Summary: Lia has a nightmare sparked by her infiltration of the friendly neighborhood cult. Dean is there to comfort her.
Warnings: implied/past sexual assault, self harm, the people at Serenity Ranch being drugged, cults
A/N: once again, this has been in my drafts for like honestly at least a year at this point.... I didn't know how to end it (who's surprised) but I hope the rest is ok (title is subject to change)
*please tell me if I made any mistakes!!*
Tags: @irlveronicasterling, @irlsloanetavish, @rainforcsts (lmk if you want to be added to the taglist/want to be taken off! warning: I only post like once in a blue moon though)
“Yes, be a good girl, Sadie.” His voice was that same bitter calmness he always made it. The kind of calm that told Lia that if she did anything wrong, he would still be that calm as he killed her. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run and run and never stop running until he disappeared. He leaned in and she felt her heart stop in that far too familiar way and–
“Good girl, Lia.” No it can’t– it doesn’t go like this. It’s not supposed to go like this. He doesn’t know her name; he can’t know her name. His voice changed from the previous skilled facade to a different one. This voice was warm and welcoming and sickly sweet and wrong. Then his face changed. Everything was wrong everything was wrong everything was–
She was trying to get her mother to look at her but it was like she didn’t exist.
Flash.
She was hearing her lie about loving her son.
Flash.
She was planning her escape with thorns wrapping her arms.
Flash.
She was sneaking out of the dorms to draw the maps for Sloane.
Flash.
She couldn’t get him out of her room, off of her bed, off of–
Flash.
She pretended to take it, pretended to be drugged, pretended to–
Flash.
She was in the hole, in the dark with the cold that–
Flash.
She was in the basement with the bones and the chains that–
She didn’t scream when she woke up; she had learned not to do that a long time ago. She didn’t scream, but she almost did. Normally the nightmares were just about before. She should have figured they’d include the other place now too.
She could feel his hands, feel his breath on her skin, hear his voice, see his eyes, she could–
No. She needed to get out of this bed. She needed to do something, anything to make it stop. She needed it to stop. It was gone. Everything was gone, everything was gone, everything was gone, everything was gone. But she knew she was lying to herself – it would never be gone.
She tried to ignore the way her legs shook as she stood up, the way her hand shook so much that she could barely unlock and open her door. It was so, so cold. She didn’t know if that was because the house was cold or because her dreams were.
She turned on the shower, not caring if anyone woke up now. She was a liar; she could make up a lie. Maybe if the water was hot enough, it could take away some of the cold that seemed to refuse to leave her body. Maybe if she let her blood out, some of the cold would flow out too.
“You’re a special girl, Sadie”
“You’re a special girl, Lia.”
She could barely feel the heat of the water or the cuts or the sting of the water hitting the cuts. Maybe if she let the water fill up the room, she could drown in the hot and the cold would go away.
She didn’t know how long she stayed there, burning and bleeding in the water, before she could finally feel anything beside the numbing cold. The cuts hurt now and the water burned; but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Let it hurt. Let it burn.
Penance.
She didn’t know when or how she left the shower, and she definitely didn’t know when or how she’d changed into the spare clothes she always kept hidden in the drawers below the sink. All she knew was that one minute she was dying in the water and now she was on the ground, cold and changed and hearing an incredibly annoying sound. It took far too long for her to recognize the sound as knocking. Crap.
“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Have a bit of patience will you?” She tried not to let her voice shake. She tried not to let her hands shake as she unlocked and opened the door. She couldn’t say she was surprised when it was Dean.
“Lia–”
“What do you want, Dean?” Her voice was harsher than she intended but it didn’t seem to matter right now. “Aren’t you still mad or something?”
“No, Lia. I’m not mad.” True. “I was never mad at you.” True again. He could never just lie, could he. His face was soft, the slight furrow of his brow meaning he was worried or concerned or whatever other emotions crap Michael would definitely know far better than her. His voice wasn’t a lying calm or sweet, it was just him. It was only the truth in his words that convinced Lia to let him in. He stepped through the slight opening she let him have. She locked the door. He can’t come in. They can’t come in. No one can come in if it’s locked. She locked it again.
“Then why are you here?” She watched as he looked around before sitting on the ground: an invitation she knew far too well. He knew she wouldn’t sit down if he was standing, especially not now. She stared at him for a moment before sitting down too.
“The shower was on. Then it stayed on.” She didn’t answer. He waited a moment, then continued. “I’m worried, Lia.” She scoffed.
“Why? I’m fine, Dean.” It was all lies. That was all she knew how to do, it seemed.
“You escaped a cult. For the second time.” She flinched, and his voice softened. “I just– we haven’t really talked. Since then, I mean. And I know you’re not ok, Lia. It wouldn’t have been ok for anyone and certainly not for you, and I– it’s not ok, Lia. Nothing about this is ok.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need your help.” She wanted to curl up next to him like she did when she was fourteen. She couldn’t.
“You don’t have to do this alone, Lia.” His tone was almost pleading.
“It’s fine. I’m used to it.” She traced the tiles of the floor. Once in a while, a piece in the grout would scratch at her finger and she’d be reminded she was alive.
“You shouldn’t have to be.” She felt his hand taking hers. It was gentle. An offering she didn’t have to take, yet an offering she couldn’t refuse.
“I wasn’t lying,” she started after a pause. “About you not being able to make me better, I mean.” She stared at their hands, at the way his grip tightened the slightest amount. He didn’t respond so she continued. “He said I was special.” She didn’t know which man she was referring to. Both, probably. “He said he’d never hurt me. And when he did, he said it was my fault.” She tried to ignore the way her voice broke at the end. She tried to ignore the way her eyes burned and the memories flooded back with the fire of the far too familiar shame.
“What did he do.” His voice was dark and dangerous, and Lia was sure that if Holland Darby was here right now, he wouldn’t be able to leave this room alive. Dean wasn’t asking a question either.
“The same thing they always do.” She shrugged, looking up but not quite looking at his eyes. “For a moment, I– I felt like I mattered to someone. And I tried, Dean. I promise I tried. I tried not to, I promise. I tried, but for a moment it still….” she trailed off, eyes unfocused. She could almost see him, almost feel him. “It was just like before again.”
“I believe you. I know you tried–”
“And when he drugged them, I pretended to be drugged too. He came into the– he came into the room. And I was nine again.” She closed her eyes, begging his face to leave her mind. On some level, she knew that she was telling Dean something she vowed she never would. On some level, she knew she was in a safe, locked bathroom, but it didn’t seem to matter. “He didn’t– he didn’t do anything to me. Not like that.” She looked up, finally meeting Dean’s eyes. “I was new, and we both know he’d never do anything to his new victims.” She let out a bitter laugh.
Dean didn’t respond. But he squeezed her hand.
“But I– I heard him. With the other girls. Kissing them, and–” she couldn’t bring herself to say any more. “While they were drugged. And I wanted to run or kill him or do something but I– I couldn’t do anything. I just, I couldn’t move. It was like I really was drugged, I guess. Then he– he came over to my bed. I didn’t think he would, but he did and I thought I was going to have to ruin the mission because he would–” she broke off, taking a shaky breath. You’re safe. He’s not here anymore. “He didn’t kiss me. He barely even touched me, he just combed through my hair and touched my face and positioned my hands like I was some doll and then he left but I couldn’t– I couldn’t–” She felt the tears spill out.
“It wasn’t your f–”
“And after that I just– I couldn’t sleep. So I snuck out and started making a map. Do you know how hard it is to map a place you can barely see while having to constantly fear literally anyone seeing you? But I guess I’ve made maps of places before, just not on paper. Back then the map was just in my mind.” She didn’t have to explain when and where “back then” was. “But I needed to do it right. For Sloane, for– for everyone.” For the girls in the cult. For herself. “And the whole time, I just…. kept remembering. I felt like a kid again.”
“You still were a kid. You still are.” His voice was the voice he used to use when she had flashbacks or nightmares or panic attacks or whatever else she had when she was younger. A voice she hadn’t heard in a long time because she got better at hiding it all. And somehow she was next to him now and he was here again.
“I just kept remembering everything.” Her voice was a whisper now, almost like any volume above that would break her. “Everything.”
His words, her words, his touch, his voice, his breath, the thorns, the chains, the dark, the cold, the penance, the clothes, the hole, the rooms, the beds, the lies, the truths, the–
“Hey, Lia,” a voice broke through the murky fog. “Lia, can you look at me?” She could barely make out the words. She looked up anyway. “Ok, that’s good? Can I touch you?”
She didn’t know who was talking and she didn’t quite care. The cold was coming back. On some level, she could feel familiar arms wrapping themselves around her body. On some level, she could feel herself shaking as she cried and gasped for breath. On some level, she could feel the tiles of the floor and the warmth of her brother. On some level, she could feel the stinging in her cuts as she scratched them through her sleeves. Yet the only thing she could really feel was the cold.
She didn’t know how long they stayed like that before she could breathe again.
“Dean.” She managed to get a single word out – the only word that mattered.
“I’m here, Lia. I’m here. It’s ok, I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not leaving, I promise.” She tightened her grip on his hand like it was the only thing keeping her afloat. And in a way, it was. “Did the nightmares start again?” She didn’t answer for a moment.
“They never really stopped,” she managed in a whisper. “I just figured out how to not sleep or memorize everything that happened so I’d feel the same way every time or find a way to escape it or–” Lia stopped, feeling Dean stiffen the slightest bit, and for a moment she was afraid he would leave. Or tell her it was her fault. Or do something. But he was Dean, so he didn’t.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounded hurt, and she wanted to cry again. The only thing she seemed to do these days was hurt people and mess everything up.
“You seemed like you had a lot to do. I didn’t want to bother you anymore. I’m sorry.”
“No, Lia. No. Don’t apologize. It’s my fault, not yours, ok? I’ll always have time for you, ok? You’re not bothering me. You could never bother me. I’m sorry, Lia. I’m sorry I did something to make you feel like you couldn’t tell me. I’m sorry that I made you feel like you need to and deserve to do it all by yourself.”
The break wasn’t an extravagant affair: there was no scream or yell or sob or grand motions of any sort. It was a quiet sort of snap. The kind of snap that led her to bury her head in her brother’s arms and cry in the silent way she always did. The kind of snap that made her want to die right then and there. The kind of snap that didn’t come from the bad things that haunted her every move, rather from the one good thing she had ever known.
“It was worse,” she finally continued. “This time. It was worse this time.” She blinked and he was right there again. “It started normally. I knew this one, I knew how it went. And then he became Darby and everything was wrong and I–” She blinked and he was gone. “I didn’t know how to survive this one.” Dean was quiet, his hand moving in circles on her back. “They just kept switching. It was the– it was the thorns then the chains then the hole then the basement then the rooms then the maps then the clothes then his voice and face and touch and breath and it was all–” she took a shaky breath, squeezing her eyes shut and willing the room to stop spinning. “It was all too much. It was all wrong.”
“I know.” He combed through her hair, the way he always used to do when they were younger. “Come to me next time, ok?”
“I don’t want to bother you anymore.” Her voice sounded weak, even to her own ears. She sounded like a fragile, broken ceramic doll and she hated that.
“You won’t. I promise you won’t.” Not a lie. He was so warm and she wanted to die all over again. She didn’t know how long they sat like that before Dean broke the silence again. “Can I see your arm, Lia?” She froze, the words slowly sinking in with the pit of guilt and shame and fear. No no no no no– she rolled up her sleeve, carefully and slowly. Dean took a pack of bandages from his pocket.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he covered the cuts and scars. He was so gentle – so delicate. Lia didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve anyone as good as Dean.
“Listen to me, Lia. It’s not your fault. None of this was your fault, ok? And you– you don’t deserve this, ok?” He pushed her sleeve back down and continued combing through her hair. It took her far too long to realize that he had come prepared.
“How did you…. how did you realize that I….” she didn’t want to finish saying it. She knew Dean would understand anyway.
“I heard the shower was on. I texted you, and you didn’t respond. I called you, and you didn’t pick up. I knocked on your door, and you didn’t answer. And the shower was on the whole time. I knew you were in there, which means something happened. And considering it’s,” he checked his phone, “four AM, it must have been a nightmare. And the shower was on for a long time, so it must have been a bad one. I didn’t know you had them so often, though.” His voice trailed off.
“Tell me what you profiled about me. This time.” Her eyes were closed, but she could almost feel the panicked gaze she knew he had in his eyes. He paused for a moment before relenting with a sigh.
“You were scared. You were losing control and you needed it back. You needed control over who hurt you and when and how, and you needed control over your own mind. Some part of you knows that this won’t work, but you still do it anyway because nothing else will ever work. You need this. You need him gone, you need all of them to be gone and there’s no other way to do it. You didn’t want to burden anyone anymore. You think that everyone is too focused on someone else and you don’t want to burden them with you too.” He hesitated for a moment. “You don’t think anyone cares about you, and certainly not enough to want to help. You think you’re unlovable, like there’s something inherently wrong about you. You think you’re ruined, beyond repair. You’re angry because it’s easier to be angry than to be scared or sad. You’re angry at a lot of people, but you’re mostly angry at yourself. You think you deserved it, and you think it was and is all your fault.” He held her closer. “Lia, you’re wrong.”
“Am I though?” She sounded so goddamn weak and fragile and she hated it. She could almost hear them now, telling her to stop being a baby. But Dean wouldn’t do that. Dean would never do that.
“Yes,” he responded, “you are. You’re not wrong about a lot of things, but you are wrong about this. We love you, Lia. I love you. Nothing will ever change that. It wasn’t your fault and you didn’t deserve it. I care. You’ll never be a burden to us, and certainly not to me. I will always have time for you, and you deserve to not have to do it all alone. And I know you don’t believe me, but that’s ok. I’ll remind you every day if you need me to.” She opened her eyes and met his. She could read nothing but the truth.
“Ok,” she whispered. She felt like she was thirteen again, curling up next to her big brother as he tried his best to chase the demons away. She didn’t realize how much she missed that. She wanted to stay in that moment forever, in their own little bubble isolated from the world with all of its monsters.
She wasn’t ok. But maybe she didn’t have to be not ok alone.
Summary: Lia bakes a cake for Dean's birthday. It just so happens that Sterling and Lia get to know each other better in the process.
Warnings: mentions of past abuse (please tell me if I missed anything!!)
A/N: I genuinely did not know how to end this and this has not been proofread very much so uhhhh (this one is lowkey kinda bad but it's been forever since I posted anything here so....) (oh also if someone has a better idea for a title please tell me)
*please tell me if I made any mistakes!!*
Tags: @rainforcsts, @irlveronicasterling (bc sterling), @irlsloanetavish (idk for the vibes) (lmk if you want to be added to the taglist/want to be taken off! warning: I only post like once in a blue moon though)
Lia walked into the kitchen, surveying her surroundings. It was rare that she had the house to herself. The others were currently out, going to some jewelry store or whatever. Either way, she knows she has at least three hours to herself.
Just the right amount of time to make a birthday cake for a certain broody one-year-older-as-of-today blonde.
She had secretly bought all the ingredients bit by bit over the course of the last two weeks, setting up each domino for her to have just the right amount of time at just the right day with just the right ingredients to make just the right cake. Strawberry shortcake. It had always been Dean’s favorite.
Just as she was reaching into the depths of the third cupboard above the sink to get the last thing she had stashed away, she heard the sound of footsteps creaking on the floor. Her mind sparked to life as she felt her fingers instinctively wrap around the closest knife she could reach. Who could be here? Everyone had left. She made sure of it. A burglar? Maybe, but she could deal with those. Goddamnit Lia, breathe. Oh she was going to kill whoever it was for messing up her perfect plan.
She tracked the footsteps, noting their exact location and speed. She tried not to think about how many times she had done this before.
They were getting closer.
Closer.
And…. now.
She rushed toward the entry into the kitchen, the knife clutched in her hand. The knife was just a few inches away from the intruder’s neck when she saw it was Sterling and froze.
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to stab me.” Sterling crossed her arms, her eyebrows raised the slightest bit.
“Fine. I won’t, since you’re so kindly telling the truth.” And she was. Sterling didn’t want Lia to stab her.
Lia opened a drawer and moved to put the knife in, but slid the knife up her sleeve, making sure it was out of sight, using a rubber band from the drawer to prevent it from sliding down. She tried not to feel like a band of thorns was tied around her wrist again, moving the band as far up her arm as she could. If Sterling noticed any of that, she didn’t point it out.
“What are you doing in here?” Sterling surveyed the flour and bowl and whisks and everything else set up neatly on the kitchen island. Lia shrugged.
“I’m building a house. Why are you here?” Lia’s eyes didn’t move from Sterling’s.
“I heard a noise in the kitchen.” Half truth. She was hiding something. Lia narrowed her eyes.
“Why aren’t you out with the others?” She didn’t let her voice betray any of her nerves. Sterling shrugged.
“I wasn’t feeling well so I told them to go ahead. Why aren’t you?” Lie.
“Liar.”
The tension in the room was thick enough that if Lia took out the knife she could make the air bleed. Sterling broke it.
“I didn’t go with them because I sensed something was off. Because you didn’t go. Because it is Dean’s birthday today and you are the only person who hasn’t acknowledged that yet in any form. And you love him too much to forget.” And there it was. The truth. But something in Sterling’s tone made Lia think it still wasn’t everything. She decided to get that last bit of information out later, instead focusing her attention back on the cake she was supposed to be making now that she was sure Sterling wasn’t a threat. She ran her finger along the knife still secure against her arm under her sleeve.
“No, I just didn’t want to go stare at bracelets.” She shrugged as she measured out the flour. That was kind of the truth. Kind of the truth, but not the full truth. Sterling didn’t move. Sterling didn’t leave. Lia felt her presence as she felt the cool metal of the knife again.
Without a word, Sterling stepped toward her. Lia pretended not to feel the air shift and every muscle in her body stiffen, ready to run or attack or do something. Sterling stepped next to her and looked at the recipe Lia had printed. She took the baking soda and a measuring spoon and got to work. Lia pretended not to feel the relief as every muscle in her body began to relax again, finding solace in the methodical steps of baking.
They worked in sync, making up a system without needing to talk. They were never within two feet of each other – Lia made sure of that – and never uttered a word. At some points, Lia could almost forget Sterling was there. Almost, but not quite; some part of her body would make sure she was constantly alert of the movements of the agent beside her.
It wasn’t until she put the cake in the oven that she felt the unease really start to sink in again. She had to wait for the cake to come out. She had nothing else to do. And Sterling was in the room with her, when she was supposed to be alone.
Sterling seemed to sense it too.
“How long have you been planning this?” The agent’s voice wasn’t cold per say, but it definitely wasn’t warm either. Lia wasn’t an emotion reader, but she was a lie detector. She could tell that some part of her comfort and ease and professionalism was a lie.
She narrowed her eyes but didn’t respond. She felt the knife. She felt the rubber band. She felt the thorns. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, trying to ignore her body screaming at her to run.
“Lia,” Sterling sighed, running a hand through her hair. All the professionalism gone from her body. The shift of taking off a costume that Lia knew all too well. “I–”
“Why do you hate me,” Lia cut her off. It wasn’t a question; it was a demand. A demand for answers, a demand for the truth, a demand for her to go away. Sterling looked at her, some indecipherable mixture akin to confusion or whatever on her face. Michael would know exactly what she was feeling, but all Lia could figure out was that this emotion wasn’t a lie. It faded quickly though, her face melting back into whatever it was before.
“I don’t hate you, Lia.” Technically true. But hiding something.
“Don’t you?” She raised an eyebrow, subtly running a finger down the blade again and running through all the possible exits and entrances in her mind. “Because it sure seems like you do.”
“What?” Sterling’s eyebrows furrowed the slightest bit. “Lia…” she let out another sigh as she sat down on a chair at the kitchen island. “What did I do to make you think I hate you?”
Lia gave a shrug as an answer. Everything, she wanted to say. The cold way Sterling always spoke to her, how she never seemed to acknowledge Lia unless it was for a case, the way she almost seemed to look through her instead of at her. “I know I break the rules. I’m not good and perfect like Sloane, and I provoke people in charge on purpose. I know I’m not easy to take care of, and I know I’m not a good person.” She inspected her nails. “What isn’t there to hate?”
“God, Lia. you’re not a bad person.” There seemed to be genuine worry written in her words, which Lia found somewhat strange. She didn’t deserve to make anyone worried, so why was Sterling?
“But I am. I killed someone when I was nine. I’m a murderer. I should be the one getting locked up, not doing the arresting.” She could feel emotions rising up, and took her hair out of her ponytail, shedding them as easily as she put her hairband in her pocket, safely tucked away for later – or never.
“Right, like what my father threatened to do?” Sterling’s voice was just sharp enough to cut through the haze settling in Lia’s mind, but soft enough to not be a threat. She stiffened.
“How do you know that?” No one was supposed to know. No one was supposed to know anything about her that she didn’t tell.
“I… I read your files, Lia. All of you guys’ files. It was part of why I decided to come back, so I could protect you all from anything else this terrible world can do.” Sterling’s eyes softened and her voice lowered. “I know you’re a good person, Lia. I know why you break the rules, and I know why every person in a position of power is a threat to you. And I know that you only killed that man because you had to.” Lia suddenly realized her lungs were beginning to fail again.
“Then why do you hate me?” Her voice was broken and she hated it. She hated feeling weak. She pressed her finger to the tip of the knife, stopping just short of breaking skin.
“I don’t, Lia. I didn’t want you to feel like I was intruding and changing the only sense of stability you’ve ever had.” She paused for a moment, before letting out a sigh. “Sometimes I look at you and I feel all the anger I’ve never let myself feel. Anger at all the people who did that to you, anger that we can’t catch them. I see a girl who holds all the anger in the world because anger is easier than every other emotion but doesn’t let herself feel it because she’s scared to be controlled by anything but herself. I see a girl who reminds me of myself in a lot of ways: broken yet reluctant to admit it.” She searched Lia’s face for a response that she never got. So she continued. “I care so much about all of you, Lia, and I’m sorry I ever made you think otherwise.”
“Why did you really stay behind?” Lia asked after a moment of silence.
“I was worried about you. You seemed preoccupied. And we haven’t spent much time together out of the field so,” she shrugged. “I wanted to test it out.” And there it was. The full truth.
The timer beeped, signaling the end of the baking. Lia took the cake out of the oven, setting it aside to cool as she got the frosting and icing ready.
“Two months,” she said suddenly while placing the strawberries between the two layers of cake.
“What?”
“You asked how long I’d been planning this.” She laid the second layer of cake on top. “Well, longer if you mean how long I had been planning to surprise him with something. We do this every year for birthdays. Usually it’s small stuff, but this year I wanted to do something bigger.” A soft smile crept onto her face as she remembered what Dean did for her birthday that year. Or, well, his best guess to her birthday. The stuffed bear had remained on her bed ever since. Sterling studied her for a moment.
“You really love each other, don’t you.” Sterling’s voice was warmer, more relaxed. Lia didn’t respond. Of course they did. He was her brother, and she was his sister.
A silence settled over them again as they worked on making the cake as beautiful as they could, but this time Lia felt like she could actually breathe.
As she added the final touches onto the cake, piping out an exaggerated “Happy Birthday Dean” on top, her phone buzzed with the notification that Dean was four minutes away from reaching their house.
“You have a tracker on him?” Sterling asked, raising an eyebrow. Lia shrugged.
“I told you. I’ve been planning this for a while.” She ran a finger over the knife again, expecting the agent to scold her. If she was being honest, she was half expecting Sterling to yell and threaten her. She crossed her arms, willing her emotions and memories of other adults away. It only half worked, but that was good enough. She was a good liar. To Lia’s surprise, Sterling’s face didn’t contort with anger, she didn’t hit her, and she didn’t corner her. She laughed.
“You really do have everything planned out, don’t you?”
“What can I say? I’m committed,” She said with a shrug. “Now go get ready or whatever. He’ll be here in, like, two minutes.”
Sterling walked out of the room, then came back a minute later wearing something more formal than a sweatshirt, much to Lia’s relief. Today had to be perfect. For Dean.
Right on cue, less than a minute after Sterling had come back, Lia heard their car pulling up the driveway. She smiled, almost bouncing with anticipation. She counted the seconds it took for the door to open, knowing instinctively that Dean would be the first one in.
“Happy birthday, Dean-o,” she said, walking over and giving him a hug, careful to keep the knife hidden.
“What happened here?” He asked, looking around. She could see him fighting a smile.
“It’s your present this year. The cake, I mean. The icing on it isn’t the best, but I tried and think it should taste fine. I hope, anyway.” She realized she was rambling in front of everyone, so she stopped.
“Thank you, Lia.” The soft smile on his face was worth every headache she got from trying to organize this thing without a house of Naturals, FBI agents, and a former marine realizing. “I can’t believe you managed to hide this from all of us without anyone finding out. I love you so much.”
Lia was relieved to find that she had in fact followed the recipe correctly and it did taste good. She only had a little bit, but was glad to see everyone else enjoying it.
When no one was looking, she slipped the knife back into the drawer it came from, relieved at not having anything around her wrists again. If Sterling saw, she didn’t mention it.
Summary: Grayson and swimming
Warnings: thoughts of suicide, angst, overexertion, thoughts of drowning (please tell me if I missed any!!)
A/N: What way to bring in pride month then with…. a very angsty Grayson fic ANYWAY— this is really short but I hope you enjoy?
*please tell me if I made any mistakes!!*
Tags: @catapparently, @urbanflorals, @nqds, @reminiscentreader, @never-enough-novels (please tell me if you want to be added or removed!!)
It wasn’t a secret that Grayson Hawthorne swam. A lot.
It was a secret that sometimes, when he swam, he pictured sinking and never coming back up to the surface. It was more of a secret that by sometimes, he actually meant way more than just some of the time.
Today was like that.
The water was especially cold today for whatever reason, but that didn’t matter. He just– he needed the noise to be gone. He just needed it to be gone so it could be ok and he– he really, really needed to swim. Because Grayson Hawthorne did not break. He didn’t get the luxury of breaking.
So he’ll just swim instead.
And if anyone asked him what he was doing, he’d say swimming. Because swimming was fine. No one cared if he swam. No one cared if he pushed his body past its limit every single time, until he couldn’t breathe but in the good way – the way that he could control.
But no one asked him. That was fine. He didn’t need anyone to care. He didn’t deserve it anyway.
Avery asked a few times when she first came, but he gave the same answers every time.
“You’re going out to swim? In this hour?” Yes. He went all hours of the day and night and everything in between. He had to.
“You’re going to overwork yourself.” No I won’t. Yes, he would. Sometimes, he didn’t care. Other times, that was the point.
She seemed to get used to it after a while and stopped questioning him. He didn’t know if he was sad about that or not, but it left a sort of empty numb feeling. Then again, that feeling had always been there as far as he could remember.
When he was in the pool, he’d swim laps and laps and so many freaking laps. The entire time, he whispered in his mind everything wrong with him. Everything he needed to change. It was funny, because every single part of him needed to change. He swam with perfect form, never making a mistake. He had to. And if he did mess up, well, he wasn’t entirely sure. That had never happened before. All he knew was that he didn’t have the luxury of messing up. He couldn’t mess up.
Sometimes – and by that he meant rather frequently actually – he’d hold his breath and go to the bottom of the pool. And it wasn’t anyone’s business whether or not he contemplated if he should come up for air. He’d close his eyes as the lack of oxygen burned his lungs and his body screamed at him to come up to the surface. He resisted it. And it was so peaceful. In the end though, his body would always win and he would come up gasping for breath.
He did that today, and for the briefest moment, he could picture how nice it would be if he just didn’t come up. For a moment, that almost came true. But once he came up, he let out a laugh. He really was pathetic, wasn’t he. Thinking he could just be free of it all that easily. Who did he think he was? Grayson Hawthorne needed to be perfect.
But he knew the truth. No matter how perfect he got, he would never be perfect enough.
And maybe one day, he could finally stop treading the water, fighting tooth and nail to stay above the rising tide that threatens to overwhelm him. Maybe someday the water would slowly start to lower. But until then, he guessed he just had to hope he didn’t drown.
Somewhere in his mind he knew the truth: it was already too late. He was beyond the point of saving. He was already drowning.
Notes: I wrote this one a year ago and it was for a slam poetry assignment for English class so just imagine this except me speaking it :)
Home
What is home?
Home
Noun
“The place where one lives permanently”
But that’s not my home
我要回家
I want to go home
I want to escape from this reality
But what if I don’t know what I’m running from?
我要回家
还有多久才能回家
How long is it until I can go home
How many more years of this do I have to endure to finally achieve safety
But the thing is there is no home
What is home?
Where is my home?
Where is my paradise
My haven
My shelter in the middle of a hurricane my little hut shielding me off from the storm of life
My oasis in the middle of the Sahara
But my oasis is just a mirage tricking me into finally thinking I’ll be safe for once
Just to crush all the hopes and dreams piling on as I run toward
My oasis my home turned mound of sand turned the destruction of my sanity
Isn’t it better to just stop hoping then?
Stop hoping that this cactus will have the purest water in the world that will somehow revive all the parts of me that has died
Stop hoping that this igloo will keep me just warm enough for help to arrive but help won’t arrive not now not ever because that help that we so desperately need to survive this earthquake
Doesn’t exist
Everything is getting ripped up into this tornado and spinning around and around but as I try to work my way back to the ground I can’t seem to find
My home
Where is my sanctuary
The only thing keeping me from floating away into the void of questions and noise
The last stick in the middle of a freezing ocean after the crash of the Titanic that last desperate attempt of staying afloat before you
Fall
Down
Down
Farther and farther away from the light
There is no light at the end of the tunnel because there is no tunnel everything is just black abyss
Where is my tiny star that little speck in the middle of the night sky
That one piece of light when everything else is trying to make you blind
我要回家
我现在就要回家
I want to go home now
我不能再等了
I can’t wait any longer
I can’t wait any longer or else the tsunami will rise up and drown everything inside and
That bottle that contains the entirety of me is sealed up so tight and
I’m afraid if I smash it open it will cut me open from the inside out and that can’t happen before I know
I’m fine :) it’s the last week week of school so the last week of testing week and I only have my math presentation and science project left and the last day of school is monday and it’s also my birthday and-
Summary: how everyone else found out that Lia had been assaulted
Warnings: past sexual assault, flashback/panic attack, brief thoughts of suicide, brief self-harm, thoughts of self-harm (please tell me if I missed anything!!)
A/N: I love Lia so much and protective Dean and Michael fuels my entire existence so yk this came out
*please tell me if I made any mistakes!!*
Tags: @catapparently
“So,” Michael said, his voice tantalizing and smooth. “Are we doing this?” Lia returned with a smirk.
“Well, they already know, don’t they?”
They both knew who she meant. The rest of their family. They had kept their new get-back-together as a secret for about a month before Lia needed to distract the rest of them when they had gotten into trouble. It wasn’t her fault Cassie got them caught while they were coming back from some party or other. Even Sloane managed to keep it together, but oh no, Cassie just had to give it away. She was noticing a trend with that girl – she was a terrible liar.
Michael brought his hand up to her face. But the moment their skin made contact, it was like a switch had been flipped. Because Michael turned into him. She could feel the rough skin of his hand on her face and it– it couldn’t be.
She was back in the room. Her old bedroom.
Everything was white. It was dark outside. He was sitting there. He couldn’t– she had to make up a lie. She had to– she had to– it couldn’t be– it couldn’t–
No. It wasn’t real. This couldn’t possibly be real. But it felt so real and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. But she had to get away. She had to get away– as far away as she possibly could because she– she couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t– she couldn’t let it happen. Not again.
She was supposed to be free.
Michael was confused. One moment his girlfriend was fine and they were getting ready to make out again, and the next she was flinching away and– god the pure terror on her face. Her eyes were vacant, as if they weren’t really there. And she was so scared.
The dread and fear and self-hatred and pain was so clearly visible it was palpable in the air.
In all of the years he’d known her, Lia Zhang’s emotions were never this easy to read. It was like she was in a completely different world.
“Hey, um, Lia?” He asked, reaching out his hand. He hadn’t even touched her yet before she flinched violently away, backing into the corner and curling into a ball. She was moving as far away from him as possible, and that hurt something deep inside him. “Ok,” he said, desperately trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Ok. So no touching. Got it.”
He was back. He was back and there was nothing she could do. Not this time. He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t– why wasn’t he listening? She could– she could be a good girl. She could be good. She could be perfect. She would do everything he told her to do. Why wasn’t he listening?
Michael didn’t know what to do. He’d never seen her like this. Not Lia. Not the girl who was always so… strong. The one that never broke. He wanted to scream at himself, because he should have known, especially as the emotion reader, that the ones that look the strongest are the ones who are hiding their hurt.
He was advancing. She wanted to scream at him and push him back but she couldn’t. Because none of this could be real. She’d spent so long trying to prevent this from happening. It couldn’t– it couldn’t possibly be happening.
“Ok,” he repeated. He could tell her breathing was quickening now. It was shallow and fast and she was hyperventilating. And he knew that was bad. “I’m, um, I’m going to get Dean, alright?” She didn’t react. So he practically ran out of there, his heart pounding and his thoughts racing.
It was all her fault, wasn’t it. She should have known this would happen. She should have been good and everything would have been fine. But it wasn’t fine because he was here and he literally could not possibly be here because she– she wouldn’t survive if he was. But he was here. He was in her room and he closed the door and sat on her bed and– he couldn’t be here. He couldn’t– he couldn’t– he–
Michael ran down the hall to Dean’s room, pounding on the door once he got there. He heard giggling behind the door and he wanted to scream at whoever was behind there that this wasn’t a time for laughing. That something was happening with Lia and he felt so freaking powerless and he needed to do something, anything to help her so how dare they laugh? Dean opened the door, a light expression on his face.
“Hey, Townsend, stop assaulting the door. Jeez, what’s up with–” he stopped, his face darkening when he saw Michael’s face. He would have felt bad for ruining Dean’s mood, but not now. He realized on some level that he must have stopped hiding his emotions, but it didn’t matter that he was showing Dean what he was feeling because he was so effing scared and worried and– he just needed Dean to come. “Michael,” Dean said again, his voice louder and firmer than it was before. “What. Happened.” Under different circumstances, he would have made fun of Dean for his voice shaking. But under different circumstances, he wouldn’t even be here.
“Lia.” He could only let a single word out of his mouth. His voice shook the slightest bit. The moment the word made its way out of his mouth, he could see Dean’s expression change. The worry, the fear, the anger, it all multiplied exponentially. Michael heard Dean curse, his voice shaking. He knew how much Dean cared about his sister. How protective he was of her. How out of all of them, Dean knew the most about her past.
“Which room?” He asked. Michael could see the self-hatred and the pent up anger, but for once he wasn’t going to aggravate it.
“Mine.” Dean nodded, brushing past Michael. Lia hardly ever let anyone into her room. Michael had asked her about that once but she just brushed it off. It didn’t matter now though. How could it?
“Hey, what’s going on?” Cassie asked, walking up to the door. Michael couldn’t answer. The only thing it seemed that he was capable of doing right now was following Dean.
The moment Dean entered the room and saw Lia on the ground, he ran toward her. He knelt down next to her and reached out a hand but she flinched away with a scream that tore Dean’s chest in half. He wasn’t the emotion reader, but Dean knew what kind of scream that was. It was the sound of someone who had been hurt and knew they were going to be hurt again. The kind of desperation and resignation that made him want to punch someone over and over again until they were dead because his sister didn’t deserve this.
He wouldn’t leave. He kept coming closer. She deserved it, didn’t she. She– she deserved it, didn’t she? It was all her fault. And she– she really couldn’t breathe. She felt like she was about to pass out, and that would be better than this. Anything is better than this. With him.
“What did you do,” he asked, turning around to look at Michael. His voice was dark and dangerous, but he didn’t care. He was vaguely aware that Cassie walked in.
“Nothing,” Michael said. He was clearly worried and scared which meant something was deeply wrong with everything because Michael never showed his emotions. “I– we were going to kiss but then she flinched away and she– I don’t know.”
“What’s happening?” He heard a quiet voice behind him. He could see out of the corner of his eye that it was Sloane. He didn’t know when or how, but somehow he was on the ground again. He made sure to sit a few feet away from her, but she really needed to start breathing normally.
“We were going to kiss, and I didn’t do anything, I swear! But then she kind of just flinched and now she’s on the floor, screaming whenever anyone touches her.” Dean could see Michael pacing, and he wanted to do the same himself. Ok, that wasn’t true. He wanted to punch a punching bag until everything was ok again.
She needed to be not here. To be anywhere but here. To be anywhere but with him. She needed him to go away. He won’t go away. He won’t go away and she can’t move and she can’t breathe and she– she just couldn’t anymore, she just couldn’t she–
Sloane walked closer and sat down a few feet away from his sister on her other side, but she was looking at Dean, as if she was trying to communicate something without actually having to say it. And something told him that whatever she had to say would hurt him in one of the worst ways possible.
“What is it, Sloane,” he asked softly. She opened her mouth to speak but then closed it again and shook her head.
“Hey, Lia?” She said instead. “It’s ok. He’s not here. You’re safe. This house has incredibly high security measures, I can attest to that, and everyone here is safe to be around. He’s not here. You’re not there. You’re in Michael’s room, and you’re safe.” It took Dean’s buzzing brain a moment to register what Sloane was saying in her words. Lia was having a flashback. And as Sloane kept repeating it over and over again, it took another second for him to realize the rest of Sloane’s implications. Something about a man. He had a few suspicions about what specifically, but he refused to believe that it could be true, that someone could– no.
There was a faint noise. She could make out a few words. Something about being safe. But she wasn’t. He was here. He was here and she wasn’t safe and– and she couldn’t breathe. But then the voice said something about him not being here. But he was literally here. He was right in front of her, he was right there and coming closer. And then the voice said something about not being there. Of being in Michael’s room. It took her a long moment to realize who Michael was. And it took another moment for her to realize who the voice belonged to. Then she blinked and he was gone, though his touch still stayed.
After who knows how long, Dean breathed a sigh of relief when Lia’s eyes seemed to finally return to the present.
“Lia, can you– can you breathe for me please?” He said softly. Her eyes snapped over to him, and her breathing quickened still more, before she seemed to realize who he was. Dean wanted to scream when he realized that right now, men were terrifying for his sister and she was terrified of him. That hurt on a level he wasn’t aware was possible. “It’s ok. You’re safe. You’re safe in Michael’s room. I just need you to breathe, Lia, ok?”
She shook her head as she scrunched her eyes tightly closed and started clenching and unclenching her hands. Then she started scratching herself, and Dean wanted to punch the wall. He had forgotten what her panic attacks were like. It had been a few years since he’d seen one, and he wanted to yell at himself for thinking that they had just gotten better when he should have realized that she had just gotten better at hiding them.
“Hey, Lia? Don’t hurt yourself, ok?” She didn’t seem to hear him. And he wanted to hold down her hands, but that would just trigger her more and he felt so effing useless. “Please, Lia.” He whispered, scared that any volume above that would make her go back to wherever she was.
“Can’t,” she gasped out, her nails digging into her hand. “Breathe.”
“Just breathe in for four for me, ok? Can you do that?” He needed her to listen. He needed her to be ok. He wanted to jump up in joy when she followed what he said. It didn’t matter that it was way too quick to actually be effective, it was working. “Ok, now just hold it for four. That’s it. Now out for four. That’s good. That’s good, Lia.”
On some level she was aware that Dean wasn’t going to hurt her. That he was safe. But the voice kept switching back and forth and back and forth between Dean’s and his and why couldn’t she breathe? She followed what the words said. What the voice told her to do. She just wanted it to be over. She needed it to be over.
As her breathing slowly and shakily returned to normal, she stopped scratching herself and Dean could see the smallest amount of blood. He wanted to hold her and tell her everything was going to be ok, but he knew that would be bad. He just needed his sister to be ok.
She leaned her head against the wall and for the first time in a long time, Dean saw just how exhausted she was.
“Lia,” he heard Michael say. In his peripheral vision Dean saw him kneeling down next to Sloane. “What happened?”
Lia was so tired. She just wanted to sleep except she hated sleeping and being on the bed because he– no. She refused to think about that. Not now. She shrugged, rolling her eyes. At least she could finally breathe now.
“Flashback or panic attack type thing. What, have you never seen one before?” Her tone was flippant, thankfully.
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Michael’s voice was soft. Gentle. Like she could break at any moment and she hated that. She hated it so much. That was how he treated her mother. And she would not become her mother. She refused to.
“One, stop treating me like I’m fragile.” She shot a glare at Michael. Then she let out a sigh and leaned her head against the wall. She really would have to do this, wouldn’t she. “I was nine the first time. That was when I killed a man. Lies are protection, you know, and they’re also weapons. He just kept coming. But the lies always worked. They kept him back. Away. So it was safe. Then I turned twelve, and of course puberty happened and suddenly, they– the lies stopped working.” She was distinctly aware of her voice shaking. She could still feel him all over her. He had never stopped being all over her and she– she needed him to leave. She shrugged as she tried to block out the memories that were flooding into her mind.
“Lia, I–”
“No.” She cut Michael off, not looking at him. She was shaking. Why couldn’t she stop shaking? “Don’t, Michael.” She took another shaky breath. “He called my honey, sweetie, darling, any supposedly endearing term you can think of and he called me that.” She closed her eyes, lost in the pain. “He said I was special.” Her voice was barely audible, but she knew everyone in the room heard. “She knew what he did to girls he called special. She let him anyway.” She opened her eyes again. There weren’t any tears. There weren’t any tears because this had long progressed beyond the point of crying. It hurt too much for tears. She was too numb to cry. She knew that was a juxtaposition, but she didn’t care enough to make sense of it.
“He’s gone now,” Dean said and she wanted to curl up next to him like she used to do when she was younger and it was just the two of them and she had just started trusting him. But she couldn’t because she– she didn’t deserve to be comforted. And she’s scared that if he touched her, she would get transported back in time again and she couldn’t handle that.
“No, he isn’t.” Her voice shook. She hated that. “They never caught him. He’s a serial rapist on top of everything else and they never caught him.” She saw Dean flinch, as if he couldn’t quite believe that Lia had been– no. She hated using that word for herself. “And she just let him.” She sounded broken. She couldn’t quite bring herself to care; she was just exhausted. The only thing she wanted to do now was to sleep and never wake up. She was aware that it sounded like dying. Maybe she did want to die.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Sloane sounded so desperate for her to understand. “I– I should have said it when you first told me, but it wasn’t your fault, Lia.” Lia let out a soft laugh.
“Wasn’t it? If I had thought of a better lie, if I had found another way to keep him away, if I was invisible, if I wasn’t special,” she spat out the word. “If I had been better then it wouldn’t have happened.” She wanted to cry. She really, really wanted to cry but it hurt beyond the point of crying. Plus, she had already used up all her tears the night before in the safety of her locked room. There couldn’t possibly be any left.
“Lia,” Dean said with a strange intensity she hadn’t seen in him before. “It’s not your fault. Please, trust me. It’s not your fault.” Lia smirked for a brief second.
“Dean-o, you know I have trust issues.” He gave her a soft smile. She could tell that he wanted to hug her and hold her and she hated that he couldn’t. And god, why was he still all over her?
“Your mother shouldn’t have done that,” Sloane whispered. Oh Lia loved that girl.
“When I was still debating whether or not to take her with me, she told me she loved me.” She took a shaky breath. “And it was the truth. The funny thing about truths is that if you believe it, anything can be true.” She closed her eyes. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to figure out if that was really true or if she just believed it was true.”
“People who love you don’t– they don’t let that happen. People who love you don’t do that to you.” Sloane’s voice was vibrating with intensity. Lia gave her a soft smile.
“I know,” she whispered. And suddenly the overwhelming presence of him became way too much and she– she needed to get away. She needed him to be gone. She stood up, aware on some level that she was still shaking. “I’m taking a shower.” She clenched and unclenched her hands, yearning to feel something physical to get rid of the mental anguish. She knew the moment she stepped foot into that shower she was going to have a breakdown and she was going to make herself bleed but she couldn’t bring herself to care, she just needed him to get off of her.
“Hey, Lia?” She heard Dean say when she started shakily walking to the door. She stopped walking but didn’t turn around. “I– we’re all here for you.” She nodded the slightest bit. “And we’re going to catch him and make him pay.”
“Ok.”
But it wouldn’t be enough, and she knew that. Just like she knew that no matter how many showers she took, he was still going to be all over her. He was never going to leave.
And so what if the moment she stepped into the bathroom she broke down crying?
Tags: @nqds (idk if you still want to be tagged? Please tell me if you don't!! And to everyone else, please tell me if you want to be tagged!!)
Warnings: allusions to self-harm (my poems are always like that tho)
Notes: I wrote this in the span of a few minutes (like with nearly all of my poems) and it's probably really bad (once again, nearly all of my poetry) but whatever
Summary: Jameson and Grayson deal with the anniversary of Emily's death
Warnings: thoughts of suicide, angst, past character death (please tell me if I missed any!!)
A/N: I'm really bad at writing romance so uh I'm sorry in advance for the kinda small averyjameson scene at the beginning....
*please tell me if I made any mistakes!!*
“Jamie,” Avery said as she laid a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder. He turned to give her a soft smile.
“Heiress.” She could tell he was holding something back. And she had a few suspicions about what that something was.
“I know what the date is, Jameson Hawthorne.” He tensed for the briefest moment under her hand before relaxing again.
“Happy birthday, heiress.”
“You know that wasn’t the day I was talking about,” Avery said softly. They both knew exactly what she was talking about. They both knew exactly why today was what it was.
October eighteenth. The happiest and worst day of Jameson’s life. The day Avery was born and the day Emily died.
“I know,” Jameson muttered softly, leaning down to kiss his girlfriend. It was soft. He was letting her decide what to do with it. But really, what choice was there but to kiss him back? Deep and yearning. It was a feeling she wanted to go on for forever. But it couldn’t and they both knew that.
“You’re going to have to talk about it at some point you know,” Avery said, pulling away. She was close enough to feel his breath tickle her skin. Close enough to just lean in and let the world melt away yet again. To just let everything go and fall into his arms. But she couldn’t when he was hurting. They both knew that.
“Can’t we just celebrate the good thing?” His breath whispered across her face. She wanted nothing more than to celebrate today, but she wanted to do it when one of her favorite people in the world wasn't in pain.
“You’re hurting, Jamie.” He let out a soft sigh but didn’t back away.
“Today will never be easy. I think you know that. But it’s easier when I’m with you. When I think about the good things and not the bad.” He lifted his hand and rested it on her face. “Like the fact that today was the day you were born into this world. The day that meant that sometime in the future, we would meet each other. The day that led to this.”
“Jamie.” Her voice was barely audible. She was scared that any volume louder than that would break the delicate calm in the storm they had created.
“Heiress.” He returned with the same gentleness.
“I love you.” And they descended into a kiss yet again. Just when their lips touched, she heard someone clearing their throat. Avery whipped her head around, and saw Nash standing in the doorway with a smug grin. Crap.
“You know,” the eldest Hawthorne brother said, walking in. “You really ought to close the door when you’re making out.” He looked over at Avery. “Happy birthday.”
“Oh, um, th– thank you,” Avery managed to stutter out. She was sure her face was red at this point. What was more embarrassing than having your boyfriend’s older brother slash older sister’s fiancé walking in on you kissing? Jamie sighed, narrowing his eyes at his brother.
“Why are you here, Nash.”
“I was bored,” he said, shrugging. Then he paused for a moment before turning to Jamie with concern in his eyes. “How are you doing?” Jameson rolled his eyes with a scoff.
“I’m fine, Nash.” Nash looked at Avery, raising his eyebrows.
‘Better,’ Avery mouthed, taking her boyfriend’s hand. Nash nodded. That was good. As the oldest brother, he was always worried about them. But today especially. Emily’s death day was never good for Jamie and Gray. But Jamie has Avery to keep him from doing anything too reckless now, and he was grateful for that.
“Has anyone seen Gray today?” He asked. Avery felt Jameson’s hand tense in her own.
“You haven’t?” To anyone else, his voice would have sounded carefree and light. But Avery knew what he was really feeling. Despite how he wanted everyone to think, Jameson cared about his brothers a lot. He was worried. And the more worried he got, the more he tended to pretend that he wasn’t.
“I was going to check the pool next,” Nash said with a shrug.
“No,” Jameson said, a strange expression on his face. “His two AM swim should be over by now.” His tone was mocking, but Avery knew better. A look of realization dawned on his face as he let out a curse.
“You know where he is, don’t you,” Nash said, watching as his brother put on a thin jacket, no doubt getting ready to leave the house. Jamie paused, letting out a dramatic sigh.
“Oh, ‘tis so woeful being the only genius in this house.” He left the room, but not before giving one more smirk back at Avery and Nash. She started to follow him out, but Nash put a hand on her shoulder.
“Something about this tells me that they need to do this alone,” he muttered. He shot her a grin. “And if they end up not killing each other in the next ten minutes, we can go get them then.” Avery nodded, before turning to Nash with a puzzled expression.
“How will we know where to go?” Nash shot her another grin, and then it clicked. “You already know where he is, don’t you.” Nash shrugged.
“I figured this was something they should do themselves first.” Of course he already knew. “Although,” he added. “I don’t particularly like the spot Gray chose.” He shrugged, but Avery could tell he was worried too. The brothers cared about each other. And Nash being the oldest one, well, he’s had more experience than all of them in dealing with and taking care of the Hawthorne brothers. “I’ll text you in five,” he called out behind him as he left her room.
****
The wind was cold, but Grayson couldn’t feel it. It was unusually cold for an October day, but he supposed it fit. It was funny, in a twisted sort of way how much he wanted to just– no. He wasn’t allowed to show that. He wasn’t allowed to say that. He could only think that because he needed to be perfect. And perfect people don’t think about jumping off to see if they would fly, knowing damn well they can’t.
Perfect people wouldn’t be like Grayson Hawthorne.
He would just swim. Just swim until he physically couldn’t anymore, then he’d swim one more lap after that. To get rid of the noise. To get rid of the hurt. To get rid of the numb. But it always returned with a vengeance the moment he stopped. But this cliff? This cliff was fine. Yeah, it was fine. He could just– he could just stay here a little longer, right?
He had lost track of time at this point. How long had he been up here, looking over the edge? How long had he been shut off and numb to the world around him? Well, he knew the answer to that. Since practically forever. He couldn’t remember a single day when nothing hurt. When nothing was wrong. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. He wouldn’t let it matter.
Sometime, somewhere in the fog that had taken over his brain, he heard footsteps from behind him. It was funny how he could be so lost yet so aware at the same time. He picked on the littlest things these days, yet he was still never fully present for any of it.
At first he thought he was making it all up. He’s made up entire people before, so what's stopping him from making up this sound? Still he whipped his head around, and was filled with the slightest of shock and relief that he wasn’t making it up.
“So I was right,” he heard his brother say when he turned his head back around. Jameson sounded smug, but Grayson had long gained the ability to see – and hear – through his facade. He was worried. Grayson wanted to scoff and shake some sense into him because Grayson Hawthorn did not need any worry. He didn’t deserve it.
“How are you today, Jameson?” He asked, because asking Jameson and making sure he was ok was easier than telling him that Grayson wasn’t. He wouldn't admit it was because he cared about his brother. He just wouldn’t. He was met with a scoff coming from his right as Jameson sat down next to him.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, sure.” Grayson said. His brother could deflect as much as he wanted, but Grayson could do it better.
“Well that’s rich coming from the person who’s sitting on the edge of the cliff where they watched someone die.” Grayson could do nothing but shrug. There was a pause before Jameson spoke again. “It’s hard, but I’m getting through it. Avery’s helping.” Grayson nodded. That was good. As much as he hated to show it, he hated the idea of any of his brothers being hurt. “How are you?” So he really did ask it, huh.
“I’m fine.” He was aware that he was echoing Jameson, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.
“Yeah, because sitting on the edge of the cliff where Emily died for who knows how long at this point is certainly the definition of fine.” He flinched when her name was mentioned and he knew Jameson noticed. He was relieved when it wasn’t brought up. “Talk to me, Gray.” But he couldn’t. Didn’t he understand? He couldn’t. He let out a quiet sigh.
“Life is funny, isn’t it?” Grayson turned to his brother for the first time since he arrived, laughing darkly. He turned back to the direction of the edge. “It just has to make them both land on the same date, doesn’t it.” He turned his head up to look at the sky. Jameson didn’t talk. “I’m just– I’m so sick of it.” He couldn’t bring himself to care that he was revealing what he had kept buried for his entire life, and to his brother no less.
“Of the dates?” Jameson sounded light, like he didn’t have a care in the world, but Grayson heard the heaviness in his voice nonetheless.
“Of life.” He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, unearthing feelings he had taught himself to suppress for as long as he could remember. But it felt like nothing. Like he was just empty.
“You were going to jump off that cliff.” Jameson said, his voice a mix of emotions that Grayson didn’t have the energy or motivation to pick apart. The part he did catch though, was that it wasn’t a question.
“No.” On some level, he was aware that he was talking. But it felt like he was underwater. Which was funny, because he realized that he sort of wanted to be. Underwater. And to never come back up. “I was going to step off.” He realized on some level that his voice sounded hollow. Like it had died a long time ago, and was decaying. It was funny because that was how he felt. Turned out his voice reflected it too. He realized he had a strange sense of humor.
“How long?” And Grayson knew exactly what he was asking. How long had he been this way? How long had he wanted to simply die and not be revived?
“The question you ought to ask isn’t how long,” he said, “rather when am I not.” He heard footsteps coming from behind them. Ah, so their ten minutes alone were up according to Nash.
“Have you guys gotten all your angst out yet?” He heard his youngest brother say. Leave it to Xander to lighten the mood.
“Meh,” Jameson said, and Grayson could hear him smirking. He knew without looking that Avery sat down next to his brother, and Nash was in the process of sitting down next to him. And Libby sat next to Nash, Max sat next to Avery, and Xander sat next to Max.
“So,” Avery said after a moment of silence. “The cliff?” Grayson shrugged.
“Personally,” Nash started saying, placing a hand on Grayson’s shoulder. He found that he strangely didn’t mind. “I think it’s a bit cold, but oh well.”
“Ok, now that everyone is here,” Jameson said after another moment of silence. “You can’t lie anymore. How are you really, Gray?” He was aware his heart was pounding, but he was too busy making sure he didn’t cry. Because Grayson Hawthorn could not cry. How long had he spent his childhood wishing, pleading that someone would ask him that? But now– now he didn’t know what to say.
“I have no idea.” His voice was monotone and conveyed no emotion at all. Just the way he liked it. Just the way Tobias liked it.
“That’s ok,” Nash said, and something in him broke. He felt a tear silently fall from his eyes. That was another thing. Crying silently. He had taught himself how to do that when he used to cry in the middle of the night before he had mastered the art of blocking everything out. And they just kept coming.
And then Jameson hugged him and they fell faster. They never hugged. Jameson pulled back and looked into his eyes.
'I know,' they were saying. 'I’ve got you. You’re safe. I know.'
The date would always be hard. But they had each other. And that made it that much more tolerable. And it would be ok.
Stood on the cliffside screaming - Jameson and Grayson deal with the anniversary of Emily's death
Drowning - Grayson and swimming
the naturals:
The burn of your touch - how everyone else found out that Lia had been assaulted
Couldn't hate you if I tried - Lia bakes a cake for Dean's birthday. It just so happens that Sterling and Lia get to know each other better in the process.
Serenity - Lia has a nightmare sparked by her infiltration of the friendly neighborhood cult. Dean is there to comfort her.
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