Predator (DWT x OC)

44

TW// A lot of grief and using alcohol to cope

No. 

No no no no no no. 

That can't be Jack's, because if it is, that's Jack's blood, and that means something unspeakably horrible has happened to him. That's not true, because he was supposed to escape, he was supposed to fucking make it, he was supposed to be free. I was supposed to see him soon, with Tommy and Wilbur, and everything was supposed to be fucking okay. 

So he can't be, he can't be dead and this has to be some horrible fucking game, some big messed up mistake because that can't be his headset, and that can't be his blood, because he can't be gone. 

He was supposed to be okay. 

My legs buckle underneath me and I sink to my knees, crumpling on the ground, eyes never leaving the black plastic headset, even though I'd rather just bury my head in the sand and never think about it again. 

"No." A strangled whisper leaves my lips and I pick it up, because I know. I know who's this is, unmistakably, and yet every cell in my body is desperate to believe that it's not. That it's not true. 

"Fundy found him right on the border, with three backpacks." Schlatt, I think, says, but his words are muffled, like I've just been plunged under a vat of water, dulled senses and the ever lasting numbness that's filling my chest, like the world I'm in isn't quite real. Like this is all just one really shitty fucking dream. 

"No." I whisper again, and my throats tightening up in an awful way, scratchy and painful and too fucking familiar. 

"He was with you, wasn't he Rosie?" Schlatt says again, but his words don't even seem to register in my brain. All I can think about was those final fucking moments, watching the back of Jack's head disappear into the inky darkness. 

"Leave her alone." Someone snaps, another man, I think it might be Dream. "You just murdered her fucking friend, and now you want to accuse her of being a traitor?"

I choked sound escapes me, along with hot tears dribbling down my cheeks, sliding down the tip of my nose, burning my eyes. 

No. 

Please. 

He can't be dead. 

"Jack." I whisper pitifully, like someone has a stranglehold on my vocal cords, and if I speak any louder I think I'm going to snap. My knuckles go white around the band of the headset, and I can't stop the tears that fall from my eyes. 

Somehow we end up alone. I guess even for Schlatt, watching a human being fall apart like this isn't good entertainment. Niki and I don't talk. 

I still haven't let go of the headset. 

"He can't be dead." Niki cries next to me, shaking her head, pushing herself off of the couch and pacing around frantically in the room. "They have him somewhere, or he's still in the woods injured, or- or-" She doesn't get to finish, overcome by another heart wrenching flood of tears. I can't even bring myself to move. 

"He's gone. They're not lying." Quackity's gentle voice says, and Niki's head jerks in his direction as he enters. He looks away, uncomfortable under Niki's piercing stare, then looks down at the ground. "I checked, I'm so sorry Rosa."

I want to believe he's a liar so fucking badly. I want to leap up and throw everything at my disposal at him, scream until my throat is red fucking raw, and tell him that he is a liar. Just like Schlatt. Just like Fundy. 

But I know. I know he isn't lying. I know this isn't some elaborate ruse to trick us into giving up information. Because I know Fundy, and I'm pretty sure I know Schlatt.