#This fic throttled my heart and then petted my hair until I felt better.

[idonotbitemythumbatyou]

Deep Space Lime

By Deepspacelime (vinegardrink on tumblr)

After many years spent leading separate lives, Bashir and Garak reconnect on an isolated planet. Meanwhile, in a cubicle far from the final frontier, a call center worker tells their own stories to survive.

A beautifully poetic story about stories, with a meta framing device which is deeply - almost invasively - personal. This fic asks why we write write fanfiction in the first place, and presents a boldly unapologetic answer to its own question. Highly, highly recommended.

[that-one-fandom-vore-blog]

it’s because he’s afraid (exactly)

Wow. This is a monster of a fic and I have absolutely no apologies for writing it (nearly 30 pages of absolute angst!). First fic installation of the shifter ‘verse! Just to clarify, this happens later in the story, after all the boys know about Davey’s identity as a shifter, though they aren’t exactly... excited about it. Warnings up here for: panic, mentions of fatal (doesn’t happen), vore, a little bit of blood/injury, and fearplay. Hope y’all enjoy!

The cellar was cold.

More than cold. The darkness of the room was nearly suffocating. The air was damp and tasted of mould, and the harder Davey tried to focus on the sliver of light filtering in from beneath the heavy wooden door, the more his vision seemed to swim in and out of focus in a way that made his head spin. Everything around him was hazy. He could feel concrete under his palms and pressing against his back, and with every breath he forced himself to take in the darkness, the more painful the throbbing in his head grew. Inhaling, choking on the stagnant air, Davey balled his hands into fists. His shoulders shook.

How long has it been?

He didn’t know the answer.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Long enough for the gash on his cheek to scab over and for the small pangs of hunger to turn to a constant ache. Every noise echoed. His heartbeat sounded far too loud, muffling the noises of footsteps and voices coming from upstairs to a point where they sounded like they were coming from another world, and they may as well have been. Not a single person had come down to see him since he’d been tossed into the dark, dank prison, not to ridicule him, not to bind him, not to—

His stomach growled.

A choked little moan wound up from his throat. Shifting his weight, trying in vain to curl up on his side rather than continue kneeling with his back pressed up against the ceiling, Davey managed to curl up tighter.

The fact that they’d gotten him into the cellar in the first place was his own fault, he knew, but he’d clung to that stubborn hope that maybe, just maybe, if he obeyed their commands they’d let him off easy, keep him with the other boys. Crutchie had said something about it, something about bunks crammed so tightly together you couldn’t see the floor, and Davey could’ve sworn he’d seen some of them as he’d been dragged through the refuge’s doors, but he couldn’t quite recall it. It had been a mess. A mess of colours and shapes that didn’t make sense, and it had been near dark when he’d been hauled in, anyway.

All he remembered was his heart beating out of his chest and the sound his shoes had made as they dragged across the floor. He remembered talking in a hushed voice, remembered giving up on struggling, remembered trying to talk down the pair of thugs that had him by the arms.

And that had gone so well.

One of his eyes was still swollen shut from being thrown down the stairs, and as he’d been thrown into the suffocating darkness, his cap had been snatched by one of the Delanceys.

One of his hands came to tug at his hair. It brushed against the ceiling, trembling slightly as it grabbed a fistful of mussed brown curls, pulling on them until they slid past his fingers and he was left with yet another dull ache on his head.

I’m such an idiot.

Crutchie had told him, he’d told him not to do it with such desperation painting his face, told him not to step in, but by then, they’d both known it was too late. It had been too late once he’d felt that familiar prickling over his skin and anger had pooled in his stomach in a thick, molten sludge, the kind of anger that words wouldn’t fix, and from there it had been a blur. A blur of bruises. A blur of that shifting and changing, of his hands gripping the fabric of someone’s shirt, pinning them down against his better judgement and hissing at Crutchie to run.

His breaths were growing shaky again. He could hear it with every ragged inhale, and try as he might to fight back the choked, desperate sobs trying to escape his throat, little whimpers pulled from his lips.

How long has it been?

Came the question again. Louder.

How long until they come beat you black and blue?

How long until Les realizes his brother might not be coming home?

How long until Jack—

He sank his teeth into his lip, scarcely realizing that he’d drawn blood until the taste of it made him gag.

Don’t think about Jack.

It was easier said than done. He knew he’d wasted that first day crying out pathetically, begging for a second chance every time he saw shadows block the line of light, asking why they’d done this, asking what gave them the right to lock him in a filthy basement just because he was a freak, and do you know who I am? Do you know who’s on my side? They’ll bust me out of here, you’ll see.

He clung to those words, still. He’d clung to them until his throat was hoarse. He’d clung to them afterward. He’d clung to them as his eyelids had grown heavy and he’d succumbed to sleep’s siren song, halfway convinced he’d wake up to see a certain newsie standing there with fire in his eyes and telling him to get his sorry ass in gear.

And then he’d woken up.

Breathed— more like choked on— the stale air and shivered in the damp cold that had settled in the night under his checkered shirt and dirty vest.

Heard the noise of voices upstairs.

Realized that Jack hadn’t come.

Curled up tight against the sudden urge to sob.

He’d stayed like that until that itching, tingling feeling had made his skin burn and his back brush against the ceiling. He’d stayed like that until the support beams started to creak in indignance at Davey’s increasing size. He’d stayed like that until his legs had gone numb and his fingers were pressed tightly against the heavy door as if he could force it open.

Not that he could. He could barely force his eyes to stay open, and any movement he made only made the ache in his limbs worse.

Stop thinking like that.

Piped a voice that sounded eerily like his own.

Don’t lose hope.

How many times had he told Jack to do that same thing? How many times had he grit his teeth and been the one telling all the other sunken-faced boys to lighten up? He was the only one who hadn’t paid a visit to the refuge’s stone keep, and the other boys had all come out okay. He’d be fine.

Trying to regulate his breathing with the rational thoughts, Davey closed his eyes and furrowed his brow.

It’s been two days, right?

He’d fallen asleep twice.

So this…

This is day three.

A stone settled in his empty stomach.

Three days of waiting for a rescue that isn’t coming.

He was stupid for thinking it. Crutchie must’ve gotten nabbed, that would explain it, though both of the Delanceys had pounced on him once he’d gotten himself back to normal and tried to talk them down, and they’d been occupied with dragging him back to the refuge, which would’ve given Crutchie plenty of time to get him some help—

Help that didn’t come.

A voice in his head hissed.

Help that didn’t come even though you were looking for it and shouting for it at the top of your lungs.

Help that isn’t coming because Crutchie couldn’t be bothered to tell Jack—

Or maybe he did tell Jack, but Jack couldn’t be bothered to—

He didn’t realize he was crying until a hiccup caused him to bump his head against the ceiling and tears made his eyes sting. He didn’t try wiping them away. His hands were both by the door, and they quivered and twitched weakly with every wavering breath he managed to take.

Would you just focus?

If they were here, they wouldn’t know you’re in the cellar, and if they were smart about it, you wouldn’t know they were here until that door opened and—

A creak sounded from the staircase.

Davey’s breath caught in his throat. His whole body stiffened, freezing up without so much as a warning, the constant ringing that had filled his ears for the past three days suddenly disappearing, giving way to another creak from the stairs, followed by some grunting and the scuffing of boots.

Don’t get your hopes up.

It’s probably the Delanceys.

Here to throttle you and toss you out on the streets once you shift back.

His heart was starting to race. The voices were growing less and less muffled by the second, sounding less like nonsensical mumbles and more like—

“Wouldya get your stinkin’ ‘ands offa me? I’s goin’!”

No.

The beating of his heart— that noise that had filled his head— stopped as his heart lurched in his chest. Although his throat hurt and the air was grimy, he couldn’t stop a terrified, strangled noise from escaping his lips.

A name.

“Jack.��

It didn’t sound like him. It sounded raspy. Broken. Desperate. The second after he croaked it out, Davey clamped a hand over his mouth and tried to back away from the door, his heart thrumming louder by the second in his veins.

“Ya happy now?” Came another voice— Oscar— or maybe Morris— “like we said, we’s takin’ you t’yer pet, alright? So stop—“

Jack ignored them. Davey could hear his footsteps increasing in volume, thundering down the rickety stairs with a sudden burst of force. “DAVEY! DAVE, WHAT HAPPENED—“

A thump that sounded more like a shove made Davey suck in a sharp breath through his teeth, his body beginning to quiver as the footsteps grew louder. He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the noise of another shove.

“Nothin’s ‘append! We haven’t touched ‘im!” promised the other brother— that one was Oscar.

“‘Cept for when we threw ‘im down there,” piped Morris.

“An’ roughed ‘im up on th’ way...” Oscar added, earning a chuckle from his brother.

“OH, and we definitely punched ‘im at least three times.”

More than that.

He had bruises to prove it. His swollen eye had been bad before the tumble down the stairs, and the nasty gash on his cheek hadn’t been from the first, second, or third blow. Pressing one hand to the slit in his skin, Davey tried to ignore the pained noises that were growing more and more audible. Jack’s pained noises.

What did they do to you?

As much as he wanted to cry out, he knew there wasn’t a point. Jack knew he was here, and his voice was so broken and shredded from that first night that he knew it would do far more harm than good. It would just encourage the Delanceys, though Oscar and Morris didn’t seem to need any further encouragement. Davey had practically tuned their mocking voices out. The cacophony of his panicked thoughts and rasping, laboured breaths coupled with his thundering heartbeat made everything sound like it was underwater. Everything except for Jack.

“Get OFFA me!”

“We said we’s takin’ ya to ‘im! Said it twice,” a dull crack of a fist against a jaw punctuated the statement, “so it’s in your best interest ta can it!” Oscar’s voice was dripping with malice. Davey could see it so clearly in his mind’s eye that it hurt, see the two brothers with Jack hanging between them as he was forced down the rickety staircase.

“Bastards,” Jack spat through his teeth, “when I get outta here—”

Shadows crossed in front of the door, and before Jack could finish his sentence, he crashed against the door with a thud. It had to be him.

Swallowing, Davey tried to summon his words despite the fact that his hands were trembling profusely. “J-Jack—” He began, though he was quickly silenced by the sound of a hand connecting with the door, the noise of the locks jingling following shortly after.

“Dave?”

His voice was so close that it hurt.

Davey’s heart lurched. With his body moving without his permission, he found himself with one hand— one massive, monstrous hand that pinned down Oscar like he was nothing, did you think of that, Davey?— inches from the door.

“Jack,” he choked, voice turning desperate, the sudden reality hitting him upside the head with enough force to send him reeling.

The Delanceys are with him, which means this isn’t a rescue.

Choking a little on his own breath, Davey’s tone turned urgent. “You— you shouldn’t be here, you—“

“Aw, gee, Dave, I’m touched,” came a snappy reply, though it was quick to break into a yelp followed by a sharp crack of a body connecting with the door.

“Sheesh, if ya wanted t’see your boyfriend so bad, why’d you fight us the whole way down?” Morris sneered over the rasping, heavy noises of Jack trying desperately to inhale.

Another crack. From the light under the door, Davey couldn’t tell who’d been hit, though the pained moan that followed no less than a second after caused him to draw away from the noise. Had things been different, he knew he would’ve cried out. He could’ve pried the door off its rotting hinges and flung himself into the fray as though it was Les in danger, could’ve tried to reason, could’ve gotten Jack out of the way, could’ve done anything other than cower back further.

Cowering made his ribs feel like they were going to snap, but it didn’t stop him from drawing into himself, numb to everything but his heartbeat pounding through his veins and the shadows slipping under the doorframe, numb until—

With a bang, the door flew open, and before Davey could truly process what had happened, his hands shot forward to catch something that tumbled into the cellar with him. Something warm. Something breathing.

“Jack…” He whimpered, cupping his hands around the battered boy. He couldn’t see much— his vision was covered in spots of purple from the light that was still flooding in, but Jack wasn’t moving. He wasn’t fighting the handling. He wasn’t moving at all, was he even breathing? What if was dead, what if he’s—

“Shit, he’s a big one,” Morris hissed, causing Davey’s gaze to snap upright to the silhouettes of the two thugs standing in the doorframe, “maybe that story ‘bout that Conlon kid ain’t as bullshit as we thought…”

His stomach dropped.

They’ve heard.

Of course they’ve heard.

His discomfort must’ve shown on his face, because Oscar grinned. A wide, toothy, mocking sort of thing, and he spoke with enough malice to make Davey’s blood turn to ice in his veins and draw the limp form of Jack closer to himself.  “Hope it’s not. It’ll make this more interestin’ for Kelly…”

Blue eyes widening in a mixture of shock and terror, stomach churning at the implications, Davey opened his mouth to say something— anything, but—

The door snapped shut, dousing the cellar in darkness once more.

The silence left in its wake lasted about three seconds, but three seconds was long enough for Davey’s addled mind to finally snap into the present.

“You—“ he started, looking down at the dark shape of Jack in his palms, the gravity of the situation crashing down on him like a tidal wave, “—you’re joking.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was all he could get out.

You’re trapped, too.

Even in the dark and squinting through one eye, he could see the gleam of Jack’s eyes, the reflection of the light filtering in under the door make it look like they were glowing. “This is the part where you say ‘thank you’, Dave.” The other boy huffed, flatly, “but thanks for the sentiment. ‘Preciate it.” Catching his breath, Jack pressed one of his hands heavily against the surface of Davey’s palm and hissed: “now would’ja quit shakin’? You’s rattlin’ my brain around in my head, and if “I’s gonna get us outta here—”

It was then that Davey stopped paying attention. “Where were you?” He hissed, unable to keep his voice from cracking pathetically. His eyes were growing damp, and try as he might to keep from letting his anger boil over, his words were turning to a hiss as he bore down on the other boy in his palms. He was uncomfortably close and he knew it, and normally, he would’ve been able to calm himself down, but he found himself drawing Jack closer to his face to better see him in the low light.  “I— I’ve been down here for three days, Jack!”

Jack winced, but before he could even try to respond, Davey plowed forward. He’d been alone in the dark for three days, and try as he might to regulate himself, to keep his calm— those words had had longer to build up in his head.

“I thought you’d just left me here!” He snapped. “I— what, am I just not important to you? Do you even care?”

“Hey, Dave, e-easy—” Jack tried.

Davey barely heard him. His fingers were starting to curl around Jack’s sides, and when Jack tried to shift, their trembling grip tightened, silencing his sputtering. “I didn’t think anyone was coming! I waited, Jack! A-And if I’d tried, I could’ve escaped, b-but I didn’t— I didn’t want to cause a scene, and I thought— I thought you’d come!”

It sounded even more pathetic when he said it out loud. The wobbling of his voice didn’t help anything, either.

Through his teeth, he continued, struggling to keep himself from shouting. “I spent that whole first night thinking that I’d get w-woken up because you were there, but you weren’t, and I thought you’d f-forgotten I was even—”

“We did NOT forget you!” Jack snarled, his ferocity catching Davey off guard enough to make the taller break into a sharp gasp. “So get that outta your head right now, Jacobs!”

His eyes were stinging, his bad vision blurring even further in the dark, leaving him with just vague shapes. He could see Jack— still feel his weight and warmth on his palms— and as he tried to inhale past the knot in his throat—

“Dave, breathe.” Jack ordered.

Davey choked out a bitter laugh, the noise coming out in a garbled, breathy sob. “What’s it—”

Jack’s hand hit the surface of his thumb. “You ain’t breathin if you’s talkin’!” He snapped, and when Davey went to respond—

He was out of breath. When he inhaled, it was raspy and made his throat feel raw. It sounded like a wheeze. “I— I thought you weren’t g-gonna—” He began, stopping to choke down another ragged gasp and use a free hand to swat at his watering eyes. “—I thought you didn’t c-care enough to— t-to—”

Jack gave a small noise of frustration. “I did!” He hissed, “two days ago, we came in through the window!”

Davey’s mouth shut abruptly. Watching as well as he could, fighting back a small sniffle, he could make out the shape of Jack tugging at the hair that had snuck out from beneath his cap. “Two days ago,” he repeated, the anger just beneath the surface of his words alone enough to keep Davey quiet. “It  would’a been sooner, I swear it, but Crutch needed help an’ I wasn’t about to leave ‘im alone, and the other boys, once they heard what happened…”

A stone settled in Davey’s stomach when those glimmering eyes flicked away from his own.

“They didn’t want to go alone… did they?” He finished.

Jack didn’t look up. When he nodded, it was slow, as if he didn’t want to be doing it. “They just didn’t wanna find ya like this,” Jack explained, patting the surface of Davey’s palm beneath him for emphasis, “an’ after the whole thing with Spot… just bad timin’.” He explained. He still wouldn’t meet Davey’s eyes. Shifting, coughing slightly to clear his throat, Jack gave a dismissive shrug. “So we waited. Waited for morning, an’ the second the sun was up, you knows what we did?”

This time, it was Davey who looked away. Jack’s eyes looked dark. His teeth were grit, too, and although he was small in Davey’s hand, he certainly wasn’t powerless.

“Jack—”

“We came to get you outta this mess, only you weren’t there! We came in through the window— four o’ us. Specs, Albert, Racer and me, and you wasn’t there! Combed through everythin’ we could find, we did—” He stopped, suddenly enough to make Davey’s brow furrow.

“What?” He prompted, concern lacing his words.

“Found something ya might miss, is all. Just gotta…” Sticking a hand into one of the inner pockets of his vest, Jack pulled a dark item into the light, and before Davey could even ask what it was—

It connected with the side of his head with a soft thump before flopping lifelessly to the floor next to his hand, falling into the light filtering under the door.

My cap.

Turning his eyes to Jack, shifting so his hands were steadier, Davey moved to thank the other boy, but Jack spoke first.

“That’s all we found upstairs,” Jack mumbled, “an’ we took it as a sign that’cha busted out, but then Les said ya hadn’t been home and that you’s folks was worryin’.”

Jack took his own cap in his hands and leaned so his back pressed further against Davey’s fingers, fiddling with the clumsily stitched hem. “We didn’t know what to do. Crutchie felt the worst, I think. Kept on ramblin’ about how it was all his fault, which is some bullshit if I’ve ever heard it. He kept on tryin’ to think of any rooms we could’a missed when he got real quiet and mumbled somethin’ about a cellar.”

Davey swallowed hard. His hands were starting to tremble again, jostling the other boy in his grip. Jack swatted his thumb.

“Hey, I said t’cut that out,” he tried to joke, though it fell flat, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake. It was almost quiet enough to hear the rustling of the other boys upstairs— the ones Davey had been dragged past in the darkness— beginning to softly chat. Bedsheets rustled, and if Davey really, really strained to hear it, he could almost hear laughter.

Delanceys must’ve left the room.

Awkwardly shifting, trying to breathe steadily, Davey carefully lowered his hands to the ground. “Sorry.” He murmured, hollowly, uncurling his fingers from around Jack.

Jack took the hint. With as much swagger as he could muster in the enclosed space, he slid his way out of Davey’s grasp and stood. “S’fine. Ain’t like I’s usin’ these here brains for nothin’, anyway.”

The best Davey could manage was a weak snort. It made his chest ache, Inhaling, opening his mouth to agree, Davey managed to get out the beginnings of a quip before his head started to spin. The world around him blurred together in a mess of dark shapes and colours that didn’t connect, and as he screwed his eyes shut against it, he was made aware of a low, whining sort of groan filling the air.

It was only when Jack’s hand tapped on his cheek that he realized it was pulling from his own throat.

“Shit, Dave, what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Davey bitterly replied, still stubbornly refusing to open his eyes, “and that’s the problem.”

The noise of Jack inhaling was sharp. Already, he knew the other boy was going to ask for clarification, but before he could even deliver the question—

A muffled growl sounded from his middle, sudden enough to make him flinch and open his eyes, coupled with a hunger pang that made him shudder violently.

Jack stiffened. “Oh.” He mumbled, suddenly making Davey painfully aware of the space between the pair of them. Something in his chest pulled taut.

“Yeah.” He managed to get out. His throat felt tight. His eyes tracked Jack’s movements as the other boy began pacing, an almost predatory precision falling over his face. Subconsciously, he licked his lips. It had been easy to ignore the small twinges from his stomach when he was alone. He could focus on something else. Daydream. Retreat into his head like he always did when things got bad, but Jack’s presence was keeping him locked in the present, bringing to mind thoughts of how easy it would be to—

He swallowed, suddenly aware of the fact that his mouth wasn’t painfully dry anymore.

Jack took his cap in his hands. If he noticed Davey’s sharp gaze, he didn’t show it. “You means that this whole time… they was starvin’… you was starvin’...” He trailed off, blowing out a heavy breath through his teeth. “Shit, Davey, I’s sorry I took so long to come, but I didn’t wanna get caught—” He broke into a harsh laugh, the noise sudden enough to make Davey flinch. “—though I guess that didn’t matter none either, huh? Fuck.”

Jamming his cap on sideways, pacing growing quicker, Jack turned his attention to the door and slammed a fist against it, repeating himself, louder. “Fuck!”

“Language, Kelly,” Davey weakly intoned, earning a halfhearted glare from Jack.

“Whatever.” He hissed, attention flicking back to the door. We’s gettin’ outta here, now.” His hands began to pry at the door, scratching, searching for something to grip onto with a noise that made Davey close his eyes again.

“Can’t.” He rasped, quietly.

The scratching didn’t stop. If anything, it grew more dogged. “Shit, there’s gotta be a loose board or somethin’—”

“Jack.” A little louder this time.

Jack’s hands continued to scrape across the wooden door. “All I need’s a loose board. I’s gotten outta the refuge before, once we’s upstairs, we’s just gonna creep out th’ window an’ then—”

Inhaling sharply, opening his eyes as well as he could manage, Davey set his jaw. “Jack, I can’t.”

The scrabbling stopped as Jack whirled on him. “Why not?” He snapped. “You’s big enough ta be doin’ this part, jus’ get that there door open an’ get yourself back to normal, then we can bust outta this joint!”

An irritated little moan worked its way out of Davey’s throat. Gesturing as well as he could, fingers bumping up against the floor, he lowered his head slightly. “I can’t,” he hissed through his teeth, trying to ignore a small twinge from his gut.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “The hell ya mean, ya can’t?” He asked, incredulous. “You’s big enough ta scare the shit outta the Delanceys an’ you’s tellin’ me ya can’t—“

“I’ve been down here for three days!” Davey shrilled. Trying to shift his body so he was closer to Jack, he twisted his torso as well as he could despite the fact that he was wedged firmly in place.

“Yeah, you’s said,” Jack snarked back, his volume rising, “so fine. I’ll take th’ door, then you shift back an—“

“Do you have any idea how much energy it takes to shift?” Squaring his shoulders as well as he could while on his hands and knees, Davey lowered himself so his chin practically touched the floor. “I— Jack, I’m running on empty! I’d probably… I dunno, pass out or something, and then I’d never get out. I’m stuck like this!” Bringing one hand up to his head, he jammed it between the ceiling and his hair, curling his fingers in with his scruffy brown locks. Desperation was flickering to life in his eyes. “Even if I could change back, it’d be useless. I can barely even move without everything spinning— I can barely move at all!” He gave a bitter laugh. “Shit.”

Jack gave a weak laugh. “Language, Jacobs.”

Davey rolled his eyes and huffed. Taking a moment to gather his words, he couldn’t help but track Jack’s movements when the other boy began pacing. “I… I read about shifting when I first found out, and it… it takes a lot of power to change. Usually I’d have it all pent up, but now…” He broke into a huff. Raising a hand to shakily run through his hair, Davey exhaled through his teeth. “I’ve got none. A-And some shifters can get stuck, it— it just happens, Jack, we can’t— we panic, and then it kicks in like a defense, and then—”

A hand connected with his own. Had he been more in his right mind, he might’ve yelped in protest, but instead, all he did was stop talking and warily meet Jack’s eyes.

“Geez, you’s really out of it, huh?”

“I’s... it’s fine.”

Jack’s brow furrowed, though Davey barely saw it through a blink that took a little longer than normal. His eyes, however, were focused almost too sharply on Jack’s face.

“No, you’s not fine,” Jack was saying, though Davey barely registered it, “you’s talkin’ like me, that’s— that ain’t a good sign!”

When Jack started pacing again, pacing the small strip of the ground that wasn’t covered by Davey’s quivering shape, Davey felt another small twinge from his belly and a surge of saliva puddling on his tongue.

Don’t.

He swallowed. Shifted his weight.

“Does it matter?” He tried to banter back, squinting through his swollen eye. “Les isn’t here to hear it, so he can’t make… he can’t make fun of me.”

When Jack turned back to face the door, Davey swallowed again, trying to move so the ache in his legs was lessened. Anything to distract him from the newsboy standing in front of him.

“Okay, well, we ain’t stayin’ in here,” Jack grumbled.

Davey inhaled. Already, his mouth was open to speak, but—

“Don’t argue with me, Jacobs.” Jack’s hands were back on the door, nails scratching away at the wooden surface, looking for a lock or loose board that Davey knew wasn’t going to get found. “We’s just gotta think of a plan, s’all. You’s all about that shit, ain’t’cha?”

“Jack. It hurts to think.”

His vision was blurring again. The scene before him looked all smudgy, like when he’s once tried on his father’s glasses.

“How the hell is you alive, then? What, with all that thinkin’ ya do. Ain’t it what fuels ya?” Jack fired back as Davey slumped forward. His chin brushed the ground. If Jack noticed, he didn’t react. “I mean, what, you got all them big ole words in there, like what— ass-piss—“

Davey tried to laugh despite the fact that it made his ribcage feel too tight. “Auspicious?”

It came out almost slurred. He could feel something hot on his lower lip, and as he tried to lift his head and swatted at it—

You’re drooling.

—a gasp caught in his throat. He managed to clap a hand over his mouth before Jack turned his head, his smile a little more guarded. A little more wary. A little more like it had been after a certain incident with a certain Spot Conlon.

“Hey, what’s’a matter with you?”

Davey swallowed numbly. “I— it’s just—“ he tried, lowering his hand just a little, “—I dunno, pick something. I’ve been down here three—“

His stomach growled. Loudly. Loud enough to silence him mid-sentence and make his eyes fix on the floor in silent shame.

The silence was heavy. Too heavy. Heavy enough to make him feel almost queasy as he shakily inhaled. “Sorry.”

Are you?

Are you really sorry?

Another question he didn’t want an answer to.

“It’s fine,” came Jack’s response, and although there was a teasing edge to it, it was less gentle than normal. Harsher. “Just don’t go gettin’ any ideas.”

“Again, head hurts too much for that.” Davey huffed.

“Right, so long as it ain’t makin’ it so ya can’t think clearly, ‘cos I don’t want to end up in a certain spot that a certain Spot has visited, underst—”

“YES,” Davey hissed through his teeth with a voice sharp enough to echo a little in the enclosed space, “Jack, I got it! I— I promise you, that is the last thing on my mind!”

“Then why’s you droolin’?” Jack was getting closer to him, now. Even in the dark, Davey could see the way his shoulders were starting to tense.

“I’m not—” Something wet on Davey’s lower lip made his sureness falter, if only momentarily. He swallowed. Hard. He couldn’t stop himself from salivating, though, and to his horror, it only seemed to be getting worse. His fingers twitched as he raised his hand, clamping it firmly over his mouth. “—shit.”  He finished, weakly, his voice coming out in a sharp wheeze. “J-Jack, you know— you know I wouldn’t— n-not to you…” He trailed off almost desperately, the noise of Jack sighing one of the few rising above his own heartbeat throbbing away in his ears.

“Sure.”

It didn’t sound like he believed it. The silence that hung in the room was heavy as could be, though it was quickly broken by another mournful groan from the direction of Davey’s middle and a pang of hunger sharp enough to make Davey screw his eyes shut and give a choked off little whine. He didn’t look at Jack. He didn’t need to— shouldn’t, not with his instincts going absolutely ballistic. Already, he wanted to apologize, though for what was beyond him. It wasn’t his fault, not really, that they were in this absolute mess of a situation. Maybe if he’d fought back, things would be better, but—

Jack interrupted his thoughts. “The boys’ve gone quiet.”

Davey blinked. Wiping his mouth with his hand, disgustedly, he felt his lips tugging into a sharp frown. “What’s that got to do with anything?” He questioned, watching as Jack began to back away from the door.

“Means they’s not alone. Crutch says they never shuts up unless—”

A thump sounded from the stairs.

Davey’s heart sank. What was left of his hope was starting to disappear, and as much as he wanted it to be a familiar face— god, did he ever want to see Race or Romeo, Buttons, Specs, any of the other boys— he knew in his heart that that wasn’t the case. These weren’t footsteps that were trying to be quiet. They were loud, thumping down on the squeaky steps as though they hadn’t a care in the world.

“Five to one, ‘e’s dead.”

“You’re on.”

The Delanceys…

Something in his shoulders tensed at the realization. Their words were making his stomach twist. He could almost guess the reason why the bet was in place, though before he could come to any sort of conclusion, the door swung open, and there the brothers stood.

It was, thankfully, dark, save for the lantern the two carried, but it still stung Davey’s eyes to keep them open enough to see the rest of his dingy surroundings. He found himself squinting against it, already tensing, ready for another fight that he knew he didn’t have the energy for. How could he?

“Damn,” Morris grumbled, “why the hell’s they both still ‘ere?”

Jack bristled. “The hell you mean, why’s we both here? We’s here on account’a you throwin’ us down the—”

“We wasn’t expectin’ shifty over there to be gone, jackass.” Oscar’s words were dripping with a false sort of charm as he leaned down over the step, his eyes sparkling with an awful sort of glee in the lantern’s flickering light. “But durin’ feedin’ time at the zoo? The tigers sure as shit eat up the goats.”

“When’s you ever seen a tiger?”

Davey blanched.

They couldn’t mean…

They can’t mean—

Again, his frantic mind began to draw a conclusion that made him feel sick to his stomach, and again, he was interrupted.

“What’s that mean?” Jack’s voice wasn’t as sure as it normally was. The bravado was starting to waver. Break. Fall away. It left without warning, and as Davey listened, Jack’s tone changed to that of someone more than a little unsure of what the future may hold. “The fuck are you on about?” His shoulders were square. He looked about ready to throw himself at the Delanceys without a moment’s pause, but as he inhaled to speak again, Morris cut in.

“We was told t’get rid’a ya and to be creative,” he announced, somewhat proudly, “so we figured we didn’t need nobody knowin’ about no body gettin’ found an’...” He grinned, pausing for dramatic effect in a way that made Davey’s heart sink. “We figured out exactly how t’do it. Just needed your dumbass boyfriend to get himself caught, then we got ‘im nice an’ starvin’.” He shrugged, clearly disappointed. “Thought you’d be somewhere warmer than a cellar by now.”

Davey's heart was starting to thunder out of control, and when his gaze turned to Jack, he could see the other boy looking at him with a mixture of apprehension and abject terror. “You… ya want Dave to…”

“Get rid of you, once an’ for all.” Oscar finished, somewhat proudly. “Comes with th’ added bonus that he won’t be goin’ back t’see your boys, after what he’s done, so the union fails, too. Win win.”

Nausea washed over Davey. “No! That’s— that’s disgusting!” He sputtered, frankly unable to believe his ears. “I’m not— I’m not an animal, I won’t—“

His stomach growled again. Louder, this time, and Davey came to a stammering halt. Shit, this was bad. Worse than bad, and as Davey tried to force himself back into as small of a ball as he could curl up into, it didn’t sound like it was getting better.

“That’s right, he won’t.”

Jack’s voice caused Davey to look up, only to see him get shoved. Hard. He’d gotten too close to Oscar, and the brother had reacted quickly. “Well, that ain’t an option. If he don’t, we throws you off the Brooklyn bridge in a carpet, an’ we leaves this bastard ‘ere to die.”

“How come I die in both?” Jack sputtered, “what— whaddid I do t’you?”

Davey barely heard him. His thoughts were starting to race, panic churning through his mind at a million miles per hour. He was supposed to be the rational one, for christ’s sake! But his mind was far from a rational place, and the exhaustion clinging to him in a thick shroud didn’t help him in the slightest. It made it so much harder to focus. He kept his eyes trained on Jack as the rate of his breathing quickened to harsh little wheezes that stung his throat. The other boy’s tense stance didn’t help, either.

“I’d say it’s warranted, wouldn’t you, Morris?” Oscar asked, jabbing his brother in the ribs afterward and earning a swat on the shoulder.

“Absolutely. You’s been nothin’ but trouble, Kelly, with all this union bullshit. S’not gonna work, alright?”

“Was workin’ fine,” Jack snapped back, “‘fore you took one of my fuckin’ friends an’ locked ‘im up down here!”

Davey’s heart stuttered.

The union?

“S-Something’s wrong with the—”

“Not the time—” Jack began, though, before he could finish—

Morris jumped off the last stair and shoved him hard in the chest. “Make a choice, smartass,” he hissed, bringing his fist back to strike, “an’ you’s dead either way. Both is just as fun for us.”

Oscar was quick to join his sibling, and despite the fact that Davey was absolutely monstrous compared to them, he found himself shrinking back reflexively. “C-Can’t we just talk this out?” He tried, somewhat desperately. “This is murder! You wouldn’t— you wouldn’t kill us, and when you get found out— th-the other boys, they’ll come for us!

Morris grinned. It was a twisted thing, sharp enough to make something in Davey’s chest tighten. “Think we care? Either we lie about this one snappin’ ya up, or we say it was an accident that’cha fell off the bridge. Nobody’ll find your body, and d’ya really think this one’ll say a fuckin’ word?” He hissed, gesturing to Davey with enough force to make the larger boy flinch.

“Guys, this ain’t funny—”

“You see us laughin’?”

As the pair stalked forward, Jack began to back up, causing Davey to pull even further into the corner despite the pressure it put on his ribcage.

I have to do something.

Anything would’ve been better than watching as Jack stumbled away from the brothers with their hands curled into fists.

“You’s grinnin’ like a hyena!” He sputtered, stepping more and more into Davey’s personal space. He was standing just in front of Davey’s face, and when he looked over his shoulder, his face paled. “And you’s makin’ it worse!”

Davey sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth before he realized that he was drooling again. Shit. His heart was thumping wildly. His hands were starting to tremble, his fingers twitching uncontrollably, and the worst part of it was that his senses were starting to kick into overdrive. He was painfully aware of how close Jack was to him, and it only worsened when Jack’s back brushed against his chin, touching up against the saliva he couldn’t bring himself to wipe away.

“Looks like we’s gonna do this th’ fun way, then,” Oscar crooned, stepping forward with a fist raised. Despite Jack’s fighting stance and glare that Davey knew was fearsome, the thug didn’t stop advancing, Morris cracking his knuckles a step behind him. Jack couldn’t take them both. It was only when Oscar moved to swing that Davey suddenly sprung to life.

Without thinking, he closed his hand around Jack and yanked the other boy close to himself, guarding him fiercely. “You’re not going to touch him!” He snarled, his voice losing its wobble as though he was back on one of the discarded boxes out in Newsie Square, rallying the other boys. Inhaling, ignoring the surge of the world spinning around him, he tried to speak, but—

His stomach gurgled.

He bit his lip, not finishing the rest of his statement.

The silence that followed left him painfully aware of the fact that his heart was beating out of his chest. He could feel Jack in his hand beginning to try moving, and although it made him feel physically sick, he tightened his grip on Jack. All eyes were on him. His lungs felt too small as he hastily choked down another breath. “I-I’ll…” He swallowed, pretending not to notice the way Jack tensed at the noise.

I don’t want to.

“I’ll do it.”

He was vaguely aware of Jack making a strangled, choked little noise as he adjusted his fingers and shifted his weight, his eyes growing damp. It looked almost like they were glittering in the low light. There was something of a haze falling across his vision, and although he could blame it on the wetness of his eyes, he knew there was something more to it. It was familiar. Something he knew. Something that had fallen over him once in Brooklyn, and now here in the cellar as dust clogged his nostrils.

Jack’s voice was shaking almost as badly as he was. “D-Davey— you— you ain’t gonna— you’s— you’s not—”

Davey tightened his grip further. Before he could talk himself out of it, he lifted the other boy off the ground with a jerk of his wrist, earning a sharp gasp.

“Dave, hey, this ain’t— this ain’t funny—”  Jack started to protest, though he was cut off by Davey tightening his grip. “—ey— ey— sn-snap outta it, you can’t— you’s not gonna—” There was poorly disguised panic flashing across Jack’s face as he squirmed a little in Davey’s careful hold, looking up at his captor somewhat confusedly. Although he gave a little laugh, it was riddled with anxiety. “—you’s not gonna…”

Davey’s lips curled back in a grimace. Although he wanted nothing more than to explain, his words were sticking in his throat along with his breaths that weren’t coming quite right. Looking at Jack was only making it worse, and as Davey forced himself to look down to the Delanceys, he found his grip on the newsie tightening.

Look scary.

It wasn’t as though he needed to try; he was huge. Still, he inhaled and tried his best to hide his shaking by clinging to Jack tighter. It was met with a wheeze.

“D-Davey, David— we—”

Davey’s stomach growled.

Jack blanched.

“Shit, Davey, ya can’t just— ain’t we friends? You said— ya— ya PROMISED!”

It was killing him to keep his face expressionless. Davey clamped his teeth down hard on the inside of his cheek as he lifted Jack closer to himself, completely tuning out Jack’s struggles. He had to work to keep his hands from trembling any more than they were as he swallowed back the apologies threatening to spill from him.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

Forcing himself to tighten his grip, to shift Jack closer still to his mouth, Davey puffed himself up. “I’ll eat him,” he hissed through his teeth that were only grit to keep his lip from quivering any more than it already was. It came out in a near growl.

The two brothers looked ready to bolt.

C’mon…

Davey silently willed them as he shifted his grip on Jack yet again, trying to keep the other boy from hyperventilating or panicking too badly. It wasn’t working. Jack’s breathing had turned to rasping barks, and although he was silent, Davey knew that wasn’t any better. When Jack was quiet, it meant he was out of words. Out of smart-mouthed remarks. Out of curses. Out of words spat through his teeth. The only thing Jack had left now was panic.

Davey’s thoughts were spiralling.

If they go, I don’t have to…

I don’t have to…

He bared his teeth, trying his best to look like the monster they thought he was and bristled, and although Oscar stumbled…

Morris squared his shoulders. As much as there was fear in his eyes, there was also defiance as he raised his chin in Davey’s direction and snarled out two words in a wobble of a voice. “Prove it,” he hissed, stepping forward on wobbling legs.

A halfhearted smack to Davey’s fingers caused his attention to shift down the the young man in his grasp. “Davey— c’mon—“ Jack pleaded, though he was cut off by Davey bringing him a good foot off the floor in his quivering hand. He was running out of space between his hand and the ceiling. Jack was inches from him, now, every one of Davey’s panicked breaths causing his hair to ruffle on his head and his cap to tip back.

I’m sorry.

His heart was beating so fast it sounded like a constant, thundering drone, and as he looked to jack with a helpless, terrified expression finally piercing through his mask—

“I knew it,” came Oscar’s wobbling voice, “he ain’t gonna do it, ya owe me five, an’ we’s gotta find a way t’get rid of them—“

“I said I was gonna do it!” The force of his own words surprised him, and moments after Davey said it, he felt his stomach lurch dangerously.

“Yeah?” Morris tried, “well, you’s all talk—“

He was cut off by Davey opening his mouth. Wide. As wide as it would go, actually, which normally wouldn’t be much to think about, but now, Davey was all too aware of the implications.

Moving quickly, not thinking too hard about what he was doing, trying to block out the strangled cry that escaped Jack’s throat when he shifted his grip, Davey pinned the other boy’s arms to his sides with his fingers as well as he could manage and lifted him closer to his gaping maw.

Jack was trembling. “Davey,” he hissed through his teeth, giving his legs an experimental kick despite the fact that Davey was keeping him from moving too much, “Dave, I get that you’s bluffin’, but now’s a good time t’stop— sh-shut yer trap an’ put me down before—”

Davey moved him closer. Close enough that he could practically taste him already.

“—N-No, Davey— Davey, don’t, I know you ain’t gonna— you’s not—” His words were coming faster, now, and his struggling was getting harder, hard enough that it was making him almost hard to grasp. “—no, n-no! You’s not— you CAN’T!”

Davey forced himself to meet Jack’s eyes.

That was a mistake. The betrayal shining in them was impossible to miss— there in the fact that they seemed watery and in his knit brow— but beneath it was fear. Genuine terror— terror he’d never seen on the fact of Jack Kelly, and terror he never wanted to see again. Jack was as stiff as a board in his grip, and as he looked down on Jack, Davey couldn’t stop himself from closing his mouth.

The relief that washed over Jack was painfully visible. He looked like he’d deflated in Davey’s grip, and with a breathy laugh, he leaned his head against Davey’s skin. “Geez, Dave, ya really had me goin’—“ he managed to say despite the fact that his voice was wobbling. “—really— really thought you was gonna—“

Davey moved before Jack could finish. In one smooth motion, he opened his mouth, screwed his eyes shut, and stuffed Jack in headfirst. His teeth clipped up against Jack’s waist, and as he jerked his head back and swallowed heavily, a noise that sounded almost inhuman sounded from the confines of his maw.

“NO! DAVEY— DAVE—”

Jack’s legs— hanging past his lips— flailed wildly, smacking up against his chin with a surprising amount of force. Davey swore he could taste blood. Blood and something else. Something human. Something dirty, sure, but also something that tasted panicked.

The struggles grew more frantic, and as Davey struggled to inhale, he was made aware of one thing.

It hurt.

Jerking his head back, trying to pull the rest of Jack’s thrashing body into his mouth, trying to remain deaf to the muffled pleading and cursing, trying to do anything other than spit Jack out like he wanted so badly to do, Davey gave a short, sharp swallow and snapped his mouth shut. It didn’t do much, but it earned him a terrified shout and the feeling of something connecting with the back of his throat, prompting him to swallow again.

“DAVEY—  DAVEY—  SPIT ME OUT, C’MON!”

The voice was so desperate, so awful sounding that Davey could barely place it as Jack’s.

Jack scrambled to get a grip on the surface of Davey’s tongue, and when Davey tried to pin the scrambling newsie to the roof of his mouth, he felt the sharp pain of Jack’s fingernails digging deeper into the flesh around him. He was fighting hard. With every painful second that passed, Davey was made painfully aware of Jack’s terrified state through kicks and slams to the inside of his mouth that made him lock his jaw tighter.

“YA PROMISED!”

Came a muffled cry.

“YA PROMISED YA WOULDN’T—”

Another harsh gulp sounded, and this time, the pain was enough to make Davey gasp and bring a hand up to his throat. He regretted the action as soon as he made it.

He could feel every little struggle and kick from Jack under his fingers, and when he swallowed again, harder, he could feel that, too, the contraction of muscle that forced Jack past his collarbone and out of sight. His chest felt tight. His heart was beating so fast he felt that it might pop, and as he struggled to catch his breath, his eyes burning from tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks, he could feel Jack’s struggles falling lower and lower, slipping into his chest.

Jack’s cries were muffled completely, now. The squirming had grown minimal as he was forced further and further into Davey’s inner workings, though he was certain that it wasn’t because he’d wanted to slow down. Swallowing again, resisting the urge to gag, Davey screwed his eyes shut and pressed a hand flat against his stomach, trying his best to ignore the sensation of Jack squirming down the length of his esophagus. His breaths were coming sharply despite his attempts to act like he didn’t care— like it didn’t matter.

You’ve done this before.

You’ve done this TWICE.

But it hadn’t been Jack.

His whole body jolted when Jack made the final drop into his empty stomach, jolted to a point where he slammed his head against the ceiling and made the support beam give a sharp crack. Dust rained down on his head. And in the midst of it all— in his raging panic— Davey kept his face as blank as he could manage.

I just—

Did I really just—

A kick from his stomach confirmed it, coupled with the weight of something shifting under his skin, moving to fight and claw and kick and—

“Holy shit, he— you’s— you really—”

The Delanceys—

Davey’s eyes shot back open, falling to the brothers before him—

Where did they—

—who were standing on the stairs, gawking.

The second his eyes fell onto them, they both stumbled back a step. Oscar had his fists at the ready, and although Morris also looked ready to spring into action, his eyes kept darting between Davey and his middle. He looked pale, like he’d seen a ghost, and he only grew paler when Davey bared his teeth. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously soft— as if he was telling off a child. “Get out,” he stated, calmly, calmly despite the fact that his heart was beating in his throat, “or you’re next.”

His hands were shaking. Twitching. Sweat was beading on his forehead, and as he glowered down at the Delanceys with his jaw set, he squared his shoulders. One of his hands twitched.

The door slammed shut faster than he could react to, plunging him into complete and absolute darkness once more with a sharp bang.

For a moment, he was still. Completely and utterly still. The noise of footsteps thundering back up the stairs was the only sound that he could hear, and when he finally dared exhale—

A sharp jab from under his skin made him gasp.

“J-Jack—” He started, though he was cut short by another hit to his insides that made him clap a hand over where the internal pressure had come from, pressing down hard enough to feel the shape of Jack starting to throw his weight around.

“SPIT ME THE HELL UP, WHY DON’TCHA!?”

The fighting only got harder when he shouted. He put his whole body into it, pitching to a point where Davey had to bite back a gag. His stomach turned dangerously, and as he tried to catch his breath, tried not to focus on the lingering taste in his mouth, the thrashing only grew more violent.

“Jack, I—” His explanations turned to a whimper at a sharp jab to where his hand was pressed.

“STUFF IT!” Jack roared. Although his voice was heavily muffled, Davey could still more than make out the anger it held. “You— I can’t believe you just— you ATE ME! You picked me up and ya just— ya just—

“I’m aware of that,” he managed to huff out, “and I’m sorry, alright? B-But would you just—”

Jack wasn’t listening. The kicking and scratching got worse. Davey choked on a breath as Jack slammed his weight against his hand.

“—ya fuckin’— what, is that all this was to you, then? Was I just— is this all I am? Just— Just a light snack t’ya, ya hungry bastard? How long have you been wanting this? How— How long have you—”

“I didn’t want to—” He started to protest, though Jack kicked him hard enough to pull a gasp from his throat.

“DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK?” Jack snarled. “‘COS I SURE AS HELL DON’T THINK I DID! YA GOT SOME NERVE, JACOBS!” He stopped to breathe, and although Davey could barely hear it, he could see it so perfectly in his mind’s eye as Jack heaved and struggled to form words. He kept interrupting his sentences with gulps of air and other jabs to the flesh around him. “Can’t— can’t believe ya just went an’—”

He broke into a yelp as Davey shifted his weight.

I was SO STUPID for trustin’ you— after that stunt with Spot, I thought— Crutch said ya ain’t a monster—”

“Jack, listen—”

“—He said t’give ya a chance! Said ya didn’t mean it, but I guess that was stupid’a me ta believe—”

“Please— J-Jack, c’mon, you— you’re fine—”

When Jack’s voice met his ears, it was past the point of shrill, coming out in a muffled scream. “YOU FUCKING ATE ME, DAVEY!” It was followed by a barrage of kicks and jabs to his stomach lining that left him clutching tighter to his middle.

“I— I’m aware of that,” Davey whimpered, struggling to keep his tone even, “now can we move past it and focus on—”

“The hell do you mean, ‘move past it’?”

With every muffled curse and thrashing, jerky movement, he felt hot bile rising in the back of his throat and forced himself to gulp it back. At least he was feeling less groggy. He was wide awake, now. His hand trembled as he pressed it harder against where Jack was kicking him, trying to bring the other boy’s struggles to a stop.

“You just WAIT, Dave! Wait ‘til the other boys hear about this, they’s gonna—”

Something in him snapped.

Slamming one hand down on the cellar floor, Davey jabbed at Jack’s shape angrily. “The other boys AREN’T going to hear about this,” he hissed, “because YOU’RE not going to TELL THEM!”

The silence that fell upon the room afterward was enough to make Davey aware of the fact that he was panting heavily. His heart was thrumming away in his ears, and as he swallowed back a little gasp, he slumped defeatedly against the nearest wall of the cellar. His vision was swimming. The exertion had cost him. Woozy, keeping his hand over Jack, he let his eyes slip shut just for a moment.

And then the implications of his words hit him.

Oh… that’s… that’s why he’s gone quiet...

Eyes opening despite the fact that it didn’t change much, Davey sank his teeth into his lip and winced. “...Jackie?” He tried, his voice coming out wobbly.

Jack was trembling, now. He could feel it against his stomach lining, and with every little twitch from the other newsie, he felt his heart sink. “J-Jack, I didn’t mean—” He started, though he was interrupted by a bitter sounding snarl.

“Save it for someone who cares.” Jack snapped, his voice, though muffled, more than conveying his betrayed feelings. “I thought— damn it, Dave, I thought we was friends—”

“We are!” Davey protested. “I— I’m not gonna— why would I hurt you?”

“I’ll tell ya when I figure it out!” Jack snarled, though there was a quiver in it that Davey couldn’t ignore. The next hit to his innards was weaker, though still pointed and hard enough to make him wince. “I can’t believe you’s… so this is it, huh?” The bitter laugh that followed it made Davey’s heart twist. He kept quiet, though.  “This is just… this is all any of it meant, huh? I— we’s— just like that, huh? I knew— I knew that thing wit’ Spot was just the beginnin’ of all this! I knew ya was just gonna snap an’—”

“You— Jack— hold on a second!” Davey’s tone was turning sharper. He couldn’t help it— the nausea was making his head spin. “You’re not going to die in there, okay? N-Nobody has, a-and nobody will, s-so would you stop kicking me and LISTEN?”

He hadn’t meant to shout. Gasping for air, the adrenaline fading into more of a shocked feeling that left his eyelids heavy, Davey worked to keep his breathing even.

Another impact to his stomach lining made him grit his teeth and inhale sharply, though… another hit didn’t come.

“I’s listenin’,” came a small voice.

Davey winced. A soft gurgle from his middle sounded as he tried to adjust his weight, keeping his hand over Jack despite the jab it earned him. “Right,” he breathed, “okay, look, I know it seems bad, but I promise, it’s completely safe!”

Jack gave a harsh laugh. “It seems bad?” He sputtered, weakly, his accent seemingly a little thicker than before. “Dave, ya— you jus—”

“Can we not dwell on it?” The pressure of his hand over Jack intensified. “Jack, I— I’m sorry, and you can be mad at me later, b-but I need you to stay there, okay?” He prodded Jack’s shape on the word “there” for emphasis, earning himself a sharp noise of protest.

“Like hell I’s stayin’ in here! You’se made a BIG mistake, once I— once I gets outta here, I’s gonna—”

Davey’s heart sank.

He’s not getting it.

Struggling to keep his tone even, Davey gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “You aren’t getting out of there until I let you out,” he stated, matter-of-factly. Already, he was feeling less tired than before— though he knew that Jack was having the exact opposite experience. It was a part of his anatomy— shifters could draw energy from pretty much anything, and Jack Kelly was no exception, if the pleased little gurgles resonating from the direction of his stomach were anything to go by.

“That…” Jack trailed off, and Davey could feel him struggling again, though the movements were sluggish. “That sounds like a th-threat,” he pointed out. “Why— Why’s I so damned… t-tired, why’s I—”

It was happening faster than it should’ve. Maybe it was the starvation kicking in, but as Davey began to sap Jack’s energy at a ridiculous rate, he could feel the other boy growing groggier. It was all too obvious that Jack was tiring himself out. The kicks and punches were growing clumsy.

“—Dave, what— what the hell?”

“I promise, you’re going to be fine,” Davey tried to reassure, though it came out a little strained. His stomach hurt. Jack had done a number to the lining there, that was certain. “Just… don’t panic all that bad, alright? I’ll get you out, just… give me a minute.”

Jack’s nails dug into the muscle surrounding him, the pressure enough to make Davey flinch and bite down hard on his lip. “Why don’t you sound sure of that?”

“What?”

The pressure on his stomach lining ceased, though another sharp kick to his innards made him give a small whimper. This wasn’t going well. This wasn’t going the way he’d wanted it to at all. Why couldn’t there have been a proper rescue?

Guilt painted across his face, Davey kept his hand over Jack as the other boy struggled to find his voice.

“Like you’se just—” Jack started, though he slumped further against the nearest wall with a groan. “—shit, why’s— m-my head—”

“I’m just taking energy—” Davey tried to explain, though he was cut short by a muffled, panicked wail of:

“You’se digestin’ me? S’that it?”

A groan of discomfort and frustration escaped his throat at the sensations of Jack trying to right himself— the scrabbling of hands against his stomach walls enough to make him gag. Jack wasn’t exactly a lanky guy, but Davey was hyper aware of the space he took up under his skin. “I— No! Jack, that’s— that’s disgusting, I— I wasn’t lying when I said you were safe, just trust me, okay?”

Jack’s accent was thicker than ever. The struggling had stopped— and although it was a momentary relief, Davey felt a stab of guilt pierce his chest at the next set of words.

“Why would I trust… someone like you?”

And with that, Jack went completely limp, leaving Davey in silence, save for the gurgling of his stomach and the sharp, laboured noise of his breathing.

Shit.

[rebelminxy]

It Was Worth It

Word Count: 2340

Pairing: Dean Winchester and Reader

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Mild Language

Square Filled: Crossroads Demon

A/N: In this fic, Dean never broke the first seal, being pulled out of Hell before he could. The ending takes place in 4x7, right after Sam sends Samhain back to Hell. And yes, I do realize the symbol in the art above isn’t a seal of sorts but it was the best option I could find on Pinterest to fit with the storyline imaging. Please don’t @ me XD. This was written for @heavenandhellbingo​

Summary: After watching a hellhound tear to shreds your best friend four months ago, you decide to do the worst possible thing ever and make a deal with a demon. But what do you have that’s worth more than a Winchester soul?

Heaven and Hell Bingo

        Dean Winchester saved your life so many times, you had lost count. The man was like an older brother to you, your best friend, and he was gone. Torn away, literally, from you. All because of his baby brother, Sam. 

        After watching Dean being torn to shreds, you left, leaving Sam behind. You knew Sam’s promise to his brother to watch out for you but you didn’t care. Your connection with Sam wasn’t as strong as it was with Dean. So leaving Sam behind as you drove off in your Jeep wasn’t a big issue. You spent the last three months hunting, finding a way to get Dean out of Hell, drinking, and sleeping, in that order and on repeat. Sam and Bobby tried reaching out, calling you constantly, but you just ignored their calls, eventually getting a new phone. Those three months felt like years, lost at sea with no guidance, all alone. Once the fourth month hit and with no other answers, you knew exactly what needed to be done. 

        As you prepared yourself for the worst, you thought back on your moments with Dean. You first met through Bobby, an old man that took you in at the age of 15 after your parents died on a hunt. Being raised in the life, you knew the dangers. But that still didn’t scare you off when you were old enough to start hunting on your own. Bobby kept you hidden while you grew up, not even introducing you to John and his boys whenever they came around. But once you turned 18, you went on your own to hunt those that lurked in the darkness, your anger from losing your parents tearing through the monsters you killed. 

        It was on your 21st birthday that you met Dean. Sucker was cocky and thought he could get into your pants with a few words. But all he got in return was a punch on the nose and an f you. After that, Dean made it his job to follow you everywhere. You hated it at first but had to admit the guy was helpful on hunts. Especially since he had a real sweet ride. After a year of hunting together, it became the norm. Him coming over to Bobby’s to take you out on a hunt, riding around and sharing a motel room. 

        Your relationship with Dean became the sibling type, even though he had a brother who had gone off to college. ‘Wanting that apple pie life’ he would always say when it came to Sam. But you could see how sad he was when it came to his brother. Eventually, Sam would join the both of you, losing his girlfriend to the same monster that took their mother when they were younger. Everything was how it should be, Dean getting his brother back, the three of you getting along, hunting down the thing that deserved to die after their father’s death. All smooth sailing until Sam’s death.

        You felt for Dean, losing his brother. He wanted to be alone with Sam, so you went to stay at Bobby’s, hoping Dean would come back. But when he did, Sam was right behind him, as if nothing happened. You watched as Bobby dragged Dean out into the yard, away from the house. Excusing yourself from Sam, you followed, keeping quiet as you heard Bobby yell out.

“You made a deal, for Sam didn’t you?” Bobby asked desperately. 

        Dean didn’t answer, you could see him turn his face away from Bobby.

“How long they give you?”

“Bobby,” Dean begged.

“HOW LONG?”

“....One year.”

        Your eyes went wide in shock, holding in the scream that was itching at your throat.

“Damnit, Dean.”

“Which is why we gotta find this yellow-eyed son of a bitch. This is why ama kill him myself, I mean I got nothing to lose now, right?”

        Bobby grabbed Dean by the jacket and shook him as if trying to wake him up.

“I could throttle you!”

“And what, send me downstairs ahead of schedule?”

        Bobby let Dean go, letting you see the anger on his face, probably the same level of anger you felt at that moment, maybe more.

“What is it with you Winchesters, huh? You, your dad, your both just itching to throw yourselves down the pit.”

“That’s my point. Dad brought me back, Bobby, I’m not even supposed to be here!’

        You felt the tears begin to break, reminding you of the scare you recently had at the thought of losing Dean, losing your big brother. 

“At least this way, something good can come out of it, you know. It’s like my life can mean something.”

“WHAT! And it didn’t before?! Have you got that a low opinion of yourself! Are you that screwed in the head?”

“I couldn’t let him die, Bobby,” Dean muttered, the sadness in his tone. “I couldn’t. He’s my brother.”

“How’s your brother gonna feel when he knows your going to Hell? How will (Y/N) feel? How’d you feel when you knew your dad went for you?”

“You can’t tell them,” Dean begged. “You can take a shot at me, do whatever you gotta do but please don’t tell them.” 

        That’s when Bobby released the tears you already had dropping silently. You watched as the old man pulled Dean into a hug, both crying into each other’s shoulders. You fought back the scream and quietly went back into the house, avoiding Sam at all costs. You went into your room and cried it all out, your heartbreaking at the knowledge of losing the man that saved you from yourself so many times. 

=====

        Right as you buried the tin box with everything inside, you heard a chuckle behind you.

“Well, well, isn’t it the Winchester’s little pet? Didn’t expect to see you out here after Sam stopped begging. Didn’t he tell you, we got what we wanted…”

“I got something better,” you interrupted, turning to face the crossroads demon. 

        The body before you was a woman who looked like she was in her early twenties. But the red eyes made it clear you were talking to who you needed.

“And what do you have that we don't?”

        Without another word, you opened your button-down to reveal your chest. Right above your heart was a marking engraved into your skin, something you’ve had since you could remember.

“You see, the Winchesters aren’t the only ones that descended from the Cain family tree. Cain had a daughter, one that her mother kept hidden because of her magical abilities. This daughter was marked with a sigil by an angel that warned Cain’s wife about the potential danger this family line could cause.”

        You pointed at the marking on your chest and smiled coyly.

“Each baby born from this bloodline get this engraved over their hearts, a sigil that hides our blood so that no magical beings can find them. Not only are we a direct line from Cain, but we females all have magical abilities that are locked away with this sigil, only being able to use them when the sigil is broken.”

“You’re lying!” the demon exclaimed.

“Ask your supervisors and see what they tell you.”

“Give me a moment with her,” a voice softly spoke from the shadows.

        You turned to see a blonde woman walk out from the darkness, her eyes white.

“Lilith,” you growled, having a strong urge to kill the bitch where she stood, but knew that it wouldn’t save Dean.

“Glad to see you alive and well, now what’s this about your family bloodline?”

        Before she took another step towards you, you pulled out your knife and pointed it out to her. She stopped in her tracks and watched you as you lifted the knife and slowly cut through the carving, breaking the skin. You screamed out in pain as you felt your body vibrate, the ground shaking as the knife broke the symbol in half. Once the cut was through the symbol, everything went quiet, your blood seeping down your skin. But Lilith’s eyes grew wide in joy and she laughed as she finally sensed your blood.

“Wow! Cain had mentioned one of his children dying but no one suspected he was lying! I certainly can’t let you go, missy, not with that power running through your veins.”

“I’m here to make a deal, bitch,” you growled at her as you lifted the knife to your throat. “My life for Dean’s.”

“And what makes you think we will make that trade?”

“Because, the moment you set Dean free, I will do anything you ask.”

“Anything?” Lilith asked in a sing-song tone.

“Anything,” you whispered, sure of your choice.

        Lilith giggled and moved towards you, standing very close. Her mouth was mere inches from yours when she giggled again and whispered ‘Deal’. You moved in and kissed her right on the lips, making the contract. 

========

“Well done there, Sammy boy. But a little too late on NOT breaking the seal.”

        The brothers turned towards you, eyes wide in shock as they saw you walk out of the shadows. You wore a black sheer lace turtleneck dress with long sleeves and a very high V split cutout in the front, black bra underneath. You wore a pair of black leather shorts under the dress and black ankle-high leather combat boots Your hair flowed in waves all the way down to your waist, black as night compared to your original (Y/H/C), a wide brim hat on the top of your head. 

“Hey there boys, long time no see,” you smiled at them.

“(Y/N/N), what happened…” Dean stuttered. “Where have you been?”

“Been here, been there, been everywhere really,” you teased as you walked around them. 

“Bobby and I tried looking for you,” Sam stated, the anger rising. “We thought you were dead!”

“I was, trust me after Dean’s death I died. But, with a small change, I am more alive than ever,” you giggled.

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked. “And how did you find us?”

“Been watching from the background, keeping close but not close enough for you to know.”

“And why didn’t you help us? Why are you hiding until now?” Dean pressured.

“Because my job was getting boring so thought I might make it a bit more fun.”

        You smiled wickedly at them as your eyes turned black. The shock and fear on their faces made you cackle with joy.

“Like I said, more alive than ever boys!”

“What did you do?” Dean urged.

“Eh, deal gone wrong, meant to save you. But, honestly, this feels so goddamn right!”

        You skipped towards them, causing them to back up into a wall. You stopped about three feet from them and smiled, tilting your head to the side.

“Why? Why did you do it?” Dean questioned. “The angels….”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. The moment I made the deal, those fluffy dicks went in and broke you out. They reacted out of desperation but they were too late.”

        You began to swing on your heels, smiling as you stared at Dean, your black eyes never leaving his green ones.

“But, even though they got you out, didn’t mean crap when it came to breaking the first seal.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked.

“As the prophecy states, the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell,” you giggled as you continued. “Well, they were wrong about it just being a man.”

“You didn’t,” Dean whispered as the realization hit him.

“Oh, I did! And I reveled in it!”

“Why? Why did you do it? Your deal was broken!” Sam yelled at you.

“The deal wasn’t broken, my life for Dean’s. Dean up top and mine down in the Pit, didn’t specify the how.”

“(Y/N), you are better than this,” Dean began.

“I was Dean!” you screamed at him, causing him to step back. “I was until I lost the one person that made me feel whole, that made me feel like I had a family. I lost the man I called brother for some snotty nose brat!” you spit out as you looked at Sam.

“(Y/N), you are like a sister to me,” Sam added, but the look you gave him stopped him.

“It’s because of you Dean went to Hell in the first place,” you roared, moving closer to Sam. “It’s because of you Dean had moments where he felt alone. It’s because of you Dean would never love me the way he loves you!”

        The jealousy raged from your voice as to stood inches from Sam. You then moved in to whisper into Sam’s ear, making sure Dean couldn’t hear.

“But if he knew what you and Ruby were doing, well, that love would end in a heartbeat. But I’m not that kind of bitch.”

        You moved away from Sam, giving him an evil smile, his eyes letting you know he was afraid. You then turned, giving the brothers your back.

“Just so we are clear, this isn’t the last you will see of me. But if either of you gets in my way, I won’t hesitate to kill.”

“(Y/N), please, we don’t want to lose you,” Dean begged, making you turn around.

“Oh, you lost me the moment I found out about your little deal.”

        You extended out a hand and pushed them both against the wall, hard. Once they got their bearings and searched the room to look for you, you were already gone. You watched them from a crystal ball in your little apartment miles away from where they were. You watched as they looked everywhere in the room, finally giving up and heading out the crypt. You waved your hand and the inside of the crystal turned into black smoke. You turned away from it and looked out the giant window into the night, smiling.

“Good luck, boys. Gonna need it while dealing with me.”