Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He found her in the far corner of the room curled up, one hand still clinging to the gun and the other clutching her stomach, her back facing him.

“Ruth what happened, are you alright?” he asked urgently, getting only a pained gasp in response. 

At least she was conscious, he thought somberly.

Ruth’s hair was messy, barely holding onto the hair band and strands covering her face, long gone the neat low bun she always wore.

What instead caught his attention was the growing stain underneath her hand, dipping it in a dark rich red.

Thatcher began to carefully hoist her up bridal style. Her face scrunched in pain with a deepening frown and forming sweat beads.

Fuck. He is not about to let her die.

He’s got to get the fuck out of here.

Chapter Text

Thatcher managed to get home without breaking too many traffic laws and speed limits.

He gently laid her on his bed and began tending her wounds with some hydroperoxide, bandages and clean gauze he miraculously found.

the gashes were deep and without proper tratment definitely deadly, but this one time, for Ruth's sake, he's going to have hope and d-fool-eter-lish-mina-ness-tion that she will be okay.

And now while Thatcher cleaned the skin, and whatnot, if he truly paid attention he would have seen the ends of the ripped skin losing color. he would have seen that the flesh is getting darker. You would have noticed that she is not meant to be saved--

Wrapping the wound up, he sighed deeply. They are gonna have to get that stitched.

Her face still displayed her pain, but at least her breathing was more audible-- though hoarse.

He wished he could do more.

Heck, he wished he could prevent this from happening at all.

Her fate was sealed from the start. You wouldn't have been able to change it.

He pulled the cover over her and slid down the wall to sit beside the bed with his knees to his chest and a hand resting one the mattress.

She wasn't going to die, he told himself.

Over and over a-she-nd ov-died-er an-the moment-d o-she-ve-stepped-r into and the ov-house-er again repeating it like a mantra.

He clutched the end of the duvet and rested his head in the crook of his elbow, feeling the back of his eyes prickle with stinging tears.

Ruth, im so sorry, it was all my fault.

I'll stay with you through this.

What an admirable promise

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What a weird sensation.

Her stomach burned, and yet it felt so cold.

She was dying, wasn't she?

At least maybe Thatcher could get out safely, though knowing his stubborn nature...

Ruth caught the sound of his voice.

Oh, that idiot...

She tried to say something, anything--

Just go! Run, get away!

Unfortunaly, all she managed was a muffeld sound of pain.

She felt her fingers begin to tramble tremble as she dipped in and out of consciousness.

The vic-saved-tim-one  felt something soft underneath her.

Something dabbed at her stomach and she grit her teeth when it began to sting, but soon the feeling changed to something being carefully wrapped around it.

She breahed out hoarsely and sucked in a new breath.

Something warm covered her.

But she didn't even feel cold anymore, just...numb, and hollow, and yet...it felt grounding in some way.

What was this weird sensation?

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It's been a few hours by now and Thatcher could feel the exhaustion weighing him down like a rock.

He hadn't moved from his spot, only occasionally changing his position.

He couldn't go to sleep. Wouldn't go to sleep. Even if he wanted to, every sound made his anxiety spike, even if it was just his colleague stirring.

Speaking of her...

It didn't sound like she had any issues with breathing and it didn't sound pained. Thatcher checked on her wound once or twice and well... it didn' get worse, at least-- but it'd take a long time for it to heal properly.

He checked the time.

6:32 AM 

His head felt so full of thoughts, and yet when he tried to actually dwell on them, they slid from his mind like water through his fingers.

...

Man...he was beginning to feel hungry.

Ruth would probably need a meal when she woke up too...

The cop supposed it wasn't that early to not start making breakfast; he'll get some rest after she's woken up and taken to the hospital.

He slowly stood up, streching stiff and aching muscles and glancing back with a small worried frown, before exiting the room as quietly as possible.

In the kitchen, he scratched his head considering his meal options.

That was before he asked himself if there even are any ingredients at all. So the dumbass checked and he was running low on milk and eggs. He kept forgetting to do groceries, running on takeout for the past few days.

Running a hand through his hair and down his face, briefly stopping to rub his eyes, he sighed and hummed in thought.

Maybe just some simple fried eggs? Or sandwiches? Did he even have butter...? Guess there always was the takeout option. But then again he doubted it would be available this early.

He could only make a portion for Ruth and he'd just skip breakfast saying he ate earlier... though she already knew that excuse and exactly when he's usung it... and thus forcing him to eat something... hmm...

Thatcher was so caught up in his head he didn't hear the muffeld shuffle from his room, only snapping out of it when he heard a small creak of the door opening wider.

his friend stood there slightly hunched over with one hand on her stomach and the other propped against the doorframe, trying to hide a pained expression. Of course she wouldn't just rest.

He sighed.

"Sleep well?"

"Mmghmm," she mumbled, half asleep.

"Uh huh. Well, im just tryna make us some breakfast but i might have to go to the store real quick-- you can go rest again, dont worry."

Her gaze intensified, though now with an unreadable look on her face.

His eyebrows knit together with concern as he walked towards her. "Ruth, im being serious," he went to gently place his hand on her shoulder to lead her back to bed. "If you don"t stay--" he cut himself off, face scrunched in confusion.

Now she looked at him.

"Hey... is something... something, um, wrong?" she asked, a little strained.

He put one hand on her forehead, and one behind her head while his eyes widened and darted around, as if trying to understand something.

And she just...

Stood there.

Not quite knowing how one should react in this situation, she figured staying still was her best choice.

"You uhh, you okay? What's got y--"

"You're cold," he said with faint disbelief and removed his hands "ice cold. You look pale too."

She raised her eyebrows moving her hand to touch the spot. Really? She didn't feel that coooOOH HOLY SHIT, HE WAS RIGHT--

Her eyes widened in the panic, feeling lightheaded. she must've began swaying, because Thatcher put his arm under hers and hurried them both towards the bed.

Her ears were ringing and she felt herself tremble, a shiver running up her spine.

He sat them at the edge of the bed. She clutched the wound with both hands and curled inwards.

She sucked in a breath.

Ah ahh haha... this... does NOT feel right. Like if-- She let out a painful groan.--...like if her own body was too restraining, too inflexible... wh-what kind of thoughts even were those?!

She screw her eyes shut and bit her lip from the pain. Apparently she bit a bit too hard, she tasted something on her tounge though it was not the iron she half expected.

It was more... runny? With no taste, like water. And the texture quickly dissipated in her mouth.

Even in her dazed state she found the strength to wipe her mouth and.., couldn't help but...stare, at the black liquid smeared on her... dark and... colorless... skin.

Unfortunaly, she could not ponder on this as she felt like she got tasered. She couldn't help but slide off the edge and onto her knees, still curling up.

Ruth lifted her head just slightly glancing around for her work partner. And she did find him...or well...she first had to get personally up front with his loaded gunpoint and then see the trembling and crying mess behind it.

Ruth, dazed, only hoped that maybe he would hear her out before he fired.

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It tricked him real good. He'll give it that.

But that doesn't mean he excuses its audacity to use him that way.

To use her that way. Her voice. Her face.

He took care of the damned thing. Thatcher wasn't sure why the whole ordeal with it being wounded, but honestly, he didn't care anymore.

The cops hands trembled as he held the gun and glared at it with eyes threatening to spill tears. Funnily enough it had the gall to look at him with a hurt expression. It had probably just toyed with him, he knew, and he couldn't help but feel royally pissed off.

IT felt hurt?! HA! How the hell was HE supposed to feel, then?!

Its face drained of all remaining color and its body grew covered in an unnatural darkness.

It let go of its stomach and slowly got to its feet ending up a few inches taller than him, all the while it burned holes holes in him with those inhuman eyes.

He blinked a few times. The alternate waited for him to make a move? Alright then. If this didn't work he at least had one more bullet.

a thought came to his mind and he couldnt help but smile bitterly a bit to himself.

Instead of aiming for the head he lowered the gun to its abdomen and fired, he mostly did it as an act of revenge for tricking him into caring for it.

He didn't expect any big reaction.

Boy, was he wrong.

The thing screeched in what he presumed was agony and let go of any human semblance, its clothes rippling and disappearing into its body. Its stolen faces features and details completely dissolving, save for those haunting eyes. its hands and legs lengthened and discolored into black. It jerked up and in a blink of an eye towered over him a good couple of feet while a wet rip echoed through the room before dark red intestines began sliding out of its open wound.

It let out a piercing shriek, though it sounded diffrent. More like a scream of fear, rather than pain? But that didn't make sense, those things don't feel fear.

Or maybe... maybe it was just a game it played with her voice to make his last moments feel like living hell.

It probably was.

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It leaned on the wall while heaving and clutching its hollowed face.

That was his last bullet.

Thatcher's gun slipped out of his hand.

That was his last chance at ending it fairly quickly.

Now it could torture him until he found another way.

He slid down onto the floor with his knees close, he hugged himself and leaned on the wall.

Might as well enjoy this small, sudden moment of apathy. So he observed the entity while it recovered.

Although one thought prodded him relentlessly.

Why would an alternate prevent someone trying to kill themselves?

Not only that but straight up turn the gunpoint towards itself. It clearly didn't like being shot.

What if...

...no.

No, that would...that would be crazy.

He knows he isn't the most mantally stable person but that is- should be impossible

Right?

...but whatever, it seemed to have gotten its bearings together. The creature slipped its elongated claws off its face, no trace left after the shot, and fixed its eyes on his small, curled being in that pathetic corner.

It took a step forward, hunched over and breathing heavily. He didn't even try to stop the tears from rolling down his face, dread filling his body anew.

It was only a few steps away. It took two more.

He didn't try swallowing down the sob that escaped him. Or the next that came. Or the one after that. Until he was just sobbing and hiccuping uncontrollably.

It loomed directly over him until its legs began to slightly tremble and it fell down onto its knees and pulled him--

...it pulled him close. It wrapped its cold, enormous arms around him. And rest its head on his.

...what...?

To say the officer was surprised would be a severe understatement, and an inslust.

He listened to it breath, stunned stiff, before it spoke up.

"Thatcher, you..." it's- their-her(?) voice cracked and the heap of darkness let out a sob. "Y-you idiot!...You absolute fucking idiot! What the hell were you trying to do...?!"

They squeezed him tightly, and way too familiar sounding sobs rattled through their body.

He blinked, his eyes were starting to hurt, and swallowed thickly before opening his mouth.

"...wh-what...?" his voice croaked.

They released their hold and placed their hands on his shoulders, lifting their head and looking down at him with oily liquid that could only be described as tears running down their pitch black cheeks.

"I'm still- I'm still here Thatcher, I'm stil myself- I-I--" they lifetd their hands and wiped their face. "L-look, I don't-I don't know what's- wh-what's happening either, I don't--! I just--" they sniffled. "I swear it's me! I-I swear!"

He couldn't help but stare, but it...

It...had to be...right?

There was no way...no way an alternate could mimic those kind of emotions to that level and-- crying.

Perhaps this is his de-fool-ter-ish-mina-ness-tion speaking but...

...but he decides to believe her.

A choked sound brings him back into the present and he sees Ruth feverishly trying to compose herself, sniffling and wiping her eyes.

Suddenly he finds himself pulling his colleague, his partner, his friend back into an embrace.

"I'm sorry,"  he whispered.

She froze for a moment before returning it with a near-crushing force.

"God Im so sorry I--" he swallowed thickly "I p-promise I'll stay with you...through this."

Something cold clenched her heart at those words, like if she didn't quite believe she heard them, yet they were comforting nontheless. Ruth just hid her face in the crook of her friends neck.

They were kind of in an awkward position because of the newfound size difference, but Thatcher could not care less.

They could just stay like this as long as needed.

He closed his eyes, and found he didn't mind crying one more time today.

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It was around ten in the morning or so, when things had... calmed down a bit. The two having talked and simply tried to...take in the whole batshit of a situation. So now, they decided to finally make some breakfast... which still was a problem. So for now the only thing for certain was the kettle, dutifully boiling water.

Ruth now looking like herself, although arms, legs and her head were faded into matte black void with no details or features and skin was still lacking color, was rummaging through the homes cabinets and fridge, absolutely offended by their contents... which were mostly none.

"How long have you been eating takeout for?" the alternate whipped her head around, pausing the fridge investigation to glare at the officer.

The man was sitting on the other side of a small dining table, looking off to the side-- not daring to say how he still felt a bit... uneasy looking at her, right now.

"Look, these past couple of days were kinda busy and I, uh, I just-- I didn't have enough y'know...time?"

"...right..." she mumbled, scrunching her face, not quite believing him but not having the strength to argue about his eating habits either.

She went to continue her quest on finding actually edible (and healthy!) food but paused, staring at her hand, the fridge's light barely reflecting of off it. Her nails, Although way shorter now, still were lengthened and sharp.

The cop let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding in and rubbed her nose bridge, feeling the fingers tremble a bit.

Closing the fridges door she got up and sat down at a nearby chair propping her elbows on knees and hiding her face in her hands, groaning.

She was still cold.

It wasn't even noon, and already too many things have happened.

...What the hell was she now? One of those monsters?

Still human? In some way?

Something in between, or something completely different?

No..no she couldn't--

She couldn't still be human, as much as she hated to admit it to herself.

She got shot. Twice.

Not only that, but both times should have been death-bearing.

And yet, there wasn't even a trace left.

How could she possibly fool herself to be called 'human'?

Will she ever go back to, at least, looking normal? And her skin, so cold--

A sudden thought came to her mind that made her gasp as she sat straight up as a nail.

Thatcher looked over at her curiously with a raised brow.

"...You, uhm, alright?"

He cringed a bit at his own words. Like hell she was 'alright'.

She turned her head towards him with such speed it honestly startled him and...uhh yep he still felt weird looking at a completely blacked out face, but he forced himself to keep-- uhhh-- 'eye' contact and just... act natural.

Too bad it was literally impossible to read her expression.

"What about my job...?" she whispered.

His eyes widened in surprise, not expecting that. He opened his mouth and promptly closed it, because fuck. He didn't know either.

"...What about my family...?" she asked even quieter and slumped her arms and head on the table.

...that was...

That was a good question.

He was at a loss for what to say. What could he say?

...

The kettle began to whistle.

Mechanically, Thatcher got up and turned it off, pouring the water into two cups with tea (for once forgoing the coffee, for Ruth's sake). While he stood and waited for it to brew, the man spoke up once more again.

"You know, I-I'm sure they're, uh, safe."

He scratched his neck, hoping that was the right thimg to say. He didn't know his colleague's family too well, only thing he knew for sure was that they didn't live in Wisconsin.

He added sugar and took them to the table, this time taking a seat beside the alternate.

"I... understand... why you're stressed, but... maybe we should... just cross that bridge when we get to it." he said gently.

She responded with a sad, muffled sigh.

"Here," he put down the tea in front of her.

She raised her head slightly to-- he guessed-- glare at the cup. Bringing one of her hands to it, she carefully touched it from diffrent sides, checking the temperature, before resting it beside her and click her nails against the table in thought.

"...Is it, um... hot?" she asked a bit awkwardly, angling her head hesitantly in his direction.

Her friend blinked a couple times before understanding.

"Oh, uhm--" he touched it with the backs of his fingers and quickly pulled away. "Uh yeah, it's hot"

"Oh... I'll wait until it, um, won't be then" she murmured, and buried her face again.

The lieutenant sighed and moved his hand to her back, rubbing in soft circles. Slowly, she seemed to relax.

"Thanks... but um, seriously. What do you think will happen with my job now...?" she asked tiredly, only raising her head enough to look at him from the darkness of her own face.

He mulled that over for a bit, absentmindendly sipping his tea.

"I think... there is a chance, he began finally, "...that you- um- well, you look better than... before"

She made a soft sound somewhere between being lightly offended and apologetic.

He chuckled slightly at that, taking another sip from his cup.