Chapter Text
It’s so bright. And cold. And strange. And it’s all so fucking much. Viego can feel his consciousness tumble through the aether, invisible forces ripping around him, beyond him, within him. It’s overwhelming and terrifying and painful. For what seems like an eternity, he feels as if the aether will tear him asunder. But it never does, and after a while, the chaos around him begins to subside.
He’s not sure how much time passed, if any, before he’s able form conscious thought. He’s confused, disoriented, in pain, but he doesn’t feel it, not fully. Viego isn’t sure if it’s because of the rips of the aether but he feels as though his thoughts, his mind are not fully his own. As if all of this (whatever this was) happened to somebody else, and he was watching from the sideline. The thought alone makes his head spin.
He should try to open his eyes.
It takes a while for Viego to gain enough control over his body to do so. His surroundings are so dark that at first, he’s not even sure he managed. Slowly, though, the world comes into focus. The first thing he sees is stars. The night sky is beautiful, bright, strangely alive. He lies motionless for a while, taking it all in. The dark, moonless sky above him, as beautiful as it is terrible. The soft rustling of leaves. The cool breeze on his skin. The damp earthy scent of the forest floor. But even the soft darkness is scary, overwhelming. Aeons spent in the darkness of the Mist, shrouded by the numbness of unlife, dulled his senses, making this too much for him to bear. He stays still, allowing himself to adjust. He wouldn’t mind staying still like this forever.
After a while, Viego decides, he should try and get up. It’s a struggle to get his body moving, but it shouldn’t be that difficult, he just has to prop himself up on his elbows and – fuck. Pain, sudden and blazing hot, jolts through his whole body. He falls back to the ground, defeated. Everything about this was upsetting, horrible, overwhelming – the noise, the light, the pain, the feeling of his soul being forcefully ripped – the fucking pain, the -
No. He has to focus. A realization creeps on him, unwelcome and scary – he is alive. He shouldn’t be, under any circumstance, but the evidence is impossible to ignore. The Mist, and the cacophony of souls, voices, despair that make it, were a constant companion in his despair. It seems to have abandoned him in this place, and the absence is almost unbearable. His senses, his emotions, his – Stop. Focus. The lack of Mist leaves him feeling exposed, vulnerable, afraid. A part of him – one he’s never been particularly proud of – wants to stay, surrender to the ground and let death finally take him. He tries to push the thought away.
This time, when he tries to stand, Viego is ready. It’s still a struggle, having to break down the simple act of standing into small, digestible steps (prop yourself up, sit, crouch, stand), but he manages finally. Small victories. He’s standing, as far as he can tell in the very limited light, on a clearing in a forest. His senses are still overloaded, but the sensation has dulled down enough that he can ignore it. What now? He lets the cosmic weight of the question rest in his mind for a second. The most urgent things first, he concludes. He has a body now, with all the strangeness and discomfort that entails. Bodies need food and shelter and rest, and he can’t provide any of that in a forest. So he has to leave.
As if on cue, flash of light, followed by a sound, odd and rumbling, is enough to cut through his wandering thoughts. He turns around to where it originated, only to catch a glimpse of whatever it was as it disappeared. Something big, metallic. It was too fast to tell, but he feels like he’s never seen anything similar. This only sends his thoughts spiraling. What is that thing? Is it dangerous? Is it hostile? Where did it come from? Is he in danger? Will it –
Stop. Focus. It takes tremendous effort to rein in the sudden panic clouding his vision. Dammit, Viego! He hates how weak he is, how easily he gives in to despair, to fear. No. He’s better than this, he has to be better than this. He grits his teeth, and starts walking towards where the light had been. Walking is a struggle, with the tall grass and in the darkness. But he keeps moving, each step fueled by a growing rage inside him. Blind, red-hot anger at – himself, his cowardice, his wavering resolve in the face of danger. It’s ugly, and shameful, and utterly unbefitting of him.
Eventually, Viego reaches a fence, and behind it a road. The thing he saw must have passed here, he concludes. He hesitates for a moment, considering the possibilities. If he keeps going, he will be out in the open. Dangerous. But the road seems empty for now, and it’s much easier to traverse than the shrubs he was in right now. And he will not be a coward. So he steps on the road carefully, picks a direction, and starts walking again.
--
‘Good evening, dear listeners, and welcome to the Evening News program. You are listening to Radio St. Helens.’
‘Today the St. Helens mayoral office held a public announcement regarding what is now referred to as the Sutherland Cult tragedy. Mayor Bradbury said, quote “My heart is filled with sorrow and sympathy for those poor souls, both as the mayor and as a man, my thoughts and prayers go out to all of them.” Rescue efforts for the surviving cult members are still underway. We remind any listeners currently on the road to be on the lookout for survivors in need of assistance, and that any and all victims of the Sutherland Cult be taken to the Sheriff’s Department of St. Helens where a crisis center is set up.’
‘In other news, the regional football championship season is set to open this Sunday with St Helens Beavers playing versus Plymuth Coyotes. And our beloved department store—'
Rudy stops listening, as the sultry voice of the radio announcer goes through the mundane events that pass for news in St. Helens. The only thing Rudy – and anybody else for that matter – cared about these days was about the cult. When the news broke last week, the entire community was left reeling in shock. He still remembers the words they used on the news – mass suicide, psychological torture, brainwashing – he shudders even thinking about it. But the community stepped up – volunteering for search and rescue teams, setting up the crisis center, donations of food and clothes for the survivors. It would have been beautiful if the circumstances weren’t so grim.
The truck turns a curve, and Rudy spots a figure on the road. They’re standing motionless in the middle, he realizes as he slams the breaks. The figure doesn’t move even as the truck screeches to a stop in front of them. Illuminated by the truck headlights, Rudy can see the awful state they’re in – with messy hair and strangely old-fashioned clothes covered in dirt and grime. They still don’t move. He must have come across a cultist, Rudy realizes. He should proceed with caution. Slowly, he decides to step out of the truck.
Up close, the man looks even more feral. He stares at Rudy in a way that reminds him of deer in headlights. Rudy takes a step forward. The figure takes a step back. ‘Hey, don’t be scared.’ Rudy says in a soft voice. ‘I’m here to help.’ The stranger stays silent. ‘You can’t stay on the road, it’s unsafe. I can give you a ride to St. Helens, there are people there who can help you.’ No response. ‘You can get in the truck, and I’ll drive you to the crisis center, how does that sound?’ Rudy opens the door to the passenger seat, gesturing to the stranger. He tries his best to look friendly and non-threatening. The man frowns slightly, looking confused. Rudy tries again. ‘Look, i know you’re scared. But it’s going to be okay. You’ve been through a lot, but you’re safe now.’ Whatever internal battle was raging within the stranger seemingly resolves itself. He cautiously makes his way to the truck, and Rudy feels a wave of relief wash over him.
They drive in silence, for a while. Rudy can’t help but glance at his passenger every so often. He looks odd, even for a cultist. The stranger’s clothes remind Rudy of people he saw at the ren faire last year – whimsically medieval under all of the dirt and grime. Speaking of grime – the man seems to have really been going through it. The truck is dark, but he can definitely see dirt on his elbows and knees, and Is that blood on his shirt? The thought makes him squeamish. He’s even more perplexed by the stranger’s face, covered in dust with wild eyes and tear tracks down his eyes. His expression is oddly blank.
It's Rudy that finally breaks the silence, with a clumsy ‘You doing alright over there?’ There’s a beat of silence, and Rudy almost regrets speaking up. The stranger’s voice is quiet, hoarse, like he’d been crying. ‘I… I don’t know.’ He has a strong foreign accent, unlike anything Rudy ever heard. ‘It’s going to be fine though. You’re safe now. We’ll reach the crisis center soon enough.’ He tries his best to be reassuring. The poor thing has probably been through so much already, it’s the least he could do. Another beat of silence. This time it's the stranger that speaks first. ‘Where am I?’ Rudy scrambles for an answer. ‘We’re uh…’ he checks the GPS, ‘about 30 miles from St. Helens, Oregon. More broadly, uh, we’re in the Pacific Northwest in the United States.’ The passenger frowns. Rudy’s focus returns to the road. Silence.
‘I’m Rudy, by the way, it’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?’
‘Viego.’
It’s quiet. Rudy considers turning on the radio, but decides against it, not wanting to startle the stranger – Viego any more than necessary. Heaven knows he’s been through enough already. He tries to remember what to do with people in shock – it’s been a while since that first aid course but surely there must be something he could –
‘Is this… real?’ His voice is so small, so afraid. Rudy steals a look at his companion, and his heart breaks as he takes in the sight. Viego is slumped back in his seat, his jaw clenched and brows knit in confusion, or deep though – no, panic. He’s on the verge of tears, shaking ever so slightly.
‘Hey now, it’s okay, this –‘ he gestures around the truck cabin, ‘it’s all real. You’re okay.’ He scrambles for something – anything to placate his passenger. ‘You’re gonna love St. Helens, I promise. It’s a lovely community – we’ve got a fishing club, and trout season is starting soon, so that’s a thing to look forward to. We’re going to host a fishing derby this year, too. Our own fishing derby! Imagine that! Not to toot my own horn but, well, i helped organize the thing, what with the logistics and the marketing and the judge committee – you gotta have a committee for it to be official these days, you know…’ He glances at Viego, who sits still, silent. But he’s no longer shaking and he seems to be listening intently.
‘Anyway if fishing’s not your thing, there’s a birdwatching society. Lorrie – my wife – she’s been the society’s president for ten years and counting! There’s also the hiking trails, let’s not forget those. Plenty of forest to go round, and it’s good for you. Say, have you ever been on a fishing trip?’ Viego shakes his head. He seems to be much calmer now. ‘Tell you what, once this whole thing blows over, I’ll take you fishing, how’s that sound?’ He nods, gentle, uncertain. 'Oh, you’ll love it, I promise!’
Rudy knows he’s rambling, but he keeps going, filling the silence with his voice, with tales of fishing trips and hikes and his first ever encounter with a bear (‘Oh you should have seen him, Viego, such a beast hasn’t been spotted since!’). He talks about hunting and logging and the art of fly fishing. He doesn’t register the passing of time, lost in memories and stories and all the wisdom accrued in his fifty years on this earth. The next time he glances at Viego, he sees the man fast asleep. He smiles softly at the sight, before turning his eyes back to the road.