EverymanHYBRID (ARG): replica (2/4)
Title: replica: pull your halo down
Author: jack_infinitude
Pairing: Habit/Vincent, Jeff/Steph
Rating: pg-13
Summary: The long winter has passed. Habit is desperate to find Vincent, but he can't do it alone.
Disclaimer: Not affiliated with the series or any of the crew.
Warnings:
Notes: Oh CHRIST this took a ridiculous amount of time to write. This chapter is dedicated to carpecor and raven. ♥ (Yes, I know I made a change in tenses. There's a reason for that, though its not particularily exciting.)
And not to pull your halo down
Around your neck and tug you to the ground
But I'm more than just a little curious
How you're planning' to go about making' your amends
To the dead.
"The Noose” -- A Perfect Circle
It’s been six years since that time. Do you remember?
I think that was the last time any of us trusted someone from the outside. I always wished that I had thought to get something from you -- a phone number or an address. Some way that I could communicate with you and thank you for everything. I know we all thanked you, at the tavern, when the storm had ended and it was time for us to leave. But I didn’t know what it meant then, what you had done for us.
We were like stray cats. You didn’t have to care, but you did. After everything that’s happened to us, I just want you to know, that you made a bigger difference than you might have thought. So, thank you, from all of us.
I don’t know if this will reach you. I don’t know if you’re still working in Pocono or if you’ve retired by now. I was eleven years old when I met you, and I doubt I was a good judge of age at the time. Maybe you’re retired? Or maybe you’re just now seeing off your last kid to college. Did you say if you had children? I don’t remember. I’m sorry about that.
I hope this finds you well, if it finds you at all. Time will tell, I guess. I hope we meet again in the future, so I can say all this to your face.
The four of us are not living together as a family anymore. We paired off and went our separate ways, so that we couldn’t be found so easily. Steph is doing alright with me. We’re doing our best to support one another, but it’s hard for two adolescents to find legal jobs. (Don’t worry, neither of us has had to resort to, well, you know.) At the very least, we have each other to complain to, and to share body heat when the nights get too cold. (Which is happening way too often! I know its February, but it’s ridiculous to be this cold! We’re thinking of moving as soon as we can, to someplace warm -- how does Alabama sound to you? Heh.)
I guess that just leads me to the real issue, though. I’m sure you heard about us running away. Is three years a long time? I don’t think so, but it feels that way. I can’t be sure, though. But then, I’m sure that you noticed when you found us on that faraway day, that our grasp of time and space wasn’t exactly what could be called coherent. I’m afraid that hasn’t changed even a little bit.
I really do wish I could be sure that this would reach you, Officer Matten. I guess by the world’s standards, I’m a man, or close enough. But I don’t feel like an adult. I don’t know what to do, how to live my life as best I can, how to take care of Steph as best I can. (Most of the time she’s the one taking care of me. I’m grateful for her, I’m so glad she’s with me, but I feel awful for being a burden.)
I guess the heart of this is, I don’t know what passes for “normal” communication between people. I haven’t heard from Vince or Evan since June. That was last year. We promised to keep in contact with each other, even if just by postcards. It’s January at the time that I’m writing this. No word from them, not a single one.
I’m worried. I’m worried about them and I’m also worried that I’m overreacting. I wish I could be sure that this letter reaches you Officer Matten, because you’re the only person I feel like I can talk to about this.
If you come across Vince and Evan, will you help them like you did that last time?
I promise that they’re good people, Officer Matten. Please, don’t turn them away. They need help just as much as Steph and me.
I guess I don’t have anything else to talk about. Thank you Officer Matten, for everything. If you get this, Steph and I will probably be long gone from this place. The windows are covered in ice, and we can see each other’s breath in the night and I almost couldn’t get out the door this morning because it was frozen shut. I don’t know where we’ll be but anywhere is better than here.
He studied the signature at the bottom of the letter intently. The loop of the J seemed about right for a conscientious seventeen year old boy, as did the rest of the letters, short and indecipherable as they were.
The date in the corner told him that it had been written on January 3rd. It was the 26th of February now.
Matten didn’t like the coincidence.
The sudden knock on the door was a welcome distraction from his reverie. His head snapping up and sideways to locate the sharp sound even as his hands hid the letter in the paperwork on his desk. It was only Murray huddling by the door, looking worried -- which, admittedly, was not a new expression for him.
“What is it?” Matten asked, trying to keep his voice level. Today was a very special kind of anniversary for him, but the rest the department certainly didn’t know why, and it wouldn’t be fair to take his tenseness out on them. He raised his eyebrows as Murray struggled to say something, but if any sound came out of the shy man’s mouth, it couldn’t be heard over the hubbub of the police station beyond the office door.
Matten raised his hand and crooked a finger. Murray stumbled inside, relieved at having a decision made for him. “What’s happened, son?” he asked as soon as the man was sitting in front of his desk. It was one of the few perks of being station chief, that he had his own private space to himself.
“We’ve, um...picked someone up, boss, a kid --”
“Another runaway?”
Murray hesitated. Matten leaned back in his chair. This could take a while.
“Maybe, except...well, there’s something strange about him.”
“Define ‘strange,’ if you don’t mind.”
“He knows us all, boss. Called us all out by name, and said that he would only talk to you. He won’t give us anything -- not the names of his folks, or where he came from. Just a bunch of nonsense about a doctor and being born from a wish.”
He could see the tip of the letter, hidden under a stack of insurance claims. It screamed for his attention, but he forced himself to stare at the tip of the grain on his desk, to keep himself from thinking.
Born from a wish. That was a phrase he had prayed he would never hear again.
“Whose wish, kiddo?”
“And he said...” --the words lodged in his throat and it took every ounce of will he had to speak-- “...he said he only wanted to talk to me?”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s about --”
“Murray, what did he say his name was?”
“He said it was ‘Habit,’ boss. Weird name for a kid, don’t you think?”
--
Whatever his faults, Jeff had been right in his estimation: three years were not a long time. Neither were six. It hadn’t been that long since he had given shelter to a small family of children in Memory Town.
He was also right in that it felt so far away. And now, hell, one those precious children had resurfaced in Pocono.
Matten left the matter alone for a few hours -- to give Habit time to stew, and to give himself time to think. This was not a meeting he was looking forward to. But when the clock hit 18:00, it couldn’t be put off any longer; and he locked the office behind him and went to visit lock-up.
Habit, he noted with satisfaction, had been separated from the scumbags currently residing in the cells, as per his orders. He had been given a room all to himself, one emptied of furniture, filing cabinets and any other potentially dangerous objects. A guard sat at the door, and Matten was further pleased to see that it was one of their new recruits, which meant that he was terribly keen and not yet easily distracted by food or newspapers.
He almost stood when he saw his superior approaching, but he was stayed by the man’s calm look.
“Quiet?” Matten asked.
“Not a sound, sir. I think he fell asleep.”
“We’ll see.” Matten tried the door. It was unlocked, and swung open at his touch. He stepped inside cautiously, the old investigation of the children running away flying through his head. It hadn’t taken place in Pennsylvania, but he had still been consulted since he was the only official authority figure to have had contact with the family in recent memory. Many unpleasant questions had been raised in that investigation, implications made, reputations bruised, though not broken.
Many things had been said about the children. He still didn’t know if they were true.
“I promise that they’re good people, Officer Matten. Please, don’t turn them away.”
It was dark inside. He flicked on the light switch, wondering who had left the boy in the dark. Or maybe he had wanted it that way.
He breathed deep. “Evan? Is that you?"
Author: jack_infinitude
Pairing: Habit/Vincent, Jeff/Steph
Rating: pg-13
Summary: The long winter has passed. Habit is desperate to find Vincent, but he can't do it alone.
Disclaimer: Not affiliated with the series or any of the crew.
Warnings:
Notes: Oh CHRIST this took a ridiculous amount of time to write. This chapter is dedicated to carpecor and raven. ♥ (Yes, I know I made a change in tenses. There's a reason for that, though its not particularily exciting.)
And not to pull your halo down
Around your neck and tug you to the ground
But I'm more than just a little curious
How you're planning' to go about making' your amends
To the dead.
"The Noose” -- A Perfect Circle
It’s been six years since that time. Do you remember?
I think that was the last time any of us trusted someone from the outside. I always wished that I had thought to get something from you -- a phone number or an address. Some way that I could communicate with you and thank you for everything. I know we all thanked you, at the tavern, when the storm had ended and it was time for us to leave. But I didn’t know what it meant then, what you had done for us.
We were like stray cats. You didn’t have to care, but you did. After everything that’s happened to us, I just want you to know, that you made a bigger difference than you might have thought. So, thank you, from all of us.
I don’t know if this will reach you. I don’t know if you’re still working in Pocono or if you’ve retired by now. I was eleven years old when I met you, and I doubt I was a good judge of age at the time. Maybe you’re retired? Or maybe you’re just now seeing off your last kid to college. Did you say if you had children? I don’t remember. I’m sorry about that.
I hope this finds you well, if it finds you at all. Time will tell, I guess. I hope we meet again in the future, so I can say all this to your face.
The four of us are not living together as a family anymore. We paired off and went our separate ways, so that we couldn’t be found so easily. Steph is doing alright with me. We’re doing our best to support one another, but it’s hard for two adolescents to find legal jobs. (Don’t worry, neither of us has had to resort to, well, you know.) At the very least, we have each other to complain to, and to share body heat when the nights get too cold. (Which is happening way too often! I know its February, but it’s ridiculous to be this cold! We’re thinking of moving as soon as we can, to someplace warm -- how does Alabama sound to you? Heh.)
I guess that just leads me to the real issue, though. I’m sure you heard about us running away. Is three years a long time? I don’t think so, but it feels that way. I can’t be sure, though. But then, I’m sure that you noticed when you found us on that faraway day, that our grasp of time and space wasn’t exactly what could be called coherent. I’m afraid that hasn’t changed even a little bit.
I really do wish I could be sure that this would reach you, Officer Matten. I guess by the world’s standards, I’m a man, or close enough. But I don’t feel like an adult. I don’t know what to do, how to live my life as best I can, how to take care of Steph as best I can. (Most of the time she’s the one taking care of me. I’m grateful for her, I’m so glad she’s with me, but I feel awful for being a burden.)
I guess the heart of this is, I don’t know what passes for “normal” communication between people. I haven’t heard from Vince or Evan since June. That was last year. We promised to keep in contact with each other, even if just by postcards. It’s January at the time that I’m writing this. No word from them, not a single one.
I’m worried. I’m worried about them and I’m also worried that I’m overreacting. I wish I could be sure that this letter reaches you Officer Matten, because you’re the only person I feel like I can talk to about this.
If you come across Vince and Evan, will you help them like you did that last time?
I promise that they’re good people, Officer Matten. Please, don’t turn them away. They need help just as much as Steph and me.
I guess I don’t have anything else to talk about. Thank you Officer Matten, for everything. If you get this, Steph and I will probably be long gone from this place. The windows are covered in ice, and we can see each other’s breath in the night and I almost couldn’t get out the door this morning because it was frozen shut. I don’t know where we’ll be but anywhere is better than here.
He studied the signature at the bottom of the letter intently. The loop of the J seemed about right for a conscientious seventeen year old boy, as did the rest of the letters, short and indecipherable as they were.
The date in the corner told him that it had been written on January 3rd. It was the 26th of February now.
Matten didn’t like the coincidence.
The sudden knock on the door was a welcome distraction from his reverie. His head snapping up and sideways to locate the sharp sound even as his hands hid the letter in the paperwork on his desk. It was only Murray huddling by the door, looking worried -- which, admittedly, was not a new expression for him.
“What is it?” Matten asked, trying to keep his voice level. Today was a very special kind of anniversary for him, but the rest the department certainly didn’t know why, and it wouldn’t be fair to take his tenseness out on them. He raised his eyebrows as Murray struggled to say something, but if any sound came out of the shy man’s mouth, it couldn’t be heard over the hubbub of the police station beyond the office door.
Matten raised his hand and crooked a finger. Murray stumbled inside, relieved at having a decision made for him. “What’s happened, son?” he asked as soon as the man was sitting in front of his desk. It was one of the few perks of being station chief, that he had his own private space to himself.
“We’ve, um...picked someone up, boss, a kid --”
“Another runaway?”
Murray hesitated. Matten leaned back in his chair. This could take a while.
“Maybe, except...well, there’s something strange about him.”
“Define ‘strange,’ if you don’t mind.”
“He knows us all, boss. Called us all out by name, and said that he would only talk to you. He won’t give us anything -- not the names of his folks, or where he came from. Just a bunch of nonsense about a doctor and being born from a wish.”
He could see the tip of the letter, hidden under a stack of insurance claims. It screamed for his attention, but he forced himself to stare at the tip of the grain on his desk, to keep himself from thinking.
Born from a wish. That was a phrase he had prayed he would never hear again.
“Whose wish, kiddo?”
“And he said...” --the words lodged in his throat and it took every ounce of will he had to speak-- “...he said he only wanted to talk to me?”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s about --”
“Murray, what did he say his name was?”
“He said it was ‘Habit,’ boss. Weird name for a kid, don’t you think?”
--
Whatever his faults, Jeff had been right in his estimation: three years were not a long time. Neither were six. It hadn’t been that long since he had given shelter to a small family of children in Memory Town.
He was also right in that it felt so far away. And now, hell, one those precious children had resurfaced in Pocono.
Matten left the matter alone for a few hours -- to give Habit time to stew, and to give himself time to think. This was not a meeting he was looking forward to. But when the clock hit 18:00, it couldn’t be put off any longer; and he locked the office behind him and went to visit lock-up.
Habit, he noted with satisfaction, had been separated from the scumbags currently residing in the cells, as per his orders. He had been given a room all to himself, one emptied of furniture, filing cabinets and any other potentially dangerous objects. A guard sat at the door, and Matten was further pleased to see that it was one of their new recruits, which meant that he was terribly keen and not yet easily distracted by food or newspapers.
He almost stood when he saw his superior approaching, but he was stayed by the man’s calm look.
“Quiet?” Matten asked.
“Not a sound, sir. I think he fell asleep.”
“We’ll see.” Matten tried the door. It was unlocked, and swung open at his touch. He stepped inside cautiously, the old investigation of the children running away flying through his head. It hadn’t taken place in Pennsylvania, but he had still been consulted since he was the only official authority figure to have had contact with the family in recent memory. Many unpleasant questions had been raised in that investigation, implications made, reputations bruised, though not broken.
Many things had been said about the children. He still didn’t know if they were true.
“I promise that they’re good people, Officer Matten. Please, don’t turn them away.”
It was dark inside. He flicked on the light switch, wondering who had left the boy in the dark. Or maybe he had wanted it that way.
He breathed deep. “Evan? Is that you?"