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molchatdomafan637 · 2 months ago

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You’re the Leech (I’m the Man)

Dimitri shifts, head dipping to meet the gaze across from him, peering up over his glasses. He slides his hands over his thighs to rest on his knees, bending himself lower.

”Меня зовут Дима.” His voice is low, sounds foreign in his own ears as he watches the face in front of him for any flinch or reaction. He’s only met with blankness, their right eye looks infected.

Something bitter swims within him as he takes an extra breath he doesn’t need. His eyebrows knit together, fingers twitching where they support his weight. “..А тебя?”

After Dimi tampers with one of his syndicates’ most progressive cases yet, neither he nor his companion are met without consequence.

Word count - 25k

Content warning - contains themes of gore and suicidal ideation, includes graphic depictions of a murder-suicide

A/N - hii i am by no means a writer, if this has an insane amount of plot holes or grammatical errors i apologize. !!read that warning! Stay safe!/

The first thing Dimitri feels when he steps into the gray, dingy testing room is familiarity.

It was something he could sense, stirring quietly in the back of his mind even as he just stood outside the faded, bleak building that barely resembled a hospital. At least then he could still brush it off, loosely registering it as unease as he pushed open one of the thin, double entrance doors.

But as he threaded through the halls, the loud click of his own footsteps against tile the only sound save for his steady breathing, he found that the feeling didn't falter. It only persisted, a slow buildup that brewed in the confines of his mind, pushing to be noticed as he tampered it down, distracting himself with the task of tugging his gun of its holster, registered its weight in his gloved hand, fixed his gaze to the hall in front of him.

Finding the target took longer than it should have. With the entire area around him ebbed with a silence that was almost deafening, he thought it'd be easier to pinpoint and track an exact location of his target, especially one who had to be aware of the fact that they were wanted, being who they were. The stillness of the space around him was disconcerting. In a way, he felt he was expecting to see more.

At that point, Dimitri had to strain to listen for any sound being made other than his own, head ducked to peer into doors that were barely swung open, doubt had begun to cloud his senses as he was only met with room after empty room.

But it was better to feel doubt than what he felt earlier, this just meant he had to try harder, look harder.

He had been snapped back to the present when a sound broke the silence. A faint, almost muffled cough could be heard coming from a door, barely ajar.

He moved swiftly, the distance closing quickly as he moved his unarmed hand to push the door open, stepping inside to be met with the sight of a man crumpled to the floor.

A doctor, undoubtedly. Body unmoving where it seemed to have slipped from his chair positioned in front of a small cot, gaze ripping up to the person who sits on its edge, docile and still. Blood gauges from the right side of their face, a strip of masking tape hanging from their forehead.

And it's here where it all comes rushing back to him, as his gaze shifts to study their form, familiarity that's etched into his bones, carved into his marrow so deep even though he’s done so much to try and remove it, comes flooding his mind. It's something he knows, and always has known, allowed himself to know and feel because the version of himself that still existed during that time had no reason not to.

Despite his best efforts, he feels his breath hitch, threatening to knock itself out of rhythm as he watches their gaze drift up to meet his, the motion hesitant, eyes empty. Distantly, he feels the creak of his teeth gritting together, hand unmoving where it grips his weapon.

They're young, a complete contrast to whatever image he already had conjured in his head. A gray hospital gown practically drowns their form, their legs dangle in the air where they hang off the edge of the bed, their feet don't even touch the ground. His hand twitches as a thought occurs to him, they look around the exact same age as-

A sharp, bleating noise pulls him back to the present, its with a dull vibration on his leg he realizes its his phone ringing. He turns away, gaze ripping from their own as he moves to pull his phone out of his pocket, hand shifting to push his gun into its holster.

Dimitri paces as he speaks, turning swiftly to step over the body on the ground as a harsh voice drones into his ear. His responses are short, automatic as he taps a hand on his thigh, lies slipping from his lips so easily it should be concerning. He waits for the rational voice in his mind to rip through this facade and tell him this is wrong, that he’s being idiotic, completely irrational and letting something other than his own head control him, something he swore he’d never make the mistake of doing again.

He’s sure to avoid the gaze of the person in front of him. If he lingers on it long enough he can see that something’s starting to slip into its emptiness, some sort of desperation, and he’s reminded all over again that they’re just a kid.

He turns away.

It's with a sigh he eventually snaps his phone shut, body heaving as his back slides against the nearby wall. He folds his hands behind him, eyes narrowing as doubt churns in the back of his mind.

He knows that it's wrong, knows that it goes up against a moral code he’s spent years creating, transforming and killing off old parts of himself until he fit.

Dimitri shifts, head dipping to meet the gaze across from him, peering up over his glasses. He slides his hands over his thighs to rest on his knees, bending himself lower.

Something bitter swims within him as he takes an extra breath he doesn’t need. His eyebrows knit together, fingers twitching where they support his weight. “..А тебя?”

He can’t tell if he regrets his decision or not, but the way they keep twisting and jerking away at the slightest touch certainly doesn’t help his case.

He has to kneel to meet their level, a dull ache climbs up his spine from staying in the same position for too long. He puffs on a cigarette as he rummages through his medical bag for what feels like the hundredth time, eyeing the dried blood that sticks stubbornly to their face.

”You’ve got cuts and bruises all over your..” Dimtri tapers off in favor of dragging an antiseptic wipe roughly down their face, ignoring the way they squeeze their eyes shut against it.

His gaze swings from the form in front of him to the shut door in his peripheral, constantly aware of every second spent feeding into something he isn’t even supposed to be doing. Urgency coats his voice as he pulls back, shuffling to crouch to their level.

”Can you promise to meet me here, two days time, Nevsky Prospect?”

Dimitri squints as he watches their expression, annoyance trickling into his tone as their face remains placid, giving nothing but the slightest nod.

“..Good.” His own head dips slowly, almost as if he has to coax the affirmation out of them and he’s certain this is why he's always tried avoiding children as much as possible.

“Can you promise me you wont tell anyone about this," His hand flicks forward, gesturing around the room as his eyes shift back to his exit, the insistent buzz of unease only growing stronger. “Or about our arrangement?”

Dimitri looks back and watches them catch his gaze, nodding in response. He’s almost pleasantly surprised. It shows in his tone, light, gentle. “Good. Now,”

They hold for gaze for a second, wide, empty eyes boring into his and he's reminded all over again that this is absurd, that he's going against rules that he's spent so long embedding in himself and now he's about to just leave this child out walking the streets, blissfully unaware of the glaring bounty they have on their head..

Dimitri’s thoughts stop short when an idea comes to him, eyes squinting in scrutiny as his hand drifts to his own gun in his holster. Not thinking twice as he tugs it out, leaning forward as he stretches his hand out.

“Take this, use it to defend yourself.”

He doesn’t miss their hesitation as they take the weapon, eyes creasing in confusion. Or fear.

Dimitri heaves a sigh, “I'll be back, Nevsky Prospect..” He’s keenly aware of the boredom ringing in his own voice as he turns to look towards the door, eye twitching as he watches the kid turn to follow his gaze. He quickly turns back.

”Two days. Да?”

Something in him twitches uncomfortably as he turns to actually look at them one last time, peering dutifully at him like a kicked dog, gun cradled to their chest in uneager hands.

The name slips out of him unexpectedly, turning easily in his mouth since he's already done this before. Albeit a whole lot differently. “Until then, keep safe, mаленький.”

He reaches forward to poke them on the nose, just something to wipe that miserable look off their face. He spins lightly on his feet, he's able to slip quickly from the room as if none of this ever happened in the first place. “До свидания.”

The door clicks softly behind him, never sparing another glance in their direction as Dimitri strides out of the building, out onto the streets as he ducks his head at the sound of oncoming police sirens. Unseen, unnoticed.

And he figures that is how the rest of this plan will unfold. The vulnerability and wilt in that young gaze isn’t honest, he tells himself. He doesn’t doubt they won't be able to work their way over to the station, go unspotted because things like this should come easy to them, should be natural since they’re different from others. Everything about them is.

Dimitri shuffles another cigarette into his mouth as cars speed loudly around him, smoke drifting from his face as he scans the streets and signs around him.

He notes that he never actually specified a time for them to meet him. It had been late noon when they first met, sunlight already dipping from the sky by the time he had left the hospital that day.

The thought drifts from his mind indifferently, musing to himself if they had been able to do all that to the doctor he found crumbled in their room, that they shouldn’t have such a hard time figuring out something as trivial as a simple trip to the train station.

The sun slips lower as Dimitri leans against an adjacent wall, arms crossing against his chest as he watches the crowds of people drift past him, waiting for a certain one to catch his gaze.

The sun has dipped low past the building lines, and it's here when Dimitri begins to doubt.

The first thing he does is check the hospital, certain that he'll find them curled on the edge of their cot, face placid and offering no explanation in the slightest, silently questioning if they had to actually do something and that this isn’t much more than a silly game to them. Acting like he's running around risking his life for fun.

But when he does arrive, pushing the door open with a little more urgency than he’d like to admit, he finds nothing, only met with the sight of crumpled bed sheets and the drone of the fluorescent ceiling light above him.

The cold air rips angrily around him, wind howling as his feet pound heavier and heavier with each step he takes. He pushes away the voice in his head that tells him he should regret what he did.

It's rare for Dimitri to make an error in his work. Years of experience with no two jobs being the same means constant room for improvement, every minute spent towards becoming stronger, better.

He thought he had it all worked out, had a clear vision of how he’d spend the rest of his days, but now he’d willingly thrown himself off center and went against direct orders for what? A kid?

He grits his jaw against the tightening in his chest, fear he doesn’t have time to dwindle on, or question why he's feeling in the first place as he peers into a familiar alley, cursing under his breath when he finds nothing.

He retraces his steps, always straining to listen for the howl of police sirens that never come. He pushes on, straying to only places he knows his people are lurking around in; dark streets, alleyways, abandoned parking garages. Time passes, minutes turn to hours and in every dark, secluded place Dimitri goes to, he’s only met with the sight of emptiness.

Perhaps in a state of frailty, Dimitri returns to the hospital.

Dead grass crunches under his feet with each step he takes, the silence around him deafening as his eyes bore into the darkness, gaze only shifting to watch the building ahead of him, waiting for a light to flicker, for someone to walk out, anything.

He doesn’t pay mind to the voices that drift by, doesn’t question the two men that pass by him in the distance because he has no reason not to. And they don’t question him either, silently assuming that he’s here for the same thing they are.

Time passes, and as Dimitri stands motionless in the darkness, a high scream breaks him from his focus.

He feels his own body move, tightening and bolting blindly without thinking, he doesn’t have to. He’s vaguely aware of the shadows that shift ahead of him. But the more he stares, the more he notices them begin to take shape. His own breath is shallow, echoing in his ears as the form splits in half, taking a faint shape of two people, and the sharp gleam of moonlight that bounces off one’s assault rifle is an unmistakable sight.

It's almost funny, he supposes. All the time he spent searching, shattering the silences of isolated corners thinking mаленький would just be sitting there compliant, waiting for him and that all of this would work perfectly because he had a feeling it would, because he broke the biggest promise he made to himself and had hope. He hoped he’d be able to reform and save someone, turn to his old way of living, to act with feeling rather than logic.

And it's pathetic. He’s pathetic for thinking that he could ever let feeling drive him, play the part of a dead man and become attached.

The thought centers him, adrenaline making his throat tight and nerves stand on end, he easily hears the stumble of uncentered footsteps, sees the drag of a smaller, frightened form being pulled along by the wrist in front of him.

Dimitri only watches, stops dead in his tracks because he's done this enough times to know that stillness is key, to let a target suspect nothing and think they’re safe.

He stands, and they move deeper than he thought they would, making their way to tall grass and secluded trees that block the moonlight glaring ahead. He can barely see what they’re doing, but that doesn’t matter to him. He’s keenly aware he hasn’t heard the deafening ring of a gunshot yet, the only voices he hears are low and deep, familiar.

The wind blows gently, it doesn’t bristle the cold that’s already seeped deep into his bones, his hands are stiff at his sides. Dimitri waits.

From here, he can see one of the larger forms crouch down low, then back up again. Dimitri squints, and sees a curious thing.

Distantly, he hears the crunch of a shovel digging into stiff, unforgiving soil. Dirt slowly builds in a near pile, and he can see a silhouette start to squirm slightly, they make no noise.

When they make no effort to move, he watches as pairs of gloved hands grab them roughly on the shoulders, маленький twists and tenses as they’re shoved to the ground, something inside Dimitri drops, cold and heavy and constricting in his chest, there's a tremor in his hands and he doesn't know why.

A voice whispers faintly and he sees маленький slip, feet knocked out from under them as the two men crouch low, the small form swallowed by the darkness of their shadows as they’re pushed deeper, sliding on their back into the hole until they lay motionless. The shovel sinks again, and soil drifts, pressure weighing heavier and heavier on their chest, seeping into every crevasse until Dimitri loses all sight of them. More than fifteen minutes spent in that and they'd be killed by suffocation.

Gradually, without the thought registering in his mind, he begins to close the distance between the men and himself.

His movements are light, calculated as if he's always known he was going to do this. It's not surprising, he figures, he knew he was going against himself when he decided not to kill them in the first place, when he decided to lie and stray away from people he's known, worked with for so long. And he isn't surprised when his body moves for him, crossing the threshold of no return and doing something purely irrational, irreversible.

He walks in slow, silent strides, moving until the men ahead of him should be able to sense his presence. He moves until his chest is mere inches from one’s back, can see his short hair drift in the wind. Dimitri doesn't breathe.

He knows he doesn't have his gun on him, but it's no matter.

By the time he’s finished, the scent of blood hangs thickly in the air and his hands are stiff and grimy, dirt caught under his nails as he crouches in the grass,

In that state of blind tranquility, he didn't consider the thought they would already be dead. He worked quickly, or as quick as he could considering what he just did. His breath heaves, he can see it flutter in the cold air in front of him as he wipes his hands on his jeans. He doesn't have time for doubt anymore, does not have the room in his mind to let it linger and tear at him because now he has too much at stake. He’s gone too far. It simply isn't an option for him.

Dimitr looks down and peers into the dark pit that sinks into the ground, eyes roving over every shadow and dip in the dirt until he finds that familiar form, gaze eventually latching to the ruffle of light hair.

They're still wearing that hospital gown, bandages on their face discarded and his gun nowhere to be seen. The more he stares, he can make out the shape of their face in the dark, soiled in dirt with their eyes slipped closed. He notes the lack of movement in their chest.

Dimitri grits his teeth, a dull pressure, intensity forms behind his eyes as his head starts to ache. He tilts forward until he has to lean on his knees and support his weight on the heels on his hands, gaze unyielding as he watches their face.

Don’t you dare.

Something in his chest loosens when he sees their eyes flicker open, growing wide as they shine in the moonlight.

Dimitri makes it a point to always have them in his sight moving forward, only looking away to fumble with his keys when they arrive at his front door. The walk here was slow, it would seem impractical to have someone so young, clearly injured make the trip. They made no show of wanting to be carried, wanting to be touched at all really, and he didn’t try.

The door eventually swings open with a resounding creak, stiff from disuse as a faint scent of dust flutters in the air. Distantly, he can hear the pound of loud music doors down, can feel the rumble of it shake the floor, easily bleeding through thin walls. He barely catches sight of маленький as they scurry to stand behind him, he only moves to step into his room, avoiding their gaze as he waits for them to follow.

“The neighbors are awful,” He ducks to lock the door behind them, keys jangling as he mutters idly. “Noisy..always making noise.”

Dimitri looks up to see their back turned to him, peering at the sliver of a window that peeks out from heavy blinds. He can see flakes of blood matted in their hair, and something dark sticks out the back of their neck, gleaming in the dark as he leans to look closer. A faint, red light blinks affirmingly in the darkness.

His own mind is curiously silent as he pads through his apartment, not bothering with the lights as he turns to lead them to his bedroom. Dimitri says nothing as he pats his pockets, waiting for the feel of a familiar shape as he steps around to stand near his bed. “Come here.”

They turn quickly at the sound of his voice, it seems that nothing ever goes unnoticed to them. He wonders if that’ll make this process any easier.

He doesn’t miss the way they hesitate, even as they step toward him there’s a clear jerkiness to their movements, eyes shifting to his, wide and uncertain. Dimitri tugs something out of his pocket as they shuffle to sit at the edge of his bed, hand poised behind his back as the familiar weight of his switchblade settles in his fingers. He turns swiftly to face them.

He keeps his voice low, neutral. He watches the horror seep clear into their face as he clicks the blade open. “Mаленький, this will hurt..”

He watches their breathing stutter to a stop as their shoulders tense, his own hand shooting out to get a grip on them before they can twist away from him. “Stay still.”

He closes whatever distance remains between them as he leans forward, the hand on their shoulder moving to tighten around the base of their neck. Dimitri brings the blade up and presses down until he hears the click of metal against metal. He holds his breath as the sick tear of flesh rips through the silence of the room, and he’s vaguely aware of the shrill, pained sounds that rattle in their throat, tension never faltering for a second. Through the fog in his own brain, he hears them whimper quietly.

The creak of his own jaw clenching grinds in his head as he feels some of the pressure of the device let up, hand steady as he readjusts his blade. He can hear his own voice echo back at him, no doubt falling on deaf ears as he scrapes around the wound. “Shh..I’ve got you..”

With a crack, the device snaps off. He’s quick to back up and slip the blade back into its holder even as they turn to fling themselves away from him, scrambling back on the bed until their back is flat against the wall. He raises his hands defenselessly. “That’s all. No more knife. You’re safe, Да?..”

His head dips to peer over his glasses and their face looks no less tense than it did seconds ago, arms wrapped around their middle as they stare at him. He drops his hands to his sides.

Dimitri swallows against the sudden thickness squeezing his throat, eyes drifting to the floor as the sound of their pained breaths fill the room, and he finds that no reassurance, anything he says at all can make this better. The notion makes his head swim.

Whether it's to clear his mind or just to have something to do with his hands, he feels himself fumble with his front pocket, tugging out a cigarette and lighting it quickly, it's almost like second nature. He ignores the way the flame’s glow reflects off the form in front of him.

The pound of music is a distant drone in his head, drowning out the low grunt he gives as he lowers himself to the floor, pressure pooling at his knees as he kneels in front of the bed. He keeps his eyes low.

He’s aware of the obtrusion stuck in his chest, that weighs heavy, clawing up his throat and smothering whatever consolation that brews within him. Dimitri doesn’t need to look up to know that they’re scared, that he himself is the furthest picture of comfort, yet something in him pushes him to try.

He brings his cigarette to his lips, clinging to the sensation of smoke filling his lungs, his voice is low. “How much do you remember?”

Dimitri squints at them in the darkness, half surprised at the lack of a verbal answer. They’re here, sitting still and willing to listen to him, they’re not making any move to turn and run. He supposes that’s as much as an answer he's going to get. He pushes on.

“You remember when I told you that you were special.” Smoke pours out of his mouth, makes his voice sound muffled. He tightens his grip on his cigarette. “People were looking for you, I was looking for you.”

It’s with this they meet his eyes, and he finds the more he stares back, the more he can feel the emptiness in their gaze, a blank, muted confusion. Dimitri has to force himself not to look away, instead tilting his head to try and glimpse at the wound left by the tracking device.

Tension, sudden and potent, itches under his skin, and the need to tread slowly and cautiously flickers dangerously in the front of his mind. He instead takes a slow breath, moving to sit at the edge of his bed. He can’t see their face.

“You..know you have power,” Dimitri brings the cigarette back to his lips periodically, a steady, idle motion he’s sure gives him enough time to think of whatever it is he wants to say. “It’s a very..strong power. Many people out there would do anything to have something like that.”

In a slow, gradual motion he can hear more than he can see, the form beside him begins to turn. Though still further from him, they now sit facing the same direction as him. He holds the smoke in his lungs.

“And you know I was supposed to..retrieve your cerebral cortex.” He leans his arms across his legs and tilts his head to stare into the dark. If the uncertainty in his voice is evident, they make no effort to show it. “To study it. To learn more about you.”

He flicks the ash off his cigarette and turns to find that they’ve sat themselves directly beside him, dropping his gaze slightly to take in their full form. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “But I didn’t.”

Speaking into silence is more unnerving than he’d like to admit, Dimitri hardly registers his own words until they’ve broken the stillness of the room. “I think you’re..stronger in your own control, to learn and conquer your abilities would be much better for you.” Through his rambling, he's able to grapple blindly in the dark for his gauze and disinfectant, working a bandage out of the wrap while eyeing the abrasion on their neck.

Dimitri notes their stillness, doesn’t take it for granted as it holds up even while dragging a wipe directly over the wound, staunching the blood flow. “I think a friend of mine,” His free hand moves to stifle his cigarette between his teeth, reaching to gently pin their hair out of the way. “would be very suitable to you. She helps people like you.”

He has to lean forward to see clearly in the darkness, his voice drops almost to a whisper, it becomes clear that he's solidifying this idea, making promises while he hardly realizes it.

He presses a firm bandage to them while he says it, empty hand hovering in the air and he sees that they don’t twist away, they aren’t even tensing at the motion. “I will get you to my friend.”

Dimitri stands quietly to snuff his cigarette out, and turns to see they’re facing him, looking up to watch his movements and he can only assume they hang onto every word he says. “I swear.”

A dull tension swims behind his eyes, threatening to split into a headache as he moves to bend over, resting a hand on his knee. He gestures blindly in the air, as if it’ll make his words flow any easier. “Now just try and..get some rest, маленький.” He watches as their gaze flickers down, silently pleased as to how they shift to get under the covers themself.

Dimitri stands upright, folding his hands behind his back as he watches their head dip into their pillow, he thinks he can see their eyes grow heavy, it looks as if the darkness could swallow them whole.

His grip around his hands tightens at the thought, he knows he's lingering longer than he needs to be. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The realization makes something in his chest spike, it seems he’s stumbling, second guessing, playing a role he hasn’t had in a long, long time.

“Доброй ночи, маленький.”

His head dips as he turns towards the door, treading quietly across the room as he's met with a discomforting feeling of familiarity, rapidly realizing that this is just like before, when he had left them at the hospital, completely unaware of where it would lead them, where it would lead him.

He smothers the thought to slip through the open door, shutting it silently behind him. He goes to check the windows, pulling the curtains shut just a little tighter. Music still pounds through the entire building, though something inside him has grown silent and still. His fingers itch for another cigarette.

Dimitri opts for pulling a chair out, sitting stiffly at his faded kitchen table, fixing his eyes to the front door. He knows he isn’t getting any sleep tonight.

It's always been a struggle to tell night from morning.

The dark, vast clouds in the sky seem to be endless, catching sight of the sun in the sky has always been a rarity, something Dimitri’s always been grateful for.

He had moved sparingly throughout the night, only leaving to tread through the limited space of his apartment once most of the music outside had died down. Even during the day, most of the rooms stayed coated in muted, gray shadows. Today would be no different.

If it weren’t for the blinking watch on his arm, he wouldn’t be able to tell it was already past noon. It’s with this he makes the tentative decision to check in his bedroom.

The door swings silently as he nudges it open, gaze quickly flickering to land on his bed, it doesn’t take long to find the form that lies in it.

Dimitri pads across the room quietly, his hands curl at his sides and as his eyes settle on the back that’s faced to him, he finds his pulse spikes, an odd sort of adrenaline thrums under his skin. He sees the stillness in their form, can’t see their back expand with air and the weight in his chest threatens to warp into fear.

He feels the tension in him loosen slightly when their body twitches slightly, a small hand coming up to shield over their head as they turn to look over their shoulder, blinking sluggishly.

Their gaze drifts to his and he’s disconcerted to find that he’s smiling, a strained sort of smirk stretching on his face. He squints as he looks down at them. “..Как дела?”

He thinks маленький is acting different.

It’s nothing really noticeable. They’re still silent, eyes flickering to watch as rummages through his medical bag, their head swivels towards random points in the room periodically. Their legs swing from where he sat them at the kitchen counter, an idle movement that certainly suggests they aren’t feeling as tired as they look.

Dimitri’s grip tightens around a roll of bandages held in his hand as the other hovers over their shoulder, a silent prompt for them to turn their head. The bandages on their neck are seeped with red, dried to a grimy stiffness. He removes them to wipe whatever blood remains with an alcohol wipe, ignoring the way they tense in response. He reapplies the bandages fairly quickly, holding his breath at the sound of cars roving by outside.

The hush of water spills into the silence as he moves to wash his hands. Seeing how someone so young blends almost effortlessly into the bleak bitterness of his apartment makes his mind drift back to his promise from earlier. I will get you to my friend.

He can admit it has been some time since he had last worked with Yelena, even more time since he’s actually seen her. Lots of what was done with her was always regarded through phone calls and scheduled operations, this wouldn’t be any different.

When Dimitri turns his attention back to the counter, he sees that they’ve taken his roll of bandages in their hands, twisting it around like it's some kind of toy, and the action is so odd that it actually makes him pause, putting a halt in his thoughts completely.

“That’s better, huh маленький?” Dimitri speaks without realizing it, ducking his head as his hands grip their torso, dipping them back to the ground in a swift, steady motion. He sees the numbers on his watch read 2:57, how much time has it been since he first got to his apartment? Since he was standing out in that field?

He knows Yelena isn’t even affiliated with his own work here, knows it's completely different people, different faces, and with what they do, hundreds die everyday, and are replaced just as quickly.

The thought does nothing to stifle the unease that tightens in his chest, even as he shuffles through his cupboards for anything since he’s pretty sure it’s been at least a day since маленький has eaten anything. The brief thought that it’s impressive that they’re still standing does little to slow down his sudden desperation to get Yelena on the phone and actually get this somewhere.

When he turns, Dimitri barely sees that they’re already sitting at the kitchen table, picking at the chipped paint of its surface as he haphazardly shoves whatever sustianace he managed to find in their direction. He makes no move to sit, instead feeling around his pockets for his phone as he treks to stand near the front door, his back to them.

He knows stepping one foot outside his apartment would be a terrible idea, he moves to seat himself at the most isolated corner of his couch, clutching his phone in his hand. He itches for a cigarette.

His fingers trace the seam of the device, just barely flipping it open, and he knows he's stalling. Noting how there’s been practically zero progress on his actual case only digs himself deeper, him suddenly vanishing does nothing to help him. The fact he’s gotten no calls today is major, but then again, it's still early. Little time has passed since the two murders, for all he knows, his group could think маленький is what caused it. They could think he’s dead, and he wouldn’t even know it.

The thought is jarring, it makes his breathing slow to a stop, hand twisting in his lap where he grips his phone, he suddenly has no urge to make the call at all.

Would it be all that bad if he was killed in action? It’d certainly take a lot of pressure off him. In a way, his supposed death would blend seamlessly with the two men he had actually killed, but would only make the need to find маленький more urgent.

He sights, air punched out of him as he reluctantly shuffles his phone back into his pocket. He has time, whether it’s a dangerous thought or not, he has an advantage. They think he’s dead.

Dimitri stands as he pats blindly for his pack of cigarettes, catching sight of маленький as he turns to stick one between his teeth. He can wait, despite the tension in him that prickles and flares at every noise from the hall outside his door, this doesn’t have to be as dire as he thinks it does.

The feel of smoke coating his lungs is fleeting, but makes his limbs relax in relief as he exhales slowly. He strides across the room and strays close enough to the main kitchen window, brushing the curtain enough just to catch sight of what’s outside. He sees nothing, and the thought is both relieving and jarring.

Dimitri pinches his cigarette between his fingers as he gazes passively at the table, settling on the form that sits with it. He sees the dreariness in their expression, eyes glazed over and hollow, like they're not really here.

Smoke blows from his mouth as he clears his throat, he folds his arms in front of him, voice breaking the silence. “How’s your head?”

The voiceless shrug he receives in response shouldn’t surprise him, but irritation still prickles under his skin as his gaze dips to the window. By the way they’re blinking sluggishly, it's clear they hadn’t slept at all.

He leans a shoulder to the wall, sucking in smoke as he listens to the rove of cars passing by outside. The silence is almost suffocating, he’s suddenly aware that if he makes no move to fill it, nobody else will.

It's not too odd, he supposes, but it certainly makes questions arise the more he really looks at them. Is it shyness? Shell-shock?

Smoke seeps through his teeth as Dimitri pushes himself upright, his head tilts as he watches their face, their hands are curled in their lap. “..are you sleepy?” Something in him prickles at the gentleness echoed in his own voice, even more so at the look on their face as they nod slightly. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he walks behind their chair, his hand gripping the back of it as маленький shuffles to stand.

Being upright is dizzying, they have to squeeze their eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of nausea as they wring their hands in front of them. They stumble as they follow after the sound of muted footsteps, the scent of smoke makes their nose tickle.

Being led back to Dimi’s room doesn’t come to much as a surprise, but it’s already a difference to the majority of their days in the hospital. Leaving that room at all was a rarity. But his rooms too are dark and faded, they think they hear him speak as they gaze at a chipped blue wall.

”I think you can rest some more..you took quite the hit, you know.” His voice is low, a casual hilt almost makes him sound distracted. His head dips as he turns to snuff his cigarette out, from where they linger at the edge of the bed, they can’t see his face.

“I have to make some calls.” The words drone past them as he moves, walking swiftly towards the door, and an odd, dreadful feeling sinks in their stomach as the door drifts shut.

Their fingers are slippery with dust as they curl their hands to their chest, when they press one side of their head to the mattress, it makes the world sound muffled, they can hear the blood rushing through their ears. If they lay here long enough, they could probably doze off to sleep again.

The pain behind their eyes throbs steadily, seeping down their neck and making the bandages itch. The ache in their head is constant, started as early as when the only other person they had known was a bespeckled, blond doctor. But then there had been memories of syringe needles and testing rooms, little plastic cups filled with pills etched into their mind and while this should be preferable to that, it's what they're used to.

The sight of the shut door slips out of focus, they blink sluggishly against the heaviness in their eyes. Fatigue is common, right alongside physical pain. The faint thud of footsteps outside is only another reminder that this isn’t the hospital, they can no longer say they know the man who’s vowing to take care of them, they're barely safe here.

The thought is paralyzing, the fear that floods their veins makes their body stiffen, hands clenching together as their heart pounds harshly against their ribs, their throat feels thick.

They try to breathe, the sound is hoarse and faint but it does little to ease the lump in their throat. It's hard to listen for any noise through the raging pulse in their ears, but it's clear the sound of footsteps is gone, they don't even hear any speaking.

A phone call, Dimi had mentioned. It makes them think back to earlier, pacing the house with a device in his hand they had never seen before, small, nothing like anything at the hospital. The thought of wide flashing screens makes their mind drift, even as they squeeze their eyes shut against the pounding behind their head. They've always regarded the special “testing days” with a sort of curiosity. Even with the prodding and the things that hurt, it wasn’t so bad.

Wind howls outside, makes the walls rattle and their eyes flicker open to watch the only window in the room, staring at the blinds draped above it as if it’ll ward off whatever’s out there. It's true most of their days at the hospital were spent in perpetual fear, but it had a level of security to ensure that nothing would happen to them, and they had been naive enough to believe it.

The sight of the doctor seizing on the ground is familiar in their mind, and they find that even as they were able to recognize him over time, differ his voice and mannerisms apart from other employees, they can’t remember his face.

His silly jokes certainly ring in their head, they know his accent is different from Dimi’s but no longer how hard they think about him, how hard they try to paint an image of them in their head, all they see is a black, mottled mask.

The thought is frightening, flashing insistently behind their eyes and despite the tension that grips their entire body, they feel adrenaline spike beneath their skin. The throbbing in their head has escalated into a full vice, impossible to ignore as pain splits around their temples, rattling down their neck.

Something tightens beneath their eyes, stinging with electricity as they screw them shut again. Their forehead is crushed against the mattress, stomach swimming with nausea, potent and searing, their hands are slippery with sweat.

It's with stinging clarity they realize it's never been this bad before, even with pain as common as breathing, nothing they’ve ever felt has ever compared to this.

Their chest squeezes in panic, the sound of their pulse echoing in their head becomes all consuming. They clench their teeth against the thickness that threatens to waver up their throat, they can't even manage to whimper through the gag that’s forced from their mouth. Trying to listen for anything outside the door is fruitless, but they find themselves clinging blindly to the thought as the pressure in their head threatens to rip their skull in half.

Their hands fumble to reach around their head, fingering pushing through their own hair to find that it leaves them damp with what they can’t tell as either sweat or blood. Their eyes flicker open, blinking rapidly as they fix their gaze to the door, watching as it remains stubbornly shut.

The idea of walking to it on their own is faint in the haze that clouds their mind, staying stuck as nothing but a possibility since the thought of standing upright is essentially impossible, pain racking their limbs to a limp stiffness.

Distantly, they feel the heels of their hands drag up to rest against both temples, pressing hard enough to practically squeeze out the pressure brewing between their hands. It'd be easy to get up, push their knees up to pull their weight upright, stagger off and reach the door, but the vastness of each possibility, of what could happen after that makes them hesitate. The thought of verbally voicing their problem makes them shrink in on themselves, as absurd as it sounds.

And it's with this they feel their body go limp, not even bothering to muster up the energy to fight the fatigue off because they know they wouldn’t get far anyway. The hands on their head crawl downward, enough to trace at the bandages on their neck with their fingertips. A thick, warbled sound leaves their throat as they regard the door one final time, their face feels hot, they don't realize that they’re crying.

Their hands give a sharp twist around the bandages, they barely feel the flare of pain through the crushing pressure in their skull. Moisture seeps from under the bandages, prickling their nails and it's here they finally feel exhausted enough to sleep, the dip in their consciousness feels as natural as anything.

Dimitri swallows against the unease that builds in his chest as he snaps his phone shut, the sound ringing through the silence of the room. Nothing of his job, of his entire life has ever been smooth and effortless, it's a fact he doesn’t have to remind himself of.

His eyes scan the emptiness of his home as he slips his phone back into his pocket. He makes no move to sit down, he doesn’t feel tired, and he's not clueless enough to let his guard slip as he paces to the kitchen window, his own mind stubbornly silent.

He doesn’t want to linger on this much longer, should just view it as nothing more than a minor setback, something he could adjust and work around, and he would. But he finds that doubt still lingering no matter how much he rationalizes. Maybe he could tick it off as anxiety, the result of tension building, but when had he ever struggled with something as trivial as anxiety?

Dimitri shakes his head at the thought, hand trailing to his side where he knows he keeps his cigarettes. He entertains the idea until a wretched kind of sound makes his gaze flick up, eyes scanning the walls, on his own front door.

Living in a baseless apartment complex has always left him prone to outside noise, the worst of it usually coming from nights crowded with rowdy teenagers. But he's come to expect that on weekends and Friday nights, not in the middle of the week, barely into the afternoon.

It's only when he hears it again he redirects his steps, moving until he’s lingering outside his own bedroom door, noting the silence on the other side of it. He's barely aware of the way his hands clench at his sides, straining to listen for anything but whatever he had heard, or thought he heard was so faint he’s almost tempted to brush it off until something rattles from behind the door.

When he begins to shift his weight from foot to foot, he realizes he's stalling. He had left them to sleep, hadn’t he? It wasn’t much of a command as it was a suggestion, and as his hand comes up to grip around a weapon he should know he isn’t carrying, he's suddenly aware of how little he had seen them before attempting to make his calls. They had just been tired, there had been no show of pain or discomfort from them, as far as he was concerned, they seemed fine.

The thought grounds him, sounds as rational as anything and he lifts a hand to wrap around the doorknob, twisting it silently. If he dips it open enough, he’ll be able to catch sight of most of the room, be able to really see for himself that there’s nothing wrong.

Dimitri pushes the door open and it’s immediately evident that something is wrong. A smell, potent and acidic, makes his expression tense in confusion as he steps further, the movement calculated as his gaze turns to the bed.

He sees маленький, not surprised to find them awake as a bitter, cold helplessness slips into his stomach, frothing into a muted panic as he squints at the floor to find that it's muddled with vomit. Splotchy, dark blood spots the sheets, sticks to their hands and stains the ends of their hair, they’re leaning little weight on their forearms as the rest of their body lies flat and motionless.

“..mаленький?” His own voice sounds uncertain, far too quiet in the darkness as tense energy prickles under his skin. They give no response, only shallow, labored breaths echo back at him.

He moves to flick the lights on, warm amber drains into the scene, looks fuzzy as Dimitri drops to their side, crouching low next to the head of his bed as his hands reach out, hovering as if to grip them by the shoulders.

“Mаленький..” They hardly flinch at the urgency in his tone and that somehow alarms him even more. Their eyes are open, blinking dazedly despite the terror that’s clear in them. “What’s happened?”

The blood clawed under their nails and matted in their hair makes his attention shift just slightly, jaw clenching at the blatant silence they give in response. The wound could’ve split open, one too sharp turn of the head would be an easy explanation but he knows it's not that simple. The pain was probably worse than he thought, paired with their age, their physical state, factors he had been too careless to notice.

There’s a tremble in their shoulders, though their skin is damp with sweat as they shift, arms locking to push their weight up as their body slips forward, movements stuttering as they eventually stand, Dimitri is silently glad they don't back up into his hands.

It's odd they can stand, shouldn’t be able to after what’s happened to them but he accepts the notion anyway, backing up until he knows he’s reached the hallway, grappling blindly to push open the bathroom door.

He blinks rapidly as he watches them trail after him in the hall, there’s a waver in the steps they take. His voice sounds hollow in his own ears, “You’ll be fine, mаленький.” He doubts they can even register it at all.

The lights in here are sterile and unforgiving, giving an undivided view to the paleness that has seeped into their face. He doesn’t think of the redness tinged in their eyes as he lowers himself, wordlessly gripping under their arms to sit them on the counter, he's quick to turn and search through the medical cabinet.

Dimitri has patched major wounds countless times, he briefly wonders if they’ll need stitches as he grabs hold of a worn bottle of hydrogen peroxide, bitterness coats his mouth as he's brought back to this morning, remembering that he just did this. It wasn’t that long ago he was checking up on them, silently tiptoeing and second guessing himself because something about this, about them is making this job so difficult, and for the life of him, he can’t figure out why.

His gaze drifts and the sight of маленький is already starting to feel familiar, the harsh light only makes the shadows under their eyes look more prominent. He hardly feels the ache that drills into his chest as he clicks open his first aid kit, and he sees that they aren’t even tensing at the sound, twisting their shoulders up or trying to lean away, only fixing their gaze more firmly to the ground, blinking tiredly.

Dimitri moves to pull thin, clear gloves over his hands and watches as, just slightly, the trembling in their shoulders trickles down, making their hands twitch as it escalates enough to practically make their teeth chatter, they remain silent.

“Hold still.” His voice is nothing above a quiet breath, hands moving to peel back the tape on their neck and the more he looks at it, he gains the impression that this gash was more inflicted than done on accident, and the drying blood caught under their nails now makes his face crease in uncertainty as a hand grapples to twist the sink on, grabbing a rag to run it under.

He wipes gingerly at the wound, the action feeling idle as his gaze barely shifts to watch their face, the utter blankness etched across it making doubt churn in his mind.

He knows, and probably has known since the moment he met them, that there’s a disconnect somewhere in their mind. He sees it in the way they act, the vacant emptiness never once shattered by anything he’s said, the fact that he's never heard them speak a single word is a fact that’s been screaming in his head the moment he decided to go with this.

Dimitri knows he can’t be certain of anything anymore, but now it’s glaringly obvious that something is shifting, they’re withdrawing, and with every moment that passes it's becoming more apparent that there's nothing he can do to stop it.

He watches mаленький jolt as an alcohol-soaked cloth is pressed to their neck and a harrowing thought crystallizes itself in his mind: Would they be better off if he had never rescued them in the first place?

Dimitri blinks the thought away as quickly as it formed, but he knows it’s not that simple. If he had ditched the case completely, it wouldn’t be long before one of his own men had swooped in and finished the job for him. Involved or not, they’d be dead either way.

But what would death mean for them exactly? It’s clear their power holds a lot more than he was initially told, and he gets the sense that the notion of an immortal soul conveys something he may never be able to begin to understand.

But as he watches their eyes flutter blearily through the fog in his own mind, he wonders just how much they know about themselves. Does their young mind even have the capacity to understand what they truly are? The power they possess? And as irrational as the thought is, it makes Dimitri feel a sense of remorse for them, what this puts them through. For all he knows, the weight of their power could be tearing them from the inside out, and they could do nothing but silently take it.

It’s only when his fingers brush something solid and coarse he realizes he’s already done rebandaging the wound, hands drawing back and tensing at a sudden ache behind his eyes, he remembers to speak well after noticing the puzzled expression on the face in front of him, as subtle as it is. “..There. You’re good.“ He thinks he’s smiling at them, though it’s probably not all that convincing, anyway.

Dimitri finds that the pain that throbs behind his skull doesn’t falter, but there’s a chance it hardly compares to anything маленький regularly goes through.

He's found himself sat on the end of his dull sitting room couch, positioned as close to the front door as possible. Over the faint drone of the television, he would easily be able to hear any noise from out in the hallway, if anything decided to show itself in the first place. He keeps forgetting about the presence next to him, and he can’t tell if it’s relief he feels when he notices it or not.

Mаленький is neither facing him nor the television, instead laying on their side, face to the couch cushions as bright images dance across the screen. He notices after a long minute that they’re cartoon bears, the poor quality making them look blurred and dreary.

He doesn’t remember it getting this dark out, the screen serves as the only light in the entire room, he can hardly see past the shadows stretched across the walls, the thought is disconcerting.

He doubts маленький will be asleep anytime soon, though they’re clearly exhausted enough to be, and this makes him wonder if there’s something he should be doing, some kind of unspoken role he would take upon himself, act with authority and responsibility for their sake. But Dimitri is quick to smother the thought once the lump in his throat becomes too hard to breathe past, and it's better to let them have that choice, anyway, give them a sense of control.

When he moves to fold his hands in his lap, he’s surprised to feel that they’ve grown to a cold stiffness, no doubt a result of the dropping temperatures outside. It’s with slow clarity he remembers that it's always grown awfully cold in his apartment during the winter, he’s just never around enough to really feel it.

Dimitri turns to trace along to cushions behind him, looking for his black jacket he has no memory of removing when a hand accidentally brushes the form next to him.

The stark coldness of their skin should come as a warning to him, but his mind is curiously silent as he feels himself stand, deciding to head to his room for a change of clothes. He’s going to be here a while, isn’t he? Better to just accept that fact now, use the free time he gets for something convenient.

He pauses at the sight of mаленький when he returns, the feel of his sleeves bunching at his wrists already irritable as he makes no move to sit. Seeing them lay so crumbled and motionless brings him back to the short moment he had left them alone, what it had led to. Was it panic that had made them tear at their own skin? A result of the shift happening inside them? Was it an impulse decision, were they even aware of what was happening?

It’s only when he catches them shivering slightly he remembers the dark zip-up hoodie hanging loosely in his hand. His throat tightens as he wordlessly drapes it over their shoulders.

He’s ripped back into consciousness as a quiet buzz emits somewhere on his leg, over as quick as it started. Dimitri blinks blearily as he brings a hand to hover over his face, the haze in his mind starts to lift once he realizes he's on the couch again, sitting upright with an arm poised on the armrest, still near the door. He doesn’t remember sitting back down, or falling asleep at all.

The clock on the wall reads 11:38, the fact he was out that long only sinks his mind deeper. It had been dark once the two were settled, it's still dark out now, gray sky hardly bleeding any light into the room.

Dimitri stumbles slightly when he stands, eyes screwing shut against the blinding dizziness that comes with just being upright, he's only slightly caught off guard by the sight of mаленький curled on the couch.

He tries not to hold his breath at every noise from outside the walls, instead busying himself with the microwaveable oatmeal pack he found somewhere in his cupboards, only half aware of the knots twisting in his own stomach. Eating is the last thing he should be worrying about right now.

He had already decided not to wake маленький once he was finished cleaning the mess in his room from last night, concluding that even the slightest amount of rest would be sufficient for them, especially noting how early they still were in their process of physically changing. He had only caught brief glances at their face, but he knows enough to know it won't be long before the opening in their head starts to form. He’d get a closer look today, he's sure of it.

It’s well after setting their food at the table Dimitri recalls what had woken him in the first place, маленький isn’t even up yet, so it’d only make sense to use this time to check something so seemingly quick.

But as he leans a shoulder to the wall and he flips his phone open, he's already puzzled at seeing that he hadn’t received any calls, the notification instead coming from a single instant message. Only after squinting at the number flickering on the screen he realizes it's from Yelena, no doubt in response to the urgent call he had left only yesterday.

He struggles to force down the adrenaline that claws in his throat as he reads the message, but the more he stares he finds that the pressure in his chest is only growing heavier, making an ache split behind his eyes as a few select phrases stand out. Sorry for this late message, I have to do this quickly…This is a dire situation, even for you…I’d be willing to help you out…I’m out of town right now…a case is dragging, gone out of control…I truly am sorry…I bet you’ll work something out, I’m sure of it.

His jaw is tight as he sets the phone shut, pocketing it quietly as he stands upright. He shouldn’t be surprised by this, cases are never simple, he's never once only had one set plan for anything he's ever done. Things shift, fall into place, he should know that by now.

He feels a tingle in his hands even as he folds his arms across his chest, pulse somehow managing to spike even higher as he notices маленький hovering in front of him, jacket hanging from their shoulders as they silently blink up at him. Dimitri doesn’t trust himself to speak, gesturing wordlessly to the table as he moves to stand in the middle of the room, suddenly itching for a cigarette.

He’s quick to stick on between his teeth as he grapples for his lighter, ignoring the tremor in his hand as he cradles the flame. So what if Yelena can’t help him, while she certainly has more practice in the protective aspect of their work there’s no reason why he can’t be either. He’d just have to adjust himself, it's not like anyone noticed that he's been gone, there’s been no activity on his line, nothing was going to happen.

He finds that the smoke in his lungs doesn’t quite ground him the way it used to, only makes his mouth dry, clouds his senses as he uselessly pulls more smoke into his mouth. He watches маленький passively, the fog in his mind clearing at the slight bruise he sees is starting form on their forehead. It certainly wasn’t there a day ago, or last night and the thoughts from before come flooding back, and he's suddenly struck with the idea of testing them. Surely all he knows must be able to help them in some way, for all he knows, they could have their own knowledge on the power from all their time in that stuffy hospital.

His voice leaves him quickly “How’re you feeling, маленький?”

The twisting little shrug doesn’t irritate him this time, he braces a hand on the table, leaning to look more pointedly above their face.

“Да? I think you’re changing a little. Your power, I mean.” His hand hovers over their face, watching as they tilt slightly to give a better look and he sees the bruise only splits higher, past into their hairline, where he knows the process starts.

Dimitri stubs his cigarette between his fingers, tilting his head at them as he crushes the flame out. “I want to try something, run a few tests, for you.” He gestures blindly at their head and watches the unease trickle on their face at the words, dismissing it as he stands upright to lead them out of their chair. “You’re fine, it’ll be fun.” The playful hilt in his voice is almost laughable as they walk down the hall, they’ll need darkness for this.

His room is no less dreary as it was yesterday, shadows bouncing off the walls and blacking out all corners of the room entirely, he has to usher маленький through the doorway when he catches them hesitating.

He lowers to kneel on the ground, patting blindly on the floor for where he knows he keeps his flashlight. He can see маленький lingering in his peripheral, probably not knowing whether to sit or stand, always so hesitant. He’s quick to get their attention with a wave of his hand.

“You know, your power,” His gaze is low as he twists the flashlight in his fingers, “I can tell it’s changing.” He watches as маленький shuffles to sit on the floor in front of him, their hands twisting where they rest on their lap.

He pulls his weight up as he sits up a little straighter, finger hovering over the light’s switch. He knows that this hardly counts as an experiment, but he finds the thought makes him unsteady, he’s stalling.

“The process, it’s slow at first, but it's starting now.” Dimitri speaks quietly, leaning forward just the slightest to look at the bruise on their head, gesturing to it with his free hand. “This here, it’ll..open after some time.”

He’s hardly aware of the soft ache in his jaw as his teeth clench, watching how something pained unfurls across their face. He dips his gaze down. “Something will trigger your power,”

He looks back to them, half surprised to find that their eyes never left his. He tilts his head as he squints at them. “And activate your..third eye.”

As subtle as it is, their face furrows in confusion, he thinks this must be the only time he’s ever seen them this expressive, he almost chuckles at the thought.

“I know it's strange,” He brings his hand to his chest as he clicks the light on, tilting it away from them as he speaks, the words don’t feel so hard to push out anymore. “Now we’ll try something. Just follow the light, with your eyes.”

He moves his hand up and watches as their gaze flickers to focus on the point, eyes lagging slightly as they drift sideways, then back again, but he knows that isn’t what’s important. Though the third eye hasn’t even formed yet, he knows there’s a pull that should spark beneath the surface, and by the way their face scrunches in discomfort, it's clear they can feel it.

Dimitri moves his hand higher and can see the way their jaw clenches as their eyes move upward, can really notice the dark circles punched beneath them.

“It was always there. Even from..when you were born,” He can feel the dip in his voice as he drifts his hand down, sounds somber echoed back at him while the focus drains from their face, making their eyes look heavy.

Their hand moves just to barely clutch their temple and it’s here he realizes the pressure they’re under must feel pulverizing, has probably chipped away at them from their entire life, put them in a constant state of overload to the point where they can’t can’t even speak past it.

“To when you die..” His voice tapers off, hand drifting to lay limp in his lap as маленький presses a hand to their forehead, eyes flickering shut and Dimitri has to look away at the sight of it, an odd, tarry feeling sticks in his lungs, makes him feel cold.

”Did that make you tired?” His gaze is low as he tucks the flashlight away, maybe there’ll be a time where they’re more ready for something like this. It’s only when they nod he feels something in him loosen, he dips his head as he tries to smile, reassure. “I see.”

Dimitri watches as their eyes flutter open, grow focused as they twist their hands in their lap, he hardly registers the fact that he's already standing, ushering them with a hand to sit on his bed.

Mаленький settles easily enough, blinking dazedly at the tingling behind their eyes but it's nowhere near as bad as yesterday, just a different kind of pressure. They pull their knees to their chest and watch as Dimi shuffles to stand near the door, they can't ignore the way the sight feels vaguely familiar, along with the bubbling anxiety it sparks in their chest.

“I’ll..” His expression looks strained, they can see the way he's blinking rapidly, hand hovering over the doorknob, he’s hesitating.

“I’ll be back, okay?” He turns his back to them as he drifts out the doorway, they can’t see his face. “I’ll only be a minute.”

The door stays open as he turns to move down the hall, footsteps eventually fading to a still silence. The bed hardly creaks under their weight when they push their legs out, blanket swaddling around their waist as they press their head to the pillow, face to the wall.

Positions like this have always been unnerving to them, leaving them vulnerable, susceptible to whatever could come through the door. But this would be different, Dimi would be back, he had said as much. He wouldn’t lie, would he?

Their vision blurs from when their face has sunk into the pillow, making the world look gray and muted. The silence is loud enough to make their ears ring, something they’ve found they never experienced before being here, it was never this quiet in the hospital.

Through the dull beat of their own pulse, they can hardly hear the sound of footsteps, so quiet and spaced out it doesn’t register as a threat in their mind, eyes growing heavy as their face tilts deeper into the pillow, too out of it to even realize they're still alone.

Their eyes slip shut and the dizziness that comes with it is almost enough to seep the air out from their lungs, hands clenching when they start to tingle with numbness. Trying to open their eyes again seems fruitless, exhausting. They don't remember feeling this tired before.

Something throbs behind their eyes, sparkling under their eyelids and it's so distracting they can't even notice the way the footsteps have ceased to a stop, replaced by a slight jangling, making something heavy creak and groan in protest before they realize it's the door.

Footsteps shuffle from outside the front door, light and quiet before the entire weight of something is thrown across it. A body is rearing back, crushing against the door until the wood cracks and splinters and the lock is knocked out of place, quick to slam against the wall with a deafening split that shatters the silence.

There’s a rush of footsteps- multiple pairs and it's the sound of struggling, the resounding thud of a body colliding with the ground that brings маленький back, moving blindly until they're suddenly upright, standing rigid in direct eyesight to the open doorway, knowing, hearing exactly what's happening at the end of the hall.

Every sound and whip of movement violent enough for them to physically hear is what should shock маленький into staying still, staying put and out of the gaze of a threat that doesn’t even know they're here. But the static panic in their skull only fries their nerves into moving, staggering down the hall until they’re close enough to watch how Dimi twists and strains under an armed, unyielding form.

Dimitri almost manages to seize a hand around a gloved wrist until his gaze slides just too far, enough to see the way маленький is now standing in obvious alarm, form tense and glaringly vulnerable and he can't stop the heavy knee that’s rammed into his stomach, forcing the air out of him as his back is crushed against the ground.

The weight around his waist keeps him pinned to the floor, the hands that are gripping at his shoulders make it hard to have any dexterity at all. A choked, strangled sound rips through grit teeth as the hands slide dangerously close to this throat, proven firm and immovable when Dimitri manages to grip his own hands around them, fingers prying at the leather that is rapidly squeezing the air from his lungs.

One hand around a stiff wrist is enough to stabilize him as he forces his weight up, off the ground as his feet stumble under him, nearly not enough to knock the weight off but he finds that it doesn’t matter. His free hand strays alarmingly close to the pistol that hangs from the man’s holster, immediately recognizes it because he already knows who’s come after him, knows the exact reason he's here and Dimitri must have made himself too obvious because a boot is forced into his stomach before the form lurches, hand swift to load the pistol and pivot his aim to the hallway, steadying to direct a shot towards where маленький is standing.

A deafening crack rips into the silence, makes Dimitri jump and he can hardly see as his body lunges forward, colliding with the form, and grappling blindly until it's his hands that lock around the man’s throat, digging the heels of them downward until he chokes on nothing.

The sound of gurgling is muddled to him as Dimitri crushes his knees around his hips, immobilizing the man and Dimitri can feel as one of his hands slips, somehow finds the folded switchblade he didn’t even know he was carrying and he’s quick to flip it open, ground his weight into the man’s chest as his hand seizes upward.

The blade rips into his throat in a swift, blurry movement and he can hear the shriek that comes with it, feels the hand that claws at his chest and knows he's fading rapidly. A blank whiteness fills Dimitri’s senses, makes his hands numb as static explodes behind his eyes, the rush of blood deafening in his ears as he rears his arms back again and again, never stilling until he's certain the form beneath him has gone limp and motionless.

There’s a ragged groaning sound he can't tell if is coming from himself or somehow reverberating back at him from the man’s silenced throat. The blade slips from his fingers and he squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden pounding in his skull now making itself known, he can hardly hear himself panting until his chest spasms with the movement, a deep ache stretching across his lungs and settling into his ribs.

His glasses have nearly slid off his face, he pushes them back up with a shaky hand as his gaze drifts to settle on the form next to him. Thick blood smears the floor, streaks across his hands and seeps into his clothes, makes him feel cold and through the haze in his mind he rips his gaze up, eyes shrinking as he remembers the bullet that went off, shattered his psyche until he could do nothing but move.

He wobbles when he tries to stand, settling heavily on his knees and something in the air between them cracks, makes his stomach drop because right when he brings his hands up, pliant and defenseless is when a low, choked sound makes itself known.

His eyes pierce маленький and whatever’s behind his gaze must not be all that steady because the raw, churning sound in their throat only grows stronger, squeezing and cracking along the edges and the can see their mouth moving with the sound, eyes wide and gleaming wetly in the dark as they stare at him.

The sight makes him stiffen, face tensing as his hands threaten to curl in on themselves and it's here when he realizes how familiar this position is to him, must be to them when he's trying to make himself look as harmless and open as possible. It only brings him right back to that first night in his room, flashing lights bleeding through the windows and him trying to redeem himself and he suddenly has no idea how he could have regarded this, regarded them with such little care, with such indifference and confidence at all.

Dimitri feels the words shaping on his lips, can feel his face ceasing into pained empathy and he's sure he’s never heard himself speak so quietly like this in his life. “М-маленький..” It does nothing to get their attention, only digs him deeper as he swallows against the tightness in his throat and tries again. “Маленький..”

Something clicks behind their eyes and it makes the blood rush back through his veins as he sights quietly, blinking blearily up at them and he’s shaken to find that their gaze had never even slipped from him once this entire time.

Whatever was lodged in their throat seems to cease as they inhale sharply, the motion quick and shallow and he finds that it doesn’t stop even as he miraculously finds himself closer to them, unsure if it was he that moved of if it's just маленький coming in to get a closer look at the body, at the gauges he inflicted and he can hear that their breathing is only getting worse. It’s only when he rests his blood-soaked hands atop his jeans is when he realizes that they’re crying.

It’s a hollow, small sound and their hands are coming up to clench around their face, press into their eyelids and dig into their hair and he’s wounded to realize it should be familiar, should’ve expected it because when he had found they had been sick in his room, or even when he had taken them home that first time, he had known they were crying, had seen in on their face and tinged in their eyes and he chose to do nothing about it, brushed it off and focused on what he thought was important because he didn’t know how to deal with it. But even now as the sound only grows sharper, as he watches them begin to buckle and curl in on themselves he realizes he still doesn’t know.

His hands curl in his lap, tremble with tension before reaching out blindly, gripping at their shoulders and holding them upright as Dimitri dips his head, shuffling lower until he can keep his gaze on theirs. The ache in his chest sharpens, pain thrumming through his whole body as he struggles with the effort of just moving, voice strained when he tries to keep it steady. “Damn it, маленький, I-“ It’s certainly not enough to reassure them, his breath rattles in his throat at every inhale, makes his voice hoarse and close to useless but he struggles against the urge to retreat anyway. “Маленький, it’s fine. You’re fine. It’s okay..”

His voices echos back at him and he finds that it hardly reaches them, even as his hands squeeze both their shoulders, pointedly keeping them at arms length he knows nothing he says will knock them out of this, will make that gleaming look of horror in their eyes dissipate as he murmurs what he knows is utter nonsense. Nothing can make this better.

“Маленький, look, it's fine, okay? Everything’s fine, it’s..over now,” He feels his hands move just slightly, and when their gaze finally flickers to lock on his own he realizes that it's his thumbs that are moving, a slow, back and forth movement against the curves of their shoulders. Even as he watches the tension gradually seep from them, something cold and protruding lies heavily in his chest and makes his throat tighten.

Through his peripheral he can almost make out the way their expression has started to slip into something calm, almost placid, making their eyes glaze over in a manner that should be alarming. He watches as their eyes nearly slip shut, head tipping aimlessly towards him. He can hardly feel the tremor in his hands when he realizes the movement was subconscious, he hadn’t even hesitated to reach out when he could see them beginning to break.

Dimitri has to tamper down on the voice screaming at him in his head as he sees their breathing begin to slow, it's a struggle to keep his attention steady. He only lets his hands only slip from them once the heaving in their chest draws back to a normal speed.

The sleeves of his new pullover press uncomfortably into his wrists, it hardly matters.

His room is dark where he’s sat маленький on his bed, not too far from them himself as he sits stiffly on the other side of it, shoulder digging into the wall as he watches the crack in the door. It’s too dark to see into the hall, to even see a couple feet ahead of him but he knows this is preferable, for both of them.

His hands are tense and cold where they rest in his lap, clenching idly as he tries to breathe past the pain that prickles and squeezes around this throat, he wonders if there’ll be bruises there.

His voice is still hoarse when he tries to speak, barely makes a dent in the silence as his eyes crease, turning his gaze. “How’re you feeling, маленький?”

He can hear them blinking in the darkness, the way their eyes barely meet his as they look towards the sound tells him what he should’ve expected, but it doesn’t make it sting any less as lean forward, resting his hands on his knees.

“I want you to..try and rest, okay?” He stresses the words with a cracking squeeze of his hands and he’s slowly becoming aware of the heaviness in his own eyes, should be surprised that he can still function, but he’s never given up on anything that easy. “After all that-“ He rips his gaze from them as he forces himself to stop, that’s not what they need right now, anything but that and it’s so fucking obvious he has no idea what he’s doing. He has to resist crushing his face into his own hands just to appear like he still has some sense of stability left in him.

Dimitri tries to steady his breathing, cling to the idea of solace and he barely sees the way маленький is starting to turn closer to him, shuffling until they sit in the middle of the bed, can feel the tension radiating off of them even as their head starts to dip.

He feels an ache in his jaws, seeping through his entire body and pulling him downward, urging him to stay still even when everything in him screams not to. He’s too tense to sleep, and letting his consciousness slip is the last thing he should be doing right now so he purges the thought from his mind. Through the darkness, he can hardly make of the shape of маленький in the shadows, sees the flutter of their hair and the way their arms are wrapped tight around their stomach, knowing that they’ll never know peace because of something he let happen, because he wasn’t prepared enough.

He’s half certain that the ringing in his ears hasn’t stopped since the moment that bullet was shot, he’s lingering on the edge of complete disorientation, keeps having to smother the urge to leave the room to stake out in the kitchen, watch the front door, do something about the body rotting on the other side of the wall.

A hand rubs at his eyes, tilting his glasses, the action done more out of the tension in his veins than anything else. “You should get some sleep now.”

His voice sounds quiet when it echoes back at him, doesn’t make his throat sting quite as much. His gaze flickers to watch as маленький remains still, he can see their hands clenching at their sides, only startling a reaction out of them when he tugs at the sheets they’re sitting under. “Come on.”

He pulls his weight to sit further towards the edge of the bed, hears as маленький curls themselves pointedly facing the wall, hands gripping where they wrap around their own shoulders and if Dimitri looks for too long, he can catch the way their entire body trembles where they lay. His body aches, pain thrumming under his skin, seeping into his bones and digging into his brain even while knowing fully that it's nothing compared to what маленький must be going through, the thought makes his stomach sink a little deeper.

He’s faintly aware of the gradual blur sinking into his vision, gray static flickering on the edges and he finds that it doesn’t falter, only gets worse even as he leans his back to the wall, the motion sharp when it grounds into him but the pain’s not enough to stop the hand that comes down to rest on their shoulder.

His fingers barely trace their own and that thought is what should shock him out of this so he can fling himself into the darkness and leave them on their own, but he remains startling rigid, vision mottling black at the crushing, cold feeling that tears into his chest, draining the energy out of him and forcing it in his skull, he feels guilty.

Dimitri can hardly see anything in front of him, consciousness blending into a certain point and pushing at something under his defenses and he feels himself lean more weight into the touch, the motion light, nothing but everything at the same time and if he were unstable enough to look into his own mind right now he knows it would go back to before.

He can feel something, unnamed but so obvious churning in his head somewhere and he's hardly surprised at the sound of his own voice echoing back at him, so quiet and gentle he can't even realize he's spiraling, murmuring so faintly that the fact that’s he’s singing doesn’t even rip him back to the present.

“баю баюшки баю, не ложися на краю, баю баюшки баю волки воют на луну..”

Dimitri blinks heavily in the darkness and the way all his senses have numbed, shut down completely doesn’t startle him, only sinks him deeper, the thought that he can't physically fall asleep like this is a comfort to him.

“баю баюшки бай-бай поскорее засыпай, Спешите засыпать или привидение,”

He can feel their lungs expanding with every breath they take, can see how their shoulders rise even though the motion is so hesitant, so guarded. The swimming nausea in his stomach settles just a little lower as their breathing slows.

“баю баюшки баю, не ложися на краю, баю баюшки баю, волки воют на луну..”

Dimitri falls silent just as quickly as he started, he draws his hand back and tries to direct his gaze to the door, will himself to stand, even as the thought of leaving them alone makes something in him sting.

He braces his hands on his knees to stand from the bed, feels how cold his hands have grown and he has to grit his teeth against the chill that seeps so easily through his clothes, only makes his body grow heavier and he knows he hasn’t slept, he probably never will sleep properly again.

He’s crossing a line within himself, crossed it long ago, really, but then he was still at a point where he could justify himself, push back what was so painfully present and say it was in the name of justice, morality. He’s bordering on a point of no return, toeing at the edge of a cliff he knows will only leave him shattered and pulverized.

The rational voice in his mind is potent, he knows he should listen to it, follow the instinct that’s kept him standing and stable for so long, but he knows he won't. He's never been very strong at all.

The sheets on his bed are oddly soft when Dimitri leans atop them, barely leeching the coldness from his form but he finds that he doesn’t mind. Maybe the exhaustion is part of what’s making this feel so pleasant, draining the energy out of him until he can't help but leave himself vulnerable, pliant, so unlike him.

His glasses dig into the side of his face when he crushes his head to the pillow, he hardly feels it.

When Dimitri wakes, the panic that comes with being in an unfamiliar place is palpable, tearing prickles on static into his chest as he feels himself jolt, only subsiding once he realizes he's in his room. He had chosen to fall asleep like this.

The ache in his limbs hasn’t lessened, neither has the dry thickness in his throat but he finds he’s too tired to even care. His pulse is so low in his ears, quiet and thrumming so slowly it could probably lull him back to sleep again if he’d let it. He’s too muddled with drowsiness to even think about pulling his arm up to check his watch, though he can already feel the tension beginning to tingle in his veins as his mind comes back to him. He should be leaving now.

He squints aimlessly in the darkness, begins to flex his hands beside him and nearly chokes on his own breath at the feel of something light and faint resting against him. Warmth radiates beside him, digs faintly into his back and wraps loosely around his stomach, so distant but so inexplicably there and it’s only when the sound of his pulse raging in his ears becomes close to deafening he realizes it’s маленький, clinging to him in their sleep.

He stays very still, chest growing tight when he holds his breath for too long but he can’t feel it when the tightness starts to become suffocating, starts to sting and prickle and make his eyes glaze over.

The sound of маленький breathing is faint and barely audible, and he's keenly aware of the fact that they're still fast asleep even as he begins to sit up, twisting himself out of their hold. A distant buzz starts to drone somewhere in his mind as he moves his hands, sitting up fully as they come up to slowly pry their arms off of him, the motion gentle and precise thought he certainly feels anything but.

He stumbles when he tries to stand, face creasing at the way his legs have gone numb, gripping his entire body in a cold, phantom ache. The faint light from the open door serves as the only light in the room, he follows it blindly.

Dimitri grits his jaw hard against the way his stomach flips, hand fumbling and unsteady as it pushes open the bathroom door, it’s somehow colder in here than in his room but it doesn’t nothing to knock out the burning nausea that swims in his stomach, lurching so violently he nearly doubles over until his hands catch on the sink, grip not strong enough to mask they way they’ve started to tremble.

The sight is so unnerving, so absurd but he can't even linger on the thought because there’s a burning in his chest that’s only traveling higher, searing as it reaches the back of his throat and makes him gag. A hazy whiteness slips into his gaze, flickers around his peripheral even as he screws his eyes shut. Heat rolls through his body, makes his hands slippery with sweat though he still shivers with cold.

The ringing in his ears only fades once he’s present enough to blink blearily at the wall in front of him, disconcerted with the sight of his own legs slumped on the floor, knees digging into the ground. Stiff pressure bites into his knuckles, hand cracking as he straightens it out from the crushing grip it has on the toilet lid. He pointedly ignores the sight of his own vomit.

It’s well past dusk when he leaves the bathroom. It’s barely bright enough outside for any light to bleed into the hall, it's hard to remember the last time he's seen any sunlight at all. Dimitri keeps his gaze fixed on the dark, narrow shadows that stretch across the walls, clenching his hands a little tighter when he sees the kitchen.

He can’t deal with that until later. As much as he’s desperate to physically dispose of what once was a threat, he knows he has to be careful about it. Judging by the faint flicker of the watch on his wrist, his neighbors are likely to be active right now, it could be hours before the surrounding outside area is completely cleared.

He can feel the shift on his phone in his pocket when he moves to sit on the ground, sat decisively in the middle of the hallway in a stubborn attempt to give маленький space. Turning their presence over in his mind leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, stomach churning at the thought of leaving them alone. It’s cruel, but not any more cruel than hes proved himself to be.

It’s better this way, to keep the distance, give them the slightest illusion of control he can. It has to be.

He doesn’t have to look at his phone screen to remember the last message he had seen on it, but he had made the decision to block the exchange out of his mind the moment it happened. He can easily ignore the way the memory makes his chest tighten, how when thinking about it for too long, it makes him start to wonder just how different everything could’ve been with another person by his side, what it could’ve been like to hear a voice other than his own, but none of that matters.

At this point, it’s hardly even worth it to give Yelena a response. It’d be easy enough, lying through his teeth and acting like he's taking this in stride, God knows it wouldn’t be his first time. He could make it simple, only a couple words typed out on his finicky flip phone. Just something to let her know that he saw the message, that he's still alive.

He doesn’t reach for his phone.

His legs are numb by the time he musters up the courage to rise from the floor, certain by now things have grown quiet outside.

He avoids looking at маленький when he silently twists open the knob of his bedroom door, set on fixing his gaze to the closet, where he knows most of his supplies are stored.

The rumble of the door sliding open is so prominent he almost thinks маленький is still asleep, it's only when he turns to slide a dark windbreaker across his shoulders he sees that they’ve sat up, turned to watch him. Their expression is unreadable.

Dimitri drops his hands to his sides, almost folds them behind his back as he tilts his head towards the closet. “Just..cleaning up a little.”

Their gaze slips when a faint movement he assumes is a nod, half aware of the way he’s now breathing manually as he wonders just how convincing he must sound. He has to smother the urge to start making blind reassurances. They aren’t suspecting anything. “How’re you feeling?”

He’s quick to nod at the wordless shrug they give in response, turning to dig through his closet for the duffle bag he knows is stashed somewhere.

His gaze is low as he tugs a rubber glove onto each hand, not watching their face. “I’ll check on you later, okay? I need to take care of something..”

He’s slipping from the room just as quickly as he entered, making the gnawing feeling in his chest grow slightly heavier even as he drops the duffle bag at the end of the hall, already out of their view.

He has to step carefully to not track more blood around the kitchen, stopping to reach into a low cabinet, rustling around until he grabs a handful of black, plastic garbage bags.

It’s difficult to find a place near the body that isn’t completely streaked with blood, but he hardly feels the way a bit seeps into his jeans when he manages to kneel on the ground, wincing at the loud crackle of plastic as a flicks a bag open.

The body itself doesn’t make him stiffen, the thick scent of blood or the gleam of light that bounces off his open switchblade doesn’t faze him anymore, but he knows how much of a sight it must be to others. He’s experienced enough to the point where disposing of a body or taking a life is regular as clockwork, it’s familiar. That experience might make him stronger in his field, but it certainly doesn’t make him look good, make him appear stable.

Being seen by anyone right now would be the last thing he needs, but the more he lingers on that thought, the more he's unnerved to find that he’d feel more prepared being seen by any stranger with a corpse in his hands then he would with маленький.

The sound of the blade jutting through a clothed forearm doesn’t do much to break the silence, even as Dimitri strains with the effort of putting all his weight into the motion. He’s had practice with this before, if he focuses harder he could probably be ready to go outside soon enough.

There’s an ache in his hands, thrumming under the skin and briefly makes him wonder if he's about to lose his grip on the blade. He can’t feel them trembling, but he's found that being disconnected from his body to be a lot more of a common occurrence than it ever has been. He’s disconcerted to recognize it as stress, so potent that it's physically spreading throughout his body.

Dimitri grits his teeth against the pounding thud of wrenching the blade through one last point, straining to listen through the sound of his own ragged breathing in his ears. He had shut the door, hadn’t he? Dragging the duffle bag through the hall was taxing enough. It is possible that he had left it wide open in his haste to leave the room?

The rustle of plastic somehow makes him tense even further, hands moving subconsciously to deposit the waste into the bags even as his mind screams at him that something’s wrong, thoughts moving so fast that his brain practically vibrates with kept tension.

He keeps his gaze to the ground as he presses both hands against dark plastic, forcing the air out before tying the bag’s ends tightly. He ignores the prickle of anxiety that tingles at his spine, and he's suddenly certain that he’ll look up and be met with the sight of the same small, doubled over figure that watched him not even that long ago.

His hand curls around the thin bag handle as he raises slowly from the floor, only letting out the breath he barely felt himself holding once he sees he’s really alone. The surge of control the sight gives him is faint, but not strong enough to make him peer into the hall as he slips out of the kitchen.

He hauls the duffle bag over one shoulder and stares at the outline of his front door, swaying faintly on his feet as he listens for any sound that could be coming from outside it.

He’s silent when he twists the handle open, hand pausing as an image of his bedroom flickers behind his eyes, and he grapples with the sudden question of what he’s doing, leaving so suddenly without any explanation. Is it better to slip away quietly? Would him being honest, telling them about the deranged things he's so steadily doing right now only hurt them more?

He can feel the creak of his teeth grinding through the throbbing behind his eyes, somehow stinging harder at the way he feels the movement in his hand cease, body retreating into a still state of shock, fear.

The thought is forced to dissipate as he forces the door open, footsteps muted against dingy carpet as he treads towards a glowing red exit sign, the shuffle and crinkle of the bags a sickening distraction he's glad to welcome. It’s better this way, for them not to see the fear he's feeling, as absurd as it is, as weak as it makes him look.

It’s better for them to have the image of stability, as faint and flickery as it must be by now, it's better than nothing.

They don't deserve this, the thought is clear and glaringly obvious, but still doesn’t sting any less as he pushes open the heavy door with his free shoulder. He can try all he wants now to build up an image of authority, pull a rug over their eyes to the grotesque shit that’ll follow him for as long as he lives. But he knows hes not that blind to possibly think that after all they’ve seen, маленький could still view him as a figure of safety, that in every moment of panic they’ve felt, it could be lessened by looking at him.

He’s half surprised at the crunch of snow that creaks under his feet as he steps outside, sees his breath fog in the air as the sudden drop in temperature kicks the air out of his lungs. He’d have to be stupid to think that he was ever some kind of protector.

The door clicks shut with a heavy thud, his breath whistling in his throat as he readjusts his grip on the duffle bag, watching the field ahead of him with a tainted, dreary quality.

The snow doesn’t make it look much cleaner. Despite being smooth and unbroken, Dimitri has always found the winter, the dead, isolating parts of it to make his job feel just a little harder.

Picking a direction feels kind of like second nature, even though the area is still kind of unfamiliar, he's more used to alleyways and wide, towering rooftops.

The sight of trees stretching across his peripheral makes him hesitant slightly, but this only means he needs to stray towards the edges of that area. If he were to move any further into the woods, he's certain he would stumble upon a dip in the ground, a familiar carter that he peered over on his knees only days ago, begging silently for a miracle, a second chance. He had wanted to make things right, then

But now he has the sunlight to his advantage, so gray and lifeless that he can hardly even call it sunlight. But he knows that there isn’t another conscious soul miles around him, he has no reason to feel the same pumping sense of dread he had felt the last time he was out here. He has nothing but a simple task, now, probably won't take long if he really focuses.

It's hard to look past the moisture and snow that now prickles across his lenses, face scrunching in an attempt to push them higher on his face. He only stops moving once he's reached the edge of a wired fence, just ahead of where the onslaught of trees starts.

The plastic bags hardly make a dent in the snow as he drops them to the ground, easily swinging the duffle over his shoulder as he wrestles with the zipper with his free hand.

His fingers grip around the solid length of a large shovel, holding it sideways as his gaze roves over the ground, shuffling backwards until he finds a spot in the grass least caked in snow. Wind whips around him, flicks his hair back and sends a chill so deep into his bones he has to screw his eyes shut against it.

It wasn’t that long ago he was in his apartment, sunk on the kitchen floor and jolted by the thought of the presence only a few rooms down. He’s known cruelty, felt it and seen it take shape into every sense possible, twisted his own sense of tragedy into a weapon of destruction. He sees it clear as day right in front of him, disregarded to nothing but a corpse in a bag because long ago he felt he was left with no other option. He was never going to be a person again.

It’s rare now for him to feel like a person at all, to find something potent enough that could shake him out of the lifeless drone of consciousness and actually feel something. But he finds that from the second he landed his gaze on the unsuspecting test subject, the target that fueled such an imposing experiment, he hasn’t stopped feeling. And he can't say that he prefers it this way.

Маленький is clever. The lifeless body sat by their side should be more than enough proof to anyone that they’re more than capable of harnessing their power, more capable then they’d ever let on. They are young, and that lack of experience and care they handle themselves with is undeniable. Even if they feel they cant understand or control what happens around them now, it's clear that the inner force within them does. He wonders what it’d take, just how far they’d have to be pushed in order to realize that, take control of it.

Dimitri, in a sense, has always been a sort of a liar. Whether he's aware of it or not, he’s been telling the same lie since the moment he's joined this organization, said that more than anything, he has strength, he's taking lives because he feels that's all the drive and power in him can amount to.

He doesn’t think of the weakness laced in a statement like that. But now watching as he’s turning himself around and trying to play the role of a savior, he thinks it must be obvious to маленький, how easy it must be for them to look past every lie and promise he makes to them and see what really lies beneath it.

He can hardly muster up his own conclusion thinking of it now, what it makes him. But he knows to маленький it must make him look weak, unreliable, like he’s overbearing and careless, and doesn't think things through at every angle. Isn't prepared for the worst.

Having his apartment raided is nothing short of an unthinkable possibility, he should know they're capable of doing much worse because he's been on that side of it. In a way, he's lucky that it was only one person, that he managed to gain the upper hand even just for one moment.

He can call himself naive or hopeful for really believing in what he had said to маленький those first few times he had seen them, but he knows what he is now.

He can coddle and reassure them all he wants, he's already proved himself more than capable of doing that, but he finds that even as he was forced to physically hold them upright, force their gaze to remain locked on his, he’ll never have any idea as to what’s going through their head. He can try and drain the tension and fear from them because a part of him can't stand to see them so afraid, but he knows that he’ll never really reach them. By letting that attack happen, it's like he's already proved himself to be incapable of taking care of them, and there’s nothing he can do to reverse it.

Dimitri’s hands sting where they grip around the shovel, each breath makes his lungs expand too tight, pressing hard against aching ribs. He crushes a boot against the lumpy mound of snow and dirt that sits ahead of him, flings his rubber gloves into it as an afterthought, he can't help but think they’d be better off if he had never gone with any of this in the first place.

The trickle of heat in his apartment is somehow strong enough to make his glasses fog when he steps inside, gripping the duffle bag tight in one fist as he shuts the door behind him.

He's quick to turn the lock, even tugs at the stuck knob for some kind of reassurance even though he knows it's pointless. Maybe he's only as safe as he feels.

He feels oddly light as he walks towards the kitchen, ignoring the way his steps become sticky when he steps across where the body once lay. He almost feels disconnected from himself, as if he's floating from outside his body, watching himself linger in front of his peeling cabinets.

He should probably feel a lot more dejected, noting the way his mind was racing just moments ago, should probably feel more of a sense of panic, should be stopping to listen at every window and keep himself more armed and guarded. But he has more of an understanding now, he isn’t clueless or hopeful or afraid. He knows how these things end, he's been on the other side of countless situations just like this, and this one would be no different.

He notes the way his bedroom door looks almost casually eased closed, not completely shut, but he should be grateful that маленький had any barrier at all, that he had at least been present enough in that moment to give them that.

Dimitri tilts the door open with his free hand, the other no longer so harshly curled around that dirty duffle bag, he hardly remembers dropping it off in the hall.

His gaze flickers to see that маленький is still curled in bed, no longer hesitant enough to fling himself away from the sight of them. He needs to give them what he can while he has the time left, he can hardly understand why he was so avoidant before, this is the least he could do.

They turn to blink tiredly up at him over their shoulder, he almost wants to ease them to lay back down with his free hand, but it’d be good for them to sit up after lying down for so long. He can't say he blames them, on such a dreary day like this

“Маленький.” He says simply, he knows it's barely much of a greeting but pleasant conversation has never been a strong suit of his, never really had a need for it.

He can feel the tremor in his hand as it steadies the faded bowl in his grip, a quiet part of him is afraid he's going to lose his grip. He’d like to sit down on the bed beside them, get a closer look at their bandages and save himself the trouble of standing upright, but the cold soak of drying blood in his jeans is more than enough of a reminder that he should keep a bit of distance for now.

He settles the bowl between both hands, can feel the way they’re still stiff with cold even after being inside for some time. A spoon clings somewhere ahead of him, and the heat that seeps out of the bleak material is almost pleasant. It settles easily in their lap when he lowers it, his voice is so quiet he can hardly feel it. “You should eat something.”

The clink of glassware filters through the silence as Dimitri shuffles with his jacket, ignoring the stains on it as he shoves it back in his closet. If маленький saw the blood soaked into its cuffs, then they make no move to mention it.

He had worried before that the sight of blood would scare them, of course he’d seen that reaction first hand but he could say he was too sure about how seeing him return so dirty would make them feel. He doesn’t know how sure he is of anything, at this point.

But they don’t look all that upset to him right now, he doesn’t miss the drag and lightness of each slight movement in their hand, as easy as it is to miss.

From where he's standing, he can see the bandages plastered across the back of their neck, squinting at the way they haven’t dirtied in the slightest, bleak grayness reflecting back at him the longer he looks.

That means it's healing up, doesn’t it? That’s a good thing, means one less pain for them to worry about in their process of changing, for however much more of it they’ll live to feel. He could remove the wraps, if he wanted to, one small mercy that would probably make them the slightest bit more comfortable.

He doesn’t miss the way маленький looks up when he drifts out the open door, silently dismissing them with a wave of his hand as he steps into the bathroom. He quick to rinse his hands before grabbing his medical bag just for safekeeping.

He can see the flicker of hesitation, fear that etches across their face at the sight of the bag hanging loosely from his fingers. He can't tell if them of all people having a medical phobia could be considered comical or sickly depressing.

Dimitri shuffles to stand behind them, ignoring the pain that flares in his back as he leans forward, heels of his hands resting on the mattress. “It’s fine, маленький. This’ll only take a moment.”

His fingers slip easily beneath the bandages, prying the tape off there as his other hand pins their hair out of the way. He can see that the wound has scabbed over slightly, some exposure to the air would only aid that process.

”There. That’s much better, huh, маленький?”

His hand brushes faintly below the base of their neck, an idle movement he didn’t even think before doing, he thinks he can feel the tension in their shoulders sink just a little.

Not that long ago he was thinking of slight reassurances like this to be useless, almost harmful in the way they could give off a sense of false security, Dimitri hadn’t been lying when he said he could hardly read маленький most of the time. But it's about control now, more than it had been before. He should be able to control the things he does now, while he still has the chance, shouldn't get too caught up in the imaginary implications of things, things that only seem to exist in his mind.

The silence that echoes back at him is almost loud enough for him to get lost in, a beat of time passing as he just holds the discarded wad of gauze loosely in his fingers.

He almost opens his mouth to speak again, watching as their head dips to gaze passively at the wall beside them. They never look at him for long, almost as if in some constant state between attentiveness or dissociation, as if they’re constantly second guessing themselves. He wonders if there’s anything he could say at all to make that feeling lessen.

Dimitri slips the bandage into his bag, despite how unsuitable it may be. He doesn’t bother to zip it shut as he clutches it in one hand, lowering himself until he's sat on the floor with one shoulder pressed against the side of his mattress. He keeps his gaze low.

He knows that asking how they feel, really feel opens up a chasm he isn't sure either of them are equipped to handle. He can't recall a single coherent thought he's had from last night to now in this moment, and he supposes that the spot he's in now should feel as familiar as anything, feeling clueless, grappling with what to say, the quiet guilt that comes with losing control.

He knows what they witnessed yesterday was jarring, more than that, he can almost convince himself that it’d be pointless to bring up that fact to them. It’d be like salt to a fresh wound, telling them things they already know.

When the silence gets too loud, he almost thinks he can hear a high shriek ring back at him, a kind of choking, spasming sound of someone who can't take a full breath. It’s so harrowing Dimitri almost shuts his eyes against it, knowing what images would flicker back at him if he did.

His gaze flickers to the window on the wall opposite of him, travels down the thick curtain that’s draped over it, blocking out enough light from the outside so that not the slightest crevice could sneak through. It couldn’t have been this dark all the days they’ve spent here, he’d had to have noticed at some point.

From where he’s sitting, it would be easy for his arm to reach onto the bed, could probably press his hand to their shoulder if he wanted to, their frame is so small the motion would probably swallow them whole. It’d be easy to shield them completely.

He swallows hard against the way the observation makes his throat sting, fingers curling in his lap so hard it makes his hand tremble with the movement. He wasn’t wrong when he said he’d never be some kind of a protector, he's done more than prove himself incapable of that title. It was only twelve hours ago he had brushed shoulders with death itself, figuratively and literally. He had been able to take it away from them then, but he knows he won't be so lucky when the next time comes.

He’s become familiar with the idea of death, playing beside the hand of it has taught him that life can be ripped away from someone in an instant, and with the jobs he takes, it’s very rare from death to be fully in one’s control, he’s never thought of his own to be.

Standing in the cold with a corpse at his feet had been enough for him to feel a kind of clarity at being killed at the hands of his own men. There was something almost natural about it, to go the same way he was reborn, he had accepted that idea.

Dimitri knows he's grown into something corrupt, living as nothing but a husk of who he once was had made him more than familiar with cruelty. He sees cruelty, lives beside it and enveloped it into his soul, the idea of being a good person is impossible, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The world is an unfair place. It’s hypocritical of him to have that thought while sitting beside living and breathing evidence of his own cruelty. Reality kills good men, eats them alive in the blink of an eye.

He's never been good, but as he gazes at the contradiction of a person beside him, he wants to push every corrupted, dead fiber in himself to do something good for маленький, one split decision that would end the both of them for the better.

The intensity in his gaze must be obvious, because it's not long before маленький turns to look right back at him, albeit a lot less soulfully.

Dimitri feels himself squint, air rushing out of his throat in what sounds like a faint chuckle as he crosses his arms in front of him, casual. “I think you’re healing up, now.”

The faint nod they give it like clockwork, the thought is almost funny.

He’s present enough to notice the way their gaze starts to drift to watch something beside him, it's only when he turns as well he notices it's his medical bag they're looking at. A kind of silent question.

”You don't need new bandages for that.” Dimitri gestures to his own nape with a flick of his hand, quick to elaborate when the subtle confusion drawn in their features doesn’t fade. “The air will help it heal. It’s fine now.”

They blink as something like clarity unfurls behind their eyes, so subtle that he shouldn’t be able to notice it at all. He wonders if he’ll ever see them feel that kind of simple peace again.

The thought fades, but stings stubbornly even as he braces his hands on his knees as he starts to stand, grunting lowly under his breath as he moves for the opposite wall. “I want you to..try and get more rest, okay? We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

He doesn’t have to turn over his shoulder to see the way their expression has dropped, an odd sort of helplessness even when he's only a couple more feet away from them, but this is important. “I'm going to be keeping an eye out, you just try and sleep now.”

He doesn’t doubt that they’ll be able to drift off again even after dozing most of the day, the toll just being conscious takes on their body is undeniable, they're probably not even aware of it.

He draws his knees up halfway to his chest as he shuffles to sit on the ground, vaguely aware of the fact he still doesn’t have any sort of pistol on him, but a little detail like that should be the least of his concerns.

The space around him looks somehow tainted when his eyes flicker open for the first time, dreary and speckled, almost as if he's looking through a dirty window.

He feels cold, but that shouldn’t come to much as a surprise since he's currently huddled on the hard ground, the long sleeves of his shirt barely offer him any warmth. Even when seated next to the window, he can't get a tell for how light it is outside.

It should be impossible for him to see into the shadows that bounce off of each corner in his room, but he’s familiar enough with the area by now that he's certain he could navigate it if he were completely blind. Nothing to worry about there.

Маленький is still asleep, or presumably is by the way they're lying completely still on their side, their face to him, though the way their hair brushes over nearly their entire face doesn’t make it any easier for him to gauge their expression.

Dimitri doesn’t want to move, compliant with keeping his limbs as stiff as possible, certain that he could drift back to sleep if he stays still for long enough. Sleep for him is usually deep and dreamless, the concept so scarce and abrupt that when he does get it, he's glad that it's as simple and straightforward as it usually is, he wants to keep it that way.

He doesn’t remember drifting off again, but consciousness comes quicker, hits harder than it did compared to the last time he woke, though his brain feels just as heavy, if not slightly more scrambled.

He almost doesn’t recognize the wall that takes up most of his vision, blinking blearily when it aligns into a sharper focus. He can feel that his body’s somehow made a full pivot while unconscious, he's closer to the corner, strayed further from the window with not the slightest idea how, or why.

It's harder to blink the sleep out of his eyes, such a little and insignificant idea suddenly so present. He doesn’t feel as cold as before, or rather, a kind of heat that sinks into his chest makes it hard to notice it, crawls up his throat, squeezing around his lungs and making his breaths feel thick and stuttery. There’s a wetness stuck under his eyes, drying on his face that makes the skin feel tacky, it definitely isn't sweat.

Dimitri can't see the bed from here, can't see anything past the blinding stinging in his eyes and it’s so absurd that he immediately moves to slip his hands under his glasses, teeth gritting at what his fingers feel when he wipes at his eyes. He feels concerningly hollow, shocked raw.

Looking past the sudden spike in his pulse, he’s unnerved to find a certain image pulling at him from somewhere in his mind, it's only when he chooses to turn it over he finds that his sleep hadn’t been dreamless. A memory, clear and familiar as anything flashes back at him with such vigor it almost makes his body flinch, he's quick to mask the movement by turning to sit up straighter, pushing off the wall.

What his eyes land on makes him hesitate, more physically than anything because he finds that he can't move any more. His head dips to stare at the form that's bowed beside him, light hair fluttering when their head starts to slip slightly against the wall, having been pushed off where it was resting against his arm. It’s маленький that's sat next to him, dozing with their head on his shoulder.

Dimitri can feel nothing but the throb of his pulse against his chest, faint but so quick as his hands hover tensely over his lap. He’s been in this position before, feels far away since he’d done all he could to block it from his memory but the surge of panic he feels is as familiar as anything. The sight almost makes him laugh, but the sound comes out a lot more choked than he’d like to admit.

The floor feels no less hard than it has been all night, he knows it's no place for them to sleep, despite how insistent they're acting. He can't name the expression his face screws into and he slips both hands around their torso, watching the loll of their head as he grunts with the effort of standing upright.

The rustle of the sheets is barely audible as he lays маленький back atop of them, ignoring the numbness in his fingers as he tucks the blankets over their shoulders, quick to turn towards his spot against the wall.

Dimitri doesn’t sleep again, but whatever state of consciousness he’s in grows sharper the more the darkness in the room begins to gradually fade. маленький hasn’t moved from the position he laid them in, he can't get a clear look at their face.

His pulse is nowhere near as fast as it was the last time he was awake, but that doesn’t ease the phantom kind of pain that presses against his chest, making it hurt to breathe.

He should feel colder than he does, the cold draft radiating from the window doesn’t make a dent in the nervous energy that seems to thrum under every inch of his skin. He feels the need to move, probably a subconscious desire to check the front door, yet he can't muster up the energy to simply lift his wrist to look at the watch wrapped around it.

That’s probably why he jolts so hard when маленький sits up, the movement unexpected but so quick to make him sit a little straighter as he cradles a hand in front of his face, masking the naked terror that lingers there. “Маленький..”

It slips out just as their head dips towards him, the strain in his voice makes it hard to tell if it was a prompt for their attention or a simple greeting, their expression remains blank, nonetheless.

Dimitri swallows against the tightness in his throat, and is vaguely disturbed by the dry pain that flares at the motion. He laces his hands together in his lap. “How did you sleep?”

Their eyes slide from his as their head tilts to one side, a wavering sort of shrug that Dimitri nods at, squinting at the way he feels himself smile. “Good? Well,” He traces a hand along an imprint on his jeans, eyes furrowing at the feel of his locked switchblade, “I think you’re ready for another test.”

He misses their reaction to pull his weight up on both knees, kneeling forward until he can grapple his medical bag with one hand, sliding it across the floor to rest in front of him.

“Nothing to fear, it’s just like last time.” Dimitri twists his flashlight in one hand as he crosses his legs in front of him, gaze still low even as маленький slides off the bed to sit in front of him, back leaning against the mattress.

He clicks it on easily with the press of a finger, shining the light to the ground. “Ready?”

There’s a hint of recognition in their eyes as he tilts the light up, passively watching the shadow it makes bounce on the wall as he drags his hand from side to side.

They follow after him easily enough, and he's half surprised at the fact that he didn’t even need to remind them of what he’d wanted them to do. They have experience with things like this, have probably done a whole lot more than just trail after a small light. They listen to him, in their time together he can’t regard a single moment of defiance from their part, whether it be from something simple or not. He wonders if trust plays a factor in it, or if they're just readily this obedient, the thought makes his chest hurt.

Dimitri realizes that he really doesn’t have anything else to look for right now, so he drops the light as quickly as he started, watching how маленький blinks in confusion, he clicks it off somewhere beside him.

”How’s your head?” The question is so familiar that he feels there’s hardly anything concrete behind it anymore. He speaks before they can answer. “How do you really feel?” His hand drifts up to gesture between both his eyes, “Under here?”

He watches the stuck hesitance that slips into their expression, eyes furrowing as their hands curl beside them.

Dimitri presses on, gaze drifting as he drops his hands in front of him. “You’re getting closer to..a certain point.” He has to resist squeezing his hands into fists as he speaks, the words ring hollow back at him, like he doesn’t know what he’s saying.

“You’ll see a change that-“ His voice is caught for the split second he spends glancing up, watching the fear start to crinkle in the corners of their eyes. “It’s more physical than anything.”

His words do nothing to ease the anxiety that's undoubtedly now brewing in their chest. He looks down as he adds in some kind of afterthought. “For when your eye starts to grow in. You’ll start to get headaches.”

This must be familiar to them, despite the way he doesn’t bother to look up at their face, there must be some hint of recognition by now. “That happened before, didn’t it? Few days ago?”

He honestly can't remember how long ago that day really was, they've all blended into one fit of consciousness that's still hazy in his mind, like some kind of bad dream.

Dimitri thinks he sees the hint of a nod when he finally brings his gaze up, lingering on the way their eyes have seemed to grow a bit haunted, like thinking about it unsettles them.

“You might notice that a little more, now. Especially up here.” His own hand drifts to wrap around his forehead, fingers brushing against both temples. He wonders if talk like this is familiar to them, if they’ve been able to spot all the warnings and signs each time they've flared up, if they’ve dreaded each milestone. He’d never manage to get them to open up that deeply, he can accept that, now.

But the question prickles at the back of his mind as to how much they had felt in the transformation before he had met them, if being in the hospital could somehow make that process easier than it would be in the middle of nowhere. The thought makes his stomach churn even as his hand slips into his pocket.

He clicks the blade open and is hardly fazed by the fear that rips into their expression, makes their eyes shrink as he gestures with his free hand dismissively. “Don’t be scared.”

Dimitri sits up a little straighter as he leans forward, watching as their shoulders tense and curl upward, but keeping still as he brings the tip of the blade up to their hairline.

He flicks the hair back until he just grazes a protruding scab, no doubt where something has started to form, under there. His voice is quiet when he speaks, hardly making a dent in the air. “Yes, I see..”

He can feel the way they’ve gone still under the movement more than he can really see it, ignoring the way it makes his chest spasm as he peers more closely at the area. The wound is prominent, just hardly gleaming with blood in the low light even as they're just sitting here. Dimitri wonders how close it must be to splitting.

He’s unnerved to see a slight tremor slide across their shoulders, not having moved a muscle since he slipped the blade from his pocket. A voice somewhere tries to reason that it's from the cold.

”How’s your jacket?” Dimtri disregards the blade just as quickly as he equipped it, hearing as it clatters on the floor somewhere next to him as he brings his hands up, fingers gliding over the material as he pulls it more firmly over their shoulders. “It’s cold, I know.”

He should be used to their silence by now, but he can't not be unsettled by it, can't help but make him question if there’s ever been a second they've felt safe in his presence at all.

There’s an ache in his hands, so constant and familiar as he pats their shoulders lightly before drawing back to cross his legs in front of him, hand sneaking to slip the blade between his fingers, pushing it somewhere behind him.

There’s a stillness in the air that makes him hesitate, wonder if it’s the ringing in his own ears echoing back at him as he sighs, voice hushed.

“I know it's hard, all this.” His limbs suddenly feel too heavy for him to make anymore meaningless gestures, he finds it hard to keep his gaze on them, even if they don't return it. “It’s a lot, for someone so young. But I know you can handle it.”

Their gaze shifts up to look at him and he feels himself smile a little, though the motion doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I know you’re strong.” His voice drops into something so faint he himself can hardly hear it, the hand by his side curling tightly. “I can feel it.”

He notes that the fear in their face isn't as prominent as it just was, if he looks long enough, he might be able to see a hint of warmth flicker behind their eyes, swimming so hesitantly it makes something in him grow bitter.

Dimitri feels his head start to tilt sideways, eyes narrowing as a kind of chuckle stutters in his chest. “You’re special, маленький.” They must think it's funny too because their eyes crinkle so quickly that it forces the air from their nose, it's with stinging clarity he realizes they're laughing.

“You know that.” He can see as the feeling kind of wavers the more he speaks, like they’re unsure of how they're supposed to feel about the statement. It almost makes him retreat back into silence, it’d be easy enough to, anyway.

”I know it, too.” His head dips at the certainty that rings in his tone, makes his legs tense as he struggles against the urge to pull his knees up to his chest. “People can see it, you know. They sense it off of you, sense your power.”

He’s seen firsthand that words like this can make them retreat, maybe something about the mysteriousness of the power they harness makes them pull back and hesitate, but he pushes on, anyway.

“You’re different from others. You know what people could do with that, if they could.”

Something in him stills as the words leave his throat, solidifying the air around them into something quiet and serious, he's certain they can feel the same kind of shift, too, mirroring between the two of them.

Dimitri watches as they rest their hands in their lap, the slow twist of their fingers wringing around nothing, they aren’t looking at him.

“You have lots of paths you can take. You’re going to live many lives, маленький.” This makes their head tilt up, but more in a sense of understanding than in a shocked confusion.

But that's not what makes him hesitate, though the weight he was certain already thawed out in his chest is becoming more difficult to breathe past. He can feel his pulse in his throat, can feel how it echoes and closes in around his ears. He squints as he looks at them, trying to pour something more than concern into his gaze. “I want what’s best for you in this one. I want to do whatever I can to protect you.”

He can't help the kind of bitterness that stings in his throat as he says the word, he's never been able to deny the flare of hypocrisy it makes unfurl behind his eyes, it only burns worse when he looks at them, now.

He faintly feels the way his expression has begun to shift into something pained and solemn, making his jaw ache with unkempt tension. Маленький must sense it off him, because their gaze drops and shrinks into something that must make them feel like something bad is about to happen. Dimitri straightens at that, pulls back until he's leaning fully against the wall beside him, careful about the way he shifts one hand behind him, sure to keep his gaze locked to the faltering one ahead of him.

”Маленький.” The word comes out quickly, even as he forces his breathing to stay slow, he tries to keep the patronizing tone from his voice while he roves over his next words. “It’s okay. Everything’s fine, okay?”

Their breathing has started to come a little quicker, and he prays that the slight slow in the way their chest expands isn't just his eyes deceiving him. He keeps his gaze steady, tries to level theirs with his own as if he can will them to settle if he simply focuses hard enough.

He feels the tension seeps from his fingers as he relaxes them, hands sat idly at his sides as he dips his head lower, pinning their gaze to his as he forces his own heartbeat to slow.

“That’s it.” He breathes the words so softly he doubts they can hear them, but the slight stutter their chest gives at the reassurance convinces him otherwise, air punching out of them, almost in a sort of relief.

They believed him. The thought rings so loud that Dimitri almost drops his head with how fast the tension rushes out of him, blinking slowly against the surge of energy it makes prickle under his skin. He almost laughs.

“That’s good, маленький.” He tilts his head against the smile that threatens to leak into his voice, as absurd as it sounds. He has no idea what direction he’s being pulled in anymore, can't tell if it's stopped hurting completely or hurts so bad to the point where he can no longer feel it, or if he simply just doesn’t have it in him to care anymore.

It’s so easy to let the words slip past his lips, so easy to reassure once he actually sees how far it gets him, it puts so much trust between them, as dangerous of a thought that is. It makes them feel better.

The terror in their eyes has rung out into a jittering energy, they could be hesitating, could be holding something back or on the verge of a complete breakdown but Dimi wouldn’t know either way. He could look all he wants, but each probe or tilt of his head could send him spiraling into endless amounts of possibilities, something he knows he no longer has the time for.

He tilts his gaze back up and hardly feels the creak of his teeth grinding together as that surge of energy falters, coming down from a high to find that everything is just as he left it, his chest stinging freshly at the thought.

He’s almost pleased to find that their eyes haven’t left him for a moment, swallowing against the way it makes his throat tighten as he moves to hold his hands out in front of him, a silent kind of offer that should make him reel back and fling himself away from them. He’s barely fazed at the way his hands have gone completely numb, he can’t quite mask the waver in his voice when he finally speaks. “Come here.”

He must have held it steadier than he imagined cause it still manages to make their expression crack, he can hear the clench of their teeth from the rush of air that reverberates against it, tension seeping as they slip to slide across the ground.

Маленький fits so easily into the spot against himself and the corner, even when they aren't curling in on themselves. It’s true Dimi had full control of this situation, but that fact doesn’t make it sting any less when маленький doesn’t stop shuffling, energy only slipping once their head moves to rest against the curve of his chest, face barely visible as they draw their knees to their chest.

He can feel the throb of pain that splits in his lungs as he breathes in shallowly, regarding them with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he hovers his hand over their shoulder, never quite settling there.

He knows there’s tension furled somewhere behind his eyes, because he's fought so hard this entire time to keep it in check, though he knows he's never been good at being subtle. Especially with things that are important to him.

”Маленький.” It doesn’t come out as firm as he had liked it to, though that doesn’t seem to bother them, still seemingly content with leaning their full weight against him. They don't look up.

Dimi almost worries that they can somehow feel the spike in his pulse with their ear pressed to his chest. He ignores the twinge of pain that flares under his skin, hitting nowhere in particular as he pushes one hand behind his back, breathing slowly as the other settles between their shoulders, smothering a flinch at the way they relax under it.

He presses his hand down until the contact is firm, firm enough to the point where they have no choice but to gaze up at him puzzledly, blinking away the heaviness in their eyes as they stir slightly.

His fingers hook around the base of their neck and just hold them there, fixing his gaze until his teeth clench with the effort of holding his eyes steady. His voice is quiet when he speaks.

“Маленький,” He repeats, not moving to take another breath until he's certain that he's got their attention, it's a struggle to keep his expression sealed when he sees the way they gaze back at him with such placid peace in their eyes. Even now, it makes something in him turn cold.

His hand trembles where he feels it grip around gritty plastic behind him, taking an extra breath he doesn’t need when his fingers slip along the familiar groves of a handle.

Dimi keeps his body still with the motion, his voice comes out sounding a bit more strained than he’d like it to be. “Trust me when I say,” He can’t notice the way their expression begins to twist once the hand on their nape grips hard enough to hurt, it doesn’t reach him. “That this is for the better.”

His vision blurs with the effort of rearing his hand out from behind his back, body tensing with the effort it takes to crush their chest to his opposite shoulder as he tampers with the panic that's begun to flood his senses.

Even through the ringing in his ears, the wretched sound that's forced from маленький still manages to shake him to his core. It's hard to get a full breath in while physically feeling the way they’ve begun to thrash under his grip, hands brutal but fruitless where they curl and push against his shoulders.

It almost makes him hesitate, the pain from it, though bleak and dissipating, wasn’t something he expected, sticking heavily in his mind as he grapples with lining the edge of his switchblade to their jugular. The muscles of his free hand are pulled taunt against the struggle to keep their face turned away from him, one small mercy they probably won't notice in the midst of such a betrayal.

He feels like he should say something, aches to make the hurt go away but when he manages to fight back against the bruising pressure of his clenched jaw, nothing more than a choked gasp leaves his throat when he really feels the race of their heart thundering beneath their ribs. He’s half afraid that it’ll burst before the time he pulls himself together to properly do this.

Dimi has taken lives before, so many in such a quick but blocked amount of time that he can't even begin to consider a certain amount. He’s never been present in his own mind enough to regard a kind of physical reaction his body gives whenever he sinks the knife or pulls the trigger.

Every time since that first surge he's felt, that complete loss of control, he’s somehow been lucky enough to be graced with the presence of some kind of higher force, makes a static slip over his eyes and with nothing but raw instinct taking over. Sometimes, he doubts he's ever risen from that fog for a moment in his entire life.

But now he supposes he won't be so lucky this time, he finds that each jerk of the body locked against his and the ringing split of panicked whining doesn’t lessen the more he listens to it. Or rather, every second he’s made to hear it only makes it hurt worse.

A part of him wonders if he’d rather have it any other way. It’s almost fitting, to have it hurt as much as possible. In a way, he feels like he deserves it.

Dimi doesn’t want to squeeze his eyes shut as his arm locks in place for one final time, but the darkness that shrouds his vision is almost inevitable when feeling the way his hand juts into their flesh without a second thought.

The effect is immediate, though even as splattering, red thickness is ripped from the wound, he still thinks he can hear the stutter of their crying even when he feels them begin to cough weakly against his shoulder. Perhaps it's a sound that'll be engraved into his brain for as long as he lives.

Dimi doesn’t see the life drain from their face, the flame-thin flicker of a light going out because he's never stopped screwing his eyes shut, burrowing impossibly tighter against them even as their skin begins to grow cold, color seeping out as he hangs his head. It hurts to breathe.

Dimi wonders if it's fruitless to hold them only while they’re no longer conscious enough to feel it, but he knows he was never strong enough to have it any other way.

His hands hurt, it feels as if the bones are stuck in place as he keeps his arm wrapped around their shoulders, fingers stiff where they wrap bruisingly tight around the blade's handle. There’s a thick whistling sound that forces itself from his throat, stuttering violently every time he thinks he's managed to choke it down. The hair on their head flutters with the motion, only stopping when he rests his cheek atop their head.

The pound of his pulse rattles against his ribs, seeping into his limbs until he's so wound up with tension that he’s surprised that his body doesn’t just snap under it, the crushing pressure of their chest pressing against his doing nothing to alleviate the feeling. If anything, it only makes it stronger.

He can’t feel himself sliding off the wall until the digging on his shoulder against the ground becomes impossible to ignore, half convinced he could seep into the ground completely if he lies still enough. But he knows there’s no use in waiting for his death to come, he wants it to be something done by his own hand, one final correction. A small part of him doesn’t want to give any of his men that satisfaction.

The pressure behind his eyes is so strong that he almost wants to let him take over, lull him into the illusion of being at peace with his decision, into a sense of security. But he's never been that merciful, even to himself.

Dimi doesn’t think about the way his arm wraps tighter around маленький, not when they fit so easily into his hold, natural as anything. He only lets his eyes flicker open as he pivots the blade against his own jugular.

There’s a dreary kind of quality to the room he's found himself in, the lack of windows or overhead lights certainly doesn’t help, but he finds that he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t need to.

The walls are dark with a worn quality, close where they cage in around him but become somehow narrower if he looks in front of him for too long, but he gets the feeling his attention is supposed to be elsewhere, right now.

It's only when the fog in his vision lets up he can notice that he's sitting rather than standing, seeing it more than feeling the sensations against his skin.

There’s no barren walls echoing back at him, no crushing pressure of pain in his legs or splitting tension behind his eyes. The observation should be disconcerting, but this version of himself doesn’t have to worry about that, could never possibly understand why he ever would.

When the images become clearer, he becomes aware of a certain weight pressed into his lap, one small point that fits against him so naturally it's only here he realizes he's dreaming. He can recognize the rhythmic pattern of a little blanket, purple spatterings against a pale pink. He can't see her face.

There's something smooth slipped between the bends of his fingers, the warm plastic pleasant against phantom skin. A baby bottle.

His mind is hazy, it's hard to grapple onto a single thought, they slip away from his grasp when he tries to reach for them, crumbling like sand. It should unsettle him, but this version of himself that exists right now doesn’t have any reason to be.

#malenkee saga

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tala-bez-i · 4 months ago

Text

At first sight II Chapter Nineteen

(m!reader x Bonten!Haruchiyo Sanzu)

Fluff/slash/reader is male/cursing/BontenTimeline/drugs and alcohol mentioned/violence/blood/death

All characters that appeared in the Tokyo Revengers manga and anime belong to Ken Wakui.

Words: 4431

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“You are aware of the fact that Takara Kitagawa was the prosecutor who showed up at the scene where both Jun Takenaka and Saburo Sasaki’s bodies were found.” You said after a long moment of silence as you headed towards the building that belonged to Nagasawa.

“I thought about that too.” Okumura replied to you in a gloomy tone, keeping both hands in his coat pockets. “Although it looks suspicious in the first case, we can’t be sure until we find any evidence that the guy was actually involved in all of this.”

“From previous statements from the brothel employees, Uncle Shou is a regular customer. His status could almost be described as a VIP.”

“Do you know what that means?” Your partner asked after a moment. “He has a complete advantage over them, now that Jun is dead, and he personally made sure of it. As long as they have something on Nagasawa, Kitagawa can do whatever he wants with the prostitutes. Especially if he wants to have Riku exclusively. He is young, naive, and if the elder Takenaka was telling the truth about Haji, the boy has lost any protection. It is not certain whether Jin Nagasawa will leave prison on the earlier date that was previously changed to him.”

You didn't like what you heard, but Okumura was right. Sanzu told you that as long as the brothels were profitable, they didn't interfere in their internal conflicts. This wouldn't be any different, especially now that it was revealed who was leaving them such large amounts of money...

"I trust Takenaka, but like he said. We need to have hard evidence on the guy. Then we can figure something out." You said, small puffs of steam escaping your lips. The air was starting to get colder. "Maybe Tomoko can find out if there are other, more useful connections between Bonten and Kitagawa. If the syndicate benefits from him other than just cash, we'll have a problem."

“Fucking shit.” Shinji grumbled and after a moment you stopped in front of the entrance to the appropriate building, in front of which stood the young man you had seen on your previous visit to this place.

“Good evening gentlemen.” He greeted you cheerfully, and an encouraging smile appeared on his pretty face. “It's so chilly today, maybe you gentlemen could come inside to warm up a bit and...” He winked at you. “Maybe you could try a little caressing to reduce stress?”

“What audacity.” Okumura replied, trying to sound offended, but there was that glint in his eyes and the encourager laughed melodiously before opening the door for you and gesturing for you both to come in.

The interior hadn’t changed much since your last visit, though despite the fact that you hadn’t managed to meet Junko Yoshioka in this reality, you got the impression that her influence was starting to fade.

Beautifully made-up young men sat in comfortable armchairs or entertained still undecided customers, among whom you noticed two women, and one dressed in a short silk dressing gown was trying to arrange a bouquet of fresh red roses in a vase.

Your eyes automatically began to sweep around the room, and it took you a moment to realize what they were looking for. With the blonde-haired Anna nowhere to be seen, you assumed that Riku was either already busy serving customers or had gone to town.

“How can we serve you gentlemen tonight?” A pleasant, warm voice that sounded almost entirely feminine greeted you, and a black-haired man approached you, whom you immediately recognized as Katsuro Wada.

Today, he was dressed in a satin dress that hugged his shapely body enough that your eyes involuntarily slid to the lower parts of his body, and you were surprised to notice... the absence.

“My eyes are higher, Detective L/n.” The man joked lightly and you felt your ears start to heat up. “Just a trick. They’re still there.”

Okumura laughed shortly at that explanation, and you pressed your lips together tightly in a thin line, looking into Katsuro’s eyes for a split second.

“Sorry.” You cleared your throat. “We have come for an important matter and if I may ask Haji…”

“He's not here. He's in an important meeting, but I'm covering for him, so..." He pointed to the door leading deeper into the building, probably to the office of the manager of the entire establishment, and you and Okumura followed him.

“He left you without protection?” Your partner asked as soon as the room door closed.

With a heavy sigh, Katsuro walked around the dark wooden desk and sat behind it. He put his elbows on the counter and rested his head on them.

“You have no fucking idea.” He said in a quieter voice. “It’s not good. Shou came back at the beginning of the week and brought us this.” His eyes fell on an envelope lying nearby.

“What is this?” Okumura asked, reaching for the envelope and pulling out an official letter. As soon as you looked at it, you knew what it was. “Wait a minute. They won’t let him out because he fought?” Shinji asked in disbelief, and you looked at a worried Katsuro.

“We don't know anything about it, when did it happen?” You asked, frowning slightly.

“From what others say, never.” He replied, tapping his cheek lightly with his finger. “It's easy for the bastard to make up stories and stretch the facts. Jin's return would mess with his plans too much.”

“What does this Shou guy want?” You asked.

“Shares.” Wada folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, leaning harder against the back of the chair. “He has deals with Haji, and the management is happy with this additional cooperation.”

“We suspect who the guy is and if we’re right, then these deals are just bluffs.” Okumura said, putting the envelope back in its place. “Do you have any footage of him?”

“No.” The other answered, but as soon as his hand lifted and his fingers began to gently twist one of the gold earrings he had in his ear, you understood.

The office was bugged, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that there was a camera installed somewhere.

You looked at your partner and seeing his look, you knew that he understood the message too.

"Okay. Too bad." Shinji sighed. "Can you tell us more about what Jun Takenaka might have had on him on the day of his death? Who was he supposed to meet?"

"I've already told you everything I know." Katsuro replied, standing up from his seat and walking closer. "Our employees don't know anything more either." He reached for your arm and ran his hand over it with such certainty that you looked at him in surprise. "But enough about sad things. Maybe you gentlemen will be tempted to relax for a moment?" He asked in an enticing voice, while moving closer to you enough that you felt the warmth of his body.

“We'll pass this time.” Okumura laughed and Wada made a sad face - for show, then laughed, moving away from you to an arm's length. “Thank you for talking to us, and if Haji would like to talk, please contact us directly.”

“Of course. I regret that I couldn't be of more help.” He said, looking you straight in the eye briefly but intensely. “I just have a small request...”

“Yes?”

“I know the police aren't taxis, but...”

“Are we supposed to take some troublemaker away?” Okumura asked, amused.

“Riku.” Came the reply. “He needs a quick ride to a meeting with a client.

“Seriously?” Shinji asked, losing his temper and you frowned.

“Where?” You asked shortly, sensing that he was referring to something else.

“Oh, the nightclub. It’s on the way to your police station.”

“No…”

“Fine.” You cut him off and Okumura glared at you sharply, which you ignored.

“Thank you. Please wait outside, I'll bring him... I don't want our customers to think the boy did something wrong. After all, he's our best good.” Katsuro threw lightly and you left the office.

“What the fuck was that, L/n?” Your partner asked as you waited outside, a few meters from the entrance to the building. “Have him call a taxi.”

“He would, he's not stupid.” You replied to him, reaching into the pocket of your coat, where you found something that wasn't there before. You pulled out a small object and showed it to Shinji, whose pupils dilated slightly. “Something's up and I don't think Riku is heading to a meeting with a client.”

“Okay...” The man mumbled, taking the flash drive from your hand and starting to look at it. “So, Wada doesn't trust the assistant manager either.”

“Why would he trust him?”

“Ah, here you are gentlemen.” Katsuro's voice interrupted you and as soon as you looked in his direction, your heart stopped for a split second. “You'll go with the detectives, honey.” He adjusted the fur collar of the boy's coat, who was looking at his shoes. “Be a good boy and bring us as much profit as you can, right?”

Riku nodded and Katsuro kissed him lightly on the cheek in farewell before letting go and the young man approached you quickly, avoiding eye contact.

Okumura let him into the car and started the engine, but before you got in, you looked back at the black-haired man's face, you saw a seriousness on it that you didn't like at all.

You nodded and got into the car, and as soon as you fastened your seatbelt, Okumura pulled out into traffic.

"Where should we take you, kid?" He asked in a calm tone, and you looked through the side mirror at Riku sitting in the back.

“Huh?” The boy looked at him in surprise. “Katsu didn’t say?”

“A nightclub on the way to the police station.”

“Ah… No… I mean, yes…” He was slightly confused and shook his head. “Sorry. It's not a nightclub; it's more of a café..."

“Huh?”

“What's going on, Riku?” You asked, turning slightly so you could look him in the eye.

“Katsu didn't quite explain what happened. It's just that Haji canceled the subscriptions.”

“What subscriptions?” Okumura asked.

“On me.” Riku said as calmly as if it was about a magazine subscription. “He said I was going to the VIP area where someone would buy me out.”

“Where are you going?” Okumura asked again, but you knew from the tone of his voice that if Riku said something equally absurd, the man would stop the car regardless of the traffic.

“Maybe we should hold off on further questions and go somewhere where we can talk in peace, yeah?” You suggested, looking at your partner.

“No problem.” The other replied and you looked back at the young man. “Riku, what happened to you?”

“Excuse me?” He asked innocently, but his hand pulled the fur collar of his coat tighter over one cheek.

“Don’t lie.”

“H-Haji hit me.” He replied shyly and you looked at Okumura.

“Stop.” You said coldly and the black-haired man looked at you in surprise.

“What?”

“Stop somewhere right now, Okumura.” You repeated and the man pulled into an empty parking space.

Shinji looked at you slightly confused, although irritation was starting to appear in his eyes, but you ignored it and turned back to the boy sitting in the backseat.

“Do you need something cold as a compress?”

“No... Katsu helped me. It's fine now, it's almost invisible.” He tried to explain himself, but that only irritated you more.

“I noticed and others will too, Riku. When did that happen?”

“Before he left for the meeting... Three hours ago?” The boy wondered again, gently pulling the fur of his collar over his cheek. “It doesn't even hurt anymore, really...”

“I’ll be right back.” You informed your partner and got out of the car, then headed to the nearby vending machine.

After a short while, you returned to the vehicle with a very cold bottle of water and after wrapping it in your scarf so as not to freeze the embarrassed boy’s face, you handed it to him.

“Put this on the swelling.” You said in a tone that brooked no argument and Riku listened to you. “Your cheek is swollen more than you think, and no amount of makeup will hide it.”

“Thank you.” The other mumbled, and you heard a quiet, irritated snort from the driver’s side. “Can we go now? I don’t want to be late.”

“I'd rather you go home to your mother.” You voiced your opinion, then added. “And most of all, you should quit prostitution and go back to school.”

The boy’s delicate eyebrows furrowed, and Shinji pulled back into traffic.

“You are neither his father nor his legal guardian, L/n. This is his life.” Okumura said and despite your nerves, you agreed with him, but the man turned to the boy. “Which doesn’t change the fact that my partner is right, kid. You are a minor and believe me, we could easily cause your mother a problem with your case.”

“Mr. Okumura…” Riku looked at him, but the black-haired man didn’t let him finish.

“There are subsidies for the medications you need, and from what I’ve gathered, your family qualifies for them.” You looked at the driver in surprise. You had no idea he had checked anything regarding the boy accompanying you. “The only condition is your education.”

Riku had nothing to say to that. He curled up in his seat, and although his small face showed irritation, he didn’t try to argue.

You turned around in your passenger seat again and watched the road through the windshield. More questions were starting to appear in your head that Okumura would have to answer once you were alone.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of your phone and when you looked at the screen, you saw that it was Tomoko calling. At first, you thought that it had to do with Bonten, especially Haruchiyo. Maybe she wanted to warn you about something that Mochizuki had mentioned to you not so long ago?

“Yes?” You answered the call and heard quiet conversations on the other end, as if from a distance.

“Where the fuck are you?” The woman's voice didn't sound very nice and for a moment you felt like a little boy who had caused trouble again.

“On the way to...the café?” You answered and the woman cursed again.

“Then hurry up. Tell Okumura to speed up or you will be late.”

“Wait, what are you talking about, Tomoko?”

“You have to bring the boy here. The client will be here soon.”

“What do you have to do with this?” You felt your blood start to boil. “What do you want from him? This is someone from Bonten's idea? What client?”

“You ask way too many questions and don’t use that tone with me, do you understand? You have to do the fucking thing and if you fail at it, I will deal with you personally. You and Okumura. You have 5 minutes.” She hung up and Shinji gave you a brief, confused look.

"What have I done again?" He asked as you tucked your phone into your coat pocket.

“Riku?” You turned to the boy who still looked nervous, almost offended by what you and Shinji had said so far. For a moment you were curious about which of you he was angrier at. “What do you know about the client?”

The boy shrugged and you thought he wouldn’t answer you.

“Haji told me to meet him, but when I was alone with Katsu, he told me that everything would be fine as long as I listened to Ko-chan.” The other grumbled and even more confusion appeared in your head.

“What does Tomoko have to do with the brothel?” Okumura asked loudly and you gave him a short, careful look. And what doesn’t she have?

“Don’t ask me... I don’t know anything...”

“Katsu said Ko-chan will help me.” The boy added, moving the cold bottle away from his cheek and gently touching his skin with his fingers, then whimpered quietly. “Cold...”

There was silence again for a moment, but you knew it wouldn't be for long. You could easily feel the tension growing.

"L/n..." Okumura began calmly, but you raised both hands slightly without even looking at him.

"I don't know anything, Okumura. Seriously."

"Okay, okay... I believe you. You're bad at keeping secrets... That's why Tomoko doesn't tell you much."

“Hey…” You looked at him offended, but… Maybe that was why your sisters kept so many secrets from you? Were you really that bad at it?

You frowned slightly and when you stopped in front of your destination, you saw a dark-haired woman standing nearby, waiting for you with a scowl.

No.

Okay, maybe you talked too much sometimes, but you knew how to keep a secret. Otherwise, you would have been sitting on the other side of the bars long ago instead of walking the streets of the city...

You got out of the car and the woman immediately approached you. She helped Riku out and pushed aside his collar, which he still hid his cheek behind. She looked at him critically and shook her head with pursed lips in displeasure.

“Okay, run inside and sit at the empty table at the end of the room.” She gave him an order and the boy quickly did as she told him.

“What’s going on?” Okumura asked cautiously.

“This shouldn’t be me doing this but someone from you.” She said, giving you and your partner a cold look. “The problem is that the kid belongs and literally belongs to Bonten. He’s their property and I had to take care of it so I wouldn’t ruin my relationship with the gang.”

“What action?” You became interested, feeling that the case could turn out to be really interesting, and since your sister was taking care of it, it would be brought to an end quickly and efficiently.

“His mother is to be charged with pimping.” She said with a nasty smile, and you already knew that your dear sister was taking the purest pleasure from this.

“Riku's pimp is Jin Nagasawa, or rather Haji currently, not to mention the whole of Bonten.” Shinji said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, which he offered to you and Tomoko.

The woman laughed briefly, lighting a cigarette. “You can't even imagine. I found out - and we have evidence that the dear Mrs. Yokota made a deal with Nagasawa's boss, that they were to give her a certain percentage of the services performed by her son.”

“The money was needed for medicine for Riku...” You started, but seeing the amusement in Tomoko's eyes, you fell silent. “No?”

“No. The boy is not sick. Mommy was poisoning him.”

“He fainted and ended up in the hospital. His mother was worried about him and reported him missing because her child had not returned home.” Okumura reminded her, and the woman took a calm drag on her cigarette, then just as calmly and slowly exhaled the smoke, her lips stretching slightly into a gentle, albeit not very pleasant, smile.

“We have the test results from the hospital. That bitch was worried about the baby because she gave him too much mixed with a substance that was supposed to cause...” A giggle escaped her lips, which she tried to suppress. “Which was supposed to cause safer sex. You know, to reduce the risk of getting infected with anything. Do you understand how absurd that is? God, this kid is so sweetly naive, it's unbelievable that it's even possible.”

You and Shinji stood motionless, completely stunned by the information that Tomoko had just given you. You thought that things like this only happened in movies, and in low categories at that, but as you could see...

“What does Bonten say?” You asked and the woman looked at you carefully, almost warningly.

“They quoted the price. It’s very high because the boy brings in a lot of profit, but after the police got interested in everything, they don’t want to make it too difficult to buy him out.”

“They can give him back and it will be over.” The black-haired man snorted, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“And give up ¥270k a month?” Tomoko asked, raising an eyebrow. “Forget it. Riku Miyajima has actually been working for them for almost two years. He gets more money while he’s a minor, do you understand the situation, Okumura?” You grimaced, feeling angry and you knew Shinji felt the same way. “They agreed to sell him because they don’t want to get in trouble because of him. Although on the other hand, he gives them some good material to blackmail their clients with... I won’t lie, it must have been a hard decision for them.”

“I thought Junko got him into prostitution.” You said, watching your sister put out her cigarette.

“Takenaka just took him in. The young man started out as a freelancer, but in the Bonten sub-group, so he had to give them a cut. That's where it all started. Someone got interested, passed everything on to the higher-ups, and Riku was assigned to Nagasawa's brothel. End of story.”

“What's next?” Okumura asked.

“Focus on your own case.” The woman answered him, moving toward the entrance to the cafe. “Leave that to me and the others.”

You were left alone on the sidewalk with Okumura, and only a few pedestrians passed you every now and then. Your brain was still trying to process everything that had happened that day and you still weren't sure if your sister wasn't giving you a shit.

"Fuck..." Shinji finally muttered, taking one last drag on his cigarette before putting it out and starting to head back to his car. "I don't envy the kid. He'll find out his life is ruined in a moment."

“I hope he pulls himself together and gets back on his feet.” You added as you followed the man, and as soon as you buckled your seatbelt and Shinji pulled out into traffic once again, you noticed you forgot something. “Shit, he took my scarf.”

“Oh my.” Okumura mumbled as he continued driving unfazed, before adding. “Right. You’re very observant, L/n.”

“What?”

“I personally didn’t notice his cheek. It wasn’t that swollen, you know?”

“Huh?”

“How did you know what to look for?”

“He was strangely subdued, so I knew right away that something was wrong.”

“Strangely subdued? How am I supposed to understand that? You talked to him, how many times? Twice?” Okumura asked carefully, and you swallowed harder, knowing perfectly well where the detective’s thoughts were just starting to flow.

“Three. I also met him in the city and he was more cheerful and open. When you were exposed to violence as a child, you know what to look out for, Okumura.” You explained as best you could at that moment.

“Uh-huh.” The man nodded slightly. “I know, I know. I understand. But seriously now. You started to like him, didn’t you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You turned your head sharply in his direction, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine. “He’s a kid.”

“But he’s your type. Petite, pretty... Girly...” He started counting on his fingers, although his gaze was still focused on the road.

“He’s underage.”

“I know, I know... But if he wasn’t.” You stopped at a red light, and he looked at you carefully, although the corners of his mouth twitched slightly upward. “Tell me the truth. If he was an adult, would you be interested? Don’t try to excuse yourself with the fact that he’s a prostitute, because I know exactly how you feel about them. I see people in them too, but you’ve always seen much more in them than others.”

“Okumura...” You started, but you fell silent involuntarily, to which the man responded with a gentle smile and a quiet sigh.

He turned his head forward and shook it slightly. “Oh, L/n... You are such a simple and obvious guy with too much heart. You need to work on lying, because you are completely useless at it.”

“What do you think, Okumura, when Bonten lets Riku go, where will he go?” You tried to gently change the subject, and your partner sighed heavily.

“I have no idea. I would say juvenile detention, but the bastards would make mincemeat out of him.” He said again, taking on a serious tone. “He won’t be able to stay alone, that’s for sure. Maybe social services will give him a foster home or send him to another facility.”

“Do you believe in that? In social services?” You asked, grimacing in distaste. “If he was younger, they would put him in an orphanage and not get their hands dirty anymore. The boy worked for the syndicate as a sex worker, he’ll be screwed for the rest of his life if they get involved.”

“Unfortunately, this is no longer our problem and you know it, Y/n.” Okumura's tone of voice betrayed a certain disappointment. “No matter what, don't get involved in this. You have no such obligation, do you understand?”

“I also have no conditions. I understand, I understand. I had no such intention, really.”

“Now we have to focus on Takenaka. We saw the paper that Nagasawa will not be released on an earlier date for the fight, which Wada claims never happened. We need to visit the prison warden and ask about everything, and it would be good to talk to the prisoner himself again. Since he was forbidden to talk to our colleagues, maybe he will tell us something more.”

Okumura was right and to be honest, you had a strange feeling that this was all a setup as a punishment for Jin Nagasawa. Maybe he said a few too many words and became too much of a threat?

Exactly...

“Shall we go back and check what's on the flash drive?” You asked and Okumura, who had focused on driving again, gave you a quick look.

“I have a feeling I should make an extra copy.” He said and a shiver ran down your spine.

You bit your cheek lightly from the inside and nodded. “Shall we go to my place?”

“Sure...” He glanced at the watch on his wrist, which showed 9:26 p.m. “Just call Mimiko for me and tell her I'll be home even later. Don't let her worry.”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x y/n #male reader #tokyo revengers haruchiyo sanzu #haruchiyo sanzu #haruchiyo sanzu x reader

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