Ghostie With a Crown

“Sweet! Anton’s sound asleep, so this should be easy!”

“Sasha,” Dew whispered, voice shaking. “You really sure this will work?”

“Of course it will!” Sasha unlatched the vents with their tail, and peaked their head through. “Now hurry up, the sky is waiting for you!”

“O-okay! Let’s do this!” Dew took one last drink of water from the sink, and looked around the room he’d spent the last few months trapped in. He glanced out the window to the dark and empty lab and shuddered. He wouldn’t miss this place. Dew flew upwards, through the vent and into the air ducts.

The journey to the surface was simple and familiar; it’s what Dew and Sasha had been practicing for the past few weeks now. They knew all the twists and turns and dead ends and drops and exits. They knew the way out, so they made no detours. They kept going.

Dew ignored that feeling of dread deep in the pit of his stomach, like something bad was going to happen, because it didn’t matter. He couldn’t go back now, and he wasn’t going to.

Dew couldn’t wait to see his friends, especially after his birthday yesterday. They were all probably so worried for him, wondering where he was. But he’d surprise them tonight!

They made it to the exit after about an hour of crawling through the cold metal tunnels. Dew never knew how claustrophobic he could be, especially with the hope that he’d soon stretch his wings and fly through the sky.

Sasha opened the latch with their tail and slithered through, letting Dew into the living room of Anton’s cabin. They were both silent, as if they rehearsed this situation countless times in their minds, and knew that any sort of talking would only reveal themselves. But that was okay, because Dew knew exactly what he had to do next.

And he was more terrified than he had ever been in his life.

Dew tiptoed to Anton’s room, taking anxious glances at Sasha on his shoulders every few seconds. He passed a few large windows, but held back from hopping out just yet. He didn’t want this to end exactly how it did last time. Sasha told him Anton was not a light sleeper, and that if they both kept quiet, this would be easy. Just in and out, quick and easy, no need to get worked up about it.

Dew twisted the doorknob, and pushed the door open with a creak. He winced, but peaked his head into the scientist’s bedroom. It was too dark to notice anything; the blinds of the window were closed, letting in very little moonlight.

Sasha slithered down Dew’s body and onto the floor, quietly moving across the light green rug and climbing onto Anton’s nightstand. They gestured with their tail to what drawer the scientist kept the mind-control contraption in.

Dew nodded and started tiptoeing closer, as quietly as he could. Dew could tell the carpet was soft, softer than anything he’d touched recently. The thought made him want to snuggle up under the covers, safe and warm with no fear of being caught. But instead, he was walking across his captor’s room– while the man slept just a few feet away from him– planning to take back what was his.

Dew arrived at Sasha, who had opened the drawer that held the device. Dew swallowed thickly, glancing at the scientist sleeping next to them. Anton was facing away, curled up in a ball under the covers. The blankets shifted up and down as he breathed, blissfully unaware of what was happening next to him.

Dew reached his hand into the drawer and pulled out the device. With a click of a button, the chip in Dew’s brain would be activated, allowing Anton to control his every action with a small murmur of a command.

He held it in his hands, close to his chest as if any wrong move would activate it and wake up the scientist, leaving Dew frozen in place, caught red handed, in Anton’s own room.

Sasha saw the fearful look in Dew’s eyes and slithered up his arm and onto his shoulders, beckoning him to get the hell out of there. Dew turned around and began to tiptoe across the floor, too afraid to look back.

There was a shift, a sound of something moving behind him, and Dew all but had a heart attack. Stomach dropping, assuming he was done for, Dew peaked over his shoulder.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Anton had only rolled over in his sleep. Still, it was enough to make him book it out of there. He shut Anton’s door and raced to the front door, flinging it open and stepping outside.

“We-we did it,” Dew cried happily. “We did it!”

“Not yet, destroy the thing now!” Sasha hissed.

“Right.” Dew held the device tightly in his hand, raised his arm, and smashed it into the ground. Pieces of metal and wire exploded beneath him in every direction. It was completely destroyed. Just like that, Anton couldn’t mind-control him anymore.

Dew smiled, and looked up at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, and Dew didn’t remember the last time he saw so many stars. He giggled, looked back down and kicked pieces of the device across the grass. He took a deep breath of the cool, fresh autumn air and stomped on the pieces, jumping up and down, laughing happily. He missed the sound of the fallen leaves crunching beneath his feet, and kicked them in the air like confetti. It was the middle of the night; the moon was full and bright, allowing Dew to see everything in the darkness. Dew loved full moons. It was beautiful.

Once he was calmed down, he turned to Sasha, who was coiled around the porch railing. “I can’t believe I really did it,” He said, smiling and sniffling.

“Please, Dew, fly away! Be free!” Sasha exclaimed happily.

“I… I will.” Dew took a glance at the sky, and looked back at Sasha. “I-I’m gonna miss you so much. Th-thank you. Thank you Sasha.”

Sasha giggled. “You’re welco–”

The front door suddenly slammed open. Anton stepped out, hair disheveled. He raised a tranquilizer gun.

Dew jumped, his wings taking full control. Sasha sprang towards the scientist, coiling their body around Anton’s face and briefly blinding him. Dew’s wings flapped rapidly through the air, mimicking his terrified, racing heart. Sasha grabbed Anton’s gun with their tail, flinging it away into the grass. Anton took a few steps forward. Dew was flying. Sasha coiled around Anton’s head, muffling his calls before he could yell out.

“Fly Dew!” Sasha cheered, ignoring Anton’s attempts to pry them off his face. “Fly!”

Dew blinked his tears away, and darted off into the sky.

. . .

Dew never looked back, scared that if he did, he’d wake up, and all of this would turn out to be a dream.

But it really was real this time, wasn’t it? Dew was flying. Dew was finally, finally free.

He cried for what felt like forever, fueled by adrenaline as his wings did all the work on spreading as much distance from him and the lab as possible. It was the fastest he’d ever flown before, and the highest. After an hour, he flew higher, away from the trees and into the clouds. The further he flew, the more clouds there were and the darker it got. Was it going to rain? Dew was giddy at the thought. Flying in the rain. How much fun would that be?

Dew soared through the forest, doing loop-de-loops in the sky. He loved the feeling of wind in his hair and space all around him. There was a flock of nighthawks, and Dew flew with them. He giggled as the birds squawked at him, as if he was one of their own.

Anyone walking through the forest would have heard loud laughter from above them, cries of happiness through the trees. Dew was celebrating his freedom with his fellow winged friends, and he couldn’t be happier.

Dew never got tired, and he never stopped. He wanted to look at the sky, at the bright full moon, but there were clouds. So he flew above the clouds, higher than he ever had, until he couldn’t see the ground. Dew looked around himself and was surrounded by complete nothingness; a vast abyss; a void. He was completely alone up there. It was only him, the beautiful moon, and the infinite stars above him to keep him company. It was the most at peace he’d ever felt with the universe. Up here, he was truly free.

Dew fell down into the clouds again, getting misted by the water droplets inside, and fell towards the trees. Catching himself at the split second, Dew did it again. And again. He was ecstatic! He was flying! This was the best day of his life!

As he soared through the sky and took in the amazing sights of everything he’s always wanted to see, always wanted to experience, Dew realized he was getting thirsty. He was still in the woods, so there was surely to be a river down there he could drink from.

Dew dropped down to the ground and landed gracefully into the dead autumn leaves. The second his legs touched the ground, he stumbled, grabbing a tree to balance him.

Oh. He was tired. As the adrenaline of escaping started to wear off, the events of the night started to catch up to him. Dew was tired, hungry, and his entire body was sore after flying that much. His wings were burning, begging to rest. His entire body was begging to rest after barely getting a few hours of sleep the past few days.

Dew walked through the forest, listening to the sounds of the wilderness. He missed the summer, having gotten it cut short. But fall was his favorite season. And hey, at least he’d be home for Halloween! Maybe he’d even get a costume in time.

He heard rushing water, and knelt down next to the creek. Dew cupped his hands and lapped up as much cool water as he could, then stood up.

Even though he had never been anywhere near this place before, he turned to a direction and started walking. And after a little while of gaining his energy back, he flew.

. . .

After what felt like forever, Dew had spotted civilization. He realized very quickly that there was a problem.

He couldn’t let himself be seen. Not by anyone. Not yet.

He’d been missing for months and would suddenly return with giant wings. No matter what sort of attention he’d get, none of it would be in his favor. He wasn’t stupid; he knew that scientists all over the world would kill for a chance to study his wings. There’d be no point in escaping just to be sucked back into another hell. Dew kept close to the clouds, hoping that if anybody looked up, they’d think he was just another bird.

Dew couldn’t believe how amazing flying felt, he almost didn’t want to stop. In the back of his mind, he’d thought about eventually having to convince his friends to move out to the countryside with him, so that way he could fly all the time without being seen. He was giddy at the thought that maybe, he’d eventually find a way to bring his friends into the sky with him.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He didn’t even know where he was, after all. But he followed the birds, and continued on his journey.

And then, high up in the night sky with the autumn air flowing through his wings, Dew spotted it: his house. His home. Where his friends would be waiting for him! Dew cried in joy as he soared downward, racing to the ground like a meteor, like a shooting star. Once he landed on trembling legs, he stumbled up to the front door.

Dew couldn’t believe it! He was out! He was back! He was home!

It had to be around 3 in the morning by now, so nobody was around to see him and his wings. Dew looked at the house; the place he’d been dreaming of coming back to for so long, and it didn’t feel real. Dew tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

Of course it was; his friends knew how to keep themselves safe, unlike him. If only he knew of the dangers of the night, maybe he never would have been kidnapped by the scientist. But it was no use contemplating the past. Dew instinctively checked his pockets; empty, of course. So he fished out the spare key from under the doormat, and unlocked the door. Dew didn’t bother knocking, or ringing the doorbell, or even announcing his return when he opened the door and peeked inside. He lived here too, after all.

Dew was still standing in the doorway. He took a deep breath, and then a careful step inside as if the floor would drop out and he’d fall into the vents back at the lab, as if he was still crawling through them like he’d been doing every night and all this was just his mind playing tricks on him.

But that didn’t happen, so he took another step. And then another. And then he whipped around and slammed the door shut, wincing at the loud noise it made, but quickly locking it closed. There! The scientist couldn’t get him in here! He was safe!

Dew laughed quietly, wiping the tears from his eyes. He was really home. He was home!

Dew wanted nothing more than to collapse in his warm bed and snuggle with his friends and pets in the comfort and safety of his home, because god, he was so fucking tired.

Dew took a few more steps though the house until he smelt something strange. Cake? He sniffed into the air. That was odd, but he ignored it. He walked down the hallway, not bothering to kick off his shoes he no longer had, so he didn’t notice his old pair lying next to his friends’. Dew entered the kitchen, and stopped in his tracks.

All around the room was a mess of colorful streamers and confetti. There were balloons littered around the floor and some floated to the ceiling. A half eaten birthday cake sat on the counter. Dew tripped on a piece of stray wrapping paper as he walked up to it. Written on the cake in light blue icing were the words, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY…” and he was sure there was supposed to be a name on the other side, but it had been eaten.

Right away, Dew realized there was something wrong. He expected to find his friends waiting for him, excited to finally see him after so long. He expected a reunion filled with tears of joy and happiness. But he instead got birthday party decorations, and his friends were nowhere in sight.

Dew walked further inside his house until he entered the living room. The TV was still on, playing episodes of his favorite show– the same one he had watched last night– but the volume was turned down so it could hardly be heard. Hanging on the walls was a sign that also said happy birthday, with balloons in the shape of a two and a three floating next to it. 

Dew frowned, racking his brain on what all this could mean. Sure, his birthday was yesterday, but Dew had been gone– missing– for months. Surely his friends weren’t just celebrating his birthday without him. That wouldn’t make any sense. And why do all this when they could be looking for him? Why waste time with cake and… a pile of opened birthday presents… when he wasn’t there with them?

Dew’s mind raced. What the fuck was happening? Who was this all for? Why was his birthday celebrated without him? Who had opened his presents? Eaten his cake? Who did they sing to? Who made his wish?

His head pounded. He had been awake for… a very long time. Dew hadn’t gotten a full night's rest in who knows how long. Was he hallucinating? Had his sleep deprivation finally caught up to him?

Dew looked down, and his eyes widened. Sleeping on the couch, snuggled up close in a warm blanket and Sir Bonkles sleeping between them, were Dew’s best friends Hayden and Layla.

It was the first time Dew saw his friends in months, and all he wanted to do was hug them. But now, Hayden and Layla looked so peaceful sleeping there, he didn’t want to wake them up. So he didn’t. Dew was so tired now, maybe he should just ignore all of this. Maybe he should just go to sleep and pretend everything was back to normal. Besides, he didn’t feel like explaining how he got his giant wings right now. He’d rather sleep in his own bed, and rest now that he was home and safe.

Dew numbly walked to his bedroom and shut the door. Everything felt like a haze. He slid down the wall and curled up on his soft carpet. He couldn’t bring himself to cry, he just wanted to sleep.

Dew pulled himself from the floor and walked to his bunk bed. He climbed his ladder, and was just about to collapse into his soft bed when he froze– almost falling backwards onto the floor and needing to flap his wings to keep himself from losing balance.

“W-what?” He breathed. The blankets in front of him were clumped up as if there was a body underneath. As if he was sleeping there already. Dew raised his arm and poked at the lump, then shook it, then squeezed his hand and ripped the blanket from the sleeping form.

For a split second, Dew thought his friends had replaced him. Let a new friend move into their home and take his place, take his role and name and identity and birthday. But they would never do that. They loved Dew.

…But apparently not enough to tell apart the real one from the fake.

His sleep deprived brain must be making him hallucinate; that was the only explanation. Dew blinked a few times, wiped his eyes, and even pinched himself. He was still there. He wasn’t hallucinating, and this wasn’t a dream.

“Hey,” Dew said quietly, voice cracking. The body stirred, but didn’t wake up. “Hey!” He said, loud enough to wake himself up but quiet enough for his friends in the living room not to hear.

There was a sleepy murmur. The blankets shifted again as whoever was there rolled over and opened his eyes sleepily, just waking up from a peaceful slumber. And then he noticed Dew, and his entire body went rigid.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, both frozen in time taking in each other's identical features. The person in front of Dew had his same brown eyes, his same wavy brown hair, his same dark freckles, and the same look of pure terror and confusion on his face.

But there was something different. Dew looked at the man and saw himself, sure, but before. The person he saw was full of innocence and obliviousness. He did not know the horrors that Dew had faced during the last two and a half months. He did not know the pain and agony and fear Dew had to endure. He did not know the escape attempts and homesickness and how much he could possibly miss his friends. He did not know what Dew had fucking gone through.

“W-what? What the fuck? Who are you?” The fake Dew asked, sitting up and wincing as he hit his head on the ceiling. Dew was frozen, staring back in disbelief. His stare must’ve been intense, because it caused the person on his bed to back up into the corner, afraid. He was scared of Dew.

That’s right. Dew probably looked much different, didn’t he? Eyes tired and sunken from his lack of sleep, and face filled with months worth of constant fear and pain. The giant white wings protruding from his back, along with a strange blue sweater. His pants and socks were now muddy and torn from hours spent trekking through the forest.

Looking at the “Dew” on the bed was like looking into a mirror of the past. A past so far gone that Dew could hardly recognise himself. It was as if nothing had changed. As if nothing bad had ever happened to him. As if the past two and a half months were completely erased.

Dew caught himself staring– almost similar to how Anton always stared at him– because there was no fucking way any of this could be real.

“Who are you?” Dew asked brokenly.

“What? I– I’m Dew!” The man exclaimed, looking even more confused. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing in my house? Why do you look like– like… What’s going on?”

Dew ignored his questions and hopped off the ladder onto the carpet, wanting to get some space to think. He looked around the room numbly, ignoring the other Dew who had started crawling closer to the edge of the bunk bed, watching his every move.

Laying on the floor was his old hoodie, the one he recognised instantly because of the patches that were sewn into the fabric. It was the hoodie he was wearing when he was taken to the lab, the hoodie that Anton had to “throw away” for an unknown reason and replace it with hospital gowns and blue sweaters.

Dew turned his gaze elsewhere in his bedroom. There were new polaroid photos hanging up on the walls, likely taken by Layla. Dew walked closer to inspect them, noticing that he, Layla and Hayden were all in them. But Dew never remembered getting those photos taken. And he knew for sure they had never gone to whatever amusement park they were at in those photos.

He looked so happy, they all looked so happy. There were no photos of just Layla and Hayden, it was all three. Even in some love boat ride, it was the three of them. Dew’s stomach turned.

Dew ignored the sound of movement from behind him, the sound of somebody slowly and carefully crawling out of the top bunk and down the ladder. He ignored the fearful and curious eyes staring directly at him, staring at his wings. He ignored the other man standing there silently, unmoving and afraid.

Sitting on the nightstand was Dew’s old headphones and mp3 player. He could tell because they still had old, faded minecraft stickers on them, unlike the ones Anton had given him. The only thing that was different– new– were the glasses sitting on the nightstand. Anton never had taken Dew’s glasses away.

There was a card on the nightstand as well; a birthday card. Dew reached for it, and looked inside.

“Hey!” The clone said, marching closer to him and snatching the card from Dew’s hands. “That’s– that’s mine…” His voice trailed off once Dew snapped his head in his direction, silenting him with his gaze.

“What does it say?” Dew demanded.

“It– It doesn’t matter! What even– can you just tell me what’s going on? Why are you here? Who are you?”

“I’m you!” Dew exclaimed. “Can’t you tell?! Can’t you fucking recognise me?! Or did Anton take away every sense of self when he made you?!”

“I– I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You’re– You’re a clone of me! Y-you have to be! Probably made by the scientist after he took me! This is my house! This is my room! These are my things! This is my fucking life! You can’t just– you can’t– just pretend to be me! Pretend to feel how I feel, and act how I act! You can’t!”

Dew exploded in pent up tears and rage. He felt like this must be a dream, because the other Dew looked so scared, and Dew only ever looked like that when Anton was around. But he wasn’t here, because Dew was home.

“Am I dead?” The impostor asked. “Are you an angel?”

“No,” Dew spat. “We’re– we’re not dead. Everything’s fine.”

Nothing about this situation was fine. Not only was Dew sleep deprived, tired, anxious, confused and afraid, but he was also standing face to face with some sort of clone that had taken his place.

It was silent for another moment, and then, “Are those wings real?” The clone asked.

Dew’s eyes shot up, glaring at him. “It doesn’t matter,” He gritted between his teeth. This person– this thing had no fucking idea what Dew had been through; the pain getting those wings had caused him. And this man was staring in awe at something he would never begin to understand, as if Dew was just some animal to gawk at.

"Are you real?"

Dew wasn't the only one wondering that, then. “I’m not sure,” He said blankly. Because it was true. For all he knew, this could all be a dream– hell, it felt like that more than reality. Dew would be more surprised if this was real.

“Are you me? Like, like from the future or something? Really, what’s going on?” 

The questions didn't cease, and when the clone reached out to touch Dew's wings, he finally snapped.

“NO!” Dew exclaimed, slapping the man’s hand away. “Don’t you fucking dare touch my wings! You don’t know anything! You don’t know what I had to go through to get here, to– to get here and find you in my place!

“You’re not me! You’re nothing like me! You’re just– just a lie! Just a fake! You’re– you’re not su-supposed to be here! You’re not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to- to be free and with m-my friends an-and–” Dew’s words trailed off into weeps.

“...Are you okay?” The clone asked softly. Dew looked up, not realizing he was sobbing uncontrollably until his wings wrapped around his body in a tight hug. He was asking him if he was okay. After everything, after stealing his life, his clone was asking him if he was okay.

Dew’s sobs came to a stop in disbelief. He looked up, and saw the clone standing there with a thoughtful expression, someone who was trying to be nice. Pity.

“Do you want a hug?” The other Dew asked, so so gently that Dew forgot about everything and decided that, yes, he did want a hug, a hug from anyone else that wasn’t the scientist. It had been so long since the last one.

Dew nodded, wiping his tears as best he could and opened his wings. The clone stepped closer tentatively, and wrapped his arms around the other. He squeezed him tight, and Dew hugged him back, his wings wrapping around them both in a comforting embrace. Dew sobbed into his own shoulder, hugged his own body, and felt his own heart beating in a chest that wasn’t his.

But this wasn’t real comfort. If this was real, Dew couldn’t go on like this anyway. The world wasn’t big enough for two Dews; his friends wouldn’t be able to adjust to being friends with two of the same person, much less while having to adjust to… everything that had happened to him. Like having wings, for starters.

And Dew couldn’t forget what this impostor did. He stole his friends, he stole his life. He was the reason nobody was looking for him, and probably never had been. He was the reason Dew was trapped in that hell for so long, filled with a false hope that eventually, somebody would find and rescue him! But because of this clone, nobody even knew Dew was gone in the first place.

Dew’s eyes opened and drifted to his nightstand. He reached towards the drawer, and opened it quietly. There sat a small pocket knife, one he had always kept for self defense in this sketchy neighborhood, in case anyone ever broke into his room during the night.

He never thought he’d be using it against himself, as the person who had broken in. But he also never thought he’d be experimented on by a mad scientist for two and a half months straight, and yet here we are.

Dew didn’t hesitate. He stabbed the knife into his clone’s back, making him gasp out in pain and push his arms against Dew’s body. Dew tightened his grip around him, turning the hug that had just been something comforting into something that would lead to his demise.

“St-STOP!” The clone shrieked, and Dew twisted the knife deeper into his back. The clone hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and flailing under his grip.

Dew pushed his clone to the ground and pounced on top of him, planting a hand over his mouth to muffle the screams. The clone let out more strangled grunts as Dew pulled the knife out from underneath him, causing blood to spray all over them both. He stabbed him again. Tears and blood painted both of their faces until they couldn't tell who was who or what was what anymore.

Dew dug the knife into his chest and stared into those identical, wide and scared brown eyes until the light behind them went out, and he was once again the only Dew left in the world.

Dew didn't realize he had killed the man until he found his room eerily silent. The body lay still on the floor, limbs sprawled out in what one can only imagine as a desperate but futile struggle to get away. Dew sat in shock on hands and knees over his own body, tears dripping onto his own face until his sleepless brain started to register what had just happened.

Dew stood up, rapidly trying to get away from the corpse when he forgot he was still holding the knife to his chest, pulling it out of the body as he stood. Blood sloshed out and around the corpse in a pool or red.

Dew dropped the knife to the ground in disgust and horror, terrified about what he had just done. The knife clattered to the floor, laying neatly in the bloodied carpet glistening in the moonlight that shone through the windows.

Dew collapsed to the floor in despair, curling into a ball and staring at his own corpse for what felt like forever. Time and space blended together in a haze and Dew clutched his pounding head in his hands, wishing for his suffering to finally end.

He killed him. He killed him. He never wanted to kill anyone! This wasn’t supposed to happen! He wasn’t a murderer!

Dew was so lost in his own mind that he hadn’t heard the footsteps making their way through the house and to his room.

“Well…” Dread panged in Dew’s chest when he heard a familiar voice coming from the doorway. “I see you’ve met the clone.”

Dew’s blood ran cold. There was nothing else he could do.

“Dewey, Dewey, Dewey…” A dark chuckle. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” Dew tearfully looked up to see Anton, standing in his doorway.

“No,” Dew choked out, hyperventilating. “No, no no no no!” He backed up with frantic pleads, all in a hushed tone as to not wake his friends in the other room. “No, g-go away. Plea-please go away.”

Anton didn’t stop walking, and Dew was quickly backed into the wall. He pressed his back against it, ignoring his wings’ protests, just wishing he could disappear and never come back. His hysterical sobs didn’t cease, and Anton was now standing only inches away.

“L-l-leave me alone,” Dew cried between sobs. “Ge-get out, go aw-away. Please please just go away.” Dew saw Anton’s hand move from the corner of his eye, and he slid down the wall in defeat, expecting a needle to be drawn.

Instead, Anton knelt down and put his hands over Dew’s mouth, hushing his cries. Dew looked up in surprise, his wide eyes filled with fear and desperation, silently pleading up at the scientist.

“Shh,” Anton cooed. “Wouldn’t want to wake up your little friends.”

Dew blinked heavily, more tears falling down his cheeks and all over Anton’s hand, but he didn’t pull away.

“Nice room you got here.” Anton spoke quietly, almost gently, but there was a venom in his voice. He clicked his tongue. “Too bad everything’s covered in blood. Do you realize the mess you’ve made?”

Dew sobbed harder into Anton’s hand. He squeezed it tighter. “Be quiet, Dew.” Anton warned. “If your friends wake up, they won’t get out of this. Behave. You can do that, right?”

Dew squeezed his eyes shut, more tears falling, and nodded his head.

Dew felt more terrified than he had ever been in his life, which made his next moves strange. He slowly brought his hands up and put them on Anton’s wrist, slowly pulling the man’s hand down from over his mouth. Anton let him.

“P-please,” Dew whimpered. He spoke as quiet as he possibly could, leaving his voice as nothing but a small squeak. He was completely covered in blood, both his own, and the other’s. “Please, An-Anton. Please don’t hurt m-my friends, I’ll– I’ll do anything.”

Anton sighed. “What am I going to do with you? I won’t. Let's go back to the lab, I'll clean up your mess later.”

“...Back to the lab?” Dew whimpered.

“Yeah? Where else would we go?”

“I-I can’t go back there. Please.”

“You can. You will.”

Dew didn’t have the energy to argue with the scientist, and he didn’t know if he ever could again.

Anton patted his head. “Good,” He said, and smiled. Dew looked to the ground in utter defeat.

The scientist stood up and stretched. “Your sense of direction is astounding, I'm surprised you found your way back.”

Dew stood up on wobbly legs after him, sticking close to the wall. “...How- How'd you get here so fast?”

Anton shrugged, “Doesn’t matter.” He looked down at the dead body in curiosity and amazement. “Man, you really did a number on that guy, huh. Oh well. I can always make another one.” Anton chuckled.

“You cloned me.” Dew’s voice broke, face full of betrayal.

“I did tell you nobody would be looking for you, didn’t I? I know you have a lot of questions, and I don’t blame you. But I’ll answer them when we get back to the lab, alright?”

“...What are you gonna do to me?” Dew whimpered.

“What do you mean?”

“I– I escaped.”

“Ohh.” Anton sighed and ruffled his hair. “I knew about the vents, Dew. I know how hard you two worked on your little scheme, and I didn’t wanna ruin the excitement.”

“Y-you…” Dew felt sick to his stomach. “You knew?”

“Of course. I decided to play your little game. I wanted to see what would happen if I let you have some control.” Anton chuckled. “I didn’t think it’d be murder. I can’t say I’m not impressed. But you had to leave right after I threw you a whole birthday party? That hurts.”

Dew didn’t know if this could get any worse. His life was over, in more ways than one. Anton knew he was lying the whole time. There was absolutely nothing he could hide from him. There was no point in fighting anymore, Anton would always win. This was the worst day of his life.

“Like I said, I’ll answer your questions later. Let’s go.”

Dew tried to walk out his bedroom door, but just thinking about walking past his sleeping friends made him feel sick. He leaned against the doorframe, trying to gain his balance again. Anton noticed his struggles and walked up to him.

“You must be exhausted, huh? C’mere.” Dew didn’t resist as Anton picked him up into a bridal carry. The scientist walked out of Dew’s bloody bedroom and passed his friends on the couch. Dew sobbed louder when he caught sight of tranquilizer darts sticking out of their necks.

Oh. That’s why they didn’t wake up from all that screaming. Oh. Anton had been there the whole time.

“C’mon man,” Anton sighed. “I thought I told you to be quiet? Your friends are fine. I’ll get everything cleaned up before they wake up, promise.”

“Okay,” Dew squeaked. He hoped, with every ounce of hope he had left, that Anton was telling the truth.

Anton looked down at his test subject and tilted his head. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” Anton asked, though he already knew the answer. Dew nodded numbly. “...I can help you sleep. If you let me.”

Dew looked up. “Just– Just make it stop. Make everything stop.”

Anton nodded thoughtfully, pleased that his test subject was finally on the same page. “Sleep, Dewey,” Anton whispered into his ear, and continued walking.

And just like every other time Anton decided to control his mind, Dew started to succumb to sweet unconsciousness. His eyelids were growing heavy, and it was hard to keep his head up as he was carried out the front door. Dew’s frantic thoughts began to disperse, and his breathing grew slow and even; relaxed. His head lolled to the side, resting on Anton’s shoulder as he felt rain pouring down on them both. He looked to the sky, the stars, the moon, knowing he’d never see them again.

Dew could hardly keep his eyes open when Anton arrived at a car, which was parked on the street in front of his house. He couldn’t move his body when Anton laid him down on the backseat, and covered him with a blanket. The only noise he could hear was the rain pouring down as they drove into the night. And then, Dew finally fell asleep.

. . .

Sawyer had spent all night thinking about what Dew had told him earlier, at the surprise birthday party he and his friends had thrown for him. Sawyer missed him too, more than anything. Sure, Dew was happy now, with Hayden and Layla. He had confessed his year long crush on them only a few weeks ago at that amusement park they went to, and they took it as well as they possibly could. Dew was happy now, and he didn’t need Sawyer.

…But that didn’t mean Sawyer couldn’t still try. They were all polyamorous, surely they’d have room for one more, right?

Sawyer would tell Dew how much he means to him, like Dew had told him earlier. It would probably be awkward– because Sawyer was probably the most socially awkward person ever. But he couldn’t stand to hide his feelings any longer, even if it did ruin a lifelong friendship with his favorite person in the world. But knowing Dew, he’d never let that happen anyway! There was really nothing for Sawyer to worry about.

Sawyer ran through the streets back to Dew’s house, choosing to wait no more. If he wanted things to change, he would make them change himself.

Sawyer arrived at the front door, but hesitated when he heard talking coming from the other side. Sawyer wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but the voices sounded… off. He recognised Dew’s in an instant, of course, having spent his entire life listening to him talk about anything and everything. He knew Dew like the back of his hand, which made what he was hearing horrifying.

His friend sounded utterly terrified. He was crying– no, sobbing. Sawyer hadn’t heard Dew cry like that since his parents passed away years ago. Something terrible was happening and Sawyer was ready to break down the door just to comfort his best friend. But then he heard another voice, this one unfamiliar.

Sawyer put his ears to the door, trying to listen in. But the words were hushed and muffled. His heart sped up. What did this mean? What was going on in there? A very intense gut feeling stopped Sawyer from opening the door to find out. He backed away from the door when he heard the footsteps and voices getting closer. And when the doorknob started to twist open, Sawyer leaped into the bushes.

He cursed at himself. How anti-social could he be? To hide in the bushes at his friend’s house to avoid confronting him– while he was obviously going through something terrible, no less? Fuck, Sawyer wasn’t ready for any of this. It was best to just go back home.

He started crawling out of the bushes, heading towards the back of the house when he stopped in his tracks. He noticed the voices had stopped talking, but they were outside. Shit– did he get spotted? Sawyer cringed. How embarrassing…

Sawyer peaked over his shoulder and saw somebody facing away from him, walking towards the street. He crawled forward to get a closer look, stomach dropping in horror at what he saw.

It was Dew– it had to be! But he was drenched in blood and had two giant wings sticking out of his back. He was crying. But he looked so tired, resting his head against the shoulder of the person carrying him– someone Sawyer didn’t recognise.

Something was very, very wrong. Sawyer decided against confronting them, or going inside and making himself known to whoever else could be in there. He had to get out of there, or he felt like his blood would be added to the mix. Sawyer ran through the rain, back towards his home.

Sawyer and Dew had been best friends since childhood. Sawyer still remembered the day they met on the playground during recess. He couldn’t imagine a life without Dew. But now Dew was in trouble, and he was the only person who could save him. Sawyer knew something had been off with his friend the past few months, but he didn’t know what. Now, his suspicions were confirmed, and he was terrified.

The only thing Sawyer knew for sure, was that no matter what it took, he’d get his best friend back.

— 

fun fact: this was one of the first Dew and Anton scenarios i ever came up with, way way back before they even had names! hahahaha! anyway i think this is like the best thing i’ve ever written i hope u all liked it hehehe :)

taglist: @whumpinthepot @shywhumpauthor @whump-me-all-night-long @whump321 @fuckcapitalismasshole @sorry-i-spaced @theelvishcowgirl @catnykit @tettlod @delicateprincepaper @rejectedbytheempty @mijajaj @anothertawogsideblog @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox @parasitebunny @bottlecapreader @thecareandkeepingofwhumpees @inkwell-and-dagger @vidawhump

What was his name again? Allan? When you’ve lived as long as Lo had, names all start sounding the same. Allan was still talking, rambling about something, until a hand gripped underneath Lo’s chin, and they realized he was talking to them. 

“Did you even hear a word I just said?” He hissed. 

“Honestly, no.” Lo spat. They gasped as the man backhanded them hard across the side of their face. Okay, so Allan can be violent. That was new. 

“You really didn’t learn your lesson, did you?” 

“I guess not.” Lo spat. Another slap to their cheek. Both sides of Lo’s face flushed red and they winced again in their restraints, trying to alleviate some stress on their arms. 

“Listen to me, little Marlowe, you’re mine now. So that means, you are going to do what I say. No matter what.” 

Lo nearly laughed. He was trying so hard to be intimidating, but it was failing miserably. After all, what would he do? Slap Lo again? 

“I’m trying to help you, darling. I’m trying to make you see.” 

“See what?” Lo grumbled, their face still stinging from his blow earlier. 

Allan knelt down in the entryway to the closet, his knees brushing against Lo’s as he drew their faces closer, cupping their chin in his hands. 

“To see, that I’m the only one who truly cares about you. All those people out there, everyone you were flirting with at the bar, they don’t care.”

“I literally just met you.” Lo spat.

Allan ignored their retort, gripping their chin tighter, a hand moving dangerously close to their throat. 

“Then you should know it means more. That I mean it.” 

Lo rolled their eyes, hitching in a breath as he locked a hand underneath their chin at the base of their throat. 

“You’re delusional-” 

Allan cut them off by bringing his face in closer, pressing his lips tight against Lo’s. He held them there, a hand on the back of their head, the other on their throat. He kissed them until Lo’s chest grew tight, their body aching for breath, and then finally pulled away. 

He tasted like the whiskey he’d been drinking, and spearmint. Not quite a pleasant combination. Lo turned their head to their shoulder, wiping his spit off from their face. 

“I’m not delusional. I know what I want. And what I want now, is for you to learn your lesson. That I’m the only one who will care about you. Ever.”  

“You know, I don’t think people who care about other people keep them tied up in closets? I don’t think it works like that.” 

Allan groaned in frustration, slamming a fist against the inside of the door. It was loud enough that it made Lo jump in surprise, their stomach leaping. 

“You need to learn.” He grumbled, before standing up and storming off somewhere. 

Lo let their head fall back against the back wall of the closet until they heard the footsteps by the door once more. 

The man dropped a few items on the floor, a roll of ductape, a pair of scissors…Lo’s heart jumped. Those were never good items. Unless your doing a craft project, which in Lo’s case, rarely happened. 

“First, you need to learn to be silent.” He ripped off the first strip of ductape, layering it tightly across Marlowe’s lips as he gripped them by the chin. Two tired, bright  blue eyes glared back up at him and he smiled, ripping off a larger piece of tape. 

It wrapped beneath the first one, blending down to Marlowe’s chin and creeping around to their ears. Lo could feel it sticking into their hair. They’d left it down tonight- determined to grow out their hair again. They were regretting that decision now. Allan placed a third and final piece right under their nose, leaving them barely any room to breathe. 

Allan sighed, tossing the roll of tape onto the floor and sitting back, pleased with his work. 

“Now you can’t talk back. Silence is your first lesson.” He picked up the pair of scissors, and ran his hand through Lo’s dark hair. The curls starting to take shape more as the length grew. “Your second, is that you are mine. So I get to make your decisions for you, because I know what’s best-” 

Marlowe rolled their eyes, huffing out a sigh through their nose. 

“-and because I know what’s best, I get to make your decisions for you-” He waved the scissors in front of Lo’s face, watching their eyes grow wide. “-where you sleep, what you eat… what you wear-” He slid the blade of the scissors under Marlowe’s tanktop, cutting the strap in one swift motion. Allan chuckled to himself and moved the scissors over to the other side, cutting that one as well. With nothing to hold their top up, the fabric fell around Lo’s stomach, exposing their chest. Allan made one more cut through the side seam, and tossed the fabric aside, leaving Lo in just their shorts and their jewelry. 

Lo closed their eyes, tuning themselves out, but they could still feel Allan’s eyes roaming across their body- felt their gaze staring into them, and then his cold fingers brushing against Lo’s hips-

With a muffled groan Lo kicked out, pushing the man away from them. They could feel a connection with the side of their head, grateful for the heeled boots they had decided to wear today. 

Allan cried out as Lo’s foot connected with a thud, and he tumbled backwards out of the closet. 

“Aww you bitch!” He cried. 

Lo just shrugged their shoulders, giving him the iciest glare they possibly could. 

After a moment Allan recovered, and made his way back over to the closet, but he was quicker this time. Before Lo even had a chance to kick the man had thrown his weight onto Lo’s calves, pinning their feet down. Lo thrashed about, trying to throw him off but he climbed over their legs, pinning them down as he sat atop them and removed Lo’s boots and socks. 

Marlowe tried to pull away as the man turned his body around, focusing his attention to their shorts. Lo shook their head, panic rising in their chest as his fingers fumbled with the button and the zipper. 

They closed their eyes, knowing they weren’t going to be able to stop it from happening as the man stripped them of their shorts and underwear. As soon as their clothes were gone, Allan gripped a tight hand on Lo’s ankles and wrapped a few layers of duct tape around them, keeping their legs tightly bound together. 

Lo felt that familiar feeling of shame wash over them. They couldn’t count how many situations like this they’d been in, but the feeling somehow remained the same. They flinched as Allan placed a hand on their bare hip, his palm pressing into the soft flesh of their belly as he leaned in closer. His other hand crept up to cup Lo’s face, thumbing across the edge of the duct tape. 

“Look at me darling.” Allan purred. 

Lo reluctantly opened their eyes, seeing Allan’s face only inches from their own. 

“I hope you know I’m doing this because I care.” 

Lo’s stomach tied in knots and they felt like they might barf, as the man leaned forward, giving them a kiss on the forehead. 

“I hope you learn your lesson.” Allan stated. His eyes met Lo’s, before scanning all the way down their naked body and back up again, finally flashing Lo a smile. 

Marlowe shivered, the man standing up staring down at Lo, one hand perched on the door frame. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a bit.” 

And the closet door clicked shut. 

Marlowe swore they could hear a key turning in the door knob, locking them bound, gagged, and naked in the dark of the closet.  

- - -

The guard had given him time to dry off, a rare sympathy that Noah tried not to think about. There was nothing sympathetic about the guard’s motives. The guard had made him rinse off again. An extra minute to try to towel off his hair so the water wasn’t soaking through the back of his shirt meant nothing to him. He was still cold and his hair wasn’t dry.

He hunched in the corner of the room, in the small gap between the foot of the cot and the wall. There weren’t many places in the small cell to rest, certainly not any to hide from the cold. Pressed against two walls, knees tugged to his chest, Noah couldn’t bring himself to move anywhere else. The walls weren’t as cold now, that he had been pressed against them so long. The thought of moving made him even colder, just imagining stepping across the tile like walking across shards of ice.

Part of him was tempted to move. To give his mind something else to focus on, even if it was the chill that settled deep into his bones. But the other part thought, why add to the misery. He already felt like shit, what was being cold on top of that? Why worsen things though?

Noah leaned his head against the wall, pressing his hot cheek against it and focusing on the sting that radiated across his skin. The cold felt awful against the burn, but so good at the same time. Like the water had felt against his flushed skin the first time. Washing away the ache while beating down against his back.

He must have drifted off at some point, the exhaustion weighing on his worn body like weights tugging him down. His eyes slipped closed and time was lost to the shadows.

When the door opened next, the light in the hall was flickering, like the old bulbs did a few minutes before the timer that controlled them shut off. The light outlined a figure in the doorway, casting their shadow across the floor. It was the first thing Noah saw when he opened his eyes, startling him so bad he jolted back and cracked his head against the tile wall.

“Jeez, chill,” the guard mumbled, voice quiet. Not the guard from before. They were shorter, not as broad a frame. Longer hair, softer tone. Noah still pressed back, squinting as a sharp pain stabbed through the back of his skull.

A sharp chill struck down Noah’s spine as he felt the ghost of a touch over him, bruising, digging against his sides, hips, lower. He was sure there were bruises, throbbing with even a brush of contact.

The guard held something. Noah didn’t know what it was until they tossed it, he barely brought his arms up to protect his head-

It wasn’t hard.

The opposite, actually.

He quickly tugged the sheet away from where it had called to cover him—a blanket, he realized after a moment, feeling the soft fibers press between his fingers. Nothing like the blanket that was with his bedding, the one in front of the vent. That one was rough and thin. This was thick, soft. Plush.

The guard was gone by the time he looked back up, the door closing softly into place.

———————————————————————

Shuffling in rather hesitantly with his guard still up, Jeff looked around. He tensed up when a large metal table in the middle of the room demanded his attention, but released his suspicion in a sigh when he saw the tools and realized – or more desperately hoped – this was a safe room; the doctor’s room.

In the corner, tucked away at a long work desk along the wall that was filled with papers, a man sat hunched over his work; forehead resting in his hand as he was writing something. He glanced up as he heard them enter.

His brow furrowed deeper in annoyance, disturbed in his work, but when he realized who and what had entered, he jumped up and shot to action.

“Over there.” He pointed Kyle to the operating table. “Uncuff him, for fuck’s sake.”

As soon as he felt the cold pressure of the cuffs fall away, Jeff tried to push Kyle away from him, meaning to fight his way out. Rush back to Nat.

But in his weakened state, all Kyle had to do was close in on him and Jeff buckled as soon as the back of his thighs touched the table.

Two pair of hands roamed over his good shoulder and his chest, pressuring him to lie down. He no longer had any strength to resist, even against the doctor’s gentle yet firm touches. Still, he snarled his protest as soon as he felt his back press against the table.

But it wasn’t as firm as he’d thought. “No…” he brought out in barely a breath. His voice was as weak as he felt. “No, don’t… don’t touch me, don—” He hissed as he felt Kyle put pressure on his numb arm and his voice strengthened in alarm. “Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!”

He swatted his good arm at them, but Kyle easily caught it.

Before he could even attempt anything further, a hand clamped over his forehead, snared a grip in his hair and forced him down until the back of his head hit the table.

The doctor stood over him, keeping him down with a tight grip on his hair. “Don’t you snap at me, kid. I’m trying to help you here.”

Jeff winced. The sudden hit didn’t do much besides completely surprise him. Throbbing light pain nagged in the back of his head, but compared to the pain in his arm, it was nothing more than a pinch in warning. Which was as the doctor intended. And too tired to put up a fight again, Jeff let himself be handled further onto the table. He watched the man fuss around him, preparing various instruments, and looked into his face.

“I know you,” Jeff mumbled and he must’ve imagined it, but for a second he thought the man froze. “You were in his office. His goddamn o—” Exhaustion overtook him and he groaned, turning his head away not seeing how the man untensed.

“Yes, I remember you,” he merely said, gruff but not unkind.

“Who—” Jeff started but the man turned away from him, busying himself and pointing out instructions to Kyle.

“Don’t touch it,” he said as he noticed Jeff’s hand hover anxiously over the bullet wound. “Keep your arm still, don’t move. Blood type?”

“A… positive…” Jeff breathed out after a bewildered pause, and he saw the man gesture to Kyle.

When Eric had said to bring him to the doctor, he hadn’t really been sure what to expect. Not in this place. Not from people working with Eric. And it certainly wasn’t actual medical assistance.

“Shaun.” The man looked up when Kyle demanded his attention and he nodded in approval at whatever he was holding.

Jeff let it all wash over him in a haze. He realized that this was probably the first time he’d heard Kyle speak. Usually he was a silent presence, more felt than heard. And the doctor’s name was Shaun… yes, he vaguely recalled Eric calling him that, too.

“I… thought… you were the boss… around here.”

Shaun let out a humorless laugh. “I should wish.” He shook his head. “Most people say funny things after their anesthetic.”

“I don’t… want… anes—”

“Yes,” Shaun said over him. “You do.”

“I have to get back…” He was so tired, he could barely finished a sentence without gasping for breath in-between words.  “Back to Nat… as soon as—”

“You think you’re any good to them in this state? Do you want Eric to take full advantage of you? Want to bleed out and leave your partner to fend for themself?” he demanded, and Jeff whimpered at the thought, shaking his head. “Then let me do my job.”

The thought of leaving Nat alone with that bastard while he was out wasn’t a welcome one. He wanted to be with Nat; protect them, and if he couldn’t to just be there for them, knowing that his presence – and Nat’s for him – calmed them both. Even though he fully knew that Eric would use them against each other.

And true, in this state, it would only make him an easier target.

But maybe that was what he wanted. Because if he could draw Eric away from Nat, all the better.

Still, he let the doctor prep him so he could remove that blasted bullet.

“Why are you… helping me?”

“Gunshot wounds are always dangerous. The shoulder especially. Which Eric should know, considering…” Shaun grunted something under his breath.

Considering he’d been on the receiving end when Nat had shot the man, Jeff ventured he knew exactly how dangerous it was.

“But… why?”

Shaun didn’t answer. He swiped a piece of cotton over the crook of Jeff’s elbow, then carefully inserted an IV.

“You’re a… doctor…” Jeff tried again. “How can…”

“Be my guest and talk ethics with me,” Shaun said without looking up from the IV, attaching a syringe and he slowly pushed the plunger. “It’s better than counting back from ten.”

And sure enough, before he could even string another two words together, he was out like a light.

-

Next thing he knew he woke, back resting against a soft mattress, body covered in warm sheets. He stirred cautiously, not knowing what would await him when he opened his eyes. But when he tried to move his arm, there wasn’t much pain, and when he peeked an eye open, a familiar figure sat next to him. Merely a black blur in his state, but still easy to recognize; long black hair, a little more tangled than usual, spilled over their black clad shoulders.

“Hey,” Nat whispered, their face lighting up in relief.

A squeeze in his hand followed.

“Hey…” Jeff croaked in return, testing his voice. He blinked hard, squeezing his eyes a tad longer than necessary. A groggy feeling lingered, unswayed by his attempts to get a bearing on the world, And so he allowed it, relaxing back against the pillow.

His fingers carefully crossed over his chest until they touched over fresh bandages. The blatant irony of it all didn’t escape him, even with his level of brain fog. It was all patched up nice and well, but he made no illusions that it would get the rest it needed to heal.

He exhaled softly and opened his eyes again, focusing on Nat. The black blur took shape, filling in the details of his friend. He peeked up at their face, worried about what he’d see there. But there was not a trace of anger to be found. Just concern and a hint of guilt. And…

He winced when he noticed the darkened color and dried blood in the corner of their lips.

“It’s okay…” Nat said quickly, but they turned their head away. “It’s just… this. He just hit me once.”

That’s once too many.

"I should have said sorry..." he mumbled.

"You think?" No judging, just a small tilt of their lips.

But he was judging himself. All that energy. Wasted on recovering. Lying still in bed, trying not to move too much, while he could’ve spent it on protecting Nat, fighting their way out, looking for a way out, provoking Eric, or best yet, just wind it all up and punch him full in the face. It was a grave injury that would hold him back and prevented him from doing just all that…

He realized Nat didn’t just do as Eric said out of fear; there was a practicality to it that he, in his anger, had completely blindsided.

“I’m not as strong as you are,” he muttered, turning his head away.

“…what? I’m not—this is not—”

“Yes, it is. You are able to swallow your rage, your humiliation, your anger. Not just for yourself but to protect me as well. I can’t do that.”

“You did when he threatened me.”

“Yeah, but I can’t seem to do it for myself. He just gets under my skin. And I’m not going to bloody say sorry when I don’t mean it.”

“What, you think I meant it?”

“Nat…”

Nat sprang up at the voice. Eric stood in the doorway, a hand over his heart in feigned hurt, but a malicious yet gleeful look on his face.

“Did you just admit, did you confess that everything you just told me… was a lie?”

Nat stuttered out a breath and backed away, tripping over Jeff’s IV pole that rattled and nearly fell over as they bumped into it. Their hand, still around Jeff’s, clamped into a claw and Jeff winced as his numb fingers were crushed.

“I… no, I…” they stuttered, freezing up like a deer in headlights.

“You know what the punishment for lying is,” Eric tutted and took a step forward.

But before he could even get close to the pair, Shaun followed him into the room and gruffly yanked him back in passing.

“Eric, get the fuck out. This is a room for recovery, not whatever bullshit you have in mind.”

Eric acquiesced, taking a step back, but his eyes were slits and pinned Nat to the spot as he glared over Shaun’s shoulder. “Very well,” he said, just before he left the room, “I’ll wait.”

And his eyes shot to Jeff instead.

“I need him there to watch after all.”

-

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @hurtmebeautifully @im-just-here-for-the-whump @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @queenofthenoobs @gala1981 @scribbelle

Jeff lay face-front on the floor, still fighting even though his hands were cuffed behind his back and Kyle pressed him down with a knee between his shoulders.

Nat however didn’t need to be cuffed. Nat was already shackled by their own fear.

They’d known. Just a split second before their vision had gone dark and the hood was forced over their head. They knew it was Eric and they knew they couldn’t do a thing.

Now Jeff, he’d fought. And fought. Until Eric himself had to step in and crushed him into a wall. There was no need to knock him out. All he had to do was keep him in place, whisper something in his ear and cock his head towards the kneeling, blinded Nat, to whom a gun was slowly being leveled to the back of their head. And Jeff too had crumbled to his knees with a whimper.

Easy.

“It’s so good to have you both here again,” Eric clapped his hands and beamed at the two. “After the events of last time, I believe we have some… unfinished business.” He turned to Nat, who just stood nailed to the ground and he said in a hushed voice: “After all, Nat, I don’t think you and I were quite finished yet.”

Nat let out a whimper and seemed to deflate a little. Eric reveled at that, he’d missed this. But the moment was tainted by—

“Don’t you touch them! Don’t you dare!” Jeff raged behind them.

Eric merely turned his head slightly towards him and without his eyes ever leaving Nat’s, he just said: “Gag him.”

While Nat’s horrified expression was a treat in itself, Eric couldn’t resist turning to Jeff to see him struggle against Kyle. He watched, with just a sly and calm smile, as Kyle forcefully spun the man over. Jeff of course refused to open his mouth now, but even teeth clenched as tight as a vice would part to let out a scream of pain. Kyle stuffed a piece of cloth into his mouth and quickly followed up, making use of the daze of pain to force his mouth shut with duct tape.

The pain and rage was reduced to nothing but guttural grunts and a first hint of despair glinted in Jeff’s eyes when his gaze shot back to Nat.

“Now, that’s better,” Eric crooned at the angry but softer grunts. “Now we can talk things out. Because Nat…” his eyes snapped to Nat and they stopped breathing. “You shot me,” he said in a horrible hushed and accusing whisper.

Nat backed up a step, lips trembling with fear and half-prattled pleas that never quite finished as they weren’t sure if they should beg or apologize.

Eric shushed them and stepped closer, standing right in front of them. He brought up a hand, just to see Nat flinch away, but slowly brought it up to his own chest, fingers disappearing under the blue lapel of his suit jacket and rested over his shoulder. “Right here,” he said, demanding eye contact. “I can still feel it.” He pressed lightly against the scar under his shirt. “Do you know how much that hurt, Nat?”

Then his hand reached behind his back, under his jacket. Nat’s eyes widened when they saw the gun pulled from his waistband and nearly buckled when he pressed it right against their shoulder. “Would you care to experience how it feels?”

He pulled the hammer back, soundwaves of the soft menacing click resonating right through Nat.

“No… no please,” they whispered.

“Or…” the gun pulled away and slowly he aimed at Jeff.

“No!” They snapped forward at that, brought to a stop by a hand to their chest.

“Maybe your accomplice should pay for your mistake.”

Nat was going out of their mind with fear, their whole body shaking like crazy. “P-pl-please, Eric, I—”

“Where are your manners, Nat?” Danger seeped into the voice as it dropped an octave.

Nat sobbed and swallowed hard. “Sir, please, I… Please, I’m sorry! I… I didn’t—"

“You didn’t mean to?” he said in that same calm voice but his lips turned up into a wicked grin. He pulled Nat closer with a deceptively gentle hand to the neck and whispered in their face: “I believe I taught you not to lie to me.”

Nat completely froze.

“Do you remember what happened last time? When I had to remind you not to lie to me?”

Their shoulder blades tensed, pressing together against the scars of last time and Nat swore they could feel that same deep pain cutting right through them again, swore they could hear the whip cracking in the back of their mind.

“Yes, sir,” they quickly whispered in an attempt to play by the rules.

“Do you? Need a reminder?”

“No… sir.” A single tear slid to their chin.

For some never-ending agonizing seconds, Eric just stared at them, considering. “No…” he echoed and Nat relaxed for a split-second until the next spoken words: “You’re right. Not yet. Can’t render you out of the game yet. We’ve only just started.” He placed the gun back against their shoulder, pressing hard. “But, you still have to apologize.”

That Nat could do. “Please, I'm sorry, I really am. I just—” they hiccupped, “I meant to say… that I didn’t—” their mind raced for an alternative, “I didn’t think, and I—”

Eric just looked at them expectantly, fond expression on his face as they prattled on and on.

“And—” Nat took a deep breath and their frantic rambling calmed down to something that they hoped would convince him. They looked up, right in those awful cold, grey eyes and said: “I am really sorry. Sir.”

A wrinkle of amusement softened his eyes. “Aw Nat. I believe you. Thank you,” he emphasized with a dramatic hand over his heart.

The gun pulled away and Nat just nodded, relief searing through them.

But the gun didn’t click back to safety yet. “Now what about him.”

Nat’s eyes followed the path of the gun as Eric re-aimed at the figure on the ground. “What?!”

“He owes me an apology as well. For stomping on my wound,” Eric said, matter-of-factly, and walked over to Jeff. He lightly turned him over onto his back, applying a little pressure to crush his bound hands against the hard floor. Then he raised the gun and aimed at Jeff’s shoulder. “So what do you say? When I remove that duct tape, can I expect an apology?”

Jeff glared up at him. He refused to look at Nat, who tried to signal to him to please just to do as he says; he knew he’d break if he looked into their eyes. Instead, he kept his attention on the threat. Then, very slowly, he lightly shook his head.

“Suit yourself.” Eric shrugged and without hesitating, he pulled the trigger.

The bullet ripped right through Jeff’s shoulder. His eyes bulged. His back arched. And his screams were stuck high up in his throat as he writhed on the floor.

Muffled though they were, agony and fear seared through his cries and Nat snapped forward in alarm. But Eric stopped them, merely holding out an arm to block their way, and shut them up with a withering side-glance before they could even finish the word ‘please’. Their knees couldn’t hold them anymore and they crumpled to the floor in despair, tears staining their cheeks as they could only watch how their friend twisted and coiled in pain.

Jeff’s suppressed cries died down to groans and he fought against the duct tape, taking desperate deep but shuddering breaths through his nose.

Eric stepped forward, shoe now resting on Jeff’s heaving chest, inching up and closer to the bullet wound.

“Last chance, now,” he teased.

He got all but a roar in reply. The words remained stuck in his throat, but the ferocity behind the muffled vowels could only mean one thing: it was an unmistakable ‘fuck you!’.

And so Eric replied by stomping hard right onto the bullet wound.

Blood splashed under his shoe and Nat had to look away. The howling sound tore through them, though, shaking them to their core. Eric just watched on in uncaring glee.

“Apologize, detective. Or I will fire another round into your partner and stomp the blood out of them until they drop unconscious.” He ripped off the duct tape and Jeff gasped hard for air when the gag was pulled from his mouth.

“Also,” he followed up in a lighter tone, “Do note that I only have one medic in my employ and he can’t patch you both up at the same time. From what he told me, bullets to the shoulders are tricky.”

That seemed to do the trick; the brutal logic of the threat of one of them bleeding out seemed to bring Jeff back. And he refused to let Nat go through this awful pain, so… he relented. He groaned and stammered, still gasping for air and trying to calm his breathing to get the words out.

Eric slowly pushed his shoe down once more, lightly, just squeezing more blood out of the wound, but knowing it still hurt like a bitch.

It brought out another cry and Jeff practically screamed “I’m sorry! Okay?! God, I—AagHh! I’m sorry!” He gasped in relief when Eric backed away.

“Thank you,” Eric said sweetly. “I have to admit, that was cathartic. Wasn’t it good to get that out?” He backed up and stopped next to Nat, swirling a hand through their thick hair, slithering down and gripping their chin, slick with tears, to force them to look up. He felt them nod against his grip and they both watched as Jeff still writhed in the afterglow.

“Good. Kyle, escort the good man to the doctor, please.” He turned to Nat with a wolfish grin. “Then I’ll keep our friend company.”

-

Tagging, it's pretty much a continuation and I might write more so: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @hurtmebeautifully @im-just-here-for-the-whump @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @painsandconfusion

Meet me, under the bridge on Postwood, 9:15 tomorrow.

I’ve decided to accept your trade.

Alone, no phone, no weapons.

You tell anyone, they’re dead.”

-xoxo W.

The paper slipped from their fingers, caught in a sudden gust of harsh breeze, and Caretaker scrambled to pick it up, but not before it had fallen into a puddle.

They’d been on time. They knew that. They had gotten there early, even, parked a few hundred yards away and walked the rest of the trail on foot as Whumper demanded in a follow-up note.

No car. No cops. Whumpee says hello.

Caretaker tucked the note back into their pocket, ducking under the cover of the bridge once more. It was getting cold, almost unbearably so. Their sweatshirt wasn’t protecting them from the wind, hair whipping in their eyes, screaming in their ears. They pushed themself against the wall, tugging up their hood as if that would make a difference. They pushed away the nagging thought that this was a set up.

Of course it was. They had walked into it, willingly and fully conscious of what that would entail. But if anything, Whumper wasn’t a liar, which was the one thing keeping their mind from completely spiraling. Their freedom for Whumpee’s. They knew that Whumpee would be walking away tonight, which helped settle the anxiety churning in their stomach. Whumpee would be freed, which was all they cared about. Whumper had nothing with them. It was Caretaker’s debt, their mistakes, they should be the one to atone for them.

If that meant living out the rest of their life—however short or long Whumper would drag it out to be—as nothing, less than human, a pet to only fulfill Whumper’s sadistic terms of agreement, so be it. They didn’t have much in this world anyways. A crappy apartment, a dead end job, every dollar they earned going towards a debt they knew would never be settled. They only had Whumpee, their closest friend, the only one who had cared for them and let them stay when Caretaker showed up in the middle of the night with nothing but the clothes on their back. Caretaker had tried to return the favor. They really did.

Whumpee had a life. They had goals, and aspirations, which Caretaker had nurtured when they fell sick with a fever that didn’t break for months. They helped them study for exams through the nausea, wiped the sweat from their forehead with a damp washcloth when Whumpee couldn’t even get up on their own. They’d gone into Whumpee’s job and argued with the manager, until they gave Whumpee pay for the sick days they’d taken and allowed them to return once their illness finally broke. Caretaker had scrounged through the couch cushions and under the TV stand, collecting every dime they stumbled across until they could afford to take Whumpee to the hospital, and get them treated.

Whumpee had a future. Caretaker, they couldn’t see themself moving anywhere past the low they were at now. If it was either of them, Whumpee should be—would be the one to continue on with their life.

They tried to reassure themself that this was the right choice. Whumpee would be let go. They’d be taken care of, they’d live the life they deserved to have.

But still, some awful, selfish, disgusting part of them urged them to run. Fear, its cold claws ripping their stomach to shreds, urged them to run. To escape.

That’s why they were doing this. Because if the positions had been switched, Whumpee wouldn’t have hesitated for a damn second. They would have given themself up at the first opportunity, thrown themself against Whumper’s knife if it meant saving Caretaker’s life.

Caretaker wasn’t a good person. They’d lied and stole, they’ve cheated some people out of money, only caring for themself. But even the worst people have to do at least one good thing, if only once in their life.

This was Caretaker’s good thing. Whumpee would be safe.

The van came screeching through the storm, the rain becoming so thick Caretaker had neither heard nor seen it until the brakes were slamming just feet away from them.

Caretaker felt their heart sink past their toes. The van had barely come to a stop before the back door was wrenched open from the inside, a person dressed in dark clothes with a gun tainted on them long before they even climbed out of the vehicle.

“Hands.” Was all Whumper demanded, muzzle pointed to Caretaker’s throat.

They raised their hands, holding them up, fingers open to show they weren’t holding anything. They felt like crying and throwing up and screaming and running in the same moment, the overwhelming panic filling them with nothing but the urge to leave. Get away.

At Whumper’s prompting, they backed up, only stopping once Caretaker’s heels hit the concrete support that gapped the underside of the bridge.

“You’re late,” Caretaker glared, but the fear visible in their eyes destroyed all effects of anger.

“I’m just on time.” Whumper offered them a grin, but there was no joy behind it. Only a cold malice.

From behind them, another person stepped out of the van, dragging something with them and dropping it roughly to the ground. They fell with their back turned, but Caretaker didn’t need to see their face. Their hair, though matted with blood and dirt, even after the weeks, was undeniable.

The person who had dropped them bent down next to Whumpee, grabbing a fistful of their hair, forcing them to their knees and twisting them to face Caretaker.

Their face was littered with bruises and cuts, ranging from small scrapes to gashes that wept scarlet. They wore the same clothes they had worn before they disappeared, but the fabric was stained and tattered. They looked skinnier, cheeks grown hollow and eyes slightly sunken, making Caretaker wonder if Whumper had fed them anything at all.

“Whumpee,” Caretaker couldn’t keep the waver from their voice, a heat crawling up their throat. Whumpee was gagged, a knotted strip of fabric stuffed in their mouth, hands tied behind their back with, what the brief view Caretaker managed, appeared to be some sort of zip tie or cable.

But they were alive. That was all that mattered. Bruises would fade and cuts would scar over, but they were alive.

“I’ll admit, I almost wasn’t going to give them back,” Whumper began, tone nonchalant and careless. “You don’t have any idea how fun they were. But, I am a man of my word.”

They reached for something in their jacket pocket, and tossed it forwards.

A pair of steel handcuffs clattered to the pavement.

“Put those on, and I’ll release your little friend.” Whumper dragged out, sounding bored if anything. Slightly impatient, as if they had dozens of better places they could be. “Come on now, I don’t have all night.”

They gestured Caretaker forwards with the pistol, its sharp aim tracing them as Caretaker slowly crouched down, picking them up after a brief hesitation.

“You know what, why don’t you just stay on your knees. You look much better down there.”

Caretaker’s jaw clenched, but they complied, slowly lowering their knees to the pavement as they shifted from a crouch to kneeling. They could feel the blood rushing in their ears as they reached forwards to pick up the cuffs, hands shaking so bad it took them a few moments to clasp them first lock around their left wrist, twisting their wrist awkwardly to do the same with their right.

“I would have preferred behind your back, but I suppose I should have specified.” Whumper gave a small shrug, tilting their head to the side as if trying to crack their neck.

“So, my friend, what have you been up to? Besides the usual, gambling, smoking, drinking…” Whumper took a small step forwards, but then stopped, as if thinking twice before falling back, settling into a casual stance.

“I’m clean,” Caretaker spat the words like they were venom on their tongue, drawing a small chuckle from Whumper.

“There’s that fire I’ve missed. Don’t worry, Caretaker, I know all about what you’ve been up to. I have eyes everywhere. It’s been quite amusing, watching you scramble to try and put together the money.”

“Shut up,” caretaker growled, a helplessness sinking in their stomach as heat crept to their cheeks. “You said you’d let Whumpee go.”

“My god, so impatient. What’s the rush, Caretaker? As far as I’m concerned, we have all night.”

Their words dragged towards the end, twisting to a drawl that paired with Whumper’s grin. They lowered the gun.

“If you’re so eager to get going, then- Employee, why don’t you see our guest to their seat.”

The hands holding Whumpee suddenly retreated, leaving them to drop to the ground. They were saying something, screaming, sobbing, but nothing but muffled squeaks made it past the gag. Caretaker couldn’t bring themself to look at them as Worker approached them and grabbed them by the arm, manhandling them to their feet as they began to drag Caretaker to the van.

“I’m sorry- Whumpee, I’m sorry, don’t worry about me—get home or- or to the hospital, they’ll help you-”

A backhand to the face cut off Caretaker’s rushed words, stinging pain splitting across their jaw. Worker barely faltered with their pace, even after delivering such a forceful blow, shoving Caretaker into the van, uncaring as their feet caught on the ledge, sending them sprawling across the inside.

“Oh, Whumpee,” Caretaker heard Whumper sigh, almost remorsefully, pistol hanging loosely from their hand. “I would’ve loved to keep you, but a deal’s a deal. Caretaker’s freedom for yours.”

Caretaker barely saw their grip tighten, before a deafening noise sent their ears ringing, hearing dissolving to static as their blood went cold.

Whumper climbed back into the van, pulling the door shut behind them. Caretaker, on the floor, half propped against the other side of the interior, face frozen in an expression of horror.

“I said I would free them, just like you asked.”

———————————————