#ron writes

This was the wrong train.

You stood in the walkway, the doors sliding shut behind you with a hiss. The subway car was cold, goosebumps already prickling up and down your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck slowly standing on end. A quick glance around, the pristine silver car was absolutely deserted. Which was… unusual, to say the least.. The subway closed at nine, and it was only six the last time you had checked. Certainly still within rush hour, wasn’t it? And yet here you were, standing in the middle of a cold and empty train, the sound of shuffling and chatter from the station completely silenced now.

You glanced around, a pit in your stomach- this was not the right train.

You took a single step forward, only to turn around and watch in confusion as the car pulled away from an equally desolate station. A station which, just one moment ago, had been absolutely bustling with commuters like you.

Alone… you were alone.

Knowing full well nothing would happen, knowing that you were apparently in motion, you tugged at the closed doors. You dug your fingertips into the crack between where they met, pushing past the black rubber and pulling with all your might. Nothing happened, of course, the doors were stuck fast.

You took a step back, taking another anxious glance around the car. It was still abandoned, of course, and after another look, you realized that it was completely unfamiliar to you. It looked like a regular subway car with its silver walls, plastic seats, and dark, rubbery floor. But something was off. It was far too clean, for one thing- missing the familiar grime and graffiti present on the train you always took to and from work. That, and the lighting wasn’t bright and fluorescent- lacking that artificial quality that always put your teeth on edge. No, instead the cabin was lit by a dim, warm light- flickering with the sway of the subway’s movements. Like candlelight, bringing to mind images of long stone corridors stretching on and on and on and-

You shook your head, blinking hard and taking another step forward, now standing thoroughly in the middle of the walkway. The car shook slightly as it flew along the tracks, the sight of concrete walls through the windows feeling oddly comforting. That, at least, had not changed.

Yet.

With a trembling sigh you moved towards one of the seats, plopping gingerly down with your back to the wall. Facing the closed door. Your jaw was aching, you must have been clenching it this whole time. You forced yourself to relax, leaning your head back against the wall and closing your eyes. Normally you wouldn’t do that, your skull would be clonking against the metal wall every couple of seconds. But this ride seemed to be much smoother than the subways usually were. Another thing to add to the list, you supposed. You cracked open your eyes, a naive part of you thinking that you would be waking up from a dream- that you would open your eyes and the car would be right. But no such luck. Opening your eyes just revealed the same empty train you were becoming vaguely familiar with- the same orange light, the same pristinely clean silver walls-

A strangled yelp escaped you as the subway shuddered- your form flying up and off of your seat before you plopped back down, the sound of metal clattering and tires screeching filling the air for a moment. Simultaneously, a thick darkness swept through your car in a movement like a line of candles being snuffed, consuming your cabin and washing over you in a wave. Your heart pounded, your stomach clenching- any sense of growing comfort you might’ve had completely gone. Your breathing was labored, your eyes wide and searching. The dark was so heavy, feeling like a damp woolen blanket had been tossed over top of you, filling your mouth and making it nearly impossible to breathe. Dark, it was too dark! It was going to drown you- kill you!

You shook, an intense shudder wracking through you and nearly making you gag. You couldn’t see, you could barely breathe- any sounds had been swiftly murdered by the shadows that had possessed your car.

Your car… This was your car. You were alone here, no one could help you. No one could keep you safe. And you felt, deep in your bones, that you and this fucking train car were connected. Your fate was tied to the steel and plastic and rubber that surrounded you. And if its fate was to be consumed by the writhing darkness…

You wanted to scream, to cry- to claw your way out from what must have been a dream, but the shadows filled your throat. Choking you.

You were going to die. Alone, and in the dark.

You had just begun to accept that painful fact when the light appeared.

It was small- a deep indigo purple that bobbed gently up and down. You watched it as it flickered, moving like a flame, emerging from the end of your car before standing still, swaying from side to side. You blinked, vague surprise temporarily freeing your throat from the grasping shadows that had threatened to steal all the air from your lungs. The light moved up and up, probably touching the ceiling, and another light flickered to life. It was the same color as the first, purple blue and white dancing together as it took shape into a little ball. You realized vaguely as you watched that your train must have really been lit by flames, which explained the warm flickering of the lights. You watched as the light moved forward another few feet, noticing the dark, fuzzy lines of an unclear silhouette. Someone else, maybe? Another light was lit, and the grip of the shadows upon you seemed to loosen. You could feel the dark’s tendrils slithering away from your lips and down your throat, running like water and feeling just as cold. Another light, and a slightly clearer silhouette. A dark cap, a graceful hand holding a black iron lantern, the flickering tails of a long black coat in the dancing purple flames. 

Your apparent savior walked down the aisle of your cabin, lighting light after light, the ghostly glow seeming to dance and swirl around their form. They were quite tall, you realized, a good foot above you, at least. They reached up to the ceiling with ease, the fire in their lantern seeming to simply leap from an open pane towards the indents where, you imagined, more lanterns must have been hidden.

The stranger grew closer, soon standing before you and holding their lantern above their head to light the next lamp. You could not see their features, not even as the darkness receded and light slowly returned to your train car. The purple light was just dim enough that their face was hidden completely in shadow, and their imposing height certainly did not help matters.

They did not even spare you a glance before they moved to the next, focused solely on the task at hand. You wanted to call out, to demand to know who they were, if they knew what was happening to you- but your throat seemed to close, and your tongue grew heavy and unwieldy in your mouth. This was not the time for words, you somehow knew, and to break this silence would almost certainly spell trouble.

Soon enough, the figure, no longer a silhouette, lit the last lamp at the other end of your car. The darkness, though still present, was dampened now, retreating under seats and into the corners and seams of the walls. Lit by the ghostly indigo, your surroundings had taken on a much more menacing quality, the hiding shadows darker, the contrast of things somehow sharpened. It set your skin alight with goose flesh, and a violent shiver down your spine. The dark, however, was held mostly at bay. For that, at least, you were grateful.

The figure now stood where they had stopped, posture at attention and one arm folded neatly behind their back. The other, their left, held their heavy iron lantern at waist height, the flame flickering like a dancer within its cage. Their face, though still obscured by the shadows of their cap, was visible to you now. Sharp features, a deep frown, and piercing silver eyes.

Staring right at you.

The yelp that escaped you had the decency to at least be quiet as you quickly turned away, your own eyes wide and your chest tight. Here you had been thinking that your isolation had been the worst thing, and the moment another soul had entered your company, you found yourself filled with vague panic. Though, the way the stranger was looking at you- you felt that you were perhaps justified in your panic. You stole a quick glance, they were still staring, their expression firmly unreadable and horribly intimidating. The color of his eyes… They glittered the same way the walls of the train did. Glimmering with a strange sort of sheen that brought to mind a long swathe of black ice. Veiled as something else- something safe, but dangerous if you did not mind yourself. You looked away.

What the hell was going on, you finally found yourself wondering, clenching your hands into tight fists, biting your tongue and focusing on the feeling of your nails digging into your palms. You squeezed your eyes shut tight, once again willing yourself to wake up if this was indeed just a dream. Despair was quickly building a home in your chest, and that childish urge to hide away until the scary thing went away was rearing its ugly head. It would not work, you knew this. But you still tried. And you still felt that surge of disappointment when you opened your eyes and still saw your car lit with purple lights. Still the man standing at one end of your cabin.

You took a deep breath, hoping that it would somehow ground you, surprised that it seemed to work, although briefly. You sat a bit straighter, forcing your expression into something calmer and taking another look around your cabin. Out the windows, it was now pitch black, missing the faint light of the headlights, of the bulbs that would usually line the walls of the tunnels. A part of you instinctively knew that the dark outside of the train was a writhing, living thing. That it would not hesitate to fill your throat and lungs until you suffocated to death. That it would take you, consume you- and that you would never see the light again.

You were aware of how pale you must have been then, suddenly a little less afraid of the strange frowning man with the black coat and the lantern.

You swallowed thickly and turned your head away from the man and towards the other side of your car, blanching even more as the sight of another man greeted you.

When had he come in?

He stood with both his arms folded professionally behind his back, his long white coat seeming to gleam wickedly in the dim lights of your cabin. He too wore a cap, also white, the shadow of its brim obscuring his features- but not enough for you to not notice the distinct fact that he looked exactly like the other man. The same sharp features, the same striking silver eyes, the same grey hair- although this man was smiling. A wide and glittering sort of thing, striking you as having a vaguely predatory quality.

That, and you realized quickly that it did not quite reach his eyes.

You stared for a moment at the new man, then back towards the first. They both stood perfectly still, both with straight backs and professional posture. And they were both staring at you.

You couldn’t help but squirm under their combined gazes, not quite enjoying the experience of being studied like some kind of oddity. You remained silent, though the feeling that the silence was to be kept had long since left you. You could speak now, freely- but…

Fucking hell, you didn’t want to.

You shifted, deciding to try and ignore the stares of the two strangers, furrowing your brows and staring pointedly out the windows of the closed doors. Not that it was a particularly interesting view, as pitch black as it was. But it was certainly better than looking at the two strangers. Right now, at least. Silence reigned for a long, long moment- even the rattling of the moving car completely absent. You didn’t quite know when that sound had died, but you imagined that the dark probably had something to do with it, as hungry as it seemed. You stared out the window, past your reflection in the glass, your eyes catching glimpses of movement in the thick shadows outside. A trick of the light inside, you figured, not quite prepared to combat the fact that there could very well be literal, honest-to-goodness monsters outside.

Inside, too. These men struck you as distinctly inhuman, and while you were not really willing to try and accept that fact either, you weren’t just going to ignore it completely. You felt like you were being hunted- or studied, at the very least. Like a moth pinned to a board. Your jaw clenched, and you were only half aware of your nails piercing through the flesh of your palms and drawing little crescent moons of blood. The train moved ever forward, and while you were not aware of how much time had passed, you knew in your marrow that you would not be reaching your stop any time soon. Wherever that wound up being.

‘Certainly not home,’ you thought, stealing a timid glance at the man in white. He was smiling, the expression unfaltering, though you swore for a moment that you saw something long, spindly and black poking out from the collar of his coat before retreating back under it. You looked away, somehow managing to hold back your shudder and focus back on the black windows. A beat, the only sound you could hear being the pounding of your blood in your ears. That, at least, was still a noise. And for that you were grateful.

Your eyes flitted towards the man in black, to the heavy, industrial lantern hanging from his hand. He was wearing gloves, you realized, the other man too- white and pristine, with not a single stain or mark. They were both impeccably clean now that you thought about it, their clothes, their skin- all remarkably perfect. Not that you were close enough to be certain, but you wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t even have any pores on their skin, what with how utterly like porcelain it looked. A glance back to the man in white, he was moving now- a gloved hand reaching under his coat for a moment, lingering there before he folded it back behind his back. You were certain now that there was something under his coat, and fuck you didn’t want to know what it was.

You took a trembling breath in, returning your gaze to the windows once again. Still nothing but writhing darkness. Nothing but void as far as your eyes could see. At this point, it was beginning to get more annoying than frightening. You were sick of nothing, sick of your mind reaching for some sort of distraction in the shadows and coming up with jack fucking shit.

Your eyes narrowed, and your expression shifted into something utterly peeved. This was boring. You were bored. And while you were well aware that being passive and bored was far more dangerous than being afraid, you really couldn’t find it in you to care. The shadows didn’t scare you as much as the two men at either end of your cabin did, and even they were beginning to become nothing more than a nuisance. 

There was something to be said about fear morphing into anger, you imagined. But you didn’t really have it in you to wax poetic right then.

You sighed, slumping against your seat and glancing behind you at the window you had your head resting against. Still nothing but tangible shadows, still nothing but-

You sat up straight, your eyes going wide as saucers and your breath catching painfully in your throat.

There was something there.

You all but jumped from your seat, back to the doors and face to the windows, your heart already pounding in your chest and your mind reeling. Something was there, pressed against the glass- something like a face, molded haphazardly from  shadows like sopping wet clay, its sorry excuse for a cheek pressed hard against the glass, spreading out with the pressure that the thing was putting on it. As if it was trying to push itself through the window and towards you. It hurt your head to look at it, to try and make heads or tails of the writhing features, of the plains and valleys the shadows had tried to make. It lacked depth, but it looked real enough even so. And although you couldn’t make out its eyes, you knew that it was looking right at you- and with utter malice at that.

You wanted to back away, to run, to scream- hell, you wouldn’t have minded just punching the glass for fuck’s sake, but you were completely frozen in place. Something like terror gripped you, though it was colder than you were used to, sharper. Creeping along your limbs like hundreds of tiny, needle-like legs. You were stuck. You were fucking stuck.

Look away, your instincts screamed, but your body refused to listen.

The thing in the window seemed to smile, though you could not see it do so, and your head pounded with the effort of trying to make out features in the heavy darkness it was made of. Fear gripped you, made jagged with the anger that was still settled firmly in your gut. You wanted to do something, anything- you wanted to hurt it. You wanted to throw yourself at it, to rip it from limb to limb, to sink your teeth into the false flesh of its throat and tear. You wanted to-

“You should look away.”

The voice surprised you, taking you completely off guard and shaking you from the violent reverie that had seemingly taken you over. Stars, you felt sick- like a rusted iron ball had begun to rot your stomach.

You looked over to the man in white, surprised to have heard him speak- doubly so as he left his station and began approaching you. His strides were long and exaggerated, and you may have found it oddly charming had the situation been different. You backed up a step, jolting as your back bumped against something warm and firm. You turned your head with eyes as wide as saucers, stepping away from the man in black that had seemingly just appeared next to you. He was staring at you still, just as the man in white was, but he looked away after a moment. Silver eyes landed on the writhing thing in the window, the edge of his frown deepening slightly into something akin to disgust. The man in white was on your other side now, his gaze now also locked on the figure. His smile remained, though his eyes were narrowed and his jaw was tight. Now that you were so close, you could really see just how right you had been in comparing their complexions to porcelain. They were truly too pale, looking as though there was not a drop of blood running through their veins. It unnerved you, but…

“This is not their stop, is it Emmet?”

It was the man in black who had spoken now, holding his lantern up higher and towards the window. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the writhing mass of dark cringe away from the light, undulating in a way that reminded you of living tar.

“No, Ingo. It is not.”

The man in white now, Emmet. A surprisingly mundane name, in your opinion. You had been expecting something more lovecraftian- if they even had names. That, or Fae rules. One could never be too certain.

You shook yourself from your thoughts as Emmet looked back down at you, his eyes glinting with something sly and sharp. He was appraising you, you knew, and you really didn’t like it. You met his gaze though, despite your brain desperately screaming not to, trying your best to look firm and unaffected. You knew it probably wasn’t working, not with the tremble in your jaw and the weak set of your brows. But you tried, nonetheless.

Seeming to find whatever it was he was looking for, the man in white nodded before placing a gentle hand on the small of your back, steering you gently away from the window and to another seat. You sputtered, taken thoroughly aback and trying to step away- but the man’s grip was firm and unyielding, the hand on your back feeling more like a threat than anything else. He led you down the aisle of your cabin and to a seat closer to his end of the train, on the opposite side of where you had been sitting. His hand left your back and moved to your shoulder, maneuvering you to sit down, lingering for a long moment as he stared down at you. You tried not to shudder, tried to ignore how the tight set of your jaw and firm expression was faltering into something weak and terrified.

“Sit here,” he finally said, his hand leaving your shoulder and moving to rest back behind him. You swore you saw something shift under his coat again, but he spoke again before you could look too closely, “Allow my brother and I to deal with this inconvenience.”

Your words failed you yet again, and you instead followed the stranger’s gaze towards his apparent brother- Ingo. The man was still standing by the window, his expression firm and the lantern light dancing around him in a strangely hypnotic fashion.

The man that was apparently Emmet was suddenly close to your ear, his voice clinging to you like smoke and his cold breath fanning across the shell of your ear, "Look away," there was a smile in his tone, a genuine one of mirth, "For your safety.”

There was truly no room for argument, and even if there was, you didn’t find yourself willing to do so. You closed your eyes tightly, ignoring the shiver going down your spine, ignoring the sounds that began to echo through your cabin. Something wooshed, sloshed, something sounding disgustingly wet- you swore you could hear glass shatter and faint, gleeful laughter. You could still feel Emmet standing next to you, his gloved hand resting lightly on your shoulder. He was cold, as was the rest of the cabin. The temperature had dropped sharply, and you couldn’t help but picture the writhing, sticky shadows pouring through the shattered window- reaching out for you, wriggling and pulsing and pushing between your lips, forcing their way down your throat, filling your lungs. Your breathing quickened, uneven and labored. You moved to cover your face, pressing the heels of your palms hard against your eyes and shaking intensely. Any rage, any sense of anger triumphing over fear had gone now. You were terrified.

Trembling, you jolted as you felt the gloved hand move to the back of your neck and squeeze. It was gentle, but the sudden pressure took you entirely off guard, and it took more effort than you thought you had in you not to scream and hit the strange man next to you. Your gasp was a small and trembling thing as you felt his cold breath brushing against your ear again, your mind conjuring images of deep caves with dark waters- an endless tunnel with the faintest draft dancing against your skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” the man said, and you found yourself growing still in spite of your terror, “This is not your stop, after all.”

You didn’t know what that meant.

“Emmet.”

You tensed up again, shoulders squared and brows furrowed. You kept your eyes shut however, kept your palms pressed against them. You weren't sure if it was safe to look yet, and you were unwilling to risk it. There was a cracking sound, a wet sounding snap and a thud, something slithering against metal and the faint tingling of shards of glass knocking against each other.

“Stop bothering our passenger,” the other said, his tone scolding, “You’re frightening them.”

“Ah. Right. Sorry, Ingo.”

You could hear the disappointment in Emmet’s voice as his form retreated away from you, his hand lingering for just a moment longer. You were still aware of him standing nearby, within reach you imagined, but he wasn’t breathing in your ear anymore, which you greatly appreciated. You heard a heavy sigh coming from the direction of Ingo, a sound like knuckles cracking following a moment after. Silence followed, just a second, though it felt as though it stretched into an eternity. And you were still tense, your muscles already beginning to ache and twinge. You were certain that you’d be feeling absolutely miserable when you finally got home and had a chance to rest. All this was stressing you the fuck out- not to mention that you had been on your feet all day before entering this accursed train.

You paused. When you got home. That was beginning to sound a lot like wishful thinking on your part.

‘If’ was probably more like it.

The man at the window finally broke the silence, the sound of his deep voice catching you slightly off guard, “You may look, it’s completely safe now.”

You couldn’t help your hesitation, and you honestly felt that you could hardly be blamed for it. But either way, trepidation be damned. You carefully opened your eyes, blinking away the little black floaties, and blinking again in surprise. Your cabin, despite the many sounds of violence and destruction, was still completely pristine. Not a single stain to be seen, not a single shard of shattered glass- hell, even Ingo looked exactly the same, not a hair on his head out of place.

Your voice was hoarse when you finally spoke for the first time.

“What the fuck is happening?”

Emmet had moved to stand next to Ingo, both men now standing directly in front of you. Your voice and tone had seemingly taken them off guard, both men’s eyes wide and brows raised. Ingo at least had the decency to look mostly surprised, while Emmet’s smile looked positively gleeful.

Gleeful, you thought, and much too wide to be natural.

           You did not give them time to respond, your hands trembling and your breathing short and labored. Your mind was going a mile a minute, and your mouth struggled to keep up with it.

        “Who are you? Where am I?" 

        A pause, a thought occurring to you and making an uncomfortable, lead-heavy pit in your stomach, "Am I dead? Is this Hell?”

        There was an uncomfortable and much too long beat of silence, both men staring down at you with untradable expressions. One smiling, one frowning, you were beginning to figure that that was just their defaults. The beat lasted long enough that you found yourself beginning to spiral, beginning to actually believe that you had somehow died and been sent to a hell of your very own.

        An oddly specifically themed hell. It wasn't like you hated public transit or anything, certainly not enough for your eternal damnation to center around it.

        "We are your conductors,” the frowning one, Ingo said, breaking the silence with a tip of his hat and the slight swaying of his lantern. The violet light was lost against the black of his cloak, as if it was being swallowed by a black pitcher than even the empty vacuum of space. A true darkness, heavy and velveteen. You looked away, turning now to the one in white.

        There was definitely something underneath his coat, you could clearly see the retreating shape of a long, sharp limb under his collar. The back of your neck arose in goosebumps, feeling a little like a spider skittering down your spine.

       “We will take you to where you need to be. Or to where you are wanted." 

        Emmet’s smile did not falter as he spoke, looking a bit like the cat who ate the canary. You found your fear underlined by frustration, he was having far too much fun with this.

        The train bounced a little, shifting and shaking along the rails. You were aware of the darkness outside, creeping into the edge of your vision, just on the borders of your awareness, “You haven't answered any of my questions." 

        The two shared a look, a silent conversation playing out between the two. They truly were the mirror image of the other, tall and gangly, pale as death, silver eyes shining under the shadow of their caps. It was difficult to place what made them so disconcerting, you supposed it was the sum of many small oddities that made your amygdala cry out. You were familiar with the concept: the uncanny valley. Something about these men put them comfortably in the lowest part of that valley.

         "I am Emmet,” he said with a smile, bowing at his waist and tipping his hat, "My brother is Ingo.”

          You knew that much, you wanted to snap, but you somehow held your tongue. Ingo bowed in turn, stiff and formal. The train stuttered, your form swaying with the movements of your car. They remained completely still.

        You swallowed, closing your eyes and rubbing your hand against your forehead. You had one hell of a migraine coming on, suddenly feeling far too warm to be comfortable. The metal wall behind you was much too hot, like a metal slide that had been baking in the sun all day. You covered your face, focusing on your breathing, trying to fight panic’s vice grip on your lungs.

         “For fuck’s sake," you murmured, “Maybe this is Hell." 

        “It is not," came the response, and you found that you could recognize the voice as Ingo’s. For all their similarities, their voices were different. That, at least, made them feel a little more like real people.

        You uncovered your face and opened your eyes to look at him, just in time to watch as the scenery outside the windows shifted. The shadows were swept away with an ear piercing screech, clawing at the sides of the tunnel and the train with claws that dripped and tore, eaten away by a light that was violent and bloody. Flames, you realized too late, bright and dancing, licking against the sides of your car with a wild hunger, smoke billowing and staining the windows with ash. Silhouetted in the fire, you swore you could see the vague shapes of people, arms raised, grasping at nothing, skin melting like wax.

        You slowly turned your head so that you were looking Ingo straight in the face, a brow raised and your expression deadpan.

         “You sure about that, buddy?" 

         Emmet snickered, covering his mouth with a gloved hand, looking pointedly away from his glowering brother. He at least appreciated situational irony.

        “Despite the scenery,” Ingo snapped, his sharp elbow digging into Emmet’s side, the other man barely flinching at the contact, “I can assure you, you are not in hell." 

        “Nor are you dead," Emmet tacked on, pushing Ingo’s arm away and shooting him a grin that came across as entirely shit eating.

       Huh. That certainly humanized them a little. They were definitely brothers, that much was for sure. It was oddly endearing to see a pair of horrifying, uncanny, probably monsters still had that classic sibling relationship.

        That being said…

        Your line of sight decided past them and to the faintly glowing window behind them. Opposed to the silence of the previous tunnel, this one has a faint, ever present whooshing that brought pictures of a crematory to your mind. You felt you really couldn't be blamed for jumping to the whole ‘dead and in hell’ conclusion, especially not when your ears picked up on the faint screaming that underlined the sound of the raging flames.

        Yeah, maybe you shouldn't look at that right now.

        You turned back to the strange pair, tentatively standing from your seat. They watched you, making no movement to stop you, as you began to pace slowly up and down the middle pathway. They only stood, ever watchful, seeming to allow you the time to process. Another stolen glance out the window, your throat tight and burning- like you had inhaled lungfulls of smoke. You weren't sure which fate seemed worse to you now- engulfed in hungry shadows, or devoured by wild, feral flames.

        “This is not your stop," Ingo said, his almost casual tone breaking you out of your reverie, “You are not for the Inferno." 

        It was a cold comfort, the grimace on your face saying as much, “Gee. Thanks." 

        Emmet’s shoulders shook a little, a hand covering his ever present grin as he pointedly looked away and to the ground, “I am Emmet, and you are veerrry funny." 

        You didn't miss the way Ingo shot him with a stern, almost venomous glare, the brothers seeming to have a silent conversation between themselves. Emmet straightened, his smile lacking the mirth you had heard just a moment ago, his brows furrowed and his jaw tight. You were beginning to notice that Emmet was far more expressive than his brother, much easier to read. Still stilted, of course, still entirely unnatural. But… easier.

        Ingo, on the other hand…

        “I suggest you take your seat," he said, his tone strangely warm, despite the circumstances, “It is safer that way." 

        Your brows furrowed, and you crossed your arms. Something had left you feeling emboldened- though you weren't quite sure what. Maybe it was the fact that they hadn't hurt you yet. Maybe it was how Emmet kept laughing at your poor attempts at witty commentary. Either way, you weren't going to back down. Not until you had some actual, tangible answers.

        "Where are we going?" You asked plainly.

        “To where you are needed," Ingo replied, his tone equally as matter-of-fact.

        “Which is?" 

         “Which has yet to be determined." 

        Your arms uncrossed, spreading out in front of you in the universal gesture of what the fuck are you talking about. Ingo didn't even shrug, just continued to stare at you with his blank, stupid, frowning face.

        “So you’re saying you don't know?" A quick glare shot towards the snickering Emmet, "Neither of you know?" 

        “Rest assured, we will take you where you need to go.”

        You couldn't do much but fix Ingo with another, even more frustrated stare. He was a completely blank wall, you couldn't get anything close to a read on him.

        "You guys suck at this,” you said at length, plopping down into the closest seat next to you and allowing your head to hang limply, "What kind of conductors don't know where they’re going?”

        Or, in this case, knew, and wouldn't tell their unwitting passenger.

        "I'm gonna give you a bad review on, like, Demon Yelp, or whatever you use." 

        That got another chuckle from Emmet, though you were beginning to think it wasn't your charming, wry humor he was laughing at.

        There was no response beyond that, and the fire you had been feeding from was replaced by a cold, crushing hopelessness. The scenery seemed to change with your mood, the raging flames swept away by a cold, cloying, and heavy fog. It was all grey outside your car’s windows, faint shafts of light dispersing in strange, disorienting ways. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes without your consent, an inescapable sense of loneliness causing your chest to clench now. Your emotions were swinging around faster than you could keep up with, leaving you exhausted at the edge of it all. 

         “Interesting," you faintly heard, Emmet, maybe. You decided not to humor that with a response.

Your hands went to your head, cradling it as you bit back sobs. The reality of your situation, which you had thought you had reckoned with, was really sinking in now. You were trapped, completely and utterly, with no idea as to where you were going to end up or how long it would take. Forever, maybe.

You didn’t see the look the pair exchanged, another silent conversation playing out that you were not privy to. Ingo blinked slowly, nodding almost imperceptibly, and Emmet’s smile softened slightly at the edges. A decision had been made, though you were not aware of it. However, there was a slight shift in the air that you did feel, the air feeling thicker, heavy with something you couldn’t quite place.

There was the sound of a throat clearing, awkward and stilted, drawing you to peek through your fingers at the two. You think it had been Ingo, judging from the vaguely uncomfortable tightness to his frown. He was staring at you, per usual- to be frank you were beginning to ask yourself if you had seen them blink once. You were leaning towards no.

        “For what it is worth," he began, his grimace highlighted with that strange, purple lamplight, "We are sorry that you must go through this.”

        There was that anger again, though it was weak as candlelight, a sharp retort ripping up your throat and towards your tongue-

       Emmet cut you off, "We do not choose our passengers. But the Train comes only to those who Need it."

        “Or to those who are Wanted," Ingo finished.

        Your throat felt tight again, scratchy and dry like you hadn't had anything to drink in days.

        How long had you been here, anyway?

        The tunnel was shifting yet again, the mist fading and revealing stone walls dotted with cavernous openings that served as windows into tunnel systems. Some were filled with water, others buried in dirt- the train was moving too quickly for you to take stock of them all. But this, at least, felt a little more natural as the backdrop to a cursed subway. After all, the underground was where it was meant to be. Not in shadows, not in fire- and certainly not in the fog.

        Your hand drifted to your chest, finding that you could think a little clearer now. Whatever cotton that had filled your mind was gone now, and your chest didn’t feel nearly as heavy as it did in the mist. The loneliness was all but gone, replaced with a vague sense of claustrophobia. Nothing you couldn't compartmentalize, but enough to make you feel a little cramped in the walls of your train car.

        You sighed, your head leaning back and resting against the glass behind you. You had so many questions, more than you knew what to do with. But you were starting to accept that not all of them would be answered. Maybe they didn't need to be.

        No use fighting, you thought, closing your eyes and focusing on steadying your breathing, Whatever happens now is out of your hands.

        “How much longer?"

        Your voice seemed to surprise them both, a slight widening in Emmet’s eyes giving that much away. You wondered why that was- surely they had been expecting you to respond.

         “Not long now," Ingo replied, his tone carrying something heavy that you couldn't quite place.

          “Alright,” you said, and the cabin went quiet again.

        You didn't fight him on it, nor did you reply with some clever retort. Partially because you couldn't think of one, but mostly because you just… didn’t care to. It seemed as though you had finally reached acceptance in whatever emotional rollercoaster you had been forced into, and you were grateful for the numbness at your temples.

         After a while, and after the pair exchanged another set of looks, they moved to stand at either side of you in what seemed like a silent vigil. They weren't looking at you anymore, their eyes gazing aimlessly ahead of them, like a pair of stone guardians on either side of a chapel’s doors. You hated that you found a slight comfort in their presence, hated that you felt just a little more secure with the strange men standing next to you. You hated that you didn't even flinch when you saw what was definitely a spider skitter out from Emmet’s coat pocket and up his sleeve.

        Wait, actually, what the fuck? Hold up. That was so gross!

        “Dude," you muttered, your eyes narrowed and your lips turned in a grimace, "How many spiders do you have under there?" 

        Emmet started snickering, his fingers twitching with a strange clicking noise, like porcelain joints clattering against one another. Ingo groaned- a comfortingly human noise coming from him.

        “Don't get him started," Ingo hissed, “We’ll be here for hours." 

        “What? Why?" You shifted to better look at the brother in black, the corners of your mouth turning up in mirth, “Do they all have names or something?" 

       Ingo almost sounded like he was in pain when he responded through gritted teeth, "Yes. They do.”

        That got a laugh out of you. A loud, full belly laugh that felt insanely good after what was probably hours of terror. You missed the way Emmet’s smile softened, missed the way Ingo’s hands tensed in a grasping motion at his side. You missed the sharp edge in their eyes, the exchanged glance between them- far too busy covering your face and giggling to notice.

        “Good God," you breathed, looking up at Emmet and noticing absolutely nothing different about him, “That's incredible. They all have names?”

        His grin almost seemed natural when he looked down at him, although you were quick to note that he had a few to many teeth, “All one-hundred-fifty of them.”

        You balked, going a bit pale at that. That… that was far too many spiders. Even if they weren't all apparently hidden under his coat, it was more spiders than you could really picture. Though, knowing they were all on his person didn't do anything to dampen your horror. You had half a mind to ask if he was lying, but something in his face made you think he was being honest. You decided to slide a little bit away from him and closer to Ingo, finding the cold light of his lamp a little more comforting. Emmet’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter, the bastard.

          “Ew," a beat, the mental image stark in your head- one hundred crawling things, “Eeewww!"

        Ingo snorted, the sound taking you entirely off guard. That was the first time he had made a noise even remotely like a laugh. You didn't have much time to react to that, though.

        “That is veerrry rude," the man in white grinned, bending at his waist to get in your level. You would honestly describe his expression as shit eating, and it really only served to humanize him a little more.

        You stuck your tongue out at him, shuffling away and nearly bumping into Ingo, “It's gross, though! That's too many spiders!" 

        "There is no such thing.”

         "There absolutely is!”

         You hated that you were actually enjoying the back and forth, finding yourself relaxing and letting your guard down. Which was almost certainly a huge, potentially deadly mistake. But you couldn't deny that it felt really nice to do so. Even if this train was ferrying you to your certain demise, it was good to have a little bit of brevity in the situation, wasn't it? You figured Emmet would agree, at least, the man straightening up with a light chuckle and patting his breast pocket with his gloved hand. You narrowed your eyes, there was probably a spider in there. Freak.

        The car lapsed into a surprisingly comfortable silence, nothing but the sound of your own breathing to fill the void. That, and the return of the sound of rumbling wheels on the tracks. You hadn't realized how much you had missed the sound. It was almost peaceful, lulling you into a further sense of security.

        The security didn't last long, though.

        The car lurched, like it had gone over a bump in the road, the wheels screeching and shooting sparks, lighting the walls of the stone tunnel you had been going through. You jumped at the noise, immediately tense and ready for whatever horror would come next. You didn't miss how Emmet tensed slightly, nor did you miss the quiet, almost dejected sigh from Ingo. Your brows furrowed, your jaw clenched tight and your heart pounding in your chest. Somehow it was their reactions that disconcerted you the most. If they were worried, then surely-

        “We are approaching your stop.”

        Ingo’s voice broke you out of your thought spiral, drawing you back into your body and grounding you back to whatever reality you were trapped in. He sounded disappointed, and maybe a little sad. It made your stomach drop.

        You felt like maybe you should pray, though you weren't sure for what. Mercy, maybe? No, more like some good luck for once in your life. Luck that you wouldn't wind up trapped somewhere worse than this. 

        You took a trembling breath in, watching as the scenery shifted again, blurring together into something cold and grey. Concrete, you realized. 

        Your fists were clenched in your lap when you spoke, “Do you know what’s waiting for me?" 

        The train was slowing to a stop, the screeching doing nothing to help your migraine.

        “That is for you to find out," said Emmet, his smile tight around the edges.

        “But we will walk you to the exit," Ingo added. 

        You nodded, finding that you wanted them to. They had been there for everything else, it only felt right to finish it out with them nearby.

        You didn't have much to say when you stood, your eyes fixed on the ground, watching their perfectly polished shoes click against the metal floor as they moved. You didn't want to see what was waiting for you. Ingo offered his arm, which you found yourself taking. He was just as cold as you had expected- the surprising thing was the firmness of his arm under his clothing. Like it was made of some kind of hard material rather than flesh and blood. You decided not to think too much about it. Emmet was on your other side, a glance out of the corner of your eye showing that he had his hands clenched into fists as he walked you towards the sliding double doors. His jaw was tight, the light glinting off it in a way that brought to mind porcelain dolls and plastic mannequins. His eyes darted down to meet yours, his expression somehow unreadable.

        It felt distinctly like you were being marched to the gallows.

        The doors slid open with a hiss, and the pair stopped short of the exit. Ingo squeezed your arm, a gesture that you were sure was supposed to be encouraging, even if it did fall a bit short. You appreciated it nonetheless.

        “Here you are," he murmured, removing himself from your grasp and folding his arms behind his back.

        Emmet’s hand ghosted against your other arm before mirroring his brother’s pose, “We wish you luck." 

        You swallowed a lump in your throat that was big enough to almost make you gag. You really couldn't avoid looking away from your fate much longer, you knew.

        “Thank you," you managed to force out, your voice a tight and trembling thing, “It's been… interesting.”

        There was Emmet’s snicker again, punctuated by a breathy sigh from Ingo. At least they had a good humor about it all, you supposed.

        “Take care," Ingo said, his tone warm and surprisingly kind.

        "We’ll be seeing you!" Emmet added, his voice loud and chipper, “Veerrry soon." 

         You didn't get to reply before you were quite literally shoved through the open doors, your hands slamming on the ground to catch your fall. You whirled around to shout at the pair, to raise hell at them for being rude enough to literally throw you off their train- but there was nothing there. There was not a single sign anything had been there, not even the smell of burning metal a part of you had been expecting. They were just… gone. Left you to your fate like it was nothing.

        Which, speaking of…

        You turned to address your surroundings, a pit of dread in your stomach, only to find that you were back in the subway. The actual, real subway, the sign on the wall across from you cheerfully announcing that it was your stop. In fact, now that you were listening for it, you could hear the faint hustle and bustle of the street above, the howling of sirens, and the beeping of car horns.

         It was like nothing had happened.

         You didn't get up until a friendly janitor found you, at least fifteen minutes later. He helped you to your feet and kindly offered to call you a ride, slightly confused as to why you were sobbing against him. He took you to the security office, also populated, and you sat for a long time in an uncomfortable plastic chair, a bottle of water clenched in your trembling hands.

         You were back.

         It hadn't been what you were expecting. Not at all. Though you wouldn't say you weren't grateful for it. Your mind was stuck on being shocked, though- numb to the world around it and stuffed with cotton. It was only when you finally plopped down in a cab that the head of subway security had been kind enough to pay for that you finally processed what Emmet had said. You clenched your fists, shaking your head and putting it out of your head. He was wrong.

        With any luck, you would never see them again.

☆ they are so not good for each other. very on/off. lots of fighting. lots of jealousy and possessive behaviors. but for some reason they wanna stay together

☆ definitely met on a night on the town. gavin was out with his team for.. whatever sport they play idk i forgor on one of his trips and the two met. stuff happened. yeah.

☆ probably long distance... they take turns visiting each other

☆ has anyone heard the thrill of first love from falsettos. cuz that song is so them. (whizzer is gavin and marvin is spink btw)

☆ gavin is UNREASONABLY jealous.

☆ they can get kinda cute tho. gavin only ever calls spink by petnames (babe, baby, honey) while spink only calls gavin by his name (he tried baby boy once but the way that gavin cringed so hard made him regret it instantly)

☆ dates consist of a cheap dinner at home and drugs. yay ♡

☆ loooots of shotgun smoking and late night drives to the shittiest music ever

☆ do they love each other or are they just really horny? who knows.

         You were enjoying the conversation, at the very least for the fact that it fought off the ever present silence that haunted the edge of every word, “Do you usually lead people around like this?" 

        You were choking.

        You realized it all at once, in the same moment that your consciousness returned to you like a gunshot. Your nerves were alight, a burning sensation in your throat like white-hot grains of sand had been poured down your windpipe. You coughed once, though it quickly turned into desperate hacking, then devolved into more choking. Something was filling your mouth, something gritty and foul. Something that tasted like-

        Dirt. You were surrounded by dirt.

        Your first instinct was to gasp, something that only filled your lungs with more damp earth, worsening your choking. Your head was swimming- and you were sure your vision would be spotty if you were able to open your eyes.

        Dig. You needed to dig up.

        You thrashed about, trying to figure out exactly which way was up. You clawed at the dirt around you, your hands raw and aching. You needed to find the loose spots, the places that hadn’t been packed down yet. If you found that, then you might be able to dig yourself out. At the very least you would be able to form an airway.

        Air. You needed air. You weren't going to last much longer if you didn't get any.

        Your hands found purchase on loose earth, chunks crumbling down with your desperate, animalistic thrashing and threatening to bury you all over again. Damp clods fell into your gasping mouth, but you could not spit them out- not with pounds of dust and mud bearing down on you. You refused to give up however, not even with your head swimming as it was. You couldn't let yourself slow down, you couldn't let yourself lose consciousness.

        You felt your hand breach the surface, your fingers stretching up into cold air. You wriggled about, trying to widen whatever hole you had opened, your hand escaping to the wrist. You could feel the cool breeze against your skin, but the earth and dust continued to crumble around you, making it difficult to move beyond that. You had to, though. You had to escape, you had to survive-

        Something grasped your hand and pulled.

        It was as if you were a root vegetable being pulled from a freshly tilled garden bed. One swift yank and you were out, dirt cascading from your form and sweet, blessed air filling your lungs.

        Or, trying to, at least.

       You started hacking- deep, painful coughs that shook you to your core and made you tremble with the effort. Dirt flew from your mouth with every convulsion, splattering on the ground and tasting worryingly of blood. Your lungs had been completely filled with mud, it would seem, and your body was doing everything in its power to expel every last particle. You were half aware of something rubbing gently against your back, cold to the touch, but familiar and comforting nonetheless. Whoever had pulled you out, you figured. You were grateful to them, but too busy coughing up your lungs to thank them yet. 

        Your eyes were watering, bordering on dripping with tears as the last few coughs ripped through you, your breathing ragged and your whole body shaking. You could barely see, your face caked in mud and your eyelashes covered in dust. You had the forethought to rub your eyes before wiping your mouth, something like a sob bubbling up from your burning chest. Your vision was slow to return, your voice even slower- you were reduced to a shaking, sobbing thing, curling into yourself and grasping your stomach like you had been wounded. The hand on your back persisted, rubbing steady circles against your spine. Your hearing was coming back, too, though the world still sounded faint and muddled, but you thought you could hear someone gently shushing you, whispering indiscernible words that were probably supposed to be comforting.

        Your heavy head turned to your left, hazy vision revealing disturbed earth and…

         You froze, stock still and taught like a drawn bow.

        A grave. There was a grave marker there. Weather worn and ancient, but unmistakable nonetheless.

        You felt that you could hardly be blamed for nearly crumbling into a full on panic attack.

        You sat up a little straighter, pebbles and flecks of dust falling from you in clumps and clouds. This wasn't right. You weren't supposed to be here. In fact, come to think of it, you hadn't the faintest idea of where here was, much less how you wound up buried in a shallow grave. Your breathing came in gasps, your chest shuddering and another set of painful coughs tearing out of you, more mud splattering out of your mouth. Which, honestly, only made you panic more. A pained, animalistic groan left you, and you gripped your head as your vision swam and dizziness threatened to take you out again. 

         “Shh," someone murmured, their hand patting your back as you fought for breath, “Try not to breathe so quickly. Slow down. You are safe now." 

         You didn't quite believe them, but the contact brought you comfort anyway. You followed their direction to the best of your ability, slowing your breathing until it was a steady wheeze instead of red-hot gasping.

        “There you are," they said, their voice just as gentle as their hand, “Deep as you can." 

        You managed to nod, blinking hard against the tears that welled up in your eyes, a hand coming to grasp your throat in a vague attempt to soothe the burning sensation there. Your skin was cold and clammy, caked in dirt. Subconsciously, you went to feel your pulse, expecting to feel it jackrabbiting against your fingertips.

        You paused, feeling around for a moment, a deep sense of dread rearing its ugly, feral head.

        You couldn't find your pulse.

        Now that you were aware of it, actually, you couldn't feel your heartbeat at all. Just a deep, aching, empty feeling in the cage of your ribs where your heart should have been. You gripped your chest, the fabric of your shirt balling up in your trembling hands. It wasn't there. It wasn't there!

        “No," you whispered, your voice a ghost of itself, “No way-" 

        As if detecting your encroaching panic, the person kneeling next to you grasped your shoulders with a firmness you hadn't been expecting. It certainly shocked you out of your stupor, making you jolt up and spin your head around to finally look at them.

        Holy shit, that was the biggest man you had ever seen.

        He was easily more than twice your height, looming over you even as he kneeled on the ground with you. His hands alone engulfed both your shoulders, making you feel comedically tiny just by comparison. His hair was long and tangled, a ghostly white that only made the man himself look more pallid and aged. Half his face was covered by a wild fringe, an orange hat pulled haphazardly over his head. A green scarf further obscured his face, the only things really visible being a single, dark, shadowed eye, and a deep set frown.

         He was actually kind of terrifying, if you were being honest. If it weren't for how gentle he had been with you, you probably would have screamed.

        When he spoke again, his voice was low and careful, as if he was afraid of frightening you, “Calm yourself. It will do you no good to panic."

        He was right, you knew, but that didn't make it easy.

        "My heartbeat," you choked out, clawing at your empty chest, “I don't have a heartbeat- where's my heart?"

        His lips parted to speak, but you were on a bit of a roll now, “Am I dead? Did I die? Is that how I got here? Am I-" 

         “Hush." 

         His tone left no room for argument, and it honestly shocked you into silence. He sighed, tugging at a lock of his hair, his gaze drifting off towards the distance. You followed his line of sight, seeing little more than rolling hills obscured in a deep, roiling fog. You could see the faint forms of more graves, all of varying sizes and shapes.

        “You are not meant to be here," he murmured, more to himself then to you.

        “I'm not?"

         You weren't quite sure he heard you, especially not as he stood up, the movement alone reminded you of great, looming pine trees bending in the wind. His hands grasped you by your arms and pulled you up with him, plopping you gently on your feet before he broke the contact. It took such little effort on his end, it left you floundering and unsure how to react. You sputtered a little, but that was half-hearted at best.

        He looked down at you from the corner of his eye, his expression somehow both utterly neutral and painfully heavy. There was a weight about him that you couldn't name, pushing down on his shoulders and deadening whatever glint may have been in his eye. He hummed thoughtfully, the sound bringing to mind ancient stones grinding against each other, or the image of wind and rain chipping away at a cliff side.

        “You are neither dead nor dying," he began slowly, scratching the shadowed, wrinkled skin under his eye, “Therefore, you are not meant to be here." 

        You swallowed a painful lump in your throat, the action nearly making you gag. You figured that was maybe supposed to be a comfort. But it just made you feel numb and heavy. You looked away from him, your gaze drawn back to the grave he had pulled you from.

         If you weren't supposed to be here, then how did you get here in the first place? Where was here, anyway? You had no memory that provided any context to your situation. In fact, the last thing you remembered was-

         The last thing you remembered…

         There was nothing. It was all blank, obscured and blurred like viewing something through feet of dirty water.

        You groaned, clutching your head in your hands and biting back another sob. This was all too much to process- you had little to no memory, period. What was there were vague impressions that you knew were probably true, but they were rendered abstract in your mind. You knew your name, you knew your age, you knew where you were born and who your parents were. But you couldn't remember their faces. You couldn't quite remember what you looked like, either, unable to determine what color your eyes might be, much less what your facial features looked like. You couldn't remember what job you had, what your life goals were- hell, you couldn't even remember your favorite color.

        Your legs buckled underneath you, but the man was quick to reach out and support you, his hands wrapping entirely your arms as he held you with what seemed like no effort to him.

        “I don't-" you gasped, grasping at your chest, at your head, anything to make you remember that you were a real person, “I don't remember…”

        "That is to be expected," he said, gentle and soft like he was speaking to a frightened animal, “You are between worlds. You can lose yourself if you are not careful." 

        The wheeze that left you was supposed to be a laugh, you think. It fell pretty short though, “Of course, why not!”

         He squeezed your arms, the gesture grounding despite your panic, “Try and stay here in this moment. Tell me, can you remember your name?”

        You did, and you told him as much. He repeated your name, the word sounding strange in his slightly accented voice. He asked your age, next, which you told him after a moment of thought. He nodded, slowly removing his hands from your arms like he was satisfied with your answers.

        “Hold on to the information you have," he said, “It will help us going forward." 

        “Going forward?" You choked, still on the very edge of panic, “Going forward to do what?" 

        "To find wherever you entered this place. With any luck, we will find your memory with it.”

        You shuddered, clutching your arms against the cold, gooseflesh rising up along the back of your neck. The fog rolled around you in thick waves, grasping at your limbs like a hungry ghost.

        "Right," you managed to say, “Okay. Sure."

        You both just stood there for a torturous moment, the silence deafening. There was a nigh crushing sense of hopelessness encroaching over you, falling on your shoulders in a heavy shroud and rendering you still and mute. You weren't sure how you were going to escape this place. If you could even escape. Sure, you had something like a guide, and he seemed perfectly willing to help, but this whole thing was just so utterly outlandish, you couldn't begin to logic out a way to get home. Wherever home was. 

        “Where do we even start?” you whispered, shaking your head and tearing your gaze away from the seemingly endless fog ahead of you.

        He seemed thoughtful, his dead eye staring ahead of him and his fingers twitching slightly at his side. He looked down at you after a moment of delay, his hair swaying slightly with the movement, sparing you a glimpse of something dark and shadowed on the covered part of his face. The skin looked dry and dark- somehow mummified, maybe? You didn't get a good angle on it, and you sure as hell weren't going to ask for a closer look.

        “I have some idea," he replied slowly, pointing forward and squinting into the far distance, “But I am not certain." 

       You bit back a sigh, of course he wasn't certain. But it wasn't like you could blame him for it.

        He didn't give you time to reply, taking one long stride in the direction he had indicated, sparing you a glance when you failed to follow, “Come. It would be better for you to stay by my side." 

         You didn't really need to question why. He seemed to know his way around, and you were just likely to get lost if you went by yourself. You nodded, shuffling after him and doing your best to keep pace. It took about three of your steps to match one of his, and you had the impression that he was walking slower for your sake. You both lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, your ears ringing in the quiet, desperately searching for any noise besides your own ragged breathing. You realized quite quickly that he wasn't breathing, the absence making your skin crawl and your chest feel tense despite your apparent lack of a heart. You decided to try and be tactful about it, though. You weren't going to say anything if he wasn't. Even if you were endlessly curious about what he was, exactly.

        Or who, for that matter. You hadn't asked for his name.

         The quiet lasted for a few moments longer before you managed to get the courage to speak, though it wasn't you who broke the reverie. The man had paused, calling out your name in a gentle voice, looking back at you with a slightly furrowed brow. You realized you had paused, falling behind by a few feet.

         “Shoot, sorry," you apologized, quickly closing the distance and falling into step with him again, “I just realized I hadn't asked for your name." 

        He hummed, adjusting his scarf to cover a little more of his face, "Call me AZ.”

         You decided, again, to hold your tongue and try to preserve some kind of tact. He seemed to sense your silent dubiousness, chuckling in an exhale and waving an almost dismissive hand in the air.

        “It's a conjugation," he clarified, “My birth name is quite long. That, and I have not used it in a very, very long time."

        You nodded, trying your very best to bite back the dozens of questions forming in your mind. But again, as observant as ever, it was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

         "You can ask me whatever is on your mind. I will take no offense.”

          Your shoulders sagged in relief, your mind only now processing how tense you had been. Though, part of that was almost certainly due to the cold- the temperature biting down to your very bones with jagged teeth. It was the sort of chill you feared you would never be free of. Though, thoughts like that would only lead you spiraling into panic again.

        Right, questions. Focus on something else, keep your mind distracted from everything else.

        You thought for a moment, chewing your bottom lip and trying to narrow down your many, many questions. You eventually settled on one that felt especially pertinent, though. 

        “Where are we, exactly?" 

        AZ’s stride paused for a moment, his brow furrowed and his eye shut in thought. You stumbled, surprised by his sudden stop, ending up a pace or two in front of him. 

        “That is a surprisingly difficult question to answer," he began, opening his eye and studying you with an intensity that made you shiver, “It does not have as tidy an answer as you desire." 

        You tensed, “What do you mean?" 

        He sighed, resuming his walk and gesturing for you to follow. You obliged, if only because you did not want to be left alone in the cold and the fog.

      “This is a sort of… in between place,” he began, gesturing vaguely and adjusting his scarf again, "Somewhere between the world of the living and the dead.”

        Oh, wow. You did not like the sound of that.

        "So, like purgatory?” You asked.

         "In a sense. Though, this is not a place of judgement. More like… how to put it…”

         His finger was pressing against his mouth as he thought, and you were struck by how strangely ethereal he looked in the ghostly, dappled light.

          "It is a place of transition,” he finally said, "The dead merely pass through, never staying for long. Occasionally, though, the living can stumble here by accident.”

         "So… like an airport?" 

        He paused again, looking down at you with obvious confusion. You decided to try another angle, “Like a train station, then? One of those liminal, transitional spaces, you know?" 

        He scratched the skin under his visible eye, the corners of his lips quirking up ever so slightly, “I suppose so, yes." 

        "Huh. I guess that makes sense.”

        Another beat of silence, you were walking side by side again. You killed the whole thing over in your head while you moved, another question moving to the forefront of your mind.

        "What about you, then? Are you a ghost or something?" 

        He chuckled at that, the sound quiet and heavy, resting over your shoulders like a warm, heavy blanket. Your ears went a little hot at the sound, though you firmly decided not to dwell too much on that.

        “No," he clarified, his shoulders bouncing and his tone full of a comforting mirth, “Though I suppose I'm closer to a spirit than to a living person these days." 

        You quirked a brow, deeply unsatisfied with such a cryptic answer, "So… are you undead, then? Like a zombie?" 

        He hummed, something you were beginning to notice he did quite a lot, taking a moment to respond. Long enough that you were beginning to worry he had taken offense to your line of questioning. But his voice was just as kind now as it had ever been, putting any anxieties you had to rest.

        “That is the closest description, I think. Although I take offense to being compared to a zombie, of all things,” he was chuckling when he said this, and you were pleased that there was no venom in his words. 

        “Though, to be honest," and this was said with an almost conspiratorial edge, though there was an unmistakable hint of sadness to it, “I am not entirely sure what I am, either."

        You weren't sure why it brought you a little comfort to hear him admit that. Maybe it helped humanize him, or maybe it was just nice to hear him speak so honestly. Or, more likely, it was nice to hear someone else acknowledge the strangeness of this whole situation, even if it wasn't directly. 

         A slight shift in the subject was in order, you thought, though not entirely removed, “Has this happened before? You finding someone like you found me?" 

        AZ nodded, his gaze now fixed ahead, scanning the horizon like he was searching for something, "A few times, yes. Though you seem to be a unique case." 

         Unique. You weren't sure if you liked the sound of that.

         He continued, “As I said, you are neither dead nor dying," a quick glance in your direction, “Most living souls I find in these places are at least close to death. You do not fall in this category." 

        “I’m not actively dying, you mean." 

        “Precisely," he nodded, a faint smile on his lips as he turned suddenly to the right. You nearly tripped trying to follow after him.

         You jogged to catch up, weaving between headstones and disturbing the layers of mist on the ground. That was another thing you were beginning to notice. The fog moved with you, reacting to your movements like you would expect a cloud of vapor to. But when AZ moved through it, it didn't react to him at all. Like he wasn't really there, or something. You decided to mark it down as one of his many oddities and leave it at that.

        “When I am able. I cannot aid every soul I encounter, however.”

        There was a certain sense of grief in those words, ever present and seeping into the very air around him. You had noticed it before, the weight that surrounded him, the sorrow that seemed to be poisoning him from the inside out. You knew instinctually that it was something heavier than you could ever bear, and that AZ likely did not want to share the burden. 

         Which was a shame, in your mind. He had been nothing but kind to you, it was sad to think he had to carry this burden all by himself.

        “You’re like a psychopomp,” you decided, moving a little closer to him as you walked, grateful for the solid form of another person next to you, “I'm glad you found me." 

        Yet again, his stride paused, and he turned to face you entirely. You caught a glimpse of something under his fringe again, dark and dried skin- a flash of white around his mouth. When his hair settled, you got a good look at the visible teeth that had been hidden under his scarf until now. The skin around them was leathery and taught, and you realized that your earlier comparison to mummified flesh was fairly accurate. The skin was discolored, but looked painfully raw around his exposed teeth. Honestly, the more you looked, you realized that the whole expanse of the right side of his face was probably like that- mummified emaciated.

         The sight rendered you frozen, but only for a moment. Honestly, he was hardly the strangest thing you had seen in this place. That, and he had proven himself trustworthy in your mind. AZ seemed to notice where you were staring,  turning his head away and covering his mouth with his scarf. You moved to apologize, but he spoke before you could. You couldn't quite place the faint waver in his voice- somewhere between shame and… you weren't sure. Something warmer, you thought.

        “You flatter me," he murmured, and you swore you could see a faint tinge of color on his otherwise pale cheek, "I suppose I do not mind that particular comparison.”

        You smiled, warmth blossoming in your empty chest. He was smiling, you could see it in the wrinkle around his eye. You decided you quite liked when he smiled.

         You moved to say something, another question bubbling up into your mouth when you felt a slight tugging sensation in your chest. You paused, a hand coming to grip at your shirt, your brows furrowed and your expression utterly confused. It came again, more insistent this time, like someone had attached a string to your sternum and was pulling. It was uncomfortable, if you were being honest, and the discomfort was obvious on your face. AZ, to his credit, clocked it immediately, following your line of sight to where the invisible thread was trying to lead you. His eye narrowed as he studied the horizon, and something in your head told you to hold your tongue until he found whatever it was he was looking for.

        He looked back at you, his expression carefully gentle, “We must be close. Lead the way. I'll be with you every step." 

        You wondered if he knew how much of a comfort that was.

         Leading the charge was more intimidating than it had any right being, your logical mind finding no comfort in wandering off into the endless fog with nothing but the vague hope of finding goodness only knows what. But you did anyway, trying your very best to be brave in the face of everything. Cold, tired, and dirty as you were, it felt like you were making progress. The tugging at your chest only grew stronger with each step, leading you steadily towards whatever was waiting. It was a fairly straight path, at least, the pair of you only deviating to dodge headstones and some of the sparse, dead trees that grew here. At some point, without quite realizing it, you had grabbed AZ’s hand as you walked. He made no move to break the contact.

        Finally, after what felt like hours, though were likely only a few minutes, the pull came to an abrupt end. You stopped with it, scanning the fog, looking for something, anything of note-

        There.

         A large grave looming at the top of the nearest hill, slightly obscured by fog. It was larger than the others you had seen, round and carved with patterns that reminded you of sun beams. There was ivy covering it, a sight that you had not seen on any of the other markers.

        You knew it as an instinct, just as intimately as breathing- you needed no confirmation. That was what you were looking for.

        You broke into a light jog, your hand slipping from AZ’s grasp. He called out for you, but the words fell on deaf ears. Something was waiting for you at that grave, something important. And while you weren't sure what that was, and whole it was probably unwise at best to go running off without your guide, you knew you-

        You crested the top of the hill, freezing like a deer in headlights. Someone was laying at the foot of the grave, sprawled out like they had collapsed, completely grey and monochrome in this in-between world you were stuck in. And while the recognition was faint at first, and while you didn't want to believe it…

         That was you.

         AZ had caught up to you, though it wasn't like it had taken him that long, following your line of sight and landing on the body in front of you. He seemed far less concerned than you, probably because he wasn't facing the existential crisis that was viewing your own body from the outside. You couldn't move yet, your gaze fixed and unmoving.

        “Ah," AZ murmured, stepping forward and crouching next to your body, “This helps to explain things." 

        Your body, you thought, your inner voice bordering on hysterical, that was your body. Yours!

        AZ’s right hand ghosted along your body’s forehead, coming away damp with a dark, monochrome liquid. He hummed, turning back to you and gesturing to you to come closer. It wasn't until he called your name that you were able to move, your steps stilted and your eyes wide and unblinking.

        “Were you attacked?" 

        You stood next to him, still small even when he was kneeling, looking numbly down at your collapsed form on the ground. There was a small puddle of the liquid on the ground, and you were realizing with a grim certainty that it was blood.

        “I thought you said I wasn't dead," you whispered, your voice cracking and your hands trembling.

        “You are not," AZ replied, wiping his hand on the ground next to him before gently grasping you by your shoulders. He turned you away from the body and towards him, obviously trying to ground you back in the moment. You were trembling like a leaf in his grasp, but you were managing to keep your breathing steady.

        “You are not dead," he said again, firmer this time, like he was speaking the truth into reality, “You are just unconscious. Likely concussed, but that seems to be the extent.”

         Slowly, carefully, he pointed to the body on the ground- specifically to its head. You could see where your head had been cracked open like an egg, nausea creeping up from the out of your stomach and nearly making you gag. You managed not to, especially when you realized that, while the wound certainly looked grisly, it was already beginning to scab up. You swallowed the lump that was forming in your throat, looking away from the body on the ground and back at AZ.

        He smiled, soft and sweet. He was the picture of gentle patience, even with half his face resembling a museum cadaver, “See? You are not dead."

        You nodded, it was all you could really manage to do. He squeezed your arms, bringing you back to the moment. You hadn't realized your mind was drifting off again. Your head felt fuzzy, it was hard to think.

        “Were you attacked?" He asked again, a massive hand moving to carefully guide your face to look at him when your gaze began to drift, “Do you remember what happened?" 

        You closed your eyes, straining to try and remember. There was nothing but faint, abstract images, impressions of pain…

        “I don't know," you whispered, “I'm sorry." 

        “Do not apologize." 

        He sighed, looking down at your body. You weren't quite in the headspace to look with him. You figured he was looking for something specific, something well beyond your understanding. You didn't care, you just wanted the moment to end.

        “Will you be safe?" 

        You blinked, once again broken from your thoughts and back to the moment. It seemed like your mind wanted nothing more than to drift away.

         “I’m sorry?" You asked, your head tilting with your confusion.

           AZ stood, the motion alone intimidating, looking down at you through locks of white hair. He was difficult to read, you found, his frown tight and his eye boring into you like he could see directly into your soul.

        Which, the more you thought about it, was a pretty on the nose description.

         “When you awake," he murmured, “Will you be safe?" 

        You blinked once, then twice, finding that you couldn't look away from him. He had a strange magnetism to him- one that you had felt this whole time, but was only worse now. It struck you just how far from human he really was, even if he had felt like one. 

        “I… I think so,” you replied at length, unable to break eye contact between you and him, "Moreso it seems a better option than staying here.”

         Another long beat of silence, your words hanging in the air like strings of stars. It took at least a full minute before AZ responded, scratching the wrinkled skin beneath his good eye and sighing heavily. There was that weight again, heavy and suffocating, and you watched his posture fall in real time.

         “That will have to be enough," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

          You weren't sure what the tight feeling in your chest was, and you decided it didn't need a name.

         You sighed, crouching down next to yourself, tentatively reaching out to touch your body’s arm before stopping short. Something in your stomach told you that if you touched your body, it would be the end of this whole ordeal. Which on one hand was wonderful- a tidy solution to a weird as hell incident. But on the other hand…

        You looked back towards AZ, craning your head at an uncomfortable angle, “What’s going to happen?" 

        He met your gaze, his face obscured in shadow, the shading harsh around his exposed teeth, “You will wake up, and likely will not remember any of this."

        Oh.

         Your stomach sank, though you weren't entirely sure why.

        “What… what about you?”

        He seemed to go a little stiff, his eye wide and his brow raised in- what was it, surprise, maybe? You were finding him harder and harder to read. You decided to continue.

        "Will you be alright?"

         There was a moment after the words left your lips, where they hung in the air between the two of you, where AZ looked at you with an expression that made you feel like you had offered him the stars themselves- where he inhaled sharply, a sound you had not heard him make before, and where you felt, for just a moment, like you were sharing the burden of that great, mournful weight he bore. It stretched on for what felt like hours, your empty chest feeling warm and heavy, and your eyes locked with his. His lips parted to speak, but words seemed to fail him.

        The moment passed when his expression fell back into careful neutrality, and when he came to kneel on the ground next to you once again.

        “I will be fine. Though I appreciate your concern." 

        You didn't believe him.

        You sighed, having the impression that that was the most you were going to get out of AZ. You just hoped the weight he carried wouldn't crush him.

        “I hope I remember you," you murmured, looking away from him and back to your grey scale body, “And I hope I see you again." 

        The chuckle was bitter, “That is not something you should hope for." 

        “But I will anyway."

          There was that expression again- somewhere between shock and awe, his eye wide and fixed on you with a sort of wonder that made your cheeks warm. When he laughed this time, it was warm and genuine- something you liked far better coming from him.

        “You are… very strange,” he murmured, and you had to bite back a comment about the pot calling the kettle black.

        You awkwardly reached out to grasp one of his hands, giving it a quick squeeze and as soft a smile as you could manage.

         "I'll see you again," you promised, “Under better circumstances." 

         He smiled, squeezing your hand in turn, that heavy, suffocating guilt falling over you both like a shroud. But, for once, you felt like it wasn't quite as heavy.

         “I will look forward to it.”

         And with that, he gently guided your hand to rest on your body’s head- his touch cold and his fingers calloused- and everything went black.

---

        The doctors told you when you woke up that you had a minor concussion. You had evidently been rushed to the hospital after being found at a restricted area of the archeological site you were working at. You had apparently been missing for four days by the time someone found you, covered in dried blood and caked in dirt.

        Scans of your brain showed that there was minimal damage and no internal bleeding, though the doctors were sure to tell you that it was out of the ordinary in a case such as yours. The other thing, however, was that there was a concerning amount of dust in your lungs. Enough that medical professionals and law enforcement officers were worried you had been buried alive. None of them were happy when all you could tell them was that you couldn't remember what had happened to you. The memory loss was diagnosed as a symptom of your concussion, and the whole thing was written off as a freak accident.

        After a few more days in the hospital, a few calls with your boss, and far too many visits from your concerned friends and family, you were sent off with a clean bill of health, and a new assignment for lab work instead of field work. That was alright by you, you enjoyed every aspect of Archeology.

         But even so, after everything that had apparently happened to you, you couldn't shake the feeling like you had forgotten something important. Someone important. It was that sort of annoying, creeping feeling- like you had forgotten the name of your closest childhood friend, or something.

         Well, no matter. If it was as important as it felt, you were sure you would remember it eventually.

Also I wanted to include a little snippet of the x reader ficlet I'm working on. Maybe that will help with my motivation to get it finished and posted by tomorrow (Halloween Deadline let's gooo)

---

He looked down at you from the corner of his eye, his expression somehow both neutral and heavy. There was a certain weight that you couldn't name, pushing down on his shoulders and deadening the glint in his eye. He hummed, his voice deep and rolling, a shiver running down your spine at the sound. It brought to mind ancient stones grinding against one another, or the image of wind and rain slowly chipping away at a cliff side.

"You are neither dead or dying," he murmured, scratching the shadowed skin under his eye, "So no, you are not meant to be here."

You swallowed, finding the lump in your throat had returned with a vengeance, "So... What now?"

"Now, we find where you entered this place. And with any luck, we will find your memory with it."

You shuddered a little, clenching your arms against the cold, the fog roiling around you in thick waves, grasping at your legs like a hungry ghost.

doctor lawrence gordon. forty-something. blond. married. likes to sleep with women who are twenty years younger than him. not the best, but adam's seen worse. plus, his case is easy money. and free entertainment, too.

lawrence had only been a few simple pictures to him for so long. he lurked in the shadows, snapping shots of moments the doctor probably never thought twice of or didn't worry about. now, the photographs on adam's shitty walls were coming to life, breathing the same thick air he was.

technically, this was their second meet. the first official one that both were aware of, but lawrence met him a long time ago. probably doesn't even remember me. i was just another face in the crowd. that's for the best, though.

adam remembers it surprisingly well— a sticky july afternoon, hiding in the shade of the alleyway behind the starbucks lawrence had decided to stop by on his lunch break. normally, adam would've followed him in and pretended he was meeting up with someone, but the flash on his camera was going wild, flickering every few seconds. not something you can take inside.

adam tried everything he could think of. the damn thing was nearly dismantled by the time he brought it home, defeated. he's going to kill me. i'm not going to have his photos in time—

"excuse me?" a polite voice cut through his internal rambling. adam looked up, expecting to be met by a barista telling him off for loitering.

but instead, it was him.

lawrence's eyes flickered down to the cigarette resting between adam's lips, a moment of silent judgement, before he fixed his face. "i'm sorry to bother you.. but it's rather hot out here, isn't here?"

"yeah, it is." adam spoke around the cigarette. "sweltering."

"certainly. forgive me if i'm overstepping, but i couldn't help but notice your choice of attire." lawrence gestured to his long sleeve shirt and jeans. laundry needed to be done, and his clothes weren't dry yet, having to be hung out since his damn dryer busted a few weeks ago, and he couldn't afford any repairs.

lawrence held out a bottle of water. fresh and cold, given the clouding and condensation dripping from it. "we wouldn't want you to get heatstroke."

adam furrowed his brows, then grabbed the bottle and set it by his feet. "thanks.."

lawrence smiled again, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. how many times have i captured that exact smile? "no need, i'm a doctor, it's what we do."

don't i know it. adam began to mumble a reply, but was interrupted by a beeping coming from lawrence's waist. he grabbed the pager and checked it, then frowned. "i'm sorry.. i have to leave. have a good rest of your day."

"you too, gordon." came the reply before he could even register it. he was expecting lawrence to whip around and start laying into him, but thankfully, the doctor was gone by the time he finished his farewell.

"close one. you're losing your touch.." adam mumbled to himself, putting his cigarette out, then unscrewing the lid from the bottle and taking a generous sip.

who would've thought we'd meet again?