Archive of Our Own ^beta

F.K. was missing.

J.J. hadn’t put him down since that terrible day. She’d kept him close before, sleeping with him long after she should have grown out of it, but now she brought him everywhere. Maybe it was childish, but it helped. He’d protected her. He’d guided her and talked to her and kept her safe in the dream, and he’d saved her life in reality. She carried him like a security blanket; no matter how bad it got, F.K. was there.

But now, he wasn’t.

J.J. sat in the library, trying not to cry. She’d been retracing her steps, fighting the panic as she backtracked across campus and past her therapist’s office and through the dining hall, all with no sign of him.

Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her pocket. She shouldn’t answer the phone in the library, but she needed something to hold on to. Hopefully no one was doing important research in the biographies section right now.

“J.J.!” Emily’s voice was distorted by the speaker. J.J. barely noticed most of the time, but with F.K. missing it sounded like the twisted lilting that Emily had taunted her with in the dream.

“I can’t find him,” J.J. mumbled, pulling her knees up to her chest. “He’s gone.”

“Where are you?”

“Library.” J.J. could barely manage to whisper the word. If she spoke too loudly, the shelves would collapse on her, crushing her and breaking her spine and turning the world upside down. She couldn’t trust gravity anymore.

“Stay right there,” Emily said. “I’m on my way. We’ll find him together, okay?”

J.J. nodded, then realized she needed to reply out loud. “Okay,” she whispered, bracing for the impact of a thousand biographies falling on her with the weight of a thousand meaningful lives overpowering hers. She kept the phone pressed to her ear. Emily wasn’t saying anything, but she could hear her breathing and the rustle of wind over the speakers. Emily wouldn’t hang up. J.J. screwed her eyes shut tight and focused on the sounds coming from the phone, her connection to Emily, her lifeline. It wasn’t doing much but it was better than nothing.

Something made a noise and J.J. gasped, throwing herself flat to the ground. She held her breath, waiting, but no attack came. No creature rounded the corner, the ground didn’t fall away beneath her, the library didn’t burst into flames. Just quiet of dead books and, very faint, the sound of her name from the phone speaker. She held it back to her ear.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I just…” She trailed off, unable to explain the terror that never quite faded away completely. It could be held at bay, by F.K. and Emily and distraction and noise and light and life but it would never be gone completely. Fifty years from now, she’d still be jumping at shadows. If she made it that long.

She took a deep breath and tried counting it out. It was one of the first strategies the therapist had taught her. Just breathe in, count to seven, breath out, count to ten. Or was it the other way around? It didn’t matter, because she broke into a sob after a count of three anyway and pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle it.

It took hours. Really, it was probably only a few minutes, but time wasn’t solid anymore. That one long night had lasted a century in the space of a few minutes. So it was impossible to tell how long it was before J.J. heard footsteps approaching, and the breathing on the other end of the phone matched the breath of someone approaching, and Emily appeared at the end of the stack.

“J.J.!” She rushed toward her and knelt next to her on the rough gray carpet. “Are you okay?” she asked, dropping her phone to place her hands on J.J.’s shoulders.

“F.K.’s gone,” J.J. replied.

Emily hugged J.J., and J.J. leaned into her arms. “It’s okay,” she murmured, holding J.J. tight. “We’ll find him. He’s not gone. He wouldn’t leave you like that.”

J.J. had managed to hold back actual tears until now. She clutched at the thin fabric of Emily’s dress, muffling her sobs against her shoulder. They sat there for days, weeks, seconds. The world started to settle back into place. J.J. could feel the coarse carpet against her bare legs. She could smell the musty scent of old books, hear the quiet hum of the air conditioning masking the occasional whispered conversation or turn of a page. The world was real, and alive with other people. She was once again in a solid space where she could trust the ground under her and the ceiling above her and Emily, solid and warm and real.

A few minutes passed, time ticking by at the usual rate. J.J.’s breathing calmed, and the tears stopped flowing, and she finally released her vice grip on Emily’s arm. She held her hand, though, even as she leaned back against the shelves.

Emily stroked the side of her face. “Hey,” she said. “We’ll find him. You’re okay.”

J.J. nodded. The adrenaline was leaving her, and exhaustion was taking its place. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stand. Emily slid into place next to her and leaned her head on her shoulder.

“J.J.!” The yell was way too loud for a library, and sent a renewed spike of panic down J.J.’s spine. But Emily squeezed her hand.

“Over here,” Emily called back, quieter, although still way too loud. But it did the job, as seconds later Abby came sprinting down the hallway. She skidded around the corner when she spotted J.J. and Emily. In her hand, ragged mismatched limbs flapping behind her, was F.K.

J.J. bit her lip as Abby almost tumbled into them, thrusting F.K. forward.

“Janitor… in Turner building…” Abby gasped, catching her breath. “Had to… dig around… oof.” She sat heavily across the way from J.J., breathing hard.

J.J. held F.K. tight to her chest. She closed her eyes and focused on her own heartbeat, thudding against her chest so hard she could feel it pulsing through F.K. too. She inhaled sharply. F.K. had never smelt exactly the same, after, with the metallic tinge of blood lingering even after repeated washings, and there was a fresh layer of garbage smell from the dumpster he’d just been rescued from. But below that, down in the stuffing, down in his heart, he was the same F.K. he’d always been. He’d been stained, he’d been damaged, he’d been ripped apart and sewn back together so much she barely remembered how he’d originally looked - but he was still there.

“Don’t do that again,” she mumbled, vaguely aware that he couldn’t really hear her. It was just a toy, after all. But she could spend all the time she wanted making fun of herself later. For now, she had F.K., and she had Emily, and the world was real.