From the Stars (Davy Prentiss Jr x Reader)

2: Spackle

YOU

The women were forced back into their tiny part of town. You trailed behind Rebecca again, gazing unforgivingly at the men watching you go. You didn't need to their Noise to know what they were thinking. Your stomach turned, but you didn't act scared.

And you weren't.

You were angry. Angry that all of those people wouldn't just fight. It was scary, of course, to fight in a war that probably would kill most people, but how would it be any worse than living in the life you were trapped in right now?

Men and women separated, unable to talk to one another or be together, families torn apart, men beat and killed, Haven in ruins and New Prentisstown rising in its ashes.

You caught eyes with another soldier. This one was young, with the beginnings of a beard and the thinnest mustache you had ever seen on his lip. He stared at you, dark eyes blinking once, lips twisted up into a smirk.

Stupid women, he thought, and a bunch of horrible words followed.

You glared.

And glared.

And suddenly his Noise wasn't so confident anymore and he had to break away from your stare. You didn't feel smug, just pity for the young boy that was being raised to fight in an army full of so much hate.

Back in the home, Rebecca asked you if you would help her with lunch. She was making a giant pot of stew to feed all of the women in the house. When you were asked to cut the vegetables, you paused, hand on a stem of a cauliflower, thinking about how your Spackle was always eager to help.

She had been hired as a slave, of course, right after your ma died. All Spackle were hired as slaves - but they weren't ever mistreated. And you were sure they had freedom to leave if they needed, but none of 'em ever felt the desire to, 'cause they became part of families.

You didn't even know they were slaves 'til your pa told you one day. You were only five. It had surprised and disgusted you, 'cause your Spackle was its own, and didn't belong to anybody else.

And that is what you told your pa, and he responded gently, "She can stay so long as she wants. Ain't nobody in this home gonna force her to work here."

And that was true.

When your Spackle got pregnant by her One, you helped her. You treated her just as well as she had treated you, helping her with extra chores so she wouldn't strain herself. She was easily a mother you never had the chance to know.

And she, in turn, loved you.

You couldn't understand her language really. Some of it, sure, but they spoke through clicking noises that went fast. She taught you what she could and you helped her take care of her baby, and together your mismatched family of four lived in your house together, content.

Content until the army came and took over and you told her to run but she wouldn't leave you.

She wouldn't leave you.

And now, touching the stem of cauliflower, you were overwhelmed by missing them, missing what was.

Rebecca touched your back. "We all got jobs to do now, sweetheart," she said. You looked at her with things you couldn't say. "I know you miss 'em. I miss mine, too."

"She had a baby," you whispered. "My Spackle."

She petted you. "They didn't kill them," she said.