THIS IS AN ARCHIVE

Somehow, through the fog of shock and Etta’s best efforts to squirm away, Sebastian’s grip on her remains firm. She slumps against him and all of his breath leaves him in a shaking rush. He shifts until Etta’s nestled against his shoulder, one of his hands coming to cradle the back of her head protectively in some hollow gesture of comfort, her hair clinging to the blood that was beginning to dry on the back of Sebastian’s hand. He obeyed as she asked, tightening his grip around her in a way that must have been painful, his breath leaving him now in broken, ragged gasps until he couldn’t keep it in any more and all Sebastian’s words left him in a tumbling rush. 

His words are what spark the whimpers and tears and harbour all the fear and anger and love she's had pent upside her for so long. "Se--eb, I... I--" She wants to tell him how much they don't make sense, how they're an embodiment of the Island of lost Toys, the throw-aways no one wants, that found each other and made it work. The thought itself is painful--so much so that she curls into him even more, face turned into the crook of his neck. Everything hurts everything hurts, her heart, her body, everything. "I--I just w-w--want it to... to s--sto--op..." She whines.

His face screwed into a painful expression as Etta kept trying to squirm away, but Seb’s grip around her was steady. With a clenched jaw and barely contained emotions, he shook his head insistently against her protests.

            It's getting harder to take in a breath, "You...re too good... please don't hurt for me..." She opens her eyes and has to look for him again, it's getting harder to concentrate but his voice doesn't fade from her awareness. "I make too much... bad... happen..." She says, almost pleadingly, as if she can convince him she's a lost cause. Etta feebly tries to struggle away, a whimper leaving her lips. The throbbing in her arms gets more prevalent, and now she's starting to feel the wetness on her clothes. A shuddering breath enters her chest... 

Sebastian’s feet had just hit the lobby when he heard his phone ping in his pocket. He pulled it out, distracted by trying to navigate the semi-crowded lobby and the general noise that made it hard to focus. He ambled slowly to the exit as he struggled to unlock the main screen while he was buffeted by people coming and going from the building. The message from Etta finally appeared on the screen, and the words in it slipped down his spine like ice, though Sebastian couldn’t initially place why. He stopped directly in the path of several people and profoundly didn’t care.

Seb read and re-read her text over and over, trying to figure out why it was so— wrong. Why it made a leaden ball of dread coil under his lungs, why he could suddenly feel his blood run cold and his heart begin to thrum in his ears. Sebastian frowned down at the text, a muscle working in his jaw as he began to move again, slower than he was before, phone still in hand.

Something was seriously wrong, and he couldn’t place why. It was still early yet, and Etta wasn’t irresponsible enough to get drunk enough to send something like this. Besides, the tenor of Etta’s words was too serious, carried too much finality to have been brought on by alcohol, and Sebastian worried all the more because of it. 

Even now, doubt crept into his mind. What if he was overreacting? What if someone had simply stolen Etta’s phone and was texting indiscriminately? Sebastian scowled and abruptly turned on his heel, weaving around people in his attempts to make it back to the stairs.

The elevator was too slow, too full of people, and too unreliable. He moved up the stairs two at a time, leaving a wake of disgruntled people behind him. Someone yelled out his name as Sebastian rushed past, but he was long past them before he could recognize who it was. He finally landed on the eighth floor and Seb somehow found himself sprinting to Etta’s room, his heart pounding in his ears and every breath sending a sharp stab of pain through his chest.

He pounded on the door, palm flat against the wood, and when that failed to elicit a response he twisted violently, fruitlessly against the knob. The dread that had been gathering under his lungs bloomed into outright panic as Seb stumbled to find the spare key under the mat; every noise, every scrape of metal against metal as he turned the bolt painfully loud in his ears. He finally managed to fling the door open, and the sight that awaited him drove every other distraction from his mind.

Etta.

Etta, his closest friend and sister he should have had, lying in a pool of steadily spreading blood.

“Oh, God.” And then he was lurching forward, all the blood rushing out of his head as he dropped to his knees beside her. His hands immediately shot out to cover the long, precise slashes along her arms, but the blood only seeped out from between Seb’s fingers, staining his skin a violent color. He pulled them away, staring at the heat on his shaking hands while a broken whine leaked through his teeth.

The haze of panic and desperation cleared just enough for Sebastian to reach blindly into his pocket to dial 911 and order an ambulance, a trace of blood smearing onto his jaw in the process. The authoritative voice on the other end of the line assured him that help was on the way, and Seb let the phone drop to the floor with a muffled clatter as he shrugged out of his hoodie, wrapping it around Etta’s arms in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He could distantly hear a voice talking steadily, though it sounded muffled and dim, as if whoever was speaking was underwater. Sebastian would realize later that it was him, letting out a steady chant of:

“…no, no, no, Etta, no please, Etta, Etta. Please, God, Etta, no don’t…”

Belatedly and with another sickening rush of terror, Sebastian realized that the paramedics wouldn’t be able to enter the building. Just as quickly, he remembered Daniel. Daniel, who was reasonable and kind and would be more than willing to help… Sebastian groped for his phone again, and found that he could easily ignore the bloodied smudges on the screen in order to tap out a short, tense message.

“Ettas hurt. Paramedics on their way, can you hold open the doors?”

The text sent, and there was nothing Sebastian could do now but wait. Swallowing down his fear and panic horror, he returned his attention to Etta, delicately shifting her until she was gathered into his arms and he could feel her chest moving shallowly against his. Sebastian let out an unsteady breath and rested his head on top of hers as his shoulders began to shake minutely.

This girl was her, he was certain; no mistake of it. It had been to clear; she was transparent. Though, as much as he wanted to press at the subject, all he let out was a small sound of discomfort under his breath. Just do it, that’s her right? The girl who’s been seeing Mitch. Yes, it has to be. There were too many rumors going about so it had to be true.

His stomach turned, when a memory sparked in his head. No, no it can’t be. Wrong person, it can’t be her. Right? Even so, why couldn’t he shake of the feeling that it was her. The girl he saw with Mitch. He had to refrain from asking any questions, the girl looked like she was on edge. He didn’t want to risk the chances in scaring her; now that would’ve been bad for both of them.

"Ah, sorry I—I couldn’t help but notice the mark on your neck." He cleared his throat sheepishly, as he scratched the back of his neck. "… Are you okay?"

Kirk cursed under his breath, when he his pen was nowhere to be found in his bag. Shit, he had to write down this information fast. Kirk eyed the lobby, searching for an individual who would kindly lend him a pen or pencil; if they had one. It was shortly after, he spotted a woman who occupied one of the sofas; perhaps he could ask her. But she’s a woman. His mind told him. No, he had to do this… For his own benefit. He could do this.

After conjuring enough courage he could possibly muster, Kirk took a deep breath, and approached the brunette. “Uh—” He hesitated. “Excuse me, miss?” He tried to sound polite as possible while he clutched at the shoulder strap of his bag nervously.

            When he approaches, she nervously brushes her hair behind her shoulder, revealing clear as day the huge bruise on her neck. Sucked into her skin by the same person that put him into the hospital. Another girl who might meet the same fate as Daisy. If she doesn't meet that fate herself, by her own hand, that is.             "I don't ha--ave a... a pen." She says, fear tinting the words, tehre's something of an edge to her tone Her expression is immediately apologetic.

            "Police have publicized the sketch and shared it with local law enforcement  on neighbouring states. The victims Lary McIntosh, who woke up from a coma in late December, and Rick Gardiner who received a sprained neck and a broken hand among other injuries, are urging law enforcement to do their best to serve justice. McIntosh experienced trauma to his head and has yet to recover his ability to speak......."

           Seeley gave a small laugh and then glared at the woman standing before him.

           "Really?" He asked. "That’s your defense? Bringing in people you don’t know shit about?”

          “If anyone’s warping anything out of context, sweetheart, it’s you. You take everything I say as an insult, turn it right back around again, and then try to make some sense out of it with horrible psychology. Calling me out on my shit? What ‘shit’ was I pulling that made you want to call me out on?—Oh, right, trying to cheer you up because, apparently, that’s just not okay. You obviously have security issues seeing how someone giving you a compliment forces you into some sort of tangent, which then makes you think you’re Captain Right of S.S. Know-It-All and everyone else Captain Wrong of the Stupidity Voyager.”

         “Also, whatever the hell you’re running from, whatever the hell is keeping you up at night, must be pretty damn severe if you think you need to take your anger out on everyone else.”

            "Trying to cheer someone up is fine! What isn't fine is turning a compliment around and commenting on how bad someone looks. You told me I look pretty and when I responded you said 'yeah the bags under your eyes really suit your complexion.' That isn't complimenting someone that's being rude! That's the shit I'm calling you out on!"

            "A proper compliment is sincere and said in good nature, what you did was not. You insulted me. You are being inconsiderate, you're treating me like I'm out of line for being angry, and you don't seem to understand why I am angry in the first place! I'm not taking my anger out on anyone but you because you crossed a line! People who are polite and decent to me get the same thing in return."