#lambflayed

it’s past midnight when they run into each other at the gas station.   with a new pack of smokes in his pocket and a twenty-ounce cup of coffee warming his hands, he lingers just outside the door, playing catch-up with deputy bell.   around them, the city of lexington has grown quiet.   it wasn’t smart to be out after dark, and folks knew it.   because that was when the monsters came out.   that was when deputy graves took to the streets to clear his head or do some thinking.

IT'S THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. of course joey can't sleep -- despite everything she says to anyone who might ask, she's not doing great after being rescued from john's bunker. her wounds are healing just fine for the most part -- gashes and deep cuts and scrapes and bruises, all healing into scarred, but unbroken skin. the nightmares, though, that's another story, and they are very much the reason joey finds herself on the couch at around two o'clock in the morning. she's in her sweatpants, bare feet tucked beneath her and a late night beer in her hand -- when her rerun of the golden girls is interrupted by pounding at her door. instinct tells her to ignore it; perhaps it's just another peggie here to harass her. . . but another knock, weaker this time, has joey on her feet. she's not prepared for the sight that greets her. there stands scarlett, junior deputy and possibly hope country's only hope, absolutely DRENCHED IN BLOOD. " shit. " the word tumbles from joey's lips as she takes stock of the younger woman in front of her, " get inside. . . shit, scarlett -- are you alright? "

he’s standing at the threshold — half in the porch light, and half in the shadow.   looking on.   deputy murphy came by the homestead every now and again, often to pay his respects to a dead man walking.   ashley offered him his cigarette, but christian never took it.   christian offered him a way out, but ashley never took it.   they’re at a standstill, stuck in the same labyrinth where the only way out is death.   christian’s hopeful.   but ashley’s not.   ashley’s seen the things whiskey can do to a man.

ashley meets christian’s gaze just one last time before the deputy swings his car door open — and he watches as christian disappears behind tinted windows.   as he pulls out of the driveway, ashley only watches, some unreadable expression on his face, some bittersweet taste on his tongue.   different from the smoke, different from the liquor.   just as addictive.

and then comes scarlett, from the long road.   as she steps onto gravel, slams her car door, rounds the corner — she and ashley both watch the dust settle behind deputy murphy’s tires.   they watch, and they meet each other’s gaze, a question on both of their tongues.

scarlett rarely ever approaches him as a hand of the law, but ashley answers like she just did —  

@lambflayed​ sent:  “if i wanted help, i would have asked.”

“No tow truck is gonna come out this way,” he said as his muscles flexed under his shirt. The truck in the ditch would probably need to be towed, and that would bring way too much attention to the desolate farm. This was one Peggie foothold that they didn’t want to advertise. Scarlett’s truck threatened to reveal them. Ethan knew full well that pretending to be helpful would probably be the best course of action: get the woman and her truck away, keep the farm quiet, and go on with his duties.

Some of the dirt from the tire wells rubbed up against his cargo pants, leaving dusty smudges and streaks of earthy brown on the fabric. The sweat stained ribbed fabric of his tawny undershirt was plain, no sign of his affiliation with the cult. That was underneath, carved into his flesh. Wrath. Envy. Pride. They all stayed hidden, inconspicuous. They drew too much attention.

THE DOORKNOB JOSTLES AFTER MIDNIGHT.   they’re in the ungodly hours of morning now — and ashley is tossing and turning where he lays, sheen of sweat on his skin, even with the air conditioning unit kicking and humming beside him.   he’s back in harlan, and it’s got him good, it’s caught him like a rabbit in its maw.   the summer heat is wearing him down to the bone, digging deep in the flesh, fatal.   all the windchimes and slamming screen doors bring him back to rougher seas.   windchimes, wind howling, doorknob jostling.   he’s back to that night in may, the night he turned eighteen, the night his father grabbed a knife and did the unspeakable.   that night in may, a decade ago, he was sweating like a stuck pig.   bleeding like one, too.   as the screen door slammed shut behind him, it was morgan who grabbed his shoulders, it was morgan whose eyes widened with horror, it was morgan who held him upright when his legs gave out beneath him.   when he came to, they were at the widow’s homestead.   he was laying in the truck bed, and morgan was pressing his flannel against the wound on his face, trying to stop the bleeding.   

the doorknob jostles.   he stirs.   the sheets are sticking to his skin, pain crawling across his face, a foreign feeling.   the doorknob jostles, and he’s brought back from the homestead, brought back from the blood and back into the motel bed.   the awful crawl in his core begins to strangle his lungs.   the doorknob jostles, and he’s got a hand wrapped around his gun before his vision clears.   yellow lamplight flicks on.   fluorescent glow creeps in through the doorway as the door swings open.   he’s already on his feet — white cotton shirt stuck to his skin, briefs settled on the bones of his hips.   and it’s scarlett.   in harlan, in his motel room, with a key in her hand from the clerk at the front desk.   the gun in ashley’s hands suddenly feels too hot.   too heavy.

               ❛ how long have they been looking? ❜                @lambflayed​   [ load.scanner ]   prompt

      lips pierce and shoulders shrug quickly   .   “   hours   ?   ”

   she’d like to pretend they didn’t exist   ,   but they were stumbling a bit too far from home and katarina would have liked to keep to her violence free policy for as long as she could   .   it wasn’t as if she couldn’t take care of herself   ,   simply that she’d rather not fight if she didn’t have to   .   she was no good with gun and close combat with    ‘   angels   ’   was a terrible idea   .

   “   i wouldn’t ask for the help if i didn’t really need it   ,   sorry deputy   .   ”