[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [cm / hm / y] [3 / adv / an / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / x] [rs] [status / ? / @] [Settings] [Home]
Settings   Home
/qst/ - Quests

File: MG66.gif (5.05 MB, 700x900)
5.05 MB
5.05 MB GIF
Correct thread number this time edition

Prove you don't need their luck

You play as Delilah, an unfortunate young girl going through tough times.

=Links and Information=


Thanks to an anon, here is the pastebin of just the text. With threads purposely being misarchived, this should be available and accessible instead:
Melancholic Quest Collection 1 (1-4): http://pastebin.com/hTK0fQmd
Melancholic Quest Collection 2: http://pastebin.com/cX4HC6Q9
Melancholic Quest Collection 3: http://pastebin.com/sTuR8xJv
Melancholic Quest Collection 4: http://pastebin.com/RPwa7nEt
Melancholic Quest Collection 5: http://pastebin.com/DJ71TtFc
Melancholic Quest Collection 6: http://pastebin.com/xxCdZfx6
Melancholic Quest Collection 7: http://pastebin.com/7skcyeX0
Thread 29 (Misarchived as Gorgon Child) http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/700562/
You placed the gun away in the dresser and out of sight.

“Later.” You turn back to her with a smile, “Shouldn’t...now. Too weak--” with that you lifted your arm limply, “Easy. Next two...days.”

“You’re right,” Delilah answered while hiding most of her disappointment, “You just always look a little worried when you’re holding one. It still scares me a bit too but--”

She holds one hand up with a finger gun, the other hand cupping beneath to hold it steady. With a click of her tongue she pretends to fire it at the mirror behind you.

“I guess they’re a little less scary now,” she shrugs, “At least, I’m kind of glad I know how to use one now. When it’s shooting bottles off the fence it’s fun at least.”

You cling to the dresser and nod. Hopefully Delilah didn’t notice the swaying or your legs buckling. It’s stupid to assume she wouldn’t, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to hide it.

As you sit on the bed to keep your head from spinning, Delilah points back to the hallway.

“Before I forget. It’s a little bit good news, a little bad…” she says with a timid grin, “I don’t mind if you have to sleep all day. When you wake up for lunch or dinner or whenever, I made you dessert! I couldn’t find all the ingredients to make cake though, so I hope you’re not too disappointed. I already tried a little bit though and I think it’s tasty, so you should like it too! I hope.

If you could stand up without immediately falling to the ground, you would have hugged her. That’s the best ‘worst news’ you’ve gotten and there’s a smile on your face.

Delilah works on adjusting the heater, trying to get it set up perfect for you. “By the way, it’s okay if you come home all gross,” she says, “If it’s dirt or uh, it’s okay if it’s um, if it’s blood too. As long as it means you get back quicker, then I can deal with it. It’s better than waiting even longer for you to come back.” She goes to the nightlight in the wall, letting it light up the room as she shuts off the bigger lamps.

Your grin falters. She doesn’t know that you were shutting down yesterday, body and mind. You’ve been angry in front of her and you’ve been hurt. But nothing like last night--

Pain splinters out from your temple. You hold the spot in vain, eyes closed tight as you ride out the wave.

“Do you want me to leave so you can sleep?” Delilah comes to your side, whispering as she can see the look on your face. “I can come check on you later. Maybe I can find a bell somewhere and you can just ring that if you need anything.”

> Last night frightened you and you would rather not be alone right now. Ask her to stay near while you sleep

> Making Delilah sit around waiting for you is cruel, promise to come find her when you’re awake

> You just want Delilah nearby under you fall asleep, then she can wander off afterwards if she wants

>You just want Delilah nearby under you fall asleep, then she can wander off afterwards if she wants
>You just want Delilah nearby under you fall asleep, then she can wander off afterwards if she wants

Delilah looks up as you say that, “You sure?”

You nod. This isn’t just for her but so you can keep calm. If you’re asleep then you can’t panic.

“Until sleep--”

“Shhh” she hushes, “I can barely hear you. Wait until dessert, then you can wear out your voice telling me how good it is.” Delilah’s teeth flash in a grimace, “I’m not trying to make fun of you for that, I’m sorry.”

While your eyes close easily, you still notice every little sound in the room. Hopefully she won’t have to wait for long.

“I’ve been finding more of granny’s letters--” Delilah sits on the end of the bed, warming herself closer to the heater. “Tell me if I’m talking too much. I’ve been finding more of her stuff here though. Letters she sent got from friends and family. I forgot her family was from Louisiana, pretty cool huh?”
She pauses, waiting for your permission to continue. You prefer it to the silence and nod for her to keep going.

“There was a lot she wrote to her sister. I think she died a few years ago though. Granny talked about her family a lot, so there were names I actually recognized! That was cool, even though it means I was snooping through her stuff…”

There’s a droop to her words and shoulders. Her fingers curls into the blanket to hold on, “I think I found a journal of hers too. Not a diary though, she mentioned that at the start. Heh, isn’t that funny? So don’t call it a diary! she wrote, I thought that was kind of funny.”

“Really...did snoop.”

“I told you to stop talking,” she scolds with a swat at your leg, “And it’s okay, it’s a journal not a diary. Plus she wrote it for someone to read, just in case of um… in case if anything happened to her and Dad. And she talked a lot about some of the stuff Grandpa was up to. ”

As you try to sit up Delilah has already come around to push you back down. “You’re supposed to be laying down,” she sternly says as she throws a blanket over to keep you down, “And I haven’t told you about some of the other cool stuff I also found! You’re going to listen and fall asleep while I tell you!”

She sits in the chair this time, her teeth glimmering in a grin.

“I found some stuff Grampa’s buddies left behind too. Most of them are in Italian but you know who knows that?”

Cammy you mouth the answer.

“N-... well yeah, but she isn’t going to translate stuff like that for me! I tried asking her and she took the note right out of my hand!” Annoyance turns to pride as she says, “But Ms. Brandi knows some. Some of the words are pretty easy cause they look like the same thing in English. But when I showed her one of the ones I found she was able to read it for me right there!”

Delilah speaks quickly now. You can’t blame her for finding interest in anything she finds in this dusty old place. But she’s already shown you the bit of coke she founds while poking around--

You quickly move away from that specific thought. Right now is the time to relax and just listen.

The last thing you remember Delilah talking about is

> The time she spent with Ace while you were gone
> What she learned about her grandfather
> The call she had with her grandmother yesterday
> ...
>The call she had with her grandmother yesterday
“Oh my gosh, I almost forgot!” her face brightens up, “Grandma called yesterday! I can’t believe I didn’t mention that!”

You can’t help but smile at her excitement. Even the smallest amount of good news must brighten her day. Her grandmother calling means she survived the heart surgery, which is amazing news on its own.

“She was still really tired when we talked so it wasn’t very long. And I think she fell asleep halfway through, but she said recovery is going well. But she’s going to have to stay there to rest.” She smiles and points at her chest, a bit pale in the face. “They did take out her heart and replace it with someone else’s. That’s uh, that’s amazing isn’t it? Scary, but wow…”

Your fingers come to press against your neck to feel the pulse beneath. Steady for now as far as you can tell. For a second you entertain ideas about replacing this jumpy heart of yours with one that could actually stay calm. Of course you throw any thoughts of that away as soon as you start to think about what the actual procedure might be like.

Happy for you, you mouth the words at her. Delilah nods with a growing smile.

“Before we hung up, Grandma mentioned she uh, she wanted to talk to you over the phone.” When you give Delilah a funny look she laughs, “I know, I told her that wouldn’t really work that great. But she said she understood and I guess just um, I guess you would just have to listen to her?”

She shrugs, “Granny said she would try to call again in the next few days. Hopefully you’re here when that happens. She said it wasn’t important yet but that she wants to get it out of the way.”

The pulse beneath your fingertips quickens. It doesn’t sound that strange of a request, but you already feel nervous. Like a kid waiting for a scolding. This is a stupid thing to get worked up about and yet you start trying to find those damn pills.

“Hey, don’t worry about it!” Delilah stands at attention as she watches you find the bottle also lost in the blankets. You pop one into your mouth and pray that it starts working right away.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not in trouble--” Before you realize it, she’s pulled the yellow bottle from your hand. She glances at it but doesn’t waste time putting it on the dresser. “And don’t say you weren’t, I could see it on your face. Trust me though. If she was mad at you she wouldn’t have been able to hide it. Even when she was sick, there’d be this really mean tone in her voice when someone annoyed her.”

You take big breaths, trying to count each one to keep slow and steady. Delilah keeps smiling but her eyes show her becoming worried. She can’t hear it but you apologize as you lay back down. It’s not bad enough for her to go get help and you would like to keep it that way.

“I won’t make you talk to her though, we can just say that you’re not around.”
You force a smile and nod at the suggestion. Other than that you don’t even think about it. Maybe after a few more hours of sleeping and not thinking of anything….

“You probably need quiet now. I’ll stick around until your snoring gets too loud.”

You smile for real at Delilah, keeping your eyes closed as you really try to sleep now. The noises of the room start to fade out as your body goes limp and heavy.

A year ago, you were out on the streets. Sleeping in a bed was a luxury you didn’t focus on. While you wish you could claim all the time you spent out there was all in search for you sister, most of it was really just trying to get by. Scraping together whatever cash you could earn or find. Mom would freak out if she knew how you sometimes got food to get through the day. Far from the life she ever wanted her babies to go through.

Had you not made friends out there, you probably wouldn’t have been able to pull through some of the worst times. Whether it was when days began to add up between meals or when you started giving in to the hopelessness.

John was always a good man to you. He didn’t run off like most others would when they saw your angry outbursts. When it needed to run its course he stood by, and when you needed someone to pull you back he was there to try his best. He took any stray elbows or punches like a champ, even accepting a broken nose on one occasion.

It was all your fault too. You two had scraped together enough pocket change and favors to spend the night drinking. It was an excuse to get drunk and stay out from the snow outside.

You two kept to a table next to a pool table, taking breaks between rounds to play a game. John was amazing at the game already, and the more you drank the worst you got.
It shouldn’t have, but every loss only made you annoyed. And between each game you only got more drunk.

“Damn, we might have to stick around longer than I thought.” John returned to the table after peeking out the front door. “Stuff is still comin’ down like crazy. Might need to figure out somewhere to camp out if they kick us out soon.”

John returned a moment later with shots in hand, which meant having to stomach more cheap tequila. He said it reminded him of home and it got you drunk anyways, so you never complained.

“Y’know, it’s been a while since I had a proper drinking buddy.” He held up the glass, waiting for you to tap against his. You managed without spilling too much and quickly took it after. “Course we probably shouldn’t be doin’ this but eh, fuck it.”

You nodded to that. John was a good guy, but he had his problems. It would slip out here and there, but he never really opened up about it. Things about his ex-wife and his time in the army and much more beyond that.

“Had a shit day, lemme tell ya.” John took his shot easily and held a second in his hand, “The VFW was supposed to hold on to a pair of boots for me. Someone donated a whole case of ‘em, guess from a store closing down. All I asked from them lately was for a new pair since snow keeps getting into these ones.”

He held up a foot, showing a show holding on with glue, luck and prayers. “And all I asked for was one pair, just save me one pair outta the bunch. Figured I could ask for that much, I did help ‘em fix that damn roof. But I haul my ass down there and they didn’t save shit for me. Hope whatever lucky asshole that got my pair uses them well.”

You would have been pissed too. Knowing John, he probably thanked them for their time and walked away. They would have had to drag you out the door kicking.

Now you were looking for reasons to feel mad. That’s the kind of drunk you were. Not that you had a good day either. You told John about the worst part, about how-

>You were given bad info about your sister and went to some woman’s house instead. It scared her and embarrassed you badly

>After finding out the information was bad, you went back to the man who sold it to you. The police were called and you were almost arrested for assaulting him

>Another bad lead left you hopeless. You stood at the edge of the bridge for the rest of the day, scared about what you should do.

>After finding out the information was bad, you went back to the man who sold it to you. The police were called and you were almost arrested for assaulting him.
Sounds about right.
>>After finding out the information was bad, you went back to the man who sold it to you. The police were called and you were almost arrested for assaulting him

This seems correct, and I'm curious about the almost
That piece of shit never bothered to hide. He was so confident that this address belonged to your sister. Swore up and down on his life that the woman that lived there was Michele. That he had been inside and seen her with his own eyes.

You should never have had your hopes up in the first place. This guy only knew you through distance association, heard through the grapevine that you were looking for someone. Heard the news that you were offering money for anyone that had seen Michele.

While you traveled to the neighborhood that already felt too nice to be the place, he spent your money on heroin. And when you finally got to the address and knocked on the door, he was shooting up and having the time of his life.

He only went a few blocks away from the alley you two exchanged money. While you traveled to the gated neighborhoods, he had spent your money on heroin. And while you were finding a way to get to the address written down, he was shooting up in the park he took refuge in.

The woman that answered the door was scared as hell to see someone like you on the doorstep. But still, you hoped that Michele could be inside. She refused to take the note in your hand, though she read it when you held it up.

There was no Michele who lived there. Never was.

She slammed the door in your face. You should have known this place was too good. You should have known it wouldn’t have been that easy.

The man who sold you the information was easy to find. The park he holed himself in was only blocks away from where you two traded money. High out of his mind, he had the audacity to smile when you approached and asked if you found her.

He really wasn’t that loud when you dragged him away from the bench and started wailing on him. Someone must have seen the scene from a distance and called the cops. Then again, fights made you ignore everything else. The noise, the blood, nothing would register in your head until you got it out of your system.

Not that this could be called a fight. The man laying on the sidewalk couldn’t fight back. You had several inches and pounds on him, this beating was one sided. He deserved it though. He deserved every little bit that he got, and you only stopped when red and blue lights came up the street.
You threw him to the ground, ears ringing and gritting your teeth in left over anger. As pissed as you were, you couldn’t risk getting arrested. He took a swift kick in the ribs before you stormed off, ducking away before the cop car arrived at the park.

Had the officer needed to pull you off the man, you would have been taken away. But you knew better. They wouldn’t spend time looking for the person that attacked some street bum, it was as simple as running away before anyone caught up with you. If this was someone worth caring about then it wouldn’t have been so easy, but a street bum…

The same could be said about you. There were times you got your ass kicked instead. When you were left in the alley, pockets picked and left bleeding on the ground. You could report it, but it wouldn’t do a damn thing. And if you were to die out here, that would be the end of it. There would be no investigation, just a dead body and a call to your parents if you were fortunate enough for that.

“It don’t look like you’re havin’ a great day either.” John stood again, holding to the pool table for support as he slipped another quarter in. “I don’t like that look on your face though. Did ya go out and find trouble again?”

You didn’t answer or look up at him. While John was kind and understanding, he was also one of the few people who had the courage to harp on you like that. He saw the problems your short fuse had caused in the past. The same could be said about you. There were times you got your ass kicked instead. When you were left in the alley, pockets picked and left bleeding on the ground. You could report it, but it wouldn’t do a damn thing. And if you were to die out here, that would be the end of it. There would be no investigation, just a dead body and a call to your parents if you were fortunate enough for that.

“It don’t look like you had a great day either.” John stood again, holding to the pool table for support as he slipped another quarter in. “I don’t like that look on your face though. Did ya go out and find trouble again?”

You didn’t answer or look up at him. While John was kind and understanding, he was also one of the few people who had the courage to harp on you like that. He saw the problems your short fuse had caused in the past and only wanted better for you. From you. As easy as it was to agree with him when things were fine, that didn’t stop you from being a belligerent asshole when things weren’t going your way.

A cue stick poked at your leg.“Hey, I’m not gonna have to carry you back, am I?” John’s words were starting to slur but he still had most of his wits about. “Maybe it’s about time we cut ya off. How about we pack up and--”
You pulled yourself up, somehow, and pushed past John. He watched as you grabbed your own cue stick and tried to rack the pool table. He watched over your shoulder, nudging you with the stick again.

“You got the 8-ball resting at the point, just lemme do it.”

As John reached for the rack you couldn’t help but push him back. Hard enough to make him stumble and more than enough to give away your mood. Earlier, you didn’t stop beating that man because you were done. You were forced to leave. When Michele wasn’t at the door you broke inside. It was such a heartbreaking letdown and you couldn’t let it go. Not yet.

“Alright, there we go. Wanna break this time of--” As John looked up from pool balls arranged in a diamond, he witnessed you lumbering to the door. Grabbing on to the back of whatever chairs or wall that you could.

He was quick to stop you at the door, pulling you back by both shoulders.

“Hang on fella--” grunted John as he dug his heels into the floor, “I know we talked about headin’ back but I don’t think that’s a good idea yet. Why doncha sit down for a little bit first?”

John was lucky to match you nearly perfect in height. But the man’s body was older and leaner than yours and the alcohol wasn’t helping either.

Drunk and aggressive, you-

>Fought with John outside the bar. You hurt him before snapping out of it and he still walked you back to safety afterwards

> Managed to get free and went outside to look for the man from earlier. You figured he was still in the park and you were going to finish that fight

> Found trouble elsewhere on the street. John came to your help and you both suffered for it

> Found trouble elsewhere on the street. John came to your help and you both suffered for it
>>Fought with John outside the bar. You hurt him before snapping out of it and he still walked you back to safety afterwards

John was a true friend you didn't deserve
> Found trouble elsewhere on the street. John came to your help and you both suffered for it
John stumbled back as you shoved him out of the way. You left the bar fully expecting to find trouble one way or another. He made the mistake of trying to grab you one last time and without thinking about it, your elbow swung against his face.

“Sonuvabitch!” He was left reeling and clutching his bleeding nose and you stormed out.

That man wasn’t one to back down so easily though. You stumbled through the snow with double vision and only moments later, John was catching up.

“Home is back this way! Where the hell do you think you’re goin’ ?” he growled from beneath the towel that kept blood from staining his shirt further. “Why don’t we just get turned around here and find somewhere to sit for a bit. Can wait for the snow to let up a bit--”

If you could have, you would have told John to fuck off. He didn’t do anything to deserve that. He was doing everything he could to keep you out of trouble. It didn’t matter though. You were looking for a fight, no matter where it came from.

The park was your first destination. But as John kept pushing and pulling you away, you wound up turned around. Instead, you wandered off further than that. Towards the underpass across the street of the bars. The cars driving over it were too far and too few inbetween to catch your attention. Your blurry vision didn’t allow you to make out the line of tents set up beneath the pass.

“Goddammit! Lawrence! We’re goin’ back now, you hear?!” John tossed the towel aside and stepped before you again.This time, he managed to hold his ground when you tried to pass. “Where the hell are you even trying to go now?”

He was determined to get you back somewhere safe and you were still too hostile. The fighting only grew louder as you went back and forth. The racket quickly proved too loud for those trying to sleep only a few feet away.

“Fucking knock it off!”
“We’re trying to sleep!”
“Kill each other somewhere else!”

“You hear that Law? Now we’re being a bother,” John tried to whisper through gritted teeth, “Remember that counting thing we talked about before? This is the time to try it, c’mon just start from a hundred--”
“Not--.... Not fuck--” Your shout was pathetic. The words would fade out before you finished them but it was all you had. “--not...fucking… doing that!”

“Oh you fuckin'-- work with me!” As John took a look around he saw that it was too late. The people in the tents were tired of waiting for you to leave, and looked determined to remove you themselves.

An older man approached first to pull you off John, probably thinking you two were only in a drunken fight. Bad move on his part. All your attention swung from John to his man as he grabbed you from behind.

He went crumbling to the ground easily. That was all it took to make everything significantly worse. Outnumbered and drunk, neither you or John stood much of a chance.

John did his best to help. When one of the men approached with a bent tire iron in hand, he tried to hold the man back.

“Can’t we talk about this?” John grunted as he wrestled for the tire iron, “We’ll get the hell outta here, just give us a chance! My friend here is just havin’ a bad day and--”

“If you wanted to walk outta here you shouldn't have attacked one of our boys!” The man held the tire iron long enough for one of his friends to come up from behind. John only got a glimpse before being sucked punched from behind.

You watched as his head of dirty blonde hair dropped to the snow. Two other men managed to approach you from either side easily. You weren’t able to stand straight on your own, and two men were more than enough to tackle you down.

The wind was knocked out of you from the fall alone. But you couldn’t stop, and had to keep fighting back. You kept punching and kicking and grabbing whatever you could reach. Had to leave bruises. Black eyes. Busted lips. Whatever damage you could deal.

And they returned the same to you. While you were one man lashing out, they were two men retaliating.

The guys by John gave him the same treatment. That man was smart enough to get it over with quicker. While they roughed him up, they didn’t seem to enjoy kicking a man who wasn’t fighting back.

He could have though. You know he could have easily pulled a knife out and ended things right there. But he held those impulses better than you, and because of that he got to watch you struggle.

The old man you knocked over finally managed to get back to his feet. He was left panting as he approached the boys still roughing you up. By now you had given up, not out of defeat but difficulty breathing.

“Oi, knock it off now,” he called to the boys still kicking you. When his words went unheeded he tried again, raising his voice louder, and they finally stopped.

The elderly man approached you, coming to kneel by your side. Instead of backing down already, you lunged towards him.

Terrible idea. A boot stamped down on your shoulder. The heel dug in painfully as you were pinned to the ground.
“Ah Christ, stop! Please, ya gotta stop this!” John pleaded as he watched you struggle. He attempted to come to your side, only to be held back easily by his arms. He was made to kneel in the snow, blood and sweat dripping below. Forced to watch as you were kept down, gasping for breath and squirming under the man. You had overworked yourself in the moment. The winter air was taking its toll on your throat and lungs, leaving them painfully raw.

“Hasn’t he had enough? He’s learned his lesson, please I don’t want y’all to kill him--”

“It’s -cough-, it’s his fault it happened,” the old man nodded at you before going through your pockets. “Should have taken this shit somewhere else. I don’t know if yer murdering each other or just faggots or what. But don’t do that here. We’ve got enough shit to deal with.”

“I-- yes sir, we’re sorry. We’re just some drunk assholes, we won’t bother y’all ever again.”

As John was left begging, the man pulled out your wallet. You shot him death glares as he opened it, looking through the inside.

“Owe us this much at least,” he mumbles upon taking the biggest bill you had inside, ten dollars. As he pocketed that, he noticed the photo sticking out behind your ID. Your entire body tensed up as he pulled it out to look over.

“Huh, maybe I’m mistaken. This yer girlfriend or something?” the old man’s eyes scan the photo of Michele up and down, “I suppose she’s alright looking. Less you’re just a creep carrying around a random girl’s photo?”
The man holding you down notices that you’re trying even harder to get up now. He starts to pin his full weight down on you, his shoe edging dangerously close to your throat.

“Seems pretty important to him,” the old man murmurs, “Apologize for bothering us tonight and I might let you leave with this picture.”

You tried to fight even harder against the man holding you down. Negotiating for the only picture of Michele that you had was not an option.

“Please sir, my friend here is a bit of a mute. If ya could, just lemme apologize for the two of us.”

He motions for John to remain silent and stands up over you, Michele’s picture still in hand. “All ya have to do is put some effort in and I’ll give it back. Otherwise I think I’ll keep it myself. I’ve seen cuter but some new eye candy would be nice.”

“Why don’t you let me see it?” the man holding you down asked, “Maybe she’s more of my tastes. I took her man down anyways, I think I deserve that.”

>You conceded, did as the man asked and humiliated yourself. The men made some more comments about Michele before handing the photo back, and you just had to take it.

> You couldn’t take it anymore and fought the men again. You walked out with the picture in hand and John on your back.

> You couldn’t take it anymore and fought the men again. You walked out with the picture in hand and John on your back.
Stubborn. Angry. Protective. Drunk.

> You couldn’t take it anymore and fought the men again. You walked out with the picture in hand and John on your back.

Gonna be honest, I've been waiting to get back to playing as Delilah for a while. Hope it happens soon.
>You couldn’t take it anymore and fought the men again. You walked out with the picture in hand and John on your back.
> You couldn’t take it anymore and fought the men again. You walked out with the picture in hand and John on your back.
You couldn’t take it any longer. The knee above you buckled as your fist slammed against it. The picture of Michelle is all you kept your eyes on. The man holding it began to back up and you followed.

John watched as you started another fight that didn’t need to be started. He was left alone, obviously not a threat compared to you.

The old man just had to keep holding on to the photo. Maybe if he had let go right away, you would have stopped. He held on tight to it as he tried to curl up to protect himself. As you tried to wrestle the photo out of his hand, one of the boys jumped on you from behind.

You zoned out from there. Went on autopilot. Grabbed the photo at some point. Kept going after that. John was yelling at you the whole time. Begging you to stop. This wasn’t worth it.

“Can you hear me? Shit-- no sweetie, you stay back there.”

The tire iron was brought out at some point. You grabbed it once, though the swing was only hard enough to make your hand sting. You’re sure it swung harder after that but couldn’t remember where it went.

The men who stayed to fight laid sprawled on the snow. None of them got up, but you knew they weren’t dead. You were pissed but could at least control yourself that much.

You stood above the man you hurt last, his mouth moving and his voice coming up just enough to whisper at you.

“Fucking prick… f-fuck you. Go to hell with that w-whore….”

Instead of kicking him like you wanted, you started counting to yourself. It continued as you checked out the photo, making sure it was still okay. The high school photo of Michelle was a difficult smile to look at. It’s what she looked like when you last saw her, but with so many years passed you weren’t sure who to look for.
“Lawrence? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’m helping him. Can you bring a damp towel? He’s sweating like crazy--”


The photo went back into the safety of your wallet. Hidden out of sight, with just the corner peeking out to remind you it’s there.

“Shit…. I can’t… I can’t take it...”

Finally, you started to listen. You found John and you found out where the tire iron went. He kept muttering to himself in pain, clutching his side. The sound of your shoes against the snow made him flinch and draw himself in closer.

“You ain’t gonna beat me t-too…” he huffed, head shaking as he dared to look up, “Are you…?”

He really got the worst of it. Whatever happened to you could be shrugged off in a few days. John could barely stand on his own. You realized he wouldn’t be able to walk home like that.

“Aw shit. I’m -ah-... I’m hurt awful…” he gasped, “Can we just go back…? I don’t care how.”

John was ready to walk off without you. He took as many steps on his own as he could, gasping and wincing each way. It grew to be too much and he keeled over in the snow. You felt like shit. This was entirely your fault. You listened as he continued to gasp in pain as you came up to him.

Getting John on your back was a painful endeavour for the man. But once he was there you could go forward, carrying him back to where you should have gone in the first place.

You didn’t take your money back. You didn’t apologize for what you did. Walking back was tiring enough, but now you had to carry John with. And with each step you had to listen to his grunts of pain.

“Ohh… oh no. Poor Lawrence, it’s okay, You'll be okay--”

“--watch out. If he starts flailing again you’re going to need to stand back again.”
“You gotta get that anger under control…” he huffed against you, “One...one day you ain’t gonna win. I won’t be there t- ah…. To take them bullets for you again.”

You glared at anyone thinking of walking close as you trudged along the sidewalk. A couple of hateful comments were thrown towards you but these were easy to ignore. That outburst had sobered you up and you felt far too guilty to let John sit on the street like this.

Sorry, you mouthed the apology to yourself. You were sorry, but only that John was hurt. That was usually the only thing that made you regret a fight. It led to too many others getting hurt…

“I might -fuck-... I might need Sam to check this out…” John groaned, “He’ll know i-if it’s c-cracked properly. I think I g-got some ah, some Oxy l-left...can a-at least sleep m-maybe.”

God, you felt awful about it. And it only became worse as you listened to John in pain. Even after this he would still call you a friend. You didn’t deserve that. Giving into those fighting impulses is what caused all of this in the first place.

John felt heavier with each step. You wanted to tell him sorry but found it so difficult. Your throat tight. Chest heavy. Limbs tired. Ground spinning.

It feels like you’re going to die.

File: tegaki.png (69 KB, 600x600)
69 KB
“Law? Can you hear me now?” Crockett’s voice remains cautious as he looks down at the sleeping man.

You reached past Crockett’s arms, wiping up the sweat that gathered on Lawrence’s face. His teeth gnash and grind together while his whole body thrashes in the bed. It even looks like he’s trying to speak in his sleep, but neither you or Crockett can make it out.

“Should we splash some water on him?” you ask, trying to hold Lawrence’s face in place.

“No, I think we are supposed to let him wait this out. I’m not really sure though…”

You had stopped by to check on Lawrence a few minutes earlier. When you left him about two hours prior, he was sleeping peacefully. It felt like his snoring could shake the concrete walls. It felt like you could leave him to sleep.

But when you popped by, he was grabbing at his chest and gasping for breath. Out of instinct you tried to run to his side. But as you quickly discovered, Lawrence was in the middle of a nightmare. When you tried to shake him awake, he pushed you back. It was enough to send you to the ground and knock the wind out of you.

You made sure not to mention that part as you went to find Crockett for help. And because you could ask with sad desperation, he dropped his car keys to follow.

“Okay…. Okay, I think he’s calming down.” Crockett nodded, sweat starting to gather on his forehead now. He tried to keep Lawrence laying back, probably all for the sake of keeping you from being caught in the thrashing.

Lawrence finally laid flat on his back again. Breathing heavy and hard, his entire face red. You could feel the heat emanating from his skin when you went to wipe him down again.

“I think so,” you nod in hope, “Should we try to wake him up now?”

“I don’t know about that yet....” Crockett gently you pushed you back a few feet before slowly, raising his other hand off of Lawrence. He kept down, only his hands moving to paw at his chest weakly.

Do you want to try waking up Lawrence or leave him be for now?
Just leave him be, stay with him, talk to him while he sleeps. That works in movies right?
Let him sleep.

When Crockett leaves hold Lawrence's hand and talk, try a lullaby...
Let him sleep for now.
“I just want to make sure he isn’t going to hurt himself,” you look up at Ace.

“He’s over the worst of it,” he nods at Lawrence with a smile, “Cammy told me about what happened from her friend.”

“That weird guy in the suit?” you make a cradling motion, “And he walked around with the doggie?”

Crockett snaps, “That’s the one. He works Internal Affairs. You know what that is?”

You shake your head, “Is that like a uhhh… is he a cop?”

“Pretty good guess. He’s ah… I supposed you could say he’s like a cop for cops. To make sure everyone is doing what they’re supposed to.”

You can’t help but frown a little. “They don’t catch all the bad ones though.”

“N-... yeah, they haven’t taken care of them all.” Crockett himself looks more somber as his chest falls. “Guys like him are working on it though. He doesn’t like to see good people being hurt. I saw some of the people he’s brought in. There are some nasty people behind bars thanks to him.”

He gives a chuckle, “Arlene is scared to death of him though. She gets in enough trouble as it is.”


“Officer Palmer.”

“Right,” you nod and point to your chest, “I’m used to reading ‘Palmer’ on her name tag.”

“You know what it means when she wears it?” Crockett has a grin on his face as you wait to answer. When you shrug he answers, “We used to say that it meant she was in a nice mood and wouldn’t break any rules on her shift. Course that didn’t always stop her…”

You smile too but think about it for a moment longer, “Does that mean she’s a bad cop?”

“Ah, I mean technically speaking…”

Both you and Crockett move out to the hallway for now. Waiting by the door, you can keep an eye on Lawrence without bothering him. And after this you can go sit with him again.

Crockett scratches at his scruffy mustache, “Now, I don’t want you to be scared of her. Arlene is a good woman. She’s scared of Cammy’s friend but they both have the same goal-- they want to help good people.”

“She’s always nice to me,” you agree with a nod.

“Right. It’s just that ah… sometimes she doesn’t get to help people. Not as much as she wants to. Sometimes she has to watch a bad person walk away,” he gives a sigh, “That’s hard for someone like her to do. And I can’t blame her. So sometimes she’s ah, bent the rules to nab someone. She really shouldn’t do that. But if she wasn’t that type of person, she wouldn’t be helping us.”

“I’m glad she is helping,” you look to the ground. You stand on either side of the doorway, waiting in silence now. Inside, Lawrence’s thrashing has stopped. He rolls back and forth some but nothing like before.

Crockett checks his watch. The time doesn’t make him too happy and he now anxiously looks between you and it.

“Are you going to be okay with me or Cammy?” he asks.

“It’s a little scary,” you admit, “But I’ve got Lawrence and Ms. Brandi here.”

He sneers at that answer, “Beggars can’t be choosers, can they?”
While you still feel weird standing with this man, you can at least stand here and talk without fighting the urge to run away. It was a feeling you had to get used to yesterday, as you spent much of the day with him.

flashbacks but not doing italics this time

You were searching the kitchen that morning when Crockett came in with his announcement.

“Oh good, you’re here!” he smiled and stepped into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” you greeted him while searching the refrigerator, “Um, what are you doing? Am I in the way?”

“No no no,” he shook his head and came in closer. He looked towards the counter, where you had set out mixing bowls and spatulas and other tools you would need. “Seems like you’re ready to make a big breakfast.”

You pulled out eggs and placed them on the counter without looking up at him. “Uh uh, this is for Lawrence. He wanted me to make a chocolate cake for him.”

“Ah… I see.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure everyone gets a slice.” You bit at your lip, nervous as Crockett continued to stay in the kitchen without saying what he wanted. Quickly, you moved to the pantry in search of flour and to put some space in between.

“That’s very kind of you.”

He remained by the counter as you searched the pantry. The flour rested on a shelf a bit too high in a jar a bit too large. As you tried to nudge it closer to the edge, a hand reached over the top of you instead.

“Here let me grab this for you--”

Crockett nearly dropped the jar as you shoved yourself away from him. In a panicked voice to shout out, “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Ah--” he stares at you in shock, flour jar in hand. You glare for only a few seconds longer, before you try to take it easy. Without looking up and trying to ignore shaky nerves, you reach out for the jar.

He hands it over and stays by the pantry as you go to add it with the eggs.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a guilty tone, “I promise to work on that. I was an idiot.”

You continued to look at the jar on the counter and refused to turn back. “...did you say why you came in here?”

It’s silent long enough for you to turn back, just to make sure Crockett is actually still there. And sure enough he is, staring at the ground and scratching the back of his head.

“I’m staying here today,” he admits, “And your ah, your boy suggested that I try to spend some time with you. Being here isn’t fun, I know.”

He wanted to hang out with you. Right away you were nervous at the idea for several reasons.

Crockett has always been nice to you. But you’ve seen him be rude to others like Lawrence. The way he knows your mother, your father… And of course, he keeps scaring you like this.

Did you accept his apology? Were you okay with him trying to spend time with you?
Yes, but we told him to stop being a jerk to Lawrence. He doesn't understand anything, how dangerous and frightening it was to be a bum and only because of Law and the others are you alive.

Talk to him about the old group. Is John able to take care of the children this winter?

(I'm sad that they all disappeared from the story.)
Also I completely agree. I can really feel Delilah's isolation, it's been so long since we've seen any of them. Thankfully we have Lawrence, but it would be nice to check up on the others at some point soon. Just to see if they're alright.
Tight lipped and stern faced, you turned to face Crockett again. First you motion for him to move out of the way of the pantry. The man makes sure to keep several feet away as you go to look for sugar next.

“I’m not mad at you for that,” you said while eyeing off the limited resources on the shelf, “I can’t handle being sneaked up on very well. But I know you didn’t mean it.”

Crockett promised to do better about that. It’s true though, you aren’t really mad at him for that. As you find the hand sized bag of sugar, you decide that you should do more for Lawrence.

“I want you to stop being a jerk,” you stated bluntly. As you examined the already tiny bag, you quickly discovered that it was less than half full.

“Jerk? Ah…. h-have I been treating you badly?”

You turned to him in response, shocked that he would suggest such a thing. Crockett was holding his chest and paled face. “What? No, not me!” you had to stop from yelling, “I’m talking about Lawrence!”

“Oh thank goodness…” he sighed in relief.

“Did you hear what I said though?” you closed the gap between you and Crockett now, as you wanted to make sure he was really listening. “I don’t hate you, but you need to be nicer to my friend! He works really hard and deserves to be treated nice!”

Crockett looks down at you, blinking in otherwise stunned silence. You uttered an apology under your breath for yelling but otherwise stood your ground.

“It’s…. You’re right,” he hung his head in defeat, “I’m not usually so snappy. Maybe I do need to start working on my manners again.”

You didn’t expect him to concede so easily. But it felt like a step forward in the right direction, and you figured it was your duty to keep going.

“Good. You can help me with baking then.”

“I mean, this isn’t really my forte,” he answered while already rolling up his sleeves.

“Well I’ve never made one that wasn’t from a box…” You tried not to let the daunting task worry you too much. Instead you went looking for chocolate, only to discover an old kitchen apron stashed away in a drawer.

The warm yellow cloth adorned with sweet red frills and matching ribbon was such a warm gift to find. It was like a ray of sunshine in such a gray, gloomy place. It smelt of dust, and you had to shake out quite a bit, but you couldn’t pass on the opportunity.

Such a fun and bubbly garment almost made you forget that this would have belonged to your grandmother. You couldn’t help but to smile at the red frills that lined the bottom edge and that made up the straps around your neck. The big red sash around your waist was tied in the best and biggest bow you could manage.

“Alright--” you turned the oven on so it could start heating up, “It’s time to bake a cake!”

While you worked on remembering the measurements and steps to making a cake, you worked on warming up to Crockett. Talking to him alone still made you nervous, but he worked on keeping his distance. He would even go out of his way to keep that space between you two.
“--actually, I know how to use a knife too. Kind of. I had a friend named John teach me.”

In an attempt to be friendly, Crockett asked how your gun training with Camilla had been going. You were happy to discuss that, and in doing so brought up the fact that you had been taught how to defend yourself before.

“Is that so?” he asked while elbows deep in a soapy sink, “That’s pretty impressive. How did that go?”

“John was a good teacher. I talked to him a lot about stuff. He took me to see my dad’s grave and he also gave me a better knife to use. I could also talk to him about ah…” you paused stirring the bowl, swallowing hard at the subject. “He uh… John kind of went through some of the same s-stuff I did. It was nice to talk to someone who really, really understands that kind of thing.”

Crockett was looking over at you with a sullen face, “I see. I’m glad to know you were able to meet some good people.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “John had a lot of nice friends too. I mean, Lawrence was one. Oh, and then there was Marilyn! She’s this girl a little younger than me. Whenever I was with them, she thought she could get away with bullying me all the time. Even though I was older than her!”

“Ah, so you were picked on by a pipsqueak?” he smiled.

“No! I mean, sometimes. I let her bully me to make herself feel better!” you nodded at that very true fact, “But she wasn’t really that bad of a brat. She usually knew when it was time to stop and start being nice. And then her grandpa Sam was always telling his war stories…”

“To children?”

This time you smiled, “He usually made some stuff up so it wasn’t scary for them. I figured that out pretty quick.”

He started placing the newly washed pots and pans up to dry, “Well you are a smart girl.”

“It’s because my grandpa used to do the same thing,” you admitted sheepishly. But maybe that’s why you liked Sam so much. That kind old man was similar enough to your grandfather, especially in your time of need. “And then there was Sarah and Eric. Those two are married, and it’s so funny. She’s kind of all uh, what’s it called, goth looking? She wears a lot of black clothes and makeup. And then her husband would be dressed up all nice with a suit and tie for work-- Oh! And Sarah played in this band too. And then there was these girls, Mabel and Aria and Jessica--”

The more you talked the more your heart began to hurt. It became too much at once and you had to stop to let the guilty feelings pass.

Crockett noticed the shift in your tone. He stepped away from the sink to talk better to you, though that careful distance still remained.

“If I could find out where one of those people are, would that make you feel a bit better?” he asked, “If you give me a name, then we can try keeping an eye out for them. I can’t make any promise aside from the fact that I will try.”

Which of your friends did you tell Crockett to look for?
[related to the anon posts before this]
I miss them too but you'll have to wait a bit longer for them. i didn't forget about them though, and have been making plans for that
Sam would probably be a good bet, he seemed like kind of the de facto head of the group.
If the group's still holding out together, it stands to reason it'd be around him.
If he finds sam he finds his granddaughter too, and he would know about all the other kids. No way would he abandon any of them.

... Sam is the one with a granddaughter right? I really should read again from the beginning
I suppose I missed a word or two when I read that update.

Didn't Delilah go to the veteran center Sam had friends at? It shouldn't be difficult for Crockett to get in contact if he goes there, unless he's a bull in a china shop.
Sam is Lyn's gramps, yeah.

Even if Del doesn't think to mention visiting the post, Ace'd likely have the forethought to leave a message and contact information if he does show up.
You thought about the answer carefully.

“Sam…” you answered firmly, “You should find Sam, he would know where everyone is. And he has other friends too, ones at the veteran center.”

“The VFW?” He pulled out a memo pad from his pants, “Alright. Tell me what you know, and I can ask around.”

Crockett wrote down everything you could remember about Sam. From the late wife he brought back from the war to the granddaughter he was left to raise alone, you poured out every detail you could pull.

“--and he’s got a cane. He’s missing part of his leg,” you grabbed the corresponding knee.

As he finished the last of your description, Crockett glanced up from the page. “How’d he lose it? Overseas?”

“Yeah.” You picked the bowl back up and proceeded to add the cocoa powder. As you stirred the dark color in through the batter a smile came on your face. “He told his granddaughter and the other kids a really dumb story though.”

“Dumb? That’s not a very nice thing to say about a veteran.”

You took the tiniest taste of the batter, wondering if it was correct. “Wait until you hear what he said!” you said, bringing the bowl over to him.

“Okay, what did he say?” When Crockett noticed you came up to the sink he started backing away. But you shook your head and held up the bowl.

“Taste it,” you instruct him first, “And just listen to this. So he would always tell Lyn that he hurt his leg while out there. His future wife found and saved his life.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.” Crockett also swiped up a taste of the batter. With a shrug he said, ‘I have to be honest, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be tasting.”

“It doesn’t taste bad I guess. So that’s good?”
Soon you were pouring the questionable batter into a pan, popping any rising air bubbles. “Anyways, I’m pretty sure that part of the story is true. After that he would talk about how he got drunk and tried to show off his doctor skills. And that’s why he lost his leg.”

“Cause he amputated it off?”

“That’s what he said,” you nodded, “But I know that part isn’t true. He thinks that whatever actually happened is too scary for her. Probably is though…”

“I could imagine that,” agreed Crockett, “How’d he end up with that granddaughter?”

“She got left behind by her mom. I think her parents got into some debt trouble and left town because of it.” A frown comes over your face as you think about Marilyn’s smug little smile. “I hope she’s taking care of the puppy too…”

“I promise to let you know if I find out anything about either of them.”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

Waiting for the cake was a grueling task. The timer on the stove ticked away as it should, but you wanted to know how it was looking inside the oven.

“You shouldn’t stare at it like that,” Crockett warned from the table with coffee in hand, “It’s just going to take longer that way.”

Ignoring the urge to pull open the oven door to take a peek inside, you came back to where Crockett was sitting. On the other side waited the orange you gave up trying to peel. You work on it again, if only to try killing time.

“Okay, I won’t wait by the oven. But you have to keep telling your story.” Your fingers managed to dig into a section of orange and tug it free. The white strands made a ripping noise as they pulled free from the core and you popped the piece into your mouth.

“Ah, you sure about that?” he smiled nervously behind the mug, “It wasn’t that interesting--”

“Yes it was.”

It was surprising to see Crockett agree to your demands so easy, but you used it to your advantage quickly. You had tested this a few minutes prior, when you asked if he had any good stories. After talking about the past for so long, you were ready to just listen instead.

Of course, he had no idea what to tell you. He made the mistake of asking what you might want to hear. Crockett is one of the only people you have ever met that knew your mother and her family. Most people in your life were there thanks to your father.

This man knew your mother, your aunt Julie, and your father back when they all went to school. You asked him to tell you about --
Huh, I actually don't have much in mind.
Guess have him talk about those school days then.
Ask about something fun, like birthday parties... Everyone can relate to a good birthday! Delilah's birthdays were fun, right? Not even her parents would ruin them with coke and booze
“So you went to school with Mom?” you looked between him and the oven before asking the next thing that came to mind, “Does that mean you never baked a birthday cake for Mom-- err, Denise?”

Crockett nearly dropped his mug at the question. You could already see his entire face go red before he turned away.

“No, I never did that,” he answered with a shake of his head, “I would get her something for her birthday though! I just uh, usually bought her something from the bakery or asked my Nana to make something…”

“That’s still sweet of you.” It felt strange smiling as you asked, “Did Mom ever bake a cake for you?”

He laughed hard at that. It stopped long enough for him to say, “I swear, her baking skills were cursed. Even when my Nana tried to show her how, Denise could never get one to come out right. Always tried a bite of them though, even the ones that managed to be burnt on the outside and gooey inside.”

You had to think about it. Before, you only had annoyed memories of your mother trying to make your birthday cakes. Plenty of inedible ones that made your father rush around after work to find a suitable one.

“She started getting them to come out mostly even,” you answered with a sad sigh and smile, “The last one she made she even tried icing it. There were tons of crumbs in the frosting and the center of the cake was still gooey.”

“That sounds amazing,” he said with genuine awe on his face, “Maybe some of those cooking lessons did stick with her.”

You don’t mention crying at the cake. It was ugly and you were afraid the girls at your birthday would make fun of you for it. And it probably tasted just fine, but you weren’t going to have it. Dad would buy you a nice pretty one like he did the previous years and that was that. And even though it probably tasted fine, you couldn’t help but turn up your nose at trying a bite.

That part of the story you keep to yourself. It probably would make Crockett sad. Especially the part about your father instantly backing you up and chastising your mother for trying to force it upon you.

“Did you guys ever have fun parties?” you hid the memory and watched him from across the kitchen.

“That’s a funny question,” he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, now that’s the kind of story I want to hear.” You almost mentioned the part about your father talking about parties he went to when he was younger. From the way your dad talked about it, you kind of expected it to be a common thing.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Crockett, “Never went to any in school.”

“Not even college.”

“Didn’t go.”

“Ah--” you felt embarrassed about bringing it up. Once again, with how your father spoke, you expected it to be something most men had. “I’m sorry-- Mom didn’t go either…”

He smiled to tell you it was okay. You tried to move on by asking, “Did you guys do anything else for your birthdays then?”

“Yeah we’d--” Crockett said that with a grin but stopped quickly and returned to his coffee. “I shouldn’t tell you that, it’s not a good example to set.”

After that you went to check the oven again, and now you sit with an orange in hand and wait for a story.

“What was so bad about it?” you asked, “Were you guys troublemakers?”

“Not overly,” he grimaced as he thought of how to answer. His face began to turn red again as he replied, “On her birthday I’d try to buy both our movie tickets.”

You glared at him, “You weirdo, how is that setting a bad example.”

With a sheepish grin Crockett admits, “That’s because the rest of the year we would sneak in for free instead.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound so bad either. You went and got my hopes up!” You plopped in another slice of orange, “I thought you guys would go swiping jewelry or something.”

“Jeez kid,” he grimaced, “Did you think we were hoodlums?”

You shrugged. There wasn’t often when your mother spoke of her past, so you had to guess for yourself.

“Well we weren’t. Your Aunt Julia might have literally killed me if I ever got Denise put in jail.” From the paleness that took over Crockett’s face, he was serious about that line.

“So she didn’t go sneaking in with you guys?”

“Oh lord, no!” Crockett shook his head, “If she found out we were doing that she would yank me up by the ear--” he made the motion with his hand, “I think she was more concerned about us getting caught rather than the theft part of it.”

Hearing such normal stories about your mother was nice. Strange, but nice.


“Looks like Lawrence is sleeping fine now.” Crockett gives one last look inside before turning back to you, “I have to go now. And don’t worry, I won’t forget to ask around for that friend of yours.”

Hearing him remember the name made you feel hopeful, “Thank you. And you should be safe out there too, okay?”

“More careful than yesterday,” he grins and pats his forearm. An injury from yesterday. Nothing too serious, just a long gash that traveled down his arm.


He had been retrieving an old cake tray that your grandmother supposedly had here. At least, he was helping you look for it. Many of her antiques from the kitchen had been boxed up and stored above the cabinets.

One such box managed to topple over before he could get a grip on it. It didn’t stop him from trying to grab it as it fell. While he stopped most of the contents from scattering across the ground, a metal teapot managed to snag him across the arm during its fall.

It didn’t hurt him badly, which is something he let you know right away. The cut still burnt and he resorted to holding it under running water to relieve the sensation. You had watched it all happen, especially when the thin line down Crockett’s forearm began to ooze blood.

The color was all you could look at. The smell began to grow, though not nearly strong enough to drive you crazy.

“Aw dammit… could you give me a hand?” Crockett asked from the sink, “I’m going to need some help getting this all wrapped up.”

Lawrence knows about your problem. Camilla and Doctor Rizzo seem to understand your problem with blood too. However, Crockett was fuzzy on those details. He probably only thought that you were squeamish about it, rather than being enamored by the sight.

“Delilah? You know where the first-aid kit is?” Crockett tried to call for your attention again. He pulled his arm from the kitchen sink, running his fingers next to the cut. “Damn. It’s not that deep but it still got me good…”

You got the first-aid kit for Crockett. Did you stay and help him get patched up or did you make him take care of it alone?

heads up that i will be out of town until Tuesday and so updates might be more shaky than usual until then
He's a grown man, and there is always the risk of things getting...weird with the blood. Let him do it on his own.
Best he deal with it himself. If anything it'll help cement that we're... squeamish about blood, so he doesn't get any overprotective ideas.
Let him do it himself

Meanwhile... Del goes to rizzo's freezer
You didn’t have a problem fetching the first-aid kit. However, you refused to hand it to him directly and instead left it on the kitchen table.

“Here, let me dry this off,” Crockett pulled his arm from under the water, “We can clean in and--”

“You’ll have to do that,” you backed up towards the door, “I can’t stand the sight of that stuff. It makes me feel weird.”

“Is that so?” He came to the table and began taking out the contents of the box. You kept by the door, staying in case anything happened but just as ready to flee.

“It’s mostly the smell…” you muttered as he started disinfecting the line. You looked up at the ceiling instead, trying to focus on the scent of cake instead.

“Ah, don’t worry about it then. I think I can handle it..”

You stood by the door while Crockett took care of himself. The excuse didn’t seem to bother him as he slapped a bandage over the deepest part of the cut. It was hard for you to not notice the thin red lines extending past either side. Luckily, they were hidden out of view as he pulled the sleeve back into place.

“It’ll heal over quickly, don’t worry.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help out more…” you looked up as Crockett walked over with the closed kit in hand. As he talked about getting the thing refilled, you took a deep breath and held it. Just in case there was any left on his hands. Or if you were still able to smell that little bit through everything covering it up.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Scrapes like these always go away quickly. There won’t be a scratch on me by tonight--” When Crockett looks up from his arm to you, he’s greeted with your face turning red. “You good there?”

Of course, it’s not like you could hold your breath forever. And while Crockett was taken aback by your sudden gasp of breath, you were greeted with a worse smell than blood.

“The cake!” you gasped before running past the man and to the burning smell in the oven.

and flashforward back to now

“Aw shoot, I really have to get going now…” Crockett is already starting to inch his way down the hall, “If anything happens--”

“I know. I’ll be fine, promise.”

You wave him off, waiting in the hall as he walks away. From here, you can just make out the sounds of doors on the other side of the building. The distance would make it difficult if so much of that space wasn’t mostly empty.

Lawrence is still asleep when you come back in. If it weren’t for the beads of sweat collected on his face, it would look like nothing was wrong before.

“I’m back,” you whisper. His eyes start to flutter open when you speak but they soon fall heavy again. From his side, you sit and watch his face.

While he’s better than before, it seems his sleep isn’t completely calm yet. Sometimes his breathing becomes quick and harsh before smoothing out again. Parts of his face twitch, eyebrows burrowing down or lip raising.

He flinches when you try to take his hand. As you whisper to calm Lawrence back down, you slowly grab hold of it. You squeeze the warm, sweaty hand and start humming softly.

Soon, you start to follow a melody that becomes familiar the more you go on. The words escape you still, but you continue humming it for Lawrence.
“Daddy? Daddy, they got in my r-room again…”

You were already crying when you approached your father’s bedroom. Minutes earlier you were having a nightmare. Trying to run from the tall dark figure chasing behind, it’s piercing red eyes locked on you as its wings beat incredibly fast. The kids at elementary managed to spook you with tales of mothman, though it was really the image that got you. One of the kids had brought his brother’s horror comic and frightened you with a realistic and horrible drawing of the myth.

It didn’t help when you woke up to the bugs themselves flying around your bed. The nightlight sitting on your nightstand drew them far too close. So of course you went searching for your father for comfort, as you had the times before.

You scuffled to the side of the king sized bed. Moving in the dark like that scared you but all you needed was your father to make it all better.

“Daddy--” When you reached across the mattress you didn’t come across your father. Instead, curled up on the other side, your mother laid asleep instead. You couldn’t help but give a little gasp in shock and quickly found yourself crying again.

“Hmm…?” Your mother began to stir from her sleep. It didn’t seem like she had been drinking, or at least wasn’t drunk. Seeing her there at that time was strange. During the day she would take the bed, but at night you usually could find her on the couch instead.

You were left stuck in place on the other side of the bed, where you would always find your father. Instead you just cried, unable to stop it as you were not afraid and upset.

“Delilah?” she sat up, groaning a bit as she grabbed her head. You started backing away, though the darkness still left you too scared. “… it’s late. You should be in bed.”

“W-where’s daddy?” you whimpered.

“I don’t know. Probably still out with his friend.”

He wasn’t home at all. The person you needed to make you feel better wasn’t there, and you didn’t know how to handle it. With nothing else planned, you tried leaving the bedroom.

“I’m g-going to call grandpa…!” you announced before running to the kitchen to grab the phone.

“What-- no, don’t bother them--”

You couldn’t hear her as you pulled a stool beneath the phone mounted on the wall. Of course you were taught to memorize all important numbers like home or your grandparents, but it was taking longer to recall the numbers.
As you started punching the numbers in your mother entered the kitchen. She slipped the phone out of your hand, much to your dismay.

“G-give it back!” you sobbed, “Daddy isn’t h-here and I’m scared…”

“It’s nearly three in the morning,” your mother looked down at you with a tired frown, “You shouldn’t wake them up for something like this. Let’s get you back in bed--”

“I don’t want to go back in there!” your fists tightened as you bawled, “All those g-gross moths are in there and they’re going to l-let that mothman monster in!”

She sighed and shook her head, “Your father already told you, it doesn’t exist.”

At that point, you were more upset that your father wasn’t here to help. It was a silly reason to, but you felt betrayed. As you continued to cry your mother was left watching, an uncomfortable grimace.

“Do you-- I don’t know,” your mother shrugged, “Do you want to sleep in mommy’s bed for tonight? I’m pretty sure those damn bugs are just going to keep crawling in until your dad gets that window fixed…”

An offer like this from your mother wasn’t appealing. This was always your father’s role or your grandparents if he wasn’t around. But it was just you, your mother and the phone.

Did you accept your mother’s offer or did you insist on calling your grandparents that night?
We did, reluctantly
Yes, fine, the moths can eat a fart.

Delete Post: [File Only] Style:
[Disable Mobile View / Use Desktop Site]

[Enable Mobile View / Use Mobile Site]

All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective parties. Images uploaded are the responsibility of the Poster. Comments are owned by the Poster.