Chapter Text
At some point or another, you get used to the Dark Riders.
Having them try to kill you had already become a part of your — at the very least — monthly routine, and you had even started fitting in the days that you were most likely to come across them in your calendar, unfazed by the actual implications of fighting for your life. In a way, it became predictable, and you fell into the routine with time, as humans do, the knowledge of the very real danger you faced with them becoming a background hum of alarm. Somewhere in between the tenth and thirtieth time you'd almost died at their hands, you'd become numb to it.
You guess it was only a matter of time before you got used to them.
Sure, the first time you'd walked into your favourite cafe in New Hillcrest to see Jay seated at the counter, calmly sipping some unidentifiable drink, you'd damn near lost your mind. You'd been angry and panicked and terrified at the triumphant expression on their face, too busy trying to clear the sheer curtain of red from your vision to realize that Jay was only smug because they’d already gotten what they wanted, which was just to pass on a message:
We’re here. We’re watching. And there’s nothing you can do about it.
Previously, you only really had to deal with the Dark Riders’ presence in battle-ready situations — Soul Steed underneath you, friends at your side, and magic sparking at your fingertips where no civilians could pass out from the shock of it, both literally and figuratively. Having to deal with Jay mere feet away, unable to do anything about it, was even more terrifying than if you'd had to fight them. And after that, you started seeing them everywhere, probably because you'd had the exact reaction they’d hoped for. Sabine in Jarlaheim for a walk. Katja at the Pride Festival to observe. Jay was the worst, and they were always lurking in the shadows with a sly smirk, to the point where you would shoot up from your bed in the middle of the night, convinced that you could feel their dark gaze boring into you while you slept.
But you get tired of it eventually. And it’s on one such day, having dragged yourself to the grocery store in a hoodie just barely concealing pajamas underneath, deep bags under your eyes from another restless night of dreams, that you're inspecting a couple different brands of cereal when Jay decides it’s an excellent idea to play horror movie antagonist. They practically spawn beside you, teeth bared in that unnaturally sharp way of theirs, the usual icy cling of terror heavy on their breath as it brushes against your ear. Your hair rustles in the breeze of a seemingly undeterminable source — at least, to the security cameras.
You shudder reflexively. “What do you think?” You ask without turning to look, too exhausted to be anything but casual about this. “Cornflakes with a shit ton of sugar dumped on top, or save myself the work with the Frosted Flakes?”
Jay phases back into tangibility, looking slightly disappointed. “Frosted.”
“Of course you’d choose the expensive option.” You heave a deep sigh, but tuck the box into the cart with the rest of the load you'd come out to retrieve. You leave for checkout without bothering to look back at the flickering form of your sworn enemy.
Exhaustion gives way for quiet exasperation, which eventually falls into something a bit too much like comfort. The wariness doesn’t subside, and likely never will, too fuelled by memories like the one of Sabine’s magic branding itself into your shoulder, blackened and cruel, or Katja’s clawing the insides of your chest to hollow scraps. But you stop torturing yourself with what-ifs and instead just accept Katja’s presence as you make eye contact in a crowd. It’s fleetingly meaningful, blue on blank white, and you are horror-stricken by her inhuman appearance for just a moment before you're rolling your eyes and moving on.
You wonder idly, sometimes, how it came to this. You don't miss being afraid, but you do miss your common sense; its absence leaves you grasping at loose puzzle pieces, struggling to put them together to form a full picture. Logically, you understand that the ever-looming threat of death is one that should haunt you with how often you face it, but the closeness of it, maybe paradoxically, has left it as nothing more than a distant concept. You blink into the water of the river underneath Nilmer’s Highland, forcing your burning eyes to adjust to the blurriness until you can just make out a hulking figure in conspicuous red above the surface. You break for air, and sweep the soaking hair from your face to glare. “Fuck off, Sabine.”
“I could kill you,” she points out. She sounds indignant, but it isn’t really a threat so much as it is a fact. Something like mild curiosity laces her tone.
You consider this. “I know,” you say finally, and disappear back into the depths, a shimmer of colour in the clear blue for Sabine to hunt down.
You come out of it unharmed, and almost take it as a challenge.
Like will they get bored of playing mind games eventually? Will they leave you alone, then, or will they just get rid of you? Take advantage of your lull in suspicion to carry out whatever plot they’ve been planning the whole time? You're not scared, not anymore, but they still haunt your every thought and movement because you just don't understand why. The suspense is worse, almost, than it would be knowing that they plan to kill you or some such typical bullshit. At least, then, you could force your guard back up, convince yourself that there is a reason for all of this past just… just—
Past showing up at someone’s open-invitation birthday party to huddle ominously on some random ridge overlooking the whole celebration. You throw your head back, laughing with your friends as Alex takes the stage and strikes some ridiculous poses to the music — Lisa’s voice filtering in through the speakers — and catch sight of them when you can finally open your eyes through the tears of mirth. At first it’s just a blur of green and red and white (Christmas colours, you think with a strange sort of detachment), but it comes into focus as if in slow-motion. Sabine smirks, and Katja waves. Jay’s eyes are in your head again.
Your amusement dies in your throat. Linda must see something in your face, because her gaze follows yours up to the Dark Riders perch above you; her expression freezes. She elbows Anne, whose eyes harden when she sees the problem — Lisa’s amber ones widen, and Alex hurries towards you, evidently having felt the sudden tension. It’s nothing subtle, and none of you make any effort to change that, blatantly glaring at each other across the mass of dancing partygoers, all oblivious of the standoff that has you caught.
Someone yells, “Hey, man, what flavour do you think people want the cake to be? Mrs. Holdsworth’s baking!”
You groan. “Hang on, guys. I’ve got this.”
Four heads whip towards you. Lisa grabs your shoulder, as if to physically restrain you from charging the Dark Riders. Alex steps forward with her, no doubt itching for a fight, Anne mirroring the movement with a vengeance while Linda gets that look on her face that says she doesn’t enjoy the thought of having to play the voice of reason again.
You insist, “No, seriously. I’m gonna go talk to them.” If you were getting weird looks from the Soul Riders before, it only intensifies into shock the moment you say it. Anne opens her mouth, no doubt to call you stupid, but you say quickly, “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
There must be some minuscule difference in your expression that separates it from all the self-sacrificial and impulsive plays you've made before, because you can pinpoint the moment they all visibly relent. Linda says, in support, “They’re not here for a fight,” and you all trust her weird Moon Circle intuition enough that Anne relents and snaps, “First sign of that changing, we’ll be there. And don’t you dare tell us otherwise.”
Lisa smiles in what seems to be an attempt at reassurance, although it wavers with slight uncertainty. Nonetheless, she chimes in, “Don’t worry. We’ll be down here the whole time.”
“And all you have to do is yell if you want us over there just ‘cause!” Alex adds, bright but with something darkly fierce written into the flash of her teeth.
You return the smile, both grateful and placating, and start up the hill, a little stiff with the awkwardness of both your friends and enemies watching you the whole way. It’s barely anything, just three minutes before you find yourself with your back to the party down below, facing the Dark Riders, but you make a point to glower like having to take that trek was the most inconvenient thing that could have ever happened to you.
“Do you even know whose birthday it is?” You ask in place of a greeting.
Jay raises an eyebrow. “Well, hello to you too.”
“This is a birthday party?”
“I’ve been to funerals more exciting than this.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Do you seriously have to be here? Today?”
“What’s wrong with today?” Jay asks innocently. Their unnaturally green eyes stray over your shoulder, where you're sure the Soul Riders are glaring back threateningly. You can almost feel the lightning sparking to life in Alex’s hands down below. “It looks like fun.”
“Yeah, and you’re ruining it,” you point out.
“That’s the best part,” Katja says with a pleasantly vacant smile.
“Who’s gonna stop us, anyway?” Sabine jeers, stalking closer. Her heavy boots make an imprint in the mud like she’s stomping; you force yourself not to back away, if only so your friends don’t get the wrong idea and start a fight. “You? Or your little druid lackeys trying to intimidate us there?”
You think, don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. “Can you blame us for not being thrilled? Last time, Katja damn near killed everyone with her stupid storm. It was June and I got hypothermia.”
“Last time?” Sabine repeats, brows furrowing. “Was that the equestrian thing in Epona?”
“Pride.”
“Oh.” Jay frowns disapprovingly. “Katja, that’s homophobic.”
Sabine grins wickedly and claps said girl on the shoulder in some sort of congratulations, although last you checked, she was a lesbian herself. “Whatever,” you dismiss, ultimately deciding you don't care enough. “Look, they’re making a cake. If you don’t vote for a flavour, we’re going to end up with carrot.”
Sabine says, “What the fuck?”
“Exactly,” you agree. “So?”
“Hm,” Jay contemplates, always the first to play along. “What do you want?”
“Not carrot.”
“I would hope not.” Sabine’s voice has a threatening edge to it. “I don’t need any more reasons to throw you off this ledge.”
“Death by chocolate,” Katja demands suddenly, and doesn’t elaborate.
“Sure,” Jay agrees with a pleasant shrug. “Why not.”
Sabine rolls her golden-red eyes. You are unnerved for the brief second that your sound judgment returns to you and provides an excellent reminder that she isn’t human, none of them are human and you should not be here, alone and unprotected—
Jay narrows their eyes, and the feeling fades.
“Chocolate,” you sum up, suddenly shaken. “Alright.”
You turn and march your way back down to your friends. They’re on you in an instant — “Did they hurt you?” and “Are you okay?” and “What did they say they wanted?” — so you explain, “Apparently they all really like chocolate.”
“What?” Linda asks, startled.
You almost brush it off, forget it like the hundred other encounters you've had with the Dark Riders in the last month. But something just doesn’t sit right with you, and prickles in the back of your head, tingling and insistent — Linda’s bewilderment. Sabine’s eyes. Jay’s eyes. You were scared of them again, for a moment, but you almost can’t imagine why now. In your dreams, Sabine pushes you. The marks of her fingertips leave scorching imprints on your chest where she’d touched. It burns like frostbite, and Katja laughs. Jay says, “What, no hello?” You say it back, and their eyes are green. Green. Green. Green.
You sit up, sheets pooling around your legs. You grasp at the fading remains of your nearly-forgotten nightmare — was it a nightmare? — but only manage to retain a single, main point. You turns it over in your mind, not shocked but definitely not pleased, before you decide you need coffee before you can deal with any of this shit. You're fully dressed in a hoodie, track pants and sneakers, halfway out the door, before you realize it’s still dark out. The glowing numbers on your phone reveal that it’s only five, and your usual place will undoubtedly be closed.
You head for the cheap corner cafe instead. You've been here exactly twice, and never at such a ridiculous hour, but somehow you're not at all surprised to find Jay seated at one of the worn booths, so prim it could be convincing that they’re seated at a gourmet restaurant rather than a gas station for desperate people who need coffee for their night shift at three in the morning. The seat across them is open, and there’s a steaming cup of what looks like espresso on the table.
“Oh, good,” Jay says when you slide into the empty spot, “your drink was getting cold.”
You nod half-heartedly in greeting, acknowledgment, and thanks all in one before you chance a sip at the maybe-poisoned liquid; it’s surprisingly decent, and you burn your tongue taking a few more too quickly. “So,” you start, setting your cup down. “How long have you been mind-controlling me?”
Jay snorts. “That’s a very dramatic way of putting it. ‘Mind control’. All I did was remove the shadow of fear clouding your mind. Technically, I did you a favour, and I haven’t even touched any of your thoughts… couldn’t if I tried. Not really my area of expertise.”
“A favour,” you repeat blankly, almost in shock. You're not sure whether to laugh or punch Jay in the face, hard, especially since you're leaning towards the latter but don't think it would go too well in your own favour.
Jay clasps their hands together, leaning forward intently as if trying to peer into your soul – too close for comfort. You're briefly thrown back to annoyingly invasive sessions with the school counselor back in high school after you'd been labelled with behavioural issues. It had helped none, but Jay is an effective, if slightly twisted therapist, considering that a month ago you would definitely be at their throat by now, damn the consequences. They speak like one, too, all collected tones when they say, “Come on, love–” they sigh exasperatedly when you make a face of disgust at the casual endearment– “Look me in the eyes and tell me you aren’t afraid of me.”
You take the provocation for what it is and meet their gaze unflinchingly. “The only reason I haven’t attacked you yet is because I’m afraid… of tipping over my coffee.” You take another gulp of said drink and wrinkle your nose. It tastes worse the second time. “Is this poisoned?”
“Maybe.” Jay shrugs infuriatingly.
Well, you haven’t dropped dead yet.