Work Text
Powder’s weight — as little as it is, and Vi thinks of her as a bird, for some reason, she always has, thinks she could pick her up like one, too, like she weighs nothing at all — presses Vi down into the floor, pins her until all energy saps from her, until she cannot move. And while her knees jab sharply into Vi’s stomach and ribs, it’s weirdly… comfortable.Comfortable in the sense that it seems to push any other thoughts out of Vi’s mind. Comfortable in the sense that the only thing she can feel are Powder’s sharp knees and her irregular breaths. Comfortable in the sense that she can’t move, that she can’t think, that she can tell herself there’s nothing she could have done differently, that everything is right where it belongs.That she can tell herself it wasn’t her fault, that this was about her sister — about sweet Powder whom she dreamed about in prison, sweet Powder, the only girl she’s ever been close to (before, her brain supplies, but she presses it back, stares with hollow eyes at the ceiling, the candle light still flickering in her periphery), even when she’s twisted now, even when Powder’s eyes are now bright pink instead of blue, even though she has a look in her eyes like a hunted animal, even though she calls herself Jinx now.(Because Vi called her that, first. Because — and this isn’t something she has to tell herself, not this, and it’s the only thing she truly holds on to — Powder’s fingers claw into Vi’s shoulders, curled up on top of her like a cat, because Powder’s life revolves around Vi’s just like it is the other way around.)It’s okay, Vi wants to tell her, but there’s blood between them, soaking into their clothes, making them stick to both their skin like it makes them stick together. It’s okay, Vi wants to tell her, wants to cup the back of Powder’s head and pull her close, close, closer, wants to press a kiss to Powder’s forehead, but the words stick in her throat like glass shards.Powder isn’t crying. For some reason, that fact sinks into Vi’s mind every few seconds anew: Powder isn’t crying. There’s two dead bodies in the room — at this dinner Jinx prepared, Jinx with the claws, Jinx with the haunted eyes, Jinx Vi thinks she’ll have to be ready to love, especially now — and Powder isn’t crying, and for some reason, Vi thinks she ought to be.But maybe she ought to be crying, herself. Her eyes are certainly stinging, and she did like Caitlyn — fuck, she liked Caitlyn a lot, and she stuffs that thought aside, alongside all the other thoughts about the dead bodies that go beyond identifying them as the dead bodies — but for some reason, nothing’s coming.So, she listens to Powder’s irregular breaths. Submits herself to the insubstantial weight on top of her, her arms spread wide on the floor instead of clutching her sister like she knows they should be. Stares, stares, stares.“It’s okay,” Powder says, finally, breath hot against the skin of Vi’s neck, voice scratchy and deep in a way that’s so unfamiliar Vi blinks, so unfamiliar Vi thinks she herself was the one who spoke, for just a moment. She will grow to love this, too. “It’s okay, right?”Ah.It’s okay, Vi wants to tell her. There’s other things she wants to say, too.(Where do we go why did you do that why did I have to you made me oh fuck Powder this is bad where are we gonna go none of this is okay no it’s not of course it isn’t I don’t think I’m ever getting this blood out of my shirt where do we go what do we do I missed you so much Powder I thought about you every single day when I was away how have you been what was done to you who are you what did we do?)Slowly, she manages to raise her hand, slowly, slowly, slowly, it falls heavily on Powder’s head. Her hair’s braided, long, long, long, so she can’t run her fingers through it like she used to, but that’s okay. It’s coarse to the touch like it always has been, and Vi breathes.It’s the only answer she can manage. And though there’s a restless thrum to Powder’s hollow bones on top of her — shifting, kneecaps digging into Vi, fingers clawing, shoulder blades moving under skin, her ribs sharp — it seems to be response enough, at least for now.Part of Vi thinks she’s falling asleep. Thinks she’s asleep already, that all of this is a dream, but Powder sticks, sticks, sticks to her with all the blood and there’s still the phantom-feeling of recoil throbbing in her shoulder. She’s never much liked guns, and her knuckles are bruised, they always are, but not from this. Maybe she’s a coward, after all.There’s more sticking to her, more trying to burrow its way into her skull, but she can’t think about any of that, so she doesn’t.“Vi,” Powder pleads, and her voice is grating, makes Vi squeeze her eyes shut and swallow. “You’re not mad at me, are you? We’re together again now.”Vi blinks her eyes open after a moment. Stares at the ceiling.“I did this so we could be together, just us. You did it for that reason too, right? Vi? And — and I love you. You’re my sister. You are my sister.”Right? rings through the air unsaid, again and again and again. Powder’s fingertips are shaking. Vi thinks she wouldn’t like it if she knew Vi still calls her Powder in her mind, but she’ll never be able to let go of that. Of her sister, of her baby sister, of the one she thought of at night in prison, all alone all those years, with that sticky desire in her chest.And now here’s Powder in the flesh, all grown up, all long and lanky with big, round eyes, smudged with makeup, and now here’s Powder in the flesh, with the bloody-bitten lips and the blood-soaked clothes and the fingertips leaving bloody fingerprints all over Vi where she’s grabbing, grabbing, grabbing. She might not be what Vi imagined, or what she remembers, but she’s right: she’s still her sister.Maybe that’s all that ever mattered — especially now, when they’re the only family they have left, with perhaps the last two members remaining dead in this room with them.(Perhaps, she thinks, because it was an almost thing for her. Perhaps, she thinks, because she hates the man Powder called family in her absence, because she never wants to think about him ever again.)There’s blood drying under Vi’s fingernails when she brushes Powder’s hair out of her face. When Powder lifts her head, when Vi looks into her eyes for what feels like the first time in a long, long, while — not calming blue like she remembers but electric pink in a way that makes her mouth go dry — when she says, “Yeah.”Powder smiles. Powder smiles, and there’s dust and dirt and smudged makeup and blood and freckles on her face, but the way she smiles is still the way she’s always smiled. Throbs in Vi’s chest sharply like a blade, like nostalgia, like something else, until she sits up and presses her mouth to Powder’s.It doesn’t… feel like kissing. Which might just be another of those things Vi’s talking herself into — she’s not a killer and she’s not someone who desires her sister, either, except she is, except she perhaps always has been — but it’s true; teeth knock into each other, Vi’s bottom lip getting caught between them, copper exploding in her mouth. Breath heavy on each other’s faces, teeth sharp, Powder’s tongue pressing to the cut on Vi’s lip until it feels numb, then to the scar on Vi’s top lip. Vi presses her own tongue to the gap in her sister’s teeth, in a quick movement, like it’s something she’s wanted for years.She claws fingers into Powder’s hair, messing up her braids, a noise slipping out of Powder that tastes all the way desperate, pleading, lonely, wanting. That tastes exactly like Vi felt when she was thinking about her one and only, locked away from the rest of the world. It was Powder who kept her alive those years, in the end, not the other way around.“Vi,” Powder gasps, trying to move closer, closer, closer, but her head gets yanked back just a little by… something, and it’s that, the surprised knit of Powder’s brows, that shakes Vi out of it.That makes her lean back, chest heaving, that makes her gaze drop to the floor, to where… to where one of Powder’s braids sticks to it, where it’s soaked with blood, where it dried.Everything returns, everything spins back. Powder’s lips are bitten bloody, and the scent is overwhelming, everywhere — gunpowder and blood and something like flesh. Vi’s head spins from it, nausea welling over her. They need to get out of here.“I love you, too,” she says, instead. Powder smiles again, widening when Vi cups her face in both hands, holds her like she used to, and maybe it’s all worth it, in the end. Maybe this has always been where this path led. Maybe that’s okay.