Quick note: Feel free to let me know if I made any spelling or grammar mistakes, missed a trigger warning, or something about my writing/formatting causes issues with screenreaders or photosensitivity! If you want to know what happens in a chapter but it has a squick/trigger you don't want to read you can always DM me or send an ask for a summary free of that trigger or squick!
Works marked as complete are still open for asks!
Jane’s Pets: Jane has been 12 for far, far too long, and the only thing that staves off the boredom is tormenting her human pets. On hiatus (incomplete)
Season one (complete)
Season two (complete)
Season three (complete)
Season four (incomplete)
Bonus content
Escaping is just half the battle: Ema and Tom are far from perfect, but they’re doing their best in the aftermath of Ema's captivity (complete)
Fixing Tracy: Molly wants more than anything to nurse some poor, vulnerable, traumatized, broken person back to health, and Tracy is the perfect candidate. Tracy disagrees. On hiatus (incomplete)
Misc
One/two/threeshots
Whump prompts (If you use one of my prompts I’d love to be tagged!!)
Raising Yourself (Incomplete)
Reblogged ask games
I also have a ko-fi as a virtual tip jar- I certainly don't expect anything of it, and my content related to this account will always be free, but I figured it doesn't hurt to give people the option!
Sometimes, whumpee secretly resents being rescued. They'd finally adapted, come to terms with everything and gotten good at living within the constraints whumper set. Now they have to do it all over again, with everyone insisting that this is better for them. And this time, they're expected to be grateful for it.
One of the biggest “whump awakenings” I guess you could call it came from a book I read as a kid where the main character was accused of a crime and declared a “wolf’s head” which was described to mean he was no longer considered human, he could be killed or harmed or anything by anyone and they would face no consequences. So in a lot of things I write, that’s a concept I think about a lot. It’s not that a character is being actively hunted, it’s that there’s nothing protecting them. The only thing keeping them safe is someone else’s decision to do so.
charming whumper who doesn't seem like the bad guy
has an upstanding role in the community, or a job that's seen as honourable
incredibly charismatic - everyone loves them
maybe they're too perfect. there isn't a single outward flaw about them
helping others, maybe even supporting people who are abused in the same way they abuse whumpee
can get out of any suspicious seeming situation incredibly smoothly and has an answer or excuse for anything at all
brushes off whumpee's obvious hatred for them with a snarky or smart comment and practised obliviousness that keeps everyone else unaware
or whumpee is framed as the bad one for hating the perfect whumper
whumpee doesn't even attempt to open up about the real whumper, because they know the image whumper has built up for themselves is impossible to shatter
or maybe whumpee has been so manipulated that even they start to believe all these things about whumper - maybe there's something wrong with them instead
And then Whumpee talks to Caretaker about it, and the entire conversation becomes about how guilty caretaker feels and how being told they hurt Whumpee’s feelings makes them want to never interact with anyone for fear of hurting them. Despite the conversation revolving around Caretaker’s guilt, not one apology is uttered. Caretaker begs Whumpee to tell them what to do to fix it, and Whumpee struggles to articulate “you don’t need to fix it, I’m just telling you that I’m upset because I wanted to try healthy communication”
This, it turns out, could be part of why Whumpee feels that if they start talking about their hurt feelings it will never stop. Because now they feel hurt that, after getting up the courage to talk to Caretaker about it, all Caretaker seemed to get from the conversation was that Whumpee thinks they’re horrible. And if Whumpee talked about that, surely their feelings would be hurt again, and it would never end.
At least the mystery of why Whumpee feels it’s unrealistic to talk about their feelings every time they’re hurt has been solved.
Content Warning: lady whump, male whumper/female whumpee, POC whump (whumpee is a Black woman), age gap whump (whumper is an older man), religious whump (Christianity), captivity whump, incompetent law enforcement, missing person
Word Count: 2,076 Previous Next
“911, what’s your emergency?”
Dani stood by the closed doors in the study, burner phone glued to her ear as she watched the dark kitchen for any signs of movement.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” A woman’s voice rang on the other end of the line.
Dani jumped as she remembered she was supposed to say something, too.
“Hi—shit—yes. This is, uh, this is Sheridan Wayes—I mean, Wallis—and, um…”
“And what’s your emergency, Sheridan?”
Dani thought for a minute on how to describe the situation she’d gotten herself into. Uh, hi, yeah, I fucked with this old guy who just so happened to be some kind of serial killer, he kidnapped me, and now I’m trapped in his fucked up little cabin in the woods, God knows where, where he’s been hurting me and forcing me to memorize scripture? Can I get a ride out of here?
“I’m being held hostage.” Was what she managed to decide on.
“Okay, and do you know who’s holding you hostage?” Dani could hear the operator typing something on the other end of the line.
“I, um, actually don’t know.” Dani gripped the phone against her ear in both hands. “I think his name is Jack, but that could be a fake name.”
“Alright. And do you know where he’s keeping you?”
Dani looked outside the window she could now see out of. The moon was just barely shining over the trees, and besides the backyard of the property, that’s all that could really be seen from her angle. “In the woods, I guess? I tried to run, but I didn’t get much farther than that.”
More typing on the other end of the line.
“You said you tried running. What happened that prevented you from making it somewhere safe?”
Dani lifted up her ankle and inspected it, running her thumb along the back to feel the small bump under her skin. “He put something in my ankle.” She said, moving the little bump under her skin. “I tried to run, and then I hit an underground electric fence.”
“Are you hurt?” The operator asked.
“No, no. That was, like, weeks ago. I’m fine now.”
“So, how long has this man been holding you hostage for?”
Dani thought it over in her head. “The last day I had access to anything that could tell me was June 20th.”
More typing resumed, then quickly stopped. “Honey, can you tell me what state you think you’re in?”
Dani put her ankle down. “I have no idea. I could be anywhere. Virginia was where I was last.”
“Well, honey, you’re definitely not in Virginia anymore. You’re pinging in somewhere between Tennessee, Alabama, and Mississippi.”
A weight dropped in Dani’s stomach. “You don’t even know where I am?”
“Not exactly, but we have a rough perimeter of where you could be. Can you describe any of the foliage around you for me? We might be able to get a rough idea of where you are based on that.”
“It—it’s just trees.” Tears sprung up in her eyes. “I can’t describe any of it, it’s just trees. Trees and a cabin and a barn and shed and—”
“Maybe through satellite imaging we can—”
“You’re not going to find me, are you?” Dani’s throat felt like glass shards.
“We’re going to try, but—”
“Then this is pointless, isn’t it? You have no idea where I am and neither do I.”
The operator sighed. “It’s not—“
“I have to go.” Dani could feel the tears beginning to pour down her cheeks. “I—I can’t do this right now.”
“Please don’t hang up—”
She didn’t let the operator finish.
Dani backed into the door frame, sobs building up at the base of her throat. No one was coming for her. Not if they had no idea on where to start. They couldn’t even narrow down the state she was in, never mind which part of it she was in. How the hell was she going to be able to get out of this now?
Dani let herself, for a moment, sink into all the negative thoughts she’d been avoiding. How there would be no saving, no escape, no life beyond whatever laid ahead for her in this fucking cabin. One way or another, she would die here, just as the man keeping her had intended. He’d win. He was winning. And he’d continue to win, right until the very end. It was hard not to sink into the spiral, when faced with proof that no one would be coming for her. Just her fucking luck.
And then, Dani had another thought.
They knew her name now. That was something, wasn’t it? They knew her name—that she was missing—and they had a rough approximation of where she was. And she had a fucking phone. She could keep calling, until the battery died, until she got someone who could help her.
She, at the very least, wouldn’t die forgotten. Something Jack had been undoubtedly counting on.
Dani swiped the tears off her cheeks with the side of her hand and stared down at the phone in her other hand. She could call anyone, theoretically. But who the fuck’s number did she remember, and would they even be awake at this hour?
Mumbling the little song, Dani punched in the corresponding numbers into the little burner phone in her hand, and pressed the call button. And then waited.
The ringing ended with a final click when he answered. “Hello, who is this?” He asked, voice drenched in suspicion.
Dani sniffed, wiping her nose. “Max?”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, before Max spoke again. “Dani?” He asked, incredulous.
“Hey.” She couldn’t help but laugh through her stopping tears at the way he sounded.
“Holy shit. What—where are you? What’s happening?”
Dani looked up to the ceiling and shrugged. “It’s—it’s hard to explain, and I don’t know if I have time.”
“Well, could you try?” Max was clearly a little frustrated, and she couldn’t blame him.
“I got kidnapped.”
“What?”
“Yeah, like I said. Long story.”
“Holy shit.” There was a thud on the other end of the line. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Well, I’m all in one piece, for the most part.”
“That’s not very encouraging.” There’s a beat where nothing is said, and then: “Why are you calling me, though? You should be calling 911.”
“Tried that. Didn’t go well.” Dani sighed.
“Okay…? What happened?”
“They have no idea where the fuck I am, Max.” Dani sucked in a shaky breath, glancing back out the glass paned doors that led to the kitchen and living room. “To them, I could be in three different states. It was useless.”
“So, what? They ended the call saying they couldn’t help?” He sounded doubtful at that.
“No, I did. I hung up.”
“You hung up?” Max’s voice rose, before he audibly took a deep breath and lowered it again. “Dani, why the fuck would you hang up on a 911 operator?”
“What are they gonna do, Max, charge me for making a false report? They can’t even find me!”
“…Fair enough, but—”
“Max, let’s just—can we talk about something else? Anything else?” Dani asked, voice small.
Max took in a deep breath breath on the other end of the line. “Sure. Yeah, we can—I mean, what do you want to talk about?”
“How’s Mindy?” Was the first thing that came to Dani’s mind.
Max snorted. “She’s fine. Started summer break this week. Sad about you leaving, though.”
Dani’s fingers tapped on the plastic back of the cell phone, thinking back to what Jack had told her at their dinner together. “And everyone else? What are they saying happened?”
“Well—”
“If you’re thinking about lying to me, Max, then don’t. I want to know what’s going on.”
“…They all think you just up and left. Except for like, me and Christina. Oh!” Max’s voice hopped up as he clearly remembered something. “And the P.I. I’ve been talking to. He just found your car abandoned in a parking garage.”
“Great.”
“It’s better than nothing.” Max said defensively. “It’ll get people on your case. It’ll get you an actual case, not just a corkboard with pins and strings on it in my room.”
“…You have a corkboard going with pins and strings in your room for me?”
“…No. You know what I mean.” Max struggled to say.
“Convincing.” Dani tried, coming up short with the necessary sarcasm meant to pull the comment off. “Sorry. Just… I appreciate you. Caring, about what happened to me, I mean.” Now it was her turn to be awkward, pulling at a strand of hair as she said it.
“Yeah. Any time, Dani.” There was a pregnant pause in their conversation, before Max asked, “So, what’s happening? With being kidnapped, I mean. Are you okay?”
“You already asked that.” Dani huffed, glancing down what she could see of the cabin hallway. “I’m not bleeding out on the floor, so… I’m fine. It’s… not as bad as it could be. It’s actually okayish, now. I’m allowed to sort of… move around the place? If that makes sense? Enough to sneak one of the burner phones he’s hiding, at least.”
“Are you hurt?” Max asked, voice heavy.
“I was. I’m okay now.” Dani said, rubbing at the healing cuts on her forearms. “It’s… nothing, really. It’s like, the minimal amount of hurt I could be getting.”
“The minimal amount of hurt you could be getting is zero, Dani.”
“Well, okay, Mr. Knows-It-All, I’m just trying to keep you from freaking out about me!” Dani snapped, voice raising. “I’m fine. That’s all you need to know.”
“Is there anything you can tell me about who kidnapped you?” Max asked, shuffling around on the other end of the phone. No doubt to try and grab a pen and note pad.
“Well, uh, he’s old, for one. But not that old? Like, in his fifties or something. His name is Jack, I think.”
“You think?”
“It’s what he told me, but, he could be lying for all I know.”
Max hummed in affirmative and said nothing for a minute. “Where’s he keeping you?” He followed up with.
“In some cabin in the middle of the woods.”
“Classic.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, I just meant—kidnapping someone and keeping them in a cabin in the woods is pretty classic. Almost as classic as keeping them in a dingy basement.”
“Max, I will hang up this phone if you don’t cut the shit.”
“No, wait, don’t do that. I’m sorry.” Max stuttered on the other end of the line.
“Give me a reason not to.” Dani responded.
That’s when she heard something on her end.
A door opening.
Quickly, Dani whispered, “I’ve gotta go, sorry,” and hung up, whipping the phone down from next to her ear and dropping to her knees to slip the phone back into the popped open space under the floorboard. As she dropped the floorboard back into place, footsteps came thudding around the corner from the hall, stopping in front of the other side of the paned glass double doors.
“…Why the hell are you still awake?” Jack asked, voice rough from sleep, rubbing his forehead. “It’s past midnight.”
Dani searched for something—anything—to say in that moment.
“I was, uh, reading.” Is what she came up with.
Jack blinked slowly. “Reading what?”
“Hmm?”
“What were you reading?”
Dani glanced at the bookshelf, trying to remember anything about any of the books she had briefly perused through before. “I was reading about, um, framing. Don’t really understand it, but.” Her words rushed into each other as she tried to explain what she was most definitely not reading about.
His sigh interrupted her rambling. “Look, darlin’, it’s late. Can you just shut your light off and go to bed?” He rubbed his face once more, clearly half-asleep.
“Sure.” She said hesitantly. “I’ll, um, turn off the light.”
“Thank you.” He turned around without another word, headed for the bathroom. Dani sighed a sigh of relief when she laid down on the floor after turning off the lamp above the leather chair, settling her head on a pile of clean laundry. As she closed her eyes, only one thing came to mind.
Dani prayed to God he didn’t notice there was no book in front of where she was crouched down.
Y'know what? DON'T give me whumpees begging for their lives.
Give me passively suicidal whumpees who take whatever's given to them in the hopes it'll take them out - so they don't have to do it themeselves. They don't fight when the whumper approached with knives or needles. They don't flinch when a gun is held to their head. They don't even attempt to grovel for their life.
Give me whumpees who DON'T fight; who DON'T try to hide from the whumper and DON'T try to wait for rescue they know is not going to come.
Dani really needs a friend like Max. Someone who will look her in the eyes and say, “I will stay right by your side, even if you’re mean to me, because I know you’re only doing it to scare me away. I’m not leaving.” And Max really needs a friend like Dani because he needs someone to look at his life and go, “This is it? Don’t you want more?”
black whumpees. black whumpees who were raised in a lab/living weapon facility/something to that effect and never had anyone teach them how to take care of their hair and always just had it roughly untangled with no regard for their pain meeting caretaker (also black) who knows how to do wonderful cornrows in whimsical patterns and softly comb their hair with more gentleness than they've ever known before. black whumpees with a creepy whumper who thinks their eyes—dark as the night, just as deep, just as starry, just as infinite—are the most beautiful thing on the world. black pet whumpee with a godawful no-good whumper who forces them to speak "proper" (= standard english or their setting's equivalent, whumper's definition of unproper being AAVE/ebonics) and who finally finds a safe space to let go and speak normally during recovery. black whumpee who got their hair forcefully cut/shaved in captivity getting to wear bright, beautiful extensions and braids to try and make up for what was lost, now that they have the freedom to. black whumpee snatched up and raised in captivity and isolated from their culture being tended to by a community who helps them reconnect with the lost time, good food making them tear up with nostalgia longing for a time they barely remember existed.
black whumpees in all shades of skin from bronze terracota to the deepest mahogany & with all kinds of hair from a curly cloud of sheep's wool to a fluffy, looser kind of curls & black whumpees in all shapes & sizes & all kinds of gender and sexuality or lack thereof & as robots and fairies and angels and vampires from all kinds of backgrounds & with all kinds of trauma. yes please.
3 people asked for more Buck Never Leaves AU within 2 months (which is a lot when you consider this series came out 6 years ago) (FUCK) (I'm 30 tomorrow isn't that wild?) so I whipped up a little somethin' somethin'.
tbh a lot of my creative thought production for this world is going towards The Pros and the unwritten but 80% complete in my head sequel, so I hadn't thought about BNLAU (which is what i'm gonna call it so i dont have to keep writing it) in a while, even tho when I first put it out I remember being like "there's so much more I could write for this!" well, i guess I shoulda written it down, because I don't remember.
ANYWAY... enjoy. And thanks for still giving a shit about my work. :)
~~
Fletcher may have introduced Buck to the new trainees as someone who “works for” them. They may have told the new trainees not to hurt him - not to lay a hand on him - unless Fletcher tells them to do so. And they reassured Buck that they would only ever tell them to do so for a lesson. If any discipline was required, Fletcher would only handle it themself. And they trusted Buck was wise enough about his situation that they wouldn’t need to call on anyone else to help “wrangle” him.
But the relationship was clear. The power dynamic was glaring. The way Fletcher ordered Buck around, the way Buck labored without argument. The way Fletcher volunteered him for lessons, the way he cowed in their presence. The scars. The tracking bracelet.
The trainees were not bold enough or dumb enough to hurt Buck outside of the lessons. But that didn’t mean they didn’t bully him.
One in particular, Williams, thought he was hot shit when he could flex some power over Buck. Making threats and taunts, “accidentally” shoulder-checking him in the hall or bumping into him while he had his hands full.
One day he pulled his gun. Waved it around as he gave Buck some speech that was supposed to intimidate him, but he wasn’t listening. His eyes tracked the movement of the weapon. Out of fear, Williams thought. But they were wrong.
Williams kept his finger off the trigger, Buck noticed. At least if he was going to ignore every other safety rule, Buck didn’t have to worry about him accidentally squeezing off a shot.
Buck had been paying attention to the lessons. Maybe more than Williams. Certainly, he was able to disarm him with ease.
“Fletcher.” Buck’s voice was stern.
“Wha…” Fletcher looked up from the pile of carrots they were peeling, and trailed off.
It was the most surprised Buck had ever seen them, second only to when he had killed Petrova. Ironically enough, more so than when he had pointed a gun at them, considering he now had a gun pointed at one of their students.
Buck held Williams in front of him, one hand holding tight to the collar of his shirt. The other hand held the gun, pressed to Williams’s temple.
“Give me the key to your truck,” Buck demanded.
Fletcher’s eyes traveled to Williams.
“This is going to look bad on your report card,” they said. “You could be looking at summer school.”
Williams made an annoyed noise.
“Whatever, it’s not like he’s actually gonna do it.
“Oh, he’ll do it,” Fletcher assured them easily. “He’s done it before.”
Williams paled. “What? He killed someone before and you kept him?”
“First time the gun wasn’t loaded, second time it was actually in my best interest.”
“Twice?”
“First one was an attempt on me, not a student,” Fletcher clarified.
“Fletcher,” Buck interrupted. “Your keys.”
Fletcher stood from the kitchen table slowly, and even slower reached toward their belt.
“Keys are by the holster,” they said. “I’m gonna go slow.”
Buck nodded. Fletcher carefully unclipped their key ring from their belt loop and held them aloft.
“How we gonna do this?” Fletcher asked.
“Toss me the keys. When I get to the truck, I’ll let Williams go,” Buck instructed.
“Normally I would insist on an at the same time thing, but I guess you have no reason to kill Williams if you get your way.” Fletcher reasoned. They looked at their keys for a moment. “If you take my truck, I’ll be stranded.”
“I know you have the four wheeler,” Buck shot back.
Fletcher shrugged, caught. “Where’s my truck gonna be?”
“What?”
“Tell me where you’re going to leave the truck so I can retrieve it.”
“I’m keeping the truck,” Buck insisted. “I don’t have anything; I’m going to need…”
He trailed off.
“Yeah, what is your plan?” Fletcher asked. “Sleep in the truck? Be homeless? You have nowhere to go, you have no money, you don’t have anyone to turn to.”
“I know where you keep your cash in the truck,” Buck said.
Fletcher scowled, then returned to a neutral look.
“Fine, that’ll get you started. And then, what, get a job? You know how long it will take you to save up enough money to get an apartment? Did you pack a bag? You’ve got one change of clothes and no shower, so good luck at interviews. Applications are all online now, anyway. And you’re going to need to save that money for food, so-”
“Goddammit, Fletcher!” Buck snapped, rattling Williams who let out an involuntary gasp. “Anything’s better than staying here!”
Fletcher’s laugh started off small, then crescendoed.
“That’s not true.”
Buck flexed his fingers on the grip of the gun.
“You gonna come after me?” he asked.
Fletcher thought for a moment, then shrugged.
“Undecided. Probably not now that I’m in the middle of a training season. So that’ll give you a good head start. Might not be worth the effort to try to pick up your trail… as long as you’re smart about it. You know not to go to the cops, right? It’s a death sentence.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Buck said, exasperated. “Give me the keys.”
“We need to come to an agreement about the truck.”
“The agreement is that you give me the keys or I blow your student’s fucking brains out!” Buck roared.
Fletcher let out a small chuckle, eyebrows slightly raised, like they were more amused than intimidated.
One moment, Buck was staring Fletcher down with their trainee at gunpoint. The next moment was all pain, sharp and overwhelming in the back of his skull. The next moment was on the ground. Both his hands were bracing against the floor, which meant that the gun…
By the time his eyes caught sight of it, having fallen from his grasp and slid a few feet away, a hand was already reaching down and picking it up. He tracked the movement, leading his gaze up to Fletcher.
Buck tried to push himself up, but collapsed back down as the pain doubled. He pressed one hand to the back of his head, expecting to feel blood, expecting to feel his skull caved in. A new pain slammed into his ribs now, in the form of a steel toed boot.
“Alright, Caldera, you got him, thank you,” Fletcher said. “I’ll take it from here.”
Williams held out his hand for his gun, but Fletcher tucked it into their belt.
“Oh, you’ve lost gun privileges."
“What?” he protested.
“For now. We’re going to talk about how this happened, and how we can prevent it from happening in the future,” Fletcher said, voice dripping with condescension.
They crouched down in front of Buck, who managed to look up enough to meet their gaze.
“That was a good attempt,” they said, then sighed. “I hate to lock you up again; I thought we were past that. But really, more than anything, I need to keep you under observation.”
They took Buck’s chin and tilted his head up as he grimaced, studying his eyes.
“When you’ve recovered a bit, then we can discuss how things are going to be from now on.”
~~
I'm never sure if I should add the taglist for bonus stuff (or how many of those urls are still accurate, or how many ppl asked to be tagged after I had finished the series and I thought I was Done Forever so I didn't make a note of it) but uhh here we go
i <3 when women characters feel they aren't able to express sadness in "normal" ways because they don't feel safe enough to cry in their environment so instead they opt for the more acceptable strong emotion of rage and they get recklessly angry at the people around them in fits of misplaced sadness and terror and make irreversible decisions and hurt others. i dont care as much when this happens to a man
whumpee who ran. whumpee who escaped. whumpee who's going in circles in the woods surrounding whumper's property. whumpee who has to turn back, knowing the punishment for escaping will far outweigh the 'reward' for coming back.
Whumpee stood on the doorstep, noting that Whumper's car was in the driveway. They didn't even try to hunt me down. They didn't have to. They knew I wouldn't get far.
They raised a shaking hand and knocked on the door. They looked down at their clothes, torn from where branches ripped them, they looked down at their bare feet, not having been allowed shoes while at Whumper's, and they thought... how could they have ever thought they stood a chance?
The door opened, and there was Whumper. With a smile on their face. "Whumpee," they said warmly, with something sinister just beneath the surface. "I thought you'd wander for at least an hour more."
You couldn't even make a failed escape attempt live up to their expectations.
"I'm sorry I ran," they muttered.
"Of course you are."
Whumper didn't invite them in. They were too scared to take a step inside without it, so they just stood there, shivering.
"How was it?" Whumper asked, still cheery and conversational. "Your little outing."
"Miserable," they admitted.
"So you missed home."
Home. They did miss home. Their real home. "Yes," they said anyway. In a way, when they were trudging through mud and getting rid of large insects landing on their back, they did miss Whumper's place.
"Well, that's unfortunate for you. Because I don't allow runaways in for at least 24 hours."
"Wh— But— But I came back, I'm here, I apologised, the night will be cold—"
"The rules are the rules."
Just how many times had this exact scenario played out in Whumper's life? Or did they make up that rule on the spot? "Please, I'm going to freeze—"
"You're welcome to try and escape again," they said with a sickly sweet smile. "Or just curl up right here on the porch."
"I'm sorry, okay?" they said, breaking down. "I won't run again. Please, just let me in. The sun is already setting, it's cold, I only have this shirt—"
"Good luck!"
With that, Whumper shut the door in their face. Whumpee heard them lock it.
"Oh, and before you think this is your punishment— It's not!" they said from the other side. "I'll correct your behaviour properly once you've earned the right to be inside again."
Shepard didn't get an answer this evening. Instead, he kept guard of his son like a hawk when he wasn't currently busy sneaking through the few square feet of the motor home or sorting old towels into the closets.
Brooding and quiet in his discontent, Lukas only growled at every attempt for reconciliation. Though the pounding ache in his head slowly disappeared, the overall weakness in his body had no such luck.
Typical.
Two years lost… All this time was supposed to boil down to nothing more than a practice run for college? Fair enough, the handful of classes a month he did sit in, always on edge to be caught and kicked out, had been child's play.
Elementary mineralogy, multivariate calculus, and hydrology he could do in his sleep, so he was good for the first few semesters anyway. Theoretically, at least. Never granted the opportunity to prove his knowledge on an excursion had left him hungry for the real campus life.
And Lukas wanted it more than anything. More than his family, clearly, a decision Ben had surely never forgiven him for. Still, imagining his father breathing down his neck during every lecture ruined any hope of returning in time for the Cañon City field trip.
In and out of sleep, he tossed around on the creaking planks of two-by-fours, watchful eyes keeping track of every twitch. Spiteful as he was, Lukas stayed with his back turned towards his father, only willing to stare holes into the wall.
Couldn't he look somewhere else? Was the back of his head that interesting? Hadn't Shepard had enough of this while he was unconscious?
Every one of his charges was countered with a reassuring blink from across the room, despite across feeling like a generous term for the less than three feet of distance between them.
No real apology was uttered this day. There was nothing else that Lukas could expect besides 'Sorry that I gave you a scare' or 'Sorry that your schedule is all mixed up now' anyway. What a joke.
All the overthinking made no difference in the end. So Shepard kept watch, nagging him worse than the constant sting under his shoulder blade, until his boy lost the fight with sleep once more, lulled away by the soothing click-clack of knitting needles.
--------
The peaceful morning came like a slap to the face.
Lukas wriggled out of the bedsheets and stood up angrily, barely keeping his wobbly legs straight. A wave of dizziness swept him right back down onto the mattress. The proud dissenter had whined himself limp.
Fucking hell.
His stiff hand rubbed the morning sleep from his eyes, jaw still clenched from the night's unease. The new dawn of his old life smelled of fresh toast and orange juice - this nightmare really didn't want to end.
From behind the curtain, Lukas could hear his father bustle around the kitchen nook, only the quiet crackle of the radio keeping him company for now. Good, because he certainly would not join in on Shepard's delusions of a happy family, not if he valued the last bit of backbone he had left.
Once more, Lukas gathered all his strength, pushing himself up to his feet: unsteady as they were, only the camper's wall gave him a bit of support. Inch by inch, Lukas crept forward, leaning against the thin metal like a mountain goat on its way to the peak.
"Good morning! How'd you sleep?" Shepard wondered from the other room, not even glancing up from sorting cutlery neatly into its designated drawer.
Tsk, what do you think? That man only cared if he fell for the lamest attempt at bribery of all time.
"Where are you headed?"
Stumbling into the claustrophobic corridor connecting the bedroom to the main living area of the RV, Lukas caught himself again, leaning against a sliding door.
"Bathroom," he growled from between clenched teeth.
To his dismay, his father seemed to see his answer as an invitation to chat. Slipping around the corner into the corridor himself, Shepard paced languidly towards his son, hands wringing a kitchen towel as if to force all of his problems out of it. He, too, took hold of the door, forcing it to stay open.
"Hey," he said softly.
His son's fingers curled tightly around the handle: "What?"
"I know this feels like a setback for you." For the first time in days, Lukas could finally inspect his own disheveled face reflected in Shepard's tired eyes. "But I promise, once we finally get settled-"
"Can I take a shit in peace?"
Shepard blinked at his son, a little perplexed.
"CAN I?"
The door slammed shut between them before he could find a clever response. Throwing his hands up, unseen in the empty hallway, the disgraced father admitted his defeat. There was no way he could get this attitude out of his boy in one single day.
"I don't appreciate the Atlanta vernacular you picked up, Luke," he scolded weakly against the wall, "It doesn't suit you."
Unceremoniously, the bathroom lock clicked into place, proving more than clearly what Luke thought of that proposition.
"Just... Call if you need anything, alright?"
He could beg and plead until he went nuttier than he already was; Lukas had no interest in catering to his delusions.
Though living in the future that was offered to him would have been nice.
Enough time to learn and study, without breaking his back between the rancid fat of the deep fryer and the rats in the back alley of Gino's third-rate food joint. What Dad was offering meant enjoying the luxury of not having to worry about his own survival. Or Ben's, for that matter. Things could be normal for once. Even though the Cohen household had never been quite normal to begin with.
It would be nice...
In another life, maybe. In this one, Lukas needed to get out of here. The faster, the better.
Behind the door, Lukas could hear muffled noise. Shepard was talking to someone on the phone, evidently, probably Birdie. Did the farmers market raise the booth fee again? Has Leigh had another meltdown? Did these grown men and women not know how to live without their oh-so-important patriarch, holding their hand every step of the way?!
Still, whatever had stolen his attention was a very welcome distraction. Lukas' gaze flicked around the bathroom, this closet-sized cube was less than what he was used to by now, but neatly in order. Three fresh towels hung on the walls. Did he really expect Ben to-
God damn it! If it really came so far and his brother lost even the last of his brain cells, their reunion would come more quickly than he was able to handle. The thought alone made Lukas too nauseous for breakfast.
Nervously pacing on the spot, he knew he had no other chance. It was now or never: Get out before the dream of a normal life wormed itself back into him and paved the way to pay the price. If not for himself, at least for Ben.
Well, then, fuck college. Fuck Dad and his guilt trips. Fuck Claire, for good measure. That woman had never been any good for anything other than haunting their family.
Only the bathroom window, barely more than a thin slit in the wall, invited the outside in. Lukas squinted into the light of the midday sun, and nothing but trees greeted him back; not even a lonely highway meandered along the horizon.
They had to be close to the settlement, he could nearly taste it. The air, the flora this time of year... It had to be. There was no way in hell Birdie and Otis would help him, unfortunately. These bridges were burned to the ground a long time ago.
Lukas chewed on his lip, eyes wandering back and forth between the door and outside world. This was what he wanted, right? This was the only option he had left, the only one he could choose freely.
Right?
The talking behind the door had stopped. Before any more doubts paralyzed him longer, Lukas shoved the window wide open.
The square to freedom was only as big as a picture frame, barely enough space to squeeze through. Ten by twenty inches, to be exact, Lukas was forced to measure it more than once when it needed to be replaced a few years ago. William had gotten in one of his moods he always suffered during detox and punched the frame clean out of its casing.
Luke silently thanked him for it.
One foot on the sink, the other pushing him up from the tiled floor, Lukas shoved himself through the opening. A tight fit was an understatement: thin metal scraped over each of his ribs, bruising every bit of skin in its way. His shirt caught in the hinges, then ripped free again. Inch by inch, Lukas snaked forward, stifling any moans of pain threatening to escape.
Just a bit more.
Legs dangling in the air now, Lukas pushed and pushed, led by the fresh air in his nose, and with it the sweet spring breeze coaxing him further to freedom. Under his weight the camper shook and groaned, drowning out the impatient clanking in the kitchen. As his tailbone grazed the upper frame roughly, Lukas bit his tongue until he tasted blood.
Yet, he kept moving.
"Because you're curvy as a board," he heard Avery drawl at the back of his mind.
"Whats that supposed to mean?" Their roommate had allowed Ben to pick out some old clothing for himself, the kind Lukas couldn't help but comment harshly on.
"Just saying." Avery had sighed dramatically, "No ass, no opinion."
Lukas grinned crookedly. Finally, Claire and her genes were useful for once.
One last push, and he plummeted down on the wet grass with a dull whack. Rolling over on his side, panting and waiting, thin pine needles pricked into his skin where the frame had already rubbed it sore.
He did it. Barefoot and still nearly too weak to stand, but he did it.
And now? Nothing but conifers divided by thin mud paths surrounded the camper. It was a wonder that thing could even park here.
Lukas looked around nervously and took a shaky breath in.
Think!
It was Wednesday, which meant George got his delivery of soft drinks and cigarettes. If he made it in time to reach his rest stop and the truck driver wasn't maybe such an asshole like every other bumpkin around here, then potentially he had enough time to-
A quiet knock from inside the camper ripped him from his thoughts.
"Lukas?"
Without thinking twice, he started sprinting.
--------
There was nothing in particular about Ohio that Lukas despised more compared to other states they had visited during the family's time touring the US. The weather was fine, as were the local parks and monuments. The cuisine, well, there was not much he could get out of it from west to east, just as he couldn't get along with the locals, no matter how much he tried.
It was fine, though, really. The ambiance had never been the problem.
Above, the northern cardinal sang his lonely song for the ninth time in fifteen minutes between soft moss and the mountain springs. A mellow invitation to stay. If he hadn't been in a hurry, Lukas might have accepted it.
Below, he struggled through the thicket, thorns latching into his thighs, pulling away any hope of good luck with them. Fuck this. Each pebble along the path dug sharply into the soles of his feet. Thanks a lot, Dad.
The road to freedom ached and ached and ached. There had to be someone in this forsaken forest ready to help him. A hiker or woodsman who... Well, there was no need to call the police.
That's what Avery always wanted to do, but it never felt right to Lukas. A ride back to Atlanta was what he needed, end of story. The kind of trade that would certainly fall flat without money to offer, but he ought to worry about that when he got there.
Nervously, Lukas glanced back. He was alone, albeit for now.
I should have waited.
Suddenly, the thicket cleared. A small glade with a makeshift fire pit greeted him, but Lukas had no time for a break. The logs surrounding the pit hinted at the night before: empty beer cans and cardboard boxes scattered around a shopping trolley, obviously abused as a makeshift grill, remained as the last evidence of the village kids' rather recent hillbilly barbeque.
The road couldn't be much further away. Petrified by the burden of choice, Lukas quickly crossed the clearing, hoping to catch any clues of his location, a street sign or driveway or-
A flash of ice-cold pain shot up his right leg, squeezing a shocked yelp out of him. Scrambling, Lukas managed to catch himself on a log before his knee gave way.
"Fuck!" he whimpered through angry tears, "What the-"
He had hoped for a thorn or wasp. In the sole of his foot, however, tightly held in his hands, stuck a dark green piece of glass. Cold sweat ran down Lukas' neck.
"I don't have time for this." His voice cracked pitifully as he inspected the horrid thing sticking out of his flesh. The glass was tacky and clouded by whatever it came from.
Come on! He made it this far, too far to just give up without a fight.
Tears ran down his cheeks as Lukas got hold of the shard with two fingers, took a deep breath, and ripped it out in one swift motion. Another flash of pain jolted his body from heel to scalp, yet as sharply as it had come, it went away.
Panting heavily, Lukas held onto himself while blood oozed from between his fingers. It was not the stinging that made him shake uncontrollably.
No. No, please. He felt himself go lightheaded as dark spots danced across his vision. The deep red smeared across his hands dripped down onto the forest floor with every pounding heartbeat, trapping his attention like a ghost light.
No matter how hard he tried to look away, to stand back up and get going, all he could see was blood. Spreading. Consuming. Swirling together into a too-familiar picture.
There she was again, splayed out at his feet. Kendra, motionless on the kitchen floor. The halo of blood pooling around her head, lightless eyes searching for his, pleading for mercy. The only memory he could picture her in anymore.
"Lukas!"
It was his fault. If he had only shut his mouth like she told him to, none of this would have happened.
"It's not your fault."
But it was. Even as the world turned small and dark, this truth refused to fade away with him.
--------
"I can't leave him alone for even a second."
Shepard dutifully followed the steadily blinking dot on his display through the woods. His boy was roaming in circles through the valley for quite a while now. As the past had taught him, he should have seen this coming; and he did. The tracker was meant as a temporary measure, nothing more, to prevent such unnecessary and dangerous ideas.
The pale dot grew more vibrant with every step east, and the once again abandoned father nervously followed its lead. Was he missing something? Maybe he should've taken the risk to get both of the boys home at once, given that Sam was capable of that level of trustworthiness.
Should he have locked the windows? Of course not, that would be psychotic. Unbelievable how easily his Luke took the trust he was given by the neck and twisted it to his liking. He was raised better than this.
Gravel and branches cracked under Shepard's boots as he picked up the pace. Thoughtlessly ignoring the beauty of nature, he finally caught up to the signal. There he was, his boy, sitting slumped over a log.
"Luke, what are we doing here?" he gently called out. All this trouble before breakfast couldn't be healthy for the both of them.
No answer. He was probably in a huff, understandably so. Warily, Shepard stepped closer, one hand in his back pocket.
"Hey, I understand how you feel. But running away will not help-"
His boy didn't even look at him. Sitting so motionless, all wan and shaky, his breath came out in rough bursts.
"Lukas?" Shepard finally approached his son, shoes sinking into the blood-soaked mud. Luke still held on desperately to his leg, drop by drop trickling through his fingers and ruining his already tattered pants.
Panic gripped Shepard's heart like a vice, but he cautioned himself to stay calm. If Lukas couldn't keep a clear mind, he had to do it for the both of them. Quickly stashing his phone into his jacket, he knelt down to inspect the damage.
"What happened, Sprout? Talk to me."
Again, no reaction.
"Hey," Shepard whispered, gingerly rubbing along Luke's back, "come on."
Amber eyes stared blankly at the ground, the touch slowly bringing some life back into them.
"Glass," Lukas finally murmured, weak but audible. He could still see her, like through a veil made of smoke, gradually fading back into his subconscious.
"How bad is it? Show me."
Lukas kept his gaze fixed on the ground, wordlessly opening his hand. Resting inside it, Shepard could see the jagged, broken neck of a beer bottle. He nodded, patiently holding his son until he could ground himself. For someone who usually couldn't even look at a splinter without passing out, Lukas was doing marvelously well, so much better than his father recalled.
"H-how did you find me?" Luke asked, trembling over every syllable.
"I had a feeling." Some tricks were better left unexplained.
Shepard grasped the glass with pointed fingers, discarding it next to the log. Now was not the time for a sermon about littering. At last, Luke found enough strength to look his father in the eyes, lips pressing into a thin scowl: "This is your fault."
Shepard raised his eyebrows. "I don't remember proposing to hike in your pajamas, Luke. That was your bright idea."
The bleeding ebbed with every passing second, it was just Lukas' pride that wouldn't quit hurting. He had failed again. Nothing new at this point, but this time he couldn't just walk away from failure.
"We have to bandage you up as soon as possible."
Lukas' scowl deepened. If he could wish for one thing, it would be disappearing into thin air forever. Escape the sugar-coated patronization.
Shepard silently opened his arms, a peace offering that couldn't be more mortifying.
"No."
"I won't let you sit here and get rusty, Luke." His father's voice was calm but firm. "You can mump at home if you like. At least there you won't get an infection."
"Or what? You're going to hit me again?"
"Of course not, and you know as much."
Fists clenched, Lukas hesitated for a moment, out of pure self-preservation. They both knew he felt too exhausted for another fight.
One last glare, and he wrapped his arms around his father's neck - a necessary hug to get him right back to where he just escaped from. Shepard felt much the same and for once managed to keep his mouth shut. He picked his boy up with ease, a familiar weight by now, and with Lukas safely back in his arms, they made their way back home quietly.
Not one word was uttered until the camper door shut behind them, though the throbbing in Lukas' foot kept him painfully aware of his situation. A steady companion of his failure.
"Can you stand for a second?"
Shepard gently set Lukas down next to the entrance, his attention fully on him. First, they had to sanitize the cut. Lukas let himself flop onto the armchair opposite the kitchen nook.
The somber mood between him and his dad didn't help his case at all, no more than the new norm he feared. The next 22 years all over again. Perfect, a dream come true.
Shepard finally joined him, the first aid kit clamped under his arm, and sat down to inspect the damage. Blood and dirt were caked on the cut in a thick layer, he noticed now in the light of the desk lamp.
"Can I take a look?"
Hesitant, Lukas put his leg on the well-loved ottoman next to the armchair. Both were made from the same brown leather that smelled like beeswax and old books, the smell of home he still thought about in the restless Atlanta nights.
Fast yet precise, Shepard put on his glasses and got to business. They were from the late nineties, even Lukas could tell that much, and always made him look a bit goofy. Old, too. Gosh, he looked so much older than Lukas noticed before, now that the adrenaline slowly subsided: gray, frizzy strands of hair framed the deep worry lines carved into his face. He looked... oddly normal. Though currently he was anything but.
A light pressure brushed again the sole of his foot, and Lukas hissed, more in surprise than genuine pain. His father contemplated his leg like the Gordian knot, staying far too quiet for his liking.
"How- how bad is it?" he asked.
Shepard met his eyes, brows furrowed in a serious expression. The cut beneath the loose dirt and pine needles was barely worse than a scratch.
Glumly, he sighed and shook his head. Lukas' face went dangerously pale.
"I'll never walk again," he breathed aghast, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Of course he screwed this up too, like everything else he tried to achieve.
"Relax. I genuinely don't know where your tendency to catastrophize comes from," Shepard replied quickly while his boy buried his head in the backrest. He overshot the green here a bit. "But I know that you're going to be fine. Give it a week or two, and you won't even think about it anymore."
That was all he needed. Luke had just bought his old man plenty of time. A nice change of attitude for once.
"Just leave it. Please." Distraught, Lukas chewed the hem of his shirt, trying his best not to start crying again. His leg rested limp in his father's lap, gently held but not handled without his will.
"If I don't clean it, we have to go to the hospital-"
"NO!"
"Then let me do it, alright?"
Shepard finally got the nod he was waiting for. Even more than blood, Lukas feared any building that had even the possibility of containing something capable of pricking him. Getting his shots had always been a catastrophe, a fact Shepard remembered very well.
The first round of antiseptic loosened the coarsest grime, thick streams of dirty liquid ran down his foot and onto the towel cradling it. Lukas bit his tongue, waiting for the burning that always came with it, like when he cut himself on dirty knives at Gino's. Seconds passed, yet it never came. All he could feel was a cool mist on his skin. After the fifth round, his father finally seemed satisfied.
Thin strips of plaster came next, strong enough to glue the jagged edge of the wound shut, followed by so many layers of gauze that his foot was nothing more than a comedically large blob at the end of it.
"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Shepard asked, mustering his son over the rims of his glasses, "Does it hurt anywhere else?"
Blankly, Lukas pointed to his shoulder. That nagging sting plaguing him since yesterday still hadn't stopped. While he was at it, why not get a general checkup? He had no more pride to lose.
"Lean forward."
Shepard, in all his phony glory, thoroughly inspected the red swelling below his son's shoulder blade. A tiny prick for where the rice grain-sized receiver stuck under his skin. It felt difficult criticizing himself for the invasion of bodily autonomy now that the tracker had worked so well.
"Something might have bitten you..."
He trailed off, his attention glued to his boy's lower back. Red streaks stretching up and down told the story of his great escape, little scabs had already formed where the skin had split from the fragile bone below it. It would bruise, surely.
A loud sigh told Lukas everything. Instead of a lecture, his father simply fished out a jar with a handwritten label out of the first aid kit.
"Ugh," Lukas huffed as the lid popped open, "not this one."
"Why not?" Shepard wondered, already spreading the balm over the inflamed spots, leaving a gentle warmth with it.
"It stinks."
His father chuckled. "Well, yes. Comfrey will do that."
It also made his shirt stick to his back, a feeling that unpleasantly bothered him. A pillow shoved behind his neck and a quick kiss on the top of his head sealed the homemade urgent care.
What was done was done.
"There we go," Shepard nodded, satisfied, and sat back down to face his son.
Lukas couldn't meet his eyes. Hurt and surrendered, he tried swallowing the lump growing in his throat.
"Luke," Shepard whispered, so softly it burned, "Look at me, and tell me that you never want to see me again. If that's what you wish for, I will make it happen for you."
His boy didn't react, just picked at the old leather, trying to make himself as small as possible. This isn't fair. If he were talking to some stranger holding him hostage in a basement, he wouldn't even think twice about his answer. But the man sitting in front of him was no monster lurking under the bed. He was just Dad.
"Nothing you can say will make me love you any less."
So he said nothing. Instead, the little voice got noisy. It would be so much easier.
He had no choice, in the end. Lukas had taken his own option to fight away, a stupid lapse of judgment that cost him everything. The momentary mirage of independence burst into the smell of beeswax and old books.
"Do you really have to hear me say it?!" Lukas finally barked, "You win. Congratulations."
His dad tilted his head to the side. He didn't look like he was celebrating, not even a bit triumphant, but simply as beaten as Lukas felt. Years of sorrow could've been prevented.
"Why couldn't you figure this out sooner?" Lukas accused him, "Instead, you force us to stay with these people in bumfuck nowhere."
"I think everyone needs a project to-"
"Because you like it, right? You like being their godsend, all-knowing big boss."
"I did," Shepard admitted soberly, "I...It feels nice being needed, especially when my boy does so less and less every day. But I will always choose you. I just took too long to go through with it, and... then I had already lost you. And Ben, too."
For the first time since coming home, Lukas believed him. The wilderness got lonely fast. He answered with a sympathetic shrug, much more couldn't be expected. His father's face stayed scrunched up, forming into a weird grimace between pain and sadness.
"Ben is doing fine, by the way." Lukas mentioned, offhandedly. Somber quiet always made him feel on edge. "Just let him do his thing."
Shepard scoffed as his eyes wandered idly to the kitchen clock: "Loneliness doesn't do him any favors. None of us. And I doubt you did, quite frankly."
"Did what?"
"Let him roam around Atlanta all day."
That smug look, oh, how Lukas hated it. Of course he didn't leave his brother unsupervised, not even for a second. There was no need to rub it in, though, thank you very much.
Shepard hummed, insistent.
"It's not that easy!"
"I know." Since Reuben came crashing into their life, few things had been that way.
"He doesn't even have papers."
"Well, neither did you."
Lukas shot him a dark look: "I can manage."
Wordlessly, Shepard checked the dressing again.
"It's not supposed to be easy! I can do this alone." At least he used to. Atlanta was better to handle when Ben was not there, Lukas admitted quietly and hated himself for this truth. He had demanded him as a brother. It had been his fault, so Ben became his responsibility. "I can be independent."
"I believe you." This time, there was no irony in Shepard's words. "But giving up everything to invest in a zero-sum game where you wash dishes for the rest of your life and save for college classes you will never afford? That's nonsense, Luke, and you know it."
Dad was right. In the end, he always was.
It took every spark of strength Lukas had left to pull himself up in the armchair, trying his best to keep his expression nonchalant. There was no way in hell he would allow Shepard his big family reunion, only a bite-sized success once in a while.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked curiously, picking some loose dirt off his son's sleeve. The good Merino shirt was ripped all over, what a shame.
"Hm," Lukas growled in response. The message was clear, the golden window for persuasive work was rapidly closing.
"Alright, then." With a groan, Shepard rose from his slumped position, turning towards the stove: "It's a bit early for dinner, but given that we skipped breakfast, I think a little snack wouldn't hurt anybody."
Lukas eyed his every move. Just because they had a semi-peaceful chit-chat didn't mean everything was forgiven. Oh, that man was still properly fucked in the head.
"Strawberry or blueberry?"
"Blueberry, obviously."
His father fished for some thawing fruit in the fridge, throwing it together in a tall cup with some pastes and seeds he spontaneously pulled out from various cabinets. Avery would have killed for that organic, homemade, improvisational smoothie.
"Ears," his father warned him before pressing down on the puree button. An old habit. If Lukas hadn't spent the last two years in a cramped industrial kitchen, it may have been a nice gesture instead of belittling.
"Mine always turn out watery," he admitted while chewing on the hem of his shirt.
"Well," his father handed him the foaming purple liquid in a glass jug, "I can imagine you are frugal with the peanut butter."
"I don't like peanut butter." And you know that.
"You do when I put it in your smoothie, so..."
Lukas' failure tasted of tart berries and sunflower seeds. Not too thick, not too sour - just right. A bit chalky, but good.
Like nothing had happened in the last hour, Shepard began cleaning up the cabinets once again, neatly stacking plates next to cups next to bowls. For once, the silence between father and son was a calm one, like it used to be during their many years on the road. Before Ben, before Kendra or Birdie or this whole settlement travesty.
The price both paid for easy quality time was a great one, and Lukas was still unsure if it was worth it.
"Did you pick a campus yet?" Shepard asked after a while, not ignorant to how fast Lukas was melting into the backrest.
"No, but I really don't care." It was true. Ultimately, they all were just means to an end. Lukas couldn't care less about substance-free dorms, affinity groups, or communal kitchens. College wasn't for making friends.
He blinked slowly and clicked his tongue: "I figure if I said Georgia Tech, that wouldn't be an option, right?"
"Atlanta is off the table." Though it would interest Shepard what kind of folk decided to help his sprout grow in such a hostile environment. This Avery person did sound intriguing, maybe too much so.
Lukas rolled his eyes, not interested in another argument. Between the headaches and confusion, he missed the point when the chokehold had started feeling like a hug.
For a second, he snapped out of the artificial comfort when he spotted his father, the one true skeptic of modern technology, checking his phone. No way! After all this time, he finally got rid of the old brick he used for business calls.
"Since when do you have a phone? Oh, but I can't have one!"
Shepard sighed. It was his turn to count his losses for once.
"I'll get you one," he promised without looking up.
"Really?" Lukas gasped, genuinely shocked. The old cracked thing Martin had given him for emergencies had served him well until today, if he hadn't left it at home out of fear of being robbed at the club. Kind of ironic, he admitted.
"Yes, really. You can't do anything without these things nowadays." Shepard placed the phone face down on the countertop. "Just for school, of course."
"Whatever," his son murmured and took one last slurp of his smoothie, gnawing on the glass straw. Heavy eyes closed on their own, and he decided it wouldn't hurt to give them a break. Only for a bit, until he got his energy back.
"Is everything okay?"
Lukas nodded, dazed but at ease. "'m just beat."
"Probably because you bled a lot. You should get some rest."
"Yeah, probably."
Shifting carefully, Lukas arranged his foot on the ottoman. It didn't hurt at all, oddly enough. Nothing hurt anymore.
Kendra was still buried six feet under, his future still in the palms of a man who loved him too much for his own good, and yet for the first time since coming home, Luke felt no anxiety about it.
--------
Shepard snapped, to no response. Again and again, nothing. Finally, he smacked his hands together in a last desperate attempt. Lukas stirred for a second, his face scrunching up at the noise, before curling back into his seat.
Good. Since he wouldn't wake for quite some time, Shepard had one less worry to manage. He had no fun medicating his boy into delirium, though in all fairness, he had been explicitly warned.
Hopefully this would be the last time Luke forced him to take such drastic measures. Running around the woods all by himself... Shepard couldn't bear the thought of what could have happened to him out there.
The display of his phone lit up again, adding one more missed call to the seemingly endless list. Shepard was late, no question, but there was enough time to get everything in order.
As far as he knew, Reuben would wait patiently for their scheduled meetup.
