to the stars who listen

He watched her step closer, scooting himself over a little to give her more space to sit down. But his attention faced forward again, toward the yard before them. Back to focusing on the still water of the ponds, of the quiet scene before them. So out of place compared to the world as they knew it now. His attention was still on Friday, in case she did respond. If she didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t make her, but she already knew he was there to listen. Always was.

What he didn’t expect was for her to reach for his hand. His gaze dropped to her fingers lacing between his own, and only then was he aware of how cold he actually was. The sun was still up when he had first stepped out; it sure was a lot warmer out, too. Friday’s hand was small in his, but warm. And he let her lean against his good shoulder, sitting still as her cheek rested against his arm. It was a small gesture, and it wasn’t unwelcome. If anything, it was comforting. Grounded him in the now over being sucked back into the past, or even the future. A future. One that had strong potential to become a reality. 

But Friday was there, alive, leaning against him. She was okay, the group was okay. Everyone was fine.

“Yeah,” he murmured softly, fingers curling around her hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t like it here, either.” When they first arrived, something felt off about the mansion. Now, he could barely stand to be inside, always finding himself more calm sitting just outside of the doors. An odd sight compared to before, when he at least made his rounds to make sure everyone was doing all right. 

“Something about this place…” he shook his head. His attention turned back to Friday, tilting his head, “You haven’t… you haven’t had anything weird happen since we got here, have you?” 

It’s nice to hear that someone else doesn’t like the place -- Friday knows she’s got... gifts, one of the group members had called them, and she and Bern were both still alive thanks to them... but she still can’t help but feel like she’s losing her mind when she freezes with unnameable terror and doesn’t know why, when she hears voices or sees wisps of figures likes ghosts in her peripheral vision that she knows aren’t really there. Feeling uneasy about such a large, open, grandiose space seems insane to her, but Deacon gets it. He feels it too. The affirmation helps ease her mind a bit.

“What?” 

He barely caught the end of her offer to get him something. Too caught up in his own mind again. Honestly, he wasn’t expecting anyone to be out there with him. Deacon had given up burning through his pack of cigarettes and settled with just being outside, hood pulled up over his head as the sun had started setting for the day. He would go back inside soon, he just needed a few more minutes.

“No, that’s okay. Thanks. How’re you doing?”

Friday inches closer slowly before settling down next to Deacon. He smells like cigarette smoke which actually doesn’t bother her -- it’s comforting in that it’s a familiar scent from before. She looks him over with careful eyes, reading the tension in his face and across his shoulders. Something’s gotten to him, shaken him, and Friday has no idea how to help. Is it better to force him to talk about it? Or just to sit here with him, giving him the same comfort of company that he’d given her while she recovered from her injury.

At first, Friday appeared relieved, almost glad to see Carter. Of all the people to be happy to see, she doubted she would have been on that list in Friday’s case, yet there they were. She couldn’t even muster up a smile, glancing toward the bottom of the staircase a moment before looking back to the redhead. 

Her demeanor changed drastically in such a quick few seconds. Shifting in place, picking at her thumb and lowering her gaze. Carter frowned, teeth latching onto the inside of her lip to keep from asking if she was okay. No, she wasn’t. She doesn’t want to be there with you, why would she?

Then she apologizes. 

Carter’s brow furrowed, looking to Friday in bewilderment. What inclined the girl to apologize to her? To say the words that Carter herself had been too terrified to say, afraid that they never would be enough. Yet Friday felt the need to say she was sorry. And she knew it wasn’t just for running into her on the steps. That was an unspoken understanding between the two, but that was about as far as that understanding reached.

“Wh– what?” She blinked and shook her head. Of course she heard Friday, but… “Why are you apologizing?”

Friday frowns.

She wasn’t sure, but something about the mansion was unsettling. Maybe it was the fact it was in such good condition and they were so used to the desolation outside, or perhaps it was just the weird decor in the home. Had anybody lived in here before? Carter didn’t like it, not even a little bit, and she didn’t appear to be the only one.

There weren’t many, but a small handful of the others seemed pretty creeped out, too. Or just hated the place because it seemed like whoever built it, whoever decorated it, had just thrown their money away on useless things. Carter tried not to think too much about it, tried to just deal with having to stay there, because they were going to be staying for a while, it seemed.

She was about to make her way down to the main floor, glancing off to one of the rooms below the spiraled staircase. What she didn’t expect, though, was to bump into someone on the steps, let alone it be Friday.

Carter gripped the rail of the steps tightly, breath drawn in sharply as she stared at the redhead, who was apologizing to her. They hadn’t spoken since back at the hotel, since before what happened. And Carter wasn’t sure what to say, how to handle the situation yet. If she even could handle it. So she just shook her head, dropping her gaze to the stairs as she stepped aside, “Don’t be. Not a big deal.”

“ Carter! “

She could barely sound out his name, but he nodded, “Yeah, it’s Deacon.” 

From the sound of her voice, she definitely needed water. He didn’t have his bag with him, but he knew there was some water close by, even if it was limited supply. He was sure they wouldn’t mind if he took a bottle for Friday, though, so he got up, “Be right back,” he told her, before moving to find the pack of water bottles.

He didn’t let himself dilly dally– get the water, go right back. He saw the panic on her face, even if it had been fleeting, the concern for Carter, the new girl. They must have been together in the hotel when everything happened. That or they knew each other before the raiders barged in, took their supplies and their people. But they were dead, a small handful of them scattered in the retaliation. Because they hit back and got their people out. 

Still, Deacon couldn’t say they were all safe. Because what was safe anymore?

Once he was at her side, Deacon stayed standing, looking down at Friday. “Carter’s okay,” he told her, “saw her about a couple hours ago.”

He popped the cap off of the bottle, pulling up the plastic stopper for Friday. “I’ll have to tilt your head forward a little, okay? Let me know if it hurts.” He stayed on her left side, carefully reaching between her head and the pillow to gently lift her head with his right hand. With his left shoulder in its current condition, he could at least trust his hand to keep the water bottle steady. He placed the bottle at her lips and carefully squeezed the plastic, spilling the water slowly in her mouth. 

He had only spoken with her once, but once he heard that Friday had been injured, he had wanted to check in on her at least a couple of times. Deacon had left as soon as the raiders had bailed with the others to try and track them down, help find where everyone was before they got too lost. But Zoe and the others had been working on it, and found them.

Now they were all back. Not at the hotel, but they were back and everyone survived. 

Deacon had been trying to keep it easy after the rescue. He hated sitting still for too long, though, but there wasn’t much he could do with his shoulder as sore as it was. Sai probably had to recover after working to help the others heal, so Deacon figured he would wait, and so he decided to wait with Friday.

What he didn’t expect, though, was to be there when she woke up.

He watched her a moment, tightly gripping at the sheets and then relax again. Testing the waters, he assumed. Making sure she could still function after everything. He wasn’t entirely sure what happened aside from a gunshot wound, and she didn’t seem to be sure what she was capable of after the fact, either. Deacon noticed her blink, the tears slipping from her eyes. 

“Hey,” he spoke softly, trying not to startle her but letting her know someone was there. Someone familiar. She had to have been out for a while, at least in and out of consciousness while they were moving. She probably had no idea where she was. “You’re okay, you’re all right, Friday. We just had to move, so things look a little different. Want me to get you anything?”

She hears a voice, but she can’t place it. Friday isn’t sure if that’s because she’s only just woken up or because she’s still out of it, but before she can get a good panic worked up, the voice is reassuring her.

The redhead’s warning came too little too late, and Carter was met with a dead end. “Fuck,” she hissed, feeling the tug at the back of her shirt. Carter spun around, rifle raised as she was face to face with four of the raiders. Four against two– a little excessive, especially since they’re two young women clearly terrified. But they were raiders, they didn’t give a shit unless they got what they wanted. Them or us.

Carter aimed her rifle and took a step back, cursing as the ‘leader’ of the small group advanced on the girl. Before she could intervene, the other three swooped in to keep them apart. 

“Or was it you, darlin’?” one of the men asked, nodding toward the rifle, “nice gun you got there.”

“Want a closer look? It’ll be your last,” she fired back. Had to have heard it from some cheesy action movie she watched with Connor once.

The trio had a good laugh, the one that spoke up stepping forward. “I fucking dare you, darlin’.”

Carter’s jaw clenched, her chest still burning painfully from the thrumming of her heart. They were pushing her, trying to make her crack. But the other girl was still in the leader’s grasp, accused of having done what Carter did. She had to get them out and there was only one way to do it…

So, Carter fired the rifle, firing into the man’s chest.

The other two’s laughter immediately ceased. Clearly, they underestimated a girl’s capabilities. But they were close, within range to grab Carter up and maybe wrestle the gun from her hands. If Carter didn’t fight back, but Carter wasn’t going to let them have the chance. Instead of falling back to shooting the rifle, she shoved the rifle forward, then brought the butt of the gun back into one of the raider’s stomachs. The wind was knocked from them, forcing them to stagger backwards before she brought the butt of the gun on the back of their head. 

“Little bitch!” the last raider snarled, swinging his knife at Carter’s face. 

She barely dodged the attack, earning a cut on her cheek. Carter let out a surprised shriek, shoulders drawn up. But she lifted the weapon and fired once again, immediately ridding them all of one more threat. 

It was us or them, us or them, you’re not helpless, you’re getting out of this…

Her mantra made it easier to put a bullet in the unconscious raider. One more left. One more bullet, one more asshole. And then they could get out of there. Away from the blood, the death, from what she did… it was becoming easier and it was terrifying how simple it was to just pull the trigger. 

And how easy was it for her to bring the rifle up, spin around, and face the leader. How simple it was for her to look down the sight, breathe in– just like Connor told her to do– keep her arms steady, even though they were shaking so much. She let the breath go and pulled the trigger, just as dread wrung at her stomach.

BANG!

The redhead between the barrel of her gun and the ring leader was noticed too little too late.

“NO!”

There’s no pain at first, just a horrifying sensation of air leaving her like water rushing from a punctured balloon. Everything slows down as she struggles to pull in oxygen; it’s near-impossible, her lungs refusing to fill in any satisfying or sustaining sort of way. All she can manage is little sips of air, short bursts that make her feel closer and closer to hyperventilation than relief. 

“We fight,” she replied, though the tremble in her voice gave way to the nerves threatening to break through.

While the woman had been getting her bag ready, Carter had been keeping her focus on the door. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, they had no choice but to fight back. Carter was used to dealing with the monsters, knew how to kill them. It’s the same thing. Pull the trigger, put a bullet in their heads. The thought did nothing to ease her concerns.

The door splintered, and with one more heavy kick, the wild man barreled into the room. He had wide, wild eyes and a wicked grin on his painted face. But he didn’t expect to be met with the barrel of a rifle in his face, and Carter already had her finger wrapped around the trigger. With an exhale, she pulled the trigger.

The kickback on the rifle had Carter stagger slightly, but her aim was true. The bullet lodged into the man’s head, his body falling backwards into the wall of the hall behind him. Blood splattered against the white wall and followed his path, sinking down to the floor in a lifeless heap.

Carter could only stare at the red streak above the man’s head, slowly following the trail until she was met with the bullet hole. She shot him. She shot someone. She never killed someone before. There were the revenants, but they were still monsters, not the people they used to be. And it was easy– so easy. It was either them, or him–

And that was why Carter was able to look back at the woman, push herself forward because they couldn’t stay there.

“We gotta go. They’re gonna keep coming, we gotta find somewhere safe,” she said. Where was ‘safe’? She didn’t know.

Carter made her way to the door, rifle pointed down the hall where she heard the shouting first. More gunshots and shouting came from seemingly all around them, but Carter knew they had to move. Either us or them, either us or them. I’m not helpless, I’m not–

“This way,” she spoke, stepping over the body in the hall in the opposite direction of the noise. It was a good start to ‘safe’.

Carter kept the rifle in her trembling hands, occasionally glancing back to make sure that the girl was following her, and that no one else was. But the rush of footsteps further down the hall was enough to fill her with dread. They were being followed. Of course they were; the gunshot was loud, and their friend was dead. Because of her.

There’s blood everywhere, everywhere -- it’s all Friday can see, the smell of it is strong in her nose, and the warm, oil-slick feel of it coats her fingers, and it’s everywhere --