Chapter Text
Thursday, October 7
You stare in frustrated disbelief at the message that comes through just as you’ve finished texting Silco.
“Hey sis!!! It’s totally fine, I was out like a light the second I dropped into bed anyway. Did you know Marcus has a daughter? Her name is Ren, and she woke me up this morning by petting my hair lol. She said her favorite color is purple, and we talked about how Tinky Winky is her favorite doll.”
You rub your temples.
All that time you spent worrying and waiting, and she was talking to a toddler about Teletubbies.
“She and I made pancakes this morning before Marcus took her to preschool. It was so nice”
You vaguely recall Marcus mentioning he had a kid, and Allie loves kids.
You close your eyes with a heavy sigh.
Why did everything seem to be falling into place for your sister and the sheriff? Was this a sign that they were meant to be? Or was this relationship going to be one of those mistakes Cal was talking about?
You take several deep, calming breaths.
It’s her choice, and if it’s a mistake, it’s going to be a mistake she makes for herself.
You grit your teeth and send your reply.
“That sounds nice. Are you still there?”
You wait impatiently as her text bubble pops up.
“Ah man, I’m sorry I forgot to tell you that I had a personal client in the hills of Piltover today!!”
That figures. The area’s notorious for having no service.
“I’m so sorry if I freaked you out!! I’ll be home ant about 6!!”
“I’m actually going to see Jinx, so I probably won’t see you till late tonight.”
“Lucky for you,” You mutter.
Silco’s reply comes through a few minutes later, just when you’ve managed to calm yourself down enough to settle back in front of the computer.
“487 736-4444 why do you need it”
You bite your lip. “I was trying to get a hold of my sister, and she was last with Marcus so I was going to text him to make sure she was okay. She just texted me, and it turns out she left his house hours ago and was simply out of service all day. Sorry for bothering you!”
You let out another deep sigh, one of at least ten you’ve released over the course of the last ten minutes. There’s only a few hours until you leave to see Jinx, and it feels like you’ve wasted the whole day on pointless worry. Yet you somehow manage to power through to the last module before your alarm goes off.
You have no energy to anything more than pull a jacket over your comfy clothes and slouch into the car. Jinx throws open the door the minute you arrive, and pulls you into a tight hug.
“Are you hungry? I got us oodles of Thai food through Uber eats. I also bought more candy since you can’t have too many sour patch kids in your life, am I right?”
She doesn’t even let you take a breath before she’s tugging you further into the house.
“I’m 3 episodes away from the end of season 3 and I love it sooooo much! I heard this season was pretty weird and crazy, but since that perfectly describes me I think that made me want to like it even more.”
Her laugh puts a reluctant smile onto your face.
“I have a surprise waiting for you in the living room! I hope you like it.”
She opens her arms at the door with a flourish.
The show is already queued up on the television, the lights are on dim, but there have been a few drastic changes to the state of the furniture since you were last there. The coffee table has been pushed against the far wall, and every pillow and cushion has been stripped from the sofas in order to build an impressive structure in the middle of the room.
“I thought it would be fun to hang out in our own little Castle Byers while we watch the show,” She says proudly.
You peek inside and take a moment to appreciate the surprisingly spacious pillow fort.
“So? Do you like it?”
“It’s totally rad.”
She claps her hands, “I knew it! Sevika refuses to sit with me when I make them.”
"That tracks."
She beckons you to follow as she steps around the feast that she’s laid out on the floor at the mouth of the fort. You barely have time to slip on your blue blocker glasses and twist around to settle into the pile of blankets before the opening scene starts to play.
Despite the cramped conditions, its fairly comfortable inside the fort, and over the next few hours all the day’s troubles seem to slowly melt away. Even as the show grows steadily darker, Jinx’s constant commentary and conspiracy theories about the ending provide ample entertainment. But the girl gets more and more quiet as the finale approaches. The stakes grow higher, and even though you know what’s coming you still feel your throat tightening.
A girl on screen start screaming.
You blink in surprise as Jinx jostles you in her hurry to leave the fort.
“I gotta go pee!”
She practically sprints from the room, and you shift around in the blankets for the remote. You hit pause moments before you hear a door slam. Though it seems like strange timing you figure it’s just one of her peculiarities.
You stand up and stretch, and a quick look at the wall clock confirms that it’s almost nine thirty.
I should probably go after this episode.
You head to the bathroom, get some water from the fridge, and resettle in the fort to wait.
And you wait.
Ten minutes pass, then fifteen. At twenty you send her a text asking her where she went. At thirty you start to worry. At thirty one you get up and start a hurried search of the house.
You jog up to the top floor first, and find her room easily. The place is a kaleidoscope of color, with brightly painted walls plastered in concert posters and artwork. Lava lamps and twinkle lights are generously distributed across side tables and bookshelves filled with trinkets and art supplies. Piles of pillows, plushies, and clothes are strewn half-hazard across an unmade bed and carpeted floor.
The room contains a lot of interesting things, but no Jinx.
There are several rooms down the hall from hers, all of which are locked. You quicken your pace as you duck from one room to the next, and when a tour of the entire house fails to reveal any sign of her you hurry outside to check her studio.
It’s clear from the moment you step into the cool night air that you should have checked there first. The lights are on and the music is blaring, which seems odd. You listen for any indication of what she might be doing inside before lightly knocking on the door.
“Jinx, are you alright?”
It’s only when you hear a guttural scream and the sound of splintering wood that you try the door. You push it so hard it bounces against the back wall, and you take in the scene with wide eyes.
The room is in shambles, and Jinx is on her hands and knees in the wreckage of a broken painting and easel, chest heaving.
“Jinx?” You ask in alarm. “Are you alright?”
She makes no response that she heard you. Round, maddened eyes stare unblinking at her clenched hands.
“Get out of my head,” She mutters.
“Jinx? Can I do anythi –”
“Get out of my head!” She screams, and hurls her open fist at you.
You gasp and flinch back as something hits your glasses and shatters the lens. A hot sting slices your cheek, but you have no time to examine the damage because Jinx is on her feet, a deranged look in her eye.
“Leave. Me. Alone!”
You barely keep your feet stumbling out of the room. You hear the door slam as you fly down the stairs, and you don't stop running until you're inside the house. You fumble with the lock before backing up against the wall, chest heaving.
It’s not even a conscious decision you make to pull out your phone and dial Silco's number.
He answers on the second ring.
“I don’t suppose you’re calling to ask for the mayor’s –”
“Silco, something’s wrong with Jinx!”
His pause feels far too long.
“Please explain.”
You remove your broken glasses with a fumbling hand. “We were watching Stranger Things when she said she would be right back, only she didn’t come back, and I found her in her studio but I think she’s having a panic attack or – Oh Silco! What do I do?”
“Nothing,” He replies swiftly. “Keep your distance, but inform me if she tries to leave the premises. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay.”
You almost sob with relief as you hang up.
It’s going to be alright. Silco’s on his way, and he’s going to take care of Jinx.
The wall is the only thing keeping you upright as the adrenaline fades. You push aside the blinds with a weary hand, and keep your eyes fixed on the studio. As you stare at the warm light emanating from the windows, you fall into a trance-like state.
You don't stir from your position at the door until the familiar black sedan pulls into the driveway.
You run out to meet Silco before he fully exits the vehicle.
“She’s still inside,” You say breathlessly.
He nods, his scarred face revealing nothing of the anxiety and turmoil you're sure is written across every inch of your face.
As he shrugs out of his coat, you reach automatically to grab it.
“What can I do?”
“Thomas will be out in a moment to keep you company,” he says swiftly. “I don’t know when I will be done with Jinx, but I would appreciate it if you waited for me in the house.”
Your head is already nodding before he’s finished the request. “Yes, of course.”
He tilts his chin at your face as he rolls up his sleeves. “You're hurt.”
It’s only then that you acknowledge the mild discomfort that’s been niggling at the edges of your consciousness.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
He nods curtly. “Go into the house. There’s a first aid kit in the guest restroom, beneath the sink.”
“Okay.” You say, but your feet don't move.
A muscle in Silco’s cheek twitches, and he turns on his heel the moment Tommy unfolds himself from the car. They have a short conversation, and when it’s done Silco takes the stairs to the studio two at a time.
Tommy heads straight for you.
“Come on, Miss Bob Ross,” He says quietly. “Let's get you cleaned up.”
He takes your elbow, and you allow him to guide you into the house. It’s only once you reach the bathroom that you seem to gain your will for independent movement.
He leaves you as you survey the damage in the mirror. Your glasses took the brunt of the damage, though some blood has leaked from the narrow cut across your cheek bone. A slight bruise also appears to be forming where the frames knocked against your eye socket.
You toss the ruined glasses in the trash before wiping away the already coagulating blood. The damage isn’t serious enough for a band aid, but the welt is bright red, you can already tell your face is going to feel tender for the next few days.
As soon as you finish, sounds from the kitchen draw you there like a magnet. You find Tommy dropping tea bags into steaming mugs. He then pulls a dropper from his pocket and holds it over one of the mugs. You don’t even think to question what it is when you sit at the table and he presses it into your hand.
There's silence while you take a few tentative sips. It's green tea mint.
“You doin’ alright?”
“I’m fine,” You say stiffly. Then, “Will she? Be alright?”
“This sort of thing has happened before,” Tommy rubs his chin. “When she comes out the other side she’s a little worse for the wear, but she's back to herself in a few days. She’s a survivor, that one.”
“Good.”
You fiddle with the lapel of Silco’s coat that you’ve draped on the table, and take careful sips from the steaming mug. Slowly, you feel yourself relax, and your sense of reality returns.
For some time you sit quietly at the table.
You get up for seconds, only this time you go for coffee and cream.
An hour passes.
At some point during that time you remember to send a text to your sister to let her know you’ll be home later than expected.
Eventually Tommy’s chair creaks as he gets to his feet.
“I’m afraid I have to go. The missus will be wondering where I’m at. Will you be fine by yourself?”
“Yeah, yeah sure. I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t fret yourself over Miss Jinx. She’s in good hands.”
“I know. Bye Tommy.”
He gives your shoulder a quick squeeze, then you’re once again on your own. You shiver in the cold silence, and move into the living room. Pulling apart the fort feels like an insurmountable task, so you crawl into one of the chairs instead. You don't remember grabbing Silco’s coat, but you have it clutched in your lap.
There’s something soothing about the feel of the material in your hands.
After a while your eyelids start to droop. You fall into a broken sleep. You're dragged through the twilight of half-remembered, surreal dreams until a sudden noise jolts you awake. A quick look towards the door reveals you’re no longer alone in the room.
You sit up straighter and try to shake the lingering cobwebs while Silco watches you from the doorway.
“How’s Jinx?” You rasp.
“She’s calm, now," He sounds tired. "I convinced her to take her medication and sent her to bed. She likely won’t awaken till late tomorrow afternoon.”
“Is she hurt?”
“She sustained no serious bodily injury.”
And her mind?
You aren't sure if you're brave enough to ask the question.
“I would very much like to know the cause of my daughter’s regression, if you have the time to tell it.”
“What do you need to know?”
He paces to the front of the room. “Everything. What was happening on screen when she left the room?”
“One of the main antagonists was dying.”
“Who?”
“Uh, his name is Billy.”
“I would be in your debt if you would describe this character in detail. His history, his personality. No piece of information, no matter how insignificant it may seem, should be omitted.”
The next few minutes are spent giving him your stilted narrative, but whenever you start to run out of information Silco manages to ask just the right prompting question to wheedle more out of you. Eventually, however, he goes quiet.
“There is no rest for the wicked, it would seem.”
He comes to a halt in front of the television, running his fingers through his hair. You take in his stiff frame, trying to guess what might be going on in his head, but then you’re distracted by something dripping from his arm onto the floor.
You lean forward with a squint. His forearms appear to be marked with angry slashes. Some of them are more violently red than the others.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Yes,” He says absently.
When it’s clear he isn’t going to move, you slip off to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit, and bring it back to pop it open on the coffee table. You proceed to rip open an alcohol pad, and he doesn’t seem to notice when you approach and let out a soft gasp.
Some of the cuts are much deeper than they appeared from a distance, like they were inflicted with force by a weapon. Many of them are coded with bruises.
Jinx did this to him?
Just like she would have done to you, if you’d stayed.
Poor, sweet, enthusiastic, dangerous Jinx.
“Here,” Your voice wobbles as you extend the wipe towards him. “You don’t want those to get infected.”
His eyes dart from your face to your hand. As soon as he takes it you retreat back to the chair, where you keep your burning eyes trained on the wall. The ticking of the clock seems to intensify, and you can hear every whisper of his shirt sleeves as he methodically cleans his wounds.
“Does it hurt? The cut on your cheek.”
He asks the question curtly.
You shake your head. It’s a lie, but it doesn’t really matter. The discomfort is probably nothing compared to what he’s experiencing.
“What happened to her?” You ask at last.
“That’s a story for another night.”
“I’ve got time – ”
“No, it’s late,” He cuts in. “I’m sure your sister will be worried about you.”
His face is set in stone, and his voice brooks no argument.
You swallow back rising disappointment and rise unsteadily to your feet.
“Well. I guess this is good-night, then.”
“I would be grateful if you didn’t mention the events of this evening to anyone. Not even your sister.”
“Of course.”
“Many in my employ are familiar with Jinx’s… episodes, and are fairly compensated for any damage they sustain. If you wish, I am prepared to pay –”
“No!”
Your vehemence startles him.
“I don’t want your filthy money,” You hiss. “What I want is to understand!"
His words have sparked a fire in your gut, and you’re practically trembling with anger.
"What happened to her, Silco? Why is she like this? And how can one little girl have… have suffered so much… p-pain…”
A sob tears itself from your throat as you bury your face in your hands. Fat, hot tears spill between your fingers. You stand rigid in the middle of the room, the only sound your shuddering, choking breaths.
Then a pair of arms wrap themselves around you. They're surprisingly gentle for the gruffness of the voice that speaks into your ear.
"Don't cry. It's not your fault."
You instinctively turn into his chest.
"I c-can't help it," You gasp between sobs.
You feel his chest rise and fall in a sigh. A tentative hand strokes your head.
“I know.”