(Ford x Reader) Hickory Pines

CH. 22 Calvary

Y/N POV

"Y/N?" The echoing whispers of my friend wakes me up. In the fleeting moments of sleep, I'd wistfully forgotten the dull, insistent throbbing inside my legs. I stir upward, Fiddleford's palm pushing me back down with gentle ease. "Easy there.." he mutters. I grimace and suck air through my teeth.

"What time is it?"

"I'm not entirely sure..."

I adjust my position. If I could see, I'd check my wounds. "While you were restin' I gathered some more supplies." Fiddleford yawns, and sets varying items beside me. If only I could see them... "I think I found a canteen? Not sure if there's water in it." He stammers and digs beside me

After a few clicks a familiar, but much dimmer flame, springs to life. I smile slightly at the warm glow– then look down toward myself; the mood dampens. "At least it's dry..." I say slowly.

Fiddleford nods at this, he pushes up glasses that aren't there out of habit. "Is it?" he muses, "I reckon the bleeding stopped, then."

With a little chuckle I reach upward, feeling into the nothingness. I hear the rustling of fabric before a work calloused hand grips against my palm, and Fiddleford heaves me up. On my injured legs I warble a bit, Fiddleford leaning down so I can wrap my free arm around his neck for stability. "How's your arm?" I question, gaining a dry laugh from the southerner.

"Mangled... but seemin'ly dry, too."

"Good–" I grit before inhaling as I take a step forward– "That's real good."

"Speakin' of good. You don't seem "good"."

With a little sigh I take another step with him. "I know..." I frown but force another smile. "But, since we'll be stuck here a while, we need to find supplies sooner rather than later."

"Y/N..." he pauses his words, and I watch his lips part with silent words. I know what he's thinking, except I don't want to die hopeless– rather not die at all– but we're trapped in the catacombs of an unidentified aircraft beyond our technical comprehension.

My brain can fill in the gaps narrative wise.

His grip tightens on me harshly, startling me out of my thoughts. "No.." I blink in surprise as Fiddleford looks at me with a determination filled gaze. "Yer right... We need to get lookin'. People need us."

Stanford POV.

I gaze into the maw that swallowed my friends whole; I stare with terror and distain, only wondering what has happened to them. Are they– even alive? Is this pointless? I gaze at the rope in my palms, the one I ran back to retrieve. I didn't sleep last night, I didn't have the chance, but there's an itching in my brain. He wants to speak with me.

Stuck in my mindscape, sometimes I can feel what he feels. When someone is, quite literally, in your head; it's impossible to not feel a sort of– empathic nature. I growl quietly, "Cut it out," before the nagging grows stronger, ignoring my pleas. I huff, rubbing the darkened sockets of my eyes.

His speech is broken; his speech is quiet, but demanding; he is inside of me. Whether I want him to be or not.

"Oh Fordsy, Fordsy, Fordsy..~" The creature croons inside me. "How did you manage to blunder this badly? All I asked was for the proper supplies, but instead, you wasted our good resources."

My grip tightens on the twine. "They aren–" He cuts me off, and a loud ringing pierces my tympanic membrane. "Hey, calm down Poindexter. I wasn't referring to them. Just the mechanical pieces that are– oh so crucial to our plans?"