Chapter 4
A cold gush of air swept across his face, and without a conscious thought Sean's fingers pull on the strings of his hoodie just to tighten it a tad bit more securely, whatever that was worth. The fire flickered dangerously close to the brink of extinguishment, the light it emitted dissipated for a second when everything submerged into darkness again, before a miracle brought it back to life, albeit barely. Adding a log into the dying flame, Sean couldn't help the sigh that escaped his charred lips, despite how many times he'd reprimanded himself for such a show of weakness.
The night drew on, without a second care for those less than fortunate to be without a roof above their heads, but such was a luxury his fugitive life couldn't afford. The cave he'd opted for was a far cry from proper shelter, as was evidence from the wind slapping at his frozen cheeks, and if he focused he could even make out the stampede of hundreds of tiny legs crawling in the moss-covered wall behind his back. He had no other option though; the unnatural disaster struck so sudden and hard that he barely had any time to gather woods, the last stack quickly shrinking beside him would surely not last the night, and he shuddered at the thought. If the frostbite and dampness was bad enough, wild hungry beasts were another problem entirely, and sharp yellow eyes silently observing him from the darkness of night offered little calm to that line of thought. On top of the list, he was too tired and weak to really fend himself off against a mole at that point, and his only line of defense would soon reach its expiry, with how relentlessly the wind kept raging on.
Praying to whatever higher power that was, he hoped for a miracle to get him through that long, sleepless night. Exhaustion ate deep in his bone, but his eyes fluttered awake with every dim of the fire light; he couldn't afford to lose his only source of warmth, especially when hypothermia seemed only an inch away from devouring him whole. His stomach growled audibly, another complaint for its underfed state. Oh, how he longed for a bite of practically about anything edible at that point. Heck, if he was being honest with himself, the thought of self-cannibalism even crossed his mind when his eyes lingered on his skinny, long arm for a moment too long. He was tempted to take a bite, and the pain that sparked subsequently was the only thing that stood between him and becoming an amputee. At least he would have a fresh mark of teeths as a friendly reminder to never, ever even try something as stupid as that again.
His legs began shivering. Great, just great, he thought to himself. The first symptoms of hypothermia was finally there; how long did he still have? Pulling his legs up and gathering them around his arms, he rested his head on his knees. Even a coiled ball could not keep his body temperature from slipping away much at that point, but he was desperate. He'd already sat close enough to the firepit that his toes occasionally tingled with pain from the flame's lick. Yet, those miniature burns were the reason he hadn't passed out, and most probably away, from frostbite until then. The pain grew numb and more into an annoyance over time, rather than actual pain, and by this point he couldn't even feel the skin of his feet anymore. Guess that's one of the perks of having the cold paralyzing his nerves, he snorted in bitter irony.
Sitting alone in front of a flickering fire drove him to the verge of insanity a few minutes ago, so he had to make some simple sketches on his notebook, provided his brain with something else to focus on apart from the stomach-gouging hunger, until his exposed fingers shivered violently enough that holding a pencil became an impossible feat. Now it still did, but not as much out of boredom than from the despair it evoked. There was something calm about staring at a burning fire and doing absolutely nothing else; it brought a certain sense of nolstagia along with many desirable memories in mind. He remembered the giant fireplace back in Seattle, and how his family would gather around it, talking, laughing and basking in the presence of each other every Christmas. He remembered delicious roasted marshmallows he oh-so-wastefully burned and threw away on one of their camping nights, and how he would literally kill just for a pinch of that bitter, tasteless black crust. He remembered the burning sun on summer days that would scorch his skin and leave it blistering for weeks, the precious heat that his shock-entering body would really much appreciate just a fraction of right now. And in all these memories, he remembered his papa's smile, the one thing that made him feel like an unruly child all over again despite having done nothing wrong, the thing that radiated with just so much protectiveness and warmth that he could snuggle by his side and pretended that he never have to grow up, to take up responsibility someday.
But the desire that burned most fierce, wild and untamable was not one that lingered in the past, a figment of his memory, or a fantasy never to be true. It was something just as real and tangible as the hair on his head, the dying flame before him, and the frost that creeped along his spines. It tainted his mind, blurred his savage hunger into a pale acknowledgement of his malnutrition, and pushed the sleepy exhaustion of drowsiness that the coldness had brought, replacing his despair with a renewed vigor, a fresh surge of life tingling with electric as it was carried across his veins and into his pumping heart. It opened his eyes just in time to feed the crackling fire another log before it went out for good; it heightened his senses enough to distinguish the hissing of a certain venoumous reptilian creature attempting to sneak up behind him, with every malicious intent of turning him into its storm night's prey, a willing midnight snack.
Faster than his usual, sluggish reflexes could account for, his hand grabbed a half-burnt branch from the firepit and swung at the animal at the last moment, just a second before its fatal leap registered in the cornea of his optical vision. It made sizzling impact with the snake's body as the hot end blistered scaled skin, and the creature quickly crawled away back into the safety of its own shelter, having learnt its lesson; its target forgotten in favour of self-preservation. Sean dropped the branch back into the fire before the pump of adrenaline ran out entirely, only releasing a hiss of air from his burnt fingers a second after the immediate danger had past. It was incredible; his numb mind still hadn't truly processed what had happened, and yet he successfully fended off a wild predator whose approach he wasn't even aware of.
Once again, the desire saved him. And for that, he didn't know whether to be thankful or remorseful; because the same desire was born from the loss of his younger brother, the one person he wished above all else to reconcile with.
It was the desire of the older brother, of the alpha wolf of their small little broken pack, of the parental instinct he didn't know he had inside him until their Dad was gone, until Daniel looked up at him with that helpless, sad eyes, questioning what they were doing and what would they do next, seeking for guidance and protection. It forced every fibre of his being to put the boy before himself, to do everything in his ability to make sure Daniel was sated, fed, and safe, and to keep him that way, despite whatever it takes.
Everytime he blinked, the image of Daniel – innocent, angelic Daniel – would run circles around him, annoying him, aggravating him. Acting the tiny little brat that he was.
How desperately did Sean wish to be pampered with pranks from that brat again. To take a bucket of ice water dumped over his head, to have an egg catapulted into his forehead and making a mess of his face, to have ketchup spilt all over his fancy suit. To have his every conversation with Lyla interrupted as the boy seemingly took personal pleasure out of invading his private space.
A drop of tear escaped the corner of his eye and rolled across his frozen cheek, now already thawed and burning hot with the weight of his emotions. He missed Daniel. He missed him so horribly much that his heart ached. The soft growl of his stomach was nothing but a tender touch compared to this raw, festering wound that tore him open from the inside out, trampling his organs and ripping apart his skin. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn't help it. After all their ridiculous sibling rivalry, it was moments like these that reminded him how much he loved his younger brother, how deep his adoration ran, and how much he would give just to have his brother by his side again.
His life? Beyond a doubt. The entire world? Not even worth consideration. Even their old, happy life with their beloved father and an actual home?
He shuddered again, but this time not so much from the cold than from the brutal honesty of his answer. Yes, in a heartbeat. Yes, for the millionth time. Yes, the answer was nothing other than yes, fucking yes, and nothing-other-than-yes yes. A hundred doomed Arcadia Bays yes, whatever that random thought even meant.
His tears dropped one after another, until it grew into a stream, and he'd be damned if he actually gave a shit. Hefting the final piece of log into the fire, he laid back, face pressed into the palm of his hands, and his back to the rest of the world. Quiet snobs occassionally broke the night's deadly silence, and soon enough Sean found himself drifting into a fitful, restless dream. When sleep finally overtook all his senses, the wind died down, and the fire stabilized from burning its recently replenished fuel without any interruption. Yellow prowling eyes observed with disdain from the distance before finally giving up on the human and his mysterious light, speeding away in search for another unfortunate prey to satiate their predator's instinct.
But the tiny piece of log couldn't sustain the fire through the rest of that long, chilling night, and when Sean was snoring away blissfully ignorant of the dying flame, it was another hand that fed the fire and kept him warm.
Max pressed her back to the wall, her other hand firmly pressed over Chloe's mouth, effectively blocking any sound that might alert the intruders' of their location. In her hand, the lock-and-loaded 0.35'' pistol they always kept carefully hidden under the matress of their bed for such an occasion like these. It was funny how she couldn't, for the love of life – most literally – figured out how she had acquired this Chloe, and yet remembered down to the tiniest details about another random and totally insignificant memory. Like for instance this one conversation they had some weeks ago, when she bitched on and on about how insecured she felt to be sleeping on a loaded handgun, and Chloe doing everything she could to convince Max not to throw away her favourite toy. Thanking god for how stubborn Chloe was, Max really couldn't imagine what they would do now if Chloe had lost the argument that day.
Footsteps echoed from the dining area, and her blue-haired punk who always had better hearing than her seemed to understand everything finally, if her ceased struggling against Max's side was of any indication. She had grown so understanding, so adaptative, and so flexible to whatever situations they were facing at the moment, but Max surmissed that was something you just get accustomed to living with a time-travelling-capable girlfriend and fighting off crimes for a living.
Wait, what? They're heroes-for-hire now? Her subconscious seemed to have just unearthed another specific piece of useless memory in the face of crisis. Interesting. Perhaps stress triggers her memory? Stashing the idea in a corner of her mind, she forced herself to focus on the situation at hand. Just in time, apparently, because the footsteps sounded closer to them than ever. The bandits were probably just a few metres from her hiding spot, and this would be the perfect opportunity if she wanted to land the shot.
Springing out from cover like a coiled cobra, Max pulled the trigger, but the bullet bounced off their armor harmlessly to ricochet back at her. There goes another rewind-free achievement, she thought to her RPG persona before turning back a few seconds.
Max peaked from behind the wall to observe her target more carefully this time. The smaller one was completely hopeless; the armor covered his undersized body whole, leaving no vulnerable spot left for her gun to work its magic. The taller man, though, had a tiny gap of exposed skin between the joint of his shoulder and chestpiece. If she could just aim it right-
A flying sword stopped an inch short of making shish-kebab out of her forehead; in her idiocy she had forgotten all about subtlety, and apparently they both spotted her from her not-so-stealthy hiding spot, if the weapon hanging mid-air was of any indication. Poor Chloe; the girl's expression was one of pure horror, which wasn't that hard to comprehend if the person who pushed you into hiding just stepped out into the open instead. Stupid, Max. You're slipping. Come on, third time's the charm. Let's get this right this time before you can give Chloe another heart attack, god bless the girl's poor soul.
The steps echoed from far away this time, giving her the time to calm herself and concentrate on her aim. Beside her, Chloe was holding her breath, assumably tense of the events about to transpire before her very own eyes for the first time, at least in her perspective anyway. She wondered if Chloe somehow managed to piece together that this wasn't Max's first attempt, with how calm she appeared to be?
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The footsteps got louder and louder. Not yet, Max. Patient. Just a bit closer…
Thud.
Thud.
Just a bit longer, Max. Gotta get it straight this time. Just a bit more…
Thud.
Now!
She stepped out from her cover, took a stance, raised her pistol, braced herself for the throwback, and shot.
As expected, the bullet missed her target. But the timing was perfect, and that was all that mattered to a time-traveler. So she rewound, and shot, and missed, and rewound all over again. It took her five attempts, but she finally got it. The bullet hit right in the crevice between two armor pieces and impaled soft skin underneath, taking both men off their guards. The unfortunate victim let out a curse almost simultaneously and dropped the sword he was poising to hold onto the wound with his other arm, so she wasted no time to grab it. Of course, she just had to trip and fall on her face when she rushed for it, allowing them just the window of time to make their retaliation. Rewind we go then.
Max jumped across the dining table and grabbed the sword, successfully this time. What she didn't expect, however, was the other man's outraged battle cry being the last thing she heard, before an immensely powerful force grabbed hold of each molecule of her body and started ripping it apart in all direction.
For a second, she was being disintegrated, and though it usually wouldn't last long enough for an average person's nerve system to register the pain, time had little definition to the time-traveler. In fact, the pain was so horrible that for a moment there, she actually fucking regretted her existence; as ridiculous as that cliché line always sounded on movies. Even after the rewind had already kicked in autonomously like every other time she had faced death, the pain still didn't go away for a good second later, which was long enough for her to learn her lessons. One, never to piss off this petite man anymore, and by that she also meant never getting on his bad side, no matter what. Two, this bigger man was apparently very important to him, so to avoid disintegration, please refrain from hurting this larger man as well. And three, never underestimate this smaller man and his power, because with a right push, he might be the end of her, time-rewinding ability or not.
When the blinding torment was over, Max was standing next to Chloe behind their safe cover, with the sword in her left arm and pistol in her right. Thank god for whatever mechanics her power seemed to work on, because if it had rewound her already retrieving the weapon and forced her to go through another disintegration again, she swore she would fucking chop off her hand.
"What the…" The man's voice from behind the wall told her he had noticed his sword vanishing from his hand, and was still in the process of trying to comprehend how the heck that had just happened. In other words, it was the confusion she needed to make them start talking.
She stepped out from behind the wall for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, the sword raised high in one arm and the gun cocked in another, pointing in the general direction between the two men, but mostly for show. "Your sword is here, so stop questioning yourself. I know you wanted to kill me and Chloe, and you were driven by a force too great that you couldn't put your ears to work hearing us out first, so I had to strip it, but just as a measure of self-preservation. I do not intend to pose any hostility towards you, but your sword will be in my possession for now, at least until you hear us out. But you can also consider it a display of my ability and what I'm capable of, so don't mess with me first before I'm forced to retaliate." She snapped into full badass mode, voice level and gruff, but mostly to conceal the shakiness that multiple rewinds had already taken their toll on her physiques.
In an instance, the weapon was pried from her hands by that same invisible force and returned to its rightful owner. "You don't threaten us, witch." The smaller one snapped, his voice dripping with venom and malice, like a hatred that ran lifetime-deep. She wondered what she could've possibly done – or in this case, not done – for them to despise her so much. Rewind then.
"… forced to retaliate." The weapon was still in her hand, but not for long if she didn't do something soon. Darting her eyes at the smaller figure, she leveled the sword at him, giving old-fashioned intimidation a shot. "I know you are thinking of stripping this sword from my hand. Don't even think of it."
Despite her words, the sword still flew away. "So? Here I am, doing it. What're you gonna do, witch?" Rewind, again.
"… think of it." Taking a breath to choose her words carefully, she hissed. "Pry this sword off my hands, and I'll take it as a sign of hostility. I will attack, don't you doubt it for a second, and I promise you, there will be dire consequences."
"Hah, I would love to see you try, wi-
"Witch." She finished his sentence off for him, too accustomed to the repeating dialogue by this point. Rewind, urgh, again.
"… consequences." She raised the pistol and aim it at the taller man's helmet instead. "This here on my hand is the most powerful magical craft of the South-East Asian regional, and with but a pull of my finger, his head would be nothing but dust." She had no idea what she was bluffing about, but she was beyond a care by then. "So go ahead, take the sword, I dare you, I fucking challenge you. On second thought, you know what?" She threw it onto the dining table, the force of her swing enough to make it slid across the table friction-less. "I'll even leave it there for you to grab it easier. Go ahead, grab it. Because I'm fucking itching for a reason to blow his head to kingdom come, and I'm tired of this bullshit. Grab it! Grab the fucking thing!" She practically yelled in the end, but the frustration in her voice wasn't as much an act this time as it was sincere. She was honestly so tired that if they showed even one sign of hostility this time, she would probably just rewind one last time, put a bullet in the unarmored back of their necks, and just fucking leave it at that. The empty monster could take control and deal with the rest; she was too fucking tired for this shit.
Rather than instantly picking it up, the two men were reluctant this time. A silent standstill stretched on for what seemed like forever, the tension between them thick enough to be sliced open with a dull butter knife, before the shorter man finally, finally, really fucking finally listened. "Um… Sean? I think we should, um… hear her out first, huh?" The smaller man spoke, and for the first time hearing his true voice without the forced gruff, she realized that he wasn't just an undersized man, but an actual underaged child as fucking well.
"I will never trust you in a millenium, witch, but for the sake of Daniel, I might just give whatever deception you're been brewing this time a chance. So speak your peace, and fast, before I change my mind." The other grouched out, still wary and skeptical.
She couldn't believe it. She finally did it.
She finally got them to fucking listen.
Ecstacy filled her inside, followed by insurmountable pride after having accomplished the impossible deed. Never would she have truly expected it, but all the do-overs actually paid off, and she succeeded in reaching a compromise without any blood shed. Or at least it would seem that way at first, because she didn't take her own blood into account. A certain dizziness assaulted all her senses at once, the kind of dizziness that only came after a great, great power exertion, which she realized with a startling yelp was exactly what she just did. The familiar warm, crimson liquid registered on her philtrum, and soon enough blackness swam at the edge of her vision.
"Max?" She heard Chloe's voice, concerned, worried, rushing over to her side. But before she could gather enough remaining strength to formulate a coherent answer, unconsciousness had already swallowed her whole. The bone-deep exhaustion took away any ounce of serious determination to resist it, and instead Max welcomed its soothing embrace.