ONE SIN ⋆ TOO LATE

"look at t'at, the hero knows my name. suppose i should feel privileged about that, yeah?" it was a rhetorical question laced in gleeful sarcasm. even though banks was not particularly gleeful, nor were his thoughts sarcastic, it was something he was genuinely surprised about. then again, rafe probably reminded him of it.

it wasn't as if banks knew his older cousin personally. no, he simply knew the myth and absolute legend through the biased stories of his gran and other memories scattered with family and old photo albums. banks had unit mates he's known better than he knew dante winters.

"no," banks answered his question flatly. after all, what could dante help him with? if he needed something why wouldn't he go to the person who's proven to always have his back and vice versa? in his experience, which made it factual for him up until that point, rafe is the only person banks can count on. "think rafe and i can manage, we've done well for ourselves up till now."

he leaned in then and squinted his eyes with curiosity. "unless you want to tell me what was worth abandoning gran over? could've at least told us you weren't dead. think she deserved that much."

Dante narrows his eyes at Banks' words, but doesn't otherwise respond to an obvious scathing jab. It's not a question that needs a reply, both of them know that, and so he isn't going to devolve whatever Banks intended with this into an argument about his feelings on the matter. Frankly, he's too old for that kind of shit.

Instead, as Banks states his negative to Dante's sort-of-invitation for a conversation, he sits up a bit more with a deep sigh. Dante gives the younger man a nod, slow and lingering in its motion, one of subtle agreement in the statement that follows the single syllable. He'd no qualms about it, even if his conversation with Rafe hadn't been quite so productive. The two don't strike Dante as incapable in the slightest; on the contrary, they carry themselves with the kind of experienced intention and confidence one earns only by having fallen and gotten up by one's own strength so many times.

In a way, if situations were different, if sentiments were different, he'd be proud of the two of them. Hell, he is proud, but he knows that neither Cawela boy would quite appreciate that acknowledgement from him.

Then Banks just comes out swinging, directly, with a question his older cousin hadn't even gotten to. Rafe had shut him down almost immediately, had made it clear that he doesn't barter in excuses, and the topic of his auntie hadn't even managed to come up so concrete as Banks put it. Had he abandoned his auntie? Perhaps, unintentionally, by being on an entirely different continent, trying to serve the Commonwealth, as foolish as tht turned out to be. And he's still doing it, isn't he?

"My child," he tells Banks, the same reason he had given Rafe, the reason Rafe had shut him down almost abruptly. Whatever problem the older Cawela cousin seemed to have with him, it didn't extend to Dottie, and trying to hide behind it, as Rafe had put it, hadn't won him any favours. But then, it is the honest truth. "Her mother had stolen her, kidnapped her, and, as it turns out, had attempted to drown her not long after the fact. I'd spent the better part of nineteen years trying to find her. And her mother."

But that's not the least of it. "I wrote every week. But," Dante sighs, rubbing his hands against his face slowly. "Your cousin told me you've served just as I have. And therefore I don't need to explain to you that the Commonwealth Army strictly serves itself. They were the intermediary between us. If your grandmother didn't get any messages from me, it's because the army we gave our lives to didn't want her to get them. Not because I didn't send them."

He drops his hands, a frown deepening lines etched into his face from a lifetime of worry and anger and fighting. "Look, lad. Maybe my apology won't mean shite to you like it ain't mean shite to your cousin, but... for what it's worth. I am sorry. Lot of shite I regret in my life. This is one on a long list of 'em. But my child... she ain't one of 'em, right?"

❝ what? ❞ for a moment, indika isn't sure what devan is asking him. is he on drugs? why would he be on drugs when he'd just come from the snow? surely he would've gotten lost. when the whole world is covered in white, everything looks like everything and nothing looks like anything anymore. it's too easy to get turned around. he would know, he'd done it with a clear head. no, not clear, was it? clouded by dreams, by river. ❝ no, i'm not―no drugs. it's―it's the cold that makes my glow flicker. or the adrenaline, maybe, not―no. ❞ he says it as if that's what made them suspicious. ❝ no drugs. they're not here? ❞

devan still hasn't answered his question. indika doesn't understand. he'd seen it so clearly. the vision was supposed to take them to river. not to the compound. not to devan. why would the dread father trick him like this? it couldn't be punishment, could it? he's devout. he's faithful. was it because he'd left listener kahn? he couldn't protect the listener. and what was the vision if not a direct message from the dread father himself? he'd only been doing what he thought he was meant to.

so caught up is he in this awful spiral of thought that indika doesn't even realize devan's come closer until they're hoisting him up out of his seat and pulling him into their side when he starts listing unsteadily the second he's on his feet. ❝ i don't know, ❞ indika confesses, leaning into devan. they're a warm, solid presence. he's still shivering. ❝ no, i do know. i don't remember. or maybe i'm not sure? i walked here from under the ground. there was a shelter, but it wasn't a shelter, and the dread father―he told me river was here. he showed me. i thought i was supposed to leave. ❞

Devan's head is reeling, not because the injury is so severe—a fracture is always severe, relatively, of course—but because he can't tell if this guy is delirious, suffering from some sort of mental break, or if this is just his baseline. In the past months since discovering he had a twin in the first place, he's been slowly getting to know River and working on his relationship with them. He hasn't gotten even close to getting to the point where he'd extended his efforts to those closest to them, even though he had heard plenty of things about Indika and Briar both.

He understands that Indika is involved in that cult up north, but he's never looked into their beliefs or what really makes them tick, as that's simply not part of his job, and he never thought he'd be in situations where he'd directly interact with them before River, so the ramblings coming out of Indika sound beyond foreign to him, and he has no real idea how to reply to him, what to tell him to get him to calm the fuck down. Tully would argue he's not exactly good with people anyway, so the chances of setting Indika off more if he engages in it are too high to chance right this moment.

"I'm not a doctor," Devan argues at the question of the severity of the injury, teeth gritted as he utters the sentence, not due to any sort of emotion, but due to the effort of carrying the man down hallways, making sure that Indika doesn't put any additional weight on the leg than he already has. "I'm a soldier, I've seen enough injuries out in the field to know when shit needs medical attention, that's the extent of it."

The thing is, does he go to his squad's combat medics, or head directly to the emergency room for this? They know for a fact that Max and Banks are both on stand-by, just as the rest of them are, but without knowing the exact extent of the injury and how much more Indika managed to exacerbate it by continuing to walk on it, they just don't know if this is something the two medics are capable of fixing on short notice. If he does need surgery of sorts, then the better bet is the emergency room.

But on that hand, he doesn't know just how busy the emergency room is due to the on-going crisis.

There's a deep frown that etches itself in between Devan's eyebrows, as he stops at a T-junction of hallways, a route underground that only Afterglow staff knows about, emergency hallways in case it's not safe to cross the compound in open air. It works in their favour in the current situation, and perhaps this was one of the situations the tunnel system had been created for in the first place.

But he has to make a decision now. Running down a quick list of pros and cons for each option, Devan pulls Indika down the left hall towards the hospital instead. Less to explain to his commander this way, anyway—he's just helping an injured citizen, as far as the hospital would know, right?

"Listen, man, I'm gonna need you to steel your mind, alright? You're already getting warmer, the cold's gonna get out of that limb, and you're really gonna feel it, and it's gonna hurt like a motherfucker once the adrenaline flushes out of your body." It's all words spoken from experience, both first hand and second hand. "I need you to stay calm, okay? I'm not gonna leave you unless you want or need me to, I'll stay with you the whole way, but I need you to remain calm or you're gonna make it harder for us to help you. Alright?"

this was honestly the worst place for archie to get stuck. 'with the people' during a storm they're likely blaming the governance, afterglow, or both. and lucky archie works for all of the above. fun times. he knew well enough to keep his head down and stick close to allies, if not people that he at least knew wouldn't lead the charge to put his head on a spike.

maybe following delia hadn't been the best choice for that, as if that hasa ever stopped him before...

maybe that's why he entertained lino when he spoke up and didn't keep moving forward. she looked like she wanted to be left alone, anyways. "don't worry, she rarely has a hard time telling me to fuck off on her own." archie leaned against the table lino was at before falling into the seat across from him. "oooo, good one nepo baby. come up with that one on your own?" archie crossed his legs with a sigh, looking out at the wandering citizens of burnington. "you know in texas there's been reports of bullfrogs as big as humans? maybe we should move, sounds like true love is waiting for us both over yonder."

"And yet you don't take the hint, sounds right," Lino replies with a slight shake of the head. The jabs coming from Archie don't faze him in the slightest, simply because they're just that. It doesn't mean anything. Without an invite—taking Archie's continuation of conversation as such—Lino heads over and sits down next to him.

As much as he doesn't like the man, he's still the best company he can get, and not just in this particular situation. Others might see it as a sad thing, the fact that your closest —though that doesn't really say much when you don't actually have friends—is the guy you can't stand, who can't stand you. It annoys him, of course, that Archie is the guy he spends the most of his social time with, occasionally surpassed by Daphne when they hit a phase of obsession again before getting too busy—or maybe bored?—to maintain a relationship.

"Bullfrogs?" Lino repeats, brows knitting together in consternation. "Aren't those very aggressive? I've seen data on them that they're very f—"

Abruptly pausing, looking towards where Archie's lady had taken her exit, Lino makes the connection. "No, never mind, I think that's quite fitting for your taste in women. I guess I can imagine worse ways to die. Freezing to death in this derelict these people dubbed a community centre, for one."

"Your child? Yea, I'd say that's a safe bet." She'd never even met the infamous Dot. Well, in fairness, she only found out she existed recently, but anyone that had Dante's blood running through their veins was probably going to be fine in the long run. And while Chuck had never personally birthed another human, she did have her children. The ones that had snuck right into her heart and, like the grinch, had made it grow three sizes. She'd do anything for them, including hold back from some of her more murderous tendencies. That level of devotion also came with the worry so she understood how he was feeling for the most part.

"Don't you have some other communication options? I mean, back in the day you had all sorts of sneaky ways of getting through. I seem to recall you using smoke signals at one point when we got cut off." Her tone remained serious but the smirk playing at the edges of her lips was obvious. "Are you losing your edge?"

There's a smile that finds its way onto his face without his explicit consent, one of pride—whether he has any right to it or not—at Chuck's vouching for Dot. Perhaps they've never met, and Dante swears that moment is coming, the moment he knows it's safe to do so, that there's no negative consequences to putting their relationship—he supposes—in the more public domain, but when that moment does come, he has no doubt that they would get along.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, as he looks at Chuck, suggests that she would make a fantastic mother for his Dot. A thought he'd never voice to the woman in front of him, of course, at least not right this second, or in the near future, because he has no illusions about the fact that she might try to skin him for it. Or so he guesses.

"Ha!" Dante lets out as a bark of laughter perhaps a bit louder than he should have, given that this... meeting... is supposed to stay under wraps, for both their sakes. "Funny, aren't ya?" An arm wraps around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he presses a slow kiss to her mouth. "You still know when to pick your battles, love, knowing I can't do shit to show you my edges."

He looks her face over for a long moment, cupping her cheek with a free hand, thumb brushing over her cheekbone slowly. "You should come 'round when this is all over. If my house hasn't been blown away half across the continent. I think we're both due a break, and I have ideas of how to spend 'em."

"my sibling or my ex who has our son right now." queenie was worried beyond reason but she was also rational enough to know that there was no real reason to be worried. not yet anyways. things with her sibling could always change with the drop of a hat. they went how many years without seeing each other again? queenie didn't know what to expect when and if they ever got back to her, or she got out of the tin can in the middle of the mountain. if she ever got out of there, that is.

"they've only been with our son overnight once and while i know they are capable of taking care of him, i can't be sure they aren't going to forget to do it when they get hyper focused on work or whatever else they get up to in their spare time. of which, mind you, there is little." queenie knew full well davis was busy, she wouldn't fault them for that but she certainly didn't know ( and most of the time she didn't want to know ) what they did in their free time that wasn't spent with her or nik.

"and my sibling, well, briar could be anywhere doing anything right now and i just want to know if they left their apothecary or if she's buried in there." queenie groans, looking over to the poor ginger haired man that dared to converse with her. "sorry, probably more than you want to know, huh? are your people okay?"

King has half his attention on a phone whose service is not servicing—or perhaps Gabby has just decided that she has better shit to do than to message him back—and some of the words coming from the woman is lost over the howling of the blizzard causing their current situation in the first place. He gets the gist of it, however, and he can't help but scrunch his nose in annoyance. He can't say he's ever really had a high opinion of parents in general, the best they can do for you is leave you the fuck alone, but the situation Queenie is sketching before him strikes a particularly sensitive, annoyed chord within him.

"Sounds like a fucking ballbag," he tells her, loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough for him to be shouting. Sure, he knows what it's like to get so focused on work that you forget all else, but he also doesn't have any children to speak of. The only person who he'd inconvenience with it, as of recently, is Gabby, and if he doesn't respond in any timely manner, she'll know exactly where to find him anyway. It's not like she'll fucking die if he doesn't mind her for half a day.

Ultimately, it's the name she does drop that has King look up from his phone for a moment longer than before. He's heard it before. Hell, he's met the sprite of a being attached to the name, and as he looks Queenie over now, he can see the resemblance as obvious as the light of day. "Briar, that insane witch that lives in the woods somewhere? Always looks dirty somehow?" King snorts and shrugs. "Doesn't strike me as the helpless type, but can't say I've cared to get to know them all that much. I prefer 'em mentally stable."

Not true in the slightest, but King has simply tried to get a rise out of her before and decided it wasn't worth it by the time he found himself at the end of a knife and a bright smile; it's fun when they get pissed, it's less fun when they casually threaten your life like it's another Monday.

"I, uh," he starts at her question, shrugging as he tries to define what Gabby is to him and why he'd risk frostbite for her standing out here without making it too obvious. "I'm trying to reach... a friend. A girlfriend. A girl who's a friend."

once they were off the hook for having to trek around in the blowing snow in the beginning of the storm, tallula was taking advantage of getting to stay under the covers with her best friend and other half. to the surprise of probably everyone from the outside looking in, they don't get to do this very often. just be lost in each other or even sleep in the same bed at night. sometimes tully feels like they shared a bed platonically way more than they have romantically, but then again, that could also mean they have yet to make up for lost time.

decades upon decades, despite their age.

she could feel them shifting behind her, their lips pressed against her skin that made gooseflesh pop up all around it. "mmm, morning." though instead of stretching and getting up to follow her normal routine, she turned to face them and nuzzled into their neck. a soft noise of contentedness escaped when their arm validated her settling in. "not enough to let you leave me yet." she answered, mumbling her answer into the suprisinly smooth skin of their neck. "can we just stay here?" that was an act of rebellion in itself, right? though it only served the two of them and not the greater good. "for a little while longer, at least?"

It's unusual for either of them to still be in bed at this time, or even make the argument to stay for longer, but especially Tully. That's not to say that Devan is the lazier of the two of them, it doesn't have much to do with laziness in that Tully is much more disciplined and adherent to her routine than they are. But then, he's not about to complain about this uncharacteristic turn of events that perfectly serves to benefit him, instead a slow grin spreading across his face as she all but crawls into his skin to get closer.

"Stay here?" he hums, finger tips trailing along the bare skin of her back, following the bumpy road of her spine from between her shoulders down to the top of her pelvic bone. It's been years upon years upon years where they'd imagined—fantasised, even—about Tallula Kennedy without the army fatigues, or even without the damn underwear, to feel her skin under their hands, to feel the way her body moved against theirs, and the fact that they're here, now, and have been catching up on years of repression in a matter of weeks has been akin to a whirlwind through their mind. "Who are you and what did you do to Tallula Kennedy?"

It's not a complaint, not even close. This is something he could never complain about.

With a single shift, he pulls her over him, pulling the covers up more to her shoulders to keep cold air away from bare skin. His hands disappear under the covers again to slide along her sides, over her hips, down to her thighs and up again to cup her butt with a squeeze. "They're gonna come knocking on the door eventually. Sasaki, most likely." They kiss her jaw once. "You reckon it's worth it?"

they'll get home eventually, and likely with enough pent up frustration that she'll be able to convince him to just stay home from work for a couple of days. she can, at the very least, try.

forcing her mind to refocus is another matter as hands slip under fabric to find skin, not quite warm to the touch, but not so frigid that she thinks she needs to worry. "i think you don't really like big, bombastic public things, and i don't need something like that, so i guess my dream proposal would just be a nice, quiet proposal as long as you were the one asking." her nose presses against the spot she'd just kissed, and she nuzzles there just a little. "i don't care about the frill of it, i care about the part where i get to keep you forever. but i do have a dress i desperately want. blush and cream, very fairytale princess, wisked away by the handsome rogue."

Monty can't help the small grin on his face, despite the turmoil in his mind that she's temporarily muted, at the almost accusatory shift in her demeanour as she pulls back. As well as Delphie can play him, Monty knows exactly how to play his girlfriend too, and it's something he uses far more often in the confines of their home than most people might guess from him—bar perhaps a few. His hand reaches up, cupping her jaw to let his thumb brush along her bottom lip, watching them as she explains her stance.

"I will have to keep a look out for a handsome rogue, but," he says, voice quiet, and for a long moment, he pauses. Is this the time? Is this the place? Is this the mindspace? It's not like he hadn't already thought about it. It's not like he didn't already have a ring. Nothing quite so expensive or fancy that it would break their bank, but something symbolic regardless. A ring that's quite a bit away from here, in the cupboard he often uses to decompress.

He lets out a slow breath through his nose. "Marry me. I can't get you your ring right now, but when we're home." He brushes some of her hair behind her ear, eyes briefly lifting to meet her eyes, making a burning attempt to hold it before they move down again. "If all you need from me is to ask... then.. will you marry me, Delphie?"

Ashton felt the tension let up just a bit as he continued to explain, though none of it ever really answered anything, brought more questions in fact. "..and why would you do that?" The fact that this man was with Hell's Gate, had to mean that he wasn't for Afterglow at least, that is a low bar to hit but a bar nonetheless that made Ash exhale out the stress in his shoulders. "I don't know what you've read in that or know about me, but I'm just trying to live my life, away from this place," he added before the other man could make anymore assumptions what he was doing here based on whatever was in his files. "So you know where the files are?" He hadn't been too interested in his own file, though keeping it away from Afterglow is always preferable.

Gray shrugs at the question but doesn't answer it immediately. Curiosity. Because it was there. Because it was behind a big, digital lock, and anything that's behind big locks is usually things others don't want to get out. Just like he himself had been behind a big lock. But now he is out—despite the fact that he's right back where he started—and Afterglow was right to put him behind that lock. Just like Gray knows they were right to put all those files behind a lock.

But they're out now too, aren't they? The difference is that this one, Afterglow doesn't know about, simply because he'd only copied it all, and didn't follow through in deleting everything he stole. Didn't have the time, but maybe he can still finish the job this time.

Your mother told you not to get in trouble, though.

Gray lets out a sharp, annoyed sigh at the reminder from his own mind, knowing that's a boundary he neither physically nor mentally can cross. But hey... maybe he can help this guy do it, right?

"They're still on their servers," Gray replies, shrugging, "and there's copies on a flashdrive. Somewhere else." His eyes look Ashton up and down for a long moment. "My mom said I'm not allowed to cause trouble here. But I can show you."

so maybe he doesn't let the guy have the small victory.

his phone slips out of his pocket, and he twists the screen toward the guy, the lit up screen showing the picture of lucy he'd snapped not too long ago. "my smoking hot girlfriend told me i wasn't allowed to. also my sister is here, and she'd be sad if i left her. and then my brother would probably kick my ass for leaving her and also for doing something that reckless." his shoulders lift and fall in a shrug that is as casual and nonchalant as the way his body leans against the wall beside him.

This isn't doing what he wants it to do. The guy is just frustrating him more than he already had been, with his lack of reaction, and it makes King miss Gabby all the more. At this point, she'd already ripped his head off and rolled it down the street for speaking to her like that, but this dude is just... letting him.

As the phone come up, the light of it illuminating his face in the relative dark of this damp, dank hole in the ground, King squints his eyes slightly against the glare of it, before managing to focus on the image. Of course he knows the woman in the picture. He's seen her before, around both Ares and Apollo Graves, at WDER, where she apparently works. Another one of those women who would rip off his head at the blink of an eye; she'd let him know as much the first time they'd interacted, and she'd nearly jumped down his throat at a jab of a comment he'd made. Last time he did that.

"Your girlfriend is Lucy Muñoz?" he asks with a scrunch of his nose. Not because Lucy is ugly by any means, but... he just can't see it. "She didn't strike me as the kind of girl to settle for a weirdo, but who am I to kinkshame or whatever. You always do what she tells you and shit?"

Rich of him to use that as a weapon, considering the fact that he often ends up submitting to whatever Gabby says, though not necessarily without a lot of arguing—that's the whole fun of it, really, for the both of them. But that's not something he's about to let this ghost-looking motherfucker know, of course, because it's none of his business.

"Who's your sister, though? She also translucent? Or did she win the genetic lottery in your family?"

this isn't a good situation, beau is aware. the survivors that have taken shelter in the bunker aren't about to start gathering around in circles and sharing their quilts, singing kumbaya over cups of hot cocoa until the worst of the snow passes. he isn't ignorant enough to think that the weather is the only threat looming against them down here in this subterranean shelter. he's also not foolish enough to think he has any real clue what the risk is down here, not like clay would. but clay always knows in situations like this, doesn't she? beau isn't sure how he got so lucky that every single time it seems like his world might be threatening to collapse, she's right there to hold all of the pieces together. she's protected him. she's saved his life.

no matter what she tries to claim otherwise, beau would be lost without her. of this, he's entirely certain.

❝ you say that now, ❞ beau warns, his tone light in spite of the serious circumstances, an attempt to hold onto himself despite the crisis unfurling around them, ❝ but dixie says talkin' to me's like talkin' to a farmer's almanac but without the pictures. ❞ a half-smile creases the corners of his eyes even if it doesn't quite reach them. he believes her, honest. if he wanted to sit down and spend an entire afternoon talking to her about the different planting cycles for soil in this region and all of his plans for the spring, he truly thinks she'd sit down and oblige him as long as he found the words to ramble. he doesn't intend to do that to her. instead, he looks back as she draws in a breath, recognizing quickly the time for lightheartedness is gone.

Clay can't help the smile that finds its way onto her face quite easily, glancing over to where Dixie has made her space. "I understand," she says as she looks back at him, reaching up to brush some hair away from his temple a bit more, mostly a gesture of comfort than anything out of necessity. "But perhaps I have use of a farmer's almanac, living where I do." The smile is accompanied by a wink, and although she makes a bit of a joke of it, it's not far from the truth.

As it is, when she came to Burnington years ago, Clay had been a bit lost—she could survive anywhere, certainly, but surviving and living are two entirely different things. Meeting Beau and Ziggy had helped differentiate that a lot, and Beau had helped her more than he would ever give her credit for, even if she were to outright tell him the facts of it.

But perhaps it's the same in how she can't exactly accept the words he says to her now. Clay sighs, the smile melting away to make way for a deep frown. Of course she hears him, but letting those words in and letting them soak instead of immediately washing them away are vastly different. "No, of course not," she confirms his question. "But it's—" It's not the same. She knows there are things Beau doesn't talk about, not because they don't have the relationship for it, but simply because it might be difficult, she sees it in the way some things has him shift in the smallest of ways. The way this topic does.

The difference is that she can never imagine Beau having things like that be an automatic, easy reaction. It's easier to kill than to not. Words she'd never admit, not even to him. Or, especially not to him. "I love you very much. You're far too graceful." She cups his cheek with a hand. "Don't let anyone take that from you, hm?"