3 people asked for more Buck Never Leaves AU within 2 months (which is a lot when you consider this series came out 6 years ago) (FUCK) (I'm 30 tomorrow isn't that wild?) so I whipped up a little somethin' somethin'.
tbh a lot of my creative thought production for this world is going towards The Pros and the unwritten but 80% complete in my head sequel, so I hadn't thought about BNLAU (which is what i'm gonna call it so i dont have to keep writing it) in a while, even tho when I first put it out I remember being like "there's so much more I could write for this!" well, i guess I shoulda written it down, because I don't remember.
ANYWAY... enjoy. And thanks for still giving a shit about my work. :)
~~
Fletcher may have introduced Buck to the new trainees as someone who “works for” them. They may have told the new trainees not to hurt him - not to lay a hand on him - unless Fletcher tells them to do so. And they reassured Buck that they would only ever tell them to do so for a lesson. If any discipline was required, Fletcher would only handle it themself. And they trusted Buck was wise enough about his situation that they wouldn’t need to call on anyone else to help “wrangle” him.
But the relationship was clear. The power dynamic was glaring. The way Fletcher ordered Buck around, the way Buck labored without argument. The way Fletcher volunteered him for lessons, the way he cowed in their presence. The scars. The tracking bracelet.
The trainees were not bold enough or dumb enough to hurt Buck outside of the lessons. But that didn’t mean they didn’t bully him.
One in particular, Williams, thought he was hot shit when he could flex some power over Buck. Making threats and taunts, “accidentally” shoulder-checking him in the hall or bumping into him while he had his hands full.
One day he pulled his gun. Waved it around as he gave Buck some speech that was supposed to intimidate him, but he wasn’t listening. His eyes tracked the movement of the weapon. Out of fear, Williams thought. But they were wrong.
Williams kept his finger off the trigger, Buck noticed. At least if he was going to ignore every other safety rule, Buck didn’t have to worry about him accidentally squeezing off a shot.
Buck had been paying attention to the lessons. Maybe more than Williams. Certainly, he was able to disarm him with ease.
“Fletcher.” Buck’s voice was stern.
“Wha…” Fletcher looked up from the pile of carrots they were peeling, and trailed off.
It was the most surprised Buck had ever seen them, second only to when he had killed Petrova. Ironically enough, more so than when he had pointed a gun at them, considering he now had a gun pointed at one of their students.
Buck held Williams in front of him, one hand holding tight to the collar of his shirt. The other hand held the gun, pressed to Williams’s temple.
“Give me the key to your truck,” Buck demanded.
Fletcher’s eyes traveled to Williams.
“This is going to look bad on your report card,” they said. “You could be looking at summer school.”
Williams made an annoyed noise.
“Whatever, it’s not like he’s actually gonna do it.
“Oh, he’ll do it,” Fletcher assured them easily. “He’s done it before.”
Williams paled. “What? He killed someone before and you kept him?”
“First time the gun wasn’t loaded, second time it was actually in my best interest.”
“Twice?”
“First one was an attempt on me, not a student,” Fletcher clarified.
“Fletcher,” Buck interrupted. “Your keys.”
Fletcher stood from the kitchen table slowly, and even slower reached toward their belt.
“Keys are by the holster,” they said. “I’m gonna go slow.”
Buck nodded. Fletcher carefully unclipped their key ring from their belt loop and held them aloft.
“How we gonna do this?” Fletcher asked.
“Toss me the keys. When I get to the truck, I’ll let Williams go,” Buck instructed.
“Normally I would insist on an at the same time thing, but I guess you have no reason to kill Williams if you get your way.” Fletcher reasoned. They looked at their keys for a moment. “If you take my truck, I’ll be stranded.”
“I know you have the four wheeler,” Buck shot back.
Fletcher shrugged, caught. “Where’s my truck gonna be?”
“What?”
“Tell me where you’re going to leave the truck so I can retrieve it.”
“I’m keeping the truck,” Buck insisted. “I don’t have anything; I’m going to need…”
He trailed off.
“Yeah, what is your plan?” Fletcher asked. “Sleep in the truck? Be homeless? You have nowhere to go, you have no money, you don’t have anyone to turn to.”
“I know where you keep your cash in the truck,” Buck said.
Fletcher scowled, then returned to a neutral look.
“Fine, that’ll get you started. And then, what, get a job? You know how long it will take you to save up enough money to get an apartment? Did you pack a bag? You’ve got one change of clothes and no shower, so good luck at interviews. Applications are all online now, anyway. And you’re going to need to save that money for food, so-”
“Goddammit, Fletcher!” Buck snapped, rattling Williams who let out an involuntary gasp. “Anything’s better than staying here!”
Fletcher’s laugh started off small, then crescendoed.
“That’s not true.”
Buck flexed his fingers on the grip of the gun.
“You gonna come after me?” he asked.
Fletcher thought for a moment, then shrugged.
“Undecided. Probably not now that I’m in the middle of a training season. So that’ll give you a good head start. Might not be worth the effort to try to pick up your trail… as long as you’re smart about it. You know not to go to the cops, right? It’s a death sentence.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Buck said, exasperated. “Give me the keys.”
“We need to come to an agreement about the truck.”
“The agreement is that you give me the keys or I blow your student’s fucking brains out!” Buck roared.
Fletcher let out a small chuckle, eyebrows slightly raised, like they were more amused than intimidated.
One moment, Buck was staring Fletcher down with their trainee at gunpoint. The next moment was all pain, sharp and overwhelming in the back of his skull. The next moment was on the ground. Both his hands were bracing against the floor, which meant that the gun…
By the time his eyes caught sight of it, having fallen from his grasp and slid a few feet away, a hand was already reaching down and picking it up. He tracked the movement, leading his gaze up to Fletcher.
Buck tried to push himself up, but collapsed back down as the pain doubled. He pressed one hand to the back of his head, expecting to feel blood, expecting to feel his skull caved in. A new pain slammed into his ribs now, in the form of a steel toed boot.
“Alright, Caldera, you got him, thank you,” Fletcher said. “I’ll take it from here.”
Williams held out his hand for his gun, but Fletcher tucked it into their belt.
“Oh, you’ve lost gun privileges."
“What?” he protested.
“For now. We’re going to talk about how this happened, and how we can prevent it from happening in the future,” Fletcher said, voice dripping with condescension.
They crouched down in front of Buck, who managed to look up enough to meet their gaze.
“That was a good attempt,” they said, then sighed. “I hate to lock you up again; I thought we were past that. But really, more than anything, I need to keep you under observation.”
They took Buck’s chin and tilted his head up as he grimaced, studying his eyes.
“When you’ve recovered a bit, then we can discuss how things are going to be from now on.”
~~
I'm never sure if I should add the taglist for bonus stuff (or how many of those urls are still accurate, or how many ppl asked to be tagged after I had finished the series and I thought I was Done Forever so I didn't make a note of it) but uhh here we go
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i know i've talked about having a sequel mapped out in my brain and never writing it but. have an idea. don't know that i'd fit it in anywhere in the sequel. but it's buck and fletcher together again, and they're talking, and maybe it's late and dark when it's easier to be honest. and buck is like,
"I feel like you're the only person who knows the full, honest version of me. My friends before don't know what happened to me, and they think I'm dead. My friends now don't know what happened to me, and I can't tell them. They don't even know my real name. I only knew you for a few months but I feel like you know more about me than anyone currently in my life, besides Nico. Sometimes I feel like you even know me better than Nico. I still feel like I can't tell him everything. I can't show him the real me. I don't want him to see the person who did the things I did. But I don't regret doing any of them. And with you, I don't feel like I have to lie, or hide. Because you've already seen the worst of me. The vulnerable, exposed parts of me. You haven't been in my life but you know about my family. You know my interests, you know my - my fucking favorite color. And you - I watched you so closely, trying to figure you out, so I would know how to navigate being around you. I tried to take in every detail and figure out the meaning behind each one. What you liked, what you didn't, what you wanted, how you reacted to things, how you thought about things, what your responses would be. For all the time I spent trying to hide in my room, I felt like my life revolved around you for those months. More so than anyone else in the house. Because you were the head, and you were a constant. The rest were going to leave but you were going to stay, and I was going to be stuck with you. I know you so well I know where the goddamn callouses on your hands are."
ITWS Trans Buck AU snipit - Fletcher gives Buck his T shots
I figure this would happen very early on, so I had it pick up in chapter 2 after Buck wakes back up after passing out getting his leg sewn up.
CW: Needles/injections, captivity whump
Buck passed out at some point during the procedure. He woke up in a bed, unsure of where he was. Even as the memories came back to him as he drifted into consciousness, he was still lost. It was a sparsely furnished room, with just the bed, a dresser, a chair, and a small table that didn’t look like it was originally meant to be a nightstand. There was a window in the wall behind him, but the curtains were drawn. He was wearing an unfamiliar pair of sweatpants.
Buck’s head ached. His leg ached. His whole body ached. He tried to gently shuffle into a sitting position, but as he moved he felt the unyielding tug of metal against his ankle.
His injured leg was handcuffed to the bed.
The door opened. Fletcher poked their head in.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” they said, walking all the way into the room. They were carrying a tray, which they set down on the dresser. Fletcher opened one of the drawers and retrieved a pillow. “Can you sit up?”
Buck, watching Fletcher warily, pushed himself slowly into a sitting position, and Fletcher put the pillow behind him. They retrieved the tray and set it on Buck’s lap before pulling the chair over to the side of the bed and sitting down.
Buck examined the contents of the tray. A water bottle, a small bottle of orange juice, a banana, a sleeve of crackers, a pudding cup, and a spoon. Buck looked up at Fletcher wordlessly.
“Well, eat up, champ,” Fletcher said, leaning forward to rest their forearms on their legs. A beat of silence where neither said anything. Then, “How’re you feeling?”
Buck opened his mouth and let out a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I feel like shit. Everything hurts.”
“Well, that’s to be expected,” Fletcher nodded. “You sustained a pretty serious injury.”
“Which you made worse,” Buck said.
“Hey, I – well, yeah. I did make you walk on it,” Fletcher admitted. “But you did great! And then I made it better.”
“You should have taken me to a hospital,” Buck said.
Fletcher just laughed and said, “Seriously, you should eat something. Drink some water.”
Buck examined the seal of the water bottle to make sure it was still intact before cracking it open and taking a long drink. He paused a moment, and then asked, “Why do you have me chained to the bed?”
“Well, you really shouldn’t be walking on that leg for a while,” Fletcher said.
Buck stared at them in disbelief. Fetcher’s face cracked into a smile, and they shrugged, but said nothing.
“So, what, are you just… holding me here?” Buck struggled to say the words out loud.
“Yeah,” Fletcher answered casually.
“Why? What… why?”
“You’re a great teaching tool,” Fletcher said before standing up. “And I believe you can take it.”
“Take what?” Buck asked, voice soaked in fear.
Fletcher began walking to the door, saying only, “Eat something.”
“What – what is this place?” Buck called after them. “What is going on here?”
Fletcher stopped in the doorway, hand on the knob ready to pull it closed behind them. They turned back.
“Well, Buck,” they said, “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
Before they could shut the door, Buck blurted out, “Wait, wait, wait!”
“Yeah, I fucking got that part,” Fletcher cut him off. “Shots or gel?”
“Uh… uh, shots,” Buck answered.
“Great,” Fletcher said. “Easier to get ahold of. When was your last shot?”
“Friday.”
Fletcher nodded. “I’ll get it for you. Anything else?”
“Um…” Buck considered inventing some complex medical issue that would be inconvenient for Fletcher to deal with, but he wasn’t able to think. And anyway, that didn’t necessarily mean that Fletcher would let him leave. Alive. “No, just that.”
“Cool.” Fletcher gave a final nod and closed the door behind them.
When Fletcher came to Buck’s room the following Friday, they held up their hand, letting Buck see a vial and a syringe.
“You wanna do shots?” they said with a grin.
Buck’s eyes widened. “You actually… you actually got me my T?”
Fletcher scoffed. “Of course. What dose are you on?”
“0.6, uh, milligrams… or whatever.”
Fletcher pulled the chair over to Buck’s bedside with their foot as they carefully watched the measurements on the syringe fill up. They slipped the vial into their pocket and flicked the air bubbles out.
“Where do you usually take it?” they asked.
“Oh, uh…” Buck considered what area of his body he wanted to expose to Fletcher. His stomach felt incredibly vulnerable - literally rolling over and showing his belly. But he didn’t want to pull his pants down to do his thigh either. It was hard enough getting them on and off without agitating his wound. He wouldn’t have to pull them all the way down to do his rear, but he didn’t really want to be showing his ass either. Unless - would it come off as a “fuck you” to Fletcher? Probably not. They still got to stab it.
“Stomach, I guess,” Buck murmured. He kneaded the fabric of his shirt in his hands before lifting it up enough to give Fletcher access.
Buck turned his head away as Fletcher leaned in. He flinched when the alcohol wipe touched his skin, and he could swear he heard a tiny snicker from Fletcher.
“How long you been on T?” Fletcher asked conversationally.
“Uh, ‘bout a year and a half,” Buck said.
“Oh, for real?” Fletcher sounded surprised. “You’re looking great, man. Took to it really quickly.”
Buck was taken off guard by the compliment. He looked back at Fletcher to search their features for any sign of sarcasm or scorn. Their face was neutral, focused on Buck’s skin, pinching it slightly before sticking the needle straight in.
Buck hissed a breath through his teeth. Part of him wanted to turn away again, but the rest of him wanted to watch Fletcher and make sure they were doing what they were supposed to.
Fletcher’s eyes met his briefly before returning to their work. Buck tried to stay still as they slowly depressed the plunger.
“Haven’t gotten used to it yet?” Fletcher asked.
“It sucks every time,” Buck gritted out. “I wanted to get the gel but insurance wouldn’t cover it.”
“Why the fuck did you tell me shots then?”
Fletcher pulled out the empty syringe, capping the needle. They rubbed their thumb over the drop of blood that formed on Buck’s skin.
“Uh… I don’t know,” Buck said. He lowered his shirt and laid both hands over the sore injection site. “You just asked what I was taking, I wasn’t really… thinking.” He paused, studying Fletcher for a moment. “Does that mean you could get me the gel?”
“Mm,” Fletcher hummed in thought. They stared at Buck an uncomfortably long time, but that was a low bar. “Maybe. Shots are easier to get - like, they’re still a controlled substance, but they’re also super common, and more likely to be black marketed, so to speak. Plus, I get to stab you a little bit, which makes it fun for me.”
They rose and pushed the chair back against the far wall.
“I could do it myself,” Buck pointed out.
“Ha!” Fletcher laughed as they headed for the door. “Same time next week.”
Djskdkfksk can you do something with Fletcher getting mad at their trainees because none of them realized the guy they were interrogating was deaf please?
I'm gonna change this a little and place it back when Fletcher was doing contract jobs, bc I don't think they would take their trainees on an interrogation field trip lol
~
Fletcher had been called in for a job where someone was resolutely refusing to talk. When they arrived at the location - the backroom of some warehouse - the man bound to the chair was already in rough shape. His ankles were tied to the legs of chair and his arms were secured behind him. His face was swollen and painted red with blood, both fresh and drying to flakes.
Fletcher sat in the chair across from him and began their usual spiel, leading into the important questions.
The man was looking at Fletcher’s face, but not making eye contact. His sightline was too low, like he was watching their mouth. His face was one of concentration for a few moments, before it slackened and his eyes drifted away.
Fletcher paused, studying him.
“I’m going to cut out your eyes if you don’t look at me.”
It got no response.
“I’m going to cut your dick in half, hot dog style.”
No reaction. Not even a flicker in his features.
Fletcher rose from their seat and gestured one from the original crew over.
“Sit here and talk to him for a minute,” they ordered.
As the new interrogator began to take a crack at it, Fletcher walked past the bound man, out of sight, before quietly approaching him from behind. They clapped loudly just behind his head. The man didn’t flinch.
Fletcher walked back around into the man’s line of sight. They pointed at their ear, mouth, and the man in succession. The man raised his eyebrows and nodded, expression focused once more.
Fletcher turned to the crew.
“He’s fucking deaf, you morons. How long have you been working him?”
There was an embarrassed silence before one said, “We just thought he wasn’t breaking.”
“Get me something to fucking write with,” Fletcher demanded, shooing them away. “Untie his hands from the chair and tie his wrists together in front of him, tight.”
“You speak sign language?” Someone asked.
“Not enough,” Fletcher grumbled. They punched a number into their phone and held it to their ear. “Hey, Miller. How good is your ASL?”
[steps out of the darkness] hello i have written a little piece of In The Woods Somewhere. it takes place in the early days of buck’s captivity, when he was still chained to the bed. okay enjoy bye. [steps back into the darkness]
When Fletcher knocked on the door, it was not to ask permission for entry, but to give Buck a brief warning that they were about to come in.
Buck was laying on the bed, reading a book Fletcher had given him. The story didn’t particularly grab him, but he had no other way to pass the time besides staring at the ceiling and despairing his situation. He scrambled to sit up when he heard the knock.
Fletcher entered, carrying a glass of water. They looked him over.
“How’s the book?”
Buck couldn’t quite make sense of this Fletcher character. It seemed equally likely that the question was honest, hoping he would enjoy it as they had, or that it was some sort of taunt.
“...Fine,” Buck answered.
Fletcher closed the door with their foot and brought the glass over to Buck.
“I brought you a water.”
“Thanks,” Buck said, taking the glass. He didn’t sip from it, just accepted the offering and waited for Fletcher to address whatever reason they actually came into the room.
The two stared at each other a beat before Fletcher said sternly, “Drink it.”
Buck’s stomach flipped.
There was definitely something in the water.
No way Fletcher would have brought him water with no other motivation. Why would they insist on him drinking it then and there if it wasn’t drugged, or poisoned, or whatever other nefarious schemes one could fit into a glass of water.
Fletcher frowned and folded their arms, looking down at Buck on the bed, waiting.
It was probably drugged, not poisoned. If Fletcher wanted him dead they would have done it by now, and probably not in such an indirect way as making him drink a poisoned glass of water. Unless they wanted to blackmail him with the antidote after?
“Buck, drink the fucking water,” Fletcher said.
He couldn’t.
He couldn’t be party to his own suffering like that.
Whatever reason Fletcher wanted him drugged, it couldn’t be good. And maybe it was inevitable, whatever it was, but he wasn’t going to do it to himself.
Buck didn’t break eye contact with Fletcher when he held out the glass and tipped it, pouring the contents out onto the floor.
Fletcher watched the spill as it happened. Some of it splashed onto their boots. They looked back up at Buck, and laughed a bit. Without a word, they took the empty glass and left the room, closing the door behind them.
Buck’s heart was pounding in his chest. His eyes remained on the door until it inevitably opened again. Which it did. Of course it did. Fletcher wasn’t going to let that slide.
Fletcher had refilled the glass. They walked over and set it on his bedside table. Then, they climbed onto the bed.
Buck threw his hands up to defend himself. Fletcher caught his arms and forced them to the mattress. Buck’s attempts to pull away were ultimately futile as Fletcher managed to pin each wrist under one of their knees as they straddled over him. They gripped Buck’s jaw, trying to pry it open. Buck kept his jaw clenched shut, throwing his head from side to side as best as he could.
Fletcher drove a fist straight down and punched Buck in the chest.
Buck gasped, and Fletcher took the chance to grab his jaw and hold it. The other hand picked up the glass, and poured it into his mouth.
Buck tried to shut his mouth or turn his head. A lot of it missed or splashed out, dousing his face, his shirt, the sheets, the pillow. But enough of it went in. He spluttered, but Fletcher slammed his jaw shut. He had to swallow.
Satisfied, Fletcher climbed off. They took the empty glass with them when they left.
Buck, quickly descending into full panic, watched as they walked out of his room.
“Wait, what was that?” He called after them.
Fletcher shut the door without looking back.
“What did you do to me?!” Buck shouted at the walls.
Buck sat up in the bed, hugging his knees to his chest, waiting to feel a change.
Drowsiness, dizziness, pain in his stomach, blurry vision, something, anything. But he felt nothing other than the exhaustion of constant fear.
Fletcher returned after what seemed like hours, and Buck straightened up expectantly.
“What did you do to me?” he asked again.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Fletcher said.
“The water,” Buck tried not to snap. “What was in it?”
“Nothing, it was just water.”
Buck stared at them. They didn’t waver.
“I don’t believe you.”
Fletcher shrugged. “I don’t really give a shit about that.”
“Why would - why would you force me to drink it if there was nothing in it?”
“Well, it’s important to stay hydrated.”
Buck gawked at them.
“I mean honestly it was just funny to see you panic when I told you to drink it, and then I couldn’t let you get away with dumping it out,” Fletcher explained. They jingled the cuff key in their hand. “Anyway, it’s your turn to do the dishes.”
Buck slumped back on the bed as Fletcher unlocked his shackle.
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Buck knelt on the floor, hands scrabbling at the leather cinched tight around his throat. His fingernails clawed into the skin on his neck trying to gain some purchase on the belt. He tried to lean back - to go with the pull instead of fight it - but Fletcher’s boot planted itself in the middle of his back and pushed him forward.
Buck’s chest burned. His head was swimming, and there were sharp pains jutting in at his temples. Just as his vision started to go fuzzy, the tension around his neck released.
He collapsed forward, catching himself on one hand, the other pulling a gap in loop of the belt just large enought to take a deep breath in and cough it back out.
Fletcher knelt down and undid the belt, pulling it away. They watched as Buck continued to cough hoarsely, rubbing his abused throat with tears streaming down his face. Buck’s eyes flicked briefly in their direction before quickly fixing themselves on the floor.
“I don’t mind you getting comfortable around here, Buck,” Fletcher said softly. “But you need to remember your spot in the pecking order.”
Buck gulped painfully. He didn’t attempt to speak, only squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.
“Are you going to talk back to me again?” Fletcher asked.
Buck shook his head.
“Are you going to do what I fucking tell you?”
Buck nodded. He opened his eyes to give Fletcher a tearful, pleading look.
“Alright, then get up.”
Fletcher grabbed Buck by the arm and stood, hauling him up with them.
Buck ▶️ Give Fletcher a call and tell them you miss them. -Lonesome
@lonesome--hunter lmao bro okay
~~
Buck selected one of the few numbers programmed into his phone, and held it to his ear, listening to it ring. He wasn’t sure if he wanted them to pick up, but none the less, the ringing ended abruptly.
“Buck?”
“Fletcher,” Buck breathed like a sigh of relief.
“What’s up? Are you okay?”
Through the slight cell phone distrortion, Buck thought he could hear a twinge of worry in their voice. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
“I’m fine,” Buck said, tugging nervously on the ends of his hair falling loose over his shoulder.
“Why are you calling me?” Fletcher asked.
Buck scoffed, trying to laugh over the nervousness. “Wh-Why’d you give me your number if you didn’t want me to call?”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Oh...kay...”
A longer pause, neither knowing what to say. Then again, “So, why are you calling me?” asked Fletcher.
“I don’t know,” Buck said. “I miss you.”
Silence.
Buck was beginning to regret saying it.
“You... what?”
“I just... I miss you,” Buck said, forcing himself not to mumble the words only so Fletcher could hear them through the phone.
Fletcher laughed.
“Fuck off. What do you want? Really?”
Buck covered his face with his free hand, glad that Fletcher couldn’t see him.
“Nothing, Fletcher,” he said quietly. “I just wanted to call. That’s it.”
“...Seriously?” Fletcher asked.
“Yeah,” Buck said miserably.
“Wel... okay,” Fletcher said. “Um... how’s the city?”
“Okay, well...” Fletcher struggled to make conversation. “I mean, you know where I am.”
Buck sighed. “This was stupid, Fletcher, I’m sorry I called-”
“Buck, hey,” Fletcher said quickly. “I... look, I still feel like you might be fucking with me, but... I... miss you too, honestly. You were fun to have around.”
Buck said nothing, just gripped the phone tightly.
“You can come by at any time,” Fletcher said. “For real. I’ll drop what I’m doing. Just call ahead first, please. But you can come by or... come back.”
There was a long pause on both ends.
“I should go,” Buck said quietly.
“Okay,” Fletcher said. “It was, uh, good to hear from you.”
▶️ Fletcher call one of the recruits Buck "by accident" 👀
@redstainedsocks lmao Y’ALL
...okay I made it angsty.
~~
New season. New crop of trainees. Fletcher was back to training how they used to. They had done it this way most of their career, but they couldn’t help but miss how easy it was to demonstrate things on Buck. It was more frustrating now, to try to explain without the hands-on aid.
Everything felt harder now that it had before. Probably didn’t help that Fletcher couldn’t shake the feeling that any of these students may try to kill them. And if it happened again, Buck wasn’t around. Fletcher couldn’t count on the other trainees for help. Maybe they would - maybe they were invested in their education. Or maybe they wouldn’t want to get involved.
Fletcher couldn’t count on it. They couldn’t trust any of them.
So they kept a careful eye on all of their students. Only three this season. And only from organizations Fletcher had a good relationship with.
There was one though...
He wasn’t a threat, he just clearly didn’t want to be there. More on edge than Fletcher was, and at least Fletcher could hide it. This kid was skittsh - hardly ever meeting Fletcher’s gaze, always wringing his hands together and nervously brushing hair out of his face.
Definitely forced into the family business. Parents sent him here to toughen him up, likely.
It’s not that he was incapable, it’s just that he acted like a goddamn prey animal.
Fletcher accidentally snuck up on him while he trying to prepare his own dinner one night. Somehow, Fletcher had mastered the art of moving silently in heavy boots.
“Don’t put your finger on the back of the knife while you’re cutting,” Fletcher said.
The boy startled so badly he dropped the knife altogether. He scrambled to catch it as is tumbled off the counter, but it slipped his grasp and clattered to the floor.
“Hey!” Fletcher snapped. “Careful! You need to calm the fuck down, Buck. And don’t grab a chef’s knife when it’s f-falling...”
They faltered at the end. Did they just say what they think they said?
“M-My name is Aaron,” the trainee said.
Fletcher sighed and ran a hand over their face, muttering a soft, “Fuck.”
“Who’s Buck?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Fletcher snapped. “Just, shut the fuck up. I have never had to train anyone as jumpy as you. You need to goddamn get it together or we’re going to have a problem.”
Fletcher stooped down to pick up the knife and clean it off in the sink.
“I’m sorry...” Aaron muttered.
“Don’t say you’re sorry. Just...” Fletcher sighed. They brought the knife back to him. “We’ll address it later. In the meantime, hold the knife like this. Don’t put your finger on the back of the blade. If it slips you’ll take your fingertip off.”
Fletcher flipped the knife around in the air and held it out to him, handle first. The trainee took it carefully.
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Yeah,” Fletcher grumbled, leaving the kitchen again. They stormed off to their bedroom and closed the door.
Stupid.
They picked a whittling knife up off their dresser and whipped it at the opposite wall, where it took a chunk out of the drywall and clattered to the floor. Fletcher collapsed onto their bed. They grabbed a pillow and held it over their face.
