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wroughtbetwixtfanfic · 5 years

Text

Stamped Into Memory, Ch 1.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: One night is all it takes to throw Campbell's carefully maintained control into chaos. Caught in a downward spiral and once again public enemy #1, he struggles to keep those around him safe-- from a killer on the loose, and from himself.

Rating: Mature.

Tags: Major Character Death, Canon Divergence, Mental Health Issues, Family Issues, Substance Abuse, Slow Burn, Dubcon Kissing, Romantic Friendship, Mild Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, implied animal death, the dog lives, Antisocial Personality Disorder, ASPD, Campbell has mild ASPD and is actively trying to not be awful

Word Count: 5436

Part Two, Ch 1 || Ch 2 || AO3

Disclaimer: This is part three of a series. Reading the first two parts is more-or-less essential.

This is a canon divergent storyline for Campbell, using (in my experience) a realistic take on conduct disorder and ASPD instead of Hollywood "psychopath" stereotypes. While people with conduct disorder can be violent and abusive, the diagnosis exists on a spectrum, and neither ASPD nor "psychopathy" should be diagnosed before the age of 18; this is one thing that rubbed me the wrong way on The Society. Campbell's power will be more in his ability to manipulate-- not "being crazy". Hopefully I can succeed in presenting a more understandable and less sensationalized vision of his behavior. Please note that while I present his relationships as unhealthy and his behavior as questionable, I don't intend to make him a violent abuser, to bring his character more in line with my experiences of how an emotionally neglected teen with moderately reduced empathy would behave, provided they were trying to be better (and seeking outside help).

AO3 updates will be on Sunday, unless otherwise noted! The entire part-- all five chapters--have already been posted to my Patreon. Thank you for reading, and leaving kudos/comments. They matter so much to me. <3

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When a gun goes off, there are only two moments-- before, and after. Shootings were something Campbell, and others his age, had grown up with. It was an ever-present specter, where you held your breath every day you went to school and didn't let it out until you were home again. Slammed doors, dropped books, even the pop of a can of soda, caused people to flinch. But they all knew what a gunshot sounded like. They had seen the videos. They had been through the drills. They knew, if something like that ever happened in West Ham, nothing would be the same again. He knew, at 12:35, that something had changed. He knew that before he even turned the corner. Someone had a gun, and they had used it. The barking had stopped. The street was silent, empty, as Campbell turned the corner. Empty, except for Cassandra laying on the ground.

Campbell rushed over, kneeling beside her. Was she breathing? He couldn't tell, but there was blood pooling around her, and her eyes weren't opening. "Cassandra, come on," he pleaded, searching for her pulse. "Don't you fucking dare, Cassie, don't you dare." Nothing. She was dead. His throat squeezed shut. Campbell fumbled with his phone, but the blood on his hands made it impossible to grip properly. Gordie, or Allie. He had to call someone, anyone. But then he stopped, chaotic impulse shifting into cold logic. Campbell was the only one in town who had openly used a gun. His friendship with Cassandra was, aside from a few people, not widely known. Worse, Campbell had held Cassandra at gunpoint before. If anyone saw him there, he was fucked. He had to get the hell out of there before someone else came to investigate the noise. It felt wrong to walk away, but he forced his feet to keep going. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he did would bring her back. It was a finality, and she would be just as gone no matter what. Campbell wasn't sure how he got home. It was a blur, and for a moment he'd hoped it had all been some sort of weird hallucination, but then he got inside the house and turned on the lights. His hands were still covered in blood. He stared at the sticky, copper-scented mess. She was gone. Cassandra was really gone. "Campbell?" He looked up, staring at Elle as she came down the stairs in a bathrobe. She stopped halfway, her gaze locking onto his hands. Campbell tried to speak, but nothing came out. He couldn't move. He couldn't breath. All he could smell was blood, and see Cassandra's eyes staring lifelessly, and he felt like he was going to throw up. Oh, god, Cassandra. Witty, ruthless Cassandra, who had been at his side when no one else had been and had promised to always be there, and-- "She's dead," Campbell said. His voice was flat, distant, strange in his own ears. He waited for some sort of sorrow. Tears. Something. But there was nothing except the truth of it, clinical and straightforward. "The damn dog was out there barking and I went to look for them, and there was a gunshot and Cassandra's dead." Elle came down the stairs and moved towards him. "Dead? You're sure?" "I..." He gestured with his gory hands. "She didn't have a pulse." "Okay. Okay, breathe. Come on, come with me." He hadn't realized he'd been hyperventilating. Campbell forced himself to take a long, slow breath and follow Elle to the bathroom. She helped him out of his clothes, and got him into the shower. He scrubbed until his skin was red and raw; it still didn't feel like enough, but the blood was gone. When he got out, Elle was waiting with clean clothes. His phone and old clothes were gone. Campbell didn't ask questions, and got dressed. Elle was in the living room by the time he was finished, wrapping his clothes in plastic bags. "We can burn these later," she said quietly as he sat down on the sofa next to her. His phone was on the coffee table, completely wiped down. "In a few days, when it's less suspicious." "I didn't do it, Elle. You have to believe me." "I believe you, but we both know how it'll go if the rest of the town thinks you did it." Well, he could appreciate the matter-of-fact logic there. Campbell sat down and stared at his hands. He couldn't feel anything. It almost felt like his mind was racing, but not with thoughts or emotions. Just static. White noise. Like a broken down robot. Still, his heart was beating so fast, and Campbell felt like it was hard to swallow. He was shaking. It was summer, warm, but it felt like someone had drenched him in ice water. What was this? What was happening? It didn't make sense. None of it. How was this happening? How could Cassandra be dead? When she was done, Elle hid the clothes somewhere in the house, bringing a blanket back with her; they curled up on the sofa together, with Campbell tucked into Elle's lap. She stroked his hair until he fell asleep, the weird twisted and rushing feeling in his body guttering into a deep, terrible ache in his muscles. Rest was impossible. He kept startling awake, and even when he managed to drift off, his dreams were filled with Cassandra staring at him, soaked in blood and flipping a coin. The phone rang at 5am. Bean was on the other end, crying so hard Campbell could barely make out what she was saying. "Allie wants family to come to the hospital," she choked. "There's been an accident." It only took ten minutes to drive to the hospital. Campbell parked by the entrance, but when he went to get out, he just... couldn't. Elle sat in the passenger seat, silent. She didn't ask what was wrong. Thank fuck for that, because Campbell wouldn't have known what to tell her. He didn't want to go in. He didn't want to see their faces or deal with their crying. He didn't want to hear their questions. Was her body there? Would they make him see it? They would expect him to cry, too, but Campbell couldn't. He couldn't, and he didn't want to, because behind that padlocked door there was something dark and he didn't want to set it free. Not like this. Not yet. Not until they found Cassandra's killer. Elle's hand rested on his, and he realized he was breathing too fast again. Anxiety wouldn't help anyone. What would Cassandra do, in all this? She'd be strong, and try to help others. Campbell didn't give a shit about most of them, but he cared about Sam, and he knew Sam would be in there somewhere. He couldn't let Sam go through that alone. Maybe Campbell couldn't cry with them, but he could try to help them. The lobby of the hospital was eerily silent, save for the sound of people weeping. Allie was standing by the front desk and crying into Will's shoulder, while Kelly and Bean held each other. Sam was off to the side, his face in his hands. He bit back the bubble of loathing that rose in his chest when Kelly and Allie's eyes turned to glower at him. Campbell stood there for a moment, trying to decide which move to make first. He wanted to go to Sam, but if he breezed past Allie then she'd be even more of a problem than she was already. What did he really care about that, though? She should have fucking been there with Cassandra. She should have been there, but because she was a fucking whiny baby, Cassandra had died alone. Fuck her opinions. Campbell sat next to Sam, nudging Sam's shoulder with his own. "Hey," he signed when Sam looked up. "Is there anything I can do?" Sam searched Campbell's face. His eyes welled up, and at first he shook his head, but then he signed fast and messily, like he didn't want to say it at all. "I need you to be here. I need my brother." Something lanced through Campbell's stomach, fleeting but painful. This wasn't how they were supposed to fix things. This wasn't how they were supposed to come back together. Campbell put his arm around Sam's shoulders, and after a brief hesitation, Sam leaned against him; Campbell could be whatever Sam needed him to be, put on whatever mask Sam expected Campbell to wear, but Campbell wished he could cry with Sam. Show Sam that he felt it, too. That he understood. But the best he could do was hold Sam as he wept, rocking him until Sam was too exhausted to cry anymore. One by one, the people around them fell quiet, too. Now and then there'd be a sniffle, a raspy cough, or someone blowing their nose. Everyone looked listless. Worn. At some point, Becca arrived. She ground to a halt when she saw Campbell, and he noticed her expression turn icy. Whatever. Campbell didn't care. Whatever her problem with him was, it paled compared to what was happening. Luckily, Sam noticed her arrival, and pulled away to go to her; at least that would keep that conflict at bay, for now. "Does anyone need something to eat or drink?" Elle asked softly. A few people muttered an affirmative. "I don't think anyone checked the cafeteria here. There might be something." Bean dried her eyes and stood up. "That's a good idea. I'll come with you." Campbell stood and gave Elle a kiss on the cheek before she left. Bean glanced at him, but said nothing. Suspicion was already stirring, and why wouldn't it? Even knowing that, though, he wasn't quite ready for Allie's reaction once Elle was out of earshot. "You." Allie spat the word out like his mere presence was revolting. She grit her teeth, her voice accusing as her face contorted in rage. "Where were you last night? Where were you when Cassandra was killed?" Sam, who had been watching the exchange, stepped in between them ever so slightly. "Don't do this. He didn't kill Cassandra." "How do you know? Answer the fucking question, Campbell." Campbell blinked at Sam's reaction, but he shook his head. "It's fine, Sam. Look, Elle and I left prom a little early. I drove Dillon, Harry, and a couple other people home, and then we went home and stayed there all night." Allie opened her mouth, then closed it again. Anger gave way to loss as her lip quivered. "Do you know anyone who would have? Did... did anyone tell you anything? Maybe she told you about someone threatening her?" "No. I swear to you, Allie, I have no idea what did this. If I did, I'd have dragged them in here by their balls. I'm sorry." "Fine. Okay." Pressing a hand to her mouth, Allie took a step towards Campbell, but then backed away again and shook her head when her phone buzzed. "I gotta go. Gordie's doing the..." She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. Allie turned and walked off, with Will following silently behind her. Fuck. Campbell kicked a chair and sent it skittering across the floor; everyone but Sam jumped. "What happened?" Campbell asked, raising his voice to address the entire room. "How long have you all been here?" At first, there was silence, but then Kelly spoke. "Gordie was waiting for her, but she never came home. He found her laying outside the inn a little before one." Becca went over and curled her arms around Kelly as she began to cry again. "Why was she alone? Gwen was supposed to be there. Gwen should have been there with her." So, Gwen had been AWOL at the time it happened. Campbell made a mental note. Gwen had always been a heinous twat to Cassandra, and she was friends with Lexie, who wasn't much better. Elle and Bean came back with little bags of chips and boxes of juice. Everyone took something, but no one actually ate. They all just sat and stood around like ill-tempered children on the worst camping trip of their lives. And wasn't that the truth? They were still so young. They should have been worrying about graduation and dating and jobs, not murder. Helena walked through the doors, her face perfectly neutral. "Grizz and a couple other guys are working on a grave. The rest of the guard are at the scene until Gordie gets done. They'll make sure no one tampers with it." Campbell growled. "Yeah, unless one of them did it." "Are you accusing one of them of murder?" Helena demanded, crossing her arms. "Keep in mind, my boyfriend is one of them, and I know him." "Oh, I'm sure you do." Sam knocked on a chair to get their attention. "Let's not argue right now. We don't know who did this. We won't know without evidence. But the guard doesn't seem like the type." "Yeah, you're right." Campbell fixed his gaze on Helena. "Grizz is too much of a kitten, and the rest of them can't tie their fucking shoes without a how-to video, so my mistake." Helena started towards him, but Bean grabbed her arm and whispered something to her. The edge of Helena's nose twitched up in a barely suppressed sneer. Helena started to say something, but Gordie, Allie, and Will came back just then and everyone else turned their attention to Gordie. He looked ill, clutching a folder tight in his hands. "I know you all want answers. But I... I think I should take some time to look for more evidence, and talk to Allie, before I share my findings. I think you all should go home. If you hear anything, please call me or Allie right away. The funeral will be around noon." Everyone filtered out of the hospital, some starting to cry again. Elle hadn't shed a single tear, though her face was solemn as they got back to the car. When they got in, she touched his knee, her eyebrows furrowed. "I know this is such a pointless question, but are you okay? I mean, how can anyone be, but..." "I don't know." He threw the car into drive and peeled out of the parking lot, focusing on the road. "I mean, I'm not going to do anything to myself if that's what you mean, but I don't know. I have to just focus on one step at a time. I can't afford to lose it." "It's okay to lose it a little. Pretty sure you almost did on Helena." "She thinks Luke shits glitter. I just can't fucking stand that mentality. Just because you love someone doesn't mean they can't do fucked up things." "Tell me about it." "What do you mean?" Elle laughed, but it was devoid of humor. "You're not the only one with secrets, Campbell. Let's just say I know all too well that people can surprise you in the worst ways." But then they were home, and the conversation felt over. They stepped inside the home, and it just felt... different. Strange. So, this was the after in the before and after. Campbell looked at the pictures he'd left hanging on the walls. One was of him, Cassandra, Allie, and Sam when they were younger. Before. And now, now they were in the after, and he had to find some way to pretend like the word wasn't falling down around their heads. Like shit wasn't going to fall apart without her. "I need to go see Harry," Campbell said suddenly. "Now." Frowning, Elle sat down on a stool in the kitchen. "You haven't had breakfast. Why do you need to go see him?" "Because I'm ninety percent sure he knows who did it. Stay here." It was no secret that Harry disliked Cassandra. Hate was probably a strong word; they got along, sometimes, but their rivalry was the stuff of legends. Campbell knew that Harry would be the number one suspect. The fact was, though, that Harry didn't have the guts to do something like that. Harry had a big mouth and the usual rich boy complex, but he was also fragile. Not in the sense of his masculinity, but mentally. Emotionally. He was needy, hated to confront anything that was serious, and was a follower more than a leader. No. He didn't kill Cassandra, either. But he was friends with the guard, and was familiar with some other sniveling brats who had hated-- actually hated-- Cassandra. Clingy little cockroaches that hung around Harry for the drugs and booze, who thought Harry was something special and wanted to snap up little scraps of whatever shine he had left. Parasites. And because Harry craved attention, he let them hang on. One of them? One of them definitely did it. Campbell felt it in his gut. Harry's home looked like a garbage pit. Campbell walked right in, since apparently no one locked the door anymore, and stared at the sheer amount of crap laying around. Dirty dishes stacked up, clothes everywhere, clutter on every visible surface. The place smelled vaguely like garbage. No wonder Harry was freaking out. There was faint weeping coming from various corners of the house. News must have spread. Interesting, Campbell thought as he climbed the stairs, coming from people who had looked down on Cassandra and had made her a social pariah while she was alive. It would only be a matter of time before they started claiming that they had been her friends, or had admired her, or whatever drivel people said when someone they'd ignored for eighteen years suddenly died. Curled up in bed, Harry was wrapped in blankets like some sort of sentient burrito. There were a few other people there, whispering among themselves, but they scrambled out when Campbell walked in. Good. They didn't need an audience for this. "Hey. Rise and shine." Harry's voice was muffled. He didn't move. "Is it true?" "My sex tape is just a rumor. Oh, wait. Do you mean someone murdering Cassandra?" "Fuck you, Campbell." Peeling his blanket off, Harry sat up and burrowed his hand into his hands. "How the fuck can you joke at a time like this?" "Oh, Harry, it's cute that you think I'm being funny." "What--" But Harry didn't get a chance to finish whatever he was going to say. Campbell grabbed Harry by the shirt and hauled him out of bed, slamming him up against the support post in the middle of the room. Campbell pinned him, hard. "Who did it? Huh? Which one of your little groupies killed my cousin?" "I don't know! I don't know who did it, I swear!" "Bullshit, Harry! Use your goddamn brain. People don't just go shooting someone. Did anyone say something? Was someone pissed off at her?" Harry squirmed in his grip. "A lot of people were pissed off at her, Cam, including me. But no one said anything about..." Suddenly, Harry stopped struggling. His eyes widened as his body went slack. "Oh. Oh fuck." "What? What is it?" "I... Oh god, I didn't mean to." "Mean to what? Spit it the fuck out." "It was at the party I had before prom. We were all drunk already, and I just. I was mad, okay? I was mad and the guys were talking shit about Cassandra, and I just. I didn't mean it, but I said that if she were dead we'd have some peace and quiet." Fury moved through him faster than he could think, and oh he wanted to hurt Harry. His hands tightened on Harry's shoulders, and he felt that urge start to crest, but he could see the fear in Harry's eyes; it gave him just a split second of clarity. Campbell let go of Harry and turned his back to him, taking deep breaths. Back away, back away. Get out of the situation before that anger returned. "This conversation is over," he hissed between clenched teeth. "Get dressed. You're going to make a list of everyone who was there when you said that, and we're going to give that list to Gordie when we go to the funeral." Sinking onto his bed, Harry flinched as Campbell tossed him a pad of paper and a pen; he obeyed and began to scribble down names. In the meantime, Campbell began to clean up the garbage around Harry's bedroom. As pissed off as Campbell was, he knew Harry hadn't meant any harm to come to Cassandra, and Let's Clean Up Harry's Home! was a familiar way to blow off steam. If he crushed a few soda cans with his foot or threw the garbage into a bag a little harder than necessary when no one was looking, well, that was better than the alternative. He shouldn't have done what he did. Campbell knew that. Hurting Harry, scaring him, wouldn't solve anything. If something Harry said got Cassandra killed, it still hadn't been Harry's fault. Murder was a choice, just like shoving someone around was a choice. Fuck. He sighed as he took the trash outside, then came in and stood in the kitchen. His hand moved towards his phone on instinct; whenever he felt like this, like a tornado about to touch down, he would call Cassandra. For a tiny, tiny fraction of a second, he had forgotten. Cassandra had helped him learn to control his rage, and it usually worked, but now she was about to be put under a few feet of dirt. She'd never answer his calls again. Instead, he began washing the dishes. They needed to be scrubbed at that point, and it helped get rid of the remaining urge to break things. Soft footsteps came up behind him. Campbell could smell Harry's cologne, light and floral. Guilty, by Gucci. Fitting. He braced for some sort of fight, but Harry just rested his forehead against the back of Campbell's shoulder. Campbell sighed, but didn't shrug him off. What good would it do? Harry took a towel and began to dry the plates. They worked in silence, until Harry stared down at the towel in his hands and let out a heaving, rattling sigh. His eyes were red and puffy; maybe he hadn't hated Cassandra as much as he'd always pretended, after all, but it was too late for that now and they both knew it. "What do we do?" "Go to the funeral, say our goodbyes, and then wait." "Wait for what?" "To see how bad things get." "We're fucked, aren't we?" He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything. But maybe there was still a chance, if someone who knew what they were doing took control. Who? Campbell had no idea. His thoughts were running too fast to puzzle it out. He didn't want to talk anymore; he just wanted to get through the fucking day before whatever was keeping him held together fell apart. Setting the last dish down, Harry sunk down onto a kitchen chair and brought out a slip of paper from his pocket; he set it on the counter, and Campbell picked it up. Jason, Greg, Scott, Travis, Mark. A bunch of jerks, mostly. Travis was alright, and Jason seemed too much like a big doof to kill anyone, even if he was a creep. Campbell put the list in a pocket and gestured towards the door. "Come on. You're going with me." "What? No." "Yes, you are. You're gonna come over and hang with me and Elle for a while, and then we're all going to go. Being here moping isn't going to help either of us." Harry gave up in the end, like always, and followed Campbell home. Elle seemed surprised to see him, but they made a light lunch and sat around the living room doing their own things. Campbell played a video game, Elle read, Harry laid down and pretended to be a rock. Whatever. At least Campbell could keep an eye on him that way. Once it was close to noon, the three of them arrived at the church. They were almost at the door when Harry stopped, staring up at the door like a man about to be hanged. Campbell looked to Elle. "Hey, babe? Can you go inside and save us a seat?" Elle glanced between them, then nodded. He waited until she was inside before turning back to Harry. "What are you doing?" "I can't go in. Allie will be there. She'll think I did it." "She'll think that if you don't go in, too. Okay? Don't bail on me." Harry bit his bottom lip, but he didn't argue; he followed Campbell into the church without protest, keeping his head down and sticking close to Campbell. They made it a few paces in when Campbell spotted Will walking towards them, eyes narrowed and anger coming off him in waves. "You guys have a lot of balls," Will seethed. "Showing up here. We all know how you felt about Cassandra, Harry. You were super fucking clear." Campbell stepped between him and Harry, holding firm. "Will, don't do this." "You think you have any room to speak? You, you pointed a fucking gun at her. Both of you, get out. Now." "Go to hell. I'm family. I loved Cassandra, and I'm not leaving." Will's voice raised to a growling shout. "Get the fuck out!" Before Campbell could speak, Gordie zipped up and grabbed Will by the shoulder. "What the hell is going on? What are you doing, Will?" "Taking out the trash." "Isn't this bad enough already?" "Allie doesn't need to see them here." Campbell pulled the list of names from his jacket, holding it up to Gordie. "Harry and I came up with a list of guys that were shittalking Cassandra at his party the night she was killed. Brought it as a peace offering." Will opened his mouth, then stopped. He looked back and forth between them, then over to Gordie, who took the paper and read it over. Gordie gave Will a look, and Will let out a short, quick breath. "Fine. But you don't talk to Allie." That wasn't going to be a problem. Campbell put a hand on Harry's back and guided him to where Elle was sitting; she took Campbell's hand as he sat between her and Harry, and he squeezed it. Luckily, no one else spoke to any of them. Campbell didn't need the confrontation. He didn't want it. Allie walked to the front of the church and cleared her throat. Whatever small amount of talking there had been quieted down. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, but to her credit, she managed to keep it held to together. "My sister, Cassandra, was good," she started. "She was a good person. She was captain of the debate team. You didn't want to argue with her." There were a few scattered laughs. Even Allie managed a tiny smile. But then she continued, and that smile turned into a darker expression, and her composed mask crumbled. "Who did this? Huh?" She looked around the room. Her gaze briefly stopped on Harry. "Who shot my sister? Why did you do that? We needed her!" she shouted. Allie began to cry, and Will came up to lead her off the stage. "I needed her!" Campbell bowed his head at that last wrenching, despondent wail. No one else spoke, and after a few minutes, the guard gathered at the front of the church. Cassandra's body lay there. "We thought we'd give people a few minutes to come say goodbye," Grizz said softly. "In case it'd help anyone." A few wandered up and formed a small line. Sam was one of the last; Campbell stood and walked down the aisle, ignoring the glares and whispers around him. Sam gave Campbell a grateful look as he approached and stood at his side. They went up together. Someone had pulled back the sheet Cassandra's body was wrapped in, just enough to catch a glimpse of her face. She was pale, eyes closed, clean of blood. "She looks peaceful," Sam signed. "Like she's sleeping." Campbell lifted his hands to sign back, but they just fluttered there uselessly. "She's free from pain now," he finally managed to sign. He leaned down and kissed Cassandra's forehead, his touch lingering for just one more moment before he turned and headed back to his seat without a word. If he opened his mouth again, he had no idea what would happen. The guard waited a moment, then wrapped the body back up and carried her out to the yard. She was buried next to Emily, with nothing but a crude wooden cross marking her final resting place. Cassandra would have laughed at the irony. Campbell wasn't laughing. "Eternal rest, grant her O Lord," Helena spoke, "and let perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen." Some of the others echoed the amen. Biting his tongue, Campbell resisted the urge to just scream. Elle took his hand as they headed home, her eyebrows knitted together in worry as they walked in silence. When they returned home, Campbell took off his jacket and threw it onto the sofa. "Fuck, what a joke. She would have hated that shit," he said as he ran his hands through his hair. "She hated Christianity." "I think it was more for everyone else." "Must have been, because goddamn Helena didn't even ask what Cassandra believed or would have wanted." Campbell couldn't sit still. He needed to move. He needed to get the feeling in his body out of it. "You know, when she was younger and thought about dying, she talked about how she wanted her funeral to be. She wanted to be cremated and scattered at the ocean. She wanted Beatles music, and for people to dance. She..." Tears made his vision swim, and suddenly that wall that he'd been keeping up all day crumbled. He'd barely cried his entire fucking life, and now it was the second, third time since they'd arrived in their new hellscape. Weak. He was going weak, and if he did, how could he protect anyone? The one good thing about his fucked up brain had been that he could disconnect at will. And this, he couldn't make it stop. All he could do was stand there and sob, like the night he thought his disorder would push people away. Now reality set in even harder-- the people closest to him could die, and he truly would be alone, no matter how good or bad he was. It wasn't fair. It wasn't the least bit fair. Sudden pressure on his arm made Campbell yank back. "Don't fucking touch me!" he snapped, his head immediately going to when his father would grab him whenever Campbell would cry as a child. But then he stopped, remembering where he was and with who, and he felt a new wave of grief at the stunned look on Elle's face. "Elle, I'm sorry." "I didn't mean to upset you." "No, no. It's not your fault. I'm just... I need a moment." Campbell went upstairs and shut the door. He picked up his pillow and just stopped fighting it; he hit it against the wall, punched it, cursing his head off at it. He kept going until his arms and throat were sore, and he was curled up in the bed, hugging the pillow and shaking. She was dead, gone, buried, and the one person who understood and accepted him completely had been stolen from him. From her entire family. Something that happened every day, he knew, but it had never happened to him. Not in any way that had mattered. It wasn't even two o'clock, but he was already more tired than he could ever remember being in his life. He heard the door click open, and a moment later, the mattress dipped behind him. Elle nestled against his back; she didn't touch him exactly, but she was there, and her presence soothed some little part of him. "We'll find the person who did this, Campbell," she said as he dozed off. "Sooner or later, someone will slip up." "Yeah, and when we do, I'm going to make the fucker suffer." He was asleep before he could feel Elle stiffen, just a little.

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wroughtbetwixtfanfic · 5 years

Text

Stamped Into Memory, Ch 2.

Fandom: The Society.

Rating: Mature.

Word Count: 4307

Ch 1 || AO3

Life tried to go back to normal. At least, whatever normal had been before. It wasn't working. It had been days, close to a week. No one was doing anything. The food staff wasn't coming in on time, or at all, from what Campbell heard. Garbage was rotting on the roadsides. Campbell tried to go out and do what he could; it was what Cassandra would have wanted, and it kept his mind occupied, but it was just too much. The last job he'd had according to the charts had been clean up, but people were making messes faster than the messes could be managed.

Most days, Campbell ended up as Cassandra's grave. He'd clean away the leaves and dirt, make sure the candles were lit, and check for vandalism. No one had dared to do anything. Probably because Campbell stayed and tried to get his head clear. He couldn't talk to her, not yet, but just feeling close to her was enough to soothe some of the terrible ache in his chest. Elle was one of the few people actually going to work, and Harry was holed up in his house, so it wasn't like Campbell could distract himself with them. Even when Elle was home, it was like there was some wall between them. She slept in her own room and barely spoke. Well, maybe it was grief. Everyone processed it differently. And now, everyone seemed on edge. Stressed out. Suspicious. It was hard enough to deal with when it was a freak accident, but now there was a murderer in their midst. Campbell couldn't blame Elle for needing some time to think things through, so he went about his work and figured she'd talk to him when she was ready. Besides. It gave him time to try and get his mood under control. Not that it was working well. The smallest things felt like mountains, and little shit he hadn't cared about before set him off; he'd kept his fists to himself so far, but only because Campbell redirected his anger. Someone ran into him at lunch one day, and Campbell ended up putting a hole in the drywall of the hallway because he just wanted to make something break. At home, he tried to make breakfast but it had burned, and he'd ended up throwing the plate against a wall. "I'm sorry," Campbell said when Elle rushed in to see what had happened. "I'll clean it up. I just..." But he couldn't finish that sentence. There was no excuse, so what was the point in trying to make one? He shouldn't have done it. Elle said nothing. She brought him a broom, and Campbell cleaned up the mess as promised. They ate breakfast in silence, hugged at the door, and went about their days. Campbell hadn't even gotten to work, though, when his phone rang. Dillon was on the other end of the line, his voice strained. "Hey, Campbell? You told me to contact you if I noticed anything weird with Harry." "Yeah?" "Something's weird. He's just laying out by the pool. Kelly came to see him and she left looking pissed. He hasn't moved in hours." "I'll be there." Campbell hung up the phone and changed route. This was a mess, too, and a far more urgent one than hauling food scraps to the dump. Dillon let him inside and gestured to the pool, his expression more than a little concerned. Campbell went alone. Harry was laying on his stomach, hand in the pool water and tracing shapes in the dark green water; there was a scum forming on the surface of the water, and garbage floating in it. Disgusting. "You're gonna get a disease from that water," Campbell said, using the toe of his shoe to tap at the bottom on Harry's foot. "Get out of there." Harry rolled over and sat up. His pupils were huge, and the smile he gave Campbell was a little too sedate. "Two visitors in one day. Lucky me." "What are you on?" "I don't remember." Campbell sighed and grabbed Harry by the arm, hauling him up and sitting him on a pool chair. "You can't do this, Harry." He brushed the dirty off Harry's face and clothes. "You can't keep getting fucked up and letting yourself drown." "Why not? Maybe I should." "Do you honestly mean that?" "I dunno. Maybe." Sitting down, Campbell let Harry lean against him. "Do you really feel like killing yourself? Be serious with me." He stroked Harry's back when Harry gave a tiny, quick nod. "Alright. Look, you're coming back to the house with me. Just for a few days. There's the guest room left over, and you're taking it." If Harry had been planning to argue again, he decided not to. Campbell didn't know much on how to help people, but he knew that back when he wanted to hurt himself, it was Harry and Cassandra who help keep him going. Being around a bunch of snippy people cluttering up his space wouldn't make Harry feel better. Campbell followed Harry back inside and helped him gather some of his things; it was more than a few days worth, and Campbell wondered if Harry already had a hunch that he wouldn't be coming back any time soon. Before they left, Harry stopped by his sister's room and picked up a framed photo of the two of them, and a weird stuffed toy. "She loved those goddamn Ugly Dolls. I got it for her for her birthday," Harry mumbled. "It was her favorite thing." "Don't talk like she's dead, okay?" "What if she is?" Campbell shook his head. There was nothing he could say, because he had no idea what was true or not, and trying to convince Harry that everything would be fine was a waste of breath. All he could do was take him back to the house and help him unpack. The guest room was downstairs and overlooked the garden; it was quiet and beautiful, and with any luck it'd bring Harry some sort of peace. The one thing that concerned Campbell in all of this was Elle. He hadn't asked her about letting Harry move in, but she'd been supportive before of Campbell trying to help him. Elle came home not too long after, with a few other girls walking with her. Campbell was sitting on the front steps, waiting, and preparing in his head some big long speech about what was going on and why Harry needed to be there. "Is everything okay?" Elle asked, tilting her head as she approached. "You look worried." Campbell stood and came over to kiss her on the hair. "I am, a little. Harry's been having a rough time, so I told him he could stay with us for a few days." "Oh. Well, we have the room." "We do." "It should be good, right? Will it help you, having a friend around?" It was a good question. Campbell had only known that if Harry killed himself, Campbell would be out two of the three most important people in his life. He couldn't just let that happen. But Elle was right. Campbell had been a mess, and the idea of Harry being close did make him feel a bit more comforted. "Yeah, I think so." "I'm glad." Elle kissed his cheek. "I should go say hi, then." Thankfully, the two seemed to get along once they actually shared the same space for more than five minutes. Harry, when he was alone and away from obnoxious so-called friends, was quiet and placating; Elle was introverted, but kind. Campbell made dinner while they kept him company, and once Harry lowered his guard and sobered up a bit, it was the first nice evening Campbell could remember having since Cassandra died. But then Campbell noticed something... odd. Elle was avoiding him. Campbell had brushed it off as being upset, before, but as the first week of chaos oozed into week two it became obvious that something was off. She slept in her own room, spoke less, and took more shifts to the point that she was only home in the evenings. She flinched sometimes, or would give him a strange look that almost was appraising. Like she was trying to decide something, but couldn't figure it out. Was it because of his behavior? Campbell considered it, and decided it had to be. He knew he'd been more moody lately, but he had tried hard to make sure he hadn't hit any walls or thrown anything. Still. Had he scared her? Campbell went to work and mulled it over, and decided he'd talk to Elle that night; if something was wrong, it'd be better to get it out in the open sooner rather than later, wouldn't it? He knew there were rumors going around that he'd killed Cassandra, or knew who did. Kyle, apparently grateful for the wheelchair ramps that had sprung up around town after Campbell's suggestion, had let him in on that not-so-secret secret. Emily was friends with Gwen and Lexie, and she'd told him the two had been whispering about it. Elle worked with Emily and Lexie in the kitchen sometimes. It was a little suspicious. But Elle believed him. Didn't she? "Do you think I'm capable of murder?" Campbell asked Harry when he got back home, bringing Harry a cup of tea. "Honest answers, please." Harry was wrapped up in a blanket, huddled in bed still with a five-day shadow. He sipped the tea, considering, then shook his head. "Come here." "What?" "Come here. Come on." Campbell flopped into bed next to Harry, startled when Harry tossed half of the blanket over him. "What are you doing?" "Trust me. Just stay there for a few minutes." It was stuffy, but some combination of darkness and the weight of the blanket helped Campbell relax a little. He didn't remember feeling tired, but Campbell woke up a bit later, groggy but far less jittery than he'd felt before. Crawling out from the blankets, Campbell blinked at Harry, who was laying next to him and staring up at the ceiling. "Is that why you're in here all day?" Campbell wondered. "You're tired?" "A little. I feel tired all the time. My body hurts. But also, I just don't want to be conscious, so sleeping takes care of that." "Ever considered trading in the partying for an antidepressant?" "Sometimes." Campbell sat there for a moment, watching Harry. He wanted to offer some sort of comfort, but he didn't know how. Instead, he got up and headed to the kitchen to make dinner before Elle got home. Boxed mac and cheese wasn't anything super fancy, but Harry liked it, and he needed to eat; it didn't need to be fancy, it just had to have calories. Campbell made some frozen vegetables to go on the side. He knew they should go eat at the cafeteria like Cassandra had wanted for everyone. If he could just get Harry back on his feet... Elle came through the door a little bit after everything was ready. "Hey," she greeted. "That smells good. I smuggled home dessert." Dessert was, as it turned out, Twinkies that Elle had snagged when no one was looking. Not an honest move, but it seemed to boost morale with all three of them, so who could complain? Campbell poked around at his food while Elle and Harry discussed what was going on outside. It was nights like this that Campbell wondered if he was imagining things. Everything appeared to be normal. Happy, calm. After dinner, Elle took a shower and was doing her night routine when Campbell wandered in, hoping she was in a good enough mood to talk a little. "How was today?" "Weird. Bad." Elle rubbed some sort of serum on her face. Turning around, she leaned against the sink and crossed her arms over her chest. "Do you know Brandon?" "Eggles? I had to knock a lot of sense into that one. He's a loser. What did he do?" "He was walking around today with a gun hanging out of his pants, like it was no big deal." Campbell stepped closer and settled on the counter next to her. She looked down at the floor, but not before Campbell saw the taut expression on her face. "You're scared of him." "We all are. Shit, Campbell, we're scared of everyone. People have been walking around in packs. A bunch of us walk together at night now, and we're always looking over our shoulder. It's terrifying." "You could have called me to come get you." "I didn't want to bother you." Since when would it have bothered him? Campbell held his tongue, because he knew before he asked that he hadn't been the best company since the shooting. "I know I've been irritable lately, and I'm sorry. I'm not dealing with the loss. But I can't lose you too, Elle. Let me protect you." "That's such a guy thing to say." "Look, don't be that way. It's not a bother to walk you home. I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you." Elle pushed off the counter and brushed past him to go out the door. He followed, but she always kept a few paces ahead of him, and moved so that the bed was between them. "You can't promise me that," she said. Her eyes held a cold sort of anger he'd never seen from anyone before. "You can't promise me something like that, unless you know something I don't." "What does that mean?" "Some of the girls were talking, and--" "Everyone in this town talks!" he interrupted, his voice rising. Campbell took a breath and forced himself to speak calmly. "They all accuse me of shit, they always have. You know I didn't do it. You said you believed me." "I had to lie for you." "So what? I told you what happened." "You were with me all night. That's what I'll tell them if people start poking around. You were with me when it happened, so you couldn't have pulled the trigger." Campbell felt his stomach drop. "But?" "You've been acting strange, Campbell. It worries me." And there it was. Campbell tried to find something to say, some words that would convince her completely, but he knew there weren't any. He could see it on her face that someone had said something. Someone had turned her against him, or tried to. And wasn't it his own fault, for it being so easy to believe? "Elle, I promise you, I had nothing to do with what happened." Elle stared at him, then seemed to deflate. She pushed her face into her hands, and let out an unsteady sigh. "I need to go to bed. I'm really tired." "Hey." This time, when he stepped forward, Elle didn't move away. Campbell curled his arms around her and gently kissed her temple. "Let's go out and get lunch tomorrow, okay? Just you and me. We can talk about this once you've had some sleep." She nodded, leaning against him for a moment before pulling away and going to her room. Campbell lay in his own bed, eyes trained on the ceiling as he tried to convince himself to sleep. There had to be a way to fix this. Maybe if he just found someone else to talk to... Harry wasn't an option, and neither was Sam. He had no right going to Sam and exoect mental health advice. But maybe Grizz? Grizz seemed level headed, and maybe he knew some way to get better. Not that it'd do much good, if Elle didn't want to fix things. But after a long, sleepless night, and a long morning of getting Harry comfortable and fed, Elle showed up from her morning work shift right at lunch. She was waiting by the cafeteria door, and she smiled faintly when Campbell arrived. They didn't say much. At least, not until they got to their table. Once they sat down and got comfortable, both of them tried to talk at once. "You first," Campbell offered. Elle toyed with her little carton of milk. She tried to to open it, but of course they never opened quite right. "I just remember what Cassandra said, when we had the meeting with just us girls. And Blake," she added. Blake had come out as genderqueer the year before. "And saying it was just a matter of time before someone got raped. But you know, she got murdered instead. And I just... Nothing feels safe anymore." "And I made that worse." "Honestly? Yeah." "Do you really think that I'd ever hurt you?" "How am I supposed to know? You've beaten other people up. I mean how long is it before you..." Elle trailed off, stabbing her knife into her milk carton and prying it open. She didn't have to finish that sentence. He knew what she was thinking. "I just don't want to be scared." "Is there anything I can do to fix this? I can read some self-help books, or something. I can leave for a few days." "Leave?" "Until I get my shit together again. I can do it." Campbell knew how it sounded. He knew I'll change I swear and just give me another chance usually never worked out, but what other option was there? It wasn't to late. He'd always thought that he'd done pretty damn good, all things considered, but he could be better. "I want to be better, for you." Elle started to reply, when a loud bang rang out through the cafeteria and people began to scream. Campbell dove at Elle and snatched her wrist, pulling her under the table. He couldn't see what was happening, but he could hear two voices yelling. Their best bet was to figure a way out and run. But it was an open area, and he didn't know if the shooter was between them and the exits or not. Was it worth the risk of getting shot? Suddenly, the fire alarm went off. A horrible move. There was a stampede as everyone rushed towards the doors. Campbell covered Elle as best as he could as a wave of people rushed by; they tucked into a ball on their sides, and Campbell covered Elle's head. Once there was a safe opening, they both bolted out from under the table and made a break for it. He kept a hold of her so they wouldn't get separated; there was an exit out the staff room that most people didn't know about, and Campbell led them out through it. They made it outside and kept running until they reached home. "Fuck," Elle gasped at they stopped in the front yard. Campbell had never heard her curse much, but Elle was shaking hard and clinging to his shirt as a long string of expletives followed the first. "This can't keep fucking happening." Campbell held her tight, stroking her back. "No, it can't. Are you hurt?" "No, I'm okay. Just pissed." "Would you be okay staying here with Harry? I need to go find Allie and Sam." "Yeah. Text me." Kissing her hair, Campbell waited for her to get inside and lock the door before heading out on his own. Where are you, he texted to Sam. Are you and Allie okay? Sam answered within the minute. Everyone's safe. We're home. Are you okay? Is Elle okay? We're just shaken up. Where are you? Heading over. Campbell locked his phone before Sam could text back and tell him not to show up. He had to talk to Allie, now, before things got any worse. Something had to be done to get the town back on track. Of course she would be grieving, he understood that, but there'd be more dead to bury soon if someone didn't take control. Knocking on the door of Cassandra's... Allie's home, Campbell was surprised when Grizz opened the door. "Where's Allie?" "Not a good time, Campbell." "And it won't be for a while. Seriously, let me talk to her." "About?" "About who's taking over for Cassandra. As much as I love the whole Survivor vibe going on out there, it's going to get people killed." Grizz frowned. He glanced over his shoulder, and Campbell could see Luke, Sam, and some others sitting at a table behind him. "We've been talking about that, actually." Stepping outside, Grizz closed the door behind him and lowered his voice. "Finding someone to take over and enforce the rules." "Yeah? And who have you come up with?" "Nobody. The only ones here who actually know what they're doing would just have a big target on their back anyways. You know what this town is like. No one's gonna listen to Will or Gordie. Don't suppose you know anyone who'd be interested?" The problem was image, and social context. Wheels started turning in his head, dark thoughts dancing along them. Campbell had ideas that Cassandra had never gotten around to implementing, things he could get done, but he'd need a pretty face to present them to the crowd. Harry would have been ideal for that, but Harry was too low and he would be challenged for sure. Why Harry? What right did he have to step in? The only way Harry would get in would be if he got on his feet and looked like an ideal alternative. It was clear who should take over, for the time being; if she sunk the ship, it'd be all too easy for Campbell to arrange things to his liking. And if she did a good job, well, there'd be no need to interfere. Either way, win. "Allie," Campbell said. "It has to be Allie." Grizz walked over and herded Campbell a few paces away from the house. He leaned closer, whispering. "Do you think she'll go for it? I mean, we all know that Cassandra was the serious one. Allie's just... different." "She won't want to, but she has to. It makes sense for her to. If anyone else tries to grab for power right now, it'll just be a bloodbath. If she steps up, she has a reason to. She's shadowed Cassandra enough, she knows how things go. People will pity her. That'll last just long enough for her to get her feet under her." "How do we convince her?" "Do you know anything about anger management?" Grizz scratched his head. "Wait, what does that have to do with anything?" After Campbell just stood there tapping his foot, Grizz tossed his hands up in the air a bit. "Yeah, yeah. I guess. I mean, I had some social stuff growing up I had to learn on my own. I was really into Jung for a while. Why?" "She'll take the idea better from you guys anyways, so I'll tell you how to convince her if you help me figure out how to deal with all this shit before I lose Elle." "Who says you're gonna lose Elle?" "The hole I punched in the wall at school." "Oh. Oh, well, uh. I can try. Yeah. Yeah, I'll do it." "Fantastic." Campbell peered up at the house to make sure no one was listening through any of the windows. "Cassandra wasn't just her sister. She was everything. When Sam got sick, me, I got anger and bitter. Allie got protective. Allie would have given anything, done anything. She would have traded her own life for Cassandra. Use that sense of duty." "That feels so underhanded." "In case you haven't noticed, underhanded is my thing." Rubbing the back of his neck, Grizz sighed. "Why do I feel like I just shook hands with the devil?" Campbell smiled. "I'll talk to you soon?" Grizz gave him a tiny mock salute before retreating into the house. Sam was coming to the door just as Grizz was trying to go in; they looked at each other a moment, and Campbell smirked at the little blush that came over them both as they scooted past each other. Cute. "What?" Sam signed, catching the amusement on Campbell's face. "Stop that." "Nothing. I was just going. Happy you didn't get trampled, bro." "Don't go. I miss you. I don't want something bad to happen, and have this be the last we remember of each other." "And I don't want that either, Sam." Campbell kicked at a little patch of grass. Might as well explain as best as he could, before one of them got shot next. "But I did what I did to try and keep you safe, okay? I get it. I do. But we've always butted heads, and I think it's better for you if we keep our distance a bit longer. I want to keep you safe from me." "That's fine." Not what Campbell expected to hear, but the look on Sam's face-- calm, determined-- seemed to say he meant it. "Take whatever time you need. I understand. But I'm not asking to come back home. I just want to be able to see you. You're the only brother I have." "And you're not worried I'm some killer?" Campbell scoffed when Sam didn't reply. Really? Here they were, having the you're my only brother talk, and the kid couldn't even say he thought Campbell was innocent? "Right. Figures." He started to walk away, but arms wrapped around him from behind; Sam hugged him hard, burrowing his cheek against Campbell's back. Campbell turned, hugging Sam back. When they pulled away, Sam looked sadder than Campbell had remembered seeing him in a while. Campbell ruffled Sam's hair; Sam went back inside without another word. Campbell watched his back for a moment before turning towards home. Small steps forward were better than nothing.

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