Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Who was Wren, anymore? Who was Tabitha?

What had become of either of them? What happened to the two previous spouses, happy with their marriage and their bright-eyed children?

They were all gone. All except Tabitha, who never wanted to forget that life. 

“Curiosity killed the cat,” He quietly whispered to her, brandishing the cold steel of his weapon, a knife used to kill so many people, all in the time she had been gone. A knife that now sliced her torso open with barely any regret, with whispered words of apologies he’d repeated too many times to even mean anything. Not anymore.

Tabitha grit her teeth, staring into the cold blue eyes of something that had once been her husband. Something that had once been someone who actually cared who lived and who died, someone who held Kaia and Jacob when each of them were born with such tenderness in his movements and in his eyes—eyes that were so unlike the faded blue now. She had to get a grip. She had to tell herself, ‘This is not my husband, this is not my Wren.’

Because now, her Wren was dead, and all that was left of him was a murderer who adopted the name.

Tabitha coughed and spat out blood onto the wooden floor. She could feel the mist waiting to end the game. Only Mamo and Valerie were waiting at the gates, and she thinks Emery should have barely made it to the one near her after she took over his chase. Tabitha simply picked up the radio and mumbled, “Leave without me,” before turning it off.

She glared at the slasher and shook her head. “You forgot yourself. You’re not my husband—you’re not the person I married. You’re nothing but a murderer.”

He stilled, and she could watch his hand grip the knife’s handle tighter.

“Curiosity may have killed the cat,” 

Tabitha felt the mist chipping away at her after every survivor escaped, and it began to close in. Not before she got to grab him by the collar, the newfound abundance of hatred bubbling its way up as she scowled at Wren the murderer who had killed so many people and whispered:

“But you seem to forget that satisfaction brought it back.”

GAME ENDED | MIST DISPLEASED

Chapter Text

————————————

“Hello? Is this thing on?”

-4 second pause-

“Oh! I have to talk… right. So…”

-3 second pause-

A sigh. “Is this really going to be good for me? The lady said it might help to keep an audio diary or whatever, but it makes me miss you more. I guess I’ll start with my name.”

A deep inhale was heard.

“Hello, this is Yara Valle, 19 years old—aspiring track runner. This diary is to keep of—whatever, pretty much. Mostly for therapy to deal with grief. Uh, the weather’s cloudy here, rain is expected later this week. The date is March 2nd.”

-2 second pause-

“…I feel stupid just recording this.”

A hoarse laugh.

“…It reminds me of when you’d invite me over to your dorm to chat late at night and we’d talk about whatever. Y’know, we’d talk until our voices were sore and the sun was shining through the window—and we didn’t even talk about anything important, just shower thoughts and whatever came to mind—“

She started mumbling things the mic couldn’t pick up. Her voice quivered as she muttered loud enough for the microphone to hear, “ …God , I miss that so much.”

-5 second pause-

“I think that’s enough for today.”

End of recording.

————————————

“Hey again. I’m going to pretend like I’m talking to you, because that gives me a weird sense of like… safety? Or maybe comfort, I dunno how to describe it, but it just feels like you’re still here.”

-3 second pause-

“So, it’s been, like what? A week since I left the mist? I dunno, time is hard to pay attention to now that I’ve gotten used to not needing it..”

A sigh.

“I flinch at everything now. When a door slams, when footsteps come from down the hall, when my parents knock on my door—practically anything. It just brings me back to when all we had to do was run and hide and survive —I just can’t deal with it.” 

“In a way, I kind of miss it—because now I have all this work being pushed onto me and all these people insisting that it’s fine to go at my own pace, but I know in their minds they’re screaming at me to just get over it already.”

A sniffle was heard.

“If I couldn’t run fast enough for you, what makes me think I can run for a career?”

-10 second pause-

End of recording.

————————————

“ Damn it!”

A loud thump was heard, something made of wood. Other things barely made any noise, but the microphone still picked up sounds of what seemed to be cushions being thrown around.

“Breathe, Yara, breathe… just breathe.”

Constant footsteps sounded for a minute, back and forth.

One deep inhale later, they stopped.

“I hate people. Some stupid kid in our science class or whatever—the one I always needed your help in—was talking about why I was passing, like, ‘Oh, that runner girl’s only passing because the teachers feel bad for her,’ blah, blah, blah—stuff like that. And it just made me so mad , because even with this stupid therapist I agreed to go to, I can’t tell her everything because I’ll get sent to an asylum or prescribed medicine for hallucinating!”

-3 second pause-

“So, the story I went with was that you got killed by some bear while we were camping in the woods with some other kids, like Riley as well—I know it’s stupid, but I can’t think of anything else that could be close to me feeling it’s my fault that I couldn’t help you run away.”

“Valerie’s reached out to me. She’s the one who’s paying for the therapy, instead of my parents, but it just feels like she’s taking pity on me—I think she knew Nadiya or something, too, so that’s another reason—because she’s just helping me with all this stuff, getting me a therapist, easing my parents about the grief and stuff to try and get rid of her guilt. Trying to invite me and some other survivors out to forget everything.”

-8 second silence-

“…But, the thing is:

 I don’t want to forget you.”

End of recording.

————————————

“Y’know, Tay, a funny thing about grief is that after the panic, and after the shock, you realize how nonsensical your thoughts were, the ones that had been rushing through your head.”

A shuffle could be heard, shifting around a squeaky mattress.

“It just adds a whole new feeling of hollowness, because the only thing I could think about after your death was ‘No, this can’t be it, we couldn’t have ended this way,’ and the only thoughts my unconscious was drilling me on were selfish things. Like, ‘Who’s going to invite me over for late night hangouts? When I check my phone in the morning expecting a text, who’s contact is gonna show up on that screen again? Who’s going to try and explain physics to me for the millionth time, when it only clicked whenever you explained it?’”

Yara chuckled. 

“Nonsense like that.”

“Now, I can only think about all the things you missed. Like, all the colleges you were going to apply to and jokingly brag about, all the new Valerie album leaks you would’ve texted me about, how you promised to film me opening that scholarship email, and how happy you would’ve been that your favorite singer actually cares enough to try and comfort your best friend. I even keep her fucking autograph she gave me—I have it framed on my nightstand, as if that’ll somehow coax you back from the dead and you’ll be so excited to have it, you’ll come back to me.”

“Every time I see something now, I imagine your opinion on it and I’m back to square one. Now, I can even think about how you were so cautious when you came back after getting water by the stream, and now I can’t help but think you could’ve sworn something was off—“

End of recording.

————————————

-15 seconds of silence-

Yara inhaled and exhaled for a couple seconds, before beginning to talk.

“So, um… Val and Adriana and some other survivors invited me out to go to a group event. Nothing fancy, just went to an arcade. I… I didn’t really talk to anyone, though. I just felt… like, really scared? So, then I ended up leaving in the middle of the thing.”

Yara took a slow breath.

“I just—I’m afraid that if I like, I start seeing new faces and remembering new names, eventually there’s going to be too much in my brain and it’ll have to push you out. And then I’ll never remember you again. And I know you’d say, ‘Yara, you dork! Get out there! You won’t forget me, dummy!’ But there’s still that slight chance that I might, and I’m too scared to try.”

She sighed.

“I’m getting too heavy with these entries, though, right? It’s depressing when I play them back, but it just reminds me how much more I have to go before I’m done with the stages of grief or whatever.”

“On another note, Seoung was in the group, and I remember her wishing you well by your makeshift grave in… there . She seemed to get why I was uncomfortable and stepped in after some rando someone else brought in the group took a jab at me after I said I wanted to leave.”

She laughed a little, remembering it.

“I gave her my tickets I won from some of the games.” 

Taking a deep inhale, the runner spoke softly, “…Y’know, Adriana invited me out for ice cream this week. Some place more around her, but nowhere too far away since she’s in the same area as us because of the group invitation. She’ll be here for a week or so— at least until she decides to go back to her dad’s house.”

“…Maybe I’ll try again.”

“For you.”

End of recording.

————————————

Chapter Text

He was at another party. 

It wasn’t something foreign to him: the grip he had on the cheap plastic red cup that could easily drop out of his hand at any moment, the blasting music, the sound of someone puking in the bathroom because they fucked around too much. There were people dancing in the middle, couples’ bodies tangled together as if the other person was their oxygen, their sun—their whole world. He was used to all this.

Except usually, he drank out of the stupid red cup he was holding right then. But when he looked at the drink, Amari felt sick. He didn’t feel like he was supposed to be here—he wanted to throw the stupid cup down with his stupid wavy reflection staring right back at him. This was supposed to be his element, his getaway, something he could retreat back to without wanting to worry about anything. Yet, for some reason, all he felt was a strange alienation from everyone else in the room.

The bass was too loud—he couldn’t think. But isn’t that what he came here for? To forget about the day Iris called him while he was out at the grocery store, staring at something he thought Emery might like for his birthday when he woke up. To forget that she told him with such meticulous sensitivity, as if he’d crumble into dust at the slightest hint of a harsher tone, that Emery’s heartbeat had stopped. That the hospital had called her while he was out, staring at another stupid gift that he subconsciously bought to get Emery when his next birthday rolled around—maybe to put it on the small table near his hospital bed and his unmoving body.

He wanted to escape everything—wanted to blackout without consequences, wanted to party until he couldn’t feel his fingers or gravity or those pretty grey eyes pulling him back down to earth. He wanted to forget.

But Amari’s hand was shaking, still holding that stupid cup with his stupid reflection  in this stranger’s house with shit music. 

He threw the cup away, walked down the stairs, and shoved his hands in his pockets to hide them from the biting chill that fall was bringing. He tried to light a cigarette, but his lighter ran out of fluid, and it was getting darker by the second and he could still hear the echo of that fucking bass back at the party—

There was a small cry before Amari realized his shoulders were shaking and his jaw was tense because he was gritting his teeth and his eyes were stinging—

The moonlight reflected off streets when the lamps were broken, permeating the shroud that had seemed to stick to him like glue since he got that call. He was still shaking—he kicked a trash can over, maybe threw a loose piece of pavement at it to try and vent out his anger. Who was he even mad at? Himself? The world? That stupid fucking moon that shone down on him, that had no right to shine when the grey eyes that had previously reflected it—that he had thought was the most rewarding sight in the Mist, seeing their smile and their eyes sparkle—were now dull. Were now preparing to be buried in some graveyard far from home, far from the pub they used to work. 

The streets were empty, his emotions had no outlet except for the crying he was desperately trying to stop in some dirty, run-down alley by pushing his palms into his eyes while it felt like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t function. The moonlight had no right to be that pretty when the person who sparkled under that light was gone.

When Amari got back to Iris’ well past midnight, there was nobody there to greet him, save for the familiar darkness of the shop in the early morning. 

One week before he leaves, he celebrates Emery’s birthday.

He goes out and buys cake for the occasion. Iris didn’t know what it was for—for all he knows, she might’ve forgot. But the look she gives him when she spots the bakery’s name on the bag says something different. So do the flowers laid on his bed when he gets there, an arrangement of beautiful blues, yellows, and whites. Nothing too big, but still something.

Amari’s memory feels fleeting lately. He can’t remember the name of the day of last week, when he came home passed out on the floor and Iris had to wake him up because he was too exhausted. He can’t remember what he did yesterday—if he did anything at all. He can’t remember the name of the person who hosted the funeral sometime this month—can’t remember the day, either. 

His mind is still deluding him with dreams of them, dreams of what could've been. 

Amari sits down besides Emery’s grave with the cake, splitting a piece in half—down the middle, which the other would’ve freaked out about because it’s ‘a horrid way to cut cake,’ and placing it onto the base of the gravestone. It was vanilla. Their favorite, he thinks—since that’s the only thing he wouldn’t forget when he always celebrates both of their birthdays here. 

Regardless of who’s birthday it was, he always chose that same cake and always came back to this same place.

He eats quietly. His eyes glance up to the sky, where orange was already beginning to tint the sky because he had gotten up so late in the morning. Everything felt like a chore, like a weight placed upon his shoulders that made him stumble as he walked—and he knew it was only a matter of time before he fell underneath that weight. Amari could barely keep up appearances anymore; he only half-heartedly kept it up so Iris wouldn’t take him to therapy, where they would inform him of all the things wrongs about him and all of the things he couldn’t fix. Just like his mother always told him when he was younger and didn’t have the common sense not to ask why your parents are fighting, why it was your fault, why there were always plane tickets on the counter every year.

It was getting harder to keep up with the lack of energy. Sometimes he’d have too much, and his stomach would do flips because he was so angry at some invisible thing, at the unfairness of it all—and he’d implode on himself because there was no other way to get it out. The sun had already vanished, what else did he have to orbit around?

For now he just leans against the edge of the gravestone as if him and Emery are sitting back-to-back, each watching the sunset like they couldn’t in the Mist. He stares at the red-orange-pink hues and thinks of what they could’ve done out here. Neither of them were very good with their money, from what Emery told him, but maybe they could’ve rented out a small apartment by a pub he could work at. Maybe Amari could’ve found a job at a minimum fast food place, or maybe he could’ve saved up enough to actually go to school for once.

Maybe there would be a stray black cat lingering around their apartment—which didn’t allow pets—and Emery would feed it outside everytime it came, to Amari’s annoyance. Maybe one day, it’d come in and sit on him, and maybe he would stay sitting to not disturb it.

Maybe they’d name it something stupid—Emery might have wanted to name it Estée or Estrella, but Amari would probably still refer to the cat as ‘Stupid’. Maybe they’d stay up late on weekends watching scary movies, Estrella purring on the couch while Amari freaked out. Maybe they’d dress up as something stupid for Halloween, him as some basic horror flick killer and Emery as the Phantom of the Opera. Maybe when they celebrated each other’s birthday, they’d actually go out somewhere to giggle and whisper stupid things to each other, look at the stars or just stay at home.

Maybe when Emery finally hit 30, Amari would’ve done something big—or at least tried to—a failed attempt to bake a homemade cake that Emery helped him with later. Estrella would be getting older—and lazier, and another kitten would show up to their house, with a few patches of black fur along its body that Emery absolutely adored.

Maybe when they were older, and the kitten was all grown and they’d framed a small picture of Estrella, they’d move somewhere a little quiet. There’d still be a town nearby, if Emery ever wanted to go out and relive his performances; every time he did, Amari was there to clap. 

But there was no Emery. They would never grow old. They would never get that apartment, or ever meet that cat and the kitten a decade later, or ever watch horror movies late at night while Amari grumbled. 

There was nothing, and it made Amari feel absolutely hopeless, because it was too late for any of that.

Emery was gone, and it was too late for his own life to begin.

When Amari wakes, he shoves the plane tickets in his back pocket. He gets changed, for once—he musters up a bit of energy to look half-presentable:  throwing on a shirt that was a little tight and some baggy pants. He combs a hand through his hair, stepping out of the guest room—still not his room, it never really felt like it was—and he hears crying.

High-pitched, hiccuping crying. A child’s.

Children were a bother, if he had to be honest. Iris should be able to handle it—she was good with kids. Seoung was the same as him, awkward and a little annoyed. He walks down the stairs, expecting to see the child already soothed, but Seoung is there at the registers, trying and failing to calm them.

The mother is next to her son, crouched in front of him, trying to stop his crying. She is dark-haired, with it cut short and curly, and for a split second Amari is reminded of the magician.

That is the only reason, he tells himself, that he walks over to the register. That is the only reason he takes a coin out of the drawer and closes it. That is the only reason he crouches in front of the small, curly haired boy, clearing his throat.

The boy is still hiccuping as he looks at Amari with wide brown eyes, his cheeks red and sniffling. His mother had stood up when he stopped momentarily, eyeing Amari cautiously.

“Hey,” Amari greets him quietly. “You’ve got something behind your ear.”

And so, he mocks reaching out behind the kid’s ear—

“Look!” Emery exclaimed, pulling back with a small nickel held in between their fingers, the moonlight reflecting off the surface. He smiled, excited to perform the small trick for Amari.

“I swear, Em, that’s so easy even I could do it,” he retorted, leaning back on the creaky couch in their shared cabin. The truth is, he enjoyed seeing the other’s excitement when they got to perform little shows for Amari, even if it was something as small as the coin trick—he enjoyed seeing the way they laughed whenever he rambled nonsense during the detachable ring act.

“Here’s your prize, good sir,” the other handed him the nickel back, which he fumbled with catching. Emery simply laughed, his eyes crinkled with amusement and happiness. “I can teach you if you want.”

Amari huffed. “No way.”

—“Look,” Amari urges the kid, feeling a smile grow on his face as he pulls his hand back with the quarter in between his fingers. The boy is stunned, quiet. He had stopped crying and now he only focuses on reaching out for the coin.

“Here’s your prize, good sir.” He gives the boy the quarter, standing back up. 

The boy stares at the coin with such shocked amazement, as if Amari had just plucked a star right out of the night sky and placed it in his hands. The mother with curly hair thanked him, taking her son’s hand and walking him out of the shop.

It was quiet, for a minute. 

“…Where did you learn that?” Seoung asks him, her voice unsure. She was still standing at the register, staring at him. 

Amari doesn’t humor her with a response as he stares out the window for a bit more, watching the mother and her son cross the street carefully. The son is still staring at the coin. 

“The great Emery Rivera. Who else?” 

He walks back up the stairs, feeling tired again.