XII. Initiation
Riding through the pines
See you in the red light
And everything is on fire
Let's take it down
To the heart
Let's take it down
To where the loving starts
Where we're just kids in the dark
Bud Bancroft. 12.
District Nine Male.
TW: Implied child abuse.
He returns at night.
It's raining, wind blowing hard enough that the water's been transformed into needle-like shards that clash against the ground with a pang followed by a pitter and a patter. The wind's violent too, far more aggressive than any wind that's been felt before it, closing windows shut with its force and sweeping crops aside and onto the ground. A repetitive thump sounds through the night with every passing second. Everybody who hears it is afraid, no petrified, because it hasn't rained in Nine like this for months, much less in the middle of May of all seasons.
And it hasn't rained like this at all, symphonies of thunder forcing parents to comfort their children from the noise, miles and miles away from the epicenter. Lightning flashes through windows and kittens and puppies alike are sheltered under beds in fear.
Nobody knows what's happening, and nobody wants to know what's happening as war terrorizes the skies and the grounds that night. The world's under attack, it's gone mad. The aftermath will be worse, the people fear, crops now drowned, income cut off for months on end. Some even believe as they're sheltering in place that the world is ending and they're bystanders to it all. But what can they do? They can't do anything when the sky's at war with the earth.
Amidst the madness, he returns.
His navy t-shirt's got holes in the sides and his pants are torn to shreds. A flannel jacket's wrapped around his waist, and it's blowing in the wind like he's a hero even if he isn't. His hands are a bloody crimson, there's fresh cuts all over his arms, and there's bruises around his neck. he's covered in dirt, the mud on his face replacing his freckles, and his hair's grown longer than it ever was before yet somehow the blaring green of his eyes remain the same.
He's seemingly unaffected by the storm, brushing the corn plants away from his face with every step. In fact, he seems unaffected by life in general, no expression in his eyes, no possible motive in his mind. If it weren't for the fact corn occasionally struck his head, one would be forced to wonder if he's alive at all. Because he's a ghost as he walks through the terror, soulless in his steps and death in his eyes. No, not death… rebirth.
Because as the world appears to be reaching it's end, his rebirth is happening in screaming colors, even if he's stoic through it all. He's getting closer though, he sees the house in the distance. It's large, white, and tarnished by the splatter of mud. But even now, he recognizes it. He recognizes the circular windows with black trim, the red door with paint chipping on the ground, the brick chimney shaking in the wind and the brown picket fence that's toppled over.
He's home.
There's a figure in the window that he recognizes, a mug in his hand that he stares into like somebody's starting back at him. The figure looks helpless, even his silhouette looks helpless. As he nears the house, the rage of the wind lessens, the shattered storms nearly ceasing and the moon finally peaking from the clouds once more. The crops are still dead on the ground and there's still mud splattered on paint and fences knocked over, but it's less violent now.
He watches as the man puts down the mug and stretches before turning on more of the lights. Again, it all looks familiar. It all looks like exactly what he had in mind when he begun his treck. He inhales the sweet petrichor, the earthy scents putting him at ease, yet his face doesn't change. Nothing changes as he looks through the window hoping the figure will come to the door. Instead, he waits. He waits patiently for nearly an hour until the door swings open and a man steps on to the porch.
The man's as confused as the skies were during the storm, fear on his face yet hope in his heart. He pinches his skin like he's in disbelief at what he's seeing before he takes two more steps and calls out to the field, "Bud?"
The man was familiar and he now knows why. He inhales twice and mutters, "Dad?"
Bud's father walks down the steps and into the field, wrapping his son in his arms with mist in his eyes. He feels… weaker, arms limp and bones cold as his head sinks down onto his shoulder. Bud can't hug back, even if he wanted to, because every movement of his arm sends pain down his spine. He's not as immortal as he felt even a minute ago. He's human again and he's got the feeling that human he'll be for the rest of his life. Because he's alive.
As his father, Hopper's his name, carries him into the house, everything becomes more clear to Bud. He recognizes the staircases and the art on the wall, his art on the wall. He recognizes the sound of the radio emitting from the kitchen and the familiar glow of the light radiating down on his face. He's been here before, he's been here many times, and he remembers well that once he lived here.
He's propped against the kitchen counter as his father scrubs his skin clean of dirt and mud and… blood. Hopper asks his son, "Where did this come from?"
But Bud doesn't remember the answer. Hell if he even knows the answer, he just knows it's here now and it's a part of him, just as the dirt and the grime on his flesh was a part of him for so long. And when he opens his mouth he's unable to form words so instead he just shrugs his shoulders, and that makes Hopper panic more, "Do you not know?"
"I don't," Bud mutters, the words stinging as they leave his throat. It hurts a bit as his skin scrapes and pulls against his bones, his father's expression growing from relieved to confused to terrified. He doesn't know why his father is terrified but he gets the feeling that he should be terrified just the same. It's just a question of what exactly Bud Bancroft should be so afraid of.
Should he be afraid of himself?
He doesn't know. Not the answer to that question or anything. All he knows is leaving, rain pouring down as he walked, and then after three hours he came back. And now he's here, and his father is panicking as he cleans his skin. His memory's blurry on where he was when he left, but he knows it wasn't home and he didn't like it. He doesn't know why he didn't like it, and he doesn't know why it's left him covered in blood and mud.
Bud's flesh stings with every drop of the antiseptic solution his father sprays him with, yet his face remains neutral… He can't say he's in pain— because that'll lead to— no, not from his father. Never from his father. His father wouldn't do that… but maybe somebody else would. As Hopper pats the skin dry, he whispers, "I'm sorry pal." Yet Bud doesn't respond.
What can he say? Even if he knew, Bud's lips have failed him, rendered him senseless and mute, so again, he nods.
Hopper's hands gently squeeze Bud's wrists, and he mutters to himself, "He's the most frail I've seen him," before letting his arms drop to their sides. He rummages through the cabinets until he finds a wrapped muffin. He tears the cellophane away and hold's it up to his son's face and asks, "Can you eat this?"
Bud's mouth opens slowly as his tongue crawls out and grazes against the pastry. It's poppyseed flavored, Bud recognizes that, and when Hopper brings it a bit closer, his two front teeth are able to press into the muffin. When he chews, it's slow and methodical, a slight citrus flavor emerging, as his palette is submerged in flavor. It's more intense than anything he's ever tasted before, or at least anything he's tasted in a long long time.
He's once again in his father's arms, cradled like an infant as he's taken outside once more, the sky now completely quiet. It's like the world is quiet again, and wars in the skies never even happened in the first place.
Hopper doesn't let go as he runs through the fields and into the towns, Bud closing his eyes so he doesn't get nauseous and he travels over bumps on the ground. It's not like he thinks he could recognize anything anyways… and he feels the world fading once more. But then he hears the sound of a door swinging open so he opens his eyes to bright florescent lights and he turns his head to see a lady half-asleep.
His father's talking to her, he tells the lady, "After three months, I never thought I'd see him again yet as soon as the rain stopped, there he was, just standing in front of the house."
The lady seems just as frightened as Hopper was, if not more so, "Do you think he's in pain?"
Bud pushes in his brain to verbalize his answer and it's a struggle yet he's able to muster up enough energy to say, "No."
He feels himself shake in his father's arms, so he's lowered down onto the desk of the lady. His father says, "He seems to have lost a lot of weight. I know he said he's not in pain, but I just don't buy it. He has to be after being cut up and bruised like this?"
The lady asks, "Do you know what happened to him? Did he tell you where he was?"
Bud shakes his head, "No."
Hopper continues, "I don't think Bud here knows that answer for himself."
He doesn't. If he did, he'd find a way to say it but Bud's whole world is a blur, his memory is a minefield and he's got no clue what the past… as his father had said three months of his life were. He just knows they're over now.
All Bud knows is that he's numb. He's probably sick but what's more important is he's numb. Numb to the world and his thoughts, blind to the light and the sun. Bud's brain is suddenly in the gutter and he doesn't know what it'll take to dig it out.
"Is he going to be okay," Hopper pleads with the lady… she's a nurse, probably, "I've never seen him like this and everything just… doesn't make sense. I thought he was gone, yet he's here now but he's hardly himself. I was still trying to wrap my head around how he left, yet now he's back and… I just, I'm so lost…"
Bud's also lost, he just can't figure out why. The nurse pulls at his skin and he shivers as her fingers press against his bone, "He… should be alright. I just can't say I've ever seen anything like this before."
"I don't think anybody ever has," Hopper tries to reassure her but that does nothing to change the fact his son's become a mess in front of his eyes, and he's crying once more since Bud can't, and he's begging, "Just please tell me you'll figure out what's wrong with him."
Is there… something wrong with him? Bud knows that having a failing body is a bad thing but the fact his mind's dead should be a worse thing. Though this overall is the worst thing. And he doesn't even know how bad it is, and something tells him he never will.
Sure, the world's at peace again, the sun will rise in a few hours and the birds will sing like the storm never happened, but the dead crops will always be there as scars of the rain. Just as the markings on Bud Bancroft's skin will always be there as scars of— nevermind, He doesn't remember.
But he knows it's only a matter of time before he does.
'Cause I'm about to break down, I'm searching for a way out
I'm a liar, I'm a cheater, I'm a non-believer
I'm a popular, popular monster
I break down, falling into love now with falling apart
I'm a popular, popular fucking monster
Atlantis Seasbane. 18.
District Four Female.
TW: Depiction of self-harm and mention of suicidal thoughts.
She still remembers the day she met Shane Odeen for the first time.
Atlantis was swimming in a volatile storm amidst the rocky shores of Four in fits of rage and passion. Because she's always liked to dance in riptides, it's a nice break from everything.
At home it's her mother screaming:
You'll never be happy, Attie.
You'll never be successful, Attie.
Keep this up and you'll be just like your father, Attie.
(She loathes the nickname but she loathes Abenahir more.)
But when she's at sea, alone amidst the waves, she's at peace. She doesn't have to worry about her mother's toxicity, her comparisons to Nerio. And she's afraid too that she'll become just like the man who cast her and her mother out of his home, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree afterall, and Atlantis could never admit that her real fear is becoming her mother instead, not that either of her parents are a good option.
The ocean is though, Atlantis Seasbane would be more than happy to dissolve into foam amongst the waves for the rest of her life. It's not like anybody loves her or cares for her anyways… her mother's said it time after time and that's the reason her father left, right?
(She wishes she could feel sorry for herself but instead she's just bitter. All those Havenside kids and their normal lives without a scratch of pain, Talquin and Juno without a scratch of pain. And she's jealous of them, she's jealous of all of them because she deserves to feel human, she deserves to feel like she matters, but Atlantis doesn't matter to anyone.)
Shane Odeen is different…
He sees the way she soars through the riptide that night as he strolls through sand with a smirk on his face, like he knows something but won't tell a soul.
To this day, Atlantis isn't sure how long Shane watched her, but when she came out of the water, anomic and weary whilst the clouds cracked and thundered, he's standing there, so she asks him, "Do I know you?"
He isn't properly dressed for the beach, long pants and a white silk robe covering his body, "Not yet you do."
She's been told time and time again not to talk to strangers so she just walked past him, yet he followed, "I'm not trying to hurt you, I promise."
Atlantis' lips curl and she mutters "Bullshit," but that doesn't stop him.
He asks her, "How old are you?"
"None of your business," Came her reply, her brows furrowing.
It didn't stop him, "Have you considered training at the Academy?" He finally calls to her.
Atlantis turned around with intrigue, "Too poor."
It's the truth, while Nerio and the boys rose to Four's upper echelons, Atlantis and Abenahir were left to dust and ashes.
"What if I gave you a scholarship?" That's all Atlantis needs to hear from him to begin to pay attention, "Shane Odeen's the name, I saw you dancing and spinning out there and think you have potential."
She still doesn't get why, but she began to trust Shane from just those words. Maybe it was the fact nobody had ever seen this so called "potential" in her, or maybe it was the fact she was so beaten down from her most recent fight with her mother, throwing herself out at the waves unsure if she wanted to die or not and somehow surviving a storm that served to be an indicator that a turning point was on the horizon and everything was about to get way better.
(Atlantis didn't know how much worse it would get.)
"Why?" She questions him as is common of her.
Shane just chuckles to himself and crosses his arms, "Let's just say you remind me of an old friend of mine."
Atlantis was naive to think the Academy would be some significant improvement to the wretched tides of her homelife. Just like with her mother, Atlantis doesn't mean anything to anybody there. She tries to drown them out yet wherever she goes it seems to be the same insults flying around like she's some mental case.
She's hardly a teenager yet she's so familiar with Kukla Kuria and Ariya Arden's bickering in the locker room, "Oh there's that scholarship kid, can't hold her sword right."
She's familiar with Meridian Morello and Madelyn Montessaro moving out of the way in disgust as she passes them, "Can you believe she's here without paying? That's not fucking fair."
Atlantis isn't the first person to receive a scholarship from Shane but based on the other girls' reactions to just the very semblance of her, you'd think she's some otherworldly force and not in the good way. There's venom on their tongues whenever she's near them and the antidote only comes when she steps on their toes during duels or chokes them a bit too harshly.
Being good is one thing, Atlantis knows this for a fact, but being good isn't enough at the Academy of the White Whale. Here, not only does she have to push and pull with every bone in her body, she has to do it all with the constant loop of doubt playing in her head and telling her time and time again that she's not enough, will never be enough ––That's why dad took Tal and Juno and not you, remember? That's why he plagued you to turn into a fucking monster, remember? You weren't good enough for him and it's funny that you think you'll ever be good enough for these trust fund brats. You'll never be enough Atlantis, stop fucking trying. Some people are better off just giving up and dying… maybe you're one of them, you useless, desolate piece of shit.
(As time goes by, Atlantis isn't sure if she hears her mother's voice or her own.)
At eighteen, she knows she's made a complete and utter mess of herself. There's no going back, that's what she says to herself, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and if you can't join 'em, use that to beat 'em…
"I'm not a horrible person, right?" She's in bed with her girlfriend Alithyia one night when the question that crosses her mind so often slips out of her lips, "I mean, I know you've heard the rumors about me by now, but I'm not that bad, right?"
Ali's completely smitten with her and maybe Atlantis should be happier about that. Yet, she's unable to let herself enjoy the beautiful life Alithyia Essetella could be the secret to, when her mind's slowly killing her, reminding her over and over: You don't deserve her, Atlantis. You don't deserve love or happiness, dammit you don't deserve anything. People know you and they fear you too. And that's good, nobody should ever come near you ever again if they know what's good for you, you fucking monster who should have never been released to the world.
"I've never thought you were a bad person, Attie," The sad thing here is that Atlantis actually lets Ali reclaim the slur that her mother haunted her with, maybe she's down just as bad then, "You've just been through a lot and it makes sense that you would lash out at people."
(Because lashing out at people is better than the razorblades pressed deep into her skin, the blood staining the carpet of her room, the fur on her stuffed dog toy, everywhere painted red because of her. It's better if she hurts others if it means another night without tip-toeing into the kitchen to find bandages while Mom's asleep so she can tend to her self-inflicted carnage, her sorry reminders that she belongs in the gutter.)
...but then why do I feel worse when I'm not hurting me?
Atlantis rolls her eyes, "So you agree then? You think I lash out at people." Gosh, of course Alithyia does, she probably has heard time and time again to stay away from Atlantis Seasbane because she's a creep, she's a weirdo, she's a threat to society and nobody knows it yet. Hell, even Atlantis doesn't realize how much of a threat she really is and maybe she never will, maybe she shouldn't too.
"I think…" There's a hitch in Alithiya's breath, "Well, you're not a monster if that's what you're worried about."
Please… I know I'm a monster, Alithyia. Fuck you, telling me I'm not, I know what I've fucking done you best stop lying to me and acting like I'm a fucking saint when you know I'm bad. You know I'm the absolute fucking worst and you should just bite the fucking bullet and say it to my fucking face.
"Yes I am," With a swift kick of her legs, Atlantis sends Alithyia rolling off the bed and onto the ground, "What good do you even get from lying to me about it?"
From the ground, Ali whimpers, her blonde hair messy and tangled, "I'm sorry that you take offense to me seeing the good in you, Atlantis."
"What good?" She pushes the blankets off her bed in disgust, "Tell me right now with your whole fucking chest that you think there's anything good about me."
Without much thought, Alithyia chuckles, "Well you're hot as fuck… and! And! You're nice to me, yeah, usually you're real nice to me! You're still kicking it after all of that fuck shit, Attie, that's pretty fucking powerful."
Atlantis doesn't speak. Instead she lets the tears come to her eyes, Fuck I messed this up again. Fuck, I mess everything up why do I even fucking bother, what's the fucking point of Alithyia or love or life or anything. I'm unloveable, I'm a mess, I fucking suck and I'm the worst and the world would be so much better off if I just fucking did everyone a favour and died. Seriously, it would be a favour if I wasn't here anymore. She digs around her pillows in search of Fred, the stuffed dog stained by her blood, sweat, and tears but he's nowhere to be seen, "Ali, did you take him? I can't fucking find Fred."
As dumb as it is, Fred's all that Atlantis has had that's consistent in her life. He's been through every fight with her mom, every letter from her dad, every time she felt the world slipping through her fingers and she had nothing she could ever consider real to her, Fred's always been there. And when they're laughing and playing together in bed, Ali likes to throw around the little creature.
Alithyia gets up from the ground, "Why would I take him?"
"Because you hate me and you think it's funny when I freak out," Atlantis answers with disgust in her throat as her voice raises. "Well I'm freaking out now, isn't it fucking funny? Are you fucking laughing yet?"
(I'm messing this up, I'm messing her up. Why do I keep doing this? Why can't I even give myself a chance? I'm a monster, I'm the plague, I deserve to die.)
When Ali stands by her door without a word coming out of her mouth, Atlantis continues, "What? So you're going to leave me now because I actually was a monster, wasn't I? You think I'm a bad person, I fucking knew it." Alithyia bats her eyes in shock, "Well fuck you for thinking that, Alithyia. I'd think that an alcoholic whore who used to eat scraps off the ground as a dare would think better than that. Fuck you, Alithyia. You think I'm a game. You think all of this is a game, you think we are a game."
(Shut up… shut up…)
Alithyia twists the handle, "I think we should take a break Atlantis… maybe a long one."
Fucking vague, fucking classic of her.
"Wait, I'm––" Before Atlantis can continue, Alithyia's stepped outside of her bedroom, "I'm… sorry… I didn't mean any of that. I promise."
(Why are you shocked? You ruin everything, remember?)
She looks down to see Fred on the ground next to her feet. Fucking hell… Atlantis threw out her razorblades a while ago, told Alithyia she's done with them for good. But she'll find more. It's not like Ali can even get mad at her now.
And when all is said and done, at least Shane Odeen actually believes in me…
Kids In The Dark, Bats for Lashes / Popular Monster, Falling In Reverse
The theme of this chapter was… it doesn't make any fucking sense on purpose! Regardless, I hope you enjoyed being confused. First off we had Bud who seemingly controls the weather and clearly has been though a lot of trauma and is experiencing severe memory loss. Thanks Xavi! Then we had Atlantis who claims to be a horrible person yet hasn't done anything too horrible in this intro. Thanks Dawn! Nah… really talk, these two kids were a blast even if they're both cryptids, so I had a lot of fun writing these intros.
Fun fact, I wrote Atlantis' intro in May 2021 as a birthday gift for Dawn, so happy very late birthday again. I have no clue when you're reading this chapter but I wrote Bud and this AN on July 22nd. Happy August or September? I don't know time.
One more intro chapter to go, and then we get to have fun. Not that these intros aren't fun. I'm having a great fucking time!
Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds