"In my end is my beginning." ~ T.S. Eliot
Aug. 20th, 2010 05:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thepainted_lady[Co-written with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
offering_hope. Set up RP/fic for our AU verse "Four Quartets.". Edgar is not meant to refer to any particular Edgar.]
They'd had a good night, Lydia thought, making her way across the carnival grounds. Her sandals dangled from her fingers and she let her toes dig into the dirt, feeling the lingering warmth of the long set sun still seeping up into her skin from it. A tune from the ride that was closest to her booth was caught in her head, some pop number that kept their teen visitors happy, and she hummed it. Across the way she caught sight of Joseph, and waved. He returned it with a warm smile, and her eyes scanned on, searching for Samuel and Edgar. She was isolated from them, off with customers, every night, but a glass of wine curled up somewhere and talking seemed a nice way to finish up the evening.
A couple of people called out greetings which she returned, but she didn't pause, still on her search. When looking didn't seem to find either of them, she paused, closing her eyes and reached out with her other sense, feeling for them along the connections forged through years of family. She could find nearly anyone in the family, almost any time, and she smiled a bit as she brushed over their presences, on opposite ends of the carnival. Hesitating, deciding which way to go first, she left her senses out there, and the peace she'd been feeling dissipated in a ripple of darkness that seemed to hit her.
Hatred. Malevolence. Anger. They were all out there, wrapping around the carnival in some sort of emotional miasma and while she couldn't pinpoint it to an exact source, there was a clear desire to harm them. Frantic, she spun around, eyes snapping open, and looked to where Joseph had been, but he was gone. She stood there for a moment, caught, unsure, then ran to where he had been, hoping he hadn't wandered far.
She nearly crashed into Samuel instead.
He'd been on his way to see Joseph, wanting to ask him something about someone he'd seen earlier in the evening -- one of their patrons that had caught his eye -- and had just missed him, apparently. It hadn't been that big a deal, knowing that he could always follow his brother to his trailer and hope that they'd have a chance to talk before Joseph became monosyllabic, engaged in the nightly receipts, and he's shifted in that direction, turning his eyes to the sky, idly. He'd looked down just in time to see Lydia coming straight at him, and he held up his hands, catching her shoulders to stop their collision.
He would have commented on it teasingly if it hadn't been for the expression she was wearing, and immediately his own took a turn towards nervousness. "Lydia? What's wrong?"
Lydia nearly fell, despite Samuel's hands on her, having been hurtling with such force. She dropped the shoes she'd been holding on to, grabbing at his arms instead to keep herself upright. The creeping feeling of malevolence was still washing over her, and whoever she'd connected with out there was scattering her ability to think fully. She dug her fingers into his arms, clinging to him a little bit.
"Something's wrong. Someone...someone's out there." She glanced over her shoulder toward the darkness beyond the lights. "Maybe a lot of someones, and they don't mean us anything good..."
They'd all heard stories, of course, of the witchhunt going on. Joseph had been talking about going to Europe until it was over. They were just waiting for a couple of family members to get back from some time away, and they'd be gone. She had a bad feeling it was too late for that.
He tensed, though whether it was from the bite of her nails or the gravity of her words was anyone guess, and cast a glance over her shoulder. After a moment's thought, he tugged her in that direction, sidestepping her fallen shoes before forgetting them entirely. "We need to find Joseph. He might be able to do something. Move us, stop them -- something."
She nodded, grateful to have someone to have handed the problem off to, and let him pull her, trailing behind him. "I just saw him, but then he'd moved..." And now she couldn't quite seem to focus to find him, especially with Samuel's emotions flowing into her through the connection of their hands. "Back to his trailer, you think?"
Nodding, he continued to lead her in that direction. "He'll want to get the books done. We had a busy night, and Joseph -- "
The hammer of nearby gunfire stopped him and he froze, pulling her close to him as if he could somehow protect her from something so deadly. Absolute silence followed, heavy and chilling, and then someone was screaming. He couldn't say for sure who it was, but he could tell where it had come from -- the direction of his trailer, of Joseph's trailer -- and terror washed over him. He moved in that direction abruptly, not thinking, his hands still on Lydia.
Lydia cried out at the gunfire, freezing with Samuel in that moment, and clinging to him, head buried in his chest. The silence was almost deafening, his heartbeat and hers, but when the screaming started, she felt it down to her core, her own terror and his and that pain mingling. She stumbled when he moved, but kept her hold on him, more terrified of being left alone than of whatever horror they were moving toward.
The screaming was near drowned out, though, when the gunfire started again, and she clutched at his hand torn between getting to Joseph and pulling him out of the open, to somewhere safe, if anywhere could be safe from unseen assailants who seemed to surround them. Dust kicked nearby and she felt something sting her leg like in a dream, but she didn't stop moving.
Something whizzed by Samuel's head and he ducked a bit, hissing, but he didn't stop. Nor did he let the panicked crowd that had assembled and then started scattering in a hundred different directions when the shooting had started again slow him down. He just kept going and his tunnel vision was so great that he missed his brother slumped in the chair outside of his trailer, letting Lydia go long enough to barge into the small room instead. "Joseph? Joseph!"
Lydia started to follow Samuel in, but she caught sight of Joseph when he let go of her hand. With a gasp, she moved toward him. There was blood, god. So much blood. She felt a little sick, and didn't pay any attention to the shots or screams still echoing around her. Her hands looked for a wound, and found more than one, until her fingers were soaked and red. Joseph moaned a little bit, his eyes opening to look at her.
"Get inside," he whispered, and she pressed harder on one of his wounds, trying to stop the bleeding.
"I'm not leaving you," she said, even as another bullet hit the trailer above them. She screamed at that, terrified it could go through the thin walls. "Samuel! Samuel, he's here!"
He poked his head back outside, eyes wide, half-expecting to see Lydia and his brother crouched behind the table he kept with the chairs. It was glass, so it wouldn't provide much cover from the bullets that were still raining down on them, but -- but what he saw was not what he had been hoping for. Staring outright now, he stood there for a moment, stunned, then moved over to them, almost stumbling, the movement seemingly pure reflex. If how he looked as he dropped to his knees next to Joseph's chair was any indication, it probably was.
It took him a few seconds to manage to string a handful of words together. "We'll get you help. We -- when they go, we'll find someone who can help."
Lydia looked up at him from where she was putting pressure on one of the wounds. Her face was streaked with tears, and each rapport of gunfire made her shudder.
"He's bleeding really badly," she said, flinching as a stray piece of glass broke off from something, hitting her with a little sting she could feel even through the panic. Joseph was still with them, but she could feel him ebbing. "We have to stop them...we have to get out of here, go where they can't follow...."
Though that led to a flicker of wondering of how the Hell they'd found them in the first place.
Samuel had apparently had the same thought. "And if they find us again?"
"I don't know," she said shaking her head. "Just...we have to do something..." There were other screams coming from around the carnival. "Samuel...you have to do something. Or none of us are going to make it out of here."
He shot a glance back over his shoulder. He knew she was right, but really -- what the hell could he do? He wasn't the one in charge of moving the carnival, God only knew if they were still alive or would listen to him or could concentrate long enough to shift them, and Joseph was the diplomat. Joseph was -- he looked to his brother again, unconscious now, maybe dead, and then back to Lydia. "I don't -- is he still alive?"
Lydia couldn't tell if there was a heartbeat or not, not physically, not with all the noise, but she closed her eyes, and tried to sense Joseph himself, that faint presence that had been there since she found him, and the constant one she was used to feeling at the back of her mind. It wasn't there. The loss of it hit her hard, gut wrenching and empty and she looked up at Samuel with a slightly shell-shocked expression. "I can't feel him anymore..."
Taking a handful of steps backwards, he shook his head violently. "No. No, he can't be ... "
Lydia didn't know if it was his pain or her own she was feeling or just the general rise of anguish around the carnival, but all of it seemed to flood through her, hurting, and she looked from him back down to Joseph. "Joseph, please...." As if pleas would bring him back from where he'd gone, because she could see now that there was no rise and fall to his chest, and she sobbed a little. But the gunfire wasn't stopping, and that pulled her back, terror in her eyes, for Samuel, for Edgar, who she couldn't find--for all of them. She stood up unsteadily, moving toward Samuel, heedless of the danger of being up in fear and worry for him.
He didn't bother to look at her, almost unaware that she was there, his whole world having crumbled under his feet at the death of his brother. And he was so wrapped up in staring at what remained of Joseph, so lost, that it took him a moment to even register that Lydia had slapped him. She'd gotten up and slapped him.
He turned his eyes to her sharply, still shocked but for an entirely different reason now. While a part of him grasped why she had hit him, however, he couldn't help but ask, "What was that for?"
Lydia was shaking, a little stunned by her own daring, and in shock of her own. "There are still men out there, firing guns into us, like sheep lined up for the slaughter." As if to illustrate her point, a window near them shattered, and she grabbed his hand and pulled him down to crouching. "Joseph's murderers are out there, Samuel, intent on killing more of us. We have to do something. Find Edgar. Find Eli. Fight back, or get out of here, or something. And you have to pull yourself together and do something, before there's nothing left to protect. We need you. I need you. Please...." Her hands found his, curling around them, heedless of the blood she was getting on him now, trying instinctively to will whatever strength or power she had into him, to help him however she could.
Somewhat steadied by the touch, he took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and nodded as he let it out. She was right, of course. If he didn't do something, find someone, the shooters would just keep firing until they were all dead, and he couldn't have that. He couldn't live with that. Not after --
He took another deep breath, forcing himself to keep his eyes on her in an effort avoid glancing to what remained of his brother again, and when the want to glance that way had passed, he looked back over his shoulder, briefly. He looked back to Lydia, then tugged her towards the door to Joseph's trailer. "I'll go find Edgar -- he can help put a stop to this. In the meantime, though, it's safest for you inside. At least that way ... "
That way there was less of a chance of her getting shot.
She felt his concern, and nodded. There was nothing she could do out there, anyway, though the idea of the two men left she cared most about in the world in danger tugged at her. There had been three...and she couldn't think of that right now, or she'd fall apart, and there would be time for falling apart later. Right now, she needed to be strong. For him, for the family. She paused at the door, though, even as the shots seemed to echo, and took a moment to look at him. There was never a right time, not for anything, and most certainly not while bullets were flying, but she moved anyway, fueled by a terror that she'd never see him again, that he'd disappear from her consciousness the way Joseph had. For just a moment, she pressed close, felt the solid warmth of his chest, and dared one desperate kiss, lips clinging to his as she tried to pour all of herself, her strength, and things she'd never got the courage to say in that one gesture.
Backing away almost as quick as she'd moved in, she let her fingers linger on his jaw. "Come back, okay?" She knew he couldn't really promise--none of them could, not with those fragments of death flying in the air, aiming to rip their home and family apart, but she needed something to hold on to while she waited.
"I will," he murmured, putting forth the effort, albeit a weak one, to grace her with a smile. He let her finger stay at his jaw for a moment, the pain and panic rioting under his skin momentarily replaced by a desperate want to stay here with her, to kiss her back, to forget everything that was going on outside, but he knew he couldn't. Not entirely, not yet. Not that that stopped him from brushing a quick kiss over her lips in return, regardless, but as his lips broke from hers, he found the strength to will himself to pull away, pushing her back towards the trailer.
"I will," he repeated, a little more firmly this time, and that said, he turned away from her, marching out into the chaos in double time.
Four times he had to pause, things exploding dangerously close to him or a rain of bullets landing at his feet or back, so close to killing him if he'd just happened to have been a step or two in another direction, and four times he continued forward in spite of the dangers around him. He searched for what felt like an eternity, coming no closer to finding the speedster who could end this all, and there was a distinct fear that maybe Edgar had suffered the same fate as Joseph. Surely, if he were still alive, he'd be doing something on his own merit, wouldn't he? Edgar was faster than the shooters, with no reason to fear the hail of bullets, but still they fired on endlessly, no one bothering to stop them. So, something had to have happened. Something had to be keeping Edgar from saving them.
Samuel stopped dead at the thought, first more terror and grief welling up in his heart, then a sort of sharp, blinding rage to blot it out. First Joseph, now Edgar? No. No, he couldn't (wouldn't) stand for this. He wouldn't let his entire family be mowed down before his very eyes.
Taking a deep breath, he shot a glance at the hillside on the edges of the fair ground, suddenly sure the shots had to be coming from there -- he could feel it, feel them, each shot and recoil and reload trembling along the earth and up through his toes -- and curled his fingers into fists. He didn't move, however, paying only enough mind to the chaos wheeling around him to call up a dust storm at his feet to shield him from it, and focused his attentions on the rise of earth in the distance. He pulled his hands up towards his chest as if lifting an invisible weight, his arms shaking with effort, and the ground shuddered violently, warningly. And as his closed fists touched to his shoulders, the hill became a gaping maw, swallowing up their attackers, then slamming shut viciously.
A shockwave of dirt blew out across the carnival, tendrils of powdered earth threatening to pull his feet out from under him, but he managed to stay standing. A handful more windows and pots and the like twitched and broke where he would not, but when the ground settled and the tension in his arm eased, everything was still. The screams of his brothers and sisters had stopped, the flurry of death from the hill had ended, and after a moment of soaking in the silence that followed, grimly satisfied, he sunk to his knees, grief and utter exhaustion winding in from the edges of his vision.
Lydia had moved into the trailer, as requested. The bullets all seemed to be coming from one direction, so she retreated farther from it, away from thin walls and windows, huddling in the corner of the bathroom, in the tub, hoping extra porcelain and distance would help. It seemed to. She could still hear the gunfire, still feel the hate and rage and grief and horror and terror washing through the camp, still feel the memory of the panic and pain under Samuel's skin, but even when the trailer shook from hits, nothing seemed to make it this far.
She kept the link she'd established with Samuel, holding him in her mind and heart, and feeling his presence as he moved through the destruction. She needed to know he was okay, to hold on to some sort of hope. There was too much rolling emotion to focus on the too-brief press of lips, but a part of her still held it close, cherishing the memory as something else to cling to.
When the wave of power swept out from the carnival, from Samuel, she gasped, shuddering at little. There was a ripping sound she could hear even inside, and then everything was terror--not just from them, but from where hate had hidden in the hilltops. They were afraid...and then they were gone. The trailer rocked around her in the backlash, before stilling. Silence fell, reigned, shock stilling even the sobs she could only hear in her head. For a few moments, even so, she waited, then hearing no more, feeling the threat gone, she scrambled free of the porcelain protection and rushed back outside, stumbling on the steps, closing her eyes for a moment to get a sense of Samuel. The grief was welling through the shock, and she couldn't look to where Joseph's body lay, her steps moving unerringly through the shattered remnants of the safety of their home, toward the other Sullivan brother, who shone there on the edges of her consciousness like a beacon.
Finding him, she stumbled to the ground next to him, reaching to brush fingers over him, make sure he was unharmed. "You did it...They're gone. All of them..."
He swayed into her, still trembling with effort, and dropped his head to her shoulder awkwardly. "Are they?"
Belatedly, he realized it was a stupid question -- the shots had stopped and the eath around them was still as far as he could sense -- but he didn't care. He was too tired and worn too thin to be too concerned with whether or not the question had made logical sense.
Lydia wrapped her arms around him, trembling as well, though from the rioting emotions still pressing in on her from everywhere, echoing her own. Logic was the farthest thing from her mind, and she didn't mind the question, at all--didn't even realize it didn't make sense. Her lips brushed over his temple, eyes closing as she held him against her and rocked a bit, clinging as much as she was comforting.
"I can't feel them anymore," she answered, confirmed. "You...obliterated them..." A tiny bit of awe laced her voice. "You saved us...."
He hummed, dimly satisfied again, and shifted, leaning against her more soundly now. His arms went around her waist, holding her just as soundly as she was being held, and murmured, "Good."
In spite of the awe in her voice, however, he didn't feel much like the man who had just saved them all, however -- he felt like the man who had just lost his brother, and the weight of that crashed down on him finally, entirely, drawing tears to his eyes. He stiffened a bit in spite of them, not pulling away but trying desperately to keep them from coming, his breath hitching in the back of his throat.
She could feel the grief welling, ready to break in him, and it clogged her throat as well. It bore down on her and wrapped around her, meeting the grief of those all around them who'd lost people they loved. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks, the sob catching in her throat. Her arms tightened around him, one hand sliding into his hair, stroking slowly through it. Joseph was--had been--the closest thing to a father she'd allowed herself to have, throwing out the memories of the man she'd run away from. And now he was gone, and that emptiness threatened to overwhelm her, but she knew it couldn't be compared to his loss.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, feeling the emptiness of the words, even as they broke. "It's...you can cry...I'm right here..." And she wouldn't think any less of him for it, god knew.
For as much as he hadn't wanted to cry and was still trying to keep it under wraps even now, the tears came on their own. He choked into her shoulder, arms tightening around her, trying to keep from making a sound even so. He may have had her permission to cry, might not have been able to stop himself, he was determined not to embarrass himself while doing so.
Lydia trembled at the flare of his grief, the tears that soaked her shoulder, and she let hers come, too. Her fingers kept dragging through his hair, slowly and surely, trying to comfort him, and her, and that little need not to be embarrassed, on top of everything, made her heart feel like it was breaking. Breath breaking on a sob, she stopped trying to hold back her own. Maybe in shared grief, he'd let go. If nothing else, she figured the sounds of her sobs could cover his, let him save face if need be in appearing to be comforting her, rather than breaking down himself. Wails of grief were rising up from here and there around them, anyway--she doubted anyone had even noticed them there, yet.
He fell apart entirely then, all but whimpering into her shoulder, choking on the horror of it. This continued for several minutes before he finally settled, only stopping because he's worked himself up so thoroughly that he couldn't breathe, and he pulled away a bit rather than stay gasping in her shoulder, and thumbed furiously at his eyes, hiccuping.
Her arms loosened enough to let him move away, though she kept one hand on him. Her tears had slowed in the wake of his, but they were still falling, more quietly now, and she dropped her head to her knees, crying into her skirt. There were so many empty holes, so many gone, though it seemed even more than it probably was for the sheer emptiness Joseph's loss left inside. She was almost afraid to reach out, one by one, to see what she could feel, afraid to search for Edgar, because what if there was only that aching emptiness there, as well? But she tried, shuddering in relief when she felt him still among them, though she was too shattered to do more than that. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she held on tight to herself, trying not to come apart completely.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, barely able to get the words out. He wrapped his arms back around her, trying to stifle his own pain and tears, and pulled her close against him, closing his eyes.
Lydia leaned into him, trembling in earnest now from the wash of grief and the release of terror inside her and in the others around the carnival. His arms were something of an anchor, his presence there reassuring that there was still something to hold on to in the world, but she couldn't answer him for a very long time, until she finally felt she couldn't cry anymore, sobs quieting to hiccups in turn and she tried to draw some sort of steadying breath. Lifting her head, she still stayed close against him, looking around with haunted eyes at the shattered remains of their homes, their families.
"We have to move," she said, suddenly, terrified realization gripping her. "If they found us...more could come..." And she wasn't completely sure Samuel--or any of them--had the strength to fight off a second attack.
Samuel held her as she cried, head resting lightly against hers, a slow sort of emptiness descending upon him in the wake of grief. It was, on one hand, a good thing, he supposed -- this way, he wasn't dumping more of his own pain into Lydia and making it harder on her -- but on the other? A tiny part of him recognized that the hollowness in his heart was probably as far removed from good as he could get without having them all suffer another attack, and he vehemently ignored that part.
Pulling away when she did, he offered her a bit of a frown. "We'll move, but I want -- " He paused, a fraction of twisting around the hole in his heart, tearing at it, and then steeled his jaw, forcing himself to continue. " -- I want to collect our dead. When we stop, they need a proper service."
She closed her eyes briefly at the reminder, the pulling pain of it tumbling through her, but she nodded, and when she opened her eyes again, she met his gaze steadily. "Of course. We're not leaving anyone behind. We just...should move quickly, get somewhere safe we can tend those wounded, as well..." So their dead did not grow in number. She could feel the wounded, the threads of life fluctuating throughout the camp.
Resolutely, she pulled away from him, and pushed to her feet, drying her eyes. "Someone needs to trace the perimeter, see if anyone is outside, needing help or..." Collecting.
He got to his feet as well, taking a moment to thumb at his eyes again, trying to clear ruined eyeliner, real or imagined, from his face. Then, once he was at least somewhat certain he didn't look a mess, he let his eyes drift around the immediate area, taking in what he could, trying to decide what he wanted to do. It was an odd feeling, being the one to have to call the shots, but with Joseph gone -- the hollow in his heart had at least stopped the pain, but it apparently hadn't allowed him much clearer a head.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and shook his head in an effort to get a handle on some rational state of mind, then glanced back out to the hillside their attackers had been devoured by. "Find Edgar." He assumed the speedster was alive if only because she hadn't broken news to the contrary just yet. "You and him can find anyone who needs help. I'll ... take care of the rest."
Lydia nodded a little bit, accepting the order, and closed her eyes for a moment, searching out for Edgar. "I'll meet you back at your trailer," she said, figuring some sort of plan was good. They needed a plan, after everything. Her fingers reached out to brush over his hand, searching for some sort of connection, before giving him a nod, and moving to try and find Edgar among the panicked family.
He brushed his fingers over hers as they passed, summoning up a thin smile for her that he hoped at least looked genuine when he didn't feel it in the least, and watched as she wandered off to find Edgar. He stood there for a moment or two more, not particularly relishing the task he had set before himself, then sighed, moving in the direction he thought a good majority of the shots had hit. A few other people fell in step behind him, unwounded and apparently possessing the same idea he'd had about gathering the dead before they did anything else, and he was grateful for that. It was good to feel that he'd made the right decision, and they moved in silence, rounding up those that hadn't made it through the night.
It was hard work, the three of them covered in a sheen of sweat by the time they'd finished, but none of them complained. None of them said a word, honestly -- not even when they came to Joseph's body, though they chanced him small glances that were equal parts sympathy and loss of their own -- and before too long they were done, their dead tucked safely away in Joseph's trailer. It felt almost wrong to leave them there, among his brother's things, but he could think of no better place. Joseph wouldn't be using his living space any time soon, after all, and he'd needed somewhere to leave them that could be moved with them, but he still offered his brother a word of apology before closing the door behind him.
He nodded to the two other men that had joined them, ever silent, and then moved away, leaving them behind to go to his trailer as Lydia had suggested. And once the door had closed behind him, he sank to the floor again, pressing his back to the wall, arms propped on his knees, and stared blankly at the far wall. As soon as Lydia returned, they would leave.
Lydia found Edgar after a few false starts, the terror and grief in the air messing with the homing beacon her ability could be. Having a plan helped, but she still felt herself trembling, and for a moment the reality of what waited back at Joseph's trailer escaped her and she wondered how he was dealing with this. He always felt so much more from others, his gift more deeply attuned to the emotions of the moment than hers. It helped him control things, make things better, but she had to wonder sometimes the toll it took.
Had taken. The words crashed down in her head with a blistering reality and she gave a little sob. She finally found Edgar, though, looking as shell-shocked as she felt. When he pulled her close, his relief was palpable, and she remembered he wouldn't have been able to feel her, find her, know she was okay. For a moment, they just clung together, and she found herself murmuring reassuring things, trying to assuage the guilt that was near to overwhelming him that he hadn't been fast enough to stop this.
The mission was helping her, so she gave it to him, too. "We need to move to safety so we can treat the wounded, make sure no one can find us. Samuel wants us to find who's injured, get them somewhere safe, together, prepared to move."
He stared at her blankly for a minute, but then nodded, and she was glad to see some sort of purpose filling him. Most families were already tending their wounded. Those that looked like they could manage, Lydia just gave the message they were moving out. The family knew what that meant, what it entailed, and those able got those not prepared. The Bowman's volunteered their trailer for the more severely wounded, given its size, and Gail moved to help Edgar and Lydia get people there. Once they had it done, Lydia asked them both to stay with the fallen, tending as best they could, even if just with bandages and pressure, as she made her way back to Samuel's trailer.
She let herself in without knocking, dropping to her knees next to him. "It's done," she said softly. "Everyone's ready to go."
He didn't look at her, still staring holes through the wall. "Everyone's inside? Safe?"
Lydia nodded, then answered verbally, since he wasn't looking at her. "Yes. Everyone's inside."
Samuel bowed his head, his eyes slipping closed. "Then it's already done."
Lydia took a breath, impressed by the seamless displacement even in these circumstances. "What do you need me to do?" she asked softly. What he needed...what he wanted from her...they weren't always the same thing, after all.
What he wanted was a moment of peace, a moment of her sitting next to him with nothing wrong in the world. He couldn't have that, though, and he knew it. There was too much to take care of, too many things terribly shattered by the events of the day, and he had to deal with it. He had to help them through this. He had to make sure their dead saw a proper burial.
He took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his face, plastering on some invisible mask of calm that he did not feel, and looked over at her. "Find Mac and Reginald. If they're able to get around, I need them at -- " He hesitated, his calm wavering briefly before he forced it back into place. " -- at Joseph's trailer. We need to start getting ready for the service if we can."
She watched him struggle for control, for calm she knew neither of them were near to feeling, but she wasn't sure how else to help him but to do what he asked. With a deep breath of her own, Lydia nodded. Leaning into him, she gave herself a moment to lightly run her fingers along his cheek, a soft gesture of comfort when there was no time for more, no time to process that desperate kiss. Before rising, she brushed a soft kiss over his forehead, then stood. If he needed her help, and for her to be strong, then that was what she'd do.
"I'll go find them and meet you there." With one last look, she turned and hurried back out into the chaos of grief, striving to find a way to give it form, for all their sakes. Everything had changed, and she didn't know what the ramifications of that were going to be, yet, but that was something to face tomorrow, or the next day. Tonight they'd mourn and honor those who'd fallen.
She knew in the pit of her stomach that it was going to be a long night.
offering_hope. Set up RP/fic for our AU verse "Four Quartets.". Edgar is not meant to refer to any particular Edgar.]They'd had a good night, Lydia thought, making her way across the carnival grounds. Her sandals dangled from her fingers and she let her toes dig into the dirt, feeling the lingering warmth of the long set sun still seeping up into her skin from it. A tune from the ride that was closest to her booth was caught in her head, some pop number that kept their teen visitors happy, and she hummed it. Across the way she caught sight of Joseph, and waved. He returned it with a warm smile, and her eyes scanned on, searching for Samuel and Edgar. She was isolated from them, off with customers, every night, but a glass of wine curled up somewhere and talking seemed a nice way to finish up the evening.
A couple of people called out greetings which she returned, but she didn't pause, still on her search. When looking didn't seem to find either of them, she paused, closing her eyes and reached out with her other sense, feeling for them along the connections forged through years of family. She could find nearly anyone in the family, almost any time, and she smiled a bit as she brushed over their presences, on opposite ends of the carnival. Hesitating, deciding which way to go first, she left her senses out there, and the peace she'd been feeling dissipated in a ripple of darkness that seemed to hit her.
Hatred. Malevolence. Anger. They were all out there, wrapping around the carnival in some sort of emotional miasma and while she couldn't pinpoint it to an exact source, there was a clear desire to harm them. Frantic, she spun around, eyes snapping open, and looked to where Joseph had been, but he was gone. She stood there for a moment, caught, unsure, then ran to where he had been, hoping he hadn't wandered far.
She nearly crashed into Samuel instead.
He'd been on his way to see Joseph, wanting to ask him something about someone he'd seen earlier in the evening -- one of their patrons that had caught his eye -- and had just missed him, apparently. It hadn't been that big a deal, knowing that he could always follow his brother to his trailer and hope that they'd have a chance to talk before Joseph became monosyllabic, engaged in the nightly receipts, and he's shifted in that direction, turning his eyes to the sky, idly. He'd looked down just in time to see Lydia coming straight at him, and he held up his hands, catching her shoulders to stop their collision.
He would have commented on it teasingly if it hadn't been for the expression she was wearing, and immediately his own took a turn towards nervousness. "Lydia? What's wrong?"
Lydia nearly fell, despite Samuel's hands on her, having been hurtling with such force. She dropped the shoes she'd been holding on to, grabbing at his arms instead to keep herself upright. The creeping feeling of malevolence was still washing over her, and whoever she'd connected with out there was scattering her ability to think fully. She dug her fingers into his arms, clinging to him a little bit.
"Something's wrong. Someone...someone's out there." She glanced over her shoulder toward the darkness beyond the lights. "Maybe a lot of someones, and they don't mean us anything good..."
They'd all heard stories, of course, of the witchhunt going on. Joseph had been talking about going to Europe until it was over. They were just waiting for a couple of family members to get back from some time away, and they'd be gone. She had a bad feeling it was too late for that.
He tensed, though whether it was from the bite of her nails or the gravity of her words was anyone guess, and cast a glance over her shoulder. After a moment's thought, he tugged her in that direction, sidestepping her fallen shoes before forgetting them entirely. "We need to find Joseph. He might be able to do something. Move us, stop them -- something."
She nodded, grateful to have someone to have handed the problem off to, and let him pull her, trailing behind him. "I just saw him, but then he'd moved..." And now she couldn't quite seem to focus to find him, especially with Samuel's emotions flowing into her through the connection of their hands. "Back to his trailer, you think?"
Nodding, he continued to lead her in that direction. "He'll want to get the books done. We had a busy night, and Joseph -- "
The hammer of nearby gunfire stopped him and he froze, pulling her close to him as if he could somehow protect her from something so deadly. Absolute silence followed, heavy and chilling, and then someone was screaming. He couldn't say for sure who it was, but he could tell where it had come from -- the direction of his trailer, of Joseph's trailer -- and terror washed over him. He moved in that direction abruptly, not thinking, his hands still on Lydia.
Lydia cried out at the gunfire, freezing with Samuel in that moment, and clinging to him, head buried in his chest. The silence was almost deafening, his heartbeat and hers, but when the screaming started, she felt it down to her core, her own terror and his and that pain mingling. She stumbled when he moved, but kept her hold on him, more terrified of being left alone than of whatever horror they were moving toward.
The screaming was near drowned out, though, when the gunfire started again, and she clutched at his hand torn between getting to Joseph and pulling him out of the open, to somewhere safe, if anywhere could be safe from unseen assailants who seemed to surround them. Dust kicked nearby and she felt something sting her leg like in a dream, but she didn't stop moving.
Something whizzed by Samuel's head and he ducked a bit, hissing, but he didn't stop. Nor did he let the panicked crowd that had assembled and then started scattering in a hundred different directions when the shooting had started again slow him down. He just kept going and his tunnel vision was so great that he missed his brother slumped in the chair outside of his trailer, letting Lydia go long enough to barge into the small room instead. "Joseph? Joseph!"
Lydia started to follow Samuel in, but she caught sight of Joseph when he let go of her hand. With a gasp, she moved toward him. There was blood, god. So much blood. She felt a little sick, and didn't pay any attention to the shots or screams still echoing around her. Her hands looked for a wound, and found more than one, until her fingers were soaked and red. Joseph moaned a little bit, his eyes opening to look at her.
"Get inside," he whispered, and she pressed harder on one of his wounds, trying to stop the bleeding.
"I'm not leaving you," she said, even as another bullet hit the trailer above them. She screamed at that, terrified it could go through the thin walls. "Samuel! Samuel, he's here!"
He poked his head back outside, eyes wide, half-expecting to see Lydia and his brother crouched behind the table he kept with the chairs. It was glass, so it wouldn't provide much cover from the bullets that were still raining down on them, but -- but what he saw was not what he had been hoping for. Staring outright now, he stood there for a moment, stunned, then moved over to them, almost stumbling, the movement seemingly pure reflex. If how he looked as he dropped to his knees next to Joseph's chair was any indication, it probably was.
It took him a few seconds to manage to string a handful of words together. "We'll get you help. We -- when they go, we'll find someone who can help."
Lydia looked up at him from where she was putting pressure on one of the wounds. Her face was streaked with tears, and each rapport of gunfire made her shudder.
"He's bleeding really badly," she said, flinching as a stray piece of glass broke off from something, hitting her with a little sting she could feel even through the panic. Joseph was still with them, but she could feel him ebbing. "We have to stop them...we have to get out of here, go where they can't follow...."
Though that led to a flicker of wondering of how the Hell they'd found them in the first place.
Samuel had apparently had the same thought. "And if they find us again?"
"I don't know," she said shaking her head. "Just...we have to do something..." There were other screams coming from around the carnival. "Samuel...you have to do something. Or none of us are going to make it out of here."
He shot a glance back over his shoulder. He knew she was right, but really -- what the hell could he do? He wasn't the one in charge of moving the carnival, God only knew if they were still alive or would listen to him or could concentrate long enough to shift them, and Joseph was the diplomat. Joseph was -- he looked to his brother again, unconscious now, maybe dead, and then back to Lydia. "I don't -- is he still alive?"
Lydia couldn't tell if there was a heartbeat or not, not physically, not with all the noise, but she closed her eyes, and tried to sense Joseph himself, that faint presence that had been there since she found him, and the constant one she was used to feeling at the back of her mind. It wasn't there. The loss of it hit her hard, gut wrenching and empty and she looked up at Samuel with a slightly shell-shocked expression. "I can't feel him anymore..."
Taking a handful of steps backwards, he shook his head violently. "No. No, he can't be ... "
Lydia didn't know if it was his pain or her own she was feeling or just the general rise of anguish around the carnival, but all of it seemed to flood through her, hurting, and she looked from him back down to Joseph. "Joseph, please...." As if pleas would bring him back from where he'd gone, because she could see now that there was no rise and fall to his chest, and she sobbed a little. But the gunfire wasn't stopping, and that pulled her back, terror in her eyes, for Samuel, for Edgar, who she couldn't find--for all of them. She stood up unsteadily, moving toward Samuel, heedless of the danger of being up in fear and worry for him.
He didn't bother to look at her, almost unaware that she was there, his whole world having crumbled under his feet at the death of his brother. And he was so wrapped up in staring at what remained of Joseph, so lost, that it took him a moment to even register that Lydia had slapped him. She'd gotten up and slapped him.
He turned his eyes to her sharply, still shocked but for an entirely different reason now. While a part of him grasped why she had hit him, however, he couldn't help but ask, "What was that for?"
Lydia was shaking, a little stunned by her own daring, and in shock of her own. "There are still men out there, firing guns into us, like sheep lined up for the slaughter." As if to illustrate her point, a window near them shattered, and she grabbed his hand and pulled him down to crouching. "Joseph's murderers are out there, Samuel, intent on killing more of us. We have to do something. Find Edgar. Find Eli. Fight back, or get out of here, or something. And you have to pull yourself together and do something, before there's nothing left to protect. We need you. I need you. Please...." Her hands found his, curling around them, heedless of the blood she was getting on him now, trying instinctively to will whatever strength or power she had into him, to help him however she could.
Somewhat steadied by the touch, he took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and nodded as he let it out. She was right, of course. If he didn't do something, find someone, the shooters would just keep firing until they were all dead, and he couldn't have that. He couldn't live with that. Not after --
He took another deep breath, forcing himself to keep his eyes on her in an effort avoid glancing to what remained of his brother again, and when the want to glance that way had passed, he looked back over his shoulder, briefly. He looked back to Lydia, then tugged her towards the door to Joseph's trailer. "I'll go find Edgar -- he can help put a stop to this. In the meantime, though, it's safest for you inside. At least that way ... "
That way there was less of a chance of her getting shot.
She felt his concern, and nodded. There was nothing she could do out there, anyway, though the idea of the two men left she cared most about in the world in danger tugged at her. There had been three...and she couldn't think of that right now, or she'd fall apart, and there would be time for falling apart later. Right now, she needed to be strong. For him, for the family. She paused at the door, though, even as the shots seemed to echo, and took a moment to look at him. There was never a right time, not for anything, and most certainly not while bullets were flying, but she moved anyway, fueled by a terror that she'd never see him again, that he'd disappear from her consciousness the way Joseph had. For just a moment, she pressed close, felt the solid warmth of his chest, and dared one desperate kiss, lips clinging to his as she tried to pour all of herself, her strength, and things she'd never got the courage to say in that one gesture.
Backing away almost as quick as she'd moved in, she let her fingers linger on his jaw. "Come back, okay?" She knew he couldn't really promise--none of them could, not with those fragments of death flying in the air, aiming to rip their home and family apart, but she needed something to hold on to while she waited.
"I will," he murmured, putting forth the effort, albeit a weak one, to grace her with a smile. He let her finger stay at his jaw for a moment, the pain and panic rioting under his skin momentarily replaced by a desperate want to stay here with her, to kiss her back, to forget everything that was going on outside, but he knew he couldn't. Not entirely, not yet. Not that that stopped him from brushing a quick kiss over her lips in return, regardless, but as his lips broke from hers, he found the strength to will himself to pull away, pushing her back towards the trailer.
"I will," he repeated, a little more firmly this time, and that said, he turned away from her, marching out into the chaos in double time.
Four times he had to pause, things exploding dangerously close to him or a rain of bullets landing at his feet or back, so close to killing him if he'd just happened to have been a step or two in another direction, and four times he continued forward in spite of the dangers around him. He searched for what felt like an eternity, coming no closer to finding the speedster who could end this all, and there was a distinct fear that maybe Edgar had suffered the same fate as Joseph. Surely, if he were still alive, he'd be doing something on his own merit, wouldn't he? Edgar was faster than the shooters, with no reason to fear the hail of bullets, but still they fired on endlessly, no one bothering to stop them. So, something had to have happened. Something had to be keeping Edgar from saving them.
Samuel stopped dead at the thought, first more terror and grief welling up in his heart, then a sort of sharp, blinding rage to blot it out. First Joseph, now Edgar? No. No, he couldn't (wouldn't) stand for this. He wouldn't let his entire family be mowed down before his very eyes.
Taking a deep breath, he shot a glance at the hillside on the edges of the fair ground, suddenly sure the shots had to be coming from there -- he could feel it, feel them, each shot and recoil and reload trembling along the earth and up through his toes -- and curled his fingers into fists. He didn't move, however, paying only enough mind to the chaos wheeling around him to call up a dust storm at his feet to shield him from it, and focused his attentions on the rise of earth in the distance. He pulled his hands up towards his chest as if lifting an invisible weight, his arms shaking with effort, and the ground shuddered violently, warningly. And as his closed fists touched to his shoulders, the hill became a gaping maw, swallowing up their attackers, then slamming shut viciously.
A shockwave of dirt blew out across the carnival, tendrils of powdered earth threatening to pull his feet out from under him, but he managed to stay standing. A handful more windows and pots and the like twitched and broke where he would not, but when the ground settled and the tension in his arm eased, everything was still. The screams of his brothers and sisters had stopped, the flurry of death from the hill had ended, and after a moment of soaking in the silence that followed, grimly satisfied, he sunk to his knees, grief and utter exhaustion winding in from the edges of his vision.
Lydia had moved into the trailer, as requested. The bullets all seemed to be coming from one direction, so she retreated farther from it, away from thin walls and windows, huddling in the corner of the bathroom, in the tub, hoping extra porcelain and distance would help. It seemed to. She could still hear the gunfire, still feel the hate and rage and grief and horror and terror washing through the camp, still feel the memory of the panic and pain under Samuel's skin, but even when the trailer shook from hits, nothing seemed to make it this far.
She kept the link she'd established with Samuel, holding him in her mind and heart, and feeling his presence as he moved through the destruction. She needed to know he was okay, to hold on to some sort of hope. There was too much rolling emotion to focus on the too-brief press of lips, but a part of her still held it close, cherishing the memory as something else to cling to.
When the wave of power swept out from the carnival, from Samuel, she gasped, shuddering at little. There was a ripping sound she could hear even inside, and then everything was terror--not just from them, but from where hate had hidden in the hilltops. They were afraid...and then they were gone. The trailer rocked around her in the backlash, before stilling. Silence fell, reigned, shock stilling even the sobs she could only hear in her head. For a few moments, even so, she waited, then hearing no more, feeling the threat gone, she scrambled free of the porcelain protection and rushed back outside, stumbling on the steps, closing her eyes for a moment to get a sense of Samuel. The grief was welling through the shock, and she couldn't look to where Joseph's body lay, her steps moving unerringly through the shattered remnants of the safety of their home, toward the other Sullivan brother, who shone there on the edges of her consciousness like a beacon.
Finding him, she stumbled to the ground next to him, reaching to brush fingers over him, make sure he was unharmed. "You did it...They're gone. All of them..."
He swayed into her, still trembling with effort, and dropped his head to her shoulder awkwardly. "Are they?"
Belatedly, he realized it was a stupid question -- the shots had stopped and the eath around them was still as far as he could sense -- but he didn't care. He was too tired and worn too thin to be too concerned with whether or not the question had made logical sense.
Lydia wrapped her arms around him, trembling as well, though from the rioting emotions still pressing in on her from everywhere, echoing her own. Logic was the farthest thing from her mind, and she didn't mind the question, at all--didn't even realize it didn't make sense. Her lips brushed over his temple, eyes closing as she held him against her and rocked a bit, clinging as much as she was comforting.
"I can't feel them anymore," she answered, confirmed. "You...obliterated them..." A tiny bit of awe laced her voice. "You saved us...."
He hummed, dimly satisfied again, and shifted, leaning against her more soundly now. His arms went around her waist, holding her just as soundly as she was being held, and murmured, "Good."
In spite of the awe in her voice, however, he didn't feel much like the man who had just saved them all, however -- he felt like the man who had just lost his brother, and the weight of that crashed down on him finally, entirely, drawing tears to his eyes. He stiffened a bit in spite of them, not pulling away but trying desperately to keep them from coming, his breath hitching in the back of his throat.
She could feel the grief welling, ready to break in him, and it clogged her throat as well. It bore down on her and wrapped around her, meeting the grief of those all around them who'd lost people they loved. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks, the sob catching in her throat. Her arms tightened around him, one hand sliding into his hair, stroking slowly through it. Joseph was--had been--the closest thing to a father she'd allowed herself to have, throwing out the memories of the man she'd run away from. And now he was gone, and that emptiness threatened to overwhelm her, but she knew it couldn't be compared to his loss.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, feeling the emptiness of the words, even as they broke. "It's...you can cry...I'm right here..." And she wouldn't think any less of him for it, god knew.
For as much as he hadn't wanted to cry and was still trying to keep it under wraps even now, the tears came on their own. He choked into her shoulder, arms tightening around her, trying to keep from making a sound even so. He may have had her permission to cry, might not have been able to stop himself, he was determined not to embarrass himself while doing so.
Lydia trembled at the flare of his grief, the tears that soaked her shoulder, and she let hers come, too. Her fingers kept dragging through his hair, slowly and surely, trying to comfort him, and her, and that little need not to be embarrassed, on top of everything, made her heart feel like it was breaking. Breath breaking on a sob, she stopped trying to hold back her own. Maybe in shared grief, he'd let go. If nothing else, she figured the sounds of her sobs could cover his, let him save face if need be in appearing to be comforting her, rather than breaking down himself. Wails of grief were rising up from here and there around them, anyway--she doubted anyone had even noticed them there, yet.
He fell apart entirely then, all but whimpering into her shoulder, choking on the horror of it. This continued for several minutes before he finally settled, only stopping because he's worked himself up so thoroughly that he couldn't breathe, and he pulled away a bit rather than stay gasping in her shoulder, and thumbed furiously at his eyes, hiccuping.
Her arms loosened enough to let him move away, though she kept one hand on him. Her tears had slowed in the wake of his, but they were still falling, more quietly now, and she dropped her head to her knees, crying into her skirt. There were so many empty holes, so many gone, though it seemed even more than it probably was for the sheer emptiness Joseph's loss left inside. She was almost afraid to reach out, one by one, to see what she could feel, afraid to search for Edgar, because what if there was only that aching emptiness there, as well? But she tried, shuddering in relief when she felt him still among them, though she was too shattered to do more than that. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she held on tight to herself, trying not to come apart completely.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, barely able to get the words out. He wrapped his arms back around her, trying to stifle his own pain and tears, and pulled her close against him, closing his eyes.
Lydia leaned into him, trembling in earnest now from the wash of grief and the release of terror inside her and in the others around the carnival. His arms were something of an anchor, his presence there reassuring that there was still something to hold on to in the world, but she couldn't answer him for a very long time, until she finally felt she couldn't cry anymore, sobs quieting to hiccups in turn and she tried to draw some sort of steadying breath. Lifting her head, she still stayed close against him, looking around with haunted eyes at the shattered remains of their homes, their families.
"We have to move," she said, suddenly, terrified realization gripping her. "If they found us...more could come..." And she wasn't completely sure Samuel--or any of them--had the strength to fight off a second attack.
Samuel held her as she cried, head resting lightly against hers, a slow sort of emptiness descending upon him in the wake of grief. It was, on one hand, a good thing, he supposed -- this way, he wasn't dumping more of his own pain into Lydia and making it harder on her -- but on the other? A tiny part of him recognized that the hollowness in his heart was probably as far removed from good as he could get without having them all suffer another attack, and he vehemently ignored that part.
Pulling away when she did, he offered her a bit of a frown. "We'll move, but I want -- " He paused, a fraction of twisting around the hole in his heart, tearing at it, and then steeled his jaw, forcing himself to continue. " -- I want to collect our dead. When we stop, they need a proper service."
She closed her eyes briefly at the reminder, the pulling pain of it tumbling through her, but she nodded, and when she opened her eyes again, she met his gaze steadily. "Of course. We're not leaving anyone behind. We just...should move quickly, get somewhere safe we can tend those wounded, as well..." So their dead did not grow in number. She could feel the wounded, the threads of life fluctuating throughout the camp.
Resolutely, she pulled away from him, and pushed to her feet, drying her eyes. "Someone needs to trace the perimeter, see if anyone is outside, needing help or..." Collecting.
He got to his feet as well, taking a moment to thumb at his eyes again, trying to clear ruined eyeliner, real or imagined, from his face. Then, once he was at least somewhat certain he didn't look a mess, he let his eyes drift around the immediate area, taking in what he could, trying to decide what he wanted to do. It was an odd feeling, being the one to have to call the shots, but with Joseph gone -- the hollow in his heart had at least stopped the pain, but it apparently hadn't allowed him much clearer a head.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and shook his head in an effort to get a handle on some rational state of mind, then glanced back out to the hillside their attackers had been devoured by. "Find Edgar." He assumed the speedster was alive if only because she hadn't broken news to the contrary just yet. "You and him can find anyone who needs help. I'll ... take care of the rest."
Lydia nodded a little bit, accepting the order, and closed her eyes for a moment, searching out for Edgar. "I'll meet you back at your trailer," she said, figuring some sort of plan was good. They needed a plan, after everything. Her fingers reached out to brush over his hand, searching for some sort of connection, before giving him a nod, and moving to try and find Edgar among the panicked family.
He brushed his fingers over hers as they passed, summoning up a thin smile for her that he hoped at least looked genuine when he didn't feel it in the least, and watched as she wandered off to find Edgar. He stood there for a moment or two more, not particularly relishing the task he had set before himself, then sighed, moving in the direction he thought a good majority of the shots had hit. A few other people fell in step behind him, unwounded and apparently possessing the same idea he'd had about gathering the dead before they did anything else, and he was grateful for that. It was good to feel that he'd made the right decision, and they moved in silence, rounding up those that hadn't made it through the night.
It was hard work, the three of them covered in a sheen of sweat by the time they'd finished, but none of them complained. None of them said a word, honestly -- not even when they came to Joseph's body, though they chanced him small glances that were equal parts sympathy and loss of their own -- and before too long they were done, their dead tucked safely away in Joseph's trailer. It felt almost wrong to leave them there, among his brother's things, but he could think of no better place. Joseph wouldn't be using his living space any time soon, after all, and he'd needed somewhere to leave them that could be moved with them, but he still offered his brother a word of apology before closing the door behind him.
He nodded to the two other men that had joined them, ever silent, and then moved away, leaving them behind to go to his trailer as Lydia had suggested. And once the door had closed behind him, he sank to the floor again, pressing his back to the wall, arms propped on his knees, and stared blankly at the far wall. As soon as Lydia returned, they would leave.
Lydia found Edgar after a few false starts, the terror and grief in the air messing with the homing beacon her ability could be. Having a plan helped, but she still felt herself trembling, and for a moment the reality of what waited back at Joseph's trailer escaped her and she wondered how he was dealing with this. He always felt so much more from others, his gift more deeply attuned to the emotions of the moment than hers. It helped him control things, make things better, but she had to wonder sometimes the toll it took.
Had taken. The words crashed down in her head with a blistering reality and she gave a little sob. She finally found Edgar, though, looking as shell-shocked as she felt. When he pulled her close, his relief was palpable, and she remembered he wouldn't have been able to feel her, find her, know she was okay. For a moment, they just clung together, and she found herself murmuring reassuring things, trying to assuage the guilt that was near to overwhelming him that he hadn't been fast enough to stop this.
The mission was helping her, so she gave it to him, too. "We need to move to safety so we can treat the wounded, make sure no one can find us. Samuel wants us to find who's injured, get them somewhere safe, together, prepared to move."
He stared at her blankly for a minute, but then nodded, and she was glad to see some sort of purpose filling him. Most families were already tending their wounded. Those that looked like they could manage, Lydia just gave the message they were moving out. The family knew what that meant, what it entailed, and those able got those not prepared. The Bowman's volunteered their trailer for the more severely wounded, given its size, and Gail moved to help Edgar and Lydia get people there. Once they had it done, Lydia asked them both to stay with the fallen, tending as best they could, even if just with bandages and pressure, as she made her way back to Samuel's trailer.
She let herself in without knocking, dropping to her knees next to him. "It's done," she said softly. "Everyone's ready to go."
He didn't look at her, still staring holes through the wall. "Everyone's inside? Safe?"
Lydia nodded, then answered verbally, since he wasn't looking at her. "Yes. Everyone's inside."
Samuel bowed his head, his eyes slipping closed. "Then it's already done."
Lydia took a breath, impressed by the seamless displacement even in these circumstances. "What do you need me to do?" she asked softly. What he needed...what he wanted from her...they weren't always the same thing, after all.
What he wanted was a moment of peace, a moment of her sitting next to him with nothing wrong in the world. He couldn't have that, though, and he knew it. There was too much to take care of, too many things terribly shattered by the events of the day, and he had to deal with it. He had to help them through this. He had to make sure their dead saw a proper burial.
He took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his face, plastering on some invisible mask of calm that he did not feel, and looked over at her. "Find Mac and Reginald. If they're able to get around, I need them at -- " He hesitated, his calm wavering briefly before he forced it back into place. " -- at Joseph's trailer. We need to start getting ready for the service if we can."
She watched him struggle for control, for calm she knew neither of them were near to feeling, but she wasn't sure how else to help him but to do what he asked. With a deep breath of her own, Lydia nodded. Leaning into him, she gave herself a moment to lightly run her fingers along his cheek, a soft gesture of comfort when there was no time for more, no time to process that desperate kiss. Before rising, she brushed a soft kiss over his forehead, then stood. If he needed her help, and for her to be strong, then that was what she'd do.
"I'll go find them and meet you there." With one last look, she turned and hurried back out into the chaos of grief, striving to find a way to give it form, for all their sakes. Everything had changed, and she didn't know what the ramifications of that were going to be, yet, but that was something to face tomorrow, or the next day. Tonight they'd mourn and honor those who'd fallen.
She knew in the pit of her stomach that it was going to be a long night.
