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Breaking the Rules- Epilogue 2 of 2

Here we are. The final, FINAL piece of this fic, and the culmination of two stories and nearly two years of writing.

As always, I hope you enjoy, and thanks as always to my dear friend Abracadabras (Aly) for reading and making suggestions that are always so valuable and nuanced!!

Read on AO3 here

Full story index here

Epilogue (2 of 2) Would It Be A Sin?

The months succeeding the would-be confession, that terrible showdown between you and Al, were perhaps the most bittersweet you’d faced. The cocooning cloud of happiness and relief offset only by the occasional thunderstorm of guilt and sorrow. The long winter nights balanced against a new year, a symbolically fresh start.

There were some hard truths you both had to answer, ghosts you had no choice but to confront. But now, you would descend those depths together. Literally- there were two basements that the two of you needed to visit. First: the house across the street.

Each of the boys’ little trinkets were placed atop the dirt near the bottom of each makeshift grave. Al had carried the wooden box, had held it out to you and opened it in a sort of ceremonial fashion, wherein you’d taken each item out with care. Four small items-seemingly innocuous, workaday trinkets-but heavy in your hands as you lay them down. They were placed on the corresponding graves with a silent reverence. Stepping back, Al had closed the box with a quiet, echoing snap before putting it aside on a table towards the back of the room. You’d both been quietly penitent, as if unsettling the dust beneath your feet might be a dishonor to any presence still in the basement. There were no words spoken, no eulogy- they’d already been said in private ceremonies by families speaking to empty coffins. You would receive no forgiveness from any remnants of those boys. So you stood there beside Al with a silent solemnity and an unspoken promise that it was over. Neither of you had spoken much that night, even after leaving the second house.

The basement in your house was next. Despite everything that had happened in that stone room, you found the staircase easier to descend. Hardly surprising, given the task you were to perform. There was no reluctance in destroying it beyond recognition- ripping out features that had resided in that stone cell for decades. The mattress dragged out and loaded into Al’s van; the sturdy brackets that had held the bed in place unscrewed and hauled off to the van, too; the metal grate on the window torn away and discarded. And when Al took a sledgehammer to the black phone bolted to the wall- when he swung hard, the thing shattering with a final broken jangle of notes- you thought you caught a satisfied glint in his blue eyes. Not enjoying the violence per se, but snatching just a little joy in destroying those final few traces of his past self, and demolishing any trace of his father’s crimes before him. Al had promised the basement would just be an empty room someday, after he’d freed you from its confines. Now it stood truly empty and that promise, like all promises these days, had been fulfilled.

For a little while, Al had been loath to play any of your usual games, even suggesting the masks be thrown in the garbage. But to you, they didn’t signify any danger or threat anymore. Their meaning had adapted, sculpted itself to be unrecognizable from the fear and uncertainty they once possessed when worn by the Grabber. When you’d taken the two halves that made up that deep frown, brought them out and held them out to Al, he’d acceded your request, and you fixed the mask overtop of that smirking, devilish smile. You slipped back into those salacious games easily: as smooth as the silk sheets that Al tossed you on before going in for his wicked, killing blow, happy to oblige his little dove’s request, eager to make her scream and writhe under him.

The aftermath of the thankfully-failed confession had caused some truly polarizing moments in its wake. The grief and guilt of it all sat like a poisonous lead weight in the pit of your stomach, unable to be digested, insisting on being carried and unforgotten. But it brought some of the most affirming moments, too. No more secrets. No more lies. The burden of guilt had been alleviated; shouldered partly by another, lightening that load. Your love had cemented itself in the very foundations of the house you both had learned to call ‘ours’. It felt like an ending, in a way- but in the same breath, it was a whole new story yet to be told. And rules of the story be damned - from now on, you and Al would write that plot together.

_______________________________

With a final flourish of crimson lipstick, you were nearly ready. And not a moment too soon; as you spritzed a cloud of jasmine and peach-scented perfume, you heard the familiar sound of the van pulling into the drive, practically skipping to meet Al as he walked through the door.

“Heya, dove, h-,” Al stalled as his eyes fell on you, standing there with a smirk at the immediate effect you’d had on him. “Holy sh- I mean, wow! You look…breathtaking, sweet.”

“What, this old thing?” you mused with mock incredulity, brushing your hands down the flared skirt of your new cocktail dress. You feigned surprise, knowing that little coquettish act rivaled Al’s own theatricality, knowing it charmed him as much as any provocative outfit.

Al’s eyes darkened, and he stepped towards you, his work boots nearly toe to toe with your black heeled pumps. You looked up through heavy lids, the lashings of mascara and flick of dark eyeliner an extra little effort, today of all days. Al’s eyes darted quickly to the bare expanse of skin exposed by the daring bardot neckline, but it was the faded lines of pink, that indelible mark on your skin where he’d craved his name across your heart, that had dragged his gaze downwards. AL. Still, you were sure he sneaked a peek at the cleavage and the suggestive trail of love bites along your neck before those cerulean eyes snapped back to your face.

“Really, dove. You look perfect. So beautiful.”

“You know Al, I’m still waiting on my birthday kiss.”

Who was Al to deny your command? He cupped the nape of your neck in his palm and drew you in close. A deep, electrifying kiss, sending a buzz skittering down your veins. He pulled back, a soft, warm smile settling on his face as he wished you a ‘happy birthday’ with sweet sincerity.

“My girl’s special day,” he beamed, hand still clasped softly around your neck, fingers laced through the soft waves of your hair.

“Not just mine, Al. You know it’s been a year since our first real date?”

Al’s knitted eyebrows had you wondering if that was a little too raw to be mentioning. A bizarre thought (perhaps even a little morbid) that last year, your last birthday, had been spent as Al’s prisoner. Your date had begun in the basement, being made to dress, being escorted upstairs, being made to sit, to eat, to dance. Still a captive by definition. But one thing hadn’t been forced that night. That night, you’d taken Al’s hand in yours, and asked him to take you to his bed. He’d finally admitted his feelings towards you, and though you hadn't echoed the same sentiment, it was still there. Concealed, but barely contained inside of you, ready to burst like a black balloon. Your mind snapped back to the present. Worried, you backtracked somewhat, not wanting to dredge up any memories of the past. Not tonight.

“Sorry Al, do you think it’s a little…strange to be celebrating that?”

“Aren’t we a little strange?” Al mused. You replied with a small laugh huffed through a smile, your tense shoulders relaxing when you realized Al wasn’t worried at all. He continued. “Okay, our special day, then.” Another lengthy kiss followed before you pried yourself away from his ravenous grip, shooing him to go get changed into something more suitable for the occasion.

As you ate dinner, eyeing Al across the table, you wondered if your gaze looked as hungry as Al’s. He’d mirrored you; his jet black shirt and trousers matching your dark dress; the blood-red cravat at his neck echoing the color you’d swept across your lips. Even his woodsy scent of cedar and tobacco seemed to flirt with the sweetness of your perfume across the dinner table. After you’d finished eating, when Al had asked you to choose some music while he freshened up, your dreamy, carefree mind didn’t question when Al bypassed the bathroom for another room entirely.

Your fingers rifled nimbly through Al’s record collection, as if already playing a soft melody on invisible piano keys. Figuring an older tune would match the evening’s mood, you grinned when you pulled out the Elvis record to see the singer donned in a Hawaiian shirt on the album cover, reminding you so badly of Max. You really couldn’t get away from either of the Shaw brothers, could you? Slipping the vinyl from its sleeve, you put the record on the turntable, dragged the needle to the outer grooves, and set it gently down.

When Al strode into the living room, giving you another amorous glance as he did, neither of you needed encouragement to dance. You reached out to each other silently, spurred on by the dulcet tones of the King singing about fools in love. The song coaxed you into a slow sway, Al’s arms so natural around your waist, your head leaning against his chest as you were lullabied into the reverie. Al’s thumping heart provided a strong backbeat to the music, though perhaps its pace was a little faster than normal. The excitement of the evening, maybe.

As you swayed in unison, you couldn’t help but silently answer Elvis’ melodic questions:

Shall I stay? (yes)

Would it be a sin? (yes)

If I can’t help falling in love with you.

You couldn’t help it. You’d traversed every emotion imaginable before reaching this point with Al. Disgust, rage, hatred, confusion, trepidation, attachment. And now, you’d opted for love. Opted, because it was your choice. Your want for him, need for him, had rooted itself deeper than your guilt. In the annals of your mind, you thought about the situation as you swayed softly, silently to the music as Elvis sang of rivers flowing out to sea. You’d sail into the darkness with Al and drown in the oblivion. But that was further down the line. For now, you were content to drown yourself, bask in the warmth of the two of you, bodies pressed close.

“D’ya want to play a game?”

“Huh?” you asked, pulled away from your blissful introspection by the unexpected question. Not that you would deny such a tempting offer. Your heart picked up speed to match Al’s quickened pace. “What kind of game were you thinking?” Your voice had instinctively taken on a sultry tone, already enthusiastic to play.

“Oh, it’s a long one.”

“How long?”

“A lifetime, hopefully.”

Any question about to slip from your lips was shoved back in your mouth when Al made his next move. He fell to his knees- no, he fell to his knee, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. Looking up at you, his blue eyes entreating, he opened the box, his hands clutched together like an oyster, the contents of the box a precious pearl at its center. But no- not a pearl. On closer inspection, the ring nestled in the box was gold and red, a single, pear-shaped jewel sitting atop a simple gold band. Like a teardrop. Or, given its sumptuous color, a single drop of scarlet blood.

“Will you be mine, dove?”

Not ‘will you marry me?’. No chance of such a formal, legal proceeding in the real world. But in this world of yours and Al’s own making, such a gesture would amount to the same thing. A bond, a forever promise. You held out your left hand, trembling slightly, though Al’s tender grip on it steadied you, warmed you as he slid the thin band on your fourth finger. He looked up, eyebrows raised as if in expectation, and you realized you’d not replied to him. There was only ever going to be one answer to his question.

“Yes. Yes, Al, I’ll be yours. Always.” You already were, had been for a long time. Longer, probably, than you dared admit to yourself. As Al rose from his knee with a slightly strained groan, you flung your arms around his neck, crashing your lips into his; Al met with a matched enthusiasm. You could feel his smile mirror yours through the kiss, and when you pulled back, the happy tears gathering at the corner of your eyes were duplicates of the watery blues staring back at you.

Gripping each of Al’s shoulders, your glance fluttered to each of your hands in turn. To the promise band on your right hand, then the jeweled red stone on your left. Those small gold bands like tiny manacles binding you to Al. There had been no choice at first, then anguished choices that would end in your shame or your demise. But then- those choices had shifted, had freed you. Freed you to be with Al unburdened by shame or sorrow. You felt complete.

You thought Al was complete now, too, looking up at him with an enraptured smile as he brushed your cheek softly, took your left hand and pressed a fierce kiss to your knuckles. Once, it had been the Grabber shadowing Al, that overbearing dark side that irrevocably connected the man and the monster. But the monster had been slain. You slipped into the gaps left by its absence, clawing into each crevice of Al, until he had been remade into a complete whole.

“It’s a garnet, the gem in the ring. It was my mom’s,” Al said wistfully, hand brushing your knuckles still warm from the touch of his mouth. “For a long time, it was the only thing of real value I kept in the house. Until I kept you.”

That wording. It was twisted, morose and sick. But then, why did you find those possessive words so charming, perhaps even a little beguiling? You could only hope that the melancholy expression on Al’s face as he looked from the ring to you signified his continued penitence of all that had come before. Otherwise the happiness you both found would feel hollow, undeserved. You thought so. You hoped so.

“I’m glad you kept me, Al.” If his wording was fucked-up, you’d match it with your own skewed viewpoint. It was a strange comfort, knowing you weren’t alone in your madness.

A dog barking from somewhere out on the street turned both of your heads to the window. A heavy feeling, like packed dirt on top of a coffin, descended, only the white noise of the record player filling the silence like a ghostly static. It was as if fate brought about the reminder of the past, the house across the street dominating the landscape out of the front window. Fluorescent orange street lights threw the shadowy silhouette of the tree across the house, dark branches reaching across the mottled brickwork. Thin fingers prying at the door to let those secrets out.

It was a steep price, shouldering a portion of Al’s heavy burden. Knowing that staying was not the moral course, that each day spent inside this house with Al was a day your soul became a fragment more tainted with blackness. Al’s price was steeper yet: memories of the Grabber he would never scrub from his soul. Of his unforgivable killings, and his treatment of you. Even the torment of never quite knowing if one day, you might snap out of some daydream- the hypnosis worn away like a frayed rope- and escape him.

They would all be powerful reminders: the memories, the house across the street, the ever less frequent news bulletins about the Grabber and his crimes. You and Al wouldn’t- shouldn’t- forget. Couldn’t forget what Al had done. Couldn’t forget that your relationship was fucked up. How you had broken the rules which dictated how normal people ought to live their lives. But only through playing that twisted game with Al had you found love. And right now, you wanted to play. You allowed yourself to forget, for a little while.

“You know, Al- I got you a present, too.”

“You got me something?” his voice cracked a little in surprise, turning from the window to look at you.

“Well, yeah. I thought black lace would match the dress pretty good.”

It took two beats for Al to work out your meaning, the small, confused gape of his mouth morphing into one of lustful knowing. That trademark smirk, dimpling his cheek slightly, always did bring out his playful, rakish side- his most handsome, you thought. Somewhere in the last few moments the music had ceased, the needle scratching the dead wax of empty space, as if ceding its song to allow Al to command the room.

“Naughty girl, keeping secrets from me,” he tutted, lathering on the dramatics as his arm snaked around your waist, yanking you close as he began to unfasten the dress. The sudden movement hitched your breath, stealing your speech. No noise apart from the slow, growling zziiippp as Al glided his hand down your back, savoring every inch of the undressing. His finger brushed the small of your back as he finished unzipping you, letting the dress pool around your feet with a soft fwhump as it fell. He stepped back, perhaps a little stunned, or perhaps to get a better look at you in the provocative black lace panties and bustier you wore.

“Fuuuuck,” he growled under his breath, but seemed to collect himself for his next words. “You’re coming me with, Mrs. Shaw.”

“You gonna grab me?”

“You’re damn right I am.”

And with a sudden lunge, he made good on that promise, hoisting you over his broad shoulder as you shrieked wildly, a half-laugh, half-scream of pure pleasure. You pushed your arms against his back, lifting your head to speak into his ear as he carried you down the hallway.

“I’m all yours, Al.” you whispered.

Al turned his face, a flash of that crooked smile as he replied.

“And I’m yours, dove. Always have been.”

The record was left spinning on the turntable, the needle forgotten and left tracing the run-out groove.

Sometimes, it was ok to forget.

#the grabber #the grabber x reader #the black phone #albert shaw x reader #black phone fanfic #albert shaw #the grabber x you #albert shaw x you #the black phone fanfic #black phone

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Reblogged before and will continue to do so 😌

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hi! First off I I LOVEEE RULES OF THE GAME AND BREAKING THE RULES!!! <3 im only almost halfway through the sequel but my god the way you describe the relationship between them is so real and personal agghh!! and when you write about his blue eyes omg im melting. why cant i be y/n lol.

ik this is random but i was listening to Shades of Cool by lana del rey and immediately thought of your writings. just thought the entirety of the song fit so well with how you encapsulate Al's whole persona and appearance. that sometimes sad side of him that knows he's wrong for doing what he does, and that sams part of y/n too. just wanted to share aha

anyways i hope you always find comfort in doing what u love! just know that for me, it's reading your stories <3

Hi Lovely!!

Sorry, I know you sent a similar ask/message a couple of days ago, I promise I wasn't ignoring you anon! 💗 I think I know which user you are, because I've been secretly excited every time I see you like the next chapter, knowing which part of the story you're up to! 🤭

I'm so, so pleased you're enjoying the story. Ugh those blue eyes would melt me too

✨️🫠✨️

And so glad that even certain songs are reminding you of the stories' vibes. As a huge Lana fan, this message made me so happy 🥹

Absolutely, Al's inner sadness that's slowly been creeping out since the beginning, all the guilt and regrets, and you're right, how y/n is partly complicit in that too.

The final FINAL epilogue, which will be out in a day or two (hopefully), also touches on that idea, and it's woven throughout the entire story, especially Breaking the Rules! So I'm so glad you picked up on that theme!

Thanks so much for following the story, and I hope the rest of BtR pleases you

Much love! ✨️💜✌️

#the grabber #the grabber x reader #the black phone #albert shaw x reader #black phone fanfic #albert shaw #the grabber x you #albert shaw x you #the black phone fanfic #black phone

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Breaking the Rules- Epilogue 1 of 2

Did I post this on AO3 yesterday? yes. Did I also forget to put it on tumblr? also yes, but it's here now! A cute little added chapter- the first of 2 little epilogues to finish the fic, just some sweet little cherries on top of the traumatic ordeal that was Breaking the Rules. As always, minors DNI (nothing in this chapter, but the story in general) Full fic on AO3 here Full tumblr Chapter Index here

Epilogue (1 of 2) Dear Al and Scout

Since the mail had come that morning, you’d been waiting impatiently, nervously. Amongst the usual junk mail and bills, a surprise letter had your guts twisting as you cooked, cleaned and (tried to) relax all day. The clock in the living must have been broken, you surmised, based on how it seemed to have stood still for most of the day. The hours between Al’s departure and eventual arrival in the driveway had never felt so torturously long. For about an hour before Al walked through the door, you’d been sitting on the couch, knee bouncing quickly and your thumbnail bitten down to a serrated mess through your nervous chewing.

As you heard the van pulling up, you stood, taking a deep inhale to calm your worry. You needed to compose yourself when Al got here, needed to stifle that nervousness now. If the letter was as bad as the scenarios you’d been conjuring in your mind, Al would undoubtedly take the news worse than you. You’d have to be there to help soften the blow and pick up the pieces of another shattered relationship in his life.

Al walked through the door with a booming, oblivious “Evening, dove!” before kicking the door closed behind him, blowing into his cupped hands as he shut out the cold December weather. You approached him in the doorway, where his arms reached to grab you, cold hands bringing you close for a deep kiss. As you pulled away with a smile, you thought Al’s own dimpled grin was warm enough to melt the dusting of snow beginning to cover the street outside. And you hated that you might take away that grin. You brushed the snowflakes from the lapels of Al’s shearling jacket as he watched you with a contented look, not noticing how slowly you were working, not realizing you were trying to hold off the inevitable.

Eventually, though, you stepped back, allowing Al to shrug out of his jacket and kick off his sludge-covered boots near the door. When he turned back, already asking what dinner plans might be, he stalled, seeing your suddenly somber expression that you’d been trying (and failing) to hold in a smile. You just couldn’t hide your true feelings, however apprehensive, around this man anymore. It was a blessing, a sign of your true freedom to fully be yourself, but right now it felt more like a curse. There was no point delaying any further.

“A letter came for us today.”

“For us?” he asked, clearly puzzled that the letter would be intended for anyone other than him. You remained quiet, but Al’s gaze followed the path of your outstretched, pointed arm towards the letter sitting propped up on the coffee table. The white envelope stood out against the dark teak coffee table, as stark as blood on snow. Al walked slowly to the table, plucking up the letter carefully, as if handling fragile glass.

“From… Max?” Al asked incredulously as he scanned the envelope, flipping it over in his hands as if some clue might appear on the paper. He’d recognized the handwriting, but was as confused as you’d been at seeing an actual letter addressed from Max to the both of you. A letter just seemed so… un-Max. When Al looked at you for confirmation, you nodded back, biting your lip in worry.

“I couldn’t reach him on the phone- it was disconnected.”

“Well, c’mere dove,” Al said, sitting on the couch and holding out a hand towards you, “It’s for both of us, let’s read it together.” He smiled as he spoke, but you still discerned the uncertainty, that big-brother worry, in Al’s voice. When you reached him, he pulled you down playfully and thrusted the letter into your hands. Another sign of his concern. After all, Max had left before, leaving Al in some of his worst moments. Was this just another disappointment waiting inside an off-white envelope? You took the letter, making sure to give a reassuring smile, despite your own doubts. If this was bad news, you’d need to be there for Al, if the only other person in his life no longer was.

Hooking a thumb under the sealed opening, you ripped the top seam of the envelope and pulled out the contents. Just one sheet of paper, and something flat and a little thicker behind it. Unfolding the paper, seeing the formal salutation on the top line of the page, you held the letter between you and Al, and began to read.

Dear Al and Scout,

By the time you read this, I won’t be in Denver anymore. I know you two have been through a lot, but I think it’s all ok now? I hope so at least. So I thought leaving wouldn’t hurt any of you too much. Plus, I’m not leaving for good or anything. I want you to know that for real.

I’m moving down to Austin. I let the apartment people know and I sorted out the bills and stuff by myself. And I already got a job down there- it’s at the same chain of stores I was working here, and they fixed it for me to switch no problem. I got back in touch with an old friend, and I’m gonna move in with him, so I’m all set for a place to stay too. I figured I couldn’t wear my hawaiian shirts in the Colorado winter, so I thought I’d give Texas a go!

AL:

I get that there’s things I don’t know about you. But there’s things you probably don’t know about me either. Maybe one day there won’t be any secrets, but guess we’ll see. I know none of us are good at speaking- especially about the important stuff.

I just wanted to properly tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for running away all those years ago. I really left you in the lurch- dealing with dad, and then losing mom all by yourself. You were the best big brother, and I thought you were so strong, and that you’d hold it together. At the time I thought you had, but I know now that wasn’t the case. I didn’t realize how much you were hurting, too, and I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me one day.

I don’t say it enough, so I’ll put it here in writing. I’m grateful for everything you did for me growing up, and for helping me these past few months. I’m not sure I’ll ever repay you for everything. I’m glad to call you my brother. And I know for sure mom would be proud of you, of who you’ve become. Before I left, I stopped by the cemetery and put some white tulips on her grave- they were her favorite. But you probably already knew that. Maybe next time I’m around we can go together.

Don’t see this as me abandoning you- cause I WILL be visiting! I just know that this time, you’re not on your own in that house.

SCOUT:

Thanks for being such a good friend. You helped me work through a lot of shit while I was staying with you guys. I’ll be forever grateful for that.

I guess things were tough for you in ways I don’t understand, but thanks for being honest with me when you felt comfortable. And for letting me be honest with you about myself too. I’m always gonna be a phone call away if you ever want to talk. So you let me know if Al’s being mean and I’ll be up there in a second to throttle him for you!

I think you were right about being Samson’s favorite too- he’s gonna miss you even more than I will!

I never know how to sign off on these things. I’ll let you both know when I’ve settled and I’ll call or write. I’ll give you my new number and address so you can do the same. Not sure if my living situation will be permanent- I’ll have to see if I get on with Kenny as well as I used to. I’ll keep you updated!!

Even though I’m not there, I’m still right there, ok?

Love,

Max (& Samson)

p.s I’ll try to come up to Denver in the new year. So I’ll be seeing you both real soon.

Max had written, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as you’d been imagining all day. He was leaving because- you read between the lines in that letter- he needed some space. You’d all been through a lot together, and even now there were secrets that weren’t shared freely. Although some secrets would never be shared at all. Still, at least there seemed some hope of Max opening up to Al about his own love life- his attraction to both men and women. Which, (if Max’s new living arrangements seemed anything to go by) might come up sooner rather than later.

A small part of you wished Max had said goodbye in person, though you wondered if a ‘real’ farewell and the fanfare that came with it would have been too sad. In any case, New Year’s was only a few weeks away. Max would most certainly come bounding through the door, Samson in tow, just like they’d come crashing into your lives on his first night back all those months ago. Like Max had inferred in his letter- it wasn’t really ‘goodbye’, more of a ‘see ya later, Scout!’.

The letter slipped from your hand; Al had taken it, handling it with delicate hands as he folded it back up, slotting it back into the envelope with such reverence. A small smile had his dimple coming out, and you didn’t think his slightly flushed cheeks were from the cold anymore.

“Are you ok?” you ventured, placing a spread hand on his thigh.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking at you with a soft expression for a moment, before winking in his playful fashion. “Just gonna keep this safe, hm? I got it in writing now that I’m the best big brother!”

As Al rose and headed to the bedroom, probably to stash the letter somewhere safe, somewhere important, you realized you were still holding something- the second part of Max’s farewell gift. Between the sheets of the letter he’d slipped a photograph, and you huffed a soft laugh through your nose in recognition.

It was the photo you’d taken the day Max had moved to his tiny apartment. Your fingertips gripped the edges softly, not wanting to mar the perfect polaroid with your prints. It was of the three of you- plus Samson, of course. You, knelt down beside the huge dog as he picked the most inopportune moment to lick your cheek, turning your smile into an elated shriek as the camera flashed. Behind you was Al, an arm curled around your waist, the other round Max’s shoulder to his side. Max, as usual, was beaming. Your finger delicately hovered over the photo, stopping over Al’s image.

Al never had the widest grin- and who could compete with you or Max in that regard? But as you admired the quiet smile, the winsome blue eyes, the way he held onto you and his brother in the picture- you thought that, just maybe, Al looked like the happiest person in the world.

#the grabber #the grabber x reader #the black phone #albert shaw x reader #black phone fanfic #black phone #the black phone fanfic #albert shaw #the grabber x you #albert shaw x you

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Breaking the Rules- Chapter 22

We're here!!! A million apologies for the delay, but I hope this (almost) final chapter was worth the wait. But wait there's more!- hoping to post 2 cute epilogue sections in the next few days- so keep an eye out.

Dove needs to find a way out of the basement. And that's the easy part. After that, she needs to convince Al that doing the right thing isn't always the right thing. Can Al and Scout have any semblance of a happy ending together?

Full tags, as well as the fic if you prefer, is on AO3 here. As usual, minors please DNI!

Full Tumblr chapter index can be found here.

Chapter 22- Hang It Up

No. It can’t end like this. Not after everything. No. Nonono.

You never imagined, after every battle and brawl, every taboo and crossed boundary, every promise made, broken and renewed again even stronger, that it would end where it started. You, the Grabber’s victim, trapped in his basement. The only difference was this time, you weren’t holding out hope for someone to rescue you. The thought of somebody coming to ‘save’ you from this situation, lifting you out of these depths, was the worst, most horrifying outcome.

You didn’t need to be rescued. You’d already rescued yourself. Falling in love with Al was its own kind of escape. Unorthodox as it was, implausible as that escape route may have been, you’d tunneled your way out of the Grabber’s lair and into Al’s heart. Al just needed to be reminded of that fact, before he did something incredibly, incredibly stupid. But that required an escape that looked all too impossible in your current situation.

You’d been struggling in your bonds for what felt like a lifetime, but the sliver of still-rational thought in your head knew it had been mere moments since Al had shut the basement door behind him. His lingering, morose look was imprinted in your mind, hanging there starkly like a developing photo in a darkroom. However, the less rational and more instinctive side of your brain was in control, and it had kickstarted a panicked response in you. The shock and brutality of Al’s actions had your chest constricting painfully, the tight feeling further spurred on by the tight bite of the tape around your wrists and ankles, chafing and unyielding as you struggled against them. Your throat burned from the useless, unheard (or else purposefully ignored) cries behind the gag.

For a moment, the floor seemed to shake beneath you, the stone walls cracking in lightning-shaped fissures, the room spinning. It was all too much, but that still lucid part of your mind flared up, urging a message to the forefront of your thoughts. Stop panicking and think, or it will all be over. You nodded, as if answering your own plea. You stilled your body, closed your eyes and took in one long, inhaled breath.

I have a little time. Not much, but a little. That was your first deduction- Al would need to prepare the house first. He’d written out his confession, laid out evidence on the kitchen table as casually as serving up eggs and bacon. But he hadn’t wanted to reveal those things too soon, and there would be other things he’d need to organize in the house- hiding photographs and clothes, possibly. That would take some minutes, you concluded. Your sound reasoning was reassuring, and you could feel your body relaxing, thinking better for it, even if the thoughts were tragic.

How did I escape before? Retracing previous steps might provide a way out of the situation. You’d tried to run before- not possible in your bound state. You huffed a shaky breath out through your nose, thinking harder. You couldn’t fight Al- he was always too strong- had already used that strength to overpower you now. Another breath, trying to steady the panic returning to your body like a rising tide. You’d used your words before- but impossible now, when Al had left you voiceless and alone. You scrunched your eyes tighter, refusing to admit how terrible things truly looked. It had been a long time since you had felt so desperately, utterly helpless. Not since your last visit to this basement had things looked so impossibly bleak. When you thought Al was going to kill you, then had become even more terrified when he’d turned the knife on himself and-

the knife!

Your eyes popped open with a renewed sense of clarity. That knife- it had never left this room! In all those months since that fight, neither you nor Al had revisited the basement. The knife must still be here, tossed away and forgotten. You tried to think back, your head scanning furiously around the concrete cell- where had you thrown it in frustrated relief the last time it had left your grasp? Was that a faint glimmer in the dark shadows, under a tangle of metal pipes in the far corner of the room?

Despite your bonds, you managed to roll yourself unceremoniously towards the corner, ignoring the pains in your body as you inched nearer within a few moments. Pressing your temple to the floor, you peered under the rusted pipework to see- YES- a silver gleam of the knife, a beacon of hope in this dark situation. Heaving yourself to a sitting position, back to the corner, your bound hands scrambled blindly behind you until a cool press of metal touched your fingers. You grabbed the knife, relieved tears falling down your cheeks as you worked quickly to cut free the tape binding your wrists together, the pain of the awkward maneuver and your injured finger forgotten in the adrenal rush of it all. Your wrists tore free, and in another instant your legs were unfettered too. You ripped off the tape over your mouth and sprinted towards the basement door- mercifully, miraculously unlocked.

This was no covert escape; wild desperation to get to Al had feet pounding up wooden steps, slapping across the linoleum of the kitchen. You swung on the door jamb, careening into the living room as your feet finally thudded to a halt when they hit the shag carpet. Al was already watching you as you flew into the room, sitting in his chair with the phone receiver to his ear and fingers tracing the dial with unthinkable purpose.

“Hang it up!”

Your frantic entrance must have been quite the sight: your wild-eyed expression; the tear-streaked face; the bloody, bruised state of your skin; your chest heaving and entire body thrumming with fury. Still, if he was shocked, Al hid it well beneath that well-rehearsed iciness. Eyes never straying from yours, he set the phone's handset in its cradle. He stared silently a moment before those blue eyes flitted downwards. By instinct, you flicked your wrist under the burning cold of his gaze, letting the smooth handle of the knife soothe your shaky palm. You had barely registered that you were still holding the blade, but you were glad for it now, twisting the handle like a ritual to check the strength of your grip.

You didn’t dare let out a breath. There was no relief to be had- Al hadn’t followed your order to hang up the phone because he’d changed his mind. He was still adamant on that insane task, you were sure. But he wouldn’t use the phone while you were in the room. You, ready to fight and scream, ready to do anything to ensure he couldn’t dial those three little numbers to end it all.

Al gave a soft sigh, audible even across the vast expanse of the silence between you. It seemed sad in tone, as if Al would have to go through the motions of locking you up all over again. But you weren’t about to let that happen.

You’d been through too much together. Had traversed this fucked-up, beautiful relationship like a midnight van ride through a dark tunnel. And you’d nearly made it out to the other side, nearly securing some semblance of a happy life together, the light at the end of that tunnel within reach before Al’s confession had stalled that journey. Each hopeless second he’d tried to put his plan in motion, the light had grown dimmer. Everything moving in reverse, back to a time before. But you weren’t going to allow Al to convince you it was all an illusion. Not when you felt, deep in your soul, that all of it - every second, every smile, every scream of pain and joy - was all real.

If Al locked you up again, there would be no knife to facilitate an escape. You needed to show him the truth, needed to talk to him. Your words had always been your biggest weapon against him, would be more powerful and effective than even a knife in your hand. But where to start?

Al seemed about to make a move to stand up. Panicked, you blurted out:

“You don’t have to do this Al!”

You cursed the generic remark, but hoped the conviction and belief in your voice outweighed the cliched expression.

“Oh, but I do, dove. I do.” He tiptoed his fingers across the smooth plane of the phone’s handset. “I need to show you I can do the right thing.”

His tone was too matter-of-fact, his pose too casual, still sitting on the armchair as he spoke, as if capturing you would be the easiest thing in the world. Because it would be. That strength, which could be so comforting and assuring in its protectiveness, was cold and lethal when it needed to be. If it resorted to another physical skirmish, you weren’t ever going to win.

Keep talking to him. Make him see.

You needed to use your power to dissuade Al from this path, like sucking the venom from a snakebite, removing the poison that had infected his mind. You just needed those compelling words- hard to come by when your mind was reeling with fear and fury. But you pressed on, desperately hoping there was still a chance to change his mind.

“You’ve shown me that, Al! I know you would’ve done it, given up everything we have to do what’s right. It’s just-” your voice faltered, your own imminent confession caught in your throat. “I don’t want you to do the right thing.”

One of his hands gripped the armrest, nails clawing into the fabric as he spoke through gritted teeth. “DON’T paint yourself the villain here, dove. This is my decision, because those were my sins. My crimes.”

“They’re mine too, in part. It’s shared, Al.”

“You’ve done nothing-”

“I’ve done enough wrong!” you snarled, angry now. “How dare you think it okay to make that decision alone, to take away my choice in all this?”

Al looked once again like he’d been about to rise, but your outburst seemed a physical blow, the force of your words pushing him back in his chair. That spark of power in your words made manifest. You had to keep going.

“You took away my choices once, Al. I lived with that, did what I needed to survive, played the game. Until things changed between us, and you gave me back my autonomy. When you pressed that key into my hand, told me to run- what did I choose, hm?”

You might have given a hollow laugh at the silence that followed your question. At how troubled Al looked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, jaw clenched in disquiet. Because answering honestly would be admitting that you truly did love him- something he was desperately attempting to prove otherwise. You answered for him.

“I chose to stay. You finally gave me the choice, and I stayed.” You didn’t pick the word ‘freedom’. Deciding to remain with Al- it might have been freedom, or else the choice to remain bound to Al. You weren’t sure what distinguished the two, but you kept on. “And now, you’re going to take all the options away from me, as if I’m back to being your prisoner?”

Al was refusing to admit how much you liked the inky blackness of him - how much you swam in it, relished it, devoured it. But his brow creased. His eyes turned towards your hell, your prison of a basement, and you knew - Al was doubting everything. He took one last, long sigh, as if his opposing thoughts were warring with one another, until he blinked and a look of clarity washed over his face. One of the thoughts had won out. But which? Was he going to accept your plea, and allow things to carry on as they had been? Or was he determined to bring it all to an end?

He gently placed the white phone on the armrest of his chair, the gesture a glint of hope on the horizon, as if your plea had turned the tides of his grand scheme. But your heart sank in those choppy waters when Al reached into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a set of handcuffs and rising from his seat. That preternatural swiftness ached like an approaching rip current, ready to drag you down into the depths of the basement one more.

As Al stepped forward, you countered his movements, feet stumbling on the thick carpet as you backed away from his approach. He paused, and you realized you’d raised your arm on instinct, the knife clasped tightly in your fist pointing right towards his chest. Could Al be persuaded with violence? You didn’t think so, but you flexed the blade in your clammy hand nonetheless. An attempt to stem the shakes that threatened to show just how terrified you were - terrified of what mad act you might actually commit to stop Al’s own lunacy. You’d match his insanity if needed. His true equal in madness: wasn’t that just more proof that you belonged with him?

“Dove, we already did this dance once before. We both know you won’t kill me. But if you want to try again, that story could work.” Al huffed a sad hum of laughter. “Hey, that’s not a bad ending- finally killing your captor after months of torment.”

You were right- violence held no power, not when Al cared so little for his own life. But then- what did he care about enough to stop all of this? That question had a simple answer, evident in Al’s widening, fearful eyes as you brought the knife up to your own throat, the jagged ridge of the blade’s edge skimming your jugular.

“Drop that right fucking now.” A command spoken so sincerely, but the trembling fear in Al’s voice was palpable. He’d held up his hands as if to stop you, but had frozen in a surrendering gesture, clearly petrified that you were putting yourself in such danger.

“What do I deserve, Al?”

“You deserve to be happy, dove. To have a proper life-”

“I am happy,” you interrupted, “And I have a life here with you. If we were apart, I’d break, Al. Do you understand that?” you choked out as a single, hot tear slid down your cheek. “I’d rather be dead than without you.” You began to sob, your quivering hand scraping the blade against the delicate skin of your neck, but the near-lethal abrasion was a necessity to keep Al at bay. This wouldn’t end with him clasping those cuffs around your wrists, hauling you back into the basement and untethering you from him completely.

“Please, little bird. You’re going to hurt yourself, and neither of us want that.”

You weren’t going to relent with your argument, but that nickname he’d just used had lit a flicker of warmth inside of you: comforting, soothing. The side of you that wanted to be Al’s good girl obeyed a little, and you inched the knife away from your skin, though the weapon remained clasped in your shaky fist.

“Even if I won’t hurt myself, I’d be good as dead if you continue down this path,” you croaked, the tears flowing faster now, your fear and desperation nearing its limit. “What do you think happens if you do this? What happens when I go back and hate everything about my old life, because you’re not in it?”

A life without Al in the picture- it would be as colorless as those monochrome childhood photographs of him. As miserable as some of those memories, too. You took a breath through your crying plea, but Al chose not to fill the silence. He only tensed his hand slightly, the morning light catching the silver of the cuffs held in his grip. Almost as if to tell you ‘go on’. Almost like Al needed more of a reason to stay, more reason to throw away the morality he’d so recently found.

“I can’t live outside these walls, Al. I’ve changed too much- you’re not the only one who’s a different person than they were before we met. If you let me go, I’ll give up trying to live any sort of life.”

A flash of…something blazed in the blue of Al’s eyes. Was it a softening, a promise of this madness relenting, or him building up that steel wall to hide his emotion? Uncertainty surged through you, but it was worth the risk to keep going. Sink or swim.

You approached slowly, warily, as you might a scared animal. But a scared animal was a dangerous one, and you had the knife still clutched in your fist, ready, should Al make a sudden effort to restrain you. But he remained fixed in place: not inviting you closer, but not warning against your approach. You crept one hand upwards, tucking back a stray wisp of his hair that had fallen in his face, trying not to wince as your disjointed finger brushed the ashy hair aside. He shifted- trying to tug his head away in spite of himself- but remained, only his brow furrowing at the tenderness, the sweetness of it all. This was familiar. You’d been here before, months ago, on the other side of such a gesture. Violence had met warmth, mania had met calm.

Shakily, you moved your hand to Al’s cheeks, pressing a blood-stained palm into the unshaven skin, thumbing away the tears that kissed your fingertips. You tensed your shoulders when his own started to shake, but you forged on.

“You don’t need to protect me from your past, Al. I’m not the Grabber’s victim. But I’m yours.” You saw the puzzled glance through the burgeoning tears and cupped his cheek harder, thumb holding his chin, forbidding him from turning away from what he needed to hear. “The Grabber took me, hurt me, but I survived. But Albert Shaw was the one who kept me, loved me. I’m in love with you. I’ve fallen victim to you completely.”

You dropped your hand. Al inhaled a gasp as the biting clicks of the handcuff’s metal teeth sounded, and he looked down to see where you’d fastened one of the hanging bracelets around your own wrist. Al looked mutely at where you’d tethered yourself to the cuffs in his grip. Not diving to lock the other half around your arm, not wrestling you to the ground.

“I’m your responsibility. You made a promise to look after me and you can’t run from that.”

“I- I feel like I’ve broken you,” he said on a shaky breath.

“If you have, that’s your responsibility too. To put me back together. But we both know I won’t ever be whole again without you.”

“Is it- you can’t- no- it’s just like I said,” Al grasped to find his argument, trying to find some footing to hold onto, to make it sound as though he still had any choice in all this, as if you hadn’t determined to stay no matter what. “I made you feel that way-”

“Enough!” you barked, baring your teeth in anger. The darkness you’d witnessed a thousand times had manifested in you, and you adopted it willingly, an inherent part of your bones and blood and soul now.

“You forced me into that basement. But you never forced me to like it. Maybe I could have fought harder in the beginning-”

“Don’t say that after I forced-”

“No! You know it’s true. Even from the start, that first time. I didn’t hate it entirely. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t. Not completely. I allowed you in when others would have rather died. I kept letting you in deeper, until I allowed your feelings to come out. Remember I asked you to admit them? I wanted you to say those words. Don’t you see, Al? You’re my victim too. You’re my victim. And I’m not letting you go.”

Another clank of metal, and you’d hooked the remaining cuff around Al’s wrist. As the band snapped shut, you swore the breath that Al let out was one of relief. But if any doubt remained, you’d need to slam that door shut and lock it with a final thud and click.

“I swear to god, Al. I’m keeping you.” You flicked the knife up to his neck, jagged ridges almost bursting skin. The living veins beneath the blade thudded audibly with fear, with regret, with anger, with love. All of it a part of Al, and you loved every drop of it. Owned every drop, too. If any of it spilled, it would be by your hand only.

You continued your threat, no mistaking exactly what you were capable of if he ever tried to separate the pair of you.

“If I have to lock you in that basement, I’ll put on that fucking mask and be your captor. Because you’re mine, Albert Shaw. All mine. Do you understand?”

A heartbeat passed by in silence. Then another, then another. You counted the seconds ticking by with each pump of venous blood that passed under the blade’s scrutinizing watch.

Then came the crash. In a single rush, Al had collapsed to the floor, dragging you down with him. You felt pressure everywhere, being gripped, held, swallowed whole by his presence as he cried and grasped at you. Bruises and bloodstains, tears and torn clothes. The knife had been lost in the fray, falling unseen to the floor with a smattering of blood upon its edge. A tumultuous cumulation of it all, but one constant that you heard above the din; Al’s soft voice, his repetitive chant

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

A plea for forgiveness, a desire for retribution? You’d give him anything. You’d give him everything you had- your whole being, your freedom. Your life. It would be worth it. Right now, sobbing in your arms, you’d give him comfort. As his head burrowed into your neck and chest, you kissed the top of his head, softly, tenderly.

“Come on,” you rasped, letting Al’s body shake with tears. They swam and caught along the edges of your torn shirt, dripped onto bare, bruised skin. Al hiccuped and gasped in your hold, twisting your hair, working to wring clean the years, the hurt, the pain.

“I don’t know what to do.” He was that lost little boy again, hurt and scared and hopelessly outmatched by the crushing weight of a cruel, unfair world.

“You don’t have to do anything, Al. You’re safe, okay? I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“But I’m-” Al croaked meekly.

“Sh, sh, shhh,” you hushed. You gently brushed a finger over his lips. “Don’t try to speak right now. We’ve got time to talk later, alright?” You tried your best to lull your voice like a rhyme - like a mother hugging the bogeyman away.

As the tears faded, as Al’s breaths became more steady from your assuaging lullabies of soft shushes and kind words, you guided his shoulder away from you, needing distance for him to see this. You were spent from it all; a pleading expression and a final appeal the only thing you had the energy to muster:

“Al, look at me.” He obeyed. “Will you stop this? For me? Let us be happy.”

“But the things I’ve done-”

“You’re not that- that thing anymore,” you sat up on your knees, raising a hand to press against Al’s cheek once more, cupping it tenderly. “The Grabber? That was your creation, and you’ve killed it. It’s dead. But you still have a life here, Al. If you throw that away, you’ll be ending more lives than your own today.”

That argument, you knew, was flawed. Al had been the Grabber. But you spoke as though the Grabber was a separate entity entirely, a demon possessing Al against his will. For all that had happened to Al, there must have been some madness, some disease, that rotted and spread inside him, eventually causing those monstrous crimes to occur. It felt too much like an excuse- but you would excuse the worst sins to live with the man who, in your eyes, had finally wrung that evil from his bones.

Because that’s who was here, in the flesh, in your hold at this moment. Unmasked, vulnerable. Just Al. He gave a small smile, flexed his cuffed hand in a half-circle to grab your smaller hand in his. Al dared to let his gaze meet yours, red-rimmed eyes against black-bruised fatigue. It was almost too much to see: all the confusion, the anger, the hurt buried there. But you rode it out, looking, seeing it all there, as he saw the hurt and anguish in your eyes too. There was no haunting specter hiding behind that vast cerulean sea, just the occasional ripple of darkness that would remain with him forever, that reminder of his crimes.

Al dug into his trouser pocket, handing you the small silver key with which to unlock the handcuffs that connected you. They jangled as you unclasped the bracelets before falling quietly in the plush carpet. They weren’t needed to stay tethered to him anymore.

“Do we deserve a happy ending?” Al whispered, his now-free hands commencing that habitual rhythmic stroking, thumbs bumping along each fingertip. You reached out, touching softly to still the nervous spasm, squeezing a little until watery blue eyes looked into yours.

“Deserved or not, it’ll be our ending. To me, Al, you’re a good man. That’s all that matters, right? You and me.”

“You and me, dove.” His lips quivered as attempted a soft smile, trying to fend off the last of the heavy, sobbing tears. The expression seemed bittersweet; hopeful, but still possessing a streak of melancholy. You’d used most of Al’s old tricks against him to win him over- a little mischief, that hint of devilry, was in your repertoire too. You adopted a sing-song lilt of your own:

“Y’know, if you’re really that upset, I’ll let you put the handcuffs back on me.”

A croaky chortle from Al, his throat still raw from cries, but the humor diffusing the tension a little. You smirked at Al and the start of that sideways smile began to unfurl on his lips as he drew closer. You inched forward, lips parted, ready to-

BRRIIIIIINNG!!

The sudden ring of the phone pulled you and Al from the depths of your intense gaze, like an unwanted alarm clock waking you from the most sublime dream. The shock of the shrill ringing had you gasping, and Al’s startled reaction had him jumping madly, knocking the phone off the armrest when he jerked in surprise.

The muffled clatter of the telephone landing on the carpet halted the noise of the ringing, though you looked in bewilderment at the floor where it had landed, still discerning a faint noise emanating from the handset.

“hello? hello-oo. anyone there?”

The subdued voice, currently addressing the shag carpet, was unmistakably Max’s. You breathed a relieved sigh, looking up at Al through still-teary eyes. From his incredulous look (his blue eyes glossy with tears too), he’d heard his brother through the phone. As if Max had been affronted by the confession that it was just the two of you that mattered.

“Hey, uh- anyone there?”

“Max!” you yipped, scrambling to pick up the handset before he hung up on the other end.

“He-ey, Scout! Think the line went a little fuzzy there. Listen, I thought I’d bring some pizza round later. Just checking- you’re gonna want extra mushrooms, right?” The casualness of the conversation, in such contrast to what you and Al had been discussing, was a little jarring, and you stumbled a little before replying ‘yes’.

“Gross, but I thought so. I’ll get one with slugs on it and one without, then.”

You barked out a laugh, though the sniffles accompanying it seemed to tell Max you’d been crying recently.

“Hey, er, Scout- you good? Doing ok?”

“Yeah, I’m doing ok.” As you answered that question- honestly, you realized- your eyes strayed back to Al, who was watching you intently. “We’re both doing ok, Max.” Al’s eyes softened as you narrated that statement to his brother; voicing that the two of you were ok now, sharing that fact outside your tiny bubble for two, was like an extra fortification that things would turn out good.

“Aw, that’s real good to hear. I was worried when you two took off yesterday. I know things got a little heated, but ya know you can talk to me anytime- you both can,” Max chattered on, each kind word and affectionate promise bringing more small tears of joy and relief to your eyes. “My brother’s lucky to have you, ya know?”

“He has you too, Max. We both do.” Al’s mouth quivered as you spoke, realizing you and Max were talking about him.

“Aw, Scout, you’re too sweet, you’re gonna make me cry! I’ll see you later, ‘kay? And you tell that brother of mine he’d be stupid to let anything happen between you two.”

“Here, I’ll put him on Max- you can tell him yourself.” Max’s voice wavered a little down the line, as if wary to admit such an earnest confession. Similarly, Al leaned back as you held out the phone receiver, palms turned out as if apprehensive about taking the call. If the brothers were reluctant to talk to each other, you’d just have to give them a little push, a little encouragement. That’s what families were for, right?

You thrusted the phone into Al’s hands despite his protests, your fingers brushing his as you passed it to him, giving an encouraging nod as he brought the handset to his ear. A faint buzz told you Max was speaking a mile a minute on the other end, with the occasional gruff response from Al in short bursts of ‘yeahs’ and ‘sures’. The only real indication the two were speaking about something raw was the single, dewy tear that glided down Al’s cheek, which he rubbed away with the back of his hand as Max carried on speaking. Al said a few more short replies:

“I will. Soon. Yeah, I mean that. Ok, see ya Maxie.” A short buzz down the line as Max spoke, followed by the briefest of silences before Al replied: “Love you too.”

If the use of Max’s childhood nickname wasn’t enough to have more tears falling down your face, those last three words Al sent down the phone line ensured it. You scooped up the base of the phone from the floor, holding it out to Al, who placed the receiver carefully back in the cradle, where it clacked into the holster with a final trill as the call hung up. You rose on your knees, eye level with Al, who smiled softly before putting the phone on the armrest once more, staring longingly at you a moment before pulling you into a tight embrace.

Your arms came up behind him, gripping at the back of his silky shirt, as if ensuring that yes, truly- Al was really here with you. You were unsure how long you stayed in Al’s grasp, but any time would feel too short after the paralyzing fear of losing him. To be held captive in his embrace was the most free you’d felt in a long, long time.

It had been drizzly and gray in Denver, much like any other day this late into fall. Looming clouds, holding a promise of thunder, rolled in with the late afternoon dusk, a pewter sky hanging heavy over the city. As you and Al looked out the window onto the rain-splattered street outside, you wondered if the weather was a bad omen, or a renewing baptism. You supposed neither mattered too much, not if Al would be beside you.

“What do we do about that?” Al asked softly, nodding his head out towards the view in front of you both. The house across the street was framed like a tragic painting by the window pane. The gnarled tree in the front yard held its branches aloft as if shrugging and you silently agreed: no one could really answer such impossible questions.

“There’s nothing to do. Except let it be a stark reminder for us. Another consequence we have to suffer for staying.” There was no running or hiding from the past. No pretending that those things hadn’t happened, their existence false.

“We?” Al turned his head in your direction. You mirrored the action.

“We.”

The pair of you returned your focus back to the house, and you forced yourself to think about what lay inside. You hated how those crimes were almost an afterthought in the shared decision to stay. You still felt a deep sorrow- a visceral, aching thing- when you thought about those boys. The pain you felt was deserved, the cost of choosing to stay. But you knew you were guilty of putting your own emotions ahead of any morality you still possessed. As much as the pity and remorse ate away at you, as much as you hated the things Al had done, those feelings were weaker than the love you felt for him.

A small nudge against your thigh; Al had reached a hand across the small space between you. You gripped it tight, fingers interlacing with his. That connection as unbreakable and binding as steel cuffs; fortifying, comforting.

You and Al were the same- you’d determined that a long time ago. But now, you’d truly accepted the darkness that lay inside you, rippling just under your skin like black veins inked into your body. It would reside permanently beside the light and goodness you still knew yourself capable of. Just as it did in Al.

Not wholly good. Not wholly bad. But okay. That was enough, for you and Al. It had to be. It was all you had. The drowning depths had almost dragged you both into endless oblivion. But if you both swam through those dark waters together, holding each other afloat, it would be okay.

It would always be okay.

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