Chapter Text
Marcus felt… like shit. It was like he’d just smoked way, way, way too much pot. It took almost ten seconds to fully register what was being said around or to him, and another thirty for him to form a response. Movements felt sluggish and laggy, but at least he wasn’t having to manually breathe. Ope, no… Shit, he shouldn’t have thought about it. The second he did his lungs stopped wanting to work on their own and he had to focus on breathing in and out. Every breath in didn’t feel like it was delivering enough oxygen no matter how deep it was, and every exhale felt like it was forcing out too much.
Fingers brushed his skin and he groaned, forcing his eyes open so he could glare at whoever the fuck was touching him. He knew Caleb had carried him… somewhere. He was half sitting, propped up in a hospital type bed and way too many far too bright lights shining down on him. He hated it! It would be so easy to sleep through it, hopefully to wake up after it was all over and done with. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that he was pretty much trapped in Wesker’s creepy laboratory until the man was done with his tests. Or time ran out… Jesus, time seemed to be moving so slowly.
Something pulled at the skin of his chest and he flailed an arm at whoever the hell was accosting him, slurring angrily, “That’s mine! Get off!”
“Stop that,” Wesker’s voice commanded. “It’s a monitor and if you rip it off I’ll have to reattach it and that will waste valuable time and feedback.
“Fuck your feedback!” he yelled, before blinking several times. Wait, was he still speaking Gaeilge? Fuck…
“Now… Hmmm, that’s interesting,” Wesker mused, voice fading in and out as he moved around the room. The sounds of a pen scribbling over paper reached his ears and a moment later fingers were prying one of his eyes open.
Marcus wasn’t even sure when he’d closed them, but the sudden forceful examination instantly sent him spiraling back to a time someone else had shown a little too much interest in his eyes. Flashes of a misshapen black mask revealing reflective, insect-like eyes filled his head, sending him into an adrenaline fueled panic.
Lunging forward with a howl, Marcus sank his teeth into the hand that had just been on his face. Biting down harder when the man tried to pull his hand away, the taste of blood did nothing to deter him and he shook his head like a rabid dog. He’d bite his fucking fingers off one by one if he had to! He wasn’t going to have his eye cut out! He wasn’t going to be used as some kind of fucked up, dismembered, mutilated art projected sewed to dozens of other people!
Hands grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back down as fingers pinched his nose shut. Between the blood in his mouth and the sudden closure of his nostrils, Marcus realized with a start that he couldn’t breathe anymore. Well that was too damn bad! He’d rather suffocate than let that bastard cut him apart!
“Doc! You need to let go, kid!”
The Deathslinger? That sounded like his voice, but what the hell was he doing there? Wait, where was there again?
Against his will, his jaw loosened as he started to run out of air and strength. The hand in his mouth yanked out of reach and just as quickly his nose was released. The hands on his shoulders stayed for a moment longer, only to shift around and push him up into a better sitting position as he choked on the blood in his mouth.
“Spit,” Caleb’s voice commanded. “Do not swallow that, you have no idea where it’s been.”
Marcus really did try to follow his instructions, but he couldn’t get his mouth to cooperate anymore. Opening his mouth, he settled for leaning forward and letting a disgusting combination of drool and blood drip past his lips. Expecting to feel it soaking into his lap at any moment, he was a little surprised to hear it splattering against something metallic instead. Blinking past the slowly clearing spots in his vision, he realized he was looking down into a trash can.
“Well, that was an interesting response,” Wesker seethed, and the vet forced his heavy head up to look in the direction it had come from. The blond was rinsing his hand in a sink, blood no longer flowing freely, but deep tooth marks still very visible between his index finger and thumb. “If you continue to react so violently I will strap you to the bed until the tests are over. Do you understand?”
“Eat my” entire ass, you fucking clown,” Marcus grumbled, stomach churning. It was a good thing the trash can was in front of him, as the next thing to come out of him was a stream of vomit.
“How eloquent,” Wesker stated, not sounding impressed in the slightest. “It seems that your cognitive and muscular functions are starting to return to normal. Do you know where you are?”
“You want to give him a minute?” Caleb asked coldly, one hand helping hold the trash can, the other still on the vet’s back for moral support.
Spitting to clear his mouth, Marcus rasped, “Water? Please?”
It finally registered that he was starting to speak English again. Well, at least every few words were coming out in English. A small relief, but not enough to make him feel any more comfortable with the current situation.
“I hope tap water will suffice,” Wesker sneered, walking over with a glass in hand.
“As long as it tastes better than your rancid blood,” Marcus complained, taking the water. He couldn’t really say that the Slasher’s blood tasted any different from a normal person’s blood, but he wasn’t exactly an expert on such things.
Rinsing out his mouth with the first couple of mouthfuls, he spit them into the can before actually drinking. The water did taste perfectly fine, and it was only once he began drinking that he realized just how thirsty he actually was.
Passing the empty glass back to Wesker, he swallowed his pride before asking, “May I have some ibuprofen or something? …Please? I feel like someone’s put an ax in the back of my head.”
“We should be so lucky,” Wesker mused, before answering, “No, you may not. Any painkillers could interfere with the virus’s natural effects, tainting my research. Those kinds of mistakes could lead to more trauma and pain, or worse.”
“Death?” Marcus asked. Death sounded worse than trauma or pain…
“Incorrect data,” Wesker corrected, looking at him like he’d just confessed to hooking up with his mother. “There’s nothing worse than working off of flawed results. Do you know how much backtracking, rebalancing, and work that kind of thing causes? It’s bad enough that I was unable to keep you for observation after the first injection, so I’m not about to let you muddle things further with ‘modern medicine’. Modern. This world is practically stuck in the dark ages when it comes to science and medicine.”
Looking unimpressed, Caleb asked, “When was the last time you had to saw someone’s leg off cause they got kicked by a cow and couldn’t get the bone back in before it got gangrene ‘cause the nearest doctor was a ten day horse ride away?”
“Never,” Wesker sniffed, going back to his charts and statistics.
“Then shut your whore mouth about ‘the dark ages of medicine’,” the Deathslinger scoffed.
The look on Wesker’s face was priceless, and Marcus had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. Clearing his throat did nothing to help it stop hurting and his voice still came out like sandpaper as he asked, “So, did he make it? The guy whose leg you had to cut off?”
“Huh? Oh, no. He died of dysentery a good few years later.”
“Oh…” was all Marcus could muster in response. After a moment of awkward silence, he asked, “But he survived having his leg sawed off?”
“Yep, took it like a champ,” Caleb recalled, thankfully not calling him out for the question. “We ended up having to do it ourselves. Thankfully we came across a small farm that had some decent tools. Can’t be using rusty tools to cut off limbs after all. The infection will get ‘em every time. Anyway, after we took the leg off, we burned the stump closed with a cattle brand. Started calling him Three Tails after that.”
“Three Tails?” Marcus asked, pointedly ignoring the exasperated sound from Wesker. It wasn’t clear if he was more annoyed that he could only understand two thirds of the conversation, or the fact that the vet was still talking.
“Mhmm. Three Tails Ranch is what the place was called, and the poor fool ended up with their brand on his leg stump, so we started calling him Three Tails. Good man. Could still ride better than most fellers I knew even with one leg.”
Even Nemesis was staring at Caleb as he finished his story. It wasn’t clear if it was simply because he was speaking, or because he was actually interested in the story being told. Either way, he did seem to be paying attention.
“So how you feeling, kid?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “Still feel like you’ve got too many toes?”
“I can’t actually feel my toes,” Marcus admitted, frowning slightly. “Or my fingers, or my ears. Why the hell are my ears numb?”
“Numbness and tingling in your extremities is to be expected. If you’d managed to stay awake–”
“I hope you walk dick first into the corner of a table at full speed,” he groaned, cutting Wesker off. “I get that you’re disappointed in me for not being attacked and experimented on ‘properly’, but the jokes on you. Disappointing you brings me great joy.”
“Wonderful,” Wesker sighed, sounding tired and annoyed. “Tell me, on a scale of one to ten, how is your pain?”
“Ten,” Marcus stated flatly. “It was a four, because of the hangover, but now it’s ten. So thank you for that.”
Not looking the slightest bit sorry, the blond said, “You’re most welcome. Now. If you pull the heart rate monitor off again I’m going to sew it to your skin.”
“You’re a very unpleasant person,” he pointed out, begrudgingly pulling his shirt up. “Like a jar of mayonnaise left on a Texas sidewalk for a week in the middle of August.”
“I would gag you, but I’m quite sure your pathetic whimpering would give me an even bigger migraine than hearing you speak,” Wesker told him, going over to look at something on a computer.
“Don’t worry, he’s always had a stick up his ass,” Caleb chuckled, leaning against the bed.
“I’ve noticed,” Marcus agreed, doing his best to ignore the pounding in his head. It really did feel like someone had slammed an ax into the back of his head. His skull was splitting, temples throbbing in time to his heartbeat. Every sound was too loud and the lights were slowly becoming too bright.
“As long as he don’t need you up and moving around for anything, try and rest,” Caleb recommended. “You drank a lot last night… I’m actually a little surprised you were up and walking as fast as you were.”
“Shit, I hardly even remember last night,” Marcus admitted, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”
“Hmm, you cursed Ji-Woon pretty good…”
“I did what?” he asked, trying not to laugh. “Seriously? I remember him showing up, but not really much of the conversation after.”
“Mhmm,” Caleb hummed. “You said some… interesting stuff.”
Grimacing, Marcus couldn’t help but ask nervously, “I didn’t accept any marriage proposals, did I? Technically, I got engaged back in middle school. I’ve tried to find him to break it off, but I can’t find him on social media to tell him.”
“No, you didn’t get engaged… Again,” the old cowboy chuckled. “Although you and Kenneth have a date next Tuesday.”
“What?!” Marcus shrieked, sitting upright so fast he nearly passed out from the pain that exploded behind his eyes.
As Caleb burst out laughing, Wesker rubbed one of his ears, scowling at the ginger. “You are rather shrill at times. Do you know that?”
“Alright, alright, I had my fun,” the Deathslinger chuckled, patting his back. “I’m just messing with you, kid.”
“Ohh, god… I think I’m going to throw up again,” he groaned. The trashcan was set in his lap again and he dipped his head. Ugh… Only about four more hours to go.
~~
Dwight wasn’t sure what part of him thought hugging Evan was a good idea, but there he was. Arms wrapped around the man’s torso, ear pressed to his chest, and utterly terrified he was about to be grabbed and thrown over the balcony for his thoughtless transgression.
Arms wrapped around his back, fingers playing through his hair as the Slasher -shockingly- reciprocated the hug. It was… really nice. Until David’s raging voice startled him and the Trapper both.
At least, he’d assumed Evan was startled with the way his grip suddenly tightened, fingers digging into his back and scalp. Then he started growling. The sound was low and dangerous, rumbling through his chest like a bear getting ready to defend its territory from a rival.
Before Dwight knew what was happening he was being shoved. Stumbling slightly, he managed not to fall over and regained his balance in time to see David’s fist connect with the side of the Trapper’s masked face.
Evan had actually shoved him back behind him as if to protect him. It seemed a bit of an over reaction, but the man was probably acting on instinct and didn’t want him between them as it came to blows.
With a snarl that would have put a wolf to shame, the Slasher swung, catching David across the chest and throwing him back into the wall. The shrapnel in his arm caught the Survivor’s shirt and skin, leaving several gashes and tears in their wake. His back hit the wall with a crack, a couple of the boards behind him fracturing under the impact.
David looked a little stunned but quickly shook himself off. His previous experiences fighting and brawling coupled with his enhanced durability were enough for him to be flying at the Slasher again in a heartbeat.
“David, stop!” Dwight shouted, shocked and horrified by his obvious misunderstanding of the situation.
His fellow Survivor didn’t seem to hear him, but Evan did. He’d been raising his hand to grab his cleaver off his back, but instead of wrapping his fingers around the handle, he brought his hand back down in an open palm slap that sent David crashing to the floor.
“You fucking bastard!” he spat, pushing himself up.
The Trapper snarled, baring his teeth behind his mask like a territorial animal. Voice more a growl than actual words, he ordered, “Leave. Now.”
Dwight flinched, a sound of surprise leaving him. The Slasher’s tone and voice sounded exactly like he’d remembered from before and his first instinct had been to run and hide. He probably would have, if not for the conversation they’d had only minutes before.
Evan’s head snapped around to look at him, expression becoming one of concern instead of anger.
Still blinded by rage, David tackled the Trapper, arms wrapping around his waist and slamming both of them into the porch rail. Evan let out a surprised grunt, thrown off balance and unable to throw the Survivor off before being punched in the ribs.
Any semblance of reason left within the Slasher evaporated, instinct taking over as he faced an unprovoked attack. Bringing both his fists down on the back of David’s neck, he grabbed him by the shoulders before he could hit the ground again. Smashing their foreheads together, he then spun, flinging the man off the second floor of the saloon.
“David!” Dwight shouted, nearly falling over the side himself as he leaned over to look for him. He was lying unmoving in the dirt just inside the fogless clearing around Dead Dawg, but it was impossible to tell if he was still breathing or not with the distance.
A large body was suddenly close behind Dwight and he jolted. Heavy breathing huffed over his head and he forced himself to look back. Evan wasn’t looking over him to see the damage, rather, he was looking down at him, eyes glittering behind his mask.
The frantic rush of footsteps could be heard rushing over the porch, and a moment later Claudette, Meg, Ace, Felix, Julie, Philip, and Joey all poured out of the saloon. The other Survivors all paused for a split second before racing to their friend with worried shouts.
Julie grabbed Joey’s arm, pulling him close as she talked frantically in his ear before letting go to check on David with the others.
Philip and Joey looked up, spotting Dwight and then Evan. Both of them looked shocked and a little worried. Clicking something, the Wraith grabbed his bell off his hip and vanished with a lingering ring. A shimmer sped off through the fog, vanishing before the bell’s echo had faded.
More footsteps, that time racing towards the doorway to the porch, thundered closer and Evan snarled, yanking his clever off his back just as the Hillbilly shot through the doorway out onto the balcony..
Max let out a confused grunt, gesturing with a large hammer over the balcony.
Evan snarled at him, taking a step forward and raising his cleaver defensively.
“Dwight?! What the hell happened?!” Jake's voice shouted, physically blocked from joining them on the porch by Max. “Dwight, are you okay?!”
“I- I’m fine!” he called back, wincing when Max looked past Evan towards him.
Head tilting, the Slasher grunted again before looking at the Trapper.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Dwight blurted out, only to be met with a disbelieving scoff from behind the doorway.
A dangerous snarl left the killer and Max glared at him, tensing as if preparing to fight.
“E-Evan,” Dwight said, voice small. “Evan, I- I’m sorry, this was my fault! Please don’t- don’t take it out on them!”
Although he didn’t look back since it would mean looking away from the Hillbilly, the Trappers cleaver slowly lowered a couple of inches.
Eyes narrow, Max slowly lowered his own weapon as well. Grunting quietly, he gestured over the rail again before his lips began to move. His voice was rough from disuse, but the question was still enough to make Dwight, Jake, and the other Survivors crowded behind the Hillbilly freeze.
“Wh… Whhh… Whhy?”
It was almost impossible to tell if he was angry or upset or even cared at all. None of them had ever heard him speak before, much less thought he could due to the deformities twisting his body.
Taking several deep breaths, the Trapper’s answer was more of a snarl than words. “He attacked me first!”
Max looked incredulous, brow furrowing as he looked over the balcony again. Gesturing inside, he grunted again before walking over and hopping over the porch rail like he was simply stepping over a small obstacle and not making a one story drop to the hard ground below.
He landed with a soft grunt, before marching over to where the others were helping David sit up. Spotting him coming, Claudette fearlessly rose to intercept him.
Julie and Joey rose too, standing on either side of her. It wasn’t clear if they were there for her safety, or if they were there to keep anyone from running should the Killer start swinging. At least his chainsaw was nowhere in sight. Not that it would matter, considering how much damage he could do with a single swing of the hammer hanging off his hip…
Creeping into view, Frank eyed Evan warrily before asking, “You want to put that down for a sec?”
“I would sooner remove your head from your shoulders,” he snapped, taking a step closer.
The Legion leader didn’t flinch but he did tense up. Susie was peering around him, a bit more openly worried by the situation. Behind them both, Jake and Ash were both watching Evan with obvious suspicion.
Shuffling forward, Dwight started to raise his hand but stopped himself before touching the Trapper’s arm. The metal shrapnel in his arm looked irritated, blood staining the tips from where they’d cut David’s chest.
“Evan?” he asked quietly.
Head turning slowly, the mask angled towards him again. Heavy, angry breaths escaped between jagged teeth, followed momentarily by a growled, “Downstairs.”
“What?” Ash asked.
Head snapping towards him, the Trapper bellowed, “Downstairs! Now!”
Everyone on the balcony flinched, along with several of the people on the ground. Frank quickly grabbed Susie’s wrist, dragging her back into the saloon and out of sight, leaving Dwight and the other Survivors with Evan. Ash vanished almost as quickly, leaving Jake to glare daggers at the Trapper as he remained standing between them.
Very slowly, the Slasher turned to look at Dwight again, ignoring Jake’s silent anger. Voice strained but much more controlled, he said, “Go downstairs with the others…”
Dwight slowly withdrew his hand, making a fist by his side. Guilt, anger, embarrassment. All that and more was twisting his gut into a tight knot as he tried to figure out how the hell they were going to keep the truce intact after what had just happened…
~~
Amanda was having a good, hangover free morning. She’d cleaned out both Ash and Ace’s wallets before heading home to get a good night’s sleep, and after a breakfast of homemade cinnamon raisin toast with eggs, she’d settled in for a nice, relaxing bath. Until the bathroom door was flung open by an invisible force, startling her so badly she accidentally dunked herself as she flailed around trying to grab a towel.
“What the– What the fuck?!” she sputtered, snatching a knife she kept hidden behind the toilet.
An explosion of twitter and chirping sounded in the air above her head, and she stared at the empty space with murderous intent.
“Philip, what the actual fuck are you doing?! Knock! Knock and wait for– Will you turn visible?!”
There was an embarrassed croak, then the Wailing Bell chimed, allowing the Wraith to be seen. He looked panicked, and it wasn’t because he’d just busted in on Amanda’s precious private time.
Taking a couple of breaths, he started over in an easier to keep up with pace, explaining, ‘One of the Survivors got hurt. Evan threw him off the second floor-’
Ignoring the water that sloshed across the tile as she got out of the tub, Amanda grabbed a towel and was heading for her bedroom before Philip could finish explaining. Toweling off as she grabbed her clothes, she didn’t bother checking her robes. She’d tossed them in the dryer right before getting in the bath and knew they wouldn’t be dry yet. A t-shirt and jeans would have to do, it seemed.
“Alright, tell me what– …Philip…”
He was standing in the bedroom door, cheeks slightly red and hands clasped in front of him. Blinking several times when she said his name, he blushed even more visibly before chittering under his breath and awkwardly rubbing the back of his head. Oops… He’d forgotten he was visible…
“Fuck the Entity,” she grumbled. “Come on, you can fill me in on the way there.”
With that, both of them took off. It didn’t take Philip long to tell her what he’d seen… Which was nothing, really. They’d all been waking up. Everyone had varying degrees of headaches or stiffness from sleeping on the saloon floor after a night of drinking. David had gone upstairs to look for Dwight, worried that he was the only Survivor seemingly missing.
Arriving at the saloon, Amanda could immediately see the signs of the altercation. The ground was scuffed and kicked up and there was a small puddle of blood. More smears and drops from where someone was helped up and back inside left a clear trail, and she took a deep breath.
Things looked… bad. Very bad, to be honest. But she was glad Philip got her and not Michael. Sure, Michael was technically the ‘leader’, but only so far as to dispense punishment when someone fucked up too badly. The current situation needed to be handled delicately, and that was simply not something the Shape seemed interested in doing. Was he capable of showing restraint? Yes. Would he if it came down to ‘a Slasher and a Survivor got into a fight’? No. No he would not…
Entering the saloon, Amanda quickly surveyed the scene. The Survivors had gotten David to sit in one corner, shirt up so Claudette could tend to his injuries. The others were sitting or standing nervously around them, clearly on edge as they watched the Slashers directly across the room.
Evan was sitting in a chair, elbows on his knees and shoulders hunched as he glared daggers at the injured man. Max was pacing back and forth, much to the obvious annoyance of the Legion. All four of them were watching him walk back and forth with varying expressions of irritation. Frank looked like he was about to snap, but calmed down a little when he saw Amanda and Philip walking in. Jude was nowhere in sight, but that wasn’t really a concern. The elderly cat seemed to have no issues facing down the creatures of the fog.
“Okay, here’s how this is going to work,” Amanda started, clapping her hands together with a loud slap. “Max. Did you see what happened?”
He grunted, shaking his head no, before pointing at Evan, David, and then Dwight. The poor Survivor looked utterly mortified, lips a thin, trembling line as he squeezed his hands in his lap. Jake was sitting beside him, one hand on his back for comfort despite the way he too was glaring daggers at Evan.
Ah, right… They’d hated each other for as long as Amanda could remember. Nine times out of ten, if the Trapper went on a rant at the campfire about a Survivor screwing him out of a perfect Trial, it was Jake he was blaming. As the first Killer the original four Survivors had to face, it was no wonder he harbored such strong feelings of hate towards him.
“Great, then please go throw sawdust on the blood outside before Demi and Dredge smell it and come in for a closer look,” she instructed. “Did anyone other than you three see what happened?”
“Naw, we just saw the soccer star go flying,” Frank explained. “Well, falling.”
“It’s football,” David seethed. “And I played rugby, you maple syrup drinking hick.”
“I’m gonna send you flying myself!” Frank snapped, lunging out of his chair. It took Joey tackling him to the floor to stop him, and Amanda sighed.
“God. Fucking. Help. Me.”
Alas, no god came to help her. Thankfully luck did seem to be on their side however, as no one else showed up either.
“Dwight? Tell me what happened,” she said, turning to the Survivor.
He jumped slightly, before standing up. He looked so uncomfortable and nervous, but he managed to keep his voice steady as he explained, “It was… It was my fault. I asked Evan if we could speak in private and… and he told me something that… um, anyway, I- I hugged him. And David walked in and thought I was being attacked so he… he attacked Evan…”
Amanda wasn’t sure what part of the story surprised her more. The fact that Evan hadn’t thrown Dwight over the rail for hugging him, or that Evan wasn’t the one who started the fight.
Turning to her fellow Slasher, she raised an eyebrow. “Evan? Is that true?”
“Yes,” he growled, eyes still locked on David.
“So, you walked in and thought… what, exactly?” Amanda asked, turning to David. “That he was attacking Dwight?”
David finally stopped glaring at Evan to glare at her instead as he snapped, “Well what the hell was I supposed to think? He’s been obsessed with him since day one!”
“Maybe the lack of screaming, crying, whimpering, and general begging for mercy should have clued you in,” Julie pointed out, not sounding sympathetic in the slightest.
“He had his filthy hands all over him!” the Survivor argued, attempting to get up.
Ash and Felix practically had to hold him down, Claudette scolding, “Hold still! You still have open wounds!”
“Maybe if you’d been hugged more as a child, you’d know what a hug looks like,” Joey pointed out, smirking when David shot him an ugly look.
Poor Dwight looked like he wanted to curl up and die, and Amanda couldn’t help but feel kind of bad for him. It wasn’t his fault, despite his obvious impression that it was, and she didn’t blame him.
“Get him patched up, then I’ll escort you all back to Doc’s house so you can go home,” she instructed after a moment of thought. “This was a misunderstanding, and since no one died, I see no reason for this to end the truce. However… David, you’re banned from returning to the Realm for the foreseeable future.”
“What?!” he demanded, once again trying to get up.
It took Ace helping to hold him back that time, and Claudette threatened, “If you get up again I’m going to let you bleed out!”
“Let him bleed,” Evan sneered. “Save your energy and wait for him to heal on his own.”
“That’s not how we do things,” Jake defended, scowling. “He made a mistake, we’re not going to torture him for it.”
“Regardless,” Amanda stated firmly. She was not dealing with a goddamn dick measuring contest. “I think we can all agree, this was unfortunate… but we can move forward. Right?”
“I don’t see why not,” the Trapper allowed, pushing himself to his feet. “But I want to make one thing clear… If I’m attacked unprovoked again, I won’t show mercy like I did today. I will kill you with my bare hands.”
“Unprovoked my a-”
“Jesus, David! Will you shut up for once!” Dwight snapped, whipping around to face him. “We- We’ll talk later! But for now, just keep it yourself before you get someone killed!”
Everyone was shocked silent by his outburst, including David and Evan. It was probably a good thing, and Claudette managed to finish patching him up without any more issues.
Max came back inside a few minutes before they were done, but didn’t attempt to interact with any of the Survivors. Picking up the glass bottles from the night before, he chucked them all into a trash can before dragging it out behind the saloon to be washed and reused later.
Once David was stitched up, Amanda ordered, “Alright, all of you follow me.”
No one said a word for once, staying close together as they followed her from the saloon and back into the fog. The Trapper, Wraith, and Legion all joined as well, bringing up the rear of the group.
Making it back to the courtyard without further incident, Amanda placed a hand on the Tree, saying, “Go, I’ll be right behind you.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how this feels,” Ace sighed, stepping up to and then through the Tree.
She knew what he meant, as the bone chilling cold caused by stepping through a Door could be quite unpleasant. It made her wonder if using an Entryway was different, but she didn’t put too much thought into it.
“I need snacks,” Susie grumbled, shuffling up as the last Survivor disappeared through the Tree. “Amanda, you’re joining us, right?”
“Yeah, but mostly to keep you all out of trouble. I’m just glad Danny and Doc weren’t here for all this,” she admitted. “Where’d they go anyway?”
“Doc had his appointment today…” Evan growled. “Caleb is with him.”
“Jesus Christ,” Amanda muttered. How had she forgotten? Although she was glad the Deathslinger was with him, she regretted not being there to at least make sure Wesker or Nemesis didn’t treat him too roughly when they came to retrieve him.
“Are you coming to wait at his place, then?” she asked him. “Philip? Are you– Nevermind, he’s gone again, isn’t he?”
Evan looked around before shrugging. “Seems like it. Although he and Claudette seem to be bonding rather well.”
“I noticed,” she agreed. “I’m glad.”
The pair had stayed up for hours, talking and laughing and scribbling down… well, she wasn’t sure what actually, but they’d nearly filled a couple of notebooks with whatever it was.
“Well, let’s get back to Doc’s. I’m sure that’s the first place Danny’s going to show up to look for him anyway.”
Evan grunted his agreement before stepping through the Tree as well.
Following behind him, Amanda stepped into the vet’s house only to be greeted with a very unexpected sight.
Danny was already there, and was frantically waving his arms in a kind of ‘shut up’ gesture. When she spotted Leon passed out on the couch in a t-shirt and boxers, she raised an eyebrow. What in god’s name…
The rest of the Survivors were watching Ghostface warrily, wondering what the hell he was planning and why he was keeping them from waking up their friend.
His mask was on so she couldn’t see his face, but from the way his head tilted, she could tell he was confused. His loud whisper confirmed it as he asked, “Where’s Doc?”
“He had his appointment with Wesker today,” she answered, before asking, “What is Leon doing here? I mean, we need to talk to him anyway, but why is he asleep on Doc’s couch?”
“No clue,” Danny hissed, sounding frustrated. “Fuck, I got my day’s all wrong. I thought that was tomorrow. Who-”
“Caleb’s with him,” Evan huffed. “Where the hell were you?”
“Busy,” he snapped, before holding a finger up to his mask. Crouching, the shadows around him seemed to darken as he crept closer to Leon. Once he was right next to him, he reached up and poked gently at his ear.
The rookie muttered something in his sleep, one hand coming up to clumsily smack at whatever was touching him.
“You know, we can just… wake him up,” Meg pointed out.
Ghostface waved a hand at her, before cooing, “Heeey. Hey yooou. Wakey-wakey, vegetables and sadness. Wait, he’s not vegan, is he?”
“Um, no?” Dwight answered, sounding confused.
“Ah, that ruins the joke then,” he sighed. Attention back to Leon, he cleared his throat before letting out a shrill scream right in the blonds ear.
Leon jolted awake, scrambling to try and get up and falling off the couch in the process.
Ghostface fell over laughing, the shrouds effects breaking with a small burst of shadows.
The Legion found it pretty funny as well, openly cracking up as they made their way to the kitchen to look for food.
It looked like Meg and Jake were trying not to laugh, but Ace and Ash weren’t as subtle with their laughter.
Groaning into the carpet, Leon took a deep breath before glaring up at Ghostface. “You’re an asshole. You know that?”
“I do, and I take pride in it,” he giggled, hopping to his feet. “Gotta’ take my mind off the anxiety somehow. Now! Why the hell are you half naked on m- our boyfriend’s couch?”
“What?” Leon asked, still working on waking up. Looking around, his eyes widened as he realized everyone was back from the Realm. Well, almost everyone. Frowning, he asked, “Where’s Marcus?”
“He’s busy with your old boyfriend,” Susie informed from the kitchen. “Fuck a duck, where’d all the snacks go?”
“My old– Wesker?!” Leon demanded, looking disgusted. Shaking his head, he clarified, “I’ve never been involved with, or had any interest in getting involved with that egomaniac. I came over to bring Marcus what he’s owed for his work, and to ask him a favor on someone’s behalf.”
“Hmmm, bummer. You just missed him. Bye-bye now!” Danny sing-songed, waving cheerfully.
“Actually, before you go anywhere,” Amanda interjected. “We do need to talk.”
Dwight blushed, looking down at his feet, while David huffed angrily.
“What did he do?” Leon deadpanned, not even needing to look over at them.
“David started a fight with Evan, who did a remarkable job holding back as he defended himself,” she explained. “I’ll let Dwight fill you in on the details if he feels so inclined, but we have no intention of allowing this to affect the truce. It was a misunderstanding and massive overreaction. In the meantime, David is banned from entering the Realm. If he can behave himself, we’ll consider lifting the ban at a later date.”
“Ugh, I miss all the fun,” Danny lamented, sounding more amused than disappointed.
“Fair enough,” Leon agreed, before turning to face the group of other Survivors. “David, I already told you last time if you didn’t keep a hold of your temper you were going back in lock up. So, guess what.”
Rolling his eyes, he let out an annoyed sigh. “You’re joking…”
“One week,” the rookie stated. His authority was slightly undercut by the fact that he was giving the order in his underwear, but the punishment was set. “Ash, Ace, Felix, if you would please escort him back home. Jake, Meg, Claudette, you three are fine. Dwight, don’t go too far, we’ll need to talk once we get back. I’m going to grab my clothes and I’ll meet you–”
Marcus practically flying out of the closet interrupted him mid word, but when the vet nearly trampled him and Danny both in his mad dash to the bathroom, everyone else quickly stepped aside. The sounds of someone retching violently were heard a moment later, and several people cringed.
“Well, I see the party hasn’t stopped,” Caleb drawled, stepping out of the closet only a second later. “Someone want to tell me why the deputy is in his drawers? Or am I better off not knowing?”
“My pants were… dirty,” Leon offered lamely. “I didn’t mean to sleep so long, but I was waiting for them to dry.”
From the kitchen, Julie asked, “Why not just go home and wash them?”
“I wasn’t about to walk through the Pocket in my underwear,” he answered, blushing slightly.
Marcus came shuffling back into the living room a moment later, face scrunched in a pained frown and a hand over one ear. When Danny started to inhale before the start of what was probably going to be a very loud, boisterous greeting, he held up a finger.
“Shhhh. Shhh. My head… feels like a watermelon that someone took a sledgehammer to and my nose feels like it’s going to start bleeding any second now. Lights are too fucking bright, and my skin itches. Also… Leon… Why in god's name did you and Myers have to use my bedroom?”
~~~~
