#chapter eight

The pressure had doubled overnight, with competition growing sharper and their threats more calculated. Enemies were watching, waiting.

Then there had been tonight.

He wasn’t supposed to get hit. It was sloppy. He had been sloppy. And now, the consequences settled in his gut, heavy and inescapable.

The blood on his hands—his own blood this time—was proof of how close things had come. How messy things were becoming. The bottle of whiskey sat half-empty on the table beside him. He’d already numbed the worst of it, but the bitter warmth wasn’t doing enough to quiet the chaos in his head. He kept drinking anyway. 

One more sip. Just a little more.

Slowly the room blurred at the edges, his grip on reality slipping slightly as the bottle was emptied of its contents, just enough to feel that familiar pull of recklessness creep in.

Fuck this.

Lando stood abruptly, wincing, the room swaying ever so slightly as he grabbed his signature coat. He needed air – to clear his head, to sober up. The walls of this castle were suffocating him, and the scent of blood and whiskey only made it harder to breathe.

The streets were quieter at this hour, the city breathing in its own way—hushed murmurs of distant cars, the occasional flicker of neon signs reflected on the rain-slick pavement. Lando didn’t have a destination in mind, just the need to go.

And yet, somehow his feet carried him to her doorstep.

Books & Brews.

He stared at the sign for a long moment, jaw clenched. He wasn’t sure why he was here. Was it the coffee? The quiet? Not that it mattered, of course.

The bell above the door of Brews & Books chimed softly as he pushed it open, the scent of coffee and old paper replacing the spice of whiskey in his lungs. The place was nearly empty, save for a few scattered chairs still tucked against tables, a stray regular, and the lone figure behind the counter.

Y/N.

Lando barely realized he was still standing there until she turned around, blinking at him in surprise.

“Liam?”

He hated that name.

Lando forced himself to move further inside, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat– a part of the signature that earned him the moniker of the Reaper. “Hey,” he greeted, the word coming out rougher than he intended.

She glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. “Just a heads up, we’re closing up soon,” she informed him, jutting her chin in the direction of the last regular – a kind guy named Alex, an engineering student only a little older than her. He’d often come round with his homework, and other times just for the conversation with a warm blueberry muffin. Tonight, he’d opted to stop by for a single cup of tea before the shop closed for the night.

Lando nodded in acknowledgement, running a hand through his half-damp hair. He shouldn’t be here. He had no reason to be here. In fact, he had half a mind to turn right back around and let his whiskey keep him company for the rest of the night.

But his mouth worked faster than his mind.

“Just needed a coffee,” he told her. 

That’s what you tell yourself. 

Y/N gave him a long look, assessing him from head to toe. “Yeah, I could do that. You’re lucky. I haven’t cleaned out the espresso machine yet, so… one last cup it is.”

She moved around the counter, pulling out fresh beans and setting up the machine. Her movements were rhythmic, the faint hum of the grinder filling the air. “Long night?” she asked, her voice light, her gaze focused on pulling the espresso shot.

Lando smirked dryly. “Somethin’ like that.”

Y/N didn’t press. She just nodded and kept working, as if the answer had been sufficient. That was something he liked about her – she didn’t pry. She didn’t demand anything from him.

The coffee machine hissed, filling the silence.

Lando shifted, wincing slightly as his coat brushed against his injured side. He could still feel the warm trickle of blood beneath his bandages.

Y/N caught the way his jaw tightened out of the corner of her eye.

“You okay?” she asked, voice softer now.

Lando looked up, eyes locking with hers. He should lie. He lied all the time.

Instead, he just shrugged. “Been worse.”

Y/N watched him for a moment, then went back to assembling his drink.

“Spiced black coffee. That’s what you had last time, right?”

Lando raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “You remember?”

She laughed, leaning against the counter. “You’re not exactly forgettable.”

What was he supposed to say to that? He found himself watching her again, the way she moved, the way she hummed under her breath, the way she didn’t seem afraid of him—even though maybe she should be.

Maybe she would be one day.

But for now, she just poured him coffee, let him exist in this quiet little shop, and didn’t ask too many questions.

Maybe that’s why he came back.

As the scent of coffee filled the air, Lando allowed himself to lean against the counter a little more. For a fleeting second, he wondered what the hell he was doing here.

But when Y/N slid the ceramic mug in front of him, offering him the smallest, most unassuming smile, Lando figured he could afford to stay just for a little while. She didn’t rush him. If anything, she seemed to be taking her time—lingering, the same way he was.

What was he supposed to do with that? People either feared him or wanted something from him. That was how the world worked. But this girl who had stumbled into his life by pure accident was just… here.

It was weird. This was weird. She was weird.

He exhaled, breaking the comfortable quiet. “You’re here late.”

Y/N glanced at him over her shoulder. “I mean, so are you.”

Lando smirked, amused by the easy way she shot the question back at him. “Touché.” 

He nodded toward the book she had been sorting earlier. “What’s with all the late-night reorganizing?”

She gave a sheepish smile, rearranging the last of the used books onto the shelf. “I got distracted reading during my shift again. Happens sometimes.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You got distracted… readin’?”

Well, that’s stupid.

Y/N laughed, the sound soft and unguarded. “What, you don’t?”

“Not exactly my thing.”

“That’s a shame.” Oddly enough, she seemed sincere in saying that, like it was a real loss. She then tiptoed, reaching to slip the last of the historical-fiction books onto the topmost wooden shelf. “Books are one of the few things in life that can make you forget everything else for a while.”

Lando hummed, encircling the coffee cup between his palms. 

Funny. 

He had a much different method of achieving that.

Half an hour passed as Lando nursed his coffee, the remaining warmth of the mug seeping into his calloused hands. The coffee here tasted different. Warmer, maybe? Smoother? He’d had some expensive Italian roasts before, but the one before him could give any of them a run for their money. 

Eh, he’d probably figure it out eventually.

Even as an hour ticked by, Y/N still didn’t rush him.

She moved through the shop quietly – wiping down tables, organizing books, tucking away the last of the pastries from their display case. She could’ve hurried, could’ve nudged him toward the door with a polite smile and a cheerful thanks for stopping by, but she didn’t. 

He appreciated it. Silently, of course.

He watched as she reached up to rehome a book on one of the higher shelves, standing on her toes to nudge it into place. The hem of her sweater shifted slightly, revealing a sliver of skin at her waist before she settled back onto her heels. It was small, insignificant. And yet, for some reason, he found himself looking away.

“So,” Lando finally broke the silence, his voice low but steady he stared at the coffee lines in his mug. “Why are you here so late?”

Y/N turned, hands dusted with the faintest trace of powdered sugar from the pastries. She blinked at him, then huffed a quiet laugh. “I, uh, work here…?”

Lando chuckled at that. “Yeah, I figured. But this late? Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

She shrugged. “Closing shifts run long sometimes. It happens.”

Lando arched a brow. “You don’t mind staying here past, like, fuckin’ midnight?” he asked incredulously. 

He found that hard to believe. "D’you always work this late?" 

Y/N glanced at him over her shoulder. “Most nights, I guess.”

"Doesn’t seem safe," Lando mused. “Bein’ here alone.”

“It’s peaceful,” she admitted with a shrug, walking back around and leaning against the counter across from him. “I kinda like having the place to myself for a bit. It’s like… I don’t know. Calming?”

"Alone?"

Y/N smiled faintly, almost embarrassed. “I like the quiet.”

Lando studied her for a moment. He didn’t understand her. She was a walking contradiction—reserved but warm, awkward but self-assured. 

Intriguing.

“You don’t seem the type,” he murmured, tilting his head. Bringing the cup to his lips, he took another sip.

Y/N raised a brow. “The type?”

“To be comfortable alone, I mean.”

She considered that for a moment before offering him a small, knowing smile. “I think people misunderstand what it means to be alone.”

Lando leaned back slightly, interested despite himself. “S’that so? Alright, let’s hear it then.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, sheepish, but played along anyway. “Being alone isn’t the same as being lonely,” she said. “Loneliness is… a void. Being alone is just… existing in your own space? Like with your own thoughts. And I dunno– I like that.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. He didn’t know what to say to that, because it made too much sense. 

Because he was alone all the time, and he wasn’t sure which one he was anymore.

Lando studied her for a moment, then surveyed the shop around them. He supposed he could see it—the dim lighting, the scent of teabags and specialty syrups lingering in the air, the quiet hum of the world outside present but not intruding. 

It felt a world away from his reality. No gunmetal, no blood, no power plays. A little bubble, away from everything else.

“Huh,” he mused. “Guess I can see the appeal.”

She smiled at that, soft and fleeting. “What about you?” she asked. “Why are you out so late?”

Lando hesitated, his grip on the mug tightening ever so slightly. The truth wasn’t exactly something he could offer, given his line of work. But she didn’t ask it like an interrogation. There was no suspicion or underlying edge to her voice. So, for the first time in a long time, he answered honestly—if only in part.

Half truths count, right?

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged casually, gaze dropping to his drink.

Y/N nodded as if she understood. “So you drink coffee?”

Lando smirked, glancing back up at her. “Genius, innit?”

She laughed then, light and genuine, and the sound did something strange to his chest.

Somewhere along the way, the last regular slipped out the door with a soft goodnight, leaving the shop empty except for the two of them. Neither of them acknowledged it, wrapped up in the steady rhythm of back-and-forth conversation

They weaved in and out of topics, talking about everything — coffee orders, late-night habits, why certain books never seemed to sell no matter how good they were, how rain sounds different in the city than it does in the countryside.

It was… nice. Surprisingly bearable, in fact.

That was a problem. Lando wasn’t the kind of man who had nice things. He took what he wanted, controlled what he needed, and discarded whatever didn’t serve him.

The thought irked him more than he liked.

Eventually, Y/N glanced at the clock and gave him a sympathetic smile. “I should probably close up.”

Lando leaned back slightly and stretched, as if only now realizing how much time had passed. He frowned, something between reluctance and indifference. “Sorry ‘bout that, didn’ mean to keep you.”

She shook her head, brushing the concern away with a small wave of her hand. “Margot won’t mind, as long as I remember to lock up.”

“Margot?”

“Oh, the owner!” There was a fondness in her voice. “She’s been running this place for years now, took me in when I first moved. Gave me this job, helped me settle in. She’s… kind.”

Kind.

Lando didn’t know many people who fit that description, and those who did rarely lasted long.

There was something warm in the way she spoke about the older woman, something fond. Lando found himself watching her, caught on the edges of that softness.

It was a foreign thing, hearing someone talk about care and kindness so freely. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. For a brief moment, he wondered what it would be like—to be spoken about with that kind of familiarity, that kind of trust.

But the thought was dangerous, so he let it go.

“Your, erm, boss– she won’t mind that you’re closing up late?”

Y/N shook her head. “Not as long as I lock up. And besides…” She hesitated, tilting her head slightly, seeming a bit shy, moving to wipe down the last of the counter. “You looked like you could use the company.”

Somehow, the night stretched longer than he anticipated.

The last regular left an hour ago, and the door sign had long been flipped to closed. The streetlights outside hummed faintly in the darkness, yet there was no real rush to leave.

Eventually the clock displayed a time long past that of any reasonable hour and Y/N collected her things before locking up, making sure to switch the lights off before turning the key in the lock and pocketing it. At the same time, Lando pulled his coat back on, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

She smiled at him, small but sincere. “Oh, yeah! It was nice seeing you. Night, Liam.”

He acknowledged her with a nod before turning away, stepping out into the biting night air.

He felt lighter than when he came in. Strange.

Must be the coffee.

Lando didn’t hesitate.

The moment he stepped onto the cold marble tiles of his residence, shedding the warmth of the evening for the cold, sharp edges of his real world, he got to work.

He leaned back against his desk, his jaw tight and phone in hand as he scrolled through his contacts. He’d ended up at Brews & Books three times now—perhaps three times too many. If anyone wanted to get to him, if anyone had been watching, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out the location.

So securing the place was the logical thing to do — smart, efficient.

It had nothing to do with the girl locking up the shop at ungodly hours, walking home half-asleep and vulnerable in the bad part of town. Nothing at all.

His thumb hovered over a name in his contacts list before pressing down.

The call picked up on the second ring.

“Spin,” Lando greeted smoothly.

A low chuckle came through the receiver. "That’s Mr. Spin to you, boss."

Lando rolled his eyes. Kids. 

“How’s your knife collection?”

“Thriving, thanks for asking. What do you need?"

“I’ve got something for you.”

A pause. 

“Is that so? Personal or business?”

Lando ignored the question. “There’s a shop. Small place, nothing special, but I want it covered.”

“Brews & Books,” Logan Sargeant stated, deadpan. Logan “Spin” Sergeant – a pain in the ass, but a useful one. He was the kind who could talk his way out of trouble just as quickly as he could throw himself into it. A ghost when it suited him, a menace when it didn’t. He handled surveillance, odd jobs, and—most notably—knives. Lando had seen him twirl a blade like a magician with a deck of cards, all casual skill and reckless delight.

Lando stilled, his grip on the phone tightening. “What?”

“Mate, you think I don’t notice when you do something out of character? You don’t just stumble into coffee shops in your free time. You don’t even really drink coffee. You hate it.”

Lando exhaled through his nose. “It’s a security risk.”

Logan hummed, clearly amused. “For you, or for her?” he asked teasingly.

Lando ignored the question. Again. “I want eyes on it, especially at night. Anyone so much as looks wrong in that direction, I wanna know about it.”

"Right, right,” Logan drawled. “And do you want her knowing she’s got a knife-wielding psychopath looking after her, or am I supposed to be subtle?"

Lando ran a hand down his face, exasperated. "Just– Don’t be a psychopath, and don’t get caught."

“Come on, boss. You’re killin’ my vibe here.”

"Just handle it."

Logan chuckled. “Already on it.”

The line went dead, and Lando lowered the phone, staring blankly at the floor for a moment.

It was a simple security measure. A precaution.

Nothing more.

0 HOURS UNTIL JUDGEMENT

Seeing your loved one’s face sliced by the hands of yourself made you sick. You felt saliva gargle in your throat, triggering you to puke on the ground, droplets falling onto your jumper.

You were lucky enough to turn your body, leaning down before letting out the gruesome sound, followed by the liquid. You gasped, staring at the scene in shock. Tears flooded your eyes, rolling down your cheeks and onto the pile of puke.

Your breathing quickened, the tears swallowing your vision. Everything was blurry. You regretted what you had done, but it was necessary. He needed to go, otherwise he would’ve just suffered. Just like Curly.

Your eyes widen more, remembering the man in bandages who laid in the medical room. You instantly gained the strength to stand, ignoring the calls of Swansea behind you.

You ran to the room, your legs shaking as you walked inside. You lifted your hand, hiding the poor black haired woman from your view, settling your eyes on Curly. There he sat, his eye right on you.

Stepping over Anya, you placed your free hand on the side of the medical bed, staring down on him. You looked crazy. Sweat pooling over your forehead, hair matted and sticking out of place. Not to mention the tears, eyes widened and all.

You didn’t say anything, instead lifting the bandaged man in your arms. Although he was only flesh and bones, his body weight was still fairly heavy. You struggled to carry him, grunting as you stepped out of the room.

You needed to get Curly out of there and fast. You couldn’t let Jimmy get to him, knowing what he was capable of. You were too dumb to realize it before. It only took a friend and lover to figure everything out.

As you walked, you stared ahead of you, feeling Curly’s eye watch your every move. “It’s going to be okay.” You repeat to yourself, eyes darting around the hallway. You couldn’t let the brunette man know where you were.

Suddenly, you paused. You glanced down at Curly before grinning, relief washing over your features. “W-..Wait here.” You muttered, setting him down. His body laid flat on the hard metal ground, pain itching his body.

You ran back into the medical room, lowering your body to the bed before pulling out a briefcase. Your memory was a bit faded, but you could still recall the code to get inside.

You accidentally stumbled upon Anya in the medical room one day, who slid a briefcase into a little compartment in the bed. You wouldn’t let her leave until she would tell you the code, complaining that you may need it for safety.

In an instant, you rolled the correct numbers on the lock, hearing a click of the case before it slightly opened the latch. You fully open it to see the same gun that the woman had told you about.

After grabbing the weapon and making sure it was loaded, you ran back towards Curly, seeing him in the same position as before. Your grin softened, shoving the gun into your back pocket before picking up the man once again.

Making your way through the halls, you ended up finding the brunette you really didn’t want to see in the halls beside utility. He held Swansea’s axe in his hand, glaring at you from the other side of the hallway.

You couldn’t take out the gun without dropping Curly first. And you certainly didn’t want to risk his life. So, you stood still, frozen in fear and hesitation. You were almost to the Cryostasis pods. Why did he have to come out now..?

You opened your mouth to speak, but Jimmy cut you off with a chuckle. “Are you that fucking stupid?” His voice was quiet, but you could still hear him clearly. His tone was harsh, almost as an attempt to make you scared.

And it worked a little too well. Almost immediately, you forgot all your fears and held Curly up with one arm, his unbalanced legs barely touching the ground. Your arm wrapped over his chest, holding his upper body.

You grab the gun out of your back pocket, pointing it at the brunette. Yet, he didn’t drop his act. In fact, he got closer, taking light steps towards your figure.

“Go away!” You shout, backing away from the manYou choked back a sob, not ready to kill another person in the span of under a day. “I said go away!” You scream once again. Curly watched the scene in front of him, not know what to think.

Your poor, pathetic self couldn’t shoot the damn guy, yet that same guy was ready to axe your head off with no hesitation. If he could, he would’ve just taken that gun from your hand and shoot him himself.

But, that was only if he still had arms. He could’ve protected you, helping you get away from this whole thing. But that’s not how this story goes. Before his mind could go any further, your voice pulled him out.

“Please, just go!” You shout at the man who now stood a few feet away from you. Suddenly, you felt a slight breeze hit your shoulder. You choked back a sob, taking your eyes off Jimmy and adverting them to the side, wondering what hit you.

You heard an older man’s voice in your right ear, being muffled for a moment before shouting at you. You recognized that voice as Swansea’s.

“Shoot that bastard!” He would cry. “C’mon, just do it!” As he plead with you, your mind suddenly went blank. You couldn’t focus on anything but his voice.

Your breathing became faster, the weapon shaking in your hand, your palm getting sweaty from the pressure. You stepped back once more, finally hitting the metal wall behind you. As the voice of Swansea would continue, you finally pulled the trigger.

Jimmy fell back, the bullet landing in between his eyes. You stood there, staring at him as blood oozed out of his head. You fought the urge to puke once again, glancing down at Curly.

The voice of Swansea finally stopped, your mind becoming fuzzy. Your vision became a blur.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” You whisper, lowering yourself to the ground, knees to the floor. You cradled his head to your chest, wrapping your arms around his fleshed body. Relief washed through your veins, realizing the man who rose up for hell was finally gone.

He was on the ground, a bullet in his head. He was dead. You were free, but not for long. You didn’t have any food left, not even mouthwash. You sighed, taking one last glance at Curly before lifting him up into your arms.

You step around the body of Jimmy, not bearing a single eye down towards him. You turn to walk into the utility room, ready to end this nightmare. You groan, struggling to open the Cryostasis pod’s door. After a few seconds, you finally got it open.

You widen it with your foot before setting the wounded man in the compartment, leaning forward to do so. You unwrap your arms from him, staring into his one eye as you shut the door. You then turn to the small screen to the side, hesitating before pressing the freeze button.

You heard muffled cries from Curly, causing you to lift your head to him. You watch as the window becomes blurry, his figure fading from your vision. The cries suddenly stop, making you aware that he was gone.

Your hands formed fists before you left the utility room, guilt spreading in your blood like jelly. Your legs shook as you walked back into the lounge area, the air heavy.

The people you cared about were gone. You murdered one of them, the other gone on their own. The monster who started this paid for it, but the guilt couldn’t just be washed away with water.

Tears flooded for eyes for what seems to be the tenth time that day as you dropped to the ground, curling in on yourself. You wrap your arms around yourself, forehead hitting the floor.

Opening your mouth, you screamed. It was raspy, full of emotion. It hurt, but you couldn’t stop. You felt that familiar touch on your shoulder, causing you to scream louder, this time with words.

“No, don’t touch me!” You cried, attempting to shake the hand off. But it wouldn’t let go. You continued to cry, your body trembling from the weight of the hand. “Stop it, go away!” But it wouldn’t. It felt so real.. like someone was really behind you.

The weight of the hand became heavier as if it was trying to cause you pain. You shook your head, tightly shutting your eyes. “It’s okay.” Someone spoke in your ear, attempting to ease your mind.

You recognized that voice as soon as your ears registered it. You opened your eyes, glancing towards the side where the voice came from. There, you saw it. A brunette haired man who had an axe through his face. The same brunette who held a special connection to you.

You stared in shock for a few moments, trying to process what was happening. “Daisuke..?” You whisper, releasing your tight hold on yourself. Your fingers swept the metal ground, cold as ice. Your boyfriend only grinned, causing you to instantly embrace him.

As soon as you did so, he disappeared. Your eyes widened, staring at your hands in disbelief as they sat in your lap. You turned your head back towards the real Daisuke’s body, seeing it still lie on the floor.

“No..” You muttered, your body turning around before you crawl towards him. After a few moments, you sat in front of him, staring at his axe’d face. This time, you were too exhausted to puke or even cry.

You just stared, your breath at a normal pace for the first time in ages. You felt your body become weaker due to starvation. You haven’t drunken the mouthwash for a while now, making your stomach rumble, begging for something.

You glanced over his figure, disgust flowing through your body. You knew what you were about to do. He was dead. He wouldn’t feel it. He’d probably want you to eat him if it meant for your survival. You took a deep breath in before leaning over his forearm.

You held it in your hands, fingers grazing his skin. You opened your mouth before lowering your teeth, biting into his flesh. You softly groaned, closing your eyes. You tried to imagine his skin as meat. After all, it technically is.

But it wouldn’t work. You pulled on his skin, taking a small chunk of it off. You chew, ignoring the way your stomach twisted. After a few seconds you finally swallow, the taste of metal sitting on your tongue.

You lifted your head, staring at the corner of the ceiling. Red liquid spilt out of your mouth, dribbling down your chin. You let out a soft giggle, a bit embarrassed as if the crew was actually beside you, watching you eat Daisuke’s skin.

“I-..I’m sorry.” You chuckle, leaning your upper body on your boyfriend. Your forehead rests on his chest, wishing that his heartbeat was still there. “I don’t know what I just did, but ‘m sorry..” You stumble on your words like a drunk person.

“I’m so, so.. sorry, my sweet b-..” Cutting yourself off, you let out a small whine. You weren’t yourself. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Your brows turn upwards, tears falling down your cheeks, replacing the dried ones. They drop onto Daisuke’s clothed chest as you snuffle, tightening your grip on his arm. “What the fuck did I do..?!”

Cries spill out from your mouth, gradually getting louder as time passes on. Your body slowly shuts down, feeling the coldness of Daisuke’s arm in the grasp of your fingers. Blood spills out of your mouth, dripping onto his chest.

Your cries slowly calm, feeling the deprivation of sleep take a toll on you. One hand let go of his arm, wrapping your own around his torso. Your breath settled, eyes finally shutting after fighting to stay open for too long.

“I’m sorry..”

______

Those were the last words uttered from your mouth. The beating of your heart slowly withered away, skin decaying as you stayed in your spot beside Daisuke, barely moving.

There was no point in trying to survive anymore. There was no point in trying to escape the aching pain that laid upon you. You had given up. You knew it would end up with you dying in the end, but you never thought it would happen like this.

Your stomach continued to twist in knots as if it were begging you to eat something. But you couldn’t. You were too weak at this point. Licking your chapped lips, you stared at Daisuke.

You imagined he was still there, smiling beside you with his arms wrapped around your waist. But his touch was cold. One that was one warm and loving, now turned rough and cold.

Each day you opened your eyes, it got harder to do so. Day, after day, after day, you were just hoping you suddenly fell limp, heart finally stopping it’s rhythm. After staring at your boyfriend’s body for a few minutes, your eyes felt heavy.

You didn’t fight back this time. As soon as you shut them, the pain stopped. It was like it was never there to begin with. Your heartbeat slowed, your fingers gently curling around your palm.

You felt free for the first time in ages. Free at last, your lover beside you. The only person who understood you. Your body fell limp, letting out one last breath.

If someone were to tell you this is how you would die as you were boarding the space freighter, you would’ve chuckled before they finished their sentence.

You’ve heard many horror stories about people dying in space. Either due to suicidal thoughts or because of their idiotic behavior. You didn’t know which category you fell into, though.

It wasn’t like that mattered anyway. You were free. You were gone from the shitty hellhole called Tulpar.

Maybe in another life, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe you were living in a mansion with a loving husband. But, not in this universe.

Sometimes, stories don’t have an happy ending. Sometimes you just have to accept your fate, and that’s okay. You did what you could, and that’s what matters.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

authors note

thank you all for supporting this story throughout the past month or two. it means so much knowing i’ve gotten many people to see my work.

this fanfic has come to an end. but, there may be a few one shots aside this, showing more of interactions between the reader and the crew.

In the few nights that passed between the meeting and what happened next, ThunderClan suddenly lost their usual aggressing gangs of rogues. Patrols stayed large and doubled, just in case they were trying other parts of the border, but still, nothing. No one felt any more relieved about it with the news Firestar had delivered about Scourge’s intentions.

“If they’re not here, they’re somewhere else,” Dustpelt said. “Possibly in the other territories, probably gathering cats to overwhelm us with numbers. We have to be careful, Firestar. We can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

Firestar’s days were spent going between staring at the wall of his den, wishing for ideas of what to do about the Blood, and slipping into uneasy sleep, plagued with dreams of something chasing him. Any time he looked back, he couldn’t tell if his pursuer was a cat or a dog. Neither answer would make him feel better.

It was barely turning dark one evening when he was shaken awake by Teaselfoot. The brown tom’s eyes were huge and lost in distress, and he was whispering loudly, “We have an issue. A really big one.”

Firestar didn’t waste time asking about it. He got up, shook out his fur, and followed Teaselfoot out of his den and was only mirin* steps into the woods when his vision lost its blurriness and he stopped, agog.

Leopardstar and Stonefur were standing together, half-circled by Frostfur, Sandstorm, Dustpelt, and both of their apprentices. Bramblepaw looked at Firestar with just as much distress as Teaselfoot, while Tawnypaw clicked her teeth agitatedly.

“Well, uh…” Firestar fought back a yawn. “Good evening. Are you alright?”

Leopardstar, if it was possible, looked more furious than ever. Every hair stuck straight out from its position on her body, and her gold eyes burned enough to take out the rest of the forest that the fire hadn’t. Stonefur was much calmer, but not any happier. Both of them were coated in slashes that fresh blood oozed from.

“We’ll jump straight to it,” Stonefur said when Leopardstar glared at the ground for long enough without saying anything. “We need Sunningrocks for a little while.”

“You don’t want to fight us for it in your state,” Sandstorm warned, eyes narrowed. “We need that land, too.”

“No, we don’t.” Firestar flicked his tail at her and stepped forward to peer closer at Stonefur’s cuts. “You look awful. What happened?”

“The Blood,” Stonefur sighed raggedly. “They—”

“They drove us out of our territory,” Leopardstar snarled. “Twice as many cats as we have, and they aimed for our guts and throats. RiverClan is…” She looked up, but not quite to the height of Firestar’s eyes. “RiverClan is homeless now.”

Firestar couldn’t help a small gasp, but he returned to calmness quickly. “And you need Sunningrocks as camp?”

Leopardstar grit her teeth. Stonefur nodded.

“Then you’ll have it.” Firestar lifted his tail for silence the instant his Clanmates opened their mouths to protest. “The Clans help each other when we can, and we’ll do so here. Could I come with you to Sunningrocks? I’d like to speak to RiverClan myself about this.”

“That’d be fine with me,” Stonefur said. Leopardstar, teeth clenched tightly, just turned in preparation to walk back.

“Firestar…” Frostfur was visibly reigning in her outrage. “We can’t just—”

“We can, actually, and we’re going to,” Firestar said. He met her eyes, his gaze steady and challenging. “Didn’t we get help when ThunderClan was facing a similar issue?”

Sandstorm and Tawnypaw looked equally conflicted as Frostfur looked away with a guilty flinch. Dustpelt had a face of resigned displeasure. Only Bramblepaw brightened up at Firestar’s decree.

“You all are free to go home and spread the word.” Firestar stood straight and as authoritative as he could manage. “I’ll talk to everyone when I get back. Bramblepaw, Tawnypaw, would you like to come with me? And Teaselfoot, too. I’ll need you to be ready as a messenger.”

“Oh– sure.” Teaselfoot, thrown off but quick to recover, nodded promptly. “But, uh, isn’t everyone else going to tell everything for me?”

“Not quite,” Firestar said. “Just come with us.”

Again, thrown off, but Teaselfoot didn’t question him again. Bramblepaw and Tawnypaw joined up with Firestar, both a little confused but eager (Bramblepaw moreso). At another flick of Firestar’s tail, Dustpelt, Frostfur, and Sandstorm went around the RiverClan cats and started back for camp. Sandstorm’s tail lashed, but she said nothing.

“Why the apprentices?” Stonefur asked as the mixed party set off at a trot for Sunningrocks.

“I think it’ll be a good experience for them to meet with a full Clan of strangers who need help,” Firestar said. “That’s all.”

Stonefur gave him an approving crease of the eyes. “Not bodyguards, then?”

“Not bodyguards.”

Stonefur chuffed lightly, then coughed out a bit of pinkish spit. “We could use some ourselves. Those two are big enough to carry me by the scruff.”

Bramblepaw looked away, shy as ever. Tawnypaw simply flicked an ear and said nothing.

They reached the top of Sunningrocks quickly, and Firestar’s heart broke at the sight before him: apprentices, elders, warriors, all of them were bleeding and shaking. A pair of grey apprentices huddled together, one attempting to groom the other. Firestar immediately recognized them as Mintpaw and Stormpaw, and made a note to report to Greystripe that they were alive, if hurt.

As the party padded down the flat, stone-filled strip of land, heads lifted and conversations stopped. One brown-and-white molly, smelling like Goldenflower and kits, limped up to them, ears back and face scratched to ribbons.

“Firestar,” she greeted shakily. “And… friends. Are… are we staying here, Leopardstar?”

“We are.” Leopardstar raised her voice to be heard by everyone. “ThunderClan has given us Sunningrocks as temporary camp until we return to our territory.”

Sighs of relief outweighed the gentle rush of the river. Cats relaxed and lobbed ‘thank-you’s to Firestar, which he received with a purr.

“Are there any kits and queens with you?” he called to them.

“No kits,” the brown-and-white molly said. “But… you can smell me, I’m pregnant. Just found out a night or two ago.”

“Congratulations,” Tawnypaw said without much enthusiasm.

Bramblepaw pricked up his ears and looked at Firestar. “Is that why Teaselfoot’s here? To…”

“Right,” Fireheart said to him, and then to the molly, “What’s your name?”

“Duckflower.”

“Duckflower, there aren’t really any dens in this place, so…” Firestar gave her a friendly blink. “How would you like to stay in ThunderClan’s nursery, until we can get your land back?”

The molly blinked back in surprise. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Then…” Duckflower peeked at Leopardstar, who tossed her head in dismissal, then said to Firestar, “I’d like that, yes. Thank you, lad.”

Firestar creased his eyes, then raised his voice again. “How about elders? Any of you that want to stay somewhere more comfortable?”

“Now that’s something…” A scraggly, limp-furred, dark grey molly hobbled up. “How far is your camp?”

“It’s a bit of a walk,” Firestar admitted. “But our den has room.”

“Hmm.” The molly looked back at three other cats sitting together, all bearing signs of age. “I’ll go. Cypresspelt, Sleetstream?”

A patched tom shook his slashed-up brown head. “I can’t walk anywhere like I am now.”

The grey-and-white molly, holding a bloody leg up, hummed in agreement.

Another brown-and-white tom stepped up to the first molly. “I’d like a warm den, myself. Your elders won’t mind, I hope?”

“If they know ahead of time, I think they’ll be fine. They’ve shared dens with other Clans before.” Firestar looked at Teaselfoot. “Can you run back to camp and alert Goldenflower and the elders about our guests?”

Teaselfoot straightened up, a glimmer of amusement in his eye. “ThunderClan is going to freak out at you.”

“Let them,” Firestar said. “Go on.”

The tabby turned and pelted it into the forest, the shrubbery shifting easily to let him through.

“If you need anything, we’ll be walking by this border once a night to check on you all,” Firestar said to Leopardstar and Stonefur. “Will you be alright out here? There’s not really any shelter.”

“We’ll survive,” Leopardstar growled. “Take these cats and go.”

Firestar ignored a twinge of annoyance at her attitude and beckoned the RiverClanners with his tail, setting off in the direction Teaselfoot had gone. Without need for an order, Tawnypaw and Bramblepaw walked on either side of the trio of guests, Bramblepaw with the elders and Tawnypaw with the queen. Their Clanmates called ‘good luck’s and farewells until the forest swallowed them and cut off their view of the river.

“Never expected ThunderClan to be generous,” Duckflower remarked to Firestar. “We’re in your debt more than ever. I can still hear Leopardstar fuming.”

“It’s not a favor,” Firestar replied. “It’s good manners.”

Conversation lightly flitted about behind him, Bramblepaw shyly talking to the elders (Pikefang and Greypath, they were called) who joked about his and his sister’s size, and Tawnypaw chatting with Duckflower about her mother and the kits in the nursery. At their slow, careful pace, it took a while longer to get to camp, and by the time they arrived, the chatter was friendly.

Firestar was the first through the entrance, and was immediately bombarded with shouts from his Clanmates—things like “Are you serious?!” and “Teaselfoot told us—” and “What are you thinking?!”. He gestured for the RiverClan cats to sit before the meeting stump and jumped on top of it, the Clan crowding around and looking quite irritated, but falling silent.

“So you’ve heard, I take it,” Firestar said, amused at the faces ranging from frowns to scowls. “Yes, RiverClan will be living at Sunningrocks for now, since their territory was taken by the Blood. There will not be any arguments with them about who owns it—we can decide that later.”

“It’s ours!” Thornclaw shouted.

“Then it’ll still be ours when they leave,” Firestar said calmly. “But until then, I expect all of you to leave RiverClan be on that topic.” Grumbles and mutters, but no one raised their voice. “Thank you. We’ll have a cat go by there once a night to check in and make sure all’s well for both of us. I will be doing that myself as often as I can, but I may need someone to do it for me. Is that fair?”

More mutters, but less angry. Cats’ faces settled into mild bemusement and annoyance.

“As for the cats with me…” Firestar swept a paw to gesture to them. “This is Greypath, Pikefang, and Duckflower. Duckflower is expecting kits and Greypath and Pikefang are elders who I’ve invited to live with us to keep them safe and comfortable. Our own elders and matriarch have been told ahead of time.” He looked at Goldenflower. “I didn’t get to hear if you agreed to it.”

“I did.” Goldenflower beamed. “I’m honored to have another matriarch living with us, especially one who’s having her own litter.”

Duckflower sighed in relief. “Many thanks, duckling.”

“Elders?” Firestar looked at One-eye and Halftail.

“No problems here,” One-eye said cheerfully, and Halftail grunted in agreement.

“Easier than anticipated,” Greypath remarked to Pikefang. “I was sure we’d have to walk all the way back.”

“I’m sure Firestar would have made us let you stay even if we said no,” Mousefur said to her, backing up a little to let the elders amble to their new den.

“Yeah, by the way on that…” Sandstorm frowned at Firestar. “Is that why you didn’t ask us if we wanted to do this?”

“Pretty much,” Firestar said. “I do have to flex my authority once in a while.”

A couple cats twitched their whiskers. Willowpelt muttered to Frostfur, “Well, what did we expect? It’s Firestar.”

“Thank you all for being understanding about this,” he said to his Clan. “I know welcoming strangers in isn’t a ThunderClan thing usually, but we ought to help each other as much as we can, especially with enemies on our borders and in our homes, in the case of RiverClan. I appreciate your cooperation and acceptance.” He curled his tail. “Now, are there any more concerns I should hear about?”

Brackenfur piped up. “RiverClan doesn’t have permission to hunt in the forest, do they?”

“I haven’t given it to them, no.”

“Then we’re ‘allowed’ to get mad at them if they’re in the woods with a squirrel in their jaws?” Sandstorm asked dryly.

“They know to hunt in the river,” Firestar said patiently. “If they cross the border, bring them to me. I’ll handle it.”

“Probably by giving them the stolen prey and wishing them a nice night,” Cloudnose murmured to Tornface, who snorted.

“The forest’s prey is ThunderClan’s prey,” Firestar said to him. “But don’t think I don’t know the part of the code saying that prey that crossed over the border into their land is free for them to catch. I don’t want to hear any of you starting fights over a vole that they caught in Sunningrocks, understand?”

Like a scolded kit, the Clan let out scattered, sullen mumbles of affirmation.

“Thank you!” Firestar crouched to jump down off the stump. “Then everyone, back to your business.”

He landed on the ground just as Goldenflower came up to Duckflower, the crowd dispersing quickly to let her through. It surprised him that, despite coming from different Clans, they smelled very similar to each other: like comfort and milk and motherhood. Duckflower blinked gratefully up at Goldenflower, who guided her with her tail over to Willowpelt and her sons, saying, “You’ll love our den, it’s so nice I never even want to leave it!”

“And it’s safe from toms?” Duckflower asked.

“No fathers or male seers here.” Goldenflower nodded serenely. “And I or Willowpelt here will be right outside, making sure you and the little ones in your belly can rest peacefully. Now, you must be hungry. We don’t have any fish, but I’m sure you’d like…”

“Good of you to let us crash in your den,” Greypath was saying to One-eye.

One-eye trilled. “Oh, we love a good crash. Don’t we, Halftail?”

Halftail grunted again.

“Now, answer a question for me, Pikefang.” One-eye leaned forward in interest as the tom crouched down across from her, nestled in the fallen log. “Are pike really bigger than a cat?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe, my friend.” Pikefang chortled. “You have no idea how many times an apprentice has tried to catch one on their own. It’s practically a rite-of-passage in RiverClan. In fact, this one time…”

Firestar purred, his tail curling into a spiral over his back. It was a nice enough pair of scenes that he could almost forget that the Clans had lost an entire territory in one night.

“Hey, uh, bud?” 

He turned his head and jumped in surprise; Greystripe had gotten within muzzle-length distance and his yellow eyes were unusually wide with nervousness. 

“Did you see if, uh…” he mumbled. The massive paws shuffled anxiously. “If the kids are okay?”

Right. Firestar relaxed and blinked soothingly. “They were cut up a bit, but they’ll heal.” 

“Okay.” Greystripe let the word out in a breath of relief. “Okay. Good. Then, I have a request.” His voice lowered even further. “If you’re going to check on RiverClan yourself… will you need a guard? Or a friend, or anything? Someone there to help?” 

Firestar caught on immediately, purring in warmth. “You’re more than welcome to come with me, Greystripe. Any time.”

The massive tom sagged like every muscle in his body had loosened. He breathed out with hopeful enthusiasm. “Thank you.” 

Firestar tapped his haunch with his tail with a small chuff. “Let’s just make sure Leopardstar doesn’t keep her promise and kill you, yeah?” 

“I’ll take that risk, no problem,” Greystripe replied. Something heavy left his eyes, and for the first time in a while, they were as bright as they had been when he was an apprentice. “Just a chance to see them is all I need.” 

Firestar said nothing to this, but he offered a gentle headbump. 

Imagine that, he thought. I’m already excited for the future.