RayEmma Oneshots

(un)worthy

The group had just collapsed in a tight ring of trees, gasping and panting for air. They'd been running practically nonstop for the past few hours with nothing but very short breaks—they decided to settle down and get some sleep before the sun rises.

Everyone was tired, dazed, hungry, thirsty, scared, but something about this mad dash and surge of adrenaline made them feel alive. Maybe even the most alive they'd ever felt in their lives. That was certainly the case for the oldest one among them.

Ray, leaning against the trunk of one of the trees, felt like he'd been running on autopilot his whole life, and was now just handed the steering wheel. Ever since he found out about the truth of the House, his life had been one long nightmare, trapped in a daze of depression and anxiety, counting down the minutes until that nightmare would end.

Now, the dizzying rush of adrenaline contrasted greatly with the dreamlike state of practically his whole life—he forgot what feeling alive felt like.

It also felt weird.

So much had happened the past few days, so much to process. He didn't die in a fire, instead escaping, his entire worldview shaken, feeling misplaced, a burden, a dead weight. He felt guilty; he tried to abandon them in death, and couldn't really do anything to help them during this escape—he was being dragged around by his younger siblings, who until now, he had thought would he the true burdens on this escape.

But no, they're all working forward to help him.

Even though he's not much of a help. Even though his entire life goal focused around leaving nearly all of them behind to be sacrificed.

They still want to help him. Especially her.

Ray glanced to his side, Emma's side profile vaguely visible next to him in the dim light of the fluorescent fauna floating around, the only thing illuminating the woods around them.

She had orchestrated this whole escape behind his back—how did he ever think she'd be the most useless out of their trio? True, it was Norman's plan, but Emma was the one to carry it out flawlessly.

He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve any of this.

But oh god, he wished he did.

Having hope practically shoved in his face, being slapped in the face and told he could live... he never got this kind of comfort or care back at the House. Emma and Norman would try to comfort him when he couldn't hold back the nightmares or the tears, but neither of them really knew why he felt that way, since for so long he was the only one who knew the truth.

Emma must have telepathy or something because as Ray started spiraling down into an inner monologue of self hate, she took his hand in hers. "How're you feeling?" She said with shaky breaths, still worn out from their intense run here. Ray didn't even know where to start—and didn't know how to. So he just shook his head, chest also heaving from overexertion. "You can talk to me about anything, Ray, y'know?" Emma added in a softer voice.

Ray just put his head in his hands. His thoughts were too jumbled, it felt like a tornado in his brain. Emma frowned, and moved forward—and hugged him. Not just the kind of I'm-very-sociable-and-like-to-hug-anything-that-moves hug that Emma constantly gives out, but instead one filled with immense comfort and care. He froze. When was the last time he's been hugged like this from someone besides Mama...

Emma took his moment of hesitation to hold him even tighter to her, cancelling any possible escape from her embrace. "I'm here for you, Ray," she reminded him, nuzzling her head into his shoulder.

He was confused. It didn't make sense. Why was she doing all this for him? Conflicting messages tore through his head; He didn't deserve it, but he wanted it. He shouldn't be loved like this after all he's done, but he still yearns to have that love. He shouldn't touch the fire, yet he's fanning the flames.