Fanfic of Lore

There was warm breath in his ear, and suddenly the putrid smell of blood filled his nostrils. He struggled, because what else could he do? At first, he had endured the sadistic torture, knowing it would be worth it in the end. Everyday, though, he had a breaking point. He knew he would be lost forever in his own sanity—or figment of it that he had to have inherited from his mother—if he did not yell, if he did not kick, if he did not scream. 

“Resistance is futile,” Jean had said, scrubbing dye roughly against Neil's scalp, trying to wash out the old color and force the new one. “He will break you. Fighting him only furthers his determination.”

He rasped, “Is that what he did to you?”

Jean went quiet for a little while. Neil decided he would not get an answer when Jean went back to rinsing the smaller man's hair, finally replying, “No. I stopped fighting. You will understand, in time.”

Had he ever? Now, Neil could feel it: Cold fingers around his throat, shooting ice down his spine which was already sore from bending over backwards at practice, the sick glee he saw on Riko’s face, the horrible murmurs against the shell of his ear, “I like you better broken.”

Whatever torment being inflicted on Neil at the time had stopped consuming all of his thoughts. Rather, his mind became fixated, obsessed, even, on figuring out what he meant. Of course, he knew at the surface what he meant. He was breaking. Riko was breaking him. He would drown him and berate him and beat him until he became reduced to an abused mutt. Of course Neil knew that. The way Riko had phrased it, however, made it sound like Neil was already broken, and he could not fathom how he could not have seen it: The break. 

Insanity is often depicted as one singular moment causing an individual to finally lose themselves and become maddened. However, Neil had not felt this snap. If he was broken, he did not know it yet, and he was not sure when he would. This psychological torment and rhetorical question spinning in his head had no answer and no end until he was finally free of Riko's grasp, and that alone was enough damage to his psyche to meet his physical pain halfway. 

The cold fingers on the back of his neck became warm, strong hands, one drifting up to his face and the other tightening its hold on his nape. He blinked, feeling as though he was coming back to himself. Like he was coming out of a dream. He looked around him to see a dark room. The room at the nest had been dark, but that was on purpose. This room was dark because it was night out, and the darkness was merely natural. 

The warm breath in his ear became less menacing when a voice rough with sleep rasped, “Junkie.”

Neil’s fingers on his chest clutched his shirt. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears, synced with the heavy and rapid beating of his heart. He breathed in, then exhaled out, counting to himself for a moment. Finally, he turned his head, the skin of his cheek brushing against the warmth of Andrew's. He whispered, “Did I wake you?”

Andrew huffed and gently pushed him back down onto the bed. He sat atop Neil, lean thighs caging his hips, and warm, calloused hands cupping his face before coming to rest on his shoulders. Andrew said, “Go back to sleep.” 

“If I woke you-”

“I was already awake.” Hands squeezed his shoulders. “Go to sleep.”

He wasn't so lost in the fog of his nightmare, though he couldn't recall explicit details, to know Andrew was only ever awake in the middle of the night for few reasons, even fewer of them good reasons. He asked, “Did you sleep at all?”

“No.”

“Are you sick?”

“No.”

“What-”

“Neil,” he interrupted. “Go to sleep.”

He frowned, because even if he wasn't sure why, he did not enjoy the idea of sleeping while Andrew was restless. He whispered into the dark, “I will. You have to sleep too.”

This suggestion was met with a half hearted grunt, and Neil felt one of the hands on his shoulders become a head. Pale blonde hair tickled his chin, and he felt himself smile, some tension fading from his sore limbs. Andrew muttered, “Close your eyes. Go to sleep.”

“I’m not nearly as helpless as you think I am,” Wylan spat, glaring up at the man pacing back and forth in the small, stone room. Wylan didn’t even know where he was. A cellar, maybe, but he couldn’t be sure. The air was damp, it was dim, there were no windows… but that didn’t really mean anything in Ketterdam. Dammit.

The man laughed. “I’m sure you’re not, sweetheart.” Wylan cringed. The man stopped walking and stepped forwards, leaning closer to Wylan’s face and grinning. He smelled of smoke and his teeth were yellow. Wylan wrinkled his nose as well, causing the man to laugh. “Oh, wow, you really are a mercher’s boy?”

“Not anymore,” he snapped.

He hummed, unimpressed. “Once a mercher’s brat, always a mercher’s brat. Don’t you think so, Stan?” He turned to the guard at the door, who chuckled and nodded. The man turned back to him. “What was your name, cherry?”

“Don’t call me that.”

He struck him, and it took Wylan by surprise. So much so he gasped, startling another cruel laugh out of the man; A den boss that Jesper had previously been acquainted with. Wylan knew Jesper would blame himself, but he didn’t have time to worry about Jesper’s feelings at the moment. The man leaned closer again. Smoke, yellow, grey scruff, some powder of dirt of sorts on his jaw. Where was he to look like that?

The man muttered, “Don’t tell me what, Cherry.” He humphed to himself. “I think I like Cherry. We’ll keep it. Should we keep him, Stan?” Stan laughed.

“Fuck you,” Wylan hissed.

The man rolled his eyes. “Ghezen, you lot really don’t get what not to say when you’re tied up, hm?”

Wylan tugged uselessly on the ropes around his wrists, keeping him planted in the chair. There were some around his ankles, as well, and even one around his hips, restraining him so tightly to the chair it hurt for his stomach to rise when he breathed by way of straining the ropes. The man grabbed his hair in a fist and Wylan cried out as his head was pulled forward, his neck being bent at an awkward, uncomfortable angle.

“See? Cherry,” he said, carding through some of the hair with his other hand. Wylan grit his teeth. Jesper touched his hair so softly, talked about how pretty it was. That made Wylan blush and laugh and lean into him. He giggled with Inej over the one time Kaz had ruffled his hair. Nina liked to curl it around her fingers and try to make the strands tighter. That was fine. This, though, was painful and mean and wrong. He said, “How long do you think Fahey will hold out, hm?”

Wylan grit out, “He’ll come as soon as he can figure out where I am. Which you didn’t tell him, by the way.”

“So he could get Brekker? No,” he released Wylan’s hair, stepping back. Wylan jerked his head back, “I’m not stupid. Fahey’s going to get picked up by some of my guys, we’re going to give him a little piece of you to prove a point, and then he’ll have a few days to get the money.”

“A few days,” Wylan scoffed. Thank Ghezen he has my money to pay with. It occurred to Wylan that the circumstances might be much more dire, not that they already weren’t, if they were still in the Barrel or if Jesper didn’t have access to his accounts. But for a year, they hadn’t had to worry about funds. Even now, technically they didn’t have to but a quick delivery of money on Jesper’s part would’ve made Wylan very happy right then.

“Now then,” the man hummed. “What should we send to him, hm? That pretty hair of yours? A finger? A toe? Maybe your ear? Could take some teeth.”

Wylan froze, and subconsciously ran his tongue along the rows of his teeth as though making sure they were still there. Stan, the guard, said, “Loi, we could send an eye. He’s got nice eyes too.”

Wylan tried to keep fear off his face but he couldn’t help the shiver that ran up his spine. Loi laughed and picked up a pair of scissors. “Tempting, but no. I think we’ll keep it painless for now.” He approached Wylan, who squirmed away from his hand but couldn’t do much else. Loi grabbed his hair again, keeping his head still. He picked out a curl from Wylan’s head. “Stay still.”

Wylan grit his teeth, and as soon as Loi let go of his head in order to cut the hair, he jerked his head again. Loi swore and punched Wylan square in the nose. He gasped in surprise, and his eyes watered. Wylan tried to blink tears away but pain had erupted in his face and his head was being moved and his eyes were closed because damn he forgot how bad it hurt to get punched.

Loi snipped the strand of hair, and Wylan caught a glimpse of him depositing it in a small fabric pouch before sealing it and tossing it to Stan at the door. Stan caught it, then left the room. Loi turned to Wylan with his ugly, yellow grin. “Now then,” he said, “What to do with you is the question.”

He scowled, though quickly tried to relax his face due to the strain on it hurting the area in which he was punched. He breathed through his mouth to not further disturb the area. Loi chuckled, though in the sick, dark way a bully would laugh in the school yard after pushing someone around. He grabbed a rag off a cart. “This can be painless.”

Wylan took a rushed, nervous breath. “What do you want?”

“You work for Brekker?”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “How much?”

“I’m not inclined to say.”

His grin faded just as fast as it had sprung up. He pulled Wylan’s chair closer by its arms, baring his teeth towards his face, his eyes becoming small, angry dots of brown. “Listen to me, Cherry. You’re not in one of your fancy Mercher parties right now. You’re in a cellar, with a casino boss, and that’s where you’ll be until your barrel rat boyfriend comes up with what he owes us.”

Wylan frowned but didn’t say anything. Loi shoved the chair with a scoff, backing away and watching it clatter to the ground. Wylan let out a startled yelp immediately followed by a gasp as the back of his head hit the stone beneath him and the hard floor knocked some of the air out of him. He coughed a few times. There came the fall of footsteps, and he looked around in his obscured visual cage, trying to see where Loi was coming from, not that he would’ve been able to do much about it.

Loi came around the other side of him, picking up the back of the chair and hefting it back upright. Wylan grunted and braced himself as the legs landed with a harsh clack. Loi whispered in his ear from behind him. “Now, let’s have some fun while you tell me all about Brekker.”

Jesper shouldn’t have been surprised, really. He shouldn’t have been surprised that:

He had forgotten to pay off some of his numerous debts

That Wylan was paying the consequences for it

Kaz knew Wylan was gone before even Jesper did

He had gone to the Barrel to grab some supplies Wylan had requested from Kaz along with dropping off his payment for said supplies, only to find Kaz pacing around the office. When he asked what was wrong Kaz had simply tossed him a pouch and hobbled to the door, grunting, “Come on.”

Jesper opened the bag to find a curl of hair. Wylan’s hair. His breath caught in his throat. “Wait. Kaz, what-”

“Jesper!”

He sealed the pouch and hurried to catch up to Kaz. “Where are we going?!”

Kaz threw a glance over his shoulder at him. “To fix your mistake that Wylan is currently paying for. Load your guns.”

Wylan couldn’t breathe. There were hands on him, something was in his mouth. Everything was dry. He wasn’t drowning, not like in the canal. This was different. He was still dying. Invisible fingers were wrapped around his throat. Air was leaving his lungs and he couldn’t get it back.

Finally, Loi released his grip on Wylan’s nose that plugged his nostrils. He inhaled, coughing into the gag in his mouth that kept him from breathing there. He got in two quick, desperate breaths before Loi pinched his nose and he was suffocating once more. He thrashed and squirmed, but he didn’t dare waste his oxygen on making noise. The ropes kept him strained so tightly to the chair bruises had formed where he was struggling against them, desperate for any sort of break so he could take a moment to breathe.

It felt like it had been going on for days. It was probably only hours. But it wouldn’t stop. A few times he got a few minute breaks in between, such as when Loi wanted a drink of water or needed a piss. When there were longer breaks, he would take the gag out of Wylan’s mouth. He thought perhaps it was just to hear him plea. It changed each time.

First break. “Leave me alone! I won’t tell you anything!”

Second time around: “Fuck you! You’re a fucking sadist! What is wrong with you?”

Third time. “Stop! Please! Stop, I can’t tell you what you want to know!”

The fourth time it had been choked sobbing layered with desperate and whispered pleas. “Please. Stop. I’m sorry. I’ll do anything.”

“Tell me what Brekker’s ships in Fifth Harbour are moving.”

“I-I don’t know. Please-”

And then it would start again.

After these millions and millions of hours in which Wylan relived the worst sensation he had ever felt in his entire life, the door burst down. Loi’s hand flew away from Wylan’s face, resulting in more panicked, rapid breaths that he tried to catch. Wylan scrunched his eyes. Everything hurt. His chest, his ears, his head from when the chair had been pushed over and Loi tugging on his hair. His ears hurt from the crash from the door and the sudden gun fire.

Gun fire. Puter. Guns. Bullets. Metal. Jesper. Jesper was there.

Wylan’s eyes snapped open. He saw a familiar, lanky silhouette in the doorway. The light from the hallway compared to the darkness in the basement room framed Jesper’s silhouette and made him appear ever so saintly. Wylan would worship him forever, with or without the rescue. Saints, he loved Jesper Fahey. Leave it to him to come guns blazing when Wylan was in trouble.

Loi was dead on the floor, a bullet in his head and bits of his blood and brain spilling out onto the stone. Tears sprung to Wylan’s eyes as the dust cleared. He felt so lonely and cold and in pain. He was hurt yet there were hardly any marks on him. He had relieved his weakest moments and he felt useless. He hadn’t been able to stop himself being kidnapped, and then he couldn’t even get himself out.

“Jesper!” He cried through the gag. “Jes!” He coughed and tried to breathe through his nose. He felt as though he would never catch his breath again.

Jesper rushed to him, crouching in front of the chair and pulling the gag out of Wylan’s mouth. He cupped his face tenderly in the same hands he’d used to pull the trigger on Loi. “Wylan? Wy? Can you hear me?”

He sobbed. “Jesper-”

“Shh. It’s okay.” He began untying his ankles from the legs of the chair. “We’re leaving and getting you home. Everything’s okay now.”

Wylan sniffled angina. He panted and struggled to inhale and exhale evenly through his mouth and nose the way he used to. It should be muscle memory, he knew that, but he was in such a state that he was so desperate for air he had no other means of breathing than to force himself to do.

“Come on, Wy,” Jesper said softly, picking him up from under his arms. “Let’s get you home.”

Wylan saw Kaz’s figure in the doorway. He saw Stan’s body on the floor in the hall. He leaned against Jesper and closed his eyes. Exhaustion took over before he had time to ask how they found him.

Wylan woke up in a bathtub, which was unexpected. He blinked, water in his hair and in his eyes and on his face. He was soaking in warm, clean water. There were suds. He would’ve panicked at the thought of water after being quite literally strangled again, but then there was Jesper above him, washing his hair, oblivious to Wylan’s consciousness and the relief outweighed the panic.

Jesper took a cup of water and poured it over Wylan’s head, gently carding a hand through his hair to wash all the suds out. He set the cup down, then gently toyed with Woman's hair like he liked to. Wylan realised he was paying extra attention to the spot where Loi had cut it.

He murmured, “Jes.”

Jesper’s hand stilled and he titled his face to meet Wylan’s. He smiled softly, though there was a pain to it and in his darling grey eyes. Wylan hummed softly and sat up. He leaned against the edge of the wash basin and Jesper kissed his forehead. He said, “Hey, merchling. How are you feeling?”

He closed his eyes. “I’ve been better.”

Jesper scoffed. “I’m sure.” He frowned softly, worry creasing his face. “Wylan… I’m sorry. I thought I paid everything off-”

“Stop it,” he whispered. He opened his eyes and met Jesper’s. “I’m fine. It’s fine. You killed Loi. You got rid of the debt either way.”

Jesper looked away. “I saw. I saw what he was… What he was doing to you-”

“Jes,” he reached out and squeezed his hand. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not!”

He kissed his hand. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Jesper leaned forwards, taking both Wylan’s hands and forcing him more upright in the beth so they could face each other. “Wylan. They hurt you. What if Loi decided to send me something worse than your hair?”

He swallowed. “He threatened to-” Jesper shook his head and pulled away. He stood up and began to pace. “Jesper!”

“Wylan, it’s my fault-”

“I shouldn’t have been out in the Barrel on my own-”

“It’s not your fault!”

“It’s not yours!”

They stared at each other. Jesper inhaled sharply and stood still, and Wylan turned away, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. He sighed, “I’m okay.”

Jesper sat down next to the tub again and said, “You don’t have to tell me you’re okay when you’re not, merchling.”

Wylan wiped tears that threatened his eyes. He sniffled. “I… I just feel awful.”

Jesper frowned. “Like sick?”

He shook his head, pulling his knees up to his chest. “No, like I feel stupid and weak and like my throat shouldn’t hurt so bad when there’s not even bruises on it this time-”

Jesper grabbed his hand again and Wylan clamped his mouth shut. He looked away, and Jesper rubbed circles into his palms. Softly, he whispered, “Wy. There was nothing you could do.”

“But it happened. Why did I have to feel that way again, Jes? I thought I was past all that.”

Jesper pulled his hand up to his chest and placed it over his heart, holding Wylan’s there with both of his. “Maybe you were. Maybe you weren’t. What’s important is that we make sure you recover from this just as fast.”

Wylan sniffled again and wiped his eyes with his free hand, which didn’t do much good considering all he did was get bath water on his face. “Can we go to bed?”

Jesper smiled and nodded. He stood and gave Wylan a hand. They got him dried off, and Jesper helped him into fresh, clean clothes. The pants were soft and comfortable and his favourite, and the shirt was big and belonged to Jesper and therefore smelled like him. Jesper walked him to bed, supporting his weight. Wylan’s walking was awkward and unstable due to the harsh, red and purple bruises that littered his ankles.

They got into bed, Jesper making sure to position the pillows around Wylan and making him as comfortable as he could. Wylan thought about reassuring him that he didn’t have to wait on him, but it occurred to him that might be Jesper’s way of making it up to Wylan, and he would let Jesper grieve how he needed to. Jesper laid next to him when he was done, and Wylan curled up in his arms, entangling their feet.

“Jes?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For saving me.”

Jesper perked up, brushing some of Wylan’s damp hair out of his face. “Oh, merchling. I could never leave you. If it were up to me, nothing would’ve happened to you at all.”

He hugged him, tight. “You’ll protect me?”

“Always, baby. Always.”

He sighed into the soft, warm skin of Jesper’s chest that brushed his cheek. “I’m not letting you out of my sight for the next few weeks.”

Jesper laughed softly and started to fiddle with Wylan’s hair again. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“You killed Loi. I’m worried someone will come after you.”

Jesper scoffed. “Oh, don’t worry. Kaz said he would have it taken care of. And you know how he is.”

Wylan giggled gently. “Yeah, I do. Would make me feel better to have you close, though.”

“If you insist, merchling.”