S T U C K

The dream.

It was always the dream.

She was in a pit that she couldn't get out of, stuck, her body unable to move, to leave where it'd been imprisoned by fate. Maybe it was karma, kismet, or something that she couldn't quantify but every other night, when she didn't medicate with something to kill the dreams that brought her the kind of despair that left her unsettled for days.

It was always her being stuck, unable to shimmy, unable to pull herself out. She couldn't find purchase on the walls for her fingers, she couldn't find the way out. She was weak, she was powerless, and this was nothing short of hell for her. Every night it happened, she couldn't find her way out of the pit on her own. Every night, she only had one possible saving grace, and it came from her father pulling her from the place she was deep into.

It was ironic, since she'd been terrified of being 'stuck' by being a part of the family farm' that she'd left behind, and even more ironic that it was her father that had to save her.

Only her father had passed, and she was headed back to the one place that she'd left before the nightmares had started.

The Sawyer family farm had never once left its hereditary line of owners, and in the state of Montana where it seemed every bit of land that was used for farming or ranching was being bought up by corporations for hobbyist ranches and industrial farming. It was something that Ophelia's father had been so stalwartly against that happening her entire life. Truthfully, she never wanted anything more than to be off that damn farm, a fact that her own sisters had turned on her for. Well, they turned on her in her eyes anyways. She had bigger designs for her life than that farm, and if her father had her best interests at heart, then he would have to.

Or that's what she told herself now that she was on the way home, with guilt on her shoulders that if it were to ever suddenly take on a tangible weight, it'd break her down to her atoms. Ophelia wasn't a coward, but even a spine of steel can bend under enough weight when the heat was applied. Forever wretched, the literature major would have dramatized if she wasn't so world weary and tired of her own bullshit. It was ironic, she supposed, that she forsook her father's wisdom and yet somehow wound up finding its value the further she got away from him.

Growing old did nothing to help forge her wisdom but youth melting away because of the fires caused by her own mistakes; it might have a few hammer strokes from life, but she'd found herself sharpened, and renewed, and ultimately wrong.

Her father had been right about a lot of things, and it took his death to bring her back home, a fact that would eat at her forever, or at least until her plane landed.

She knew what was on the other side of that airport: Darla, and Artemis. Her sisters, the sisters that stayed behind and kept a watchful eye out for her father, the sisters that weren't the living embodiment of the prodigal daughter.

At least I didn't fuck up so bad that I had to eat pig fodder, she mused as she thought back on that particular prodigal nestled away in the Book of Luke, one of her father's favorite ones. No, an English Teacher was far from something to be ashamed of, even if it wasn't being the self sufficient lady that her father had wanted. Maybe he'd understood as well as she was coming to understand him now that there was no chance to ever reconcile.

Or as he often said, maybe if a frog had wings, it wouldn't bump its ass every time it hopped.

Something about the way he'd stop and drawl out that "old timey" wisdom that he claimed he drew from the good book. It was funny to her, especially now that she'd found that over half of his witticisms had been taken from Hemingway and Twain, their little secret: their shared love of literature.

Still, it was Darla that was most like him.

A fact that she'd soon have to confront, especially as she saw the Montana skyline come into view.

What the hell was she supposed to do on a family farm that she didn't truly know how to work, with a family she'd never been able to get along with?

Well, as she so often told her students: you only really learn by doing it.

Still, while courage was grace under pressure, she felt like she was very much so going to crack under the weight of her own, especially once that plane had landed and she went through the motions of leaving what had been her sanctuary for the past few hours. She knew what was waiting on her, and more importantly: who, and she dreaded the meeting her.

Darla. Darla, the middle sister of the Sawyer family, another person who'd left only to come back home after a stint in the Marine Corps. Iron jawed and broad shouldered, her leonine frame anything but gentle and soft, and despite that she was every bit the bull when it came to her persona. Affable at times, between intermittent bouts of unchecked rage. That's who was waiting at those gates for her with a haphazardly thrown together poster with 'Welcome Home Ophie' on the front, with a bunch of labeled stick figures attached to the bubble.

Darla had kids, it seemed, judging by the art. Ophelia should've been surprised, she should've been angry even, maybe Darla should have been angrier. Neither sister remarked on it, they just threw their arms around eachother when they got close. The bull of a woman wrapped her arms around her older sister tightly and hoisted her up into the air, causing the scholar to squeal, laugh, and then break down crying in her younger sibling's well muscled arms.

Both of them were strong women, and at that moment, they were both awkwardly trying to express apologies between happy sobs and a refusal to let the other go.

"..Guess it's time to take you home, huh?"

"That's the general gist of it, Kiddo. Home, so I can.."

"Yeah, the funeral's tomorrow. You got here just in time."

"No, I didn't. Not by a long shot. I--"

"Stop. He wouldn't have wanted that." Darla glumly spat out that fact, pushing her sister to arm's length, hands on her shoulders. "He knew you didn't mean him any ill will, not like this Ophie."

"I.."

Somewhere between that moment and aftermath of the funeral, it was almost a blur for her. She was sure she was there, she knew that she'd taken part in the ceremony, but it was like an abstract movie that played in her head when she tried to think too hard about it. Stress, grief, the way that guilt rides us all, she could barely piece together the moments between meeting Darla and now, waking up in what used to be her bed, in what used to be her room.

Her feet hit the hardwood floor, the same floor that creaked when she put her weight on it, wordlessly moving into the kitchen like a ghost only to see Darla and Artemis sitting at the table, quieting down over their coffee table schpiel, Darla smirking and Artemis looking at her with no small amount of curiosity.

"Well, look who's up?"

"Did I sleep in?" Inquiring, Ophelia looking around for a clock, blinking when it only read eight AM sharp.

"Not particularly, but ooh-wee, Girl. You were plastered the last three days. You even gave a speech about how you wouldn't let the legacy of Sawyer Farm go quietly into that good night even if it caused your funeral, at the funeral."

Ophelia paled.

"I *what*?"

"Yeah, you even took a leave of absence from your jo-- You don't remember? Seriously?"

"No, I don't fucking remember!" Ophelia exploded, looking more than a little frantic. "I'm waiting for the part where you tell me it's a bad joke!"

"Uh, it's not. You weren't even drunk when you did it. You-- You really don't remember?" Darla was slowly getting to her feet, having been quiet before now. She took her sister's head in her hands, as if trying to see if her pupils were dilated.

They weren't, but Ophelia looked like a rabbit ready to run.

"It's alright, Sis. It's a few months, you can handle a few months here with us." Artemis was up now, pressing a warm mug of coffee into her sister's hands, something she was grateful to take, even if she was in shock. Which Darla was already pulling a chair up behind her to sit her down.

"You good?" Darla asked, cutting a concerned look to Artemis, who tried to offer a cheery grin, seeing the moment in a half full glass.

"Guess it's Dad's favorite prayer, huh?" Ophelia sighed, looking between the two, hiding her nerve-breaking grin in her mug, trying not to show how scared she honestly was.

"Fuck it?" Asked Darla.

"Fuck it." Confirmed Ophelia.

"Fuck it," chimed in Artemis before finishing it. "It's in God's Hands now."

Fuck it, it was in God's Hands, right?

Or so that's what Ophelia thought, anyways.

It was a thought that weighed on her in the coming days, the three of them working together to fix up that old farm. Scouring through manuals and books and online articles along with her father's old journal. Oddly enough, all those years spent on archiving, research, and documenting came in clutch as Ophelia all but ran a farming school in that kitchen; sure Darla had practical knowledge and Artemis was on another level with her affinity for animals, but this was Ophelia's time to shine.

Not that she was a stranger to hard work, which is where she was now: in a real pickle.

"Fucking hell." She cursed to herself, wiping the sweat from her brow as she stared down that home made culvert. Something was blocking its ability to let water flow through it, and that was causing a real problem elsewhere on the farm, or it would when rain season hit. They didn't have the money for a proper contractor, so there she was with her sister Darla, staring down the problem at hand.

"One of us has to go in there."

"Does it have to be one of us?"

"Yeah, it does."

"...You're not gonna fit in there, Muscles Magoo."

"No, Big Sister, I am not." Darla chuckled darkly, patting her on the back before Ophelia sighed, resigning herself to get down there, to walk into the ditch in her boots.

"At least it's dry." Musing, looking up at Darla who lifted and dropped her burly shoulders, sliding down to sit on the embankment as Ophelia got down to her hands and knees in those Carhart coveralls, starting to make her crawl in there.

"God, it's so rank in here!" Ophelia's voice echoed out of the culvert, Darla tried not to smirk too much as she crossed her arms and listened to her older sister complain. "Like, fishy rank. How much does it flood out here?"

"Fair amount, honestly."

"We probably should use a bigger culvert, it's kinda cramped in here."

"Careful not to get stuck."

"God, put me down if that happens."

"Wouldn't dream of losing a chance to annoy you."

"Heh-- Oof! Hey. Fuck!"

Darla moved with a start, having to climb up the ditch to get to the other side, dropping down to where Ophelia should have been, only to find that just her head was poking out, the woman struggling to dislodge herself. "Shit, Oph! You spoke too soon."

"Nn, don't rub it in." Wiggling her body, or trying, there was an active struggle, but nothing seemed to work. There was a rustling sound, but there was no give. "I saw the bend and tried to get through, but no dice." Darla frowned at Ophelia's words and reached over to grab her shoulders to give them a tug but nothing happened. Nothing gave, forcing Darla to grunt from the strain.

"I.." Tug. "Think.." Tugtug! "You're in there--" TUG! Just a yelp from Ophelia before she relented, Darla landing on her butt, looking at her sister while sitting. Ophelia's big blue eyes were starting to screw up in panic, those expressive ceruleans were anything but peaceful as the possibilities ran like a herd of galloping jack rabbits fleeing their warren.

What if she couldn't get free? It was the immediate thought in their heads and it made Ophelia drive her feet against the ground, those booted appendages trying to drive enough force to push her through the cramped space with no success.

It was good as futile, an act born of desperation that wasn't getting her out of her jam.

"Wait. Stop." Darla held up a hand, trying to calm her before she pulled her radio from her hip, speaking into it.

C>"Arty-Girl, you in range?"

C>"This is Archer Actual, is this Outlander 1? Over."

C>"Damn it, Arty. Stop it. This isn't a game."

C>"You're no fun, what's the SITREP, Outlander-1? Over."

C>"Ophie's in a culvert. Stuck. Get some bacon grease and gear. Quick."

C>"Shit, keep her calm, I'll be right over!"

Darla sighed in relief, grinning over at Ophelia. "See that? Your sisters always got you. Shouldn't have tried climbing through that, your tits are way too big."

Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, Ophelia sighed. "You jealous?"

"Lil bit, but you know what I'm not?"

"What?"

"Stuck in a fuckin' culvert!"

That got a laugh out of Ophelia, despite her situation. She wiggled more, trying to push, spitting on her fingers and trying to work them under her to see if that'd help, but no avail. Just like she couldn't use her clothes as a way to gently glide out, she'd already tried it.

Hell, the more she tried it, it seemed the harder that she got stuck. Darla reached over and hooked her arms around her core, placing her legs on either side and giving another hard tug, only for Ophelia's quick yelp to make her stop. The muscle bound woman hit ass first onto that dirt, scowling when she saw that she didn't make an iota of progress.

"Fuck me, Girl. I don't think we're getting you out of here by our lonesome."

"Don't.. Don't say that."

"It's fine, Oph. Arty's on her way. I can already hear the truck in the distance." Pausing, she waited for the sound to register for Ophelia who looked rejuvenated again by the sound.

"Fuck. Thank fuck. I don't know how much longer I can do this, I'm starting to panic."

"Easy, Girl. Your sisters'll get you out."

Artemis didn't tarry, she was right on point, careful, quick, always sharp as a razor. In this case? She was carrying a mason jar of bacon grease, rope, and a tool bag. Dropping down next to the culvert, she leaned in and just started trying to lube the edges of where Ophelia stuck, slathering it up in the aromatically pungent mess. "Bet you never thought you'd want me out here, lubin' you up." Being an ass to try and lift her spirits, Ophelia just chuckled, shaking her head but not replying in fear of her courage failing her. "Alright. I think we've got you good and ready."

Slowly, she pulled. Nothing. Nothing happened. She slid up, and she braced her legs against the culvert and pulled.

Nothing.

Then she tried hard, putting forth all of her effort.

Nothing.

It was futile. She finally looked over at her shoulder to Darla. Darla wrapped those muscular arms around her middle and tugged, tugged hard, pulled even, using Artemis like a tool before the grip her sister had on her other one slipped and they both went barrelling backwards into the dirt in a cloud of dust, both of them cursing while Ophelia did her very best not to cry.

God, she wanted to cry, she wanted to wail in despair, she wanted to scream until her lungs gave out from lack of air.

What she did, was just breathe in and then breathe out.

"The two of you go find somewhere to get reception on a cellphone, and just call 911. We're not going to be able to do this on our own."

Darla frowned, starting to interject before Ophelia shook her head. "Be quick, I'll be fine, just get them out here. The three of us can't cut it. They'll probably bring some firemen, and.. Who doesn't enjoy getting saved by.. Well, Firemen."

Artemis offered a weary smile, "I know I do." Cheery to the end, she went to start up the truck, happy to be out of the sun despite the severity of the situation.

"I.. Yeah. Alright, Oph. We'll be right back." Uneasy, Darla got into that vehicle, tossing back a forlorn look to the culvert where her sister was stuck; they'd be back in time to save her, with the firemen, right?

This wouldn't be the last time she saw her sister alive, her brain told her; but her gut told her that leaving was a mistake, still, they rode to go get help as the hole faded into the distance of their rear view.

Or that's what the plan had been before the truck flipped. It was Arty's careless driving that'd ended up with them missing that ditch, the sister's too busy worrying about their sister. It'd been rough, colliding, flipping, and ending up in a crumpled mess of steel, glass, and rubbed.

Darla screamed, her body pinned by the crunched up window panel. She hadn't lost consciousness, but there she was.

Stuck.

She tried to move, tried to wriggle, but nothing.

She drove her booted feet into the inside of the truck, but it was much of the same, nothing.

"You alive, Arty-Girl?" She called out, desperate.

"Yeah, but I can't pull my leg out of the truck!" Came the reply, which was true, she'd landed outside of the truck but her leg was stuck beneath the wheel, pinned there.

Artemis tried to dig into the solid earth beneath her leg but it wouldn't budge. She couldn't do it with her fingers. She tried to tug on the fabric of her jeans, but much of the same: nothing. She couldn't get free. She pulled hard, she heaved, but nothing. The limb was numb, she couldn't wrestle it from the wreckage. She wasn't strong enough, even with the years of conditioning her body had from working the land she lived on, the very land that she couldn't break to escape.

Darla fared no better, with a body that'd been built for war. Strong muscles, layered with fat, bulging biceps and powerfully corded forearms, a stomach that would have resembled a cobblestone road if she hadn't had the kids she'd had. A marine through and through, she couldn't crawl away, she even unbuckled her belt, trying to shimmy loose from her pants hoping those precious few inches were enough to get free but found no relief in her last ditch gambit.

Her bullish frame clawed at the earth, fingernails scraping dirt but any traction she thought she'd get, she couldn't find.

"Fuck, Girl! We're stuck."

"Daddy coulda pulled us from here."

"Well Daddy ain't here, all we got is us, so push! Pull! Fuck, do somethin'!"

Something? That was a cruelly vague command that Darla barked and Artemis tried to follow but she found nothing. The two did struggle, they clawed, they worked their weight around, they tried to shimmy, to crawl, but nothing.

They unrelenting steel and ground gave them nothing.

They at least had the benefit of being on their land, but that benefit was a liability since it was evident that no one was coming to help them and they had to save themselves.

The hows of that eluded Darla, especially as she fought like hell to get loose. She had to save Artemis, to save Ophelia, she had to save herself. Though from the muscle strain and the effort she exerted and how she tried to bully her way out of the situation, it was readily apparent that she wasn't getting out of here.

She, just like her sisters, was stuck.