you and me and the devil makes three
MARCH, 2019

the screams are a tinny in her ear: distant and almost nothing. the sky is a ravaged purple, and she floats above them all, her body tingling and surging with power she's never had before this. it is so immense that she doesn't even feel human anymore; only a ball of fury and betrayal, determined to see this through.

she looks down at them, at their brightly colored costumes, at the wretched banner of red hair that's so prominent even from her view. the expression on her face is like her own: determined, fierce, and desperate it. the green in jean's eyes, she can see it even up here, above them all.

she hates her. so much of her wants jean dead, the way she should have been all along--but more than that, she wants the man beside her to suffer. before jean, there was scott, always doubting who she was, always comparing her endlessly to jean, always saying one thing and doing another, always waiting to leave at the slightest responsibility, always breaking his promise to her no matter what it was.

the most important thing was to make him lose. jean could live her wretched life how she wanted. scott summers, however, didn't deserve an ounce of goodness, didn't deserve anything except punishment.


the only way the punishment could be real, the only way she could truly win? that was for her to give up the one thing that had kept her going for months now. the one person who she loved more than herself for so damn long, and the entire reason she had been created in the first place: their son.

a breeze picks up. goosebumps break out on her skin.

the demon by her side offers her son to her, no doubt summoned by her thoughts. she reaches out to grasp him, hands slipping around him like they had so many times before, supporting his head and middle section. she looks down at his face, at the wideness of his eyes, at the dirty blonde hair he possessed.

for a moment she wavers. she feels the love for him burning inside of her, the need to have him at her side, protect him. remembering the efforts she had gone through to find him, remembering the distraught state she had been living inside of for months, the helplessness she felt knowing he was gone. and the love she felt when she saw him again, the relief when she held him in her arms. that love that was still there, now. the love that she feels grow with every moment--

--and then hears sinister's words ringing in her ear. broodmare.

her hand around his neck tightens. the power inside of her leaps to her command, and she feels herself smiling, wicked and mournful at the same time. nathan cries out in her arms, louder and louder. the skies darken and she hears her husband call out her name.

her hand squeezes. nathan shrieks,

and molly sits up in her bed, covered in a cold sweat. her stomach is burning, and she runs to the bathroom, frantic, to empty out her stomach. she can't stop heaving for long minutes at a time, each breath nauseated and fearful. she shakes, and inside of her head, she can feel madelyne turn and turn in fear and anger. molly could reach out; she could demand to know why the dreams are back, why those memories are swirling back to the surface of their shared mind.

it would be a stupid, obvious thing to ask, with a stupid, obvious answer.

by the time she flushes the toilet, and scrubs her face, lily is crying louder than ever. she makes her way as quickly as possible to the crib, lifting her up, and clinging to her desperately in the darkness of the house. molly's hands shake against her back, her head dipping to press her cheek against lily's own, trying her best to calm all three of them down.

she doesn't dare close her eyes, lest she see a wrenching purple sky again.