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Natalie can’t sleep.
She'd always thought that after they got out of the godforsaken wilderness that she'd sleep easily. That the comforts of a full stomach and a bed that isn't the hard, cold ground would outweigh everything else.
She was fucking wrong.
The hospital is too bright, too loud, too much.
The bed is comfier than anything she's slept on in ages but it's so different. The blankets are itchy against her skin and smell of antiseptic and, strangely, just too clean. She can't ever have imagined complaining about that after a year of blankets that smelt of mildew and dirt. And that's if she was lucky.
The constant low buzz of people who are always whispering and never actually talking mixes with the beeps and cries of machinery that never ends. It makes her nervous, makes her blood hum in her ears. She's used to the sound of running water and the chirping of animals, the chatter of the other yellowjackets, all their voices achingly familiar to her now.
She hadn't realized how used to life out there she'd gotten. She knows at some point she stopped missing the comforts of home, stopped hoping for any end to the hell they were stuck in. She hadn't thought she'd ever get used to it.
But she had.
She had gotten used to the routine of it. The constant layer of dirt she couldn't ever get off, the same company day in and day out, the smells and sounds of the forest. The constant fight to survive, the fight to feed everyone. The sacrifices. It had all become a fucked up version of normal to her. At least when they weren't be monstrous contortions of themselves.
She's so fucking happy to be out of there. So fucking happy to be here, to be anywhere that isn't the wilderness. To know she'll never have to kill anyone ever again or con-
She's happy to be in this hospital.
It just feels strange to exist outside of it now. Like she doesn't have a place in the real world anymore.
It doesn’t help that every time she closes her eyes, she has nightmares. She doesn't even really remember them, they're just a haze of blood in the snow, the smell of death and decay, the taste of flesh and of cold so deep in her bones that she wakes up aching.
But Natalie prefers to blame something else for her lack of sleep.
Misty.
She tries not to think about her. She's not worth the fucking mental anguish but it's like poking an old bruise. Natalie can't help it. The familiar ache is almost comforting in it's pain.
She's known Misty too fucking long and knows her better than anyone now. Knows just what sort of desperate, insane monster lives just beneath her skin. It's not surprising that all the feelings that bubble up are a conflicted mess.
Sometimes she's still the sad, pathetic freak of a girl that Nat's always felt bad for. The one that Nat thought people where unfair too because she didn't think Misty was as bad as everyone else thought she was. That she was weird but ultimately harmless.
Fucking idiot.
The crash showed them all how fucking weird Misty really was. How little she understands or cares about boundaries, especially when they get in her way. Just how willing she was to do whatever fucked up shit as long as she got what she wanted. The way she never shuts up, her ability to prattle on endlessly about nothing in particular is un-fucking-matched. But, as much as it pains Natalie to admit it, they needed her out there. So, even if Misty was unnerving and strange, Nat was willing to interact with her. She's an outsider like Nat and Nat's stupid heart will always bleed for those like her.
But, Misty fucking designed it so that she was needed and they were all fucking stuck out there with her because she's fucking batshit crazy and selfish and has no earthly idea what it actually takes to make an actual human connection.
There’s just something undeniably wrong about her and Nat feels like a fucking idiot for not realizing until she was staring Misty down with a fucking transponder part in her hand.
There’s the sound of blankets shifting and a whimper.
She can’t even be quiet in her fucking sleep.
Natalie rolls over to look at her, seeing that the other girl is twisting in her bed. She’s probably having a nightmare.
Natalie doesn’t give a shit.
Really.
She doesn’t.
Actually, Misty probably isn’t even capable of having things like nightmares and even if she was, she fucking deserves them. She’s the reason they were all out there for so fucking long, every awful, horrific thing that ever happened out there is her fucking fault. It lays on Misty's conscience, if she even fucking has one.
Misty doesn’t deserve peace. She deserves to have this eat away at her the way her secret eats away at Nat. Now, if anyone finds out the truth, she’ll get dragged down with Misty. Being home won't save Misty from everyone else's wrath and Nat protected her. Even when she couldn't look at Misty without wanting to scream or punch her in her stupid face again, without feeling angry and a stupid, nonsensical sense of betrayal, Natalie still lied. She's made herself guilty by association, protecting the monster who fucked them all over from her rightful fate.
Because, she knows things turned out the best they could. She knows that this burning hatred is better than the alternative. If she said anything, everyone would've torn Misty to shreds. The others wouldn't have let it go, they wouldn't have been able to cling on to the slight hope Misty gave her and just let their anger fester and burn into something ugly. They’re home because Natalie could. If the weight around her neck is a consequence of that, she’ll learn to live with it.
If Nat had been anyone fucking else, Misty wouldn't be resting 6 feet away from her, she'd be fucking dead. And Nat wouldn't just know how it feels to have Misty's blood on her hands, she would've known the tang of it, how it felt when it slid down her throat. She would've known the taste of her flesh, the weight of it in her belly. She would've consumed Misty until the desperation and loneliness that cling to her settled into Natalie's bones instead.
Misty would've rested sharply shoved between her ribs, the way Jackie and Javi and Coach do.
The way everyone she's feasted on does.
She finds herself, stupidly, wondering what they would've done with Misty's things.
The concept of something be yours became foreign out there but there are some things that she still remembers where they originated from. It was always particularly obvious when someone was wearing something that had been Misty's, in a different life time. There are some things that were never shared, some of Laura Lee's things were Lottie's the same way Jackie's things were Shauna's. But nobody would mourn Misty the way that they were mourned. No one out there loved Misty anywhere close to that much, she was tolerated as a necessity. Misty could never bridge the gap between her and everyone else. Fuck, Nat was the closest thing she had to a fucking friend after that first winter and whatever the fuck happened to Crystal.
She's not sure that's saying much either. Nat can't really think about how she would've felt if something had happened to Misty before she knew. It's hard to see past the transponder of it all, to lessen that feeling of anger to what it was before. It was something soft, she thinks. Something that made her weak to Misty's big eyes and her dumb antics.
She doesn't want to think about that.
She wonders if the other's would've destroyed all of Misty's things instead, try to erase her from existence like that could undo all the damage she'd done.
Nat doesn't think she could have let them destroy all of her things. She'd have argued it was practical, that losing sweaters or Misty's dorky ass equipment manager jacket would be a mistake. It would've been a messier feeling than that though. She's not sure she could stomach erasing Misty away like that. Misty's hurt them, hurt her in ways that won't ever lessen. But Misty was there, she was as much a person as she was a monster, and Nat thinks she would've wanted something concrete to hold on to.
It doesn't matter though.
Because Misty is alive and well and as annoying as ever.
Misty whimpers softly and Natalie slips out of her bed. Her knee twinges at the added weight. She lied about what happened, the same way they lied about everything. No one can know what they did, no one else would get it.
They can't.
So everything is a little white lie, to take away blame from each other and cover up all the shit they're all complicit in. Their horrors will only exist out there and in their memories.
She takes the few steps to Misty's bed, leaning against the rail and she stares at her. Her face is contorting in her sleep and she's startled to see just how tiny she looks.
Misty took care of her.
And Nat let her.
That's the sick part.
When she'd finally managed to make it back to camp to let everyone know what happened, shit got bad. And she had expected Misty to play both sides like she always did but Natalie had her complete and total loyalty. Even if Nat hurled every cruelty she could think of at her, Misty came back like a dog to her shitty owner.
It's so fucked.
But Misty tried her best to protect her and Nat keeps her secret.
Maybe it’s not just her annoyance and desperation to sleep that makes her make this choice. Maybe something in her cares about the slumbering girl in front of her.
Misty lets out another high pitched whimper and it grates on her nerves.
It’s the annoyance.
“Misty,” Nat hisses at her.
Misty doesn’t wake up, just rolls restlessly.
Nat just wants to sleep. She can’t do that if Misty doesn’t settle.
Nat tries again, saying her name louder and when it still doesn’t work, she puts her hands on Misty’s shoulders and shakes her. Her grip is tight, nails digging in, hoping that maybe the pain will jolt Misty back to reality.
Still nothing.
She shakes a little harder, voice a little louder, “Misty. Wake up. You’re having a bad fucking dream.”
Misty wakes suddenly, sitting bolt upright and Nat has to jump back to keep them from knocking foreheads. Her bad knee almost gives out on her and she grabs the edge of the bed to stop herself from falling. Misty seems disorientated, looking around their hospital room wildly before locking eyes with Natalie. Her face is drained of all its colour and she thinks Misty might be trembling. Her expression reads the same way a doe's does when it looks wildly for her when a twig snaps beneath her feet in the woods. Something deep and instinctual, something panicked, all muscles tensed and ready to run.
Nat feels something in her crack, if just a little.
When she looks at Misty, she should see an irredeemable monster. An inhumane bitch, someone willing to screw them all over to get what she wants.
But she doesn’t see that when she looks at Misty right now. Instead, Misty just looks so young, so scared and vulnerable. Someone who’s been through way too much. It's what Nat sees in the mirror, even if the reflection feels unrecognizable.
She tries to remind herself that all the shit Misty went through was her own damn fault. She shouldn't feel bad for her, feeling bad for her would be a mistake.
But Misty looking pathetic must win out over her hatred somehow, because instead of telling Misty to shut the fuck up so she can sleep, Nat finds a different set of words leaving her mouth.
“Shove over.”
She still sounds angry, bitter. But the words aren’t what she wanted to say. Crawling into Misty’s bed was the last thing on her mind when she came over here.
Misty’s voice is shaky, “What?”
“You were whimpering in your sleep. Move over.”
Misty still seems confused but she’s obedient when she wants to be, especially when it comes from Natalie, so she shifts over and lifts the blanket enough for Nat to crawl in next to her. The bed is small so they're pressed close together with no way to avoid it. Nat's so intimately aware of all the places they're touch, shoulder knocking into each other, arms and legs pressed together. Misty's kind of sweaty and a lot warmer than she expected.
It makes her skin crawl and yet something deep inside her settles anyway.
“I-“ Misty starts, and she waits a second—probably expecting Natalie to tell her to shut her mouth— before she continues, “I don’t remember what I was dreaming about. Just how cold it was. And the fear. I’m always so scared in them. I don’t really ever remember being that scared out there.”
Nat bites the inside of her cheek, focusing on the sharp pain as she thinks about if she should respond or not.
The late hour, the fact that she’s already shoved in a bed with Misty wins out.
“I don’t really remember mine either," Nat says softly. "I just can’t sleep.”
She leans her head back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling tiles.
“You’d think it’d be easier not being out there.”
Natalie doesn’t really think anything is going to be easy ever again. All that fucking shit is gonna weigh them down for life, eat away at them. None of them, save probably Misty, will be anything close to what they were supposed to be.
Neither of them say anything for a long moment before Misty whispers pathetically, “Don’t you hate me?”
And that’s the million dollar fucking question, isn’t it?
Misty's asked her similar things before but she's always skirted around being so blunt.
Natalie wants to say yes.
She hates Misty, she hates her so fucking much that it feels like it’s a part of her now. She hates what she did, she hates that her secret weighs heavily on Nat’s shoulders. She hates the way she’s always there, looking to make amends and never backing down when she makes it clear she wants nothing to fucking do with her. Nat hates that she had to protect Misty from what she probably deserves. She hates that Misty helped her get them rescued. She hates that Misty's helped her ever. She hates that all of it, every rotten fucking moment of it, is her fault. She hates that she knows it’s more complex than that.
She hates her.
Hates her hates her hates her hates her.
She hates that she doesn’t hate Misty as much as she should.
She hates that there’s some stupid fucking part of her that has always looked at Misty and saw something that was shared between them, a common thread that’s only gotten more fucking knotted with time. It still looks at Misty and feels bad for her. It still looks at Misty and twinges in understanding.
“I want to hate you."
It’s a lot more honest than she ever intends to be with Misty.
“Oh.” Misty sounds thoughtful. “It would be okay if you did, you know. I’d understand.”
Misty wouldn’t understand because Misty is Misty. She thinks it would tear Misty apart if Nat hated her and she’d try to take Nat with her.
“Okay.”
Misty tries to wrap an arm around Nat's shoulder, so tentative and like she's waiting for Nat to pull away and scream at her. But Nat gives in, letting Misty's arm wrap around her. Then Nat goes a step further, shifting lower into Misty's hold, resting an arm across her stomach. Some part of her is screaming to leave, to get away from Misty. This is poisonous, this is bad. It will only ever hurt her
Hurt them.
But Misty’s arm is around her, squeezing at Nat like she’s a beloved teddy bear who can keep everything bad at bay. Nat puts her hand flat across Misty’s stomach, and she can hear Misty’s heart racing just under where her head is resting. Their legs are intertwined and Misty is so, so warm.
It’s comforting, even if it's from the last place she should take it. The same way she’s been taking comfort from Misty the last few months. It’s a bad idea and she knows it.
But Natalie's always taken comfort from what hurts her. Why would this be any different?
It’s rotten and terrible and will only ever fucking hurt them. Misty is rotten and terrible and will only ever hurt her.
But it’s easy.
Her sleep is dreamless.