words in the heart cannot be taken

writing blog. words in the heart cannot be taken.

[tostiarepa]

❧ prompt: stolen ❧ characters: pepper coake; monica imahara ❧  warnings: ableist language

She's had time to scatter on her bed (where her workspace has been relocated to, messier than ever) all the cargo she brought from Coake Mechanics and then get bored with it when sure as rain, it's Pepper Coake himself calling from the other end of the line when her phone rings.

She sounds bored when she greets him, a drowsy "Hello shitstain, what's up? You sound like you're dying... are you?" accompanied by a yawn, even though she is more than a bit interested and can more than guess what's up.

This is her side of her conversation, said in a droning, low voice punctuated by hmms and 'kays:

"Well I have no fucking idea where you left it so, bye."

"Why the fuck would anyone steal it. Why would anyone steal from you, full stop. You're the one who should be mugging people."

"You have to wait more than that to fill a missing person report, though."

"Pepper, don't cry, I'll buy you a lifetime supply"

"Yeah shitlord, I could even make you one with paper maché and spit and it'd still be better than that stinky wrench"

"Don't cry, Pepper,"

"I'm going to roll up tomorrow and if you're still crying, I'll find it just so I can beat you to near death with it."

"I know you're crying, I can hear you. I'm paraplegic, not fucking deaf."

"Yeah, I'll help you look for it tomorrow, yeah."

And finally a beep as she hangs up and tosses her phone back on her bed, leaves it to get lost amongst the bedsheets and the debris and all the bags of snacks.

She doesn't have to close her eyes to imagine the runny nose and the high pitched croak after Pepper found- or rather, didn't find. She knows him to the point of being able to tell without turning to look at him if he's keeping himself tightly locked as to not burst into tears in front of her. Not like it's hard. Not like it comes from growing closer. Pepper Coake is simple, not hard to read,

(Safe.)

Which gets us back to the wrench that left it's owners side safely stored in her carry-on with the rest of her cargo and that now she inspects this way and that in the relative safety of her room, her fingers sliding through every groove and indent.

It's cheap, as everything Pepper is. Not valuable, because “sentimental value” doesn't mean shit. It's useful, and that's all one could say about it- except for the fact that Pepper doesn't even use it. Monica doesn't think it could be used as a weapon, either, if it came to that. She doesn't see the appeal in treating it like the weird precious thing Pepper treats it as, but.

She spins it in her hands over and over, beats the air with it.

Whack, Whack, Whack.

(Yeah, I'll help you look.)

Today she didn't have to pinch her eyes shut and tomorrow she won't have to, either. She'll be in the first row when the wrench appears miraculously in it's old spot, and she’s gotten used to his idiot grin, too, anyways.

[tostiarepa]

❧ prompts: worms; nightmares; graveyard; past

❧ fandom: doctor sleep

❧ warnings: corpses; references to child death; misogynistic slurs; body swap

❧ also on ao3

I should've known better, I'm sorry is what she'll tell Dan so he can go back to bed at the hot spice he still works at, hopefully on his way to dreamless sleep, no boogiemen to roam his halls anymore.

But now, kneeling in the dirt in an abandoned factory in Iowa and digging with her clammy hands, Abra knows only of this: Every missing kid is sleeping down here in this earthy bed calling out for her to help them back up, to please recover all their baseball gloves because she needs to give them back to their mommies and daddies.

So she keeps digging, caring not for her bleeding fingers and her torn off nails or how worried her own parents must be; but the dirt keeps piling on and on, going forever and ever and how long has she been here? isn't she now digging her way into the center of the earth? Isn't she-

And the thought hits her just as hands clamp around her skull and begin doing their own digging there, pulling her up by the hair, tearing at the roots (-digging her own grave?)

She shrieks, her hands coming away from the dirt to tear behind her (we killed you, we killed you, we saw your corpse and I was so glad you were dead) momentarily looking down at her interrupted handiwork to see a flash of

Something

In the dirt

(No.

Someone.

Someone, because that's an empty eye socket and it's crawling with worms and so are her hands and so is the dirt around and below her and so is her mouth and how didn't she notice that-)

She yells, trashes, closes her eyes and edges closer to her assailant, her hands finally digging into rubbery skin, wanting to cause some pain of her own while the fingers cave her skull in

(dead, Abra, she's dead, dead alright because her skin is rubbery, but still she's back and she got you, Abra, Abby-doo, you fucking moron bitch girl, a year late but she got you)

The worms slither their way into her tongue every time she groans in pain. Her skull feels wet. Blood, bleeding, and soon will come death. Dazed, Abra shouts for help the only way she'll allow herself to: by opening up her mind, calling for the only other person who understands-

(DAN THEY'RE KILLING THE BASEBALL BOY AGAIN DANDANDAN)

and feels him wide awake all at once, miles from where she is but meeting her in the mental room with the wheel, the fog of sleep a ghost behind his eyes, his hands turning the wheel with her, their worlds switching in a hurry-

And when the wheel is turned, when he gets to see with Abra's eyes and fight with Abra's body,

He's lying chest down on her bed with his face smushed against her pillow. But nothing else.

(Just a dream, Abra.)

Silence from the other end of the line and then:

(I should've known better, I'm sorry.)

(Don't be... Do you want me to stay awake with you until you fall asleep again?)

(No, I'm fine now.)

Dan doubts that.

(For real, uncle Dan.)

He shows her a picture of a thumbs up.

Nothing for almost a minute besides his thumping heart. Then he thinks at her again.

(Can I huh- go back to my own room, or-?)

The line quivers. Dan's heart quivers too, but then she flashes him a picture of her cartoon self slapping her forehead next to a speech bubble that reads "D'oh!"

They're both chuckling when they meet again in the wheel room.

<hr></hr>

"As I've said before, I don't feel guilty about it, but, "

He hums and sips his coffee, waits for her to say something else. When she speaks, he pauses on his tracks. Her eyebrows are pinched together. Not worry but anger, or a close cousin at least.

"Will the nightmares ever stop?"

What she sees - either on his face or his thoughts - must be enough of an answer, albeit not a satisfactory one. Her grimace says as much. She nods in grim resignation, but she's looking away from him.

"Maybe," He starts, touching his shoulder against hers where she sits next to him. "your dreams are not shine dreams, just nightmares. They don't necessarily mean that Rose is coming back for you, just that your brain is still processing what happened,"

(The lady in room 217 came back for you though, and so did-)

(I know, but-)

But she sits straight up again before he can finish that train of thought, and looking down he discovers that her fists are clenched on her lap, her knuckles as white as a ghost.

Her temper is back, just like that. The old family temper but with an injection of teenage bravado.

No wonder Rose was so scared of the girl, in the end.

"Yeah. Yeah, she was." She says, talking out loud. "And you know what? I killed her once and I'll kill her once again if she ever comes back."

A heaviness settles between his ribs. He places one of his hands on top of her clenched ones and squeezes softly. The time to tell her about himself and his father and his grandfather (warn her about her heritage: shine, anger, alcoholism) draws closer with every flare of her temper.

But not this year. She's young still, despite it all, and just as he protected her from having to see the corpse of a long dead boy, he shields her from the past.

Dan speaks so only they can hear and feels her fists unclench slowly beneath his as she replies.

"Of course. I know I'm not alone, don't be silly."

Abra rests her head against his shoulder, humming and then laughing when Dan recognizes the tune as one of 'Round Here's singles: Kisses on the Midway.

It's not easy, he thinks only to himself, but she'll bury the corpses of the past. Already is.

Next year, then. Next year it is.