Arch 2 - Re:Life
Chapter 5: Shattered

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my plot ideas. And yes, Re:Life is an actual anime name, which I do not own.

TW: Mentions of child abuse; parental neglect, depression, suicidal thoughts, self-depreciation, mental illness and violence. Plus, quite some cursing.

AN: First of all, sorry for the long wait. As for a second...damn you guys, thank you so much for the almost two thousand and a half views! Thank you all for following and favouriting this work! And a big thank you for everyone who reviewed, specially you, PhoenixGod95, my dear reviewer!

Also, it was brought to my attention that the last chapters were quite "still" and "boring". I want to say it was the effect they should have, yep. They are all about what those characters are feeling, instead of doing. Believe me, it all counts for what I've planned.

Plus, rest assured there will be plenty more action ahead - and I do not mean a car jumping over a car that's already jumping over a car kind of action.

PS: When I said Deadpool wasn't going to be a POV character anymore, I just meant that. He'll still be part of this story - an important part. But I don't have any more chapters in which he's the main character planned for this one.

PPS: I have not forgotten about the oneshot I was going to post. I was waiting for Infinity War to decide on what direction I wanted it to drive to.

Anyway, I hope you guys like this new chapter, and be prepared for things to start moving on from here.

"I tried so hard, and got so far. But, in the end, it doesn't even matter."

Linkin Park - In The End
In memory of Chester Charles Bennington, vocalist of Linkin Park

Her eyes opened by their own volition, but it was her own will who closed them after massive white lights blinded her vision. The fear of damage nagged at her mind, but it was somewhat dulled by the growing headache she endured.

She took a while to recompose herself and open then back, only to stare at an unfamiliar beige roof. Her mind overflew itself with memories she couldn't begin to comprehend. She wasn't sure how many of them were blurred by the pain, nor how many were simply absent.

The corners of her vision glowed as if tiny bubbles framed it's whole length. They stung and scratched from behind her eyeballs, and she had to force herself to blink a few more times. It was ironic how dry her eyes felt in comparison, though.

Where the hell was she, anyway? She couldn't see much more than a flew blurs and glows, but the roof was just too different: there were strange spiral-like carvings along it's self, a small yet uncomfortably strong lamp hanged itself from somewhere to her right, and there were black markings everywhere...though they could've been results of her damaged vision.

It was not her home. But, then again, could she really compare a strange place to a place she never were to? A place she never knew? It would be all technically the same after all were done and considered, wouldn't it? Was there any difference between something new and something never seen before? If there was, she honestly couldn't had named it if her life depended on it.

Absolute regardless of her inner conflicts stood a big and dangerous question: where were she? Better yet: what the bloody fuck had happened, anyway? All her memories were dazzled - shady glimpses at best. They made no sense whatsoever.

She hadn't felt so insecure, fragile and meek since-

Her eyes zeroed on the sudden movement to her right - just a bit lower than the lamp. The angle made it impossible for her to identify it's whole source, but she found out the walls were just as familiar to her as the celling above.

But she was just too exhausted to move. Her body was ablaze and freezing and filled and inexplicably hollow all at the same time! She couldn't make sense of any feeling. Not when they all fast-forwarded through her like that!

Suddenly, a tidal wave of fresh memories fused itself inside her head. They disintegrated her health and instigated her pain. Though she knew the fusion of all the hurt she felt was but a childish scratch compared to the one most had to endure, it was still real: it still damaged her on the inside. It still made her want to give up and let the warm arms of unconsciousness embrace her once more.

The slight tilting of her head proved to be the challenge of a lifetime. Had anyone told her she'd feel such things from simply looking around, Darcy would tell them a big "you're crazy" decorated with a nice piece of "fuck you". Even the insides of her mouth ached! It was such a victory when her head slowly turned away from the lights and faced the source of movement, that it took her a few moments to realize what exactly was going on.

She found herself face to face with a woman. She was laid down atop the covers of a bed far away from her. Molten lava spread through her lungs at the scene, and she had to bit back a groan when new events penetrated her mind.

She never thought the sight of someone would ever be able to throw her back in time, not to mention set her mind on fire and freeze her right back to the future. Not in a non traumatic way, that was. After all, she knew there were people whose faces brought forth memories so painful she'd prefer to erase them all from her past.

Yet, as her eyes took in the brunette hairs that sprawled down the woman's frame, all she could do was blink, and blink a few more times just to remember how to breathe. She had felt so lost when she had woken up - so misplace and forfeited inside a maze of blurry quests she did not remembered to accept.

It was crazy how the other's presence was enough to put her mind at ease, even if for a few short seconds.

She remembered it then. Maybe it was everything, maybe a piece of the whole or maybe even nothing at all. How could she tell it for sure, when her scarred mind was all she had left to rely upon? Regardless of how many or precise they were, the presence of stranded memories was all she cared about, for she finally knew enough to understand her past - to understand the pain that shot through her veins with every intake of air her chest so bravely endured.

But those same memories carried the baggages of so many failures and doubts she found herself contemplating the pure burden knowledge forced her to bear. But, in the end, she knew it was all a part of who she was. She couldn't just refuse knowledge because it's burden was too heavy for her to bear. That was not how real life worked.

Not for her, at least.

She wasn't sure how to feel about the previous events, though. The putrid taste of defeat still burned knots inside her throat. It was a different set of suffering for each of her mistakes; a new kind of pain for every failure she made. And their sheer amount would have mortified her to the core had she not been so distracted by their meanings to focus on their numbers.

The first time she failed was when she answered that dreadful phone call. She had avoided her mother for a long time, and knew that, if she did not amused her at least once, she would've been just too "happy" to visit. And a visit from her mother was even worse than a full hour monologue about how abnormal she was.

But it was her first mistake either way, for not only had she broken one of her inner vows, she had cracked herself enough to be at the pure mercy of every small consequence her next failures would create.

The second time was when she lost a battle she should've known better than to engage: she let her doubts grab hold of her legs 'n feet and make her run away. It wasn't the first time she did it, nor was it the first time she regretted doing so, but cowardice was a part of her she couldn't erase. Mainly because she did not wanted it fade.

The third failure was as tied it's successor as the first was to it's own. It was also the one to hit her with the harsher blow, for she had no one to blame for it but herself. Her own weakness and the mockery she made of her words - for what else could a broken promise be called, but a mockery of one's own words? - were the only ones at fault for that one.

After all, if there was anything else that could force her to fail herself and become the one she despised the most, she didn't knew what to call it. Not that she believed there was anything to name there, of course.

And, at the end of her previous loss' serpentine head, was the humiliating way in which she failed the same woman who now laid on the bed next to hers. She wasn't sure if she failed her when she passed out or when she broke her own vows, but, if she only hadn't lost so much time being who he wanted her to be, then maybe, just maybe, she would've been able to do something right for once; then maybe she would had been able to save her.

That thought brought forth a whole set of questions she was in no place to answer. What happened after she passed out? Who saved the woman? Who save her? And why where they together, in the first place?

Fuck that! Why wasn't she in a hospital!? Better yet - why didn't she felt like she needed to be in a hospital, to begin with!? She could remember the excruciating pain she felt back in the woods, and she knew for sure that, even though her body felt on fire, her current pain was but an annoying ache compared to it's younger counterpart.

Surely her body hurt like hell and she couldn't move without the most vehement protests from her limbs...but it was still not enough. The pain she had tasted; the way she had felt...it was all too extreme - too overbearing and suffocating to be compared to anything she had ever felt.

She hoped dying wouldn't be as painful: she wasn't about to wish for a replay.

Yet, at the same time, it was the memory of that same hell that kept her sane in the first place. She would never believe in her own past as truth if all she could do was to remember. She would had sold herself as crazy and quite probably used that as new excuse to run away. Or maybe she would blame the alcohol she had consumed seconds after the phone call.

It was ironic how the instrument of her torture was, at the same time, the only thing that could keep her feet on the ground - that could maintain her sanity. So, was it too strange that she didn't wanted it to leave her anymore? Or at least not to leaver her for the time being.

She forced her eyes away from the woman's frame. Shame and guilty thorned her insides with the same mercy her mother reserved for her. Maybe even less...

A sarcastic murmur escaped her throat. There she was, drowning in drama and self pity while the brunette could've been dead. And it could have been her fault if she did, too. She was well aware of how close she had been from her own death, yet it did nothing to reassure her. Maybe she had died back then with the tree, and it was all a dream carved in glass, just waiting to crumble. Her own death would've been product of her actions alone, though, and that she could never say about the woman's.

She tried to get up. She had to get away from that bed. Away from that place and from all her misdeeds and mistakes, and into some place else - anywhere where her mind could be at ease from it's self induced torment. Even if for a brief second.

She did not had to battle her own body to sit up on the bed. She had to wage a war against it. She understood then that pain was pain, regardless of it's intensity and of it's origins. It wouldn't be less bad just because you had experienced something worse. She supposed it could trick you and make you think it was, but, in the end, it would damage just the same.

When she finally managed to swing her shaky legs away from the covers and into the floor, though, she wasn't able to hold the soft sign that crept out her throat. As bad as standing made her feel, it was well worth the effort.

But she still had no equilibrium, and so it took her a couple of tries and twice as much "almost falls" for her to regain any semblance of stability of her body. And she had thought moving her head and sitting up were hard chores to do...

Regardless of her traitor limbs, she could finally move again. She could move away from that place and be free from her self wallow and from all her doubts. It was almost a fantasy of hers to feel breeze against her cheeks and to fill her lungs with fresh air again...as weird as that might sound considering the previous - was that even correct? - night.

Then why did her legs took her along the wrong path? Why did they carried her closer, instead of throwing her away? She could see the door disappear from the corner of her eyes, and found herself defenceless against her own feet.

Maybe they were just tired of running away.

She blinked for a few seconds, and, when her eyes opened back to life, they were faced by the brunette again. She wasn't tucked beneath a blanket, nor was her body clothed in some fancy armor, and yet her face shone with serenity so deep that it contrasted with the painful grimace she knew dominated her own face.

"Irony" held many descriptions along it's legacy, it was true. But, at the moment, Darcy knew it was undoubtedly defined by the ethereal blackness that consumed her thoughts at once. It was the first time her mind was empty without being hollow, and it was an addiction she didn't knew she craved.

Fuck. She was a complete mess. Inside and outside she hurt, and she knew it was mostly her own fault, be it for being who she chose to be, be it for being who she did not. Still, all she could bring herself to focus on was the sleeping female in front of her.

A single strand of hair fell down the woman's face, and Darcy found her hands creeping over to fix it by their own volition. If she didn't knew any better, she'd say somebody else had taken control of her body, eyeing how strangely it seemed to react.

Her hands never reached their goal, though. She felt an iron grip on her left wrist. It wasn't strong enough to brake her bones, but it was surely going to leave an ugly bruise later. Only seconds later, when her back strongly hit the bed and a set of hands was used to pin her to it, did she notice it was the now wide awake woman who had grabbed her and thrown her down.

Bloody murder stared back at her from inside the other's eyes, and Darcy had no idea about what the fuck was going on. She tried to scream, but soon found a pale hand trapping all sounds inside her mouth. For a moment there she swore the brunette would suffocate her to death!

On the other hand, it was obvious that the woman was just as disoriented as she was herself. Her eyes kept drifting all around, as if to make sense of whatever it was. They never seemed to stop and stare at something specific, although they always went back to glare against her own. Darcy dreaded what fate had in store for herself when she inevitably failed to recognise the room.

Then green eyes fixed back on hers for a last time, and she knew that she was screwed.

"Who are you?" Rasped the woman. Her tone dangerous and devoid of any emotion, even though her voice sounded as if a gasp had entwined itself with a cough. "What have you done to me?"

"Hmm..." She stammered back in response. She too had no bloody idea about what the fuck was going on. She probably had even less information to share than the woman on top of her, and yet SHE was being blamed for it all? Fuck herself for trying to play a hero. Plus, her mouth was still blocked.

"I...I dunno?" She murmured back as soon as the woman's hand let her mouth go free. She should probably had answered her in a different way, she knew. But it was hard to do so when taken by surprised like that! Would it be too far-fetched of her to hope that her eyes had sent the right message?

The brunette hissed and pressed her further against the matters, this time pining her down by the neck. She tried to use her legs to toss the woman off her, but she was straddled in a way that they simply refused to move.

She was about to scream when one arm left her throat to extend itself to the side. A strange sound echoed from the same direction, and her eyes shifted to the hand attached to it instead, only to grow wide in shock: it gripped a small blade. A very real and surely lethal small blade.

The only gift time gave her was to sew her eyes before it crashed down against her skull. She had already given up on all pretences of defending herself when the blade hit her on the head. Only it didn't hurt like she thought it would. In fact, she felt like someone had punched her instead of pierced her with a weapon.

"What?" She hear the incredulous muttering above her and risked an eye open.

She saw black ashes dirtying the brunette's hand, and she could feel it scroll down her face, too. Suddenly, a new blade conjured itself from the same hand, only to crumble to ash and dust. Was she some kind of weird battle-mage or something?

Suddenly, there was a clapping sound from the another side of the room, and both their heads turned around to see a person leaning against the wall beside the now opened bathroom door. Darcy didn't knew anyone could make a shitty cosplay of spiderman look so...creepier than the original. And where those swords?

"This wasn't what I was expecting to find when I heard voices coming from here" the cosplayer sounded like a guy. A really annoying guy, if his voice was any clue about his personality. "By the way, I do not believe that THIS is what they mean when they say 'savage sex'" he laughed at his own stupid joke - which didn't fazed her at all, nor made her cheeks burn - and continued, pointing at the woman above her. "Except if you're Angelina Jolie, of course."

"I do not understand that petty colloquialism of yours, mortal" she heard her say, and could not help but resent that she refused to move away from her. She did not sounded annoyed or angry, but it was clear her patience was wearing down. Fast.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait" and the fake spiderman was incredulous. "Mortal? Me!?"

"Only a mortal would wear such...ridiculous garments" that one she had to disagree with. Thor wore a curtain last time she saw him. "Now, tell me what I want to know, or her head won't survive it this time"

"What!?" he seemed taken aback, but she would've screamed the same had her mouth been free. "You mean you galls aren't friends, after all?" What!? "Dang, I thought that, bye the way I found you sleeping at the forest, you were some kind of colleagues with a weird kink, at least. Took me a while to get you both here, by the way. So, maybe a little 'thank you for saving our dirty ass, mister Pool' would be a good place to start before making threats and demands!"

"You'll do well to remember that I am one of the oldest of my people" Darcy was incredulous. Was THAT was she took out of it? Her age? Seriously?

"What..." she forced herself to mutter. A few coughs escaped her throat as soon as the hands relived her neck of some of it's pressure. When she recovered, two pairs of eyes observed her closely...or maybe a pair of eyes and a set of creepy drawn eyes. "What do you mean? Who are you?"

"Well, I have a better question for you two: Which one of you is Darcy Lewis?"

And her blood grew cold.

What the hell did he wanted with her? How did he even knew her, to begin with!? She was certain that she'd remember a fucking cosplayer on her friend list! Fuck, she hoped he wasn't some sort of stalker. That would be the worse time for him to show himself!

She was sure the brunette's hands could feel the sweat pouring out of her skin. She could feel it crawling herself! Before she could make a bigger fool out of herself, though, the woman glanced briefly at her and glared back at the man.

"And what makes you think anyone of us is that who you seek?" The hell was she doing? She had to knew that Darcy was Darcy, and not the other way around... right?

"Ah, nothing at all" he waved in a happy tone. "But I was having an awesome night - and by that I mean to say I was free to wallow and pity and touch myself, not to mention the fact that I was fucking sheltered from that freaking storm outside - until some bimbo called me and told me to find whoever the fuck Darcy Lewis is supposed to be"

"Am I to take it that you are one of those pesky beings who insist to call themselves 'the good guys', mayhaps?" Sarcasm dripped from her tongue with that line. But what captured Darcy's attention was the thing that crawled against her side in the exact spot where the brunette's thighs straddled her. Somehow she knew she wasn't supposed to look there.

"Ahhhh" he seemed deep in thought. "Nah. She offered me money. Sadly, my phone had no wings, and thus I ended up without a single photo of her. Which brings me to the fact that one of you is definitively Darcy Lewis, otherwise we wouldn't even be having this conversation right now. So, before you do anything stupid, just hea-"

He was interrupted mid-sentence when a blade threw itself from the woman's legs. Darcy could feel it brush against her own waist moments before it embedded itself on his right eye. She could swear she heard a liquid noise, and shuddered at the thought.

"Fuck!" He screamed and turned his back to them, all the while trying to pull out the blade from it's spot. It was clear he wasn't dying, though. No one would curse so much and so coherently where they to be stabbed in the chest - nevermind in the eyes!

"What was that f-" he shouted above his left shoulder - dagger still in place - but was interrupted again. This time, though, it was a much bigger blade that flew from the brunette's body. It was as long as her arm and pierced his back like a spear. The heavy thud that followed denounced it's journey through the wall.

"Will you cut it already!?" He screamed as he tried to separate himself from the "spear-blade". She wondered how long it would take him to, giving how stuck he looked like. Another one of her thoughts was related to her empty stomach and how he didn't wished to throw up at the gory sight.

Her musings were cut short, though, for she soon found herself disoriented and planted on her feet. She was being dragged away by the woman, who ran them both out the door and down the stars at the end of the hall.

"Wait!" She heard the man scream once more. There was no unbearable pain in his voice. It made her heart drum to a faster beat. "Don't run away! Come back!"

Were Darcy not so lost and frenetic, she would have noticed they were in a known hotel. But it was hard to process that information when her wannabe killer had just stabbed an apparently immortal guy twice, and was dragging her by the arm down a dreadfully long set of stairs!

She was certain they would attract the attention of someone long enough for the man to catch up with them. He'd then proceed to unleash his unholy desires upon their dead bodies...or maybe just hers, for she didn't thought he would be able to face the brunette. Strangely, thought, there was no one around. All the doors were closed and only a few lights remained on.

They ran past what she believed to be an equally empty balcony and exited through two fancy double doors when she collided face-first with the woman's back. She took a moment to step away and shake her head. It hurt as much as her sore limbs, maybe even worse, and she wasn't going to risk passing out during a chase that could end up with her death.

That was also when she realized why the place was so empty to begin with: it was way past the first hours of night. A giant digital clock at a corner nearby said it was three past midnight, and the date attached to it said she had been out for three days, at least.

"What is this place?" She heard the woman whisper. There was genuine confusion on her tone, but Darcy could almost swear there was a fragment of curiosity underneath it. Maybe even prehension.

"Dread-" she coughed a few times. Her throat wasn't yet recovered from the pressure it received before. She felt the woman's eyes zero on her while she stepped beside her on the sidewalk. "Dreadyet Hills."

"It's a city" she decided to elaborate after the lost stare she received.

Before the conversation could move forward, they heard voices from inside the building, and Darcy found herself being dragged off once again. This time it was into an eerie dark alley. As soon as her feet hit the shadows, though, the woman pressed her against the nearby wall and used her left hand to shut her mouth. She'd think it was getting old if she wasn't frightened for her life again.

Fuck! Had she seriously tried to speak with her? To strike a conversation with the woman who would've been oh, so happy to kill her had whatever the fuck that happened to her weird blades not happened!? Was she fucking insane!?

Of course it would all end badly for her. When didn't it? And she had really tried, too! She had even felt bad when she believed the woman to be hurt! Those small truths stung her more than any words ever could.

Why did that kind of shit had to keep happening to her!?

"He went the wrong way" the woman said, untrapping her mouth and staring at her eyes. "He won't be off for long. There n-" And she collapsed forward onto Darcy.

It was the sheer result of years of clumsy reflexes and a bloody amount of luck that made her able to hold the brunette before it was too late. The sudden weight made her drop to the ground, but she made sure the woman rested on her knees instead of the dirty floor.

"Fuck" she hissed. The woman couldn't had found a worse time to pass out! If the man found them, there would be nothing she could ever do to defend herself, not to mention to protect the other! Dang, was she screwed!

Maybe she should just leave her there? It wasn't raining anymore, and she seemed alright and able to look after herself. Plus, the man wasn't searching for her, so she'd probably be safer there on the alley than being dragged down the street - if she'd even be able to pull that one out to begin with!

She tucked the brunette back against the wall - it wasn't like she'd die or anything, right? - and walked back to the alley's entrance. Her eyes searched for movement and for the man, but all she saw were cars and people who either didn't noticed her, or pretended not to.

A taxi revealed itself at the end of an approaching line of cars.

There wasn't anything else she could do for the woman. She wasn't strong enough to carry her around, nor was she some kind of mutant who could produce blades out of her skin! Fuck, she had stabbed that guy in the eye! She was doing the best thing by leaving her there. It wasn't safe to have her around or to be around here anymore.

"Taxi!" She screamed and signalled. The car reduced it's speed and slowly parked before her. With the windows down, she could see the driver was a young guy - maybe younger than her, even.

"Where to, miss?" He asked in a funny accent. Was he an immigrant or something? Speaking of accents, the woman sounded as if she had one herself. Was she from alien Britain or something?

"Can you take me somewhere outside town?" she found herself asking. There was just no way she'd go back to the house she lived before. Not after everything that happened. She remembered Jane. "To Larhills, close to Port Richard, perhaps?"

"Sure thing, miss!" He seemed oddly cheerful. "But it would cost a bit more, since it's so far and I was kinda looking for a friend. But hop in, hop in!"

She opened the backseat door. It was her last chance to change her mind. There would be no turning back after she entered the cab, and she knew it. Could she really leave the woman behind? She had saved her back there, after all...even if she had tried to kill her first.

She took a deep breath. It was all just a bunch of excuses and bullshit, she knew. The exact same kind of crap she almost fell for in the forest. Had she not promised never to do that again? Had she not promised not to become him again?

"Actually..." She breathed out. Uncertainty laced her voice as she stepped back from the door and looked at the dark alleyway behind. "I might need your help."