Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was hard to make friends. Especially when you looked like Thomas.

One look was enough to make other kids steer clear from the boy, Giving him a wide berth on the playground, making snide comments about his face, his, inabilities when they thought he couldn't hear them. Or they knew he did. He had gotten used to being alone, even enjoying the silence when they actually left him alone.

Which was why he was truely shocked when he saw you bound up to him, pigtails bouncing on the shoulder of your red sundress, asking if he wanted to play hopscotch with you. He was absolutely stunned, not able to do a thing but nod blankly, not really believing what was in front of him.

That's when you and became nearly inseperable.

One, because you were, quite frankly, the only one who was willing to talk and play with him, not uncomfortable with him in the slightest, unlike the kids whom the teachers made play with Thomas. Two, you yourself were subject to constant bullying, for reasons he couldn't fathom at all at the time. You were so nice. So funny. So pretty.

Months later, it became clear. One morning, he was late to school, and morning recess was ongoing. Sweating in the blistering heat, he scanned the playground (lets just say it was generous to label it a playground) for you, until his eyes caught on a bright yellow dress leaning against a tree that offered pitiful shade. Your face was flushed, your eyes downcast as you knotted a peice of string repeatedly... And talking to someone? There was no one there. Curious, he approached quietly, listening; you sounded like you were in deep conversation with someone who wasn't there. A twinge of unexpected sympathy tugged at his heart.

You were just as lonely as he was.

And it only made him like you more.

You were the only one he quietly begged, practically on his knees in front of Luda Mae, for you to come over. She, suprisingly, said yes, as long as all his chores were finished up and they stayed outside. No coming inside the house. Turns out, Luda Mae liked you too. "A right fine lady she'll make, that one," She said in approval after your momma piced you up after your first playdate. 

It was a beautiful day, the clouds coming in thin wisps that you loved to point out shapes in, an occassional cool breeze would drift by and cool down your sweaty bodies. It was summertime in Texas, which meant hot, muggy, scorching temperatures and mosquitoes. Your folks were out of town, so that meant you had to come over to the Hewitt's house for a playdate, which also meant getting barred out into the sweltering heat. It wasn't like Luda Mae didn't care about the both of you getting dehydrated or getting a sunburn; she often emerged from the house with a pitcher of iced tea or lemonade, or a funny looking green paste that she'd rub on you and Thomas, saying it was an "organic" kind of sunblock. She just didn't want a little thing like you running amok in a house filled with nothing but sin. In a way,you were still "untainted".

Of course she had high hopes for the both of you. Polite, lady-like (of course, you were still a child that liked doing childish things, but you'd grow into a lady, she could tell), gentle, proper, and you actually liked Thomas? Oh, weren't you a dream. She'd picture you both growing up together, falling in love, getting married, having children to carry on their bloodine... My, could you imagine that? 'Course, she would never be pinned for a hopeless romantic, but the thought made her feel a little giddy. A little daydreamin' never kiled nobody.

After Luda Mae fueled you both with cool lemonade, you had asked him to take you down to the creek a little ways into the property, saying you had to show him something. Of course he was curious; he'd been to the creek a thousand times over. What could you possibly want to show him that he hasn't seen already? He led you through the woods, careful to avoid any of the beartraps he was aware were down. And at first sight of the creek, you bolted for it, your (h/c) hair streaming behind you, your laughter filled the air; you wanted to race.

Thomas beat you, as he usually did, grinning down at you while you panted for breath, your cheeks flushed and your eyes bright. You were both 9, but he was always the faster one, taller and stronger too. But you never minded. And neither did he. It made him feel rather protective of you, even if he didn't know how to label the feeling properly at his age. Always sticking up to your bullies for you (which were coincidently his too), even if he lost, making sure you were happy, finding any way to help you... He'd do anything for you. He wondered if you knew that.

Once you regained your breath, you led him up a tall rock, one you both liked to play on, because it had a large, flat surface at its peak. You clambered up its smooth surface, with a little help from Thomas, who folowed close behind, glad you wore your boots instead of the flats you liked to wear.

The warm, humid air blew into your faces when you reached the top, nearly suffocating, but bearable enough. The sun was setting, the sky painted with glorious orange and pink hues, the wispy clouds floating lazily along. It was beautiful. He looked over to you, and changed his mind. You were looking out to the skies with a smile, a light sheen of sweat almost glowing golden on your neck and cheeks. Stray flyaways were fluttering around you, but you didnt try and smooth them back into place behind your ears. He smiled; you were perfect.

"Hey, Tommy, you see that house up there?" He watched your movements careful as you pointed one of your slim, muddy fingers up between a cluster of trees, before his eyes trailed into the distance to see what you were pointing at. It was barely visible, but he could see a house up on one of the rolling hills past the farmhouse. Almost looked like a cabin of sorts, with smoke furling out of the chimney. So far away. "I'm gonna live there someday!" You announced proudly, your southern accent thick as you smiled widely. "And I'll have chickens and those fluffy cows my Mamaw has, and cute little pigs and cats..!" He watched as your eyes shimmered; It happened often when you were passionate about something. He loved when they did that.

You turned to look at him, and he felt the heat rise into his cheeks when you caught him staring like a fool. But before he could be properly embarrassed, you smiled softly, scuffing the rock below you. "...You could come live with me too, if you wanted to." You add, sounding almost as bashful as he felt. His heart swelled at your words. And though he only smiled at you and faintly nodded, he knew it was the only thing he wanted. The only future he could see. Something to help him get by his daily tormemts. 

The silent boy who was bullied for his appearence and mental capacity, the girl who was bullied for an overactive imagination and being just a little too lonely.

It felt like it was written in the stars.

Until you and your family moved away.

He cried when you left, and so did you. His whole entire world shattered as he watched you go, the memory forever engraved into his brain. It felt like his entire world fell completely off its axis, spinning into a void where nothing seemed possible anymore. Talk of living together in the house on the hill seemed a million years ago. Without you, he grew more recluse, more bitter; his entire life fell apart in his very hands.

The only tangible memory he had was a small, ring made out of the clay at the bottom of the creek. He remembered the day they were made, too; you'd thought it'd be fun to make something for each other, a token of friendship. Since you weren't allowed in the house, you worked with what you had. Thomas would dive under the water and dig some out, handing it to you when he resurfaced, leaving you to knead it until it was practically mush while he went to get some more. You'd both made small rings for each other. The one he made you was thin and embedded with broken shells he'd found at the creeks edge, while the one you made for him was thicker, with miniscule river stones making a perfect line around the band. It made him happy to both give you one, and recieve one from you. Now, it was not enough. But he'd hold on to it, like it kept your spirit with him.

And life went on.

....……………………………………………………………………

The basement was hot.

Suprise.

Sweat dripped down his back beneath his shirt as he hacked at the shapeless lump of meat on the worktable with a butcher knife. The rest of the corpse was slumped against the corner of the room, flies buzzing around the remaining sagging, gutted skin and bone, the humid air carrying the potent smell of death, Thomas's nose flaring in distaste. He could barely see the meat he was cutting up. Today was one of those days that he thought of the past.

Thought about you.

He wondered what you loolked like now.

He swung hard down on a rougher patch of meat with a low grunt, feeling the ring on the chain around his neck thump against his chest. Your ring; the ring you gave him all those years ago, only now slightly worn from the times he had to wash all the blood, bits of flesh, and gore from its pale grey surface, a couple of the small stones missing. He wore it on a thin chain around his neck and tucked under his shirt, since his fingers were a lot bigger since he was a kid, but still cherishing it just as much.

Hack. He wondered if his Mama was right. That'd you'd became a lady.

Hack. Dolled up in a cute dress with a smile on your pretty little lips.

Hack. They should be smiling at him.

Just as he was about to swing the knife down on the meat when he swept the new slice away, he heard some kind of commotion from upstairs through the thin floorboards. The sound of the door smacking against the wall shook the houses frame, and he could hear his uncle cursing, something (someone?) being dragged across the floor, something smacking hard against the floor. Then the quick pitter-patter of Luda Mae's footsteps going quickly to the door. "All over my floors... Thomas!" He heard her yell for him, trilling through his thoughts. "We have company!" 

He knew what that meant. He sent the knife down and reached for the rope. He still hadn't gotten around to cleaning out the chainsaw of the flesh of one victim, somehow catching her long hair and rendering it useless. On a second thought, he also grabbed the butcher knife; just in case.

The muffled sounds of cries and protests reached his ears as he lumbered up the stairs, high and feminine, and another groan of pain, still female, but raspier. Looks like Hoyt had some fun getting these ones. 

When he reached the top of the stairs, he saw Luda Mae catch his eyes and point purposefully toward the door before walking back into the kitchen, back to fixing supper. Thomas slowly turned to see his uncle, and the victims he brought home with him.

A boy laid sprawled out on the floor, unconcious, blood seeping though his matted blond hair and into the floorboards. A girl with long, curly raven hair and countless freckles across her face, was practically being supported by Hoyt, who had one arm around her waist to keep her from tumbling to the floor. Blood oozed down her chin from the split of her lips, dark bruises already blooming all over her pale, dirty face. She groaned as her stark blue eyes caught sight of Thomas, staring at him with unfocused eyes. The last was certainly concious, a gag in her mouth and a bloodstained blindfold over her eyes. She whimpered and tried to twist out of Hoyts grip, who held onto her hands already bonded by zipties. He was practically breathing down her neck. Her filthy shirt was torn at the hem, the shorts she wore just his dirty. His eyes drifted down to her left leg, noting the way she kept her weight off of it, and a row of deep injuries in a half moon bleeding profusely; telltale sign of a beartrap.

Something else caught his eye. Something small hung around her wrist by a slim chain. A bracelet. He stepped closer out of curiosity, eyes narrowed at the bracelet, ignoring the way she froze as she heard his heavy footsteps come closer, breathing hard against the rag in her mouth. Even when he did see it, it took him a moment to comprehend what exactly he was seeing. It was small, circular hollow in its center. The setting sunlight from the window glinted off th pearly shells embedded in its surface. It was delicate, small, pristine stil after so, so long...

A thousand emotions washed over him at once; joy, fear, anguish, relief, and a feirce spark of possesiveness he didnt see coming, hitting him like a freight train. He felt like ripping Hoyt's arm clean off for touching her, hurting her- hurting you.

Fate, something he'd heard his Mama talk about in his younger years, brought you here.

Back to him.

Y/n.

Chapter Text

It took a lot of convincing to make Hoyt let you go.

Apparently, he'd picked you and your friends up after your car broke down, like usual, but the man who was travelling suspected something of him. When he'd stopped for gas, you all ran out, and, by miracle, your group just happened to pass onto the Hewitt's land. Hoyt caught your whole group, naturally... And by the way he was holding you so close to him, Thomas knew he picked you for a few minutes of release. It really only slightly bothered Thomas all that much that he sometimes raped their victims; what did it matter? They'd be dead minutes after, anyway, if not during. He never questioned it. But when he saw him hold on to you like that, he was fucking livid. He could have murdered his uncle in cold blood had it not been for Luda Mae coming to the rescue. She couldn't tell who the woman was, but she was confused why Thomas was acting this way toward her. Aftera lot of arguing, they agreed to keep her alive. For now.

Now, you sat in the far corner of the basement, chained to the hall, your gag and blindfold removed. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you pleaded to him every once in a while theough your silent tears, for him to let you go, you won't tell a soul if he'd let you go. Thomas ignored you as best he could as he continued chopping up the meat he'd left before; After all, he had more work to do now.

Your male friend was hanging from the ceiling with the meathooks peirced through his arm, his skin a bloody mess. He passed out a while ago after Thomas began cutting his stomach open to harvest his organs, your screams of pure terror mixing with his pain induced cries. When he fell silent, his head hanging low over his chest, you turned your face away and started crying quietly, unable to watch the way your friends organs slopped down onto the floor at Thomas's feet with a sickening squelch. Thomas did truely feel bad for you; you shouldn't be down here. You shouldn't have to see all of this. But Mama told him that if he wanted to keep you, he had to keep an eye on you, and that would just be impossible if he were to put you up in his own room. So he hauled you down there after he set your friend up, albeit a lot gentler with you. He was just thankful you couldn't hear God knows what Hoyt was doing to your female friend.

As he finished with the slab of meat and started laying the slabs flat while wrapping them in brown paper, he stole a glance at you, as he's done about a thousand times in the last thirty minutes. You looked... A lot different. All the times he imagined seeing you again, he saw the child version of you, just a little taller, hair a little longer. Your hair was a little longer, and you were taller, but everything else was different too. Your chest and hips swelled under your shirt and shorts, and your face lost its childlike roundness, your cheekbones more defined. Even the way you dressed was different; Shorts that hugged your thighs and sat a little too high on them, a shirt that looked almost too short for you, with the way it would reveal your stomach if you moved the right way, a pair of well-loved sneakers. A stark change from the pigtailed girl in a sundress he met on the schoolyard. Mama would never approve.

He could still see you under those changes you made, to his relief. The small scar behind your ear that you got climbing trees with him, your bitten nails, the ring around your wrist. You were still the you he met so many years ago; Just with some minor changes that would soon be back to normal.

"Please," You begged, in a hoarse little voice that tugged at his heartstrings. "Please, please let me go, I-I swear I won't go to the police, just let me go... Oh God, Elias..." Your southern accent was gone. He was rather saddened by this; He thought it had been cute. Now your words were clearer, and alien. He was finishing wrapping the final cut as he watched you turn to stare at your gutted friend a few feet away from you, who was barely clinging to life, making you sob harder, tears runing down your cheeks in a steady stream. There were black lines running down your face, which he guessed was called "makeup", something Mama used when she wanted to look fancy. The rim around your eyes were darker because of it, your skin shimmering lile satin under the sparse light in the basement. You were probably so scared, not knowing where you were... Poor thing.

Elias. That was the boys name. Thomas wondered how you knew him. Was he your friend? He knew you didn't have any siblings, and Elias looked a little older than you, so that ruled out a new sibling. Cousin? Family friend? Acquaintance? Or, God forbid; boyfriend?? With the sorrowful look you gave him, the way you leaned your body toward him like you had any prayer of reaching him, it wasn't hard to assume so. Jealousy flared hot in his veins as his hand flexed around the knife he held. Did you find the blond attractive? Bet he won't be so pretty once his face was all carved up lile a fucking jack-o'-lantern. It only made him want to cut him up and have him out of the way; but he was trying to put that off as long as he could, for your sake. Even if that meant leaving him down here all night to bring you up to his room and secure you in a way you couldn't escape, and having to deal with the rotting smell. You've been suject to too much horror today.

He wanted to get your attention on him again.

Slowly, Thomas looked around his worktable until he located a suprisingly clean hand towel, one he had wet with water earlier to clean his hands off with when he had finished. Releasing the knife from his clenched fist, he grabbed it carefully. He slowly started walking to you, his eyes intense and trained solely on you, the rag starting to drip water onto the floor. Your head lolled over to him, eyes widening as you tried to press yourself further against the wall behind you, whimpering and shaking your head. Thomas noted that you kept your weight off the leg that had gotten caught in the beartrap; he vowed to fix it later. When you were asleep, maybe, so you wouldn't squirm away from him like you were now.

He stopped when he was at your feet, looking down at you huddled on the floor. "No, no... Fuck, please..." .... You cursed now? Hearing the curse word fall from your perfect lips just sounded wrong. He tilted his head, watching you beg for him to.... to what? Let you go? Not hurt you? He wouldn't do either. Why couldn't you see that? If he did want to kill you, you would be dead already.

Your eyes got somehow wider and more frantic as he bent his knees ever so slowly, to get to eye level with you. You tried desperately to claw at the chains on your wrist to no avail, eyeing him with fear. It hurt, a little, to see you so scared of him, of all people- You knew him. He was used to seeing fear in his victims faces, right before the screaming, the death. But on you... He loathed it.

Though, he probably looked a lot different now, too. Bigger, bulkier, taller. His hair was longer, and he had a different mask than he used to wear as a child. There was hardly anyway you could put it together, now that he thought about it, especially with the lack of light and not knowing where you were. Must be scary.

Thomas took a good long look at you, studying your face as if it was the Good Book itself. You finally stopped moving, eyes swimming with tears as you froze in fear under his gaze. Your chest heaved with heavy, panicked breaths, and your lip trembled as you tried to keep your mouth closed. The dark lines that ran down from your eyes seemed darker up close, but maybe it was just the lack of light. He didn't think you needed makeup to be pretty; Why would you even bother? It seemed such a hassle to try and cover up something that was so heartbreakingly beautiful. Entirely unnecessary.

He slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, reached out to you, cloth in hand. Your body went completely rigid, your eyes snapping to his hand, muttering something he couldn't quite catch in choppy, breathless whispers. So much for trying not to look menacing. The terror in your eyes made his heart shatter in a million pieces. He did want you back, but not like this. Not where you were terrified of him.

With every inch he came to you, you reeled back, until your head thumped against the wall behind you. He could practically feel the fear radiating off of you as his hand neared your cheek, your eyes closing, letting a tear run down your cheek, and you hands shaking, laying helplessly on either side of you. A dry sob wracked through your hoarse throat when the wet cloth pressed against your cheek, squeezing your eyes shut tighter. It was warm but not entirely welcoming. 

He gently started running the cloth over your face, erasing the black lines as best he could. As much as he hoped to ease your fears entirely, you still sat as rigid as a stone; but at least your breaths were starting to come steadily. It felt so strange to be this gentle to a living thing. He was used to being rough, dragging people, cutting them, kiling them, slowly. But you made a feeling he thought he'd lost emerge again. The repetitive motions were almost grounding, even to him. What he'd give to take care of you like this forever....

A few silent minutes pass before your eyes start to open, just as he was going to your other cheek. He caught your eyes, and this time, you held them. You studied them with apprehension as he kept to cleaning your cheek as gently as he could muster. Your (e/c) eyes looked dark in the basements shadows, shifting from his eyes to his mask, then back to his eyes. God, he could stare at you for eternity and still never be satisfied. Maybe it was because of how long you two had been apart, but something awoke inside of him, a deep urge to keep you hidden away so no one would ever hide you and take you away from him again. The intensity startled him for a moment, making him pause his movements for a fraction of a second before setting back into a slow pattern.

You pursed your lips before swallowing hard and taking a much needed deep breath. "Why are you doing this..." You whimpered pathetically, your brows knitting together as your body shuddered, accompanied with fresh tears. He stopped; All of the black was washed off your face anyway. His eyes were piercing as he stared back at you, contemplating your question. Why was he doing this? Was he being selfish? Was he too wrapped up in the idea that fate had brought you back to him? Truthfully, he needed you back with him. The world was too bitter, too dangerous, too cold for someone like you. You needed him too, whether you'd come to realize that or not. He'd keep you safe from the lies and deceit the world uses to hide its ugly truths. He could protect you from it all. Fate did bring you here, and he would pay in flesh in blood to keep you here. Where you belong.

He turns down to look down at your wrist, shifting the manacle further up your forearm gently, to expose the delicate silver chain that adorned your wrist, the ring he made you shifting on it. His hands wrap around yours, raising it up in front of you, so the ring dangled downward. You looked at it with confusion while he took the time to look at it closely. You had taken good care of it over the years, by the looks of it; only a few shells were missing, only indicated by small indentations. It made his heart swell. Had you been thinking about him too? 

He lets go of your wrist, which you let fall down into your lap, as you watch him with curiosity almost overriding the fear. He pulls back and shuffles to kneel in front of you. He feels so close to you... Probably the most intimate moment he's ever had with someone who he wasn't about to slaughter like a pig. Thomas's eyes never leave yours as he reaches into the neck of his shirt, until his fingertips brush against the warm clay. With a deep sigh against his mask, he pulls it out, letting it rest against his chest. Your eyes drift down to look at it, confusion clouding your eyes. Only when he shifts closer do your eyes widen in realitization, then suprise... Then horror.

"Thomas?" You ask quietly, his name catching in your throat. "...Tommy?" You remebered him. He feels like he could collapse under the weight of sheer joy crashing over him, all the while relieving him of a heavy weight on his shoulders. Not only did you keep and carry the ring, but you remembered him. But the exhilarating feeling dissolves abruptly as he takes in your horrified face. "... Thomas, what have you done to yourself?" You ask in a broken, shaky whisper, your eyes wide as if still trying to believe who was kneeling in front of you, your friends blood on his hands.

He freezes, taken aback. He didn't expect that kind of response. He would have taken a shocked silence over whatever that was. It almost sounded like you were... Disgusted by him? No, not the right word. He would've preferred you to be disgusted by him. What he saw in your face was fear and betrayl. He wasn't as angry as he was crestfallen, dissapointed that you didn't have a smile on your face and were happy to see a friend here, knowing he would protect you. But no. You saw a monster.

It tore his soul apart to know you saw him as such.

He'd make it up to you, make you change your perspective in time.

You'd understand eventually.

Just as he was beginning to raise his hand again when he heard the basement door crash against the wall. His eyes snapped towards the stairs, standing slightly on his knees and moving to block you from whatever was coming. Instead of Hoyt or Luda Mae, a body tumbled quickly down the stairs in a jumble, limbs flailing and strangely silent as it smacked into stair after stair. It was the other girl you had been travelling with, judging by the matted mess of black hair that whipped around wildly. She landed at the ground below; with her head getting caught under the back of her neck, the sound of ripping flesh and snapping bone echoing off the walls as her neck splits open, killing her instantly if she hadn't been dead already. Her arm was visibly and extremely dislocated, the other broken, the bone of her elbow jutting out of her bloody skin. He couldn't see anything past that at the angle and hastily replaced clothes, but judging by the rest of the body, it wouldn't be pretty. Before he could stop you, you leaned over and peered around him, letting out a shrill scream that made his focus snap back to you. 

"AMELIA!" Your cries vibrated in his skull, even more as you kept screaming and crying in pure despair for you friend. He almost feared that your lungs would simply give out with how hard you were screaming, your tears and breath coming more and more frantic with each passing second. Thomas stood, watching you, just not knowing what to do. He didn't think comforting you would help anything. Thankfully, he watched as your eyes rolled back and your head slumped foreward, and he caught it beore it could hit the floor. All that heavy, quick breathing you were doing made too much oxygen rush to your brain all at once, making you pass out. He was glad, even though your screams and words bounced around his head.

"What have you done to yourself?"

He still couldn't find a good answer to that question.

Thomas carefully leaned your head against the wooden post beside you, letting his fingers linger on your cheek and tangled hair for a second, before standing up and looking over to the girl's corpse, now bleeding profusely all over his floor. He grunted in annoyance.

Two things had to happen if you were going to stay here. Two things he was hellbent on ensuring they got done as soon as possible.

One, you had to get out of this basement, and up into his room until Mama thought you could be trusted to roam the house freely. It just needed to happen. The things that happened down here.... Were things you never needed to see. He wouldn't let you see anymore than you already had, guilt and anguish nipping at his mind as he regretted that he let you down here in the first place.

Second; he had to get Mama to give a stern talkin'-to to Hoyt. To leave you alone, not to touch you. Keep the violence away from you as much as possible, unlike thr show he put on pushing that girls corpse down the stairs, knowing damn well that you were down here with him. 

It would all happen in due time.

And later, maybe much later, you'd be happy you stayed.

He'd make sure of it.

Chapter Text

"It's been weeks, an' that boy has hardly come down." Hoyt mutters as he finishes washing his hands, picking up a towel to dry them. Luda Mae says nothing as she stirs the pot of soup she's been fixing, frowning into the brown liquid. She couldn't understand it either, Tommy's infatuation with you, because that's what it was. He'd hardly come down from his room, except when he had chores to do or had issues to dispose of. Other than that, he stayed holed up all day with the city whore Hoyt brought home two weeks ago.

Luda Mae knew your kind. Your kind loved to dress in skimpy clothes and prey on innocent love, using it to their advantage to get what they want. Love 'em and leave 'em sorta deal. And to think of you dragging Thomas along even just to stay alive put a knot in her stomach. She raised him better than to run after girls like you. Which begged the question; why you? Out of all the girls Hoyt brought home, who wandered unsuspecting onto their land, why this one?

"…I mean, I think Tommy's long over due for a lady friend, and I know you agree, but it was strange how instant he wanted her." Charlie persists when she doesn't answer, coming next to the soup pot. He sticks his face over it and takes a sniff; and even has the nerve to scrunch his nose as he recoils. She had half a mind to smack the back of his head and tell him to get to cleanin' the blood he got all soaked into her floorboards. "It is strange." She answers instead, pretending not to see the ungrateful expression. Charlie hums in agreement. "Damn strange indeed." He sets the towel beside the stove. "I don't know what came over him; he just sorta stopped and looked at her a second, then it was like somethin' snapped in 'im. Good choice, if Imma be honest. She's a looker." "What do you know about a woman, Hoyt," She hisses his fake name, only half teasing. "She looks like a hooker. Tommy doesn't need that sorta woman." Charlie puts his hands up in surender, turning to face the opposite side of the room with a bedraggled smirk. "Nah, I don't think she's  a hooker, Mama. Most of them folk are all flashy and foreward. She was more modest like. Humble, even."

"And the rest of her group?" She asked, quirking an eyebrow at her son. "The boy was a real smart alek. And if I had to pin one of them as a whore, it woulda been the one with black hair. Had the makin' of one at least." He said the last part under his breath before raising his voice to its regular volume again. "Thomas could have picked worse than that one he's got upstairs. Honesty? The girl just needs some fixin'." Luda Mae mulled over his words, stirring the soup with a wooen laddle. Maybe Charlie was right. 

Charlie looked at Mama again. "I saw some folk looking real lost on my way home. Real close by. I should go check to see if we've got anything." His voice is lower as he talks, quiet as if there were other people in the room who may overhear. Luda Mae nods. "Well, go on, then." She turns off th heat and sets the ladle on the countertop. "Supper'll be ready in an hour. And take Thomas with you; poor boy hasn't gotten enough sun." He nods, a slow smile stretching across his lips. "…Your gonna go fix her up, aren't ya?" He chuckles as Luda Mae put the lid on the pot. "I want to see what I'd be working with." She answers swiftly, folding his towel over the bar of the oven neatly. "Now go on, before it gets dark. I want you both back here by the time the sun sets. That would give her enough time to meet this woman living in her house.

She watched as Charlie chuckled and rush off to go get Tommy.

______________________________***__________________________________

It was quite an out of body experience being here. 

You were sitting on a bed, Thomas's bed (the same boy you used to play with as children, but much, much different), boud to the frame by manacles that were mercifully loose around your raw wrists, but not so much that you could slip out of them. The room you were in looked like it was hastily cleaned at a last minutes notice, which it very well may have, for all you knew. Or, this was just the nature of his room. Regardless, you were absolutely scared shitless.

Thomas was eerily quiet as he sat on a chair beside the bed, his eyes switching from looking at you and looking at the bracelet around your wrist, where the ring hung down onto your thigh. The room was dark, light barely filtering through the brown curtains, but you could see the whites of his eyes everytime they shifted. You were torn from being almost delighted to see him again and absolutely terrified of what he'd become. Hw could the Thomas you used to know turn into someone who killed your friends with no hesitation whatsoever? Like it was natural. 

Elias and Amelia.They were the only thing that plagued your mind. Elias; Brutualy gutted, killed slowly, so close by that you could see the life fading from his eyes, watch the blood drain from his face and fall onto the floor in thick drops. You had both gone to high school together. He was the class clown, nd also on the hockey team, and he just miraculously found you interesting enough to pull into his social circle. He was like a big brother to you, although he had started acting a little more foreward recently, something you didn't know how to feel about. He was funny, in a teasing way, and very easy on the eyes, but you didn't feel lie you could see the two of you together-together. And Amelia; The sweet, social butterfly who ceaselessly tried helped you emerge from your insecurities. Tumbling down the stairs like a sack, limbs twisting, her neck snapping open on impact. She'd gone to school with you and Elias, but you really met her from giving her some tutoring for (your favorite subject). Everything between the two of you hit it off from there on. Eventualy, all of you became fast friends. It wasn't long before you all started hanging out outside of school, anywhere from a park, the movies, or even a Wal-Mart parking lot. Those were the best times in your life. You hardly looked back to what you had with Thomas.

But that didn't necessarily mean that you never thought of him. You wouldn't be wearing the ring if you didn't, nor would it be in such an acceptable state. If you didn't, the ring would be either decomposing in a landfill or a Place of No Return, like beneath your bed or in the back of ypur closet. It was a symbol of who you used to be, who you've grown from. You may still be a socially anxious mess, but you figured out how to manage it and take charge engaging people in conversation. It was nostalgic, even. 

It felt like a heavy weight now.

And to think this was supposed to be a fun vacation. You were all just passing through here on your way to some place Amelia found and said would be fun. It was a celebration of sorts. Amelia had just gotten accepted into some cosmetology school and Elias had secured a management position at a big box company and you... Well, you were alive and well, right? That should be reason enough to come along. You may not have done the things they have, but you had a steady job and supportive friends, and there wasn't really anything else you would ask for (A few extra zz's would be nice, but that was really your own fault). Just days ago, they were alive. Happy, carefree. And now they were dead.

Because of Thomas.

You tore your eyes away from the man next to you to skim over the room. It was relatievely small, especially compared to him, with just a bed, closet, a window, and a desk that was buried under what looked like clothes and even a handful of books. It was hard to tell what anything was, what with the filtered sunlight that lit the room with a muted golden hue. You could see a few boxes peeking out from underneath the bed, but they were all either closed or completely sealed. The closet was shut, but something lile a sleeve was caught in the door. Thomas must have carried you up here while you were passed out. Why had he spared you?

Of course, though, you were lying to yoursef; you felt like you knew at least part of the answer. You were his friend. His best friend. And knowing why he was bullied, it was a rare and precious thing to find. Hell, you were bullied too and cherished his kindness, so you could only imagine how he'd felt toward you. But how could he have still held on to these feelings? It's been years; you were sure he'd forgotten you.

Your chain of thought was cut off when the door swung open, making both your and Thomas's eyes flash toward the doorway. The sound of your heartbeat thrummed against gour eardrums as you saw the sheriff leaning into the room, his eyes jumping from you to Thomas. You remembered the way he held onto you, his hot breath on your neck; you wince and try to scoot back on the bed. The chains hold you still. "... Time to leave your pet and come take a walk, Thomas. I think we've got some more." The sheriff said loftily, looking at Thomas and straightening himself. Pet? Was he fucking kidding? That word, especially coming from his mouth made your stomach twist uneasily. Thomas didn't seem to like it either. Even in the near darkness, you could see his eyes narrowed dangerously at the man. A look so murderous, that the sheriff cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing at his feet before back to Thomas. "I saw some folks wanderin' just beyond our northern property line. Mama wants us to go check it out." He says, obviously humbled. Your stomach twisted into a knot. There were more people out there. God, you hoped they'd get out of here alive. Someone deserved to.

Thomas looked at the sheriff a moment longer, before he slowly, slowly turned his face to you, His eyes were softer as they looked to you, a longshot from the glare he gave the old man. They traced your features, as if he would be back in days, not for what you guessed would be the 4 hours minimum of searching their entire property thoroughly. When he was done, his eyes slid back up to yours, staring deep into your eyes, his hand brushing against your hand, just above your bracelet. You flinch, but his eyes remain gentle as he keeps his hand in place. A few long seconds passed before he quite literally tore himself away from your side, quickly getting up and crossing the room in just couple of long strides, sliding past the sheriff and disappearing from sight. The man's eyes crinkle as he smiles tersely, before closing the door behind him, leaving you completely alone.

Okay, it was time for a game plan.

Judging by the sounds you were hearing underfoot was a big indication that you were upstairs, so that ruled out jumping out through the window. Fuck, it would be help to know the layout too, and you'd have at least had a good chance at seeing at least some of it, but you just had to pass out. You couldn't help it now, I guess. And there was no way in hell you were running out of the room aimlessly, searching for a way out like trapped prey. Plus, there was the manacle situation. That was something you hadn't quite gotten past in your escape plan.

An hour later, you were laying belly down on the bed, watching your fingers draw idle shapes on the dark covers. You had come to the conclusion that your best bet on staying alive was earning Thomas's trust. Which, you did feel guilty about plotting against him and practically stabbing him in the back when he'd been so nice, so gentle with you; But the stark memory of your friends pale faces and glazed eyes made those feelings disappear like smoke. So now, you let your mind relax as much as it could, trying not to think about what Thomas may be doing now.

The sound of a creaking door made you shoot up, your eyes wide as you scrambled to sit up. You caught sight of a figure in the door; not the sheriff (thank God) or even Thomas. It was an old woman in a rumpled paisley dress that fell down to her ankles, an apron tied on top of it. Her greying hair was compiled into a messy bun behind her, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she practically glared at you from behind them, her mouth pressed into a thin line of obvious disapproval. You knew her. Only the Auntie Mae you remembered had always smiled warmly at you, offering drinls and sweet treats. You opened your mouth to speak but no sound came out of your mouth. She was aware of all the horrors inside her own home? And she did nothing to stop it... It made you wonder how long this has been going on.

"…Well, you aren't the worst I suppose." She sniffed, taking in your attire. You suddenly felt quite self concious about your bloodstained, muddy clothes, the skin on your stomach baring the crusted blood to her sharp eyes. Luda Mae's words hang in the air as she watches you adjusting yourself to sit a litle more comfortably, womdering how you'd react. "Auntie Mae?" You manage to choke out, unable to think of anything else to say.

She looked a little startled whe you spoke her name, pausing for a brief moment before squinting her eyes slightly, her gaze passing over your features. They roamed over your face (now free of makeup, thanks to Thomas), your clothes, your arms… Until they lingered on the bracelet, the ring that hung off the chain. That alone has her eyes wideing in shock, looking back up to you with a strange mixture a awe and disgust. "Well bless his lucky stars… Y/N L/N." She eyes your outfit again. "You didn't turn out quite as I imagined you would." Rude.

You recoil back into the bed a little as she comes further into the room, right toward you. "Come on now, we can have you all right by the time Tommy gets back home." Her tone is a little bit warmer as she reaches down and unlocks the manacles around your wrists with a oily looking brass key, her weathered skin brushing up against you from time to time. Put you right? What the Hell did that even mean?

Once both restraints fell onto the bed, Luda Mae rabbed a hold on your elbow firmly, gently tugging you up to stand. She was pretty strng despite her age, you'd give her that. "Where are you taking me?" You asked with blatant fear as she pretty much dragged you out of the room, as you tried to keep upright, stumbling over your own feet because of how long it's been since you used them. "Well, I assume you want to wash up, don't you? A lady should never be filthy- Although you didn't choose to be." Luda Mae mumbled the last part, cursing someone named "Hoyt" under her breath. You were pretty sure that was the sheriff who brought you here. The pungent metallic smell that was scarce in Thomas's room grew stronger as Luda Mae led you down the stairs; A shower sounded great, but you didn't think you could ever feel truely clean in this place.

You didn't beg her to let you go. What would be the point anyway? Better to get them to trust you so you could walk out of here like it was nothing, rathe than do something unnecessarily reckless.

Luda Mae led you past the kitchen, past the living room (past thr door to the basement) into a narrowish hall, pulling you into one of the doors. You gathered your bearings and your footing as you stood up straight, taking in the room; A bathrom. Warm yellow light flickered on, bathing the rather dated room in a soft glowThere was a bathroom that was a lot closer to Thomas's room that he led you too when you needed to use the restroom, but this one had a shower. You've never been so glad to see one in your life.

"The left knob is for hot, the right for cold, but the cold won't be so cold with this muggy heat we've been havin'," She pulls back the curtain of the tub, the metal hooks screeching on the rod. "The little white bottle is your body wash, an' that baby pink one's your shampoo and coditioner. I'll come back and lay out some fresh clothes for you." She gives you one last look as she shuffles past you on her way out of the bathroom. "…Don't be long, now." And then she was gone, closing the door behind her.

And you were alone.

Your heart beat was erratic against your ribcage as your eyes scanned the room, before going closer to the door and pressing your ear to the wood. Maybe it'd be a good time to make a break for it…? All thoughts of an attempt immediately disappeared from your mind when you heard the sound of quiet, heavy breaths hitting the door. She was trying to listen for you, while you were trying to listen for her.

So, uh, yeah, that was fucking creepy.

Eventually when you realize she isn't going anywhere till she hears you get in, decide to take a hint and actualy take a much needed shower. You unclasp the bracelet from your wrist and set it on the counter before peeling off your old clothes, wincing as they actually peel off of gour sweaty skin. The Texas heat had always made you sweat buckets, but you remembered that as a kid, you didn't sweat as much, even as you were approaching your teen years. You hoped you'd get used to it and not have to be drenched in sweat all the time.

Leaving your clothes on the ground, on turned on the water, managing to put it to the perfect temperate, and you sigh when the water hits your skin. There's a feeling of gratification you feel as you are now able to wash off all of the gore and grime from your body. The soaps had a nice smell too as you cracked one open and began lathering the bodywash on a louf that was hanging from the bottle. Eucalyptus and tea. It very nearly masks the pungent ever present smell of blood entirelt; You closed your eyes, pretending like you were in your own shower at your own home. Safe, and far away from this god forsaken place.

About 15 minutes into your shower you heard the door creak open, making the soapy hand that was tangled in your hair stop, your heart pounding in your ears. Clothes rustled around right outside of the curtain, along with shuffling feet; it was probably Luda Mae gathering your dirty clothes and setting out new ones for you, like she said she would. Another snap of the door shutting indicates that she left. You wondered how she felt about you, now knowing who you were. Before, she seemed to dislike you greatly, but now…? You weren't sure. She was a little kinder, you supposed. You decided not to let it bother you right now.

After another 10 minutes, you felt as clean as you were gonna get, and you shut the water off, listening to the pipes creak and groan as the water stops flowing. You retrieve a brown towel from the hanging bar just on the wall beside the tub, and start to dry your hair, and then your body, before wrapping it around yourself just in case Luda Mae decides to make another suprise visit. You step out of the shower, and your eyes catch on the clothes she brought in for you that was draped over the counter.

It was a dress. Cream in color, sleeveless, with a cinched waist that tapered off into a long flowy skirt. It was very simplistic. You haven't worn a dress period since your prom; They just weren't your style anymore. But, it was either the dress or running out there naked or take the dress. 

Just as you were pulling on the pair of panties she left you, you heard the door open -one from across the house this time- and shut loudly, while Luda Mae welcomed them home warmly. The newcoming voice of Hoyt didn't sound too thrilled; you guessed that the 'tresspassers' they were trying to get never showed or were never there in the first place. You were happy to hear they came home empty handed.

Luda Mae came by the door and quietly told you to come out when you were all dressed as you were pulling the dress over your head, pushing your arms through the correct holes. It took you a little bit to get everything where it was suposed to be and fitted onto your body, but you were done fairly quickly. It was, shockingly, a perfect fit. Before you even moved toward the door, you took a long look at yourself in the foggy mirror, wiping away some of it with your towel.

You hardly even recognized yourself.

The dress hugged your upper body, the neck still high enough not to show your cleavage, but the dress definately accentuated your shape. It hugged your chest and waist, before falling loosely around your legs, the hem of the dress brushing along your ankles. Your face was slightly flushed and blotchy from the shower, and your hair would have looked like it had been lathered with gel if it didn't sway with every motion you made. Eventually it would try out and resume its usual quality; But right now it looked so tame.

Before you could find another way to stall, you quicky reclipped the bracelt onto your wrist (It now felt like your ticket to staying alive around here) and emerged from the bathroom, immediately shivering. It was so much warmer in the bathroom.

You follow the low sound of chattering voices down the hall, right into the living room… Where they were all waiting for you. The second you walked in, all eyes wer on you.

Okay.

Deep breath.

Luda Mae regards you with the closest thing to a smile that you've seen on her all day, looking at your dress with a newfound look of approval. "Ah, Y/N," She said warmly, coming to your side, her eyes crinkled with a smile. "All better now? And just in time too." You flinch as her hand grips onto your shoulder, almost keeping you in place.

Breathe.

Fuck, why is it so suffocating in here?

Hoyt stares at you and nods, glancing down your body so slowly you feel an unpleasant shiver run up your spine. Instead your eyes flicker to Thomas… Who is also staring at you. But unlike Hoyt, you don't feel the phantom hands of his mind undressing you. The way Thomas's eyes trail down your body looks almost reverant. Like he's mapping out ever detail, engraving it into his mind. And when they slide back up to your face, taking in your damp and slightly dripping hair, before finally eeting your eyes. The look in his is so intense you couldn't make yourself look away. His shoulders heaved slowly with every deep breath he took, his eyes… Soft as he looked at you. You weren't sure whether you should find the gentle look in his eyes disturbing or oddly comforting.

They liked you. 

You could feel Luda Mae's hand loosen on your shoulder, and her breath tickling your neck as she whispered quietly to you:

"Welcome to the Hewitt family, Y/N."

Chapter Text

The first time Thomas saw Y/N all cleaned up and proper, he felt like his heart literally stopped for a few seconds. He'd found her beautiful in every aspect already, but seeing her like this, so… Domesticated? Was that the right word? Whatever it was, he could never get enough.

So he was mostly pleased when Luda Mae started putting dresses for her along with his own clothes in his cramped closet.

Mostly, because he saw the discomfort you felt when you wore them. He understood, at least a little bit. The clothes you had shown up in were definately not lady-like, at least on Mama's terms. He gave you grace by salvaging the backpack you had brought with you for your trip, which had some clothes in it that you were used to, and even some thick books he couldn't recognize. Hopefully it'd make you happier then you seemed lately.

He tried to go about things the right way with you. He already felt very bad about basically kidnapping you and keeping you for himself. Selfish, really. But he was determined to make it right; It was clear that Mama and Hoyt had (no matter how begrudgingly) accepted you into their household, so you were allowed to be out of his room. And like everyone else in the Hewitt house, you were given a set of chores to get done (which, in your opinion, was complete and utter bullshit). They were all lighter chores like dishes or sweeping the floor, and even then, there was always someone watching you so you didn't try and make a move. Luda Mae was with you with all the household chores, but what really worried him was when you were tasked with managing Luda Mae's new vegetable garden, a task that was overseen by Hoyt. Truth be told, Thomas stil didn't trust him around you. Not since the day he brought you in. Thomas tried to finish his chores up in time when you had garden duty so he could be the one in charge of watching over you. All the hard work was worth it in the end. Just to watch you work, your face flushed and eyes narrowed to the earth in focus, the sun making your soft hair shimmer. Never talking to him, like you usually did, hardly acknowledging that he was there. But it was worth it, even if he always felt so far away.

He'd sneak you food too; Actual food. Whatever he coud find. Some of the things you collected from the garden, along with bread, and any kind of normal meat he could get his hands on

And at the end of each day, he forced himself to let you sleep alone. 

He'd either sleep in a makeshift bed beside his mattress where you slept or, if he was really exhausted, he'd just spend the night in the basement. This was one freedom he wanted to let you keep, until you were ready to accept him. He wasn't a monster, after all. But if he did happen to sleep up in his room with you, he'd stay awake just to see your peaceful face. All the worry and fear was always smoothed out, your brows unpinched. Sometimes, your mouth hung slightly open, soft breaths falling from your lips. And by God, if he didn't feel like the luckiest man in the world to see you like this, even if you were so far out of reach.

He was just holding on to the hope that it wouldn't always be this way.

X+X+X

Thomas watched you as he stood at the doorway of the house, working in the garden again. Instead of planting or otherwise taking care of the fruitless buds, you were harvesting some of the early bloomers; Bell peppers, cucumbers, a handful of different herbs, and some berry from the bushes that Luda Mae had just added this year. A wicker basket brimming with the colorful food sat beside you, still being filled. He felt a surge of pride well up inside his chest- You were good at this. Even Luda Mae hadn't gotten this much this early in the growing season last year. You were fitting in with the family just fine.

Just off to the side, Hoyt leaned against one of the fence posts, watching Y/N with a blank expression, his arms and legs crossed. His eyes wonder, until they land on Thomas. "'Ey, Thomas." He says with a wave; Thomas see's your eyes flicker to Hoyt and then to him for a fraction of a second, before you focus on plucking the rasberries from their stalks.

He lumbers over silently, stopping at Hoyt's side. "Uncle Monty said he might swing by sometime- Maybe you can introduce your 'lil girlfriend over there." He says teasingly, chuckling at himself like it was some kind of funny joke. Thomas only tilted his head slightly and looked at you. He didn't see what was so funny about it.

"You picked her good, Tommy boy," Hoyt said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Think she'll be with you willingly one day?" His eyes snap to his uncle, eyes roaming over his calm face, a lazy smile on his lips… Was he mocking him? When Thomas didn't answer, Hoyt's hand drops from his shoulder to his own side, thumming his belt. "Ah, I wouldn't worry 'bout it too much. They all come around eventually once they realize you're all they have." Thomas's mind reeled, looking at his uncle with a blank expression. Inside, he was seething. Hoyt made you sound like something to be broken down, then carried along for the ride that was their way of life. And while Thomas did want you to, one day, hopefully soon, be with him by choice, the way Hoyt described it made his stomach turn in knots.

 A sudden sharp cry of pain made both Thomas and Hoyt shoot up in alarm, there heads snapping over the the source of the sound; you. You were still crouched by the berry bush, now cradling your hand with your other, thick streams of blood running from the long, thin cut on your hand and down your forearm, right onto your (color) dress. If he had to guess, you had brushed against one of the plant's throns without noticing it was there. His eyes widened in panic as he looked to you; Just as wide eyed, tears gathering in your beautiful eyes. Before he could make a move toward you, Hoyt stomped toward you, his stride quick; And angry.

"You stupid bitch!" He growled as he bent down and grabbed and pulled you up by the front of your dress. In doing so, your hand fell from your other hand, letting the blood flow down your fingertips… Into the basket. Hoyt's eyes flare. "And look what you've gone and done now. You know how to do anything right, bitch?" You looked at him with your mouth gaping open, staring at him like he had the fury of God himself. "…Answer me!" He shook you a few times, making you sputter and whimper when you blinked away tears.

Rage boiled hot below Thomas's skin.

But there was the issue of confronting Hoyt. His uncle was a big influence in his life, taught him so much… And frankly, he just couldn't find it in himself to confront him. Another thing; There was already so many jabs Hoyt took at him, especially since you came, all in a playful teasing way, even if they did hurt him a little occasionally. He couldn't imagine what they'd turn into if he turned on his uncle. What his uncle would do tp him. Or you. He was torn between keeping hon good terms with his uncle and saving his meaning to live. The latter was winning.

Though thankfully, Luda Mae came to the rescue.

Her dress flapped in the wind as she hurried toward the scene, the anger in her eyes one to rival Hoyt. "Charlie!" She yelled as she got near enough to rip you from his arms, pushing you away from him. "What in the Hell are you doin'?" "Mama, she got blood all over the produce!" Hoyt argued, glaring at you and jabbing a finger in your direction. "She was bein' stupid and got herself pricked, and now she's gone and ruined it!" "It only got on there because you forced me up from where I was sitting!" You countered, tears running down your face, but otherwise, you looked defiant. Thomas grimanced. Y/N, no...

Hoyt's face bruned bright as he glowered at you, trying to push past Luda Mae, who was blocking his way to you, her lips set in a firm line. "You shut your mouth, you stupid cunt," He spits out at you, venom spewing from his words. "Show some respect. You need some sense knocked in to you, and if Tommy won't do it, I will-" "My God, Charlie, enough!" Luda Mae pushes Charlie back a few paces. "I will not hear you speaking like that again. Thomas," His head perked toward her when she spoke his name. "Take Y/N and bandage her up. And you," She looled pointedly at Hoyt. "Wash the vegetables. I don't wanna hear no complainin'." She adds as Hoyt starts to open his mouth. He hesitates before he huffs a frustrated sigh, stepping around you and Luda Mae, retrieving the basket and carrying it back to the house. When he was out of eyesight, Thomas's attention narrowed onto you, vaugly aware of Luda Mae following Charlie back into the house.

Your face was blotchy with the heat and your residing anger and frustration, your chest heaving, tears still rolling down you pink cheeks from your glaring eyes that were fixed on the house. You were clutching your bleeding hand again, both of your hands a bloody mess, and so was your pretty dress. And yes, Thomas was used to and practically desensitized from the sight, smell, and feel (and taste) of blood, of watching a person's very life essence seep out of them; But to see you like this was nothing short of distressing to him.

He walked over to you quickly, and once he was close, your eyes flickered to him, widening slightly. He stopped in front of you and peered down at the cut of your hand; it was pretty deep, especially for being from a thorny bush. Maybe there was some kind of weed you grabbed on accident. When Thomas reached to take your arm and gently corral you back inside, you flinched, making him instantly freeze. Why did you…? Did you honestly think he'd hurt you? "Don't." Your voice trembled as you spoke, as much as you tried to sound strong. His heart sunk as he lowered his arms, his eyebrows knitting together. Sadly, he gestured toward the house and for you to go first.

Despite the tension between the two of you, you walk up to the house, keeping your injured hand upward and your other hand cupped at your elbow to catch the blood that dribbled down the length of your forearm. Thomas folowed you into the house, purposefully getting a little bit ahead of you to sheild you from Hoyt's eyes, who he knew was in the kitchen by the running water and grumbling, with his body.

When you entered his room, he closed it behind him, happy to just be alone with you where he could keep you safe and clean you up without worrying about Hoyt's looming presence. He gestured to the bed and you sat, while he went to his closet and started rummaging through the various boxes and other forgotten stuff on the top shelf. There was a first aid kit somewhere, he'd remembered Luda Mae giving him one after he had come back from a hunt covered in gashes… Mind her, he's never used it… His fingers grazed a smooth plastic box, it's edges slightly rounded as he ran his hand over the shape. Thank God.

He looked behind his shoulder to see you sitting with your legs crossed on the bed, your hand cradled against your chest, while you were looking down at the sheets. Slowly, he came to sit on the bed next to you, the bed dipping under his weight. You didn't even look at him. Thomas sits the admittedly dusty white container next to him and reaches for your hand, before remembering you flinching earlier, and stopping. Instead, he leaves his hand in front of you, palm up, an offering, for you to make the first move. He really hated that you thought he would ever hurt you. It was ridiculous, and he thought that this would be the best way to change that.

Your wandering eyes finally caught on his hand, waiting for you. He watched as you rolled your lips between your teeth, hesitating, before letting yourself put your hand in his, palm up; Your skin was hot and sticky from your blood, but he felt a sudden rush from the contact. It made him swallow hard and look up at you- To meet your eyes looking expectantly back at him. His heart thrummed in his chest with a purely happy feeling. 

Thomas used his other hand to click open the box and fished around for some cleaning wipes, finding them in small wrapped squares. He opened a few (Without jostling your hand around, of course; He was careful with you, you know) of the packs and slipped them out of the sleeves, unfolding them before cleaning the wound. You flinch when the cold, damp wipe makes contact with your skin, but you stay pretty still while he cleans you off. It's only when he lets the wipe brush up against the ridges of the cut do you wince; He tried to be more careful after that.

"…Do you always let him talk to you like that?" You ask suddenly. He stopped. Thomas had to look up to make sure it was him you were talking to- And sure enough, you were looking at him again. Waiting. For him to respond. You hadn't spoken directly to him with anything other than curt requests. Until now. "Hoyt. The sheriff." You elaborate, shifting slightly. "He was pretty… I don't know. Rude to you back there." Okay, Thomas, don't panic now. Don't screw this up. He looks behind your shoulder and then back to your hand, continuing to clean your skin lovingly. "… He seems like an asshole." Ah, you still haven't dropped the cursing habit. He didn't mind it, but he knew Mama did, and he wanted his Mama to like you. Still though, he subconsciously agreed with you, albeit a little guiltily. He moves on to clean your other hand once the other one was clean, save for the small beads that bubbled up from the cut.

The silence stretched long again while he grabbed the gauze and started wrapping it around your hand. He didn't even notice that you were still looking at him, trying to decipher his reaction by his eyes alone through his shaggy hair.

He was so happy when you broke the silence again, just happy you were speaking to him. "You shouldn't let him. It's wrong, Thomas. And I don't know what the hell is going on here, and what kind of fucked up operation you and your family is running here, but… You were my friend once, Thomas." He pauses again when your voice turns softer, looking back to you intently. "No matter what you are now. And I think you should stand up for yourself. You- at least the you I used to know- doesn't deserve to be treated like that."  You shrug with one shoulder. And his heart fucking melts.

You were so perfect.

It felt like he was physically unable to look away from you. And, for a moment, he feels like he can see the you that had been friends with him as children. The you that stood by him through everything. Because that sounded like something you would have said to him under the safety of an oak tree far away from his house, even though you both knew neither of you would have the guts to face Hoyt. 

Strange, how that scenario seemed so similar to the situation you both were in now.

Thomas grunts quietly and finishes wrapping your hand, taping it and cutting off the excess gauze. For never using the kit before, he thought it looked pretty good. "Thank you." You said, examining the wrap while he packs everything messily back into the box. Another low sound of acknowledgement as he stands.

You start to get up to go change your dress, but he suddenly turns around, stopping you in your tracks. "You want me to stay here?" You ask. Thomas nods, pleased when you stay put. He puts the kit back on the top shelf before coming to sit next to you again, this time empty handed. You look at him, puzzled, and after a few seconds of silence, your eyes roam the room again. He takes a few minutes to admire you, before his hand delves deep into his pocket, catching your attention.

It was the whole reason he had came to find you today. 

He found it while he was roaming the property today, something he did periodically to check the traps. It caught his eye with the way it glimmered in the sunlight, and he felt like it was pure luck that he found it. It made him think of you. So he pocketed it. At the same time, he realized the gift was very close to the place you had made the rings for each other, and he visited the creek; Something he hadn't done since you left him. It was just as picturesque as he remembered it, like it was completely untouched by time. 

And before he left, he saw the house on the hill you used to always always talk about. He wondered if it was untouched like the creek, or if it had rotted from the inside out, like he did.

Now, he found the thin gift in his pocket and pulled it out, presenting it to you. It was a long, thin silver chain, with a clasp on one end and a ring on the other. Just like to one that held the ring you made him around his neck.

Before you could say anything, he motioned for your arm with the bracelet, and once you complied, he swiftly took it off. Thomas carefully held the bracelet up and let the ring fall off and into his calm, and carefully slipping it onto the new chain, holding up both ends so that it fell to the center. His eyes flicker to yu as he slowly leans in, giving you every opportunity to stop him… You don't, much to his surprise.

He continues to wrap the delicate chain around your neck, before working to try and get the clasp to loop into the ring. The moment feels oddly intimate; Thomas could feel his cheeks burn under his mask as he sees you looking up at him, your breath billowing softly against his neck. He breaks the spell when he successfully latches the necklace behind you, and leans back to look at you. Breathtaking as ever… With the ring he made you, sitting just below the dip in your collarbone. He watches with an unseen grin as you reach up to touch it, absentmindedly pushing the tip of your finger through the ring while you do. A pleasant dusky shade of pink graces your cheeks when you catch him looking at you, his eyes soft as they take you in. 

"Thank you." You say quietly, glancing away again… Your lips curving up into a small smile. A smile? He did that? His heart works in overdrive at the sight, and he feels his own smie beneath his mask. This should have been enough. He should just walk away, end on this good note. Yet…

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ears, letting his fingers graze your cheek as his hand falls to the ring on the necklace, holding the small thing between his fingers. He felt you freeze… But you didn't push him away. This was a good sign. And when he looked up to you, you didn't look disgusted. You lolked a little shocked, sure, and that lovely smile of yours was gone, but you didn't seem repulsed. He lets the ring fall back against your chest gently, and leaving the bed again. This time, he goes to the closet, and pulls out a dress that he knew you found the most comfortable, and brought it over to you, still feeling a little flustered at what he had done. You take the dress and nod your thanks, your cheeks still that baby pink that he adored on you. He nods once and, reluctantly, leaves you in the room by yourself.

As much as he wanted to stay with you in his room for the day and grow closer to you, he had other chores he had to do today. Besides, Luda Mae could keep an eye on you and mak sure Hoyt didn't bother you none. 

And while he was walking down to the basement, he could barely see where he was going.

He was too wrapped up in the thought that maybe,

Just maybe,

Things would work out just right between you and him.

Chapter Text

You wished the Hewitt's lived somewhere nice and cool.

Like Maine. Or Massachusetts . Washington. Virginia. Hell, you'd even take New York, who you've heard has some really bad snowstorms, especially in the upstate region. They sounded ideal. No one really hears about any kind of ungodly heat in those places. 

But no.

They lived in Texas, which meant you lived in Texas (For now), which also meant that everything, everything was blisteringly hot, all the damn time.

You thought about this as you washed the dishes, with not only the hot water running over your red hands, but the muggy air that was inside the house. It felt stuffy, like you could barely even breathe. How did you used to live in this kind of weather when you were a child? It felt like standing in front of an iron furnace all the time, your face pressed close to it, almost touching the glass pane of the door. You were miserable. The only thing that made it somewhat bearable was the fact that Thomas was next to you, shoulder to shoulder (Okay, shoulder to his elbow; this man is tall), drying the dishes as you finished cleaning them, and putting them away.

Ever since the Hoyt incident 3 days ago, you felt closer to him than you had been at the start of... Whatever this was. Your kidnapping, to put it bluntly. Frankly, you felt bad for him, with all of Hoyt's teasing. And he seemed to appreciate that you felt bad- You could still see the softness in his dark eyes as they rested on you, and the strange coil in your heart winding tight, just like it did before. And even more, you got a glimpse of the boy he used to be; Gentle, nice and attentive. Come to think of it, he'd been all of those things since you got here. You'd just been so busy trying to pin him as just the monster who abducted you that you were blinded to the actual him. And, yeah, you felt a little guilty. Even if he did… No. You promised yourself not to think about it anymore. To think about them.

They were gone. There was nothing you could do.

Instead you focused on spreading the suds over the dishes, cleaning them off with the sponge, withdrawing your hands every few seconds to give them a break from the scalding heat, before plungingback into this cycle. Really, the only thing semi-good about the heat was the fact that it enhanced the lilac smell of the soap. It made you feel calm and collected. The both of you were just fine working in complete silence with one another, the quiet only disturbed by the occasional clank of porcelain. You didn't know if it was intentional, but every once in a while you'd catch him staring at you, only to casually glance away when you looked at him. That, and the way his hand would linger longer than he needed to when your fingers accidentlly brushed against each other. 

How was this the same man that killed your friends?

The two of you were almost finished when you heard the front door open, and you turned toward the kitchen's enterance, and so did Thomas. Luda Mae bustled in to the kitchen, her apron grass stained, setting a pair of gardening shears on the table. You remembered that she had volunteered to weed the garden for you after what happened with Hoyt, and honestly, you were touched by the gesture. Despite how strange you still found her.

She pulled off her gloves as you both turned, but her voice forced you both to look back at her again. "Alright, Tommy, I'll take it from here. Charlie needs help in the barn." She says, letting the gloves fall beside the shears with a muted thwack. You turned off the water, blinking at the old woman, before looking up to Thomas, who looks at Luda Mae, his head cocked to the side slightly. "…Well, go on, Thomas, best not keep him waiting." Luda Mae pressed, coming to your other side, raising an eyebrow at him.

Thomas's eyes shift down to you, searching your face. You knew what he was looking for. He's made a habit of looking for it ever since you did it a few days ago, without really meaning to. You nod in encouragement, giving him a slight smile. There it is. He seems satisfied as he puts a giant hand on your arm, squeezing it in the gentlest way, before he heads out of the doorway, and eventually out of the house.

You turn to look at Luda Mae, who you find looking the way her son went with a wistful smile. She snaps out of it fairly quickly, and looks at the remainder of the dishes in the sink. "I've almost finished." You say as she circles you to stand where Thomas had been while you turn back on the water; Even on the coldest setting, it was still incredibly hot. "Well good. I'll help you finish up."

After a mere two minutes, the dishes are finished, while Luda Mae puts the last bowl in the cupboard. You wipe your hands on your apron before taking it off and laying it over one of the chairs at the dining table. "Thank you for helping me…Um…" Your eyebrows pinched together as you stare off into the distance. You never realy had to address her up front… So you really didn't know how she wanted you to speak to her. "Auntie Mae. I think you've earned the right to call me that again, Y/N." Mm. Right. For doing chores for their house, wear what they gave you. Dresses you'd sworn off a lifetime ago. "…Auntie Mae." You say, forcing a smile on your lips. Keep playing dress up and house; it may just be your ticket out of here.

She smiles at you, and leans up against the counter. "You know, I think you fit along with us well." She says. You blink in suprise at the… Well, you think she meant it as a compliment… But you can't find a proper response. So she speaks again. "And I think my Thomas has taken quite a shining to you since you was little." That much was clear. "So tell me, do you like him too?" You froze, and you could feel heat creeping up your neck. Why did that make you embarrassed? Even better, what was your answer? It was frightening to realize you didn't really know.

You play it off with a small shrug, and you look away. Luda Mae sighs. "Mm, shy. Guess you always have been, though. Don't know why I'm surprised." She puts a hand on your arm, and when you look back at her, she's smiling, her eyes kind. "He really likes you, dear. You make him happy- He could make you happy too." You smiled carefully, forcing yourself not to push her hand off of you. She doesn't move it.

"Tonight, I'd like you and Thomas to join us for dinner." Luda Mae pats your arm and steps back. But the way she says it makes it clear it's not a request. You feel a cold chill run down your spine as you nodded stiffly, your smile falling. "…6:30. Tommy will get you here on time." She starts to walk away, but she pauses in the doorway, squinting at you. "Go get some shut-eye; you look like you need it."

X+X+X

Thomas woke you up from the nap Luda Mae suggested you take, gently shaking your shoulder until your eyes opened. "Thomas," You say groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the knuckle on your index finger, rolling away from him, the blankets tanging around your legs. "…Later." Turns out, you really were exhausted. The dark half-moons under your eyes should have brought that to your attention, but now, after just a few hours of sleep, you were feeling the weight of your exhaustion on you all at once. Thomas shook your shoulder again, this time more insistant than before. 

"Okay… Okay! I'm up." You sit up with a scowl, while Thomas watches you. He fixes your hair for you, running his fingers through it and smoothing out your bedhead. But he looks distracted. Anxious. His hand drops to yours and he carefully stands, bringing you along with him. "Dinner time?" You ask, and he nods. You smooth out your dress with your free hand-Still the same one as earlier, but it still looks fine, rub the tiredness from your eyes, try to look somewhat fully awake, and follow him out the door. You wonder why he looked so distracted, why he was avoiding eye contact with you, which was something he never did. Literally never.

By the time you make it to the base of the stairs, you can smell dinner; something you didn't quite recognize. The only thing you could identify was the earthy smell of potatoes and the slightly sharp tang of a bell pepper. Probably for a side dish.

Thomas held your hand tightly in his when you guys entered the kitchen slowly, coming in front of you almost protectively, so that he entered the doorway first. Eventually, you too made it through the doorway, but Thomas held you still by your hand at his side, leaving the two of you just standing a few steps from the doorway. You looked up to him curiously, and see that his eyes were fixed on something in front of you, occasionally flickering from side to side slightly, as if he were counting something. His shoulders were tense, and his breathing hit heavy against his mask so that you could just barely hear it. You looked in front of you to see what had him so wound up.

The dining room table was in front of you… But something was different. Normally, there was one chair at each end of the table, and two chairs flanking each side. Now there was one chair on either side, but the two chairs at each head remained. Just enough chairs to seat four people.

Was that what he was so worried about?

You didn't see the issue.

Just then, Luda Mae turned from where she was prepping plates on the counter, offering the two of you a tight smile. "Ah, there you two are. I was beginin' to think you both forgot to come down. Hoyt's just about done freshening up." She grabs a wooden spoon from beside her and points to the table, before turning to the stove to stir something in the metal pot on the burner. "Go ahead and sit down, I'm just plating supper." You nod and start to move to the table, but once again, Thomas stops you. Seriously, what was wrong with him? This time his eyes were on Luda Mae, and when she looked back at him, his eyes flicked to the table and then back to her questioningly. Her eyes narrow at him. "Go on, Tommy." She says a little more firmly. 

Thomas finally listened, and his grip gradually eased until you were able to slip it out of his hand and moved toward the table. You assumed that, being the eldest of the house, Hoyt and Luda Mae would be at the ends, so you pulled out the chair on one of the sides, and sat down, pulling yourself in. Thomas did the same at the other chair, but his movements were slow and calculating. When he was sat down, his eyes locked on you for the breifest moment, before they fell to the table; And you swore, you almost thought you saw fear in his eyes.

A few minutes later, Hoyt walked in, his eyes immediately observing you and Thomas already at the table. He smiled. "Well hey there, kids." He said genialy. "Hope y'all are hungry." It was crazy how calmly he regarded you as he sat at your side, nodding curtly in greeting with that smile. After what had happened, you'd thought he'd at least give you the side-eye with contempt. But no. You genuinely thought this man was insane. Meanwhile, Thomas looked at him uncle with a dark glare.

Not long after, Luda Mae began bustling in plates and glass cups and silverware, along with a pitcher of what you assumed was iced tea. Once she was finished, you had a glass brimming with the amber liquid, a silver fork and knife and a tiny spoon laid neatly beside your plate, with a decent sized portion of food. There was a thick slab of meat in the center, placed directly in some kind of brown broth, with an asortment of root vegetables surrounding it… Your eyes were drawn to the meat. By sight alone, you couldn't identify it. Most of the time, different kinds of meat had some kind of unique look. Pork, deer, cow, chicken, fish… This was none of those or anything else you've eaten.

You were reaching for your fork to begin eating as Luda Mae sat down, but a knarled, old hand reached out to hover above your silverware, blocking you from it. "Oh, come on now, did you forget?" Hoyt says condescendingly. "We gotta say grace first." You watched as Luda Mae and Hoyt laced their hands together and in front of them, closing their eyes. You watched Thomas do the same, but his eyes stay on you. You fold your hands together and bow your head and close your eyes; You weren't used to this.

"Lord," Hoyts voice rang out beside you. "We thank you for this meal, and for such good luck recently. Luck with Mama's garden… Bringing Y/n home to Tommy…" You shiver and open your eyes into a squint; Thomas is still looking at you. "… The meal we have tonight. Oh, and I suppose we should thank Y/n's friends for that. Truely a blessing, truely a blessing… We thank you for guiding them here to our land, for what you've provided tonight to fill our hungry stomachs, and remain humble as we continue to live in your grace. Amen." … Why would he thank your friends? They were… gone. Right? Last time you saw them, they definitely were. So why…? 

You raised your head and opened your eyes when everyone else did, your eyes locking on the hunk of meat on your plate. It couldn't be. They weren't this deprived. 

Then you remembered the basement.

The knives, the blood, the chains, the bodies, the smell… And the table Thomas had been standing at. There was meat on that table. The table that was in the same room as Elias's blood drained corps, that Thomas had gutted so cruelly. Like he was preparing him. Preparing the body. Preparing the meat.

Oh, God…

The realization hit you like a fucking freight train.

Your heart pounded heavily in your ears, your eyes slowly lifted to look at the other's plates, which had the same kind of meat you did; Then your eyes slowly travelled up to look at the cannibals seated around you.

All eyes were on you.

Hoyt looked at you with a blank smile, looking too satisfied with himself. Luda Mae looked grim, looking into her glass of tea. Thomas looked at you intensely, studdying your reaction.

You had to get out of here.

Now.

You shot up and tried to kick the chair away, but Hoyt was quicker, forcefully sitting you back down. "Now now, miss Y/n, it's supper time, you can't just leave. Mama was slaving over this all afternoon… Don't wanna make her unhappy." He sat back down, but in a clear stance that he could get up and stop you again. Tears blurred your vision as you avoided looking at the food. "I'm not hungry." You choke out, your head spinning. There was no way this was happening. It was like a horrible nightmare that was a little too real. The chair was firm beneath you, the air filled your senses with the veggies and bloody meat, the acidic taste of bile crept up your throat. You were here. This was now.

But you'd give anything to wake up.

"Course you are!" Hoyt exclaims, picking up his own knife and fork, hovering it over his plate, before cutting into the meat; Each sawing motion of the knife made your stomach churn. "After all that hard work today, you mus' be starvin'; I know I am." He stabs the bite with his fork, and he puts it in his mouth, chewing it with a nod of his head, like he was signaling it was delicious. That nearly sent you off the edge; You gaged, and you felt the remnants of the cucumbers Thomas gave you just before you had done the dishes rise up your throat, hot and clumpy in your mouth. You swallow hard to force it back down, nearly triggering your gag reflex everytime the muscles in your throat contract around a chunk of undigested food. When you finally get it down, you still feel light headed, and your stomach still swirls around, just waiting to empty itself when you let your guard down. As long as you kept breathing and swallowing hard, you could keep it down. You'd need it for sustenance, because there was no way in Hell you were eating what was in front of you.

Hoyt looks back to you and gestures to your plate with his fork. "Bein' a Hewitt means livin' by our lifestyle. An' you need to get used to this kind o' food. Like I'm always tellin' Tommy; Meat is meat." Your eyes snap to Thomas… Who is avoiding your eyes. And he's eating. Everyone has started eating. You glare back at Hoyt, swallowing hard again when you see him chewing again. "… Here, lemme help." You watch blankly when Hoyt drags your plate over to him, and begins cutting them into bite sized peices, like they were for a toddler.

It was eerily silent when the plate was pushed back to you, the porcelin scraping against the wood. Now instead of a slab of meat, they were cut into small bits, wading in the broth among the vegetables. It was worse this way. "…Eat up." Hoyt said quietly, staring at you. You shook your head, blinking free a tear that ran down your face. "No… Please…" You whimper, gagging as you make the mistake of looking at the plate too long. You shut your eyes tight and try to hold yourself together. This was fucking sick. Repulsing. And you'd been eating whatever regular food Thomas would bring you in his room every night while he went downstairs to eat human beings every night. It was hard to wrap your head around, that people could be this twisted.

"… Y/n, if you don't start eating, I'm gonna have to force you." Hoyt says darkly. "We can't have Tommy's little girlfriend starving-" "Let me go!" You yell, starting to jump up to stand, but Hoyt was on you before you even got the chance. He stood at the side of you, his knee and lower leg pressing into the top of your legs, your attempts to hit him stopping as he caught both of your wrists. You couldn't see, but Thomas's head shot up and he watched in alarm. You cry loudly, the sound raw and a little pathetic, but you were just desperate for him to let you go, the intense panic you felt making your movements more erratic. "Tell me," Hoyt grunts as you free your wrist from his hold and your fist connects to his cheek; His eyes blaze when he grabs it again."Would it make this any easier for you if you knew who you were eating?" Another cry leaves your lips, as you shake your head frantically, gasping as you still work to keep your stomach at bay.

You can barely watch as Hoyt transfers one of your wrists to his other hand, holding both in one of his, and grabs your fork, sticking one of the bite sized pieces onto it. As the prongs sink deep into the tender meat, juices and blood seep out to mix with the broth, and you gag again. Your torso convulses with your repressed gags when he turns back to you, fork in hand. Pointed at you. "Be a good girl, 'nd open wide…" The fork draws nearer, and it only serves to fuel your panic. You watch the meat approaching for a few seconds (another gag), before you lash out both of your arms that were in his hands; And then things only get worse.

Hoyt stumbles back, almost falling on his ass. He pulls you a little off of your chair by your wrist, which he still holds in an iron tight grip. The fork falls from his hand; And the peice of meat knocks against his shirt, tumbling down his body, leaving a bloody trail on his outfit. You didn't have time to feel smug about it; Hoyt looked back to you real slow, his eyes murderous.

Shit.

You didn't even realize that he slapped you until you felt your head jerk to the side, a sharp stinging pain emblazoned on your cheek. You stopped crying and looked at him in suprise, your eyes as big as saucers. He looked down at you, all traces of his smile gone, breathing heavily. "Fine. If this is how you wanna do things." His knee digs into your thighs as you twists to grab a handful of the meat in his hands.

"Open wide, darlin'…" 

***

When Thomas saw you start screaming and thrashing as Hoyt grabbed the meat, his rage damn near consumed him. But what could he do? He was practically as helpless as you were in the matter. Truthfully, he was terrified of Hoyt and what he was capable of, so much so that it muffled the urge to help you. Though not entirely.

He shot a desperate glance at Luda Mae, but she was looking down at her plate, prodding a carrot into the broth. She was the only one who could stand up to Hoyt, and it was obvious she wasn't going to do anything to help you. Damn her.

You let out a bloodcurdling scream as Hoyt wrapped his arm around your head, forcing it to tilt upward, a grotesque mixture of broth and blood dripping from the hand that clenched around the peices of meat he held; Someting snapped within him. This was going too far.

Fuck him.

Thomas abruptly stood, his chair scrapping against the floor. Neither you or Hoyt stopped to look at him. Before he could move, Luda Mae's hand was suddenly on his arm, tugging him back down to sit. He looked at her desperately, but she only gave a small, sharp shake of her head, her lips pressed into a hard, firm line. He hesitated. 

Her hand never left his arm.

Your screams and sounds of struggle continued to fill the air, the sound maddening to him.

But as much as he wanted to help, he felt like if he were to intervene, they would do something worse to you.

It felt like literal torture to him.

So he mentally shut himself off, distancing himself to the emotions that overwhelmed him, until he felt empty and numb.

And he watched.

***

"No! N-No, stop it! Fuck!" You screamed, feeling your throat move against his arm around your neck when you spoke. "Please don't, I can't-" Your words end when he tightens his arm around you, damn near crushing your windpipe. "You shut that filthy little mouth." Hoyt growls, sliding his arm up your neck and stopping just under your chin, so your face was forced upwards. The meat was dripping all over the floor, all over him, and as it grew closer, all over you. You felt the warmth seep through your dress, making you shudder violently and cry harder, thrashing violently against his hold. Hoyt only put more weight on your thighs, his grip around your neck suffocating. He moved so that your head was held against his torso, his arm locked around you; trapping you in place.

The sounds you made were so animalistic with such primal fear, you could barely comprehend that they were coming from you. 

During your struggles, you found yourself looking to Thomas across the table. He would help you, right? But when you met his gaze, his eyes looked flat and emotionless, devoid of any feeling as he simply watched. A tear streaked down your cheek and you realized no one was going to help you. You felt hurt and utterly betrayed.

Your attention was brought back to Hoyt when you felt something dripping onto your face; and you nearly vomit directly into his when you see that its from the meat, red liquid seeping from in between his fingers and down his hand onto you. You scream and kick your legs, and the fucker has the absolute audacity to offer you an apathetic smirk at your terror.

"Oh, c'mon, you can be louder than' that," He teases, grunting as you try to thrash your head, making him a little unbalanced. You take a lungful of breath and sob, and beg for him to stop, but he suddenly plunges his hand into your mouth, so deep you can feel his fingers brush against the back of your throat. He reagjusts your head to lean further back, and you feel his fingers slipping deeper and deeper, until you can feel the tips of his fingers in your throat. They hit your gag reflex, and your throat pulses, clenching and unclenching around his hand. The taste of salty sweat and dirt fill your mouth, and so does the smooth taste of the broth… And the distinct, warm, metallic taste of blood.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as your vision goes blurry, and it gets harder to breathe, barely drawing in oxygen around his had when you inhale. Your head pounds, and you start feeling dizzy, your face going tingly; Oh God, he was going to choke you to death.

Through your pain you felt his fingers start to move, stretching out the walls of your throat as he let go of the meat and let it fall down your throat, and you could feel the mushy solid pieces as they made their descent. You mind screamed and your chest heaved with every one of your bodies efforts to throw up. You felt his hand rip frm your throat and leave your mouth, only to cover your mouth. A mixture of blood, broth and your slick saliva coated his fingers, now rubbing onto your trembling lips as you breathed heavily through your nose.

That joy was extremely short lived.

The arm that was still around your throat coiled just a bit tighter in order to pinch your nose shut. You squirm and writhe, your movements jerky and uncontrollable. You could still feel the pieces of meat lodged in your throat, unable to go down, as much as your throats walls flutter around it in desperation, without you swalowing.

You couldn't feel your face anymore.

"Swallow," Hoyt said in a soft, sing-song sort of tone that, even though it sounded like you were underwater, made your skin crawl. You squeezed your eyes shut tight, panicking as all of your sources of oxygen were cut off. "Swallow…" Your head felt like a balloon ready to burst.

Your body took control.

Without you meaning to, you swallwed, sending the food down, and you felt your throat bobbing against your skin.

No.

Satisfied, Hoyt let you go roughly, and your body went limp with the sudden rush of oxygen. You clatter down onto the floor, your head bouncing off the floorboards, your ears ringing. The numbness faded from your face, leaving a prickly sensation.

Your hands tremble violently once you were ready to get up, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees, coughing, spit dribbling down your lips. Your head spins, and you almost topple foreward again. What the fuck did you just do? You continued to cough with so much force it made your whole body seize up.

No one came to help. 

You were vaugly aware of Hoyt still standig there, watching you.

Fuck him.

They were your friends; now they were one in the same. Two of the best friends you had ever had, both dead. Elias and Amelia. Your heart clenched as you thought of them, their smiles, their voice. It didn't matter who it was, and frankly, you didn't want to know. You had eaten one of them like a fucking animal -

Your stomach gives out without warning.

Bile stings your throat as it empties onto Luda Mae's precious hardwood floors. You choke as your hazy eyes register the reddish brown that slops out of your mouth, the undigested pieces of meat and a few chunks of discernable food sticking out of the goop. It felt hot and thick coming up your throat, so thick in consistency that you had to retch multiple times before it eventually fell into the puddle below with an obscene squelch.

By the time you were finished, the rest of your body gave out, and you fell onto your side, thankfully not into the puddle of sick.

You've never felt so weak and exhausted in your entire life.

Your stomach was cramping. Your throat burned. It felt like your eyes were bloodshot, and your line of sight was starting toblacken around the edges. Your limbs felt numb. You wheezed every time you took a breath. You couldn't  move.

You felt seconds away from death; but it would be better than this. Anything would.

Was Thomas still here?

You could just barely make out Hoyt's silhouette walking closer to loom over you, examining you and the mess with a shake of his head. How dare he look disappointed, the sick bastard. You're eyelids grew heavy. "…Get her outta here." You hear Hoyt grumble, hearing his footsteps reverberate on the floorboards under your ear.

The last thing you remember was big arms wrapping around you and lifting you up, before you balcked out.

X+X+X

You woke up wrapped up in Thomas's bed.

The curtains were drawn, but you could tell it was night time.

Cicadas chirped and buzzed outside, and the house was silent.

You felt sick; sick to your stomach, sick with yourself, sick at the people living in this house. Who forcefully took you from your life and dragged you into their twisted life. Who you thought you had known. Turns out, you didn't.

The blankets fell off your shoulders as you sat up, looking into the dark room; Thomas wasn't there. He must be sleeping wherever he went when he wasn't in here. You thought back to dinner, the events so horrifyingly vivid that you had to stifle a sob. The bitter taste and burn was still in your mouth and throat, even more of a reminder. Why hadn't he helped you?

Thomas, who you thought would, watched and did nothing. And yet you still had the inane wish that he was here.

Beause even though you wanted with all your heart to pretend you had no idea why he sat by and watch you suffer, you kinda did. You knew he was afraid of Hoyt. Hell, after tonight, you were too. Hoyt was sick, twisted, crude, unpredictable and obviously deranged. You had no idea what would have transpired if Thomas had stepped in. Probably something worse; he could have hurt you even worse if Thomas stepped in, and with how weak you were after what had actually happened, you were sure you wouldn't have survived anything else.

"Y/n."

You froze. You were sure you heard a voice. It said your name. You pulled the blankets over yourself, scanning the darkness with wide eyes, your body tense. Your eyes caught on the door; it was slightly ajar. And a large silhouette was standing just outside.

"Y/n…"

He whispered again, pushing the door opened just a little more to let himself in. His voice was deep and raspy, like you would expect it to sound if you hadn't spoke in a long time. But it was also quiet, soft. 

You had never heard Thomas speak; not even when you were both just kids.

And to hear his voice now, in this moment, so softly, like a gentle, loving touch; it made the dam you'd been holding inside break down, a wave of emotions crashing over you.

Sadness and despair, for your friends and yourself. The absolute fear you had just being inside this house. The anger that you had for being held here against your will and forced to live by their rules. Shame and depression from what happened tonight, and sheer hopelessness. All of these came crashing down on you, feeling the heavy burden of them falling finally, and you let yourself feel them. Why now? You didn't know.

All you did know was that these feelings fet too heavy to be dealt with alone.

"Thomas…" Your voice cracked as you whispered his name, your eyes filing with tears.

And he comes to you.

He slips onto the bed and instantly rushes to hold you, not hesitating like he normally does before even the most slightest touches. Like he knows what you need. You let yourself len on him, crying into his shoulder as his arms wind around your waist, his other hand rubbing rythmatic patterns on your back.

You cry.

You cry until your body shakes and your voice goes hoarse. All of the emotions you kept bottled up spill out between you, sheilded from the outside by the darkness. 

And Thomas holds you through it all. 

His embrace like an apology.

When you calm down, he gently coaxes you to lie down beside him, facing you. He spends a good long while looking at you, then getting bolder and gently tracing your features. They travel over your cheeks, lips, nose, eyelids, wiping away your tears; and you found yourself leaning into his touch, even finding comfort in it. Strange, finding comfort in the man who sat by when you almost died at the hands of his uncle. But you knew he as sorry. You saw it in the anguish of his eyes, the guilt, like he shares the pain alongside you. You forgive him.

That may change come morning, but right now, you needed to believe you did.

When your breath returned to normal and you started yawning, Thomas took that as a sign that you needed rest. After a little bit of readjusting, you were laying against him, his front molding around your back. One of his arms was wrapped around your midsection, the other one laid stretched out for you to run your fingers over, exploring it's rough texture, finding every callous. His chin rested on your head, and dvery once in a while, you would feel his mask press gently into your hair; like he was giving you a kiss. 

You let your hand drift up onto his from where you were tracing the  lwngth of the vein on his forearm, to intertwine your fingers with his loosely. His chest rumbles against you as he lets out a breathy sigh, pressing closer into you, and you find yourself smiling, despite everything. The blanket laid forgotten at the foot of the bed- both of you were sharing your body heat, which was enough on the hot night.

Your eyelids grew heavy as you looked at your hands, together. And you drifted off to the sound Thomas's quiet breaths that were growing more steady with each passing second as he too fell asleep.

And as you fell into sleep, you remember thinking, that maybe, if things weren't the way they were,

The two of you could have been happy together.

Chapter Text

You wake up, and you immediately groan and turn your face into the pillow when the sunlight streaming in through the curtain stings your eyes, the blankets tangling around your body. It felt too early to wake up; the light that you had seen was a soft orange, but dim, and you didn't hear the call of birds that usually signified morning time. You assumed it was sunrise. In other words: Too early to be awake.

You moved yourself, searching for Thomas's comforting presence behind you, but your hand nearly reached the edge of the bed without a trace of him. He must've gone out early this morning to start on his chores.

Memories from last night rush into your mind, small flickers of the madness replaying in your head. You still felt sick. You hated them so much. What happened last night felt like something out a nightmarish fever dream, your senses heightened so much that you felt everything. Still. God, these people were messed up. 

Your blearly eyes take in the room, snagging on the dark wood side table, where there was a small glass of water, and a piece of bread that laid up against an unpeeled orange. Your heart squeezes; Thomas. 

Ever since last night, your feelings toward him were teetering between absolutely despising him, and wanting to seek him out. He was the only thing grounding you from spiraling last night. You were honest enough to admit you liked the way he held you; And, yes, it did feel sorta nice feeling small with him, tucked into his body while he held you in his arms. Yet, he still sat by and did nothing at dinner last night. He was sorry. You knew that much. But that kind of betrayal runs deep and isn't so easily fixed.

You crawl over on your elbows toward the sidetable, eyeing the food hungrily. After not eating that wretched dinner and throwing up pretty much everything you had eaten yesterday, your stomach was starting to cramp with how starving you were. You sit up and picked up the bread and bit into it eagerly, not even minding the slightly sandpaper texture. It was gone within seconds. You chased it down with the water, which was lukewarm, tasting the stale taste of sick in the back of your throt before you washed it down. Gasping loudly, you put the cup down, completely empty, and turned your ravenous gaze to the orange.

You could eat a horse right now.

The fruits flesh squished under your fingers as you picked it up, holding it in your hand for a moment, just looking at it for a second. It was warm, like everything else you ate, but… Pleasantly so. It allowed you to catch a smell of the citrus, sweet and tangy. You pull the slices apart, taking your time before popping one into your mouth, almost groaning in delight when you bite into its soft surface. It's been… A while since you'd had something this sweet. And the fact that Thomas left this out for you probably behind his family's back made you feel pretty special.

You continue to eat the orange, slice by slice, savoring the flavor, your legs crossed in front of you. Everything felt peaceful.

Until you heard the scream.

"Thomas!"

You jump at the sound of Luda Mae's shrill shriek of despair, and the sound of the front door smacking the wall as it's thrown open. Thomas? Was he okay? You drop the oranges on the bed and cautiously stand up, mocing tentatively toward the door. With how much "trouble" You caused at dinner, you didn't want to be caught out of this room without Thomas, just in case Hoyt wants to play another game. And if Thomas was in trouble, you needed to help him.

He was the only thing protecting you from this place.

So if he dies, you die.

You throw open the door and descend the stairs as quick as you can without tripping, ripping through the hall and out the open door; And you taste freedom.

Out in front of you is a vast plain, with a few trees dotting the landscape. You could get out of here. This could be your chance-

"Thomas, stop it!"

The whirring mechanical noise was closer than you had realized, along with the new sound of screaming. Right from where Luda Mae's voice was coming from. Just around the right side of the house. 

Ah, fuck it.

You run into the direction of the peculiar noise. Why? You didn't really know, either, quite frankly. Maybe this place was finally getting to you.

When you turn the corner, your throat constricts in horror, holding back the scream that was building in your chest.

Thomas was on his knees in the grass, and in his hands was a large rusty looking chainsaw, that bucked like a live animal in his slightly upraised hands, but he was strong enough to keep it contained. His back was turned to you. The chain roared in his hands, still flinging small drops of crimson onto himself and the grass around him. He was staring at something below him, his shoulders heaving heavily with each breath he took. It didn't take you long to see the feet scrambling backwards, and you saw Hoyt struggling to sit up, screaming in his hoarse tenor while he backs away from Thomas; His face was completely sprayed with blood and so were his clothes, his face panic stricken as he craddled his arm to his chest… His hand was missing, now just a bleeding stump at his wrist, the cut sloppy with bits of flesh sticking out unevenly from the gushing wound.

You made the mistake of looking to the side of Thomas to see the severed hand twitching in the grass.

The same one that had been shoved down your throat just last night.

Your stomach flipped.

Luda Mae rushed up and, with great heaves of effort and strained cries, pulled Thomas off of Hoyt. But really, with the way he easily recovered from her shoving, just calmly stepping to the side and letting the saw slow until it was quiet, you thought that he was humoring her. His head was tilted toward her as she quickly bent down next the a sputtering Hoyt, who looked at both his detatched hand and Thomas in fear and dismay. She started to staunch the gushing opening with a raggedy towel, ignoring his cries of pain.

"Thomas, what the hell were you thinkin'?" She says, letting her dress fall away, her face blanched as she looks at her son. "Look what you've gone an' done!" Thomas says, and does, nothing as she hauls his uncle up to his feet, Hoyt's hands shaking as he leans on Luda Mae for support. Strong as she is, she still staggers under his weight. He mumbles and curses under his breath while he grits his teeth as he rights himself against his mother. "Fuckin' animal!" He yells back in anger to Thomas once his teeth stop chattering long enough to form a coherent sentence. Your feel your heart flare in hatred for him.

Just then, Thomas begins to turn toward you.

His eyes immediately lock onto you, the ferocity in them shocking you, dark and blank. This was the same man who held you so gently last night? His face was peppered with blood and he was still breathing heavily, and so was almost every inch of his front, dark red smearing in macabre handprints all along his shoulders, chest and stomach. The sound of the saw hitting the earth was deafening. You glanced away.

He looked terrifying.

For a breif moment, you catch both Luda Mae's and Hoyt's eyes. Luda Mae looks a little shocked to see you out and about, but doesn't say anything to you as she looks foreward, not looking you in the eyes. You almost suspected that she was ashamed of what happened ast night. As she should be. Hoyt, however, holds your eyes with a glare so full of malice it makes your toes curl. You don't shy away from them, instead returning it with your own hate filled stare. You were disgusted to admit that you felt a grim satisfaction, seeing him like this. Like it was payback.

Your eyes were snagged back to Thomas when you saw him start to move in your peripheral; Moving at an alarming pace right toward you. You tried to move out of his way, but he was next to you before you even got the chance, putting a hot and wet hand on your shoulder. He steered you rather roughly next to him… And started walking into the distance.

The fuck?

As much as Luda Mae called for him to come back, Thomas kept walking with you farther away from the house, far enough that her yelling could be mistaken for a bird. He was fuming; You could tell by the way he held on to you, how you could hear his breath hitting his mask. Why was he even mad? Why did he do that to Hoyt? Sure, you hated the guy too, but not enough to chop his hand off. Regardless, you stumbed over the ground as he led you at a quick pace, and you tried not to cringe away from the feeling of his hand on your shoulder, the blood on it still hot and sticky. It made you shudder, but you said nothing.

Finally, you both stopped, and he quickly wheeled around to face you, and you would have nearly smack into him, if his hand wasn't still on your shoulder. 

It was awkwardly quiet for a while as he just stared down at you.

Were you supposed to do something? You shifted in place, rubbing the fabric of your dress between your thumb and forefinger at your side. And still, he just stared at you in that intense way of his like you had all the answers. But honestly, what were you supposed to say after witnessing something like that?

Finally, finally, he moved, taking his hand off your shoulder. The air feels cold on the patch of blood he left on your skin, but you weren't sure if it made you want to gag or feel relieved for something relatively cold in the heat. You watched curiously as he slowly sank down onto one knee in front of you, putting the both of you almost at eye level to each other. Above all, you felt confused.

His hands reached out to grab your wrists gently, his bloodstained skin skimming over yours with the lightness of the wind. His fingers wrap perfectly around your wrist, and he carefully brings your hands to his face, and you start to feel your skin warm. Not from the air, either; Your cheeks flush with color as you feel the skin of his face beneath your trembling fingers. Just last night, you had let yourself touch him and not be afraid to do so, or to even not be repulsed… This felt different. This felt soft. Quiet. No hurt, no tears… Just this.

Thomas's hands still hold onto your wrist as you keep you hands on his face. His skin is hot beneath your hand, a little damp with sweat, and in some places, blood. You study him; His sharp brows, his blue eyes that watch you in the softest way, the harsh dip upward of his mask over the bridge of his nose, framed by dark hair. He lets you move your fingers to brush the edge of his mask by his jaw, his eyes closing. It was hot and smooth like good leather should be, however it was starting to crack in some places. You let your fingers skate across the surface before returning back to cup his face in between your hands, earning a low sigh from him. Thomas leaned his face into your hands and you couldn't help but smile; It certainly was strange, how such a man could turn into putty between your hands.

Eventually, he opened his eyes again, and he stood slowly, letting your hands go and fall back to your side. You hardly even noticed the red smears he left on your wrist. He looked a lot calmer now as he stood up to his full height, his breathing slowing to a normal rhythm. You sized him up and smiled carefully at him. Did you do that? Was it that simple? It was like he forgot all about… Well, why he was angry in the first place. Whatever the reason was.

You took a startled half step back as he walked closer to you, until his body was just a hair away from pressing against yours. Thomas quietly wrapped his arms around you in a somewhat embrace (kinda awkward with someone as tall as he was), his head resting on top of yours, some of his hair falling into your face. You brushed it away, and just stood there a while, feeling a little panicked. It felt like he completely enveloped around you, nearly suffocating. But it felt nice, surprisingly. Like a warm cocoon.

So you, tentatively, wrapped your arms around him too.

You felt his chest rumble against you in content.

And, for the first time since you've been here, you weren't just thinking of another way to escape.

Chapter Text

It felt so good to do it.

And even with the repercussions, he couldn't find it in his heart to regret it.

To say that hurting Hoyt felt liberating was a tragic understatement; It felt like being cut free. Thomas showed him that he wasn't just another tool to use and order around. That he was capable of doing things himself. Making his own choices. 

Not only that, but it was a lesson on keeping his hands off what was his. 

Since the episode at dinner, he had a dormant desire to mutilate Hoyt as soon as he shoved his hand down your throat, and made you sick. It only got stronger when he found you crying in his room, until it became to big to ignore any longer, and he felt like needed to act. He held you throughout the night (A moment he woud cherish until his death), but as soon as the sun peeked up over the horizon, he had been ready; He left you breakfast before heading out to where he knew Hoyt would be working.

His rage was so blinding when he brought the chainsaw down on his uncle's wrist. It all happened so quickly; He just simply walked up to Hoyt, pulled the rope to make the saw roar to life, ignore his uncle's questions, and then did it. And he felt nothing. He would have kept going if Mama hadn't arrived when she did.

Oh, and thank God you were there too.

Because he was so scared; he didn't know if you saw it but he was shaking as he dragged you away from the macabre scene. He'd hurt his uncle. Finally stood up to him. And it was fucking terrifying. 

But the moment you touched him, he felt like he was living in bliss. 

Numb, yet happy. Not the empty feeling he felt when he forced himself to be numb to everything, to see and not feel. But feeling this was good. It did away with all his fear, his doubt, his worry… There was just you.

And you were all, he realized, he ever wanted.

The next few days passed rather quietly. He'd taken to staying with you most days, practically hovering over you as he helped you with whatever you were doing that day. Meanwhile, his uncle and Mama treated the pair of you like ghosts haunting the upstairs room; nobody spoke to him when he went out to do his chores, and no one stopped him from following you around when you decided to emerge from his room like an overprotective guard dog. Dinners became extremely awkward too. No one spoke to Thomas, which, in all honesty, was alright to him, because he always tried to finish up quickly so he could bring you up a plate of 'normal' food, and spend the rest of the night with you.

Days spent with you were relatively calm, too. You just had to do the basic chores you were assigned (Breakfast and lunch dishes, keeping his room tidy, and other small things), and he whatever chores he had to get done,but the rest of the day was left to just spend time with you. Thomas had found some old books in the shed, and had salvaged the ones that weren't damaged for you. It was one of his favorite things, just to hear you reading the to him. You'd always be tucked up under his arm, leaning against him, or laying in his lap. Other times, when you read quietly to yourself, you'd let him lay his head on your lap, while you played with his hair. He almost always dozed off lile that.

Thomas didn't know what changed, but you were suddenly willing to let him touch you more often, and were willing to touch him too. Not that he was complaining. He was allowed to even hold you now, just like that night after the dinner incident. You've even incited him into your bed when the nightmares were especially bad, or otherwise were having trouble falling asleep.

The nightmares were becoming a problem. You hated talking about them, so you never brought them up. He wouldn't even know you were having them if he didn't sleep in the same room as you. But it was clear as day what was happening to you when you woke up breathing heavy, shaky hands, tears in your eyes and a tremble to your voice. And he had a sinking feeling that he knew what they were about.

It didn't take a genius to guess that your nightmares were centered around the horrors in this house. Which was understandable. You watched your friends die in this house, you were being kept against your will in this house, you were forced to help tend the house, and you damn near almost died yourself, in this house, with a monsters hand down your throat  a monster thats been taken care of. He only wished that he could stop them for you. But it was out of his control. And the fact that he couldn't made him sad. The only thing he could do was guide you through it.

He did like to think that he was something that made you happy, though.

He liked to devout what time he had to doing so- such as today.

It was a beautiful day; okay, it was still hot as hell, but not as hot as it had been lately. For Texas, it was cool weather. He'd hurried up with his chores for the day, and finished before noon, and had you out the door thirty minutes past the hour.

You didn't know where he was taking you. All you knew was that he was leading you deeper into the property, to where trees began to be seen in sparse clusters. It was all part of the plan. This was a surprise of sorts. Something to hopefully ease your mind a little, give you a momnt of peace.

Thomas helped you navigate the terrain, making sure you avoided the bear traps that were scattered around. He held your hand as the two of you walked, and every once in a while, he'd look down and just marvel at you for a few, precious moments. You looked so beautiful today. Just like everyday, but today especially, for some reason. Maybe it was because you were actually soaking up some sun, instead of being caged up in the house.

"I really wished you'd tell me where we're going, Thomas," You muse, picking up the skirt of your dress that was about to snag on a low branch. Luckily he found you an old (but not used) pair of Luda Mae's boots, and that you were close enough to her shoe size that they weren't uncomfortable on you. He shook his head at you, giving your hand a soft squeeze. You sighed dramatically, but he saw the slight smile that hung on your lips. 

He was very excited to bring you to this place. It's been on his mind ever since you came back to him. But he wanted to wait until you got used to him; it definately wouldn't have the same effect if he had to bring you kicking and screaming the whole way.

Now look at you - Happy, holding his hand, trusting him, going with him, forgiving him…

You've come a long way from who you used to be.

You have both been walking for about thirty minutes. You were both sweating, but he was so excited, and you were curious as to where he was taking you, that neither of you wanted to go back. The place he was bringing you was just ahead, anyways.

The sound of rushing water fills his ears.

He slowed down a little as you both neared what looked like a slight dip in the land, making the both of you stop completely just at the edge. He peers down and then back to you, looking for any kind of recognition. You look down with pinched eyebrows, scanning the scene before you… And your face melts into elated recognition. His heart swells as you look at him in disbelief. "Is this…?" You trail off, but he doesn't need to hear the rest; he nods quickly. 

"No way!" You gasp. He lets go of your hand and chuckles quietly to himself as you start to make your way down to the bottom of the slope, stepping carefully doan it so you don't faceplant at the bottom. The action looked so effortless, a muscle memory.

It was the infamous river where the rings were made.

Thomas heads down after you, just as easily. Memories of you and him descending this very slope multiple times as children filled his mind. You would be so embarrassed if he told you that he still remembered the first time you went down; you'd fallen down halfway, rolling down the hill and into the river, remarkably unscathed. He remembered how you both laughed. Good times.

When he got down, he came to your side, almost pressing against you as you both looked out onto the small ravine, and where the trees cleared past it into a barren field. It was drier than it had been before so the water level dropped, but otherwise, it still looked the same.

"Wow," You breathed, taking it all in. "It's been so long." Too long, he adds mentally, but stays silent and looks on with you. You bend down in the dirt, picking up the skirt of your dress  so it didn't get caught beneath your knees, and he does the same. He watches in silence as your fingers skim the waters surface, creating ripples on the greenish water.

Just seeing you here gives him a euphoric rush. Countless times in the past years, he's come down here to try and relive what he felt with you. But it only left him feeling lost and alone, with the hollow nostalgic feeling; it almost felt like you had died, sometimes, with how heavy his heart would get. Little by little, he just stopped coming. This was actually the first time he'd been here in six years.

But seeing you here filled him with the usual happiness you brought to him, filling the void that had been ripping him apart since you left.

"I wonder if there's still river clay down there," You say, jerking him from his thoughts. You were squinting into the water, the ring hanging toward it from your necklace as you leaned foreword to try and see the bottom. It really made him happy that you wore it all the time like he did. It made him feel more connected to you, especially when he was away.

Regarding your question, he bent over the tiny ledge and thrust his hand into the hot water, all the way down into the bottom. Which wasn't really far, because of how dried up its gotten. He felt you watching him in anticipation as he swiped his finger at the bottom of the river; smiling when he felt something thick and slick and rubbery bunch up on his finger.

Thomas pulled out of the water and held his hand out toward you in truimph, careful not to drip any water on you. You laughed when you saw the creamy clump on his finger. "Cool." You say, reaching out to tug a piece off the clump, leaving both of you with a small malleable piece. He fiddles with it between his fingers.

You twist and mash it between your fingers, before you stand again. "Wanna go up on the rock?" You ask, pointing up to the tall rock that he could remember you sitting on with him a million years ago. He nods, setting his piece of clay down on the riverside before starting toward the rock.

And you climb.

Thomas has to help you up a few times, what with the dress and the boots (plus, you've always needed his help getting up the rock, he thinks fondly), but eventually you both arrive at the flat top of the rock. It was a lot smaller than he remembered; but that was obviously because of how much he's grown since then. Still, there was plenty room for the both of you to stretch out if you wated to. You sigh, catching your breath for a moment, then looking over the ledge. It wasn't super high up off the ground; only a few feet. But he couldn't deny it, it the world looked pretty from up here.

He sits down and you join him, choosing to sit with your legs out in front of you, close to his side. He can practically feel the heat radiating off of your skin. But as much as he wanted to reach out and take your hand, he didn't want to push his luck. He already felt like you would snap out of this state at any minute and run away screaming.

That didn't happen. The only thing you do is sigh again, a wistful smile on your face as you stare out into the distance. "I forgot what it was like up here." You say. "How much I liked it." His eyes drifted down to your chest, where your necklace laid. It looked so small; it was hard to imagine how that was used to fit on your finger. His hand instinctively found his own and let it lay bare on his chest, not tucked into his shirt like it normally was, feeling it's texture and letting it ground him.

Enough with getting wrapped up in the past; she's here in the present now, too.

"…Hey, look at that!" You say after a few peaceful minutes past, your voice delightfully surprised as you point up between a bough of trees. He looks in that direction, but can only see the trees; but as he looked closely and past some hanging branches, he could see what you what you saw. "The cabin," You sigh with a little laugh. "Remember how I went on and on about living there one day?" 

Like it was yesterday, he answers you in his mind.

He really wished he could talk with you like an regular person. 

Instead, he nods, and you smile. "Yeah… I'm kinda surprised it's still standing. Still looks as rundown as the day I saw it. It's probably condemned by now."

Not quite.

He knew that the house was still kept nice by a friendly old couple that inherited it years ago, who now lived up in Colorado. They come to check on it once every few years, probably to make sure it wasn't completely wrecked out by the wildlife. They never really had to worry about squatters, with how high on that tiny mountain the cabin was.

He jerked as he felt something warm snake across the back of his hand, and he quickly tore it away and looked down immediately to see what had touched him- guilt gripped his heart as he saw it was your hand, now hovering over the hot surface of the rock where his hand had been. But what he had expected to see in your eyes, a hurt that would shatter his own, was no where to be seen. Only a reproachful look, like someone approaching a hostile predator.

And you didn't look afraid.

He took your hand in his and held it gently within his before the moment could pass. You let out a breath he hadn't known you had been holding, and he nearly jumps out of his skin when you lean against the side of his shoulder. Not that he didn't like it; he was just terrified of scaring you off. "Thank you for bringing me here Thomas." You say quietly. And he melts with your words, relaxing, letting himself feel you against him.

He wants to tell you how happy he is that you're happy.

He wants to tell you how good it feels when you lean on his shoulder like that, the butterflies he gets.

He's glad you can't see the frustrated way his eyebrows pinch together.

All his life, he'd struggled with his speech impediment, but it felt more lile a curse, now more than ever. Because he wanted to express the overwhelming feeling of love he has for you, with words that would dust your cheeks with that pretty pink color he was so very fond of. He would talk to you about things you liked and didn't like, and just have a normal conversation with you. He'd love to be able to call you those sweet pet names he's heard couples call each other so many years ago; sweet endearments like "Doll", "Sweetheart", "Honey", "Darlin'" and "Dear", and so many others. Most of all, he just wanted to tell you he loved you.

A few years back, when he discovered he wasn't actually mute like his family thought he was, he'd been grateful; now, it didn't feel like it was enough.

You jerked him out of his thoughts as you sighed, nestling closer to him and tucking your legs beside yourself. The poor guy was panicking; he truely had no idea what to do in this situation. He wasn't used to people being so… Close to him. Much less like this. Going out on a limb, he slides his arm around your waist, his heart pounding in his chest. You felt so tiny next to him. You weren't pulling away… So, that was a good sign, right?

He was put at ease when you didn't pull away in revulsion, and he got the courage to lean his head dosn on top of yours. He didn't even have to crane his neck that far, with how the rock was sloped.

This felt right. Natural.

The sun was starting to set, slowly sinking just behind the trees. The both of you would have to be heading home soon, but neither of you made a move to start heading back, or even bring it up. He didn't know about you, but he was just happy to be with you.

Thomas looked out into the trees with you, looking nowhere in particular, but his eyes would catch on the cabin from time to time, something he hadn't done in a long time.

He felt good. A thrill of satisfaction that seemed to last. At the same time, he knew this was only the beginning of this life with you. And as he looked out, he felt like he could almost see it marked in the clouds and trees ahead.

Like you both were on the precipice of something extraordinary.

Chapter Text

"My…Name…Is…Thomas."

You read the words you wrote carefully on the paper to him, putting a finger under each word you spoke. Thomas stared inently at the words, studying them and trying to think back to what you've been teaching him.

It's been two months since the day he took you down by the ravine. Since he really realized just how infuriating his lack of speech really was. He wanted to learn. His family still ignored him, so the best person to ask for help was you, showing more interest in what you would read him and point to the words.

And, bless your sweet heart, you said you would.

So every evening after supper, you'd try and teach him the best he could. You thought you'd try and stick to just writing first, which was what you were trying to get him to do now. The words stared back at him glaringly… Below it sat his poor imitation of what you wrote in your beautiful handwriting. His looked like chicken scratch compared to yours. And when he tried to form his mouth around the sounds of the sentence, they got tripped up on his tongue. He shot up from the bed and paced around his small bedroom angrily.

"Aw, Tommy, come on, you've got this," You try to say encouragingly. "You're doing great so far."

He appreciated your comforting lies, but they aren't getting him anywhere.

Thomas continued to pace, running a hand over the back of his neck, frustrated that he couldn't just focus. Normally during these sessions, he at least could write decently, and he could catch on to things quicker. Not quite speaking, but damn near. But something else weighed heavy on his mind, uncomfortable and unshakable like the suffocating heat of a muggy summer day.

People were looking for you. Right in town.

He only knew this because he heard Hoyt tell Mama in passing. Hoyt refered to you as "The girl", but Thomas knew who he was talking about. Rubbing the stump that used to be his hand, he'd said that a man had driven through the gas station and tacked your picture beside the door of the gas station. A missing persons picture. Of course, there really wasn't any reason to worry; the Hewitts lived practically in the middle of nowhere, and there wasn't anything that would lead people to their house. He doubted your parents even remembered him and his family. Nonetheless, he took a trip alone down to the gas station and tore the flyer down.

It was hardly any comfort. Obviously someone knew you had been coming down through here; who? Family? A friend? He wouldn't even consider it being a boyfriend. You would have mentioned having one when you had been begging for him to let you go when you were stuck in the basement.

Worry made his mind spiral as he kept pacing, vaugly aware of your concered stare. He didn't know if he could handle being apart from you again, if they found you. No… No he wouldn't. You were meant to be here; you were brought here again, back to him, whether by divine force or that humble little mystery called Fate, he didn't care. All that mattered was that you were here, and here you will stay, even if he had to kill the entirety of Texas to keep you at his side-

"Thomas." 

He stops.

And there it was.

Feeling your hand on his shoulder as you stood next to him made his worries melt, and return back to you. He looks down at you, taking in your careful smile and worried expression

"We'll figure it out, okay?" You say soothingly. "It's no big deal we've gotta perfect immediately- We've got time." All the time in the world. He took your words as both a solution for both of his stressors; the talking, and the flyer.

Thomas agrees to sit back down with you on the bed and continue to practice just writing his name alone, as you guide him through the sounds the letters make when he writes them in his scratchy writing, so he could memorize the sounds for when he sees them again. And he does desperately want to write, and eventually speak, but damn this was hard. Just like it was hard for him in school; but you had the patience none of the teachers did. You also didn't tease him about how he was barely scraping by the grade like the other children did (except for you, of course). But it didn't change the fact that it was hard for him to wrap his head around.

Another thirty minutes goes by before he's had enough again. He'd just written out the sentence again; just as barely legible than before, though you swear he improved each time. Instead of pacing again, he set the pencil down roughly and put his elbow on his knee, resting his forehead in his palm. He wanted, really wanted, to learn this, to be more for you, and you were so worth it… But he was just going too fast, trying to cram in as much as he could all too quickly, that his mind was going into overdrive. He couldn't just wait. He needed this -you needed this. He heard you shift the papers away, and you shifted so that you were sitting in front of him.

He jerks slightly when he feels your hands on either side of his head, pressing softly into his hair. "We could be done for today," You offer quietly. He grabs onto on of your wrists gently and sighs roughly, leaning into your hand as he picks his head off of his. With him slouched over like this, the both of you are almost eye to eye. Thomas looks at you with loving eyes when you smile gently at him.

His hand leaves your wrist as you push a strand of his hair behind his ear, your eyes searching his face. The familiar, warm cotton-y feeling surrounds him, encasing him in the warmth you make him feel in these tender moments, your softest touches that make the butterflies in his chest take flight. 

"I'm sorry it's so difficult for you. I really am," You mutter softly, yourthumb rasping across his masked jaw once, twice. "I wish I could help more, but I… I just don't know." You're doing enough, He says mentally as he reaches one of his hands out to cup your cheek. I'm sorry I can't tell you this; but I'll be able to. Soon. 

 He unconciously leans down further to you, until your forehead is touching his, and he closes his eyes, letting you ground him. This wasn't something he wanted to stress over. Not when all that time could have been spent doing something with you. His hand slides down your cheek and curls around the nape of your neck softly. You didn't pull away, which was something he was counting on. He'd noticed you were being more affectionate with him, and now that you were more comfortable than you had been, he was going to take that newfound trust and use it however much he could. He feels your fingers skim the edges of his mask, teasing the edges, as if-

He pulls away suddenly.

You looked back blankly, like you knew he would pull away.

It didn't take a genius to interpret what those little touches meant. And it scared him to death.

"I just want to see you," You mumble quietly, sitting up a little straighter as your hands fall in your lap. Silence falls heavy around him as he just looks back at you, freaking out on the inside.

You had seen him without his mask. When the both of you were kids. And he knew that. But the thought of you seeing his face now, made anxiety swarm in his chest. He was already doing so well getting you to warm up to him, and this… Could break it all down. It was terrifying. Especially because it was an insecurity he's had and has been bullied for it in the past. He hardly ever catches the eye of his reflection anytime he passes a reflective surface.

Through your blank eyes, you looked so sad. Sad for him, and his heart both broke and melted all in love of you. You cared. Even after you've seen first hand what he does, what his family is, you still cared enough to look at him the way you did now. And if you cared, didn't that mean that you wouldn't care what he looked like? Didn't change the way his heart pounded like a drum against his chest and the nerves that made his stomach turn.

Thomas lets out a low sigh.

He could trust you not to run.

He could trust you.

With slightly shaky hands, he reaches back for the leather strap that wrapped around his head. He felt the familiar warm, frayed texture on his fingertips, before he wrapped his hand around it. His dark eyes met yours once more, to see you watching in patient curiosity.

This was a huge leap of faith.

And possibly a big mistake.

Before he can second guess himself more than he already was, he pulls it up and over his head; the mask falls onto the bed in between the two of you.

He breathes.

Thomas closes his eyes as he feels the air brush against the skin that was normally under the mask, almost cold against his flesh. He pictures seeing himself through your eyes.

The most noticeable thing that he thought you'd recognize was his nose. Which was pretty much gone, the skin practically clinging to the bone structure beneath, creating a skeletal look where a normal nose would be. Next your eyes would drift over the gaping hole that opened his skin beside the right corner of his lips, revealing his teeth, and it was about the size of a golfball, he would guess. Deep scars stretched from the hole up his cheek and down to his jaw, completely healed but implanted deep in his skin. Around it were other minor scars, only there because he had tried to peel his wounds off himself only to end up making it worse.  The left side of his face wasn't any better. He pictured the way your eyes would trace over the rashes and scars, especially the one that ran from just below his ear down to his jaw.

When you were kids, he hadn't looked this bad. Now, the skin disease he had ate away his skin and turned him into the stuff of nightmares.

He waited expectantly to hear you scream, the door slamming against the wall as you flung it open, your footsteps banging down the stairs. He imagined the chase down the driveway, how, even though he felt horrible for scaring you in such a way, he'd haul you into his arms and bring you back into the house, because he would not accept this as an end. He waited, and… 

Nothing.

Except a new, warm feeling like a plume of air against his lips.

Your lips meet his.

He hadn't even realized you had gotten closer.

Thomas thought at once that this must have been a dream. He'd fallen asleep in his bed while you layed your head on his lap, reading to him in your calming tones. That was it. Yet he could feel the warmth, your breath against his marred skin, your lips against his, soft and slow as they move And it felt all to real ro be dismissed as a dream.

He doesn't wait another minute before he kisses you back.

Time stops; the only thing he is aware of was his lips moving against yours, of you moving close enough to trail his hand up your arm before it returns to rest behind your neck. You taste so… Foreign. Sweet and tangy, both at once. A flavour so uniquely you that it makes his head spin. There wasn't a word out there that could ever amount to the sheer infatuation he feels as he gets lost in this feeling of bliss.

You pull away, and the moment passes.

Both of you breathe heavily, and Thomas could only watch you closely as you catch your breath while looking down, your cheeks tinted with that pink color he adores his hand still behind your neck. He wipes away the trail of saliva that was dripping from the hole in his cheek, hopefully discreetly. Why did you do that? Didn't you see what was in front of you? He's had lots of reactions from people who have seen his face, whether on purpose or accident; repulsed and plain horror, or that awkward way they just look away as their face blanches, trying not to make eye contact. Never, not once, had someone kissed him. So why? Oh no, was it a pity kiss?

He half expected you to turn and bolt as your eyes flashed back to him, something residing in them that he wasn't used to. Empathy. Maybe you did just feel so bad that you felt like you had to kiss him. Maybe it was just a silly mistake. But the look in your eyes tells a different story. One that he himself can't even begin to believe.

You scoot a little closer, and your lips meet the clear space above the ugly gaping hole just underneath his eye. You didn't seem disgusted in the slightest. "Thank you," You whisper as he turns his face to look at you. How could you be smiling at him? The unruined corner of his lips curve up into a smile. "… You look nice when you smile." You say matter-o-factly, laying your head against his shoulder, your arms wrapping loosely around him.

It takes all of his willpower not to bend and weep on your shoulder; you really didn't mind that he looked like a literal monster. 

Instead, he holds you too, leaning his head on top of yours, replaying the loving look in your eyes as he smiled, thinking about how he could die happy in the haven of your arms.

Chapter Text

One of the few things things that brought you a sense of peace when Thomas was gone was laundry, which was good, because he was always out a little more than normal these days, and the laundry seemed endless. You didn't used to have this job; normally it was Luda Mae's, but after the dinner incident, yours and Thomas's clothes would just keep piling up in the hamper in the corner of his -your- room, probably to avoid you. Which was completely fine in your book.

It was a simple, rhythmic process, and with the obvious difference in clothes, made the task mindless and giving you time to think. Right now, sitting on the bed with the clean clothes basket beside you, folding the clothes with practiced ease, you were thinking about the kiss from a few nights ago.

Honestly, his face didn't surprise you. Not as much as it maybe should have. You've known since you were just a little girl that Thomas had a skin condition that would likely eat away at his skin for the rest of his life; back then, he still had a nose, and the hole on the side of his mouth had just been forming as a particularly bad rash. If anything, you went in asking him to take the mask off knowing that he might have been more deteriorated than he turned out to be. It didn't bother you, either. Seeing his face for the first time in years, was just… Seeing Thomas. 

And the kiss?

The kiss was a split second reaction, though not one you could say you regret. You don't know what came over you. One second, he was taking his mask off, the next… Well, you know.

This place must be making you crazy, You think to yourself, met with your own brains rebuttal. You were getting used to it here. Even the haunting smell of blood didn't make you cringe everytime you caught a whiff. Freaky, how that's come to be the new normal for you. And, you couldn't deny the feelings that you felt for Thomas either.

It was like old feelings you had for him were resurfacing out of some long hibernation, and growing like a weed. You've always had a natural affinity to him, as a kid, maybe because he too was bullied, or also you just genuinely enjoyed his company. Fast foreward about a decade, add in a broader understanding of feelings and life, and the breakthrough of the feelings you had for him so long ago…And you had whatever mess you were in now.

It felt odd to say you loved him. But it was the closest term you felt was right for how you felt.

The thought also crossed your mind that maybe all of this was just because you were being held here against your will? Like, Stockholm Syndrome, or something? 

 But then you asked yourself the simple question: If he brought you outside and left you out there alone, with that wide open driveway ahead of you, would you run?

…No.

No, you wouldn't.

Maybe that was another sign of Stockholm, but you didn't care anymore. It is what it is, and you love him, and that was that.

You came back to reality to see that the laundry basket was half empty, neat, sorted piles of clothes surrounding you in a semi-circle. You frown; there wasn't any of your night dresses in the load. How could that be? You swore you had gathered all of your clothes to be washed earlier… Maybe you'd forgotten.

The door opened from behind you, and you kept working, assuming Thomas was home early. Soon, you'd feel his strong arms wrap around you, his masked face press into your hair like a kiss, surrounding you in his unique smell of earth, sweat, and faintly of blood that you didn't seem to mind anymore (though you preferred the faint woodsy pine smell that clung to his skin after a shower)…

"…Y/n."

… Okay, that was not Thomas.

You spun around to see Luda Mae standing in the doorway. She shuffed slightly when you looked at her, as if she felt out of place in the doorway. Your eyes narrowed; what could she possibly want? You tense, refusing to let yourself feel the fear that crept up your spine… But it was still there.

Luda Mae lets out a deep breath and gives you a thin smile. "I just came up here to see if you needed any help." She says in her most gentle way. "I'm nearly done." You say firmly, not returning the obviously forced smile. Hers wavers, and it drops a little. "…Right." She sighs, her smile fading to weary expression you can hear in her voice. "May I just sit here and talk with you a minute? I got some things I wanna get off my chest." Oh boy. Here we go.

"Sure." You say tersely, watching as she sits on an empty spot near the opposite end of the bed, while you watch her stiffly. She sits quietly for a moment, just looking around his room, before her eyes land back on you. "Y/n," She starts. "I believe we've had some… Complications in the span of time you've been here." "That's an understatement." You blurt, your voice cracking as you think of how she just watched as Hoyt almost made you choke to death, his hand shoved deep in your throat, a sickening feeling you won't ever forget. Luda Mae glanced off and gave a passive nod.

"Yes. Well, on behalf of Hoyt and myself, we would like to… Mend this little tear that has spread between us. See, we love our dear Tommy, and he chose you, and from what I've been seein' lately, you choose him too. You're family now." She sighs again, a warmer look entering her eyes as she loks at you. "You make him so happy, dear. More happy than I've seen him in all the years you've been gone. Nothin'smore important than family around here. An' we certainly don't wan' anymore bad blood between all of us."

Though she didn't say it outright, you could see the apology in her eyes.

It would be nice to go back to having a cordial relationship with the rest of his family. You could actually see yourself grow to enjoy Luda Mae's company; but Hoyt, you knew you'd never be ble to look him in the face the same again.

"Okay." You say with a nod. "Thank you." Luda Mae smiles at you warmly, relief plain in her eyes. "Wonderful. Glad we could get things cleared up. I'll leave you to it." She gestures to the piles of laundry on the bed as she stands. Before she leaves, she puts a wrinkled hand on your shoulder. "You need anything, just let me know, dear." She says and walks away, closingthe door behind her. Maybe you really were crazy, but you felt like there was an underlying message there that you didn't get until she walked away.

"If you need something while Thomas is away, I'm always around- You don't have to go to Hoyt."

Or, y'know, you were crazy. Or your high hopes were getting the best of you. But it still made you feel little better, your heart a little lighter.

You looked back at the neat piles and scooped one into your arms, heading for the dresser, your head on a swivel, looking into every corner and crevice of the room, looking for your dang night dresses…

The world was orange by the setting sun by the time Thomas came through the door, sweat dripping down his face. It had been a long day.

Just before he started heading home from his whereabouts, he stopped by the gas station. There weren't any more posters on the dirty glass, which made him sigh in relief. Good. Maybe they've moved on.

Just as he walked in the door, he saw Luda Mae walking downstairs, freezing like a deer in headlights as she caught his eyes. Suspicion and alarm rose up inside him; what was she doing up there? Were you up there? Had to be, judging by the barely noticeable thumps coming from upstairs from your feet walking softly across the floor. His eyes narrowed at his mother.

Luda Mae responded by fixing him with an equally stern look, putting a hand on her hip. "Oh, calm down, Tommy, we were just talkin'. Makin' things right." She nodded, her soft tone contrasting with her severe expression. He faultered, tilting his head to the side slightly, his eyes blank. Did that mean she apologized to you? This was the first time she's regarded him in a way other then incoherent grunts and mumbles and furtive glances in nearly a month and a half. It was quite a change, but he wasn't against the shift back to what used to be normal.

"… Well go on, hop in the shower; you stink of sweat." She comments generously as she descends the stairs. "Supper'll be done in ten minutes, and I'll whip up something for miss Y/n too, then you can bring it up and have a nice night with her." Yes, she had apologized. And you had forgiven her, by how cheerful Mama was. He felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders that he hadn't even known was there.

Thomas did as Mama said, taking a hot shower and washing off the grime of the day. He didn't spend long in there, though; after today, the only thing he wanted to do was be with you.

Clean and dried, and smelling much better than before, and with a clean shirt and plain pajama pants, he went straight into the kitchen to collect the food. As promised, she made a plate for him of the usual contents, and for you, with a salad and what appeared to be normal chicken. He gave his Mama a masked kiss on the cheek before he started taking the plates up the stairs, ignoring Hoyt who glared at him as he passed with passive aggression.

He thumped up the stairs, cradling one of the plates carefully in the crook of his elbow, as he reached out to open the door.

It was a good thing he grabbed the plate again when he did. Because when he looked into the room and saw you, he froze, his grip on the plates almost loosening entirely, staring at you. The silverware rattled against the porcelain as he steadied them.

…My God.

You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking a little startled yourself. He had expected to see you in one of your night gowns (you normally were already changed by this time) - Which was why it shocked him to see you wearing one of his own shirts. His face flamed beneath the mask.

It was just a plain, old, rumpled white shirt, big enough to pool around your body as you sat, and would probably reach down to your knees if you were to stand. Your face was almost as red as he thought his was. "… All my, uh… Nightclothes didn't seem to make it into the wash." You stand - yes, it does fall just above your knees. "I hope you don't mind." Of course he didn't; he shakes his head, swallowing hard, trying to supress the feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, hot and building like a flame.

A feeling he was used to dealing with alone.

He'd felt it, of course. Didn't everyone? He felt this same sensation sometimes out of the blue, strong and heavy. Sometimes even from a weak victim who liked to try and fight back, only for him to kill them quickly after the little game. And that feeling was the most primal, hormonal desire known to man: Lust, quite simply.

Embarrassing as it may be, he's never actually had sex before. So he often took care of the problem alone, working himself quietly in somewhere hidden from his family, then get back to work.

But here you were, in his shirt, possibly without anything underneath… And the feeling felt stronger than ever, growing from a flame to an inferno of desire.

He momentarily forgot about the plates until he snapped out of his trance, handing you your plate with a low grunt. You come over and take the plate from him, smiling sweetly at him. "Thank you." You say, sitting back on the bed, patting the space next to you. He complied, hoping his arousal wasn't too obvious.

"Luda Mae stopped up here today," You say, grabbing your fork and fishing around the lettuce of your salad, stabbing a piece of chicken when you find it. "I think we've made up and moved past what happened. I'm kinda glad we did, though; it gets really lonely without you sometimes." You nudge him playfully with your shoulder as you stick the fork in your mouth. That little action made the shirt slide up a little on your leg, revealing the expanse of your thigh - no shorts from what he could see. It was incredibly distracting. He tore his eyes away before you could notice, nodding in agreeance as he grabs his own fork.

You prattle on about your day while Thomas listens to you happily; you tell him the details of your conversation with Luda Mae, the book you had just finished, even the strange encounter with a cat when you went outside for some fresh air.

Although he listened intently to every word you said, he found himself increasingly distracted. Your legs crossed in front of you, your exposed thigh, almost touching his. The fork disappearing behind your pink lips, the way it dragged out on their soft surface as you took it out of your mouth. He could see the shape of your breasts beneath the shirt, the tips cutting sharply against the fabric. 

You were the most gorgeous thing he'd ever had the privilege to have.

He didn't even notice that you had stopped talking until his eyes snapped from the crook of your neck to your face, where he was met with a look of concern. "Tommy, are you alright? You've barely touched your food." You say, your eyebrows pinching together. He blinked and looked down to yours and then his; your plate was just about cleared, while his was still practically the way be brought it in. Truth was, he wasn't really that hungry.

His eyes shifted back to yours, and even he could feel the intensity of them as they locked on you. The worried expression faded into something else. "… Are you okay?" You ask again, your eyes searching his face. He makes no sound as he sets the plate on bed behind him, his impulses gaining control over him as he leans closer. He couldn't help it. He could almost feel the warmth radiating off your skin, pulling him closer.

He puts his hands on either side of your face, his touch just as gentle as the breeze, holding your face to keep you looking at him, his breath heavy with want. He watches you, the flush that creeps into your cheeks, the slight part of your lips. He gets closer still, until he could feel your breath on his neck, your hand reaching and resting on his chest. The feeling in his stomach grows; and so does the sudden erection that tents his pants. Your heartbeat races as quickly as his against him as he leans into you. His hand shakes wildly as he presses it to your soft thigh and presses his face into your hair, pressing his body impossibly closer in hopes you notice. By the way your body hics to a stop for a moment, you do.

You swallowed hard, and he feels it against his shoulder. "Do you want me to help?" You ask, your tone quieter. He nods slowly, pressing his face harder into your hair. Heart pounding, he lets you pull away and set your plate on top of his and get off the bed; he looks at you in confusion. "Could you stand for me?" You ask gently, almost shakily as you sink down to your knees. He didn't know exactly what you had planned but he stood anyway, a little embarrassed by the almost painful erection that was so obviously outlined by his pants. You yourself seem to have adopted that charming blush for the time being, the color still high on your cheeks as you look down and brush your hair behind your shoulders. Only then, do you look up. Seeing you look up at him sends a shiver right down his cock, leaving it twitching in it's wake.

God, you look so beautiful.

He couldn't bring himself to look away when you walk closer to him on your knees, right up until your face was almost against his erection. His breath comes quickly, making the inside of his mask humid, but he couldn't help it. Be it the anticipation or nerves of it all, he couldn't help it. He watched with half-lidded eyes as you slowly reached up to grasp the hem on his pants, shivering as your fingers grazed the bare skin of his hips. You pull down, at an excruciatingly slow pace, your fingers hooking around his boxers, bringing them down too. Down, down, until they fall past his hips and fall to the floor. He lets out a stuttery breath as he feels your breath on his tip, while you stare at it, looking a little intimidated by it's length and girth.

But he knew you could take it.

Another sweet smile from you nearly has his eyes rolling already, until he's suddenly brought back by something hot and wet encasing his lenth; he looks down quickly to see himsef in your mouth, slowly sliding him as far as he could go into your mouth. It was the most intense kind ofpleasure he had ever felt, tingles of pleasure sparking inside of him making him near delirious with just the feel of your warm mouth around him. A feeling he could never acheive with his own hand.

You work him as deep in your mouth as you can take him without hitting your gag reflex, and just when he thought it couldn't get any better, you started bobbing your head along his cock, using your hands to stroke the space you just couldn't reach. The pace was slow, sensual; he could feel everything, from the way your mouth would tighten around him if you just took him a little to far down your throat, to the delicious way you ran your tongue over the thick vein on the bottom of his cock. He groaned quietly, damn near silently, as he reached down to tangle his fingers in the hair on top of your head, feeling the steady pace as your head went back and forth.

Maybe close to a minute later, he could feel something building inside of him. Not the roaring flams in his stomach, no; this was deeper somehow, more like a great, sensuous band growing taut and stretched in the dark recesses of his groin, waiting for release. The more the feeling mounted, the farther it stretched, the more he could feel… But it was not building quick enough for his liking. He felt suddenly ravenous with the urge to make it snap.

Without warning, his hand suddenly tightened around the strands of your hair, moving you at a quicker pace than you were going beofre. He felt the jolt of surprise run through you when your mouth spasms around him a couple times while you get used to the new rhythm. The feeling swelled inside of him, and eventually, even guiding your head along his cock wasn't enough. He needed more.

He snapped his hips foreword, pushing himself deeper than you had been taking him. He felt the way your mouth tightened around him as you gagged as you shut your eyes; he pulled out to the head, and slammed back into your mouth, feeling your throat constrict his length. And he kept going, slowly building momentum, until he was going at a tortuous speed that left you gagging, your hands resting and pushing lightly on his thighs. He looked down at you with heated eyes, noting the tears that were gathering in the corners of your eyes. For a moment, concern filtered through the haze of lust, and he was worried he would hurt you, and he slowed down a little, looseninghis grip on your hair, didn't push into your mouth s deep to let you catch your breath. You took a deep ragged breath through your mouth while his cock was still in your mouth, the air rushing over the sensitive flesh making him all shivery again. But then your eyes open and look up at him; his lust was mirrored back in your eyes, and you held his eyes as your tongue swept over the underside of his shaft, making him hiss quietly through his teeth, fingers tightening around your hair. The look in your eyes was like a dare. One he was willing to accept.

That look in your eyes made his concern go away, and he gently repositioned himself and your head so that your head was against the mattress and started to fuck your mouth again, using the mattress as a backboard so he didn't have to focus too much on keeping your head still, and focus more on how to get himself deeper in your mouth. You met each thrust with compliance, gagging only occasionally when his movements got more erratic.

Mere seconds pass until he feels the band stretch and stretch, and pull taut, on the breaking point, choppy and quiet husky moans falling from his lips. His movements became quicker and snappier, until finally, the band explodes, and a strange semsation that felt something like a blissful wave of numbness mixed with a shocking kind of pleasure rolled over him. He felt the way you swallowed his cum, some leaking out of the corners of your lips, and he pulls out of your mouth with a soft pop, letting your tresses untangle from his fingers.

He watches lovingly as you rock back to sit on your ass, gasping for breath, your cheeks flushed a bright red.  "… My God, Thomas…" You breathe, laughing under your breath as you wipe the cum off your mouth and onto your arm. Despite already relieving himself, he felt the strong urge to do it again, just in a different way. 

Sure, he was a virgin, technically, but he stil knew how these kind of things worked.

Thomas hooked his hands under your arms and helped you up to stand, keeping a hold on your upper arms to steady you when you were on your feet. He swept a strand of your hand behind your ear tenderly and he leaned his forehead down on yours, never looking away from you. One of his hands cupped the side of your neck, his pinky finger just barely skimming your exposed collarbone, while his other one gripped your hip. Yours were looped around his back, hands locked together. You smile, shuddering when he presses you closer. He saw the lingering heat in your eyes, too, just unresolved. Something he could help you with. He slid the hand that was on your hip under the hem of the shirt you wore, his fingers skimming over your skin, the fabric of your panties.

You breathe deeply, your sigh shaky. You whisper his name and your hands shift to run up his torso and rest on his shoulders. The way you say his name makes him all the more eager to make you say it again.

As slowly as he can, he slides the shirt up, over your hips, your stomach, your chest - He was only slightly caught off guard that you weren't wearing a bra -, your head, and nudging your arms up to let him free it from you entirely. Your body was something to behold. He ran his calloused hands over you silk skin, admiring the rise and fall of your breasts, his eyes catching on the only piece of clothing left on your body. But no. It wasn't time yet. Instead, he marvelled at what he could see; a goddess, an ethereal being that somehow saw him as something worthy of this sight. 

He felt weak in the knees when you were trying to tug his shirt off too; and he helped you, tossing it aside with abandon, the ring on his necklace thumping onto his bare chest. Scars littered his body, almost every inch. From victims to accidents, or even some intentional, he couldn't remember; but they were all nearly faded, just thin, jagged dark memories. All in the past. And when he studied you while your hands whispered along his chest and down to his stomach, exploring his skin, he was grateful that you didn't stare at them. In fact, you didn't even seem fazed by them.

The setting sun has since passed, bathing the room now in the silvery shadow of the moonlight that seeped through the thin curtains.

He leaned over to swiftly move the forgotten plates onto the dresser, before returning to your arms and holding you close, spinning the both of you languidly until your back was to the bed.  He wanted to take his time with you, to express in actions, rather than words, the love he felt for her, the love he's had to repress for oh so long. He backs you up carefully until the back of your knees hit the bed, and you sit, shifting backwards while he climbs atop you.

What he wouldn't give to kiss you right now. But he didn't want to kill the mood.

You lay down on your back below him once your whole body is on the bed, smiling up at him and running a hand through his slightly damp hair, making his heart all a flutter. The shower he'd taken had been in vain; he was already sweaty again, and would be even more so once you were finished. He smiled back at you, though you obviously couldn't see it. 

The bed creaked quietly under him as he shifted so his knees where straddling your hips, lowered just enough over you that the head of his dick brushed along your clothed opening. He revelled in the way he could make you shiver when he ran his hand up your sides, ever so lightly that you could midtale it for the wind, admiring the goosebumps that rose on your skin in response. It baffled him, that he of all people could have this affect on you. The hand that so gently caressed your side planted firmly by your head, leaving his other hand free to slide down your navel and hook his finger on the rim of your panties.

He dragged them down, over your hips, past your thighs, and you help kick them off when they reach your knees. He caught himself staring for a moment before he sheepishly looks back to your face, his face burning hot. His breaths came slow as he felt his shaft rub in between your skin against your slit, a little startled by how slick and hot it felt. Was it supposed to feel wet like that? If so, he wasn't complaining, it felt like heaven, just slowly coating his length. And judging by your expression, it clearly wasn't something to worry about. You looked up at him with a quiet whine, your eyes half-lidded and your mouth gaping slightly as you watched him glide back up your pussy, giving a delicious friction on your clit.

"Thomas," You say, somewhere between a breathless whisper and a moan, a sound that reverberates through his mind like angels singing. Your words flutter straight through him into his cock, that presses harder into your heat lengthwise. He shivers, picking himself up off of you and adjusting himself so that his head is aligned with your pussy, the tip barely touching. That band was back again, stretching somewhere deep down inside of him, to the most carnal places as he feels you. 

He looks dosn at you; and my, aren't you a sight. Your eyes were on him, glazed over with a haze of lust and desperation. He could almost see your plea for him to continue on your lips. Sweat fleamed on your skin; A red flush creeps up your cheeks and chest… And the ring on your necklace, right above your heart. It made a warm feeling creep through him, temporarily overpowering the desire. You wore it. Did you ever take it off? Or did you wear it always, like he did? Hopefully the latter.

Carefully, he sits back up onto his knees and unclasps the ring from his neck and then does the same for yours, using one hand to tilt your head up so his other could fumble with the clasp until it opened. Maybe it wasn't necessary, but he would rather be safe than sorry and not break them. Thomas leaned over and set them together on the nightstand beside the bed.

When he returned over you, he wasted no time in getting back into position, one hand planted beside your head for support, the other grabbing roughly on your hip, ready to push inside of you - But he hesitated. It only just dawned on him that this could hurt you. And looking down from his girthy length and your pussy, the fear became even more of a scary reality. Thankfully, you had gotten good at reading his eyes, and you understood. "Just take it slow," You say, smiling at him when his eyes snapped back to yours. "I'll be okay; I promise-" … That was all he needed to start pushing his length into you deliberately.

The sudden intrusion made your affirmation cut off into a gasp, and then a low moan as he continued to work himself inside. He was met with resistance almost immediately, but kept pushing on, slowly, like you had said, and slowing down everytime he saw you wince.

Soon, he was completely sheathed inside of you, your heat enveloping his length feeling like ecstasy. That paired with the blissful smile on your face was the best feeling he'd ever felt, and probably would ever feel.

He got down onto his elbows and pressed his face into your neck while still buried inside of you, letting your pussy get used to his shape. He sighs deeply, sounding more like a growl than anything. You run a hand through his hair, one on his shoulder, your legs bent, your thighs bumping his side if he moved just so. Every so often he would feel you clench around him for the briefest second, pleasure jolting up his body every time you did.

A good minute passes before he leans back up, bracing himself with both hands beside your head… And he begins to move.

It starts slow; languidly dragging his cock out to the head, gently sliding back in. You take it in stride, already gasping for air from the way he stretches you out, and he moves one hand to rub your hip in praise. You continue those little spasms that drive him wild, your hands gripping his wrists to anchor yourself. After a little while, he can feel you start to loosen, your gasps subsiding to heavy breaths, mingled with breathy sounds of quiet pleasure.

And then, he started to move a little quicker.

Then quicker.

When you adjust to that, he's suddenly pounding into you without restraint, grunting with every thrust. Your sounds have escalated too, still breathy, but now moans that filled the room, throaty, wanton moans as he angles his hips to reach deeper inside of you. He tried to smother your lewd noises with his hand at first; my God, what if his Mama heard? His uncle? The shame! But the faster he went, the more he let slip past your lips unchecked. So what if they heard. Let them hear him pleasing you, him claiming you, he thought viciously. Let them. 

Faster. He needed to go faster.

Both of his hands had a bruising hold on your hips now as he pounded into you, with you panting and moaning beneath him. He watched the intoxicating sight of him slipping in and out of you, letting your noises and the obscene sound of slapping flesh spur him on. One of your hands suddenly reached down and brushed along his stomach, grabbing his attention. 

"The mask," You say, your breath hitching when he doesn't relent. "Tommy, your mask." He faulters for a second, slowing to a stop. Was it slipping? He reached his fingers up and prushed his fingertips over the leather straps; still in place. "… Take it off. Please." You finish speaking, heaving a deep breath as you get a moments rest. Take it off…? Maybe you misspoke. You did look pretty out of it (he observed in satisfaction). Maybe that was it.

But with the way you looked at him when he touched his mask a second time, he didn't second guess what he heard. He questioned your request before eventually giving in. This was all for you, after all; if it's what you wanted to happen, it'd happen.

He slipped the mask off and let it drop down to the floor, a little relieved to be rid of it. It was getting really hot and stuffy in there. He felt a small trickle of saliva fall through the hole in his cheek and promptly wiped it away, looking down at you almost shyly. And for the first time in his life, someone other than his mother looked back at him with genuine affection.

And then he continues.

But this time, he goes at a moderate pace, focusing more on getting deeper into you than going fast. Before you had stopped him, he was so close to toppling over the edge of another orgasm, and so were you, with the way your walls had fluttered around him. Now it was just all about building it back up. And, he was determined to make sure you came first.

Thomas bent his head down over yours, his hair creating a certain between you and the rest of the world. He pants with every thrust, groaning roughly everytime you gasp in pleasure. 

You surprise him by arching your head up and kissing him, while he continues to rutt into you.

His head swims; and the only thought he has is that you were the closest thing to heaven he would ever be able to reach.

It makes his hips snap against yours harder as he kisses you back, sloppy but passionate. It's a mess of hurried kisses and gasps for air, but it's bliss all the same.

The messier the kisses get, the faster he goes, until he can feel that familiar feeling coiling low in his belly, and your legs shaking as they wrap his hips. You were both close.

He rips away from your mouth and lowers himself until he's belly to belly with you, while still pumping his cock into you, burying his head in the crook of your neck. Your moans get louder and more raspy, and he does nothing to stop you. He growls and pants  string of garbled "Mine"'s into your neck, though it gets more defined the more he says it.

Before he knows it, you cry out, your legs violently shaking as they wrap around his hips and your ass nearly raises completely off the bed as you come on his cock. He continues to move as you ride out the final waves and lower your ass back down, your legs releasing his hips.

Seconds later, he reaches his peak and comes inside of you, thrusting still to keep his cum inside of you. Most of it does; the rest spills from your hole in milky rivers.

You both come down from your highs, your vision refocusing. Reality returns, and both of you feel a little embarrassed at how loud you were, but neither of you brings it up. Instead, he pulls out of you gently, and helps you sit up. He kisses you, and you kiss back, this time a lot gentler. His hand cups your cheek while yours rest of his forearms.

He pulls back, admiring you again. The color in your face, the light in your eyes, your smile… You were so perfect.

Thomas gives you one final kiss on your forehead and stands. "Where are you going?" You ask him in confusion, watching as he shuffled back into his clothes. After pulling his shirt over his head, he makes a washing sign by rubbing one palm over the other and then pointing to you. He would make sure you got clean. He was, after all, nothing if not a gentleman, as Mama had always said back in his younger years.

You still look a little confused but you nod anyways, laying down, looking good and properly tired. He smiled his lopsided grin before quietly leaving the room.

The house was thankfully dark, so that meant there wouldn't be any awkward run ins. He still wasn't sure if the floorboards were thin enough that they could hear you, but he had a nagging feeling that they could. It was a good price to pay, though, to hear his name and other sounds fall from your lips in such a heavenly way. He went down the stairs, carefully stepping over the steps and spots he knew squeaked under his weight, and did the same thing as he crossed the floor on his way to the bathroom. He quickly grabbed two washcloths and wet them with warm water, then started to head back as carefully as he came.

He thought you had fallen asleep when he came back to the room. You were still in the same position you had been when he left you, on your side with your head in the crook of your elbow. But you stirred as he got closer, smiling sleepily as you sat up.

Thomas helped you wipe the sweat from your body, as well as the mixture of his cum and yours in between your legs and dripping down your thighs. He even humored you and let you wipe the sweat off his skin, smiling at you as you gently wiped his face tenderly. It felt so unfathomable, but he was actually starting to believe you didn't give a damn about how he looked.

After he helped you back into his shirt (it was quickly becoming his favorite thing to see on you) and slip on your panties (new ones; the other ones you had been wearing were embarrassingly wet), you both slipped into bed together, facing each other. Thomas held you close against him, so close that he could feel your breath against his neck, feeling just as tired as you looked.. You tucked yourself up to him happily, getting comfortable under the blanket he draped over both of your figures.

Once you stilled, he thought you had fallen asleep.

Then, your quiet whisper cut through the silence:

"I love you."

His heart stops.

There it was.

The confession he's been waiting for.

Euphoria fills his heart, and all he could do is press his face into your hair, sighing deeply; he hopes you understand what he wants to say.

You do.

Contented, he lets his exhaustion take over.

Before he drifts, his eyes catch on the silver chains shinning i the sliver of moonlight, from both of your necklaces tangled together on the table.

Chapter Text

It was high time you admit to yourself that you loved Thomas Hewitt.

Call it Stockholm. Call it destiny. Call it something born from the circumstances. But you were sure.

He made you feel things you never even thought you'd ever feel.

When you were a kid, you were lonely. Heartbreakingly so. And so, your mind adapted and created a coping mechanisms, in other words, imaginary friends. These 'people' felt real, more real than the actual people around you. They were your lifeline. Until you went into school one day and saw Thomas, all by himself. He was the first actual person that felt real to you.

That extends al the way to now. Though you've outgrown your imaginary friends, Thomas still felt like the one real thing that you could rely on, to make you feel well and truely alive. Coming here felt worth it, even with the hell you've been through to get here. 

Things were better all around the house, anyways.

After that little talk with Luda Mae, it seemed that things were back to how they were in the first place. Although, on the morning after your and Thomas's night of intimacy, it was a little embarrassing - You were well aware how loud you were being. Both you and Thomas kept glancing at her like she might say something; and either shr chose to ignore it or she never even heard it, because she said nothing. You'd spend the day bustling around the house, either helping Luda Mae with the chores or curling up on your bed upstairs with one of your books to pass the time. When you came across Hoyt (the very few times you had to interact with him), it was all very civil. Reserved. But it was hard not to stare at the stump of his wrist where his hand used to be. It appeared like it was close to healed, with how he could touch and nudge things without an expression of pain, although it was still wrapped up.

Occasionally, you would see little glimpses of Thomas throughout the day. Out of the window above the sink  carrying hay bales while you were doing the dishes. Coming in for a quick water break, sweat dripping down his face and onto his mask. Helping Hoyt haul heavy boxes into the truck that was bound for the gas station. And doing many of the other chores that needed to get done around the property that Luda Mae deemed "Not fit for a ladys hands". He'd throw small glances your way when he caught you looking at him, and you'd wave, you're face a little heated from being caught practically checking him out, and he'd wave back, or nod his head at you if his hands were full. It was hard not to watch him that way, in all honesty. His beefy, tall, strong physique… Especially after experiencing first hand what he was capable of making you feel. Your attraction to him wasn't all sex appeal, of course - You weren't shallow. It was just a pleasant bonus.

In the afternoon when Thomas came home, it was almost always just a hair before dinner time. He'd taken to eating with his family again, convincing you to join them. Of course he didn't make you sit in the same spot as you did last time you ate dinner with them. He wedged a seat beside him on the side he sat at, right between him and his Mama's seat at the end of the table; As far away from Hoyt as possible. The relationship between Hoyt and Thomas still seemed bitter, but the ice was thawing, slowly but surely. 

The rest of the night was always different. Some nights, you'd just sit together in comfortable silence, maybe you reading a book to him. Or you'd be teaching him how to write, and occasionally to speak, when he felt comfortable. And on others, it'd be a long night of satisfying each others desires. Those nights made you feel sore in the morning, to which he would busy himself with things around the house so he could help you when you needed it.

Tonight, was a night of peace.

Thomas was leaned against the wall behind the bed, while you laid your head in his lap. You were not wearing a nightdress; that was a thing of the past, when you were aone together at night. You were in one of his shirts again. Not that you minded even in the slightest. His shirts were much more comfortable than the nigtdresses anyway.

It had been a long day; not only for him, but for you as well. Today you had finally met Uncle Monty, who you'd never met even as a kid. The Hewitt family had decided to have him live in an old house a little ways into the property, because he was always complaining about the noises when victims were killed in the basement, and his general old age grumps. Lets just say you liked him about as much as you liked Hoyt. There was just something about him that just didn't seem right. You were so very relieved when Thomas came home and Monty left for the day, after getting some crates for the meat he'd initially came for. Now, Thomas's fingers ran through your hair idly, his dark blue eyes soft as he looked down at you, while you held a book in front of you, a small collection of old poetry that he had found interesting, and was one of his favorites to hear you read.. He was content to just listen to you read and be with you; but he seemed a little distant.

Truth be told, you were suspicious that something was up. Something he wasn't telling you. He never used to be home so late. Before, near the time you'd first arrived, he'd get home before the sun started to lower behind the rolling hills far along the property. And when you asked him where he'd been, he didn't try to communicate any explanation to you. He just shrugged and his eyes would flicker away. Also, whenever you had gotten close to him before he could hop in the shower, you could smell a faint trace of pine on him. There were no pine trees on the Hewitt property. You should know; you and Thomas had explored every inch of it in your younger years. It didn't help him that he was always politely refused your help when he went out to do a simple job that you'd helped Luda Mae do a few times. It only made the whole situation even more suspicious.

You were on to him.

And you were hellbent on getting it out of him.

After you had finished the last line of the poem you were reading him, you closed it and set it on your chest, looking up at him.  Thomas looked back down at you, a little confused; he used the hand that was resting on your stomach to nudge the book, urging you to keep going. Well. There was no point in beating around the bush. 

"Thomas, won't you tell me where you've been lately?" You ask in your most convincing tone. "You've been coming home really late, and honestly, I've been a bit worried about you." His hand that was in your hair froze for a moment, before resuming the comforting strokes. He pats your head a few times reassuringly, but doesn't try to explain anything. You sigh. "Fine, keep your secrets," You huff. "Just don't be surprised if I start keeping secrets of my own." He chuckles quietly, rubbing his thumb over your forehead. The laugh sounded almost mocking - Was he sassing you? "There's plenty of secrets I could be keeping from you," You say, trying not to laugh yourself. "… I guess it will forever be a mystery what Luda Mae and I planted in the garden today. Guess you'll never know. Unless you tell me where you've been going. Then I'll spill."

Thomas chuckles again and shakes his head, looking down at you adoringly, like you holding that hidden piece of very important information above his head didn't faze him in the slightest. You groan. "Ugh, fine. You win. Happy?" You say, still kinda hoping he would cave in if you gave him your best puppy dog eyes. He didn't. He only nods his head happily.

You were curious on what he was sneaking off and doing; you knew it was some kind of 'sneaking around', because you'd asked Luda Mae where he disappeared to, and even she didn't know, so he was obviously trying to be secretive about it. Not knowing filled you with anticipation, hoping he would let you in on it sometime. 

"… Will you show me where or what you've been doing eventually?" You ask propping yourself up on your elbows and angling yourself towards him. His eyes study your face, tracing over your features as the hand in your hair drifts dosn to cup your cheek, and he nods carefully. You can see he's smiling by the slight crinkle of his eyes, and it makes you smile too. "Okay, as long as it won't be too far away." You sigh, leaning your head back down on his lap. "… Want me to keep reading?" Thomas nods.

You flip through the pages until you find where you had stopped, and keep reading to him until you both get tired and decide to go to sleep. He turns off the lamp, the sounds of his mask slipping off his head and clanging onto the bedside table filling the air as you pull back thr covers and slip inside, Thomas not far behind. A rush of warmth fills your heart as you realize just how comfortable he is with you. 

He immediately moves himself close to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his body pressed against yours, sighing deeply as the both of you get situated. Everythinng was quiet, save for the soft sounds of your breaths and his. You idly traced a scar on his forearm with your forefinger; Even in the dark, you can feel his eyes on you. It wasn't uncomfortable in the slightest.

"… I love you." You whisper quietly, your hand now shifting to rest on his arm. 

The admittance you had felt in those three little words was huge and a little scary when you said it the first time, after he made love to you. Then, you had thought maybe it was just a result of you coming down from the pleasure high. Then you started saying it more; giving him affectionate kisses when he left for his chores, provided you were awake. And then it didn't always feel as monumental as it had the first time. Now? It was just a normal thing to say, even with the warmth you felt flutter in your being when you say it.

Thomas gives a low hum, tracing little hearts on your hip. He always found his own way of telling you he loved you. You smile as he presses his other hand to your cheek, tilting your head up slightly so he could give your head a small kiss, and then giving your mouth some attention too.

Then he pulled you into him so your head was against his chest, his arm around your waist, your hand resting on his arm still. You listened to his heartbeat as he breathes slowly, almost like a soothing lullaby one would sing to a baby.

It was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep. You still felt the warmth of his body next to yours even as you slept, dreaming of every possible chance under the sun that would lead to to a clue on where Thomas kept disappearing off to.

Even in your dreams, it nagged at you.

But you slept blissfully all the same, tangled up with the man you've grown to love.

Chapter Text

Whether you knew it or not, today marked the exact day you came to him, exactly six months ago.

And what a wonderful day it was.

The past six months with you had been some of the best days of his life, even in the early stages whenyou were still afraid of him. Of course, he liked that you were willing to touch him and let him hold you better than before.

Today was a day that just could not pass by without some kind of celebration.

He'd managed to convince Uncle Monty to let him borrow his truck for a few days. Mama was in on the planning, and even helped him with some of it. Hoyt… Well, Hoyt just muttered advice about women to him. The bite was back in his words; The passive agression towards his nephew was fading.

Thomas had been planning this for months. It was a special day, to him, and he wanted to make it special for you too, if it wasn't already. 

This day happened to land on a weekend, which meant that Thomas didn't have that much work to do. Of course, he did extra chores throughout the week, so the work was almost nearly nonexistent today; he was done by sunhigh. He walked out of the barn and wiped the sweat off his brow, kicking up dust as he started walking back toward the house. His mind was only on you, and his nerves that made his heart jittery. 

He grunted a quick hello to his Mama, who was crocheting in the living room. "She's upstairs - For goodness sakes, boy, go take a shower first!" She chastises him when he heads for the stairs. He pauses, nodding sharply, and almost runs down the hall into the bathroom.

After what felt like a world-record short shower, he got dressed into some clean day clothes, and stepped back into the living room and stopped in front of Mama. He splayed his arms wide, waiting for her approval. This was, after all, a special day, and he wanted to look his best. Luda Mae eyes him up and down before nodding once to her son. "Perfect." She says, a little thick with emotion. Thomas nods and immediately goes to head up the stairs.

He spots you instantly sitting on the bed, in a lovely dress, reading one of your books. A wonderful sight to see. When you don't look at him, he clears his throat. The sudden sound makes you jump and your ead snaps up to him, surprised face blooming into a soft smile when you see it's only Thomas. "Tommy! You're home early," You say, sliding your bookmark into place and shutting the book as you set it on the bed, sliding off the bed and coming towards him. "What a nice surprise." He melts into your touch as you hug him, his own arms wrapping around your small frame. The closeness brought back memories of last night; another night of intimacy.

Another loud night that was partially the reason he tried to speed past Luda Mae in the living room. Somehow, he knew she could hear them. And that was embarrassing. But in the heat of the moment, he never really cared. Times like last night were becoming more frequent, more reckless, each time the feeling never growing dull. He wondered how long it would be before Luda Mae had enough. 

You were the first to pull away, leaving your arms looped around him loosely while you looked up at him with your sweet smile. "I'm surprised you finished so early." You say. "Normally your home much later - But I'm so happy you're home." He gently moves a strand of your hair behind your ears before pointing to the door, tugging on your hand in that direction. "… Are we going somewhere?" You ask, confused, before you excitedly add "Are you taking me to that secret place of yours?" Thomas feels a smile on his lips, watching your face instantly light up when he nods.

"Lets go, then!" You say, now tugging him to the door, and he follows you compliantly, more than compliantly. He's been waiting for this. As much as his nerves gnawed at his stomach, awaking the butterflies, he couldn't wait.

Luda Mae is still in her rocking chair when they come into the living room, passing her when you detach yourself from Thomas's hand and (hurriedly) make your way to your shoes. way to your shoes. "Hey, Auntie Mae," You greet her, looking though the neat line of shoes for your boots instead of your dainty flats. Smart move; where you were going was muddy, and Mama would almost be so shock she'd cause herself into a heart attack if you got them dirty. "Thomas is taking me to that place he's been sneaking off to." "Oh, is he now?" Mama had the sense to sound pleasantly surprised; as far as he knew, you weren't aware that she had helped plan all of it. "Well, I hope it was worth the secrecy; Tommy, you've had us on the edge of our seats. Tell me where he brought you when you get back, dear." "I will, Auntie." You slip into your shoes, and then look back at Thomas, your eyes gleaming. "Ready?" He nods and walks over to take your hand, leading you out the door with one last glance at Mama. He caught sight of her face just before it closed behind them; she was smiling, but it looked to him as though there were tears in her eyes.

The two of you step out into the heat, hand in hand, and he helps you down the steps. He was trying to be mindful of any discomfort or aches you were having; he knew he was rough during sex. He couldn't help it. And you always said it was okay, and you did seemed to like it, but you always seemed to suffer through cramps and whatnot the day after. And he always made sure to help alleviate as much of the pain as possible, since he was to blame for it. You always said you were fine. To put it in your words, he was "like an ovebearing mother duck" when he tried to discreetly help you throughout the day, and should stop because you were a "strong and independent woman", and he wouldn't always be around to "coddle" you, and you "needed to learn to deal with it alone". He knew you were strong. He knew you were capable of taking care of yourself. But it was in his nature. As much as you gently tell him off, he won't stop. Your pain is his.

You were looking toward the distant, sparse clutter of trees that poorly hardly could be called a treeline, which was why you looked surprised when he steered you towards the car. "I thought it was somewhere here." You say as he opens the passenger door like a gentleman, helping you climb inside. Once you were settled, he closes it, and circles the car to get into the drivers seat. The truck smelled like the buttery cracked leather, along with a lingering smell of tobacco abd ash. You didn't seem to mind, though, so it didn't bother him much.

Thomas started the car with the little bronze key in the ignition, holding it all the way turned until the engine fully sputtered to life, the AC thankfully starting to run. To put it mildly, his heart pounded as he put his hands on the leather wheel. The first time he had gone to this place, he'd walked. It was horrible; he came home sweating buckets, muscles aching and breath uneven. He knew that there was just no way he could make it there like that each day, and that he would have to drive. Problem was, he never learned how to. He wanted Uncle Monty or Hoyt teach him, but they both refused (he suspected Hoyt just said no to spite him). So, Thomas decided to teach himself.

He wasn't a bad driver. Not now. The first time, though, was an absolute trainwreck. He almost crashed multiple times; if anyone were to wonder where the large, pole shape dent in the fenders came from, he'd be none the wiser. Now? He felt confident in his ability to get there and back without totaling the truck. But if it did come to it, he would make sure you didn't get hurt by any means necessary. Can't have you getting injured on this special day, right?

Slowly, he put the truck in reverse with the stickshift, backed out until the nose of the car was pointing toward the driveway, shifting into drive, and then easing onto the gas pedal. Even now, after so many times taking trips down there, even the smallest speeds made adrenaline course through his veins.

The drive was quiet; if he didn't need both hands while driving, he would have put his hand on your thigh. It felt like you were so far away. You looked out the window as he successfully pulled out of the driveway and onto the road, looking at the change of scenery pass by. He went a solid 15 MPH; his heart was racing. Thank God the streets of Fuller were this close to abandoned. Now there was only the animal menaces that seemed to like the thrill of almost meeting God in the face of a tire to worry about.

Every so often, when he got the courage to look away from the road, his gaze would drift to you. The window was down, and you had your head next to it, the breeze as cool as it could be. That and the AC made your hair stir slightly behind you, flyaways waving wildly. You were smiling, watching the world whirl past. The necklace with your ring sat on your chest, completely visible, just as he wore it today.

If heaven did truely exist, the angels must look like you do now.

He knew in the back of his mind that you were the only angel he would ever see; his soul was damned. He knew it.

Thomas kept driving for a good 20 minutes before he finally turned off the main road, and onto a road with a sight incline,  a wooden sign sitting beside the enterance that was so deteriorated that the words had faded completely off. There were more trees around this area than the nearly barren plains they had driven through on the way here. It was a welcome change. He could feel your curious eyes glancing at him every so often, but he was focused intently on the road ahead, focusing so he wouldn't careen off the side of the cliff that was growing in height as the road brought them higher and higher at a steady incline. When his eyes flicked over to you, he thought he saw a spark of recognition in your eyes. But you stayed quiet, watching as the trees thickened the higher they went.

Two more miles. And then they would arrive. Worry and anticipation tugged at his stomach, his heart thudding against his ribcage like it was possessed. He hoped he wouldn't mess this up. 

The miles came and went in no time at all; he slowed down to see your reaction as he pulled up beside the house. The black mailbox read 348 E Crest Hill.

Your eyes lit up in disbelief, and you look back at Thomas with an exhilarated smile. Your mouth fumbled for words. "… The cabin." You finally say, and then looking back to the cabin outside your window. "I… Can't believe it."

Throughout the years, the cabin had held up extremely well. The oak logs were nearly completely clear of moss, the windows weren't shattered, and the white door was nearly spotless, except for a few scuffs of dirt. The dark roof was completely intact.

Thomas unlocked the car and turned it off, tossing an envelope onto your lap gently as he got out. He circled the truck and opened your door for you; where he saw you staring at him with your mouth slightly open in surprise as you held a small silver key attached to a jute rope cord, and the release papers for the house. You looked like you might start crying.

This was what he had been doing.

He had first got in touch with the homeowners with some help from Luda Mae, and eventually got them to agree to a short sum of money - Honestly, they sounded desperate to have the house off their hands, and just elated to have someone contact them. Then there was the task of fixing it up. For countless hours, he worked in there, cleaning away the debris and chaos nature brought in throughout the years. He was just thankful that there were no signs of squattters or the like.  Everyday he hauled himself out here, making the home look as perfect as he could before he actually showed it to you.

He watched you as you wiped your eyes on your sleeve; he didn't think you'd be so emotional. "Are you serious right now?" You say thickly, accepting his hand and letting him help you out of thr truck. Thomas nods, and you smile, you smile, and latch onto his arm. All of his worry dissipated for a moment with you clinging to him. Once you compose yourself, you pull away, taking a deep breath. He could see the way your hands shook from the shock and excitement. "Can we go in?" You ask, slightly breathless. He chuckles to himself and nods, finding your happy hysterics endearing. You practically run to the door, towing him behind you by his hand.

When you reach the charming white door, you put the papers under your arm and turn the key in the right direction, then pushing it towards the keyhole, and it slides in with a pleasing metallic schriink!. He feels pride flare in his chest as he watches you turn the key, twisting the silver doorknob, and pushing it open with a gentle hand.

Obviously, he had no idea how old this house was, but he remembered it being here since early in his childhood, and so he was honestly impressed with the state of the house after all these years. It looked untouched by time, disregarding the natural elements that wreaked its inevitable havoc on the space. 

 You walked straight into the living room; The walls had the same oak log look as the outside did, the floors a nice, polished pinewood. A stone fireplace was on the west side, and a window on the north and south wall framed with dark curtains, creating sun patches on the floor. There was no furniture at the moment; he wanted to have her help him pick their furniture out. But you seemed breathless in wonder anyway.

Thomas stood in the entry doorway while he watched you walk inside, slowly, as if in a trance. You looked around the living room and the back to him, still gripping the papers and the key in your hand. "I never thought I would ever get to see this…" You whisper, wondering over to the doorway that led deeper into the house. He trailed you, watching each room make you happier.

Admittedly, the house was quite small. A little bigger than the Hewitt household, but still small. After the living room, he watched you gawk at the kitchen with its up to date appliances and granite countertops, and the adjoining dining room, with its long, handsome wooden table and matching chair set. Next you wondered into the laundry room/ pantry;  there was already a nice washer and dryer inside that still looked useable. You then wandered up the stairs, where it led straight into the bedroom. This was the one room that he did put furniture in. Just a bedframe, with a mattress, and plain sheets that he fully expected to replace when you found something you both liked. It had a beautiful triangular window overlooking a view of the forest behind the house. Through the door on the left wall was the bathroom with a slate gray floor and a pretty vanity, a toilet, and a spacious shower, with clasic checkered tiles - the floor of the shower was even textured and looked like small smooth river rocks.

You looked at the entire house in breathless awe, while he followed in an amused silence, finding all the joy he needed in the way you smiled. This, all of this, had been your dream as a child. You'd go on and on about how you'd live high on the hill like a queen, looking over the town like your loyal subjects. You'd rave about the different kinds of animals you'd have, some farm animals like you're grandma in Arkansas had, but also, when you rambled and got excited, you'd fantasize about exotic animals like wolves and badgers in your backyard. Now, you were older - The wild dream of animals galore has probably faded, the thought of country royalty just a silly phase… But he felt like in bringing you here, he awoken the dormant dream of living here.

You both found yourselves back in the bedroom; you were sitting on th bed, facing the window, while he stood next to you like a stone pillar. His heart pounded in his ears. "I can't believe this is real." You said, for about the thousandth time. "It's… Even more beautiful than how I imagined it to be all those years ago." His gaze shifts down to the ring on your chest as you move your hair behind your shoulders. The sun sits just right in the sky so that it streams through the window and creates a triangular patch in front on your feet and on your legs. Dust motes swirl in the beam; even though the sunlight doesn't touch it, the ring feels like a beacon for his attention. He can't look away until he forces himself to shift his attention to your face.

The room falls to a comfortable silence, you completely unaware of the slight anxiety attack he was having.

There was something else he brought you here for.

Swallowing the lump that rose in his throat, he grunts to get your attention; then he gestures to the neatly arranged pillows that sat at the head of the bed.

It was now or never.

You looked at the pillows and then back to him in utter confusion. "What about them?" You ask slowly. Oh how he wished he could speak. It would make this so much easier. He gestures to the pillows again and makes a careful sweep of his hand, a clear sign to move the pillows. (E/c) eyes locked on deep blue for a long moment, and then you shrug, turning toward the pillows.

Thomas watches closely as your dainty hands pry the pillows apart - Revealing an envelope, the creamy color stark against the white sheets. A smile splits across your face as you pick it up and turn back to him.

His stomach swirled with those pesky butterflies, his face hot under the mask.

"Ooh," You say, examinig the envelope. There was no markings on the outside saying who it was for or who it was from. "Is this from you?" You ask, holding the envelope up slightly. He nods, his face getting hotter. He tries to calm his racing heart as he watches you open the envelope and pull out a folded, white sheet of paper. With gentle and slow fingers, you unfold it, and he breathes deeply. He had Luda Mae write it all down for him, but the words written were from his own heart. He closes his eyes, reading what was written in his head.

"Y/n,

The day you left nearly tore my soul apart. But here you are now. Now, the days feel different. The sun doesn't bring down it's heat on me as much as it used to, the merciful bursts of wind nature sends come more frequent, the days become shorter. The small little things in life don't escape my eyes like they used to. All because you are here.

You took my soul in your loving hands, and planted something beautiful in the rot. Something that has festered through my entire being, like the gentlest plague that God has to offer. You made me see the wonder in life. You set my heart aflame in a way I never thought it could. Beauty bloomed in the darkness the day you first touched me, like sunlight spilling through the trees and creating a myriad of light and shadow.

I live for every breathing second I may gaze into your eyes, every moment I can hold you close and feel you next to me, for every laugh, smile, tear or bad day. Through the good and the bad, I want to stand in your light for as long as I am able, and show you everyday how much you mean to me. I want to dance through life with you, because you are the only thing that could make it that much sweeter."

He could recall the way Luda Mae smiled at him as he communicated what he wanted her to write.

As soon, as you finished, you looked up, your cheeks stained pink - That was his cue.

Now or never.

Thomas sunk down onto one knee, right in front of where you were sitting on the bed.

Your eyes widened.

He reached down to fish around his pocket, his hand closing around a small box, and he pulled it out. It was wrapped in black velvet.

His heart thrums madly in his chest, his stomach turning over like a boat on rough waters. Half of him thought that this may be a mistake, and a risky chance on the bond you had. 

The other half didn't care.

He opened the lid of the box carefully, watching you as your eyes centered on what was inside.

A ring.

It was a gift from his Mama, after he informed her what he was planning. An heirloom, that had belonged to her grandparents, and cost a fortune back in the day. But she had saved it for this very occasion.

The ring was thin, smooth, and made of sterling silver, with a small, teardrop shaped diamond in the center, with two small perals imbedded on each side.

There was one for him in his other pocket, similar to yours, but thicker in width and the diamond was imbedded into the ring with the pearls.

He swallowed hard as he watched you dropthe letter on the bed and stare at him and the ring, and if he looked closely, he swore he could see tears in your eyes. "… Y/n." Thomas rumbles, his voicy deep and raspy from not using it often. "I would… Like…for you to… Marry me." He swallowed hard again; he'd been practicing saying this with Luda Mae for the past few weeks, and though he spoke slowly, the words were completely discernable. "Will you… Marry… Me?"

Thomas waited for your answer with bated breath, fearing the worst.

You then smiled suddenly, a quick, dry sob leaving your lips in an almost laugh. Wiping your eyes, you nod. "Yes. Thomas, I will." 

His fears eased; his heart soared.

Yes - you said yes!

It was all he could do not to pick you up and spin you around the house. But he refrained, gently grabbing your left hand and bringing it to him. He could feel tears forming in his own eyes, rolling down his cheeks and into his mouth, as he tasted the salt on his tongue. With shaky hands, he slipped the delicate onto your ring finger, watching it slide up with ease until it hit the base of your finger in a comfortable hold. He took the box containing his ring and gave it to you; you took it out with another burst of happy tears and slipped it onto his finger.

This was it. And it was real. He wasn't dreaming. 

He had everything he's desired for so, so long.

You.

And he was so, so happy he could propose to you here, in this house.

This home.

Because, this house, to him, was much more than a pretty building. It was a testament, a symbol, if you will, to their love. The similarities between his love for you and the house was almost too perfect.

Beautiful, an unattainable thing at first… Then it's light faded when you left. He ignored it as best as he could. You came back; he could stand to look at it again. He worked hard, rebuilding the relationship you had once been on the brink of having, fixing up the house for you. Both built back up over time and patience; And in the end, peace at last.

Thomas rose off the ground, and wrapped you in a bone-crushing hug, one you reciprocated happily. He could feel your tears soaking through his shirt. A warm buzz feeling spread through his entire body as you hugged him, knowing you were fully and truely his in every imaginable way.

You pulled away and began working on the latches on his mask. He doesn't stop you.

It falls to the ground with a soft thud, and in seconds he captures your lips in a searing kiss. He is aware that you could probably taste the salt of his own tears on his lips. 

The kiss grows hungrier, his hands tangling in your hair, yours draped over his shoulder.

He backs you up until your knees hit the bed - You fall down on your back, wiping the remnants of your tears away as you smile up at him crawling atop you.

He lowers himself over you and kisses you again, his fingers teasing the collar of your dress, and he kisses you gently.

His necklace brushed against yours; and although they had real rings now, both of them knew they would never part from them, these first signs of their affection.

Not even in death, Thomas thought as he trailed his lips down your jaw and to your throat, delving into the only heaven he'd ever known, with an angel by his side.

Chapter Text

Luda Mae had felt a rush of happiness when Thomas had told her that he was going to propose to Y/n.

She's wanted him to find someone who loved him for so, so long, and, now, finally, he had that someone. That someone who she had grown to like since she came.

You had blossomed into propriety wonderfully since you were first subjected to it. You didn't curse anymore, and that strange way you used to speak was softening into a southern accent, like you'd had as a young girl. Dresses replaced the overly revealing outfit you had worn. You grew less afraid, more polite. A real southern belle, she had to admit.

And that was all well and good, but the first and foremost thing that made her deem you right was your genuine love for her son.

You were just so perfect for him.

She remembered just the week before when you and Thomas had returned (albeit a little rumpled, but she didn't comment on it), the way you had beamed at her when you told her about the proposal. This wasn't anything forced; just, pure, natural affection between two people. 

Now, she sat outside on the porch in a rocking chair, a roll of yarn in a basket at her feet, but the needles in her lap were left untouched. It was nicer and a little cooler than the normal heat, which was a nice change. It felt like nice spring weather. She watched you in the garden a few feet away, picking the vegetables and some of the berries they had planted together, your dress splayed around you. The sun glittered off your ring if you tilted it just so, the sight so surreal, it almost brought tears to her eyes.

Life has been hard for both of these kids, Luda Mae thought to herself, shifting the knitting needles in her hands, but not putting them to work. Her boy Thomas, with his disabilities and facial deformities. You, with the friends you made in your head. She didn't think you had them anymore, but still, it must have been hard when you finally eased into have real life friends. It had been hard for the both of you; and now you were together.

Why, it was written in the stars.

She studied you. You wore a pensive look on your face, almost like your head was elsewhere while you worked, a look you've been having a lot lately. Something she's seen in herself, though much longer ago, when she was much younger. She saw all the signs; Bouts of thoughtful silence, mood swings, cravings, the whole lot. But she'd never tell - Wouldn't even entertain the idea until she heard it from your own lips.

Luda Mae's thoughts were cut short when he saw her sons bulky figure coming toward the house. She'd had him working hard in the pastures today, tending the pigs, and fixing up the outsides shelters roof. He'd been working quickly lately. He also had another chore to do today, which was probably why he was coming toward the house. 

He and Hoyt had gotten another pair of victims yesterday.

A boy and a girl.

They were still alive, in the basement. Though, maybe it was just the boy, now - The girl looked rough when she came in. The boys name was Rylan, the girl was Ceralyn. A couple touring Texas. Luda Mae had told her son that they didn't need butchered tonight, but she wanted him to make sure they weren't getting into any trouble. She was going to have him do it tonight, but she wanted him to have a break.

It would be his last night in this house.

You and him were moving up to the cabin tomorrow.

Before coming out to the garden, you were packing, and while you had been packing, Luda Mae floated the idea of a proper wedding around. Just a nice, quiet, small ceremony with some of their closest friends. It would be lovely. She even tried to tempt you by looking at a magazine's wedding dress catalog. Okay, she was being kinda desperate, but her son only got married once; It had to be memorable. The best she had gotten was a promise for you to talk to Thomas about it. Oh, she hoped it would happen. To see you and him properly binded - Ugh, the thought was almost too much.

She watched with a warm smile as he approached you, a bundle of wildflowers clutched in one of his dirty hands. You somehow sensed his presence and stood with a wide grin, dusting off your sundress and turning to him. Thomas held the flowers out to you, his eyes crinkled with a hidden smile. Your smile widened, and you took them in your equally dirty hands, gushing over them for a moment before putting a hand on his arm. He bent down slightly to let you press a kiss to the skin above his mask. He pulled back, hooking his arms around your waist and holding you close, your arms slung aroubd his neck, the flowers brushing his back; he bent his head down to rest against yours.

You looked at him. He looked at you. Even from the porch, she could see the love in both of your eyes.

It made her heart ache with happiness.

Her little boy was all grown up.

She could remember when he was a little boy; eyes so clear and oblivious to the ugly world they lived in. Sure, he hadn't been the most conventionally cute baby, but he was hers. That was all that mattered. She could remember him in his toddler years, running from room to room like a recking ball. Just a bundle of energy. His first day of school was a nightmare; She remembered his tears when he came home, running down the driveway and into her waiting arms. Her poor baby had gotten teased relentlessly the first time he set foot in a place with other kids his age. This continued year after year, until you came along.

For the first time, Luda Mae had seen something akin to happiness in her sons eyes. He'd rave on and on about you until she finally let you come over. It was just as clear how much he loved you as it is now.

Everything fell backwards when you moved away. Thomas became a shell of himself, numb and unreachable, and he spent most of his days working on chores around the house and the property. He'd work until his fingers bled if it meant it'd get you off his mind. And every time she thought he forgot about you, she was proved wrong, time and time again. 

Years passed, Thomas grew up. He still thought about you, she could tell. But it seemed like he was slowly and finally accepting that you weren't coming back. He was more present, in his stoic way.

Then you came back, and it was like you'd never left. The brightness in his eyes returned, his skin gaining more color. He looked alive. He looked happy. So of course she helped you grow closer to him; because all a mother wants is to see her child happy. 

It felt like only yesterday, that she held him in her arms, soothing him because children could be so, so cruel. Yesterday, he was just a baby, taking his first steps while holding her fingers in his little hands.

Now look at him; holding you the woman he loves in his arms with a wedding band on both of your fingers.

What a beautiful sight it was.

She was pulled back from her thoughts as she watched Thomas release you, moving a strand of hair behind your ears before pulling away. You smile and give him a little wave as you settle back down into the dirt of the garden, putting thr flowers he brought you gently into the basket you were using to put all your harvested veggies in. Thomas then heads toward the house, his eyes catching on her as he reaches the steps onto the porch.

Luda Mae smiled softly at her son as he ascended the steps, pausing for a moment as he walks past. "… Tommy." She says before he could walk through the door. She can hear the door stop creaking as he froze in place, the door half open. Seconds later, he wanders back into her line of sight, stopping right in front of her. She looks up to see him staring right back down at her. She stands up, using the arms of her chair as support as she moves. Thomas, ever the gentleman, moves in to help her, but she waves him off stubbornly. Lord, these bones weren't what they used to be.

Once she could stand straight, she looked back up to her son. Her heart clenched. 

All grown up.

Taking a deep breath, she reaches up and clasps a hand on her son's shoulder, nodding over to where you were stil harvesting in the garden. "… I'm proud of you, son. You did well." She mutters thickly, swallowing the lump in her throat. His eyes were still on her when she looked back… Though they were warmer. And pleased. And maybe, a little emotional too.

She pats his shoulder gently before sitting back in her chair, willing herself not to burst into tears. Thomas slowly goes into the house to continue with his job, leaving Luda Mae sitting out on the porch alone.

The wind picked up, rustling through her greying hair, carrying the smell of pine and the river her way. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes. 

Life was good.

Chapter Text

Today was the day.

It was the perfect weather, almost suspiciously nice as it has been for the last few days. Thomas put the final box of his and your things into the truck - Now that Monty was old and crippled, and Hoyt had his cruiser, they didn't really need it anymore, so it was his. Yours too, if you wanted. After all, what was his was yours now. Not that he was complaining.

Yesterday night, you had brought up that Luda Mae wanted there to be a proper wedding for the pair of you, an idea he didn't really hate. He smiled as he closed the truckbed, thinking of you in a pretty white dress, walking down an isle with flowers in your hand, the works. The thought made him giddy, he admits. A wedding would be nice. It seemed like you didn't mind either, having discussed a few minor details with him, while he signaled his input; What kind of cake they'd have, the colors, where, whether it'd be in the spring or fall (Autumn, for sure - nice cool weather, and the pretty colors the leaves turn), what time… All of those kinds of things. It would be small, just some close family and friends, he knew, but it'd be such a huge moment for them, one he didn't want to skip out on.

When he was finished, he looked at the pile of boxes in the back… This was it. This was really happening. He was really moving out of the farmhouse, and into a cabin that's held such importance to the girl who captured his heart. The girl who was now his, and he, hers. The girl who he had spent nearly his whole life chasing after.

It was all worth it in the end.

Thomas made his way back into the house, and into the kitchen, where he picked up the glass of water he had gotten himself before he loaded up the truck. For once, it was actually cold. He drank, savoring the cold liquid poring down his throat. He tried to ignore the painful groans he heard from downstairs. But it was really hard too when you knew it was your problem.

There were people downstairs that he had yet to deal with. The girl with freckles died overnight from shock, and he also thought she had choked to death; with the raspy coughs she was hacking when he had made sure they weren't able to move yesterday, he guessed that she had asthma, and that had a hand to deal in her death. Then there was the boy… A tall, lean man who looked to be in his late teens or early twenties with curly, shoulder length black hair, sharp eyebrows, and grey eyes. Ryland, he thinks his name was. Quite an attitude he had. He was chained up downstairs to one of the posts, barely clinging to life from the gash in his shoulder where Thomas stabbed him. Maybe he'd die sometime tonight. It would only make his job easier when he came back in the morning.

That was part of the agreement of him leaving; Mama had asked that he still come home when they got victims. She and Hoyt could take up his other chores that he'd be leaving behind, but they were just getting too old to be cutting up meat in a muggy room and hauling themselves up and down the stairs multiple times. He understood, and agreed to it. Anything for his family.

Just as he was setting his glass on the counter, he heard footsteps behind him. They sounded too heavy to be yours.

He turned slowly to see Hoyt standing in thr doorway, his good hand on his belt. Thomas never expressed it, but he felt a little bad for sawing off his other hand (but no way did he regret it). Hoyt looked at Thomas for a long, uncomfortable while before he spoke, his voice low and raspy.

"Tommy, boy, hows about we talk a lil' walk. For ol' times sake," He says, sighing and shifting on his feet. "… One las' time before you go."  Thomas felt his heart clench; they had been so close before the supper incident. Call it childish, or whatever, but he wouldn't go back and change what he did to mend that bond. You were his priority, then and now, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

But maybe his uncle was trying to patch things up between them before he left. And that made him happy.

Thomas nodded slowly, setting the glass down on the counter.

Hoyt smiles a little, tilting his head in a gesture for him to follow. "C'mon then, boy - Lets walk."

It felt a little bittersweet, leaving this house.

You didn't know why, especially since you were only here against your own will for a little while. But, something about seeing the bedroom you and Thomas shared empty made you a little sad. 

You were standing in it now, taking in the empty room. It was where Thomas took you after you'd been captured, and kept his distance while you got situated. Where you let him hold you for the first time and comfort you… Where you first made love to him. This room held so many memories, and you were just gonna… Leave.

Maybe you were being a little melodramatic, but who cares.

The door creaked open behind you and you turned, smiling when you saw Luda Mae. She smiled back at you, her own eyes roving across the openness of the room as she stops beside you. Her eyes finish scanning the room in silence before she looks back at you, smiling tightly.

"This room has been Tommy's ever since he was a little boy." Luda Mae muses quietly. "… Strange, seeing it so empty." "I could only imagine," You say, just as softly; you could tell she was getting emotional over the subject. "Are you sure you're alright with us leaving? We could always stay…" Her and Hoyt were getting on in age and, being Thomas's family, they were now your family too, and you were concerned that they wouldn't be able to take care of themselves and the land without help with how old they were getting. Surely, they'd get tired? You hate to think of them neglecting themselves because of aches and pains (yes, even Hoyt; you were learning how to just deal with him.).

Luda Mae laughs quietly,the sound low and a little garbled. "Call me Mama, honey, you've earned it," You feel your lips pull into a small smile and your chest swell with warmth, and you listen as she continues. "And no, no need to stay here. Don't want you lovebirds being stuck in the nest your whole lives. You just focus on being there for my Thomas and yourself - And grandbabies, if that ever happens." You tense slightly, your smile slowly dropping and cheeks growing warm under her implicating stare. "Mama-" You start to say, but she waves your words away with her hand. "Now, none of that. I'm patient." There's a glimmer in her eye as she speaks. "Have you talked to Thomas about that weddin' I suggested…?" You were glad for the subject change.

"Yes, actually," The smile returns to your face. "I think he likes the idea. Luda Mae looks like she's about to burst. "Oh, that's wonderful, baby, absolutely wonderful," She coos in excitement, sounding almost motherly as she grabs your shoulders to face her gently, her smile leaving deep creases near her warm eyes. "We could have a nice little weddin' right here… Or anywhere you'd like, of course, it's your weddin'… Oh, and the dress! Why, I think I may still have a nice weddin' dress, brand new - It didn't fit me for mine, but I think it'll fit you - It'll be just amazing."

… To say she sounded happy at the verdict would be a tragic understatement.

However, you could understand. You weren't a mother yourself, of course, but you had your own mother. And you knew that had she known you were here and was aware of what was happening, she'd have wanted to see you have a wedding. 

The thought of her made you a little homesick.

But, Luda Mae brought you back to reality when she dropped her hands from your shoulders, stepping back and just looking at you. It was honestly a little unsettling how long she was staring at you before she said anything.

"You've grown into a lovely young woman, Y/n," She sighs wistfuly. "I know how long this road has been for you, but I just wanted you to know that I am so happy to call you my daughter in law."

That touched a small, forgotten part inside of you, a part that used to crave her approval. And just like that; it was awoken. It filled you with warmth; your back was straighter, and your eyes looked brighter than before, a smile widening on your lips. Her approval felt good. "Thank you, Mama." Your voice was a little thick with emotion - why were you almost about to cry? God, your emotions felt so out of control lately.

Either Luda Mae doesn't notice or she pretends not to notice, which, honestly, you'd be grateful for either, and she starts back towards the door. "Well, I'll get out of your hair; I've got to meet Charlie at the barn, I've got some workfor him. Maybe sometime after you get settled into your new home, we can look at some dresses. Hoyt can even help Thomas look for a nice suit." "That would be nice." You say, following her slowly. "Actually, I wanted to ask if it'd be alright if I went and picked some vegetables and berries from the garden to take to the cabin? I think I saw some wild onions growing near the treeline too." Luda Mae looks back, smiling and giving you a nod. "That's fine. Its perfect weather for it, anyways. The barn's just a few yards off the side of the house - You need anything, you just give a holler." 

You follow her down the stairs, smiling to yourself.

By the time Thomas and Hoyt return from their walk, it was sometime in the early afternoon. Around two, Thomas guessed.

The walk was nice; of course, Hoyt did most of the talking, and he did the listening, but it was a dynamic they fell into easily. He had been right about his Uncle wanting to make amends, too. Hoyt not only looked him in the eye without a trace of hatred, but he also apologized for being agressive and rude towards you, and subtly hinting that he was sorry about that night at supper. When Thomas gestured towards the wrist were he'd cut his hand off, Hoyt shrugged, with a slight smirk. "Ah, I'll think of some crazy story to explain it; Ladies love injuries with a wild story to go with it." The excuse sounded forced, his smile a tad too wide to be genuine, but it made Thomas feel a little better after the whole situation anyways. He didn't quite get how that could be remotely attractive, but he didn't say anything. You somehow found him attractive, so he knew it might be possible.

Most importantly, the bond between them was as near to rebuilt as it was gonna get. 

When they could see the house, Hoyt clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Alright, Tommy, Mama had somethin' she wanted me to take a look at with her in the pig pen. Somethin' about a loose gate or summat… Now, you go on and make sure ya got everythin' packed up. We'll both be back here inna 'our or two to say our goodbyes." Hoyt says with a crooked grin. Thomas nods and his Uncle gives his shoulder a small shake before releasing it and walking in the direction of the pig pen. He himself headed to the house. 

The back door swung open on rusty hinges as he stepped inside, letting it close behind him. He stood in the room, looking around… This house. He'd be saying goodbye.

It was a strange feeling, the nostalgia that crept into his brain as he looked around the empty kitchen. He didn't have reason to feel nostalgic - He never left this house. Never had something that would never be the same again, because his life has always been rather constant, placement wise. 

Everything would be different now.

He had a whole life to start with you.

He looked into the kitchen with new eyes, reliving little blips of his life. Mostly of Mama cooking, the sweet and savory smells cancelling out the smell of blood and hot meat that seemed to cling to the houses atmosphere.

Thomas moved slowly into the living room; where he first saw you again for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The best day of his entire life, because it helped lead up to today. And look at him now - A ring on his finger that matched with yours. If someone would have asked him all those months ago if he thought he would be married to you, he would have thought they were crazy.

He could still hardly believe it now.

Memories followed him as he went to the base of the stairs, stopping for a moment to gaze into the living room, slowly taking it in like he was commiting it to memory. Through the window, he could see your silhouette crouched down at the treeline, where you'd pointed out some wild onions that were growing last time he took you on a walk to the lake. He smiled to himself and walked up the stairs.

His room.

It looked so empty without anything inside. It looked so much larger with his bed and dresser and all the rest of his clutter out. 

Thomas stepped into the center of the room, stopping. Time flys by so fast. He felt young again, waiting patiently for Luda Mae to call him down for dinner. She wouldn't though, not anymore. He was leaving here. Leaving this room behind. He wondered what it would become when he left - Maybe just a storage room? Might be a nice place to put Mama's extra yarns and such, maybe some tools. Then again, they were growing older, and their joints wouldn't be able to handle the stairs; Maybe it'd just be best to leave his old room to collect dust instead of risking injuries.

He was so wrapped up in phantoms from his past that he could barely hear the banging sound coming from downstairs.

It was so faint, he almost didn't address it.

But when he herd it again, his head turned slowly to the door.

No, not from downstairs.

It sounded deeper than that.

It was coming from the basement.

His heart dropped as he heard it, and he walked out of the room briskly, hurrying down the creaky stairs. He stopped when he reached the floor, his eyes trained on the basement door.

It was open.

There was someone in the doorway, leaning on the frame.

Blood soaked through a dingy white shirt one one shoulder, splattered on a dirty face. A filthy hand, gripping a long butcher knife. Wide, slate grey eyes stared back at him, mouth gaping at him.

The man from downstairs. Not a moment passed before Thomas walked towards him; He was injured. Surely he wouldn't be able to move very quickly.

But then the man heaved of of the doorway, grunting in a desperate as he did so, and made for the door, stumbling over his own feet before he ran for the door. Not very quickly, but surprisingly fast for a man who lost as much blood as he did when he was stabbed.

He burst through the door, his sweat-slicked hair swaying as he stumbled down the steps. Thomas's heart raced as his eyes surveyed the room quickly, finally finding a rusty crowbar sitting up against the the corner beside the door. He snatches it and bursts through the door.

By the time he sees the man, he's already a third of the ways through the lawn, half stumbling and half running, the knife in his arm swinging dangerously as he moves. He runs through the lawn, toward the treeline.

Where you were still bent down in the semi dry grass, placing wild onions in a small wicker basket.

No.

His heart stopped. A horrible image passes through his mind - What if this man knew you? What if he - Ryland, he believed the man was called - purposely came here, to the house, to "rescue" you? And he was running toward you, and he would tell you to run with him, to escape and go back to the life you had before and leave Thomas behind. And what if you said yes? You'd leave him again.

No. You loved him - You agreed to marry him. You gave your body to him, and he gave his to you. That had to mean something. You loved him.

Did you?

Yes, you did, he reassured himself silently.

He ran down the steps, going as fast as his legs would carry him toward the figure.

Though, he was not fast enough to reach him before you noticed the man running towards you.

Ryland was a good half a yard away when you looked up, your eyes locking on the escapee, wide and confused, dropping the onions you had just picked on the ground. Thomas saw you look his way, and saw you put two and two together. Now he just had to pray you wouldn't betray him.

You stood, brushing your hands on your dress as you stand, your mouth forming around words he couldn't hear. Ryland was starting to slow down, almost dragging one of his legs along, the motion violent and jerky as he tried to manage a fast pace, leaving streaks in the dirt behind him. Thomas watches while he runs to you, watches you try to talk to Ryland as he advances to you, picking up his foot and going at a jogging pace. When he gets closer Ryland shouts hoarsely to you, a horrible garbled and dry rasp. What was he saying? Regardless, you put up your hands in a placating gesture still trying to talk to him, eyes wide as they flicker to Thomas and then back.

He needs to hurry. 

In that moment, adrenaline pumps as thick as blood through his veins, making him more aware of the scene playing out in front of him. Time seems fo slow.

Ryland keeps running toward you; You try to back away and the heavily injured mans motions get more erratic, his shouting louder, a tinge of primal fear coating his throaty yelling and groaning.

There was nothing you or Thomas could do.

He watches helplessly as Rylands arm raises once he's close enough to you, grabbing you by your shoulder, burying the butcher knife into your neck. You cry out in pain, staggering against the mans shoulder.

… No.

Blood runs down your neck and your eyes are blown wide in pain and fear, looking at the man with hurt shock. Ryland pulls the knife out, and plunges it in between your ribcage, just above your stomach. 

… No.

One, two, three… He could see each thrust of the knife, each jerk of your body against the man every time he stabs you with a grunt of effort, the steel and the his hand coated with dark blood. Your blood.

Dark crimson spills and bubbles past your lips, dripping down your chin and onto the mans shoulder, your eyes haunted with eerie nothing as they stare at nothing at all.

Thomas wants to stop running and break down right then and there, but he can't.

It can't be too late.

God, it can't be too late.

Ryland turned to look behind him after stabbing you a total of seven times, his grey eyes wide, face pale, with the same look as prey who's just trying to fight to survive. He pushes your body off of him - Like you were NOTHING - And takes off running again into the treeline.

Just watching the way your limp body falls to the ground limp, makes a surge of drive rush through him, and he continues the chase.

He wanted to make sure you were okay - he just had to make sure this was taken care of first.

Thomas ran after him, following him past the trees, through the forest.

He got closer and closer with every step.

The man must have thought you were apart of them. Must have assumed you helped with everything. 

He was so close to him.

But no. You were so much better than any of them. Even himself.

So close he could hear the man's laboured pants and bursts of a groan, close enough to see the your blood on his shoulder… 

You were so much better… And this man couldn't see that. Stupid, idiotic man, 

Clse enough to grab…

Stupid, idiot mother FUCKER YOU HURT MY Y/N-

He swung the crowbar up and over Ryland, the curved edge digging deep into his forehead; the man screamed a bloodcurdling sound as Thomas pulled him down onto the ground.

Thomas dragged him back a few paces, ignoring the way his cries get loud and shaky.

Then he stops, pulling the crowbar out of his forehead, turning the metal bar in his hand as he moves around Ryland's body. A deep gash is inlaid in the man's forehead; so much so that the pearly bone covered in thin, thready red veins was visible, cracked and chipped. There was a peice of his skull stuck in the blood on the crowbars teeth.

"Please," The man begs tearfully, trying to back up successfully, only scraping his elbows and making his wounds throb even worse in the process. "Please, man, let me go!" 

Thomas lets the pathetic sight ensue, watching him try to back away… But then he remembers he has things to do.

You were hurt. He had to wrap this up.

He would pay.

He stomped on the mans ankle; it snapped under him, and Ryland stops moving, instead, crying out in pain again.

The sound got old quickly.

Without even looking or hearing his useless pleas, Thomas stood straddling his hips, swung the crowbar above his head, and rammed it down onto his face, seeing nothing but red hot rage.

Bones cracked, flesh split, cartilage snapped, heavy arm feel down to the earth, lifeless.

He died upon the impact.

But he didn't stop there. It wasn't enough.

Thomas poured all of his anger into each swing, stopping only when his face resembled red and pink mush with white flakes of his bone. And then he left, the crowbar dragging behind him as he walked quickly back to the treeline.

When he emerged from the trees, his eyes immediately locked on you, still laying on the ground, your dress bundled up against your abdomen, held there by your bloody hand - he could tell by the slow and stuttery rise and fall of your hand that you were still breathing.

You were still breathing. It was going to be okay.

He wasted no time in rushing over, letting the crowbar fall into the grass as he practically ran to you, crouching next to your body. His deep blue eyes searched your face - the blood was stark against your blanched skin, your eyes looking up to the skies above, unseeing. Even when he moved into your vision, they didn't look at him.

Desperation flared in his chest; he grabbed your chin and pulled you head to face him a little rougher than normal. And slowly, slowy, your eyes slide over to meet his. They looked hazy. "Thomas…" He hears you breathe, barely above a whisper, carried away by the wind. 

Thomas looks into your eyes for a moment before nodding slightly at you, moving his attention to your midsection, moving your hand away gently. You don't even wince as he peels the bundle of fabric from your dress away from the skin that was hot and sticky with blood, tearing the front of it so he could see the damage. 

… He can barely breathe.

Seven stab wounds so close together made the skin of your abdomen and stomach look like a shredded, bloody mess.

He panicked; it was bad. Every time you breathed, your body would tense, and blood gushed out of the deep, deep cuts. And judgingby his own experience, Ryland had hit some of your major organs.

In someone else, they would be on the verge of death.

But not you. Not you, right? No, this wasn't how things were supposed to go. It just wasn't. You had a life to lead with him. You had a family to grow, a man who promised to love you til the end of time. 

You couldn't just leave now. Not after he finally has you.

Thomas stands, looking around like a blind man for anything, anything he could do. Nothing but the vast stretch of yellowed grass, the barn to far away to run and get help.

There just wasn't enough time.

But surely, his Mama and Uncle heard the screams that rang out through the trees?

Surely, they knew.

And they weren't coming?

He had to hold on to the hope that he could just carry you to help in time.

But as he looked back down at you, it was clear that that wasn't an option.

Your eyes stared sightlessly up to the sky, your mouth open slightly.

You were still.

He knelt by you, putting a hand over your lips; he could not feel you breathing.

… It had to be a mistake.

He moved quickly, trying to stop the blood still spilling across your paled skin like crimson rivers, putting pressure on it, tears stinging in his eyes. The blood just spilled past his fingers, hot and wet and utterly terrifying. Because your very life essence was spilling through his fingers. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He checked to see if you were breathing; nothing.

Grunting in sheer frustration and fear, he put both of his hands on your chest and pushed and pushed, just like he saw on a grainy black and white television when he was in school when they tried to teach the children how to save someone from choking. He kept up with the short, snappy compressions fiercely, trying to push the air back in your lungs and get your beautiful, kind heart beating again. Sweat gathered on his brow as he breathed heavily, tears spilling down his mask and hitting your shoulders.

Thomas kept this up for ten minutes, getting more deperate minute by minute, staring into your glassy eyes, willing you to please, please look at him, tell him everything will be okay, tell him you love him…

You didn't.

The realization hit him as he sank back onto his knees, hard and quick, his heart squeezing in his chest like a fist was closed around it.

You were dead.

Nothing felt real. Please, don't let this be his reality.

But it was. Your body laying still beside him was a startling truth in itself.

Thomas grabbed your hand in his, looking down at you. Your face was calm as if you died in peace, and he could see the clouds above reflected in your eyes. Your hair and dress was splayed around you - You looked like a goddess, immortalized in frozen time. Beautiful, even dead.

Pure greif raged inside his heart as the hand tightened it's hold on it; he pressed your hand to his mask, where his lips lie underneath.

Everything that was ever good in his world died with you, in this moment.

Just under the collar of your dress, he could see the thin silver chain he'd given you, splattered with red. Thomas dropped your hand gently, and reached to pull the ring on the necklace free, holding it in his palm… His hands began to shake.

He dropped it on your chest and unclipped the clasp from behind your neck, and slowly put it around his. It rested just above the other ring he wore, the one you had made with your own hands for him.

His eyes drifted down to the ring on your finger, glinting it the sunlight.

But he wouldn't take that. That belonged solely to you, and he would never give it to someone else.

Not even in death.

No, not even then.

Thomas carefully scooped you off the ground, taking care not to let your head loll backwards, carrying you bridal style. He stood, the weight of your lifeless body not fazing him in the slightest. Even if it did, he was too numb to notice.

He carried you, his steps slow and stiff as he walked toward the barn. He didn't know what to do.

He felt lost.

A sudden feeling of anger coursed through him as he saw two figures emerging from the barn, but not coming toward him at all.

They must've heard. Why didn't they come?

His screams were so loud.

Yours were deafening.

They must have heard.

They could have helped.

Unless they didn't come on purpose. Unless they were sick of you taking him away from them.

Because they must've heard. 

Thomas shifted you in his arms, the tears slowly stopped, replaced by anger born from pure greif and loss. He held you gently, like you were still alive and his. He breathed heavily, letting the rage devour him.

His love was gone. And so was his mind.

Chapter Text

He walks.

Even though it feels like the hardest thing to do, with feet of lead and his heart limp in his arms, he walks. 

He walks because he has to. Because it's the only this he can do.

Thomas still finds himself glancing down at your eerily calm face, hoping to God you would wake up. As much as he willed you to, you did not.

The silhouette of the barn grew larger the more he pressed on, blocking the sunlight, swallowing him in it's tall shadow. He looks on with blank eyes, barely seeing anything in front of him, barely feeling the wind run over his body, the grass swaying beneath him.

Your body was the center of his focus.

Because he could feel nothing else.

He did hear the quiet, rough tenor of his Uncle saying something under his breath, from the other side of the barn. And then the smack of something metal against wood; He was probably fixing the fence. 

Thomas didn't even know why he was bringing your body here. It wasn't like they could help you, at this point - Your limbs were already beginning to stiffen. But something inside of him wanted someone to share the hurt and loss that rattled his heart with someone else.

So he pushed on, circling the house, listening to Hoyt mutter and hammer, and he also heard his Mama, responding in her own low tones. What were they talking about?

When he finally rounded the house, he stopped just by the corner of the barn. Neither his Uncle or Mama noticed him standing there with you dead in his arms. Hoyt was bent down next to the fence, a few nails poking out of his mouth, holding up a slender wooden beam across two posts and hammering it in place. Luda Mae stood behind him and watched, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Both of their backs were turned to Thomas.

They didn't look like they heard the screams, but how could they have not?

He stood there for a long time, just watching, waiting for one of them to notice him and you in his arms.

It felt like an eternity passed before Luda Mae turned to the side, catching Thomas in her peripheral, and looking at him.

She was grinning at first when she saw him, her eyes crinkled in the corners. Then her eyes drifted to your limp body draped over his bloody arms… And she paled.

"Oh my Lord…" She breathed, as soft as the wind, her eyes wide. Mama rushed over, looking into your face, brushing your hair from your forehead. Thomas watched numbly as her hands trailed along your body, looking for injuries, stopping when she felt the damp cloth on your midsection, where he had covered you back up. Luda Mae looks him straight in the eye, conveying a familiar disbelief; She looked away, her fingers quickly finding the pulse point on your wrist. Silence. Then she checked the one on your neck.

How he wished she could tell him that you would be just fine.

But the world is cruel.

"…What happened?" She asks. At the same time, Hoyt looks up from his work, standing to see what Mama was fussing about. His eyebrows raised when he saw you. "… Ah, shit." Hoyt mumbles, pushing his hat up a little with his knuckle, the hammer still gripped tightly in his hand. Thomas's dark eyes drifted to meet his, saying nothing.

Hoyt stepped closer. "What was it, son? Wil' animal? Shit, we ain't had an animal attack in years…" Thomas shook his head. "Well, okay… She get a lil' curious about the tools? No? Hm…" Hoyt looks at the toes of his boots. "Well, ain't nothin' else on this property can hurt her like that. Unless…" His eyes widen, snapping back to Thomas. "The boy. The boy in the basement."

Thomas nods.

Luda Mae gasps; Hoyt looks solemnly at your body.

But the hurt wasn't enough. Not like the gut wrenching feeling that still tore through him, despite looking blank. Inside, was a storm.

He can vaguely hear Luda Mae crying, hunched over your head, stroking the hair off of your pale face. His focus, however, was on his uncle.

Hoyt's eyes look devoid of anything, his mouth pursed in a flat line, his brows furrowed. His jaw ticked. The hand that held the hammer was shaking a little. 

He looked awfully nervous for a man witnissing the dead body of his brother's wife.

Why?

Thomas's eyes were trained on his uncle, studying his every move, every subtle twitch. His mind was racing as he held you tighter. He noticed how Hoyt never met his eyes - There wasn't any reason why he should look so damn… Guilty.

Then, it hits him.

The last few weeks.

It had been Hoyt's responsibility to make sure the locks were secure at night, so Thomas could reserve his nights for you alone; both the door and the binding shackles.

There was absolutely no way that that man could get out without his bindings and the door being unlocked. Thomas made sure of that.

Hoyt made a mistake.

A careless, stupid, stupid mistake.

A mistake that cost you your precious life.

Hoyt must see the recollection come into his heated eyes, and he has the sense to put his good hand and the stump that used to be his other hand in a placating gesture. 

"Now now, Thomas," His uncle says, trying to keep his voice steady as he stares into the rage filled eyes before him. "I know what you may be thinkin', but I swear I didn't mean anything by it…"

Thomas remembered the way Hoyt's face screwed up in a mocking, plastic grin when he conveyed his apology for cutting off his hand. It was fake, a mask he hid behind.

And he didn't even try to hide how much he hated you.

One would think he did it on purpouse.

Thats what Thomas thought.

Ever so gently, he bent down to lie you on the grass next to his feet, watching for a moment atthe way your hair catches the light as it cascades around you in effortless grace. He looks at your peaceful face, your pale, still face, where he draws all of the strength and confidence you gave him, back into him with a deep breath. 

His face snaps up to Hoyt as he stands.

"… What's goin' on." Mama deadpans, looking between her sons, lingering warily on Thomas. Hoyt shifts in his place. "Well, see…" Hoyt swallows hard. "I, uh, was in charge of the locks this week, and…"

"Hoyt!" Luda Mae gasps in horror. "Hoyt, you didn't…?"

"I did." Hoyt says much to quickly.

The silence saturated the air between them, thick and hot and heavy, beating pressure down on Thomas. He could barely hear his mother's choked sobs; he was focused on Hoyt. The monster who hated you just for merely existing, for some inane reason. The heartless creature whonever showed you an ounce of heart or respect, who tortured you next to the kitchen table. The man who never forgve you.

Your murderer.

Thomas eyed Hoyt with wolf-like eyes, dark and hungry, unforgiving.

"Tommy-" Hoyt protests, backing up as Thomas starts to walk closer.

He couldn't even tell you whether his Uncle looked defiant or afraid; all he saw was violent red.

Without another thought, he picked up the pace, barely hearing the mingled sound of his sputtering protests and Luda Mae's cries for him to stop.

He was in front of his uncle in an instance, grabbing his neck in one hand, spearing his stomach with his other fist.

Hoyt made a choked sound, his body struggling to stay upright - Thomas let him crash to the ground, his body landing with a muted thump. The hammer laid on the yellowed grass by Hoyt's open, veiny hand.

Thomas eyes it as Hoyt tried desperate to army crawl away, his head ducked low, his hat blowing in the slight breeze on the ground.

He bent down and wrapped around the warm wooden handle, feeling it's weight in his hands. 

Luda Mae cried out shaky sobs for him to stop, but there was nothing she could do, not now.

He could barely hear it anyway, with how loud his disraught heart beat in his ears.

Nothing could stop him from doing this.

He didn't even register the way he turned the hammer around in his hand, or the heavy swing of him burying the teeth of the hammer into Hoyt's forehead.

He screamed, Thomas knew, though it was little more than a muffled noise to the cacophony of his adrenaline pounding within him.

Thomas dragged the hammer back, earning another sharp, shaky cry from Hoyt, making his watery, old man eyes stare up at him, strands of crimson running in thick bands down his face.

Hate burned hot in Thomas's skin as he pulled the hammer out, only to bury it back in his forehead, deeper.

Another scream from below and behind him.

He repeated the motion, becoming more fluid and precise as he kept going, forming a deep, bloody groove on his face. Eventually, he stops screaming, his face lax on the dirt, low moans leaving his lips, taking blow after blow.

At some point during the onslaught, Thomas feels Luda Mae's warm hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him back. Her shrieks and cries are deafening in his ears. He reels one of his elbows back, pushing her away.

He was too far gone to stop.

He did not stop.

He did not stop because he hated the man beneath him; hated him for his mistake, his cruelty, the morbid change he forced on the family… He also hated himself. He couldn't protect you in the way he wanted.

It was such a cold irony, you being taken away from him after you were finally his. Finally, for once in his life, something good and kind was given to him. He should have known it would be taken away just as quickly. You were always too good to be true.

Thomas stopped only when the anger inside of him started to fade; the top of Hoyt's face, from his hairline to the middle of his nose, was unrecognizable.

He stood slowly, feeling his arms strain and twitch from the exertion.

The world was eerily quiet as he turned around, his eyes immediately locking on Luda Mae. She was on the ground, blood pooling from a minor scrape on her head, staring up with wide, tearful and terrified eyes.

She looked at him like he was a stranger.

She kept staring at him for a moment before she skittered over to Hoyt's side, grabbing his only hand in hers. His heart aches as he watches her smooth her hand over the flat of his cheek, murmuring softly to her dead son, her voice cracking.

He wished he could say he regretted what he did.

He turns away from them, turning back to you, still laying in the grass like a resting angel that he felt he never deserved in the first place. Especially because now, he had the blood of his kin on his hands.

But in the end, it was all for you.

Everything he did was for you.

Even this.

Just as gently as before, he scoops you into his arms and holds your body close to his, turning his back on the rest of his family and walking away.

By the time the grave is dug, his body is drenched to the bone with sweat. His shirt clings to his body, sweat pouring down his face and beneath his mask. It feels surreal, even now. It doesn't feel right.

The sun hangs high in the clear sky, beting down it's wrath on him. 

Thomas spears the shovel into the dirt, wiping his dirty hands on his pants, his eyes drifting to your body which he laid right next to the rectangular hole in the ground.

You were so heartbreakingly perfect, yet so gone.

It was time now, he supposes.

The grave was dug.

It was time to say goodbye.

He wanted to say that it was only temporary, this parting. But he knew that he was so tainted that he could never follow you to where you were at those pearly gates, or wherever else good souls go when they pass.

He stumbles over to you, a metal vice around his heart.

He bent low and picked you up for the last time.

He held you, and only then did he let himself cry.

Salty tears make their way silently down his face, some landing on your chest. He felt so numb, but at the same time, he could see and feel everything in stark clarity, in a way that makes him want to bury himself alive right beside you, clinging onto your body beneath the dirt until he dies too.

The sadness wells inside his chest as he makes a choked sobbing sound, lowering his head down onto yours. His tears roll down onto your hair as he breathes deeply; through the smell of sweat in the mask, he could smell the faint scent of brown sugar that clung to your hair.

He slowly knelt next to the grave, taking one last lingering look at your face. He takes a deep, painful breath and places you down, almost reverently, into the grave. And then he pulls back.

The ring on your left hand glitters in the sun as he starts to throw handful afterhandful of dirt onto you.

An hour later, you were gone. 

Thomas bent down next to the pile of dirt where you rested, his head bowed. He wanted to pray; but how could he be so certain there was a God, when something this tragic happened? To take away the only thing that could have made him good? Maybe there was a God, then maybe there is not, but He was too cruel to him. No, the only thing he solidly believed in was you. 

So he sat in a wallowing silence, the wind caressing his skin with a gentle breeze, the sky too nice for such a somber moment. And for a moment, he wished to die. Right here, right now, where his soul may possibly tether to yours before it reaches the afterlife, so he could spend the rest of your immortal days with you.

But there was too much anger and hatred in his heart to do that.

Killing Hoyt didn't feel like it was enough.

If there was a God, he wanted his whole world to hurt, for what He took from him.

Filled with a new sense of grim purpose, he stands, your ring thumping with his onto his chest. It gave him the strength to walk toward the house. It fueled the fire inside of him that was slowly consuming the heart you built within him.

He walked into the house, slowly at first, listening… It was quiet. He knew what Luda Mae was probably doing.

He pushed open the door to the basement and thumped down the stairs quickly. A pungent, rotting smell hit him right in the face when he stepped off the stairs; but he ignored the girl's corpse, and the flies buzzing around her. Thomas looked around his own workshop - And then his eyes landed on his chainsaw.

Yes.

He grabbed it, topped off the gas with a can he kept huddled under his work table where he sewed he masks. It was a familiar, routine task, but it helped him take his mind off things, even if just for a moment.

Once he was satisfied, he went back upstairs, holding the heavy saw in one hand. What he was about to do, was irredeemable. Crazy. Reckless. But he was already going to hell, so he might as well make the Lord or whatever cruel being watches over the world suffer with him. Might as well since you went somewhere he could never follow.

Thomas burst through the front door, his eyes set on the long driveway that led out onto the main road, squinting through the glare of the sun. The saw was heavy by his side as it swung with his arm on every step he took. He walks until his feet meet the long, straight dirt pathway, his feet kicking up the dry dirt into small clouds.

He kept going.

Maybe it was all in his head, but he could've sworn he heard a shrill scream from inside the woods. When no sound came after, he concluded that it was probably just his mind reliving your death.

Y/n.

Your name and your memory keeps him going, driving his tired legs to keep going. 

Everything he was about to do, he was going to do it for you.

The straight path under his feet widened out into the road, where he had driven you to your cabin a million years ago.

His grip tightens on the saws foam covered handle and he starts to walk on the shoulder of the road, dust swirling around his feet as he walks. The red hot sun beat down on him, but he pushed through.

He didn't know exactly where he was going.

All he knew was that he had the most wonderful girl in the entire world as his own, and failed her, not being able to protect her from her demise.

It was a sin.

And he knew that wherever he was going,

He would serve his penance.

Chapter Text

Hey yall

My life’s been kinda crazy these past few months, but I’m back, and I’m going to be working on the next chapter.

Thank you guys for being patient ❤️

Love you guys