Heartbeats [closed]

Her voice was as feeble as it was distant to him, muffled away as if he were forced to make out her words from underwater, that high-pitched squeal refusing to make it's leave all the while. He was clinging onto bits of sound, piecing together what he could manage. The young man had his own fucking arsenal of questions for her, once they had the time... If they ever were blessed with enough time anyways.

Did those fuckers up on the rooftops have their fill for the evening?

The young man grit his teeth, propping himself up onto his elbow and gazing down at her. "I couldn't just let you... What was I supposed to do...?" He let himself rest gently against her as she lay still against him, murmuring close to her ear. Throughout all this bullshit and all the pain, even if it had felt like he'd traveled to hell and back in one evening there was no way he would regret shit - so long as it meant she would come home with him again, he thought.

Preston let out a slow uneasy breath, running his fingers gently through her hair in short strokes. "Come on," He shot one more uncertain glance around, maneuvering his arms under her and pushing the two of them away from the ground. "We have to move." His bones creaked under the fresh strain, his body trembled, and fuck - if it didn't feel like his own weight might give out underneath him at any moment.

But like fuck if he could afford to break then and there, not in the position they were in, not in the condition she was in. He just had to be somewhat strong, just for a little longer, until they could get somewhere safe.

He was an idiot. A complete idiot. What the hell was he talking about, what was he supposed to do...? All he had to do was stay in their fucking dorm and be there when she came back. That's all she'd wanted, and instead, it'd turned out like this. Kayla didn't know what to say. She couldn't talk even if she wanted to. Right now, this one stupid little moment was all she could cling on to. It was ridiculous for him to show up like this. What had he been through to get there? This is my fault, she almost said, but she bit her lip to hold back the words. I dragged him into this. I dragged Lain into this. It's my fault... Fuck. She was an idiot too.

He started moving, slipping his arms underneath her, and fresh pain went shooting across her body. She choked it down, clenching her eyes shut, but couldn't hold back her sudden sharp breath. Compared to the rest of the night, this was nothing... But it still hurt like hell. Kayla shifted in his arms as he stood up, a weak, feeble attempt to get back on her own two feet, and then gave up with a light sigh. "You don't have to try and..."

She wasn't even sure if she could stand. All her electricity had fizzled out to nothing.

They didn't have any time to just lay there.

Preston had paid little mind to her, ignoring her feeble protests and fighting just to keep the two of them off the ground. "Damn it," He hissed under his breath, his legs starting to buckle down the second she decided to let it go and become dead weight in his arms. The Autumn took in a deep breath, staring off into the distance, pin-pointing the best place to run, if he could manage to get the two of them moving. "It's too soon for making me play butler." He forced a smile down at her despite himself.

One more pause, a brief moment to gather himself together once more and exert his sore body. With one mighty heavy, he scooped her up off the ground, curling her up and cradling her in his arms, albeit a tad awkwardly, standing spread out and struggling to keep the two of them up. It would have to fucking do. They had to leave now, out of this shit town, away from these crazy ass people. They had to go home.

He took one shaky step forward, another, then another, fighting all instinct to look behind him as he began to distance themselves away from the building. If those assholes had wanted at them, wouldn't they have done something by now? Or that's what he told himself, anyways. Sparks began to dance around at his heel as he stared forward. Once he was close enough to some poor saps car, he clenched up, bracing himself and holding her closer before me made another leap for it - shuffling his way around from one hunk of rust to the next, going anywhere but there.

The Autumn forced himself to keep going, refusing to stop until they were at a somewhat safe distance, if any where could have been considered safe, slowing down and catching his breath underneath an old overpass. His breath was ragged and heavy. He'd finally set her down against some old fence, dirt and moss having crusted most of the old thing over.

How could he crack a joke at a time like this? Fucking moron... A part of her had to admire that part in him. A part of her had to just be relieved that, underneath all that blood and grime, he was still him, even through all of this. He hadn't cracked. She hadn't lost him. Kayla bit her tongue, swaying in his arms like a broken doll, a helpless child. It killed her that she couldn't do more. "I took care of you last time..." she murmured, if he could even hear her. Her voice sounded faint and distant even in her own head. That time in the infirmary, his leg wrapped up in a cast, the bandages around his chest. A man in black. Fuck, she should've done something back then. "It's your turn, so don't complain."

h̷k̺̮̗͉͡g̻̞̙̭͓͡█͔͈̟█̳̠█͍̣̞̣͘█̰͈͎͕̝͍q͠er̮͉͢—͈̀.͙͎̘̙̝.̞̜̣̯̹.͔̘̣͇?͓̜̮͉ ̡a7͜6̩̪̫͉̝ͅ

Walking, shambling, leaping, flying.

Gaps. Burning holes in her mind.

Her memory seemed to loop and skip like a broken record.

If she was passing out, then it was as instant as blinking her eyes. If not, then...

u̡i̘͚̦̞̹ͅ07̧t̴̰̳͉̤͔3̜̳̝͙̝k̘̫̩͈̥̺͉6̝̹4̟͡

Static danced in the corner of her vision. She just closed her eyes and let herself rock in his arms. The rain, the cold, it was refreshing against her skin. After what could've been an hour or a heartbeat, they stopped, and he set her down against the concrete. Kayla let out a ragged breath, letting her eyes flutter open.

W̨hat ̶no̷w..͜.?

They'd failed. She'd fucked up. Now they were stuck. It felt like a thousand ton weight pressing down on her shoulders to stop her from breathing. If I g͠e̵t ̨u͡p, if I l̀e͢ave͠ h͡i̷m̶, I can still... Still what? There wasn't anything left she could do. The more she fought, the more she struggled, the more she pushed, the more she sank. So what more could she do...? Kayla leaned her head back against the fence, staring up at the dark underbelly of the overpass, their brief shelter from the rain. For once, she'd come so close, just to have it all crumble right in front of her.

You couldn't just scratch and kick your way out of everything. No matter how you looked at it, she was trapped, boxed in from every angle, a rat backed into a corner. If she tried to pretend any of it was in her control anymore, she'd be fucking deluded. Her life, Lain's life, any of their lives, all of it. It was stupid to even try to think of it as equal, where she had any agency left. She was a part of their game and there wasn't anything she could do about it.

There wasn't anything left.

She couldn't save Lain. She couldn't even save herself. Not unless she caved.

That's what they'd wanted her to realize.

Kayla bit her lip and clawed at the ground with her good hand. There wasn't any strength left in her body. Even the pain was just a dull frazzle under her skin, with sharp aches shooting up her veins with every twitch and movement. For once, she couldn't hear any sparks popping in her ears, no electricity rippling through her hair, nothing.

What am Į supposed to do...?

Idiot. She'd never been smart. She'd already known that.

It h̛ur҉ts͜...

Something wet rolled down her cheek. She dipped her head, her shoulders hitching from the choked sob. Kayla pulled her legs close to her chest, resting her head against her knees. Tears streamed down her face, a hiccup caught in her throat as a few quiet sobs rattling through her body and drifting out under the overpass. It all swelled up in her chest, swirling in her gut, building up until it all poured out at once. A few weak sparks fizzled out over her head, barely visible.

It was too much.

Whilst they were safe from the pouring rain, he found himself shaking yet to the bone. The cold breeze over took him, leaving him stiff and pale looking. Daggers lined his throat, his lungs, and grazed away at his skin. He felt numb. No matter how many small wisps of lightning traveled throughout his body, or what shelter they happened to have found themselves in, the feeling would refuse to go away. And yet, that small curve of a smile remained on his lips.

They'd be alright. They had to have been alright. If he could keep on that stupid, upbeat grin, then maybe, just maybe he could convince her. And if he could manage to do that, he might have been able to even convince himself that it was all behind them. He'd already received one miracle for the evening, if he could cling onto hope for that same dumb luck, then...

Preston rubbed at his arms again, shivering again from the tiniest gust of wind, silently struggling to catch his breath again. Was it smart to stay in one place for two long? He pulled himself closer against the fence, his chest heaving. "We... We should -"

She was curled up into herself, trembling and hiding her face away from the world. Somehow, the pain that tore away at his gut then hurt worse than any cut or bruised that ailed him now. She looked so fragile then, almost as if he dared to touch her, she'd crumble and scattered away from the breeze. He couldn't help himself. The young man swallowed down the small lump in his throat and pulled himself closer, brushing his body against hers.

"Pika -" He caught himself, chewing at his cheek and running one hand nimbly across her hair. "Kayla, don't." The Autumn kept his voice low in the still night. Could she even hear him? His arm found it's way around her, leaning in and holding her small shape in a subtle embrace. "It'll be alright."

It had to be, he thought. But he'd do anything for her.
Cake-pop? ;D

No. Stop. Don't look at her, don't listen to her, don't even talk to her. Not right now, not while she was like this. Just, right this once, why couldn't he make it easy? Why couldn't he just pretend not to notice? She didn't want anyone to see her like this, when she was this fucking pathetic. Damn it, she didn't want him to see her like this, not again. Kayla sniffed and bit her lip to try and stifle her sobs, but she couldn't hold back the tears pouring down her cheeks.

Kayla flinched, almost bucking away from him the moment she felt his fingers brush through her hair. Light and gentle, but he might as well have wound back a fist from the reflex. "Don't," she choked. It'd be easier if he would've just slapped her out of it. She didn't want to be looked down on like this, fuck, not by him, not right now... "I'm..." This was the last thing she wanted, the last thing she needed.

When he wrapped his arms around her, something in her broke.

She couldn't help it. Whatever pride she had left, whatever fragile dignity, it crumbled into ash underneath his touch. There wasn't anymore holding back. It all came pouring out in a waterfall of emotion, bawling. "I'm sorry," she blubbered, through the tears, through the sobs. "I fucked up, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

It was a wonder on it's own that he could make out anything that she was saying, although with the complete mess she had broken down into, it wasn't hard to piece together her muffled words. Preston didn't let up, he couldn't. The more he cried and shook, the more he yearned to reach out and steal away what little pain he could, if he could. "Hey," he murmured, running his fingers gingerly over her torn fabric, wary of the swirls of burns across her skin. "It's okay."

He would have been lying if he said the embrace weren't for himself as well, ignoring any selfish guilt and digging his face gently into the nape of her neck, savoring what little warmth she offered. Pres traveled the country over, near across the entire thing, just to bring her home safe. He could feel that creepy bastard's blood still clung to his clothes and stuck to his skin. Despite the long nightmare, she was with him now.

Preston pulled her closer to him, rocking gently along with her heaving sobs. "It's okay," he repeated. "We'll figure something out." He wouldn't let those assholes in black take them, he thought, painfully oblivious to how deep her turmoil ran.

That was the point. There wasn't any getting out of this, no matter what they did. Those were all empty words, whether he realized it or not. Kayla wanted to scream it at him, a toxic chemical mix of emotions swirling in her gut and pulsing through her veins, she wanted to stand up and push him away. But she didn't. She couldn't. All she could do was clench her eyes shut and let himself nestle closer, pull her closer, hold her closer. Simple comfort. Stupid. Pathetic. Didn't he realize that? Didn't she realize that?

Was he even listening, or would the answer stay the same?

"It's okay."

She guessed, to him, it didn't make a difference what she said.

It was so tempting to believe that delusion.

"They took them..." she whispered. "They took my family away..." A dark grit filled her words, black anger bleeding into the air like venom, erratic sparks tracing along the leaf-like scars on her arm. It burned in her throat like a flame. "I'll kill them, I'll fucking rip them all apart, I swear, I'll... I'll..." A lilt, a crack.

I fucked up.

Preston froze, ceasing their small sways. What small bits of lightning that managed to escape her leaped out and crept across his skin. A familiar feeling. She was always trying to ward him off, he knew, whether she realized it or not... Or whether he stopped and thought about it or not. Now, as always, he wasn't frightened off by her power. It was her words that had left him speechless.

"Your... family?" The young man repeated, wondering if his ears were simply playing some crude tricks on him. Fuck, he wished that they were, but that mantra of hers was unmistakable. There were few times Preston had caught her so spiteful. He frowned, gliding his hand gingerly down the length of her arm, just over the swollen, intricate patterns.

A name itched away at him. That girl. Her sister...

"... Lain?"

For a moment, he imagined those dick-bags in black. It was a battle enough as it was keeping Dublin safe from himself, if anything ever happened to through... If they ever got to his brothers or his sisters, he wasn't sure what the fuck he would do, the thought alone was enough to make bile reach up into his throat. He couldn't begin to imagine...

He took in a deep breath, his sigh shaking as his hand moved back to the top of her head. She was okay, he reminded himself. "You can't go, not like this." Pres muttered, leaning back in against her. He couldn't let her leave and he wouldn't let her die. "I..." He grimaced. It felt like every word was coming out wrong.

"We need you safe for now. And then after..."

And then after... They would kill them all.
Or she would, anyways.

And then what?

What did she have after this?

Her name had been looping in her head all night, but hearing it out loud, in someone else's voice, for the first time in so long... Pain shot through her like a gunshot, a twinge of emotion forcing her to clench her eyes shut. He was right. There wasn't anything they could do when she was broken down like this, but even if she wasn't, could she do anything for her? Kayla couldn't think of any answers. She'd always been a shitty older sister, but her whole life, she'd thought that no matter how bad things got, she could protect her. Even if it was just throwing herself between her and the bullets, she could help one person.

But she was wrong.

She let the silence stretch on. Rain thrummed against the concrete overhead, a distant lullaby.

"Preston..." Her hoarse voice shattered the silence. Kayla clutched at his torn and bloody clothes, her hand trembling with rage, but there wasn't any strength left in her fingers. She'd never felt so feeble. There were so many questions, and she'd asked herself a hundred times what he was doing here, how he'd gotten here, how he knew... But it didn't matter. Just when she thought she was finished crying, another sob hiccuped up in her throat. "Preston..."

It felt like the rain would never stop.

---

---

He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes.

A part of him had to admit that he was impressed. He'd been all over the world, but it was rare to feel this many gifted concentrated in one place. The city lit up like a beacon in the dark, a bonfire, an ant's nest teeming with ethereal white energy. All he had to do was close his eyes and he could see them in the distance, feel them all around him, vague ghosts flowing with light. Like fingerprints, every gifted had their own signature they imprinted in the air around them. Some flickered like flame or burst out with explosive pulses, and if he singled them out, he could read into that signature. From there, the answers would bleed into his thoughts, just undefined impressions and emotions. Their strength, their power's nature, how their power burned away inside of them and their discipline over it. Those were the basics, anyways.

The sensation was like pinpricks down his back. So much time at Beata had desensitized him to the worst of it, but he couldn't ever ignore it.

If he had to give a count, there had to be... two hundred hundred? Three hundred? Too many to count. He continued down the sidewalk, his hands stuffed in his pockets. If he'd been untrained, this many in one place would've overloaded his senses. Just being in a mile's vicinity would've burned out his mind and overwhelmed him with hysteria. Even after all his experience, he could feel the start of a headache clustering around his temples.

Perhaps this was a special example, though.

It was all around him. To anyone else, she would've been invisible, but he could sense her. How couldn't he? She stretched over the whole city like a net, and the cold flowed over him like a black tide. The moment he'd stepped within the city's boundaries, the wall of rage and distress had struck him like a freight train. The shadows thrummed with gifted energy like power lines.

A gift was part of who you were, embedded in your nervous system, as natural and interconnected as the veins inside your body, but he sensed powers, not people. In that way, he'd always seen them as something distinct, more of a partner spirit inside your body. Some had poor control, and the power filled and flowed out of them like a flooded container. In others, the trace of the gift was so small that it was just a dim glow inside their chest until it blossomed out.

This was unique. It was more than poor discipline. To put it one way, the roles were reversed. She was no longer the dominant vessel. Instead, it was as if she'd been swallowed by the gift, and melded into it in a way he'd never thought possible. Could you call something like that human still?

That energy alone almost drowned out all the others in the city combined like radio noise. More than that... More than that... All that cold fury that enveloped him like a shadow... It was focused on him.

He continued down the sidewalk, his eyes lowered, doing his best to walk in the light. Street lamps flickered behind him, one by one.

His phone rang out in his pocket. Just what he'd been waiting for. An unknown number flashed across his screen, but he wasn't surprised by the voice on the other line when he brought it to his ear.

"Samuel Blaine," the voice greeted, tinged with distaste. "You are foolish if you've come here to fight."

"Hardly," he said, his expression unchanging. "I'm not a soldier."

"Who else would walk into a battlefield?"

"Would you call it that?" he asked, glancing up toward the clouds. To call it a battle would be laughable. The Guardians they had sent here to investigate the gathering had all been slaughtered like sheep. They would've held back for a day to gather a larger force, but when Andrews' son slipped off on a vacation ticket, he was left with little choice but to chase after him. To lose so many trained gifted was a disaster in itself, but with students in danger, they couldn't afford to delay. Wright was an educator foremost, and children couldn't be written off as collateral damage.

The voice didn't laugh, but he could hear the hint of morbid amusement through the speaker. "No, I suppose not. There had been no need for violence, but your master's dogs nosed into our business. Have you come to collect the dead then?"

"No. They're none of my concern."

There wasn't any room for sentimentality.

"How repellent," the voice said, slick as ice. "I see why your death is so desired. You are arrogant for a worm. Do you not sense the danger you're in? By what hubris do you show your face among us?"

"If my life was at risk, you would've made it evident already," he answered simply, his coat stirring in the wind. "Faith hasn't attacked me."

"Correct, I suppose. Your presence is quite distressing to my dear Faith, but she is not permitted to skewer my master's prizes." A pause. "But that does not grant you immunity to do as you please. Only a child would think this way."

"No, you're right," he droned. "But I haven't come to disrupt your operation, so you'll have to let me be."

"Such a nuisance."

He hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Neon signs flickered in the night. He stopped under an old frayed awning fronting a shut down restaurant, its doors and windows shuttered. The rain drummed against the canopy, leaking through where the fabric had begun to thin, but it was drier here than anywhere else.

"It seems you've discovered my location."

A pale shadow stood beside him now, appearing as silent as a cat.

"Of course. I tracked you here."

Her thin smile had a razor sharpness. She clasped her pale hands in front of her, staring ahead. "I have known a thousand audacious fools, but none as audacious or foolish as you. Are you looking to die, Samuel Blaine?"

"Not tonight. I was hoping you'd tell me where you'd taken Croft and Andrews."

"So that's your purpose. To collect our leavings."

"It's why you've let me live so far," he said, matter-of-fact. "To collect them."

"How amusing. If it wouldn't displease my master, I would take great pleasure in tearing you limb from limb." Neither of them had moved. Their tones and faces never flickered. "I may not be permitted to kill you, but why should that mean I should help you? In war among giftless insects, colluding with the enemy is a crime."

"We're not at war," he answered. "Wright has no interest in fighting, just in protecting his students. It's why Beata was built."

"My master would disagree."

He couldn't help but feel a chill. "In either case, it's in your best interest to help. You haven't denied that Croft and Andrews are alive."

"Oh, they live. I cannot promise for their safety, however. Even my master's followers are sometimes struck by childish impetuosity and disobey her wishes."

That confirmed all he needed to know. Samuel rooted around in his pocket and dug out a half-empty pack of cigarettes. He'd only bought it that morning. "All the more reason to help me."

Something glinted in those blood red eyes. "And what about you? It doesn't disgust you to need my help? I killed many of your comrades today myself. I heard their last words and tasted their pain and fear."

"As I said," he droned, putting the cigarette in his mouth. "It's no concern of mine." He cupped his hand over the butt and sparked up his lighter.

On cue, an explosion rippled off in the distance, shooting flames into the sky that lapped up at the clouds. Even miles away, their clothes ruffled from the shockwave. Neither of them reacted. Samuel slipped the lighter back into his pocket, taking a deep drag.

"One of our safe houses," she said. "How many killed?"

He blew out a cloud of smoke. "Twenty three gifted," he answered. "Or about."

"How unfortunate." It was the same tone you'd use for spilled milk. "If you've retaliated, then tell me how this doesn't constitute a war, Samuel Blaine?"

Samuel flicked ash off the end of the butt. "It doesn't have to happen again."

The woman with no name smiled.

---

---

Mt. Rainier High School was a ruin.

They'd do their best to mop up after themselves, but there wasn't any hiding the destruction across the city. You could erase memories, and you could erase witnesses, but you couldn't erase craters or common sense. Even if the normal people in this city didn't understand, and wouldn't ever be able to understand, they'd recognize something terrifying had happened here. What excuses would they come up with to explain it all? How could anyone not part of their world explain it? When the world woke up the next day, they'd see the aftermath of another world's shadow war.

He supposed that wasn't any of his concern either.

There were traces of a massacre.

Animals. A scent lingered in the air, like sulfur, the same otherworldly energy as the Island. When he closed his eyes, he could see the afterimages of an army burned into his irises. Someone had opened up a portal near the school for God knows what reason, but it'd been sealed again long before he arrived.

He knelt down in the parking lot and brushed the wet soot off a shape in the rubble.

---

---

Damp. Dark. Her pain had crept back toward her bit by bit, and the longer the silence carried on, the more she felt it. She might've been able to walk before, maybe, if it'd come back to it back then... But now, now that the life-or-death rush had worn off, she wasn't even sure if she could prop herself up without him holding her up, let alone fight. If they were tracked here now, they'd be dead. That was the end of it.

She grit her teeth, fighting back gasps of pain.

Her hand... It spread all the way up her arm, stronger by the minute, all the aches and bruises around her body, all her cuts and tears. There was blood in her mouth, and every once and awhile, she'd get shaken by a new spell of dizziness that'd blur her vision and make her ears ring. A thin red graze scratched up from her hip, across her stomach, and toward her ribs, just under her breast. Any closer, and it would've cut her open.

Still, something about it felt all too faraway.

Erratic sparks crackled along her arm, in her hair, a familiar low buzz, but too faint.

It was almost a little too quiet until she heard the footsteps.

D́ea̕t̡h.

She knew the sound. There was no point in looking, but she swallowed and glanced out the corner of her eye. A gray shape in the rain, his hair plastered down, a black shape in his hands. Black, black, black, wearing all black. Her heart stopped, but she didn't move, didn't think, didn't feel.

D̢e͢át͝h̨.̢

Death didn't come. He stepped out under the overpass, out of the rain, gray eyes and flecks of gray in his hair. It took what felt like an eternity for recognition to return to her eyes. ██████. Gray. Images flashed through her mind, a cramped office that always smelled like smoke, a dark trench coat in the summer rain. A question rang through her head, the ghost of a memory. How many... How many volts...?

"Croft, Andrews," he said, but there was no hint of relief in his eyes. "Can you walk?"

No 'are you okay?' No 'I'm glad you're alive.' A voice in a far corner of her mind said, Typical.

She didn't answer. He knelt down in front of them, holding out something she could barely recognize. "It's August 5th, Croft," he murmured. "My apologies for not acknowledging that. I thought you should have this."

August 5th. What was August 5th? He might as well have been speaking a different language.

Something rang in her mind. It took a few moments before the realization struck her.

Oh. She was sixteen today. He set the black shape in her lap.

Her hat. It was caked in blood, ash, and mud, and flimsy, like it'd fall apart in her hand at any moment. There was an unpleasant crackle to it that reminded her of charcoal when she brushed her fingers over the old thing. The strap in the back had split and snapped. Ah... Loose, like it'd lost its shape. Kayla let out a low breath. A hollow feeling resounded in her chest. Well, it was just a stupid hat... He might as well have just thrown it away. She pulled it closer to her chest.

The man stood up, the hint of a frown etched onto his face. "I'll carry Croft," he said, turning to the boy beside her. "I don't want to put you through anymore strain, but stay close to me, Andrews. I'll answer any of your questions once we're back to safety."

There was a glint of steel in his pocket, the subtle outline of a firing hammer.

Kayla leaned back against the fence, darkness filling her vision.

"We're going home."