#biter

Part 40 | Part 42 |

ALL PARTS HERE

I know some of this doesn't make sense and is pretty weird, but it is a fiction story after all. Let me have my moment. Hehe

So,” Y/n asked, glancing back over her shoulder as they moved between the trees, “what do you want to learn first?”

Selena hesitated for a moment before answering, more focused on where she was placing her feet than on the question itself. The forest floor wasn’t flat or forgiving—roots twisted up through the soil like hidden traps, rocks shifted underfoot, and patches of moss looked soft but could be slick if stepped on wrong. She was still learning how to read the ground, how to tell which places would hold her weight and which ones might betray her.

Y/n noticed immediately.

Selena had shorter legs and a lighter stride, and she didn’t yet have the instinct for choosing her path the way Y/n did. Where Y/n stepped without thinking—heel first, weight balanced, eyes already scanning two or three steps ahead—Selena paused, tested, and adjusted. It slowed them down, and Y/n felt the faint, familiar itch of impatience curl in her chest.

She ignored it.

Teaching mattered more than speed. If she rushed Selena, snapped at her, or made her feel stupid for lagging behind, the girl would shut down. Y/n had seen that happen before—people learned best when they weren’t afraid of making mistakes.

So she deliberately shortened her stride and eased her pace, even though it grated on her nerves a little.

“What is there to learn?” Selena asked finally. Not arrogantly—just genuinely curious. Her eyes flicked between the trees, the ground, and Y/n’s back as she spoke.

Y/n slowed and stopped beneath a lone birch tree, its white bark peeling in thin, papery strips. The leaves above them whispered softly as a breeze moved through the canopy.

“Well,” Y/n said, turning to face her, “there’s tracking. Animal habits and homes. How to move through the forest without sounding like you’re announcing yourself to everything with ears.” She paused, then added, “And what you can and can’t eat.”

Selena’s attention sharpened immediately. She stepped closer, stopping beneath the birch with Y/n.

“I want to learn what you can and can’t eat first,” she said.

Y/n smirked, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Good choice.” She glanced around once, then nodded. “Alright. First lesson.”

She crossed her arms loosely. “Find me a berry.”

Selena blinked. “Find you a…berry?”

“Yeah,” Y/n said simply. No elaboration. No hints.

Selena looked around, confusion knitting her brows together. At first, she stayed standing, scanning the immediate area beneath the birch. There were ferns, low grasses, patches of dirt, and fallen leaves—but nothing that obviously looked like a berry plant.

After a minute, she crouched, then dropped to her hands and knees, peering closer at the plants around her. Every time she found something unfamiliar, she glanced up at Y/n—half expecting approval, correction, or something.

Y/n gave her nothing.

No nods. No head shakes. No expressions at all.

After several minutes, Selena sat back on her heels, frustration starting to creep in. She thought harder this time. Y/n hadn’t told her what kind of berry to find. That meant the lesson wasn’t about identifying a specific plant—it was about understanding where to look.

Berries needed sunlight. That much she knew.

So Selena stood and moved away from the birch, scanning for brighter patches where the sun broke through the trees. She found one and hurried over, only to be met with bare rock covered in moss. She checked another. And another.

All rock. Moss. Sparse grass.

Her shoulders slumped.

“I can’t find any,” she said at last, her voice edged with frustration—but more at herself than at Y/n.

Y/n studied her quietly. Selena wasn’t angry. She wasn’t blaming Y/n or sulking. She looked… disappointed. Like she’d let herself down.

That earned her some mercy.

Y/n lifted a hand and pointed—not to the ground, but straight past the birch tree. “Look again.”

Selena followed her finger and froze.

Ahead of them was a small clearing, wider than anything she’d been paying attention to. Sunlight spilled freely there, unbroken by dense branches. Greenery was thicker and more varied.

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t see that,” she said softly, frowning.

“You were staring at the ground and in the wrong direction,” Y/n replied with a quiet chuckle. “Can’t find what you’re not looking for.”

Selena glanced back at the rocky patches she’d checked. “But I was looking in sunny spots.”

“Selena,” Y/n said patiently, “if a tree can’t grow there, what makes you think a berry bush can?”

Selena opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. “Moss grows there,” she said slowly. “And grass.”

“Right,” Y/n agreed. “And those don’t need much sunlight. Here’s an important question—does the sun stay on those spots all day?”

Selena looked up, following the angle of the light through the trees. She imagined the sun moving across the sky, branches shifting shadows back and forth. Those rocky patches would only get light for a short time before being swallowed by shade again.

“No,” she admitted.

Y/n nodded. “Plants that produce food usually want consistent sunlight. Clearings. Edges. Places where the sun sticks around.”

Understanding clicked into place.

Selena straightened and started toward the clearing without being told, her steps quicker now, more confident.

Y/n followed behind her, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

That was the kind of lesson that stuck.

Y/n stayed a few steps behind Selena, deliberately letting the girl choose the path ahead of them. It would have been easier—and faster—to take the lead, to step where she knew the ground would be solid and safe. But that wasn’t the point of today. If Selena followed Y/n’s footsteps, she’d only learn how to follow. If she walked first, she’d learn how to read the forest for herself.

So Y/n kept quiet.

Selena moved carefully, eyes down and forward, scanning for roots and stones. She was doing well—slow, but thoughtful. Then, without warning, her entire foot sank straight down into a thick patch of moss, swallowing her shoe to the ankle. Selena froze mid-step, a startled little sound leaving her throat as she stared down at her vanished foot.

She wobbled, arms lifting instinctively for balance.

Y/n stepped smoothly around the moss patch, boots barely making a sound as she moved. “Careful,” she said calmly. “That stuff’s deeper than it looks.”

Selena gingerly pulled her foot free, the moss springing back slightly, though not all the way. She stared at it, brow furrowed. “Why is it so thick?”

“The deeper the moss,” Y/n explained, crouching briefly to press her fingers into it, “the older it is. And the older the forest around it.”

Selena stepped back fully onto solid ground, clearly deciding she didn’t want to trample something ancient. “How do you know that?”

“Moss grows slow,” Y/n said, straightening. “Takes years, decades. It needs the right conditions—shade, moisture, and stability. If it’s this deep, it means nothing’s disturbed it in a long time. No fires. No logging. No heavy erosion.”

She glanced down again, a faint, almost fond look crossing her face. “If we peeled some of it back, you’d probably find something interesting underneath.”

Selena’s curiosity sparked instantly. “Like what?”

Y/n smirked. “You’ll find out another time. Keep moving.”

Selena obeyed, stepping more carefully now, skirting around moss patches instead of blundering through them. Y/n followed, pleased. Not because Selena had listened—but because she’d understood.

They emerged into the clearing moments later, and Selena stopped dead in her tracks.

Sunlight poured into the open space, warm and bright, illuminating low shrubs and tangled greenery. Dotted everywhere were flashes of color—deep blues, muted reds, and darker purples tucked beneath leaves.

“Whoa…” Selena breathed.

Berries. Everywhere.

She crouched almost immediately, drawn toward the nearest bush. The first one she reached for was familiar, something she’d known long before the world had gone to hell.

“Blueberries,” she said, picking one carefully and holding it up between her fingers. She glanced back at Y/n, seeking confirmation. “Can I eat it?”

“Go ahead,” Y/n replied, already crouching beside her.

As Selena popped the berry into her mouth, Y/n examined the plant with a practiced eye. She brushed her fingers along the leaves—smooth, green, and healthy. No widespread browning, no curling. The few leaves that were damaged housed tiny insects, which Y/n flicked away without much thought—except for the spiders. She left those alone. Spiders were allies.

She tested the stems gently. Flexible. Strong. Not brittle. Good signs.

The berries themselves were firm and ripe, some larger than average for wild blueberries, others perfectly remembered-sized. Y/n picked a handful and ate them, the familiar burst of sweetness making her hum quietly. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed fresh fruit until now.

Selena smiled when she saw Y/n eating too, clearly reassured.

“These are really good,” Selena said around another mouthful.

“They usually are,” Y/n replied, standing. “Wild ones taste better than store-bought.”

Selena looked around the clearing, eyes darting from bush to bush. “Can we take some back to camp?”

Y/n sighed. “We don’t have anything to carry them in.”

Selena frowned. “You don’t have bags in your pockets?”

Y/n snorted. “I don’t make a habit of carrying bags in my pockets.”

Selena crossed her arms. “Why not? You’ve got basically everything else in there.”

“The noise,” Y/n said simply. “Drives me insane.”

Selena considered that, then nodded. “That’s valid.”

She looked back at the berries, clearly disappointed.

Y/n watched her for a second—then rolled her shoulders once, decision made. With a resigned breath, she dropped her backpack on the ground and laid Tikka against it. She then reached down and pulled her tank top over her head, laying it flat on a nearby rock. She smoothed it out, then took her knife and, without hesitation, sliced cleanly through the fabric, separating the front from the back.

Selena stared. “What are you doing?”

“Making bags,” Y/n replied easily. “Find me a stick.”

Selena didn’t question it. She bolted back toward the treeline and returned moments later with three sticks clutched triumphantly in her arms.

Y/n took two, tying the corners of one half of the tank top securely around the ends of the stick, forming a simple sling. She repeated the process with the second half and another stick, quick and efficient.

“There,” she said, handing one to Selena. “Berry bag.”

Selena’s eyes lit up. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Y/n shrugged, kneeling into the bushes. “Didn’t. Just did.”

Selena blinked. “Really?”

“Creativity’s part of survival,” Y/n said, already picking berries. “You won’t always have the right tools. So you make them. Anything can be useful if you look at it right.”

Selena nodded slowly, that familiar thoughtful look settling over her face as she began picking berries too—careful, methodical, learning far more than just how to gather food.

They worked in companionable quiet for a while, the kind of silence that didn’t feel awkward or forced. It was filled with small sounds instead—the soft rustle of leaves as hands moved through branches, the dull thump of berries landing in cloth bags, and the occasional hum of insects drifting lazily through the warm air.

Y/n moved with an efficiency that came from years of practice. Her hands knew what to grab before her eyes fully registered it. She picked only firm berries, rolling them lightly between her fingers before dropping them into her bag. No leaves. No stems. No mush. Her movements were economical, almost rhythmic, as if she’d done this a thousand times before—which, truthfully, she had.

Selena tried to match her pace.

She crouched low, scooping berries quickly, too quickly, her eagerness making her careless. Leaves slipped in with the fruit. A few squishy berries burst between her fingers, staining them purple. She frowned at her own bag, then at Y/n’s noticeably cleaner one, but didn’t slow down. She wanted to be good at this. Wanted to prove she could keep up.

Every so often, both of them paused—not to rest, but to eat. Selena popped blueberries into her mouth with quiet delight, smiling every time one burst sweet against her tongue. Y/n did the same, less dramatically but just as appreciatively, the taste pulling memories out of her whether she wanted them or not.

They were going to be too full to eat much dinner later. Y/n knew that. She didn’t care.

“I wish we could have blueberries every day,” Selena said dreamily, tossing a particularly small one into her mouth.

Y/n snorted softly. “I couldn’t. I’d get sick of them fast.” She tilted her head. “And they’ve got a lot of fiber.”

Selena paused mid-pick. “…What’s fiber?”

Y/n didn’t even look up. “Makes you shit.”

Selena froze.

Y/n finally glanced over, saw the look on her face, and sighed. “Actually—stop eating them. Like, now. You’ve had enough.”

Selena blinked. “I have?”

“They’re good for you,” Y/n said, more patient now, “but your body isn’t used to that much fiber all at once. Your stomach will hate you.”

Selena frowned thoughtfully. “And yours won’t?”

Y/n popped another berry into her mouth out of pure defiance. “I can deal with my own consequences. I’m not dealing with yours too.”

Selena giggled. “Fair.”

She went back to picking, slower this time, more deliberate. “Are we going to dry these?”

“Not yet,” Y/n replied. “We need a dehydrator. Means a trip to Marathon.”

Selena’s head snapped up. “I can come!”

“Nope.” Y/n raised a hand immediately. “Before you even finish that thought—no. I need someone who can beat a Biter to death with a hockey stick if it comes to that.”

Selena considered that seriously. “You should take Ajax.”

“Yeah,” Y/n hummed. “Maybe Merrick too. Three armed idiots are better than two.”

“Keegan will go if you ask him,” Selena added quietly.

Y/n’s hands stilled for half a second before she forced them to keep moving. “I know,” she said, voice neutral. “But if he does, he’ll hover around me the whole time.”

“I like Keegan,” Selena said, watching a spider crawl along a leaf. “He should stay with me and Ben when you go.”

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Y/n replied.

Selena glanced over and watched her for a while after that.

Y/n looked different out here. Softer. Less sharp around the edges. Her shoulders weren’t hunched like they usually were around camp, and her mouth wasn’t set in its usual half-scowl. She smiled more—small, fleeting smiles—but they were real. Teaching, being in the woods, doing something useful without people watching… it all seemed to suit her.

And she waited. That was something Selena had noticed early on. Y/n never pried. Never demanded explanations. She just left space, like an open door, and trusted Selena to walk through it when she was ready.

Selena wanted to tell her about last night. About why sleeping felt terrifying sometimes. But not now. Not when Y/n looked so peaceful.

“Did Keegan put me to bed last night?” Y/n asked suddenly.

Selena stiffened, then nodded. “He said you shouldn’t sleep on the floor.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/n muttered, swatting at a mosquito. “Let me guess—tucked me in too.”

“Ben told him not to,” Selena said. “He did it anyway.”

Y/n scoffed. “Ben didn’t want me tucked in? He sleeps in my bed half the time—why would he care?”

“Because it makes it harder for him to sneak under the blankets with you,” Selena said with a grin.

“Of course,” Y/n groaned, though she was smiling.

They worked for another moment before Selena spoke again, quieter this time.

“Do you like Keegan?”

Y/n stopped completely.

She turned slowly. “What?”

“Do you like Keegan?” Selena repeated, unbothered.

“I think he’s a good person,” Y/n said carefully. “Killing was just his job.”

“You know what I mean.”

Y/n sighed. “Do I?”

“Yes.” Selena crawled closer, eyes bright with mischief. “Do you like him?”

“Listen, I—”

“Do you like him or not?”

“Fine,” Y/n snapped, covering her face. “Yes. I like him.”

Selena beamed. “I knew it.”

Y/n dropped her hands. “How?”

“You talk about him a lot,” Selena said sweetly. “And you write about him.”

Y/n’s blood ran cold. “You read my diary?”

“I can keep secrets,” Selena said simply. “And you can’t stay mad at me.”

Y/n stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Next time, ask.”

“You’re boring unless you’re writing about him anyway,” Selena shrugged.

Y/n muttered, “I don’t talk about him that much… do I?”

Selena just smiled and kept picking berries.

“You do a lot.”

The words came from directly behind her.

Y/n reacted on instinct—pure muscle memory, no thought involved. She spun faster than Selena had ever seen her move, knife already in her hand, body coiled and striking in one smooth, lethal motion.

If it had been almost anyone else, the blade would have found flesh.

Keegan moved just as fast.

He knocked her arm aside with a sharp twist of his forearm, the force redirecting the stab away from his torso. His hand snapped around her wrist, gripping it iron-hard, turning it just enough that her fingers spasmed. The knife dropped into the undergrowth with a dull thud.

Y/n froze.

For half a second, her brain struggled to catch up with what her body had just done—and what it hadn’t managed to do.

She blinked up at him, breath shallow, pulse roaring in her ears. Until he’d spoken, she hadn’t sensed him at all. No footsteps. No shift in air. Nothing.

That bothered her more than the fact he’d disarmed her.

If Keegan hadn’t been trained for this—if her angle had been even slightly better—she would’ve gutted him.

“Sorry,” Y/n muttered, the word clipped and rough, not quite carrying a real apology.

“Thanks,” Keegan replied flatly, releasing her wrist and stepping back like nothing had happened.

Selena stared between them, eyes wide, heart hammering. Then she narrowed her eyes at Keegan.

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

Y/n raised her eyebrows slightly at that. Selena usually lit up when Keegan showed up. Right now, she looked annoyed—protective, even.

Keegan shifted his weight, scanning the clearing and tree line like a habit he couldn’t shut off. “Just checking in.”

“Well, we’re fine,” Y/n snapped. “And we were having very private girl talk.”

“I was behind you for a while,” Keegan said calmly. “You weren’t paying attention.”

“We were busy,” Selena shot back, pointing a finger at him. “It can’t be private if you’re here.”

Keegan tilted his head, slow and curious—like a German Shepherd trying to figure out a puzzle.

“That’s because I’m the topic?”

Y/n forcibly ignored the part of her brain that found that movement stupidly endearing.

“Go away, Keegan!” Selena whined, pushing at his knees with both hands.

He didn’t move an inch.

“Mmm,” he hummed, eyes flicking to Y/n, head still tilted.

“Fuck off, Keegan,” Y/n snapped, heat flooding her face. She prayed he couldn’t see it.

He absolutely could.

“I thought you liked me?” He asked, tone unreadable—half curious, half amused.

“I like you when you’re not annoying me.” Y/n shot back. “Buzz off and go fuck yourself somewhere else.”

Selena snorted. “That is funny.”

Keegan exhaled through his nose, a short huff, then abruptly crouched between them. His eyes dropped to the makeshift bags heavy with blueberries.

Before either of them could react, he plunged his hand into Y/n’s bag and scooped out a fistful of pristine berries, tossing them back into his mouth like candy.

“Hey—” Y/n started.

He reached in again.

She slapped his hand away hard.

His gaze slid to Selena’s bag. Selena immediately hugged it to her chest like a shield.

“Pick your own berries,” she scolded.

“Too lazy,” Keegan muttered—and then promptly tipped sideways.

Y/n barely shifted out of the way as he landed clumsily on his knees between them, dirt puffing up around his hands. He swayed there for a second, unsteady.

Selena frowned, confused.

Y/n felt something colder than irritation crawl up her spine.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Are you drunk?”

She grabbed his bandana and yanked it down, exposing his mouth and jaw. He hadn’t worn it in days. Seeing it back on him at all felt wrong.

She straightened, towering over him now, seized his chin, and pulled his face close to hers.

She sniffed.

No alcohol. Just mint—too clean, like toothpaste.

“Keegan,” she said sharply. “Did you drink?”

“No,” he muttered, rubbing at his temples.

He slapped her hand away with more force than necessary.

That did it.

Y/n’s eyes narrowed as she scanned him—his posture, his pupils, the unfocused way his gaze drifted past her shoulder instead of locking on. Something was off. Badly off.

She reached for his pockets without thinking.

Instantly, his demeanor changed.

Keegan’s hand snapped toward the knife lying on the ground, fingers curling like a reflex. His eyes went cold—flat, distant, and dangerous in a way Y/n had never seen before.

Pure threat.

Y/n didn’t hesitate.

She backed away fast, rolled through the bushes, and grabbed Selena by the shoulders, hauling her upright.

“Camp. Now,” she barked. “Go!”

Selena didn’t argue. “Which way?”

“This way.” Y/n physically turned her, hands firm. “Straight. Don’t stop.”

They ran.

Y/n stayed just behind Selena, eyes constantly flicking back. Branches whipped at their arms, roots snagged at their boots—

Selena tripped.

Y/n, half-turned to check behind them, went down hard over her.

“Ow!” Selena cried, clutching her hand. “I got a splinter—”

“Ignore it,” Y/n hissed, already pulling her up. “Move!”

“What’s wrong with Keegan?” Selena asked, tears welling.

“I don’t know,” Y/n said, voice tight. “He’s not drunk. His eyes—he’s not there. Could be drugs. Psychedelics.”

“A what—?”

Y/n clamped a hand over Selena’s mouth and yanked her down into the tangled roots of a fallen tree, pressing them both into shadow and rot-damp earth.

“Quiet,” she whispered, every muscle locked and ready.

Selena froze exactly where Y/n had pulled her, every muscle tight, breath shallow. She obeyed without needing to be told again, eyes scanning the forest the way Y/n had taught her—slow, careful, trying to separate normal movement from the kind that meant danger.

At first, she saw nothing.

Just trees. Ferns. Sunlight filtering through pine needles. The forest looked peaceful in that almost cruel way it sometimes did, like nothing in the world had ever gone wrong.

Then she felt Y/n shift beside her.

Selena glanced over and saw the woman rubbing at her thigh, fingers pressing carefully around the bandaged area as if checking for pain rather than injury.

“Did you wreck your stitches?” Selena whispered, her voice barely louder than the breeze.

“No,” Y/n whispered back automatically—then her head snapped up so fast it startled Selena.

Movement.

Selena followed Y/n’s gaze and felt her stomach drop.

Keegan stood several yards away near a tall pine, one hand braced flat against the trunk as if the tree were the only thing keeping him upright. His shoulders were slumped in a way Selena had never seen before, his posture loose and wrong. In his other hand—

Selena’s breath caught.

Y/n’s knife.

He hadn’t noticed them yet. Or if he had, he wasn’t reacting. His head tilted slightly, unfocused, eyes drifting across the forest floor like he was searching for something only he could see.

Y/n’s jaw tightened.

She wanted him to look their way—needed him to—so she could confirm what her gut was screaming at her. When he shifted, light caught his eyes, and her chest clenched hard.

His pupils were blown wide.

Too wide.

Not fear. Not adrenaline. Something else.

Nothing in camp could do that to a person.

A cold, heavy thought settled in her chest. Is this how it starts? Is this what turning looks like before the fever?

Her fingers curled instinctively.

Would I have to shoot him?

The thought hit her like a knife between the ribs. Sharp. Breath-stealing. She shoved it down immediately, refusing to let it take shape.

Beside her, Selena didn’t look away either.

They watched Keegan’s knees buckle as he slid down the trunk of the tree, bark scraping softly as he sank to the ground. He went onto all fours, staring at the dirt like it held the answers to the universe.

The knife slipped from his hand and landed in the moss with a soft, dull sound.

“Selena,” Y/n whispered urgently. “Grab the knife. I’m going to check on him.”

Selena’s eyes widened. “What if he hurts you?”

“He looks high,” Y/n murmured. “I can wrestle him.”

“What about your stitches?”

“He can fix what was his fault,” Y/n muttered.

Selena grabbed Y/n’s arm, fingers digging in. “I don’t wanna get hurt.”

Y/n turned to her then, voice low but steady. “Keegan won’t hurt you. And if he tries, he’ll have to get through me first.”

That soothed Selena—just a little.

As Y/n shifted, her eyes caught a flash of color that made her stomach sink.

Red.

Not berries.

Her gaze flicked to the base of a dead tree nearby.

Red-capped mushrooms.

Bright. Unnatural. Wrong.

Her eyes snapped back to Keegan. Off-balance. Dilated pupils. Confusion. No vomiting.

Her teeth clenched.

“You fucking idiot,” Y/n snarled under her breath.

“Me?” Selena whispered, startled.

“No, not you.” Y/n shook her head. “He ate a fucking mushroom.”

Selena’s eyes darted back to the red caps. “You’re not supposed to eat any mushrooms,” she whispered. “He knows that.”

“He should,” Y/n said bitterly. “Which means someone cooked it for him. On purpose or by accident.”

“How do you know?” Selena asked, fear and curiosity tangled together.

“He’s not puking. Raw would’ve made him sick as hell by now.” Y/n exhaled sharply. “Someone made it edible. Barely.”

Selena’s face fell. “…Uh-oh.”

Y/n closed her eyes for a second. “Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”

“Logan and Hesh let Ben make a ‘soup’ last night,” Selena whispered. “Just boiled water. He grabbed random stuff from outside and threw it in. They didn’t let him eat it, but—”

Y/n didn’t answer.

She just stared at Keegan, sprawled now on his back, arms loose at his sides, eyes tracing shapes in the sky like he was watching something beautiful.

Slowly, carefully, she stood and approached him, every step deliberate.

She knelt beside him.

“Keegan,” she said softly.

He turned his head, blinking too much, eyes struggling to focus. A crooked smile tugged at his mouth.

“You dropped your knife,” he said. “Then you ran. You good?”

Y/n swallowed. “Did you eat mushrooms?”

“No,” he said immediately.

“Liar,” she sighed. “Come on. We need to get you water.”

She stood and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him up.

He moved—but only because she pulled.

He was dead weight.

She grimaced, frustration mixing with worry. Normally, she’d brute-force it. Normally, she’d find a way.

But not with stitches pulling tight and pain flaring white-hot down her thigh.

“Selena,” Y/n said, breath tight. “Go back to camp. Get Ajax.”

“What about Keegan?”

“He’s fine,” Y/n said firmly. “He’s just… on a trip.”

Selena hesitated.

“When you get back,” Y/n continued, “find out what happened to Ben’s soup. And don’t tell anyone. He doesn’t need an audience for this.”

Selena nodded and handed Y/n the knife.

Y/n pushed it back into her hands. “Just in case.”

Selena swallowed, then turned and jogged back toward camp, glancing over her shoulder once before disappearing between the trees.

Y/n turned back to Keegan, who was still staring at the sky like it was telling him a story that he was interested in.

“Idiot,” she muttered again—this time quieter, softer, and threaded with worry.

Keegan lay on his back in the moss like the forest floor had decided to claim him. One arm was flung out at an awkward angle, palm up, fingers twitching now and then as if he were trying to catch something drifting down out of the sky. His other hand kept opening and closing slowly—empty—like he couldn’t quite accept that it wasn’t holding his rifle, his knife, or control.

Y/n stayed kneeling just out of reach, weight balanced on the balls of her feet, knife no longer in his hand—thank God—and her own breathing measured the way it always got when something shifted from annoying into serious.

“Keegan,” she said again, lower this time. Firm. The same voice she used on Ben when he was about to do something dumb and potentially fatal.

His eyes turned toward her, and her stomach sank.

He was looking at her, technically. But he wasn’t seeing her—not the way he usually did. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the blue until his eyes looked too dark, too deep. Like someone had turned the lights off behind them. He blinked slowly, too slowly, lashes dragging down and back up as if his eyelids weighed pounds.

“…You’re loud,” he murmured.

Y/n stared at him. “I’m whispering.”

He didn’t respond to that. His gaze slid past her shoulder, tracking something up in the branches. His head moved with it in jerky little increments, like a drug addict who was trying not to scratch at their arms or an old person whose hands moved out of their control.

His lips parted. A soft, breathy sound came out—almost a laugh, but not quite. More like disbelief.

“…Too big,” he whispered.

“What’s too big?” Y/n asked, even though she already knew the answer wasn’t going to make sense.

He swallowed hard. His throat bobbed like he was trying to force something down that didn’t want to go. Then his eyes widened suddenly, fear flashing sharply across his face. He jerked his knees up, boots scraping the dirt, and scrambled—scrambled wrong, clumsy and off-balance—like a newborn deer trying to stand.

Y/n flinched, ready to catch him if he toppled and split his skull open on a root.

But he didn’t stand. He couldn’t. He got onto his hands and knees and froze there, staring at the moss like it was a map to salvation.

His fingers dug into it, pulling at soft green clumps with obsessive care.

“No,” he whispered, voice cracking. “No, no. That’s… that’s not right.”

“Keegan.” Y/n kept her tone steady, even as her pulse tried to climb out of her throat. “Stay still.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. It was like her words hit him and sank without reaching bottom.

He plucked at the moss again, then began lining the pieces up in a neat row. One, two, three—precise. Focused. Like it mattered more than breathing.

Occupational delirium, she thought grimly. The phrase came from somewhere in the dusty corners of her memory—something she’d heard once, maybe from someone smarter than her, maybe from a book. But it fit. He was doing a task with the intensity of a man disarming a bomb, even though all he was doing was rearranging the forest floor.

He muttered under his breath, barely audible.

“…count the—don’t miss—”

Y/n leaned in just slightly. “Count what?”

His head snapped up so fast it was frightening.

For a split second, he looked at her like he didn’t recognize her at all.

Not Y/n. Not the woman who was letting him live in her camp. Not the woman he’d argued with and stitched up and slept on the floor beside. Just a shape. A threat. A stranger in the woods.

His eyes narrowed.

“Don’t,” he said, low and thick.

Y/n’s spine went rigid. She didn’t move closer. She didn’t raise her hands. She kept herself still and non-threatening, even though she wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake sense back into him.

“It’s me,” she said quietly. “It’s Y/n.”

He stared at her face like it was shifting, like it couldn’t settle into one shape long enough for him to decide what it was. His breathing turned shallow. His shoulders hitched once.

“…too small,” he whispered, and his voice sounded suddenly…lost.

Y/n’s jaw clenched. The size distortions were hitting him hard now. She watched him look at her—then past her—then at his own hands like they didn’t belong to him. Like they were either enormous or not there at all.

He swayed where he knelt, and for a moment she thought he might tip forward into the moss and just…stop. Then his whole body jerked with a muscle twitch that ran from shoulder to wrist like a shock. His fingers spasmed, clawing at the air.

Y/n felt her own skin prickle.

“Easy,” she murmured. “Breathe.”

Keegan blinked and blinked and blinked—fast now, frantic—like he was trying to scrub an image out of his vision.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“…bugs,” he said.

Y/n’s stomach dropped. Of course. Of course that would be part of it.

“There are no bugs on you,” she said, forcing the words through her teeth with the smoothness of someone who had talked a terrified child out from under a bed. “You’re fine.” She was trying not to laugh.

He recoiled like her words hurt. His hands flew to his arms, raking down his sleeves, patting, brushing, and slapping at his skin hard enough to sting. His breath hitched, and a sound came out of him—something between a laugh and a sob.

Then he froze again, head tilting as if he heard a voice in the distance.

Y/n listened.

Nothing but wind through the trees.

But Keegan’s expression shifted with whatever his brain was feeding him. Confusion, then irritation, then something sharp and frightened.

“…stop talking,” he muttered to nothing.

Y/n’s throat went tight. This was the part she hated—the part where you couldn’t fight the threat because the threat wasn’t real. You couldn’t stab it, shoot it, or threaten it off. The enemy was inside his skull, wearing his senses like a mask.

His shoulders hunched. He stared into the treeline.

“…they’re in there,” he whispered.

Y/n’s hand tightened around the grip of her hatchet—because every instinct in her screamed to look too, to search for movement, to prove him wrong. But she knew what this was. She’d seen people drunk, concussed, and feverish. Not this exactly—but enough to know panic made liars out of your eyes.

“There’s nobody,” she said calmly. “It’s just trees.”

Keegan’s gaze snapped back to her, and for a heartbeat she saw pure, cold suspicion.

“You’re—” He stopped, swallowed, and his words fell apart. “You’re not… you’re—”

His jaw worked like he was chewing the sentence into something he could spit out whole.

Then he just…gave up.

His shoulders sagged. The suspicion melted into exhaustion so deep it looked painful. He stared at her a long moment, as if trying to remember what she was to him.

“…water,” he said finally, the word slurred.

“Yes,” Y/n said immediately. “Good. Water. You’re going to drink.”

He nodded once—too hard, too fast—and then flinched like the motion made the world tilt.

He tried to move again, attempted to stand on one knee, and promptly swayed sideways.

Y/n lunged forward and caught him under the arm before his head could crack off a rock. Pain shot through her thigh—hot and sharp—and she bit down on a curse so hard her teeth ached.

Keegan didn’t seem to notice her wince. He clung to her forearm with clumsy strength, grip too tight, fingers digging in like he was holding onto the last real thing left.

His eyes stared past her shoulder again.

“…sky’s moving,” he mumbled, voice thin. “It’s—it’s not… staying.”

“It moves,” Y/n said softly, keeping her tone even. “Clouds move.”

He blinked at that like it was brand-new information.

Then, very quietly, he said, “Time’s wrong.”

Y/n’s chest tightened. “Yeah. It feels wrong. But you’re okay.”

Keegan made a sound like he didn’t believe her. Like he couldn’t. His head drooped forward, forehead almost touching her shoulder.

He whispered something that didn’t land as a sentence. Just fragments.

“…Marsh… floor’s a— a hole… gun’s gone… where’s—”

Y/n held him steady with the careful patience of someone holding a bomb by the wires. “Your gun’s safe,” she told him; right now she was just trying to keep him from bolting into the trees. She didn’t give two shits about his gun, which wasn’t on him like normal. “You’re safe.”

Keegan’s breathing shuddered.

For a moment, his body went unnaturally still—too still—like he’d slipped into a blank place.

Then his hand twitched again, little muscle jerks running up his forearm. His lips parted, and he whispered, almost childlike, almost pleading:

“…make it stop.”

Y/n swallowed hard. Her throat burned.

“I can’t make it stop,” she admitted quietly. “But I’ll stay with you, okay? And Ajax is coming. And we’re going to get you back.”

Keegan’s eyes fluttered. His gaze drifted, unfocused, then snagged on her face again as if she were the only anchor left in the spinning mess.

He nodded once—tiny and reluctant.

And then he started picking at the moss again with his free hand, arranging the pieces in a careful square now rather than a line.

Y/n kept her grip on him steady, pain throbbing under her bandages, eyes scanning the treeline every few seconds—not because she believed his visions, but because Keegan like this was danger all on his own.

Somewhere out there, Selena was running for Ajax.

All Y/n could do now was hold the line—against the forest, against time, against whatever nightmare the fly agaric had lit inside Keegan’s head—and pray it burned itself out before it got them killed. And seeing as how she didn’t know what time he had eaten it at, she didn’t know when it would wear off.

************************************************************************

Part 40 | Part 42 |

ALL PARTS HERE

HEY WORMBLR!!

I made a thing! Thought this song really suited Rachel's character. I imagine she ever was put in charge of making an undersides recruitment video it would go a little something like this. I hope you like it!

Dedication:

This video is dedicated to my sister, who insists on the superiorness of the wolfspider ship. (I’m more a fan of skitter x tattletale myself). But here we are. I guess this is some free wolfspider supremacy propeganda for you girl.

Also here's the youtube link: https://youtu.be/tiFX3aduLCo

- Jason needs glasses. This came to light when Dick found him trying to read a document that was maybe half an inch away from his face, and then proceeded to say “These fuckin’ single space documents are always so hard to read, right?”. Did he go to the eye doctor that day? Yes. Willingly? Absolutely not.

- Damian is a biter. Bruce found this out when an older lady tried to pinch Damian’s cheek and he damn near bit her finger off. She had to go to the hospital. This was NOT fun for Bruce to clean up.

*i miss every single attempt and hit the wall*

— biter anon

Character: Inumaki Toge

Enjoy 💋