Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pump strolled through the night with Skid, grinning about their successful haul this year trick-or-treating. They’d hit every single house in the neighborhood, and their sacks of candy reflected this: they bulged, barely held shut by their small hands. Pump carried his bag slung over his shoulder, and Skid did the same.

Almost everyone had given them candy, besides the priest at the house they’d just hit, who’d opted for a pot of boiling water that narrowly missed them as he threw it. He’d said something about getting out of the Lord’s house or something, Pump vaguely remembered, although he hadn't cared much to listen. After all, the night was far from over, and he was quickly distracted by the prospect of yet another spooky adventure. He turned to look at Skid, who was happily munching on a piece of candy from their haul, and knew at once that there was only one place they hadn't visited that would make this year’s trick-or-treating complete. 

“Let's get candy cans!” Pump exclaimed. They immediately dashed to the Candy Club, leaving two clouds of dust in their wake. They sprinted through the streets of their town, candy in hand, illuminated only by street lamps and a sliver of moonlight, shoving past people in their wake. As Skid followed him, Pump grinned, for tonight the spookiest day of the year, and nothing could ruin that fact. 

They arrived at the bright entrance moments later and the bright lollipops and neon Candy Club sign beckoned them. Pump entered first, and Skid followed closely behind. They were met with an agitated Kevin, who immediately began to push them back out of the store. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” he began as he scowled at the two of them, “no, no, no, no!” 

“We just want our free candy cans,” Pump protested dejectedly. 

“Not today!” he shouted. “You bring me so much trouble!”

“When have we done that?”

“I got nightmares about you, you gave me sugar,” he ranted as he made air quotes with his fingers. “You got me attacked by your doll, and not long ago, got blood all over the place, which I had to clean up all day!” He put his hands on his hips and bent down, towering over Skid and Pump. They glanced at each other and back up at Kevin nervously.

“Kevin, it was fake blood,” Pump pointed out, which did not remotely appease him. He continued with his rant as he stood up to his full height again.

“Fake or not, you always bring me trouble!” He pointed at the man who had been following them all night in the window. “See?” he seethed. “That's trouble!” 

As he processed this sight, his demeanor shifted. His face fell flat, and he stared blankly at the window as his hand fell limp. “Kids?” He croaked out. “Why is he following you?

“I don’t know,” Skid answered. “He's been following us all night.”

“Maybe he wants a candy can,” Pump added. Kevin didn't respond, as he was still staring through the window, frozen in place. Pump watched as the man walked toward the entrance of the Candy Club, and a ding sounded throughout the room as he opened the door with slow footsteps that seemed to reverberate within their surroundings. Kevin immediately stood in front of Pump and Skid, shielding them with his body and outstretched arms in an effort to deter the man mere feet away from the three of them. 

At that moment, Rick reentered the main part of the store with a box in his arms. He took one look at the scene he’d arrived at and the man who now stood in the center of the store. “I quit,” he declared, dropping the shipment unceremoniously before turning back around and leaving.

“What—no, no—come back!” Kevin pleaded, to no avail. He muttered under his breath, although Pump couldn't hear what he said. It was the three of them alone in the Candy Club, now that Rick was gone. Kevin was still between them and the man, and Pump watched his eyes dart around the room as he stood frozen. The man in the devil costume advanced closer in slow, calculated steps with a wide grin that he'd been seeing in the corner of his eyes all night. After a few moments, Kevin darted towards the wall with candy dispensers, and held down a latch. Gumballs fell out of the machine across the floor into a chaotic array as he held it open; he did so until the machine had been drained and the floor was sufficiently covered in an explosion of color. Bob knelt down to eat the gum, and with this borrowed time, Kevin took Skid and Pump to the back door and ushered them both outside before following and slammed the door behind the three of them.

“Kids?” Kevin asked in a shaky voice. He put a hand on each of their shoulders, looking at them with far gentler eyes than before. “Are both of you okay?” 

“Can we have our candy cans?” Pump asked. Kevin sighed.

“I don't have those,” he responded. “They're inside.”

“Aw,” Pump mumbled disappointedly, staring down at his shoes. “Okay, Kevin.”

Kevin sighed, kneeling down to eye level with the children. “Just… stay out of trouble. I’ll give you your candy cans tomorrow, okay?” At this, Skid and Pump cheered. 

“Thank you, Kevin!” 

“Yes, thank you Kevin!” 

Him and Skid looked at each other in anticipation for a split second before exclaiming in unison, “Let’s go to the haunted house!” 

Candy in hand, they ran off into the night, headfirst into any frights that awaited them. The Candy Club became a tiny speck in the distance as they left, slowly fading away into nothing at all. For now, their focus remained solely on the spookiest day of the year, and Pump could think of nobody better to spend it with than his best friend.

Bob watched silently from the corner as Kevin walked back out of the shadows of the alleyway. He peered off into the night at the children running off to their next escapade. Trailing them could wait, he decided. They’d be easy enough to find later in the night; wherever they went, they attracted both attention and trouble. For now, more pressing matters awaited. He didn't doubt for a second that he could overpower the worker that the children had called Kevin. He would barely put up a fight, squirming at most before rendered unconscious or in shock. 

Kevin emerged into the faint light on the main road. He dusted off his uniform pants and ran a hand through his hair, checking both ways before walking towards the Candy Club entrance. As he opened the door, Bob pounced silently, following him through the door so as to not sound the bell twice. Kevin continued towards the counter, carefully stepping over the gumballs that covered the floor with a sigh. As he entered behind the counter, he turned around.

At that moment, he spotted Bob, still unmoving in the center of the room. He screamed. Bob grinned. 

How could he not, when his next meal stood before him?

Chapter Text

The cold air bit at Rick’s face as he walked to the parking lot, sending shivers throughout his whole body. He hadn't bothered to wear his jacket to the Candy Club, but it didn't really matter to him, anyway. The walk itself was short, he reasoned, although this was all a rectification for the truth that he didn't really have a reason. It was just something he did, a habit that he’d never kicked.

He spotted his car in the parking lot, a beat up silver truck that had seen almost as many years as him, with a dent in the side that had been there for ages and a battery that worked most of the time. He probably should have had it fixed years ago, but with his unpredictable work, it had remained the same, and made a faint sound when he drove. He walked over to the driver-side door, fishing in his pocket for his keys to unlock it, and–

Shit.

He must have dropped them on the way here, as he’d taken them off of the hanger that he assumed was for the coat he never cared to bring. He let out a small sigh, and expressionlessly turned around to make the trek back to the Candy Club. As he walked, he stared at the cracked pavement, eyes scanning his surroundings for his keys. It distracted him from the cold, this time, and allowed his mind significantly less room to wander; despite this, thoughts still crept their way into his mind. Radford had to be off of his shift soon, and he'd be home shortly after he arrived. 

Or before, if his keys had been left behind in the store where he'd quit his job less than ten minutes ago. He wasn't looking forward to telling Radford about that. He always responded with optimism that was tinged with disappointment, as if he’d hoped that this would be the time that it stuck. Rick had given up on that notion long ago, accepting that someday, all things were doomed to pass. He found himself wondering, sometimes, how much longer he had until Radford moved on, too. 

He found himself at the entrance to the store and walked in, hearing the cheery ding of the bell as he opened the door. He scanned the room, which was unusually quiet.

“Kevin?” Rick asked as he wandered towards the back of the room. “I uh, left my keys in the break room.” he received no reply. 

Holy shit.

The metallic smell of blood hit him before he fully processed the sight he arrived at. The shop, which had previously been a bright, obnoxiously cheery space had been transformed into a gruesome site. 

Kevin lay unconscious behind the counter on the tile floor, bleeding to death as the pool of blood around him widened from the wound where his leg had been minutes before. Gumballs were scattered about the floor in a sickeningly sweet juxtaposition of the blood that covered them. Rick immediately knelt down, gently shaking Kevin in a failed attempt to wake him up. He remained unresponsive, but Rick noticed small, shallow breaths, a sign that, at the very least, he wasn’t dead. 

He raced towards the candy club phone, his fingers almost a blur from how fast they dialed 911. This couldn't be happening. He was supposed to be fine. His stomach sank as he replayed the scene before he’d left in his mind. He'd left Kevin to fend for himself; this was the result of that. He’d saved himself, but he didn’t deserve that mercy when it came at the cost of this. As he stared at the carnage, he spiraled deeper, convincing himself that he’d made a choice between leaving and staying: His own survival versus Kevin’s. 

The dispatcher picked up, snapping Rick out of the spiral consuming him. “911, what is the exact location of your emergency?” 

“I’m at the Candy Club, on Main Street, I—” He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat that had firmly lodged itself to stay. “My friend, he’s been attacked by that guy, and now his leg’s gone, and he's bleeding out, and—”

“Stay with me,” the dispatcher interrupted. “When did this happen?”

“Couldn't have been more than five minutes ago, I wasn't… fuck, I wasn't here at the time, I was at my car..”

“Is he conscious?”

“No.”

“Help will be there shortly,” the dispatcher repeated in an even voice. “You need to stop the bleeding before then, though. Do you have a tourniquet?”

“My manager barely keeps band-aids here, why the fuck would he have a tourniquet?”

“Do you have a hoodie or jacket?”

“No, but I think there's some spare uniforms in the back room—does that work?”

“That works. You need to grab one of those, then some sort of strong item to use as a lever, like a stack of pencils, or a pair of scissors, or—”

“Does a screwdriver work?”

“That works.”

He dropped the phone and raced to the back, acutely aware that every second wasted was yet another gamble against Kevin's life that couldn't end yet. He opened the closet where spare uniforms were kept and grabbed a package. He ripped it open and pulled out a pair of uniform pants, ignoring the creeping thought that he knew his boss—former boss, so it didn't matter—would be pissed. He also picked up the screwdriver, which had been left scattered in the corner next to an unfinished repair, a hole in the drywall that exposed the wooden supports beneath. Both objects in hand, he hurried back to the scene and picked up the phone again for more instructions. “I have the screwdriver and some pants, now what?” 

“You're going to double-knot the pants about three inches or more above the wound, which should be around the upper thigh in your case.”

Rick knelt down next to Kevin, where his jeans were immediately covered in blood. He picked up the pants—also covered in blood now—and looked back down at him. Fuck, it was worse up close, so much worse. He tried to focus on the instructions he'd been given seconds before. It needed to be applied on the upper thigh, they’d told him. He could do that. Right? He held up what was left of his leg, which fell limp, like the rest of his unconscious body. He tied the pair of pants around it, making sure to double knot it, like they'd said. Surely he couldn’t fuck that up, he thought to himself, or at least he hoped he didn’t not when he’d ruined so much already tonight. “Okay, I have the pants tied, and I—” He gripped the phone in trembling hands and held it up to his face. “He hasn't stopped bleeding out at all, and I’m not sure how much longer he has until—”

“Insert the screwdriver into the knot you tied, and keep twisting until the bleeding stops. You've been doing great so far, okay? Help is on the way for you and your friend.”

“Okay.”

He found the knot in the pants with trembling fingers and struggled to get the screwdriver in. After a moment, he securely slotted it in, and began to twist, and the streams of blood lessened. With sore hands, he continued, muscling his way through the motions that sent bile up the back of his throat. He tried not to look at the wound, but it kept drawing his eyes towards it like moths to the flame that would engulf them. He pushed away imagery his mind provided of what must have transpired while he was gone, the complete and utter terror that Kevin must have experienced, the agonizing pain that being so violently mauled must have caused, Bob biting into severed flesh with that sick, horrifying grin that Rick had seen… 

He didn’t deserve to think like this, not when he was responsible for keeping Kevin alive. It was cruel for him to even begin to imagine, not when it was his fault, anyways. He hated himself for even trying to imagine, to gain moments back that his absence had doomed. He needed to focus on saving Kevin, to fix the world of his catastrophic mistake and all of the ones before it. He could do something right, at least, be slightly more than a fuck-up. 

The bleeding stopped. Rick felt nothing but emptiness, too uncertain of Kevin’s fate to allow himself the pleasure of relief. The wail of an ambulance entered his consciousness, a loud, grating sound that drowned out his thoughts momentarily. The door opened moments later, and multiple people rushed in, wheeling a stretcher that Kevin was quickly loaded onto. The moving parts of this operation spun around Rick in a blur, and his consciousness slowly faded, becoming nothing more than his observations from around the world that his mind couldn’t fully process. He stared at the array of candy, eyes wandering throughout the flurry of color in the glass bowl reflected by the flickering fluorescent lights. 

He didn’t notice the tapping on his shoulder until someone put a hand on his shoulder, to which he promptly snapped out of the trance he’d found himself in yet again. He turned around to face the person who’d gotten his attention, an officer that he didn’t recognize”

“Hello?” they asked. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, uh. Sorry.”

“You’re alright sir, we just need your name, for the records.”

“Rick,” he answered, absentmindedly, before adding: “Hedony. Rick Hedony.” He repeated the words, as if they weren’t quite his.

“Thank you.” the officer paused. “We do need to investigate the Candy Club, so it might be easiest if you leave, for now. You can’t ride in the ambulance itself, but he’s being taken to the hospital down the road, if you want to follow.” Rick nodded wordlessly with haunted eyes, and the officer headed towards a corner of the main store, taking notes on a yellow notepad as they squinted at something. Rick headed to the break room, where his keys—the original reason he’d come back—hung. He picked them off of the rung, choosing to ignore the uniforms scattered throughout the room. 

He headed back out unceremoniously through the back door, the same one he’d left through earlier after quitting. He stepped outside, still jacketless, and faced the road where the ambulance had begun to move, sending flashing lights and echoing wails into the night. As Rick watched it drive away, a sense of dread burrowed itself into the hollow pit inside his stomach. His eyes remained unfocused as it became nothing more than a speck in the distance, then nothing at all. The cold air bit at Rick’s face as he stood in the frozen night and gave him numb fingers, shivers, and the chills that traveled through his body as he walked to the same beat up car he’d driven for years. It was a fraction of the suffering he'd caused tonight, and he couldn't allow himself a moment of peace when Kevin hadn't been afforded any such luxury. The walk to his car was excruciatingly long.

Rick convinced himself that he deserved nothing less.

Chapter Text

John stared out of the passenger window of the cruiser as Jack drove them both around town. The car had remained silent since the message had come through on both of their walkie talkies moments earlier: another person had been violently attacked by Velseb, the same cannibalistic killer that they were already meant to have in custody. He’d survived, according to the message, having been found by a coworker, but officers were needed at the scene to further investigate the scene. 

He’d recognized the name when it came through: Kevin Pierre-Dorado. Jaune’s kid, he’d thought with a pang in his chest. They hadn't talked much once they got older, having drifted apart by the time they reached high school, but he’d seen her around throughout their lives. He'd seen Kevin around town too; he was a good kid. He didn't deserve to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, having committed no sin but the act of coming to work at a job that should have never been dangerous. 

Jack turned the car around back towards the Candy Club. John remained gazing out of the passenger window. He stared at the scenery, the buildings he had grown up with ever since he was young. It had been so long since then, so long since he was the innocent child who’d worn a police costume, who’d had hope for the future. The same buildings they passed had seemed so much more magical then, the shadows of reality uncast. 

Something red caught his eye.

John did a double take, part of him not fully convinced that what he’d seen was real. It seemed too simple, too easy; it was as if this had fallen into the palm of his hand. Further investigation proved his suspicions: they’d found Bob Velseb. John frantically tapped Jack, who hadn’t seen Bob, on the shoulder. “Turn the car around!” 

“But we have to—” 

Velseb’s right there!” John shouted, pointing. Jack turned towards John’s point, just in time to see Bob enter the bathrooms. His eyes widened, and he performed a quick U-turn in the street and began to speed back towards the scene. John pulled out his walkie-talkie. “I have eyes on Velseb right now,” John muttered into the walkie-talkie. “Send someone else to the Candy Club, over.”

Jack turned the headlights off on the car, and they rolled over to the curb next to the bathrooms they saw Velseb enter, the old bathroom that hadn’t been renovated since John could remember. He hadn’t seen the car before entering; he was still completely oblivious to the fact that they had caught up to him. That gave the two of them time. “I’ll just get this sorted, then I'll be right behind you,” Jack said, fiddling with something on the driver’s side of the car. John nodded.

“Alright.” John closed the car door quietly and began to walk towards the entrance. The smell of the bathroom hit him instantly; it reeked as if it hadn’t been cleaned since he was a kid. He paced around the room quietly, taking slow, deliberate movements that muffled his footsteps to the best of his ability. He glanced at the open spaces under the stalls, looking for any evidence that Velseb was still here. He couldn’t lose him, not when they were so close to finally ending this case once and for all. Not when failure to do so meant another gruesome attack. 

John heard the shuffling of footsteps and the flush of a toilet. Quietly walking towards the stall, he grabbed his handcuffs out of his belt, readying himself despite the chills going down his spine. “Police, open the door!” he shouted. Bob exited the stall a moment later and stared directly at John, smiling viciously and seemingly indifferent to the fact that he was to be arrested. John immediately sprung into action, racing towards him. He grabbed onto his wrist, successfully getting one cuff on before—

Bob shoved him off with inhuman strength, sending him flying into the cinderblock wall of the bathrooms. He hit the wall with his shoulder and a wave of pain shot through his body. He began to haul himself up slowly, taking ragged breaths, his shoulder still throbbing in pain. The flickering fluorescent lights gave John a headache now; they ebbed at his consciousness in a way that seemed to make the world swim. He blinked.

Bob was mere a few mere feet away from him. He towered over John, his large frame colossal in comparison to John’s short height. John instinctively reached for his gun, grabbing onto the handle before—

A knife hovered inches from John’s face.

“I wouldn't do that, if I were you,” Bob drawled, with a grin. John stared into his eyes, bloodshot and fervent. “Did you know,” Bob murmured, flooding John’s senses with the metallic smell of blood that escaped his mouth with every breath, “that many cultures consume blood for food—and that includes humans?” His teeth were covered in blood, blood that John had sinking suspicions about whose it was and how it got there. Bob continued. “I could kill you first,” he considered, “but, after all, meat is best served fresh.”

“I could go for a leg, again,” he considered, pointing the knife back at John, who squirmed; this only widened the grin on Bob’s face. “But I've already had my fill of that tonight.” Hearing of the attack from him sent a wave of nausea through John: the combination of delight and nonchalance was sickening. “Let's see… can’t get to your organs with that vest of yours,” he said, playfully poking John in the abdomen with the point of his knife. It deflected off of his chest harmlessly, but terrified John all the same. “Arms are probably too small, too.” He stared at John for a moment in thought, before an epiphany danced across his face; his eyes became even more horrifyingly delighted than before. 

“You’ve sure got pretty eyes there, Sheriff.” 

John’s blood ran cold.

So this is how it ends, he thought. It’s not like he had much to go back to, with a house that was nothing more than a pile of ash and a family who had been cruelly taken from him. Jack would find him, abandoned in the musty bathroom. After going home tonight, he would pack up the few things that John had salvaged from the flames of his home from the room that he’d been generously letting John stay in at his house until he got back on his feet. He’d grieve, sure, but eventually move on. John was sure of it. There wasn’t anything he could do now, not with his life dangerously close to being taken away with the simple flick of the wrist. Not when the blade of Velseb’s knife was so close to his face that it began to lose form.

Three shots rang out from behind him.

The knife pulled away from John, and he heard the metallic sound of it hitting the cold tile floor, followed by the thud of Bob’s body hitting the ground less than a second later. John turned around to see Jack, not more than ten paces away, shakily holding a now-smoking gun in his hands. He stared at John, who was staring back at Bob. Blood had begun to pool from the wounds on his chest, and now soaked his already red sweater. The knife which had been what John accepted would lead to his final moments lay rendered harmless on the ground, shining in an otherwise dingy and dull environment.  

“Holy shit.” Jack let the gun fall from his hand—making a sound which both of them barely processed—still staring at Bob’s corpse. Neither of them dared meet each other’s gazes for a while, the silence becoming a suffocating force within the room that flooded their senses with what wasn’t. 

“Well,” John said after a while. “We should probably get his body loaded into the cruiser.” He mustered up an uncomfortable, measly laugh. “He isn't going to walk himself in, y’know.” Jack didn't reciprocate, still staring at him with the same haunted expression that John desperately wished that he could make go away. Jack nodded hesitantly, walking towards the opposite side of Bob. 

John remained lost in thought as the two of him hauled Bob’s body from the dirty tile floor into the backseat of the police cruiser. He almost died; John hadn't fully processed this. The grip Bob had on his arm was all too real, the visions of what could have happened playing in his mind, cruel, violent, gory scenes that would have happened to him, left his body on the ground motionless for Jack to find. He would have become yet another victim of Velseb’s blade, and nothing more. The cold air bit at their faces. Bob’s lifeless eyes seemed to stare into the starry night from behind his red mask. Jack opened the door to the backseat, and they shoved him into it, a difficult task when he was effectively dead weight. 

Jack put his key into the ignition and turned on the car. The interface lit up as the engine started, sending a gentle thrum throughout the vehicle. Jack turned the car into drive, and they began to make the familiar drive towards the morgue. John rolled the car window down and pulled out his box of cigarettes and lighter he kept in the glovebox. He sparked the lighter and lit the cigarette; the light from it faintly illuminated the car. As he took a drag of it, he felt himself become calmer, albeit marginally, at best. It was familiar; he desperately needed that. He gazed out of the window absentmindedly, the world passing by around him nothing more than a flurry of color and light.

…Until something caught his eye for the second time that night. He squinted at the crowd of people formed in the park, recognizing them moments later as Robert and his friends, the children, and Jaune and Lila.

“Hold on,” John said, tapping Jack’s shoulder before pointing towards the crowd. “Pull over.” After a moment, he recognized them and parked the car on the curb. John unbuckled his seatbelt before getting out. “You take him to the station,” John muttered to Jack as he began to get out of the car. “I'll tell them.”  

“You can’t just go out there alone again!”

“Jack, he’s dead now. He needs to get to the station as fast as we can get him there, and we might have to drive them to the hospital—which we can’t do with any corpse, much less his, in the car.” 

Jack remained unconvinced. “What if something happens?”

John sighed. “Listen, I’ll be in an open area this time, I won’t be alone, and you can come right back after you drop him off, alright?” Jack paused in consideration before pursing his lips into a frown.

“Fine.” He tapped his fingers on the wheel absentmindedly. “Just—call me if anything, anything seems off at all, promise?”

“I will.” John closed the door and locked it, and Jack was soon enveloped by the night as he sped away to the station. Now alone, John composed himself, taking a drag of his cigarette. He had to tell Kevin’s family about the news. This part of the job always left him empty, with a sense of dread that he couldn't shake. More often than not on nights like these, he would pore over evidence at Jack’s place as he sipped his coffee, and replay the events of that night, wincing as they morphed into far clearer visions of losses past. He'd depersonalize himself from the news as he always did. Doing anything else meant breaking the already weak threads that were holding his unstable psyche together. It meant allowing the memories of the past and present to blur into something far more real than he could handle. Allowing himself to feel more than controlled sympathy meant allowing himself to drown in the emotions he'd so carefully repressed, and he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

For now, he’d do what he always did; he'd try to make this news as easy to take as he could. He walked to the group of boys slowly, and the five of them turned around as they sensed his presence. 

“Hey, uncle John!” Robert greeted cheerfully. John didn't reciprocate, keeping a solemn face as he took a drag of his cigarette. Robert frowned. “Is… everything okay?”

“Ross, Mrs. Pierre-Dorado, can you come over here?” He walked towards a small clearing away from everyone and they followed him.

“Is everything alright?” Jaune asked nervously, with a slight chirp to her voice. Ross stood next to her silently, his eyes wandering around the park. 

“Mrs. Pierre-Dorado, Ross,” John began, taking a deep breath. He could do this, he reminded himself. He had to. “Kevin, he… got attacked by Velseb. He survived, but he’s in the hospital now, he lost a lot of blood, and his leg.”

Ross was the first to respond: “...you're joking, right?” He looked to John pleadingly, searching for a semblance of humor woven into the creases of his face. He found none. “Right?” Jaune didn’t say anything, but her face fell, and her eyes went wide and glassy.

“‘fraid not, kid,” John replied in a gravelly voice. He took a drag of his cigarette. “I’m… deeply sorry, to be telling you both this.” He sighed. “I can take you both to the hospital in the car after Deputy Jack returns.”

“O-okay,” Jaune replied shakily as she wrung her hands together, before becoming silent again for a moment. “I–I need to call Aaron.” She pulled out her phone and walked away, holding it up to her ear, her voice now muffled by the distance between the two of them. Roy and Robert walked up to Ross, and John walked away, both to give them space and to clear his head. He reached in his pocket for another cigarette, realizing he left the box in the car when he felt that it was empty.  He sighed, staring at the stars above as he prepared himself for the night that awaited him. He’d have to take the two of them to the hospital, once Jack returned. He’d try to put the memories of last year out of his mind, like he always did. 

He’d do that soon, but not now. For now he’d take the few moments of peace he’d found in the night as he stood quietly with his now-dead cigarette, watching the gears of the world turn around him.

Chapter Text

When Patty got the call that a body was being taken to the morgue, she'd assumed it had been the attack that she'd gotten an alert about a half hour before. Her walkie-talkie battery had died mid-memo, and it was a reasonable assumption; after all, Velseb had already killed eight people in the past nine months alone. When she heard about another dismembered victim, it hardly shocked her, despite its grim nature. Things in this line of work rarely did, anymore. When Velseb had shown up instead, it was nothing but mildly noteworthy; she appreciated that he couldn't kill more people, but him being there didn't faze her much. After all, this was a morgue, he had been shot, now he was dead, and there wasn't much else to do. 

She began to prepare the table to perform the autopsy that had been requested of her. He'd taken a lot of bullets to kill, Jack told her, and they wanted to know if there was anything they should know; if there was more to the picture just below the surface, they needed that information. Of course, she had told them, it was her job. After all, what else was there to do? She laid out her sterilized equipment, humming softly to herself as she did so. 

She heard something fall across the room. She turned around, but saw nothing but a pen on the floor, right next to the counter covered in paperwork, it must have rolled off. She'd pick it up later, she decided, as she didn't want to scrub in again. She walked over to the freezers, checking them to ensure they were closed. They were, of course, but one could never be too sure. She briefly wondered if the victim she’d heard about was still alive. She hoped they were, it would be a small victory at the end of Velseb's reign of terror.

Silence echoed through the morgue. Maybe it was too quiet to some, but to Patty, quiet was nothing extraordinary; dead people couldn't say much, after all. She was used to working long hours with little to no interaction with people who hadn't died in some way or another. Although, with the fantastical events and lore surrounding this town, one could never write the possibility off completely.

The table was almost ready for the autopsy, which she wanted to start as soon as possible. It was extremely late, and she'd wanted to be home hours ago. She would have, had they not caught Velseb tonight. Had it not been such a high profile case, she’d have put it off until the next day. It was, though, so here she was, preparing for an autopsy when she should have been asleep. Briefly, she spotted a shadow through the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around again.

This time, the imposing corpse of a reanimated Bob Velseb towered over her. 

She shrieked and bolted away, grabbing the largest scalpel she could off the surgical table. She held it in front of her with trembling hands, slowly looking up to glare at Bob defiantly in his now unnaturally bright turquoise eyes.

“Did you know,” Bob drawled, creeping closer, “if you eat a human brain, you'll get a disease similar to Mad Cow?” 

“How the hell are you alive!?” Patty shrieked, inching backwards. Bob just laughed, a long, drawn out cackle that made her stomach churn. He began to advance towards her, still in the bloody sweater that he’d been shot in not long before. He had a weapon now, another scalpel, that he'd picked up off of the surgical table. Patty looked over her shoulder and panicked as she realized she was cornered. He was close enough now that, as he spoke, she could smell the death that radiated from him. She had seconds, she guessed, before her time ran out; she had to act now. 

Without pausing to hesitate, she stabbed him in the chest with her scalpel, twisting it after entry to maximize the damage the small blade could do. Bob stumbled back, accidentally dropping his scalpel. She felt something metal underneath.

What the hell was that?

He lunged at her before she had the time to investigate further. She wrenched the scalpel out of his chest and darted away, calculating her options. She’d seen his medical records less than an hour before, and according to that, he'd never had heart trouble; it couldn't be a pacemaker or anything of the sort, or that was at least highly unlikely. This was the type of thing that she usually discovered on the operating table with as much time to investigate as she needed, not while fighting for her life. Her walkie talkie was on the table across the room, where Bob stood. She couldn't get to it right now, as if it would serve her any good use while dead; the bullets she would receive as backup would hardly do anything, even if it wasn't. It would waste valuable time, and every second mattered when she was attempting to find an opening against an opponent whom she suspected could easily launch her across the room. 

She needed to get to whatever the thing she'd found in his chest was. When she’d stabbed him, the thing she hit had definitely been metal, not a rib. Bone felt different, it would have held onto the tip of her scalpel and felt far less hollow than what she'd hit. She'd stabbed him close enough to the center of his chest that there hadn't been much fat to get through, so it must have passed through the ribs. 

This made her job much harder. 

He stood as if unscathed, unbothered that he should be dead by now. His back was turned to her now; he slowly paced the area. “I know you’re out there,” he drawled, holding the scalpel as his cyan eyes scanned the room. 

Her best shot at getting to that thing was to crack his ribs, preferably with blunt force. Her eyes darted around the room, scanning for options. She had a metal tray on the counter, but that wouldn't be nearly enough force to break a rib. Her water bottle, a large, dented metal one that had seen every gruesome sight this job brought, could work; it was still full from when she filled it earlier. It was on the counter across the room, though, so grabbing it meant she would surrender her advantage of stealth. She’d have to act fast. 

She raced across the room to the opposing counter and scooped her water bottle up by the handle. With a pivot, she ran back towards Bob at the same moment that he turned to face her, swinging the water bottle before he had time to react. The water bottle made a sickeningly satisfying crack as it made contact with Bob’s chest. He stumbled back and tripped over a box she'd forgotten to put away on the floor, and landed on the ground with an audible crash. He laid sprawled on his back, and Patty seized the opportunity.

She stabbed him and pulled the scalpel, watching as a long slit emerged within his chest. He attempted to wrench her off of him, strong hands wrapping around her wrist and sending panic throughout her. She attempted to push past this, to buy at least a few more precious seconds. She reached inside with a gloved hand past his bloodstained sweater and through his ribs, feeling past his lungs and an eerily still heart for the object that she’d found earlier. She felt it again and latched onto one of the handles and began to pull. It didn't move at first, securely lodged within his chest cavity, but with enough force, it began to budge, scraping against already ruined organs in a body that refused to die. With a final wrench, she pulled the object free. 

Everything went still.

The grip on her wrist loosened immediately, and his head fell back with a dull 'thud' against tile. He went still, all signs of a struggle gone as if nothing had happened, as if he was an ordinary cadaver. Patty stood up, holding the blood-covered object in her gloved hand. The room laid in disarray now, a cacophony of papers, blood, and other things scattered about and splattered the room. She looked down at the object she'd wrestled out of Bob’s chest, which presumably was what kept him alive when everything she'd ever learned asserted that he shouldn't have been anything but long dead, considering the state of his body. It was a pendant, a metallic gold body with two handles attached, which she guessed were the same ones she used to wrench it free. A large, unnaturally cyan stone was set in the middle of the body of the pendant, and just looking at it sent an eerie shiver down Patty's spine. Jack had been right. This was far more than a simple case of a runaway cannibal. 

Patty retrieved a bag from the countertop to put the pendant in for safekeeping. After enclosing it in the protective plastic layer, she set it down and removed her bloody gloves. Her hands were covered in sweat underneath, and the cool water was a relief. She let the water run for a few seconds before she began to scrub her hands with soap. She went through the methodical hand-washing process, eventually shutting the tap off and putting a new pair of gloves on. It didn't fix the blood and injuries on the rest of her, but she now felt clean enough to wrap up the day. She picked up her clipboard with Bob’s notes on it, which had miraculously stayed mostly clean, and began to write:

“The patient became reanimated shortly after arrival before being prepared for autopsy. His lungs and heart were not functional at this time, but he ran, talked, and attacked. He had to be fought off, and acquired new injuries during this fight, namely broken ribs and a large gash in his chest carved to remove a foreign object. After removing a pendant embedded in his chest, he dropped dead instantly, and has remained so since. This pendant was not accounted for on any medical records. The pendant will be closely investigated and kept as evidence. The autopsy will be performed at a later date, albeit with some potential inaccuracies to his true condition at his original time of death.”

Patty set the clipboard and pen back on the counter and sighed. The fight had taken everything out of her, and she was exhausted. She'd get Bob in the freezer, bring the evidence to the police, and get out of here—permanently. The mess that covered the room could be someone else's problem, not hers, never hers again. She’d join the police force with John and Jack, where she wouldn’t spend her days alone with nobody to hear her screams, where she could defend herself with more than a scalpel and water bottle. She’d survived through luck and improvisation alone.

She didn't believe she'd be so lucky next time.

Bob still laid crumpled on the tile floor in a small pool of his own blood. His eyes were still open, now back to their usual white scleras with more muted blue irises. Patty pushed the table to him and lowered it as low as it could go; she then rolled Bob onto it, which was a challenge. After getting him on the table, she raised it, moved towards the dented freezers, and shoved his body inside, which sent a loud sound throughout the morgue. Once his body was properly stored, Patty disposed of her gloves and removed her mask, tossing them into the trash can by the sink. She stared at the room one final time, which was both in complete disarray and no longer her problem. That was something that whatever poor soul they hired could worry about, not—

“Patricia Azure!”

Patty turned around, evidence still in hand. Mort Vivifico stood in the doorway, staring at the carnage that had utterly ransacked the morgue. His face quickly morphed from horror into outrage. “What is this mess?”

Patty stopped, staring at Mort in outrage, appalled at his blatant disregard for anything but his latest whims. “You really want to know?” she asked. “While you were off doing who knows what, I got sent a corpse that almost killed me!”

“That's preposterous! He couldn't have—” Mort pursed his lips, glaring at her. “If you don't have this cleaned by tomorrow, you're fired.”

Something within her snapped. “You know what?” Patty seethed. “You are an insufferable, self absorbed piece of shit that I hope to never have the displeasure of working under again.” She got closer to him, up in his now-stunned face, professionalism thrown out of the window. “I quit.” She shoved Mort to the side, walking to the door that led out of the cold hellscape that was the morgue. “Have fun cleaning this,” she muttered under her breath.

“Patricia Azure!” Mort bellowed at her. Patty didn't respond; Mort paused for a moment, before trying again. “Azure, if you leave now, I will make sure you never work in medicine again,” he said coldly. Patty stopped in the doorway and looked over her shoulder one more time.

“Good.” 

With that, she left, letting the door shut behind her.

Mort was now alone in the morgue, which was in complete disarray. Blood, tools, papers—hell, even a blood-covered water bottle left behind by Patty littered the floor and counters. He sighed, knowing both how awful this would be to clean and the trouble this would cause with Evermore. He walked to the freezers where bodies were kept, reading the name tags as he moved along the wall. After reaching Velseb, he opened the rusted, dented drawer which seemed to fight him as he opened it, making a loud creaking sound and resisting as he pulled. After a moment, he wrenched it open, taking in the sight of Velseb’s corpse, his vacant eyes, bloodstained sweater, and his cold, clammy skin that sent chills down Mort's spine.

He ignored this to the best of ability, and focused on the job he'd come to do. He grabbed onto the ribbing of Velseb’s sweater and pulled, exposing the pale, damaged skin underneath—and a large, clean gash down the center of his chest. Mort’s stomach dropped; he hoped that this didn't mean what he feared it did. He picked a few surgical tools off of the counter and pried open the incision. A few moments of scoping around the cavity confirmed the suspicions Mort had desperately hoped to be false.

The pendant was gone.

He swore under his breath. His plans of taking it back were no more, and questions raced through his mind as he realized how deliberately it had been taken. The gash through his chest and the cracked ribs were concrete evidence that someone had deliberately taken this pendant, which meant that the police knew far more than Evermore had let on. Shit. That must have been the evidence, he realized, that Patty had been carrying. He had to notify the rest of the members about this. 

The cult was dangerously close to having their secrets unraveled. They were almost at their goal; it was too late to lose everything now. Their reign over this town had lasted decades, and Mort wasn't going to let a few unexpected events change that.

Chapter Text

Lila sat at the kitchen table alone, twirling a pencil in between her fingers. She’d been home with her son for a while now, who was on the couch watching a horror movie, enthralled in a plot that Lila was too lost in thought to follow; the sounds nothing more than white noise to the swirling thoughts in her head. The events of this night were still a shock; the reality of the situation hadn't fully set in. 

Memories from her past replayed, memories of Kevin throughout his life. She remembered days spent at Jaune’s house, holding a sleeping baby Kevin as Jaune caught up on schoolwork and much needed rest. She remembered how tiny he’d been then, with little fingers that had instinctively grabbed onto her own, an act of trust that was subconscious to him. She remembered, in that moment, hoping that the world would take care of him, that what he'd trusted when most vulnerable wouldn't backfire on him. Her stomach churned at the thought of the same innocent child she’d watch grow up being so violently assaulted. He couldn't die. Not when he had so much life ahead of him, so many years and far more experiences than this town had to offer. 

She had to be with Jaune, Lila decided. She couldn't leave her alone. They’d been through everything together, and Lila knew instinctively how hollow and horrified Jaune must be. She knew the way that she deflected with a nervous laugh, a remark, until she couldn't anymore and it all came crashing down. Lila knew that crash, and knew for a fact that Jaune was experiencing it at that very second. 

She didn't want to leave Skid alone at the house, especially not tonight. Not when the shadows lurked, ready to dig their claws into their next unsuspecting victim. Not when even home wasn't safe—Lila had been forced to fend for her life against Velseb after he broke into her home a mere hour prior. She’d drop him off at the Wonders’ house, she decided. While she felt guilty about burdening Mr. Wonder with the responsibility, it was the only option she had left.

“Do you want to stay at your friend's house tonight?” Lila asked. Skid immediately ran over from where he laid on the couch. He grinned.

“A sleepover?” He asked, excitedly. “For Halloween?”

“Yeah!”

“A spooky sleepover!” Skid exclaimed with a huge grin. Lila didn't know how she'd tell him what happened to Kevin. He still lived in a world where everybody had good intentions, and people didn't mean to hurt other people. He took horrific situations so easily because it was always a game to him, because he didn't know any better. He didn't even know that Kevin had been hurt. From what she'd gathered, Kevin had ushered them out when Velseb had broken in, sending them to safety even when that meant dooming himself. She wouldn't tell him tonight. She needed to be with Jaune, and she knew he'd be inconsolable if she did. He'd lost so much in his short life, and she couldn't bear to see him face yet another terrible event quite so soon. For now, she did her best to muster a cheerful demeanor and maintain a semblance of normalcy. 

“A spooky sleepover!” she said. “Let me call Mr. Wonder, then I’ll drive you over.” She walked over to her phone and dialed his number before putting it up to her ear. She held in place with her shoulder as she picked up a few candy wrappers that had been left on the table, discarded and forgotten by Skid. The phone rang for a few seconds before she heard the muffled voice of Mr. Wonder on the other side of the line.

“Hello?” 

“Hi, this is Lila,” she began while walking to another room to avoid upsetting Skid. “The boys were talking about having a sleepover tonight, and I wanted to check in with you before I sent him over.” She paused for a moment before adding, “I also have… somewhere to be tonight, and I don't think it would be good for him to be there, or alone here, and, y’know...”

“He can stay here,” Mr. Wonder replied in a weary voice. He took a deep, ragged breath, one that pulled at Lila’s guilty conscience; she could only assume how exhausted he must be. 

“Thank you so much. I know this is last minute, and I’ll pick him up as soon as I can tomorrow.” Her footsteps circled her office as she paced around, and she nervously laughed. “He heard the word sleepover, and immediately ran upstairs to pack, so we should be over there soon. Again, I hope this isn't too much trouble, and—” 

“It's not a problem for me, Lila.” The line went static for a moment before he added, “See you soon,” and hung up. Lila stood in her office for a moment, now completely still. She could still hear the faint thud of Skid’s footsteps along the ceiling, and could imagine his excitement at the prospect of a spooky sleepover. She envied his positivity, for a moment, envied his blissful ignorance, envied the way that he still had a sense of whimsy she didn't know how to recover. 

She wandered about the room, running a finger along the dusty spines of old photo albums. She considered bringing a few with her, to distract from the horrors of the present with memories of the past. She squinted to make out the handwritten text inserted into each spine, swooping cursive on old, yellowed lined paper. She recognized most of it as her mother’s, a reminder of how old some of these truly were. After a moment, she stepped out of her office, meeting an excited Skid waiting in the kitchen. 

“Are you ready for your sleepover?” Lila asked, allowing a weary smile to settle upon her face. Skid grinned. 

“I am ready for the spookiest of sleepovers!” He cheered, holding onto a backpack that was nearly his size. At this, Lila shut off the television and kitchen lights and headed to the door, where she adorned her worn winter coat and a pair of sneakers. Skid followed closely behind in the purple sweater and trapper hat she bought after he lost his old winter clothes.

The drive to the Wonder house was short. It wasn't a drive, really, considering that Skid frequently walked there; It was on the way to the hospital, though, and Lila no longer felt comfortable sending Skid alone into the nighttime abyss. She didn't turn on the radio, and Skid stared out the window for the entirety of the two minutes there, so it was a silent, uninterrupted drive. It would have been peaceful, had her mind not been teeming with thoughts she couldn't shake. She couldn't help but replay the events in her own home from hours prior of the same man who had mutilated her best friend’s son, the same person that she'd escaped from unscathed. She almost had him trapped in the attic. A mere few seconds would have saved her and everyone else a night of heartbreak and an uncertain future. He could have been in police custody, unable to hurt anybody else.

But he wasn't.

Lila pulled into the driveway of the Wonder house and shut the car off. She helped Skid unload his backpack from the backseat and the two of them walked up to the front door, where she let Skid ring the doorbell. After a few moments, Mr. Wonder opened the door, and Skid didn't hesitate to run past him to an elated Pump. Lila smiled at the two of them for a moment, before turning back to Mr. Wonder. “Thank you so much for letting him stay, I know this was extremely last-minute,” she said quickly. 

“It's not a problem, Lila.” He smiled. “They’re good kids. It's always nice to see my grandson so happy with his friend.”

“Still, I know they can be a… handful sometimes. I’ll be back here as soon as I can tomorrow to pick him up, hopefully he isn't too much trouble for you tonight.” She took a breath that became a cloud of fog in the brisk autumn air. “I have to get going, now, but thank you so much.” She looked over at Skid and Pump, who were playing some sort of game in the living room. “Bye, sweetie! I love you!” She called out, forcing a smile. “Have so much fun!”

“Goodbye, mom!” He waved at her, and she waved back before turning around to walk back to the car. She heard the front door shut behind her, and for a second, everything was quiet. She checked her phone for any recent messages, but saw nothing except for the message she’d received from Jaune hours prior. She put her key into the ignition and turned it, focusing on the gentle hum the engine produced in an attempt to drown out her thoughts, the click as she turned the car into reverse and again as she turned the knob to drive, and turned on the radio, although she was too out of it to care much about the song itself. It was noise, more than anything, and that was exactly what Lila needed at that moment.

This town was quiet now. It hadn't changed much since she was a child, aside from the occasional closed business that had inevitably occurred since the seventies. She tried not to look at the taped-off Candy Club, although it was hard with the flashy lights from the police cars that still surrounded the entrance and the neon caution tape wrapped around the door. A couple officers paced around inside, peering at something behind the counter. As she sped past, she tried to squash the thoughts that gnawed at her from the inside as she imagined the horrors that had occurred there mere hours earlier. 

The small hospital parking lot was about halfway full, and Lila quickly found a parking spot near the entrance. She pulled into the spot and put the car into park, before shutting it off and sitting in the dark, staring ahead with unfocused eyes. She could do this. She had to do this, for Jaune. She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for what this night would entail. With a click, the car door opened, and Lila stepped out before picking the photo albums up from the passenger seat. After standing for a moment, she began to walk towards the entrance. The fluorescent lights of the waiting room and the sterile smell hit Lila instantly, and exacerbated all anxieties and dread she carried tenfold. She scanned the room; her and Jaune found each other instantly. 

“Lila?” 

“Jaune?” Lila walked over to her and Aaron, whom Ross was leaning on the shoulder of. Jaune gazed at her with red rimmed eyes that mascara had smeared around and a face covered with tears that the lights of the waiting room reflected off of. Aaron looked up at her with heavy eyes; she could see the defeat in them even if he remained otherwise expressionless. “Hey, Aaron,” she said, not getting a response other than a glance in her directionon—which she expected. She could only imagine the stress the three of them had been under that night, after all. 

She sat next to Jaune. “How have you been holding up?” she asked softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. Jaune took a breath, holding her tongue for a moment and pursing her lips in an attempt not to cry. 

“I… I haven't—” She wasn't able to finish that thought before bursting into tears. Lila held Jaune in her arms as she cried; she slowly soaked the fabric of Lila’s sweater with her tears. She leaned into Lila, a stable anchor when the floor had been swept from beneath her and the waves of time had knocked her over, caught in the web that held this town together. She was reminded of when they were younger, when she’d been this stable anchor many times previously, and when Jaune had been there for her, as both a friend and a lover. They’d all made it through, looking back on these times as bleak but survivable moments, moments that one could look back on and know that, at the very least, they’d made it past.  “Have you gotten any updates?” Lila asked finally. 

“Not since we got here,” Jaune said. She took a shaky breath. “They said that—that he had a… good prognosis, with how early he was found like… that, but nothing… nothing new.” She burst into tears again, nestling closer to Lila.

“Oh.” Lila traced circles into Jaune's hand with her thumb absentmindedly, feeling the warmth of her body against her own, their breaths synchronized together as if they were one. They stayed like this for a while, silently comforting each other with their presence. 

Jaune slowly started to shift from despair to anxiousness as the night went on. Lila saw it in the way that she repeatedly glanced at the clock. She felt it in the way that she could feel her leg bouncing, in the way that she could hear the faint tapping of Jaune’s fingers against the fabric of the yellow shorts she wore. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. Not when Lila had known her almost as well as she knew herself, not when the unconscious habits Jaune had conveyed more than words ever could. “Do you want to step outside for a bit?” she murmured.

“I—what if they come back while I'm gone?”

“Only for a minute.” Lila gestured towards the parking lot, which was visible through the glass doors of the hospital entrance. “If anyone comes, you'll be able to see.” Jaune seemed to consider this, looking off into the distance, unmoving from Lila's shoulder.

“Okay,” she murmured finally, slowly shifting her weight from Lila’s shoulder slowly, as if her body was filled with lead that made every action feel like a monumental task “I’ll be back in a bit,” Jaune said to Aaron. “Just going outside.” Aaron looked up and nodded in response. Lila watched as Jaune stood up from the uncomfortable waiting room chair and began to walk towards the exit, Jaune closely following behind. They traversed through the hallways for a moment, before arriving at the entrance, which automatically opened with a faint sound as they approached. The cold autumn air enveloped the two of them as they stepped outside, and Lila felt the crispness of it as she breathed, a faint, relieving burn, something concrete that distracted her from the abstract thoughts swimming inside of her head. 

The cold air whistled around them, filling the silence created by the things that the two of them refused to say, that they couldn't say, not yet. Their words had danced around these facts all night, a combination of euphemism and silence. They'd spoken about the night, sure, about whether Kevin would be out soon, if he was okay, but nothing more. Lila couldn't say that he'd almost died. She couldn't say that he could have ceased to exist, become someone who was someone she knew, who used to be a part of her life. She couldn't utter those words, couldn't bring herself to admit through them how real this was, the ugly truth that life’s maw had bitten into them yet again with its vicious, bloody teeth that seemed to take and take until there was nothing but suffering left. 

Lila walked towards Jaune, who was motionless and staring off into space with a thousand-yard stare. She wrapped her arms around her shaking body in a comforting embrace, planting a gentle kiss onto her cheek before resting her head on her shoulder. The two stayed like that for a while wordlessly, and Lila absentmindedly took in her surroundings, the same trees and buildings around them that they’d grown up with. The glowing Eden Hospital sign shone down on them, its gentle green light nothing more than a faint reflection in comparison to the bright lights of the waiting room. It seemed so small, then, to be seeing it from the outside, for such a monumental place to be barely discernable.

“I ran into Carmen after you and Ross left,” Lila said finally, in an attempt to fill the silence. “Was all upset that Roy was out wandering, and 'especially with them,’” Lila mimicked as she made air quotes, “something about his costume being plebeian-esque, I don't even remember.” 

“Sounds about right.” Jaune sighed. “Did she even care?”

“She said to send you condolences—which, knowing her, is really saying something.” Jaune’s face fell, reminded yet again of how surreal this night had been by this fact. Lila thought for a moment, before shifting the subject. “Remember when I had to drag you back from that fight with her?” Jaune smiled. 

“I would have had her!” she protested playfully. Lila lovingly squinted at her. “Cmon,” she asked, “you really think she could have won a fight?”

“You were seven months pregnant!”

“And?” Jaune laughed, her normal, cheerful demeanor back for that split second. “I would have easily taken her.”

“I love you, Jaune.” Lila jokingly rolled her eyes and smiled, stifling a laugh as she gently nudged a grinning Jaune with her elbow. It struck her then, how normal this moment was in a night that seemed to be a fever dream, so horrific that part of her hadn't accepted its reality. The act of laughing over an old memory felt so mundane and real that she almost could have convinced herself that it was any other day, that they weren't in the cold parking lot of the hospital where Kevin still remained in a surgery that Lila had no idea how much time was left of it. It was these moments sprinkled throughout this night—the ones that would seem fake to an onlooker—that made it a reality. It was somber, but spent with the same person she’d known longer than she hadn’t. It was hard to navigate this situation, but never hard to navigate Jaune, never hard to talk to her. “You could've been hurt!” she said, before adding: “Or Kevin.” 

The sliver of life that Jaune had moments prior vanished instantly; she looked off to the distance and sighed. “I guess. Wouldn't have wanted him to be hurt.” Lila’s stomach twisted itself into knots, and guilt instantly rose within her for ruining what had been a small beacon of light in a dark night, for blowing out the flame of a faint, flickering light. She searched for Jaune's hand and held onto it, squeezing it as a silent comfort. 

“We should probably go back inside,” Jaune said finally, glancing towards the waiting room that still seemed so small in the midnight expanse. “In case, y’know, the doctors have any news about Kev.”

“Yeah.” The two of them began to walk back towards the door, Lila following Jaune, leaving the frigid night behind them. The light illuminated Jaune's face as she walked towards it. Lila glanced at the stars one more time before stepping back into the hospital. They shone brightly in the sky, alongside the sliver of moon that illuminated the night. It brought her comfort, in a way, that it was the same sky she'd seen in her childhood. The stars were watching down on her, an all-seeing presence that would remain a constant even as her life remained anything but that.