They survived on the fringe, hiding in plain sight as they made their way toward the border, and acclimated to the roles they played almost too well.
No one noticed them, but they had all the time to notice each other.
Will noticed that Hannibal liked to sleep on his side with one hand under his pillow. He thought maybe back home he might’ve kept a weapon there, something in case of emergency, but didn’t ask.
Hannibal noticed that Will slept cold, almost always with the barest minimum of cover, but shivered like he wished he was warmer. He didn’t ask why, but refused to let him be and added additional blankets over him after he fell asleep.
Will noticed that Hannibal actually did like the greasy food they were forced to eat, though he always made sure to moan about it for a good five minutes before scarfing the whole thing down.
Hannibal noticed that Will liked to cook, encouraged him even, and their forays to McDonald’s and other fast food restaurants became trips to the grocer. They bought easy to transport appliances for Will to feed them, survived on what they need only, and by the time they made it to Mexico Hannibal had developed an affinity for cooked cow meat.
Then things changed again, and they began to share things with each other.
Will shared stories of his childhood, talked about his father and the way things had been moving from place to place. He would talk with his hands the most during these stories, agitated and animated, but kept them still when he spoke of other things. As if he’d been told all his childhood to keep still but the rest of the time to be more alive.
Hannibal shared stories of his years in medical school, affairs and murders alike, but only when they were eating. Will didn’t notice at first but after the fifth or sixth time it was more than a coincidence. But again, he didn’t ask.
Will shared how much he missed his dogs for the first time when they made it to Hannibal’s pre-bought safe house. A real home, not a hotel, so their comfort was more than a lumpy bed. Hannibal felt his pain when he spoke of his pack, leaned in closer to him when they read about the dogs being given away, and two weeks into their new residence Hannibal could not help but bring a canine home for him.
They shared their first hug since the cliff then, faces pressed against skin, and the smile Will gave in return was worth the longing for more.
They shared Encephalitis, playing with her alone and together. Will was surprised at how he took to her and grew closer to him because of how warm he was to the canine. He made certain to spoil Encephalitis as often and as much as he could for such a gift.
Hannibal shared how much he missed hosting parties in their second month, arranging the meals they now cooked together as artfully as he could without the right meat. Will’s sympathetic frown did nothing but make him feel foolish for even missing such things, and did not bring it up again that evening. Though to his surprise he woke up to a rather well put together table with place cards and oddly attempted artistry of breakfast meats. He had been given an opportunity to host, he knew, and again his longing grew.
Things grew different again when they were spotted.
They had prepared for this, knew where they would be off to next, and left separately with promises of where to meet together. He had a home in Havana waiting and the means to get there were in both their possessions.
When they saw each other again it was almost three and half weeks later.
Hannibal had taken Encephalitis on a quiet walk outside in the backyard after his newest attempt to contact Will went unanswered. He stared up at the night sky and knew that somewhere Will was seeing the same stars.
“She got so big.”
His heart stopped at the sight of Will.
“Hannibal?”
Encephalitis ran off to greet Will while he just stared.
Will looked up as he pet the dog and frowned. Hannibal noticed his hair had gotten longer, and beard looked less taken care of.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?”
The words seemed to break whatever spell had frozen Hannibal in place.
“I was worried you were dead.”
Will smiled. “No, just worried that someone would follow me here. I didn’t want anyone to....”
“Notice you,” Hannibal finished, his heart aching at the sight of him.
He watched Will stand and walk across their backyard. The home wasn’t modest but not entirely garish either. They had privacy and all they could need for the rest of their lives.
Will stopped just close enough to not touch him.
“I’m sorry I made you worry,” Will said, hands at his sides, “I just....”
Hannibal stared at his face and committed it to memory.
“Will....”
“I missed you,” Will shared, looking away now, “Strange as it was, I missed just...you. I...”
“I longed for you,” Hannibal shared, not looking away once, “Every evening I...”
Will rushed forward, grabbed the front of his shirt, and crushed their mouths together. The kiss was full of the need they’d denied for so long, the things they’d shared and others they pretended not to notice.
Neither of them cared when they fell to the grass, struggling to breathe as they continued.
This was worth the wait.
Each touch of lips felt like home to them, tasted like forever, and when they finally did break for breath they smiled at each other.
“I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time,” Will whispered, his face smudged with dirt.
Hannibal put his hand to Will’s cheek. “Can we do it again?”
Will’s laughter was music to his ears.
Hannibal’s smile made WIll’s eyes fill with tears.
Here’s my submission for @whumptober2019 number three, “Delirium”. Also included are the alternate prompts 2 (Broken voice), 3 (Fever), and 9 (Hiding)
Featuring Vergil and Dante. Enjoy!
Word count - 1,702
______
Dante sighed and grabbed the bags of take out from the passenger seat. Tubs of liquid so hot they would’ve burned anyone without his heritage sloshed as he headed to the front door, heavy containers of meat and veggies in the second bag. Pho wasn’t his favorite, but it wasn’t too bad with enough hoisin.
“Vergil, I’m back!” he called, dropping his keys on the table.
Silence greeted him and his lips twisted into a frown. Vergil wasn’t doing well; a rare strain of flu forced him to stay in bed for the last few days. His fever was over one hundred degrees that morning and he hadn’t been able to keep any food down. Hopefully the pho would do the trick, but Dante was worried.
He set the food on his desk and trotted to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time as he called his brother’s name again. As before, there was no response.
Damnit, Verge… answer me, will ya?
A deep thud quickened his steps. That couldn’t be a good sign. His heart twisted in concern as he reached his brother’s door and knocked.
“Vergil, you okay in there?”
Nothing.
Shit.
He tried the handle. It was locked.
“Let me in, douchebag!”
A second heavy thud was the only reply. Dante cursed under his breath and pounded on the door once more, by now unsurprised by the lack of response. He stepped back and considered his options.
Shooting the handle or breaking down the damned thing entirely wouldn’t be difficult; he had no clue where the master key was. What a mess. He growled in annoyance and tried one last time.
“If you don’t unlock the door, I’m breaking it!”
All he heard was his own breathing. The threat of property damage always got a response in the past; something had to be terribly wrong. What if Vergil wasn’t answering because he couldn’t? What if his fever was worse? How high did it need to be to be dangerous? The man in red didn’t know and it scared him all the more for its ominous mystery.
Dante took a deep breath and shifted, his skin erupting in tough armor and flashing to red and black. Leathery wings sprouted from his shoulders and the taste of ash filled his mouth. He growled and stepped back to the opposite wall, bracing his claws in the carpet.
The door crumpled at his bull rush, splinters of wood scattering across the room. He shifted back the second the clattering ended with a deep exhalation, sapphire eyes already scanning the room for a familiar head of swept back hair.
His jaw dropped at the state of the room. Books lied on every available surface, some still open as if forgotten partway through reading. Piles of dirty clothing were heaped by the closet, empty glasses on the headboard. Tangled sheets covered the normally pristine bed, pillows arranged in a haphazard pattern. It smelled of sweat and sickness.
Never had he seen the room in such disarray.
But where’s Vergil?
He checked all the familiar spots; the chair by the window, the desk by the bedside, that patch of carpet Vergil paced upon whenever his mind needed to work. With every vacant space, his worry grew. He’d never needed to take care of anyone but himself, so the concept still felt strange, but his brother wasn’t well. He couldn’t take care of himself.
“Vergil?”
A miniscule rattle drew his gaze to the closet. Why in the world would he be in there?
It didn’t matter. It was his only hint.
The closet opened with a creak of complaint. Panting breaths echoed in the air and as Dante’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, his heart fell to the floor. There was Vergil, knees at his chin and arms wrapped around them. Yamato lied beside him, within easy reach but his brother didn’t seem aware of it. His eyes were wide open, vacantly staring at the opposing wall as if it held the secrets of the universe.
“Aw, shit, Verge… c’mere.”
Dante tugged at his twin’s arm, his eyes widening as it limply dropped to the floor. Whatever was happening in the other man’s mind must be intense, for him to be lacking his usual resistance. He crouched down and shuffled closer to feel his forehead, recoiling as it scorched him.
Fuck. I gotta cool him down somehow…
He retreated to douse a towel with cool water, bringing it to his brother’s boiling flesh upon his return. Steam rose from where cloth met skin, a sizzling noise accompanying every dab. The towel didn’t last long; within minutes it was dry and he tossed it aside with a scowl.
“I’m gonna move you, it’d be nice if you didn’t stab me,” he grumbled. He doubted Vergil heard him, but it couldn’t hurt.
Dante grasped his brother’s shoulders firmly, grunting as he dragged the man from his dark hiding place. His empty look didn’t shift as he heaved him into a fireman’s carry and headed for the bathroom. A soft exhalation was the only signal of Vergil’s continued incoherence as Dante carefully set him on the cold tile, doing his best to avoid burning his fingers.
Demon flu, maybe? Is that a thing? I swear if I catch this, I’m gonna be pissed.
Dante snorted. It was probably too late for that. He shook his head and started the bath, turning the dial completely to the cold side. Now for the really fun part.
It took several minutes of curses and singed fingers, but finally Vergil was left in only his briefs. No matter how sick he got, there was no way in hell Dante was taking off his brother’s underwear. He had his limits.
“All right, this would be way easier if you helped me out,” he said. As expected, Vergil didn’t respond.
Dante sighed and covered his hands with a towel. It wasn’t much, but hopefully it would protect him from the worst of it. If not, he’d heal in a few minutes, but pain never got more fun. He braced himself and grappled Vergil into the cool water, splashing an absurd amount over the edge with his efforts.
Once his brother was settled, Dante took a perch on the toilet. Steam rose from the water, the area around his hands and feet reaching a low boil. The red-clad man added more water every time Vergil’s heat boiled too much away, staying by his side for hours and waiting for any change.
He jumped when Vergil spoke at last.
“It… it cannot be…”
The fuck is he yammering about?
Icy eyes darted around the bathroom, landing at last on Dante’s face. He offered a sheepish grin but his twin only snarled in return. A haze of confusion still clouded his expression.
“Im- impossible. She’s dead!”
Lithe but powerful arms slashed at the empty air, attacking an invisible foe. Dante dodged with practiced ease.
“Vergil! It’s me, calm down!”
“Begone, I will not succumb to trickery!”
More water sprayed onto the tile as Vergil thrashed. His hands cracked against the wall and Dante lunged forward, grabbing his skull before it followed suit. He bit his lip and held on as his brother writhed, battling the demons of his mind.
Damnit, quit freaking out!
By the time Vergil calmed, Dante’s arms were aching from holding his head for so long. Two of Vergil’s fingers splayed at unnatural angles and bruises marked him in several spots. Blue met blue as the two brothers’ eyes locked.
“D- Dante?”
“Hey, Verge,” he replied, lowering his sore limbs. Never had he heard Vergil sound so broken, his voice a low croak. “You back now?”
The elder Sparda glanced at the marks lining his arms, taking in his injuries with a disapproving sneer. He cradled his broken fingers and closed his eyes. “I think so.”
Dante leaned back, stretching his shoulders. “Good. You uh, ya had me worried for a sec.”
The man in the bathtub scoffed. “I didn’t realize you had the capacity for such things.”
He snorted. Vergil must be feeling better. A cautious hand went to check his temperature by shoving his shoulder; it felt warm still, but far less so. Progress.
“You should’ve heard the crap you were saying.”
Vergil flinched, his eyes lowering to stare at the water. The expression of vulnerable sadness shocked Dante; his brother wasn’t prone to fits of openness. It was rare to glimpse the man beneath the stoic exterior.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Vergil leaned back, resting his head on the wall as he lowered his mangled fingers into the cold water with a deep sigh. “I imagine you’ll pester me until I do.”
Dante chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, probably.”
His brother clenched his jaw and clicked his tongue, gathering his thoughts before he spoke again. “I was in the Underworld. Mundus was coming.”
“So, you hid in the closet?”
A curt nod was the only response. Dante knew better than to prod at that wound any further. He hummed and crossed his arms, gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling. Did he have the nerve to ask? How could he not?
“You mentioned a woman, too. Was… was it mom?”
Vergil shook his head and muttered, “No, someone else. You didn’t know her.”
A long moment passed in silence, each brother lost in memories of those they’d lost years ago. Eventually, Vergil broke the spell.
“Don’t you have better things to do than sit here and bother me?”
“Not really. But if you leave the door unlocked I’ll go,” Dante replied.
Another curt nod. “Agreed.”
The legendary devil hunter grunted as he rose, his tired body complaining after sitting in the same position for so long. He yawned and stretched, cracking his sternum as he walked away. Halfway out the door, he paused.
“There’s pho, if you’re hungry. Don’t drown.”
A final scoff was his answer and he smirked as he clicked the door closed. Only time would tell if the worst of Vergil’s illness was over. The thought of repeating the last few hours made him cringe. Stripping his twin once was enough, thank you very much.
(This is a sequel to yesterday's story, so I would recommend reading that first.)
A few weeks after Marvin's potion debacle, life proceded as normal. The coffee table was replaced, as were most of the things lost from Marvin's workshop.
Marvin and Chase had bonded over watching TV together that night. Chase made a little ladder so that now Marvin could get on the huge, old couch whenever he wanted.
One day, Chase came into the living room to find Marvin at his workspace. "Oh hey, just who I was looking to see!" Chase greeted his friend.
"Not very bad odds, I do live here," Marvin quipped.
"Haha, yeah, but you tend to find places to hide. Anyway, I was wondering... how are those size potions coming?"
"I haven't tested them," said Marvin, "but I think I've fixed the issues from the growth potion. And I found a good recipe for a shrinking potion. Why do you ask?"
"I was thinking - I mean it might be fun if - would you still be interested in trading sizes for a day sometime?"
"If you're sure you're interested, I can cook something up. Do you want to watch the process?" Marvin wanted to avoid getting distracted and messing up the potion like last time, but he wasn't sure how to say that without scaring Chase.
"Ooh, I'd love to watch the magic happen! Literally!" Chase sat down on the floor and was now about eye level with Marvin.
"Heh, magic is just science most of the world hasn't figured out yet."
Marvin got to work. He explained what ingredients he was using and how much to keep himself focused. Chase was interested even though he wasn't familiar with the jargon. Within a couple hours, the potions were ready.
Marvin handed a shrinking potion to Chase and, holding the growing potion, climbed down the table.
Chase drank his potion first. He winced at the taste, but sure enough, he began to shrink. He ended up almost exactly Marvin's height, much to Marvin's relief. The friends hugged, taking advantage of this rare opportunity, and then Marvin stepped back to drink his potion.
It also didn't taste very good, but thankfully this time there were no explosions and Marvin was a much more reasonable Chase height.
"So?" Marvin asked. "What do you think of the small life?"
"I barely recognize the place!" Chase responded. "I'm going to explore and check out your rooms!"
"Only if I get to check out your refrigerator!" Marvin added. They both laughed.
Chase went to explore, and Marvin looked around. Chase had a one-story house, which was helpful when Marvin was small because he would not have been able to use Chase-height stairs. Marvin was most interested in the kitchen because while he had his own tiny cooking set on the counter, he had never used the larger kitchen equipment. He decided to make grilled cheese for himself and Chase to have when Chase got back.
When the grilled cheeses were done, Chase wasn't back. Marvin admired the view outside the window for a minute before he started to get worried. Sure, this house was entirely safe for a small person, but Marvin was used to being the small one. What if Chase had gotten lost or stuck in something? Marvin tried to think of potential dangers. He hadn't heard anything fall or the door open. But what if he'd missed something? Something falling wouldn't seem as loud from here as it did when he was small.
Marvin looked around for something that could have fallen. He looked in kitchen cabinets, on and below the windowsill, and under the couch. He looked in his bedroom and Chase's bedroom. No sign of Chase.
Now he was really worried. It was dangerous outside for a small person alone, especially one not used to being small. "Chase?" Marvin called, making his way around the house again. "Chase, where are you?"
Suddenly a laugh came from the couch. It stopped quickly, but it was unmistakably Chase's.
Marvin lifted the couch cushion to find where Chase had been hiding.
"Ah, I blew my cover!" Chase said, barely suppressing a laugh. "Now it's your turn to hide."
"Me? But there's nowhere to hide in here," said Marvin.
"That all depends on your perspective." Chase was very pleased with himself, and Marvin had to agree.
welcome to day nine of the thirty-one days of horror! i’ve decided i’m going to include a quote from a song that you can listen to while reading for more of a spooky effect. the quote you read above is by fall out boy and is called my songs know what you did in the dark.
which, brings me right into the ninth prompts, hiding and fist fight. following reader and erin hannon from the office.
triggers: SHOOTING, a fight, fist fight, violence, near death, oc! luna, fear, and uh character deaths maybe idk nvm
it all started amongst how other things start.
jim and dwight.
you weren’t really a part of the debate that was going on, since you were on a coffee run with pam (who was eager to go running out with you, claiming mindlessly about “cece always keeping her from running around”).
all you know is that when you returned, you were pretty much immediately thrown into a giant fight and you were forced to pick sides.
on one hand, there was dwight who for sure did nothing to cause such a heated dispute to break out, and on the other side there was jim, who most certainly did.
so, of course, you sided with jim. but you didn’t say that to them. you said it in your head, or to erin while you stood at her desk, laughing at the two of them duke it out.
dwight had stood up with sticky notes all over his back, getting in jim’s face, who seemed unphased. luna, your best friend, stood chuckling, holding onto her boyfriend’s arm. “dwight, just calm down,” she said, coughing back a laugh.
“no, you calm down! you better stop this jim!”
“stop what?” he asked nonchalantly. “not my fault you’re in a sticky situation.”
and that right there, my friends, that send dwight shrute off the edge.
he growled, ripping off the sticky note that was on his chest and throwing it (and failing to) dramatically to the floor, before getting in front of jim’s face and pushing him.
jim feigned hurt, even putting a hand over his head. “oh, woes me. not that, dwight. don’t do that!”
dwight, unamused, growled before once again pushing him, this time over luna, who unsuspectingly tripped him and actually sent him down to the ground with a thump.
you jumped back in surprise, a hand over your mouth as you collapsed in giggles from the sight before you. it was when luna yelled out his name you realized that something went wrong.
“for fuck’s sake, dwight!” she shouted, helping him to sit on the floor, some blood on her hands. “he hit his head!”
“it’s fine,” he mumbled out, groaning. “i think i have to go to the hospital, though.”
everyone in the office screamed similar things: “dwight!” “idiot!” “what the fuck?” “did anyone see my candy bar?”
the latter was from kevin, of course.
“i’ll take him to the e.r.,” luna said, putting her hands up, “i can’t believe you did this, dwight. you went too far.”
dwight shook his head, “i just reassured my statement as alpha male.”
psh. as if. you knew jim was the real alpha male.
“whatever? who cares?” you asked. “just get him to the hospital! do you need help?” luna looked over to you, shaking her head as she rushed jim out of the room.
“thanks, y/n. we’ll give you an update.”
“drive safe!” screamed erin and pam at the same time, earning a small chuckle from dwight as he scoffed. erin turned to you, her smile faded. “you think he’s alright?” she asked.
“he’s fine,” you reassured with a smile. “another one of dwight’s things.”
“this is more than a thing,” she riposted, but quieted anyway. “anyway. are you gonna actually do work or just stand here?” she asked, her smile returning as the phone rang.
you rolled your eyes, walking back to your desk as your own smile came upon your face.
=-= timeskip uwu =-=
about four hours passed before people started to leave. it was stanley, as usual, that initiated it, and then andy (who, despite saying he would never leave before his employees, always does), and then a few others. you, however, didn’t leave until erin left, and some people liked to stay late for the extra pay.
currently, you were with erin, pam (of whom was waiting for the babysitter to get home from dinner with cece), angela, oscar, toby, and meredith.
you were right about ready to leave when it happened.
a loud bang that clouded your hearing and made you jump. for a minute, all of you just stared at each other, confused. and then there were haste footsteps up the stairs, followed by what you knew was gunshots.
erin jumped from her spot behind reception, standing and frozen like a deer in the headlights.
“was that--?” pam was interrupted by more gunshots, now closer than ever.
“close the door!” yelled oscar, instructing you. you jumped at the sound of his voice, running to the door to shut it.
your hands were shaking, your heart beating out of your chest. “were those gunshots?” you ask, shakily. you look up to toby and oscar, petrified.
“i need to get bandit!” cried angela, running to her desk. “he can’t hear this.”
“everyone, we need to go in the conference room,” toby instructed quietly, in a hushed whisper. as soon as he said that, there was a loud bang on the door and you realized that this situation -- as crucial as it was -- was very real.
you gasped, jumping back in the hindsight to scream before soft hands covered your mouth. “shhh,” erin whispered. “we need to go.”
you followed the group into the conference room, you in the middle of a breakdown, and following toby and oscar, who not only seemed like the most rational ones, but the bravest (which was odd, looking back at it).
“oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” pam ranted off. “there’s no way that’s a shooter. there’s no--.”
CRACK
in a loud and booming movement, the sound of the door being kicked open surrounded the office and clouded you in your adrenaline. meredith shut the door as silently and quickly as she could, ducking out of view from the windows.
“everyone, get under the chairs so they can’t see us,” toby instructed, and you did as he told.
“i don’t wanna die,” you whispered, wiping your tears, “this has to be a joke. this has to be dwight pranking us back.”
“shhh, y/n,” oscar demanded. you sharply shut your mouth, not even realizing you were still holding onto erin’s hand until you were both under chairs together, your palms connected, both of you on your stomachs hidden from view by the chairs.
you looked over at her, and she seemed petrified, but had no indication. it felt comforting to have her near you, but both your morale and your mindset wouldn’t allow you to think rationally for a moment.
when you noticed the others, they were in the same regards. horrified, scared, oscar pulling out his phone to dial 9-1-1 while pam put her knees to her chest from behind her chair.
toby was still, unmoving, and angela was holding onto bandit as if her life depended on it -- which, it very much could. under her breath she could be heard murmuring prayers, her eyes shut in her own personal talk with God. meredith seemed as content as could be, probably drunk and not even assessing the situation properly.
on the outside, you could hear the intruder rummaging through the office. knocking computers down, going through your stuff, and every now and then -- shooting a gunshot up to the ceiling.
you were in your own dilemma, praying, God, don’t let him come in here. you wanted more than anything for him to notice that all the doors were locked and for him to just leave on his own.
but you were scared.
you looked over to erin, and she locked eyes with you. your heart, beating out of your chest, just irrationality controlled your anxieties, prolonging them. you wanted to get out of this alive -- was that so hard?
everything you had ever wanted to do was coming in flashes. everything you didn’t see. everything you wanted to eat, to look at, to watch. every person you wanted to talk to, to be friends with, to love.
“i’m scared,” you whispered to erin in the hushest tone you could manage. more of a lip-synch, that she had to figure out. “erin, i’m so scared.”
“it’s going to be okay,” she whispered back, holding your hand even tighter. “just keep looking at me.”
“i don’t want to die.” you wept, choking back a sob. she readjusted herself, holding your chin so you locked your eyes on her.
“just. . . keep looking at me,” she instructed, more calming herself down than you. but you didn’t mind it, because even just staring inside of her icy eyes for however long could make all your anxieties turn to nothing but washed paper.
when you heard the sound of boots on the outside of the conference room, you held your breath, staying completely silent. erin’s breathing, even if it was misplaced and uneven, was comforting that made you want to drown in her.
without thinking, and partly out of fear, you leaned forward and kissed her slowly, tears streaming down your face.
you just wanted to feel something good, even if it meant you were about to die. you didn’t care anymore. you just wanted to do it.
she kissed back, and it made you happy, but you wouldn’t have felt regret anyway. fear makes you do crazy things.
you didn’t care about anything in that moment. not even the fear of dying. you were so ready to go, but if you were going to go, you just wanted it to be when you were connected in her arms, finally doing what you wanted to do.
you didn’t retract yourself from her, no matter how hard you tried. your eyes, swollen shut from tears, didn’t have to stay open to imagine her, and to see her, and to hold her. you were just there existing, kissing erin hannon.
and it was beautiful, and terrifying at once.
you didn’t stop until three minutes later, when you heard police sirens from outside the window and the sound of running from combat boots as they bolted out the front door of the office.
the scent of horror and despondency filled the already thick air, and just when you wanted to tell yourself it was okay to let go and that the bad person was gone, you couldn’t.
so she did.
when she pulled away, you could see red stains under her eyes from her own tears, her face drained from any colour and a plastered look of only trembles rolling down her features. to the side of you were the rest of your friends, all shaking and in tears themselves, angela still mid prayer by the time the police finally came into the office and knocked heavily on the conference room.
oscar jumped to his feet, glancing out the window a few times before he finally peered outside, creaking it open to see the serious and somber look of a man dressed in all blue, who instructed everyone outside.
you followed immediately, nobody daring to speak.
silently, you fell back into erin’s arms, collapsing as she held you, herself breaking down.
“He-!” a hand grasped his upper arm, and pulled him aside.
He grunted, and twisted, grabbing for his gun, but a familiar voice hissed “Son, it’s me!” and he stilled, unable to help a wheeze as his back was slammed against a brick wall.
“Shh, Arthur,” the man murmured, and when Arthur opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on he pressed his gloved hand over it, “Just stay quiet, they can’t see us.”
“Come on, Arthur, come on!”
“I’m coming!” Arthur snapped, firing a last couple of shots over his shoulder, grinning when a lawman’s horse reared, startled by a bullet that struck the dirt between its legs, and dumped its rider, before darting down the side street.
Their pockets were heavy, and if they survived they’d be well fed for weeks. But that damn shop-keeper’s assistant had snuck out when he’d seen them enter the building, figuring out what they were planning before they’d even entered the shop, and set the lawmen on them the moment they’d left the building.
He turned around, bolted down the side street, hearing the lawmen shouting “They went that way!” and cursed under his breath, wondering if it was worth firing anything shot, decided running was more important and kept going.
Shit, where had Dutch gone? The side street was short, and he could hear lawmen ahead of him; had Dutch been caught? Surely not, he would have heard him and the lawmen yelling, but which way had he gone?
“He-!” a hand grasped his upper arm, and pulled him aside.
He grunted, and twisted, grabbing for his gun, but a familiar voice hissed “Son, it’s me!” and he stilled, unable to help a wheeze as his back was slammed against a brick wall, Dutch a thick line of heat against him.
“Shh, Arthur,” the man murmured, and when Arthur opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on he pressed his gloved hand over it, “Just stay quiet, they can’t see us.” He dropped his forehead to Arthur’s as hoofbeats raced by, footsteps nearing their tiny little alleyway, flattening himself tighter against him, his dark clothing helping to obscure their shapes in the shadows. They were so close Arthur could hear his heart racing in his chest, thundering from the exertion of the chase.
The footsteps stilled in front of their alleyway, and the pair stilled, Dutch’s breath ghosting against his forehead (he was still taller than Arthur, if only just, and hell did he hate it), hand tightening around his mouth in warning, so tight on his jaw that he felt the joint creaking, and he reached up to dig his fingers into Dutch’s forearm as his eyes watered; the man breathed an apology, loosened his grip slightly, and Arthur took a deep breath, wishing he could yawn to work it out.
“They’re not down here!” the lawman finally said, and Dutch heaved a sigh of relief, stepping back and straightening his clothes as Arthur reached up to rub his jaw, scowling and regretting it immediately.
“Come on Arthur,” Dutch muttered, sticking his head out of the alleyway and looking around, “We need to hurry before they come back,” without another word, he began to jog back the way they had come from.
Kat finally stops at the house of her best friend, the one person she knows she can count on, the one person who might know how to get her to her family. She can’t endure more of Gaster’s tests. She can’t. The longer he goes on, the more likely it’ll be that he learns about Ky. She can’t let that happen. She can’t let him find out about her twin. She can’t.
She’s clearly in a panic when Mrs. Whitehall opens the front door, blinking down at her. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“Hi, Mrs. Whitehall. Is Brooke here?” Kat manages to say without her voice trembling too much.
“Sure, let me get her. Would you like to come in?”
“Please,” the small monster says, relieved.
The woman steps back, letting Kat in, then turns, calling “Brooke!” as she goes to look for her daughter.
It takes just a few minutes for the person Kat trusts most to appear, and she blinks at her. “Hi. My mom said you were here looking for me?”
“Brooke.” Kat practically sobs her best friend’s name. “Please, you have to help me. You know where my siblings are, right? Please tell me you do. I have to get to them.”
“Your... siblings?”
“Kaylee, Keili, Noah.” Kat nods.
“Aren’t they fugitives from the king? I don’t have anything to do with them, sorry.” The black-haired girl shrugs an apology.
Kat, something isn’t right.
No, no, of course everything is. That’s Brooke.
Yeah, but she’s looking at you like she has no idea who you are.
Kat looks closer. Her twin is right. “I... Brooke, you... You know me, right?”
Her best friend studies her for a moment, then snaps. “Oh, yeah! You’re the king’s adopted daughter, right? C... Chloe?”
The tiny cat stares at her, then bursts into tears, sinking to the ground.
“Oh!” The older girl reflexively takes a step back, then hesitantly kneels next to her. “Hey, hey, it’s alright.”
Kat is crying too hard to respond, just shaking her head.
Brooke looks mildly uncomfortable for a moment, getting up. “I’ll be right back.”
She’s gone for just a moment, coming back with a glass of water as she sits next to Kat again. She puts an arm around her, clearly still a bit uncomfortable as the cat monster just sobs for a long time.
After a while, Kat does calm some, at which point Brooke offers her the glass of water. “Here. I know monsters mostly rely on magic, but it might help some.”
“Thanks,” Kat mumbles. She takes it, only taking a couple sips.
There’s a knock at the door, which Brooke’s mom again answers. Kat hears the conversation, not bothering to move at all. “Your Majesty; welcome.”
“Thank you. I heard my daughter came here?”
“Yes. She seemed quite distressed.”
“Yes, unfortunately being out of the house does that to her. I’m very glad you called me; I cannot imagine how she shook me off like that.”
“Well, you know kids. They’ll do what they want.” A chuckle, which gets one in return.
“Thank you for informing me that she is safe and of her whereabouts.”
She’s picked up. She doesn’t bother resisting. “Are you alright, Katherine?”
She doesn’t respond.
He sighs. “I’m sorry to have let you out of my sight for so long. I will take you home.”
He looks at Mrs. Whitehall. “Thank you again for calling me.”
“Of course,” she smiles.
“It was good to see you again, Brooke.”
“And you!” the teenager says with a bright smile.
In a dizzying moment where reality bends around them, they’re back at the house. Gaster walks to Kat’s room and sets her on the bed, pausing in the doorway as he leaves. “I hope today taught you that trying to escape is futile,” he says, all hints of a caring father gone. “I expect you to behave tomorrow. It would be a shame if something happened to the Whitehalls, just because you were there.”
Kat doesn’t respond, not even moving from where she was placed.
Katie jumps over roots and dodges trees, nimble out of terror. She doesn’t stop until she sees a wall, and then she tries to make a hole in the snow to hide in. She doubts it will hide her for long, nor should it - Where else are we gonna go? a sarcastic Ky remarks - but it will hide her.
