Winter's eyes widen, mouth agape. Vaughn's gaze narrows.

Then, groaning. Blood is all over the concrete, pooling around the two as they slump against each other. Scooter is reaching for his gun, but it's too out of range and he doesn't have the mobility to do much with it anyway. I eventually reach them, wasting no time before confiscating their weapons, emptying out all the bullets and throwing the guns off to the side.

The clean up crew can deal with the prints.

I look back at Winter, whose eyes are wide. Tears stream down her face, and the way she's looking at me... I've never seen it before. Her eyebrows pinched together, eyes tearing up even further. That amount of fear, borderline betrayal, isn't familiar. These assholes made it clear I was essentially the entire reason that happened, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

But it also hurts. Badly. I can't even bring myself to look at Vaughn, but I feel the immediate urge to comfort her. I take a step forward, reaching out. I want to hug her, but I know that's a stretch right now.

"Winter—"

She flinches.

Vaughn moves her behind himself in a swift movement, putting himself between me and her, just like he did with the other two. I'm now forced to look at him, and I find anger. Conflict. Shock.

Mostly anger.

It clicks, then, that he's protecting her. From me.

My heart drops. My breath hitches. This is the complete opposite of what I wanted, quite literally the last thing I'd ever want, but it's also expected.  The worst part is that I can't even blame him.

I open my mouth, but my jaw trembles so I close it. I can't help the overwhelming emotion I'm beginning to feel, the regret hitting me like a tidal wave. The remorse. The guilt. I avert my eyes, clenching my fists, trying not to think about it. Trying not to see their faces, now that I'm looking away.

The only two people I love. Scared, confused, traumatized. Because of me.

"I-I'm—" I clench my eyes shut. My voice sounds like it's coming from a megaphone in the silence, at least to my own ears, the groaning of the two others having faded to whimpers and cries of pain. Even those smaller noises are growing even fewer and farther between. "I'm so sorry."

Sorry won't cut it. Obviously. I can't even forgive myself, why should they give me a chance? Winter is fucking terrified, Vaughn almost lost his daughter, and I'm at the root of it.

"D-Des," Winter whimpers out. "Why—"

Her voice cracks.

I can't take it anymore.

"You need to leave," I say, shaking my head and not making eye contact. I can't. I can't believe this happened. I should've never let Belladonna talk me into handling that shit last night. Shit that Pierce started. Oh, he's dead.

"Des," she says my name again, this time trying to put more conviction into her voice. "W-Was it you or him?"

I remember, then, that she's already talked to Pierce today. I woke up at like 6 fucking PM. He probably already told her all about it—she's asking whose fault it was. Did he not tell her he was the one to rile them up? Honestly, god only knows what kind of twisted, inaccurate fairy tale he fucking told her. I'm not even surprised, it probably ended with him saving the day.

I glance at her, finding the girl peeking around Vaughn so I can mostly only see her eyes. Still, I can see how blotchy her skin is. The tears in her eyes, red rimmed. She looks curious, but there's a dread to it.

I finally risk looking at Vaughn, and I see his gaze fixed on the people on the ground, bleeding out and making noises of pain. Sometimes trying to gather bullets off the floor like that'll do anything, but my shots were too precise. They aren't going anywhere. Their guns are across the fucking lot.

Then, Vaughn's eyes lock back with mine. They're cold, his expression pure steel. There's something underlying as well, but I can't tell what it is. I doubt it's good, though.

And all I can feel is guilt.

"Doesn't matter," I tell her, turning away. I need them to leave. I feel like I'm gonna break down. What'll happen now? Am I going to lose her? I can't shake this horrible, sinking feeling like it's all ruined. "You need to go. Please. I'm—"

Vaughn shifts. Narrows his eyes. Winter flinches when I reach up to run a hand through my hair.

"I'm sorry," I finally say, voice quiet, before I turn away. I walk over to the two and grab hold of each of their good legs by the ankle. I glance back at Winter and her dad when I hear no movement.

"Go."

I don't want them to see this.

I don't want to hurt them any more.

Winter turns away from me. Vaughn's eyes don't leave my face.

I just turn, beginning to drag the two of them around the corner and to the edge, over by the cement wall. I lean them up against said wall, and notice that the girl is shaking. All her confidence from before is gone, looking up at me with pleading eyes.

"Wait, wait," she pleads, voice cracking. She's holding her shoulder with her other hand, cradling her leg the best she can. Scooter looks delirious, possibly having lost too much blood. "A-Are you gonna kill us?"

Is that a real question? The fuck does she think? Scooter broke our stupid fucking deal—she held a gun to Winter's head. She really thinks I'd ever give her the chance to do it again?

"Yeah," I say. I just didn't want to do it in front of Winter and her dad, they already witnessed enough, but these two are done for. The girl's eyes widen, cowering back against the wall.

"No, please—you don't get it. I had to. Th-They have blackmail on me." She pleads, and I find it so annoying when people beg for their lives. I just simply don't care. I quirk an eyebrow at her, before aiming my gun square at Scooter's forehead, watching his eyelashes flutter.

I don't even look, keeping steady eye contact with her as I pull the trigger with absolutely no hesitation.

She shouts, cowering back against the wall again and looking at his now totally fucked up face in horror, watching it basically collapse in on itself. Blood leaks out of just about every orifice in his head, and she clenches her eyes shut, looking away.

She begins to cry. I settle the gun on her.

"What's the blackmail?" I ask, mostly out of curiosity, because it's not gonna change anything. She also just seems weirdly genuine, though. I recall her lack of interest in the situation last night, too. If she wasn't there by choice, it would make sense.

Again, though... it won't change anything.

"Pictures," she sobs. I tilt my head. "He was gonna release them tonight if I didn't 'prove myself'. They're in his pocket— p-please! You have to believe me! Please..."

I frown at her, before turning my gaze back on the mess of blood and brains beside her. I trail my eyes down his body, eventually spotting a slightly elevated rectangular shaped bulge in one of his cargo pockets. Normally I'd think it was a phone, but she has me curious.

So, I reach into his pocket. Sure enough, my fingers are met with paper. I pull out a white envelope. The pictures must be bad if they're using them as blackmail, but I'm having a hard time believing her. People will say anything to spare their own lives. If I'm going to even consider letting her live, which is highly unlikely either way, I need to verify. I need solid proof.

"Wait, no, don't look—"

I look.

And I immediately wish I hadn't.

She's not lying, that's for sure. I almost feel bad for verifying, even if there was no way of me knowing how bad it was. I can see exactly why she wouldn't want these getting out—they're pictures of her being abused. In just about every conceivable way, to almost ever degree. Most seem to be taken when she was much, much younger. Maybe middle school age?

She's sobbing. Like, full blown, hopeless, heartbroken, devastated crying. I don't think it's just because of the threat to her life anymore, though. I think she's upset I looked at them, even if it was for a split second. Great, just what I needed. More guilt.

Nevermind. New plan, because unfortunately I believe her. Shit of that caliber can't be faked. Her reaction can't be faked, there isn't an actor on the planet who could look this hopelessly inconsolable.

I know what I have to do.

I crouch in front of her. "What's your name?"

Her breathing is haywire, and she's barely able to respond to me through the hyperventilating. It takes a while, but she does eventually manage. "Anastasia."

"Anastasia," I repeat, scanning her face up and down. She nods brokenly, and I toss the closed envelope at her. It lands in her lap, and her gaze immediately shoots up to me. "If I ever see you again, I will kill you. Is that clear?"

She nods, still completely beside herself, and I take a step away from her. I then reach into my pocket, pulling my phone out of my pocket and calling Marty.

"You got a mess?" Is how he greets me, picking up on the first ring. For some reason he absolutely loves this shit, god knows why. He's a strange man. I tend to avoid him, he has this weird fixation with gore.

"Cleanup, top floor of the parking garage on the southside of the San Lucille mall." I tell him, already hearing movement. He must be getting his team together. I continue to give him the necessary information.

"One camera on each floor, right outside the elevator. It's pavement so you'll probably need a pressure washer—" I glance at Anastasia, who is still crying, trying to pull herself away from Scooter's corpse the best she can with her limited strength. I sigh, clenching my eyes shut. "And there's a girl. She needs a hospital, which I'll need you to take care of. She has an envelope that needs to be burned, but make sure it stays only with her until she can verify. Are my directions clear?"

"Yeah. Girl, evil envelope, you got it. I'm just going for the blood," Marty tells me, like that should make any sense. What the hell is he talking about? I'm not surprised, but he still catches me off guard with how honest he is. Maybe he just doesn't understand how weird he comes across. At least he didn't become a serial killer or something, I guess.

"Whatever," I respond, pinching the bridge of my nose. I glance down at my white undershirt and find it spotted with blood. Shit. Maybe if I cross my arms or wear my bag on the front it'll cover it, even if I'll look stupid.

I walk away from the girl without another word, and find Vaughn's truck gone. Something that does catch my attention, however, is the fact that I can see the parking spot from over here. I thought we were hidden, but he had a clear view of me that whole time.

Jesus. Best night of my life, this is a fucking blast. I can only hope they left when I told them to.

It starts raining as I walk back to my car, so the streets are mostly empty. I feel numb the entire time, because all I can think about is them. Winter and Vaughn. Winter, terrified of me. Vaugh, protective. Finally seeing what I can do, what I'm capable of. I no longer have any hope of the benefit of the doubt—they saw.

I don't remember the drive home, it's all a blur. Their faces are the only thing I can see in my mind, the horror they must have felt at the gore. I don't know much about Vaughn's history, maybe he's seen shit like that before. I know for a fact Winter hasn't, though.

It doesn't matter that I saved them. That they're okay. I'm the reason they were in danger to begin with. If I had any sense, I'd stay away. I can't risk them getting hurt again, I care about them too much.

As soon as I step inside my apartment, there's a raccoon skittering across the floor and into my closet.

Fuck. I forgot about the raccoons. I do not have the patience or time to be dealing with them right now, though. I'm not in the mental state for fucking anything right now, in fact. I just walk directly to my pantry and grab a bottle of alcohol, though I don't pay any mind to what it is specifically. It is dark though, so it's probably some sort of cheap whiskey.

I slide down my cabinets and twist off the cap, taking a long swig as I hit the floor. I notice my eviction notice paper on the floor, probably having fallen off and slid under the door at some point.

I think about money. About my—no, my mom's—debt. About Jane Doe and Pierce and Winter and Vaughn—

I take another swig.

The raccoon makes a noise.

I glance up, finding the mother raccoon standing in front of the closet, haunches raised, like I just threatened her kids by drinking my feelings or something. I quirk an eyebrow at her before I notice the chip bag on the floor she had stolen earlier, off to the side. It's empty.

I sigh, leaning over and opening my fridge. This is just to get her off my back, that's it. I root around for something she can eat, eventually finding some ham cold cuts that'll probably go bad any day now. I grab the pack and toss it at the animal, watching it land right beside her.

She jumps a bit, but the smell must hit her because she doesn't go far. No, she just grabs the package of ham and scrambles back into the closet.

I fall asleep an hour later on my side. On the linoleum floor, empty bottle loosely clutched in hand. Dreaming about the usual: what it would be like if things were different.