Chapter Text
The great gothic villa stood before him. Towering spires disrupting Wintertown’s humble skyline, skewering the heavens as the sun cast its shadow over the front lawn.
The surrounding neighborhood did little to match with the extravagance of the Bolton estate. Hadn’t laid much notice to it during his recent trips, being focused on other matters. Didn’t strike him as surprising, considering its proximity to Molestown, but the ruined ghost-villas lining the street only served to enhance its uncanny pristineness.
Idled by the fence.
Theon barely knew what he was doing there. What spark of madness had caused him to seek the estate out.
What was he even to say?
Couldn’t begin to imagine where to start, much less how he felt about it. Part of him dreaded putting an end to the whole affair, part of him relieved it was all over. Part of him felt slighted at having been played for a fool, part of him felt flustered at having been so stupid. It was so obvious, Theon wanted to scream at himself for not connecting the dots sooner.
Wanted to say it was because of the time spent apart. He had barely seen so much as Ramsay Snow’s shadow since highschool, separated after their fight. Being pushed into the cop car was the last Theon thought he’d see of the bastard. Brief glances exchanged, a wordless ‘I told you so’ in Ramsay’s satiated eyes. Vanished out of Theon’s life after snatching what he so desperately wanted, vengeance sweet in Ramsay’s bloodied fist.
Was it intentional, getting Theon involved in all this?
Perhaps he knew. Omnipotent, aware that Theon would fall for the bait and reply to the ad. Snare him in his webs, just to pettily torture him oncemore all the while keeping him completely blind to the identity of his tormentor.
But it was his fault in the end for not having recognised him, and there was no way Ramsay would be calculated enough to specifically know Theon would be on that exact bulletin. Shuddered to think how truly pleasantly surprised Ramsay was, seeing him turn into that alley. The satisfaction of having his highschool bully desperately slobbering all over his bulge just minutes before knocking him out and dragging him to his sick little torture chamber.
Was a fool to ever think he had dignity, let alone be worthy of its mere concept. Pathetic, both in past and present. Because the fact stood clear, Theon, a crucial cog in the north’s law enforcement, was dallying right outside R.B’s house with not even the slightest desire to call for his arrest.
Why had he gone soft for Ramsay Snow, of all people?
Completely stripped bare. Nobody knew all sides of Theon. The good, the bad and the shameful. Yet Ramsay had seen them all without even trying. No matter which alias stood at the other side of that window, R.B or Ramsay, they both knew Theon for what he really was; Pathetic.
It had just recently appeared, the dim shadow staring down at him. Those eyes peeking out in the darkness were the unmistakable ones of R.B, while the hard-set features could belong to no other than Ramsay. Wished to get a better look, but refused to stare back. Half defiant, half terrified. The shadow robbed Theon of any false confidence he’d previously had, the confidence that pushed him to march over there in the first place.
Instead, he turned around, feeling Ramsay’s eyes burn at his back as he left.
Didn’t go straight home, refused to return to the alien apartment while thoughts still spiraled in his head.
Feet still hurt from the healing cuts, scabs crackling and tugging with each step he took. Cursing himself, having spiraled into such stupid disregard for his future self, Theon gathered support from the fence edging the overgrown lawns as he walked. Still, it wasn’t as bad as the fugue state that had him gripped just days prior. Things made more sense in a way they didn’t before. Like a sole piece falling into place in an incomplete puzzle. A finger clearing a single stripe along the misty window, brief clarity in an impossibly muddled world.
Though he was hard pressed to find any use for the information. Turning Ramsay in would only backfire, Theon couldn’t take the risk.
The further Theon walked, the less he could recognise Wintertown’s scenes from what they once were. Met with the usual invasion of nature, now discordantly mixing with human vandalism, a wasteland of rubble and dust with nobody to walk its streets.
Like one huge contemporary art piece, each stroke of graffiti, each shattered window yelling its message to the world.
’We are giving up.’
The closer Theon drifted to Molestown, the more people flitted by him. Though one quick glance would make you privy to the brutal truth. Calling them people would be an overstatement.
Limbs covered in gauze, shaky fingers wound in layers of filthy bandages in a desperate attempt to cover up the hardened calluses. Limbs stuttering, each step rigidly unsure as their dry eyes rolled, either searching for their next meal or their next fix. The withdrawals so painfully obvious with every pained moan floating past their wetted lips.
Wight addicts, all of them.
Theon tried his best to stay out of their way, which only brought more attention to him. Hands tugging at his jacket, raspy fingernails scuffing the fabric before it slipped out of their weak grasps with a simple pull of his arm. Left behind, they stood there, watching Theon as he walked on.
The denser the population grew, the more he spotted clusters of people huddled together on the lawns. Grouping on the rickety porches, shamelessly using out in broad daylight. Breathing the very air the drugs were fighting.
Something tugged at his heart, telling him he belonged with their kind. Not out of any desire, but out of guilt. He had gotten off easy.
Yet the disgust he felt at the sight of them battled with the whispering truth.
Soon, his would progress. To what point would he manage to resist, before he too cracked under the pain and resorted to placing himself at the needle’s business-end?
Only time and his weakening resolve would tell.
A commotion, not far off, gripped his attention. On a street corner, he spotted a fight. Two figures, one smaller and one larger, were scrabbling over some indistinguishable item. It was impossible to tell what they were trying to do, so ferocious and animalistic was their fighting. Pushed, shoved and clawed in a way that could barely resemble human conflict, so much so that Theon doubted they even knew what they were doing themselves.
Theon looked around, but nobody seemed to even acknowledge the two. So regular was the fighting to these people that no soul batted an eye as one of the figures started flailing wildly. The smaller person was pinned down, bloodied fingers gripping their disputed item close to his chest as large hands wrapped around his throat. Hacked squawking coughs as the air was choked oút of his lungs by his opponent.
If nobody did anything, he’d be sure to die.
One shot was all it took. Firearm still aimed at the sky, Theon watched them disperse at his warning shot, crack of his glock echoing through the neighborhood. Their disputed item lay forgotten on the ground as they fled in opposite directions. Theon approached it as it rolled on the ground.
It was a tin. Scuffed, but unopened. The peeling label advertised a deceivingly appetizing fantasy of the contents inside; Baked beans on toast. If they were fighting over the beans Theon doubted they had the toast to go with it. A hell of a thing to risk one’s life over.
Theon picked it up, weighing it absently in his hand. He couldn’t take it with him, but couldn’t risk leaving it there for fear the fighting would resume.
From behind the corner of a fence, Theon could spot the smaller figure hiding. Noticing that Theon had seen him, he stepped out. Theon fell silent as realization dawned on him. The person was too small to simply be malnourished.
It was a child.
A rare sight, and one that unsettled Theon to his core. Of course most of the remaining children would be stuck in Molestown, poverty leaving them behind in the mass deportations. Looking around, Theon began to notice more children in the groups than he had before. Sitting at the outskirts, rejected from the huddles, placed at the bottom of the pecking order.
Glancing down at the little boy before him, he noticed the traces of Wight with painful clarity. Glassy eyes stared up at him, the corners of his wordless mouth crusted white. Didn’t say a thing, simply glared at Theon. More specifically, at the can in his hand. “What’s your name, boy?” Theon prompted, but got sealed lips in response, wide eyes glancing down at the breast of Theon’s jacket. Realized with shame that he was wearing his badge.
The kid had probably been told not to talk to the police. Theon handed him the can. With the slightest of smiles, the boy scurried off, disappearing into the backyard of some rickety house.
It was a tough world, yet they had to learn to live in it.
Walking deeper into Molestown really set for Theon how different his own worldview was. No traces of Wintertown’s serene emptiness remained in Molestown, the decrepit streets bustling with life. Some disturbed thought within him dared suggest it was the new town center, being much more alive in comparison to the market. Still the people struck him as distinctly dead, splayed on the streets with that far-off look of theirs, lost in numb bliss. Or worse yet, jerking around by some strange compulsion, moving only out of instinct and nothing of thought.
Even worse was spotting a familiar head of hair on a doorstep.
Singled away from the rest, separated from the others both physically and mentally. Wasn’t nearly as far gone as the rest, yet pale hands still quivered as they lined up the next shot.
Looking up, she didn’t look nearly shocked enough to see him.
Theon could barely believe the syllables of her name as they floated out of his mouth.“Kyra,” He uttered in a near whisper, “What are you doing?”
______
Theon had barely managed to get through the door when Alysane was up in his face.
“Take the case.” She ordered, fists wound tightly on either side of her broad hips. Theon knitted his eyebrows at her complete refusal to give more context.
“What case?” He fired back passively, “I’m not a fucking mind reader.” Took a step in her direction to signal that she should back up and let him get settled before bombarding him with orders. She did, following him close behind as he went over to toss his jacket on his desk.
“We’ve had another brutal murder, and nothing to reference it back to,” She grumbled, “Since the R.B file vanished we’ve been completely without sources, we can’t connect anything back to him. Rebuild it, take the case.”
Tried not to wince, the weight of his new knowledge heavy on his tired shoulders. Why now? He needed more time to think before going after R.B. Before going after Ramsay. “What says it’s him?” He retorted. Alys supported herself by a hand on Theon’s desk, leaning over to stare him square in the eyes. Despite the usual people being at the station, Alys had him singled out. Cornered by his desk, for everyone to see.
“There’s blood everywhere. Pure carnage.” She hissed back, ”Who else?”
His temples throbbed in unimaginable pain. Was already stressed enough by the morning’s events, and now this? ”Why me?” Was all Theon could come up with.
Alys narrowed her eyes, speaking slowly, “Who else?”
”She’s right.” Tym pitched in from over by his desk, “You’re the only one who knows it by heart.”
”Wouldn’t go that far…” Theon objected, though he found it hard to argue. As much as he felt repelled by the idea of taking on the case, rejecting it would spell disastrous. Would put unnecessary attention on his already precarious position within the force. Theon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a rub, “Fine, I’ll… get on it. Eventually.”
If his stalling skills had held up over the years, he might be able to slip out of their grasp soon enough without doing much to deepen their R.B mania. Though it was an optimistic view, he hoped it would blow over soon enough when faced with more urgent matters.
Put his hand on his hip and fiddled with his hair, painfully aware of every little nervous tick and shift in posture as he pushed the locks from his eyes. “Any, uh, any progressions in anything else?” Theon asked.
“You’d know if you actually came to the office more often,” Skittrick said, angling a knowingly stern look Theon’s way, “During actual work hours.”
Theon swallowed thickly. Did he somehow know about Theon sneaking in last night? Couldn’t be possible, there wasn’t any surveillance. Only way would be if he’d been caught red handed…
Tym interrupted his spiraling thoughts, “The wall is being torn to shreds. More than half of The Watch is out scouting, the remaining force is spreading themselves thin trying to keep wildlings out.” He spread some printed pictures on the table before them. They were taken of the wall, huge chunks of the chainlink bitten off to form easy passageways between the two territories. Something about them struck Theon as eerily familiar. “Since we don’t have enough men to go up there ourselves, The Watch sent us these with their report. The rips are too large to be done by a single person, too neat to be caused by explosives.”
Theon glanced at Alys, “They look identical to the ones we saw, don’t they?”
“You tell me, detective,” She replied as she studied one of the photos, “You have the pictures.”
Letting a slight grumble escape his lips, Theon fetched his camera. The display was small and pixelated but would have to do as he hadn’t found it important enough to export and print them yet. “They’re clearly similar…” Theon mumbled as he flicked through pictures, “I don’t doubt there’s a connection, a chain of calculated attacks, but…” He glanced over at the printed photos, singling out a handful, “There’s no blood in these.”
Tym peered over Theon’s shoulder as the room fell silent, urging him to elaborate. He waved towards the other section of pictures, “These have traces of blood, indicating some sort of struggle or attack. Has The Watch reported any disappearances in their force?”
“Not that they mentioned,” Rick shrugged, “But it’s hard to track, with all the recent resignations and scoutings.”
“Well, the pools vary between trailing north and south of the wall, so there’s no real knowing which side the assaults are coming from, or who they’re targeting,” Theon bit his thumbnail as he murmured, absorbed in deep thought, “If it were one person– or group– doing this, traveling back and forth between the wall, it seems incredibly stupid to make a new hole every time.”
“So what?” Alys scoffed, “Are you implying a degree in rocket science is needed to blow shit up?”
“No,” Theon retorted with an equally venomous scoff of his own, “I’m implying it lacks the most basic planning. Whatever caused this can’t be human. It was probably an animal or… other. Alys, you were with me by the first intrusion, you have to remember the noises as clearly as I do.”
Her brows pinched, the look in her eyes incredulous as she clearly recalled the day, “You think a bear caused this?”
“... Perhaps,” He murmured, knowing how stupid it sounded. Still, there couldn’t be any other explanation. No other animal would be capable of that force.
Remembered what he’d seen, deep in the woods. Huge, crawling limbs. Deformed muscles grotesquely powerful, mighty and threatening violence as its spindly fingers clawed through the dirt. Impossibly fast, capable of great carnage.
Theon swallowed, shaking the memory from his mind. “Though, if we can find a pattern…” Couldn’t be true, such things shouldn’t exist. This was real life, monsters like that weren’t allowed to exist in real life. “D-did they, uh, mention where each tear was made? How close to Castle Black? Disregarding population density, there could be a connection between the occurrence of blood and partols. It would be the only thing that could rule out the possibility of an animal. The assailants could have accidentally come across some watchmen and felt the need to eliminate any potential witnesses, no animal is that brutal with their kills without leaving traces of a body behind…”
Rick shrugged, “Not really, but I can ask. I’m going up there as soon as our reinforcement arrives,” He explained, “New recruits, fresh out of the academy. Baby-faced teenagers. Not the best, but they’ll do.”
Theon raised his eyebrows in surprise. Had been a while since they’d gotten fresh meat. Though the fact they were sending teenagers didn’t bode well. They were getting desperate.
Tym pumped a celebratory fist in the air, “I won’t be the youngest anymore!”
“Yeah, well, they can’t afford to keep them in school for too long anymore, the demands are getting too high,” Alysane said, “At least we’ll have a new armorer for the first time in… forever.”
Out of anything, that caught Theon’s attention, “An armorer?”
“Gendry Waters, I believe,” Rick pitched in, “Young, but anything will be an upgrade from our current situation. I can barely find an acceptable glock these days. Either worn to shit or stolen, there’s always something wrong with our supply.”
“We could finally get things moving,” Alys added, eyes alight with fierce determination, “Help Robb move towards a safer north.”
“Sure.” Theon murmured. Dared not think about what it might lead to, what further enquiries about what befell to the previous armorer might unveil. Sins as easy to uncover as a pocket of riches, only one swing of the pickaxe away. “The more the merrier.” He grumbled. “Any progressions in Wight?”
“It has started flowing out into the general population.” Alys said.
“I’ve seen it, even some of my friends have started…” Tym budded in before realizing his mistake by admission, “I mean, uh, they’re old friends. Barely talk to them anymore…”
Ignoring Tym’s blundering efforts to cover up, Alys continued, “With the lack of medical care, more and more people are using it for its medicinal properties.” She scoffed, “Believes it makes them morally cleared, freely walking around with greyscale simply because it’s halted. The moment that poison runs out their veins, they’re contagious again. Then what?”
“Maybe it’s for the best,” Rick grumbled, “Gods know we can’t afford it spreading. What if it reaches us? Proximity to each other will have us all six feet under in a matter of seconds.”
Theon’s bandaged feet ached against the confines of his shoes. Crawling up his legs, spreading. Might be a way out, the needle a cowardly solution to his rapid decline. Didn’t matter if he got addicted, if it tore him apart once again, as long as he was gifted an extension, a chance to make everything right.
Thought of Kyra, sitting on those steps. A horrible sight, and one he’d subject others to just the same if he chose to walk her path. “So what, we should just leave it all alone?” Theon fought back, “Wight is tearing up the very fabric of our society, and we should just let it?”
“It’s either that or succumb to disease,” Skitrick argued with a wan tug at the right corner of his mouth, “Out of the two, I’m sure you know what the latter might feel like.”
“Maybe we’ll leave civilians alone,” Tym suggested, “It shouldn’t be that hard to differentiate between people using Wight medically and criminally.”
Alys nodded, a thoughtful look on her face, “We might be able to crush two grumkins with one stone that way.”
“If we have enough manpower,” Rick objected.
“It’s worth a try,” Theon finished the discussion with a dismissive shrug, “Calling back to my morning greeting, do you want me out on that one crime scene? The one with ‘blood everywhere’? ‘Pure carnage’?”
Alysane and Rick exchanged a brief glance. What was said between the two, Theon couldn’t decipher, only being able to sniff out the thick atmosphere of apprehension between the two. At last, Alys took charge, “Not yet,” She said, “We need Qyburn on the scene with you. He’s off on other business.”
Unease twisted in Theon’s stomach. One didn’t pull the old doctor along on a whim, and the few times he’d been forced to work with the man were cases sure to be burned into his memory until his last living days. Stubborn and constantly preoccupied with his own endeavors, it took some real anomalies to bait Qyburn out of his lair.
It befell Theon to decline. Exercise his worker’s rights and flat out refuse to come along but kept his lips sealed for fear of how it would make him look.
“Alright,” Theon shrugged as he turned to walk out the door, “Give me a call when it’s time.”
Alys got up, “Where are you going?”
“Out,” Theon replied matter-of-factly.
“But you just got here,” Tym said, “What about the R.B case?”
“I’ll get on it. Eventually,” Theon sighed, slipping his mask on before pushing the door open before casting a low-effort explanation over his shoulder, “Got some business to attend to.”
______
Unfortunately, the slim display on Theon’s phone lit up at the most inconvenient time.
Kyra’s head hung bayed at the other side of the table, nails fidgeting with the porcelain of the cup in her hand. The interrupting phone call did little to ease her reserved demeanor, and Theon’s efforts went completely out the window.
He’d done so much, too. Cleaned up the kitchen a little once he got home, bought her something to eat and even put on some tea, all to make her explain what she’d been doing in Molestown. Nothing, she didn’t even respond to his simplest of questions.
Theon weighed the phone in his hand, debating the importance of the call. The number was recognisable enough. Short, stout and professional in that way only official government lines could be. Calling straight from the station, there was no doubting the urgency. They seemingly wanted him out with Qyburn quite immediately, but Theon couldn’t stand the thought of abandoning Kyra, again.
Amongst the last pulses of his ringtone, Theon gave in. “Hold on,” He murmured to an unresponsive Kyra, “I have to take this…”
Kyra, not having said much at all, didn’t protest as Theon answered the call.
“You’ve reached Theon Greyjoy,” He started in that awkward way you always needed to identify yourself, no matter how recognised your number was at the workplace.
“It’s Tym,” Tym announced, “Qyburn is ready, he’s coming to pick you up.”
“You sure you should stick that cryptkeeper behind a wheel?” Theon joked, though the faint laugh felt mirthless in his chest, “Should he even be allowed to drive?”
“Beats me,” Tym replied, “For all the lives he’s saved, gods know it doesn’t matter if he runs some people over. He’ll be over in five.”
Saved. Yeah, that was certainly a word for it.
“Minutes?” Theon questioned as he glanced over at Kyra’s still form, “Could you stall a little? I’m kinda in the middle of something…”
“Fifteen, then,” Tym didn’t give much leeway, “It’s all I can do, this is pretty urgent.”
“Sure. Thanks, Tym.” Theon hung up.
“Sorry about that,” Theon shoved the phone in his pocket, bending over to kiss Kyra on the head, “I’ll have to leave soon, if you want to tell me something do it now.”
Kyra remained reserved, sharp fingernail scraping against the pale porcelain of her cold cup of tea. Unsure about her own silence, brewing in a desire to speak so painfully obvious it took Theon’s all not to scoff at her stubborn vigil. Just needed a push in the right direction, like she’d done for him so many times before. “I want to help you,” He laid an arm over her shoulders, “But you have to tell me what’s going on, why you’re doing this to yourself.”
A sole tear, and Theon knew he had a foot in the door. Soon this would all be over, and he wouldn’t have to worry anymore. Kyra didn’t let the rest of the tears fall, snubbing them with a hand as soon as they rolled down her cheek.
For once, she looked him in the eye, and Theon could swear he saw something burn behind her glassy pupils. “And still you didn’t stay to see if I was ok, after you pushed me,” She rebutted, “You talk all this talk about loving me back, but you still left me to bleed. Does that look like caring, to you?”
The words caught in Theon’s throat, being put on the spot like that. “I…” He deflected, “I was going through a lot! All I needed was space. All I wanted was a moment to breathe.”
Finally, Kyra’s lips seemed to loosen. To Theon, it seemed like arguing was all she wanted to do lately. “You could have told me that, instead of having me run circles around you!”
Hairs prickled at the back of Theon’s nape, irritation rising. That wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be expected to say everything. Anyone who knew him understood that whatever Theon didn’t express through words, he displayed clearly enough in his body language. “I just wanted to be alone, and I thought I made it pretty obvious enough by being a complete dick to you.”
“I guess not, because I sure as hell wouldn’t go!” Kyra raised her voice, face contorted in an indiscernible mix of emotions. “You knew I needed someone to lean on, and you kept your mouth shut when I dared think that someone was you. Instead you trapped me in this cat and mouse game, constantly guessing what you wanted me to do when it all could have been solved way easier if you fucking… said something!” Saw rage, sorrow and fear behind her eyes, oozing from her cracking voice and spastic breathing.
Saw how her pupils flickered, digging deep for any form of reaction from Theon, but he remained in stunned silence. Realizing his loss for words, something seemed to dawn on her. Her tense shoulders relaxed in jaded apathy, breathy laugh on her lips. “No, of course you wouldn’t. Not only do you like being miserable, you like it when people know just how miserable you are. Admit it, the pain gives you a rush.”
Theon couldn’t help but conjure a sarcastic smile, subtly nodding at the needle marks along the crooks of Kyra’s arms. “Well, aren’t you one to judge an adrenaline junkie…”
The muscles of her face dropped in an instant, expression blank as she stared Theon down.
“I have greyscale.” She said, and the room fell painfully quiet.
Wanted nothing more than to say it came as a surprise to Theon, but the news filled him with nothing except dreading guilt. It had been subtly obvious from the start, and Theon didn’t have to travel far from himself to pinpoint who gave it to her.
The healing skin on his feet itched, stubborn in its persistence.
Looked at her arms, and it all made sense. She was no better than him, in the end. Terrified, ruining herself in a pitiful attempt to delay the inevitable. Hoping for an extension, or unlike him, wanting to save those around her from catching it. Though her attempts were naive.
Unlike Theon, she didn’t know its effects beforehand. She didn’t know the beast she was feeding within herself.
”I’m dying, and there’s nothing I can do except delay it.” She continued, voice wavering with emotion as she teared up anew, “I always thought I was growing washed up and old, but now, robbed of my future, I realise I’ve never been younger. And I recognise my stupidity, the type that can only come with youth– I recognise the idiocy of staying with a selfish bitch that never even cared about me to begin with.”
Unable to take it anymore, Theon made a move towards the door, a pathetic attempt at escape which Kyra rebutted with a quick, “Go on, leave. Like always,” causing Theon to pause in his tracks. Stayed, digging nails into the palm of his hand as he bit his lip, desperate for something to say.
“You don’t know what it's like,” He began, words broken and weak, thick in his throat as he forced them out, “With Damon, living with the knowledge that he…”
“I don’t?” Kyra got up from her chair, “What about all the times you had me sleep with those men? When you forced me to fuck them, all in hopes of getting closer to that gods damned ‘R.B’, did you think I wanted it? I couldn’t tell you I wanted to stop, gods know I wanted to, but I knew you wouldn’t listen to me, even if I tried. I know you saw my bruises, my cuts and burns, and you did nothing to stop it. All for your little investigation, nothing of that would have happened if it wasn’t for your damn ambitions. They didn’t rape me, Theon, you did.”
A sickening snap. Kyra stumbled back, cupping her jaw. When Theon came to, the knuckles on his clenched fist stung faintly. Instantly knew what he’d done as Kyra lingered, kneeling with her back turned to him, supporting herself against the table. Blood dripped, forming a small puddle on the polished surface.
The look she gave curdled his chest into such painful shame that Theon knew he couldn’t let her leave the apartment before he did. Her gently swaying form lingered in the kitchen as he went out the door, leaving his conscience behind.
______
Theon stood on the porch, overlooking the damp grounds surrounding the house. The sun was setting, casting the frosted wetlands in reds and pinks, rendering the wintered world in the faintest promise of warmth.
Tried to clear his head of any memory of the abomination inside with each drag of his cigarette, tasting the foul air through each unfiltered breath. Not only poisonous, the air also reeked of rot and disease. A damp sweetness, mixed with ammonia and raw shit.
Flexed and unflexed his fist, feeling the skin ripple over his knuckles. Felt the tingling soreness linger, a faint whisper on his hand. He shouldn’t have punched that hard. He shouldn’t have punched at all.
Gods, where was his self control? Or did he never even have it in the first place?
The rickety door creaked behind him, and Qyburn appeared by his side.
Gloved hands buried deep in his bag, the old man filed some samples into their right spot with unsettling professionalism. Seemed completely unphased by the magnitude of what they’d seen inside, carrying an air of apathy only acquired by gratuitous experience in the field.
Looked up, beady eyes examined Theon from behind his slim glasses.
“I would have preferred if it never came off to begin with, but seeing as we’re past that I must implore you to put your mask back on,” Qyburn tutted, “The air is especially thick here, smoking without a purifying filter could very well kill you.”
Theon scoffed, letting the bud fall to the porch floor. Watched it sizzle and scorch the boards as he crushed it beneath his shoe. Took a deep breath, feeling Qyburn cringe beside him. “Let it,” Theon replied, “A little bad air doesn’t bother me.”
“I don’t doubt that one bit, but it’s more than bad air,” Qyburn grumbled, clearly growing impatient with Theon’s musings, “Considering what happened to the inhabitants of this house, we have no telling what it could do. Caution is a virtue in places like these.”
A shiver ran through Theon’s body. The fate those people had faced was one he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. Not even on himself, terrible as he was.
“And they think this is the work of R.B?” Theon muttered in disbelief.
“Apparently so,” Qyburn bobbed his head, “Desperate times call for desperate measures. Mankind seeks to explain the unexplainable, just happens that R.B is the ideal scapegoat.”
“Are you going inside?” Qyburn urged when Theon didn’t respond, “If I’m to get these samples to the lab in time, we have to get back soon.”
“Fine.” Theon grumbled, sliding his mask on. Out on the porch he felt safe enough, but he dared not imagine what might happen if he breathed the air in there.
Nothing struck Theon as outstandingly unusual the first time he entered the house, a fact which remained when he returned. Shone his flashlight over the floors, scanning up the dusty walls. Traces of life were strewn about in various forms of trash. Navigated his way across the hall, careful to not step in the usual mess, typical for any home this day in age.
It was when Theon itched deeper into the house that things started taking a turn towards the unsettling. Walls streaked in lashing patterns, shifting in density. Shining his flashlight, he saw hints of wallpaper through the rippling shades of muted colours. Like an agitated oil slick, spiralling the hallways in maddening vertigo. Constantly shifting, mocking Theon for attempting to make sense of its suctioning disharmony.
Each step he took crunched. The floor was coated in leaves, twigs and something he couldn’t quite discern. Upon first inspection, he had incredulously thought them to be piles of rice or some other grain, but sweeping his flashlight over the flat piles revealed their little brown bodies. Dried and shriveled, clusters of maggots lay across the floor. Dead and unmoving, starved of rot to consume.
The existence of the maggots at all suggested there once existed decay in this house, but their shriveled bodies implied the critters weren’t given much time to feast. Whatever had happened to these people post mortem, it must have occurred shortly after they breathed their last.
There were five of them, all sat in the kitchen. Calling them people at all would be overstepping, so much did they turn Theon’s stomach. The entire room was coated, floor to ceiling, with the same pattern as the rest of the house. Only this time it seemed even more alive. Blooming, bacterial patterns surrounded his every side. Puffed, long and pulsating sacks snaking against each other, much resembling entrails while lacking connection to any given organism. Separated, sentient entirely by itself.
Unlike the scenery, the rest of the room wasn’t overly gory, nor visceral in any way that made Theon squeamish. Frozen in time, propped up into whatever position they’d held at the precipice of death. Some clawed at their faces, tangled mouths open wide in wails of agony, others lay writhing on the floor.
Theon was surprised by how animated their poses were, considering their state.
Every single one of them had been hollowed out by plants. As if entirely replaced by a vegetative replica of themselves, empty husks more reminiscent of an art installation than a death scene.
Their faces were distorted, unrecognisable in the tangle of growth, and their limbs appeared stringy with clustered stems. Consumed from the inside out, until there was no trace of humanity left.
Theon had never seen anything like it this close to civilization before. Their frozen forms were more akin to something he once only associated with drives through the forest, flickering between passing trees. Simply referred to as ‘the green’ by those unlucky to know of it intimately, the infection was hardly feared by any on account of having stayed contained to the wilderness. A fact which was soon to change.
It was spreading.
Took whatever pictures he needed. Didn’t really know if the evidence he was getting would be tangible enough. Only knew one thing for sure, he wanted to get out.
Was hit with the stark difference in scenery as the porch stretched out before him once more. The sun had set, and the sky stretched in an infinite expanse of stars. A breath of fresh air, both figuratively and literally, from the horrors inside the house.
Qyburn stood a little further out, a good few meters away from the porch, hands clasped behind his back as he stared up at the sky. “Look at that,” He marveled when Theon approached from behind, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The same stars that shine upon us now shone upon me, when I was your age. Just as they witnessed the dawn of civilization, they will come to see it’s dusk.”
A little morose, but not an uncharacteristic turn for the doctor. Yet Theon supposed he was right. There wasn’t much hope left.
Qyburn looked down at the ground, taking a deep breath. ”Society is at its tipping point,” He relented, “In the apocalypse there are no heroes, only perpetrators, witnesses or victims. You have more of a choice in the matter than you’d think, for without making a choice you are weak. Yet we all die, in the end. That, we cannot choose. Until then, I— for one— refuse to be a victim.”
______
The bar simmered in bated silence.
The in-house purifier whirring in the corner was the only noise heard. Nearly found it comical, if it wasn’t for the threatening glances from the patrons.
Didn’t dignify the bug-eyed fools with the slightest consideration, only wandered over to the counter. His day had been long and he simply wanted to settle with a drink. Needed some liquid courage to drown the things he’d seen, the things he’d said and the things he’d done, but crawling to the singular bottle of wine he had at home wasn’t a viable option. Couldn’t go back to the apartment lest she was still there…
Theon’s spotlight seemed to disperse as he integrated into the scene, stepping up on one of the stools. Sat and flagged the bartender, ordering himself the usual whiskey.
The establishment was unusually packed, though that didn’t say much. An influx in customers was typical for that time of year, people escaping the harsh winter winds with a pint and good conversation.
Took a sip of his drink, willing the guilt about Kyra to dissipate with his throbbing headache. He’d been horribly unfair, his reaction a gross escalation. Yet, the thought couldn’t help but appear in his mind. What did she expect? They’d known each other for so long, she was very well aware of his temper. Why did she insist on pushing his buttons?
Took another gulp of his glass, fingers tightening against the crystalline surface. If she truly wanted things to end, she should have just left. Simply tell him no and she’d be done with it, wouldn’t have mattered much to Theon. His life would be exactly the same, with or without her. Instead she stayed involved, doing his bidding through no fault of his. Theon wasn’t manipulating her, she went along with his whims without a word of protest. How was he supposed to know what she wanted, if she never said it?
A waft of freezing air hit Theon’s side as someone entered the bar, but Theon didn’t turn.
Drained his glass. Truly, he’d been merciful today. Not in comparison to what he could do, but what the rest of the world was capable of. Anyone else could have her brutalised, even killed, for the way she was acting. Theon would never, but few possessed his restraint these days.
His attention was dragged from his glass. Some sort of commotion in the middle of the floor. Theon hadn’t realized how hard the whiskey had been hitting until he turned to look, feeling the heavy sway of his head.
A chair got knocked to the ground as a burly figure grappled a ragged looking man by the collar of his coat. “Where is it?” The larger man held his victim firmly as he spat his words.
The scrawny man shook his head vigorously, “I don’t have it now, I…” He tried protesting, but was silenced with a stern shake.
“You better cough it up right now, or you’ll regret ever dealing with us.”
Just as Theon thought he might wrap his head around the situation, the larger man looked around the bar. All its patrons sat in complete silence, some outwardly gawking at and others pretending not to notice the loud confrontation. That was when Theon got a good look at the assailant’s face, and his chest lurched at the sinking recognition.
Skinner.
Felt relief as Skinner didn’t seem to notice Theon in the corner. Grumbling at the unwanted attention, Skinner kept his grip on the man’s jacket and hauled him outside.
Got up from his chair, slapping a few un-counted bills on the counter, hoping they would cover the cost as he stalked after them. Theon was sure they’d find out what he knew eventually, would rather it be on his own terms than theirs. Now was as good a time as any.
The wind bit at Theon’s cheeks, night air deadly silent except for the soft sounds from the pub and a few distant voices. Saw Skinner drag the man into a nearby alley, followed by jeering hoots. Theon paused. He wasn’t alone.
Heartbeat pounded in his veins. Maybe it was impatience, the mellow effects of alcohol or raw stupidity that urged him on, but Theon felt a surge in bravery as he followed, rounding the corner into the alley.
They were all there, as far as Theon could tell, plus some others. Skinner stood next to two other men with their back turned to Theon. “Uphold your end of the deal.” One of them, Theon couldn’t discern which, spat. They towered above the man, now thrown to the ground, while Grunt blocked his ability to back away. Alyn stood off to the side with two other men, keeping guard. Next to Skinner, back turned towards Theon and fist tightened around a row of brass knuckles, stood the man he’d despised for years. Ramsay.
Before any of the guards could alert the rest of the men to Theon’s sudden appearance, he called out. “Hey, shitface!” Theon taunted, balling his incomplete set of fingers into a fist. His terms.
The bastard was still wearing his mask, even out in the open. Theon had to hand it to him, the commitment to the bit was admirable.
Theon opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word Ramsay gestured with a quick nod, and the men lunged his way. Caught off guard, Theon barely had time to so much as scramble before his arms were restrained, shoulder wrenched in a way to force him to buckle his knees. Strained to stay upright, but refused to fall to the ground, crouching awkwardly under the oppressive weight of their grips.
Saw shifting of boots in his peripheral vision as Ramsay approached. Wanted to look up and give a defiant scowl, but his false confidence wavered as he got a better look at one of his accomplices. One of the men that had kept their backs turned to him was now staring down at him. Deeply set greys, peering out from a painfully familiar face, framed by sandy blonde hair.
Damon.
Lost all instinct to breathe. Throat stuttered, almost as it he’d forgotten how.
Ramsay crossed his arms, sleeves of his worn leather jacket stretching taught over the muscles. Cocked his head, cold eyes staring down at Theon from behind the mask. So distinct, Theon must have been truly stupid to not have made the connection himself.
Spoke slowly, practically spitting each word. “What do you want?”
Theon failed to find the right words. Hadn’t thought this far, yet he couldn’t back out now.
When Theon stalled for too long, he got a reminding twist of the shoulder. “To talk.” He grunted through gritted teeth.
“To talk?” Ramsay responded, muffled voice twisted in amusement. It dawned on Theon he could make no connection between the voice behind the mask and the man he thought was behind it. “He wants to talk.”
A shape streaked past. Just as one of Ramsay’s boys was about to fetch after the escaping debtor, he gave a dismissive wave of the hand. “Leave him,” He instructed, “We’ll find him again.”
Ramsay looked down at Theon again. “What do you want to talk about, detective?”
Swallowed thickly. “About my future safety,” Theon said plainly, “I know it’s you, Ramsay Snow.”
The initial shock flashing in those dead eyes of his disappeared impressively quick. Out of every reaction Theon expected, laughter wasn’t one of them. Still, Ramsay chuckled dryly. Sounded tired, as if this all had been one worn out game he’d finally lost, freeing him of the burden to keep going.
“So that’s why you’ve been lurking around my house? Real subtle.” Ramsay mocked, “What makes you so sure?”
“Figured it out myself,” Theon lied, “You’re not the sneakiest motherfucker yourself, I guess we have that in common. Are you going to take that mask off, or are you shy? Too ashamed of what the years have treated you?”
“Not at all.” Even when bested, Ramsay kept up his charade of aloofness. Always so smug. The strap at the back of his head was unbuckled, mask untangling from his hair as it fell to the ground.
His face had been hardened by the years, but the man staring down at him was unmistakably the same boy that Theon shared cigarettes with behind the school shed, the same boy that had been the first person to kiss him without Theon having to convince them. The same boy he bullied for five years and the same boy that beat him up in front of the whole bleachers.
Only one thing stood out as drastically different from the last time he’d seen the man up close. Hadn’t seen them properly from the distance of the window, but now the scars showed in full. Brutally deep, they gouged jagged lines over his pale skin. Broken lines lashed down his temple and across his right cheek, connecting to his upper lip. Travelled further down his neck, disappearing under his shirt.
“Had your fill?” Theon fought not to flinch when Ramsay got closer. Skin crawled as Ramsay’s fingers lifted his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “You were looking for a while, are you really that easy?”
“Fuck off,” Theon tried to tear his head away from Ramsay’s grip, but was firmly held in place, “Just let me go already.”
Ramsay tutted as he stroked Theon’s cheek with the back of his hand, jagged brass knuckles rippling over his skin. “How can we trust you won’t run away? Tattle to your little friends down at the precinct?” He tilted his head, broad smile exposing his jutting canines. Had forgotten how dizzying that smile was.
Refused to be a victim any longer.
“That’s exactly what I came here for,” Theon grumbled, “I want to work with you.”
Ramsay cocked an eyebrow, scowling, “With me?”
“Or for you, whatever gets your pussy wet.” Theon snapped back, “As long as you have my back if things fuck up, I’ll do whatever you want to. Your obedient servant.” Would have performed a theatrical bow if it wasn’t for the men holding him in place. Their grips were really starting to hurt, and Theon didn’t doubt he’d wake up with bruises the next day.
Glancing back up at Ramsay proved a mistake, for his expression was so horribly overwhelming. Eyes widened in a transfixed, far-off look, combined with the most natural smile he’d seen on those wet lips in ages. Delighted. It was clear as day, he loved seeing Theon like this. Ramsay pulled in closer, enough that Theon could feel the dampness of his breath on his cheek. “I think you have the wrong idea,” He mused, “You have no room to barter here.”
Theon’s eyebrows pinched, struggling against his restrained arms. “I can have you arrested-!”
His head snapped to the side with the impact of the hit. Heard a loud crack as blood welled inside Theon’s mouth, flooding his taste buds with the distinct tang of iron. Something plastic pressed against his tongue, and the tooth clattered against the frozen ground as he spat. Let his head hang low. Another piece of him, lost forever. Felt the slightest relief as he laid eyes on the brass knuckles, discarded on the ground. Doubted if he’d even have a face left, otherwise.
“Continue like that and see where it leads you.” Ramsay warned.
When Theon didn’t respond, Ramsay lifted his chin again. Softly, like a lover, he swiped his thumb over Theon’s chin, smearing the dribbling blood. The smile had returned to his face, condescending as ever, “But,” He began, “If you can be a good boy, and know your place, I’ll see what I can do for you.”
Felt his cheeks burn. Some part of him tried to convince himself that it was the cold– not the humiliating words– that made him flush, but even Theon wasn’t so easily fooled. Glanced at the various men around them, hoping they didn’t notice his reaction. None of them seemed particularly phased, simply glaring down at him with disinterest or mockery. Locked eyes with Damon, throat tightening at how his eyebrows were raised. The slightest smile tugged at the corner of Damon’s lips, soft scoff spilling out of his smirking mouth in disbelief.
Looked back at Ramsay, meeting his expectant eyes, clearly wanting a response from Theon. “Fine.” He gritted, but the tilt of Ramsay’s head suggested that he expected so much more than that. Despite trying to lace his words with heavy sarcasm, Theon just ended up sounding as pathetic as he felt. “I’ll be a good boy.”