roмan godғrey (cauled) wrote in welcomethreads, @ 2014-07-29 23:36:00 |
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Roman swayed on his feet, gripping Peter's arm tight enough that it had to hurt even the werewolf, as he watched Dr. Spivak - no, the monster that had been Dr. Spivak - fly away. With Miranda. With Nadia. With his daughter. His knees nearly gave out, and it was only his grip on Peter, and Destiny moving to his side in a rare show of sympathy, that kept him upright. Everything, every part of the whole fucking, godforsaken day, came rushing back and he felt sick to his stomach and utterly lost. How could this have happened? They had been happy, or as close to happy as they got. Everything had been close to working out. They could have been a family. And now it was just gone.
Olivia, just as much of a wretched, spiteful, selfish cunt as she had ever been. That was hardly a surprise. He'd never believed in her supposed change. The only thing Olivia would ever care about was herself. He only had to think back to Letha, to Nadia's birth, to his own death, to every awful, bullshit moment of his life when his mother had used him, and that much was clear. Olivia had never been human. She didn't know how to love. He doubted she was capable of it. He wondered if it even registered for her, what she had done to the people in her life, but he doubted that it had.
Shelley, broken and devastated and torn apart by her grief and disappointment. Her new body, dead. His heart broke for his sister, for how much pain he knew she must be feeling, but also because he hated that she ever thought she needed to change. He knew why, of course. She could never live a normal life as she was, not when everyone thought she was a serial killer. Not with the constant stares and jeers. But he had always hoped that, in spite of everything, Shelley could see how beautiful she was. Shelley had always been the best of them, the kindest, most wonderful person he had ever known, and now he worried he'd lost her forever.
Norman, dead, his heart ripped out by Olivia. It was fitting, really. His love for her had been his undoing. A second father dead because of his monster of a mother. Roman had always known, deep down, that Norman was his father. He'd never wanted to admit it, or even think about it, but he'd known. And for all that he'd rejected him, he had cared about the man. He'd looked up to him. He'd wanted, as much as he'd failed to achieve it, to be a man of principles like him. Given time, they could have mended things, known each other as father and son. And now he was gone. Gone like Letha, gone like...
Nadia. God. His daughter. She had been the one thing he could have done right. The one good part of him. The last shred of Letha in his life. And she was gone. Taken from him. Even without Spivak the fucking flying lizard, and what the fuck was that, she had been gone. He felt like he had died when Miranda had let herself fall. He had trusted her, he had let her into his life and trusted her with his child, and she had betrayed him. She had let her fear rule her and she had tried to murder his daughter. He didn't care if Nadia was the fucking Antichrist. He couldn't give one fuck if she was destined to tear the world down around their ears. She was his. She was his little girl. She was his child. And now she was...
"Gone," he gasped out, holding tighter to Peter. "She's...she's gone. I can't...I...she's gone, Peter. She's...They're..." He couldn't let go. He needed Peter with him. Peter was all he had left and he didn't think he'd survive it if Peter left him again. If he ran away like he had after Letha. Even as he thought it, he pushed away and stumbled over to edge of the roof, looking down hopelessly, like if he stared long enough, he might somehow make his daughter come back. Just his daughter. Fuck Miranda, after what she'd done. She could die for all he cared. He swayed slightly on his feet, closing his eyes, and then he was somewhere else.
He looked around frantically, confused and out of sorts. No. No no no. Had he fallen? As terrified as he was of Peter leaving, he hadn't wanted to leave him either. He couldn't do that to him. Where was he? Where was Peter? "PETER!" he shouted, whirling around as he looked for his friend. He had to find him. He had to. He was working himself into a proper panic, heart racing as he swore and pulled at his hair, when a young woman approached him. She was pretty, he supposed, in a sweet, wholesome way that made him ache for Letha. "Are you all right?" she asked gently, her accent making him wonder where exactly he was. "You must be new here. I'm sorry. I know the portals can be a bit overwhelming. This is Storybrooke. I'm Belle, the town librarian. You've fallen through a portal, from your world into this one. I know that might sound hard to believe, but-"
He barely focused on the rest of her words, taking the phone and the money she gave him with an almost robotic disinterest. He didn't care about any of this. He could hear her pulse and it was pounding in his ears and he didn't want to hurt anyone. Not now. He didn't want to be a monster like Olivia. Shaking his head and trying to breathe past the overwhelming need, he grabbed her by the arm, jerking her close and looking her dead in the eye. "You need to go," he told her. "You need to leave right now. NOW!" She stumbled away, leaving him by himself again. At least she would be okay, even if he wasn't sure if he ever would be again. "PETER!" He shouted again. "Peter please! You have to be here. You have to. You...I need you..." His knees did give out then, and he fell to the ground shaking and staring at his hands. What was he going to do?