#hehehe no daydream of other fics instead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

foxtophat · 4 years

Link

hey i said i was gonna get this up today!!!!

so with this chapter's conclusion i can safely say that i've officially written everything that i set out to write with mercy! this chapter was literally a skeleton that shaped eighty percent of the entire story, so i'm glad i could finally flesh it out and put it out there!!

there's still one more chapter to go, which will be more or less an epilogue for the main story. after that, i think i'll try to get a couple of other fandom fics going (ones that are ACTUALLY nearly done, not half-ass done like mercy was when i decided to start posting lmao) and then i can set up a schedule to write some more for this universe

anyway, for now i just want you to read and enjoy. this chapter is all about john's ptsd, and it made me sad, so i hope it makes you sad too heheh

as usual, any likes, comments, reblogs, kudos, casual mentions in meatspace or idle daydreaming about different ways this chapter could go are ALL super welcome and adored. i love you guys, you've been so kind to me <3 i hope you enjoy this chapter!!!

the usual: below the cut is the full chapter text if you don't wanna go to ao3, but you should, ao3 is way easier to read on

Things around the Rye homestead have been pretty good as of late. Eight, nine months ago, Nick never would have expected to see the living room floor again, much less finish even half of the tedious repair work that he's managed to check off his list. The planters are already sprouting with what's going to be an early summer harvest, Carmina's hen-house is ready to go, and they've already bartered off some scrap for moonshine and extra ammunition for Carmina's blooming sharpshooter hobby. The house itself only creaks and groans in heavy winds, and a few additional supports outside have secured the second floor from crashing down in the middle of the night. For an old, blown-out house that's been through nuclear winter, the place is coming back together pretty well. Hell, another couple of years and they might be able to reconnect the septic system, and then they'd really be cooking.

Other people have noticed their good luck, too. Mostly friends, like Grace and Jerome, but the word's spread a bit now about the Rye's generosity, and they've gotten a few good trades out of it, although a lot of them are I-O-U's that maybe won't come to fruition. That's fine by Nick — they don't need the old fencing or the scrap plywood, and there are still two mostly-buried garages out back that could be broken down for some really prime salvage. If people want to give him free use of their future smokehouses or promise to help him find more gas for his truck, then that's more than enough payment. Anyway, that's what Nick tells people when they don't have anything to offer — it isn't like he's going to turn somebody away when they need help.

Of course, not all of their generosity is appreciated equally. John being around doesn't sit well with many of the people who come by, although it's never enough to deter them from doing business with Kim or Nick. There aren't many confrontations, even when John helps Nick load wood into a truck or remains lingering in plain view, although somebody usually has something to say about it. Unless they get really vulgar or violent, Nick usually lets them blow off steam in his and John's direction, and he doesn't take it personally when somebody takes a cheap shot at him for being such a soft-hearted bastard.

Their vitriol usually ends after a few minutes. Most of the time, John can handle it by himself, apologizing genuinely to each person who tries to curse him out. Nick hasn't heard the same regret twice, and even if John doesn't recognize every hateful face, he seems to remember his part in their trauma. It might not be what they want to hear, but John's serious, specific remorse usually puts the fire out of their fight. So far, there's only been two instances where Nick had to call Jerome out to mediate, and neither time resulted in anyone getting shot or knocked out. Sure, John might come out of an altercation with a couple of bruises, but that's usually it.

It stands to reason that something was bound to go wrong at some point. Nick's prepared for all sorts of catastrophes; he's got contingency plans for flooding, wild animals, and even ornery neighbors upset that he let John off so easy. There are a million little things that could go wrong out here, and Nick can only do so much to prepare for every eventuality, but he thinks he's got a pretty good handle on it.

That is, until the radio breaks. It's one thing that Nick hadn't even considered a possibility — they'd left the thing in its box until the apocalypse, and until they left the bunker, it'd barely seen any use at all. And yet, one day Nick tries to confirm a trade and the radio fails to catch anything more than static.

Cheap goddamn made-in-China crap, that's what it is, and that's what Nick tells everyone within earshot as he fiddles uselessly with the knobs. When he turns the radio around to get a look at the connectors, he ignores the stamped metal that reads "MADE IN GERMANY" in favor of hunting down the problem — but that's going to involve unscrewing the back and, well, Nick isn't exactly an electrician. He's not sure the best option here is to dig into the guts of his only radio willy-nilly like. He could go get the user's manual, but it's in a pile of boxes down in the bunker, and Nick really doesn't want to go rooting through trash for it.

Heaving a frustrated sigh that takes all the fight out of him, Nick grabs the flashlight and goes out back to let Kim know what's up. She and John are working in the garden, which used to be something John would avoid at all costs. Now, he doesn't even seem phased to be working in the dirt, barely acknowledging Nick's irritated venting about the broken radio as he pulls weeds. It's only when Nick mentions going into the bunker that he seems to take notice; he tries to be subtle about it, but Nick doesn't miss his head swiveling to stare briefly.

Of course, Nick is so used to John's cagey weirdness about bunkers that he barely notices, too busy

Kim looks sympathetic, but she doesn't sound it as she reminds him, "Nick, complaining to his ever-patient wife. "I'm just gonna grab the manual, maybe see if there were any spare parts in the box we missed. It's not like the thing gets used enough to break!" the radio is ten years old. Even expensive equipment can't last forever."

"If I don't get to sit down and give up whenever I want, then neither does the radio. It's not like we got any choice , here. If we don't have a working radio, we're going to have a bitch of a time reconnecting with everybody. And we've actually started to build something, you know?"

"At least you'll have a diagram to work with, I guess." Kim sighs. "John, have you... do you know where our bunker is?"

John smiles wryly. "I do," he replies.

"Oh, right," Nick sighs. "You probably know where everything is on the property, huh."

"Knew," John points out. "But yes, that was my job. I was as thorough as I could be." He chews his lip, standing after a thoughtful second. "I know where a lot of bunkers are. If you can't repair the radio... We could look for another one."

"Okay, of course you do." Nick waves for John to follow him, which he does, keeping pace as they head away from the wash, towards the opposite side of the hangar from their normal route. "What makes you think I wanna take a radio from somebody else ?"

"Not many of the structures put together out here were by any means safe ." John probably shouldn't sound so blase about it, but the guy's got a point. Doubly so when he continues, "I was suggesting we take one from someone who won't be needing it anymore."

Nick clicks his tongue against his teeth. "Well, it's something to think about," he agrees reluctantly. It sounds a lot like grave-robbing to him, but John's right. It's the smartest option, and somebody's going to have to do it eventually. It might be better for everyone if it's them, and not some opportunistic drifter who won't put the resources back into the community.

That's a problem for another day. Right now, Nick leads John around thick tumbleweeds that have gotten caught in the long grass, bringing them up just short of the bunker door. Covered with about two years' worth of dirt but not yet overgrown, the white hatch is only a marginal pain in the ass to pry out of the ground. John waits for Nick to ask for help, only to realize that isn't happening anytime soon, and wordlessly assists in coaxing the rusted hinges to work.

The bunker is dark and smells like a root cellar. Nick sure hopes nothing important molded. They'll have to get down here and clean up soon, before the mildew takes hold and ruins everything.

"Okay," he says, "You just wait here and make sure that thing doesn't close on me."

Nick half-expects some kind of joke about locking him inside, but John only nods obediently, standing a few feet from the opening with his arms folded across his chest. Nick rolls his eyes but does his best to ignore John's unease as he descends into the bunker.

He decides against testing the power — even if the generator down here still has some juice in it, they haven't operated anything in a while and Nick does not want to be engulfed in flames right now. Instead, he clicks on the flashlight and wanders through the narrow space. He doesn't linger on the drawings Carmina left on the wall or the unmade cots, passing by a pile of laundry that'll never get done and heading to the small utility closet in the back.

He finds the box intact, one corner suffering water damage from what looks like a cup of water that nobody ever picked up. Deciding against rooting around for anything else that might be useful, he takes the whole box back out to the ladder, chucking it up out of the hole once he's tackled the lower rungs.

John is trying hard not to show his nerves as Nick pops back up, shoving his hands into his pockets before changing his mind and folding them again over his chest. Bunkers are a tender spot for him, and Nick knows it, so for now he decides not to make a big deal about it. John's too fragile for Nick to be teasing him, even if he refuses to admit it himself.

Pulling the box apart, Nick scavenges the manual and a couple of accessories that he hadn't needed a decade ago and probably doesn't need now. The cardboard is mostly good, so Nick breaks down the box, chucking the useless packaging back into the bunker before foisting the supplies onto John.

Nick gets up and shoves the bunker door until it falls shut on its own weight. "Well, now I gotta spend the rest of my day reading that crap," he says, gesturing to the chunky owner's manual.

"Give it to Carmina," John suggests, "She's desperate for new reading material."

"And give her the chance to become more technologically savvy than me? I'll pass."

Nick spends the next few hours troubleshooting his way through the manual, vengefully ignoring the support hotline numbers plastered on every other page. Even if the service center hadn't been annihilated in a nuclear apocalypse, fat chance Nick would ever lower himself to call.

By dinnertime, Nick is frustrated but satisfied that he knows where the trouble area is. One of two pieces has given out, both designed to be replaced occasionally. On one hand, that's a good thing — it's supposed to be done by novices, which means the manual is painfully clear on the method. On the other hand, there are only going to be so many matching radios out there, and who knows how many will have the same issue?

"It'll be okay," Kim reassures him that night. "Plenty of people get by without a radio, you know."

"That doesn't mean I wanna be one of them," Nick grouses, turning to pin his hopes selfishly on John. "You said there were bunkers around, right? And maybe one of them has a radio we can use?"

"I didn't promise anything," John clarifies, "But that would be my suspicion."

"Maybe it'd be worth it to look. Who knows, we could get lucky."

Kim doesn't look sure about Nick's optimism, but he ignores her skepticism. If nothing else, it'll be good to use John's old cult knowledge to benefit them for once, and that alone puts Nick firmly in the "in favor" group. Even if it turns out to be a waste of time — well, at least they'll have tried everything. For now, Nick can let Kim think up a contingency plan for a no-radio life — Nick is going to rest all of his hopes firmly on the repair plan and hope that it works out.

Nick wakes up last the next morning, sleeping in an extra half-hour or so before finally peeling his eyelids apart to face the sun. Even as he gets dressed, he feels groggy and slow, dragged down by a long night of forgotten stress dreams. His brain probably spent all night running through every possible outcome of bunker-hunting with John — not that it does any good now, when Nick can't remember any of it.

He isn't the only one who looks like they could use more sleep. Carmina is yawning over her breakfast, eating like a sloth as she processes being awake. The bags under Kim's eyes are darker than normal, too, but she's bright-eyed and dressed for the day.

John is the only one who looks like he's coping with the morning at all, but that's probably because he's been up for a while now. Ever since he's been given free rein, John's sleep schedule has put him as the last one to sleep and the first one to wake. Nick doesn't mind too much, though, since he usually brews up some coffee right before anyone else comes down. He's been arguing with Kim for the last few mornings about going by himself to pull water from the river for the house, but Kim is holding tight to her buddy-system, and John isn't going to convince her to give it up that easily.

From the way Kim looks at Nick as he descends the stairs, they might be arguing about it already today. "What?" Nick asks, "What'd I do?"

"It's not you," Kim says. She gestures across the table at John, who looks like he's been waiting for Nick to come to his defense. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

"The radio is the same make as mine," John tells Nick, clearly expecting Nick to understand what he's talking about. Fat chance there, though, because Nick has no idea what he means. "It might not be the same model, but it's worth a try."

"Uh... which radio are you talking about, exactly?"

John tries hard to not look like he's suffering at the hands of fools. He fails, but at least he directs his exasperated look towards the ceiling at the last moment. "In my bunker," he explains slowly. "I had a radio of the same make."

"You said yourself it broke," Kim points out, clearly repeating an argument from before Nick's arrival.

"All the more reason to not worry about scrapping it," John replies. "The bunker is closer than any other structure, and it's guaranteed to be there. That is as much of a blessing as you'll get these days."

Nick wonders at first why Kim is so dead-set against going back to John's bunker. Sure, the guy refuses to talk about it, and sure, bunkers in general seem to fill him with unshakable anxiety, but it's still just a bunker. A bunker with a radio that could save their asses, where they won't be stealing from someone who might need it just as much. And hell, John doesn't even have to go inside!

Kim sighs and says gently, "I just don't know if it's... the greatest idea." She looks sideways at Nick, who knows from experience that she's holding back her opinion for John's benefit. She probably doesn't want to be the one telling him he's too fragile to handle it.

"I'm not asking for your permission," John says. "If neither of you want to come with me, I'll go by myself."

"Oh, come on," Kim huffs, "Not this again —"

"If I want to go somewhere, I have the right to do so," John exclaims. "We've established that I'm not a prisoner, and I certainly am not a child."

Carmina huffs loudly, but John pointedly ignores her.

"Okay, okay," Nick says, holding out his hands in a poor attempt to placate all parties. "Look, if you're really dead-set on this, and you really think that the radio's gonna help, well..." He sighs. "Then maybe it's worth going to check out."

Kim looks mildly offended that he's taking John's side, but Nick knows how to reassure her, at least a little. "But there are some ground rules," he says. "You can come with me, but I call the shots. No acting like you know better than me, or deciding to run off and forcing me to follow you. You get it?"

"Of course," John says.

"I mean it. If I decide it's not worth it when we get there, you're gonna have to respect that. I mean, there could be snakes living in there now. I don't even remember if I closed the hatch, it could be flooded from the rain earlier this year."

John nods, so quickly that Nick wonders if he's really listening. "Yes," he says. "That's fair."

"I can't believe this," Kim sighs, relenting at last as she rubs her forehead. "Okay. But you both need to be careful." She looks at John. "Especially you."

"I don't..." John cuts himself off, reluctantly changing tactics. "Okay. Fine." He stands up, leaving his chair wide open for Nick to take as he says, "I need to get ready," and excuses himself. What he needs to get ready for when he's already dressed, Nick has no idea, but that's not exactly Nick's problem. If John needs to go talk himself through the decision he forced on Nick, then it's a good thing he's not involving Nick in any of it!

Nick's real problem right now is the way Kim is staring at him. "What?" he asks, sinking into the abandoned seat. She doesn't respond, and Carmina glances skeptically at her dad from across the table. "What was I supposed to do?" he asks, exasperated. "It's not like he was gonna let it go."

"You could have put your foot down," Kim says. She sounds downright disappointed, and that stings more than Nick wants to admit. "You could have taken my side," she adds, aiming her heavy frown at the coffee cup in front of her.

"We've been waiting for him to want to talk about it," Nick points out. "And anyway, we need a radio. If he can help, we should encourage it. Right?"

Kim isn't keen on getting into a fight right in front of Carmina, so she only nods her head in response. It's enough, though, because Nick does wind up feeling guilty for siding with John. Right or not, he probably should have negotiated that better.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he says. "You're right. I've got tunnel-vision with this radio problem, is all."

"I know," Kim sighs. "I just... worry."

"Well, don't. I'll be fine."

Kim rolls her eyes. "It isn't you I'm worried about, Nick." She looks towards the stairs, listening to John pacing up in his room, then reluctantly turns back to her husband. "Just... promise me that you'll keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Nick replies. Kim doesn't look too reassured, so Nick reaches over and wraps her hand in his. "Really, I will." He glances at Carmina and tells her, "You'll keep an eye on mom so she doesn't worry all day, right?"

"Sure," Carmina says. Nick knows from the Kim-like tone in her voice that she thinks he's being an ass, but at least she's young enough to not call him out directly yet. All he has to do now is make sure that neither of his girls can rub his rash decision-making in his face when he gets back.

John is quiet as he and Nick make their way through the woods. The walk itself isn't too bad, less than a mile out from the edge of what Nick used to consider his property, but John is having a lot of trouble hiding how jittery it is, and it makes for a tense hike. He keeps speeding up and falling behind, as though he can't decide whether or not he wants to lead the way.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Nick asks eventually, unable to help himself. John answers with such a dirty look that Nick immediately goes on the defensive. "Hey, don't give me that. I just don't want you to, you know... start having nightmares about it or Joseph or whatever all over again. You're the one who's always been weird about it."

John scoffs but doesn't respond. From the way he glares at the ground, Nick figures he probably hasn't stopped having nightmares yet. That's... probably a good reason to keep him from climbing all the way down into the hole. Of course, Nick isn't sure that he'll really be able to stop John, never mind what John promised back at the house.

"What were you doing out here?" John asks after the silence grows out again. "When you found me."

"Oh. Well, I was sorta looking for places to put more traps, after I made them. And, you know, if there was anything left to salvage out here." Neither of those ideas had gone anywhere, although maybe now would be a good time to revisit them. "There's not much out here, though. There's that herd of deer to the north, and the river... we really haven't needed to expand so much."

John hums agreeably in response, although he doesn't have much to add to the conversation. Nick doesn't know how to keep it afloat by himself, so he doesn't, letting them sink back into silence until they finally reach their destination. Nick recognizes the spot by the shock of parachute fabric hanging in the trees, just a flash of artificial color behind the browns and greens of the trees.

Now that he has time to look around, Nick can sort of see where the land had been cleared for installation. Of course, the only remnant of the open circle now is the thinner layer of weeds over what looks like a thirty-foot rectangle. He doesn't remember anybody building out here, and he can't even fathom when they could have done it, but somebody came through here right before the apocalypse and made themselves a hidey-hole.

Nick doesn't wait to approach the closed bunker door, but John lingers at the imagined edge of the space as though facing a barbed-wire fence. He seems pensive and lost in thought, and Nick lets him adjust while he sweeps away dirt and scraggly tumbleweeds that have just started to cover the hatch. Just a bunker or not, it's got to be a lot to deal with, although Nick can't imagine why. No matter how terrible being alone had been, it couldn't have gotten worse than intense boredom. Hell, Nick's met two different people who had clearly let the cabin fever get to them, and neither of them could shut up about their damn bunkers.

Reaching down, Nick braces his legs on either side of the bunker door and pulls at the hatch. John is clearly holding his breath, even this far away, tension coiled in his shoulders and forcing his spine ramrod-straight. He doesn't offer to help, stuck in place like he is.

"Maybe you should stay up here," Nick offers.

Of course, John only scowls at the thought. "You won't know where to look. It would be faster if I went in alone."

"Yeah, Kim would love it if I let you do that. Don't be an asshole."

Nick heaves the door upwards. The rusted hinges scream in protest, as if they hadn't moved in years, but the door swings open after a few hard tugs on the handle.

John hesitates a second longer, then approaches the hatch. Nick goes over to the edge, crouching down so that he doesn't fall, and shines the flashlight down the ladder. The air is stale, smelling like rot and mold, and Nick can see a puddle drying at the base of the ladder. Well, that makes sense — there's no way the seal is still airtight. So much for closing the door from the elements.

"You ready?" Nick asks. John nods mutely in response, standing some feet away from the hole. "Really, John. You don't have anything to prove. Kim would probably be happy if you stayed up top."

John grimaces. "I'll go first," he says, his voice clipped.

This is a bad idea, and Nick knows it. A month or two ago, he'd probably have figured John was about to pull a fast one on him, but now he's more concerned that John is trying to pull something on himself. Confronting your fears is one thing, but as John climbs down the ladder and Nick gets a good look at his pale face and tight jaw, he worries that this is too much, too fast. Not that John seems to understand the concept of pacing himself — he seems more like the kind of guy to throw himself mindlessly at a problem until it shatters under the sheer force of his determination.

Nick hands John the flashlight before he gets out of reach, following him down the rungs as quickly as he can. They knock into each other as he reaches the bottom rung, and Nick turns to find John aiming the flashlight uselessly at their feet. Staring down the murky darkness that turns the bunker into a cave of unknown depths, John looks as though he might hear floodwaters in the distance.

Maybe he's just taken aback by how bad things look, even with only a little light to see by. The looming piles of garbage and years of refuse have turned the twenty-by-ten foot box into a narrow, craggy cavern. Nick can see a door at the far end of the gloom, cracked in the middle and left ajar in its frame, surrounded by a pile of overturned furniture. He spends a second or two trying to calculate the dark tally marks he can see covering the wall next to him, but there are too many and he can't keep track.

John takes a shuddering deep breath that turns Nick's attention back to him. "Hey," he calls, "You okay?"

"Yes," John replies, spitting the word out. He shakes his head heavily from side to side, just in case Nick missed the baldfaced lie for what it is, and takes a hesitating step away from the ladder. The breath he takes doesn't seem to give him enough air, and no amount of gasping can draw more in. He has a white-knuckled grip on the ladder, and it seems for a second to be the only thing holding him up as he visibly reels.

Nick hasn't been on the opposite end of a panic attack in a long time, but he's been through enough on his own to see that John is veering wildly in that direction. He's searching the walls, rapid-fire counting the lines, confusion breaking out on his sweaty, gray face.

"Hey," Nick says quickly, lifting his hands placatingly as he comes closer, "Hey, it's gonna be okay."

John shakes his head again, rapidly this time, abandoning any pretense of control. "No," he gasps, "No, I don't think it is!"

Goddamn it. Nick should have known better, he never should have agreed to this, he never should have let John come down here. He just — he hadn't thought it would be like this. He didn't know it could be this bad.

Nick puts off berating himself, at least until John's panic passes. For now, he focuses on damage control, guiding John's free hand to grab hold of the ladder, which is at least haloed in enough light to keep the worst of it from immediate view.

"It is gonna be okay," he insists. "Here, let's — let's get back up top. Get you some fresh air, okay?"

For a moment, it looks like John doesn't understand the concept, but his fingers eventually curl together on one rung. "I didn't know," he says unhelpfully, but at least he doesn't resist as Nick ushers him slowly up the ladder. He moves so slowly, paralyzed by each step, but Nick's only concern is making sure he doesn't fall on his way out.

The sun is right overhead as John slides out of the bunker, crawling on his hands and knees and collapsing several feet away from the opening. Nick hesitates on the last rung, knowing full well that they can't just leave now that they're here, but he has to deal with John first. The radio has waited this long — it can wait a little while longer.

John gasps for air a few more times, barely catching his breath. He doesn't look at Nick, but he offers him a miserable apology, mumbling, "Sorry," halfway into the dirt.

Nick crouches beside John, awkwardly shifting his weight on his feet. He's not sure what he's supposed to do here — he isn't used to being on this side of things, and Kim is so much better at calming people down than he is. The worst of the attack has passed, but Nick's not good at damage control.

"Hey," he says at last, "It's okay. Take your time."

There's not a patient bone in John's body, so it's a small miracle when he listens obediently, struggling until his breath evens out enough to ease the panic.

"I thought I could handle it," he sighs at last, his voice heavy with resignation. "I handled it for seven years, I thought..."

Nick doesn't think what he saw down there counts as handling it by any means, but he's not about to say as much. Truthfully, he doesn't know what to say.

"We should go," Nick says. "This isn't worth it."

John looks offended at the mere suggestion. "We came all the way here," he rasps. "Give me a minute. I'll — I'll go back —"

"Like hell you will," Nick snaps. He doesn't mean to, but damn, is John really such a masochist? "Look, just — let me go find it. You keep watch up here."

There's barely any hesitation before John nods miserably in agreement. He tries not to let it get to him, but he's already shaken by the underground and he's in a suspiciously fragile state himself. He hopes to God that he can find the radio on his own, and that it works enough to make this trip worth the trauma. If this doesn't work out, Nick is going to feel even worse about it than he already does.

It's not the best idea to leave John alone, but Nick forces himself to go through with it anyway. Armed only with his flashlight and empty backpack, Nick descends as quickly as he can, taking one last breath of fresh air before disappearing into the bunker.

God, there is blood everywhere. Nick's not sure how many of the streaks on the walls are meant to be counted with the rest of the tallies, scratched into the walls with what Nick hopes to God was anything other than John's fingernails. Everywhere Nick shines the light, he finds another smear of crumbling red blood, each one painting a different image of John's scars and scabbed over tattoos. The garbage is honestly overwhelming, with a decade of waste piled up openly on top of sealed trash bags, cans spilling across the floor, dirty clothes and ripped fabrics clumped together in haphazard nests that have molded and mildewed into an inseparable mess...

There's more room to walk than Nick originally thought, although there aren't many places entirely free of trash. Still, he hesitates to step outside of the ring of natural light above. After all, nothing about this bunker is safe. Looking past the garbage and the wreckage that John has left behind, Nick sees rust starting to form along the seams, and his first step feels uneven, as if they hadn't leveled the ground properly before installing and just couldn't be assed to fix it.

Jesus Christ. It's a miracle that John didn't die down here. It's surprising enough that it circulated enough air for him to survive. How the hell did he make it as long as he did in this death trap?

It's not a question Nick can answer, and quite frankly he doesn't think it's safe to spend much time down here ruminating. As a matter of fact, the less time he spends down here, the better. It's hard not to take note of the damage, though, especially as he searches for wherever John might've kept his radio. Lord, with the way everything seems to have been torn apart, who knows if it's even going to be in one piece? Or even somewhere accessible? Nick really doesn't want to go poking through the destroyed couch or the bags of trash heaped in confusing piles across the bunker.

He heads all the way to the back of the space, circling around an overturned table and seeing at last a small desk wedged into the corner, facing the ladder. The radio microphone hangs from its cord over the edge, and Nick has to repress a delighted shout when he sees that it's still in one piece. There's a crack along the plastic case, but other than that, Nick can see that it's a model very similar to the one back home — older by a couple of years, maybe, but hopefully not so old that it's no longer compatible.

He struggles to be careful as he loads the radio into his bag, but all he wants to do is get the hell out of here. It's only once he's pulled the heavy backpack back onto his shoulders that Nick takes stock of the position that he's in. Standing here, facing the ladder, Nick can see a definite barrier that John must've formed at some point — the table, the desk, even the broken down automatic washer, all of it has been set up as though John were planning to hunker down against an enemy attack.

On the ground, behind the table, Nick sees a book with a white leather cover. The gilded Eden's Gate emblem has been mostly rubbed clean off, but Nick has seen that book too many times not to recognize it for what it is. It's bloated with water damage and stuffed with ripped addenda that have filled the binding to burst, lying on the cement like an undetonated grenade.

Nick grabs it before he can think better about it. He immediately regrets it, mostly because the bottom cover has become slimy and the whole thing feels like it's going to come apart in his hands. Not knowing what else to do, he drops it onto the empty desk, wrinkling his nose at the squelching slap of wet paper on wood. He goes so far as to pinch the first few pages under his finger, ready to flip it open to some random verse — but even touching the cover leaves Nick feeling uneasy and watched. Honestly, just looking at it fills Nick with a sense of distant dread, the same hazy fear that came along with the first time he got a face-full of Bliss.

Fuck that, he decides. Whatever John's left in the book, it's not for Nick to look at. He already got what they came for, and it's been about five minutes; Nick can't leave John waiting much longer, and frankly he doesn't want to. With one last grimace in the book's direction, Nick beelines for the ladder. He stops trying to tabulate how many days John kept track of, stops wondering when or if he ever lost count, and focuses entirely on getting the hell out of the goddamn deathtrap.

It's probably just his imagination, but Nick can smell floral sweetness in the air as he finally escapes the bunker. He takes a deep breath once he's out, tipping his face back to gratefully meet the blue Montana sky.

John waits until Nick looks at him to ask uneasily, "Did you find it?"

"Yeah," Nick replies, shifting the backpack so that he can pat it reassuringly. "I think it'll work. I didn't check for the parts — I figure we can do that back home."

John nods a few times. "Good," he mutters, "Good," as if maybe he doesn't think it's such a good thing at all. He falls silent, and Nick realizes he's waiting for Nick to say something about what he saw down there.

Nick wants to say something. He doesn't know what, though. His own thoughts are scattered and confused. "Uh... you mind if I close it up?" he asks.

John shakes his head mutely in response; the clang of the door rises up through the air like a stricken bell, scattering some birds that had been resting in the treetops.

"So... uh..." Nick rubs the back of his head, trying to decide what to say before deciding lamely to go with, "Do you... wanna talk about it?"

The fact that John doesn't immediately reply tells Nick all he needs to know. When John finally says, "No," Nick knows it's a lie, even if he's not sure what to do about it. Nick's positive that they do need to talk about it. But he doesn't know how he can force the issue, and he's sure he's not the man to do it. John needs a licensed psychologist, or a goddamn priest, someone who can absolve him of whatever the fuck that all was down there, not a hick aviator who can hardly handle his own trauma.

"Are you sure?" he presses. "I mean..."

John stares at the dirt, his hands curling into tense fists. Nick moves immediately to rescind the question, but John beats him to the punch. "I didn't know it would look like that," he tells the weeds matted under his boots. "I didn't think it would... be like that."

Nick wants to ask how John avoided noticing the mess spiraling out of control around him, but there had been plenty of evidence down there that proved John hadn't been in a clear state of mind.

"There... were issues with the power early on," John admits, clearing his throat roughly. "I would have to... prioritize. Switch on the lights, switch off the ventilation system. Switch off the lights, switch on the ventilation. Eventually, I stopped switching on the lights."

He swallows a few times and tries to bring his eyes to Nick's, but he can't seem to manage it. "Really," he mutters. "We don't have to talk about it." But before Nick can agree, because he suddenly wants to hear as little of the story as possible, John continues briefly onward, staggering the words as though he's throwing them off a cliff. "I've been locked in the dark before," he says. "I thought I could handle it. But I... I couldn't."

Nick doesn't know what to say. He stares helplessly at John, waiting for Kim to materialize out of the wood and point out the obvious emotional cue for him to take, but there's nothing but John's uncomfortable expression and a quiet forest all around them. He should reach out, maybe. Offer him a sympathetic hand, or something.

"That's all I want to say about it," John says at last.

"Uh. Okay." Nick clears his throat, tries to think up a good joke to lighten the mood, and fails completely. He tries to come up with something to say that would share his sentiment but nothing comes.

"Kim will start to worry," John mutters.

Kim's gonna worry no matter what, but Nick doesn't bother to tell John that. If he thinks he can hide his emotional distress from Nick's wife, then he is welcome to try. At least that'll be more fun to watch than the slow implosion happening in front of him now.

Nick waits until the silence between them on the way back doesn't feel so thick, then tries to distract from John's deeply pensive mood. "I'm not looking forward to reading more of that manual," he says as they trace the path back towards the house. "But I also don't wanna screw up our only chance at replacing it. It's a real tough situation."

"I assume the pictures aren't clear enough for you," John replies. It's a joke insult that stings mostly because of John's brisk delivery, and he ducks away as soon as the words leave his mouth. Nick considers taking it personally for a second, until John wearily mutters a sincere apology into the air between them. "I didn't mean that," he admits roughly.

"It's fine," Nick shrugs. After all, Nick's used to being a self-defensive dickhead; he can't exactly take offense.

Casually brushing it off seems to be the wrong thing to do. John comes to an abrupt halt behind Nick, thick tears gathering and spilling over his closed eyelids. At first, when Nick turns, he can't comprehend the sight in front of him, watching John's face slowly turn red. John sucks in a wet, heaving breath, which only makes things worse as it turns into a sob midway. It seems to mortify John, but he can't stop, and all at once he's just — crying, and Nick is left standing there while John covers his face in humiliation and sucks in deep, horrified breaths. Words try to form between the sobs, but all Nick hears is desperate wailing.

"Shit," Nick says, setting down the backpack, "Okay, hold on —"

"—Didn't know what to do," John's saying, the words tearing from his throat. "I got trapped, I didn't —"

"Hey," Nick tries, "Just — take a breath."

John sobs, dropping to his knees in the mulch. "I lost track of it," he gasps, "I don't know what's real, Nick. How much of this is happening — I keep thinking I'm not — I'm not ever getting out of here, and I —"

Oh, Nick knows he fucked up real bad now. John's cries tear through the scar overlaying his heart, as though twisting a knife that's rusted over in his chest. Nick thinks back to the muttering, the distant looks, the unsettling nightmares, and now he kind of sees them for what they are. Deep, visible wounds on John's psyche that he should have caught sooner. Signs of a collapse much bigger than the one that put them in this world to begin with. Clear indications that John wasn't ready to go back.

"Please," John gasps. He doesn't ask for anything, so Nick doesn't know what he wants, but he repeats the word like it's the only one he knows. "Please."

"God damn," Nick sighs, coming to John's side. "You are a real piece of work."

He can't help but try to deflect, even as he reaches out to grasp the dented curves of John's shoulders. He knows there are deep, claw-mark scars under his hands, even if he can't feel them through the flannel of John's shirt. He thinks he understands where they came from now, although the concept is more horrifying than Nick is willing to consider; all he can do is be better than John had been to himself, and hope that's enough.

Nick barely pulls John in before he's being grabbed, desperate claws sinking into Nick's back as John scrabbles for a secure grip. He's shaking so badly that Nick feels it rattling his own bones. There's nothing for Nick to do but hold on while John desperately tries not to fall apart at the seams, struggling to form coherent words. Nick only catches some of them, as John tries to explain the barriers, the tallies, the scarred over spaces where he used to have tattoos, but he doesn't need to understand the words to see the wounds that are being uncovered.

"Alone," John cries into Nick's chest, "I was alone, the whole time, he said I wouldn't be alone —"

"Okay," Nick consoles, "It's okay."

John eventually calms down, although it's anybody's guess how long it takes for him to finally catch his breath. Even when he does, his gasps finally leveling out, he keeps a tight grip on the back of Nick's shirt. Not even Carmina has clung to Nick so terribly, and despite the fact that John has a couple of years on him, Nick manages to feel desperately protective in the moment. He can't help it. John keeps talking like he can't tell up from down, and he'd been trapped down in that hole for who knows how long without power, and from the chaos he'd seen, it's clear John has been trying to protect himself for a long time.

"I've got ya," Nick says after John lets out a heavy sigh, finally losing the strength to hold on so tightly.

John's sweaty face is pressed into Nick's shoulder, but the words are still clear. "I need this to be real," he admits quietly. "I can't go back there."

"You don't have to," Nick says. He's rubbing John's back now and he doesn't know when he started, but the guy seems so desperate for the contact that he can't bring himself to stop. "You're not making me up, you know?"

John huffs. There might be a laugh somewhere in there, or Nick might be imagining it. "I know," he rasps. "I wouldn't be so kind to myself."

Oh, man. Nick sighs, patting his back gently. "Gotta work on that, I guess," he says. "We'll get you there."

John's fingers curl briefly against Nicks back. "Thank you," he mutters. "God, thank you."

Nick lets the situation lie like that for a minute or so. John is the first one to let go, his arms falling away from Nick's sides as he leans back and takes a deep, steady breath of air. Nick lets him go with a heavy pat on the shoulder, relieved to have the space if only because it means John isn't about to collapse again.

"Kim was right," John admits, saying aloud the thought that's been repeating nonstop in Nick's mind. "I should have listened to her."

Nick gets to his feet. "Yeah, probably. Thank God she isn't the type to say 'I told you so,' huh?"

John sits back, scrubbing at his face with the back of his sleeve. "I hope so," he says.

"I think I know my wife pretty well by now," Nick chuckles, holding his hand out for John. "C'mon, let's get home before she comes looking for us."

For an awful second, Nick thinks John is going to cry again, but he only grits his teeth and takes Nick's help to climb to his own feet. He dusts off his pants as though his face isn't warped by drying tear tracks, wiping belatedly at the wet skin under his eyes as they start onward again. Nick doesn't let him trail behind too far, but he doesn't force John to keep pace either, leaving enough space so that John doesn't feel self-conscious when he starts sniffling again.

They haven't been gone that long, but Kim is still waiting for them outside when they get back. She and Carmina are reading on the porch, but as soon as Nick and John reach the driveway, Kim drops the pretense entirely. Nick hears John take a deep breath behind him; he looks back, but John's expression is too troubled to get a good read. At least he doesn't seem likely to bolt.

"We got it!" Nick shouts as they walk across the drive, lifting the backpack up triumphantly.

"Oh, thank God," Kim sighs, relief flooding her expression. "Nobody got hurt?"

Nick looks back at John, then shrugs. "Nothing we can't fix," he suggests.

John takes a breath. He looks like he wants to spill everything right then and there, but he boils it all down into a simple admission. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

Stunned, Kim asks, "Are you okay?"

"No," he quietly replies. "You were right."

Kim shakes her head, glancing briefly at Nick before putting a gentle hand on John's arm. He sighs shakily at the contact, but thankfully he doesn't collapse into another crying wreck. Kim looks like she's expecting something like that, but John manages to surprise them both.

"We can talk about it later, if you want," Kim tells him, patting his shoulder.

There's relief in John's voice as he suggests, "I'll need a strong drink before I accept that offer."

Kim shakes her head, laughing a little. "It's as good a place to start as any," she tells him.

Carmina, who's been standing on the porch looking increasingly bored, finally gives up waiting for attention. "Hey, dad," she calls, lifting the radio's manual up in the air, "Can I help with the radio?"

"So much for my technological superiority," Nick sighs, raising his voice to tell Carmina, "Sure!"

"I couldn't help it," Kim replies. She has a smug expression that tells Nick a different story, but he can easily forgive her for deciding to make their kid smarter out of spite. It's better than trying to poison him or running off with Hurk and his raider gang. "I cleared off the table for you," she adds, "And I brought out the radio so you could get a better look at it."

"I guess there's no better time to start than now," Nick says. He offers John a lopsided grin and asks, "So, uh, how much do you know about electronic repair?"

"About as much as you," John replies. He gestures his arm towards the house, saying, "It can be a learning experience for us all."

As if this whole year so far hasn't been one big learning curve. Nick shakes his head, leading the three adults up to the porch. Carmina disappears inside, triumphantly waving the manual in the air, leaving Nick to chase playfully after her inside the house. He catches sight of Kim talking to John on the porch, but Carmina is squealing delightedly in his arms so he can't quite make out the conversation. Later on, he can tell Kim about what happened, but for now, she seems content with whatever John is saying, patting him again on the arm before leading him inside. She shuts the door behind her, and for the first time in almost a year, Nick feels as though he's finally home, surrounded by people on the same page as him for once. This, he thinks, could very well be his new normal, and that's not so bad at all.

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

5 notes · View notes

och-ako · 5 years

Text

Flames That Don’t Burn

04/02/19

@xmagicxshopx

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RACHEL! I hope you have an amazing day! I wrote you this little Jungkook fanfic as your gift. I hope you like it! It’s basically a Jungkook/Rachel fic just for you heheh <3

Genre: Fantasy, Romance Word Count: 3,895 Rating: PG-13 Plot: nephilim!jungkook. I blinked, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm my racing heart. “But you … you saved me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper and he nodded again. “Why? H-How? You … You’re not human, are you?” Content Warning(s): violence and blood and stuff like that

It was always the same: wake up, brush my teeth, fix breakfast and pack lunch, and go to the same job where I sat at the same desk and did the same thing. It was starting to get tedious, to say the least. I was desperate for something—anything—to snap me out off this endless loop because I was starting to feel like a hamster running around in a wheel: no matter how much I ran, I stayed in one place.

Sighing, I tightened the strap of my purse on my shoulder, making my way out of the elevator and into the parking garage, car key in hand. At least when I got home, I could do whatever I wanted. Read, write, anything. And the best part? I could change out of these uncomfortable clothes. The sun was setting, but the day was far from over. There was so much I wanted to get done. If I didn’t fall asleep, that was.

My shoes click-clacked against the ground, echoing throughout the practically empty parking lot.

“Excuse me? Miss?”

I practically jumped out of my skin when I heard the voice so close to my ear. I stepped back, looking at the stranger with wide eyes and tried to calm my now racing heart. I could have sworn I was the only one in this parking lot just now, so where did this strange man come from? He looked innocent enough, though. Scruffy blonde hair and glasses that sat crookedly on the bridge of his nose.

I blinked a few times before I found my words again. “Y-Yes?”

“I was wondering if you could help me. See, my car ran out of gas and I’m kinda stuck. My phone doesn’t have service in this garage, either, so I can’t call anyone. Can I borrow your phone?”

It was a bit of an odd request. Most places had cell phone service these days, but maybe he had a smaller, cheaper network. Judging from his mud-stained jeans, he wasn’t rich like the CEO of the company I worked for. Most people weren’t. And besides, I hated turning people down, especially when they were in need of help. Surely letting him borrow my phone for a couple minutes would be fine.

“Oh, uh, sure,” I said, rummaging through my purse and deciding that I definitely needed to clean it out because there were a few too many loose receipts piling it. I finally found my phone at the bottom of the bag, unlocked it, and handed it to the young man, a smile pulling at the corner of my lips. “Here you go,” I said and he smiled back.

As he reached out to take the phone, however, he grabbed my wrist instead, squeezing it hard and making me yelp. I tried to pull away, but his grip was like stone and, for some reason, his palm was scorching hot. It felt like I was leaning against a seatbelt on a particularly hot day.

“L-Let go of me,” I said, still trying to pull away as the young man’s smile twisted into something much more sinister.

Then something in his face changed and my throat was so dry that I couldn’t even stifle a scream for help. His canines grew an extra inch and the whites of his eyes turned completely black, an abyss of nothing, my terrified reflection staring back at me. His ears grew pointed and a cloud of black smoke appeared around him, circling him like a lioness circled her prey.

My eyes lined with tears as I tried with all my strength to pull away from his iron grip, but the more I struggled, the tighter he held on. Opening his mouth, he let out a menacing laugh that sounded like two different laughs from two different people overlapping each other.

“You can see my true form now,” the young man said, his voice sending a thousand shivers down my spine. “Good. I love it when they sweat with fear. Makes them taste better. Saltier.”

I whimpered, looking down at my wrist. His hand was still wrapped around it, his nails suddenly long and black, the ends digging into my sensitive skin so hard they left little droplets of blood behind. My normally pale skin was turning purple where he touched me and the color seemed to be creeping further up my arm the longer he held on.

“Help!” I managed to yelp, but my voice was so hoarse and barely there that no one in the building could have possibly heard it. The young man—or whatever he was because it certainly wasn’t human—laughed, mocking me.

“Humans are so fun to hunt,” he hissed. “Dumb as shit. I’m tempted to give you a head start so I could chase after you. That would be fun, don’t you think?”

“Wh-Wh-What are you?” I stammered, putting all my weight into trying to free myself from his tight grip, but to no avail.

The thing tilted its head, its snake-like tongue escaping between its teeth and running up the side of my cheek, making me wince.

It hummed as its tongue slipped back into its mouth, its face so close to mine that I could feel its breath on my cheek as it spoke so nonchalantly. “I’m a demon. And pretty human girls are a demon’s favorite snack.”

I hated how weak and vulnerable I felt in this situation. With his grip on me, there was absolutely nothing I could do to defend myself. My purse and my phone were dropped onto the ground long ago and my voice seemed to be betraying me every chance it got. Not to mention my legs, which felt like jelly, so even if I wanted to kick him where the sun didn’t shine, I was stuck like a deer in headlights, completely helpless.

About to die.

I squeezed my eyes shut as those canines inched closer to my neck, bracing myself for the pain. I thought about my family and my friends and all the people I loved. And I thought about how I may never get to talk to any of them again and my chest felt heavy, like my heart was a giant weight sinking all the way down to my feet. A scream bubbled in the back of my throat, but before I could release it, the pressure on my wrist was released and I fell back, stumbling over my own feet and falling hard on my backside. I opened one eye before the other, trying to figure out how in the world I was still alive when I saw the blue flames.

The blue flames danced around a broad, male frame that stood between me and the demon, sword in hand and pointed right at the demon’s throat.

The world around me began to spin out of control. It was so bad that I couldn’t get a good look at my savior’s face when he slit the demon’s throat and turned around to face me, dark black blood oozing out of the demon’s wound and forming a puddle on the floor around it.

The man surrounded by flames had dark hair, his almond-shaped eyes wide and full of concern, but I was so dizzy that I was seeing three of him. Something about those eyes was familiar, like I’d seen them before. Did he work in a cubicle close to mine? Then he opened his mouth and I heard my name, but it was like I was listening to him from underwater.

Rachel. Rachel.

“Jung…” But I didn’t finish the last half of his name because the world around me went black and I fell into nothingness.

~~~~

I woke up to the sound of running water, my right arm feeling as though it were on fire. I hissed as I sat up, my head still spinning. When I was finally seeing only one of everything again, I looked down at my arm and saw that it was bandaged up, little spots of red dotting the otherwise clean bandages in a few places.

“Ah. You’re awake.”

I jumped out of my skin as the sound of the voice, ready to fight if it was that gross thing again, but it wasn’t that thing. No, it was a handsome young man carrying blankets into the room. He had a smile on his face and he looked completely normal … aside from the fact that he was surrounded by small blue flames.

They weren’t as strong as they were in the parking garage, but they were still there, clear as day. And he was acting like he was totally fine, as if fire that hot wasn’t burning him at all.

He placed the blankets down on the edge of the bed and sat next to them, turning his attention to me and that was when I recognized him. Jeon Jungkook. He worked in the same building I did. I didn’t talk to him much, other than the occasional good mornings and nods in the kitchen area. I knew his name and he knew mine, but that was as far as our relationship went. I always noticed him, though. He was handsome and when he smiled, it lit up his entire face to the point where him just accidentally brushing against my arm caused butterflies to erupt deep in my tummy. There was a part of me that daydreamed about him, wondering what it would be like to hold his hand or to feel those long fingers brush through my hair. Just thinking about it again now made my face turn thirty shades of red and I moved back against the headboard.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice dripping with kindness. Did he not see the blue flames resting on his shoulders? Or the ones resting on top of his knuckles?

“I … uh …” I stammered, clearing my throat. “I’m … just kind of sore,” I admitted. “Though, uh … I’m also a bit thirsty.” In fact, my mouth felt like a desert, completely full of sand and a bad taste. Would it be rude to ask for an altoid or something?

“Ah, I have some water for you,” Jungkook said, getting up from the bed and walking over to the sink, which was where the sound of running water was coming from. He filled a glass and turned off the tap, slowly walking to the bed and handing me the glass. I gladly took it with my good hand and downed it in a matter of seconds, immediately feeling ten times better than before.

Jungkook took the empty glass from me and placed it on the bedside table, his lips pressed together. “Rachel, I…” He started the sentence, but he didn’t finish it, instead sighing and running his fingers through his hair, making it stand up in three different directions.

Honestly, I was kind of surprised he knew my name.

“What’s going on?” I asked, finding it much easier to speak now that my mouth was no longer full of sand. “And what are these … things flying around the room?” I swatted at a small, fly-like creature. It didn’t sound like a fly, though. No, it didn’t buzz like flies did; it hummed, kind of like it was singing a song.

“They’re nano-demons.”

“Nano-who?”

“Demons,” he repeated, speaking slower this time.

It was weird to think about: demons being real. I’d heard stories and other folklore about them and saw them portrayed on fantasy TV shows, but they weren’t real. Then again, if demons weren’t real, what was that thing that attacked me in the parking garage? And what were all these things that were suddenly flying around me, trying to attach themselves to me like leeches? And why was Jean Jungkook surrounded by blue flames? What the hell was going on?!

“When that demon in the parking garage cut your skin with his nails, he tainted you,” Jungkook explained, going back to his spot at the end of the bed and sitting down, the mattress bouncing with his added weight. “When a human receives a taint from a demon, they are suddenly able to see creatures of the underworld. Like nano-demons,” he said, pointing to one of the small, black, humming creatures as it swished around the room. “But it also means you can see past a demon’s glamour and see its true form.”

The more he spoke, the worse my headache got because it seemed like the more he explained, the less everything made sense. “Wait, I … What?” I let out a shaky breath, pulling my knees to my chest. “You’re telling me that not only do demons exist, but they roam earth hiding behind glamours that make them look human? And I was attacked and tainted by one?”

Jungkook nodded slowly, a sort of sadness in his eyes that made my chest ache. “Not many humans are tainted because most humans who are scratched or cut by a demon don’t live to tell the tale.”

I blinked, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm my racing heart. “But you … you saved me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper and he nodded again. “Why? H-How? You … You’re not human, are you?”

Jungkook closed his eyes for a long moment and the silence that fell between us was so heavy it could be cut with a knife. It felt like a lifetime before he opened his mouth and spoke, his voice low and calming, echoing throughout the dimly lit bedroom I was currently sitting in. “You can see the flames now.” It wasn’t a question. When I nodded, he spoke again, “I’m what’s called a Nephilim.”

“Nephilim?”

“Yeah. It means I’m half human and half angel.”

My eyes widened. Of course! If demons existed, then angels must have, too! It was almost kind of exciting, mostly because all I knew about angels was that they were beings of light. The only one who wasn’t was the banished arc angel Lucifer.

“Angels are … surrounded by flames?” I asked.

Jungkook let out a breath through his nose, nervously pulling at his fingers. “No. That’s unique to me.” Before I could ask him another question, he said, “Blue flames are the symbol of Satan.”

My jaw dropped.

“My mother was human, but she bore an arc angel’s child. The blue flames are proof that I am Lucifer’s son.”

My head began to spin. It was all happening so fast. One second Jungkook was a kind coworker from my office who wasn’t too bad on the eyes and the next second he was the son of Lucifer?! This didn’t make any sense and, for a moment, I was sure I was going to pass out again.

“I heard you call for help,” he said when I obviously wasn’t going to say anything. My thoughts were too jumbled and the right words just wouldn’t come to the surface. “That demon that attacked you … it came looking for me. They always come looking for me, trying to take me back to the Underworld, back to my father. Usually I can track them down and fight them off before they cause too much trouble, but he must have caught a whiff of your scent first and couldn’t resist. I … I’m so sorry, Rachel!” he exclaimed, bowing his head. “You got hurt and tainted because of me. I’m so, so sorry.”

I blinked, staring at him with wide eyes.e was apologizing to me, fists trembling and everything? He was still so kind, even now. So it was never an act to hide his demonic self. He was truly a nice guy.

“Jungkook,” I said and he lifted his head, lip quivering. “I admit I’m … scared. Terrified, actually. But if you hadn’t saved me, I would be dead.” I slowly inched my hand forward, grabbing his fingers and giving them a soft squeeze. His eyes never left my face and I offered him the best smile I could muster in this kind of situation. “Thank you. For saving my life.”

His face twisted into something I couldn’t quite recognize. I was about to ask him if he was okay when he threw his arms around me and pulled me close, hugging me tightly, his neck buried in the crook of my neck.

My eyes widened, my heart jumping into my throat. For a second, I was so paralyzed with shock that I didn’t do anything. He was hugging me. Jungkook was hugging me and … were his shoulders shaking?

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of me,” he said, tightening his grip around my neck and apologizing again.

With shaking hands, I hugged him around his middle and hugged him back, my nose pressing into his shoulder. I noticed then that not only did the blue flames not burn, but he also smelled like firewood. His grip around me tightened and I found myself on my knees, moving closer to him.

“I’m grateful to be alive,” I whispered, reaching up with one hand and gently tangling my fingers in the bottom stands of his hair. It was soft. “And it’s because of you that I’m alive, so I’m grateful to you, Jungkook.”

Jungkook pulled back from the hug, but only a little, pressing his forehead against mine, his brown eyes scanning my face, taking in every detail he could. “You were always so nice. In the office. You smiled at me everyday. The last thing I wanted was for you to get hurt because of me. And I’m sure more demons will try to track me down again and now you’re caught up in the middle of this whole thing and—”

I hushed him when he didn’t seem to be able to stop rambling, offering him a smile to silently tell him that everything was okay. “Seeing these nano-demons and the flames on your body will take some getting used to, but you were always nice to me as well, so if I can do anything to stop these demons from coming after you, I’ll gladly do it.”

I could tell that, deep down, Jungkook didn’t want to be what he was. And even if he was the son of Lucifer, he didn’t seem horrible or evil in any way. In fact, he seemed like the complete opposite: caring, sensitive, wonderful.

Something in Jungkook’s face twisted and, for a moment, I thought he was going to cry, but he didn’t, blinking any possible tears away. “I promise to protect you,” he said. “I got you in the mess, so I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

I put my hand on his cheek, my thumb gently caressing his skin. “I’ll protect you, too, okay? I know I probably can’t do much being just a human and all, but—”

I couldn’t finish my sentence because he cut me off with his own lips, hands cupping my cheeks and I was sure my heart was going to explode right through my ribcage. The kiss is quick, so much so that I didn’t even get a chance to kiss him back by the time he pulled away, licking his lips and looking down at his lap, his ears a bright shade of red.

“Sorry, I … I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

Jungkook looked up from his lap, his eyes meeting mine and the second they did, my heart fluttered, heat rising to my cheeks. Sure, I may have had a little crush on him before, but this … this feeling was something different. Then he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck as he looked at the wall behind me. “Forcing a kiss on you, it … I don’t want to be rude and I’m sorry. It’s just that when you told me you would protect me, too, my chest felt all warm and all I wanted to do was kiss you.”

If I thought my face was red before, it was even worse now.

“I … don’t mind if you kiss me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. When he met my eyes again, I sunk deep into my shoulders, feeling embarrassed. “And I meant it when I said I want to protect you. I can do it because I can see demons now that I’ve been tainted. You’ve always been so nice to me and everyone around you. I know you’re nothing like Lucifer.”

Jungkook was looking at me like I’d just sprouted a second head.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked.

“It’s just … no one’s ever said that kind of thing to me,” he said. “I’ve always hurt everyone around me, whether I wanted to or not. I’ve always told myself that I can never get close to anybody because I would just end up hurting them or killing them. But you, Rachel … there was always something special about you. You have such a kind smile and a kind heart and I-I know this is selfish of me to ask, but I really want you to stay by my side.”

Without saying anything, I reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing my fingers with his, my thumb caressing the back of his hand. “I’m not going to run away,” I promised.

Jungkook smiled then—a real smile—and it was like the room lit up and became ten times lighter. Who knew a simple smile could be so powerful? He scooted closer to me until his knees touched mine, not letting go of my hand. He pressed his forehead to mine and closed his eyes, a content look on his face as he let out a breath through his nose.

“Never give up on me.” It was more of a request than a statement and when I nodded, he leaned forward and softly pressed his lips to mine. This time, I was able to kiss him back, our lips moving together in a soft, perfect harmony.

I smiled against his lips and he smiled against mine and suddenly we were a mess of giggles, foreheads still touching and both of our hearts feeling full. It didn’t matter what Jungkook was. It didn’t matter that I was tainted. Nothing mattered to me except protecting that smile of his. No matter what came for him, I would make sure nothing wiped that beautiful smile from his face.

In a short amount of time, that smile became extremely precious to me. My life flipped completely upside down and suddenly I wasn’t so alone in this world anymore. I had someone by my side who was willing to protect me as much as I was willing to protect him. It was an amazing feeling, to say the least.

I pecked his lips again.

“You know,” I started, unable to wipe the smile from my face, “I think you should teach me how to use a sword like yours. A blade can protect you easier than my fists.”

“We can start your training tomorrow. For now, let’s just enjoy each other as much as we can. I want to know all about you and I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me. How does that sound?”

“Absolutely perfect.”

#<3 #i hope you like it and i hope you have an amazing rest of your birthday because you deserve it!#i'll gladly write more for you if you want!#since i ended on a cliffhanger lolol i'm just used to writing longer things okay all my short stories end like they need to be continued :)#also sorry for any errors bc it's not proofread #please enjoy it! :)

2 notes · View notes