Aaaaaah okay, I love this fandom! I received so many reviews and such from you lovely people, and all I can say is - to quote our beloved Mr Crane - "I am most grateful for it." On another note, I'd like to point out that I've had my OCs named for a number of weeks. I say this because in 1x10 (*KIND OF A MINI SPOILER DEPENDING ON HOW FAR INTO THE SHOW YOU ARE*), we learn that Ichy's son was named Jeremy... Jeremy… jeREMY. Weird coincidence, right? Anywho, on with the show! *triumphantly flings cape behind me*
Sadly, I don't own Sleepy Hollow. Nic and Remy are mine though!
Chapter 2
"I'm here without you, baby,
but you're still on my lonely mind.
I think about you, baby,
and I dream about you all the time."
- Here Without You, 3 Doors Down
It keeps playing over and over in her head, a broken record of a father's heartbreak that Abbie can't turn off. When Abbie told Ichabod of her vision at the Manor, his face said it all. His heart shattered with every word that left her lips. He had had a child. A son. One that he would never see smile, one he would never hold or chase or laugh with. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? No, hell hath no fury like a vengeful father. While she herself had not witnesses Ichabod's facing the Scarecrow, she had seen the bloody aftermath. Ichabod now sits slumped against a wall in the archives, reflecting on the night. The Scarecrow's blood has all been cleaned away, but the events and discoveries of the night still weigh heavy on his mind. "A son," he repeats in his head like a mantra. "I had a son." Seeing the emotional wounds of her comrade, Abbie opens up.
"When I was a kid," she begins. "I remember walking down the street, passing houses on my block, looking in windows... seeing people - families - sitting around tables, laughing, carving turkeys… I was just so envious. I wanted that more than anything."
"I had it, back in England. During my father's holidays from teaching at Oxford, I'd sit by the hearth and he'd regale me with glorious tales of Ancient Greece… and I really believed that one day," he pauses, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I would follow in his footsteps. I'd be a professor in my own right, yet upheld by his pride in me; and that one day I would have a son, and I'd share that same comfort that I felt so freely."
"I'm guessing that's what the point of all this is," says Abbie. "The time for reflection. You see what you have now, and you embrace what's in front of you." Ichabod offers her a tight smile at this. Abbie sends him one in return, equally fake. Breaking the sadness is Ichabod's recollection of the box from New York. From that box comes a familial discovery. "My ancestor helped bring your son into this world," says Abbie with a true grin.
"Quite heroically," nods Ichabod. "I see the family resemblance. It seems that you and I… our paths were entwined from the very start."
Abbie nods in agreement before setting the box down firmly and grabbing the bottle of forgotten rum. "Let's have a drink. It's a day of giving thanks." Dear Mr. Crane grabs a pair of mugs from a table, and the female Witness pours them both drinks.
"To family," she says, raising her mug.
"To finding family," says he, doing the same. No sooner have they sipped their rum than Abbie's phone shouts. In big letters across the phone reads 'Jenny Mills calling'. "Do you need to answer that?" asks Ichabod.
Abbie looks at the phone, and then to her partner - the same partner who'd only just learned of a child he would never know. Setting the phone back into her bag, she shakes her head. "It can wait. Now, we drink."
Ichabod grins warmly. "Then drink we shall."
"Dammit Abbie!" snaps Jenny. "Answer your damn phone!" Remy sits on a bus stop bench, Nic asleep on her shoulder. Days had passed wherein the boy had gotten maybe six hours of sleep in total. Remy gently rests her head on his, letting her eyes drift shut. "Come on you two," Jenny shouts, already walking down the pavement. Nudging her brother awake, the timid redhead stands and scurries to catch up.
"Where are we going?"
"Havenport Motel. I talked to my buddy Travis earlier. He's gonna let you guys stay there for a while."
Nic's weary eyes light up. "Really?"
The innocent excitement in his eyes brings a smile to Jenny's face. "Yeah. He's a nice guy. You'll like him. Now come on!" The twins come scuttling after her as she strolls down the pavement. The farther they walk, the more cracked the pavement becomes. The Havenport Motel is in a quieter pocket of Sleepy Hollow. Small business owners and the elderly populate the area, crime being virtually nonexistent. The little motel is just that: little. Painted a bright yellow, it is cheery and quaint, with clean rooms and a nice yard in the back for the visiting children to play in. A quarter of an hour passes before the three of them arrive. A man of average heights awaits them. His face is angular, hair buzzed off. Grey eyes sparkle as they land upon the face of his friend. "Jen! It's good to see you!"
"Hey Trav. Travis, these are the kids I was telling you about. Guys, this is Travis Biel. He owns the place."
"Nice to meet you," they say quietly, shaking the man's hand.
"Likewise," he says. "Look, Jenny told me your story, and I just want you to know that if you need anything, just ring me up. My phone number is attached to the phone in all the rooms. I know it's hard coming out of the system. I've been there. If there's anything I can do to make it easier for you, just ask."
"Thanks," says Nic. Jenny ushers the kids down a long hall, stopping at a large blue door with 108 painted on it.
"Here we go," she says, handing Remy a silver key. "This is your room. I've gotta run, so I'll leave you two to get settled, okay? Call me if you need anything."
"Miss Jenny?"
She turns back to the kids. "Yeah, Rem?"
"What exactly did you tell that guy?"
"Oh right. I couldn't exactly tell him you have demons on your tail, so I… stretched the truth a bit."
"You lied," states Nic.
"Not totally. I told Travis that you two just left a really bad foster house, and were trying to adjust to life outside the system. You are coming from a bad house, and you were in the system, so it's not a total lie…"
"Alright. Thank you again," says Remy.
"No problem, kid," smiles the younger Mills sister. "See you later."
-Nic's POV-
"God I need a shower," I groan as Remy removes the key from the door. "I have enough shit in my hair to fill a museum."
"I'd like to see the museum that would take it," snorts my sister, slinging our pack onto one of the two twin beds. The pack is worn as all hell, but then again, so are our clothes, so at least it matches. Remy pulls everything out, setting our possessions out on the foot of the bed for inspection. This is a tradition whenever we find a solid place after a run: we make sure it's all here and it's all intact. "Let's see… Med Kit? Check. Emergency cell phone? Check. Rations? Check. We need more dried fruit though. We're running low."
I grimace. "That stuff tastes like cow dung."
"Hey, I'm not disagreeing, but it's easy to pack," states Remy. "Extra set of clothes? Muddy, but check. Tablet for research? Check. Aaaaand grimoire? Check! We are good to go… Or stay, I guess."
"Wallet?"
She pats her pockets and nods. "Got it."
"Good. Now I can shower," I exclaim, turning on my heels and strolling in the bathroom. Hot showers are a luxury when you're running for your life from demons sent from hell to brutally murder you. That is why I, to quote my sister, 'take longer than the damn Revolution' when I do have the pleasure of hot water. It is one of the few times in this bat-shit crazy life that I can stop, breathe, and not freak out about demons and creature of the night. My skin is riddled with scars from over the years, the most prominent ones being the scar on my cheek. There is another, slightly less prominent scar running from my right hip bone up, ending just below my left nipple. Having had a good - and by good I mean freaking fantastic - meal at Gramma Mayley's has helped diminish the "skin and bones" look of my body, if only a little. Hopefully things will stay calm enough for Remy and I to get healthy again.
As I climb into bed, pleasant warmth clinging to my skin, I notice Remy's medallion is resting beside mine on the nightstand. They are gold, and more special than anything we own, barring the grimoire. I lift up Remy's medallion, running my thumb over the back. The latch - invisible to all but those who bare my father's name - pops open, revealing a small portrait. Mother looks beautiful, as always. Her red hair, the same as that of my twin, sits loose on her shoulder. To her right is a smiling man dressed in his Sunday best. My father. His eyes, from what I am told, were blue like mine. "I miss you, Dad," I whisper into the night. Setting down the necklace, I nestle into bed and let sleep overtake me.
A black and white wasteland greets my eyes upon their opening. "Remy?"
"Nic? Are we-"
I cut her off. "Yup, we're in Purgatory."
"Fantastic."
"Hello, my loves," says a melodic voice. We turn, and meet the eye of the woman who birthed us.
"Hey Mom."
"Hi Mama," says Remy. "Bent u goed?"
"Nee, mijn zoon. I haven't much time, but you must know that you both are in danger."
"That's nothing new," I mutter.
"The darkened sisters will come for you. They are closing in as we speak."
"Well, how do we stop them?" asks Remy.
"Better yet, who are they?" I ask. "What are we up against?"
"Listen to me. You must find the Elder's Script. It is the only way to ward off the dark." The winds start picking, black leaves rustling about. "He is coming."
"Mama?"
"You must go!" she says fearfully. "Find the Elder's Script! It is the only way! Find it!"
"MOM!" I bolt upright in the darkened motel room. Wiping the cold sweat from my brow, I turn to see my twin doing the same. "Did you see-"
"Yeah," she confirms shakily. "I saw it."
"Okay, better question: what the hell is the Elder Script?"
"No idea. Guess that's up to us to figure out."
I groan. "Fantastic."
The night is silent. Every forest-dwelling creature is without sound, the wind moving at an agonizingly slow pace. In a darkened corner of the woods stands a cloaked figure, arm outstretched. A crow's cackle intrudes upon the silence. Black wings flutter before the creature lands upon said outstretched arm.
Turning inward, the figure descends into the bowels of the earth via dark, torchlit corridors. Rats scurry to and fro, but part when the cloak comes into their line of view. It turns a sharp left and enters a cold, stone room lit by a single candle. Surrounding the candle is a circle of five other cloaked figures. The bird lets loose a screech as the sixth figure joins the circle. She states simply, "It is time." The crow flies from her arm to that of the figure directly across from her. This figure lifts her onyx eyes up from the floor, looking out onto the circle. Flames errupt around them, licking their coattails but never burning the six people. The onyx-eyed woman bears a sinister grin, raven black hair framing her face. "Let us begin."
A/N: "Bent u goed" and "Nee, mijn zoon" mean "Are you well" and "No, my son" in Dutch. I'm sorry for any mistakes in Dutch - I used Google Translate, which isn't perfect. Also, I still don't have a Beta, so any mistakes are my own.