Professional Victim

Jonah gulped, but nodded his head, before silently working at his belt buckle and sliding it through the loops on his trousers. It was one of only a few articles of clothing he had left, and he’d hate for Sawyer to bite through it, but he obediently held it up to the prone man’s mouth until Sawyer clamped his jaws around the leather strip. 

Jaxon grinned as he started pouring the alcohol into Sawyer’s bloody back, there was a moment of silence before the screaming started—then Sawyer shrieked like he was being skinned alive. It was just as it had been outside, only even worse in the close confines of the wooden room—the sound of Sawyer’s pain reverberated off the walls and made Jonah cringe and squeeze his eyes shut. 

Sawyer balled up his fists and screamed through gritted teeth into the leather, gnawing on it furiously as Jaxon poured the contents of the bottle all over his lash-ridden back. He thrashed against the table as the liquid mixed with his blood and ran onto the wood below him, some of it dripping onto the floor. 

“You’re gonna clean all that shit up when we’re finished here, slave,” Jaxon said to Jonah, over the torrent of Sawyer’s pained cries.

“Y-yes, Sir,” Jonah squeaked, hoping Jaxon could still hear him. As long as he wasn’t being hurt. It would be okay. He just had to be good. He wasn’t being hurt..

Jaxon shook the final droplets from the now empty bottle and set it on the counter. Sawyer continued to cry into the makeshift gag for several long, agonized moments, before the noises gave way to muffled, pained grunting, and eventually to deep, desperate panting as he tried to recover from the horrendous burning of the alcohol against his open wounds. 

“Help me mop up the blood,” Jaxon ordered, throwing Jonah a towel he had retrieved from the cabinet. “We need the mutt dried off as much as possible if we want the bandages to stick.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jonah said quietly, trying not to look visibly bothered at the way Sawyer still panted and shuddered below them. Jonah squeezed the fabric in his hands in an attempt to ground himself, and the two of them got to work soaking up the remaining alcohol-blood mixture that coated Sawyer’s back. 

Sawyer hissed in pain as Jonah pressed the towel down, though he tried to be light-handed with his efforts. Jaxon, on the other hand, wasn’t even trying to be gentle, seemingly going out of his way to draw pained moans out of the man at his mercy. Jonah winced when he saw Jaxon press particularly hard against Sawyer’s shoulder blade—Jonah was sure the blonde man was trying to cause Sawyer more agony on purpose. 

He supposed that such behavior was befitting of a man like Jaxon, who seemed to relish in it. Jonah couldn’t ignore the way Jaxon’s smile widened whenever he forced Sawyer to cry out against the leather belt—he’d seen the look on Carlisle’s face a hundred thousand times. 

Eventually, Jaxon withdrew, declaring Sawyer’s back as dry as they could get it for now, and Jonah was relieved to be able to stop. Sawyer groaned into the table with what must have been some morose form of relief. Blood still oozed from the lash-wounds—Jonah could see how deep they were now—but it wasn’t the gut-wrenching, cascading red river Jonah had seen earlier when Sawyer had been getting his back split open on Voss’ whip. 

“You can take the belt back now, slave. Worst part is over.”

Jonah obeyed, taking the belt from between Sawyer’s teeth and wiping the drool off on his trousers before sliding it back into place around his waist. He ignored the little divots now indented into the leather from Sawyer’s clenched teeth.

Jaxon produced a jar from one of the cabinets. “Help me spread this stuff on the wounds—keeps it from getting infected.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jonah said again, feeling like a broken record. Jaxon handed him an implement that looked sort of like a butter knife, only it wasn’t sharpened. He watched as Jaxon dipped his implement into the jar and scooped out some of the gelatinous substance inside. Jonah copied the motion when Jaxon held the jar out to him, and together they spread the stuff down Sawyer’s wounded back. 

Sawyer groaned against the wooden surface as the metal tools slid down his lashes, although it had morphed into a duller, more resigned sound now, rather than the shocked screams he’d let out earlier. Jonah hoped this part didn’t hurt him too badly. He was glad to be able to help, if he were honest. Maybe he could help Sawyer hurt a little bit less than if Jaxon was doing all this himself. Jaxon seemed the type to get impatient quickly, and Jonah already knew he was not above worsening the pain for his own amusement.

When they were finished and the jar was back in the cabinet, Jaxon rounded the table to where Sawyer’s head lay. He pressed his hand down against the young man’s head, wrapping his fingers tightly into his dark locks. 

“Now, what do you say, mutt?”

“Hnngg…” Sawyer groaned, and Jaxon sharply twisted the fist in his hair.

“Aaaghh—thank you! Thank you—fuck—Jesus—!” Sawyer barked out. 

“Thank you, what?” Jaxon seethed, yanking harshly at his hair. “Want me to make it hurt worse?”

“N-no!” Sawyer cried. “Godfuckyou—Th-thank you, S-sir.” He gritted out, pressing his face into the wooden table, as though eager to avoid seeing Jaxon’s self-satisfied expression. 

Jaxon released the death-grip in Sawyer’s hair and smugly patted his head, his voice thick with condescention. “Thaat’s it, mutt. See?” He turned to Jonah, his smile wide. “The beast can be tamed, if we just give him enough pain first.”

Jonah didn’t know what to say. He simply nodded, staring forth at the two of them, petrified. This was the treatment he had to look forward to if he ever found himself on the business end of Voss’ whip. Though no doubt he wouldn’t be stupid enough to drag it out the way Sawyer had. Jonah would say ‘Thank you, Sir’ correctly the first time.

Jaxon chuckled at Jonah’s reaction—the shock in his eyes, the way his lips had parted just a little. “Oh don’t worry,” he chided. “Stupid mutt’ll be back to his usual shitty self in the morning. Then we get to start allll over again.” 

Jaxon flashed a wide grin and the hair on Jonah’s neck stood on end. The list of people he needed to be terrified of was growing with each new crewmember he met. 

Jaxon gave Sawyer’s hair another fierce tug. “Up,” he commanded, and Sawyer groaned again before slowly bringing his arms up to push himself up into a sitting position. 

Jonah heard the rattling of chains, although he himself hadn’t moved. When Sawyer swung his legs over the edge of the table, Jonah saw the source of the noise. There was a nearly identical pair of shackles around Sawyer’s ankles. 

Sawyer was no crew member. He was a slave on this ship, just as Jonah was. Jonah felt a pang of empathy in his chest when the dots connected in his mind. The whipping, the accusations of a ‘shitty attitude,’ the way Jaxon seemed to relish in Sawyer’s pain and tried to drag it out as much as possible—Sawyer was every bit as much of a prisoner on this ship as he was. 

Jonah gave him a remorseful look, but Sawyer only scowled back at him when he caught his eye, with something loathsome in his expression. It unnerved Jonah, and he quickly flicked his eyes away. He wondered if Sawyer realized that Jonah didn’t want to be here either. 

Jaxon ordered Sawyer to raise his arms above his head, and the young man did it without further fuss. Jonah imagined he had to just want to get this over with at this point. 

Now that he was finally getting a view of Sawyer’s front, Jonah saw several things at once that he found difficult to ignore. He’d already glimpsed the long, jagged scar that ran down the side of Sawyer’s face and through his lips, but his torso was even worse. The man was covered in scars and bruises—a mixture of new and old injuries. 

Worst of all, was what looked to be a brand on the man’s chest, situated right in the center of his left pectoral. It looked to be a figure of a mermaid, her tail curled upwards to encircle her form. Jonah didn’t want to be caught staring, but the design was so delicate—so intricate. Jonah knew it must have hurt like hell, but the brand looked old, it had long since healed completely. He saw more of himself in the man’s body than he would have liked. It unnerved him. 

Jonah suddenly blinked out of his trance when Jaxon snapped his fingers at him impatiently. “Oi! Quit eye-fuckin’ the mutt and help me with this,” he ordered sharply. 

“Yes, Sir!” Jonah squeaked, jumping out of whatever train of thought he’d been lost in while wandering his eyes over Sawyer’s many injuries.

As dutifully as he could manage, Jonah helped Jaxon wind long rolls of white gauze around Sawyer’s torso, before tying the ends off when all the lashes had been covered. 

“God, finally,” Jaxon stepped back and wiped his forehead dramatically, as though he’d just completed a tremendous workout. “You really are the most irritating patient, you know that, mutt?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Sawyer mumbled under his breath, and the moment he uttered the words, Jaxon instantly yanked his hair back and slapped him hard on the side of the face. Sawyer grunted and hissed at the impact, but made no move to stop him—his hands stayed balled into fists at his sides. Sawyer seemed resigned to the fact that saying such a thing would get him hit, and he didn’t seem to care. 

Jonah stared at them with wide eyes. He couldn’t imagine what was going through Sawyer’s head. The guy just didn’t know when to shut up. Didn't he realize he was only making things worse for himself?

“Ugh, I need a fucking drink,” Jaxon groaned. He pointed fiercely at Jonah, making his way for the door, “Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered. “Don’t let him go anywhere.” Jaxon jabbed a finger at Sawyer—the ‘him,’ in question. 

He slid the door open. “In fact, I’ll flay the both of you if you’re not right here when I get back,” he grunted, and slammed the door shut behind him.

And then, Jonah and Sawyer were alone. 

༻✦༺ 

A long, tense silence passed between them. Jonah wrung his hands, and alternated between looking at the floor—at the cabinets—at the sunlight streaming through the porthole—anything but those loathsome dark eyes.

Finally, Sawyer broke the silence.

“You don’t have to be such a fucking kiss-ass, you know,” Sawyer spat, as though Jonah had somehow wronged him personally.

“Wh-what?” he stared at him, incredulous and shaking slightly. 

“All that ‘Yes, Sir,’ ‘No, Sir,’— Ugghh,” Sawyer groaned and dramatically rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t it ever get old to you? Don’t you ever get fucking sick of it?” Sawyer’s voice rose a bit as he ranted at Jonah. “I mean, these freaks don’t give a flying fuck about you, clearly, so why the fuck don’t you just grow a fucking spine and stop sniveling like a fucking child.”

Jonah stared back at him, wide-eyed. To his own embarrassment, he felt moisture kissing at the corners of his eyes. His cheeks suddenly felt too hot, as though he’d spent hours in the sunlight.

“Well—” Jonah gathered himself. “Well I could ask you why you fight back so much. It only ever makes things worse, you know.” Jonah’s tone lacked the sharpened edge that Sawyer’s had—he really didn’t want to make any more enemies here than he already had, but he just didn’t understand a damn thing about what was going on in Sawyer’s head.

“Oh, and what, I should just be some spineless little doormat like you then?” Sawyer retorted. “Is that supposed to be a better option?”

“I mean, they haven’t whipped me.. yet…” Jonah said it quietly, crossing his arms over his bare stomach protectively. He genuinely didn’t mean it to be offensive, merely a statement of fact, but Sawyer scoffed at him nonetheless. 

“Oh, just you wait, kid. They’ll have you strung up in no time, trust me. You don’t even have to deserve it,” Sawyer’s voice was thick with vitriol. “They just do it cuz theyre fucking sick. Because they can. At least I have the sense to realize that if they’re gonna hurt me anyway, I might as well get a few licks in first.”

Jonah paled. He hoped to God himself that what Sawyer had said wasn’t true—he was still clinging to the hope that he could avoid horrendous torture by being obedient, and so far it seemed to be working for him, so who was Sawyer to question that? It made sense to Jonah why they beat Sawyer. He clearly didn’t know his place. Jonah knew. Jonah would be good.

But Jonah knew better than to voice any of that. Injured though he was, Sawyer was still a lot bigger than him, and could probably throttle him in a second and beat him unconscious before Jaxon ever came back. And even if Sawyer got punished for doing it, that didn’t seem to be a factor in motivating any of the man’s actions. The guy was a freaking enigma to Jonah. 

Jonah didn’t respond. This conversation was going nowhere. Instead, he turned around, busying himself cleaning the implements with another bottle of liquor and a clean rag. He might as well be useful and help Jaxon clean up, and he really didn’t want to look at Sawyer. 

He regretted it just a few moments later when he heard Sawyer let out a snicker. 

“I see you’ve been around the block, yourself, haven’t you,” Sawyer said when Jonah turned around to the counter. There was a thick layer of amusement in his tone, though the pain was still stubbornly laced in his voice—the way it rasped, his throat was still hoarse from all that screaming. 

Jonah startled when he realized Sawyer was still talking to him. He’d hoped to stay as invisible as possible right now, to disappear into the task at hand. 

“Wh-what?” he said quietly. 

“Your back,” Sawyer grinned. “Looks like you’ve been through the fucking meat shredder. Whoever had you before liked the whip, didn’t he.” 

Jonah frowned, suddenly feeling sheepish and far too exposed. That heat was spreading through his cheeks again. It wasn’t his fault Carlisle had sliced up his only shirt ages ago. No one on the ship had given him anything to cover his torso with either, so he just walked around, scars and bruises and burns on full display. 

“And wait— turn around again—“ Sawyer said it like an order, and Jonah obeyed him without even thinking about whether he wanted to. He was just so attuned to obeying that tone that left no room for questioning. His back to Sawyer, Jonah quickly realized he didn’t have to obey the man—they were together on the ship’s lowest rung—but it was too late. Sawyer had started laughing. Jonah whirled back around, his face hot and flushed. 

“By god, and he fuckin’ branded you too?” Sawyer laughed. “An’ I thought the bastards around here were some of the sickest freaks around. Seems they got ‘em on the mainland too!”

Jonah said nothing for a moment, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth and casing his eyes down and to the side. He didn’t wanna look at Sawyer’s smug face. Fuck him. Fuck Carlisle and fuck Sawyer for laughing at him when he was just the fucking same.

“You’re one to talk,” Jonah finally muttered, hoping Sawyer wouldn’t lash out at him and knock him out for talking back. But Sawyer just sighed heavily and looked away. Guess he didn’t have a clever retort to that. 

You and I are the fucking same. 

“You did come from the mainland, didn’t you kid?” Sawyer asked, pivoting the conversation.

Jonah was grateful for the subject change—anything to avoid talking about his many injuries. 

“Not the continent, no,” his voice still sounded so timid. “One of the smaller Islas.” 

“Well, there’s a million of those around here, aren’t there,” Sawyer said flatly. 

Jonah scratched the back of his neck with his fingers. He didn’t want to say which one—he was worried if the crew found out, they might just take him back. But was this really any better than life at Carlisle’s beck and call? He supposed he hadn’t been whipped yet on the ship, though it’d only been a day. As weird as it was to admit, things here had been going slightly better for him so far. 

“Y-yes…” Jonah said, not wanting to provide anymore information. 

Sawyer gave a little huff at the walls Jonah was putting up. “Fine then, don’t tell me. Not that I care anyway.” And Sawyer swung his chained legs back to the side, laying his head down on the table over his folded arms. Jonah supposed the fatigue was probably settling in. Sawyer had been through a lot that day.

“You’ll tell me one of these days, kid. You’ll see,” he said, though Jonah seriously doubted that. 

Jonah was almost grateful when the door opened and Jaxon re-entered, a flask in his hand. He eyed them over with a sharp gaze, then flicked the cap open and took a swig. 

“Slave,” Jaxon commanded, and both of the boys’ eyes snapped up at attention. 

“I meant the pup,” Jaxon clarified. “But I suppose both of you could help with this.” 

Jaxon pointed to the cabinet across the room. “Fresh towels and cleaning rags are in there. Clean up all the liquor and blood. Use the rags, not the nice towels, got that?” 

“Yes, Sir,” Jonah nodded. Sawyer just stared Jaxon down with a death glare. Jaxon continued anyway. “Do the table first, then the floors. Don’t be stupid. When you’re done, dirty rags go in the bucket.” He nodded to said bucket, which sat on the floor up against the cabinet. 

“Yes, Sir,” Jonah said again. The response was truly automatic. It was a long-ingrained habit to respond affirmatively, respectfully, without question, and it was a habit that had been serving him here so far, so he didn’t try to suppress it.

“Ugh, fucking kiss-ass,” Sawyer mumbled under his breath, flicking irritated eyes at Jonah. Jonah shot him an innocent look and gave a tiny shrug of his shoulders. What the hell else was he supposed to say?

Jaxon snapped his fingers impatiently, and the boys got to work, wetting the rags with another bottle of clear alcohol and scrubbing down the table before starting on the floors. 

Jaxon leaned back against the wall, sipping at his flask, watching them work. Jonah could feel the blonde man’s eyes boring into his back as he scrubbed at the blood on the floor.

“That’s a nice brand,” Jaxon commented at one point, and Jonah felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

“Th-thank you, Sir,” he said meekly. He hated that everyone could see it all the time. The brand on his lower back was displayed out in the open like the beam of a lighthouse, shining bright red on his skin amid years worth of other burns and layered whip scars. He wished they’d give him a fucking shirt.

Jaxon chuckled darkly at Jonah’s response. “Aren’t you just such an obedient little thing..” Jonah froze when he heard Jaxon approach where he knelt, bristled when he felt a hand in his hair. 

Jonah let out a short gasp when he felt his head tugged upwards. He followed the motion—his scalp was still sore from getting manhandled by Crowe. Jaxon rounded Jonah’s form to face him, tilting the boy’s head up so he was forced to look up into those shrewd green eyes. 

“You’d make a lovely pet,” he cooed, running his fingers through Jonah’s sandy locks.

“Thank you.. S-sir..” Jonah felt the blood drain from his face. Sawyer snorted from somewhere next to him, still working a stubborn bit of blood out from the floorboards. 

“Stand up for me,” Jaxon ordered, giving his hair a little tug.

Jonah gulped, and rose on shaking legs. “Get on the table,” Jaxon said, and Jonah obeyed, despite alarm bells blaring in his head, echoing off the walls of his skull.

Sawyer looked up, suddenly interested in what was about to happen.

“You keep cleaning, mutt,” Jaxon snapped, reaching over to shove Sawyer’s head back down. Sawyer grumbled under his breath, but didn’t talk back for once. Perhaps all those fresh wounds were making him aware of just how easy to injure he was. All Jaxon would have to do is stomp down on his back and Sawyer would collapse, howling in pain into the floor.

“I just wanna have a little.. personal time with the puppy..” Jaxon grinned down at Jonah, who lay back on the table obediently, trying to still the tremor in his limbs.

༻✦༺

Next chapter gets wild oh man… I feel so bad for Jonah oh wait no i don’t!! Suffer pretty boy suffer….

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