#literally coldest night of winter last night it is so chilly now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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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shmuzzieheart · 6 years

Text

Spycicle-Secret Santa

I was @morpheusenmemori‘s secret santa, and I decided to write a short Spy story involving a certain weapon of his.

It appeared the theme for the night was cold.

It had been cold outside. Troublesome drifts of snow waited for an invisible man’s foot to leave a print, spread out over the ground like pearlescent mines in a minefield. The wind whipped his masked face, a sheet of sharp blades wrapping around his body and cutting his throat with every inhale. Puffs of steam from his mouth could not be disguised with any form of Inviswatch. It was a curse to him and his years of training in stealth.

Inside it was still cold. The cool grey-blue walls he was in now radiated the same wintery temperature of outside. He could feel it when he had to press up against the walls to sneak past a blue-clad Pyro. It echoed up from the floor to his feet and continued through his legs. Doors would open and heat would leave from the room along with those inside it, giving him a merciful wave of warmth.

But the coldest thing was the object in his hand.

Freshly created by the Engineer was something the Texan called ‘The Spycicle.’ A shard of forever-frozen ice sat in his hand, chilling down to the bone. At first he had been wary of it, expecting it to melt as soon as he left the base. But now, now the cold object in his hand gave him a certain glee. It was cold in a way that he felt was dangerous. It was the cool shudder running down your back when you’re alone in a room but feel eyes on you. It was the shock of icy fear when you knew danger and death was closing in. It was the frozen sting of an icy blade sliding into your back as a bone-chilling laugh pushed into your ear, echoing as your conscious went into oblivion.

What weapon was more suited for someone like him?

Thinking of his new weapon in this way made the nonsensical construction of it somehow make sense to him. A childish sort of feeling came over him, when a kindergartner raises a toy weapon and claims to be the king of the kingdom. With this newfound sense of empowerment he slunk through the BLU’s base, dodging people and ducking into hallways. Here and there he went through the so-familiar yet so-different base of his enemies until he reached a room with a blue sign beside the door.

Intelligence Room

A blue briefcase sat on the table behind the large man guarding it. The cold, smart eyes resting in the head of the muscle-bound mercenary held a sense of intelligence to be not only respected but feared. None could melt them or crush the ice in them into submission. None but his family and comrades.

And so the chill within them melted into warm blue pools as an excitable young man entered the room. He carried a baseball bat, lazily twirling it around. Though the action held a sense of carefree nature, there was still an air of energy around him. A cocky smile rested on his lips, full of youthful arrogance.

“How’s it going big guy?” Scout asked, walking up to the large man. Heavy chuckled down at his teammate.

“Boring,” he responded with a rumble. “But, is task.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t see me doing this.” He gestured to the brief case. “I gotta be doing something besides just standing here. Don’t know how you do it.”

“Patience. Is good trait to have.” Heavy’s lips slid up his face at an amused angle. “You do not have it.”

Scout gave Heavy a playful smack to the arm. “Hey, I can be patient! I can totally be patient!”

“Can you?”

“Yeah! What, you think I can’t?” Scout crossed his arms. “Watch me.” He went to the other side of the desk and stood as still as his teammate, earning a hearty chuckle that shook the floor beneath them. Heavy shook his head and resumed his stance, not bothered a bit. The young man could be an annoyance at times, yes, but also the funniest person in the base. He could make standing here much more entertaining.

Within a minute Scout’s leg was bouncing. At two his lip started to twitch. Another minute went by and he started to swing his baseball bat back and forth. He reached the five minute mark before he finally let out an exasperated groan, his knees buckling a bit in defeat.

“Why is this so boring,” he said, saying it as a statement more than asking it as a question. Heavy burst out laughing as he continued with, “This is literally the most insanely boring thing to do! I could be drinking hot chocolate or sitting in front of the heater or something.”

He turned to Heavy and grabbed the collar of his shirt, the larger man still laughing. He shook him a bit with his hand not holding the bat, which was more of Scout shaking himself attempting to move the giant in front of him. “How do you do it, man? How?! Tell me your secret.”

Heavy stopped laughing long enough to look Scout in the eye and simply say, “Patience.” The look he got from the younger threw him into another wave of booming laughter. He ducked down a bit, and Scout pretended to knock him on the head with one hand, fake choke-holding him with the other.

“Ahahaha,” Heavy wiped the tear from his eye. “Oh that slaps me on the-”

A quick, sudden feeling of cold against his back sent a shockwave of familiar fear through his blood in an act of muscle memory. Smoke flooded his vision, and the last thing he heard before his entire body flooded with a feeling of dread and chill was a familiar, tobacco-scented chuckle.

Spy was just as surprised as his victim as he stepped backwards to get a better view of the ice statue in front of him. Heavy was bent down, a hand on his knee. His face was in the middle of transitioning from laughter to shock. The masked man blinked a few times, reaching out to touch the frozen mercenary. Heavy was cold as death, the chill seeping beneath Spy’s glove. At first he marveled over this. Then, realizing it was caused by his new weapon, he looked down at his Spycicle and held it carefully in his hand.

A weapon dealing out icy death and turning his victims into statues, freezing their looks of pain and surprise on their dead faces. This was his now, and he was free to use it as he pleased. A cold grin spread from ear to ear, baring teeth. He chuckled to himself, and gave the statue a little push.

Without the consciousness to hold himself still, Heavy fell to the ground. His body cracked and shattered, giving Spy another laugh. Swiping the briefcase from the desk and running to the nearest door, he snorted as the alarm went off to signal the intelligence had been stolen. He went to the nearest window and stabbed it with the Spycicle, kicking through the ice that formed over it. The masked man leapt out the space left behind and rushed to his car, shining ruby red in the gleam of snow and starlight.

They wouldn’t know what happened. A frozen corpse? How was that possible? Who could’ve done it? Had the RED team found a way to entirely freeze a person? What should they do?

Well, Spy knew what they should do.

Winter is the time for holidays and family get-togethers. A time for candy, cookies, and snowmen. But, the warmth can be overrun with cold. And what should be done when faced with the cold?

Be afraid. Be very afraid. Because a careless person caught within the mercy of an invisible, chilly wind of winter will be faced with either life or hypothermia.

Spy held hypothermia in his hand.

And he was very excited to dish it out.

#tf2ss2017 #tf2 #tf2 spy #Sorry for how long it took to finally receive it

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