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henriiiii-1001old · 1 year

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i need. i need to write this out. its short canon-based fic that's like. basically spoilers but i neeeeeeeEEEEEEEEd to write this

fic/technical spoilers under the cut

He couldn’t believe it. His slumped figure, the uncanny features of what used to be his face, his screams… Adam Murray, one of the most wanted criminals by the FBI to date, was one of them?

Thatcher, body laying on his side on the carpeted floor of the suspect’s bedroom, stared in utter shock and horror at the criminal’s screaming state, his eyes and mouth misshaped to the point he couldn’t be recognized as who he was before. He had witnessed someone’s humanity being stripped away from them. Just like his had in previous years.

Thatcher put down the camera and slid himself to a nearby wall to recover properly. His hands reached for the popcorn texture and pushed himself up, all while trying to think of some way he could calm the boy, or, if needed, neutralize the threat. He didn’t seem like a threat, however. The voice beckoning to this place had certainly not wanted to lure him for the sake of getting killed. Whoever called him here wanted him to witness someone else’s pain, to test him in his willingness to actually help others. And he gladly took that challenge.

“Murray, kid,” Thatcher tried to speak, his voice raspy from having woken up only a mere thirty minutes ago. “I… What the hell’s going on?”

“JUST LET ME DIIIiIiiEeEEE!!!!!!!!!” he screamed, the pain clear as day through his voice. He tried moving his slacked arms, sluggishly grabbing his jaw and hair in his separate hands, pulling on both of them simultaneously. He even began whispering and mumbling for the Lieutenant to “just kill him,” pleading for the sweet release of the pain he had been enduring.

Thatcher swallowed his fears and began approaching the alternate, hands hovering over the gun he had brought for protection. As much as he knew he couldn’t kill those things, it was a good distraction in case things had to get violent. He’d survived one before, what’s another?

He inched his way toward Adam, the suspect trying to crumple himself into a ball as a way to mitigate his suffering. All the while, he was still screaming at the top of his lungs. His footsteps were quiet so as to not alarm the suffering boy in front of him. His limbs had been stretched out to an impossible length as well as being skinny enough that he’d die right there and then if he were truly human. At this point, Thatcher was sure that everything he thought about Adam was a complete lie.

There was one thing on his mind as he stepped ever closer: does Sarah know? Does his ex know? Does anyone else know?

Once Thatcher had felt he had been able to get close enough, he bent down to Adam’s level, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to him. Slowly but surely, he had placed a soft hand against the disfigured kid’s knee. Adam tried lifting his head but decided he didn’t want to due to how much it would hurt for someone else to see him like this. Thatcher knew it too.

Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around the crying mess, ignoring how liquid the skin felt, how flexible it was now. It became goo in his hands as he tried gripping onto Adam for dear life, not wanting to let him go until he’d calmed himself down. Adam began to shift around a bit before uncurling himself, albeit in a very strained manner. Thatcher noticed this attempt and slightly backed away, still keeping his hands attached to Adam in an attempt of comfort.

“Why… aren’t you running…?” Adam asked, the soft whisper of his voice almost not reaching the officer’s ears. “Did… why? Why are you here?”

“That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is making sure you’re okay,” Thatcher responded in the same tone of voice as to not scare him. He had a gut feeling that him breaking down is why he’s all discombobulated. “Take some breaths with me, and hold on tight if you need to.”

With those remarks, Thatcher softly embraced Adam once more, Adam slowly returning his gesture this time. Thatcher could feel Adam’s melting hands searching for some sort of grip on him, finally setting on holding his hair a little too tight for Thatcher’s comfort. Thatcher decided to ignore the pain in favor of helping Adam in the best way he could. He leaned his head backwards to alleviate some of it at least, but it truly wasn’t his main focus at the present moment.

“Take some breaths, kid. Please,” Thatcher whispered. He began to breathe deeply, in and out, in a stable pattern to model to Adam. Adam struggled at first, the snot being sniffled back up his nose and tears running endlessly down his face - or was it blood -, but eventually finding a pattern that worked for him best. His skin began to solidify in the process - not fully, but it was definitely better than before. Adam finally found more grip in his hands and removed his hands from Thatcher’s hair to settle on his back instead.

“I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry,” Adam repeated quietly, half hoping that Thatcher wouldn't hear. Or at least that’s what he theorized.

“Don’t ever apologize,” Thatcher firmly, but gently, stated, pulling away from the boy softly. “You needed help, and that’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Adam looked up at Thatcher, finally. His eyes and mouth had changed back into a normal, stable state along with the rest of his limbs. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his lips quivered, and his entire body simply shook from the mere shock, pain, and horror of it all.

“Am I… Are…” Adam mumbled. He looked at his hands and flexed them a few times, unsure of if he had returned to his former self or not. “Am I real?”

“If that’s supposed to mean ‘are you normal again’ then yes, you are,” Thatcher chuckled. “However, if you’re truly questioning whether or not you’re real, then the answer is still yes. I have tons of records on you back at the station if you need proof.”

Adam chuckled softly, trying to hide his amusement in Thatcher’s words. He stared at the ground for a few moments, and Thatcher joined him. They sat in complete, awkward silence, though that silence might have been necessary.

“You need a place to stay? Or someone to stay here with you for the night? I don’t want you to be by yourself tonight. Maybe not even for the next few days. And we don’t have to talk about this right now. I understand.”

Adam nodded and began tearing up once more, lunging at Thatcher with a more enthusiastic hug. Thatcher immediately complied.

“Thank you… I’m so sorry you had to deal with this-”

“Hey, again, don’t apologize.”

Adam nodded in Thatcher’s shoulder. He had longed for physical contact for a good while, and this was the best chance he’d ever get at it. Thatcher felt it as Adam tried to get even closer to him, pulling on him even harder and even trying to nuzzle his shoulder just to get that extra sense of physical feeling. A sense of comfort and safety. A sense of humanity.

“I don’t wanna stay here,” Adam spoke up, his voice slightly muffled by the officer’s shoulder. “I need to get out of here…”

“I got you covered. Not too comfortable bringing you to my place due to… circumstances, but we can just head over to the station. I should have something there to make us comfortable.”

Adam nodded and gave a verbal indicator through hums. Thatcher slightly separated from Adam to help him stand, walking him out of the house and to his car. He led him to the passenger seat and let himself get comfortable. After he gently closed the door, he walked over to the driver’s seat, got comfortable, started the car, and drove as fast as he could to get them both out of there.

Thatcher wasn’t sure what to do the next morning, but whatever it was it would be taking care of this damn kid. He already lost his parents, and he’s not gonna let it happen again.

#mandela catalogue #the mandela catalogue #thatcher davis #adam murray #mandela catalogue spoilers #mandela catalyst spoilers #WOOOOO THIS WAS LOOOOOOOONG #OKAY #i didnt expect to write this much i am so sorry FVGBHNJM #face horror trigger #body horror trigger #panic attack trigger #dadtcher #<- thats it i have a new tag for thatcher #specifically when he's in dad mode bc fuck you #a2t #station writeups #<- new tag babeyyyyy

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froggyworlds · 1 year

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didn't mean for this to turn into TMC fanfiction but here we are. tw for dissociation, allusions to suicide/self harm, etc. basically all the canon-typical stuff

also somewhat spoilers for mandela catalyst!! because. because yeah.

A few weeks ago, you saw something at the gas station. One of the ones you see everywhere, even outside of the county, it wasn't locally-owned or anything.

It was just sitting there. It blinked at you.

Half-shadow.

Little sister, so afraid.

You go home and try to put it out of your mind.

There's a hole in your chest where a heart's supposed to be. It'd been gouged out one too many times by too many people you thought you could trust, friends and family members and the fucking police. You mentally check off a name on your checklist. One more bites the dust. Or the bullet, rather. Or whatever the hell it was. Not like you know.

Evelin doesn't know anything, either. That's the only new information you can gather. Evelin doesn't know anything. How does she not know anything? That idiot was her boyfriend.

Maybe she's hiding something. You two barely know each other, it's not out of the question. Not like you'd just go around handing out your trust to random people, either. But there's a feeling gnawing on you, on the place where your heart used to be, that there aren't a lot of potential allies left.

Something went off. A spark. A catalyst. It burns like bleach in the back of your throat, like snow freezing around your limbs, claws closing around your neck, like a bullet in the side of your head, a knife through your eye socket, a rope hastily tied into a noose in your hands, curling like tangled coils of television static in the back of your mind.

He's gone, he's gone, he's gone.

There aren't a lot of potential allies left.

But you can't trust anyone.

They're either deceptive monsters or they'll be stupid enough to get caught that it doesn't matter what their intentions were.

"Fuck," you heave from somewhere deep within, falling back onto your stupid, springy mattress and holding your face in your hands. Just for the sake of it, you say it again. Not like God's listening. If anything, He's probably dead. "Fuck."

Less than two minutes later, you're in your car - not the van, the van is missing, Adam and Jonah went out and died and didn't bother to bring it back - en route to one of your potential allies.

She worked with screens for long enough, maybe she's competent. You have to hope. She's better than your other singular alternative.

Alternate.

You want to throw up.

You stop on the side of the road and do just that, because who fucking cares anymore? Everything around you feels like it's tinged with greyscale static. Just pressing your hand against the car door feels like pressing your fingers against a television screen. You want to sink into it.

No, I don't. You pull back, shaking your head, trying to get rid of that feeling like cobwebs sticking your joints in place, latching to your tendons and gently tugging- it's only a tug, for now. You pretend you don't notice it and climb back into the driver's seat.

You don't have a GPS in this vehicle, and you don't have a paper map. But in case of an emergency you have a vague idea of where you're going and that's good enough for now.

Please still be alive. With how things are going - with Dave dead, and Jonah dead, and Adam probably dead - you wouldn't be entirely surprised if Evelin, too, had somehow miraculously found a way to die before you get there.

Maybe she'll just be gone. Maybe you'll wander in and the house will be empty and somehow strangely dusty and nothing will happen and you'll leave again. Maybe you'll never hear from anyone again. Maybe you'll see it there. Maybe it will follow you home. Maybe the solitude will kill you. Maybe there'll be blood splattered on the walls, maybe her body will be right there in the hallway. Maybe this is all a dream. Maybe this is going to change everything forever. Maybe it won't.

You're changed, too, you know.

Blood roars in your ears. It sounds like it's trying to tell you something, but the meanings are vague and the words are lost between the wails and screams and shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up!

This is probably what M.A.D. is, right? This dizzy feeling, like your thoughts are being rattled around in a tight aluminum cage that grates painfully sharp on every soft edge. The inside of your brain feels like it's filled with papercuts. You grit your teeth and keep driving, half the mind given to calling ahead. If she doesn't pick up, it'll save you a lot of trouble and potentially an encounter.

Hands reach out from doorways and call your name. You close your eyes for a moment before realizing you're still on the road, and driving with your eyes closed is a surefire way to end up like almost everybody else.

"Adam's dead, isn't he."

It comes out of your mouth and you're half surprised when you say it. You were toying with the idea in your mind, the concept of Adam being dead, unsure if he really was or not. But it makes sense. No human would send you the kind of shit he had, not unless they were completely out of their mind and probably about to kill themselves anyways. Guess you made up your mind about that, then.

You're not out of your mind, are you?

You, Sarah Heathcliff, founder of the Bythorne Paranormal Society, younger sister of Mark Heathcliff, skipper of stones across the creek in your backyard when you were six, and a billion other titles of small things and big things and important things and-

Fuck. You are. You're losing it. That's just great. What a lovely way to end the week. Someone will ask you "Oh, how was your new year, Dear?" and you'll have to respond "It wasn't too great, actually, y'know. Two of my friends died and an alternate posing as one of them gave me M.A.D. Mmm, no, I'd say it wasn't too great at all."

You pull over on the side of the road, knots tying in your stomach as you grab your phone and, with a few jerky motions, punch in what you hope is the right phone number. The little buttons make a beep! noise with each press, so you know the thing's working. There's a little ringtone, and the call rings, and rings a little longer, and eventually rings through completely and goes to voicemail.

Maybe she is dead.

You toss the phone on the seat across from you in frustration. You can't get into the apartment building she lives in without someone opening the door, so there goes that entire-

Riing.

You freeze mid-thought. There's a heartbeat where you wonder if your ears are playing tricks on you, where you wonder if this is part of the symptoms of M.A.D. or if-

Riing.

Nope. Definitely not hearing things. You can't even stop yourself from thinking Thank God before fumbling for your phone again and answering. A female voice on the other end immediately pipes up.

"Hello?"

Your throat goes dry.

"Seriously. Did you call me or am I just going nuts?"

"I can't say whether you're losing your shit or not because I think the same thing's happening to me, but I did actually ring for you. This is Evelin, right?"

A pause. Some shuffling. Not suspicious at all, nope, of course not. When Evelin speaks again, her voice sounds a little strained. "Yep."

At that, there's another voice in the background. You can't quite make out what he's saying, but it's familiar, down to the little rasp at the end.

Anger, hot like melting wax, thrums through your veins. Is that Thatcher Davis? That pathetic, wet cat of an excuse for a police officer?! Is Evelin hanging out with the COPS now?!

"What the fuck was that?"

There's another pause from the other end. "Uh. Actually, I was just about to call you. Things are getting... heated."

"Heated," you echo, raising an eyebrow even while knowing full well she can't see your face. Heated, like the bubbling, plasticky smell of rubber tires on asphalt on a hot summer day? Heated, like the burning sensation in your eyeball you get directly after squeezing lemon into it? Heated, like accidentally putting your hand on a radiator? "What... kind of 'heated'?"

"Well, first of all, Adam's here."

You open your mouth to say something, but the moment you do the ability to form coherent speech completely evacuates your being. You close your mouth again with a click.

"He's- there's- I-I can't explain it, it's not- how fast can you get here?"

Your grip on the steering wheel tightens and you put your phone on speaker, dropping it in the seat next to you. Adam's dead. You decided that Adam was dead a few minutes ago. Whatever Evelin has over there, that is not her ex-boyfriend. "I'm already on my way."

"Unless you're on your way to the Mandela County Police Department, I don't actually think you are."

You're very, very lucky you hadn't started the car up again, because if you had you would've hit the brakes and sent yourself flying into the windshield. On second thought, maybe you would've been better off getting your skull sliced open with a giant piece of glass. "WHAT?! What are you doing there?"

"I was going to try for a job after Dave fired me, but the place was empty when I got here and an alternate tried to kill me and Thatcher kind of saved my ass and Dave died and- like I said, long story. Minor detail, I think everything we know is a lie. How far away are you?"

You could tell her you were going in the exact opposite direction, and won't be there for a few hours. You could just hang up now and never call her again. There are plenty of reasons not to get involved with this at all. There's the police. There's Adam, who's actually an alternate of Adam, who will probably definitely kill the only two allies you may have left in this godforsaken town.

You decide to listen to your intuition and go and see. The worst that happens is you die, and you're not entirely opposed to that outcome anymore.

#the mandela catalogue fic #the mandela catalogue #mandela catalyst #mandela catalyst spoilers #hey I just started Writing and literally couldn't stop so. yeah #this wasn't supposed to happen #like. this wasn't supposed to be tmc it just Turned Into That. oh well #this is in accordance with a fun little theory involving M.A.D. that was cooked up on Discord a while back #it doesn't actually dive into it entirely but. it's there if you look and Sarah isn't living loving and laughing for it #tmc fic #tmc fanfiction #sarah heathcliff #evelin miller #thatcher davis #adam murray #that last line is big hint btw. people who have already memorized everything that happened in mandela catalyst get it #anyways joy to the world. have fun I'm going back to homework now #please note that I miiight write more. we'll decide later #okay byeee !!#mythic's drabbles

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