#wr remmy chatzy

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Burn Your Bridges || Morgan, Constance, & Remmy

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @whatsin-yourhead @constancecunningham @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Remmy makes good on Constance’s request to sabotage Morgan’s plans, but things quickly go terribly wrong.

CONTAINS: soft zombies

Constance had asked Remmy half a dozen times if they were sure they would do this for her. Did they mind if Morgan would be angry? Did they think this was a betrayal of her trust? She needed this, she wouldn’t ask if she didn’t need it. And was it still alright? Would they still do it? Remmy said they would, they would, they would. And Constance tried to believe them, but when she saw them leave the house and begin the long walk to Morgan’s home, Constance couldn’t help but follow behind and drift away in order to watch them. She made herself a nice roost in a cluster of birch trees in someone else’s garden and saw Remmy go in. A minute passed, and then more. Remmy did not immediately run straight out, and the road to the stable where Morgan kept her automobiles was empty. They couldn’t be conspiring with her directly. Constance observed the house, still curtained and dark, with rapt attention. Could Remmy truly be doing what she asked? Even if the reasoning she gave had been nothing more than her own welfare? She hadn’t known that was something people were capable of doing. “My heavens…” she whispered to herself, a smile growing slowly on her face. Perhaps Remmy had some grasp of their will after all. Perhaps the reason they believed so determinedly in impossible kindness was because they created it themself. And just when she thought that she would be allowed no more hope on this day, a blue automobile pulled into the road, with Morgan driving inside.

She didn’t know if this was fate or the betrayal that she should have expected, but Constance did not need to know for certain in order to take her chance. And it wouldn’t be an attempt on her life, it would just be another game, a little...fun.

Morgan left work as soon as her class was over. She had some calls to make, she needed to look through some texts. She had a few students she was leaving on read that needed her attention, but she felt so close to putting everything together, and if she could get more of that knocked out, maybe she could slow down, take a break, actually enjoy making dinner as much as she used to. She got out of the car and headed inside when she heard a splash in the pool. “--Mina?” She asked. “Hey, Mina, did you need something?”

She came around the side of the house and into the back yard, surveying the scene. She didn’t see her friend or any sign of straggling company. But the light was on in the shed, so Morgan jogged quickly to turn it off. She didn’t check the salt lines like she normally did. She didn’t imagine that there would be anything waiting for her inside except a space she had neglected to clean up. So when the door shut behind her, there was a gasp of time where everything still seemed alright. Then the lock clicked shut on the outside.

“Mina--?” She tried the handle, rattling it hard. But she hadn’t seen Mina. Maybe she had missed her at the bottom of the pool. “Deirdre? Deirdre, I’m--” But Deirdre knew that being shut up was one of Ruth’s favorite punishments for her. Deirdre would never. Was it the mushrooms? Did her mushroom self resent her for how things had ended? Morgan threw her shoulder against the door. That was how people did it in the movies, right? “Deirdre!” The lightbulb in the shed burst and sparked before going dark. Morgan screamed.

‘Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out…” She just needed to break the door. She was home, she was safe. Her trembling fingers barely grazed the handle before a scalpel went through her palm. Morgan screamed again, “Help me!” She swiped blindly in search of who was in there with her. She’d tear them to pieces, she’d end them and eat their intestines for desert, she’d-- Morgan only caught air. The dark was thick, absolute as nightmares. No shadow, no taxidermy, no weapons. Morgan’s thoughts drowned. She was back in her small room, barely bigger than her bed, banging and begging through the door to be let out. She would be good, she’d get the equations right, she was sorry and she would do so good if her mother would please let her out. She slammed against the door with all her weight. “Please--!” She wailed.

Remmy hands vibrated as they shuffled through Morgan’s collection, trying to figure out what in there was actually used for exorcisms and what was just random shit. Her notes made no sense, either, so that wasn’t any help. Someone would be home soon, they knew that, and though they could probably talk their way out of being caught in the house, they didn’t want to have to lie. To Morgan or Deirdre. And really, they just didn’t want to see Deirdre. They didn’t need that guilt right now. But they weren’t even halfway through grabbing the right items when they heard a scream and pounding. “Morgan!?” they shot up quickly, running around to the back of the house. The pool was empty, but when they looked out across the yard, they noticed the shed door closed. It was rarely closed. And the sound was coming from there. They raced out and across the yard, yanking on the door. “Morgan!?” they called out again. “Morgan, open the door!” A chill ran through them. No, it...it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. “Constance!” they tried this time, calling through the door. They slammed against it. Once, twice. The door burst open, the paneling splintering. And there she was, standing beside Morgan. “Constance, don’t! Don’t do it! You said you wouldn’t do it!”

Morgan always put off breathing for too long. If it wasn’t right away, she couldn’t convince herself to keep up with the beat. Air came out of her chest in shrill gaps. She couldn’t remember why she was supposed to be fine, she needed to get out, she couldn’t be trapped in the dark again, she couldn’t stay. Another blade slid into her, this time at her throat. Morgan clawed at it, grunting as she struggled to cry out again. Someone would hear her, someone would come home…

The door split open and Morgan stumbled back, falling to her knees as she struggled with the scalpel on her still-healing hands. Her eyes found Remmy, wide and desperate. Please help me, please help me, please...

Constance lost her concentration and her calm when the door opened. The next scalpel she’d been toying with clattered to the ground and she looked at Remmy with guilt. “I wasn’t going to kill her, it was just--” A game? “Please don’t be mad, she’s fine, she’s just scared!” And scared was so much less than what Morgan Beck deserved.

“Scared!?” Remmy balked, rushing to Morgan’s side, yanking out the knives that had been slid into her flesh, throwing them far away. “You were trying to kill her!” They kneeled between Constance and Morgan, caught between a battle they were just now realizing they had no say in. This war would continue until one of them was gone for good, and they weren’t sure they could stop any of this. They looked sharply at Constance. “Get out!” they said to her. “Leave, now!” They didn’t want to force her out just yet, but they definitely were inching closer to the salt lines on the floor, ready to grab some if they needed. They didn’t want to hurt Constance, but it was clear, now, that she didn’t trust Remmy to keep their end of the bargain, and that she would take things into her own hands.

“I wasn’t killing her! I swear, Remmy, I didn’t even come here with the intent of-- I needed to know if you meant anything you said!” Constance cried. And weren’t they proud? She’d reached through the roof and crushed the lightbulb so carefully with her hand. She wasn’t even angry, she didn’t even care that Morgan had things so much nicer than her, it was just a bulb and the glass sounded like chimes as it fell and the scream Morgan gave was so harmless. “Remmy, I just needed to know. I’ve never been able to trust anyone before, and then she just arrived, and you couldn’t be interrupted!” She reached for another thread to pull on, something to make Remmy look at her differently. “Remmy, please!”

Morgan gasped, clinging to Remmy with shaking hands for support as she dragged herself up to her feet. “W-what...what’s happening…?” She could see outside behind Remmy and flailed, unsteady on her feet, desperate to get to the fresh air. “R-remmy--?” She croaked, pushing against them, trying to move them outside. Faint puddles of black formed formed on Remmy’s shirt. Her foot slid out from under her, but she held on and tried to push. Out, she needed out.

“What do you mean you weren’t killing her!?” Remmy shouted. It felt like just another betrayal, another yank of their heart, another person taking advantage of their kindness. All they ever wanted to do was help. And people kept pulling them down and using them. Throwing that decision of softness in their face. “There was a scalpel in her neck!” they growled. “Leave, now. Get out of here.” They looked at her sternly, “before I make you.” And back at the mansion, they’d have a long, long discussion about this. Morgan was shoving against them, desperate to get out, and they took her by the arms and lead her out, making sure Constance didn’t follow. “Go inside,” they ushered to her, “hurry.”

“I wasn’t!” Constance said. “She doesn’t even bleed, how could I! Please!” But Remmy’s eyes had turned hard as everyone else’s in her life. She fled through the back wall of the shed and ran to somewhere, anywhere else to be.

Morgan staggered on shaky legs, still gasping and whimpering to her panic. No. Not inside. She stumbled to the fence that bordered the yard and sunk to her knees, pawing at the shallow trench she’d dug around the house. There was so much less salt than there should’ve been, and maybe it was all for nothing. She gathered as much into her fists as she could, heaving until the worst of her shaking had passed. She was in White Crest. She was safe. She was home. And the last thing she was going to do was go inside. She wasn’t leaving herself alone and she wasn’t staying still without something to protect herself with. The world spun, fuzzy and heavy like a twist-a-whirl. The last few minutes were putting themselves together in her head. Remmy. Constance. Together. “Where--is--she?” She asked, forcing her words through gritted teeth as she fought herself for control. “And what...were you doing...in my house?”

Morgan didn’t go all the way to the house, but Remmy wasn’t about to push her into anything. They followed slowly behind her, making sure Constance did as she was told and left, before turning back to her. “Hey, you’re okay, it’s okay--” they started, but the words that whistled through her grit teeth made them freeze. “She-- she’s gone,” they said, trying to keep their voice steady, “she’s gone, Morgan.” They bit their lip for a minute, before stopping just short of her and kneeling down to meet her level. “I was...looking for your exorcism stuff,” they said, deciding here, in this moment, they could not lie to her. They would not. She deserved the truth after what just happened. This was, after all, their fault. “I was going to get rid of it.”

Morgan had one moment of relief between hearing that Constance was gone and the words that came after. In that time she managed to release the salt from her hands and cling to Remmy for a few seconds more as her body settled back in place. She was in White Crest. She was with her friend. She was okay. Remmy’s words came to her delayed and muffled, rolling slowly into her like waves. “M-my...exorcism. But I’m almost done. I-I just need to find someone.” Why would Remmy do that? She had long figured out that they didn’t exactly approve of her actions, but they’d respected her enough to stay out of it. This wasn’t like Remmy. Remmy wouldn’t do this to her. Morgan turned to look at them, searching their face. “And you...you know what this means to me. I don’t understand. And didn’t you see what she just--” What she had done to her. Constance had no way of knowing how many times Morgan had been dragged into her room and locked up, but she had done it all the same. And she had delighted, it seemed, on running her through with Deirdre’s scalpels in the dark. Not for revenge, not to kill her, just for fun. Because she could. And then something else clicked into place for Morgan, something Constance had said. I’ve never been able to trust anyone before, and then she just arrived, and you couldn’t be interrupted… “She put you up to this.” Morgan couldn’t push herself away from Remmy fast enough. Without their support, she was a teetering mess, but she didn’t care. “She...trusted you? Why would she trust you? Why does she even know you?”

Remmy waited, silently, for the pieces to fall together. Morgan pushed away from them and they stumbled, not looking at her. While they were shameful of going behind her back to sabotage her attempt to torture someone, they would not apologize. Even if she hated them, they weren’t going to let her ruin herself like this. Just for revenge. Hands dug up grass as they sat across from her. “She did,” they answered softly, “she does.” Or, well, perhaps did at this point. Remmy had probably ruined that, too. Could they not save anyone? Not Lydia, or Deirdre, or Cordelia. Not Constance. Not Morgan. They held back the pain burning in their stomach and grit their teeth. “She knows me because...I ran into her in the park. And I know you were trying to-- Morgan...you want to torture her. Are you really going to sit there and tell me that I’m supposed to just let you do that? After everything you’ve been through? After everything we’ve been through? Seriously?”

“Yes!” Morgan screamed. “Especially for those reasons, Remmy!” She had known, always, no matter how quiet and accommodating Remmy was that they hadn’t believed in what she was doing. But this-- coming back to their house, the house they’d left, just to take her chance away from her-- Morgan didn’t know who or what she was looking at anymore. “How do you not understand that neither of us would even be in this shitty situation if it wasn’t for her? I wouldn’t be dead if not for her! I would still have magic! I would still have parents! Parents who gave a shit about me, who loved me! She is everything I have been through. And you don’t get to force me to roll over and just keep taking it and taking it and taking it just because you don’t like it!” Her voice ran raw and ragged as she struggled to breathe. She rounded on them, fists clenched, still trembling and crying, but no less furious at realizing that Remmy cared more about the ghost that had undone her than their friendship. “Tell me why,” she said, choking down a sob. “Why does she get to be your pet project, you new friend, after killing my whole family with her curse, killing me, but my house is the one you can’t stand to be in. Tell me why that is, what I did to you. Because I don’t get it. I don’t get any of this from you.”

“I never said you should just roll over and take it!” Remmy found themself shouting back, wondering, suddenly, where this anger was coming from. Hot tears stung their face and they wiped at them furiously. Their decisions were tearing them apart, but they couldn’t think about that right now. “What happened to you was terrible! What happened to me was terrible, but that doesn’t give you the right to hurt someone back! She’s a child, Morgan!” An angry, upset, lost child, but a child all the same. Her life may have been sacrificed for darkness and cruelty, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been taken too early. From what Remmy had pieced together, Constance’s life was nothing but pain. And they understood that. They understood the anger that came with that. If Remmy had died and come back, too, they were sure they’d be just like her right now. “She’s not my pet project, Morgan! She’s a fucking person who, might I add, you brought back to this world! She didn’t choose to be here! She doesn’t want to be here! And you just-- you really think hurting her is going to solve anything? Help anything?” They shook their head. “No, no-- what doesn’t make sense here is you. You, who has always been soft and kind and gentle to me and others you love and care about. I don’t understand what you want from this, Morgan. Why is it so important to you that she suffers? Haven’t we all fucking suffered enough? Why does there need to be more?”

“Oh, please. You can dress it up however you want, but letting her--no, I’m sorry, giving her peace in a cozy magic circle on a goddamn platter, the same peace and sleep that you and I are never going to have, is asking me to do exactly that. And that is not something you get to decide for me. She destroyed my life. Me. From minute one, I was a thing of her magic. And getting even an ounce of freedom from her made me this!” Morgan pulled on her fingers. On anyone else they would have at least dislocated, but on her they hung bent like misshapen claws and moved slowly back into place. Morgan wrung them out to speed the process along, still shaking her head at Remmy’s inability to see her, to see what this meant. “I know I’m never going to get to be alive again, and I am never going to get those places inside of me that were magic back. I know that, I don’t know why you and everyone else think I don’t know that, but I do,” she wept. “So I am taking back from her what little I can. I am taking back my choice to do what I want, what I see fit, not running scared or working against some timeline of doom she’s set up for me. Stars, do you have any idea what it’s like to live like--” No. Of course Remmy didn’t. Remmy never would. Anyone who might have understood the dread that had consumed Morgan’s mortal life was already dead and destroyed. “I am taking back my power,” she said, more quietly this time. “I don’t need to feel the universe inside me to work my will. My soul is still a witch, and I will make sure she knows that when I watch her end.” She sniffled. “I am the same person I’ve always been, Remmy. Kindness, balance, autonomy, fairness, it’s all still important to me. It’s just that I’m finally taking my turn to decide what’s fair, and this is what I want. It’s not going to make up for a hundred twenty whatever years of suffering, but it’s going to be all I have. It’ll be enough, and then it’ll be over.”

“That’s not the same and you know it! Just because we don’t get something doesn’t mean you have the right to deny someone else that!” Remmy roared, feeling anger pulsing up through their arms and into their head, making them dizzy. They wanted to hit something again and it made them feel sick. They’d never wanted to feel like this again. But it was an inescapable part of themself and the guilt they felt at it made them turn away from Morgan, repulsed by the idea that she had made them feel this way. “Killing and torturing her isn’t going to give you back anything!” they finally said again, bile in their throat, a bite to their voice. An ice they hadn’t known was possible to be present in them. “You’re not taking back your fucking power by killing someone, ghost or not. And if you think that’s the truth, then, I--” they hesitated, the words building in their throat like lava, burning to get out. Remmy clenched their jaw, clicked their teeth, “then I don’t know who you are anymore.”

Morgan flinched at the cut in Remmy’s voice. Remmy, who hadn’t hesitated to walk to her house with bags full of ice cream when she thought she’d lost Deirdre for good. Who’d let her punch them until she fell over because they understood she had no other way of exorcising the rage trapped in her. Remmy, who tried to understand everyone, turning away in anger at Morgan. At who she was. “Then you what?” she snapped, suddenly stiff and cold. “That’s not what you were going to say. Or maybe you think I can’t handle it. Like I don’t know what you walking away like that means already?” That same rage that overtook her in Remmy’s yard was back again, cording through her arms, begging to be let out, to punch, to break, to hurt. “I’ll do you one better and say it first. If you can’t even admit that I might have a point, if you can’t even pretend to see where I am at, enough that you think you’re entitled to choose for me, then you are not my friend and you can leave. Now!”

Tears raced down Remmy’s cheeks in hot paths. Shock registered in their chest first, then their head, their throat. “What-- no, I-- M-Morgan,” they stuttered through the words like this was the first time they’d ever heard them. They shook their head, wiping more tears away with calloused palms. “That’s not what I-- I wasn’t going to say that, how can you--” they reached towards her, dirt stuck under their fingernails. “I wasn’t going to say that! Morgan, I-- I’m mad but I’m not-- i would never say that to you! I-- we’re-- don’t say that!” they scrambled towards her, reaching out again, “don’t say that!”

Morgan flinched back, whimpering as if Remmy’s touch might hurt. “You say that like I haven’t seen you cut two people out of your life already,” she murmured. “And it’s really not complicated math. You think what I’m doing counts as killing her, which you hate, and you think her killing me and everyone I cared about before coming here is okay enough to make her worth hanging around because it’s in the past or she looks young  or--I don’t even know. And you can’t even admit that carrying over a hundred twenty years of cursed, fucked up trauma passed down to my miserable mortal life, might just be a good reason for me to have the say in what happens to Constance. And I just can’t handle hanging on and begging you to see me and where I am only for you to realize in another week or a month that you can’t and I belong off to the wayside somewhere. I don’t have it in me so please just go. And don’t come back unless you have something different to say.” Morgan turned away from Remmy and their earnest, pleading face. She had already lost more than she’d ever reckoned to Constance, she didn’t need to watch Remmy’s love for her fade out too. She wrapped her arms around herself and trudged into her empty house.

“Morgan!” Remmy called out, standing up on shaky legs. “Morgan, I-- I never said any of that! How-- how could you think I would feel that way!?” they stepped forward, but Morgan shrunk away from them. They shivered, folding into themself. “I’m trying to keep you from killing her! From making yourself into something you’re not! You don’t have to do this, you have a choice! You can be--” their tongue caught again, but this time, they pushed past every feeling inside of them to get the words out before Morgan disappeared into her house, “You can be better than Lydia!”

Morgan froze in the doorway. Maybe she should have expected a parting shot from Remmy, maybe she had hoped too hard that she would get the kindness of slinking back into her house and holding herself together as much as possible until Deirdre got home. But she hadn’t expected that name to come from Remmy like that. “If you think that I could ever be like that, if that’s what you think I’m--” Morgan couldn’t even make the words come out. “Then I don’t know how you were my friend at all.” She ran the rest of the way and slammed the door shut behind her.

[constancecunningham]

Fetch Quest || Constance & Remmy

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @whatsin-yourhead & @constancecunningham

SUMMARY: Remmy tries their best. Constance learns about fetch.

CONTIAiNS: Implications of past abuse.

“Moose, fetch!” Constance threw the ball as far as she could. Without any body strength to speak of, it didn’t go very far. The dog caught it in mid air and dropped it just off of where Constance sat hovered in front of a park bench. Without Nancy to show her how to be calm in the world, she struggled to grab anything except in frustration. Every time she tried, she saw her disappearing into the air and rage blazed through her. She threw the stick again, scowling into the horition as Moose made a big circle around the grass to give himself a few more moments of joy before picking up the ball and delivering it the short distance to her. Constance stared at it. She had never been allowed a pet of her own, and whatever ‘fun’ this was supposed to bring was beyond her. “I think I spent too long in the ether” She said. Moose panted and wagged his tail, expecting something from the non-magical nothing in the air.

Mourning someone who was already dead felt strange, even to Remmy. They didn’t know how to properly mourn something like that, even for themself-- but perhaps they’d need to start finding a way. “What do you mean?” they asked when Constance spoke up again. This time, Remmy leaned down and grabbed the slobbery ball, tossing it a rather commendable distance across the park for him. Moose took off with the utmost joy and Remmy turned to look back at Constance. “Spent too long? Do you… remember what it was like there or something?” They’d pondered what it was like between life and death, wondered if that was a place they’d ever get to know, or if their undead life now meant they never could know. Was dying supposed to be peaceful? They didn’t know that answer either. Moose came trotting back with the ball but Remmy was still looking at Constance.

“Not really,” Constance shrugged. “I don’t see things when I think about it. But I feel...different. Wrong. In a way I didn’t before. Or at least, wrong in a way I don’t believe I was before, even in the ether. There’s just darkness over all those years, like one dark, dreadful sleep. Like when you know you had a nightmare, but you can’t recall of what.” She tried to unclench herself, finding ease in the air the way Nancy had been trying to teach her over the past few weeks, visiting the house, even staying some nights.

When Remmy didn’t throw the ball again, Constance reached for it, and watched in anguish as her hand fell though. Constance sulked back. “Do you remember what it was like? You must have been dead once, for a little while. Did it feel like a bad dream then, or am I the only one?” Again.

“I don’t remember being dead,” Remmy said quietly. The wind rustled through the valley and the only way they knew it happened was by the movement of their own hair. It had gotten so long again, nearly down to their shoulders. They drooped a little. “I barely remember dying in the first place.” They watched Constance’s hand sink through Moose’s ball, and they bent down to pick it up and hold it out to her to try again. “Sometimes I think not remembering is better,” they explained after a moment, “it...hurts a lot when I do. I had to have someone else tell me how I died because I guess my brain blocked the memories and I couldn’t, like, reach the memories anymore.” They glanced at her again, concern on their face. “What makes you feel wrong?”

“Perhaps you are right,” Constance said. “At least your body anchors you to this plane and the grass bows to your weight. You belong here. If you don't remember being different, you cannot confuse yourself by thinking otherwise.” She ran her hand through the ball again before deciding she didn’t care about it anyway. “It’s just a feeling. Mind, I was always told so, by everyone.” Well, almost everyone, but they had been liars and traitors, so what did that count for? “But I never felt half so wicked as they told me I should until I was returned here, as this. I feel as though this world does not want me. I feel as though there is something missing, and sometimes as though I might come apart, but perhaps that thing is merely my body. Or perhaps now that I lack it, I can see that they were right. I am wicked and wrong.” But she was also very powerful. And when she was certain she had the strength for it, she would continue, and she would win. Glancing sidelong at Remmy, she smiled and said, “Don’t trouble yourself about me. And don’t let me keep you from your fun. I can watch just fine.”

“I...don’t know if that’s entirely true, but I am grateful to be...whole, I guess,” Remmy mumbled. They’d already tried to talk to Nadia-- er, Cordelia-- about what it felt like being a ghost, and it sounded even more miserable than being a walking corpse that felt nothing. That remembered nothing of what soft fur or sheets or grass actually felt like. “You were never wicked, Constance,” they said, “and you still don’t have to be. You can move on, you know? Peacefully. Happily.” They let out a long breath and threw the ball again, watching it bounce as Moose chased it down loyally. “I trouble myself about everyone. I just want to make the world a better place, even if it’s just a tiny bit. Even if it’s just making one person feel better, or even just okay.” They picked up the ball once again, “that includes you. And people like you.”

“You don’t know who I was, Remmy,” Constance said. “How can you argue for such a thing when you have no clue? Do you not think me wicked for trying to kill your so-called friend? And I killed many a rat, bargaining with the heavens for small favors. I was desperate, and it was the only power in the world I had, but there are some who believe that it was no kindness or necessity. And those are only the crimes I meant to commit…” There were others, so many others. Constance saw that girl in the classroom with the bleeding head every time the shadows swirled in the corners, how her lifeless eyes had stared... “I was never a gentle person, even when I meant to do good. And I am so beyond happiness and peace, I cannot even make true meaning out of those words.” She sighed. “I am afraid we do not understand each other very well, Remmy. But I think it would have been nice to have known someone like you before.”

“Because I see who you are now,” Remmy answered simply. And it was simple as that. “You’re suffering, Constance. You’re suffering and things could be better if you just...let go of that pain. I know it’s hard...but the people who hurt you have long since died. Morgan isn’t the person who hurt you, she’s not even close.” They let out a long breath, rubbing hands through their hair. “I don’t think you’re wicked, Constance. I never did, even after…” they paused, “...and I guess if Morgan knew that, she’d probably hate me, too, but...I can’t find it in me to feel that way about anyone. Not you, not Lydia…” They tossed the ball, a bit harder this time, “For the longest time, I thought I was wicked, too. That I could never find peace, or happiness, or any of that feel good shit everyone always talks about. But the thing is...I learned it’s never just gonna happen. You have to go and find it.” They picked up the ball once more, and held it out. “Kinda like how Moose finds his ball every time I throw it.”

Constance scrutinized Remmy the whole time they spoke. She had never been able to tell when someone was lying to her before, but she thought if she squinted at their strange face, she might be able to tell for certain so she could stop wondering when this facade might come apart. “Her presence is an insult to my own in a way I don’t believe anyone in this time can understand. There is no sense of collective responsibility, nor legacy, scarcely any duty. But I suppose I shouldn’t be cross over you doing something that would make that ugly cow seethe. I should rejoice, if I had any sense. But you’re wrong, so it is only a bittersweet victory. Although maybe it doesn’t matter. If the heavens opened up and stamped me as a no-good heathen once and for all, I would still refuse to accept what was done to me, what was made of me. I would simply be dragging myself to hell with her. And maybe that will be something like peace, if it comes.” Around them, autumn was losing its grasp to winter, pointing with spindly fingers toward the gray-white horizon, as if something important might materialize from it. “Morgan doesn’t know you’ve been coming to see me, right? I’m a secret not to be shared?” She tried the ball again, and found that she gripped it with ease. She threw it before she could resent summoning the power because of Morgan Beck. But it was as she had said all along, wasn’t it? This was her purpose, no more and no less. “Will you still think such pretty things about me if I succeed? Even if I turn out to be right?” Moose came back with the ball and Constance threw it again, thinking this time on what the world would feel like after she had won. She imagined forgiving the sun for not making her warm, and the moon for casting no shadow on her. She imagined giving Remmy and Blanche one last smile, and saying that it was always meant to be this way, but she was sorry for making them sad. It wasn’t so different from this moment, she realized. And yet it felt so far. She threw the ball again. “Perhaps a better question would be…” She hesitated to speak it, the thought alone seemed blasphemous in its own way, “...what do you propose I do if I am wrong? All of you love to say ‘let go’, as if she were a ball I could throw. And I imagine if I could kill her by picking up her body and throwing it into the sun, I would understand perfectly. If I were to cut her throat, I would certainly let go of her body then. But that isn’t what you mean and I don’t understand how to entertain this fairy story you want me to partake in.”

Remmy thought and pondered quietly. They didn’t truly understand Constance’s line of thinking, but then again, she was from a completely different time. It must’ve been so jarring coming here, to this world of technological advancement and strange machines. “What’d they do to you?” they asked her quietly, after a long silence, in which Moose sat and waited patiently for them to throw it. They were preoccupied, though, and turned fully to face Constance and her fading form. “Well, yeah...if you continue to do bad things that hurt people, I’ll change my mind. But I still think that you’re worth saving and that you can be saved. But you have to let go of your anger. I know you didn’t choose to be here, but you can choose to leave peacefully. Don’t you want that? I want you to realize that revenge isn’t going to make you feel any better. I want you to realize that you deserve something good, Constance,” they muttered, “that’s all.” And they tossed the ball again, this time as far as their strength would let them.

“Which time?” Constance asked, smirking bitterly. “When my family was left to fend for themselves in caves, or when only one family would take me in as a servant because my mother was suspected of being a witch, and scorn was thrown on them for their pity, never mind anything else about me, never mind the power of true magic. How dare a woman fend for herself and bargain with a God that will hear what no human ear will. Or do you mean when that family, when Agnes--” The ball lifted on the power of Constance’s rage. The leaves drummed a skeleton tattoo on the ground. Constance whimpered and tried to calm herself. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t talk about it without… I don’t want to become lost and changed, like others say I will. I want to stay myself. I’m sorry.” She concentrated. She tried to remember how breath once soothed her, imagined lungs and veins moving in and out. “I don’t know what something good is. I don’t know if I have the time to find that out. Your Morgan is so determined to destroy me for my supposed crimes…” she shook her head. “I don’t think I was destined to ever find out.” The ball settled and Constance threw it to Moose, further than she had yet, smiling into the distance. After a silence between them she said, “If I were to believe you, if I were to...consider something else, would you help buy me the time it will take to learn?”

Remmy felt their heart sinking again. How were they supposed to have the power to fix something like this? The truth was, they didn’t. All they could offer now was their sympathies. “I’m sorry,” they mumbled, “I...think you would’ve liked it here, in this time. If you’d been able to be here.” They watched the ball rise, the leaves swirl. They winced a little. “It’s okay. Whatever happened, I know it hurt a lot. But…” they looked out and around at the park, “...there’s no one left in this world that deserves the anger you feel. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be angry-- there are things I”m still mad about that happened to me ages ago-- but you just...you can’t keep holding onto it. I wish I had more to offer than that, but that’s all I know how to do. All I know to offer. Is just...help letting go.” They held out their hand to her, knowing that they would not be able to feel it or truly hold it. “I would, yeah,” they said, smiling gently, “of course I would.”

Constance stared ahead, watching the ball come back and throwing it again. Perhaps her star had been crossed and cursed by time. Perhaps in a life in this new world, in Morgan Beck’s world, she would have found someone to suffer with. She didn���t know how to tell Remmy that they should be angry too, that they didn’t have to lay like a corpse and accept the wrongs done to them. They had hands that could grasp and break, feet that could crush, teeth that could tear. They could do so much. So much. But she could not imagine them doing so, even if another of their kind showed them how. She felt a strange pity for the zombie then, a kinship with the starving cats that roamed the streets, innocent and yet so full of potential. She put her hand through theirs, shuddering with longing that she couldn’t hold it. Theirs seemed like a hand that would be gentle, and it had been so long since she had felt that. “Thank you, Remmy,” she said. “And it isn’t much I ask for. I just need you to find Morgan Beck’s stash of exorcism magic and steal it.”

[constancecunningham]

Safe as Houses || Constance & Remmy

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Gallow’s End Estates

PARTIES: @whatsin-yourhead & @constancecunningham

SUMMARY: Shaken by her actions at the docks, Constance goes for a walk, but she isn’t alone. Remmy makes a proposition.

CONTAINS: Brief references to past abuse.

Remmy had a decision to make.

Life was still moving and they’d been standing still so long. It was time to decide if they were going to keep moving, or if they were going to stay still. Sure, they had forever, but that didn’t mean the people around them did. And forever wasn’t even guaranteed, was it? As long as slayers and hunters existed, nothing was guaranteed. Not that Remmy blamed them, but they had to accept the fact that even if they did nothing wrong, even if they presented no threat, did nothing bad, there would always be people like Alain who would cut them down anyway. Though he had agreed not to go after them until they hurt someone for real again, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t change his mind again. Or that someone else would come along who wasn’t willing to compromise. There were too many variables in forever, that was the one thing Remmy knew was true.

And so, it was with that in mind, that Remmy found themselves strolling through town, coming upon old places that they’d found comfort in in the past. Mooseventure, Al’s, the Commons...and lastly, the Bend. And the awful, dirty, shitty apartments they’d first lived in when moving here. And while the place had been just horrible, they’d met two of their very best friends while living here-- Blanche and Nora. And while Nora was off doing...who knew what, Blanche was still here. Still fighting. And Nora was around, she made sure maintenance came to the house to keep it in working order for the residents that did still live there, even if they were undead. They deserved a nice place, too.

It wasn’t until Remmy got closer to the building that they realized the person they’d seen standing out front wasn’t standing at all-- they were hovering, just above the ground, and Remmy could see straight through them. A ghost. Thoughts of Nadia flooded their head and Remmy hesitated a moment before they realized, again, that they recognized this ghost. She had been the ghost sitting next to Remmy on the bench in the park that day-- the day Morgan had died. This ghost was Constance. Remmy would never forget her face.

They walked up towards her nervously, but kept their demeanour calm. “You’re um...you’re Constance, right?”

Constance had fewer and fewer places left to her where she felt safe. Everywhere she explored, there Morgan was and there her rage blazed, weakening her grasp on her own soul, narrowing her vision to the size of a pinprick. And yet the sun rose and the sun set and she could not sleep. Perhaps, all this considered, returning to the outskirts where she had been born and the woods where she had played alone. Constance glimpsed the gray sunlight cut and scattered like flour through the many branches. She imagined that the sun remembered her, the trees remembered her, and the creatures she cared for and buried and the treasures she was so afraid to lose she buried them too and touched them not at all until they were useless--those must remember her too.

Drifting forwards, she explored further, searching for the way back home. Or what she had called and cursed as home. It had to be right around--

Oh.

Constance was no fool. This world had no love for brittle things like the excuse of a house she had been born in. No markers or ruins signified the life of her or anyone else she had crossed paths with. And yet, there were still ruins before her. Chipped and peeling print, exposed bricks of gray rock, falling shingles, a faint drip of a leak, somewhere. It almost brought a smile to Constance’s face, to know that this world, and this spot, was one still riddled with leeks. Inside people were cold, they cried, they hated, they starved. And most likely, no one would remember them any more than her. How to think of such a miserable life, now rendered into multiples like some catastrophic math riddle. Was it cursed ground? Was it her, or just the twisted bend of this world and the wickedness of the people who moved it?

She heard a voice call her name and turned. She knew the face, but its place didn’t come to her at once. “...Good day,” she said curiously. “You’re solid, real solid. I don’t have many of those that know my name. How are we--” And then it came to her. That day at the beach. Constance stiffened. “If this is another one of Morgan’s blessed stomping grounds, I can take my leave without being threatened,” she said. And she should leave, if this was true. She was so weak, and so angry. She wanted Moran’s death to be something precise, even elegant. She couldn’t manage that if even looking at the woman riled her to snapping light bulbs.

“What? No,” Remmy said, shaking their head. “It’s not-- it’s not. This is uh-- I used to live here.” They motioned to the apartment building down the way, as ragged and decrypt as the houses surrounding it. This had nothing to do with Morgan, and Remmy found it all the more quiet when they realized that, too. They turned to look back at Constance. “Why are you back? You know she-- she wants to hurt you, because of what you did, what you’re...doing.” They weren’t sure what to feel yet, only that they knew they could sense a deep sorrow coming from the specter, and the idea of one of her closest, best friends wanting to harm someone simply to harm them. That wasn’t the person they thought Morgan was, but it terrified them, deep down. And they weren’t sure if it was the thought of her hurting someone or the thought that Remmy hadn’t known her capable that scared them more. “It’s not safe here for you.”

Constance grew more confused. For people who were determined to align themselves with the Bachman family, Morgan’s friends demonstrated a strange amount of concern for her. “I never left,” she said carefully, waiting for the subterfuge to reveal itself. “I saw her bleeding on the street, and there was so much noise I thought even you wouldn’t hear how I screamed with relief. I was sure I had never done anything more perfectly. Did you know that there were only two other casualties? I regret them as sins and doubtless I will be punished eventually, but all those machines, all that glass and noise and screaming, and she was gone by her own doing with only two more people caught in the crossfire.” Constance’s voice softened, wistful. “And I thought, I want to stay to see the moon and the stars and a new sun, in a world with no more survivors of the Bachman line. And I saw it. And then I thought, alright, that must be enough now. Only I didn’t fade. And I think I’ve tried rather hard at it, but no one I ask can tell me the secret, because if they had it, they wouldn’t be here still. But here we are. I can only think that some part of me suspected the truth all along. I did nothing perfect. I only made her into more of a monster.” She went quiet, regarding the strange figure again. “I don’t care about being hurt. And I don’t care about what she wants to do. I want what I asked for.” What was so very hard to understand about that? “Why is this not safe? If you’re not going to beat me with iron or tell her where to find me, why wouldn’t I be safe? Why is it any concern to you in the first place?”

Remmy wasn’t good at this part. There was a struggle going on in their heart and it made them feel sick. Morgan was their best friend, they should be on her side for this-- but Constance was clearly suffering, too, and even if she’d been the one who’d put Morgan’s death into action, did she not deserve a chance at forgiveness as well? If Morgan got that chance, why not her? Simply because she was a ghost? And so young. Younger than Remmy. Younger than Nadia. Remmy wiped at their one exposed eye. “What’d they do to you?” they asked quietly, ignoring everything else for now. “The-- the Bachmans. What made you so...sad?” And they chose the word carefully, pausing for a long moment before saying it, because it was a very particular feeling they heard in her voice. It seemed like such an innocuous word, but Remmy could find no other to describe it. The sound was so familiar, so close to their heart. “It’s not safe because...when people want to hurt you, it doesn’t matter who you are or how you feel, they’ll do it. And it’s just-- it’s just another cycle of violence. Why does everyone wanna hurt each other so much? Why does anger have to be the emotion we respond to? Does anyone really think making someone else hurt fixes anything? Makes anything feel better?” They sniffled again. “It’s my concern because I don’t want to see you hurt. You or Morgan or anyone. I’ve had enough.”

Constance rolled her eyes and turned back to look at the building that had replaced her family’s house. She felt nothing as she drifted through the world, but she could feel the despair coming from this place. “Why do you care?” She huffed. “It was tragical, and foolish, and I lost everything. Even before I cast the spell, I had nothing left but myself. And handkerchiefs worth of objects I had on my person, but those were worthless, too.” A picture. A phony charm. Some cornbread. A flattened penny. The paper she’d used to make her plan with Agnes. A baby’s rattle would have been worth more in comparison. “My father said I was born melancholic. And cruel. He said a great many things, but perhaps he was right about the way I was born. It is difficult to come to an end such as this and feel as though you were not fated to pain from the start. And if you cannot understand a feeling such as mine, if you have never needed to see your pain paid back threefold, if you have never needed to feel a name and a line burnt out by time once and for all, I should think you wouldn’t want to taste it.” But the figure persisted, and Constance wondered if they knew Blanche Harlow as well. “Morgan is my only missing piece,” she said. “And my worst, for of course it should be this way,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “It used to be that you couldn’t walk half a mile without running to a Bachman relative, or Bachman owned land, or a Bachman friend. And now I have one fiend of a woman so small, she’s practically the size of a child. I think I’ve accomplished a great deal. I’ve changed the world.  If that was your only wish, and you’d paid for it with your self, wouldn’t you risk paying again to see it done? To be finished, and have your wish come true?”

“I don’t know,” Remmy answered honestly, “I just do. I can’t help it.” And they couldn’t. And the more they thought about it, the more they realized they’d always felt this way. They’d always had a bleeding heart, hadn’t they? Even when they were a child, so angry and lost and scared, all they’d wanted was to help other people. Taking the fall for things that weren’t their fault; letting others use them if only to make themselves feel better; helping others even when they were struggling themself. Remmy had always felt the pain of the world around them and wanted to help-- it had just taken death for them to realize that. Swallowing, they looked square at Constance. “No, I wouldn’t,” they finally said, once Constance was done speaking, and was looking at them for some sort of validation. “But that’s just me.” They knew everyone, everything was different. “Doing that will just turn you cold, you know. I-- I understand how you feel. Maybe not entirely, but I do, on some level. I grew up with nothing. No mom, a deadbeat dad, poor as shit...and queer, to boot. People all told me I was never going to be good for anything. That all I did was bring others pain. I was trouble. I wasn’t worth it.” They swallowed, clearing their throat of the tears that threatened. “But they were wrong. Because...they don’t get to decide who I am and what I’m worth. I get to decide that. And-- it took me a long time to figure that out, but I did. And it’s true for you, too. What do you even gain by killing Morgan? By destroying a family line? Whatever pain they caused you-- it was so long ago. Morgan is so far away from whoever really hurt you, the pain you cause now just starts a new cycle of pain and violence and-- why would you want that? Don’t you want peace? Don’t you want...to be happy?”

The story the figure told was so familiar, Constance couldn’t bring herself to trust it. Perhaps someone had written about her, perhaps her death had meant more than one more miserable, nameless body in the woods. Which was more plausible? That some misguided record and put down the details of her cruel existence, or that this stranger, this person who had screamed and cried over what Constance had done would possibly understand her? “You don’t understand anything about me,” she said stubbornly. She drifted away from the building, away from this...person. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m trying to conserve my energy and be stable! A solid like you wouldn’t understand that either.” She wanted them to go and leave her be. A world that ignored Constance was painful but it was at least familiar. And perhaps if she stomped on her feelings enough she could find the words to explain how hopeless she truly was, and how little she had left beyond her wish. She bound herself to it that night, however many moons ago. Constance wasn’t sure if she would know how to let go until it was finished, even if she was mad enough to ever want to.

“Yeah, I do,” Remmy insisted, following after her. “Life treated you like shit-- you never got anything good and happy. And then when you finally did, it took it from you, right? It tore everything away, including yourself?” They went around her-- remembering how Nadia had said she didn’t like being ignored and walked through-- and stopped in front of her. She could easily phase through them, they supposed, but it was the act that mattered, right? “If you really think you’re the only one that’s ever suffered, you’ve got a big reality check coming, Constance. I died, too, you know,” they said, crossing their arms over their chest. “Alone and afraid and only after watching the rest of my world be destroyed. The only difference is that I woke up solid and you woke up transparent. That doesn’t make you any less of a person, or-or any less worth being given a chance. Maybe-- maybe you’re still here because this is your second chance to do better, to be better. To be...happy. And don’t-- don’t tell me what I do and don’t understand. I understand a lot more than you-- or anyone-- thinks.” And they were tired of everyone thinking they didn’t. They were tired of being pushed aside.

“If only I had truly been here this long,” Constance said bitterly. “If I had really been here this long, I might have finished my curse before your wretched friend was ever born. But when I bargained myself, I went…” Constance didn’t know the words for what had happened to her. There was nothing like it in any scripture she had ever read, Christian, Pagan, or otherwise. “It was like sleep, but it wasn’t. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know that my house was trampled like it never mattered, or that there were huge petrol beasts coloring the air or that a girl can get made fun of for wearing a dress now, that was a stupendous treat to discover while I was visible. By the heavens, I wish I had really been here for so many years! I would know what to do with this nothing body better!” She was getting upset again. Lights behind her were flickering, screaming strange, buzzing, artificial screams. “I...woke up...in a circle. When she brought me here,” Constance said carefully, voice trembling. “To hurt me. I died and then I...was there, and I had lost even more than I knew how to reckon for. And I don’t think I’m the only one who’s ever suffered. I just think I’m willing to do something about it. I wasted my power when I was alive, mostly, but I won’t make that mistake again. I was a witch beyond measure, and even in death I can rebalance the scales. If there’s anything being in this wretched era has taught me, it’s that time bends long and slowly. Maybe you don’t see the point in what I’m doing or what I want, but maybe the stars and the trees will, maybe the lives that can grow without so much destruction or meddling. And I will know. I’ll know I didn’t just take it, or give up or ‘get over’ it.” She sighed, and realized what a fool’s gesture it was. “I don’t know if I am a person. I don't feel that way all the time, and however I try to be better, whatever I touch so far has turned to destruction and hut, and not even that which I intended. I think my soul is...strange, at best. But I do appreciate...whatever it is you are trying to do. There are not many kind people here. It is good to know they continue to exist, however few.”

“Morgan isn’t wretched,” Remmy said quietly, “and neither are you.” They were quiet for a long while, not flinching when Constance made the lights flicker and screech with electric hums. They looked over to the decaying apartments, then back to the spirit, and felt another tug at their heart. “She didn’t summon you to hurt you, you know,” they finally said. “She just wanted answers. To why her life was always falling apart, to why she wasn’t allowed happiness. You can...relate to that a little, can’t you?” They didn’t know what they were searching for in any answers from Constance, but they knew that she was trapped in a world that she wasn’t allowed to escape, suffering more pain. Remmy looked at her with eyes full of sorrow. “This world is-- scary, yeah. There’s a lot of not good things in it, but...there’s a lot of good, too, you know. You just haven’t...seen it yet. I could show you, if you want,” they wondered if she was even still listening, “if you’d give me the chance. Not everything here is destruction and meddling, like you said. And...certainly none of it is because of one person. Cursed or not.” They paused, biting their bottom lip, before continuing. “You are a person. Maybe different than the kind of person you remember being, but...you’re still a person. Just as much as me, or anyone else. And I think...I think maybe your soul is just a little lost. And I don’t think you deserve to be hurt just because of that.”

Constance couldn’t cry or rail at the stubbornness of this person, not without destroying yet even more of the world, and she did not want to rush to disappoint herself or Blanche even further. But it was all she could do to keep herself from it. She wanted to laugh, or fall over from the incredulity of it all, but feared the impact of that feeling as well. Could a shade such as she disrupt the world from delight? Had such a thing ever happened before? “What manner of creature are you?” She asked, shaking her head. “You know better than many what I am capable of. What I have done. ...What is it you really want from me?”

“I don’t...I don’t want anything from you, Constance,” Remmy said back, shaking their head again. “That’s not...I just want to help you. I know you’re probably alone and afraid...and I know how that feels. I don’t want anyone to have to feel that way.” They mumbled, hands digging into their pockets. Constance wasn’t safe, just drifting out among the general population. There were hunters and exorcists and mediums everywhere. She was already having such a hard time even keeping her spirit body together. It reminded Remmy of some of the ghosts they’d seen wandering the old haunted mansion. Slowly, an idea struck them. “Hey, you, um-- you said you’re having trouble staying stable, right? Figuring out this...spirit thing? What if I had a place for you to go? Where there’s other ghosts and it’s safe. No one can hurt you there. Would you come with me?”

The idea of such a place had never occurred to Constance. She couldn’t imagine it in her head, except as some euphemism for a ghost prison. They didn’t make human proof vessels, only salt and iron lines that tore her apart for trying to exist. But this...whoever they were, were so persistent. Surely if this was some jest or a trap, they would be worn out by now? Or would they? Constance had learned the hard way how persistent a lie could be. Perhaps this was how they proved their loyalty to Morgan, by luring her into a trap.

Constance hesitated for a long time. She should know better than to believe in...oh, so many things. But she said, “Tell me where it is and I will find it on my own. I can find out if it’s what you say it is or not. Who are these ghosts who trust you anyway?”

“Right, yeah,” Remmy said, nodding slowly once Constance finally spoke. “It’s um-- here,” they motioned for her to follow them around the building to where the horizon broke and on top of a small hill sat the mansion, off in the distance, beyond the cemetery. “It’s that house there. I, um-- used to live there, actually. When we moved in, there were already ghost residents so we just sorta...let ‘em stay. Didn’t seem fair to make them leave, you know? We had to establish ground rules and stuff, but we made it safe. For us and for them,” they explained. “We’re all just people. I think they...liked being seen. I would sit with them, even the ones that didn’t talk. It felt nice...to be needed by them.” They paused, went quiet, then looked over at Constance one last time. “Come whenever you want, no obligation. But...it’s safe there. I promise.” And even if it wasn’t yet, Remmy would make sure it was.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Remember You Have Died || Morgan & Remmy

TIMING: Recent past, during the reign of Shroomdre

LOCATION: Morgan & Deirdre’s house, war memorial

PARTIES: @whatsin-yourhead & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Remmy need help on a low day.

CONTAINS: discussions of death, depression, ptsd

Morgan couldn’t afford to spend the day on the floor. The house was a mess. Mushroom Deirdre was off doing...she wasn’t even sure what. And the sheets were getting that off-color of needing a wash. The sun was getting annoyingly near the windows for the second time in the day, which meant she hadn’t moved in...way more hours than she’d realized. The cats would need to be fed soon, and dishes washed so she could make dinner and get them dirty again so they’d get washed again, and maybe some other Morgan in some other dimension was already doing this, but this one, stuck to the empty bed, was just watching her daily responsibilities stack up and teeter over, all because, what, her life had blown up once some years ago on the same day? Morgan made herself breathe and reminded herself she was here, and there was one other person still in the house who might be feeling almost as immobile as she did.

It took an hour’s work, but she made it to Remmy’s door and knocked. “Hey…” she called weakly. “You got room for another zombie in there?”

The silence wasn’t really all that quiet when Remmy listened closely. There were ticking clocks and sometimes people shouting outside. The soft hum of the air conditioner that they couldn’t feel, or the low groan or a car engine outside. On the bed, in their room, they didn’t jump so much at each noise, but the impossibility of relaxing had circled them for hours, tugging them away from doing anything that could’ve been considered productive. At one point they turned on the radio and wished for the drone of the afternoon DJ’s voice to cut out the rest of the world’s noise, but it didn’t work. It never worked. Moose had stayed on the floor next to the bed most of the day, like he was trained to, occasionally nudging their hand with his nose to make sure they weren’t slipping into a world that didn’t exist except for in their own mind. At another point, they had sat up and opened their notebook, wondering if occupying their mind with thoughts of designs would bring up anything, but all they’d managed to do was scrape out a picture of Luce, and the last smile they remembered her having.

When the knock came, Remmy closed the notebook quickly and looked to the door, before sliding off the bed with great effort and pulling it open enough to find Morgan slumped outside. She looked as weary as they did. “Always,” they said quietly and let her saunter in at her own pace, sitting back on the bed and setting the notebook down on their nightstand. “Where’s Deirdre? Is she still…” they didn’t need to finish the sentence. The answer was in Morgan’s eyes. “Sorry, never mind.” They scooted over to her when she climbed on, arms already reaching for her. “Wanna talk about it?”

Morgan shuffled into the room and let her body collapse itself next to Moose. “I don’t know where she is,” she huffed. “Which, you know, isn’t new actually. She’s got stuff that’s unpredictable.” She shrugged, and tried to smile at Remmy. She was supposed to be looking for the positive, for where the seam between one Deirdre and another matched up. But her thoughts teetered two steps forward and one step back today. “It’s gonna be at least a week, just so you know,” she said. “Today’s just not a good day for me. This time of year is just...not good.” She worked her arms around Moose and tried to remember what his fur felt like. “What’s up with you today?” She asked. “I’m more zomb than me, but I can still listen, probably…”

Moose, objectively, was better at snuggles than Remmy. He was big and soft and heavy, a weighted blanket full of love. He shuffled into Morgan’s grip a little more when she wrapped him up, as if trying to let her know he understood her need. Remmy leaned in gave him a soft pat on the head before scooping their arm around Morgan, laying their chin on her shoulder. “You’re allowed to have not good days, you know,” they reminded her. “Even not good weeks.” They thought for a moment how to answer, before realizing there was no point in skirting around much. Not with Morgan. “Nothing is really up with me today. Just trying to remember I’m safe and loved,” they said quietly, “even if some people won’t admit it.” Eyed their journal before focusing back on Morgan. “Guess we’re both a little more zombie today, huh?”

Morgan let go of whatever crummy piece of pride she had and reached up to pull Remmy closer to her. “Of course you’re safe and loved,” she mumbled, giving their arm a squeeze. She smirked, wry with the hilarity of depressed irony. “Says me, in my girlfriend’s fancy house, that I wouldn’t be in if she didn’t love me, in the room you wouldn’t be in if we both didn’t love you, and here all are feeling like..pfft.” Another dry gasp of a laugh. “Did you know she told people I hate her? I know I should probably get over myself on that. At least my girl will come back to me someday. Eventually. But hey, maybe Luce will figure her stuff out before then.” She kissed Remmy’s arm and gave them a squeeze. “Why do things have to be awful in the first place?”

“You know she doesn’t mean it,” Remmy said back, holding her just a little tighter. Knowing that they could squeeze her in their arms and never hurt her. Not really. The comfort that tightness brought was a familiar brand. Like a weighted blanket or the warm embrace of freshly dried sheets, something neither of them would truly ever feel again. “Deirdre loves you more than anything. Mushrooms or not. She’ll always come back to you.” They nuzzled into Morgan, breathing her in and letting out a long breath-- a simple motion that still brought old comforts with it as well. “I doubt it,” they muttered into her shoulder, “she keeps signing off on me. I don’t know why I keep letting myself hope she’ll let me in. It just-- it hurts, you know?” they turned their head to the side so they could look up at Morgan. “Seeing her in pain. It hurts me, too.” They contemplated the words for a moment. “Because there’s no good without bad?” they answered, raising a brow.

Morgan’s snort was a little lighter this time. “Will it make you feel any better if I tell you all the times Deirdre signed off on me because she didn’t want to talk about her feelings? Maybe in a few months you’ll be all...cute and cuddly and obnoxious. You just have to get over the, ‘she’s afraid of her feelings and doesn’t think she deserves happiness’ thing.” She shifted away from Moose, curling up fully in Remmy’s arms. “That was supposed to be in the hopeful rainbows sort of tone. I’m sorry, Remmy. I know it hurts. It hurts like nothing else, and the helplessness is just as bad. You don’t have to hide it, you know that, yeah?” She sniffled. “Ugh, don’t get all wise and philosophical on me now. I’m tired of being on the ass end of the Wheel of Fortune. I want better for us than that… but that’s kid’s talk, huh?”

It didn’t make Remmy feel better, but they didn’t need to say that outloud. They nestled Morgan-- they often forgot just how small she was-- in their arms and leaned back against the headboard. Someone drove by outside and Remmy stiffened, waited to hear it move away, then relaxed. “I know I don’t,” they said after a moment, “but sometimes I just don’t wanna feel it, I guess. I know she cares, but she won’t even try and believe that someone could care about her like that back. I don’t know how to get through to her.” They sniffled with her, though no tears pooled in their eyes. “Oh, trust me-- I’m not wise. Or philosophical. More just...hopeful, I guess. I’ve gotta believe that suffering through all of this shit means we get good things at the end of it. We have to. Otherwise, what’s the point, right?” Moose let out a big breath, shifting to move his head into Morgan’s lap, looking up at them as if to agree with their point. Remmy patted his nose and he licked their fingers. “Me, too, buddy,” they nodded sagely, as if they understood his big sigh, “me, too.”

Morgan felt Remmy tense and tightened her grip on them in assurance. She waited with them in stillness. She hadn’t thought anything of it at first, but as Remmy waited it out, she imagined murder vans and hunters with guns and swords and whatever the hellInfector Mortis looked like before it ate up a zombie’s insides. When all was clear, she kissed their arm again, pressing her mouth hard enough for them to feel it. “You’re okay,” she whispered against their skin, holding them a little tighter. “Feeling’s hard sometimes. But that’s how we know we’re still going. We’re really here. Things can still reach us. And I dunno, that sounds pretty philosophical to me.That’s borderline witch talk, great balance in the universe, the wheel coming up again before you know it?” She didn’t say that she was growing skeptical of this. That between the three people who lived here, there didn’t seem to be much in the way of good to outweigh the bad. She wanted them to have this, have whatever hope they could scrape together on a bad day. Just because she felt her stores of hope waning, didn’t mean she had to take theirs. “Can I ask you a weird death question?” She asked into the quiet.

Remmy felt a hot flash of shame. They shouldn’t be so afraid as to flinch every time a car drove by, or a noise sounded around the house that they weren’t familiar with. But they couldn’t help it. Not once, but twice now, they’d been beaten down and stolen away from where they thought they could be safe. They listened to Morgan’s gentle voice, let the feel of her arms around them settle in, blocking out the bad thoughts and perhaps even the ghost pains they still felt in their stomach. “Must’ve gotten that from you,” they muttered, settling into her a little further, a little calmer. A little more defeated. They would hold on for so long that sometimes they forgot it was okay to let go, every once in a while, and let themselves deflate. They sat up a little at Morgan’s question. “Umm, sure. Yeah. What’s up?”

It was funny how they kept coming back together, Morgan thought, draping her legs over Remmy’s lap. However much she made Remmy mad or disappointed, they managed to show up for her and whenever she asked, she got to feel like she wasn’t so alone anymore. And as much as she’d hated them for turning her at first, well, now they never would be alone, would they? Even in five hundred years, as long as Remmy didn’t do anything stupid like die trying to be a hero. Morgan smirked at Remmy’s remark and shifted her arm so she could muss their scruffy hair. “That’s not such a bad thing, right? I have my moments, sometimes?” She gave Remmy another scratch hoping to signal that it wasn’t anything urgent. Nothing like the fate of their loved ones hung in the balance. “You don’t have to if you don’t want,” she said, mumbling into their chest as she made herself cozy again. “But I was just wondering--do you ever miss yourself? Your alive-self? Like, do you wish they were still around, or that you could do something for them, or that they’d had a better time? Is it...weird, do you think, to think about that?”

Remmy scrunched their nose as Morgan ruffled their hair. It was already messy and sticking up in every direction and now it looked like they’d been caught in a wind storm and didn’t know hairbrushes existed. They lifted a hand to smooth it back down after a moment, still holding Morgan with the other. Whatever expectation they’d had when they first met Morgan, this being the center of their relationship had never crossed their mind. They’d never felt like they were enough of a person to have someone who they could know better than anyone else. And even if they shared her with Deirdre, Remmy knew that they could understand Morgan on a level that even she couldn’t. They looked at her with a soft expression, not quite a smile, not quite a frown. Wistful, perhaps. “I think about them a lot,” they muttered, “I feel like they’re lost somewhere and I don’t know how to find them. I--” they paused, “--I don’t think it’s weird. I think...dying was hard. Sometimes I wish I didn’t think about it so much.” They laid their cheek on the top of Morgan’s head. “I don’t even know what I’d do if I could do something for them.” Except, they had done something, hadn’t they. They sat up a little. “Do you-- can I show you something?” they asked. “If you um...have the energy to drive somewhere? It’s not far.”

“I think about alive-me a lot,” Morgan admitted in a whisper, even if it was already rendered obvious by her asking the question. “I almost wish she had her own body so I could just point and be like, yup, there she is. Also, I’m sorry I got us killed. I’m glad I’m here, and that you saved me. I just think about what she wanted for herself, how awful it was for her, and sad. I think, alive-you is somewhere too. They’re not lost-lost, even if it turns out you can’t come back together again. Deirdre says I’m the same. That, even if dying hurts and makes things different, I’m still...me in here. Maybe we just have to wait longer for more of our alive-selves to come home.” She sat up with Remmy this time, her face scrunched up with confusion. “Driving’s a heck of a lot better than walking. As long as I don’t have to fix my hair or get out of my house sweats, I think I can swing a driving trip for you. Just show me the way.”

“No,” Remmy answered, “you don’t. No one really visits there anyway.” They stayed sitting for a moment longer before pulling themself off the bed and Morgan with them. Moose followed suit as well, and they all sauntered in their slow, zombie like states to the car. Remmy plugged in the address-- White Crest Hilltop Memorial Wall-- and off they went. The ride was quiet, but it was quick. They both contemplated what it meant, to have an alive version of themselves somewhere out there, begging to come home. Wishing to be found. Remmy didn’t know what else to say to Morgan, aside from what she’d already said herself. They wished for all those things, too. When they pulled up, the sky was just getting dim. Remmy attached Moose to his lead and held out their hand for Morgan. When they made it up to the wall, Remmy stayed back for a moment. They remembered the kind woman who had handed them flowers, and they remembered the sorrow that had drowned them in their own chest as they’d waited for the sun to go down. And there, still carved into the stone-- the names of their fallen comrades. And their own name. “I don’t think alive me ever came back from that place,” they whispered softly. Their voice was almost lost to the wind, the ocean currents. “How do I find them now?”

Morgan hung onto Remmy’s hand the whole way they walked together. She hadn’t been to this side of town before, and the strange landscape unfolded strangely before her, even with how easily it blended into the rest of the town. It took her a moment to understand what she was looking at. “Oh, Remmy…” The war memorial, for the fallen local soldiers. Remmy had carried their friends this far and tried to give them a place to rest where they were known and remembered, right next to Remmy’s own. A casualty in an awful war, someone who would never really, fully come home. Morgan slid her arms around Remmy and tucked herself into their side. “No,” she whispered. “Not all of you did. But some of you has, or will. They’ll come out when they know it’s safe to. And maybe they’ll fit differently than they used to, but…” She squeezed them tight, tight as she could, knowing it wouldn’t hurt at all. “I think Deirdre would say something like...whatever parts of you feel like they are or aren’t here, you are whole, right now. You are one whole, wonderful Remmy. And I believe that too. Maybe your pieces are still going to shuffle around, but you’re whole. Maybe it’s not finding, maybe it’s just, moving forward and trusting that something will find you.”

Remmy stayed quiet. They listened to Morgan’s words and they understood that they were meant to help, meant to give Remmy something to think about, to process. But they couldn’t think of anything to say back. So they stayed quiet. Pressed to Morgan, they stayed silent as they looked at the wall and read all the other names that were there, pressed into the smooth granite stone the was erected for the monument. There was a flagpole next to it, always raised at full mast in the morning and pulled down at night. Remmy wondered who did that, who maintained this. Did they know the names on this wall? Maybe just one or even two? In a small town like this, everyone knew everyone, right? Did they come here and see the newly carved names and know who they were, too, then? Remmy blinked after a long time and looked down at Morgan. “How do I keep moving forward when I’m missing so much of myself?”

Morgan and Remmy held each other, hands clamped around their arms as tight as death. Morgan thought of all the places where their experience blended together, things they’d done, shitty memories they had in common, thoughts they’d shared. Even with all the awfulness at The Ring, they spent enough time together that Morgan sometimes imagined that conjoined spaces as one bright green field. Even the spot where Remmy brought her into their death was a patch of dandelions and thistle to her, dry and cracked and wild, but still hanging on to something that resembled life. She realized now that she had forgotten how much of Remmy was beyond her reach, not just the weeks they shut her out, but the childhood they’d never discuss, the years in a warzone, as a pawn in some fucked up power struggle bigger than them and everyone they lost. She couldn’t account for what was missing, she’d never see enough of the gaping wounds where Remmy had been blasted to pieces to figure it out.

After a long silence she said, “I think...maybe you have to set your eyes somewhere else. It’s like...the way we learn to feel different, taste different, be different. If you think about what you can’t feel all the time, you kind of go crazy with heartbreak. Or maybe that’s just me. But in any case...you look at what there is, and you look at what else grows. You’re growing new parts, Remmy. They’re not the same by a long shot, but they’re good. We’re mean, lean, regenerating machines!” She laughed feebly and gave them a squeeze. “There is so much here for you, and so much that wants you, Remmy. I think if you limp along enough towards them, you’ll feel as whole as you really are.”

Pain-- physical pain-- was like a distant memory now. But over the past few months, Remmy had come to know another pain-- the pain of absence. Absence of feeling, absence of support, absence of self. And it was strange-- they were things they’d never actually had before. Remmy had only been full of anger as a child and teenager. And then they were taught to shut themself down as a young adult going into the military. And then they were dead. And now they were here, staring at a veteran’s memorial that had their own name carved into it. Someone had brought flowers recently, the bouquet sitting idly by the wall. Remmy watched the leaves rustling in the wind, heard the soft crinkling of the paper they were wrapped in. Let the comfort of Morgan’s body tight against theirs remind them that they were here and they existed. When Morgan broke the silence, they just listened, watching the flowers and looking listlessly at the names on the wall.

“No one remembers me,” Remmy said quietly after a long time. “There’s no one left from who I was before, is there?” They weren’t entirely sure it was Morgan who they were talking to, or if it was the names they’d carved into the stone. The same ones that Luce had carved into their back. “I think-- they deserved better than the life I gave them. The old me. The human me. They deserved better than to die in a war we didn’t even believe in. What part of me still exists if there’s no one left to remember me?”

“Yeah,” Morgan whispered, unfurling an arm so she could comb her fingers through Remmy’s scruff. “They did. Deserve better I mean. They deserved so much more than they got, and it wasn’t fair, what happened to them. But some of them can sleep, and be okay. And the rest… I don’t know, Remmy. It has to be real on its own, doesn’t it? And as long as you keep showing yourself and opening that big, dopey heart of yours to people, won’t there always be someone who knows? It won’t be the same, but… it’s never going to be for us. Not ever.” Her hand fell down to their shoulder and squeezed tight. She shifted in front, looking at them with tear-filled eyes. “You could tell me, if you want. I gotta make it at least to 500. I can try and carry something from Alive-You.”

“But who’s gonna carry them?” Remmy asked, pointing at the wall. “If I let alive-me rest, who’s gonna remember them?” Their voice was wavering now, and it spilled over when Morgan turned to face them, her hand on their shoulder. Not a warm feeling, but a feeling of weight, still offering some sort of comfort even through the haze. “I was just a kid, you know?” they said, something of a nostalgic smile trying to pull its way through the tears. “I was just a kid. They told me I’d never amount to anything, but if I signed up-- if I went into the military-- then my life could mean something. That’s all I ever wanted. I just wanted my life to mean something to someone. It never had and I was so afraid that it never would. And then I just-- I got lost.” They looked at Morgan, wavering. “I still feel so lost. I don’t know who that person was, the old me. I never knew them. They were just whatever everyone told them to be. A bad child, a bad student, a soldier, a warrior, a sacrifice. A lover. And I listened to them. ‘Shut the fuck up, Remmington.’ ‘You’re worthless, Remington.’ ‘Pull the trigger, McAllister’, ‘Do it because I said so’.” They scrubbed and arm across their eye, soaked with tears. “Who was I?” they asked Morgan a bit desperately. “Who was I?”

“You will,” Morgan said gently. “You’ve still got them. You’re not all-gone, Remmy, okay? I can’t prove it to you, but I just know it. Hey--” Her voice cracked as she drew them down to her, forehead to forehead. “Hey, you were great. You were great because you were Remmy. And you must’ve been so lonely, and cared so much to do half the stuff you did. And maybe you were angry and lost, and you probably did some stupid stuff. You didn’t get a fair shake, you didn’t deserve half the shit you took. But you tried really hard to be strong and good. I dare you to tell me I’m wrong about any of that. I dare you…” She sniffled and squeezed them tighter, wishing she were big enough to wrap them away from all their grief, knowing they wouldn’t be Remmy and Morgan at all if she ever did.

Remmy folded into Morgan and let themself cry. They weren’t sure entirely what they were crying for, whether it was to mourn the past version of themself that no one got to know, or for their current self, who was fumbling, lost, in the darkness of a past that wouldn’t let go of them even though they’d died. They burrowed into her, hands gripping so tightly they surely would’ve cracked anyone else’s bones. But that was what they were now-- unbreakable. At least physically. Grief shouldered the two of them like an old friend and wrapped itself up in them as well. “Is it possible to miss someone that you never even knew?” they asked into the crook of her neck.

Morgan let Remmy collapse and fold into her. There weren’t enough hugs in the world to smother out their pain, or enough hands to scoop out their trauma and replace it with something good. All she could do was catch as much of them as she could and hold it tight against her, tighter as the sun dipped beneath the trees, tighter as they sank to their knees, and the birds flew home and the sky bled purple and the memorial emptied and it looked like the whole world had died and would collapse into dust with a stiff wind. And in the awful silence, heavy as the death that clung to them, Morgan told Remmy, “Of course you can. Of course, Remmy. But you’ll figure it out, you’ll be okay. You can, okay? You can… you can…”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Running Up That Hill || Morgan & Remmy

TIMING: This afternoon

PARTIES: @whatsin-yourhead & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Remmy try to catch up and unload their problems. But some problems are too difficult to share.

The world wasn’t so scary anymore, but without the buffer of something taking up space in Remmy’s mind, the sorrow that clung to their heart had crawled its way back in. Heavy on their shoulders, they had walked all the way to Morgan and Deirdre’s-- which wasn’t actually that far from Lydia’s home-- without stopping. Granted, endless energy made the trudge much easier. It also made it easier for their mind to wander. They couldn’t stop thinking about the night they’d spent with Luce-- how warm her skin always felt, how sweet her lips tasted. How gentle she’d been when they’d let her touch them. Their chest filled with a heat just thinking about it, finding themself craving her more now. They couldn’t shake her from their head, even with everything else left to worry about, all they could focus on was Luce. Rubbing their eyes, they came to a stop, realizing they’d made it to Morgan’s place already. Looking around, they straightened themself out before heading up to the door and giving a knock. They hadn’t prepared anything to say, and they weren’t sure they’d be able to say what Morgan asked without that pain swelling in their throat coming out. But when the door opened, and they saw Morgan’s face, it really didn’t matter. They folded her into a tight hug in what seemed like it would have been suddenly, had the conversation last night not gone the way it had. “Sorry,” they mumbled after a moment, but didn’t pull away, “I can’t hug Lydia this tight.”

Morgan leapt straight into Remmy’s arms and clung tight to her heart’s content. Remmy’s arms were small, but they had enough strength to buckle her rib bones, and the little dents they made in her organs were a bittersweet relief because they meant Remmy was here and she didn’t have to hold the world up anymore. Tears eeked out of the corners of her eyes. “Don’t you dare be sorry,” she said, sniffling into their shoulder. “You give the best hugs. The best, okay?” Even when Remmy loosened their hold, she stayed close to them. “You’re looking a little worn out. Don’t tell me this place is kicking your ass too right now. Or if it is, at least tell me it’s something we can scream or punch our way out of?” She pulled them by the hand and collapsed onto the couch with them, curling up into their side.

A smile tried to tug itself onto their face, but only made it halfway there before Remmy felt the weight of everything else pull it down. “Okay,” they agreed quietly, following Morgan inside. It was the same house it always was, but something hung in the air that Remmy couldn’t quite place. It was both lighter and heavier all at once. Maybe even from two different things. They sunk greedily into the soft couch and tucked Morgan’s small frame into them, finding comfort in the small action. The safety they felt in her arms was paralleled only by being with Lydia. “Oh, um....it’s...well...I dunno if it’s a punch out thing, but maybe it can be a talk out thing,” they stuttered through the words. They weren’t sure why they were nervous to tell Morgan-- were they worried she’d be mad at them? Angry? Upset? They didn’t know. “I uh-- I slept with Luce again,” they said quickly. “I-I know it was a bad idea, but I just-- I couldn’t help it.”

Morgan had braced herself for a whole number of possibilities. She wasn’t sure how many more worries she could squeeze onto her plate, but she’d make the space for Remmy--until they confessed what had happened. Morgan couldn’t help but snort. “Oh, honey--” She brushed back the scruffy hair that stuck out from their head. “Remmy--” She shook her head, but there was nothing angry or disappointed in her expression. “She’s that irresistible, huh? How do you feel? How are things going for you two after...that.”

Remmy let out a long puff of air. “I guess,” they muttered, but Morgan was right-- Remmy couldn’t stay away, even if they wanted to. The other night proved that. Huffing, they crossed their arms over their chest. “I don’t know, and I hate it. She says she’s good, but when has Luce ever said that and meant it?” they looked earnestly over at Morgan, before feeling their body droop. “It was my idea, too,” they grumbled, “I feel so-- stupid. I was supposed to have boundaries, be strong, and I just--” they waved their hands in front of them, “the minute I saw her I couldn’t not kiss her.”

“Remmy--” Morgan stretched up to kiss their temple. “You’ve really got it bad, huh? Listen, I don’t have any great advice here, except maybe, you know, try to lay down more of those boundaries. Try. But that’s easier said than done. You may recall the number of times I came here to have some very un-casual casual sex with Deirdre, and the a month or so where I was living here, sharing an un-sexy bed, and making out with her while insisting that we were just friends. And then there’s all the all girls back in Texas I insisted were just for the night and then made the mistake of holding repeat engagements, before I learned better. Point is: I am the reigning queen of terrible sex decisions. Welcome, my dear Remmy, to my queendom. Would you like me to whip you up some nachos or popcorn about it? Because there’s not much to do about this one besides letting it all out with your friends. What’d she say besides that she was ‘good’?”

“She asked me to stay,” Remmy said quietly, looking up at Morgan with big, bashful eyes. Even if it seemed impossible, they couldn’t help but cling to the small hope that Luce cared about them, too. That maybe she even liked them back. “Afterwards. And it was--” they gave a small pause, “--it was the first time I let her touch me, too.” They sat back a little. “I haven’t-- since I woke up dead. Let anyone…” Did it mean something? Or were they reading into it? They needed to know, and they were looking at Morgan as if she were the only one with the answer. They knew it wasn't’ fair, but they couldn’t help it. “Nachos sound nice,” they murmured after a small silence. “I could eat some nachos right now.”

“Oh, honey,” Morgan repeated, dragging out the word. She had been there, was still kind of there even, savoring all of the amazing little treasures of affection Deirdre gave her, from her practiced touches, to her swift, almost mindless kisses, and all the words and smiles she gave. There were less of them now, with everything happening with Regan, but Morgan treasured what she received even more now, knowing Deirdre was working against her despair to be present for her. “That’s a big base to cross. I’m proud of you, however this shakes out, okay? Just give me a sec, okay? I already have some half done for us.” She kissed the top of Remmy’s head and disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes, assembling everything and pouring hot, diced brains on top. When they were ready, Morgan came back with a big bowl and promptly placed it in their lap before crawling back into their place against them. “Is there more to the story that you wanna share? I’m guessing you did stay over? Was there breakfast, coffee? Goodbye kisses?”

Remmy waited idly while Morgan went to get their nachos. They rubbed their palms along the tops of their pants in a small, nervous manner, sitting up a little straighter when Morgan came back into the room and handed the plate over. They cozied in and let her reattach herself to her side, taking a small bite before answering her question. “Not really. Um-- I think she felt weird making stuff when she knows I don’t eat. It was-- well, not awkward, but also not, like...that,” they said, pushing around some of the nachos with a finger. They looked over at Morgan almost expectantly. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I feel like I should just...get over it. Get over her, but I--” they scratched at their jeans, “--I don’t think I want to.” It was hard to explain-- even after all the hurtful things Luce had said, all of the times she’d pushed them away, they’d seen enough of her softness to know there were feelings buried in her somewhere. They could almost feel it. “I know that really doesn’t help with...all the other shit I’m trying to work through, but I just-- I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about someone before.” They offered the plate to Morgan, before setting it on the table in front of them. “Why are girls so complicated?”

Morgan took a chip and scooped it deep into her brain mix before the bowl went to rest on the table. She chewed thoughtfully, savoring the spicy-tangy taste as she listened to her friend. “I wish I knew why girls and girl stuff was so complicated, Remmy. If we could make caring about one another un-complicated and stick in a bottle, we’d make billions. People-- some of the most incredible people are the most hurt, or the most locked away, or the most angry. I’m sure there’s gotta be some out there that aren’t, but maybe you and I...we just don’t click with them like we do the people we really like. And who even knows how or why we’re drawn to the people we are. I don’t think I’ve known many people who came together perfectly, with no bumps or hold ups, and stayed together. It’s all one big clusterfuck of a mystery. I gotta ask you something though--” She turned her head so she could lock eyes with Remmy. “Do you think you might love her, Remmy?”

Remmy listened intently to Morgan’s mini-speech-- she was really good at that, and they supposed that was why she was an English teacher. But it didn’t change the meaning of her words, or about how right she was. They could only wish for an easy answer. And then, of course, she had to ask the hardest question of them all-- and Remmy knew the answer, but they hadn’t said it outloud yet. They almost didn’t want to. They picked at a spot on their jeans, unable to look Morgan in the eyes, even as she attempted to lock them in. “I-- don’t know. I’m not sure I really...know what romantic love feels like, anymore. Cause I thought I-- I thought I loved him, my last-- I thought that was love, but it wasn’t, and I...well...how can I know?” they chanced a small look over at her, wondering if their face would be flushed had it been able to be. Wondering if this was really the talk they needed to be having when they still felt like their past held a vice grip on them, chaining them to a personhood they no longer had possession of.

“Ooh! This one, I do have an answer for!” Morgan helped herself to another loaded tortilla chip and stuffed it into her mouth. “I don’t know how much you’re going to like it, Remmy, and maybe it sounds cheesy but…” She sighed, holding Remmy’s gaze affectionately. It was so familiar, and so unfair. “When you know, Remmy, you know. I’ve never-- I’d been with people before and I’d had hope for people before, but I’d never been loved this way. And I’d never been in love, except for one sad high school obsession that wasn’t allowed to go anywhere. I knew about as much as you right now...when you know, you know. It’s just...something in us that most of us can understand when it comes. So if you think you do, Remmy, those heart flutters and heart aches, and the catalog of expressions you keep in your head, the thrill of one more minute or one more hour together-- I think it is what you think it is.”

Remmy stayed quiet while Morgan talked, trying to absorb what she was saying and see if that matched how they felt. The truth was, they didn’t really know how they felt-- they just knew that watching Luce suffer made them hurt, and watching her be happy made them happy, and touching her felt like the greatest thing in the world. So-- huh. Maybe Morgan was right. They looked over at her, swallowing. “What if she doesn’t...love me back?” they asked quietly, almost so quiet it could’ve been missed had they not been so close together, and had their mouth not moved to say the words.

Morgan draped an arm around Remmy and tucked them closer together. “If she doesn’t, then Luce is even more of an emotionally stunted idiot than I already think she is. And you may not stop loving her all at once or ever, knowing you, but you’ll have to at least try to get on without her. Find someone who will appreciate the love you have to offer.” Her head fell to rest on Remmy’s shoulder, tired and sad. “But maybe she does. Maybe she just doesn’t know how to say it yet…”

Remmy settled into Morgan and put their head on top of hers when she rest on their shoulder. “Was it hard for you? With Deirdre?” they asked into the silence after a long moment. They weren’t sure why asking that helped, but maybe they just wanted to know this struggle wasn’t theirs alone. “To say it? Did she-- she figured out how to say it. Was that hard?” The world felt heavy and quiet around them, and the nachos were going cold, but Remmy didn’t want to move. Not yet. They wanted something solid, something real. Anyone, or anything. Morgan couldn’t always be their rock, they knew that.

“Well, I met her in January, moved in sometime in March, and even when she asked me to be her girlfriend in April, she immediately had a panic attack and started crying when I said I loved her,” Morgan replied. It wasn’t the best weather forecast for Remmy and Luce if this was some kind of pattern with other women, but it didn’t occur to her to tell Remmy anything other than the truth. “We’ve talked about all that since, and she’s said...she loved me back then. As far back as that stupid week and a half break up, maybe before. She was really scared about it. Some of it was the way she was brought up, a lot of it honestly, but...yeah, it was really hard. But then, after I said it, and then said she didn’t have to right away, that it would just be nice to hear someday, after that it was easy. I mean, you know what a romantic dope she is. I think we say it at least ten times a day.” She shrugged. “Maybe Luce just needs to get over that hump. Or maybe she’s just not the kind of person to say that a lot.” Her mother certainly wasn’t, but Ruth Beck wasn’t a kind of person Morgan wanted Remmy to be getting close to. “I hope if it is hard now, it gets easy later. At least the feelings part. Feelings and talking and being kind should come easy, I think. There’s so much other hard stuff you can’t do anything about, no matter how hard you try, at least the basic things shouldn’t be hard too,” she sighed.

Remmy was quiet again. They weren’t sure what else to say. Everything Morgan said was true and right and the way she talked about Deirdre made even Remmy feel loved. The two of them had something Remmy wasn’t sure they’d ever get, but sometimes, when they thought about Luce, or lying in bed next to Luce, or just sitting in her cabin, it felt like maybe they could get close. Their thoughts turned momentarily to Nadia, and other Nadia, and how Luce had expressed such a similar concern for them as for Remmy, but that wasn’t something they could think about right now. Things were...too complicated there. They needed something to be easy. “Yeah,” they finally replied, letting out a long sigh. “I think she’s just scared.” A beat. “I kinda get that.” They looked down at Morgan. “I’m glad she finally said it to you. You two...deserve that happiness.”

Morgan sniffled and nodded into Remmy’s shoulder. “Me too,” she said, tearing up in spite of herself. “We uh...fuck, we could really use that right now. Just some good fairy tale kiss the girl and everything is magically all better bulshit.” She cried into Remmy’s shoulder, squeezing them as tight as her hands could stand. “Everything’s kind of hard right now,” she said, breathing through her teeth. “And she’s my anchor, and I’m hers, and I know if we have anything at all, it’s each other, but I just wish we didn’t have to fight or hold on so tight in the first place.”

“Is it still….the mushroom stuff?” Remmy asked, hoping they weren’t reopening some recent, painful wound that was going to be difficult to talk about. But maybe Morgan needed to talk about it. They didn’t want to boggart her time by making it all about them, and maybe if they got her to talk about a different subject she’d forget about why Remmy was here in the first place. “Is everything okay with you guys?”

“It’s not the mushrooms,” Morgan mumbled tearfully. “It’s...fuck, it’s secret, awful fae bullshit. It’s destroying Deirdre to do it and I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about it with anyone. I don’t know if they could accept how brutal it all is, what she has to do, what was done to her when she was, stars, she was just eight. And she tried so hard to look for something else, anything else. She’s tried so hard to accept kindness, to be kind to people, and this thing is--I’m so afraid it’ll take that away from her, and me. And if that wasn’t enough..” She laughed bitterly and wiped her eyes. “You remember Constance? From the day I died?”

Oh. That-- that was a lot to unpack. Remmy didn’t know what to say. Lydia was very secretive about her fae stuff, except for when she’d helped Remmy escape Jax. Other than that, she did not speak of it, and Remmy did not ask. It didn’t seem right to. So secret fae shit sounded heavy. And like something they weren’t willing to push on. “I--I’m sorry,” was all they found they could say. Blinked, though back to that day. To the specter that had sat on the bench next to them, surprised to find that Remmy could see her. “I-- yeah. I remember. W-why?”

“She came to our house. Here. She came here while we were in bed. It was normal and fine and then Deirdre felt something close by and she just--” Morgan shook her head. “She would’ve killed us both if we let her. She would’ve crushed Deirdre’s throat if I hadn’t stopped her. She was solid and awful, and she wants me to die, for good this time, because of whatever bullshit made her crazy enough to curse us all in the first place.” She grimaced through her tears and reached for the bowl of nachos, cradling it to her stomach to have something to hold. “I’m going to end her first. There’s exorcisms that make ghosts hurt, and as soon as I get my hands on the worst of them, she’s mine.”

“She-- what!?” Remmy said, exasperated. They sat up enough to look at Morgan fully, as if expecting to find some sort of damage on her, some tell that they must’ve missed. But zombies healed almost instantaneously, so of course there was nothing. Nothing except the droop in Morgan’s shoulders and the weariness on her face. The unfairness of the situation, of the world, falling on her back. “But-- you’re okay now? Why, why would she do that? I thought the curse ended when you died? When you--” they swallowed, shook their head. “Wait-- exorcism?” Hadn’t Nadia said something about those? “Don’t-- dont those hurt? You want to...make her hurt?”

Morgan wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You know, I was a little busy fighting for our lives to hold an interview. But she made it clear that my sticking around after the curse is why she’s so pissed. She said ‘I am your justice and your fate.’ And that I needed to be punished.” She stuffed a handful of nachos into her mouth, but she didn’t have the appetite for it, she was too angry. “Yes, an exorcism. Yes, I want to make her hurt. For what she did to me, to Deirdre, to my mother-- do you realize she’s the reason my mother was such a nightmare in the first place? And her mother? And probably hers before that, a whole fucked up family line, just hurting each other because we couldn’t figure out or get our hands on the one who was actually to blame! It’s such bullshit. If I could still make magic on my own I’d find a way to write something to take her energy and rip it into so many pieces, if I could take it out of the cycle of the universe altogether, even better. But I’ll settle for an exorcism to the pain. I just need to find it, and someone to do it.”

“I-- sorry,” Remmy said at her first words, clicking their jaw shut and listening to the rest of her words. What she was saying, it wasn’t fair. Constance coming after her wasn’t fair, of course it wasn’t, but-- hurting someone? Specifically looking for something to hurt someone else? It didn’t sit right with Remmy. They had to say something. “I-- I know it’s not fair of her to come after you, but-- maybe she’s just confused? O-or hurting, herself? Being a ghost has to be hard. People can’t see or hear you or...a-and I’m not saying it’s an excuse, but-- looking to hurt someone like that, you...I don’t think that’s really a good idea, Morgan,” they said quietly, trying to keep their words fair and even. It wasn’t working well, they could tell by the look on Morgan’s face. And almost seeing your lover killed by a physical ghost probably didn’t help, but wanting to hurt someone just to hurt them? That wasn’t who Morgan was, right? She didn’t lash out like that in anger just for vengeance, did she?

Morgan stared at Remmy and wondered if she had been magic hexed into having another hyper-realistic dream. Surely, this was the moment when the floor folded up and crushed them, or her own mangled body plummeted through the ceiling and landed between them. “Are you completely shitting me right now?” She murmured, edging out of Remmy’s grasp. “Blanche was one thing, but you--you saw her kill me, Remmy. You were there when everything--and all those bullshit ways I almost died!  And to come back just when I have my life together, you want to call trying to murder Deirdre in front of me just ‘not fair’? Geez, I hate to see what would happen if she actually finished the job! What does that get from you, a slap on the ectoplasm?” She looked at Remmy and she stood, eyes pleading with disbelief. “Tell me you are not gonna bail on me when the bitch who ruined my life is back to take what’s left of it. Tell me you haven’t forgotten everything she’s put me through.”

Remmy flinched. That had been the absolute wrong thing to say, but somehow, they didn’t feel bad for saying it. Their whole life they’d been asked to just shut up and take it and they were growing tired of it. Of not saying what was on their mind. And while they wanted to argue again, they felt a heavy weariness inside of them that told them now really wasn’t the time. “Right, no, that’s...I’m not. I’m not going to bail on you, of course not,” they said, holding a hand out to Morgan again. “Just...come back to the couch, okay? I just...let’s just watch something. Today has been...a lot, for both of us.” They looked up at Morgan with soft, pleading eyes. “Please?”

Morgan idled, holding herself against Remmy’s words. “I need this, Remmy,” she murmured. “And I need at least some of my friends to care enough to help me.” Maybe not enough, she thought, just more than some set of hopeless principles. More than whatever fear Constance wanted to put in them. More than whatever squick hang-ups a phrase like “to the pain” they held. She wanted to be more important than that. “I need to be able to trust you with this.” She held their gaze, clocking the unease but unable to decipher which impulse was winning. She still didn’t know for sure when she edged back to the couch. She passed Remmy the remote and mumbled that they could pick what to watch, still searching for a hard answer in their expression. “Everything feels like it wants to fall apart,” she whispered, shifting around, looking for that comfortable spot again. “I just need my best friend. Okay?”

The world had tried so hard to tear Remmy apart-- both emotionally and mentally. It had tried so many times to destroy them. And, perhaps, it had succeeded at times. It had torn apart their life when it had taken their mom from them. It had torn apart their life when they’d been nearly expelled from high school and practically forced into the military. It had torn apart their life when it took their squad mates and friends from them. And it had torn apart their life when they had woken up alone and afraid and forgotten. White Crest was supposed to have been a place where they could start over and build something new. And even it had tried to tear them down. Life was just trying to teach them the same lesson, over and over. And now that they’d finally learned it, they were faced with a friend who wanted them to go back on it. To bend under the overwhelming pressure of deciding if what was right and wrong, if what they believed in, meant more to them than someone’s friendship. Remmy’s shoulders drooped just a little and they clicked on Grey’s Anatomy before settling in next Morgan. All they said to her was, “Okay.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Chasing Cars || Morgan, Remmy, & Deirdre (feat. Constance)

Morgan and Remmy go out for ice cream, but fate is cruel and so is Constance.

@deathduty, @whatsin-yourhead

CW: traffic wreckage, death

The scream cracked the air like an egg. As it spilled through the town center, Morgan froze, ears covered, bracing herself as she would against a storm. It was a sound harsher fear, fiercer than rage. It was the sound of fate and all her unfairness. When it finally passed she shivered, shaking it off her. “Yikes,” she said with nervous laughter. “Wonder who’s gonna die, huh?” Probably the old lady she’d seen passing from Regan’s apartment. Nothing to cry about, but no less chilling. Morgan wasn’t, strictly speaking, supposed to be out doing something as frivolous as getting ice cream with her friend. But getting up the energy to engage her students had been more exhausting than usual and--damnit, Constance shouldn’t get to take away ice cream on a warm spring day. She turned to Remmy. “You okay?”

Remmy was able to remove their hearing aid before the scream split their head too much, wincing only a bit as it echoed around them. They were in line for ice cream, and Remmy had brought a little container of blended brains to mix into their cup, to try it and see how it tasted. It was just supposed to be a nice afternoon, as they both just wanted some time off. And so far, it had been. But the creeping feeling inside of Remmy hadn’t gone away, for some reason. Though they weren’t usually one to ignore their instincts, they brushed the feeling off. “What, die? Oh, was that? That was a uh--” they leaned in to whisper, “banshee scream, right?” Looked around nervously, popping their hearing aid back in. Moose was quiet at their feet, despite the head tilt as the scream echoed away. If he wasn’t reacting, then it couldn’t be too bad, right? “I’m fine!” Remmy finally answered, taking another step forward in line.

“Yeah. There’s another one in town, and she doesn’t really have the hang of things like Deirdre does,” Morgan said, giving another full-body shudder. “They’re cool, in a terrifying sort of way. Whoever it is, hope it’s not something bad.” It was her turn in line for ice cream, and Morgan got herself a chocolate swirl cone, topped with a cherry. “You know, you don’t have to say you’re fine if you’re not,” she said between licks. “Everything okay at home? Or something else?”

“Oh, I didn’t know. Does Deirdre know them?” Remmy asked, watching Morgan order her cone happily, before stepping up next. They ordered a cup of vanilla with sprinkles, waiting until they were a fair distance away before pouring in the brain mush and stirring it up. Taking a bite. Not too bad. Just cold brains. “What? I-- why wouldn’t I be fine? I’m totally fine,” they said, giving a shrug. They weren’t sure what had prompted Morgan to ask that, had they been acting weird lately? They weren’t sure. They took another bite, letting it sit on their tongue this time. Moose trotted gently beside them and they took a little scoop of ice cream and let him lick it off their finger. “Everything’s fine at home. Blanche is sleeping in her bed and Nora hired someone to look after Munch. Things are pretty normal.”

“I think that’s technically classified, but what do you think?” Morgan said with a pointed look, one that went something along the lines of ‘of course she does.’ “Honestly, she’s been having a hard time about it. And it helps, being together, in the way that everything feels a little better when we’re together, but she needs other help, more time opening up to her other friends.” She tongued a chunk out of her ice cream cone and swilled up the mess with her cherry. “But we’re not here to talk about my girlfriend.” She batted her eyes at Remmy in a fake show of coyness. “You’re doing that thing where the more you insist that you’re fine the less convincing you are. And you’ve been weird the last couple time we’ve hung out, and I haven’t pushed, but--” She sighed. “If it’s not a trust thing, then what kind of thing is it? Can I at least know that?”

“What do you mean-- oh! Oh, right. Yeah.” It was like Lydia said, they were a community, the Fae. And they were careful with their identities. Remmy nodded more to themself than Morgan and took a bite. “Well, I’m glad she has you, then. She wants to take me to a cemetery soon, so I can try and talk to her then, too.” They looked over at Morgan after a moment, furrowing their brow. “Nothing’s-- nothing’s wrong. Okay? Everything is just the same as it’s always been. It’s not--” a trust thing? It...kinda was, though, wasn’t it? Ever since Morgan had pushed them away, they hadn’t quite felt the same. And it wasn’t like they couldn’t tell her about the Ring and the issues they were having with losing blocks of time to that hollow trance they equated to sleep. “It’s a nothing thing,” they finally said.

Morgan waited, still swilling her cherry over the ice cream cone while Remmy thought. For all that they insisted that she was forgiven and things could go back to the way they were before she freaked over the bootstrap worm, some wall hadn’t quite come down. And she waited patiently, and she waited not-so-patiently, but it made her cold and ill in the worst way to be right next to them and know things weren’t close to what they said they were. “Remmy, please,” she said. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I care about you, you know that right? It’s clearly not a nothing thing, so--what is it?” She munched on her ice cream, brow furrowed as she tried to untangle her thoughts better. “I’d rather be honest with you than fake-happy with you. You know that, right?”

“It’s not, like, important,” Remmy said with a little force. The stirred their ice cream around, poking at a bit of brain. “It’s just-- it just is. And it’s stupid and I don’t wanna talk about it. Cause it’s not gonna help. To talk. It never helps. It just makes things worse.” Their spoon suddenly snapped, and they hadn’t even realized they’d been squeezing it. Dejected, they tossed the whole container of ice cream into the nearest trash bin and stopped walking. “Can’t we just have a nice walk?” They asked, not looking up at Morgan.

“I never said it was going to be a magic fix everything!” Morgan said. “I just think that sitting on something and pretending it isn’t there isn’t going to make anything better!” She sighed pitifully as her ice cream dripped down her hand. She’d lost the appetite for it, and it had been so sweet and satisfying only a few moments ago. She sucked her cherry off its stem and followed Remmy to the trashcan to throw hers away too. “I’d rather you be honest with me. You wouldn’t be this mad if you were fine. If I can’t help, I don’t know, let me do something! What is so bad that you can’t let me in about it?”

“It’s not-- I’m not mad,” Remmy snapped, then held themself still a moment. They needed to calm down. “I’m not mad. I’m just...I don’t know what I am, okay? I just know that, this-- this always happens. People always inevitably leave. Because I’m not, I’m not like-- interesting. Or exciting or...someone people want around. And then you, I thought you wouldn’t do that, but like….you did. And I get it, you know? I thought I was okay with it. Cause like, you had more important people in your life. So it was fine. I just wanted to help.” They flopped onto a bench, leaving room for Morgan, putting their head in their hands. “I’m not good at explaining how I feel. It just...I’m not mad.”

Morgan’s face fell as Remmy finally explained. “Oh, Rem,” she said, coming over to sit by them. “Hey--” She tugged on their shoulder and tried to get them to face her. “That wasn’t the reason I pushed you away at all. I pushed you away because you’re one of the most important people to me in this place. You were my first real friend, and you’re still my best friend, even if I’m not yours anymore. I couldn’t stomach something bad happening to you because of my curse. And it was dumb, I know now it was really, really dumb, but it seemed--the trade-off of you being still here and mad at me and maybe able to forgive me someday versus you being my friend and chopped into pieces or re-killed or tortured, or who knows what and gone--” Her voice stuck in her chest. The fear was still real, all the more so with Constance lurking who knew where, waiting to torment her some more. “It seemed worth it. You were worth it. I’d do anything for you to not be gone, and it was wrong but...but that’s what I did.”

Remmy turned to look at Morgan when she nudged their shoulder, trying to keep their expression from wavering too much. “It’s-- I mean, if it was, I-I get it, but--” But Morgan was explaining something else, instead. The words made Remmy’s heart do flips. They were important to her. The most important. Had they ever been picked first? Had they ever been the most important to someone? Remmy’s throat choked up a moment and they turned away, scrubbing a hand across their face. “I’m sorry, I’m not mad. I was never mad. I just-- it was easier, is easier, to just, to think I’m not...important. But you don’t like, you don’t have to worry about me, you know? Cause I’m like, impervious. And I-- you know I’d do anything for you, too, right? Like, anything. I don’t want you gone either. It would--” they swallowed, “it would hurt too much. I already lost so many friends, I can’t-- I don’t wanna lose you either, okay?”

“So--I’m gonna hug you. This is, like, you five-second warning so I don’t spook you, but I’m gonna hug you now okay?” Morgan’s eyes were watering from watching Remmy cry with surprise over this. She threw her arms around her friend and squeezed them tight. “Of course you’re important to me. You’d always be important. Don’t ever think you’re not--stars, Remmy, you’re the best person I know. Okay?” She wiped Remmy’s face with the back of her hand and gave them another squeeze. “And I’m gonna try. For you, and Deirdre, and me, and everyone else, I--I want us all to be good together. I don’t want to be someone who even has to think about making those choices. I just want us all to have good lives with each other. So I’m gonna figure out this whole ghost thing. And I’m not gonna do anything stupid to protect you, and I’m not gonna make you worry about losing me if I can help it.” She squeezed them again. “So uh, why don’t I get us some make-up ice cream? Maybe we can walk to the arcade before going back to the hotel? I never had enough money for video games growing up, and I never had any friends to go play those games with, so you can show me the ropes, okay?”

“I-- okay,” Remmy said quietly, leaning into the hug as Morgan wrapped her arms around them. They put their arms around her after a second and sighed. “Okay,” they said quietly, giving a little nod. “I’ll remember.” At least, they would try. They knew it would take more than just one reminder, but they would try. For Morgan, they would try. Leaning back again, they gave their best attempt at a smile. “Yeah, okay, yeah,” they agreed, “That sounds fun. I can show you all the fun old school games, like Galaga and Space Invaders. Those are my favorites. And they’re both two-player.”

Morgan beamed and gave them one more squeeze just for good measure before getting up and jogging back to the ice cream stand. “Promise you’ll remember and you got yourself a deal, Rem--no, promise you’ll remember AND you’ll tell me when you need reminding. Friends give friends reassurance whenever they need. And then: Space Invaders.” She shot Remmy a pair of finger guns: pew, pew. “What are we thinking for round two of ice cream? Maybe strawberry. Do you have any preferences?” Probably not, although it seemed nicer to ask. She took her place in the line and gave her friend a wave that said she’d be just a second.

Constance watched the little witch scamper off. Not afraid. Not repentant. Just flying off into her own little selfish world. It hadn’t been enough to hound her in public, to stalk her in her disgusting, romantic happiness, or to search for her cursed friends. It was never enough. She had given up her soul so every Bachman might understand a fraction of the pain they had caused her and it was never, never going to be enough. 

“You two look very sweet,” she said, coming near to the bench. She sat beside the witch’s friend. Looking over them, trying to see what the witch saw in them. “What does she use you for, I wonder?”

“I promise,” Remmy said softly, giving Morgan a gentle smile. “Whatever you think sounds best. I won’t be able to taste it anyway.” When Morgan scampered off, they slumped a little. They were happy to be here with her, but they wished this hadn’t all come up. Today was supposed to just be fun and easy. Suddenly, there was someone beside them. Not a real someone-- well, real in the sense of the word, but not real as in alive-- a ghost. “I-- what?” they asked, blinking. “Who- who are you? She’s not-- Morgan’s not using me. She’s-- my friend.”

Constance looked quizzically at the human--or, they couldn’t really just be human, could they? Medium, or undead, it was all the same to her. She hadn’t expected to be heard. The place where her heart should have been leapt, tingling with the spectre of warmth. She smiled at them. “My apologies, I didn’t think anyone could hear me anymore. I meant it, about you being sweet. I’ve been watching you for awhile there, I hope you don’t mind. It’s all I can do to pass the time.” That, and plan. Test the capabilities of her form. But all things in their own time. She sat atop the bench and dangled her long legs over the end. “But you’re wrong. All people like her know how to do is use. It’s in their blood.  I’d steer a little more clear of her if I were you. I might even consider doing it now.”

Remmy was confused for the moment. “I’m-- it’s, um-- okay, I guess?” They looked at her, swinging her legs, sitting on this bench as if she wasn’t see through or floating. They followed her line of sight over to Morgan, feeling that creeping feeling coming back up. “W-wait, are you-- are you Constance?” they asked suddenly, remembering Morgan had said she had escaped. “Morgan’s not-- that’s not true! Morgan is my friend, and she’s a good friend, and you should-- you should stop cursing her, or whatever! She didn’t do anything to deserve this. All she wants is to be happy. All I want is for her to be happy.”

Constance frowned in disgust. She had been loyal like that once, stupid like that once, and all it had done was bring her here, into this world that neither recognized nor cared for her existence. A world of smoke and iron and cruelty. “She doesn’t deserve you,” she said, rising up and walking backwards, lazy and ambling as she phazed through passers by. “She doesn’t deserve any of this. Whatever you are, you’re owed more than another weak, selfish Bachman girl.” Constance swelled with rage as she went on. The shine on this creature’s disbelief, their pure, foolhardy courage--no one had ever looked at her like that before. Not in her whole life. It wasn’t just. And just like that, the game wasn’t fun anymore. Constance didn’t want to see Morgan Beck merely suffer; he wanted to see her pay. 

Morgan didn’t see the brakes come loose from the ice cream stand or the lights flicker backwards from yellow to green on the crosswalk nearby. She was getting vanilla for Remmy and a scoop of strawberry for herself. Another cherry on top, with juice dripping down the side in a morbid sort of way that made her reach for her phone to send a picture of it to Deirdre. She noticed the gulls overhead, and a shiver through her body that came from the wrong direction to be from the wind. She didn’t even have time to consider what it might have been until everything happened at once. 

The cart burst into motion as if it had been pushed. The cars, starting and stopping on their brakes with confusion honked their horns, starling a boy on his skateboard, who fell and took down a large banner advertising a stargazing group with him, and just as it fell over Morgan, who batted it off her head as best she could, the ice cream cart caught one end of the string in its wheels and dragged like a bright spotted tail into the street where the cars, confident again, revved forwards, too sudden and too late to fix their mistake. 

Morgan saw the pieces in the quiet terrible moment before they came together. There was an eerie elegance to it, a sense of fingers plucking at threads with a cruel sense of humor. Morgan’s brow pinched in confusion. That can’t be right, was all she thought. “Hey, Re--” The line on the fallen banner, still trailing away, caught around her ankle. She looked down and the world broke open and her body crashed to the ground. 

There was something to be said about instinct, but Remmy couldn’t think of it. They turned on the bench as Constance stood up and started walking away, phasing right through everything in her way. Confused and slightly angered by what she was saying, Remmy stood, as if to give chase, when a chilling wind passed by. The hairs on their arms stood on end and a tingle went straight up their spine. Their head turned sharply to look back towards Morgan, as if just knowing that’s where they were supposed to be looking-- just in time to watch the cart snap. It sailed towards the street, which was furious and loud with honking and confusion and road rage. Remmy watched with mute horror as a car swerved to avoid hitting another, but it was too late. The bumper collided with the side and the two metal machines crumpled like paper. 

“Morgan…” they said, almost a whisper at first. “Morgan.” A little louder, eyes searching wildly for her. “Morgan!” There she was, she was standing, there was a banner near her. Another loud squeal of wheels. Remmy was vaulting over the bench and towards her, down the sidewalk. A car, swerving to avoid traffic, jumped the curve. No one saw it coming, not even Remmy. It all happened at once. 

“MORGA--” they tried one more time, eyes wide as the string snagged her leg. She was pulled directly towards the street, feet taken out from under her. Straight towards the wreckage, which had been shoved up from the road and onto the sidewalk by other cars attempting in fury to stop before becoming another part of the pile unsuccessfully. 

Remmy didn’t see what happened next. Just like when Deirdre had shoved them in front of that taxi, Remmy’s body bent, but did not break. But this time, the car kept going, only stopping when the metal post behind it ripped through the front end of the car, Remmy’s body stuck pressed between the fence and the destroyed bumper. Losing momentary consciousness for the first time since… Blinking, Remmy looked up. “Morgan,” they called out weakly, tears already in their eyes. They didn’t know why. “Morgan!?” a little louder, a little more alarmed. “Morgan?” There, on the ground, on the sidewalk. She was laying on her back, and something was-- oh no. 

“MORGAN!” Remmy screamed.

Morgan opened her eyes at the sound of her name. She remembered her leg falling out from under her, that she’d tried to brace herself on her arm, that her head hurt, but how-- pain throbbed inside her. She hurt. Why did she hurt this bad? What had-- Morgan tried to pick herself up. Her body made a wet, sticky sound as another jolt of pain swallowed her. She cried out, unable to swallow it back. “Oh, shit…” she whispered. There was a metal rod running through her body, pinning her chest to the ground, and a bumper trapping her lower half in place. She twitched her legs--sore, but moving. She just couldn’t get up. She was bleeding and stuck and she couldn’t get up. “R-remmy?” She called. “Remmy…” She pawed the ground in a panic, searching for her phone. Hadn’t she been holding her phone? Her fingers closed around the sharp edge of a headlight and she cried out again. “Remmy, help!”

Remmy’s ability to block out everything else except what they were focused on was astounding. They’d learned how to do it in boot camp and being in the spec ops had helped them hone it. So when people ran up to them, trying to keep them calm. They didn’t even hear them. When people started emerging from their cars and calling the police, they didn’t even notice. The driver of the car pinning them was dead, and they didn’t even know. Hearing aid destroyed, glass eye gone, they didn’t even notice. All they saw was Morgan. Metal wrapped around her like a blanket. A shard of it jutted up directly from her abdomen. They couldn’t see it, but they knew. Clawing at the car, they summoned all their strength-- but couldn’t move it. They’d just eaten-- why had they done that? They couldn’t be strong enough now. They weren’t strong enough now. Whimpering, Remmy pushed, then, against the pole. There was a ripping, a tearing-- of cloth, of skin, of muscle. They screamed, it hurt, but they had to get to Morgan. The people around them screamed as well-- “Stop it! Don’t Move! Oh MY GOD!”-- but they didn’t listen. They just needed to get to Morgan. If they could get to her, they could save her. 

With a final shove, Remmy ripped themself free, falling to the ground. Whatever was missing would grow back, and they didn’t stop to look. Dragged themself towards Morgan as fast as possible. Sirens sounded in the distance. “Morgan!” they called out, finally collapsing next to her. “Morgan, I’m-- I’m here. I’m here. I’m gonna--” they turned to look at the metal trapping her. Shoved against it, but it didn’t budge. They weren’t strong enough. Tears clouded their eyes. “I’m gonna get you outta here, okay? I’m gonna get you outta here.” Shoved against it again, crying out as bones bent. “It’s gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be--” words falling short as they turned to look back at her, face smeared with blood and bruises and dirt. Their body quivered. “I’m gonna save you, I promise.”

“Remmy! Remmy, I can’t--” Morgan’s breath caught when she saw how badly her friend had been hurt. They were muscle and blood around their abdomen, and not much more than raw muscle around their calf. It was growing back in a way she couldn’t bear to see. She turned and tried to slide herself out from under the bumper again, but her arm caught on more glass and she screamed out. She couldn’t be trapped. She couldn’t be trapped. Deirdre hadn’t screamed for her, so she couldn’t be. “We have to figure--something out---” She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. There was something metallic in her throat, clogging her words. “We have to Remmy, okay? Please? Please okay? Maybe if you can just...clear the glass, I can--” She tried to shift, testing the idea preemptively, and upset the rod in her abdomen. The pain went through her eyes, shooting holes into her vision as she screamed. Blood puddled out from her chest, soaking through her clothes. There was still away. There had to still be a way. She settled back to where she lay, panting, gritting her teeth against the panic. “I am not dying like this,” she whispered. “I’m not. I can’t. So, do you--what do you think I can do to help?” She looked over at Remmy, eyes pleading. 

“The glass,” Remmy repeated, hanging onto every little thing they could, “I’ll clear--” they couldn’t even think in full sentences anymore, dragging themself over and scraping the glass away with bare hands, shards digging into their skin, but doing nothing to cause them pain. They looked around again. “I’ll just-- I’ll move this-- and we’ll. We can keep-- th-the-- keep it in so you don’t bleed more. No! S-stop. Stop moving. I can. I’ll fix this,” they stuttered along, kicking at the bumper that was pinning her to the ground. It barely moved. Why weren’t they strong enough? They kicked again. “It’s fine. You’re not-- don’t say that. I’m gonna-- I’m here. I’m gonna save you.” Desperation kicking in, they grabbed another piece of metal that had been lying on the ground and stuck it under the bumper. “I’m gonna try and lift this, you just-- when your legs are free, move them, okay? And then we’ll-- the ambulance will be here and they’ll get you and it’ll be okay. Okay?” 

“You are,” Morgan panted, nodding furiously. “I know you are. I know. I know. You can--” She whimpered as her body gave another shiver, upsetting everything sticking through her like so many needles in a cursed doll. She braced herself, getting her legs ready, but Remmy only moved the bumper up by a few inches, and there was hardly anywhere for her to crawl to. She managed to shift one a little, scraping herself along the pavement as she did, but the hurt was drowning her and she had to stop, gasping with sobs. 

All around her was wreckage. Blood smeared in asphalt tinted puddles, scraps of metal like teeth flung in different directions. There were other screams, other cries and shouts of anger. It had all happened so fast, a stupid, freak accident like the rest that had come before. She had just wanted to get out for a little while, to feel normal. She’d been with her best friend. She’d been safe. And she hadn’t been told this was how it ended, so it couldn’t-- And then Morgan saw a dark figure at the end of the road.

“Oh,” she whimpered. The truth hit suddenly, cold and absolute. “Oh no…No...”

She would know Deirdre anywhere, even from a distance. In her favorite plum-colored dress and her leather jacket, she was like something out of her best dreams. But there was only one reason she could know to be here, only one reason she could be rushing to her with this much purpose. The scream. “Oh, stars….” Morgan cried, mouth trembling. It was too soon. She was supposed to have at least til the fall, at least until the leaves turned, she’d never seen leaves turn in fall before. It wasn’t time, it wasn’t right. “No,” she whimpered again. “The scream. I’m--I’m--shit--I’m not gonna make it, Remmy…”

Scream? What was Morgan talking about? The thought hit Remmy like a ton of bricks. Oh, right. The scream they’d heard earlier. It hadn’t been Regan, had it? Remmy’s hands trembled. “No,” they said, shaking their head, “no, it’s not. It can’t be.” But it was, wasn’t it? The defeated look in Morgan’s eyes, her skin already so pale. Blood pooled beneath her, around her, on her. She was dying. She was dead. It didn’t matter if the ambulance was here. Morgan was dead. Remmy broke down into sobs next to her, dropping the metal rod. “No, no, no, no no.” They cried curling up next to her. “No, you can’t. You promised,” they sobbed. “You said-- you said you were going to fight and stay and get better. You said. You promised. You can’t break a promise.” It was happening all over again. Remmy was going to lose the most important people to them all over again. A great sickness began swirling inside of them, making them woozy, lightheaded. They couldn’t let Morgan die-- they’d promised Deirdre they’d keep her safe, and they couldn’t let Morgan die-- they just couldn’t. 

The realization came to them quietly as they cried next to Morgan, sick and somehow tired. They slipped their hand down to her free one clenched. They hadn’t been able to save anyone back then, but they could now. Slowly, Remmy brought Morgan’s arm up to their mouth. This time, they could save her.

Deirdre heaved. Her lungs burned twice; once with the force of the scream that she couldn’t stop from tearing apart her office building, and then with all her sprinting to the scene. She’d kicked off her heels as soon as she hit the pavement. She didn’t bother to pick off the tiny shards of glass that jutted from her hair or skin or clothing or any part of the places it struck her. She ran as fast as she could, as soon as she could, and came to find it wasn’t fast enough. The scene in front of her was exactly like her vision, bent street sign and all. And for all the death she’d seen, none of it could have prepared her for this. She wasn’t just slow, she was too late. 

“Morgan!” Deirdre screeched, dashing towards the wreckage a moment later. “Remmy--Rem--Get away from her!” Morgan wasn’t dead yet, but she would be soon, and the last thing she needed was Remmy trying to eat her. “Get---Morgan!” Deirdre ran to her girlfriend, skidding across the ground on her knees--now torn by the force of the gravel beneath her. Her hands reached for her body first, trying to stop bleeding she knew she couldn’t, the faint sting of Morgan’s blood on her bare skin. Shakily, she reached for her face, cradling it, brushing back strands of misplaced hair. “H-hey,” she swallowed thickly, unable to stop the stream of tears that lined her face. “Y-you said ‘a while’. We could have this for--” Her voice was choked by a sob. Morgan said a lot of things; that she’d stay inside, that she’d stay safe, that she’d end her curse and fight Constance. Deirdre knew this would happen, and yet-- ”It--um--it--” And yet, she wept. 

Morgan couldn’t scrounge up any bravery in the face of Deirdre’s tears. Her face crumpled in her soft hands and she pressed in with what was left of her strength. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean...for any of...I want to stay...can you…” It was getting harder to breathe. The liquid in her lungs was swallowing half her words. “Can you stay? I didn’t mean...for any of this...” Deirdre’s face blurred behind her tears but if this was it, if this was the last thing she ever knew, ever felt, maybe the universe could at least let her die held by the people that mattered to her. And if Deidre couldn’t fully forgive her, maybe she could pretend, just for now. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Deirdre repeated over and over again, growing softer with each repetition. All she wanted was more time, all she’d asked this world for was more time with Morgan. She should have known better than to hope, her mother warned her of the dangers of putting her faith in life. “Don’t be sorry,” she mumbled, pressing her forehead to Morgan’s. She tried to thumb away her tears, finding them simply replaced with more. “It’s not your fault. None of this is.” Deirdre pressed her lips to Morgan’s, gently and gone all too quick. “Don’t speak, my love. You don’t have to speak now; I’ll stay. Rest. You can rest now.” And that was all death was, wasn’t it? The best thing it could be, even if it was taking the most precious thing Deirdre had known. She was born into this, raised to know this one truth of the world; that everything had its eventual end. Whatever good there was, it laid limp in her arms, in the slowly withering form of a woman who should have received what little kindness this world could offer. She pulled her head back just enough to offer a weak smile. “I love you.” Foolish as hope was, she hoped for once those words that never were enough, could be just that. 

Morgan’s breath wheezed, rapid as if she’d been running for miles, for as long as she could remember. Deirdre’s arms were cold as the depths of that pool in Karen’s back yard, that beckoned her to stay and be still. She opened her mouth to speak again, to explain that she had everything to be sorry for, that she would do everything the same if it was the only way to have her at all, that if they had been a twist in Constance’s curse all along it made no difference, horrible as that might sound. She tried, and coughed, wheezing and red. “S-stay…” she whined again, desperate and scared. “I..I lov..” her voice hinged and she winced. She looked at Deirdre and reached for the will to breathe and try again. The rhythm slipped further out of her grasp each time, but she tried. In. Hold. Out. Tried again. In. Hold. Out. Again. In--

Remmy had been yanked backwards before they were ready to let go, but hadn’t fought when they saw it was Deirdre. Whatever worry she had about them, it wasn’t true. But the painful desperation in her voice made them sit silently, hand still clutched in Morgan’s. They refused to let go, staring at the painful red welt growing on her arm as the two confessed their deepest sorrows to each other. Tears clouded their eyes as they watched. It was painful now, in this moment, even though it would be okay later. It still felt painful. Watching someone die. A small flash of their own raced through Remmy’s head-- laying in Darius’ arms, looking at up his face, begging him to run, to save himself-- and they felt more tears pour out of their eye, the other still clenched shut, dried, caked, dead blood on their cheek. Fresh, smeared alive blood covering their hands and shirt and chest. Morgan’s. Her hand finally went cold, her breathing stopped, and Remmy let out the stress they’d been holding, collapsing to the ground next to Deirdre and Morgan, before pushing themself back up. “Deirdre,” they said quietly, nudging her, “we have to move her.” They looked over at Deirdre, somehow still worn. “Deirdre.” But she wasn’t budging. “Deirdre, we have to move her before she wakes up.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Death and All Her Friends || Morgan, Remmy, & Deirdre

CW: Depression 

@deathduty, @whatsin-yourhead

The world was cold and Morgan was awake. She blinked into the glare of white fluorescents. She stared into the bright coils til her vision went spotty. There was something soft underneath her, like the way she’d imagined clouds felt before she’d got on her first plane and realized they were just puffs of vapor; light and far away. “Nnnnhhh…” 

Morgan’s light diminished. As comforting as death could feel, Deirdre found no warmth in the telltale pull of death. She sobbed harder, head buried against Morgan’s shoulder. She didn’t have the heart to let go, not now. If the authorities did eventually find their way here, they’d have to wrench Deirdre away. She’d watched so many people die, all of it while filled with apathy. For all the gift this was supposed to be, she could feel none of it. Remmy’s voice tore her away from her weeping just long enough for her to process the new information offered to her. “Why are you still here? I told you to--” she paused. Remmy wasn’t eating her. Which was either a sudden display in great control or… Deirdre’s eyes dropped to Morgan’s body, as mangled as she saw it before. She ripped her gaze from the metal jutting out of her abdomen to her arm. “Remmy...did you…” she gulped. The bite mark was unmistakable. She had a thousand and one opinions on the matter, some taught, some learned, some observed, all disregarded for the moment. “Help me get her legs free. And lift her up and--and we can take her to mine. I have--there’s--I keep the brains of the animals I--they’re in the---Lift.” She commanded, steadying her quivering voice. Then she turned her attention to the bumper, trying to shove it off. 

“I-- I had to. I promised. I’d keep her safe, I--” Remmy stuttered, but stopped. Deirdre was already moving, shifting to the bumper still holding Morgan in place. This time, body finally fully formed-- aside from the missing eye-- Remmy was able to get a good, steady grip under the bumper and lift as hard as they could, metal cutting into dead flesh unflinchingly. “Go, move her!” they said against their strain to keep it lifted, wishing their energy was as full as when they went to the ring. “I can’t hold much longer, is-- is she out?”

And Deirdre did; picking her up into her arms and freeing her from the metal that impaled her, just as Remmy lifted the bumper. “She’s out.” The rest of this they’d deal with later, for now there was something far more important than figuring out the moral ramifications. “Get her keys,” she commanded again, now unnervingly cold. It made sense for Remmy to carry her, they were stronger, but selfishly she wanted to hold on to Morgan longer and she had no intentions of relinquishing that. “They’re in the pocket there--” she gestured with one hand, then over to where she’d seen Morgan’s Subaru parked earlier. “We’ll take her car.” And she moved quick, without waiting to make sure Remmy was following along. She ran. A car door was opened. She fixed Morgan into a seat as if she were anything but dead, as if it mattered at all if she took the time to fasten a seatbelt. She dove into the driver’s seat. She started the car. She barrelled down streets, through and around traffic. She had one, singular goal in her mind: to get Morgan home. 

Remmy obeyed the command and dug for the keys, didn’t question any of it. They just needed to get Morgan somewhere safe. Somewhere where they could keep her calm and let her eat. That’s all Remmy knew about it, all they remembered. That hunger. They yanked the car door open and climbed in beside her as Deirdre hopped into the front seat, barely having enough time to settle in the seat next to Morgan before Deirdre was taking off. They thudded into the chair, climbing around, but somehow not wanting to sit up front with Deirdre. They couldn’t tell what she was feeling, but they knew she didn’t need the distraction right now. The car screeched around corners and Remmy watched police cars and ambulances swerve around them towards the wreck, in the opposite direction. None of them were concerned with the red car screeching towards Deirdre’s house. When they finally made it, Remmy already had Morgan unbuckled, her body so cold and lifeless. All the red standing out against her pale skin. “Here,” they said, scooting her over enough for Deirdre to pick her up again. “Let’s get inside.” 

Deirdre’s mind had quieted to the chanting thought of ‘help Morgan’, she didn’t have the time to thank Remmy for handing the dead witch over to her. She’d carried Morgan plenty of times, unsurprisingly, her limp body was her least favorite. “Not inside,” she grumbled, adjusting Morgan in her arms. The repairs on the house weren’t exactly done yet, and there was nothing in there that could help. “Outside.” And she hurried to her back gate, kicking it open and splitting wood as she moved along. “There’s a shed.” She weaved around discarded construction supplies. Her shed stood perfectly in the corner of her backyard, opposite the pool. The back of her house was covered by a large white tarp; she’d been told the replacement glass wasn’t up yet. Despite the sunny day around them, it all seemed gloomy. Deirdre moved to the shed and unlocked it. 

Her shed was marked with old blood she never got the chance to clean, a deer she’d forgotten on her table and a once-fresh wolf carcass hanging that she’d been draining of its blood. There were ornaments between the bones and bits of flesh, things to try and tame the smell. Her shed normally wasn’t in such a state, but she hadn’t been in since the deer. Deirdre flicked on the light, unsurprised to find only the one in the center working, casting a sharp but occasionally flickering light across the inside (she’d been meaning to fix it). She set Morgan down under it, then started about setting up. She pulled her cooler out from the corner and opened it to face Morgan. Her mother’s lessons on negating waste proved vital now, as the brains she knew to harvest sat preserved in ice--three types of Capreolinae and the brain of the wolf hanging on the other side. She knocked the deer off the table so it lay closer to Morgan, and unhooked the wolf and set it down on top. She knelt down finally to press a kiss to Morgan’s cold forehead before she stepped away, and then back, and then to the door. “Everything in here should be enough, right?” She asked Remmy though her gaze remained stuck on Morgan’s body. 

Remmy just followed Deirdre silently, hurriedly, hoping all of this was enough. Hoping Deirdre knew what she was doing. The house looked eerie with a white tarped thrown haphazardly over it. It looked...wrong. Maybe everything just looked wrong right now. The backyard was like a maze, but Remmy kept close to Deirdre, knowing where they were going, suddenly. They could smell it. It hit them like a wave of ocean when the door was open and they slapped their hands over their nose, holding it closed. “Woah, fuck,” they muttered, but held themself together, suddenly glad they’d eaten before this. The inside of the shed was nothing like what Remmy thought it would be, but they didn’t have time to stop and ask or question. Instead, they helped Deirdre move things around.  The flickering light didn’t help anything and Remmy squinted up at it, realizing, for the first time, that they were missing an eye. They prodded the lid that was sagged over the empty socket where it was supposed to be. Not even being a zombie had saved them from that one. At least when Morgan came back, the big hole in her stomach would go away. “It should be,” they said quietly once Deirdre asked the question. They looked back up at the lightbulb, somehow preoccupied with it. “It’s enough. Do you-- where do you keep your lightbulbs?” 

Deirdre surveyed her work, and Morgan laid in the center of her shed, under the flickering light. It didn't scream as much of 'welcome to life' as Deirdre wanted it to. "Inside," she gestured, motioning for Remmy to follow her out. "It should be inside the house and there's...not much we can do standing here." She spared a glance back, sighing. "We should make it nicer." A flower there. A scented candle here. Maybe a mattress, some soft silk sheets. Something, anything to make this better, as if it could be. "Help me set up?" She offered. Remmy didn't sleep, and Deirdre couldn't given the circumstance. So she asked for Remmy's help in as much distracting preparation work she could think of: fixing that damn lightbulb, getting a change of clothes for Morgan, lifting her body up on to a mattress, finding flowers to spruce up the space. When the night fell, she excused herself from the shed—something about the supposed privacy she imagined Morgan might be grateful for. And she took her silent station outside, dipping her feet into the pool to keep awake. Morgan's blood had all but dried on her, leaving redness in its wake even after she'd cleaned off and changed. All that was left was waiting, and she preferred to do that without talking to Remmy. Or anyone. 

Remmy followed Deirdre inside to get the lightbulbs. And while they were there, they grabbed sheets and a fresh change of clothes, and the mattress-- and anything else Deirdre decided would help spruce up the shed and make Morgan’s waking moments better. It was certainly going to be better than Remmy’s. All they remembered was waking up and seeing the sky. It had been a sunny day, birds had been chirping. It was entirely too nice for what had just happened. They could remember sitting up and crawling through the bodies of their dead friends, tears plastering their face, carving paths through the blood and dirt caked on their cheeks. They remembered the long walk back to camp. They remembered the faces of shock when they showed up, covered in blood, but alive. Morgan’s waking would be better than that. She’d have Deirdre here for you, and hopefully Remmy, if she let them stay. They finished up all the work around the shed and cleaned it up when they were done, then went about cleaning more outside, shuffling the construction supplies around because they couldn’t sit still. Finally, late into the night, when it was almost morning, they sat down outside the shed. And just...waited. That’s all they could do now, was wait.

The world was cold and Morgan was awake. She blinked into the glare of white fluorescents. She stared into the bright coils til her vision went spotty. There was something soft underneath her, like the way she’d imagined clouds felt before she’d got on her first plane and realized they were just puffs of vapor; light and far away. “Nnnnhhh…” 

Morgan pawed her stomach. There was something there. Something that hurt. Something gone missing. She could see them, flashes of blood and steel behind her eyes, someone sobbing, someone screaming. There were words for things like these, but they curled up at the edges of her mind, paper scraps under a cold blue flame. It burned in the pit of her stomach, more real than the strange, unreal world around her. 

She could smell it, feel it in her mouth already. Morgan’s hands slipped over the floor as she followed her ache to the ice cooler near her bed. It filled so much of her she hurt. She needed to stop the hurt. No more hurt. No more. No. “Nnhhh-rrrg!” 

And there they were. No word for them, but no hurt either. Morgan flung her face in, mouth open, and shoved them into her mouth. The brains came apart in her grasp like so much jelly, and clearer, richer, than anything she knew around her. “Uurrrr!” She tipped over the cooler clawing for the rest. Ice and grey matter splattered the floor. Morgan’s hands pulped them as she tried to bring them into her mouth faster. No..more...hurt. Have...More...This. When there was no more, she groaned, teeth bared and reached for the next thing. She couldn’t tell herself why, if it was the deer’s stillness, or its smell, or the red glint of flesh under its patchy hide that made her hurt with want, but she took it with both hands and tore it apart with her aching. 

It was only when she had moved onto the wolf, stringy and firm in her mouth, dripping with something that was like her, a part of her, that Morgan realized what that thing might be. She could see it in the arc of the wolf’s decimated ribs. A rod through her chest. Glass in her arms. And Deirdre, dressed in the same heavy purple of dead viscera. “Nnnhh--nnhhh--no. No, this can’t--” She touched her hand to her chest. Soaked dark and stiff. And her hands. Was it her blood, or was it--? 

She needed to breathe. That was always the answer, wasn’t it? Just breathe? In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. But her lungs didn’t want to move. It took force in a way that made her press her fingers into her chest until the skin around them turned color. A panicked, wounded cry made it past her gore-tinged lips. There was nothing. No beat. Nothing at all. Nothing. 

Morgan swiveled her eyes around the room. Could she leave? Could she wake up again? She had gone to sleep, but… At last her eyes settled on Remmy, looking mournful in the corner of the room. “What is this?” She croaked, eyes burning with confusion. “Where are we? Where’s Deirdre...?” Her voice came apart in her throat and at once she was aware of the blood caked on her skin, around her lips, on the thighs of her jeans. She scrubbed at it with her palms and lapped at the stains with her tongue, swallowing the flakes of flesh and brain that had fallen on her like fresh water. “Something feels wrong,” she whispered. The mess was stuck to her, still, no matter how she rubbed and licked at it. And yet she couldn’t feel anything except through a haze. It reminded her of the cold curse, a whole down-comforter of wrong around her body, but this was different. Cold made more sense than this. How was this happening if she couldn’t feel for what was wrong? She looked at Remmy again. The word was there, like a monster in the corner of her closet, or the darkest shadow under the bed, but Morgan couldn’t make herself touch it. “Where’s Deirdre, she was--” She’d been right there. The last thing she remembered. And she’d been here, at some point. Morgan could see her flowers, her candles, her spare silk sheets. Everything but her. She must know, Morgan thought. She must know, and she couldn’t bear to see her. Not like this. “What happened to me?” She wheezed, clenching herself with her fists. “What happened to me, Remmy?”

The silence was deafening. Over the last few hours, Remmy had scooted back inside to keep watch. If Morgan somehow got loose or went berserk, they were the only one strong enough to stop her. It took every ounce of their energy to not go over and eat the fresh brains Deirdre had laid out, as their stomach wretched and churned and begged for food. No. They would make sure something like that never happened again. They would make sure they were always strong enough to save their friends now. This couldn’t happen again. It wouldn’t. 

A noise across the room caused them to stir. They looked up to find Morgan shuffling around. Averted their eyes as she began to eat. They couldn’t bare to watch and the guilt of it wrenched their insides again. They quickly wiped the tears away, brushing their makeshift eye patch out of the way to dry them up. Finally, Morgan was talking. Remmy’s whole body felt like ice and they couldn’t bring themself to find the courage to look at Morgan. “She’s just...she’s outside,” they murmured quietly, arms folded across their knees, pulled to their chest. “You’re….I....” they didn’t know how to say it. Words had always eluded them before but they were failing them completely now. “I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t….I couldn’t let you die. I couldn’t do it. You said I was important and I couldn’t…”

“Tell me what you did,” Morgan said, shaking now. “You tell me, Remmy. Tell me what the hell this is! I was-- I was--” Fine? Before this she had just been asleep. No dreams, but no nightmares either. The last thing she’d seen was her girlfriend. Sad, but loving her, forgiving her. Because she was dying, probably. But it had still been real, and good. And then she’d been dead. Morgan pressed her palms over her eyes until she could feel it. Then harder, waiting for it to snap something back into making sense.

“I-- I--” Remmy stuttered, looking anywhere but at Morgan. They couldn’t move, frozen to their spot, until Morgan started pressing against her face with her palms. “Hey! No-- stop it!” they said, scrambling to reach for her, as if it mattered. As if she wouldn’t just heal, like Remmy did. They stopped at the thought, and paused, pulling away. “I bit you,” they said quietly, their voice raw. “Because I...I wanted to save you. I promised I’d keep you safe and I…” but they stopped talking, because it didn’t matter. They hadn’t saved Morgan, they’d just condemned her to a life like theirs. Cold, and empty, and unfeeling.

“Don’t, don’t touch me,” Morgan said, inching away. “I can’t do this, I need…” To be somewhere else besides this room. To get back to...something. Maybe not herself, but something. Something real. Morgan made it as far as the door before she remembered how she looked. A fucking crime scene, a starving bottomfeeder. Isn’t that what Deirdre had said undead were? Morgan pressed her hand to the wood. She could barely sense the grain through the blanket of numbness around her hands. This felt like a bad dream. Like she could float away and into a different life any minute now. But nothing changed and she turned away, shoving the table across the room with a loud clatter as she stalked to the change of clothes. “I need something to wash off with,” she grumbled. “Can you-- Or can you tell her to-- She can leave whatever outside if she doesn’t want to come in…”

Remmy recoiled from the rejection, feeling something snap inside of them. “I...I’m….” but they had nothing left to say. Of course Morgan would feel this way about it. Of course Morgan would reject them. Despite all her words, all her promises, Remmy wasn’t anything to anyone. They just...were. “Okay,” they muttered, turning and leaving without another word. They wandered up to Deirdre, who was still by the pool and stood a few feet away. “She’s awake,” they said quietly, knowing Deirdre heard even if she didn’t look at them. “She wants-- a washcloth. Or...something to clean up with.”

Deirdre was asleep. Curled up beside the pool, with her hand fallen into the icy water and Anya snuggled against her chest, she fell asleep. She hadn't slept at all, waiting for Morgan to wake and soothing Anya. The sheer stillness of her position had made her topple over for a couple minutes of rest. She snapped up the moment Remmy called after her and Anya mewled in protest. "I left towels right there." She sleepily pointed to the pile, then pushed herself up and moved to it. Remmy didn't seem happy. Deirdre was left to guess how well their conversation with Morgan had gone. She picked up a fresh, white towel, the only kind she could find in time, and knocked lightly against the shed door. "Can I come in, Morgan?" She thought it courteous to ask and glanced back at Remmy for some kind of indication of her state. "There should be a pail with water over—" Deirdre stuck her hand in trying to point to it blindly, which struck her as ridiculous enough that she decided to just enter. "I'm coming i—" her voice choked at the sight of Morgan. Her grip on the towel loosened. She swallowed. She'd always felt magnetized to Morgan before, it was odd to feel that pull so solidly woven into her skin. Odd, but not unpleasant. The sight was also odd, the blood, the guts and gore, and equally as not unpleasant. Seeing Morgan though, dead and then undead, was a feeling she didn't dare name. Not now. "Turn around," she beckoned, taking a simple step forward. It was also odd to say this wasn't her first time seeing Morgan in a bloodied bra, but oddities were par for the course this week. And like then, her only desire was wanting to help, to get Morgan clean. "Let me help," she stepped closer, voice soft. "You can turn around." 

Morgan stayed where she was at first, stiff over the pail in just her stained bra and bloody jeans, hugging herself. It was dimmer in the corner of the room but she could catch enough of her reflection to know she looked worse than she ever had, even with the bloodclinger. She flinched at the sound of Deirdre’s voice catching. She couldn’t bear to think, exactly, what she must think of her now, what she must see with the mess on the floor and the stains up her arms. And yet her voice-- Morgan trembled, just barely holding herself together at the tender comfort of her voice. Her eyes watered, though she didn’t have the wherewithal to notice it. She wondered now just as she had those months ago why Deirdre was doing this. Some sense of loyalty, some goodness in her, or pity. As Morgan shuffled around in place to face her, she realized too quickly that she didn’t want to know. The last thing she remembered from the warm world was being held and loved. It hadn’t been enough to save her, and the hope it had given her had been a lie, but it was hers. She wasn’t ready to lose hold of that feeling too. “I’m...s-sorry…” She mumbled, head down, unable to meet her face.

"Don't be sorry," Deirdre replied instantly, "you have nothing to be sorry for, I told you that." There might have been something else she had to say, something about how she'd asked Morgan to stay, but her mind was focused on care. At the end, it didn't matter. Morgan was here, thrust into a new life, and Deirdre's love had not wavered. She bent over to dip a corner of the towel into the pail, the water which was once boiling had cooled into just warm—a warmth she knew Morgan couldn't feel. "I imagine you'll want to take a proper shower later, but…" she trailed off, pressing her fingers gently under Morgan's chin, tilting her face up to meet hers. She smiled softly, tinged with a sadness she could not swallow down despite how she tried. She needed to focus on caring for Morgan, if she stopped, her thoughts might dip into anything else. "I suppose it's a good thing we didn't bring all of our stuff over to the hotel," she commented, pressing the damp end of the towel to the blood stuck on Morgan's face. She pressed harder than she would have if the woman was still alive, unsure what amount of pressure she needed to be able to feel it. But they would figure that out together, they could now. She wiped off the blood around her mouth first, then the bits splattered around; her expression tender despite the force she applied. Deirdre would have to get used to that too, but they could, together. "Don't blame Remmy," she said, moving on to wipe Morgan's arms. She couldn't tell what Remmy's pained expression was for, but she could wager a guess. "It was the promise I made them take that forced their hand and.." Remmy was important to Morgan. Deirdre's mother was right, she was not a creature born for love. As much as it would hurt, she could accept blame and hate—she would, for Remmy and for Morgan. Want was such a dangerous creature, and a privilege she should have known better than to think she could be allowed. "If you need to be angry," her right arm was clean, she moved to the left. "You can be angry at me. It was my fault. And I'm sorry." Remmy had to remain important to Morgan. Deirdre should have known there was nothing for her life other than servitude. 

Morgan closed her eyes as Deirdre came close. What energy she had went into holding her trembling jaw steady and keeping her arms still. Without being able to see her, with only the melody of her voice near her ear, it was almost like being in a dream. Her touch was the memory of her touch, and the softness, the thing she remembered craving even more than her body at the end of every night fluttered just beyond her reach. Morgan hadn’t thought that anything so good could hurt. The water, a ghost of moisture, not cool or warm, just wet, dripped down her. Morgan’s skin didn’t even pucker with shock. She held out her limbs, rolling this way or that to try and make as little trouble as possible and avoid the weight of her attention on her. “Did you make them promise to turn me into this?” She asked, her voice as tired and far away as the world felt to her. “Because if you didn’t, I don’t think you get to say that.” She shifted, thumbing open her jeans as the water dripping through them finally became enough to catch her attention. She opened her eyes, just to see what she was doing. “Besides, you were right. About everything.” She shimmied out of them. They were so stiff, they barely bent on the floor at all. How had she not felt that? She was quiet for a moment longer, searching the shell of herself for something, anything to answer Deirdre’s affection with. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “Stay. After what happened…”

Deirdre continued to wipe at any spots of blood she could see, applying pressure with each swipe. She had to keep moving, if she stopped, there would be nothing to distract from the building ache behind the case of her ribs, and the lump trying to form at the base of her throat. “Not this,” she urged, using the dry side to soak up any excess water now that the blood was more or less gone--staining a once bright white towel. “You’re not some thing. Not a this.” She sighed, finally withdrawing the towel. There was nothing left to do again, nothing she could make better. Panic bubbled up, she ignored it. “And isn’t it the same thing? Fae magic is trickery, after all.” Her voice remained steady, but broke with softness like a split dam. She flooded with the force of her helplessness. “I didn’t--I didn’t want to be right.” Her job, her duty, her life was built around predicting the worst of life. Why couldn’t she find the words to explain how Morgan had taught her to hope for the best? To imagine possibilities beyond the coldness of death or the cruelty of the world they both knew. How did she begin to explain that she had started to feel better for these changes? How did the helpless aid the hopeless now? “I love you,” she blinked away the growing wetness in her eyes, “where else would I be if not with you?” Deirdre dropped the towel, finally unable to muster enough grip to hold it in her quivering hands. “D-d-do you n-not want me to s-stay?” She gulped. The dam split open. She began to cry. Morgan had said she wasn’t a bad person, and so foolishly she had thought it might be true. But part of her was happy to see Morgan again, to be having this conversation in the first place, and how was that not anything but selfish? Anything but wrong? “I’m sorry,” she stepped backwards.  

Morgan began to shake with held-in sobs as soon as Deirdre said she loved her. Was that still true, if she was too awful to watch? Or if she was...whatever Remmy’s bite had left of her? She could barely feel the towel fall away, or Deirdre’s hands leave her body. The most important feeling she’d ever had besides her magic, and it wasn’t even there for her. And shouldn’t there be more of her to reach out to Deirdre with, more words left in her to explain, something in her that could make her happy again? Maybe it was too soon, but Morgan couldn’t sense them in her still, hollow body. It was like she’d been half scraped out in her sleep, left on the pavement on Main Street. But Deirdre was crying, was backing away from her, out of her reach, and a want, like a hunger, tore its way out of her mouth. “No--!” She pleaded. She covered her mouth, ashamed of asking for more when she could never hope to make things even again. But the only thing worse than Deirdre’s kindness was being cut off from her completely. Even if it was wrong, even if there wasn’t enough of her left, she wanted. And in that moment she feared sitting in the dark alone more than she feared her selfishness. “Please,” she said through her fingers. “Please…” Come back to me. Stay with me. Help me. There were too many things to say and they all crowded each other in her throat and stuck. Instead, she reached out for her, fingers strained, and prayed it was enough.

The pleading broke Deirdre’s resolve to suppress her selfishness. She withered, rushing to take Morgan into her arms the moment her fingers lifted. She knew she couldn’t feel this, not like she used to. So, she held her harder, rubbed familiar circles in the small of her back with a stronger touch. Eventually, they could figure out the pressure she needed to apply--of that, Deirdre was convinced. For now, all she could do was try and hope and plead silently that for once this could be enough. “I can’t make it go away,” she sobbed against her. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I would if I could but I can’t make it go away. And it’s hard, I know it’s hard, and I’m so sorry. I love you and I’m sorry.” And like the failure of language to describe her love, there weren’t any right words to convey the gravity of this. Remmy might know better than Deirdre, but Remmy wasn’t there. She had only her cursed knowledge to use. “What do you want? What do you need?”

Morgan collapsed in Deirdre’s arms, clinging to her with everything she had. Tighter and tighter against her body. She was solid, even if Morgan had to keep her eyes open to remind herself it was true, even if she was reaching for a memory, a wish, more than the soft flesh enveloping her. She had been cold as water, sparked her to life with the brightest, sharpest touch. And the part of Morgan that held that knowledge was gone. She sobbed into her without words, bunching herself up closer, tighter, into her embrace. This was the last strong thread, the last good thing she’d ever got her hands on. For all Morgan knew it would wither in her fingers like roots ripped from the soil and left to dry. An alive thing, a before thing, that couldn’t be carried over by any power between them. But she couldn’t let go of it right now. She buried her face in the crook of her neck, gasping for air she couldn’t keep. She shook her head at Deirdre’s question. She didn’t know, and even if she did, she couldn’t guess how much she was allowed to ask for anymore, when something seemingly simple would become too much, when they’d reach their limit and she’d find herself on the wrong side of a door. Morgan didn’t know what she needed and it was so much easier not to find out. “C-can we stay here?” She asked, tentatively. That was small enough, wasn’t it? “I just-- I can’t--” Face herself yet, face the world again. “Can we please?” She squeezed her tighter than ever, sighing with relief when at last she felt something akin to the comfort she remembered. “And can you...can you keep…keep holding me? Just for a while…?”

Morgan had been warm once, and Deirdre could feel that burning against her frigid skin. Now their bodies were the same temperature, melded together. But Morgan couldn’t feel it anymore, the ways that they continued to fit against each other. “Of course,” she murmured into her shoulder, pressing a firm kiss there, imagining that Morgan couldn’t feel that either, but hoping the comfort would translate through her. “We can stay here as long as you want.” Forever, even, though the desire seized her throat, refusing to release the words. But they could stay here, holding each other, forgetting the world outside of them. They’d done it before, they could do it again. “And I’ll hold you as long as you want.” In some hours she knew that ache would settle back into her. In some moments, she knew the vision of Morgan’s death would flood back into her torturous mind, perversely set in punishing her. But truly, all she’d wanted was Morgan. She had in the bright before, she did in the gloomy present. That wouldn’t change. If Morgan wanted to stay here, she would stay with her, knowing there was no better place to be. “And I do love you, even still.” Even if she should have abandoned selfish want long ago. It was far too late for her anyway; she knew the rushing of a river, the blooming of a flower and the steadiness of the thickest forest. Once she knew life, burst forward so purely, there could be no turning back. No way for her to wilt back into her old life and not imagine it like a plunge into tar, head-first and filling her lungs. As selfish as it was to keep this, it was worse to let it go. “Should I call Remmy in here?”

“You can’t know that yet,” Morgan said in a broken whisper. “I don’t feel right, Deirdre. On the inside. Like I didn’t come back all the way, or, I don’t know, I don’t know, but you can’t know if you really mean that.” She hiccuped another sob. “But I want you to, and I’m sorry.” She shuddered in her grasp awhile longer, squeezing as if she could stay afloat through the night on her hold alone. “Do I have to?” She asked. “Can you help me change first at least?”

“I said I love you,” Deirdre assured, “as you are, as you will be, as whatever you might become. Human, witch, undead...it doesn’t make up the core of who you are.” But she didn’t push the issue, knowing if she tried to explain it better she might break again. “I do mean it.” But she turned to her attention to the request instead. With one hand, she expertly unhooked Morgan’s blood-stained bra--a task which might have seemed more exciting two days ago. She turned to let Morgan take it off as she picked up the pajama set and sweater she’d laid out. As comfy as any of the things left behind were, as comfy as Deirdre could think of. Familiarity seemed important, especially now. She helped slip the camisole over her head, and then her arms through the straps. The sweatpants came next, assuming Morgan might be discomforted with the fact her body didn’t react to cold, she’d chosen them over the usual shorts that accompanied. Those went in one leg at a time, Deirdre knelt down to ease Morgan’s physical work. Then she held out the sweater. “You don’t have to, but Remmy’s been waiting for you too. It’d be better if you see them.”

Morgan couldn’t get her frightened, tired mind around Deirdre being able to love her just the same all at once. She hadn’t been able to stay for when she woke, what would stop her from deciding Morgan was just as much of a strange being as she felt herself to be. And yet, her words sounded as true as they ever had. Her words were the only thing that Morgan could believe in from before. Morgan grimaced bitterly as she adjusted her clothes and walked with her towards the bed on the floor. “Fine,” she mumbled, sliding down to sit, still huddling close to Deirdre’s body. She fingered the sheets, running them over her hands. Silk sheets were supposed to be cool, so you felt safe even in the heat of spring. She’d slept on some once at some girl’s house in May on a Beltane bender. They’d tickled her legs and made her squirm with their softness. Morgan didn’t know the words for what they felt like now. Or what it didn’t feel like. “Go ahead,” she said distractedly. She didn’t know what else to say to Remmy, or rather, what she had the capacity to hear from them. She knew she wanted to ask, why did you never tell me it was like this? Is it always like this? How didn’t you know? How didn’t you fucking know this had happened to you, when the world’s lost all its feeling? But there weren’t any good answers to those, were there?

Constantly analyzing and perpetually extrapolating, Deirdre thought this might just be a bad idea. She rose from the mattress, with great reluctance, to stick her head out of the open space in the ajar shed door. “Remmy?” She called, “do you want to come in?” She tried to communicate with her eyes that, maybe, Morgan might not have some kind things to say, and Remmy should ready themselves for that. But she figured she knew the zombie well enough to sense that they’d want to be with her anyway. Deirdre slunk back in and moved back beside Morgan.  

It was a while before anyone came back out for Remmy, and the second they saw Deirdre they knew they never should have hoped for it to be Morgan to ask after them. They stood on shaky legs, wandering over towards the shed slowly. They knew from the look in Deirdre’s eyes that this wasn’t going to be good, but they could take it. They took on everything, after all, and were still standing. They could take this one, too. It was the repercussion of their own actions after all. It was their responsibility, to take on Morgan’s pain. Or anger, or sadness. And they would do it. They always did. The door creaked open slowly and they shut up behind them, not looking at either one, and not moving from their spot. “Are you--” no, that wasn’t right to say, “Is it--” no, not that either, “How do you--” God, just say something. “I’m sorry.”

“Well that took you long enough,” Morgan said, eyes somewhere halfway up their body. It was hard enough seeing their shoes on the ground, the ruined normalcy: all the three of them in a room together. It didn’t fit with the wrongness stuck to her body, ungluing her from the bed and digging her insides out like a jack o’ lantern. Morgan huddled deep into Deirdre’s side, searching for a sense of her banshee to anchor herself to. Her body remembered where she used to fit, but it slipped through her mind’s grasp like water. She had to concentrate as hard as she would for a spell. A spell. Morgan grimaced miserably. “Did you have anything else you want to tell me? Any words of ‘advice’?” The words hardened in her mouth as she said them. 

Her words were harsh. She was upset, even Remmy could tell that-- but they didn’t understand why her words were like daggers at them. They didn’t understand the questions. Pressing back against the door, they felt the overwhelming want to wrench it open and run away. Swallowing, they finally looked up, over at Deirdre, then to Morgan’s slumped form, held in next to her. It hurt their heart. And it made them a little...jealous. How come they never had anyone to hold them through their hurt? Through their death? They tried to hold back the tears, straining their eyes as if that action alone could stop them. “I-- I don’t know what you want me to say,” they finally said, “I don’t know what advice to give. This isn’t-- it’s not easy. I tried to tell you-- I tried to tell everyone, it-it’s not easy. But I-- I couldn’t--” they stuttered through their words, their body shaking. The pain and the worry making their anxiety skyrocket. “I didn’t want you to die.”

“And then I did,” Morgan said flatly. “You of all people should’ve known that.” She lifted her head, just enough to get a passing look at their face: sad and sorry and broken. How deep did it go, if they were peeling off the face of the earth a little more with each second like she was? What was in them to feel, if their body was as still and dead as hers? How could they look like that if they’d been half scooped up by death and then left behind on the freeway to the underworld? “You can go,” she said. “You did what you wanted. I’m here, whatever the hell we are. Revenants, wasn’t that one of the names you said they have for us? Like leftover parts?”

“I didn’t-- I didn’t want to do this!” Remmy suddenly said loudly, finally moving away from the door, but no more than a step. “I just-- I promised. And I said-- was I just supposed to-- let you, let you-- let you die?” They looked wildly over at Deirdre, as if she would defend them, as if she would tell them that they’d done the right thing. Because they weren’t sure they had. Could they live with the hole Morgan’s death would’ve left behind? Could Deirdre have? Remmy shuddered and backed into the door again. “Draugr!” they said through gritted teeth. “We’re draugr. We’re not mindless, we’re not monsters. We’re just people in undead bodies. We have our souls, our minds, we have-- we have ourselves. We’re not monsters.” They were sobbing now, hand reaching for the doorknob. “I’m sorry,” they said again, “I just wanted to help. I just wanted to save you.” Because hadn’t everyone told Remmy this was a gift? Wasn’t this supposed to be good? They were suffocating in this shed. They turned and threw the door open. They only made it halfway down the drive before whatever was left in their stomach came up. They collapsed, sobbing with their hurt. They didn’t need to breathe but they felt like they were suffocating. A weight pressing on their chest, stealing the energy directly from them. They picked themself up, and kept walking. 

Morgan could only watch as Remmy cried. Caught between her fascination, her anger, and the dead weight of apathy in her, she frowned, head tilted, as she might when encountering a perplexing line of poetry. She couldn’t think of any words, or summon any impulse to lift herself up to follow them. She would have, if she were the way she’d been before-- Before. Morgan wanted to laugh. ‘Before’ was what, a few hours ago? Maybe a day? And yet for the measly distance of time, ‘before’ was absolute to her, as immovable as a bolt on a casket.

After Remmy disappeared from sight, Morgan slid down into the mattress, balled up around her pillow, stiff and light enough to slip away to nowhere without Deirdre’s weight around her. She wasn’t sure how ‘loved’ she was going to remain after that. Remmy was Deirdre’s friend too. For all she knew, Deirdre appreciated the gesture, even if it made Morgan into an affront to her death gods. Unnatural. Morgan wrapped her arms around herself and braced to face the dark.

Deirdre said nothing, speaking her apologies to Remmy silently. She wanted to remind Morgan that her anger was better placed on her, not Remmy, but the point didn't seem to land well the first time. Her tongue, heavy, stayed still. Life and death was not the kind of thing for anyone to play in their hands, certainly not as selfishly as Remmy had. But, in her tiredness, she couldn't blame Remmy. How could they want to see a friend die again? Deirdre grew up around this loss, she trained for it. Remmy didn't need to know what it meant to accept death as it was, not yet. And then what of Morgan? Set adrift in the absence of life? There was nothing to say, and she was too tired to think of anything else. Morgan slipped out of her arms, laying down. Deirdre watched her body for a moment, thinking she might find the rise and fall of her usual breathing. She leaned over, voice thick with care, "Hey." They could talk about it later. She sunk to the bed, wrapping her arms around Morgan and pressing herself into her back, hard as she could manage. "Anya is outside too but I don't think…" she trailed off. There was nothing to say or do, but she stayed anyway, trying to prove herself wrong. 

Morgan unfurled, a paper doll pulled on a string, at Deirdre’s voice in her ear. She tugged on her arms until they dented her skin, then wriggled around so she could fasten herself against the weight of her chest. She lay her head near the gentle ridge of her clavicle, pushing her ear as flush into her as possible to listen to the lullaby of her heartbeat.  It was a mournful sound, comforting in the way sad songs often were. A gentle truth, constant as the cycles of the moon. Morgan didn’t have to concentrate to keep track of it. The beat persisted, catching her just when she thought it was about to drop off. There were words she might have said at a time like this if their places were reversed. Something about how she would try, or how Deirdre was the best person she knew, the best thing to happen in her sad failure of a mortal life. She might’ve said things were going to be okay. That’s what people did, right? You said it was going to be okay and you did your best to make it so. But what if the ‘it’ that wasn’t okay was you? Not a curse, not a choice, but a lonely hole inside your own chest? What if there was nothing to promise she could safely keep? Morgan pressed herself harder into Deirdre and waited for the answers to find her.

Morgan couldn't feel her, but Deirdre could. In shocking clarity, with more than she ever had before. There were nights spent cuddling together where Deirdre tried to explain the feeling death left, of how the bones held her—she never could get the words right, but Morgan listened. And she could feel her, even if Morgan couldn't. And it hurt, a little, to be holding her this tightly and to be held back that way. She didn't try to explain something she'd failed to so many times as Morgan lived. "It'll be okay," she said instead, "not today. Probably not tomorrow. Maybe not for a long time. But one day, it will be okay." And maybe not how Morgan could see it now, if she could see any future laid out at all. "And all those days that it's not okay, Morgan, I'll be here. With you. And any days after." It wasn't easy, and she couldn't magically make it any easier. "If you let me, we can figure out how to make it more than okay together. But...it won't be for a while." She pressed a kiss to Morgan's head out of habit, mumbling her words there. "No matter what happens, I'll be here. I promise I love you and I mean this, every word." Morgan had given her hope beyond explanation, she could offer it back. Or she could try, and all she had left was trying.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Coping for Monsters || Morgan & Remmy

The first rule about The Ring is...

@whatsin-yourhead

Remmy wasn’t scheduled to fight tonight, but they’d let some of the doormen know they were coming again tonight to watch the matches with a friend. So when they arrived a little early, the bouncers had been prepared and gave them a little wave. Remmy waved back, turning to look down the street for Morgan. She was usually early to these things. Remmy couldn’t help but be a little excited for the notion-- even though they still felt mad, they had talked a few things out with Morgan, and she seemed to be responding well to the fighting lessons they’d been doing. It only made sense that Morgan would probably like something like this, too. Maybe she could even gain some sort of catharsis from it like Remmy did. They didn’t think she was ready for the arena at all, but perhaps she could train with them in the back until she was ready. Either way, Remmy felt that little buzz under their skin at the notion.

When Morgan arrived, they didn’t wait for pleasantries, eager to get inside. The two men guarding the door-- or, erm, what had Jax called them? Eretichs?-- nodded and stepped aside to let them in. “So this is just the back area,” Remmy explained as they came around to the space in the back where most of the contestants waited. Sometimes, Remmy noticed, they were brought in from a different door, but Remmy always waited here. “It’s like a little training area. And out there,” they pointed down the little hall, “is the arena. We’ll go out there to watch the match.”

Morgan wasn’t sure what she was looking at. There were a lot of supernaturals wandering around openly, wings, horns, and scales showing under their clothes. There were loud, boisterous conversations, and people looked like they were taking bets, and Remmy was walking through it all as if it was just another part of the town landscape, as if this was somewhere they fit. Morgan saw the equipment, people sweating it out, taping up fingers, practicing punches. Her stomach recoiled at the casualness of it all, as if violence was just another helping of the day. It felt different at home, where the exercise room was pocketed from the rest of the world, and immediately without was the comfort and safety of all her nice things. Remmy had said they would fight here, so she had worn her athleisure, but she felt like some tacky ornament next to the stress and the grime of this place. “The match?” She asked, making sure she’d heard right. It had all pretty much come together, but hearing Remmy talk about it like it was nothing was so jarring, she needed the double take. “And these people--we’re where the fighters are? And you, you’re--what? Borrowing the equipment in exchange for security help? Or training with them, or--?”

Morgan didn’t seem as excited as Remmy had hoped she would be, but maybe it was just nerves. The first time Remmy had come here, they’d also been a bit nervous. The place wasn’t exactly the most welcoming, but at least here, they could be themself one-hundred percent. No need to hide behind anything. Here, they could be a monster in comfort. They blinked, looking over at Morgan with a bit of confusion. “What? No, I’m a fighter,” they said, as if it were plain as day to know and they weren’t sure how she hadn’t figured it out, “I fight here, too. Here--” they motioned for her to follow them over to their locker, opening it up to show the clothes they usually fought in, a little tattered up from their last fight. The gloves Nell had given them to help keep bones from breaking-- or, well, buckling in Remmy’s case-- when they punched, and the wraps they’d been using. “Do you wanna see the arena?” they asked, hoping that might help calm Morgan down.

“You’re a what?” Morgan’s voice squeaked in her throat. The evidence was all there, Remmy’s locker, their easy demeanor, the recognition from the other fighters. Hadn’t there been bookies outside the building? “No, I--I’m good. I just don’t understand--I mean, you--” She searched Remmy’s expression. How was this not the most confusing thing to find out about her friend? “You hate violence and hurting people, don’t you?” She asked in a whisper. “Is this...I mean is it stunt wrestling? Like on TV?” She scanned the room again, stepping closer to her friend. There were a few looks at the odd stranger in their midst, but none long enough for her to signal ‘blink twice if you need help.’

Remmy tilted their head, confused still. “Well, I mean...yeah. But it’s not-- look, it’s, it’s hard to explain. It’s different, though. It’s not, like, people. We don’t fight people.” They closed their locker, frowning a little. Why wasn’t Morgan as interested as they had been? Was it because she hadn’t been steeped in this life like them and Nell had been? Surely she’d have the capacity to understand, though, right? “Here, lemme just-- just come see, it’ll make sense.” They ushered her out of the backroom, then, and over towards the arena seating. Even Blanche had been okay with it, so why was Morgan acting so strange? Not that Remmy wanted Blanche here. It was dangerous for someone like Blanche. Across the room, Remmy spotted Jax, who waved, his silvery blue eyes shining even from this far away. Remmy looked away quickly and led Morgan as far away from him as possible to one of the seats. “It’s gonna start in a little bit.”

“What do you mean not people?” Morgan asked, trailing close behind them. “If you don’t fight people, who are you fighting?” She sank, crouched, deep into her chair, looking around anxiously as a crowd gathered in. To her surprise, there didn’t seem to be many humans. From the kinds of refreshments being passed around out of flasks and paper bags to the un-glamoured appearances of those nearby, it seemed like most of the crowd was like them. And yet, in the center of it was a ring made for-- Morgan didn’t want to think about it too long. Before she could put her nerves into a question, a bell was clanging loud over the murmurs and the announcer was calling for the first match.

“It’s bat versus bat tonight, folks! In one corner we have a bonafide death bat, in the other, the champion of the crypts, Canine Crusher!”

A buzzer sounded. Doors opened. The man who stumbled into the bright arena lights didn’t look like much of a champion. He looked thin. He looked scared. He couldn’t sweat anymore than Morgan could, but he edged around the barriers of the ring like a rabbit in the crosshairs of a fox. And soon, Morgan could see why. The creature shook the walls as it lumbered out of its enclosure. It’s gnarled, wet fur glistened under the light. It’s wings, bigger than anything Morgan had seen before snapped with deadly force as it spread them wide. The man in the ring backed away towards his door, every muscle in his body tense. Somehow, knowing he was locked up against something without sapient reason, or mercy didn’t make Morgan feel better one bit. She squeezed Remmy’s hand tight with worry.

Remmy, in contrast, felt a little bit lighter as they sat down. They were surrounded by people just like them, people who the world thought were monsters-- and, perhaps, they were, but in a place where everyone was a monster, no one was-- just existing and all concentrating on something else. Just being. Their world zoned in on the man in the cage and the large bat like creature crawling out to meet him. They recognized that as one of the first things they’d fought. Cheered along with the crowd when it launched itself at the man, who ducked and weaved and dodged, before turning to fight back at the behest of the crowd. For a moment, Remmy paused when they say something familiar on his wrist-- that weird cuff that Jax had put on them before. But then it was gone, outta sight, outta mind, and Remmy turned to look at Morgan, to see if she understood now-- only to find that look of pure horror. Remmy’s stomach dropped. “What...you don’t-- are you okay?”

Morgan held on tighter to Remmy. The giant bat took a swing at the man with its wing. He went flying into the wall, hard enough that his body seemed to snap. If he wasn’t already a vampire, Morgan was sure he would’ve been killed by the impact. He slid to the ground, slumped in a way bodies shouldn’t be. He worked his limbs, straining against all of his hurt to stand up again, but he only arched off the ground a few inches before collapsing.

“Knock out!” Someone called.

The bell rang. The match ended. Two men came out from the doors and dragged him away by his legs. They were the least harmed parts of him as far as Morgan to tell, but there was no med kit, no blood pack, no care. The only thing that was left of him when the door closed again was a smear of dark, dead blood on the ground. “They’re treating him like he’s a thing, Remmy,” she said in a broken whisper. “Like he’s...like what hunters say we are. He could’ve died, on display like some...like he didn’t matter.” She looked over fully at her friend, frightened and uncomprehending. “Would they have stopped it, if he was really going to die? Are they going to take care of him?” She thought the implication under her question was clear (are they going to take care of you) but she wasn’t sure of anything right now. Remmy had brought her here thinking she’d somehow like it.

“What? No! He’s a fighter! He’ll be fine,” Remmy said, but until now, they hadn’t actually given that part much thought. They watched the two bouncers drag him from the arena and saw that cuff around his wrist again, subconsciously touching their arm where Jax had put one on them. Remmy shivered, then looked back at Morgan. “O-of course they would. It’s not-- this isn’t like that. It’s just sport, you know. For fun. And to make a little money on the side. I mean, sure it’s not like...100% legal, but we’re allowed to be open here.” They motioned around. “We’re allowed to be...us here.”

“What do you mean fun?” Morgan asked. The crowd was certainly having a good time, but hadn’t they seen how the vampire had reacted when he was thrust into the arena? Didn’t they care how he’d clearly wanted to run? She shook her head, bewildered at how Remmy, the softest and kindest of all her friends, couldn’t see or care about someone forced into something they didn’t want. “He was scared, Remmy!” She hissed. “He wanted to run. How do you not see that. He was so scared, the whole time. How long has he been here, fighting like this? Has he ever wanted to be here? A-a-and---” She faltered. Her body felt tight, her chest worst of all. She didn’t need to breathe anymore but stars, she felt like she was going to explode in her skin if she had to sit through another match start to finish. She was trembling, she couldn’t stop, anymore than she could stop talking, however much her voice stuttered and tripped over her mouth. “We can be open at home, we can be open with our friends. W-we don’t have perfect safe spaces, but we---this isn’t safe either, Remmy. This isn’t how we’re supposed to treat each other, we’re not props, we’re not monsters, we’re not things. Remmy, we’re not, we’re not…”

Remmy didn’t understand why Morgan was freaking out suddenly. But she was shaking and her eyes were wide, and Remmy understood what was going on. They stood, then, tugging Morgan up and away from the seats and back towards where they’d come in. “C’mon,” they murmured, still unsure why Morgan hadn’t had the same reaction as them or Nell or Blanche. “Let’s get outside.” Not that the fresh air would really help, but maybe being out of the crowd would. Remmy knew crowds often made them nervous, too. But didn’t Morgan understand? They were all monsters, and here, no one judged them for that. It was like Felix said-- we’re all the same here. Make them feel it. “It’s not like that. We’re all like-- scared at first, but it’s-- It’s not what you think. It’s not-- it’s not bad,” they argued weakly, suddenly bare and open out here, not surrounded by the crowd.

Morgan followed Remmy outside, nearly falling over herself to get out of the arena. There was another crack of someone’s body, she didn’t want to know whose, either the beast’s or the person’s. She walked out faster as the crowd cheered, fists raised in excitement. She thought she was going to lose her whole stomach. She stumbled into the parking lot, holding herself tight. There was nothing in her to regulate, she wasn’t sure if she even could hyperventilate anymore, but she heard her mother’s voice screaming in her ear anyway. Hold yourself together. Snap out of it. You’re acting like a child. Breathe. Breathe, damnit. She dug her nails into her palm and tried to straighten, to turn to Remmy and talk sensibly to them, but her body clenched as soon as she saw the arena again. She faced away from it intentionally, forced air into her lungs and forced it out again. Maybe it could at least distract her from how fucked everything she’d just seen was. “What do you mean not bad?” She asked. “How was that not bad? And you didn’t tell me how long he’d been in there. Why didn’t they just let him leave? And what about you? Did they--fuck, Remmy, you’re you! Didn’t you ever try to run, or stop during a fight? Have they had to drag you out of there like a piece of meat yet? Fucking universe, Remmy, we’re not actually monsters! That’s hunter bullshit!”

“I, I mean…” Remmy stuttered, unsure of what to say. “It’s-- I don’t know him. I’ve seen him around a few times before, but he’s always good at the fights. Usually.” They shrugged, they didn’t know what to say. Scrambled to hold on to some piece of information that didn’t crumble in their hands. “Run? What-- what do you mean? I’m not forced to be here, obviously. No one is!” They snapped, a little bewildered, backing away a little. “It’s-- It’s not, it’s not bad, Nell said so! She said it was--” They stopped, clapped their hand over their mouth. “It’s not bad. I’m not bad for-- it’s not bad.”

“You haven’t bothered to ask, is what you mean,” Morgan said, backing away from them. “And Nell? Seriously? They have witches in--really, Remmy? And like Nell has the best sense of judgement in the world!” She could barely begin to unravel the fuckery of that one. “No, no, no--you are not bad, but that--!” She pointed wildly at the arena behind them. “That is fucked, Remmy! You and Nell have no business--no one in there has any business slaughtering beasts and getting beaten to a pulp for someone else’s fun! They have no business being trapped in that room, alone and afraid like that! That place is bad and I can’t understand how you could like it. You don’t like hurting people, Remmy! Isn’t that what you say? That you don’t want to be someone who does that anymore, not even to save your own life? So what the hell!”

“I-- that’s--it’s-- it’s different!” Remmy shouted, a little too loudly. They clenched their teeth, stomped their foot, like a child throwing a tantrum. “Nell said it’s good, we’re good. Those monsters, they’re not good. They hurt people, and this is-- okay, like, maybe it’s not the most best thing, but it’s, like-- it’s like fight club. We’re not-- I mean-- I don’t wanna hurt people! And I’m not hurting people! Or others like me. I-- we did this stuff back in the military, you know. It-- it’s like...it’s like a release. For-- for all the anger, that’s it. It’s not--” but they weren’t even believing their own words now, were they? “It’s not bad. I’m not bad.”

“They’re just animals, Remmy! They don’t even know what good or bad means!” Morgan snapped. “They’re surviving, just like we are, and you--you’re a person, that vampire was a person and they let him get pulverized like meat! How can you not give a shit about him, you give a shit about random people you meet on the street!” She backed further away. She didn’t recognize this person in front of her as Remmy. “And don’t, don’t bring in your time in the military, of all things, as a reason why this is okay. You know that place fucked you up, we both do. I can’t believe you would ever agree to something this awful. I can’t believe you right now, Remmy. You have to know this isn’t okay.”

“They kill people! These-- they’re not animals, they’re monsters! Like, big, bad people and other and zombie eating monsters! Like that worm on the beach! Are you really-- you really think something like that is just an animal?” Remmy shook, backed away further. “You just-- you don’t understand. I don’t know why I thought you-- of course you don’t understand. I didn’t-- I’m not-- dying fucked me up, Morgan, not-- it wasn’t the military-- it wasn’t because--” but it was, wasn’t it? It had, hadn’t it? Remmy backed up further. “You just don’t understand. How could you? You’ve never tried to understand.”

“Bullshit,” Morgan said, marching back to close the distance between them again. “You know it was both. And don’t act like I don’t give a shit. I tried for you, Remmy. What the hell do you think I’m doing now? What the hell do you think I was trying to do by sticking it out here? So tell me what I’m missing, Rem! What is it?”

“It’s-- it’s not-- you don’t--” Remmy stuttered, but they didn’t know what else to say. When Morgan closed the distance again, they shoved her back and took a step back towards the entrance. “Stop it. Stop it. Don’t. I’m not-- It’s not-- it’s not like that. It helps. It’s the only thing that helps. You don’t-- you can’t take that away from me,” they said, stepping backward one more time, shaking their head, an almost desperate plea on their face. “You don’t get to take this away from me.” Before bolting back inside, somehow sure Morgan wouldn’t follow.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Melon-cholia || Morgan & Remmy

They really should put a warning sign in front of that watermelon stand at the farmer’s market.

@whatsin-yourhead

After Remmy had gone over to Deirdre’s (and Morgan’s??) for the second time, the two of them had decided Remmy needed some new, fresh ingredients. And with a rather dramatic declaration, Morgan had agreed to take Remmy to the Farmer’s Market. Remmy hadn’t had the will to fight it, so here they were now, at the Farmer’s Market, perusing the stands. Remmy had only been to one other market like this, and it wasn’t in America. There were lots of cool fresh fruit stands and Remmy, of course, had to stop at all of them and examine them. They were already putting together a fun recipe in their mind that they could do with all these local squash and berries, which were the only crops really in bloom right now, especially with the current conditions. When they reached the next gourd stand, Remmy tugged on Morgan’s sleeve. “Lookit the baby spaghetti squash!” they said, running up and grabbing one, like a kid in a candy shop. This was a candy shop to them. If only they could still taste it all. “Not good for baking, but hey-- this stuff is so good. It makes really good pasta, actually. I’m not the best at doing it, but if you should definitely try it if you haven’t!” 

Morgan was excited to be out of the house with Remmy, especially to somewhere that made both of them so excited. With Miriam still out there and so many near-death experiences in her wake, having a semi-indestructible friend added a certain level of ease. She strolled with her friend, a picnic basket dangling from each hand. She beamed as Remmy ran off, more excited than she’d seen them the last couple of times. She’d have thought that a normal movie night or two would have brightened their day, but there was something hanging over her friend. But maybe she just hadn’t hit the right button. “We should get some! I think squash has less iron than your regular pasta anyways. Maybe it’ll spice up pasta night.” She waved at the vendor and handed them exact change before sticking a couple into her basket. “How do you know so much about food? I could’ve sworn you were living like a college kid when you first rolled into town. Ooh, and what kind of pie were you thinking of? I sense some kind of flavor adventure on your mind.”

“Oh, um, I always really liked cooking,” Remmy explained as they picked out the best ones, setting them in Morgan’s basket. “My mom was a professional baker, she like, had her own place, I guess. I mean, I never got to see it or anything, since, you know…” they trailed off a little, before moving on quickly, “but I guess I picked up that from her. The um...cooking food thing. It’s like, my way of destressing. You just get to like, put stuff together and make something and it’s like...following recipes and stuff is easy. I think I’m better at baking than regular cooking cause of that.” They headed over to the next stand, an organically grown local fruit stand, and started picking through the berries. “Oh, um...I’m thinking some sort of wildberry or mixed berry rhubarb. They’re about the only kinds growing right now and it’s always an easy flavor to make good.” Not that they would know anymore. They were practically salivating at the idea of this pie. Maybe they’d make a second one with brains, so they could enjoy some, too. “Do you think that’d be good?” 

“Oh, Rem--” Morgan said softly. “Of course, yeah. Um,” she felt weird and sheepish contributing, when Remmy knew so little about their own mother, when all this had started as a way to soothe that void. “My mom liked to say that cooking was the most accessible magic in the world. Cooking and baking was one of the times we mostly got along. Later, anyway, when I was better at it. She taught me all the good tricks, including how to make burgers the way Nora likes.” They moved on from the stand and closer towards the fruit vendors. “Rhubarb is amazing! And it’ll be out of season soon. The berries will balance it out, I think. The hardest part is always getting the rhubarb texture just right. And then we’ll maybe do the top crust in the shape of animals and bones? Or flowers and bones? I don’t know, but practicing shapes the last time I tried was really fun, and it’ll come out way less lumpy with you to make them since you’re an actual artist.” She searched the rows, trying not to get too distracted by the first bushel of blueberries. “Hey,” she said. “Is that...a watermelon stand?”

“I’ve never really cooked with anyone else,” Remmy commented off hand, picking up a bushel of raspberries that looked nice and fresh. The set it in their little basket before moving on to the blackberries. “I think it sounds good, too! I love rhubarb. Hopefully the sweetness of the berries will cut the sourness of it like strawberries do, but they’re not in season yet.” They smiled up at her. “We can definitely do little shapes. I think flowers and bones would be fun. But like-- I’m not really an artist. I’m sure yours were fine, anyway.” They put another bushel in their basket before pausing. “Watermelon? But...they’re not in season…” They wandered a bit closer. It was a whole patch of them, still on the vine, sitting in a makeshift plot with dirt. As they got closer they even noticed that these melons were larger than normal, too. “Wow, I didn’t think you could get these two grow way up here this early,” they said nonchalantly to the guy tilling the dirt beside them. He didn’t speak. Remmy looked back at Morgan. “Should we get a water--” they started, but in the next second, something was biting down on the hand they had extended towards the fruit with a loud CRUNCH! noise.

Morgan wasn’t sure what to make of the watermelon patch out of nowhere. It wasn’t the right season for them, not even close. And yet, they did look strangely ripe, so fat and green Morgan could already taste the juice in her mouth. And she’d never tried to make anything with watermelon before. They were always perfect sliced and scooped just as they were. But maybe a nice loaf, or some cookies… Morgan wandered into the patch while she thought, considering the possibilities. She was in too deep by the time she heard a wet, crunching sound next to her. Morgan turned, startled, and saw Remmy lift a bloody, handless arm from a watermelon with two perfect rows of sharp, dripping teeth. The two of them screamed. Morgan backed away, gasping with disbelief. She only made it a few feet before a vine snapped behind her ankle and she was on her back, staring at four more hungry mouths like the one that had snapped at her friend. “Remmy!” She shrieked. 

Remmy was quiet for a long time, just staring at the spot where their hand was inside a watermelon’s mouth. A watermelon. Had their hand. In its mouth. A watermelon. Finally, it let go and Remmy pulled their arm back, now a stump. They looked at Morgan. They both screamed, Remmy more so about the watermelon with a mouth than their handless stump. It had already started regrowing, anyway. Stumbling back, Remmy turned to try and leap out of the patch, but Morgan called out their name and they swerved, tripping over vines and lumps of watermelon. Four of them were descending on Morgan. Remmy’s body stiffened and a sudden feeling came over them. They remembered the feeling down at the beach, punching through lobsters to keep them away from their friends. They remembered being in the ring, the crowd cheering them on excitedly. Show them what it means to be a monster, Felix had said. Make them feel it. Remmy leapt up quickly, then, senses honing. They pulled a fist back before letting it punch straight through one of the melons. The next one got a swift kick. The third got the back end of their heel, watermelon guts? Splashing everywhere. Remmy swerved on the fourth, clasped their hands-- one made only of bone-- and slammed them down on top of it, smashing it as if it’d fallen from a twenty foot roof. “Go!” they shouted, turning to Morgan, trying to lift her up, tearing at the vine. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Morgan was scrambling on her back, too frightened to use her hands for alchemy, too frightened to find the coordination to get to her feet. She felt one on her leg, snapping down and smacked it with her fist, denting the shell. She pushed herself, panting with fear all the while, and funneled energy out of her cuff to turn the fruit into a wave of water. It vanished with a splash as Remmy pulled on her. Morgan took their arm and clung on tight, kicking her feet up and running off with them, the tiny, pointy fangs, still lodged in her calf. “What was that! What was that? Did you see that? And how did you--” Morgan cried out again and pulled away. “Shit, your--your hand--shit--doesn’t that hurt? Shit, Remmy, it got you and you just--shit.”

There were sounds of screaming as Remmy yanked Morgan out and away and towards safety, practically carrying her. A man was shouting after tham, people were scattering, but Remmy could deal with that later. Right now, they just needed to get Morgan away from this. Away from the danger. Protect her. Save her. Hands-- well, hand-- covered in watermelon juice and dirt, the other slowly growing its way back, sinew and muscle wrapping around the exposed bone. Finally, Morgan’ yanked away and Remmy was thrown back into the present, rather suddenly. Their head spun a moment, and they blinked. Everything finally came back to real time. Noise came back full rush and Remmy shook their head, straightening out their vision. “I--” they looked down at their hand, “it’s fine. Doesn’t hurt.” Looked back up at Morgan, still finding it difficult to concentrate. They smelled blood, eyes dropping to her leg. “You’re hurt. We-- we have to get back to the car. You have a first aid kit in the car, right? Deirdre’s gonna be so mad I let you get hurt,” they said, words tumbling from their mouth, trying to fill the spaces between Morgan’s questions so that they wouldn’t have to answer them. 

“I’m hurt? Are you--” Morgan checked herself. She was half soaked on one side and--oh. The teeth. She hadn’t been accounting for the teeth, and they were lodged, in two perfect, red streaked smiles, down her leg. Not too deep, she was sure she’d feel it worse if they were, but thin streaks of blood were already running down her skin. Morgan sighed. “You know, if this is just going to keep happening the rest of the year, maybe you can bottle me the trick to your regrowable skin. I would love to, you know, just once, not feel like the kids working at Rite-Aid are judging me when I roll in again.” She braced herself against Remmy looking very determinedly away from the sinew of their regrowing muscle. It made her stomach turn to linger on, it didn’t seem like a part of them at all, it looked wrong. “She’ll freak out and want to be my personal escort the next time I--well, at this point, do anything. But if it wasn’t for you I might be on a gurney back to Nurse Denise and not regrowing my extremities!” Morgan took a minute to reign in her breathing. She was hot, she was throbbing in her ears, “If we can just...um...sit somewhere with less teeth? That would be great…”

“It’s not magic, it’s because I’m dead,” Remmy said flatly, before shaking off the angry thought that was bubbling in their stomach. They shook their head, helped Morgan over somewhere to sit and kneeled in front of her. “Lemme see it,” they said, reaching out to start plucking the teeth that had stuck in her skin. Remmy looked around for something to help staunch the blood and clean it up, but all they had was an old napkin they’d stuffed into their pocket. They dabbed at the blood, trying not to look up at Morgan, to let her see the sudden rise of anxiety and fear creeping onto their face. “It’s...it’s not too bad. Doesn’t look too deep. Here…hold this, I’m gonna try and pull the rest of the um, teeth out.”

“I didn’t mean—” Morgan began, but Remmy looked more upset than any explanation could cover. When she was sitting on one of the benches laid out for the event she bent down to try and look at them. “I’m sorry, Remmy,” she said solemnly. “I wasn’t thinking like...like that. I’m sorry.” Remmy was very focused, however, and she didn’t know how to reach through their concentration. It didn’t help that she really did need those teeth out. Morgan took hold of the napkin and squeezed it tight in her fist as Remmy plucked away at each one. She clenched her jaw and did her best to hold still, to swallow her whimpers of pain. She was getting better at it, with all the practice her curse had been giving her, but a strangled sound still burst from her mouth as Remmy worked at one that was proving a little tricky. She flushed, embarrassed, and tried to think of something to say. “Thank you,” she said lamely. 

“It’s fine,” Remmy said after a long time, prying the last tooth out of Morgan’s leg as best they could and tossing it into the grass. The screaming from down at the market had seemed to stop and Remmy cast a glance down that way to double check. Nothing to see. “I know.” They stood up, holding their hand out to her. “We should, um, get you home. So that we can like, properly take care of that. Clean it out, make sure there’s no like, debris in it.” Their hand that had gotten snacked on was now fully back, and they flexed the fingers, making sure to offer Morgan the one that hadn’t just regrown. Blanche always got sick about it, so they wanted to make sure Morgan didn’t get upset, either. It was still something they were getting used to themself, but they didn’t really have the ability to dwell on it like others. It was a part of them, now. A part of being undead. “You don’t have to thank me. I was just, you know...doing what any friend would. Should. Um...protecting you.”

Morgan took Remmy’s hand and stood-- “--Shit!” And sagged against them as her leg lit up with pain. Without the teeth, without the threat of losing her extremities as Remmy had, the rest of her body came alive, exhausted and hurting. “I’m fine,” she said quicky. “It’s not serious.I just...might need you a little after all. And there is, um, first aid in the Subaru. Starting to learn my lesson there a little there. Be prepared!” She adjusted an arm around Remmy’s shoulders, supporting herself against their weight as she limped along. “I know you did it because you’re a good friend, but I can still appreciate you, Rem. And now that we’re not in danger--are you okay?” They seemed...off, half closed. The Remmy that Morgan was most familiar with didn’t have so many barriers, certainly not ones that seemed so...firm, even cold.”You can tell me the truth, Remmy,” she said.

Remmy caught Morgan as she sagged, her entire weight nothing more to them than a sack of potatoes. They put an arm around her waist to help her walk, leading them slowly back towards the car, a little disappointed they’d lost all the fresh fruit, but ultimately relieved they’d gotten away almost scott-free. Their hand wasn’t a loss, but Morgan’s wounded leg hung heavy on Remmy’s conscience. One hesitation and this was the cost. It had been easier, this time, because they had been watermelons. They weren’t really alive. Maybe brought to life by magic. But the thought of having to do that against someone still rattled in Remmy’s chest like marbles. They knew they couldn’t keep walking this line of not acting or only sometimes acting. The Ring could help with that. It was helping with that. But that wasn’t important right now. Remmy didn’t answer until they got to the car. “I just did what any friend would do,” they said quietly, opening the car door and setting Morgan inside on the seat. “I’m fine. I was never really in any danger, you know.” Held up their hand. “My limbs grow back, remember?” They paused, looked around. “Where’s the kit?” 

“No,” Morgan said quietly. “Rem, you--you matter.” What was it with the people in her life not getting that? First Deirdre, sometimes Skylar, sometimes Blanche, and now Remmy. She took the kit herself out of the glovebox and tried to get to work, clumsy with pain and frustration. She passed it to her friend, then held it back, carefully raising her gaze to meet theirs. “Stop being closed off and weird. You don’t have to tell me, I know I’m still earning back your trust, but don’t be like that. Please.” 

Remmy looked at Morgan, kneeling in front of her again. They were tired of arguing with people that they didn’t. They really didn’t. They weren’t supposed to even be alive, so how could they possibly even matter? But they didn’t need to dump that on Morgan. “Okay,” they said quietly, reaching for the kit when Morgan pulled it back. Ruffled their brow. “I’m not,” they insisted, “I’m not being weird. That’s not-- it’s not about that. About you...I trust you. You don’t have to earn that back. It was never gone.”

Morgan slowly handed Remmy the first aid kit to patch her up. Their hands were a lot steadier and they knew what they were doing a little better than she did. “Fine,” she mumbled. She was quiet for a moment, letting them work in silence. What was it then? What was wrong. “You are, though,” she said. “Normally you’d be telling me things. Something with a girl, or with hunters, or Blanche or you other supernatural friends. I don’t know what it is, what’s bad enough that you can’t talk about it, but I want you to be okay. If I can do anything to help get you there, I want you to at least feel like you can tell me. Okay?”

Remmy took the kit and set to patching up Morgan’s leg. Luckily she wouldn’t need stitches, but it would be sore for a few days. They pulled open an alcohol pad and looked up at her. “This might um, sting a little?” Then dabbed at her leg with the swab, trying to be gentle as she flinched. “I’m not,” they insisted quietly again, but they knew that was a lie. “I mean...there’s just nothing to tell. My life isn’t as exciting as yours, you know? It’s just been...baking and work and making sure Blanche is okay. We um-- got a new pet. Something called a Baku? It eats nightmares, so that’s cool. Well, it’s Blanche’s pet, not mine. She named her Amy Bakiago. We call her Iago for short,” they went on, pulling out some gauze and bandages to finish patching her up. “I’m glad the sun is back. That’s neat. Do you know how it happened? Was it beach lobsters again?”

Morgan had to look away to keep from squirming. In her sudden wave of injuries and accidents, she had learned that if she just looked away, she could almost convince herself she wasn’t hurting. She was somewhere else, some other version of herself else who didn’t have to get the hang of spur of the moment first aid or swallowing every whine her body wanted to make when something pressed past its low pain threshold. She hated that Remmy was avoiding her, hated to let them off the hook when something wasn’t right, but her leg was burning, and she wanted them to be able to enjoy the rest of their day together. “Nightmares, huh?” She asked. “That’s pretty wild. Is she doing okay? I mean, I guess it’s not surprising she needs sleep after all she’s been through lately, but still.” She smirked at the name. “Who’s idea was Amy Bakiago? Did you help vote on that?” She let out a slow exhale as Remmy taped the gauze in place. “Not a clue about the sun. But the sky stopped being red on its own too, didn’t it? Maybe White Crest was just...having a weird mini season.” She turned her head up to catch the glare of sunlight against streaked clouds. “Definitely wasn’t the beach. Deirdre and I went to watch the sunrise, and for once, finally, I was able to walk away without a fresh curse in my pocket.”

“I think she’s doing better,” Remmy said, “now that she has something to like...concentrate on. She even switched her major, and she’s been reading a bunch of books on like, supernatural stuff and ancient languages. My vote was for Jake Bakuralta, but Amy Bakiago is a good name, too.” They gave a weak smile. “All patched up,” they said, tapping her lightly on the knee before standing up. “Well, guess we should just count ourselves lucky that we didn’t have to deal with anything crazy for it to come back. I still wonder what happened, though…” They looked up at the sky in tandem with Morgan, squinting a little. “Must just be the weird weather, right? I missed the sunsets.”

“Me too,” Morgan said, hugging herself. She watched the sky with Remmy, as if she might absorb the bright, crisp blue into her and keep it on tap for when she couldn’t find any light of her own. It was the kind of blue she remembered from the Disney movies of her childhood, the kind you would look for in a crayon box for a picture of happiness and never find. It was the sun, she thought, the golden stain over the thin clouds. Morgan strained her eyes staring at it. How simple, how stupid, the things that could give you hope.”I guess we still need to pick up something, if you still want to make stuff together,” she said at last. 

Remmy stayed quiet while Morgan did, curious as to what she might be thinking about while she searched the sunlit sky. The clouds passed between the sun and the sky, blocking it momentarily, and Remmy’s eyes fell back to the farmer’s market. People were already milling back in, as if the watermelons hadn’t just sprung to life and tried to eat people, but the man whose stand they’d been at was suddenly not there anymore. Frowning, Remmy looked back over at Morgan. “Sure, yeah,” they said, picking up the kit and setting it back in the car, “but maybe we can just go to the grocery store?”

“This is why we’re friends, Remmy. Even when you’re being weird, you still have the best ideas.” Morgan said. She hauled her legs into the Subaru and buckled herself in and took one more look at the blue sky, the bright sun, the shadow streaked clouds in the distance. “But maybe we should get you a license one of these days, huh?” She teased, brow arched. “But I could get over it if you do all the grocery lifting for me.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Cry for a Cry || Morgan & Remmy

Set in the aftermath of Where Does the Good Go? Morgan and Remmy need a break.

Sometime in the silence between the angry, frustrated bout of sex with Deirdre, Morgan started crying and hadn’t stopped since. It hadn’t helped that Deirdre had paused and softened to her, that her cold hands had melted like water over her body, that the last touch she remembered was one of familiar comfort. She had cried carrying her things to her car, cried as the thought ‘I should tell her I’m home safe’ fluttered like a wing across her mind, and snapped dead. If she didn’t do anything, fast, Morgan thought she might dehydrate herself to death, crying into the night, into oblivion. So she asked Remmy to come. She could force herself to be a little together for Remmy. She could talk it out, the way grown-ups were supposed to, and she would find a box inside herself big enough for all her pain and tuck it somewhere safe. She hugged herself on the couch while she waited, tapping the time of her breath on her fingers. In, hold, out. Until Remmy rang the bell. She wiped her face. Breathed. She could do this. She could talk, stop, and move on. She needed to. 

Remmy didn’t know what people normally ate as comfort food, so they’d just bought everything they thought they might need. Ice cream, cookie dough (the edible kind, because they didn’t want Morgan to get sick!), whipped cream, cream puffs, those little frozen eclairs that were next to the cool whip, some smoothie mix, a bag of frozen berries, chocolate covered pretzels, and jellybeans. It was too much, definitely too much, but Morgan was in a crisis, and Remmy couldn’t stop moving. Those thoughts were creeping back in and they needed to get away from them. They needed to not think about how Alain was probably right. They needed to not think about how they were endangering all their friends by remaining passive in their stance against hunters. They needed to not think about how they desperately craved to be wanted, needed, and to feel alive. Remmy hauled all the bags up in one hand and rang the doorbell with the other. They were sure if their heart was beating, like normal hearts did, Morgan would have heard it when she answered the door. Instead, there was silence, and Remmy looked up at Morgan with mournful eyes. “I brought um…” lifted up the bags, gave an attempt at a smile, “some stuff.”

“Hey, come on in,” Morgan replied, as brightly as she could. It was stupid, Remmy was here because they knew she wasn’t okay, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Her cool, restful place was behind her. Ahead--only the universe knew. Her tasks. Her work. Her fucking curse. So she needed to find her way through this quickly. “We can uh, just put everything over here?” She started to take some of the bags but--wow, it was a lot. More than they could get through, but also good for the days of ‘too sad to heat up a pan’ that were sure to come. “Or I can put some away, real quick, and you can get cozy. Just real quick, okay?”

“No, I got it!” Remmy said, pulling the bags away from Morgan and scurrying inside. “I can put them away. Here--” set all the bags down, pulling out the cookie dough tin and holding it out to Morgan. “Cookie dough! You can start with that. I’ll be right over. I can put this away. It’s mostly fridge stuff, don’t worry. I didn’t know what you’d want besides that, so I just kinda bought everything I’d wanna splurge on if I could still taste food.” They started emptying the bags without waiting for Morgan, worried that stopping would let everything catch up to them. They had to clear their head enough so that by the time they did stop to help Morgan, the thoughts wouldn’t cloud their mind. They smiled over at her. “I-It’s okay, you can sit down. I’ll be right over.”

Remmy was already taking charge of the food situation, so Morgan lingered in the entryway, purposeless, until at last she saw no other choice but to amble to the couch and sit. She could do this. She’d talked things out with friends when she was kid. What do I do now? What am I going to do? But what was the point of asking when the answer was simply--nothing? Morgan tucked her knees up and waited for the answer to present itself.

When Remmy finished putting the food and stuff away, they paused for a moment to look at Morgan curled on the couch. They’d never really seen her like this before. Even when she was shivering and cursed. Even when she’d spilled her heart out to them about her curse. Even when she’d been rejected by Deirdre the first time. Something clenched at Remmy’s heart, and they shook their head, moving into the living room and sitting next to Morgan, setting the cookie dough and a spoon down on the table in front of her. “I, um-- did you wanna talk? Or just...watch someone? Or we can just, sit here quietly, too. I’m here for whatever you need. Really. Anything. You name it.”

What did she want? Morgan tried to think, brow furrowed. Right then she wanted the couch to swallow her whole. There wouldn’t be any more steps or worries or plans to think of if the cushions could just open like a monster’s mouth and take her whole. But that wasn’t anything she could say out loud. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice warbling, her eyes starting up again. “I just, um---” Would rather stop feeling things at all for a minute. Would rather go back in time, back to the forest, or before even that. She shrugged, wriggling with the effort of rolling back her tears. “What do you feel like?”

“Oh, um--” Remmy could see Morgan’s eyes building with tears and they weren’t sure if they should just let them come or not. Maybe Morgan was tired of crying. They turned to look around. “How about we watch something? We can match a silly movie and make fun of it. One of those like bad b-rate movies about zombies or witches and we can point out everything that’s wrong with them. Or just something easy, like Brooklyn Nine-Nine, or that uh-- that doctor show you really like,” they offered, looking around for the remote to turn on the TV. “How’s that sound?”

“Grey’s Anatomy,” Morgan said. And there she went, like some sad miserable child. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t hold up another wall, or draw one more drop of energy from the world. She was falling and shattering and the sobs she had just stuffed into her chest spilled out. She covered her mouth, as if she could catch them on the way out, convince each ugly burble that this wasn’t the time. That she’d had enough already. But out they slipped through her fingers, and there was nothing she could do. 

Remmy was afraid it’d been something they’d done for a minute, before remembering Morgan saying that that was the show she’d watched with Deirdre once before. Oh. Whoops. Remmy put the remote aside and reached out gently, but quickly, to grab Morgan and hold her up right as she began to sob, moving to let her settle in against them and rub her back. They didn’t say anything, they weren’t sure there was anything to say, except quiet mutters of “It’s okay…” and “Let it out…” as her tears stained their shirt. Remmy wished they could reach inside of Morgan and simply pull all her pain out, wished they could do something to help because lately it seemed like the only thing they were good for was worrying everyone and nothing more. Remmy held her tightly as she shook with sobs, and didn’t realize their own body was shivering against Morgan’s.

Morgan fell against Remmy, shaking with the force of her hurt. She didn’t even have enough presence of mind to hang onto Remmy, she just fell, and kept falling. “It happened so fast,” she whimpered. “And I can’t get her back.” She cried harder, the ligature in her body fit to snap.

Remmy just held Morgan. “I know,” they muttered softly, petting her hair softly, holding her tightly, as if they could keep her from falling too far just by doing that. “I’m sorry.” What else was there to say? Remmy couldn’t fix this. They couldn’t fix Deirdre and they couldn’t fix Morgan, and they couldn’t fix what was lost between them. So all they could do was hold on, and hope Morgan would come back.

Morgan continued to cry. After a certain point, it wasn’t even just her tears for Deirdre, but for everything that had fallen past her, every hole that had been cut through with loss and never quite filled. Eventually, however, her body exhausted itself from the practice. Her breathing evened out. Her shoulders, once so heavy and stiff, went limp. “You didn’t bring any water, did you?” She asked hoarsely. 

It was convenient that Remmy couldn’t get tired. They were able to hold Morgan the entire time she cried. And even after, when Morgan slumped exhausted in their arms and her breaths turned into little puffs of air instead of big exhales and shuddering inhales. It was only when Morgan spoke that Remmy realized their own face was wet. They shook it off quick. Water. They’d forgotten water. “I’ll grab some,” they said, and before Morgan had a chance to protest, had moved her just enough to lean back against the couch with a pillow and hurried into the kitchen. Wiping their face on their shirt sleeve, they grabbed a cup and filled it with water from the sink, taking perhaps a moment longer than needed to fill it. Closed their eyes, breathed in, then headed back out. “Here,” they said, holding the glass out, keeping it steady while Morgan took it and sitting back down.

Morgan took the water with shaking hands and drank. The world was muffled in a cool, cotton haze, around her body, around her tired eyes, but after she chugged the water down, Morgan noticed a red burn around Remmy’s eyes. She sniffled and moved back towards them. “Hey--” she whispered. “What is it? And don’t say nothing. Tell me the truth.”

“What? Oh, it’s--” Remmy stopped. They’d never realized how automatic that response was. ‘It’s nothing’. Maybe it wasn’t nothing, but it certainly wasn’t important. “It’s not important right now.” They couldn’t dump their problems on Morgan like this with a good conscience. She was going through enough. Besides, Remmy didn’t even know what was wrong. So, really, nothing was wrong. It was just...not right. That was all. 

Morgan shook her head and shook Remmy with what strength was left in her tired body. Her voice was thin and fragile, but no less serious for it. “No. I can’t do this game with you too. It was bad enough with Deirdre, and I just can’t. You’re important, Remmy. And you need things. You’re a person and you need things, so just tell me. Tell me what’s happening.”

“Well, I mean, I’m not,” Remmy said with a little more bite than perhaps they even knew. “I’m not a person. I mean Ricky said we’re people in our own way and I thought I could believe him and believe that, but I’m not-- I don’t need real food or water or to breath and I can get stabbed and be fine or hit in the head or go crazy and try and eat my friends and then just be fine.” Snapped their jaw shut firmly as they felt it begin to quiver. This wasn’t about them. “I’m sorry. I came over here to help you. We can just go back to sitting quietly o-or watch something or talk about something else. But not this. Please,” the plea came out with a croak, “please not this.”

“No,” Morgan said, her voice barely more than a whine. “Remmy--” She brushed her hands over their hair, it really was getting long. How well had they been taking care of themselves since they were last over? “We can’t be put here to break. That can’t be why we’re here. So we have to be whole, whole people, okay? So you can’t break yourself holding it in, and maybe you don’t break yourself letting it all out at once. But just a little bit? And I could hold a little bit with you. I could, and I want to, okay? So can you let me, please?” She sniffled. 

Remmy’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Morgan’s hands were soft and Remmy wished they could feel them all the way, like anyone normal could. They looked down at their lap, lip quivering. “I’m fine,” they said, voice shuddering, “I’m fine,” they repeated even as tears began to stream down their face. “I’m fine. I have to be fine. What good am I if I’m not fine? I can’t be good if I’m not fine. I can’t help them if I’m not fine.”

“Come on,” Morgan urged gently. She tugged on Remmy’s cold heavy limbs and worked them around her back. She shifted around the cushions until they were tangled up in each other, holding each other. “I don’t actually know how this works, I’ve never had anything long enough to figure it out. But I feel like...we just have to try? And that’s not the same as being fine all the time.” She dug her hands into their shoulders, not sure if she bracing them or herself. “And I know it just...it doesn’t stop. I don’t know how to make any of this stop,” her voice began to quiver again. “But we can take a minute, okay?”

This was all wrong. Remmy was supposed to be here comforting Morgan. She was the one who had gone through something big and horrible and sad. Not Remmy. But they suddenly couldn’t stop. Tears streaming down their face even as they held in the sobs in their chest, body quivering, burying their face into Morgan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m not helping, I’m sorry,” they muttered repeatedly. What was wrong? Why was this happening now? Remmy didn’t want to cry. Things were getting better, so why were they crying? What pain was left inside of them, begging to be let out? After a few minutes, they were finally able to quell the tears, holding themself taught and still in Morgan’s arms. “Do I hurt people?” they finally asked. “Am I a monster? Is he right?”

Morgan sagged and held Remmy as another, quieter, stretch of tears fell from her face. “I can’t imagine anyone less likely to cause hurt than you, Remmy,” she sniffled. “You are the best person I know. And you don’t have to be sorry. Or you can be sorry with me, because I’m sorry too, for everything. But no, you are not a monster. How could you be?”

“But I hurt Blanche,” Remmy immediately said, “And I hurt Skylar. And I upset you last time and I--” they stopped, bit down hard again. “If I’m not useful to people, if people don’t need me and all I do is hurt them, then what good am I?” They asked, looking up at Morgan finally, eyes shining with a sudden fear, “What good am I, Morgan?”

Morgan was running out of steam. She brushed her hand down Remmy’s back, hoping to soothe some of their surface pain away, to make it all go quiet. She sniffled as she spoke, “If all we are is the hurt we cause, Remmy, I am so screwed. I don’t know what the answer is but it has to be one better than that. The other stuff we do has to count, and the way we meant to do them has to count, so don’t. Don’t, okay? Let’s just take a minute. We can take a minute from the hurt, can’t we?”

Remmy teetered for a moment. Nodded, slowly. They could do that. They didn’t know what the answer was either, but they could do that. Take a minute. A minute away from all the hurt and pain and bad in the world. It was easy, over in Afghanistan, to put away the pain and the hurt, because every moment could have been the last. Lingering on feelings like that was pointless. But here, standing still, it all caught up to Remmy, dragging them down one by one. But here, on this couch, with Morgan, they could take a break from it. They leaned back down into Morgan, settling back into the couch and letting her rest against them, feeling her weariness in their arms. “We can,” they finally murmured, resting their head on top of Morgan’s. 

Morgan held onto Remmy tighter. Was this making it better? Or worse? She drew as much air into her lungs as she could and breathed. In, hold, out. She breathed again. In, hold, out. And she and Remmy waited, waited, and waited some more.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

The Adults Are (not) Alright || Morgan & Remmy

So, about that expedition to the beach...

Morgan’s hands tingled as she pulled the new car up to the beach. There was a lot that wasn’t perfect right now, a lot she was missing, but the cool black interior, so shiny she could almost see her face reflected in it, and the seemingly endless safety features Remmy had pointed out filled her with a fluffy kind of fondness. It was enough to make her optimistic about finding something worthwhile on the beach. Shouldering her catch-all bag, she ambled down through the sand towards the cursed chest. 

“No sign of evil lobsters at least,” she said brightly. She spread out a blanket to save her legs from some of the still-cold sand and began scanning the markings on the chest anew, this time in search of any markings that might possibly indicate some kind of magic eyeball reverence or fear. “Still gonna look out for me though, right?”

Remmy had talked the entire car ride, nervous that if they shut up, they’d blurt out that it was Deirdre who bought the car. Though they both knew it was her, it was almost worth keeping the secret over. But today wasn’t about that. It was about the beach, and finding out some clues with the coins. And why people were seeing giant eyeballs or finding themselves unable to lie. They were surprised by how clean the beach was already. Barely a week, and there were no carcasses left, not even the giant one. Nothing to show for all the effort they’d put in except for the unmovable chest, which Morgan was now kneeling in front of. 

Remmy came up behind her and glanced down at it, remembering the night they’d spent yelling at it before finally giving in and walking away empty handed. That was the first night they’d started remembering things about...how they’d died. Blinking the thought away, Remmy bent down. “Of course I am. Today, I’m your personal bodyguard. No one’s getting at you unless they go through me first,” they said with a little grin. “See anything yet?”

Morgan couldn’t find much of anything yet. It all read as gibberish still, even with the digging she’d done at The Archive around early and pre-colonial arcana. “Not yet,” she said, frowning. “But maybe…” She edged away from the chest and reached out the universe, the part of it that hadn’t been instructed to hate her by some two hundred year old bullshit, the part that just was, that could catch anyone who knew how to make the leap just right. The coins in the chest rose, trickling through the air like drops of water in a river, and floated towards her, close enough to touch if she wanted. Morgan held them still and studied them carefully. “No eyeballs. You’d think an eyeball demon or whatever would leave something behind all, ‘worship me, or i’ll stare you to death,’ right?” There was one in the bunch that looked different than the assortment that waited her examination with Cece. She set the others to the side and brought the new one into her hand, dropped it gently into her bag. “These don’t really look like anything either,” she grumbled, but then, this was barely her department of sleuthing, so much older than anything she’d had to search for in hunting down her curse.

Remmy stared in awe as Morgan made the coins float up out of the chest. “Woah…” they murmured. Remmy stood back up, looking around. “I guess? I don’t really know how big eyeballs work. It seemed real desperate to get back into the ocean. Maybe there’s like...some signs down by the shore?” They glanced around to make sure there wasn’t anything nearby, they had come here to look after Morgan, after all, before heading down that way. They wished they could remember more, help Morgan figure this out, but all they remembered was being hungry and angry and then cold and their head was fuzzy. “It went like straight this way,” they said, pointing, the water lapping up onto their feet as they approached.

Morgan grinned, a little smug. “That’s magic for ya,” she said. With the spoils aside, she could look inside the trunk, maybe someone had bothered to write, ‘in case of eyeball emergency, do this!’ But of course, nothing could be that simple. The best she could hope for is some epiphany with the gaggle of coins that had been collected. “Hey, Remmy--?” She looked around. Remmy had wandered off towards the sea. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything new here. Do you think it’s still in the shallows?” She asked, shouldering her bag again. She didn’t step in, too scarred from Ricky’s tales of deep sea supernatural terrors and of the freezing curse she’d won after the last time, but she peered down into water as best she could. So intently, even, that she did not see the surge of movement in the water until the giant worm reared out of the water and flashed a hungry, pink mouth at them. Shit.

“Run!”

Remmy turned back to look at Morgan as she called out to them. “I mean, it could be--” they started, but they didn’t get to say much else before something cold and wet and-- painful??-- wrapped around Remmy’s waist. It squeezed and it stung and it burned and they convulsed, as if some sort of toxin were trying to seep into them. Clearly, it wasn’t doing its full job, though, as Remmy tried to wrench at whatever was on them “Morgan!” they shouted, suddenly full of fear and horror. “MORGAN GET IT OFF--” a yank from whatever wrapped around them and Remmy face planted into the cold sand. Another yank and they were suddenly able to see what was happening. A worm looking thing, giant and angry and full of serrated teeth. “Wha-what is that!?” they shouted, reaching to try and pry themself free again, but the gross, wet whatever that was wrapped around them ensnared one of their arms, pulling them in closer to its gaping maw.

Morgan was racing back up the shore, certain Remmy was right behind her, when they cried out in a voice she had never heard before. She staggered to a halt and turned around, her lungs in her throat. The sea worm had done something to Remmy, pinned them to the shore with something webbed and disgusting from its too-wide, too-dangerous mouth. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit and EARTH. Morgan dropped her knees as the creature made a shrill, rattling sound from deep in its throat. “Uhh--hang on! Hang on, okay!” The was no way she was stabbing or throwing anything into that thing. It was going to swallow Remmy if she didn’t do something. Morgan slammed her arms down into the sand, her cuff deep in the earth. And with all the panic in her, she hurled her energy into it-- a mound of rock rose from the ground, rumbling with fury. Morgan gave herself deeper to the ground, pouring in what she could. Come on, she thought. I am a fucking witch and I am not losing this-- She scrambled closer, opening every door to herself she knew and pushed. The quartz jutted out as if they had been shot by a trigger. Clear spears of prism rock, long and clustered and wild and sharp pierced through the sand, enough to build a massive depression in the earth where Morgan had traded the shore for this. The worm thrashed as the ground came out from under it and the crystals held it in place, thrashing in the air. Morgan’s arm gave out for a moment. “Wow,” she rasped, gulping for air. “Remmy!” She called again. “Are you okay?” The worm wasn’t dead yet, and she still needed to get her friend free.

Remmy wasn’t sure what was going on, all they knew was that they could feel a burning pain anywhere that things tongue or whatever was touching them. It was so painful. Remmy couldn’t remember the last time they’d felt so much pain. They’d thought they’d never feel pain ever again. But it burned and seared as the toxin tried its best to neutralize them, finding its effects outpaced by Remmy’s zombie healing. But not its pain, prolonged by Remmy’s ability to outheal it. Suddenly, the thing was being lifted from the ground as spears of crystal struck through it, hoisting it up and holding it there as if it were some fancy display, pinned inside a box. It screeched and writhed, but didn’t let go. Not yet. Remmy managed to release their arm, tearing that the now drying mucus that was all around them. Clawed at the ground, trying to get away. “MORGAN!” they shouted again, heading spinning, body shuddering. All they could think about was getting out alive. Gunshots. Bodies exploding. Remmy’s eyes flickered angry. “GET IF OFF!” they turned to rip and tear at the thing. Strength summoned from fear and pain and desperation. Finally ripping themself loose enough to scrambled away, feet meer inches from the things maw, scrambling away, stumbling into the holes created by Morgan, where the Earth had taken away for crystal. “Get if off. Get it off,” they said, pulling at the now dried mucus still clinging to their body. 

Morgan couldn’t see what was wrong with Remmy from her half collapsed position in the sand, but she heard the panic in their voice. She reached for Deirdre’s knife in her bag and staggered to her feet, leaving it behind. She found Remmy still half covered in--what even was it? Some flaking, grotesque web of mucus. But they were free, they were moving. “Remmy, Remmy hold still. I can’t get it if you’re moving,” she said. She scraped the bigged pieces off with the blade and flung them to the side, angle awkward to avoid cutting into her friend. “Can you make yourself breathe? Will that help?” She was just about done, enough to put a firm hand on their shoulder and try to meet their eyes despite her exhaustion. 

“Get it off,” Remmy said, still shuddering, even though they were safe and the thing was dead and Morgan was here. As soon as it was off, they clung to her, scrambling out of the hole they’d fallen in. They looked at her when she tried to steady them both. They’d failed again. They were supposed to protect Morgan but here she was, protecting them. Eyes still filled with fear, they swallowed, nodded. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” Arms shaking, they reached out to hold Morgan up. She looked exhausted. They didn’t want to look back at the worm, but the searing red marks on their arms were still there. “I-- let’s go. Can we go? We should--” tried to shake the feeling off. “There’s nothing here. We should go before--” another one shows up.

Morgan was slow on her feet, the beach was sort of spinning, and the crater she’d carved seemed to change angles as they climbed out. “You’re not fine,” she mumbled. “And why didn’t you run? Was it that fast?” It had come out of nowhere; this big, stupid, freak monser out of nowhere… “You have to be careful around me, you know that, right?” When they were a safe distance away, she pulled on their arm to stop and plopped onto the ground. “I almost wasn’t fast enough.” Heck, she’d barely been strong enough.

“I’m fine,” Remmy protested. “I-- I tried to. But I--” they paused. Why hadn’t they? All they remembered was that searing pain. They looked down at their arms again, but by now, the sears were almost gone. “I don’t know. It’s-- are you okay? What? No, I’m-- it was-- it was fine. I’m sorry, I just…” panicked. Remmy finally looked back at the thing, still skewered on the crystals. “You did make it, though. Besides, it’s not like I can--” die? What would’ve happened had that thing swallowed them? Remmy’s hand shook again and they grabbed it with their other to steady themself. “It was okay.”

“No,” Morgan said, not half as emphatically as she’d intended. She felt like a popped balloon, all aired out and in need of a good pump. “That thing was going to eat you, Remmy. I’m pretty sure even you couldn’t survive being in several pieces, or whatever it was going to do. And even if you could--” The idea of existing in that kind of anguish, permanently, was too much for Morgan to consider for long. She slumped down, head between her knees, in case she actually became sick. “What almost happened to you was not okay. I, however, am fine. Just drained. That was uh, not my usual craftsmanship.” She looked up in the direction of the worm. Still thrashing, but not as hard. Morgan shuddered as she watched it. At least she’d killed this one on purpose, and sacrificing a monster to keep Remmy around was more than okay with her. “Just try to watch out for yourself more. Remember I’m a danger zone, even if I can’t help it.”

“It-- I--” Remmy stuttered along. They didn’t wanna think about that. Surviving in several pieces of themself, spread over, around. Separate. A familiar feeling somehow, as if part of them was missing somewhere else. As if part of them was still back in Afghanistan in that pile of bodies. Or buried in one of their caskets. Or both. Remmy slumped onto the sand, suddenly weary. “You’re not a danger zone. Besides, if I die protecting a friend, then I guess it means my life meant something,” they muttered.

“Yes I am!” Morgan said. “And I am trying not to constantly psych myself out with that responsibility, but--” But Remmy was almost destroyed. It was too early for something like this to be happening. Spring had barely started, and somehow the curse was already rolling its way toward her. And someone had to do the job of minimizing the damage. And somehow no matter what she did, it felt like it was always her, by herself. “Forget it.”

“Oh, baby girl.”

Morgan went rigid. She did not look up, but kept her eyes glued on the sand, stretching her awareness to Remmy’s cold body near her. To the cold sand under her. The flaking, exhausted streams of energy inside her. Anything but the voice--so much clearer than even her darkest recollections. 

“What did I tell you about this? This is why we didn’t want you to know.”

Morgan looked up, sick with anger. And kneeling by her bag, there Ruth was, soft and distant as ever. She was alert, looking at her with eyes that knew her, smiling with the kind of pity you give to a toddler that falls over when it tries to walk.

“No, I’m not going to forget it!” Remmy said back, a little bite to their voice, that hidden, deep anger trying to claw its way up again. But the look on Morgan’s face, now pale and washed, made it instantly dissipate. “Morgan?” they asked, shiftin enough to face her fully, knelt in the sand. It was supposed to be cold, but they didn’t feel it. Skin still tingling, as if trying to remember the pain it’d just experienced. “Wh-what’s wrong?”

Morgan continued to stare at her mother. She’d never heard of witches going delusional after spending their energy in a rush of adrenaline, but it was possible, right? She was tired and things had been going too well until this and now--now this. “C-can you...tell me something?” She nodded in front of them. “Do you see anything there, by my bag? And can you, um, can you bring it to me?” She hesitated a moment, ill. The image was so wrong, and one she had conjured so many times in her mind, had bargained for night and day over the past three years.

Remmy looked from Morgan, to her bag. “Um...I don’t see anything?” they shuffled over, grabbing her bag, looking warily as if expecting something else to leap out at them and snare them with some gross, painful mucus. They came back to her and held out the bag. “We should probably go,” they said, their voice wavering only a bit as they tried to swallow the fear that was still so obviously biting at them. “It’s not safe out here.” That was, what? The third time this beach had tried to kill Remmy? If they weren’t already dead, they surely would have been by now. Remmy shivered.

Morgan took her bag and put the rest of her things in it. She should return the earth to the way it was, but she didn’t have the strength. Maybe later, maybe in the morning, when the wyrm was dead and she felt like more of a person again. Morgan pulled her bag over her shoulder, breathing to pull herself back together, at least enough to stand. Ruth hovered over her, grazing her hand on the air above her shoulder. Morgan shuddered and shut her eyes a moment. “Yeah, yeah let’s...let’s go. I’ll drop you off at home?” She squeezed Remmy’s shoulder as she helped herself up. “I’m sorry I freaked out, but we’re okay now. We’re okay.”

Were they okay, though? Remmy had been messing up left and right these past few weeks. Breaking down on them, letting them get hurt...And now Morgan was a mess because of them. They’d grown soft since leaving the military. Maybe it was time to steel themself away again. They could put aside all their problems enough to be worked out later, in the ring. Behind closed doors, like they were supposed to be. All of this was just...bad luck. It was just time to move on. Remmy took Morgan’s arm and wrapped it around their shoulders to support her. “Yeah,” they said as they headed up off the beach, “we’re okay.”