#holy FUCK he looks scuffed on mobile

[laotwormz]

tiny. thanks

[beerecordings]

“You think you know what pain is?” Henrik to Anti. ;)

okay… I am proud to report…. I have this done.

Bee why did it take you so long??? CAUSE I WAS OBSESSED WITH IT FOR WEEKS OH MY GOSH I LOVE THIS STORY. look it is unpolished AF alright maybe the most unpolished fic i’ve ever posted but that is okay cause i love it and I’m proud of it and if i want to clean it up later i can! also! you should know it is very long! so buckle up if’n you want to read it!

can you believe i wanted to have this done for schneep week i’m so late… but i loved writing it. thank you for requesting nikkil!!

Warnings for major abuse, blood and torture, pneumonia, and hypnosis with mild sexual themes (Anti kisses, strokes, at one point runs his hand over Jameson’s stomach. That’s the worst of it but no read if it will be too creepy)

Since writing this, I used it to create a story-blog about a variation of these characters (though this scene is not canon to that universe) called @my-brothers-corrupted. Feel free to check it out.

The Missing Piece

Citylights rush like wind across the glass of the window, casting him,intermittently, in gold and in darkness.

Doktorstares down at his feet.

Thedirty silver floor of the bus rattles against his torn up dress shoesas he shuffles uncomfortably, trying not to let his shoulder brushagainst that of the sleeping stranger at his side. Above the smell ofsweat and someone’s heavy magnolia perfume, the smoke of the citycurls around him in a gasoline purr, staining his mouth with thetaste of engines and fast food, dripping down his throat to sit inhis lungs, in his chest, near to his slow-moving heart.

Hewishes he had the strength to be annoyed.

Mosteveryone on the bus is silent, pressed against the backs of theirchairs or the cool, vibrating window panes, worn into quietude bylong days and long journeys. It’s late and everyone would rather beat home, asleep.

Doktorwishes he could sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep.Sleep and sleep and not wake up again.

Themissing piece is the only one who seems to have any energy.

Glancingacross the aisle, Doktor’s eyes land on the boy’s black dress shoes,tapping rapidly against the floor. Higher up, he sees his worn handsgripping hard at the thighs of his slacks, clenching and unclenchinghis fists around the soft fabric. There is blood on his whitebutton-up shirt, but it is dark enough that no one has noticed. Smallmercies.

Jamesoncoughs frailly. His head is still but his eyes flicker wildly aroundthe bus, like the rolling pupils of a horse trapped in a house onfire. Henrik supposes he’s looking for help. For comfort. Foranything and anyone to save him.

Poorthing.

Jamesoncoughs again, a little louder. Doktor realizes he is doing it onpurpose, trying to attract attention to himself. Not easy with aguard dog at your side. Doktor shoots him a warning glare and thensits back, trying not to look at him.

Buthis hands are making a small sign, over and over again, shaking butdetermined, stiff but desperate –

“S,”signs Jameson, his mouth quivering. “C. H – ”

Ahand shoots out to snatch his wrist and Jameson jumps hard, curlingback against the seat of the chair, his face losing color in therapid-passing shadows of the city rushing past.

Redsqueezes the missing piece’s wrist so hard Doktor knows it willbruise black. Then he leans in, close enough that his hood brushesagainst Jameson’s downy brown hair, and he whispers – in words onlyheard by his brothers – with a voice so harsh as to cut the ear –

“Youso much as lift a finger and I will deliver your corpse to thedumpster personally.”

Thelight of a nearby casino rushes over the bus. Jameson’s tears areilluminated in gold.

“AmI understood?”

“Yes,”knocks Jameson, biting hard on his lip.

Redlets him go in silence and sits back.

Doktorsits back too.

Theyare just passengers like everyone else.

Amemory flashes across him the same way the lights do, here and thenleft behind in an instant.

Heremembers, with a nauseating effort of the will, a happier day, withJameson perched at his side just the same. His face was full of joyand he was smiling at him, his hands moving in rapid words now lessthan half-remembered. Their train raced past little white sheep inlittle green pastures, and Jameson spent half the trip staring at thewindow, slumping back occasionally to rest against Doktor’s shoulder.He was as warm as an engine against him, healthy, whole, andunharmed. He called him by a name Doktor can no longer recall.

Hecan’t remember where they were going or why. But he seems to rememberthat joy.

Thedarkness swallows him whole again. He closes his eyes and tries toforget.

It’seasier, these days, to obey.

It’seasier not to remember.

Thisis a time of pain.

Steppinginto the reach of the monster is a relief so heavy it is bettercompared to opium than home-coming. Outside Anti’s power there isconfusion, fear, guilt, and doubt above all else. Within it?

Doktorsteps across the thresh-hold of the abandoned house where they havetaken refuge and breathes in deep, shuddering hard as the darknesssteals back inside of him.

Bliss,bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss –

Hewishes he could spend every second of the rest of his life in thevery heart of Anti’s control, mindlessly numb, overwhelminglycontent, but unfortunately there is only so far his master canstretch, and so whenever he is sent away on missions like this one,he does his best to return home quickly.

Jamesonseems less relieved to enter the run-down little house. His wide eyesstare at the room around him, flickering over squirming rats andpatches of white mold patterned along the walls, until at last hisgaze lands on Trickshot, and he stiffens as though impaled.

Trickstares right back.

“Holyshit,” he whispers, and then his mouth breaks into a smile coldenough to re-freeze icebergs. “You found the little mouse. Donerunning, bitch?”

Jamesonflinches, turning his gaze away. Trickshot gets to his feet,approaching easily and grabbing JJ’s chin, lifting his face up to thelight.

“C?”signs Jameson frantically, forgetting his guardian for a moment.“What’s happened to – ”

Redsnatches his hands and yanks him towards his chest, throwing him offbalance and then shoving him hard to the ground, where nails and anundrying moisture found perpetually on the wooden slats of the floorpress against his palms. Jameson, mouth open with pain, gasps andcrawls backwards, clutching at the wounds from the fight –

Trickshotgrabs the boy by the back of his shirt and drags him to his feet.

Punishedfor speaking, Jameson makes good use of his large eyes instead,staring at what was once his brother with an undeniably agonizeddesperation in his eyes, reaching out to cling to the soft fabric ofthe torn grey shirt Trickshot wears.

“Getthe fuck off me,” snaps Trick in a voice so thin he can barely beheard, shoving his hands away. He decides to grip his hair instead ofhis shirt and Jameson scrambles as the pressure on his scalp pullshim onto his tip-toes, his face contorting with pain.

“Poorlittle thing,” purrs Trick in a babying voice, still rasping fromhis purple-bruised throat, using his spare hand to grab Jameson’schin and tilt his head up to what little light comes from theflickering overhead. “You beat him to hell, Hoodie!”

Theirony of this is that Trick is hardly better off himself. For everybruise, broken bone, and cut that Jameson’s body took tonight, thereis at least one match on Trickshot’s skin. His master has not beenkind to him. When it comes to a hierarchy, they all know whereTrickshot falls – the very bottom of the pack.

Tricktries to lift Jameson off his feet, but a sudden bout of coughingforces him to let his brother go. He doubles over, shaking handsclutching at his aching chest, and coughs so deep and so hard that itsounds as though pieces of bone are being shaken off his ribs.

Doktorwatches wearily, a little irritated. One more sickness he’s going tobe expected to fix. Red reaches over to smack the back of his head.“Do something, Deutsch!”

Yelping,Doktor grabs his smarting skull and staggers away, well wary of Red’stemper. “No medicine,” he whispers, scuffing his way towards theother room.

“Oh,that’s your fucking excuse? You’re supposed to be a doctor!”

Doktorhides his face in his hands, cowering against the wall, but all Reddoes is roll his eyes and turn away, shoving Trick to the side. Heheads toward the stairs, his victory only barely soured by hisbrothers’ stupidity. “Master, I found him!” he calls, smiling ashe moves down, down into the darkness of the basement. “I broughthim back for you!”

Removinghis hands from his eyes, Doktor turns to see if Jameson is afraid,but there is nothing in his eyes but worry. He’s helping Trickshot tostay standing, rubbing warmly at his chest. Trick does not have thestrength to push him away.

Andthen the darkness is upon them.

Jamesonwhirls wildly, his fighter’s hands out-stretched. Doktor catchessight of Trickshot staggering away, retreating from Anti’s attention.He knows it would be safer for him to run too, but he needs Antiright now – needs something to extinguish these thoughts in hishead – pity and guilt and concern, all useless remnants of a timewhen Jack was the one who pulled his strings.

Heneeds Anti to make his brain stop asking his mouth to say, Jameson,I’m sorry, run, now, while there’s still time –

“Arzt,”calls Anti’s voice, a whisper that echoes from every side, and Doktorjumps to attention, staring around him. “Bring my new little puppydown here.”

Jamesondoesn’t turn to run fast enough. Doktor’s grip on his wrist is tightas a blood pressure cuff.

“H-E-N-R,”he begs, and Doktor grabs his other hand and begins yanking himtowards the basement, dragging him across cold cement and oldbloodstains.

“Doctor,doctor, doctor,” signs Jamie again and again, using what littlemobility his hands have. He has begun to cry. Doktor will not look athim. Cannot look at him. “It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, brother,brother.”

“Child,be silent,” Doktor whispers.

Henever does anything more than whisper these days.

“Youwill only make this harder.”

Hedrags Jameson down to his master.

“Wereyou a good boy?”

“Iwas such a good boy,” Red swears, collapsed against Anti’s chest,his eyes shining with adoration. “I was so, so good. I brought himback to you, right back to you.”

“Yeah,you took good care of me.”

“Itook good care of you, you’ll be safe now. All the threats are gone.”

Red’seyes well with tears and he chokes, so overwhelmed with love that fora moment he cannot breathe at all. He shudders and puts his head downon Anti’s shoulder, stroking a hand through his hair. “I was nevergoing to let anything hurt you,” he promises, a sacred whisper.

“Iknow,” Anti soothes, running the flat edge of his blade alongJackie’s throat. “I know you weren’t, good boy.”

“Littlebrother,” hums Hoodie, daring to plant a kiss on Anti’s cheek.“Little brother. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Iwant to ask you something.”

“Yes,Anti.”

“What’sthe boy’s name?”

“JamesonJackson, Anti.”

“Jackson,do you like that?”

“Um,I don’t know. Do I?”

“Isthere anything you could shorten that to?”

“LikeJack?”

“Yeah,you could shorten it to Jack. Or maybe Jackie, would that be good?”

“Doyou want me to call him Jackie?”

Antigrins, dark and sweet.

Victorytastes like blood.

“No,sweetheart,” he purrs, pinching Red’s cheek. “Just wanted tocheck if that meant anything to you. You did so well today. You canhave something to eat tonight. Alright, time’s up. Get up. Good boy.Go sit with kitty for a minute.”

Simmeringwith pride, Red makes his way to the corner of the room and sits downat Blue’s side. The cat is sleeping, chained tightly to the wall, tooexhausted to wake up even for a newcomer. Red curls up fondly at hisside, playing with a length of his brother’s hair.

“Doc,”calls Anti warmly. “You come here.”

Doktorstartles, turning to look at Anti, adorned in blood on his throne, arotting wood chair in the basement. At his feet, Jameson Jackson isso unconscious Doktor cannot see his chest moving for air.

Antiattacked him like a shark in a frenzy.

Heldhim up in front of Doktor and Red and Blue one at a time and askedhim, mocking, which one of his big brothers would be the one to savehim now.

Promisedhim that it would be only a few days before he, too, was swallowedwhole by Anti’s power, begging like an animal for attention andaffection.

Beathim until his whole face was slicked in blood and bruises.

ButJameson did not beg or cry or complain. He took it with courage.Doktor remembers, very distantly, a time when he was more courageoustoo. Someone was torturing him, he remembers, but he tried so hardnot to give in. The details are slipping away from him.

“Deutsch,”calls Anti, a warning in his voice now. He does not like to wait.

Doktorhurries to his side.

“Howabout you?” he asks, getting up from his throne. He steps overJameson’s fingers. Doktor winces at a cracking sound. “Were you agood boy today?”

Whitewith terror and relief – Doktor does not know how he can besimultaneously so happy and so scared to see someone – he manages asmall nod, trying to smile.

“Youbrought the missing piece back to me, didn’t you?”

Anothernod. He can’t breathe. He wants to drown. With shaking hands, hereaches out, desperate for some comfort.

“Youdid well,” murmurs Anti, and takes him in his arms.

It’slike crashing into a river when you don’t know how to swim. But thewater is warm and he is little more than a corpse in its grip,sliding forward in Anti’s hands, a low groan trembling its way out ofhis mouth.

“Idid well,” he whispers. “I did, I did, I did…”

Henearly trips over Jameson and his eyes flicker down over his body,his poor face shattered into bone and blood, an agony written uponhis silent mouth even in sleep, and he is small and thin and so veryworn, still injured from the battle with Red, which must have hurthim in more ways than one –

“Doktor.”Anti has his mouth close to his ear, holding him tight. “You focuson me. Focus on master, there’s my good boy. You like being here withme?”

Doktorsways in place, swallowed by a wave of dizziness. “Yes, of course.”

Antitakes his chin gently in his hand and lifts up his head. Deutschmeets his gaze and shudders, and then smiles, his eyes glazing over.

Anti’seyes are dark and endless, colder than the stomach of the ocean,deeper than philosophy. Doktor chokes, collapsing against him,gripping at his brother’s shirt.

Theday is slipping away from them. What did he even do all day? Wherewas he?

“Closeyour eyes,” whispers Anti.

Doktorobeys. He always obeys. There is no other way to live. Just drowning.Just drowning. Anti curls his fingers through the hair of his nape ofhis neck. Yanks just hard enough to hurt, but Doktor doesn’t careanymore.

“Oh,I’m so tired,” Doktor whispers.

“Iknow.”

“You’rethe only thing I care about.”

“Iknow, baby.” It tooks him months to perfect this, but it’s done.Doc was his, and then the others, and now – oh, and now, his lastlittle missing piece. Jameson will be his too, soon enough, soonenough. “But listen, I need you to do something for me.”

“Yes,Anti, anything.”

“Red,you listen too.”

Redjoins Doktor at Anti’s side. Jealousy stings through them both, butthey’ll bottle up the anger for later, taking it out on each other inunexpected blows and stitches tugged too tight.

“Ineed time with my new puppy. He has to be broken in. You two willkeep things running while I work. Okay?”

“Yes,Anti,” they promise in sync.

“Red,anyone gets too close or too suspicious, you’re the one who takescare of it, alright? Doc, I want you to clean this little bitch up atthe end of the day when I’m done with him. And get rid of Trickshot’sfucking cough. If I have to hear him wheezing anymore I’ll go chophis head off.”

“Yes,Anti.”

“Good,then. Kitty cat, go with your brothers, you’re boring me.”

Blueopens pained eyes and drags himself to his feet. There is blood inhis hair. Doktor doesn’t remember who attacked him. Red takes hisbrother under his arm and leads him towards the stairs, pausing togive Anti a winning smile.

Hashe always had those scars, scattered like cross-hatching across hisface? Doc doesn’t think so, but he can never remember anymore. He cannever remember anything.

Forjust a second, he sees as though before his eyes Red and Blue inanother life, both smiling like twins, healthy and whole, unscarredand reaching out to him, the third star in their triangulum, a littlefamily, completely whole.

Wasthere a time before Anti?

“Goon, Doc-Doc.”

“Yes,Anti. But are you sure… are you sure you don’t need anything?”

Antilooks up, anger flashing through his eyes. Doktor backs slowlytowards the wall, turning down his gaze.

Hedidn’t mean to question. It’s just that he’s a doctor. He’s supposedto look after his brothers.

AndAnti?

Antilooks exhausted to the core of his being.

Athis feet, blood is leaking from Jameson’s eyes.

“Can’tbelieve this,” grumbles Red, pacing around the room. “Can’tgoddamn believe this.”

“Justgive it to me,” rasps Doktor. “No use complaining.”

Fuming,Red hands over vaporub and cough medicine and stalks away again. Thedull light of the paneless windows cast him in a cold evening light.

“Idon’t feel good,” moans Trickshot, writhing with fever in Doktor’slap. “I don’t feel good, I don’t feel good, I don’t feel – ”

“Hush,”orders Doktor harshly, shaking his shoulders. “Hush, you will annoyAnti.”

Trickwhimpers and falls into silence, but his rough breaths are scratchingtheir painful way up from a chest that is heavy with infection.

“Thisis pathetic,” gripes Red, glaring down at his little brother. “Hecan’t keep getting sick like this. We could have spent that money onfood if he wasn’t such a little bitch.”

“Ican’t handle pneumonia without better equipment. He needs to go tothe hospital,” mumbles Doktor, wetting someone’s spare t-shirt withwhat little water they have and pressing it to his forehead, openingup the chest rub with his free hand.

“Shutthe fuck up,” snaps Red. “You know we can’t do that. Keep himalive.”

Doktorcloses his eyes, rocking gently back and forth over Trickshot’s body.He stopped screaming or weeping or breaking down a long time ago, andnow he just shivers and rocks and hides his face when he needscomfort, understanding that none will come.

Redand Trick tell him he’s losing his mind. But it’s better than livinglike they do, devolving into panic attacks on the daily, so desperatefor Anti’s attention that they can barely function without praise anddirect orders. And meanwhile, Blue…

Redgrits his teeth at the low sound of skin grating against wood. “Blue,cut it out,” he growls, stalking over to drag his brother’s wristsaway from the sharpest piece of rotting wall he can find in thehouse. Blue’s collar jangles as Red pulls him to his feet and moveshim away. “You can’t even kill yourself properly, can you, kitty?Hey, hey, come on, look me in the eyes, you can do it.”

“Don’tmake him,” sighs Doktor, rubbing Trickshot’s chest slowly. Hisbrother stills under his hands, mumbling Anti’s name in what could bedreams or nightmares.

Redsighs and sits down with Blue slumped against his shoulder, strokinghis hair absent-mindedly. Blue doesn’t respond. Blue never respondsanymore.

“Youshould be more concerned about Trickshot,” whispers Doktor, in arare show of defiance. “He’s not well.”

“Don’ttell me what to feel, Deutsch. Ask me, you’re both wastes of fuckingoxygen. Hey, maybe he will die! It could just be me and Blue andAnti… the kid too, I guess…”

Doktorshivers, clutching Trick closer to his chest. Sometimes he’s scaredRed will kill him. Then again, he knows better than anyone where hisweak spots are – the slash in his stomach that JJ gave him in theirfight, the pains in his back they never seem to go away, everytrigger to send him into babbling terror, his eyes blown wide withconfusion and distress, screaming about the memories he’s lost –

Well.He just hopes it doesn’t come to a fight.

Bluebegins coughing low, low in his chest, trembling against Red’sshoulder.

“Oh,not you too,” groans Red, squeezing him close. “Oh, oh, Anti willbe furious if his pet gets sick. Doktor, stop it. My twin…”

“I’mdoing my best with vaporub and cough drops,” growls Doktor, tryingto get some water into Trick’s mouth.

Downstairs,Anti begins shouting. All four of them flinch as one, and Trick’seyes flash open full of panic.

“I’msure he’s going to finish with Jameson soon,” says Red, with bothadoration and terror in his mouth. “Then he’ll be happier. He’sjust doing what’s best for him.”

“Anti,Anti,” cries Trick. Doktor doesn’t know if he’s calling for him orcalling for help. Blue has gone so stiff he could be a corpse,staring dead-eyed at the wall. If he thinks anything on his ownanymore, he doesn’t show it.

Thisis a house of pain.

Doktorstares at the pathway to the basement.

Thisis a house of pain.

Whydoes he stay?

Hisstrings are slipping.

Antigags on a wave of weakness and throws JJ hard to the earth, steppingdown on his throat and turning away, taking deep breaths while thelittle one chokes.

“Glitchbitch,” signs the boy, between useless attempts to shove the footoff his neck. “Bastard, monster, virus, asshole.”

“Stupidlittle puppy,” croons Anti, pressing down on his throat. “Stillacting like you can defy me.”

He’shad Jameson for three days. It’s going well with the missing piece.Everday Jameson slips closer to his control.

Butthe problem is he’s stretching himself too thin. Even the bestpuppet-master can only move so many toys at once. Corruption takespower. It takes energy. Anti is running out. But he just needs tobreak this last little creature, this last little puppet. Just onemore corruption. He will not fail now.

“Iwill defy you,” Jameson promises. Anti finally lets up on histhroat and he draws in huge gasping breaths, slumped against theconcrete.

“Youdo your brothers a disservice,” says Anti. “Don’t you know theysaid the same? And now, what are they? I will make a liar of you too,little doll.”

Thebasement is cold as gravestone. Anti is the heater in the middle ofit, radiating warmth too heavily without any of it transfering to theroom around him. The only way to share his heat is to be touched byhim.

Hetakes a deep breath. For once in his life he needs to keep his calm.He leans down and puts his hands on Jameson’s wrists, falling to hisknees to straddle his hips, pinning him down against the stingingcement.

Jamesonturns his face away but does not protest. He is losing strength witheach day that passes. Anti knows how weak to keep him to stop himfrom using his powers, cutting frequent blood out of his back andstriking his aching head several times a day. He has not slept oreaten and any attempt to change the course of time will destroy him.He’s considering it.

Themoments where Anti tries to drag him under have become warm relief inthe middle of the torture.

“Comehere, baby,” purrs Anti, stroking his knuckles over his cheekbone,running his fingers across his mouth. “Come here, look at master.”

Jamesontries to get his hands together so he can sign the “h” thatbegins the word “hatred.”

Antigrabs a knife and slams it into Jameson’s shoulder. Pain sends hiswhole body into spasms, his body contorting with agony, his eyesrolling back in his head, and he is losing consciousness fast.

“It’sokay,” whispers a soft voice, and he knows it is Anti, but it couldso damn easily be any one of his brothers, torn away from him, couldbe Marvin or Henrik or Jackie or Chase –

Heis crying so hard he cannot breathe. When was the last time anyonetouched him? All he’s done for months is run.

“It’sokay.” Anti is stroking his hair. Stroking his stomach. Strokinghis wrists. He’s been starving to be touched and Anti is wonderfullywarm, even if his nails are overgrown and his teeth are just a littletoo sharp and one of his eyes is venomously black, a single greeniris shining down on Jameson’s smoke-grey face. “I’m sorry, I knowthis is scary. But listen, you’re going to be with your brotherssoon, right? You’ve missed them. Haven’t you?”

Hehas, he has, he’s been so lonely, he nods –

“Iknow,” sighs Anti, putting a firm pressure on Jameson’s shoulders,making his collarbone ache. He smells of blood and sleep. “Iunderstand. I can see every part of you, you know. I understandeveryone and everything. It will be so easy, once you’re mine. I’lltake that pretty clock and tie you up like Marvin and you can be mylittle puppy. No one will ever hurt you again. You won’t have to feelanything but this.”

Andwarmth and joy and relief and love come crashing over Jameson like ahigh, come flowing down the folds of his brain, trickling down histongue and down his throat, and he is melting like a witch in water,sinking down into Anti’s power –

“Openyour eyes,” calls a voice, gentle, gentle. He is held, carried,carressed. “Just open your eyes for me. Be a good boy. It’s alleasy after this. It will feel so wonderful. Open your eyes, Carver.”

That’snot his fucking name.

Justlike Doktor isn’t Henrik’s and Red isn’t Jackie’s and Trickshot isn’tChase’s and Blue isn’t Marvin’s, damn the glitch who stole his familyaway from him!

Hejerks up and slams his elbow into Anti’s nose, sending blood gushingfrom the demon’s nose. Falling back, Anti lets out a horrible screamof rage, the sound that metal makes as it grinds together, and thenhe is up again, coming forward again, holding a knife again, and whatcan Jameson do but cower?

“Iwill teach you pain,” Anti snarls. His teeth are gritted tight andhe no longer looks human. He is warm. He is too warm. He burns. “Iam pain and you will know me better than you know yourself, and then,before this is over, you will be mine, and forget the taste of yourown name, puppet kid.”

Doktordreams of bloodshed and video games.

Heholds a warm little computer mouse, shifting it across a pad on awooden desk. Everything is bright and clear and clean. He feels welland there is coffee next to his hand.

Fromthe speakers, a recorded cough and a splutter. A spray of simulatedblood hits the other side of the screen and Doktor adjusts in hisseat, reaching out to click on a button to order a lung exam for thepatient.

“Don’tworry now,” he narrates to the computer character, smiling at theblinking red eye of a camera near to his head. “The good Doktorwill make everything better, you will see!”

Thecharacter coughs again. Doktor realizes the game has not reacted tohis order. “Gah,” he growls, throwing up a hand and clicking onthe button again. “Come on, dumb machine.”

Still,the game does not respond. The character coughs and then groans,doubling over for a moment, its face still drawn into an unmovingsmile, dead-eyed and cold.

“Gottverdammt,”hisses Doktor, clicking once, twice, thrice. How frustrating, to knowwhat needs to be done and be unable to do it.

“Stopcoughing,” he begs, as the character shivers. “I’m trying to fixit. I will not have you die.”

Thecharacter reaches up to touch its chin and then draws away again.Startled, Doktor recognizes the sign for “please.”

“I’mtrying,” he says. “I am, I’m trying. I’m doing my best. I’m doingwhat’s right. I am, I am.”

Heclicks the button. Clicks, clicks, clicks. Why won’t it goddamn load?

“Stopdying,” he cries, slamming the mouse against the computer. Thetaste of copper is filling up his own mouth. His chest aches. A waveof heat rushes over him like sunlight exploding over the earth in themorning light. “Please, I’m scared, don’t die.”

Heneeds to get out of the whole program – he should get out of thewhole program – but how can he leave his patient behind? The othersare too sick to run with him. He cannot go until he saves them. Hecannot lose them! The memory of joy is sudden and present in hismind, but only for an instant, and then it is swallowed whole againby this terrible pain, pain, pain –

“Please!Let me save him!” he screams, and the character, deaf to his cries,is begging “please, please, please” in return, coughing harderand harder and harder. Blood drizzles down the screen. Doktor reachesout to touch it and his fingers come away red now, perhaps not sosimulated after all. He strikes the side of the computer and shakesit and click, click, clicks, but nothing happens, nothing saves him.There is only the heat of the patient’s fever and the dry heaving ashe chokes on pneumonia, bent over, collapsing, and Doktor lashes outtoo suddenly and spills his coffee, only it is blood that pours downfrom the edge of the mug, filling up the room like a flood –

Hedoes not scream upon awakening. Only gags, and whimpers, and rocks inplace, tears drizzling down his face.

Trickshotis hot at his side, trembling, coughing, conscious. Across the room,Anti’s twins sleep side-by-side, hunger and fatigue making themghostly in the moonlight, Blue touching Red with an out-stretchedhand abandoned on his shoulder.

“Trick?”whispers Doktor, trying to ground himself again, trying to banish thedream. He would call it a nightmare but he’s had far worse. “Trick,why are you awake?”

It’sstill dark out. It often is. Doktor guesses it is around three.

“Whatdid you dream of?” mumbles Trickshot, staring up at him withover-bright eyes. “Something nice?”

Hesmiles a little flicker of a smile, his mouth trembling.

Doktorsighs, calming. Just a bad dream, right? He’s not stuck. He’s notfrozen. He can take care of his patients. “Should not speak of it,”he tells him, pulling him straighter up, to help him breathe.Coughing must be keeping him awake. “You are weak. Go back tosleep.”

“I– I feel very weak,” concedes Trickshot. He sniffles and tearscome running out of his eyes. Doktor presses a hand to his foreheadand finds him burning. “Do you think Anti will let me die? Do youthink he will kill me? Did you dream of something nice?”

“Stop,Trick, stop, stop.” Doktor smooths down a bandage hanging off hischeek from where somebody struck him hard enough to break flesh.“You’re delirious. Don’t upset yourself. Go back to sleep.”

“Something– b-bright and lovely, maybe something where you were happy, didyou dream of – did you dream of something – ”

Hebegins coughing and must clutch at his heart, curling in on himself,agony coursing through his body. “Did you dream of something nice?”he stammers out, wheezing, working himself swiftly towards a completebreakdown. “Did you dream of – ”

“Trick,stop!” snarls Doktor, grabbing him by the throat in a sudden flashof fury. Trick gags and whimpers, collapsing against the floor,shivering in the cold night air.

Doktorreleases his throat, a rare twinge of guilt making itself known inhis stomach. As apology, he reaches out and touches the side ofTrick’s head awkwardly, frowning down at his blueing mouth. “Youreally are so sick,” he whispers, brushing down a strand of hissweaty hair. “Poor thing.”

“Don’tfeel good.”

“Iknow. Why don’t you tell me what you dreamed of, huh? I don’t want totalk about my dreams but you can. Did you dream of something nice?”

Trickshotpauses, biting his lip, and then nods, tears welling again in hisbright blue eyes. “A baby,” he whispers.

“Ababy?”

“Alittle dark-haired baby, so, so warm, so, so beautiful, and I washolding him and I reached out and he wrapped his tiny little handaround my finger and fell asleep in my arms.”

Doktordidn’t mean to make him cry. Trickshot devolves into sobbing againsthis brother’s stomach, shaking with fever and grief alike.

“Quiet,quiet,” begs Doktor, gripping at his shoulder. “Don’t disturbhim, don’t make him angry.”

“Mybaby,” gasps Chase, growing closer to death. “I want my babies, Iwant my baby, where is he, where is he, where is he?”

“Stop,stop, don’t say such things, Anti will kill you.”

“Antiwill not give me my child back,” weeps Chase. “Not even thememory of him, not even his name. I can’t remember my baby.”

“Trick,”says Doktor. “Trick.”

Andthen there is the static warning of their brother’s appearance, andthey both stiffen like scarecrows, curling in on each other as theywait for him to turn shadows into form.

Glitchessplit the air around them and Trickshot pretends to be asleep againstDoktor’s stomach, near to passing out anyway. Cold static ringsthrough the air like a tornado warning.

“Cleanhim up.”

Antiis standing behind him so suddenly that Doktor nearly gasps aloud,rocking faster and faster. “C-clean Trickshot up?”

“No,you stupid little bitch,” snarls Anti. He grabs him by the hair andDoktor gasps hard enough to hurt the back of his throat, staggeringupright. “Jameson. In the room on the other side of the house. Go.Let him die and you cannot imagine the pain I will inflict upon you,am I understood? Darling?”

“Yes,Anti.”

“Go.”

Hereleases him and disappears back into the shadow.

Tricklies at his feet, trying not to cough. Blood stains the corner of hismouth.

Doktorreaches down to touch him – but no, he cannot care for him, notnow. He must go the missing piece.

Panting,he abandons Trick to his coughing and heads towards the spare room.They think it used to be a kitchen once, before the house was halfwaydemolished and then abandoned, but now there is nothing but missingtile and cockroaches and one drawer full of knives in the corner.There certainly isn’t any food.

Jamesonis chained to the porcelain body of what might have been a sink. Heslumps back against the clay, his chin fallen onto his chest. He isbreathing, but only slow, only thin.

Doktorapproaches.

Litteredwith wounds, frail as a broken-wing bird. He coughs. Doktor cleansgashes and stitches them back together, wipes away blood and wraps upbruises, relocates a broken wrist and makes the boy scream, his eyesrolling back in his head as he staggers about between consciousnessand shadow.

Hecoughs.

Doktorreaches out to touch his cheek.

Hecoughs.

Doktorswallows back memories of him.

Bright-eyedbrothers moving like light through a window, clean whole faces andthe steady rising and falling of the breast, a smile on the boy’sunspeaking mouth –

Hecoughs.

Hecoughs.

Hecoughs.

Doktorburies his face in his hands and rocks, rocks, rocks, cries until hecannot breathe either; listens, despairing, to the coughing of hisbrothers, scattered like weapons cast aside through Anti’s house.

Howcan this be worth it?

Howcan this pain be worth it?

Fromthe darkness, Anti is watching.

Doktorwas the first one to lose the fight to his power, and now he is thefirst to feel the strings loosening about his throat. Something mustbe done.

Buthe is too tired to drag Henrik back under.

“Givein.”

“Iwon’t.”

Bloodsplurts from Jameson’s throat. His mouth jerks open in a horriblesilent scream and he writhes in Anti’s grip, tearing at the handsaround his neck.

“Isthat the best you can do?” laughs Anti. He lets Jameson go, his armgrowing tired from holding him up, and the boy collapses like a pileof flesh. “Really, no sound at all? Can’t you wheeze or something?I’m bored.”

“Bitch,”signs Jameson. He rolls back and forth against the ground slightly,trying to work through the pain, trying to stop crying. He doesn’tknow how much more of this he can take.

“I’mabout to cut your hands off if you don’t watch your tongue,” Antiwarns, sitting down beside him and drawing his head into his lap.“Come on, can’t you whine or something?”

Jamesonis bewildered on top of irritated now. “What the fuck do you expectme to do? Regrow my vocal chords? I can’t vocalize.”

“Maybeyou’re not trying hard enough,” grins Anti.

Exhausted,exasperated, pissed, Jameson holds up his middle finger and lets thatspeak for him.

Antihums and leans in close. Jameson shivers as he’s kissed, Anti’s mouthrunning feather-light across the stubble on his jawline.

“Getoff me,” Jameson begs, trying to push him away. “Please.”

“That’sbetter,” murmurs Anti. “Good job, puppy. Hold still and you cango in a minute.”

Hekisses his cheek, beneath his eye. His mouth is hot.

“Getoff me!” cries Jameson. Oh, fuck, suddenly he’s so dizzy. “Getoff, I hate you.”

Antipulls gently at his shirt, exposing his stomach. Jameson squirms,frightened, but with one hand Anti can hold him steady. The otherhand runs over his belly.

Thena knife, cold, cold, cold against his stomach.

Antisighs against the base of his ear.

Andthen he jams his thinnest blade like a key between the perfect slotof his seventh and eighth ribs.

Thenoise that Jameson makes –

Thenoise, a braying little gasp, a broken little screech from somewherein his lungs rather than his vocal chords, a choke combined with themovement that should make a scream, is not a noise that Anti realizedhuman beings could make.

Antiwishes he had recorded it. He could play that on a loop and destroycivilizations with the high it gives him.

He’slaughing so hard it hurts to breathe.

“Doktor!”he calls, shoving Jameson off his throat. The boy shudders againstthe floor, slamming his head against the cement as his body overtakeshis brain, far more conscious than he’d like to be. “You’re goingto have to bandage this up for us, darling.”

Notlong now. Not long.

“Please.”

“Shutup.”

“Please,please, H-E-N - ”

Doktorshoves him hard back against the porcelain sink to which he is onceagain chained. Jameson gags, weeping. “Brother,” he cries,undeterred. “Why won’t you save me?”

“God,please!” Henrik screams. “Stop, stop, I can’t take this!”

“Pleasehelp me, please help me, I’m scared, I’m scared, soon he will make mehis, I can’t take any more, please save me, I love you.”

Henrikscreams and tears at his hair, falling back. He’s been cleaningJameson up every night for a week. They are both reaching breakingpoints.

“Deutsch!”cries a voice from downstairs. Red, he thinks. “Blue can’tbreathe!”

“Sithim upright!” he calls back, trying to raise his voice above arasp. He tries to push himself back up to kneeling and a nail thatonce held floorboard pierces his palm, making him gasp.

“It’snot working!” Red cries. “It’s not enough!”

“Doyou think I’m hiding oxygen up here?” Doktor shrieks. “What doyou want me to do?”

Redis weeping. It’s a new sound for Doktor, but he doesn’t have time tocare. Blue and Trick are just getting sicker, and Carver’s going toget an infection if he doesn’t bandage him up, and he never feelswell anymore, and nothing is right, nothing is right, nothing is –

Jamesoncan only reach his brother’s out-stretched hands. Teary-eyed, whiteas smoke, he grips Doktor’s wrist gently and rubs his thumb up anddown the veins at the heel of his hand.

“Stop,”says Doktor.

Hedoesn’t draw away.

Jamesontugs his hand closer and presses his forehead to it, massaging hispalm, holding him tight.

“Stop,”says Doktor.

Jamesonshivers and clings to each one of his fingers, examining the valleysand ridges of his swirling fingerprints. Brushes against his veinsfrom heel to thumb. Squeezes tight, tight, tight.

Doktorcan’t remember the last time anyway touched him gently.

“Stop,”he begs. “I can take no more.”

“Henrik,”says Jameson, releasing his hand to finally, finally make the namewhole. “Henrik, brother, help me. Let’s go. There’s still time.”

Thestrings are slipping. The strings are slipping. The strings areslipping.

Butthey are still tight enough.

“I’msorry, Jameson,” whispers Henrik.

“No,no,” begs Jamie. He tries to grab his hand again, but Henrik isdrawing away. “I need you to remember who you are.”

“I’msorry,” whispers Doktor. “I am. I’m sorry. But I am also Anti’s.You don’t understand what he would do to us if we tried to escape.There is no running away. He will haunt us for the rest of our days.Better to stay, and be good for him. I am Anti’s.”

Jamesoncurls in on himself like a child, wrapping his arms around himselfand hugging himself tight. He rocks against the sink, sobbing.

He’slost. He’s lost. It’s over.

“Soonyou will be too,” promises Doktor softly. “And then…”

Heknows he should say that things will be better.

Buthe can’t lie.

Thisis a life of pain.

Twilightmakes the floorboards grey and lilac. The air smells of dust, ofblood, of starvation.

Doktorsits slumped over Blue, staring, corpse-like, down at him, bleedingsluggishly from the palm of his hand as he tends to his brothers’illnesses.

“They’regoing to die, aren’t they?” whispers Red.

Inhis weakness, Trick has regained his favor, and both he and Blue areclose at hand, tucked up in the only blanket in the house, shiveringside-by-side, asleep. Trickshot wheezes with every breath.

Doktorcan’t even answer. He washes sweat from their foreheads and massagestheir chests with vaporub. Nothing else to fucking do.

“Ican’t – ” Red breaks off, covering his mouth, squeezing his eyestightly shut. “I can’t watch them die.”

Doktorhums a brief affirmation, staring blankly at Trickshot’s hollowedgrey cheeks. It’s a little too late for Red to start caring.

“Deutsch,”whispers Red. He touches Doktor’s hand.

Henrikjumps hard, turning to him with astonished eyes. Red’s hand is gentleon his own. There are tears in his eyes.

“Whatdo I need to do to save them?”

AndHenrik recognizes, suddenly, a light that he had forgotten evergraced Jackie’s eyes.

Aprotection in his outstretched hands, a courage in his stiffenedmouth, a light in his bright blue eyes.

“Holyshit,” whispers Henrik.

Doubt.Doubt. Rebellion. It sits between them, curled in the heat of theirfevering brothers and the wounds that litter the boy upstairs likeconstellations, in the memories that sift, slow, patient, throughtheir awakening hearts.

“Sauerstoff,”he manages, swallowing hard.

“What?”

“Oxygen,”he rasps.

“Wheredo I get that?”

“Youwill have to steal it. Once you stole computer code from the centerof a secret Ministry of Defense facility just so Anti could eludethem. You will be able to take oxygen from a hospital. Masks too,blankets, and medicine – bring me paper, I will write it all down.”

Whiteand silent with stress, Jackie brings him the torn wrapper of theirlast jug of water, and Henrik scratches names into it, recalling,with the smell of hand sanitizer in his nose, what it was to be areal healer.

“Youmust go quickly,” he murmurs, pressing the wrapper into Jackie’shand.

“Iknow,” Jackie answers, soft. “If I’m not back before Antirealizes I’m gone…”

Hewill kill him. The words stand silent in the air between them.

Henrikcan almost remember his name.

Henrikcan almost, almost remember his name.

“Doktor,”murmurs Jackie.

“Red,”Henrik answers, exhausted.

Hiseyes say go carefully and Jackie’s answer very well, as youwish, we were brothers once and in the memory I have forgotten thehatred he fostered within me.

Jackiesqueezes his hand, kisses both Blue and Trickshot goodbye, and goes.

Heknows he will be killed for the transgression of abandonment.

Buthis pain might be salvation, and the word “hero” rises once againin his mind, like a tattoo uncovered, impossibly forgotten,permanent, chosen, lasting.

Upstairs,Jameson grows weaker.

Thereisn’t much time left.

Antiwakes up.

Thisis unusual for him, having never actually lost consciousness before.His waking thoughts consist largely of what the fuck, what thefuck, what the fuck?

Didhe pass out?

He’sslumped downstairs on his little throne – hardly more than ablood-painted chair, but he loves it like a knife – and he doesn’tremember falling asleep.

He’sweak as a ball of cotton.

Panicrises in him like fire and he tries to get up, without success,panting hard. For a moment his whole body becomes as static, heavyand faraway. His tongue is leaden and stinging in his mouth and hishead collapses back against the wood of his chair, leaving himmotionless and terrified, fainted in his own throne room.

He’snever passed out before, he’s never been weak, he’s never used somuch energy, he didn’t realize he had a breaking point and he needsto stop –

No!screams the rest of his brain. The dizzy spell recedes as a wave fromthe ocean and he staggers to his feet, snarling at the world aroundhim, which continues to defy him. I won’t be stopped now! I’m sovery close. So very close to the perfect victory. Their stupidpersistence can’t stop me. I will hold all five of them at once,puppets from my hands.

Hespares a burst of pure hatred for his creator, who gave him justenough brothers to be a challenge.

Butnot enough to stop him. He will be victorious.

“Doktor!”he screams, dragging himself to the bottom of his staircase. Deutschappears shaking in the light above him, his eyes flashing quicklybetween all corners of the house. Anti can almost taste hisdisloyalty, but it does not matter. He must break his last littlecolt, and then he will reign in all five of his stallions, if ittakes every whip in the world. “Bring my the little brat,” hehisses, sinking back into the darkness. “We end this tonight, onceand for all.”

“Where,”whispers Anti, “Is your resistance now?”

Jamesonlies shivering. Jameson lies shaking.

“Ihave shattered it,” Anti tells him. He reaches down, slow, and runshis knuckles across Jameson’s cheek, scarred and blood-stained.

“Youwere not the one who shattered it,” Jameson answers, closing hiseyes.

Thedemon stands above him like a shadow, pierced by thin beams of lightforcing their way through the tiny windows at the tops of thebasement walls. Blue and green eyes coat Jameson in a unique form oflust, a power-hungry possession, a wolf that has gained a taste forhuman flesh.

“Youlove your brothers very much,” murmurs Anti. “After all they havedone to you.”

Hesits down, criss-cross, at Jameson’s side. Pulls him into his lap.Takes his hands into his own.

“Bemine,” he says. “And they will love you again too.”

“Isthis what you call love?” Jameson manages.

Heis slumping down against Anti’s shoulder, exhausted.

“Youdon’t know the first thing about love.”

“Whata pity,” Anti giggles, grabbing his wrists and pulling him evencloser. “I must be missing so much.”

Blood,blood on Jameson’s face.

“Poordapper darling, pretending to be strong. Your heart is broken andyou’ve been dying for a long time, running from me every day, runningfrom your family. Aren’t you tired?”

Jamesonis hiding against his chest. Tears soak Anti’s shirt.

“Poorthing,” whispers Anti, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I know.It hurts. I know. Poor, poor dapper.”

Careful,he reaches power out. Feels Jameson’s heart, racing with terror, soweak and so vulnerable.

Hewraps a string and breathes through a wave of dizziness.

Jameson’shands tighten on his shirt.

“Thereyou go,” whispers Anti, rubbing from his shoulder to the small ofhis back. “There you go, it’s okay. Stop crying so hard, littleone. Hush, hush. Here I am. Don’t be afraid.”

“Anti,”signs Jameson. Anti does not know what he is begging for and he doesnot care. His sign name is a slit throat ‘A’ and it makes him laugh.“Anti, please.”

“Lookat me,” Anti orders, taking his chin in his hand. “Look at menow.”

Jamesontries to hide, his eyelids fluttering. No, no, no…

“You’reso tired.” Anti’s fingers are soft, warm, loving against his faceand throat and hands. “So, so tired, poor little puppy.”

Andhe is, so, so exhausted, so tired it could kill him. All he wants inthe whole goddamn world is to lose himself in sleep, in power, inAnti…

“Lookat me,” says Anti. He hates him, he craves him, he owns him. “Lookat me, Carver, Dapper, Monochroma. Look at me.”

Jameson’seyes open. Dapper’s eyes meet his own.

Hot,rushing, overwhelming, terrifying, ecstatic, adoring, all-consuming,all-consuming, all-consuming; Carver gasps and sinks down in Anti’shands, reaching up to be held, an agony of possession writhingthrough his body as he collapses like a bird dead in the air andlanguishes in the dark, endless eyes of his older brother.

Antihas him.

Carverblinks, and closes his eyes, and sinks.

Sinkslike a mink sinks in the mouth of an alligator.

Downonto Anti’s lap.

Andwhen his brother traces his hands across his scalp, stroking gentlehis downy brown hair, he breathes out a sigh of relief.

Antihas him.

Joycrackles as a current of electricity through his body and Antismiles, letting himself curl down around Chroma’s body, pulling hisnew little puppet to him, running his hands over his flesh, tastingthe sweet copper taste of an implanted adoration, touching hisfingers to each one of the cuts he has spent the last two weekscutting into Dapper’s skin –

Aword of alarm flickers through his system. Anti sits up, his eyesfixed on the opening to the room.

Thereare footsteps coming towards him.

Hetries to get up, but dizziness pounds through his simulated skull andhe collapses back onto his throne, gripping at Carver’s shirt. Heover-exerted. Used too much power. He’s never been so tired in hislife. He could fall asleep right here, slumped over his littlebrother’s body, holding his new puppet close… his eyes flicker andglitch and he sways, drifting…

“Ican bear this no longer.”

Anti’seyes snap open.

Inthe doorway, Henrik.

NotDoktor.

Henrik.

Antican’t feel his hold over him.

Hetries anyway. “Go back upstairs, Deutsch.”

Dappershivers in his lap. Anti grips a knife warily, staring at Henrik’stwilight silhouette.

“Ican bear this no longer,” whispers Henrik.

“Arzt,”hisses Anti, glaring him down. “Go back upstairs. Now.” Hestrains his energy on the last word, reaching out for Henrik again,wrapping strings around his throat –

“Shutyour fucking mouth,” hisses Henrik.

Andstranger still is the look in his eyes, because, for the first timein his life, Anti doesn’t understand the emotion that he’s looking atin another’s face.

“So,”he drawls, rubbing Dapper’s back, just to mock this rebellious littlepuppet standing before him. “My strings got too loose, huh?”

Henrikmoves forward. His hands tremble.

“Upstairs,two of my brothers are dying,” he says. “Red – no, Jackie –has suffered so much at your hands that for many long months he hasdesired only to be yours, so full of hatred we all bear his marks onour flesh. I myself have hurt for years now because of you. Havenightmared, have scarred over, have shattered like ice into crystal.And this boy you have given me to care for for the past week. Eachtime I saw his face, each time I held him, bleeding in my arms, Ihave regained a little of myself. That is not because of you. That isbecause of me. Your strings are looser, yes. But I am the one whotore them off. And that is because you know nothing. You think youknow what pain is, Anti?”

Hepulls from the pocket of his torn khaki pants a stained scalpel.

“Answerme,” he snarls.

Antiis glaring at him now, teeth bared and drizzling blood. His skin isgreen and his eyes are black. He is not human.

Buthe shares the mortal propensity to fear.

“Yes,”he hisses back, draping himself over Jameson’s body like a wolf witha fresh kill. “And I will teach it to you for months and months andmonths, little one.”

“No!”screams Henrik. “No, you don’t know the first goddamn thing! Notyet, Anti! Not yet!”

Antineeds to get up. He has to get up. He cannot glitch at all; his fleshis so still it is painful, but he must rise nonetheless, he muststand nonetheless, he can still get up, even in his weakened state,surely –

Theweight of Jameson’s sleeping body across his lap is too heavy for himto move. He cannot even put his hands on him. He is losingcorporeality. He can see through his palms. This has never happened.This has never happened. This has never –

Feartastes like copper, copper, copper, blood.

“Painis love turned against you,” groans Henrik. “Brothers made toenemies and left to bleed on the seat of a bus, left to choke todeath in abandoned houses, wearing belled collars and clutching atwounds that will never heal. You think you know what that is?”

“Henrik,get away from me,” hisses Anti. Electrical signals buzz distortedlythrough his brain, making the whole world too bright and tooconfusing. He coughs and blood comes welling up in his mouth.

“Youwill,” promises Henrik.

Hiseyes are consumed by darkness.

“Iwill teach you what it is. Because Anti, Anti, Anti! Pain is weaknessand then, later, strength. I have suffered until the madness came,and arisen from it powerful, powerful, powerful. Be afraid, Anti. Iwill teach you what is pain.”

Anti’scoughing pierces deeper and deeper as his body begins to glitchapart. The more he tries to blacken his eyes and consume Henrik’swill, the more power he loses, and the more he falls apart. He cannotstop coughing. He cannot breathe.

“Youare nothing!” he shrieks, nearly hysteric with mad fervor, with howgoddamn close he is to having everything he’s ever wanted! So manybodies strewn aside, so much corruption and patience, so much time,effort, planning, blood, torment! No, he will not lose now! He willtear this whole world apart if that is what it takes! “I will ripyou apart like tendrils of dog meat!”

ButHenrik is no longer afraid of him. He continues forward, staring intohis black eyes, free of him.

“Iwill turn you against yourself,” he promises. Here is a threat toterrify, and Anti cannot help but shove himself against the back ofhis throne, straining away. “Tear you down into all the things youpromised yourself you would never be. Kill you with your own blade.Oh, I’ve hated you for so long.”

“Oh,no, Doktor,” giggles Anti. At least there is some humor to be foundin that. “No, no, no, you’ve loved me, adored me, prayed in my namefor months now. Even before I used power to make you mine completely,you would beg for a scrap of bread as you starved, for a touch ofcomfort as the pain killed you, for someone to kiss you and wipe upthe tears – ”

Henrikswings with the scalpel.

Anti’sbody finds the strength somewhere to glitch and he goes crashing tothe cement, scrambling away from Henrik, hatred and blood wellingfrom his mouth. He can’t stop coughing. It hurts. “Red!” hescreams. “Red, Blue, come here now!”

“Theytoo have abandoned you,” hisses Henrik. “Their brotherhoodovercomes your own.”

“Impossible,”Anti shrieks. “Impossible.”

“Youare alone,” says Henrik. “As you were always meant to be. I toldJameson you were inescapable, do you know that? Strange. Just daysago, you seemed deathless. But I have been watching your collapse.You have made yourself mortal. Maybe you will haunt us, after all, aghost, a memory. But you will never lay a hand on my family again.”

Anticoughs until he is sprawled against the earth, writhing in blood, inchunks of his own lungs, in hatred. He tries one last time to stopHenrik, and even makes him stagger back, confused, torn – but thislapse in control is enough to make the boy on the throne jerk back toreality, staggering to his feet and coming to stand at Henrik’s side,grabbing his hand and assuring him, comforting him, standing withhim.

Together,they are stronger than he is.

Forall that they have suffered, Jameson and Henrik are stronger thanAnti, stronger than hatred, stronger than blood.

Henrikraises the scalpel, and teaches his tormentor pain.

Teacheshis tormentor weakness.

Jackiereturns with medicine and food and masks and oxygen, filled with herocourage, hero strength, brother love. Marvin and Chase breathe. Antidoes not.

Henrikand Jameson cling to each other.

Nomore running. No more fighting. No more abuse. Just family. Gone isthe darkness. Here is the light, their stars, their brothers, alive.

Andfrom then on, when pain comes and they are haunted, well, the five ofthem face it together, as they did once before, and some day, oneday, soon, health and joy will come like sunlight in the morning,warm as the ashes of a fire proud and bright.

“Yousaved me,” says Jameson, warm against Henrik’s shoulder, trustingagainst his chest. “You saved me.”

“No,” says Henrik. “You, little brother, are the salvation Ihave longed for.”

[cant-icle]

For the 200 follower promptaganza can I request an angsty (although with a happy end) Werewolf!Ryuji x Akira/Ren fic please?

“Look, I’m not expecting you to want to talk, but I feellike we need to. There’s some things we should discuss before you just shut meout completely, right? You’re my best friend. I...though we were getting to becloser than that, even. Can you...will you call me back? Please? I miss you.”

Akira hangs up the phone and barely keeps himself fromthrowing it at the wall. It’s been threedays. Three entire days sincehe’s so much as seen Ryuji, three days with no response over the phone orthrough text, and the anxiety would be clawing its way up his throat if Annhadn’t told him she’d visited him yesterday.

He doesn’t know what he did wrong, that’s the thing—if he did something, Ryuji should’ve toldhim, so he could’ve fixed it and not just ghostedhim. And it’s not like—he doesn’t even know where Ryuji lives, Ryuji always comes to Leblanc to hang out, so it’s not likehe can bring over some soup if he’s sick.

He’d thought—he’d really thought that maybe, they might begetting somewhere that night in Inokashira Park, when Ryuji’d put his hand ontop of Akira’s and leaned in, and the full moon was so beautiful in his eyesthat Akira’d blurted something stupid—

Is that what thiswas all about? The stupid thing he’d said? Something like “The full mooncouldn’t compare to your eyes,” god,Akira cringes so hard thinking about it that his shoulders touch his ears.Okay, yeah, if someone said that to himmaybe he’d ghost them for a while. But still!

It sucks, and he sucks, and his life sucks, and it’s makingPhantom Thievery very difficult without his right-hand man at his, well, righthand. He gets knocked on his ass three times during a single fight in Mementosbefore Queen all but drags him back to the Mona-Mobile.

He’s not sulking.

(He’s maybe sulking.)

When he tries to slink off at the entrance to Mementos, Anngrabs his arm. “You’re this torn up about it?” she says like she already knowsthe answer.

“He won’t answer any of my messages,” Akira mutters,scuffing his shoe along the floor with his hands in his pockets. “I don’t knowif he’s dead or sick or hit in the road somewhere or arrested or—“

“I can guarantee that he’s none of those—or, well, most ofthose. He might’ve been hit in the road.”

“Ann, don’t saythat—“

“Ugh, boys andtheir feelings,” Ann groans, and tugson his arm. “You probably would’ve found out sooner or later, but if you’regonna be distracted enough in Mementos that you’re getting your butt whooped bya Pixie—“

She leads him to a line that leads out towards the edges ofthe city. It’s still early in the day; the train isn’t packed enough that theyhave to stand, but Ann refuses to answer any of his questions and spends theentire ride messing around on her phone.

They ride for almost an hour and a half, long enough thatthey pass the suburbs and get into fields and forests, and the train car is allbut empty when they disembark. It’s hot; hot enough that Akira regrets wearinghis overshirt and rolls the sleeves up as high as they’ll go.

The road, once they leave the station, is unpaved. Ann leadshim down it for nearly twenty minutes, confidence in every inch of her body,every step that she takes. Somehow, she looks more like she belongs out herethan she does in Tokyo.

She leads him to a house, big and sprawling, that backs ontoa long field backed by a deep, dark stretch of forest. Akira expects thatthey’ll knock, but Ann just opens the door and walks right in, bold and brazenas you please, toeing off her shoes once she gets inside. “Ann,” Akira says,low and uncertain, “what—“

That’s when the biggest fucking dog he’s ever seen in hisgoddamn life steps into the hallway, its claws clicking on the linoleum, it’sears tilted up and at them. It’s big and black and bushy and one of the mostbeautiful things Akira’s seen in his life. “Holy shit,” he breathes in awe and delight (and a little bit ofapprehension,) “Ann, look at how big that dog is, what the fuck.”

The dog laughs athim.

Literally. It drops its jaw and huffs, front paws shufflingback and forth on the floor as its tail swishes once-twice behind it. “Oh mygod,” Akira groans, dropping down to his knees. For a brief moment he doesn’treally care where he is or what’s going on, because if there’s anything KurusuAkira loves in his life, it’s dogs.

(Don’t tell Morgana.)

“Hey, do you—is it friendly?” He looks up at Ann, who hasboth hands slapped over her mouth looking like she’s trying not to laugh athim. “Ann, is it—“

The dog laughs at him again and clicks its way down thehallway, shoving its face into Akira’s. He’s greeted with a muzzle full of verysharp, very white teeth as the dog sniffs his face, his ears, his hands, andfinishes off with a big sloppy lick right across his glasses. Ann loses herfight with laughter at that, even more so when the dog shoves its head into thegap between Akira’s arm and his side. Seriously, it’s huge. It dwarfs him while he’s kneeling—it’s gotta weight at leasta hundred kilo, easy.

He’s finger-combing his way through the dog’s thick ruffwhen he realizes that Ann’s further down the hall, talking to someone. He leansback and up to look, but the dog rolls over and exposes its belly veryappealingly – welp, his belly,clearly—and wriggles in invitation, distracting Akira enough that Ann andwhoever she’s talking to are almost on top of him before he looks up again.

“Akira,” Ann says, laughter in every line of his body, “I’dlike to introduce you to Sakamoto-san, Ryuji’s aunt. Ryuji, get off the floorand stop making an idiot of yourself.”

Akira stands and makes polite introduction before Ann’ssecond sentence sinks in. “You, um, named your dog after your nephew?” heblurts out before he can help himself. Sakamoto-san, Ann, and the dog laugh at him.

Or, well...now that Akira’s looking closer, it looks morelike a wolf than a dog—it’s got the big triangular ears, the long, slendermuzzle, the narrow eyes and very large teeth. Maybe a mixed-breed? A wolf-dog?They have that sort of thing, right?

Wolf-dog-Ryuji follows him around the house whileSakamoto-san makes pleasant talk and insists that they stay for lunch; eachtime Akira stops, dog-Ryuji shoves his head under Akira’s hand. Dog-Ryuji istall enough that Akira can rest his hand on his back and ruffle his fur whileAkira is standing; dog-Ryuji is also shedding fit to burst, leaving long, softfur all over his hands and his leg.

Out of habit, he takes his phone out and levels it atdog-Ryuji; dog-Ryuji tilts his head and drops his jaw, just a bit, in a caninesmile. It’s a cute picture; he saves it and sends a copy to Ryuji out of habitwith the caption met your namesake today.

Across the room, attached to a charger on the kitchencounter, Ryuji’s phone goes off.

As it turns out, dog-Ryuji isn’t a namesake. As it turns out, it’s a wolf, and it’s alsoregular Ryuji.

“Hold up,” Akira blurts in the middle of the explanationSakamoto-san tries to give him, grabbing onto Ryuji’s head and staring himstraight in the eye. Ryuji makes a grumble in the back of his throat and foldshis ears back in appeasement, shuffling his paws and wagging his tail. “So youmean—all this time you’ve been hamming it up, watching me make an idiot ofmyself—“

Ryuji nods, and drops his jaw to grin a little wider. Hiseyes are the same, a warm chocolate brown. “I would’ve thought you’d be blond.”

“Nah,” Ann says, “he dyes his hair. It doesn’t carry overwith the transformation.”

Akira has a lot of questions. Like, a whole lot of them. “Is this why you ran off the other night?” heasks, a little tentative. Ryuji whines and pushes himself up onto his haunchesto drape his forepaws over Akira’s shoulders. He then proceeds to swipe histongue very messily over Akira’s face, over and over and over again until he’showling in laughter and his glasses have been knocked off somewhere.

They’ve got a lot totalk about, that’s for damn sure, but in the meantime it’s nice to have Ryuji’shead warm and heavy on his lap, and it’s nice to run his fingers through Ryuji’sthick fur and scratch behind his ears hard enough to hear his tail thumping onthe ground behind them. Ryuji’s just as cute a wolf as he is a human; so whatif he goes all furry a few times a year? It’s something Akira thinks he canbring himself to deal with.

(things i wanted to fit in but couldn’t figure out how:

ryuji’s extended family has a massive property outside of tokyo bc werewolfism runs in the family, it’s basically a pack house for the times when they have to be transformed

in this the full moon is a very strong call; they can resist it for one moon, but no more than that, and if they forcibly stay human for too long they’ll be stuck as a wolf for like a week or so when they can’t resist anymore (like stretching a rubber band too far or smth whatever this is just a small prompt why am i trying to plot)