she finds something charming. “And uh…”

“She says that the cassette player started going wild, the volume going up and down by itself, interference, water sound in it. But we played it again at my house and it sounds perfectly clear. And well… The words that were actually louder were like a call for help and if we look at this logically-” Steve cut the explanation that Dustin had started, a crease in the middle of his forehead.

“That’s insane. You’re seeing things where there are none.” He exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his hands.

“Steve…” Robin pleaded calmly, her eyes asking for him to consider the situation.

“It’s not!” You screamed. You needed them to understand, weirder things had happened to all of you in the last couple of years, this was nothing new. “Will was able to communicate with you!” You looked at Jonathan now, trying to make him understand, trying to win him to your side of the argument.

“Yeah but… He actually… It was his voice.” Jonathan mumbled, trying really hard to believe what you were saying, trying to see your side of the story, but the look of desperation on your face was too close to Joyce’s, and that gave him a bad feeling in his stomach.

“He’s alive.” You repeated, looking back at the way his name was carved into the gray stone, how long it took you to be able to accept it, and how it hopefully would be destroyed, as if it never had happened. “And he’s down there, alone, injured and with no strength, do you really think he’s going to start chatting?” With every word you said your tone became higher and higher.

“Look, there is no way he’s alive…” Steve’s voice sounded defeated as he crouched down, closer to your eye level as you were still sitting down at the floor. “We all saw him down there, bloodied and… I get that you want him back, but you shouldn’t make it our problem.” his cheeks were red, as the vein in his left temple became bigger with every breath he took.

“Your problem?” That made you lose it, it was one thing to not believe you, it was an entirely different thing to call you crazy and accuse you of being delusional. “You were the last one out, if he is alive, it’s your fault.” It had been like poison, hearing you say such things. You knew far too well that you were hurting him, his lips were pressed against each other, his left hand holding on thigh to his arm.

“Guys…” Robin tried to calm you both down, exchanging looks between the both of you, knowing full well this could blow everything up. Knowing that pain can be spread around faster than any disease.

But before she could say anything else, her ears perked up, as she heard the way the wind was rustling through the trees, she was a bit too sensitive to these kinds of things, over vigilant after everything she had seen.

“That’s way out of line…” Steve whispered, with clear guilt creeping in through his voice. “You know that if I could trade it… You know I don’t…” He was truly at a loss for words, not being sure what he could say, an extremely defeated expression rested on his face, his eyes avoiding eye contact with yours, looking at the ground, and the way the grass moved thanks to the wind.

“Guys!” Robin screamed at all of you now, as she picked out a rusting coming deep and low from the little player you were still holding.

Silence broke through all of you, as you looked down and started hearing the beginning of a song you hadn’t hit play for, the red light that usually shined bright when it was on was absent from it.

“Did you–?” Dustin started to ask, you shook your head, as a hopeful smile invaded your lips.

You went quiet, looking down at it, a guitar solo started, before you heard the tape playing backwards until the last phrase of the song was found, volume creeping louder and louder reaching out again could be heard from it, you let out a chuckle, a nervous giggle that went around the group as everyone had now experienced what had happened to you.

“What song is that?” Nancy asked directly at you, her face still in clear shock, mouthing the first words since she got here.

“Welcome home” You mutter, with glee in your eyes. “He is here.” You tell her, knowing that she fully believes you, by the way fear was creeping into her body.

“That could just be a coincidence…” Steve was still cautious, not wanting to fully give in. If he did, that meant that you were right, and that he left him for dead, and he couldn’t handle the guilt that came with it.

“Eddie!” Dustin started screaming, directly into the little player that you would not let go of, repeating his name with urgency. “Buddy, are you really there?”

“It’s changing again.” Robin pointed out, as her fingers traced a pattern on your leg, reassuring you that this was actually happening.

It was exactly as it had happened a few moments ago, when you were by yourself, as if water had creeped inside, mumbled and far away it sounded as the song changed to another one, before becoming crystal clear to your ears. The heavy thumping of the guitars starting again, quieting down before abruptly going up once the lyrics Twenty-one, only son, but he served us well could be heard.

You were tearing up now, and you weren’t even capable of hiding it any longer.

But panic came quick once you heard the next highlighted set of words.

Finished here, greeting death, he’s yours to take away

“What’s this one called?” Jonathan asked this time, his head whipping fastly from Nancy to you.

“Disposable Heroes.”

You wasted no time.

Dustin held on tight to his car seat every time your foot pressed the accelerator, everytime you swerved the car you could feel him holding his breath just for him to release it in a nervous manner.

They were all gathered around Steve's kitchen table, arguing over themselves.

You weren’t all there, the only thing going over your head was him, and the promise of actually being able to hear his voice once again.

Your foot kept on tapping the ground, a repetitive pattern that you weren’t able to stop, your hand still playing with his necklace. The chatter of them talking was overwhelming you, they were wasting time and that was infuriating. They were arguing, and you were frozen in the spot. They kept talking and you remained quiet.

Nancy sat down next to you, she still hadn’t said anything either.

Her hand traveled to yours, a top of your thigh. She squeezes your hand, you knew it was her way of telling you i’m here, i’m sorry.

“They’re wasting time.” You finally whispered, your voice hoarse, a trace of sadness in it.

“I don’t think I can go back.” She said at the same time, a trace of guilt in hers.

“You shouldn’t.” You reassured her, not only with your calm voice, but with the same squeeze she gave to your hand, now on her’s. You didn’t have to tell her that you planned on going alone, she had already noticed.

“You can’t.” She finally looked at you, deep into your eyes. You noticed the way her eye twitched before shaking his head. “We barely made it out of there, there’s no way you’ll make it by yourself, and having to carry Eddie or…”

“His body?” She snorted a laugh, trying hard not to giggle, thought the nervous laughter got you too. “This has to be one of the most insane days…” She nodded while you both laughed, catching your breath before she talked.

“I’m watching over you, I’ll stand at the gate. That I can do.” she stood there for a second longer, her lips pursed in that shy smile she usually gave people, the ones she actually cares about.

“Thanks Nance…” You let go of her hand, to give her a playful bump on her shoulder. She nodded as she saw you finally stand up.

Robin looked at you with curious eyes, as she saw you finally leaving the couch. She watched in a quiet manner as she saw you grab the car keys and put them in your pocket, and how you looked around as you put your hair up in a messy ponytail, bumps caused by shaky fingers. She only put her hand around Steve’s arm, her eyes still trained on you, once she saw you pocketing the vodka bottle and the old rag to light it up.

Steve looked at Robin first, following her eyesight until she saw you, trying to not look suspicious as the rag poked out of the pocket of your brown leather jacket.

You knew you were being caught as soon as you heard the sudden silence.

“Woah, woah, hey…Where do you think you’re going?” Steve pointed out, one hand on his waist as the other one gesticulated widely. Confusion and worry evident in the way he spoke, his voice coming up and down like a rollercoaster.

“What do you think?” The frustration was clear in the way you not only looked back at him, but in the way your words sting. “You’re wasting time…” You were now defeated, your hands now buried deep into your jacket pockets, fingers playing around with what you had in them, a way of distracting yourself.

“We’re not.” Dustin tried to make a point, though his furrowed brows read as sadness. “We need a plan, so we’re just trying to come up with one…”

“What plan? We go in, Nancy guards the door, we get him, we come back.” Your shoulders scrunch up as you simplified it all, their eyes switched from you to Nancy, who was still sat down at the sofa, a bit tenser than when you were beside her.

“Nance, you’re not coming?” Steve inquired, his whole body turning to face her from a distance.

“I… I can’t…” Her eyes crystalised as shock emanated from her body.

“She doesn’t have to, I’ll be with her, we’ll keep watch. Right?” Jonathan jumped in, reassuring Nancy, as Steve took a step back. “You’re not leaving my sight.” He whispered in her ear once he got by her side, their foreheads touching.

You smiled to yourself, a sweet moment between them. The world stopped for them, you could tell, and that’s exactly what you were craving right now, and worrying you might never get back.

“Fine, but we still don’t know how to get in.” Steve added, his arms flexing in front of his chest as he shook his head in defeat.

“Watergate.” You mutter.

“You’re insane.” Robin snapped as soon as she heard you, pausing in between words. “Even if we did manage to get down there and it was still open, how do you plan on coming back with him? What if there’s more rabies infected bats around? What if you get stuck there this time? We need to find another gate!” She was now talking in full speed, cascading words as her thoughts entered her mind.

“So we go to the woods!” You whine, frustration and impatience invade you once more.

“The woods?” Steve asked.

“She’s right.” Dustin added, his eyes finally leaving the ground shining as they did so. “Vecna killed Patrick and that created Watergate, so maybe there’s a gate near Fred’s death, like the one in the trailer…”

“What?” You questioned him as you saw him losing the train of thought. “We go to the woods and we get in and out, what’s wrong?”

“We killed Vecna, so the upside down should be collapsing since he isn’t alive and isn’t there to power it so…” He continued as he thought out loud.

“So what?” Steve asked as his voice went higher in tone.

“So it’s crumbling down.” Dustin pointed out as if it was overly obvious.

“So we have to go, now.” You said at the same time, heading to the door, no time to waste.

You heard their footsteps following you as you found your way to your car, you were finally getting somewhere.

You thought you would feel relieved once you saw you were right, what you weren’t expecting was your jaw to clench at the sight of the hidden gate.

It wasn’t big, it was small and weak.

The same thing that happened back in the graveyard started again. The wind picked up, hollowing through the trees replacing the chirping of the birds.

“Take care.” Nancy said with a trembling voice, while her hand was holding tightly with Jonathan’s.

Steve’s grip on his bat changed, firm and steady now, before twisting it a bit, readjusting it so he’d be more comfortable. Dustin’s hands fidgeted with the end of his jacket, patting his pockets checking once again that he wasn’t missing anything.

“If we’re not here in an hour, check in with El, she’s with the others guarding Max, but she should be able to…” Dustin recalled for the hundredth time, going over the plan he had been yelling about in the car drive over here.

“Yeah, one hour. Got it.” Jonathan nodded as he spoke, waving bye as you stepped in.

You just pressed your lips as you heard him.

If you only had an hour, you had to make it count. And it had to start now.

You had never just walked into the upside down. You had always fallen into it, so you didn’t have time to actually feel the veil breaking as your skin found its way in, the viscosity of the red hue, and the dryness that could be felt immediately after that. Your eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of colour and light, as you became hypervigilant, looking up at the sky before the others found their way.

Nothing.

There was absolutely nothing there.

A cloudless sunless grey sky welcomed you, with no thunder or lightning.

If anything, that nothingness was just more unnerving.

Every step they made echoed through, and made you look around, hoping to find something that would make you keep your hopes up.

You agreed on walking to the graveyard, if there was nothing there, you’d find your way to the trailer park and go back.

“Something’s weird.” Steve pointed out, as he looked around.

“Not weird, decaying.” You added, nodding to a grey crumbled up vine. The hole in it seemed to get deeper and bigger by the second.

“Quiet.” Robin said, as she looked up. “There’s no bats, no thunder either.”

“You can still trip though.” You told her as you held her from stepping into a fallen tree branch.

You walked, you weren’t really sure for how long, yet she was right, it was oddly beautiful now. A stuck in time version of Hawkins where nothing seemed to change, where everything looked as if it was straight out of an antique photograph you had found hidden in a cupboard.

You could see the iron gate from the cemetery, the bars on it starting to fold down, as if they were wilting flowers of an old bouquet. You felt as you collectively held in your breath.

It wasn’t long after that that you started hearing someone yelling unintelligible things.

While you were slowly making your way in, Eddie lied there.

He was right where you thought he’d be -unaware that you were near him- an empty space between gravestones, his body falling into the floor, exhausted from getting there, starving and malnourished. He had been talking nonsense for a while, he started whispering it into the heavens, until now, his voice was loud, and even if he didn’t intend to, panic found its way in it.

“Just one more song? Please? I need to know you’re there. I’ll sing along again if you want!” He had been looking at the void in the sky for a long time, he wasn’t sure if it had been an hour or two, to be honest, it felt like he had been there for days. “C’mon baby, please? Just a bit more, a guitar solo, or just… your voice would be nice…” He started begging now, pleading with some force he didn’t quite believe in for something that would indicate you’re there, near. “For fuck sake! I know I’ll die here, at least you could play some music while I do so!” Themix of desperation and tiredness was now getting into him, he looked at his hands and realised how his rings looked bigger, then now danced and moved with more ease. “Or just… Maybe if you light one up?”

At the same time, you started hearing his screams, and you started picking up the pace, running through the maze of granite carved stones, with different names and dates.

Dustin was the first to start screaming his name, while you just focused on running near where the voice came from.

You’d know it was him even if you hadn’t heard him in thirty years.

Adrenaline came over your body, so you rushed until your legs stopped, all of a sudden once you saw him.

He was there, his hand on his stomach, where blackened stains in his shirt layed wrinkled.

He was there, his hair laid perfectly still in a careful knotted mess.

He was there, his chest raised up and down as he breathed.

He was there, and he was alive.

“Moon…?” The nickname you had for him fell from your lips, your tone shaking as you still couldn’t believe it.

He slowly stood up, a grin of discomfort from pain evident in his face. He looked at you, his eyes barely opening up. He was still sitting on the ground, you felt your lips curving upwards as relief invaded you, seeing him smiling at you in recognition.

“Eddie?!” Dustin screamed as he ran up to him, falling to his knees as he hugged him, his head hitting his chest, Eddie’s arms slowly wrapped around his body. “I thought I… We lost you…” His voice was muffled, still you could tell he had started crying.

“I thought I lost you too.” Eddie’s voice trembled as he looked directly at you. His eyes crystalised once he saw the first tear jump from your eyes.

You felt Robin’s hand on your shoulder, a thigh squeeze letting you know it was real. He was okay, and you were getting him back.

She nodded, letting you know it was okay if you wanted to interrupt.

You walked slowly to him, the back of your hand wiping away your tears. You let your body hit the floor, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him.

“Hi” You whispered as soon as you were a breath away from him.

“Hi” He gleamed back as soon as he got you close.

“You’re okay?” You asked, as your voice quivered, desperate to hear him again, talking directly to you.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He nodded as a trembling hand found the back of your neck.

Dustin smiled before stepping back, leaving you both alone for a moment, a much needed moment.

You gave in, melting into his arms. You were both crying quietly now, his hands stroking your hair politely, afraid that you were nothing but a mirage, while yours held on thigh to him, scared that you would cause him pain from needing that close.

“You scared me to death.” You half joked as you chuckled through the crying.

“I’m the one dying.” He added on to the joke, his lips finally kissing your temple, drinking your perfume in as he did so.

“Shut it.” You shake your head as you slowly pull back, your hand now cupping his cheek, as your thumb slowly graces the high points of his cheekbone. “I’m getting you home.”

You thought about kissing him, your lips touching his, melting completely under his touch. But once he leaned in to do so you saw how blood stained his shirt again, your eyes darted from his as you looked down, the red growing wider by the second.

Fear invaded your body again, a sense of urgency creeping over both of you.

“Yeah, we should really go” He grunted through gritted teeth.

It had been a blur.

Nancy grabbed your car keys from your hand, as you helped Eddie inside the car, sitting on the back with him. Cradling him as you talked to him, trying to keep him calm even if you were panicking deep inside.

Steve arrived at his house before you, opening the door wide open, Robin helping you bring Eddie in.

They were downstairs now, phoning Hopper, and El and finally Wayne.

Steve’s bedroom guest had a big window where sun creeped in, a soft breeze helping him cool off as cold sweat dripped from his forehead. You helped him lay on the soft mattress sitting next to him carefully.

You had enough supplies hidden under the bed, you knew you could stitch him up enough so he would stop hurting, you had enough experience patching people up.

“Can you take your shirt off?” You asked him with a slight raise of your eyebrows.

“You already want me naked?” He joked. He tended to do that when he got nervous. You tilted your head as you bent over so you could take the little box full of supplies out of underneath the bed. He chuckled once he saw the box in your hands. He started trying to take his jacket off, with a grunt in his face he shook his head. “I might need help.” He admitted, a grunt on the back of his throat.

“Thought so.” You muttered under your breath.

You scootched over to him, your trembling hands becoming steadier as they found the neck of his jacket, pulling it down slowly. At first, Eddie moved, tried to help. Once he felt your hands against his arms however, he stood still, his eyes not letting go of you, and the way your hands moved with such carefulness and tenderness.

The tips of your fingers were now in between his skin and his shirt, soaked in dirt and blood.

You looked at him before pulling it up, he nodded, his eyelids halved opened, a cautious smile in his lips. He sucked to his teeth as his skin separated from the stiff cloth, your fingers brushed his abdomen with care, avoiding to trace his skin as soon as you saw the grin of discomfort he had on his lips. His arms ached once they were up in the air, the shirt falling off of them slowly.

“It looks worse than I thought.” Eddie grunted as he finally looked down. You guided his torso against the cushions that were prepped up, his hand lingered to your arms, the tip of his fingers burrowing into your skin.

“I’ll clean it up, I’m sure it’s not that bad.” You tried to play it off, a kind smile curved your lips upwards, a little gesture he imitated.

“You must really like me” He started in a soft whisper. “You keep lying trying to make it all better.”

You laughed it off, a short chuckle coming out of him. You started soaking the cotton swab with alcohol, the odor of it filling the small gap between the both of you.

“You know I do.” He smiled in a soft manner, his teeth showing as he tilted his head. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

You smiled kindly before starting to clean his wounds. They were as if someone ripped and crumpled a paper sheet. They weren’t deep, just repetitive bite and claw marks over the same spot. The big one was on his lower abdomen, another one near his collarbone, a gash on his neck. His arms were full of scratches and deep cuts you had to keep clean.

He didn’t complain. He just let you do whatever you thought you had to, deep down he knew that if he let you take care of him, you’d feel better. And if he was being honest with himself, he enjoyed you dotting and caring for him, you knew it was because he won’t trust anyone else but you.

“You know you could just wait for Hopper to come right? He’ll probably make me go to a hospital or something.” He whispered in an attempt to get you to look back at him, his eyes not leaving yours.

“I know, I just…”

“I’m okay.” He started, reassuring you, trying to get you to stop overcleaning the same spot on his chest. “Hey.” You kept overdoing it, a blank look on your face. “Darling, please…” He begged now, the way his lips said the nickname snapping you out of it.

“I thought you were dead.” You crumbled down, nervous tears threatening to jump out, your lips quivering as you started to talk. “I thought you were gone, Moon…”

“I’m not.” He reached out, his hand finally holding yours. “You really think it’s going to be that easy? You’re not getting rid of me.”

“I buried you… Well there was nothing in there but… I just.”

“I know, I heard you and Wayne talking.” He confessed, his eyes changing, now they were full of melancholy, and a hint of guilt. “I’m sorry by the way…”

“What the fuck are you on?” The words fell right out of your lips, tilting your head as your tone went higher.

“I just… I heard you crying. Begging and all that. I’m sorry I almost died and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything I wanted to, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you before, I’m sorry I left I-” You interrupted him, as soon as you heard the big word. Your hand tightening around his.

“You do?”

“I do what?” He tried to brush it off, the confession had fallen out of his mouth without him thinking too much about it.

“Love me?” You were embarrassed by how hopeful you sound. His free hand travelled to your cheek, slowly stroking it as he looked deeply into your eyes, falling deeply into them.

You gave in, your head now resting in the palm of his hand, he slowly pulled you closer to him. Finally closing the distance between the both of you, slowly, then all at once. His lips met yours, a smile appearing on both of them. It was a careful kiss, a needy and soft kiss. It said more things than you both could ever tell eachother. His lips begged for yours to never leave him again, to let him stay by your side. Yours were yelling for him to be patient, and let you love him in a quiet and slow manner.

You pulled away slowly, your forehead touching his.

You both knew each other understood. Still, he whispered low enough for you to barely hear him, right before you were interrupted by the door opening. “Of course I do.”

“Happy you’re back kid.” Hopper’s voice interrupted the both of you, moving your heads so you could look at him. “I’m sorry but you’ll have to answer a couple of questions, then go to the hospital”

“Stay?” Eddie asked, a promise in his voice.

“Yes. For as long as you let me.”

He kissed the tip of your nose, before talking again.

“Forever then.”

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