Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PREFACE:

Revenge. Hot, like sweat, clings to me all day and all night. It keeps me up, staves away sleep and keeps me awake. Keeps me pacing. Plotting.
Anger. Red and blazing, ruptures into all I can see. Erupts into my mind and scorches my very thoughts.
Jealousy. Like an infestation. Like bugs, scattering across my floor. The itching, crawling under my skin when I see them. Their indifference, happiness. Them.
Murderous intent sinking its teeth into my shoulder, and I can't help but let it feed on me. I hardly recognise myself anymore.
Dedication. Entirely devoted like a loving husband to my cause. I'm always awake, always tweaking and perfecting the course for the rabbits. The rats.
A rabbit amongst the rats, that what she is. My only problem and my only tangible tether to who I was.

God, so innocent. So sweet. So unlike them, and yet clings to them for dear god. They can't shake her off their legs. Why would they want to? Sweet, saccharine, smiling Sam.
She's my only problem. How can I remove her from the equation? How can I keep her dumb to it all? How do I keep her safe, from myself? I know it's wrong, but there's a part of me now. It's the ruling majority, it gets the say now. It rules in favour of revenge. How can I refuse, when it's what my heart beats for. If there is a God, he kept me here for this. To enact his judgement, the one we can all plainly see. Sam, I know you see it too. You're disgusted with them. The rats, pigs, vermin you surround yourself with. You're transcendent, resplendent, shining bright white heavenly light onto all their sins. Their lust, their negligence, their bloodlust.

Angel, with your pearlescent blonde hair and deep brown eyes. Like the moss that grows in the overhangs of the mountain. You were made for me, destiny. I know that you can see it too. That's why, I hope you'll understand that this is my only choice. My only decision to take. They have forced my hand, played god in the lives of my sisters so now I must rebalance the scales of justice. I just hope you'll stay aside, pretty, asleep, calm. I don't see how it could go wrong this way.

Death took my sisters, who never hurt anybody or ever wished bad on anyone. Now I'll take back, and I'll keep you for myself.

Chapter Text

Whenever an arrow is fired, someone must first pull the string. Pull it taught, straight arm and calm breath. You must aim, deliberate and calculated, in order to let the arrow fly. In order to hope for your target, let alone strike it dead.

A red, wooly sweater. It had always been one of your favourites. Can clothes be scarred by traumatic events? Can they be changed after something catastrophic? You thumb the cables of wool, knitted tightly against one another. Vein-like, and just as delicate. The cusp of the sleeve is bobbling, threatening to give way to the whole sweater with no notice. A singular string, waving in the slight breeze. It disturbs the curtains of your room, they ebb and flow subtly as you consider the sweater.

It was the one you wore the day they went missing. Should you pack it? Would it be insensitive? Masquerading as if nothing had changed, as if when you wore it last you were the same as you are now. As if you hadn't begun to unravel too.

You fold it over your arm, huff out a tired breath and toss it back into the wardrobe. The backpack on your bed bulges at the sides awkwardly, looking as if it were about to vomit your belongings back onto the sheets. It's enough for a week, surely.

Checking over the packing list, with every item getting crossed off your stomach bubbles with anticipation. Not quite fear, but nothing like excitement either. A disturbed sense of unease, something made you want to stay home. Stay with Darcy, and your parents. It would be so simple, shoot a text message over to him, and all your uneasiness washed away.

But that idea, too, unsettled you greatly. It set your very hairs on end to imagine a world where you wouldn't go if he called you. Over the phone, his voice was chipper and discordant. A mask, something he put on for you. His invitation came completely out of the blue, but you took very little convincing. It had been almost a year, to the day, since their disappearance.

And, it also marked half a year since you and Joshua Washington last spoke. Not that you had been counting, of course.

He hadn't manufactured his mask by then. He called you repeatedly, and you only caught him after the third ring. You grumbled, eyes still full of sleep and hair misshapen from your pillow. The vibration of your nightstand had pulled you out of a deep dream, a dream full of snow and panting breaths. Of running until your legs burned and not getting anywhere, until you felt the sheer drop of a cliff.

You felt around, hand bumbling dumbly around until at last you caught the pesky phone. You turned the screen over, the light blinding you immediately. You grumbled in protest, your retinas positively burning off as you read the screen.

Incoming call. Josh.

You couldn't be more tired. Quite suddenly, it was as if you were never asleep. Bringing the phone to your ear and sitting straight up in bed, at attention, you answered his call.

"Josh?"

Not silence, but static ringing out from his end.

"Hello? Are you there?" You paused, licking your dry lips. Your throat had gone hoarse, and skin cold. Without warning, a thought entered your head. Your heart began to race, as you struggled for the right words. "Josh, I'm here for you. Please can you say something? I've been worried about you- you haven't answered any of my emails lately, and-"

"Sam," a voice, a total stranger. Who was this man? Whose voice alone had projected innumerable sadnesses and tragedies just through this one word. Your heart sank, desperately deep into your body until you were sure it would fall apart. You didn't dare utter another word, lest you interrupt him. "It's so painful, Sam. I'm totally alone. They're still gone and- I just, I always thought they'd come back."

It was so much worse than anything you could've possibly imagined.

"Josh.." You choked, the feelings spouting out of you like a burst pipe. You'd not allowed yourself to think about things in a long time, and now it had all washed over you so suddenly, so without warning. Like a tidal wave.

"They are not gone," you started haphazardly, unconfident yourself in what you were telling him "they are always with us. In our hearts, Josh. We are with them everyday, carrying them with us. It is.." you now couldn't help the emotion in your voice. "it is so, unbelievably hard to do it alone. Josh, anytime, please call me. If it's in the middle of the night, like now, or-"

A sharp, steep ring flooded your ear. Taking the phone away, you saw 'Call terminated' on the screen. That night you didn't sleep. You buried your head into the covers and wept like a little girl.

Since that night, you'd made sure to text once a night. Usually when you couldn't sleep, because the darkness of your room twisted itself against you, and coats hung up on the door began to look like ghoulish faces, or stoic statues that would inch closer to you with every blink. The paranoia would melt away, seeing that no matter what hour it was, he would read your message within seconds of it sending. Knowing that despite it all, he was listening to you. He knew he wasn't alone, because you began confiding in him. Using his messages like a journal, it was as if he had died too. Sometimes, you forgot altogether it was him you were messaging.

The messages would range from one word, to lengthy paragraphs spanning multiple messages; pouring your heart and soul onto the screen and laying it bare to him. A vulnerability that you never allowed yourself to indulge in, something you thought he knew. Maybe that's why he allowed you to, and why he participated in his own way.

It was a release to express yourself so candidly, in such languid detail, and know his eyes would be scanning it all. There was a distance, you never thought you would have to confront him so soon, someone who has seen through your own eyes. Who knows just as well the night terrors and the haunting memories that eat away at your mind, playing over and over again like a haunted picture-house. A hostage in your own mind, strapped to the cinema seat, teeth biting down on a belt and being forced to watch that night repeat endlessly. Studying the ways you went wrong, the screen foggy through tears and time.

You force the zip shut on the bag, and with it the thoughts that snarled behind your eyes. You needed to face the music, and do it for him. It should be fun, to see everyone again, right? Maybe it could be like it used to be, before it all went up in flames.

Filling your head with optimistic thoughts, you slung the backpack over your shoulders and descended the stairs. In a haze of yellow, the golden ball of fur known as Darcy pounced on you, nearly knocking you off your feet. "Darce!" you laughed, recovering yourself, petting her and covertly guiding her off you and back onto her paws. Golden Retrievers often don't realise their strength, or rather how heavy they are, into old age. "I'll miss you too, girl."

Your mother rounds the corner, and sends you a knowing, comforting smile. "So, you're going then?" She asked, trying to hide her incredulous tone. She surveyed you, and her lips curled into a subtly proud grin. Your mental fortitude was hard to fake, and doubly harder in front of your mother. Nearly at the finish line, Sam. Just cross the threshold and close the door.

Giving her a curt goodbye, feigning worry over missing the bus, you wrap one arm around her and envelop her in a short embrace. She calls goodbye's after you, but all you hear is the twist of the door handle and the slam as it shuts, for good, behind you.

It was for good, right?