#travishackett

[wamdarum]

Travis Hackett

[eepyfella]

#travishackett #thequarry #t-money #tedraimi

[lovesomehate]

ayo, fellow travis brainrot sufferer (and proud owner of the travishackett sideblog) dropping by to say that you're doing god's work with all the travis and laura gifs. keep on keepin' on. 👍

Ngl I read the keep on keepin’ on with Sam Porter Bridges’ voice in my head 😂

But hell yeah I will keep going! So much still to gif, so many scenes packed full of tension between them that I can rub on everyone’s faces 😂😂😂

And I’m super glad that our fandom is growing so fast tbh. I was afraid when I started that no one would care about them? But heyyyoo I’m so glad I was wrong 😂😂😂 we are all thirsting for Ted Raimi and wanting to see Travis smooching (😏) Laura 😂

[dracwife]

i got the travishacketts url :^^^^]]]]]]

[scherer-rr]

Happy birthday to the best sheriff💜💜💜

#travishackett #thequarry #quarry #artwork #digitalartist

[tumbleassbitch]

another lost soul (letting my instinct take control) | The Quarry | TravisxLaura

Characters: Laura Kearney, Travis Hackett, The Hackett family Summary: Max dies in the cellar. This changes everything. Chapter 2/? | Chapter 1

June 28th, 2022

“Can I get something to read? Some music?” Laura asks one morning.

He’s just placed her breakfast on the ground, plain oats and a pitifully small apple, and the question makes him look her in the eye for the first time in two days.

She’s had time to think.

The first day she was fully awake, it took the better part of an hour for her to accept that screaming wasn’t going to bring the cop back. That was two days ago, and he never lingers for a casual chat. In fact, he hasn’t even said a word.

That’s going to change today.

He purses his lips down at her. God, he’s so weird with his mouth. “I’m not running a resort here.”

Clearly. “I just… need a distraction. From my thoughts.”

He exhales softly through his nose. “I understand that it must have been hard to witness for you.”

“So you don’t think I killed him,” she says.

She nails it, and by the way his eyes shut for a moment, he knows what he just exposed. His mouth is a thin line. This is dangerous territory, but she can’t afford to wait any longer.

“You know what killed him, don’t you? I didn’t imagine it,” she says flatly. She hates the way her eyes burn in front of him. “Please,” she adds.

The sheriff looks off to the side, working his jaw until finally, “This is bear country, ma’am. When I got there, it was too late for your friend.”

Black and red mottled skin, the glint of eyes-

The thing is, Laura’s always been too sharp. Too many teeth and edges, fast hands and eyes that never stayed in one place for too long. It’s how she was raised. It’s how she’s survived for this long.

“Bullshit,” she says fiercely, stepping closer to the bars. 

“Oh, what? You think you know something because you’re in some fancy school?” he says with a sneer, looking down on her like she’s just a snot-nosed kid that happily waltzed into his life for the sole purpose of irritating him. 

“So you’ve looked into me,” she says with a grin that borders on feral. “You don't have to be an animal doctor to know that a bear can’t just- do something like that. So what was it?”

“Young lady, you ain’t got a clue about what can and can’t happen.”

“Try me. This doesn’t have to be this hard,” she tries a different route. Desperation laces her tone. “It was big, and thin. I didn’t see any fur, so you can’t tell me that it was some sort of fucking bear.”

He snorts and steps away, calling over his shoulder as he goes, “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

“Hey!” Laura grits her teeth.

No response, and the door shuts closed.

It’s later, as she’s debating filing down the rusted spoon in her cell into a shiv, that the sound of 80’s rock trails down the hallway.

...

While the town of North Kill lay sleeping, the hag in the woods started weeping…

The carved words mock her from their spot in the plaster. Whoever put them there wanted to make sure they’d stick. 

It’s the hundredth time she’s read them, could probably recite it in her sleep, and yet she still studies each crudely drawn letter as if the answer to her predicament lies in their grit. 

“As the bodies decay, the wolves hunt their prey,” she mutters aloud, and the telltale creak of a metal door announces the arrival of dinner.

She glances up. Spaghetti again.

“And the sheriff continues his creeping,” she finishes pointedly. The cop considers her there, and to her surprise, he takes a seat across from her in the old wooden chair. The soft drone of a commercial comes from the little radio at the end of the hall.

“You have a shit taste in poetry,” he says, apropos of nothing.

“If you didn’t want me to read it, you shouldn’t have put me in this cell,” she replies through a mouthful of pasta.

The edges of his lip curl. He changes the topic. “So you think you know what’s going on here?”

“I think I know enough.” She shrugs. “And I think that’s why you’re keeping me here.”

“Alright, take your shot. What’s your best guess?” 

She wasn’t expecting that. To be frank, she has no fucking clue what’s going on. “Some sort of… government experiment? Like, a mutant animal that escaped,” she trails off.

“Government experiment?” he repeats, and surprise, the barest hint of a wry grin tugs at his lips.

Ugh, the bastard has the audacity to mock her. She scowls. “Yeah, sure. That’s my guess.”

He tilts his head to the side, mulling her words over. “It’s a good guess, I’ll give you that.” The gel holding his hair in place isn’t doing its job right; a few stray hairs pass over his receding hairline. He looks exhausted.

She hasn’t really had the chance to stop and observe him. It’s not the kind of tired after a long day’s work; it’s a bone-deep weariness that’s the result of years of hard life. Being a cop isn’t easy, she’s sure, but this looks different. This is a small town that shouldn’t see anything more than a rowdy drunk and maybe a petty theft or two.

She’s seen her fair share of cops to compare.

“You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into,” he says. “Stop while you’re ahead.”

His words bring her out of her observation, and she blinks, putting her fork down. “What, so you’re saying that if I just… stay quiet, you’ll let me go?”

“No,” he says bluntly. “You’re in just as much trouble as I am.”

Well, thank you, whatever the fuck that means. Laura narrows her eyes in consideration. “Trouble with who?”

His radio crackles on his chest, and he abruptly stands up. “Playtime’s over.“

“If not government experiments, what then?” she calls after his retreating back. “Some sort of chemical spill?”

He leaves just before the ad break finally ends on the radio. She doesn’t really listen to Ozzy Osbourne, but the heavy metal and low, drawled voice is just as recognizable as Elvis.

‘Howling in shadows, living in a lunar spell…’

On the other side of the building, a faint laugh devoid of humor rings.

...

June 30th, 2022

The longer I wait, the less likely I’m getting out of here.

It’s a thought that bleeds panic through her veins. Her mom’s voice continues to nag in the background to, ‘Stay calm, stay low, you gotta be smart about this-’ But she’s seen the documentaries about people who get kidnapped, and she’s fraying at the edges.

Laura knows it’s only been five days, but each minute drags on with no end in sight. The thought of losing track of time terrifies her, so she keeps a tally in the North Kill Junior Officer notepad left behind with her lunch a few days ago. A cartoon bear waves at her from the cover. She scribbles in its eyes.

There has to be a way out . 

She sits up at the sound of the door opening, tucking away her sketch of Detective Dick Whippet getting mauled by a cougar.

He doesn’t have to speak for her to know the drill. She puts her hands through the bars and he nods appreciatively, cuffing her with a solid click.

It’s shower time.

Despite the awkwardness of stripping naked just a wall away, the change in scenery is worth it.  She chances a peek in the one-second window afforded between the door and the dividing fence, and, yup. The rest of the precinct is still eerily empty, chairs stacked on tables and a thick, pervasive silence that covers them like a blanket.

The first and last time Laura was in a police department, she could only remember the faint edges of the front lobby. This one feels more worn down, regardless. There’s a sense of neglect that goes far beyond the outdated desks and dusty office chairs.

If he’s the only one here… maybe she could overpower him?

Between the soothing pressure against her scalp and her train of thought, it takes her a second to catch on when she notices the blood on her fingers.

“Shit,” she mutters. 

Her cycle had been bound to start any day, now. It just happens to be today.

“Everything good?” he asks, alert.

Oh, hell no. Not now. This is the last conversation she wants to have with a man, let alone the one keeping her hostage. But what’s the alternative? Walking back to her cell and hoping she doesn’t bleed through, then stuffing toilet paper down her pants for the next five days? Screw that.

Laura swallows her embarrassment. It’s literally not her fault. 

“So, uh, everything’s okay…”

“...But?”

“But my period just started.”

“...Ah,” is his lame response.

God, men are so predictable . “Do you have any pads? Tampons? A diva cup?”

“A what?”

“I need supplies ,” she stresses over the sound of the rushing water. “Do. You. Have. Any.”

Now it’s his turn to mutter, “Shit.”

“You know,” she says, leaning up against the gross wall tiles, soap in hand. “You really should’ve thought about this before you decided to keep a woman jailed illegally.”

No answer.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking,” is his reply. If she didn’t know better, she’d say the creepy cop sounded flustered.

I’m going to have to use toilet paper, she thinks with an edge of fatalism. “Do you… still have my bag? I have things there.”

“Yes, I still- It’s not that we don’t have supplies. We have supplies here,” he stumbles over his words defensively. Apparently, this is a sore subject.

“‘Kay, so, could you get them?”

He seems to mull it over in silence, till finally, “Goddamn it.” The water shuts off and a hand juts out with a towel. “Put this on and give me your hands.”

Laura obliges, sticking her hands out just beyond the wall so her body is still hidden. The handcuffs rub uncomfortably against her wet wrists.

“Stay. Put.”

… Huh?

“Yes, sir,” she says, not quite believing what she’s hearing. But his footsteps trail away, and the door of the showers…

Shuts closed.

She chances a look around the corner and her eyes confirm it. He said stay and expects her to obey him like a dog. Did he honestly think she was this complacent? 

Maybe you should be, the thought crosses her mind, but adrenaline drowns it out. If she doesn’t get out soon, then… what next? Who’s to say that he won’t put a bullet in her brain tomorrow? 

Her feet make up their mind before the rest of her catches up and she pushes on the door, praying to whoever hears her that it stays silent. No sign of him.

Oh my god. Blood shoots through her veins and she’s off, running as fast and quietly as she can into the large dim room. The red light of a fire exit shines like a beacon and she could almost weep, racing to the door. Except, when she tries to push it open, it’s locked.

She presses again in her panic, and it still doesn’t budge, the dull clack of metal a mocking sound. 

Who the fuck locks a fire exit?

A door slams shut somewhere in the precinct and she swings her head up in time to catch Travis coming out of a storage closet on the other side of the room. An odd clash of emotions erupt on his face: fury, shock, shame, before finally settling on cold determination.

There’s a breath of stillness, then both move.

Potential escape routes are categorized in a flurry: stairs leading up to the second floor, and a shorter staircase that leads to a formal set of doors that she can only hope is the main entrance. That’s the one. 

“Laura!”

Eyes on the prize! she thinks hysterically. Go, go, go-

She refuses to look back, tugging down chairs with her shackled wrists as she races forward. The muttered curses that follow are like music to her ears, but he’s still too close. 

He might have a good thirty years of wear on her, but he’s surprisingly fit for his age. His hand catches the edge of her towel and she grunts, jerking free to let it fall, dignity be damned. 

“Hey!”

So close! Adrenaline pumps away any hesitation and Laura pushes on, wet feet slapping against the tile. Her feet barely graze the stone steps up to the door, please, god, and the lock turns with sweet serenity. She opens it a sliver and slips in, naked body grazing the doorway, and swiftly locks it behind her.

It’s not outside. Hell, it’s not even a normal fucking office with windows. But there’s a chair she can place under the lock, so she throws it under and knocks over a filing cabinet while at it, the crash muffled by stacks of folders and loose paper.

The officer’s body rocks into the doors. “ Open this goddamn door right now!"

She runs for the phone on the desk and overshoots, body knocking into the desk with an impact she barely feels.

“Ms. Brandt!” More banging on the door.

It's awkward work with handcuffs, but she manages to lodge the phone between her shoulder and chin and begins dialing Max’s parent’s landline. Something's wrong, though. There’s no tone.

Instead, there’s a voice: hers, screaming .

“MAX!” rings out over the receiver. Distorted sounds of ripping flesh and gnawing, demonic growls that crawled out of her worst nightmare play out in a warbled-

She drops the phone and slaps her hands over her mouth in shock, backing away from the desk as if it burst into flames, but nothing else happens. It’s just a plain, run-of-the-mill black phone.

Is she in hell? Did she die in the cellar, too, and this was her punishment?

Her eyes dart wildly across the room, breath coming out in pants, now. Hysteria is creeping in but she has to focus right now, has to get it together while she still has this chance. A corkboard catches her eye, and despite it being the most useless thing for a prison break, something inexplicably draws her near. The headlines leap off the wall in disjointed notes.

FOUR MONTHS ON: MISSING HIKERS

FREAK SHOW UP IN FLAMES

A calendar with the same ridiculous cartoon bear cop has a date circled in thick red ink. She traces over the letters, FULL MOON! over June 25th. The night they arrived. Tucked beneath the calendar are the edges of a faded green flier, and she raises it up with shaking fingers. Harum Scarum. She’s seen this sign before, right?

Missing pets. Missing persons. A freak show burned down. A full moon. Not only had she seen it, she literally walked right to it.

A warped cage with scorched metal and a broken sign rises up in her memory, and like a petal in water, she picks it out: Silas the wolf boy .

“Werewolves,” she breathes aloud. Of course.

And that’s when Sheriff Hackett breaks through.

[tumbleassbitch]

another lost soul (letting my instinct take control) | The Quarry | TravisxLaura

Characters: Laura Kearney, Travis Hackett, The Hackett family Summary: Max dies in the cellar. This changes everything.

Chapter 8/? | Chapter 7

The drive there is silent.

The gold of the dying sun softens the dark wood, though creeping shadows act as a harbinger of the night to come. Save for the white noise of the road, all is swallowed up by the stark knowledge that one way or another, this is ending tonight.

Travis hasn’t said a word since they left, and Laura hasn’t necessarily felt up for conversation, either. When they reach the sight of the crash, Travis pulls off the road so the cruiser is partially hidden by the dense understory, and he’s outside and opening her door before she finishes unbuckling.

Gone is the man who folds her towels and listens patiently as his niece tries to explain color theory. Here, he’s the Sheriff of North Kill, and he scrutinizes her with an air of absolute authority. 

“I can’t guarantee your safety out here," he says brusquely. "If you want to stay behind, no hard feelings.”

She scowls. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“You ever shoot before?”

She nods, and he holds the shotgun out to her. “As a last resort,” he explains after a pause.

The level of trust he's placing in her is profound, and she couldn’t misinterpret this gesture if she tried. He spent last week locking her up, and tonight he’s handing her a gun.

You can end this now.

Except, try as she may, her hands refuse to take it.

"You have to use your hands to shoot it, girl,” he says impatiently. God, he's such an ass. 

“I can’t.”

His brows shoot up to his hairline. “Excuse me?”

She musters up a glare, steeling herself against the cold sweat that’s building at the mere thought of holding a shotgun again. “I can’t.”

“You’re gonna have to,” he says bluntly. “Silas may not be a werewolf tonight, but he’s sure as hell managed to live off the grid, undetected, for six years. You really want to go fucking around with someone like that?”

“Give me your Glock.” 

Travis considers her with a dark stare, sucking on his teeth. For a moment, she thinks he’s going to shut the door in her face and lock it, but then he breaks the stare.

He meticulously unclips his holster, and hands his gun over. 

The handle is still warm. The familiar weight of a gun settles in her palm like an old friend. She feels the weight of his stare, but checking the magazine for live rounds is second nature.

It’s full.

He eyes her warily. “You realize I have to account for each bullet out of my issued firearm?”

She graces him with a twisted smile. “Let’s hope I don’t miss, then.”

.

.

Even at dusk, the forest has a cloyingly thick atmosphere. 

The fading daylight makes it easier to navigate the rocky ground, and Laura has so far managed to avoid landing on her skull like last time. But each crackling leaf and scratch of dirt against the soles of their shoes, their breathing, all of it is too damn loud . 

Travis is in his element. Despite his stature, he manages to creep along with an uncanny grace that makes her sound like a raging bull in comparison. She can practically feel his pointed glare with each snap of a twig.

His shadow looms in front of them, leading the way as much as her own cautious steps forward. Laura would rather be buried alive than ever admit it, but she’s glad he’s covering her back. 

It’s far better than being alone. There’s this uncanny feeling of being watched the deeper they go in, and it’s compounded the deeper they go. The alien sensation buried in the back of her conscience comes alive once more.

If you keep going this way, you’re going to end up exactly like dad.

She falters in her stride. Now is not the time to be thinking about her father. And yet, as the last of the daylight bleeds into shadows, her mind won’t stop.

You’ve already got blood on your hands.

This path leads only to death.

You always knew you'd turn out this way, helping someone murder another innocent.

The closer they get, the louder her conscience screams. Sweat is dripping down her back, and her palms get so clammy that she has to keep wiping them down or risk her grip. 

Fuck. It’s like her skull is trying to bust in half.

The power is in your hands! End this for once!

"Are you good?" Travis’ voice startles her. Through her bleary eyes, she manages to make out his look of impatient concern.

She scowls back. A sarcastic quip is on the tip of her tongue, but the way his attention drops to her hands makes her pause. 

Belatedly, she realizes she’s trembling.

He eyes her shrewdly, but she just tightens her grip on the gun. There's no way she’s going to puss out with Silas so close. 

Murderer, murderer, MURDERER—

Travis swivels to the side. “Did you hear that?” 

I can't hear anything over my own voices, she thinks, casually hysterical.

“Hear what?”

He assesses the area a moment longer. “Could’ve been an animal,” he says hesitantly. “Keep your head up.”

Her heart jumps a beat, and Laura quickly scans the trees. "Travis. Look."

He follows her gaze with the bladed-focus of a predator, honing in on the worn edges of a Harum Scarum poster posted to a tree. Eliza Vorez’s hooded eyes shine back in the light of his shotgun.

They're close. He takes the lead with new fervor, and the moment they enter the clearing, all goes silent.

Silas' cage towers over the remains of Harum Scarum. Beneath the crown of branches and cloak of thorny vines, there's an almost distinguished air to the warped metal. 

They’re in the wolf’s den, and this is his throne.

Travis moves first, bathing the area with the light from his shotgun. No one seems to be home.

“Don’t touch anything if you can help it,” he says after a moment. The whites of his teeth glean. “If he’s not here, we don’t want to leave our scent.”

He closes in on the cage, and Laura studies the trees overhead, half expecting Silas to jump out of the branches. Nothing.

The forest floor is littered with detritus that she hadn’t noticed the first time. Broken glass from shattered lightbulbs, a red and white striped popcorn bucket. The suitcase holding a straight jacket sits right where she last saw it.

It’s still open, too, which makes the pit in her stomach drop even further. If Silas did come back after the last full moon, she doubts he’d leave it like that. Which means…

A twig snaps at the edge of the clearing. 

She flinches, gun at the ready. When a crazed albino man doesn’t lunge out from the bushes, Laura slowly creeps over. Beyond the brush is a steep decline, almost a drop-off, and the bottom is shrouded in darkness.

Still, straining past the inky blackness, Laura can barely make out some movement. 

“Travis,” she hisses. 

She pings him further back, digging through the bushes near the cage. Typical. Of course, the moment she wishes he was breathing down her neck, he’s doing the exact opposite. But the last thing they need is for her to look away and miss the shot at whatever’s down there. A curse bubbles up in her throat and she swallows it, leaning forward to get a better look.

Something plants firmly in the middle of her back and shoves.

Laura chokes out a gasp, spinning back to grab at something, anything. There’s no one there, and she pitches backwards, falling, 

falling,

falling—

Her body hits the ground with a sickly crack. All of the air in her lungs is immediately evacuated, and for a brief, horrible moment, she’s convinced that this is it. 

“F…uck,” she manages to croak. 

Everything’s spinning. A haphazard self-assessment suggests that nothing’s broken, though— she lifts an arm, hissing at the way her skin unpokes itself— she landed in a fucking sticker bush. It probably saved her life.

“Silas.”

She inhales sharply, looking skywards. A familiar gaunt, pale face peers down at her from the ledge. It grins.

“Laura!”

Travis’ alarmed voice shouts from above, and light blinds her. Dimly, she realizes that probably means a shotgun barrel is pointed at her, too. A hysterical laugh bubbles out of her throat.

“Goddammit,” he growls. “Hold on, I’m coming down!”

“Someone’s… up there,” she wheezes out, and Travis jolts back, taking the light with him.

She’s not sure how much time passes, but it isn’t too long before she hears his heavy footsteps come to a stop. Calloused fingers lightly skim across her face, brushing the hair out of her eyes. 

“Did’ja find ‘em?” she says with minimal slur.

He answers by mercilessly passing the light between her eyes till she groans, turning away. 

Travis clicks his tongue. “You have a concussion.”

“No shit,” she mumbles, blinking away the blotches of light that burned into her vision. Ugh.

“It’s bad, but not that bad. I’m more worried about the rest of you. Tell me if this hurts,” he says, and she’s still processing his words when he presses on her stomach. 

Laura flinches, gritting out, “The fuck?”

“Hurts?”

“Yeah it fuckin’ hurts… s' a sticker bush.”

Travis mutters a curse, withdrawing immediately. The warmth of his touch lingers on her skin like wildfire. He turns the light away, and they're shrouded in darkness.

Panic swells on the other side of her mind, the side that isn’t detached, that’s still up on that ledge. Laura tries to focus, searching for that pale face, but it’s like the whole world is too slippery to catch.

“Take a few deep breaths for me,” he says, voice pitched low and soft as if she might spook. “Can you move your fingers and toes?”

Absolutely she can, and she wiggles them fervently. He snakes an arm under her waist and shoulder, and she gasps in reflex.

He freezes. “Does that hurt?”

“No.”

Travis sighs heavily, and his fingers flex into her back. “We need to get you up,” he explains slowly. “Can you put your arm around my neck?”

She unsticks herself with gritted teeth, and he ducks into her reach and lifts without warning. Her stomach tilts with the sudden movement. Thorns pull at her clothes, and there must be dozens still buried in her skin. Despite her best efforts to keep it in, a whimper escapes her lips. 

Travis doesn’t set her down; instead, he shifts his grip with a small grunt, and walks. It’s like living in someone else’s body for a brief moment. Mortification doesn’t last for long.

The last time we were this close, I was naked. 

Over her head, Travis clears his throat.

She mulls over the quiet observation with distant interest, feeling the edge of that strange fear begin to swell up again. The smell of sweat and laundry detergent is grounding, and she gingerly buries her face into his chest.

“You can’t fall asleep,” he mutters. 

“I’m not,” she mumbles. A breath later, she adds, “We’re in the woods.” If only she could sleep right now. 

He says something affirmatively, and the timber of his voice rolls through her rib cage. Damn , he makes her feel small. 

It shouldn’t feel like a sigh of relief, or the aftermath of a long, drawn-out battle. It shouldn’t sound like the clear, honest confession of, finally. And yet, it does.

Finally, she doesn’t have to be leading the charge. Someone else can take care of it, for once. Take care of her. 

The thin wire keeping her lucid snaps.

“Hey.” His voice takes on a stern bite, but it doesn’t really matter—

.

.

—and Laura honestly must black out because next thing she knows, her head is painfully clear, and everything fucking hurts .

That, and she’s still in Travis’ arms.

She stretches her toes to the ground and he sets her down wordlessly. The world threatens to go sideways, muscles cramping with the effort to stand straight, and she just about keels over until Travis steadies her with a firm grip. 

Another human touch feels good. It feels too good, and she almost regrets waking up, which is why she absolutely cannot . Nope. That is one line she refuses to cross, shattered body be damned. 

Laura steps away, and Travis eyes the stiff movement.

The forest around them feels dead; no insects chirping or critters scurrying under the brush. Something deeper than werewolves is happening here. Something far more sinister .

“Let’s talk in the car,” Travis says with finality. The white curve of the cruiser peers out from behind the trees. Damn, she thinks, both impressed and mildly disturbed by his apparent endurance. He carried her this whole way?

“But Silas—”

“—isn’t here,” he says without a hint of mourning. He’s dealing with it nicely, but maybe that’s the result of years of failure. 

She isn’t sure what to think right now, except for, “Fuck.” He immediately looks around in alarm. “Your gun.”

The apprehension drains from his face. “I’ve got it.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but he’s stepping into her space again, guiding her over to the cruiser with a grip that, though gentle, borders no room for argument. It’s a testament to how shitty she feels that Laura doesn’t even put up a fight.

“I can come back tomorrow and set up the game cams.” Travis leans over her, buckling her swiftly. “But for now, we need to get you back and cleaned up.” 

She slouches back into the headrest. Nausea builds up once more, and she squeezes her eyes shut as the car begins to move.

Travis grips the steering wheel with white knuckles, jaw set. He’s angry. She can’t argue with that.

She feels as if someone beat her with a baseball bat. Her back is the worst part of it. Sitting still allows for each little thorn to painfully make its presence known, but underneath her skin is one solid ache that wraps around to collect in her sternum. 

Apparently, it takes a bit for the pain to settle in when you fall a good twelve feet.

She’s picturing herself back at her dorm, warm duvet cocooning her battered bones, when they arrive.

The engine dies, and Travis eyes her down shamelessly. Under his piercing eyes, there’s little to hide. 

“You should’ve been more careful,” he says abruptly.

She must’ve bumped her head harder than she thought, because there’s no way she’s getting a personal safety lecture right now. Laura scowls. 

“You act as if I went cliff jumping for fun.”

“Well, it sure damn looked like it.”

“I was pushed,” she says defensively.

Travis frowns, and though it’s too dark to make out his exact expression, something in his face shutters closed. “I wasn’t anywhere near you.”

“I know. And I don’t think it was… alive.”

She’d recognize the face of Eliza Vorez anywhere.

The realization should make her feel frightened, and later, it probably will. But right now, it just feels like a huge weight is lifted from her chest. She’s not going crazy.

So I guess that means I’m being haunted, she ponders . It’s fine. She can work with that.

Travis’ mouth is a thin line of steel, and wordlessly, he surveys the empty parking lot. His seatbelt clicks open, and deft fingers release the clip on her own.

“Inside,” he mutters darkly, slipping outside. 

She’s not sure it matters, considering Eliza’s been whispering in her head for days now within the cell. But she gets out all the same, shrugging away from his offered hand and reaching the double doors at a snail’s pace. 

He hovers behind her. The second time his hands barely graze her shoulders, she snaps. “Could you back off? You’re making me feel like I’m about to keel over.”

Travis raises his hands in mock surrender, but it’s a flimsy victory at best. His breath is still hot on her neck, thick and overbearing as ever.

It's infuriating to admit that maybe she does need help; the longer she's awake and moving, the more her body wants to clam up. By the time they reach the cells, she has to lean most of her body weight on him to keep upright.

He lets her slump bonelessly onto the cot, and she promptly buries her face in the creased linen of the pillow. Sleep is practically knocking on the door.

Unfortunately, Travis is already reappearing with an armful of supplies, tossing a pair of cotton shorts and a thin t-shirt next to her head and handing her a few pills that she happily swallows.

Laura takes a second look from her blanket nest. “You’ve had these the whole time?”

He glances up briefly from unpacking the supplies. "It's not like you were packed for the comfort of a jail cell.”

“Um— I have plenty of things that I could’ve been wearing.”

Travis scoffs. “Oh really? I don’t remember being asked by other prisoners for crop tops and booty shorts.”

Ew. She scrunches her nose. “Please don’t say ‘booty’ ever again.”

“Besides,” he continues with a dignified eye roll, “the last thing I needed was hearing you complain that I ruined your favorite shirt in the washer. Especially with those lacey—” 

He clamps his jaw shut, but it’s too late.

“Lacey what?” she asks with a raised brow.

He falters, and the lid to the antiseptic drops on the ground with a soft clink . Travis snatches it back up with a pinched face. 

“Could you just get changed so we can get this over with?”

He turns his back, and she makes the grudgingly slow process of rolling over and peeling her pants off, unsticking a thorn every so often before prying them off further.

The damage is revealed in layers, and every so often she has to stop and breathe through the black spots that start blotting out her vision.

Travis clears his throat. “Are you done?”

Her legs are covered in bloody welts, though the worst of the damage is where she can't see. Her back is probably in the same shape, and she reaches the awful conclusion at the same time Travis chances a look over his shoulder.

He immediately turns back. “Sorry. I thought you passed out.”

“I need help,” she blurts. The words almost trigger her gag reflex on the way out.

Travis hesitantly glances over his shoulder as if to confirm she actually spoke, and he fixates on the stiff set of her shoulders. To his credit, Travis doesn’t leer. He looks at the pair of shorts still sitting off to the side.

“Okay,” he says, simple as that.

He sets the pair of tweezers down and picks up where she left off, carefully picking out thorns before continuing to slowly free her legs. It’s perfectly detached and precise. Once her pants are off, he casts them to the side.

It’s easier when he’s looking down, Laura decides, tracking the way his throat bobs as he swallows. Because right now, sitting in her prison-issued panties, this is fucking awkward.

Might as well rip the bandaid off.  

“I, uh. Can’t really lift my shoulders.”

Whatever was keeping him cool and collected before momentarily shatters, and it’s almost comforting to see actual fear peer through the cracks.

Good, she thinks vehemently. He’s pristine and thorn-free while she’s a human pincushion. The least he can do is be embarrassed with her.

Travis releases a breath. Mouth thin and taut, he grabs the hem of her shirt.

This close, the pale flush of moonlight softens the lines in his face. Sure, he’s showing his age like any middle-aged man, but it suits a guy like Travis. There’s a patch of stubble on his jaw left over from the last time he shaved.

Coal eyes meet her own, then. She breaks the stare as if scalded.

Gently, he works the fabric up her back, easing it up her stiff body. Despite his clinical precision, his nails lightly graze the skin of her waist, and she inhales through clenched teeth.

Travis pauses in his efforts. “Still good?”

Once again, she’s struck with the absolute insanity that is her life. 

“Good enough,” is her clipped answer.

Travis actually huffs a laugh at that, amusement replacing the near-constant glower, and Laura can’t help but return a lopsided grin. His eyes seem to stray on the fervent blush that stains her cheeks. 

Despite the layers of grime and blood, and the very likely possibility of a few cracked ribs, Laura can't help but think. It’s utterly ridiculous, and definitely the concussion talking, but…

Underneath the pressed collar and crooked mouth, he’s still a man.

“Could you bend forward?” Despite his lowered tone, the sound shatters the silence between them like a bomb.

She obliges, curving her spine in like a swan’s neck, and he tugs the shirt over her head without a hitch.

Definitely the concussion, she thinks with a blink. It’s like she’s seeing him clearly for the first time, and she’s absolutely not going down that train of thought. 

She just barely catches the way he looks her over before turning away, the shells of his ears tinged red.

“Lie down on your stomach and I’ll get you bandaged up,” he says. 

She doesn’t have to be told twice. The antiseptic sloshes in the bottle somewhere above her shoulder, and then, shit, that burns. Travis starts dabbing at her back, each scrape screaming just a bit louder beneath the touch.

“I… feel like Silas should’ve been caught by now,” she grits out.

“Yeah, well, let’s not get too cocky, young lady,” he says gruffly, and the tweezers dig into her skin. “You haven’t even gone out on a full moon to try and hunt the bastard.”

“But you have.” 

“Exactly—”

“And that’s my point. I mean, it’s not like he has any shortage of enemies. He’s had her help this whole time.”

Another thorn is pulled.

"When Max and I showed up to camp, I could've sworn that I saw someone in the cellar. But when we got down there, it was dead silent…"

Travis stills.

"It was only when we were cornered that… that Silas appeared. I think Eliza lured us down there."

He’s quiet for so long that she cranes her neck over to make sure he didn’t have a stroke or something. A distant, thoughtful look is on his face.

“Are you even listening?”

“...What?"

"She was some kind of witch, right?” she presses. “Maybe she's been trying to keep her baby boy safe and fed, put us in a kill zone that would make an escape almost impossible.”

“Have you heard of the Hag of Hackett’s Quarry?” Travis asks.

“... A hag?”

“It’s what the locals call Eliza Vorez’s ghost.” His fingers glide over her shoulder, pausing to dig another thorn out. This one’s deep, and she clenches her fists to keep from flinching away. When he’s done, his thumb smooths over the bandage.

“I think that’s what you must’ve seen in the woods,” he says.

“It makes sense,” Laura says breathily, looking over to see he’s already gauging her reaction. “What?”

“Well…” he trails off. “You don’t seem to be too concerned.”

That’s not quite accurate, and she mulls over her answer. Fuck it. All the cards are on the table.

“I thought I was losing it,” she confesses. “I’d been… hearing things. I heard her the night we came.”

“Like what?”

“She said ‘Silas,’ I think. Among other things.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not particularly, no.”

A sigh escapes his lips like steam into the night. He pivots on his knees, turning his attention to the cuts on her legs.

She most definitely has thorns halfway up her ass, but that’s definitely not in the itinerary for tonight. Laura buries her face into her pillow. “What now?”

Travis hums. “Now, we wait.”

“Fuck no,” she answers vehemently. “We just hit a breakthrough tonight!”

“An investment, Laura,” he says with emphasis. “And it’s still the summer, meaning he likely hasn’t gone too far. He’ll be back before the season’s end, in all likelihood, and I’ll be able to track when he comes with the cams.”

“But that isn’t good enough,” she says, propping herself up on her forearms. It’s instantly a bad move, and her back twinges loudly enough that she flops back down. 

Travis meets her challenge with an unimpressed air. “Really? And what do you plan on doing when you’re like this?”

“If he isn’t here, then he has to be elsewhere,” she says thoughtfully.

“No,” he says.

“You haven’t even heard what I have to say.”

“You don’t need to voice it, because I can already smell the bullshit that’s about to come out of your mouth. I can’t leave town.”

“Aren’t you the sheriff?” she asks wryly. “Don’t you get to make the rules?”

He clicks his tongue in frustration, pasting another bandage on her thigh. “It’s not that easy.”

“And what if it is? What if it’s a matter of driving away for a day or two, checking in on that last town cemetery to see what they were looking for?” 

She rolls over, fixing him with a fierce look. Travis cants his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in obvious discontent. But the gears are still turning.

“You’ll slow us down like this.” She opens her mouth to protest and he raises a tired hand. “So, let’s wait a few days, confirm that he really has left the area and give you a chance to fuckin’ heal. Then…”

“Then?” she repeats.

“Then we’ll see if he has other nests. That’s it for tonight.”

He gets up to his feet with a grunt, then hands over a black cloth pad she hadn’t noticed before.

“For your back,” he says. “I use it when mine,” he waves his hand vaguely, “acts up. It’s fully charged.”

He isn’t looking at her.

“Thanks,” she says, sliding it under. The warmth is like a balm against her agitated muscles, and she melts into it, eyes slipping shut. 

Without a word, he tosses a blanket over her body and pauses, clearly mulling over his next words. “Do you want a clean bed?”

“Travis, I’d sleep on this floor if I didn’t think I’d get tetanus,” she says tiredly, leaving no room for argument. “I’m going to bed now.”

He nods, but instead of leaving her to pass out in peace, he gives the cell another once over. 

She pops an eye open. “Can I… help you with anything?”

His hand flexes at his side. “Let me know if the pain gets worse and I’ll bring you something stronger. I’ll be just down the hall.” With that, he sweeps out of the cell.

Laura dreams of red eyes.

[tumbleassbitch]

another lost soul (letting my instinct take control) | The Quarry | TravisxLaura

Characters: Laura Kearney, Travis Hackett, The Hackett family Summary: Max dies in the cellar. This changes everything. Chapter 5/? | Chapter 4

It’s been the ass crack of a century since Laura’s had a cup of coffee, and while this one is a little watered down, she sips it like a fine wine.

The old conference room is exactly that: dated furniture and appliances, with a fine coating of dust on every surface that isn’t immediately within reach. The people that used to fill this room are long gone, and all that’s left to stand testament to their memory is the empty space left behind.

A little tray of packet sugars and creams is set in the middle of the table, and Laura grins.

“Thanks, Kaylee,” she says warmly, taking another sip.

The other girl returns the smile easily, placing down a matching mug in front of her uncle before taking a seat.

“For sure!” she says cheerfully. “It isn’t everyday that I get to meet someone new around here. Gotta bribe you somehow.” 

Travis’s coffee goes untouched, and she reckons his jaw is so clenched that he couldn’t open it if he tried. Dark eyes flit around the room before landing on her own.

Kaylee is an absolute sweetheart, Laura decides then and there, and there’s absolutely no family resemblance between the two of them.

When he let her out of the cell, he’d been adamant that Kaylee should go on home to help clean-up dinner at the camp, and they’ll catch up more tomorrow. But she happily kiboshed that proposition, and it was satisfying to watch a man like Travis be so utterly steamrolled.

“C’mon!” she had said, either oblivious or uncaring to her uncle’s inner turmoil. “You never tell me anything about work anymore.”

Now, sitting across from two generations of Hacketts, Laura has to admit that there are a few uncanny similarities in their features. The dark hair and round eyes, both defined with wide, expressive mouths. Whereas Travis bore an almost constant glower, however, Kaylee hasn’t stopped smiling since she got out.

“So,” Kaylee says with a simper, “I didn’t even know you were doing internships!”

Laura watches Travis open his mouth in slow motion, which probably isn’t a good idea.

“Well, unpaid internships, really,” she jumps in with a furtive glance his way. “It’s through the state ecological services, and they’ve stationed me here because there was no room at the other office.”

“Oh,” Kaylee says. “Ecological services?”

“Totally,” Laura says straight from her ass. “I’m studying local wildlife as part of my degree.”

An uneasy expression flits through Kaylee’s fairy-like features, but it quickly smooths into a politely interested look. “Is this related to the bear attacks that have been happenin’ lately?”

“Yes,” Travis says firmly. “Which is why Jess is helping fill in the gaps for the department. Ecology’s been wanting to send some folks out here for a while to get a look at the health of the local population, see if there’s any diseases or things that might make ‘em more vicious. She gets some hands-on experience working with law enforcement, and we get some help with ensuring the community stays safe.”

Kaylee nods slowly, studying her coffee mug intently. “Good to know. I’m glad you’re in town, Jess. Hopefully, we’ll be able to prevent more attacks from happening.”

Travis keeps one hand under the table, steadfastly meeting her eyes, and Laura’s not dumb. He’s waiting for her to give him a reason to blow her brains out.

“Yeah,” Laura nods earnestly.

Ecological services made the most sense because it’s close enough to what she’s studying, and if there’s werewolf attacks, of course people will think it’s the fault of big game. But she didn’t anticipate the potential reaction. If Kaylee freaks and tells her family that the state is looking into it, well, then what?

Exactly, then what? If this was bound to happen at some point anyways, then it might as well be now.

“So, you been to North Kill before?” Kaylee asks with a drawl.

“Oh, um, no. I’m from Canton, but it’s summer break and I just thought it would be a great opportunity to get some more experience. I want to be a vet, you know? And graduate schools are pretty hard to get into for my field.”

Laura continues weaving a story about her academic woes, veterinary hospital work; things that are based in enough truth that it’s painfully easy to drone on. All the while, Kaylee nods enthusiastically, commenting and asking questions where appropriate.

The interest is surprising and a bit disconcerting, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t flattering. Laura’s just her weird uncle’s “intern,” and she’s done nothing but talk about herself for the better part of the hour. And yet, Kaylee looks as if she’s hanging off of her every word. Maybe she is. Maybe it’s been a while since she’s had the chance to speak with someone who isn’t from town?

“How… about you?” Laura finally asks. “Did you grow up here?”

“What gave it away?” Kaylee asks good-naturedly. “I’m from North Carolina. That’s where Gammy’s family is from- the Grundy’s. Dad moved there for college and got married soon after. Ma got her M-R-S degree, you know?”

“Oh, that’s sweet!” Laura says earnestly. 

“Yeah. They met at the family reunion.”

“Um,” Laura stutters, and Kaylee barks out a laugh. Travis rolls his eyes, but amusement unmistakably plays at the edges of his lips.

“I’m just kiddin’, sorry. I can’t help it,” she says around a snort. “Dad hates that joke. They met in school. Ma was studying psychology, and dad got a scholarship ‘cos of football and chose to major in business. Didn’t really matter though, since he knew he was going to take over the camp one day, anyways.”

Chris Hackett. Travis could have more than one sibling, but at least she knows who Kaylee’s dad is.

“We moved back right before I started middle school, though Caleb threw a fit. He was just entering high school, you know? He had to start over way more than I did with friends and sports, which honestly I feel sorry for, now that I’m older and done with it. Though dad threw us right back into sports, of course. Track for Caleb, softball for me.” She makes a face at the last part, then smirks. “Uncle T sure got me where I wanted to go in the end, though.”

“Oh?” Laura asks, interest peaked. The amusement that had thawed his permanent frown is long gone, and Travis slouches.

“Uh-huh,” Kaylee says with mirth, absently swirling the coffee with a creamer stick. “I used to, ah, sneak under the bleachers during practices. I hated softball so, so much! Dad was pissed, threatened to tie me to the field after the hundredth time coach ratted me out. But my favorite uncle,” she sing-songs, leaning into Travis who clearly doesn’t want to be here, “convinced my dad to let me join the marching band instead. Even gave me his old trombone.”

“Trombone?” She can’t mask the incredulity in her voice. 

Travis winces. “Kaylee, now’s not the time.”

“But why?” she practically whines, though there’s an obvious sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “It was awesome. You showed me how to march so that by my freshman year, I was the only newbie who knew how to prep step.”

He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who played trombone. Hell, it was impossible to imagine him as anything else than the phantom that keeps her locked away, sharing stories of werewolves and curses. Someone who likes classic rock.

If anything, he’d be the loner kid who would sooner commit arson then be in marching band.

Watching the two of them, it’s obvious how deep the family bonds go. This is the softest she’s ever seen him. There’s a deep level of adoration hidden behind the deep lines and heavy brow, and it’s so clearly returned by his niece. And Kaylee— despite meeting Laura in the most suspicious of circumstances, sitting on the sidelines of tension so thick it could be cut with a knife— is just happily talking and whittling away at her uncle’s hardened exterior, unknowingly spilling all of his soft human underbelly.

It’s because she trusts him, she thinks. Trusts that he’d never expose her to any danger, because he loves her.

It’s this thought that casts a new light on him— the man who’s holding the rope. 

“You’re full of surprises,” Laura says lightly, masking her smile with her mug of coffee.

Kaylee taps the table. “You sure you’ve never been to North Kill before? You look so familiar…”

“No, never,” Laura says with a start. “Maybe you’ve seen me around town…?”

Kaylee shrugs, humming thoughtfully. “Well, if you ever get tired of tagging bears or inspecting jail cells, or whatever else he’s having you do,” she juts a thumb over to Travis, “I can show you the best frozen yogurt place in town. Which isn’t saying much, but you’ll take about anything after spending most your life here.”

You have no idea, she thinks humorlessly. But the offer is sweet, and this alliance is even sweeter. “I’d love to,” she replies honestly. “I think I can see you and I becoming great friends while I’m here.”

The responding grin from Kaylee is blinding. It’s in direct contrast to Travis’ carefully blank eyes. There isn’t much to suggest it, but Laura inherently perceives the threat just as if she were staring at her own reflection. He’s furious. 

And that introduces an old sensation that she’s managed to abandon for the better part of the conversation. Laura clutches her mug tighter to keep from fidgeting.

“Oh! Lemme get something real quick before I go,” Kaylee says with a start, digging into her purse. “Uncle T, could you grab me that stuff from the bottom drawer?”

He freezes, and after Kaylee pauses in her search and looks up expectantly, he nods with a soft exhale through his nose. Sweat beads at Laura’s hairline as Travis slowly stands, casually walking over to the cupboard right near the edge of the table. 

Travis kneels down, opening the cupboard. He’s close enough that if she wanted to, she could reach across and touch him. The gun holstered at his side practically sings. 

‘You can end this.’ The thought slithers in, and the air freezes. ‘Set yourself free and move on with your life.’ 

She could- no, she can. Grab the gun and strongarm herself out the main door. No one has to get hurt, necessarily. Just a little bit of threatening, and she’ll be home free. 

Nothing’s keeping her here; honestly, what’s the point of sticking around? Max was never the vengeful type. If he knew she was on the hunt, on the verge of becoming the very thing she’s been running from for the last six years, he’d be horrified. 

But that was just Max in general. Always quick to forgive, patient and understanding whenever she’d snap or shut down. Sometimes his easy going nature frustrated her beyond belief, feeling like some sort of wild animal in comparison. But that’s also what drew her to him in the first place.

Just let it go, honey, she can imagine him saying. It’s water under the bridge.

There’s nothing left in it for her. Go home, say Max got killed by a bear because she’d be forced into a straightjacket if she told the truth, and just put all of this behind her. 

Just grab the gun, and end it.

‘All of that practice has made you good with guns,’ the voice purrs. ‘You could put a hole in both vermin and rid the world of a little more evil.’

A chill runs down her spine. 

This isn’t right. This isn’t- she wouldn’t think this way. Right? 

Only… she would. Laura Brandt would pull the trigger in a heartbeat.

Everyone knew the name Brandt in her hometown for a reason. Grandpa was a son of a bitch in the ‘50s, notorious for starting bar fights and his short but violent stint with a local biker gang. But dad was the one who made the name famous.

It’s why she tries to circumvent the rumor mill before it has time to start up. Her name never served her any favors, so she cut it off. But when wary glances are illuminated by the backlight of their phones, internet sleuths finding out her family ties… well.

Laura Brandt? Is that Brandt as in, Scott Brandt? 

Shit. If so, that’s rough. Imagine being related to something out of a true crime podcast.

In their eyes, Laura Brandt would go for the gun. But that’s not who she is. She’s Laura Kearney, and tonight, she refuses to be a murderer.

The opportunity passes. Travis straightens, an orange envelope in hand. “Here you go, Kay.” He slaps it on the table before her, ruffling her hair for good measure. The slight smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Thanks!” she says lightly, keys in hand. As if she’s finally picked up on the thick tension that's been building over the better part of an hour, she stands. “Well, I think I should be on my way out now. Let you two get back to work, I guess... It’s kinda late.”

“It is,” Travis agrees.

He wastes no time in gesturing Kaylee forward, then Laura, practically pasting himself behind her. The sharp edge of his badge digs into her back, and calloused fingers lightly brush against her wrist, practically itching to put her in handcuffs right then and there. They follow this frog march all the way down the stairs to a nondescript front lobby that looks better suited for a dental office than a police department. 

The front doors are glass, though, and Laura’s breath hitches at the world that’s been hidden from her for days. The soft embers of summer dusk unfurl across the sky, casting scarlet blush through the trees and parking lot. Unremarkable staples of everyday life, like the concrete bumpers and worn road that winds out of sight, newly realized as priceless.

She stops in her tracks, and Travis’s chest bumps against her, becoming flush with her back. He discretely grabs one of her wrists.

“Kaylee?” he asks. She looks over her shoulder questioningly. “Keep this between us, okay? You know how Ma gets, and not a damn person here knows how to keep things under wraps. Don’t worry them with this internship news.”

She bites her lip, nodding once. “‘Course. Um, our family has been around for a while,” she says to Laura, doubtlessly thinking this whole conversation is suspicious. “They don’t really like outsiders, or the government…”

“When are you coming by next?” Laura blurts, and the grip on her wrist ever so slightly tightens.

Kaylee shrugs, leaning back into the door. “Tomorrow was the plan-”

“That might not work,” he interrupts, breath tickling the hairs at her neck. “There’s some scheduling conflicts with ecology, and I’d hate to have you set aside the time just for us to be busy.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Laura says with a wink. “You’re good company, and it’s not like North Kill is an action-packed place.”

“Laura,” Travis mutters, and it’s a wonder if Kaylee can pick up on the warning in his tone.

“You’re good for him. No matter what he says, keep on coming by.” Her voice hitches, and she tries to mask it with a chuckle. “He needs it!”

Kaylee still flushes with a soft glow. “Well, now I’m too flattered to keep away!” she says happily. 

The guilt Laura felt from before triples, but she tampers it down. It has to be this way. It’s fine.

“I gotta go. Have a good night, y’all,” Kaylee tosses over her shoulder, keys ringing in her palm, and the door shuts with a finality that Laura isn’t ready to contend with. They watch in unison as the girl makes her way to an old SUV that stutters to life, disappearing around the bend.

She breaks the silence first. “Did I leave?”

“Shut up.”

“Did I tell her?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Travis-”

“No!” He abruptly spins her around and drives her back into the wall. “You don’t get to talk your way out of this. You just downright shit on my advice. You put us both at risk. And using, manipulating my niece like that?” His jaw twitches furiously and he shakes his head. “You’re playing a dangerous fucking game, girl.”

 “Mutually assured destruction,” she replies evenly.

“The fuck?”

“Look what I just did for you,” she says with a mocking lilt. “Neither of us can say anything that will jeopardize this, so you let me out of the cell when she comes by, and I’ll actually be able to conduct my own fucking research.”

For once, he’s actually listening, and she takes the miracle for what it is and keeps pushing.

“In return, you can put me wherever the fuck you want. Give me a computer with child’s access, shut me in a room without windows. I don’t care. I’m asking for three hours, Travis. You get the rest. But I can’t stay in there by myself any longer, I- I need people.” Her voice cracks. “I need to get out of my cage.”

He sucks on his teeth, breaking their locked gaze. “There’s no way that I’m giving you a computer.” If that’s all that he has to offer in terms of a complaint, she pounces on it.

“For now, maybe,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Give me the case files. Let me read what you already know.”

The manner in which he studies her makes her feel like a lab rat about to get cut open and peeled back, all of her fleshy, hidden bits exposed. She’s halfway convinced that he’s going to cuff her and march her back; that, or pull his gun and be done with it. 

“Why?” he asks instead.

She swallows. “No one else should be hurt by this curse.”

“No, why?” he repeats, and there’s desperation in there, something bordering on the limits of a drowning man. “Why didn’t you run?”

It dawns on her, then. Maybe… despite everything, he actually wants to believe her?

“I’m the reason Max is dead,” she admits quietly. “We were going to break up, and I had this… stupid idea that-” she pauses, feeling at once too stupid and young to continue. “Whatever. But I convinced him to come. And now he’s gone, and I’m here, and maybe there’s a point to it all. Maybe I can put something… good back into the world. Try to fill that gap by putting an end to this. And this is me, trying.”

Travis sags backwards, exhaling roughly.

"What was it you said, again?” Laura asks rhetorically. “She's the ‘kindest, most gentle-hearted person in the world,’ right? I’m placing my money on someone like her. Her ‘beloved uncle’ asks her to keep her mouth shut, well, I’m assuming she’s the kind of person to do that."

“She never should’ve been involved in this,” he says. “You have no idea what she’s been through already.”

“Does it end with ‘wolf?’ Because if it does, then she’s already a part of this. And it’s not like you gave me a choice in the first place,” she says heatedly. “You weren’t going to let me out!”

“Yes, I was!” he says urgently, as if he’s trying to convince her. Or himself, more likely. 

He doesn’t give her a chance to argue. “If she does keep her mouth shut, and that’s a big ‘if,’ what’s your plan when the school year starts back up and you’re still here?”

Well, shit. “This’ll be over before then.”

He cocks a brow. “Is that right?”

Six years, Laura. The thought is uncomfortably heavy. He’s been doing this for that long.

He steps closer, chest almost pressing up against her own. “Let’s say it isn’t over, and Miss About-To-Graduate-From-University is still kicking around this dirt patch. Isn’t that going to look a little odd?”

“If this isn’t finished by then,” though it kills her to say out loud, “we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Something in his demeanor shifts, and she belatedly realizes the weight of her own words. 

We. She’s thinking of them as a team. They’ll have to be, at any rate, to get anywhere beyond what he and his family have already discovered.

Travis’ eyes dart down, and he tilts his chin back, pursing his lips in consideration. 

“Get over yourself, old man,”  she says fiercely. God, this whole back-and-forth thing is so stupid. “Just shut up and work with me.”

Despite her words, the corner of his mouth actually twitches up, and he’s almost smiling. Hell, she almost returns it.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, he offers a hand. She grips it firmly, beating down the triumph that flits in her ribcage like a sparrow. Rapidly fading daylight dances across the backs of their clasped hands.

“We have a deal,” he says.

[tumbleassbitch]

another lost soul (letting my instinct take control) | The Quarry | TravisxLaura

Characters: Laura Kearney, Travis Hackett, The Hackett family Summary: Max dies in the cellar. This changes everything. Chapter 6/? | Chapter 5

July 7th, 2022

Laura can’t help but grin at the sound of the door opening with a resounding clack. It’s her first full afternoon of freedom.

Travis appears like a reluctant phantom, clearly unimpressed in the face of her self-satisfied smirk. He gestures her forward with two fingers, and she places her wrists through the gap obediently. 

Handcuffs are officially on. For now.

“Don’t get cocky,” he mutters. “It ain't cute.”

“Sure,” she replies, but doesn’t make any effort to tamper it down.

It’s a bit later in the afternoon, but it must still be enough time for them to settle into some facade of ‘work’ for when Kaylee shows up. Except, instead of taking her to a records room or wherever the case files would be located…

…she’s brought back to the dusty old conference room from the evening prior.

“What’s this?” she asks dumbly, staring at the cleaning supplies laid out on the table.

“It’s your internship,” he says dryly, uncuffing her. “Happy trails.”

“You’ve got to be fucking…” she starts, trailing off as the door slams shut behind her.

Seriously? She bites back a scream of frustration, clenching her fists until it hits her.

He didn’t lock it. 

Technically, she can get out, and that has to mean something. But, taking in the bare and abandoned room, it’s clearly one cell traded for another. 

Maybe… maybe this is some kind of test?

Maybe he’s on the other side of the door waiting for her to try the handle. Waiting for her to give him a reason to stuff her back downstairs, or worse; put her in a dark hole where no one else but him knows she’s there. The thought opens up endless possibilities, none of them pleasant.

But he doesn’t seem the type. 

The thought is quiet, almost embarrassed in its assumption. Sure, he’s illegally imprisoned her and argued relentlessly, obstinately denying every olive branch she, his prisoner, has offered thus far, but… he wouldn’t do that.

…Right? 

It’s another reminder of the truly precarious situation that she’s in. Assumptions get people killed.

Tomorrow, she decides. If he pulls the same shit again, she’s taking any opportunity to just get out and do the werewolf hunt on her own. But if he wants to play the petty route today, then that’s on him. 

Laura snatches up one of the folded rags on the conference table and gets to work. Mostly, there's miscellaneous office supplies, another coffee pot, stacks of printing paper; things that are practically staples of any workspace. It’s a saving grace that none of the cupboards hold rotting food.

The fridge is painfully bare, save for a six pack of beer and old condiments in the door. She grabs a beer and moves on.

In the next hour or so, every surface within reason is swiped and polished, and the corners are dusted free of cobwebs. Short of actually digging out the cupboards and tossing out the old shit, she’d say it actually looks halfway decent.

The door cracks open, and a friendly face peers in.

“Hey!” Kaylee greets cheerfully, waving a gaudy pink lanyard littered with cartoon cats and pizza. 

“Hi,” Laura replies with about half of the enthusiasm. 

Kaylee opens the door wider, looking suddenly at a loss. “I just wanted to pop in and say hi! I know you’re really busy, but I… uh. Thought I’d say hi.” The girl cringes self-deprecatingly, but it morphs into a hopeful grin. 

It’s endearing, if awkward, and the part of her that’s always melted at pitiful and helpless animals immediately takes the reins from her current bad attitude.

“Well, hi,” she says with a small chuckle, mustering up an energy she doesn’t quite feel. “Nice to see you stopped by.”

Travis appears then, looming over Kaylee’s shoulder with an annoyingly smug look. Little does he know, she’s been spraying bleach on the carpet behind the fridge for the last ten minutes.

“I had to drop by for the birthday boy,” Kaylee says slyly. Travis’ shit-eating grin- which is barely anything on a normal person’s face- instantly evaporates in the heat of the sun that is his niece.

“Oh-ho!” Laura outright snickers. “Did ‘birthday boy’ have a special day?”

“Well, I hope so,” Kaylee says, a strange note to her voice. “Because all he’s done is spend it at work.”

Laura tilts her hip to one side, folding her arms. “You know how he is,” she says with a grin that shows a bit too many teeth. “Total workaholic.”

Kaylee laughs lightly, but the glances she gives between the two of them don’t go unnoticed. A brief look of alarm, the same one that’s bubbling in her, flits across Travis’ face. 

Does she really suspect something? They aren’t exactly Hollywood actors, but it’s barely been twenty-four hours, for fuck’s sake. They can’t be that pathetic at holding secrets.

Kaylee breaks the short silence first. “Sorry, but I have to cut it short,” she says, looking a little sheepish. “I told Caleb I’d help him with his car.”

“I thought Bobby was working on that-?” Travis starts to say, honest confusion on his brow, but she slides past him in the doorway.

“You know how it is,” she tosses back, then twists around abruptly. “Almost forgot!” she exclaims, giving a loud smooch to his temple. He blinks. “Love you, T. Have fun tonight!”

She vanishes in a flurry of hair and jingling car keys, and Laura and Travis remain stuck in their places, staring at each other in mirroring looks of bewilderment.

Laura folds her arms. “July birthday, huh?”

“Impressive detective work, Sherlock” he replies drily. He waits for the sounds of footfall to fade before adding, “Put your hands against the wall.”

“Seriously?” she asks, derision practically dripping off her tongue. After getting her hopes up in thinking that he’d actually be willing to work with her, now he wants to pat her down like she’s smuggling coffee filters in her back pocket?

“Can we just-” he cuts himself short, then visibly gathers his patience. “I have places to be, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d just work with me here.”

“What? Running late for ‘birthday beers’ with the bros?” she asks with a sneer. 

He gets oddly shifty-eyed, and belatedly, she realizes that’s exactly what he’s doing. Typical. “Must be nice to still have a social life,” she mutters under her breath.

“Do you want your dinner now, or after I get back?” he deadpans.

He’d definitely be the kind of person to wake her up at midnight for cold spaghetti. She rolls her eyes and turns around. The hairs on the back of her neck prickle when he draws near. 

"Are you ready?" he asks, a soft edge of hesitation to his usually gruff voice.

Her hackles raise at the insinuation. "I'm not made of glass, dipshit."

"Never said you were," is his easy reply. And then his hands are on her body, brisk and professional as any cop. It doesn’t last long.

"Okay," he says, stepping out of her space. "Let’s get you in for the night."

She waits for him to cuff her, but he takes her by the arm instead, leading her down the stairs. 

"So, like… What was the point of all that?" she finally grits out. "All that talk about your family, doing this alone, 'working together.' All of that was just bullshit?"

He fixes her an odd look. "You serious right now?" At her silence, he scoffs. "I'll be damned. You really think Kaylee wouldn't notice a fucking werewolf photo from a security camera? Or- or statements mentioning a ‘strange animal’ out in the woods on a fucking full moon?”

“You’re talking as if I’d show her-”

He pivots on his heel, fixing her with an incredulous, slightly unhinged look. “Laura, they turn into fucking demons! Even as humans, they hear, smell, see better than us on any other day of the month! You really think they’re just like you and me?!”

“I don’t fucking know, Travis!”

“You’re goddamn right you don’t know-!”

“Because you obviously didn’t disclose that, did you?!”

He huffs a breath, looking entirely too unruffled despite the momentary loss of composure, and continues to drag her along the halls. They’re near the holding cells when he finally speaks up again. 

“I’m trying to help you. Help us.” When she doesn’t say anything, he exhales a long breath. “I know… it don’t seem like it from your point of view, but I’m trying.”

Travis opens the cell door and she walks in without a fight, meek and silent and dumb as fuck for ever trusting a single word out of his mouth. 

It’s just so stupid— she’s gullible, plain and simple. If someone told her a month ago that she’d try winning over some insane middle-aged man in a jail break attempt so that she could avenge her dead boyfriend, well. She’d laugh in their face.

Because this isn’t her. The Laura she always thought she was has nothing to lose—short of someone else’s life riding on her conscience, she’d be hightailing it out of this shithole and carving her own path from here. 

But that isn’t exactly an option right now, is it? Because try as she may to deny it, she needs someone like Travis to get her on Silas’ tracks. Someone with more experience, more years of hunting werewolves and learning the real-life lore, not the fairy tales and wolf biology he’d been bringing her all week.

She wants to scream. She wants to dig that rusty spoon into the wall and crank out every last brick so that by the time Travis brings her breakfast tomorrow morning, she can use them to bash his skull in.

So stupid, you’re better than this, smarter than this-

Travis extends a nondescript orange envelope through the bars.

Laura eyes it as if it’s a snake. “What’s this?”

“Homework,” he drawls. He shakes it impatiently, and Laura scowls, snatching it from his fingers. Inside is a stack of documents.

They have the official police department emblem in the upper corner, some looking obviously photocopied and slightly crooked in orientation to the page. At first glance, it’s a mix of witness statements and typed out reports that date back several years.

But as she’s shuffling through, there’s more. Grainy photos, what look like screenshots from game cams. Cryptic blurs streaking through the foliage. A case file on a wildfire from six years ago.

“I told you I’m trying,” he says quietly, and takes his leave.

.

July 8th, 2022

“Silas Vorez…” she mutters aloud.

The only photos they have of him are disturbing screenshots from random social media accounts, likely from tourists who were able to catch the show as it hopped from place to place.

He’s not as young as she’d figure he’d be, given the moniker “Boy.” In fact, Laura wouldn’t be surprised if the man weren’t in his early 30’s. He’s scrawny, with skin so pale it’s almost as translucent as moonlight.

The unfiltered fear in his eyes is what gives her a pause. He looks pathetic. 

And yet, this is the man who killed Max. 

Despite the other files to review, Laura keeps coming back to the pictures, burning his pink-tinted eyes into her memory. It’s a face she’ll never forget.

She sets the photos aside, returning her attention back to his only recorded kin. Eliza Vorez. Her name doesn’t feel safe to utter aloud. There’s no real logic to it, Laura knows that, but something about her stare suggests a certain danger that isn’t of this world.

She didn’t get the same feeling from the Harum Scarum poster, which she nows knows had her face front and center. But this, someone’s heavily-filtered Instagram photo of Eliza leaning out from behind Silas’ cage… 

It isn’t right. That’s the thought behind the raised bumps on her skin. It just isn’t right.

“What do you think so far?”

Travis’ voice causes her to jump. His eyes narrow at the movement, and she pushes down her embarrassment with a scowl.

“You need to be more specific.”

He shoots her an unimpressed look. “What else? The case files I gave you yesterday.”

She sighs, frustrated with herself and him. “I don’t have anything worth mentioning yet.”

“That’s fine. Give me your first thoughts,” he says undeterred.

Laura shrugs, shaking her head slowly. “I guess… Silas has been way busier than I expected. I mean, the full moon only happens once a month. To cause that amount of damage in… I don't know, roughly twelve hours? It’s a lot.”

“For a werewolf?”

“No, I mean, that’s a lot for one werewolf. I’m not exactly an expert in supernatural creatures, but you’d think that if one werewolf could cause this much damage in one night, more people would know about them, y’know? It wouldn’t be this cryptid that only exists in fairy tales.”

“I’ve always suspected there has to be more,” he concedes, scanning the room with a distant look. “We don’t know who all he’s bitten, but we haven’t found another one unaccounted for in this area, at least…”

“That you know of,” she points out. 

He nods. “True.”

“And isn’t that weird? How is no one else looking?”

Travis tilts his head to the side, fixing her with a dead stare. “You forget that there’s people out there covering their tracks for them.”

The Hacketts cover their footprints, and the bodies, if there are any. If they’re thorough enough in their coverups, then there’s a damn good chance that no one else is actually looking. Or if they are… If they’re cursed, then they think they’re alone.

“Okay, so… How many did you say are locked up by your family each month?”

“Three.”

She slowly nods. “And they were all bitten by Silas?”

He purses his lips, obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Yeah, same night.”

“Shit,” she hisses. “Okay, so maybe this amount of… casualties isn’t out of the norm. But every month, we run the risk of him actually creating more, rather than killing them.” 

Like Max, her mind finishes. He raises his brows as if to say, No shit, and she rolls her eyes. 

“I’m just thinking out loud, here.”

Travis shuts his eyes with a nod, raising a hand concedingly. “I see your point. I’m not… this ain’t my typical thing.”

“What?” she asks with a scoff. “Politeness?”

“Working with a partner,” he answers quietly. The words settle between them, and something like softness graces his usually worn face. He shifts on his feet before unlocking the cell. “It’s time.”

“Oh,” she says.

“It’s almost three o’clock,” he says with a pointed look. “Kaylee’s coming any minute, so get your ass up and let’s move.”

“Jeez, alright,” she says, and he gestures her forward. “You know, you should really use your words more.”

“You should use yours less,” he grunts back.

.

July 9th, 2022

It’s lunchtime on a Saturday, so color her surprised when he shows up empty handed.

“What’s this?” she asks, standing up.

Travis pauses in the middle of unclipping the handcuffs from his belt. “I- uh… I figured you were hungry?”

“Yeah…?”

His stare goes way over her shoulder. “... and you mentioned before that you wanted company?”

Oh. She did say that.

I need people. I need to get out of my cage.

“Yeah. I did,” she says dumbly.

His nod toes the line between exasperated and self-deprecating, but he still unlocks the door. If her smile is a little too wide, he doesn’t give her a hard time about it. 

She’ll never get tired of leaving her cell. The sensation of leaving the lonely hallway for, what’s essentially a modern-day catacomb, is paramount to euphoria. If that isn’t a sign that her brain is starting to get a little fucked up, well. What can a girl do?

Her heart rate spikes when he takes her up a familiar set of marble steps, locking the heavy wooden door behind them from the inside. Travis uncuffs her and gestures for her to take a seat.

The closet she hid in over a week ago immediately catches her eye, and she resolutely looks elsewhere. Two sad looking sandwiches and a bowl of cut veggies are on display. He’s already set out a glass of orange juice for her.

“Cool. Thanks,” she comments awkwardly. The thought of bare legs and blood- ugh, think of anything else, please- makes her stomach do flips.

They tuck in without fanfare. It only occurs to her now that she’s never seen him eat. The scant amount of times he’s joined her for meals, it’s always been booze or nothing.

Here, he chews mechanically, each bite a thoughtful attack into ham and cheese. It’s efficiency in its most carnal form, and he finishes his sandwich before she’s even halfway through with her own.

"Why does it go after humans?" Laura blurts.

Travis frowns thoughtfully, and she takes that as an invitation to continue.

"I mean, there's so many animals out here that the hassle of chasing down a person wouldn't seem worth it. I thought our own defense was that we tasted bad?"

"Not to them," he comments wryly. "Maybe it's because they are— or used to be—human themselves? Trying to reclaim their humanity through consumption."

"Maybe," she trails off. "Maybe human bodies give them more energy than animals? Or, if they're able to consume human flesh, that's important for the werewolf curse?"

His brows furrow in thought. "I don't know about that… Kaylee hasn't eaten someone in years, and she's still cursed."

Holy shit to that information. Laura swallows it with hopefully cool indifference. 

"Well, it's a thought. Maybe it doesn't matter for those that were bit, but if the alpha—um, Silas—was prevented from eating someone, it could weaken him?” 

“...Or maybe it's born out of pack desire,” he says thoughtfully. “Survival-of-the-fittest. Anyone who's able to survive an attack is seen as worthy to join the ranks."

His pocket buzzes, and with a spare glance her way, he checks the screen.

“Shit,” he mutters.

“What is it?”

It’s obvious his first impulse is to ignore her, and he visibly wrestles with himself before settling with a pained grimace.

“It’s Kaylee.”

“Um… is she okay?” she asks, biting down the urge to add, Use your words, Travis.

“Yes, she’s fine. But she’s here.” 

Why anyone would want to hang around this dusty place on a Saturday, she has no idea. Travis shoots to his feet, sternly pointing at her. “Stay.” 

“That was unnecessary!” she calls at his retreating back. With him gone, she scans the room with a new sense of wariness.

The phone on his desk is missing, of course, but it doesn’t matter. If what happened last time— 

screams, the static translation of flesh ripping under teeth

—she’s not interested in making a call.

Instead, a picture frame sitting off to the side catches her eye. The photo must be at least two decades old: a much-younger Travis stands with his arms clasped behind his back, chest puffed. Beside him is an older man with an arm over his shoulder, grinning proudly.

She hates to admit it, but he’s… handsome. Round glasses that would be otherwise nerdy on another man’s face instead offer a sweet, boy-next-door vibe that’s honestly her type. 

And that revelation makes her wince, because, ugh. There’s a thick, solid line between working with the man that kidnapped her, and drawing parallels between him and her exes.

It’s a time capsule in more ways than one. The man in this polaroid past is nothing like the phantom that stalks the precinct. When was the last time Travis smiled like this?

“Hey, girl.”

Kaylee drags a chair over to join her at Travis’ desk, and though she barely knows her, it’s obvious something’s up.

The girl has been nothing but a ray of sunshine, despite being in the armpit of a police station, and Laura has the impression that it’s a part of who she is. Sunshine and daisies— the polar opposite of her uncle.

So, whatever managed to dampen her smile must’ve been pretty bad. Kaylee doesn’t deserve that. She’s good, and sweet, and unhappiness doesn’t suit her.

‘She’s also a murderer.’

It’s that same quiet voice from before, not quite her own, yet clearly in her head. 

‘She’s a hungry, brutal mockery of a beast. A waste of shit and skin.’

Fuck. She’s losing her mind. 

“I’m so happy to see you today!” Laura says with a blinding grin. “How’s your painting coming along?”

Kaylee perks up a bit, chuckling shyly while she pulls out supplies from her dark canvas bag. “It’s really nothing special, just some practicing with colors.”

She lays out a stained cover with reverent hands, then plants a little wooden stand that’s brindled with paint splatters and mounts the canvas with gentle care. 

It is, to be frank, beautiful. 

Laura’s known her fair share of ‘artists’ throughout high school and college, but Kaylee actually is one. 

The scene is full of vibrant blues and softer hues for the sky. Sharp rocks and cutting white-capped waves are at the forefront, but in the distance is a schooner sailing easily over the violence below. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen the ocean,” Kaylee says when Laura says nothing. “I wish I could travel more, you know. Get out and see the world for once, instead of watching it pass me by on the internet. But, when I get a hankerin’, I’ll just bring a piece of it back to me instead.”

“Kaylee, this is amazing,” she breathes. The girl blushes, opening her mouth to undoubtedly play it off but Laura speaks over her. “No, I’m dead serious. You could put this in a museum and tell me da Vinci painted this, and I’d believe it in a heartbeat.”

“Really?” she says quietly, and there’s so much vulnerability on her face that Laura grabs her hand and squeezes it emphatically.

“Yes, absolutely! Let me know when you set up your art gallery, and I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

“Well, shit,” Kaylee giggles wetly, discreetly swiping at an eye. “I’ll give you the damn thing when I’m done with it.”

“Hell no,” Laura says. “I’d buy it if I actually had any money, but you could honestly sell this.”

“I know,” she says bashfully, but there’s a hint of pride there, too. “I want to give it to you anyways.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but Kaylee speaks over her. “How’ve you been? You have to work on the weekend, too?” 

Over Kaylee’s shoulder, Travis raises the bucket of cleaning supplies with the air of a man who often doesn’t win. In other words, entirely too pleased with himself. 

Fuck. “You could say that,” Laura drawls.

Kaylee snorts. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Long week, am I right?”

“It’s just about over,” Travis says lightly, pulling out a misty beer bottle from the minifridge and setting the cleaning bucket at her feet. “Tomorrow’s a fresh start.”

“Yeah, but you know how camp is,” Kaylee says with a huff that doesn’t carry much heat. “It’s not like I have the weekends off.”

Kaylee’s already started filling her paint tray with an array of mossy greens and sea blues, a new life breathed into her disposition.

“What do you call today?” he throws back. The light humor in his voice makes him sound younger. His dark eyes appraise her, and she belatedly realizes she’s been staring. 

“Drinking on the job, boss?” Laura asks sweetly.

Travis takes a swig of his beer, pointedly looking at his phone. A game of solitaire—go figure—is already loaded up.

She grabs the bucket.

The three of them settle into a silence that isn’t actually unpleasant, though it's still weighted with unspoken words and secretive glances. 

It’s a grating feeling, like someone’s boring holes in the back of her head from across the street. Laura can’t help but overlay pink eyes with blue, wispy strands of hair with thick auburn. Two of the same beast, each with different sins.

The quiet gives her a chance to reflect. Between the sly quips Kaylee flings at Travis, or the fond look in his eye while she’s too focused on her painting to notice, she can almost pretend that things are normal.