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frombeyondtheblackhole · 3 years

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Hermit DSMP Swap AU: Part 8.1

Over the course of the next couple of days Scar helped George and Skeppy get settled in. He introduced them to the other Boatem People. There was Pearl, who lived in the upside down boat house, Impulse, who Skeppy thought looked a lot like a buffer version of George, and Mumbo, who had an impressive mustache and lived in an RV pulling a tiny house.

Scar helped George build a mushroom house in the space between Pearl and Impulse's houses, while Skeppy very quickly got involved in helping Pearl prank everyone on the server by tipping their cows (and every other animal for that matter) upside down. She had to convince Skeppy not to tip anyone's named pets though.

The Boatem hole was opened up to the void. Now that Skeppy could get a good look at it, it kind of terrified him. The never ending darkness. George tried to push Skeppy in, which led to Skeppy chasing George around with a diamond sword for a good ten minutes. Scar fell in several times. He seemed fine, though that could be debatable. Falling in the void had to have some kind of consequences, didn’t it?

Scar got a new, bigger, better hat. Skeppy tried stealing it, trading it back and forth with George as Scar chased them around Boatem begging for them to slow down. Pearl even showed up and joined in the hat trading, but then she made them give it back. There was something under her chipper mannerisms that neither of them wanted to cross. She was nice, but Tubbo was nice, he had nukes, Foolish was nice, he controlled lightning, Puffy was nice, she killed Ant. In their experience, nice meant dangerous.

Grian got bored just sitting around all day and was soon back to his usual pranks. He summoned a giant tree golem with Pearl’s help that tried to eat Mumbo’s van till Mumbo talked to her and calmed her down. His peace, love and plants thing really did come in handy sometimes. Mambo found out that her name was Treesa. Now she just sat watching over Mumbo’s house and humming to herself with the sound of rustling leaves and groaning wood. Sometimes Mumbo could be seen sitting on her shoulder talking to her as she listened, her eye’s closed and her branches swaying in the breeze as she soaked in the sun.

Impulse opened up a shop called I-Soar selling elytra and rockets. Skeppy and George were fascinated by them and when no one was looking they stole some elytra to give them a test run. Skeppy immediately flew into a wall and died, while George fared a little better but died when he tried to land. Everyone's inboxes were buzzing with notifications as a string of death messages appeared in the chat. It didn’t take long for Scar and Impulse to find the two culprits. Skeppy tried to jump off the roof he was standing on and fly away, but he timed it wrong and landed with a splat, his items going everywhere. George started running, he was on the ground and unable to get any air.

Impulse was easily able to catch up to him with his own elytra. When Skeppy returned for his stuff Scar and Impulse admonished them for stealing. Then they gave them some flying lessons, showing them how to use the rockets to give them a boost and how to land without taking damage. They were only fifty percent successful. Though, when they were done they made them return the Elytra. To be honest, Skeppy and George were both quite done with the whole affair and glad to be back on the ground. The novelty had worn off a while ago and Skeppy and George were tired of constantly dying to fall damage.

Grian designed a game of hide and seek that involved the Dragon egg, while George and Skeppy secretly plotted to steal it when no one was looking.

Skeppy also finally decided to build a base for himself. He collected a ton of diamonds. Some of them came from his enderchest (Which he seemed to still be able to access). A bunch of them he got from taking a page from Scar’s book and going door to door, selling the Hermits random junk. He may have also taken all the diamonds from the center of the diamond ore tower outside Cub’s base. They were just sitting there in the open, practically asking to be taken. Using these diamonds Skeppy made a diamond block box house (When he ran out of diamonds he used dirt) in the middle of the town center next to the Boatem pole.

The look on Grian’s face when he saw it was totally worth all that work to get the diamonds. Grian practically begged him to take it down or move it. He even tried bribing him with more diamonds but Skeppy insisted that it was the most beautiful house in existence and he was going to live there forever. He even threatened to move it onto Grian’s front lawn.

This place wasn’t that bad, Skeppy was actually enjoying himself here.

---

Skeppy was nowhere to be found. Bad had searched through their mansion, and at the locations of their various projects, he even looked around the Greater Dream SMP, calling Skeppy’s name the entire time. The Diamond was gone.

This wasn’t the first time Skeppy had gone off on his own for weeks to sulk, only to come back a month later as if nothing happened. But usually he would at least make a big huff about how he was leaving and never coming back and how Bad was a bad friend. This time there was none of that. He had just left.

Bad felt a tightness in his chest as tears pricked at his eyes. Was he really that bad of a friend? What had he even done to make Skeppy run off without even saying anything? They had already made up after the whole egg debacle.

Bad shook his head “No, I’m a good friend. I’m the best friend. He’ll be back any day now, he’s probably just running errands or something,” Bad tried to convince himself... now that he thought about it he didn’t know where Skeppy went off to whenever he ran off.

Without even realizing it Bad found himself standing near the entrance to the spider spawner... the entrance to the Egg’s domain. He stopped. He had been free of the Egg’s influence for several months now. But the egg might know how to find Skeppy. The Egg could find Skeppy. No. Bad tore his eyes away, shaking his head and walking briskly down the path in the other direction. He had tried that before, it hadn’t ended well for him.

Bad felt a pit in his stomach. He genuinely regretted the things he had done while under the Egg’s influence. But the Egg could give him what he wanted. No. it never actually gave him what he really wanted, he knew that now. He knew that then too, he just hadn’t wanted to believe it... He didn’t need the Egg... but... it would be there. As a last resort. If all else failed.

[Notes: This one was inspired by another comment by @the-local-scp, Thanks again. I wasn’t originally planning on writing Bad’s perspective for a while. Skeppy runs off all the time. But then I thought about it and it makes sense that he would notice. He always notices, and this time he has no idea why Skeppy left. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed. This is the end of my pre-written stuff. The next one is probably going to be a bit of a long one so it may take a while before it gets posted, or I may break it up into smaller chunks... we’ll see]

#dsmp #dream smp #hermitcraft #dsmp au #dream smp au #hermitcraft au #hc x dsmp #hc x dsmp au #hermitcraft dsmp swap au #skeppy #georgenotfound #grian #good times with scar #impulsesv #pearlecentmoon #mumbo jumbo #badboyhalo

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softykooky · 4 years

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Sanctuary: Three

summary: there is no longer a light at the end of the tunnel, you think. only people who haven’t been hurt can afford such a luxury as wishful thinking. but have you turned away before seeing that there is a glimmer. A teeny tiny, minuscule speck of light. 5.6k words.

genre: mafia au, angst, eventual ot7 x reader

warnings: physical/verbal abuse (not from the members), dysfunctional and toxic family dynamics, violence, just big sadness

author’s note: here it is!! thank you for all your kind words, again. it never goes unappreciated. apologies for all the plot holes :( i would definitely consider rewriting this in the future to fix that. on a more important note, please continue supporting the BLM movement by anything that you can do. whether it is donations, protesting, streaming videos, or educating others, no good deed is gone wasted.

one, two

In the brief time you’ve spent at their mansion, you’ve come to remember a few things. Taehyung snores. Loud and unapologetically so. Jungkook mumbles random words in his sleep, sometimes about cookies and other times about which kind of handgun has the least kickback. Jimin dyes his hair way too often. Yoongi spends too much time online shopping on the internet. Jin detests peanuts but loves peanut butter. Hoseok does not like you. Namjoon is secretly a big softie. In another timeline or life, you’d like to think you guys would be really close friends.

“Namjoon, please,” the desperation melted off your every word as the guard pulled you through the house by your arm. He only stared back at you quizzically.

“Since you’ve been here, you’ve refused to tell us why it is that you ran away. Seems to me like even with all this time, you haven’t been able to come up with a solid excuse for your hissy fit.”

You wanted to collapse.

“Your father offered us his services and cooperation in exchange for your return.” Hoseok sounded from beside Namjoon. That’s all you were ever good for anyway. A trading pawn. A stepping stone. You scoffed.

“You wouldn’t believe me now if I told you the truth, would you? Now that you’ve gotten your prize?” Your voice dripped in hurt and frustration.

“I’m glad I could be of service.” You watched in satisfaction as Hoseok’s smirk slowly straightened into a calculating gaze, not looking back as you walked away.

You allowed the guards to walk you up the stairs. Jungkook made his presence known from the top, boring into your eyes with the sheer intensity of a man scorned.

“Jungkook I-”

“Save it, your highness.” You recoiled at the poison of his words. You should’ve known better. Should’ve known that this whole time, while you were thinking Jungkook was your friend he just saw you as his prisoner. If he noticed the tears that welled in your eyes, he did not let it affect the stone cold expression meant for you. Yoongi pretended to look past you as if you were not there. Like you were not living and breathing in front of his eyes. The rest of them watched from a distance, smugly relishing in the fact that their assumptions have been confirmed, yet melancholy to see you go. You could only swallow down the lump that had risen in your throat, trying not to throw up as the guards led you out to a black SUV.

You didn’t allow yourself to look back. Or to cry. To feel anything that was not utter self-hatred for not knowing better and trying to escape when you had the chance.

“Goodbye, Y/N. I hope we’ll never have to meet each other again.” Namjoon spoke from behind you. You heaved a long breath.

“Thank you for everything, Namjoon”, you murmured quietly. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you walk away. You had thanked him. You thanked him for kidnapping you, keeping you hostage, and now returning you back to the family that you had desperately wanted to avoid for unknown reasons. His brows knitted in confusion, eyes still following your silhouette through the window of the car as it drove away.

“Jimin”, Namjoon addressed as he walked back into the house and plopped himself down at the dining table all of them had been sitting around. He noticed the way Jungkook’s eyes seemed to stick on the door you had just walked out of, sadness drooping his shoulders.

“Were you able to find anything on the ambassador?”

Jimin shook his head. “No. Nothing. He’s clean. Nothing more than a few parking tickets. If there was anything though, he probably had it scrubbed from police records.”

“Check it again.”

Namjoon couldn’t figure it out. The little pit in the bottom of his stomach that kept trying to bring him back to your situation. Like it was telling him that something was wrong. He only sighed, standing up and tucking your manila folder into the filing case. Now just another face among many.

The security guard had been glancing at you a few times too many from the rear view window now, as he drove you to your imminent doom. You didn’t know why you couldn’t not be spineless for once in your life. You didn’t know why you just let these things happen to you, but the fight you used to have has disappeared a long time ago.

“Ms. Yoo. Your father is on the line for you.” Your knees began to shake at the mention of your father. You hesitantly took the phone out of the agent’s hand, taking a minute to breathe before holding it up to your ear. You didn’t say a word, but you knew he knew you were listening.

“Y/N. How lovely it is to talk to you again, my daughter.” His voice made you want to vomit over the leather cushions of the SUV. You kept silent, only heavily breathing into the microphone.

“We’ve missed you terribly. Especially Soyeon.” Your sister.

“Dad...please. Don’t do anything to her.” You tried to steel your voice in the presence of your father, but the quiver was impossible to not notice.

“I would never Y/N. I would never make her pay the price for your insolence.” He sneered into the microphone, tone still dangerously calm and subdued. Deep down, you knew that the most your father had ever done to Soyeon was some strict discipline and a few harsh words. Most of the time, he ignored her. It seemed like he only had resentment for you. His firstborn and heir.

“Well, we’ll talk more when you get home, Y/N. Maybe you can tell me about everything you’ve been up to.” You internally winced as he emphasized the word “talk”. Both of you knew what that meant and you could practically feel the sole of his dress shoes already digging into the plane of your stomach. He hung up without another word. You stared out the window as the car drove over a bridge, wondering what it would be like if you ever had the courage to tell the world. About your life. Your father. Everything. Would they believe you? Or would they trust the word of a rich and powerful man like your father, as the boys had done? Your heart twinged at the remembrance of the men you had gotten to know for that short period of time. You wondered if they would ever think about you in the future, even if they all thought you were a brat with no good intentions. Perhaps Namjoon was right. Perhaps it would be better if you all never met again.

“We’ve arrived.” Your heart dropped to your stomach at his words. He escorted you out of the car. More gently than Yoongi had the first night you met them all, and you remembered the loyalty these men had to your father. You would never be able to run now, even if you tried. You were led up to a familiar cobblestone walkway. In through familiar Venetian double doors your mother had insisted were necessary. Familiar marbled tiles under your shoes. Familiar baccarat crystal chandelier strung over the foyer that cast the room in a light that was too harsh for your liking. And the familiar face of your father staring back at you, lips curved in a gentle smile that you knew held more darkness than he would ever show.

“My darling!” He embraced you in his arms as your tears disobeyed your will and trailed down the curve of your cheek. You fisted your hands at your sides.

“I’ve been so worried about you”, he whispered into your ear, breath fanning against the side of your neck. How a cold breath could come from a person, you did not know. But it was becoming increasingly clear to you that your father was losing his sense of humanity in front of your eyes. That he was no longer the man you once knew and loved.

He waved away the last of the security guards out of the house, still trapping you in his hold. Like a conniving snake to an innocent mouse. You found yourself regretting every decision you had made prior to this. Maybe if you had told Namjoon the truth, you wouldn’t be standing here, a mere weak princess in front of a fire-breathing dragon. Maybe if you told Jimin that your father had caused those ugly scars on your back. The front door closed with a gentle click, and the doting facade your father had masked on morphed into the expression of repugnance you knew all too well.

You heard the slap before you felt it. The discordant clash of skin on skin that rung through the space of the foyer. Your mother did always say the house had great acoustics. The force knocked you into the ground, hands coming out to soften the fall as your body crumpled against the cool marble. It hurt. Like always. A familiar pain that reminded you only of all the things you had ever done wrong. All the flaws that your father drilled into your head until you could not remember anything that was good about yourself.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been for me to keep the press at bay?” He spoke darkly, eyes raking over your figure in satisfaction as you laid still on the floor.

“Do you know how much money I’ve spent to shut down the rumors that you had run away?” He knelt down to you, emphasizing each word as you tried to look anywhere but at him. Tried to focus on anything but the pain on your skin and in your heart.

Don’t speak, Y/N, he’ll only hurt you more.

“Fucking useless, you know that Y/N?” He laughed humorlessly. You could hear the click of his shoes as he circled around you, like a predator to its prey. A father to his daughter. You hoped to god they were not steel-toed. He reached down and clumped a fist into your hair, forcing you upright as you shrieked at the pain in your scalp, every cell in your body urging you to fight back when you knew that would never end well for you. He slapped you again, this time forcing you to stay sitting as the momentum whipped your head to the side.

“Sometimes I wish you never fucking existed.”

Over the years, you have learned to build resistance to the physical pain. You learned how to get bloodstains out of your clothes. How to double wrap an ice pack so that it doesn’t melt so easily against your body heat. How to not feel your conscious when your father took his anger out on you. But you had never quite gotten the hang of not letting each word bite you to your core until you believed what he said to be the truth. You never learned to push away the pain each remark and insult would ignite in the back of your chest.

Yeah, me too.

You laid there as his fists pelted down on you relentlessly, like cold rain to a cement sidewalk. You shrieked each time his foot made contact with your stomach. You could feel the blood dripping down your nose, your forehead, your arms, your cheeks. Your father was a fan of accessorizing after all, the rings on his fingers was testament. You absorbed every affront and denigration he shot at you, like a sponge to water, staring ahead into space and wondering if there was such a thing as feeling so much pain that one becomes numb.

“Stop! you’re going to kill her.” Your eyes had been closed but you could recognize that voice from a mile away. Soyeon. Most of the time, she had just ignored the things your father did to you in fear of the same treatment. But she was here. The dark presence of your father disappeared overhead, and exhaustion and pain finally seeped into your bones. He was not hurting you anymore. You can let yourself succumb to sleep now.

There was one thing you were glad for though.

His shoes weren’t steel-toed after all.

You woke up with a gasp underneath a familiar ceiling of a room that you knew all too well. The numbing you had forced yourself to go under earlier had clearly worn off, and you could practically feel every bruise and wound as if they were being created then and there. The door opened slowly to reveal Soyeon wielding a glass of water. She froze in her step.

“Hi Soyeon-ie”, you smiled, trying not to grimace at the pain of stretching your face muscles. Imagine your surprise when Soyeon’s expression twisted in anger.

“How could you run away. Do you know how much I had to deal with Dad getting angry while you were gone?”

Soyeon’s own selfishness stunned you into silence. You knew he would never hurt her, it always had been just you. She was blaming you for trying to get away from him.

“You know why I ran away.” You casted your eyes elsewhere, too hurt and betrayed to even look at your own sister. It was selfish of you to leave her behind, yes. You wanted to take her with you, but you knew she was safe there. You knew she would have been fine.

“You left me Y/N. I didn’t know if you’d come back or if I’d ever see you again.” She set the glass of water down on your nightstand, sitting at the foot of your bed. You wanted to stay angry at her. At her consideration for only herself and how she suddenly seemed to forget all the hurt that your father puts you through. But you had gotten so used to apologizing for mistakes you never made. Blaming yourself for things you could not control.

“I’m sorry, Soyeon”, you whispered in the quiet of the room.

“But I’m here now. And it looks like I won’t be leaving in the near future.” Your words were masked in sadness. You had been so close to freedom, you could almost taste it. But you should’ve known that no matter where you go, your father always had a chain tied around your ankle, yanking you back to this life. Soyeon’s face lit up at your statement.

“Good! Well, mom’s in the Bahamas currently with some friends. Maybe I’ll take you shopping tomorrow? A new store just opened in Myeongdong!”

You gave her a smile. One that didn’t reach your eyes, but it wasn’t like Soyeon would notice. This was how it always went. She would block it out of her consciousness, pretending that your family was perfect and that nothing ever went wrong. She would pretend like you never got hurt, and moved on to the next topic. You always complied because Soyeon seemed happy. And that’s all you’ve ever wanted for her.

“Yeah. Sounds great, Soyeon-ie.” You had never wanted to disappear more in your entire life.

“Fantastic! Well, I’ll let you get some rest. Maybe later you can tell me about where you’ve been all this time.” She spoke cheerfully, smile falling slightly as the collar of your shirt drooped and revealed a blackening bruise on your decollete. Soyeon reached over and pulled it up, smiling once again now that it was out of sight, and out of mind. Not for you, though. You could still feel it. Then she left, closing the door gently behind her and leaving a broken you, holding the pieces of yourself together in a home you so badly wanted to get away from.

You won’t tell her about them, you think. You won’t tell her about Jungkook’s poetry book, Jimin’s care about your scars or Taehyung’s video games that you could hear across the thick wall. You won’t tell her about how Namjoon likes to pretend he’s got it all together but at heart, he seems like just another boy. You won’t tell her about Yoongi’s walks or Jin’s breakfast foods or how Hoseok folds your clothes neatly when he drops them off. And you definitely will not admit to yourself that you miss the people that captured you and sent you back here. You were their prisoner. Nothing more, and nothing less.

Jimin hasn’t slept in 48 hours.

For the first 24, it was because Namjoon assigned him to take care of all their new recruits, and he spent the day with a permanent frown etched on his face because most of them didn’t know how to hold a gun correctly. For the next 24, though, he’s been thinking about you. Jimin had grown used to your presence in the house, they all have. Though you were strangers, it seemed your souls naturally gravitated towards one another. Like magnets that were too timid to approach, too timid to open the bedroom door. More importantly, he’s been thinking about your father, and why you were just so dead set on running away.

He whips out from under his bed sheets, pushing away the headache and willing his eyelids to just remain open for a little longer. There must be something he’s missing about your family. Something small, or anything at all. But as ambassador, his records are sparkling clean, no trace of foul play or any significant offense at all. Even the tabloids could not dig anything up on the man. He seemed to be invincible.

He walks briskly to Taehyung’s office, where the man himself is planted in a spinny chair, pretending to do work and playing Pubg on his wall of monitors. Jimin coughs with amusement, causing Taehyung to almost jump out of his skin.

“You scared the shit out of me, you dummy.” He gasps dramatically, hand held to his chest as he exasperatedly stares at Jimin.

“Is that how you talk to your hyung?” Jimin slaps him upside the head.

“Anyway, I’ve got a favor to ask you. Can you try scrubbing the ambassador’s files again? Something just doesn’t feel right with me.” Taehyung groans at Jimin’s request, dejectedly turning off his game.

“I’ve gone through his profile so many times. There’s nothing, hyung. Not even a speck. I liked Y/N too, and I thought she was better than that but maybe we just gave her too much credit.” Taehyung did enjoy her presence. He always turned his game volume up a little too loud to hear an annoyed groan coming from the room next to him, just to know that she was there. She had always been kind, but after everything, Y/N was a different person than he thought.

“Just one more time, Tae? There has to be something”, Jimin pleads. “And besides, if you have time to play your video games you have time to do this.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever I’ll do it. Just get some sleep, you look like death.” Taehyung hums, putting his headset back on and turning to his multiple computers. Jimin sighs contently, yet still dissatisfied, feeling like he’s missing a piece of a puzzle he so desperately wants to solve. He pats Taehyung on the shoulders before turning around and leaving for his room. That night, Jimin is able to lie down in a comfortable bed. Stare at the ceiling he sees every time before he goes to sleep. He plugs in his phone and cozies up with a pillow, like he does every night. But this night, he drifts with the thought of you behind his eyelids.

Taehyung has no idea why Jimin has made him go over records of the ambassador so many times. Sure, the ambassador wasn’t someone he was overly fond of, he had made business for them difficult in the past with his high government position. But it seemed like Jimin wanted to find something incriminating, like he had a hunch there was something there. So he sifts through the press pictures. Sifts over the embassy camera feed. Sifts over his text messages, and bank statements, and even his restaurant ord-

Wait.

His bank statements.

There’s something there that Taehyung hadn’t seen before. It’s so small, he must’ve missed it in passing but it’s a breadcrumb. There’s a bill that had been paid through an offshore bank account, so that any normal audit would not be able to trace it back to the ambassador. Luckily for Taehyung, he’s the most brilliant hacker in the eastern hemisphere...or so he likes to believe. The bill is withdrawing a couple thousand dollars, but doesn’t state who the recipient is to. In a minute or two and obnoxious keyboard clicks, Taehyung finds that the ambassador has wire transferred nearly $10,000 to a hospital in the Seoul area.

Damn. Just hospital bills. Albeit offensively high hospital bills. Taehyung leans back in his seat in defeat, nearly doubling over as he realizes the time. He curses himself when he hears birds chirping outside, already hearing Hoseok’s nagging voice for not getting enough sleep. He hauls himself to the couch in his office and sleeps the night away, records of the ambassador forgotten on his computer screen.

“Tae, get your ass up, it’s 3 in the afternoon”, Jungkook nudges Taehyung awake, almost consorting to kneeing him the balls since he refuses to even open an eye. He groans before finally agreeing to sit up. Taehyung finds himself in his office, Jungkook annoyedly sitting beside him with Jimin and Jin sitting in the meeting space outside.

“Have you found anything?” Jimin sounds from his seat around the briefing table.

“No, I haven’t. Like the last 5 times you asked me to do it.” Taehyung pauses in his half-asleep words, sitting up and eyes shooting wide.

“Although there was something weird I hadn’t noticed before.” He leaves his office and sits at the table alongside Jin and Jimin.

“There was a hospital bill for 10k. Wired through an offshore account, probably a Cayman or a Swiss. It didn’t show up on his public statements. It looked like he wanted to hide it.” Thinking back to it now, Taehyung looks like an idiot for not pursuing this breadcrumb trail and choosing to sleep instead. Jimin continues looking at him expectantly.

“That was all, though. I traced it back to the recipient and it was the Asan Medical Center”, Taehyung trails off, mind still knitted in confusion as to what this could be leading to. Jungkook makes his appearance from the other room.

“What if it’s not the ambassador’s records we should be diving deeper into?” Jungkook says quietly in the tense atmosphere of the meeting room.

“What if it’s Y/N’s?” A daunting realization settles upon the four boys. If this breadcrumb trail leads to what they suspect it does, then they may have just made the biggest mistake of their career. Staring at each other in the basement of their headquarters marks the first time the boys hoped to god that their hunch was going to be wrong.

“NAMJOON!” Jimin bellows as he nearly sprints from the basement to the upper level to Namjoon’s office. The leader could hear the boy even from down the hall, his clumbering footsteps reminding Namjoon how much he paid for that expensive hardwood flooring. The door swings open to reveal a panting Jimin, clutching a familiar manila folder in his hand. He slams the folder onto his desk.

“Y/N’s folder is here because…..why?”

“We’ve been trying to dig up dirt in the wrong place. Our initial run-through of her profile hadn’t even revealed this. This was covered up with all kinds of firewalls.” Jimin’s hands are shaking at their newfound information. Namjoon seems to be in a permanent state of confusion, staring at Jimin as if he had grown two heads and a tail and is now speaking to him in another language.

“Slow down, Jimin-ah. Take it from the beginning.” Namjoon stops his incessant rambling and muttering.

“Okay, okay. So you told me to take another check through the ambassador’s profile right? So naturally, I passed the workload to Taehyung.” Namjoon snorts at his confession, far versed in the boys’ habits to know that Jimin always made Taehyung do tasks he did not have energy for.

“We must have missed it all the times before. Our dear friend the ambassador made a transaction through an offshore Cayman account, wire transferring $10,000 to Asan Medical Center in the Seoul area.”

Namjoon sits up straighter in his seat and leans over the table, eyes locking into Jimin’s with newfound intensity.

“There’s no reason why he would for himself. We’ve browsed through all of his public appearances over the past year and he shows no sign of any injury or need for hospitalization with that high a bill.” Jimin runs his hands through his hair in frustration.

“So Jungkook suggested we dive deeper into Y/N’s profile instead. Maybe we missed something like last time too. So we did, and...” He pauses.

“What, Jimin? Spit it out.” Namjoon’s patience and anticipation has run thin.

“In the past years, Y/N’s been hospitalized for a total of 3 times. At Asan Medical Center.” The air in the room seems to drop to sub zero degrees as Namjoon and Jimin work to connect the dots.

“Taehyung looked into her hospital records, and it took him more than 10 minutes.” The statement shocks Namjoon, as all of them knew Taehyung could dig up dirt on a person in mere seconds.

“On the first visit, Y/N came in unconscious with multiple head and body contusions, fractured ribs, a concussion, and a broken collarbone. She had to get surgery. Jin suspects the records were so buried because someone must have bribed the hospital to keep it hidden. There’s one person involved that has that kind of money and power.” Namjoon’s face pales at the realization. He had a hunch from the beginning, and he knew he should’ve just listened to it. Now he may have just sent you off to your death with you thinking they all hated you.

“So what you’re saying is Y/N’s father…” Namjoon can’t bring himself to complete his sentence.

“What I’m saying is Y/N’s father seems to be deliberately covering up these hospital records unnecessarily well if it were just an accidental injury. There’s no clear link to domestic abuse, but…well, you’ve seen the way she is.” Jimin wants to knock himself upside the head for not seeing the clear signs right in front of his eyes. The way you flinched at every sudden movement. The way you refused to tell them anything about why you ran away. Maybe this whole time, you had been trying to protect your bastard father for god knows what reason. The two breathe in the silence of Namjoon’s office as the leader thinks it over, mind muddling with all the new information and trying to find a course of action.

“Tell Taehyung to hack into the security cameras of the ambassador’s house in Seongbuk-dong.”

For the time being, your father has cut off your access to a cell phone and other communication devices. You were to remain with Soyeon for an indefinite time, and she is your chaperone for any endeavors outside the house. He hadn’t said a word to you since he left you unconscious on the floor not even 10 minutes after you stepped foot into the doorway. That’s how it always was. To your father, you ceased to exist other than when your family makes public appearances or when you mess up and he feels entitled to discipline you. Not that you could leave the house anyway. You could barely walk for extended times without feeling your chest cave in.

“Y/N! Mom’s home.” Soyeon cheerfully sounded from the bathroom as she dusted a generous coat of pink blush onto her cheeks. You continued staring at the wall, in the same position you had been in for hours.

Your mom has been a side character in your life. She was never in one place for long. Never too affectionate with you, only was there to look pretty and doting to your father, all the while pretending that your family was perfect in every sense. Even before your father changed, she never emphasized her duty as a mother to you. Soyeon helped you wobble to the family living room, where both your parents were situated on the same couch. You avoided your father’s gaze like the plague.

“Hi, Mom.” You managed a small smile for her. One that she returned before placing her attention back on her phone. If your mother noticed your injuries and bandages, she did not let it phase her expression for a single millisecond. You sighed quietly to yourself, wondering if things would turn out differently if your mother cared an ounce for you.

You spent the rest of the evening at the dinner table. You did your part, pushing around oven-roasted potatoes with your sterling silver fork and pretending that you were a normal family having a normal dinner. Your mother strategically angled the family dinner picture to hide your injuries, posting it onto her social media account with far too many heart emojis. Soyeon chattered away about her new sponsorship deals, the new clothes she bought, the new friends she’s made, and even what she had for breakfast. And your father, well, you were just too scared to even look his way to notice what he was doing. But you reckon he appreciated you keeping your mouth shut at the table.

As Soyeon talked on about the Maison Margiela boots she’s been dying to get her hands on, you found your mind drifting to a certain group of people. You wondered if they’ve thought about you since. If they had an ounce of remorse for sending you away, or even a sliver of longing. You wondered if they had enjoyed talking with you as you had with them, or had they let their presumptions completely tarnish your image. Were they eating well? Sleeping enough?

You picked at an oily asparagus. Hoping they would miss you was wishful thinking. You couldn’t afford to do that anymore. Last time you did, you got kidnapped by a gang that sent you straight back into the jaws of your father.

The boys couldn’t tear their eyes away from the large TV screen in the briefing room, reflecting the footage of the ambassador’s mansion foyer. The room had gone silent. Cold. The kind of cold that hits you in the gut like a sharp icicle. The kind of cold that stokes an icy blue fire. Their hearts sank in their chests.

There you were. Getting beaten to a pulp by your father in your own home, with no security guards or maids around to see. You pushed back in the beginning, but the boys could almost physically see the fight leave your weak body as your monster of a father unleashed his hatred on you. They all wanted to throw up. Namjoon pushes away the tears that threaten to leave his eyes, turning back to the round table of boys who now had a new flame in their eyes.

“I-I should have known.” He loses his breath at the words, nearly collapsing into his chair.

“I should have known someone like Y/N wouldn’t run away like that. I should’ve known there was a reason she didn’t want to tell us anything.” He buried his face in his hands, kicking himself for letting you go.

“So those hospital bills….he covered them up because he caused her injuries.” Jungkook spoke out in the tense silence, not hiding his tear streaked face as his eyes remained glued on the TV screen. He would make himself watch it. For you, and the hurt he’s put you through.

“And the scars on her back.” Jimin trails off, fists clenched in anger at the mere thought of your father.

It was Hoseok, though, that actually bolted out of the room and heaved the contents of his stomach into a toilet bowl. How would he face you ever again? After all that he’s said and done. After all the assumptions he made about your character without even giving you time to breathe and create a response. Hoseok had just held this animosity against people of your stature. People like your father and your mother who grew up in money, and uses it to remain in power. He, alongside the 6 other boys, had fostered their own success from scraps and dirt. Now you were paying for their mistakes in ways that none of them wanted to even think about.

“Namjoon. We have to go save her.” Jin pipes up. They all heard the quiver in his voice and caught sight of the shaking in his hands as he looked towards the leader.

No, they wouldn’t just save you. They would get you justice. They would dismantle your father and maybe kill him while they were at it. This would be the price for their mistakes against you. As he looks back at his brothers, figures slumped in regret and shame, he wonders if you’ll be able to forgive them. Despite the short time, they had all bonded with you in some way or other.

“Yoongi, could you round up our retrieval team?” Namjoon’s face steels as he faces them, expression almost dead if it weren’t for the complete wrath that burned in his eyes.

“I’ve been meaning to visit Seongbuk-dong. I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

taglist: @pinkyhim, @deolly, @loveyoongles, @drunkzseok, @hope122598, @uwunamjoon, @nomimits7, @bubblebunnylia, @aquaalanah , @juliie-ocha , @daydreambrliever, @btsbabby, @rosiethefairy, @blank-et-noir , @tiredjedi , @myheartstaysinkorea

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foxtophat · 4 years

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I SAID I WOULD UPDATE TODAY and i meant it!!! so here is chapter 5, which marks the end of my “mostly written out” chapters. honestly i had to basically rewrite this one already so i guess last chapter was the last one i had mostly done. we’re in uncharted waters here on out, boys!!!

this chapter is actually the one that sort of galvanized me to write the story in the first place. i had the first 2 chapters in idea form, and then i had the plot for this chapter sprung on me and i knew i had to make this shit happen. so that’s what i’m doing, even if it’s self-indulgent trash, it’s MY self-indulgent trash!

i’m so grateful that there are others out there who are enjoying reading this fic as much as i enjoy writing it! i hope to keep going forward with the plot (such as it is), and there’s only... i think 2 other chapters that are just going to be about john and the ryes. the rest of the story will actually have other characters in it!!! which is fun, right? it’s not like nick’s friends are going to be offended and upset over john surviving, right???

below the cut is the text of this chapter, in case you don’t feel like going over to ao3. if it doesn’t fuck up your aesthetic, consider giving that lil reblog button a tap, but otherwise don’t sweat it! we’ll see each other next chapter, i’m sure :)

The whole "keeping John as a prisoner" thing starts to fall into routine around the two-week mark. It only takes a few days for John to learn to be awake by the time Nick comes in, dressed and ready to eat quick. A few days later and he's finished clearing the first story out, surprised when the job comes to an end, as if he'd really thought all Nick needed from him was a few days of house-cleaning. Joke's on him — Nick and Kim find no shortage of tasks for John to complete, which he does without complaint. He might scoff at some of the requests, but that doesn't stop him from obediently doing as he's told.

They use John to repair the roof, board up the lower windows and reinforce supports. He drags heavy debris from the house, separating the useful from the useless under Kim's watchful eye. Nick puts him to work repairing the fences that have already blown down after less than a year. One day has him scaling the side of the house, and then the next, he'll be literally down in the dirt.

Sometimes, John can work all day before Nick has to tell him to stop; other times, he'll only manage a few short hours before he looks ready to collapse on the spot. Nick suspects he isn't sleeping enough, but that doesn't mean he's getting out of anything. He has work for John even when he can barely stand up straight, like pulling screws from old shed siding and sorting through boxes of random components. The little, nearly pointless chores that have gotten put off solely for being too trifling make perfect work for an exhausted ex-cultist.

There are times, sure, when John acts... weird . He'll be solemnly working one minute, then jittery and distracted in the next. Sometimes, he'll get... uncomfortably obedient, meticulously following instructions and standing helpless when he's not being actively told what to do. But you know, even Nick's favorite drill had a wonky power-cord and a quirky backspin. He's used to making the most out of old tools like John Seed.

Two weeks is about as long as they can keep Carmina away from home while John is working. It's Kim who caves first on the issue, as they hit a wall coming up with things to do out of the house. It's easier to teach Carmina at home, for one thing. She can't get distracted or attacked by a wild animal while learning how to read or being taught history or math. There's also the fact that winter is coming on soon, and being outside all day simply won't be feasible forever. And anyway, it's safer to have two sets of eyes on John, in case he decides to pull something.

Neither of them are sure what to tell Carmina. They'd done their best to teach her about their history, but growing up in the bunker had kept her from understanding just how bad things had been. She knows about Eden's Gate, the Seeds, her godparent — but it's just a series of fables for her. She's touched Nick's scarred chest with wide-eyed wonder and hugged them through their night terrors in a way a child should never have to comfort their parents, but everything else is hearsay and tall tales. Now that they have the culprit living on their land, working for them — how are they supposed to explain that to her?

It turns out not to matter all that much. Once Carmina sees the man that's been secretly living in the house with them, she almost immediately loses interest. John had been a mysterious figure, someone her parents refused to talk about around her, but it looks like his gaunt appearance, heavy beard and long, scraggly hair has dissolved the mystery pretty promptly. Carmina takes one good look at John as he pries stripped screws from an old crate, wrinkles her nose, and turns back to homework. She doesn't even ask why he's working all the time, who he is, anything . It's such a strong dismissal that even Nick feels the burn.

It's a good thing John isn't his old, charismatic self, or else they might be dealing with it differently. The last thing Nick needs is for him to put a bunch of weird ideas in his kid's head.

Fall is dead and gone before Nick knows it, and winter sweeps in all around them. It's colder than it used to be, and the days are painfully short. It doesn't take long before the morning frost becomes all-day frost. The radio chatter these days implies that most of the county has gone into hibernation mode, bunkering down and preparing to wait out the season. From what Nick knows of living above-ground, the past winters have been literally killer. It's a lesson that everyone seems to have learned by now.

Nick is surprised by the first snowfall, although Kim has been expecting it for days now. It isn't much, barely enough to cover the ground with powder, but it's enough to bring all four of them inside before dark. Nick watches John like a hawk as he sorts out different screws from different projects, keeping him seated on the stairs while Kim and Carmina get into an argument about the use of multiplication tables after the apocalypse. Nick doesn't really see the point either, but then again, he was easily ten years old before he understood his times-tables.

For the first time, Nick doesn't bother to lock John away before dinner, letting him stay on the stairs to eat. First, though, Nick has him drag the large, makeshift cover across the back porch. It's not bad for a piecemeal DIY job Nick threw together in an afternoon, but it's heavy as shit and it completely buries the lower floor in darkness. Their sole oil lamp isn't enough to completely dissipate the gloom, but at least they can see what they're eating. John, sitting at the edge of the ring of light, eats slowly, casting furtive glances at the darkness.

The night turns from chilly to bitterly cold, which is enough to encourage everyone upstairs. Kim and Carmina become professional bed-makers, knowing exactly which blankets should be used to cushion the dirty mattress of the bed and which ones are best for bundling up in. Lately, Carmina's been really into nest-styled sleeping, which has its benefits during the coldest season of the year. Nick can't say he minds getting to cuddle with his family all night — come springtime, the heat will set back in and Carmina will start kicking all the blankets off again. Before long, she's gonna need her own space, and then Nick can kiss this cozy winter set-up goodbye.

Nick doesn't need to goad John into moving. He slips off the stairs before Carmina and Kim pass him, hovering by the support beam and staring at Nick expectantly.

"Well?" Nick asks, gesturing, "Get going."

John hustles up the stairs, shuddering in his borrowed coat. Nick follows behind, pistol holstered and oil lamp raised to give them all some light to work with. Kim is already lighting the bedroom candles by the time Nick reaches the landing, while Carmina has begun meticulously organizing the bed to her standards. Nick can see them both from the doorway as he marches John to the spare room, turning the cold room cozy just with their presence.

John doesn't wait for Nick to order him into his room. He goes willingly, eagerly even, quick to bundle up in his rough blankets. He doesn't even notice Nick watching him from the doorway, pulling off his shoes like he's eager to climb into his homemade bed. The room is practically a freezer, which might be because Nick hasn't bothered to properly board up the windows in here. Wind whistles through inch-wide gaps, sucking out the body-heat Nick is hoping to share with his family.

"You gonna be good in here?" Nick asks, absolutely hating himself for his burst of pity. "Not, uh... too cold, or anything?"

"I guess we'll find out," John replies, shrugging the concern away.

"Guess so," Nick echoes unhappily, shutting the door with every intention of locking John in there like Schroedinger's Jack Torrence. But locking the door doesn't put his concerns entirely to rest. As Nick returns to his room, to Kim and Carmina climbing into a bed full of blankets and tanned hides, he finds himself wondering if John couldn't use an extra blanket or two.

Kim catches him watching and raises an eyebrow. "Everything okay?" she asks, knowing full well that he's probably over-thinking this whole "prisoner" thing again. She's been patient as hell with all his worrying. Nick really doesn't wanna find her limit.

"Yeah," Nick replies, "Of course it is."

Carmina pulls a well-worn copy of The Wizard of Oz out from under the mattress, handing it to Kim for her to flip to the right page. "Is John cold?" she asks, frowning skeptically at her dad. "Is he allowed to have more blankets?"

"What?" Nick asks. She stares back expectantly, until Nick shakes his head and says, "Of course he's allowed to have... I mean, he hasn't asked for any..."

"Don't worry about John," Kim says, gently chastising both of them as she puts an arm around Carmina's shoulders. "Come on, we're almost to the flying monkeys."

It's easy for Carmina to forget about a guy she's never so much as said "hello" to. For Nick, it's a bit more of a struggle. He tries to pay attention while Kim and Carmina take turns reading passages, but they've read this damn book at least a dozen times. Granted, they only have so many books appropriate for a girl Carmina's age — it's either this or one of Nick's old Hardy Boys novels. Thankfully, as the three of them curl up under the covers, Nick gets warm enough to fall asleep, putting John out of his mind at last.

——

Nick wakes up with a few less blankets than he started with, his teeth chattering as he curls under the remaining deerskin. Kim and Carmina are huddled together to one side of the bed, having absorbed the other blankets he'd fallen asleep under. If he wants to get them back, he's probably going to have to wake one of them up.

If he's cold, then John's probably freezing.

Jesus, he's barely awake ten seconds before he's worrying again! This is ridiculous But... his concerns aren't entirely unfounded. John doesn't have the benefit of shared body-heat and excessive bedding — Nick's not sure he'd even count the blankets he does have as bedding to begin with. And — well, he's been doing everything that they've told him to, without bitching or half-assing anything. It's only fair to reward him for good behavior, isn't it?

"Kim," Nick hisses, nudging her until she grunts something like his name in response. "I'm, uh, gonna check in on John."

"Why," Kim groans quietly. One hand slips out of the blankets to cover Carmina's ear, in case she isn't still dead asleep. "It's cold, come back to bed."

"That's why," Nick replies. "He's got to need another blanket."

"We've been waiting for him to die for weeks," Kim mumbles, "Can't you just let mother nature do her job?"

"It doesn't feel right," Nick whispers. Kim sighs in response and he immediately backpedals, sure that he's finally found the end to that seemingly infinite supply of patience. "I know, we've been more than fair, I should just ignore it, it's dumb."

Kim shakes her head. "No, that's not it. I mean... you're right. It's not like I..." Kim pauses, belatedly waking up enough to check that Carmina is still asleep before admitting, "It's not like I want to be the one to bury him, you know?"

Nick does know. He'd been assuming he'd be the one doing that part. "Could always leave him for the wolves," Nick offers half-heartedly.

"As if they'd want any of that ," Kim scoffs, tired enough to be offended on the hypothetical wolves' behalf.

"Look, I'm only gonna give him an extra blanket. It's the bare minimum. Not because we feel sorry for him or anything."

Kim nods, checking Carmina once again for any signs of secretly listening. Thankfully, Carmina sleeps like a fucking log. "Yeah," she agrees. "It's so we don't feel sorry for ourselves."

John is awake when Nick goes to check on him, and he looks fucking miserable. He's trembling, wrapped up in a poor attempt to conserve heat, although he manages to keep his teeth from chattering after Nick opens the door. Nick was right to worry; it's even colder in here than he'd expected. The gaps in the boarded window are wide enough to wash the room in pale moonlight, which just makes the whole room feel even more frosty and alien.

All at once, the blanket he's about to offer doesn't feel like it'll be anywhere near enough. John probably won't freeze to death, but there's a good chance that he might not be healthy enough to fight off the chill. If he gets sick again, that'll be another week or so where they'll be feeding John for free.

"You cold?" Nick asks, hoping that pointing out the obvious will earn him a comeback that'll dim his sympathy. He needs to not feel bad for a man who's tortured and murdered too many people to count. He's a fucking monster, a psychotic maniac. So what if he's cold? So what if he can't sleep? So what if he freezes to death?

John drops his eyes to the blanket in Nick's hand.

"Yes," he rasps.

With a heavy sigh, Nick balls up the blanket and chucks it at John, who grabs it out of the air and immediately adds it to his cocoon. To Nick's absolute horror, John opens his big mouth and says, "Thank you." His gratitude seems genuinely given, as though Nick has finally brought reprieve to some kind of agony, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable weight on Nick's shoulders.

Nick knows he's getting played. He must be. John knows he's a sap, and he's a manipulative liar who was willing to threaten Nick's unborn child to get what he wanted, of course he's doing this on purpose. He's not above pretending to be pathetic for attention, of course he isn't. The worst part is that, even though Nick knows all of that, he still can't help but fall for it.

"You — you're welcome," he says. "Shit, it's freezing in here. Has it been like this all winter?"

"Not all winter," John mutters, like an asshole.

"You should have said something," Nick snaps, "I woulda... done something before now. You could've gotten a couple extra blankets out of me."

John silently pulls the new blanket tighter over himself, and Nick's irritation returns with a weird, unhealthy dollop of sorrow for the stupid asshole. "Fine, be that way," he snaps. He wishes he could slam the door to make a point, but Carmina is still asleep and he'd like to keep it that way.

When he gets back to the bedroom, Nick's first thought is of how much warmer it is than he'd realized. He's been deceptively comfortable this whole winter, not knowing that John's been freezing half to death at night just down the hall. Maybe if John weren't so useful, he could brush off his worries. Maybe if he weren't such a stupid coward, he could be satisfied with the good he's already done for that sack of shit.

"Kim," he calls softly, "You still up?"

"No," Kim mumbles. "What?"

"I, uh... think we need to bring John in here."

" What ?" Kim repeats, craning her neck to stare at him. Carmina grunts against her, thankfully burrowing under the blankets instead of waking up.

"I know, I know, but — it's fuckin' cold in there, Kim. The window's still broke, I never got around to properly boarding it up and —"

"What did he say to convince you this would be a good idea?"

Nick sighs. "He didn't say anything, that's the worst part. I'm doing all the convincing myself." He waits for her to say something, but she doesn't, so he repeats himself helplessly. "It really is cold in there. I.. I don't think I can leave him like that."

Kim looks at him as though he's grown a second head, and she can't decide if it's more or less attractive than the one she married. "He has to be restrained," she says at last. "And you keep him away from Carmina. Even if that means you don't get any sleep at all."

"Yeah," Nick replies. "I can do that."

"I'll have the rifle next to me," she adds. "If he pulls something..."

"Of course," he says.

Nick takes his deerskin, an extra blanket and two pillows, and tosses them into the far corner. He takes the shoulder strap off of the rifle as well, holding it up for Kim to sleepily approve of as an impromptu rope. Nick's not sure what he's going to do if John rejects the terms of this offer, but he's hoping he won't have to look like an ass for suggesting it.

John is still awake when Nick returns. He stares apprehensively as Nick approaches with the length of cord, but he doesn't try to bolt.

"Hands out," Nick orders, gesturing towards his hidden arms. When John hesitates, he sighs and adds, "I'm not gonna hurt you, come on."

John's brow furrows. "Then what are you going to do ?"

"I'm gonna make sure you can't murder me in the middle of the night. Do you wanna sit here and freeze to death, or what?"

That doesn't seem to do much to reassure John, but Nick doesn't need him reassured, he needs him to follow orders. Finally, he holds out his hands, staring skeptically at Nick as his teeth chatter against his will. He doesn't resist as Nick secures his bony wrist.

Once he's satisfied, Nick drags John onto his feet. "Get your stuff," he tells John, "I'm not sharing my blankets with you."

John does what he's told, quickly scooping up the blankets that have fallen to the wayside. Nick gestures for the door, but John only manages to reach the doorway before he stops.

"Hey, get moving," Nick says, scowling as John resists at the doorway. When he doesn't budge, Nick hisses, "Don't get any ideas, now. Kim and I are both armed, and —"

"I know," John replies. His heavy, hooded eyes find Nick's, searching him suspiciously for some hint at his master plan. "Why are you doing this?"

Nick sighs. He's not about to tell John he's taking pity on him, and it's not like John is going to believe Nick's doing this simply because he feels bad. He briefly considers forgetting the whole plan to save himself the trouble of explaining himself. "I'm lazy and I don't wanna have to carry your dead weight downstairs," he snaps. "Either you keep your mouth shut and come with me, or you can sit in here and freeze."

John goes quietly from there. Kim is awake when Nick marches him into the room, and she regards the entire procession with extreme distrust. That's fair. Nick doesn't trust it anymore himself, and he's the one who had the idea in the first place. She doesn't say anything, but she watches as Nick points John to a spot against the far wall.

Nick thinks John will comment on the temperature change, but he doesn't. He also refrains from commenting as Nick settles against the wall next to him with his own set of blankets. Nick nearly tells John not to get comfortable, but that would sort of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? What he should do is tell John not to get used to it — tomorrow, Nick's gonna fix that window and ensure that this won't happen again.

There's no way that Nick is going to get a good night's sleep tonight. He can't afford to slip off and leave John effectively unwatched around his family. Thankfully, that's not gonna be a problem — after three tries he gives up on trying to find a comfortable position and settles for sitting slumped against the wall like a kid waiting for gym class to end. He's got a good view of his comfortable bed and lovely, sleeping family, and he's just within grappling range in case John makes a break for it. With how exhausted John looked today, he probably won't have to worry too much on that front.

At first, Nick expects John to lie down and get some rest, but as time passes he finds that isn't the case. John remains sitting, holding the blankets close to him with his bound hands. His gaze is fixed on the floor every time Nick looks over. Despite how much he's improved since they took him in, John still reacts sluggishly, dragging himself through chores without complaint but also without energy. The perpetual exhaustion that seems to come with surviving hasn't missed him, even as he lived quietly by himself for eight years.

Eventually, John lifts his eyes to rest on the bed opposite them. Nick doesn't notice it at first, halfway into a doze himself. When he does, his first instinct is to tell John to knock it off, but John's pensive stare stops him. Whatever John's thinking about, Kim and Carmina are only distantly related — he seems miles away as usual, wound up tight in his own thoughts.

He isn't trembling anymore, though, and his teeth aren't chattering either. Nick can count that as a win, at least.

"Was it difficult?" John asks, right as Nick's about to nod off again. He jumps a little, surprised by the question, confused until John elaborates quietly, "Raising her after the world ended."

"It was never gonna be a picnic," Nick sighs, too tired to work himself into an outrage over John's interest in his family. It's not like knowing about their post-apocalyptic baby-rearing is going to give John leverage. He shifts, sighs again and admits, "Yeah, it was. Not as bad as it could've been if we hadn't had the bunker, though."

For the first time, Nick wonders if John ever wanted kids. The way he'd talked about his past back in the day, the way the deputy would talk about him, well, Nick wouldn't be surprised to find the guy had a slew of bastard children, all of them scraping by on child support and harboring awful thoughts towards their psychotic dad. The idea of John being a father , of having control of and being responsible for a child, it's downright ludicrous. There's a lot to be said about passing on your own traumas to your kids, and John already has a habit of making his problems everyone else's. An actual child of his would probably be messed up before it could walk.

"You know, in a weird way, the cult prepared us for the worst. We moved all of our supplies down there so you couldn't come steal them. When the bombs dropped, we didn't have to worry about baby formula or non-perishables."

John lets out a quiet breath. "If only others were as smart as you," he rasps.

"Or, you know, you could have respected other people's property."

"Yeah," John sighs. "I guess so."

Nick skeptically eyeballs John, whose own gaze has dropped back to the floor. Nick has taken every opportunity to remind John that at least part of the state of things is his fault. So far, John hasn't disagreed with him, quietly accepting blame whenever it's laid on him, even when Nick himself figures he's reaching a little. Nick had assumed he was just doing what was best for his survival, but tonight he can't help but admit that John at least seems sincere. Sure, sincerity doesn't mean much coming from a notorious liar, but if he's trying to play Nick, he's doing a good job. Nick would never have expected John capable of acting so sympathetic.

"Get some sleep," Nick sighs, resting his head back against the wall. "It's gonna be a long night if you don't."

John doesn't sleep. Nick can feel the hour dragging by, and he knows the next one is going to be just as godawfully tedious, but John doesn't so much as rest his eyes for a minute. This time of night, Nick will sometimes hear John muttering from his room, which means that this might just be John's normal routine. He probably stays awake until his body shuts down against his will, the same way Nick and Kim used to when they first started sleeping topside. Nick's not sure why , though — there hasn't been so much as a hint of trouble since Nick brought him here. If he's worried either Nick or Kim are going to pull something on him, then he's being ridiculous. If he's staying up all the time waiting for his brother to swoop in and rescue him from being the enemy's slave labor, well, he's going to be waiting a hell of a lot longer than he already has.

Although Nick drifts here and there, he manages to keep enough of his wits about him to notice when John finally nods off. The nap lasts all of fifteen minutes before a hypnic jerk jolts him back into consciousness. His hands reach up, palms braced upwards in front of his face, then drop just as quickly, and he sucks in a huge breath through his gritted teeth. His head jerks from side to side as he stares uncomprehendingly at the room around him, catching sight of Nick and staring at him with glassy-eyed panic.

"What?" Nick snaps quietly, as if John's nightmare will respect his sleep-deprived irritation. "Quit staring."

John's eyes dart back to the dark space around them. He stares at the bed for only a second or two before seeming to think better of it, choosing to close his eyes entirely.

Nick had never understood the way Dep had pitied the Seeds, each one earning Rook's sympathy in some way or form. He'd had plenty of arguments with them over it, especially whenever John was concerned. Nick simply didn't believe the sob stories the Seeds wanted to spin, and the fact that the deputy wanted to hem and haw over shooting them had been, well, a little offensive, honestly. The only one he'd ever really felt bad for was Rachel, and by the time she became Faith, he'd gotten tired of feeling sorry for a bunch of crazy cult ladies. Sympathy never was something the cult looked for, even while they peddled pitiable lies about themselves. Maybe that's why it was so weird when the deputy freely gave it.

"Just..." Nick sighs, scrubbing his beard heavily. "Relax, alright?" he whispers, "Nothing's gonna jump out at you."

"I know," John replies. He doesn't sound sure about it at all. Frustration wells up in his voice as he hisses, "Why can't I sleep anymore?"

The question is definitely rhetorical, but Nick considers how to respond anyway. He knows that his family is lucky — they have a defensible location and enough weapons that they don't have to worry about being attacked in their sleep. It wasn't always like that, though. The house had been torn apart, and wild dogs were all over the place, which had been especially terrible considering they were about the right size to snatch a seven-year-old up and make off with her. It'll be two years this spring since they started taking their home back, and it's all of that effort and their good fortune that's made their lives safer.

Most of the other people they've met haven't been so lucky. Finding intact, structurally-safe shelter is a roll of the dice out here, so a lot of people have had to rebuild from the ground up. They have to defend against wildlife, arrogant looters and desperate scavengers, and a lot of them have to do it on their own. Even Grace sometimes mentions thieves coming for her armory, and she's made herself a decent stronghold. Combine that initial survival instinct with the fact that John's only recently climbed out of the bunker, and it's no wonder that he's having trouble sleeping.

"It'll sort itself out if you'd just relax ."

John jolts as if being abruptly awakened, not expecting a response and definitely not expecting a sympathetic one. But Nick is tired, and damn it, Rook's pity must've rubbed off him. You'd think sympathy would have a shorter half-life than eight years.

"Your internal clock is shot, that's all. It happens when you come out of the ground. You don't have to be an over-dramatic asshole about it."

He means for it to be an insult, but the nature of the conversation and his own tiredness soften the blow. He can't help it. It's a hard adjustment to make, and he remembers having to do it himself. It had been pretty awful when he'd managed to get back on a nocturnal sleeping schedule and Kim hadn't... mostly because Carmina thought that meant she could stay up all night and all day.

"You got about four hours left until sunrise," Nick says, whispering even though he's definitely woken up Kim by now. "You're gonna need those hours of sleep when we head out to the hangar tomorrow." He gestures loosely with a hand. "Just — lie down and close your eyes. It's so easy a kid can do it."

For a moment, John looks irritated at being instructed on how to sleep, but he doesn't argue the point. Slowly, he sinks down, lying with his back pressed against the wall. There had been a few feet separating them, but now Nick can't even put his hand down next to him without feeling the curls of John's hair. Ugh, they've been putting it off, but somebody is going to have to do something about the matted mess John's got. This Tarzan-slash-doomsday-prepper look is disgusting, and it can't possibly be hygienic.

John doesn't speak for the rest of the night. Nick doesn't know for sure if he's really sleeping — other than his hands and his matted hair, John is pretty thoroughly bundled against the cold — but at least he keeps quiet and pretends to get some rest. The last thing Nick needs is for John to be so weak tomorrow that he needs more coddling. Nick's sympathy is in short supply and bound to run out soon, so John better be sleeping through the exhaustion crazies.

For his part, Nick mostly just dozes, sliding in and out of focus but never quite managing to fall asleep. He's afforded a rare view of his family from the outside, although mostly all he can see is the back of Carmina's head. She's wound up tight in the first deerskin she ever had a hand in tanning, which has become her go-to blanket during this winter. He can still remember Carmina complaining about the smell and almost throwing up when she first started scraping. Nowadays, she has no trouble getting her hands dirty.

It's not the kind of life that he had imagined for her, but Nick's glad Carmina seems to be adapting. Hell, she's more accustomed to this life than Nick is — he grew up out here, sure, but the tamed wilderness of an unincorporated county is a hell of a lot different than the wilds they now live in. It's been a hell of a learning curve, and Nick's not sure he's gotten the hang of it yet. It's funny — he used to imagine his kid scoffing at him for not understanding some new technology or internet fad, teasing him for not getting what the kids were all about. He has no idea what kind of stuff Carmina's gonna school him on in the future these days — all he can hope is that it won't have anything to do with blood or bullets.

The sun starts to lighten the deep murk of the room. Kim rolls away from the windows, throwing an arm over Carmina's shoulders. She might be sleeping now, but Nick bets it's been hard to come by. No matter how much she might have agreed with his reasoning, there's no way Kim's been sleeping for long with John in the room.

Nick waits another thirty minutes or so before he gives in and shakes John's shoulder. He does it gently enough at first that John doesn't react, which at least assures Nick that the bastard managed to fall asleep after all. Should Nick feel good about that? He's not sure. It's sort of irritating him at this point in his sleep-deprived state, but it is what he wanted. At least he knows John will be able to handle working later.

"Hey," he hisses, shaking John harder this time and earning a muffled grunt in response. "Time to put you back."

That manages to get a reaction, although it's a little much. John jerks away from Nick's hand, hitting the wall with a muffled thump. "No," he gasps. Nick can't quite tell if he's still asleep or not from here.

" Hey ," Nick repeats under his breath, grabbing hold of John's shoulder. "Quit squirming."

"You can't," John pleads, trying in vain to twist out of Nick's grip. He's not trying very hard, probably because he's sleep-addled and confused, but Nick shouldn't be fooled by that. He should know better than to let John get the jump on him.

Despite himself, he lets go. John doesn't bolt, doesn't even move in response, trapped staring at Nick until Nick quietly explains, "I'm talking about your room. Just down the hall."

John doesn't seem to believe him at first, his bound hands grasping at each other as he tries to catch his breath. But eventually, he nods once, very stiffly.

Nick waits until he's pulled John outside of the room to comment, standing in the chilly hall next to John's door. "Look, you don't have to worry about —"

John cuts him off. "Don't do that," he snaps, trying to hide the tremble of anxiety in his voice. "I'll do whatever you tell me to do, just — don't."

Nick should push the issue. At the very least to remind John that he's not in the position to make demands. But, damn it, if John doesn't want to talk about it, why the hell should Nick? He barely likes talking about his own problems, and he's invested in how that baggage is handled. John's a whole goddamn shipping container of twisted thoughts and terrible coping mechanisms, and that's a load that Nick doesn't want to carry.

Honestly, he's relieved. As long as John's nightmares motivate him to continue not being a monstrous asshole, Nick's fine with ignoring them altogether. Bring on the night terrors, as long as they keep John docile, right?

"Fine, whatever." He half-heartedly pushes John through the doorway, only realizing afterward that some snowfall managed to drift in during the night. There's a dusting of light powder on the floor around the window, which will melt into an unhelpful slush once the sun comes up. If the room was too cold to sleep in before, it's got to be worse now.

John ignores Nick as he waffles by the door, retreating back to the tarp he'd left behind. Sure, it's still freezing in here, but the sun is coming up. That should keep the worst of it away.

Nick stands awkwardly in the doorway as John crawls back into his bed, a few feet from a patch of soft snowfall. He doesn't seem willing to look back at Nick, rolling to face the wall as he lies down. Which — is fine. Should be fine. Nick shouldn't care one bit whether or not John wants to talk.

"Feel better?" Kim asks, once he's back in their room and crawling gratefully into the still-warm bed. He'd abandoned one more blanket to John's bundle, then locked him up as if everything were fine — because it is. Right? The risk had paid off, sort of, and now everything is back to the way it should be. So, of course he feels better.

Nick sighs with sleepy gratitude as he folds his cold arm over Carmina, squeezing Kim's shoulder as he questions his gut response. "Sure," he whispers, although it's not exactly the truth. He thinks about it some more, then elaborates. "I'll feel better once I fix that window."

"You're being too nice to him," she tells him, although she says it too fondly to be an admonishment. Still, she's going to run out of patience for his dumb ideas, his gut reactions and his lousy instincts. There's nobody on earth with that high a tolerance for dumbassery, no matter how well-intentioned it might be.

"I know, I know." Carmina presses her face into his chest, hopefully still asleep, and Kim's hand lifts to cover his hand on her shoulder. "Your dad was right," he jokes, closing his eyes, "You didn't marry a smart man."

"I didn't want to marry a smart man," Kim chuckles, "I wanted to marry a good man."

She squeezes his hand. Nick's sure there's more to be said, but this isn't a conversation to have at daybreak after a sleepless night. Maybe later, they can figure out how to keep Nick from making stupid, potentially dangerous decisions like he did tonight. For now, there's a chance for a few hours of sleep in a warm bed with his family, and Nick isn't going to pass that up for anything.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fcnd #new dawn #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #far cry fanfic #my fic

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bubblepop-32 · 5 years

Text

If Bruce was De-aged and the only one who could make him stop screaming is Jason.

Bruce gets de-aged, but his memories aren’t as young (but not as old) as what they’re supposed to be. And he desperately needs Jason.

I wanted to read de-aged Bruce with our man Jay but I literally can’t find any ;A; So I sacrificed sleep and wrote this.

There’s going to be good ol’ fluff and bonding between Jason and small Bruce, but there’s also going to be angst. And swearing (mostly from Jay)

Read me already? Here’s >> Part 2 <<

~~~

Jason tossed and turned in his bed, unable to find a position comfortable enough to drag him off to sleep. After three more minutes of practically doing aerobics in bed, he decides that this was not going to get him anywhere and that he shouldn’t be wasting time trying to get some shut-eye but more rather do something more productive.

Like what? Go fucking apologise to Bruce to make Boy Wonder happy? Fat chance. It’s three am in the morning and even though Bruce will probably still be awake, he wasn’t going to just voluntarily visit the manor.

Jason pressed a palm to his forehead and groaned in annoyance. Everything was going so well. He hadn’t killed in a month (and he actually tried, really hard), he hadn’t thrown something across the room the instant Bruce entered, and he even managed to stay for a family dinner.

He’s even admitted to himself, secretly, whilst he was beat ass drunk, that maybe, deep down, he wanted to go back to the family. And he hated the thought and the emotional baggage that came with it.

He’s trying to ‘forgive and forget’ but it's not easy when the Replacement is there, when he’s the exact reminder of what he had been through and all the shit that had gone down between him and Bruce. Dick’s told him that it isn’t ‘fair’ that he blames Drake, for practically everything. Oh if only Dick knew that all this wasn’t ‘fair’ from the beginning. If only he knew the bitterness that stabbed him when he saw Bruce smiling with the Replacement, putting all the hopes and expectations that was once put onto him being placed on someone else.

Now that Bruce has robins to keep him sane, what had Jason become to him? Right, Jason was a walking talking nightmare that reminds Bruce of his failure, his mistakes.

And then just the night before, Batman and Red Hood had gone on a patrol, together along with Nightwing. They busted a drug and arms trade between two gangs. It was all going smoothly until Jason discovers five children shackled to a steel bar behind the main room in which the dealing took place.

They were quivering in fear and delirious from hunger and thirst, but what really made Jason snap was the fact that gang members that managed to dodge Batman and Nightwing barged into the room to kill them off since the deal was off and keeping them alive would be a fucking waste of effort.

Five bullets instantly buried themselves into the first man that came in, one in each kneecap as well as shoulder, with the final one burying itself in the man’s stomach. One for each of the kids that they left to die without them even needing to kill them. The second man that rushed in got a fist to the cheek and a knee to the nose, then a series of punches to his face. All Jason remembers was one huge blur with a cacophony of screams in the background, but he doesn’t know if it’s the gang member’s, the children’s, his, Dick’s or Bruce’s. Maybe it was all of them.

The next thing he does remember is Batman dragging him forcefully away from an unresponsive body. Oh, but Jason did not go quietly. He struggled against the arms that restrained him. He wanted to get his fists back into the man’s mangled face, to get his fists into all the gang members’ faces.

There was shouting, alright. Nasty comments were hit from Jason to Bruce like a match of tennis, and Dick ended up with a deep cut to his jaw whilst trying to get the two apart.

Jason doubts that he’ll be able to set foot back in the manor soon after what transpired that night. Jason doesn't even know why Dick still insists that he and Bruce make up, even when it’s clear that Jason had crossed a line when he gave Dick the deep gash to the jaw. So when Bruce had growled at Jason to leave, he did. Something dark and bitter overcame him as he walked out of the room, and the bubbling wreckage of hatred within him grew.

Taking a dunk in the pit had done its numbers on Jason, and anger was the emotion he chose to use to deal with the bitterness within him.

Jason pulled the blanket off of him and sat up on his bed. The sliver of moonlight cut through the darkness and landed on his small fringe of white hair. It glowed softly in the dark as the light bounced off. The white hair is a scar left on him after healing from death. A souvenir from his trip from beyond and back.

So when his phone started ringing at three am in the morning, he and his heart literally jumped.

“Fucking hell!” Jason grabbed his phone with haste as his loud ass ringtone was not helping his heart slow down from the initial shock. His first thought was to press the big, enticing red button, but the fact that it was Dick who was calling made him hesitate. “There better be a good reason for this,” Jason grumbled as he pressed the green instead.

“What do want-”

“Jason? That you?” Yep, it was definitely Dick. “You actually picked up, oh my god I was hoping you that you were and you really did.” His voice sounded far from sleepy, rather he sounded like he has been awake for two days straight. It was a little rough and a little slurred together but it was also probably due to how fast he was speaking.

“If you were seeing if I would pick up then I’m hanging the hell up.” Jason expected something of a smart remark from Dick, like ‘aren’t you going to ask how my cut is because I’m looking pretty sharp right now,’ or some weird shit like that if Dick’s sleep deprived because he says some weird things when he’s loopy from not sleeping.

“No! Jay! Please just, just hear me out before you leave. It’s…It’s urgent.” The last words came across the phone as being slightly breathless. There was bated silence as Dick waited for Jason’s reply.

“Fine. Shoot.” Jason answered, and he heard Dick sigh with relief.

“It’s just, after what happened the night before, B’s been on edge ever since. He barricaded himself inside his office, and well, I thought he was going to be in there for a while, but he actually came out of it earlier tonight.” Dick explains.

“And you want me to come over and talk with the fucking brick wall?” Jason growled. Answering the phone really was a bad idea. “He doesn’t listen and I’m tired of being the only one who’s doing all the trying!”

“That’s not what I was talking about Jay. It’s…it’s not that.” There it is again, the same breathless whisper of a voice that is most definitely hiding something.

“Then what? I’m hanging up.” Jason pulled the phone away from his ear when there was suddenly a muffled, high pitched scream from the other side. Jason immediately pressed the phone back to his ear.

It was a scream of agony, of loss, a scream Jason himself is so akin to. It’s as if something had been torn away from someone, and they were yelling their lungs out and their throats raw. There was this desperation within the ear-piercing wail, as if seeking for someone to help.

And it was a scream of a kid too.

After that, he couldn’t hear much more. Either Dick dropped his phone onto something face down or he pocketed it because all he could hear was the very muffled a soft and pleading voice, which is most definitely Dick’s. But the screaming didn’t die down though. Instead, now, the kid was screaming something, a word, a couple words which Jason couldn’t discern either.

There was a moment when it was just the rustle of fabric before Dick started talking again, but now with less vigour and rawer, unpolished emotion.

“Jason? Jay?” Dick called, anxious for a reply.

“What in the world was that?” Jason’s tone was serious. He was suddenly unsure why Dick was calling him out of everyone else he could’ve called in order to deal with a screaming kid. If it wasn’t about trying to get him to speak to Bruce, then he really can’t think of anything else.

Something in Dick, at that moment, must have broken because the next words that came out of him were so simple and plain and simply lethargic. But it shook Jason to the core.

“That…” Dick whispers, almost inaudibly, “that was Bruce.”

Jason didn't know what to think.

“Something went wrong during tonight’s patrol and he was hit by something.” Dick supplied, but Jason still didn’t understand.

Jason stared at the small sliver of the moon that was visible behind his curtains. He felt as if he was spacing out.

“When he came out of that office, he looked like an empty person, Jay. Neither Alf nor I knew why he came out then, or what was going on in his head, but I’m pretty sure Alf had a better than I did. I suggested that I take over the patrols tonight and that he should rest, but of course, he didn’t listen.” Dick paused, and Jason still did not know what to say. “…You still there?”

Jason swallowed and found it extremely hard. “Yeah.” He answers but it sounded smaller than what he wanted it to be.

“And the ways he did things tonight, it was as if…as if you were, well, gone, all over again. He didn't think before he jumped, he didn't even consider different courses of action to safely capture the rogue villain-wannabe. He got hit by a huge pulsating flash of something and-and he’s been de-aged to being a child around the age of ten.”

Jason found this experience very odd. Nothing that he’s heard from Dick so far has properly sunk in and processed.

“But something’s wrong. B’s memories don’t match his age. He remembers things that he wouldn’t have known if he was ten…like about him being Batman. The guy responsible doesn’t even know what he did and the machine he made shattered when he fired the thing.” Dick sounded like he was on the verge of screaming too, but at the villain-wannabe who put Dick through whatever predicament he had gone through before he called Jason.

Everything was slowly starting to make sense to Jason now and he has sort of an idea about why Dick was calling him and not Cass who would love to see a de-aged Bruce. And he’s not really sure he likes the reason. Old Bruce or young Bruce, he just didn’t want to be near that man.

“…You’re being oddly quiet, you know.” Dick murmurs through the line.

“Duh, Dickhead I’m trying to listen. Go on.” It didn’t come out as snappy as he wanted it to be. In fact, it was pale in comparison to what usually came out of him.

“His ten-year-old self isn’t ready for all the shit he’s been through all the way until now…It’s shredding him apart, and I can’t do anything about it! Just imagine a small plastic bucket and trying to pour in a large hot tub of melting tar into it. Whatever is holding the melted tar was made for it, much like how the B now is able to deal with his emotions by shoving them under the rug, but, pouring the tar into the plastic bucket would overflow and break it.” Dick drew in a shaky breath.

Trust Dick to put his words into an analogy. Jason doesn’t know if it helped or not, but the imagery of burning and melting plastic wasn’t something he would associate with B. “Bruce…he’s only something like ten years old, but he remembers me and Alf, but nothing at all about Tim and Damian.”

Jason realised that his heart rate was picking up again.

“You’re the only one who can help him, Jay. He remembers you.”

“But so what? He’ll remember me as the kid who gave him all the trouble he never asked for. What do I have to do with all this? You’re clearly B’s No 1 golden child. If you can’t do anything for him then there’s no chance I’ll be able to do anything better.” Hopefully, Dick couldn’t tell that Jason was slightly panicking, because he’s starting to. “If you remember, I make things worse, not better.”

“Jay, this is different! B needs you. It’s because he precisely remembers you that you’re the one that can calm him down.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, his head’s too stuck up his ass to say that he needs me!” Jason’s voice rumbled as he spat that sentence out. What’s so different this time?

If B remembers him and Dick but not Replacement and Demon spawn, then, oh shit. If Dick’s analogy rings true…

“What exactly does he remember?” Jason commanded Dick to tell him. All along, he’s been avoiding that one topic throughout his explanation.

There was a moment of hesitation. Jason could see Dick struggling with himself, whether or not he wanted to say it or not.

“When you were Robin. He remembers you dying.”

Dick must’ve said the last word too loudly because the instant he said it the screaming began all over again. This time Jason heard loud and clear what kid Bruce was screaming.

It was his name, twisted in blood and anguish. It sent goosebumps down his neck. Jason realised that he didn’t have a choice in whether he was going to the manor or not. Especially when his name was being called and called over and over again in such excruciation and desperation.

I’ll probs post the next part sometime ;)

...and here it is: >> Part 2 <<

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roswelldetails · 5 years

Text

Episode 111: Champagne Supernova - details

Episode Summary The gala happens, the 4th alien is revealed, Max and Michael talk a bit, and we learn that Liz has another superpower (besides her brain): getting dirty in a junk yard while maintaining a flawlessly unstained dress. Seriously. Not even a smudge on that thing.

Details - this is not an exhaustive list of every single detail, just just a few that might be important now or later.

Meeting at the Crashdown

Isobel describes how the 4th alien controlled her. They were stronger than her and able to completely control her like she wasn’t even present.

Liz says she wants to make more serum because the killer “took most of the serum” when they wrecked her lab. They only have one dose left.

Going against what she said last episode - that all of it was gone.

Police Station

The Ranchero Night flyer has some errors on it - clearly, not everyone in Roswell speaks Spanish. (Sorry, Max.)

Max and Cam are told that Wyatt has more info to share, so they decide to hear him out.

Wyatt reveals that Maria got into a fight with Carla on Cinco de Mayo, leading them to wonder if she could be a suspect.

Max doesn’t think so, because Liz would’ve known, but Cam reminds him that she couldn’t tell he was an alien in the 2 years they worked together.

Fair.

Isobel’s house

Isobel is getting ready for the gala and remembering the night someone used her to glow-hand Rosa to death.

Noah comes up to her, and Isobel wonders if she could get stronger and have more control if she practiced.

Noah makes her promise not to use her powers anymore.

Crashdown

Michael is leaving after picking up food, and Maria walks by without a word.

Michael asks if she was going to pretend she didn't see him, and she tells him she just didn't recongize him in the daylight.

He tells her he’s gonna skip the gala and pull an all-nighter.

Maria tells him that Alex is skipping too, because maybe he spent enough time there.

Michael assures her that his thing with Alex has been over a long time and what happened wasn’t her fault.

Alien fallout shelter of Science

Michael is working on his project when his hand seizes up.

And then a smoke bomb goes off in his jacket, knocking him out.

Liz’s room

All Rosa’s stuff has been moved out of the room.

Liz tells her dad that her study with Dr. Avila is getting moved to Palo Alto, but she’s not leaving him.

Arturo doesn’t want to hold her back, but Liz assures him that nothing holds her back.

And she wants her dad to explore getting citizenship.

Outside police station

Max (having apparently gotten dressed at the station), heads out to the gala with flowers for Liz.

And promptly gets clobbered over the head with a glass bottle, knocking him out cold.

But the street is completely empty, so no one sees.

And apparently no cops notice, even though he was right in front of the station.

And Max somehow did’t see the person who clobbered him even though they would’ve been like 4 steps away from him.

Because it’s television.

Gala

Arturo and Liz arrive together.

Maria wonders why Liz wore red lipstick - is it armor? Because it’s not a good color for hooking up.

Liz tells Maria there’s an opportunity for her in Palo Alto, and Maria encourages her to stay in Roswell with Max.

Because they fit together like a “zupple piece” (puzzle piece)

Maria seems to be under the influence of something at this point.

Liz and Cam talk, and Cam tells Liz about how her sister’s fate is basically in the hands of Jesse Manes who wants her to give him info.

Liz wants to help Cam, and is impressed that she’s choosing to protect Max over her sister.

She’s just trying to do the write thing. (And also, it’s been implied that she cares about Max.)

Isobel enters and Cam reveals that her and Max are looking into Maria as a suspect.

Isobel thinks it makes sense because Maria has had plenty of opportunity, and also has a “weird alien force field around her brain.”

But Liz refuses to believe it.

In the ladies room, Liz runs into Maria and asks her to watch her purse for a second while she’s in a stall.

Maria goes into Liz’s purse and steals the serum, leaving the room with it.

Liz goes to tell Cam and Isobel that Maria took the serum - a fake one that she had as a decoy - the real one is safe.

She thinks Maria has been roofied, and wants to run home and check Maria’s drink under the microscope.

Luckily, Cam has roofie-detecting nail polish and confirms that Maria has been drugged, making her innocent.

Later, they find Maria laid out in the museum’s alien autopsy room. (Gross, why do they have that room in the museum!?)

Isobel tells Liz that she can’t make someone do something they didn’t already want to do, so deep down Liz really did want to run away from Max that summer.

Which goes against what we’ve seen in episode 104 where Isobel made Racist Hank donate money to the Friends of Immigrants Partnership.

And she couldn’t walk very well right after, indicating that it’s probably more a matter of how strong she is, than whether or not she can really only influence someone to do something the secretly wanted to do anyway. So there, Isobel.

Liz guesses that the guys are in the Alien fallout shelter of Science, and runs off to free them.

Alien fallout shelter of Science

Max wakes up while Michael is up the ladder trying to open the hatch.

Max and Michael start talking about things. Max admits that Maria is a suspect.

Michael tells him he’s wrong - she knows her. Leading Max to guess that Michael is into her.

Max thought he was gay, so Michael clarifies his sexuality to Max.

He’s bisexual, it’s not complicated.

Max laments that they never talk anymore, so they start talking about their past resentments.

The drama around Rosa’s murder

But also the stuff going back to Michael not getting adopted

Max tells Michael that he’s been carrying the guilt about Michael not getting adopted with them all this time, and that he’s his family and he’s never really alone.

Michael starts collecting the dust into a test tube, and his hand stiffens, causing Max to ask for the real story of how the injury happened.

Michael finally tells Max the truth.

Michael says he never let Max heal him because Alex would’ve noticed.

But also because he Alex had given him hope that he could have a place here, and he wanted the scars as a reminder that hope is dangerous and he should avoid it.

Sanders Auto

Liz reveals that she has the power to move things around a junk yard, getting grease all over her face, but not a single mark on her dress.

She frees the guys from the shelter, and Max is super impressed by her beauty.

Michael wants them to make out about it later and focus on the murderous problem at hand.

Gala

Michael decides to watch over Maria while Liz, Max, and Isobel go back out to the party so they can keep up appearances.

Max and Liz dance and Max says that whoever locked them up didn’t want them at the party.

Maria wakes up and tells Michael he needs to stop showing up for her.

While dancing, Liz tells Max that she has a tendency to run away and she wants him to go after her if she caves into that feeling again.

Liz and Arturo dance, and she wants to talk about citizenship again.

He tells her a friend (Noah) offered to help him through the process. His firm volunteers at Ranchero Night.

Liz becomes suspicious of Noah.

Max goes to check on Maria and asks about her fight with Carla.

It turns out that Maria saw Carla leaving with someone who was married.

When they ask who it was, she looks at Max. (We can assume she indicated it was Noah.)

Max and Liz compare notes on Noah.

Noah was the one who suggested Liz go to Grant’s warehouse.

Noah was the one who told Max not to investigate Wyatt.

These things seems sinister in retrospect.

Max asks Isobel to check Noah’s mind to make sure he’s not guilty.

Liz runs home to go check Noah’s blood under her microscope. (She hasn’t done laundry so her dirty lab coat is still in her hamper.)

Isobel agrees to check Noah’s mind after she remembers that Noah made her promise not to use her powers.

Inception

Isobel gets into Noah’s mind to ask if he still loves her.

He says he'll never let anyone hurt her, he'll protect her - but doesn't answer her question.

She tries to make him answer, but can't.

He tells her they've been connected since he first heard her voice.

She asks if he loved Rosa Ortecho, and he says he still does and always will.

Noah is in control of the mind warp. He says "I know you think you're in control in here, but i'm in control out there."

Liz’s house

Liz checks the blood and confirms it’s not human.

Gala

Isobel walks up to Max and says Noah is innocent, and walks out the door.

Liz calls Max and tells him she checked his blood and it is Noah.

Max realizes Isobel is being mind-controlled and goes after her.

Outside the gala

Max confronts Isobel, so she beats him up while he stands there. Then she grabs his gun and aims it at him.

Cam appears and aims her gun at Isobel, causing her to run off.

Isobel gets into the car with Noah, looking blank. Noah tells her it's time to go home and spend time alone.

Liz leans over from the back seat and stabs Noah in the neck with the serum then runs down the street.

Noah uses his mind to stop her in her tracks and turn her around. (telekinesis)

He comes closer, turns her again, and puts his hand on her to glow-hand her to death. (Max’s glow-hand of death)

(And we already know he has mind-control, so Noah officially has all the alien powers.)

The serum kicks in, Noah loses his powers, and Liz punches him.

Before he can hit her back, Max comes running and tackles him, punching him multiple times.

Max and Liz hug, and Isobel snaps out of it and comes over, hugging Max as well.

#roswell new mexico #liz ortecho #maria deluca #max evans #michael guerin #isobel evans #jenna cameron #papa ortecho #episode 111 #details #roswell nm season 1

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