Raleigh Harper / Emily Watkins

She'd wanted to go on her walk a full hour ago. Raleigh tromped down the stairs - well, sort-of tromped, because she couldn't tromp down any stairs even if she wanted to. But she had a plan - go out, maybe stop by the animal shelter to spend time with some of the dogs - go anywhere but the bakery, because today was the one day of the week that they're closed, and she's going to actually make herself not go to the bakery, or think of baking, or anything.

What she didn't expect is that when she pulled the door open, the porch would have someone on it. Someone that she'd seen around, but not actually met, yet. "Uh.... hi?" Clearly she'd been about to knock or ring the bell... right?

The smell of soup pretty much fills the house. It's a pattern that Raleigh doesn't even realise is establishing itself. Spencer withdraws, and Raleigh makes him soup. Sometimes he eats it, sometimes he doesn't, but she makes it, and it's a little different than last time. She doesn't leave it on the porch. Instead, she knocks on the door wherever he is, and usually tells him what kind it is, and sometimes she asks him if he wants company.

That's what happens right now, she knocks on the doorframe of his room, because he's sitting on the bed reading, and she's got two bowls of soup. "I made lunch," there's a smile, and worry in her eyes that's been there ever since this started the day before yesterday. "Chicken noodle. Feel like company?"

Finally - finally, Raleigh had finished reading Anne of Green Gables. She'd been working on it for what seemed like forever, even though it'd only been a week and a half or so. She wasn't the fastest reader, but she liked it. She liked both reading (usually based on Joel's suggestions), and the book itself. When Joel'd told her earlier that there were a set of them, she'd been thrilled - and Spencer had them in his library so it was even better.

Joel was still at work, but Raleigh knew where she'd gotten the first one. It should have been simple enough - get the book, put the old one back. Nothing was ever simple, it seemed like, since there was a much bigger problem this time around; when she'd swapped the books and turned 'round, she stepped wrong. Her leg decided - after a full day's work, and Raleigh hadn't been all that careful - that it'd had it, and she stumbled into one of the side tables, knocking a stack of books and a glass tumbler to the floor with a crash.

The glass broke on the wood floor, and Raleigh found herself standing in the middle broken glass with bare feet, her leg still spasming whenever she tried to put weight on her foot. "Shit," she said thickly, and she leaned heavily on the table. She bent, trying to pick up the biggest pieces of glass so she could get to a chair or sit on the floor or something, and she hissed as the second piece sliced her hand - not badly, it wasn't going to need stitches, but she was bleeding.

All she could think was that she prayed that Spencer hadn't heard - she was pretty sure the tumbler was his mother's, and she'd have to find a way to tell him - but this? This wasn't the way, with it broken all over the floor.

"Yes!" It was a surprised yelp of happiness, and the Waters house - so recently only being where Spencer lived, but somehow it'd abruptly become a bustling hub of activity - smelled amazing, and the kitchen - Spencer was out this morning, and it was probably good because his kitchen? Baked goods. Baked goods everywhere, and it was hot as hell with an exhaust fan in the window and there's cookies and a cake and just now, just now Raleigh's pulling bread out of the oven and it's fine. It's not burnt, it's golden brown and when she raps on it with a spoon it sounds just right and, "Thank you god."

The radio's blaring country music, and she's barefoot in one of Spencer's old t-shirts and a pair of cut off jean shorts, her hair pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head. She got her stitches out three days ago, and she can bake again. Everything, everything, it's coming out perfect, and she's got flour smearing her cheek and the moment someone - anyone - comes in, they're getting food. She's got a pan on the stove that's stewing apples, and dough in the fridge and honestly, right this minute? Raleigh's in heaven.

Trigger Warning: This thread contains mentions and descriptions of violence and torture. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to tweet @thestarsplay for clarification. Thanks!

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In the end, she'd handled it herself.

Raleigh didn't have family, didn't have an emergency contact. She'd watched Levi be loaded onto the gurney, and she limped to follow him - but one of the EMTs sat her down and took one look at her, and she was on one as well. She's got no phone - and she doesn't know anyone's phone numbers off the back of her hand, so she goes alone.

Concussion, hairline fractures in her left wrist (her fault) and right cheekbone (not her fault), bruised ribs - bruises all over really, and the 7 inch long cut along the bottom of her foot, from her heel to her toes -- had stitches.

Which meant she had crutches.

She knew she had to be at the hospital to get the stitches, but what she didn't know - or didn't expect, really, was that they were expecting to keep her. They were expecting to keep her, and she couldn't do it. She couldn't, not and keep thinking of Les' words. Of Joseph's, of her own. She'd been through it, after she'd fallen into the basement of that rotted old house. Two days, she'd been down there, and half the people who visited her informed her that They didn't even know she was gone.

Raleigh can't live through that again.

That's why she checks herself out once it's all done, the stitches and the lectures and the questions. That's why she heads back into town - the clicking of the crutches something that's entirely old hat to her, given her leg - and she's thinking about tomorrow. About working, and she draws herself up short before she sits heavily on one of the little tables outside the coffeeshop, nevermind that she hasn't bought anything, that she looks like a wreck and that she's wearing scrubs for pants and a cheap flipflop on her good foot because the exceedingly nice nurse realised that they had to cut her jeans off of her, and she had no shoes - her hoodie had blood on the sleeve and the hem, oddly brown now, but she hasn't realised it.

She sits, and she can't help it as she starts to cry, her free hand still holding the crutches so they don't clatter onto the ground.