Notes:
me: there's not nearly enough misery and depression in these stories, why don't I just, angst everything all up?
This isn't really meant to be canonical to the Pregnancy parts, I just wanted to write something angsty and painful and it seemed like a good story to do that to so here this is. I'm writing it at 3am because I can't sleep and that's Real Depression Hours. I'll write a little bit of a happier ending for this at some point, I promise, so that people who enjoyed it don't get left with a bad taste in their mouth asfasdfs I'm also more of a sucker for happy endings SO
Warnings were added in the tags on this but I'll also specify in this note too: This includes death of an unborn child + violence, and some suicidal thoughts; doesn't get too graphic but it can be enough to upset someone.
How could you have ever known it'd turn out this way?
The moment is still a blur in your mind but you can still feel the pain clearly, the way the men crowded around you jeered and punched and kicked and spat. You were a prisoner in their home, and you were treated as such despite your condition; you actually believed your condition made them even more violent and mean-spirited, especially from the way they targeted your bloated belly. All you can do is sit there, arms wrapped around it protectively, hoping that'd be enough and you'd be saved soon.
You felt too weak to do much else.
Hours are spent in and out of consciousness, pain tearing through your body, but mostly through your abdomen. The men had long since stopped attacking you, moving on to drinking and mostly vacating the room you were being held in to do other nefarious deeds. You're worried about the baby but part of you already knows you don't need to worry, because it had likely died long ago. Now your body was going through the phases, premature labor, trying to...
You're not aware of anything happening around you, only becoming conscious when you hear your name called in such a devastating manner. You're soaked in blood, mostly your lower body, and you're tired, hungry, in so much pain... You can't even find the strength to open your eyes, and you're sure the person holding you right now, practically crying for you to wake up, would think you were dead. It's better off that way, for you to just die, because once you became acutely aware of how awful your life was about to become, you'd wished you'd just been shot.
When you come to you see a familiar face, Hosea, though he looks grim and worried. You don't hear anything he says to you, nor do you listen to anything that's being talked about as people filter in and out. You're aware that you're in different clothing now, clean, probably thanks to one of the ladies, and some of the pain has subsided, but otherwise you feel like you're lost in a fog. There's a fact following you around, something being screamed at you that you refuse to hear, and you promptly pass out again from the stress of it all.
Waking up the second time around is when your feelings fully hit, your eyes watering as you looked around the room to try to get your bearings, recognize where you were and if you were safe. John pops into your vision and you feel a sharp pang in your heart, one that made you want to scream, but you keep your lips sealed tight. He's giving you this sad, puppy look, like he was the one who just gave birth to a dead baby... or was it something more? He looks like he wants to say something but doesn't know how to word it, something you're used to when it comes to him, but you're not feeling very patient or pleasant today.
You might even consider punching him if he says what's so clearly written across his face; he was lucky to have Jack. The child of his that got to live, the one he didn't spend nearly enough time with and who he didn't give enough of his love to. So what now? Would he leave you, realize Abigail was who he should've been with all along? There wasn't a child tying you to him anymore, so what would be the point in continuing on this painful relationship? It would be easier for him just to leave, and maybe then your injuries from the botched pregnancy would allow you bleed out and finally die.
"I love you." You hear John whisper, his hand softly stroking your hair.
'I love you but I'm leaving you.' You think bitterly to yourself, unable to stop the flow of negativity. 'I love you but I have to be with Abigail and my son.'
But he doesn't leave you, the thought never crossing his mind. He's skirted more than his fair share of responsibilities, but it was always a solid kick in the ass that would be needed to get him to realize the important things in life. He wants to apologize to Abigail for what he's put her through, he wants to pull Jack into his arms and just hold his son, and he wants to relieve you of all your pain. The first two are easy enough to do, when he finally finds the strength to leave your side, but the last, he fears, may be too far out of his reach.
"What's it matter to you, anyway?" Your anger is bubbling up now, and he's the only one to take it out on. You're almost sorry that he loves you so much that he doesn't want to leave your side, because you're about to try to hurt him in the worst way possible. "You didn't even want this baby. For all I know, this is a dream come true for you. Don't have the added responsibility of a second kid you can't take care of."
The tension in the air is thick and you can tell he's trying to hold back an angry outburst, his glare piercing but it felt better than the look of pity he'd been giving you this whole time. Maybe that's why you picked a fight, because it felt better, more honest, like he was gonna hate you and that would help him just get over it. But it wouldn't, and maybe he wasn't the best with expressing his emotions, but he knew when and how to silence his anger and replace it with something else.
"You know that ain't true." He looks away from you. "I never wanted any of this to turn out this way."
"Well it did." Your voice cracks, and you're barely able to hold back tears now. "Go be with your family, John, just leave me be."
"You are my family, damn it, and I'm not leavin' your damn side until-! Until-!"
John lowers his head, not wanting you to see the pain that was so clearly stamped across his face. He'd tried to keep his own emotions in line, his anger, his despair, but it was even harder when you were accusing him of being a heartless bastard and not caring about his dead child. His heart ached at the thought of never getting to meet them, never even getting to give them a name, and he feels even more grief because he knows this has to be the world giving him what he deserves.
Karma.
Karma for not being the dad he should be with the son he already has. For being a thieving murderer thinking he deserves any type of happiness. There were so many things stacked up against him and the worst thing is that he was bringing you down with him.
The room is silent again except for your quiet sniffling as you wipe away your own tears and John's controlled breath as he tries to hold his in. You don't say anything to each other for a few minutes but it's clear you're on the same wavelength of pain now, but even though it would've been simpler for John to just leave the room, he doesn't. He stays put beside you, his hand moved from your hair to your free hand as he squeezes it.
"What do you think it was?" His voice is quiet, wary, as though he's afraid of how you might react to the question. You think it over for a minute before answering.
"...think it was a girl. Jack coulda used a half-sister to keep him in line."
"I can agree with that."
He wanted to say it would be okay, he felt that it would be, but he knew it probably wasn't the right moment to say it to you. He gets into a kneeling position by your bed so he could be closer without completely looming over you, and you finally turn to meet his gaze; there's so much emotion flooding through you, you don't know what to do with it, and John still doesn't know how to help.
All he could do was be there, and hope you realized how much he loved you and your child.