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holdyourbreathfornow · 3 years

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Like Father Like Son (ch.3)

(3rd and final part. I really took some liberties with headcanons, especially with a headcanon I had about Gordon so feel free not to post if it’s too out of touch with your canon. Admittedly kind of phoned it in near the end but I wanted to make sure I didn’t run out of motivation and leave it unfinished)

Coomer double checked the control panel screen displaying Gordon’s vitals for what must have been the hundredth time. He knew they were all stable, but he couldn’t help a bit of parental over-caution.

Gordon had been out of the danger zone of temperature fluctuations since he’d first woken up, briefly, almost nine hours ago. It’s why Coomer’d been able to convince Bubby to finally change over watch of Gordon to him and go to sleep in the first place. He’d assumed that, after alerting everyone to Gordon having no longer been comatose (to everyone’s great relief), Bubby would be glad to finally rest, but instead Coomer had had to argue that there was almost no chance for any kind of relapse at this point for nearly ten minutes before Bubby finally relented (a headlock might also have been involved at some point).

Bubby had been adamant about staying, despite his clear exhaustion, to the point where Coomer almost worried Bubby doubted in his ability to do so himself, but Bubby had gotten cagey when Coomer pressed him for the cause of his hesitancy. He drew into himself and quickly agreed to give up his vigil, hurrying away before Coomer could inquire further.

Certainly not an entirely comforting sign in regards to Bubby’s emotional state, but Coomer couldn’t say he was faring very well himself. He’d barely been able to sleep at all, jerking awake every time he drifted off, thinking he heard the blaring of Gordon’s tube’s vital readout alarm, indicating another temperature spike or drop in blood oxygen levels or erratic heart palpitations.

Coomer hated seeing Gordon in that tube.

He and Bubby had discussed, back when they first conceived (ha!) of the idea of creating their child in a fashion similar to Bubby’s own creation, the likely necessity of supplementary time in a growth tube later on in Joshua’s life. Bubby had needed many throughout his life and, though Gordon’s creation and genetic structure was much more stable than Bubby’s had been initially, due to being based off of existing DNA, instead of entirely from scratch, as Bubby had, it was still likely that, somewhere along the line, his body might need a “tune up”, so to speak.

They’d planned to build him his own tube around ten years old for that purpose, but then…well, they hadn’t ended up needing to.

So now, instead, Gordon floated inside an old tube of Bubby’s they’d specifically made for emergencies, ever since a terrifying incident back when Bubby had first been able to live outside of Black Mesa and they’d moved into this house together. The sudden changes and stress of living outside of Black Mesa for the first time caused Bubby’s molecular structure to almost entirely destabilize.

The frantic drive back to the laboratory, Bubby in the passenger seat, condition rapidly deteriorating, was one of the most frightening experiences of Harold’s life.

Since then, they’d made sure they always had a tube similar to Bubby’s at Black Mesa available outside of the facility. Years of fine tuning had stabilized Bubby’s physical makeup significantly, and eventually they’d moved the tube to storage, not having needed it in many years, but still wanting to have it available in case of emergencies.

Coomer supposed that was part of what made seeing Gordon like this so terrible.

This tube was one tied to painful and terrifying memories. Unlike Gordon’s original one, which was associated with the creation of their child, and even Bubby’s tube at Black Mesa, which at least held memories of how they met, this one was associated only with things going horribly wrong.

And how wrong they’d gone now.

Coomer had seen Gordon hurt before, of course, during the Resonance Cascade, but it had been different this time, to an extent he hadn’t expected.

Since learning of Gordon’s true identity, the memories of every time he’d come to harm, come so close to death, during their journey through Black Mesa and Xen, had haunted him, of course, knowing retroactively that it was his own child that he’d seen so battered and broken.

Coomer hadn’t expected just how different it would be seeing Gordon hurt while already knowing it was his child. He’d felt sick to his stomach, like he was going to break down or pass out. Luckily, Harold Coomer was nothing if not good at compartmentalizing, and had managed to keep it together while they worked to stabilize Gordon.

Now, thankfully, it seemed Gordon was out of the woods. His skin had grown back, to at least some extent, over nearly every burned area, and his temperature was completely stable, if still high. Likely, it was as low as it was going to get without him intentionally lowering it.

Which was precisely why Harold was making very sure everything was in no danger of sudden change for the worse. He needed to leave for a moment to talk to Bubby. Gordon’s temperature was still high enough to simmer the fluid around him and he’d likely need instruction from Bubby on how to control his newly developed powers before he could be released from the tube. The sooner such instruction could begin, the better.

One last check, and Coomer was confident enough to leave Gordon alone long enough to fetch Bubby.

Climbing up the basement stairs into the main hallway, he glanced into the living room.

Benrey and Tommy were fast asleep, leaning shoulder to shoulder on the couch, having apparently worn themselves out with worry.

Coomer smiled. He was glad Gordon had the two of them, it was clear how much they all cared about each other. He didn’t see Bubby in the room however, nor in the connected kitchen, so he didn’t dwell there.

He headed towards the room to his and Bubby’s room, but paused as he reached the door. He could hear a faint noise coming from inside like a soft sniffling and uneven breathing–

Oh.

He opened the door just a crack to see Bubby sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands and body shaking with soft sobs he was clearly trying to muffle.

Coomer rapped his knuckles against the door.

Bubby startled, and whipped his head around to see Coomer. His face was red and his cheeks streaked with tears.

“Fuck–I-” Bubby roughly wiped at his face to clear away the tears, and fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand. “Harold, I didn’t…I didn’t hear you…”

Coomer simply sat on the bed next to him as he composed himself.

“How’s…how is he?” Bubby asked, after clearing his throat. He stared at the floor, not looking towards Coomer.

“He’s stable. Tissue regrowth is coming along well. He’s as stable as I think he’ll be able to get until he can bring his temperature down,” Coomer replied. “I think it’s best to start teaching him to control it sooner rather than later. If he can learn at least how to regulate his temperature while he’s still in there, he’s far less likely to lose control again as soon as he comes out of the tube. You can work on teaching him all your flashier tricks once he’s out.”

Coomer chuckled, lightly.

Bubby, however, only turned even further away from him.

“Do…do you think that we could…” Bubby trailed off, then started again. “That tube is made for post decanting genetic alteration. If we could just…if we could nullify or remove the gene responsible for pyrokinesis…”

“What?!” Coomer cried, agape. “Bubby you can’t be serious! You know better than anyone the risks involved with that! That tube is made for emergency stabilization, not tampering with genetic code when there’s no reason!”

“No reason? There’s a damn good reason!” Bubby said, turning at last to face Coomer. “Look at him! Look at what’s happened to him! That’s the reason!”

“But you’re living proof that’s something that he can control! Something that doesn’t have to hurt him!”

“You don’t–you couldn’t understand!”

“The fucking hell I couldn’t!” Coomer snapped. “He’s my son, too! You think it doesn’t break my heart seeing him like this?”

“But it isn’t your–!” Bubby cut himself off.

“My what?”

Bubby grit his teeth.

“My what, Bubby?!”

“YOUR FAULT! IT ISN’T YOUR FAULT!”

Any rage that had been building in Coomer was doused instantly.

“Not my…Bubby, do you think…?” he stammered, almost at a loss for words. “This isn’t your fault, Bubby.”

Bubby stood up, sharply, hands gripping at the side of his head.

“Don’t you see?!” he cried. “Everything that’s happened to him is my fault! Everything that’s happened since I included my DNA in his design. I should never have included my DNA. I didn’t want to! I told you I didn’t want to! Why? Why did I let you convince me?!”

Tears were streaming down Bubby’s face again.

“We agreed to include both our genetic codes together!” Coomer said. “We wanted a child. One that was both of us, not a clone. I’ve had enough of those. We wanted a child that would be like us both.”

“Don’t you understand? He is like me! And I wouldn’t wish those words on anyone!” Bubby sobbed. “Seeing him like that I just–Everything they did to me. Everything they put me through–they would have done it to him, too. All the awful tests, all the cruelty, all the pain, oh god…he went through it all. Because of me! They took him because of me!”

“Bubby, we’ve talked about this a thousand times, he was sick and we were both scared. It wasn’t–”

“Not just that! I read it in his file! It wasn’t happenstance, Harold! They targeted him! Because he was on their record! Because he was…” Bubby’s voice broke. “Because he was mine. They took him because he was mine…”

He choked out a sob.

“They took him and they hurt him in every way they hurt me, and more. And now he finally gets out…and he’s just hurt more. Because he’s like me. Because he inherited my powers,” Bubby hugged his arms around himself, shaking. “Pain and misery…is all he got, all he could have ever gotten, from having me as a father…”

Coomer stood, slowly, from the bed, and placed a gentle hand on Bubby’s arm.

“Tell me how your powers work,” he said.

“You know how they work.”

“Tell me again.”

Bubby shook his head.

“I-I don’t–I can’t talk about that now,” he choked.

“Bubby, please,” Harold said, insistent.

“I…I absorb direct and…and ambient thermal and electromagnetic radiation and expend it at will, controlling…controlling my external temperature to induce localized combustion,” Bubby said, voice still shaking.

“What do you absorb?” Harold asked, his voice lilting as to imply a conclusion Bubby wasn’t drawing, but Bubby wasn’t in the mood for guessing at it.

“Damn, it Harold, why are you asking this now?” he snapped.

“Just say it one more time, out loud. Please, Bubby.”

“For the love of God, thermal radia–”

Bubby cut off as the pieces finally clicked into place.

“Radiation,” he breathed. “I absorb radiation.”

Coomer smiled, softly, as he saw realization dawn on Bubby’s face.

“Gordon absorbs radiation!” Bubby exclaimed, grabbing Coomer by the shoulders. “He absorbs Xen radiation! His cells absorb and expend it instead of being destroyed by it! He didn’t die from being sent to Xen because he absorbs Xen radiation! He didn’t die because…because…”

“Because he’s like you,” Coomer finished. “I had my suspicions from the moment they explained how Gordon was able to build up a tolerance from just the exposure to Benrey’s low levels of Xen radiation, and with so few negative repercussions. Once this happened, my suspicions were all but confirmed.”

Bubby released Coomer’s shoulders and sat heavily back down on the bed, as if his legs had been turned to gelatin. His eyes, red and puffy from crying, were wide with disbelief.

“They took him because they were cruel and evil people,” Coomer said. “He lived because he’s your son.”

He gently cupped Bubby’s cheek and guided his face up to look him in the eye.

“And your son needs you now,” he said. “Not to try to remove any trace of yourself from his genetic code. To show him how to accept and control what he inherited from you.”

Bubby breathed in a deep, steadying breath and nodded.

–

When Bubby returned to the basement, Gordon was just blinking his eyes open again.

With his facial skin growing back rapidly, his cheekbones no longer looked so gaunt and pronounced, but Bubby still saw his own defined bone structure reflected in them.

Not entirely alike, but not entirely different.

Not entirely a stranger, but not entirely himself.

Someone who was a mix of things that weren’t him, and of things that were.

For the first time, Bubby felt like that might not be a curse after all.

#submission #you can't see it but I'm rubbing my hands together and cackling manically #i love these so much!!!#AND THE SCIENCE #DIFFERENT KINDS OF RADIATION BEING ABSORBED CAUSES BOTH THE PYROKINESIS AND GORDON'S XEN DEPENDENCY #YOU'RE A GENIUS #family of three au

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leiascully · 6 years

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Fic: Between A Rock And A Hard Place (Part 5/5)

Timeline: Season 10 (replaces My Struggle in the All The Choices We’ve Made ‘verse - Visitor + Resident + etc.) Rating: PG Characters: Mulder, Scully, Tad O’Malley, Sveta (established MSR) Content warning: canon-typical body horror (mentions of abduction, forced pregnancy, etc.) A/N: I’m collecting all the related stories that go with Visitor/Resident under the title “All The Choices We’ve Made”, because it felt right at the time. This story is an alternate My Struggle that reflects M&S’ growth/change in the ATCWM ‘verse. I’m weaving canon dialogue into the stories in an attempt to keep the reframing plausibly in line with canon.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | AO3

It's not a surprise the next day when they emerge from the Hoover Building, where they've been supervising the setup of all of the new computers, to see Tad O'Malley's gleaming black limo. The door opens. They get in.

"Glad we caught you, agents," O'Malley says with a grin.

"We're not hard to track down," Mulder says.

"It's the chip in my neck," Scully says dryly, and Mulder isn't sure he's ever heard her joke about it before. But maybe she's spitting into the wind too, reminded of how whoever is behind all this has tampered with her at a molecular level. He admits it is easy to direct (or misdirect) that frustration at Tad O'Malley.

"Hi," Sveta says, waving at them from across the car. O'Malley hasn't brought out the champagne this time, but she's clutching a bottle of Perrier.

Mulder leans back against the leather seat. The car certainly is plush. The perks of selling out, he imagines.

"I didn't think you'd come, Agent Scully," O'Malley says. "After all, your work is so important. So I took the liberty of coming to you." He opens a small fridge concealed under the seat. "Perrier?"

"Thank you," Scully says, accepting a bottle. "What are you doing here, Mr. O'Malley?"

"Exposing a global conspiracy that's crushing the soul of America," O'Malley declares. "Agent Mulder knows what I'm talking about."

"You're ready to make a move?" Mulder asks.

"The Truth Squad with Tad O'Malley with a world exclusive," O'Malley tells him. "The story to end all stories."

"Why don't you give us a preview?" Scully says, settling into her seat.

O'Malley leaned forward. "We begin with a war. The Civil War. The United States splits in two. A new government forms. They mint their own currency. They make their own laws."

"They perpetuate the enslavement and genocide of millions of people," Scully murmurs.

"That enslavement creates the haves and the have-nots. And the halves begin to believe, to truly believe, that they are above the law. That they can meddle with the fates and lives of people they start to consider subhuman: black, white, Native American, and everyone else. An experimental program to create a better person through a variety of methods, including surgical intervention and selective breeding."

Sveta shivers. Scully looks at her compassionately. She reaches for Sveta's hand.

O'Malley doesn't seem to notice their discomfort. "The shadow government continues to exist after the war. The genetic engineering of a superior human continues in the shadows of the shadow. And they have other secrets."

"It all sounds like a ghost story," Scully says in that even voice that immediately sends Mulder into full alert. "Designed to scare children."

"Children should be afraid," O'Malley tells her.

"Everyone should," Mulder says, and he sees the shiver in her eyelid that means she's trying not to roll her eyes at him. "It's a conspiracy bigger and more secret than the Manhattan Project, with tentacles reaching back into the very roots of America."

"The metaphor is mixed," Scully says.

"All the more apt," Mulder tells her. "The Civil War set the stage and World War I gave us access to new technologies, but it wasn't until victories in Europe and Japan that the drama really ratcheted up for the rest of the world."

"Political and economic conditions became perfect for execution of the larger plan," O'Malley declared. "The success of the program in the former Confederate states had spread to the re-United States. Agents of the conspiracy, swearing their allegiance to President Grant, had infiltrated the highest levels of government. World War I and World War II had weakened the European powers that might have held the US in check. As it was, they were delighted to accept the offer of help from the United States, and if it came with a price, they were happy to pay it. Their scientists began working with our scientists. The project stretched those insidious tentacles to grasp the entire globe."

Mulder grins. This is his wheelhouse. Even as much as he's been jerked around and lost his faith, it's still exhilarating to put together the pieces of the puzzle he worked at for half his life. "Paper Clip. Experiments in the aftermath of the atomic bombings. The crash at Roswell leading to cannibalized alien technology and cannibalized alien corpses, all resources that furthered the project."

O'Malley breaks in. "The bomb was the latest threat of extinction, but not the first. The energy of the explosions acted as transducers, creating wormholes that drew in alien ships just like the one that crashed at Roswell, ships that ran using electro-gravitic propulsion. Sacrificing those alien lives with their extraterrestrial biology and their advanced technology delayed our self-immolation on the altar of democracy."

"World leaders signed secret memos directing scientific stuff of alien technology and biochemistry," Mulder puts in. "All in the name of furthering the project, creating a new species that could survive alien invasion or whatever else might wipe us out. Classified studies were done at military installations, extracting alien tissue. S4, Groom Lake, Wright Patterson, and Dulce: all part of a network of black sites where tests were conducted using advanced alien technology recovered from the ships." He glances at Sveta. She has one hand over her mouth. "Tests including human hybridization through gene editing and forced implantation of the resulting embryos in unsuspecting human subjects." He swallows and tries not to look at Scully, but can't help meeting her eyes. "Embryos with extraterrestrial DNA."

Sveta gasps. "Why do such a thing and lie about it? Our own government?"

"Aliens aside," Scully says, "the American government has conducted experiments on unsuspecting populations as a matter of policy. The Tuskegee Syphilis Study lasted for years beyond the point where they could have cured the patients. The scientists in charge chose not to inform their subjects because they were African-American. They let them die horrible, preventable deaths, claiming it was all in the name of science. Genetic material was extracted from a sample of a tumor taken from a black woman named Henrietta Lacks and used without her consent or her family's. Other people have been sterilized against their will, or stolen from their families. I doubt we'll ever understand the full extent of the violence done to the indigenous peoples of the Americas." She exhales loudly. "While I cannot substantiate all of Agent Mulder's claims, I have found evidence of anomalous genetic material being implanted or otherwise introduced into the DNA of numerous subjects, including myself. And you."

"What are they trying to do?" Sveta asks.

"That's the missing piece," Mulder tells her. "We've learned so much, but some part of this eludes us."

"But it's not hard to imagine," O'Malley breaks in. "A government hiding, no, hoarding alien technology for seventy years, at the potential expense of all human life and the future of the planet. A government inside the government, secretly preparing for more than a hundred years for the long-awaited event."

"The takeover of America," Mulder says, feeling sick to his stomach.

"And then the world itself," O'Malley says with an almost religious fervor. "By any means necessary, however violent or cruel. Severe drought brought on by weather wars conducted secretly using aerial contaminants distributed via chemtrails and high-altitude electromagnetic waves. Perpetual war waged overseas, a drain on our resources and our energy engineered by politicians to create problem-reaction-solution scenarios to distract, enrage, and enslave American citizens at home with tools like the Patriot Act, the National Defense Authorization Act, and pure old-fashioned jingoism, abridging the Constitution and its promised freedoms in the name of national security. Every dissident, every minority: a terrorist in situ. Vietnam, but this time they're doing it right."

"Militarize the police forces," Mulder says slowly. "Martial law. FEMA building prison camps. Mercenaries fighting under our flag, but not under our orders."

"The corporate takeover of food and agriculture," O'Malley says smugly. "It's already begun. Monsanto. Dicamba. They've got pharmaceuticals and healthcare in their pocket too. An insurrection of men and women with clandestine agendas to dull, sicken, terrify, and control a populace already consumed by consumerism."

Mulder leans over to Scully. "I didn't really like Wall-E," he whispers. She shakes her head at him.

"A government that taps your phone, collects your data, and monitors your whereabouts with impunity," O'Malley says with a flourish. "A government preparing to use that data against you when it strikes and the final takeover begins."

Mulder nods slowly. There is a seed of truth in O'Malley's conspiracy-addled rant. He's been seeking it long enough to know it when he sees it. The nation is poised on a precipice. All the rest of it is lies, smoke and mirrors, a way to turn the paranoid and the credulous into easy money. But somewhere, under eighty mattress-thick layers of right-wing garbage, is a pea-sized truth, and he's the princess shifting uncomfortably.

"The takeover of America?" Scully asks.

O'Malley leans forward. "By a well-oiled and well-armed multinational group of elites that will cull, kill, and subjugate."

"Happening as we sit here in this car," Scully says.

"It's happening all around us," O'Malley tells her.

"It's been happening for years," Mulder murmurs. "The other shoe waiting to drop."

"It'll probably start on a Friday," O'Malley says. "The banks will announce a security action necessitating that their computers go offline all weekend."

"Digital money will disappear," he says.

Sveta looks startled. "They can just steal your money?" Scully squeezes her hand.

"While the banks are vulnerable, they'll detonate strategic electromagnetic pulse bombs to knock out major grids. Traffic lights, security systems, everything: gone. Hospitals will be on backup generators indefinitely. It will seem like an attack on America by terrorists or Russia."

"Or a simulated alien invasion featuring alien replica vehicles already in use," Mulder murmurs.

"An alien invasion of the U.S.?" Scully says.

"The Russians tried it in '47," Mulder reminds her. "Or they took credit for it, anyway."

"They'll take more than credit this time," O'Malley says. "This goes worldwide. Everything that has happened for the past seventy years has been engineered by this global conspiracy, these shadow players. The structures they've built are designed to crumble, tearing America apart at the seams. They'll build a new world on the ruins of our current one. It will happen soon, and it will happen fast."

Scully shakes her head. "You can't say these things," she tells O'Malley.

"I'm gonna say them tomorrow," O'Malley says with an almost religious fervor in his voice.

Scully frowns. "It's fearmongering, isolationist techno-paranoia so bogus and dangerous and stupid that it borders on treason. Saying these things would be incredibly irresponsible."

"I hate to say this, Scully, but if this is true, it would be irresponsible not to say it," Mulder says reluctantly.

"If it's the truth," Sveta says, "you have to say it."

"It's not the truth," Scully says.

O'Malley grins that smarmy grin. "Agent Scully, with all due respect, I don't think you know what the truth is."

"The only thing I don't know is where you're taking us," Scully says, ice in her voice. "Except on a wild goose chase."

"It's lunchtime," O'Malley says. "I thought you might want something to eat."

It's clear from the look Scully gives him that there is a long, long list of people she would rather have lunch with before she deigned to have lunch with Tad O'Malley. In fact, it might be approaching seven billion people long.

"I think what Agent Scully is trying to convey is that we've got to decline your invitation," Mulder says.

"You believe me," O'Malley says to Mulder with certainty.

Mulder looks at Scully. She looks back at him, her eyes tight just at the corners. "I might have, back in the day. My doctor says paranoia is bad for me."

O'Malley sits back, disappointed. Scully's shoulders loosen. She glances at him and there's something between approval and gratitude in her eyes. He smiles at her.

There's a pinging noise. Scully checks her email on her phone. Her brow creases. She scrolls through something, then flicks back to the top and reads through it again. "This is strange."

"What?" Mulder leans over.

"Sveta, the lab retested your samples. A new tech was running the machines, and a number of test results were compromised. In fact, they retested your samples twice to be sure. Your DNA shows no anomalies." Scully looks up. "Whatever's been done to you, it had nothing to do with this project."

"Nothing?" Sveta and O'Malley ask at the same time.

"That can't be right," O'Malley says. "Retest her."

"I don't want to be tested again," Sveta says.

"You're my evidence," O'Malley tells her angrily. "You have to."

"She doesn't have to do anything," Scully tells him. "She's under our protection now."

"We'll see about that," O'Malley says. He presses a button. The driver pulls over. He opens the door. "Goodbye, agents. Goodbye, Sveta."

"What will you do?" Sveta asks him as she climbs out of the car.

"I'll do what I do," O'Malley says. "I'll tell the truth."

The car door slams shut.

Truth Squad with Tad O'Malley the next day is a runaway hit: high ratings, viral content, memes, gifs, and a media uproar. "I promised you the truth today, but that truth has come under assault," O'Malley says, looking into the camera, and they roll footage of Sveta confessing to reporters, accusing him of telling lies.

"I am so sorry if I misled anyone," she says tearfully, wringing her hands in front of her.

"They get her?" Mulder asks.

"She should be safe," Scully tells him. "They'll work on relocating her."

"Material witness?" Mulder asks. "That's a bit of a stretch."

"It won't be by the time all of this is over," Scully says grimly. "I went to the hospital to collect the samples and had our labs run them again."

"And?" Mulder says.

"Sveta and I share a lot," Scully says. "Including anomalous genetic material."

"O'Malley must be furious," Mulder says, propping his hands on his hips as he thinks.

"Rumor is they're going to pull the plug," Scully says. "No more truth, no more Squad."

"To his followers, that'll feel like a sign," Mulder says. "A shot fired across their bows."

Scully shrugs. "Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Either we embolden a liar, or we enrage his base."

"Politics have never been our strong suit," Mulder says. "You know, there's something called the Venus Syndrome."

"The plant, the planet, or something else I'm afraid to ask about?" Scully asks.

"The planet," Mulder says. "It's a runaway global warming scenario that leads us to the brink of the Sixth Extinction. Those with the means will prepare to move off the planet into space, which will have already been weaponized against the poor, huddled masses of humanity that haven't been exterminated by the über-violent fascist elites. If you believe in that kind of thing."

"Honestly, these days it sounds almost plausible," Scully tells him, leaning on one of the desks. Whoever has funded the untimely revival of the X-Files has been generous: they have two normal desks and four standing desks scattered around the office. It's much too flexible a workspace for two people.

Their phones go off almost in unison. They both reach for them.

"Skinner," Scully says.

"Skinner," Mulder confirms. He reads the message: ��Situation critical. Need to see you both ASAP.

They look at each other.

"Scully, are you ready for this?" Mulder asks.

"I don't know there's a choice," she says, but she sounds fierce and proud.

There are wheels turning somewhere. He can almost hear the gears of the world grinding. They won't get caught in the teeth this time, won't get torn apart. Whoever is behind everything they've been through will be exposed, finally and totally, brought to light. They'll have to open the wound to clean it out, but that's all right. They've finally learned how to heal. He opens the door for her and they stride toward the elevator together.

#xfiles fic #the x-files fic #xf alternate season 10 #xf revival fic #mulder x scully #my fic #atcwm verse

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imunsavy · 7 years

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Cleanse - Part 1- Purge!au

Part (1) (2) (3)

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre/Warnings: Angst, Violence and probable gore (I mean have you watched the Purge?)

Summary: The Purge. The most hated or loved time of the year. Depends on who you are. What you do and your place in the world. This was the most horrible time of the year for you and getting stuck in the middle of it was terrifying.

(gif credit to original owner)

(A/N Yooo I Totally got inspired by @jungblue and their amazing Purge series Go go go go read it noowwwwwww instead of wasting time on my story also I am so inexperienced at angst so lets do this!)

Traffic. On the day of Purge, there was always fucking traffic. People desperately trying to get home to lock themselves away for the 12 hour period where people became utter monsters, something most people purposefully lock away in the depths of their mind just so they can “Cleanse” Themselves on one day. It made you sick to your stomach. While you thought about it, some of these people probably were just as ready to get home so they could prepare themselves for their night of “fun.” The thought made you shudder, you checked the time and your eyes bugged out of your head, you still had at least half an hours drive to your house and you only had an hour and a half until the commencement.

You had survived The Purge so many times but you knew, any year could be your last. It was what kept you going, what kept you up at night so you wouldn’t accidentally fall asleep though you doubt you would with people screaming all throughout the night.

You stuck your head out the window of your car to see traffic was still very slowly moving. You decided to get somewhat comfortable in your small car. It wasn’t a great car, it was about five years old. The black paint was slightly peeling from its previous owner, you loved the car though and its gross brown leather seats. The radio was so old it had no USB port or anything from the last five years. So the good old radio stations were your friend through your daily commute. However, you tried to avoid listening on the day before, during and after The Purge as every station was discussing the Purge whether they agreed or disagreed. You didn’t want to hear it.

With an hour slowly slipping away, you remembered last year when you were about five minutes late to your home and had to fend off some crazy girl who had done herself up to inspire fear in others. It definitely worked on you, her eyes were stained black and rubbed down her cheeks as if she had been crying. She had red staining all her clothes, it dripped from her hair and she looked like she had stepped out of the movie Carrie. When you had the chance you had noticed she couldn’t have been over 18. It seemed to make her much more frightening that someone so young could be so violent. She had pressed a knife to your throat and began rummaging through your bag to steal whatever you had before a loud bang made her drop on top of you, she had been shot dead where she had stood. Her killer running off to his or her’s next target.

You had stumbled inside before you realized the red now staining you was a mix of blood and paint. You had showered it all off. However now your shower was permanently stained red with whatever that girl had painted herself with, it was a lasting memory it was the closest you had been to death during these Purge events. No one ever bothered with dingy flats unless they were looking for people in particular. Like how people had hunted down you brother and killed him while you hid in the closet, he had blocked the door with his body and when he died, he had essentially trapped you in there, it wasn’t a bad thing it just meant you were a young kid who was hungry, scared and thirsty. It wasn’t until the next morning when your neighbor had come to check on the two of you to discover the grizzly sight. She had called the police and they searched long and hard for you before the sound of sniveling drew them to the closet. You were crying, clutching a doll and stained in your brother's blood.

You were brought back to reality by the sound of the car behind you honking its horn to get you moving. You had felt the dampness of tears on your cheeks and rubbed at them. Your parents, brother and even your neighbor had given their lives to protect you, so you weren’t going to throw it all away. You had been saving up to buy a ticket and move away so You needed to work two more days and you would be free, free of the purge. Well, you would be. If the fucking traffic wasn’t so slow.

You saw the tunnel enter your field of vision, instead of calming down at the prospect of being closer to home, it picked up. You had a half hour to get home. You knew you wouldn’t make it so you flicked on the radio for the announcement just in case you got distracted again. You reached over and opened the glove box and saw the knife and gun you kept in there in case of any emergency. You entered the tunnel and poked your head out the window once more to see if you could spot what was holding up the cars. However, You couldn’t see much since the tunnel was long and only dimly light. People in front of you, were following your suit to see if they could check what the hold up was but no one knew and with 20 minutes left they didn’t really want to get out to go see in person.

The traffic was drawn to a very sudden halt, there was no movement, you looked behind you and out the back window of your car. You were near the middle of the tunnel so there was no backing out. You watched as the lights that illuminated the tunnel dropped out one by one until the only lights were yours and others headlights. You had heard of large purge groups setting up traps in places like this so it was like herding sheep. Just like one big game of hide and seek, except if you had the unfortunate luck to get caught. You’d die.

Eventually, you were growing restless, with 1 minute left you knew you weren’t going to get out of that tunnel. You locked all your doors and broke the lock on your passenger seats so the doors couldn’t be opened from the outside. Only the driver's seat could be opened. However, it wouldn’t stop people from smashing your windows. You had since shifted your weapons onto your person, and your hands were shaking. You could see some people get out the car and begin to run back the way they came. It was useless, some people were hiding under their car and you even at one point saw a mother place her child in the boot of her car before locking it. With a shaky hand you turned off your headlights, the last thing anyone needed was extra light. This was so you would have less chance of being seen.

Your heart thumped against your chest as the telltale alert noise filled the eerily quiet tunnel. You turned your own radio off to listen to it. Then that god awful voice, the one you dreaded to hear every year. “This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of Class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning until 7 a.m., when The Purge concludes. Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn. May God be with you all.” A second passed before the loud siren blared into the tunnel and making tears sting your eyes.

People caught onto your idea and switched their headlights off and the only light was the very dim shine from the sun outside. That wouldn’t last long and soon you would all be plunged deep into darkness. You could hear yelling from one end and you knew it had begun. You were glued to your seat, far to frightened to move. You saw movement and you squinted your eyes and watched as a young man jumped onto the car near yours but still a fair distance away. You could hear a scream before you gathered it was the mother from earlier. She was sobbing loudly and begging for her life but this young guy just seemed to love teasing her. The purge hadn’t been going on for 10 minutes and you were about to listen to someone die, you were somewhat thankful you wouldn’t have to see it though as you couldn’t see shit.

It hadn’t been long before even the dim lighting from the setting sun outside vanished and all you could see was the occasional flashlight or one ballsy person who would flick on their headlights, however, all it would do was draw attention to themselves and the lights would soon be switched back off again. So far you had counted four Purgers, however, none came near your car. Screaming would every now and then fill the tunnel and make you feel sick but what else could you do? You didn’t know how many Purgers there were and what they had put in place to stop people from getting out.

The sound of a thump from your right scared the living shit out of you as you saw a young girl, no more than 10 banging on your car door. “Let me in please!” She begged.

You stared at her before opening your car door and pulling her in before slamming the door shut without thinking of the consequences of loud noises. You placed her in the back seat and got in there with her. “What do you know?” You asked her in a hushed tone.

She was shaking like a leaf and you took your jacket off and placed it around her. “They seem to know how many people are in the tunnel and they are counting them down.” She mumbled.

“Little red where on earth did you go? I promise I won’t hurt you, these hands are used to hug you tightly and never let go.” A deep voice rang out near your car.

It made the girl force herself as low as she could go before you copied and pressed yourself down as well. You could hear his footsteps nearing your car so you covered her mouth as well as your own. “Are you hiding from me? I do love a good game of hide and seek, don’t you?” He taunted.

You looked up ever so slightly and could see a psychotic set of eyes staring straight back at you “Ah! I found you! Hey, you’re cheating! That’s no fair.” He Chided before beginning to try to rip the door off.

You covered the girl's ears and just hoped he would give up and go away but he had seen you now and that gleam in his eyes, told you he wasn’t going to give up.

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