Work Text:
Limbo is an odd place to be.
Not dead, not alive either—which isn’t saying much, considering he’s not actually been alive for a long time already. Still, he may not have been alive but at least he was up and walking, talking, getting into trouble… now he’s not even sure he exists anymore.
Death would probably be better.
Would it?
Unless the inescapable darkness of your failure begs to differ.
Honestly, finding out he’d been killed was a bit of a shock at first.
“You mean he killed me?” he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it—he didn’t even feel dead.
“Yes, Shaun, that’s how you make Kindred,” Vera was trying to be patient, or at least what she considered patient, but the supressed roll of her eyes was more than evident in her tone. “Were you never taught this before?”
Shaun looked at her, clearly aghast, and shook his head.
“I don't know, do you remember ever teaching me that before?” The exasperated sarcasm of his tone did little to help matters. “I don't know if you remember this, Vera, but you three are literally the only vampires I talk to—if you didn't tell me, who the fuck else would have?!”
“Ah, well,” Vera wrinkled her nose ever so slightly, conceding his point at least somewhat. “I thought it was common knowledge.”
“What about this situation makes you think it’d be ‘common knowledge’?” Shaun gestured down towards himself. “I’m not even a regular fucking vampire —I thought the whole issue with those like me is that ‘common knowledge’ usually flies out the window— so how was I supposed to know which parts still applied?”
“Fair point, kid,” Max interrupted with a pat on Shaun’s shoulder, hand resting heavily in place for a moment, clearly trying to get him to pipe down some. “But, hey. At least now you know.”
“Oh, sure, at least now I know,” he repeated with a sardonic nod of his head. “Fucking grand.”
“Yeah, yeah—listen, Shaun,” Max didn’t have to sigh to sound tired of his attitude, even his bat-ish features clearly conveyed the emotion for all present, but he still tried to be reassuring. “I know coming to terms with your death is a big deal and everything, but think about it: you’re still around, right? Yeah, you died, but you didn’t even notice! Just, take it one night at a time and you’ll be right as rain before you know it.”
Shaun wanted to retort again, that defensive sarcasm bubbling at the back of his throat, but another voice cut in from the corner of the room before he had a chance to launch another quip.
“Max is right, Shaun,” Duke spoke with that usual flat affect of his that made every sentence sound like a lecture. “While discovering the mechanics behind your current state may come as a shock initially, clearly there hasn’t been enough of a difference for you to come to that conclusion on your own beforehand—probably due to your thin-blooded nature. The creation of a Kindred necessitates a human death, yes, but if you really stop to think about it, it isn’t nearly as tragic an occasion for us —for you— as it would be for the unfortunate Kine that simply cease to exist. Perhaps keeping that in mind will make it easier for you to come to terms with the facts.”
Shaun blinked, trying to figure out if Duke was actually calling him stupid or if it was just his way of expressing himself before finally deciding that it didn’t matter either way.
“So what, am I not allowed to be upset that I was fucking murdered?” he raised his hands in defeat.
“No one is saying that, Shaun.” It was Vera’s turn to interject, shifting in her comfortable seat by uncrossing her legs and crossing them again the opposite way. “We’re saying that we were all murdered at some point, if you want to get technical about it. You’ll learn to get over it. All of us do.”
“Unbelievable,” Shaun shook his head, unsure what else to say. “Thanks for the support, guys.”
“Aw, you're welcome,” Max shot him a sarcastic grin—or at least what seemed like one, sometimes it was hard to tell with his face.
In response, Shaun merely rolled his eyes and walked out of the Blood Room, wanting to be anywhere but here for at least a little while.
The silence is deafening, the darkness overwhelming. Is it possible to overstimulated by the sheer lack of stimuli in his surroundings? He wouldn’t even be able to describe where he is now if asked—isn’t fully convinced his mind wouldn’t just break from trying. Maybe he won’t even remember this at all when it is all over.
Pretty optimistic thoughts for someone doomed to spend the rest of eternity in this hell.
No, not hell. Hell would be pain, or anguish, or something. This… this is just nowhere. Nothing.
An apt resting place for the likes of you, then.
At least he tried making something of himself, in the end.
But did you, really?
If asked where his dogged conviction to see that crazy plan through had come from, Shaun wouldn’t be able to point to a single thing—rather, it had been many, many little things that had built up over time.
There was being treated like dirt by the stuck-up Kindred around him, simply because his existence was wrong in their eyes. The unwarranted scorn, the de facto dismissal, the borderline ridicule; what did he do to deserve any of that? Sure, he ended up playing into it and provoking disdain with his behaviour, but it would have happened regardless. Could he be faulted for wanting to feel a little in control, even if subconsciously?
The fact that the man who killed him, who turned him into what he was —his so-called Sire— had been in front of him for years and not once bothered to confess or acknowledge his actions. He'd watched Shaun flounder as he was thrown into the deep end and done nothing; watched him be branded and treated like a criminal and still gave not a single fuck; ignored every single iota of responsibility until it was literally impossible for him to deny it any longer—and what did he have to say for himself? Blatant excuses about how he was trying to save Shaun’s life, and how he’d done what was best for both of them. Evidently, he never even cared enough to stop and think that maybe, just maybe, there was another way.
And who could forget the system he’d been roped into? The Camarilla did nothing but beat him down—not just him, his entire coterie, too. It was just a constant struggle of having to prove themselves, of watching their every move for fear of breaking some vague rule or getting on the wrong side of the fickle powers that be. Shaun had no idea why any of them still tried. Maybe that was just another thing one got used to after a while of being undead.
Was that why he had caved? For a chance to change things?
He never fully believed what Father was trying to sell him, what Mia seemed so convinced about when the moment came, but still he had to admit that it was… tempting. The idea that his existence meant something, that it was somehow destined and not a fuck up of circumstance, that there was a path out there for him to take alongside others like him, if only he were bold enough to take that first step.
He knew it was too good to be true, and yet.
Maybe he deserved what happened next.
Was it worth it?
He had to try.
That wasn’t the question.
The void stretches on and on, primordial chaos in its purest state. Somewhere out there, Shaun thinks vaguely, he still lives, parading around with a stolen body and continuing with whatever schemes he had from the beginning. He knew what he’d been doing, goading him like that—Shaun had never stood a real chance.
So, both a failure and naïve. Why are you still hanging on? He’s won.
He isn’t sure. How much time has passed? Perhaps none at all, and these are just the last sparks of his consciousness prolonging his final thoughts for one last depressing hurrah. Is this what happens to vampires when they die? Or maybe he’s not dead yet—maybe it’s worse than that. Based on what little he’d been able to glean about the process he began, he guesses his consciousness might be about to be consumed after losing the battle for his physical form. That's the last step to diablerie, right? First the vitae, then the soul.
Do you think you even have a soul?
He must have. Otherwise, what is all this?
Oblivion.
Is this really the end?
Embrace it. Let it embrace you.
“Just remember, even if you fuck up, even if shit goes bad… you can always come back here.”
Had Shaun forgotten what Vera said that day, when he sunk is fangs into Father’s neck?
She’d meant it, too, which was the weird thing. Not because Shaun didn’t think he had a place with them —they’d been a coterie for ten years, after all, he knew they at least tolerated him— but rather because, well… he simply didn’t think they’d be too torn up about losing him. They’d just get used to it, move on, and probably even appreciate not being dragged into any more of his messes.
Maybe that's why he'd caved to Father's offer, in the end.
He'd been so set on the contrary at first, too, but the more he watched that impossible video —himself and Father, locked in an unforgivable act that hadn't yet come to pass, over and over again— and the more he'd listened to their words, the more doubt that had crept in.
What if it was meant to be? What if, by doing that, he could make this a place to belong—not just for him, but for the other thin-bloods? Everyone seemed so sure of it, so ready to embrace him, so why did he doubt himself?
Or maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe he saw an opportunity for power and, like all Kindred, leapt at the chance to take it, despite the person it would turn him into.
It seemed possible for a second—probable, even. His fangs pierced the skin on Father's neck and the older vampire never even fought back, accepting his fate. Even as the rich taste of vitae coated Shaun's tongue and he swallowed mouthful after mouthful of the miraculous liquid, Father remained mostly unmoved.
Even after everything went wrong with him trying to kill Father the normal way, he was allowed to come back for more, encouraged to drink until there was nothing left, and then, just as expected, take that final step and drink some more.
And then…
Nothing
Not nothing, you did your part.
And what part would that be?
Playing the fool.
So what, then? Curtains come down and Shaun exits stage left while everyone claps?
Only no one is clapping.
Not even Father? He seems like the clapping sort of bloke.
You are delaying the inevitable.
What about my encore?
That’s not how this works.
How does it work, then? How does any of this work? I’m supposed to be dead twice over, and instead I’m here in the void fighting with the voice in my head—who are you, even?
Haven’t you figured it out?
I wouldn't be fucking asking if I had.
Then you’ll just have to bear with not knowing. Luckily, it won’t haunt you for long.
Alright, well, if my complete destruction is so inevitable, why hasn’t it happened yet? What’s going on?
Things beyond your comprehension.
You don’t fucking know either, do you? You're just as lost as I am.
Perhaps. Perhaps not. What do you know?
I know that I’m not dead yet.
On the contrary, Shaun. You are already dead.
Am I?
Yes. Accept it.
I…
I'm scared.
Had he taken the sun for granted?
Shaun had been a night owl for most of his life, so changing to a schedule that suited the rest of his coterie was never really a challenge. Still, he could go out during the day whenever he wanted, so he never really gave that question much beyond a cursory thought about how it must suck for the others but was rather convenient for him.
And yet, one of the last things Shaun did at the commune —before he found himself in that closed room with Father and Mia and his inevitable mistakes— was watch the sun rise.
He sat on the ground outside, legs crossed under him, and lit a cigarette as the sky began to shift its hue from deep blue to purple.
Around him, the grounds of the commune were mostly quiet save for he constant droning of crickets. It was early enough that most humans were still asleep or just barely waking up, while most other thin-bloods, and undoubtedly Father himself, had gone back inside to settle in for daysleep.
So Shaun sat, smoked, and watched the violet sky turn lilac as the sun continued its slow ascent, a golden aura peeking behind the horizon as if to herald its arrival. He didn’t have plans after this—just watch the sun, go to sleep, wake up, wait for Father to come find him for another one of their “walks” where he’d inevitably talk some more about his grand plans of overthrowing the Camarilla with his help or something along those lines.
But that all seemed so far away, somewhere beyond the thin clouds of the dawn sky, where he didn’t have to think about it for now.
“Mind if I sit?”
The voice that interrupted the quiet was not unfamiliar; it belonged to a girl he’d seen around the commune, a thin-blood like himself, though he didn’t know her much beyond a few passing greetings. Maye she hung out with Pat’s sister, if he really thought hard about it.
“Sure,” he patted the ground next to himself. “Make yourself comfortable.”
She sat next to him with a smile, then turned her face up towards the sky, seemingly wanting to just watch the sunrise in silence.
After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, however, she spoke up once more.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she turned her face slightly as she spoke, not fully taking her eyes off the horizon.
Shaun merely hummed in response, a neutral sound that could be interpreted as agreement, and took another drag from his cigarette.
“I feel kind of sorry for those of us who can’t be under the sun—imagine being a duskborn in name only. Stuck living only during a night that doesn’t even want you there,” she spoke with a sigh, like she had been contemplating the words for quite some time.
Shaun wasn’t quite sure why she’d decided he was the best person to have this conversation with, but decided to humour her for a bit.
“Yeah, that must suck,” he nodded.
“Why do you think that happens?” She turned to him with a mild frown of curiosity. “Why are we so different from one another?”
“Dunno, honestly,” Shaun shrugged. It’d never been something he'd thought about before, just like most things he'd come to face with since being here, surrounded by so many like himself. “Our blood’s just weird, I guess.”
She nodded like he just gave some sort of profound response. “Yeah, that sounds about right. I know Father is still trying to help figure out what makes us so different from other Kindred but… I think some things just don’t have answers, you know?”
Shaun hummed again, really beginning to wonder why she’d picked him as a conversation partner when, even after all these months, he clearly knew the least out of everyone here.
His companion sighed after a moment, then turned to him with a look that told him she was trying to toe some sort of line.
“Or maybe the answers just depend on who’s looking for them.”
That statement felt a little off to Shaun, though the couldn’t quite pinpoint why, so he settled for simply asking, “What do you mean?”
“I can’t say,” she shrugged. “But I think you know.”
“I… don’t,” Shaun felt even more confused after that cryptic non-answer, a hint of his frustration coming through in the curtness of his answer. “Actually.”
She stared at him for a long moment as though trying to catch sight of something, but whether she found it or not, in the end she merely smiled.
“Then I guess just keep it in mind.”
“All-right…” he dragged out the word into two elongated syllables to convey his utter mystification. Then, when he received no follow up, took one final drag from his cigarette and stubbed it out on the sole of his shoe.
Lilac gave way to pale yellow as the sun finally peeked over the horizon, and Shaun noticed that, at some point during the conversation, the drone of the crickets had been replaced by the scattered chirping of several unseen birds.
“I should go back inside,” the girl spoke as she stood up, stretching a little before turning back to him. “There's plenty of things to get done before going to bed—have you been to the kitchen yet? Breakfast is usually quite nice if you're the type that can stomach it.”
Shaun shook his head. “Not for me, unfortunately.”
“Ah, well,” she gave him a sympathetic shrug. “I'll see you around, then.”
He gave her a brief wave and watched as she made her way towards one of the large buildings. It was an earth-coloured structure, like everything else in the campground, but with the light of the early morning sun bouncing off its windows it looked be filled to the brim with liquid gold, which spilled through the metal seams of the door as she opened and closed it behind herself.
Shaun turned back to the horizon. He could feel the sun on his face, its pleasant warmth inviting him to close his eyes for a few minutes and bask in it, so he accepted the proposal and leaned back against his hands.
Not long after having done so, however, another thought crept in.
He imagined for a second —and for the first time— what it would be like if the gentle morning rays became hotter, much more so, to the point of singing his exposed skin, setting his flesh alight and drawing from him that visceral panic he'd seen in some of his peers as whatever was inside him finally rioted against his inevitable doom. What if he'd been one of the unlucky ones, and his first time unsuspectingly going out into sun had also become his last?
Shaun opened his eyes again, almost swearing he was beginning to feel a tingling on his skin, and glanced up at the sun looming above, poised on a bright blue sky with idyllic candyfloss clouds drifting lazily around it.
He was overthinking things, which was not like him at all… maybe the whole thing was starting to get to him. It wouldn't be that strange after all these months.
“Oh, fuck me,” Shaun muttered as he slowly made his way to his feet.
What was he still doing here, really? It should have been an easy job: get in, see what Father and his little cult were scheming, get out, go back to the others and report—but it wasn’t really that simple, was it? Not when he’d learnt more about himself in his short time here than he had in the ten years he’d been Kindred, or when he’d been so eagerly embraced by a community that was not only sympathetic to those like him but was actually made up of the very same.
But there was, of course, the issue of Father and what undoubtedly lay behind his seemingly good intentions…
Shaun filled his lungs with fresh morning air, only to empty them out in a drawn-out sigh.
“Tonight,” he shook his head and began walking. “That’s a problem for tonight.”
He wasn’t done here yet, not by a long shot. The others would manage to get on without him.
This is where he had to be.
And this is where that landed you.
Not on purpose.
You made your choice, didn’t you?
I… I don’t feel like I made a single choice at all.
Shifting the blame won’t help now, what’s done is done—and done by your hand, to say the least.
“It’s happening—guys, it’s happening, just like in the tape!”
The voices around him sounded excited—not at all what he expected when he called the thin-bloods over to help him get rid of Father once and for all.
When they whispered of their disbelief, it wasn’t in dismay at the situation but rather awe, even reverence at the events unfolding in front of them. They were here to bear witness only.
Confused, he turned to Mia, her face a mixture of concern and expectation, her earlier words about the thin-bloods finally clicking into place. They all believed in Father’s plan. They believed in him.
And with that revelation, Father’s laughter sunk like a stake into his chest.
“Are you going to disappoint them, boy?”
He wanted to help them take their future into their own hands, not this. If he did this, he’d be the same as Father. If he did this—
“They are here to watch,” despite his hunger and pain, Father sounded eager, almost triumphant. “And if you don’t do what they expect, and you end me here… they’re going to end you, too.”
As he spoke, Father’s words became distorted in Shaun’s ears, almost muffled. He felt as though he were looking at himself in third person, tracking lines appearing in his vision, a dull click and then the sound of a VHS tape running somewhere in the background.
He’d… already done this, hadn’t he? He’d already made his choice, as much as he'd tried to deny it, but it was just now catching up to him.
He’d already committed this mistake.
So, Shaun stumbled over to where Father knelt in front of him —each movement foreign, not belonging to his body— and, in the same manner he’d watched himself do countless times, leaned over the bloodied man, taking a single moment to whisper into his ear the only thing he knew for certain.
“The thin-bloods are worth better than both of us.”
And then, Shaun fulfilled his fate.
Limbo is a terrifying place to be.
There is nothing, not even himself. No time passes; there is no past, no future, only now.
Shaun hears a voice sometimes, deep and echoing—is it himself? Is it something else? He has no way of knowing. All he can feel is fear and doubt, but even that becomes dulled in the aeons of primordial chaos.
Shaun.
He doesn’t want to listen.
He can’t not listen.
Shaun, give in.
There is a sensation like vertigo—for the first time in an eternity Shaun gets a sense of direction as he is pulled up, up, up—
He blinks. Shaun is standing in a church, there is a priest by his knees, he barely gets a look around the place before he blinks again—
Darkness.
Once more he is pulled, but downwards this time, back towards the void—
No, not again. No, please. No, no, no-nono!
Ш̵̥̌́̅͌н̶̞͉̝̬̱̝̳͂а̸̮͙̳̏̎̅͂̈́̋т̷̞̣̮̘̠̏́̾̈͋̕͘͝ ̵̤̦̲͍̋͛̏̐́̀͠͠а̵̧̪͇̻̯̲̹̮̤͗͝я̷̫́̾́̿͗̃͠ё̷̯͐̈́̀͜͜ ̴̢̭͔̝̱̳͑̈̕ͅч̴̳̟̤̭͈̯̃͂͛̾͗ѳ̸̣͈̮͈̎͜ц̷̭̥̻̩̪̭̱̪̆͗̀̓̆̃ ̷̮̳̜͚̽̽̏͒̈́̈́̈́̽д̷͚̋̏̈́ѳ̴̻̠͇̼͍̑̄͆͑̍͆̊ї̸̧̗̦̀̊̏̈̽͂̈̔̚͜п̶͍̓̓͑̽̒͛̽g̵͇̭̦̦̗̻̲̘̎̆͗̀́̅ ̴̳̱̼̝̖͂̊̈́̓͒̈́͝$̶̨̨̳̘̣͌̿̈͛̌̓͝н̷̲̟͖͈̺̩̿͊̄̃́а̸̳̫̳̼̇̎̏̂͂́ц̸͚̱͍͈̿̈̌̃п̶̡̖̖̓̒̈́?̸̧̛̞̠̮̪̭̬́̔͗̽̉ͅ!̸̗͖̼̮͖̉̾̌͝ ̶̦̝̓̆̌̄̿̍ͅC̸͇̣̠̮̟̃̅͆͋͐͐ѳ̵̗̣̜̟͙̯͚̰͍̓ѫ̵̡̛͖̝̞͈̝́̓͑͠ё̶̟̺͒͗̓͗͛̍̃ ̶̫̞̞̰͚̣̱̰̔̇н̶̡̜̹͙̯̰̓̅̎̎̕̕ѳ̴͈͇̝͎͆́̌̈́̍͘ѫ̴̤́͌́̍͗ё̷̙̂
He can’t understand the voice anymore, but it sounds furious.
A wave of terror washes over him, he’s still being pulled down through the impenetrable darkness. Is this how it happens? Is it finally happening?
Is this how it ends for him?
…It can’t be the end. Not now, not after everything.
He'd made it so far despite the terrible odds, hadn't he? A thin-blood abandoned by his Sire, thrust into a coterie with the former Scourge charged with the annihilation of his kind, beaten down again and again by a society that clearly did not want him—and yet he had pulled through, somehow. Despite fucking up constantly, despite his terrible decisions—he isn't going to let Father get the last laugh.
He refuses to accept this fate.
As the conviction settles into his bones, there is a sudden impact—he lands, with enough force to knock the wind out of his dead lungs.
The wind…?
Shaun gasps, the effort of it stinging his throat, and blinks. He can see. He can feel.
The first thing his bewildered mind manages to register is Vera.
“Where am I?” his voice is hoarse, strained with the effort of the first words he’s spoken in an eternity, panicked with the sheer chaos of his surroundings.
“Shaun, get down,” Vera’s command is like an anchor, he follows without thinking.
A bullet whizzes past his head, deafening him for a moment.
He blinks again, finally looking around.
Vera stands in front of him, around her are Max and Qadir. Larson stands not too far away.
His ears ring, his mouth is dry and tastes like dust, his hands and knees sting from the impact of hitting the floor.
Shaun watches Larson fall down, his knee obliterated by the shot Max just took. Qadir steps up to him, saying something unintelligible, before swinging a crowbar straight at Larson’s head.
His Sire’s head detaches from his shoulders with unbelievable ease, then rolls onto the ground near where he’s still crouching, stunned.
They make eye contact for a second, or at least it feels like they do, before Larson begins turning to ash.
He tries to get up, but his limbs feel like lead, he stumbles for a step as he straightens up—
“Shaun, buddy, that you?” Max’s hand is on his shoulder, his question is tentative, careful… hopeful?
Before Shaun can respond, there’s another weight pressed against his chest, this one cold and hard.
“What you say next will decide whether you continue existing, or you meet the same fate as your friend over there,” Qadir threatens him, holding the crowbar firmly against him, waiting for his answer.
“I—” Shaun blinks. “I don’t know what’s going on.” What else can he say? How did he get here? Where is here? What’s happening? He has no idea, all he knows is that Qadir will not hesitate to bash his head in as well if he doesn’t answer quickly.
“Ok, it’s him,” Max breaks the tension with his deadpan, almost relieved comment, which would admittedly be a lot funnier without the threat of Final Death literally staring him in the face.
Speaking about Final Death.
“Vera,” Shaun turns to her, panic rising anew. He has to warn them of Father’s plan before it’s too late. “They have sun bombs, the thin-bloods—”
“We know, Shaun.” This isn’t news to her, clearly, though she tries to keep him calm. “You've got some catching up to do. But, you okay, kid?”
His confusion only deepens. How long has it been? What happened while he was gone?
Still, he listens to Vera’s words and takes stock of himself for a moment.
“Everything hurts. A lot,” he frowns slightly. Not only his muscles, his mind is sore too. Something is different, he can't quite put his finger on it, but… but at least he's alive. “I think I'm okay.”
With those words, Max steps forward and picks him up with ease, exposing his fangs in a jovial grin.
“Look at this guy,” he shakes Shaun slightly in his excitement, a laugh bubbling up with his words. “Can't keep a good junkie down, ey?”
He can't help but laugh a little, too. This feels normal, at least. “Nah, I'm full of too much coke.”
“Oh yeah, that's him,” Max nods at his little quip, certainty in both the gesture and the words that accompany it. “It's totally him.”
As Max sets him down once more, Vera pipes in.
“I’d say I missed this, but I'd be lying.” The sentiment behind her words is genuine, though tired almost-grimace pulling at her features is soon replaced by a smile. “Shaun, it's good to have you back.”
“Thanks.” He is, admittedly, a little touched by the reception, even though he is still completely disoriented. “What happened to Father?” He has so many questions, but this feels like the most relevant one.
“Well,” Vera sighs. “It's a long story…”
She begins explaining—or tries to, at least. There is a reluctance on her part to go into too much detail for the moment, and soon Max interrupts with the highlights from his perspective, which just derails the conversation even further.
What Shaun takes away is that, ultimately, Father is gone, and his plan was mostly unsuccessful. The specific how of the matter is completely lost in the summary, however, leaving him pretty much only slightly less utterly confused than before.
As they catch him up, they begin walking. To where, Shaun obviously doesn’t know… until he spots Duke.
And, sat next to him, looking down as though none of their words concern her, is Mia.
The other Kindred’s conversation becomes a dull buzz in his ears as he approaches her—they’re talking about her fate, of course. Someone has to pay the price, and she’s…
She’s here.
Shaun sits down next to her, causing her to look up, practically gaping as though she’s just seen a ghost.
“Don’t look at me, I don’t know what’s going on,” he shrugs slightly, then turns his expression into a thin smile. “But I’m here.”
She stares at him, speechless. It’s honestly a little awkward, and he doesn’t quite know what to say, so he stands up again and offers her a hand.
“My head's a little fuzzy, but the last thing I remember is we were in that shack—and I fucked up again.”
He barely gets the words out before Mia jumps up and slams into him, pulling him into a tight embrace, pressing the side of her face against his like she wants to make sure he’s real.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers almost inaudibly against his ear. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” he hugs her back, a hand coming to rest on the back of her head as he holds her close. “I think… if you’re here now, I didn’t fuck up that bad, right?”
He tries a joke to ease her worries, but when she pulls her head back enough to look him in the eyes there’s a large crimson tear leaving a trail down her cheek.
“I fucked up,” Mia chokes on her words. “I watched you die—I don’t understand, but I don’t care.” She pulls him close once more, clinging on to him like he could disappear at any second.
Shaun returns the embrace, simply holding her before a voice interrupts their reunion.
“I still have to bring her in,” Qadir speaks up, their discussion seemingly having come to a conclusion.
With those words, Mia finally pulls back. Shaun lets her go, reluctantly, not missing the way her gaze lingers on him until she is right next to the Sheriff.
As they get ready to depart, she looks back like she’s about to say something, but ultimately bites her tongue and turns away.
Seemingly noticing her hesitation, Qadir offers one last chance, “If you have words, maybe now’s the time.”
“I don’t,” Mia simply shakes her head.
He stares at her for a moment with his usual stern gaze, until it cracks for an instant with the hint of a smile and the softening of his sharp eyes.
“Come on,” Qadir leads her away, and Shaun can only watch as they disappear from view.
It’s a few long moments of him just watching the now-empty distance in silence before Vera breaks the silence.
“You know, the offer still stands,” she smiles at him, warmly. “The one I gave you when you left.”
Shaun turns to her, then to Max and Duke, before responding.
“My head’s really fuzzy, Vera, but…” he pauses, his next words as deliberate as he can manage even as relief floods his body. “I definitely want to come back.”
Vera smiles in response, the expression both self-satisfied and genuine in a way only she could manage.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”