Miles's eyes felt droopy and his legs felt like lead. He was exhausted; all of his energy was use up last chase and left him extremely lacking of sleep. All he wanted was to relax. Miles jumped into a nearby room and jumped in front of the door. There wasn't anyway to get out nor anything to hid in or under.
"Well, I'm fucked." Miles said as he clenched his jaw.
Even if the variants knew he was the host, and most of them do, they'll still chase him. He guesses that either the Walrider can read this thoughts and knows Miles is pacifistic as all hell, or Miles's said pacifism mixed with Walrider's thirst for blood and made a strange mixture. (I say that Walrider listens to his (I say it's a guy too) host on what to do, usually Miles just tells Walrider to protect him and not kill, but there's times like with Blare-) Miles looked around worriedly. He had long discarded of his shirt and he carried around his jacket, not wanting to lose his favorite jacket no matter how much dirt and grime was on it. Miles couldn't hear the footsteps of his pursuer any longer so he turned around and extremely slowly opened the door peeking his head out and looking both ways. He listened and heard gunshots, he touched his chest and ran a hand over the already healing bullet wounds. Miles pointed down the hall to the sounds of the gunshots as a silent plea to the Walrider to check what the fuck that was. Immediately he felt pain rush to his stomach as Walrider shot out and merged with the walls. Miles staggered as he started to make his way to the sounds. He could hear his ears ring loudly; his wounds all shouted for attention. The gun wounds on his torso screamed, the cuts on his legs, arms, and face all shouted in sync, his bruises all over were thumping like drums. They were like a choir, he laughed.
Waylon gasped as he saw the Walrider in a dark hallway. Your just hallucinating. It's not... Alive? How is it alive? An officer touched his shoulder.
"Are you alright, sir?" he asked Waylon who nodded frantically in response.
"Why are we in hell this time?" (Sneaking in a RE7 reference. ;D I love Andre and Pete.) another one hissed.
"Murkoff were doing some shitty shit here," Waylon turned back around the face the officers. "They were making a weapon."
"What kind of weapon?"
"It's made out of nanobots, very strong and very smart." Waylon narrowed his eyes back at the hallway.
"Great, just perfect. This is definitely how I thought I would spend my Monday." an officer said flatly as he sighed.
"Hey!" Waylon yelled as he saw a man limping in the hallway. Very bad idea but this looked like a mostly normal person. The said person quickly looked up and whipped around, running away. Waylon's raised hand fell and smacked into this thigh. "We just need your help." The man stopped at that and turned his head.
"Help with what?" They sounded young, younger than Waylon.
"Bringing this place down."
"Hah, yeah, that's why I came here." he laughed and turned around to face them walking out in the light. "I'm Miles. Miles Upshur."
"You're Miles?" Waylon questioned.
"Duh, I just said that." He motioned with his hand to Waylon. "Who might you be?"
"Waylon Park. I was the person who contacted you." Waylon was surprised that Miles could even hear that.
"Fan-fucking-tastic, ya' know you could have, I don't know, warned me first?" Miles was obviously very snarky with his comment and definitely not happy.
"I couldn't have known, everything went to shit after I send that!" Waylon started making large gestures with his arms and which Miles raised his hands in a sort of surrendering pose.
"Jesus Christ, You're gonna get the others riled up." he whispered, just then is when Waylon noticed Miles's hands. His fucking fingers were reduced to bloody stumps.
"What in the name of hell happened to your hands, man?!" an officer yelped behind him.
"What does it look like? Doctor Ultra-buttocks caught in the elevator upstairs hacked em' off." Miles held a shit eating grin. "You wanna know how to make Trager juice?"
"One, ew. Two, I'm pretty sure some other officials pulled him out of the elevator earlier." Waylon said as he tapped his chin in thought.
I'm trying to fit in more snarky, sarcastic Miles. This is also where the graphic descriptions of violence comes in.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
"Well, if you would be so kind, I would like to get my things before we go." Miles said smiling lightly.
"Sure," Waylon answered, pausing in thought. "Where would they be?"
Miles pointed down the hall and pointed to a nearby security room. " Just in there." He slung his jacket over his shoulder and put a hand in his butt pocket.
As they were walking, Waylon finally noticed the shape that Miles was in; bullet wounds (That he still needed to ask about) were still bleeding, his fingers were missing, he had some smeared blood from cuts, one short-ish cut was on his forehead and another longer one was on his cheek. He had many bruises, a large one was wrapped around his throat, dark and thumping, small glass shards were sticking out of his back too.
"How did you get all of these?" Waylon gestured to Miles's cuts.
"Variants." Miles sighed and bit his lip, opening the security door to reveal a makeshift set up. "Welcome to my residence." Miles chuckled and grabbed his bloody shirt on a chair, it was soaking, he had tried to clean it.
"This is where you've stayed for... How long?" one of the officers said as he was poking around.
"A day at most, probably has only been a few hours though. How long has it been since you got out, Waylon?" Miles asked as he shuffled through bag of chips, looking for that one last sprinkle.
"Yeah only a few hours."
"You're really tough you know that, man?" Miles chuckled as he tossed the bag on the ground, swinging his leg up he propped them on the desk.
"No, I'm not, all I did was run and hide."
"Tch, stop yo lyin'." Miles scoffed. "All I did was scream like a wuss and barf," Miles shivered. "There was a lot of strangling and dead bodies, they smelled totally ronch too."
"You're disgusting." Miles took his hand out of his pocket and his distinct expression returned.
"He cut off my fingers. He- he made sure I couldn't see but the camera could; made sure I didn't know when they could be cut." His voice was so broken but so hollow. "He got smashed up and his insides got minged in an elevator, but I wish he could have had his head cut clean off for taking my fingers. He took another Variant's tongue, said he "wasn't putting it to use anyways" and that he actually just "didn't want to lick his own envelopes"." Miles looked down and shook his head.
"Hey, we need to get out, someone's coming." A guard pointed out the window to the hulking figure of a patient.
"Get in those lockers now." Miles got up and held his hand behind him to push everyone else to the lockers.
"There's not enough room for all of us!" Waylon yelped, there was five officers, Waylon, and Miles.
"I know, I have a plan though."
"Haven't you said that your plans are always shit?" Waylon hissed.
"Yes I have but this ones good, now go in those lockers or under the desk and step on it!" Miles growled as everyone rushed to their spots.
Waylon was under the desk with another officer two were smooshed in both of the lockers, making the sides bow out but it's better than nothing. Miles stood there until the door opened. The variant immediately ran in and tried to choke Miles who grabbed the patients wrists above his head and held them back the best he could. Miles was struggling, sweat beads started to drip down his face making his grip start to loosen and slip. Skin against skin as Waylon barreled into the variant, the others came out of their hiding spots as Waylon was smacked on the head and pinned to the ground with the grungy variant over him. Then the variant was smacked off and harshly thrown into the lockers by none other than Miles. His eyes were black and the room was filling with nanobots all responding to Miles. He stepped over Waylon and stared down at the variant. Miles jumped up and tipped the nearby locker over and dropped it into the guy, the patient tried to stop the locker with his hand. His head exploded and his wrist broke, the sickening crack brang a menacing grin onto Miles's face. Miles stayed smiling and staring at the blood and brains, most of the head was covered by the locker. Miles looked at the others, his eyes melting to normal (Like literally, the black oozed out of his eyes and down his face, like it was a black sludge that covered his eyes. Another thing Waylon needed to ask about.) Miles's eyes went wide as he gasped and backed up into a corner covering his mouth.
"I- I- I..." Miles swallowed hard. "I didn't mean it."
Time to get more serious, I'll still have sarcastic Miles because I feel like that's who he is based on the notes he makes, also I like thinking that maybe my humor will make someone happy.
"Miles, common. You need to work with us." Waylon said as he tried to push Miles out of the aylem.
Police cars were lined up, all of them bright and blaring, too much to take in, far too overwhelming. Miles jumped back as he noticed Waylon lead him farther out, now everyone could see them. Were they looking? Laughing at Miles's state? Laughing and saying that he's over reacting, that what happened wasn't that bad? Miles felt warm and tingly as the nanobots pushed Waylon away (gently onto his ass) and circled around Miles, thinking that he needed protection from the world around him. 'Half true.' he thinks as he sits down and blocks out the sounds of the air whooshing past him. A few things that the Walrider granted him were sensitive hearing, higher agility, higher pain tolerance when the Walrider was inside of him, and a better night vision, not as good as his camera or a cat's night vision, just a lot better than what he used to have. That's all he knew, there could be more. He shivered as he felt tears flow down his cheeks, everything hit him like a brick wall, it was so bad it felt like physical pain. Miles could feel the glass embedded in his back shift, the bullets were still in there too.
"Waylon!" Miles could hear a woman yell, footsteps got closer.
'No, no, no, no! Stay back!' Miles's face contorted into pain as the Walrider left him. 'Shit, shit, shit! Stop it!' Miles tried to whistle, tried to call him back. Screaming gave Miles a headache.
"Lisa!" Waylon shouted, scared, that's when Miles broke. Miles screamed as loud as he could, Walrider of course shot his gaze over to Miles. He rushed over to make sure that Miles wasn't injured. Miles snapped and growled at him, standing up. Walrider understood and retreated into Miles, a shot of pain coursed through him until he was numb again.
"I-I- sorry." Miles felt worthless, he could hardly make a sentence. For fucks sake he couldn't even help the people who were trying to save him! Waylon looked up at him and furrowed his brows.
"You didn't know."
"But I did! I did know! I could have helped but I'm selfish and didn't!" Miles spoke with every word, every syllable laced with self hatred.
"You were in a bad state, you couldn't do much, the Walrider is unpredictable." Waylon tried to confort Lisa and Miles at the same time, Lisa was easy to calm, and was starting to get up, but Miles was hurt badly.
"You're not safe around me this just shows how bad of an idea this was, how naive I was to think this would work." Miles ripped a hand through his hair and pulled, he spun around quickly and darted off to the left.
"Miles!" Waylon chased after him, others were following.
Miles crawled through a broken door and ran over to a nearby ladder, he climbed up and started to jog (like a fast jog but slow enough to not fall off) and weaved around. Even if Waylon's ankle was messed up and hardly healed, he made a little bit of ground on Miles. Miles jumped across a small gap now Waylon was fucked; jumping is NOT something that Waylon can do.
Sorry for it being really short! I have another story that I'm working on right now and I really, really have a lot of interest and motivation to write that one more than this one for the time being!
Miles's breath caught in his throat as he slid through the lockers near the library, he looked back at where he came from.
"Was that right?" he whispered to himself as he shook his head. "It's better this way." Miles walked past the dead guard and out the door.
It's not supposed to go this way.
Miles jumped over some corpses and found himself back in the security room. When did he get here? Miles huffed and sighed, nothing was left in here, his jacket was discarded outside, he felt so naked. Miles waddled under the desk and curled up, closing his eyes and drifting.
"Miles!" Waylon shouted, trying to get Miles back. "Shit," he mumbled.
"Waylon, get down from there!" Lisa yelled up at Waylon, scared he would fall and break something.
"I need to make sure Miles is alright, it's my fault he came here, and he's not my responsibility to get out." Waylon carefully hopped over the gap as Lisa followed.
"Waylon, sweetie, come back." Lisa followed Waylon around until he came back down.
"We need to get him!" Waylon said annoyed.
"We can go through the front door," she answered gesturing to the front.
"Where do you think he will be?" and officer questioned.
"Miles is smart and sneaky. (Debatable-) He'll be close thinking that we won't check there," Waylon faced the others and started snooping.
"Do you think he'll be in a place we already checked?" A guard chimed in.
"Maybe..." Waylon trailed off as he spun around to see the security door not closed at the way, he knows one of the guards closed it. "The security office."
Waylon and Miles's insane adventure continues.
I'M SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT! I know, I'm shit at keeping up with my stories.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
They found Miles curled up, napping under the desk. His breath was slow, coming out of his mouth making a light snore, Miles’s jacket was slipping off, revealing the bullet wounds on his chest and stomach. Even Waylon could say that the sight was honestly adorable. Miles may be a broken man caked in his own blood, but he sure is cute. Waylon didn’t know what to do, he could wake up Miles?
He gently shook Miles’s shoulder whispering, “Miles, common, wake up.”
Miles grunted and shifted, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. Walrider was nowhere to be seen, probably cooped up inside of Miles. Waylon sighed and did it again but rougher. Miles snapped open his eyes and jumped up, slamming his head hard on the desk which made Waylon fly back, lading on his ass.
“Waylon,” Lisa said worriedly checking his leg.
“Ow,” Miles whimpered, rubbing his head and bracing himself for a headache to form.
“Miles, are you alright?” Miles did a thumbs up and crawled out from under the desk, inching to the door.
“Hey,” an officer shouted as Miles scrambled down the hall and into a larger group, being thrown to the ground and held down.
He hissed and growled, swatting with his hands and flailing his arms.
“Let go of him,” Waylon commanded as Miles was let go and propped up.
He looked absolutely frazzled.
“I’m sorry,” he finally sputtered out, staring up at Waylon.
“Don’t be, you got scared. It’s always acceptable to hide as long as we can find you or you come back to us.” Miles nodded and buried his face into his bloodied hands, crying. “Hey, everything’ll be alright.”
“No, no it won't be.”
“Why?” Waylon felt like a therapist who was challenging their patient.
“I’ll never be normal, I’m dangerous.” Miles’s shoulders shook and his muscles convulsed.
He was scared, a feeling that he oh so desperately hates but needs to survive. Waylon opened his mouth to speak but shut it. How is he supposed to respond to that?
“Do-” Waylon started but stopped, about to retract this words. “Do you have anywhere to stay?”
Luckily I actually got this out though and I stopped being the lazy fuck I am for like, a few hours to write this.
Miles shad his cheek pressed up against the window much to Waylon’s annoyance.
‘ There’s gonna be a cheek mark now… ’
Linda was driving, occasionally checking back on Miles and Waylon. Miles was clutching his jacket that was sitting on his lap. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Lisa didn’t trust Miles, not at all. Waylon knew this, he was aware of it. That was just kinda Lisa though; untrusting and protective. Miles needed a place to stay, he needed a place to stay where he was supervised just incase he got hurt. It was quiet, Miles often shifted and groaned from nudging his wounds. Waylon had never taken a good look at him, he had muscles but looked a bit pudgy, he had extremely dark, nearly black, hair, his brows were always creased in a worried expression and his shoulders were taut and square, it looked unnatural for them to be so high. Miles was obviously anxious and didn’t like being in a car, he didn’t seem to iniery trust Waylon and he seemed to not really love Linda. Miles huffed and steamed up the window, making Waylon wince.
“Miles.” Miles turned his head and payed attention to him. “Do you want to eat of something?”
Miles pondered for a while, bouncing his leg. “Uh- I don’t have- erm… Money?” He shrugged, returning to the window.
“We have money.” Lisa sent a glare through the rear-view mirror to Waylon, telling him to, ‘ fucking stop. ’
“I mean, if it makes you feel better…”
“It would,” Waylon answered, leaning up to Linda, whispering, “there’s a McDonald's up ahead.”
Miles nodded and yawned, putting his legs to his chest and closing his eyes, laying his head on his knees. He was so tired, the bags under his eyes were saging and large, his normally olive skin was pale, and his stomach growled. So he was hungry after all…
After awhile of Miles freaking out from the stress of having choices (aka the menu) and nearly falling into a panic attack as the car pulled up to the sliding window and someone stared at him with said person’s jaw dropping. Miles had dug his face into Waylon’s side, this is the most trustworthy and the closest to anyone deliberately he’s been this entire time. A thing that Waylon had found out: Miles loves positive attention by a few people at a time, more people and he’ll get aggressive and scared. He really loves cuddling too, Waylon had found Miles’s voice box vibrating on his thigh, he noticed that Miles was purring . Waylon had chuckled and thought about petting him as if he was a cat and maybe putting a cat headband on him.
They had made it inside of the house with minimal fuss, Miles was grumpy and frankly rude. Waylon had associated it with Miles tiredness. The boys were already sleeping, to be frank, Waylon was very worried about the boys and Miles. Chole (gonna just make up names for these two-) was the eldest and was quiet, grateful for every little thing he had. Will was the youngest but he’s insane. Waylon loved the two nonetheless and cherished every crazy moment. Miles was sleeping soundly on the couch next to Waylon and Lisa who were sending looks to each other.
Lisa questioned, why did you do this?”
“Like I said: “it’s my fault that he got hurt and now I need to help him”,” Waylon scoffed, glancing at the calendar. ‘ Thursday the 2nd, 2019. ’
I didn't know if I wanted to make this take place in current day or 2014, so yeah I went with current day because FUCK CANNON-
Miles and Waylon talk a bit.
I mean like... I guess this is alright? I changed my style a tad bit.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Miles blinked and rubbed his forehead, two kids were staring down at him with their heads cocked. Miles cocked his head and raised an eyebrow back at them, making the younger of the two giggle and gallop away. The older backed up and sat by Miles’s feet, ‘ when did my shoes come off? ’
“The dead man’s not dead,” the younger kid sang as he skipped around Waylon who was cooking.
Waylon turned around, spatula raised defensively. Miles chuckled at the sight and waved weakly, ‘ when did I get so weak? ’
“Oh, Miles, glad to see you’re awake,” Waylon said, turing back to his cooking. Miles’s stomach rumbled and he pursed his lips, peering down at his belly and hissing.
“Uh yeah, I don’t know if I am as much.” Waylon chuckled at Miles’s reply and stirred something in the large pot.
“Whatcha makin’?” Miles suddenly appeared behind Waylon, making him flinch as the air dropped by five degrees.
“J-Just some spaghetti.”
Waylon shrugged as Miles wandered to the kitchen table, watching Waylon’s hand with so much intensity that it was concerning. Waylon knew he was being studied, but tried to keep his composure, any sudden movements might make Miles freak. Waylon only twiched under Miles’s gaze twice, making Miles flinch and jump back. Then it was dinner time. Miles basically inhaled all of his food, and he still asked for more. He had eaten a total of four full plates before he said he was full.
“Is your stomach an endless pit?” Waylon asked after the boys had gone to bed.
“Uh, no, I actually don’t know where my sudden appetite came from.” Miles glanced outside and his jaw dropped. “Wait… What time and day is it?”
“6:50 and it’s the 4th, why?”
“I was out for two days,” Miles whispered, breathlessly.
He rubbed a hand down his face and sighed. ‘ Why am I so stressed about being asleep? ’
“Miles?” Miles shook his head and smiled awkwardly at Waylon.
“Sorry, you seemed a bit,” Waylon waved his own hand around his head, “out of it.”
Miles’s mouth quirked his grin back and he threw his legs up under the table, going cross legged and holding this ankles to prevent his legs from falling.
“Yeah- sorry ‘bout that. I’ve been a bit “iffy” after this whole…”
“Fiasco,” Miles confirmed with a nod and a wave of his hand.
*Trying to think about chapters that won't just be fillers but I KNOW that I'll never get the story going until I get all of the fluff out of my system*
*I'm too much of a lazy fuck to think of ideas so as I'm thinking I'll write some filler fluff but I know I'll never stop because that'll take up 100% of my brain and I'll never think of a story idea that'll actually impact the main plot*
A night/morning with Miles.
Hey we just hit 4,000 words and 11 pages!
Also, talk about self harm and suicide is in here! Starts at, "His skin was pale and a sickly green-ish color tinted it, his eyes had deep bags under them, and his veins stuck out under his ashy-gray skin." and ends at, "So what’s the point?" aka the end of the part.
Just a disclaimer! I'm not an idiot and no, it's not like I'm going off of movies or some shit with this self harm n' stuff. I HAVE, AND I STILL AM, STRUGGLING WITH SUICIDE AND SELF HARM. I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING. And no, I'm not getting help really, I've tried therapy and it just doesn't work for me.
Anyways, going past all of my personal problems and things that you guys don't need to worry about, enjoy this shitty part. :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The crickets sounded nice.
Miles closed his eyes and brought his legs to his chest. He took a quick glance at his watch.
‘ 12:30. ’
He just had an amazing hunt. The Parks house were very close to a patch of woods, right across the street actually. He got a few deer, two rabbits, and a lot of birds. He was lucky that the guest bedroom he was in was close to the stars so it was pretty simple to sneak to the fridge and put his food in. Miles had put the leftover bird and deer into the fridge and crawled onto the roof from “his” room’s window. He couldn’t sleep, a thing that he’s had since childhood; the inability to sleep in new places. Miles didn’t know if it was the fear of something happening, or just being uncomfortable around others. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.
Miles smiled and inhaled through his nose, the smell of the air was natural, it was thick, wet. His tailbone started to ache but he didn’t move, he wanted to milk this night for all it was worth. Why was he so tired and hungry today? Easy, the Walrider takes up a lot of energy and Miles needs sleep and food to make that energy. Miles strained his ears and he could faintly pick up the sounds of bats flapping wings, of course the loud crickets, and the light sounds of footsteps inside the Park’s home. Miles flinched and hissed, quickly swinging into the room and ripping off his bloody clothing. He threw himself under the neatly made bed, hoping to god that he didn’t get blood on it (he did from his face). That pretend sleeping turned into an actual rest.
Waking up was hard. Miles didn’t like it. Why should he put effort into a life that he really couldn’t care less about? He was a corpse, a walking, breathing, corpse. His skin was pale and a sickly green-ish color tinted it, his eyes had deep bags under them, and his veins stuck out under his ashy-gray skin. Miles tried to die, he really, really , tried. He let Variants rip him apart, blugen him, he tried to slice his wrists, hips, and thighs, hell, pretty much anywhere he could get whatever he was using to his skin (now he just mainly did it because hey, he can’t die so why not). Miles tried to drown himself in a fucking bathtub but guess what? The nanies just pulled him out.
So what’s the point?
Not much talking so it makes it look shorter but don't fret! My story parts average at about 400-600 words, this is right on target; 425 words.
More fillers because why the hell not. Oh yeah there's also art in here.
I really have a lot of ideas right now, hope you guys are enjoying this so far!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
(Some art I made, I could put more on if you guys want me to. I love drawing Miles, he just so fun for like no reason-)
Miles peeked out of the doorway of the guest room, peering down the hallway; he was looking for Waylon. To his luck, Waylon was walking up the stairs.
“Waylon,” he spoke, his voice was horse and rough.
“Huh? Are you sick, Miles?” Waylon asked, rushing over and putting a hand on his head.
“You know that won’t work, I don’t get warm I probably don’t get sick either.”
Waylon shook his head. “Sorry, what did you need?”
“Clothing,” Miles said, starting to subconsciously cover himself.
“I think I can find a shirt, not sure about pants though, they might be a bit too baggy.”
Waylon was only like a few inches taller than Miles, so it wouldn’t be too baggy- Miles looked up at Waylon, ‘ scratch that, it’d be baggy as all hell. ’ It’d probably be too tight around Miles’s hips too.
“Uh, I have my boxers, that’ll be fine,” Miles concluded, noticing how he clenched his hands into fists, scratching his sides. He’s scared, he know he is.
When Waylon came back he found Miles sitting on his bed, looking down at the ground. Miles appeared as a normal guy until you got to his chest and face, his right eye (Waylon’s left) was a piercing, neon, green and his sclera was black, his skin was gray, his lips were more blue than red as if he was forever cold, he had a light blush dusting his face and a few freckles dotted his left side of his face.
Waylon cleared his throat and spoke, “so, I got you a hoodie, might be a bit too big because you have a short torso.”
“Wow, man, you’re so mean. I couldn’t help that I inherited my mom’s squished torso.” Miles narrowed his eyes and slipped on the hoodie, it reached pretty much to the middle of his butt, the sleeves were too long.
He shrugged, ‘ better than nothing. ’
“We’ll have food downstairs soon.”
“Okay, I’ll be down sometime, thank you by the way.” Miles clasped his hands together and smiled sweetly.
“Yeah, you are our guest,” Waylon shrugged, smiling back.
After a few minutes of Miles thinking, there was a scream from below. Miles jumped and his vision returned to the asylum for a few seconds before he got up and rushed out, running down the stairs (very unsafely) and zipped into the kitchen where he found that one of his leftover birds had fallen out of the fridge. Quickly, he rushed over and picked up the bird, tossing it out a nearby window into the grass.
“Sorry,” he said after a while of silence.
Lisa was the first to speak, “how the did that get in there?”
“I- uh… Went hunting last night?”
“Hunting? Where, how, and why?”
“Across the street,” he pointed in the vague direction of the woods, “in that patch of woods.”
“I didn’t even know we had woods…” Waylon mumbled.
“Why though?” Lisa’s face was twisted in confusion.
“Uh- I got… Erm- hungry,” his tone rose at the end, shrugging.
Lisa sighed, “leave the carcases outside or put it in a container.”
Miles nodded vigorously and spent the next hour picking out all of the birds and leftover deer out of the fridge, whipping everything down until Lisa said it was good. No one was angry (even if Miles didn’t believe them), everyone was more amused and confused by Miles. How did he even hunt? Why did he hunt? How was he hungry? How didn’t they hear him? Questions upon questions flooded their heads but they didn’t ask; Miles seemed anxious already, anything could put him over.
Ayyyyyyye I got a story part to 600 words! It's been a while.
Lots more talking because why. NOT.
Guys my birthday's soon and I'm excited, I'll make a oneshot as celebration because hey, I need to make myself feel special. (I usually hate myself and wanna die, so like my birthday is the only day that I'm "free" more or less.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“Bye, babies,” Lisa shouted, waving to her sons as they climbed onto the bus, yelling and shouting to their friends.
Waylon stayed inside watching and feeding Miles who was close to being done. Lisa walked inside and sighed as Miles did a thumbs up, signaling Waylon to stop.
“Sorry about holding you inside, you don’t have to next time, you have the right to see your kids,” Miles apologize, drumming his fingers and the table and shrinking into the chair.
“No, it’s alright, there’s always a next time.” Waylon waved a dismissive hand at Miles.
“I don’t wanna encroach on your family-”
“Miles, don’t say anymore. You are the way you are because of me .” Miles got up and joged upstairs as Waylon walked out towards Lisa.
“He’s a lost cause.”
“Don’t say that,” Waylon hissed, Miles had his ear pressed tightly to the floor above them.
“You know it too.”
“He’s fine, Lisa, I know you don’t want him here and you don’t trust him but,” there was shuffling of clothing, moving, “it’s my fault why this happened to him, I need to make this right.”
“He’s a living weapon, around our kids . I think you can understand…”
“Yes, I can see that, but please, give him a chance.”
“Fine. Sure, don’t fuss over him though, he’s an adult and is perfectly capable to take care of himself.”
Miles shot up when he could hear Waylon’s unsteady footsteps trail up the stairs and down the hall, towards his room. Waylon opened the door just as Miles slipped himself under the white covers, getting some of the blood from last night’s hunt on his cheek, smearing it.
“Miles,” Waylon whispered to Miles.
“Hm?” Miles’s spine shook as he took a shaky breath out.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Miles whimpered and silently swore to himself at his voice crack.
“Are you really though?” Waylon sat by Miles’s legs and sighed, looking down at the floor. “Did you hear me and Lisa talk?”
Miles’s face got coated in tears as he shot up to face Waylon. “You don’t like me!”
He knew he was acting like a child, he knew that Waylon didn’t hate him but he stood up for him . Waylon’s jaw clenched and crossed his arms loosely. If Waylon didn’t like Miles he wouldn’t have taken him in, he wouldn’t have stuck by Miles’s stubborn ass if he didn’t like Miles.
“No, Miles, I like you.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m not. I actually do.”
Miles scoffed and crossed his arms, Waylon chuckled and patted his knee, getting up.
“Come downstairs, Lisa and us can talk about this whole… “Walrider possession” thing and just more about yourself.” Miles’s heart fluttered as Waylon included him in the “us” portion.
WE'RE IN CHAPTER DOUBLE DIGITS (+1)! 11 parts so far! Also, this is now 5,000 words exciting, exciting stuff dudes.
Slight dive into Miles's past home life.
LOOK AT NEW ARCHIVE WARNINGS FOR UH... THE NEW WARNINGS. DUH.
Skip this chapter if you are sensitive. Also, I'll try to make Miles a sarcastic asshole (like me) again.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Miles was bored. All they were doing was complaining over him. “He should stay,” was Waylon’s argument. “He’s dangerous not only to us, but Chole and Will also,” was Lisa’s. They would often turn to Miles and ask him stuff. They would point at him and scream his name, complaining as if he wasn’t sitting right next to them . Eventually, things cooled down enough for Miles to think.
“Miles?” Miles snapped his gaze up, Waylon had called his name.
“Yeah,” Miles asked.
“We want to know more about you,” Lisa send him a look when he said “we”, “what was your life like? How’s your family? Any girlfriends or siblings?”
“Uh, my mom’s alive and my dad’s in prison. I have a sister and brother, both of which are older than me and have their own families. I don’t have a partner, I used to have a boyfriend but- uh… He wasn’t “friendly”.” Miles’s eyes traveled to his feet, a shiver rolled down his back when he brought up his dad.
“Oh I’m sorry for suspecting… You know… That you would have a girlfriend.” Miles smiled and laughed. Laughed . He found that funny for some odd reason.
“It’s fine, I think that’s the most positive reaction I’ve gotten.”
“I know this might be a bit touchy… But why is your dad in… You know, prison?” Waylon was like a buttercup Miles swears, Waylon treats him like glass, mildly annoying but Miles doesn't want to ruin anything for Waylon.
“You really like saying “oh” don’t ya’?” Miles shook his head and held a smile. “It’s alright. My sister and brother we’re already far gone by the time it started to get bad so they were safe. Then it progressively got worse.”
"Mhm, yeah. He would often hit us and…" Miles took a breath. "Do other things. I turned out alright I think.” Miles chuckled half heartedly to lighten the mood which didn’t work. His worried face and his common pauses keyed Lisa into what his father did.
“He touched you,” Lisa bluntly stated. Waylon elbowed her in the side as Miles’s breath hitched.
“Mhm,” Miles choked out, his legs subconsciously tightening together. “Yeah.”
Miles inhaled shackly and got up, wrapping his arms around himself. “I need… I need to sleep.” He speed-walked up the stairs and wabled to his bed, curling up and covering his ears to attempt to block out the memories of his father.
I don't know how I feel about the whole... "Sexually abusive" father thing. Blame my friend though. She planted the seed for the idea.
Waylon apologizes and Miles is a grumble butt.
Oh yeah, if you want to read a more light hearted oneshot, I made one in celebration of my birthday like, three days ago (the 10th). So yeah, you can just go to the next story in this series or something.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Miles hadn’t eaten yet. Waylon had woken him up but found him already awake, staring out the window at the bus picking up his boys. Miles now had his arms laying on the table, crossed in front of him. Waylon was still worried even though he had dinner last night and it was only morning.
“Miles, you need to eat. I’m worried.” Waylon sighed, tired.
Miles’s lip twitched into a straight line. “Sorry. I’m just a bit,” he made a face. “Spaced out.”
They both wanted to talk about last night, screech “I’m sorry” at each other, but they didn’t. They didn’t say anything. Miles thought that it was safer for everyone if they just dropped it, his past was his to deal with. It left a strange smell in the air and a looming cloud of tension.
“I… I know you may not want to talk about last night but…’ Waylon turned to look around the living room that connects to the kitchen. “We’ll need to eventually, doing it sooner will get it over with.”
“So,” Waylon came over from the counter and sat down in front of Miles.
“So what? I didn’t have a very great childhood.” Miles gritted his teeth to hold in the rest.
“I was gonna say, "what can I do to help you," but I guess that works.”
Miles chuckled dryly. “I’m not used to this; talking. I like to skirt around my problems, it's just so much easier to bury it and deal with the present instead.” His throat was closing and head was thumping already.
“You can take it slow, it’s hard to talk about I would imagine.”
“Yeah,” Miles whispered, biting his cheek and looking at the ceiling.
“Lisa shouldn’t have said it like that. She gets a bit… Standoffish and blunt when new people come around. It’s just gotten worse since Murkoff,” Waylon apologized. Lisa probably shouldn't have said anything to be honest.
“I get it, I’m not exactly “human” anymore. If I had kids and a husband, I would be like that too. It’s still just a bit,” he breathed out a puff of air. “Hard.”
“I don’t know what to really say or do; I was hurt and my mom saved me.”
“We don’t need to throw everything out on the table today, we have time to work through it-”
“It’s too hard! I’ll be dead eventually anyways, so what's the point,” Miles growled, his face morphed into horror. “Can I die? Will it let me die or age?”
Miles ripped a hand through his hair, gasping and flinching as Lisa shouted, “I’ll be back with groceries!”
“Alright!” Waylon returned to Miles. “Miles, bottling emotions is definitely easier but it’s not good for you. I’m not a therapist though, it might be good to see one-”
“No I can’t talk to anyone! What if they judge me! What if-”
“Miles! I was gonna say when you’re ready. We may have the media and most of the police on our side, but Murkoff is brutal, we need to stay hidden. In the time that we’re laying low, it might be a good time to think over your- uh… Trauma?” He quickly added, “Mount Massive and your past. You can work through it with me if you want, might make the weight lighter to share it with others.”
Miles nodded and crossed his arms, brows furrowed. “I still don’t like this.”
“I know, but it’s a step in the... Mostly right direction.”
I hope I did fine? I'm really trying to think of how to make this alright and uh... More slow burn-ish. I love slow burn fics but I'm just terrible at writing them. Also, this is now at 17 pages on Google Docs, how fun.