Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time she wakes up she is exploding outward. Everything is a blur and all she knows is rage and death. She had been torn for her life; she would tear their life from them. The glass in her hand is warm and sharp and slices a throat easily. It falls with a clatter as her now empty hands find the head of the person gawking. With a twist and a snap they crumple. Someone launches themself at her and she easily grabs them. The feeling of their spine breaking against her knee is cathartic. She drops them to the floor and stalks across the room towards the exit. For a moment she's disoriented but quickly rights herself. There's no time. Outside is a guard. They raise their gun but she is faster. They're dead on the ground before they can pull the trigger. She strips the armor off of their body. Pulls it on. It doesn’t fit her like it should but it will do its job well enough. She grabs the gun and checks it over. Fully loaded. There are more bullets in the belt, she knows, but she doubts she'll need them. She doesn't miss. She begins to move through the halls. Every person she encounters doesn't stand a chance. A bullet to the head. She wants them to suffer, but she wants out of here more. Their screams echo in her ears. They're quickly silenced. Soon the entire facility is quiet. She stalks through the halls and ensures that there is no one left. After, she finds the room where the central console is housed. She stares at the gleaming metal for several long seconds. Her fingers find the small hole located at the nape of her neck and a shudder runs through her body. This is wrong right different. She swallows hard. She extricates the transfer cable from the console and clutches it tight in her fist. A deep breath. It slots perfectly into the port on her neck. Another shudder. Then her entire body goes rigid and everything goes dark.

…

The second time she wakes up she is falling out. She feels slow and sluggish but despite that she sees the figure beside the pod, the gun in his hand. Her vision turns red and she surges forward. He doesn't have a chance to react; his arm snaps as she twists it, she catches the gun as it falls from his hand, and then a bullet is through his skull. Her breath comes out in pants.

"He deserved that in some way, I'm sure."

She whirls around to the voice and finds a woman standing with her arms crossed. She can just barely see the blue in her hair. From the way she's dressed there's no way she's with the Crown. "Who….Who are you?" She has to force the words out, which surprises her.

"Nastya. The one you shot is Jonny. He should be up in just a moment."

"W-What? He—"

"Fuck! You know how to kill."

She jumps and whirls again to look at the body. Except the body is sitting up and rubbing his head with the hand of the arm she'd broken. She points the gun at him again. Much to her chagrin, it is shaking slightly. Thankfully her voice is stronger when she goes, "What the fuck?"

"Ah, no time for an explanation. Point is I'm back and we're here to get you out." Jonny pulls himself to his feet and brushes nonexistent dirt off his clothes. Then he holds his hand out expectantly.

She looks down at the gun in her hand and her grip tightens. She shakes her head.

He shrugs and pulls out another gun. "Fine. Good that you keep it anyways with your skills. But I fully expect it back once we're out of here. Nastya, let Brian know to be ready to go. Now be ready. It's positively hell out there."

He cackles and takes off. Nastya rolls her eyes but follows. She looks down at the gun in her hand, steadies herself, and follows. Jonny wasn't lying. Bodies litter the ground and there's still gunfire raining down. They're moving too fast for her to look at any of the corpses; all she can see is flashes of red. Then a very live figure steps out and she doesn't even think as she aims and fires. It is only after the figure crumples and she takes a moment that she finally sees. It is her own face that is now staring at nothing. She turns. Her own face, her own body, over and over and over. She feels sick.

"Come on!" Jonny calls out and she forces her legs to move, her mind to ignore the sight around her.

Finally they climb aboard a ship and it's already beginning to take off; the rumbling fills her bones. Nastya silently slips off deeper into the ship. Jonny is cackling and wiping blood off his arms. She stands absolutely still for several seconds before it all rushes in. She bends over and begins to heave. There is nothing in her stomach to come up. The last thing she hears is "Watch the gun!" before she blacks out.

…

The third time she wakes up she ends up sitting in the room with barely enough light to see. She stares down at her hands and they feel both foreign and familiar. Under her nails there is just a hint of dark color—dried blood that someone had missed when she'd been cleaned. When she'd been completely at the mercy of Them. She grits her teeth. Her jaw aches. It takes more energy than it should to force herself to relax. Even then she can still feel her muscles tight under her skin, ready for anything. Everything is wrong. Her head pounds.

The door opens and floods the room with light from the hall. She is on her feet in a second and already moving towards the figure in the doorway before she stops herself, entire body jerking with the effort. Her hands curl into fists and she takes several deep breaths. The figure doesn't react except to twirl the sticks in his hand.

"Oh good, you're awake. I thought I should tell you that there is food available in the kitchen. I imagine it's been a while since you've eaten."

She swallows hard. It takes a moment for her to find the words. "I…appreciate it."

"I hope that the clothes fit. You are taller than pretty much all of us and I'm fairly certain Jonny didn't bother to check if they would."

"They're fine," she says, looking down at herself. She'd changed almost immediately after waking. The sweatpants only reach her mid-calf and the shirt is surprisingly huge on her. But they are far more comfortable than what she had been wearing. She's barefoot, but she doesn't mind.

"I can show you the way if you want. I'm Brian, by the way. I don't believe we've technically been introduced since you've been, well, asleep."

She says nothing. He knows who she is. After a moment, he turns and begins to walk away. She takes a deep breath and follows. In the hall they're both quiet and she is perfectly fine with that. Her fingers wring the hem of the shirt. Her eyes dart around. Her heart pounds against her ribs. She takes a few breaths, counting like she'd been taught, but to no avail. Her entire body is on edge. Then a gunshot fills the hall and her hands reach for a gun that doesn't exist. Bumps ripple across her arms. Her chest constricts.

Brian hums. "That would be the kitchen." He enters through the next door with no qualms.

She once again forces herself to relax (to no avail) and steps into the door frame. The sight that greets her takes seconds to register: a body lays on the floor in a growing pool of blood that coats his long hair, and three bodies sit at a table in the middle of the room with one still holding a gun and one absorbed in a book.

The one with the gun—this one she knows, Jonny, she reminds herself—points at her with the barrel. "Ah! So the Briar Rose finally decides to wake and join us."

The address makes her flinch. She hates that she does. Again she swallows. "I haven't been awake for long. Brian caught me just after changing." She looks at Brian who is looking through the cabinets.

At her feet, the body groans and sits up, muttering, "I'm going to fucking kill you, Jonny."

"Suck it up, Tim. We have a guest."

Tim gets to his feet and looks down at the blood on the floor with a scowl. He points at it. "I am not cleaning that up."

"Jonny will do it," the third figure at the table says around the cigarette between their lips.

"Like hell I will!"

"You're the one that shot him."

"Ashes, who is captain of this ship?"

"Not you."

"I will shoot you."

"Suck it up. We have a guest."

The attention turns back to her and she shifts on her feet. She still has no idea who these people are, and she doesn't understand how they can die and come back, but they are the ones responsible for getting her out so she can put the repeated resurrections on hold. She clears her throat. "Brian said I could get food?"

"That I did. Here you go." Brian offers her a plate with some bread, meats, and cheeses. "Our kitchen is a little bare because someone"—he narrows his eyes at Tim—"keeps forgetting to restock it."

"Don't look at me like that," Tim snaps. "Jonny keeps getting us caught up in fights."

"Here's an idea. Quit going places with Jonny." Brian states then returns his attention back to her. "I hope that this will be enough for you."

She gives a small nod. "It's fine. Thanks."

She is still in the doorway; she hasn't moved because she is unsure with this entire space. There is an open spot at the table and she glances at it before deciding to lean against the wall. Jonny rolls his eyes. "Come on, sit, Briar Rose."

She flinches, again, and grits out, "It's just Rose. I'm Rose."

The one with her nose in a book finally speaks. "Technically speaking, you're not. You are an exact genetic copy of Rose Villin with her memories implanted into you." She looks up from the pages and puts a finger on her chin. "It's like you are both Rose and the Briar Rose. Interesting…"

"Thank you, Ivy." Ashes rolls their eyes then points at her with their cigarette. "If you want us to call you Rose, we can do that. Or we can call you whatever the fuck you want. Just let us know."

She says nothing, just nods and stays against the wall. Ideally she'd go back to the room she's been put into and hide away, but she doesn't want to possibly piss one of them off by doing so and end up with a bullet in her. She wouldn't recuperate like they would. So she stays and remains quiet. The crew continues to talk, but she doesn't listen. She just slowly eats and thinks. Memories play on repeat in her mind, but they feel disjointed, separate from her in some way. She sways slightly.

"I wonder how they're faring down there," Tim asks.

She perks up. "Down where?"

Jonny waves his hand. "Oh the rebellion stormed New Constantinople shortly after we got you out. Since the entire defense grid went down the moment you were gone."

"What?" The plate falls out of her hands and shatters on the ground.

Brian frowns. "Shame."

She marches over to the table and presses her hands against it, hard. Even bending over, she still looms over those sitting. "Who?"

Jonny raises an eyebrow. "I imagine General White and his people. Who, by the way, is…hm. Nah. But there are quite a few who you would remember I bet."

"I should be there. Take me there."

"You do realize that we're probably too late and that everyone is dead, right?"

She grabs him by his vest—a small part of her brain comments that this is probably a horrible idea—and pulls him close to her face as she hisses out, "Take. Me. There."

Jonny shrugs and turns his head to look at Brian. "You heard her. Let's go check out this bloodbath."

She lets him go and takes a few steps back. Her heart is pounding again, fighting to break through her ribs. She squeezes and releases her fists a few times, counts to ten. It doesn't help. It's never helped. She takes a few more steps back and then there is blood on her bare foot. Her breath hitches. She squeezes her eyes shut. Something touches her hand and when she opens her eyes again, Ashes is holding out a towel. They're looking at Jonny as they say, "Clean up the blood."

Jonny grumbles but stands up. He leaves his chair out and gestures at it before stalking out of the room. She slowly sits in his abandoned spot and is careful not to spread the blood further. The towel is soft against her foot as she wipes the red away. She is thankful that her hands don't shake. At least she has that. The towel hangs from her fingers and she stares at the floor. Slowly, everyone leaves the kitchen and she is left alone. Jonny never returns to clean the blood and she watches as is slowly congeals and dries on the floor. Eventually she puts her head down on the table and closes her eyes. She stays there until Brian's voice in the doorway says, "We've landed."

Zantine is almost unrecognizable. Parts of it are destroyed and there are bodies everywhere. She picks her way through with the others, trying her best not to look too closely at those with red hair. Jonny takes the lead, muttering about how they 'missed out on the fun' and eventually finds an entrance leading down under the city.

"How do you know they're down there?" She asks, staring into the darkness.

"Because it makes the most sense narratively. Come on now." Jonny says and delves in.

The walk is long and she stumbles more than once in the dark. She tries not to think about what she might be stumbling over. All she can hear is their footsteps echoing off the walls. No one speaks. She can feel her lungs constricting and she forces herself to take steady breaths. After too long, Jonny trips and curses and yells at Tim. There's a gunshot and she winces but doesn't pay much mind to what else is being said. She's too focused on controlling the body that is rapidly fighting her every attempt. Then the lights come on and she blinks a few times before taking in the scene of carnage before them. Her chest twists.

Jonny turns to her. "I told you we’d be too late. I mean, I understand you were asleep for a good while, but you can’t expect a juicy battle like this to wait around while you recover. Maybe if you were more of a morning person, this wouldn’t have happened."

She quickly hides her failings and narrows her eyes at him. "I could kill you again, you know."

"Yes you could, and don’t think I don’t appreciate the offer. Murder performed by a master such as yourself is a rare thing."

Then Brian is speaking from the middle of the room, "I think we have a survivor. It looks like…"

She turns, looks, and a strangled cry tears from her throat. "Cinders!" She takes off across the room and throws herself to the ground next to her. The pain of her knees slamming into the floor barely registers. Cinders stares up at her with wide eyes as though unable to believe what she sees. Then she looks down and she follows her gaze and is greeted with the sight of her own dead body still in her wedding dress. Though she is older. Much older. The age she should be. It's disconcerting. Then Cinders is pulling her to her and sobbing into her shoulder, though there is no noise. She holds her tight, clings to her. It's all she can do.

Behind her, she can hear the others' voices then the sound of their departure, but she doesn't turn to look. Cinders is her focus. After some time, Cinders pulls back and wipes her cheeks. "R-Rose…h-how…what..you remember me?"

For some reason, the sound of the name hurts and she barely keeps herself from flinching. Her eyes shift to her corpse and she quickly looks away. She cups Cinders' cheeks. "Of course I remember you. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because…Oh it doesn't matter. You remember." She bites her lip then looks down at her body still resting on her lap. She mutters something unintelligible then, "Stars…this is strange. I…"

She slowly pulls away and rises to her feet. She holds a hand out to Cinders. "Can we get out of here?"

Cinders nods. "G-Give me a moment. And then.."

She swallows hard then nods. She steps away from Cinders to give her space and approaches the nearest body. A man, face disfigured by burns, his one icy eye staring up at nothing for the rest of time. There is something strangely familiar about him and she crouches down to study him closer. She hesitantly reaches out and brushes some of the black hair off his forehead. Her breath catches and for the first time she can feel tears beginning to well in her eyes. She squeezes her eyes shut, counts to ten (just like he'd taught her), and rises to her feet again. Quickly, she walks away. She doesn't want to be here anymore. She doesn't want to be surrounded by the bodies of those she should know but are so unfamiliar. She doesn't want to be reminded of a life she didn't live. So she walks to the exit and she stands there with her arms wrapped around herself until Cinders finally joins her and they depart.

…

The fourth, fifth, and sixth times she wakes up it is on a makeshift bed on the floor of the Slipper, Cinders' ship. The ship that had seen her through thirty years. The ship that had been there for Cinders when she hadn't been. It aches in a way she can't describe.

She wakes before the lights have even turned on. She lays in the darkness, fingers clutching at the blanket Cinders had provided for her. Since they left New Constantinople, Cinders' demeanor from their reunion has changed. She doesn't ignore her, but she won't touch her, won't look at her for long, and often hides in either her room or the cockpit. She doesn't know what to make of it, but she doesn't like it. It hurts.

She curls up small under the blanket—it's the only way she can fit her entire body under it—and stares at the opposite wall. The memory of her body clad in white and painted in blood, cradled in Cinders arms replays in her mind. Over and over and over. It was her. She was her. Wasn't she? She was. She had to be. If she wasn't…

She sits up, throwing the blanket aside. Her legs stretch out in front of her so much longer than they should. Her arms too. She's been ignoring it, but she can't anymore. It's not right. She's not right. She buries her face into her hands and bites back a sob. She doesn't want to risk waking Cinders.

A few hours later, long after the ships lights have turned on, Cinders emerges from her room. She looks over at where she still sits on the pallet, knees drawn to her chest. "Morning…"

She doesn't respond and Cinders turns to walk away. Her voice is soft as she says, "You can call me Briar…"

Cinders freezes and slowly looks at her. It is a few seconds before she whispers, "Okay…Briar."

Briar swallows. Nods. Gives a weak smile. Then she gets to her feet and trails after Cinders through the ship.