Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You're really going with them, aren't you?"

Her brother's expression is pained, as if hurts him to say it, which is ironic considering the swelling around his left eye socket that suggests the beginning of a rather impressive shiner. (You’d think he’d have bigger issues to worry about.)

It's not a really a question and doesn't need an answer, but she gives one anyway; it feels good to say it, to hear the words spoken aloud.

"I am."

She hears the faint sizzle from the cigarette in Martin's mouth, the somewhat ragged breathing of Vogel beside her, and knows she's made the right decision.

"This is - madness. You don’t know these men; they're crazy, Amanda. You'll be safer here-"

She laughs at that, can't help herself, and smiles when she hears the low rumble of laughter from the group assembled around her, echoing the sentiment. "Safer here? After all that's happened, you of all people know that's complete and utter bullshit."

"Just - trust me on this-"

"Trust you?" She pauses, needing a moment to swallow the thick lump that's settled in her throat, his words from the last hour swirling around her head in an ugly confusing mess - 'I just wanted the money, I'm not sick Amanda - there is no cure' - "I don't even know who you are anymore."

He flinches as if she's struck him, but she's already moving past him, heading towards the van. Todd shifts on his feet, making an aborted movement towards her as if to follow before he stops and she can tell without looking that Martin's brandished the bat, can hear the air whistle with the swing of it.

If her arms are trembling as she pulls herself into the van, then it's from the adrenaline thudding through her veins, the giddy excitement bubbling up from deep within her chest.

When Vogel reaches out to swing the door of the van closed behind them, she doesn't look back.

No regrets.

For the first time in a long time, she is taking control of her path. She has spent too many years locked within the confines of her apartment, trapped by the restrictions of her illness - her disease - and she’s sick to the teeth of living in fear of what might happen.

She deserves better than that; she deserves a life, and she will grasp this opportunity that has been handed to her tightly between both hands and hold onto it.

If that makes her crazy, then she had never really been that sane to begin with.

Chapter Text

She’s still thinking about that moment days later, after they’d finally cracked the case of the time traveller Patrick Spring and rescued his daughter from the clutches of a body-swapping cult. About the decision she'd made that day, and the one she's making now, as she leaves Todd in the capable hands of Farah Black, knocked-out cold but safe, which is more than she could have said about herself two days ago.

She wonders if this is what people mean when they talk about choosing found family over blood.

They're camped out in an empty lot on the other side of town, the five of them and the van, arranged in a loose circle around a hastily crafted fire pit lined with rubble and pieces of broken furniture. They're a little battered, the rowdies smeared with blood and dirt, with maybe a handful of bruises between them, but their spirits are high, almost jubilant, and their enthusiasm is infectious. They'd faced near near insurmountable odds and survived.

The flames crackle a short distance away. She's curled up, knees tucked in firmly beneath the heavy folds of the leather jacket they’d handed her, oversized and worn.

TEQUILA.

It’s tacky to say the least, but she loves it; loves the meaning behind it and the sense of belonging that entails. This is it – the start of a new chaotic chapter of her life. She doesn’t know exactly where it will take her, but she’s ready for it.

A creak of leather and the thunk of a wooden bat against packed earth signals the arrival of one of the ‘three. She glances up, expecting Vogel – the younger and more outgoing of the group – and is pleasantly surprised to see Martin, his features half-obscured by the smoke of the cigarette dangling from his lips.

After a moment, he tilts his head to one side, meeting her gaze before he gestures to the ground beside her. It takes her a second to realise what he’s asking, but when she does, she nods, shifting to the side to make room for him on the broken section of sofa she’d claimed for herself.

He unfolds beside her in a haze of cigarette smoke and worn leather and reaches into a pocket to grab a packet of Marlboro Lights, offering it to her without a word. She takes one, grinning as he leans over to light it for her before retreating to a more respectable distance, and they turn their gaze back to the rest of the group.

They sit like that for another moment before she feels comfortable enough to break the silence that’s fallen between them. “Thanks.”

He glances at her, making eye contact for a short moment before grunting out an assent as he leans back onto his arms, tilting his head back for a long exhale, the smoke billowing in the air around them.

His posture is relaxed and confident, and she feels herself relax in his presence, the last of the tension she hadn’t even realised she was carrying easing from her shoulders. She takes another drag of her cigarette, and allows her eyes to wander back over the group, the flickering silhouettes of Gripps and Cross beside the van as they tear into another wrecked piece of wooden furniture.

She’s marvelling at their strength when Vogel bounds across the lot to join them, an eager smile on his face, his eyes glittering with manic energy in the flickering light from the fire. Picking up a sledgehammer, he leaps into the fray with a triumphant cry, peals of manic laughter ringing out from across the yard, and she has to bite her lip to smother a smile.

“What are you thinking about, drummer girl?”

She glances over to the side to find Martin’s gaze on her again, the dancing light from the flames glinting off of his glasses and obscuring the details of his expression. She lifts her shoulders in a shrug, tucking her knees beneath her as she turns to face him.

“I was wondering where you guys slept, actually.”

He huffs out a laugh at that, peering at her from the corner of his eye as he takes another drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly, the smoke curling around his features. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and she doesn’t really expect him to – again, he surprises her when he does.

“Motels, mostly; the van, sometimes. Outside, when the weather is good.” He pauses as Vogel makes a particularly loud exclamation, cackling with joy as he bounces on the balls of his feet and grabs a section of destroyed plastic – parts of a mannequin? – to throw into the fire. “We’re not complete savages.”

“No, you’re not.” She’s watching him as he surveys the group, his eyes sharp, constantly alert and ready for whatever might come at them next, and realises that there’s more truth to that statement than she had initially thought. “At best, you’re anarchists. At worst, punks.”

That comment gets her a longer look, a brow raised close to his hairline and she has to bite into her lip to keep from laughing. “ Punks? ”

She can’t stop the smile that curls at the edges of her words, though. “At worst.”

He shakes his head, one side of his mouth pulling up into an approximation of a smile. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before.”

“I’m not surprised.” She breaks into a grin, stretching her legs out before her as she gestures to the destruction around them. This is fun. She is having fun. “I can imagine the kinds of things you usually hear.”

There’s a shout from across the yard and a crash of feet against earth before Vogel skids to a halt in front of them, a half-melted mannequin head swinging from one hand as he uses the other to steady himself against Martin’s shoulder. He sends her a wide smile before he unfolds in a clumsy heap of limbs by Martin’s right flank, his chest heaving from the exertion.

On the other side of the fire pit, Gripps pauses in the destruction, throwing up a hand to shade his eyes as he watches Vogel settle in with the group. It’s oddly protective, a sentiment she’s seen echoed within the rest of the group, and it highlights the stark differences between them -- Vogel’s so much younger than the rest, practically her age. She wonders what led to him being here; wonders how all of them ended up here, with this - ability.

Project Incubus, the agent - CIA or whatever - had called them. The name, she could guess, came from their talents, although the phrasing could have been better; it was too much evil sex demon for her liking, and also highly inaccurate. They were better described as emotional-energy-sucking... vampires.

Christ, she was hanging out with her own fucked up version of ‘the lost boys’.

She shakes off the thought, straightening a little and tucking her knees closer to her chest to ward off the approaching chill. “Why did you follow me that day, at the supermarket?”

She’s looking at Martin, but it’s Vogel who answers.

“We could sense you -- you were like a big, crazy BLIP on our radar.” He balloons his hands out as he says it, opening his eyes wide in exaggeration before shooting her a look that is almost awed. “Whatever you’ve got, it’s powerful.”

His answer makes about as much sense as anything else that’s happened over the last week. “You... sensed me. How?”

Vogel hesitates, the words catching in his throat, seemingly at a loss for how to describe it.

“The smell.” Martin answers for him instead, his voice low against the crackle of the fire. He catches her eye before gesturing at his face, a general wave around his mouth and throat. “It’s - heightened, for us.”

“Yeah! It was crazy, man. Wild and angry, and super fucked up.”

It’s an unpleasant thought - puts a face on whatever it is inside of her that makes up her condition, that had stolen years of her life and taken away her freedom - but before she has a chance to dwell on it, there’s a large hand wrapping around her shoulder,  Martin’s gaze piercing over the frames of his glasses.

“That shit won’t bother you anymore.”

He sounds so - certain. Like he knows this, for sure, and she wonders if that’s something he can know. Something to do with that preternatural ability to turn up in just the right place at just the right time. Vogel shoots her another grin, leaning over to press his shoulder into her knees, a comforting presence in the face of everything that’s happened this last week, and she thinks that maybe they share a lot more in common with Dirk Gently than they’d care to admit.

She’s starting to take a more holistic view of the universe, herself.

Cross makes his way over to join them a little while later, a six pack of beer held loosely between his fingers. She takes the can of beer he offers, cracking it open and raising it when he calls for a cheer, uncaring of the quality and the spray of beer that rains down on them where they meet.

It tastes like beer-flavoured water when she chugs it, but she can’t find it within herself to care. It’s stupid and carefree and fun, and she is long overdue a night of just not giving a fuck.

Gripps strolls over with another six pack and several more pieces of broken furniture to sit on as the group spreads out. It's not long before there’s a scuffle beside her, and she looks down to see Vogel shift closer, resting his head upon her knees as he nods towards the jacket. His voice is softer, almost tentative, when he asks, “do you like it?”

She smiles, reaching down to scrub a hand through his hair, letting her hand rest against his shoulder. “I like it.”

--

She’s warm and comfortable, enjoying the flickering heat of the dying fire, and so it’s not really much of a surprise that she falls asleep a short while later.

The last thing she can remember is a low murmur.

“Get some sleep, drummer girl.”

Chapter Text

When she blinks her eyes open again, the sky has brightened into a frosted pink dawn. Her breath fogs the air before her, and her nose feels a little cold and stiff after a night of sleeping rough, but she's healthy and happy otherwise - comfortable, even. Hugging the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she twists until she’s facing the rest of the encampment and squints through the early morning light, searching for the others.

There’s only a few glowing embers left smouldering in the fire, but she can make out several human-shaped lumps of bedding curled up on a dirty mattress on the other side of the fire pit. They're curled around each other in a pile of snoring limbs, one form practically indistinguishable from the next, and she has to smother a smile.

She yawns, reaching up to rub the sleep away from her eyes and feels a weight slide off of her, falling heavily against the ground – she leans forward to take a closer look and realises she’d spent the night under all of their jackets, smothered like some giant leather cocoon.

It’s a nice touch, really; especially since she hadn’t intended to stay the night.

The closest sleeping bag is empty, but she can see Vogel nearby, nose up in the air, arms and legs akimbo as he sprawls across the mattress. It’s early, too early really, but the memories from the day before have returned, creeping on the edges of her consciousness, and she knows she’s running out of time.

She can’t stay, no matter how much she wants to.

There’s a rustle as Vogel stirs beside her, sound of footsteps approaching, and she glances up from the makeshift nest to see Martin making his way over. His hair is a mess, wild and tangled with sleep, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, and she has to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

He looks at her then, and the corner of his mouth twitches, almost as if he knows, before he drops down on to the sofa beside her. His neck rolls to the side, catching her eye.

“You look like you gotta be someplace. Need a ride?” He jerks his thumb towards the van and grins, showing his teeth. “Plenty of room in the back, there.”

“You read my mind.” She wonders if he can do that, if he can sneak glimpses of her thoughts with that power of his. Something about the way he smiles at her then, long and languid, makes her think that maybe he can. “Thanks, Martin.”

He shoots her an askance glance. “S’okay. You're one of us, yeah?”

She grins, and the warm feeling within her chest that has accompanies her ever since she first woke up swells, bubbling out until she feels as if she’s glowing with it. “Yeah.”

--

They don’t bother with breakfast - and to be honest, she’s never seen any of them actually eat beyond that…. energy suction, thing. Drink copious amounts of beer and liquor, sure; they’d out drunk her within an hour, although that wasn’t much of a feat, considering her tolerance really wasn’t much to speak of in the first place. One of the many downsides of the medication she’d taken for nearly a third of her life - and another reason why she won't regret her decision to leave all that behind her.

They’re packing into the Rowdy van, armed to the teeth (of course), and she’s manoeuvring into the messy front cab when the thought occurs to her, and it’s so blindingly obvious that she feels like an utter idiot for not making the connection earlier.

“Martin. I think I know what those dreams are.”

“Those things you see?”

“Yeah.” She’s still trying to piece it together – but still, still , it makes sense. “That first time when I saw things, they didn’t make sense until later. After everything had happened. After everything that I saw had happened.”

The event itself seems almost like a nightmare, the details hazy and indistinct, at least that’s the reason she gives for not connecting the dots earlier.

Martin yanks at the gear stick, pulling the van into gear as they swerve out of the parking lot in a squeal of tires. He glances over at her as they hit the highway, grip flexing around the gear stick. “You saw the future.”

She’ll give him credit, he easily takes the revelation in stride. His cigarette has gone out, and he spits it out the window as they swerve through traffic, the landscape gradually becoming more familiar as they approach her brother’s neighbourhood. There’s quiet between them as they pull into the parking lot outside the building and he kills the engine.  The hot metal ticks as it cools in the late summer air, and they sit together in silence, processing everything.

She closes her eyes and focuses inward, remembering. There was – something else, something she needs to tell them, something he needs to know.

“I saw that CIA guy from the other day, the one with all the gear. He was covered in blood.”

Martin pauses from where he was reaching into his jacket for another cigarette. He drops the pack into his lap, flicking the lighter between his fingers, the sparks glinting from the frames of his glasses and sending his features into sharp relief. She still can’t get a read on his expression. “Was it his?”

“I don’t know -- it was all too fast.”

He eases back into his seat, his hands loose around the steering wheel, knuckles rapping against the dash.

“Okay.”

A long moment passes before he grabs another cigarette from the pack in his lap and lights it, inhaling deep before he glances over and catches her eye. He exhales long and slow as he smiles, his features wreathed in smoke, eyes glinting in the early morning light. “You’re something else, drummer girl.”

--

Later that day, when Vogel’s hand is wrapped tightly around hers, anchoring her as they run through the fields towards god knows where, she’ll wish she had done more to stop what was about to happen. Something - anything - to stop the inevitable.