Blossoms from The Apocalypse

There was a long while in Baby’s early life where she couldn’t talk. In fact, it took her an unreasonably long time to start speaking, which of course was cause for concern. When she was a baby, and she was supposed to start babbling and repeating words and calling her father “dada”, she just didn’t. Hank never got anxious; he was just pretty confused about it. He may not have been chatting to her as much as he probably should’ve been, as he had a hard time coming up with things to say, but he figured Doc was making up for it with how frequently and coherently he’d talk to Baby. And yet, she just wouldn’t start speaking.

Sure, it was something worthy to be concerned about, since that probably meant there were other developmental issues she was going to face, but both Hank and Doc could sign, so they could always fall back on sign to get her to talk. He’d already been getting her to sign in little ways for a few months by that point; if she was hungry, he’d taught her to motion to her mouth to indicate she wanted to be fed. If she wanted one of her toys or blankets or dolls, she would make grabby hands at him to indicate so. They could tell that she was fully capable of communicating with them, they were able to get her to communicate in other ways as she grew, it’s just that they couldn’t get her to speak. They knew she could make sounds, she made plenty of weird noises all of the time, she just couldn’t seem to form actual words.

It came as quite a shock when, sometime when she was 4 years old, when Hank was trying to lull her into taking a nap, she very quietly said “dummy” as she nodded off, and it took him so off guard he almost dropped her from his arms. The moment he was sure she was asleep in her bed Hank practically tore through their home to go find Doc and tell him the news. Both men combusted into a joyful little fit of almost child-like glee over the discovery, they had long since resigned to the idea that she was probably just mute. This just meant she’d have an easier time communicating with people outside of them.

She still continued to learn sign, as that was what they’d initially been teaching her anyway, but slowly, she managed to get the hang of actually speaking, though she had a stutter that neither Hank nor Doc could figure out how to help manage. But the important thing was that she could talk, how well she was at it was of less concern.

As she grew up, she continued to get better at it, and she continued to get better at sign, and then they decided to teach her morse as well, because, well, it’d probably be a useful thing to know with their line of work. Baby seemed to be pretty good at picking up alternative ways of communicating anyway, so it wasn’t that big of an adjustment for her.

All this to say, despite her prowess when it came to being incredibly knowledgeable in multiple forms of communication, she wasn’t very confident in her ability to actually utilize the most common of them.

~

Nobody really knew what magic Doc had to be in possession of, because anytime you needed more intrusive procedures done to fix wounds, if he was the one handling it, the recovery period was speedy as hell. The wound to Baby’s hand should’ve taken her out of commission for a good few weeks at the very least, but since Doc took care of it, she only had to wait for a few days before she was able to get back to work. Time off, of course, was always great, but Baby liked having some work to do.

So after a couple of days of lying around the common room watching reruns of Slaughter Time and doing the little hand stretches Doc ordered her to, Baby was able to get back to work with a fully healed hand, and determination to not get hurt again- or at least for a while. After he unwrapped her hand and confirmed everything was in order, he gave her the go ahead to head up to the more populated area of base.

The way S.Q. was structured was a bit peculiar; the base itself was a large complex that housed everything you’d probably need to survive an active warzone, as well as minimal housing for those employed or even just performing some temporary work for them. However, there was a sectioned off area within the base itself that no one other than Hank, Baby, Sanford, Deimos, and of course, Doc, could access. This area looked more like an exceptionally tiny apartment complex, and was where those 5 lived. Anyone not referred to as Doc’s “aces in the hole”- Hank, Sanford, and Deimos- were told time and time again to never step foot near the elevator down to this section, and anyone who tried were denied access by the machine giving clearance to use said elevator. Afterall, Baby may have been known by outside employees, but no one outside of the 4 men knew about her familial ties to the organization. Who knew what problems would arise if people were to find out that Hank- the Hank J. Wimbleton, the most wanted man in all of Nevada, who had an entire agency dedicated to taking him out- not only had a kid, but said kid was working alongside him? So, naturally, no one was allowed to know about the secret little bunker turned child’s home that lay beneath the main work place.

Before she was cleared to leave the infirmary after having her bandages unwrapped, Doc informed her of her assignment for the day: Sure she was healed, but he wanted to wait a little bit before sending her on a risky mission again- just in case- so she’d be fulfilling a relatively easy transport contract, with help from an employee of a faction S.Q. did frequent business with: N.P.S, also known as the Nevadean Postal Service.

Now, these kinds of missions, Baby didn’t particularly like, because that meant she was working with people she didn’t know. And good lord, was she awful at working with anyone outside of her family. But, like a parent forcing their antisocial kid to go to camp or an after school event to work on their social skills, Doc made it mandatory for her to fulfill at least a few missions a month with the outside employees to try and wear down her social anxieties.

“Ok, ok, but like, what is my dad doing today?”

“I’m sending him to an A.A.H.W. pop up site to clear it out. That will involve hand to hand combat, and I don’t want you using your hands for heavy combat for about a week.”

“Shit, ok, then what about-”

“Sanford and Deimos are retrieving one of the fellows who has been abducted by rogue M.E.R.C. operatives, which is going to, again, involve quite a bit of hand to hand combat. And like I said-”

“Take it easy, I know, I know. Fuck.”

Baby patted her cheeks with her palms, and grunted. She really didn’t want to work with someone she didn’t know, but she was running out of options here. “Do you think I can be Uncle Ford and Dei’s driver-”

“They already left. And you’re going to get nowhere arguing with me about this because Hank’s already departed as well.” Doc interrupted her, tapping the clipboard he’d been carrying. “I understand that you’re intimidated by people outside of us but if you want to work today, then you’re working a low risk contract and with help from a partner.” He set a hand on her shoulder, and lowered his head to be closer to her height. “I don’t get any enjoyment out of making you do things you don’t like to do, Baby, none of us do. But sometimes circumstances are the way that they are and you just have to put up with it for a while. So, it’s either another day off, or working with someone.”

Baby huffed, and wrapped her hands around each other. She made a weird sound for a few seconds, anxiously tapped her foot, then looked off to the side. “Has the dude worked with us before?”

“Plenty of times, actually.” Doc responded, straightening his posture as he shifted his attention back to his clipboard. “I’ve outsourced his help from N.P.S. a good number of times over the past few months and he’s proven to be a good worker, I’ve gotten access to their files on him and haven’t found anything of concern, only notes of excellence. I wouldn’t be pairing you with someone I didn’t trust to not be a dick.”

“What’s his name?”

“Shank. He’s a pretty tall n’ strong looking guy and good with guns, charming young man. Only problem you might have is that he’s a bit chatty.”

She groaned. “Fuck, ok. Thank you, I’ll, um, I’ll get to it.” Baby muttered, patting her hands together as she began to prepare herself for whatever this Shank dude would have for her. “Which garage-”

“Unit 4.”

“Ok, ok. Bye.” Baby began to walk away, still intimidated by the thought of this stranger, but stopped when she was a couple of feet away from Doc. “Sorry for arguing.”

“It’s alright. Just focus that energy into anyone that gives you a problem today, kid.” He responded, before he went off on his way to deliver more contracts to his other employees.

Baby wasn’t very argumentative, and it was rare that she’d ever argue with her guardians, so she always felt a bit strange after any argument she had with them. Half the time she couldn’t figure out what prompted her to push back, since she hated the idea of making anyone upset with her. Something within her must’ve just been extremely opposed to interacting with strangers today, she didn’t really ever put up a fight about it before…guess it was just one of those off days.

It took about 10 minutes to get down to the garage, then an extra 5 minutes to actually enter the garage, once she was outside its entrance. She needed so much time to hype herself up, and just 10 minutes wasn’t enough. But she knew she needed to suck it up and go in, and eventually, she found the strength to force her legs forward and make her way inside.

There wasn’t anyone in the garage, except for a dude that was resting against one of the trucks, making a cat’s cradle with a neon pink chain. Strangely, he was dressed in the same way both Hank and Baby dressed themselves; Goggles with colored lenses and a mask covering his face, leather from head to toe. There wasn’t much about his physical appearance that was discernible because of this, outside of the bit of pink hair that peeked out from beneath the bandana he wore, and the tip of a scar that divided one of his eyebrows in half. The only other notable thing was just how tall he was, because when Doc said tall, he meant tall. Tall and beefy, really, he looked like he could snap a person’s arm in two with little problem. Quite the intimidating figure, if not for the childish hand game he was playing with on his lonesome.

The garage wasn’t empty, so the echo of her footsteps wasn’t loud, or really noticeable at all, and yet, he seemed to sense that someone was there with him, because he looked up at her before she could make a sound.

“Oh, hey, you’re Bank?”

The voice that came from him almost startled her, because it was scratchy and deep, like his throat had been beaten to hell and ran through a shredder. And that was saying something, considering how normal Hank’s fucked up voice sounded to her.

Baby nodded, and very shakily raised her hand to wave at him. “Y-y-yes, yes, I’m Bank, Doc said I’m working with a, um, a dude named Shank, that’s you?” She asked, trying her hardest to not let her jaw tremble as badly as it felt like it should’ve.

“Ahuh! Your bossman said he’d fill you in on the details, so you know what we’re doing? You need to get anything before we take off?” Shank asked, pushing himself away from the truck as he undid the complicated knot he’d made from his chain, “Cause I’ve got a piece on me and that trucks got like, a couple guns somewhere in there, if my memory serves me right from the last time that 2b dude hired me on.”

“Fuck me, he is a chatterbox…” was the first thought that crossed her mind.

Bank made a weird sound, and nodded again. “We, uh, we always keep at least a couple of guns stocked around the trucks, um, w-w-we stay prepared.” She muttered, sliding her hands together, over her collarbones. They stood in silence for a moment before she realized she didn’t answer his question. “Oh, uh, yes, yes, and uh, I’ve got a pistol on me, uh, if we get in a situation where we, we, we need heavier ammunition th-then we should have a crate of explosives in the backseat.”

“Shit, you just blow things up if things get dicey? Wish they’d let us carry crazy stuff like that in our arsenal.” He replied, laughing softly. “You must’ve driven this thing a million times, you want the driver’s seat or dya’ wanna-”

“Yes.” Bank immediately answered, scratching at her neck. Shank’s shoulders jolted in a way that made her think she must’ve startled him. “S-sorry, um, I just, just, just need to have something to do.” She followed, dipping her head and lowering her sight so she wasn’t looking at him.

Shank nodded, then snapped his fingers. “Sure thing girly. Carry on’s already loaded, I’m ready whenever you are!” He said, chuckling under his breath as he turned and headed for the passenger door of the truck to hop in. Bank took that as her signal to get in as well.

Lord, how badly did she hope for this drive to be quick and silent.

~

The alarms in the building were so loud, and so incessant, it was no wonder why Hank’s carnage only grew more violent the longer he spent time inside these buildings.

Always the unstoppable force, it didn’t matter how many agents or soldats or engineers came at him; none could ever stop his murder spree. He always knew how to counter whatever was thrown at him. Try to punch him and he’d grab your wrist and snap your arm backwards. Try to stab him and somehow that blade is getting turned on you. Try to shoot him and suddenly he’s out of your line of sight, and you’ve instead shot your colleague in the neck. And if you tried to defend yourself? Anyone should know that defense against Hank j. Wimbleton was pointless, and you were stupid for wasting time defending yourself rather than trying to wear him down.

His black coat was steadily gaining yet another layer of blood splattered all over it, and everywhere he walked left a bloody footprint behind. He smelled like gunpowder and the smell would only get stronger the longer it took him to clear out the building. Hank’s heavy breathing was indistinguishable from the heavy breaths of agents who’d been running from him, and it made it hard for anyone hiding to know if he’d passed by without noticing them yet.

Though, it was kind of hard to tell what sounds were what and coming from where, what with the screams and gunshots and alarms and panic…

Hank paid attention to nothing other than who was coming at him and what was trying to sneak up on him. After practically two decades of this kind of shit, it was no surprise he was almost ghostly in how he tore through these buildings. No thought or hesitation before any action, if he saw a fist come for him, if he saw a bullet be shot at him, if he saw a blade coming his way or broken glass or a heavy book or anything really, whoever was responsible for it was finished. The agency was probably right for centering it’s main goal on killing this one fucking guy.

Hank took damage, of course, but he was left unaffected by any wound he received, at least in the moment. He’d already been successfully shot around 7 times now, and stabbed and sliced with something sharp closer to 20, and yet he continued firing away and breaking bones and bodies like his body was perfectly healthy. His battered hands were covered in blood- almost nowhere on his body had been spared of blood- and they trembled, not from anxiety or anything like that. Hank j. Wimbleton couldn’t feel that. They were just itching to be used to snuff out another life, even though it was only a couple of seconds in between each execution.

In moments of carnage and excessive violence like these, it may seem like things come to a standstill and hours pass excruciatingly slowly, but really, he was only in that building for around 10 minutes. It was only two floors, and not as big as most buildings the A.A.H.W. tended to occupy. He could’ve been out in 7 if he hadn’t had to spend extra time on a GOL3M that was lurking around, but whatever, the job was over. And he could slow down, and stop, and rest, and actually think again. Always seemed like his brain just kind of shut itself off once he got into the rhythm of the slaughter.

Rubbing his rough hands together, wiping the blood off them on his leather pants, he rolled his shoulders and neck, popping a couple of joints that locked up from how tense his body became through that whole ordeal. Hank pulled out a little pager that he kept hidden in one of the pockets on the inside of his coat, messed with it for a moment, then stuffed it back in his pocket, a sigh escaping his mouth. He’d been forgetting to signal Doc whenever he completed a mission as of late, and he was relieved he wouldn’t be coming home to get chewed out about it. Hank took a moment of stillness before he had to make the drive home. Now that he could think, he only had one thought on his mind:

“I didnt tell baby bye before i left”

~

The mission was an easy one; Delivery for an unknown faction that was paying big, a shipment of tactical gear that S.Q. had intercepted on their behalf. The road seemed to be pretty unoccupied for the most part, and there wasn’t anything that posed much of a threat to the duo as they made their journey. The location they needed to get to was only about an hour away, so this mission could fly by relatively quickly, and Bank wouldn’t have to worry about trying her damndest to keep up with Shank’s small talk for much longer. It wasn’t that he was annoying or a pain to talk to, she was just horrible at holding a conversation. Thankfully, he seemed to notice her disinterest in chatting, so he fell silent for a good while after they drove off.

“...So how’d you get picked up by 2b anyway?” Shank asked, breaking that silence.

Bank was taken off guard from the noise of his voice, but also by his question. “Picked up? Like, uh, like recruited?”

“Yeah, what got you hired on? I hear he doesn’t just take offers from anyone.”

Bank had to think for a good few seconds. There were a number of things she had to keep track of related to who she was and what her story was to anyone outside her little family, and she knew if one person questioned something that seemed contradictory about her then things could start falling apart. The story behind why she was employed with S.Q. wasn’t something she’d been asked about in a while.

“I…He happened to be arranging some business deal w-w-with some gang, I don’t remember which, in one of th-th-those underground clubs that’s trying to be the new Club, Club, Club Aaaaaaaadvent, and I just…happened to have gotten in trouble with a gang of vampires near the club, and I don’t remember why- I, uh, I get hit on the head a lot- but but but, so I get attacked by vampires and I tried to escape in the club but they wouldn’t get off my ass so I had to kill something like 13 vampires on my own at once and 2b and his goons got in the way but I defended them and killed the rest that were left-” Bank finally paused as she ran out of air, and took a long and heavy deep breath, “...I killed however many were left, and uh, I don’t know, I guess maybe cause I took a whole gang of vampires out on my own, or cause I saved him and his confidants, 2b just like, he, he, he came to me after the fact and made an offer, and it’s not like I really had anywhere to turn to, so I took him up on it, and now I’m here.”

“Goodness, girl, you can breathe while you talk!” Shank laughed, before sighing. “A whole gang of vampires all by yourself? Those guys can be pretty fuckin’ vicious, real killer of ya’, I probably would’ve asked a pretty little powerhouse like you to work with me too, heh.” He settled back against his seat, and slid his arms behind his head. “Now, can I ask what’s up with the Hank look?”

“Hank- what? I look like Hank?” She sounded actually startled, which surprised him.

“Yeah, your outfit looks pretty similar to the kind of shit he wears. Or, what most of his wanted posters show him wearing, at least. And, like, ‘Bank’, that’s definitely a codename, and also similar to Hank. What’s up with that?” He explained, a playful undertone in his voice. “You a big fangirl? Tryna be Hank but cute?”

Bank scoffed at that suggestion. “I am not trying to copy him, if that’s what y-y-you’re implying.” If only he knew. “No, I uh, the clothing stuff is just a coincidence, I just like leather, and um, I-I don’t want my face ID’d, y’know. And, the name-” She was about to continue, but then she thought about who she was sitting next to. “Actually- Your outfit looks, looks, l-looks similar too, and there’s no way ‘Shank’ isn’t a codename either, why are you drilling me?”

Shank laughed again at her sudden realization. “I just wanted to know! I don’t really meet anyone with the same style inspos all that often.”

“He’s not a ‘style inspo’ for me-”

“I dunno, I’d start comparing his wanted posters to your reflection, if I were you.” He leaned a little towards her, but not too far where she’d become uncomfortable. “Ain’t no shame in thinking the baddest mother fucker in the state’s got killer style, mhm.”

“...Whatever you s-say, buddy.” Bank muttered, followed by a small laugh. Which surprised her. She didn’t know why she laughed.

Just when she thought his prying was over, Shank spoke up again. “You have a hard time speaking?”

Now, this question, she was actually taken aback at. “E-e-excuse me? What-”

“Sorry, that was rude, I just meant, um…” He chirped, rotating his hands around each other while he processed what was going through his mind, “Cause, you’re very quiet, and when you do talk, you sound strained, so do you try not to?”

“No?” Bank said, looking over at him for a second. “Well- Ok, I just, I have a bad stutter and it gets, gets, it gets worse with people I-I-I don’t know, and I don’t really have much I feel like saying i-i-in the first place anyway.” She explained, rhythmically tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. “B-but, but, I’m, I’m supposed to be working on that.”

“On talking?”

“Yes. Cause I’m very bad at it and can’t hold a c-conversation to save my life.”

“You’re not bad at talking, you’re just nervous.”

Bank actually turned her head to look directly at him, and that was the first time she actively tried to meet his gaze. But she didn’t say anything, she was just confused by his claim.

Shank stared down at her, the two exchanging no words for a few seconds. The silence was a bit suffocating for him. “Well, aren’t you?” He asked, softly, sliding his fingers together. “There’s this nervous vibe coming from ya’, and I get it, meeting new people’s hard. Nothing to be shy about!”

Bank stopped looking at him. Suddenly she felt like he was burning a hole through her head. “...I guess so…” She mumbled, lowering her head into herself.

There was another stretch of silence, just the humming of the truck’s engine and road outside, before, of course, Shank talked again. “Maybe you could use an icebreaker?”

“The fuck is an icebreaker?” Bank wondered, before unsurely saying, “...Sure..?”

Shank chuckled, and from how he appeared to straighten out, it seemed like he’d been shot full of energy. “Heh, well, my name’s Shank, I’m 22, I have this wicked scar across my eye, I’m really into graffiti, I’m pretty good with makeup, and I’m N.P.S’ top ranked gun runner which is exactly why 2b keeps bringing me on for S.Q. dirty work.” He confidently stated, sitting tall and proud, like any of that was exceptionally impressive. Bank couldn’t see under his mask, but she imagined he was probably grinning.

Oh, so, she had to introduce herself? Again? That didn’t make sense to her. And she had to think harder about it because she needed to try and remember what she was allowed to divulge about herself to new people, and what she may have already told other people that she needed to make sure stayed consistent…which really wasn’t much in the first place, but still, she worried about saying the wrong thing.

“Um…ok…” Bank muttered, still not exactly sure what she was going to say yet, “I’m Bank, I’m, uh, I’m 20, I…mmmmmy birthday is in May…” She was quickly running out of things she thought she could say, but she felt like she needed to say as much as he did, “I’m…I like piano…I’m missing a tooth…and I…I…I just recovered from, um, from a hand injury, that, that, th-that Doc patched up and that’s why I’m driving a truck instead of killing p-p-people with the guys.” Her words seemed to rush out of her mouth as soon as she latched onto an idea, and venom followed her tone.

The truck’s hum just kept getting louder.

“...Routine got interrupted?”

“...Yeah.”

“Ah, sorry ‘bout that. That shit bothers me too.”

Bank groaned. While she disliked talking with strangers, she especially hated when strangers felt bad for her after they’d been talking with her. She didn’t really like anyone feeling bad for her, especially not people she didn’t even know. But…

“Sorry, I…can y-y-you do the talking when we get to, to, to the delivery site?”

“Whatever ya’ need, sweet thing.” He muttered, tapping his knuckles against her head rest, while he nodded his head.

“Well. At least he’s helpful.” Bank thought, some of the tension in her shoulders seeming to dissipate.

~

Time seems to move strangely. For one person, 10 minutes could feel like an eternity, yet at the same moment, another person experiencing those same minutes could feel like time was speeding by far too quickly. Experience is subjective, after all.

By the time dinner rolled around, Bank felt like a dried out sponge. That drive seemed longer than it really was, and the talks with Shank were draining, but it could’ve been worse. At least he was nice to her; the second they saw the couple of soldiers waiting for them, he launched into friendly pleasantries and small talk with them as they drew near, making sure Bank wouldn’t have to do anything aside from sitting in the truck, unlocking the cargo hold, and waiting for them to unload everything. And once they had, they could drive back in relative peace, completely undetected from any rival factions. The day must’ve just been quiet for the rest of Nevada.

When they were back at base, and reported back to Doc about their mission’s status, Shank complimented her driving skills and cute style, then bid her a farewell. She was too out of it to properly return the favor. Bank was out of it, but also just hyper focused on making it to the bunker, and to her bed, and to her pillow where she could smash her face in something for at least a few hours before anyone came home. She liked feeling pressure.

It wasn’t long after that when the rest of the guys arrived, and by then, it was dinner time, so Doc took it upon himself to prepare food, as a sort of mini apology to his niece.

“Just a two hour drive? That’s what the old man booked ya’ for today?” Deimos asked her, after she’d finished recounting the day’s trials for him and Sanford. “Yeesh, I woulda’ gone nuts too.”

“Least ya’ didn’t get stuck tryna’ escort a dude that wouldn’t stop screaming at every step ya’ took, I don’t think that would’ve worn well on your psyche, kid.” Sanford added, laughing for a moment before he took a swig of the whiskey he was holding.

Bank shrugged, rubbing the exposed part of her face. “Maybe I could’ve, sometimes I can handle screaming.”

“Sometimes? Mija. You complain about the screaming from Doc’s patients when you pass the infirmary almost on the daily.” Deimos mused, raising an eyebrow when he looked back at her.

Any further comments that were about to be made quickly died on their tongues, once they heard heavy, sluggish footsteps coming from behind the table they were sat at. Out of the shadows of the dark hall that led into the common area, Hank’s massive figure lurched forwards, his hands and neck dripping with water. He must’ve just finished washing blood off of himself.

“Ah! Hey, big bad daddy Wimbleton, you hear about the fun shit yer lil’ gal got up to today?” Deimos exclaimed, giving Bank’s shoulder a hard pat.

“She met a GUY! Ain’t that swell?” Sanford joined in the teasing, throwing his arm around her to pull her to him, so he could give her a pretty swift noogie. Bank yelped from surprise, and batted at his arms until she freed herself. Then when Sanford started laughing, she did too, and of course Deimos had to join the laughing party.

Hank just stood there, watching them, until they came down from their laughing fit. They couldn’t see his eye move between each of them- he was still completely masked up, despite having probably just taken a shower- but he kept looking at each of them individually, until he landed on Bank.  As he lifted his hands to clasp them, he asked, “...was he…nice…to you…”

She threw him a thumb’s up. “Very nice. Didn’t give me a p-p-problem.”

“...ok…”

Hank continued to shamble forwards, then past them, presumably on his way to meet Doc. The three of them watched as he left through another one of the hallways on the other side of the room, and once he was out of sight, both men refocused their attention on Bank.

Sanford started the questions. “Was he cute?”

“Cu- Excuse me?”

“Yeah? Was he a looker? Did he sound pretty to ya’?” Deimos added, immediately seizing the opportunity to mess with her for a little bit.

Bank scoffed. “Well I couldn’t really see his face, he was all, all, all masked up like me and Dad!”

“Ooo! You was working with a Hank fanboy?” Sanford cheerfully exclaimed, his hearty laugh infecting the rest of his sentence. “And he didn’t even know he was sitting next to his idol’s kid, that’s great.”

“A lot of people cover their face, it just makes sense to do if you’re working against the Agency, you know that right?” Bank argued, rapidly patting her hands on the table, her voice hitched. Just like Hank, Bank was still geared up around her face, but the crack in her voice was all Sanford and Deimos needed to hear to know she was flustered.

“Mhm, mhm, s’probably why this guy’s ugly mug n’ mine are plastered on every corner, sidewalk, fire hydrant, and porta potty all over the state.” Deimos mused, socking Sanford’s shoulder while he snickered. “You best not make the same mistake as us, mamas, you know how hard it is to rob a gas station when we’re out for a drive?”

“Not all that tricky actually! I just gotta show ‘em my pearly whites and suddenly they don’t feel like calling the cops no more.” Sanford replied, flashing her his smile, which definitely wasn’t unnerving in the slightest. “So sad that no one in this state likes joy.”

“Ahuh. Yeah, anyway, no, I’m not gonna slip up like you two did, I’m smarter than that.” Bank stated, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Doc’s drilled me enough times about keeping my mask on and everything when I’m out so I don’t-”

“AH! You’re distracting us from the boy talk!” Deimos exclaimed, jabbing his finger towards Bank in an accusatory manner.

“I am not!”

“S’ok mija, it’s only natural for girls your age to start dreaming about nasty smelly guys n’ gals that keep their faces hidden to the world, the mystery is what makes ‘em hot, heheh.”

“I’m 20?!”

“20’s a pretty formative time in your life.” Sanford butted in, which sent Deimos back into a fit of laughter.

Before they could retort with more, Bank suddenly scooted her chair away from the table, got up, and threw her hands behind her back, as she quickly started walking away. “I’m not having this conversation!” She exclaimed, quickly heading for the same hallway Hank had disappeared in, as Sanford and Deimos shouted their apologies, still laughing. Bank bumped into Doc as she turned the corner, and almost knocked him over, but she reached out for his arm to keep him standing before he could fall. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-’

“They’re just razzing you.” He replied, patting down his shirt as Bank squatted down to pick up his dropped cane. “You know they’re being jackasses on purpose.”

She nodded, and handed him his cane. “I know, I’m just tired, and I don’t f-f-feel like dealing with that right now.”

“Mmm. Understood.” He reached out to her goggles, and fixed how they sat on her face. “Go wash up, grab your dad, meats done cooking.” Doc gave her cheek a light pat, then continued down the hallway. “Hey! Knock it off, kid’s had a long day…” She heard him yell as he drew further from her.

Bank stood in the hallway, rubbing her hands together, trying to find pressure again. She’d just been having an off day, that’s why she wasn’t in a joking mood. It happens! Everyone’s gonna have an off day.

“Whatever ya’ need, sweet thing.”

…Didn’t explain why she kept thinking about that guy’s voice though.

~

It was always an ungodly hour by the time Hank would lie down for bed. It was a wonder how he was able to stay cognizant enough during the day to be able to slaughter like he did, when he got so few hours of sleep at night. Maybe that just made him easier to aggravate.

Close to 4 A.M. and he was still just sitting at the edge of his bed. Still just staring down at a little stuffed pig that was far too small for his hands. He squeezed it every now and then, the squeaker within it struggling to form a noise that even barely sounded like an “oink.” The thing was worn out far beyond its years.

Hank never felt fear, or anxiety, or really anything, he only felt a semblance of emotions when it came to his daughter, and they were usually positive. But this late into the night, fiddling with this old toy of hers, lonely in a dark room, he could feel that one “something” creeping up his spine. He turned the toy over, and traced a missing finger tip along where its spine would’ve been. Stopping at the back of its soft head, his scratch breath felt scratchier.

“...theres…nothing…to worry…about…yeah…”

Hank tossed the doll into a box that sat in the corner of his room, then finally laid himself down to try and rest through however much time was left until sunrise. His body somehow felt a little bit heavier than it normally did, like he’d been made of cement.

He had such a tough job.