Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Y/N was sad, taking off the Dateviators to look at their now human computer, Mac, with a soft frown on their face. Mac looks back, a bit disheartened. It was sad that they had to part, especially since everyone else had departed rather quickly. Mac was all that Y/N really had left, and even then, they had to leave, too. Y/N was used to people leaving. Most never stayed, often going to other people when they got older. They never had a solid friend group, let alone any real romantic partners that stayed with them long enough to just settle for a minute. It felt that they were running on a treadmill, trying to attain something far from their reach, let alone their own vision. Y/N had to stay strong. They did so for the others, so they might as well do it for Mac. They looked at Mac, their colored orbs looking at the computer turned human. Y/N was putting up their walls again, avoiding any emotion that would give away into how badly they would miss their darling friend and beloved Mac. Anytime Y/N showed emotions in the past, it was met with annoyance and disdain, so they learned to build these massive walls that encased their warm heart, leaving them stone cold.

"So... I guess this is goodbye?" Mac asked awkwardly, their hand tapping on the armrest of their wheelchair.

Y/N simply nodded, not wanting to speak yet until they had fully collected themselves. The house was empty. All the furniture simply turned human and left after being realized. The stove, the couch, even the bed. Everything that Y/N had once had is now gone, leading them to have little to nothing, and to be alone yet again. Y/N had stood upright, not wanting to supply anything that could lead to what was in their heart: broken, empty feelings. It hurt them deeply to let go of so many people, people that loved them and cared for them unlike any person they knew before. All they could do was sigh and wave goodbye, motioning for Mac to leave.

Silence fell upon them, a blanket of affirmative sorrows that simply had went unsung. Both of their hearts were chartaceous at that moment, heartstrings being tugged from both of the people. Mac just nodded back in understanding, a solemn, solid wave goodbye back was given as they soon rolled away in their wheelchair. There was no door to close. The door had left. The company said that due to it being covered by insurance, they would fix it in like a day or so. The abeyance within the house was dead, deafening. It was as if the sound of blood pumping in their head and ears was more audible than Y/N's own thoughts and memories. Memories they'd hold and cherish, after freeing everyone. For all they knew, there was a low likelihood any past objects turned into humans would rebound with them.

It ached to know that so many good people left them the minute they did. Sure, they were stuck there, so Y/N understood if none of them had desired to encounter them again. But no matter what, Y/N kept seeing them; from the news to social media, it was daunting to know that they were out there, talking with others and having more fun. Was it jealousy? Was it loneliness? It felt like a pit within them, burning and screaming, the crave of companionship was swallowing Y/N whole, causing their throat to feel as if barbed wire was swallowed. Their eyes grew warm, as crystal tears started to form within their eyes. They wanted to live happy, with friends, lovers, succession. And what happened? They got fired from their job due to the company going bankrupt, and they were now alone once more.

But as they scrolled, a flicker of hope showed up in a video on their home page. It was unlike anything that their eyes had laid on before, let alone something they would commonly acknowledge. It was an organized religion of sorts, similar to mormons, but it was different. It was a 'free-love' community, near the town they lived in, just at the outskirts. There was free housing, free food, even wonderful white robes and masks. Total anonimity after being left alone, in a community that promised love from anyone and connection. Y/N knew that it seemed too good to be true, but they were desperate. No rent, free food, why not? Plus, they could live in a place that wasn't as lonely.

They didn't wait. They decided to contact the leader of the religion, a person by the name of Father Xerach. This wasn't too bad, right? After all, most religions had a head of church with 'father' in the front of their name. But, that white deer mask he wore that matched with his robes, it had looked so ornate, so sanitized, as if hiding something more behind the mask, both literally and figuratively. Y/N sighed, their hand gliding against the phone screen as they typed.

>youruserhere: hello?

Y/N shook their head. They shouldn't be doing this. The only people that did organized religion were people who needed something to believe in or people who were desperate. But then again, Y/N's loneliness was killing them, eating away at them, a parasite that was rearing them into hell and back. Theu sighed, turning off their phone and putting it on their chest. But as soon as hope left them, they got a response.

>FatherXerach1984: Yes? And who may this be? Are you interested of joining the Church of the Everlasting?

>youruserhere: the church of everlasting?

>FatherXerach1984: Yes! It's our religion, our church, and our livelyhood! We are welcoming to new members.

Y/N smiled, their eyes brigthen like lights turning on in a dark room. They decided that theu won't really need their house anymore. After all, the cult had free housing. Why have a home when you can live in one with other people for free? Y/N smiled, posting their house listed for only 100 dollars. After all, it was empty, and some things were indeed missing after Dorrian, Wyndolyn, Wallace, and Winnifred. Hell, even Hector leaving meant that there was no AC unit. Same went for Lux, who was the lights. Y/N asked if the buyer could send a check to their P.O box, smiling once someone offered to buy up the house. After the house business, YN/ replied to Father Xerach's direct message.

>yourusername: well then, consider me a new member. I'll come by tomorrow!

>FatherXerach1984: Wonderful! I shall see you tomorrow. We have a new set of robes and plenty of masks for you! May the Everlasting bless you, Y/N. :)

Y/N felt a shiver, a chill of revering unease. They hated that smile at the end of the message. It felt deceptive, as if it were hiding dastardly intentions only few may imagine. It was concerning to just, see it. Y/N couldn't fathom whatever they had agreed to, their E/C orbs darting around the room as they slammed their fist into the wall, a loud slam being heard as their eyebrows knit into a painted face of fury and despair.

"God DAMNIT!! Y/N, what the FUCK are you doing?! For all you coukd know, this could be a serial killer cult!" Y/N scolds themself as they pace around the room. Worry encased them, a blanket of anxieties that were unknown and unfelt until that day had came. Y/N felt a huff if condensed air leave their throat, the anger melting into a more subsided annoyance as they reeled back, slumping down to sit on the floor. "Well, there really is only one way to find out," they muttered, laying down on the floor, looking at the ceiling as they had fallen into unconscious sleep. No nightmares, no dreams, just a dead, deafening silence, just like the rest of the house.

The next day, Y/N was at the post office. The first day of their new life started. They reached into their P.O box, their hand was tender in handling the envelope that was within the mail. They waltzed out, the emvelope opens to reveal the 100 dollars they were promised for their home. They now only had 100 dollars to their name, along with their phone and charger. Y/N was wing along the sidealks of the small town, their vision elipsing around the corner of their eyes to see happy couples and friend groups all around them. It felt like a knife, twisting deeply and ripping through their guts to see  many people having what they had lacked. They shook off the sorrow, remembering that now was a new start in their chapter. At least nobody could stop them from finding their happiness. At least, until their phone started ringing.

Y/N had sighed, looking at the caller number. Unfamiliar. No caller ID either. It wasn't marked as a scam either. Y/N was skeptical about who this mysterious unfamilliar was. They wanted to answer, but they were scared to act upon the instinct to pick up. After all, they never had a call from someone that wasn't their work, billing, or family. Theu sighed, answering.

"Hello?" Y/N asked, voice quiet and cold.

"Y/N! Okau, thank goodness you picked up! Everything okay? I saw that you put your house up for sale..."

It was Harper. She soujded worried abiut Y/N. She was the first to be realized. She ran her own tattoo shop, lived off only God knows where. Y/N never really kept in touch with any of the datables after they left. Theu had assumed that letting them go, letting them leave, meant that Y/N could not burden them with their existance again. Y/N wanted to hang up. After all, they worried Harper over something so trivial such as selling their house.

"Yeah, I'm moving out, Harper. Hapoens to the best of us," Y/N swiftly replied with a stark empty tone, opposite to Harper's vocie that showed every emotion she had felt.

"But, Y/N-"

"Thank you, bye-bye!"

Y/N soon hung up, holding back a silent swear that simmered in their mind. Theu wanted to shame themself for worrying a person of the past like that. After all, everyone else seemed to move in so fast, theu should, too. Around 8 in the morning, they were now in the outskirts of town. Theu saw a gated fence, leading into a church ground type of compound, the cathedral looked heavenly, almost ethereal and captivating. It was comforting to see something well-built, something that had felt warm and welcoming when it was so large in size.

The sudden sound of footsteps along with the creak of the gate had frightned Y/N, making them jolt in supprise, freezing, a deer in headlights. Speaking of Deer, a tall man in white robes and a deer mask had opened the aforementioned gate, gaze landing on Y/N directly. It was Father Xerach. The mask seemed to act like an outer face, the lower jaw moved with a robotic eloquence as he spoke. Father Xerach's voice was low, smooth, and a bit graveled, possibly from some form of loudness or smoking.

"Welcome, sibling Y/N. Your robes and initiation await you."

Chapter Text

Y/N stepped onto the grounds, looking around as the gate was closed and locked behind their back, the creak of metal echoed unto the open land, with an eerie, horrific groan. They looked around, behind the massive cathedral that was the church, there was a smaller building, one that had looked like a clean slate of blank, off-white rather than the intricate, Gothic design of the church. It was truly night and day, with how stark the contrast was. It was certainly something that was haunting to look at, memorable almost. It seemed that the church was emphasized over the community home, which had seemed to give Y/N a pang of sadness. However, their poignancy was cut short when they felt a rough, calloused hand upon their shoulder, giving a soft squeeze of subtle, kind reassurance, albeit with a hint of desired control. It was Father Xerach, leading them into the church, like a father bear leading its cub into a cave that it had called its home.

"Come, come. Do not circumspect or ruminate over your future, my dear. You must focus on the present," He calmly reassured them, a sinister smile had been hidden under his mask.

Y/N did not hesitate, deciding to just take Father's word for it. After all, it won't be that bad. Just a simple baptism most likely, a sermon, and then they would be on their way after it all. Once they entered the church, it was just as beautiful as it was on the inside. Large, pale pillars, murals of angels and humans, even the altar was made with a marbled stone that looked pristine, as if it went untouched for eons. Many other people in white robes were in the cathedral, sitting in the pews and staring at both Father Xerach and Y/N unblinkingly. Everyone's mask was of a different animal, but all of them had one thing in common: all of them were white, with moving jaws, almost porcelain with how they reflected the rays of light in a gentle, kind manner.

But yet, it was rather horrifying to see something like that. It just seemed to be awful to see something so calculated, as if they all had been waiting for Y/N. Alias it was far too late to retreat, to repent and reel away. It was an eccentric sight that made Y/N's stomach sink, not wanting to continue walking up to the altar. After all, they were in an inscrutable part of the town, so they could end up dying here and none would hear neither their screams, nor their pleas for help if they were to encounter danger. Still, they had to keep going. For certain, there was uncertainty: maybe this wasn't as bad as they had assumed, maybe it was better, or perhaps worse. They would just need to find out themselves.

They were handed their robes, taking off their regular clothing save their undergarments. They slipped the robes over and unto their body, the fabric feeling like some kind of silk or satin, the white a stark contrast to the dark, brooding indoors of the church. Y/N was soon handed a box, full of masks similar to those that Father Xerach and the other members wore. Y/N pulled out the mask of an animal that they favored, putting it onto their face. The animal had reflected who they were on the inside, a mask of their own face one would say. They grew abjectly comfortable with it, assuming that it all would end there.

Y/N could not be more wrong.

As quickly as they adjusted, they felt a hand grab onto the back of their head, dunking them into a bucket of water that was brought up onto the altar while they were not looking. Their lungs burned like hellfire, screaming for the air that they so desired, that they craved and needed. It felt that they were being drowned rather than baptized. Tears would form in their eyes as they struggled, hearing some words being said. It was audibly indiscernible. It sounded to be another language, either that or the water was dampening more than Y/N's ears. After a while, they felt a gentle tug release them from their watery grave, a loud gasp of fresh breath came into Y/N. It was not all over yet. They looked over to Father Xerach, their gaze wondering why he was speaking. He had soon stopped, and Y/N felt a small sigh of relief.

But then, the last part, the hardest part of their initiation had arrived. Father Xerach pulled out a serrated dagger, causing Y/N to freeze up, the water on their body not really helping out with the cold, sullen atmosphere. What was this next part of this ritual? "And now," Father called out, facing the others, arms raised in appraisal to the Everlasting, the God that they had believed in and trusted in. "It is time for sibling Y/N to give blood!" He hollered, the audience hollering as well. Father turned to Y/N, his voice cold and stern.

"Lend me your palms, child."

Y/N hesitated. Their palms? It felt odd to just keep going with it, but it was just part of the initiation. Every religion had their own entry ritual needed. A lot had baptisms, others had celebrations. It was normal. Was this a bit tense? Sure. Y/N just sort of handed Father their palms. Soon, two long lacerations levied on their palms, the tingling burn was indescribable. Father gathered some blood onto their own hand, using it to mark a circle around Y/N. He started speaking in some sort of old language, one that echoed and bounced off the chapel walls. Eventually, the entire cult had accompanied Father, speaking as well. They soon chanted a phrase in Latin, a language that Y/N was not all too familiar with. Afterwards, Y/N was handed a tea, served hot with no additives. They drank it all, the walls felt like they were melting and their hands felt numb. No pain, just pure and uncut bliss as they smiled.

Soon, it was all over. Finally, it had finished. Y/N had their wounds bandaged up once their initiation had finished. Father Xerach looked at them, tilting his head, "You know, most people would have left at the part where they would need to give blood. You've proven your worth of joining us," he mused, gently tapping a finger on the nose of Y/N's mask.

"I-I am?" Y/N asked with their words slurred, feeling a warm, fuzzy feeling that festered furiously in their veins. It was loving, nice, and caring. It was acceptance. They had been accepted into something, given good attention to! They felt as if they would soon belong in the church rather fast.

"Of course. Although, I do have some rules for you that you must learn, my dear sibling Y/N," Father Xerach mulls, "Rule number one: unless you are in the communal home, that mask must stay on. Rule number two: only I am allowed to talk to the outsiders, I don't want you conspiring with anyone. And lastly, rule number three: your screen time is limited to an hour a week. Got that? You mustn't question me, either, for I am a prophet of the Everlasting. Understood?"

"Yes, Father Xerach!" Y/N replied dutifully, albeit not all there.

The next morning, Y/N awoke in the sleeping quarters of the communal home. Everyone slept on a bunk bed, either on the top or bottom. It was packed and small, but humble like the religion was. Y/N walked into the canteen of the communal home with the others, sitting down and eating their breakfast. It was porridge, but nothing colorful or flavorful. It was a grey sludge with a thin film on top of it. It was flavorless, tasting rather sorrowful like a dramatic breakup, but with none of the drama. It was hard to eat, while others ate the sludge like it was a five star meal, Y/N felt like their stomach was bickering with their taste buds. It was just depressing. Once they were done eating, they sort of went outside to play, read, or just admire nature. Y/N was reading a book, kicking their feet in the air as they laid on their stomach. Eventually, the sound of bells ringing not once, not twice, but several times signified that it was seven in the morning, time for a sermon.

The sermon was lackluster, unlike the chapel itself. While the building was big, grand, almost exquisite enough for a king of sorts with magical musical numbers about a babe with power, the sermon felt more like something one would expect from a regular church. They read from both the Bible and another book, one that retained to the group itself called 'The Everlasting, And Why They Are Important'. It was at least one or two hours long, maybe even three. Everyone was simply sitting still and staying quiet, and so was Y/N. They assumed that it was normal. After all, most churches were eerily quiet, or at least most places of worship were. It was bleak, Y/N felt that their ear was only getting their ear chewed off, nothing more, nothing less. Y/N was grateful once the stodgy sermon ceased.

Lunch and dinner were no different from breakfast. Lunch was a simple ham and cheese on white bread without a crust. No sides, and the only drink was water. At least there was some substance within the lunch and dinner. Dinner was at least somewhat flavorful, being orange chicken and rice, along with some sort of sparkling water that was flavored like fruit. Y/N lets out a relieved sigh at this breath of fresh air. Finally, something that felt somewhat gourmet, something that was lively and spirited in a sense! Y/N savored every bite, and eventually, night had fallen, leading them to fall into slumber in the communal home among their comrades.

The following days were of no utter difference. The schedule was monotonous with the activities of food, free time, sermon, free time, food, mayhaps a confessional or group activity, food, and then washing up before bed. The days had felt ceaseless, that nothing of meaning was bringing anything up on the table that was Y/N's new life, or rather what felt like could constitute as the death of them with how recycled the mornings and evenings had felt within the times. The phrase "It's just another day" was merely an understatement to the behemoth that was the hill that Y/N was pushing a boulder upon, trying to keep going within the cult, but utterly losing reason on why they should. But then they recall Father Xerach's words. His kindness, the fact that he himself said that they were worthy of joining. Worth. That was why Y/N stayed, because they had felt a sense of true worth, of honest belonging among masked men, many of whom Y/N had never known aside from their names. These were not merely masked individuals, they were new friends and family that had accepted and loved Y/N with no condition and no intention to leave. They wanted that, they felt like they needed it like the air that they needed to breath.

A few more days had passed, leading up to it being a week that Y/N had first been integrated into the cult. They were well behaved, since they wanted to at least try to permeate for a bit to the customs and rules. Father Xerach had taken notice of this, and felt that he grew rather sentimental for the recent member. After all, it wasn't often that the new member was so eager to be part of the religion. Father decided that it should be the time that dawned for Y/N to have an outing with him, as a treat. Sure, it was simply to do errands, but they decided that they were one of the few members that could leave the compound and go out into the town. Father Xerach entered the communal home, his entrance met with bows and prayers as if he himself were one of the Everlasting.

"Everyone, listen up. One of you is to come with me into town to buy groceries for the canteen. And after some careful and thorough examination of each of your dispositions... Y/N. You will be my loyal errand person. Come along, now," Xerach spoke, gently leading Y/N by the hand and giving them nary a second to think about their choices, let alone ask why out of everyone, that they were picked.

Y/N and Father put their masks on, walking down the sidewalk in utter silence. Y/N's eyes looked around the town that was slowly starting to become lesser known to them. Buildings seemed smaller, bigger, or had different colors than they had recalled. Maybe them being in a religion cut off from said down was a factor with this amnesic attempt to recall somewhere they knew well at some point perpetually within Y/N's past. They entered a grocery store with Father Xerach, staying close to their leader. The trip went well up until the register. Long, flowing lines of people with items of plenty within their carts meant that this was an endeavor of long waiting. Father sighed, leaning against the cart. His eyes linger to Y/N, smiling softly.

He started to speak, his voice soft and kind. "Sibling Y/N. May you please be a darling and fetch me some bread, milk, cheese, and eggs? I seemed to have forgotten them whilst I was wandering about. My mind must have blanked out on me," he requested, looking at Y/N with his kind, albeit sharp gaze.

Y/N nodded affirmatively, darting off into the unknown for what their higher-up had ended up forgetting. It was bizarre, yet relatable. It made Father seem .ore humane to Y/N, like he was a human just like them with feelings, emotions, hopes and dreams.They were relatable, not like the faux kind of relatable that was shallow water and had bare bones of meaning. Actually relatable, the kind that anyone can connect with.

Y/N had gotten most of the stuff, now walking over to the dairy aisle for milk and cheese. Their stomach sank when they noticed three familiar faces. Oh, by the Everlasting, why did it have to be three people? Of course, one of them was Mac, their old PC. The other two were Vaughn Trapp, their rat trap, and Hector, their shy HVAC, bless his heart. Y/N felt their eyes widened as they just continued to do their shopping, muttering to themself to just ignore them and that they would go away. Apparently, like everything else so far, Y/N was wronger than wrong itself, because they heard a familiar, loud voice that was accentuated with a familiar New Jersey accent.

"Ey. EY! Y/N! Y/N izzat you?! I recognized dat voice from anyone!"

Crap. Out of the three that noticed Y/N, of course it was the loud, eccentric goofball, Vaughn. Y/N wanted to run their shopping cart, and preferably themselves, off into oncoming traffic. Why, if Father Xerach overheard them, who knows what irredeemable trouble would come from that moment on?!

Y/N could only look at the three in a worried manner, shaking their head frantically, gesturing them to walk away and leave them alone. Unfortunately, Vaughn was better at catching rats than he was at catching any form of hints. He embraced Y/N in a tight hug, one that felt nearly bone-crushing. Y/N felt their heart sink, as if someone had been watching them from afar. They had surmised that Father was watching them, and thus they pushed Vaughn off of them, worry in their soft gaze. It was a silent beg to just leave them be, after all, they did not want to upset Father Xerach, not after all that he did and said to them that had made Y/N felt accepted. Y/N held their hands together, clasped in a way reminiscent of a nun or worried religious follower, firm in their standing, as if their posture was made of concrete and rebar. They shook their head, worry in their soft voice.

"Please, you... You really don't need to act so close with me. You guys are free now," Y/N commemorated their promise they made to the objects turned humans. They freed them from the house, from them! They should not be so enthusiastic to see them at all, let alone after so long. "Besides, I'm not allowed to talk to you guys right now."

Hector and Mac frowned, the two looking at each other with concern, Mac having an undercurrent of suspicion that Y/N was in some form of crisis that could not be spoken. Vaughn's dark brown eyes looked at Y/N with bitter confusion, one eyebrow cocked up, arched in disbelief at what he was in fact hearing. Y/N was not allowed to talk to them? Not that they were busy, not that they didn't want to, no. Not allowed. Red flags popped up like rats in Vaughn's mind: something was wrong, and he was going to figure it out.

"Waddya mean?! 'Course you can talk to us! It's not like yer bein' controlled by some strings we don't know of, pal!"

"I don't know, Vaughn... Something feels amiss, like we shouldn't press any further," Hector muttered in a delicate whisper, fiddling with his thumbs anxiously. Mac nodded, agreeing. They were on the same page as Hector: they should not muddle within undisclosed issues that were not of their own. Vaughn, however, noticed the waft of danger in the air. They needed to know what was going on.

Y/N nodded in agreement, but it was met with Vaughn placing a hand on the snout of their mask, as if to shush them. "Ah, c'mon! The worst that could have happened is that they're hiding a bad scar and are embarrassed! Or maybe I was right about the strings thing... Eh, come on! Spill dem beans, kid! Waddaya got goin' on?!" Vaughn howled, taking the mask off by force, revealing Y/N's face.

Y/N looked different than before. Their pupils were haunted, as if the repetition bored them to death. They had a solid frown, almost full and frightened. They held their mask in their hands, snatching it from Vaughn's hand as if it were their own organs. Vaughn frowned a bit seeing how horrified Y/N had appeared, almost backing away. Even the bags under their eyes came off as a cry for help. A sort of worry and concern washed over the others as they had seen the drastic changes.

Footsteps echoed in the market, approaching Y/N, Vaughn, Hector, and Mac. Y/N rushed to put their mask on, silently panicking, tears in their eyes. They wished that they could explain everything better, yet all that they could do was feel an unrelenting woe that rocked, a boat on the sea of negative thoughts that ruminated within their mind. They all soon saw it; a tall man in white robes and an ornate deer mask that was also white, similar to what Y/N had worn, but more grand and extravagant. It was Father Xerach. And he was not happy. His eyes were smoldering, looking down at Y/N with a bitter, anguishing distaste for what he had both heard and seen. He was watching from the check-out line, having taken the food from Y/N's hands and putting it into the cart. Vaughn looked at Xerach with disdain, a fiery fury festered in his veins. It only grew worse when Xerach grasped at Y/N's wrist, dragging them away silently.

Y/N only complied, following sheepishly like a child caught causing trouble. Y/N felt ashamed, fear wrapping around their mind for what was soon to come. Punishment. They tried to calm down; a lot of organized religions had strict rules, but the worse that would most likely be happening was a scolding, or maybe a confessional. Maybe Y/N would get disfellowshipped, sure, but to their knowing, it would have to take a big fuck up to even remotely reach that point. As soon as they came, both Y/N and Xerach were gone. Vaughn felt a sinking, almost drowning feeling in his heart. For a quick-talking, short-fused man, he felt a bite of genuine concern for someone.

The ride back to the compound was silent, dead, even. Father barely spoke a word to Y/N, leading them to think harshly and low of themselves. When they got back into the compound, Father dragged Y/N by the wrist within the chapel, and into a smaller room. It was dark and sullen, just like earlier. The room was barren, alone of a crucifix and a closet. This was not the confessional room, no. It was much worse. Father went over to the closet, opening it to reveal a belt, studded with rhinestones.

"Lift up your robes and face the wall behind you. Now. No need to be more insolent than you were earlier today."

Y/N backed up, but Father grabbed them with force. He shoved them harshly to the floor with a thud as he tore their robes off, the belt slapping against them with a loud 'thwap' of leather against skin, a symphony of pain and punishment. A few more slaps cam through, Y/N yelling, begging Father to stop. After what felt like hours, Y/N stood up, marks of punishment all over them, raw and tender. Their welts and scars ached when they put their robes back on. They shook, tears in their eyes. Father looked down at them, a lack of sympathy or acceptance in their eyes. What once was a figure of kindness and welcoming warmth, was now polar opposite. A man of harsh, cold words. Father grabbed Y/N by the chin, forcing them to look up at him.

His voice was a low, rough whisper, one that lacked anything other than spite. "If you were not one to have disobeyed me, I wouldn't have hurt you, sibling Y/N. Go into the sleeping quarters. You are to go without food this evening," Father commanded harshly, pointing to the exit door. Y/N just simply nodded, deciding that obeying was better than having to deal with what happened yet again. Y/N went into the sleeping quarters, entering their bed. Their body ached, pain encasing them, wrapping them up like a mummy of shame and embarrassment.

All that Y/N could think about was how cold and unaccepting Father had become, how strident and sharp he had behaved when Y/N talked to Vaughn, Hector, and Mac. They could only struggle to sleep, pain burning through their body, a fire of remembrance of their insolence. They could only wish for love yet again, the warmth and welcome from when they first met Father. They did not understand why Vaughn took off their mask, why Hector and Mac looked at them as if they were from another planet or a living dead person. Was it something they did? Was it because their mask was off? Y/N felt soft tears leave their pupils as they laid on their stomach, growing more exhausted and soon falling asleep.

Meanwhile...

Entering the house, Vaughn, Hector, and Mac sat down on the couch, all of them worried. Betty came out after talking with someone, looking at the three. She felt her smile falter, transforming into a raised eyebrow and a soft frown. They never noticed the others all come in so occupied with something. What could have them thinking so deeply. She approached the three, sitting on a nearby recliner chair. Silence was thick between the four, with none of them really finding the inclination to utter not a word, let alone any noise at all. Eventually, Mac had decided to rip the bandage off, their blue orbs flashing with a sentimental concern.

"We saw Y/N at the store earlier today, but... They weren't really themselves." Mac confessed, their hands fidgeting with their rainbow-framed circular glasses.

Hector and Vaughn nodded, confirming Mac's statement. Betty felt her heart tug a bit. How was Y/N not really themselves? What happened? Betty needed to know. It was not in her nature to pry at someone for information about others. If anything, that was more-so something Scandalabera, or as he went by Jon Wick, would do. Even though he was more serious now, he still indulged in the more ornate, gossip-slinging personality of Scandalabera from time to time. But that was besides the point, this was something that Betty needed to pry at, not Jon.

"Ah. Anything else any of you wish to add?" Betty asked, tilting her head, her pale rose hair falling upon her shoulders.

"Yeah! They were dead quiet, and wearing this frickin' outfit that looked weird, like some sort of religious temple attire! They even had a mask, too! And some rando came up to them and snatched them up!" Vaughn added, speaking more with his hands rather than his loud words.

Betty took that in mind, nodding in affirmative remembrance. She took those details in: mask, religious attire, hanged behavior. Did Y/N join a cult?! Betty felt her heart sink. There was no way that Y/N could have joined a cult so quickly, not after everything that happened. But Betty remembered her life before being realized, before the Dateviators. Y/N would cry to themselves, scrolling to see couples and groups of friends left and right, desiring what they did not have: love, friends, acceptance. Some form of normalcy. While they talked, Mac was doing research. They, too, were curious. Nothing seemed normal about Y/N's behavior, let alone how they started to dress. After a while of research, recalling of the grocery store encounter, and speculation, the major consensus was that it was more likely than not that Y/N had gotten themselves into some form of religious cult.

It felt like whiplash to have seen the website advertising the cult's attire. White masks and robes, community housing, occasional outings... They found it. The Church of the Everlasting. It was sort of sad to see the website look so sanitized and clean, due to the knowledge that most cults were not all that well. If anything, these benefits sounded and felt more like bribery rather than anything decent. While looking though the site, Vaughn noticed something, pointing to the screen, on a certain address for the cult building.

"Ey! Ain't that the fenced area in the outskirts of town?!"

He was right. That was indeed where the fenced area outskirts of town were. The wired fence and big building... It all made sense now. There was indeed a cult, and Y/N most likely joined it! Betty felt her heart being shot with a bullet of sudden emotions. She was sad, she wanted to save Y/N from that place, to help them out, to cuddle them. They were sad, and worried, her mind spiraling as they had thought about what could be happening to Y/N in the cult. She wanted to help them.

She wanted to convince them that the cult wouldn't help them: it will only hurt them.

Chapter Text

After a two or three days of planning, late nights comforting worried friends, and one instance Parker Bradley going on an acid trip and suggesting that they should release "fire breathing centipedes" into the compound (a chaotic plan that could work, albeit sounded highly illegal and nonsensical), they came up with a plan, one that should work. The plan was that, as of now, Luke Nukem and Vaughn Trapp would try and talk Y/N out of the cult. If anyone were to get into their way, they would say that it was for a holiday visit. The rat-trap and microwave turned men walked down the sidewalk, trying to figure out the dynamic they would equate to their mission. Vaughn suggested a sort of "Good-cop, Bad-cop" act, where they would have one of them being nice, while the other one acted more rude and brash. Luke suggested that they should simply stay as low as they can in order to avoid being sighted by the enemy. After all, they were dealing with a cult, not anything simple. They both had decided to meet in the middle, making an attempt to stow themselves out of sight and try to pry Y/N out of the cult's grasp, and if they were to be caught, they'd have a sort of conversation where Vaughn acted sweet and calm, while Luke would pull out his intimidation card. After all, a ranger like Luke was vast in both size and immense strength, despite having a sort of soft-spot for those he liked.

Meanwhile, in the compound.

Y/N awoke, hungry. They held their stomach, having eaten very little of their bland breakfast. It was bran cereal, almost tasting like some sort of animal feed that was laced with sorrow and shame. The events of yesterday concurred within their memory, a haunting recall repeating regularly. They remembered the welts upon their tender skin that the belt had inflicted, some leaked gently with plasma and healed almost over night, while other welts became wounds that leaked a red-crimson ichor of their life force, scarring their back with the reminder of the insolence they had caused, the shame they would feel for weeks, months, or even years to come.

The silence of their peace was broken when Father Xerach approached them, causing their heart to race as they froze in an intense manner. A symphony of fear and panic encased them, an ocean they could not escape. But something caught Y/N's panicked, yet perplexed gaze. For one, he wasn't wearing his mask this time. He was revealed, or at least his face was. His skin was a softly toned caramel, his hair was long, flowing raven locks that went down to his shoulders. His gaze was green, his eyes were eerily calm, yet full of some sort of sinister undercurrent. He had a scar along the bridge of his nose, a sign that he had fought against something and survived. His face was thin, his jawline was sharp, and his canines were eerily sharp.

Y/N looked at Father Xerach, enamored with the appearance of the leader. But, he had flogged them yesterday! They shouldn't feel something so... So soft, so warm, just by seeing him. Father gave them a soft, closed smile. It was almost like that of a kind, loving person. Father gently caressed the side of Y/N's face, letting out a sight that sounded like it had some form of regret within it. Did he actually regret what he had done? Y/N felt their heart race, anxious anticipation agitated any and all reasoning within them. Father couldn't be that bad, right? But he hurt them. Hurting others was generally bad, especially if that someone was someone that you looked up to! But, Father won't keep doing it, because Y/N knew that they wouldn't break any more rules, at least in the foreseeable future, they won't.

"Y/N, my dear follower... I apologize for having to punish you like that. I wished that I would have stood in to stop you from talking to those wretches... Would you wish to have some tea with me? I shall patch up any wounds you have gotten." Father offered, softly rubbing their tears away with his thumb.

Y/N looked up at them, tears leaking from their eyes. The same hands that had hurt them were now comforting them, but it felt superficial. It was disingenuous. A front to get Y/N to feel less awful about the unlawful hell they had felt, the welts and wounds breathing like a new set of lungs underneath their robes. They couldn't get patched up last night due to how the church's nurse was too busy. The offer felt more like a command. They wanted to refuse, to yell out any abstinence or decline, but nothing formed in their throat, let alone in their brain. All they could do was nod, just following Father like a lost sheep following the steps of a shepherd.

Y/N and Father were in the private quarters of Father, the tea set being placed in front of Y/N alongside a medical kit. Y/N took off their robes, revealing the soft, pliant flesh to Father, injuries and lacerations covered the entirety of their back when they turned around to let Father Xerach examine. Y/N took their cup, Father had put in their preferred amount of milk and sugar like they had requested. They took a drink, the tea felt good. Something started to feel off, soon. Y/N's mind raced with thoughts, their limbs felt light and their mind felt kind, sweet, and loving. They felt their vision warp and wind, their sense of danger melting as Father rubbed their back over their injuries, his hands going up to their shoulders to rub in a way that felt soft, kind, like a massage from heaven.

Y/N had been drugged. A mix of ecstasy, mandrake root, aphrodisiacs, and opioids had been infused within their tea, making them more weak to the words that Father would tell them. Of course, this wasn't the first time that something like this had happened. It was a common cult tactic to do something of the such; to drug a member that misbehaved in order to inhabit propaganda into them, to utterly brainwash them in their inebriated state. Father turned Y/N around, grabbing them by their chin and lifting them up to look into his green eyes. The same ones that were once calm, now smoldering with affections, unsung with some form of affection.

"Now, now... My dear little lamb, my Y/N. I need you to promise me, no matter what, even in my darkest hour, that you'll be a good little lamb and behave yourself. You won't leave, will you? No more taking your mask off outside of the community home, no more conspiring with outsiders? You'll only be obedient to me, yes?" Father Xerach asked, his free hand wrapping around Y/N's waist to pull them closer.

Y/N felt their face heat up, not sure why they felt this way. No, no! This wasn't normal, they shouldn't be feeling so enticed, so susceptible, so vulnerable! It made them feel weak... But being in Father Xerach's arms, with him looking at them so kindly with that smile, those sparkling eyes, they just simply nodded, melting into his touch. Father rocked them gently, his hand on the small of their back trailing up to gently play with their hair. His plan was working perfectly, almost foolproof. But alas, like all good things, this had to end soon. As for as soon as he leaned in closer, the sound of the church doors being knocked on interrupted him.

Father cursed under his breath, handing Y/N their robes and mask. "Here, put these on, and do not speak unless spoken to," Father sternly commanded them. Y/N hesitated not, covering their body with their mask and robes.

Father strode over to the door, putting his mask back on, the ornate deer face hiding his own. He slowly opened the giant, cedar doors, the breaking echoed within the church, and revealing his tall, sculptured stature. He stood with elegance, poise, and he took a glance for only a spell to see who was there. To his surprise, he saw two people who looked to be polar opposites. One was a short, stout man, brown eyes that were tired and brown hair that seemed to be a mix of puffy twin buns and a ponytail. He seemed almost like an amalgam of rat and man, making Father Xerach nearly step away in disgust at such a vile creature that dared to step onto his property. The other man was tall, not as tall as he was, but just tall enough to reach his chin. He had red hair that was styled upright, his steel eyes looked wide and alert, almost haunted.

Father could only roll his eyes, annoyed at the fact that these were obviously outsiders. Unwelcome guests, to put it lightly. Father Xerach had to act nice. Neither of them looked like federal agents, so he could swindle and deceive them into thinking that this was just a small, religious community, rather than what it truly was. He smiled underneath his mask, looking down at the two new faces with a calm, almost ethereal gaze, his voice was soft and welcoming.

"Well, hello there, newcomers," he replied, a disdain hiding behind his more welcoming tone, "Why, is there something you wish to ask about our humble church?"

"Yeah, we want to know if you were carrying a specific person within your so-called 'church'. Are you familiar with one Y/N?" Luke asked, his voice low and monotone, as if he were asking the answers with a subtle hint of threat. He obviously didn't believe Father, due to knowing that it was all a cult, but he played along. After all, he was a ranger, and he was much smarter than he was given credit for. Even if he did have his... Moments of absurd nonsense.

Father Xerach paused for a spell. He had two ways of going about this; he could lie, or he could tell the truth. He decided to pull out a third, secret tactic. He was going to lie by omission. He would technically be honest, but not wholeheartedly. Why? Y/N was drugged, dependent on him! It'd be easier to say they were under the weather rather than simply saying that they were not there. Father Xerach smiled underneath his mask, feigning a sympathetic, worried tone. He bowed slightly, moving aside so that Vaughn Trapp and Luke Nukem could enter the chapel.

"I'm so sorry, my dear guests. But Y/N is here, yes, they are feeling a bit unwell-"

"Eh, so? It ain't like they got a plauge or nothin'! C'mon, we wanna see 'em!" Vaughn growled loudly, pushing past Luke and darting off into a room with the door slightly creaked open. Father forgot to close the room Y/N was in. He dashed along side, Luke following swiftly in suit.

Vaughn felt his eyes widen at the sight of Y/N. They struggled to stand upright, let alone walk. They seemed to be unable to move at all, at least not without some form of active aid. Y/N stumbled close to Vaughn, Luke, and Father, only to fall into Father's arms. They gazed up at Father with a sweet, indulgent gaze. Vaughn could already sense the danger as if it were a pack of rats, a deep snarl forming on his face as he looked over at Father with annoyance. He did something. Vaughn didn't know what, but he assumed that there was a certain "je ne sais quoi" or whatever it was he heard Jean Loo say. Whatever, it didn't matter, he just knew that this guy was nothing but trouble.

Luke was worried for Y/N. They were a strong ranger and yet, they were stumbling and speaking incoherently. When Luke tried to reach for them, they tried to reach back, but Father held them closer to him, shaking his head in disapproval. This caused Y/N to softly bow their head, as if hiding themselves away in shame for going against their own vow of loyalty to Father. Luke noticed this, upset and worried. Y/N was never so quiet and so reserved, they never hid themselves over the little things. Something was up, and he needed to know.

Luke pulled Y/N away from Father with force, his steel eyes narrowing with a bitter, smoldering rage that was mostly dormant, but if Father wanted to keep his ass unkicked, he'd play nice for now. Y/N lets out some unintelligible slurring of the mouth, no words were formed, just noise. They tried to pull away, obviously looking scared. Luke looked closer, noticing the dilation in Y/N's pupils, the drool coming from their lips, their uncoordinated movement. He'd seen similar symptoms in a certain LSD-taker. Luke came to the conclusion that Y/N had fallen under the influence, possibly from a mix of things. He looked over at Vaughn, motioning to them to hint at their state. Vaughn was livid, and rightfully so. Y/N had been drugged, probably without even knowing. Oh, now he was livid! Even more so somehow!

Suddenly, a swift punch landed on Luke's face, a freight train of speed by fist. Y/N was snatched out of his hands, Father looking at the two in pure, burning impatience. He resented the two, not only for laying their disgusting outsider hands on his little lamb, but for being able to see through him. Father took off his mask, revealing his features. He looked at the two, his green orbs narrowing with temper. Vaughn and Luke also had similar temper boiling in them, reaching a point where Luke had to hold Vaughn back, a barrage of threats and swears leaving Vaughn's lips.

Father laughed cruelly. "You outsiders are all the same. It's far too late, for your friend doesn't want to leave. Isn't that right, Y/N? You wouldn't want to leave a place that cares more about you than these outsiders, yes?" He inquired, tilting Y/N's head to look up at him.

Y/N nodded, looking up at Father. They wanted to cling to him even more, wanting his appraisal for behaving so well. Father smirked, looking down at Y/N with feigned pride. He knew that the drugs were still pumping in their blood, and it won't wear off until tomorrow. They were putty in his hands, easy to mold to his desires, his wants. After all, that is what he wanted. To be able to control his members as he pleases. "I'm afraid you two should be leaving." Father told Vaughn and Luke, snickering under his breath. He waved his hand dismissively.

Luke angrily left, dragging a hollering and hooting Vaughn. He screamed, thrashed, threatening to snap Father in one of his traps. Once the two were absent, Father sneered. He slammed Y/N against the wall, hands wrapped around their throat in seething distaste. He wasn't proud that Y/N tried to go to them, let alone that such rude creatures followed them onto the sacred grounds. He was in pure turmoil, his mind yelling at him to punish Y/N further. Sure, their darling face was slowly turning blue and they were crying, attempting to struggle free of his grasp. But would they really learn from some simple strangulation? No. He needed to control the situation, to show them who was in charge. That he had power as the prophet, the leader, and not Y/N.

He pulled out a serrated blade, pulling up Y/N's sleeve of their dominant hand. He started to run the knife along the arm, before jabbing it within the soft flesh of their obedient follower, the sounds of loud sobs and wails echoed within the chapel, almost outside of it as well. Y/N thrashed in pain, causing Father to jab them in a different part of the arm. The fire of the blade's cuts felt like thousands of bullet ants and wasps were stinging at their arm, the burning sensation making Y/N weep in horrific, almost intolerable pain. They felt weak, their stomach churning and their vision going in and out, as if they were entering and exiting a tunnel at maximum velocity.

Father roughly threw them to the floor yet again, before pulling them back up by the wrist. The knife was now pressed against Y/N's soft and tender cheek, a searing pain that was in their arm was now in their soul. Would they really die like this? No. Father was to kind to kill them, but too cruel to let them leave. Father felt his breath grow strong, ragged from tossing Y/N around like a sack of potatoes. He wanted to let Y/N have a mark of shame. One that would let others know that they had outsiders that were treacherous enough to agitate Father. Father leaned in, his expression cold and hateful. He slowly ran the knife down Y/N's cheek, the feeling of their flesh slowly opening and leaking out their life force was hell, slow and torturous for Y/N. Father took the knife away from their skin, licking the knife clean off before letting go of Y/N harshly.

"Go to the nurse. She'll rid you of your hideous wounds. You knew a treacherous lot. I wouldn't be surprised if you betrayed me,"

"Father, I-I won't-"

"Silence. Go. Now."

Meanwhile, with Vaughn and Luke...

Vaughn was anxiously fiddling with his hands, yammering and yapping about how Y/N could probably be dead by now. It was rare to see a part of him so worried, so distressed. For a boisterously loud fellow who boasted with courage, he seemed to just have his thoughts drown him. Luke had an idea. Since they had a face, they could possibly tell someone about the ordeal. Not to mention the knowledge Mac and Betty had. If anything, they could simply file a report for it. Since it was a smaller town as well, there would be more people willing to help. In fact they knew a group of people who could help.

A walk over to a local diner later, Vaughn and Luke were talking to a few people who had formed their own group to stop cults like the one that Y/N had gotten into. They didn't go to the police because let's face it, it won't be likely that they'd be taken seriously. After extensive searches, past news paper articles, and photo comparisons, they managed to link it all together. The leader, Xerach Masarano, or Father Xerach as he was known in the cult, was revealed to have brain-washed, abused, and even coerced some of his own members to join in his cult or in the harm of other members.

They were going to save Y/N, even if it means causing hell.

Chapter Text

It had been days to a week of in and out conversations and evidence collecting, however Luke and Vaughn managed to get hold of some professional help alongside the vigilantes. It seemed that saving Y/N would be as easy as pie. All they had to do was go back and arrest Father Xerach, and hopefully wrangle up the other members. After everything that had went down for weeks, even years in the cult, they would need to recover their mental health. After all, it wasn't common to deal with such awful behavior from someone who was meant to be a leader of sorts. The abuse, the manipulation, every single wrong doing was a stain on his reputation that did not go unnoticed to those who were not under his spell of influence.

Luke sighed, walking alongside Vaughn. Mac and Hector insisted on coming as well, wanting to assure Y/N that they should indeed leave the cult. Luke had a load of woes and lament on his mind ever since he saw Y/N ineptly stumbling up to him in their drug-induced state during their encounter previously. The strong and independent ranger they once knew was brainwashed and reduced to a reclusive, subservient shell of themselves. It hurt Luke a lot. It hurt him to see his ranger get so scared at the smallest things, the fear in their eyes and their shaking stance.

Luke wanted to hold them once they were saved, to feel Y/N's embrace. He wanted to comfort them and tell them that they would be soon put into safety, that he would protect his ranger from swarmers and cultists alike. Luke was unaware that he was so deep in thought that he nearly fell down into a manhole. It was certainly cartoonish, almost looney, yes, but... When one is deep in thought and worried about those who they care about, they can get further into thought than reality. Luckily enough, Mac had pulled Luke out of the way, making him evade the pothole by force. It was shocking how inattentive Luke was, almost disquieting about how silent and sorrowful he seemed to appear.

But they all stopped when they soon saw the giant chapel in front of their gaze; large, dark, and imposing. It had almost blend in with the stormy firmament of clouds that washed the blue sky a dark, thundering grey that was daunting. The others nodded, the professionals and vigilantes standing back, waiting for the signal to break in. The current objective was to get everyone outside so that they could confront Father Xerach and the other cult members. One of the vigilantes handed Hector a megaphone, his shaking, fidgeting hands almost dropping the device. He held it in his hands, holding it up to his mouth so that when he spoke, everyone would hear his soft, coy voice.

"H-Hello? Uhm... Please come outside. We don't mean any harm-"

"Ey, EY!! GET DA HELL OUT HERE, YA SCHMUCKS!!" Vaughn shoved Hector out of the way, taking the megaphone from Hector. He then looked at Hector and casually apologized, "Sorry, Hector."

"I-It's fine... Ow."

Meanwhile, inside the chapel:

Father sat upon the upper left pew of the chapel. It didn't take long until he heard a familiar, shrill voice that agitated him, his hands clasped together had veins pop out like weasels, his knuckles a ghostly white that contrasted to his otherwise gorgeous caramel skin. Father looked at the other members of the church, including Y/N. How dare those disgusting outsiders bother him and his followers during their sacred time of worship? Father disliked outsiders. They never understood why he did what he did. It was all for the Church of the Everlasting; he was the prophet, the judge, the executioner! He was the most important person that led the sheep that were his followers, and the outsiders were the wolves, not him.

Father arose from the pew, the prayer having to be stopped mid-sentence due to some unwelcome guests. He walked in a slow, almost angelic manner. He was graceful with each step, almost as if it were choreographed by angels and elites. The impending, intricate cedar doors croaked open, Father stepping out as the doors closed behind him. His green eyes were kindling with an ire, an exasperation that was violent, an uncontrollable storm, the likes of which nobody had ever seen or witnessed before. He took off his mask, revealing that familiar face that angered Vaughn and Luke.

Father sneered, raising his hands in a feigned act of renunciation. He saw the outsiders as dirt beneath him. And they brought people armed with tranquilizer darts? How cute. They acted as if the Everlasting wouldn't see their actions. It was almost endearing that they would try and stop him, with all the power he had over his members. They were all emotionless wind-up dolls, dependent on his command. They ate when he told them to, bathed when commanded, and slept at his whim. Why, they would kill themselves if he asked his followers to do so, wouldn't they? That was the pride he took in leading his religion: the sheer power that the Everlasting gave him, that he would say or do anything, and that his little followers would follow in his steps. He relished it.

"Oh? And what is all of this, then?" Father Xerach probed the question, not taking the scene seriously.

Mac took the megaphone from Vaughn in a gentle manner, their blue orbs sparked with infuriated determination that was searing them like a steak on the grill. Their eyebrows knit, their expression showing their anger. They then paused, their expression softened, still showing obvious disdain and bitter resentment, but it conveyed a more gentle worry. Their friend was in that cult. They didn't want to say anything too harsh, not when this interaction could put their friend into a pit of danger or hurt that would lead Mac into a spiral of shame and concern. Mac made sure to choose their words carefully.

"We know about the cult. We know about the abuse you've put your members through. It's time to free them. Open the church and the gate, please. We don't want to use force," Mac informed Xerach, their voice stern, yet gentle. They wanted to have a serious yet gentle tone, like a parent scolding their child. Again, Y/N was in that cult, and they all knew that Xerach was not the kindest of men.

Xerach's expression turned sour, almost bitter. Like food gone rotten, something wicked came the way of the church. He simply nodded, heading into the chapel. Once he head in, he pulled out a serrated blade. He already knew what he had to do. So did the rest of the cult. After all, they were mindless sheep. They would do anything in his steps, that he told. And if not? He would use force. They couldn't leave the cult, not with how he was able to dangle shame over their head, a gun to the head of their reputation. Or in this case, a knife to the throat...

(SKIP THIS!! MASSIVE TW!!)

Father took the knife to his throat, a quick slash leading to blood spraying out of the wounded gash in his throat, staining the window that he faced with a cruel, cold smile. A haunting sight for the others outside to see. He wanted to know that he had control in the situation, not them. This wasn't just a mass suicide, it was a statement. It was a work of art, a hell of his own making, and not that of some mere weak, unenlightened outsiders. He didn't care about the after effects of his actions. He was going to go down with his loyal subjects, into the kingdom of the Everlasting. They wouldn't die like normal people would, and they were sure to meet up with their God in the kingdom of Everlasting.

Eventually, more members took of their masks, using any sharp objects they could find. Eventually, crimson had painted the black room red. Mac's eyes widened, Vaughn was silent. The red stained the windows that were once pristine, pure clear crystals that peered into the chapel. Hector's eyes started to water at the thought of someone that he held so close dying in front of him, the fact that he would no longer see Y/N's loving smile, their sweet and honeyed gaze, or that they would never hear that charming laugh. He wouldn't get to meet up with them again, even if they did seem to be acting more distant within the past few weeks after he had been realized. Even before the cult, they were not as talkative as they used to be. He missed Y/N dearly, the thought of their blood being spilled had twisted a knife in his chest he didn't even know existed.

Luke felt a lot of pain, too. His ranger, the one that was with him through thick and thin, even after figuring out that the whole thing he did was a bit and still supporting him, being there by his side. They were a friend, hell, even a lover. Luke didn't want to see Y/N leave. He wanted to have the chance to talk to them, to go on more adventures with them, to protect them from swarmers! Luke felt that his heart was drowning, his chest ached as he struggled to breath. It was the heat of the moment that had hurt, his heart being ripped right from the heartstrings.

In a sense of heroism, Luke managed to pry open the gate, running in. Vaughn, Hector, Mac, and the team of professionals and vigilantes followed in suit. The sound of many pounding footsteps caused some of the members to stop in their actions, knives and sharp objects pointed to themselves in frame-frozen, perfectly still motion. All except for one. Y/N. The sight of Father dying in front of them had felt like someone loving was taken from them by force. Tears fell from Y/N's optics, the crystal liquid falling into the pools of red beneath them. Eventually, a loud slam echoed in the chapel, causing the other cultists to drop their weapons.

Y/N, like in the past, was the odd one out. They held their knife close to them, pointed at their chest. Their heart was racing, their breathing was shaking like how they were. They didn't want to do this. But Father did so, so they should follow, right? After all, what seemed like the only person that cared about them had died. And besides, they promised Father their loyalty! And what could be more loyal than committing suicide alongside someone who you were so devoted to? But they were scared, they didn't want to die, they didn't wish to enter whatever dark abyss awaited them. After all, Father had punished them often, maybe they wouldn't get into the kingdom of the Everlasting like he had promised. Y/N was uncertain, and it scared them; they were in a tie between their own mortality and their loyalty to Father.

Their endless waterfall of thoughts, crashing against the rocks of decision, had soon been interrupted by the knife being ripped from their hands and tossed aside by Luke. Y/N's eyes widened in fear, as they took a quick step back, their heart pounding as their bottom lip quivered. They were in the shoes of a rabbit being caught by a predator. Father always told Y/N that outsiders were cruel, and did whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. Y/N would need to protect themselves and expect the worst, even when Luke's touch was feather-gentle. His hand reached out to theirs, the other one caressing the side of their face, thumb going over their scarred cheek.

"Y/N! Y/N, listen to me, Ranger! You don't need to do this, please. Just come home-"

"Get away from me! I-I won't go! I need to go with him, I need to kill myself just like he did. I need to be loyal to him, I-I have to! He said so himself," Y/N interrupted him, shoving him away, trying to slap his hands away with tears in their soft eyes that looked too tired and haunted to even be the same person at that point. But still, it was indeed Y/N. Luke could only think of one question that hurt deeply: What the hell happened to his ranger?

"Y/N, he hurt you! You don't need this, you don't need the cult. Please, listen to me-"

Y/N slapped Luke across the face, stepping back and falling to the floor, ears covered. They didn't want to hear it, the words that felt like a gun shooting them, hurting them actively. "No! I-I won't trust you, you're outsiders, you want to hurt me!"

Due to Y/N's attack, they had to be tranquilized. Their eyes widened, crying and sobbing incoherently. Their tired eyes were red and puffy as they tried to walk to someone for any sense of comfort. They thought that they would die soon, that the tranquilizer was some form of poison that was going to kill them. In the cult, poison was seen as an unethical way to go, and it was impure due to how many times poisons were synthesized. That was why Father was so against food dyes, or any artificial sweetener.

The professionals dragged the few living members and an unconscious Y/N onto an ambulance that was going to the mental hospital just a few miles out of town. Luke wanted to just hold their hand one last time, and Hector wanted to at least tell them 'goodbye' before they went. Vaughn was horrified, silent from everything that had happened. Mac was texting a group chat with some of the others, informing them about Y/N's state.

>mac_of_a_bun: Hey, so... Y/N's out of the cult. It was a little messy though.

>scandlecandle: Oh? Messy? Do go on. :^)

>mac_of_a_bun: Well, not a gossip kind of messy... I was thinking more-so, y'know, blood?

>Y/Nsnumber1fan: WHAT?! BLOOD?! Are they okay?!  ＼(º □ º l|l)/

>mac_of_a_bun: For the most part, yes. They're not injured or anything, Fantina. At least not to our knowing.

>scandlecandle: Well then, what time are we going to visit them? ',:)

>Y/Nsnumber1fan: yeah!! I wanna see them again! I miss them a lot... Ever since they stopped noticing me, I've been bored! :( I've taken up pottery, crochet, hardcore alligator-back ax-throwing, everything!!

>mac_of_a_bun: Just give them a few days or weeks to recover before you two visit, okay? They've been through a lot, and we don't want to overwhelm them.

(OK GANG, TW OVER, BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED FANFIC!!)

Y/N awoke, head throbbing as if it had been pierced with a bullet. They held their head, noticing that their white robes were now replaced with a light blue hospital gown, the fabric light and gentle like a dowry sheet, stark in comparison to the white, elegant robes they wore in the cult. Y/N also noticed their mask on the side of a desk, laying idly. The sight of the white, porcelain animal face a reminder of the events in the cult. But yet, it comforted them. They went through a lot, but, they felt loved. But now, they were somewhere that was white, entirely almost. It felt harsh in contrast to the dark interiors they were used to.

Y/N deftly picks up the mask, their eyes examining it. They wanted to put it back on their face, to see if it still fit. They lift it to their face, equipping it onto their person. They look at a mirror by the bedside, analyzing it. It was not what they were used to seeing, the mask on them alongside a hospital gown that was less than fashionable, but it covered everything nicely. Despite everything, it was still them. But alas, they missed Father. His kind words, his sweet gaze, almost everything. The need in them was way too much: they needed to have Father back, or at least someone similar to him. It caused much ache within Y/N's chest to reflect on the day, making them sob softly within the confines of their mask.

Why did they hurt? It didn't make sense. They weren't supposed to be hurting. If anything, they knew that they were not going to suffer. But they were going to be surrounded by outsiders, people who would want nothing more than to hurt them. Father said so, after all. The words of his reminder echoed in Y/N's mind, a hefty reminder that no matter what, they were not safe anymore, not ever since the cult had decided to disband in such an intense way, the running red sanguine ran across the floor within their mind. It was a harsh reminder that Y/N was yet again, alone. They always will be in this case.

Eventually, they walked out of the room, and across a floor of white and light-blue tiles. Y/N's feet glided across the floor, soft pink and beige walls with drawings, posters, and reminders flew past them as they entered a room with many other people in similar gowns, their socks similar but with different colors. Most were a white or blue color, others were yellow or red. It was different. Y/N looked down at their own feet, noticing that their socks were a comforting blue. It was scary, yes, but Y/N had a feeling that they might leave soon. Still, things would never be the same, not after seeing so much spillage, not after seeing hell break loose like that.

It would be a difficult peak for them to conquer. There were outsiders left and right, their brain didn't comprehend the new location they had been situated into. Y/N felt their gaze glance around for anyone with similar masks, but to no avail. Mayhaps they were still encased within their own rooms of the new, foreign institute. Y/N drifted towards a cork-board, their hand tugging a flyer off a thumb tack that kept the paper attached with minimal strength. Upon thorough skimming, the words "mental institute" drifted onto their gaze and smacked Y/N across the face. A mental institution? But they were normal! They were perfectly fine! At least they believed they were fine.

A sour scowl had situated swiftly onto Y/N's face, as they crumpled the paper in their hand, the paper succumbing onto itself weakly like how Y/N had succumbed to Xerach's control while they were in the cult. Y/N shook their head, tossing the paper into a nearby bin with accurate blindness. How absurd. Mental institute? They didn't need to be there. But they seemed to be stuck in that damned place for the time being.

Chapter Text

Y/N found their new life hard to adjust to. The reason being was that they had too much time. In the cult, there was a set schedule, something that Y/N liked due to how schedules kept things organized, something that Timothy would rather talk about often and that Y/N took to heart. After all, the cult was like clockwork, sure it was representative, but they had gotten used to doing things on a whim at a certain hour, a certain minute, a certain stroke of the clock's hands. The Mental hospital did something similar, but it was more lenient, the food was not set for any one hour, only a few-hour chunks throughout the day, along with snacks given at randomly scheduled intervals. Y/N did not like the snacks. It felt weird, to just be given food unannounced, with no reason. It was neither a reward nor a punishment, but rather something that existed.

The food was also different. Instead of one thing, the meals at the mental hospital were an assortment. There was a piece of fruit, vegetable cups, a drink, a roll of bread, and a random entree that people could select depending on dietary restrictions or religion. There were even mini desserts like small cakes, sweetie rolls, or cups of pudding and jello. This had gave Y/N a culture shock, the cult would have never allowed this to bypass their guidelines! Y/N initially didn't eat much, due to how this seemed far out of their nature, but they caved once one of the staff noticed and told Y/N that they would need to be put into the disordered eating ward, which would lead to a longer stay.

Speaking of which, the staff... Oh, the staff. It horrified Y/N how nice the staff was. Don't get it wrong, they weren't perfect, but they were nicer than Father was. They never yelled, never hit, and they felt genuine. But that can't be right, could it? They were outsiders! Outsiders had ulterior motives, Father said so himself! They'd never hold Y/N like Father did, nor would their words sound like a sweet, soothing serenade, one that made Y/N wished that Father would whisk them away into his own ministrations, rather than facing the harsh cruelties of the world.

Y/N felt like an outlier. The mental institution sent waves of uncertainty, a reflection of their initial thoughts of joining the cult they were in previously. They didn't know if this would help, this wasn't a black and white 'good place, bad place' argument, no. This was seeing if they'd get better from.trying to join something to feel less lonely, to see if their desolate, singular nature would ever cease. The worst moment of it all was when their past furniture made human got involved.

Mac was worried, Hector and Luke were nearly devastated, even Harper expressed concerns at the prospect of Y/N selling their home to go off into a cult withing the lingering outskirts of the town. It made Y/N want to throw themselves into a situation like the cult, to lure themselves away as punishment for making them worry and take time out of their real lives to check on them. It was a burden, in Y/N's eyes. To become real only to have a feeling of unease at the actions of the person who brought you to life. Y/N felt like they were pushing a boulder uphill, the weight of their thoughts, actions, and desire to have the others be happy weighing then back down to the bottom of the mountain yet again. They were in deep belief that they themselves were more effort than before.

Why should the others worry about them? They spent so long around them, almost every day of their lives, even before the dateviators, with Y/N! Hearing every sob, wail, moan and sniffle in pathetic sorrows unaddressed due to how they got no response outside of "just make some friends", seeing them go to work and come back home to eat a singular TV dinner or sandwich while staring at the wall or TV mindlessly. How come they still cared? Shouldn't their souls be weighed or drained by such a burdensome mortal? Like a pair of cement shoes bringing them down into the watery abyss of burnout? It didn't make sense. Y/N didn't see a person that needed to be worried about, cared for, or given assurance to. They weren't a doll, they weren't a pet, they were humans. And humanity was harsh.

Eventually, the days melted together, cheese upon the bread that was Y/N's mortality. Throughout their stay, they decided that they shouldn't have their mask stay the same. The porcelain served to further deepen their heartache, a meadow of melancholy that sucked Y/N in like a vortex, keeping them in the past in an unrelenting loop. It started simple, with one stroke of paint or color each day whenever they could. Soon, it was pipe cleaners, miniature pom-poms, dry macaroni noodles and elbows. The mask was their canvas, and not a face to put over their own. Rather than hiding away, Y/N wanted to serve a slice of themselves. But, oddly enough, they never wore it. They didn't know how the other cult members in the mental institute would feel about their newly painted face. They kept their masks pristine, blank, as if adding one drop of color upon the vast expanse of creamy white would defile it permanently. After all, they were only familiar with the other siblings of the cult, the others in the institute felt alien to Y/N.

Besides, what would Father think? He made the outfits of the cult the way they did to show honor for the Everlasting! Defiling it would show a reckless abandon, sinful nature that only outsiders would accept! Y/N didn't want to be accepted by outsiders, but the gaze in their past fellow siblings and disgusted whispers of gossip made the evidence consummately clear. They were not going to be talking to their fellow man any time soon. They had tarnished their face, the mask that they had worn was unfamiliar to the others, as they ignored and jilted Y/N into lonely haplessness. It ached like a wound left to be infected, unattended by any love, familiarity, or care by the other members of the cult that had lived through the event that was the raid.

As Y/N had ruminated deep within their own mind, thoughts splaying left and right as their eyes stared at the now colored palette of their mask, unrelenting and almost thoughtless, motionless. It was like seeing an animal in danger, yet not doing anything. Y/N didn't lift a finger, only staring at the mask in a silent, unwavering manner. They never were one to look around for anyone else to talk to. They didn't want to. They wanted to be left alone, now that nobody within the confines of the cult would converse with them. It was quiet for them, but hey, it felt like home. No more being hit, no more yelling, just peace. Sorrowfully sweet peace.

Eventually, the sound of one of the nurses walking up to Y/N snapped them out of their train of thought, bringing their attention to her red hair and blue, oceanic eyes that looked down at the silent patient. "Mx. Y/N, yes? There's some people here to visit you," the nurse's voice was ample and calm, with little of a Southern drawl.

Y/N looked up, only a nod leaving them as they slowly arose from the bean-bag chair that they had sat in, their limbs flowing with a slow, uninterested continuance. Y/N had followed the nurse through the mundane halls of the institute, uninterested in who may be visiting them. Y/N knew nothing about mental institutes, so they couldn't really deny a request to visit, since they were unsure if it was important, let alone a mandatory visit. They were miffed, truly irked and affronted by an annoyance at a time like this. The boiling emotion had seared in Y/N bitterly, almost making them want to shout and yell, however, they knew it would be bad behavior on their part, so they simply bottled the feeling up until it would go away.

But the sight that haunted their eyes made Y/N feel less bitter and more plaintive. While they were under assumption of being visited by government officials or by some unknown group they never reckoned existed, it was the opposite. They knew who was there. Two people of their past; their past really was haunting them aside from the mass suicide in the cult. They knew the look of one person, a male with long, platinum blonde hair that went well with his sharp, blanched lilac gaze that was hard to discern whether or not they were a steel grey or pale blue at first glance, but they were indeed lilac. Perfect to match with that black suit with grey accents. The other person... Who could forget that face? The face of love and obsession to a t. The jacket with Y/N's face plastered all over it, the three pink bows styled in her hair, the way her charcoal orbs sparkled beyond her chestnut skin. Even her smile was excited, albeit more calm and relieved at the first sight of Y/N.

It was Jon Wick and Fantina. Or rather Scandalabra and Fantina. To-may-to, to-mah-to. Either way, it was more trouble for Y/N. They didn't want them there, they did not wish to further strain and tax the backs of those they knew in the past. They felt that they were exasperating, why would Jon and Fantina go visit them willingly? Well, Fantina was less of a surprise... But it was more about the principal of them being freed rather than what they did once they were turned human. Y/N set them free to no longer burden them, so they could do what they wanted without having to go back to them, to never see them again! What, was their whole moral code going up within flames like hellfire? They did not wish for them to return, they wanted them to live without the albatross of the past.

"Hello again, Y/N," Jon addressed them, the gap between his two front teeth giving Y/N a sense of familiarity. "How have things been since the whole... Y'know-"

"The cult! Oh em gee! I've heard EVERYTHING! Well not everything everything, but I was told that you were caught into a mass suicide in the cult, and I wanna hear everything you're comfortable telling us! That is, if you're okay with it."

Y/N was baffled. They were not used to being asked about a situation such as the cult. The cult had shown little to no concern for what were to happen, even before the cult, people rarely came up to Y/N to ask about their situation. Why was it that they were given attention from past datables, even after realizing them? They didn't want to put the weight on anyone's shoulders, but they had to speak. It wasn't like the mental institute was any help; Y/N felt that the loss of the cult was a loss of them, or at bare minimum it was a chunk of them that was torn off by wolves. Y/N hesitated, their voice was quiet, barely audible as if they were a lower being under everybody's boot.

"W-Well, are you guys okay with it?" Y/N asked, their tone showed a sheepish side of them that was unfamiliar to Jon and Fantina. It felt heartbreaking to see someone so confident lose their stupor and become the human equivalent to the world's shyest armadillo. It felt like they were hiding away their old self, or at the least trying to make some sort of wall to hide behind

"Of course. Why wouldn't we?" Jon quipped, trying to lighten up Y/N's mood, but to no avail. Their face was immovable, not a hint of emotion had crept onto their face. Not even a smile.

Seeing someone who had shown such a golden, vivid personality become so sullen and silent actively broke the hearts of the visitors. The mere sight alone could cause tears that clung to plunge from Fantina's eyes rapidly. Jon felt disheartened. He wanted to know what happened in that cult that caused a sudden 180 like this in Y/N. If the cult were still alive, he'd kill them just as payment. The cult obviously did something harmful to Y/N that led to them being more subservient. To see someone so confident and playful wither into a shell of cowardice made Jon ache, and it made Fantina want to pull Y/N into a tight caress, to hug them and cry.

Y/N sighed, fidgeting with the mask that was now a full canvas of creativity. The words were in their mind, but they were unable to find the way to get them out of their throat. It was painful, to choke on their words, wanting to explain the cult's mishaps and mistreatment of what happened behind closed doors. But yet, they thought about what Father would think. He was dead, yes, but he could be in the kingdom of the Everlasting, observing every single one of Y/N's movement and judging them. Father was their idol, even if he was gone. He was the only one who loved their sins, the way his voice got underneath their skin... It all served to make Y/N forgive him for every horrid, wretched thing he had done to them.

Y/N frowned, their semblance was sorrowful and sullen, soft yet searing tears trailed down their cheeks. Y/N didn't want to say their cult was bad, that Father wasn't bad. Father had meant good, it was the outsiders they had to worry about. They didn't care that Father was touchy, mean, or just flogged them if they broke a rule, he did it because it was needed! But outsiders did things to their own accord, no explanation, no remorse. It horrified Y/N. They did not want to say anything bad about the cult, not after everything that happened. After a while of rumination, they had gathered enough courage in their mind to at least make one negative remark.

"It... It wasn't good," Y/N stuttered.

"No, we know that. But what exactly happened to cause you to do a whole 180? Are you okay telling us that?" Jon inquired, his tone was genuine. He made it clear that he wasn't going to pry at Y/N, he only wanted to know what had happened that made Y/N reserve themselves.

Y/N was silent, shaking their head 'no'. Fantina frowned, worried that they were so quiet, unable to really speak about it. At least they managed to say that the cult wasn't good, which was a step to recovery in a way. It seemed that they were cemented in the memories of the cult, before everything that happened. When they joined, they felt the acceptance and love they lacked when everyone got realized from the Dateviators and departed. Jon and Fantina nodded in acceptance, understanding that Y/N found it anguishing to admit something so welcoming could be harmful. The cult was a toxic rose, the thorns of venom had a grip on Y/N, but the beauty left Y/N enamored in it, their sole focus on the flower's elegance rather than the thorns that had caused them pain and agony.

Jon and Fantina left once the time window for visitors had ended. Fantina was in despair and panic, rambling about how horrible this was. Without Y/N to follow around or cheer on for the smallest achievements they would do, she would be bored out of her mind. Jon listened attentively, although his mind was in another place. He too, expressed concern. Y/N had changed drastically within the cult, and it was eerie to see someone as confident as Y/N recluse and conserve themselves. Maybe the next week they would visit, they would be more comfortable, maybe not. There was really only one way to tell, and they'd have to wait and be patient.

Time elapses, night rapidly approaches as Y/N soon lays down on their bed. Looking at their mask, they wondered if what had happened was worth it. Was talking to their past friends and lovers, furniture and concepts made people, really worth it? What if they never talked to the others at the market? What if they managed to get their weapon back from Luke to follow Father in his footsteps and kill themselves? What if they never answered Harper's call? After all, that was the first one to notice something in Y/N before they had joined the cult. It hurt Y/N deeply. If they went non-contact entirely and stuck to their word, they wouldn't have been in this situation.

Y/N felt their breath shake, tears parting from their orbs and falling onto their mattress. Y/N didn't understand anything anymore. There was worse happening to others, they felt their mind berate them that others were having it worse than them and that they needed to get over themselves. Why did it hurt? To know that they could have stopped the cult from being slain and slaughtered like that? If only they had taken more precaution, kept their lips sealed, Father would still be there to comfort them. To hold his dear little lamb within his arms, to kiss them and their sorrows away with utmost kind elegance that nobody else could exhibit, that no mere outsider could display. Y/N didn't know where it went wrong; they only took an idea and ran with it, the theory that stuck the most and haunted their mind with no rest, no pause. Y/N wanted to repent, to apologize, but none of the outsiders would understand.

But were they really that bad if people still showed empathy and kindness to them?

Chapter Text

Another day, another visit. Y/N had been waiting for at least a month or so due to postponing, mayhaps even more. Time melted and faded within the mental hospital that they had resided in. Why, they forgot that it had grown warmer outside, the sun's rays of light had been dancing upon dust within the window earlier than normal, and that more flavorful fruits came into fruition. Was it summer? Or was it merely an illusion that the mental hospital was putting on to ease Y/N into fake security? Y/N did not know, and they certainly did not care. All they knew was that hell was bound to erupt sooner or later. Mayhaps from something such as a fight breaking out between another cult member and another patient in the institute. It was frivolous, indeed, but at least it was less of what it used to be before. Beforehand, the institute shown little to no interest in the deeper aspects of Y/N. The most common vernacular used to describe them was "cult member, manipulated, Stockholm syndrome". Nothing more, no less.

Y/N wanted to keep it that way. Everyone that pried deeper, attempted to figure out why they were so quiet and distant, were only met with a quiet silence that was elegant, yet worrisome. It was like seeing the ocean, with how deep Y/N was, it had intimidated many. Y/N hated being vulnerable. They were vulnerable with the datables, but once all of them had left, they had nobody to talk to, nobody to hold them while they sobbed and wept, nobody to love. Y/N was avoidant to all in the institute, knowing that people were vindictive. Not just outsiders; people. Xerach was an example, since he had manipulated, drugged, and coerced Y/N into staying within the cultist confines of the church. The more they thought about it, evil was within everyone, even the ones they loved. Dirk, who now went by Clarence, and Harper were an example; their relationship was a wasteland that Y/N had to fix, instead of having to talk to one another in a healthy manner. Henry Hoover was also one that Y/N had to help out, Jerry was another example. Many other datables came to mind

Y/N felt that instead of being a mediator or counselor anymore, they were a pillar of unstoppable force. The words they said in the past would be flipped around, they would no longer deal with anyone else's issues, and they would certainly not burden anyone else. They didn't care that when they'd leave, they would only have one hundred dollars to their name. Y/N knew one thing: life finds a way. Sure, there were some broken cracks, such as the loneliness that consumed them until they were a husk, but those were issues they didn't wish to deal with! Not now, at least. Y/N knew how to speak their mind, now. No more impassive passiveness, no more agreeing to everything they are asked to do, Y/N was now going to be themselves. No more walls of people pleasing, even if it meant being mean. They would absolve the pathetic, overly caring mouse that was the old Y/N.

They were snapped out of their brewing thoughts that had been ruminating when they felt a tap on their shoulder. One of the staff had brought their attention to Jon and Fantina, who had visited yet again. Y/N felt some comfort and solace. They still didn't get why the household objects still went to go see them, or even acted like Y/N's presence was not hauntingly sick. After all, so much time with them would have brought anyone down, a stupor of sorrow and aggravation. But not any of the datables. Maybe they were just being nice, masking their true emotions.

"So, what's new with you?" Jon asked, an eyebrow raised as Fantina nods, almost as if she were asking the same thing.

"I'm going to be released soon. Least, that's what I've been hearin' around from the old grape vine or whatever the hell they call it here," Y/N replied, twirling their mask on one finger via the headstrap. They weren't too fond of the idea, though. After all, with no house and only one hundred dollars to their name, Y/N was sure to struggle at some point. But, as Y/N always was, when a person departed from their grimoire of life, they were stubborn to ask them for help. Y/N would have to navigate to alleviate the finances themselves. Most people dealt with issues alone in the outside, at least that is what Y/N was grasping onto.

Jon smiled, Fantina seemingly letting iut a silent cheer. She hopped as her arms fluttered and flapped excitedly, stimming in a way that could only be described as an excited fan-girl. "Ah, that's good to hear! Oh, if you need any help with anything, call me, 'kay?" Jon assured, making it known that even after leaving, he wouldn't leave Y/N fully alone. None of them would.

But Y/N refused to believe it. Why? Simple. They left, like everyone else. Why would they want to help them out? Could it be possible that a plot to stab them in the back was being forged within the minds? Or is it simple that this was a mere stunt for good views, that when Y/N would all that nobody would respond. One the others had departed, Y/N felt at peace. They were alone again, but it was better than feeling their heartstrings being torn and cut by having any feelings towards those who had left. If anything, Y/N didn't get why after realizing everyone that they had crashed down so badly; wallowing in sorrows and self pity of 'loneliness', bah! What nonsense... If anything, they should have been grateful, even if everyone had left them!

Y/N looked around the outside world, the sun scorched their eyes as they adjusted their vision to handle the sight of people wandering about and cars flying by. Ugh, they despised it. At least it was better than the cult, having some freedoms. But Y/N felt scared, so small amongst the town, even if it was smaller than Paris or L.A! They felt a shaky sigh slither from their lips, a reminder of the fear that was brewing within them was a strong typhoon that they themselves had to overpower. No matter what, they would bash and boogie through bustling streets and boisterous walkways. They would need to start small, work somewhere that they could live. And what better place than within the tavern? After all, there was an employee's only quarters that sufficed for employees that had no place to go for themselves, so it was optimal! But Y/N needed experience. They had the factory, but that was shut down. But they had worked there long enough, at least a year. They could land a job. If they had to work anywhere else, the added experience from the tavern would amplify how much of a good worker Y/N was. Maybe they could work as a street cleaner, or a few other side-jobs to earn some extra spare dosh.

Lifting their chin up, Y/N strode off, their footsteps full of a new vim and vigor that arose, a mighty warrior against all the negativity that screamed at them to otherwise give up and live on the streets. They were fighting demons, powerful ones; but getting a job and being alone without help was the closest thing they could get to proving it all otherwise. They wanted the world to look at them, behold them as a strong person that didn't cry from a lack of talking to anyone. Y/N was stronger than that. Stronger than any emotion that plagued them.

They browsed places they could work. They saw a bar/club combo, along with a familiar duo that was running the bar and another that was the bouncer; Volt, Eddie, and Dorian. But Y/N did not want any further encounters with the familiar, the past hurt like their heart was being torn from their chest and they wanted that feeling to cease at once. Hell, Y/N could be bleeding alone on the streets and they would rather encounter someone who had left them; they would have left for a reason, and they didn't want to further burden them. Y/N eventually noticed a tavern that looked new, almost unfamiliar. Almost fully up north to the town, The Burning Feather tavern. Y/N nodded to themselves, deciding that this was their life; to work in a tavern and indulge in odd jobs.

Walking in, Y/N cold feel a scent of heady mead and booze fill their nose, alongside the smell of wood burning within a cozy fireplace of bricks. The inner decorum was lush, with paintings that shown eloquent elegance, lights that brightened the room with a lively nature that felt like Y/N had been transported to a simpler time. The rugs were reminiscent of their grandmother's home, the furniture was rustic and almost like that from a fantasy film, or even one of Chance's old campaigns he would host... God, did Y/N miss those times, but they would have to get over themselves, get over missing their past. They had to be deft and swift, like a storm without a warning! If they dawdled on the past for too long, it was sure to bite them in the butt where they least expected it.

After an interview with the tavern owner, Y/N landed a job within the tavern as a barkeep. They would have to work shifts within the evening hours, however, but Y/N merely observed this as a temporary setback. It would rarely hinder their performance, since Y/N knew that they could function normally on at least six, maybe four hours of sleep. It wasn't a devastating loss, so Y/N wouldn't blow things out of proportion. After all, life finds a way.

The first few days that Y/N had worked, it was decent. Their pay was at least thirteen bucks a day, and they got at least an extra five or so dollars, more or less. But it was grueling. It weighed on them, heavy boulders of managing more than they could handle; sorting, conversations, trying to seem more human than they had felt! They weren't like anyone else in the bar; they talked to their furniture and made them human, dammit! Nothing about Y/N had felt normal, had felt human. Y/N couldn't connect! It felt like hell, hearing stories of friends and romantic partners, stories of salacious nights and sweet spouses! And Y/N managed to talk to their toaster! And she was a pretty toaster that left them, just like everyone else!

One night, though, they saw some folks walk into the bar, chatting up a storm. One of them was an 80's fellow of charm and some sort of whimsy that someone starstruck from the age of cassette players and boomboxes would have. The second was a punk-rocker, with a bad-motherfucker attitude, bound in leather, studs, spikes, oh my! The last fellow was plain, deftly so; he wore a simple pair of jeans and that was it, his face was just a blank circle, literally. It was Bodhi, Rebel, and Doug! What were they doing here? Y/N looked at them, their gaze tired and hazy from a lack of proper sleep. It was baffling to behold the past yet again. God, why does this keep happening? Y/N didn't have enough money to move away so they would have to just deal with things head-on, even if it felt like their heart was break-dancing in the worst way known to mankind!

"The hell are you guys doing here?"

"Bar hopping," The three said in unison. Well, damn. Can't argue with that, there were a few good bar spots in town, and bar hopping would make for a good pass time.

Y/N simply nodded, taking their orders for drinks. Bodhi was unaware that Y/N was dealing with the ultimatum of 'either I leave them alone for the rest of their lives, or I'm not doing a damn thing right'. Rebel and Doug, however, took perception to Y/N's rather sorrowful yet sluggish nature. They looked taxed, worried that the others were there. While others would be happy to see those who left, maybe a bit bitter, Y/N looked vexatiously prostrated. Tired, irritable, one wrong word and the three would be kicked from the bar most likely. But beneath their eyes, a scent of sorrow could be picked up and examined in a close, intimate manner. Y/N seemed to have struggles, many of which were hidden behind massive walls; the same wall that they would have had before everything happened with the Dateviators.

"You, uhh... You good, Y/N? You've got something on your mind? What, did you get pegged by a bottom?" Rebel joked with a smirk on her face, downing her drink.

"Yeah, Y/N, you look like shit. What's going on?" Doug asked, still having that harsh, brash tone he always had. The same tone that had little emotion to it, but much analysis.

Y/N scoffed, leaning against the kegs and barrels behind them. Their eyebrow cocked, almost offended at them asking if they were fine: they were more than fine, they were doing just perfect! What a ridiculous question, such careful mockery planted into their ears, as if trees would sprout from the words sewn into Y/N's memory. Their E/C eyes had a bitter glance to them as they muttered a simple 'I'm fine'. Nothing else, no other words no other body language; just passive-aggressive protection and stone-cold behaviors, mannerisms that would be found in the bravest of people, a warrior of the heart and mind. Y/N would not falter. Their emotions would not be seen.

The others found it hard to believe. Bodhi was the most concerned out of the three, visibly frowning while the other two either showed no emotion of expressed a faint shock that was undetectable to the untrained eye. Rebel was surprised that Y/N had acted so calm, even though they looked like they were on the verge of tears. Doug felt a pinprick of emotion get to him, which was a rare occurrence to be beheld by others. He felt sad, almost like he had cared. Y/N was never usually this cold, this isolated person that stood before them had felt different from the sunny personage they had grown used to seeing. The three looked at each other, silent in their plotting. They wanted to ask further about Y/N's troubling thoughts that had haunted their psyche, but decided against it. After all, Y/N seemed sour and bitter, a lemon rather than a human. Bodhi attempted to ask something, but Doug covered his mouth in a swift manner before an utterance of a 'yo, dude' could dash from Bodhi's lips.

Once the others left, Rebel couldn't help but look back at Y/N with a light frown; sure she was a bad mother-ducker in her words, but even bad mother-duckers still cared for those who helped them through thick and thin. They wanted to hug their old friend, but decided against it. They left an extra twenty dollars as a tip; it wasn't much, but Rebel thought that it would at least help Y/N where they were at now, or at least remind Y/N that they would be there if Y/N needed them. The silence filled the tavern, the bar closed and the guests asleep. Y/N put the money in the register, and an extra five dollars from their tip. Once that was done, they took a bottle of mead from the cabinet under the bar's counter. They needed a pick-me-up, something to make them forget that they were sad, that their past was twisting and tugging at their heartstrings, a cruel puppeteer that was making them go against their promise of leaving the others alone after so long of getting to know them, loving each datable, and in general everyone from their past. Y/N walked out into the back alley of the tavern.

They stood near the dumpster, opening the mead bottle. The smell of honey seduced their senses, caressing their nose as if the mead itself were a lover of Y/N; unconditional, and never one to leave under any circumstance. Taking the bottle to their mouth, the liquid burned down their throat like an inferno of bliss, the sweet and fruity liquid captivated their taste-buds. Entering a buzz, it wasn't enough. Y/N needed more of that warmth, so they would drink more, and more, relishing the pleasurable taste of the alcoholic drink. Was it so bad they were enjoying this? Alcohol wasn't always a stable solution, but it satiated some sorrows, a temporary salvation that had felt like life itself would slow down! It was good! At least in moderation. After all, Y/N wasn't addicted! They could stop when they wanted, but as of now, they wanted to indulge. They chugged the rest of the bottle down, their throat and nostrils burning as they tossed the bottle into the trash.

Y/N walked into the employee quarters, stumbling around. Their vision was naught but a blurred mess of fuzz, warping and warbling like their steps that had gone uncoordinated. They fell onto their bed, face first. The alcohol had decimated any sadness, but it also cleansed any other functions such as happiness, cognitive function, and even their speech. Y/N could only slur their words and stumble, a chicken with no head. Y/N felt the buzz of warmth oozing into their veins, their mind growing happier and more comfortable as they forgot more and more. But... They knew it wouldn't last. Nothing ever did. The alcohol would wear off and leave Y/N in a hungover state that would leave them temporarily irreparable until they recovered. But they wanted to focus on the now, the buzz, the warm, everything that felt good.

But good would never last. Not in a million years.

MEANWHILE! (Phone Call Scene between Doug and Volt + Eddie! Mainly Dialog, so skip if ya want)

"We met Y/N recently," Doug spoke, a yo-yo falling from the string connected to his fingers, before retracting to his hand with a warm 'whap!'.

"Well, isn't that darling! An encounter with an old friend of all of us," Volt hummed softly with a warm smirk, before Eddie leaned in, "Are they, y'know, okay? I heard they got into a cult or something."

"Yeah, cult shit happened. They're fine now, they got out of the mental hospital a few days ago and are working at the tavern. Kinda shitty, but hey, the drinks there were cheap for bar-hopping," Doug added, putting the yo-yo in his pocket. He leaned against the wall, just sort of looking around the mayhem that happened in the house.

Eddie and Volt looked at each other, having a feeling that something was weighing on Doug's mind. After all, his voice had that tone; the very one that would come out when he would ruminate.

"Everything okay? You sound like you're ruminating," Eddie pointed out.

Doug let out a sigh, shaking his head. "They're acting weird. Like... REALLY fucking weird. They barely talk, they seem distant. It's like they have these walls up."

"Damn, I hope they're okay," Eddie muttered, frowning with mild concern.

"Yes, that does sound rather concerning... I do wish that they're okay. Y/N is a rather kind person; the mere thought of anything else bad happening to them is devastating already," Volt said, his tone also worried.

"For the most part, they seem fine, but... They had that damn look, the one that was like a mask of their own face, y'know?" Doug added. Audible agreement left from Eddie and Volt, before the two came up with an idea.

"Well, if it pleases your psyche, when me and Eddie are available on Sunday, we can check up on them. Does that sound good?" Volt asked, tilting his head

"Yeah, sure. Why the hell not? I'll talk to you again soon, bye," Doug replied, hanging up the phone before going back into his room.

Chapter Text

The week passes, a dance of time and trials as Y/N struggles to upkeep with the tavern. People coming in and out, chatting up storms, laughing with partners and friends: it all was familiarly estranged from Y/N, as their past had relationships like those that left just as quickly as they came. Y/N abhorred such humanity that they once had. The same emotions that had left them in the dust, possibly forgotten or a bare minimum feeling of disrelishment towards them. After all, the objects in the house had been with them for a while, with their own opinions and free will. The more Y/N thought about it, the more bittersweet the knife that twisted in their chest felt. Sure, they left. That was a given! But they were free, both of the chains that kept them in the house, and of Y/N. They were human. Free. Able to enjoy their likes, interests, and to pursue whatever they wanted, all that they deeply desired!

Y/N's E/C eyes glazed around the streets of the town they lived in, taking in the familiar land that felt so distant. Many people roamed, talking with friends, family, romantic partners, things Y/N yearned for but was far from their reach. They recalled memories of the datables, thinking about how they, too, had found people to talk to, who were of friend and family, of kindred and kindness, and mayhaps some of them intertwined with a romantic interest or two. Y/N didn't know... It had been ages since they asked any of the datables about their personal lives. After all, as curious as they were, Y/N was never nosy, mostly keeping to themselves rather than meddling within the lives of others. Y/N kept others at arm's length, no matter how much they wanted to know about someone or how badly they loved them. Any intimacy went no further than simple hand holding, anything else gave Y/N a shiver of sheet terror at the thought of being tossed to the side, a rag-dolly simple and solemn with little use to their partner.

Was it a lonely life? Yes. Even when they had the Dateviators, they rarely romanced the objects, only having romanced very few who were deliberate and fluid with their love, either being open with their emotions, or outright just coming off as someone that would love Y/N regardless of who they were. As far as Y/N knew, being alone was better than being surrounded, considering that many people were like snakes: speaking softly with silver tongues, slipping soliloquies of fabricated honesty, before stabbing you within the back and out the heart. It was lonely, and Y/N preferred it that way. Who knows. Maybe the datables talked behind Y/N's back once they left for their human lives. Maybe they secretly hated Y/N due to how much of a mess they were, but God forbid they spoke on it, so they sealed their lips. After all, loose lips sink ships. Y/N knew when people would accidentally be a little too open with their harsh words phrased like thin, velvety jokes that Y/N would tear up to reveal the rotten, hideous truth beneath it all.

But enough wallowing. Y/N had to focus, find something to do to earn money and find a place to stay. After all, the tavern fired Y/N for how often they would snag booze from the counter, referring to their actions as 'irreparably irresponsible'. Y/N didn't get it, they only drank when they wanted to forget, to come off as more energetic and fun like most people. Their memories were holding them back from being human, so they would drink them away! Y/N could stop when they wanted to, simple as that. It was bullshit, at least within Y/N's eyes it was bullshit. But Y/N had parts of them they didn't know about. They drunk to forget because the memories hurt deeper than they assumed, an iceberg of emotional aches that went unaddressed. The empty house had echoed the memories of the past, which ached Y/N dearly when they realized more and more objects. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy: Y/N assumed that everyone would leave them and rarely return, but when they realized everyone and said that they were now free of them, that they wouldn't be burdened and have no need to return, they truly became alone. Every familiar face blurred into the back of their mind, as Y/N would push everything down deeply, an attempt to maintain a feeling of independence from the objects that they have loved. It didn't matter how badly the other wanted to see the former, Y/N held up their strict moral code that due to freeing the objects, they were free of Y/N.

Y/N snapped out of their thoughts at the sight of a messy motel nearby. They could work on cleaning the place for a few bucks. Town's freelance cleaner... Sounded decent enough. They could clean around temporary housing areas and be paid with either money or a place to stay for a while, maybe even both if they were lucky enough. Maybe they could sweep streets and wash windows for a side hustle. It was all coming together for Y/N! Even if it was being held up with scotch tape and sticks of glue, it was still coming together! Y/N strode on, taking a gander at each speck of dust and dirt, of grime and soot, finding gold within the dirt. They were no prospector, but this would be good enough of a fortune for them. Y/N walked into the checking room, explaining that they would help clean for any form of payment, either via money or a place to stay temporarily. And it worked.

Y/N got paid fifty dollars and was offered a room in the motel for the night. Now with one hundred and fifty dollars within their possessions aside from the clothes on their back, Y/N could buy some cups of ramen, and maybe some cheap box wine. Not ideal, but it was what Y/N had to work with. Y/N started immediately, grabbing a mop, sponge, bucket, and many detergents and bleaches that smelled of flowers and pine. The scent of such substances was heaven to Y/N, as they scrubbed their emotions away like the grime they were paid to remove. After hours of labor, the entire motel was cleaned. The motel owner was impressed, almost glad that someone as mysterious as Y/N had offered help at such a low price. Y/N was glad that they managed to get what they needed, their soul feeling fulfilled with work that they had longed for.

Sunday started to rear its head, as Y/N spent the morning sweeping the streets, the noon was their time for washing windows and appreciating getting payments of ten, twenty, sometimes up to fifty dollars! Y/N would spend their money on food and booze, maybe some new clothing if their old ones needed to go to the laundromats. Either way, Y/N had been living the highest of the low! Sure, the situation wasn't ideal, but Y/N saw it as an escape from their past, from all the bad memories and awful choices of the cult that they had indulged within. Y/N was in control of themselves, nobody to boss them around and no memories to hold them back, no chains were keeping them down! At least, none that Y/N had considered, to say at the least.

But as it seemed to loop around yet again, people from Y/N's past kept popping up. Maybe they shouldn't have realized every single object in their house if the present were ever so foreseeable in the past. Maybe Y/N should just move instead. But moving was expensive and they blew most of their money on needed stuff. As Y/N was buying their dinner of a cup of ramen, a singular bag of chips, and two boxes of wine, their eyes snapped onto two men, their appearance almost magnetic. One had a tired gaze, similar to how tiredness overtook Y/N's gaze, his hair fell into black locks that were beautifully unkempt, tousled in a way that seemed mysterious, yet told Y/N just enough about him. The other man had a gorgeous mane of electric white hair, cascading down to his shoulders like a cape of snow. His light blue gaze was gentle, brimming with a poise and confidence that would be able to woo over anyone. Both wore similar matching outfits of dark clothing that were adorned with golden accents, but both of their outfits were different to showcase the differing personalities of the men.

Oh, fuck. It was Eddie and Volt.

They barely show up to places like convenience stores, a truly shocking sight for anyone who had heard of the Breaker Box to see. There weren't many people in there, so little rabble-rousing ran within the store. Y/N, however, was trying to speed up their purchase so that they could quickly waltz out of there. They had enough of seeing familiar faces worrying over them without reason, without a why to the action. It didn't make any sense! They were free of Y/N, why were they still so concerned, so worried of someone like them?! It made Y/N want to yell, to shake sense into them like maracas, to tear out their hair and gnaw on their arms until they bled. Y/N had so much searing annoyance, the inability to comprehend such kindness was a hindrance to them in general, as it would always remind Y/N of days before, days they wished would have gone long forgotten.

"Ah, Y/N! Live wire, how have things been?" Volt asked, approaching Y/N with a smile of familiar care and charm.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck, justputmystuffinthebagandputitonmytab- Heyyy! Volt! It's uhh, been a while? Whaddya want, why are you here? You're free of me, go on, shoo, getthefuckoutofhere," Y/N spoke, some of their words melting together with how swiftly their words flew out of their mouth.

Volt noticed how nervous and confused Y/N was, along with how frantic their behavior was. A rat in a trap, some may call it, especially a certain exterminator that Volt had heard from within the week. Both Eddie and Volt had heard about Y/N's little antics after everyone left; from them joining the cult to working at the tavern, they had discerned, and they were concerned. Y/N had been through a lot, and the two men could see from the corner of their gaze the two boxes of wine that Y/N was plotting to plunder in later. They could tell that whatever Y/N had planned, it was not healthy in any sense of the matter: this behavior, this indulgence was destroying Y/N from the inside out and hurting them, and they didn't even know. Volt only sighed with a solemn smile, as Eddie shook his head and held the bridge of his nose in regret for not checking up on Y/N sooner.

"Live wire, if I may ask... What are those boxes of wine for? Surely, for one person, two is a little much," Volt inquired, Eddie also wanted to know what Y/N had planned.

Crap. They were asking about that. Y/N had to fabricate fibs as truth, to spin their words on a wheel to make the utmost perfect lie. They hesitated, pretending that they were attempting to remember an important errand. Eddie could see right through it, noticing a pain in Y/N's eyes that he once struggled with himself. Alcohol. Eddie didn't want to speak on it, at least not in public: it would cause a scene and bring attention to him and Volt, and it would be an arbitrarily bad attention, almost rancid with judgement. It was a sensitive topic, as well, one saved for more private chats rather than simple convenience store talk.

"Ah, it's for a friend! They're uh, having a party!" Y/N simulated their dissimulation, speaking as if it were the whole, long, uncut, truth.

"Is that so, live wire? Where are they from?"

Y/N had little time, saying the first thing that came into their mind. "... Upstate New York?" Y/N spoke with an honest shrug of uncertainty.

"Bullshit, we've been to Utica, nobody there is familiar with you!" Eddie called out in a gentle, yet firm tone. It was true, for a short time, Eddie and Volt had went to Utica, and nobody knew about Y/N's existence, especially since Y/N never went to New York.

"Oh, not Utica, hell no! Albany. They're in town for a really short amount of time, though, so I gots to bounce. See ya!" Y/N waved goodbye, dotting for the door and leaving.

But as Y/N left, Eddie and Volt followed them. Not in a creepy way, no, but in a way that mimicked two friends, mayhaps partners, walking home their third. Y/N didn't like that they were walking alongside them. Y/N was deep in ponder and musings of why or what reason. Maybe Eddie and Volt were fucking with them, messing with their brain in a way that would annoy Y/N. But no, that's out of character for them both. Y/N could not help but rear her ears to the chatter of Eddie and Volt whispering, their words flying into their ears. They were showing signs of worry, talking about how they didn't believe that Y/N was entirely as fine as they said they were. It hindered Y/N, their focus going off of the sidewalk and onto the conversation.

They were distracted in such a manner that was a detriment to their safety, because while they were walking, Y/N nearly sidelined onto the road and into traffic. Volt managed to pull them back onto the sidewalk. The fear and worry was deep in his eyes, an ocean of sorrow seeing such a sight as Y/N being in such a dangerous scenario. If this was his darling live wire sober, Volt couldn't bear the thought of them being drunk. It was a hazard for Y/N to be doing something irresponsible. Even Eddie agreed. What Y/N was doing was not healthy in any essence, he knew himself. He firsthand experienced drinking to feel better, after working so hard to power the house he once did, putting himself into peril no matter what. It hurt him more than it did help him. The buzz was short, but the damage was forever scarring.

Y/N got back into their motel room, dismissing both Eddie and Volt with a simple goodbye. It was not what neither of the two wanted to hear, since they wanted to ask futher. They knew Y/N was lying through their teeth, an attempt to assure Volt and Eddie that what Y/N was indulging in was, as some would paraphrase, 'nunya business'. Well it certainly was their business! Y/N was someone they cared for deeply, even after leaving and even after Y/N told them that they didn't have to return to them! Y/N was sweet, kind, caring! They helped Eddie through their issues and got him to quit, and it pained them both so see Y/N struggle, to refuse the help that was calling out to Y/N. Eddie and Volt weren't just sure that this whole habit would destroy Y/N, they were positive that Y/N was going to be crushed under the weight of their newfound addiction.

Eddie and Volt returned to the house where the others were at, waving hello to Florence and Celia as they passed by. Ever since Y/N realized them, the two were head-over-heels in love, mayor and secretary, wife and wife. Once entering, Volt and Eddie felt the weight of guilt hit them: they could have done more, pressed on and pried at Y/N until they broke and gave in, spilling the truth from their lips in a manner such as that of a river rapids, fast yet fluid. It was bad, they knew so, but Y/N didn't want to speak, and they didn't want to overstep into boundaries they weren't welcome into, even if the result was harmful to both parties. Doug managed to notice the two looking over at them both with his signature minimalist face. His expression was blank, his eyes and mouth void of any major emotions that could be detected by nude gaze.

"How'd it go?" Doug asked, his tone just as plain as his face.

Volt sighed, his smile faltering before breaking into a frown. "Oh, it went bad. I think they might have an alcohol addiction."

Doug's eyes widened slightly. "Who? The dork, my bone bud? There's no way," Doug denied, initially shocked that Y/N would stoop to the doorstep of alcoholism.

Eddie could only nod as Volt's icy blue gaze averted from Doug's face. It was true. They did not wish to say that it was, but the truth was like death and taxes: inevitable. Doug would feel the ghost of a frown haunt his face, tugging at his mouth as his eyes hidden a bright spark of forlorn at the silence that had confirmed the worst. Doug's expression went back to the bland, blank poker face he wore all of the time, albeit his anxiety still visible in how his body language changed. There was much that caused worry for Doug, even though it was a seldom sight to see him care for someone. Y/N was a close friend with benefits, one he could talk to about anything that bothered him. He didn't care what the he had to do, what twists and turns may attempt to get to him on his path, he wanted to get his friend away from something bad like that.

"We gotta stop them Do they have a place to stay?" Doug asked

"They're staying in a motel. I don't know if that's a permanent residence or if they've been place hopping through the town," Eddie replied, recalling how Y/N went into the motel room with little of a farewell.

Doug had to get someone to help. He picked up his phone, calling one of the biggest figures in the town, the one with most jurisdiction out of them all: Celia. The mayor. After some chattering and conviction, Celia agreed to have Y/N move in with the others. The others were glad to hear this, too: to some, an old friend, to others a lover, Y/N was returning! It would be a warm welcome for them, but to Y/N? Oh, to Y/N, it would be the most defying thing, going against their morals to appear in the datables' lives yet again after a while. But the datables didn't see Y/N as a burden, not as a curse or something to be despised. They saw Y/N as a human like them.

They saw Y/N as Y/N.