A/N: Okay, so this one gets Trigger Warnings, guys.
This one is severely angsty, like I sobbed my eyes out just coming up with this fic, not even the actually writing of it, the idea of it. This fic contains the following:
Off-screen Rape. Rape Aftermath. Unplanned Pregnancy. Unplanned Pregnancy due to Rape. Mental Breakdown. Emotional Instability. Angst. Trauma. Premature Birth. Traumatic Birth. Graphic Description of Birth. Emotional Manipulation. Depression. Anxiety. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Non-Consensual Touching. Kidnapping. Religious Themes. Murder. Anguish. Panic Attacks.
If you cannot read this, that is more than okay. I want you guys to take care of yourselves. This fic is specifically written for myself, so that I can express the emotions this idea left behind, so that I can move on to better or at least happier ideas. Don't force yourselves to read this. Don't hurt yourselves.
Take Care of Yourselves.
You Matter.
Now, here's the fic.
Broken Dawn
Junior Deputy Abbigail Grace threw up violently, clinging to the toilet desperately, heart pounding and lungs straining, caught firmly in the grasp of the worst panic attack she's ever had. Stomach churning and head aching, she sat on the cold tile beside the toilet, gasping for breath and shivering, one hand carefully, uncertainly reaching to touch trembling fingertips to her stomach.
To the bulge there that she'd assumed was from her over-indulgence with all the canned goods she'd managed to devour in the past month, so different from the partial starvation she'd gone through since this bastardized Holy War had started seven months ago. She'd been doing her best since then to protect and save people, to fight the Cult and take back what they'd stolen. She'd been forced to flee John's Valley after the first month, she'd moved too fast and nearly gotten caught too many times, it wasn't safe to work there anymore. She'd gone to the Henbane after that, spent a month there helping fight Faith and the Bliss and... And...
Stomach heaving, Abbigail lunged over the toilet, gagging and heaving as burning, disgusting bile choked out of her empty, cramping stomach.
She hadn't thought much of it, at the time. The black outs, the bad trips, waking up in places in and out of clothes she couldn't remember putting on or taking off, losing hours at a time. It had culminated to her leaving, of course, the stress and illness and constant fear of not waking up finally chasing her out of the Henbane. She'd thought the bouts of illness the next few months had just been her body purging the Bliss from her system, thought it had all been some fucked up form of withdrawal, God knows she'd seen enough of it when she was a kid to recognize the signs.
But six months dodging between the Mountains and the Valley had distracted her from a lot of things. She'd had too much to do, too many strings pulling her in too many directions, and she'd honestly thought she'd just been dealing with the stress of going from a rookie cop (it had only been her second week, for fucks sake) to a mass-murdering Symbol of Peace. God knows how many times she'd just burst into tears or broken something or buried her face in a pillow and screamed herself hoarse. How many nightmares and bouts of paranoia had seen her through a sleepless night, chowing down on whatever food she had on hand and cleaning her weapons with tunnel-vision levels of focus.
It wasn't until today, when she'd decided to hide out for the up coming storm in this tiny cabin in the Mountains, that she'd been reminded of something important. She'd come into the bathroom to check on the state of the running water, and, there, beside the trash can, had been a box of tampons. And, suddenly, her mind had blanked and certain facts lined up and no amount of denial could keep her attention off the sudden realization that it wasn't just her stomach roiling after she'd scarfed down a can of dog food the other day, oh no.
It had been something moving.
And suddenly, all those instances in the Henbane had taken a drastically horrifying turn.
Spitting into the toilet, nauseous and shivering and miserable. Her hands uncertainly pressed against her rounded stomach, a hard shudder wracking her frame as she felt it move gently, a faint tapping that was, that was a kick. It fluttered against her trembling palms, damning and pointed and real. Abbigail choked, tears falling as one hand rose to cover her mouth, eyes unseeing.
This was, this was too much. It was all too fucking much, God damn it! She was twenty-two for fucks sake what was she supposed to do?! Sobbing wretchedly, curling into a ball there next to the vomit-filled toilet, Abbigail broke. Seven months of murder and mayhem and being hunted and now this-
She was only twenty-two.
...She woke up a few hours later, still curled into a ball there beside the toilet, the rancid scent of vomit making her stomach churn and cramp. Shuddering, Abbigail scrubbed her sleeve over her face, shivering heavily as she shoved herself to her feet. Staggering into the living room, she quickly made sure that the house was secure, managing to find the energy to dig a couple of granola bars from her pack to eat before she curled up on the pull-out couch-bed, surrounded by a nest of musty, dusty sheets, one ratty quilt, and the entire closets contents of coats and flannel shirts and two velvety dresses. She forced herself to eat the two granola bars and sip the lone bottle of water she had, head aching and throat sore as she huddled under the quilt and sheets of her nest.
The brief glance she'd taken out the window told her that the snow was already falling hard and heavy, trapping her there for the rest of the night, if not for a few weeks, depending on how deep or cold it got.
Not that she would be able to move much soon, anyways.
Forcing herself to swallow down the suddenly dust-dry granola, to choke down another sip of water, Abbigail blinked away fresh tears, slowly lowering the bottle of water. She couldn't do this. She really couldn't fucking do this. She, she really just needed help, she really needed some fucking help... Hands shaking, she leaned over the side of the bed and pulled up her backpack, digging through it for her radio. Flicking it on, she ignored the frequency it was turned to, and instead twisted and fiddled with it until she reached the Rye's private line.
"Deputy to the Ryes, come in," she called hoarsely, closing her eyes. "Anyone there? Over." She waited a few moments, before sighing with relief when her radio crackled to life.
"Yo, Dep! This is Nick! What's up?" Abbigail curled up on her side, cradling the radio close.
"Nothin' much, Nick. I was wondering if Kim was available? I need to talk to her real quick."
"Sure thing, Dep! God only knows you'd be doin' her a favor, pullin' her away from Carmina. I want some time with my baby, damn it all, and Kim's been hoggin' her somethin' awful!" Abbigail laughed weakly, fondness rising in her as she listened to the man playfully complain over the radio, even when it became obvious his wife could hear him, the two of them playfully teasing one another for a few moments before Nick handed Kim the radio and the older woman obviously left the room they'd been in, the distant sounds of Nick's ridiculous cooing and baby Carmina's hiccupping baby coos fading away.
"Well, now that we're alone," Kim spoke easily, calmly, "What did you want to talk about that you didn't want Nick hearing?" Abbigail let out a shaky breath, a weak smile twitching her lips. She loved the Ryes, more than she'd ever loved her own family, and this was one of the reasons. There was no hesitance, no accusations. And she seriously doubted Nick hadn't figured out she'd wanted to talk to Kim without him for whatever reason. She loved them, seriously, they were like a solid pillar she could hold onto in the river of crazy that Abbigail's life had turned into. Sharky was another, different kind of pillar, the kind that offered unflinching brotherhood and welcomed her no matter what, and was the kind of ride-or-die friend she could have seriously used throughout her childhood.
God, how was she supposed to tell anyone?
"I..." Abbigail started, throat closing up around the words, choking off in a hitched breath and muffled sob as tears abruptly filled her eyes again.
"Hey, hey, easy there, sweetheart," Kim soothed softly, concerned. "Take your time, okay? There's no rush, we've got as long as you need." Abbigail sobbed, curling into a tighter ball and burying herself under the quilt, until the room around her was muffled, just her and Kim on the radio, no War, no Threats, just her and Kim and... And...
"I, I'm pregnant," she managed to choke out onto the radio, a ragged sob tearing from her throat before her hand snapped over it.
"What?" Kim gasped, startled. "Oh, oh sweetheart..."
"I'm pregnant," Abbigail sobbed again. "I'm pregnant and, and I don't know what happened, Kim, I don't kn-know who or when or why! All, all I know is that, is that when I was in the Henbane, and, and I was-was in the Bliss, everything got all foggy and, and I lost so many hours in th-that month and now, n-n-now-" she broke off, sobs renewing heavily, gasping for breath as she wept into the bedding. "W-what do I even do, Kim?! I'm twenty-two and, and I don't know what to do."
"Oh, sweetheart," Kim murmured, voice soft and aching, and it just made Abbigail sob harder because, God, she just wished she was with the older woman. "As soon as the snow is done, come Hell or high water or even that damn Collapse that the Seeds' are always on about, I'm coming to get you, and we're going to figure things out, okay? But, Abbigail, listen to me, alright?" Abbigail sucked in a shuddering, hitching breath, pressing her ear against the radio. "You are going to be okay. You've been through hell, you were assaulted while drugged and now you're pregnant. And I know, with everything happening and everything you've been running around doing, that it's all built up until you feel like there's nothing you can do, like you're helpless and this is just another knife in your back that's pushing you towards some big end that you're half terrified off and half impatient for, believe me, I know... Kim took a slow, deep breath, and let it out again.
"Before I met Nick, back when I was a teenager, I had a boyfriend who was a real piece of work. One night, when we got drunk at a party, I passed out only to wake up to find out that he'd decided that since we were dating it was alright for him to have sex with me without my consent. I broke his nose and dumped him immediately, reported him to the local police and he was arrested, but I remember exactly how ill and betrayed and filthy I felt for weeks afterwards. I found out a week later that I was pregnant. I remembered how ill I got afterwards, how hard I cried and screamed and threw up, made myself panic hard enough that I passed out." Abbigail managed a choked laugh.
"B-been there," she choked out weekly. "Done that. Bought, bought Sharky the shirt."
"Atta girl," Kim murmured soothingly, softly. "I had a miscarriage two weeks after I found out, and started the whole process over again, because, while I didn't want the baby, had even thought about getting an abortion, the fact that even that option had been taken from me, just when I was finally starting to come to terms with even the idea of it, just ripped me to pieces again. I spent years refusing to date, or drink, or go out at night with anyone who wasn't female. I took two or more showers a day, took birth control and followed my period chart like it was my personal religion. It took me five years before I even felt comfortable enough to consider dating, let alone sex. And, even then, I got lucky with Nick." Her voice grew clear, strong and fierce and firm and so damn understanding that it made Abbigail's heart break all over again even as relief that someone understood gave her a life-line to cling to.
"So listen, okay, baby girl? You are going to get through this. You are not alone. You're hurting right now, and you have every right toe be. And, I won't lie, it's going to take a long time before you start feeling okay again. But, you listen to me, okay? No matter what happens, you're always a part of the Rye family, understand? And as soon as the snow either calms down or goes away, I am making my idiot husband hop in his plane and come pick you up and bring you home, understand?" Abbigail laughed wetly, closing her eyes and nuzzling her cheek into the plastic of the radio.
"Thanks, Kim," she whispered weakly.
"Nothing to thank me for, kiddo," Kim told her simply, firmly.
"I just... I dunno what to do," she whispered meekly, uncertainly. "It's, it's moving and, and I c-can't just, just get rid of it, now that I know, not now, not when, not when it's moving, Kim, and, and I just-" she hiccupped, sobbing again, and Kim soothed her through it once again, filling the air with calm, gentle words as she explained what Abbigail was to expect and little tips to help distract her from her own thoughts.
"You're your own worse enemy right now, honey," Kim told her gently. "The number of times I found myself contemplating something stupid when my thoughts got too dark or too scared or too angry... Well, let's just say that I had a lot of impromptu slumber parties with girl friends in-the-know. You don't have that right now, and damn but I wish you did, but you have a radio, and you have us, and you know you can call, day or night, just asleep or not, and, barring an emergency, we'll always answer, you know that, right, kiddo?"
"Yeah," she sighed, soft and relieved and just so tired... "Yeah, I know. Thanks, Kim," she murmured.
"Anytime, honey," Kim replied softly. "Now, I know how tired you are, and there's nothing to do with the storm and snow, so, wrap up warm, make yourself eat and drink something, and sleep off the crying-headache, sweetheart. I'll call you in the morning to check on you, and I expect you to have eaten at least a couple of granola bars, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am," Abbigail managed weakly, smiling as Kim gave a faintly amused hum.
"Remember, we love you, Abbigail," she reminded firmly, simply, as if it was a fact of nature, like how the sky was blue, the rain was wet, the Ryes love her. Abbigail felt a fresh wave of tears slide down her cheeks.
"L-love you too," she choked out, voice hoarse and whisper soft. "Good, goodnight, Kim."
"Goodnight, sweetheart," Kim responded, and then the radio fell quiet. Shuddering, Abbigail curled into a ball and sighed, closing her eyes. She didn't know exactly how long it took before she fell asleep, but she knew when she woke up eight hours later that it hadn't helped much. Oh, sure, her head didn't hurt and her body didn't ache as much, but her body felt weighed down, her mind sluggish and dark. It felt like her bones were made of lead, like getting up from the bed was the hardest thing she would ever do, and her mind just, just couldn't make her do it. She just felt so drained and fatigued, washed and wrung out and left to dry in a wadded-up ball under the sink.
It took an hour after waking for her to manage forcing herself to her feet to stumble into the bathroom to go pee and re-fill her water bottle. While she was up, she forced herself to eat the last three granola bars she had in her pack, drink and re-fill her water bottle yet again, before giving in and allowing herself to once more curl up in her bed after seeing that it was still snowing heavily. A few hours later, she was woken by Kim calling her on the radio.
"I know you're not feeling up for anything, sweetie, believe me, I know," the older woman said softly, "but I need you to get up for a little bit, eat some food, drink some water, and talk to me a little bit, okay?" Abbigail reluctantly obeyed, hoarsely muttering responses to the older woman's chatting as she forced down a can of ravioli and a bottle of water. After half an hour, Kim told her to get some rest and that she'd call back in a few hours. Vaguely, she remembered saying goodbye, but everything was dull and heavy and just...
She couldn't bring herself to care.
A few days passed like this. With Kim calling in, reminding her to eat and drink, forcing her to pay attention to some degree, forced her to get up and move around when all she wanted to do was stay curled up in bed until the whole world just went. Away. The constant, heavy snow wasn't helping, making her little cabin cold and dark, trapping her inside with her only interactions being Kim.
...The bathroom still smelled faintly of vomit, a disgusting, acrid reminder beyond the constant, fluttering movement in her stomach, that she wasn't alone.
After about four days, the fugue she'd fallen into lifted partially, but not because of anything she did or Kim said. She just, woke up one day and, and even the thought of movement no longer felt like too much. She figured out how to get the hot water to work, took a shower, made herself some soup, and cleaned her clothes. She did some stretches in front of the tiny fire place, talked quietly with Kim when she called, and stared out the window at the thick snow until she went temporarily snow-blind and had to blink green after images out of her vision.
Life went on. The snow lasted for another two weeks, sometimes stopping so the wind could pick up and throw what was on the ground everywhere. Carmina apparently started giggling, especially whenever her Daddy made the kinda of hilarious squawking noises that happened when Kim embarrassed him or caught him doing something embarrassing, which made Abbigail giggle so hard she literally peed her pants. Kim wryly informed her that it was to be expected, especially with her pregnancy edging into seven months.
The baby... Abbigail tried hard, tried so hard not to think about it. She had nightmares, now, of her time in the Bliss, either memories or fragments of her imagination and paranoia melding together in order to make her suffer. Sometimes, it got so bad, so visceral, she'd wake up and have to lunge for the bathroom to vomit, sitting there on the ground heaving her guts out and sobbing hard enough to hyperventilate. She had the occasional panic attack as well, just, her emotions getting to be too much, forcing her to curl into a ball hyperventilating until she passed out. The days after each episode were always bleak and fatigued and filled with pointless weeping and angry screams and the occasional broken plate.
But life still went on.
The Mountains were too dangerous still, once the snow stopped, for Nick to come pick her up. The Ryes were frustrated about that, but Abbigail told them not to worry. She still had plenty of food for a while, the pantry had been stocked with a good dozen or so different cans of soup, stew, vegetables, and single-person foodstuffs, and that wasn't counting the baking supplies she unearthed from a cupboard while exploring. Abbigail settled into the cabin, settled into the new pattern her life was taking, and honestly? Beyond the constant flux of her emotions, beyond the horror and terror of her nightmare-memories of the Bliss...
Abbigail felt relieved.
She didn't change her radio frequency, locked onto the Ryes and only theirs, and so she wasn't being bombarded with demands or begging or any member of the Resistance trying to get her to murder or risk death on their behalf. She wasn't getting inundated with cajoling threats and poisonous promises from any of the Seeds. She wasn't getting frustrated with never-ending Peggie music or Josephs Sermons or people arguing about which side was right or wrong. Of people stuck between both sides for whatever reason praying for guidance or protection or anything else.
It was just her and, and her family.
Just her and the Ryes...
And, compared to the last seven, going on eight months now, of constant fighting and bloodshed and stress and paranoia...
The little cabin was downright peaceful.
Abbigail was twenty-two years old, and she had more blood on her hands than her career-soldier granddad had, after fighting in World War Two and Vietnam and everything. Her dreams, before the cabin and the realization that she'd been raped, that she was pregnant, had been filled with gunfire and bodies and spurting blood and so, so many screams. Sometimes, it still was, the gunfire and screaming mixing with the sickly-sweet smell of the Bliss and the vaguest of ideas of large hands and pain and confusion, only she'd be spattered with blood and people would be scream, God why were the screaming she just wanted them to stop-!
...It was safe to say that being trapped in the cabin and willingly removing herself from the conflict had put a lot of things into perspective. She was twenty-two, and she'd been raped because of things she was doing for the Resistance and she didn't even know if it had even been a Peggie that had hurt her.
(Nothing in the Bliss is real, except it was. How many people did she see there that were actually there and how many had actually been what they seemed? How many Peggies had been Resistance members or random people? Or vice versa? She didn't want to know.)
Kim and Nick understood, they more than understood. They encouraged her to back out, to leave the rest to others, to think about herself and her health and life and that if anyone tried to give her shit they'd handle it themselves. She'd sacrificed more than enough, it was time for others to do the same. It was relieving to hear it from them, to be told that she could rest without being scolded for being selfish or being told that she was needed. Even the Sheriff had been reluctant for her to leave the Henbane, all understanding nods and mild expressions and "I understand, though we really do need all the hands we can get. Finish up in the mountains and come back quickly, okay, Rook? We need you here, too."
It was exhausting, being the focal point of so many people's dream's and lives and attentions. She honestly had no idea how Joseph Seed managed, but, then again, he had his 'Heralds' for a good chunk of his Followers. And, sure, Abbigail had some help, some hired-hands for back-up, but, most of the time? She was on her own, behind enemy lines, killing and almost-dying for people who thanked her with ammo and directions to the next outpost.
So, really, being alone with just herself, her growing belly, and the Ryes encouragement for a few weeks was a blessing.
Of course, it couldn't last.
She'd been stuck in the cabin for a little over a month, when she woke in the dead of night to a sudden pain in her gut that had her thrashing and choking on a scream. She'd fallen asleep with the radio next to her on the bed, and it fell to the floor with her sudden movement. Gasping for breath, Abbigail had enough time to realize that the bedding around her bare thighs was soaked through, enough time to yank the blanket away in a panic to see that it was clear, and not blood, before the next agonizing cramping pain wrenched a short scream from her, face already beading with sweat, skin clammy.
Once it passed, she forced herself to scramble to the side of the bed, weeping and gasping raggedly from the shock and pain as her fingers scrabbled at the ground until she managed to grab a hold of the radio.
"K-Kim, Kim, something's wrong!" She gasped into the speaker. "S-something's wr-wrong its, its too soon I don't know w-what to do!" She gasped and shuddered, forcing herself onto her back and shoving herself carefully up the bed so that she was half sitting up. The radio crackled, and Abbigail could have wept with relief if she wasn't already sobbing from pain and fear and shock.
"My Child, what is wrong?" Joseph Seed's voice asked softly, concerned, and Abbigail stared, wide-eyed at the radio.
"S-sorry, wrong num-" she started to snap out, but, just then, the next wave of agony struck her, cutting her off mid-sentence to force a high, gritted scream from her throat, back arching and hand cramping tightly around the radio, pinning the button down and no doubt blasting the so-called Prophet with her pain. It took several, long seconds to pass, leaving her limp and gasping, shuddering and sweat-soaked and crying so hard her vision all but disappeared.
"Deputy, Deputy, speak with me, My Child," Joseph called, something like urgency making his voice tight and stern. "What is happening?" Abbigail gasped, trembling from head-to-foot and weakly pawed at the radio.
"Got, got lost in th' Bliss, s-seven months ago," she choked out, panting rapidly, just trying to catch her damn breath. "Kept, kept wakin' up in weird places, sometimes with different clothes on, sometimes no clothes. Al-always sore an' confused an' bruised up. Didn't, didn't think much of it, at th' time. Put, put it t-together last... Month!" She choked on another gasp, writhing as another wave of pain, shorter than the last, struck her. This time, she remembered to let go of the Talk button, if only barely, her fingers white-knuckled around the base of the radio, palm stinging from the strength of her grip.
"...You were raped," Joseph spoke, something cold and hard and Unforgiving in his voice, something that would have sent cold chills down her spine if she hadn't been otherwise distracted. "And you are pregnant." He paused for a moment, and, through her straining body, Abbigail could vaguely hear the sound of rustling clothes, of a slow, deep inhale, as if he was bracing himself for something. "Deputy. Are you in labor?"
"I d-don't... Know!" she gasped out, panting and sobbing in pain as her body felt like it was tearing apart. "It-it-its t-too... Soon! Was, was t-trying to t-talk to... Kim! About! About it!" she broke off with another scream, sobbing raggedly and trying to keep from curling into a little ball as she did. "It's too soon, Joseph!" she wept, tight and pained and scared.
"Easy, easy, My Child," he soothed softly, lowly. "Is there anyone there with you? Anyone who can help you right now?"
"No," she wept raggedly. "N-no-one here. Only, o-only had Kim an' Nick on th' radio," she gasped. "S-stupid s-snow."
"Ah, I had wondered where you'd disappeared to," Joseph murmured. "The Mountains are a dangerous place for you to be at this time of year, My Child, especially alone. Listen carefully, now, Deputy," he spoke clearly, firmly, voice soothing and strong and holding her attention despite the agony in her gut and between her legs. "I need you to check your thighs for blood, understand? A little is understandable, but more than a small amount is dangerous for both you and the baby. Can you do that for me?" Abbigail took a slow, shaky breath and weakly lifted herself up higher on the bed, peering at the space between her legs and blinking stinging sweat and tears from her eyes. The bed between her legs was soaked through with fluids, but there were only a few smudges of blood.
"N-not much blood," she managed to gasp out as she slumped back down. "M-mostly clear."
"That's from your water breaking," the older man informed her calmly. "I want you to stay on the radio with me, alright, Little Lamb? I can help talk you through a majority of the labor, and will be able to identify if something is going wrong. But I need you to keep talking to me, and remember to take as many deep breaths as you can, alright? It's important for you to stay conscious, and with the contractions, your blood pressure is going to be very high, so you'll need more oxygen. Do you understand?"
"Y-yeah, yeah, I got it," she gasped, before screeching as another cramp, another contraction, oh God, slammed through her, Joseph's soothing, steady voice talking her through it. Vaguely, she could make out him talking to other people on his side of the radio, vague conversations and murmured orders, before he'd be back, soothing and calm and steady and okay, maybe she could see people flocking to him if this was how he acted in tense situations.
Hours passed like this, bouts of agony interspersed with stilted updates to Joseph and soothing, calm words. It was sometime in the late morning when the agony grew to fever pitch, tearing ragged, hoarse scream after ragged, hoarse scream from her throat, the distant, strong voice of Joseph ordering her to breathe, stay calm, and push. Mindlessly desperate in her pain, Abbigail could only obey, choking on wretched sobs and screams as she did so.
A small eternity passed before it was broken by the wail of a baby.
Sobbing and shaking, Abbigail could only lay there for several long moments, just trying to recover her breath and enough strength to even try looking. Her baby was alive, at least, with good lungs and a shrill cry that was keeping her from honestly passing out. Everything hurt, it all hurt so bad...
"-ld? My Child, are you there?" Joseph called, a steadily rising level of urgency in his voice. Someone asked him something on the other side. "She isn't responding," he replied seriously. "My Child? Speak to me, please." Hand shaking, Abbigail pawed at the radio, weakly pulling it towards her. She managed to hit the Talk button after a few fumbling seconds, pressing it carefully as she just tried to breathe through her sobs.
"I'm here," she managed to choke out, the screaming of the baby no doubt loud and clear. "W-what do I d-do now?"
"Is the baby fully out, My Child?" he asked her; Abbigail shakily lifted her head, breath shuddering as she peered down between her legs, grimacing as she caught sight of the bloody, disgusting mess smeared across her legs, bed, and groin, and the small, flailing thing there as well. She'd soiled herself during the labor, whether during the actual birthing or one of the many, countless contractions that had stolen her sight and voice and breath, she didn't know and, frankly, at this point, she really, really didn't care.
"Y-yeah, yeah it is," she managed.
"Is the placenta out?" he asked her; another look showed that, yes, that was out as well, the umbilical cord tangled around the baby's legs having pulled it along for the ride. "Good, you're doing very well, My Child. Now, you need to tie off and cut the umbilical cord. Do you have anything that can do that?" Vision bleary, Abbigail peered around herself uncertainly.
"I..." She blinked a few times to try and clear her vision. "There's a, a ribbon attached t-to one of the, the, um, the dresses on my bed. I, I can use that?" She trailed off uncertainly, even as her free hand uncertainly fluttered over to said dress. It was dark yellow velvet, the ribbon white and thin and looped around the waist.
"Very good, My Child," Joseph soothed. "Tie it close to the baby's stomach, alright? Tie it tight as you can." Shakily, Abbigail forced herself to sit up, crying out as another fissure of pain shot through her, sobbing as she shakily obeyed, fingers trembling as she tied the ribbon tightly about an inch or so from the baby's stomach. After she finished tying it she just spent a moment... Staring, at the baby, as it continued to cry.
It was a boy, she noted blankly, her fingertips trembling as they touched his skin. A boy and blood-flushed to an almost-purple color. His eyes were swollen shut, and the little hairs on his head were pale, like her own. He had all ten fingers and toes...
He was so very small, head large and limbs fragile and oh-so-tiny as they tried to thrash. He was barely a few inches longer than her hand. He was so small...
Sobbing wretchedly, Abbigail carefully untangled his little legs from the umbilical cord, dragging the yellow dress back over to pat at him and try and clean him off, before eventually just lifting him up to rest against her chest with the dress covering him, laying back as she wept and cuddled him close. One of her hands managed to pull the radio over to her again.
"He's so small, Joseph," she wept into the radio. "He's, he's so little, and it's too soon... I'm only twenty-two, Joseph! I don't, I don't know what to do!" She wailed, weeping heavily as she cuddled the tiny, crying body to her chest, painfully pulling her legs up until she was curled into a ball around her baby, the umbilical hanging down between her legs as she did.
"...Oh, My Child," Joseph breathed, sounding mournful and pained. "I'm so very sorry for what you've gone through. The Bliss is meant to open the mind to the possibilities of Seeing, of Understanding the Words of the Father. It is used, it is true, to render those incapable of understanding unable to hinder the Projects preparations. But it is never meant to be used as it was against you. Those who enter the Bliss are meant to be able to leave it should they physically be threatened or injured. It is a safety measure that, it appears, Faith has seen fit to alter." His voice grew hard and deeper and so unflinchingly Unforgiving that Abbigail shuddered again.
"But you need not worry about that now, My Child," Joseph assured her gently. "You must simply focus on recovering and regaining your strength, for both yourself and your child. You need not worry about anything else..." Abbigail curled around her baby, her son, eyes closed as she listened to Joseph's voice. "Don't worry, My Child..."
There was a strange noise, a burst of frigid air that all but froze the sweat covering Abbigail's body, making her shudder and her baby wail and hiccup unhappily.
"Don't worry," Joseph spoke again, voice clear and soothing and calm, and, most importantly, there. Abbigail's head lifted, eyes wide as the bed suddenly dipped, and there he was, blue eyes wide and serious behind his yellow glasses, dressed in thick layers of leather and furs. He lifted a hand to gently cup her face, his skin warm against her clammy, sweat-slicked skin.
"Your Father is here," he told her, slipping his other hand over to gently pull her into his embrace, baby and mess and all. And Abbigail was too weak and exhausted and utterly lost to do anything but slump against him. Her eyes closed as she hid her face against his shoulder and just...
Gave in.
Abbigail sort of... Faded in and out, for a time. She was vaguely, distantly aware of Joseph talking to someone, of Jacob Seed joining them with a cold expression and clinical eye as he helped Joseph and what she vaguely noted were a handful of Faithful gather her things up. The umbilical cord was cut and dealt with at some time while she was 'out', her baby gently cleaned and wrapped in thick, warm clothes, and she was urged into the shower. She was distantly aware that Joseph was there with her, uncaring of the lukewarm water the splattered over his arms and chest as he held her up on her feet and helped her clean herself, movements gentle and perfunctory, completely impersonal outside of the familial, almost possessive tone that had colored all of their interactions thus far.
Even as he helped her dress, making sure she was covered warmly, Abbigail just couldn't... Couldn't get herself to focus, to wake up. She was just so tired and it was too much to think. It was all she could do to stay awake and cradle her baby close.
"Come on, Kitten," Jacob Seed rumbled as he hunched down in front of her, and when had she sat down? Blinking slowly, tiredly at him, Abbigail didn't move as he eyed her. With a low sigh, he reached a hand forward and set it on her head, stroking her wet hair back tenderly, his expression grim. "It's alright, Kitten," he told her, moving forward. "We've got you." In a smooth movement, he had her lifted up, cradled against his chest, her head tucked under her chin as her own arms curled protectively around her baby.
Abbigail sighed lowly, closing her eyes against the blinding light of sunshine on snow. She didn't understand what was happening, couldn't think clearly, too tired and too drained to focus. But, Jacob was carrying her somewhere, and she would find out soon enough. Just, she just couldn't do it herself anymore.
She was only twenty-two...
"Easy, Kitten," Jacob murmured, settling into the heated cab of a car, or truck, she wasn't sure yet. She only knew that it was warm and that, after setting her down, Joseph joined her, pulling her against his side and cradling her there, sitting between her and the door. That door closed, and, after a few moments, the door on her other side opened, and Jacob slid in. It was definitely a truck, she decided, forcing her eyes open as she slumped against Joseph's side, her head laying against his shoulder.
"Rest, My Child," Joseph told her softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You are safe now. You're with your Family, now," he murmured into her hair. "You're safe." And, curling around her baby, leaning against and between two of the man she was expected to kill, Abbigail closed her eyes.
And gave in.
Joseph watched and listened as the Child in his arms fell into an exhausted sleep, his arms tightening gently, eyes narrowed. And she was a child. Twenty-two years old and already having gone through so much, manipulated and used like a tool by the so-called Resistance, those cowardly locusts who would rather send this Child out to kill in their names than pick up arms against him themselves. So selfish and cowardly, steeped in their Pride and Greed and Sloth, so eager to force Wrath from this girl, their False Idol, whose only yearning is to have Purpose, to be Useful. They took advantage of her inexperience and her want to please them and they twisted it into something to suit their Sinful desires until she was falling apart so obviously, and still they demand more of her, that she sacrifice for their ungrateful, unworthy lives...
If Joseph were a man of Sin, he would lock them all from Eden and forfeit their Souls to Damnation.
But, he was the Father, and the Father Forgives those who seek Forgiveness. Those who Sought True Atonement would be welcomed with open arms. Those who Rebelled would Fall into Hell upon the arrival of the Collapse. He would Pray for them, later. For now, he had to make sure that his Little Lamb and her baby were taken care of, and tucked away safely.
"Joseph," John's voice called over the radio, earnest and eager, pulling a faint smile onto Josephs face. "I've had a room prepared for our new Sister and her baby, ready and waiting for your arrival."
"Thank you, John," he replied warmly, affectionately, as he stroked a hand over the unconscious Deputy's hair, her baby snuffling quietly against her. "They have had a hard journey, but they are Home now. I am sure that a safe place is most welcome now."
"My thoughts exactly, Joseph," his Brother replied warmly, happy that his efforts were being acknowledged. John tried so hard to be Good, even as his Sins consumed him constantly, he did Try. And that was all Joseph could ask and expect of anyone, especially his Siblings. "And what do you wish done with our little Judas, Father?" Josephs expression went hard, his hand, cradling the Deputy's head, turning firm and protective.
"There is no Forgiveness for those who disregard the Words of the Father and cause harm to our Brothers and Sisters," he told his Brother seriously, voice hard and unyielding. Beside him, Jacob smiled grimly, glancing over to look at the Little Lamb curled against Joseph so trustingly despite what the Locusts had told her. "Capture our Judas, John," he ordered calmly, tone final. "I will deal with it myself.
"As you wish, Father," John agreed, voice gleeful, before the radio fell silent. Joseph closed his eyes briefly, a faint smile curling his lips as he leaned down to press a kiss against the Deputy's forehead.
"Bout time we got rid of this Faith, anyways," Jacob said gruffly, reaching over to fiddle with the heater, so that the warm air blew on the Deputy and her baby. "She was getting' a little too pushy, a little too bold." Joseph hummed, eyes closed as he breathed in the clean, damp scent of the Deputy's hair.
"She has become arrogant in her control of the Bliss," he murmured in agreement. "It is the responsibility of the Father to deal with rebellious children."
"Uh-huh," Jacob said, voice as nonchalant and apathetic as he always was towards Josephs Belief, not that he blamed his older Brother. Jacob had always been the most cynical of them, after all. "And it has nothing to do with the fact that her direct disobedience lead to that baby being a part of this whole thing, huh, Joe." Joseph didn't respond, merely letting out a low, soft sigh as he stroked the Deputy's hair tenderly and rested his head against hers.
"She will be dealt with," he murmured. "And the Lamb will finally be Home. All is well, Brother," he sighed as the baby whimpered from his place between their hearts. "All is well."
Jacob gave no response beyond a low chuckle, and continued to drive through the snow towards John's Bunker. And, between the two men, completely dead to the world, Junior Deputy Abbigail Grace slept on, unknowing of the blood that was going to be shed in her name and honor, and unknowing of the fate that would await her and her newborn son. She simply slept on, the trauma and exhaustion of her night, of, in fact, the last eight months, finally catching up to her.
She was only twenty-two.
She wasn't made for this.
A/N: This took way longer than I was hoping it would and it was all bc I couldn't decide how to write the last good chunk of it. Once it got to the "You're Father is Here" part my brain was like "You're done, end here" but I couldn't? I had to make sure that the eventual Sequel meets up? IDK, whatever, I hope you all enjoyed!