I sighed ; throwing myself onto the bed and reached for my Ipod hidden under my pillow . “ What’s wrong ? “ asked a gentle , deep and quiet voice from the bed above me ; a voice that was lifeless and absent but warm in a way . " You sound alive for the first time . " I scoffed sarcastically , connecting my headphone's cable to the USB port of the Ipod . " And you sound the exact opposite. " the voice calmy snarled back , making me want keep this going . He peeped from where he was down , below at me ; it was Evan---Although we liked to call him 'Eve' .
His narrowed ebony black eyes focused on me and his black curtain hair with dark navy tips hung in the air upside down and his pale left cheek had a bandage with messy stars etched on it by him. I smirked at him ; "Did you get a paper cut on your face again?" he narrowed his eyes even more and disappeared back to his side above me . " I scratched myself . . . " he muttered in reply ; I heard two flicks of a firelighter and a page being gently turned after that .
Eve was the most quiet out of all of us ; he never spoke that much , always was in his world of books , poems and spilt ink , writing whatever came to mind , etching stars all over his shelf / walls / ceiling / even the library's shelves and living many other different lives in many different stories . He was the eldest and he looked out for us --mostly Quinn ;they were always close since forever , communicating in sign language , always playing pranks on us when we were younge--
"What are you thinking about? You're quiet but your thoughts are so loud even I can 'hear' them ." he suddenly mumbled , in a low voice that sounded busy with something else ( yeah , he was definitely reading a really good book again . ) " YOU , obviously . " I said sounding strangled and annoyed . It was a lie of course -- why would I? (eww)
"What reason?"
"I was JOKING , you twerp . "
"No , what reason for what you're actually thinking? "
I started to fidget with my Ipod nervously ; somehow he always knew the feelings , thoughts or behaviour of people , he could read books and people . "Don't you ever wonder what's behind these walls , over the ceiling or beneath our feet on the floor ? For a moment , I thought I felt the ground shaking when I was in the herbal room yesterday . I asked slowly , starting to scratch my tangled , messy black short-ish hair rapidly ; regretting every word I said inside . "Yes I do . I also felt it too when I was ---"
"In the library stealing more books ? " I interrupted with a small chuckle . I heard the bed above me creak as Eve moved to peak down at me again with a blank stare . "It feels like a tiny , but roaring earthquake . Don't you think? " I said , staring above at the wooden board above me where Quinn and I once painted a night sky with lots of stars and constellations . I heard Eve sigh gently ; he was still there peeking under his bed at me but his eyes slowly moved away . " Eve , you ok ? " I asked , sitting up as I watched his expression go half-alive ( i didn't know if it was the blood rushing to his head too fast or something else . )
" What if . . . There is another world outside this place ? " he asked , I barely heard his voice because now he was lost in thought . But his question , "What If?" , made me wonder as well .
What if it was that Earth we had always dreamed and read about ? The people , animals , fish , the sky , the sun , the solar system , the actual real stars and fresh air ? What if the surface had Nepal's himalayan mountains , the seven seas , egyptian pyramids , chinese grand ancient palaces , New York's modern cities , the amazon's huge forests , the swiss' snowy woods and the african deserts and mountain ranges of beauty? Maybe all of that existed above us ; calling to us to come and live and explore all of it .
still writing short drafts for story as i'm still busy with the worldbuilding process ( trying to keep my writing spirit fresh :3 ) whaddya think? i really appreciate tips :D
Summary: That’s horror-movie shit!
Warnings: One brief mention of self-harm ideation.
Author’s note: With this update, Tenuous is OFFICIALLY FINISHED, extra content and all! Stay tuned for future works following the events of this book!
His arm stuck out to disable the alarm clock three minutes before it was set to go off. He'd slept like shit, fading in and out of consciousness, but it wasn’t as if that differed too much from the norm. Too adjusted to garbage, he thought as he threw the duvet back and set about fulfilling his typical morning routine.
Kuro Braav was a simple man in the morning.
Shower.
Get dressed.
Eat a minimal breakfast and down at least two cups of coffee.
Brush teeth.
Get out the door while tugging his shoes on.
The same checklist was run through in his head as he cycled through the days like clockwork. The day he stopped was the day he died - and the older he got, the more he hoped that such a day would come soon.
The coming of Spring shimmered along the cobblestone, the morning sky a pallid minty green. Huron never lost much in terms of its wildlife, but different things bloomed at different times; the Fall petals were beginning to close, making way for a greener, more lush variety. A little further into the season, the district would be teeming with vivacious renewal once more, crisp auburn tones exchanged for the emerald shimmer of life.
As soon as he entered the precinct, a sense of equilibrium returned to him. It always felt as if he could place himself a little better in the Universe when he was at work. At the very least, he knew he was necessary there. It made him feel a bit less like an empty vessel floating around in the ether.
More coffee, not enough coffee, his mind moaned, feet already shuffling in the direction of the break room before he could comprehend what he was doing. He'd barely been awake for half an hour and he was already on his third cup. It really made him think about what qualified as 'an adult with his shit together' - or it did for as long as it took him to add his usual milk and sugar.
"Morning, Sheriff," Jack said as he moseyed into the break room.
"Mornin'," Kuro greeted mellowly, his lips pressed to the rim of his mug. Even without the gift of foresight, he knew what his co-worker was going to ask based on the look he gave him.
"Rough night?"
"When don't I have a rough night?" he muttered, trying hard not to seem too glum. It was up to him to maintain the energy of his precinct; if he trawled around feeling sorry for himself, it would infect his colleagues and their sense of morale, demotivate them far more than any words he could say. "... I slept poorly. But! Tha's what caffeine's fer, eh?" After taking a well-timed sip of his coffee, he turned around to leave. "I'll review what needs doin' today in a few. Fer now, just busy yerself."
"Sure thing."
If there was one thing he could appreciate about Jack above other employees, it was his simple nature. He didn't try to impress, nor did he try to offend. Passive, some might have said, though Kuro would argue he just had a good sense of how to mind his own business. It was a skill that some people could have used a refresher in.
His keys were retrieved, his office door unlocked and pushed open as if it weighed a ton. The black-out blinds swathed the room in a comforting darkness, though he knew he'd have no choice but to interrupt it. Lazily meandering towards them, he pulled the string taut to let light seep through-- and subsequently almost jumped out of his skin when he turned back around.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed, spilling coffee all down himself as an all too familiar figure sat perched on the edge of his desk. "You-- Cthugha--" He flailed briefly before putting his mug down on the desk, desperately seeking something to mop himself up with. He settled on an old scarf he'd hung up in his office several years ago and never worn since. The scalding heat was quick to seep through his shirt, leaving him in a confounding mix of discomfort and pain. "Wh-What the fuck--"
"Good morning, Kuro," Cthugha said, his face characteristically unreadable as he watched the sorry sheriff mop uselessly at his front, grey eyes set into a narrow squint. As if such a fact amused him, one corner of his mouth twitched upwards, a mischievous smirk the finished product. "I didn't know you were so easy to startle. I reckoned ya'd be harder to scare."
"Y'scared the shit outta me! How long have y'been sittin' alone in the dark'a my office like a-- I don't fuckin' know, like a goddamn stalker? That’s horror movie shit, Cthugha!"
"Approximately a minute," Cthugha replied, his legs swinging gently. "You're punctual. I like that in a man."
"Oh, I'm sooo glad," Sheriff Braav remarked wryly, eyes rolling with such force that he was surprised they remained in their sockets. After a moment longer of furious scrubbing, he gave up, throwing the scarf onto the floor. "I don't like y’lurkin' around like an axe-murderer."
"Hm." The rifter paused to rub at his chin, sapphire eyes seeming all too interested in the ceiling. "... well, I did figure that. But it was either waiting here or waiting on your doorstep like some stupid love interest in one of those corny movies. I figured this was the least offensive option for both of us."
Kuro groaned, both hands pressed to his forehead as reality slowly sunk in. If he was being honest with himself, he knew that that little fucker had taken at least some pleasure in the idea of frightening him like that.
"It's been four ‘n’ a half months," he said slowly, his head struggling to catch up with the events that had unfolded so quickly. "Why're y'here now?"
"Well…" Cthugha's face fell stony, body leaning forwards, his hands steepled beneath his chin. "... I actually need your assistance."
"A--Another apocalypse…?" The dread was quick to make his mouth run dry, a deep unhappiness stirring in his gut. His chest tightened as he watched Cthugha nod, the motion tight and sombre.
"'fraid so."
There was a beat of silence in which Kuro stared helplessly at him, asking a million questions with his eyes alone. Oh God no, not again. I barely recovered from the last time the world was resting on my shoulders.
… and then he witnessed Cthugha's eyes turn up, amused crinkles forming beneath them.
"I'm fucking with ya. No apocalypse. "
"Asshole…!" Kuro growled, glaring harshly when Cthugha laughed and hopped down from the desk, arms tucked behind him. He was back in that strange outfit that he'd first met him in, the end of his long coat melding into the black of his pants.
"But I do sincerely need a favour, man to man," he said, sobering up in what felt like a nanosecond. "I'll explain more if you're game."
It wasn't as if Cthugha had owed him a visit, especially not with how little they'd known each other come the end of their otherworldly objective, but he'd still been a little hurt by the lack of communication over the months. One would think that somebody who could teleport at will, appearing in places he desired in mere seconds, could have found even a few minutes to check in with him. Instead, he'd received radio silence, and had signed off on the idea of ever seeing him again while playing ‘will I, won’t I?’ with a razor. It wasn’t Cthugha’s disappearance that had made the blade so tempting to him that morning as he shaved - but the sudden realisation that he’d likely never be coming back had not helped him stay clean either.
"... depends on what y'want," he said, the words gradual, a clear wrestle between scorn and compulsive servitude.
"Ya don't have a spare office around here, do ya?"
"Does this qualify?" The office adjacent to his had been vacant for as long as he could remember. ‘’A strange energy’’ was a phrase he recalled floating around the precinct for a few months before talk about it diminished completely. He'd never felt threatened by the empty box across the hall though - and he'd argue that his tolerance for all things occult was even lower than his most people’s. "'s the only one that nobody's in."
"It works," Cthugha said mildly, leaning against the desk with his head tipped back. His eyes were scanning dutifully across the walls and empty shelving units, as if weighing up just how much he could fit in it. "If it's vacant then it works." There was a pause before he shrugged. "Besides, it's bigger than I'm used to," he said, eyebrows raised as if distinctly impressed.
Kuro blinked in surprise. "It's a box."
"A big box, to me. Ya should see my pod back at the CC. It’s practically bed-sized."
Yes, if anybody knew '’a box’’, it was him. He'd learned to count his blessings long ago when it came to space.
"... then tell me what fer."
"Well, I need a place to stay whenever I'm occupying Huron, right?"
He said it as if it was common sense; as if he was offended that Kuro was asking him to explain it to him.
"Occupyin'," the Sheriff parroted, an eyebrow raised high in silent question. When Cthugha didn't immediately say anything, he groaned, hitting the back of his head lightly against the glass pane behind him. "Cthugha, goddammit, explain--"
"I decided I like it here. I wanted to stay a little longer." His eyes averted then. "Ya don't understand my situation back in my realm. I didn't have the choice to come back until recently - and as soon as it was possible, I jumped ship 'n' came. Sorry for the radio silence 'n' all, but that's the way it goes. Unfortunately."
Kuro frowned. Was he content with that? Was that enough for him? After four-- almost five, if he was being more accurate-- months of silence, did he want to help him? He felt almost bitter about the way things had ended, though he couldn't pinpoint why. It wasn’t as if he was owed anything; and even if he was, could anything come close to the act of saving the world for free?
“... y’can’t live in an office,” he decided on, his expression pensive.
“I won’t live here,” Cthugha replied, frowning deeply. “This will be a pit-stop between point A and point B. I can teleport freely, remember.” He paused, worrying his lower lip between his teeth for a few seconds before he continued: “... I’ve been looking to get away from the CC in some capacity for a long time now. I can never leave permanently, but this? This I can do. It took a little while for me to put all the pieces into place, to be able to do it, but this is my window.”
“Why d’y’wanna get away from it?”
“It’s just bad, Kuro.” He sighed deeply, and there was that sage quality that didn’t often come with people who looked as young as he did; an almost eerie balance between youthful exuberance and elderly melancholy. “There’re bad things ‘n’ bad people back there. I want as little to do with it as possible. Will ya just believe me?”
Kuro didn’t know anything about the Continuum Command, but this was a largely different impression than the one Cthugha had initially left him with. It had felt as if he’d spoken with pride whenever he’d referred to where he came from, seeming almost smug about the confusion it had caused everybody-- Annalise in particular. Was he really so petty that seeing her frustrated was--
“... fine,” the rifter said softly, the pride seeping from his body in one dismal rush. The sheriff already had a foot or so on him, but he seemed even smaller now. “Fine. No more jokes, no more bullshit. I’m asking for help. I want to get away from these bad people, ‘n’ I would appreciate it if ya’d help me do that, please. At least sort of. I know ya don’t understand why it took me so long to visit, ‘n’ this is a big favour to ask of somebody that I barely know, but I feel like you’re the only person I can...” He paused, the next obvious word provoking a wince. For just a moment, he looked deeply unnerved. “Anyway... I’ll… do whatever ya want in return.”
“Uh--”
“If I’m gonna have an office in the precinct, that means we’ll see a lot of each other. That means I can help ya with cases, right?”
“Cthugha, this ain’t how job-seekin’ works--”
“I’m not job-seeking, idiot--” He pinched the bridge of his nose, a little too hard. This was not the cosy reunion he’d hoped it would be. Kuro seemed more combative than he remembered. “It’s a trade-off. I don’t want to be a police officer. Being a temporal assassin-- a doomsday destroyer-- is much cooler than that anyway.” He gave him an impish smile, trying to distract himself from the fact that he’d all but begged for something just a moment ago. “But I can be a killer part-time consultant. Huh? I’ve already introduced myself to the precinct. I solved the case I said I came to solve. I think they’ll find me reputable.”
Sheriff Braav resented how much sense his points were making. Within any other context, this would all be ridiculous, so stupid; the equivalent of an over-eager true crime fan attempting to weasel their way onto the force pre-emptively. The precinct at large hadn’t seen the effects of Cthugha’s work ( not the true ones, anyway ) but the naysayers had decreased significantly when the ‘’delusional sideshow’’ had suddenly returned with twenty year old remains in tow. Not even their skepticism had been able to argue with those results.
“... I dunno, Cthu. This all seems a li’l too... sitcom.”
“Just give it a shot,” Cthugha said imploringly, shrugging one shoulder in a way that made him look almost bashful. “Ya never know. Some sitcoms are good.”
Kuro scoffed, arms folding over his chest. “Name a good sitcom.”
“Uh… the one where… uhhh… Idontwatchsitcoms… cantevenlieaboutit…”
Kuro stared, disappointed but not entirely surprised, before giving way to a slight chuckle. It was soft at first, though it caught up with him like the wind, becoming a full-blown laugh before he was even fully aware of it. By the time he’d calmed down, he felt lighter, more at ease.
I can’t believe I almost turned him away out of spite… what the hell is wrong with me?
I just want a brain that works.
“Yer an idiot,” he said, head shaking, smile fond. “‘n’ in spite’a that, I missed havin’ y’around.”
“Sooo, I’m your consultant now, is what you’re saying?”
“... maybe temporarily. If I can find some bullshit excuse to ‘’require’’ yer services. I ain’t completely sold on this insane idea yet,” Kuro replied, hands gravitating to his hips, fingers tapping gently against the faux-leather of his belt as he thought about it. Being in control of the precinct was a power that he’d never abused in any meaningful way before. He didn’t think that giving somebody who had proven their worth to the HTF a chance to work for it in a more official way was crossing any lines… but he didn’t want a potentially bad decision following him around either. If Cthugha could prove himself useful as a team member, then he could think about extending the duration of his ‘’job title’’.
‘’Consultant’’… consultant my ass. We’re cuttin’ corners here - so why don’t I give more of a shit about that?
“But I gotta know I can rely on you. We need a schedule’a some sort. Y’need t’work in a team. Y’need to learn t’be more patient ‘n’ follow protocol.”
“Ugh… ya had me at the start, but all this other stuff...”
Kuro frowned sternly. “‘s not negotiable.”
“Fine, fine! I will… try,” Cthugha mumbled, scratching at the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure what he’d just agreed to, at least not in full, but if it got him what he wanted then he supposed it was a necessary evil. There was always an undesirable side to the things that people desired - nothing was entirely golden. Trying not to deter himself, he puffed up his chest and grinned wide. “I’m a keeper of time! That means I’m never late - and I manage my ticks well. I’m dependable. I can do it. Especially now that I’m mostly recovered. I’m even stronger than I was.”
“Horrifyin’.”
“Yeah... yeah! I can kick some serious ass now.”
“Again, horrifyin’.”
“It’s not horrifying - it’s cool!”
But he dreaded to think how thin he could potentially be stretching himself with both police work and apocalypse-busting to tackle. Oh well… it couldn’t be any harder than his current job. By comparison, seeing the occasional dead guy and performing the odd night shift here and there would be a welcome change of pace.
“Well, we’ll--”
Sheriff Braav was interrupted by the door opening suddenly. “Who’re you talking to in the creepy office? Do we need an exor--” Officer Rigsby fell still in the doorway as his eyes landed on Cthugha. The silence was broken by him suddenly lighting up like a Christmas tree, dashing over at a dizzying pace. “Cthugha?! Y’came back!”
“Uh--”
Wren’s arms flung out wide once he was close. The rifter rose to his haunches, seeming prepared to leap off of the desk much like a cat.
"Come any closer and I'll scramble the order of your life events!" Cthugha squealed, fangs bared as if he was a cornered animal. Wren doubled back so quickly that he almost fell over, arms pinwheeling comically as he fought to maintain his balance. In the centre of it all stood a dead-faced sheriff, smelling of coffee and regret.
“Sorry, sorry-- I-I’m a hugger--”
“I am not,” Cthugha hissed, his tail whipping behind him like a kite string caught in a gale.
“I forgot!” His attention was quick to shift though, with the immediate peril out of the way. A huge smile consumed his face, hands curled around either side of his jaw. “It’s been months! Where’ve y’been? I guess you’re busy, huh?” There was no reasoning with him at this point, his excitement overpowering as he suddenly stood up straight with a gasp. “Oh, I gotta go tell the others! Hang tight! Y’can explain everythin’ when we’re all here!”
“No, wait!”
“Wren!”
But it was too late - the man had already bounded off like an excited puppy, leaving the office door slightly ajar. Everything had happened so quickly that Cthugha hadn’t even been able to correct his stance, still hunched on all fours like a particularly lifelike gargoyle. Slowly, he clambered down from the desk, blinking hard.
“... I guess you’re really stuck with me now?” he said, equally as bewildered as he was smug. “I mean-- c’mon. Sending me away now would be like telling a kid that Raku’s not real. You’re gonna break his heart like that?”
“... Christ. I guess I got a lot’a paperwork t’sort out,” Kuro muttered, dragging a hand down his face. It was too early for this level of energy. He felt as if he’d already hit his ecstasy-quota for the day-- perhaps for the week. He pointed a finger seriously at him. “Do not make me regret this, shortstack.”
Cthugha bounced happily on the balls of his feet, clapping loudly. “I won’t! Probably!” He grinned wide when Kuro squinted and wagged his finger. “I’ll even let ya get away with calling me that as a sign of thanks, big guy.”
“Oh, how thoughtful of y’...”
Before he could make any further snide remarks, the sound of footsteps quickly approaching stole his attention. Cthugha was right about one thing: for the foreseeable future, at least, he was stuck with him.
He couldn’t find it in him to be too unhappy about that.
Summary: ”Some things just end. Even big things.”
Warnings: Mentions of political unrest/war, but nothing graphic.
A/N: There’s two more chapters of this story to go, plus an epilogue. I’m not ready to say goodbye yet, either.
Kuro was a ticking time bomb in more ways than one.
After what had transpired in Merriway Hospital, he was buzzing with questions - but he’d seen the way that Cthugha had all but fallen into the passenger seat, exhausted by the sheer intensity of that particular social venture, and had opted for silence instead. Only when they reached the station again-- after stopping for coffee, to which the rifter did not so much as stir-- did he think to disturb him.
“Cthugha,” he said softly, listening to him hum gently under his breath before he rolled his head in the opposite direction. With a roll of his eyes, Kuro reached into the cup-holder and retrieved Cthugha’s coffee, waving it under his nose. “Cthughaaa…”
His nose twitched, eyes cracking open slowly. The brilliant cobalt was blinding. “Coffee,” he mumbled, his gaze bleary, sleepy. “Gimme.”
Kuro chuckled as the cup was promptly snatched from him, amusement provoking the crinkles beneath his eyes. Cthugha was terrifying, except for the times where he wasn't.
"I figured we'd park up here 'n' take the walk t'Connor's place," Kuro said conversationally, retrieving his own drink before unbuckling his seat belt and getting out of the car. "Trust me, with the state'a Huron's 'roads', it'll be quicker t'walk."
"Mm," Cthugha hummed, begrudgingly forcing himself to his feet. At the very least, the coffee helped. It was about the only thing that could. "I actually believe ya."
Kuro knew better than to push his luck - knew better than to talk too much too quickly, knew better than to bombard the rifter with questions, but his curiosity was a dreadful thing. It saw him drinking his coffee much too quickly, sipping neurotically as he turned the same query over and over in his brain. Why is a trimmer the cause of Huron's doom? How is that possible? The caffeine shot through him much like a cocaine hit, the energy instant and unforeseen. It worsened his restless intrigue.
Somehow, he held his tongue until they reached the Vanton house.
"Okay," Cthugha said softly, placing his now empty cup on the doorstep before vigorously shaking his arms, bouncing from foot to foot. "With the coffee, I should be able to do a jump inside without screwing myself over."
"Is…" Kuro paused, suddenly feeling the penny drop. It felt eons too late. "... is that why y'drink so much? T'give y'energy t'work…?"
"Huh?" Cthugha's hands touched his hips, body leaning in the Sheriff's direction. "The hell’re ya talking about? I just like the stuff. I mean sure, caffeine gives me a kick but it doesn't make me run. Are ya dumb?"
And there went the penny, forcibly snatched from the slot and flung onto the dirty sidewalk.
One eye twitched: "... y'worry me, Cthugha."
"It's not a problem, I can quit anytime. Now quit mothering me and let’s go," he replied, waving him off with a dismissive hand before latching it around his wrist. In an instant, their surroundings changed, the dark interior of Connor's house greeting them. Kuro bent over, his hands over his knees as he fought back the impromptu pang of nausea. "Hang in there, big guy. This rug's too cute to puke on."
"Urghhh…" The Sheriff blanched, waiting for his vision to go straight once more. "I ain't think I'm ever gonna get used to that."
"Well, I wouldn't worry about that. We're almost done here anyway." He heard Cthugha walk away from him, presumably in the direction of the basement. As if to confirm his suspicions, he heard a door open a few seconds later. "Tick tock."
When he was certain he wouldn't vomit everywhere, Kuro straightened up and proceeded towards the door, habitually feeling along the wall until his hand came into contact with a switch. He flicked it upwards, relieved to see a light bulb illuminate the room moments later. He shouldn't have been surprised by a functioning light, probably, but he'd read enough horror stories in his time to know that a dark basement was often synonymous with all things macabre. Where did people hide their victims if not in some dark dingy hole beneath the earth?
Connor Vanton doesn't have any victims, he reminded himself sternly. Not yet, anyway.
"Talk about roomy," Cthugha called as he jumped from the bottom step straight onto the concrete ground, the echo from his heavy boots dull and eerie. "I like basements. You can do a lot with a basement."
"Like store bodies?" Kuro asked as he dragged himself down the stairs, eyeing everything he passed with skepticism. "Or hide murder weapons? Or have some weird-- debaucherous playpen?"
"Christ, man--" Cthugha grimaced, seeming to prickle at the very idea. "I meant having a workshop, or having a spare bedroom, or having a bunker of some sort for waiting out tornados. Now I almost feel inclined to get you a damn pool table or something, just so ya learn to chill the hell out."
"Don't bother. I ain't got a basement."
"You're hopeless! Your work's poisoning your interior design choices!"
Connor’s basement was home to an armada of tools, wood and hay, looking more like a miniature workshop than a forgotten room. The walls were lined with desks and work benches, and in the centre was a steel-topped table. On it laid a handmade basket, half complete, and a bunch of now-wilted flowers. We probably interrupted him the first time we called round. He hasn’t been home since.
“Where’s a guy get tools like this?” Cthugha mused, eyes scanning the wall where several of them were hung up. Most of them he’d seen at least once in his life, but there were a handful that he didn’t recognise. They must have been native to Huron. “I guess that’s one way to display them.” But no trimmer - none of what he was looking for, and that had his attention flitting elsewhere, squinting in frustration when he didn’t find the desired device. “Man, where the--”
He paused when he heard the door creak, head swivelling in its direction. There stood a proud-looking Sheriff, one arm cast outwards towards the hidden trimmer tucked neatly behind the door.
“Huh.” Cthugha blinked owlishly. “How’d ya know?”
“Eh. I’ve had one too many folks try t’blindside the police by hidin’ behind doors. Sometimes weapons follow suit.”
“Tools,” Cthugha corrected, his frown forbidding.
“Right. Tools,” Kuro agreed, though his tone was anything but convinced. He didn’t like assuming the worst of people, not by nature, but he was seldom ever involved when things had gone well. “Anyway, I’m gonna assume this’s wha’cher lookin’ fer.”
The rifter didn’t respond with words. Instead, he crossed the space between them and retrieved the trimmer, dragging it up from the floor and into his hands, wincing at its unforeseen weight. “Heavy,” he commented idly, though he seemed to quickly adjust to its unprecedented mass. Where there would typically be a handful of tiny teeth along the open front, there laid sizable blades, dense and metallic. “Yep. This’s the one. Clear the middle for me?”
Feet glided across the concrete, the middle table swept clean with one long swipe of Kuro’s arm, before he laid the appliance across it. It looked vaguely like a patient on an operating table. All that was missing was Cthugha tightening a surgical mask around his face and tugging on rubber gloves.
Kuro watched with a morbid sense of fascination as Cthugha unsheathed the knife from his belt, a portal forming in the air that the blade had sliced through. Its white static drip hit the ground, gleaming white, before the violet depths revealed themselves. Without even looking, he reached into it and retrieved his familiar axe.
“Uh… I ain’t think…” Kuro started, though fell into stunned silence when the tool weapon began to glow, a bright cyan light giving it an ethereal halo. Staring at it made the sheriff feel a strange sense of vertigo, gaze becoming heavy and glazed, entranced. Quickly, the rifter raised it above his head and brought it down harshly through the centre of the trimmer’s metal grip, letting it drop to the table afterwards. There was a moment of silence before the remains of the device began to crackle loudly, fizzing with an unearthly energy.
“That’ll do it!” Cthugha exclaimed happily over the horrid noise, looking genuinely excited.
“What the fuck?!” Whatever state Kuro had found himself in was quickly vaporised, alertness rekindled as he leapt away from the sputtering tool, hands raised defensively in front of him.
As quickly as it started, it stopped, a final faint blue puff of smoke coughed out from the now-dead appliance. The quiet that returned to the basement suddenly seemed too quaint-- so natural that it felt wrong.
“Ahah…” It was a soft sound, one that made Kuro look away from the remains of the trimmer, eyes honing in on his partner. His shoulders were trembling. “Ahahaha… HAH!” Suddenly, in a blind fit of joy, Cthugha leapt into the air, fists pumped giddily. When he landed, he clapped loudly, bouncing from foot to foot, his tail wagging frantically. “It’s done! It’s finally DONE!”
“Uh…” Kuro blinked before offering a feeble smile. “Yeah…?”
“Yup! The loop’s dead! The timeline’s officially in the clear!”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Well, yeah. For now,” Cthugha said, his smile radiant. “It’ll take a little longer for me to recover, but already… I can feel it getting...” He tried to continue in some capacity, hands waving vaguely, though couldn’t find the words to do so. The feeling of the loop’s never-ending circle being splintered was an otherworldly sensation, something he figured that words couldn’t do justice. “... I can’t explain it. I just feel it. Closure’s a myth, Kuro. Ya don’t always tie things up with a shoot-up or a throwdown or a death or an arrest - some things just end. Even big things.”
Inside, he felt flooded, like a mug filled to its maximum capacity, the liquid threatening to spill over the rim at any second. His heartbeat thudded dully against his ribs, a constant reminder that he was still there, that he was strong, and that, despite all odds, he’d triumphed again.
But ya didn’t do it alone this time, he reminded himself, eyes finding Kuro again. He looked slightly concerned, that all too familiar kink in his brow making his worry transparent. Under normal circumstances, he’d have felt scorned by such a look. He had no need for pity-- and no need for consideration either-- but in this instance, he felt soft. Tender, even. Like a fresh bruise against otherwise perfect skin.
“Are y’alright?” Kuro asked slowly, hesitating before resting a hand on the rifter’s shoulder. To his astonishment, he didn’t flinch.
“Yeah,” he replied evenly, smiling so brightly that the room was tinted gold. "Everything's better now. Everything’s going to be fine."
"Then y'know I gotta ask…" He issued a final squeeze to Cthugha's shoulder before releasing him. "What the hell was the deal with that trimmer? 'n' if that was responsible fer the end'a Huron, why didn't we just destroy it from the beginnin’?”
“Well.” He paused to retrieve his axe, throwing it into the portal before sealing it shut with a wave of his hand. Then, he hopped up onto the bench, legs swinging. “Remember what I said? I’ve seen this play out several times, some varying from others. If ya go down there ‘n’ deal with the trimmer prematurely, before he does what he’s set out to do on Mia’s twentieth anniversary, he finds another way. Ya have no grounds to arrest him so ya have to let him walk - ya can’t hold a man on the basis of what he does in a parallel timeline, not that ya’d know without me anyway. Might buy ya some more time while he has something else modified, but it ends up the same. Things can’t happen out of order. The trimmer wasn’t actually the problem; he’s had that thing for seven years now, without using it once. Mia was at the centre of it all.”
“How?” Kuro pressed, his hip leaning against the table, his eyes all but pleading for further information. “I mean, how did he destroy Huron with that?”
Cthugha paused, wondering if it was wise to disclose that information at all. He’d already tested the limits of Kuro’s view of the world, broken through some of that precious ignorance that very few mortals wished to part with genuinely, and he was wary about stretching him too thin, of being the thing that snapped him in two.
… but he’d been surprisingly receptive, hadn’t he?
He supposed it was part and parcel of his deep sense of nihilism. He could hardly be scared of the state of the world if he figured that none of it mattered anyway. That would be senseless-- a paradox. Now that he thought about it, perhaps Kuro had been perfect for this all along.
“... okay,” he said slowly, his tail draped over his knees, its arrow point glimmering under the fluorescent bulb overhead. “Very basically, Connor was destined to snap on the twentieth anniversary of Mia’s disappearance and go on a little murder spree of his own. Once. He was to be caught, since he took to the streets like a madman, in broad daylight. Seven victims. One child.” He paused, watching the sheriff’s face. Aside from a hint of a wince, his countenance remained unfazed. “Ya recover the murder weapon. Ya investigate it. Ya realise, ‘Oh, it’s been changed, it’s been modified, who could’ve done that?’ - ya realise it’s from Vide. A sleazy tech company that launders money on the side. They get busted, but the seeds of doubt have been planted. Huron gets angry. Paranoid. A lot of your people think it’s some huge conspiracy. You start pulling deals from Vide traders, tossing out Vide appliances and chasing Viders out of town. Viders start to bite back. The trust between the districts slowly fizzles out as more ‘n’ more people lose faith in the peace treaty. They think it’s targeted. Huron thinks Vide’s working in secret to destroy their people from the inside. Vide thinks Huron is doubling down on their racism ‘n’ tossing good citizens aside for dead. Everyone’s angry. Tensions run high. Huron ‘n’ Vide are back to square one. Eventually, Huron gets so angry that it declares war on Vide.”
“... Huron loses,” Kuro murmured, looking a horrific cross between thrilled and terrified-- like a weathered historian stumbling upon undiscovered ancient ground.
“Of course Huron loses,” Cthugha replied, nodding sagely. “You’re a peaceful district. The most ya have is your gun rights. One gun per household - for animals attacking your livestock, or intruders. That’s hardly a contest for Vide’s technological superiority. They have weapons in abundance. Things you’ve never even seen. Vehicles. Bombs. Huron becomes a pile of dust. To add insult to injury-- there never was another modified tool in your history. Ya all just thought there would be.”
“Because of one trimmer?” Kuro asked, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. Maybe he couldn’t.
“Because of one trimmer, and one very depressed father,” Cthugha clarified. “If there’s one thing ya should know about the Universe, it’s that it’s all about cause and effect. Rarely does something happen to make an entire district go poof out of nowhere. It’s like a wildfire: it happens slowly, one ember at a time, until the flames are so high that ya can’t control it anymore. That means you should always be careful about the choices ya make. Ya might feel like you’re insignificant, but who was Connor? A nobody. And his suffering was responsible for the end of your district.”
“Holy shit…” Kuro leaned back against the bench, arms folding across his broad chest. It looked vaguely like a gate being closed, entry blocked, and Cthugha didn’t quite have the mettle to try and push it ajar yet. “... tha’s… hard, t’believe,” he admitted after some time, the lines in his forehead deep, confounded. “... but all’a this’s been pretty hard t’believe ‘n’ yet I-- I helped you.”
“Because you’re good, Kuro.” The words were uncharacteristically soft, and as such, they hit Sheriff Braav like a truck. His head tipped in Cthugha’s direction, eyes wide and warm, though the rifter wasn’t looking at him. Instead, he was staring ahead, a peaceful look on his face, his hands clasped between his knees. “There’s something I left out. Back when I told ya not to investigate the basement, when I told ya about me being stuck.”
“What?”
“That in every iteration of this loop, whether it’s happened perfectly or not, you’ve been there. Trying to help. Whether it’s refusing to fight in the war, instead dedicating your time to guiding wounded people out of harm’s way, or whether it’s you trying to recover this murder weapon, or whether it’s you trying to keep things civil between you ‘n’ Viddish officers, even when the treaty’s going sour. We never teamed up. I never even spoke to you until this version of events - but you were always there. I knew that if anybody would help me-- if anybody would hear me, a supposed ‘psycho’ talking about a doomsday on the precinct’s porch, out-- that it’d be you. It was always you.”
“But that’s… I’m--” He stopped, searching for words. It wouldn’t be the first time that Cthugha had stunned him into silence - even so early into their meeting. With all they’d been through together, it was hard to recall that they’d only been in each other’s lives for a grand total of two weeks. It felt longer than that. Much longer. “... I’m... nobody. I mean-- really nobody,” he settled on, a soft, disbelieving laugh huffed out much like a sigh.
“And yet,” Cthugha said insistently, finally turning his head to look at him. “You helped save the world.”
“That was you.”
“It was you too.” He hopped down from the bench then, stretching his whole body like a cat in the sun. His spine popped abruptly, a noticeable relief following shortly after as his muscles slackened again. “You should internalise that. Remember what ya did. ‘n’ despite our… rocky… history, I’m grateful to you. I think I always will be. You were a good associate.”
Kuro fell silent, feeling oddly winded, sentimentality building in his chest like a pianist’s final song. Were. The word stung more than he thought it would. He’d known that Cthugha wouldn’t stay, and while he wasn’t overly attached, it felt as if the end had come all too quickly. What about this serial killer? I don’t know if I can solve it on my own.
“I guess… this means yer done here?” he questioned, chest oddly tight. He knew what was coming. If anything, he was slightly impressed that he hadn’t already disappeared without a trace.
“I’m done here,” the rifter confirmed with a nod. “I’m sure you’ll find whoever did this. It’s something I’ve noticed about you: ya tend to… overlook your capabilities. Underestimate yourself. But you can do it.” He looked around the basement, his hands coming to rest on his hips, a large sigh released. “... I’d like to stay. A little longer, I mean. I’d like to help you. But this whole thing-- it’s bigger than a serial killer, Kuro, it’s not about that.” His lips pressed into a thin line, a saddened crease forming in one corner. “... I like this place. I never really get to stay in places I like long enough.”
“Then-- why don’t y’? I mean-- stay a little longer?”
“Well, I don’t think I can. The Universe doesn’t stop. There’ll be a new Doomsday for me to work on before ya know it. The Balance is fickle like that.”
“Wait, wait, wait--” Kuro stood up, moving in front of the other, fighting back the urge to grab his shoulders and cement him in place. “Just-- y’can’t just leave without sayin’ goodbye t’the team. I-- I know we didn’t work together that long, but-- we worked together. They’ll at least wanna see y’off.”
Cthugha stammered, the sounds unintelligible and clumsy. He’d seldom had his company coveted before. He didn’t know what it was like to be asked to stay - even if only for an hour longer. Though it was a pointless motion, he retrieved his pocket watch and gave it a cursory glance.
“But, the time--”
“Y’have time fer a drink,” the sheriff interrupted. “Y’deserve one. Don’t’cha?”
“Oh, I-- I don’t drink, I--”
“Then order coffee.”
Cthugha squinted slowly. “Ya know a place that sells alcohol and coffee?”
Kuro snickered. “Funnily enough? I do. The bartender’s a dick but he aims t’please. He’ll getcha coffee if y’ask.”
Cthugha stared at him helplessly, torn between accepting the offer and vanishing quickly. It felt oddly as if he didn’t want to go, that anxiety in his stomach spiking unpleasantly-- but he did. He knew that deep down, he did. It seemed appropriate, finishing off a surprisingly pacifistic mission in an unorthodox fashion, and he knew that Kuro’s squad-- even the half of it that didn’t seem that enamoured by him-- would be better for it.
“... alright, fine,” he agreed, nodding gradually. “We’ll have a drink before I go. I guess it is all rather sudden.”
“Y’kiddin’?” Kuro asked, finding himself laughing, a substantial solace in his tone in spite of it. “This whole thing’s been sudden. ‘s not the problem.”
“Then?” Cthugha’s brow furrowed, head tilting.
“Well, I…” He paused, shrugging before offering him a cautious half-smile. “I guess I just don’t wanna say goodbye t’y’quite yet, old-timer.”
Summary: Catharsis.
Warnings: Mentions of suicidal ideation, depictions of death and catatonia/poor mental health.
A/N: This update REALLY took it out of me - but it’s done and in spite of it all, I’m proud of it. Also, just as a personal aside: mental illness in this story is depicted the way it is because it is relevant to the plot, not because I as the author agree with all of the phrasing/approaches to it. It is not hateful - but it’s ultimately ignorant, because huros don’t know much about it yet.
"Go faster."
"There's a speed limit, Cthugha." Self-imposed, but it’s there.
Huron's streets weren't made for driving. They barely had designated roads, nevermind street signs or traffic lights. Vehicles were still very much a novel concept to everybody excluding those that worked for the emergency services. Kuro was quite sure that he could count the number of cars in Huron on just one hand - and that was exactly the way he liked it.
"We wouldn't have that problem in a jet," Cthugha grumbled, the bag in his hands crinkling as he folded his arms over his chest.
The sheriff squinted, fingers taut around the steering wheel. "Yeah well, there ain't people walkin' around in the damn sky, are there?"
He wasn't going to mention the fact that he'd never even seen a plane in person before, nevermind had the propensity-- or the money-- to own one. It felt as if that would open a whole new can of worms, one he didn't feel like being spoon-fed right now.
Cthugha sighed deeply, leaning back in his seat. “When did ya learn to drive?”
“Quite a while ago now,” Kuro mused. Sometimes, he forgot that The Crossover didn’t actually happen that long ago. A few decades ago, sure, but for people who lived centuries? That was barely a blink ago. “When I first started helpin’ out with the VTF, it took me a week t’get there by carriage. I guess they took a li’l pity on me; taught me t’drive as a sorta requisite, let me borrow one’a their cruisers fer the journey back ‘n’ forth. One cash deposit ‘n’ a paint-job ‘n’ it’s now officially a HTF car.”
“Did ya find it easy?”
“Uh…” He paused, unable to stop himself from chuckling as he recalled the first time he’d been behind the wheel. He’d crawled forwards at about two miles an hour for the length of an entire street before stalling the car. “... was alright.”
Cthugha snorted. “That’s code for ‘what the fuck is a clutch?’, huh?”
Kuro laughed-- really laughed-- before shaking his head. “Yup. I was kinda hopeless t’start with. Luckily I’m a fast learner.” He shrugged then, eyes drawn to the roof of the familiar building that he’d deposited Connor in. It was a pristine white, its fences so high that they were visible on his horizon. “Y’gotta cut me some slack though. I think I was the first huro t’drive a car. I’d say I did alright in the end.”
“You’re kinda the first huro to do a lot of things, it seems.”
“I wouldn’t… say a lotta things…” he mumbled, slightly embarrassed as he parked. “C’mon. We’ll have t’walk the rest’a the way. Path’s too narrow.”
They exited the cruiser in perfect tandem, Kuro double-checking its lock before starting in the direction of the hospital.
Clinics had always been daunting to him. They reminded him of dark times in his family history, of the various doctors his poor mother had cycled through before being locked away for good. There had been nothing scarier to him at six years old than his mother screaming hysterically in the waiting room for somebody to help her husband when he’d died a week prior. Ground to chunks, the police had said, and by God did that imagery haunt him. The only parts of Oscar Braav that were recovered were a handful of teeth, his ring finger-- with his wedding ring still attached-- and his horns.
He’d been too young to really understand the tragedy that had befallen his tiny family unit. There were only two things he’d come to know: that the promise of future siblings was forcibly cauterised before his eyes, and that his papa wasn’t coming home from work - not that night, and not ever again.
He remembered feeling like a terrible son for not grieving as openly as his mother. While she’d fallen apart over breakfast, pitcher of milk crashing to the floor as she wept and writhed on the cold tile floor, he’d been silent and outwardly unemotive. Shell-shocked, stunned to the point of selective mutism, and as such he harboured his sadness in a very private, confused sort of way-- like a zombie shambling through an empty plane in aimless search of an end to the vacancy inside.
He remembered feeling even worse when he’d stolen the ring finger from his mother’s nightstand drawer and taken it to bed with him one night. He’d meant no harm, had only wanted to feel some semblance of closeness to his missing parent, but it had ended in disaster. She’d been distraught by morning-- had trashed their house looking for it-- and when she’d realised that it was beneath her son’s pillow, she’d flown into a rage so hysterical that Kuro still recalled the abject terror that had made itself at home in his gut. He’d never been scared of his mother before, but in that moment he’d crumbled into the corner of the room and sobbed.
I just wanted papa to tuck me in, he remembered crying. I just want papa back!
“Hey. Kuro!”
“Uh--”
The main entrance stared at him blankly, his feet planted firmly at the threshold. Welcome to Merriway Hospital.
“Ya blanked out,” Cthugha said slowly, a crease forming in his brow as he stared up at him. It almost looked as if he wanted to reach out, to pat his arm in an act of solidarity, but he refrained. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” the sheriff replied, a little too quickly, his voice just a fraction too high. “‘m fine, I just-- sorry. I’m thinkin’ about this… y’know.” He lowered his voice, bending slightly to be closer to the other. In a secretive whisper: “... serial killer nonsense.”
Cthugha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “One step at a time,” he said dutifully. “That’s what ya said.”
Without waiting for a response, Cthugha breached the entryway first, more than a little surprised by the welcoming air of the main lobby. A nuthouse was a nuthouse, but this was a far cry from the clinical white hellscape that he was used to.
Curiously, he moved to the nearest window, looking out at the view. He spotted their cruiser parked on the road, followed the winding path up to the hospital with his eyes. He’d felt the incline while walking up to the main entrance, but it certainly looked steeper now that he was looking down at it. The grass on either side of the cobblestone walkway was neat and well-tended, flowerbeds in uniformed lines along the brick outline of the building.
It doesn’t smell of chemicals in here. There’re flowers in the garden. There’re couches in the fucking foyer. What is happening?
“It’s imperative that we talk t’him now,” he heard Kuro say, left ear twitching in his general direction before he thought to turn around. The receptionist looked hesitant-- a sweet-looking man with glasses perched on the edge of his nose and a daisy chain looped around his horns. Likely a gift from the locals. “Yeah, I know visitin’ hours--”
Already, the rifter was tuning the conversation out. The one thing he could tell for certain was that Kuro was becoming frustrated. He hid it well, his voice never once crawling upwards, either in volume or in thickness, but his hands were beginning to speak for him. Exasperated, flat-facing palms; irate, tightly-balled fists.
It’s making me sad to watch, he thought listlessly, before frowning. I mean-- we don’t have time for this.
“Hey.” Both men paused as Cthugha approached the counter. His eyes were stormy, though the look on his face was calm and collected. Wordlessly, he flung the bag in his hands upwards, letting it clatter onto the reception desk. One eyebrow followed the incline, though it remained quirked after the trophy struck the table. “Either ya let us in, or we’ve got one helluva fucked-up delivery for ya to make, sir.”
The horror on the receptionist’s face was instantaneous, caramel skin becoming peaky and pale. Soft brown eyes darted between the bag and the rifter warily before he stammered out a pathetic: “Wh-What’re--”
“Ya know what they are.” Imposingly, Cthugha pressed his palms flat against the desk and leaned in. The cyan in his eyes seemed to glow with an unprecedented malice. “So stop fuckin’ around ‘n’ gimme a goddamn pass.”
Cthugha squinted. Then, through his teeth: “Please.”
With a newfound clamminess to his hands, the man behind the counter fished two visitor badges from their place before scooting them across it meekly.
“Appreciate it,” Cthugha said, throwing it haphazardly around his neck before snatching the horn-bag back, stalking off.
Kuro winced, following idly in his shadow. If this was any other time, he likely would have been more vocal about his displeasure. But now, while time was of the essence? Cthugha's methods were undoubtedly more efficient than him running in diplomatic circles.
"If anyone reports yer behaviour, I didn't see a thing," Sheriff Braav mumbled, following the sharp L-turn that the hallway made.
"I govern time," Cthugha replied, his face nonplussed. "I hardly think a choice word or two from daisy-boy is gonna do much to stop me." He paused as the corridor suddenly opened up into one huge room. It was full of people dressed in white overalls, seven digit numbers printed on their backs. Some walked around aimlessly; others seemed more cognisant, interacting with people as if they'd met up in the pub for drinks. The rifter winced. "This is depressing."
"Yup. 's kinda the point," the Sheriff muttered, pushing ahead. He hadn't much of a clue on how places like these worked for he'd never been in one. Mental health was new to them, their facilities to deal with it fresh, state-of-the-art, but ultimately run through an altruistic version of trial and error. There had been times where he'd been sure he'd end up in one eventually, whether it was because of age or because of the razor's edge cutting too close for comfort one time too many. Self-consciously, Kuro pocketed his hands, his coat sleeves suddenly feeling thin and transparent. "Okay, gotta find… somebody..." His words trailed off, eyes scanning the crowd for anybody that stood out to him. Eventually, he came across a woman in blue. He'd almost missed her, though when he realised she was dressed differently, he could've kicked himself. It’s so obvious. "Her. She must work here."
Getting closer, he saw that she was entertaining a small huddle of middle-aged women, engaging in conversation, shuffling something along the table. When close enough to speak, he realised that they were board game pieces. Curiously, there was no board.
Kuro cleared his throat. "Excuse me, ma'am."
The woman turned, greeted him with a smile. "Sheriff Braav," she said politely, hands folding in front of her. Briefly, her eyes scanned over Cthugha. "And… company? Please tell me he's not for us."
"Listen here--"
"Oh no, he's uh-- he's on a placement. He's my temporary rookie," Kuro swiftly interjected, not liking the idea of Cthugha causing a scene in a building full of mentally ill people. He had no idea what any of them were going through on a personal basis - perhaps even the raise of one's voice would be enough to upset at least one person there. "We're lookin' fer Mr.Vanton. 's important." He paused to tap his visitation badge, then his own police-issued one secured to his hip. "I understand this's unprecedented but it can't wait. We received clearance from the front desk."
Sort of. If one could consider Cthugha's uncanny intimidation tactics to be 'clearance'.
'Oh, you actually lucked out, Sheriff," she answered, setting her playing piece-- a tiny silver kayag-- down on the table. "I'm the nurse that handles his one-to-one sessions."
"Oh, thank Raku." His relief was candid, hopeful even. It felt as if he hadn't had a run-in with blind fortune in a while. "Please, we need t'see him."
"May I ask what for?"
"Not here," he said, eyeing the babbling ladies she'd been playing with for one considerate moment. "...'s upsettin'. I ain't tryna imply anythin' 'bout the folks here, but 's probably better t'be safe than sorry. I ain’t wanna overstep any boundaries."
Mama could've ended up in a place like this, if she'd been born a century or three later, his brain tittered, and he shut the thought away so quickly that he felt the door he'd locked it behind rattle.
He followed the nurse gratefully, feeling every centimetre of distance between him and the masses he was sure he belonged to. He'd always been sympathetic to those that suffered sickness in the mind, for he’d been surrounded by it from an early age. His mother was a prime example of somebody driven to permanent catatonia by heartbreak. His best friend was a perfect testament to the term ‘’tortured artist’’. And he himself… well, he’d always felt as if he had some sort of screw loose, some sort of cataclysmic leak in the bottom of his soul, ridding him of all of the sunshine and hope he’d ever had the capacity for. Dark. Drained. Tired. Always tired.
“Mr.Vanton is a truly sad case,” the woman said, leading them out of the communal room and into another long hallway. Doors lined the wall, each one identical to the one before it. On each, there was a window at about head-height . “From what I’ve gathered in our sessions, he’s still haunted by the absence of his daughter. It’s been--”
The woman paused, turning to face them with a furrowed brow. “...Sheriff, I suggest not mentioning Mia. He becomes inconsolable.”
“We found her,” he replied, reaching out and gesturing for Cthugha to hand him the bag. He was almost certain that if the people in Merriway had been more lucid, it would have been equivalent to the rifter carrying a huge sign with him that said, ‘HEY! I’M CARRYING DEAD THINGS!’. “Or, what’s left of her. Finally. We have t’return them t’him.”
“O-Oh God--” Hands flew to cover her mouth, her eyes blown wide.
“... yeah. That’s why we had t’come immediately. He should be one’a the first people t’know. Would’a been the first if he wasn’t here.”
“I… I understand.” This was a risk, of that she was sure, but if there was anything that could offer any solace to Connor, it was likely the retrieval of his daughter’s remains. He’d said it several times in their sessions: I don’t care what state she’s in. I know she’s probably dead now. I just want her home with me and her mother. “This way. Th-This way…”
She didn’t speak the rest of the way. All things considered, Kuro couldn’t say that he was particularly disappointed by that. When she next turned around, it was in front of a door, her hand resting on its knob.
“Please, be gentle with him.”
“We will,” Kuro said, his eyes finally noticing the name tag attached to her chest. “Promise y’that, Sunny.”
She bowed her head in silent thanks before stepping aside, allowing the two men to open the door and enter it. Strategically, Cthugha lurked near the entryway, arms folded over his chest. If there was ever a time to let Kuro take the reigns, it was now, while trying to console the emotionally volatile father. Consideration trumped pragmatism in this particular scenario.
“Mr.Vanton?” Kuro asked, taking a cautious step towards the desk he was slumped at. He watched the man’s shoulders go rigid, as if he’d just become aware of another presence in the room.
“Sheriff Braav…?” Connor mumbled, turning to face him. He was bleary-eyed and dazed, though looked considerably calmer than the last time they'd spoken. His eyes travelled to the skulking figure in the corner, then narrowed. "Oh. You brought him."
Cthugha smiled a thin, sardonic smile. "Hello, Connor."
"Mr.Vanton, I'm here on behalf'a yer daughter," Kuro intervened, attempting to redirect the focus away from the horrific tension in the room. "There's no easy way t'say this, so I'm just gonna have t'show you."
He watched the man's face closely for several seconds, trying to gauge whether he'd made a sensible decision or not. It wasn't as if he didn't understand the risk - but the fate of Huron was bigger than all of them combined. He'd no choice but to press on, to unveil the sad truth, as disconcerting as the timing may have been.
Without a word, he placed the plastic bag on the table, watching as Connor's head declined to stare at it. He was silent - silent for far too long, and then came the response that Kuro had been looking for.
Tears.
"Wh-What…?"
Hesitantly, Sheriff Braav pulled up the extra seat tucked beneath the desk and sat down, resting a palm on Connor's shoulder.
"These belong to Mia," he said gently. "We ran 'em through the database, they were a match t'yer family."
"Where was she…?" Connor sobbed, reaching out with shaky hands and drawing the bag to his chest. Now reunited with the father, they looked less like trophies and more like the last things left of a dead girl. "H-How--"
"We… can't disclose the details t'y'yet. They ain't public." The hand on his shoulder squeezed again, anchoring him to reality. There was only so much he could say, yet he'd never forgive himself if he didn't at least attempt to offer him some closure. "Somethin' bad's happenin' in Huron. It's been happenin' right under our noses fer at least twenty years. Mia was just one of many victims… sixteen in total."
Connor's reaction was so sudden that both Kuro and Cthugha winced, reared back in shock: he lurched to one side, vomiting violently. It was far from the first time that news the Sheriff had delivered was the catalyst for somebody losing their lunch, but there was something about the mix of retching and whimpering that felt new, unseen-- tragic in the worst way possible. Mercifully, most of his mess had landed in the nearby waste bin. When he finally stopped dry heaving, he collapsed forward onto the desk and cried, Mia's horns clasped tight in one clammy, trembling fist.
Inconsolable, Kuro's mind echoed back to him as his hand rubbed tenderly along the man's back. And yet, this feels like some sort of breakthrough.
"Thank Raku… thank Raku… thank Raku…" His words were muffled by his arm, his body shivering with anguish, yet his words tremoured with undeniable catharsis. Slowly, he picked his head up from the desk, staring at Kuro with watery eyes. "I can't believe… I almost shot you. That wasn't me-- it wasn't."
"I know," Kuro said softly, brow arching with a hint of pain as the man lunged towards him, ensnaring him in a feeble, but desperate, embrace. Suddenly, the smell of vomit didn't bother the sheriff at all, one arm winding around him comfortingly, his hand patting his back. "Why else d'y'think I sent y'here 'n' not to jail? I know."
"You have t'find whoever did this, Sheriff… you have to," Connor moaned, his face a mess of tears and sweat. "Promise me y'will… promise me."
"I will," he urged, his voice scalding hot with hate. "I swear."
He paused, his free hand diving into his pocket and retrieving a half full packet of tissues. "Here, mop yerself up. There y'go," he said as Connor released him.
"Y'just have tissues on hand…? Just like that?" Connor quizzed through a pained laugh, accepting it and beginning to wipe his face.
"Trust me, it's a requirement in my line'a work," he replied, waiting until his haphazard breathing had calmed some. "... listen. There's something I want y't'know."
Connor nodded quickly, insistently. Anything, his frantic look said. Anything you want.
"A couple things, actually. First, when we go public with the details, we'll disclose more t'y'if y'want them. 'n' second-- without disclosin' a thing, I wasn't the one who found the initial lead. Nor was I the one who found the horns first. A Vider found the lead-- a Viddish officer, workin' fer the Huron Task Force. 'n' Cthugha here crawled through the dirt on his hands 'n' knees t'investigate the place yer daughter's horns were located."
He hadn't had a chance to change clothes yet, too wrapped up in both the swift progression of the case and the impromptu restoration of the Balance to even consider it. While he'd dusted himself down as well as he could upon leaving the trophy room, the dirt was still particularly noticeable around his knees and cuffs.
"I was too big t'fit through comfortably. He offered t'go ahead 'n' scout it out. He did that without bein' asked; even though me 'n’ my associate initially tried t'talk him out of it."
By now, Cthugha was staring at him, his brow tightly knit, mouth curled tight.
What’s your end-game here, Kuro? Why’re you saying these things?
"I'm tellin' y'this because I understand yer initial distaste. He's prickly, 'n' can be real rude, 'n' he ain't care much fer protocol-- but he's good at heart. He travelled here fer Mia. Fer your daughter. I need y't'know that."
Connor's quiet was telling: he was quite positively flabbergasted by the wealth of information - and its sheer gravity.
"... is that true?" he questioned softly.
As if embarrassed, Cthugha angled his head in the opposite direction and stared hard at the far wall. He was ashamed to admit it, but he'd dreamed of moments like these; moments in which he finally received some scrap of recognition for his cosmic efforts. Now that it was happening, he felt flustered, unsure of how to respond. "... yeah. It's true. About Mia." He paused, glancing at the pair before unfolding his arms and turning to face them. "It's a long story. But it all boils down to the fact that all I wanted was to find her. I needed to. To help you."
"T'help… me?"
"Yeah." He paused again, wondering how much was productive to say. "... there're things I can't disclose either. But there're forces at work in this world. Some of them good, some of them bad. One of those bad forces latched onto your grief and I had to fix it." Hesitantly, he added: "... I don't expect anything. I don’t take money and I seldom ever take thanks. Just do me one favour."
"What…? What is it…?"
Cthugha frowned, tilting his head. "That trimmer in your basement; the one ya had modified by some shady third-party fella from Vide: let me get rid of it. It's the cause of a lot of trouble for your district."
"Modified…?" Kuro blurted, horrified.
Connor looked like a child who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar-- though significantly more frightened. "H--How did you…"
"It doesn't matter," Cthugha said, looking visibly more relaxed. "All I need to do is break it. Doesn't matter how. I won’t touch anything else in your home. I think it’s the least ya can do in return for almost shooting my associate. I need him for this mission I’m on, ya know."
Slowly, Connor nodded his head. "I… I had no idea. I really misjudged you."
"Well, yeah." There was a moment where he looked prideful, chest puffed up, though he deflated shortly after. "... but I suppose I didn't help. I'm sorry for insulting your furniture. And hitting you in the face. With your own gun. Really hard, actually…" He trailed off, scratching at the back of his neck in a bashful manner before offering a hand with a cheesy grin. "... bygones?"
"Bygones," Connor mumbled, shaking his hand Hesitantly. Cthugha's grip was much more firm than he anticipated it would be. "... y'really are freakishly strong."
"Haha! Ya should see me when I'm not stuck in an energy-draining timeloop!"
Both huros looked slightly terrified in that moment, for vastly different reasons.
"Well, uh…" Sheriff Braav paused to stand up, making his way to the door. "I'm gonna send fer yer nurse. She can clean y'up properly, 'n' I'll talk t'her about lettin' y'out fer a designated time t'bury Mia's horns, if y'want me to."
"No, I…" Slowly, Connor shook his head, a warm smile angled towards the floor. It was awful, the pain he felt inside from holding all that was left of his baby in a plastic bag, but he wouldn't deny the relief inside. Finally, he could tuck her in the dirt, bury her among the flowers she'd always loved so much, alongside her mother. "I want to be better first. I wanna… be in my right mind again. I wanna be able to grieve right. I should stay here, finish the program. I… it's what I want. Here, wait--" He got up, knees knocking, steps wobbly and zigzagged as he made his way over to them. "Hold onto them for me. T'make sure I get better. I'll be more motivated to get out, knowin' she's out there. 's somethin' to work towards."
Slowly, Kuro nodded, accepting the bag back. Unpredictable was one word for Connor's abrupt streak of sobriety, but he wasn't complaining. "... okay. I'll do that. I promise I'll keep 'em safe."
"Thank you, Sheriff," he mumbled through fresh tears, his gaze dipping to find the other man's eyes. "... 'n' thank you, Cthugha."
"Oh, uh--" He felt his cheeks heat up, a soft pink dusting his face. Suddenly, he felt tongue-tied, quick wit failing him. "Y-You're welcome…?"
"Heh! Didn't take you fer the sensitive type!"
"Shut up!" he barked, arms thrown out in exasperation. "I'm leaving to invade your basement now! Bye!"
He followed through on that exclamation with a little too much heart, his embarrassment palpable. Kuro couldn't help but smile-- even as the door was flung shut.
Summary: Cthugha explains a little more about who he is and why he’s there-- besides the obvious, of course.
Warnings: N/A.
Notes: Yes, nouns like ‘Balance’ and ‘Universe’ are capitalised on purpose.
THE STRANGER NAVIGATED the precinct as if he’d been there before. He wound his way through tables like a snake, ignoring the curious glances that officers shot him as he passed. As he reached Kuro's office, the Sheriff was almost convinced that he was the one who didn't know his way around the station.
"Oh," the boy mused, head tilted upwards in the direction of his corkboard. It was littered with different coloured post-it notes and twine, Kuro’s neat block letters bold against their garish backdrop. "An upgrade for sure."
"Who are you?" Kuro asked slowly, enunciating every word as he stared at him intensely. Part of him felt that he should recognise him. Perhaps it was the familiarity that he'd been approached with.
"My name is Cthugha. I came from the future," he replied nonchalantly, arms tucked behind his back as he looked over the board. He winced slightly upon seeing one of the names on one of the many sticky tabs. "You never find that one, by the way."
"Excuse me?" Now he felt irked. "That's a real case, y'know. This girl's really missing. That's somebody's daughter."
"Unfortunate," Cthugha said, his tone a fraction softer.
"She ain't fodder fer yer li'l sideshow. She's a real person 'n' she's Raku-knows-where. Y'don't have the right to t'be involvin' her in yer stunt."
The look that Cthugha shot over his shoulder was cold. After a beat of silence: "Her name is Olivia Brannon. She went missing a week ago. You found her things in a field directly adjacent to the subway tunnel-- her dorm keys, student ID and textbooks-- but you have no further leads. You think that she's playing hooky with a boyfriend she's keeping a secret from her overbearing parents-- that she threw her belongings as a student away to pursue a life with him in private-- but he's still in town and hasn't seen her either. You’ve pursued him for questioning but he’s come back clean as a whistle. He even has an iron-clad alibi under his belt! You don't know where else to look, so you trawl through town like a dog sniffing for blood, only to find nothing. The case eventually goes cold." A thin smile shaped his lips as he took in Kuro's stupefied expression, impatient and derisive. "How's that for a stunt, Sheriff Braav?"
"H-How did you--"
"What part of 'the future' do you not understand?"
A thick blanket of silence befell them, and Kuro found himself leaning against the wall for balance. Just five minutes ago, it had been a typical Tuesday morning. Now, it felt as if his world was teetering to one side, his pulse an electrical current that thrummed in each temple. It wasn't easy to bewilder him after all that he'd seen, but this curious stranger had achieved it in a matter of minutes. How else was he supposed to react to being told airtight details about a case that hadn’t been made public knowledge yet?
How is any of this happening? What is happening? None of this is right.
Who is this guy?
"I won't waste any time," Cthugha said soberly, moving away from the board. He circled Kuro's desk like a vulture, blue eyes scanning the tabletop with apparent interest. A finger grazed a half-solved rubix cube curiously. "I've come for one very important thing: the Balance is at stake. I need to fix it. You can help me."
"What…?" Kuro blurted stupidly, mind reeling. "What're y'talkin' about?"
"Alright." Cthugha paused to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'm gonna need ya to sharpen up, detective. I came to you because I know you're smart."
“Surely y’realise how insane this is!” Kuro bit back, finding a foothold in the conversation. “This kid materialises out of nowhere--”
“Not a kid.”
“-- ‘n’ tells me that he’s from the future, ‘n’ that he’s here t’restore the Universe’s Balance--”
“In layman's terms.”
“--’n’ that he needs my help t’do it. Ten minutes ago, I was enjoyin’ a cup’a coffee ‘n’ finishin’ the paperwork fer an open-’n’-shut robbery! This shit is WAY outta my professional league.”
There was a lilt in the conversation-- one in which was stolen by the subtle tilt of Cthugha’s head. There was a strange metaphysical gravity that surrounded him, one that drew in attention like he was sucking it through a straw.
In a small, hopeful voice: “... you have coffee?”
“That’s what y’take away from everythin’ I just said?!”
“I haven’t had a good cup of coffee in months,” murmured Cthugha, scratching his chin pensively. Whatever peril the world was in, it seemed to be irrelevant to him now. “I had some at a diner in a pocket dimension a couple weeks ago. The waitress was lovely but the coffee was…” His teeth came together in the form of a fierce grimace. “... sweet.”
Kuro blinked owlishly, his mind racing. Everything was happening so quickly. He'd had no time to process the other's abrasive introduction, nor the deeper meaning of the things he was saying. The most he knew of the 'Balance' was that it was a cosmic force that even God's wrestled with. On the handful of occasions that it had come up in conversation, Raku was either struggling to maintain it or finding loopholes to avoid doing unsavoury things to appease it. Hardly an educational display.
"How about…" It was a sheepish start, no doubt, the town-hero more than a little out of sorts. He paused to stand up straight again, trying to strengthen his resolve. Get it together. He's scrawny. But so is Raku. He owns the very ground that you stand on. "... I put on a pot of coffee, and we talk more?"
"See, now it feels like you’re meeting me in the middle."
________
A sense of normalcy returned to him as he took a sip of his coffee. The Regular Tuesday vibes are back.
"What's the verdict?" he asked as he watched Cthugha peer into his cup. He found it incredibly odd that somebody who looked so… on-the-cusp-of-adulthood-and-no-older had asked for it black, all but turning his nose up at the offer of sugar and milk.
"Hm..." He hummed thoughtfully, eyes narrowing at the dark abyss before him. Then, he took a sip. Kuro watched as he paused mid-drink, eyes widening slightly. After a moment, he began to gulp it down, continuing until his mug was empty.
After a relieved little exhale: "Refill?"
"Sure…?" the Sheriff said hesitantly, reaching for the pot and filling his mug again. He seemed to slow down for his second helping, really taking in the taste of it.
"Ah… this district gets it. So much flavour," Cthugha praised, looking comfortable in his cross-legged position in Kuro's chair. It's frame dwarfed him, the black leather suiting his businesslike approach. “I’ve found that’s a common trend here. Huros make good food too; organic produce, and lots of spices and herbs.”
"Uh, yeah…" He couldn't focus on the idle chatter. He had too many questions-- too many burning queries-- to ask for anything other than answers to them. "So about why you're here--"
"Well, as you observed, I can tell the future, because I've seen it. I--"
"But how?" Kuro interrupted, unfolding a rickety metal chair and sitting on it. It creaked angrily beneath his weight, his six-and-a-half-foot frame not built for its meagre services. "Who are y'? What are y’? I-- I've met Raku several times over and not even he can mess with time--"
"I'm sort of his foil," Cthugha answered impatiently, his foot tapping against the arm of the chair. "Look, do we have to play Guess Who right now? There're more important things--"
"I need t'know how y'knew about Olivia. I ain’t gonna help y’at all ‘til I know that. How do I know yer trustworthy? How can I be sure my own officers ain’t leakin’ things t’outside sources? I don’t know y’. How could y’know?"
There was a tense pause between them, one that seemed to reverberate throughout the office. Suddenly, Kuro felt incredibly claustrophobic-- as if the sound bouncing off of the walls was drawing closer and closer. He watched as Cthugha sighed, drawing his mug to his lips for a final time before setting it down in his lap.
"Fine. I'll tell you. Once. So you’d better listen good. You just remember-- you asked for this," he warned, tone anything but ceremonious as he wagged a finger at him. "God's can't touch time because that's what we rifters are for, dummy. We govern the fabric of reality. Time's separate to a God's responsibilities, see. Gods maintain districts and concepts; we maintain things relating to the Universe itself. Time and space, namely. Those things're outside of a God's scope."
"So yer… above Raku?"
"I'd argue yes," the rifter said pridefully. "That little chump's only got a district to look after. I've got this entire timeline, and parallel timelines that're born from this timeline." He retrieved his coffee, brought it to his mouth. With his lips against the rim: "... but it doesn't matter. We work together. In tandem. We help each other. The basic idea is that Gods keep their people happy; those happy people are way more likely to stick to their destined paths, which means less problems for rifters. If there is a threat to the peace of the district, the God quells it; if it is a threat to the Balance, I do. We ultimately both serve the same function-- to keep the Universe happy-- but we're at opposite ends of the spectrum."
"We're… pre-determined?"
"Heh. I forgot you're the existential type," Cthugha tittered numbly. "No. Not in the way you're thinking anyway. People live in more of a probability map than they do a script; they have a list of things they could do in any given situation and can select from most of them without any real consequence to the Balance. People have free will because the Universe isn’t overly fragile, get it? The continuum isn’t going to shit itself if you take a detour from your usual lunch order. Every choice births a parallel universe in which the other was made. Most of these parallel universes are benign and don't need to be touched. So basically, you could make any choice and each of them would be as inconsequential to me." At least, if we’re talking about your average choices. “No more about this, okay? It isn’t gonna do you any good. I’m not really supposed to talk about it, but since you were so stubborn...”
He wasn't going to get into the ins and outs of his job, especially not with a simple huro. It wasn’t productive. It wasted time. It could have catastrophic consequences for his mortal mind. And the Balance, above all, was a picky sonuvabitch that Cthugha didn’t understand. Sometimes a store being out of a person's favourite sandwich led to them becoming an angry, tyrannical politician that eventually ended the world. Other times, a person could murder seventeen children in cold blood and the Balance remained unchanged, seeing those seventeen lives as pre-determined losses. He’d stopped asking questions a long time ago-- had learned to accept that, in most instances, what was meant to be was meant to be.
Not when it concerned the end of all life in the Aphanta Region, though.
Kuro looked dizzy. He sank a little further into his seat, his tanky frame looking all but comical in the small fold-up chair. "... 'n' what can I do about any'a this, huh? I'm just a police officer. A damn good one, sure, but I’m no cosmic cop."
"Mm," agreed the time-keeper, a solitary nod offered. "Sure. But you're a police officer in a district that contains a Universal Hazard."
"Universal Hazard…?"
"Sheriff." It was the first time that Cthugha had paused to find the correct words during their conversation. He seemed brazen, largely unconcerned with hurting peoples' feelings, but this appeared to be an exception. Kuro steeled himself, spine turning rigid. "... I've seen the death of this district, then its neighbours, then beyond. It all circles back to one very particular problem: a case you never solve."
“Brannon…?” he asked, feeling his heart leap into his throat.
“Not her. Someone whose case’s gotten so cold it’s practically subzero,” Cthugha murmured, polishing off the last of his coffee with a well-timed swallow. “Remember Mia Vanton?”
Summary: Cthugha asks the Huron Task Force for aid. It goes about as well as you’d expect.
Warnings: N/A.
Cthugha wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was worried. He’d never been the most interpersonal creature, more content with his own company than anybody else’s, and he couldn’t imagine that being introduced to an entire building of people was going to do anything positive for his mood. Involving Kuro had already been a stretch for him; now he was supposed to make room for a whole precinct?
I’m not good at being sociable. I’m good at transactions. That’s how it’s always been.
And he’d never really had many opportunities to make the opposite true. What could one expect of somebody who was designed and raised specifically to fix things for other people? A thankless existence was what he’d been born into - and a thankless existence it would likely remain.
“Don’t look so pensive,” Kuro said, giving him a friendly nudge. Cthugha recoiled as if he’d been burned, rubbing gingerly at his arm. “Yer gonna be fine. The precinct is full’a honest huros who’ll wanna help. We’re all officers’a the law. Y’can put yer trust in ‘em.”
“Tell me something.” The station’s roof was visible now, and the rifter’s stomach performed an involuntary somersault. It was a strange feeling-- one that was preparing him for conflict as opposed to a nervous breakdown. He was a series of packed wires, the current running through them fraying the tips without a thought for their host. “Do you think that the law’s absolute?”
“Meanin’?”
“Meaning-- do ya really think everyone ya hired is a good person just because they’re a police officer?”
Kuro seemed to hesitate briefly, his head cocked thoughtfully to one side. “I dunno if I believe in strictly ‘good’ and ‘bad’ people, in a sense. I mean-- I think they exist, obviously, but I think it’s more complicated than just bein’ born that way. We’re all just a culmination’a the things we do ‘n’ it just so happens that a lot’a people do more good than bad.”
“So you’re admitting that nobody has perfect morality. Including officers.”
“Well yeah. I think yer clutchin’ at straws but yeah,” Kuro replied with a laugh. “Y’d be pretty hard-pressed t’find somebody who’s never done anythin’ bad in their life. But I’d say that stealin’ five quers* from yer papa’s wallet when yer eight or sneakin’ out after curfew ain’t really comparable t’murderin’ people or stealin’ babies outta prams. Maybe that’s just me though.”
“Alright, smartass,” Cthugha conceded, unable to hold back a half-smile. It wasn’t as if he had a particular distrust in the law, or officers for that matter-- it was that he floated above concepts like legality. What had to be done had to be done, and that was all there was to it as far as he was concerned. “... as long as they’re trustworthy.”
“They are,” Kuro assured as he climbed the porch steps, turning around as Cthugha stopped at the foot of them. “If anybody’s gonna help y’find our missin’ girl, ‘s gonna be them. This’s what they do fer a livin’. How long do we have, twelve days?”
“Eleven.”
“Shit. Then we’d best be poolin’ our resources, yeah?” The Sheriff flashed what he hoped was a comforting smile before continuing. “Y’say whatever y’need to. Y’wanna tell ‘em the whole truth, go fer it; if y’don’t, also fine. Even if they ain't understand the severity’a the situation they’ll listen t’my orders. I’ll be there t’help.” He pushed the door open then, holding it ajar for the other man to pass through. Cthugha did so with his mind working a mile a minute.
Suddenly, the confidence with which he’d first swept through the precinct felt distant, untouchable, eyes scanning over a maze of desks and whiteboards as if he’d never seen any of those things in his life. The low hum of chatter coalesced into one huge cacophony of noise, one that displeased him immensely. Subtly, his pointed ears lowered in an effort to block out the sound.
Would it be best to come clean from the start? That’s what I did with Kuro and it turned out… mostly alright. Sort of. Maybe I permanently screwed up his perception of reality but he seems fine.
… was he, though?
A cautious glance at Sheriff Braav told him nothing. He looked cool, calm, collected-- the same as always. Maybe they were more alike than he cared to realise.
When he first felt something hot splash across his front, he barely reacted-- it was only a moment afterwards, scorching liquid soaking through the thick material of his CC jacket, that he realised what had happened. Slowly, his head inclined, a fire burning in the icy blue of his eyes as he glowered up at a man he didn’t know. He was broad-shouldered and tall, yet he shrunk under such intense scrutiny.
“Oh, crumbs.” The voice belonged to somebody unfamiliar, a man that cast a shadow over him. “I--I’m so sorry--”
“I told y’t’step aside,” Kuro said, a hand resting on Cthugha’s shoulder. “Were y’not listenin’?”
“Here, lemme--” Rather than finish his sentence, the man clumsily stuck out his hands, attempting to peel Cthugha’s stained jacket from his front.
“Get off.” With a fierce amount of strength, he slapped the stranger’s hand away, then rolled his shoulder hard enough to force Kuro’s hand off of him. All of a sudden, it felt as if the material covering him was non-existent, skin prickling unpleasantly in response to the uncomfortable heat of another’s palm. For one tense moment, all he did was glare at the man currently nursing his stinging hand before he stepped wide around him. Ruefully: “... ‘s my fault. I wasn’t concentrating on where I was going.”
“A-Ah, well…” The officer paused, adjusting his stance slightly before addressing Kuro instead. “Who is this, sir?”
“This’s Cthugha…” Kuro mumbled through clenched teeth. He couldn’t see how a first impression could’ve gone any worse; spilling boiling hot tea down a temporal assassin’s front seemed a rather quick way to be deleted from one’s own timeline. “He’s actually here on business…”
“Oh drat--”
“‘n’ I told y’t’stop callin’ me sir.”
“Sorry, s--”
“Ten years ago.”
A sheepish smile formed on the man’s face. “But it feels weird callin’ my superior by his name!”
“Rigs, we’ve had this conversation damn near one-hundred times. It makes me feel fuckin’ old. That’s an old-person term--” He suddenly inhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose before deflating. “Nevermind. I ain’t got time t’go round ‘n’ round the merry-go-round with y’right now. Would y’do me a favour ‘n’ round up everybody in the precinct ‘n’ meet me on the floor in twenty?”
“Everybody…?” Agent Rigsby quizzed with a curious look.
“Yeah. Everybody. Rank ain’t matter. This concerns the entire task-force.” He pulled away, heading back to Cthugha’s side. With a sweep of his arm in the direction of his office, the rifter began to move. Kuro looked back at Rigsby with a firm nod. “Twenty minutes. Get goin’.”
“Yessir!” barked the officer, saluting cheesily before making his way around the precinct, beginning to round people up like sheep. Kuro deadpanned at nothing before following Cthugha into his quarters.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, the rifter was busy with tearing his ruined clothes off, doing so in one fell swoop.
“God damn it!” Cthugha suddenly exclaimed, tossing his shirt and jacket aside. They landed gracelessly at the foot of Kuro’s desk, a sad pile of navy, cyan and white. Without clothing shielding his form from view, Kuro took note of the tightly wound muscle lining his arms, shoulders and abdomen; not particularly burly upon first glance, though undeniably toned, tense, ready to uncoil like a spring. Suddenly, the force with which he’d shunted Connor’s gun skyward made sense. “I don’t have back-up clothes ya know, I’m gonna have to go back and--”
“Hold on,” interrupted Kuro, striding towards a door and flipping on a light. A simple bulb hanging from its ceiling flickered on gradually, the light it gave off casting a sickly pale glow over its contents. There was a large shelving unit that was a mere foot or so shy of the roof inside, each of its compartments stuffed full of different things. If he squinted, he could make some of them out; boxes of manilla files, tubs filled with miscellaneous things like buttons and pushpins. On the bottom shelf, there was a box of clothing-- a box that the sheriff pulled out of its place and dragged out into the office. Its true depth was only really visible when it wasn’t crammed between two shelves. “Y’might be in luck. I was thinkin’: yer current get-up might be makin’ people ask questions anyway.”
“What’s wrong with my CC uniform?” Cthugha asked with a squint.
“Nothin’. But y’gotta understand, Huron’s real communal. Yeah, the Crossover with Vide happened ‘n’ all that, but folks’re still pretty uptight when it comes t’people they ain’t recognise.”
“I can pass for a Vider, can’t I? You’re being paranoid!”
“Not with that weird symbol etched into yer clothes, y’can’t. People probably think yer some sorta secret service agent,” Kuro explained, fishing through piles of clothing until he found what he was looking for. “I’m thinkin’, y’need t’start lookin’ like y’belong if yer gonna work with the task-force.”
Though his mouth remained straight, the trace of smirk could be heard in his voice as he tossed Cthugha a set of clothes. The rifter stared at them for all of three seconds before barking out a laugh.
“Ya want me to dress up as an officer?” An incredulous scoff left him, eyebrows raised high with a mixture of offense and mirth. There was something about the request that floored him-- something so candidly backhanded that he couldn’t help but laugh. It felt as if he’d ascended to Godhood, though with a persistent naysayer locked tight around his ankle. Trying to pull me down to an officer’s level, are you? “No way. I’ll just blink back and-- ”
“Fine, fine.” Rather than listen, the sheriff pulled a different set of clothes free, flinging them almost accusingly at the other. “These, then.”
With a frown, Cthugha put down the tiered clothing, plucking a black blazer from the top of the pile. After close inspection: “‘Huron High’... is this a fucking--”
“University uniform?” Kuro cut in, voice dripping with faux-innocence as he grinned impishly at him. “Yeah. Don’t y’think y’ll look strappin’ in it?”
“Oh ha-ha, you are lo-ving this, aren’t ya? I’ll bet ya set up Officer Rigsby ahead of time too, huh?”
“Pfft-- now who’s paranoid?”
“You--” His fists clenched tightly, a sardonic smile on his face. Pointedly, he jabbed a finger in Kuro’s general direction, eyes narrow slits. “Fine. This’ll do. Anything to not wear your stupid little copper garb. Black ‘n’ white-- reeeal imaginative. What are ya, a goddamn zebra?”
“The hell is that?” Kuro asked, a crease forming in his brow before Cthugha promptly disappeared. After a minute or so, he returned in his typical flicker of cobalt, dressed in the clothes he’d been given… sort of. “I distinctly remember givin’ y’a blazer ‘n’ shorts, young man.”
“Out with the old, in with the new,” Cthugha said with a wide smirk as he finished adjusting his collar, his voice alight with spite. “I sincerely like the vest and tie though. Very spiffy. Do they come in different colours?”
Kuro rolled his eyes, knowing they’d go on and on if he didn’t relent. He had to admit, the clothing suited him awfully well. Black pants tucked into shin-high boots, paired with the familiar blue vest and white shirt, a streak of admiral blue forming his tie.
“Y’look good,” he said candidly, after careful consideration. “Suits y’, I mean.”
Cthugha levelled him with a skeptical look, then shook his head, opting for silence on the matter. “Why do ya even have school clothes in your cupboard? Where did ya get ‘em from?” He squinted, pointing at him flippantly. “Have I just discovered something dark about you?”
“The hell’re y’talkin’ about-- they’re lost ‘n’ found or donations, mostly. Instead’a throwin’ away perfectly good clothes, we just kinda-- keep ‘em until somebody else needs ‘em. What’s the point’a wastin’ resources like that?” Kuro reasoned, kicking the box of clothes along the floor until he could lift it back into its rightful place, closing the cupboard door behind it.
All things considered, Cthugha supposed he could agree. Still, he didn’t understand why they’d be kept in the sheriff’s office of all places-- perhaps a cupboard in the back somewhere, but not there.
He shook his head. “I should get out there. Think they’ll take me seriously?”
“I’m sure they will once y’bring up Mia,” Kuro said, his hand resting on the doorknob before he thought better about turning it. “Hey, uh… can I ask what happened back there?”
“What do ya mean?” Cthugha asked impatiently, his hands resting on his hips.
“I mean, when people touch y’, y’get all…” The sheriff paused, searching for a tactful descriptor. “... wriggly. Y’avoided my attempts before ‘n’ y’looked like y’wanted t’kill my agent when he tried t’clean y’up. Slapped him pretty hard too.”
“I--” Suddenly, his mouth felt full of something, saliva thick like paste. No matter how hard he tried to think of how best to respond, he came up empty. “-- that doesn’t matter?”
“Yer evasive about it. Makes me think it does matter.”
“I’m tellin’ ya it doesn’t. Now open the door, we don’t have the time for this.”
With a sigh, Kuro relented, pushing the door ajar and letting Cthugha through without protest. Something about it was bothering him immensely. It was a feeling of loss, despite the fact that he barely knew him. The fact that his main manner of establishing camaraderie had been hindered left him grasping at straws when it came to interacting with the other man.
He watched as Cthugha walked around the cluster of people, adjusting his shirt cuffs as he did. After a brief scan of the precinct, he turned to Rigsby with a frown.
“Where’s Jack?” he whispered, trying to find the back of his head in the crowd.
“Ah, the subway’s screwed. He’s running late.”
“Again?” Kuro groaned, rubbing gently at a temple. He wasn’t even going to bother bringing it up; there was a time and a place to reprimand tardiness, and being at the mercy of traffic was not one of them. What could he do about that? Astral-project himself to the station? “Alright, fine… I’ll fill him in when he gets here.”
Without further question, Kuro followed in Cthugha’s footsteps, joining him at the head of the gathering. “Y’know what yer gonna say?”
“Please,” Cthugha said with an easy smile. “Delivering business is the easy part.”
“Ri-- oh shit what’re y’doin’?” He watched in awe as Cthugha fearlessly hopped atop the desk closest to him, feeling oddly tongue-tied as he stared up at him. With his arms tucked neatly behind his back, uniform perfectly arranged, his face not betraying a single hint of apprehension, the sheriff felt strangely soothed. His confidence had not been misplaced; however poorly the officers responded, Cthugha’s certainty would not waver.
“Don’t mind me, I’m just not that tall,” he said loudly, listening as the crowd fell silent. After only a brief survey of the room, he could tell that most of Kuro’s work colleagues were confused by his presence, eyes round and hungry for details. A couple recognised him from the first time he’d walked in, a polite acknowledgement thinly veiling their distrust. “Hi, I’m Cthugha and I’m here to stop your district from exploding!”
Kuro gawked.
From beside him, Agent Rigsby arched an eyebrow before chuckling nervously. “Err-- who is this guy?”
“Y’wouldn’t believe me if I told y’,” Kuro murmured back.
“Now I’ve got your attention: ya might’ve seen me around over the past couple days. I’m currently working with your dependable leader, Sheriff Braav, and he’s proven instrumental in my progress,” Cthugha started. He cared not for appearances but for brevity. The less he could say, the better. “Listen to what I’m about to tell ya very carefully. Believe it, don’t believe it-- but listen, and remember that your superior has deemed me worthy of his time.”
Holy smokes, the sheriff thought to himself. The guy’s got magnetism if nothin’ else.
“I work for a service known as the Continuum Command, in a plane much higher than your own. It’s my job to maintain timelines and help avoid doomsdays-- or apocalypses, as you guys might call them. Eleven days from now, your tiny little district* is going to be destroyed - and the perpetrator of said destruction is going to be the father of a missing person that you never found. Ya might remember her; Mia Vanton.”
Immediately, a low whir consumed the floor, a series of tiny conversations sparking to life. If anything, Cthugha appreciated the recognition. It saved him time and energy.
“The details of what her father does to hurt the district are irrelevant-- what’s imperative to know is that the return of Mia, dead or alive, will curb it. I’m not a fool and neither are any of you, I’m assuming; we all know that at this point, she’s likely dead. I want you to know that that factor is irrelevant.”
“Is this true?” Rigsby commented, his voice low enough for only Kuro to hear. It sounded as if he was on the verge of laughing-- or screaming.
Kuro nodded solemnly. “Yeah, he’s-- he’s the real deal. I’ve seen it. His abilities, I mean.”
“I really need your help,” Cthugha said, his voice gaining an almost imploring quality-- too proud to beg, yet aware of its benefits. “Even if you don’t believe what I’m telling you about a doomsday or the CC or timelines or any of that, please just think about the fact that there’s a real chance that this case could be solved, and that this mystery could be put to rest. I think, if nothing else, Mr.Vanton deserves that. It’s been twenty years since the closure of this case and he hasn’t even been able to have an official funeral. I think that level of grief should be poignant to officers of the law. You’ve seen first-hand what that kind of suffering can make people do, I’m sure.”
Quiet whispers. Lo-fi chatter.
“That’s all I have to say: please just help me find Mia. I can’t cover all of Huron on my own, not even with my abilities. I need numbers and I need people who know who they’re looking for. If for no other reason than to be able to say that there really was nothing else ya could do, ya should really consider it.” The rifter paused, glancing momentarily over at Kuro, who stared back at him with evident surprise. “... I know that most of ya probably think I’m insane and that’s fine-- if I’m being perfectly honest, I’d be in the same boat if I was in your position. I wouldn’t wish what I know about the Universe on any of ya. I think it’s nice that you’re ignorant. There’s a lot you’re not privy to and ya’ll always be better for it.”
Though he stood tall above the crowd, Cthugha looked alarmingly small as he finished his speech, staring out into a sea of faces that were, at best, skeptical. He’d have expected no less from people who were paid to see through bullshit. In a way, it made him resonate with their professional prowess more.
“... thanks for listening to me. If anybody wants to ask any questions--”
Immediately, several outbursts arose, several queries thrown at him at once.
Where did y’say y’came from again?
What the fuck is a ‘timeline’?!
This case’s cold, where d’ya think we’re gettin’ new leads from?!
How is one man gonna destroy all of Huron?!
Shouldn’t ya be in class?
Who the hell ARE you?!
“-- ya can direct them to Kuro, okbye.”
“What?!” Kuro barked, though seconds too late; the rifter had already vanished, and by God did the bright blue flash cause an entirely new tidal wave of questions. “That little fucker-- I’ll--”
But before he could say anything else, he was steamrolled by a precinct full of confused police officers, demanding answers that he didn’t have.
*quers - pronounced ‘kurrs’, are the currency of huron.
*’tiny little district’ - in the same sense that the uk is ‘tiny’. Huron is actually a large chunk of land similar to that of a country but in comparison to others, it is a small patch of land.
Summary: Kuro asks the important questions before he and Cthugha decide on a starting point for their investigation.
Warnings: N/A.
Notes: N/A
'I need to think about it.'
Kuro slouched in his armchair, the events of the morning playing on loop in his head. After Cthugha's untimely arrival, the Sheriff had taken it upon himself to take the rest of the afternoon off in an attempt to compartmentalise his thoughts. He seldom ever took breaks, but when he'd emerged from his office as white as a sheet, his colleagues had ultimately pulled the plug on his hopes of remaining at work, advising insistently that he should go home.
'Fine. But you just remember, every minute you sit around ruminating about your stupid little life, that's another minute that this girl is missing, and that means it's another minute closer to doomsday too.'
Could it be true? Doomsday? The end of the world? It sounded to him like the paranoid ravings of a conspiracy nut... yet he'd spoken with such calm authority, countered every one of the problems he'd had with a rebuttal of his own. Every one of his questions had an answer; everything he'd said about Raku ( at least as far as his limited understanding of Gods was concerned ) was true.
Mia Vanton's case sat on his lap. It was a thin file, one that spared details for there hadn't been many to uncover, but in that moment it felt heavy. Cumbersome. As if he'd been shackled to the floorboards.
This thing's been shut since 2001.
One calloused thumb traced over its front, teasing the corner away from the papers inside. He really didn't know whether he wanted to look at it or not. It felt oddly like picking at a scab wound, baring himself to old pain that needn't be revisited. Did he have it in him to feel as hopeless as he did twenty years ago?
He grunted as a headache set in. It had steadily been growing for the past two hours, fostered in his brain like a bad habit.
Is there any point in opening this up again? Surely if she was to be found, she'd have been found by now. This year marks the twentieth anniversary of her disappearance. In two weeks, in fact.
Was that relevant? He couldn't help but consider it. As much as he wanted to push Cthugha's prophecy aside as garbage, the fact was that he was impressed - and a little worried. He knew things that nobody could have known, and deep down he knew that his colleagues wouldn't sell some random kid information. Huron's task force was known for being small, humble and honest, and it's good service had been a near constant hallmark for the district's deep sense of peace. There had never been a recorded incidence of internal corruption-- not even with other, less composed Sheriffs in the front seat.
How else could he have known about Olivia? About Raku, even.
The Sheriff let out a deep sigh as he closed his eyes, knowing already what he had to do.
“I’ve decided t’help y’.”
“Thank. God.” The statement trembled with sarcastic frustration, Cthugha’s cobalt eyes all but grey on account of the storm that had entered them. He sat in Kuro’s chair, his feet propped up on his desk. The rubix cube-- the one that had previously been half-completed-- sat in his hands, its coloured faces now perfectly arranged. “While you were busy jerking off to the end of all life in this realm, I was busy compiling resources that might help us stop it.” He paused to reach inside of his jacket, retrieving a file of his own, before he dropped it unceremoniously on the desk. “You’re welcome.”
“Where were y’keepin’ that…?”
“Just look at it.”
Kuro hesitated briefly before dragging the file closer, opening it up to find himself staring at a myriad of newspaper clippings, interview transcripts and photographs. It was makeshift work, by no means tidy, but the sheer wealth of information was staggering to him. Even so, as he skimmed over them briefly, he realised that there was nothing there that he didn’t already know.
Of course there isn’t. Why would there be?
I don’t know. Maybe I assumed he was an agent of God or something.
“Aside from all that,” Cthugha started, rising from his commandeered seat. In what felt like a flash, he’d moved from the desk to the far corner of the room, grabbing a hold of a whiteboard on wheels before reappearing where he had been. Kuro blinked hard. “We can rule out all the places you already searched in your previous hunt for her.” Feverishly, the rifter began to fill the board with haphazard notes. “That means you don’t have to trawl through Whit’s a second time, nor do you need to bother checking their home or questioning her papa. He came up clean, remember?”
“Yeah… he was so dedicated t’findin’ his daughter that he all but singlehandedly led the search party campaign despite us tellin’ him that it was dangerous. Had t’bust him outta a few compromisin’ positions fer his efforts...”
“Exactly. Also means that the tunnels are a bust too, so you don’t have to waste time trawling through the underground like a family of sewer rats. Wherever she is, she’s somewhere ya didn’t think to comb through.” He paused when he found his whiteboard pen beginning to run dry. “Damn it--” Much like before, he flickered away, a brief rummaging sound filling the quiet office before he reappeared before the board. “Okay, so-- here’re all the places you don’t gotta worry about that I can think of off the top of my head. There’s… what? Why’re ya staring at me like that?”
“How’re y’doin’ that?”
“You can write too, Kuro.”
“I mean the… disappearin’-’n’-reappearin’ thing. Obviously.”
“Oh, that. Yeah, I guess that makes more sense…” It was the closest to sheepish that he’d seen Cthugha thus far; a break from his smug attitude was certainly refreshing. “It’s just a teleportation shtick. Think of it like… instead of macro-leaps, I’m performing micro-hops in time.”
"Huh," said Kuro, deciding not to question it.
In truth, the more they talked about the Vanton case, the more he began to recall. Kuro seldom ever forgot a victim - even though he'd been the Sheriff of Huron for over three centuries, and a police officer for even longer than that - but he wouldn't say that the details were as long-lasting. There were simply too many nuances in too many cases-- too much information for him to store everything tightly away. His brief read over the case file before he'd come back to the office that following morning hadn't helped much either, if only because there hadn't been much for him to garner in the first place.
"I do have a question though," Kuro spoke up as he handed Cthugha a cup of coffee. He wasn't sure whether he was trying to placate or subdue him. "... or a couple."
"Are they constructive?"
"Maybe. I mean-- y'mentioned parallel timelines 'n' shit. Couldn't y'just… hop into one where I found her 'n' tell me where she is?"
"Parallel timelines are born out of choices, dummy. Unless you're admitting that you purposefully didn't find her, that isn't gonna help at all." A swig of his drink was taken, the rich flavour seeming to soothe his annoyance somewhat. "Nah. You're thinking of alternate timelines."
"Then what about that?"
"We're not really supposed to dip into those if we can help it. Definitely a last resort sort of deal. It creates the possibility for people to run into themselves; fractures the separation between realities. Doppelganger action is a one-way ticket to hell for the Universe. Also the fact that, like parallel timelines, there are MULTITUDES of alternate timelines where everything's the same except one little thing, meaning it'd take a shit-ton of time to comb through 'em all-- most likely more time than we’ve got. There're several versions of you out there, Kuro, but you're this one. You should focus on that."
"This's all real confusin’…" the Sheriff mumbled, deflating a little. He was so sure he'd had a good idea under his belt, but hell, what did he really know about the way that reality worked?
"Mm. Anything else?" Cthugha asked tersely, eager to move on.
"Just one more thing," Kuro affirmed, shifting in his place for a moment before deciding that brevity was more favourable than kindness. "... how does this girl stayin' missin' end the world? People go missin' all the time. Some come home, some're found dead. Some’re never found, yet the world keeps on spinnin’. 's just a cruel fact’a life."
For the first time since their meeting, Cthugha fell silent. A harrowing emptiness entered his eyes as he thought about the bleak future that awaited them if they did nothing. A hazy field of fire, the once clean air ashen and thick. The destruction spread like cancer, first exploding in Huron before it gradually spread outward. What was perhaps even more frightening was that the one responsible for it seemed impervious to the herculean effort required to topple a district; by the time he was done with Huron, he was already looking for a bigger, more developed fish to fry.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the Universe in ruins by far, and he doubted it’d be the last.
That didn’t mean he was accustomed to seeing it though.
“Well,” he said softly, whiteboard pen twirled absentmindedly in between his fingers. “... let’s just say, grief does things to people. Do you have any clue who Mia’s father is?”
Slowly, Kuro squinted. “Aside from knowin’ his name ‘n’ his daughter’s case? No. Should I?”
“No. That’s exactly why ya should be worried: he’s got nothing left to lose. Do you think he’s going to care about hurting anyone when he’s hurting this much himself? He’s got no children to provide for; no public image to protect. When he loses his mind, he does it for real, and damned’re the consequences, get it?”
“Got it…” Kuro muttered. He knew all too well about people like Mr.Vanton. While an anonymous existence was ultimately a peaceful one, when crime was brought into the mix, it became a dangerous shield. Who suspected the nobody? Nobody, that’s who. “Then we gotta get movin’.”
“I have to ask,” Cthugha started as he stepped towards the chair he’d been sprawled in, reaching for his jacket and shrugging it on. Now that he had a little time to look over him properly, Kuro noted its strange cyan decals and the symbol that he’d never seen before adorning the right side; two parallel lines with a small triangle beneath the centre point of the bottom one. It looked vaguely like a seesaw with two slats on top instead of one. "What made you change your mind?"
“Well, I guess I never got over the fact that I couldn’t solve it. D’y’have any idea how hard it is t’look a parent in the eye ‘n’ tell ‘em that the search fer their child is over? There was nothin’ else I could do, but I still felt guilty. I figure, even if yer full’a shit ‘n’ this really is some heartless stunt all fer yer own amusement, I can at least make sure that there really was nothin’ else I could’a done fer the Vantons.”
The rifter hummed softly as he adjusted his tie. “Heh. Ya really are a good person.”
“Y’had doubt?”
“Who doesn’t? Much easier to expose a bad person who’s pretending to be good than to find an actual good person these days. I guess it’s just an unfortunate byproduct of evolution.”
“Yer wrong,” Kuro said firmly, pulling his black coat closed. The gun at his hip was touched briefly before he pocketed his hand, satisfied that he had everything he needed. “There’re a lot more good people in the world than bad. ’s just that the bad leave behind their messes t’clean up.”
“Well, whatever the truth is, it’s clear we’re dealing with a bad person here, huh? So, got any bright ideas?”
Already were the gears in his head turning. With the compiled notes to aid him, he knew of the place that he wanted to start with. It may have been a dead end-- wishful thinking more than anything-- but he wouldn’t be able to progress until he knew he’d upturned every stone on this property. “We should head t’the Valerie Vineyard first.”
Summary: Kuro and Cthugha explore the Vanton house and everything is fine.
Warnings: Some depictions of violence.
Notes: Some flowers are earthly, others aren’t.
Kuro landed in an unceremonious heap on Connor Vanton’s doorstep.
Cthugha landed neatly on his feet.
“Thanks fer dumpin’ me,” he grunted, clambering clumsily to his feet, his steel toe-caps leaving dull depressions in the dirt.
“Oh please,” Cthugha said dismissively, dusting off his jacket. “You’re a heavy load.”
“Motherf…”
Unlike the Vineyard, Connor’s house was tidy and quaint. His garden was neatly tended, a myriad of different coloured posies lining the flowerbeds. On either side of the door hung two baskets full of derma plants, their petals giving off a faint orange glow.
Impressive that he got ‘em t’grow here, Kuro thought to himself.
“This place’s in surprisingly good shape,” said Cthugha, observing the front of the house keenly. Huron was a place that he wasn’t very familiar with. Rarely did anything major happen in such a peaceful place; it was so quiet that he could probably count the amount of Universal Hazards he’d had to stop there on one hand. Things just don’t go wrong here very often. If only everywhere else could follow suit. Maybe then I could take a damn vacation.
“From what I know, Mr.Vanton’s a trimmer. I wouldn’t be surprised if gardenin’ became his copin’ mechanism.” There was a certain nerve that took root in him whenever he felt he was about to come face to face with something unpleasant. He’d been doing this far too long to be susceptible to the jitters, but there was a particular brand of apprehension that he swore was only felt by long-standing officers; dim but palpable anticipation, as if knowing that the worst was always yet to come. “I guess I should…”
Instead of finishing the sentence, Kuro knocked on the door.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
Silence.
“We should bust in,” Cthugha said after a belated pause, reaching for the door handle-- only to have it feverishly slapped away by the disgruntled Sheriff.
“That ain’t how we do things,” he hissed, attempting to keep his voice low as he listened for activity within the house. If he strained to the point his world began to phase out, he thought he could hear something being dragged across the floor.
Before either of them could speak again, the door cracked open an inch, a pair of weary green eyes staring back at him.
"Sheriff Braav…?" Confusion stained Connor's tone, the door slid open the slightest bit further.
"Good evening, Mr.Vanton," Kuro said politely, trying to see in through the crack. "I'm just here on a r--"
"Who's with you?"
Kuro's eyes flitted to Cthugha momentarily. "Oh, he's--"
"I'm with him," the rifter interrupted, staring hard into the dark. "Does it matter? Why don't you let us in?"
Connor seemed somewhat stupefied, his mouth opening and closing several times before he turned back to Kuro. "... son needs a good wallop, Sheriff. No manners."
"I dare ya to try and wallop me, you--"
Harshly, Kuro clamped a gloved hand over the rifter's mouth. Great, the guy has a problem with authority. Just what I fuckin' need. "Mr.Vanton, I apologise fer my…" He glanced sideways, noting Cthugha's sharp stare with a slight flinch. "... partner…" Oh boy, he didn't like that one. "... would it be possible to talk inside?"
"He ain’t setting foot in my house," Connor grunted, glaring at the young man on his doorstep.
"I don't want to be in your house! Your furniture probably stinks anyway--"
"You little--"
“STOP!” From nearby, a small cluster of birds flew away. Both Cthugha and Connor froze in place, eyes swivelling meekly in the Sheriff’s direction. “Everybody just stop. Calm down. This ain’t helpin’ anythin’.” Vigorously, he jabbed a finger in Cthugha’s direction. “You, stop antagonisin’ the locals. ‘n’ you--” He paused to look back at Connor, his face stony and stern. “-- yer gonna let me, and him, in.”
“F-For what…?” stammered Connor, the gap between the door and its frame defensively narrowed.
“It’s about the Valeries. It’s about Mia.”
There was a beat of silence that echoed like gunfire before Connor suddenly slammed his door shut, the latch clicking definitively. It had happened so quickly that Kuro hadn’t even had time to think about putting his foot in the door’s way, nevermind move to do so. Immediately, the Sheriff banged his fist against the wood.
“Mr.Vanton, open the door!”
Nearby neighbours were beginning to poke their heads out of their windows, blinds peeled back, curtains cast aside, their eyes wide and curious. Kuro could almost hear their train of thought; it whistled loudly in his ears, chug-chug-chugging cyclically.
“Oi!” Kuro heard Cthugha yell. “Mind ya business!”
Oh dear Raku, shut up--
Normally, he’d think to call for back-up, radio in for some sort of assistance, but there simply wasn’t time. Fuck it. It’s possible he’s hurt up to three people-- if not worse. That’s enough fer me.
That thought was enough to propel him into action, his boot slamming into the door with enough momentum to force it open. It swung wide, the dim sunset tinting the front room a foreboding shade of amber. Gloved fingers brushed the cool metal of his pistol as he took a step inside, preparing himself for confrontation. From behind him, he heard his partner following coolly.
“Mr.Vanton!”
“Get out.”
“Connor, put that down.”
It wasn’t the first time that Kuro had found himself staring down the barrel of a shotgun - and it wouldn’t be the last, either. Still, it wasn’t something that one ever quite got used to. It was to be expected at a certain point in a man’s career, perhaps, but he’d never thoroughly be content with facing it. A gun was a gun - and a grieving man with his finger on the trigger was a recipe for disaster.
Slowly, Kuro raised his hands, palms empty and open. “Connor.”
“Get OUT! Get outta my house!”
“Stop it,” Kuro said firmly, his voice like gravel. “Listen t’me. Mia’s case, it’s been shut fer almost twenty years, no? We’re gonna give it a final once-over befer shuttin’ it indefinitely, alright? That’s why ‘m here. I’m just tryna talk.”
Connor’s face contorted-- first with rage, then with heartbreak, the creases around his eyes highlighting the bags beneath them. “Now? Why now? It’s too late!”
“I--”
“How do you have the gall to wait twenty-goddamn-years before re-opening her case? You STOPPED LOOKING.”
“I have my reasons, alright? Y’have t’trust that.”
“Trust it?” A callous laugh left the man’s throat before he clicked the safety latch aside, aiming it at the Sheriff’s face with far more malice than before. “I trusted you to bring my little girl home. Did you do that? No. Not even a body--”
“C--”
“It’s been twenty years and Mia hasn’t even had a FUNERAL! I can’t even put her MEMORY to rest-- can’t even bury her fuckin’ horns by the flowerbeds!”
“We did everythin’ we could--”
“IT’S NOT ENOUGH FOR ME.”
It stung. It stung more than he cared to admit. For one dark, dismal moment, Kuro felt that he deserved to be shot. I didn’t mean to but I failed you, Connor. I’m sorry.
“KURO!”
A deafening crack filled the air; a pallid flash of light followed by a dull ache in his gut as he fell to the floor. Absentmindedly, a hand moved to nurse the sore spot, his ears ringing, his head growing heavy as a billowing fog consumed it. Dazed, the Sheriff clambered to his hands and knees, peeling his hand away from his stomach slowly.
It was dry.
Slowly, his head inclined to see the gun’s barrel facing the ceiling, a thin wisp of smoke floating upwards before dissipating pathetically. There was a hole there-- splintered wood followed by a tiny pinprick of light. If he stood directly below it and squinted, he might have been able to see into the room above. Cthugha stood directly in front of Connor, one arm locked firmly below the meat of the shotgun, forcing it up and out of their way. In a moment, he snatched the gun and struck the man’s temple with its blunt end, hard enough to send him crashing to the floor. He groaned quietly, before it petered out into tiny whimpers.
With a fierce glare, the rifter turned to look at Kuro. “He was gonna shoot you, you idiot.”
The adrenaline made it hard to think. Now that the immediate danger had been mitigated, the fear had time to creep in, the pounding of his heart becoming tangible. In his haze, the only thing he could think to ask was: “... why’m I hurtin’ if I wasn’t…?”
Cthugha sighed, lips curling with derision. “I needed forward momentum for my jump somehow, dummy. Now get up-- cuff him, or whatever it is you officers do. Whatever you’re looking for might be here, right?”
“... right,” Kuro mumbled, forcing himself to his feet, his usually sturdy legs wobbling like jelly. He’d been threatened ( and even shot ) a number of times by deranged criminals and mourning victims alike, but the desperation of heartbreak had always cut him deeper than anything else. People deviated from themselves, floated away from their typical principles in favour of numbing their pain or venting their frustrations-- and who could truly blame them? Madness was easy to counter with righteous hatred; grief was another brand of motivation entirely. As he bridged the distance between him and Connor, crouching low in order to handcuff him, he couldn’t bring himself to be too harsh.
“...’m sorry… ‘m so sorry…” Connor chanted softly into the carpet, his shoulders quivering. If it wasn’t obvious from the start, it certainly was now: the man was broken. Erratic. Unreasonable, even. “I was just… trying to do your job... I never wanted to hurt nobody... I was just...”
Hurting.
Angry.
Trying to do the right thing.
Trying to separate myself from all of this pain.
“... ‘s alright,” Kuro said, if only because there was nothing else to say.
“I just want to die...”
“Don’t say that.”
“I just…” He gave up then, resigning himself to quiet sobs instead. Despite his trepidation, Kuro felt himself resting a hand on the despondent man’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.
“Hey, Sheriff! Get over here!”
Hesitantly, he rose to his feet, following the sound of the other’s voice through the house. Connor’s living space was clean and tidy, cosy even. He seemed very interested in textiles, a myriad of different rugs and blankets covering his floors and furniture. Of course nobody suspected anything. Even his curtains are immaculate.
“Oh fuck…” The smell was sudden but overwhelming as he rounded a corner, seeing Cthugha standing at the end of the hallway in front of what looked like a cupboard. Kuro threw an arm across his face, attempting to shield his nose.
“This who you’re looking for…?”
Steeling himself, Kuro approached, unsure of what to expect after Connor’s frightening display of violence. Was he alive? Was he dead? Was it just him, or were his parents involved? The questions filled his head until it became all but impossible to organise them, a jumble of words smeared haphazardly across the walls of his mind.
"Shit..." he cursed softly as he came to stand beside him, staring down at the thin, trembling body of Dawson Valerie.
