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Chapter Text

They were arranged in a half-circle on the hard-packed snow, watching, waiting. Teeth chattering in the cold despite being better prepared than last year, draped in the furs and skins of the animals they had made meals of over the course of the relatively peaceful spring and summer. And now here they were again, a deck of cards shuffled, the tension in the air sparking with something akin to dark magic, if South believed in such things. 

She never did. All of the wilderness this, wilderness that, babble was frankly bullshit, but she had learned the hard way that the rules in this world were fairly simple: submit, or die. Supernatural forces or just plain nature itself, there was nothing forgiving about being trying to survive at seventeen in sub-zero temperatures with no fresh food. 

“York, the cards,” Carolina stood tall in the center of the half-circle, and South crossed her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes. 

Of course, Her Royal Highness would have her lackey (boyfriend) in charge of the card draw. She squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment, then opened them again. There were six of her teammates ahead of her to pick. Six chances that it would be anyone other than her. 

Maine. Five of diamonds. 

Tex. King of spades. 

Next to her, her brother reached over to brush his gloved hand against hers, as if to reassure her. South pulled her hand away. She was just fucking fine. 

Church. Jack of Spades. 

Wash. Ace of Clubs. 

Wyoming. Six of hearts. 

North. Four of Diamonds. 

Her brother let out a sigh of relief, and South shrugged her shoulders. How much longer was this going to go on for? Until they had been all picked off one by one—

“Ahem.” 

Carolina was staring daggers at South, and South quietly mouthed “up yours” at her shoes. While she longed to flip off the redhead, Her Royal Pettiness also had control of the camp’s only hunting rifle, and South was a hothead, not a fucking idiot. Glowering, she pulled a card from York’s outstretched hand. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

South’s vision zoomed in and out, every sound amplified far too loud, as she stared at the card in her gloved hand, struggling to comprehend the colors and shapes in front of her. 

“Don’t hold out on us, South,” Carolina drawled from her spot, and this time, South did flip her off, with nothing left to lose. 

Nothing left at all as she held the card between two fingers, sealing her fate. 

Queen of Hearts. 

“Well, it seems the wilderness chose our sacrifice. You know the rules, South.” Carolina took several steps towards the girl, unsheathing her knife and holding the tip up to her chin. “Submit now, or let the hunt begin.” 

“Fuck you all,” South snapped, darting between the pine trees. Was it futile? Maybe, probably. But stranger things had happened out here. Maybe she had a fighting chance. 

Still, when she heard the unhinged howls of her former teammates, her former friends, she found herself doubting her own odds. There was only so far her malnourished body could carry her in the frozen tundra, and then….what, exactly? 

Whatever. That was a problem for another moment. Right now, all she could focus on was one foot in front of the other, of looking over her shoulders for any of those psychos, of where to run next. 

Stopping in a clearing to catch her breath, she pondered her next move, and tossed her hat, jacket, pants, and boots over a nearby bush that offered plenty of cover. She was freezing her ass off in only a white dress and her bare feet, but it would buy her some time, throwing them off her trail as she ran towards the caves. Maybe she could hunker down for the night and figure out from there. Maybe North—

The crunch of her bare feet in the snow hurt at first but soon there was only numbness, snowflakes landing in her tangled blonde hair. Maybe this was all a nightmare she would soon wake from, maybe she hadn’t drawn the Queen of Hearts at all, maybe this was all a fucked up misunderstanding—

Ooof! 

Her body collided with something—someone—solid, definitely not a tree, and South skidded backwards, looking right up into Wash’s grey eyes. 

The seventeen-year-old held an axe in his trembling hand, and South had to laugh. If not her brother, she had to run into the biggest dolt on the team. 

“Of course it’s you. It had to be you,” she said, tilting her head to consider him. 

“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh come on, Wash. You’re not really going to kill me, are you?” 

“Funny you should say that,” he replied, raising the axe, and her world went dark. 

—-

“Wash! Wash, wake up!” 

“Wha?” 

Wash sat up, rubbing his eyes. The clock radio on the nightstand read 2:05, and he slumped back into the pillows. 

“You were having another nightmare.” 

“Oh. Shit. Sorry.” Wash glanced over at his boyfriend. He could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve Tucker, he was certain of it. “Go back to sleep. I’m fine.” 

“I will not. You did not sound fine to me. You woke up screaming.” 

“It’s just the usual bullshit, Tucker. Seriously. Go back to sleep.” 

“Dude, waking up screaming is not normal.” 

Neither is half the shit I did that I can never tell you about, or you’ll hate me forever. Wash sighed. 

“Just….stuff about what happened. That’s not gonna change. Really. Go back to sleep, Tucker.” 

“Are you gonna sleep?” 

“I dunno. Maybe.” 

Never. 

“Then I’ll stay up.” 

“Junior has to be up in four hours to get ready for school,” Wash pointed out, and now Tucker is the one sighing. 

“Right. Well, maybe you’ll actually, I don’t know, talk to me or something or something about this and you’ll stop screaming in your sleep.” 

“We are not having this fight at two in the morning.” 

“Fucking fine. I just think—“ 

“Good night, Tucker.” 

“Good night, you stubborn ass.” 

Tucker rolls over, and sure enough, it doesn’t take long for their bedroom to be filled with the rhythmic sound of his boyfriend’s breathing. When Wash is certain that Tucker is good and asleep, he slips out of bed and to the living room, turning on the light. Most people who keep a safe deposit box in their hallway closet keep ordinary things in them, Wash imagines. Like paperwork or jewelry or something. 

When Wash pulls his black metal box out of the closet in the usual ritual, unlocking it with a key only he knows the location of, the process is comforting, even if the memories are blurred at the edges and smell of woodsmoke and charred flesh. 

Within, all that lives are memories. The team photo the varsity kids had taken right after they had won State, ready to head to Nationals. Wash between Maine and York; York ruffled Carolina’s hair (as soon as the photo was over she would promptly tackle him for that). The leather bound book he didn’t dare open. A small carved wooden elephant. A carved wooden pendant, crude to be certain, but the symbol recognizable even after twenty-five years: the Greek letters molded together in a unique combination that only made sense to them. Wash picked up the pendant, turning it over in his hands, tracing the rough edges with his fingers. 

“Wash?” 

“Jesus fuck!” Wash upset the contents of the box, scattering them on the ground, still holding the pendant in between two fingers. “Tucker, what the hell?” 

“You weren’t in bed. I got worried.” Tucker pointed at the pendant. “What are you doing? And what is that?” 

Chapter Text

1997

—-

“Scrimmage! Varsity versus junior varsity. Leonard, get the pinneys out of the shed for the J.V. team.” 

The head of the Valhalla High School Pumas varsity soccer team was Leonard Church Sr., perhaps not the tallest in stature but carrying an air of undeniable authority nonetheless, with his perfectly pressed uniform and steel-sharp voice that managed to not be softened by his intensely Southern accent. Known as the Director rather than Coach, he stood on the sidelines of the practice field where both teams chattered amongst themselves in a state of disarray. 

“It’s Church,” muttered the teams’ equipment manager, Leonard Church Jr., the seventeen-year-old stomping towards the equipment shed with a scowl on his face. As per usual, the Director ignored him, and Church grabbed an armful of the thin, colored jerseys to dump them onto the field. 

“Come and get ‘em!” He turned on his heel and sat on the bench by the sidelines, awaiting whatever orders were bound to be barked his way. 

“Delta, here!” 

A blonde sophomore with bright green eyes caught the jersey with one hand, pulling it over his head. “Thank you.” 

Both the varsity and Junior varsity teams had their own unique nickname scheme; the varsity members each named for a different state, the J.V. players named for the Greek alphabet. No one was entirely certain how these peculiar traditions had started, but each incoming team had their own nickname system starting freshman year, and it was so deeply ingrained that it was not entirely uncommon to hear members of the team call each other by their nicknames outside of practice, as though they were constantly in a secret world no one else understood. 

The Director called it “team building.” Church called it “weird cult shit.” 

“Junior varsity, huddle.” The captain of the J.V. team, a junior called Sigma, waved over the rest, who were quick to respond. 

“Varsity, over here!” Carolina had been appointed Captain of the Varsity team, and she wore the title with pride. Nearly everyone listened to her. Now if only—

The redhead shook her head. The one member of the team had to fucking come around. Nationals were right around the corner, and the Pumas had to be number one. She couldn’t, wouldn’t allow anything else. 

“Okay, so: Wash, I want you on left mid. South, defense. You and North flank left and right; you know what you’re doing. Tex, I want you center midfield—“ 

“She’ll play forward, Carolina.” The Director’s smooth accent cut through her words, and Carolina frowned. 

“But I’m putting Maine and myself on forward.” 

“Maine can handle goalie. You and Texas will be forward. Put York on midfield.” 

“But—“ 

“You will not argue with me, Carolina.” 

“I—“ 

“Is that understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Carolina kicked at the turf with her cleat. Tex had arrived at the beginning of this year, their senior year, had practically fucking waltzed onto varsity, transferring from god’s know where, only to quickly to catch all the focus of the Director. And for what? Carolina had worked her ass off for the Pumas for four years, starting as a freshman on J.V. to make varsity as a sophomore, a rare feat. Being named Captain this year as a senior was supposed to be her crowning moment. Too bad the Director barely looked her way anymore, except to tell her what she was doing wrong, or to tell her where to put his beloved goddamn Texas. 

Well, she would show him. She would show them all. 

When the whistle blew she was off, immediately stealing the ball from Sigma to take it down the field. Spying Tex out of the corner of her eye, Carolina promptly ignored her; the goal was too close. 

“Pass the ball, Carolina,” the Director drawled. 

She ignored him too, giving a powerful kick that sailed past Gamma’s head and into the net. 

“Yes!” 

Much to Carolina’s surprise the junior varsity team were formidable opponents; they seemed to work seamlessly together through mere hand signals, they didn’t even have to talk. Carolina had to hand it to Sigma; he ran his team well. 

“Wash, I’m open!” Carolina called out, and of course, Wash promptly tripped over his own feet. 

“God damn it,” she muttered, as Epsilon swooped in to grab the opportunity. 

“Varsity, get it together,” the Director called out. “I expect you to work as team.” 

“We are!” Carolina snapped back, without thinking, as York passed the ball to Tex; she caught the Director shaking his head. 

Frustrated, Carolina picked up the pace, catching up to Tex. She would score this goal, not Texas. She would prove she could do this. But as soon as she swooped in to sweep in to steal the ball from the blonde, the other girl hip checked her, hard enough to send Carolina off balance on her cleats and sprawling. 

“That was totally a red card! The fuck?” Carolina dusted grass and dirt off her shin guards. But the Director was looking in the other direction, and said nothing. 

It was York who jogged over to her, holding out his hand. “Are you okay?” 

Carolina got to her feet without him, pushing a few strands of hair out of her eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just fucking fine.” 

—

There was really nothing to do in small town suburbs on the weekend but drink out in the woods on the outskirts of town; cars pulled up to a bonfire with a few kegs and a whole lot of trouble. 

Still, the night before they were set to head to Nationals, that was exactly where York found himself, crossing the line from tipsy to drunk with a red cup of mediocre beer in hand, sitting on the hood of his car with probably the only sober member of the bunch. 

“I don’t even know why you come to these parties with me, D,” he said, taking another swig of the beer. “You never drink, which is the only reason any of us show up to these lame things.” 

“You’re my best friend,” Delta replied, looking down at his Converse. “I like spending time with you, York. Besides, curiosity wins out.” 

“Curiosity?” 

“About human behavior.” 

“Okay, that sounds more like the Delta I know. You almost got emotional on me there.” York leaned over and ruffled the sophomore’s hair with affection. 

“I am not beyond the normal range of affection and emotion, you know.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” York polished off his drink. “Y’know, one of these days I would like to see what you’re like drunk. For curiosity’s sake.” 

“It would certainly be an interesting experiment. But there are too many variables at a party such as this one.” 

“Fair enough. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way and raid my parents’ liquor cabinet.” 

“Mm.” York felt a nudge in his side from his friend. “I do believer your admirer is looking up at you.” 

“Wha?” York squinted through the darkness. “What're you talking about, D?” But as he turned towards his friend, the blonde had already hopped off the hood of his car, disappearing into the forest line. 

York trusted that Delta would come back soon enough; at least he wouldn’t have to play drunken hide and seek with his friend trying to round him up to head home later. Sliding off the hood of his car, he tried to steady himself as best as he could, only to be met by laughter that he would recognize anywhere. 

“Very graceful, York.” 

He could tell she was definitely drunk, too; Carolina only sought him out like this when she was drunk or stoned. A rare few times had she caught him by the mouth sober, moments he filed away in the back of his mind and stored close to his heart. 

“I try, m’lady.” 

“Get in the car, you loser.” 

The insult was wrapped in softness rather than venom, and he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t incredibly fucking hot when she ordered him around. What that said about him, he didn’t know, but he didn’t think on it too deeply. Especially not when Carolina pulled back the passenger seat so that it reclined, and promptly climbed on top of him, straddling him. Her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail but a few strands were hanging out, framing her face, and he tucked a strand behind her ear. 

“Hi,” he said, suddenly breathless. 

She responded by pulling him in for a kiss, tasting of cheap beer and cherry Chapstick and the menthol cigarette she must have snuck; he was utterly lost in her. Hands on her waist; her hands in his hair, tugging, tongue slipping into his mouth as her kisses intensified. And of course, of course, she had to do that thing that drove him absolutely insane, rocking her hips and grinding down on him, her denim mini skirt riding up past her thighs—

York was going to lose his goddamn mind. 

She was so beautiful, she had no idea what she did to him. How even just seeing her in the hallway between classes or tying up her cleats before practice had his heart working double time and his stomach running laps without him, warmth running through his entire body the moment their eyes met. York had been struck absolutely stupid by her from their first junior varsity practice freshman year, at the way her red hair caught the light of sun and the way she absolutely tore up the field, leaving no one in her wake. 

When she kissed him for the first time at a party last summer, he could have sworn he was dreaming. Things had escalated from there, but some things never truly changed: Carolina sought him out only when her guard was down, under the cover of night, the hidden feelings under desperate touches left where no one could find them. 

If York was anyone but York, he would be heartbroken. As it were, he figured he wouldn’t question it too hard, lest whatever this was would fade into the ether, never to return. 

Carolina’s mouth was on his neck; careful never to leave any hickeys, any sort of evidence she had been there. 

Her breath coming in jagged pants. “Fuck me.” 

Well, he wasn’t drunk enough to say no to that. 

That messy, scrambled hook-up of teenagedom: her skirt pushed up past her hips, underwear abandoned somewhere on the floor of his car, shirts still on as hands roam in greed. A knee knocked into the gear shift as they shift over; muffled curses and laughter. He wished he could hold onto her like this forever, hands on her waist as she rode him, biting her lip to muffle sounds of pleasure even as the car windows were rolled up. 

Even though York knows it’s not allowed, breaking the unspoken rules Carolina has, he can’t help himself. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

She seemed ready to break a few of her own. “Cum inside me.” 

“What?” 

“Fucking cum inside me, York. I—ahhh—‘m not asking again. Oh fuck.” 

Well, he wasn’t going to argue with that, and really, he couldn’t—hearing her say as much brought him close enough to the edge that it took very little to send him off the precipice. 

Afterwards, looking away. “Fuck. Sorry.” 

He fully expected some sort of scathing reply. Instead, she was sliding her underwear back on, adjusting her skirt the way it was supposed to be. 

“I would say you wouldn’t be able to live this down, but it’s less fun when I’m the only one who can give you shit for it.” 

“Thanks? I think.” 

He was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek before she left, and he promptly filed away the image into the collection he kept close to his heart. 

Rolling down the windows of the car, he sighed. Maybe one day things would be different. But for now, there was Nationals to think about. After that, maybe he would find the courage to actually tell her how he felt, how he had always felt. 

But Carolina was captain of the team, and York wasn’t a fucking idiot. These things could wait. After all, there was always tomorrow. 

—-

“Dude, you’re trashed.” The sixteen-year-old crossed his arms over his chest, snickering, as he watched the figure hunched over the tree. 

“Shut the fuck up, Epsilon.” Wash wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. His entire mouth tasted like beer and now, puke, and he shuddered. 

“What? Not my fault you can’t hold your liquor for shit.” 

“How was I supposed to know South is deadly at beer pong?” 

“Everybody knows South is deadly at beer pong. I don’t know how you missed that memo.” 

Wash leaned over to give up the last bit of beer, and despite his mocking tone moments earlier, Epsilon was behind him, rubbing his back. 

Wash straightened up, and took a few deep breaths. “Fuck, I’m never drinking again.” 

“You say that every time.” 

“I mean it this time. I’m gonna be so hungover, and we’re leaving for Nationals tomorrow. Look, can you get me some water or something?” 

“Uh, I can try.” 

“Thanks.” 

Wash sagged up against the tree—away from wherever the puke had landed—watching Epsilon walk away. His head pounded, and the fun-drunk had given way to the awful-dizzy drunk; no matter what Epsilon said in response, Wash wasn’t kidding. Getting trashed by a bonfire in the middle of the woods was overrated. His gaze landed on a beat up tan hatchback parked a few yards away. York’s car, he knew. York and Delta always carpooled to these things. The passenger door opened, and Wash struggled to focus his vision; the figure that emerged from the car wasn’t the blonde sophomore whatsoever. 

No, this figure was taller. Curvy—female, definitely. So York had hooked up. Good for him, whatever, Wash thought, a tinge of bitterness in the sentiment. 

“They didn’t have any water. The closest I got was a Jack and Coke.” 

“Wonderful,” Wash replied. “That’s just fucking fantastic.” 

“Hey—what’s Carolina doing getting out of York’s car?” 

—-

2022

—

Wash: do you have the day off? 

Carolina: yes, why? 

Wash: want to get a drink? 

Carolina: Wash, it’s 8 am

Wash: did I stutter

—

Days off were for pretending to clean the kitchen, and actually-sort of-maybe getting the laundry done. Tucker hadn’t seen Wash since early that morning; a heavy, thick silence sat between the two as Tucker shuffled Junior into getting ready for kindergarten. 

Normally, mornings in their household were a sort of chaos where chatter bounced off the walls; Junior practically hero-worshipped Wash while Tucker had to chase down his son to get him to tie his shoes, and so it went. Now, whatever bullshit had gone down the night before—Tucker didn’t even know where to start with that— sat in the middle of the pair as a guest far beyond their welcome. 

Tucker was throwing clean, albeit mismatched socks, into his dresser drawer, when the doorbell startled him out of the thoughts doing constant laps going nowhere. He wasn’t usually in the habit of answering whoever the fuck would be at his door at ten am on a random Tuesday, but given he had no idea where the hell Wash had actually gone, he figured it probably wouldn’t hurt. 

Instead of being greeted by one of his friends—Caboose, or Church, or hell, even one of Wash’s old friends that Tucker briefly met at a reunion several years ago—Tucker found himself face to face with a tall, well-dressed woman he had never seen before. 

“Dylan Andrews. I’m looking for David—“ 

“Wash isn’t home,” Tucker said quickly, hand on the door, ready to slam it shut. 

“So you’re Lavernius Tucker,” Dylan said, and Tucker bristled. 

“What’s it to you?” 

“Do you have a few minutes?” Dylan pushed her glasses up; he had to admit they suited her in a sexy-librarian sort of way. 

“Didn’t anyone teach you about not letting strangers into your space? I’m not that stupid, even if every porno on the planet starts that way; so does every horror movie—“ 

“We’re getting off track. I’m here about Wash.” 

“Fucking fine.” Tucker fully opened the door to let Dylan in. “Take a seat wherever, or something.” 

Tucker watched as Dylan sat on the edge of their beat up couch that sagged at the ends from worn stuffing, her brown eyes flickering over to the hamper of rumpled laundry to Junior’s toys scattered on the floor; the mismatched glasses on the side table that hadn’t quite made it into the dishwasher yet. 

“So what exactly about Wash?” Tucker narrowed his eyes.

 He knew damn well that if Wash was truly in trouble that someone, likely multiple people, would have blown up his phone by now, not sent a random stranger to his door. Whoever this Dylan Andrews was, she had an ulterior motive, clinched as soon as she reached into her wallet and pulled out a business card. 

“I’m with the Chronicle.”

“Oh hell no.” Tucker stood up, and opened the door. “No reporters.” 

“Just hear me out. I’m not here to write another article for some gossip rag.” 

“I could give less of a shit.” 

“Tucker, it’s been twenty-five years. People have wondered what really happened to the Valhalla High Pumas out there—“ 

“Everyone already fuckin’ knows! Wash has told me so himself, and none of you will let it die! They were out there for seventeen months, and starved, and hunted, and scavenged until they were rescued. The end. There’s your article; just like the others.” 

“I know the two of you are struggling,” Dylan’s voice took a tone that she likely thought was gentle but to Tucker merely sounded patronizing. “My boss is prepared to offer a six figure book advance. If we get the real story.” 

“Go fuck yourself. You don’t know anything about me and Wash.” 

She stood up from the couch, walking towards the door, turning around only to press the business card in Tucker’s hand. “Just think about it, Tucker.” Her eyes bore into his. “Haven’t you ever wondered if Wash was being fully honest with you?” 

“Fuck all the way off,” Tucker snapped, slamming the door. 

Grabbing one of the dirty glasses on the side table, he headed into the kitchen, to the top cabinet where they stored the liquor. Was it far too early for a drink? Yes, and he knew better than to get drunk. But still, damned if he didn’t find himself pouring two fingers of whiskey and filling the rest with Coke, shooting Kai a quick text to make sure she could pick up Junior on short notice, given he had no idea where the fuck Wash was, still. 

Sitting on the stupid broken couch, staring at the hamper of clean laundry that needed to be folded, nursing his drink, Dylan’s words echoed in his mind. 

He had never questioned whether or not Wash lied to him about the past, not really. He was always extremely closed off about the details, and Tucker figured that was pretty fucking normal—if Tucker had been in that position, he probably would be, too. Not because he had something to hide. Why would anyone want to talk about the horrific year and a half that derailed their entire life, that made them still have screaming nightmares to this day? 

Then there was that nagging voice that tugged at the back of his mind—

But last night—

The sound of a key scraping in the lock cut off his train of thought before it even had a chance to get started. Instead of the familiar mop of bottle-blonde hair, however, Tucker was greeted by a tall redhead supporting his blonde idiot wilting by her side. 

Tucker leapt to his feet, abandoning his drink by the couch. “Is he hurt?!” 

“No,” Carolina replied curtly. “Just drunker than he should be.” 

“At ten am. What the hell were you two doing, Carolina?” 

“Plotting world domination,” she said in a flat tone. “Really, Tucker, he texted me out of the blue. We don’t exactly have a standing date for this kind of thing. But I show up for my teammates.” 

“Clearly.” 

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. Wash is a fully grown adult who can make his own decisions.” 

“Right. Like getting drunk first thing in the morning on random Tuesdays.” 

“I’m not judging.” 

“Somehow, I doubt that.” 

“Believe me or not; that’s not my problem, Tucker.” 

“Let’s just get him on the couch. And get him some water.” 

Carolina guided Wash to the couch; where he sagged against the cushions. Tucker motioned to Carolina and handed her the business card Dylan had left. 

“Do you know her?” 

Carolina studied the embossed card, turning it over in her hands. “No. Should I?” 

“She came knocking at the door looking for Wash.” 

“Fuck; not this again.” 

“Right. I wouldn’t be surprised if she came knocking for you, Church, and the others. Just let lthem know in whatever super secret team group chat all you weirdos have going.” 

“We don’t do that. But yeah, I will.” 

“You mean you don’t get dumbass memes at all hours of the night while Church tells you to fuck off? Damn, do your friends have any fun?” 

“Not the point, Tucker.” 

“Right. Anyway. Thanks, I guess, for bringing him home in one piece.” 

“Anytime.” Carolina glanced over at Wash, who opened his eyes. “Oh, so you are awake.” 

“Lina,” he mumbled. “Tell Epsilon—“ 

“Wash….” 

“No!” He tugged on her sleeve. “He has to know. He has to know how fucking….how fucking sorry….” 

“Wash, have some water.” 

Tucker glanced at Carolina. “He’s been acting extremely fucking weird since last night. I don’t know who or what he’s talking about—“ 

“Just…someone we knew. Don’t worry about it, Tucker. He’s just shitfaced.” 

“Fine. Keep your secrets. I’m gonna get him to bed.” 

Haven’t you ever wondered if Wash was being fully honest with you? 

Tucker sighed. Dylan was full of shit, and now was not the time. Even after what had happened last night, Wash losing his temper in a way Tucker had rarely seen, that didn’t mean anything. That sure as shit didn’t mean that Dylan was right. Even if Tucker never got an answer to his question. 

“Tucker, I….” Wash licked his lips, and leaned over, promptly puking all over the living room carpet. 

“Well, this is just fucking great.” 

Chapter Text

Stay alive….stay alive….stay alive….even if he dies….

the pendant around her neck with that symbol; Greek letters searing into her skin, her breath coming in sharp pants, visible in the arctic air. She was despicable. And yet. Alive. 

They carried his body back to camp, back to the cabin hoisted between two poles. Already, the falling snow stuck in his hair, his lips blue from the accident. 

“Carolina?!” Of course, York had hung back during the hunt, now running to embrace her. “You’re alive. But how? And….” 

She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “The wilderness chose its sacrifice. Or whatever bullshit Sigma is going to say to justify this. Just….go join the others to prepare for the feast.” 

“But you drew the Queen of Hearts.” 

“Don’t you fucking think I know that, York? And I let….I let him die in my place. I’m worse. I’ll always be worse.”  

—-

They didn’t make coffee strong enough for the migraine Carolina was having, but that didn’t matter. She stirred two packets of sugar into said shitty diner coffee and winced. 

“You look as though you have not been sleeping consistently.” 

Her companion slid into the booth seat opposite her, and Carolina lifted her head. She had to appreciate that for all these meetings over the years, he was always prompt. 

“I need a lot of things, D, sleep included.” 

“Is there some obstacle getting in the way? Perhaps—“ 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” 

Despite the past twenty-five years having taken their hard edges on the few survivors, showing in the sharp line of Carolina’s jaw; the crow’s feet at her eyes, grey hairs sneaking in to blend with the vibrant red, she had to admit that Delta was different. There was still a spark in those wide green eyes of his, and a softness to his face that made her chest ache as she thought of someone else. Someone they both missed, whose presence lingered unspoken in these quiet coffee conversations. 

“We weren’t due to meet for another two weeks,” he said. “I must admit, I was quite surprised when you asked to push the date forward. Is something the matter, Carolina?” 

She pulled Dylan’s business card out of her wallet and pushed it across the table. “Have any unusual visitors lately?” 

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Who is this?” 

“She said her name is Dylan Andrews. Some reporter. She was looking for Wash but spoke to his partner. Offered them a book deal for “the truth.” Six figures, give or take.” 

“I see. I am assuming Wash’s partner alerted you to this? He doesn’t…” 

“No, Tucker doesn’t know what happened out there, I’m sure of it.” 

Delta glanced back down at the business card. “This has not been the first time, and it won’t be the last.” 

“I know , D. But something about this—“ Carolina took a sip of her coffee. “I can’t explain it.” 

“You feel it, too.” 

She nodded. The hair sticking up on the back of her neck. The sharp howl of the wind, snapping at her heels as she walked back to her car in the evenings. That ever-hungry pull of electricity she had only felt there , as bright as blood in the snow. 

“May I ask you, Carolina?” Delta lowered his voice, “have the nightmares come back for you, too?” 

—-

“Thanks. For the Tylenol and the water.” 

Tucker looked up from his phone. “Whatever, dude.” 

“Tucker…” 

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Wash? I’m not your mother, if you want to get drunk with your old teammates at 8 am on a Tuesday morning I guess that’s not my fucking problem. It’d be a bonus if you avoided puking on the rug next time, though.” 

Wash took a seat on the couch next to Tucker. “I puked on the rug?” 

“It wasn’t pretty.” 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t think I’m getting my security deposit back either way so. Y’know.” 

Wash sighed. “This isn’t about the rug, is it?” 

Tucker wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know what to think.” 

And it was true, he realized. This was Wash. His Wash, the man he fell asleep next to every night. The man he trusted implicitly, who he trusted with his son, for Christ’s sake. Sure, when the pair met, Tucker had been aware of his past. How could he not? You couldn’t look up anything or anyone associated with the Valhalla High Pumas without getting all kinds of results. But that never bothered him; how could it when his best friend in the army was one of them? Church didn’t tell him till after they were out, of course, and even then Tucker didn’t care. It just made some of his quirks make a little more sense, that’s all. 

So why this, why now? The nightmares Tucker could deal with. He always had. But the secrecy? That gnawed at him. 

“Okay,” Wash said, hands on his knees. 

“Like, what is your deal , Wash?” 

“My deal?” Wash’s grey eyes flashed, and annoyance crept into his tone. 

“Yes, your fucking deal.” Tucker ran a hand through his locs. “Keeping a bunch of random shit in this lockbox and acting like, I don’t know, I found your secret porn stash! Which if it was your porn stash I would understand—“ 

“Tucker, seriously—“ 

“I’m just saying.” 

“You are incapable of being serious.” 

“Whatever, dude. The point is, you bite my damn head off, and I’m just sitting here wondering what the fuck secrets my boyfriend has and I don’t know, maybe that reporter lady is right….” 

“Fucking really, Tucker?” Wash stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“How am I supposed to know, Wash? I defended you! But you’re acting so goddamn weird. I know you have no reason to lie to me about what happened out there. But how am I supposed to know?” 

“Fine.” Wash crossed the room in a few paces, and opened the closet. “You really want to know?” 

“Kinda, yeah.” 

Wash pulled the box down, opening the combination lock. “Here. One memory.” 

Something twisted in Tucker’s belly, painful and dark, as though he shouldn’t be doing this. Wash placed a photograph in Tucker’s hands. 

“The varsity team, right after we won State. That’s me—“ he pointed, “between York and Maine.” 

“Damn, you were cute.” 

“Carolina just about socked York for ruffling her hair like that.” 

“Sounds about right.” 

“And the twins were well—“ 

“Did the girl always look like that?” 

“South? Yeah. Like she was ready to punch you in the face? Just about. She played defense.” 

Tucker studied the photo. “Y’all were so young.” 

“Yep. And most of my friends in that picture are dead. York. Maine. The twins—well, South. They didn’t make it out of the wilderness and there was nothing we could do.” 

Tucker put the photo down. “Fuck. When I was seventeen I was playing video games and fooling around with girls. And you were….” 

“Starving to death in the Canadian winter.” Wash shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t change what happened. I just wonder who they would have been, if they had the chance, y’know?” 

“Yeah. Shit.” 

“Don’t tell Carolina I told you this, kay? But she and York….they had a thing, back then. It was a secret at first and then, well, everyone knew.” 

“That explains a few things about Carolina.” 

“Oh, you have no idea.” 

—-

1997

—

“I fucking hate flying,” South grumbled, slumping into the leather seat next to CT. 

Almost automatically, her girlfriend brushed her hand against South’s, her chipped, glittery, Hard Candy polish catching the light. “Here.” She slipped a tissue into South’s hand. 

“Fuck is this?” The other girl looked at the Kleenex in confusion. 

“I swiped some Valium from my mom’s cabinet this morning.” 

South grinned. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best?” She opened the tissue and found the small, round pill, quickly dry swallowing it. 

“It never hurts to hear more than once.” 

“You’re definitely the best.” 

South felt a tapping on the top of her crew cut, and she turned around in her seat. “What?” She snapped. 

Her twin leaned over the seat, where he sat next to Theta, one of the J.V. team members. North had one of his stupid grins on his face and it instantly soured her mood. 

“What do you want?” 

“Saved you a barf bag if you need it, Sis.” Next to him, Theta giggled, and South made a fist. 

“Shut the fuck up; I’m not five anymore.” 

“I’m just saying….” 

“And I’m just saying I’ll punch your lights out.” 

“Don’t even think about it, South,” called Carolina from across the aisle, as she thumbed through a magazine, next to York. 

The intercom came to life in a crackle. “This is your captain speaking. We’re just about ready to take off; seems our weather will take us a bit further north towards Canada but we’re still due to arrive in Seattle on time. Please fasten your seatbelts to prepare for departure.” 

South gripped the armrest as the plane took off; she hated take-off and landing the most. Soon enough, however, the team was airborne and the Valium was kicking in; she found herself leaning up against CT, a hazy smile on her face from the drug. When was the last time she felt this peaceful ? She couldn’t goddamn remember, but she would fucking take it, take the few and far between moments she had with her girlfriend. It’s not like she could be open with her affection, not really. 

Rumors followed all the female members of the Pumas, the taunts of “dyke” commonplace in the hallway. You couldn’t really be in a sport like soccer, let alone keeping up with the boys, without being haunted by that stupid bullshit. South has been hauled into the principal’s office multiple times for flattening idiots over it. One more detention and she was set to be benched for the next few games, the Director had warned her two weeks ago. Keeping her temper in check a Herculean effort, especially if the bullying targeted CT, but she learned to swallow back the bile, just a little bit, after pleading from her girlfriend. Just for Nationals. 

South’s eyelids grew heavy. She was tired, so tired. Maybe when she woke up they would be in Seattle and this would all be over. Just a little bit of sleep….

Instead, she was jolted awake into a hellscape.