hope there's someone
who will take care of me
when i die, will i go?
hope there's someone
to set my heart free
nice to hold when i'm tired.
† 27
† Magus
✔ Empathetic → Strong → Accepting
✘ Wayward → Passive → Vulgar
"Hope there's someone who'll take care of me. When I die, will I go?"
Layla was staring down at the body slumped against the wall. The woman was thin and pale and looked older than she should, aged by grief and the effort it took to survive. There was blood splattered around her head, seeping into dark hair and falling steadily onto the floor, but her eyes were closed, and she looked more peaceful than she had in a long time. Layla's hands raised to her own pigtails, surprised that there wasn't blood on them. She was dead. She was staring down at her body and for a moment she was just numb.
Maybe this was hell. She deserved hell. She hadn't been a good person in life, not enough to warrant heaven anyway, and she could think of no greater hell than being stuck here forever alone, except maybe that horrible black abyss where nothing existed at all. It occurred to her, somewhat distantly, that she no longer needed to be afraid of that dark place. There was no chill on her skin, no painful hole in her chest. The sound around her was muted and though she could see Carter kneeling there beside her lifeless body, sobbing like he'd been torn in half, the sound was far away and muffled, like she was standing on the other side of a glass wall.
There was pity in her heart for her friend, because she knew there was no way to tell him she was okay. She had tried her best to let him know before she had made him look away. This was always coming, and she had known for a long time. Her life had been short, shorter than most, because it felt like she had only truly understood what it even meant to be alive for such a brief moment and now it was over. She had gone through months of being a ghost already, and though she'd managed to resurrect herself in the last few weeks, the fact remained she didn't belong with the living anymore. A soft smile graces her mouth, because Carter and Charlie were alive. It could have been one of them, staring down at their dead body, and she was so happy it wasn't. Carter would pick himself up, he would go find Piper, and in time, the woman he loved would heal his heart. Charlie would cry, and hopefully go find Devin and they would bridge whatever it was dividing them.
Suddenly something else is there with her and she can feel electricity pricking it's way up her spine, and she doesn't really know how she knows. There's no sound, no rustle of movement that makes her turn, just a gentle pull at the very core of her being that has her moving to look over her shoulder. Her lips part as a breath she thinks she no longer needs leaves her in a rush. All the bad feelings are gone, trapped in the body she left behind, so when tears fill her eyes they're accompanied by a bright, honest smile. She was always honest with him.
"Kazimir." she breathes, her voice lighter than it had been in months, free of the sorrow that had weighed it down. There was no fear, but she hesitates, unsure of what to say to him. She would have wondered more if he was real, but she didn't know if she was real anymore. Had he really been there before, during those dark moments when she felt her mind was unraveling? Had he seen the way she had collapsed, the way she had lost herself to her grief? Was he ashamed of her? Disappointed? Would he recoil if she reached out and touched him, or disappear like smoke on the wind? The thoughts didn't dim the happiness she felt at seeing him and the smile didn't falter. Layla just stood, drinking in the sight of him, wondering if this was heaven or hell.
"Kotenok." The word is quiet, little more than a breath, but there is a wealth of emotion behind it. He moves so that he's standing next to her but for the moment those cool eyes are only focused on her body. Layla looks at it for a moment before glancing back at him. She'd rather keep her eyes on him anyway. There is something like regret etched on his features, but he's said enough times that there's no point to it. And now even less of one for the dead. Still, the words are distant and almost wistful when he finally turns to her, the smile softer than most of the ones he wore in life. "I told you no more scars."
That name. The one that belonged only to them. The one he'd given her. She'd heard the ghost of him say it before, but now it was different. It felt real again, and less like a shadow. A slow, wary smile pulls her own mouth wider, because the reminder of her safety seemed like a silly thing to say now. A few tears spill from the corners of her eyes as a small, breathy noise leaves her mouth almost like a laugh. "I tried." she says with a little shrug before biting down on her lip and tipping her head as she looked at him, an expression somewhere between happiness and sadness sitting on her face. "I told you to be careful." she says, but there's no real reprimand in her voice. They were pointless now. She wants to touch him, to fall into his arms, but she's frozen as a few more tears leak from her eyes and she smiles again because for the first time since a chilly day in October, she feels whole again. "I have missed you... so much." she admits, blinking back more tears and fighting to keep her voice from breaking.
"Da. You did. My apologies." There's still a sad, small smile on his lips when she says it, head tilted as he looks back at her, the real her, not the body lying on the ground. It bears scars and wounds, all the evidence of a full life lived, but that's over now. Others will go on and the best they can hope for is that they will remember their names, but she was all that was left of him and now she's here. It makes the words both unbearably painful and unapologetically happy when he offers them back. "I have missed you too." He finally turns towards her fully, hand reaching up to cup her face and the roughness of his palm, the calluses, they're all the same. Layla doesn't hesitate to hold it there, because it's warm and she can feel it and it's enough to make more tears slide down her cheek, but he gives a small shake of his head, thumb running across her skin to wipe them away. "No more tears, kotenok."
Layla nods and closes her eyes, taking a breath to calm herself down. There was no reason to cry now. Her friends were alive, and now Kazimir was here. She licks her lips and shakes her head, looking down at the ground instead of him. She'd imagined this so many times, seen him so many times and though she knew this time was different, was real, she couldn't seem to find any words, so she jet moved his gently so she could place a kiss into his palm. "I can't imagine what you think of me." she says thickly, and though she's not crying anymore, because he'd asked her not to, she feels guilty for the things she'd done to survive, the ways she had tried not to survive. That was all gone now though, and he was here. "But... I don't want to be apart from you again." she confesses, raising her eyes to his, not knowing if it's even her place to ask that of him, but it's the truth, and she is nothing with him if not honest.
"Tch. I think what I have always thought of you." The words are said with a quiet force behind them, stepping closer to her because there's been enough distance. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." There's no judgement, no comment on the things she's done. They don't matter now, and he would never hold survival against her. He knows better than most that life can be hard and cruel, even on it's best days, and there's nothing but that complete understanding looking back at her. His hand moves then, turning it so it's pressed palm to palm with hers before letting their fingers lace together. Layla holds on tight, because she missed the warmth of him, the strong feeling she got just from being near him. He watches her closely and then gives a shake of his head, because this is both an ending and a beginning for him as well as for her. He just wasn't willing to move on without her. "You will never have to be."
It takes nothing for Layla to tilt her head closer, her nose brushing against his and her eyes close in bliss at just being so close to him. If there had been doubt at the beginning, there was none now. This was heaven. Being with him, even in death, made her feel more alive than anything else the world had ever given her. Her mouth presses to his in the kiss she had wished she'd given him before he walked out the door. Just a soft, quiet press that promised her heart to him. It had been his for so long anyway. When she speaks the words come out like a whisper, because she had never told him and for a time after he was gone doubted if they were true. unsure if her feelings were real or a product of dreams, but here and now she knew beyond a doubt that they were real. "I love you, Kazimir."
There's a smile on his lips after she says it, for a moment his fingers tightening around hers. He leans his head forward so he can return the kiss, capturing her lips with his in a way that he thinks says more than any words. The world as it is doesn't matter anymore, none of it matters except that they're together now. There's no point to hesitation, no more rules or code to break. It makes it easy to offer them back after he pulls away, easy to tell her the same. That his heart is hers. His answer is quiet, but no less sincere, just said softly against her mouth. "I love you too, Layla."
Layla smiles, and just like that, those broken pieces of her heart aren't broken anymore. There's nothing else anymore. Just him and her. The two of them, and she gets to stay with him now. Layla wraps her arms around him and kisses him again, and finally, happily, let's the world she'd known fall away, so she can ride off with her cowboy into whatever light would take them.
Carter chokes out another sob when she tells him she’s lived. How could she know? She hasn’t even reached her thirties. She hasn’t had adorable little babies or married a great guy. She only got to live a tiny piece of the life she was supposed to, and now there’s no way he can give her all of these experiences when she only has a few minutes left. He tries to be strong and hold back the tears for her, but they just keep coming and he can’t stop them. He holds her close and on some level he knows she’s crying too, and he looks up. Even crying she still looks beautiful, and this is the last time he’ll ever see her this way. He looks off to the side as his vision blurs and a strangled sound escapes him.
How could he possibly confront all these people? It had been yesterday that he’d told them she’d left. Yesterday that she had left and only today that she’d come back. It’s not fair and having one of the most important people in his life torn away from him for the second time isn’t something he’s sure he’ll survive. Before he could still hope that she was alive, but here she was, asking for his gun so she wouldn’t turn into one of those horrifying things that had just tried to kill them both. But he nods. He nods because it’s what she’s asking and he’d do anything for her, even if it means giving her the way out of his life.
Carter clears his throat and takes the gun out along with a small box of ammo he’d though to bring as extra. He fumbles while reloading the gun and he keeps it once he’s done, still needing to say one more thing. “Layla Katherine White. You are the single best older sister I’ve ever had, and no one will be able to replace you. Not now, not ever. You made the husk of my life mean something again. You gave me happiness where I thought I could find none. I will love you until the day I die, and I will think about you everyday. I love you. I love you so much. There’s nothing I can say to make you feel safe, except that I won’t leave you and I’ll do anything you say. I promise I’ll be with you always. And I will see you again.” He says, somehow managing not to break out into incontrollable sobs throughout the whole thing.
He rises, and he knows there are so many more things he should say, so many things he still wants to know about her, but their time is running out and he wants to give her this last thing. Back on her level, he hands her the gun, and it has to be the most difficult thing he’s ever done in his life. Another sister gone. He starts sobbing again and she’s still warm and he doesn’t want to let go. “I love you so much, Layla. I love you.” The despair is weighing on his chest and he can’t breathe, there’s no air and he can’t let go. “I love you.”
If Layla had wanted to repay him for the kind words he was giving her, she couldn't have. She didn't deserve them, but she made no move to stop him. There's nothing left to do, so she takes the gun in her hand, letting go of the bleeding on her wrist. She sniffles and smirks at him, straightening out her pigtails and adjusting the jacket on her shoulders. This had been her life, and now it was over. The weight of the gun in her hand makes her look down, and she can still remember just a few short months ago, when she'd first held one. She'd learned how to squeeze her finger around the trigger and learn to take control in a world gone to hell.
Reaching out with her free hand she finds one of Carter's, because he'd said he would do anything she said. "Just..." she begins around a shuddery breath that's one of her last. "Just hold my hand and don't look, okay?" she says with a little nod, waiting from him to close his eyes for her. And after a moment he does. She gives his fingers a small squeeze. Knowing this is the last time she’ll ever touch another person, it seems fitting that her last action be something kind, something loving. Layla sucks in her last breath and puts the gun where she knows it has to go. The goodbyes had been given. The 'i love you's' said. She didn't know if it was going to be heaven or hell or just a black void, but whatever it was, it was hers, and she was ready to go.
Carter can’t look at her, but he also can’t stop looking at her either. Her skin is still flushed with life and every second that her lips are still rosy is a treasure. She’s still wearing her pigtails and her lipstick and the jacket that had once belonged to a man he had never known, but for now, he gives thanks to that stranger if this jacket offers her any kind of comfort. It does nothing to console him, and his tears streak down his face and wash away the blood that had settled there earlier.
Once she says she’s not okay, Carter shakes his head profusely because if she’s not okay then he’s not okay. And he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to survive in a world that doesn’t have his best friend in it. Who’s going to cuddle him when he gets in a fight with Piper? Who’s going to wipe away his tears when his sister’s birthday comes around? Who’s going to dance to his crazy singing while painting a completely foreign office building? Carter is still shaking his head, and he can’t believe she’s not going to be here anymore. Maybe nothing will happen and all she’ll be let with is an ugly scar and happy reminder of her mortality. But life isn’t that giving and death is a lot harder than that.
He falls to his knees, head still spinning as his forehead falls on her stomach and his fingers clutch the front of her jacket with white knuckles. He can’t give her his gun, he can’t let her end her life before it’s really over. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. “No…” He moans, holding her closer until his hands cramp. “I won’t leave you. Please don’t leave me. Layla, please. I love you. Pleas don’t leave me.” He cries, voice growing increasingly softer as his rational mind tells him that there’s nothing she can do. “Please, Layla, please. Please. Please.” He whispers into her shirt.
"Carter." Layla says, trying to find some firmness, because she doesn't have a choice anymore. This wasn't a shard of broken mirror pressed to her wrist in a haunted house, nor was it her alone in an abandoned army depot. There was a wave of resignation coming over her, because she had been ready to die once. Ready to leave behind everything, and only recently had she come back from that, found her will to live again. But now her life was leaving her, and they both knew it. There was nothing to do about it, so she lets herself sink back there. Into the darkness, and though there are no ghosts to comfort her. She's the ghost now, and it was her job to comfort him now. It was the last thing she could really give him.
"I'm not mad. Really." she says, and though the tears are still sliding down her cheeks, there's a quiet honesty in her voice. "I never had anything real before all this. It was all just, surviving and it didn't mean anything. And then the world ended and everything changed, and I found the group. I found a perverted little creep, who became my brother. I found Charlie, and she became my best friends." her voice catches when she thinks about the redhead, because just the other day she'd been with that best friend, and if she'd known it would be the last time, she might have hugged her closer, but she let's that thought slip away. Instead her mind turns to the man who had slipped away first. "I fell for an amazing man. I didn't just survive anymore, Carter. I lived." she says, nodding, hoping he understands her. "I lived, sweetheart. I have no regrets."
She's not sure if that's true, but either way, she can feel herself getting warm, and she has a feeling that has to do with the bite on her arm. "Carter, if I have to go, I want to go as me. I don't want to change." she says thickly, before licking her lips and the tears come harder as she gives him her next words. "So, I need you to tell people I said goodbye, okay? Tell Piper, and Devin, and Jenna. Evie. Tell Julian I rode off into the sunset or whatever it is cowboys do." she says and somewhere inside of her a tiny laugh bubbles up to mask the guilt there. More tears come as she continues. "And tell Charlie I love her, and give her a big hug for me." she says, her face twisting because she wishes she could tell the girl herself but she can't. She struggles to breathe for a moment because there's one last goodbye she has to give and it's hard to look him in the eye as tears blur her vision. "And I love you. I love you so much and you are so important to me. I love you, Carter and you are going to be okay, I promise. You have Piper, and she'll take care of you, and I will always, always be with you."
Layla leans forward and wraps him up close and she knows it's the last time. It makes it hard to let go, but she does after a long moment, pressing another kiss to his cheek and this time she doesn't wipe it away. Sniffling, she nods her head and clears her throat. "Okay. You need to give me the gun now. Please, Carter. This was my life, and I'm not going to let it become something twisted. It was mine and it's staying that way. Give me the gun." she says, blinking and giving him a tiny smile. "It's okay. I'm ready. I've been ready for a long time."
Carter’s thankful for the constant contact she offers, so much that if she hadn’t offered it he would have taken it anyway. He was so close, so close to dying, or her dying, that it still feels real and he can’t let go. He can’t just let another of his sisters die at his hand, not when he knows he can do something now. When a sound of displeasure comes from her, he looks over, worry etched into his face. Had she been hurt? But as soon as he sees she just forgot her axe a smile breaks out onto his face, and a laugh is just about to leave him when she looks at him with a look he’ll never forget.
She’s running and jumping and Carter knows that there’s something behind him, he can hear the shuffling he’d been oblivious to moments before, but the world keeps spinning when he turns his head and all he can see are several Laylas locked in battle with one zombie each. Carter grabs his head and yells, trying to get his brain to cooperate with him again. The scream is what brings him back to reality. It doesn’t matter that he can barely walk, it doesn’t matter that his head pounds each time blood runs through it, nothing matters because the zombie has its jaw dug deep into Layla’s arm and there’s nothing he can do anymore. “No!” He yells, and suddenly he’s throwing himself at the zombie before it can take another bite of his best friend. His knees ache as soon as they land on the hard ground, but all he does is beat the thing’s head into the ground until it looks like he used his powers. There are tears streaming down his face as he looks over to Layla.
A piece of her missing and there’s blood running down his arm and dripping onto the ground to stain it with a fresher red than the rusty color that had been coloring it previously. His mouth trembles and he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how he got up to wrap her in his arms, doesn’t know when the sobs begin to destroy his body from the inside out. And through all of this, he repeats like a mantra: “You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.” He whimpers into her hair, even though he knows that she won’t.
Carter takes the zombie down, and Layla's free hand clamps down on her bleeding wrist, as if stopping the bloodflow could somehow help the situation. She makes a small noise, her lips rounding on the word 'no' because the only thing that could make this worse would be if Carter got hurt. But soon she can see the zombie's head beaten in, and Carter is fine. Her back finds a wall, and she hadn't even realized she'd been swaying until it does. Taking a breath, she sinks down onto the floor. Her eyes are wide. Carter is already crying, holding her and telling her that she'll be okay.
"Carter..." she says quietly, sighing into his shoulder and that when her own tears start. "I'm not okay." she admits. Puling away from him she leans her head against the wall and closes her eyes, trying to breathe. She had just woken up and already the darkness was creeping in again. It wasn't fair, but when had life ever been fair. Sniffing back tears she takes in a few more shaky breaths, looking down at her wrist and the blood seeping through the fingers, trying to buy her time. She wasn't sure how long she had before she became one of the things they had just survived... that Carter had just survived.
"Honey, I'm gonna need to borrow your gun." she says thickly, because she knows what she had to do soon, and she wouldn't make Carter do that. He shouldn't have to see someone else he loved die. "Maybe you should go back to the group." she suggests quietly. She wants him with her, but she won't ask that of him. He needs to be safe. A little sob chokes out of her and she fights to hold them in, but there's so much she wants to say to him and to Charlie. She'd promised she wouldn't leave again, and now she was breaking that promise. She was scared of what would come next.
His world tilts sideways and he has to hold onto something to keep him upright, but he miscalculates the distance between his hand and the edge of the desk, and all he accomplishes is falling onto his hands and knees. The carpet burns his palms but he doesn’t care. He has to get to Layla, even if it means crawling. Carter has barely made it a few feet further when hot liquid drips down his head and neck. He looks up to see a mangled limb, only a hairbreadth away from being completely cut from it’s wrist. Through the dripping blood he can see the bones of the wrist, black and rotten inside, hollow and empty. Carter has to look away and within seconds his entire body is covered with specks of dark red blood.
Then, suddenly, it’s over and he can hear his own breathing. It’s too loud and he winces as Layla walks over to him. He’d seen the whole thing. He could still see it, bloody and broken on the floor a few inches away from his right foot. He wants to joke about this, wants to tell her how sexy and badass she looked chopping that thing to shreds. He wants to tell her that she’s his number one choice for a March centerfold about lumberjacks, but all he can do is wrap his arms around her tightly and wait until his world stops spinning.
Carter breathes deeply, and he can only hold Layla for so long before he’s pushing her hair back and looking over her skin to make sure she’s alright. “Are you alright? Please tell me you’re alright.” It doesn’t register that she asked him first. His eyes are wide and frightened of the world around him and what it was just about to take away from him. “Let’s get out of here, okay? We don’t need to paint. Next time we can just prank someone and giggle, okay? We don’t have to come into an empty office building and nearly risk both of our lives and die. We can be safe and if either of us get hurt then one of the people with the white marks can heal us and we’ll be fine because none of the people that can hurt us can bite us. Okay?” He asks, stoping only when he notices he’s rambling.
Layla holds him by the tops of his arms as he rambles. Her arms are sore and her hands are probably blistered from how tightly she was gripping the handle of the axe, but she's fine. Though she doesn't get a chance to really say that, because in his fear he won't stop talking. She doesn't interrupt him. She just smiles and nod along, because he wants to go home, and after what just happened she doesn't blame him. A part of her is sad, because they'd been having a nice time, something that felt free and fun, but it hadn't been safe. She wanted them to be safe. "Okay, honey. Let's go." she agrees quietly, helping him up to his feet and heading towards the door, keeping one hand on his arm.
They're close to the door when Layla groans. No way in hell was she leaving her axe behind, not when it had just saved their lives. She's already tired, so she doesn't hold out her hand this time for it to come sailing to her, instead she walks back into the room where paint and blood are now coating the walls almost equally like some creepy display of modern art. There's a sick, squelching noise as she pulls the axe out and turns back to where she'd left Carter. Her eyes are heavy, matching her heart. Maybe tomorrow or the day after they would laugh about it, about how they had taken on a dark man and won. It would be alright. She's barely out in the hall when she sees the movement. A zombie. Just a single zombie. And it's going for Carter. There's no energy left in her to throw the axe, but something needs to get between him and that thing. "Carter!" The axe falls to the ground and Layla jumps forward.
She doesn't want to touch this thing, but she doesn't know what else to do. There's no super strength to support her, electricity doesn't shoot from her fingertips without being called. It's just her, the body she had relied on her whole life with no extra bells and whistles. It's not much of a struggle. She's trying to push it back, to force it's face away, but the dead man is not so easily defeated. Why did she drop her axe? Why didn't she just swing? She didn't have to jump in here, so why did she throw herself on this grenade? Her hand slips and she thinks that time should slow down for what's happening, but it doesn't. Teeth that live inside a rotting mouth clamp down on her arm like the jaws of a pitbull and the scream that comes from her own mouth bounces off the walls around them. The pain is intense, and she thinks if she gets this thing off her she'll be okay, but she won't be, and there's a chunk of flesh missing from her wrist and blood pouring out of her veins to prove that.
Carter’s heart should be pounding in his ears, but he can’t hear a single thing. It seems surreal, as if he’s already dead. There nothing, not Layla;s voice or the sound of bullets being fired from his gun, not even the sigh of his breath as it leave his lungs. Only the fear keeps him from running, that and his best friend. When she runs toward the gangly creature, he can’t help but let out a yell. His throat hurts after it, but it did nothing to stop Layla from confronting the monster.
She sinks her axe into its neck and its head turns to look at her. Even in the dark, he can see the glisten of the moisture leaving the gap in his flesh, seeping onto the rest of its skin. Carter’s never been more grateful of the inherently gory aspect of his specialization, because if he wasn’t so used to seeing blood spattered about everywhere, he would have thrown up then and there. He wished the force of her blow was strong enough to sever the Dark Man’s head completely, but Layla wasn’t graced with the incredible strength some of the others had. Adrenaline is pumping through his veins, and no matter how much his feet itch to leave the dust disturbed with the speed of his departure, he can’t leave Layla here to deal with this thing alone, not when she’d been so close to being killed by one before. He’d seen the scars on her chest, he’d been the one to demand a pregnant woman heal her immediately. There’s no possibility of him leaving while that thing still wanted his best friend’s heart. No. Part of that belonged to him now and he wasn’t about to sacrifice it.
Carter wants to shoot, but he doesn’t trust his aim not to injure Layla. So he pockets his gun and grabs the first thing he sees. A paperweight, some kind of rock that sparkles with the little light that pierces the dirty windows. He runs toward the monster, but it sees him coming and all he can do is throw the rock at it before he feels it push against his chest. His back blossoms with pain and stars dance in his eyes. Carter shakes his head and rises, desperate to end this thing before either of them get hurt.
Carter goes down. Layla can't see much more because she's trying to swing the axe and keep the the thing's back, but from what she could see Carter had run forward and now he was on the ground and nothing about that is okay. She doesn't have time to drop down and check him for injuries. Hell, she doesn't even know if he's bleeding or conscious because she can't afford to take her eyes off of the thing in front of her. Swinging the axe down, this time she doesn't aim for it's back, but for it's hand and when the blade comes down the thing's mouth opens like it might be screaming. The long hand is hanging limply from it's wrist, almost completely severed from the arm.
One weapon down, she thinks. Now there was just the other hand and the mouth. There's now blood splattered on her jeans, mingling with the yellow paint, but still she swings. Almost wildly, her movements are frantic and desperate because despite her time at Tobyhanna, despite surviving this long, despite the situations she'd already been in, Layla was not a fighter. When someone she loved was in trouble she couldn't force down her feelings or her fear, even if she tried. They were right there in her veins, fueling her to keep going.
It takes a few minutes of dodging the remaining hand and forcing her arms not to grow tired, but eventually the killing blow was dealt, and Layla was left standing. She didn't bother to pull her axe out when the thing fell to the ground, the blade of the axe protruding from the top of it's head. Carter isn't bleeding, and he doesn't seem hurt. She can hear him breathing now that sound has returned to the world. With a shaky breath and bloody hands, she turns and grabs up the jacket, slipping it on to drive away the cold fear that had made a home on her skin before walking over to Carter. "Are you okay, honey?" she asks, kneeling down beside him, still shaking.
Carter nods, feeling better now that he knows something else about her. He says the name under his breath and tilts his head, trying to imprint it in his mind as the full name of his best friend. It tastes strange on his tongue, if only because he’s so used to simply calling her by her first name.
He laughs and starts hitting the wet wall with his fist, biting his lip and keeping the rhythm as he watches her dance. He can’t move his body with her grace, not unless it’s something like tap dancing or the waltz. No matter how much he trusts Layla, he won’t put himself through that. So he keeps belting out note after note, repeating the chorus and stumbling when he realizes the song should have ended minutes ago. He’s cut off abruptly, as if his voice had suddenly given out from under him like a paralyzed limb. Carter frowns and the look on Layla’s face is mirrored almost perfectly on his own. For one terrifying moment, he thinks he’s gone mute, and the world had taken away the one thing he thought no one could. He’s oddly relieved when he realizes it’s just a monster. They could deal with monsters. Or at least, that what he thinks until he turns and sees the creature standing, limbs long and grotesque, in the doorway leading to the second story. Shit.
Carter instinctually closes his eyes and wills its head to explode from the inside, but of course nothing happens, and seeing Layla reach for her axe like she had in her apartment steels the truth into his mind. He has little to no experience to dealing with monsters without his newfound abilities. The only time he’d come close to this kind of beast was in Stroudsburg, but Bella had luckily disposed of it. Shakily, he takes out his gun and pulls the trigger, but the safety is off and nothing comes from the gun. Panicked, Carter backs away, looking for the flashlight at the same time as he searches frantically for Layla. He calls out for her, but she obviously can’t hear him and his knees feel like liquid as he turns the safety off. He shoots three times. Two of the bullets find home in the far wall, but one hits the Dark Man’s shoulder, which is almost the same thing.
Layla's heart is thumping loudly within her chest, and she glances at Carter as he fires off gunshots, though there's no sound. She doesn't even see where they land. Instead she runs for her axe, and once it's in her hands she knows there's no way in hell she's going to let it go. turning back the thing still seems to be focused on Carter. Maybe because he still had a heart to rip out. It doesn't much matter to her why, all she knows is that she can't let that thing get any closer.
She wishes she could throw the axe with her mind, like she had back at the Home Depot. It would let her attack from a safe distance. This could be over with quickly and safely, but then again, nothing in this world was safe anymore. Layla knew that standing off to the side wouldn't work. She couldn't stand there frozen and watch this thing throw Carter like it had done to Charlie. So when she runs forward with her axe raised, it's not a choice she's made. It's simply what she knows she has to do. She can't lose Carter. She can't cry over another dead body and watch as losing him rips Piper apart the way she had been ripped apart. Her arms aren't as strong as they had been, laziness and the joined safety of the group making her lax in her efforts to become strong. So when she swings the axe it doesn't sink into the things back as deeply as she had wanted it to. If she could have, she would have taken it's head clean off, but she couldn't swing that high without risking those disgusting things that had once been hands with blue marks like hers clawing at her skin again.
There's some resistance when she tugs the axe back out, and the thing is already turning back to her, so she wings again, and it leans forward with the force of the blow. Her eyes are wide with fear and she knows she's shaking. It's impossible not to shake. Somewhere in her mind she knows this isn't the same Dark Man. It's not the one who had left her with scars, because Charlie had killed that one. Still, there's fear running rampant through her and a feeling like this is revenge for what had happened in Stroudsburg. Glancing to Carter, she yells for him to run knowing full well he can't hear her, but she doesn't want him here. He needs to be safe. He has to live. It's the only thing that matters to her right now, though if she could also walk away and still be breathing that might be nice as well.
Carter listens while she speaks, smiling and laughing when she mentions a jacuzzi. “Oh, jacuzzi’s are better. That there’s a perfect reason to be half-naked all day.” Carter sighs and splatters the wall with yellow. He’s never been a fan of the color, but then again, his baby sister had died wearing his favorite, so he doesn’t know which color he likes most anymore. Carter glances over to her wall, frowning when he sees what he assumes to be her initials. “I don’t know your last name.” He says suddenly. “Fuck, I am a terrible best friend. I’m sorry. I feel like I should know the fucking color of your toenails when you feel sad and I don’t even know your last name!” He says with a loud laugh. Something sounds above him, but he doesn’t really hear it over himself.
"I was never really aware of what my mom did to my house. I hardly spent any time in there. She’d clean my room every once in a while, just pass the vacuum because I was so neat. I hated it when my Frank Sinatra CD’s weren’t in chronological order." He shakes his head as another chuckle ripples through him. "I was a freak." There’s not much else he could say, because when the world had ended it had seemed like his life had as well, stripping him of everything he had ever wanted. The little money he had earned before his dad had died had burned away in the couple of months of Carter returning home. It reminds him why he was driving with his little sister across the country, and how he’s never told anyone about that before. "Did you know I might have another sister? Or had, I don’t know. I don’t even know her name. My dad told when before he died that he’d had a kid in New York twenty-six years ago. Well, twenty-seven. I wanted to know who she was, so I drove to New York with Cassie." Carter says quietly as his brush swirls across the wall even though his brush has long since run out of paint.
He shakes himself out of his thoughts and grins when she mentions music and pizza. “Well, there’s nothing I can do about the pizza but…” And then he starts singing at the top of his lungs. Something incredibly vulgar that sounds strange coming out of his mouth, but something that had also been popular when he’d blasted the radio during his road trip.
Layla smiles and puts the water down before returning to paint. "Layla Katherine White." she says, and she can't remember the last time she'd used her full name. Years probably. She doesn't think she'd ever told anyone her middle name before. It hadn't really seemed important. She listens and laughs along as he talks about his mom cleaning his room for him. It made him sound so young, and she admires him all the more for the ways he had adjusted to the ways life was now. When he talks about the fact that he might have had another sister her eyes widen. She's not sure how he would feel about that or if he still thinks about it now, wondering if this mystery woman who could be the last piece of him family is still alive.
Still she smiles at the idea of Carter driving with his little sister, making sure she's buckled into her seat and probably singing along with the radio while he drove. It's an easy thing to picture. He's a good brother. She bursts into laughter when he begins singing, because the song is ridiculous and so is the situation. All the same, Layla wiggles and keeps painting. The song sounds familiar but she doesn't know the words, but that doesn't bother her. She just keeps dancing and painting, enjoying this time with the man who had adopted her as his sister, the one who had become her perverted little brother. It's a surprise when he suddenly cuts off, and she turns to ask him why. Carter looks just as confused as she does and Layla's blood runs icy. She knows she has to turn around now, because they probably don't have time to waste. Her hand extends for the axe to come sailing into, but it doesn't come. Just like last time. Layla sucks in a deep breath that should have been audible but there was no sound left in this corner of the world, and she knew why. The scars on her were visible above the edge of her shirt as she turned.
Her axe wasn't far. Get to the axe. Protect Carter. It was as far as she could really think. Get to the axe. It was across the room, with the jacket. The same jacket that had been slipped over her shoulders after her last encounter with the thing now standing in the doorway. Tall and frightening, with a face that housed only a wide, sinister mouth. A dark man. If for one moment she had thought that this was just a dream, then he was here to remind her of the very grim reality she still lived in.
Carter crossed his arms and waited as Layla let the beam of light fall over the walls, presumably looking for any dangers. He had the place out the day before and got rid of the walkers on the bottom floor. He had no idea what was upstairs, and was a little bit scared to go up there by himself. He was confident in his powers, but not confident enough to be stupid. If he found an entire horde up there, he had no idea how long he would last until he became too tired to function and imply let death take him. That certainly wouldn’t have been a nice surprise.
He hadn’t noticed what Layla was wearing until she purposefully took it off. Although he’d never met the man, he was sure that was Kazimir’s jacket. Both from the oversized sleeves and the way she treated it with utmost care. Carter nodded and grinned. “Stand back, miss.” He said as he made a show of cracking his knuckles before extracting a knife from one of his pockets. It was far from being big enough to do any real danger to anyone that mattered, but it did the job of popping the lid off the cans of paint well enough. A bright yellow stared back at him and he scrunched his nose at the unpleasant smell. The next container was filled with normal, white paint. Not very entertaining, but it would suit their needs.
Carter left the bottles of water and food on the floor beside the paint and grabbed the brushes. One was bigger than the other, so he held both of them out for her to choose. He nodded while a bright smile threatened to split his face in two. He was more than a little proud of being able to pull this off in such a short amount of time. “Yeah. I found the paint in one of the museum’s back rooms. I found a dead person there.” He told her with a frown. “Like an actual dead person. All mummy-like and gross.” Carter shook his head and turned back to dip his brush into the sunshine color. “The things I do for you.”
Layla took the bigger of the two brushes, wanting to smear as much color on the drab, cream colored walls as possible. She's already loading the brush with the yellow paint as Carter talks. She wrinkles her nose at the thought of a dead person being in the museum. Not because they're dead, she's seen enough dead bodies that they hardly seem like things to worry about unless they're chasing you. Instead she just thinks someone should clean it up, maybe put it somewhere else, and she's almost surprised by how callous that thought seems. A person was a dead and all she could think about was that it was unpleasant to look at. If humanity had been desensitized before the Apocalypse, it was nothing compared to what they were now. It was a strange feeling, to know that maybe she should feel guilt or empathy for the poor soul who was irreverently tucked into a back room of a museum, but she didn't. She was more excited about the paint.
Brushing color onto the walls she smiled wider and began to spell out her initials in big, looping cursive. "I'm not a huge fan of yellow, but this isn't horrible. It would have looked cute in my laundry room." she thinks. As she finishes the initials she paints over them, refilling her brush when she needs to. The familiar smell of fresh paint brings back memories of a life that barely feels like hers anymore. "There's not a whole lot of stuff that I miss from before, but I wish you could have seen my house. It was cute. Really good for entertaining, not that I ever had people over." she notes with a small laugh. "I pretty much bought it for the fireplace and then just poured money into it. When everything changed I was actually thinking about putting in a pool. Couldn't decide if I wanted a big, in-ground pool in the backyard or if I should have just redo the bathroom and gotten a jacuzzi tub." Layla says, and the words seem so normal and boring they hardly make sense. She knows that those things no longer mattered, but she'd never had a friend like Carter before, someone who was like family. Her real family, which had only been her mother, hadn't even lived long enough to see Layla buy a house. There hadn't been anyone to show it off to, just herself. She would come home to a beautiful, empty home and look through paint samples, trying to figure out her next project.
She hadn't known then that it was loneliness. If she were given the chance, to go back to that life exactly as it was or to keep going in this one, she would choose the Apocalypse without a second thought. She had people now, people who didn't desert her even when she deserted them. Shaking her head to clear it of the sudden guilt she smiles at Carter. "All we need now is music and pizza and this could be a party." she says, bending down to grab one of the waters he had brought. The brush drops into the paint too harshly and she winces as it sprays her lightly in flecks of yellow, though luckily it doesn't get her face, just the upper half of her jeans. Good thing she took that jacket off.
Carter let his arms curls around her body automatically, instinctively, totally normal. In some ways he still resented her for leaving him with only a note as goodbye, but then again, he was so much better now that she was back. Wherever she had gone to get away from her demons was better for her, he could see that now. He opened his mouth to let her know about his plans, but her quick change of heart makes his teeth click together when his jaw snaps shut. He nodded obediently, waiting for her to get her things in order before taking her hand. The small show with the axe made him laugh and shake his head, but he was proud of her, proud that she’d been practicing to keep herself safe. That, perhaps, meant more to him than the numerous reassurances that she was fine.
With her hand in his, he was surprised when she led him out of the apartment and out onto the parking lot. Sure, he’d been planning to take her out, but he though it said something that she was this eager to get out of the museum’s vicinity. The fresh air hits his face and bites at his cheeks, but he can feel everything a lot warmer than it had been back in January. Carter let her go wherever she pleased, slightly amused with her planned trajectory until she spoke up. He shrugged and with a mischievous smile, he led her out onto the road. There were a few straggling zombies here and there, but they were easily disposed of with his powers.
An attorney’s office was across the street, and though it didn’t look like much on the outside, it was what was inside that made Carter giddy with happiness. He had found a few cans of paint in a storage room back at the museum, and he had carried them outside the day before. He hadn’t even checked the colors, but the easily recognizable cans made him smile and think immediately of Layla. Carter opened the door to the building, gesturing dramatically for her to go first. “Please.” He said while handing her a flashlight.
Zombies shouldn't bother Layla anymore, but anytime she saw them her stomach flipped a little, even if her expression didn't change. As it was, she didn't even have to lift a finger. Looking back at those first few months when she had traveled alone, Layla is surprised she had managed to survive. She'd had no real weapon, no experience. She had just kept driving, keeping off main roads, heading west, or at least she had thought she had been. New Jersey had no been part of her small survival plan, but it was probably her saving grace. For a while, she had blamed all the pain she'd dealt with on the group, because if she had been alone it wouldn't have happened, but the idea didn't sit well with her. The idea of never meeting Charlie or Carter or Kazimir, of never playing cowboys with Julian or dress up with Evie, it didn't seem right.
When they reach a plain looking attorney's office, Layla takes the flashlight and shines it around the darkened office space. She swings the beam high at first, checking for any dead people lingering in the space, but there are none she sees and none that she can hear. Swinging the beam lower, she stops when she sees paint cans and laughs, glancing over her shoulder at Carter. "You're awesome." she says sincerely, walking closer to the can and crouching down. "What color is it?" she asks, though she really doesn't care. There's brushes sitting atop the cans and she she is getting ready to pop the lid off and start painting when she pauses and looks down. Her free hand brushes over the edge of her jacket.
It was special. It was the only thing she really and truly cherished and though she may have given up the ghost, the jacket was not so easy to part with, and the idea of carelessly dropping paint on it made her heartbeat quicken nervously. But she just smiled and looked back at Carter. "Can you open those up, doll?" she tells him, tugging off the comfortable fabric and turning to lay it over a chair. As ever, her hands are reluctant to let go, but she does and turns back to Carter. One hand rests on her hip and the other is held out, waiting for him to hand her a paintbrush. "So you planned this, huh? Sneaky little pervert." she tells him with a smile that is closer to being a 'thank you'.
Carter sat on the edge of the bed, tying his shoelaces in preparation for the day. He was singing quietly, but not to himself. He could’t remember the words once they left his mouth, but the melody was happy and he could hear Piper laughing from the bathroom. He was probably ruining the lyrics, but he didn’t care.
Things had been going well. Piper had been the last piece of the puzzle to drift back where it belonged, leaving his life a pleasant though abstract painting. One that wouldn’t make much sense to anyone else, but for the people around him, it was perfect. The cracks were visible, but unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Who cared if Piper’s ribs were clearly visible? Layla going back to getting paid for sex was her business, and he was sure no one that mattered would love her less for it. Things were good.
Carter brushed off his pants, frowning when saw a speck of blood on his knee, but he laughed when he remembered Layla sending some of the red snow his way. Guess he hadn’t wiped it off as well as he thought. Still smiling, Carter made his way to the bathroom, casting a quick glance in the mirror towards his eternally indomitable hair before kissing Piper on the cheek. She would be in front of the mirror for a few more minutes, but the hunger gnawing at his stomach stopped him from waiting for her.
On the way to the food supplies, he recalled he had promised Layla an outing. It was a nice day and there was nothing on his schedule. No patrols. No dates. He grabbed two bottles of water and a few granola bars, catching Rose as she was walking back towards the apartments to tell her that he was taking Layla out for a few hours. The woman nodded at him and smiled though she was obviously eager to get back to her business.
With an excited spring in his step, he climbed two steps at a time to get to Layla’s apartment. He didn’t hesitate for a moment, opening the door and bellowing out into the living room. “Honey, I’m home. Come lavish me with delicate kisses and my favorite martini!” But he was already looking for her as the last word left him. Finding her looking at a mirror, his face fell momentarily. He couldn’t remember the last time she had worn pigtails, or that lipstick. She was beautiful, as always, but seeing her with a genuine smile on her face served to remind him that the smile she’d been wearing for the past months has been a lie. It didn’t matter now. She was better. He didn’t know why or how, but he was happy too. His best friend had finally come home. Carter cleared his throat, grin already back in place. “If you had any plans for today, consider them cancelled.” He declared, waving the water and energy in his hands. “We’re going on an adventure.”
There was barely the sound of a doorknob turning to warn her before Carter burst into the apartment, saying something ridiculous about martinis, and the words made her glance at the vodka bottle she and Charlie had polished off a few nights ago. Layla glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him before turning back to the mirror and straightening her pigtails one last time. "An adventure? What kind?" she asked with a wide grin as she turned back to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck and dropping a quick kiss on his cheek. When she pulled back she frowned lightly and used her thumb to wipe at the small smudge of makeup she'd left on his cheek.
Another smile begins to pull her lips upward and she just shakes her head. "You know what? Don't tell me." she says with a nod. She trusted Carter, and would go anywhere with him. If he said he had an adventure for her, then she would go happily, because there was a time not too long ago when he had been sneaking off alone and she much preferred the idea of being with him to that. Straightening out the jacket that was still too big on her frame, Layla smirked before holding out her hand and letting the axe sail into, only slightly showing off. She knows she had gotten good at floating things. Holding out her hand, she takes his and heads out the door and back down the stairs towards the doors that led to the parking lot. She figured if he had a specific destination in mind then he would correct their course but until then she was happy to just wander.
Though her mood had lightened somewhat there was still an odd feeling of detachment she felt as they walked down the street, though this was something she attributed to her months of being oblivious to anything but her own pain. There were so many faces she didn't recognize, so many memories that became cloudy and ran together. She took a breath and let that go. Regrets were stupid. You can't change your past. The most she could do about it now was to open up her eyes and let herself exist again. With a little laugh she glances over at Carter. "Okay, seriously. Where are we going?"
"And is it getting harder to pretend that life goes on without you in the wake? And can you see the means without the end in the random frantic action that we take?"
Layla wasn't sure why she felt the need to dig through her bag, fingers searching for the familiar fabric at the bottom. Maybe because she hadn't touched it in weeks. Maybe because she hadn't dreamt of him last night and hadn't seen him since the cabins. In her own, masochistic way, she missed him. She missed the haunting shadow, the ghost of a man she had barely gotten to know.
Once, not long after she had left the group, she had counted. Her memories were fuzzy and ran together, but she had sat down in the abandoned army depot and counted the days she had known him, from the first time he'd said hello to her, to the day she let him walk out the door, not thinking for a moment that he wouldn't come back. Forty-One. She had only known him for forty-one days. A good portion of that time hadn't even been spent with him. She had practiced her floating, wandered about, met other survivors. She hadn't thought much about losing him. How could she? He was so solid, so strong. If anything she was the weak one, the one who would disappear. She almost had. She did. She disappeared the minute Samson had shown up and told her that the man she had been letting herself fall for, the man who in the blink of an eye had become the most important person she had ever known, was lying dead outside on the ground of an army base he had never wanted to be at in the first place.
When her fingers find the jacket she smiles in spite of the pang in her chest. Lifting it to her face she pressed it against her cheek. It didn't smell like him anymore. Hadn't for a long time, but there was still a comfort here she couldn't get anywhere else. The worn fabric against her cheek reminded her of his hand, cupping her face. The weight of it between her fingers felt like his hand, finding hers and holding them gently, anchoring her to the world beneath her feet. In the rustle of sound it made as she pulled it on, she could hear his voice, quiet and self-assured and honest. Always honest.
It was her crutch and she knew it, but it felt good today. Something about it made her stand a bit taller, made her feel like she was still that woman who had looked around an abandoned school with bright eager eyes, looking for someone to keep her company while she went to look for gas. She was the lover. He was the fighter. To her, now, it seemed time had changed that. She was the one with blood on her hands, the one who saw death and destruction everywhere she looked, and when her mind so often drifted to the handsome Russian man, she could only remember tenderness. A small smile. Gentle fingers threading through her hair. Quiet, private moments that she wouldn't trade for anything in the world, nor would ever share with anyone else.
The fingers in her hair now were her own, parting it gently over each shoulder and tying them in playful pigtails. She couldn't remember the last time she had worn her hair this way. There was a feeling in her stomach though, a tiny seed of something like hope. She was better now. The fog of despair was lifting and she still didn't really know why. One day, she had simply stopped seeing him, and assumed he would appear the next day. He hadn't, nor the day after. No more ghosts to remind her of things she would never have. They had been real, he'd told her that and Kazimir never lied to her. When he was gone, the world had grown into a flat, desolate nightmare where nothing was real anymore and barely anything mattered. She had broken more than her ribs at Mahanoy, and she could admit that to herself now.
Looking in the mirror now, she smiled at herself and put on the lipstick she'd found back in Stroudsburg. The broken pieces were glued back together after months of cutting her hands on them, and though a few would always be missing, and they didn't all fit together as well as they once had, it was better. There were no bruises on her today, no tears running down her face, no ghosts standing just over her shoulder. Just her. And she was real again. Finally.
[Layla shrugs.] I don't know. I think I heard it in a cartoon. It's all i know about palmistry. [She admits with a laugh.] Did she tell you anything cool?
theartofmadeline
stormborns
discoholicmusic
tangentwithtanner
jacobvanloon
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