Preface
Like Moonbeams On The Brain
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/45978973.
by Pixie_Honey_Writes
Summary
Twenty years have passed since Ruby went to school with Brahms, but she never quite forgot him. So when she finds out he's still alive, she doesn't hesitate to go looking in hopes of forging the relationship life had denied them as kids. Set directly after the end of the movie. Mind the tags.Notes
I. Have absolutely 0 explanation for this au, honestly. The plot bunnies have been especially busy lately given the rate they're multiplying. I aged Ruby up a few years so she's closer to Brahms's age for this au, since there's a five year difference between them in other aus and in ROT, but I also figured that due to her father's pushing for her to always excel at school she could have skipped a grade and been 6 when Brahms turned 8. Lots of ideas for this fic came from the result of reading [and rereading!] the stories by Toxic_Corn. Highly recommend giving them a read! [I was going to link them as 'Inspired By', but with the warnings I felt hesitant to] CW: Implied Noncon Cannibalism, only one line. If you want to skip it, skip over the italic line that starts with 'blackness that's tainted'Emetophobia warning for the line after that one.
See the end of the work for more notes
Chapter 1
Anyone else in her place would likely be considered crazy.
She's sure Malcolm and the woman he was with- Greta, she reminds herself. Her name is Greta- think she is, after how she'd reacted to overhearing them talking in hushed whispers about Brahms…and what had happened that night at the manor.
It's not like she planned to react the way she had- it had been instinct. He'd been one of those kids who just never quite left her mind, who she'd always felt a sorrow pressing down on her at the thought of him dying so young, had been on her mind more than ever when she was 13 and….everything happened.
So of course finding out he was alive would result in some interesting, and impulsive, decisions.
Shaking her head, she flips the radio on to drown out the silence that's trying to wrap around her as she drives, but then it feels too loud and she switches it off.
She drums her fingers on the steering wheel, forces herself to stop, rolls down her window only for it to blow her hair into her eyes and cause her to roll it back up.
She was a mess, there was no hiding that. Not when everything was too much but not enough at the same time, and she was driving into the darkened woods in search of a man who probably didn't even remember her at all.
No wonder they'd thought she was crazy.
By all accounts, she was.
It had been just a routine repair. She'd gotten too eager, leaned a bit too far over to reach a spot she'd missed and fallen from a ladder.
In truth, she was probably lucky she only busted an ankle- it was an easy fix, a few hours at most and she'd be back at home, back to working on the painting that spanned an entire room in length that she'd been commissioned to do, another wall covered in the projected reference image that provides enough light to work.
But the downside- or would it be an upside?- of it all was that she'd been in the ER when Malcolm and Greta were ushered to the bed next to her, separated by a curtain and able to hear everything.
She'd been concerned, of course. Almost everyone in town knew Malcolm, herself included. So when she heard his voice, she'd immediately shifted to sit up in bed, wincing as there's a pinch in her leg where the prosthetic connects.
That was always the worst part, the little pinches as it ''activated' again after a repair. They don't hurt- after what had happened to her, she's found almost nothing really does- but that doesn't mean she enjoys them.
She'd been about to pull the curtain separating their beds open when she hears someone else in the room, causing her to hesitate. She doesn't recognize the voice, or the name Malcolm uses- Greta.
Ma;colm had almost seemed frantic, the shadows she can see showing he'd pulled Greta to his bedside as soon as he could, his hands tracing over her arms and shoulders with care.
It's only when Greta gives a soft promise that she's okay that he settles, laying back down.
"...So. What do we do about Brahms?" Ruby perks up immediately when Greta says his name, scooting a little closer to hear better.
"We've gotta tell the cops about Cole- someone'll notice he's missing eventually, and the last thing we want is to end up accused and arrested for his murder" Greta continues, her shadow glancing at the door to make sure no one in the hall heard her.
It seems as good a moment as any to grasp the curtain and pull it open, her eyes focused on Malcolm.
"Brahms is alive?"
Coming to a stop at the front steps, Ruby turns the ignition off and looks up at the manor, light shining behind the windows. She knew Malcolm and Greta had left in a hurry, but she hoped the fact the lights were still on would be a good sign.
With that in mind, she gets out of the car and walks up the stairs, going to knock on the front door only to see it was still slightly ajar- as though someone had pushed it shut but not made sure it closed fully.
Pushing it open, she steps inside and shuts it behind her, heading first to the billiards room where Malcolm had told her things began- sure enough, there's the body of a man there, blood pooling under him. She's torn on whether leaving it here or disposing of it would be the right next step, but given Malcolm had wanted to go to the cops…
Her thoughts are cut short when she hears a creak of floorboards upstairs, glancing towards the ceiling as she moves into the hallway, pausing for only a moment at the bottom of the stairs before she heads up them in the direction of the noise.
She wishes, not for the first time, that her father had allowed her to come to the manor for playdates with Brahms, in the same way Emily had always done- but no, that was a waste of time and money in his eyes.
Coming to an open door, she peers inside for a moment before she steps across the threshold, into the room- clearly, there was a fight here, judging by the way everything's been thrown about, the pieces of what she thinks was a telephone crunching under her sneakers.
The door slams shut behind her, a hand grasping her shoulder tight enough to bruise as she feels someone's breath on her neck, a growl directed towards her ear.
"Who are you, and why are you here?"
Brahms had thought it was Greta, at first, returning to him now that Malcolm was out of the way. She'd apologize for stabbing him, help him patch himself up and stay with him always.
Instead, a petite girl with freckles all over, her midnight hair loose down her back was in his house- in his room.
Could he be blamed for being a bit angry at the intrusion? He hadn't even been that harsh, using the hand that wasn't pressed against his side to grasp her shoulder so she couldn't leave, leaning down to growl in her ear to get the answers he needed.
She'd tensed under his hand, for a moment- before she'd maneuvered out of his hold, turning to face him with big green eyes that seemed to see everything.
"You've gotten so tall, Brahms!"
There's a familiarity to the way she says his name, though he doesn't recognize her- not a surprise, given he hasn't seen many people in 20 years. But she was avoiding his question.
He didn't even need to ask again before she continued, her eyes taking in his scars, the broken mask that hid only the undamaged side of his face in a cruel twist of fate.
"I'm Ruby, and I'm here because I found out you were alive." She pauses, her eyes dropping to the blood on his shirt before they dart back up to meet his again.
"I don't think we have time to patch you up- we need to go, quickly."
She expected him to leave? He narrows his eyes at her, shaking his head- but she doesn't seem scared, instead boldly meeting his gaze and crossing her arms- one hand flashing silver in the light of his bedside table lamp.
"Don't you 'no' me! The cops are going to be here, Brahms. Because of Cole. You need to pack some clothes and come with me, you can't hide in the walls anymore." When he doesn't reply, her eyes seem to soften ever so slightly, before she adds "It's just until they clear the house as a crime scene, okay? Once they've done that, we can come back- I'll even stay with you if you want me to."
"And where, exactly, do you propose we go?" And why would she offer to stay, when they don't know each other?
"My place, of course. It's smaller than here, but there's room enough for us both, and if Malcolm and Greta tell the cops I headed here, I can lie and say you didn't come with me." She seems intent on this, even as he shakes his head again.
"I said no. Having somewhere to go doesn't change that" He replies, watching as a frown crosses her lips.
"Brahms, I'm not asking. I'm telling. You're coming with me so you'll be safe and I can patch you up- the last thing you want is an infection. Now let's go, if you keep stalling like this we'll have to leave without getting your clothes."
"Why are you so insistent that I go with you? Why do you care?" His words come out more harshly than intended, and she flinches ever so slightly.
"...I care because I remember when you were 8, and I would have rearranged the stars to be able to be your friend. I've spent the last twenty years thinking I'd missed my chance- are you really going to take it away now that I know I still have it?"
He hesitates- he doesn't know how she knew him when he was 8, when Emily was still his best friend until the day she wasn't. But maybe, just maybe, she'll tell him if he goes along with this, even if everything in him screams to stay.
"Fine. Wait for me in the front hall"
He's grateful when she nods, moving past him to go back downstairs.
Looking down at the hand pressed against his side, he takes a deep breath to steady himself against a sudden wave of dizziness, and heads to his parent's room. He doesn't think going up to the attic would be a good idea right now.
Ruby doesn't go directly to the front door, detouring to the kitchen to grab dishtowels, folding them into thick squares as she walks back to the door, chewing her bottom lip slightly.
What was she thinking? Brahms clearly was violent, based on what she'd been told and seen, the last thing she should do is bring him home. It's not too late to leave without him, to assume he'd bleed out from his wound.
Blackness that's tainted by the metallic smell of blood, oh stars why does everything hurt and why does the food feel funny on her tongue oh no nonononononono please no!
The memory hits her without warning, a hand pressing to her mouth to keep the bile that's rising up her throat from escaping. She moves a step closer to the door, opening it so she can step out onto the porch and take jagged breaths of cool night air, the barest sliver of stars waiting against the trees.
She's safe, the woman who'd done this was dead and rotting in a grave while she was alive and thriving (most of the time), it was just a memory and that's all it would ever be.
Swallowing hard, she turns to step back inside to find Brahms at the bottom of the stairs, eyes narrowed at her position on the porch, as though he thinks she was going to leave.
Managing a weak smile, she answers his unprompted question. "Bad memory came up, so I stepped outside for some air. Ready to go?"
He nods silently, and shuffles onto the porch with her, accepting the towels she offers to press against the wound before she leads him to the car, taking the small bag he'd packed in one hand and using the other to guide him by the arm.
She only hopes he doesn't pass out on the way, but if the worst comes to worst- she can pull over and patch him up in the car.
Now that he was actually in the car, Brahms was having second thoughts. Why had he let someone so tiny dictate what he did or didn't do? He should be staying, dealing with the body and going back into the walls.
But from the sounds of it, Greta wouldn't come back- and neither would Malcolm. He'd run out of food before long, and end up having to leave anyway- and that's only if he didn't get found and arrested.
Stealing a glance at the mystery woman, he tries to place her- combing through memories for the little girl she must have been at one point. Too much time and a habit of keeping to himself as a child makes it difficult, and after a bit he gives up, letting his head fall to rest against the window.
"Are you ok, Brahms? Not too dizzy or lightheaded?" She glances over at him now, as she turns onto the road that leads back to town.
"...Really dizzy." He mumbles, prompting a soft curse from her.
"That'd be the blood loss. Just keep pressure on it, ok? I'm going to get you home and patched up as quickly as I can. For now, just keep talking to me ok? So I know you haven't passed out"
"Not much to talk about…" Not without expecting her answers, that is.
"Anything. Hell, you could just ramble whatever thoughts you have, the words aren't the important part."
"My thoughts right now are focused on wondering why the hell you're doing this, and why you're willing to cover up a murder"
She's quiet for a moment, before she answers. "I'm doing this because I care, and I'm technically not covering up the murder because the body's not in my trunk to be disposed of."
He scoffs. "You're still willing to hide me, though. Seems pretty cover-up like."
"You deserve a chance at a life where you're not in a prison of some kind, Brahms. You've spent far too much of your life in one"
"My home was not a prison!" He didn't mean to shout, grimacing as it sent pain up his side.
"You weren't allowed to leave- that makes it one." She replies, turning off onto a dirt side road into the woods, just out of sight of the lights in town. "There doesn't have to be restraints to be a prison"
"What would you know of restraints? You're just some perfect little girl, without a care in the world!"
Her head snaps to look at him before she looks forward again, pulling into a parking spot next to a small one story cottage.
"I spent nearly a year trapped in a basement. I think I very much know what I'm talking about."
He can't ask further before she gets out of the car, walking up to the cottage and unlocking the door before she returns for him, draping an arm over her shoulders once he's standing.
It turns out to be a good thing, because everything spins for a moment before it all goes black, the soft startled Brahms! the last thing he hears.
Chapter 2Chapter Notes
I'm going off wikihow for the stab wound tending, so if it's inaccurate I'm sorry. Wiki said it'd hurt, but when I looked up what saline felt like, it said it shouldn't. Very confusing there, so I went middle of the road. Also guys I promise this is an eventual romance despite the warnings- those are related to Ruby's backstory for this version of her. I might be going overboard with them but I'd rather be safe than sorry. [Also if you're reading Is It Really Gold-Digging If He Hands You The Pickaxe?, her backstory is almost identical in that fic. Only difference is what happened after she left the hospital] CW: kidnapping, violence towards a child [13 Year Old], cannibalism (both consensual and non/dubious consent), body/eye horror, domestic abuse mention/implication, drugged drink, emetophobiaSee the end of the chapter for more notes
Ruby had half expected Brahms to pass out as she got him out of the car, and it's the only reason she didn't drop him when he did.
Even so, she still staggers for a moment before she's able to adjust, nudging the towel he'd dropped to one side as she slowly moved towards the front door and laid him on the couch for the moment, carefully removing his broken mask and checking his wound.
It had thankfully stopped bleeding, though she can't be sure when it did. Humming softly, she tosses it onto the coffee table and heads back outside, locking up her car and bringing the discarded towel and Brahms's bag in, setting the bag by the door as she shuts and locks it, before turning lights on as she heads to the bathroom for her first aid supplies, tossing the towel in the hamper as she goes.
This wasn't going to be fun for either of them, but it had to be done, whether he was awake or not.
Though given she'd just heard a groan from the main room, it seemed like he had the unfortunate luck of waking up.
For a moment, Brahms wasn't sure where he was. It was comfortable, and warm in a way home never had been.
Forcing his eyes open, he found himself staring up at a ceiling that was painted like the sky at twilight- pinks and purples and oranges, and when he turns his head he can see the colors continue down one wall to where a wall light has been placed in just the right spot to look like a setting sun, the lower half of the wall painted with a darkened field of flowers, deep blues and blacks with sprinkles of muted, almost faded color.
Before he can look around the rest of the room, or figure out where his mask had gone when he realizes it is, his view of the wall is blocked by a cropped NASA sweatshirt and a bare freckled stomach, the angle allowing him to see the edge of Ruby's electric blue bra.
"Right, I was hoping you'd still be out for this" she mutters softly, biting her lower lip when he tilts his head to look up at her. "This is going to hurt like a bitch and for that I'm sorry"
She seems to consider something for a moment, before she pulls a table closer and drops everything she'd gathered onto it and does the last thing he expected- she climbs onto the couch, straddling his legs just below his hips before she pushes his shirt up and out of the way.
"Sorry for this part, too- it's just the best way I could think of to do this right now." She gives a soft smile, leaning towards the table to grab a pair of gloves.
"Okay. We need to clean out that wound, and that means flushing it with saline. I need you to brace yourself, ok? It's going to hurt like hell so feel free to scream, swear, cry, whatever you need." As she speaks, she pulls the gloves on- thankfully without the sharp snap doctors and nurses had seemed to favor- and grabs a clean dish towel and bottle, likely the saline she mentioned.
He didn't like the sound of that one bit, but he grits his teeth and nods, watching as she leans down just a bit to rest the folded towel directly below his wound, the bottle uncapped and in her other hand.
"Okay, three….two…..one."
He'd been about to tell her to wait when she tips the bottle, the liquid inside making the wound hurt like hell. He screams, attempting to shove himself up to sit up and push her away, only for her to drop the bottle and brace a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to back down to stay still.
"I know, I'm sorry. If I could make this hurt less I would, I promise." She swallows hard, her eyes meeting his again- the guilt he sees in them reinforces her words. "I'm pretty sure I said every curse word I knew- in English and French- when they did this to me. It was almost funny to see their shocked looks…"
He latches onto her words, focusing on them and her voice. Anything to avoid thinking about the pain. "How'd you end up stabbed?"
She freezes for a moment, before she gently pats the wound with a clean corner of the towel, flecks of rust and a small trickle of blood clinging to the material in the spot that had been under the wound.
"It's not a good story…and you might already know it, if you were following the news twelve years ago. They couldn't give details- too graphic, especially since I was a minor- but they printed the basics of what had happened." She doesn't look at him as she speaks, picking up the bottle again to do a second rinse.
"Tell me anyways?" He all but begs, moving one hand to grasp her wrist- it's the best he can do with both her hands occupied. "To distract me?"
He thinks she'll say no, but after a moment, she nods, gently pulling her wrist from his grip.
She doesn't seem to mind when he lets it drop to grip her thigh instead.
Ruby didn't know why she was letting Brahms persuade her to talk about this- she never talked about it once she finished therapy and the reporters had decided to stop hounding her for interviews as the 'lone survivor of a crazed serial killer'.
They had stopped when she'd threatened to go into detail on live TV, the only thing stopping her the idea that someone watching might be traumatized by her story.
"...When I was 13, my mother had just left. Dad had never treated either of well, though it was usually just…words. Nothing that left visible damage or could be used against him in the divorce, though honestly I doubt they'd have fought for custody. Neither of them really wanted a kid, I'd been….unexpected."
As she speaks, she slowly tips the bottle again, making sure less flows across the stab than before and feeling pleased when there's only two rust flecks. She can feel Brahms tense under her, a hiss escaping as his grip on her thigh tightens, but he stays mostly still. After a moment, he lets out a breath and gives a nod, prompting her to continue as his grip relaxes again.
"I was a little naïve back then, would think any day I'd get home from school and she'd be there to pick me up, or that any time the office called it was them calling me down to leave because she'd come to get me. She never did, of course…but then on the last day before summer break, when I was heading leaving, there was a woman who knew my name and said she was my mom's friend from Paris, that she was there to pick me up so I wouldn't travel alone." She shakes her head, scoffing softly. "Kidnapping 101, use their name and say you're 'a friend of their parents'. I was so excited to be going to mom that I failed to realize she knew my name because another student had called out to me to ask something, and I'd responded."
Satisfied the stab was clean enough for now when a third rinse cones out entirely clean, she caps the bottle and sets it on the table, picking up the tube of glue- only to think better of it, setting it back down. Between not being positive the wound was clean- despite the rinse hinting at that, and the amount of body hair he had, this option seemed like a bad one.
"So I went with her, without question. I accepted the soda she offered me, thinking it was safe because it was unopened…but it wasn't. Safe, I mean…by the time I realized something was wrong, it was too late. I passed out, and when I woke up I was in her basement. I didn't leave for ten months, though I didn't know it had been that long until later, when I was in the hospital and it became a scandal that my father never reported me missing in all that time- it'd been a teacher who did, when I didn't show up at school that fall."
She doesn't look up as she got off the couch and propped him up with pillows, having him hold a square of gauze against the wound so she could loosely loop bandages around his torso to hold it in place.
"...What happened? In those ten months?"
There's no need to continue if she doesn't want to- he's patched up, and she's got him settled on the couch for now.
But it feels good, in a way, to tell someone who hasn't been hired in one way or another to listen. Maybe that was why people did group therapy.
"I don't remember most of the details…and the ones I do remember are mostly graphic. Are you sure you want to know?"
"I doubt it'll bother me. I'm a killer, remember?" He comments almost dryly, and she rolls her eyes, giving a weak laugh.
"Nowhere near as cruel as she was." Tugging the gloves off and dropping them on the coffee table, she grabs two blankets from a basket by the couch- dropping one over him and wrapping herself in the other so that only her face was visible as she sits on a nearby armchair.
"If you need me to stop at any point- just say 'stop', ok?"
"You're really worried about that aren't you?" He questions, slowly shifting to settle into the pillows propping him up.
"Yes." She replies simply. "These memories almost make me vomit- it's only fair I give a warning before I continue."
Even with Ruby's warning, Brahms doesn't expect it to be that bad- girls are fragile and boys are strong, right? That's what his mother had always said to him growing up.
He doesn't like being wrong- especially this time.
"It started out small- she'd slice my arms or legs, eventually seeing how deep a cut she could do before I passed out from the pain. Quite honestly, I have no idea how I didn't die from shock, since at one point she cut down to the bone. I must've had someone very strong looking out for me." Ruby starts, her eyes a little unfocused as if she were seeing these things happen again. "She'd taunt me often, stand over me and eat something- that happened so often it's almost like one of those illusions, the one with the bumpy plastic that sounded awful if you ran your nails over it and would show different images when you tilted it- the food she was eating changing every moment. Sandwiches, pizza, salads, cupcakes, crackers, cheese…but the worst was the meat."
She pauses, as if expecting him to tell her to stop already, but he doesn't. What could possibly be so bad about meat?
"Are you a vegetarian then?" It's the only explanation he can think of that would make sense, but even then- she doesn't seem like the sort one of his rejected nannies had been, refusing to even be in the same room as someone eating meat that wasn't plant based.
He'd sent her away by the end of her first day.
Her eyes refocus on him again, and she shakes her head. "No. Sometimes I can't stand the idea of eating meat, and I never eat veal anymore…but I eat other meats when memories aren't too close."
She hesitates, before she continues. "After I think a month of this, she made a deal with me. If I ate the meat she prepared for me, and didn't throw it up, I could have all the water I wanted for a week. Up until that point, she'd been giving me just enough to stay alive and not become skin and bones." He can see her grip on the blanket tighten at that, pulling it just a little bit more closed. "I knew something was wrong, but you don't know the desperation that comes from being unable to drink enough- at least, I hope you don't know. So, I agreed."
She stops, and in that moment he wishes she was still on the couch, close enough to touch. But she's not.
"Do you want me to stop?" Those big green eyes meet his again, and in that moment he knows- she's not only met true evil, she's been forced to dance to the song evil sung.
"No. I just want you to be close"
She's quiet, before she nods, moving to sit just within his reach, carefully tucking her legs to the side opposite him.
"...Where was I?" She asks once they're settled.
"You agreed to eat the meat she prepared." He pauses, before he adds "Did…she ever tell you her name? It feels odd to just say 'her'"
"She did. She said her name was 'Gummi'- though once I was in her basement she told me she was known as 'The Blind Shephard' in America, where she was from. She'd come here because she was worried they were close to catching her." She smiles without humor. "Stupid fucking name, isn't it? Who has a daughter and goes 'ah yes, I shall name her Gummi!"
"It is a stupid name" He agrees, though he has a sinking feeling she's avoiding continuing for a good reason- though maybe that was his fault. He'd been the one to ask another question, after all.
"So…I made the deal with Gummi. The first time, she let me have some water first and between bites, so I wouldn't choke. But…she made me watch as she cut away part of my leg and cooked it up, plated it, and handed it to me to eat. I barely managed the first time, and a few times in the remaining months I did throw up. I think…by the end of it, she was pissed I wasn't more…open to it, that I still dreaded it…so she planned to kill me."
The word 'stop' is on his tongue, the revulsion he feels at what she's telling him enough to turn even the strongest stomach. But he can't find his voice, can only imagine the younger her choking down the prepared meal to enable herself to survive.
"Only one more memory of the basement- do you want me to stop?" Ruby softly asks, watching him- those eyes that see everything watching him for…what? Discomfort, nausea, revulsion…? He had them all, but he forces himself to shake his head. There's only one more, how bad can it be?
"Are you sure? It's one of the worst."
"Worse than being forced to eat your own legs?"
"Yes. At least, I think it is. Eating only caused psychological damage, since she'd have cut me up to eat regardless. The last memory caused physical damage too."
"...what sort of physical damage?" He almost knows the answer, but nothing could have prepared him for her to work a hand free of the blankets, tapping her temple by her eye.
"Oh. I think….I need to stop. I can guess the rest easily enough now"
"Okay. I'm sorry, I know this is…a lot to hear, all at once. I should have stopped sooner" The hand vanishes back under the blankets, and she gives a weak smile.
"How could you know? I didn't tell you to"
"Even so- I should have known"
Chapter End Notes
Not me thinking this would be a long chapter because I was writing on my phone, for it to only be like 2k words lmao. I do want to try having longer chapters tho! It's just hard on mobile to tell. Gummi was an oc I had back when I was like 14-16, when the idea of having a murderer oc was an interesting one. She started off as a hit woman and then kinda evolved into what she is now after her father (who taught her everything she knew) died. I haven't used her in like 14 years and then when I do, it's to canonically kill her off-screen. RIP Gummi, I forgot about you till I brought back Ragdoll!Ruby.Afterword
End Notes
This version of Cyborg Ruby [also known as Ragdoll Ruby] is slightly different from the one in Is It Gold-Digging If He Hands You The Pickaxe? in that she never met Raine, didn't start living/working in the bakery, and instead has a cottage in the woods just outside of town.Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!