#devoted

Sir Jimmy Crystal hums as he walks.

It’s a careless little tune, something cheery and out of place, his eerily clean trainers stepping around bodies and dropped weapons as if he’s strolling through a market instead of a massacre.

A spotlight flashes across the purple of his tracksuit as it’s owner is thrown from a watch tower. Smoke begins to curl into the cold air.

Laughter, high and unhinged mingles with the screams as the Jimmy’s fan out, colourful blurs cutting through the compound you called Home just like he had planned.

He doesn't rush.

He doesn't need to.

Around him, the world collapses, shouts paired with cheers that were sharp with adrenaline, the sharp bangs of doors being forced open, windows being smashed, towers being set alight.

He didn’t just bring his little group. He brought majority of Sanctuary. All happily having volunteered to bring down the ones who hurt you.

Colour flashes everywhere as the Jimmy’s move, bright tracksuits streaking through the wet and grey misery you no longer called Home.

Places like this almost always rotted from the inside.

Home falls fast. It was never strong, just cruel.

Jimmy knew cruelty.

Revelled in it when it was necessary.

A Council member is dragged past him, another following after them, a younger member screaming for Jimmy Jimmy to let their Ma go.

Council children. Adults all the same, Jimmy noticed the lack of actual children instantly. He hears your voice in his ear as his eyes dart from every nook and cranny, telling him in detail about everything.

He wasn't here for the council members, focusing more on getting the overseers rounded up. Two are forced to their knees in the centre of the compound, heads bowed, eyes darting. Ink shakes her head, her hand held up to form a one, telling him that they were missing just one final leader.

They all had to be there. This was for you after all.

He’s patient - he can wait.

Fear strips them of their authority faster than their cruelty ever could. Jimmy barely spares them a glance as he wanders off. Curiosity tugs him deeper and deeper as he continues his leisurely stroll into the maze of shipping containers and half built shelters.

Man made bridges connected everything stacked high, either with rope or scrap, and the leader of the colourful bunch chuckles to himself as he sees a Jimmy running after someone on one of the bridges to the left of him.

Rope bridges. They reminded him of treehouses, and he makes a note to bring them up in the next Sanctuary meeting. Perhaps instead of building out back home, they should build up.

He thinks more of Sanctuary when another member of home is thrown over the side of a bridge, the Jimmy yelling a 'sorry sir!' for having the body land beside him. Faint specks of mud land on his suit. He shrugs them off, looking down at the dying resident you no doubt knew with a blank expression.

There was no remorse.

Did they watch you as you were thrown around?

He knew they did. They all did.

They deserved this. They deserved worse.

Worse was finally here.

This shithole didn't have an ounce of life to it despite all the bodies running around.

He stops one of his Jimmys mid-stride. Fox, the young man hauling a sobbing resident by the hair as she clawed at the dirt beneath her.

A council woman judging by the intact clothes and clean skin.

“Oh! Sorry there peach,” Jimmy taunts, smiling down at the woman as if they’ve merely bumped into each other out on a run. “Have got quick question though whilst I got ye, d’ya know where my wee warrior sleeps?"

The woman winces as Fox lets go of her hair, her head dropping to the ground as she shakes her head, and she looks up at Jimmy as he merely grins.

Confusion. Fear. Another desperate glance around the compound as the chaos of colour unfolds. "Ah didnae ken, please, just take wh-"

"Naw," Jimmy draws out with a click of his tongue, his patience already wavering. "That's not what I asked is it? Let's try again, where'd she sleep?" He asks again, his smile starting to waver.

"Who? I don't k-"

"Christ you're dense - she was a gatherer of yours, s’mine now though," Jimmy says your name, and the woman still looks confused. It angers him more, knowing the council didn't even care enough to get the names of the ones supplying them with the very items keeping them alive.

He describes your build, his hand referencing your height. "Bow and arrow?" He then mimics the pulling of a bow. "Machete at the hip? No?"

Realisation finally dawns on the woman's face, and Jimmy nods with another dark smile. "Yeah, her, where'd she hold up in here? Tell ol' Sir Jimmy."

Still however, the woman hesitates, but Jimmy sees her eyes dart to the shipping containers in the back. "I know it's back there somewhere, but I'm not sifting through that shite all day - be a peach and point it out, maybe I'll let ye walk."

Instantly and without a beat, her bruised hand points to the container at the middle level, closest to a wall.

"There we go!" Jimmy’s grin widens. “Much obliged.”

Jimmy Fox forces the woman to her feet, but Jimmy doesn't look back to watch what happens after, just continuing to hum as he hears more screaming behind him.

The space is smaller than he imagined. Smaller than what someone of your skills deserved.

Metal walls dented inward, a makeshift window cut into the material with jagged edges. Inside it smells faintly of dust and old fabric, something stubbornly you.

The cold seeped in, and Jimmy's jaw clenches knowing at any moment, a simple flu could've taken you out if the cunts down the rope ladder didn't.

In the corner, flushed to the wall was a cot, a leg broken, it’s fabric torn and a sleeping bag pulled thin over it. Another cot lay on the far side, the two separated by nothing more than a hanging sheet. He tears it down with a mere tug, the fabric falling to the dirty floor.

It was a shared space, crowded and hardly private. Knowing you fell back to here for years on end made his fists clench. Rats slept better.

It didn't matter if it was safe. This wasn't living.

Jimmy’s chest tightens in a way he doesn’t like, his chest rising and falling as he still collects his breath from the ladder he had just climbed.

It was a cage for a bird of paradise.

There was nothing personal here. Nothing that screamed this corner was yours. With a huff, the man sits on your cot, managing to just smell your scent on the thin pillow. He lifts it with the intent to smell it better, and there beneath the rags you laid your head on hid exactly what he was looking for.

Softcover, battered, carefully hidden. 

James and the Giant Peach. The sight of it hits him harder than any of the screams outside ever could. His eyes soften, his ringed fingers sliding over the cover.

He exhales through his nose slowly, of course you hid it.

Of course you managed to keep something gentle alive in a hellhole like this.

"Oh my love," He mumbles to himself, grabbing the book and flicking through the pages carefully, the smell of the old paper greeting him. "Should've found ye sooner huh? Should've... Should've tried harder."

He takes the book, reverent as a prayer, and stands, taking one last look at the place you were expected to call home and feels something cold settle in his chest.

"Ye deserved far fuckin' better than this."

You will only know the softness of his bed. The warmth of his skin. The heat of his home. Your home.

Once outside and back on the ground, Jimmy stops another random member of his group, pressing the book gently into their hands. "This comes back with us."

He didn't have to tell them to protect it with their life, they just nodded with a smile, immediately placing the old book into their bag before running off to join in again with the mess.

A whistle cuts through the chaos, Jimmy Ink’s signal that the main course was finally ready for him.

All Overseers are found.

He whistles a tune the entire way back.

Around him and his main disciples, supplies are being stripped from inside the Council’s concrete walls, food, blankets, weapons, medicine - the lot.

Everything Home hoarded while it starved it's own and the very people who found it all.

Everything you should’ve been praised for bringing back. Everything they punished you for instead. Someone had found where you were no doubt held after your last beating, immediately setting it alight in your honour.

Jimmy stops in front of the kneeling men as they kept their heads down, their eyes trained on the dirt. Ink hands him something familiar.

Your knife.

He pockets it with a nod before tilting his head.

"Now then," He beams, his eyes scanning the men slowly. "I’m lookin' for the one named Russ, big man who likes to use knives. Likes using them on people that don't belong to him, might I add."

The men stayed silent, trembling. Jimmy asks again, but no one speaks.

He sighs, and nodded to Jimmy Shite, who steps forward and buries his knife into the thigh of the man that kneels closest to him. The guttural scream tore through the air as Jimmy chuckles.

Shite pulls the knife out, now bringing it up and holding it to the mans throat as he waits for more orders.

The man hisses through gritted teeth as blood seeps from his wound, a bead of blood seeping from the line on his neck. Sweat dribbles from everyone’s heads.

Silence breaks as the wounded man raises his hand, his shaky finger pointing to the man on the other end.

A man with rings on his own fingers stiffens.

There we are.

Jimmy’s eyes lock onto him.

“Ah," He says softly. "Lovely."

The other names follow. Michael and Finley.

Others Jimmy remembers from your slurred, half laughed and tired confessions the night you trusted him and the others a little bit too much, having downed glass after glass of moonshine.

Each one hits Jimmy like a confirmation, not a revelation, but only after dramatically counting on his fingers, he realises someone was missing from his lineup.

“And Caz?” Jimmy asks. "What 'bout him? He still here breathing? Or have one of my friends here found him already?”

Confusion flickers amongst the three on their knees, but the one with the bleeding thigh, now revealed to be Finley, points to behind him.

Jimmy follows, seeing a younger man being held at knifepoint by Jimmy Jones nearby. He whistles just once, and the man is dragged towards them.

He studies him, blue eyes looking him up and down, unable to hide the disgust and disapproval knowing that this was the one who had been the first to touch you. “Add him to the line Jonesy.”

As he waits for Jones to follow through with his orders, a breeze picks up, causing the gate of the compound to collide against the chainlink fence. The Jimmy's hadn't bothered closing it when they stormed the place, knowing it was the only way in and out.

Jimmy's head turns, his gaze drifting past the open gate to the forest outside. Recognition strikes, and his tongue clicks, delighted.

“Actually, let’s take them out there yeah? Get some fresh air.”

The four men are dragged outside the walls with pleas and shouts, words Jimmy can't be bothered to hear. He stops for a split second to see the many scratch marks that litter the gate from the outside, wondering if some belonged to you.

His blond hair brushes against his shoulders as he shakes his head, willing himself to focus on the task at hand.

He walks ahead, finding exactly what he thought he had spotted over home's walls. It stood tall, older than the compound with roots thick and stubborn.

Jimmy knows it the moment he sees it, your wee tree, just enough for you to climb and hide when you were much smaller.

He finds your name almost instantly, carved deep into the bark just like you said, crooked letters from a child's hand, desperate to be remembered.

It pleased him and upset him to no end, knowing everything you had told him in his tower that day was coming to fruition. He knew you weren’t a liar, but it was things like this that made him wish you were.

With a hand in his pocket, he ignores the men being strung up to the branch closest to him as he pulls out your knife. With handwriting not much better, Jimmy adds his own name beside yours.

JAMES.

His fingers trace over your name as he speaks, running over his soon after. Side by side, forever.

"Ye had something real special 'ere," Jimmy murmurs, his voice dropping to an almost dangerous, low sound as the Jimmies used thick rope to string the overseers up by their wrists, their feet dangling inches from the ground. "A real fighter, something good, but you lot aren't that bright, are you?"

More smoke starts to fill the air, fire blooming behind him as home is set alight. "Violence and fear works, I know that," He tilts his head again as he eyes them all. "Know it really well actually, but ye gotta be smart 'bout it, can't be cuttin' up the hands that feed ye all,"

"So you four all touched what belongs to me, hurt - used what's mine," Jimmy tuts. "N'that just won't do, naw, it won't do at all - hurts my wee heart just thinking 'bout it all."

He raises his hand, and one by one Jones, Shite, Snake and Jimmy Jimmy all begin to carve into the men, their stomachs and backs wearing his name. They all scream, begging for them to stop, but all Jimmy can hear is you telling them to stop.

He hears you pleading. Begging. Screaming.

More containers and shelters are set ablaze, and Jimmy turns his head for the umpteenth time, seeing his people leaving what’s left of the compound, grouping together to watch the show.

Their hands are full of supplies, backpacks filled to the brim, Jimmy even spotting your bow and quiver on someone's shoulder and your machete on another's hip.

Jimmima stands at the front, blood and soot on her pale cheeks, hair a mess, your sweater clutched to her chest as she watches with eager eyes.

His head turns back, stepping in front of Caz as the others still cut into the others. Shite steps away from him as he turns his attention to Michael, knowing it was his boots that broke his friends ribs.

Jimmy spits at his feet from where they dangle. "Now you," Jimmy emphasis, dragging his finger down the mans cheek almost gently until he grips his jaw with a firmer grasp. "Been waitin' for you, ah didnae ken what she saw in you, 'cause it certainly wasn't for what's down there," Jimmy releases the mans jaw roughly, his head throwing back.

"Call 'yerself a man? Thinkin' with yer cock and nothing else," He shakes his own head. "Cannae even satisfy a woman, should cut ye baws off and feed 'em to ye, maybe then ye'd know what a pair looks like."

The younger man shakes his head, streaks of tears down his face as he pleads with the raiding group.

Confusion was evident in his eyes, and Jimmy just rolled his own, realising the man probably left a lot of women unsatisfied - that he couldn't even pinpoint that he was talking about you.

Their shirts are all now torn, reminding him on how you had arrived to the Sanctuary earlier that day. Torn clothes, blood on the skin, cuts and bruises, just how they left you.

"Why?" Someone coughs the words up, and Jimmy whips around, his necklaces clanging and he grins, seeing Russ finally had the bravado to speak. "Why are ye doing this? Ye can just take every... everything," He winces through the pain. "Ye don't have to do this… Please."

Jimmy spits again at Caz's feet, turning his attention to the older bearded man. He circles the men once as their panic sets in worse, their pleas tumbling over each other. He doesn’t listen.

“Because ye hurt mine,” He says softly, stopping in front of Russ. “So I hurt yours.”

They all narrow their eyes in uncertainty, and Jimmy tuts.

"You did a long cut, didn't you? Hip to hip?" Jimmy pulled your knife out again from his pocket as he wiggles his hips, pointing from his own hip, side to side, the purple velvet a stark contrast to the surrounding area. "That your work mate?"

Russ' eyes open in realisation at just who this was all over, and Jimmy nods, his grin returning as he laughs.

"Yeah, her - my little love," He says your name as he looks at your knife in his hand, looking it over. "Beautiful thing isn't she? Resting in my bed right now actually - a real one too, not on that shite ye call a bed in there,"

Jimmy gets closer, now pressing the knife to Russ' left hip, not deep enough to cut, but enough to cause the man to squirm as he dangles from the rope. "Ye better hope she's still breathin' when I get back, or I'll make sure to come back 'ere and leave absolutely nothing and nobody here still standin'. No trace of you or your people. Just… gone.”

He already knew they weren’t going to leave anything left.

He moves the knife, slicing deep and slow from one hip to the other, just below his bellybutton. He beams from ear to ear, pressing it further in with each jagged pull.

Russ’s scream echoed through the forest, and Jimmy's laugh blends with it, the others all grinning from ear to ear. The sounds were cut short when an even louder, guttural roar overpowers the painful scream somewhere deep in the woods.

"Oooh," Jimmy says through his laugh. "Sounds like someone's gonna crash this party real soon eh?"

An Alpha.

With a herd of infected no doubt following suit.

Jimmy nods towards Michael. "We don't have much time, you lot deal with him."

"Wait!" The other man yells, but Jones is already laying into him with a bat that another Jimmy had handed to them as he wails, tugging on his binds, the blonde aiming exactly for the same side of ribs he had broken in you.

Finley looks on in horror, a wet patch in his pants beginning to form as he hears another cry from infected somewhere out in the cover of the forest. Jimmy releases another whistle as he hears a distinct crack coming from Michael. Such a delicious sound.

He wished you were here.

"Now, I don't know much 'bout you," He points his finger to Finley as he still stands in front of a bleeding and pleading Russ. "But that don't matter much, still just as bad as them aren't ye?"

The man shakes his head over and over, but Jimmy blows a raspberry, waving his bloodied hand at him. "I won't bleed ye, they'll do it for me anyway."

The infected.

Jimmy digs his knife into various parts of Russ' skin, leaving lines and cuts in the same places he knew matched yours. The old man pleads and cries with each mark.

"Did she scream like this when you locked her out?" Jimmy whispered, leaning on his tiptoes to speak into Russ’s ear as he dangles above him. "Did she beg? Yeah. She did," He says almost solemnly, thinking about how scared you must've been. "I know she did,"

"Couldn't break her though could ye?" He continues. "Ye forced her out, brought her to me... Huh, guess I should thank ye for that."

"Please-"

"Shut up." Jimmy Shite cuts Finley off with a whack to his head.

The fire beside everyone grows larger by the minute, the smoke getting even stronger. Jimmy could see his people getting antsy at the knowledge that an Alpha and it's pack were near.

"Sir." Is all Ink says, and Jimmy nods but still doesn't hurry. He wanted this to be drawn out, wanted them to feel every ounce of fear and pain you had.

But he wasn't stupid.

He couldn't hold you if he was dead. Jimmy eyes the bleeding and broken men as they dangle in front of him, clinging to life. "Callin' this a home? What a proper laugh that is," Something glimmers, catching Jimmy's attention. His voice gets softer. "Ye wouldn't know what a home is."

His eyes narrow, seeing the gold rings on Russ' fingers, and he reaches out. He grabs his hands to keep him steady, and without hesitation, slices through the flesh one by one until the jewellery fell off into the palm of his hand. He ignores his screams again, his tongue even poking out in concentration slightly as he cuts the last one.

Tears poured from the mans eyes as his digits lay at his feet in a heap, and Jimmy holds the rings out, bloody and messy, almost playfully in his face. "A little tax for the trouble eh?"

The roar sounded again - closer, hungrier.

Jimmy laughs, delighted, and slips Russ’s rings into his pockets as he slides the knife into his other. He was covered in blood now.

“Well,” He says brightly, turning away as home burns high and loud. “Off we pop now, my love is waitin' and I am just itchin' to get away from all that trouble." He waves his hand in the direction of the Alpha.

Finley begs again this time, straining against his binds, Caz mirroring him. "Please!" He sobs. "Ye can't leave us like this! T-the infected a-"

"Oh I know," Jimmy coos as he nods, turning around and signalling for the others to follow with a tip of his blond head.

He hops with an almost jaunty skip in his step. "But look on the bright side. You're doin' exactly what ye made her do - waitin’ ever so patiently for the monsters to come,"

"And you'll all be doin' a great service for my lot here, keeping those things all very, very busy while we go."

He turns around and starts his walk, the Jimmy's all falling in line with their arms laden. They all walk around him, following after his main Jimmy's as he stops one final time, calling over his shoulder as his cheery tone finally drops, his eyes dark and jaw tense.

"You'll be good and wait here, just like she did," His voice lowers, but he knows they can hear. "But you won't get back up again like she did, none of ye will."

The flames crackle. The forest answers.

By the time Jimmy has made his way to the front of his group, the screaming follows them into the trees. Flesh torn into flesh, blood mixed with the dirt, the smoke masking their scent just enough for his family to get away.

Jimmy just smiles, the corner of his lips reaching his eyes as he thinks of you. The rings in his pocket clink together with each stride, and he sighs, thinking of how you'll never be away from him again, and how very far home is from every touching you again.

-

The Sanctuary fell into a rare, hushed rhythm in the days that followed. The usual manic energy of the Jimmy's was dialled back, replaced by a hovering, anxious concern for you.

You were yet to wake up. Concerns echoed through the halls and into the gardens over whether you ever would.

No one was allowed to mention you unless it was positive. An order everyone was happy to follow.

Jimmy was a ghost in his own palace. He only left your side when the business of the Sanctuary demanded it and even then, he was irritable, his eyes constantly darting toward the stairs leading up to where he left you.

He became fixated on your recovery. He watched with hawk like intensity as the healers changed your bandages, his jaw tightening at the sight of the stitches Michael and Russ had forced his healers to sew into your skin.

He applied the ointments himself, his rings clinking softly as his hands, so prone to violence now became incredibly gentle. He'd talk to you through it all, whispering what everyone was up too, what he had done that day, what his plans were when he'd have to hesitantly leave you alone again.

Every night, he’d sit beside you, your battered copy of James and the Giant Peach open in his lap. He read to you for hours, his voice a low, melodic hum against the backdrop of the wind and rain as it bellowed outside.

You had jolted in your sleep one night, startling the man, and he dropped the book to the ground accidentally. Upon reaching for it, he noticed the bloodied finger print on the back, well and truly old and not yours. It was large, and Jimmy wondered if it belonged to someone you had known or it’s original owner.

Probably your da's. He'd ask when you woke up.

Because you were going to wake up. He knew it.

When he finished a chapter, he’d leave the book by your bedside, pressing a lingering, feather light kiss to your forehead.

Just as he did every night.

"I've still got so much to show you," He'd whisper into the dark once the candles were blown out. "Come back to me, little love."

He slept beside you every night, the bed so large that there was no fear of accidentally touching you in the night and causing any pain.

Jimmy had even let Jimmima in on day four, watching from his doorway with a faint smile as she sat on the edge of the silk duvet, carefully brushing through the tangles in your hair with a silver brush.

She murmured to you that you were like sleeping beauty, and the youngest Jimmy didn't leave until every knot was gone. Everyday you started to look more and more like yourself.

On the seventh day, Jimmy was down in the throne room. The space was a riot of colour and noise, the Jimmies were sprawled over the rugs and beanbags, still playing with their spoils of the raid.

Shite was wearing a pair of 'new' shoes, and others were trading various pieces of jewellery and other household items they had liberated from home’s storehouse.

Everything else had been split amongst the Sanctuary, stored in the shop or spread amongst those that knew what to do with the seeds and food.

More animals had been taken from the compound, now resting in their farmhouse.

More milk, more meat, more eggs.

All now in a more deserving place.

Your weapons rest on a table in the room, now clean, sharpened and untouched. The backpack they had given to you lay next to them, your sweater folded beside it.

Jimmy watched them with a detached look, his mind still four floors up. He sat on his throne, his elbows on his knees as he shook his head, muttering to himself.

He stood abruptly, grabbing his water from beside him and ignoring the stares from the others as he leaves the room, making his way upstairs. More items belonging to home littered the halls, not yet having been claimed or put away. Clothes, paintings, books, the lot.

It wasn't a concern. Not yet.

When he pushed open the heavy oak doors to his bedroom, the words of a playful scolding were already on his lips, something about the healers being late. But the words died in his throat.

You weren't in the bed.

The covers were thrown back, and there, standing by the far wall, was a familiar figure, bandaged and half naked.

You were leaning heavily against the dresser, your hand trembling as you traced the faces in the paintings he’d found in the castle when he first arrived.

Your back was to him, but he could see the way your head tilted, studying the colours, studying the people.

He was over the moon that you were standing.

It meant you could walk. One of his prayers answered.

"You should be resting," He managed to say, his voice smooth, just enough to mask the shakiness that threatened to come out instead. He stayed by the door, afraid that if he moved too fast, you’d vanish like a fever dream. "Let’s get you back in bed, yeah?"

You turned slowly. Your left eye was still closed and covered in a nasty colour, the swelling finally coming down, and your face was unnaturally pale, but your good eye was clear, the pupil not dilated.

The healers warned him of haemorrhaging.

You looked at him, really looked at him, and the corner of your mouth twitched.

"Jimmy." You had rasped, your voice surprisingly soft despite it’s lack of use.

Jimmy’s eyes fluttered shut. He let out a long, shuddering breath, another silent prayer of thanks echoing in the cavern of his chest.

They hadn't won. Hadn't broken you. The concussions, the fists and boots, the blades - they hadn't taken the soul out of those eyes.

You still knew his name.

Him.

You were still here.

"Let me help," He walks in, the hand not holding his water reaching for you. "Got a lot of healing to do hen, ye not gonna get anywhere runnin' around up here."

He guided you back to the massive bed, moving at your pace. As he walks, he passes his balcony window, peering out just long enough to see the thin, ghostly finger of white smoke drifting far in the distance over the hills.

The fires were dying down, but the message had been sent.