Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

*dial tone*

She sighed, knowing that it was fruitless to continue trying. Her boyfriend, now ex, had dumped her for that blonde at the office.

Maybe this is a good thing. He was a real control freak, and left bruises on her arms whenever she didn’t do exactly what he expected. Even now, the shadow of his arms whenever he held them as he told her not to make a scene was there, although she was just numb when he told her.

She shifted her hold on the box of her belongings - it was all that she had when she decided to move, to start new somewhere. She looked at the little house she bought - it was just the right size for her, already furnished with basic items.

She unlocked the door and put her items down. She needed to check in to the candy store for which she got a job at, just so that she had a little income coming in. Rushing out and locking the door, she walked in a steady gait, wide eyed as she looked around at the small town.

It was very different from the city she’d come from, but she liked that she didn’t need a car here. She sold hers, an older Nissan Maxima, to buy the house.

The walk to the candy store took her past a diner, a bookstore, and a record store, all filled with people. The candy store was the only one that seemed a little empty, which was good for her. She did get a few curious glances - she was sure they knew everyone that lived here, small enough as it was.

She also knew of how she looked. She was a curvy thing, so she wore some jeans, plain shirt and hoodie, to be less noticeable. Her hair though was wavy and a shimmering dirty blonde, with somewhat gray eyes that liked to show off her mood. 

Her boyfriend liked to bring the yellow and purple out: her anxiety and her tears.

She shook her head, trying to throw out those memories for now. She opened the door and stepped inside, almost tripping over a lady kneeling on the ground, picking up gumballs.

“Oh my goodness, sorry!” She exclaimed, before kneeling down and trying to help. The lady looked at her, a little stunned.

“Oh, um, thank you,” the lady replied, and they finished picking them up pretty quickly. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

She smiled, hopeful. “I just moved in down the street, and I had spoken to a Kevin over the phone about helping out here?”

The lady snapped her fingers as she remembered something. “Oh, you’re the new hire he was talking about. That’s great!” She put her hand on her chest. “My name’s Kelsey. What’s yours?”

“Kate,” she replied, reaching out and shaking her hand. “So, where do you need me?”

“Wow, okay, you’re eager,” Kelsey said, looking around. “Well, I just finished cleaning up that last mess, I can show you the different types of candies and rattle off some nicknames for them, see what you can remember next time someone comes in. Oh, and tie your hair up.”

After a few hours, and a few customers came in and ordered some candy, Kate felt accomplished. She had come after lunch, so there hadn’t been much time left on the afternoon shift. She was starving. Kevin was taking the late shift.

She turned to Kelsey. “Do you have any suggestions for eating after this?”

Kelsey pondered, then smiled. “How about we go to Boys N’ Grills together? They have amazing burgers and fries.”

After nodding, they headed out the door together, talking about each other’s backgrounds.

It was the diner she’d passed on the way there, and when they entered, it was quite busy. They both got in line, and waited. She took everything in - there were booths where families sat, and regular tables around, chrome-plated, with every condiment. There were three cashiers, so the line was going pretty fast.

When it was their turn, the cashier turned from writing something on his pad, and took a double-take when he saw them. “Oh Kelsey!” He said, his voice deepening from his regular voice just a second ago. He was what many would consider pretty and handsome. His name tag said Jonathan. He looked Kate over and his smile became something else. “And who is this belle?”

Kate blushed, but Kelsey answered. “This is Kate. She’s the new hire at the candy store. I’m showing her the best place to eat,” she winked, and the cashiers all laughed.

“You’re not getting a discount, Kelsey,” Johnathan replied quickly, not taking his eyes off of Kate. “What can I get for you dames?”

Kelsey rolled her eyes, while Kate just kept her eyes at the menu. Knowing that he probably flirted with every female he saw, she thought nothing of it. They just thought she was pretty, she reminded herself. They didn’t want her specifically.

“I’ll take a Bob’s special, I’m starving!” Kelsey responded, and Kate nodded. “I’ll have one too,” she said, and Johnathan stared at her for a moment, then took the order. They both went to a table by the window, but Kate had lost a lot of her enthusiasm to chat. Kelsey looked at her worriedly, unsure what to think of her new friend’s vibe change.

“You okay?” She asked, and Kate looked up, and Kelsey’s eyes widened. “Whoa, how did you eyes change color?” She asked, for Kate’s eyes had changed from grey to a light yellow.

“Huh?” Kate responded, looking a little lost, until she realized that Kelsey was staring at her eyes. “Oh, I have gray eyes, so they end up changing colors based on my mood,” she said, her eyes getting more and more yellow.

“Oh . .” Kelsey said. “What does yellow mean?”

Kate looked away. “Just that I’m extra anxious or self-conscious. Hopefully it’ll go away.”

“Oh, sweetie, there’s nothing to be self-conscious about!” Kelsey said, touching her hand to Kate’s, surprising her. “You’re new here, so I get it, but I’m sure everyone will welcome you like I have, especially with how kind you are.” She smiled. “Not everyone would just start helping me like that.”

“Well, what if I was just trying to make a good impression? It’s a selfish reason,” Kate responded, but with no energy behind it.

Kelsey patted her hand again. “I can tell when it’s the norm. You’re a good one.”

They were interrupted by a deep voice. “Here’s your food, darlin’s,” the cashier that held the burgers said, his voice buttery smooth and cheerful. He was heavy set, with a name tag that said Bob. His smile was large, and his hands were large.

Kelsey looked excited. “Oh thank you, Bob,” she said as he put it down in front of her. Kate couldn’t stop looking at him as he put hers down.

“Don’t mind my coworker, he don’t mean nothin’ by it,” Bob said to her, and she blinked her eyes as if she just came out of a daze.

“Oh, that’s okay.” She smiled softly, and Bob’s grin got bigger. “You’re welcome, darlin’,” he responded, looking at her eyes curiously.

Oh no, I hope they’re not pink now. She quickly grabbed the burger, and took a bite. She made a noise in her throat, it tasted so good.

“You weren’t kidding, this is the best burger I’ve ever tasted,” she said after she swallowed, and almost jumped when she realized that Bob hadn’t left.

“Of course it’s the best, I made it,” he replied, and chuckled deeply. “My name’s Bob, if the name tag didn’t clue you in, and I heard that yours is Kate. Nice to meet you. Do you need anything else while I’m here?”

They both shook their head, and he finally left back to the front.

“So, that’s the owner,” Kelsey said, interrupting Kate’s reverie as she was watching him leave. That voice was so soothing. “He doesn’t always bring the food, but I guess he wanted to meet you.”

She blushed, and Kelsey laughed.

Chapter Text

Leaving, Kelsey was heading the opposite direction, so they said their goodbyes and Kate headed home. She walked slowly as the dusk got darker and darker, and was fascinated by her ability to see the stars. Normally in the city, she couldn’t see anything due to the light pollution. Here, it was minor, and the stars twinkled, almost like they were speaking.

Realizing she had managed to make it to her house, she went in, got dressed for bed, and was passed out within a minute of her head hitting the pillow.

She woke up, not being able to remember anything from her dreams besides the stars. And the stars staring back.

As the memory wisped away, she got up, dressed, and headed out, still choosing to wear nondescript clothes. Hands in her pockets, she walked past the store fronts, keeping her eyes on the ground as she zoned out. It was very early, and the sun was barely risen. She knocked on the candy store door, and there was Kevin - a lanky, dark haired man, who always looked bored with everyone.

Once he got her set up, he left, and she waited at the front. It didn’t take long for her first customer.

Bob looked tired, not in his usual uniform. He walked up to the counter, looking down at the candies, then saw her, and she could see the obvious irritation.

Kevin had already warned her though.

She bent down behind the counter, and pulled out a sack, already pre-filled by Kevin. “Gumballs, laffy taffies, and gummy worms,” she recited, remembering what Kevin had said. Bob always came in for his candy fix, and he really wasn’t a morning person.

Looking a little surprised but relieved, he pulled out cash and placed it on the counter. He then took the bag and started grabbing inside as he turned and walked away, saying nothing.

She quietly chuckled, understanding that mornings weren’t for everyone. For most it was coffee, but she guessed it was candy for him.

The rest of her day went smoothly, with Kelsey coming in take over in the afternoon. She went on a stroll, exploring more of the town, but when dinner came around, she headed back to the diner, meeting up with Kelsey. They ordered their food, and Bob came around again with their food, and Kate just kept having the hardest time acting normal around him.

“Do you have a cruuuuush?” Kelsey asked slyly, and Kate blushed as he walked away. She decided to ignore her and take a bite of her burger.

When she walked home, she noticed that there was someone following her. When she looked, a large, devilish figure was standing a few lampposts back, with the biggest grin. She turned sideways, waiting a moment, but they didn’t move.

She continued walking, but facing sideways, watching as the figure started to follow her. Their footsteps were thundering; drool dripped from their mouth, their eyes going a little manic, yet kept the same slow pace.

When she realized that she had made it to her door (walking sideways the whole way), she blindly pulled out her keys and jiggled with the lock, watching him keep walking.

Having previously mastered this skill, the door opened, and she mindlessly waved bye to the figure, before dashing inside and locking the door. She shook, moving away from the door and checking all the windows were locked before sliding down the wall, and holding her knees tight to her chest.

She was scared, but fear wasn’t going to keep her safe. Her wariness would. It’s what kept her mostly safe whenever Alan would get into one of his “moods.”

She fell asleep against the wall in the corner.

The next morning, Bob came in as usual, wordlessly taking his routine order and heading to open up the diner. She looked away when he walked away, feeling a little self-conscious about how much she stared at him. She looked down at the candies, then had an idea.

When her shift was over in the afternoon, and Kelsey was also done, they went to the diner, waiting in the long line. When they got to the front, Bob was their cashier, eyes brightening when he saw them.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said with that rolling drawl that made Kate’s smile grow bigger without realizing it. “I hope your day is going well.”

“It’s the normal stuff,” Kelsey replied, then placed her order. She looked at Kate to ask, but Kate beat her to it. “I’d like a special, please,” she said, leaning forward a little.

They paid, and Kelsey turned to walk away, and Kate took the opportunity to slide something towards Bob.

Bob didn’t notice at first since he was inputting the order, but then he saw that she had pushed a small bag towards him, her eyes practically smiling. He looked surprised, before his hand covertly moved to take the bag from her. She could practically feel the warmth emanating from his large hand when he took it, and she pulled her hand back a little too quickly, making sure Kelsey didn’t notice. When he looked at his spoils, it was a bag with candy that he always ordered.

“In case you get hungry,” she said quietly, before turning and rushing to her seat.

He looked after her, his own face with a slight blush from the extra attention.

This started to become the norm for a couple of weeks, although Kelsey could only accompany her a couple days, so when she was alone, Bob would hang near her, asking more about her. She was still quiet-spoken, but answered all his questions, and she always came in with a smile.

Until one day when she was about to order, and her phone started vibrating. She pulled it out, and her face blanched at the caller ID, before sliding it back in her pocket and ordering really quickly. Her eyes were swirling yellow and orange, and she barely seem to register anything that Bob said. She rapidly handed her money and left before even waiting for change, sitting in her normal spot by the window.

He watched her, his eyes narrowing at the immense dislike for her new mood. He continued to take orders, but Bob could multitask. Her phone vibrated again, and this time she brought it to her ear, her face broadcasting so much dread.

The voice on the other side made her flinch as soon as the call started, and Bob almost broke the pencil he was holding, he was gripping it so hard. She listened to whomever was berating her on the other end, and she would respond in as few words as possible.

After a couple minutes she hung up, and he suddenly realized that she was silently crying, gripping her arms as she started to have problems breathing. He waved to his other cashier to take over.

Alan did not abide her not answering. Even if they weren’t together, he still was trying to keep a hold of her.

She was going to ignore the call, but then all those fears of what he may do rose up, and she had answered on the second call. And the making her feel small began.

He had apparently already left the other girl, though she didn’t believe him, and was asking her in that sick saccharin voice to update him on where she lived, to which she didn’t say. When he hung up on her, she was shaking, the tears she didn’t even notice. She felt like she needed more air, but she couldn’t get enough. Gripping her arms, she scrunched her eyes shut, trying to control her breathing to no avail.

Suddenly, large, warm hands were gripping her elbows. “Slooooow your breathing, darlin’,” she heard Bob say, and the warmth seeped into her. She hiccuped, before her breath started to slow, and it was only when she was breathing normally for a minute before he let go of her arms.

She opened her eyes then, and the purple was starting to fade. He lifted his hand slowly, wiping her tears. “Who was that?” He asked through gritted teeth, and she realized that he was angry.

“Oh,” she tried to smile, but her eyes refused. “It’s just my ex, don’t worry about it, Bob.”

He looked like he was going to say something, but then shook his head. “Darlin’, just let me know if you need . . help, okay?” He said instead. “You okay?”

Only when she nodded did he leave her alone.

Chapter Text

She started to get the calls every day for a week, and it made Bob livid. He was snapping at everyone no matter how hard he tried to contain it, because he hadn’t seen her smile in a week. She always made sure to come in, order, give him his snacks, then sit down before the phone would vibrate, and although she didn’t have a panic attack again, she was in pain emotionally.

One time, when she was on the call, he came and sat down across from her, and he could see her visibly start to relax, and his mood softened, liking the idea that just him being near her had that effect on her. He was called back to assist with something, and he squeezed her shoulder as he headed back to the front, and he finally saw her weak smile.

Now he didn't want to leave. But he had to. The business had to be taken care of.

She was working in the candy store the next day, when she looked up at the doorbell ding, and she felt like a rock had just squashed her.

“Alan?!” She hissed, gripping the glass counter to steady herself.

After glancing around, seeing no one else in the store, he sauntered to the glass counter, his eyes never leaving hers as he went around the counter and snatched her arm, and she winced, his grip punishing. “Don’t Alan me, Katie,” he snarled, using the name she hated, “I wouldn’t have had to drive out here to find you if you’d had just told me where you lived like I’d asked.”

He gripped harder, and she held back her whimpers. “Yo-you’re the one that dumped me, Alan,” she stammered “A-and I don’t to be part of that anymore. Please le-leave me alone.”

He sighed, exasperated. “You can’t be left alone, sweetheart. You know that,” he said, always trying to act like the caring boyfriend.

It was all a lie, she knew.

“P-p-please, Alan.”

He glared at her, then shoved her away, making her fall into some of the candy jars, bruising her shoulder. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Then he stormed out, and she slowly got up, cleaning up while she silently cried.

When she started to head out the candy store late that afternoon after her double shift, she realized that Alan was in his car down the street, probably watching her. She automatically turned the opposite direction of her house and walked blindly. She knew he was following her, so she kept going, past the park, the mall, until all that was left was the abandoned house on the hill.

Without a second thought, she headed to the house, figuring she could hide near it. He couldn’t drive up, so once he got to the end of the long driveway, he sat there.

The house was tall, falling apart, and ancient. She saw that the front door was a little out of view, so she went around the house until she was on the opposite side, then sat down and wrapped her knees to her chest.

A few hours past, and the sun went down. When the stars came out, she started to relax, drawn in by how beautiful they were, how they called to her. She pulled her hair down, letting the blonde locks flow, and just stared up at the sky.

What is this . . . Who are you?

The voice reverberated in her mind, almost indecipherable but she instantly understood it. She looked around, but seeing no one, looked back at the stars.

I’m Kate . . who are you, may I ask? She responded politely.

Iiiiiii am the Eyes of the Universe . . but how can you understand me?

It was almost like a deep voice, a friend, wrapping her in its voice.

She merely shrugged.

Whaaaat do you see?

The stars, she said, watching them glimmer. They make me feel . . cared about.

There was silence. 

I watch through the stars.

Oh, she replied. Is it just you here?

No, it said. I have those that feed me.

She blinked. Are they like you?

No one is like me.

She smiled a sad smile. But that’s true of many. We are all ourselves.

She felt the ground crumble beneath her, and she startled, grabbing the ground in reflex. The patch of ground lowered, and descended into darkness, until there was a tingly feeling of passing through a barrier, and she could see stars again, but further than what was possible. The house was gone - it was like she was in an underground universe, and a massive tree with eyes stared at her, and she realized that there were tentacles writhing everywhere, all leading back to the tree. And one was holding her patch of dirt as it brought it closer. Its eyes glowed a bright teal, and she stared in awe, seeing what it meant that it watched through the stars.

She’d seen its eyes before.

Am I ourself? Eyes spoke.

She laughed a good natured laugh, and the tree looked surprised. I’m sorry, she said, smiling big. I understand now what you mean. So you are alone.

You . . are not scared? Blinded? Eyes seemed confused.

She smiled again, her eyes sparkling, and Eyes felt . . . strange. I like the stars, she repeated herself. They make me feel happy. And they’re you. So, in a sense, you make me happy.

Suddenly she slumped to the side, as the tentacle slid back away from her after touching her head, instantly asleep. The massive eldritch tree, that had lived here since it had been summoned and fed by children’s murder, wasn’t sure of itself. He had seen the end, and yet, he had not seen her. She understood him, and did not realize that she spoke his language whenever she responded to him.

His tentacles ran the whole length of the town. So he brought her far back to her house, portaled through the floor, and gently placed her in her bed, deciding that for now, he would keep her.

Chapter Text

When she woke up, she had a faint recollection of the night before, of speaking to the stars again, and she wondered why she kept having that dream. Then slowly she remembered why she was at the house, and realized that the events may have been more real than she had realized.

She went to work as usual, although when she went to the diner for dinner with Kelsey, Bob had been on break, and had instantly went over to her, asking if she was okay. She smiled a weak smile and nodded, before sitting down while Kelsey ordered the food. As soon as she finished, she went straight home, checking that Alan wasn’t anywhere to be found. She passed out right away.

She was startled awake by her phone ringing, and she glanced over at the clock. 2AM. She brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?” She answered groggily.

“Um, Kate,” came Kelsey’s voice over the line, and the hint of fear jolted Kate out of her grogginess. “Your ex is at my doorstep, demanding I tell him where you live.”

“Don’t move, I’ll be right there,” Kate said, throwing on clothes hurriedly. She closed the phone and was out the door in minutes, running at full speed.

This was the last straw. Calling her constantly to berate her, ambushing her at her work, and now this?

Running across lawns, she turned a corner and almost ran into a silhouette on the sidewalk. “On your left!” She exclaimed breathlessly as she dodged around the person, barely registering that it was the red sweatered devil that had stared her down a few nights before. She didn’t see his incredulous look at her, before slowly plodding after her, his grin widening.

She slid to a stop in front of Kelsey’s door, which was slightly ajar. She could hear his voice right within the door, and she started to feel angry. She slammed open the door, her eyes turning reddish.

There was his stupid pretty face, her charismatic ex Alan, encroaching on Kelsey’s space as he had changed his tactic from suave convincing to intimidation.

“ALAN, why the FUCK,” she yelled, and they both spun in surprise, Kelsey with a hint of relief and Alan with a touch of annoyance and shock, “are you doing here?!”

Alan recovered quickly, spinning to face her, his beautiful smile on his face. “Katie!” He said, shoving as much suave drip he could muster into his words. “I have been looking everywhere for you, sweetheart.”

Kate stood her ground, her eyes now a bright red, making him pause. “You don’t need to be looking anywhere for me, especially if you decide to hound my friends like this.” She jammed her finger into his chest, and he stumbled back. “You treated me like an accessory,” she continued, “and anything I did that didn’t please you, you’d hurt me where others couldn’t see.” She rolled her sleeves up, the yellow-brown remnants of bruises left on her arms visible. “This,” a swirl of purple joined the red in her eyes, as tears started to form, “is what memories you left the last time you found me.”

Alan narrowed his eyes, a warning that Kate ignored, as Kelsey had backed to the side, keeping both in sight but now out of Alan’s space.

“And now you have the audacity to call me, berate me, and try to stalk me, after I’ve had enough time to learn what normal interactions are?!”

Suddenly Alan was gripping her bruised arm, and she yelped, the pain fresh. “You’re getting too bold, sweetheart,” his voice oozed anger, and her old fears that he’d trained in her came rushing back, her eyes going bright orange. “You’ve forgotten your pla-“

He glanced behind her, then suddenly let go of her, fear flooding his face.

She spun, looked up at the grinning devil who watched her with manic eyes. She was holding her hurting arm, and pulled her sleeves down slowly. For some reason, her fight-or-flight response was broken, because the look of absolute want in the red devil’s face was terrifying, drooling as he looked at her, almost panting.

“Would you hold on while I finish with this other asshole?”

“Kaaaaate,” Kelsey said ever so slowly, her eyes terrified. “Don’t yell at the people eater . .”

Kate ignored her, her eyes switching from the orange to swirling with both red and purple like a whirlpool, and the butcher just stared at her eyes. He lifted his steak knife, sharpened to a deadly edge, and touched it right below her eyes. He tilted his head to the side, then grinned even wider. “I can hold on, lamb.”

Her eyes seemed to acquire a touch of pink. “Thank you,” she replied, and she turned away, making sure not to get cut by the knife. “YOU,” she exclaimed angrily, grabbing at Alan who had backed away, and shoving him out to the side using her rage-strength, “need to leave me alone.”

Alan stared at her from the grass, not expecting any of what he was seeing. The red-hoodie man beside her just kept smiling, watching him with drool just running down his face. The memory of Kelsey calling him a people eater and the fact that Kate didn’t seem to be worried brought his anger back. “Fine!” He stood up, brushing the dirt off. “Don’t expect me to come rescue you when this guy eats you for dinner!” He turned and stormed off, getting into his car, and driving out.

“Kate . .” Kelsey whispered as she gestured to her to sneak inside, watching the red butcher with wide eyes. 

Kate started to shake, her emotions finally drained as she slumped to the ground onto her knees, not hearing her. The red Devil Butcher stepped around her, making Kelsey back up. “Time for dinner . . good niiiiight,” he taunted her as he closed her door, then turned to Kate, his mouth watering.

When Kelsey finally managed to open the door again, both Kate and the Butcher were gone.

She had felt the blade press under her chin, and she moved up from the pressure obediently, her mind elsewhere.

He’s going to only get worse, she thought, knowing that he always escalated, even if he had run off this time. She had reacted like that once before, when he broke into her old friend’s house and just sat there in her living room, threatening merely by his presence when she refused to go with him to a party. She had yelled him out, and then he would never let her go home alone.

“One foot in front of the other, little lamb,” the Devil Butcher’s deep voice came through, and she realized that he was shepherding her down the street. The blade was gone from her throat; it was just his massive hand on her lower back guiding her. It made her feel hot, that massive palm resting, touching her, and suddenly the imagery of him gripping her bottom flooded her mind. She couldn’t hide her blush, but otherwise kept moving obediently.

Before she knew it, she was standing in front of her door. She blinked a little in surprise, then turned her head and looked upwards, since he was so much taller than her. His grin was massive, and he was drooling, staring at her.

“Why?” She asked.

He tilted his head. “Did you know," his voice deep and smooth like butter, his southern twang becoming more prominent, "that bruised meat has a particularly metallic taste, and can be quite mushy?”

Oh. Then she chuckled, thinking the odd thought that she could just bruise herself then if he didn’t like the taste, keeping herself alive. “Okay,” she numbly responded, her gray eyes the tiniest bit of light blue. “Good night,” she turned to move towards the door, but his hand gripped her waist, immobilizing her. She looked back at him, and he was staring at her eyes.

His hand was massive, and she felt utterly powerless as he held her, and yet she was holding her breath out of an emotion other than fear. His face, towering over her, was close, too close, and his heavy breathing of gluttonous need sent her mind towards other reasons to breathe heavy, and she almost bit her lip thinking about it.

Dang, what is wrong with me?

It was a hefty minute until he finally released her, sliding his hand down from her waist. She backed up until she touched the door, then turned to unlock it, slipped inside, and closed it. She had no idea what he was thinking, but she wasn’t going to test her luck further.

That night she barely slept.

Chapter Text

The next morning, she left earlier than usual, watching every shadow as she made it to her work. When the door chimed, she freaked for a second before realizing that it was Bob. His normal morning demeanor changed as he saw her jump.

“What’s going on, Kate?” He asked as he came up, and she stared at him blankly, shocked that he spoke this early. He waved his hand in front of her before she stopped gaping.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you could speak before the sun came up,” she responded, then blushed furiously, realizing how tactless that was. “Uh, uh, here’s your order!” She shoved his bag at him, her eyes not meeting his.

She let out a squeak when he enveloped her hands with his, and her bright, yellow with a tinge of pink eyes meeting his dark brown worried ones. “Kate, it’s alright, no need to be spooked,” Bob said. “It’s just me.”

She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was letting her paranoia get to her. “I—I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to hide her trembling. “I didn’t get much sleep is all.”

He squeezed her hands with his. “Was it your ex again?”

She froze like a trapped deer, not looking at him, but gave the slightest nod.

“What’d he do, darlin’?”

Her eyes flitted to his, and her inner survival instincts screamed for her to run; the anger in his eyes was almost palpable. The aura emanating from his towering form was overpowering, taking up way too much space as he stared at her, waiting for her answer. She could almost swear his eyes had turned teal for a moment.

She opened her mouth, and somehow words came out. “He showed up at Kelsey’s house last night. I don’t even know how he figured out where she . . “ Then her eyes widened as memories flashed back, and she then looked down. “It’s not your problem,” she muttered.

Bob leaned forward, making her flinch, keeping his hands firm on hers, not letting her pull away. His thumb started to rub circles on the side of her hand, and the warmth combined with the motions starting to soothe her unconsciously.

“I’m not going to let go until you tell me what that ingrate did,” he growled, and through her haze of memory, his voice cut through. She brought her eyes to his, and her eyes hardened, surprising him.

“He hurt me, okay?” She said sharply as her eyes focused. “Beat me, manipulated me, controlled me. And he stalked me all the time. So I wasn’t surprised when he followed Kelsey home to harass her to tell him where I lived.” She sighed. “Satisfied?”

Bob closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and pulling his hands back to his side, making Kate almost keen from the loss of warmth, not realizing how much it soothed her.

“I’m sorry for scaring ya, darling,” he said quietly, not quite meeting her eyes. “It just bothered me so dang much how much that jerk hurts you, and it wasn’t right of me to bully that info out of ya.” He finally looked back at her. “Would you forgive me?”

She paused, before her smile returned, although small and soft. “It’s okay. I didn’t want to bother you with my issues.”

“But I want you to bother me,” he impulsively retorted, then widened his eyes and, looking sheepish as a blush covered his cheeks, looked away. “I . . should be able to help you, you know.”

She tilted her head, noticing his reactions, and her smile got bigger and finally reached her eyes. “We’ll see if you can, Bob. But thank you.”

After he finally left, her day was much more bearable. Although the front bell would keep her paranoid, she wasn’t as jumpy and tried to relax until the end of her shift. Kelsey came in a little early for her own shift, and at the end of hers, Kate threw on a hoodie and they both headed out to the diner, the topic of the previous night unspoken.

When they entered, it was quite busy in there. Everyone in town seemed to be there, talking loudly over each other. Kate didn’t recognize most of the people, since it was typically the same people who came to the candy store and she hadn’t really gone out at all, with all that was happening.

“Hey Kelsey, hey new candy girl!” One of the guys sitting in a booth waved them over, and although Kelsey seemed to recognize them, she reluctantly followed. Johnathan was standing nearby, apparently on his break, while two other guys were sitting, leaving just the singular space next to each to sit. Johnathan motioned her to sit between him standing there and the other guy, and although her instincts were screaming at her, she sat down gingerly while Kelsey sat across, her face all lit up at seeing them.

“Hey guys!” Kelsey exclaimed as she hugged the one next to her, and Kate leaned back, trying her best to seem nonchalant. “Meet Kate, the sweetest girl this side of the river.”

Kate blushed slightly, but simply muttered, “Hey,” in response, attempting to not seem interesting.

Unfortunately, this only made her more interesting to the guys, especially Johnathan, who wouldn’t stop hovering over her. “You’ve been here a while now, haven’t you, Kate?”

She nodded, looking in Kelsey’s direction, watching her. She seemed comfortable enough, so maybe these guys weren’t so bad.

“Well, everyone’s excited,” the guy next to Kelsey said matter-of-factly. “They announced the Halloween party and man, everyone’s going.” He smiled at her gently, noting her shy nature. “Do you have any plans for Halloween, Kate?”

All eyes on her, she shook her head. “I usually don’t do anything for Halloween,” she replied softy, and Kelsey clapped.

“Then you’ve got an invitation to the most-looked forward to party of the year. Whatchya say?”

As Kate was about to respond, her phone rang. Her face paled unconsciously, and she got up to stand, kinda pushing Johnathan out of her way. “I’ve got to take this,” she muttered, skulking to the back hallway where the bathrooms were, faintly noticing Bob’s voice carrying over, yelling at Johnathan to get back to work.

Silence met her at first. “So,” Alan said, his voice dripping with ill-concealed venom, “that quick to slut it up, huh?”

She didn’t answer, knowing full well that if she spoke, her voice would crack, whether from anger or tears, she wasn’t sure.

“I saw you,” he continued, “surrounded by all your new boyfriends, lapping up all the attention they give yo—“

She hung up, unable to listen to his condescending voice any longer. She stood there, frozen, holding onto the phone, until the feeling of everything closing in around her started to get worse. The noise, the people, too much to feel . . 

One foot in front of the other, she fast-walked to the outside, dodging other patrons and ignoring Kelsey’s calls from the booth. She managed to get outside, taking the deepest breathe like she’d just gotten out of an ocean of dark, oppressing water, and went to the edge of the store, so her form was hidden from the inside of the window.

She stuffed the arm of her hoodie into her mouth, attempting to assuage her small panic attack, since she didn’t have a paper bag to breathe into. She finally managed to breathe normally, and she kept her eyes closed, controlling her breathing to a crawl.

Warm, massive arms wrapped around her, and she stiffened, until she realized that Bob must’ve snuck from the back to check on her, and she ever so slowly relaxed. It took a few minutes, them standing in silence while the inside of the diner was bustling.

“Bob, your diner . .,” she started, and he shushed her, his chin on top of her head.

“They can handle it for a moment. You need this right now.”

Tears started to well up, but she blinked them away. “Thank you. This helps.”

Bob looked down at her and smiled, before taking on a more serious look. “You need to get a new phone and phone number,” he said, turning her and pointing to the store down the way. “Just make sure to let me know when you do. Here.” He took out a napkin and a pen, and wrote down his number.

She nodded with a weak smile. “Ok.”

Leaving Bob by his diner, she failed to see the murderous teal eyes that glanced towards the booth table inside.

After trading in her phone for a new phone and number, she hadn’t even imported her previous contacts - there was a paranoia that Alan had somehow used her phone to track her, and she didn’t want to take any chances. She figured the people she did want to keep, she saw them enough that she could always ask them.

Since she already had Bob’s number on the napkin, she decided to call him, especially since the dinner rush was over. She dialed, waited until his deep country-voice answered. “Is that you, darlin’?”

She involuntarily smiled, hearing his voice without the loud background from earlier. “Yes, it’s me,” she responded. “It took a little bit to find a phone I could trade my current one for, but it’s done. How did the dinner rush go?”

“Aw, can’t complain, busier than usual since today was the special announcement day for the Halloween party,” he said, although he sounded disdainful of the mention of the party. “It’s where the rich kids show off to the locals how much better off they are.”

She was quiet for a moment, then spoke. “Would you like to go with me to the party?”

Her eyes widened as she realized that she’d actually said it out loud, not just in her head as a possibility, and held her breathe. He sighed. “Unfortunately, I already have plans later that night,” he said, and her heart fell without it meaning to. “And they don’t want me there, for sure.”

“But I want you there,” she blurted, slapping her forehand in self-frustration. “I mean, I’d love for you to at least go with me for a little bit, if your plans are later.”

He was quiet for a moment, until finally, “Okay . . For you, I will, darlin’.”

Internally gleeful, her smile was huge. “Sweet, thank you, Bob!”

After saying goodbye, she looked up at the dusky sky, and sighed, not missing the pair of large stars that always twinkled overhead.

Chapter Text

It was Halloween night. Hands down his favorite night.

She had told him that since he didn’t like to wear a costume (what a lie he had to tell), he could just come in regular clothes. He almost didn’t accept the invitation, but after her horrid day and her expectant voice on the phone, it’d convinced him to say yes. He didn’t know why, but her actually wanting his companionship was something he couldn’t get out of his head.

Ever since, whenever she looked his way at the diner, her eyes had turned a much brighter green, before that familiar touch of pink appeared, so probably the green was . . happy? Excited? He actually really liked her mood-ring eyes, and trying to guess what each color meant was sort of a game he played. Yellow she feels self-conscious, unsure; orange was fear (in which he delighted in, as long as he did it); when she cried, they turned purple; red was obviously anger; and blue was when she was sad.

Now the light blue and pink, he wasn’t sure about; she seemed dissociated with the light blue, and the pink was whenever she looked at him. They were practically pure pink in the candy store, when he held her hands down and she was so flushed.

Shaking his head to stop thinking about that particular morning, he glanced around, but hadn’t seen her yet.

“What . . are you doing here?”

A haughty woman’s voice, one he unfortunately recognized, accosted him, and he sighed as he turned to look at Ashley Connor, one of the richer girls hosting this party, dressed as a slutty nun. “I’m waiting for a friend.”

“Ooof, who’d want to be seen in public with you, butcher?” She said arrogantly, tossing her hair in disdain. “No need to lie to get in.” Her friends, also in similarly skimpy costumes, nodded and tutted their affirmation.

“Sorry I’m late!” Kate’s voice came from behind him, and before he could turn, she came from his right side and practically wrapped herself around his arm. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

The group of women’s jaws dropped, and when he saw her, his nearly did too. Kate had her golden locks down, wavy and with an ethereal shine, with a pair of orange fox ears sticking out. She was wearing a simple green A-line dress that followed her figure, and a fox tail belt behind her.

He wasn’t sure what he expected; in a sense, he was glad she did not go in the same direction as the other women there, with slutty barely-there costumes.

But she was still gorgeous, nonetheless. She could land any man in this town, and yet she clung to his arm.

He looked down at her arm, and the saliva dripped out of his mouth. He quickly wiped it, and smiled at her. “You didn’t have to dress up for me, Kate.”

Her eyes beaming green, she gave a little soft laugh. “I wanted to though,” she said. She slid off his arm but grabbed his hand, which dwarfed hers. “Let’s find a seat inside.”

Ignoring the group of women gawking, they went inside, and she pulled him to an open couch, while the rest of the house was lit up with disco lights and music. Sitting down, she left some space between them, since the couch was so soft.

“Thank you again,” she piped up, her hands in her lap as she looked at him, a touch of yellow flowing in her irises. Self-conscious.

“Whatever for, sweetheart? I always enjoy talking . . to . . you,” he said, his hand on his forehead, combatting the urges of having so many possible meals around him, let alone her. She was the worst temptation, especially since she had such . . tearable skin.

The noise pounded on his head, and he regretted agreeing to this, especially since it would cut into his hunting time later. The pressure was building as he gritted his teeth . .

Suddenly everything became quiet, and he was finally able to breathe. He realized that she had moved close, leaning her whole body on his arm as her head leaned against his shoulder, her locks splayed about. She was running her hands along his arm, apparently attempting to soothe him.

And it was working.

“I’m so sorry for asking you to come here,” she said softly, not meeting his eyes. She had noticed his obvious distress, and was trying to help him.

He moved his arm, and she fell onto him as he wrapped his arm around her, and her body heat burned. She gave no resistance, and he couldn’t stop looking down at her, this prey that willingly allowed herself to be ensnared by him, of all people. His internal turmoil of wanting to taste her flesh and keep her his was unseen externally aside from his manic eyes that appeared now and then when looking at her, the noise around them distant.

“Now now, darlin’, no need to worry about me,” he rumbled, and she finally looked up at him, big doe eyes swirling with flecks of yellow on pink. “I’m just not used to this scene, per say.”

Kate smiled, and the flecks of yellow disappeared, replaced with green on top of the pink.

They talked just like that for about an hour, him tightening his grip on her whenever the noise got to him, and her blushing every time, her dainty hands slowly running up and down his arm. That arm that looked like dessert . .

He shook the image out of his head, then looked up at the clock and sighed. “I’ve got to go. You make sure you stay safe, darlin’.”

She tilted her head and smiled, the green and pink of her eyes creating a whirlpool. “Thank you for spending time with me. Take care!”

After he left, she got up and went to hang out with Kelsey, who had come a half hour earlier. Kelsey handed her a drink, the guys from the diner laughing and joking around her, and by a few hours, Kate had gotten a little drunk. Lots of guys kept sliding next to her and trying to hug her waist; she’d slip away like it was an accident. One of Kelsey’s guys and another of his friends were guilty of such, and she was oblivious to the nasty look they shared with each other afterwards.

She had interest in only one, and he wasn’t there. Shoot, he may never reciprocate her feelings like that. She sighed, deciding it was time to go home.

She thanked Kelsey for a good time, then left. She was walking slowly along the sidewalk, making sure to not trip, when she was shoved into the nearby alley, and she stumbled. Her back slammed into a wall, the rancid breath of the man in front of her making her almost gag. She recognized him and the other guy as the pair with Kelsey’s guy friend, whose charismatic face looked atrocious right now.

“Oh we’re going to have some fun, you little tease,” he said, and he flipped her to face the wall as he started grabbing her dress. She tried to buck him off, yelling at him to stop, but he had one palm covering her mouth and the other already lifting her dress. She had her eyes scrunched up tight as she kept trying to scream, when all of a sudden his body weight disappeared off her and the hands were gone.

She sunk to the ground as she heard them making the strangest noises, hugging herself, and rotated herself so that she could see, and lost all ability to breathe.

The second guy had his throat cut, which was why no one heard him scream, and he was on the ground, eyes stuck open; the one that had been on top of her was gurgling blood as the Devil Butcher kneeled over him, slicing his hands off while he thrashed. His eyes were manic as his knife went through like butter, it was so sharp, and the blood got on her as she was so close. She watched mutely and wide-eyed, her eyes pure orange as the Butcher started to devour each hand raw, saliva dripping as if he was eating something so decadent, though his teal eyes stared into hers.

She had heard of what he did to his victims, but for whatever reason, she never truly understood it until now, the reality of what he did. The man finally passed out as the blood leaked out of him freely, and she knew he would be dead soon. Because of the Butcher being entirely red aside from his pants, the blood on his face and hands blended in.

She kept watching with absolute frozen terror as he crunched the second hand, a sound too similar to something not so horrifying, dropping the remnants before suddenly slamming his hand into the wall next to her head, his knife at her throat as he caged her.

“Want a taste, little lamb?” He purred, and she gulped as she did the smallest shaking of her head she could. He laughed, a booming good-natured laugh that she couldn’t read into.

“I think it’s time for dessert,” he said as he ran his blade along her cheek, her letting out a soft breathe as it drew blood. He stared at her blood with so much want and desire, she trembled, her eyes unable to move away from his.

She let out a panicked muted yelp as he leaned forward, his tongue sliding across her cheek, his heavy, metallic breath on her ear making her involuntarily tense up as it sent a jolt of electricity through her.

He straightened up, towering over her as his claws now gripped her throat, and the knife to her ear. He leaned down again, and whispered in her ear. “I’ll give you a head start, and if you make it to your house before I catch you, you’re safe . . for now.”

His grip tightened on her neck, and she gave another muffled yelp, her entire body on fire from fear and lack of oxygen.

She dropped to the ground when his claws opened up, rubbing her throat, coughing. His eyes, unblinking, never left her. “One,” he raised a finger. “Two,” another finger, and she suddenly understood what was happening.

“Three,” he said as she shoved herself up and started running. Those eyes burrowed into her soul. “Four,” his deep voice carried after her as she left the alley, running as fast as she could towards her house.

“Five,” she still heard it, and it was at, “Eight,” when she fumbled at her door with her keys, swearing that she kept hearing his voice behind her. At ten, she was inside, then realized that she actually didn’t hear anything after four.

He did that to make me go home, she realized, but the vision of him eating that guy’s hands was still stamped in her brain, and she went to stand under the shower until her skin was red, raw from her trying to scrub off any blood that may have splattered on her.

Chapter Text

She must’ve felt asleep for a little bit because she heard Eyes’ voice echoing, telling her to look up at the stars, and she just shook her head as she stared straight ahead, her vision blurry from disassociating.

She woke up shortly after, and messaged Kevin that unfortunately she was going to call out sick that day, but she should be back tomorrow.

She spent the whole day just binging on TV, unable to stomach anything. It wasn’t until that evening that the doorbell rang, and she looked over, debating on whether she should pretend she wasn’t in or answer it.

“Darlin’, it’s Bob,” she heard from the door, and she slowly got up and answered the door.

She knew she looked disheveled, but she really wasn’t too worried about it today.

Bob was standing there in plain clothes holding a to-go bag, and he smiled at her with concern. “I heard you weren’t feeling well, so I figured I’d bring you some dinner. Made it myself.”

She smiled, although her eyes stayed tired. “Aww, you didn’t have to.” She opened the door wider. “Would you like to come on in?”

“Sure!” He responded as he walked inside, and she closed the door behind him. “I don’t have any other plans as it is.” He looked around, before deciding on gesturing for her to sit down at the couch, and then handing her the to-go bag.

“Just making sure you eat,” he said as he stood there, arms crossed.

She sighed as she sat, then took out the burger and ate it, suddenly realizing how famished she was. She patted the space next to her. “You can sit, you know, don’t have to stand there all broody.”

He paused for a moment, then moved over and sat down on the couch, leaving her some space. When she finished eating, he hesitated, then spread his arm out, and, her heart hammering, she blushed before sliding closer to him and tucking her legs under her so as to be at the same height as him. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and she felt very hot.

She couldn’t meet his eyes as he chuckled. “You know, I’m not sure why you put up with me. Most everyone just . . ignores me.”

Then she glanced up at him and smiled. “You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. And you’re always sweet to me, even when I annoy you with my own issues. I just . . .” she blushed hard as she paused, “. . like you.”

He looked at her surprised, before his eyes narrowed as he grinned. “Maybe I’m not a good guy to like, Kate.

He blinked as he realized that her face was right there, and an inexplicable feeling washed over him as she glanced at his lips. He leaned forward as she did, their lips touching, and he lifted his hand to hold the back of her head as he kissed deeper, and it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

It was a different kind of sweet to his candies, to the taste of fresh blood, made even more sweet by him making it spill. This was straight to his bloodstream like an intoxication, and he couldn’t stop. He held her head how he wanted it, gripping her hair, and the little lamb was all his for the taking.

Practically devouring her mouth, he suddenly jerked her head back, and she looked at him with those great, big doe eyes, the irises pure pink, her lips gleaning.

Desire. He finally figured it out. It was desire every time she looked at him.

Enlivened by the thought, he leaned forward and started aggressively kissing her neck, and she pushed herself even closer to him, driving him crazy. He sucked hard, before giving her an almost-bite, and he had to fight with all his might not to actually tear her throat out. She was at his mercy willingly, and he didn’t want to ruin this meal just yet. 

Her moans drove him to madness, and he finished sucking on her neck before capturing her mouth once again, laying her down on the couch as he took the dominant position. She kissed back mindlessly, lost in the feelings he was giving her.

It was intoxicating, like fresh heart off the kill. 

It was some time before he got off her and picked her up effortlessly; she yelped, her face flushed and her eyes only for him. He stomped over to the open bedroom, placing her on her bed before turning back and shutting the door behind them, his eyes slitted with dangerous promises.

Her alarm woke her, and she reached to turn it off. As she started to slide forward, an arm enveloped her waist and pulled her back against hot skin.

The drowsiness disappeared instantly as she realized that Bob was hugging her, and that she had spent the night in his arms. She grew hot as she remembered how he took control, every moment almost like he was holding back . . but she shook her head, trying to focus as she needed to get up. She pried his arm off her, hoping that he was still asleep, and that his movement was just in his sleep.

She went and closed the bathroom door as she took her shower, and she felt like she had gone crazy. She never slept around, and for her to just jump into it first night . . she quickly finished and dried herself off, before realizing that her clothes were still in the bedroom.

With a monster of a man in her bed.

Wrapping the towel around her, she quietly opened the bathroom door, and tiptoed to her drawers to grab some clothes. Looking down, she didn’t quite catch the movement behind her.

“Where you goin’, darlin’?” His voice boomed in her ear as he slipped his hand around her waist, the other hand wrapped around her neck and forcing her to look up at him, her entire body stiff from surprise. His hand held her firmly as his fingers caressed her neck, threatening to squeeze on her windpipe if she moved, his eyes that teal color as they hungrily looked down at her.

She was so hot, trapped like an animal in a vice trap, with no wiggle room, that the feeling of deja vu of those eyes was insignificant. She panted without thinking, before closing her mouth shut, trying to regain some control.

His fingers slid along her chin, and a finger rubbed her lips before parting them. “Trying to hide your little sounds, sweetheart?”

She scrunched her eyes closed, letting him control her how he wanted.

“Those sounds are mine.”

They were rudely interrupted by her alarm going off, reminding her that she had work.

“Oh I’m gonna be late!” She exclaimed, slipping away from him, throwing on clothes and hurriedly tying her hair back, and throwing on a scarf to cover her neck. Before she left, she spun, seeing that he was sitting on the bed partially dressed, and landed a quick kiss on his cheek. When she turned to leave, he grabbed her and pulled her in for a much deeper kiss, tongue tasting all her insides and lighting her insides on fire.

He finally released her, and her flushed face almost made him pin her down again. “See you later, darlin’,” he growled, and she mutely nodded before hurriedly heading out the door. 

His devilish smile watched her go. 

She was completely out of sorts while she ran the candy store, having to request some people to repeat what they said, because different things during the day kept bringing back visuals from the night before - someone reaching past her to access a candy jar brought thoughts of his arms caging her from behind - another was just a man with dark hair, reminding her of his that she grabbed when he devoured her neck once again.

She was a total mess by the time her shift was up, and Kelsey grabbed her shoulders, making her jump. “You have been stressed all day, girl. Are you still not feeling well?”

Kate froze, then took a deep breath to calm down. All her friends from before had acted like sleeping around was just fun, but her mind was shredded from one singular night. “I’m okay,” she responded, not quite looking at Kelsey directly but at her hands as she was cleaning up a spill from earlier. “Just still a little skittish from Halloween night.”

Kelsey gasped. “Wait, you mean the two partially-eaten guys that night?”

Kate’s gaze shot up.

“Y-yeah,” she stammered, her eyes a mix of yellow and orange, her mind driven back to that night. The crunching, the blood everywhere, dripping red on red. “I . . I saw them get attacked.”

“What?!” Kelsey exclaimed, now spinning Kate around to look her in the face. “Did you see the Butcher again?”

Kate simply nodded.

“You’re lucky he didn’t go after you,” Kelsey said, shaking her head. “He’s the worst on Halloween night. Those he doesn’t eat that moment, he saves for later. Though this time, he was vicious.” Kelsey ran her hands through her hair, remembering the news story. “I only knew them from Johnathan and the others, so I don’t know why he’d be extra messy with them. And he’ll also steal candy, if you can believe the local kids,” Kelsey added, rolling her eyes.

Kate zoned out, thinking over her interactions with the Butcher. He’d had plenty of chances to kill her, or even stow her away for later, yet he hadn’t. Why?

She sighed. “That one night, I asked him why he didn’t kill me, and he said that he doesn’t eat bruised meat.”

Kelsey snorted before catching herself. “Sorry, sorry, but I guess you’re just lucky. Anyway!” Kelsey grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards the door. “Time to eat!”

Kelsey didn’t see the way Kate’s face blanched as she realized that she would be seeing him after last night.

Well of course you were going to see him, you always go there to eat.

She tightened her scarf a little more and followed.

Chapter Text

When the door opened and she walked in, a timid and unsure doe stepping into a predator’s den, he couldn’t keep from grinning, his eyes zeroed in on her.

There you are, my little lamb.

When he saw her that first night, following her home, she hadn’t quite shown the fear he was used to seeing, and it intrigued him.

Though he always wondered how she’d taste, especially after that hint of blood from her cheek, his curiosity about her eyes outweighed it, reminding him that popped out of their sockets, they wouldn’t be making those colors.

And that ex of hers was just asking for a brutal death, if the opportunity arose again. He had been too curious to see how his lamb fought back against that insect, and whenever he had control - oooh he was addicted to that.

And Halloween night . . a meal that deserved it, for even thinking of going near what was his. He couldn’t have her watch him tear them apart, not even fit to eat aside from a snack.

He quickly wiped the drool on the side of his mouth, keeping her in his view the entire time.

Kelsey, oblivious to Kate’s distress, dragged her to the line, and started yapping her ear off. Kate glanced at him and caught his eyes, at which she quickly looked away, blushing hard.

He almost lost control of his grin, fighting to not slip into his maniacal one as he watched the effect he had on her mind; her eyes holding memories of how he dominated her the night before, the pink and yellow sharing the same space as her thoughts kept flitting between self-consciousness and desire.

His lamb was so innocent . . and it made his cravings for her grow.

They were finally in front of him, and she had somehow managed to gain control over her expressions to act somewhat normal. “Hey, Bob,” she said in a nearly normal voice, a touch of shyness underlying it.

“Hello, ladies,” he responded, leaning his elbow down as he smiled. “Missed you in here yesterday, darlin’, everything okay?”

Her eyes widened at his obvious attempt to play with her, and her smile became a little more genuine. “I was just not feeling well, that’s all,” she responded.

That was when Kelsey jumped in, “Lovely, now let’s order please.”

As she munched happily on the burger the other cashier brought — they were swamped today, so no break for Bob — Kelsey pried for more details on Halloween night. She would tell the short version story between bites, and Kelsey would appropriately gasp, shocked but glad that the guys didn’t get to hurt her that night. After finishing their meal, they both stood up, but Kate held back for a moment.

“Go on ahead, I’ve gotta ask Bob something first,” she said, and waved goodbye to Kelsey before going back to a booth nearest to the kitchen to wait. Once the crowd started to die down, she figured she’d ask him about the night before — what it meant.

Looking down on her phone, she suddenly felt his enormous warm hands on her shoulder, and she looked up, fully aware that her control over her expressions had slipped so that she was blushing.

“Was there something wrong, darlin’?” Bob asked, and Kate stood up from the booth, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Oh, um . . I just needed to talk to you,” she said softly. “In private, though.”

Bob smiled at her and wrapped his arm behind her back, directing her to a side corridor. “My office is a good place for that, then.”

She obediently walked, until he opened up a door to a medium sized office, no windows and had an alternate closed door.. A normal desk sat in the middle, though she couldn’t say that he’d have any real use for it, besides maybe checking his finances. She went ahead of him, curiosity overriding her shyness, to look closer at the papers on his desk.

The sound of the door being latched made her turn, and she realized that Bob was staring at her with those wide, familiar-teal eyes, hand on the lock, his grin almost maniacal as he wiped his mouth with his work sleeve.

He looked like he wanted to feast on her.

He walked towards her slowly, his footsteps thundering, and she backed up at the same speed, until she hit the desk. He slammed his great burly arms on either side of her, caging her in, his face mere inches away.

“Bob?” She asked timidly.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he rumbled, and her mouth was suddenly attacked, devoured by Bob’s insatiable desire in regards to her, and she melted into the aggressive kiss. His hand was holding her head like before, controlling how deep the kiss was, and she moaned into his mouth.

He tore away her scarf and bit her neck, and she held on for dear life as she made sure to muffle her moans in his shoulder.

“Make those pretty noises for me,” he growled in her ear, sending a jolt of pleasure through her, and she felt herself being lifted up onto the desk, his form no longer hunching above her.

Suddenly she was on her back on the desk, and she heard him unzip his pants, his massive hands pushing her thighs apart as he shoved her panties aside and buried himself in her. She bit her wrist hard, shoving it in her mouth to keep her moans from being heard as he slid back out and slammed back into her.

With each demanding thrust, her moans became muffled screams as her teeth started to indent onto her arm, which made his own teeth ache from want. Instead of giving in, he brought her legs onto his shoulders to drive in deeper, making her arch as his thrusts continued mercilessly.

Absolute submission, euphoric bliss as he claimed what was his and no one else’s. With her eyes scrunched close, her mind absolutely scrambled, and her teeth on her wrist, she couldn’t see the look of immeasurable craving as his drool flowed freely, his nails gripping into her tender thighs as he turned his hunger for her flesh into something more . . satisfying.

She was at his mercy, and that would never change. .

He hunched over her as he came hard, his hands bruising as he gripped her, his mind blindingly blank like hers as he filled her up with him. When he finally came back to the present, her hand was caressing his cheek, eyes glinting pink as she kept holding him close to her with her legs.

“I . . I don’t know what came over me, darlin’,” he panted, and she looked at him, blushing as his face was sweaty but looking at her like she was a treasure. “I just saw you there in my office and I just . . .”

Her doe eyes looking up at him after his conquest of her body, and he was already ready to do it again.

She had been wanting to talk to him, but when he saw her alone, in his office, trapped like the prey she was, his cravings became thunderous in his ears, and he almost did try to eat her. He’d turned it into a different kind of energy to satisfy the cravings, and possessed her in a way only he was allowed to. Her cries drove him mad, knowing that he was in control of all that she did beneath him, her sounds, her writhing pleasure, and he knew.

He would never let her go.

His mind couldn’t stop spiraling around the thought of her, how she’d never be able to escape him now that he’d determined that she was his, whether it was like this or as a later meal.

“I was going to ask if it was just the one time,” she said quietly, “but I think you answered that question.”

He chuckled, now a little embarrassed. “I hope you enjoyed it, sweetheart.”

Her face now completely red, he almost didn’t hear her. “I enjoyed it a lot.”

He leaned down and kissed her, for once gently, and she touched his chest gingerly with her small fingers, and he squeezed her tighter, still interlocked. 

Chapter Text

As late as it was, Bob insisted that he accompany her home, even with her futile retorts that she couldn’t make him literally walk her home and then back to wherever his home was. The outside was night, and it was only when they’d walked outside, him locking up the diner, did she stop refusing, having seen the bumper of a well-known Corolla down the round trying to stay out of sight.

She stayed close to him then, Bob walking beside her while the silence started to get uncomfortable. She decided to try to break it.

“Hey,” she said softly, and he looked down at her, his hands in his pockets. “What are you thinking about?”

Bob gave a small chuckle as he contemplated. “Well, I’m thinkin’ about you, darlin’.” She blushed, but kept quiet, and he continued. “About last night . . and this evening . .”

She made a discontented noise, covering her face. “No need to remember how inexperienced I am,” she muttered, and in response he pulled her into a hug.

“Sweetheart, you were perfect,” he said, managing to walk forward while still holding his arm around her. “But that’s not what I was thinkin’ about, per say. I was trying to pinpoint . .” he paused, “why you would . . let me.”

She looked up at him with a confused look, her eyes somewhat green. “Let you?” She repeated. “I . . I wanted to.”

“But I’m nobody, darlin’,” he replied, “just a local butcher who no one spends any extra time than they have to.”

“Why would that matter?” She asked innocently. “All that matters to me is that I want to spend extra time with you.”

Now it was Bob’s turn to blush, and he stuttered, making her laugh. He watched the smile actually reach her green eyes, and something akin to contentment came over him.

They’d reached the front of her house, and he let her go, unsure what to do. “I understand . . if you’d not like to make . . us together . . public or anythin—“

She hopped onto a nearby planter and wrapped her arms around his neck before kissing him, almost making a show that she wasn’t trying to hide it. He held her head as he deepened the kiss, sensual and unrushed. When their lips separated, her face was flushed, the green sparkling in her eyes.

“I guess that answers it,” he breathed, slowly lowering his hands from her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bob!”

When she closed the door behind her and latched it, Bob’s eyes flitted to the car parked a few driveways away, smirking as he headed back to the shop.

It was important that that insect saw that she belonged only to the butcher now.

Exhausted from the day and the lack of sleep the night before, she barely got into her night clothes before passing out in the bed, the blankets haphazardly thrown on.

That’s why it was surprising when she woke up, and a quick glance to the clock showed 2:26 AM. She groaned, yawning as she got up to use the restroom, the room pitch black, but her muscle memory guided her through.

Although a sense of being watched bugged her, she blew it off. Leaving the bathroom, her eyes slightly adjusted, but it didn’t mean much since she got back into the bed, pulling the covers over her.

She was fast asleep before long, and the figure that had almost grabbed her hair to pull his blade to her neck finally moved, his eyes glinting teal as he looked down at her.

He wondered if he drugged her enough, would she let him slice a finger? He did love his finger foods. And hers was soft, though in the throes of passion . . .

He licked his lips, remembering how she’d grip him tight as he brought her over the edge over and over, his little lamb melded to his whim and want, a sensual creature of his design.  She did not doubt, but what if . . 

What if he took her now? As himself? The knife a toy to play with while he buried himself within her, making her scream from both pleasure and pain, him licking her intoxicating blood up from her fresh wounds. 

The thought was scrumptious, but . . no, not yet. She was not ready.

He wanted her to enjoy it, even if she didn’t want to enjoy it — in fact, it was more exciting that way, to herd her feelings in from her confusion and fear until all she could see, think, and feel was him.

He leaned down, considering slicing a piece off her ear for a little snack. But a glow caught his eyes, and he looked closer, realizing that under her eyelids, they were glowing. 

Intrigued, he carefully laid his hand close, and slowly slid her eyelid up with his thumb, and the flash of light left him momentarily blind. He stumbled back for a moment, covering his eyes, before opening them again, the visions in that split second of brightness trickling away like sifting sand, and the glow gone from her form.

He was back over her, extremely curious about her eyes now. He touched a blade to the inner corner, thoughts flitting through his mind, before he finally pulled it away, leaving her untouched.

As he left through the back door, the stars above moved, though he didn’t notice.

The next morning she felt much more composed, and although Bob still came in the morning, he would now thank and smile at her tiredly — at least it was more talking than was his normal routine. And not quite so stressful as that one time.

The days were more mundane, even though strange things were always in the news in that town. Bob would continue to walk her home, although typically not so late as before. She was still jumpy, waking up every morning having felt like she shouldn’t have survived the night.

If she wasn’t good at hiding it, Bob would always offer to stay with her to comfort her, but for a while, she declined, determined not to bother him with her own issues, and also to sleep — she slept a lot.

She’d wake up tired, and go to sleep early, instantly hitting the pillow.

Bob didn’t seem to mind — in fact, he seemed extra busy at the shop, so it worked out. He kept Alan at bay with his presence, and then still had things to do back at the shop.

The news on the television passed the time, although whenever they talked about the Devil Butcher’s latest victim — another faire, another dismembered tourist — she got a cold chill, like he himself was watching her, before changing the channel to something else, although the feeling would take a while to go away.

On her days off, she’d actually go to the nearby festivals and events, although she always on edge, keeping a distance from everyone so that there wasn’t an opening for Alan to appear and grab her arm.

This was the reality whenever she’d tried before to leave. The paranoia was strong, but she had a valid reason.

One of the festivals, there was a Ferris wheel, and she went alone. To see the town far away, she felt . . content. Like this height felt right.

When it stopped halfway up, she had a thought, and that thought became action as she climbed out of the bucket onto the spokes. She walked on the cross bars until she reached the axle in the center. Finding a somewhat level spot, she crawled to the edge until she could just straddle it, she stayed up there, watching as the sky turned night. The lights were on, but she kept gazing up, until the stars that she looked for appeared.

I know I’m far, she sent her thoughts towards the sparkling pair, but it’s been a while since we last talked.

It was a few minutes before she received an answer. It has.

Nothing more, and she sighed. Has anyone else visited you since?

Yes, but they always visit.

I’m not going to ask who, since you didn’t tell me, she continued, but do they hurt you?

A splash of a vision, of runes carved in bark, before it was swept away by Eyes towering over figures in red, his eyes burning into the kneeling people before him, absorbing what paltry offerings they had. He tried to move the vision, but somehow her mind gripped it, not letting him control the narrative.

She adjusted the vision, so she could see the people, the cultists, and a shadow of a figure watching, making her feel nauseous if her mind spent any time on it. She could see familiar faces, though they swished away like sand in the wind, and she could feel that shadow attempting to drive daggers into her mind, anger palpable.

She pulled back, loosening control back to Eyes, and the driving pain subsided, unable to escape whatever prison the visions gave it.

You shouldn’t do that, Eyes said mournfully.

I’m not afraid, Kate said, knowing that he was talking about that shadow that haunted his mind. It’s angry that I talk to you, which means I should do it more often.

!!!!

Before she could respond to Eyes’ distress, she felt rain droplets. She spun so fast and started crawling to the center of the axle again. 

“Dammit, dammit, dammit!” She cursed as the rain got heavier, but it was too late — even with those first few droplets, the spokes were now slick and the risk of her slipping off just went up exponentially.

“Dammit!”

Chapter Text

The delicious gurgle of the man beneath him made him almost hum as he sliced through another abdomen tendon, expertly dissecting the left lung to have a little spongy snack, when he saw the frightened wife of his latest meal about to make a run for it.

Oh, what a sad, little attempt from a little shrew, his smile grew wider as he slowly turned his head to look at her, stuffing his face with her late husband’s lung. The woman screamed in horror, before making a run for it.

He sliced the air above her, adding some terror as she screamed again, playing with her. The tourists who snuck in the fairs after dark were the best ones — they typically didn’t tell anyone their locations beforehand. 

And even if the place started to get too hot to hunt, or too empty for fear, he’d move on to a different area. It wouldn’t do too much good to hunt in town.

Licking his fingers loudly, he followed the woman through the festival — lights were only half on, food and debris still left on the floor for the morning crew to deal with. He kept steady with her, until he grew tired of the chase, the clouds above starting to drop their rain. 

The rain made the chase a bit more miserable, so he started herding her towards a dead end near the Ferris wheel, ready to hear her gurgling mixed with her screaming. 

“G—DAMMIT!”

He froze, trying to listen hard over the woman’s crying. Something creaked in the metal beams above him and he looked up, hearing the scuffling somewhere in the darkness.

“STUPID stupid stupid,” now it was a self-depreciating muttering, barely heard over the patter of the rain and the now-annoying noises from the woman, but . . was it . .

Squinting towards the darkness where the axle was, he almost could see movement. 

“Don’t kill me don’t kill me,” the woman sobbed, and he glared back at her, annoyed at her making it harder to hear. 

“AAAAH—!“ Thud, scratches and another thud. 

It was her voice, and he could now see his lamb hanging onto the spokes halfway down, her feet slipping as she tried to gain some semblance of a foothold. 

The noises behind him no longer mattered — he paused, before slicing his blade across her throat to keep her quiet, then turned towards the Ferris wheel and started walking up to the bottom of the inert machine, the sounds of the woman’s gurgling fading. 

The rain continued to pour, and Kate felt like a bedraggled cat stuck up a tree. She’d gotten some distance before she slipped, and now she was glad she had some arm muscles to steady herself. Pain in her right ear and shoulder made her glance over, and saw the blood running down her arm. 

That tracks, she sighed. At least the rain will keep it washed off. 

She glanced down to aim for the next foothold, and stretching down slowly, she hugged the beam as she made it to the next step down. 

She had gotten pretty far down when she slipped again, and this time, she missed the beams to catch herself. She screamed as she fell, and she clinched her eyes shut so as not to see her own impact. 

“Ooomph,” said the ground as she hit it, but it seemed much softer than she’d anticipated.

Not feeling quite smashed to the ground, she opened her eyes and met with teal ones, her body strewn across the Devil Butcher’s body as he lay beneath her. 

“What were you doing, little lamb?” His deep, dark voice vibrated through her, and she attempted to move up and away so she wasn’t lying on top of him. At her movement his claws reached around her, squeezing her tight to him, chest to chest, his face now mere inches away from hers. 

“I asked you a question, lamb,” he growled, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe, he was too close. She opened her mouth, but seeing his eyes flit to the side and go pinprick dots, everything in her screamed to get away.

“You’re bleeding,” his voice was low, dangerous, punishing in its accusatory tone.

“I was just enjoying the view,” she said quickly, unsure how to keep this conversation from derailing. “I used to do it all the time, but I didn’t realize it would rain.”

His claws ran through her hair, and she hissed as he pulled on matted, bloody hair, controlling. “You’re. Bleeding.” Gripping her hair, he pulled the bloodied side of her face, and she yelped as he pulled her head down and licked the cut harshly and painfully. 

“I — I’m okay,” she tried to say, to appease this creature that she couldn’t seem to escape from. “I didn’t even feel it.”

Suddenly her world turned from horizontal to vertical, yet she was still pinned against the Devil Butcher’s chest, trembling and hot as he sucked on her cut ear, helpless. His other hand held her up by cupping her bottom, full control available when it came to her, the sound of the rain ringing in her ears. 

“Ah — no, I don’t — ah —“ she couldn’t form coherent sentences as he carried her away from the wheel, and she gritted her teeth, hating that someone else besides Bob was making her feel this way, making her eyes blow full pink. 

The Devil Butcher did not care, his grip on her unyielding and bruising, rough in his anger. 

Why the heck was he mad? Why did he care if she hurt herself? Was he serious about the bruised meat?

“You,” he started growling in her ear, and her body shivered not from fear, “do not have my permission,” another harsh squeeze from his claws, “to hurt yourself.” He gripped her throat, tightening the pressure, and she gripped his massive arms in panic, knowing full well that she didn’t have the strength to fight.

“That’s for me to do.”

“Okay, okay!” She managed to get out, starting to get faint from lack of oxygen. “I won’t get — get hurt anymore — unless you give me— me permission —“

His claws finally eased off her windpipe, and she inhaled sharply, barely noticing the rain starting to let up. He now had both his arms caging her, her head pushed down on his shoulder, which made her tremble again — the back of her neck was bare to the cannibal holding her. 

“Good girl,” he growled, and she gripped his hoodie, trying her damnnest to keep the effect of those words from showing. Thankfully he couldn’t see the sharp flash of pink in her eyes, though he’d felt her tense up.

It wasn’t until they were in front of her house that he loosened his hold. It was a bit of a walk, and yet the Butcher didn’t seem like the type traveling by car or bus. As steady as his walk, she suddenly realized that she must’ve actually passed out, whether from blood loss or exhaustion, she didn’t know.

At least the rain had stopped. 

“Little lamb,” his voice now melodious, as he spoke above her, “you’re lucky I’ve already had my dinner. It’s time for you to sleep in your shed.”

He lowered her by her waist, and when her feet touched the ground, she wobbled, her legs having fallen asleep. Gripping the handle, she steadied herself, watching him as he stood there, a beast towering over her. Unsure of herself, she slowly pulled her keys out and unlocked the door, her eyes not leaving him as the door swung open. He did not react, just . . took up space, waiting.

“Th—thank you,” she said slowly, her heart tired from all the adrenaline as she stood in the doorway, facing him, “for catching me.”

The Devil Butcher leaned down, before gripping her chin and smiling wider at her, his eyes looking at her lips before going back to her eyes. “I will always catch my prey, no matter where she goes.”

He finally let her go, and she closed the door with him still on the porch, haunting her every step. 

The Butcher looked down at his claws, red atop of red, the blood from the side gash she’d gotten from falling smeared all over them. 

I left a hunt for her.

He continued to stare, contemplating the events of that night.

He had much to think about. 

Chapter Text

It took a substantial amount of time before she finally fell asleep, after having showered and doctored the gash on the side of her head — it was worse than she thought. The thoughts running through her head were confusing, violent, and downright a swirlstorm of memories. 

She at least was set for a few days off, so the next day, once she’d cleaned her wound again, bandaged and hid it with her hair and hoodie, she walked to the candy store, needing someone to talk to. 

“Kate!” Kelsey waved her over as she entered, having only a couple kids wandering the store. Kate tutted at them, and upon seeing her, they scrambled, knowing full well that while Kelsey didn’t notice them stuffing candies in their pockets, she always did and let their parents know. 

Kelsey rolled her eyes as they hightailed out. “Man, those were my only customers today. You didn’t have to scare them away.”

“Customers insinuates someone paying,” Kate replied, grinning as she leaned against the side of the counter, arms crossed. “Which those kids have a bad habit of not doing. How’s your day so far?”

“It’s Monday.”

Kate chuckled, knowing what she meant. “Well, I know you get off soon. Where’d you wanna eat?” She paused, tilting her head. “Aren’t there other places besides the diner? We go there every day.”

“Not really,” Kelsey said, cleaning up the fallen candies the boys left. “There’s a few other places, but they’re just not as good. Besides,” she stood up, “the burgers there are great. Especially the special.” She tsked her. “I really don’t know what he does to those burgers, but they’re so good.”

“Yeah,” Kate responded, a little empty. She kind of noticed that too, but couldn’t put her finger quite on it — it just seemed a little odd that they only ate at his diner, and never got tired of it. 

Kate waited in silence until Kevin showed up to take over for Kelsey, and they walked over to the diner. She was asking Kelsey a few other things while they were in line, but Kate did notice that Bob wasn’t at the counter. Johnathan leered at her, trying to look charismatic and coming off creepy.

“Oh, boss is chopping somewhere in the back,” he said, seeing her eyes wander. “It’d just me and him.” He jabbed his thumb over to the other cashier, a wild-haired younger guy with glasses, who shyly waved.

“Oh that’s fine,” Kate replied, waving to the other guy back. When she and Kelsey sat down at the booth furthest away from everyone else — closest to the kitchen — Kate grabbed Kelsey’s hand from across and looked at her pleading.

“I need to talk to someone,” she whispered, her true unsettled emotions leaking out. 

“What, what, Kate?” Kelsey’s eyes widened, gripping her hand back. “What’s going on?”

It took a moment for Kate to respond. “I saw the Devil Butcher again last night.”

Keeping their voices low, Kelsey tightened her grip. “Again?! That’s like the third time! And you’re still here?”

“Four,” Kate mumbled. 

“Wait, what!” She loudly whispered then, and Kate shushed her.

“The first time he only followed me home,” she said, then slow blinked. “That’s not much better.”

“Sooooo four times he could’ve cut you up and have you on the morning news,” Kelsey hissed. “What happened last night?”

“I—you know that fair a town over? With the Ferris wheel?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I—er—climbed it for fun, and then it started to rain, and I fell down,” she paraphrased, trying to think what mattered to say. “And apparently he was there, because he caught me before I splat on the ground.”

Kelsey’s eyes were wide in shock, but Kate continued. “And apparently I’d hurt myself when I fell, and it made him mad, and he . . licked my cut raw.” Details didn’t exactly matter . .

“You got cut?! And he licked it but didn’t eat you,” Kelsey just stared at her. 

“He—he said he’d already had dinner.”

“Oh damn! The couple found this morning!” Kelsey just recalled. “One with organs eaten and the other just with her throat cut. “But . . he doesn’t leave witnesses.”

“And yet here I am,” Kate continued the thought, then gripped her head in frustration. “Dammit, this guy’s like a vampire and a beast all at once. He’s obsessed with blood and eating people . .”

“Girl, he’s obsessed with you.”

Kate stopped breathing, staring at Kelsey wide-eyed, not wanting to believe it. 

“It’s the only reason he hasn’t killed you yet, and keeps making excuses every time.” Kelsey waggled her finger at her. “He kills even if he’s not hungry, he thrives on terror and fear. But,” she paused, “he likes playing with you.” She leaned back, crossing her arms. “I can’t even tell if that’s a good thing or bad thing, simply because it’s keeping you alive.”

Kate sat still for a while, her mind hating that she had to accept the obvious conclusion she’d been avoiding. She’d hoped she was misreading the situation, but she was not. 

Her eyes widened. Was Bob in danger from this guy?

“I’ve gotta tell Bob,” she started to sit up, and Kelsey grabbed her arm.

“What, why?” She asked. 

“Uh, if this serial killer is obsessed with me, he’d probably kill anyone I was dating,” she said before covering her mouth, having not mentioned to anyone her and Bob’s status. 

She was pulled down back into the booth, Kelsey now gripping both arms. “You’re. Dating. Bob. Velseb?!”

Kate gaped like a fish for a moment, the blush blossoming across her face as she suddenly realized at the same time that she’d never knew his last name before. She mutely nodded. 

“How long, Kate?”

“Since around Halloween,” she mumbled. 

“A month, and you didn’t tell me?!”

“It never seemed a good time!” She hissed loudly. “I have no idea how to bring up a topic like that.”

Kelsey grabbed at her own face in mock frustration. “Kate, this is a small town. I’m actually shocked you’ve kept it quiet this long.” She looked at her hard. “Are you actually dating him? Like not as a joke?”

Kate gasped, a little offended. “Who the heck would do that to anyone? Yes, I’m dating him. You’ve known . .,” she clamped her mouth shut, but Kelsey understood.

“Yes, I know you had that crush,” she said, “but I didn’t think you were serious about it.”

Kate shrugged. “I just didn’t think he’d like me back is all.”

Kelsey sighed. “You cannot believe whatever that ex-jerk of yours got you convinced of. You are a beautiful person, inside and out. Got it?”

Kate mutely nodded. “But what am I going to do about . . the Butcher?”

Kelsey waved her hand dismissively. “Bob can take care of himself. It’d be butcher to butcher, eh?”

“Oh my— Kelsey!” She fake-punched her, but she felt infinitely better with their talk. 

Behind the booth out of sight, Bob’s smile turned downright deadly as he eavesdropped on all his tender lamb had said about him and himself, nearly betraying his presence with a chuckle. 

He’d need to start readying her soon, because there wasn’t much time before the other part of him slipped its leash — and devoured her utterly, whether by soul or flesh, leaving no breath of hers unclaimed.

Chapter Text

The bright Christmas lights decorated the town, the mood of everyone uplifted by the sight.  

The diner was no exception, with the windows besot with pine wreathes and white lights that twinkled. Even the candy store had multiple garlands wrapped around the candy jars.

And Kate was sick of it. 

Sure, Christmas was a jolly good time, but by experience, it was also one of the most miserable for her. Random strangers would wander the town, a carnival, fair, or even conferences nearby bringing in the tourists. At night, the decorations lit up the night, and even then, people roamed the streets, giggling, laughing. 

She couldn’t sleep. The light pollution blocked her view of the stars, and the noise would echo through her place, since there were not many trees or fences to deafen the public noise. The first night it started, at the beginning of the month, she suffered through, but it was midnight through the second night when she broke down, and messaged Bob, after some hesitation. 

“Hey”

“I’m sorry if this ends up waking you, but I can’t sleep, too many lights”

“Is there any chance you could come over and keep me company?”

Hopefully it wouldn’t wake him if he was slee—

Ding. She jumped a little, before reading his message. 

          “Not at all, couldn’t sleep either”

          “I’ll come over now”

Biting her lip, now suddenly embarrassed that she’d bothered him this late, but also a little giddy, because it’d been a while since they’ve actually spent much alone time together over the last few weeks. 

He was always busy closing the shop after walking her home, and she was always tired. She really didn’t know why she was, but it was getting a bit worse. 

She heard the knock at the front door, and she hurried to glance through the peephole, confirming it was Bob. She opened the door, the outside lighting up the inside of her house, and she blocked her eyes. 

His calloused hands gently held her elbows as he guided her backwards, then closing the door behind her. “Easy there, darlin’. I’m here.”

Lowering her arms, her eyes lit up as she ran into him, hugging him. He wrapped his arms around her and lay his head on hers, giving her a moment to relax. 

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, and she felt him give her a tighter squeeze. 

“Sweetheart, it’s been killin’ me having to work so much,” he replied, and then picked her up like she was weightless, and she lay her head on his chest as he walked them to the bedroom, laying her down back in her bed. “I’ve been dyin’ to hear your voice after every shift.” He pulled his shirt off, leaving his undershirt on as he sat on the queen bed next to her. She adjusted the covers, and waited for him to lay down before she buried herself in his arms, breathing in deep his scent. 

“I’ve needed this,” she said, hiding her blushing face in his chest. “I — I normally am used to being by myself, but now . .” She tensed up, knowing that she was once again baring her heart for him, “I just need you.”

“Oh darlin’,” he whispered, the deep rumble of rolling thunder in his voice, and he kissed her forehead tenderly. “All you need to do is ask.”

“But . . your work . .”

“I’ll handle my work,” he started to rub her temples in front of her ears, and her body relaxed, melting against him. “Right now, you need to sleep.”

Having not slept the night before, she mumbled something incoherently, having essentially slipped into sleep once she had Bob holding her. He kept rubbing her head, although his eyes would glance at her neck bared towards him, practically begging to be sliced and riveted, or her bare calves to be boiled in a stew. He clinched his eyes, shoving the thoughts away, because he did miss this. 

When Christmas hit the town, and the lights went up, his hunting tapered down, hence why he’d been so busy before, anticipating this. His work replenishing the meat in the butcher shop had taken up most of his nights, and he barely could spend any time with her.

And that insect, who used to roam around her neighborhood, avoided the area after a few close calls with him, where he regretfully got away. That of course took up a few nights, just to get the point across.

The Devil Butcher was always watching, guarding his livestock from encroaching predators. 

By the time he’d check on her after his hunts, she would be passed out asleep. A few nights he’d have to move her from the couch to the bed, and she would instinctively cuddle against him, which curbed the desire to take her to the table instead. 

If he had the energy, he’d simply watch her, observing her sleeping features, ever curious if he’d see the glowing again. 

The thought of her body was becoming more of a drug to his carnal desires than to his cannibalistic cravings, which was interesting — no one was ever safe from his butcher knife. Everyone was at risk of being eventually on his table. 

But her . . those feelings weren’t as strong as before. He had his moments, mouth watering as she bared her limbs various times in her sleep, completely unaware of the danger she was in, the risks she was taking. His butcher knife rested on her body multiple nights, his eyes pinpricks as he set it on her joints, planning out every meat cut, ones that he’d savor. 

She’d never be part of his shop, for others to taste. She’d be for his plate only. Eaten with only the most decadent of meals.

But it was starting to become more of an embered desire than a burning one, an idea he played with, even raising the blade up to make the first slice . . yet couldn’t bring it down.

He’d lowered his arm, watching her face, his thoughts instead moving to her glances at him, her smiling green eyes that held him still every time she first saw him — her laugh that echoed through him, feeding his soul something else besides carnage. 

Could he even survive losing this? What she gave him in life? Just to have what she could give in death. 

Thoughts finally slowing down, he fell asleep to his little lamb’s warmth, the butcher knife under the pillow like it always was. 

Kate had asked him to start coming over whenever he was done with work, at least until the December rush was over, and he’d obliged. She even made him a spare key — it was almost comical considering he’d been going in and out her house for months, but for some odd reason, when she handed him that key, eyes lit up . . he treasured the moment. 

She was baring her heart yet again, giving him another piece of trust stitched together from being shattered by the ones before.

She would sleep in her satin PJs, calves and arms always showing, and he’d run his large hands along her curves while she slept, like he usually did when inspecting the best entry points to cut. 

Yet, his thoughts went more towards what his body could do to hers, her cries of unbidden ecstasy as he pleasured her, either his hands or his manhood.

Breathing heavy just from holding back all his desires, he held off the first two nights, letting her exhausted body recoup. 

On night number three, the raging inferno of lust was too much. It was well past midnight when he started to suckle on her ear, knowing that it was a weak spot of hers — her body reacting with want before her mind caught up. Waking up with a cry of weakness, a sound that shot straight through him, enhancing the carnality of his endless hunger — his hold on his inhibitions shattered.

“You don’t even know all the things you do to me, Kate,” he growled as he moved her onto her back, unbuttoned her top, and took her breast into his mouth, making her grip his hair as she bucked in surprise and pleasure. His other hand gripped her waist, moving her body to where he wanted her, knowing that she gave herself over to his command out of the submissive drive of being controlled, a slave to his desires.

She probably didn’t even realize that she instinctively did it, or that he was the ultimate foil — a man who always did what he wanted with people. And controlling her was bliss.

“Bob . .,” she managed to rasp out in a delirious whisper, still in a slumber-haze as he suckled on her other breast, her hands spread through his hair, and he started going up her collarbone, her neck, leaving bruising hickeys in his path. She tilted her head slightly, and his mouth took over hers, deepened by the change of angle she gave him. 

It took her by surprise when his other hand slid down her stomach and he pushed a finger in her, her shocked moan swallowed by his kiss. He rumbled, a sound that shook through her, her movements and noises all at his whim, his mercy, breaking her apart as he managed to coax out her blissful peak.

Their lips finally separated, his saliva mixed with hers as he pulled his finger up and licked it, her eyes pure blown pink as she panted like a feral animal, craving his next move. 

“Now,” he uttered in his low, dangerous voice, his other voice, attaching these feelings to what he was most nights without her realizing it, “I’m going to have my way with you, darlin’, and by the end of it,” he lowered over her, whispering right into her ear, “you’ll be screaming.”

Slipping her PJ bottoms off, he repositioned her to her side, gripping her thighs and thumbs on her bottom to direct himself into her, pulling her back onto him until he was buried in her, her cries of pleasure involuntary. 

“Bob— oh god Bob,” she cried out as her body felt like it was exploding from his intrusion like sparkling fireworks, and Bob’s thrusts became burning, possessive, his breath hot on her ear. She clamped her mouth and bit her lip to hold back her sounds, but Bob noticed right away. 

“Oh don’t you dare hide those noises from me, sweetheart,” he growled, his hand up now under her chin, resting around her throat. “I want them all.”

With that she cried out, his possession of everything she was sent her over, and she lost her ability to control whatever came out of her mouth. 

“Ah — Bob, oh, I can’t — Bob!”

Oh fuck, my lamb is too succulent to resist . .

He spun her onto her stomach, driving deeper as he broke apart within her, both their minds lost and shattered as he hunched over her, breathing heavy from fighting himself and letting go. 

They lay there for a moment, catching their breathes and weaning off the high. When he could, he got up and got small towels for them to clean up with, and then got back into the bed, her automatic movement to lay her head on his shoulder affecting him more than it should have. 

She raised her fingers to his cheek, caressing him as she smiled tiredly. “I love you,” it came out, before she froze, a true deer in headlights look as her face went beet-red. She attempted to pull her hand back, but he gripped her wrist before she could move. 

“Hah — really?” He was still catching his breath a little, but this punched him hard. 

She buried her face, but he could hear her muffled, “Yeaaaah,” and his whole mind went blank. 

“I . . think I love you too,” he whispered, and her eyes shot up, a cacophony of color.

She herself didn’t even know what she was feeling. In reality, neither did he.

With that, she laid her head down, tense as a rock, having for the millionth time bared her heart and soul to him, and for the millionth time . . he didn’t take a bite out of either. He rubbed her head, coaxing her to relax, until she finally fell asleep, and so did he, the aura of contentment cocooning them both. 

Chapter Text

Kate's conversation with Eyes still rang in the back of her mind for the next few days, her hands handling her job while her mind somewhere else. Right before she left, she had felt the panic, but from where, she didn't know.

And that shadow, that oppressing watcher who felt . . wrong, somehow, like they were in the wrong place. Or twisted.

Once her shift was over, she sent a quick text to Bob, letting him know that she was going to be too tired to see him for the next few nights, then went home to change into something with darker colors.

She didn't exactly have ninja clothes, but she could still make it more difficult to see.

After tying up her hair and covering it with a beanie she had lying around, she left, dusk just now settling. People were going home or already home, but she just walked like nothing was out of the ordinary - that was the key to having people ignore you.

It was barely light when she got to the crossroads which turned to the old wooden house that she'd found Eyes in and kept going forward before going off the path to get to the house. She hadn't seen anyone follow her, especially Alan, whom had been absent lately, hopefully deterred by Bob being at her house most times.

When she got close enough to see the windows, she crouched, noticing that there was the dimmest of lights, possibly candlelight with the way it flickered. Keeping low to the ground, she made it up to the windows, peaking from the very corner.

There were candles, but set in old-fashioned candle holders, covered with what appeared to be reddish-brown rust, at least from what she could see. The inside of the house otherwise still looked untouched, at least from her view, so she leaned up, debating on whether she should take the chance or not to climb in. She reached out, unspoken words as a question, but she couldn't sense Eyes anywhere. Like he was completely sealed off.

Candlelight reflecting from down the corridor shook as if someone passed through it, and she moved to the other side, hoping to catch a glimpse of whomever it was, holding her breath. It wasn't until the pair of red-cloaked figures passed by that she finally breathed.

They'd had some strange triangular hoods, and they were completely covered in red fabric, so whomever it was, she wouldn't be able to tell. She lifted herself up to the windowsill, the glass long broken, and stuck her head in, glancing from where they came and where they were going. Determined and seeing the coast was clear, she pulled up her legs, then gingerly went through the windowsill so she didn't cut herself.

Honestly, if I cut myself again, I would not be surprised if HE showed up.

Sliding down so she didn't slam down, she went the same direction as the cloaked people did, seeing the swishes of red as they turned different directions, going through until they stopped in front of the foyer in a parlor, and she froze, hands on the doorjamb.

One of them reached up to a statue on the foyer, and the dead fireplace split, croaking as old soot sifted down into the darkness below. Kate's eyes widened, a touch of yellow and green in fearful excitement, watching the two cloaked figures go down the hole.

She hurried to the side of the foyer, out of sight of the hole, but before deciding on her next step, she felt a presence at the edge of her mind. She looked upon the rest of the room, trying to see if her eyes caught anything, but it was eerily quiet, and suddenly she got the sense that something was searching for her.

Crouched in the corner, she stayed as still as possible, and she swore there was parts of the room that seemed darker than shadow, something in a search that if found, would be deadly to her. It was not a pleasant feeling being near this entity, but at least it couldn't seem to pinpoint her.

She felt it again push against her mind, and instead of resisting, revealing her hiding spot, she let it float through her edges, not even thinking of what she was doing or how. Not able to get a hold of her, it swooped away, and she finally could feel warmth again.

For the shadow had sucked the very heat out of the air, and its malice cut through the air. It had the same aura as the shadow that attacked her in Eyes' vision, and she knew - she'd have to come back another night before she could be of any help to her friend.

They may not have said anything, but she knew that shadow and those cloaked figures had something to do with Eyes' silence.

Something in her was protective of him, aside from that he was literally a mind-powerful creature, one who probably didn't need her help. But if he didn't, he would've been talking to her, wouldn't he? Especially in the house.

Finally feeling the air was back to normal, she snuck back the way she came, glancing around before using a piece of wood to crush the remaining edges of the jagged glass in the windowsill before climbing back through, and taking a long route home, just in case.

She got to her backdoor and quietly unlocked it before going in, not missed by the shadow of teal eyes watching her house like a hawk from the roof over.

Where did you go, little lamb? Bob thought as he sharpened his butcher knife for the twentieth time that night, eyes never leaving her be as long as she was visible.

The next day, she actually had her night clothes in her pack she'd brought to work, so once her shift was over, she walked her route again around the back of the old house. Once there were not any people that she could see around, she went behind a wall and changed into the dark clothes. She hid the pack, then snuck back up to the windowsill from the night before. There were no candles lit, which was what she was aiming for - she was wanting to be ahead of them, maybe go down the walkway before they came.

She didn't really have much of a plan, but for some reason, she had to do this. For Eyes.

She felt almost responsible for him, which made zero sense - she was literally a mortal, and he some eldritch being, but talking to him had made every single iota of anxiety and stress go away, like her soul had felt safe.

Shaking the confusing thoughts away, she climbed into the window and went down the path from before until she reached the foyer with the strange statue, like a satyr cheering but frozen in stone. No other sounds came anywhere, and the oppressive aura of that shadow didn't seem to be around.

She got on her toes to reach and managed to pull the statue down like a lever, and the fireplace opened sideways, revealing an unlit staircase going down. Her mortal heart was screaming at her to feel the fear she should be feeling, but her mind shoved the thoughts away, and the feeling of Eyes' last panicked mind-scream pushed her forward. With her phone's flashlight the dimmest it could go, she headed downwards.

How did she give him the slip again?!

Bob had been already at her house before her shift was over, but yet she never returned there. He hadn't even quite done his closing duties at his shop, trying to get ahead of her to no avail.

Tired yet avoiding me, he grumbled, knowing full well that she had probably decided on doing something he wouldn't approve of. He told himself that she can take care of herself, but it didn't have the conviction of truth behind it. Narrowing his eyes towards the candy store, he moved like a phantom on the hunt, determined to find out what his darling was up to.

The staircase started spiraling, and she wondered if this was just another way to get to Eyes' underground cave, or realm, or whatever it was, but the tingle she'd felt from entering it before never came. At a certain point, she turned off the phone flashlight, seeing light emanating from below, and she tiptoed to the edge.

It looked like an underground dungeon, all stone walls, with decorated but old rugs along the wide corridor, and she paused, trying as hard as she could to listen to any change in sound.

Footsteps. Realizing that they were above her, she dashed to the right, hoping with all hope that nothing popped up, seeing how exposed she was right now. The first open doorway she glanced in, saw bloodied chains but no occupants, and ran in, hiding on the inside wall. The footsteps came closer, along with voices, none that she recognized right away.

"We have only until this Saturday," the man's voice whispered, but considering the lack of any other sound, his plain voice was loud.

"I know," the other male voice hissed, obviously frustrated with the first voice. "Father has been very clear about it."

"Have you found enough?" The voices were right by the doorway, and she crossed her fingers that they didn't turn into it.

"There's a few more options who would work," the other replied, and the voices started to move further away, making Kate's heart thunder a little less. "But Father has his eyes set on one, and I don't know how any of us will get that one away alive."

"--alive?"

"No . . whomever is bringing that sacr---. She's watched."

The voices were starting to get overpowered by their footsteps, and she couldn't hear anything clearly anymore. At least they were gone.

Pathetic . . fools.

She froze, all hair standing on end, hearing the otherworldly voice, deep yet with such malice that she couldn't move. It spoke of anger, of betrayal, all in a voice that reeked of death. 

Death . . is worth . . fulfilling the plan . .

That rubbed her the wrong way, and she glared at the general darkness. The raspy voice was moving towards the same direction as the other pair of men, and she could only hope . . 

. . Wait.

The voice stopped a few feet past her doorway.

Ah, I'm done, I'm done, her mind recited, knowing full well that she had been pushing her luck the entire time she was down here, and had no recourse if that shadow actually found her. For she was certain it was that shadow talking - it had the same aura. She slid down lower, not seeing anywhere to hide even in the room.

Crash. Noise down the corridor as something smashed into the wall, and she could hear panicked voices and screams as something thumped on the walls.

That insolent child! it snarled before she felt it leave, and she could finally breathe.

Go.

She straightened up so fast, she saw a few stars. Eyes?! Where are you?

Go. I cannot let him find you.

But --

GO. I can suffer distracting him but not for long.

Shit. Torn between self-imposed duty and survival, she cursed again before taking off running, knowing full well that Eyes was right. She was out of her league with whatever that ghost thing was, and she could feel its murderous intent if it found her.

I WILL come back for you, Eyes.

!!!*screech*!!!

Tears welled up as she felt his pain, stabbing and vicious, and she punched the staircase wall, angry that she put him in that position, even if it was to try to save him. She made it to the top and shoving aside stealth, ran to the windowsill and out, the tiny cut of glass unnoticed in the grand scheme of things.

It wasn't until she was back where her pack was that she let her emotions truly take over, the angry tears and frustrated hissing loud in the night air. Kneeling, she cried until the tears stopped coming, before wiping her eyes and going to her pack.

What kind of spirit can hurt someone like Eyes? her thoughts mulled over, knowing for a fact that the shadow was the same thing that had cause his pain during their last conversation. What could hold power over him?

The shadow didn’t seem to leave the house. It was able to interject in Eyes’ mind, visions, so either it had a huge amount of control . . or it was given control somehow. 

She put on her normal clothes and started her way back home back the dark alleys, her mind deep in thought of that house.

Which meant that she was completely oblivious to the figure that came out of the darkness and slammed her into the wall, claws digging into her shoulder and blade to her throat.

"Naughty, naughty, beastie," the Devil Butcher growled, squeezing her shoulder more, making her yelp, her eyes a mix of shock and yellow. "You've been hiding from me."

She blinked at him, confused, her hands hovering below his, unsure if she should grab his blade arm or not. "I . . I haven't been hiding. Just . .," she gulped, "out."

"My little pet," his voice got dangerously low as he leaned forward, his eyes of promised pain and smile of hunger all that she could see. "You don't get to go out whenever you want to."

She winced as the blade nicked her from her breathing, but for once, he didn't seem to notice. She clenched her fists. "You don't get to tell me what to do, butcher," she hissed back, her resolve to keep him calm collapsing from the night's events. "And I don't belong to you."

She instantly regretted her backtalk when she saw his eyes flash, his smile maniacal as he spun and flattened her against the wall, the blade hidden. 

"I have let you live since the day I saw you, and yet you want to test me?" he hissed, his metallic breath ringing in her ear. He twisted her arms behind her, eliciting a pained gasp from her, before she felt the sharp pain of the blade slicing across one of her palms. She let out a surprised, pained cry as it stung, and keeping her other arm still, he dragged the sliced hand up on the wall so she could see the smears of blood it was leaving on the wall.

"I have been too patient with you," he growled, the drool starting to flow.

He flipped her again so she could watch as he stuck her whole hand into his mouth, sliding his teeth along, tearing the cut open.

His rough tongue slid across her palm, digging into the cut as he sucked on it, his eyes closed in pleasure of tasting her blood, his teeth pressing on her wrist like any moment they'd snap right through. True fear flooded her, and she couldn't help letting out cries of pain with each second, making him even more invigorated. She tried looking away, clinching her eyes shut, not sure why seeing him taking enjoyment from her stirred other feelings, but he gripped her chin, his pinprick eyes meeting hers, reminding her that he was in charge.

As he fell in her eyes of pure, unmatched orange and barely there rose spots, he let her feel him swallowing her arm whole, still threatening to take that final bite. He didn’t miss the flashes of yellow in her eyes as the feeling of being eaten alive made her mind blank out in a wild-animal panic, pulling back from him in terror.

Smiling with the deadliest teeth she knew, he pulled her hand back up and bit down, right where the cut was, and she keened in pain, her other hand now on his chest, her eyes deep orange with spots of white as her legs lost strength. She slid down slightly, but the butcher followed, leaning over her, his teeth threatening to continue through the tendon, and he watched her emotions with such joy.

He was enjoying her pain, her confusion, her helplessness in his grasp.

He pulled another draught of her bleeding pain once more before letting her hand go free with a wet pop, and and she fell to the ground, curling over it protectively, eyes of a frightened animal as she looked up at him, her eyes becoming more blue. He was smiling, her blood still on his lips as he watched her wince with each throb of pain he'd left her. Each throb a lesson she needed to remember, each throb a splash of white in her eyes. Pain.

"This is what I like to see," he rumbled, his head tilting as his eyes drank in her terrified state. "My lamb understanding her place, knowing she keeps her limbs only by my whim." He knelt down, his teal eyes sparkling as she pushed back into the wall, even if she couldn't get any further. "Go home, babe."

With no other thought, she shoved herself up and ran, her mind a blank fear-driven blur, the feel of her injured hand in his mouth running in her mind over and over.

Chapter Text

She had been too complacent. Too comfortable. 

Kate rinsed the cut again, having scrubbed her whole arm ten times already, and poured the alcohol on it again, rather feeling the burn than the memory he’d left her with. 

But it wasn’t working. 

He wanted to, she heaved, trying to keep calm to no avail, he wanted to bite down and eat it. 

He was right, it was at his whim. And no one she told would be able to help her. He’d slice them up without a second thought, probably eat them in front of her. 

She couldn’t risk it. 

Shit, how was she going to keep this from Bob? It was hard enough trying to keep her trips to the old house quiet, but now, she had injuries. She couldn’t tell him, or else he’d try to protect her, and he’d die.

Bob wasn’t bloodthirsty enough like the Butcher was. He was good with a knife, but . . this was not just skill that drove him. It was pleasure in terror and control, and he’d use Bob as another way to control her. 

Wrapping up her hand in a tight bandage, she pondered on her next steps. Oh, she was definitely still going to go back — Saturday they were going to sacrifice people, and she still needed to find out more about what was down there, and what was imprisoning Eyes. 

He’d been much more free earlier in the year, able to speak without that shadow hovering, yet now he was bound, and it bothered her. She couldn’t explain why, but it was as normal to her as saving Kelsey or Bob. 

She gingerly held her hand, cradling it as it continued to throb. 

She’d nearly lost a hand with those eyes.

His cravings had almost led him chomping down on her wrist, crunching the soft finger bones as the nerves twitched, and he held his head as he sat on a bench, reeling from the adrenaline. He’d been so angry seeing her nonchalantly walk from wherever she’d been, when he’d been . .

He scratched his head. Of course he was attached to her, she had even admitted that her feelings had grown so far as to say those words that most people throw around like candy and yet . . 

He’d felt it. In her movements, her glances, her touches . . but it couldn’t be real. It was only to half of him, the one that she allowed freedom to herself whenever. 

Memories flashed to the rainy night where she’d hurt herself, and he could only taste her, making her wriggle in his arms as punishment for not being safe with her own being . . 

She didn’t fight him as hard as she could have, he knew. Her body recognized his, whether her mind would connect the dots or not. And even tonight, she could’ve fought harder, but something in her liked giving the Butcher pleasure, even if it was with her own pain.

He knew she was loyal. Her eyes had only ever been for him, and the Butcher, whether she realized it or not, was also him. He enjoyed confounding her. 

So maybe . . she could mean it for both. 

He glanced up at the stars, though they weren’t visible now. 

“Kate?”

“Ah!” She dropped the bag she’d been filling up, and candy went across the floor. In a panic she murmured, “Sorry, sorry,” under her breath as she kneeled down and started picking it up, not registering Bob standing nearby. 

When his large hands touched her shoulders she jumped again like a skittish animal, and her light yellow eyes met his, finally in recognition. 

“Bob, I didn’t realize you were there,” she said, averting her eyes to continue cleaning up her mess. “I’ll get your order in just a—“

“Kate,” Bob touched her shoulders again but didn’t let go again, kneeling beside her now. “What happened?”

She paused, then continued cleaning. “Just . . nightmares is all, nothing to worry.”

She felt his doubtful gaze. The hurt hand throbbed under the bandages she tried to keep hidden, and she tried hard to hide the wince, to no avail. 

“What. Happened?” He’d gripped her wrist, seeing the bandages across her palm, and she knew the jig was up. That was fast.

Her mouth opened to recite the story of a cooking mishap she’d come up with, but then closed her mouth, unable to get past the thought of lying to Bob. “I can’t say,” she said quietly. 

“Why can’t you tell me?” She winced again at another throb of pain, refusing to look him in the eyes, knowing that he was getting angry again.

“I — can’t let you get hurt,” she whispered, and she felt him pause, the energy from his anger weakening.

“Was it that ex-jerk of yours again?”

“No, no, it’s not . . I’m fine,” she tried to pull her hand back, but Bob had it in a vice grip, and his other lifted her chin up with just a finger. His eyes softened as he saw the immense conflict in hers, the colors changing like a whirlpool. 

“Who, Kate? Who’s got you scared like this? Who’s hurting you?”

She shut her eyes, knowing full well that he was reading them like a novel. “It’s my own fault, I just . . I can’t — I can’t say more, okay?” She pleaded. 

Finally Bob stopped pushing, which she was simply glad for and didn’t question it. He pulled her close against him, feeling her silently cry as the stress of last night and that morning finally caught up to her. “Then I’ll just have to keep guard on you,” he said, and her push into him was either a relief of safety or a worry of action. 

“Okay.”

Her only thought now was to be sure he couldn’t follow her on Saturday. 

When Bob came in Saturday morning, he was surprised to find Kelsey behind the counter. 

“Here you go, Bob,” she handed him his normal order, but he was looking surprised at her. 

“Where’s Kate?” He asked, his sense of foreboding rising. 

“Oh, she called in sick,” Kelsey replied nonchalantly, “I mean, she has been acting weird this whole week, so it’s good she’s taking the day off.”

Day off? Why wouldn’t she tell him? Unless . . He glanced at the calendar behind the counter, and his face paled. 

Tonight was the winter solstice.

His thoughts went a mile a minute as he took the bag of candy, muttering, “Thank you,” before rushing out the door. 

No, she couldn’t have been going there . . except that he’d caught her coming from that direction, and she wouldn’t say . . His whole frame trembled as the direness of the situation hit him. He had to stop her from going back there, whatever her reasoning. 

If Father caught her tonight of all nights . . she was dead.

Chapter Text

Kate was cranky, having left a few hours before dawn to wait behind the old house, deciding that daytime was the best time to sneak in and avoid all the robed people. 

Why she was suddenly not tired like she was before December, she didn’t know. But she was glad for it. She’d seen some of the red-cloaked people leave, so she waited until the house was quiet for a while before hopping through the window. She had to move a lot slower, since her hand was still tender from the cut a few days ago, but she managed to get through.

Making a beeline to the foyer, she pulled the statue and moved to the side, listening for any other echoes before quickly heading down. She stopped at the bottom, listened hard, then went towards the right where she’d heard them go before. At least the candles were all lit.

The wall on the right was broken apart, dirt fell in, and she guess that this was where Eyes had caused the distraction. She stared at it for a moment, her eyes going through several colors before she continued onward, noticing that the left wall was fine.

Not a single sound. Not even a drip.

Eyes? She carefully reached out, but not even a vibration in the air.

She shivered, feeling the air grow colder, and held her arms close as she kept walking.

She’s here.

Everything was always cloudy, hazy, people moving as silhouettes, with their spirits the only defining feature that he could see. He could see the touch of eldritch power that tainted most of his followers, the path of eldritch blood that was invisible to the naked eye, left from when the tree child threw that tantrum, letting her escape.

And yet, she returned for him. Why?

The shadow, floating behind her in a mass of dripping black ectoplasm that faded as soon as it fell, twisted and writhed as it fought to keep its form, although the glowing purple eyes shone right at her, unwavering.

The edges of souls were always frayed . . except hers. It had taken a few times to tune himself to her aura, but now, he could sense her wherever she may be in the vicinity.

It won’t matter much after tonight, anyway.

She perked up, finally getting a whiff of Eyes’ aura, and started running. He followed easily, having no such thing as air resistance to slow him down.

He would wait.

She practically drifted around the opening she saw, and climbed through, shaking as the feeling of Eyes’ realm slid over her. It was just the very edge, a small hole that he’d managed to make, and her eyes alighted on Eyes’ and gasped.

What did they DO to you?!

Runes shone from his bark, leaking black blood as he drooped over. His branches were chained with iron, and there were crystals jammed into various eyes, the dripping blood dried. She was about to dash forward when Eyes, who had been staring into nothing, saw her and—

!!!

She froze, seeing the absolute panic in Eyes, and only barely registered the inky cloud that engulfed her, snuffing her consciousness into a dark pit as the shadow raised a somewhat solid, grey hand, her unconscious form now just a rag doll in his hands.

Thank you, my Eyes, he said maliciously, and vastly enjoyed the branches’ angry shakes and the mental cries as he turned with the last of the sacrifices for tonight.

Nonono she didn’t, she didn’t . . 

Bob had already gone to her house, hoping against all odds that she was sick at home, but it was still as a graveyard. Tearing at the doorway in frustration, he spun and ran, because he could not go after her as himself.

He had to be him. His other self.

Heart pounding, he ran until he was out of breath, standing downwind of that awful old mansion, sweat dripping. It may have been middle of the day, but the evil in that place . . it never slept. He never slept.

He was up by the house in a few moments, walking around, searching the ground. He found what he was looking for; small footprints, and a resting spot where she must’ve sat for a bit.

Oh no Kate you didn’t . . 

The tracks led to an open window, and he could see the tiniest dried drops of blood along the crushed edges of the glass, a few days old. 

Sweet lamb, you walked into the dark and never saw the jaws opening beneath your feet. 

He hoisted himself in, his mind on edge as he went into full hunting mode. In the house, everything darkened, and he disappeared into the shadows like he belonged there. 

The winter solstice will soon be upon us, and it is time to prep the sacrifices.

The cultists now piled in the room split as if choreographed, their blood-colored cloaks completely covering them aside from the numerous holes in the front, simulating eyes. The towering eldritch tree that they worshipped bent towards Father in defeat, the branches of eyes drooping.

Father pulled black, shimmering shards out of the bark, and Eyes would wince with each pull, until all seven eldritch-blood-covered crystals were on the small stone table in the middle. Seven slabs of angled stone were the centerpiece of the circle, each with a rusty pot at the end underneath.

The cultists that had split off earlier returned, carrying their unconscious victims to their respective slab. At the fourth entry, Eyes’ branches fluttered, not daring to make more movement, but unable to hold back. 

Kate looked so peaceful as she was laid on the middle slab, her breathing the bare minimum. Father watched Eyes’ reaction with a keen eye, considering this nipping any rebellion in the bud, and pulled out a jagged dagger, sharpened to a fine point, carved runes in the side that matched the ones on Eyes.  

In the shadows above, the butcher gripped the nearby column hard, nearly cracking it, his eyes only on Kate. He stood no chance against Father, but for her . . he may yet try. 

Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing, Father spoke in a language only Eyes could understand, and he cringed hearing it uttered. He held the first crystal shard, which started to glow, the sleeping woman below shifting hearing it.  Now you are uncurled and cover our eyes with the edge of SKY. 

At sky, the dagger slammed down into the woman, who screamed too late - gasping, she collapsed as her very essence drew into the shard, which now emanated a deep purple glow. 

Placing the now full soulshard on the woman’s corpse, he moved to the next sacrifice; an elderly man, full of wisdom. 

Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing, his voice grew louder, his form becoming more defined, come with your seasons, your fullness, your END. Another stab, another moment of jolting pain, another blackened shard filled with dying light. 

He needed to do something, the butcher’s heart pounded, knowing full well that if he attempted anything now, he’d be the one on that slab in her place. 

He was considering it. 

Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing, dagger raised over the next figure, now you are uncurled and cover our eyes with the edge of, slam, sky!

The shadows moved as the butcher moved to strike, enraged at the sight of Father hovering with the blade above Kate’s chest, his features more pronounced with each cut — the darkness of his black hair was becoming visible, their shape defined. 

Wait.

Bob froze, the whisper of sound that flowed across him impossible.

But it also felt impossible to disobey, it filled him with . . joy and life. 

Vines, leaves, roots of darkness growing! Father’s eyes sparkled, while Eyes’ shone with desperation. Come with your seasons, your fullness, YOUR END!

The blade slammed down.

Chapter Text

The only sound that existed was sparks.

The soul light coming from Kate’s chest erased sound momentarily, the blade stuck deep. Bob’s heart was threatening to come out of his own chest as everything slowed.

No . . he couldn’t breathe.

The sparks flowed into the soulshard above her . . and kept flowing. As it pulled from her, Father hissed as the blade burned him, and he’d backed away, his now shocked and angry eyes watching as the soulshard was changing colors beyond purple: to pink, to orange, to yellow and it was only speeding up. 

The other sacrifices had taken a few moments to fill, but hers was starting to shake as more soul light pulsed through it, tiny cracks forming from the strain. 

Impossible, Father gasped. 

Beautiful, Eyes whispered. 

And the shard shattered. 

Blinding exploded light slammed into everyone as noise returned, screeching in anger at its absence. Bob was holding his own head when deep wells of color flooded his vision, and he looked up, realizing that he was no longer affected by the flash. The touch of a forgotten memory fluttered away from him, and he looked to see Kate was lying there, unstabbed but unconscious, the glow under her eyelids fading away as the lights flowed back into her, free from the shard.  

Narrowing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he leapt from his hiding spot and jumped, sliding across the slab to scoop her up and up on his shoulder. He moved sideways around the cultists, now using all knowledge of the way back to take her home. 

He was already by the door when he heard it, above the sound of the air crackling in sharp anger.

BUTCHERRR!!

The Devil Butcher grinned back at the livid specter before disappearing like a shadow through the doors, holding her tight against him as he sprinted.

Every shortcut through this underground labyrinth was still not going to be enoug—

Tree branches, winding with tired eyes, pushed the rock he was on upward, the dirt upwards falling aside as if obeying a secret order. He stumbled at first, but then steadied as he accepted the help. When it got him to the surface, the branches then lost their strength, doing what they could. 

Keep her . . safe.

He nodded, turning his back on his old god and getting down from the hill, just to put some distance. He’d already disappeared with her into the shadows of the alleys before any of the cultists could even have a chance to glimpse him.  

It was not long before he’d gotten into her house, he’d been running so hard. He gently laid her on her back on the bed, unnerved at how cold she was. Still in red hoodie and red horns, he lay next to her and cuddled her, trying to warm her up. 

She didn’t react. He felt her pulse and breath, and at least they were both there. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the shock of whatever that was started to affect him. He tried wrapping his mind around what he saw, the colored wells he saw that cleansed his vision, her destroying that soulshard dipped in eldritch blood . . he held her closer, just glad to hear her breathing. 

When he woke up in her bed, no changes in her state, he got up and started cleaning off the red, the horns gone. If she woke up, he’d rather she see Bob before the Butcher, and maybe he could coax her better that way. 

When he came out of the bathroom, her figure hadn’t moved, and Bob gripped his chest, trying his hardest not to think the worst. 

Her soul was torn from her before slamming back in. Of course her body will need rest to recoup from that. 

So logical. His heart hurt from all the stress and worrying about her, and he lay next to her again, cuddling her. She slept the sleep like death of sleeping beauty, and he didn’t think a kiss would do it. He did peck a kiss on her forehead before holding her to him, just rocking from worry. 

Would she ever forgive him? When she found out how he knew?

How it started everything?

She was so cold. 

Her alarm woke her, and she reached to turn it off. As she started to slide forward, an arm enveloped her waist and pulled her back against hot skin.

The drowsiness disappeared instantly as she realized that Bob was hugging her, and that she had spent the night in his arms. She grew hot as she remembered how he took control, every moment almost like he was holding back . . but she shook her head, trying to focus as she needed to get up. She pried his arm off her, hoping that he was still asleep, and that his movement was just in his sleep.

She went and closed the bathroom door as she took her shower, and she felt like she had gone crazy. She quickly finished and dried herself off, before realizing that her clothes were still in the bedroom.

With a monster of a man in her bed.

Wrapping the towel around her, she quietly opened the bathroom door, and tiptoed to her drawers to grab some clothes. Looking down, she didn’t quite catch the movement behind her.

“Where you goin’, darlin’?” His voice boomed in her ear as he slipped his hand around her waist, the other hand wrapped around her neck and forcing her to look up at him, her entire body stiff from surprise. His hand held her firmly as his fingers caressed her neck, threatening to squeeze on her windpipe if she moved, his eyes that teal color as they hungrily looked down at her.

His fingers slid along her chin, and a finger rubbed her lips before parting them. “Trying to hide your little sounds, sweetheart?”

She scrunched her eyes closed, letting him control her how he wanted.

“—your fullness, your end.”

A sharp pain resonated through her chest, and she opened her eyes to the alarm going off. She reached to turn it off, but something felt off.

An arm enveloped her waist and pulled her back against hot skin.

The drowsiness disappeared instantly as she realized that Bob was hugging her, and that she had spent the night in his arms. She pried his arm off her, hoping that he was still asleep, and went to the bathroom door to take her shower.

She had her eyes closed when she felt something like goop, and she opened her eyes to blackened blood with eyes bubbling, and she opened her mouth to scream.

Her alarm woke her, and she reached to turn it off, but an arm enveloped her waist, and pulled her back against nothing solid. She glanced and instinctively jerked away seeing the grey clawed hand attached to black ectoplasm, but it grabbed her neck, keeping her against the sickening, freezing mist, and a voice was in her ear.

“Now you are uncurled, and cover our eyes with the edge of sky,” Father hissed, and the hand squeezed on her windpipe.

The alarm woke her, and with drowsiness gone, she rolled out of the bed, keeping her eyes to avoid the phantom, only to see Bob’s body, rotting, melting in her bed.

She felt her head roll back through the wall behind her, and she was again horizontal, with the alarm going. She tensed, keeping her eyes closed, trembling as she tried to sense what she would feel this time.

A solid arm enveloped her waist and pulled her back against heated cloth.

Her mouth opened to gasp, but claws gripped her neck, and the sting of the butcher blade nicked her cheek.

“Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing,” the Butcher recited above her ear, and she almost leapt towards the knife, just to get away from whatever it was. It didn’t sound like him, this isn’t real, this isn’t REAL.

Her alarm woke her, and she turned off and heaved, everything all wrong and disturbed that she felt sick. Looking down, she dry-heaved in terror, the pieces of fingers laying there twitching.

No, no, NO, THIS ISN’T REAL!

How many times that alarm rang to restart that day, she couldn’t say.

The alarm went off, and she shouted, “No!” as she twisted and contorted to get out of the embrace of whatever it would be trying to traumatize her this time. “Stop it, stop it!”

“Hey, hey, shh shh,” Bob’s voice, unmarred with dream-echoes, cooed at her, tightening his arms to keep her from hurting herself.

“You’re not— not real, not real,” she gasped, still fighting to escape, waiting for the next vision to drop, gripping his arms that were unmoving.

“Kate, I’m real, I’m real!” He exclaimed, loosening ever so slightly to gently rub her upper arms, trying to calm her down. He lowered his head on top of hers, and she twitched, but started to hold still, trying to breathe normally instead of panicked.

“Darlin’, I’m real,” he repeated, softer with worry evident in his voice. “Please, Kate, it’s me.”

She finally started to relax, her eyes wide open, waiting for the dreaded alarm to ruin the sanctity of her sanity again, but it stayed silent. Her breathing started to slow down, matching Bob’s own cadence as he held her, his hot breathe above her head.

“Kate, oh sweetheart, you scared me,” he said, giving her a small squeeze, and Kate looked up, and almost swore that he’d been crying, but he moved where she couldn’t see. “You called in sick, and I went to check on you, and you wouldn’t wake up, no matter what I did . . .”

Her mind twinged at something at that, but the last thing she remember was calling in sick, so that . . why? The reasoning slipped away, and she turned so that she was facing his chest, and let him envelope her in his embrace, even if he was going to disappear. “I was having horrible nightmares, and they felt so real,” she said, her voice shaking. “I couldn’t get away from them, they just kept cycling over and over . .”

Bob held the back of her head as she sought comfort in his scent, and he could feel the wetness on her eyes as she quietly cried from whatever effects the nightmares left on her. He continued to soothe her, though she kept gripping onto him as if she would fall, still waiting. 

He could only suspect the dreams, and was glad she did not remember why they may have been there.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for checking up on me,” Kate tilted her head and smiled. “But aside from bad dreams, I’m fine now.”

Bob stood outside, a bag lugged over his shoulder with the clothes he’d brought before when he came in. “Are you absolutely sure? I don’t mind keeping you company.”

She nodded. “I really don’t want to worry you, and I’m fine. I’m a big girl — I can handle a few nightmares.” She hopped onto the planter to lean in and give him a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he said uncertainly, still looking at her worriedly for a moment before he turned and walked. She slowly closed the door, then sighed. 

Just a few nightmares . . 

The topic of her dreams a fading memory, she went into the kitchen to eat. Raiding through the minimal contents of her fridge, she threw together a sandwich and went into the living room, plopping onto the couch.

And paused, before putting down the sandwich, and checking that the front door was locked. Satisfied, she went back and ate her meal.

The evening came by, and the elongating shadows made her hair stand up, but otherwise she tried to relax, reading a book.

She’d only checked the front door and back door four times so far, and all the windows twice. Looking at them, old and rusted, she wondered why she’d never thought to put locks on them — even if it was difficult for someone to raise it, it was still possible.

She avoided her bedroom, even with the light on.

The eyes that peered back in the corner of her eyes but never when she directly looked were only in the corners, so even in the living room, corners were stuffed with miscellaneous things, like blankets or pillows.

The ceiling corners, she hadn’t figured out yet.

Eventually her stomach rumbled again, and she went as steadily as possible to the kitchen to eat, trying not to spook herself. She had to ignore every shadow whispering, every rustle a movement in her peripheral vision that wasn’t even something that could rustle, and the dim lights that followed her like eyes in the corners, she swore. 

Too shaky to even think about what she could eat, she backed up, moving sideways until she got back into the living room. She stood there, her heart pounding, and she grabbed her hair in embarrassment.

You’re not a child, you’re not supposed to let those nightmares affect you. 

Reaffirmed determination, she went back into the kitchen and got her food. 

The night had passed by without a sound, although she still felt the need to check her doors and windows again and again. Seeing the dawn without an ounce of sleep, she drank an energy drink and headed out the door, ignoring the urge to check her windows again. 

Once in the candy store, she turned on the normal lights, her heart hammering because the urge to turn on all the lights was strong. But that was not normal.

That was not what she usually did, and she needed to stick to routine, especially today.

Bob was not one of the visitors, but at the moment, she was not too worried about it. The sound of footsteps behind her made her dizzy, constantly glancing back to see nothing as she prepped for work.

When Kelsey came in, she didn’t see Kate at first — it wasn’t until she came back from the backdoor that she realized that she was there.

“Kate!” Kelsey exclaimed, but then stopped short. Kate’s eyes were a little worn, tired but alert, holding a steady pale blue, although when she saw Kelsey she smiled big. 

“Hey!” Kate said, her hand picking at her stomach where a tiny itch had been bothering her. “Sorry, I was just taking some of the trash out.”

“That’s not even the issue, how are you feeling?” Kelsey replied, still attempting to read Kate’s emotions as her eyes flitted about, an uneasy tenseness in the air.

“Oh, I’m fine, I’m . . fine,” Kate zoned out, staring at a corner, before blinking back into reality. “No, really, I’m fine, just tired is all.”

Crash. The sound of the jar that slipped from her hands crashing made both of them jump, and Kate just stared down at the mess, blood pooling from a small cut that a shard made on her ankle, the gumballs rolling away. 

“Oh no no, I’m so sorry!” Kate finally reacted, kneeling down to pick up the pieces.

“Kate, Kate, stop!” Kelsey knelt down and grabbed her wrists, because she’d been just grabbing the shards bare-handed, and now there were cuts all over her palms. “I will clean this up, you need to get this taken care of.”

Kate’s eyes were slightly glazed, until she looked down and saw the cuts. She pulled her hands back, her soft “ouch” delayed.

“Kate, let me close the store for a moment so I can clean this up, but only after I clean your cuts,” Kelsey continued, pulling her up and directing her to the restrooms. As the fresh blood came off willingly, Kate just watched with empty eyes. Kelsey brought in some first aid, and bandaged her hands, before locking the front door and beginning to sweep the floor.

She only realized that Kate had walked out the front door when the chime goes. Torn between helping her friend and cleaning up the mess, she sighed, knowing that she’d have to hunt her down later.

Kate sat on her couch, holding a pillow to her chest as she rocked back and forth. She’d ignored Kelsey’s knocking soon after she made it home, though she remembered none of the walk. She scratched her thigh again, the itch not wanting to go away, but never taking her eyes off the TV, which had black goop all over it, the screen flickering with strange pictures periodically. The long night seemed to stretch as the goop bubbled, the corners dripped acid, and the thumping in the kitchen continued on.

When the sun rose, she slowly got up - her thigh and abdomen were getting worn down from her incessant scratching, figuring it was all part of the hallucination. Because it had to be. Was she still sick? She didn’t even remember what happened yesterday, even with the sting on her palms from the bandages half off, encrusted with dried blood.

She slowly got up, making sure she didn’t step on any of the spiders on the ground - they’re not real, they’re not real - and went into the kitchen, which was empty at least. The sink was clogged with remnants of a person and there was still a man’s foot on the cutting board, but it wasn’t real. She almost gagged, even with seeing all of it.

It was probably her sleep deprivation.

Opening the fridge, the smell of rotten cheese hit her, and she turned and dry-heaved, having had nothing to eat the day before. When she looked back, the smell was gone, and the cheese was fine.

She walked out, munching on the cheese, making sure not to even glance at it while she ate.

He didn’t know how much longer he could take this.

Bob tore another bite out of his latest victim’s foot, a jogger in the forest by the town who’d made the unfortunate decision to go somewhere new. Every night, instead of going to comfort her, the guilt in his gut stopped him, knowing that he’d not protected her like he should’ve.

What a failure of a shepherd you are, he mocked himself as he cleaned the bone on the foot. Letting her fall into Father’s trap like that. 

But what had happened?

He still couldn’t wrap his mind around it, as he wrapped his hands around the calf and munched on it like a turkey leg. His hunger was insatiable, everything pushing him towards insanity as he ran the thought of her over and over, nearly a dead lamb.

The squish of blood wasn’t satisfying enough.

“Are you okay?”

Bob froze in mid bite, his mind trying to comprehend the voice he heard, before turning slowly to look. Kate was standing beside him, her hands behind her back as she swayed forwards and back, balancing on her heels. Her pale blue eyes were bloodshot and dark underneath; her hair was dull, oily, hadn’t been combed in a while.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” He asked, dropping the human leg to turn to her, the blood all over his face and mouth blending in to his mask. She did not look okay. She looked . . off.

It’d only been two days.

“You seemed famished. So I asked if you are okay,” she simply responded, looking up at him, oblivious to the dead jogger on the ground. “I could make you food, if you’d like.”

The Butcher gawked, looking her up and down, then inwardly cursing himself as his thoughts went to her thighs where he could savor the taste. “Lamb, you need to go home.”

“But the woods called me,” she slurred her word then, her eyes unfocusing, then glancing at a tree next to them. “I don’t like these woods, but they called me.”

He ever so slowly stepped forward, and reached behind her to grab her wrists. Feeling cloth, he pulled it forward, then his eyes pinpricked on her palms.

Her hands were covered in dried blood and cuts, bandages half hanging off of her like a mummy risen from their grave. Gripping her wrists, the cuts bled fresh, and before he knew it her hand was in his mouth, his teeth threateningly at her wrists. He sucked hard and she finally reacted normally, crying out in a gasp of pain as her fear rose, seeing him barely holding back from chomping down.

It took all his willpower to let her hand go, now covered in his saliva. She was breathing heavy, her eyes wide and in shock as her other hand was gripping her forearm. 

“I’m taking you home,” he stated, glancing away to keep his drive to devour her from taking over him. He pulled on her wrists as he turned, and she balked.

“No! No home! They’ve covered it!”

The sudden panic made him glance back at her, and he could almost taste the fear she was radiating at the idea. “Who covered it?”

What the hell happened?

“The acid drops,” she started to singsong before gripping her abdomen, and scratching at it. “The corners are watched, the shadows are wild.”

The abrupt smell of blood, made him turn and pull her towards him. He slowly ran his other hand up her shirt, and stopped at the feel of nail-torn flesh where she’d been scratching.

Eyes widened before he settled on an idea, lifting her up like she was weightless over his shoulder and plodded onward to her house.

He was not leaving her alone again. Even if he was the most dangerous threat she’d ever face, he couldn’t leave her again.

Guilt-ridden over his own selfish hope that she would be fine without him after such a traumatic experience she didn’t remember, he opened the door to her house and took her to the bedroom. She had almost fallen asleep on his shoulder, but she fought it the entire way, and from the way she was talking, she was most definitely having hallucinations or nightmares. From what, he couldn’t tell.

Laying her down onto her bed, he’d never been so gentle as the Butcher, but she was his and he’d failed her terribly.

Deciding that he would get to the bottom of whatever was making her sick tomorrow, he went into the living room and changed. He highly suspected that she wasn’t even going to remember tonight, so he could be a little more lax in-between his-selves.

Crash.

When he’d run into the bedroom, he gripped the doorway as he saw the lamp that had been next to her having been hurled at the window, every single sense of fear in her body and eyes. He rushed forward, gripping her in a tight hug, and laid down with her, coaxing her to relax.

“Kate, baby, you need to . . rest,” he’d almost said sleep, but he suspected that it’d might trigger another episode. She was trembling, her small hands clenched on his shirt as her eyes watered, closed shut. He held her, but she refused to sleep.

Chapter Text

“You’re coming with me.”

Kate wavered as she stood, blindly obedient at the moment. Having not slept for three nights was really starting to show, the dark circles under her glazed eyes. The itches in her thigh and abdomen were really starting to hurt, since she’d scratch scabs off, unable to stop.

“With you? Where?” She mumbled, then yawned.

Bob grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him, wrapping her in a bear hug. She felt so warm, so content, and for the first time in a while, safe in her home. She didn’t remember how she ended up in his arms through the night - at some point she gain coherency, and memories of the entire night were gone.

“To the diner, where I can take care of you,” Bob replied, his enormous hand holding her head and massaging it, making her muscles finally loosen. “I’m not leaving you alone again.”

She glanced up, before blinking and turning away.

Hallucination, hallucination, she chanted in her mind, trying to get the image of the acid dripping onto half of Bob’s face out of her mind.

“Come on, lemme get you cleaned up,” he lifted her, and she yelped indignantly.

“I’m grown, I can take care of myself!”

“Really? I found you wandering in clothes you’ve worn since I left you alone. I don’t care.”

Angered for a second, before flinching back from his hand, not understanding why they were half-eaten.

He calmly took her clothes off, though he had to keep his eyes averted so as not to give into his cravings that had come back tenfold. Which cravings, it was a toss up. He grabbed the sponge and started wiping her down, and she tried to pull back.

Gripping her wrist, he didn’t let her go. “I said I’d take care of you.” He continued to wipe her down with the wet soapy sponge, and then turned the shower on so she could rinse.

Getting her dressed was easier, because she was starting to accept that he wasn’t having it, and dressed herself.

It was still dark out, early as it was, but he wanted to make sure no one bothered her on the walk over. The whole town had been buzzing about it, and he’d had completely ignored it, trying to shove the guilt down for abandoning her. He’d really thought she was okay, but he was also terrified that the more time he spent with her, the more of a chance that she’d die.

Either by Father’s sick rituals or his own hunger.

When they got to the front door, she slipped behind him, hiding from the windows. “Why are we going into the cage?”

He glanced at her, her face a strange mix of fear and confusion, and he sighed. “Sweetheart, let’s get you inside.”

It hadn’t been long before Bob was forced to move her into his office, away from prying eyes. She was muttering under her breath, or staring vacantly at the half-eaten plate of fries in front of her. Everyone was asking about her, and all he could say was that ‘she’d been sleepwalking, he wanted to keep an eye on her for now.’

He was at a loss. And then her friend had come in, and sat down and tried to talk to her. That was interesting, because she’d taken the fork and stabbed the plate in front of her, muttering about the clock not liking her as if Kelsey didn’t exist. Kelsey had gotten up then, walked up to Bob, and leaned up to whisper.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Bob sighed. “I was hoping she’d react to you normally, because then you coulda helped her, but until then, I’ve gotta watch her, see if I can keep her from getting sicker.”

Kelsey nodded, then turned and walked out, not having ordered anything.

He’d had one of his cashiers take over as he herded her out of the booth and into his office, where he made sure all the doors out were locked, and there wasn’t anything she could use to hurt herself. It helped that he didn’t use this room often, and it was sparsely decorated - it was merely a crossroads into his other life.

Leaving her sitting in his chair, he turned and continued, periodically checking on her. She made no responses, just sat at his desk, staring, sometimes twitching.

The dinner rush was longer than usual, and it wasn’t until everyone had gone that he could lock up and go check on her.

Unlocking the door, he opened and was met with red. So much red. Bloodied, red handprints on the walls, the desk, almost like an animal attempting to climb out of a pit. Panicking, he rushed in and locked it behind him, finally seeing her sitting up against the wall near the bookcase, her scratching having torn her shirt and her thigh.

Oh my god, that blood smelled so divine.

Lost in the red that was his cravings, he slowly stepped forward like a predator, his eyes teal and his mouth salivating. Her outer left leg and lower left abdomen were like shredded barbacoa, she’d been practically tearing herself apart . . . and it was all only for him to see, to scent, to taste.

Kneeling down, towering over her even then, he reached for her hand, pulling it away from the shredded skin, and, sticking it into his mouth like a lollipop, sucked all the blood off of it. Nearly biting down hard for some fingerfood, he pulled it out and reached for her thigh, his eyes narrowed in on the stringed sides, sweet, delicious aroma of blood and meat.

She was panting, like the pain didn’t matter, but tearing herself up was important. He slammed her back against the wall, his enormous hand splayed on her stomach, finger between her breasts as he held his next meal still. She didn’t kick or try to truly get away - she only stared at her self-inflicted wounds.

The tiniest glint of reflecting light made him pause. He looked down again, seeing nothing at first, but then his amulet was warming against him, and he looked again. He could almost see the shard of soulstone glass embedded within her outer thigh, and glancing up, her lower abdomen as well. They glowed a sickening purple though his amulet’s view, and the realization that they were soul stone shards within her wiped his hunger clean.

His stomach twisted, and he hated himself that moment, because he'd only stopped because he’d sensed “tainted meat.”

He really was going to be her death. And he was truly wanting to avoid that.

His mind filled with clarity and a plan, he picked her up bridal style, turning and pushing the hidden button by the bookcase that opened this particular door. His entire gut was churning, knowing what he was going to do next, and the possibility of him wanting a taste afterwards was extremely high.

But she needed those shards out. They must’ve been poisoning her this whole time, and he never bothered to look.

He squeezed her, and she just stared blankly, muttering about the clock moving backwards to make her day longer.

She couldn’t see anything, as dark as it was. He was carrying her, and that was the only place she felt calm, safe, like the monsters couldn’t touch him. When he’d laid her down, it was cold, and she hissed, hating the feel of cold stone, as polished and shined as it was.

It wasn’t until the first strap over her wrist did she start to wiggle. Then the one that went across her waist, she started kicking, suddenly terrified as he continued to immobilize her.

“Bob, Bob, no, please don’t,” she cried, barely understanding what she was even screaming for him not to do. The lack of sleep made her attempts weak, and he continued to strap her in by wrists, ankles, and shoulders. "Please, no, I'm sorry!"

She didn't see his flinch at that, nor the guilt riding his shoulders as he pulled the gag from the side and stuck it in her mouth, trying his damnest to be gentle about it, even with her instinctual flailing.

This wasn't one of his victims. This was his sweet lamb being torn from the inside out with eldritch energy, and he was not going to let Father steal her from him.

After strapping the last strap across her forehead, he turned and started putting on his gloves and apron, and a face mask. Not the face mask, of course. He took a deep breath, making sure not to breathe through his nose, and grabbed his knife.

She stopped struggling, her exhaustion taking over as the soulstone shards continued to suck the life out of her, attempting to finish the job that was started. He narrowed his eyes as he stood over her, his blade above where the shard pulsed.

He needed to be perfect. He needed to avoid any muscles or nerves, so she can heal from this. The thought of purposely leaving her lame flitted through his mind, but shook it out immediately.

His hands were steady, the incision in her thigh smooth like butter. She screamed into her gag but no movement from the tight restraints - he had to ignore it. Ignore her screaming. Continue to widen the incision, cutting the same direction as the muscles, using every ounce of his Butcher knowledge to see the shard, glistening, pulsing, right below the muscle. He gently moved aside the muscle and used tongs to pry the shard loose, making sure it didn't cut anything on the way out. The blood gushed, but he kept repeating to himself, "Tainted, tainted, tainted," to keep the hunger at bay.

Her body gave a sharp twitch, and his jaw clenched as he whispered to himself harshly, "Tainted," as he dropped the shard into the metal bowl besides her.

He took another deep mouth breath, then he did the same with her abdomen, glad that she'd only been hit in the one side, where the major arteries wouldn't be.

As he dropped the second shard into the bowl, it hissing like an angry cat, he accidentally took a breath through his nose.

Human. Clean. Blood pulsing right below him, for his teeth to sink into, meat to chew. The smell of copper and heat and home.

He slowly turned, his eyes pinpricked into teal, salivating as he beheld her, on his special butchering table, just waiting to be tasted. His fingers hovered over her wounds, just barely touching the edges that were still red, soft, weeping. The way it throbbed, the way it was so sweet and warm. She had gone unconscious, so there would be no fight in her.

Deep in his chest, he felt the warring emotions, but here, right now, in her tender presence -

A single red droplet rolled down her thigh, fat and trembling. His breath came slow through his teeth, and he swallowed hard, pulling his face mask down.

Decadent, laying open and helpless beneath him . .

No! he bit his tongue, gripping his head as he yelled at himself internally, turning away from her. She needed him to close her wounds. She was completely dependent on him right now.

His hand trembled as he reached for the suture needle that he sometimes used for himself. Turning towards her, he scrunched his eyes and only mouth-breathed while he found the thigh cut blind. He forced himself to look at the cut, and to then think monotonously.

Thread. Needle. Skin. Stitch. Thread. Needle. Skin. Stitch.

The thread suddenly pulled through with a wet sound, and her leg twitched, a soft moan slipping from her vulnerable lips -

Thread. Needle. Skin. STITCH. THREAD. NEEDLE. SKIN. STITCH . .

He accidentally stabbed the needle back through her flesh harder than necessary, but it grounded him, and he could see without his eyes glazing over with hunger.

Would she even know if he took just a sliver . .

He stabbed the needle into his own arm, letting the sight of his own blood keep him sane. He couldn't, he wouldn't, oh Kate . .

He started on the abdomen, which seemed a little easier since it had not been as deep. The last stitch tied off with a trembling knot, and he fell back into a corner seat, breathing like he'd run a mile.

The air was thick with the scent of her precious blood, but he refused to look at her. Instead, he stared at the blood on his gloves, smeared across his fingers, vibrant and waiting. His mouth was wet from imagining more, questioning why deny himself the meal he deserved?

He finally glanced at her. Pale. Bruised. But alive. Her chest rose and fell, slow and steady, the best sleep she must've had in days, even if it was shallow.

Because she's Kate.

And he'd almost taken a real bite out of her.

This wasn’t like before, when he still saw her as a future meal. Now she was his to care for, and yet he may be the most dangerous person in her life. 

He pulled off the gloves and dropped them in the bin with the shard bowl, the metal ringing. He left the room to wash his hands, before coming back to sit beside her again, a wet cloth to wipe all the blood off of her. Then, unstrapping each binding one by one, he slid her off the slab, carrying her bridal style tight against him, and went up the stairs out of his butcher room.

Chapter Text

It was amber lit darkness, the ceiling casting long shadows that were almost familiar. It spun, but Kate suspected that was her head and not the ceiling itself. Her body was pained, aching, like something had clawed from the inside and tried to hide the evidence.

She tried to sit up, and lightning pain laced up through her, and her thigh screamed at her not to move. She gasped in pain, breath catching in her throat. “Wha—“

A hand steadied her shoulder, warm and firm, keeping her lying down.

“Don’t move,” Bob said quietly. His voice sounded like it’d been scraped raw.

“What . . why does . . it hurt?” She slurred, and blinked until he came into focus beside her, bedraggled and hair mussed up from something intense. It was her rented house, and his eyes wouldn’t focus on her own, but she could see that they were bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept in a while.

Confused, she glanced down . . and saw the bandages, wrapped around her thigh and abdomen, where the deep, sore feeling emanated. She tried to sit up again, gritting her teeth, but Bob’s large hand on her shoulder kept her from moving.

“What happened, Bob? Why am I hurt?”

His gazed moved away before answering, like meeting her eyes was difficult. “I had to cut you.”

Her eyes flared orange, which brought Bob’s eyes back to hers. The relief she saw in them, she didn’t understand. “What?!”

“It was over a day ago. You were being poisoned,” he continued, his eyes unblinking, staring at her colorful eyes. “I — I had to cut it out of you.”

Her heart thudded, the unknown striking at her instinctual fear, not even really hearing the timeline of her “nap". “What could poison me that you’d have to take out, Bob?” She shakingly asked as she managed to grip his wrist, which made him flinch. She stared at the motion. “What happened?”

He gulped, as if what he’d say next was hard for him. “I don’t know for sure. But it was like embedded glass and was giving you hallucinations and insomnia.”

She sensed that it was more than that, but she couldn’t understand what was he so shaken about. “Why are you so . . scared?”

He froze, before trembling under her gentle hands gripping his wrist. “I don’t . . do well with human blood. But I had to fix it.” A shaky pause. “I almost lost you,” he whispered, his voice nearly breaking.

Her breathing hitched, before she tried to turn again, and yelped as pain radiated from her abdominal muscles. In an instant Bob was above her, his hot hand gently on her stomach, keeping her in place. “You need to heal, sweetheart. Moving isn’t going to make you better.”

It took her a minute to release her tension, and he smiled at her, though it never reached his eyes. “That’s a good girl,” his voice rumbled, and her stomach flipped, even with the soreness.

Kelsey came and visited once Kate sent her a text another day later — she was so sick with worry, that she’d told Kevin she was leaving and went straight to her house. Bob had left to handle his diner, but told her to sleep anyways, changed her bandages before she left, although he seemed extremely queasy about it. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

After Kate told Kelsey what little she knew, and that she didn’t remember anything since Saturday, Kelsey gasped and told her what little time she did see her, and how she just wasn’t herself.

She’d glanced at the bandages, before looking back at Kate. “If it was the glass jar you broke, I don’t know why he couldn’t have taken you to the hospital . . “

“He said he couldn’t wait, I would bleed out,” Kate replied, remembering having asked the exact same question. “I just wished I remembered anything.”

Kelsey stood up, refilling Kate’s water by her bedside before laying her hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Just sleep then. I kinda abandoned Kevin at the candy store, so I’ll be back tomorrow.”

That made Kate laugh, her green eyes making her seem whole again.

It didn’t take long for the crack in Bob’s façade to widen.

“How’s that chick doin’, boss?” Jonathan slurred, grating on Bob’s nerves. “I heard she got mauled or something. Does she need,” Jonathan wiggled his eyebrows, “someone to comfort her?”

“Get back to work!” Bob snapped, nearly crushing the pay terminal he was holding in his palms. Jonathan, noticing the change in tone, quickly obliged. Bob’s livid eyes, pushed to the edge of his patience, followed Jonathan for a while before motioning the other cashier to take over his place.

Something in Bob was done hiding.

Kate was still flitting in and out of consciousness when Bob started unraveling her bandages, and she came to, her guilt at being completely useless taking over. Bob, silent but alert, finished redressing the wounds, moving so quickly that she couldn’t even get a glimpse of the wounds that were ailing her. 

She tried again to sit up, but Bob’s hands were still holding her abdomen down. “Darlin’, you can’t move yet, you need to rest.”

“But, Bob . .” she said, her doe eyes flashing at him. “I hate being a burden to you.”

This time she noticed the flinch, and she narrowed her eyes. “What is it? Why are you acting like that?”

His eyes widened before gripping his head with his other hand. “I’m just still shaken from . . that night.” He stood up. “Now sleep.”

Kelsey visited to give her news on the town, while Bob tolerated it (he didn’t like her attention elsewhere, but what made him different from Alan was that he still let her). He came in periodically to redress her wounds, and make sure she was fed.

Embarrassingly, he tried to spoon-feed her once, and when she stubbornly refused, his eyes grew stern, something determined to watch her every movement, until she sighed and took the bowl away from him, showing that she could do it herself. She could at least sit up at this point, though it was still painful.

“Bob, I . . don’t know what to say,” she murmured that morning, and he tilted his head in question.

“What do you mean, darlin’?”

“I’ve never had someone . . take care of me like this before,” she whispered, looking away as her blush flushed her cheeks. “I feel like I’m taking advantage of your time.”

Eyes wide, Bob shook his head in disbelief. “Sweetheart, you were hurt - none of this is your fault. And what kind of boyfriend would I be if I just left you to figure it all out?”

Her blush radiated red, and she hid her face. It made Bob lean forward and kiss her cheek, and her eyes were vivid green and pink.

I can’t lose her.

But as soon as she knew of his proclivities . . he just might lose himself.

Chapter Text

Day seven was when the frustration of immobility got to her, practically stir-crazy. Books that she’d already read could only go so far. And being so dependent on Bob was starting to grate at her. Kelsey had already come and gone, having told her about Jonathan’s vacation that he told no one about, and how it upset her that he’d just drop everyone like that.

He’s done so much for me already, but I can’t keep depending on him every time I want a glass of water.

She had been planning this all morning, but she was also scared of how much it may hurt. Ever so slowly, she slid her legs out to the side - although the left one was more of a drag - then slid slowly down, using her arms to control instead of her core. Nearly face-planting, she looked at her goal - a wooden broom, lying against the wall by her dresser.

With a bit of determination, she managed to crawl, gritting her teeth through the sharp pangs of pain, until she was able to grab the broom. The attempt to lift herself up it was comical to watch, but eventually she was leaning against the wall, with the broom as a crutch for her injured leg.

Feeling accomplished, she followed the wall until she made it into the kitchen to grab water and maybe a snack.

Although the small little trip exhausted her, she was extremely happy with herself.

It’d been a long day, and Bob hadn’t visited her all day. He always visited.

She was more worried sick than anything, because what would’ve held him up? She’d tried calling him a couple times, but every time it went straight to voicemail. Why would he be ignoring her calls?

Making a decision, she pushed herself up more confidently, leaning on the broom, before making it to the door. This was going to be exhausting, but the stress of worry was worse than hoping.

It was dark outside, and it took perhaps an extra half hour to make it to the diner, dark and empty. She wiggled the handle, and was shocked that the door opened.

“Bob?”

She whispered it softly, broom handle clutched in one hand like a lifeline as she stepped into the silent diner. No lights. No sounds. Just the low hum of cold air and a sense of anticipation.

She first hobbled over to the office, but it was empty. No note or phone. Her thoughts drifted to a door she’d never thought to enter: the butcher room.

I mean, he is a butcher, he could very well have lost track of time cleaning up.

This was still all highly unusual to her. His absence, the silence, the unlocked door . .

She slowly made it to the kitchen, where behind it would be the butcher room. “Bob?” She tried again, but no sound returned to her. So she limped forward, and opened the door.

A freezing gust of still cold met her face, and her breath hitched. This was a real butcher shop, she thought as she made her way past hanging bags, huge meat hooks, slabs of meat. She moved every so slowly between them, careful not to bump anything, or contaminate anything.

“Bob?” She tried louder, but the sound was eaten up by the cold.

The next step brought her shoulder into one of the hanging bags. It swayed, and she turned to steady it so it didn’t get knocked off the line, her fingers pressing into the plastic. The shape shifted and all the muscles in her throat and body turned to stone as her eyes met with another.

Johnathan.

A dead Johnathan, to be precise; the hook imbedded in his chest just like any other carcass. Eyes wide, staring, mouth slightly ajar.

Bob . . had told everyone that he . . was on vacation . .  her eyes, trembling with the darkest blood orange as her eyes flitted away, she realized that there were more. 

More bags, more bodies. Some fresher, most missing limbs, some torn into with teeth.

She reeled back, dizziness threatening to throw her to the ground so she fell to her knees, gripping her head. Her vision tunneled, her heart galloping in utter shock.

No, no no no no — this can’t be true . . 

But memories flitted through her mind like hummingbirds, her mind coordinating with what she knew now with what she’d known before.

Bob was a butcher . . those eyes she’d seen on both . . his always being busy on nights when tourists came to town . . the way he never asked for details of those nights when she saw the Devil Butcher . . his obsession with biting . . his obsession with her . . 

No wonder the Butcher kept letting her live . . . he was having whatever he wanted with her while he deluded her during the day . .

And he was feeding people this . . including me . .

Her thoughts spiraled, wondering how she never heard Bob’s signature southern twang in the words, “little lamb.” How could she have not made the connection?!

Her breath stilled as she heard it. Heavy footsteps. From somewhere deeper — maybe behind the butcher room somewhere — he was coming.

If she was scared before, she was in utter, frozen terror now. She heard him humming, and realized that he still didn’t know she was here yet. She glanced around and started crawling, the broom a forgotten relic as it would make too much noise. Her thigh was sending pangs of pain, but it didn’t stop her from ducking behind a prep table, heart thudding.

Boots against tile as he walked close, still humming as he steadily plodded past her. She waited a few seconds before peering around the corner.

He was wearing a typical butcher apron, the gloves slicked with blood. He turned slightly, and the smile was not his.

No . . it had always been his.

He was at another prep table, where she saw the leg that he’d carried over to the grinder. Seeing an opportunity, when the grinder started she shoved herself forward towards the kitchen door, pausing every time the grinder did just in case.

She almost made it to the door when she heard him chuckle. Her heart in her throat, she slowly glanced back, before shoving sideways to hide under the table right by the door.

A voice like a low, honeyed purr came next, after she heard the wooden broom clatter across the floor. “Did someone wander where they shouldn’t have?”

Every muscle in her body screamed, which made her sore muscles scream louder. She had to wait for another chance . . 

“I do enjoy finding my next meal close to home.”

Her face was pale as death, but she didn’t move. She heard his thundering, slow footsteps as he started following her path to the door, and she realized that she’d left a line of slick through the blood on the floor.

Shit! I need to move.

She once again shoved herself to the side, away from the prep table but along the wall, and yet, this was too much. Her stitches in her abdomen tore, and she felt her abdomen grow wet from leaking blood. She hunched over, hissing in pain she could no longer keep in.

“You won’t get far, little . .” the sound of his footsteps beelined straight for her, then stopped. She couldn’t even look up, holding her wound without the blood getting worse.

“. . lamb?” He breathed the word, the dawning realization of the predicament he and her were in. She was still hissing through her teeth when she felt the air change around him.

“Looks like my sweet, little lamb wandered where she shouldn’t have,” he rumbled, his normal voice completely gone and replaced with the Butcher’s. She kept her eyes down, gritting her teeth as the pain started to subside.

She was helpless, and making it worse was not going to help.

She saw his black boots stop right in front of her, and she shifted backwards, pressing herself against the wall, still holding her stomach, as if she could escape that way. Her eyes were panicked as she glanced up, seeing that god-awful hungry smile on Bob’s face, though his eyes were clouded.

Kneeling down, his bloody gloves reach for her, and she whimpered.

“Darlin’, don’t be scared,” he purred in that low voice as he cupped her chin, locking her terrified dark orange eyes in place, “You’ve always been at my mercy.”

Staring into those gorgeous eyes of blood orange — a bone-deep fear — was thrilling, though it was tainted by her bandages he worked so meticulously on loosening around her waist. He leaned over, towering over her, and she clenched her eyes shut, like he was going to beat her.

No matter what happens next, that insect-ex of hers would die.

“Ple—please,” she stuttered, hissing through teeth, a trapped animal with no hope of escape, eyes still clenched shut. “I — were you . . planning to eat me?” Her voice caught.

“Oh, lamb,” he cooed, putting away his knife and using the other hand to reach for her stomach. She pressed backwards as hard as she could, the tears of pain starting, but he still had her. “You would’ve been a delicacy only for me.”

She gasped, and he easily lifted her onto the nearest prep table, and her face blanched as a faint memory of straps ran through her mind. She started to struggle, but the walk over to the diner had used up all of her energy, and Bob simply held her down with one hand, his other starting to undo her bandages properly.

“But I always turned it into something else,” he continued as he finishing unwrapping his present, looking down at the fresh blood pooled from her tearing her stitching. “Something that kept you always . . . satisfied.”

Her eyes were pink and blood orange swirls, each vying for dominance in that moment, before the pink disappeared.

His eyes pinpricked teal, he bent down and ran his tongue along her stitching, licking up all the new blood, and she freaked, gripping his hair as if she could keep him from doing worse.

“You lied to me,” she sobbed, the extent of everything crashing down on her, voice cracking. “You lied — about everything —“

“I never lied,” he said as he leaned back up, her stomach wet from his saliva and his mouth red from her blood. “You just didn’t ask the right questions.”

She panted, unable to pull more movement from her muscles, and he reached over to the side and grabbed bandages he had under the table.

“Please,” she stammered as he caught her wrists without effort and pinned them together above her head. “Please don’t—“

“Don’t what?” He replied, the Butcher smiling back at her. “Don’t take what’s mine? Don’t love you the way I always have?”

She started to shake, blinking back panic, while he rewrapped her stomach, before lifting her effortlessly into a bridal hold, and she curled into herself as he held her tight.

“You’ve always tasted sweet,” he murmured into her hair, “But I found something even better than the taste of you.”

“W-what?” She whimpered, the tears falling freely now.

“You. All of you.”

He carried her through the butcher room, past the hooks and tools, into the far door she never saw, and down the stairs.

To the place she wouldn’t be found.

Chapter Text

Her tears of what illusion was lost soaked his apron, his arms locked beneath her knees and shoulders. She didn’t struggle — not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew it wouldn’t matter.

The Butcher was no longer pretending. He held his prize gently, having finally been afforded the circumstances to steal her away.

The stairwell ended in a low, concrete space, the kind meant for storage or things better left hidden. The scent of blood, metal, flannel — him.

How did she not make the connection . . 

In the center of the farthest wall was a bed, a creaking frame of aged wood with a sunken mattress and an old quilt on top. Aged dressers were against the sides, making the place look almost . . normal. Disturbingly normal.

He set her down on it gently, her matted hair splaying about in a sunburst pattern as he stood up. Her leg throbbed, and she was still gripping her torn stitches, which he hadn’t seem too worried about yet.

“I know you’re scared, little lamb,” he said as he moved to one of the dressers and opened a drawer. He turned and came back, kneeling by the bed, one hand softly wrapping around the ankle of her bad leg.

Click .

She felt her stomach drop.

“But you don’t need to be. You’re safe now.”

She winced as she almost punched him. “Safe?! You just chained me to the bed! You’re storing me for later or what?!”

Bob paused, before he laughed his hearty laugh. “Sweetheart, you’re no longer on the menu.”

She flinched. “No . . longer?” Her throat dried up.

He stood up, his eyes staring back into hers unabashedly. “There had only ever been two ways this would end for you.”

She gasped, tears burning from the betrayal that she’d entrusted herself to him so willingly. “Oh god . .”

“Now, let’s fix your stitches,” he continued as if he hadn’t just wrecked her world with a single sentence, brandishing a needle, “before I yell at you for making yourself bleed again.”

She put her head in her hands, her sobbing no longer hidden. His whole body tensed up as he beheld her sorrow, crying for the lost trust he’d snapped in half.

“Come on, I need to fix them,” he said softer, and she obeyed his touch to lean back, too weak to fight, so he could reclean the wound and stitch her up. The pain shot through her nearly as strong as the one in her heart, and she put her hand in her mouth and bit, having nothing else. His hands were practiced, methodical, his eyes unwavering until he was done, his mouth muttering to himself. 

When he’d turned away, she still felt wet, and she took a look.

He’d been salivating while fixing her stitches.

Utter fear took a hold of her, truly believing the “storing for later” with how much he wanted to eat her. How many times had he almost done it? He was obsessed with biting her soft parts, and she realized . . these were the easiest parts to tear off with human teeth.

How many times did she almost die?

She stayed laying down, the tears renewed with the thought, but her exhaustion was hitting her, and she fell asleep nearly instantaneously. The shadow of her keeper loomed over her, barely holding it together not to take more.

Kate woke to the sound of cloth being wrung out of water. She blinked slowly, her head heavy and her mouth dry. The sheets beneath her felt rough but clean, but not her own. She pulled her foot in and heard the rattle. She reached and touched her ankle, the leather still here.

Not a dream.

She shifted, and both her legs flared in pain, one from the wound and the other from overuse. She bit down the sound — but he noticed.

“I know it hurts.” Low and quiet.

She could almost believe that it was Bob, not the Butcher in that room with her. She turned her head and found him sitting beside the bed, sleeves rolled up, a bowl of warm water beside him, bloodied bandages spread out on a towel. His eyes met hers before flitting away.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured. “I just . . . needed to change the dressings.”

She didn’t say anything, and he reached for her thigh with slow movements, his hands ungloved now, but when his fingers touched her skin, she winced, a shot through her heart . . and his. He paused. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. “I just need to change the dressing on your leg.”

She wanted to scream at him. You’ve already hurt me. Instead, she nodded hollowly. He removed the old bandage carefully, his eyes hard and focused on redressing.

“You were not supposed to see that,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s not how I wanted to tell you.”

She looked away, and clenched her fists. “You lied to me. You played tricks on me.”

He dipped the cloth in warm water before answering. “Yeah. I did.” He wrung out the cloth and gently cleaned the stitched wound, concentrating only on the cloth. “But not ‘bout everything.”

She hissed as he started wrapping her leg, not expecting the tightness of it. Her vision blurred, not from pain this time, but from confusion.

What was she supposed to feel now? She felt betrayal, but she didn’t hate him. She could not ignore the fact that he spent every day taking care of her, even if it was out of guilt for something she couldn’t fathom nor remember.

She wondered if he’d laugh at her for leaving the Butcher and falling right in Bob’s arms, like how Alan used to mock her to his friends for always coming back, even if out of fear . . .

Suddenly that was worse. That would make everything ten times the pain. She minutely curled into herself, her eyes tearing up with imagined pains and situations. Then Bob’s face was in front of hers, eyes wide open in concern, not having missed the motion.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, darlin’?” He said gently, obviously holding back on bringing her closer to comfort her. “Your eyes say you’re seeing dreams of things. What is it?”

She shook her head and tightened her lips, and he narrowed his eyes. “What did you imagine, lamb?” Came the Butcher’s voice. “You’re hurting even worse now.”

She clenched her teeth, shaking her head. “Nu-uh,” she sounded, not wanting to tell him what her stupid imagination was telling her.

“Tell me, Kate.” The Butcher’s hands dwarfed hers as he held them still, his eyes almost making her scream in instinctual fear.

“Did you mock me? For being so naive?” She whispered, her heart taking another hit at the thought that the one she’d so trusted could’ve done worse than lie.

His eyes widened in surprise, before almost snarling. “I’ve never mocked you, lamb.” His thumb brushed the tears off, and she sniffled, feeling embarrassed. “I just enjoy playing . . with you.”

“Okay,” she murmured, the tears stopping. He definitely meant to say playing with his food.

His shoulders relaxed, which surprised her. Was he really that worried? Or was her being upset going to affect how her . . meat tasted to him? 

For some reason, she didn’t quite agree with the reasoning of that inner voice.

Chapter Text

“You need to text her.”

Kate shivered as he held her phone, his hands dwarfing it almost comically. “She will be the first person to worry, especially since you were sick. Text her, or I will.”

Her eyes glazed over as she disassociated for a moment, before taking the phone gingerly. He was watching her like a hawk, making sure she didn’t send any quick messages right then. She looked down.

She could send a message with the slightest of warnings, one Kelsey might notice.

But the reality was, she knew that if she did tip Kelsey off and she started asking around, Bob was efficient enough to make her disappear more permanently. She couldn’t risk that.

Hey!

I just woke up from being sick

all week, and so Bob’s taking care of me

Apparently some glass shards cut me and

gave me an infection and I was really weak

I just wanted to let you know since I’m probably going to be

recouping for a while, I don’t want you to worry! :)

Her hands trembling as she handed over the phone to him, knowing full well that he saw every word she typed. She hoped Kelsey would fall for it.

I’ve got enough to worry about for myself right now.

“Good girl,” he said darkly, satisfied that she hadn’t sent any secret messages. Putting the phone away in his apron pocket, he stood up, turning away almost immediately, and she felt a little jilted that he just ignored her afterwards.

Oh for crying out loud, am I that desperate for attention?

“I’ve got to start opening the diner,” he says, not looking at her, which now that she looked more closely, something was off. “I’ll be back to check on you periodically, and change out your dressings.”

She narrowed her eyes, which glowed amber, though she couldn’t see it.

He stood still for a minute, before heading to the door and disappearing through it, locking it behind him.

That was weird, she pondered, knowing that he was trying to mask some emotion so she didn’t see. She needed to be able to read him fully, especially since her new knowledge of who he was made him a wild predator pretending to be amongst the prey. 

She’d spent enough time with him to notice these things, and adding the Devil Butcher’s personality to the mix, she could see even more of him.

He is the Devil Butcher. The Butcher is him. Bob would flirt with her beneath that red mask, knowing later that he’d get to do so much more later . .

Even with her mind swirling with aversion and horror, she couldn’t get rid of that stupid ache in her chest, the one when she missed him, where her memories of him were fond. She pinched her arms, almost drawing blood, trying to tell herself that he had faked everything, played her like a fool, but it felt false.

His desire was real, though now, was it really for her? Or the potential of a good slab of meat?

Tears welled up and started to fall, and she angrily shook her head, trying to stop crying. Why was she not mad at him?! Horrified, yes, but not mad. More upset at herself for failing to see the obvious connections between the two, but Bob was really good at hiding in plain sight. 

Would he finally eat her? Since she now knew?

She tossed that idea pretty quick, because if he was, he’d have already done it. Instead, he’d locked her away, “safe” in his home.

Probably didn’t help that she was still so weak, and she’d just retorn her stitches on her abdomen. So, was it much different just having a change in scenery on where she slept . . 

She brought her knees to her chest, stretching the thigh injury so it burned but pleasantly, and inspected the leather cuff on her ankle. She pulled up what she could of the chain, and she found that it was actually quite long - she probably could touch one of the dressers.

That’s not very safe. She had enough chain to spin it around or toss it, but in reality, she didn’t want to. She was helpless even not chained here. And unfortunately, she understood why he did it.

He couldn’t risk her sneaking out and telling someone.

Lying back down, her eyes fluttered shut almost immediately.

The next time she woke, she realized she’d been moved. She felt her abdomen, realizing that it was redressed recently. Unbidden, her eyes started tearing up again as all her emotions came crashing back. 

Even though she figured he was probably upstairs in the shop, she felt abandoned, especially after what he’d done, but it also made her angry at herself. Why did she still want him around? He admitted, with no remorse, that he was a serial killer, and ate people.

The memory of Halloween night flashed through her mind, him tearing into that man’s arm like it was steak on a stick, and his intenseness caging her in, when he had been a mild mannered gentleman merely hours before.

Yet the more she thought about it, the more she realized that he’d probably knew he couldn’t handle large crowds . . yet he did for her.

Did he want to eat her then? The way he touched her then was different from now — she couldn’t shake off the feeling that then, she was going to be a meal. Shoot, she should’ve been that night when Alan showed up at Kelsey’s house. And yet . . he told her he didn’t eat bruised meat. 

She gripped her arms harshly, tears flowing down her cheeks as she stared at the wall, hating herself in that moment. She couldn’t stop thinking of him, thinking over every moment, analyzing every movement he made, trying to find proof of whether . . whether he’d actually cared. 

Alan had been very good at hurting her and then acting so remorseful, and she fell for it for a while. But he’s nothing like Alan.

She pinched her arms harder. What was she to do?

Breathing through the tears, and her internal pining for him and his warmth and his soft touches, she wiped her cheeks and stared at the ceiling. 

“Why am I still alive?” She whispered to the ceiling.

Of course it didn’t answer.

She curled on her side, slowly, gritting her teeth as her body protested. Her leg was healing, and her stomach, well, was back to square one. But nothing in her brain felt real.

Her eyes fluttered shut, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. Just floating in that space between fear and grief, trying find something that still belonged to her.

She could hear the bustle upstairs, the diner being busy as usual, and it hurt. No one noticed, no one to look for her, and she just sent off the only one who may have done something.

She heard Bob laughing, and the tears mixed with anger came unbidden, until she realized that it was fake - it wasn’t his real laugh.

He’s not okay either.

Pretending to act normal while barely holding himself together, the thought of her always on his mind.

She wondered if she had any tears left.

Chapter Text

He wanted to touch her again.

Not just to hold her down in his bed and take her, but to hear her laugh, cup her chin like she wanted him to. But right now, she was as fragile as a spider web, as skittish as a doe, and one little breath could push her away from him forever.

So he had to hunt her in a different way.

She needed to accept what her body already knew.

Instead, he stood by the wall, unmoving as she ate a few bites of her meal, sitting up in his bed. She watched him warily, unsure of what his plan was for her, prey aware of the movement of the predator. 

“Why didn’t you kill me that second night?” She suddenly blurted out, and he froze, thinking of the night in question. It was when the insect had tried finding her through her friend, and she, unafraid, had asked him to wait. Her eyes have been so beautiful, the red with a touch of yellow and orange spotted through it, and even with his reputation, she just knew that she could tell him to wait and survive.

She hadn’t even flinched when he’d pricked her under eyes, drowning in the colors.

“I told you,” he muttered, but she shook her head.

“No, that was just the excuse. But why?”

He sighed, his arms crossed. “You asked me to wait. So I did.”

She blinked a couple times, before blushing. “That’s not it! You—“ her eyes widened, yellow and orange and blue sparkling together as she remembered the knife. “It was my eyes.”

Bob smiled that manic smile, and she shivered away, unused to seeing it on Bob’s face. “They wouldn’t change color if I killed you.”

She trembled. “And you helped me home.”

His smile was diabolical. “Because you were mine even then.”

She finally looked away, and she grabbed her arms, making Bob narrow his eyes. “Your future meal,” she said softly, “held off by my tell-all mood ring eyes.” Suddenly she trembled, and he stood up, immediately noting the haunting drop of pressure in the room.

"Lamb--"

"Could I have some clean clothes?" she blurted out, cutting through the moment. "I . . figure if I've gotta stay here a while, I'll need some changes of clothes."

Bob blinked, then stared at her. What is she playing . .

"Oh, and can I take a shower please?" she went on, her eyes flitting around in a yellow shine. "I . . assume you have one here?"

He huffed. "That's rude."

"Oh, no no, I just . . "

Something was off. She was trying to distract him from something.

So instead of answering, he got up and went on a patrol around the place, making sure there wasn't more to what she was going on about.

Suddenly able to take a breath, she gripped her chest, the black glow in her eyes returning over the yellow.

He can not see these eyes.

He didn’t come back for a while.

When she heard him walking down the steps, she sat up too quickly, before holding her head and closing her eyes to keep her head from spinning. When the door opened, she contemplated, before asking. 

“What took you so long?”

He chuckled, and her heart thundered. “You wanted clothes, so I went to your house to get them,” he replied nonchalantly, starting to walk over to her. 

Something spun in her gut. 

She knew he had a key, but that made her feel even worse - how easy it had been for him to get whatever access he wanted, how easy she’d been for him.

She scrunched her eyes tighter for a moment to gain control over the colors - she knew the current color would elicit too many questions that she wasn’t ready to answer.

”Did you know,” his voice boomed, and she took advantage of the extra time to think of gladness, of appreciation . . “that the brain doesn’t have any neural termination, so it could be eaten from you without even realizing?”

She made a face, unbidden, continuing to work on any emotion but that one.

His presence was in front of her, and she felt the clothes drop to the side of her. A quiet moment later, and she felt his finger lift on her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

”Darlin’,” that suave voice was back, “let me see your beautiful eyes.”

She wondered if the canary ever cried because her music was too pretty. 

She opened her eyes, making sure that she was flooded with thoughts of gratitude. Her eyes shone a soft green, before a touch of orange popped up as she realized that she was face to face with the Devil Butcher, horns and all.

She should’ve guessed when he spouted the random cannibalism fact. 

His claws moved along the bottom of her eyes, his own wide and fascinated. The red horns, the red hoodie, how could she’d been so blind . .

Because in both forms, you liked the attention, she snapped at herself.

“There they are,” he said almost reverently, making her helplessly blush. “That’s what I needed to see.”

He towered over her, and caressed her neck then, before wrapping his claws around it. She tensed up, but didn’t panic. He tilted his head, his manic smile unmoving on his face, watching her.

“You really are at my mercy, aren’t you,” he whispered, and she couldn’t tell what he meant by stating that. Instead of choking her like she expected, his claws slid off her and under, and she yelped as he lifted her under her knees and back. 

He leaned close as he turned and walked. “You smell so . . divine, lamb.”

She buried her face in his hoodie, and she felt him chuckle.

For crying out loud, Kate, he’s talking about eating you on a platter! It was a compliment in his own way though, and she still didn’t know how to handle normal compliments. 

“I only state the facts, sweetheart,” he said, which didn’t stop her from blushing even harder.

“. . divine enough to eat?” 

He outright laughed, and she felt it in her bones. “Divine enough to taste.”

She stopped asking questions. The sound of water hit her ears, and she glanced up. They were in the bathroom, and he’d just turned on the shower. “W—what are you . . couldn’t you just—“

“No, no, no, sweetheart. I’m here to get you clean.”

“That’s not necess—ah!” She was suddenly standing on her legs, which were not expecting to be used so soon. She grabbed the wall, but his hand was still wrapped around her waist, supporting her. Her face grew so warm, it was probably now a permanent feature. The thoughts she’d been fighting so hard flooded her. 

She enjoyed this. She wasn’t supposed to, but she did. She wondered how much was her and how much was his conditioning . .

Making sure not to be looking in his direction, she didn’t realize that he was using his other hand to slide her top off.

“I can wash myself!” She exclaimed indignantly, and he suddenly let go, causing her to fall into the wall as she slid down to the ground. He leaned over her, watching her with that dumb smirk. 

“You ass . .” She merely muttered, before he’d lifted her up again.

“Behave, lamb,” he rumbled, and she suddenly felt extremely self-conscious, even if he’d already seen her naked before.

Even if it was Bob underneath that mask, she still felt like she was cheating on him, he’d split the personality so well. 

He finished taking the shirt off. She knew he’d won this round. 

Chapter Text

As the Butcher, he always felt more in control.

As Bob, the same slab of meat in front of him that always seemed so hard to resist, he had much less of a problem as the Butcher. Perhaps because he enjoyed the psychological terror he inflicted when he waited.

But the one thing he did have to hold back was anything in regards to her.

His desire for her, whether it was to eat on a platter or possess utterly underneath him, had to be kept in check . . as long as Bob and him were separate to her.

Now it was only a matter of time before both sides of him could enjoy her, and she’d welcome it willingly.

He knew it would take time before she’d accept the Butcher’s touch like she’d accepted his touch as Bob, and especially now, he was pushing her limit. He had to observe her like a hawk to make sure he didn’t snap the fragile thread between him and her.

But finally, she knew, and he wasn't going to let her go, physically nor emotionally.

She clung to his arm like a lifeline, not trusting her legs to support her again, as he'd already disrobed her, his claws around her waist. She didn't realize how weak she really was, hence why she even made it all the way to the diner before tearing up her stitches again - the leg wound was still sore, especially from her pushing it so hard, and her abdomen wound was back to square one. 

Knowing her, she'd probably try to wash herself while sitting down.

"Bob!" she squirmed as he used his other hand to scrub her back, her blush telling him what he needed to know. 

"Yes, dear?" he breathed right into her ear from behind, and her entire body shivered not from cold as she gritted her teeth.

"Let me at least scrub myself," she said softly, and he paused, before handing her the sponge.

She finished cleaning herself, even if she was embarrassed about having to do it in front of him - what she didn’t realize that to him, this was a precious moment that she couldn't run from. She then grabbed the shampoo and lathered it into her dark golden hair, having to adjust so she could use both hands without falling.

Oh, his claws ached to run through her hair, either to grip, or to massage the moans out of her, but he restrained himself. Little, fragile thread.

Once she rinsed herself, she held her arm across her chest before turning towards him. "Okay, I'm ready," she said, but then she yelped as he lifted her up again, a towel already across his arms as he held her against him. 

"Dammit, can I at least put my own clothes on?" she exclaimed, her frustration at being helpless shining through, and he paused, before tilting his head, looking at her. Then he continued, and the red and yellow in her eyes were getting a little stronger, until he lay her back on the bed with the towel, next to her clothes.

Then he backed away to the wall. Watching.

Kate stared at him for a moment, before turning and drying herself off facing away, and then putting on her clothes.

Her movements were calculated, adjusted to hide her curves from him as she slid the clothes onto her figure. What she didn’t realize was that he craved her movements, her reactions, everything that was her.

And that's when even the Butcher realized - she wasn't meant for eating.

She was meant for savoring.

Eventually she got her clothes on, and for some reason, that made everything just . . better. When she scooted back, she saw that the Butcher was against the wall, watching her with intensity.

"Thank you," she said softly, in the end glad that he'd brought her clothes and not some random ones. 

He uncrossed his arms and slowly walked towards her. She scooted back to the headboard, although it made her grimace, accidentally using her abs again. Stupid, stupid, I'm never going to heal at this rate.

He placed his forearm above her, leaning against it to the side of the bed as he looked down at her, the manic smile never faltering. "Only the best for my livestock."

Something that had been building over the last couple of days down in the depths of Bob Velseb the Butcher's apartment in her simply snapped.

"Don't call me that."

He stilled. "What?"

She refused to look at him. "Don't call me that," she whispered again. "Don't say it like . . you actually care."

She took a slow, deep breath, the red and purple starting to become visible in her eyes. "You just string me along both ways and then you think you get to joke about it?" she hissed. Her voice quivered. "And I'm the terrible person because you've been taking care of my cuts for a week, but it's not because you care."

Time had stopped for the Butcher.

"You have conditioned me like a damn dog to see this as care, and I let you," She choked on her words. "And I don't scream because I know there's no point, and I don't want anyone else hurt."

"And every time you touch me, I have no idea if it's to imagine cutting me like a slab of rare meat, or that you actually want me, and my heart cannot take that anymore."

She turned her whole body away, pulling her knees up to her chest so she could hug them - shoulders shaking, jaw clenched - as the tears silently fell.

Her words rang louder than any scream.

"My heart cannot take that anymore."

She didn't yell, fight, or even insult him. She just . . turned away. Curled into herself like a wounded animal and stayed silent.

In that moment, he may have shredded the thread to a bare string.

He didn't move at first. The telltale grin was gone, his whole body frozen. The tears that fell now were not an inevitable truth - they were her own lifeblood, draining away.

Minutes passed. Five, ten, maybe more. The only sound in the room was her breathing - tight, ragged, and wet as she kept trying to not fall apart.

Eventually, he backed away. He sat down against the far wall, knees up, claws limp between them. For a moment he breathed, and the mask was gone; his hands were back to his diner-shop hands, and his plainclothes were back.

For the first time in a very long time, there was something worse than the hunger that always followed him. A gnawing in the chest that seemed to suck his own life into a whirling pit.

She didn't look at him. He could feel how the thread between them trembled, frayed so thin, if it still existed at all.

Knowing that anything he said right now would snap it, he stayed quiet. Letting her cry her heartbreaking tears, letting her stay silent. It stabbed his heart having to stay away, but he knew - this was all he could offer right now.

At some point, she stopped crying. Not because she felt better, but because she didn't have anything left. She was still hugging her knees, leaning against the headboard facing away. Her eyes were now blank, grey, tired. But at the edge of her vision, just past the curve of her shoulder, she realized that he was still there.

Sitting on the floor, back against the far wall, his Butcher face gone and left with Bob's. His head was down, resting against his forearms, and her heart ached. He had not forced his way back, or run away, or tried to bribe her with sweet words. He'd just been sitting there, just existing with her.

Her throat tightened again, because the unbearable realization that he had heard her tore her up in a different way.

He hadn't disappeared, stayed away from her, or go on a rampage of anger and hurt, like he was hurt. No . . he had just . . sat with the weight of the sound of her words and tears.

Her fingers flexed slightly against the blanket as she lay there in thought.

Chapter Text

Days had slipped by, each one marked by silence and the ache left in her eyes. Her voice stayed silent; not out of hate, but of hurt.

When he brought her food, she didn't look at him, but started to eat once he went to his spot by the far wall.

Whenever she needed to go to the bathroom, he unclicked the anklet and walked behind her — she walked slowly, a silent ghost, never looking up at him, always far away.

Whenever her dressings needed changing, she stayed lying on her side, the blanket draped over her hips. Wordlessly, she would hold the shirt hem up, exposing the wound, and he'd kneel there with the medical kit, moving slow and deliberate. When he would finish, she'd lower her shirt and curl back into herself again, shattering his heart yet again.

He did this. He hurt his lamb — broke something soft and trusting, assuming she'd obey like always.

But she wasn't blind anymore — not to him, and not to herself.

At night, he slept on a cot he'd brought in at the spot by the far wall, refusing to leave her alone. Half the time he just watched her sleep, her chest rising up and down.

She wondered if he was just making sure his prize didn't find a way to run off, especially without the anklet that he seemed to have forgotten to put back on. But it didn't seem like guarding.

It wasn't sulking, or brooding, either. It was just existing near her.

During the day she slept more, since he'd actually leave for the diner, quietly coming back down to redress her bandages while she slept.

It hadn’t taken long for her wounds to allow more freedom of movement. One quiet morning, she’d pulled the stitches from her leg herself, slow and steady, gritting her teeth through the sting. He never said a word — but the next day, a jar of anti-scar cream appeared by her pillow. She used it carefully each night, as if softening the mark might keep her from carrying a limp — or a memory.

That evening, when Bob came down, he froze at the door.

She wasn’t in the room.

Trying not to panic, he quickly went to check the other rooms. It wasn’t until he stepped into the den that his heart stopped pounding so hard.

She'd found his books. Sitting in his comfy chair, her legs underneath her as she continued to read.

Watching her relax in his space, acting much less like a trembling fawn and more like an assured doe even if it was just reading like it was hers, unraveled something in him. Not hunger. Not want.

Contentment.

His heart, battered and bruised from the backlash of her pain, softened at the sight.

When he walked in, she actually glanced up, her eyes with a tiny touch of green and yellow. Her mouth opened for a moment, before she blushed and started to close the book, getting up to move.

"Wait," he softly spoke, holding his hand up. "Don't go."

She froze, thoughts flitting through her mind on her next move. Then she sat back, though she stayed tense and wide-eyed.

He stood there, so relieved she finally looked his way that the words nearly caught in his throat.

“May I sit?” he asked, gesturing toward the far end of the couch away from her.

Her eyes flicked to the spot, then back to him, unreadable.

“It’s your house,” she said softly, and without waiting for a response, curled deeper into his chair like it was hers now.

It might as well be. 

Having her curled up so far from him made him realize just how much space she'd quietly filled in his life, spaces he hadn’t even known were hollow. And he hadn’t earned any of it. But it was time he tried.

He sat, careful not to let the couch creak too loudly beneath him, and they slipped into a silence that, for once, wasn’t heavy. Just quiet.

She read. He watched the muted flicker of the lamp catch in her eyes. No words. No questions. Just the fragile peace of two broken things trying not to splinter further.

Eventually, she closed the book with a soft sigh, her body already shifting like it remembered the pain before her mind did.

“I should go lie down,” she murmured.

He was on his feet in an instant, ready to help, though he regretted it instantly when she flinched at his sudden movement.

He started to back away.

"Oh for crying out loud, I'm not going to crumble," she snapped, before she covered her mouth in shock at her outburst, and the yellow flooded her eyes. "Ah, I didn't mean . . for that to come out . . so harshly . ."

His eyes wide, he was frozen to where he was standing, before speaking quietly, "I've earned your harshness."

Her eyes were a cacophony of colors, but there was one he couldn't quite catch, and before he could name it, she'd glanced away. "It's not like me," she murmured, before turning sideways to get out of the chair - her legs were working, but she still had to use core muscles to pull herself up.

His hands ached to help her, but he didn’t move as she made her slow way to the bookshelf and slid the book back into place.

When she limped over through the door, he simply stood there, rooted in place, until she'd gone a few steps past. Then he followed.

That is, until he nearly ran into her where she'd stopped just past the other door to stare at him.

He held his breath, afraid that he'd overstepped again, but she merely looked up at him, just standing in the doorway. Her eyes . . 

Wait.

Were her eyes . . black?

She quickly turned away and moved to the bed again, holding her arms, another sense of haunting loss of pressure in the room, a cold gust that hit him starkly.

He slowly moved forward, now wondering what black meant. He'd never seen that color before, and the Butcher in him was too curious to let it go.

"Stop." It was barely a whisper.

He stopped. His hands clenched and unclenched, but he knew that he was going to have to let it go today.

". . rest well, okay?" He merely said, before turning and going to his spot by the far wall. His eyes narrowed, his Butcher side already determined to find out about that color.

It became a little routine - him coming down to her reading one of his books in the den, him sitting away from her, just to exist in her vicinity, and her going to bed eventually, now keeping her eyes away from him.

He knew it meant something, especially if she was hiding it. He tried to run through all the emotions she might want to conceal, but none of them made sense.

It explained the random moments she’d distracted him — to fetch something or do anything that kept him from seeing her face. But he still couldn’t trace the pattern behind it.

A week had passed since he'd brought her down here. In that time, he’d won small victories: a glance in his direction, a few spoken words tossed into the air like scraps. But every time she left the den, she hid her eyes from him, and it was eating him alive, trying to figure out what color she didn’t want him to see.

Tonight, she sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze falling to the mattress as though something heavy pressed behind her eyes.

“Kate?”

She startled, clearly disassociated, but softened reflexively at the sound of his voice. Then her gaze dropped again, just to the left.

He took one step forward. She shifted her hands, but didn’t move away. Two more steps, and then he saw her eyes.

And it stopped him cold.

Pure black. Like ink soaking into snow.

“Kate,” he said her name firmly, but she didn’t respond, didn’t react.

“Look at me.”

She flinched, but didn’t move, staring aimlessly at the ground away from him.

He stepped closer until he was within touching reach of her.

“Kate, what are you feeling right now?”

She ignored his question, the tiniest tear rolling down her cheek.

“Kate,” his voice rumbled, wanting so bad to hold her to him and comfort her, but she was not available to him like that right now. “What are you feeling?”

Her lips trembled, ever so slightly. She refused to move her eyes toward him.

“Don’t push,” she whispered, and every instinct in his body screamed at him to not listen. “Just . . not now.”

He stayed silent, internally yelling that she needed help now, but he couldn’t listen to it. He kneeled down in front of her and put his hands on each side of her on the couch, but stayed silent, eyes closed.

When she finally looked towards him, her face reddened as she realized he had not encaged her, but shielded her.

Everything came crashing into her heart again, how he’d actually tried his hardest to give her what she asked, how he adjusted to her whims because of her own emotional fragility.

Nearly starting another sob fest, she ever so slowly lifted her hand and held it there, hovering by Bob’s head.

She missed touching him. Breathing him in. But that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Even knowing all that she knew . . she still loved him.

Still forgave him.

Her hand softly cupped his cheek, and he exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

They stayed that way for a few moments, before he finally opened his eyes. She’d been crying again, and her eyes were tired, but the black drowned everything else out.

“You’re ashamed,” he whispered. “That’s shame.” His heart nearly stopped.

Her jaw tightened as the tears slowly rolled down. Her hand started to drop but he covered it with his own, holding it there.

“Of what?” He continued, his voice cracking. 

“Of still wanting you,” she whispered, “even now, knowing what I know.”

He froze so still, he could’ve been a statue.

“Of feeling safe and calm when you’re around,” she spoke so quietly, yet the silence around them was oppressive. “Of still wanting your touch; of still wanting to be yours, even after knowing everything, even after you lying to me.”

Seeing her eyes shattered everything Bob was; purple and the deepest of blacks, swirling in a whirlpool of shame and despair.

“Why do I still feel this way?”

The dread that washed over him was immense, knowing that emotionally, she was exposing herself, and like a deer about to bolt, watching his reactions. This is how he could lose her forever.

“Because your heart is pure.”

She hiccupped, tears pausing in an abrupt shock. “W—what?”

“You think still caring about me makes you wrong, but lamb . . I’m what’s wrong. You? You’re the one with the sweetest heart I’ve ever seen.” He paused. “Figuratively.”

She sniffled, now looking at him, and he breathed in the moment, the black not quite so strong.

He understood now. She wanted his touch, but hated herself for wanting it. That’s what she’s been distracting him from — her own self-loathing for still caring about the monster that caged her.

In an instant her eyes flooded with darkness and tears as she pulled her hand back and gripped her shirt, like her chest was in pain. “I really was an easy mark,” She choked out.

He stood up, still holding his hands on each side of her, now a determined look on his face. She tried to back away, but froze when a single finger touched under chin, and she looked up in his now teal eyes.

“You were never easy, darlin’,” he growled. “Don’t ever blame yourself for what I did to you.”

The eyes still swirled like ink. “I blame myself for still loving it,” she whispered.

He leaned down and kissed her without a word, his hand steady beneath her chin like he was asking permission he didn’t deserve. She let out a breathless sound — not quite surprise, not quite surrender — before kissing him back, desperate to stitch her breaking heart together.

He tasted the same as always — smoke, copper, steel — but tonight, there was something else. Something almost mournful.

When he finally pulled back, their breath mingled in the space between them. Her eyes were flushed with that bright, aching pink. Her heart thundered, uncertain and exposed.

“I . . sorry,” he muttered, before lowering his hands and standing back, putting space between them. “I . . shouldn’t have . . I just . .“

She gave the ever so softest smile he’d ever seen, and everything relaxed within him. 'It’s okay, Bob.' The black was there, but soft. "I’m still here."

Chapter Text

It had been another day since that kiss. Another night of them sitting in silent peace, though she stopped trying to hide the mood changes of her eyes from him. 

And then the amulet called his name. 

Ignoring the hunger, pushing it down with guilt, with routine, with her — that could only last so long.

Kate froze. She was curled in the center of the couch, a blanket loose over her knees, but her gaze slowly crept toward the noise behind her — to the shadows in the corridor near the kitchen.

The gleam of the blade. The glint of his eyes.

Those weren’t Bob’s eyes.

They glowed with that sickly teal light, too wide, too bright. Saliva dripped from his mouth, catching on his grin.

The real Butcher was here.

He stepped into the den — slow, stomping, deliberate — his horns casting devilish shadows along the wall. He circled the couch like a predator testing his prey, tongue running along the edge of his teeth.

She barely managed to stand before he was on her — shoving her back into the cushions, one massive hand pressing down while the other slammed the knife into the pillow beside her head.

Fabric tore. She didn’t dare breathe.

He loomed, nose inches from hers, panting. There was no mercy in his eyes. Only madness.

“Look at you, all pink and soft like a rare cut,” He rasped, licking a bead of drool off his lip. And then he raised the knife.

Kate’s body screamed in pain, but her voice stayed silent, her thoughts rushing miles per second.

“But I always turned it into something else . . something that kept you always . . satisfied.”

She grabbed the front of his sweater and yanked him down — hard — crashing her mouth to his.

The blade didn’t fall.

He grunted in surprise, but then — he devoured her. His claws gripped her hips like meat. He kissed her with sharp teeth and no restraint. No tenderness. No thought.

She winced, her abdomen aching — the stitches were pulling. Still, she kept kissing . . anything to redirect the hunger — to survive.

Rip. Her shirt tore and he bit into her shoulder, and this time she screamed.

That only made him hungrier. He hauled her against him again, breathing like a beast, and his claws scraped down — touching the edge of her wound.

She tried to hide it, but the tiny gasps gave her away.

He paused. The Butcher’s head cocked slowly. Like he’d heard something unexpected. Then he saw her face — flushed, lips bruised, holding her shoulder in agony.

His expression crumbled. In a blink, he recoiled — eyes wide, panicked. The bloodlust choking on itself.

Kate didn’t move. Couldn’t. The pink in her eyes swirled with orange — pain and desire and fear — all tangled together in a deadly cocktail.

And then he bolted.

Silence fell like a blade, leaving her alone with her pain. It was a good few moments before she could breathe normally. She touched her lips, and her memories of those types of night flooded her, followed by her self-shame.

You'd walk into a boiling pot for him, idiot.

Once she'd doctored her shoulder, she went to the kitchen and grabbed a kitchen knife. She couldn’t sleep that night, sitting on the bed with her back to the wall, the kitchen knife lying next to her right hand.

Kate suddenly jerked awake, not realizing that she’d dozed off. There was no change in her surroundings, so it didn’t seem like he’d come back.

Her stomach growled at her, and she groaned. She could hear the diner upstairs in its morning "rush", though it would only be a few customers, and her stomach growled louder. 

Shit, she’s gonna have to go upstairs. 

Bob was probably out of commission, whether in a hunt or something else, so she needed to take care of herself for now. She hadn't left the underground home since he brought her down, but those steps had always been something she wasn't interested in testing anyway with her abdomen stitching.

Three weeks healing? Should be good. For good measure, she checked the other rooms. Nothing had changed. 

She took a quick shower, tied her hair up, then put on fresh clothes, then went to the door that was always locked. It was ajar, from when the Butcher had run out. It was mainly stairs up, and she grimaced. This was going to hurt. 

The first step was super slow, then the second step, using her hands to somewhat alleviate the work her abs had to do. 

She got to the top and balked in the dimly lit room. It looked like a torture chamber, with the stone slab and leather straps, and the butcher knives up on the wall.

For some reason, she remembered the straps. Then she realized - this was where he took the shards out.

Where he’d slapped her onto his personal butcher table, strapped her down, and cut her open.

She moved past that to head up the last few steps, before reaching the top. She turned sideways to push the secret door open, and stumbled into his office. It looked the same, at least.

Slowly making it to the door, she pushed past it, walking past the bathrooms, then peeked around the corner behind the booths.

”Kate?”

She glanced over and saw one of the cashiers watching her with the name tag Terry, looking at her incredulously. Bob was nowhere in sight, so he must be really out. She made a hushing signal, before motioning him over.

Since he wasn’t too busy, he walked over and took the somewhat bedraggled state she was in. 

“What happened to you? Are you okay?” He asked. 

She nodded. “I got hurt, and Bob’s been taking care of me. I don’t know where he is though, so could I have some food?” She paused. “Not the special,” she added.

For a moment he gawked at her, then nodded and called out for a sandwich and fries to the line cook, probably already having an idea of what she liked.

Terry stared at her some more, and she sighed. Of course.

Wordlessly she lifted the side of her shirt, revealing the stitches, and Terry’s eyes nearly came out of their sockets. Lowering the shirt, her to-go bag came out.

Once the cashier handed her the food, she smiled at him, then started heading back to the office. 

“There’s talk,” Terry said, and she paused. “That the Devil Butcher kidnapped and ate you.”

She turned and looked at him tiredly. "Whelp, here I am, not kidnapped and not eaten.” Then she limped back through the office door.

Chapter Text

He didn’t panic at first. The bed was empty, save for the kitchen knife under the pillow — he couldn’t blame her for that. He checked the bathroom, but when he found that the light was off and the door was open, something inside him began to crack.

He checked the den, glancing at the chair that had started to smell faintly like her. Nothing. The silence was wrong — too still, too heavy.

He tore through the apartment calling her name — first with irritation, then with concern, then with a rising, breathless dread. She wasn’t here. And the door to the stairs was open.

For a moment, he just stood there, gripping the edge of the kitchen table like it could anchor him. And then . . he broke. Not loudly. Just sank to the floor, elbows on his knees, head in his hands — a silent, suffocating collapse.

No no no . . Everything was fine until I screwed it up . . 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, unraveling.

"Oh, you're back," Kate said matter-of-factly, standing in the doorway like she hadn't just burned the world down — to-go bag from the diner in hand. "Turns out stairs still suck, but I managed."

He looked up at her like she was a ghost, silent and shocked.

She tilted her head in confusion. “I needed to eat.”

“You think this is funny?” His voice cracked. “Wandering off like a lost sheep while I tore this place apart?” He swallowed hard, gaze fixed on her. “I would’ve razed the whole city to find you,” he added quietly.

Kate took a bite of her sandwich. "Then maybe don't try to eat me next time." She raised an eyebrow. "And maybe leave a snack, shepherd, if you know you're gonna disappear.” She took another bite. "I was hungry, you were gone, the door was open. What did you think was going to happen?”

He didn't want to admit that he hadn't been thinking. "I thought-" he faltered, jaw twitching. "I thought you were gone. For good.”

She blinked at him. "For thirty minutes?”

"And how was I supposed to know that?" he growled.

"How was I supposed to tell you when you weren't here?" she snapped back — but in that beat of silence after, she realized just how terrified he must’ve been.

She turned to walk, but her legs trembled — the stairs had been a mistake — and the moment he noticed, he moved instantly. One arm slipped behind her back, the other under the crook of her knees as he scooped her up. The bag crinkled between them, and she let out the smallest huff of a laugh, clutching it awkwardly.

"Next time,” she muttered, “at least leave a granola bar.”

Guilt surged in him like a tidal wave. His grip tightened slightly, cradling her as he headed into the den.

The armchair in the corner was her favorite — oversized, deep-cushioned, perfectly worn in, and now smelling faintly like her. He moved toward it and gently settled her down, legs curled up sideways, knees resting on one armrest while she leaned her shoulder into the other. The angle let her see him clearly without have to lift her head, nor use any ab muscles.

She had her eyes closed, breathing through the ache, before she took another bite.

Bob didn’t go far. He crossed to the couch to the side of her and sat at the long end, his arms resting on his knees.

For a while, they didn’t say anything. The only sound was the crinkle of wax paper and the occasional bite of bread and meat.

It wasn’t a comfortable moment, but it wasn’t silence, either.

Eventually, she looked up, her expression unreadable. “Did you really think I ran away?”

He let out a slow exhale. “I thought you were gone,” he admitted. “I thought I lost you. That I pushed too far. Again.”

Her eyes flicked to him, then back to her sandwich. “And you were just gonna sit there and rot on the floor?”

He almost laughed. “That was the plan.”

Kate gave a soft, skeptical noise and leaned her head fully against the back of the chair. “You’re an idiot.”

This time he did chuckle. “I know.”

Another quiet moment. Her voice, when it came next, was low and steady. “I’m still here.”

He looked at her — really looked. And in his face was a mixture of awe and pain.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“No,” she replied matter-of-factly. “But that sure as hell never stopped you from wanting me.”

Something in his shoulders uncoiled.

Kate didn’t say anything for a while. She just sat curled up in the chair, eating her sandwich like it was any other normal night, as if she hadn’t just come back from what Bob had been convinced was the end of everything.

Bob stayed quiet too, sitting on the couch, watching her like he was afraid she’d vanish if he blinked.

When she was down to the last bite, she licked her fingers, took a sip of water, and finally looked at him. Her voice was soft, but there was no hesitation in it.

“If I’m staying, there’s going to be some ground rules.”

His brows lifted. Not mocking — just surprised. And maybe a little relieved she was talking to him at all.

“First,” she said, holding up a finger, “no more feeding people to people.”

Bob blinked. 

“You—“ he rubbed a hand over his face. “You do realize how many people come back just for the special?”

“Great,” she said dryly. “Start charging extra for cheese.”

A pause. Then, grudgingly, a low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

“Fine. No more ‘specials.’ You have my word.”

“Second rule,” she continued, before he could change the subject. “No lying. Even if it’s something you think I don’t want to know or will hurt me.”

He went still. “I don’t lie to you,” he said quietly.

“You avoid telling me things,” she corrected. “That’s also what I mean.

Bob looked away. His jaw twitched, but he didn’t argue.

“Third,” she said, softer now, “if the cravings get bad, even if it’s every night . . you go. You do what you have to do. You don’t sit here stewing in it until it boils over.”

He closed his eyes for a moment like she’d hit a bruise. “I didn’t want to leave you alone. After what happened—“

“And I get that,” she said, voice gentler now.  “But you almost—“ she stopped and gulped, “We’ve got to do what keeps me and you . . safe.”

He exhaled slowly, hands clasped together, white-knuckled. “It may or may not work,” he murmured. “But you have a point.”

She stared, then gave a small, sardonic smile. “At the very least, leave me a snack if you’re gonna disappear next time.”

He huffed a laugh. “Got it.”

The silence that followed was thicker, but not uncomfortable. Just full. Heavy with everything that hadn’t been said. She shifted slightly, wincing from her leg, then glanced at him.

“So . . . how does it work?”

Bob tilted his head. “What?”

“Becoming the Butcher,” she said, matter-of-fact. “That whole . . other part of you. Your claws and your horns look too real to be just a mask.”

He froze, caught off guard by the question — not just because she asked it, but because of the calm in her voice. Not afraid. Just curious.

“You want the honest version?” He asked.

“That is the second rule, isn’t it?”

He leaned back slowly, arms draped over his knees. “It’s always been me. The Butcher’s not something else. It’s just . . everything I’ve kept hidden under Bob. The part that doesn’t pretend.”

Kate considered that. “So Bob is the mask?”

The question hung in the air. Bob didn’t answer right away — just looked at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “In a way,” he finally said. “Bob’s the voice I use when I want to be soft. When I want to forget what I am.”

“And what are you?” She asked, not unkindly.

He huffed through his nose. Not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Hungry.”

“You say that like it explains anything,” she muttered.

“It does, more than I want it to,” he said. “I don’t get to stop being what I am. I just hold it down long enough to breathe. Long enough to be with you.”

She stared at him. “You think I don’t know what you are?” She said, voice soft. “You think I’ve forgotten?”

Bob’s eyes met hers. The shame in them was raw — but so was something else. Hope, mixed with desperation. “And you’re still here,” he said.

“That’s right, I’m still here,” she echoed. “But I’m not staying blind.”

Chapter Text

The next few days were warmer, calmer, especially when Bob wouldn’t come down until late in the night. She was on her third book, reading in ex-his her chair, and Bob would come in and sit down on the sofa, no mask. Her eyes would glance up, and go a little green, before she went back to reading, and that meant the world to him.

The only issue was, one night, it was not Bob sitting there watching her.

“You sit in this room like it’s yours,” he rumbled, and she glanced up, seeing the teal. “I like you forgetting whose house this is.”

She blinked, before glancing back down to her book.

He cocked his head, before smiling even wider. “You don’t sit like prey.”

She didn’t move her head, but glanced up, knowing that if she didn’t look, he’d probably make her look.

“You sit like I already fed.”

She narrowed her eyes at that, suspecting that he was just trying to get a rise out of her now. She shifted, back to reading.

“Keep licking your finger before turning the page,” he murmured, and now the blush came through. “I think about that a lot.”

She slammed the book down in her lap, glaring at him. “You know you’re distracting, right?”

He chuckled, his eyes taking in every frustrated inch of her. “Good. You’re prettier when you’re flustered.”

Damn it! Her face flushed, and she started to sit up, but her abdomen told her no, and she winced, closing her eyes to breathe through her nose. 

“Put the book down, lamb.” His voice was right above her, and she fell back, her eyes widening seeing him towering over her. He lowered down, his hands gripping the side of the arm chair, creating the cage she was in. 

She slowly put the book down on the table, having to navigate past his arm. The instant the book was dropped, his massive hand was around her throat, though he just held her there, not squeezing.

“Bob . . ,” she started, but then his thumb rubbed under her ears and she started to melt.

“Shh, little lamb,” he spoke as her eyes fluttered, her hands gripping his wrist just to keep herself straight up. “I’ve got you.” He knew how to calm her, especially after months of playing with her, hunting her patiently. 

“Now,” he growled, kneeling down so he was eye level with her, still loosely gripping her throat, rubbing under her ears. “If you say nothing . . I’m going to kiss you.”

She opened her eyes, and they swirled the telltale pink - only the pink. Her doe eyes looking at him, waiting.

He leaned in, his breath hot on her cheeks, lips brushing the shell of her ear first as he whispered, “Good girl.”

His kiss landed, slow, deep, claiming. Her mind was blank, and she shivered.

He stopped. “That wasn’t fear.”

She couldn’t speak. Her heart thundered, her book forgotten.

“I’d know if it was.”

She paused, then ever so slowly reached up and pulled him down by his shirt, bringing him back to her lips.

He stopped just shy of her lips. “You should’ve said no,” he rumbled, before he slipped his hands under her legs and back, making her gasp from his sudden warmth, and she instinctively curled into his.

I’ve missed this so much.

He carried her three steps before setting her down on the sofa, surprisingly gentle. Then he followed - knees braced beside her hips, one hand pinning the armrest behind her head, the other now cradling her face.

“Last chance,” he spoke low, his thumb sliding to behind her ears again, always making her melt. “Because you know what comes next, sweetheart.”

Her eyes were pure, vibrant pink, her chest rising fast. Nothing in her eyes besides him. 

Her lips parted, and he came down, his tongue going wild, his kiss harder and deeper than before, her body melded to his in memory. His grip practically bruising on her hips, his other hand ran through her hair, moving her lips to where he wanted.

He gripped the cushion above her, taking a breath. “Do you even know what this does to me?” His voice cracked slightly, and she could almost feel him exposing his vulnerability. “Having you like this? Soft, willing, and warm?”

In response, she arched slightly beneath him, making him groan, his hunger turned want nearly out of control. “Move like that again, and I swear I won’t be gentle.”

Kate’s smile got brighter.

You’ve been kissing a mouth that’s probably just eaten someone’s leg.

Bob felt the change instantly, the black clouding her eyes as the thoughts she’d been keeping away washed in. He spun her until she was on top of him, making her gasp.

She felt so pleasantly hot, her body content laying on Bob like it was where she belonged, and yet her mind was making her scared.

“Darlin’, close your eyes,” he whispered. “That’s all you have to do.”

He laid her head down, and at first she struggled, but then he hummed. His whole chest vibrated, the noise surrounding her until her eyes started to droop, and she fell asleep, safe and warm in his arms.

Successfully deferring that conversation for another day, he lay there, running his hands through her hair, the other holding her waist.

She needed to feel only ecstasy when their mouths danced, whenever he claimed her. Otherwise, it would end up tainted with those black eyes.

He knew that it was difficult for her, because she loved with all her heart, and even with the knowledge of what he was, her heart would not let go.

He never deserved her love. His hunger kept trying to destroy it, devour it.

And she felt so ashamed, because her love for him was pure, and she couldn’t pull it back. Not even to save other people’s lives that he devoured.

Poor, little lamb, what a predicament for you, falling in love with the wolf in shepherd’s clothing.

Only when it was nearly morning did he lift her gently and lay her back on his bed in the bedroom. Her locks splayed on the pillow as she turned, her hand gripping his wrist as he pulled away.

He froze.

Her eyes stayed shut, and eventually, her hand dropped to her side. But the damage was done.

His heart sang, aching with something that might’ve been joy.

Chapter Text

Bob was working the front counter, distracted by thoughts he couldn’t quite shake, when Terry tugged gently on his sleeve. About to snap, Bob caught himself when he saw the look on Terry’s face—serious, quiet.

Terry gave a slight nod toward the back hallway.

Bob turned just in time to see Kate, in a simple shirt and jeans, hair up in a ponytail, peeking out from behind the corner—half-hidden, watching the diner.

“Terry, cover the counter,” he muttered, already weaving through the gap to reach her.

“Kate, what are you doing?” he whispered when he got close, stepping in front of her to block anyone’s view. He kept his voice low, but protective tension vibrated beneath it.

“I told you I was going to start walking outside soon,” she said softly, unfazed by his stance. “I have to start somewhere.”

Bob stared at her, caught between exasperation and admiration. Then he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. You need the exercise. But I’m walking with you.”

He backed up, drawing her gently with him into the dining area. The sunlight filtering through the front windows made her squint, her hand rising instinctively to shield her eyes - it had been so long since she’d been up during the day, and had even seen the day.

He guided her to the back booth—her booth—before brushing a hand down her arm. “I’ll bring you something. Just stay here.”

Only when he’d turn did he realize the diner had gone silent.

Every eye was on her. Conversations halted mid-sentence, forks paused in mid-air. Murmurs began to stir.

Kate kept her gaze low, but her fingers brushed Bob’s sleeve just before he could speak.

He turned to her, his anger half-formed.

She shook her head slowly. A quiet gesture. “I’m fine,” she said to him, her voice tired but calm. “I don’t blame them for being curious.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then the murmurs resumed—quieter now, but unmistakable.

Kate leaned against the window, her gaze fixed out and ignoring the curious stares.

Bob’s fists were clenched at his sides as he turned toward the kitchen, but before he could take a step, a voice broke through the hush.

“So she really did get away,” someone said—just loud enough to carry. It was Marcy, one of the older waitresses, pausing with a coffee pot in hand.

Bob turned his head sharply.

“She’s lucky,” another voice muttered from a nearby booth. “Nobody gets away from the Butcher.”

Kate didn’t flinch, but her eyes darkened faintly.

“Or maybe,” a third voice offered, low and conspiratorial, “maybe he let her go. For a reason.”

That one stung. Bob stiffened, his breath flaring in his nose. He was just about to speak—that was no way to speak to her like—

“No one lets you go,” she said clearly, beating him to it, not looking away from the window. “You run. You survive. And you stop talking like you know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Marcy blinked and turned away, pouring the coffee.

Bob exhaled slowly, pride rising up his chest like fire. He turned back toward the kitchen, his lips twitching at the corners.

“Add a milkshake to her order,” he said to Terry on his way past.

Terry grinned. “On it.”

She started to come upstairs more often, slowly moving her schedule back to daytime. More and more people came to the diner, just to see “the one that survived.” There was always people who’d continue to speculate, since none of them dared to go up to her and ask, with the overbearing protector either in the kitchen or behind the counter.

Especially one day, Kate sat in the back booth she always did, her hood up, one leg tucked protectively under her. She wasn’t hiding—but she wasn’t inviting attention either. Her food sat half-finished in front of her. She had brought a book with her, and would periodically look up to see where Bob was at the counter.

Terry pretended to wipe down the counter, ears tuned to the two older women chatting nearby. They leaned in close, their voices just above a whisper.

“That’s her, isn’t it? Poor girl looks like she hasn’t slept since she got away.”

“I heard she was locked in a basement. Must’ve been weeks. You can tell she’s still rattled.”

Kate’s hand froze on her fork.

“And Bob’s been feeding her? Heard she showed up at the back one night all bruised up.”

 “What if she never escaped? What if he’s still out there—watching?”

Terry straightened. “You ladies need anything?” he said, casually stepping between them and Kate’s booth.

They blinked at him, startled. “No, we’re just—”

He gave a polite but pointed smile. “Then maybe keep the speculation down. She’s had enough people talking about her without them doing it in the same room.”

One of them huffed, the other looked properly sheepish. Terry didn’t wait for a reply. He turned back, catching Kate’s eye briefly.

She gave him the smallest of nods and a smile. Grateful.

And he went back to the counter, pretending not to care—because that’s what actual nice guys like Terry did in towns like this, where devils wore shadows and rumors ran louder than truth.

Later that night, after closing, Terry was wiping down the counter when the back door creaked open.

Bob stepped in, silent.

Terry straightened up, trying to act natural, but his pulse jumped.

“She smiled at you,” Bob said calmly, but his eyes was anything but.

Terry set the towel down. “She smiles at a lot of people. I got her a sandwich, not a ring.”

Bob moved closer. “You think I’m stupid?” He growled, his eyes narrowing.

“No,” Terry said. “I think you’re protective. Which is fair. But I’m not competition, man.” A beat of silence. “I don’t date women.”

Bob’s eyes didn’t leave his face, staring at him. Then, at last, nods once, slow. “Good.”

Then he walked back out the same way he came, leaving Terry to exhale for the first time in minutes.

Chapter Text

The bandages were itchy, or at least the skin underneath was itchy. She was loathe to remind Bob to bring her new bandages, but she was also loathe to take them off.

She was scared to see what was underneath.

While Bob was upstairs working, she locked herself in the bathroom and turned on the dull overhead light. The mirror wasn’t flattering her, the exhaustion under her eyes still there, but at least the bruises were gone.

Her fingers found the hem of her shirt. She peeled it up, then pulled at the bandages — slowly — and paused.

The abdominal scar looked almost faded, a fine line with lightly raised at the ends. It wasn’t as bad as she imagined, but she was still glad she couldn’t remember the feeling, nor the look on his face — he must’ve have . .

Her eyes widened. How did he not eat her right then? She’d been an open meal.

Lowering her shirt, she lifted up her shorts to see that the thigh scar was pristine, like a butcher’s cut, but still raised with deep-tissue trauma, still a little pink. 

Something twisted in her chest — grief of what was lost, fear at who obviously did the cuts, and maybe shame at the hit to her vanity.

The loss of safety, the loss of unmarked skin, the loss of time and life.

She sat down hard on the edge of the tub, and for a while, stared at the tile, letting the silence encompass her, while she processed what she could never come back from.

Kate was curled up on the couch when Bob finally came downstairs, knees drawn up with her arms around them. She hadn’t turned on the lights, which in this windowless room, was suffocating.

Bob paused in the doorway. She wasn’t asleep, or even pretending to be. He stepped closer, slowly, seeing her fingers tense slightly around her knees.

“Bandages are off,” she said matter-of-factly.

The lights clicked on, and he settled on the edge of the couch, keeping a bit of space between them. “I could’ve done that for you, sweetheart,” he said.

“I didn’t want you to see,” she said quietly, worn.

He looked at her profile — how her gaze was locked on nothing in particular. “Do they hurt?”

“No.”

“Do you hate them?”

She didn’t respond at first. “They remind me of what I lost,” she finally replied. “How everything changed after this. How —“ They remind me I couldn’t escape from you.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “But change isn’t a bad thing. And your scars take nothing from you.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it,” she whispered, finally turning to meet his eyes. “The way you see them, you still look at me like I’m beautiful—“

His voice dropped lower, almost reverent. “Because you are.”

She blinked hard, swallowing something thick. 

And then he shifted closer, just enough that their legs touched. “You survived. You’re not ruined. You’re mine.”

Her lip trembled. The butcher cut on her thigh said as much.

She then buried her face against his arm before the tears came. His arm came around her, unsure, and she took it. He didn’t say anything else, just held her there until the shaking stopped and her breathing calmed.

And for a while, she didn’t mind the scars.

Bob had just vanished through the swinging door to the kitchen, barking a low order for Terry to “watch the front.” Kate sipped her milkshake slowly, staring at the condensation running down the glass like it might give her something to say.

The seat across from her creaked. She glanced up.

Marcy.

Older, sharp-eyed, and always a little too interested in everyone’s business. She gave Kate a small, practiced smile—one that didn’t reach her eyes.

“You know,” Marcy said as she set down a napkin she didn’t need, “we were all real worried when you went missing.”

Kate said nothing. Her fingers tapped the glass once, then stopped.

Marcy leaned in slightly. “And now you’re back. But… living with Bob?”

Kate blinked, slowly.

“I mean,” Marcy continued with a hushed chuckle, “it’s just not what we expected. He’s a little… intense. And no one’s seen you in weeks.”

“I was hurt,” Kate said simply.

“Oh, honey, I can see that. But he didn’t, you know… do anything to you, did he?” Marcy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “We’d understand. You could tell someone.”

Kate tilted her head, brows raised. “What would he have done?”

Marcy shifted her weight, clearly trying to look concerned rather than nosy. “I—uh—just worried if there was something.” She then hesitated. “I just mean… you disappeared. Nobody knew where you were. And then he—he changed. He stopped laughing. As soon as you went missing.”

Kate’s eyes flicked up at that. “You noticed that?”

“Of course.” Marcy softened. “He’s our Bob.”

Kate exhaled. “And yet you suggested he did something.”

Marcy’s expression faltered for a moment—maybe trying to decide whether this was the time to bail or not—but Kate didn’t give her time to figure it out.

“He didn’t do this. He found me like this and kept me alive.” Kate’s gaze was steady, unblinking. “I just didn’t want to risk anyone else getting possibly hurt.”

Marcy gave a small nod and got up, murmuring, “Okay. Sorry. Just… we were worried.”

Kate gave the tiniest smile. “Thank you.”

And just like that, the conversation with the gossip town queen was over.

Chapter Text

Kate had only taken a couple sips of her drink when the bell above the door jingled.

Bob didn’t move from the kitchen. But he heard the footsteps.

Officers John and Jack.

He didn’t look — he didn’t need to. He knew the cadence of men who thought they had the right to linger. Through the small kitchen window, he watched. Watched Jack lean against her booth like it was his, while John spoke softly to her.

The pair had come by before, while she was recovering, and questioned him about her, so this was the followup.

Bob dried his hands slowly. His grip on the towel made the fabric strain. He didn’t go out, though it took all of his self-control to to. It would draw too much attention. Instead, he listened.

“You’re Kate, right? Disappeared a while back.”

She said nothing at first. “More like went into hiding.”

“You didn’t tell anyone where you were. You could’ve been hurt worse.”

Bob’s claws tapped the counter, one by one. Officer John was the one leading the conversation.

“I told Bob,” she said calmly.

John’s voice dipped lower. “And why only Bob?”

That was it. Anymore and he’d tear his arm off. Bob stepped back from the window. And waited.

Eventually, John and Jack stood, muttered something about “checking in again soon,” and walked out the door.

Only then did Bob step into the dining room. His movements were casual—but his eyes weren’t. He walked to her booth and sat opposite her without a word. The smile was faint. But his jaw was tight. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

“It’s fine, I don’t think they’ll ask again, hopefully.”

He leaned in, arms folded. His tone stayed low. “I’d told them you were sick and staying across town, and I was leaving you food by your front door. Just so you’re aware.”

“I can work with that.”

“You know I didn’t come out there because I was trying to be good.”

She reached for his hand. “You’re not angry at me, right?”

“No. Never at you.” He finally met her eyes. “Not truly. Frustrated, sure, but never angry.”

Kate gave a small smile, thumb brushing his knuckle. And he didn’t let go of her hand for the rest of her meal.

The next few days were grating on her already worn psyche. It didn’t happen all at once.

Kate had settled into a quiet, somewhat dull routine as she tried to readjust her internal clock — sleeping in until lunchtime, spending her afternoons upstairs, and not falling asleep again until well past midnight. Bob had already reassured her that Kevin was aware of her situation, which explained why he hadn’t been pushing her to return to work.

When she finally asked about Kelsey, Bob let out a sigh, not thrilled about the mention of someone else she seemed to care about, but told her Kelsey had been out of town for most of her recovery. What he didn’t say was that Kelsey likely suspected Kate was in hiding, and decided it was safer to disappear, too.

What was worse was the gossip.

The first time, she overheard a group near the door say, “They say he gutted her. Just left her to die.”

Another day, “She was seen limping . . must’ve been real bad. I heard it took hours to find her.”

Later, “That’s why she won’t talk to anyone. You don’t walk away from the Butcher and stay whole.”

And finally, “Maybe he let her go. Maybe he did something to her and then let her crawl home. Who knows what she agreed to.”

Kate never flinched on the outside. She still was a little introverted in her booth, reading her books, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

But each word, the way they looked at her like a ghost, carved something out of her.

The words, though not usually meant for her, floated behind her like smoke, curling into her ears even when she tried to block them out. At first, she ignored them, knowing that it was the typical story about the Butcher she’d always heard.

But it was different when she’d found out that Bob was the Butcher. And everything should’ve changed. That any sane person would run from him.

She didn’t remember going down the hallway. Didn’t remember sitting. But she was curled now at the base of the basement stairs, her fingers clutched around a dish rag like it anchored her to something real.

Her eyes burned, her throat tightening up. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, and she buried her face against them.

She hadn’t been eaten nor stabbed by the Butcher. She wasn’t sure she’d consider it kidnapped, but when she had the chance . . . she’d chosen to stay. At first she told herself it was to not involve anyone else, but the truth was there in the back of her head — she’d never wanted to.

All of the things they said about the Butcher reflected back onto her, even if they didn’t realize it. And the worst part was, they were not wrong.

Her fingers dug into the wood. Her breath came fast, and her eyes were squeezed shut. She couldn’t let Bob see her like this, not when he’d tried to hard to make her feel safe.

But she failed to hear the faint sound of boots echo from the stairwell.

Bob froze, seeing his lamb on the stairwell, and crouched next to her. She jumped, her eyes of swirling black with a momentary spot of orange shocked to see him.

He knew instantly what was getting her. It was near the end of day when they started really gossiping about the Butcher, and he’d saw her slip away. His soft eyes watched her, like through a window at something he couldn’t fix with his hands. He kneeled down. “That’s not your shame to carry,” he said, almost too quietly.

She closed her eyes, fighting the tears from falling. He brought his hand to touch her cheek.

“I knew what you were when I had the ch—chance,” her voice was shaky and empty. “And yet I—I chose not to run. And then I wa—wanted you to do more to me, to touch me, yo—your mouth on me—“

He pressed his thumb to her lips gently. His jaw was tense, his pupils dilated, filled with pain. For her. “You think I don’t hear it too?” He growled. “You think I don’t know what they’re saying? That I saved you from him, that I’m the good one?” He leaned closer, his forehead touching hers. “You’re the only good thing I’ve ever touched. And I ruin you just by being near.”

She finally opened her eyes, wide and trembling. His heart twisted at the conflict still swirling behind the black.

He cupped her face gently. Wiped a tear with the edge of his thumb, his poor lamb. “So let me carry the shame,” His voice was hoarse. “You’ve given me something pure. I won’t let it die inside you.”

And then, ever so slowly, he leaned down and kissed her — not hungrily, not devouring, but like she was a cracked porcelain doll he was trying to put back together, one kiss at a time.

When they parted, she rested her forehead against his collarbone, her voice so quiet it nearly vanishes, “I’m just so tired of feeling wrong.”

His arms wrapped around her, crushingly tight. “Then I’ll make it right. Even if it kills me.”

They stayed liked that for a while, him holding her there, her curled in on herself with her face pressed to his chest, as if his body alone could block out the noise in her head. The world above them, with its whispers and stares, faded until it felt like the diner didn’t exist.

After a while, he shifted slightly, his hand running slowly down her back. “C’mon, little lamb. Not the floor,” he spoke softly. “You’ll catch a cold.”

She didn’t argue. When he gathered her up, she didn’t tense up like earlier. She was worn out, and he carried her like something sacred. 

The apartment was dim, but the furnishings had improved a touch. The bedsheets and covers had been upgraded, and the bedroom had a few chairs added to it. He sat down with her in his lap at the edge of the bed, adjusting so her legs were tucked up, her body tucked in.

His hunger rumbled, but it also didn’t push.

Before he opened his mouth, she spoke. “Just hold me, Bob.”

He did. For a long time, he just sat with her, chin resting on her hair, one hand tracing idle lines on her arm. When she started to drift, he reached over to the nightstand and without even looking, placed one of his favorite wrapped candies into her palm.

It had been a little trick she’d learned, keeping a stash around. She found it curbed the softer times of his hunger.

She cracked a smile. “I’m shocked there are any left since you know where they are.”

“I know you keep them to help,” he murmured.

She smiled, then unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth instead. “Then I’ll keep you too.”

He smiled, and for a little while, there was no shame. Just warmth, sugar, and the steady rhythm of her breathing in the dark.

Chapter Text

Kate had been watching him for days.

He didn’t sleep. Not really. Not when she was awake, at least. Not even when things were calm. His eyes would close for minutes at most, only to snap open the second she shifted too much or breathed the wrong way. And his stamina . . it wasn’t normal. Not human.

So one night when she was curled up in the dimness of the den, a blanket half-draped over her while Bob sat on the sofa, she asked.

“Can I ask you something?” she murmured, not lifting her head.

Bob shifted a little, his arm adjusting from where it’d been on the armrest. “You just did.”

She sighed through her nose. “Funny. But how come you don’t need to sleep?”

Bob looked up, eyebrows raised.

“I mean it,” she said, leaning forward from the chair, the blanket half off her. “You never nap. You don’t even look tired.”

Bob didn’t answer right away. He kept looking away at nothingness. “It’s one of the handoffs of having the hunger. I don’t need sleep. I may get iffy if I don’t feed it, but never tired.”

She frowned. “But why do you even have that?”

That was when Bob’s entire demeanor changed, one planning to pull the wool over her eyes.

“Bob, I need to know,” she warned him, seeing the planning of a million excuses, detours. “Why do you have that hunger?” She got out of the chair and plopped her stomach on his, nowhere for him to look away, causing him to wrap his arm around her waist to steady her in surprise.

He opened his mouth wordlessly, then closed it. “I made a deal.”

Her eyes widened, curiosity swirling in their depths. “With whom? And what was the deal?”

He paused, and she could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “There’s a dark power in town,” he started, “that’ll do contracts. Typical ones, like here’s power in exchange for servitude.”

She tilted her head. “You don’t seem like you’re serving anyone.”

He sighed. “That’s because I found something stronger to tweak my contract. So I was no longer bound like that.”

After staring him down for a few moments, she slid back down and snuggled into his arm. “What did you ask for,” she whispered.

He looked away. “It’s not like a one sentence kind of thing. You have an actual contract, not just with words, but with feelings.”

She curled her fingers into his shirt, her body still in memory of the before-times, but stayed silent. He didn’t actually answer her question, but she was still surprised he’d answered as much as he did.

She sat curled on the couch, knees drawn up, staring blankly at the wall . . again. Her voice, when it came, was a whisper meant for no one. “I know I’m supposed to think the worst of you.”

Bob, who’d been sitting in her chair just watching her, just looked at her.

She let out a slow breath, tears not yet falling—but close. “I know I’m supposed to be horrified by all that you’ve done, and want to get away as soon as possible . . . but I don’t." She paused. “I think something’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you, Kate.”

She flinched. “Don’t—don’t say that like I’m not . . choosing to stay with someone who . . I shouldn’t be choosing.”

“Then maybe I’m wrong too,” he said softly. “Because I shouldn’t be choosing to keep you, yet here I am.”

She finally looked at him. Her eyes were swimming in black — the shame, the self-loathing. “I just . . can’t hate you.”

Bob stood up and slowly came over to the sofa, sitting next to her, but not doing anything but barely touching her side with his. “That’s because you can’t hate,” he said softly. “Your heart is too pure for that.” He looked away. “I’m just the monster that keeps taking advantage of that.”

Her eyes slowly drained of the dark, and she touched his arm, forgetting herself for the moment. “Maybe I wanted you to.”

He just leaned his head over to hers, and they sat there, musing together.

Bob was having a dilemma. Kate would heard the door creak, and the heavy thud of boots on the stairs. She'd be halfway down the hall, arms full of folded laundry, when he appeared on the steps.

The Devil Butcher, horns and red taking over the stairway.

She'd stopped, her breath catching. Her mind must have thrown the image of him bringing down the knife on her in the den, the hunger in his eyes that day, the glint of teeth, and she stumbled.

He'd tilted his head, and her muscles screamed at her to run. Her muscles twitched, and she knelt to keep from completely falling, but her clenched eyes burned with unspent fear.

Glancing up, it was just Bob now, looking at her with a strange expression. It was like the Butcher had never been there.

"I'm . . I'm sorry," she'd said quietly as she turned and hurried out with the laundry she didn't drop. 

He didn't bring it up, but it continued to happen - a flinch of the shoulder when his hand brushed past her reaching for something, a blossoming of orange in her eyes as she turned the corner and saw his silhouette. Bob started to observe her out of the corner of his eye, always watching for the next flinch. He let the silence press onwards between them for a while, but he wasn't going to let this simmer.

His lamb chose this, and he was going to make sure her body would stop lying to her bones.

Chapter Text

That night, she curled up in his bed again, facing away, like she did every night. Her scars were healed, but he hadn't pushed trying to join her — he usually stayed on the cot by the door, like a dragon guarding its treasure. But tonight was different. He stood beside the bed, hovering over her.

Kate shifted, sensing him behind her, but didn't react.

"You flinched again."

Her body went still.

"I don't blame you," he continued, voice low and even, like he'd been contemplating this for a while. "But I'm not going to let it stay that way."

She slowly turned, facing him now, her eyes hooded.

"Your body still remembers that night, doesn't it?"

She sighed, nodding slightly.

"That's good survival instinct. But you chose to stay here." A pause. "Your actions contradict what your body does."

She simply looked at him, eyes dark in the low light.

"I'm not going to ask you to say it out loud," he continued. "I know what it means when someone tenses up before you've even touched 'em. If you were anyone else, I'd be ecstatic." He knelt besides the bed, his weight shifting the mattress as he leaned closer. "But you're not anyone else, are you?"

"So what then?" she whispered.

His eyes didn't leave hers, tight and tense. "You're gonna face it. The real thing. Over and over."

Her eyes went wide. ". . What?"

"We go outside. You run, I catch you." His voice didn't soften. "The Butcher hunting the Lamb."

She stared at him like he'd lost his mind.

"You want me to what now?"

"I want you to face what you're afraid of, and stop hiding from the part of me you already chose." He tilted his head slightly.

Eventually her throat started to work. "What if I don't run?"

"Then you'd rather be in denial than fix it," he said so matter-of-factly, it sliced through her. "But I'm not letting you go, so it's better that you do."

"How does you chasing me like one of your meals make me less afraid of you?"

"It's me catching you, over and over, and not hurting you is what will fix it." He turned toward the door. "You've got a minute."

No way he's serious.

The door clicked shut behind him, his footsteps fading away, steady and deliberate.

Inside, Kate stayed frozen on the bed. The seconds passed.

Crap, he's serious.

Her throat tightened, her heart beating in her ears, and she threw the blanket off. Clothes thrown on, and shoes. With no time to lose, she bolted for the back door. The moment she stepped outside, the cold snapped at her. However, it wasn't the chill that made her blood freeze.

Scrape. Clink. Scrape.

His hand sharpener. She'd known about it, but this was the first time hearing it, and it seemed to echo from everywhere, bouncing off the walls of the alley. She looked towards the forest, another feeling rising when she considered her options. The forest always gave off a sense of unease and dislike whenever she was nearby, so she tended to avoid it. But this looks like the night she's going to ignore that feeling and run.

The forest swayed gently, shadows heavy beneath the canopy. Twigs cracked under her boots as Kate stumbled forward, heart hammering. Every step sent a jolt through her still-sore body, having been vegetating for the last few weeks. She shouldn’t be out here . . not like this. But she had agreed.

Or rather . . she hadn’t said no. She took another deep breath before she took off running again, ignoring how the trees seemed to look at her.

The air shifted behind her. She barely had time to dodge before he’d swept past, missing her on purpose; a warning swipe. She gasped and ran sideways, weaving between trees before shooting straight off again.

He wasn’t just chasing her. He was playing with her. Which should have made her feel better, but right now, nothing rational was going on in her head.

Something loud hit near her head, whether it was a rock or anything else, she couldn’t tell; all it did was make her go to the left.

Which was what he was aiming for.

A blur of red, and his arm hooked around her waist, spinning her into the dirt. She hit the ground hard, air knocked out of her. When she rolled over, he hovered over her, breath ragged, black and red clothes, the horns, the eyes. He was full Butcher, and all her blood froze.

She couldn’t move. Her eyes were pure orange, swirling variances upon variances, and it was all she could do was to remember to breathe.

For a moment, he simply stared. Then he was gone, and she wasn’t sure if it was frozen blood or actual speed that made him disappear from sight.

Her fists curled into the ground as her senses came back, and she pushed herself up again. Her body was not used to this, but Bob had been right; she needed to face this.

To face him.

Because he was a package deal. If she was choosing Bob, she must also choose the Butcher, and all the baggage that comes with it. Flinching every time he came near her was not living.

She ran and ran, her heart pounding, her legs not used to the strain, but she tried to think. She circled the next copse of trees—

“You’re limping, lamb.”

She turned too fast and crashed into the ground, knees hitting moss and dirt as she rolled. A sharp yelp escaped before she could bite it back.

Her eyes alighted on him at the other side of the tree she'd ran around, watching, staring, mouth curled into that maniacal hungry grin, his teal eyes practically glowing as they in everything that she was. His blade spun once in his fingers — the blade he used to slice his victims up. Then, a step towards her.

"Get up," she hissed at herself, but her body didn't react. It simply froze, a deer in the hunter's sights, heart hammering as it waited to be torn out.

“Darlin’,” he cooed, low and deep, and she just barely remembered to blink, her eyes were so dry, “you’re making this too easy.”

Her blood heated up, and suddenly she could scramble backwards, palms scraping on rocks and twigs as she twisted and got off the ground, running again. When she glanced back, he was gone.

Dammit! She cursed herself, knowing that she’d just did the first wrong thing as prey — stop looking forward.

Slam. The impact pinned her back to a nearby tree, bark scraping, his claws gripping her shoulder while the blade set on her neck. Her breath gone, his terrifying hunger staring her right in the eyes.

She couldn't move. She was completely at his mercy . . . again.

After a few moments of him hovering over her, the blade lifted off, and she involuntarily took a deep breath. Next time she blinked, he was gone.

How the . . how does he do that? Her thoughts were coherent for once, but she shook her head and took off. Her lungs were burning, her thighs sore, and the fresh scabs across her abdomen screamed with each twist of her body. But she refused to stop.

A twig snapped, obvious. Opposite of the sound, leaves fluttered as someone stepped over them. He was circling her, like a wolf hunting with patience, precision, and pleasure.

She stumbled once, pushed herself forward a little more, then fell, her energy stores completely empty. Sideways into the dirt, hands scraping the rock, pain lighting her nerves like firecrackers. She tried to force herself up, but her arms trembled and collapsed beneath her. She hissed, seeing his booths right in front of her. She was down, a rabbit too exhausted to escape the trap. “I’m—,” Her voice was thin, cracking. "I'm not . . "

Her voice wisped away as the tears welled up for a moment, her eyes burning, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "I can't do more tonight. I'm . . too slow, too weak," she looked down, curling her fists again, unable to look at him. "I'm not brave like you want me to be."

She felt his presence as he kneeled in front of her, silent as ever.

Chapter Text

It took everything in him to keep his hands still. Everything.

The mask let him hide his feelings, left him looking looking like a monster, but it didn’t erase what he felt. It didn’t stop the crack that ran jagged through his ribs when her voice broke like that. When her shoulders curled in, when she couldn’t even look at him, too ashamed to meet his eyes, feeling like a failure.

And she was trying. God, she was trying so hard.

She didn’t freeze when he knelt, didn’t crawl away, but more due to exhaustion at this point. She’d stayed — breath hitching, her heart pounding like a trapped bird in her chest.

He wanted to finish this. To throw her over his shoulder and end the game neither of them won. But that wasn’t what this was for. She needed this.

Needed him to be the Butcher for this. So he kept silent.

He reached out and placed one hand, heavy and grounding, on her shoulder. She trembled, but not from fear. The exhale that followed was of resignation. He took the tip of his blade and pushed her chin up with it, guiding her up like that night she’d used all her energy to yell at her ex.

When she finally was standing, be it barely, broken with effort, he guided her with his hand on her lower back, like before, through the trees, back to his den.

He could only do it because he pulled the memory, and used it to keep himself from shaking by being near her.

She limped slightly, her breath uneven. She never complained, just let him guide her.

They got to the door, where he followed her down into the apartment, the Butcher and mask fading away. She made it halfway to the bed before her knees buckled ever so little, and he immediately caught her under her arm, gently, carefully, like she was porcelain.

She was too exhausted and ashamed to look at him.

He guided her the rest of the way, letting her slowly turn and sit on the edge of the bed where her shoulders curled in again, her head not looking at him.

Every piece of body language said don’t touch me.

He simply couldn’t obey that. Not when the sight of her like this carved daggers into his chest, her trembling with grief at her fear, undoing him completely.

He leaned down, reaching for her slowly. When she didn’t pull away, he slid his arm around her waist, switched places with her on the edge of the bed, and gathered her into his lap. She tensed at first, but then her forehead pressed into his collarbone, and he felt her exhale a long, deep breath.

“You didn’t fail,” he murmured into her hair, smelling of forest and pain.

She didn’t respond, though her head minutely shook her head, not believing him.

He pulled her in tighter. “You made it back. That’s all that matters.”

She exhaled a broken sound, and he was a goner. He wrapped his arms around her fully, tucking her in against his chest like something precious. He enclosed her in his warmth, and held her until her body went limp in his arms from exhausted sleep.

And even then, he didn’t let go, his own heart tearing out from the inside.

Kate didn’t wake up until the light was long gone. She blinked, disoriented by how sore she felt, muscles she didn’t remember using now humming with tight fatigue. Her legs protested as she shifted a dull ache where the old wounds had pulled under the strain.

Looking up, she realized that Bob was at the doorway, watching her. His eyes had a million thoughts behind them, but she couldn’t get a read of a single one.

“Here,” he walked forward, handing her the to-go bag from upstairs. “Fresh . . for you.”

His voice was so . .  empty.

Then he turned, and stopped in the doorway. “I’ll be waiting.” Then he was gone, and her entire gut was in her throat. 

Crap . .  night two.

At least he was giving her time to eat.

Making sure not to eat too fast, she thought over the terrain of the forest, or what little she knew about it. She’d never visited it before, but that was because in her gut, something told her that she wasn’t wanted there. Last night, the same feeling wasn’t quite there — it was replaced with curiosity, a maybe.

Maybe because of Bob?

She shook her head, finished her food, and got up. He’ll be watching the doors most likely. And he’d just have to keep up with her, which does not seem to be a problem he has. 

Although she was trying to think rationally, she already felt the terror rising in her throat, the image of him pinning her down with the blade about to fall running through her mind like a stuck reel. She gripped her arms, skin pale, trying to calm down, but the adrenaline was starting to kick in.

Damn, she hadn’t even left yet!

Deciding it was now or never, she went out the back door again.

She walked to the forest, knowing that he was very likely watching her the whole time from the door, and there was no point tiring herself yet. Once to the edge, she felt queasy, like the trees themselves were disappointed in her, but she latched onto that, rather than letting the pre-terror get to her.

She started to run. The trees pressed close, thicker than yesterday, the forest floor damp from the afternoon rain, making her steps slick and uncertain. Her legs still ached from last night, the muscle soreness affecting her, the scars stretched tighter than they were used to. Her lungs didn’t burn yet, but that would happen soon. The cold air bit at her throat as she ran.

Snap. To her right, behind her. Obvious. Deliberate.

She attempted to pivot, but she couldn’t adjust for the slick leaves, and the Butcher hit her from the side — not hard enough to hurt, but fast enough that she had no time to scream. The breath punched out of her as her back met the dirt, her hands and elbows out on instinct.

The blade was at her throat, his other arm slammed next to her head, and time seemed to freeze for her, his manic smile plastered on his face like before. Her eyes burst the pure orange, before it swirled uncertainly.

He held his position, eyes locked on hers, the blade a whisper of steel near skin. After a beat, he stood and was gone when she blinked, which made her sit up and grip her chest to fix her breathing.

Get a grip, Kate! She yelled at herself, before shoving herself off the ground and running again.

The air was heavier now, still, the woods holding their breath as she kept going deeper, more trunks to weave and hide among. She suddenly crouched as she reached a low ridge, her fingers curled tight in the dirt, listening.

No sound. But the silence spoke of eyes.

She slowly turned her head, and yelped in utter terror into the nearest trunk as he crouched to her left, maybe three feet away, his blade dangling loose in one hand. He tilted his head, watching her fumble this again.

She clenched her eyes shut, inhaled deeply, then opened them again. The silence clawed at her eardrums as he still crouched there, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was prey.

He flicked the blade up.

She flinched, her eyes unable to move from the blade now. And then the blade was coming at her as he lunged, gripping her shirt and shoving her face-first into the nearest tree-trunk, albeit only to pin, not to hurt.

The breath by her ear, the blade touching the side of her neck, and she closed her eyes, trembling.

Come on, breathe!

She inhaled the scent of pine bark, moisture, and the touch of smoke from him. It almost calmed her.

Until he moved his knee and spoke in her ear, "Your fear is intoxicating."

She tensed up fully, and suddenly she was falling, the loss of support behind her surprising her. Grabbing the tree, she turned and saw . . nothing. He was gone.

Her body ached, her lungs were starting to burn, but she refused to be done. This time, she weaved through the trees with light footfalls, the barest of jogging, trying her best to hear him behind her, aside her, in front of her.

The silence of the trees laughed at her.

She crested a small slope, then froze, the Butcher standing dead still at the other edge of the clearing, half-shadowed by branches. The moon, now having a pocket to shine through, glimmered on the edge of his blade, and his grin was terrifying.

She slowly relaxed, before taking a step forward towards him, staring at his eyes instead of the blade.

His head tilted, his teal eyes widening in anticipation.

She took another step before she blinked, and the blur of him hit her like a wall, back pressed into the cold dirt, no time to brace for impact. His knee pinned her good thigh, and he’d collected both of her wrists and pinned them above her head.

Her heart hammered for a damn different reason.

Eyes swirling pink, and the flash of orange, his teal eyes never seemed to stop staring at hers. She hissed, still in pain from the crash, and held her breath as the blade rested across her throat.

He leaned in close, inches away, the silhouette of his horns and face attempted to terrorize her. It was a long time of him there, breathing her in, feeling her pulse underneath the blade, before he slowly shifted the knife aside and bent to the side of her neck. And placed a deliberate sealing kiss on her neck.

“That’s one,” he rumbled, before the weight of him was gone, and she gasped in tense shock.

Kate didn’t get up right away. The damp leaves at her back soaked through her shirt, and her hands were still above her head, though she slowly moved them to her sides. Her fingers ghosted over the spot on her neck, touching it lightly, like she could’ve felt the remnants of that kiss.

Was . . was that a reward? Or a reminder? Confusion warred with her curiosity, and she just laid there. She wanted to stop flinching. She wanted to not be afraid, because she could see the hurt every time her body betrayed her. He hadn’t even tried touching her or asking to sleep in the bed because of it.

She closed her eyes, breathing deep as her pulse slowed. The ache in her abdomen and legs were distantly screaming. She just needed a moment.

Kate didn’t move. Not at first. Just laid there in the leaves, letting her shirt get soaked, keeping her eyes closed, and simply breathed.

He crouched just out of reach, shadowed by the trees, watching what his lamb planned to do. One hand dug in the dirt, the other still clutching the hilt of the knife like there was unfinished business. His thoughts were off imagining his blade sinking into the soft meat of her shoulder, cutting out piece by delicious, bloody piece.

He swallowed. It didn’t help. His mouth was still watering, saliva thick and hot, dripping, laced with want. The craving that demanded he have her in any way.

You kissed her, something inside him whispered. She’s yours by right.

His teeth ached, his breathing slightly ragged, as he remembered. She didn’t scream. Which meant now, his cravings didn’t have fear to feed on. No fresh panic in her sweat, nor the terror in her pulse, just her own pink thoughts.

Only Kate left. Warm, enticing, still choosing this. Choosing him.

He wanted to be proud of her, and honestly, he was. But right now, pride came tangled in everything else — his need, the restraint, the hunger, the shame.

Because when she tilted her head like that, throat still bare, eyes calmly watching his — he wanted her again. In skin, heat and flesh.

He hated himself for it. The kiss may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but it had undone him. Glancing away, his tongue pressed hard against the roof of his mouth to keep silent.

Thread. Needle. Skin. Stitch. Thread. Needle . .

He tried to find a semblance of control while his lamb just lay there. Was this still about the healing — or just another excuse to brand her, claim her, carve his name into every place she'd let him close?

She finally sat up, slow and stiff. He backed up, deeper into the shadows, his claws now tearing into the nearby bark as he got one last breath of her scent — so warm, so close — and moved away, determined to guard her on her walk home but far enough away where he wouldn’t lose the little grip on his hunger he had.

Chapter Text

She crouched low in the brush, watching the tree line shift with the wind. Every part of her body ached, but tonight, she had a plan.

It wasn’t the best plan, but it was something at least.

She tightened her grip around the stone in her hand, then threw it to her left while darting right. It clattered on the tree branches on the ground she was aiming for, and for a few seconds, she thought she was in the clear.

Snap. A twig cracked behind her. Of course he saw through it.

The air shifted as she attempted to pivot, but his arm was around her ribs before she could blink. She landed hard, her body sprawled across the roots of a moss-covered tree. When she twisted, every muscle in her body screamed danger.

The Butcher’s silhouette blocked out the sky, looming over her like a gargoyle statue in the dark, watching her.

Her lungs burned already. She breathed heavily, the first run always the hardest for her. But she was determined.

Then he stepped forward, and she shoved herself back, flinching at the same time, imagining the knife fall though it didn’t move. She froze, more in self-anger than fear, her eyes popping the orange before swirling with the black and red.

He watched her for a moment, his eyes missing nothing, then he was gone.

She got herself up. Time to try again.

This time, she doubled back, tried to use the gully as cover. It wasn’t the best plan, but maybe . .

She got thirty seconds, maybe forty this time. Too fast to track, arm grabbed and her body slammed against a leaning birch tree. Bark scratched at the back of her shoulder.

This time, she didn’t flinch, at least not until the blade rose to her neck. She sucked in her breath.

“Still smell like the feast you used to be,” he murmured.

Then he was gone.

Her eyes swirled with red and black, before going completely red. She was tired, her side ached, her feet were sore, but her rage burned hotter than either. She ran with purpose, skirting the creek bed, keeping one hand on the mossy trunks as she moved.

She heard him, close and loud, and she spun at the last second — before he hit her. They tumbled, her knee striking dirt, his weight landing beside her instead of on top. The blade had been stabbed into the ground since he had it out when he landed, and he pulled it out hard, flinging dirt everywhere. 

She nearly whimpered because of the look on his face. It was maniacal, the grin the biggest she’d ever seen, but almost murderous.

This time, he grabbed her and shoved her against the stone slab behind her, his blade hovering inches from her cheek, his teal eyes completely mad. She held as still, trembling, but held her ground, though everything screamed at her to escape. The blade hovered by her neck, and his eyes widened as he actually nicked her neck, and she hissed in surprise, not expecting to actually get hurt.

Suddenly she fell, his weight no longer supporting her, and he was gone, her knees crashing into the ground. Her adrenaline was going haywire, but something else was pushing down on her from behind, and she turned, her thoughts on Bob dissipating. 

The area behind the stone screamed at her, she was too close. This was where the forest did not want her in, like it was their sacred place, and the trees seemed to lean in, agitated.

She got up, and backed away from the clearing behind the stone slab, thankful that at least Bob hadn’t shoved her in there accidentally. It may have allowed him free passage, but for some reason, it did not like her.

She couldn’t say what it was. She just knew.

Kate was getting smarter. And he hated that it excited him, his prey shifting from being only reacting to moving, thinking, tricking like him. And yet, every flinch still landed like a blow to the gut, though he masked it well.

Every time she failed, it was twofold. The Butcher, hearing his prey’s footfall, eager and circling, and Bob, ashamed by how good it still felt to chase her, to plow into her and pin her down, having her helpless beneath him.

He’d eaten before. It should’ve been enough. But by the third hunt, when she spun on him, almost fast enough to dodge, actually knocking him off balance, something had reared his head. He’d pinned her against the old stone slab like he’d done to others before, with far worse intentions, hard enough to bruise, though his hand shot out on instinct to catch her head before it hit the stone.

She held. He almost forgot why he was there — she wasn’t supposed to be his kill. She was his lamb.

She’s still prey, his hunger whispered. Make her break. 

And then he let the blade close in, nicking her, the orange in her eyes blooming like a splash of wildflower. The scent of her blood nearly got him to slice down, to start his butchering.

He left immediately, knowing that he broke the rules, and that any longer in her presence, and he’d do something he’d never be able to take back.

Now, crouched low near the ravine, his claws dug into the earth again. Bob felt the old rhythm in his chest, the one he used to always follow. Stalk, lure, cut, feed. Except this was someone that he didn’t want to cut. Not like that. Not her.

But his tongue still remembered the taste of her blood, that cut on her ear from the ferris wheel where he brutally licked it clean, taking all his power not to tear on the edges of it. And the surgery, when he’d cut her to save her . . her blood shimmered, clean and warm and of home, and he still wanted to sink his teeth into her thigh, open and inviting.

And tonight he cut her again, and every inch of him wanted her. Right there, the butcher lines overlaying his vision, and his body almost obeyed. He clenched his jaw, staring at the dirt.

She needed to believe the shepherd could guard his lamb through the night . . without dreaming of the feast she’d once been.

Chapter Text

She woke up late again. Her legs ached, but just from wear. She sat up slowly, running her fingers down her scars — her abdomen scar was so faint, and her thigh scar was just slightly raised. The scars no longer bothered her.

She dressed in silence, dressed, and looked around. The room felt colder tonight. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday — not really. She’d gone straight to bed, but his cot was unused. She had no idea what that meant.

By the time she opened the back door, night had already swallowed the yard. The forest yawned wide and deep, entertained by her attempts to escape the Butcher. She was certain of it.

It did still seem perturbed by her near trespass of its inner sanctum.

Don’t worry, I am not trying to go there, she muttered under her breath, but the trees seemed to relax at those words.

Ok then.

She moved smart, ducked low, used the rock tricks, doubled back, redirecting sound, a hard left past the moss tree to mislead him. Her strategy was there, but he was more tonight.

She heard no breath, no feet, no twig cracked, when he slammed down on her from above, knocking her into a sprawl of wet leaves. His claws grabbed her shoulder, and the other shoved her face-down into the dirt, incapacitating her.

She felt it immediately. Something was off. His breathing, his weight, his grip . . 

When he yanked her up again and spun her into the tree, his grip on her shoulder became punishing.

She blinked up at him, gasping — and for the first time since the beginning, she saw it. The hunger in his teal eyes. They were practically glowing, and eyeing her like she was already on the table to be sliced.

He drew the blade and slashed her arm, surprising her into pulling back, cradling the gash. Just shallow enough to sting. His eyes followed the line of red, his tongue running across his teeth.

The blood slid down her forearm, but he didn’t speak. Just stared at the rivulet of blood.

She shook because she could see all of it — the tremble in his fingers, the way his jaw clenched, the way he was breathing . .

He was fighting himself for control.

Control to not slice her limbs and snack on the open ends.

Control not to stab her in her arteries to get the most gushing, delicious blood she could give. 

Her legs were ready to run, but she knew that would’ve been the worst idea.

It would’ve triggered him.

The Butcher stepped forward, almost like he didn’t know he did. Her back hit the tree again, and his claws gripped the bark aside her head, spitting tree bark on her hair. 

The blade rose, his eyes narrowing in on her cut.

Her heart pounded so hard, she thought it might crack her ribs. Her eyes were swirling colors, all over the place.

She then whispered, barely more than breath, “Shepherd.”

He froze. Like it struck something deep — beneath the undying hunger, the butchering. His body didn’t move, but after a moment he narrowed his eyes, before gripping her wrist. The one that had blood running down it.

He pulled it to him, pulled her to him, his teeth grazing her skin, hot and shaking, breath catching on her pulse, the slow slide of canines against the edge of the wound. His tongue slid along the cut, tasting the blood, his eyes pinpricks.

She shook, but kept still.

Suddenly he growled and shoved himself back so hard his shoulder hit the nearest tree. His blade fell to the ground, and he breathed like he’d just ran a mile. He stared at her, his eyes flickering, until it was back to teal, and he’d pinned her to the tree again, her bloody arm trapped in-between them.

His claws pulled at the cut, and she couldn’t keep the keen out of her mouth from the sting of it, which seemed to enliven him even more. The blood flowed, warm and slow, and his eyes burned, like blue coals stoked by hunger.

He held her wrist in a vice grip, his claws opening the cut more and making her whimper. She involuntarily pulled back, but he had her. He lifted her forearm to his mouth and latched. His teeth in the cut, and the pressure between both upper and lower jaw starting to increase, his tongue running along what of the cut inside his mouth.

She fell into him as he lifted her arm higher, and she knew . . she needed to do something, or else he was going to tear her cut apart and swallow. His teeth was already starting to tear — slowly, only because he’d been holding back.

“My . . shepherd,” she gasped, the words barely sound.

It was instant. Every muscle in his body locked. Then he shoved back, stumbling, and she saw what he was feeling for the first time she’d ever seen.

Terrified.

He almost bit her. No — he already was tearing at her flesh, lapping up the blood he made worse by opening up the cut more.

And she didn’t scream, didn’t cry, though the pain was obvious. She offered up a lifeline, soft as prayer.

My . . shepherd.

How could she say that?

He staggered back, nearly tripping over a root. His breath came in short, wild bursts, his mouth still open, trembling, trying to gain some semblance of sanity.

He could still taste her. Copper, warmth, her.

His knees hit the ground, his body shaking, his claws clenching his own thighs like tearing at them might make his guilt go away.

I’m not staying blind.

You’ve given me something pure. I won’t let it die inside of you.

He wanted to rip these memories out of his skull — he was not worthy of them. Because she still looked at him like he was hers. 

My shepherd . . it echoed in his head, the mockery of it, the last chance of a lifeline, and it pulled him back. She had brought him back from the brink, and that was what undid him.

He had wanted to stop, to keep her. Her blood was still on his lips, and she just stood there, cradling her injured forearm, watching him. Her beautiful, innocent eyes were flushed with the lightest yellow he’d ever seen, and his mind was too scrambled to think.

I just . . like you.

His eyes nearly cracked with the tears threatening to flow. His heart was breaking from his own misdeeds, his mind going over everything that was her, her love to him that he had wanted to devour instead of treasure.

Bob, Bob, no, please don’t . .

He was drowning in his own hell.

Chapter Text

Kate saw him breaking apart. Not anger, but becoming wrecked from the inside out. It was like a switch had flipped — she had put all her love into that word, and he was destroyed.

It hurt her to see him like this. It didn’t matter that he almost lost control. This was . . he was her shepherd, and if this was the only way to keep him grounded, here with her . . then so be it.

She took a step, one foot at a time. He didn’t react until she’d knelt in front of him — far enough that he couldn’t push her away, but close enough that he could feel her presence, like a ripple in still water — when his features tightened.

She reached out ever so slowly and brushed her fingers against his knuckles where his claws were clenched tight into his leg.

He flinched like her touch burned him, but he didn’t pull away.

“Come back,” she whispered, soft and quiet.

His breath hitched, then slowed down, like he was trying to breath through the shaking.

“I’m still here,” she added softly, ever so softly moving her fingers along his knuckles. His hands twitched, his self-hate overwhelming, so she reached out and took one of his claws.

They laid lifeless in her hand, refusing to close around hers.

“Come home with me,” she said, and this time, she spoke firmly.

He lifted his head only then, his eyes barely visible.

She was in her own pain seeing him like this. Didn’t matter how bad the pain was from the chasing, or the bite. This was him breaking, and she had to make sure to keep the pieces together.

And maybe he finally realized that, because when she stood, still holding his hand, he rose too. And she led him home, through the trees that seemed sad, past the diner lights came into view, flicking like a quiet lighthouse in the dark. She led him to the side door, unlocking it with her key she had him make her, and brought him to the back booth that she always sat at, where the light was softest and the world felt furthest away.

She sat, still gingerly holding his hand and placed her other palm up on the table, looking up at him with that strange light yellow color of worry for someone else, and waited.

After a long minute, when his skin turned pale and the horns disappeared, he sat down across from her and placed his non-clawed hands into hers, shuddering.

And she held him there in silence.

Kate didn’t speak when they finally went into the den. The silence was encompassing, soft, gentle around her. They reached the bedroom and then he dropped her hand, standing forlornly in the doorway. She just limped softly to the bed — his bed — and sat down.

Her fingers found the blanket automatically, but she didn’t curl in, just kept watching him. He stood there, his breathing becoming more steady, but the pain in his eyes just wouldn’t go away. She slowly adjusted so that her legs were under the covers on one side.

“It’s cold,” she simply said, watching him.

His eyes widened, almost fearfully, but she kept her eyes steady on him, the soft green peppered through her eyes. Once she’d made it clear she was serious, she turned and tucked in, facing away from the door.

And then, a shift in the air. She felt the heavy, careful footsteps before the mattress dipped behind her, slow and hesitant.

She hadn’t felt the familiar weight in weeks.

He simply lay there, hands still, afraid to touch her.

She ever so slowly breathed, exhaustion finally hitting her. His breath evened, and the tension in the mattress softened.

For the first time in weeks, they fell asleep in the same bed. 

Bob woke up to warmth — real, close warmth.

And for the first few seconds, he didn’t remember why — the familiar weight across his side, the gentle breath at his collarbone, the softness curled up against him like nothing had happened. Then her scent hit him.

Kate’s arm was draped over him, her hand curled against his chest like it had always belonged there. Her forehead pressed just under his jaw, their legs tangled, her knee resting lightly against his thigh.

He didn’t move, couldn’t even breath fully. It’d been weeks since he’d gotten to feel this treasure of a moment. They used to sleep like this, back in her bed in her house. Before the Butcher revealed himself.

This . . this was the first time in his own bed. And she’d come to him. Asked through actions. Now she was here, asleep beside him, breathing slow and steady. Her arm was across his ribs like her body still remembered the rhythm of being safe with him — even if her mind questioned it. He should have felt peace.

Instead, he felt an ache stabbing pain, right behind his ribs, because he’d been so close.

Her blood — his doing. His desire — his failure to stop.

My shepherd, she had said. And it’d worked, anchored him down. But she deserved someone who didn’t need saving — someone safer than the monsters she’d already escaped.

He didn’t deserve this. But he stayed perfectly still, letting her sleep. Letting himself feel her relaxed, warm, real, close self.

Just for a little longer.

Chapter Text

The next day was a rainy one, with many of the diner attendees standing inside just to keep from getting soaked. The floor was slick, the air muggy, and people were starting to complain.

That is, until Kate went through the masses, offering water, a sit down while they waited for the rain to let up, and wiping down the chairs and booths to keep them comfortable. She’d put on one of the worker’s spare outfits so she didn’t seem like a complete stranger, and it helped to put them at ease.

It was driving Bob nuts.

Her golden hair tied up in a ponytail and under a red cap, her eyes with a touch of green, the way she filled in the uniform was making his possessiveness crawl on the walls. The dark blue shirt and red apron followed her curves, and the way she smiled . . 

It should only be for him.

Slam. He slapped the patty down a little too hard, making him feel minutely better. Why did he agree to this?

She’d wanted to help, and today was a day he actually needed it. But seeing her smile at others in his diner’s uniform that she looked absolutely gorgeous in was straining his patience. Especially since the last few days had been so . . calm.

He’d open the diner like he needed to, and once the coffee was brewing, he’d heard her come up the stairs, awake way too early for how tired she should’ve been. But it was like she needed to be awake.

She’d smiled at him, and though he’d just smile back, his insides would be floating in the sky out of joy that she’d smiled at him again. He was a goner, he thought, thinking on the way she’d grab the cup he’d poured for her, cradle it before she started sipping it, and her whole body would melt with the heat, oh he was gone. 

And during the night, his heart hammered in his chest as she’d watch him, eyes saying everything without words — I need you. 

And he obliged every time, lying down before stretching his arm out for her to lay on, and she’d curl into him like old times before rest took her quickly.

He knew the black in her eyes wasn’t gone yet, but he was selfish — he wasn’t going to lose those moments for anything. And perhaps, it’d wear down that shame, the way he ruined her just by existing in her mind.

“Tsk,” he burnt his finger, not paying attention to the meat he was cooking. Just plain, boring cow meat. The rest of the “specials” were his backup foods, but his stash was starting to dwindle.

“Ow ow ow!” A male’s voice from the diner floor sliced through his thoughts, and he glanced up to see Kate gripping a teenager boy’s ear and twisting it, and he was crying out, “Stop stop I won’t do it again!”

“It’s a bad idea to pinch any girl,” Kate said sternly, and he felt his teal eyes center on the boy. “Let alone trying to pinch my behind. You get me?”

“No no, yeah, I won’t do it again,” he whined, before Kate finally let go of his ear, making him stumble back into the wall. Everyone was staring at her, incredulously, though the women’s eyes were more proud than anything.

Breathe, breathe, she handled it, breathe . . 

It was taking everything not to mark the boy for his next night time snack. He shoved the image of her asserting her authority to block him out, and for some reason . . it made him feel even hungrier. Bob blinked his eyes open, shook his head, then sent the next batch of patties out.

It was nice feeling useful again. Although that kid put a bit of a damper on her shift, she was enjoying helping the others. They didn’t give her a real job — they continued to serve the customers while she assisted with the people hiding from the rain, or bussed the tables. Which was totally fine.

Bob was in the kitchen today, having to help the line cook, and although she missed actually getting to spend time with him, she kept her mind busy with the work.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that the rain let up enough for those that were stuck in it to leave, and they were all smiles and thank you’s when they left, and she exhaled deeply. She was not used to this.

“Thanks, Kate, that was real sweet of you,” Terry patted her shoulder on the way out, and she smiled in relief.

“I’m glad it helped,” she replied, then turned to thank the employee for letting her borrow the uniform, but they were already gone. She shrugged, then grabbed a bucket and mop to clean the floor.

It was a nice change of pace, something domestic, something normal. She felt bad about not going back to the candy store for her job yet, but she wanted to take a swing at working here, helping Bob out.

Her eyes were on the wet floor, dim diner lights above her, so she didn’t see the movement behind her.

“Gotcha,” Bob rumbled as he snatched her up, bridal style, and she yelped in surprise as he spun her. His smile was infectious, and her eyes lit up a bright green, making his own smile bigger.

“Your eyes are just so goddamn beautiful,” he blurted out, and she blushed hard as she fake-punched his shoulder.

“Put me down, you brute,” she said as she laughed, and he obliged. She grabbed the mop, and started cleaning it to put it away. “Just gimme a sec.”

He grumbled, but waited patiently as she went and put the supplies away. She was about to close the broom closet when she felt his presence behind her.

“What is—,” she turned half-jokingly, but then froze, realizing that his eyes were looking at her with want.

“Kate,” he rasped, and she suddenly realized how little control he’d been holding on to. “Please let me kiss you.”

Her eyes swirled pure pink, and she blushed hard knowing exactly what her eyes did. She gripped her arm for a second, before placing her hand on his chest. With that, his arms wrapped around her as he gripped her head and kissed, like he’d been drowning without her lips on his. She had forgotten how it’d felt, and her mind was swimming, spiraling out of control as his tongue played with hers.

“Oh god have I missed this,” he murmured against her lips before lifting her against the closet door, his mouth adjusted to go deeper, and she almost keened at how good it felt.

He suddenly picked her up completely, adjusted so he could keep devouring her mouth, and started walking. Her mind wasn’t coherent enough to pay attention until she heard the latch.

She’d heard that latch before.

She pulled back, and realized that they were in his office again, and memories of their last alone-time in there made her blush even harder.

“Bob?” She turned her head to ask why they were there when his mouth covered hers again, and she forgot words entirely. His large hands were holding her head and her waist against him, and she moaned into his mouth as she forgot everything for the moment.

“You,” he started to growl as he pulled back, his eyes teal, “are impossible to not look at,” he set her on the desk, arms on each side of her caging, gripping the table in need, “when you’re wearing my diner’s uniform.” He trembled as he kept standing like that, his eyes moving up and down her body, and the yellow popped up in her eyes.

He gripped her chin, and she gasped in heat. “Please . . . let me touch you.”

She couldn’t move, her mind barely comprehending what he was asking of her. She closed her eyes for a moment, before the tiniest of nods.

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for her answer, and she felt his arms go around her neck. When the apron fell, she realized then what he was doing.

He was unwrapping her.

The buttoned navy blue shirt underneath he undid each button, before pulling it off her, and she kept her eyes closed, knowing that if she actually opened them, she’d melt or lose her mind. Then her bra fell and the cold air brushed against her breasts, and she exhaled, not realizing that she’d been holding her breath too.

“Let me warm those up for you,” he murmured before his mouth was on one, and she arched, the moan involuntarily pulled out of her as he sucked and tasted.

“Ah, Bob . .” She couldn’t form words, and he then switched sides, making sure to give equal attention to both. She moaned, biting her lip. “Oh, Bob,” she said in a soft whine, and then he’d unbuttoned her pants and stuck a single finger in her, and she fell back onto the desk, the sensation not one she’d felt in a long time.

“Bob,” she whined, arching as he slid another finger and pumped them in her, all while his mouth continued to taste her breasts. Another moan as her nails dug into his arms, and she went over the edge, the combination of claim and need overwhelming her. He didn’t stop, and she tried so hard not to moan any louder.

But she lost control.

“Bob!! Oh god, Bob, I can’t, ah!!I” she started to scream in unbidden pleasure, unable to stifle the sounds as she broke apart again and again.

“You don’t need me inside to break for me, do you, lamb? Just my hand. Just my voice. That’s all it takes.” She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her, almost reverently, as she arched in the lightning that was his fingers pulling every single sound of hers out. Her hands tried to grip the hand owning her, but the other one pinned her hands above her head.

“Mine. Even like this — especially like this. Every breath, every sound, it’s mine.”

“Bob,” she keened, unable to function, unable to think, but only his name.

“Say it again, sweetheart,” he growled as he changed angles and added more, making her twist in overwhelmed nerves. “I need to hear who you belong to.”

“You,” she gasped, and the blood in his ears thundered. “I . . belong only . . to you . . “

She felt his hand slide out, and she could finally breathe, his hand splayed on her stomach as he trembled from her words. The blood was ringing in her ears, and she almost didn’t hear him, she was still in the high. 

“Every sound you make is a gift, you hear me? Every damn one.” he lowered his head to the crook of her neck, softening everything that was him, his hold on her other wrists. She curled into what she could, as his own unraveling surrounded her, and her hand lightly raised to run the back of her knuckles along his cheek. She could feel the tension in his shoulders — how every muscle was braced like he was the one trying not to come undone.

“You’re ruining me, lamb,” he whispered, his touch now gentle, soft like she was something that could vanish any second. “Don’t you see you’ve done?”

His jaw tightened, and his fingers still trembled as she wrapped her arms around his head, running slow, steady strokes through his hair.. “I could’ve taken. Instead I’m here — giving.” He didn’t pull back, or speak more. Just pressed his mouth to her collarbone like he needed something to anchor him back down. For a while, that was all there was, his breath ghosting against her skin, him leaning down as she lay on the desk still, him still clothed, but shaking.

“C’mon,” she whispered, brushing her thumb over his jaw. “Let’s go to our bed.”

His eyes flicked up, like he was surprised by the offer.

“I mean it,” she said. “Are you really going to make me sleep alone after that?”

For a second, he didn’t breathe. Then wordlessly, he shifted to stand, helping her off the desk and draping the open shirt around her shoulders, and guided her down to the den without a word. The weight of what had just passed between them hung thick in the air — but so did the warmth. At the edge of the bed he hesitated.

She climbed in first, then turned and held out a hand. This time, his fingers didn’t tremble when they took hers, though his eyes couldn’t say the same. When he settled beside her, still dressed, she tucked herself in close and smiled contented.

“You’re mine too, you know,” she whispered, and in answer, he wrapped her close, tucked his face into her hair, and breathed her in like all the dark in him had been waiting for a reason not to swallow the light.

Chapter Text

It was a week later. She waited until night fell.

Bob had gone hunting, probably two towns over, so for now, the coast was clear.

It’d only be to pick up something from her house. Super quick. 

Just in case, she left a note, basically saying she went to her house and was coming back.  Then, she slipped out the back, hoodie zipped up, every step soft and deliberate. 

She stayed just out of sight, weaving behind fences, crouching between houses. Her old place wasn’t far, but it felt like another lifetime. The neighborhood hadn’t changed, but she had.

When she reached her street, she went through the side fence gate and crept into the overgrown side yard. At least her key still worked in the back door. She wondered if Bob had intimated the landlord not to evict her.

The door creaked open, and she slipped inside. Ten minutes. That’s all she needed.

She had locked up the back door and was halfway down her side gate path when she felt the chill. And then a sound — one bootstep, slow and heavy. 

She froze, a deer in headlights. Ooooh shit. 

“You left without asking, little lamb.”

On the other side of the gate stood the Devil Butcher, his mouth salivating as he tilted his head, grinning dangerously. 

Her blood turned to ice. Was he . . in that state of mind or no?

“Shepherd?” she asked quietly.

Instead of answering, he moved purposely towards her, herding her back to the house like prey. She turned and bolted to the side—

A clawed hand slammed the wood beside her head. She was immobilized in fear and shock, as she glanced sideways at him. 

“You snuck out. In the dark. When something like me is loose?”

Her breath hitched. “I left you a note,” she whispered. 

He didn’t respond, but continue to stare at her. 

“And I thought you were in another town.”

“I was.” He leaned in, mask inches from her face.

“But then heading back, I saw movement in your house. And I knew you didn’t just sneak out. So I followed the pull, the pull that is the string you tie around my ribs every time you breathe.”

She was shaking, trembling because fear had melded into something else — and he knew it. “You walked away from my bed, darlin’. Thought I wouldn’t notice?” His hand slid down the house wall, fingers grazing hers without force. “You’re lucky I found you first.” His other hand found her hip and pulled her against him, like the claim it was. 

Her whole body was burning, burning, every nerve going haywire touching him. “I—I’m sorry . .”

His other hand gripped her hair and pulled her head back, leaving her neck defenseless. He leaned down, her heart hammering as he rumbled, “You’ll be sorry when I’m done with you, darlin’.”

Her knees nearly buckled, before he shoved her towards the back door. She backed into it, pulse thundering like a trapped animal. He continued his steady pace. “Keep walking,” his voice was deep and low, so low that the depths of hell quivered. 

She fumbled for a moment opening the door, then stepped back inside. Her house, once a safe haven, now felt like a trap. 

He stepped through the doorway, eyes lowered in dangerous thoughts as he turned to her. “Lock the door.”

She didn’t move.

“Now.”

Her hand moved before her brain did. Click. Dammit, that Butcher voice was really strong on her. Now she was trapped inside with this cannibal who looked like he’d eat her in various ways and hadn’t decided on which way yet. 

He gestured toward the hallway. “Bedroom. Go.”

“Bob—”

“No. You don’t get Bob right now. You get me.”

That made her swallow her breath. This is him. His real self. Her feet padded down the hallway as he followed, one step behind, never touching her, but close enough that he could grab her at any time. She pushed the bedroom door open and he caught it with one hand, forcing it wider, following her in.

In a blur of motion, she was lifted and tossed onto her bed, her back hitting the mattress, a puff of dust rising. When she glanced up, he was at the foot of the bed, half-shadow, his eyes catching little moonlight filtered through the window. She held back a scream, even as the familiar gleam of the blade caught that same light.

He tilted his head. Smiling that smile. Then he climbed the bed.

The mattress shifted under his weight, but she didn’t move. She was frozen as memory of him about to slam the knife into her overtook her. He straddled her hips, slow and silent as he twirled the knife expertly in one hand.

He could smell it on her — not blood, but adrenaline, the kind that curled up inside bones and screamed to freeze. She was waiting to for him to finish what he started the last time he was the Butcher on top of her.

“I remember that look,” he murmured, never forgetting the danger that he was to her. He lifted the knife in the same fashion, his smile growing wider. “Eyes on me, darlin’, not the knife.”

Her eyes widened, her breathe frozen in time. Every muscle tensely still, and yet . . her eyes lifted off the blade to look at him.

His grin widened, his eyes devilish. “Good girl,” he rumbled, before leaning in and pressing the knife flat against her collarbone. She hissed when the cold steel touched her, but didn’t move else wise.

He noticed. Oh, he loved that about her — the fear still in her limbs — but the trust refusing to flee. He could feel the pulse beneath her skin slowing, bit by bit, as she continued to choose to stay still in a room with the Butcher.

The Butcher leaned down, nose brushing against the curve of her cheek. “There’s my girl,” he whispered, almost reverently, as he gently traced the back of the blade down from her sternum down to the inside of her thigh. Her breath hitched, her doe eyes round and wide, but she didn’t bolt. He watched every twitch of her muscles, every flicker of her eyes, and reveled in it.

“Don’t worry, lamb,” he purred as he turned the blade ever so slightly, the sharp edge kissing her inner thigh. Just pressure. “You know what I am,” he said. “And yet . . you’re still here.”

He didn’t push any further, because he was treasuring the moment; she was giving him everything, her trust, her fear, her utter submission.

That’s the way it was always meant to be. Utter possession of her, body and soul.

Running the blade up again with the flat side, he then went over her head and placed it beneath the pillow.

“You went back to your shed amongst wolves without your shepherd,” and she clenched her eyes shut, trying her hardest not to let out a sound. Suddenly the back of his hand was unnervingly still against her cheek.

“Tell me, little lamb. Did you miss me? Leaving the safety of my den?”

Her throat felt tight, her heart pounding louder than she could think. If she even opened her eye a crack, she’d melt, this was doing things to her, and his eyes saw it all.

After a moment, she gave the slightest of nods.

He went still. “Say it,” his voice echoed.

“Yes,” she complied, “I missed you.”

She felt the way his fingers curled, restraining himself to pin her down and do worse things. Instead, he slowly moved his hand to her jaw, lifting her head up a touch so she was facing right at him.

Vulnerable. His.

“Say that again, sweetheart,” he breathed.

She swallowed, her voice trembling. “I missed you.”

She heard his uneven breathing, and opened her eyes to see him staring at her reverently, like she was something sacred, making her blush.

“Why’d you come here?” He quietly asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

“I needed something,” she whispered.

“You only ever need me.” His clawed hand slid beneath her shirt, feeling the shape of her ribs, her soft curves, the heart that pounded in fear or anticipation.

She arched, just slightly, pushing her breasts more into his claws. Enough to let him know to take what was his.

He leaned down, his face heating up the crook of her neck, just shy of his teeth touching, breathing her in. “You smell like mine,” he murmured. “Like you finally remember who you belong to.”

Her thighs tensed, her body turning slightly in the flush of feelings. She knew she must’ve been losing her mind. “Then take me,” she said, voice trembling. “Do what you want with me.”

The ultimate submission.

He growled as his claws gripped her hips as he dragged his teeth along her soft neck, her squirming underneath him. “Shouldn’t have said that,” he purred in her ear, the squirming invigorating him before he tore her shirt off and found the next soft spot to taste.

“Shepherd!” She cried out as she gripped his horns, her body working its hardest to leave no space between them. She whined as he switched breasts, his tongue bruisingly claiming with tongue and teeth. She wasn’t ready for the mouth on hers, his claws ran through her hair for full control of the kiss. 

She was his, and nothing would ever change that.

Turning her sideways, she bucked as his hand slid down her stomach, his claw sliding in her unabashed, his smile getting wider. She fell back on him as her back arched, losing all control as his other hand slid up her body, feeling every inch of her until he gripped her breasts and squeezed her against himself. 

“Did you know,” he purred, a shock of pleasure going straight to her core hearing the Butcher’s terrifying voice, “that lamb is one of the most succulent and tender meats to eat?”

She twisted like a cat in heat, her mind gone as the pleasure he’d built up exploded. When she could somewhat be coherent, his claw had been licked clean, and he was filling her up with him. Again she arched, trying her hardest not to scream but his grip on her throat let it out.

“Don’t you hide what’s mine,” he growled in her ear as he shoved her down into the mattress onto her stomach, and she couldn’t hold back the screams as he took and took.

This was the Devil Butcher, playing with his lamb that he’d been teasing for months, and now had her in his claws, finally free to taste and enjoy her fully. His way was intense, claiming, and completely meant to make her submit.

“I could carve my name into you, and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” He growled. He leaned down and bit her shoulder, and she bucked, her mind going white again as he brought her to the edge again and again. There was no defense, no fighting it, only submission of everything that she was, and he was devouring it, gripping her throat so they were inseparable. He slid his teeth along and moved up to her neck, and the kiss there was bruising, final, his.

When he gripped her hips to him and held them, she felt his release, and she leaned back for every part of her to be touching him. He had been on such a high that he pressed her harder against him, their heat combining into an inferno of lust and trust. When he let go of her hips, she only barely noticed that the claws were now human, as one caressed her arm, her nerve endings extremely sensitive that she jumped.

“Hey, don’t—“ she started, but then he flipped her over and kissed her words away, drowning her in pleasure and heat and him. When he pulled back, his smile was intoxicating, and her eyes were lit up pink and green.

“Oh, darlin’,” he murmured. “No one else gets to see you like this. If they try . . I’ll take their eyes.”

Her eyes laughed at him, seeing the love speech of the Butcher as it was — promises.

Chapter Text

Her alarm woke her.

The soft trill sliced into the dark, and her arm moved instinctively to shut it off. But the second she stirred, a warm arm slid around her waist and pulled her backward—against bare, heated skin.

She froze.

She knew this. This exact moment. She’d lived it. Too many times.

Terror surged through her. Her body tensed like a cord pulled taut, eyes wide and locked on the ceiling. She didn’t dare look. Didn’t dare move. Didn’t breathe.

Not again. Please not again.

Her fingers dug into the sheets, trying to remember when she’d finally escaped. But she couldn’t. All she remembered was waking up, and something was wrong. Something was always wrong. Bob rotting. Vomiting up body parts. Claws. Knives. A voice behind her ear whispering nonsense.

The alarm had always come first.

She clawed at the arm around her waist, desperate to tear free. “No, no—get off—stop it—!”

“Hey, hey—shh. It’s me!” Bob’s voice cut in, too real, too solid—but so had the voice in the dreams. “Darlin’, it’s okay, you’re safe. It’s me.”

She twisted away from him, rolling onto the floor, dragging the blanket with her. Her breath came out in shallow, panicked bursts, scanning the walls, the bed, his face.

Bob was already sitting up, hands open, not moving closer. Watching her like she might shatter, a wild panicked doe surrounded by wolves.

“Kate,” he said softly. “What’s wrong?”

She grabbed her hair and shook as she had done this already. The alarm. The hand. The shower. The claws. The blade. The rot. The death. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t—

“Kate,” Bob said again, slower this time, not approaching. “You’re not dreaming.”

“I am!” she yelled. “I’ve been stuck—it keeps starting again!” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It was real. It smelled real. I felt your neck break. I saw your body rot. I saw ghosts—I saw the Butcher—I—“

Bob was quiet, his expression stricken. He’d never known what happened when she was asleep during those eldritch-poisoned dreams.

Her terror-stricken, blood orange eyes stared at him. “It was like the first morning we woke up together. But each vision ended with something worse, something terrible, and that damn alarm,” she scrambled up then and slapped the alarm off the nightstand, her whole frame shaking, “would be the start of every single vision.” She clenched her eyes shut, stepping backward. “Oh god, oh not again—“

She felt his burly arms wrap around her, and she tried to writhe out of it, but he had gotten her around her waist. He backed up until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and he could encase her better. “Shh, shh, this isn’t a vision, Kate, I’m here . . “

“You were always there,” she cried, the tears finally falling down her face as she started to sob. “Your blood always there . .”

He simply held her, encasing her with his warm and his softness, and after a long while, she started to run out of tears, and he kept his hold her tight.

There was silence before she spoke again. “So I couldn’t sleep. That’s why. That’s why I refused to sleep all those days.”

Bob kept quiet, rubbing her head now.

“Why did that happen to me?”

Bob froze, and Kate’s tears instantly stopped. “Bob,” she said sternly, knowing full well that anytime he froze like that, he knew something. “Tell me why it happened to me.”

“You . . were somewhere you weren’t supposed to be,” he finally said, choosing his words carefully. “And broken glass from something evil shattered around you, and I didn’t realize until later when you’d almost scratched your skin off.”

She pushed his arms off, and turned, backing away. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He sighed. “It . . would take a lot to explain it all. And,” he paused, his eyes in pain, “I need to think over how to better explain it, because . . “ he looked away, “I don’t want you to know it.”

She watched him, her eyes’ completely grey. “Then I’ll give you time,” she finally said. “But,” she willingly went back into his arms, “just hold me for now, until my heart can finally breathe.”

And he did just that.

The Aekheruun, or the eldritch pocket dimension that Eyes resided in, was weak, powered mainly by his stability, which was lacking as of recently — especially with how much Father had drained of him at the last ritual.

He’d expected so much more with an eldritch god at his command. But it was his choice to take the newly born one from the Tree in the Woods.

Now he had to contend with another unknown — that woman. The one whose soul was too much for Eyes’ soulshards. 

Eyes only had the energy to do this ritual once every decade, and she ruined it. He needed that soul-energy to bring himself back to this plane.

He floated there, half visible, although his purple eyes were still dead, haunting. He was contemplating, because Eyes wasn’t going to manage to make the summer solstice ritual worth anything.

Father, why not wait until I regain strength? Eyes spoke.

No, Father snarled. Your contract is nearly at its completion, and once it is, you and I . . will be free.

Father, I know the truth. The words were quiet, resigned.

Father laughed as he turned, a horrid deep thing. Good. Then you’ll not be surprised when your branches twist into ash and your eyes fall from the skies.

Eyes said nothing. Yet the silence bent. A soft wind stirred the broken leaves around them — unnatural, curling in on itself.

Is . . another . . choice.

Eyes shuddered, his eyes now white, the words having flowed through him, but was very much not him.

Her . . eldritch . . blood.

Father’s head lifted sharply as something started to click in his mind. You . .

Need . . two . . contracts.

His eyes finally regained their teal hue, and he slumped, as tired as before.

Father grinned. You’ve been holding out on me.

Eyes simply slumped there, ignoring him now.

Father wasn’t angry, though. He was delighted. Someone’s helping me, he murmured to himself. Some ancient thing. Yes . . his fingers curled. They see what I’m owed. Thinking over the words, it clicked.

The girl of eldritch blood, with too much soul to be taken by one of Eyes’ shards.

Of course. Of course. Both contracts, he whispered to himself, smiling with malicious intensity, already knowing which two he would need. Yes, that’s the way.

The wind whistled away.

Chapter Text

The silence between them was soft, edged with the kind of quiet that begged not to be disturbed. Kate leaned by the diner window, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders as Bob finished cleaning up the diner, legs tucked beneath her as she stared out at the stars — pinpricks in the sky.

“He used to say he watched me through the stars,” she said softly.

By the counter, Bob didn’t move or blink as his knuckles turned white against the ridge of the counter.

“I told him they made me happy. Therefore he made me happy.” She smiled faintly. “Isn’t that stupid?”

He turned, so slowly like even the movement was too loud. “Who told you that?”

His voice was too low, too level, but Kate didn’t notice. “Hmm? Oh, Eyes of the Universe is what he said he called himself. I just say Eyes.”

Bob’s spine straightened with a tension that seemed to lock his bones into place.

“He found me hiding from Alan one night, by that old house on the hill. I couldn’t go home, and he kept me company. He then brought me down under the house, like in the hill.” She gave a short breath of laughter. “He sounded so sad, so lonely.”

She didn’t notice the way Bob stepped forward, one slow step and another, like he was a toy solder trying to walk. “Now you must think I’m—“

“How do you know that?” He asked, his throat tight, barely making it out.

Kate, finally hearing the abnormal tone, looked at him, the flicker of confusion on her face obvious. “I . . I asked him if he was alone down there. He said no, but none are like him.”

Bob stared at her like she wasn’t real. “And he didn’t hurt you?”

“What? No, why would he?” Then, she coughed, saying wryly, “I mean, I’m dating a cannibal, so I guess my standards are skewed.”

He didn’t laugh. “He hurts everything his branches reach,” he spoke, low, his eyes never moving from hers.

Kate’s brows pulled together. “That doesn’t sound like . . .” She froze. “I never said branches.”

Bob kept staring at her, unmoving.

“The . . the last time I heard him,” her head tilted, worried look on her face, “I was on the Ferris wheel, trying to talk to him. He . . he had something that hurt him. Tried to hurt me. He screamed in my head, and that’s when it started to rain.” She scratched her head. “I—I went to go find him again, to see what was hurting him.”

Bob didn’t speak, he sat on a chair nearby, like his legs stopped cooperating. His eyes dropped to her side. “You remember that I had to cut you open, right?” he said, too quietly.

She blinked. “The glass shards, you said, right?”

He nodded. “They weren’t glass shards.” His jaw twitched. “They were shards from a soul shard grown from Eyes’ bark while runes pulled his energy into the shards.”

Silence. “. . What?”

Bob’s gaze met hers, steady and weight now. “Then they find sacrifices to fill up the charged soul shards on certain nights, when the stars are aligned a certain way.”

Kate’s heart missed a beat. “No, that’s — what do you mean?”

“There’s a cult,” Bob said, “who worship Eyes, and feed him people that he can drain their life from, and so that he can be strong enough to create the soul shards for certain individuals to gain his power.” He exhaled sharply. “You were number four.”

Kate’s eyes were swirling orange, and somehow grey. “How do you know all this?”

Bob’s breath hitched. “Remember that deal I talked about before? It was through the cult.”

Her eyes widened, her breath caught.

“And when I figured out where you snuck off to, I knew they were going to try to sacrifice you,” he continued. “But then . .”

“What?” Kate asked, seeing the hesitation in his eyes.

“You were stabbed,” Bob said, this time his voice skipped a note. “But then . . the soulshard they had for you . . exploded. And then you were not stabbed, so I grabbed you and ran.”

She pressed a hand to her side, stunned. “And the shard pieces got in my thigh and abdomen.”

He looked away.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Bob’s voice was dry. “Same reason I didn’t say I was the Butcher.”

A moment of silence, as she digested the information.

He stood up too fast, the motion cracking the silence. “I don’t know what this means,” he said, his voice rough now, like it scraped against something raw. “No one but Father . .” He froze.

She stared at him, blinking, thinking. “The shadow that hurt Eyes?”

Bob, his voice unsteady, nodded. “You shouldn’t be able to reach out to talk to him. Anything part of that world is suffering and wrong.”

Her voice dropped. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Bob hesitated. “There’s someone I used to know,” he switched subjects, ignoring her question. “Who helped me . . adjust my contract.”

“Someone?” She echoed.

“An eldritch tree. The Tree in the Woods, the Tree Entity, he goes by different names. He’s much older than Eyes.” He didn’t look at her while he spoke.

She opened her mouth to ask something else, but he cut in. “Maybe . . maybe it’s a good time to see him. You could talk to him, and maybe he’ll explain what’s happening . . and what happened with you.”

“Is it . .” She shivered. “. . the center of the forest?”

Bob nodded. “We were hunting near there.”

She shook her head. “Oh, the trees don’t want me there.” She paused, realizing what she just said. “I mean, I always get the feeling that the trees don’t want me there.”

“They’ll let you in,” he said, even if he wasn’t sure. “He’s not cruel, but he is an eldritch monster, so if he doesn’t talk to you, it’s okay.”

She didn’t answer right away. “Okay,” she said softly. “If you think it’ll help.”

He finally looked at her, trying to see what else could make her tie to the eldritch more obvious. Anything that touched eldritch was broken, cursed . . including himself. “We’ll go tonight.”

Chapter Text

The forest was quieter than usual. No wind, no rustling, just the crunch of dirt under their boots and the long stretch of silence between them. Bob hadn’t said a word since they left the diner, not even when Kate asked if she should bring anything. He’d just grabbed his coat, checked the knife at his hip, and nodded toward the back door. The cold bit at her ankles, and the deeper they went, the more the trees leaned inward, like they were listening.

She could feel the resignation in Bob’s posture, the shield he was putting up. She couldn’t understand why, but she was hoping this . . Tree would help answer some questions. She barely glanced at the trees they were walking by, like they were glaring at her for some reason.

You’re lucky he wants to talk to you, they seemed to say.

By the time they reached the stone slab, she was on edge. Something was very wrong with Bob. He’d never done this to her before, shutting her out like this. The feeling of a barrier passed crossed her shoulders, and she shook her head, suddenly feeling heavy and didn’t want to move, but Bob wasn’t slowing down, so she kept pushing herself forward. The trees seemed to lean away, and the dark ground started to gain a touch of light as they moved closer. When the clearing opened up, the stars above seemed impossibly far. The trees were taller than possible, and she grabbed her arms, not liking the feel of it. It felt too . . Stagnant.

In the center was a tree with a face on it. It wasn’t ginormous, but it was old, and she felt its judgmental gaze on her. The trees closed behind them, Bob finally stopping quite a bit away from the Tree’s roots.

“Tree of the Woods,” he spoke reverently, though it was tight, forced. It was obvious to Kate that he did not like having to be here. “I’ve brought someone who —“

Who talks to monsters like any other person? She didn’t like how it spoke, deep, growling, and Bob stiffened. His mouth seemed to move, but it didn’t line up with what came out of his mouth.

Before Bob could respond, it spoke again, addressing Kate. Remnant, why are you here?

She froze, confused as to the name he called her. Then the memory slipped away and she shook her head. Bob said that you could answer questions? About Eyes?

Bob stared at her, and she figured he didn’t like being put on the spot in front of an eldritch entity that he really seemed to not like.

What is it that you wish to know?

She narrowed her eyes, completely oblivious to Bob’s harrowing expression. What kind of contract is Eyes bound by?

The Tree ruffled his leaves like it didn’t like the question, and she stepped back. And what do I get for giving you information so freely, echoborn?

Those mysterious names were really bothering her, but she couldn’t keep her mind on it at all. She tilted her head. I want to set him free. Would that not be reward enough? Your own being free instead of being used?

You speak of matters that do not involve you, flickering one, the Tree rustled again angrily, and she glared at him, suddenly her anger coming to the forefront.

If it involves Eyes, I need to know,” her voice echoed as her eyes turned into a well of white, and the Tree suddenly was still. Not even wind could be felt or heard. 

My apologies, Herald of Unmaking, he spoke, the tiniest disdain, and she almost was confused . . until she wasn’t. You know very well that my kind do not like what you represent.

She tried to comprehend what he was saying, but then she answered like she didn’t think at all, no warmth whatsoever. I ask again, Warden of the Anchor. What is he bound by?

He was but just a child when the contract was made. He thought himself clever, making a contract with the human that raised him. Now he is bound to give of himself, the Tree seemed to breathe, until there is nothing left.

And you did nothing? She replied, barely noticing Bob flinch. While your child was used—

I was the one who gave him to the human, the Tree interrupted, and she gaped. 

You did what? Why?

I foresaw the end.

You watched the end, she snapped, the stars reflected in her eyes now. You rooted down and whispered of duty while he broke beside you.

Your flame burns what it cannot hold.

And your silence damns what might have been saved.

The Tree shuddered angrily. You were meant to pass through, unrooted thread. Not fracture things.

I am the fracture, stillroot.

There was a pause, full of trepidation and unspoken things. She clenched her teeth, forcing off the angry words she was conjuring. So he is bound to . . Father?

Just like the creature standing next to you.  

She glanced at Bob, and the next words died in her throat.

He was staring at her in horror, his entire demeanor closed towards her.

“Did I say something wrong?” She started, but he flinched away from her. 

“Don’t . . Don’t you know what you spoke?” he said, cautiously.

“Uh, what, specifically?” She asked. “You were standing right there, didn’t you hear him talking?”

Bob’s eyes felt icy cold, and she shrunk back. “You were speaking eldritch.”

She blinked once, then again. “Come again?”

“You were speaking eldritch, Kate!” He yelled, and she cringed away, completely confused. 

She was just speaking English, wasn’t she? Her eyes swirled in yellow and blue, and she took a slow step toward him. “Bob, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not—“

“Why does it speak to you in eldritch?” He snapped, gesturing towards the Tree. “Why does it answer you when you speak? Why does it let you yell at it? It’s not a coincidence, Kate!”

She froze, the cracks inside her starting to widen.

“Did you always know you were one of them?” He asked, too fast now. “Is that why you survived? Why the soulshard cracked instead of killing you?”

Her voice trembled. “Bob, I don’t know, I didn’t—“

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “That was rule number two, wasn’t it? No lies. You had to know something. You’ve always known something.”

She stepped back, the bark of the Tree behind her somehow, and she wanted to move off the coldness, but Bob was blocking her. “I’m not lying,” she whispered.

But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was glaring at the Tree, where her breath had shaped into unnatural sounds and something ancient responded as if they were equals.

“. . You’re not human,” he whispered. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know anymore. It was almost worse. He took a slow step back, then another, the look in his eyes present through his whole body. Fear, the fear of being wrong about her, of finding out the one thing he let himself love was a lie.

“Bob—“ she started, reaching out.

But he turned and walked away. Not quickly, just deliberate. Like something inside him had shut off, and all he could do now was leave before it broke him.

The clearing felt colder now. The sky above looked farther away, as if it too had withdrawn. Kate stood where Bob had left her, her back still pressed against the bark of something ancient and unmoving. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides — like if she focused hard enough, she could keep her chest from cracking open. Instead of letting the feeling of her sorrow take over, she turned her head, just slightly, and looked up at the Tree. Its face was motionless, carved from root and time and silence.

You know, she murmured, her voice rough from the ache in her throat, for something that calls itself an anchor . . She swallowed, gaze sharp. . . you’ve caused more drift than you think.

The wind didn’t rustle. The branches didn’t answer. The Tree said nothing at all. That silence told her all she needed to know. So she turned her back on it, slowly, deliberately and walked out of the clearing. Her boots whispered over the moss, the barrier feeling colder this time, like it was relieved she was gone. And still the Tree said nothing.

The darkest of the night was upon her, and yet the stars brought her no comfort. It’d been the very stars that had pushed him away, after all.

Chapter Text

Kate sat on the floor of her bedroom at her house, knees pulled to her chest, still wrapped in a blanket. She hadn’t even taken off her shoes. No lights, no power — just the way she wanted right now.

She hadn’t planned to come here, but the diner felt like a cold tomb that refused her, especially after the look on his face. Not after the way he backed away like she was something else.

She tried to remember her speaking, but she couldn’t differentiate from herself speaking English to whatever the Tree spoke. But even her words were like grabbing fog — the only thing she could recall was the contract bound to Father. And saying that Bob was also bound to him. Her hand crept to her side, where the faint scar was that he’d suffered his cravings just to fix.

It was only then that she started to cry. It wasn’t sobs — just the kind of tears that slip loose when your body gives up holding them. Silent, heavy tears, like her life soaked out of them.

What had happened? She couldn’t even pinpoint what set him off, but that horrid look on his face, that voice turned against her . . her heart was breaking into the tiniest of pieces.

The dream was quiet. Not the false silence of sleep, but the real kind — the stillness of starlight on an empty plain. Cold wind stirred grasses that had never known seasons. The sky blinked above her, too large, too alive, like it was watching her back.

Eyes, she whispered, her voice cracking.

He tilted his head, the branches barely visible in the sky. You are sad?

She nodded. I am not . . me. I didn’t mean to be something else.

He didn’t speak at first, the wind blowing across the grass. You are not something else. You are everything you were made to be.

Made? But I didn’t know, and now he—, her throat closed. She looked down at her hands. He thinks I’m lying . . or tainted. I don’t even know what I did.

You spoke with the Tree.

Kate nodded slowly.

You used the old tongue. You bled light into a place meant for darkness and roots. His head tilted again, distant. The Aekheruun sang with your mother’s voice.

Kate looked up, startled. My mother?

Your soul has been reborn many times, but it did not start on the ground here. You were broken off — from someone older than the sky. You are her echo. A pause. Her gift.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she folded forward, fingers pressed to her eyes as the sob broke loose from her chest, heartbreak curling in on itself. How can this be a gift if the one I love turns away from me? She whispered.

The stars looked sadly at her in response.

What do I do, Eyes?

You be yourself. Like we are ourself.

And then she woke up. Alone in the sunrise.

What if her love was never hers, but a pull from something else — something older — designed to calm monsters like him?

The poison in his mind spread to everything she’d touched, given, or said. Was she just a soulless husk where an eldritch ancient hid? Kate wouldn’t even be lying, because she wouldn’t know she was just a puppet. And it meant that that world never went away. Just followed him home in a softer voice.

Everything went through his head like a movie show, the first nights he saw her, the way he just didn’t want to kill her just yet, even her blood when he had a taste, it had felt . . too right. What if it wasn’t just her eyes that saved her? What if it was an unseen power, or blood designed just for him? He gritted his teeth and paced, the den cold and barren of life.

He’d smelled eldritch before . . on the others, on Father, even Eyes had a scent, of emptiness and moss. But hers . . it had smelled like home.

His gut twisted, and he nearly doubled over with it. What if her blood had made him submit? To spare her? What if Kate had never really existed? Or was something just wearing a woman’s mask.

If it was true . . then he wasn’t in love. He was bound. Again. His breath hitched. And for the first time in years, Bob didn’t trust the hunger in his bones.

The bell above the door chimed as she stepped inside, the smell of sugar hitting first — bright, artificial, safe. She just smiled at Kevin, who’d looked at her like she was a ghost, before going and giving her a hug. She asked for the closing shift for that night, then if she could have Kelsey’s old midday shift, and he agreed.

She put on the pink apron that she hadn’t worn in months. Everything here was small, colored glass jars, little plastic scoops, marshmallow bins. They didn’t ask anything of her. When it got late enough, she leaned against the counter and watched the lights flicker outside, the reflection in the window barely looking like her — older, quieter, safer.

Safe was better than being alone. Wasn’t it?

You're going to lose her.

Bob twitched, jaw clenched, Eyes’ voice in the dark of Bob’s skull. It was just his voice, cold and steady, and he woke up in a cold sweat, snarling at the air like it lied to him.

Chapter Text

Bob stood in the dark. Empty void, flat, the world having gone silent. It had been another empty day, another night where the hunger called, and yet . . here he was, asleep again. Then a soft hum started — the sound he recognized as the cultists’ hymn to call Eyes.

The stars that suddenly appeared looked down at him, faded and dim, but he could see the branches stretching across now, across the void.

Bob’s fists curled. “No.”

No? Eyes echoed, voice distant.

“You don’t get to be here. You—“ Bob’s throat closed. “You ruined her. Whatever she was . . whatever she could’ve been.”

A long silence. She is not what I am.

Bob’s voice caught.

And she was never mine to ruin.

Bob growled, stepping forward. “You did something to her. She speaks like you. The Tree spoke to her. She—she isn’t human.”

No. She is something much more precious. Someone that the Tree wants gone. She . . is Heart.

Bob froze.

She was never meant to wear power. She was meant to carry love. That is her shape. Her name. Her nature. And that nature was drawn to you.

“No, she manipulated me. Just like you did. You always —“

I am considered an infant among eldritch, a foolish one at that. I tame monsters, make them obedient. The skies seemed to enclose him tighter. Tell me, Butcher — when has she ever tried to tame you?

Bob opened his mouth, then closed it.

She never made you behave. Never demanded you be better. She saw all of you — and stayed. That was not my doing. That was hers.

Bob’s hands were trembling. “But . . everything that she is . . is eldritch . .”

And you are not?

Bob couldn’t answer.

She is not me. Not the Tree. Not Father. She is something that does not fit your rules of monster or human. She is Heart, the Everchanging, the Chaos Creator, the One Who Loves. She gave you her heart. A pause. And you left her bleeding with it in her hands.

Bob’s vision blurred. He couldn't breathe.

So now ask yourself — did you love her? Or did you just like the sound of the word Shepherd? A thousand blinking eyes closed at once.

And then Bob woke up — gasping, covered in cold sweat, her name in his mouth. His hands clenched emptiness, and the space beside him in the bed was cold.

Kate sat up. The air felt wrong . . like it wasn’t there, like the sky was overtaking her room.

Eyes? She whispered, feeling him close.

Branches rustled in response, but no sound.

She stayed still, suddenly just tired of all the emotional drain she’d been going through. She was tired of crying. She was tired of her heart being broken.

It was a while before he spoke. She gives herself away, you know. Not all at once. But in shards. Fragments. Gifts.

Kate furrowed her brow. You mean . . my mother?

Yes. Her name is Heart. She walks between stars, touches dying worlds, and leaves behind pieces of herself — souls meant to live. Not to rule. Not to devour. Just to love.

Kate looked down at her hands. So I’m . . one of those pieces?

You are the echo of something old, and the start of something whole.  

But I’m not her.

No. But you are loved by her, and made of her. And that is enough.

She started to cry, quiet, small tears that curled down her cheeks like threads. How long have you known?

When you were on the altar, and all were blinded, I could see. Her Aekheruun is not a rooted place like mine — it moves with her, and so she appeared to heal your wounds, and the knowledge appeared in my head. He rustled his leaves slightly. Of who she was, what she is. Eyes moved a touch, his presence closer to her. You are not broken.

Kate cried harder.

Eyes tilted his head, the eyes a softer blink. Rest, little fire. You are not done shining yet.

The darkness folded inward like petals, and she woke with tear-stained cheeks — and the faint scent of green, moss, and stars.

The bell above the door jingled. Kate glanced up from where she was reorganizing the licorice, but it was just a kid this time, no taller than the countertop. His hood was up, shoes a size too big, dragging a stuffed bear by one arm. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said softly. “You're out late.”

The kid shrugged. “Mom said I could pick one thing.” A pause. “It’s my birthday.”

Kate smiled — real, if small. “Then we better make it the best one.”

He browsed with the careful gravity of a scholar. Kate didn’t rush him. She crouched near the gum-balls, pretending to restock just so he didn’t feel watched. Eventually, he padded up to the counter and set a single caramel on the glass. His fingers lingered beside it.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

Kate nodded. “Of course.”

The boy leaned in and whispered, “Are monsters real?”

The breath caught in her chest.

Her mind showed her blood on bark. Eyes blinking in the stars. A blade against her throat. A man she loved flinching away like she was the horror.

She could lie. She could laugh. But she knelt to the boy’s height instead. “Some are,” she said gently. “But they’re not always the kind you think.”

He blinked at her. “Like . . not in closets?

“Sometimes they hide in crowds. Sometimes they wear smiles. Sometimes . . they don’t even know they’re monsters yet.”

The boy nodded solemnly. “Can you beat ‘em?”

Kate smiled again — this time cracked, but full of something older. “Sometimes. And sometimes, if you love ‘em hard enough . . they stop trying to be one.”

He handed her the caramel. “Then I’d rather you have it.”

The bell rang again as he left. Kate stood behind the counter, staring at the glass door long after the street had gone still again. The store was quiet. Her chest ached. But her tears didn’t fall. Not yet.

Chapter Text

He hadn’t planned to linger. Bob left the bagged up sweet cake on the counter like a ghost — silent, unseen, and a coward.

It was the one thing he remembered her always reaching for on long nights. Something calming, sweet.

Like she used to be, before him.

No note, no sound, just a quiet bell and a retreat before he could think better of it. He waited outside, told himself it was just to make sure no one else came in. He’d leave soon.

Then he saw her round the corner of the back counter, holding a bag of licorice.

She froze at the sight of the bag, like it was a trap come to eat her . . like it couldn’t be real. She put the bag of licorice on the counter and stared at it some more. Then she slowly reached for it. Hesitated, then picked it up like it might vanish, ever so slowly.

And when her fingers found what was inside, she crumpled.

No dramatics, no sobs, no wails. Just a drop to the ground, like the ache in her chest finally outweighed the strength in her spine, her shoulders shaking as she stared at the ground, her eyes saying all.

The deepest purple he’d ever seen.

The gut punch to his heart was immense, seeing her in so much pain because of him. He did this to her, turning his back on her in the middle of the forest. The gravity of what he’d done to her was starting to slam down on him, and he almost felt like his ribs cracked from the pressure.

It overwhelmed even the hunger.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, leaned against the counter, and closed her eyes, the trembling of her entire body wracking her.

And Bob ran like the coward he was. His mind eating itself alive as the imagery of her face when he snapped at her, when he turned and left her — instead of standing next to her to face whatever it was they found out together.

He had been the monster all this time, and when the chance that she might be one too popped up, he abandoned her.

He abandoned her, his lamb, oh gods. .  He didn’t care where he went. He just needed to be away.

Her heart kept breaking over and over as she held the sweet cake bag on the walk home, it reminding her every second of him. The times where this meant something special to her.

Now it made the dagger already in her heart twist.

How . . how could he? The tears silently fell as everything spun. Just try to appease her with . . with something that instead reminded her of what was lost?

Rain droplets started coming down, and she almost felt relieved. Misery, rain, and heartbreak always went together. It was like the sky was crying with her.

She got home bedraggled, worn, and wrung out. She had let the tears flow the whole walk home, knowing that holding them back wasn’t going to do her any favors. Even the thought that he was probably watching her as she walked made her heart scream in agony.

She wanted to find a grave and bury herself in it.

Opening her door, she trumped in, boots and clothing soaked. But she didn’t care. Now she was miserable both in and out.

Good. 

After exchanging soaked clothing for comfortable pajamas, she sat on the couch and stared at the affronting bag she’d placed on the table there. 

What was she supposed to do now? She sat there for a while, before the thought came across her head. So . . she can speak eldritch. But what else? What else did that mean?

She tried to contemplate what Eyes had told her, but it was like sifting sand — the questions that needed asking, she couldn’t hold them. She was starting to get frustrated, holding her head as she tried and tried again.

“Dammit!” She yelled out, throwing her arms up. “Why can’t I even remember what I did?”

Her eyes alighted on the knife rack in the kitchen, and a thought actually stayed.

Is . . is my blood different?

She slowly stood up, walked over to the kitchen, and pulled out the small paring knife. She recalled one time when Bob was going over the different types of knives, and she remembered that the paring knife was the easiest to control for small cuts.

She stared down at her left hand for a moment, then sliced across her palm. She hissed, but didn’t react otherwise.

The shadows in the living room gripped the wall, cracking the doorjamb.

Kate spun, eyes red with fury, her hand stinging. “Why do you think it’s okay to be in here?! Leaving a memory and not even showing your face?!”

The shadows didn’t look at her as the red claws pulled back, though the teal eyes in the darkness didn’t leave her bleeding hand.

“Bob, answer me,” she hissed, having already put down the paring knife and covered her hand with the hand towel. “Why are you here wit—with an eldritch thing?!” She spat, backing up, her eyes purple and red swirls, the tears flowing unhindered. She looked away, the hurt in the heart plain as day on her face. She glanced at her hand, and it bled normally. Looked normal.

She let out an exasperated yell as she threw the hand towel across the kitchen and slid down to the floor against the wall, holding her head with her now bloodied hands. “I can’t . . I can’t even remember, even wh—when I try, it’s like . . “

The shattered sobs took over, and she curled in the corner of the kitchen, sobbing, no longer caring what or who was there. 

It didn’t matter anymore.

A large human hand gripped her wrist, and she pulled back, fighting as she flung herself back. “No, no no you don’t get to just sneak in here an—and just . . “ she couldn’t continue, her eyes meeting his. He was crouched in front of her, his eyes unblinking as he held the wrist of her blooded palm, not letting her pull away.

“Please. . “ she turned her head away, still trying to pull back into herself, into her safe cocoon. “Don’t hurt me anymore.”

She was pulled away entirely from her corner into a cage of arms on the floor, and she screamed-sobbed as she tried to shove the arms off her. But Bob enclosed her in his overbearing arms, cocooning her in his warmth, and just let her beat him, scream, everything that her heart needed to do. She was no longer coherent, her attempts to keep her pain away from him failing entirely.

It wasn’t long before she had exhausted herself, and just lay there, held in his arms. Once, they had felt like home. Now, they felt like a cage, and how dare he hold her like he cared?

“Why,” she whispered, the tears slowly dropping now. “Why are you here, Bob? To torture me some more?”

She felt it. The break. The moment his arms trembled, his head in the crook of her neck, and his whole body broke.

He was crying.

She froze, absolutely confused, and her heart still wanting to comfort him. She couldn’t . . imagine why . . 

“I did this to you,” he spoke through clenched teeth, and the pain in his voice was visceral. “I left you when you needed me most, and I just — it was the worst mistake of my life and I’m—I’m so sorry, darlin’ . .”

She stayed frozen, her heart on guard, and still angry, but like the space of time before a jump, she waited.

“I let . . my own fears, my own imaginings poison my mind, and. . I . . oh gods,” her neck was wet with his tears, and she could feel the absolute devastation in his bones.

“You’re . . you’re manipulating me,” she said softly, and he took a large inhale.

“You don’t have to believe me, or forgive me,” his arms squeezed her tighter, someone who could vanish any moment. “. . I don’t deserve either.”

It was silent aside from his sorry attempts to quiet his own shaking sobs. She slowly ran her left hand through his head, the cut starting to scab up. He trembled.

“You still think I’m a monster.”

“Like I have any right to even entertain the idea,” he murmured, his own self-depreciation evident. “Even if you were something else, I should’ve . . I shouldn’t have just left.” He finally leaned up, and their eyes met — her reddish spots in a well of blue sea and his normal ones. “I should’ve listened, not just shove your heart into the dirt.” His eyes moved to her cut hand, dried blood on it.

She just kept watching his eyes, his face, trying to figure out the deceit. She’d been in such pain the last few days, she couldn’t just . . believe him, no matter how badly she wanted to. “You don’t feel like home anymore.”

His entire body froze, before shaking like his bones had heard the most devastating thing. His eyes went to the floor, and he gritted his teeth.

“And you smell like pain. Like acid that burns through my heart, every time I’m near. I— I don’t know . . “ she whispered, each word a blow he took head-on. “I don’t know if it can be mended, Bob.”

They sat in silence for a moment as they both just existed next to each other, her watching him while he clenched his teeth, his tears slowly stopping as he tried to get it under control. She ever so slowly raised her hand and rubbed the back of her knuckles to his cheek, and he broke all over again.

She had never expected to see him like this. Even if he was faking it . . no, this wasn’t faking. Alan would fake it, and she always gave him the benefit of the doubt, but this . . it felt different.

“You know I did everything I could so I didn’t ever have to see you, right?” She whispered, and he didn’t answer, but she could feel his tremble. “Picked a shift where going and leaving you’d be working, locked all my doors and windows — load of good that did — but at first it worked because you didn’t . . didn’t want to see me.” Her eyes had a touch of green as the blue started to go away, the red spots diminishing. “What changed?”

He didn’t respond at first. “Someone . . someone got it through my thick skull to see you, the one I knew, instead of the one I was imagining. And to realize that you will never be like them, and I should’ve known better.”

She trembled, her heart still raw. “My heart is still angry with you,” she said with no spice whatsoever. “And home is where I’m supposed to feel safe. And my home . . my shepherd,” he winced, “left me alone with an eldritch entity that . . .” Her voice faltered, as something seemed to flow over her eyes. “I . . I didn’t like him . . he . . he is different from . . .” She gripped her head, shaking. “What did I forget? Why would I . . I don’t understand.”

He watched her grapple with thoughts that flowed away like the purest water, and her frustration, and he grabbed her wrist gently, her eyes now wild with confusion and anger at herself. “I . . I don’t think you’re supposed to remember.”

She blinked, and the tears welled up again. She was so sure she’d run out already. “But . . I need . . I needed to know why . . why I scared you . . .”

“It was how much I loved you that scared me, sweetheart,” he said quietly in response, looking down again. “And my fear that you didn’t actually love me back.”

“Well that’s stupid. Of course I love you back.”

He glanced up, and they both kind of snorted in mirth. Hearing it said out loud was like pulling poison from a wound. He continued to hold her on the floor, her muscles slowly relaxing, yet still on guard just from the stress of the last few days.

It was late when she spoke again. “Fine,” she said, and he glanced at her. “I’ll give you another chance. But,” she paused as his eyes seemed to liven up, “I’m staying here for now. Until . . until I can go back . . go back there.” She couldn’t say home. “And get out of my house, Bob.”

He laughed, and she froze, her guard back up, until he just sniffled. “Gods, I don’t deserve you.”

“I know, but you need to leave,” she responded playfully, shoving at him. “I need time and space from you. But maybe . . “ she said softly, “. . maybe there’s a chance.”

Chapter Text

Dammit, I couldn’t even hold out a week.

She had a hard time concentrating on work, especially since all she could think about was the heated conversation a few nights ago. Bob had been walking her home, looking absolutely destroyed every time he looked at her - there came one point where she pulled him down gently and kissed him, just to soothe his nerves because although they weren’t where they were before, she’d softened towards him and was working towards trusting him again. 

She knew it was foolish to be so nice so quick, but she just didn’t have the heart to make him suffer further from her wrath - he’d come crying for goodness sake. 

This man of steel, of butchery, of murder, felt safe enough to be soft with her, vulnerable and to be at her mercy. 

Tonight though, he was going to stay later since it was a longer night and her shift ended a little earlier, so she walked herself home. She’d went inside, the sun just now starting to settle. It wouldn’t be too long, maybe half hour before Bob said he’d stop by with dinner, and she didn’t say no. It’d be the first night he’d gotten to stay a much longer period of time than like that first night. 

Knock. Knock.

That was an odd knock. Maybe his hands were full?

She walked to the door and opened it wide. 

He had a to-go bag from his diner, since he had to stay too late to walk her. He didn’t think he was going to have a repeat of that one time, but a guy can dream.

But when he got closer, he noticed that the porch light wasn’t on. She always had it on when she stayed here, especially after seeing the Butcher so many times.

Narrowing his eyes, he stepped onto the porch silently and listened.

No sounds. Complete silence. No one seemed to be moving inside. Maybe she was already asl—

His eyes dropped to the slightly ajar door. His blood ran cold before he gently pressed the door open. No lights were on, and nothing seemed to move. The first thing he noticed was that her coat was still hanging, and it was a chilly night.

On instinct he crouched, sniffing the air. The faintest tang of chemicals hung in the air. Sweet, sharp . . .wrong.

Though he never used it, he knew chloroform. 

His skin was red and eyes wide teal before his phone buzzed. Searching for clues, he’d ignored the first call, but the second one he finally answered.

“Butcher?” Frank, the ice cream van driver who had a particular habit of stealing kids, sounded panicked. Their alliance was very much a pair of predators that didn’t overstep turfs. “Dude — someone just saw a girl get yanked into a car near Kate’s house. Not conscious. You’re . . you’re not with her, right?”

The Devil Butcher didn’t answer right away. “Where,” he spoke harshly, yet quiet.

“Near the old bridge road — headed out of town. Some white sedan . . I’ll come grab you.”

Before the Butcher had closed the phone, Frank had already pulled up next to him, van already running, like he’d been waiting around the corner. It wouldn’t have surprised him if he was, since this area was one of his haunts.

“They can’t have gone far,” he said, watching the Butcher slide into the seat like a panther enraged. “There’s only one gas station for the next twenty miles, and I got the tip about ten minutes ago.”

The Butcher’s claws gripped the edge of the dashboard, claws scraping gouges into the vinyl as Frank gunned it.

Where was she?

The darkness, the silence penetrated her, and she tried to move around, but her wrists were tightly bound behind her. Her ankles too, bound together. The gag in her mouth, the blindfold, it was starting to feel suffocating. She then realized that she couldn’t hear anything. 

Ear plugs, or ear muffs. She was blocked by everything but touch. 

Enlivened by this, she rolled herself around, hitting wall end after wall end. The slight but steady bumps meant a car. A trunk. 

Only one person she knew would chloroform her and toss her into a trunk like this. 

Dammit, Alan! He must’ve been waiting for her for how long? Waiting until she was alone, the Butcher predisposed. That’s why he hadn’t waited until night.

You’re not gonna intimidate me this time, Alan! I’ve been handling a serial killer cannibal for months, you’re NOTHING compared to him.

Using her feet, she turned her body as she felt with her feet as best as she good, until she was pretty sure she’d found the trunk lid. She lay on her back, knees bent as she readied herself. 

Bam. She kicked like a mule, having to use all her core muscles to get strength behind the blow. She kept kicking the door, taking a rest when her muscles screamed, her abdomen scar burned, but it wasn’t long before she felt the lurch of the car stopping.

Figuring that even if he heard her, she may still get someone else’s attention, she kicked again.

He was dead. 100% he was going to slice him up, eat his organs, and tear his eyes out, all while he was still conscious. 

When they made it to the gas station, the van lurched to a stop, and no one at the gas station caught the shadow that moved like a lumbering mastiff, watching everyone’s movements as he walked around the side of the gas station, noting that there was only one other car in there.

Thud.

His head swiveled almost like an owl, hearing the strange noise coming from near one of the gas pumps. 

Thud.

There was a beaten up Corolla at one of the pumps, and he saw some dark haired male leaning into the passenger side, before pulling out a rag. 

Thud.

When the male straightened up and turned towards the trunk, his eyes turned that terrifying teal, sighting his prey. 

Don't worry, lamb, he’s never going to bother you again after tonight. 

When he saw Alan open the trunk, chloroform rag ready, he ran towards him, his butcher knife already in his hands. 

Alan whipped back as her bound feet nearly collided with his head, choosing a bad time to open the trunk as she blindly kicked. Alan, now livid, tore at her hair as she managed to pull herself to the edge of the trunk, her scream muffled by the tight gag. 

The chloroform rag landed on her face as he dropped her, her falling to the ground painfully from him suddenly letting go as the blade swished where his neck had been, the Devil Butcher’s smile deadly, his eyes promising pain.

“So funny that the slut’s got two guys pining for her,” Alan snarled, backing slowly but circling the car. “I wonder if you even knew she was double-timing you.”

“Who ever said there were two?” The butcher smiled, and Alan caught on immediately, his eyes widening in shock. “And I make sure to make her screeeeeam,” he licked up his blade suggestively, his expression downright maniacal, “in more ways than one.”

“You bastard, she’s mine! She’s always been mine!” Alan attempted to pull his gun, but couldn’t get a grip as the towering monster sliced at his wrists, and managed to get a clean swipe on his right. He attempted to use his other hand, but then he was knocked back, the gun knocked away, and the butcher knife sliced through his shoulder to arm. In that moment the butcher shoved him against a pillar, gripping his shredded shoulder while he slammed the knife into Alan’s chest, tearing the ribs apart.

Alan tried to scream as his chest was being carved out, but the blood overflowing his throat made him gurgle, and the Butcher had stuffed his claws into his chest before tearing something out. 

Alan’s last moments were watching the Devil Butcher literally eat his heart out. 

Chapter Text

Looking down at the insect’s butchered corpse, he licked his claws, before he spun and went back to the open trunk. His lamb, bruised and bound, was still lying on the hard ground unconscious from the chloroform rag still on her face, and, putting away his blade, he quickly lifted her, her dead weight making his own adrenaline-ridden heart to beat quicker. 

Her wrists and ankles were bound tight, gagged and blindfolded and even ear muffed. He snarled, absolutely livid to see her like this from another man. 

For himself in the bed, it’d be a delicious look. 

He held her against his chest, uncaring that Alan’s blood was getting smeared all over her, her breathing shallow through the gag. Frank had already fueled, having distracted the cashier inside as long as he could, and was ready to drive. Bob opened the side door and got in, settling in the back by the axle while Frank took off back to town. 

Their alliance was at times uneasy, but Frank did find it beneficial to keep himself off the kill-list. And aside from his proclivities, he was a nice guy.

Bob couldn’t stop staring at her swollen face, her bruised abdomen that was barely visible from her torn shirt. His claws tenderly moved her matted hair aside, and he felt . . relief that she was safe now. 

She didn’t stir as he cradled her against him, her body twitched faintly, poisoned with remnants of chloroform. 

Suddenly she jolted awake, and the first thing she did was pull her knees in to her chest and attempt to mule-kick him, swinging her head right after to try to slam either her shoulder or her head into her captor. Bob chuckled as he deftly caught her ankles, gripping her waist to keep her still, as she kept using all her might to buck and get a blow in.

Good little lamb, he thought, the drooling starting to flow as he held her helpless. She was fighting to get back to him.

She twisted like a wild animal, head whipping, still trying to slam into him. A growl of pure fight tore from her throat, muffled by the gag. 

“Easy, lamb,” he murmured softly, but he knew she couldn’t hear him.

She continued to writhe, her nails digging into his hoodie, trying to claw out of his grip. She was sweating, biting the gag until her lips bled. Then she froze mid-swing, mid-buck, as his drool — hot and slick — had landed on her cheek. She blinked behind the blindfold, and stopped moving. 

Another second passed. Then another before she slumped sideways, her head resting against his chest. Her breathing slowed, recognizing the hold, the feel of him. The monster holding her wasn’t the same one who took her. 

“. . Shepherd?” She whispered, barely audible behind the gag. 

Gods would he never forget that name again. He held her tighter, his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in, his fingers twitching from having the first chance in a week to hold her like this. He slowly moved his hand up to pull the blindfold from her face. Her eyes blinked in the dim, flickering light of the van’s interior. Her eyes were the softest green, and he couldn’t stop falling into them. 

Her voice cracked through the gag, too soft to understand, and he unsheathed his knife and brought it up to her face. She stayed perfectly still as he sliced the gag, then her wrists, then her ankles. Her eyes fluttered, relief and exhaustion hitting her like a wave, and she curled into him, her small hands grabbing the front of his hoodie like a lifeline, burying her face into it.

Bob leaned back against the wall of the van, his claws wrapped around her, knowing that he was never letting her go again. 

“Your gal’s a real fighter, huh?” Frank commented from the front, and Bob’s smile got huge, but didn’t answer. 

Kate still didn’t move, her cheek pressed against Bob’s chest, her hands clutching the fabric of his hoodie like it was the only stable thing left in her world. He wasn’t sure if she was asleep, or just spent — either way, she was calm now. 

“Why do you have so muc . .” she started to ask, before she gasped and shut her mouth, and he laughed, knowing that she had put two and two together. He slid off the earmuffs.

“I told you he’d never stay alive after what he’d done to you.”

She trembled. Of course she’d wanted him dead, the grit in her teeth proved that, but she was still not a killer — she could leave that to him. “Thank you,” she whispered, and Bob felt the most extreme and overwhelming sense of happiness spread over him, and he held her tighter, kissing her forehead.

“Hah, he’s a jealous one, ain’t he?” Frank’s voice jarred from the front, and Bob practically snarled at the interruption. She looked up at him with a curious look, mouthing, “Frank?” to him, and Bob narrowed his eyes as he covered her head in a possessive hug. He felt her chuckle, and caress his hands with her own, and he felt a little better. 

When they finally pulled back into town, he knocked on the side, and Frank came to a stop, turning to watch as the butcher opened the van side door and carried her out.

“Thank you,” Kate said a little loudly from Bob’s arms as he carried her, and Bob growled, not liking her interacting with anyone else.

“Aww, you’re welc—” Frank had started to say, but the look in the Butcher’s eyes was a threat. “Whoa, okay! No talking, got it.” He raised his hands. “No killing the getaway driver. That’s quite bad manners.”

Kate made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, her face still buried in Bob’s chest. Bob curled his arm tighter around her, jaw clenched until Frank finally drove away. 

The den didn’t look any different from the night he’d left her with the Tree. She wondered if he’d slept at all the last week. He went to the sofa and sat with her in his arms, which was fine by her - she had zero interest moving from where she was right then. All their issues, their tenseness from the last week was shoved aside by the need for comfort in any way they could get it.

Kate just kept breathing him in as her fingers stayed curled in his red sweater, and he held her steady. For once, not like prey, not something to devour, but like something he’d never let go again.

After a long while of them soaking up each others’ presence, she lifted her head slowly, eyes tracking the cuts on his cheek, the set of his jaw, checking if he was still real. Then her hand curled tighter, and she kissed him, one of heartbreak and rekindling.

He drew her in deeper, holding her head to angle her, but he stayed steady, firm, breathing her in as the first breath of fresh air he’d had all week.

The taste caught her. She flinched, ever so slightly. The metal, bitter, gamey aftertaste meant . .

His grip on her hair loosened as he paused, forehead resting against hers, breathing heavy, trembling. “You’re here. Safe. Breathing.” His teeth flashed, smiling with gloating satisfaction. “That’s all that matters now.”

She buried her face in his neck, tears hot against his skin. “Don’t you dare leave me again,” she breathed.

He said nothing — only buried his face in her hair, like he was praying to be forgiven by the only soul that ever saw him.

Chapter Text

Eyes hunched over, a felled tree in an empty forest of his own design. The runes were faded, but pulsed as Father stepped around him, his monstrous purple eyes staring down the cultists that kneeled in the ritual area. 

This summer solstice is a new start for us. We will finally drink of the blood of an ancient god, worthy of all that we are. But first, he narrowed his eyes, we will need to take the god’s treasure. Be ready for my signal.

Turning away, effectively dismissing them, he reached through the amulets — like strings originating from a center — to find the weakened one. Bob’s had been frayed so he could not control him completely . . but he still had power over his hunger. 

Only a couple more weeks. 

Bob seemed extra agitated the next several nights, disappearing as his hunger seemed to grow out of proportion. He stayed away from her, knowing full well that he could very well wake with his teeth in her gut. Whenever he’d come home, he still avoided her, because the hunger, even sated, would arise again around her.

It felt like when Father would lead him on a metaphorical leash, directing him to feast on the sacrifices so they felt everything. It took a long time for him to find the way out.

Kate had looked through Bob’s den, and found several loose pieces of paper, all with various handwritings, all seem to be piled together in relation to the cult. Bob’s handwriting was nothing like any of them, so she guessed he must’ve used them for research on his own.

One fragment of paper, charred:

   He said the solstice was the only time the door could be opened from both sides.

   But who was already holding the handle?

Another, more torn than anything else:

   The Sun leads, the Moon remembers.

   In the longest day, the shadow bends toward the root.

Typical cult stuff, she thought to herself as she went through the different papers, many torn as the writer started to derail - it was a common thread.

A darkly-stained torn page:

   The Anchor Root drinks will, not blood — but blood opens the will.

Someone scribbled right below that line:

   The first was unwilling. The next must not be.

On the back of the same page, the scribbles continued.

   It’s not the knife. It’s who holds it.

   It’s not the blood. It’s why it leaves.

   It does not stain. It will sing.

Uh, singing blood?

Then there were the pages about Father. There was a sketch someone made of him, with dark black hair that curled at the end defined, a charismatic face that could convince anyone to follow him, and the notes . . .

   No one knows his name. He is Father to us and to God.

Ah, they mean Eyes , she thought.

Seven children, unwilling blood to feed the Anchor-Root of the contracts, she read, her hand over her mouth as she read on in horror. The sacrifices were necessary to power the original contract between Father and the God, so may it always be.

She had to take a break for tonight. This was all . . just so much at once, it was making her head spin.

That night, when Bob came back, still a little jittery around her, she wrapped her arms around him and he froze. She ignored the pinprick teal eyes as he half-attempted to push her away, trying to fight his desire to devour, but she looked up with those doe eyes and whispered the name Shepherd, and he was taken. He slammed her against the wall, holding her up as he gripped her hair back and sucked on her neck, nipping it as she moaned his name, practically whining for him to possess her.

And he obliged, thrusting into her while she was pinned against the wall; carried to the couch and shoved face first for deeper access, holding her wrists apart as he slammed into her, her cries ambrosia for him; flipped her so he could intertwine his tongue with hers as he filled her up with himself, her body arching in spiking ecstasy as every nerve kept felt every inch of him inside her. She cried out his name, unable to stay quiet as he practically tortured her, non-stopping as he took her, body and soul.

In every shape and form, she was utterly his.

She lay there, overstimulated on the couch, whenever he lifted her up, still wrapped around him, and walked her to the bedroom, his kisses pulling her back from wherever her mind had disappeared to. She felt the sheets on their bed at her back, his body still tight against her as if to separate was a sin.

He then snarled and spun her, his hunger strengthening again from seeing her splayed helplessly under him, her dark golden locks splayed out like a sunburst, those deep pink gorgeous eyes lost to his ecstasy. He was above her on the bed, one hand half around her neck as the other held on to the bed frame, and he unrelentingly took her again and again, her mind a blank spark of everything that was him. His own mind had no other thoughts besides her, and for that night, they were one and together.

When he tensed and held her tight against him as he spilled into her, her nails dug into the sheets and she arched like a wild cat in heat, leading him to wrap his arm around her collarbone and bite her neck hard, leaving her practically bucking in overwhelmed nerve endings.

The rest of that night was spent in being wrapped around each other, breathing in each other’s scents of heat, sex, and pleasure, like it was their last night to do so.

Chapter Text

Reading the cultists’ notes whenever she’d come home from working at the candy store became more and more common as the Summer Solstice came. For that was the longest night she believed that one note referred to.

One that made her recoil was about Eyes:

    Give the child a name. Give him light. But bind him in soil of your own making.

    Let him stretch for sun, while you twist the roots beneath.

Damn, he really thought of him as property, she thought, making a note to remember that handwriting as possibly Father’s.

Then she found a strange piece of paper, almost raw:

    We thought we planted ourself.

    But the soil was chosen for us. The sun he gave us was a lamp. The roots were never ours.

    We spoke the words. We laid the ring. We sealed it in our name.

    And still we wonder. How long ago were we buried?

She grimaced. This one really lost it. But then, the words, the we over and over . . . Her eyes widened. Eyes?! But how could he . . She shook her head. He must’ve had someone write it for him. He had a bad habit of using plural when referring to himself.

The door creaked. She didn’t look up right away, still nose deep in the book, page smeared with old ink. She knew it was him. She knows his footsteps, even if they were not his normal ones — a worn-out predator holding himself just barely together.

Her voice is soft. “You’re back.”

No answer. He just stood in the doorway fora few seconds — breathing through his mouth.

She can almost feel the aura of blood around him.

“You sleeping’ soon, sweetheart?”

“Not yet, I’ve still got a few more pages to go through.”

A moment of silence, before his hand scrapes along the door frame. “Ain’t gonna come in.”

She nodded, her eyes with a touch of blue. “I know.” His hunger was worse no matter what, and he spent all his energy holding it back throughout the day. By the time his work day was over, he couldn’t handle it anymore, and kept away.

So she started leaving notes around the house, hoping that they’d help.

    Bob — 

    I saw the lines around your eyes last night.

    I know it’s harder now. I’m still here. Please don’t vanish.

    —K

On the den table,

    There’s stew in the pot if you need something. Not warm, but not cold yet.

    I kept a bowl for you.

    You don’t have to talk. Just come home in one piece.

    —K

Closer to the solstice, earlier in the week:

    If I’m asleep, I’m not ignoring you. I’m just tired.

    Come check in if you want — I won’t wake.

    Just keep the teeth away.

    —K

She could tell he read them, because they’d been moved, folded nicely near where he found them. It made her eyes go a soft green as she smiled.

She missed him so much. And she was determined to figure out how to solve it.

Kate got home just before sunset. The house seemed a little more quiet than normal. She went to tidy up his papers and froze.

One of her notes from two nights ago was on the kitchen table, opened to the back side. She stood for a few moments before she walked forward, and flattened it to read. 

It was written strangely, but she could read it:

    You were right about the longest day. 

    He walked away into the light, and I took him back. 

    If you want to find him before the withered god dies, come.

    It is time to fulfill your purpose. 

Her hand shook. Summer solstice was today. And . . and they took him.

Chapter Text

She’s arrived. Bring her unharmed.  

The Devil Butcher was chafing at his chains, exhausted from pulling against the chains in rage. They’d lured him out with Kate’s voice, jumping on him as a group. He growled while Father spoke. “I’d eat you if you wouldn’t leave such a bad taste in my mouth,” he snarled, pulling on the pair of wall chains that had cracks around where it’d weakened. 

Father laughed. Don’t worry, Butcher. Your part will become clear soon. 

Bob knelt, fighting the pull that Father still had. He couldn’t drop the Butcher, and even if he didn’t have to blindly obey anymore, Father had other ways to control him. 

“What is it you want, Father?” Her voice rang like a lost star in the underground, and there she was, standing between two of the cultists members, apparently arriving willingly since no binds were on her. 

“Kate, get out!” Bob yelled, knowing no good would come with talking to Father. The man was devious and sly. The chains jangled as he pulled again. 

I’m so glad you asked . . Kate, is it? Father spoke in his charismatic deep voice, and Kate narrowed her eyes before he continued. I want you.

She blinked looking concerned. “In, like, what capacity exactly?”

Father laughed. I have had Eyes for over a century, he started. And he’s nowhere close to having the power your blood has. I want it. 

Her eyes never left Father’s, swirling red and a touch of white. “And what exactly do you think I can do?

“No, Kate, no!” Bob snarled again, but she didn’t even glance at him. 

Straight to the chase, are we? Good. He tilted his head and smiled. Eldritch contracts are binding and can not be broken, only ended or transferred. I’m willing to let these two both go, he gestured to the crumpled tree and the Butcher’s trembling frame, if you agree to take on both of their contracts. 

Bob suddenly slammed sideways, trying to jar the chains again. He already knew her answer.

“And what does that require?” She asked, eyes narrowed, fists clenched as she completely ignored his attempts. 

Just your verbal agreement and . . a little blood.  

Kate’s eyes didn’t waver. She glanced at Eyes, nearly dead, the Butcher’s chains unrelenting as he kneeled, exhausted. 

Why? she spoke in eldritch, her voice gaining a slight reverb effect.

Father, surprised, answered. That’s not your concern. Time is running out, eldritch. 

She looked at the ground, continuing to ignore Bob’s yelling until he was going hoarse.

I agree to take on both Eyes’ and the Butcher’s full contracts with you, Father.  

“No no NO!” The Butcher yelled, but then time seemed to stand still for him. 

Good. Grab her.  

“Wha—“ she started as the two cultists grabbed her wrists, keeping her in place. “What the hell are you —“

Butcher, Father turned and pointed at Bob, frozen, the chains unbinding him, then pointed to Kate. Your meal awaits. 

Kate’s eyes widened as the Butcher, lost in the ramped up hunger that Father amplified, was slamming the two cultists out of the way, before turning to Kate and wrapped his claws around her neck. She grabbed at his arm, unable to speak, as she saw into his eyes — pure teal, completely overtaken. 

Father must’ve done this, she thought as the Butcher pulled his knife out of his belt, and slashed across her left collarbone. 

“Shephe—,” she tried to say, but then he was biting her, his teeth sinking into the cut as he tore a piece and ate it, his eyes lost in ecstasy. She screamed, the pain unbearable, aside from the fact that it was Bob who was eating her. She whimpered as his claws prepared to tear more of her meat. 

Then the first drop of blood hit the soil. 

The Butcher’s pupils became normal again as the entire Butcher persona dropped, and the knife fell from his hand as he backed away in horror, suddenly coherent. The two cultists grabbed him and pulled him back so he wasn’t in the way, and he couldn’t shake them off. “No . .” He ran his tongue across his lips, still red from his bite. “Kate . .”

Eyes trembled, seeming to finally be able to take a breath. The runes disappeared from his bark and into the ground, traveling across a root system below them, and when they were close enough, chains erupted from the soil, clasping to her wrist. 

And an iridescent shadow of the same chain came up and disappeared into the darkness behind her, the sound of it clasping too loud. Another chain, another wrist, another shadow of a chain flinging itself up into the air again. They seemed to disappear at first.

The shadow chains shuddered, then shortened, one by one, dragging the shape of something not yet real into the world. A limb appeared first, pale as bone left in moonlight, too long, too wrong. Its movements didn’t match time — it would slow, then speed up, like it was not used to the limitations of time.

This was old eldritch contract magic. There was no fighting it.

The last chain slammed around Kate’s throat like a bell of doom, and her eyes flared white, too bright, as if her actual soul was shining through. One final chain screamed into the heavens and disappeared.

Then the sky shrieked back.

Something was being remembered into the world. Not walking, not summoning; dragged as though the fog of drift had tried to keep her but failed. The room convulsed. Air forgot how to move, gravity unhooked, light spilled impossibly.

Then she rose. Taller than Eyes, taller than memory, her body bending reality wherever it passed, legs like terrible pale stalks, transforming between talons and hooves with every blink. Her under belly shimmered like a void threaded with constellations flowing across her skin, going from night sky to pearl. Her neck rose high, sinewy like a swan’s. Her wide-plumed tail moved like time reversing, her spine swaying with grace.

And her eyes — seven, deep wells, rimmed in starlight; always on the side of the viewer, always watching, each filled with the colors that were Kate’s mood-eyes.

Kate collapsed to her knees, blood still seeping from her collarbone, and the creature mirrored her. Every twitch, every breath, every wound a perfect echo.

Heart bent down on limbs that warped the air beneath them, her great body folding like a silk curtain in windless water. Her claws — or were they hooves now? — dug into the earth as Kate’s did, her regal head bowed. The wound across her pearlescent chest matched the one bleeding red down Kate’s skin.

Flesh and eldritch in sync. Two halves of a door, now opened.

Father stood frozen, basking in the spectacle, his lips parted in awe, his eyes bright with triumph. Yes, he whispered, like this was owed to him. Then he reached out his shadowy arm and clenched a fist.

Kate arched and screamed, and so did Heart; the sound was doubled, layered, impossibly wide. Kate’s scream was merely human; Heart’s was like space being torn apart. Both shuddered and dropped their heads to the dirt, trembling as their life spilled outward, visibly drawn in a siphon of pale light and red threads toward Father’s open palm. Their eyes glowed white-fire bright, like suns exploding behind bone, writhing in pain.

Father’s form thickened, his shadow stretching. No longer just an astral manipulator, he became solid in the light of their suffering. Yes . . “Yes . . more . . more!”

Bob could only watch, no longer held back as the cultists all backed up, unable to move. It wasn’t just pain being drawn; it was memory, identity, the unraveling of Kate and Heart’s will itself, inch by inch.

As Father drank deeper, something inside Kate’s mind began to spiral, her thoughts collapsing inward like a sinkhole. The contracts were inside her now, and oh how they burned. She tried to scream, but her throat had lost its ability to make any more noise, her breath shallow.

The spiral struck a line of thought . . a memory.

   It’s not the knife.

   It’s who holds it.

   It’s not the blood.

   It’s why it leaves.

The words chanted themselves behind her eyes.

   The Anchor-Root drinks will, not blood.

   The first was unwilling. The next must not be.

Her pulse stuttered.

Will.

That was the key. Willing blood. Not taken . . given.

Her fingers, twitching in the dirt, brushed something solid.

The mahogany handle of Bob’s butcher knife, flung down minutes ago.

She gripped it. Her hands shook, but she chose it.

It’s not the knife.

She didn’t think. The contract had magnified her vices, self-sacrifice burned so hot inside her now it outshone fear. Guided by pain and instinct, she twisted to the side. Without skill, without hesitation, she drove the blade into her left inner thigh.

Those anatomy books in Bob’s library had been useful.

A sickening, wet sound, straight into the artery, blood erupted in a flood, warm and terrifying fast, Bob’s cry of terror for her muted in her ears. The pressure was instant, gushing, vital, uncontrolled. Kate gasped and fell forward, her arm collapsing beneath her. The blade tumbled from her fingers, but it didn’t matter.

It was done.

Through cracked lips, her voice rose, barely audible, but layered beneath with something older. Heart’s voice was rising beneath hers, eldritch and harmonic.

Take of my essence, little bloodroot.

I spill it freely for you.

Drink deep, little Anchor-Root

It’s time to take what’s due.

As their final words left their mouths, the earth responded. The blood had hit the root, and the root awoke.

All around them, the soil lit up, a flash like lightning trapped beneath clouded glass. It pulsed through the underground in every direction, a ripple of white-gold fire across the roots’ web. The chain-runes along the ground crackled, sparked . . and then shattered.

The chains on Kate exploded into light and ash. The bindings on Heart unmade themselves, and in that moment, the siphon to Father snapped, like a rubber band breaking.

Kate collapsed fully, unconscious before her body would’ve hit the ground.

Bob moved before he’d realized it and caught her. Blood soaked his arms . . his hands . . his chest . . he looked down and panicked. “Kate—Kate, no—“

Behind him, Father screamed.

Chapter Text

Bob pressed his hand to the wound, already soaked with too much blood, too fast. He fumbled at his shirt, tearing the fabric, trying to knot it, press it, stop it, anything, but her skin was going cold, her pulse slipping. “No, no no— Kate, stay with me—“

Thud.

The ground quaked.

Thud.

Something enormous stepped behind him, the weight not just physical but existential, like a memory crashing back into the world. The sound of her skin was a song, a low, static-rich resonance of mourning and motion.

The eldritch language of inevitability.

Bob looked up, his arms around Kate’s limp form, and saw the towering creature step over them, approaching Father. Heart walked slowly, each step reshaping the air, her limbs flickering between configurations as if she hadn’t yet decided how to exist. The constellations coiled in her skin were bright now, her tail moving side to side. The air around her seemed to be alive, following her path.

Father scrambled backward. “What did you— what did you do?!”

The chains were gone, the amulets shattered, the contracts undone. The power he had stolen leaked from him now like breath from a dying man. He aged by the second.

“No. No—no. You were supposed to obey! You were mine!”

Heart paused above him. Her seven eyes, rimmed in red and green, looked down without pity. She tilted her head slowly, then looked back at Kate.

Bob followed her gaze down.

The wound was gone completely; skin whole, no scar, no blood. He blinked, then looked at Father.

Who fell to one knee, gasping, a dark red blossom opening on his thigh. He clutched it and screamed.

Heart had simply transferred the wound back to him. A mirror, a sentence; the consequence.

Suddenly Eyes spoke. Is another choice . .  And Father saw Heart’s eyes light up, as if speaking along. His breathing hitched as the realization landed. “You?” He rasped, “Y—you tricked me!”

Her eyes shone, smiling in their own way. Then she leaned down, her long neck lowering like a cosmic bridge, and breathed on him.

Not wind or fire. Memory.

In the air she exhaled, he smelled the scent of home-cooked food, the feel of his son’s arms around his neck, the voice of a woman who once loved him.

The life he’d traded away for the path he took.

His eyes welled as he clutched the bleeding wound, unable to look away from the shape of what he’d lost. The last thing he saw was Heart turning from him.

She’d left him to die.

Father slumped to the floor, his last breath silent, gone. His blood seeped in the roots that once obeyed him, but they no longer drank. The Anchor-Root was no longer an anchor — it was freed soil now, cleansed and unbound.

Bob’s chest heaved in relief. Kate was still breathing. Shallow, but steady.

Heart’s seven eyes, shifting now to hues of green and white, settled on them. She moved without footsteps now, the ground not reacting to her movements. When she reached them, she lowered her head again, slowly and carefully, like a brontosaurus leaning down to nuzzle something precious.

Bob couldn’t move. He could only hold Kate tighter, trembling under the weight of the Eldritch of Change.

Her voice entered through the air, vibrating in his ribs and deep inside his memory.

This is what love costs. This is what it buys.

Molasses-thick, musical, the echo soaking into his bones.

Bob swallowed hard, eyes now down on Kate’s peaceful face. Her color was coming back, her lips no longer pale. He looked up again; it was the strangest feeling to feel like the creature was Kate, with all her love for him, but she wasn’t Kate. “You . . saved her.”

Heart tilted her head, all her eyes shifting to green, almost tender.

You should keep holding her.

She lingered, breathing and watching alongside Kate like she was reteaching her how to breathe. Then she turned, that long neck curving like liquid steel, and walked toward the broken form of Eyes.

The eldritch tree still lay crumpled in his hollow, his many eyes closed, bark dull and splintered. Moss gray instead of green, he looked more like ruin than survivor.

As Heart approached, the air folded behind her, peeling back layers of color like old paint being revealed. The closer to Eyes, the more obvious her Aekheruun flowed around her shoving aside space within Eyes’. Every step made the world more vibrant around her. She bent her head down, and gently touched her snout to the base of Eyes’ bark.

For a moment, nothing. Then a breeze, rustling his branches. One by one, his many eyes opened. Their irises all centered on her. The dull moss shimmered, his barked shifting toward gold-green. He wasn’t fully restored, but he was no longer dying.

She gave him no more than was needed. This was his own mess that she had come to fix, and he needed the lesson.

This pain is the ink your future will be written in, her voice echoed. I will not rob you of the lesson you must learn.

He made no reply except to shift his branches in quiet reverence.

Heart turned again, her movement slow, like watching a comet arc through the atmosphere. Her limbs flickered as she began to walk away. The light started to fade around her, the drift pulling her back in.

Just before she vanished into thin air and silence, Bob found his voice. “Wait!”

Heart paused, still half seen.

He swallowed. “What will she remember?”

She turned her head, just enough to catch him in her gaze. He drowned for a moment in that well of green, her expression unreadable.

Some. She will remember what you did. You will remember what you chose. Not all. Not me, not clearly . . not for a long time.

Then she was gone; unwound into the fold of reality, the way a breath disappears into a storm. The ground no longer hummed, but a small wind in a stagnant space leapt around Eyes’ branches.

Bob still knelt in the dirt, arms wrapped around Kate. Then she stirred, a small breath, a twitch of her fingers. “Kate?”

Her eyes opened slowly, blinking as if surfacing from deep water. When they fully opened, her unmistakable mood-ring eyes flickered through yellow, then flooded with vibrant green.

“Bob?” Her voice was hoarse, weak.

He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His arms tightened around her. He didn’t speak at first, just pressed his forehead to hers. “I thought I lost you,” he breathed.

Her brow furrowed in concern. “Why am I—? What happened?”

But even as she asked, the edges of memory slipped from her grasp. She knew she had done something. Something that mattered, but her thoughts were like fog. She was left with only the impression of something vast and warm and terrible and familiar.

Before Bob could answer her, her gaze flicked over his shoulder and gasped.

Eyes stood upright now, his bark stronger, his limbs no longer wilted. His many eyes blinked slowly, watching her with tenderness. Next to him in the dirt lay Father’s still form, the wound in his thigh bled out fully.

“Is that—“ Kate started.

“Yeah,” Bob whispered.

Kate clung to him, before steadying herself and pushed herself to sit up. Her gaze softened when she looked at Eyes. “I’m glad you’re free.”

His branches rustled softly. I’m glad too.

A single leaf fell from his bark, drifting gently, caught in a curl of wind and landed at their feet. Bob reached for it, but as soon as his fingers touched it, he stilled.

It was warm, heavy, unlike any leaf he’d held before.

He looked to Kate, and she knew. “This is a piece of him,” she whispered, reverent. “To remember.” She picked it up, holding it gently between her fingers. Thank you.

Eyes didn’t reply, just shook his branches trying to shoo the touch of wind that kept frolicking in his upper branches.

Bob stood and scooped her into his arms without another word. The wounds were healed, the contracts broken, the rituals over. As they left the house behind, its basement echoing with silence, its roots no longer hungry, the sky was beginning to turn, not quite dawn, not quite night, a strange in-between.

Kate held the leaf close to her chest, and Bob held her close to his heart. They didn’t look back.

They had a home waiting with each other’s name on it.