(Ford x Reader) Hickory Pines

CH. 24 Rejoice

Y/N POV

The hallways stretch out, vast and unfamiliar. It took effort—teamwork, and a bit of blood—but Fidds and I managed to pry that door open. Now we're just... wandering. It's brighter here than the prison we left behind, but the distant hum of machinery and the occasional spark serve as grim reminders that, once, this place was alive.

I hadn't thought about it before—there was too much happening. Our health mattered more, so I focused on that. Survival. I run my free hand along the wall, noting each divot in the metal, the grain of rust, and the notches that might, or might not, tell the story of what happened here.

Obviously, all life here has perished. But why? How? Could it be a conspiracy, like Stanford suggested? Fiddleford yanks my collar, snapping me out of my thoughts and pushing me toward the wall. He presses his back against it. "What's going on?" I whisper.

"Shhh!" he hisses. If he had his other hand free, it would be pressed against my mouth.

Peeking around Fiddleford's body, I catch a faint light flickering across the floor. My body tenses, and I quickly look away. Are we not alone after all? Flattening against the wall, we wait in silence as the light fades. Fiddleford and I exhale at the same time. He runs his free hand over his clothes, as if trying to calm himself.

"Seems they've got some kind of doomahickey surveilling the area," he mutters under his breath, glancing around before meeting my eyes. "We should find another path..."

"We seem to have infinite choices..." I laugh nervously, quickly covering my mouth to muffle the sound. Fiddleford blinks, then squints. "We—do we?"

With a sigh, I scan the surroundings, all the doorways stretching out before us.

"I'll just pick one."

"Do any of them look important?" Fiddleford asks, cutting in sharply.

"Uhm... it's hard to tell. I don't exactly read their language." I take a wobbly step back, Fiddleford supporting me like my legs. After all the traveling we've been through, we've grown in sync—I'm the eyes and arms, he's the legs and the mind. That's just how it's been for the past... day? Maybe longer. I'm not sure anymore.

"Different shapes? Symbols?" he suggests. "You described everything to me earlier. I know you're good at noticing little details."

Using his strides, I point to something he can't see and gasp. He stares at me, expression blank. I can't help but find his confusion amusing. Slowly, like a snail's pace, he follows my lead. I don't understand the language, but I do understand pictures.

So, when I see the outline of a book, I know what it is. The scent of old paper fills my nose, mingling with oil and... mold. I gag, fighting the urge to vomit. Despite the rancid stench, I push forward.

"Sweet sassafras..." Fiddleford chokes. "Are you tryin' to kill us?"

"No—but if I can find a map, maybe I can figure out where we are..." I release his shoulder, and his hand instinctively finds my back, as if afraid I'll collapse. Despite the pain, I lean against an old desk. He removes his hand, fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt. Opening the lighter we refilled, he takes it over to the back of the room, rummaging through the scattered papers and books.

I do the same, though only near surfaces I can lean on, and with far less light. If it weren't for the dying embers of electricity flickering in the hall, I'd be hopeless.

After what feels like endless searching, I do find something—though not a map. Instead, something equally intriguing. The book is surprisingly heavy, its pages tattered as I flip through them. The symbols I can't read blur by like droplets in a rainstorm. You know the water came from somewhere, but the journey remains a mystery. And just like that—it's gone.