Work Text:
Two years. It has been two years, to the day, since you left Oceanside.
When you left, Deran and Craig told Smurf that they couldn’t find you. That your phones had been disconnected- they were. And the tracker on your car had been disabled- it was thrown in the back of an 18-wheeler and lost near the Mississippi.
They convinced her that if they used any “bigger muscles” to look for you, Pope might actually kill her. That she didn’t know just how far gone he was for you. She should wait it out and see if you would end up leaving him like she hoped. If he would return like a good dog.
Deran knew he might never see his brother again, honestly, he kind of hoped for that. For Pope’s sake.
Two months. Two months have passed since you last heard from Deran.
Deran had a knack for cutting through the bullshit and making you relax. He had always been on your side.
He saw Pope with you more than the other Codys had and knew Pope’s devotion didn’t come from fear or a bone-deep hunger for approval.
It came from the unconditional love you gave him, hand over fist, since you met. From the way you created boundaries that preserved his agency.
“I’m not here to be Smurf for the good side,” you told him. “A cage is still a cage even if you never kick the dog.”
Pope’s devotion came from a root system inside his ribs that nothing could kill.
Two weeks. You were now two weeks late.
You should have noticed sooner. It’s actually absurd that you didn’t. But between work and school, your brain was fried. Andrew had you looking at houses. You pretended you miscalculated and made excuses.
Stress has always made your cycle unpredictable. While studying for the NCLEX exam, you skipped two months.
Two days. It had been two days since the nausea started.
Since Andrew had skimmed his hands up your ribs to hold your breasts and you stopped him.
“I’m sorry, honey! It's just… they’re so sore today. Is it okay if you don’t…”
“Of course. Wouldn’t ever hurt you.” His disappointment showed for just a fraction of a moment followed by concern.
Two hours. It would be two hours before Andrew would be home.
There was always a blue dot to follow now.
“Skatepark, hardware store, fix the church sign,” he told you twice this morning.
He was still at the hardware store.
You should have waited for him to get home.
Two minutes. There are two more minutes until you are supposed to check the test.
Maybe the twinge in your heart that one night was just lust refusing to be satisfied.
But that wouldn’t explain the clear vision of a child with his curls you saw when you closed your eyes.
Two seconds. There were two seconds between the phone ringing and the blue dot moving.
Two lines. There were already two pink lines.
Three.