CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
PROMISE LAND
( trigger warning: brief mentions of death, alcoholism and abuse )

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MAGGIE SULLIVAN HAD BEEN to a grand total of five — now six — funerals in her lifetime. That was five — now six — too many for a girl her age, but Death had followed her around even when Maggie was too young to know what Death really was. Some days, it seemed like that was the only thing Maggie would ever be; the girl who attracted grief wherever she went.

The first funeral was for her grandmother on her father's side. Maggie knew next to nothing about the woman, just that her name was Simone Abrams, she had dirt-brown hair like her grandchildren, and that she liked making her only son's life unbearable when he was a kid. Alcoholism, emotionally abusive tendencies, a rocky marriage with a man who had grown to despise her with every drop of alcohol she consumed... if it wasn't for the fleeting presence of Maggie's father in her life at the time of Simone's death, her four-year-old granddaughter never would've considered attending her funeral. The odds were, really, that she wouldn't have even known the woman was dead.

Now Maggie wasn't proud of this. It was horrible to say let alone think, but Maggie couldn't bring herself to care if she knew or not. Simone was nothing but a stain to her ancestry, someone she'd much rather forget. The same could be said for Maggie's father, who in many ways, was just like his cold-hearted mother, despite promising his long-term girlfriend time and time again that he would change for their kids, for her, that he didn't want to be Simone Abrams incarnate.

But considering Maggie could count only three maybe four genuinely happy memories that she had of the man, it was safe to say that Vincent Abrams only knew two things in life; how to break loosely given promises and how to let down those who wanted to love him. He was off doing God only knew what when Maggie was born — the only birth he was around for was Vera's and Maggie assumed that was only because he tried (and failed) to stay sober for the very first one, the shining jewel of his growing family with the only woman to give him the time of day. The last three were just collateral to him, repetition of what he already had seen.

Then, because why would anything ever go right for the Sullivans, by the time Maggie was five, Vincent was locked up in a prison cell that he would never get out of, for the same reasons his mother's own father got locked up, and his father before him and so on... Abrams blood was part ichor, part liquor, part destruction for everyone who got too close.

Maggie could only hope, with her mother's last name and looks to match, that her father gave her nothing more than his DNA. Besides, Maggie was dragged along to his funeral just a month before Delilah died. So, maybe, the last man or woman with Abrams DNA to end up in prison would be him.

Which means we've reached the third funeral. In just six years, Maggie Sullivan had dressed up for the Grim Reaper himself three times, had even gone as far as to memorise the order in which a funeral took place.

The coffin was wheeled into the chapel by their loved ones. Then the celebrant would get up and speak about who the deceased was as a person, simple things like how old they were, who they were survived by, which loved ones they'd be meeting in heaven... After that came the eulogy, and if the person was really loved, the family would put together a video displaying their best pictures, the backing track being one of their favourite songs. And then, in some unique cases, the family and friends would place flowers on their coffin, and everything would inevitably end in tears as the coffin was taken away, never to be seen again.

Sure, that wasn't quite what happened with the Abrams, who were given the bare minimum from family members who had grown to merely tolerate them at best. But Maggie had never seen so many people crying than when it came to saying goodbye to Delilah Sullivan. The same could be said for Delilah's father, John, who died just a week before Maggie's eleventh birthday. A heart attack, Wren had said when she heard the news late one night, well after young Maggie's bedtime. She'd been woken by Wren's heartbroken sobs in the hallway, a sound that Maggie pretended not to hear until the morning after when there was no more avoiding Death as Wren and Everett sat the four of them down to break the news.

Again, it sounded cruel, but Maggie was rather unbothered by the loss. Living with her aunt several hours away from John Sullivan made it hard to see him let alone love him enough to feel the true sting of his absence. Really, Maggie only experienced the sheer heartache of two funerals; her mother's and the most recent. Carson's.

What seemed like the entirety of La Push and Forks combined showed up for his send-off, with Maggie and Hayden at the very front surrounded by his family. They'd offered her the chance to speak but in the thick of her grief Maggie hadn't taken the opportunity. Instead, she stood silent at Hayden's side, a hand on the whimpering girl's shoulder as she said goodbye for the both of them, barely able to breathe as it was surrounded by the sobs that broke through her chest.

Unlike Simone or Vincent or even John, Maggie had known Carson Burns like she knew the beat of her own heart. It was hard to comprehend that someone so young, so full of life, with so much waiting for him in the future, had ended up in that cold, bleak casket. He would never open his eyes again. She would never get to hear his voice one last time or see him achieve his hopes and dreams.

Harry Clearwater's funeral was much like Carson's. How could a man surrounded by so much love be ripped away from it so selfishly? How was his wife, his kids, expected to exist in a world that didn't have him in it? He'd never watch Seth graduate high school, seeing as the boy had barely started his freshman year when Harry died. He wouldn't be there to meet their partners for the first time, would never attend their weddings or be there for the birth of their future children, his grandchildren. Harry would miss so much, as Carson had and continued to miss, and for that, Maggie truly was weighed down once again by the familiar ache of grieving at a funeral.

And she fucking hated it.

Sure, she tried not to show it as she stood at her uncle's side, listening to the man console a sobbing Sue as the last stragglers inside the chapel filed outside in the closing moments. But boy was it hard with Zeke downright ignoring her on the other side of her and Paul's stare glaring daggers into her back from where he and the pack were waiting by the doors.

Maggie Sullivan had been to a grand total of five — now six — funerals. You'd think she'd be used to it by then, but she wasn't; in fact, Leah and Seth Clearwater were more used to it than she was and it was their own father's send-off. Maggie watched them standing with Sue, almost curious in how they expressed their grief. Leah had her head-bowed, jaw clenched, eyes glassy but no tears falling as she stared at the coffin holding her father's body. Seth had his arm around his mother's shoulders, a few tears trailing down his cheeks, but apart from that he was quiet and withdrawn. Both looked exhausted, like they hadn't slept a wink in the week-and-a-half that had passed since Harry died. Maggie supposed they hadn't, for she was much the same.

In that week-and-a-half, very little had changed, much to her surprise, and she wasn't sure how to deal with it. Zeke pretended to be fine with her for the sake of Wren's obliviousness but Maggie knew he felt betrayed by her. He'd spoken maybe once to Seth then kept to himself for the rest of those days, but knew next to nothing about imprinting as the younger boy was too busy focusing on his mother to pay him much attention. Even Everett had grown distant with Maggie, leaving her with the feeling that he was annoyed at how she treated Paul.

Speaking of Paul, he was making his way towards her, his presence forcing her away from her family as they finally began to retreat out of the chapel.

"Can we talk?" he asked, voice low despite knowing that everyone, including an eagle-eyed Wren, could hear him.

Maggie let out a sigh, ignoring Everett's pointed glare as she folded her arms and looked him up and down. "Are we really doing this right now?"

A desperate sort of stare settled across Paul's face, prompting Maggie's indifference to falter into resignation.

In truth, she had wanted to reach out to Paul since that night, to console what she knew would be grief for a man who had helped Paul through his first phases, who had taught him that he could still live a normal life and protect the tribe at the same time. But Maggie had never been good with this sort of thing. Her own emotions were like a minefield, so easy to set off, that navigating others on top of that was pretty much impossible. So she tried to keep her distance for the time being, retreating far into her own head, until nothing but an empty shell remained. But maybe, just maybe, it was time for the shell to crack open again. For Maggie to come face-to-face with her problems.

So with another sigh, she let her arms lower, hand reaching for his so he could guide her outside and away from prying eyes. Once they were alone under the awning of the chapel, Paul turned to face her, allowing a fragment of the mask he wore to crumble away. It was just his imprint, just Maggie, who could never judge him no matter how angry she was. He had nothing to hide from her anymore.

"How've you been?" he asked, eyeing her covered shoulders where he knew bruises would lay. Slowly, he reached out, nudging aside the black wool cardigan she was wearing to frown at the black and blue marks that littered her skin like paint splotches on a canvas. Guilt, hot like blood, settled on his face where Maggie knew it would stay if she didn't say something. "Fuck, Mags... I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner."

It was the rawest form of truth she'd ever heard from him. Despite wishing for this level of honesty for weeks now, Maggie found that she hated it.

"Don't be," she insisted. Her hands circled the wrist hovering at her shoulder. He went to pull away, like he expected her to increase the distance between them, but was surprised when she merely ran a thumb across his pulse point, like she wanted to hold his hand but wasn't sure if he'd let her. He smiled and intertwined their fingers in the space between them, watching as the last of her hesitation fell away. "If anything, I should be the one that's sorry, Paul. I didn't mean to scare you like that. It was stupid. I was stupid."

In more ways than one.

Paul's jaw clenched at the insinuation, the smallest flicker of hope flashing in his eyes before he smothered it into indifference again. He couldn't give a shit if she denied the imprint or not. If he believed it, surely she would.

Maggie saw right through him, though. "If we give this a go," she said, this meaning us and they both knew it. The flicker of hope returned, lingering this time. "I want no more secrets. Especially about Victoria. I want her gone just as much as you do, and I think I at least deserve updates on that."

Paul nodded, his brows furrowed in thought. "Just as long as you promise not to put yourself in danger like that again. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

But Maggie couldn't promise something like that and both of them knew it... deep down. Victoria's death was more than just the elimination of an enemy to her. Victoria, Laurent and James had caused her so much pain for so long. If putting herself in harm's way meant finally avenging her mother, Carson, and everyone else they'd hurt and would continue hurting while Victoria remained at large, then Maggie would do it, even if Paul didn't like it.

So instead, Paul settled for an I'll try. That was something, at least.

"Come on," he muttered as he spotted her family glancing their way. An amused smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You can introduce me to your aunt. You think she'll like me?"

Then, with a chaste kiss to her lips that left Maggie stunned, red-faced and breathless, he began to make his way over to where Wren stood with a wide smile, having caught the moment shared between her niece and said niece's kind-of boyfriend. Seeing Paul reaching out to shake Wren's hand, Maggie rushed after him, oblivious to the red-eyed stare that lingered on her back from the treeline.

Retreating into the woods before any of the wolves could sense her, Victoria knew she would be back someday for Maggie Sullivan. The wretched girl had slipped away one too many times now, so Victoria would wait. She'd watch as Maggie and the lovesick wolf got closer and closer. She'd even let them fall in love. Then she'd come back, again and again, until Maggie joined her mother in the dirt. Until, at long last, Victoria tasted the blood she'd been chasing and thrived in her victory.

"That's a promise, Maggie Sullivan. Just you wait."