Chapter Text
It’s often that 4c finds himself waking to nothing but the stars above him and a bone-deep weariness within him.
He’d thought that he’d left that behind, when he finally returned to Pity. When he began living in his ranch again. He hadn’t truly meant to ever come back. In all honesty, 4c would have rathered he died out in the dunes than return. This godforsaken town, if he could even call it that, had a way of digging its thorns into a man. Leaving a mark, a reminder, that they’d always be back. No one left Pity for long. Not alive. 4c likes to think it’s a curse, to make himself feel a little better.
It was his only choice, though. 4c also liked to think that he wouldn’t ever be found here. That he wouldn’t track 4c down. Pity wasn’t on any maps, nor was it rarely ever heard through word of mouth, and its call to fame of ‘gold-ridden lands’ had long since dwindled. No one knew of its existence, and that was what 4c needed.
At least, it had, until that blasted Mayor had gone on the radio, insistent on the gold hidden beneath the very ground 4c walked on.
Tch. As if.
And, with the worst timing possible, straight after Mayor Poliver had returned, that damned dust storm had swamped the whole town. Buildings were knocked down, walls completely demolished, and not to mention, his whole ranch disappeared beneath the dunes of sand and dirt. Just like that, everything 4c had was reduced to nothing, leaving him back to square one.
To top it all off on horrible things, outsiders began showing up in waves. People drawn in by the honeyed words of Poliver.
Yet not one of them was him.
Not one of them set off any alarm bells with 4c, and although a few did strike the wire of familiarity, it wasn’t near enough to set him into a panic. He was safe, still, content to just introduce himself to these outsiders and kindly inform them that the Mayor was outright lying on the radio. Of course, Mayor Poliver had interrupted plenty, but that didn’t stop 4c, not in the odd way it did for Apo. They all would’ve been on their way, out of Pity, but of course nothing could ever go right.
The sky had fallen.
Rather, something had fallen out of the sky. Threw all of them up into the air, sent out some strange, vibrant green pulse, and demolished the train station all in one go. One helluva entrance for what would likely be one of the worst nights 4c’s ever had the displeasure of having. The discovery of the weapons, of the impenetrable wall, the crashed structure.
4c sighs, taking a moment to stare at the sky above him, the fading stars blinking at him through the needles of the spruce trees. Another day, another step toward absolutely nothing. 4c thought that just living in Pity would be the worst of it, but being trapped here was certainly something else.
The wood planks, brittle and dry, dig into his back from where he lay, only recently inlaid. The sleeping bag he has doesn’t do much to cushion his back, lacking any fancy feathers or plush wool that he could’ve had a week prior. If 4c has to guess, he hasn’t had a restful night’s sleep for… days, now. He’s never felt more awful.
There’s something about today that just feels worse. Like he shouldn’t get up, that maybe he should just lay back down and go back to sleep. Something in his gut tells him, though, that if he did, he wouldn’t escape what was bound to happen.
4c stretches, grimacing as his hand brushes over a pile of abandoned planks and nails. He… really ought to finish his cabin.
Heaving out a sigh, 4c rolls over, staggering to his feet and stretching once more. It’s only when his back pops does he start moving, shifting his building supplies off to the side so as to not step on anything important. Taking a moment to scan the shell of the building, he withholds the urge to sigh again. Why did he have to make this thing so damn big? The amount of mangrove and spruce he’s going to have to cut down… 4c runs his fingers through his hair, grumbling to himself.
4c shakes his head, motivation already dwindling by the second. Perhaps talking with Apo and that… what was her name… Cherri lass could help. Or Abolish, because for a man who does nothing but demolish, he can build a damn good home. Pivoting, he swipes his hat off the crafting table and throws it on, stepping out onto the deck and blinking rapidly. Once his eyes adjust to the sunlight, 4c makes his way down the stairs and drops the last bit down to the grass. The jolt of the landing sends sparks up his legs, clearing away a bit more of that exhaustive fog from his brain as he shakes out his limbs, making his way down to the shore. He busies himself with the few crops he’d gotten, collecting the few ready ones, replanting, and weeding. It’s not a ritual he enjoys, necessarily, but it certainly distracts him from that churning feeling within him.
Something felt wrong.
The worst thing is that he doesn’t know why he feels that way. What could possibly be worse than the current situation he found himself in? Permanently trapped in Pity for an indeterminate amount of time was already, well, awful.
So why did 4c feel so much dread now?
He hadn’t felt this when he was thrown into the air, or when the wall went up, or even when those strange weapons were found. It’s…
Shit, he damaged a few. He’d dove so far into his own head that he hadn’t even noticed that he’d been pulling up undeveloped crops like weeds. 4c rocks back onto his heels, staring at the ruined patches of crops and sighing. So much for a distraction. Dusting off his hands, he tosses the potatoes off into the chest and throws the weeds into the composter, figuring he ought to head into town. Maybe he could talk to Graecie about his weird feeling, she seemed like someone willing to lend an ear over a few drinks.
Winding his way along the riverbank toward the main bridge, 4c mulls over his thoughts. He debates for a moment over whether it could just be the weather or not, though quickly dismissing it. While 4c was, to put it lightly, abnormally susceptible to the changes in weather (He’d detected the dust storm far earlier than the others. Didn’t do much to save his ranch, though.), it wasn’t the same gut feeling. There was no accompanying headache or twinge in his hands. So it couldn’t be that.
Was it just worry over the walls? Maybe it just hadn’t settled in for 4c yet, and he was now just fully processing the issue.
No. He came to terms with that pretty quickly, to be honest. Rather, the walls being up gave him whiplash for how quickly he felt relief. Because even though no one could get out, neither could anyone get in. And that was far, far more important to 4c.
He leans against the old sign post for a moment longer than necessary, brows furrowed as he racks his brain for anything. It’s infuriating how few answers he can give himself. It’s his feeling, why can’t he know why he’s having it?!
“You alright there?”
4c jumps, nearly toppling himself over as he whips around to locate the voice of—Graecie. It’s just Graecie. She’s leaning over one of the railings, peering at 4c with mild concern.
“Huh?” Dignified. “Oh, y-yeah, I’m alright, why?”
“You’ve been standin’ there for the past… oh, four minutes now? I didn’t really keep count.”
“Yeah, sorry, just, uh, deep in thought,” 4c chuckles, but it’s weak and dies off too quickly. He quickly digs around in his pockets for a shard of gold, holding it up. “Mind if I come in for a drink?”
“Sure thing!” The corners of Graecie’s lips lift, but there’s still a worried crinkle to her eyes. She waves him over, to which he heeds, striding into the saloon. “Whaddya like?”
“Bit of elderberry wine should do me just fine,” 4c slides into one of the refurbished seats, taking a moment to look around the building as he passes her the allotted gold. “I gotta say, you’re makin’ this place out to be one fine establishment, Graecie. It’s really comin’ together.”
“Why, thank you, 4c!” Graecie smiles appreciatively, flitting around the barrels for a moment before turning, drink in hand. She sets it on the table before 4c. “Now, spill. What’s on your mind?”
“Wh—me? I’m fine, it’s nothin’ really.” 4c resists the urge to bite his tongue. He’d meant to talk to Graecie over it, not get defensive. Damn it.
“Right, sure,” Graecie runs a rag over the lip of a glass, raising a disapproving eyebrow at him. 4c has the decency to wince. “Come on, 4c, I ain’t gonna bite.”
4c sighs, setting his hat on the counter in order to run his fingers through his hair. “I… can’t really explain it, to be honest. I’ve just got this… feeling. That something’s gonna go real wrong today. Like… I’m about to step on a rattler, but I can’t tell where the damn rattle’s comin’ from. Y’know?”
Graecie tilts her head. “Have you had this kind of feelin’ before?”
“Not that I remember.” 4c shakes his head, taking a sip of his wine. “I’ve had these kinds’a things before, like some weird voodoo. It happened before the dust storm, n’ before the previous preacher was murdered. Coupl’a other times. But this feels… different in ways I don’t get.”
“Well, that’s certainly somethin’ to be worried for.” Graecie sets down the glass, expression thoughtful. “Maybe you’re just tired? Goodness knows everybody here’s been runnin’ themselves ragged! I wouldn’t be surprised if you just happened to push yourself to the limit.”
“Could be,” 4c shrugs, tapping his fingers along the side of his glass. He had been constantly chopping trees and lugging lumber around for the past few days. Not to mention his lackluster sleeping conditions. “I hope that’s all it is, honestly. A bit o’ rest’ll fix that issue nice and easy. Buildin’ a whole house ain’t like anything I’m used to. Don’t think I’ve gotten a proper night of sleep since the storm.”
“Good God, 4c, you know that the shelter has plenty of sleepin’ spots!” Graecie’s tone turns a bit scolding and 4c immediately ducks his head like a chastised child.
“I know, I know,” he finishes off the wine, lip twitching. He’s never been much of a fan of the taste. Next time he’ll settle for cider. “With everythin’ happening, I suppose I’m just a bit scatterbrained.”
“You’ve gotta give yourself breaks, 4c,” Graecie takes his empty glass, quick to start cleaning it. “You can’t fill a well with a bucket full of holes.”
“I’ll be sure to lay down proper soon, I promise. Can’t be fallin’ off the roof because I was too tired!” 4c chuckles again, a bit more amused than last time. He’d suspected right, talking to Graecie certainly was helping. While the feeling, churning and dark, still hasn’t lessened, he now has a possible solution to it, and that was far better than having nothing.
“Glad to hear it,” Graecie nods approvingly before glancing past 4c and humming. “Ah, looks like trouble.”
“Whaat, us? Trouble? No way.”
4c snorts, twisting in his seat to greet Cherri and Apo. “Hiya.”
“Horsey!” Apo cheers, always a tad too loud. 4c doesn’t find himself minding much.
“Still not my name,” he chides, well aware it was a long-lost battle. 4c grunts, unceremoniously lifted off the chair and into Apo’s deceptively strong arms. “Ah. My daily kidnappin’.” He tips his body enough to snag his hat off the table, waving at Graecie. “Thanks for the advice, Graecie!”
“Anytime. Come back for drinks whenever, y’all! Don’t forget about bingo on Friday!”
Cherri gives a dramatic groan in response as they carry 4c out of the saloon and into the sun. Squinting, 4c blinks away the sunspots before writhing like a fish out of water, slipping out of Apo’s grasp and dropping to the floor. He quickly skirts backward out of her grasp, dusting himself off. “Mornin’ y’all. What’s happening this time?”
“Oh, nothing,” Cherri shrugs, a lazy movement as her gaze drifts to Apo. “Just wanted to see what you were talkin’ about, that’s all.”
“Just lookin’ for a bit of advice,” 4c says, waving his hand dismissively. “Nothin’ interesting or anythin’.”
“Really?” Apo glances at Cherri.
“To be honest, you looked like a cat caught by the fisherman with a paw in a barrel.” Cherri snorts, adjusting her sleeve. She shifts from foot to foot. “What’d she ream ya out for?”
4c rolls his eyes. He forgot how observant Cherri tended to be. “Not restin’ enough. Been too focused on rebuildin’; I ain’t even got myself a bed.”
“That definitely ain't all of it,” Cherri pops her hip out, resting a hand on it. “What kinda advice were you lookin’ for?”
“You're real nosey, y'know that?” 4c raises a brow at her, but relents. “Just been havin’ a bad feelin’.”
“A bad feeling?!” Immediately Apo's head snaps up to look at the sky.
“No, no, not that kind!” 4c waves his hands wildly, trying to dispel Apo's idea. “I ain't had one like this, it's nothin’ to write home about. Graecie just thinks I might be overworkin’ myself, and I'm inclined to believe her.” He hopes. Otherwise, he just knows it would be something worse. And he doesn't know how to put that into words. 4c looks to the ground, narrowly missing the way Cherri locks on to something past his shoulder. Misses the way Apo's brows shoot up in shock. “I pro'lly just need a—”
“Well, well, well.” 4c snaps his mouth shut as that lingering dread returns full-force, his heart sinking lower than ever. He barely hears Cherri and Apo's hesitant greetings as an arm drops heavily over 4c's shoulders, knocking his hat off his head.
No, it couldn’t be possible, there was no way. The wall was up, it was meant to be impenetrable, how did he get in? How, how was he here?!
“What do we have ourselves here?”
The arm feels heavy around his shoulders, holding no ounce of kindness. Rather, it felt promising of every unspoken threat that 4c knew him capable of. 4c fixes his gaze onto the ground, jaw tightening as he finally understands why everything had felt so wrong.
“4cvit!” The arm tightens. “Looong time no see.”
4c doesn't even have to look. He already knows.
It’s been a year. Maybe even longer. Long enough that 4c had assumed, hoped, him dead. That he hadn’t been tracking 4c down like a bloodhound for some convoluted reason of 4c never leaving his side.
The damned leader of the Blue Rollers had found him.
Nominal Revelry, the Tracks Butcher, was in Pity.