My name is Cal. I’m a 26-year-old lesbian, and my pronouns are she/her. I’m an English student and an avid reader, and I’ve always loved writing.
My asks and inbox are open! If you have any requests or suggestions or if you just want to chat, I’m all ears!
Masterlist
Abby Anderson (TLOU):
-- The Wolf and The Prophet -- Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife. (WIP)
Chapter 1: A New Prophet
Chapter 2: First Kill
Chapter 3: Cursed Creatures
Chapter 4: Uncloaked
Chapter 5: The Aquarium
Chapter 6: A Dagger In One Hand
Chapter 7: Lost Haven
Chapter 8: Stitches
Chapter 9: Heavier Now
-- You're My People -- You and Abby take refuge in an abandoned house to catch your breath and attempt to recover after the encounter with Ellie in the theater.
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: sexual themes/content; angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; hurt/comfort; tending to injuries; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); blood and injury; religious/cult-like ideas; character deaths (canon AND non-canon)
Note: *taps microphone* Is this thing on?
Sorry this took so long.
I know of at least one person who’s been waiting for this.
I hope you enjoy :)
There is a boy you’re not supposed to remember. He sits beside you in the tall grass and shows you how to twist flower stems together to make a crown.
Your mother says he’s soft. That he’s kind. And gentle.
The words are coated with venom. They bite. But you don’t understand why.
Because yes, you see his smile, and you think soft. You feel his thumb on your cheek, wiping away warm tears, and you think kind. You hear his voice, a flicker in the dark, and you think gentle.
But your world is not fond of soft, kind, and gentle boys.
Soon, they would call him an apostate.
But you’re not supposed to remember that.
And now that field has surely been burned to ash.
There was a hand on your shoulder, pulling you from sleep. It took a moment for you to slip back into your place in reality.
Your eyes opened to find pale blue staring back at you.
Abby.
“Hey,” she said, voice gravely from disuse. “We need to move.”
You blinked against the dull early morning light, and then it all came back to you.
Yesterday.
The island. Lev.
The aquarium. Yara.
The theater. Ellie.
And then here. This house.
You remembered stitching Abby up here. Kissing her here.
And then what came after…
“Where are we going?” you asked, sitting up slowly.
Abby didn’t meet your eyes, shoving the last of your stuff into your bag.
She looked worse in the daylight. Her hair was braided back in a halfhearted attempt to tame it, though strands had escaped to cling to the cut of her jaw. Her eyes were bloodshot, ringed in shadows so deep they looked painted on. Your stitching job from the night before was visible on her thigh, the surrounding fabric ripped open and blood-stained. Her bandages were already blotched through with red. The cut under her eye was definitely going to scar.
Yesterday had not been kind to either of you.
“Back to the aquarium,” she said, standing now. “We need Owen’s boat. And his supplies.”
You pushed Abby’s jacket from your lap and stood, your legs unsteady from too much sleep and too little food. The house felt hollow, stripped of its borrowed warmth. Morning light seeped through the cracked boards across the windows, casting the room in long, fractured stripes.
Abby adjusted the strap of the bag on her shoulder with a wince she tried to hide.
“You’re still bleeding,” you said softly.
“I’m fine.”
You didn’t argue. Not because you believed her, but because you knew asking her to stop would only make her dig her heels in deeper. And staying here really wasn’t an option.
You reached back for the jacket. It wasn’t yours and you’d already occupied it for too long. But when you offered it up to Abby, she just shook her head.
You held it out for a moment, giving her a chance to change her mind. She didn’t. So you slid your arms back into the sleeves, and you were immediately cocooned in its warmth.
Abby’s gaze caught for half a second – on your hands, your face, something – and then skittered away as if burned.
Neither of you spoke.
You eased the door open. Cold air rushed in, blowing the house’s stale breath out around your ankles. The rain had thinned to a mist. You stepped into it. Abby fell in behind you without a word.
The WLF attack the night before had turned into an all out battle for the island. Abby still wasn’t sure who won – or if anyone did win – and she really didn’t care. With any luck, the two of you would get the fuck out of Seattle without ever finding out.
Whatever happened last night took a hell of a lot out of both sides. Which meant no one was patrolling the streets. Too busy regrouping. Recovering.
Or maybe the Wolves and the Seraphites finally killed each other off, and you and Abby were the only two people left in the city.
Doubtful. But a girl could dream.
Abby was leading the way from street to street by memory and guesswork, slipping through the bones of buildings, crossing under drooping, long-dead power lines that sang in the wind.
The rain-muted quiet let smaller sounds stand out: a sign creaking on one bent hinge, water ticking from a gutter, the chuff of her own breath.
Abby knew her steps had a drag to them.
She just needed to get back to the aquarium. One thing at a time.
“Left,” she murmured, pointing you through a collapsed storefront that would cut a block off your route. You went first, bow lifted, clearing corners.
Neither of you talked about the aquarium. What waited for you there. It stood between you like a live wire, buzzing. She pretended the ache in her chest was just from the cold.
Three turns later, she smelled them before she saw them.
Wet and rot, copper-sour in the air.
Abby’s hand touched your shoulder blade once. A warning. You stopped at the lip of a narrow alley.
Up ahead, a grocery awning sagged with rainwater. Beneath it, three figures twitched and swayed, their movements small and thoughtless.
Runners.
Their fingers fluttered at nothing, seeking. One moaned low in its throat, and the others stilled, heads tilted.
“Should we go back?” you breathed.
Abby shook her head. “Quick and quiet,” she mouthed.
She watched as you slid an arrow from your quiver and breathed around its weight, drawing until the string brushed your cheek.
The first runner’s skull opened like a rotten fruit. It dropped with a squeal.
The second startled and hissed. Abby’s hand lifted. Two clean shots suppressed, but not entirely drowned out, by the rain.
The third came on a blind sprint, feet slapping water. You didn’t hesitate, stepping in and driving your dagger up and in beneath the jaw. Twisted. Held.
The body jerked, then went slack under your hands. You eased it down, breath trembling.
“You okay?” Abby asked, voice a low scrape.
You nodded. But she could tell you weren’t sure.
Abby’s hand hovered over your back and then withdrew. “Let’s keep moving.”
You did.
The closer you got to the water, the more the city smelled like salt and old fish, heavy where it pooled in the low parts of the streets.
By the time the aquarium’s hulking shape rose ahead, Abby could feel her pulse in her throat. Her steps shortened without her permission.
She stopped beside you, eyes fixed on the doors. Rain slicked the braid against her neck.
“We can turn around,” you told her.
Her jaw fixed. “No. We need the boat.”
A beat.
Then she pushed the doors and went in.
It was quieter than it should have been. Quiet like the pause after a scream.
On top of everything else, the air held a metallic scent. She tried not to think about why.
Your steps echoed off tile and glass and painted walls, the cheerful plaques still pointing to exhibits that didn’t exist anymore.
Abby’s shoulders squared as you moved through. She didn’t let herself look. But she watched you look. And then you couldn’t look away.
“Supplies first,” she said, trying to draw your attention back up. “Dock after.”
You nodded. Swallowed. And followed.
The storage room off the staff hallway was where Owen kept most of his stash, behind the door with the cracked porthole.
Medical supplies. Toiletries. Tools.
There would be food in the kitchen.
She would find clothes in the bedroom. You could wear Mel’s and Abby could get by with what Owen left behind.
It was easier to move when there was a list in her head. A goal to achieve.
You were gathering supplies in the storage closet, grabbing bandages, a half-full bottle of antiseptic, tape, soaps, toothbrushes.
Abby tested a coil of rope, then coiled it tighter, her fingers sure even now.
But when she bent, her face went white.
“Sit,” you said, noticing and this time not letting it go.
“I’m fi–”
“Sit,” you repeated, softer this time. You pointed at the overturned bucket. “Give me five minutes.”
Abby’s mouth twitched. “Bossy.”
But she sat, because the room tilted a fraction when she didn’t. And because you had asked so nicely.
You knelt, cut the old bandage away. The wound looked angrier than it had last night, skin hot and puffy at the edges.
You cleaned and wrapped without looking at her face. Every brush of your fingers over her skin made something in Abby’s stomach lift and turn. When you tied the bandage off, her breath left her in a careful puff.
She hadn’t taken her eyes off of your hands.
“Better?” you asked, eyes wide and hopeful.
“Yeah.” It was almost a thank you.
You stood and shouldered your pack, heavier now, and led the way out of the closet. Abby followed, steps steadier with the bandage’s new hold.
“Let’s hit the kitchen next,” she said, already turning to head in that direction.
You reached out your hand, stopping her.
“Later,” you said, eyes wide and pleading. “Sleep first,” you added. “Please. You’re no good to me half-dead.”
“I can keep going.”
“I know you can,” you said. “That’s not the point.”
Your tone made her look at you. Really look. Whatever she saw there loosened something.
“Two hours,” she said. A concession. A promise.
“Four,” you negotiated.
“Three.”
You didn’t smile. But it looked like maybe you wanted to. “Fine.”
The only actual bed in the place, other than Owen and Mel’s, was the one on the boat.
It was still docked at the outdoor theater. The boat sat low, rocking gently as if nothing had happened in the world.
Abby stopped at the threshold and stared. The muscle under her eye twitched.
She and Owen had found the boat – had found this whole place – together four years ago.
Abby sat down on the edge of the mattress like she didn’t trust it to hold her.
Her boots were still on, as if leaving them at the foot of the bed would be an admission that she actually meant to rest.
“Take your shoes off,” you said. “Lay down.”
“God, you are bossy,” she grumbled but, slowly, she did as you said.
You ignored her. “Close your eyes.”
She did. Her breath came shallow at first, wary, then deeper. The hard line of her forehead smoothed by degrees. A minute later the weight of sleep dragged her under so quickly it scared you.
The cabin grew quieter around her, like it was considerate to how much she needed this.
You stood there, perhaps for too long, watching her chest rise and fall.
Then you left to do the thing that needed to be done.
You went back to the storage closet and found sheets in a back cupboard.
Your hands began to shake when you knelt, so you pressed your palms against your knees until they steadied.
You started with Alice. You couldn’t make yourself start with anyone else.
The shepherd lay curled where she had fallen, her coat still matted from the rain.
The metal tag attached to the collar around her neck glinted faintly in the dim light. You crouched and twisted the coiled metal wire holding it in place until the tag fell into your palm, your fingers brushing the soft fur of her neck.
You slid the tag into your pocket. It felt like theft. But you thought Abby might want it.
Then you wrapped her in a clean sheet, folding the corners under like tucking a child in for sleep. You tried not to think of Abby’s hands in that fur. Tried not to picture the fluffy tail wagging as she ran for a toy.
You tied the sheet closed and carried the body to the main room where the others waited, setting her gently aside.
Owen next.
He was heavy. You did not try to lift more than you could. You worked in small moves, using the sheet itself as leverage.
You kept your eyes on your hands. On the knot. On the grain of the sheet instead of the way his hair stuck damp to his forehead. But you kept hearing the echo of his laugh from the other night. And you kept remembering how Abby had cried when she found him.
When you had done what you could, you sat back on your heels and let your hands hang.
Mel after him.
You paused longer than you meant to. The sheet pooled in your lap like water, your hands suspended over it.
Because she had been carrying a whole second heartbeat.
The roaring in your ears came back. You pushed it down, the way you always pushed everything down. The Prophet said nothing of what to do when the enemy had a child inside her. The Prophet said nothing about basic decency becoming an anchor heavy enough to drown you.
You wrapped Mel slowly, carefully, your fingers clumsy. You didn’t look at her face. You couldn’t. You folded the fabric over her gently curved stomach like it was fragile glass. Like you could keep her from breaking even now.
You spoke without sound when you needed to, the Prophet’s prayer a shape in your mouth: May the current be calm. May you guide us home. You did not think about whether she would have approved, that woman who died ten years ago and had been made into something else. You did not think of your own mother, and the others, who had made you into something else.
And then there was only one body left untended.
You hadn’t even looked at her yet.
Yara.
Yara who was yours.
Your friend. Your sister.
Yara who was yours to protect. Who you’d failed in every conceivable way.
You made yourself look.
She seemed smaller now, like she had back when you were kids. She was on her side, knees tucked in, hair still bound in the braided crown that your hands had once helped her learn to weave.
Your throat closed. You pressed your fist against it until it hurt, until the pressure gave you something solid to hold. Your knees went weak and you let them, sinking to the sticky floor.
It was a long time before you reached for her.
First you scrubbed the floor until the water went pink, until your shoulders ached, until your nails bent back.
The sound of the rag rasping against the floor nearly drowned out the sound in your head: her laugh, her voice, her last words to you before you left her behind to die senselessly by a stranger’s hand.
Tears traced down your cheeks as you thought about Lev. Alone and broken and bloody back on the island.
You wouldn’t be able to take care of him.
But you could take care of his sister. And you knew he would want that more than anything.
When you did touch Yara, it was to brush the loose strands of hair behind one small ear before the sheet hid her face. Her cheek was so cold. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
You had to tighten the final knot with your teeth because your fingers wouldn’t listen anymore.
When you finished, you sat back on your heels.
The room smelled less like blood now and more like bleach and rain and the salt on your skin.
You stacked the buckets against the wall. You put the rags in a pile and carried them away. You took one last look at the four bodies, now draped in white together on one side of the room. Then you came back, and you cleaned the floor until it no longer remembered them.
When you finished, the silence changed. It wasn’t empty anymore. It had edges again.
You carried the used water outside and poured it into the ground. The rain took it quickly, which was a relief.
Your arms had begun to tremble with fatigue. You set the buckets down, leaned your forehead to the cool metal for a second, then straightened and went to look for towels.
You found the shower by accident.
It was in a corner of the back hall, half-hidden by hanging tarps and a sign that still promised “TIDEPOOL TOUCH EXPERIENCE!”
The rig was simple: a barrel fed by gutter and downspout, a hose fixed to a shower head, a spigot that squealed when you turned it.
Someone – Mel, you guessed – had thought to hang a curtain for privacy. When you twisted the handle, water hissed and sputtered and then ran in a steady cold sheet.
Your hands were still red under the nails.
You stripped, stepped under the spray, and closed your eyes.
The first hit of cold stole your breath. Then your body remembered how to bear it. Blood lifted in thin ribbons and washed down the drain. Dirt let go.
When you tilted your face up, the water stole salt from your lashes and for a moment it was only sound: steady, steady, steady.
Abby surfaced from sleep all at once, a soldier’s jerk back into her body.
The room was dimmer than it should have been for the hour. Rainclouds, she guessed.
Her thigh objected to movement, but in a manageable way that told her you rewrapping it had helped. She sat up and swung her feet down. Slow, listening.
“Hey?” she called, voice low.
No answer.
She stood, found her gun out of habit, and made her way through the halls. When she came to the main room, she stopped short.
The blood was gone. The drag marks, gone. The overturned tables and spilled gear and broken glass, all gone. Buckets were stacked neatly against the wall.
And to one side of the room, four shapes lay wrapped in white.
The sheets were clean, tied with precise knots.
Abby’s throat went tight enough to hurt. She swallowed against it, once, twice.
The grief she’d been holding at arm’s length all night surged toward her in a wave that felt big enough to split her ribs. She bit it back on instinct, jaw clenching until her teeth ached.
You had done this.
For a long moment, all she could do was stand there, pulse in her ears, staring at the impossible gentleness of it.
And then she forced herself to move again, slow, like walking through deep water. Because if she stopped, she wasn’t sure she would be able to start again.
The sound of water led her to you.
She realized what she was hearing a second before she saw the curtain. And the pile of clothes next to it.
Her brain supplied the picture a second after: you behind it, head tipped back, the thin line of a shoulder, the slope of a spine.
Heat hit her face like she’d walked too close to a furnace.
She spun, so fast her thigh screamed, and muttered, “Fuck,” at the wall.
“Abby?” you called from behind the tarp, voice muffled, startled.
“It’s – I didn’t – I’m not –” She gestured at nothing, realized you couldn’t see her, and then scrubbed a hand over her face. “It’s me. I, uh – sorry. I’ll go.”
A beat. Then the soft hitch of a laugh you tried to swallow. “It’s okay,” you said. “I’m done.”
She retreated three steps and stared very hard at a poster for an exhibit that promised “THE SECRET LIVES OF CEPHALOPODS!” while you turned off the water and rustled behind the curtain.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Remnants of the night before – of you on top of her, of your mouth pressed against hers, hot and searching – flashed behind her eyelids.
When you stepped out, hair dripping down the back of your neck, wrapped in a towel, Abby looked immediately at the floor.
“You slept,” you said, approval tucked into the edges of your voice.
“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “You… did a lot.”
You shrugged, eyes skittering away. “It needed to be done.”
Abby opened her mouth and closed it again. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other and found her next words.
“Thank you,” she said. Simple. Necessary.
You nodded once, like that was enough. And then, “I have something for you.”
You reached into the pocket of your discarded pants, pulled out a stack of small squares, the edges curled and soft. You held them in your palm a second longer than you needed to, and then you offered them to her.
“I took these from the theater,” you said. “I thought… maybe you’d want to have them.”
Abby’s breath caught.
The top photo was of Leah and Jordan. Then Nick and Nora. Manny. Mel and Owen.
The last one was of Abby and Owen.
She sat down without meaning to in a nearby chair. She hadn’t really looked at them in the theater last night. But yeah, this was all of them. The Salt Lake Crew. Her entire life until four days ago.
“And this too,” you said, fist outstretched in offering.
Abby reached out her hand to take it from you.
The little metal tag was cool against her palm. From Alice’s collar.
Abby swallowed with some effort.
“Thank you,” she said again, only this time it sounded hoarse.
To be seen by you… that carried a weight she didn’t know how to shoulder. But maybe she could learn.
For a moment, the two of you were suspended in time – you dripping in your towel and Abby sitting there, holding the evidence of your consideration for her in her hands and not knowing what to do with it.
You’re the one who broke the silence. “Did you want to shower? I grabbed an extra towel for you.”
Abby shook her head as if clearing away cobwebs. “Umm… Yeah. Probably should.”
You nodded, pulling your own towel more firmly across your chest. “Well I’ll leave you to it then.”
You turned to go, your dirty, ruined clothes held in one hand.
“Do you know where Owen and Mel’s bedroom is?” Abby called, stopping you just before you were out of sight.
“Yeah.”
“There’s more clothes in there,” she said, “so you can change.”
“Okay.”
“Meet you on the boat?” she asked, confirming that you weren’t going to disappear if she took her eyes off of you again.
“Meet you on the boat,” you agreed, a flicker of a smile across your lips.
When Abby got out of the shower, there was a neatly folded pile of clean clothes from Owen’s stash sitting on the chair waiting for her.
When she stepped back into the boat’s cabin, you were bent over the table, elbows braced on either side of a paper map of the United States, spread flat across the scarred metal.
You didn’t look up, but she knew you knew she was there.
“It took me a while to find Seattle,” you said.
Abby stayed near the door.
She forgot sometimes how sheltered you were on the island. How small your world had been. How little of it you’d been allowed to see.
“I’ve never seen one of these before,” you added, fingertip tracing the map’s faded edge. “I guess the world is just a lot bigger than I ever realized… As far as the Serphites are concerned, there’s nothing outside of Seattle. Nothing that matters enough to talk about, anyway.”
Your voice was soft, wondering. Abby’s chest tightened.
“I used to think about running away,” you murmured. “Joining the Wolves–”
“You did?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
You nodded, still watching the lines on the paper. “The only thing that I knew existed outside of my own people were the Wolves. I didn’t realize there were other options.”
You stared a long moment, quiet. “It’s kind of scary to think about,” you said. “Leaving.”
Abby crossed the small cabin and sank onto the bench across from you. “We can’t stay here.”
“I know,” you said. “I wouldn’t want to even if we could.” Your thumb smoothed over the paper’s crease. “Doesn’t mean it’s not scary.”
You hesitated. Then, “I tried to find Santa Barbara on here. I remember Owen saying something about California, which is here…” You tapped the edge of the state. “But I still couldn’t find it.”
Abby leaned forward, the map crinkling faintly beneath her palm. “It might not be labeled on that one. I think Owen’s got a more detailed map of Cali somewhere in here.” She pointed just northwest of Los Angeles. “But it’s around here.”
You looked where she was pointing. “Santa Barbara.”
Her gaze flicked up. “Santa Barbara,” she echoed.
You let the name sit between you like a pebble dropped in water, sending out ripples. The word didn’t feel real in your mouth. It felt like something from another life. Or something from someone else’s life.
“What if it’s nothing?” you asked softly.
Abby’s fingers tapped once on the table, like she was weighing her answer. “Then we try somewhere else.”
You were quiet for a beat. “I haven’t spent much time on boats. I don’t know anything about them.”
“I do,” Abby said. “I’ll teach you.”
Your eyes flicked to hers. “There’s a lot of other stuff I don’t know.”
Abby’s gaze held yours. “I’ll teach you,” she repeated.
You studied her, weighing something unspoken. “Then I’ll learn.”
The hum of water rose and fell under you both. The boat creaked softly.
“You know,” Abby said after a moment, “if you had run away and joined the Wolves, we would’ve met years ago.”
You smiled faintly. “Imagine that. Little you. Little me… Do you think we would’ve been friends?”
“Oh no,” Abby said, mouth twitching. “I would’ve kept my distance. Been weirdly competitive. Told everyone I couldn’t stand you when really I just found you… confusing.”
You tilted your head. “What’s so confusing about me?”
Abby exhaled a laugh, low and unsteady. “It’s less about you,” she admitted, “and more about how you make me feel.”
Something shifted in the air between you. Quiet. Seismic.
“How do I make you feel?” you asked.
Abby’s eyes flicked to your mouth, then back. “You know.”
“Maybe,” you said, leaning closer across the map, “but I want to hear you say it anyway.”
For a long moment Abby only looked at you. Then her voice dropped, hoarse.
“You… drive me crazy.”
You sat back and inch, lips curving. “I’m going to need you to be more specific.”
Abby’s hand found the edge of the table, fingers tightening against the metal.
The boat rocked gently, water shifting beneath you like something alive.
“You make me feel everything,” she said finally, “all at once. You make me forget that anything or anyone else exists. You make me forget who I am. Or maybe… remember who I was supposed to be.”
You didn’t breathe.
She rose from the bench slowly, afraid the moment might shatter if she moved too fast, and crossed to where you stood on the other side of the table. Until her body was close enough that you felt the heat of her without any contact.
It was barely there at first. Just the light press of her mouth to yours. Hesitant. Testing.
The kiss lingered soft and unsteady, and you could feel the shape of her restraint in it, the way she held herself still as if any sudden movement might send you skittering away.
Your heart jumped.
You leaned in, your lips catching hers again, firmer this time. Abby exhaled against your mouth, a tiny sound like relief. The tension between you pulled taut and trembling.
Her thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, callused and sure, tracing you like a map. Your breath hitched.
She tilted her head, deepening the kiss. The world narrowed to the heat of her mouth, the faint salt on her lips, the steady anchoring weight of her hand cupping your cheek. You felt her smile there, fleeting and disbelieving, before it dissolved into a low hum that shivered through you.
You shifted closer. She caught your waist gently, steadying you, and you felt her fingertips splay against your ribs like she was grounding you or maybe herself.
When she pulled back just enough to breathe, her nose brushed yours. Her eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide and dark, and for a moment she looked so delicate. Like the world had stripped her down to the softest part of herself and handed her to you to keep.
And then – “Bed,” she murmured. Rough. But not a command. A question.
You led her there yourself.
The mattress dipped under your weight as you sat. Abby knelt between your knees, hands resting lightly on your thighs.
“Still okay?” she asked.
You nodded.
She kissed you again, slower this time, deciding there was no need to rush. Her hands slid up from your knees to your hips, thumbs stroking faint arcs. She was memorizing you by touch.
Your own hands rose to her shoulders, tracing the slope of muscle there, then higher – up her neck, into her hair, damp strands catching between your fingers.
Abby made a soft sound low in her throat, barely there, and it undid something in you.
You tilted back onto your elbows as she leaned over you, the bed’s thin sheet creasing under your weight. The world swayed gently with the water. Her lips dragged softly across your jaw, the edge of your cheek, the hollow just below your ear, leaving warmth in their wake.
Her palms settled at your waist, holding you steady as if she knew your hands had started to tremble.
You closed your eyes. She was warm against you – steady, certain – her hands drawing soft arcs at your waist like she could calm the shake in your pulse just by touching you.
And for a while, it worked.
For a while, there was only the sway of the water, the rasp of her breath, the quiet weight of her body caging yours against the bed.
Then–
A voice.
Not hers. Not even really there.
The words of the Elders flashed through your mind, sharp as glass: The body is a vessel. The flesh is temptation. Desire is decay.
It hit like cold water. Like teeth closing around your throat.
You froze.
“Abby,” you let out in a breath. You weren’t sure if you were asking for more or shying away.
You wanted her to stay. To keep going. To never stop.
But in this moment, you also felt like you might scream if her hands kept touching you.
Your fingers fisted in the blanket. “I can’t,” you whispered. “I want to, but I–”
Abby stopped instantly. Her hands lifted off your skin but didn’t leave, hovering in the air beside your hips. Her eyes searched your face, open and steady.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“I really do,” you said quickly, your voice cracking on it. “I want to. I want you. I just–”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“But I want to.”
Abby went still, listening with her whole body.
You swallowed hard. “For the first twelve years of my life, I thought that no one would ever touch me except for whatever… husband the Elders picked for me. And then, after I became the Prophet, I thought that no one would ever touch me. My entire life, choice and… desire have been off the table. Not even an option. Evil, in fact.”
Your throat tightened. The words came out raw.
“And I can tell myself that isn’t true as much as I want, but it doesn’t change the fact that I was conditioned, from birth, to believe that this–” your hand faltered as you gestured between you, “–is wrong.”
Abby’s face softened. “I get it.”
“Do you?”
Her brow furrowed. “No. Not really. But I understand what you’re saying.” Her voice gentled even more. “And it’s okay. We’ve got time.”
Something in your chest ached. “Since when is that true about anything?”
“Since I decided that it is.”
Your lips trembled with something fragile and breaking loose. You nodded, a small jerky motion. “Okay.”
Abby smiled, faint and quiet.
“Okay,” she echoed. She lifted one hand, slow enough for you to refuse, and touched your cheek with her knuckles. It wasn’t a question this time, only a statement: I want you. I can wait.
You turned your mouth into her palm and breathed.
You both laid down on top of the sheets, boots off, weapons within reach. Abby stretched out on her back beside you with the careful movements of someone negotiating with her own injuries.
You stared at the ceiling. Your body hummed with exhaustion and the last bright, embarrassed flare of adrenaline.
Your mind kept trying to rattle the old lock it had lived behind. Every time it did, you pictured Abby’s face when she’d said you’ve got time. The lock rattled less.
“Santa Barbara,” you said into the quiet, like a charm you were trying out.
“First thing tomorrow,” Abby agreed.
You breathed out something that might have been an incredulous laugh if you’d had more air left. The laugh turned into a yawn. Your eyes went heavy. You let them.
Sometime later, you shifted in your sleep and your knee slid into the space between Abby’s thighs. Her arm, which had been folded over her stomach, slid on an exhale and came to rest low around your waist. Your forehead found the place below her collarbone where her heartbeat lived.
Neither of you woke for it.
Outside, the rain smoothed the city’s ruined edges.
In the morning, the water would be rough, and the work would be hard, and you would do it anyway.
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: sexual themes/content; angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; hurt/comfort; tending to injuries; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); blood and injury; religious/cult-like ideas; character deaths (canon AND non-canon)
Note: I’m excited for this chapter!!
If you’ve read my first fic “You’re My People,” you might recognize parts of the second half of this chapter. I was going to rewrite the scene entirely, but then I reread YMP for the first time since I wrote it and thought “wait, i actually like this.” So I edited it to be a more accurate depiction of the current vibe/dynamic between our Prophet and our beloved Wolf, switched up the povs, and fixed any plot changes. And it has an entirely different ending!
When Abby had asked you to stay behind, to wait for her back at the aquarium, you just shook your head, picked up your bow, and motioned for her to lead the way.
Something was off with you. You had been silent for the entire trek from the aquarium to the theater, not asking a single question.
You didn’t ask who had done that to Owen, Mel, and Yara. You didn’t ask what Abby was planning on doing once you got there. You didn’t ask why this was happening, why someone was tracking her down, how your own friend could’ve gotten caught in the crosshairs and ended up dead.
Which was good, because Abby wasn’t prepared to answer any of those questions right now.
But you hadn’t even reacted to seeing Yara dead. Abby doesn’t think you even looked at her body, and you treated the huge pools of blood on the floor like they were puddles of rainwater on the street after a storm. Inconvenient but inconsequential.
She knew what this was. She’d seen it before in her friends and fellow soldiers. Hell, she’d done it herself plenty of times. When the hurt gets too big, you shut it down entirely just to make it through. It’s fine in the middle of combat – helpful, even. It becomes a problem when you can’t pull yourself out of it, when you close yourself off indefinitely.
If you didn’t snap out of it on your own once all of this was over, Abby would do it for you.
The two of you had been able to navigate the Seattle streets pretty quickly and without interference. The Wolves and the Seraphites must’ve still been busy killing each other on the island.
“Pinnacle Theater Presents: Cassandra, September 26” was plastered across the front of the building.
And now, staring at the entrance to the theater, Abby realized that she actually had no idea what she was up against. The lights were on inside, so someone was here.
She had seen Tommy Miller earlier at the marina, so she knew he would be inside, but Manny hadn’t said there was a trespasser; he’d said trespassers, plural. She could be in way over her head here, totally outnumbered. Jackson had been huge. They obviously had numbers and resources. But would they really risk those numbers and waste those resources just to avenge one guy? She didn’t know.
Did they leave the map behind on purpose?
Abby could be walking right into a trap.
She could be leading you into one.
She was about to turn back, about to tell you it wasn’t worth the risk, when her eyes caught on the blood. It was on her hands, under her nails, staining her skin and her clothes. Mixed with the caked-on mud on her shoes.
Lev’s blood. Yara’s and Mel’s. And Owen’s.
Owen, who had been Abby’s best friend. Who had loved her dad so much. Who cared for her, even when she’d done nothing but push him away. Who never abandoned her, even when he should have. Who continued to be there, to look out for her and support her, even after she broke his heart.
Owen, who might’ve been the only person left in the world who loved her.
The person who killed him was inside this building.
On the side of the building, there was a metal ladder that was too high up for either of you to reach it on your own, but it led to a fire escape.
“Okay,” Abby said, “Grab that ladder.” She stood beneath it and intertwined her fingers over a bent knee, ready to boost you up.
Realistically, you didn’t think you would be able to reach it even if you grew a full foot taller and stood on top of her head, but you weren’t in the mood to argue. With your right foot, you stepped into her upturned palms and pushed up. Planting your left foot on her shoulder, you stood at your full height, one hand against the wall, and – as you suspected – still couldn’t reach.
She said your name, clipped and strained, and then, through clenched teeth, “Jump.”
You did, but you wouldn’t have made it if she hadn’t pushed you up, practically throwing you at the ladder.
Holy shit, she was strong.
You grabbed hold of the lowest rung and had to use upper-body strength you honestly didn’t know you had to pull yourself up with your arms until your feet could reach that bottom step.
“Good. You’ve got it,” you heard Abby say from below as you made your way up, the hard part done now. Once you were standing on the fire escape, you quickly found the latch that released the ladder to its full length. Even then, it still didn’t come close to reaching the ground, but it was manageable.
You watched as Abby jumped to grab on and had to go through the same process of pulling herself up with her arms for the first few rungs. Once you were sure she would make it up okay, you turned away and started looking around. There was a window next to you that led into the building, cracked open and letting in the rain. You could hear voices coming from inside, crackling and speaking in code.
A radio.
“Units Alpha, Bravo, Echo, come in.”
The metal shook as Abby finally landed on the fire escape, and she quickly moved away from the edge.
“Units Alpha, Bravo, Echo, please respond, over.”
Abby pushed the window further open and jumped into a small room with brick walls and faded wooden floors. You followed behind.
She shot you a quick look, putting a finger to her lips as if to warn you to stay quiet as she moved forward through the building, closer to the radio.
“What the hell is going on over there?”
Sounds like things aren’t going so great for the Wolves, you thought as you stepped quietly behind Abby.
She walked up to the work table where the radio sat and stopped in her tracks. You came around to her side to see what she was looking at. On the wall behind the radio, there was a larger map of the area, marked with WLF zone numbers, unit movements, names, and even Seraphite territories. Whoever was staying here had been tracking everyone, and they’d probably been using this radio to do it.
But why? Who were they and why did they want Abby?
You glanced over to her, but she wasn’t looking at the map. She was staring down at the table at a collection of little photographs.
“These are Leah’s,” she said quietly. You didn’t know who Leah was, but you studied the pictures anyway. Each of them had names written at the bottom.
Abby and Owen. Mel and Owen. Nick and Nora. Manny. Leah and Jordan. (And one of just Leah with her shirt lifted enough to show off one of her breasts… You wondered who that was for.)
You recognized most of the names from the maps. Were all of them dead now?
Abby turned away from the pictures, leaving them there on the table as she moved over to study the map.
Over the radio, a new voice said, “Site Two! This is Briggs from Unit Echo. Fuck!”
“This is Site Two. Echo, what’s the situation?”
Abby pushed off from the table and headed back out into the hallway, gun at the ready. You took another look at the pictures before grabbing them and shoving them into your pants pocket beside the things you’d taken from the island earlier. Whoever these people were, they didn’t deserve to keep these pictures of Abby and her friends. And maybe later, Abby would want them.
“Isaac’s dead. It’s a fucking massacre!”
You smiled, despite everything. Your people were fighting back against those fuckers.
Since when did you use – or even think – words like fucker?
And could you really call the Seraphites your people anymore?
You turned and sped down the hall behind Abby.
“Careful. Stay close,” she whispered once she heard you behind her.
The hallway opened up into a much bigger, wider space. You’d never seen an Old World building like this one before. Carpets covered the floor, some red and some with fancy patterns on them. The walls had colors and designs, the ceilings were so tall, and there was furniture everywhere. You wondered what this place had been used for. Maybe you could ask later.
Abby led the way down a winding flight of stairs, stopping just before going around the corner, holding a hand back behind her to signal you to stop. You lifted your bow and let out a quiet breath.
A man’s voice came from around the corner, speaking with an accent that was unfamiliar to you.
“Fuckin’ Jesse,” he said. “He thinks I don’t know what real gold looks like.” Abby stepped around the corner, gun pointed at the man who had his back to you. You followed hesitantly, staying close. “Well wait’ll you see this, you son of a bitch. She’s gonna love it,” he went on, clearly talking to himself, completely unaware of the threat directly behind him.
“Hands up,” Abby said, voice cold and hard. He froze. “Back away from your shit.” When he didn’t move, she spoke more forcefully. “I said back up!”
Slowly, he did, hands empty and out where you both could see them. “You’re making a big mistake–”
“Don’t fucking turn around,” she spit out, stepping forward.
Her eyes darted to you for a split second, voice lowering as she told you to keep your bow on him. You did, moving around to his side, weapon raised and aimed and ready to fire at a moment’s notice.
“Get on the ground,” she said, speaking to him again.
“You gonna kill me like a coward?” he asked, unmoving.
Abby didn’t answer. Instead, she kicked in the back of his knee and knocked him on the floor with one swing of her pistol. With the muzzle pressed into the back of his neck, her voice cracked as she mumbled, “You fucking people…”
The giant red doors across from you swung open, and before you had even registered that a young man was rushing through them, Abby had already shot him in the head. Someone else had come in right behind him, but they managed to duck behind the counter before either of Abby’s two shots in their direction could take them out.
“Jesse!” the other voice gasped from their hiding spot, just as Abby said, “Stand up! Hands in the air or I shoot this one, too!” She trained her gun back on the first man. You kept your bow aimed at the person behind the counter.
“Don’t you do it, Ellie! Get out of here!” the man said, rolling onto his stomach, holding himself up on his elbows.
“Stand up! Now!” Abby commanded.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Abby seethed, kicking him in the stomach. He let out a cry as she brought the gun closer to his head.
“Stop!” came the voice behind the counter. The girl stood up, hands raised, fingers extended away from the trigger of the pistol in her right hand. “Stop.”
You and Abby both took her in.
She was probably around your age, with shoulder-length brown hair pulled half up. A bruise went across her freckled cheek, and a tattoo covered her entire right forearm. Her shoulders rose and fell quickly with her gasping breaths. Her eyes were panicked. And sad. And scared.
She looked… nice? Harmless?
This was the girl who helped kill all of Abby’s friends? Who killed Yara?
Instantly, there came a stinging pain in your chest so strong that it took your breath away. You’d been trying not to think about that.
You refocused and re-aimed.
“Toss your weapon,” Abby said. The girl hesitated. “Toss your weapon!” Abby shouted.
“Fuck!” Ellie breathed out as she flung her gun on the other side of the counter.
“No… no,” the older man muttered.
“I know why you killed Joel,” Ellie said, voice desperate. “He did what he did to save me. There’s no cure because of me. I’m the one you want.”
If you weren’t confused before, you definitely were now. Who was Joel? What did he do?
And what cure? A cure for the Infection?
You were really starting to wish you’d asked Abby more questions before you came here.
“Just let him go,” Ellie went on, quickly gesturing to the man on the other end of Abby’s gun.
Abby seemed surprised by the girl’s words, taking a second to process and consider before her eyes hardened again.
“You killed my friends,” she said, speaking quieter now. “We let you both live…” her voice quavered as she lifted her gun to aim at Ellie, “and you wasted it.”
Before she could pull the trigger, the man jumped up and pushed her arm to the side. The gun went off twice as they struggled for control of the weapon.
“Wait!” Ellie cried out.
“Get off of her!” you shouted, firing an arrow through the man’s leg. He fell back to the ground as Abby pointed her gun at his head and shot.
“Tommy!” Ellie had grabbed her gun again during the struggle, and you screamed as she fired a shot at Abby.
It missed and Abby shot back, also missing.
The girl took off through the doors in the same direction she’d come from.
“Come on!” Abby said to you, running after Ellie.
On the other side of the doors was an even bigger room, filled with rows and rows and plush red seats, leading up to a giant stage. Ellie, already nearly to the stage, continued to fire in your direction, barely missing every time.
You and Abby ducked down behind the back row of chairs, and her eyes met yours, both of you breathing heavily.
“Stay here,” she said, peeking over the chairs to locate the other girl. “Watch the exits. Don’t let her leave.”
You nodded, hanging back as gunshots continued to go off from the far end of the room.
Abby paused for just a beat longer before starting down the aisle, staying low but moving quickly.
“Don’t you fucking run!” she shouted to Ellie, who you could now see on the stage. She had the advantage of higher ground and a familiarity with the building.
Please don’t die Please don’t die Please don’t fucking die, you pleaded over and over and over, as Abby made her way to the stage and out of sight behind the big red curtains that Ellie had disappeared into.
They were far away now, but you could still hear the struggle, followed by more gunshots and then more struggling.
You held your breath.
But for once you did what Abby asked you to do. You stayed put.
Until several minutes later, when another woman – one you hadn’t seen before – ran out onto the stage, looking around frantically before dashing back behind the curtains, not seeing you from where you still crouched behind the last row of seats.
And now Abby was outnumbered back there.
A split second decision and you were up, running down the aisle after them.
Behind the stage was a darker space, cluttered with junk from floor to ceiling. You moved carefully and quietly, heading towards the commotion.
When you came to a hole in the ground, you realized that the fight was now down below.
God, did they fall through the floor?
You quickly climbed down and dropped into the basement.
Just as your feet touched the floor, you heard someone scream. You ran, finding Abby down with the unknown girl above her swinging a knife.
You fired an arrow through her shoulder, and she fell to the side. And then Abby was on her, bashing the girl’s head into the floor.
You looked away, your eyes landing on Ellie, flat on her back on the ground nearby, conscious but unmoving, her face covered in blood.
“Stop,” Ellie forced through dripping red lips as the other girl’s head hit the floor a second and third time. “Stop!” Ellie couldn’t even turn her head to properly look at what was happening to her friend. “She had nothing to do with this.”
Abby grabbed the girl’s knife from where she’d dropped it on the floor, grabbed her by the hair, and flipped her onto her back, holding the knife against her throat.
“She’s pregnant,” Ellie choked out.
Abby let out a few heaving breaths before pressing the knife closer. “Good,” she seethed.
“Abby!” you called out.
She stopped, eyes softening as they met yours across the room. She watched you, read the plea in your eyes, and the fight seemed to seep out of her in an instant.
She dropped the knife, pushed the girl to the side, and slowly got to her feet.
Ellie coughed, choking on her own blood as Abby stood over her, their gazes locked.
“Don’t ever let me see you again,” Abby said. A firm command. A sincere warning.
And then she walked away, passing you without making eye contact.
She had been walking through empty streets, blinking past the pouring rain, for who knows how long before it even occurred to her that she didn’t have a destination.
The thought of going back to the aquarium right now, of facing what was waiting for her there, made her sick.
Her body felt heavy. Everything hurt. It had been a long time since she’d gotten anywhere close to as fucked up as she was now.
That girl – Ellie – bit her. Hard. Like a fuckin’ rabid dog. And then Abby had hit her lower back on the corner of something hard when she fell through the floor and into the basement. She took some punches, got a knife buried in her left thigh, and that other girl got a few cuts in with her own blade before you shot her with an arrow.
And that didn’t even take into consideration everything else she’d been through today. The marina and the island and the aquarium.
It was… a lot.
She couldn’t really take stock of the total physical damage while she was busy trudging along down dark streets, but she knew that everything hurt. And she was definitely bleeding. And her body felt too hot but also too cold. And she was so tired.
Shit, this wasn’t good.
Abby was aware of your presence behind her. She could hear you. But you hadn’t spoken at all, and she hadn’t looked at you once since you left the theater.
She needed to put some more distance between you and that place (and what happened there) before she could bear to do that, hoping that the further it was behind you, the further it would be from your mind.
But that’s not realistic. There was no way you would forget what you just saw.
She needed to know if you were scared of her now, if you didn’t trust her anymore. She saw the look in your eyes when you stopped her from killing that girl. You were horrified.
You must think she’s a monster.
She stumbled, her bleeding left leg becoming harder and harder to maneuver.
Here you were – this perfect, beautiful thing that came out of nowhere – and she had to ruin it with another revenge plot that ultimately accomplished nothing except to make the people close to her look at her differently, regard her more cautiously, whisper about her when she’s not around.
Did you see the look in her eyes when she beat Joel to death with that golf club? Brutal. What’s wrong with her? What kind of person could even do that?
God, her life was turning into one sick, cyclical joke.
But you were literally the only person she had left, so she refused to turn around. Because if you still had that same look in your eyes the next time she saw you, it might break her. And she wasn’t ready to face that.
Abby stumbled again, this time more noticeably. She was able to right herself, but it took her longer to recover this time.
She was losing steam.
“Abby?” Your voice was as soft as the steadying fingers she felt on her shoulder as you walked around to face her. She kept her head down, still not wanting to meet your eyes. “Abby,” you said again when she didn’t acknowledge you, and then you were holding her face with both hands, cold fingers against her warm cheeks. You gently lifted her face until she had no choice but to look at you.
She thought she might be crying, but she wasn’t sure for how long.
Your eyes were wide, but not with fear or apprehension like she’d feared, not like you looked in the basement of the theater. You were worried about her.
“We can’t keep going on like this,” you said. One of your thumbs was lightly, soothingly, grazing her cheek as you carefully studied her face. “You’re hurt.”
Her whole body shook with a sob, but you didn’t shy away. If anything, you pressed closer.
Despite everything, she felt stupid for crying. She wanted to argue with you, wanted to be strong. She could keep going.
But you were looking at her like you cared, like maybe she hadn’t ruined everything like she thought. And she wanted you to stay close. To keep touching her.
“Come on,” you said, tilting your head towards the nearest building. A house. “Let’s at least get out of the rain.”
Abby nodded as your hands fell away from her face to pull your bow from where it rested over your shoulder and notch an arrow, and she was glad at least one of you had the wherewithal to be cautious of an abandoned building. If she had an ounce more energy, she’d be horrified to realize that neither of you had a weapon out until now.
The front door was mostly intact and slightly ajar. You approached carefully, painstakingly forcing it further open with your shoulder, fighting against rusted hinges and warped wood. The floorboards creaked beneath your boots as you stepped inside, quickly scanning the entryway for anything or anyone that posed a threat. Abby followed behind you, trying not to visibly limp on her injured leg.
“You need to sit down,” you said over your shoulder, just loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain outside. Under any other circumstances, she’d insist on making sure the building was clear first herself, but she wasn’t confident in her current ability to even make it all the way inside, much less up and down the stairs.
With your bow still drawn, you led the way through the first floor of the building, passing a bathroom and a kitchen before arriving in what was once the living room. The room was filled with furniture in various levels of destruction and decay, somehow the most well-preserved among them being an old couch pressed against the back wall.
You pointed to it. “Sit,” you instructed. She moved toward the couch without protest and sat in the left-most corner, albeit very slowly. You set your bow down, leaning it up against the wall by the couch, and shrugged off a backpack you brought from the aquarium, digging around in the main compartment until you found what you were looking for.
You pulled out a small battery-powered lantern and your dagger. “I’m going to check the rest of the house, okay? I’ll be back. Don’t move.”
Abby let out a scoff, immediately followed by a pained hiss. “I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted to,” she said. It would’ve sounded more cool and casual if she hadn’t had to say it through gritted teeth. And if she hadn’t been crying in the rain in the middle of the street two minutes ago.
Just the thought of it made her cringe. It felt weird being the one who needed help, the one being taken care of. She really didn’t like feeling weak. But she was glad to be sitting down, glad to be near you, and glad you still seemed to want to be near her.
Your face held that same hesitant, worried look long enough that she forced a small smile and attempted to reassure you with, “I’m fine. Go.”
She was lying and she could tell that you knew that, but you didn’t have much of a choice. You turned to go quickly search the house.
The second floor was clear of any discernible threats but also of anything that would be useful in helping Abby. On your way back to the living room, you rummaged through the downstairs bathroom and a couple of mostly empty closets in the hopes of finding something. Medical supplies. Even clean cloths.
You found nothing there and moved on to your last hope, the kitchen. This room was even more ransacked than the rest of the house, so it wasn’t a surprise when you didn’t find what you were looking for.
You groaned loudly and dramatically, clasping your hands together on the back of your neck and casting your gaze upward in frustration.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Abby quickly asked from the other room, sounding ready to jump up off the couch and rush to your rescue even in her current condition. It made you smile, just a little, until you remembered that this was no time to be smiling.
“It’s nothing. The house is clear. I was just looking for some medical supplies.”
“Who needs medical supplies?” she asked, surprising you with an attempt at a joke. Either that or she was so out of it that she was starting to lose touch with reality.
“You do, Abby,” you said. “You need medical supplies. Urgently.”
You were still staring up like the answer would be written up there somewhere if you just looked hard enough, when something in the space between the one of the top cabinets and the ceiling caught your eye. If you weren’t mistaken, it looked like the corner of a first aid kit, similar to the one Abby brought back from the hospital for Yara.
It was too high for you to reach standing, and there was nothing for you to stand on top of. The countertops were broken, the pieces scattered across the room, and the wood of the lower cabinets was rickety and unstable at best.
You were grumbling under your breath about high ceilings and unnaturally tall cabinets as you reentered the living room to find Abby almost exactly where you left her, left leg now up on the couch and elevated, right foot still planted on the floor. Both of her hands were hovering over the gash in her thigh like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to touch it or not, her face tense. She was in a lot of pain.
You pulled your eyes away and looked for something sturdy enough for you to stand on, eventually deciding on a mostly intact, only slightly wobbly small metal table. You dropped the lantern on top and started pulling it toward the kitchen.
“Do you really think now is the best time to rearrange the furniture, princess?” Abby asked, glancing at you in her periphery. She was joking again, and you knew that, but you couldn’t help the warmth that pooled in your cheeks at her use of that pet-name. But maybe humor and casual flirtation were just how she coped with pain.
“I–” You cleared your throat, “I need something to stand on. I think I found something in the kitchen.”
“Aww, can’t reach the top shelf by yourself?” Abby asked, amused. She turned her attention from her leg to watch as you struggled to drag the table out of the room. It squeaked along the floor the entire way, making her laugh softly.
The fact that she was being playful with you started to ease your lingering panic about the state of her health. If she was cracking jokes, she couldn’t be that close to dying, right? A little rest and she’d probably be just fine.
“Crazy how you’ve lost like half your blood supply and yet you still have enough energy to tease me,” you said, your own teeth gritted now. The table was much heavier than you anticipated. “And for your information, the thing that I’m trying to get is not on the top shelf. It is above the top shelf. On top of the cabinet.”
“Uh huh. Sure… Take your time. I’m just over here casually bleeding out.”
You liked this.
Was it weird to like this?
It was nice when you just got to talk, when the world wasn’t actively burning to the ground around you, when things felt easy and wonderful and comfortable between you two. You’d seen glimpses of it over the last few days, had fallen into pockets of space where time seemed to stop and you got to feel happy. And hopeful. But those moments were few and far between and always over too soon. Selfishly, you wanted more of it. You wanted more time. More of Abby.
You were scared to hope for it, scared to want something so strongly. Your wishes had never come true before.
“Well,” you responded, finding your words, “I’m no doctor. But I’m pretty sure that if the knife had hit any major arteries, you would’ve bled out a long time ago. So you’ll be fine for another minute. Probably.” With one final shove, you managed to get the table where you needed it.
You carefully stepped up on it, hoping that some sadistic asshole hadn’t thrown an empty first aid kit all the way up here just to waste the time and energy of some poor desperate fool in need of medical supplies. (You, of course, being that poor desperate fool.)
After brushing off a thick layer of dust, you grabbed the handle. The kit was full.
“Yes!” you shouted, nearly tumbling off the table in your excitement. With the medical supplies and the lantern in hand, you rushed back to the living room.
Abby could tease you all she wanted and try to make light of the situation, but she couldn’t hide the look of relief that washed over her features when she saw what you were carrying.
And if you were paying closer attention to her face, she also wouldn’t have been able to hide the way her eyes went wide and her cheeks got visibly pink when you got on your knees on the floor in front of her.
“Uhhh hey, you can—you can sit on the couch.”
You raised your eyebrows, confused by her sudden nervousness. “No, the angle will be better this way,” you insisted. “Just bring your leg over here. That’s the worst of your injuries, right?”
“I don’t know. Probably,” she conceded, avoiding eye contact as you helped her maneuver her injured leg so that her foot was back on the floor, practically between your knees.
There was already a tear in her pant leg where the gash was. So to avoid having Abby stand up and take her pants off or cutting all the way around at mid-thigh, leaving her with half a pair of pants for the foreseeable future, you opted to just rip the fabric a little more on either side of the tear, making it just wide enough to clean and stitch if necessary.
But it didn’t occur to you to fill Abby in on this plan before you did it. You took the already-ripped fabric of her pants in your hands and tore. And when she gasped in response, there was twisting heat in your gut that seems to be a recurring side effect of being close to Abby. You chose to ignore it in favor of focusing on the more urgent (and honestly less daunting and less complicated) task at hand.
“Sorry!” Your eyes darted up to her face. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head quickly. “No, just… wasn’t expecting that.”
You didn’t know what to say, so you dug around in the first aid kit and started cleaning the wound. Abby was quiet as you worked, wincing slightly but remaining still.
The cut was deep, but as you expected it missed the femoral artery. You would have to stitch it up, though, and you told Abby as such. She nodded and watched you carefully as you quickly prepared, hoping to get this part over with as quickly as possible.
You moved even closer to her. Abby’s shin gently pressed against your front as you leaned over her knee, bringing your face closer, your movements precise and intentional.
She brought her hands down on either side of her legs, bracing herself. Her shoulders tensed, arms engaged. You allowed yourself one glance before tearing your eyes away, feeling guilty for ogling.
Focus.
You looked back down at her thigh and began.
As you worked, a strand of your hair fell from where you had tucked it behind your ear and into your face. You let out a light, annoyed huff. Before you could attempt to blow the strand out of your eyeline, Abby’s fingers gently brushed it back behind your ear. You felt yourself blush deeply, saying a quiet thank you before going back to sewing her up.
When the last stitch was done and you’d carefully wrapped the wound, you felt Abby’s fingers run through your hair again, this time for no other reason but to draw your eyes up to meet hers.
“Come up here,” she said, her voice low. You stood, bringing the first aid kit with you, and felt the springs in the cushions creak beneath you as you sat on the couch, facing her and closer than was probably necessary.
You felt jittery, and it suddenly occurred to you that you’d never been this alone with Abby before. There had always been someone else close by, somewhere in the same building or around the next corner. But now it really was just the two of you. It was scary in an incredible, thrilling way that you weren’t accustomed to.
But Abby was injured and you were both tired and today had easily been the longest – and the worst – day of your life, even if you still weren’t letting yourself think about what happened.
No. You’d rather focus on Abby. On what she needed.
You started searching her body, analyzing the rest of her wounds. Abby sat still under your careful ministrations, watching your face with a soft look in her eyes as you took stock of the damage. You found several cuts of varying depths across her arms along with the one under her eye. And there was something else on her right arm, below the elbow. You took her wrist in your hand, turning that arm towards the soft glow of the lantern.
“Did she bite you?” you asked, nose scrunching up in distaste.
“Oh,” Abby winced. “Yeah.”
“Ouch,” you said simply, and she laughed a little as you grabbed some more supplies from the kit. You began gently wiping away the blood surrounding her remaining injuries, cleaning all of the wounds and stitching up the deeper of the cuts. You saved the cut on her cheek for last.
It was clear to you now that things weren’t quite as detrimental as you had feared. With everything else taken care of, her face was the last thing that required your attention. The rain had done a poor job of washing away all the blood, but it seemed that much less of that blood had come from Abby than you had anticipated anyway.
“I can do that,” she said in a whisper when you went to clean her face.
“I know,” you replied, just as quiet. “I want to.”
A few moments went by in silence as you worked gently but diligently, eyebrows drawn together in concentration.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” she said suddenly, quickly clarifying, “Not sorry that I did it, but sorry that you had to… see me that way.” Her eyes were downcast, and you wanted to hold her face and make her look at you again the same way you did in the street, but you refrained. You put your hands in your lap and drew back a bit, giving her space.
If you were being honest, the Abby you saw in the theater scared you. That Abby beat a person so thoroughly that they couldn’t move, couldn’t even turn their head to stop from choking on their own blood. That Abby would knowingly slit the throat of an unconscious pregnant woman without batting an eye.
Of course, you had known that she was physically strong. You saw her kill swiftly and without hesitation to protect herself and those close to her. But this was different, right? It was excessive violence.
There was a lot you didn’t know about those people in the theater; that much was clear. They had been hunting Abby for days, killing her friends and seemingly anything else in their path.
They killed Owen and Mel and… and everyone else in those little pictures still tucked in your pocket.
You weren’t sure of the exact history between Owen and Abby, but you did know how important he was to her. And you had seen her reaction when she found him dead.
Who’s to say Ellie would’ve ever stopped coming after Abby and the people close to her? Who’s to say she would even stop now?
So could you really judge Abby for her actions, given how much you didn’t know?
This world is great at breeding darkness, planting it in you from the moment you’re born, growing and spreading both inside your being and out. Everyone has darkness. Tonight you caught your first glimpse of Abby’s.
She had gotten scary, but that didn’t make her a monster.
And she pulled back. She stopped. That meant a lot.
You trusted her. And you trusted yourself. You were sheltered, but you weren’t stupid.
Abby was a good person, and she was in your life for a reason, so you weren’t going anywhere.
You knew it was weighing on her, though. Not just everything that happened today, but the fear that what happened could have a lasting effect on this thing between the two of you.
So you shook your head. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad I was there. You shouldn’t have had to do that alone.” She nodded, but seemed unconvinced that you didn’t have anything else to say on the matter.
Part of you wanted to ask for the history now. How she knew Ellie. Why she wanted her dead. But you didn’t need that from her right now.
Instead, you took another swipe at her face, wiping away the last of the blood. When you were finished, you pulled your hand away. The cut there might form a scar, but you weren’t brave enough to attempt stitches. Not on her lovely face, so close to her eye.
Now that Abby was about as fixed up as she was going to get, you turned your attention to the blood on your own hands.
Abby watched as you meticulously scrubbed at your fingers.
When you finished with that, you put everything back into the first aid kit and put the kit in your backpack. Then you made a pile of all the trash that had accumulated. Then you sat back down and immediately stood back up. You shrugged off your jacket – Well, her jacket. (You hadn’t taken it off since Abby gave it to you on the boat, and she didn’t want you to. It looked better on you anyway.) You draped it over the other end of the couch, and then you sat down again.
You were so restless it almost made her wish she had sustained more injuries, just to give you something productive to do with your hands.
When you started to stand again moments later, saying something about needing to move that little table back where you found it, Abby stopped you with a hand encircling your wrist.
“Hey. Stop. Just sit. You need to rest,” she said, pulling you back down on the couch.
“I’m fine,” you insisted but stayed put. “You’re the one who needs rest after everything you’ve been through today. You should try to get some sleep.”
“Everything I’ve been through?” she asked. “What about you?” When you didn’t react, she said your name. You cut her off before she could say anything else.
“You got hurt,” you said, almost exasperated, motioning to her entire body as evidence.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Abby said.
“I’m fine,” you said again, colder this time.
“No, you’re not.”
“Abby–”
“You’re not fine! You’re just pretending like it didn’t happen.”
“Don’t,” you said, looking away now.
She knew she was pushing, maybe even too far, but she promised herself she’d snap you out of this if you didn’t do it yourself.
“You didn’t even look at her body. You haven’t reacted at all–”
“Abby, stop,” you begged in a breathy exhale.
And she did, but only because at that moment you closed the short distance between you and pressed your lips to hers.
You wanted to – had been wanting to for some time – but it wasn’t a conscious decision you made in that moment.
You just needed her to stop talking.
So you kissed her, surprising both of you.
Just a soft brush of your lips against hers, a hand on one side of her face, holding her still, keeping her where you wanted her. By the time she responded to your touch, you were already pulling away.
A thrill shot down your spine and spread throughout your body. You wanted more, but you didn’t know if it was yours to take.
You weren’t sure Abby wanted you the way you wanted her.
You studied her face, watched as her eyes went from being wide-blown and shocked to something that looked like hunger. A neediness that matched your own.
She was looking at your lips, so you grabbed her face with both hands this time and pulled her in, kissing her again.
Abby’s heart beat against her chest as her hand found your waist. She gripped you there, pulling you even closer.
If the first kiss had been testing the waters, this was diving in head first.
It had never felt like this for her before. Touches that she had only ever pulled away from in the past, she heavily leaned into now, seeking more, needing it in a way she wasn’t used to.
She knew you were just distracting her, that you only wanted to get her to stop talking about Lev and Yara, the island and the aquarium. She knew that you probably wouldn’t even be doing this if she hadn’t pushed you to talk.
But then you deepened the kiss and suddenly she didn’t know much of anything. Except that she didn’t ever want you to stop.
God, you still. weren’t. close enough.
She pulled you towards her, and you went willingly where her hands guided you until she had you on her lap, your knees straddling her legs on either side.
You stopped, pulling away from the kiss and whispering through heaving breaths, “Abby, your leg-”
“ ‘M fine,” she mumbled, already pulling your face back down to meet hers. The soft moan you let out as your lips met made her crazy. Her hands moved from your face, tracing their way down before landing on your hips.
She wanted to slow down, take her time with you. She wanted to strip off all of your clothes, push you on your back, pin you beneath her, and explore. She wanted to hear every sound you could make and learn exactly where to touch – how to touch – to make you come undone.
Abby pushed her hands up under your shirt, fingers sliding along your lower back and up your sides. You gasped, leaning into the touch.
You promised. The thought cut through the fevered haze in your mind, sending a shock through your system.
You promised Yara that you would bring Lev back safe. You said you wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
You told Lev that everything would be okay. You told him you’d get off that island together.
The full weight of it hit you like a tidal wave, so hard you thought it might’ve actually bruised your body and broken your bones. It knocked the air from your lungs.
Your friends were gone. It was your job to take care of them, and now they were dead. You did everything wrong today, made every mistake, and it cost them their lives.
Somehow, you had gone from Abby’s lap to the other end of the couch, pressing yourself as deep into the corner as you could as you pulled your knees up. Your trembling hands pressed against your chest as you shook with the first of the sobs.
Abby moved and then she was on her knees on the floor right in front of you.
You thought she might be talking to you, but you couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the ringing in your ears.
It felt like something was pressing down on your chest. You couldn’t breathe. You kept trying but your lungs wouldn’t fill.
Lev. Yara.
Images of one on the dirty ground and one on the hard floor. Both of them laying in a puddle of their own blood. And both of them left there by you.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to make them go away. But they were still there behind your eyelids.
You were having a panic attack, the worst one she’d ever seen, and nothing Abby did was helping.
She kept trying to get you to look at her, to breathe, but it was like you couldn’t hear her. Your chest continued to rise and fall jaggedly.
She wasn’t sure if she should touch you – Were you supposed to touch people who were in the middle of a panic attack? – But she did anyway. With a gentle hand, she pushed your hair out of your eyes and held your chin, turning your face to look at her.
Your eyes widened like you hadn’t realized she was there, like you were seeing her for the first time.
Good. Now that you could see her, maybe you could hear her too.
She held your gazes as she spoke softly. “Baby, you need to breathe. Copy me.” She modeled a deep, slow inhale, followed by a slow exhale. It was shaky and not nearly as strong, but you tried. “Good girl. Again.”
You continued like that for several minutes until you were able to follow Abby’s breathing patterns exactly. The tears didn’t stop, but the heaving sobs had calmed to occasion hiccupping whimpers.
Abby’s fingers ran through your hair, pushing it behind your ear. You still hadn’t said anything, and she didn’t think you would tonight.
“Can you lay down for me?” she asked, voice low. You nodded and began to shift out of your curled position, slowly stretching out your legs. Abby stood to grab the jacket from behind you on the couch and waited for you to lay down before she spread it out over you, covering you up as much as possible. Then she sat on the floor in front of you, turned so that her side was pressed up against the couch.
You were blinking more slowly now, exhausted from… everything.
When you started crying again, she put her hand back on your head, letting her fingers run through your hair and scratch at your scalp in a way that she hoped was soothing. (At least she knew it would’ve been for her.)
“I know,” she said, leaning her head against the arm of the couch. “I’m so sorry.”
She stayed like that for a while, even after your breathing slowed and evened out and she was sure you had fallen asleep. She felt a tightness in her chest every time you sniffled.
Abby had already decided to stay awake and keep watch.
Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on your backpack. She got up, grabbed the pistol from inside the bag, and returned to her spot in front of the couch.
She watched the doors and windows, listened closely for any sounds of danger, but her eyes kept drifting back to you.
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas; character deaths (canon AND non-canon)
Note: The last chapter was short and (mostly) sweet. This one... not so much.
You knew Lev was upset. You knew Yara was having trouble getting through to him. But instead of talking to him – making sure he understood exactly why none of you could go back to the island, handling the situation that was yours to handle – you’d been too busy worrying about your clothes and almost kissing Wolves.
As you raced after Yara through the dimly lit hallways of the aquarium, you silently berated yourself for getting so distracted. For losing sight of what was important. For failing to predict that Lev would do something reckless if you didn’t keep him in your sight.
If anything happened to him, you would never forgive yourself.
A strong gust of wind hit your face as you made it into open air, looking out on the makeshift dock where Owen’s boat floated idly. He was already out there, standing near Mel as the two of them looked out at the open water.
Ominous dark clouds and another punishing current of air told you a storm was coming.
“Are we sure he’s heading to the island? Maybe he’s just blowing off steam,” Abby offered, attempting a comforting tone.
“No,” Yara said. The three of you joined the two others, and Yara pointed out in the same direction Owen and Mel had been looking. “That’s him. He’s definitely going to the island.”
You could just barely make out a small boat in the distance.
“Shit,” Abby breathed out.
“What’s he doing?” Mel asked.
“He’s going after her.” Yara’s hand grasped onto the metal fence in front of her desperately.
“After who?”
“His mom,” Abby supplied.
“She’s going to kill him, Prophet! You know that,” Yara turned to you, looking devastated. Your fingers curled into tight fists, nails digging into your palms. It was true. You would have to go after him.
“Woah, wait. What? Prophet?” And then it occurred to you that that was something Owen and Mel were not aware of.
But that didn’t matter right now.
“Your boat.” You turned to meet Owen’s wide eyes. “Does it work?”
There was a brief moment where he seemed to battle with whether or not to push about the Prophet thing, but he chose to let it go. He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“How much time do you need?” Abby asked.
“Uhhh,” he looked away, thinking. “A few hours. At least.”
“Fuck.” Abby turned to you. You were about to ask if there was somewhere else you could get a boat – and you had begun to wonder if you shouldn’t just run off by yourself and hope you came across one quickly by chance – but Abby was already thinking the same thing, already moving, already prepared to jump back into danger for you and your friends. “We’ll head him off. We’ll grab a boat from the marina–”
“Hey! She just had surgery.” Mel threw an arm out in front of Yara, who had begun to follow you, Abby, and Owen.
“I’m fine,” Yara insisted, pushing past the woman.
You paused, reaching blindly behind you to pull Abby back.
“No, she’s right,” you said. You needed to stop and think about this before you went forward. There was no good way to go about this, but one option was definitely better than the rest. You found Abby’s eyes and realized that you had somehow gone from pulling her by her wrist to holding her hand.
You didn’t let go.
“I could use your help to find a boat, but then I need to do the rest by myself.”
Abby pulled away in shock, and her and Yara’s responses came immediately and simultaneously.
“Fuck that!”
“What? No! You can’t!”
You nodded, doubling down. This was the right thing to do. You were sure of it. “Going to the island would be deadly for anyone here except me.” Again they both tried to protest as you went on. “I know the island better than almost anyone else. On my own, there’s a good chance I could stay undetected. And even if they were to catch me, it would be fine. They don’t know that I deserted. And even if they suspected as much, I’m confident that I can convince them otherwise. Worst case scenario, they won’t kill me immediately like they would the rest of you.”
“You’re not going by yourself,” Abby said, and it was your turn to protest, but she cut you off. “Yara should stay here, but I’m going with you.”
“I’m coming too,” Owen stated matter-of-factly, just as Yara said, “I am going!”
Mel and Abby both jumped to argue with Owen. You left them to figure that out and pulled your friend to the side to talk privately.
“Yara,” you began, “stay here. Please. Help them get ready to leave for Santa Barabara. I promise I’ll bring Lev back.”
“I just–”
“Lev wouldn’t want you to get hurt. Especially not because of him.”
Yara’s eyes went back out to the water, as if she could make him come back through sheer force of will. You wished the same. You didn’t want to go back to the island, and you really didn’t want Lev to be in danger.
“I’ll get him. I won’t let anything happen to him.”
Yara was silent for a moment as the first rolls of thunder rumbled loudly.
“I’ll stay,” she said. “But you have to agree to take Abby with you.”
“You already trust her more than me, don’t you?” Your words took on a lightly teasing tone.
“Of course not.” She gave you a small smile as, you assumed, her eyes found Abby somewhere behind you. “But you need someone to watch your back. Lev wouldn’t want you to get hurt either. And neither do I.” She stepped forward and hugged you. It was a bit awkward on your end – with you having to be careful to avoid her healing wound – but it was the first time anyone had embraced you in years. In fact, you were pretty sure the last time had been when Yara hugged you on the morning of your scarring ceremony.
You cleared your throat. Even if emotions hadn’t already been running high, you would’ve had to swallow down some tears in that moment.
“Yara?” you said, still holding her.
“Yes?”
“When we get back, I’m really going to need you and Lev to stop calling me Prophet.”
She let out a little laugh at that as you parted. “Deal.”
When you looked back at the other three, you found them standing in the same place you’d left them, watching you and Yara, apparently having already come to an agreement themselves. By the look on Owen’s face, it hadn’t gone the way he wanted it to.
The process of getting a boat wasn’t nearly as straightforward as Abby thought it would be. And it had taken a lot longer than she would’ve liked.
At the marina, the two of you were greeted by the sound of gunshots. She asked you to stay there, hidden near the dock, while she grabbed a boat.
If there were WLF soldiers nearby, being spotted with you would be a problem. Your lack of facial scars meant you weren’t recognizable as a Seraphite at a glance, but you were still a stranger. She didn’t know how to explain you being with her in a way that wouldn’t bring up too many questions. All in all, it would be easier and faster for her to go alone.
You surprisingly didn’t argue with her, willing to hang back for a bit if it meant getting to the island – getting to Lev – quicker.
Abby almost immediately ran into Manny and found that the gunshots were coming from one of the trespassers who’d come out of nowhere and been hitting WLF hard the last few days.
She didn’t get the chance to ask Manny what he meant by that.
The trespasser shot him in the head.
But she got close enough to see him. Close enough to fight with him hand-to-hand.
It was Tommy Miller, Joel’s brother – a realization that made her worry about what these trespassers were here for and what they meant to do.
But Abby was great at setting things aside for later for the sake of focusing on one problem at a time.
And right now, she needed to get you and get to Lev.
By that point, you’d already caught up to her – because of course you hadn’t actually stayed very far behind at all – but you still needed a boat.
Abby found a small motorboat tied to one of the docks that proved to be in working order. She got it going, sat behind the wheel, and headed out toward the island, quickly reaching the boat’s top speed, trying to make up for lost time.
You had been silent since you got on the boat, looking out at the water. She cleared her throat, speaking loudly over the combined roar of the motor, the wind, and the water. “So how do we get to that village in one piece?”
Your eyes remained focused ahead. “There are blind spots along the coast we can boat into. From there, we’ll follow back roads.”
“They’re safe?”
“It’s the safest option we have.”
You wore the same expression you’d had since you found out Lev had run off, eyebrows drawn together, a storm in your eyes just as strong as the one in the sky. You were worried, but it was more than that.
Abby had to call your name twice before you turned to her, reluctant to meet her eyes. “This isn’t your fault, you know.”
You shook your head once and looked back out towards the island, pointing as you began to direct her to the best entrypoint.
The island was weirdly exactly what Abby expected, given what she knew about the Seraphites, and yet seeing it with her own eyes was still shocking.
The Washington Liberation Front used existing buildings from the Old World. SoundView Stadium and the Lakehill Seattle Hospital. Schools and office buildings. They didn’t build so much as clean, repair, and repurpose.
The Seraphites had built a whole new world on the island. Wooden structures, villages, homes, farmlands.
It was honestly impressive.
As promised, you had been leading the way through the woods, using backroads. You had yet to run into any other people, but Lev and Yara’s village was further inland, and it was only a matter of time before it became unavoidable.
Abby wondered if you were prepared to kill your own people. And if you would hold it against her when she did, to keep you safe and to get to Lev.
You had been quiet for a while, deftly navigating through a thick stretch of forest with her following close behind. If you didn’t want to talk, she wasn’t going to force the issue.
It had begun raining a while ago, although the worst of the storm hadn’t hit yet. The outfit Mel gave you hadn’t included a jacket, and you’d left your cloak behind with the dress.
Would you be offended if she offered you her jacket? Abby wasn’t sure, but you didn’t seem to be bothered by the rain or the cold.
At a point of higher elevation, you came to a stop, looking out onto a huge settlement in the distance along the western coast.
“Woah. Is that the village?” she asked, using one hand to shield her eyes from the rain to get a better look.
“No,” you said. “That’s Haven, our capital. And that–” You stepped closer to Abby, placing a hand on her shoulder as you shifted your weight to the tips of your toes so your eyelines were level. She leaned into the touch, bringing your faces even closer, cheeks nearly brushing. You pointed to a specific building just north of the large town. It was bigger than the rest and even from that distance, Abby could tell that it was nicer. More carefully and intentionally made and maintained. “–That is Sanctuary. It was the first Prophet’s home and a sacred place of worship. And it’s where I lived after my scarring ceremony.”
You let several moments pass before your hand fell and you dropped back down to your heels, taking a step to the side.
Sometimes it seemed that you touched her without realizing, without meaning to. And then there’d be a moment when you’d become aware of your actions and pull away.
She wished you wouldn’t. But now wasn’t the time for that conversation.
“The village is further east.” You turned to go, continuing back into the forest. Abby stood there for a second longer, looking out at the place you’d spent much of your life, being literally worshiped and yet entirely controlled, and she wondered how strange it must feel for you to come back now.
“Don’t linger,” you said, turning back to find that she hadn’t moved. “They have scouts. They might see you.”
She glanced back one more time before following.
“Are you sure the Wolves are attacking tonight?” you asked, breaking several minutes of silence, both of you having been lost in thought.
She cleared her throat. “Yeah, that’s what my friend told me. They’ll use this storm as a cover for the attack. Unless Isaac changes his mind.”
“Will he change his mind?”
Abby’s gaze was locked onto the ground in front of her. “...I doubt it.”
You stopped abruptly, a gasp leaving your throat. Her eyes shot up, hand flying to her gun at her side.
“Fuck,” she breathed.
Two WLF soldiers were dead, disemboweled in typical Seraphite fashion, one hanging from an old road sign and the other discarded on the ground like trash. They had clearly been dead for several days, but Abby pulled the gun from the holster on her right thigh anyway. Just in case.
“Did you know them?” you asked, turning to her.
“I’ve seen them around.” Abby brushed it off and kept walking, taking the lead.
“I’m sorry,” you said, running to catch up, voice sincere despite the fact that you hadn’t been the one to do it.
It’s not your fault, she wanted to say.
“It is what it is,” she said instead. And then, because she was curious, “Have you ever–?”
“No,” you said quickly and definitively. “You were supposed to be my first.” Abby felt her cheeks warm. You hadn’t meant it that way at all of course, but that’s where her mind went. She let out a weird, strangled, kind-of-coughing noise that only aided in deepening her blush.
You went on, unaware, “It was supposed to be a big deal. They were calling it my first kill.” You sounded put off by the whole thing, like very nearly killing Abby had been so beneath you. “That’s why they were letting me off the island for the first time. Things… obviously didn’t go as the Elders planned.”
“Well I feel… weirdly honored,” she said, an attempt at lightening the mood.
“Honored that you were chosen to be my first kill? Or honored that I didn’t actually kill you?” you asked, brows slightly raised but playing along.
“Both I guess.” She shrugged as you sped up a bit so you could walk side-by-side instead of one after the other.
“Yeah well.” You bumped her gently with your shoulder. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”
Abby scoffed. “You were never actually going to do it.”
“Yes I was!”
She scoffed again. “Sure. If you say so, princess.”
“I absolutely was going to kill you,” you said, feigning offense. “Abby, if Lev and Yara hadn’t shown up exactly when they did, you would be so dead right now.”
She laughed lightly, shaking her head. To anyone else, this might’ve been a weird thing to joke about, but between the two of you it worked.
“You really don’t think I could’ve done it.” Your eyes were wide in realization, and now you looked like maybe you were truly offended.
“All I’m saying is,” Abby said, smiling to herself, “there seemed to be a whole lot of hesitation on your end of things.”
“Well I’m not saying that I wanted to do it,” you insisted, watching her as you walked. “I’m just saying that I could’ve.”
“Uh huh. Whatever you say.” She knew she was goading you, but it was the first time she’d seen you get anywhere close to a smile since you left the aquarium.
“Shut up,” you mumbled harshly, whipping your head back around to face forward.
That made Abby really laugh. She’d never heard you say anything like that before.
You were biting your tongue, trying to suppress a smile of your own.
A loud, low groaning alarm sounded out over the island, and your face instantly fell.
“What is that?”
“It’s our warning signal,” you said, pulling Lev’s bow over your shoulder and grabbing an arrow. “Your people are here. The whole island will be on alert now.”
“God damn it, Isaac,” Abby muttered to herself.
“We’ll cut through the logging camp. This way,” you took a left, leaving the path you’d been on. “We no longer have the luxury of taking the long way to stay hidden. We need to hurry.”
Abby nodded, even though you weren’t looking at her. “How many people live here?”
“Around a thousand.”
“How many soldiers?”
“More than half are trained in combat.”
“What are the other half going to do when my people get here?”
“Some will hide. Most will fight,” you said, leading the way into the nearest village.
It was empty. No one around, ready to attack.
“Where is everyone?”
“The children will have been taken to shelters as soon as the signal went off. Everyone else is probably moving towards the coast to face the Wolves.”
The second small village you passed through was still being evacuated. As expected, when they caught sight of Abby, they attacked. In the chaos, no one seemed to get a close enough look at you to recognize who you were.
Abby fought. And killed.
You fired more than a few arrows.
And then you moved on to the next village, making a near-straight shot to where you knew Lev would be.
Abby paused just within the treeline.
In the trunk of a tree, someone had painstakingly sculpted a life-sized, hyper-realistic statue of you. Just above your head, the words “May Her light guide us” were carved.
You stopped next to Abby, regarding the figure in your likeness for a moment.
“‘When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light,’” she said quietly.
“What’s that?”
“Just… something my dad used to say.”
You hummed in acknowledgment, glancing down to where the trunk met the earth.
“Those are new,” you said, referring to the mass of flowers that were carefully placed around the tree.
It reminded Abby of the flowers people put near the graves and memorials of their dead loved ones.
“It’s like they’re mourning you,” she said.
“They think I’m dead?” you asked, knowing she couldn’t have an answer.
Abby pulled her eyes away from the intricate carving to look at the real, living, breathing version of you beside her. “Where are we going?”
Without looking away from the flowers, you said, “See that tall tower?”
“The Space Needle?”
“The what?”
“The – never mind. Yeah. I see it.”
“Head towards it.”
You knelt down, letting the fingers of your left hand graze over some of the flowers. When they landed on a daisy, you picked it up, stood, and carefully pushed it into your pocket.
She waited patiently before following you onward.
You had to get through a few more villages – and the few Scars who had been left behind to defend them – before you got to the right one.
At least Abby thought it must be the right one. Because you had come to a full stop and were staring at one specific house.
“Is that it?” she asked, putting a hand on your shoulder to bring you back down to earth.
“No,” you whispered absentmindedly. “It’s this one.” You walked towards the house across from the one you’d been staring at, bow drawn, arrow nocked.
A lit fire pit in the center of the large, open room illuminated the space in an orange glow. You stepped inside, letting your weapon fall when you saw the lifeless body in front of the fire.
It was Lev and Yara’s mother.
Blood ran from a wound in her skull, pooling on the floor beneath her.
You let out a shaky breath.
And whipped around when you heard your name uttered from an even shakier voice coming from the corner of the room.
“Lev!” He was sitting, knees up, arms wrapped around them, curled in on himself, eyes locked on his mom. “Oh thank god,” you breathed out, rushing over. You were on your knees in front of him before you saw the damage that had been done. Cuts all across his face and arms. Your heart sank even deeper. “Did she do this to you?”
Lev let out a few hiccupping breaths, still staring past you at the body. “I just tried talking to her. I tried to make her understand, but she… she just kept yelling. She started chasing me. I tried to make her stop. I was just pushing her off of me…” His volume grew, voice becoming more desperate as he tried to explain.
“Hey hey hey,” you whispered, trying to soothe, wanting to fix.
“–Then she hit the table,” he sobbed.
“Listen to me.” Your hand was on his elbow, thumb gently circling. “You were defending yourself. You did nothing wrong.” When he finally met your eyes, you wrapped your arms around him and held him as he cried, grasping onto you so tightly it took your breath away. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
You stayed there for several minutes, holding him against you, rubbing his back as he kept his face buried where your shoulder met your neck. You held him until his sobbing subsided and his breathing slowed. You remembered how Yara used to hug you when you were kids, never being the first to let go, and you hugged her little brother – your little brother – in just the same way.
You pressed a kiss to the side of his head and squeezed a little tighter.
“I wanna leave,” he said, voice muffled against you.
“Yeah, me too.” When he lifted his head, you stood, offering him a hand up. He took it and kept holding on, even once he was standing too. “Come on,” you said, motioning to the door.
Abby was there – she had been there the whole time – and her eyes looked soft and sad when they met yours.
“Hey, kid,” she said to Lev, offering him one of her handguns. You squeezed his hand one last time before letting it go so he could grab it, glad that Abby had the forethought to make sure he was armed.
He wiped his face with his shirt sleeve before taking the weapon from her. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve–”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m just glad we found you. Let’s go.”
He nodded as she turned to push the door back open. The three of you stepped back out into the rain.
“What’s happening? Wolves?” Lev asked.
“Yeah,” you said, taking the lead. “All over the island.” Your eyes caught again on the house across the way, making you pause.
Lev stopped next to you, immediately understanding. “She’s not there.”
“I figured.”
“Do you want to go in?” he asked.
“We don’t have time,” you said, but you couldn’t turn away.
“We’re never coming back here, right?”
“God, I hope not.”
“Then let’s make time,” he said, making the decision for you as he walked over and opened the door. You followed behind him, and Abby followed behind you, not asking any questions.
The inside of your mother’s house was much the same as Lev’s and Yara’s. One large, open room on the first floor. Fire pit in the center. A ladder leading up to a loft.
It looked nearly the same as you remembered it, though you hadn’t stepped foot in there in eight years. There was the stool in front of the mirror where you’d tried not to cry while your mom fixed your hair over and over again until she deemed it ‘as close to perfect as imperfect people can be’ on your last morning here. There was the table where you did your lessons and learned to read the scripture, and where you’d sit and have meals as a family, back before your dad died. The little wooden animals your dad used to carve in his rare, precious spare time. The bed where your mother slept.
Everything was the same. Except for the far wall.
Where there was once a painting of the first Prophet, your own face now stared back at you. And next to the painting, in neat lettering:
“The world is not in balance,
But I have done my part to right it.
You have led me through the storm.
May the current be calm.
May you guide me home.”
“What’s that?” Abby asked, speaking for the first time since you entered the house.
“The Prophet’s prayer,” you said quietly, turning away from the wall entirely.
“She prays to it,” Lev said matter-of-factly. “The painting,” he clarified.
“I could’ve gone without knowing that, Lev,” you said, sounding cross despite your efforts not to.
“Your mom?” Abby asked. “This is her house, right?”
“Yep,” Lev answered for you.
You felt sick to your stomach.
“It’s like the Elders decided you were the new Prophet and then everyone lost their minds,” he went on as you made your way over to the ladder and climbed up to the loft. “Your mom stopped calling you her daughter. Suddenly your face was everywhere, but we weren’t allowed to go see you or talk to you. We weren’t even supposed to talk about you, you know, before. Someone overheard Yara using your real name, and they… The punishment was severe.”
You listened as you stood alone in the loft, looking around at what used to be your bedroom. This, your mother had left completely untouched. It seemed like no one had even been up here in the eight years you’d been gone. “I’m listening,” you reassured Lev as you began searching for something. The one thing you wanted to take with you before you left forever.
“After that, it was hard to even think of you as the same person we knew. The girl who used to braid little flowers into crowns for us. Who came up with the best games and told the wildest stories and broke the rules but only in ways that didn’t really matter and only when you knew you wouldn’t get caught… The girl who carried me back home, all the way across the island, when I fell and broke my foot, singing the whole way because you knew it would make me feel better.” He paused for a second before continuing, “You were the first person who I told I didn’t like my name – I didn’t like the way it made me feel – so, without asking me a single question, without asking me to explain myself or justify anything, you just… never called me that name again.” Lev’s voice broke just a little, and you wiped away a few of your own tears as you continued looking. You knew this was everything he’d needed to get off his chest, probably since long before you were reunited a few days ago, and you didn’t want to interrupt. “You were our sister and then one day they took you away from us. And no one but me and Yara seemed upset about it. Our mom was weird. Your mom was even weirder. Everyone acted like you were a god. The God. Not even a person. And like everything else, everything before, didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t real. They made us believe it.”
You finally found what you’d been looking for, and you could sense that Lev had run out of things to say, at least for the time being, so you shoved it in your pocket with the daisy, climbed back down the ladder, walked over to him, and hugged him tightly again.
“They’re good at that,” you said quietly. “At making us forget… But it’s okay. We’re together now. Let’s get out of here.” He sniffled and nodded as you pulled away. “I’m surprised you remember all of that. You were so young.”
He said your name, eyebrows drawing together like he shouldn’t have to say this, “You were my favorite person. Of course I remember.”
“Really?” you asked, smiling. “Not Yara?”
“Don’t feel bad for her,” he said, heading to the door. “You were her favorite too.”
Abby brushed past you as she followed Lev out, letting her hand brush against yours as she went. You met her eyes and smiled apologetically, grateful to her for being here. For helping with this.
You took up the back of the line, taking one final look around before shutting that door behind you forever.
Outside, the rain had picked up and daylight was slipping away. By the sounds of it, the fighting had grown closer on all sides, although it hadn’t yet reached the village you were in.
“This way,” you said, taking the lead again.
“Shouldn’t we head back for our boat?” Abby asked when you didn’t start going back the way you’d come.
“No, I hear fighting back there.”
“I hear fighting everywhere,” Abby argued.
Lev stopped next to you. “There are lots of boats in Haven.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” you said. “We’re closer to Haven now than to where we came from anyway. We can cut through Old Town. Avoid the main roads.”
Abby looked unsure, but relented to the two who knew the island. “Alright, princess. Lead the way.”
Your group managed to avoid conflict for a while, from both the Wolves and the Seraphites, staying hidden in the trees and avoiding areas where the fighting was the loudest.
You moved in near silence, keeping the talking to a minimum.
Old Town referred to an area of old buildings, left completely unused by the anti-Old World Seraphites. The thing that had surprised you the most about the mainland was that it looked like Old Town, only much much bigger. The Wolves hadn’t carved out their own place in the world in the same way the Seraphites did.
You wondered if the rest of the world was like that. Just people making the best of what already was instead of building something new.
The three of you moved carefully and quickly through the streets of Old Town, cutting through alleyways and relying mostly on side streets.
“We’re leaving so many people behind,” Lev said as you passed by a few dead Seraphites on the road.
“We can’t help them,” you said. That’s what you had to tell yourself.
“I know.”
“Stay close to me,” you whispered.
“Okay.”
“We need to get off the street,” Abby said, leading you into one of the nearby buildings as the sound of gunshots grew closer.
You lost count of how many buildings you passed through, each of them equally derelict and damp. It took longer, traveling that way, but it meant you were much less likely to be seen.
“This way,” Lev said, pulling himself up and out of a large window that appeared to lead out to a side road. His feet hit the street before either you or Abby had even made it to the window. She was the first to follow after him.
From inside, you couldn’t see what was happening, but you heard a struggle. Someone yelled, “I got one!” And then there was a gunshot.
“Abby?” The WLF soldier gasped as she knocked him out with his own gun.
The one he’d used to kill Lev.
By the time she had taken the man out, you were out the window and on your knees next to Lev. Silent. Staring. Your hands frozen, shaking, hovering just above his body like you wanted to touch him but didn’t know if you should.
Your whole body shook with a sob.
“Gunshots! Over here!” More Wolves were just down the street. You were seconds away from being within their sights.
Abby rushed to you, grabbing your arm. “Hey, we need to move.” She wished more than anything that this wasn’t happening right now. She wanted to give you time, wanted to sit beside you and cry too, but that wasn’t an option right now.
“No!” You pushed her away. Abby didn’t have a choice. If you didn’t move now, you’d be dead too. She hooked her arms under yours and lifted you, trying to carry you away. “No!” you cried out, grabbing for Lev, fighting against her. “I can’t leave him here!”
“We have to!” she insisted, not letting you go.
The Wolves were closing in. “I see someone!”
There was no point. You wouldn’t be able to get away in time. Abby put you down and pushed you behind her, raising her gun. “Stay back!” she shouted as the soldiers came into view.
“Drop it! Now!” one of them demanded while two others said, “Holy shit!” and “It’s Abby!”
“I said stay back!” She held firm, ready to fire at any one of them at a moment's notice.
“Stand down,” came another voice. One Abby recognized.
The man stepped out of the treeline and into view.
“Isaac,” she said.
When he came upon Lev’s body on the ground, he regarded it for a moment before shaking his head and slowly stepping over it.
Abby held her gun to the side, not putting it away but showing that she wasn’t aiming at him. She was, like he’d instructed, standing down.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
She slowly bent down, fingers raised away from the trigger, as she dropped her gun on the ground a few feet in front of her. “I need you to hear me out.”
Isaac took a beat before he responded. “What’s that behind you?”
Abby held a hand up and kept her voice calm, like she was trying to reason with a wild animal instead of a man and a handful of his soldiers. She took a couple steps back, bumping into you, making sure you were close without ever looking away from him. “She saved my life, Isaac.”
“Move out of the way. We’ll deal with you back home.”
He wasn’t listening.
“She’s not one of them. Please,” Abby said, desperation in her voice.
“Abby, move.” He was firm and expected to be obeyed, just as he always did.
But she couldn’t obey this time. She knew what would happen to you if she did. “No. She’s–”
“–The Prophet,” he finished. And then his gaze slid from hers to yours. “Yeah. I recognize you. They’ve got your face plastered all over this island.”
You said nothing, and Abby wanted his attention back on her, away from you. She tried again. “Isaac–”
He cut her off again, this time with a sudden laugh. “I tried to warn you, Abby. Didn’t I?” And then he turned dramatically, to the surrounding Wolves, gesticulating theatrically in her direction. “BEHOLD the power of the Great Scar Prophet!” His eyes landed back on her. “Able to pull my best soldier right out from under me. Make her turn her back on everything she believes in. And everyone she cares about.”
“That’s not– She’s not–” Abby didn’t know how to make him understand. “She’s not part of this.”
“That is correct. She’s not a part of this,” Isaac seethed. “She. Is. This.”
“What–”
“Every time they attack us – every time they slaughter one of our people – it is done in her name. Every new martyr of theirs dies with her face at the forefront of their mind. Every life lost here today is because of her, along with every life that has been lost in the last decade of this war. All of this death and destruction – all of the blood — is on her hands.”
“Isaac, you can’t seriously think–”
And then, for the first time, Isaac pointed his gun directly at Abby, leveling it at her face. “You have three seconds to get away from that Scar,” he said. “One.”
“You’re really gonna shoot me?” Abby reached a hand out behind her, finding you, making sure you were still behind her, still shielded.
“Two.”
“I’m not fucking moving.”
Isaac paused. And Abby thought, for just a second, that he might’ve changed his mind. That he might back down.
And then there was a gunshot.
She flinched, but it wasn’t her who had been shot.
It was Isaac. Shot by–
“Lev!” you shouted, surging forward.
“No!” “What the fuck?” “Shoot him!” The soldiers all turned their guns on Lev and fired.
You screamed.
Abby grabbed your hand and booked it to the nearest building, taking advantage of the chaos. You were too shocked to fight her this time, so you allowed yourself to be pulled away.
“Shit!” “Stop them!” “Don’t let them get away!”
Abby slammed the door closed behind you and pushed a filing cabinet in front of it, grabbing your hand and dragging you further into the building, through another door. Once that one was secure, she reached for you again. If she had to drag you all the way back to the aquarium, she would.
But this time, you ripped your hand away. That’s when you seemed to notice the blood on your hands.
Lev’s blood.
“We need to move.” She wanted you to have time, for you to be able to fully react and process this, but it needed to be later. When you were safe.
You didn’t hear her. Or didn’t care. “He’s gone. Oh my god. He’s gone.”
She said your name, forcefully, trying to draw your eyes to her. “Come on.” She reached for you again, but you yanked your whole body in the opposite direction.
“Those were your fucking people!” you lashed out, much angrier than she’d ever seen you, and for good reason.
“Hey! You’re my people!” she said, matching your volume and intensity. Abby didn’t know where that came from, but she knew that it was true. She took a breath, stepped closer, and tried to touch you again, this time putting her hands on your shoulders. You let her, looking up at her with wide eyes. “Listen to me. We’re gonna have to fight to get out of this, okay? And then I need you to show us to those boats.” You nodded, and she moved her hands from your shoulders to either side of your face, holding your gaze. “We won’t let anybody stop us, yeah?”
“Okay,” you said, barely a whisper.
“Okay.” She stepped back, letting her hands fall to her sides. “Follow me.”
You were on a boat, floating off to safety, while your whole island went up in flames.
Lev was there. Your mother was there. Everything and everyone you knew was there.
But you were here.
In a rowboat.
And you weren’t even helping to row it.
You hadn’t even thought to offer.
The phantom heat of the now distant fires that consumed Haven seemed to lick at the back of your skull as you finally pulled your eyes away, turning to face Abby.
She was rowing slowly, now that you weren’t in imminent danger, her strong arms engaged, face focused. She had to be tired. She’d done so much.
You were only alive because of her.
“I can row,” you said, voice weaker than you meant for it to be.
Abby slowed a bit more, looking you over. “You’re shaking.”
You hadn’t noticed. You clenched your fists tightly, trying to stop the tremors. But it wasn’t just your hands that were shaking. It was your whole body.
Were you cold?
For how long?
You steeled yourself. “I can help.”
She stopped rowing entirely and started to shift. You prepared yourself to switch seats with her, but she wasn’t actually moving. She was only taking off her jacket.
You felt like you should protest, that you should insist you were fine and that she should keep her jacket, but you didn’t have it in you.
When she went to drape it over your shoulders, you let her.
The jacket was soaked, just like everything else in Seattle, but it helped.
You put your arms in the sleeves properly and pulled it tighter around yourself, staring at the floor of the boat.
What you wanted was for your mind to go blank. Thinking about anything was dangerous. You didn’t want to spiral, not right now. You couldn’t create more problems for Abby to deal with. You needed to just get back to the aquarium, get dry, and then–
Yara.
You had to tell Yara what happened.
How could you tell Yara about this? You promised her you’d bring Lev back safe.
Lev.
Images came rushing back to you. You tried to blink them away, but they were stubborn. They lingered.
You swallowed back tears and let your head fall into your hands, trying desperately to focus on your breathing and nothing else. Nothing else. Nothing. Else.
Abby brought the boat right up to a small dock right next to the aquarium. She got out first and tied it off with deft fingers. Then she offered you a hand and pulled you out, stabilizing you as you found balance on embarrassingly shaky legs.
“Got it?” she asked, a hand pressed to your mid-back.
“Yeah.”
She stepped away. “Let’s get out of the rain.”
Someone had barricaded the aquarium door from the inside.
That was the first indication that something was wrong.
The second came soon after, when you found the dog – Alice – dead.
You and Abby were both on high alert, moving through the dark hallways with your weapons drawn.
Then there was the blood. So much of it that there was a pool of it gathering on the other side of the door. Whatever happened – whatever went so terribly wrong here in the time that you were gone today – was through that doorway.
You forgot to breathe.
Abby pressed on.
You really didn’t want to, but you followed.
Into the room with whales on the ceiling and Mel, Owen, and Yara lifeless and bleeding on the floor.
You went numb in a way that had nothing at all to do with the cold. You felt the switch flipping inside of you, the failsafe going into effect. You detached. Walls went up in your mind.
This was good. It meant that maybe, just maybe, you’d make it through this day.
You were somewhat aware of Abby, to your left, as she let out a terrible sound. You thought she was saying “oh,” but no. That didn’t make sense. She was saying “no.” Over and over again as she crumpled to her knees near Owen.
Your eyes locked onto something on the floor by your feet. To get it, you had to step through a pool of blood that had certainly come from one of the three bodies.
But it was just blood, you told yourself. And these were just bodies. Nothing to be done. Nothing to worry about.
Numbly, you bent to pick up what you now realized was a map of Seattle. Someone had written on it, covering it in notes and shapes and names.
After studying it for a minute, your eyes went to Abby. She was on her hands and knees, heaving after having been sick.
You’d give her a moment more if you thought it would help, but you knew it wouldn’t.
This. This map. That would help.
“Abby…” You approached her slowly, letting her make an attempt at pulling herself together. When you were close enough, you held out the map.
She took it, and then she stood slowly, examining it.
When she turned to you, you could tell. She knew the same thing you did.
Someone had been tracking Abby – hunting her – for a while.
Note: As always, thank you for reading! I'm not the best at responding to comments, but I want you to know that I love and cherish them more than words can say! So if you're leaving them, thank you <3
I'm really excited about the turn the story takes in the next chapter, and I think it'll be really enjoyable to read for anyone who's rooting for Abby and the Prophet! (which is, I assume, everyone who reads this fic lol)
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas
Note: I'm really sorry for how long it took for me to write this chapter. Life's been a bitch lately. Keeps kicking me while I'm down, so to speak.
Someone asked about a taglist, so I'm starting one! Please comment if you want to be added :)
Abby fell asleep surrounded by Scars but woke up alone.
She sat up, blinking away the stubborn remnants of her dreams. Images of her father, alive, and simpler times.
Sunlight shone in from nearby windows, indicating that it was probably already late morning, if not early afternoon, meaning that she’d slept much later than she’d meant to. Much later than she normally would.
But the last couple of days had been anything but normal.
The sound of voices in the hallway brought Abby to her feet and out the door.
Lev and Yara stood just down that hall, arguing, their voices low and insistent.
“Even if you make it, she’s not going to come with you,” Yara said.
“I can convince her.”
“We broke the rules, Lev! That’s all she’ll care about!”
Abby didn’t know who or what they were talking about, and she wasn’t nearly awake enough to begin to decipher it. Behind her, a door opened, across the hall from the room she’d come from.
“Abby?”
Your voice was quiet. Almost surprised. Like you hadn’t expected to see her standing there.
She shivered, as if you’d touched her.
She wished you would touch her.
Jesus. She really needed to get her thoughts in check.
She turned to face you.
You smiled, a stark contrast to the tense words being exchanged just around the corner. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Abby might have just woken up, but she could’ve sworn there was a halo of light surrounding you.
Maybe she was still dreaming.
Her too-recently-conscious eyes could only take in one thing at a time. First, your eyes. She was stuck there for a while. Probably much longer than what was socially acceptable. You had beautiful eyes.
Then, your mouth. Lips still slightly upturned in a warm smile. She wanted to know if you greeted everyone like this. If that smile was a common sight to those around you or if it was just for her. She couldn’t imagine she’d done anything to deserve special treatment from you, but looking at you smiling at her felt like a gift. One that she couldn’t possibly have earned.
It was at that moment that Abby remembered that she was looking at the Seraphite Prophet.
Isaac had warned her about you just over forty-eight hours ago. He’d said that the greatest threat you posed was in your ability to win people over, earning their loyalty even at the cost of their own morals. Their life-long allegiances. Their people.
She understood now why you had been chosen to be the new Prophet. There was something about you that drew people in – had them letting their guard down – with or without all of the Seraphite brainwashing.
Hell, Abby met you two days ago and she was already prepared to leave the certainty and security of the Washington Liberation Front to follow you wherever you wanted to go.
There was something magic about you. You must have a similar effect on everybody.
Abby was momentarily relieved, feeling like she’d solved an equation. She wasn’t losing her mind. (At least not any more than anyone else around you was.) This wasn’t her fault. It was yours.
Even as she thought it, it sounded stupid to her. But the only alternative was that these thoughts and feelings were uniquely, inherently her own. And that could only lead to the hope that you might feel the same way about her.
She finally managed to pull her eyes away from your face and noticed that you were carrying a small, neatly folded pile of clothes.
“Mel gave these to me,” you said, following her gaze. “She said that they don’t really fit her anymore.” Abby only blinked at you incredulously, not understanding. If she hadn’t just woken up, she would’ve known what you meant. “You know. Because of the–” You trailed off, using your hand to make an arching motion over your own stomach, as if to represent a pregnant belly. “–the baby.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Abby looked away, running a hand absently over her braided hair. “Makes sense. That was… nice of her.”
You nodded, falling quiet as Lev and Yara’s voices grew louder just around the corner, the two of them still arguing.
“I can’t believe she’s on her feet already,” Abby said after a minute.
Your worried look gave way to another small smile. “Yes, well, Yara’s always been tough.”
There was so much that Abby didn’t know about you. And Yara and Lev. And about your history together. She’d been picking up on bits and pieces of it, especially yesterday with Lev. It had taken some time, but he definitely started opening up to her as they traveled to and from the hospital.
He had even turned things around on Abby and asked what was going on between you and her. And he seemed to find it funny when she got flustered and dodged the question entirely.
But you had not been such an open book. And Abby wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything.
She just didn’t know where to start.
“What are they fighting about?” she asked instead.
“Lev is worried about their mother,” you explained, just loud enough for Abby to hear. “About what’ll happen to her because of them.”
“Should he be worried?” she asked.
“He needs to focus on his own safety right now.”
“What could happen to her?” If she had to guess based on what she knew about the Seraphites, it couldn’t be good.
You looked away. “Sometimes parents are held responsible for their children’s sins. But their mom is so devout that she’ll probably be fine.”
“Are there options? For helping her?”
You frowned. “Lev wants to go back to the island to get her. But he would never be able to convince her to leave. I’m not even sure that I could, and I’m–”
“The Prophet?” Abby finished.
You moved on without acknowledging that truth. “Yara and I are more worried about what she might do to him.” Before she could think of a response to any of that, you looked back at her, shaking your head like you were shaking those thoughts away. “They’ll work it out. Lev’s not unreasonable.”
“He’s a kid,” she said frankly. “I’m not an expert, but aren’t kids supposed to be hard to reason with, especially when they’re emotional?”
“He’s a Seraphite,” you corrected her. “Seraphites are never really kids.”
Again, Abby felt the urge to ask you to explain, to tell her more about what you meant by that.
“I could use your help with something–” you said, hesitant, “–if you wouldn’t mind. I would ask Yara, but she’s occupied. And she’s also down one arm.”
“Yeah,” Abby said, sincere and probably far too eager. “Of course. What do you need?”
You smiled gratefully and gestured for her to go back into the room where you had all slept. She followed without question, shutting the door behind her.
“It’s kind of embarrassing.” The look on your face told her that you wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t have to. “It’s this dress,” you said. “It isn’t meant for me to be able to take it off myself. One or two of my attendants would always have to help.” And then you turned, just enough to draw Abby’s attention to the back of the dress, where there was an admittedly overly complicated looking corset thing going on. It looked cool, but yeah, she could see how it would be difficult, if not impossible, for you to undo it by yourself.
“They might as well have sewn me into it,” you added, doing your best to look at it over your shoulder. Then you turned back to face her.
She took a beat before she found her voice. “You have attendants? Like maids?”
You shot her an exasperated look. “I had attendants. But they are on the island and I am here, and it’d be really great if someone would help me get out of this thing once and for all.”
“Yeah yeah, I got it,” Abby said, smiling now. “Turn back around.”
You sighed but did as you were told, tossing the pile of clean clothes on the couch for the sole purpose of being able to cross your arms over your chest. Abby chuckled, surprised but amused by your sudden attitude.
She stepped up behind you, taking a closer look at the fabric contraption that had you trapped in this dress. It suddenly occurred to her that, in order to help you with this problem, she would have to get very close to you… And that she’d have to touch you… And that this would inevitably end with you taking off your clothes. Hell, she was (technically speaking) the one who would be undressing you.
She cleared her throat and tried – not for the first time that day and probably not for the last – to get her thoughts under control. You weren’t coming on to her. You just needed help. You probably would’ve been just as likely to ask Mel to do this.
Abby shifted on her feet behind you, lifting her hands to start what was sure to be a very long untangling process, but she paused before actually touching the fabric that hugged your back. “Can I…?” she asked. It felt important to have your permission before she touched you.
“Hmm?” you hummed, glancing over your shoulder before you realized what she meant. “Oh. Yes. Please.”
A thrill shot through her at the sound of you responding to her request to touch you with please.
God, there had to be something wrong with her.
No one – genuinely not one single other person in her whole life – had ever had this effect on her.
She got to work on the dress, trying to convince her stupid, horny mind that the ribbons and fabrics beneath her fingers were not, in fact, attached to your body. She was unsuccessful.
“Jesus, they really did not want you getting out of this thing,” she huffed. “What? Was trapping you in your clothes their way of keeping you chaste?”
Since when did she say shit like chaste? It did sound like some bullshit the Seraphites would do though.
To her surprise, you laughed. “I think the idea was more likely to keep me dependent on others. Trapped both physically and mentally, you know? … It’s a dress, Abby. You don’t exactly have to take it off to have sex.”
Abby’s fingers stilled, her eyes went wide, and her face warmed. And she was glad you were facing the other way so you didn’t see any of it.
She changed the subject before she did anything stupid, like ask you literally anything else about that subject. “So… have you always worn this dress?”
It was a stupid question, but it’s the first thing she could come up with under these conditions.
“This exact dress, no,” you said. She could tell from your voice that you were smiling, and she couldn’t be sure but she thought you might be teasing her. “But some version of it, yes. Since the day I turned twelve. New ones were made for me as I grew and if they tore or got dirty, but it was always something like this.” You paused for a few seconds before going on. “It’s strange. I haven’t worn pants in eight years. I’m kind of excited.”
Abby couldn’t imagine being excited to wear Mel’s hand-me-down pants. But she also hadn’t been forced to wear the same virtually inescapable dress for nearly a decade. The thought alone made her chest feel tight.
She had made a small amount of progress with the dress, but not as much as she would have wanted, and she was getting frustrated with the whole thing. She yanked on something that she thought would loosen it, but ended up making it much tighter. You let out a sharp hiss.
“Sorry,” Abby said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do tha–”
“Do you want to just cut it off of me?” you asked, spinning around to face her again, clearly even more eager and annoyed than she was.
“Umm.” Abby thought her brain might be shutting down entirely. “Yeah. I can do that. If you’re sure you’re not gonna want to wear it again.”
“I’m not going to want to wear it again,” you confirmed.
Neither of you had taken a step back when you turned around, which left very little space between you. Something that Abby was painfully aware of.
“Okay,” she said, voice low. “Then I guess I’m cutting you out of the dress.” But she didn’t move from where she stood, just a breath away from you.
You were the first to move, walking over to where you had all dropped your stuff yesterday and returning with your dagger.
“Here.” Face unreadable, you offered the deadly blade to Abby handle-first. She took it as you spun back around.
She gripped the dagger’s hilt in her hand tightly. The trust that you must’ve had in her, to hand over your weapon and willingly turn your back to her… It made her feel brave.
Or maybe she had bravery and stupidity mixed up.
Abby began carefully cutting through the same ribbons that she’d previously been attempting to untie.
“Are there rules,” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, “about abstaining from sex? I’ve read about a few Old World religions that were strict about that.”
You were entirely unfazed by the question. “Seraphites have rules for everything. Some of them always made sense to me. But most of them are ridiculous. Meant only to ensure that our Elders are able to maintain complete control.”
The top of the dress loosened and began to sag as Abby continued to slice through the offending constraints, until it was only held up by the straps. She had done enough for you to be able to easily get out of it. If you were to let those straps fall from your shoulders, the whole thing would fall to the floor, gathering at your feet.
She looked away from the smooth expanse of skin in front of her and tried to force that image out of her mind.
“Should be able to get it off now,” she said, deciding that it would actually be better for her to take several steps away.
An earnest ‘thank you’ came from your lips as you grabbed the new clothes from the couch. You didn’t ask her to turn around, but she did anyway. And she was decidedly not thinking about what was going on behind her.
“To answer your question from before,” you began as you got dressed. “Yes, there are rules about that, but they’re wildly unimaginative. We are not permitted to be alone with someone of the opposite sex – outside of our family members – until a spouse is chosen for us. At which point, that person becomes a family member. So technically, we’re never allowed to be alone with someone of the opposite sex.”
“That sucks,” she threw out, not knowing what else to say as she stared at a random stain on the wall and forced herself to wonder how it might’ve gotten there.
“Probably. For most people. But I never really had a problem with it.” Your voice was much closer now, just behind her.
“Why not?” Abby’s question of if it was safe to turn around yet was answered with the light touch of your fingers against her wrist, trailing down to meet the dagger still grasped in her palm. She relinquished the knife to you, letting her hand linger against yours as she turned to face you, taking it all in.
You were, indeed, wearing pants. And also a shirt. And they both fit you pretty well.
And you were beautiful. There was always that.
You passed the dagger from your right hand to your left, and the look of determination on your face was nearly the same as it was moments after she first saw you. When Abby was hanging by her throat and you were going to kill her. Only this time the feeling coursing through her body wasn’t fear. It was anticipation.
Whatever you were planning to do next, she wanted it.
“Why not?” Abby had asked a minute ago.
“Because I’ve never had any interest in the opposite sex,” you answered as your right hand found its place against her jaw.
Time slowed as you stood there for a moment, holding a dagger in one hand and Abby’s face in the other.
She thought you might kiss her. She was hoping you’d kiss her.
And then the door flung open and your hand fell to your side.
Yara was crying or yelling or both, and it took Abby way too long to process the words she was saying.
“Lev’s gone! He took a boat! He’s going back to the island!”
Note: This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but it felt good to end it here for now.
Also, I want you to know that I'm dedicated to finishing this fic, and I know exactly where I want to go with it, so expect more updates soon!
I’ve been looking for a good tlou slow burn for soo long because every creator on this app just likes the write smut but I’ve been reading reading this fic it isn’t that long but it’s really good if you guys want to read it the user is
I’m so excited for chapter 6!!!! Sending you so much love, I haven’t found a fic without the whole plot being smut this good in a long time!!!!
🥲🥲🥲thank you so much!!!
I’m actually working on chapter 6 right now! Hoping to have it posted in the next day or two.
It means so much to hear from people who enjoy reading what I write! It’s seriously so encouraging and motivating☺️♥️
Also, while I’m here, someone else asked about a taglist. I never even thought to start one, but I will now! So to anyone who reads The Wolf and The Prophet, let me know if you want me to add you!
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas; sorry (but not that sorry) to any Owen fans, but he’s kinda a huge asshole in this
Note: I added chapter titles and finally figured out exactly where I’m going with this story lol. Hooray for having a plan!!
(Sorry it took more than two weeks to get this chapter out! End-of-semester craziness, ya know? I hope this chapter being like twice as long as usual makes up for it!)
Abby realized too late that she probably should’ve warned you about the life-sized whales on the ceiling.
By the look on your face, she could tell you’ve never seen anything like it.
Which made sense. She hadn’t either before she and Owen found this place three years ago.
She paused to watch you for just a second, taking in your amazed expression as you marveled at the enormous hanging sea creatures above you.
Abby could easily remember what her first time here was like. How incredible and other-worldly this place felt. She imagined it must be even more overwhelming for you, this fractured piece of a world you were not a part of and knew little about. A world where humans built a place where they could go to look at fish for no reason other than that it was entertaining. A world where people did things just for fun.
Of course, Abby had also never been a part of that world, but at least she knew about it. She’d caught glimpses of it, carefully and intentionally gathering bits and pieces. She watched films and documentaries. She read novels and history books, newspapers and magazines if she could find them.
Knowledge was power. And, to Abby, having power was important. Having power meant being able to keep the people she cared about safe.
And if you had enough power, no one could ever take it away from you.
So she dedicated herself to becoming powerful, both of mind and of body. It’s all she had known and cared about since she lost her dad.
It’s why she lost Owen.
She still wasn’t sure if that had been a good thing or a bad thing, but she knew she felt guilty about it.
Three years ago, Owen had quickly claimed the aquarium as his own. He cleaned it up, made it feel as homey as possible, and spent as much time here as he could get away with. Abby didn’t tell anyone, not even the rest of the Salt Lake crew. It was right around the time they were breaking up. She felt like she owed him her discretion at the very least. Not that it really made up for anything.
Yesterday morning, when Nora told Abby that Owen was missing, she assumed he’d come here.
God, she hoped she was right.
Abby shifted the injured Yara in her arms, her muscles burning from carrying the girl for so long.
It was early in the morning now. The sun had just begun to rise as the four of you had been making your way into the aquarium.
“Owen!” she shouted, leading the way down one of the hallways off the main entrance. Abby thought he would most likely be out on the boat, either sleeping or continuing in his never-ending attempts to get the thing in working order.
“Owen!” she called out again. “Owen! Are you here?”
She paused for a moment, listening. Nothing.
“Owen—”
“I’m here.” She heard his voice just before he rounded the corner, stopping short when he saw the whole group of you. “Are those Scars?” he asked, genuinely surprised and definitely confused as hell.
Abby ignored the question. “I need whatever medical supplies you have.”
Before Owen could respond, Alice came barreling around the corner, barking aggressively at the perceived enemies.
The next few seconds were chaotic to say the least.
You screamed and jumped back. Lev reacted quickly, his bow drawn and an arrow notched.
“Alice, no!” Abby yelled out.
Owen grabbed for the German Shepherd, holding her back as she continued to lunge forward, trying to attack.
“Put the bow down! It’s okay!” Abby shouted.
Owen gripped the dog’s harness tightly. “Put that down!”
“Alice, shut up! Lev, put the bow down!”
“Alice, stop—Abby, what the fuck?!”
“Lev, listen to them! Put it down!” you insisted, putting a hand on his shoulder as you tried to push him behind you.
All of this happened simultaneously, muffled by the sound of deafening, echoing barking.
“Alice!” a new voice, one that Abby knew belonged to Mel, shouted. To her, the dog listened, sitting down obediently with one final bark.
Mel stood next to Owen and Alice, staring.
There was a moment of silence.
Abby turned to the young boy. “Lev, lower the bow. It’s okay.”
Reluctantly, he listened.
“Abby, who are these people?” Mel asked.
“They saved my life,” she said, hoping that would be enough of an answer for now. “Can you take a look at her?” Abby looked down at Yara, who seemed to be barely conscious in her arms.
Mel dropped a hand on Alice’s head, instructing her to stay, as she slowly stepped closer, eyeing you and Lev cautiously.
“This is Yara,” Abby said before nodding over to the kid at her right, “That’s Lev. And that’s—” She stopped short. She wasn’t about to introduce you to them as Prophet.
Behind her, you spoke, offering up your name. Abby and Lev’s eyes both swung to you, widening for two entirely different reasons.
Abby’s because she was hearing your name for the first time. It was your name. It was like she discovered a brand new piece to this puzzle she had been frantically trying to assemble since the moment she saw you.
She wasn’t sure why Lev looked shocked, but it seemed like a big deal, for you to use your name in place of the title that had been forced upon you by the other Scars.
Abby quietly repeated the name, committing it to memory.
Mel gave a small nod, unaware of the mini revelation that was happening right in front of her, instead focusing on Yara with a concerned look on her face.
“What did this?” she asked, looking down at the girl’s mangled arm.
“A hammer,” you said, stepping forward until you were standing right next to Abby.
“It wasn’t me,” Abby quickly added. Guilty, despite her innocence. She was ashamed that she needed to make that clarification. Worried about what you would think about it.
Mel hesitated, regarding each of the Scars one by one again before sighing. “Alright. Let’s lay her down.”
The pregnant woman—clearly someone Abby knew but wasn’t exactly friendly with—decided that Yara had compartment syndrome, which apparently meant they would have to cut her arm off.
While everyone else argued about the best way to accomplish that task, you stood off to the side, feeling sick. If you had been able to stop Emily’s men last night, this wouldn’t be happening.
It shouldn’t be happening.
Yara was going to lose her arm or die because you failed her.
You were trying not to spiral. Trying to be helpful now. (Too little, too late.) Trying to pay attention to the Wolves’ conversation.
They didn’t have the supplies they needed to perform the amputation safely. Yara didn’t have time to wait the couple days it would take Abby to travel all the way to the hospital and back.
“What if we could get you there in two hours?” Lev asked, hands grasping the metal table where Yara laid in the center of the room. “The Wolf hospital, right? On the west side?”
The man—Owen—stood, interested. “How?”
“The bridges,” you said, realizing what Lev was getting at. All eyes turned to you. “Our people built them. High up.”
Lev nodded. “It’s how we get around the flooding. And… you people.”
After a quiet moment, Abby stepped forward. “Can she handle two hours?”
The woman considered this, her hand comfortingly placed on Yara’s shoulder. “Probably, yeah.”
Abby nodded. “Then make a list of what you need.”
Owen stepped closer, joining the circle the rest of you had formed around Yara. “Wait. Are you serious? Abby, these bridges are used by Scars.”
The fact that he was arguing against the plan frustrated you. Yara didn’t have time for this.
“They only send in small groups at a time,” Lev said.
“You heard that? Small groups.” Abby said, watching as the other woman jotted down the supplies on a loose piece of paper and handed it over.
“This isn’t a joke.” Owen looked only at Abby, trying to catch her eyes. She seemed to be actively avoiding making contact.
Instead, she turned to you and said your name, followed by, “Let’s go.”
You looked up at her, at a loss for words. It was sad that something as simple as hearing your name could have this effect on you, but it had been eight years since you’d heard it… And this was already the second time Abby had said it.
You wanted to turn and walk right out the door with her, happy to follow her anywhere, but reality set it.
“I can’t,” you said. “I don’t know where the hospital is. And I don’t know our bridges well enough to guide you. It will have to be Lev.” It looked like Abby might argue with you, or at least tell you to come with them.
You wanted to. The idea of letting Lev go back out into danger without you made you sick with worry. But, foolish as it may seem, you trusted Abby to look out for him. And you didn’t understand these other Wolves and the strange dynamic at play here. You certainly didn’t trust them to be alone with Yara.
“Someone needs to stay with her,” you said, holding Abby’s gaze.
She nodded, grabbing her backpack off the floor. “Alright. Lev.”
He looked to you, taking your hand in his. The group splitting up must’ve felt wrong to him, too.
Almost on instinct, you did what you had been trained to do. You offered a bit of comfort.
“May She guide you,” you said quietly, giving him a small, encouraging smile as you squeezed his one hand between both of yours.
The words were familiar to you both, a common Seraphite mantra. He reciprocated your tight grasp and finished the line, “May She protect you.”
When you released his hand, he placed it on Yara’s shoulder, as if to tell her goodbye as well. She was unresponsive.
You felt a hand fall on your own shoulder and looked up to find that it was Abby. She nodded her head to the opposite end of the room, impatiently taking your wrist in her hand and leading you over there when you didn’t immediately catch her meaning.
She didn’t let go.
Abby stood close, speaking quietly so that no one else could hear. “We’ll be back as soon as possible. Yara’s going to be fine, okay. And I’ll keep Lev safe.”
You couldn’t help the slight upward curve of your lips. “I know,” you said. “I trust you.”
She blinked, caught off guard, but continued. “I wouldn’t mention the whole you-being-the-Prophet thing to Owen and Mel if I were you.”
“I’m not a prophet,” you deadpanned.
She let out an exasperated breath. “Okay, sure. Well I wouldn’t tell them that the Scars think—”
“Seraphites,” you interjected.
“—Seraphites—Just… you get the point. Don’t mention it, okay?”
“What if they ask questions?”
“Dodge them. Be vague.”
“You don’t trust your friends?” you asked, more serious now.
“No,” Abby said. “Not with you.”
You couldn’t begin to guess what she meant by that.
“I trust them… for the most part.” She glanced at them over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again. “I just don’t know how they would react to that information. It’s not exactly a small thing. I don’t know what they would do with it.”
You looked at her for while longer, then nodded your head. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”
“Abby?” the man’s voice came from behind you.
She let go of your wrist immediately, as if she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.
You turned around to find the woman—Mel—and Owen both looking at you like they were witnessing something truly insane, instead of just two people having a conversation.
Lev stood on his own by the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eager to get moving.
From behind you, you felt Abby’s hand wrap around your wrist again, squeezing lightly and then letting go.
“We’ll be back,” she said, this time at a normal volume. She joined Lev by the door, opening it and leading the way out.
“Abby!” Owen said again, moving to follow them out.
Mel groaned, frustrated. “God! Owen, just let them go.” When he ignored her, she went after him, the door slamming loudly behind her.
You stayed behind with Yara.
She was blinking slowly, barely awake, her shallow breaths too few and far between for your liking. You felt helpless, knowing there wasn’t much you could do other than sit and wait.
You pulled up a chair.
Just outside the door, the two Wolves were arguing. Although, you only caught bits and pieces of it.
Something about Abby and Scars and a cloak… Something about someone who looked like she just stepped out of The Lord of the Rings. You didn’t know what that meant, but it was clear they were talking about you.
Again, you unfastened the cloak and freed yourself of your top layer. Whether that was due to embarrassment or a sudden recognition of the uncomfortable warmth of the room, you couldn’t tell.
“Did you see how she was looking at her?” “Owen, why do you care? Why does it matter to you?” you heard through the door.
The dynamic here was becoming more and more confusing.
You’d assumed that Owen was the father of Mel’s child, just because they seemed to live here together. But that didn’t explain Mel’s rather apparent unfavorable opinion of Abby. And it definitely didn’t explain Owen’s preoccupation with Abby.
Their conversation continued for several minutes, volume rising and falling periodically. There wasn’t much you understood and even less of it seemed important or interesting to you.
Eventually, the door swung open again, making you jump in your seat. Mel reentered the room, offering you a strained smile as she checked on Yara. You quietly watched her work.
“There’s not much we can do for her until Abby and your friend get back,” she said to you, eyes still focused on Yara. “If you want, I can get you set up with a place to sleep while we wait.”
“No,” you said, too quickly to be polite. “…Thank you. I’ll stay with Yara.”
Mel pulled her lips into a tight line and nodded, leaving the room again. She came back a few minutes later with water and a shiny red apple, offering them up for you to take.
“Sorry. I know it’s not much. Owen isn’t well-stocked on food right now,” she said after you’d accepted the snack.
You smiled. “Thank you. You’re very kind to be helping us at all.”
Mel didn’t really answer, instead gesturing to the door as she walked toward it. “Well, we’ll… be around. If you need anything. And I’ll come in and check on her periodically.”
You nodded, quietly thanking her again. The discarded cloak that you’d left on a table by the door caught your eye. “Oh. Wait.”
She turned to face you again, eyebrows raised in question.
An excursion that was supposed to take two hours ended up taking nearly all day.
But hey, Abby had done the best she could.
She faced her deeply-rooted fear of heights on that sorry excuse for a bridge. She fought off Infected and Scars. She was, let’s say, detained by her fellow WLF soldiers at the hospital. And then she had to fight and kill what must’ve been the biggest, gnarliest, freakiest blob of cordyceps infection to ever exist.
She barely got out of there alive, but she managed to leave with the medical supplies in hand. Plus tons of new material for her future nightmares.
Mel had started operating as soon as they got back to the aquarium, with Owen assisting her.
You and Lev sat just outside the door the entire time.
The surgery had gone well. Yara was doing okay, all things considered.
After, Owen handed Abby a pile of sleeping bags and blankets and walked off without saying a word.
Abby handed them off to you and carefully lifted Yara again, this time to move her to a more comfortable spot to rest. She led the way to the next room, you and Lev trailing behind.
There was a long couch in the new room. You motioned for Lev to lay down on one end while Abby set Yara down on the other.
She stepped back and watched, amused, as you fussed over the two of them for a few minutes, using most of the blankets on your young friends.
When you were sure they were both as comfortable as possible, you left them to rest and walked back over to Abby. In your arms, you held the two sleeping bags that you hadn’t used on the kids.
You offered one of them to her.
She shook her head, motioning to the space on the floor in front of the couch where there was an old, worn-out rug.
“Lay mine out for me? I have to go do something before I go to sleep.”
“You’re leaving?” you asked, looking concerned.
“I just need to talk to Owen. I’ll be right back.”
You studied her face, like you were trying to figure out whether or not she was being truthful.
Abby doubled down, pointing again. “Go. Get some sleep. I’ll be back.”
You sighed but went where she had pointed and began laying out the two sleeping bags.
One for you. One for her. Right next to each other on the floor.
You had been doing a good job of hiding it, but Abby could tell you were exhausted. She couldn’t blame you. Hell, she was exhausted. And the sooner she touched base with Owen, the sooner she could come back.
You had been awake for almost forty-eight hours, but you couldn’t fall asleep. Your mind was racing. Filled with worry for Yara, concern about her condition, guilt for having been unable to prevent the injury from happening in the first place. Thoughts of your own people hunting your friends with the intent to kill them. Fear that, despite your desire to keep them safe, your lack of knowledge and experience in the world outside of Haven would make that impossible.
You thought about the woman you killed yesterday. How she’d so tenderly and earnestly called you her Prophet just moments before you snuck up behind her and ended her life.
You wondered if you too were now an apostate. If the Seraphites had found the bodies of Emily and her men and assumed you were dead, or if they somehow knew that you betrayed them all the very moment you were given the chance.
You wondered if your mother knew what you had done. If she would be punished for your sins.
You thought about Abby, hoping that your faith in her was not misplaced. Hoping that your attraction to her hadn’t clouded your judgment.
This was crazy. All of it. It was too much.
You had tossed everything and everyone you’ve ever known aside, thrown the first twenty years of your life to the wind like it meant nothing at all, and run off into the forest with a Wolf without a second thought. And now that you, Yara, and Lev were finally (seemingly) not in immediate danger, you had time to think things through. Contemplate what you’d done and try to figure out where it left you.
By your own hand, your life had been irreparably changed forever. It was done. There was no undoing it. No going back.
You would stay with Lev and Yara. You would stay with Abby if that’s what she wanted.
But where would you go? It wasn’t safe for any of you to stay here.
That wasn’t a question you could answer. You didn’t know of anywhere else. You wouldn’t know how to find a place that was safe.
All of these thoughts bombarded your mind at once, taking turns at the forefront. Contradicting emotions swirled, adding to the chaos.
There was a sadness, a sense of loss for the people you had always belonged to.
Guilt and shame. Two feelings that were not at all foreign to you, but you had never felt as strongly as you did now.
A lightness. A happiness. Almost a thrill. A hopeful nervousness for the freedom you had claimed for yourself, the agency you had uncovered, and the possibility of what was to come.
Sadness, again, for the mother you would miss, and the realization that you had already been missing her for a very long time.
Frustration—simmering anger—for your childhood that was stolen and the shame that did not originate within yourself. The unrelenting voices that lived in your head, weighing in on every thought and critiquing every action. But those voices were not your own. You would take your dagger and cut their presence from your mind, carefully carving them out of your head and disposing of them yourself if you could.
And, amongst everything else taking up space inside of you, demanding your attention, it felt stupid and frivolous and wasteful, but you couldn’t keep Abby from your thoughts. She kept appearing, in the middle of it all. This was something that you truly did not have time for and should not be putting energy toward.
But you had never felt intrinsically drawn to someone in the way you were drawn to her…
Behind you, you could hear slow, heavy breaths coming from either end of the couch. You were glad that Lev and Yara were getting some rest. You’d do your best to make sure they got their fill of it this time.
You got up quietly, trying not to disturb them but feeling like you needed to move. You shook out your arms, rolled your neck around, wiggled your fingers, stretched your legs.
Honestly, you wanted run. Or hit something. Or scream. Loudly and for a long time. Until you ran out of air and your voice was ragged.
“Seriously? You’re telling me Isaac’s top Scar killer just… turned over a new leaf? Decided to befriend and help three Scars?” Mel was staring into Abby’s soul, her words dripping in disbelief.
Abby had found her and Owen upstairs, in the same room that had once housed the boat man’s skeleton and the couple’s Christmas stockings (not at the same time, of course).
Owen was angry. Exactly what she had done to earn his anger, she couldn’t say. He held a jar of his homemade moonshine. A jar that was somewhere between three-quarters and one half full. Abby assumed it had been filled to the top just a few minutes ago.
He had apparently decided to be a silent, brooding drunk tonight, so Mel had been the one to interrogate her.
Abby tried to explain everything, albeit keeping things pretty vague. She didn’t want to give them too much information about you specifically, and she didn’t want them to get the wrong idea about you, so she made sure to omit the part where you nearly gutted her. And the part where you were the new Scar Prophet that Isaac was after.
Mel wasn’t buying the part where Abby simply had a change of heart.
She shot Owen a cautious look before she said, “Abby, do you—I thought you might—Is it possible that you’re…” Mel stopped, gathering her thoughts, trying to find the best way to word it. “It’s not… like… a problem that she’s a woman. It’s just… it is kind of a big deal that she’s a Scar—”
“Abby isn’t into a fucking Scar,” Owen interjected, his knuckles white around the mouth of the jar. “And she’s not fucking gay.”
Then he started chugging the jar’s contents, forcing down swallow after painful swallow.
The women were both silent for a second, surprised by the anger in his words.
Abby didn’t know what to say. She knew she was into you—and she’d be lying if she said that wasn’t at least part of the reason why she was helping you and your friends—but she had never considered if that made her gay.
She honestly didn’t really care to label herself as anything either way. It felt stupid—in the honest-to-god post-apocalyptic hellscape that they lived in, where they had been engaged in a never-ending war since they were kids—to care about that kind of thing.
Why should it matter—when her family was dead, her friends were constantly in danger, and there were enemies closing in from every angle—if she was romantically or sexually interested in men or women or both? Wasn’t that almost guaranteed to be the least important detail at any given moment? And why should she waste any of her time or energy trying to define herself in that way?
This was all really new to her. She hadn’t really let herself be interested in anyone since Owen, and she honestly wasn’t sure if she had ever been into him for the right reasons. Again, she remembered how uncomfortable it made her feel to kiss him, to be touched by him…
She couldn’t imagine that it would feel like that if you touched her. And just the fact that she hoped one day she’d find out was probably telling enough.
So maybe, in the Old World, people would’ve called Abby a lesbian. Maybe she would’ve identified with that title if things were different, if her life was lower stakes, and if she’d had more time to explore herself and her interests.
What-ifs didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was here now. You were with her—and she needed to figure out a plan of how to proceed from here—so she could make sure to keep it that way. She could figure out the rest later.
Mel was the first to speak, annoyed, but addressing him calmly, like she was talking to a rabid animal. “Owen—”
He didn’t even let her get a word in.
“No. This is bullshit! Abby—” He looked past Mel to meet Abby’s gaze, insistent. “I’m going to Santa Barbara to find the Fireflies. If you’re smart, you’ll ditch the Scars and come with me.”
Mel slammed her hands on the table, causing both Abby and Owen to jump. “What the hell do you mean, you’re going to Santa Barbara?! We are going to Santa Barbara!” They weren’t used to seeing violent outbursts from Mel. She was the queen of passive aggression, but she rarely lost her cool. “What is wrong with you, Owen? Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? This is all so seriously fucked up.” She turned away from them, clenching her fists at her sides, looking like she might cry. Or hit something. Or both.
But for the first time in years, Abby wasn’t on the receiving end of her disdain.
Guess all she had to do for her old friend to stop seeing her as a threat was get entangled with the Scar Prophet. No big deal.
Owen, in a moment of clarity, seemed to realize how huge of an asshole he was being to the mother of his child. He set down his jar, stood, and walked over to Mel, putting his hands on her hips and pulling her into him, her back pressed against his front. He was swaying on his feet, his cheeks flushed, hands clumsy. If he hadn’t been drunk before, he definitely was now. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. We are going to Santa Barbara. Of course it’s we. Hell, the Scars can come too for all I care. We’ll make it a party.”
Abby rolled her eyes at his quick switch-up and turned to go. Clearly this conversation wasn’t going anywhere productive tonight, with Owen drunk, Mel upset, and all of them exhausted beyond belief.
There was a creak by the door, and all three of them turned to look, Owen’s reaction far more delayed than Abby and Mel’s.
You stood there in your long white dress, hesitant to come in. Shy, having clearly interrupted a tense conversation.
Abby wondered how long you’d been standing there unnoticed. Her instinct was to meet you in the doorway and take you back to bed, away from Owen’s rude drunkenness and Mel’s inquisitive eyes.
“Hey! Scar! How the hell are ya? Come join us! We were just talking about sunny California. Ever been?” Owen pulled away from Mel and plopped back down on the couch, finding his jar again.
“Umm…” You looked to Abby for guidance, but she was just as unsettled as you. “No. I haven’t… Sorry, I was just looking for Abby.”
“Yeah, I bet you were,” he mumbled under his breath. Abby wasn’t sure if you caught that, but she wasn’t interested in having you hear any more of this.
“Let’s just go,” she said to you, moving toward where you still stood in the doorway.
“No! Come! Sit! Let’s talk,” Owen insisted, slapping the spot next to him on the couch.
You gave Abby another hesitant look before walking past her to join Owen. Mel sighed and lowered herself into a nearby chair. When it became clear to her that retreating with you wasn’t an option right now, Abby walked back over. She stood right across from the couch so she could see you, leaned against the wall behind her with her arms crossed over her chest.
You sat next to Owen, although not so close, putting as much distance between you as possible.
“Atta girl,” he chuckled. Abby wanted to punch him.
All of this was out of character for Owen, but she knew that he was always kind of unpredictable when he got drunk. With everything that had happened and emotions running so high, everyone really should just be going to sleep.
With that in mind, Abby would continue to stand nearby until you were ready to leave. She wouldn’t let things get out of hand.
“So… Scar—”
“Seraphite,” Abby corrected him. He scoffed and took another swig.
You smiled softly at her, looking grateful.
“Scar,” he said again. “Can I perhaps interest you in some hooch? Made it myself.” He offered up the jar for you to take, tilting it towards you with unsteady hands.
“No,” Abby immediately answered on your behalf. “She does not want any of your hooch.”
“Well give the girl a chance to answer,” he slurred. “What? Your little girlfriend can’t speak for herself? She can’t make her own decisions?”
You glanced back and forth between him and her, reaching for the open jar of clear liquid, properly baited by his taunting words.
Abby tried to remember that Owen was her friend—her best friend—and that he wasn’t usually like this.
“What is… hooch?” you asked, staring down into the glass jar suspiciously.
“It’s moonshine,” Abby said. When that didn’t clear things up for you, she added, “Alcohol.”
“Like wine?” you asked, tentatively sniffing it.
Owen laughed. Abby nodded, “Kind of, but it’s much stronger. Seriously, you won’t like it.”
There was a flash of something that looked like defiance in your eyes, offense taken at the idea that you wouldn’t be able to handle something that others could.
You put the jar to your lips and tilted it back enough to take in a generous mouthful.
Abby watched as your eyes went wide and you struggled to swallow it. Honestly, she was impressed that you didn’t immediately spit it out. You managed to choke it down before breaking out in a harsh coughing fit.
Owen laughed, accepting the jar as you shoved it back into his hands. Your eyes watered as you tapped on your sternum, taking a second to regain the ability to speak.
“You made that?” you wheezed in disbelief.
“Yep!”
“On purpose?”
Abby laughed at that, leaning back against the wall again once she was convinced that you weren’t dying.
“Hey, that’s prime hooch! You should be thanking me right now.” Owen took his own swig of it, lounging back against the couch with his arm resting along the back.
“Thank you?” You squinted your eyes but tried to be polite.
“I was kidding, princess. You don’t have to thank me.”
Abby, again, resisted the urge to punch him in the face.
“So,” Owen began, “tell me. How is it that you’re a Scar… but you’re not scarred?” He chuckled to himself, as if he had made a joke.
Your eyes shot to meet Abby’s, clearly unprepared to answer that question.
“Not every Seraphite has facial scars,” you said, keeping things vague.
“Every Scar I’ve ever seen does.”
“You’ve seen me, haven’t you?” you shot back.
Abby let out a surprised laugh. Owen clenched his jaw.
“Every Scar has face scars. It’s like your defining thing. It’s why we call you Scars.” He was adamant, unyielding. And the playful mask was starting to slip back into anger. Abby could tell this wasn’t going to end well.
“Well I guess you don’t know as much about Seraphites as you thought you did.” You were frustrated now, pressing yourself further into the far end of the couch to put more distance between the two of you.
Owen opened his mouth with a rebuttal, but Abby jumped in. “Lay off, Owen.”
He threw his hands up in surrender, leaning back against the brown cushions. “Fine, fine. Whatever. Forgive me for having questions. Fuck me, I guess. I’ve just never seen a hot Scar befo—”
Before he could finish the sentence, Mel was on her feet. “Alright. That’s it. You’re done.” She had been sitting silently up until then, ready to intervene if things got out of hand, just as Abby had been. Apparently, Owen calling you hot was where she drew the line.
Abby was glad Mel was saying something. Because if things had gone much further, she really might’ve hit him.
“Get up,” Mel instructed firmly, standing over him. “You’re going to bed.” He let her take the jar out of his hands and, with much effort, pushed himself up off the couch and started walking toward the door. Mel was right behind him, hands hovering on either of his sides in case he lost his balance. He was grumbling under his breath the whole way, like a toddler whose bedtime was being enforced.
Abby watched them go.
Once they were out of sight, she looked down at you, only to find that you were already looking at her.
“Sorry,” she spat out. “About him. He’s not usually like that.”
You nodded, but you didn’t seem sure that you believed her.
“So you guys are… friends?”
Abby cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah. We’ve known each other for years. Joined the WLF together. Me, Owen, Mel, and a few others.”
You considered this for a second before responding. “Where were you before?”
“Salt Lake City,” she said, looking down at her feet. “Utah.” Abby didn’t know if that would mean anything to you.
“Mel doesn’t seem to like you very much,” you said, observant, not trying to offend. Abby smiled, despite the meaning behind your words. You added, “And Owen doesn’t seem to like me.” You stated it like it was a fact, like it was neither good nor bad, just true.
“He’ll get over it. He’s just drunk.” Abby didn’t know if that was true, but she wanted to comfort you in that moment, not that you actually seemed to care all that much about Owen’s opinion of you.
“Can I ask you a question?” You were looking up at her, eyes wide and vulnerable.
Anything, Abby thought. Out loud, she said, “Sure.”
She pushed away from the wall and came to sit next to you on the couch, filling the spot where Owen had been.
“Why do you people keep calling me princess?” you asked. Abby laughed quietly under her breath, turning her body to face you.
“I don’t know. There’s something about you that’s very princess-like I guess.”
You made a face at her. She smiled wider.
“It’s not a bad thing. You just come across as soft. Delicate. I don’t know… Graceful.”
“I am not delicate,” you said, defensive.
“I know.”
“I’ve killed.”
“I saw.” Abby was being serious, although she did find the conversation amusing. “You’re very skilled with a knife.”
You nodded, satisfied with her response, and fully turned to face Abby. “And what does hot mean? Why did he call me hot?”
“Oh—” Abby stuttered, “Uh—He meant… He was saying that you’re very pretty.”
“Oh.” You considered this, eyes wandering away. “Earlier he said I look like The Lord of the Rings.”
Abby smiled again. There was something about you that felt like it might’ve been taken straight from the high fantasy genre.
“Do you know what that is?” she asked.
“Yes. Sort of. I asked Mel. She said it was a film about a magical land. With fairies and stuff.”
“They were books first.”
“Have you read them?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you read a lot of books?” you asked, genuinely curious.
“I try to read as much as I can. Whatever’s available.”
You nodded, thinking, letting the conversation die down.
After a moment, “Abby?”
“Hmm?” she hummed. She liked the way you said her name. Just the sound of it made her heart beat a little bit faster.
“Owen also called me your girlfriend.” You were studying her face, trying to read her reaction.
“Yeah. He did.” Abby said, looking into your inquisitive eyes.
“Does that just mean friend? Or is it something else?”
“He was just trying to piss me off.”
“So it does mean something else?” Your eyes were on her lips now, and you were ever so slightly leaned forward. Almost subconsciously.
“It doesn’t matter,” Abby said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
She was pushing you away, and she didn’t know why. She could’ve answered that question so differently. Maybe she should’ve.
Abby wanted you. And she was almost certain that you felt the same way. At the very least, there was a curiosity. A hesitant attraction.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was wrong. That anything with you would be something she wasn’t good enough for.
Something she didn’t deserve.
Something she would ruin if given the chance.
So tonight, she didn’t give herself that chance.
Was that noble or cowardly? She wasn’t sure.
You pulled away, turning to face forward as you let out a long breath, puffing out your cheeks.
“I’m tired,” you said, standing. “And I should check on Yara and Lev.”
“Yeah.” Abby nodded. “Okay.”
She remained in place, ready to mentally beat herself up some more and stew in her thoughts alone for a while.
You cleared your throat lightly, swaying on your feet. “Umm… I’m not sure that I can find my way back to the room. Can you… please—?”
“Oh.” Abby hopped to her feet. “Okay, yeah. I’ll… I guess I’ll go with you.”
She avoided eye contact, leading the way into the dark hallway.
(original game photography from The Last of Us Part II by @westonspharmacyphotodept -- all manual post-production using no presets, stock, templates or AI).
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas
You watched from the wide window in the second room as Abby walked away and headed towards the coast, your fingers lifting the blinds just enough for you to peek out.
Yara was already drifting off to sleep on the couch behind you. Even Lev was starting to succumb to his exhaustion, his head leaned on the couch’s arm, his eyes blinking slowly.
Quietly, you instructed them both to get some rest, promising to keep watch. Yara mumbled a Yes, Prophet and pulled her legs up just enough for her brother to have room at the other end. He moved from where he knelt on the floor by her head to curl up by her feet, finally allowing himself to close his eyes.
You couldn’t imagine that they had been able to get much rest in their last few days on the run. But you were here now. You would keep them safe.
You turned your eyes back to the window, to the Wolf, expecting to find her out of your line of sight by now. Instead, you found her standing still, just far enough away for you to be unable to read her expression.
She stood there in the rain for several moments, swaying on her feet, looking back and forth between the coast and the building like she was trying to make a decision.
Stupidly, you wished again that she would stay.
As if she had heard your thoughts, Abby turned and started walking back in your direction, her mind made up.
You smiled and ran to meet her, carefully shutting the door that separated the two rooms as you went, leaving Yara and Lev to sleep undisturbed.
When Abby was once again outside the door, you swung it open, watching her blink at you incredulously with her fist raised, ready to knock.
“Wolf,” you said, trying to hide your pleased smile.
“Prophet.” She let her hand fall.
You stepped aside to let her in.
She brushed past you.
Again, you closed and locked the door, leaning back against it with your hands behind you.
This first room didn’t have furniture. At least not anything to sit on. Abby dropped her bag and sat on the floor across from you, leaning back against the wall with her forearms resting on her drawn-up knees.
You wanted to question her decision to come back, hoping she might give you some insight into why there seemed to be this pull between you two.
You had always longed for connection, feeling so thoroughly set apart from your people that you might as well have been completely alone. They revered you—worshipped you—but they didn’t love you. Not in a way that you truly felt.
You were nothing more than a symbol. An object to worship. No different than an intricately painted mural on a wall. A counterfeit version of the Prophet they once had.
So you didn’t have people who loved you. Who saw you.
That was what you wanted more than anything.
And here was this Wolf, who had fought alongside you and spoken to you like you were a real person. She smiled at you and called you a “good girl”, making you feel what felt like the most tempting sin. And she called you Prophet like it was a joke between the two of you.
You hadn’t wanted her to leave, and here she was. Not leaving.
Maybe this wasn’t one-sided. Maybe it wasn’t all in your head. The fact that she came back was proof that she felt it too.
You studied her face, as if that would reveal something to you.
It didn’t.
You broke the silence. “I’m not actually a prophet, you know.”
This clearly wasn’t what she expected you to say. She probably thought you would ask her why she came back. But you figured her honest answer would be similar to yours: She just felt like she had to, and she didn’t know why.
Abby seemed grateful to bypass the interrogation, so she scoffed, feigning shock. “You mean to tell me you’re not a wise, all-knowing seer of the future, cosmically and singularly chosen to lead the righteous few?”
Your smile returned as you shook your head.
“So how’d you end up with the title?” she asked, genuinely curious.
You had spent a lot of time thinking about this over the years. You decided to give her the simplest answer.
“Honestly, I think I was just the first child who turned twelve after the Elders decided that they wanted a new prophet.”
“Why would that matter?” she asked. When she saw your confused look, she added, “That you were twelve?”
“That’s when we get the…” You gestured to your face, drawing lines on either side of your mouth to indicate the scarring.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
She let her legs straighten in front of her, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning her head back against the wall. Her eyes stayed on you, watching you carefully. “Well, at least you got to bypass that fun little rite of passage.”
“I have marks like any other Seraphite,” you said. “I just carry them differently.”
Abby looked curious, like she wanted to ask you to go on. Instead, you pushed off from where you leaned against the door and began unfastening the long cloak that you still wore, glancing up briefly to see the Wolf’s eyes widen and her cheeks flush ever so slightly as she leaned forward to watch you.
It did feel scandalous. Removing the cloak in front of her. Even though you were clothed underneath.
Slowly stripping a layer away with her eyes on you, transfixed. Enamored. Like you were something beautiful—maybe even desirable.
It felt good in a way that you had been taught was bad.
You hoped that, as time and distance came between you and Haven, the Elders’ voices would fade away in your mind. Their rules and demands had always been a suffocating weight on you. But maybe now it was your choice. You got to decide what was true and how to live.
You promised yourself you’d revisit that line of thinking later.
Beneath the cloak, you wore what you always did. A long, simple white dress. The fabric was soft and light. Thin, although not sheer. The sleeves were short, leaving your arms mostly bare, and the whole thing ended just above your ankles. It flowed enough for you to move without any difficulty, but it was properly fitted to your exact measurements at the top.
At Sanctuary, your servants had always been responsible for your dresses, making new ones as your body changed, growing taller and filling out. You hadn’t initially been comfortable in dresses, never having worn them as a child, but after eight years of it being the only option offered to you, you’d grown accustomed to it. Comfortable, even.
Now, you felt naked in it.
The cloak had protected the dress from most of the mud, blood, guts of the day, but it hadn’t totally shielded it against the rain.
The fabric was damp against your skin, clinging more than it usually would.
You kept going, remembering why you had removed your cloak in the first place.
Holding the cloak by the collar in your right hand, you lifted your left arm to show the Wolf the scars that covered the back of your forearm.
Her eyes were focused elsewhere, slowly wandering down your body. Skirting along every line and following every curve, she took her time taking you in. You couldn’t describe the look on her face if you tried.
You shivered, and that movement finally brought her attention back up to your eyes. And then lower, to the arm you had been trying to show her.
Abby seemed to come back to herself, remembering what you had been talking about and why you took off your top layer.
She stared at the marks, quiet. You transferred your cloak to your left hand, lifting the right arm to show the matching scars there.
Neither of you said anything for several moments.
“I’m sure that wasn’t it,” she said, meeting your eyes again. You let your arm fall.
“Hmm?”
“I mean, I’m sure your Elders chose you for a reason. A bigger reason than just when your birthday happened to land.”
You thought for a moment about your other theories. The fact that your father had been a loyal soldier who died protecting the first Prophet. The fact that you were an only child, and with your father dead, you had no family other than your mother, who had always been the most devout follower. The fact that, when you were a child, your teachers said you were the perfect student. Quiet and obedient. They said you would make a wonderful wife someday. Something that left you feeling strangely uncomfortable, but your mother had taken great pride in. She used to talk about her hope that you would be chosen to marry one of the Elders themselves.
Maybe the same things that would’ve made you a good wife also made you a good Prophet. At least as far as what the Elders wanted from a Prophet. They never really wanted you to lead. Just for you to become the face of their initiatives. A mouthpiece. Maybe even a scapegoat.
You decided not to tell Abby any of this, already feeling that she knew so much about you while you knew absolutely nothing about her.
You almost pointed this out when she spoke again.
“You can sit, you know. You should sit. I’m sure you’re tired.”
You weren’t supposed to sit on the ground. Or kneel. For anyone or any reason. Although, you’d already broken that rule a few times tonight. You’d knelt to cut Abby loose from the ropes earlier, and again when she had been setting Yara’s arm.
It was a stupid rule anyway, you decided. And what was it you were thinking about earlier? About making your own decisions about what is good and true from now on?
The floor was dirty though. And your dress was white.
You stepped away from the door, closer to Abby, and spread your cloak out on the floor, sitting on top of it.
Abby scoffed. “Princess.”
You tilted your head, confused, not offended.
“You don’t know what a princess is?” she asked in slight disbelief.
“It’s a word that was used to describe the daughter of an Old World monarch. Or I suppose the wife of a prince, which would’ve been the son of a monarch,” you said matter-of-factly. “I just don’t understand what that has to do with me.”
“I—” Abby started and then stopped. “Never mind.”
You narrowed your eyes, unsatisfied with her lack of an explanation, and decided to ask the much harder question after all.
“Why did you come back?”
“Huh?” she asked, suddenly nervous.
“Why’d you turn around?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No, I mean—” She sighed, avoiding eye contact. “You guys will die without me—without my help.”
You didn’t like that answer.
“You think we can’t take care of ourselves? That we need a Wolf to protect us?”
“Honestly? Yeah.”
“Wha—”
She cut you off. “You’ve never left that island, I’m assuming, until today. You’re a capable fighter, but you don’t know anything about this world—”
“I—”
“You can argue with me if you want, but you know I’m right. And the girl is badly injured. Setting the bone won’t be enough. She needs much more medical attention if she’s going to make it. And the kid is… a kid.” Her eyes meet yours again, determined. Insistent. “So yeah, I think you could use my help. And you would be smart to accept it.”
Abby was right. You knew she was.
You wanted to ask why she cared though. But you didn’t bother, knowing she wouldn’t have much of an answer. Instead, you relented, leaning back on your hands behind you, arms straightened.
Abby breathed out, relieved that you weren’t fighting her.
“Right now, to stay here and rest.”
You nodded your head towards the door between the two rooms. “Yara and Lev are already sleeping.”
“Good. You should join them.”
You smiled a little, making Abby’s heart beat faster. “So I should just go to sleep and trust the Wolf who came into my life under mysterious circumstances?”
She let out a short laugh, dumbfounded. “I came into your life under mysterious circumstances?! You attacked me, knocked me out cold, and hung me up by my neck.”
When you laughed softly and leaned closer, her heart raced.
“Technically, I didn’t do any of those things,” you pointed out.
“No. You just tried to kill me afterwards.”
“I apologized for that.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I asked you if you were okay.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“You’re right,” you said, gazing into her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She could tell that you were being sincere.
She cleared her throat, looking away. “Go to sleep.”
“No, I don’t think I will,” you said, smiling again, arguing just for the sake of it. “Maybe you should get some sleep and I’ll stay up.”
Abby let out an exasperated breath.
She couldn’t help but look at you, sitting on the floor with her in an old trailer like you weren’t the most ethereal thing she’d ever seen. In that dress that looked incredible on you.
It made her wonder what you would look like without it.
She wanted to reach out and touch you. To let her hands lazily travel the same path that her eyes had taken when you first took off that cloak. She wanted to hear the sounds you would make as her fingers grazed your bare skin.
She wanted you.
Her own thoughts surprised her.
Abby hadn’t spent much time thinking about what—or who—she was into in the past. Being with Owen had made sense. He was nice and funny. He made her laugh. He liked her. And her dad loved him. They were young.
But when he kissed her, she’d get this unsettling, jittery, nervous feeling. One that she could never tell if she liked or not. But she always heard people talking about having butterflies in their stomach, so Abby thought maybe that was normal. Still, she was always the first to pull away, always retreating from his touch when things got too… overwhelming.
When her dad died, she didn’t let anyone touch her for the longest time. Owen stuck around, though. He kept trying. They joined the Washington Liberation Front, and Abby felt like that gave her a purpose. She had training to stick to and orders to follow while she continued to listen for word about Joel Miller, any hint about where he could be.
She kept pushing Owen away until, eventually, he let go. Abby could remember the moment she realized it was over, although neither of them came out and said it. It affected her more than she thought it would. She was devastated. Almost like she was losing another part of her dad. Like she was watching every piece of her life crumble and fade away until she was left with something completely unrecognizable.
Then Owen and Mel got together, and things got even weirder. Mel, who had once been one of Abby’s closest friends, started treating her like an enemy. Always looking at her with distrust, pulling Owen away when he tried to talk to her.
It got worse after Jackson. Abby didn’t know if that was because of what happened there or because Mel was pregnant. Probably both.
Abby kept her head down. Threw herself back into the flow of things in Seattle. She focused on making her body strong, following orders, and killing Scars whenever she got the chance.
And sure, sometimes someone caught her eye. Maybe a character in a movie she’d watched with Manny, or someone she’d crossed paths with in the WLF compound. Now that she thought about it, those people were almost always women.
She found those thoughts easy to ignore, so nothing ever came of them. Abby didn’t think she was well-suited for a romantic partnership, after what she did to Owen. She was sure didn’t deserve it. So she always brushed those feelings off and kept moving forward. She had work to do. A city to fight for.
She had known you for just one night and everything was changing. She could feel it happening. Her life was never going to be the same.
She wanted to be good enough for it. She wanted to deserve this change.
So she was going to protect you and your friends. Because it was the right thing to do, and because she really wanted to.
And if that meant she got to keep you close, she wouldn’t complain.
Abby couldn’t fucking believe that she was into a Scar.
But she couldn’t stop looking at you. Your eyes. Your lips. Your body. It was like every piece of you had been hand-crafted for the purpose of driving her crazy. She couldn’t walk away if she tried.
Hell, she did try and she didn’t even make it down the street.
All of this, and you hadn’t even touched her yet. Maybe you never would.
And she didn’t even know your real name.
But it was becoming more and more clear to her that you were a really good person.
Abby wasn’t sure if she was a good person, but she wanted to be. If she hadn’t been before, she could start now.
The door between the rooms creaked open, and Lev’s head poked out. When he saw her sitting there with you, he froze, his eyes narrowing disapprovingly.
“What’s she doing here?” he asked, his eyes remaining on her while he spoke to you.
“She’s going to help us,” you said.
“We don’t need—”
“Yes. We do,” you said firmly.
He let it go, turning to face you. He looked worried, saying nothing.
“Is it Yara? How’s she doing?” you asked, already moving to stand.
Lev just looked down and shook his head. He stepped aside, opening the door further as you rushed into the room to check on her with Abby following close behind.
Yara was on the couch, curled into the fetal position. She was shaking, breathing heavily and unevenly.
Abby watched as you rushed over to the girl, putting your hand to her forehead to check for a fever. The look on your face alone told her it wasn’t good.
Your eyes found her, fearful and unsure of what to do.
She moved in closer, crouching down to be on Yara’s level. “I’m going to move your arm,” she said to the girl. Yara whimpered as Abby carefully adjusted her. “Lean into me.”
Abby picked her up.
“Where are you taking her?” Lev asked, stepping forward.
“C’mon.” She tried to walk past him, heading for the door. He stepped in front of her.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m giving her a chance,” Abby insisted, giving him a look that seemed to convince him to move aside and go along with it.
Lev grabbed his bow and quiver. You quickly put on your cloak, grabbed your own weapon, and threw Abby’s backpack over your shoulders.
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas
Note: This is not at all how I thought this chapter would start. Alas, I am riddled with religious trauma, and Taylor Swift just released the song “Guilty as Sin?”
I mean…
“My boredom’s bone-deep
This cage was once just fine
Am I allowed to cry?
I dream of cracking locks,
Throwing my life to the WOLVES”
Are you kidding me? It’s perfect.
So this started out differently than I planned. But what was I to do? I am just a girl.
There were many topics on which you had been educated in-depth but were never supposed to experience first-hand.
Sex was one of those topics.
You knew the mechanics of it. The anatomy that was involved. Its purposes and benefits. The dangers of it.
You had been told, vehemently, that it was something that should never be done outside of the safe and proper confines of marriage.
Which meant you could never do it because you could never marry.
The Prophet had to remain pure.
Set apart.
Free from romantic, familial, worldly ties.
You were taught to suppress any desire to do otherwise. A task that you had been mostly successful at upholding.
But there were times when your eyes lingered where they shouldn’t and your own thoughts made you shiver and blush.
It was the sin of lust.
The other major vices were usually easily circumvented. You could be disciplined and selfless, just and kind, modest and brave.
You always did what you were told, and you didn’t ask questions.
You told yourself that you weren’t weak; you just knew your place. You knew what was expected of you, and no other options had ever been made available.
So, like thrown clay, you had allowed yourself to be molded into the person you were today, each piece of you carefully and intentionally shaped by the hands of others.
The Elders created the perfect Seraphite specimen. Quietly devout. Enigmatic. Indelible. Untouchable. Obedient.
A mouthpiece disguised as a leader.
A Prophet.
They made you.
You were not a naturally occurring thing.
Sometimes you didn’t even feel human.
Lust was one sin you knew could be concealed, buried far below your surface, unseen by critical eyes.
It was a small act of rebellion. A hidden glimmer of defiance. Although, you weren’t doing it on purpose.
And it was made especially loathsome due to the regrettable fact that it only ever happened to you when you were looking at or thinking of a woman…
Now the Wolf stood in front of you, hammer held tightly in her right hand.
Demons were quickly descending upon you, and you had just witnessed (and neglected to intervene into) the death of three of your own people. The only person you helped was the Wolf, your enemy, who you were meant to kill.
You could guess what the Elders would say if they were here now. How disappointed they would look as they pointed out your many failings.
For once, you didn’t care.
Strangely, despite everything, you felt like a bird whose cage door was just thrown wide open.
Or a well-trained dog that had been mistakenly let off leash.
You could breathe. Unrestricted.
Your eyes remained glued to the Wolf.
Her back was to you, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin. Her shoulders rose with each of her deep, deliberate breaths.
Time seemed to slow as your eyes traced down the length of her arms, taking in her strong form…
See, you knew the sin of lust was bad, if only because it made you stupid.
Or distracted, at the very least.
Demons were coming, and you had just been moments away from gutting this girl.
You definitely couldn’t trust her.
But you didn’t have to trust her to look at her.
A series of snapping twigs and high-pitched shrieks from the surrounding forest instantly brought your attention back to the approaching threat.
Demons were another one of those things that they taught you about but never thought you’d actually encounter.
When you arrived on the mainland that morning, you had been led to the network of Seraphite-built bridges, above the city, concealed in the clouds.
Nearly your entire day had been spent in the sky.
If there were any Demons below, you didn’t see them.
Honestly, you hoped you’d never have to come across the cursed creatures.
The sounds they made were animalistic, but somehow still eerily human. Like a voice that was either enraged or overwhelmed with pain.
You had been told that they were unsavable. Completely consumed by the disease and irrevocably punished for their sins. No longer even human.
As a child, you heard stories of the first Prophet valiantly fighting off hordes in defense of her early followers.
In training, they taught you how to fight both Demons and human adversaries alike. Although the former was always theoretical.
You were shown sketches, detailing the different stages of it.
Foolishly, you thought you were ready.
But nothing could’ve prepared you for what came running out from the cover of the trees.
It moved faster than you would’ve thought possible, too quickly for you to take it all in, but the glimpses you captured were grotesque.
It went straight for the Wolf, swinging its arms wildly. She effortlessly dodged its attack before striking with the hammer. Hard. It was dead in just three blows.
Two more approached from behind you, closest to Lev, and it was past time for you to be useful.
Lev was a skilled archer, but he was still a kid. And Yara, also a kid, only had use of one of her arms.
Both of the Demons were focused on Lev. He fired an arrow, hitting one of them in the chest, but it didn’t take it down.
Its back was to you.
You couldn’t let yourself freeze again.
You closed the distance between you and the beast, lifting your dagger with both hands and bringing it back down swiftly, piercing deeply through its skull.
It let out one last pained shriek as it fell.
The Wolf had taken out the other Demon before Lev had to loose another arrow.
But there were two more where those came from. One swung at the Wolf, and the other came for you.
You were able to dodge, narrowly missing the impact of its savage attack. Stepping back, you continued to evade its blows.
You swung at it, but the thing was fast. Your blade cut into its shoulder instead of its head. Ripping your weapon out, you tried again. This time, you hit your target.
That was two for you.
“Prophet, look out!” Yara shouted. Before you could discern which direction the threat was coming from, you were brutally thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of you entirely.
Death wore the grisly face of the Demon standing above you.
You had dropped your dagger, leaving you completely defenseless.
Lev’s arrows pierced its throat twice.
It kept coming.
You blinked and it was on the ground. The Wolf knelt over it, hammer crashing over its skull repeatedly, past when the thing was decidedly dead, until the hammer actually broke in her hand.
You just blinked again.
She saved you.
Why did she save you?
You scrambled to your feet, your breaths coming too quickly.
You tried not to panic.
You had only almost died.
You were fine.
The Wolf dropped the splintered remnants of the hammer and stood, shaking out her hand. You stared as she walked over to where your dagger lay on the ground and bent to pick it up.
She looked at you for—as far as you could tell—the first time since you’d cut her down from the rope.
She walked over, holding your gaze.
You realized that she could kill you now. That that was likely why she had saved you.
So she could end you herself.
Because you were the Prophet, and a Seraphite. Or because you had nearly killed her before.
She could even do it with your own weapon. The one that had been meant for her.
You imagined that would be satisfying for a brutish Wolf.
As she approached, you noticed that she towered over you, making you doubly aware of the fact that this was not a fight you would win if it came down to it. Especially when you were unarmed.
She stopped when she stood only a couple feet in front of you, turning the dagger over in her hand and simply offering it to you, handle-first.
Dumbly, you slowly reached out and took it.
Her hand fell back to her side.
There was a hint of a smug little smile on her face, like she knew what you had been thinking.
“Try not to drop that again, yeah?” she said, voice low. It was the first time she’d spoken directly to you, and you resented the way it made your cheeks warm.
Before you could come up with a competent response, Yara interrupted.
“Prophet, Wolf! Come on. We have to move!” She held a lit torch in her uninjured hand. Lev stood at her side, ready to run.
“Where are you going?” the Wolf asked, unsure if she would be following. You were already moving to join Yara and Lev.
“Out of these woods. We’ve gotta run! Now! The coast is this way.”
They took off into the trees with you close behind. The sound of footsteps falling behind you informed you of the Wolf’s apparent decision to tag along, at least for the time being.
You could also hear more Demons, closing in on either side, chasing the torch’s light. Which meant they were after Yara.
You ran faster, trying to close the distance between you just in case.
As she passed an abandoned vehicle, one of the Demons jumped out, tackling her to the ground.
Lev shot an arrow through its head as you ran to her, pushing the dead Demon off and helping her back to her feet.
The horrifying chorus of even more of them, just beyond your vision, made you startle with each screech.
“They’re all around us!” Yara cried, moving closer to her brother.
The Wolf, weaponless after breaking the hammer, quickly looked around, finding a glass bottle. She grabbed it and threw it at the next creature that emerged from the forest.
The Demon slowed, momentarily stunned, and the Wolf wasted no time knocking it over and bringing her foot down on its skull hard and fast.
Just one stomp and it was dead.
You flushed again, transfixed.
Stupid.
You should not find that attractive.
But she was undeniably incredible.
You shook your head in an attempt to refocus as you turned to watch Lev take down another with a couple well-aimed shots.
A shriek behind you revealed the presence of yet another. You turned to meet it, killing the thing easily enough.
It seemed your training in combat had been sufficient after all, at least where Demons were concerned.
“That was the last of them,” Yara said.
“You guys okay?” the Wolf asked, like she might actually care.
“Yeah,” Lev breathed out, bow and arrow still at the ready.
“We have to keep moving before more come,” Yara insisted, taking up the lead again as she pressed forward.
You all ran after her.
“Every direction looks the same,” said the Wolf. You were inclined to agree. “You sure you know where you’re going?”
“It has to be this way,” Yara said, quietly determined.
“What the hell am I doing?” the Wolf muttered to herself under her breath.
The four of you picked up your speed as the Demons grew closer.
Abby seriously had no idea what the hell she was doing.
She was running through the woods, fighting off Infected with three Scars.
And one of them was the Prophet.
Who had been fully intending to disembowel her not too long ago…
Something had to be wrong with her. Maybe it was brain damage from nearly suffocating.
Because this wasn’t like her.
A couple hours ago, Abby was killing Scars. Happily.
Well maybe that wasn’t the best word for it. It didn’t make her happy. She just didn’t feel bad about it.
And now, she was prancing through the forest and going out of her way to protect Scars?
The kids were one thing. They seemed to be just as in danger with other Scars as they were with the Infected.
What had that one woman called them? Apostates?
Abby had done enough reading to know what the word meant. She guessed they must have broken some stupid, insane rule and run off.
Or been kicked out.
Either way, from what Abby had gathered, they had gone rogue and were being hunted by their own people.
Which meant they weren’t necessarily her enemy.
But the other girl. The Prophet…
Abby didn’t know what was going on with you.
Were you going rogue too, or were your friends just dead and you needed help getting past the Infected and out of the woods?
And yeah, you had been about to kill her before. But you’d stopped as soon as there was a distraction. Took the out the second it was offered.
And then you had been the one to cut her down.
So maybe you didn’t want to kill her.
That counted for something, right?
Abby didn’t let herself think too much about how pretty you were.
How stunning your eyes looked when they met hers.
How your fingers felt, lightly grazing her bare skin for just a second, then leaving all too soon.
And how you had definitely blushed when she spoke to you.
See? She totally wasn’t thinking about any of that at all.
And she was probably delusional.
And way too distracted, spending any amount of time or energy thinking about such crazy shit while you were all actively running for your lives.
Abby was bringing up the rear of the group, and she knew a horde of Stalkers was not far behind her.
She really hoped these Scars knew where they were going.
“It’s just up here!” the girl, Yara, shouted from up ahead, leading the way to a wall of hanging vines.
The boy, Lev, pulled the vines aside, revealing an opening behind. Yara carefully but quickly maneuvered through. You waited until both she and Lev were on the other side before looking up at Abby expectantly.
There wasn’t time to argue, so Abby went next. You followed closely behind, then let the vines fall back into place, hiding your path from the Infected that pursued.
On the other side, Abby was met with the sight of several dead bodies, clearly recently slaughtered.
She couldn’t tell from this distance what had killed them. Or if they were Scar or WLF.
“Those are fresh. There another way around?” she asked, maneuvering around the corpses.
Lev spoke up. “If there were, would we be going this way?”
Okay. Fair point.
Yara pointed to a chain link fence with the torch. “Come on, Lev. Get it open.”
The kid tried to bend the steel wires up to create an opening. It didn’t budge, despite his efforts.
“Move,” Abby said. He did.
She strained as the piece of fencing gave way beneath her hands.
“Get in there, Prophet,” she said, teeth clenched.
You quickly slid through the opening and popped up on the other side.
Finally, you were free of the suffocating forest.
The clearing was illuminated with light of the full moon.
You wandered on ahead as Lev, Yara, and the Wolf came through the fence behind you.
“Prophet?” A new voice spoke out as you turned the corner. The reverence in the person’s tone alone told you that you were dealing with a Seraphite.
You turned toward the voice to see a woman you recognized but whose name you couldn’t recall. She was large and stood tall, the side of her face bloody and a pickaxe in her grip.
She had been part of a patrolling squad in the area. You’d seen her briefly earlier in the day, with Emily, after the Wolf had been captured.
The woman saw that you were, in fact, who she thought you were, and she bowed her head out of respect.
“Are you alright, Prophet? What are you doing out here? Where is Emily?”
You were at a loss for words.
Her voice was calm and concerned now, but you knew that she would kill Lev, Yara, and the Wolf if given the chance.
“I—”
Your two friends entered the clearing behind you, drawing her eyes toward them.
“Apostates,” she hissed, and instantly her demeanor changed.
She rushed past you, ruthlessly throwing Yara to the ground and lifting Lev up by his neck.
You moved without thinking, your dagger still tightly clutched in your fingers. Again, you raised your arms above your head, just as you had done when fighting the Demons. Using all of your strength, you brought the blade down above her head, piercing her skull. The weapon was long enough that it exited through her chin.
Her body slackened and slumped to the ground. Dead.
You stared down at her, feeling the weight of what you had just done.
This wasn’t a Demon. It wasn’t an animal.
She was a living person.
And a Seraphite. One of your own people.
You were supposed to be her Prophet. Her leader. Her new hope.
She hadn’t been watching her back because she never imagined that you could betray your people like that. That you would pose a threat to her.
You continued to stare, holding your breath. You couldn’t look away.
You didn’t deserve to look away.
You felt a sob rising in your throat. Your eyes began to water.
By then, the Scar was already holding Lev in the air, and you were already approaching from behind, lifting your dagger.
Abby watched as you killed her.
Woah.
You were good with that knife, she’d give you that.
Yara and Lev got back to their feet and watched as you stared down at the dead Scar, unmoving. Like you were frozen.
You weren’t even breathing, and you looked like you might cry.
Abby had been wondering how many WLF soldiers you killed today before you got to her. If the three she’d seen hanging when she first came to were yours.
Now, she was sure they weren’t.
Because based on your reaction, that had to be your first time.
She wasn’t usually one to be especially sensitive to the emotions of others, but when she heard you sniffle, finally taking in a ragged breath, she couldn’t help but move towards you.
Abby thought of her own first kill. How easy it was to do in the heat of the moment, but how torn up she’d been in the aftermath.
She understood that it was necessary, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard as hell.
She fought the urge to put a hand on your shoulder, or even rub your back soothingly. Reminded herself of who you were and who she was and all the reasons why she shouldn’t even be here right now.
Instead, she bent to retrieve your dagger from the body. She tried to hand it back to you, but you were still stuck, staring down.
“Hey. You did a good job.” She took your hand in hers, placing the handle into your palm and closing your fingers around it. She didn’t let go, allowing her hands to fully encompass yours.
Abby waited until you met her eyes. “You saved them,” she said, nodding towards Lev and Yara, who were both silently watching this unfold. “You did what you had to do.”
You drew your eyebrows together at that, like you wanted to argue. But you seemed to change your mind, ultimately just nodding your head lightly.
She let her hands drop and glanced back down at the slumped body again, her eyes catching on something.
“Wait. Is that my backpack?” Abby asked, looking more closely.
Beside her, you lifted your shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
“Probably. Emily gave it to her earlier,” you said numbly.
Abby didn’t need to ask who Emily was. She could guess.
She reclaimed her belongings while you pulled yourself together.
“Are you two alright?” you asked the siblings.
“Yes, Prophet,” Lev answered, watching you closely. Abby noticed that you seemed to bristle ever so slightly at his use of your title. You didn’t say anything though.
She held her rifle in her hands again, happy to have her stuff back.
Especially the guns.
Wordlessly, the Scar kids led the way into the nearest building.
Out of habit, Abby began gathering supplies as you went along, taking ammo and medical supplies and anything else that seemed useful.
“How’s the arm?” she asked Yara, breaking the long stretch of silence.
“I have it under control,” the girl insisted defensively.
“Okay…” Abby took a box of ammo from a cabinet. “Grab any supplies you find.”
“We can’t touch this stuff. It’s Old World,” Lev said, like that should’ve been obvious.
“Are you fu---? You need supplies. We’re not out of the woods yet.” She opened and then shut a drawer. “Pun fucking intended.”
“What’s a pun?” Lev asked from another room.
Abby didn’t have the energy to answer that question.
Instead she said, “I’ve never seen Scars go after Scars like that before.”
“Seraphites,” you and Lev corrected in unison as you explored different rooms of the building.
Again, she ignored. “So what the hell did you do?”
“I shaved my head,” Lev answered simply.
Abby scoffed. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
The group passed through building after dilapidated building, heading towards the coast. At least in theory.
“We’re almost there,” Yara said. “Just a little farther.”
She led the way down a steep drop-off into another run-down building. One where you wouldn’t be able to get back out the same way you went in.
“Now what?” Abby threw out, tired and frustrated.
“I’m quite confident it’s this way.”
“Quite confident?” Abby repeated incredulously.
“You don’t have to follow us,” Lev pointed out.
“You want me to leave you three out here alone?” Abby shot back.
Your response was an immediate and insistent, almost panicked, “No!”
Everyone else turned to you, surprised.
“Let’s just get out of here,” Lev offered.
Abby found the front doors, but they were held firmly closed by a metal gate on the outside.
Above the door was a large opening, too high for Abby to pull herself out of, but not too high for someone to climb through with a boost.
“If you get us through there, we’ll open the gate,” Lev said.
Abby remembered again that these were Scars she was dealing with. And like hell was she going to boost you all up to safety just so you could leave her stranded here.
“Get them out,” you said, as if you could read her mind. “I’ll stay with you.”
Lev started to protest but stopped after one shake of your head.
Abby nodded. “Okay. Come on.”
He gave you one last look before walking over to her, stepping into her open hands and pulling himself through the opening.
“Your turn.” Abby looked at Yara. “Watch that arm.” She carefully helped the injured girl maneuver up and out.
The all too familiar shriek of Infected sounded off behind you, coming from deeper in the building.
On the other side of the doors, Lev pushed at the gate. It wouldn’t budge.
“The gate’s stuck!”
“Fuck! Hurry up!” Abby looked back and forth between the door and the direction the Infected were coming from.
“We’ll look for another way!” Yara said, and the two of them disappeared from view.
Abby tried to stay calm and prepared herself for the inevitable fight.
“They’re not going to leave me,” you said, drawing her attention. You held your knife at the ready, rolling your shoulders back.
She didn’t respond, not sure if she believed you.
“They won’t,” you reiterated.
“I hope you’re right, Prophet.” She offered one of the weapons from her stash. “You ever shot a gun before?”
You shook your head but accepted the firearm anyway.
“Come here. I’ll show you.”
What Abby hoped would only be a few Infected turned out to be an entire horde. Runners, Stalkers, Clickers, and even a couple Shamblers.
You were fighting them off like a champ.
Seriously. She was impressed.
You’d kept the gun, watched her rushed demonstration on how to operate it, but ultimately chose to primarily stick with the dagger.
Both of you had been fighting for several minutes as you moved through the building. No sign of the other two Scars. Abby had pretty much resigned herself to needing to find her own way out.
She cleared the room she was in, lowering her weapon to take a breather.
You were in the next room, and it sounded like you had cleared that one out too.
The only warning Abby had before she felt the blow was you urgently shouting, “Wolf!”
A Stalker that she failed to notice had her pinned to the ground, knocking her rifle from her grip in the process.
It reared its head back as Abby struggled, fighting to get it off her.
A gunshot rang out, and the Infected slumped, lifeless.
She shoved it off her and sat up to see you standing there, borrowed gun still aimed and ready.
“Good girl!” Abby exclaimed, beaming up at you from where she sat on the floor.
Wait.
What the fuck?
She meant to say “good job”…
Actually, she hadn’t meant to say anything.
You lowered the weapon. Based on the look on your face, you were just as taken aback by her use of those words as Abby was. Although, she managed to keep it from showing on her face. Mostly.
She stood quickly and fumbled through a recovery. “Good shot. That was—I mean—It was a good… A good shot. Good job.”
You smiled softly at Abby’s obvious display of nerves, walking over to where her rifle had fallen when she was attacked.
You picked it up and returned it to her.
“Try not to drop that again, yeah?” you said, mimicking the teasing tone Abby had used when she said those same words to you earlier that night.
She made a face. Something that was equal parts embarrassment and amusement.
“Prophet! Over here!” came Lev’s quiet voice from the next room.
You shot Abby an I told you so look before the two of you ran after the sound.
When Yara collapsed, the Wolf picked her up and carried her.
You listened as she quietly comforted your dear friend, encouraging her to keep breathing and promising to find somewhere to rest soon.
Your heart felt soft for her in that moment.
Or maybe you were just exhausted.
Lev led the group with you in the back, gun drawn and alert to the best of your current abilities.
You entered a clearing, full of enormous metal boxes and small, raised buildings. All things from the Old World that you had never seen before and didn’t have words for.
The Wolf instructed Lev to start checking the doors of all the small buildings. It took a few tries before he found one that was open.
The inside was in noticeably better shape than any other structure you’d seen on the mainland, with a few simple, fully intact pieces of furniture.
You watched as the Wolf moved through the first small room and into the second, carefully setting Yara down on the couch. She went over to the windows, checking again to make sure the four of you hadn’t been followed.
When Yara began to slowly remove her overshirt, you were quick to help, being especially careful with her injured arm.
It was swollen and bright red from her elbow down to her fingertips, visibly mangled. You had to bite back a gasp.
Lev stood on the other side of the room, a horribly worried expression on his face.
It wouldn’t be helpful for you to panic now.
“Hey,” you said to him, light and encouraging, drawing his gaze to you and away from his hurt older sister. “It just needs to be set. Okay?”
You turned your eyes to the Wolf who was still hovering by the window. “You know how to do that?”
The face she made confirmed what you already knew. Yara needed much more than just for the arm to be set.
Still, the Wolf walked over, instructing Lev to cut the discarded overshirt into strips and telling Yara to lean back.
You helped her, kneeling on the floor by the side of the couch where her head lay, ready to assist in any way you could.
“I’m gonna move it, okay?” said the Wolf.
“Okay.”
They were both speaking so softly.
“You ready?” she asked.
Yara nodded, reaching her uninjured hand out for one of yours. You held it, letting her squeeze as tightly as she needed to.
The crunching noise the arm made as it was set nearly made you sick.
Yara let out a series of pained noises, panting and grunting. You used your free hand to gently brush the loose strands of her hair from her face, tucking them behind her ears.
You whispered that the worst was over, and that she would be okay now.
You didn’t know if that was true, but you hoped it comforted her a little.
The Wolf broke a leg off a wooden chair, took the newly cut strips of fabric that Lev offered, and went to work bracing the newly-set arm, using the chair leg as a splint.
Yara watched the Wolf’s face.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
The Wolf secured the last piece of cloth before she answered, meeting Yara’s gaze.
“Abby,” she said.
She stood, looking to Lev and then to you.
“I should go,” the Wolf—Abby—said.
You stood too, to walk her out.
Lev quickly filled in the space that you left, kneeling in the same spot and taking Yara’s waiting hand in his.
Abby grabbed her backpack and followed you into the first room, toward the door.
You paused, turning to face her.
“Are you—” You wanted to ask where she was going. What she would do next. Really, if you were being honest, you didn’t want her to go at all.
But you didn’t have the right to ask for any of those things, so instead you went with, “Are you okay?”
You gestured to your neck, meaning to indicate the dark, noose-shaped bruises that circled her own throat.
It felt like so long ago that she’d been hanging in front of you, unfortunate to find herself on the wrong end of your dagger. But, realistically, only a couple of hours had gone by.
She cleared her throat, her own fingers instinctively ghosting over the marks.
“Oh umm… Yeah. It’ll be fine.” She waited a beat before adding, “Thanks for cutting me down.”
You didn’t know what to say to that, considering it was technically your fault she needed to be cut down in the first place.
You settled on a nod and a tight smile.
She turned to go, twisting the doorhandle and stepping back out into the rain.
Before you could close the door behind her, she looked back and said, “This area gets a lot of traffic. Whatever shape she’s in…” Abby leaned closer, hand on the door frame, “You need to get out of here by tomorrow.”
Again, you nodded. “We’ll be fine.”
She held your gaze for a moment longer before she turned and walked down the steps.
As Abby walked away from the office trailer, she couldn’t help the images that came to mind.
She kept envisioning you and Lev and Yara, dead.
Hanged and gutted by the Scars.
Or shot by the WLF.
Or ripped to shreds by Infected.
She had real responsibilities. A friend to look for. A whole community counting on her.
She had a war to get back to.
But if she left now, would she always wonder about what happened to you?
The urge to stay near you—to protect you—was so overwhelming. She didn’t know where it was coming from or what she should do with it.
You were not safe, but she knew you were much safer with her.
Isaac had warned her that the first Scar Prophet had been able to make even the most dedicated soldiers turn on a dime. He said that with just a few carefully chosen words, she could make a person question where their loyalties lied.
It had seemed so ridiculous just that morning, but now you were doing the same thing to Abby.
You were in her head.
But this didn’t feel like manipulation.
She didn’t know what it was that drew her to you, but it felt real. Natural. And entirely unintentional.
Or maybe she was reading you all wrong, and you really were a master manipulator.
Abby needed to make a decision. Because she was currently standing still in the pouring rain with the trailer still in view.
She chose to trust her gut.
And her gut was telling her to turn around. To stay with you.
Note: Thank you to anyone who’s read all three chapters of this! The fact that literally anyone has is absolutely bonkers to me.
I’ve already learned so much about myself as a writer since I started writing fics a couple weeks ago. For example, this week I learned that I DO NOT enjoy writing fight scenes…
Unfortunately it was thoroughly unavoidable for this chapter.
Regardless, I really hope it was interesting to read, and I’m looking forward to fleshing out the relationship between Abby and my reader more and more!
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to lovers; animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; cutting (not to self, but still); descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas; brief allusion to transphobia
Note: I know I’m not the only one who wanted to be the one holding the knife in that scene…
The earth beneath Abby’s knees was wet. Rain cascaded all around her. When she was able to pull her eyelids open, she found that she was staring at the ground below her. It was dark, save for dim firelight.
Very slowly, she came to, her senses awakening one by one.
It took her far too long to realize that she was being dragged forward, toward a larger fire, with her arms tightly bound behind her back.
She was barely conscious when the arms that were carrying her suddenly let go, sending her crashing onto the ground with no way to cushion the fall. She let out a pained grunt and shifted, trying to get a better sense of where she was.
When she looked up, she found three bodies, hanged and gutted and very very dead.
Panic set in as she quickly got her knees beneath her, trying to get up. Instantly, the hands returned, roughly forcing her back on her face and holding her there, unyielding.
All too quickly, a noose was pulled over her head and tightened.
“No—” Abby pleaded, but the rope tightened further and she struggled as she was lifted off the ground.
She dangled and continued to struggle until something was pushed beneath her feet, just tall enough for her to stand on the tips of her toes and relieve some of the pressure on her throat.
Finally, she saw her attackers. She knew they would be Scars, but looking at them standing around her, watching…
She knew she was about to die.
There was a man and a woman directly in front of her, mutilated faces silently staring at her from beneath their hoods.
The woman removed hers and tilted her head, eying Abby.
She spoke. “It is time.” And then she took a step back. “If it is your will, Prophet, yield your righteous blade. Free this wretched Wolf from the evil within her.”
You stood in the shadows, unseen, previously unnoticed by the dangling girl. When the woman spoke to you, you stepped into the light, slowly moving toward them.
Where the other Scars wore trench coats, you were covered entirely in a long black cloak, your face concealed beneath a larger hood. Your movements were smooth and intentional. Self-assured.
In your right hand, there was a dagger, loosely held but steady in your grip.
As you stepped closer to Abby, she tried to focus. Tried to analyze you. But her airflow was severely restricted and any small movement from her could result in her losing her footing and falling off the bucket beneath her feet.
The two others stood on either of Abby’s sides, ready to intervene if she were to try anything… Not that she could do anything if she did try.
You were standing directly in front of her now, but she still couldn’t see anything beneath the hood through the rain and her faintly blurring vision.
She wasn’t sure what she expected. That morning when Isaac told her you existed, she hadn’t thought about what you might look like. She had seen the murals of the original Scar Prophet, and she always thought she looked like a regular woman. Just some random lady who became the leader of the worst cult ever.
Nothing could’ve prepared her for when you reached up with your free hand and pulled back your hood. Her eyebrows raised involuntarily.
You were beau—
You… You didn’t look like a Scar.
Your eyes met hers for just a moment before they swept downward, taking her in. You eyed her curiously, like you weren’t sure what to do with her.
Or maybe that was Abby just being hopeful.
The look on your face hardened, becoming determined. Your grip on the knife tightened. If any part of you had been hesitating, you’d just made up your mind.
Shit.
Fuck.
Yeah, she was definitely going to die.
“They are nested with sin,” you said, voice low. Your eyes were on Abby’s face, holding her gaze.
The other Scars watched as your eyes again went lower. You reached your hand toward Abby’s abdomen, lightly grazing before gripping the bottom hem of the shirt and pulling it up, exposing her bare stomach.
Abby knew that the lack of oxygen must’ve been making her lose her mind. She had to be sick. Because when she felt your fingers on her skin, she shivered. And she wanted to lean into the touch…
Until you pressed the blade there, harshly enough to emit a trickle of blood.
Abby hissed and looked away, gasping for breath and closing her eyes against the sharp sting of the knife.
You pushed the blade further.
“Free them,” you continued, “That they may know My—”
You were interrupted by the sound of a whistle, and you instantly paused.
Abby opened her eyes to watch as you breathed out. You were – what – relieved?
The other two ran off to respond to the whistle. You remained in place, dagger still held firmly against Abby’s stomach. You stared at it, and she stared at you, waiting for you to either finish the job or pull away.
You did neither, frozen in place. It seemed like you were also waiting for something.
Abby didn’t dare to move in the meantime.
The other Scars returned with two more, another man and a younger girl who was struggling against the men as they held her forcefully on both sides.
“Yara,” the Scar woman said smugly. You visibly winced upon hearing the name, still not turning around.
“Where is the other apostate?” the same woman asked. She leaned closer to the girl, who responded by spitting in the woman’s face.
There was a moment of silence before the woman uttered the words, “Clip her wings.”
“No!” You spoke out immediately, turning quickly and bringing your dagger with you. Abby gasped and took as deep a breath as she could, still struggling against the noose and her binds.
“Don’t.” Your voice was authoritative, causing the men who were holding the girl to pause.
The woman looked quickly at you, surprised at your outburst, before turning back to her henchmen. “I am your direct superior. Do as I said.”
“But she’s the—”
“Do. It.” She seethed.
“No,” you insisted again.
The men threw the girl on the ground anyway.
You ran forward, but the woman grasped you and forced you back. You were too preoccupied watching the girl on the ground to prevent the woman from taking the dagger from your hands. She tossed it aside, far out of reach.
“I knew it!” she said through gritted teeth. “I told Elder Constance you weren’t ready.”
It happened quickly.
One of the men pulled a hammer from his belt and violently smashed it down on the girl’s left arm as she screamed.
“Yara!” You tried to push past the other woman again, but again she held you back.
“They’re apostates! Traitors to your people and your cause. You should be giving the order to have them killed!”
The man brought the hammer down three more times.
“Stop! Please stop!” you cried, fighting against the woman.
No one listened to you.
The hammer was passed to the other man. He raised his hand, ready to shatter her other arm too, when two arrows from an unseen archer stopped him short.
One through the face. The other in the chest.
Everyone turned to look for the unknown assailant, except for the girl.
She grabbed the hammer from the dead Scar’s grasp and slammed the claw of it into the other man’s throat, killing him.
The Scar woman pulled her gun to shoot the girl, but another flying arrow drew her away. She faced the surrounding forest, shooting blindly several times, not knowing where the archer was hiding.
The girl stood, left arm mangled and limp at her left side, hammer firmly grasped at her right.
This whole time, Abby could do nothing but watch.
But the Scar woman moved just close enough for her to wrap her legs around her neck from behind. She squeezed the woman’s head between her thighs until she dropped her gun.
The girl ended the woman by ramming the claws of the hammer through the side of her head.
As the woman went limp, she fell from between Abby’s legs, sending her swinging through the air by her neck, unable to regain her balance on the bucket.
It was supposed to be the last trial before you fully stepped into your role as the Prophet.
You still weren’t sure of all that would entail, but after eight years in limbo, you were ready for something else. Quite literally anything else.
Years of memorizing the scriptures, learning to fight with multiple weapons (and without them), improving upon any and all skills the Elders deemed necessary for you to master, each one seemingly more arbitrary than the last. Hours upon hours upon hours of prayer and meditation. And a whole lot of nothing.
You could kill a Wolf or two if it meant your life would become anything more than what it had been for nearly a decade. If it meant things would be different.
And if it meant you could help your friends.
You knew everyone was searching for Yara and L. Hunting them down.
You’d heard through the quiet whispers of your servants at Sanctuary that he had cut his hair and told his mother that his name was Lev.
He had no choice but to run, and Yara went too.
You were so afraid for them.
And yet part of you wished they had taken you with them.
You weren’t sure if you still got to call them your friends. You hadn’t been permitted to spend time with anyone informally or without purpose since the morning of your scarring ceremony, so you hadn’t spoken to them since then.
You should’ve been able to be there for Lev. And Yara. You shouldn’t have been locked away.
But maybe once your training was complete and you were officially the Prophet – in authority, not just by name – you could protect them.
Maybe something good could come from your circumstances after all.
That would make it all feel worth it.
Emily had taken on training you in hand-to-hand combat some months ago.
You had a strange relationship with her.
On one hand, she was the only person who didn’t treat you like you were some mystical, cosmically-chosen goddess. She usually treated you like you were just another person.
But, on the other hand, she was an ass. So that was frustrating to deal with.
Still, there had always been a greater sense of normalcy between the two of you than there had been with anyone else in Haven.
The Elders decided that Emily would be the one to take you to the mainland for your first kill.
There were some disagreements about how large the hunting party should be.
“The people need to see Her as a conqueror. They need to know that she’s a capable fighter,” some of the Elders argued. But it was ultimately agreed upon that a smaller group would be safer. It would draw less attention from your enemies.
So Emily chose two of her best men, and your group set out.
The mainland was not what you had expected, and nothing like the island, but you were able to navigate it well enough.
Emily brought you to see Martyr’s Gate for the first time.
Prayer had long since become a mindless chore of yours. You rarely did it in earnest.
Today, you did though.
You prayed for strength. Because the closer you came to the killing, the less sure you were that you would be able to go through with it.
The idea of killing while fighting, either in your own defense or to defend another, was one thing. You were sure you could do that if the time came.
But this was different. It wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t a true display of combat skills or strategy or anything else you’d been training for.
Emily explained that the plan was to “catch a wolf, string ‘em up, and cut ‘em open.”
The thought made you sick.
In a rare moment of compassion, Emily put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed lightly. “They would do the same thing to you, Prophet,” she said, looking into your eyes, “the second they got the chance.”
You tried to steel yourself, knowing that, just like everything else in your life, you didn’t have much of a choice.
When the time came, you weren’t even the one who “caught” the Wolf. The men had her pinned down and Emily knocked her out while you just stood off to the side, blinking, trying not to vomit.
As she laid still on the ground, you couldn’t help but to examine the girl whose life you would soon be taking.
She was big. And very strong. Strong in a way you honestly didn’t know a woman could be.
You wondered if all Wolves looked like this. You doubted it.
She wore a black sleeveless shirt, so you could see her arms, and they were incredible. Your eyes lingered for longer than you should’ve allowed yourself to.
Her dark blonde hair was long and braided.
She was covered in cuts and bruises. Definitely a soldier. Probably a very good one.
Your eyes traveled over her lightly freckled face, down her long nose—
Emily interrupted your train of thought. “I think I’ve heard of this one before… Never come across her myself though,” she said, joining you in eying the newly unconscious Wolf. “She has killed countless Seraphites. Numbers of Your people, dead at her hands.”
You felt a flash of anger upon hearing this and berated yourself for having been looking at her so… admiringly.
How many people did you know whose role of soldier was chosen for them, just as your role of Prophet had been chosen for you. They hadn’t asked for it any more than you did. And they had been killed for it.
Many of them by this woman.
Suddenly, the idea of killing her didn’t seem so impossible.
“It will be our honor to take care of the dirty work on your behalf, Prophet,” Emily said. “The only thing you need to worry about is this…” She handed you the dagger as the men dragged the Wolf away, into the forest.
You followed behind, pulling your hood over your head as it began to rain.
One of the two men split off, saying he thought he saw something and wanted to investigate. Emily nodded and took the Wolf’s arm from him, taking on half of her weight.
Once in the clearing, you watched as the Wolf regained consciousness, just in time for Emily and one of the men to put the noose around her neck and lift her off the ground.
You watched as she struggled to catch her breath and balanced on the bucket that Emily had shoved beneath her feet.
You watched, hidden beneath your hood, as she saw you for the first time, standing in the shadows, and her eyes widened.
You listened to her gasps and grunts as she struggled against her binds as you approached.
You pulled back your hood and looked into her eyes. Saw a living, breathing human being who had done nothing to you and could do nothing to defend herself against you.
And once again you weren’t sure if you could actually do it.
But you pushed ahead, just as you always do, and did what was expected of you.
Until the whistle had cut you off.
Yara had been captured, and you weren’t able to stop them from destroying her arm.
In the fight that ensued, you were useless, standing off to the side in utter shock as arrows, bullets, and hammers flew, everything happening too quickly for you to be able to react.
When the Wolf grabbed Emily with her legs and crushed her between her thighs, you couldn’t help but note the fact that you had been standing much closer to the Wolf, and for much longer…
But Emily was dead and the Wolf was choking, now dangling freely with nothing to stand on.
“Yara!” You heard him before you saw him.
He came running out of the tree line, pausing when he saw the hanging Wolf.
And then he saw you, still frozen. Still useless.
“Prophet,” he breathed, bowing his head. The genuine sincerity in the gesture disheartened you, but you were glad to see him alive and unharmed, so you gave him a small smile and a nod.
His eyes stayed on you for just a moment longer before he went to check on Yara, quietly whispering her name. She waved him away, her arm limp and face pained.
“The Demons are coming,” he said, loud enough for you both to hear.
For some reason, that was what got you moving. You found the dagger on the ground where Emily had thrown it and rushed over to rope that held the Wolf.
“What are you doing?” Lev asked.
“Cutting her down.”
“She’s one of them,” he said.
“Lev,” Yara said, shaking her head.
He went quiet, watching as you quickly cut the rope.
The Wolf fell to the ground with a loud, painful thud and immediately began coughing and gasping for air.
You walked over to her, hesitant. You had been seconds away from disemboweling her just a few minutes ago. Maybe she would turn around and kill you the second she was free.
But you had already cut her down and Demons were on the way, so you knelt on the ground behind her and carefully cut away the ties that held her hands.
The moment she was able, she used her own hands to loosen and remove the noose, sitting up quickly and looking around for something.
Her eyes went to Emily and she crawled over, grasping the hammer lodged in her head and yanking it out.
With one hand to her throat, she stood.
You couldn’t believe she was standing so quickly after what just happened to her, but she was. And you knew that if she decided to attack you, you would not win that fight. Even now, in her weakened state and despite your years of training, you wouldn’t stand a chance against her.
But she didn’t come after you.
A twig snapped in the surrounding forest. She turned towards that, ready to face whatever came out first.
Yara stood, grabbing a knife that belonged to one of Emily’s men.
Lev had an arrow notched in his bow, ready to fly.
You gripped the dagger tighter in your hand and tried to remember everything you’d been taught about fighting Demons.
“Watch your backs,” said the Wolf.
You supposed you’d get to have your first kill tonight after all.
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slow burn; enemies to friends to lovers; animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/injury; cutting (not to self, but still); religious/cult-like ideas
Note: So the idea for this started as a prequel to my first fic (linked here), but ended up turning into something different. It basically follows the plot of Abby’s Seattle Day 1, diverging from canon where necessary and using dialogue from the game wherever possible.
This is a lot of build-up (important to the story and hopefully enjoyable to read), but I promise romance is on the horizon!
Also, the idea of deadnaming or misgendering Lev—even in the flashback part where they’re little kids and wouldn’t have known otherwise—physically pains me, so we’re going to pretend that reader has been calling Lev “L” as a nickname for forever.
Abby knew as much about the Scars as any of her fellow WLF members.
She knew that the group was founded by a woman who claimed to have a vision after the initial outbreak of Cordyceps brain infection in 2013, and then started spouting some bullshit about how it was all just a punishment for the sins of humanity. Said that the way to move forward was to go back to the basics. Live off the land. Reject technology and progress and pretty much all the good things in life.
She knew that they live on the island but they wouldn’t fucking stay on it, and that there was once a truce but they broke it, forcing the WLF into an endless war.
She knew that they fought hard and killed brutally, without hesitation or remorse.
She knew that, especially now that Joel was taken care of, killing Scars was pretty much her life’s purpose.
And she knew that the woman who started all of this became known as The Prophet. And that Isaac gave the order to have her killed ten years ago.
It was for that reason that Abby thought Isaac must have misspoken when he opened with:
“The Prophet is on the move.”
He was standing over the large map of Seattle in the center of the room, hands braced on the table, head down in thought.
She didn’t know what to make of that. Or how to respond. A quick glance over at Manny confirmed that she wasn’t the only one who was confused.
One of them had to ask. It seemed Isaac wasn’t going to fill in the gaps unprompted.
“The Prophet?” Manny questioned hesitantly. “Sir… respectfully… She’s been dead for years. Died before we even joined.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I’m the one who killed her.” Isaac was always calm and measured, almost always spoke quietly. But sometimes there was something beneath his words, just below the surface. Something seething and kind of terrifying, although Abby would never admit that out loud. This was one of those times.
“My unwilling informants downstairs,” he said, referring to the captive Scars being held and interrogated on the building’s lower levels, “tell me that they have a new Prophet. One their Elders have been quietly grooming for the role for the last decade, maybe even longer.”
“Okay so… What does that mean?” Abby asked, finding her voice. This was not the conversation she was expecting to have when she heard that Isaac wanted to talk to them. She had hoped to get some answers about what was going on with Owen.
“There’s a reason why they’ve been more resilient lately. Bolder. Even more bat-shit than normal.” He clenched his fists on the table. “This… Neo-Prophet,” Isaac almost laughed, the words coated in venom, “is about to fully step into her role. She is of age now. Or so I’ve been told.”
Abby stared at Isaac, still waiting for him to tell her what all of this meant. And what exactly he wanted her to do about it.
Manny jumped in. “What? So the Scars are… celebrating? You’re saying that’s why they’ve been ballsier? Killing more of us. Pushing further inland.”
Abby let out a short laugh. “If this is what it looks like when they’re happy, I don’t want to see what happens when they’re mad.”
Isaac remained stoic. “They have a renewed sense of purpose. When we killed their first Prophet, the Scars were enraged. They fought hard for vengeance. But people will only fight on behalf of a dead woman for so long. Passion for the cause wanes without something tangible to fight for. They need that higher authority to look to. They need someone to honor and defend. Their Elders were smart enough to know that their people need a unifying symbol. A living one.”
“Right, and you said that unifying symbol was on the move so…” Abby said. “Want us to hunt her down? See what they’ll do when we take away their new favorite toy?”
“No,” Isaac said quickly. “She’s not our target. We’ll get to her in due time.”
“Then wha—”
He cut her off. “The Prophet will be leaving the island soon, for the first time. In fact, it’s possible she’s already here. One of our captives tells me there will be some sort of initiation for her. I don’t know what that entails, but I’m sure it will involve attempting to kill some of ours. I’ll spend some more time with our friends downstairs and see if I can’t get any more information on that. We’ll try to prevent it if we can, but that’s not our main focus right now.” Abby opened her mouth to protest, only to be cut off once again. “With the Prophet away and many of their best soldiers traveling with her, the island will be more vulnerable than ever.”
Manny gestured to the map, reinserting himself into the conversation. “Sir, we’ve tried attacking their island and—”
“Not like this,” Isaac said. “Not with everyone. There’s a big storm a few days out. We’re going to use it to mask our approach. And you two are going to lead the first wave. Pick your squads. Start prepping.”
“And the Prophet?” Abby asked.
“One battle at a time, Abby.”
“Are we sure it would be a battle?” she pressed. “Isaac, she’s just one girl.”
“You would be foolish to underestimate this unknown enemy. Besides the likelihood that the best of the Scars will be at her side, I don’t doubt that she will be a very skilled fighter in her own right.” Abby huffed. Isaac continued, “And if she’s anything like her predecessor, the greatest threat is in her words. Not her actions. I watched some of my most loyal soldiers abandon our cause for theirs after just one conversation with the one who came before her.”
At this, Abby raised her eyebrows, ready to argue. A look from Manny shut her up.
“We’ve only got one shot at this… And this is bigger than any of us.” Isaac pushed off the table, walking over to Abby and placing a hand on her arm. “I need you, Abby.”
She shifted uncomfortably before relenting, giving a curt nod. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Good.” He pulled away, heading toward the door. “Look over the plans and go through your rosters.”
“I want Owen,” she said. Abby thought Isaac could at least give her that.
When he denied her permission to go look for Owen, Abby went anyway.
The day of your scarring had been the first time Haven saw the sun in weeks.
Your mother said it was a sign. But your mother thought everything was a sign.
She told you that, no matter what, you were not to cry. That you, her only child, would not disgrace her by shedding tears during your ceremony.
You were to be brave. And strong.
The Prophet herself had ordained the act of scarring for all of her followers. A symbol of the innate imperfection of mankind. And so her people would never forget their own failings, even in the midst of their unending efforts towards perfection.
No one was meant to question the Prophet’s teachings, or the Elders who had taken on the responsibility of interpreting those teachings and carrying out Her will since Her death two years prior.
You could feel your mother’s breath against the back of your head as she huffed and decided that she was once again unsatisfied with your hair, roughly taking it down and beginning again for the fourth time.
While she worked, you sat still on the wooden stool in front of her and stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to memorize your features as they were now.
This was the last time you would see the face you knew. Next time you looked in the mirror, you would be different. Would you feel different?
You tried to picture yourself scarred, with two thin lines running from each of your ears to the corners of your mouth. Your eyes stung, tears threatening to fall at the thought.
But there would be no crying today.
Instead, you let your eyes wander to your mother’s reflection, hovering just behind and above yours in the mirror. You examined her face. Of course, you had never seen her without her scars, but you’d always thought your mother was beautiful.
Maybe the change in your appearance would not be so drastic. Maybe it was vain to care.
You were not supposed to be vain.
Once your mother was satisfied with the look of the braided crown of your hair, she gently placed her hands on your shoulders, meeting you gaze in the mirror.
“We are imperfect beings,” she recited. You joined your voice with hers for the second part, “And thus we make ourselves imperfect in Her eyes.”
She smiled softly, squeezing your arms lightly. “Good girl. I’m proud of you. I know you will do wonderfully today.” You tried to return her smile. “Now. Get dressed. I laid your clothes out on the bed.”
She turned to leave you, pausing in the doorway. “Remember what I said, child. No tears today. Do you understand?”
You nodded quickly. Obediently.
She seemed pleased as she left the room.
You changed quickly, wondering if she had been able to tell that you’d spent the whole night before crying. You hadn’t gotten a minute of sleep.
The stool squeaked as you sat back down, not sure what to do with yourself while you waited. You met your own eyes in the mirror once more, this time immediately averting your gaze. You felt sick. And close to tears. And so very scared.
On the other side of the door, you could hear Yara and her mom greeting your mother. The eight-year-old asked if she could come inside to see you. After just a moment of hesitation, your mother allowed it, and you could hear the slight creak of the door as she came in.
Yara said your name quietly, standing just inside the door. You turned to look at her. She smiled, happy to see you, just as always.
“Happy birthday!” she whispered excitedly, closing the distance between you and wrapping her arms around you tightly. You squeezed her back, holding her close for longer than usual. Yara, never one to be the first to break a hug, lingered for as long as you wanted her there.
You were neighbors, and your mothers had grown up together and had always been close. And although Yara was four years younger than you, the two of you were close too. She and five-year-old baby L were your siblings, as far as you were concerned.
Yara was mature for her age, even more so than most of your other friends. You knew you could trust her, so with her you were honest.
“I’m really scared,” you said quietly into her hair, still not releasing her from the embrace.
“I know,” she whispered back, squeezing you even tighter. “You’re the bravest person ever though. I know you can do this.”
You finally let go, retreating back to your stool, but Yara stayed close by, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly with one hand.
“She will be with you through this, and for all the days of your life,” she said, earnest. “Our pain is Her pain, and Her pain is ours.”
You couldn’t help but make a mental note of the fact that the Prophet actually did not receive the same scars as all of her followers, so perhaps this one specific pain is one that was not, in fact, shared between to two of you.
But Yara’s comment was made with a level of sincerity that you couldn’t help but admire—and borderline envied—so you chose to keep your thoughts to yourself.
Her presence was always a comfort, so you allowed yourself to relish in it for a quiet minute before your mother reentered the room.
“It’s time to leave,” she said simply. Firmly.
Behind her, just outside the door, you could see Yara’s mom standing there, holding a quiet but curious little L’s hand. They would all be walking over with you to witness the ceremony.
You forced yourself to stand, brushed your hands down your thighs as if to clear some nonexistent dust and smooth the phantom wrinkles. For a moment, you considered taking one last look in the mirror, but ultimately deciding against it. It would feel strange to do so, now that everyone was watching you and waiting.
For the briefest moment, you thought about making a run for it. Stealing a boat or even attempting to make the swim to the mainland. You could survive on your own, or maybe even join the Wolves. You weren’t scarred yet. You could lie about where you came from, and they would probably take you in…
The hiss of your name from your mother’s mouth ripped you back into reality, along with a gentle nudge from Yara.
You took a deep breath and started walking.
Once the home of the Prophet herself, Sanctuary was one of your people’s primary places of worship, second only to Martyr’s Gate on the mainland. (You had never seen it – You’d never left the island – so Sanctuary was where you most often prayed.)
Scarring ceremonies were held there, always on a child’s twelfth birthday.
You had witnessed many friends receive their scars. It was customary to attend the ceremonies of those close to you. Family, friends.
The process was always the same.
Elder Constance would lead all those gathered in a prayer, holding the ceremonial blade. You would recite a version of the Prophet’s Prayer. The blade would be blessed. Then Elder Duncan would make the incisions before welcoming you as an official member, a child of the Prophet.
It never took very long. Everyone had work to get back to, tasks to fulfill.
You would soon come to find that your ceremony would not be like any of those others.
The first indication of this was the sheer number of people who were gathered at Sanctuary. You had never seen this many people gathered in one place at one time, many of the faces you did not recognize.
As you approached the dais, the crowd silently parted for you, all eyes examining you carefully as if looking for something unseen. You couldn’t begin guess what it was.
You wanted to go home. You wanted to cry. To hold your mother’s hand. You wanted to not be here at all. Ever. For this to be a horrible nightmare.
Why were there so many people here?
Your eyes met Elder Constance’s. She was stiff and serious, as always, but there was a brightness in her eyes that you were not accustomed to seeing. A quick glance at Elder Duncan revealed a similar expression on his face.
The other five Elders also stood on the stage. Another thing that was unusual for a simple scarring ceremony.
Had you done something wrong? Were you in trouble?
You looked ahead, and your legs continued to carry you forward, despite your internal protestations.
When your feet were nearly touching the first step up, you stopped. And although your mind went blank, your body remembered what to do.
You bowed your head to each of the Elders, silently waiting to be greeted and invited onto the dais.
“Welcome, child, on this most joyous day!” Elder Constance’s voice boomed, carrying enough for everyone gathered to hear. “Come. Join us.”
You fought the urge to turn around and find your mother. You wanted to look at her face, to see if she knew what was happening.
But you knew that any moves you made in this moment other than exactly what was expected of you would be seen as hesitation, and therefore disgraceful. And you didn’t want your mother to be angry.
So you did as Elder Constance said, and you climbed the steps.
Your vision blurred. You tried to focus on your breathing.
“Two years ago, the ignoble Wolves took our beloved Prophet from us,” she began once you were standing center-stage. The reaction from the audience was instantaneous, full of outrage and despair. Elder Constance allowed this to continue for several moments before holding up her hand; and the noise stopped just a quickly as it began.
“But She is not dead! For the Prophet’s spirit cannot be killed by the evils of mankind.” The crowd hung on her every word as she continued, “She lives in all of us. In our actions and in our virtues. In Her teachings.”
“Here before you are all of your Elders, appointed to this honorable position by our Prophet, most wonderful and wise. She speaks to us, and it is our duty—our privilege—to share her words with you.”
“But today, She does not have words for us.” Elder Constance paused, the audience hushed, waiting for the reveal. “It is Her heavenly desire to give us a new source of hope. An advocate. A champion… A new Prophet.”
Elder Constance’s hands landed on your shoulders.
“Today, She has chosen Her successor.”
The crowd erupted in celebration.
You went completely numb and tuned them all out.
The Elders continued to speak, and the people continued to celebrate. All the while, your mind was reeling and your face was blank.
A new Prophet?
There can’t be a new Prophet.
What does that even mean?
There have never been any prophets except for THE Prophet.
And if there does need to be a new Prophet, why would it be you?
Why you?
Why you?
Why you?
It can’t be you.
If any of your questions were answered, you didn’t hear it above the ringing in your head.
Your attention was drawn to the blade that was now in Elder Constance’s hands, and you forced yourself to again begin to listen.
“…The Neo-Prophet will take on her full responsibilities when the time is right. But until then…” She continued on with familiar words, ones used in a typical scarring ceremony to bless the blade before it was used.
The knife was then passed down the line of Elders, each of them lifting it above their head and reciting the same words.
Your legs suddenly felt very weak.
Elder Duncan blessed the blade last and stepped forward, positioning himself just a couple feet away from you. You turned to him just as you knew you were supposed to.
This was the part in the ceremony when you would usually say a version of The Prophet’s Prayer. You weren’t sure if you were still meant to do that, given the circumstances, but you were operating solely on instincts now, so you began, “The world is not in balance, but I will do my part to right it.”
You weren’t speaking nearly as loud as the Elders had. You hoped you were loud enough. You hoped you were doing it right.
The pleased look on Elder Duncan’s face indicated that you had done well, but before you could go on with the next line, all of the Elders continued the prayer together:
“You will lead us through the storm
May the current be calm
May You guide us home.”
Their words had been slightly altered from the classic prayer, different than you would’ve said it if you had been given the chance. The strangest part was that they were speaking to you.
Almost like they were praying to you…
Elder Duncan took another step forward, gripping the knife.
You expected him to use his other hand to lift your face, to hold it at the best angle for the scarring. You’d seen him do the same to others many times before.
This was the part that you knew was coming. You had been at least attempting to prepare for it. You could handle it.
But you were thrown off once again when instead, he took your right wrist in his free hand and gently pressed your fingers down, making you form a fist. He then lifted your hand until it was by your ear, knuckles facing inward, arm bent at the elbow. His own hand gripped your elbow, holding your arm in place.
You were frozen, with no choice but to watch as the knife met the outside of your forearm and sank in. A slow, straight line was carved from the top of your wrist all the way to your elbow.
You didn’t look away. You didn’t cry. You did as you were told.
You wanted to go home.
“We are imperfect beings. And thus, we make ourselves imperfect in Your eyes.” Elder Duncan said, meeting your gaze. “It is for this reason that we proudly wear our scars on our faces.”
When his work was done, he released your right elbow and moved on to the left, lifting that arm into the same position. “But the Prophet, in Her kindness, bears the weight of our imperfections, carrying all of us in her arms. This is why You will wear your scars here.”
“Remember that You are part of us, but set apart.” The blade pierced the skin of your left forearm, and a twin incision was formed. “We look to You, Prophet. May She guide you. May She protect you.” With that, he took a step back, lowering the knife.
You slowly lowered your arms to your sides and turned back to face the enraptured crowd.
As you scanned the masses, you felt the blood ooze down your arms and curl around your fingers, pooling on the ground by your feet.
You found Yara, who was somehow clapping and cheering more enthusiastically than anyone else. And then you saw L, held up on their mother’s hip, face concerned, eyes wide and wary.
At least someone was as skeptical as you were.
You wondered if you would get to go home now.
But Elder Constance placed her hands on your shoulders again, this time turning you and leading you in the opposite direction, into the Prophet’s grand house. Into Sanctuary.
There, servants’ gentle hands carefully cleaned your stinging wounds, took down and brushed out your hair, and helped you change into a new white dress.
You would never live in your mother’s house again.
And it would be eight years before anyone addressed you by your name.
Synopsis: You and Abby take refuge in an abandoned house to catch your breath and attempt to recover after the encounter with Ellie in the theater.
Tags: slight angst; hurt/comfort; mentions of death and blood; tending to injuries; (mostly) unspoken romantic feelings; reader is a young woman (same age as Abby)
Note: To be absolutely 100% clear, the reader is NOT meant to be Lev or Yara. Reader is a woman (about the same age as Abby) who met Abby on Seattle Day 1 when she was also meeting Lev and Yara. The four of them stuck together. None of this is super relevant for this story. (Just know that Yara was with them, but she was killed just as she was in the game, and Lev is around here somewhere.)
That’s what Abby had said to that girl – Ellie – before walking away without so much as a backwards glance.
You had quietly followed Abby out of the theater, because what else could you do, but you didn’t know how you were supposed to feel about what you just saw.
Watching Abby incapacitate one man and shoot another in the face without hesitating. Seeing her beat Ellie into the floor while she lay there motionless.
And the other woman. The one who was pregnant…
“Good,” Abby had seethed when Ellie told her. She almost seemed happy about it. Happy to repay the wrong that was done to Mel. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.
If you hadn’t called out Abby’s name when you did, dragging her from the haze that was her desire for retribution…
Well, you could guess what would’ve happened.
You were just glad the two of you had decided not to bring Lev with you. That he was somewhere safe.
Neither of you spoke a word as you navigated through the dark streets of Seattle, her leading the way with you following quietly behind, just as you had been doing since you met. Although now you may have allowed for a bit more space between the two of you than you did before, trailing further behind. Lost in thought.
It had been three days since you met, but it felt like so much longer. A nagging voice in your head insisted that you really didn’t know Abby very well, despite how it felt.
She hadn’t given you any reason not to trust her. She had never hurt you. In fact, she had fought so hard to keep you and (more importantly) Lev and Yara safe. She had even turned against her own people, killed her own people, for the sake of protecting you.
No, that wasn’t right.
Those weren’t Abby’s people anymore.
“You’re my people.”
Abby had looked so earnest when she said it back on the Seraphite island just hours before. And you had believed her.
The words left you with a feeling deep in your chest that was hard to describe. You thought it might’ve been… belonging. Something you’d been hoping for but never found. You’d always wanted to truly belong to something.
Or someone.
There hadn’t been any time to dwell on the feelings or what they meant.
And now all you feel is a pit in your stomach.
Why were you so shaken up? This is stupid. You’ve killed before, and you’ve watched Abby kill.
But this felt different. It wasn’t self-defense. It wasn’t necessary. It was dark and angry and honestly terrifying. She was honestly terrifying.
But it was justified, wasn’t it? You could argue that maybe it was necessary.
Ellie had been hunting Abby for days, killing her friends and seemingly anything else in her path.
Ellie killed Owen.
You weren’t sure of the exact history between him and Abby, but you did know how important he was to her. And you had seen the look on her face when she found him dead.
Who’s to say Ellie would’ve ever stopped coming after Abby and the people close to her? Who’s to say she’ll even stop now?
You’re just beginning to arrange your fractured, contradicting thoughts in a way that makes sense when Abby comes to a sudden stop in front of you. You would’ve run into her if she hadn’t stretched her hand out behind her in warning.
“We need to stop. Get out of the rain. Regroup.” Her voice is strained.
You hadn’t really even noticed that it started raining again, harder this time, but you can walk in the rain. Lev is alone, waiting for the two of you to return.
You open your mouth to protest, only to shut it again when Abby turns to face you fully. She’s balancing her weight unevenly, heavily favoring her right leg. A significant bloodstain runs all the way down to her left ankle. And her face…
The pregnant girl had come from nowhere, attacking Abby from behind. She managed to slash across Abby’s cheek with a knife before you took her down with an arrow through the shoulder. It had been your only real contribution to the fighting in the theater, but it had been unavoidable. Abby had been in danger.
Now she’s standing in front of you, soaked from head to toe, from the rain and with blood, and you have no idea how much of that blood is hers, but there are definitely some significant injuries that need to be tended to.
Abby takes in your silence and your wide-eyed stare for a moment before shifting a little in place and clearing her throat. “Um… we can try in there. Yeah? The houses here should all be deserted.” She gestures weakly to the building closest to you.
You finally find your voice. “Yes, yeah. Let’s—let’s go in there.”
You pull your gaze away from Abby’s and walk past her, toward the small house, pulling your bow from where it rests over your shoulder and notching an arrow in the string. It suddenly occurs to you that you’ve walked all this way without your weapon drawn while Abby was injured and unarmed. For a moment, you’re glad that the Wolves and the Seraphites are too distracted fighting each other elsewhere to be roaming around in this area. Or else you and Abby would probably have been killed by now, both of you practically stumbling through the streets like a couple of vulnerable, mindless children.
You shake your head, silently scolding yourself and promising to be more alert, starting right now with sweeping the house.
The front door is mostly intact and slightly ajar. You approach carefully, painstakingly forcing it further open with your shoulder, fighting against rusted hinges and warped wood. The floorboards creak beneath your boots as you step inside, quickly scanning the entryway for anything or anyone that poses a threat. Abby follows behind you, trying not to visibly limp on her injured leg and holding up a small flashlight taken from the aquarium.
“Come on. You need to sit down,” you say over your shoulder, just loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain outside. For a moment, it looks like she might argue with you, maybe insist that she make sure the building’s clear first, but she seems to decide against it, giving you a quick nod of her head in response.
With your bow still drawn, you lead the way through the first floor of the building, passing a bathroom and a kitchen before arriving in what was once the living room. The room is filled with furniture in various levels of destruction and decay, somehow the most well-preserved among them being an old couch pressed against the back wall.
You point to it. “Sit,” you tell Abby. The fact that she listens and moves toward the couch without protest, albeit very slowly, is further proof of the extent of her injuries and her level of exhaustion. “I’m going to check the rest of the house, okay? I’ll be back. Don’t move.”
Abby lets out a scoff, immediately followed by a second, more pained noise. “I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted to.” An attempt at a joke, made through gritted teeth. You give her a hesitant, worried look, long enough that she forces a small smile and attempts to reassure you with, “I’m fine. Go.”
She’s lying and you know that, but you don’t have much of a choice. You turn to go quickly search the house.
The second floor is clear of any discernible threats but also of anything that would be useful in helping Abby. On your way back to the living room, you rummage through the downstairs bathroom and a couple of mostly empty coat closets in hopes of finding something. Medical supplies. Even clean cloths.
You find nothing there and move on to your last hope, the kitchen. This room is even more ransacked than the rest of the house, and still, you don’t find what you’re looking for.
“Ugh,” you loudly groan, clasping your hands together on the back of your neck and casting your gaze upward in frustration.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Abby quickly asks from the other room, sounding ready to jump up off the couch and rush to your rescue even in her current condition. It makes you smile until you remember that this is no time to be smiling.
“It’s nothing. The house is clear. I was just looking for some medical supplies.”
“Who needs medical supplies?” she asks, trying her hand at a second joke. This time you let yourself smile for just a second.
“You do, Abby,” you say, “You need medical supplies. Urgently.” You’re still staring up like the answer will be written up there if you just look hard enough, when something in the space between the one of the top cabinets and the ceiling catches your eye. If you’re not mistaken, it looks like the corner of a first aid kit.
It’s too high for you to reach standing, and there’s nothing for you to stand on top of. The countertops are broken, the pieces scattered across the room, and the wood of the lower cabinets is rickety and unstable at best.
You’re grumbling under your breath about damn high ceilings and unnaturally tall cabinets as you reenter the living room to find Abby almost exactly where you left her, left leg now up on the couch and elevated, right foot still on the floor. Both of her hands are hovering over the gash in her thigh, like she’s not sure if she should touch it or not, her face tense and focused. She’s in pain.
You pull your eyes away and look for something sturdy enough for you to stand on, eventually deciding on a mostly intact, only slight wobbly small metal table.
“Do you really think now is the best time to rearrange the furniture, honey?” Abby asks, glancing at you in her periphery. She’s joking again, and you know that, but you can’t help the warmth that pools in your cheeks at her use of the affectionate pet-name.
“I--“ You clear your throat, “I need something to stand on. I think I found something in the kitchen.”
“Aww, you can’t reach the top shelf by yourself?” Abby asks, amused. She turns her attention from her leg to watch as you drag the table out of the room. It squeaks along the floor the entire way, making her laugh softly.
The fact that she’s being playful with you starts to ease your lingering panic about her many ailments. If she’s cracking jokes, she can’t be that close to dying, right?
“Crazy how you’ve lost like half your blood supply, and yet you still have enough energy to tease me,” you say, your own teeth gritted now. The table is much heavier than you anticipated. “And, for your information, the thing that I’m trying to get is not on the top shelf. It is above the top shelf. On top of the cabinet.”
“Uh huh. Sure… Take your time. I’m just over here, casually bleeding out.”
“Well, I’m no doctor. But I’m pretty sure that if the knife had hit any major arteries, you would’ve bled out a long time ago. So you’ll be fine for another minute. Probably.” With one final shove, you manage to get the table where you want it.
You carefully step up on the table, hoping that some sadistic asshole didn’t throw an empty first aid kit all the way up there just to waste the time and energy of some poor, desperate fool in need of medical supplies. (You, of course, being that poor desperate fool.)
After brushing off a thick layer of dust, you grab the handle. The kit is full.
“Yes!” you shout, nearly stumbling off the table in your excitement.
Abby can tease you all she wants and try to make light of the situation, but she can’t hide the look of relief that washes over her features when she sees what you’re carrying.
And, if you were paying closer attention to her face, she also wouldn’t have been able to mask the way her eyes go wide and her cheek – the one that’s not covered in blood – gets visibly pink when you get on your knees in front of her. “Uhhh hey, you can—you can sit on the couch.”
You raise your eyebrows, confused by her sudden nervousness. “No, the angle will be better this way,” you insist. “Just bring your leg over here.” She concedes, avoiding eye contact as you help her maneuver her injured leg so that her foot is back on the floor, practically between your knees.
There’s already a tear in her pant leg where the gash is. So to avoid having Abby stand up and take her pants off or cutting all the way around at mid-thigh, leaving her with half a pair of pants for the foreseeable future, you opt to just rip the fabric a little more on either side of the tear.
But you have a bad habit of occasionally thinking about something and then doing it, forgetting the often necessary in-between step of alerting the people around you to what you’re going to do first. You take the already-ripped fabric of her pants in your hands and tear, successfully making a hole large enough for you to properly clean and dress the wound.
The sound Abby makes when you do this surprises you. It’s almost sounds like a whimper—a noise that you don’t think you’ve ever heard her make before. There’s a twisting heat in your gut that seems to be a recurring side effect of being close to Abby, which you choose to ignore in favor of focusing on the more urgent (and honestly less daunting and less complicated) task at hand.
She’s quiet as you get to work cleaning the gash. Wincing slightly but remaining still.
The cut is deep, but as you expected it missed the femoral artery. You would have to stitch it up, though, and you told Abby as such. She nodded and watched you carefully as you quickly prepared, hoping to get this part over with as quickly as possible.
You moved even closer to her. Abby’s shin gently pressed against your front as you leaned over her knee, bringing your face closer, your movements precise and intentional.
Abby brings her hands down on either side of her legs, bracing herself. Her shoulders tense, muscles engaged. You have to tear your eyes away. Focus. You look back down at her thigh.
As you work, a strand of your hair falls from where you had tucked it behind your ear and into your face. You let out a light, annoyed huff. Before you attempt to blow the strand out of your eyeline, Abby’s fingers gently brush it back behind your ear. You feel yourself blush deeply, saying a quiet thank you before going back to sewing her up.
When the last stitch is done and you’ve carefully wrapped the wound, you feel Abby’s fingers run through your hair again, this time for no other reason but to draw your eyes up to meet hers.
“Come up here,” she says, her voice low. You stand, bringing the first aid kit with you, and feel the springs in the cushions creak beneath you as you sit on the couch, facing her, closer than is probably necessary. Before either one of you says anything else, you begin gently wiping away the blood surrounding the cut on her cheek, cleaning around the wound.
It's clear to you now that her wounds weren’t quite as detrimental as you had feared. With her leg sown up, her face was the only other thing that required your attention. Most everything else was superficial and would heal on its own. The rain had done a poor job of washing away all the blood, but it seems that much less of that blood had come from her than you had anticipated anyway.
“I can do that,” Abby says in a whisper, watching your face as you carefully and meticulously clean hers.
“I know,” you reply, just as quiet. “I want to.”
A few moments go by in silence until Abby once again breaks it.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” she begins, quickly adding, “Not sorry that I did it, but sorry that you had to… see me that way.” Her eyes are downcast. You know it’s weighing on her. Not just everything that happened today, but the fear that what happened could have a lasting effect on this thing you two have only just started to build. Call it trust or friendship or maybe something else entirely.
You shake your head. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad I was there. You shouldn’t have had to do that alone.” Abby nods, but you know it doesn’t do much to assuage her worries.
You still don’t understand what happened back in the theater. Or why it happened. Part of you wants to ask for the history now. How she knows Ellie. Why she wants Abby dead.
Maybe in time she will tell you, but you’ve already decided to trust her. To lean into whatever this thing between you is, and whatever it might become.
So instead, you ask another question that’s been in the back of your mind.
“Did you mean what you said earlier?” You pull your hand away from her face, finished cleaning the cut there. It may form a scar, but it doesn’t seem deep enough to warrant stitches. (And you’re not brave enough to try, on her lovely face so close to her eye.)
Abby smiles softly, leaning forward just a bit to bring your faces closer together. “You’re going to have to be more specific, honey.”
That pet-name again. It makes your head spin. Makes you want to close the already shrinking distance between you and press your lips to hers. But you don’t do that. Instead, you explain, “On the island. When you said that… I’m your people.” You pause, hesitating over the last few words.
Abby stops for a moment, almost looking confused, and you start to spiral internally. You realize that it was probably just something she said in the heat of the moment. To calm you down and get you to keep moving, towards safety. You wish you could take your question back, retract your stupid words. Swallow them up and hide them inside you, along with your ever-growing feelings.
Abby finally answers. “Yeah. Of course I meant it. You’re my people.”
“Yeah?” You break out into a grin.
She nods, smiling and sincere. “Yeah.”
It’s that one, small word that makes you close the distance between you. Not to kiss her, but to gently rest your forehead against hers. Abby seems stunned, like maybe she was expecting the other thing, or hoping for it, but she recovers quickly, closing her eyes and maintaining the physical contact. You close your eyes too.
“You’re my people too, Abigail Anderson.” You can feel her laugh quietly and open your eyes, pulling away just enough to see her face again. “So… where do we go from here?”
“Santa Barbara, California,” she says. You remember overhearing part of a conversation about that between Abby and Owen yesterday. You figured that’s where she would be heading; you had just hoped to be given the chance to tag along. But you guess you didn’t have to worry about that anymore.
So you nod your head thoughtfully. “Sounds good… Sunny.”
“Hmm, yeah. That’s what I hear.” You’re both smiling. Happy, strangely enough, given the circumstances.
“Abby…”
“Hmmm?”
“We are going back to get Lev before we leave though, right?”
Note: If you read all of that, THANK YOU! This is the first fanfic I’ve written—and the first time I’ve written at all in a long time—so this is me dipping my toes in the water.
Lesbian love teaches you to love yourself. When you love another woman’s body you are loving your own body.
I reach down and grab my own hip. It’s soft and covered in stretch marks and I wonder if anyone could ever find me beautiful. I reach down and grab my lover’s hip. It’s soft and covered in stretch marks and I wonder if Aphrodite is reborn in every woman or just this one.
To learn to love another woman is to learn to love yourself.
my whole heart,
burned but not buried this time @burnednotburied - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
