Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The music cut off and the class of ten scrambled to get back in formation. Six of them looked pissed off, two seemed to pretend nothing had happened, one looked guilty, ducking down quickly as the remaining one slapped him over the back of his head.

“Wasn’t me!” Lee Hanyung cried out, indignant, “Lisung was at least three counts behind!”

“I was most definitely not!” Park Lisung refuted, looking equally as indignant.

“I’m dancing right behind you, I think I’d know!”

“People!” Jung Hoseok raised his voice, still with one finger on the pause button of the speaker. “I don’t care who of you screwed up. You’re supposed to be a team. When one of you makes a mistake, it’s the fault of all of you. Just as much as the victory of one is the victory of all.”

The group nodded silently, having heard this lecture countless times before. Hoseok gave a long suffering sigh before releasing the pause button. “Alright, we’ll start once more from the top, after that you can go change. But I want to see some major improvement on Friday, the tournament is in two months.”

A muffled chorus of ‘yes, teacher-nim’ could be heard before the boys resumed their positions. The next run-through went a little better, but only marginally. Hoseok ran a hand down his face before scratching his chin. He felt the slight prickly stubble on his jaw from where he’d forgotten to shave this morning. His head was still pounding with the nasty hangover he’d woken up with and he felt beyond tired. He watched passively as the boys started collecting their bags by the wall and heading for the door. Then he sprang into action, grabbing the tray of water bottles as he also moved towards the door.

“Friday will go a lot better, I just know it,” he smiled as he handed out the bottles to the sweat drenched group in front of him, “You’re working hard.”

It earned him a few thank you’s and a couple of bows before the last boy, a quiet, but polite foreign kid stopped in front of him. Hoseok handed him the bottle with a crooked smile, “You did well, Tian-ah, probably better than the rest of them combined.”

The boy broke out in a huge smile, thoroughly thanking him and accepting the bottle, “Thank you, teacher-nim. That means so much to me, especially from you!” He turned and headed for the door. Every move he made was a dance; fluid and intuitive. It reminded Hoseok so much of himself that it hurt. Just as he was about to disappear through the door, Tian turned around, his eyebrows raised with glee: “Oh, and happy birthday!”

Hoseok swallowed, smiling stiffly, “Thank you, Tian, now go get dressed and get to your next class.”

Tian saluted him, laughing, then left and blended in with the sea of sweaty teenagers in the dressing room. Hoseok watched the closed door for a couple of seconds, then shook his head. There was no way he was going to get this group ready for the tournament and he knew it. There was little to no cohesion between the members and if there was anything that Hoseok had learnt in his day, it was that teamwork was the most essential piece of the puzzle.

Maybe he had better luck with the next group, scheduled just after lunch.

Ah, lunch. His stomach did an almighty flop at the thought of food. He groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes to try and stop the nagging headache. He still had four more hours of work left before he could splay himself out over the couch and make up for all the sleep he’d lost last night.

“You know, you look like death warmed over.” Minyeon, history teacher and boyfriend, always knew how to make the most eloquent observations. He gave one of his dazzling smiles as he walked into the school’s dance studio.

“Thanks,” Hoseok mumbled, straightening up before melting again as Minyeon wrapped his long arms around him from behind and rested his head on Hoseok’s shoulder.

“Hangover’s are usually a thing for after your birthday,” Minyeon said, only half joking.

“Right,” Hoseok sighed, trying to keep his stomach still as his boyfriend swayed the two of them from left to right slowly, “Last night, thought I’d already get started.”

“Wow,” Minyeon mumbled, “You really hate turning thirty that much?”

Right. He was turning thirty. It wasn’t the hangover’s reason, but it seemed as good an excuse as any. “You bet. It’s only downhill from here on out.”

“Then I got something to look forward too, huh?”

“Savor your prime, boy,” Hoseok laughed, feeling slightly better. Minyeon often had that effect.

“I think you’re still in your prime.”

Hoseok shook his head, grinning, “My prime is long gone.”

“I remember some rather impressive moves from two nights ago, dancer boy,” Minyeon replied.

Hoseok twisted in his grip, scowling, “You’re disgusting. You are going to make me puke. Right here in my own dance studio.”

“It’s the school’s dance studio.”

“Yeah, and with as much as Park Jimin shows up, I’m usually the only dance teacher around, so yeah, my dance studio.”

“You’re covering for him again?”

Hoseok shrugged, scrambling to change the subject. He knew how Minyeon thought about Jimin’s constant absence, but neither of them wanted to argue about that now. Besides, he’d known Jimin for far longer than he’d known Minyeon, and they both knew that when it came down to it, Hoseok would always come to Jimin’s defense. Thankfully, it usually didn’t come down to it. “Tell you another thing. If they catch us like this here, we’re gonna be in big trouble.”

“Yep, that’s what makes it interesting,” Minyeon grinned, but let himself be dragged to the dressing room showers. “Ah yes, hot steamy shower sex, the best cure for a hangover.”

Hoseok frowned at him, “We’re not having sex in a middle school.”

“Oh.”

“We will have a make-out session in a middle school.”

“Oh?”

“When in Rome…” Hoseok trailed off before lifting himself up on his toes in order to reach Minyeon’s mouth. Minyeon was soft, calming, good. One of the only people here who’d noticed Hoseok for something other than what he used to be. They’d met during lunch on one of Hoseok’s first days nearly four years ago. Of course, Minyeon wasn’t an idiot. He knew about Hoseok’s former career. He just never seemed quite as bothered by it as everyone else.

Refreshing, to say the least.

Minyeon detached himself from Hoseok’s mouth with an annoyed groan as his watch beeped at him. “Damn, I have class.”

“Better hurry,” Hoseok smiled as he watched his boyfriend make a ditch effort at fixing his hair and tie before picking up his briefcase, “Kids aren’t gonna teach themselves history anytime soon.”

“Better not, otherwise I’d be out of a job,” Minyeon mumbled, straightening his sleeves before throwing Hoseok one last, longing look, “See you tonight? I have a surprise for you.”

“You bet,” Hoseok smiled back, feeling re-energized.

His next class went, surprisingly, a lot better than the previous one. Sure, these girls were a bit older than the boys class from that morning had been, but they also seemed more focused, more serious. And they weren’t about to throw fists whenever one of them made a mistake. They already had the routine they’d been practicing for the tournament down to a tee. All that was left for Hoseok to do now was give some suggestions to make it more streamlined and then they’d be golden. Literally. No way they weren’t going to take home first price at the festival. The swell of pride in his chest showed through in the smile on his face.

“Alright!” He clapped his hands to get their attention and seven heads immediately turned his way, “Well done, ladies! Very well done! Lina, I would just advice you to jump a little bit earlier on the second interval, and Hani, your turn was a little too fast, but other than th-”

He was interrupted by his own phone buzzing in the back pocket of his jeans. Reaching back, he checked the screen. Min Yoongi calling. He swallowed, feeling his heart start hammering in his chest. He squinted at the screen in indecision before holding up one finger to the group of girls. “Sorry, I gotta take this. You have deserved a break anyway. Go get some water and then we’ll do the modern routine teacher Park started you on one more time.”

A few mumbled replies came from the group as they started fishing out bottles of water from their bags. If Hoseok had listened well enough, he could have heard Jimin’s name fall more than once. Instead, he stared at the screen of his phone. Min Yoongi was nothing if not persistent. With a deep breath, Hoseok picked up.

“Hyung!”

“He’s gone again.”

And Min Yoongi was nothing if not straight to the point either. Hoseok pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling his headache start up all over again. He gave a deep sigh, “We both know where he is.”

It was silent for a long time on the other end. Normally, Yoongi wouldn’t call him with this sort of problem. Normally, he’d just wait. But this time of year wasn’t ‘normally’. Besides, they’d seen each other only yesterday, maybe this was Yoongi’s way of keeping in touch? Another beat before Yoongi cleared his throat, “You know I can’t go back there.”

Yeah, Hoseok knew. But that didn’t mean it was easy for him to go there either. Damnit. “Alright, look. I’m in the middle of work right now. I’m off in a few hours. Then I’ll go look for him.”

He heard Yoongi breathe out through the phone, “Thanks, Hob-ah.”

Hoseok swallowed a lump in his throat at the old nickname. He almost exclusively went by Hoseok now. “Just for the next few days, hyung, don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Dully noted,” Yoongi mumbled, sounding just as hungover as Hoseok had felt. “And happy birthday.”

The rest of the work day went by at a snail’s pace. After packing his things, shoving them in the trunk of his car and heading out of the parking lot, Hoseok drove around aimlessly for a while, trying to rake up the courage to take the right turn.

The building was mostly abandoned by now. Once, not even that long ago, it had been alive with promise and dreams and potential. Every day, people had been buzzing in and out of the doors, excited, nervous, devastated. Now it just stood here, dormant and vacant.

Dead.

Hoseok bit his lip before climbing out of his car. The company had long since moved out. Almost immediately after everything was said and done, they’d moved to a different spot in the city. Hoseok had never bothered to find out where. Yoongi knew. It was his job that still depended on it, after all. That didn’t really matter right now though. The office building was all that was left here. Occupied only by a small company that sold electric bike chargers on the top floor. The rest of the building was empty. A shiver of familiarity ran down Hoseok’s spine once he entered the building. How many times had he walked through those doors? Enough times to find himself a way to the practice studios without even having to think about it. He stood still in front of the double doors of the basement that led to the dance studio. Loads of blood sweat and tears had been spilled there. There had been that stupid running joke that Seokjin had come up with that the song was actually nothing more than a reference to this place.

For some reason, that brought tears to Hoseok’s eyes. He wiped at them distractedly, sniffling before opening the door.

The lights were on and the room stank of sweat and alcohol and Hoseok quickly discovered the source as a lone figure sat against the wall in the far corner, head low, and surrounded by empty liquor bottles.

“Oh Jungkook-ah,” Hoseok sighed.

The younger’s head shot up in surprise and he squinted as he tried to focus on Hoseok standing in the doorway. “J-Hope!” he hollered, then chuckled to himself as he took a long sip from what looked like a bottle of Jack Daniels.

“Little early to start on the hard liquor, isn’t it?” Hoseok commented, slowly inching closer.

“Oh, I started last night,” Jungkook grinned drunkenly, “Just never stopped.”

“Is that why we didn’t see you at the memorial last night?” Hoseok dared.

Jungkook’s face turned dark in an instant, “I was… busy.”

“I see that,” Hoseok mumbled, raising his eyebrows as he looked around.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Jungkook whined, setting down his drink with a clunk on the hardwood floor. “You guys organized that stupid memorial. As if it’s supposed to be some sort of celebration or something.”

“It’s been five years.”

“Five years?” Jungkook sounded incredulous, then shook his head once before taking another swig, “Goddamn.”

“We expected you to be there,” Hoseok said, “But I can see what you’ve been doing instead.”

“You look like you’ve got some of the good stuff down last night as well. Headache’s a bitch, isn’t it? That what you guys were doing? Just drinking? Sharing stories?”

“It’s better than drinking alone, isn’t it?”

“Whatever you say,” Jungkook mumbled, staring at his reflection in the dancing studio’s mirror wall.

“Yoongi is worried about you.”

“Hyung can go fuck himself,” Jungkook hissed, glaring daggers at himself, “He’s only ever worried about me when he needs me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh yeah? Then why did he send you to get me?”

“Look, it’s been hard for all of us, we-”

“Oh spare me the lecture, hyung,” Jungkook muttered, slumping further against the wall, “Bet you guys had all the time in the world yesterday to complain about how hard it has been for you.”

“You would know, had you been there,” Hoseok growled. He was quickly getting tired of Jungkook’s blatant disrespect. He looked at him and still saw that young kid that wanted nothing more than to make his hyungs proud. That worked harder than anybody else like he had the world to proof. That same kid had taken it harder than any of them when their group had fallen apart. Most of them had donated most of their wealth to charity, only keeping the bare minimum in order to move on with their lives because it just felt like the right thing to do. Jungkook had taken a far different, less wholesome approach; spending most of his money in a quick few months on alcohol, women and the occasional package of cocaine. Far too young to deal with the sudden consequences of tragedy and the loss of the life he’d lived since he was fourteen years old. Now, at twenty six, he was a shadow of the golden boy he’d once been.

And all of them were responsible for it.

They should have kept a better eye on him after everything that happened. Maybe then Jungkook wouldn’t have felt the need to pull away. Maybe then he’d feel like he was still supported. But, at the time, and maybe still in some ways, they were going through their own period of grief, each in their own way, and apparently, nobody had had time to keep track of Jungkook’s downward spiral.

The silence between them was broken when Jungkook cleared his throat, “Was Jimin-hyung there?”

Hoseok gave a long sigh, slowly letting himself slide down against the wall towards the floor next to the maknae, “No, he wasn’t.”

Jungkook scoffed, “Figures. Just the hyung line then.”

Hoseok nodded slowly, looking at the mirror as well, “Yeah,” he said roughly.

“Five years,” Jungkook mumbled quietly, “He’d be… twenty eight by now.”

Hoseok gave a shuddering breath, “Yeah.”

Jungkook stared hard at the two of them in the mirror, side by side, before he duck his head between his knees and clasped his hands over top of it. “I miss him, hyung,” he said in a smothered voice, his shoulders shaking with the silent sobs he was so desperately trying to hold back.

And there it was. When it really came down to it, it was as simple as that, wasn’t it? After all this time, it was still there. As Namjoon had commented the night before; it got easier, but it never went away. At least Jungkook had the guts to say it out loud. Hoseok felt his own tears streaming down his face, watching his reflection in the mirror curl an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders. His clothes were damp and Hoseok knew he’d been dancing before inevitably stumbling and falling down due to the liquor in his veins. And hadn’t Hoseok caught himself doing the exact same multiple times in the last five years? Staying late at the middle school of performing arts where he worked at, just to dance away all that nasty pain, to focus on anything but the unfairness of it all. It was a better and healthier alternative to all the other stuff Jungkook had going on, but Hoseok had to agree that on some days, especially last night, it just wasn’t enough.

Five years, it repeated through his mind, five years. He’d be twenty-eight by now. He wanted to surprise you for your birthday. There was a fight. Five years. Your birthday, Hoseok. It had been because of your birthday. Five horrible, goddamn years of carrying that around.

His whole body shook as he tried to keep it together in front of the younger man. In vain, because Jungkook had always been exceptionally perceptive. He rose his head, giving Hoseok an empathetic glance before he sighed, “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to drag you down in misery.”

A half-sob, half-laugh escaped Hoseok’s throat at that, “You didn’t,” he promised, “I always feel a little down this time of year.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jungkook simply said.

“Ready yet to face the wrath of Min Yoongi?” Hoseok asked with a soft smile.

Jungkook made a face, “Maybe tomorrow.”

“What are you gonna do in the meantime?”

Jungkook caught Hoseok looking at the empty bottles on the floor, “I don’t know,” he sighed, “Yoongi’s been good enough to let me sing on his track, probably knows I could use the money. Think he’ll still let me come back?”

“Definitely,” Hoseok said, slowly getting up, “There’s no way he’s laying down the vocals himself.”

Jungkook gave an honest laugh in response, “He’s gotten a little better the last couple of years. He’ll never admit it, but I suspect he’s taken lessons.”

“Love to see that,” Hoseok smiled, helping Jungkook stand as well. The younger swayed only slightly before recovering his balance. Then he looked down, shifting nervously.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but can I stay at your place, just for tonight? I hate being alone right now.”

Hoseok was baffled at the honesty that Jungkook displayed. Seokjin had told him last night that he’d been the one supporting the youngest whenever he went completely broke, but at some point, he’d had enough and had told Jungkook in no uncertain terms to go to therapy, or else he could kiss his support goodbye. Seems like therapy was a step in the right direction. Proud at him for asking, Hoseok clapped the younger man on his shoulder, “Of course! But first, we clean up this damn mess. I can’t stand looking at it.”

“Guess some things never change, huh?” Jungkook grinned.

“I guess not.”

Chapter Text

“Hyung!”

Jimin could practically hear Jung Hoseok wince through the phone, “What is it?”

“I have a favor to ask,” Jimin said, fairly high on caffeine by now. He’d been up all night chasing this thing, and the closer he came to it, the further it seemed to go.

“If you talk a little quieter, I might listen,” Hoseok mumbled through the phone.

Jimin grinned, “Well, don’t you sound fresh and fruity this morning?”

Hoseok groaned, “The real question should be; why do you sound fresh and fruity?”

“Espresso, mostly.”

“That will give you a heart attack before you’re thirty.”

“Oh! Speaking of thirty-”

“Don’t. Even. Start.” Hoseok grumbled over the line. He sounded like he hadn’t managed to catch any sleep whatsoever.

“Happy birthday!” Jimin cheered, smirking as Hoseok let out another groan. There was an obscure undertone to Jimin’s congratulations, because both of them knew Hoseok hadn’t celebrated his birthday in five years.

“Rough morning, Jimin-ah.”

“Really?” Jimin’s tone shifted, “Y’all have fun last night?”

“As a matter of fact, we didn’t.”

“Then why get together in the first place?”

“There’s nothing fun about a memorial, Jimin. You just show up because it’s the right thing to do.”

“What are you even memorializing?”

“We do it for him.”

Jimin clenched his jaw. There was a lot of he wanted to say, but he needed that favor. “Was Jungkook there?”

“No, he bailed. Doesn’t need us to drink himself into a stupor.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“What do you want, Jimin?”

Right. Judging by Hoseok’s mood so far, Jimin’s odds of success were fairly much stacked against him. Still, he took the shot, “Can you cover my two pm class this afternoon?”

A long pause, then a long sigh, “Why?”

“I don’t think you want to know.”

“Jimin-”

“Look, I got the girls started on a modern routine. Not too difficult, so you’ll be able to handle it.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“They pretty much got it down already, just need a few pointers here and there. They’ll be golden. Literally; been a while since we got this much talent in one crew.”

“You know, in order to keep a job, you actually gotta do the job.”

“They’re not gonna fire me.”

“Why shouldn’t they? You barely show up.”

“We’re BTS.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok mumbled, pausing, then sighing again, “We used to be.”

Jimin stayed silent for a few seconds, clenching the phone a little tighter in his hands, “I got a lead.”

“Jimin-”

“Don’t… don’t Jimin me,” Jimin said, letting his free hand fall flat on the desk he was sitting at, “He’s been seen in Daegu.”

“He’s being seen all over the world,” Hoseok replied, his voice softening ever so slightly, “Last thing I heard, he was in Paris. Detroit the day before that.”

“Hyung-”

“All I’m trying to say… don’t get your hopes up, Jimin-ah.”

“Daegu, hyung,” Jimin said, “It’s where he’s from.”

“Jimin, I’m-”

“You know I have to do this,” Jimin whispered, “I have to know.”

He heard Hoseok exhale over the phone, “Yeah… Yeah, I know. I’ll take over your class. Just… just promise me you’ll go into work tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jimin nodded, pursing his lips, “Yeah, sure.”

“Alright,” Hoseok mumbled, “And don’t do anything stupid.”

“You mean like fucking the history teacher behind the school administration’s back?”

“How do you even-”

“Let’s just say you two are less than subtle about it.”

“Well, I have to go, but we’re gonna have a talk about this.”

“Looking forward to it.”

A grumbled, frustrated goodbye was all that was left of the conversation and Jimin smirked to himself when he heard Hoseok hang up the phone. He shoved his phone back in his pocket and leaned back in his chair. He sighed as he took in the current state of his apartment. It was spacious, arguably too big for him alone, and cluttered with paperwork and empty coffee cups. The soft blue colors of the walls were supposed to give a calming effect, but Jimin hadn’t felt exactly calm in a long time. His leg bounced up and down in excess energy as he contemplated the next step of his plan.

“He’s right you know.”

“About what?”

“There’s been constant sightings all over the world; what makes this one so different?”

Jimin looked up in exasperation. There he was, leaning in the doorframe to the bathroom; the only room that was surrounded by walls in the entire apartment. Wearing the same bright blue hoodie, loose trousers and red, backwards baseball cap he’d worn that night he vanished.

Still twenty-three years old.

“I’m doing this for you, you know?”

“Are you?” Taehyung challenged, unfolding his arms and pushing himself away from the wall. “Look. I didn’t want to say anything, but it’s been-”

“Five years, I know,” Jimin mumbled.

“After all this time, why would I turn up in Daegu now all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin replied, “I’m trying to find out.”

“Jimin, you’ve been through this before; and every time, it hurts a little worse,” Taehyung said, his voice dripping with empathy.

“Somebody has to keep looking,” Jimin insisted, getting up from his chair, stretching his sore limbs with a groan.

“Maybe we should just let the police handle this, for once.”

Jimin scoffed. What an absurd thought. “The police aren’t handling shit anymore.”

“I’m a high profile case, aren’t I?”

“That’s exactly the problem.” If police had to go after all the tips they got about Taehyung, they’d just be chasing thin air. Jimin knew that he probably only made things worse by going after tips himself. Just say you saw Kim Taehyung somewhere, and Park Jimin might show up.

Daegu though…

It wasn’t too far from the city, and there was something calling Jimin towards it. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it felt more real than most of the other tips he’d gotten in a long time.

“I just don’t want you to get disappointed, that’s all,” Taehyung muttered, looking down at his dirty sneakers.

“People don’t just disappear, Tae-ah,” Jimin whispered, “Others just stop looking.”

“Do you ever wonder… what would have happened if I hadn’t left that night?”

Jimin was silent for a few seconds, staring at the slightly decorated wall of the kitchen, illuminated by the half closed blinds. “All the time.”

“You know,” Taehyung said softly, moving soundlessly over the floor to stand in front of Jimin, “After five years… there’s a high probability that I-”

“You’re not dead,” Jimin cut him off, turning away.

Taehyung moved his head to get back into Jimin’s line of sight. He still looked exactly the same. Those large eyes, that square jaw, and if Jimin squinted; he could still see that mole on the tip of Taehyung’s nose. “Jimin-ah, I’m-”

“You’re not dead,” Jimin repeated with more emphasis, “I’d know.”

“How would you know?”

“I’d feel it,” Jimin choked, “I’d know. It doesn’t make sense, I know that. But… I’d know.”

“None of it ever made any sense. I was there one day. Gone the next. You’re allowed to be confused about that.”

“You know, for a while… I hoped you just bailed. Left everything behind and went to live somewhere in the countryside or something,” he chuckled sadly, “I’d hate you for that.”

“Fair enough.”

“If somebody had taken you and killed you, I’d hate them for that.”

“Sure.”

“But now… I have nothing. There’s nobody to blame, nobody to hate. Just…”

“Questions.”

“Yeah,” Jimin nodded, watching Taehyung take his hands in his own. It felt normal, a memory so familiar that it just made sense. Taehyung’s hands were huge compared to his own. They were huge in general; his long, slender fingers curling around the back of Jimin’s hands. Then Taehyung smiled, sticking up his pinky finger. As if on instinct, Jimin did the same. The sight was ridiculous; always had been. Always made him giggle too. But there was something else. Something fierce and yearning. And it hurt. So, so much.

Those first few months after Taehyung’s disappearance had been a black void of confusion and pain. Jimin had never realized that those two things could be combined into something so intense. The feeling was constant, and the not-knowing was the worst part of it. It physically hurt, and he’d felt like screaming the entire time. He’d tried calling Taehyung every hour of every day. Because people didn’t just disappear into thin air, did they?

They did.

All the time.

Jimin only found that out when he buried himself in research. He discovered the police had found some of Taehyung’s blood on the way from the dorms to the studio. And that was all they ever found. The trail led to nothing and the craze that had had the world buzzing for weeks eventually died down. Now it seemed like that whatever had happened to Kim Taehyung that night, it was just an urban legend. Police had told them that if they didn’t find Taehyung within two weeks; chances of ever finding him alive were next to none. They said it was probably best to start considering the possibility that something fatal had happened to him.

And so they buried him.

A casket with no body, of course. Instead filled with pictures and some of the stuff he always took with him. With his music and his smiles, his letters and his artwork. An entire life reduced to whatever could fit inside that casket.

They’d cried, laughed sadly at brought up silly memories, and then, after that; they were supposed to move on. They were supposed to mourn, grieve, follow all those five stupid stages and then neatly fall into acceptance at the end.

Yet Jimin couldn’t. Taehyung had been his best friend. Soulmate. More than that.

He’d know. He’d know, god-damnit. Wouldn’t he? They were connected. Always had been. And he’d know if that connection would suddenly have been severed. Wouldn’t he?

Wouldn’t he?

“Jimin-ah?” Taehyung’s voice was rough as it broke through Jimin’s referee. Jimin looked down at their hands again and saw that Taehyung’s had paled considerably. He closed his eyes, biting his lip as he felt the tears spill over his cheeks, “I want you to promise me something.”

Jimin shook his head, already knowing what Taehyung was going to say, “I-”

“If this lead turns out to be nothing, I want you to stop looking for me.”

A choked breath escaped him and Jimin squeezed Taehyung’s cold hands, “I can’t.”

“You can. I know you can.”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s time to let go.”

“I need to know what happened, Tae-ah. There’s too many questions.”

“And sometimes, you never get the answer.”

“You tell me what happened then!” Jimin shouted, gasping.

He blinked, and Taehyung was gone.

“Fuck!” Jimin swore, turning around and kicking the chair in frustration. Breathing heavily, he grumbled something before grabbing his coat and keys and leaving the apartment.

Chapter Text

The streets were dark, just as they had been that night. Rain made the pavement glisten ominously in the low light of the streetlamps that filtered through the mist. Namjoon didn’t remember if it had also been raining that night.

He shivered as he felt his clothes quickly becoming soaked. They clung to his body, like they were desperately hanging onto him. Cold. It was very cold.

It had been cold that night too.

He started running. The road under his feet was slippery from the heavy rainfall, but he didn’t care. He had no time to care. Time was running out. He didn’t know exactly why or what that meant, but a real sense of urgency propelled him forward. His legs carried him tirelessly through endless streets of dark and rain. To the dorms, to the studio, back again. Menacing whispers filled his ears but he pushed through. Shadows appeared just in the corner of his vision. When he turned his head, they were gone. He blinked and the whispers grew louder; deafening.

His right foot slipped on the pavement and Namjoon lost his balance. His speed forced him to fall forward and he landed on his hands and knees. He was panting, squinting against the water in his eyes, dripping down his face; making it harder to see. The whispers multiplied and he covered his ears with his hands as if that would help. They only grew louder and louder, accusing him, telling him he should have known; telling him he deserved this.

Namjoon screamed in misery, curling up as he knelt there on the cold wet stone. He wanted to go home; to go home and forget. But he needed to find him first. So he got up slowly, eying the shadow on the far corner of the street, but careful not to look directly at it. The whispers stopped abruptly. He started to walk slowly, his feet heavy on the pavement. Then, at the end of the street-

“Hyung!”

Namjoon gasped, turning his head quickly as what once had been a mere shadow transformed into a person of flesh and blood. Taehyung stared at him, breathing raggedly and eyes wide in distress. Namjoon couldn’t move. He’d always hoped this day would come. But not like this, never like this.

“Hyung, please!” Taehyung pleaded, stumbling forward with one arm outstretched.

“Tae-” his breath got lost somewhere halfway down his throat and Namjoon swallowed.

Taehyung was bleeding heavily out of a huge gash on his brow and he limped with every step he took as he tried to get closer to Namjoon. “I’m sorry!” he cried, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have fought, I’m sorry!”

Namjoon felt himself crashing to his knees on the hard pavement, shaking his head, “No, no, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I didn’t mean any of it. Please, Tae-”

Taehyung crashed into him, wrapping his shivering arms around him and then clawing at his back as if trying to hold on for dear life. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobbed, like a mantra, his grip tightening.

“It doesn’t matter, it was my fault, okay? I’m gonna get you home. I promise. We’re going home.”

Taehyung shook his head wildly, “They won’t let me stay!” He cried out, his fingers digging into Namjoon’s back so fiercely it almost hurt.

“They will!” Namjoon rushed, “They will. You’re here now. I got you now. Come on.”

Taehyung’s grip around Namjoon weakened suddenly and he sagged a little against him, “They won’t let me stay,” he whispered dejectedly.

“Tae?” Namjoon muttered, cradling the back of the boy’s head, dread filling every inch of his being as he felt warm blood spill through his fingers in a heavy current, “No, please-”

Taehyung went limp almost immediately, falling sideways before Namjoon dove to catch him. His skin was pale in the harsh glow of the streetlamp, eyes sunken and hollow. His lips were turning blue from the cold and his hair was coated with blood. He looked up at Namjoon with desperation, shaking and stuttering, “Mianhae,”

Namjoon shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut; his tears quickly getting lost in the rain, “No, please don’t.”

Taehyung wasn’t moving. His eyes unfocused and unseeing. He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t-

“Hyung, wake up!”

Namjoon jerked awake when a clumsy hand smacked against his chest. Jimin was alternating looking at him with concerned eyes and looking at the road. When Namjoon gave him a shaky nod, he relaxed slightly, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “You were muttering in your sleep.”

“Just a bad dream,” Namjoon deflected, looking in the rearview mirror to check and see Jungkook still loudly snoring in the backseat. A bomb could go off right next to him and he’d sleep through it. Some things never changed.

Jimin nodded as if knowing exactly what he was talking about. Come to think of it; he probably did. Namjoon didn’t dream about it often. Not anymore, at least. But there was something about this time of year and what they were about to do… it set his teeth on edge. And all the horrible thoughts, that deep rooted guilt, it all came rushing right back to him. He shuddered in his seat, trying to ignore how Jimin kept stealing worried glances at him.

“I’m fine.”

“Hm-hm.”

Jimin had called him god-awful early in the morning, saying he’d just collected a freshly washed Jungkook from Hoseok’s place and they were going to Daegu to check out a lead he’d found. Namjoon was well aware of the stages Jimin went through whenever he found a ‘lead’. It always ended in heartbreak, radio-silence for at least two weeks, and eventually, even more determination than he’d started with. Namjoon had agreed to go with them; not because he believed they’d find anything, but because he needed to be there to collect the fallout. These last five years, Namjoon had lost enough to recognize tragedy as it stared him in the face.

It started with Taehyung, of course. Namjoon had lost him to God knows what. Something terrible, that much he could safely conclude by now for sure.

Then his wildly successful career; as he had found it downright impossible to go on. Sure, he could pen down lyrics about love and loss, but actually saying them out loud was beyond his capabilities. So he changed them at last notice, making them generic and unrecognizable to himself; then selling them off to the people in the industry that didn’t have their minds preoccupied by grief and guilt. It kept his boat afloat, and every now and then he got a shout out, but as far as the general public was concerned, he and his group had fallen into obscurity.

He lost his group too. Sure, he talked to them every once in a while. He accompanied Jimin on his wild goose chases all over the country, looking for clues. But he’d been losing them all the same. That characteristic, tight bond between them had evaporated and at times, it was like they were strangers to each other. And here he was, trying to hold everything together when he knew it was a lost game.

And Jungkook… Namjoon spared another glance in the rearview. The kid’s mouth was wide open, head tilted back and leaning against the window. It would be a funny sight if Jungkook hadn’t been stupidly drunk for nearly three days straight. Jimin didn’t want to say anything, making sure Jungkook was already asleep in the back of the car before he went and picked Namjoon up; but the smell was unmistakable.

If Namjoon had lost Taehyung all of a sudden on a cold dark winter night; he was losing Jungkook in the entire opposite way; slowly, in broad daylight, while he knew what was happening, but could do nothing but stand by and watch.

“So,” Jimin cleared his throat, jarring Namjoon out of his thoughts, “How’s things at home?”

Namjoon chuckled at the question, “Fine. We’re renovating.”

“Ah, that sounds like a very grown-up thing,” Jimin mumbled, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Yeah, no. I am strictly forbidden from touching any tools, whether they be powered or not.”

“Seems like the right decision.”

“Hilo is quite handy though. She makes up the masculinity for both of us in that department. Painted the entire kitchen yesterday.”

“While you sat and watched her ass the entire time-”

“Jimin…”

“I’m just kidding,” Jimin cackled, smacking the steering wheel in amusement over his own joke, “How’s the wife?”

“Good, fine,” Namjoon answered, “She’s…” he hesitated, “Pregnant…”

The car swerved dangerously to the left side of the road before Jimin jerked the wheel and brought them back in position. Jungkook gave an almighty snort on the back seat, but stayed otherwise asleep. Namjoon grabbed unto the dashboard for support before cursing. “Damnit Jimin-ah, you don’t have to kill us.”

“She’s what?”

Namjoon let go of the dashboard and sat back carefully, remaining silent for a couple of seconds to try and determine how to best explain this part, “Pregnant,” he simply repeated.

“How did that happen?”

“Well,” Namjoon licked his lips, “I’m sure you’re familiar with the process-”

“That’s amazing!” Jimin finally seemed to have made up his mind and threw a hand haphazardly towards the back seat, “JK, wake up! Namjoon’s pregnant!”

“I’m not pr-”

“Hm?” a rough voice from the back seat.

“I mean, his wife is pregnant!”

“Wut…” Jungkook seemed to be in that state between awake and asleep where he didn’t know how, what or where he was.

“You’re useless,” Jimin sighed, turning back to the road, then glancing at Namjoon, “Congratulations, man. Finally some good news.”

“Yeah.”

Jimin must have picked up on Namjoon’s subdued tone, because his face turned doubtful, “Aren’t you excited?”

“Scared would be the better word here,” Namjoon mumbled, looking at his hands.

“What? I thought you always wanted to be a dad?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon breathed, looking in the rearview mirror once more and watching Jungkook’s bleary, confused eyes staring back at him. “I did.”

“Right,” Jimin drawled, deciding that whatever can of worms was hiding underneath, he was not going to be the one to open it.

A sort of awkward silence followed in which Jungkook blinked owlishly a few times, his eyes shifting between Jimin and Namjoon in front of him, before he shrugged, leaning back against the window.

Before Jungkook could go back to sleep, Jimin made an announcement. "The store is pretty closeby, we should be there in five minutes."

Namjoon watched Jimin's fingers tighten further around the wheel; to such a degree that his knuckles were turning white. Jimin had assured him time and time again that no, he didn't get his hopes up, this was just to check out a possible tip, but Namjoon knew better than that. He was well aware of how much faith Jimin put into these things. And no amount of common sense could deter Jimin from his mission.

True to Jimin's GPS, they arrived at a building only five minutes later. Jimin took a deep breath, nodded to himself and then unhooked his cramped fingers from the steering wheel. "Here we are," he said to no one in particular.

"Here we are," Namjoon muttered in confirmation.

The store looked old and a bit dilapidated, as looked most buildings in the outskirts of Daegu, and was located in the middle of nowhere, so it wasn't all that surprising. Namjoon got out of the car, hunching his shoulders against the harsh wind that swept over the empty street.

The place seemed deserted.

He looked over at Jimin, who had also gotten out of the car and was trying to wake Jungkook up. The youngest groaned before climbing out slowly and squinting up at the building. "This it?"

"Yeah," Jimin exhaled, particularly nervous.

"Come on," Namjoon said, gently pushing Jimin and Jungkook into motion.

They entered the store quite inconspicuously, dressed in mostly black and with hats on. Unnecessary, it appeared, as they walked in and saw there was nobody else around. The entire hardware store was empty, except for an older married couple scurrying around the aquariums in the back; one guy looking at a wide arrangement of power tools with a confused look on his face, and two people manning the cash registers; their faces drawn in boredom.

"You sure this is the place?" Jungkook whispered, doubt lacing his voice.

"Yes," Jimin nodded, slowly inching towards the registers. Namjoon looked at Jungkook and shrugged, following the shortest of them three to the back of the store. Jimin stopped in front of a middle aged lady standing behind the counter. She looked up at him, a questioning but friendly look on her face.

“Excuse me,” Jimin started, shoving his hands in his pocket nervously, “Are you mrs. Lee?”

“Yes, that’s correct, what can I do for you, young man?”

Jimin, probably used to people recognizing him instantly even with a hat on, was a little taken aback. “Um, I’m Park Jimin, we spoke on the phone?”

“Ah, about the missing boy!” the woman smiled, then looked around. “I think it best if we talk about this in the office, follow me please.”

The group of three followed her to a small office in one corner of the store. After they sat down and gotten one steaming mug of coffee each, mrs Lee sat down behind the desk. “Well, he showed up about a week ago with a group of other young men; right around closing time, I’d say.”

Jimin had quickly shifted to investigator mode, “How do you know it was him, ma’am?”

“I didn’t. Not at first,” she smiled calmly, “Not to be offensive, but I’ve never been a big k-pop fan, I can’t ever tell any of you apart.”

“No worries,” Namjoon assured her with a charming smile, “I can barely tell us apart either.”

This earned a laugh from the woman and she leant forward, “I’ve seen his photo on the news a couple of years ago, remembered thinking what a shame it was to lose a young talent so suddenly.”

Beside him, Namjoon noticed Jungkook stiffening and Jimin swallowed with difficulty, “So how did you find out?”

“My son always had that song on… which one is it… slow… jazzy- kinda sad-”

“Singularity,” Jimin choked.

“Yeah, I don’t know what it’s called, my son loved it, though,” Mrs Lee said. There was a deep, dark sadness in her eyes that Namjoon could now recognize immediately, “The boy speaks the way he sings. He has a pretty distinct voice. I recognized him from that. Then I remembered seeing the photo a few years back… big dark eyes, square face… It just clicked.”

Namjoon frowned slightly. So far, it didn’t seem like very much to go on. Yet Jimin pressed on, “So he came to the store with a group of people. Did it seem like he being held against his will, or-?”

Mrs Lee shook her head, “No, not really. I think he was actually in charge of the group, together with another young man. They went ahead and bought some supplies. Rope, tape, a few tools, that sort of stuff. Seemed pretty inconspicuous. Most of them were dressed as you are now. Mr Kim was the one that came to the register to pay.”

Jimin was quiet for a few moments and Namjoon could read from his face that the younger was trying to make sense of it all, “Was there anything that stood out?”

“Well, he doesn’t look like that photo anymore, that’s for sure,” Mrs Lee sighed, “That’s probably why I didn’t recognize him sooner. He’s skinnier. Less smile-y. He was slightly limping and I think I saw quite a few scars on what little skin I was able to see.”

“Uh-huh,” Jimin mumbled as if any of that made any sense whatsoever, “Did he say where they came from? Or where they were going…?”

“He didn’t say much, I’m sorry,” Mrs Lee said, looking at him with empathy, “He just thanked me for the service and then they left.”

Jimin nodded absentmindedly as he did his best to process the information. Namjoon observed his sudden silence and cleared his throat, “Does the store have any security cams, so we can see for ourselves?”

“Of course!” Mrs Lee nodded, “I’ll get you the equipment, then you can take as much time as you need. I’ll be right back. Just tell me when you’re done afterwards, I have to get back to the store.” Namjoon smiled at her, thanking her for her generosity.

“This makes absolutely zero sense,” Jungkook declared after Mrs Lee had left the room. “It couldn’t have been him, right?”

Jimin didn’t answer and Namjoon leant back in his seat, contemplating, “Chances are considerable that it’s someone with a similar voice and face to Tae. But there’s camera footage, so we can check it out ourselves. Which is more than we’ve gotten before in terms of evidence.”

Jimin nodded frantically, seeming both excited and terrified at the tiniest shred of hope that was gradually growing inside their minds, whether they wanted to admit it or not. Mrs Lee returned with a laptop and a memory stick, instructing them to skip towards the end as the group had come in towards closing time.

After she left, the three of them were glued to the screen. Jimin was biting his lip to the point it started bleeding; Jungkook had narrowed his eyes so much he was practically watching through his eyelashes, and Namjoon didn’t blink the entire time he was watching.

At the time marker of 7.30 in the evening; a group of five came into the store. They were all dressed in white t-shirts and dark pants, despite the cold weather outside. They all had similar short, practical hair styles and if there wasn’t a difference in height between the members, Namjoon could have sworn he was looking at five carbon copies of the same person. The group wandered through the store together before one of the members pointed and started sending them different ways. It was more difficult to keep track of them this way.

Namjoon trained his eyes on the screen thoroughly. If you’d asked him years ago to pick out Taehyung from grainy, black and white video footage; he would have been able to do that in a heartbeat. They’d spent almost every waking moment together for eight years; sharing stories, rooms and studios together. Namjoon knew how his bandmates walked, talked, hell even how they felt without them explicitly saying it, but now…

Nothing.

There was nothing that stood out to him in this group of seemingly young men on the camera footage. He sagged slightly when he realized that. Jungkook also seemed to realize it. The youngest stood up with a wry look on his face, backing away from the laptop.

Jimin snapped to attention, “Where are you going?”

“Home,” grumbled Jungkook. It was barely noticeable, but Namjoon saw the tears brimming his eyes.

“We’re not done yet,” Jimin said, angry for an indiscernible reason.

“Yeah, we are,” Jungkook hissed, “It’s not him. Don’t know why I even started to believe that.”

“We are not done yet,” Jimin repeated, slower, but louder this time.

“What are we even doing here?” Jungkook’s voice matched Jimin’s in intensity instantly, “it always ends in disappointment.”

In their past lifetime, Namjoon would have stepped in and he would have been respected for his role as their leader. All three of them knew that he hadn’t been their leader in over five years though.

“At least I’m doing something useful with my time,” Jimin snarled back, his hands tightening into fists, “Instead of drinking all my sorrows away-”

“Oh yeah, you’re very useful,” Jungkook replied heatedly, “You keep dragging us to these places, making us sit through this heartbreak over and over again, just because you can’t accept the fact that he’s gone!”

With a ferocious yell, Jimin tackled Jungkook to the ground in the middle of the small office. Jungkook landed on his back with Jimin on top of him. The older, smaller male drew back his fist and punched the younger square in his face. He drew back again, but stopped himself this time. “Why are you here then?” He asked, tears streaming down his face now, “I didn’t force you into the car this morning! I didn’t drag you anywhere! You came because you wanted to! And I’m sorry it’s not him. I’m sorry! But it’s not my fault!”

Jungkook panted, clutching at his cheekbone where he’d been on the receiving end of Jimin’s swift fist. “He’s not just going to show up, Jimin-hyung, he’s gone! He’s never gonna-”

“Oh my God, it’s him.”

Both their heads turned towards Namjoon in an instant. Namjoon was staring at the screen with open mouth. A flash, it had been nothing more than that. But Namjoon recognized him immediately. One of the taller of the group of boys had turned towards the camera; clearly acknowledging its existence as he kept staring at it for a few long seconds. There was something in his gaze that immediately stood out, even if Namjoon couldn’t tell what it was exactly. A glint. Maybe a facial feature. But there was no doubt.

That was Kim Taehyung.

Chapter Text

The longer Jungkook stared at the now still image on the screen, the more he could feel his everlasting grief turn into confusion and full blown anger.

What the hell was this?

For years –years- he’d heard that this was going to be his life now. That after the disappearance of his best friend and band member, his whole career had been doomed to fall apart. He was the first to admit that he hadn’t been handling all of that very well; slowly seeing the people he’d spend nearly a decade of his life with break under this all-consuming tragedy.

Namjoon had been riddled with guilt. He never said so out loud, but they all knew it. He had become withdrawn, unable to fulfill his role as a leader when he’d convinced himself that he was responsible for whatever had happened to Taehyung.

Jimin was in complete denial. Had been for the entirety of the five years this had been going on now. His obsession with finding Taehyung had manifested in such a way that he had no life outside of it. He’d managed to get a job at the performance school thanks to Hoseok putting in a good word for him, but Jungkook knew he rarely showed up.

And Hoseok had initially tried to rise to the plate of leadership once Namjoon had stepped off. Busy with keeping everyone sane and together so much that he’d forgotten to deal with his own feelings. Jungkook had initially been glad that he’d taken over the role as leader, because it meant Jungkook had someone to guide him still in those first few months of absolute chaos. But that all soon came to a head once the final decision had to be made and Hoseok… just couldn’t do it. Eventually the decision was made for him when Seokjin and Yoongi had a huge screaming match and walked out.

Yoongi had wanted to continue the band. Jungkook knew his way of dealing with this kind of pain was to write it down in pages full of lyrics, camping out in his studio for weeks at a time and finally ending up with enough material to last him a lifetime. He stayed with the company as a producer, but his music had lost the heart and soul it had once had after everything that happened.

Seokjin was a different matter entirely. He’d cut ties almost completely and had moved out of Seoul; becoming more involved with his father’s company and turning his back on the life he’d lived in the spotlights. Jungkook couldn’t help but still feel the sting of betrayal. Seokjin contacted him every now and then and asked him how he was doing. Jungkook would sneer that he didn’t need his support, or his money; yet always ended up with a few hundred thousand won in his bank account anyway. Most of the time, he tried not to think of how he’d never seen Seokjin smile or laugh after that night Taehyung had disappeared.

Jungkook tried not to think too much generally. He’d woken up that day after Taehyung vanished, completely oblivious to the fact his entire life had changed in a matter of hours. He remembered being happy because it was Hoseok’s birthday, and that meant that there was gonna be cake and a big feast in the evening. Add to that that Hoseok’s birthday fell on one of their rare days off that year and it was safe to say that Jungkook had woken up in an exceptionally good mood. People had been running around the dorms and at first Jungkook had believed that they were just making last minute birthday arrangements. Namjoon spent the entire day on the phone, calling and being called by anybody and everybody. Between phone calls, Jungkook had tried to ask him what was going on, but was refused an explanation each time. Come to think of it, everybody had been extremely reluctant to give him any details on what had happened.

Which was… typical.

Bad news was generally dealt with by grown up people, and although Jungkook had been 21 at the time; people around him often seemed to treat him like he was 15 still. Don’t tell the maknae, he won’t be able to handle it, he’ll freak out.

And well… Jungkook hadn’t been able to handle it. He wasn’t an idiot. At some point it became very obvious that everybody was running around like a headless chicken; everybody except for Taehyung, who was not running around anywhere and when Jungkook loudly asked where Taehyung was, Yoongi finally told him.

After that, Jungkook had completely shut down. He realized that Namjoon was not making last minute birthday arrangements for Hoseok but was instead on the phone with management and police the whole day. Jimin walked around like a zombie, following Namjoon everywhere to absorb every last bit of information. Hoseok seemed to have forgotten it was his birthday in the first place. Seokjin had announced he was going out to look for Taehyung despite their managers’ strict advice to stay put and Yoongi and Jungkook ended up sitting on the living room sofa numbly while chaos erupted around them.

Neither of them said a word; a habit Jungkook quickly adopted and held onto for nearly a month after that first day. He’d felt numb, like a dark empty hole was left in his chest after something significant had been ripped out. He spent his days numbly waiting for news at the dorms, numbly going to the funeral when hope had finally been crushed, and finally numbly going into the studio; whether it be dancing or singing, he needed to feel something. He hadn’t cried once after everything had happened and he knew it was supposed to hurt, he just couldn’t feel it. He’d turned to alcohol and other stuff; worse stuff, not long after that; knowing and accepting that his career was over the moment he made that decision.

Yet he could never stop thinking about Taehyung; his mind a swirling whirlwind of how and why and where and when. What had happened? Had he suffered? Did it happen quickly? Had he been alone when he died? Thoughts that could only be muffled by the sweet stupor of drinking half a bottle of vodka. Jungkook hadn’t been able to look at pictures, videos or recordings of Taehyung, as every time he did, the emptiness inside him grew colder and lonelier.

And now he could see him. For the first time in five years Jungkook saw those eyes staring into the camera. A man with a tired expression, nothing like the young, careless boy Jungkook had grown close to almost instantly from the moment they met. Jungkook squinted at the dark bruise that he could see on the man’s cheekbone. Taehyung looked worn and beaten, older than his now 28 years, yet it was unmistakably, undeniably him.

How Why Where When?

Jungkook backed away from the screen slowly. God, he needed a drink. And he needed to punch someone. Preferably Jimin in retaliation. And then he needed another, stronger drink.

Five years. Five whole, goddamn years of wasting away and going through hell. And now this?

None of this made any sense. Taehyung had been dead for five years, and now he wasn’t. Now he was alive and well, strolling through a goddamn hardware store like nothing was going on. What? Did all that grief, all that pain, all that foregone fame and fortune mean absolutely nothing in the end?

What the fuck? What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck whatthefuck whatthefuck whatthefuckwhatthefuck

Jungkook was panting now, nearing hyperventilation as he backed himself into the doorway. Neither Namjoon nor Jimin had moved, seemingly frozen in confusion and disbelief as they kept staring at the screen.

“What the fuck,” Jungkook managed to choke out with a wheeze.

Jimin seemed to unfreeze first, turning to look at Jungkook with wide eyes, “He’s alive,” he breathed, quite unnecessarily.

“It’s not him, it can’t be him,” Jungkook shook his head wildly, despite knowing the opposite to be true.

“He’s alive,” Jimin repeated, seemingly in trance.

The meaning behind that remained unspoken between the three of them as they packed up and exited the store. They placed themselves back into Jimin’s rental car, numbly staring ahead without saying anything. Yet Jungkook didn’t need them to speak to know what they were thinking.

If Taehyung had been alive this entire time. If he had been able to walk in and out of hardware stores without any problem whatsoever. Then why why why why had he never come back to them? Or at least let them know? What could have possibly happened in those five years that had everyone believing he was dead? Why did he move and look like he’d gone three rounds with a semi-truck? Who were those other people? Why did they all look like one another?

When Jungkook had woken up this morning with a bitch of a hangover and Jimin towering above him to drag his ass out of bed and go on a road trip; he had little faith that they would be getting any answers today. And he’d been right.

He didn’t think they’d leave with so many more questions, though.

Chapter Text

Dan looked up when the door opened. Today had been a slow day, which usually meant that it was going to be a slow night. That was just as well; he could still feel his right shoulder creak whenever he moved it a little too far.

A kid, no older than 21, maybe 22, was thrown into the underground. He was crying, snot and tears mixing on his face in a disgusting mess and he was frantically clutching at the floor, at his clothes. Dan could tell in an instant that the boy was absolutely terrified. His high pitched sobs and shrieks were evidence enough.

After a few minutes of absolute silence from all the other boys in the room, the new recruit gathered himself and scurried backwards until his back hit the wooden bar behind him. His hair had been shaved in messy patches; a telltale sign of a newcomer. Moon had a razor blade stashed away under his mat, which he used to shave the new boys properly. Dan figured the monsters must know about it, but never cared enough to take it from him. Moon was useless against them, as were they all. Monsters had guns; they had a few good fighters and one razor blade. It wasn’t worth the risk.

The new boy continued to sob, his knees pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. Dan felt all the eyes in the room apart from the newcomer’s, slowly shift from the crying boy on the ground to himself. As their unofficial leader, he was supposed to deal with this. With a hefty sigh, he got up from his mat, wincing at the way his back protested, before slowly approaching the newcomer. He crouched down before him, observing the boy silently before he sat down in front of him with crossed legs.

Scrawny, rather short, but seemingly healthy. Dan wondered how long he would last.

“What’s your name?” Dan asked, not unfriendly.

The kid hiccupped before he looked up at Dan, “Haru,” he choked out, his eyes shifting to where the other boys were all undoubtedly staring at them. It had been a while since they had gotten a new recruit.

Dan kept silent for a few seconds, then nodded slowly, “Not anymore,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

The boy frowned at him and Dan could see some defiance slip into his gaze, “I’m not giving up my name,” he said resolutely.

“You will get a new name,” Dan explained, “Not now,” he added when he saw the kid’s confused expression, “Not yet. But when you do, it will be a blessing.”

“What’s gonna happen to me?”

Nothing good.

“What do you remember?” Dan asked, skillfully avoiding the question.

The boy grabbed at his head, more tears streaming down his face when he realized he had lost most of his hair, “I-I was walking home, it was dark,” he paused, thinking, “I think a car was following me.”

Dan nodded, pursing his lips slightly. That was classic. It was exactly what happened to him a long time ago. What happened to most of the boys behind him too. It was usually quick, silent and clean. Dan vaguely remembered fighting back, a heavy object smashing against his head and waking up here with a face covered in blood. At least this boy didn’t seem to have gotten hurt.

It was not going to stay that way.

“They’re gonna kill us, aren’t they?” The boy’s voice had gotten small and hopeless.

Dan shook his head, “No,” he said, leaving it at that.

“Then what do they want?” the kid asked, frantic, “I’m just a student, I don’t have any money.”

Dan looked away, clenching his jaw, “Entertainment,” he mumbled.

“What?”

What indeed. It didn’t make sense to any of the boys when they’d first gotten here. They would understand soon enough; fall into a routine. They kept their heads down and did what was expected of them. It was no way to live, yet they survived anyway.

Survival. The one thing more important than anything else. A thing that could only be achieved if you forgot about the life you lived before. “You’ll understand soon,” Dan promised, unable to hide the apologetic tone of his voice. The kid stayed silent after that. Dan uncrossed his legs and got up slowly before walking back to his mat.

“What’s your name?” the new kid asked after him.

“They call me Dan,” Dan said, not looking back at the boy.

“No, I mean your real name,” the kid said.

Dan felt his fingers curl into fists before he carefully uncurled them, “I don’t know.”

Chapter Text

The first thing that flew across the apartment when Jimin came home was the old table lamp he’d gotten from his grandmother years and years ago. It shattered with a satisfying crash, sharp pieces of pottery and broken glass littering the floor.

Next were the towers of coffee-stained paper stacked on his desk; joining the broken lamp as they fluttered to the ground.

Jimin was panting; shaking as he swept the blue ‘good luck, duck’ mug that Seokjin had gotten him right before their debut, off the top of the refrigerator with a loud growl. Blind rage coursed through his veins and the mess of broken stuff on the floor could not still it.

He screamed in frustration; digging his fingernails into his hairline as he pressed his palms to his eyes. He’d lied to Namjoon and said he was fine when he dropped him off; then again to Jungkook when they arrived back at Hoseok’s place. He’d refused any and all offers of ‘have a cup of tea and talk about this’ and headed straight home.

And now… he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He should be happy. Should he be happy? After blindly stumbling around in the dark for five years with only the tiniest; quickly fraying shred of hope, he’d finally found something.

But what?

Because no matter how he looked at it; whatever angle or viewpoint he could come up with, it didn’t make any sense.

“It’s probably because you’re missing crucial information,” came Taehyung’s cryptic, but casual suggestion from across the room.

Jimin was not at all in the mood for cryptic, but casual. He pulled his hands away from his eyes and pointed a finger towards his friend, “You!” he growled, stomping over menacingly. Taehyung didn’t move. Now that Jimin was closer to him, he could see that Taehyung looked… different. He was no longer dressed in that hoodie, trousers and baseball cap he’d had since he left. He was older, dressed in a white t-shirt and dark pants. Short hair and a stern expression.

And it made no sense.

Taehyung raised his brow, as if challenging Jimin to say something else. Jimin narrowed his eyes at him, as if, if he thought long and hard about it, the answer would just appear in front of him. “What were you doing in that hardware store?”

“I don’t know,” Taehyung answered, quite predictably, “I know just as much as you do.”

“It’s fake,” Jimin continued, ignoring Taehyung’s comment, “It has to be fake, right? It couldn’t have been you. That makes no sense. Maybe it was somebody else. Yeah. Maybe we just really really wanted it to be you, but it was somebody else the entire time.”

“All three of you just imagined me?”

“I don’t know!” Jimin hissed in frustration, “I’m trying to make sense of this, alright? You’ve been gone for five years, and now you’re randomly showing up on the security footage of a hard ware store in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere!”

Taehyung had the decency to turn a shameful red, “That makes no sense.”

“I know!” Jimin yelled, throwing up his hands.

“Still,” Taehyung muttered, licking his lips the way he’d always done when he was about to say something that made him nervous, “You weren’t the only one to see me. Jungkook, Namjoon, Mrs. Lee…”

“Fuck, I forgot about Mrs. Lee,” Jimin mumbled, shoulders slumping, “It makes no sense, Tae-ah. Why were you there?”

“I don’t know,” Taehyung replied again, “I know what you know, that’s how this works.”

“Well, clearly you’re not helpful at all then!” Jimin yelled. Taehyung kept staring at him, undeterred. Jimin let himself slide down to the floor, careful not to catch any pieces of pottery or glass in his hands. Here he was, yelling at himself.

God, he was really going crazy, wasn’t he?

Or maybe he’d lost it a long time before this point, who could tell? He shook his head slowly, looking at his hands as he mumbled: “You were dead, Taehyung-ah. I thought you were dead.”

This seemed to catch Taehyung off-guard significantly, tears suddenly brimming his eyes as he stumbled backwards, “No, you didn’t!” he cried out, “You said you didn’t!”

“Yeah well, I did,” Jimin choked out, swallowing with difficulty as he faced a truth he’d denied for five long years, “Of course I did.”

“Why’d you keep looking then?” Taehyung challenged.

“Because I wanted answers,” Jimin shrugged, leaning back against the wall as he stared up at the high ceiling of his apartment, “And now that I got some, I don’t know what to do with them.”

He snorted, almost laughing at the absurdity of it all. “You were dead, and now you just suddenly reappear out of nowhere.“

“You have to think about this,” Taehyung urged, courageously taking a step forward, “There’s always a logical explanation, you just don’t have all the info yet.”

“Fact is, we saw you on video. Completely alive and perfectly fine. What’s the logical explanation for that one?”

“Was I though?”

“What?” Jimin sighed, looking sideways to watch Taehyung spread his arms. He was getting so tired of these vague answers.

“Was I really fine? How can you know for sure?”

“You weren’t being dragged through there kicking and screaming-”

“Does that mean I’m fine?”

Jimin frowned, watching the dark bruise from the video slowly appear on Taehyung’s face as he remembered the details. Remembered the obvious limp in his step, the scars Mrs. Lee had mentioned. “No…” he breathed out.

Taehyung looked at him as he crouched in front of Jimin, dark, deep circles around his sunken eyes. A tiredness way beyond what sleep could cure was evident in his gaze; the same gaze Jimin had seen staring back at him straight into the camera. As if on purpose. It looked like it would take only a tiny breath of wind and Taehyung would crumble apart right in front of him. “There’s not gonna be any easy answers here, Jimin,” he said, voice low and rough, “You’re missing information. How can you know for sure?”

“You already asked that.”

Taehyung raised his brow pointedly, staring at the pocket of Jimin’s jeans. Jimin followed his gaze, digging his hand into his pocket and retrieving the small USB drive he’d taken from the store. They stared at it reverently for a couple of seconds. “People don’t just disappear,” Taehyung whispered.

“Others just stop looking,” Jimin finished, curling his fingers around the drive.

“Do you really want to know?” Taehyung asked, not unfriendly, “Because if you do, there’s no way back.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I’m really alive; I’m not okay. If I was, I would have come back a long time ago. Deep down, you already know that. And if I’m not okay-”

“Then you need help,” Jimin whispered, a dark realization slowly dawning upon him. The edges of the plastic USB drive dug into his skin as he tightened his fingers around it. His heart hammered against his chest. This was serious.

This was really serious.

This was the point where he should call the police and tell them everything he’d found. And then wait for them to dismiss him and his crazy findings once again. They’d interpreted his contributions to the investigation as nothing more than the misjudgments of a grieving friend. There was no way they would just take his word now.

But now; he had proof.

Alright, it wasn’t really clear proof. Anyone that saw this footage, probably wouldn’t immediately recognize Taehyung in it. His appearance had changed a lot. Hell, it had taken Jungkook, Namjoon and Jimin over ten minutes in before they’d made the collective decision that it was, in fact, Taehyung.

The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed to Jimin that the police would just dismiss him again; maybe recommend he saw another therapist, as they always seemed so keen on doing. He hated that pity in their eyes. As if anything he did or said couldn’t be taken seriously because Taehyung happened to be his best friend.

Assholes.

And sure, he would give them the footage eventually, but not before he’d analyzed every single frame bit by bit himself. He opened his hand, making up his mind before being rudely interrupted by a loud banging on the front door.

Both he and Taehyung startled, turning to look at the door. Maybe Namjoon had already called the police?

No.

That was ridiculous.

Instinctively though, Jimin curled his hand around the drive again and shoved it deep and safe back into his pocket. He waited, holding his breath.

“Jimin-ah! Open the door, I know you’re home!”

A welcome wave of relief washed over him as he walked towards the door and opened it, revealing both Hoseok, and –surprisingly- Yoongi in the hallway.

Hoseok narrowed his eyes immediately at him and pointed, “You and I are going to have a goddamn talk about showing up for an honest day’s work,” he growled, leaving no room for argument.

“Uh, the phone?”

Hoseok’s eyes narrowed even further, “If I’d called, would you have picked up?”

Jimin opened his mouth, then closed it as he took in Hoseok’s fuming expression. Behind Hoseok, Yoongi shook his head warningly. Jimin took a step back, spreading his arm, “Come on in.”

“I thought so,” Hoseok said, voice low as he stepped into Jimin’s spacious apartment with Yoongi following close behind. Jimin didn’t miss the brief flash of despair crossing over Hoseok’s face as he surveyed the absolute mess of broken glass, scattered papers and empty coffee cups. If there was one thing Hoseok despised, it was disarray. And Jimin’s apartment was way beyond disarray right now.

Yoongi seemed less bothered by this fact, kicking a few paper cups and empty take-out boxes aside before promptly making himself at home on the couch as a seemingly permanent fixture.  

“What the hell happened here?” Hoseok breathed, still standing by the front door.

“Don’t mind the mess,” Jimin mumbled, knowing full well that Hoseok did mind the mess, “I’d offer you some coffee, but I think I’m all out.”

“Was that before or after a hurricane swept your place?” Yoongi asked, slightly amused.

“Hard to say,” Jimin shrugged, keeping his eyes on Hoseok. “You wanted to have a talk?”

“That’s right,” Hoseok nodded, “Thought we had agreed you were coming into work today?”

Jimin clenched his jaw. He had expected this conversation ever since the early morning phone call yesterday, but he had far more important things on his mind right now. Not to mention the tone Hoseok just used made the hairs on the back of his neck rise in irritation.

“We did,” Jimin grumbled.

“And instead, you take Jungkook and Namjoon on a flipping roadtrip,” Hoseok snorted. His cartoonish expression of annoyance could only be completed if he went and put his hands on his hips right now, which he didn’t, thankfully.

“I did.”

“And I had to cover your ass with the school board meeting again, because they haven’t seen you in what? Two weeks?”

“Twelve days-”

“That’s nearly two weeks!” Hoseok exploded, helplessly waving his hands around, “And don’t tell me they’re not gonna fire you because we’re BTS or whatever, because this kind of behavior reflects on me too, you know? I mean, I can take it if you come in late, cause that’s who you are, but to not show up at all, that’s-”

Hoseok went on and Jimin half tuned him out, turning to look at Yoongi who was doing his very best at pretending he’d suddenly gone deaf; staring straight ahead with a stoic expression on his face. Jimin wondered what had made him tag along in the first place. It wasn’t like Hoseok needed any reinforcements when giving Jimin the lecture of the century, that much was clear. And to drag Yoongi away from his studio these days, you either needed a very good reason, or brutal force.

Jimin suspected a mix of both in this situation.

Because the very exception to this rule was Hoseok, who merely had to bat his eyelashes and Yoongi would go to the end of the world for him. God, Jimin envied that power.

“-and then Jungkook shows back up, definitely drunk, and locks himself in my attic. Won’t say a word; not even when Yoongi-hyung came around, Called Seokjin-hyung and he knows nothing and then I remember, oh wait, Jungkook’s been with Jimin and Namjoon all morning. So I called Namjoon and for whatever crazy reason, he’s not picking up his phone. I already know you’re definitely not picking up your phone, so Yoongi-hyung and I decided to just come around and see if you’re at home. Which, you’re always at home, so here we are.”

Yoongi shrunk into himself a little bit, indicating that he had not been a large deciding factor when that decision had been made. Hoseok’s face had turned red from a lack of oxygen as he had barely taken two breaths the entire time he’d been talking.

“What Hoseok is trying to say-” Yoongi began.

“I get what he’s trying to say,” Jimin interrupted, staring back at Hoseok, “You want to know what we did to Jungkook.”

“That is what it comes down to,” Yoongi nodded and if Jimin looked really hard, he could see the edge of concern creeping into Yoongi’s expression.

“We found a lead,” Jimin said plainly.

Hoseok looked away, doing his very best not to roll his eyes, Jimin could tell. He loved Hoseok, of course he did. And he and the others had mostly been treating him like crap for the past couple of years, leaving him to pick up the pieces of their chaotic, broken lives without any regard for his own wellbeing. But he hated that Hoseok had so readily accepted the notion that Taehyung was dead and gone. Done. On with the next chapter, shall we?

Jimin felt the USB drive burn in his pocket. Yoongi leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he ran a hand through his long hair. From the corner of his eye, Jimin could see Taehyung stare at the three of them with a calm but stern expression. The bruise was purpling over his cheekbone, right under his left eye. He was pale. His shirt white and his pants dark and he looked older than he ever should.

“I have to show you something,” Jimin said in a hoarse voice, digging up the USB drive from his pocket and holding it between thumb and index finger.

“What’s that?” Yoongi questioned immediately.

“It’s everything,” Jimin replied, turning to walk to the bedroom, not waiting for Hoseok or Yoongi to follow him.

Chapter Text

“Alright so, song production 101,” Hyung mumbled, smashing some keys on his overprized laptop, before rotating round in his overprized studio chair, “Many may think it’s very complicated. And it can be, but it always starts fairly simple.”

The younger one finds that hard to believe, letting his wide eyes glide over the various tabs and sound waves Hyung had kept open, “How?”

Hyung looks at him sternly and the Dongsaeng tries not to shrink into himself. He’s always felt a bit intimidated by this Hyung in particular. How could he not be? Man’s a musical genius, even at twenty years old. Hyung takes a very deep breath before deflating, “It always starts by humming,” he declares.

The Dongsaeng blinks, “humming?”

“Sure, try it,” Hyung urges on, waving his hands as he leans back in his chair, “Just pick a note, and go from there. It will help you figure out the basic melody. Want a sad song? Go slow. Happier? Little faster.”

Dan hums softly to himself as he leads his pack out of their group’s main barrack. The three newcomers are right behind him, shuffling forward reluctantly, with the rest of the pack breathing down their necks. Dan’s explained the basic gist of tonight. He’s given them the tour of the Underground a couple of days ago, yet they still look at the arena with astounded apprehension.

Dan understands, he thinks. But it’s been so long since he’s felt any sort of reverence for this particular area. He used to be chosen for the arena quite a few times if he wasn’t in the infirmary, or chosen by the ‘lovers’ instead.

“Alright, turn around,” he says, loud enough for the people on the tail end of their little group to hear. The three newcomers stare at him with wide eyes, the rest stares at him impatiently. “Tonight’s Initiation Night. We line up in the middle of the arena. You will get your assigned roles for the evening there. ‘Fighters’ go down to the battle stations, ‘Lovers’ stay in the arena until your assigned… partner calls your name, ‘Medics’ stay right here, wait until the fight is over before you enter the field, or there will be consequences. ‘Cleaners’ also stay here. You wait until the night is over, and do your job.“

Dan reviews his team mates one by one. Most of them know the routine by heart. They’ve gone through this so many times. But tonight’s not ‘Initiation Night’ for nothing. They have three new recruits. The chances are that they will be chosen to play a significant role in tonight’s performance.

Haru sticks up a hand, eyes still apprehensively flitting towards the arena, “Are we fighting each other?”

Dan is quite sure that he’s already explained this one too many times, but he shakes his head, “No. We’re up against the Blue Team tonight. There’s three teams in total. Red, white, blue. We don’t fight each other. Ever.”

A loud banging, caused by a steel pipe on the metal cage around the arena, signals the beginning of Initiation Night. The door to the arena is unlocked and Dan steps aside, ushering in his pack. He’s done this more times than he’s ever got the chance to count.

They line up perfectly, side by side with rigid postures. All except for Justin, one of the new recruits, who has taken on a decidedly cowering stance, hunching over and trembling in earnest. A monster with an automatic shotgun comes up to him and slams the hilt of his weapon against Justin’s shoulder without a single warning. Dan’s jaw hardens, but he knows better than to interfere. He’s played the hero before. And it’s never ended well. Neither for him, nor for the people he tried to save.

Justin shrieks, clutching his shoulder. He can’t be older than seventeen, maybe eighteen. He cries out something in English and gets another slam in the exact same spot for his trouble. He’s shaking from top to toe now, but he seems to have gotten the message. He straightens up, adopting the same stance as his team mates next to him and tries to bite back the inflicted pain.

It wouldn’t be surprising if he was chosen as a ‘Fighter’ tonight.

The monster takes a spot next to Dan at the end of the line, hands on his shotgun and masked face unassuming. Dan’s never seen any of the monsters display emotions other than anger. It’s what makes them so damn effective.

They make them wait for a while. They like that. The Blue Team lines up across from them, identical to their own group, aside from the blue shirts, instead of white. There’s that old familiar hostility on Grudge’s face and Dan breathes out. It’s stupid, he knows. Both their teams have just as much choice in the matter, yet the monsters and the clients have found just the right methods for creating competition and hostility. Things like rewards for the winners, penalties for the losers. A nice hot shower after a fight? Make sure you smash a Blue Teamer’s face in. Getting defeated too easily? You and your team will sleep on the cold hard floor tonight.

It’s things like that that make Dan think up entirely new escape plans late at night. He always used to. Has attempted a few as well. Now that he knows the consequences, though, he barely ever reacts to anything anymore. It’s better to keep things to yourself in an environment like this.

The feedback on the intercom screeches before someone taps against the microphone.

“Blue number one, step forward,” a heavily deformed voice echoes through the arena.

The blue recruit across from them can barely move, but the choice is taken from them when Grudge nudges him forward. He’s new. Dan doesn’t believe he’s seen him before, anyway. Blue has suffered a few significant losses over the past few weeks. All good fighters. Maybe that’s why Grudge looks more vengeful than usual. He isn’t called ‘Grudge’ for nothing. A tree of a guy, really. Been here for nearly as long as Dan has.

Years.

It’s rare. Most recruits don’t last longer than a few months. They succumb to illness, injuries, or just plain old suicide. How many times has Dan had to pluck that razor blade up from the floor next to a lifeless body?

 Moon’s razor wasn’t just for cutting hair.

It used to affect him a lot. He used to cry a lot in the middle of the night, especially in the beginning. He used to be soft like that. Everything got to him. The mangling. The maiming. The sheer insanity.

How many times has he sat in the White Team’s bathroom block with that goddamn razor blade himself?

“Lover,” the intercom announces and Dan watches the dread grow in the new recruit’s eyes. He doesn’t blame him. He’s good looking and still undamaged, so the role doesn’t come as a surprise, but it’s arguably the worst role there is. Dan used to get chosen a lot as a ‘Lover’, right in the beginning. The best thing was to just shut off your thoughts and get through it. Let the bastards do what they want. Play no part.

The group doesn’t talk about it. They all know what happens, most have been chosen at least once in their career. Monsters with hungry gazes that want to try something new when it’s available.

Most incidents with Moon’s razor have happened after a Lover role.

Not everyone can take it, Dan presumes.

“White number one, step forward.”

Dan watches Haru tremble noticeably, but he steps forward on his own accord. It’s almost a guarantee that the new recruits will get assigned as Fighters or Lovers tonight. It’s not an Initiation for nothing.

This is where you will get your new name, Dan had told them.

Haru didn’t seem to understand the purpose of a new name, but he would with time, Dan was sure. It was pretty simple. In order to survive the Underground, you needed a new identity. Forget about the life you had up on the surface. You can’t take that with you when you’re down here. Distance yourself and become another person. That’s the key.

Dan had always liked playing roles.

“Fighter.”

Haru swallows, then bows and steps back in line. Moon makes eye contact with him before the Automatic Shotgun Monster can make his move and jerks his head towards the Battle Stations. Haru jumps, eyes going wide before he springs into a jog and heads over to the white station.

Their roles get called one by one. When it’s Dan’s turn, there’s already four Fighters and four Lovers. The sand nestles between his toes as he steps forward.

“Our oldest,” the deformed voice says, going off script. Dan’s mouth twitches, lips pressing firmly together. For some reason, they like to taunt him specifically lately. Grudge, a ‘Cleaner’ for tonight, watches him with narrowed eyes behind the steel bars of the arena, clearly unhappy by the special attention Dan seems to get.

“Medic.”

Dan deflates before walking out of the arena and joining the other three Medics of his team. He’s had ‘Medic’ four times in a row now. His limp and wobbly stance made him unpopular as a Fighter and the scars on his face, arms, chest everywhere, made it unlikely for him to be paid for as a Lover. He was damaged goods. His stoic behavior and empty gaze had scared clients off the last time he was a Lover. He’d received the beating of a lifetime after that, but it had been weeks and weeks since he’d been assigned the role since then.

As a Fighter, he did his best, of course. But he wasn’t as agile and swift as he used to be. In order to place bets on you, clients would need to believe you could win. Apparently his years of experience didn’t make up for his faltering steps.

Medic was a role he still performed exceptionally well at. Mouse claps him on the shoulder as he joins their group of three. Mouse is a slender, short man with small eyes and few remaining teeth. He’s the second oldest of their Team and has long since been Dan’s right hand man when it comes to leadership. Mouse was most often chosen as a Medic. He seemed to be made for the job. In fact, Mouse had told him years and years ago that he’d been well on his way to medical school before he was taken. It meant a lot for their survival rates to have Mouse chosen as Medic for the night and Dan never fails to breathe a sigh of relief when that role gets called for his friend. They’re both mostly relegated to Cleaners and Medics now. Apparently they made it past the ‘dangerous’ years.

Weird how that works.

Dan may be the oldest, but it was Mouse that had been down here the longest. He’d taught Dan everything to survive here in the Underground. He’d cradled him at night when he cried, when their leader of the time had long given up on him. He’d whispered at him to be strong. That one day, some day, they would get out of here. That it’s just a matter of time.

Dan wonders how much Mouse still believes in that.

Mouse was also the one that taught him to let his old life go. Better to forget all that. You need a blank slate in order to survive.

You’re Dancer now.

A nickname that was shortened to Dan fairly quickly. He doesn’t know Mouse’s real name. Maybe he’s mentioned it in the long years that they’ve been down here. Maybe not. He’s always been Mouse. Small and shifty, but sharp as a knife if necessary. A beacon of comfort whenever it’s needed. He leans forward and whispers, “Those new kids better make it through in one piece, or we’re gonna be busy tonight.”

Dan smiles and nods. He’s taught the recruits a few basic moves in their main barracks. They picked it up fairly quickly. He’s hopeful. “There any weaponry tonight?”

Mouse shakes his head, “I don’t think so. Not usually on Initiation Night.”

Dan purses his lips, “Bare fists it is then.”

“I better get the cold compresses ready.”

Chapter Text

Their footsteps echo hollowly throughout the spacious hallway as they follow Seokjin to his office. Yoongi grumbles under his breath at the marbled luxury of this place. He’d sort of known that Seokjin came from an established upper class background, but the older member had always been tight lipped about just how successful his father’s company was. He’d always shrugged it off, like it wasn’t a big deal. Yoongi vaguely remembers Seokjin offering support on multiple occasions whenever he saw Yoongi put on his pizza delivery helmet to earn some hard sought after money in their trainee days. Yoongi had declined each and every time, his pride and yearning for independence stopping him from taking charity. He got a busted shoulder to prove it.

Seokjin opens a fancy looking wooden door at the end of the hallway and suddenly they’re in his office. Yoongi didn’t really know what he’d expected. Maybe a bookcase full of videogames lining the wall. Or a bright pink sofa. But it just looks like a regular old office. A little bit more established, maybe, but nothing that could display any sort of personality. Looking at Seokjin’s face, Yoongi muses that there’s not much personality to be seen there either.

Seokjin motions halfheartedly to the leather brown sofa and the armchairs in front of the antique looking desk. Jungkook, Namjoon and Jimin flop onto the sofa and Yoongi and Hoseok take the two armchairs. Seokjin remains standing. He crosses his arms, eyes flitting from one ex coworker to the next. He’s the only one that hasn’t seen the footage yet. And so he clears his throat, “So. What was so important that this couldn’t have been a conference call instead?”

Yoongi bites his tongue to keep from saying something venomous. He knows that the incident five years ago has shaped them all differently. He himself became a recluse, Hoseok became a control freak, Jimin became obsessed, Jungkook became an addict, Namjoon became a nervous wreck…

And Seokjin became an asshole.

Sure, he bought off his guilt and responsibility by financially supporting Jungkook, but Yoongi would argue that by doing so, he was only enabling the youngest in his addictive tendencies. Seokjin had been the first to call it quits on the group and God, Yoongi had been so pissed. He’d vouched that they needed to stay together, now more than ever, but Seokjin argued that there was nothing left in Seoul for them, like he got to make that decision.

He did.

And so they’d fallen apart. Each dealing with the fallout in their own destructive ways. Yoongi saw his only hyung maybe once a year, during their annual memorial day on the night before Hoseok’s birthday. Seokjin always refused to come to Seoul, so they usually drove north to his place instead.

Just like now.

Instead of giving a verbal reply, Jimin slouches on the sofa in order to retrieve the USB drive from his pocket. He unceremoniously throws it onto the coffee table. Seokjin raises one eyebrow questioningly. “What’s that?”

Jimin looks him square in the eye, honorifics be damned, “Taehyung-ah.”

Seokjin flinches, like the name physically harms him. If Yoongi thinks hard enough, he could remember Seokjin going out that day after Taehyung disappeared and not returning until late in the evening. With empty hands and empty eyes.

He’d looked everywhere, he’d said.

Seokjin’s eyes focus on Jimin, refusing to give the drive a second look. “What are you talking about?”

And Jimin tells him. Even and serious, like he’s recounting a news story he’d heard word for word. About someone else. Someone they don’t know. Someone that doesn’t affect them.

For all it’s worth, Yoongi has to admit that Seokjin has a rather appropriate reaction after all of it: “Bullshit.”

“See for yourself,” Jimin replies flatly.

Hesitation creeps up Seokjin’s neck and turns his ears bright red like Yoongi remembers from all those years ago when attention was solely focused on the eldest. Yoongi realizes that it has been nearly five years since they gathered all six of them together in one place. Sure, they had the memorial each year, but there was always someone that cancelled last minute. Usually Jungkook. Or Yoongi himself. Or Jimin, when he got another ‘lead’. No, the last time they were all truly together was…

The funeral.

A funeral for a living person, as Seokjin was about to find out.

Yoongi could probably make a song out of that alone. But he won’t. Yes, he’s tried to write down his thoughts and feelings about all of it multiple times, but he had never been able to finish it. Nothing that would ever be satisfactory. Because it was too big. Too much of a gaping hole to ever be covered by a simple, five minute rap song. In fact, Yoongi, a well-established song writer, had always found it particularly difficult to define that feeling of not-knowing. Of being left with complete mystery at the end of one of the most important chapters of your life.

Huh.

Maybe he did know how to define it.

The mystery had grown exponentially larger the last couple of days since they discovered the security cam footage, though. No matter how much Yoongi mulled it over, he couldn’t come up with a suitable explanation. He’d gone as far as someone wearing a lifelike mask in order to look like Taehyung. But why would they do that? And how could it look so real then?

Impatient, Hoseok scrambles to get out of the giant armchair and snatches the USB drive from the table before marching over to Seokjin’s expensive looking laptop on his desk. Yoongi is sure Seokjin would say something about the blatant lack of respect he’s received from multiple people now, but he won’t, because he’s heavily outnumbered. Instead he saunters over to his desk and sinks into his leather office chair.

Nobody moves as they all watch Seokjin stare at the screen while the footage plays. There’s a noticeable dip in his brow that grows stronger and stronger as the minutes tick by. He hunches over at some point, squinting at the screen. Then Hoseok smashes the space bar and points. “There!”

All color drains from Seokjin’s face, just like Hoseok’s had when they first reviewed the footage in Jimin’s loft. Yoongi admits it had taken him a little longer to recognize Taehyung, going frame by frame while Jimin had tried to calm Hoseok down. There was only a very small portion in the footage where you could make out Taehyung’s face enough to be able to identify him, and even that was questionable.

Or so the police in Daegu said.

Yoongi had been astounded when Jimin got back with the USB drive after going to deliver it to the local authorities. They’d dismissed him completely, like he’d gone crazy to think this could be solid evidence in the first place. They must have taken one look at it to determine it wasn’t even worth their trouble. Daegu police was horribly understaffed and had a questionable reputation. Yoongi remembers from the first three times he tried to press charges for being scammed out of his money by a couple of song thieves. The officer had looked at him like it was his fault for letting himself get scammed in the first place. Incensed, Yoongi had asked what he’d been supposed to do then; get a couple of guys to find out where the dude lives and beat his ass?

The officer had shrugged.

Yoongi had withheld himself from choosing violence, but he then understood why Daegu always seemed so unsafe. It was the perfect breeding ground for criminal activity, if this was how the police handled things.

And Taehyung seemed to be right smack in the middle of it.

Yoongi watches Seokjin swallow with difficulty before taking a shaky breath, “That can’t be him,” he mumbles, echoing both Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s words back in Jimin’s loft when shown the footage.

Instead of going frame by frame over and over again like Yoongi had, Seokjin resolutely pushes his laptop away and closes the lid. Yoongi expects him to get up and point all of them out of his office. It would fit in the whole ‘I no longer want anything to do with this’ narrative Seokjin has had going these past five years. Yoongi has half a mind to bring forth his ‘mask’ theory. He’s sure Seokjin would easily accept it and then they can all leave this stuffy, uncharacteristic office behind and leave him out of everything, like he wants.

The bastard.

Instead he holds his tongue, watching Seokjin stir in his thoughts for a few moments before coming to a conclusion. And it’s so out of left field that Yoongi has to blink and do a double take.

“Looked like a hostage situation.”

“W-what?”

Seokjin nods to himself, not looking anyone in particular in the eye. “I mean, it wasn’t very obvious, but yeah.”

“How-what-where-”

With a long sigh, Seokjin picks up his laptop and moves over to the coffee table, an astounded Hoseok trailing behind him. The eldest finally sits down in their little circle, reverently putting the computer on the table in such a way that everyone can look at the screen. They’re all silent, eyes glued as Seokjin scrolls to the moment the group of five men enter the store.

No, not five, Seokjin points out. They are followed by three more men, who quickly scatter to random places in the large room. The five identical looking men stick closely together for the next ten minutes, it’s why Yoongi (and the rest of them) had quickly dismissed the other three, assuming they weren’t part of group at all. He’s still unsure, but Seokjin insists.

It’s almost like some sort of cult, he muses.

Yoongi thinks, thinks real hard on this. He guesses it makes sense. The same clothes, similar haircuts, a stiff demeanor. He recalls Taehyung staring into the camera with a haunted expression that looked so soul-crushing, even in the grainy quality of the security footage.

A cult, Yoongi thinks, would maybe make a little bit of sense.

Could people be kidnapped into a cult?

Why in the hell would anyone kidnap an A-list celebrity into a weird ass cult in the middle of Daegu and then bring him into a hardware store five years later?

That was the part that still made no sense at all.

Seokjin points at the three men that had come in with the group. Yoongi notices how they barely seem to move at all. They don’t seem to be interested in the store’s items, instead keeping their focus on the group of five, clearly getting antsy when the group splits up in teams to get their items faster. They gather back together when their task is done and Yoongi watches who they’ve identified as Taehyung walk up to the register to purchase the items. A rope, some tape, screwdrivers, a hammer and a package of nails, as Mrs. Lee had recalled. The group of five leaves and not half a minute later, so do the three others, having purchased nothing.

“They were being supervised,” Namjoon mumbles.

“Seems like it,” Seokjin nods, biting his lip as he’s almost sucked into the computer screen in front of him. His reluctance to engage has disappeared like snow under sunshine. He’s always loved a good mystery, and has always been outstanding in solving them too. In another life, he’d probably have played a handsome detective in a long-lasting drama somewhere. “It may have seemed that Taehyung was leading the group, but he wasn’t in charge of the operation.”

A shiver runs down Yoongi’s back as he thinks back on the boy that was taken from their group five years ago. He was twenty three when it happened, but Taehyung had always seemed much younger than his age to Yoongi. There was an incorrigible naivety and childishness to him that made it very hard to believe he could be the leader of anything. Sure, he wasn’t exactly a follower either, preferred to do his own thing and make his own rules, not much unlike Yoongi himself. But that was twenty three year old Taehyung. From what little Yoongi could gather from fifteen minutes of grainy camera footage, twenty eight year old Taehyung was stern and precise in his orders to the small group. There was no room or time for discussion and the group solved their mission in record time, gathering their items in less than three minutes.  

Lots could have happened in five years.

Nothing good though, probably, as Yoongi watches Taehyung walk stiffly in front of the security camera. He limps badly, bruises littering his face. The other people of his group also seem worse for wear as the wander around the store. They seem to have been through the wringer lately. Yoongi hasn’t noticed his hands have balled into fists until Seokjin clears his throat.

“So what did the police say?”

Jimin scoffs, shaking his head in dismay, “They’re useless.”

“They’re still dismissing him,” Namjoon explains, then purses his lips, “Of course, we didn’t come up with the cult-theory until now.”

“It’s a long shot,” Yoongi mumbles, staring at the shiny, dark wooden surface of the coffee table in front of him.

“You know of any cult activity down in Daegu?” Seokjin asks, “Like, from relatives or something?”

“We’re not religious,” Yoongi responds, “And no, I haven’t ever heard any stories like that. Daegu people like to keep things to themselves, I guess.”

Jimin stares at him for a moment, then raises his eyebrows, “Seems on brand,” he mumbles, “Anyway, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a religious cult.”

“Could be mafia,” Jungkook speaks his first words of the day.

“In Daegu?”

“Why not?”

Yoongi huffs, “Makes sense. Police lets you do whatever you want in Daegu.”

“We don’t even know if this is a cult or mafia or whatever yet,” Namjoon interjects with raised hands, “We have to slow down and look at the facts.”

Yoongi looks up at him as he hears a spark of the old Namjoon shine through in those words. He won’t ever admit to it, but he’s missed Namjoon’s leadership. It always seemed so grounded. So logical. Trustworthy.

“Namjoon-ah is right,” Seokjin nods slowly, “We can’t just make up wild theories. If we’re going to get anywhere with this, we need evidence.”

Yoongi raises his brow at him, “We?”

“Well, I got roped into this now, didn’t I?”

“Could have used your wild theories five years ago,” grumbles Hoseok.

Seokjin is about to retort, but Namjoon raises his hands, “Not now, you three. We can’t let the last five years hang over our heads. We need to bury old grievances if we’re gonna have any shot at this.”

Jungkook scoffs, feet tapping incessantly against the floor as he keeps wringing his hands together nervously. Yoongi recognizes the signs of withdrawal easily. He’s seen this version of Jungkook in his studio more times than he dares to count. “What is ‘this’ exactly?” the youngest questions, looking at his twitching fingers, “What are ‘we’ supposed to do?”

Goddamnit, he has a point, Yoongi thinks. Before he or anyone else can say anything though, Jungkook laughs to himself. “What are we to each other?” he grounds out, “Why are we even here?”

Five years had led them all down different paths. Yoongi saw Jungkook probably the most out of anyone. They still made songs together occasionally, even if neither still publically performed. It kept the money rolling, so to speak. Jimin and Hoseok worked at the same middle school in downtown Seoul, a low key job that kept them off the radar from the music industry, but still let them indulge in that passion for dancing they’d had since childhood. Namjoon sold pop songs of mid-tier quality to the television and record industry. He lived with his dentist wife and five cats in the middle of the mountains, about twenty minutes out of Seoul. Seokjin lives hours away in an expensive looking mansion on the countryside. Yoongi knows nothing about his private life, or his work for this company. Whenever they get together on Memorial Day, they always reminisce about their glory days. Seokjin never talks about the present.

Or the future.

And right after that shouting match with Seokjin about the discontinuation of the group, right after that awful funeral, Yoongi had joined mandatory community service for nearly two years. He couldn’t go into the military due to his fucked up shoulder, but he’d needed to get away from it all.

Maybe he was as much of an asshole as Seokjin, in that regard.

Maybe if he’d stayed, things wouldn’t have been so fucked up when he got back. They could have left when things had settled more. When everybody had gotten a right amount of time to grieve. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad if they’d stayed together and supported each other.

What are we to each other?

Just some people that got together and made music for a while.

Take one of us out of the equation, and we fall apart like nothing held us together in the first place.

What are we to each other?

We swore to be brothers once. A long time ago. A different life.

Only family when success is within grabbing distance.

What are we?

We are seven-

Why are we even here?

Of course, there’s only one answer that fits. Yoongi regards each individual sitting across from him, astounded that no one has said it yet, he clears his throat loud enough for their gazes to snap to his face. “For Taehyung-ah.”

Chapter Text

For a good while, there’s no sound besides their shovels hoeing over the sand in the arena. Haru had been assigned ‘Cleaner’ duty tonight and it was arguably the best job you could have in this shit hole. It basically consisted of digging through the sand to get rid of any leftover blood, ripped up clothing or other stuff that was left after the fighting was done.

Until Initiation Night two weeks ago, Haru had never been in a physical fight. He found out pretty quickly that there was no pacifist way out of this right after the bell rang to start their fight. His blue shirt opponent had taken half a second before punching him square in the middle of the face. Haru had staggered backwards with a yell. And then they were just hopelessly kicking and hitting at each other. The crowd surrounding the arena had roared with laughter. Apparently, Initiation Night was a comedy show.

It didn’t feel very funny, though, when Blue Team’s fighter had tackled Haru to the ground and went to town smashing his elbow into his nose. He couldn’t get up anymore after that and with that, his first ever physical fight had ended in a loss.

He’d felt ashamed when returning to White Team’s barracks. His bunk mate Runner had slapped his shoulder and told him not to worry. Nearly everybody loses their first fight. Besides, there were no punishments dealt out for losing on Initiation Nights, so that was great. If he needed help, he could always ask some of the stronger fighters in their group. Now go see the Medics, your nose is still bleeding.

It was… strange, to say the least, how everybody just seemed to accept their lives down here in what they seemed to call the Underground. Dan had told him that there was no way out. The only exit was heavily guarded and all the members of the three teams were basically trapped like rats in the sewer. Haru had asked if this place was maybe part of an old sewer system that had become unused. It certainly looked like it. Dan had looked at him for a moment before shrugging, seemingly disinterested. All in all, Haru was still unsure what to make of their team’s leader.

He was a good fit for the Underground, it seemed. He was careful and skilled as a Medic, strong and fast as a Cleaner. Runner said Dan was the oldest in the Underground. When Haru had asked him how old he was, Dan had shrugged, seemingly disinterested.

And that’s how he came off most of the time. A total lack of interest. Which brings forth the question,

“Hey Pinky, how come Dan wasn’t at the ceremony tonight?”

Pinky, a short, stout looking guy missing both his pinky fingers turns around slowly, leaning on his shovel. “You gotta stop obsessing over him, Twist.”

Twist. It was his new name, as Dan had called it the first day Haru had been dropped down in the barracks. Most of the nicknames in the Underground were based on the way you looked, or the way you fought. Haru apparently had a very twisty disposition, and so people were quick to call him Twist. Simple as that.

Runner was prone to running around the arena with his long legs until his opponent got tired enough to make it an easy win. He rarely got chosen as a fighter because his strategy depended a little too much on the assumption that his opponent wasn’t faster than him.

Mouse was called Mouse because he basically only had his two front teeth left, having lost the rest during years and years of getting the shit beat out of him. Mouse had smiled at Haru one day, completely unfazed as he admitted that no matter how long he’d been down here, he’d never really gotten the hang of physical combat. He was still young, twenty five, he said, but he never got chosen as a fighter anymore.

Dan was short for Dancer, also based on fighting style. Just like Mouse, Dan rarely got picked for the arena anymore, so Haru could neither confirm nor deny whether Dan’s fighting style had anything to do with dancing. Still, the way the leader had taught them as new recruits a few valuable sparring techniques, it did remind Haru a little bit of a dance lesson.

It’s not necessarily about strength. You don’t automatically win if you are stronger or weigh more than your opponent. Watch the weight shifts and use their momentum to your advantage.

Nice in theory, of course, but when everything happened in a matter of two seconds and you had no fighting experience whatsoever, there was no way you could possibly win your first time around. Haru shakes his head, planting his shovel into the grimy sand before bringing it over to the wheelbarrow between Pinky and himself and spilling the bloody contents into it. It was strictly forbidden to ever talk to members of the other teams, but Pinky was a White Shirt, just like Haru, and conversing between team members was generally tolerated. As long as you kept working while doing it. “I’m not obsessed,” Haru argues with a scowl, “I just thought we all needed to be present whenever there’s a ceremony.”

A “Ceremony” is what they called Initiation Night whenever there weren’t any new recruits. Ceremonies consisted of four or five fights per night, open to the public, every five days or so. The public were called clients and Haru had spent his first week wondering what kind of sick people thought that these cage fights were suitable entertainment for the evening. According to Runner and Moon, people even paid astounding amounts of money in order to be granted access to the Underground as a viewer. Maybe they thought that some of that money ended up with the fighters, that they had a choice in the matter, earning some hard cash. Haru figured that most of the clients probably knew better. They paid even more to be granted access as a Lover.

Nobody ever talked about the Lovers.

Pinky had once mumbled something that only the still good looking boys got chosen as Lovers. You know, when you didn’t yet miss two fingers, or most of your teeth. Or have scars all over your face. You didn’t want to get chosen as a lover, Pinky had shaken his head. Lots of boys had hurt themselves on purpose in order to avoid being chosen as a Lover. Haru had shivered at that thought. He’d never considered himself very good looking. His ears were standing too far away from his skull and his eyes were too small and far apart. He’d wondered why they’d ever chosen him in the first place. Or maybe they just randomly picked people off the street that looked remotely male and capable.

Yeah, that was another thing Haru had noticed. There were no women in the Underground. Ever. All fights and all ‘Lovers’ were between men only. Maybe that was a selling point?

He thinks about this as he watches Pinky heave a shovel full of sand and pieces of white clothing into the wheelbarrow. Moon had really gotten his ass kicked tonight and Haru figured he’d be down in the infirmary for a while, judging by just how brutal Grudge had finished the fight. Haru could still hear the bone snap in Moon’s left foot whenever he closed his eyes. Luckily Mouse had gotten assigned as Medic and stabilized the fracture quickly enough. He’d be a lot more effective, however, if he hadn’t been the only assigned Medic of their team, so-

“Dan’s been down in the infirmary all day. Had some seizures in the afternoon.”

“Seizures?”

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal,” Pinky mutters, throwing another scoop of sand onto their collected heap, “Guess he’s gotten kicked in the head one too many times over the years. Who knows how many concussions I’ve had, let alone him.”

“So when you get seizures, you don’t have to show up?”

Pinky turns to him with an annoyed expression, “You ever gotten a seizure?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Ain’t fun,” Pinky spits, “See if you can get back on your feet in a timely manner after a five minute seizure, then we’ll talk. Anyway, he gets them once or twice a month, so it’s whatever.”

“He’s supposed to be our leader though, isn’t he?”

Pinky swivels around to glare at Haru intensely, “Don’t you dare question Dancer’s leadership. He’s earned his place. Probably been assigned Fighter or Lover more than the rest of the Underground combined. I’d follow him to hell and back if necessary.”

“We’re already in hell,” Haru mumbles in retort.

“Yes, we are,” Pinky agrees with a sigh, looking up around the dimly lit arena, “Your team mates are the only ones you can trust down here. They’re your family. They’ll take care of you as long as you return the favor. We get through it together as long as we can cooperate with one another.”

“Dan teach you that?”

“Yeah, him and Mouse, mostly. They know what they’re doing, Twist. You only came down here, what? Two weeks ago? You’re angry. Defiant. It’s good. Shows fighting spirit.”

“Thanks.”

“Even though you fight like shit.”

Haru scoffs, but shakes his head, “I just want to get out of here.”

“Yeah, life surely gave us the short end of the stick.”

Their work doesn’t get done until hours later. Being Cleaner during Ceremony night may be the best job, but it also takes the longest. It also depends how many people get assigned to the position, as that varies per Ceremony. Last week, Moon was on his own and didn’t get finished until far past midnight.

Thoroughly exhausted, Pinky and Haru saunter back to their team’s barracks. It’s called the Barracks, but it’s basically one big room that looks a little like a gymnasium. Light only comes from the harsh fluorescent tubes on the ceiling. Haru wonders how long it has been for some since they’ve seen daylight. Moon told him that he’d been down here for over three years, but that couldn’t be true, could it? How did anyone survive that long down here?

One corner of the room was lined with ten identical bunk beds. They had thin mattresses, stiff, over-used sheets and a single pillow. On the other side of the room was the infirmary, which was simply an arrangement of five or six mattresses and a few cabinets of medical supplies, hardly equipped to handle anything more serious than a sprained ankle. Still, Mouse did his best, scurrying around the mattresses to provide his help to anyone that needed it. They’d had four fighters tonight. Two of them were still in the infirmary. Haru watches Dan shuffle around the infirmary as well, also checking on one of the patients. It seemed like despite not having been present at the Ceremony tonight, he still took up his job as a Medic.

Haru nods to himself, feels the exhaustion throb deep in his bones and says nothing as he collapses onto his bunk, asleep within seconds.

Chapter Text

Instead of staying at his office, Seokjin had suggested for all six of them to go to his house for dinner. ‘Dinner’ in this case, was nothing other than six order-in pizzas, a black bean rice dish and about ten liters of coke.

Just like the good old times.

Hoseok marveled at the mansion. From the outside, it had looked nice and cozy and stepping inside had revealed the classy, well-designed interior. Despite its immense size, the house felt sufficiently ‘homey’ with paintings on the walls, fluffy rugs on the floors and nice, mahogany colored stairs and furniture. Apparently, Seokjin had an office space in here as well and Hoseok wondered why they hadn’t been gathered here in the first place.

The answer becomes clear when they step into his office.

It definitely has a lot more character than the one at the company had. A bright blue sofa and same colored chairs on a darker blue rug, a few photos on the wall and a large desk in the same color as the rest of the house’s furniture. What steals all of their eyes, though, is the line-up of all of their albums neatly hung on the cream colored wall behind the desk.

It’s the very last thing Hoseok had expected from Seokjin.

Seokjin knows this all too well, carefully avoided all of their astonished gazes and wide open mouths as he slowly sinks down in one of the chairs surrounding the sofa. “Close your mouths and take a seat.”

The blue sofa looks wonderful and Hoseok is quick to plant his butt on the soft, fluffy exterior together with Jimin and Namjoon. Jungkook grumbles something incomprehensible before flopping down in a chair and Yoongi hasn’t moved at all, still staring at the album-lined wall with wide eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he whispers and Hoseok can’t tell if it’s to himself or Seokjin.

Seokjin’s mouth twitches, “What?”

“’What’ he says,” Yoongi replies in disbelief, then motions frantically at the wall, “This is what! Look at him, mister CEO!”

“I don’t remember us gathering here to discuss my interior design choices,” Seokjin completely dismisses him. “And I’m not CEO.”

“Your choices are interesting, to say the least,” Namjoon mumbles before sighing, getting up to pull the flip-over stand from the corner of the room, “But hyung is right, we’re not here for that.” He clumsily picks up the large sized paper, fumbling to put it sideways in landscape mode. He uncaps the marker he stole from Seokjin’s desk and draws a single, horizontal line on the paper. “This is our timeline.”

They all stare at it for a moment, frowns deepening before Jimin clears his throat, “Okay, I’ll bite. A timeline of what?”

Namjoon points at him with the marker, “Of whatever we remember from that night. Any tiny, seemingly unimportant detail you can recall, let’s lay it all bare in the open.”

Hoseok studies him. It takes a lot for Namjoon to say this, considering how their former leader feels about that night. Hoseok purses his lips, wondering how accurate their memories could be five whole years later, but he nods anyway, “My birthday was the next day.”

“Excellent,” Namjoon mumbles, like they don’t all know that fact already. Still Namjoon busies himself by drawing a bullet point and writing BIRTHDAY HOSEOK in large letters underneath his timeline.

“We got a day off on Hoseok’s birthday, I remember,” Seokjin mentions, and so DAY OFF appears behind BIRTHDAY HOSEOK.

“Why is this relevant?”

“Everybody had a job assigned in preparation for hyung’s birthday,” Jimin says, “I was in charge of the birthday cake, as usual. I believe Jin-hyung and Yoongi-hyung were taking care of the birthday dinner, Jungkook was gonna be the DJ at the party and Namjoon-hyung and Taehyung-ah…” he trails off, eyes flitting towards Namjoon, who has tightened his grip on the marker considerably.

“Decoration,” he says stiffly.

Jimin nods quickly, slumping into the sofa. Hoseok stares at the words BIRTHDAY HOSEOK for a bit longer before tearing his gaze away, feeling tears well up already for some strange reason. “There was a fight.” A stupid, very very stupid fight.

And Namjoon tries, bless him, but even after five years, he can’t seem to talk about it. He opens his mouth a few times, but all that comes out are strangled, garbled noises. Hoseok gets up quickly, gently prying the marker out of Namjoon’s clammy hand and patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll take it from here,” he mutters softly and Namjoon nods nearly imperceptibly, slowly stumbling towards the sofa.

“A fight amongst members was nothing unusual,” Hoseok declares, neatly writing fight underneath Namjoon’s wild chicken scratches, “we fought all the time about ridiculous things like snacks and dumplings and stupid little dance moves.” He watches the group before him nod in confirmation before continuing, “I don’t think the cause for the fight is in any way relevant to what happened later that night, but it did set things in motion, so-” he places an arrow at the start of the timeline and connects ‘fight’ with it.

“I bought the decorations, had them delivered to the dorm,” Namjoon rattles off monotonously, “He was supposed to bring them to the studio and do the actual decorating. He forgot.”

“It doesn’t matter, Namjoon-ah-”

“I should have just had them delivered directly to the studio, that way we could do it the next day before the party started; I-”

“It doesn’t mat-”

“I was so mad at him. I don’t know why. It makes no sense. There was probably a simple solution. It was just a birthday party. Why did I get so mad?”

Hoseok watches as the rest stays silent, lost in their own thoughts. He doesn’t know if it’s because they know nothing to say, or they do blame Namjoon for what happened, even if it’s just a tiny little bit.

“We were all high strung and burnt out from months of non-stop promotions,” Seokjin recalls, “Honestly, it was a miracle none of us had gotten into a full blown fist fight about something irrelevant like pizza toppings up until that point. I don’t blame you for what happened, Namjoon-ah, is what I’m trying to say. None of us do.”

He pointedly looks around the room and there’s four heads that shake no frantically.

“I should have known better, though,” Namjoon insists, “As a leader.”

Yoongi scoffs and shakes his head, “No offense, but even as a leader, you’re not immune to overstressing. Taehyung pushed your last button that night and you freaked.”

Namjoon hangs his head in failure, clutching his hair, “I didn’t mean for it to happen!”

“He left around nine thirty,” Jungkook recalls perfectly and Hoseok quickly nods, drawing it on the timeline. Taehyung had freaked as well, being pushed to breaking point by Namjoon’s incessant accusations of being careless and irresponsible. Fine, he’d shouted, I’ll go hang up your stupid decorations!

Before they’d known what happened, Taehyung had picked up Namjoon’s giant box full of garlands, balloons and a giant, inflatable 25 and left the dorms. Nobody had bothered to check if he’d brought security, and considering the riled up, angry state in which he left, it had been very safe to assume he hadn’t. They should have checked. Should have called someone to go after Taehyung. They hadn’t. Maybe because they were all tired and stressed out. Maybe because they were all a little bit pissed off at Taehyung for neglecting his task as well.

“Our curfew was at eleven,” Jimin mutters with a haunted expression. Hoseok nods slowly, marking it on the time line. “I was exhausted, but I stayed up. Time crept past eleven. Twelve. One.”

Hoseok swallows as Jimin places his palm over his eyes and his face crumples underneath his hand. His younger friend takes deep, heaving breaths, trying to calm himself down. He throws his hands up, face wrought with grief, “I didn’t call management until like twelve thirty! I was too scared that Taehyung would get mad at me for calling management out on him in the middle of the night. They were gonna bust his ass.”

It was true that Taehyung and Jimin were rather notorious for sneaking out and coming back way past curfew. They sometimes dragged Jungkook along with them too if they thought they could get away with it without Seokjin beating them up. They never went out alone though. Always in twos or threes.

Never alone.

Still, Hoseok was sure that Taehyung had been familiar with Seoul nightlife enough to know what places to avoid on his way to the studio and back. He bites his lip, silently putting 12.30 on the time line.

“That a window of three hours,” Namjoon states dejectedly, “Anything can happen in three hours.”

“It happened on his way back,” Seokjin mumbles.  “I went to the studio late that night, or early morning, after hell broke loose. It was all neatly decorated. Must have taken him at least an hour and a half to put all of that up on his own.”

“What time did you go?”

Seokjin pulls a face before shaking his head, “Guess around one, maybe a little later. Management had already called the police. Taehyung must have been plucked from the streets way before that.”

“It makes no sense though,” Yoongi mumbles, “Why pluck a well-known celebrity from the streets in the middle of the night? It wasn’t even planned that he was going to be there. He just wanted to put up the stupid decorations.”

Namjoon bites his lip, frowning deeply. He has that face on that says he’s thinking really hard about something, “You know,” he drawls after a few more seconds, “All this time we assumed that Taehyung was targeted specifically. Because that makes sense, right? In theory, kidnapping a celebrity could get you an astounding amount of cash.”

“Exactly,” Yoongi nods.

“But what if he wasn’t targeted? What if it was completely random?”

“Wrong place, wrong time?” Seokjin sounds unconvinced.

“Yeah, maybe. They could have just plucked him off the streets, not knowing who he was until it was already too late and there was no way back.”

“God, that makes everything so much worse,” Jimin whispers.

“Think about it, though. What do underground cults need?”

“We’re back on the cult theory?” Yoongi mumbles.

“Neverending worship?” Seokjin supplies.

“Yes, but also, worshippers,” Namjoon explains, hands busy gesturing in the air. “Now, you can get members by going round and tempting them with nice promises, but that seems like a high risk, low reward sort of thing. You can also just…”

“Pluck them off the streets,” Jungkook finishes.

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t make them worship, though,” Yoongi argues.

“Maybe not immediately, but if you’re thrown into an environment where everyone’s basically forced to behave a certain way, it doesn’t really take all that long for you to start copying them. Sure, there’s always a few that will refuse and you just… weed them out.”

“So that’s our running theory now? Taehyung’s been kidnapped into a brainwashed cult in the middle of Daegu?” Skepticism drips from Yoongi’s words in tangible droplets.

“You can’t brainwash Taehyung,” Jimin scoffs, “He doesn’t think like anybody else.”

“Alright, maybe not brainwashed,” Seokjin says, “But those boys were certainly being kept by some form of force. None of them seemed keen on just running out that store towards freedom.”

“Or maybe there’s no cult at all and they just turn up in that store because they wanted to buy stuff,” Jungkook dares to interject. Hoseok want to take his marker and beat the youngest over the head with it. They’ve never been so close to an explanation, but yeah, they also need to keep in mind that there may be no form of organized cult at all. It wasn’t a movie, after all.

“Jungkook-ah is right,” Yoongi sighs, “We should avoid tunnel vision until we get some evidence.”

“My head hurts,” Jungkook says, letting himself fall backwards into the armchair.

“So this is it, then?” Seokjin looks round the coffee table at his younger friends, “Former K-Pop Boyband Sensation BTS turns Private Detective Bureau?”

“Seems like it,” Jimin replies in all seriousness. He opens the first pizza box of the tower of boxes precariously balancing on a pink foot stool. Disinterested, he tosses the box at Jungkook, “Anchovy.”

“And we’re all just going along with this?” Seokjin asks, looking from one person to the next.

“I’m in,” Jungkook declares.

“I’ve been in since the beginning,” Jimin reminds them.

“Seems dangerous,” Yoongi mumbles, “But yeah, for sure.”

Namjoon shrugs, “I owe it to him, if nothing else.”

“Hoseok-ah?”

“I-,” Hoseok hesitates, looking at the neatly laid out time line. Yoongi was right, this was going to be really dangerous. And Hoseok had a class full of kids that depended on him and a history teacher boyfriend and no detective skills whatsoever. But he also had a strong sense for justice and Taehyung and he had shared a room for an awful long time for Hoseok to just dismiss this whole adventure now. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay then,” Seokjin conceded, “I guess we can use my office here at the house. We should be able t-”

A knock on the door makes them all nearly jump out of their seats.

“Okay, so I made this chicken broth and it smells delicious, I’m just not sure if I should go with basil or thyme and how heavy I should go on the salt. You were always a way better cook than I was, honey, so I don’t know why it’s my time to cook ag-”

All eyes turn towards the door of Seokjin’s office. Hoseok has to make a conscious effort not to let his mouth drop open in astonishment. A stunning woman enters the room, gaze flying from one pair of staring eyes, to the next, “Oh hello.”

“Guys, this is my wife Choi Soomi,” Seokjin mutters, hastily standing upright and walking over to her, “Soomi-ssi, this is… the guys.”

“Oh I know who you are,” Soomi says, a bemused, wide smile on her face. “Can’t believe it took so long for us to finally meet!”

“Yeah,” Namjoon drawls, slowly turning his head to Seokjin, whose face is turning a comical shade of bright red, “I can’t believe it either.”

“Remember when I said I wasn’t the CEO?” Seokjin mumbles, looking at the floor, “That’s cause she is. We-”

“And who’s this?” Jimin interrupts when he discovers a small child hiding behind Soomi’s legs, observing all of them with great interest.

“Kim Yunha,” Seokjin replies, a hint of pride slipping into his voice, despite his still beet-red face, “Our daughter.” There’s a couple of seconds of complete silence as they all consider the implications. Yunha must be at least three, Hoseok thinks.

Jimin is the first to break the silence, voice going up to an octave that’s impressive, even for him, “You mean to say that you two made something this adorable without ever telling us?”

There’s no anger in his voice at all though, as he gets up from the sofa and crouches down next to the little girl, who gives him a wide, toothy grin and spreads her arms. Jimin picks her up easily, twirling her around as she giggles. “Oh my Lord, we’re best friends already!”

“Yunha, love,” Seokjin calls to his daughter, “These are… your uncles, I suppose. You can call them Ahjussi.”

“Wonderful,” Jimin smiles, eyes sparkling as he sets the child on his hip as if she belongs there, “Oh, now that we’re here getting acquainted, Namjoon is pregnant. He told me and Jungkook on the way to the hardware store.”

“What?” Hoseok’s tone is a little sharper than he intended.

“I was gonna tell you at some point.” It’s Namjoon’s turn to resemble a tomato.

“Congratulations!” Hoseok is the first to break out, “When are you due?”

“I’m not the one who’s pregnant,” Namjoon glares at Jimin, “But it’s in July.”

Hoseok watches fondly as Namjoon is barraged by questions and congratulatory claps on the back. Soomi’s eyes fall on the large tower of pizza boxes on the foot stool. “Yah!” she exclaims, indignant, “Seokjin-ah, why do you let me go through all the trouble of making excellent chicken broth, while you’ve ordered the world of pizza!”

“Yah!” Seokjin replies, just as indignant, just as high pitched, “I didn’t know you were going to cook! You never cook!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise!”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“I don’t know!” Soomi says, then smiles, “Do you guys have anchovy?”

“Ha!” Hoseok lets a cry escape his throat.

Both Soomi and Seokjin turn to him with a frowning expression, “What?” they say in unison.

“You two are made for each other,” Hoseok smiles.

Chapter Text

“Fighter,” the announcer bellows in a deformed tone and Dan swears he can hear the shit-eating grin behind it.

Next to him, Mouse’s hand flies to his instinctively, a display of affection that’s strictly forbidden. He stares, eyes burning with concern, but Dan doesn’t look back at him. Instead he squeezes Mouse’s hand tightly for a half second, as if to tell him not to worry, and then lets go.

Someone must have bet on him tonight.

He leaves Mouse behind in the arena as he walks to the Battle Station of their team. He still listens closely and finds a wave of relief wash over when the announcer cries ‘Medic’ for Mouse’s role. At the Station, Pinky and Runner are already there, one handling their stick a lot more clumsy than the other. Tonight was going to be a ‘stick-fight’, as they called it. It was about one level above a plain old fist-fight, so Dan wasn’t really worried about their safety. Still, those wooden, five feet sticks could cause some serious damage if you didn’t know what you were doing.

“Fuck,” Pinky swore as the stick fell out of his fingers. It wasn’t that he was clumsy by nature, but Dan supposed that missing two pinky fingers lessens your dexterity significantly. He crouches down to pick up Pinky’s stick with a smile and hands it back to him. He tries not to groan as he gets back up. He’s 28, if his calculations are right, but he feels like a 70 year old sometimes. Not only because he’s the oldest in the Underground, which everyone that sees him makes him very aware of, but also because his left hip is fucked up beyond repair, he’s figured by now.

“Thanks,” Pinky mumbles, grasping the stick tightly with eight fingers, afraid to let it drop again.

“Here, let’s do a sparring match real quick,” Dan proposes, picking up his own stick from the neatly laid out row in the center of the Station. “It’s been a while, I can use some catching up.”

Pinky grins gratefully at him, happy to have some of the burden lifted off his shoulders, and nods, “Bring it on, Grandpa.”

A dancing studio the size of nearly two ballrooms appears as Taehyung swings open the door. He’s still very pissed, feels the annoyance burn through his veins as he lets the stupid box of stupid decorations drop to the stupid shiny wooden floor with an echoing thud. He’s walked all the way over here –a ten minute walk from the dorm to the studio, but still- and it’s fucking pouring outside and it’s already nearly ten o’clock and he’d rather be curled up in bed watching a movie and unwind but no-

Of course, it’s his fault, he thinks as he glances sideways at the box of decorations. A week long of promotions had made him forget about his task, but naturally all the others had fulfilled theirs perfectly and in time. Namjoon, also clearly stressed and exhausted, had cussed Taehyung out like no tomorrow. And so here he was, either to make up for his mistake, or to prove a point, he wasn’t sure.

He sighs deeply, rummages halfheartedly through the box and pulls out a long string of garlands that neatly spell Hoseok’s name, along with HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Right. Hyung’s turning 25 tomorrow. Least Taehyung can do is make it look like they thought about his birthday the moment hyung steps into the dancing studio. Of course, all of the surprise has already been ruined by his and Namjoon’s fight, which Hoseok was definitely present for.

And Taehyung likes decorating, likes making big gestures for his hyungs and Kookie and his fans and his family back home. Everyone Taehyung loved, he made sure to shower them with affection, lest they know it. But he’s tired and it’s been a hellish, exhaustive week and he’s soaked from the rain so much that he thinks he might need to mop the floor after he’s done with his task.

But he does it.

Diligently for that matter. All Namjoon’s stupid decorations get their places in the big over-expensive studio. Yoongi has once said that they’ve reached a level of over achievement now that even their dancing studios are this big. Taehyung had marveled at the shiny wooden floor and the thick black curtains on either side. This new building had ushered in a new era of abundance and success and unlike Suga’s inexplicable need for modesty, Taehyung was quite proud of this shameless statement of achievement. Thank you very much.

“Lift it a little higher,” Dan instructs, demonstrating by lifting his own stick to the height of his collar bones. Pinky was quite a bit shorter than him, but managed with eight fingers and a wider stance.

Dan nods in approval, “See, it gives you a little more balance and security,” he explains.

Pinky nods. This isn’t his first fight, Dan knows, but it’s good for the both of them to go over the basics. Their group of Fighters is now complete with Hopper joining them, following their lead by taking on a sparring match with Runner. Dan hasn’t paid enough attention to know which Red Shirts are going to be their opponents. It’s a slip, he admits. He needs to stay sharp and take note of everyone’s roles, but he’d figured he’d be a Medic again tonight.

Stupid.

Never assume anything down here in the Underground. They’ll always find ways to fuck you over.

It’s already past curfew by the time Taehyung is done. He hadn’t thought it would take this long. Namjoon clearly went all out and then some with the decorations. Taehyung supposed that turning 25 was a huge milestone. One day, Hoseok would need to decorate the studio in celebration of Taehyung’s birthday, and that made it worthwhile. He smiles, looking at a fine decorating job, if he does say so himself. It’s late. Management is going to have his ass if he calls them past curfew. He’s damned if he calls one of his hyungs and if there’s one thing he’s learned after coming to Seoul, it’s that you cannot trust taxi drivers at this hour. He could maybe call Jimin.

He pats the pockets of his jeans, then the pockets of his coat. He searches the mover’s box with leftover glitters from decorations. He tries his back pockets.

No phone.

He must have left it at home.

Typical, he berates himself. You could maybe once upon a time think with your brain before you act like a stupid jackass and storm out.

Oh well.

He came here by foot, hotheaded and brusque, he can get back on foot. A ten minute walk from the dorm to the studio. It’s a Sunday. It shouldn’t be too busy outside at this hour.

His opponent is much younger and quicker than Dan. But Dan makes up for that with experience. He detects the insecurity in Red Team’s eyes and that’s how he knows he’s already won. His reputation has pushed a stamp on the Underground. People fear him, as much as they respect him. Five years have earned him that. Despite his age and injuries, he is still a formidable fighter. Sure, it takes a little longer to recover than it used to, and some injuries never heal properly. Broken bones, for example, have a tendency to grow back together in exactly the wrong way. Dan looks at his crooked fingers and the strange bend in his forearm. Battle scars, he thinks.

He doesn’t know his opponent’s name. Knows very little about the Other Teams other than what he’s heard indirectly. Communication between teams is strictly forbidden and is punished very severely. Dan thinks it’s because those Monsters are terrified of an uprising. It’s happened before. Quite a while ago, in fact.

They’d been so close.

So close to getting out of here.

Dan frowns, looking down at his stick. He’s supposed to beat up this kid and if they’re unlucky, he’ll be forced to continue until the boy’s within an inch of his life. Dan doesn’t think they’re the headliner this evening, but he can’t be sure.

Someone must have bet on him.

He curses them, like he curses them every Ceremony. In fact, he curses them every hour of every single day. Without an audience, the Underground wouldn’t exist. Without an audience, none of them would even be here. Without an audience,

they could be free

He shakes his head before gripping his stick a little tighter and taking on a predatory stance. It had been a while since thoughts of freedom have entered his mind. It’s been a while since he’s been a Fighter. He watches his opponent shrink back almost imperceptibly from Dan’s offensive approach. He grins at them, challenging and almost maniacal. It works. Not only to intimidate his opponent, but also to coerce a roar of Dancer Dancer Dancer from the crowd.

It’s stopped raining, thank fuck, Taehyung thinks as he steps outside. The streets are still glistening in the street lights, treacherous in this cold weather. He hugs his long black coat a little tighter around his frame. His mom says he needs to eat better, get some meat on his bones. I’ll come to that dorm of y’all’s, and cook you some proper meals if that’s what it takes, she half promised, half threatened. Taehyung had told Seokjin and hyung was offended, of course.

That was worth it

The wind is still roaring and Taehyung is pretty sure that if he doesn’t pick up his pace, he’ll be caught in another rain storm again. And so he fastens his walk, mind solely focused on the slippery sidewalk’s tiles. The streets are quiet, but the wind is loud.

He doesn’t hear the van

Keeps walking

Hidden inside his coat, held a little higher to shield him from the wind

Doesn’t see the four people approaching until there’s one beside him, one in front and two behind him.

He turns, not understanding as the masked man beside him grins. Taehyung frowns at him, quite sure he’s about to get robbed. The man keeps grinning wickedly and there’s a shiver from Taehyung’s toes to the back of his head before he’s grabbed from behind and dragged back.

He yelps, he thinks. Maybe not. Maybe it’s just a breath that’s punched out of him by pure shock. It doesn’t take long before there’s hands all over him. They rip off his coat and Taehyung cries that he doesn’t have any money on him. He can get it for them, he promises. They don’t even look at him. And the streets are quiet

So, so quiet

The first few blows that his opponent lands on him sting fiercely. The arena is cold this time of year, but a Stick Fight has a required no-shirts rule. Dan blocks the next attack expertly, pushing the boy backwards. The kid is barely twenty, he thinks. Still far too fresh in the Underground to understand what’s going on and what they really want from him. He’s learnt to fight for himself, to survive, and it’s what Dan teaches his new recruits as well.

The real meat and bones, though, is pleasing the crowd.

It’s something that has come natural to Dan. He knows what they want, and it’s spectacle. They don’t want a quick fight where it’s directly obvious who’s going to win. And so Dan lets another few blows land on his shoulders. Enough to hurt, but not enough to deal any real damage. He snarls, as if it’s taking him some real effort to fend off this too nervous, too jittery opponent. The crowd roars. They know him. Have seen him fight enough to know what’s going to happen.

No, Dan thinks. Not tonight.

There’s real danger, the more the crowd is pleased, the longer the fight continues. Then it doesn’t matter if his opponent is down on the ground, not able to get up. They’ll have to keep going. There’s no end until it ends.

He cries as they hold him down, but force him to breathe it in. A handkerchief, white but filthy, pressed against his mouth and nose. He wriggles, fights, he’s stronger than he seems. Years and years of physical practice and staying in shape have given him some core strength. The raw panic helps too. He hears one of the curse. But there’s too many of them. Four that caught him, two more in the van itself.

He’s bleeding, a stunning blow to his head, but he keeps shaking it, trying to keep the cloth away. It stinks something fierce and instinctively, Taehyung knows what it is. Has seen enough crime dramas to figure out the sharp smell of chloroform. Their masks and hands are swimming and blurring before him. Their hands grabbing and poking and not letting go.

They lift him up and throw him in the van. He lands hard on his back, his head banging against the floor. He’s properly dizzy now, both from the head wound and the chloroform that has sneakily found its way into his lungs and is now working its way through his veins. He has no breath left to cry out. His consciousness fading, last thoughts on his parents, siblings, Jimin, the group.

Then no more thoughts.

And that’s why Dan takes a step back after his opponent has been forces against the steel bars of the edge of the arena. There’s disappointment in the crowd’s yelling and for a moment Dan is worried that this move will have consequences for the rest of his team. He can take their punishments, but the rest of his team shouldn’t suffer for his decisions.

Yet that’s how it is

That’s how it has always been

And so Dan grabs his stick and backs away to the middle of the arena, eyes sticking to his red shirted, bleeding opponent as he twirls the stick skillfully in his hands. A show didn’t only have to be smashing each other’s brains in. As long as you made it look pretty, the crowd ate everything up. He tries to signal his opponent to copy his movements, subtly shifting his eyes to the side. Red Shirt seems to get the message, and their fight becomes much more of a dance.

He awakes in a stuffy, grimy bathroom. He hears buzzing next to his ears and flinches violently. He gets a smack against his head in return. The room starts spinning again. He whimpers.

Another smack.

He stops whimpering.

“That’s more like it,” someone next to him mumbles, chewing on a cigarette underneath his mask. Taehyung feels something tickle against his shoulder and it takes him an astounding amount of time to realize they’re shaving his head.

Another man, army boots, arms crossed and a wide stance, studies him from a distance. “Where’d you get this one from?”

“Uptown Seoul,” Cigarette mutters, purposefully setting the electrical razor against the side of Taehyung’s head a little more firmly than necessary. “A fighter this one for sure.”

The other doesn’t reply for a bit, and Taehyung can’t tell anything from the mask covering his face, but he thinks the guy slowly comes to a conclusion, “He looks familiar. Too familiar.”

The razor is removed from his head as Cigarette sits back and regards him. Taehyung is shaking fiercely, purely out of naked fear. He doesn’t know what they want from him. Why most of his hair is gathered around his feet. Why he’s sitting on the cold stone tiles of a filthy bathroom. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uptown Seoul?” Army Boots growls. “You don’t take people from Uptown Seoul. It’s against the rules.”

“Couldn’t let this one walk,” Cigarette shrugs, “Look at him.”

“That’s exactly why it’s against the rules.”

Teaching a choreography without any words has become second nature during his years in the Underground. Of course, nobody knows it choreography, but Dan thinks it’s a fitting description nonetheless. As long as this Red Shirt follows his lead, they can both get out of this fight relatively unscathed. And Red Shirt seems locked on, probably taking any hint of guidance because of his inexperience.

Dan talks to him through facial expressions and subtle gestures. It’s a show. That’s all it has ever been. A performance.

And Dan was nothing if not a performer, even five years later.

He raises one eyebrow, signaling that it’s part of the show before he rushes forward, giving Red Shirt barely any chance to raise his stick in defense. But a chance nonetheless. Dan pushes him back against the bars again, snarling and teeth bared, looking every bit as intimidating and dangerous as he intends to. Red Shirt’s eyes grow wider before also snarling, following Dan’s example. He pushes back, gets a few good whacks in against Dan’s ribs and then leaves his midsection exposed for the end of Dan’s stick.

Red Shirt groans loudly as Dan shoves the blunt end of his stick into his opponent’s stomach. Not too gently, it must look real after all. Not as harshly as Red Shirt is making it out to be though. Quite an actor, Dan thinks admirably.

Red Shirt is forced to the ground, sand flinging up dramatically around them. The crowd roars appreciatively. Dancer Dancer Dance.

Dancer shakes his head, panting above his opponent, who has very clearly given up, dropping his stick and raising his hands.

Taehyung pats his head in dismay, wincing as his hand comes in contact with the ugly feeling gash over his brow. They’ve put him underneath a hot shower and it stung against the wound and the bruises littering his frame, but it washed away the blood that had caked the side of his face, his shoulder, even ran down his elbow. The sloppy haircut left bald patches all over his scalp, his long, curly locks disappeared with the snap of a finger.

He’s pushed through a long, dark hallway. Everything here is dark. It smells earthy and wet, like the walls are barely keeping out whatever is outside of them. Taehyung’s gotten his breathing a bit better under control. They’ve received lessons about this, as a matter of fact. He slowly remembers them, now that it’s necessary.

Comply

Don’t engage

Do as asked

Wait for help

And help would always come, they promised.

Dan waits. This is the moment. He breathes haggardly, still with his stick in striking position. The crowd roars, very pleased. Red Shirt gazes back at him with so much desperate trust, Dan wants to kick himself. This is the one part of the fight where he doesn’t have any control over. They’re at the mercy of-

-a sharp whistle announces the end of their fight. Both of the Fighters sag as if their strings have been cut. Dan doesn’t reach out a hand to help his opponent up, it’s very much against the rules. Instead, he raises his stick above his head, ignoring the sharp sting in his shoulder and walks around the arena in victory. He shouts, roars with the crowd as if he’s somehow happy to have won. As if this whole thing wasn’t set up in the first place. They shout back at him. Dan hasn’t been Fighter in a long while. Months, he presumes. Moon had pretty much taken over his role, but he was still down in the infirmary with a broken foot.

Dancer thinks, as he hears the screaming crowd; it might be his turn again to perform really soon.

He’s introduced to their leader through a young boy with few teeth that calls himself Mouse. The boy is younger than Taehyung, gangly and small. He reminds him a little bit of Jimin. But Jimin is somewhere down in Seoul, probably at the dorm. Would they have noticed Taehyung’s not come back yet? Would they have called the police by now? There’s no way to tell how much time has passed. Hours. Might be days. Has the press picked this story up yet?

Would it all lead them right here?

Their leader is a tall, broad looking fellow with only one and a half ears left. He introduces himself as Slice and seems perfectly happy to ignore Taehyung for the rest of their time.

There’s whisperings behind his back. Confused stares as they watch him slowly saunter over to one of the empty bunks. He’s used to stares.

Dan earns a few whippings for Mouse’s display of affection after the Role Call and his unwillingness to strike the red shirted boy whenever it was obvious to do so. He’s fine with it. They sting and he grits his teeth, collecting more scars to add them to the ones from past beatings. He’ll just have to sleep on his side tonight.

Mouse tends to him expertly. They’ve gotten cream and fresh bandages for their wins tonight. Mouse apologizes a few times for letting his guard slip. Kiss Dancer against his forehead, right next to that initial scar on his brow that had started it all. Dancer kisses him back, needing the closeness, the familiarity of the one constant that he’s had down here. Mouse’s affection is soothing, his hands gentle and precise. They stroke Dan’s short hair and flutter down his back. He’s stopped bleeding, but whippings are designed to inflict the most amount of pain with the least amount of lethal damage.

“It’s not right,” Mouse whispers and Dancer gazes back at him.

“I’m okay,” he whispers back, tickling his fingers against Mouse’s collar bone.

Mouse chuckles and shakes his head, “One day,” he says, holding Dan’s gaze, “One day.”

Taehyung cries nearly every night. He’s been pushed and prodded by nearly everyone at this point. He shakes his head stubbornly whenever they ask him questions. He still waits for the police to break through the door, but it’s taking too long. He’s jumpy and unsure, and his team mates don’t know what to do with him. Mouse still tries. He’s gentle and soft-spoken. He has experience with this, he says. He used to be just like Taehyung.

“You miss your family, don’t you?” He asks kindly.

Taehyung nods, eyes big and red, he hurts all over.

“I used to be just like you,” Mouse admits, scooting closer across from him so that their toes are touching. “But it will fade.”

“How long have you been here?” Taehyung wants to know, hiccupping.

“Two years, nearly,” Mouse’s smile turns sad.

“What about your family?” Taehyung asks, trying not to panic over ‘two years, nearly’.

The boy shrugs, that sad smile still on his lips, “It’ll get easier,” he says, “You just forget.”

Taehyung frowns. “I won’t.”

“You will,” Mouse sounds convincing, “Everyone does down here. It’s the only way.”

Taehyung wishes Mouse would stop speaking in riddles, he wishes that he was back up on the surface, hugging his mother or his brother. He’d never let them go. He shakes his head stubbornly, but Mouse keeps smiling, coming a little bit closer. “Tomorrow’s Initiation Night. You will get a new identity there. A new name. Fresh start.”

One day, Dancer repeats in his head. It’s five days later. His back still stings, but he stands in the arena with sand creeping between his toes. Barefoot. Always barefoot.

Shoes can be used as weapons.

Mouse is two persons down the line, noticeably nervous for some reason.

“White number six, step forward.” Dan does as he’s told, bowed head as he waits for his role. “Medic!”

Surprised, he steps back. He half expected to be called as Fighter again, but apparently his performance last Ceremony wasn’t enough to earn him a permanent slot. Not that he wishes it would, but if he was a Fighter, it meant that at least one member of his team didn’t have to be. Moon, hobbling forward next to him, still unsteady on a fractured foot, is also called as a Medic for tonight. Shifty, Justin’s nickname, next to him, is called as Lover and nearly crumples to the ground. Dan’s face twitches, but there’s nothing he can do for the boy.

“White number nine, step forward.”

Mouse and Dan make no eye contact as Mouse steps forward, having decided to let things cool down after last week’s incident. Dan stares out straight ahead, eyes unfocused before his heart crumbles, “Fighter!”

Taehyung survives his first fight, but barely. He cries and squirms as Mouse and Slice try to wrap him up in gauze. Taehyung lost horribly. The Blue Team’s leader had the upper hand almost immediately. Bigger and way better focused. Terrible, Slice had grumbled, to put new recruits up against a team’s leader. Taehyung had held his own for a whole of eight minutes, only striking a few blows himself by twisting and turning and minding his footing, as their dance teacher Mo once said. He had to take far more blows against his ribcage, jaw, stomach, back. All well-placed and effectively creating the most amount of result with the least amount of effort. He’d crumpled to the ground, everything in his body pounding and stinging and slicing and please stop please please I can’t-

And the crowd had laughed. Thoroughly entertained.

Dan’s eyes widen, mouth going dry. Mouse’s shoulders sag. Tonight’s shaping up to be brutal, if Dan has seen the weapons laid out correctly. Mouse has never been a skilled Fighter. He’s learnt a couple of things over the years, of course, enough to stay alive. But he’s small and gangly still. Reminds Dan of –

Mouse slowly shuffles towards the Battle Station. Dan takes a step forward, out of line. Mouse turns and smiles and it’s then that Dan understands. He thinks back to their incident last Ceremony.

Mouse is never chosen as a Fighter

He’s a skilled medic.

Makes Dan feel better just by a touch.

Never a Fighter

His hand in Dan’s. A clear display of affection for the whole crowd to watch.

“No!” Taehyung cries, immediately held back by the rest of his team mates. “No!” he shouts.

“Shut up!” Moon hisses in his ear, “They’re gonna kill you, shut up!”

Dan makes a halfhearted attempt at shaking himself loose. But it doesn’t work. It’s never worked. Mouse is defiant as he stares back at him, sealing his fate. “It’s okay,” he mouths, a hint of that familiar sad smile on his lips, “You can patch me back up. It’s okay.”

Taehyung cries when the first member of his team dies. The fight was heinous and he’d been forced to watch from behind the bars of the arena, not allowed to leave the area as a Cleaner, until all the fights were done. Brick had been a well-built, clever young man, but even he wasn’t immune against the stab of a ragged dagger right into his abdomen. Mouse and another boy had dragged Brick out of the arena, leaving a thick trail of blood that Taehyung was forced to clean before he could return to the barracks. After all the fighting and all the cleaning was done, it was too late.

They’d thrown a stained sheet over Brick’s face and Taehyung had broken down beside him. They’d let him cry, which was rare because most of the time, he was told to shut up and keep quiet. After what felt like hours, he’d crawled into bed, curling up in a ball. Mouse had crawled in a few minutes later, snaking his arms around him. “It’s okay,” he whispered, and Taehyung had wanted to shout at him that no, fuck no, none of this is okay. But he felt another awful sob blocking his throat so he’d buried his head further into his thin, worn pillow.

“I know it’s hard, and it’s never going to be easy,” Mouse had whispered against the back of his neck, “But even something like this is something you can get used to.”

Dan had breathed, swallowing down his sobs as he stared at the filthy, stained sheet over Brick’s body. He wondered how many Mouse had already seen.

Chapter Text

Call it a hunch, Jimin said as he’d told Jungkook to come back to Daegu with him. Jungkook, bless him, had agreed right away. Jimin had noticed that the younger hadn’t touched a drop of liquor or other substances since they’d gathered at Seokjin’s earlier in the week. Maybe that’s all that Jungkook needed, Jimin thinks optimistically. Focus and a mission.

And so here they are, again on the same road to the Daegu hardware store like before. This time with a whole arsenal of new questions. Now that they knew Taehyung was alive, there was no doubt in Jimin’s mind that they were going to bring him back. He didn’t care how, as long as it happened as soon as possible. But in order to make that happen, they needed more leads, more evidence. An excited flutter in his stomach as he regarded the empty road before him. Anger had dissipated and made place for hope.

Which was a strange feeling. Sure, he’d held on to hope for a good part of five years, but he’d had to eventually let it go. Had to eventually tell himself that he’s no longer looking for Taehyung, but for answers instead. And sure, when you least expect him to, Taehyung shows up.

Typical.

Jimin can see him now when he glances in the rearview mirror. Tousled short hair, white shirt, dark brown pants and a faraway look as he stares out of the window on the backseat. He’s not there, of course he’s not. If he were, they could turn right back around, drive all the way back to Seokjin’s mansion of a house, and say tada! Instead, Jimin was sent out to gather some more info. Sure, it was great to brainstorm for hours on end, coming up with all sorts of cult theories, but it didn’t lead them anywhere. Not until Namjoon mentioned Mrs. Lee. And her son. And Jimin and he both knew there was a story there.

The hardware store hasn’t changed in the two weeks since they had been there. Of course it hasn’t, Jimin doesn’t know why he expects it should have. He’s called Mrs. Lee beforehand, asked her if she would help answer some follow up questions they had. She was happy to help, she said. And now Jungkook and Jimin wait at the counter until she’s done helping a customer wrap up their honeymoon gift. Jimin surveys the store, eyes falling directly on the exact camera that Taehyung had stared at. He knew the white shirted group’s path through the store by heart and let his gaze trail their route until Mrs. Lee appears right in front of him.

“It’s wonderful to see you boys again, how may I help you?” She smiles before bowing.

Jimin and Jungkook bow hurriedly in unison before Jimin clears his throat, “We- uh, we spoke on the phone this morning, remember?”

“Ah yes,” Mrs Lee keeps smiling, “I understand you boys must have a lot of questions still. You left so suddenly last time.”

“Yeah, we’ve had some time to… adjust,” Jungkook mumbles.

“I can imagine seeing someone you thought you lost so suddenly… it must be a little jarring.”

Jimin forces a smile, “That’s one way to put it.”

“We have some questions about your son,” Jungkook interjects.

It takes all the self-control Jimin has not to kick his dongsaeng in the shin for that blatant display of tactlessness. He fully expects Mrs. Lee to point them the door and he would completely understand her if she did so. Instead she sighs, eyes turning incredibly sad before she nods, looking down at the counter. “I figured you might,” she says softly, “This might be better discussed in the office.”

She walks out from behind the counter and motions for them to follow her. When Jimin is sure she’s out of earshot, he reaches up and smacks the back of Jungkook’s head. Jungkook flinches, hand flying to his head and rubbing the spot, “Ow!” he grumbles, “What was that for?”

“This is exactly why I’m the brains, and you’re the brawn!” Jimin hisses in return.

“What? It worked,” Jungkook retorts.

“You’re goddamn lucky it did!”

Mrs. Lee opens the door to her office and they file in quietly. Jimin remembers the last time they were in here. How Jungkook and he had been at each other’s throats. How a simple sentence from Namjoon had changed his whole life-

Oh my God, it’s him

Mrs. Lee looks around the room before pointing Jimin and Jungkook to some plastic chairs. She busies herself by trying to clean the desk of papers and cables, but it’s clear she’s preparing herself for the conversation. Because when she turns and leans back against the desk, her hands grip the edges so tightly it’s as if she’s bracing herself.

Jimin swallows, wondering if it’s their place to make this woman relive what’s probably one of her worst memories. He’s surprised she even let them get this far. They’re not police. They’re not detectives. “What’s his name?” he asks. A simple question. To ease her into it.

“Lee Hojeong,” Mrs. Lee replies with a soft smile, reminiscent and sweet. “The light of my life.”

“He’s disappeared,” Jungkook presses and Jimin gets the urge to smack him in the head again.

Mrs. Lee nods, “Almost three years ago. Feels like yesterday though.”

“Could you tell us what happened?” Jimin asks gently.

She hesitates. It’s clear that she wants to help them, but it’s hard for her. Jimin can relate. For a whole year, it was nearly impossible to talk about the night Taehyung disappeared. Even thinking about it brought forth that intense longing, a yearning so deep that turned into pure heartbreak the moment you think about what you’re missing. And God, that hurts. A feeling like no other. Jimin glances sideways at Jungkook and wonders if it had been the same for him.

“It was nothing special, really,” Mrs. Lee begins, eyes trained on the floor as she recalls the events of what must have been her worst nightmare, “Normal day like any other. A school day. Hojeong liked to go running after dinner every night. Clear his head, he said.”

“How old is he?”

“He’d be twenty two now,” Mrs. Lee replies softly, deep in thought, “Was nineteen when he went missing. I always told him to be careful when he went out. Daegu streets aren’t the safest at night. He always went out pretty early in the evening, though. It was a school day after all. Never took longer than an hour to come back. Except for that night.”

Jimin can pretty much fill in the rest. “What did the police say?”

Something dark crosses over Mrs. Lee’s face then, resentment, it looks like, “Not much. There wasn’t anything to investigate. No leads, they said.”

“But?”

“Kids went missing all the time around these parts of town for a while, they probably chalked it up as a regular occurrence. Young people. Always boys.”

“And they didn’t do anything to investigate?” Jungkook’s anger simmers just below the surface and it sends a chill down Jimin’s neck.

“Oh sure, they showed up,” Mrs. Lee says, “Did their little act of pretending to care. But they dropped it pretty much right after. I asked around and it seems like they do that with each case.”

“You know some of the other people whose loved ones went missing?” Jimin asks and tries not to sound too eager.

“I do,” Mrs. Lee regards him, a little reserved, “They don’t really like to talk though. Daegu people rarely let a stranger poke their noses in their business.”

Jungkook tilts his head, “Don’t mind me asking, but why are telling us the story then?”

Mrs. Lee sighs, eyes shifting around the small office, “You seem like good people. You’ve lost a loved one and you want to find answers. I want to find answers. Something tells me these disappearances are connected somehow.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Jungkook persists, “Taehyung-hyung was taken from Seoul.”

“Yet he showed up right here,” Mrs. Lee replies. “In any case, I figured it would be good to let a stranger’s perspective in. Shed some new light on these mysteries that have accumulated in this town for years now. It’s ugly. Like an infected wound. Everyone is aware of it. Even the police. Yet no one will acknowledge it. Like they’re afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Jimin asks, breathless.

“I’d tell you if I knew,” Mrs. Lee says dejectedly, “After my Hojeong disappeared, it was like people had forgotten he existed in the first place. You see, we aren’t from Daegu originally. We moved here from Ulsan after my husband died. Set up a store and met some locals that way, but the people from around here are always a bit… reserved.”

“Taehyung-hyung’s from Daegu,” Jungkook spills suddenly. “It might be connected, you’re right.”

Jimin looks at him and sees the pained confusion on Jungkook’s face. He wants answers. They both do, but after five years of searching, Jimin’s learnt that patience is very important. Haste led to hurried conclusions and hurried conclusions led to the wrong answers. And so he slowly stands up, bowing towards Mrs. Lee, “Thank you so much, Mrs. Lee, you’ve given us some very good information.”

“You’re most welcome,” she replies, a little taken aback by his sudden decision to end the conversation. Jungkook seems surprised too, watching Jimin with wide eyes.

“We’re gonna take a few days to ask around town and see if we can find out more.”

The woman gives them an encouraging smile, “Good luck with that. If you come up with any more questions for me, I’d be happy to help out. This honestly feels like the investigation that was needed in the first place.”

Jimin gives her an awkward smile in return, wondering just how much Mrs. Lee is aware that they’re not in any way qualified to lead an investigation. But if the police wouldn’t do it… yeah, he can understand now why Mrs. Lee would take any other form of support for her cause.

They spend the next two days trying to get more information on the disappearances around the city. Mrs. Lee and Yoongi weren’t lying when they said that people from Daegu remain very tight-lipped when talking to strangers. Jimin can’t help but get the strong feeling that wherever they go, he and Jungkook are regarded as outsiders. There’s whispering whenever they enter a public space and honestly, it’s par for the course of their lives, but this seems much more sinister. Like they’re somewhere they’re not supposed to be. Somewhere they’re not wanted.

And so, after another fruitless day of asking around and getting either the door slammed in their faces, or very stoic, curt answers to their questions, Jimin decides it’s time for some good, old fashioned research.

In the public library.

Jungkook groans. ”Hyung, we have the entire world wide web to our disposal. Why would you ever go down to a public library?”

Jimin chuckles as he looks at Jungkook’s disgusted face in the passenger seat, “What have libraries ever done to you?”

“Just saying it’s unnecessary,” Jungkook complains before shrugging, “I was an adventurous child, and being dragged to a library was like the opposite of an adventure.”

“The opposite of-” Jimin laughs at this, “So you were bored.”

“Yes!”

“Too bad I’m a nerd,” Jimin keeps laughing, “Besides, there’s stuff in libraries that you can’t find on the internet. Like newspaper clippings and such. That’s exactly what we’re looking for.”

-Or, Jimin thought that was exactly what they were looking for. Because even down in the public library of Daegu, which is a relatively big city, information about the disappearances of various young people over the years is hard to come by. They look everywhere. Jungkook has made it a game with himself to dig up everything he thinks might be useful and then lets the actual reading part be done by Jimin.

“Here, how about this one?” Jungkook hurries over to Jimin with another small clipping and puts it down on the table. Young mineworker missing from local site.

“Pretty sure he went missing in the mines,” Jimin sighs as he reads over the short clipping before pushing it away. “Besides, we need some clear rules on which cases we can and cannot include. Figure out what the connections are between the cases we know. If there’s even a connection there to begin with. Maybe Taehyung and Hojeong had a totally different fate from one another.”

Jungkook drops down in a chair besides him and snorts, “Being a detective is fucking hard.”

“Hm,” Jimin hums, agreeing, “Mrs. Lee thinks there’s a connection between various cases in town though. What do we know about the two cases?”

“Well, they went missing at night,” Jungkook starts, holding up one finger, “No eyewitnesses,” another finger, “Police can’t find any leads. It’s like they’ve both gone up in smoke.”

“It’s not much to go on,” Jimin admits, sitting back with a groan. The plastic library chairs aren’t ideal for extensive use, he thinks, feeling his back twinge painfully as he tries to stretch. They’ve been here for hours. “Taehyung was taken from a far different place, and whatever happened during his kidnapping, he got hurt. They found his blood on the way to the studio, remember?”

Jungkook’s hands clench into fists because of course he remembers. Jimin decides to drop that nasty detail for now and sighs, “I think Namjoon might be right that it was a coincidence that Taehyung happened to be a celebrity. Unfortunately that doesn’t mean that we can say that whatever is going on in Daegu and Taehyung’s disappearance are connected. Not for sure anyway.”

Jungkook lets his shoulders slump, “Doesn’t that mean we’re back to square one?”

Jimin gives a noncommittal grunt at that, slowly lifting himself out of his chair. “We can take a few of these that match our known cases, but yeah, unless we can somehow get the locals out here to talk to us, it’s not much to go on.”

They exit the library armed with a few clippings that could be connected to the kidnappings. Strangely, they’re all from sources outside of Daegu somehow. Jimin wonders if maybe they should stretch this investigation broader than just Daegu. But then where would they even start? There’s multiple kidnappings happening all over the country every day. All for different reasons, all with a different outcome. How would those ever lead them back to this city?

He drops off Jungkook at his apartment when they finally get back to Seoul that evening and absentmindedly drives to his own with a head full of heavy thoughts. Three days ago, he thought they were so close to finally finding some answers, but now that he’s properly delved into it, he realizes there’s so much more to it than he could have ever imagined.

He drops onto his bed without changing clothes and stares up at the ceiling. Seoul’s busy streets are a bit calmer this late at night, but there’s still a constant drone of traffic going by. Jimin’s gotten used to it, usually sleeps right through it. Tonight, though, his thoughts keep on swirling inside his head and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t drift off to sleep and lies awake for hours. He wonders, begrudgingly, if being a detective is supposed to mean that you constantly garner so many more questions than answers. Why would anyone ever-

A noise from inside his apartment freezes his thoughts. He tenses, eyes big in the dark as he grips his bed sheets tightly. No matter how cool of a detective he may perceive himself to be, he’s not equipped to handle intruders in the middle of the night. He glances at his alarm clock quickly, as if that simple movement might shatter his fate forever.

2.48 am

It’s not the mailman. He hasn’t ordered late night food delivery. There’s no reason at all for random noises to come out of his apartment.

Out of reasons not to get up and investigate, Jimin braces himself by squeezing his eyes shut, clenching his teeth and mentally counting to three before sitting upright, slowly peeling the sheets from his body before he steps out of bed. The cold stone underneath his feet sends chills through his body, but he’s quite sure it’s not just the cold that’s making him tremble. He creeps through his bedroom, in search of anything that could fend off an attacker. Eventually, he picks up the umbrella in the corner. It might not kill anybody, but Jimin’s intention is not murder in the first place. Maybe he’ll be able to stun them enough to escape and call for help.

Yeah

Totally gonna work

He opens the door soundlessly, holding his breath in and his umbrella high. He tiptoes out of his room into his large, open apartment.

He doesn’t get very far.

As he creeps closer to the front door, there’s a small rustling of clothes. Before he can turn, however, strong arms grab him from behind and hurl him backwards. Jimin lets out a smothered, surprised yelp. A large, gloved hand clamps down over his mouth. Jimin tries to struggle, to free himself out of the taller person’s grip, but whoever has grabbed him is much, much stronger. They’re also frighteningly quiet, somehow able to hold Jimin with one arm hooked around his throat. Jimin tries to reach up, scratching at the arm to relieve the chokehold, but going completely still when he feels the cold steel of what must be a knife against his bare throat. He glances regretfully at the useless umbrella that he dropped to the floor the second he was grabbed.

Then all rational thought is completely ripped away from him when the stranger speaks in a low tone, with a dark timbre that’s so familiar that it freezes Jimin’s blood and stops his heart, “Don’t make a sound.”

Breath leaves him all at once and Jimin feels his knees turn to jelly, only held up by the strong arm and the threat of the knife on his throat. His eyes go wide with shock as he breathes out a single name, “Taehyung-ah.”

Chapter Text

“Oh come on, Moon, you must have played this game before!” Runner complains as he hands the card back to Moon, who eyes him with a dumbfounded expression.

“I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Moon replies, putting the card back in his hand.

Pinky narrows his eyes, “Are you hustling us?”

Dan cracks one eye open to look at the group of three and their worn deck of playing cards. They’re Runner’s and he just showed up with them after last Ceremony. No matter how hard they’ve tried, Runner would not explain how he got them. All Dan knows is that he’d been assigned Lover, so he guesses that explains enough. They’ll have to keep the cards a secret. Having fun is of course strictly forbidden in the Underground. It’ll be hard though, Dan thinks, as he sees the other boys of their team watch with great interest. This game of theirs is going to have a lot more players next round.

“You should join them,” Mouse croaks out.

“Can’t,” Dan mumbles, still watching the game, “I have to keep an eye on you.”

“Hmm, you’ve done a wonderful job patching me up,” Mouse concedes, laying back down with a groan, “I’ll survive one round of Go Fish.”

Dan turns to look at him. Most of Mouse’s face is still swollen. One eye seems to be permanently shut with how much bruising surrounds it. After his brutal fight with Grudge in the arena, there was a significant window of time there that Dan was certain they were going to lose him.

That he was going to lose him.

He could still hear Mouse wheeze with every breath he took. Still needed to watch him closely in fear of a broken rib piercing a lung or something. Still that lingering fear of it’s been four days already, why does he still look so pale, what have we missed, what should I do?

“I hate Go Fish,” Dan mutters sulkily.

That earns him a pained laugh from Mouse on the mattress, “Go on, it’s good for morale,” he urges, poking Dan’s sides. “They’ll have to see their leader loosen up sometimes. You’ve turned so serious, I’d believe it if they said you turned into stone.”

“Stones are pretty serious,” Dan comments absentmindedly, watching Twist, the only other one seemingly disinterested in the game, sitting on one of the bottom bunks with a book in his hands. Dan’s had a few altercations with him now and it doesn’t really sit well in his thoughts. Twist was defiant and rebellious, unaccepting of the way things were here in the Underground. He seemed to question everything Dan said or did, which in turn brought uneasiness to the rest of the group. He sighs deeply, “I don’t know what to do with him.”

Mouse follows his gaze and a soft smirk appears on his tired face, “He reminds me a lot of you, actually.”

“I was nothing like him.”

They both know that’s a lie. Once Dancer had understood the rules of the Underground, he did everything he could to undermine them. Came up with all sorts of wild plans to overthrow authority and escape the barracks. Slice, their leader at the time, had never paid enough attention to take him seriously, but Mouse had. One day, he’d said. But not today. It echoes in the words Dan had said to Twist the other day.

Twist had not taken it well. And Dan knew there were a million nasty things on the tip of the boy’s tongue, but he’d held it in and had secluded himself from the rest of the group ever since.

“Give him some time,” Mouse whispers, “We all need to come to terms with this reality in our own way.”

Dan bites his lip, focusing on the game of cards instead. He sees Runner animatedly growl at a card that he’s pulled from the stack. Moon laughs at him, nearly doubling over and Pinky grins to himself as he’s clearly winning.

The camaraderie stings fiercely and Dan looks away. There’s more than one reason he’s reluctant to participate.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts as Mouse groans and a hand flies to his side. Dan hovers over him in an instant, “You okay?”

Mouse bites back the pain and nods, face reddening, “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Just… hurts, you know?”

Dan nods, “Yeah, let me go see if we got any more painkillers left. Nothing stronger than aspirin, I’m afraid.”

“’s Fine,” Mouse slurs, eyes falling shut in exhaustion. Dan watches him with worry before getting up with a grunt, busted hip grinding in its socket as he walks over to the medicine cabinet and-

The door bursts open and two guards appear. Dan walks forward as if on autopilot, a now deep rooted instinct to protect the other boys taking hold as he stands between the guards and the rest of the group. The guards dismiss the group, focusing solely on Dan. “You,” one barks, pointing at Dan, “Come with us.”

Dan stares back for a second before complying. He feels the rest of the group stare at his back when he walks out the room. With a heavy slam, the metal door closes, and just like that, Dan is ripped away from them. The guards don’t say anything as they lead through dark, narrow corridors, fluorescent lights flickering and buzzing. It’s quite a while before they stop, punching in a code to another metal door. The screen blinks green and they go into the room.

It looks exactly like an office, but without any windows. Which isn’t unusual, because there are no windows anywhere in the Underground. A man stands behind the desk. He’s armed, but he isn’t wearing the heavy armor like the guards are. Dan halts, guard on either side of him, and clasps his hands behind his back. He knows better than to look his superiors in the eye.

“They call you Dancer,” the man rasps with an icy, shrill tone to his voice, “Don’t they?”

Dan swallows, a chill running through his spine, “Yes sir.”

“Prince of the Underground.”

Dan remains silent at that.

“You were involved in the last rebellion, weren’t you?”

Dan takes a deep breath, heart pounding in his chest.

“Weren’t you!” The man’s tone is harsh and leaves no room for discussion. It’s clearly rhetorical, but he still wants an answer.

“Yes sir,” Dan replies.

“Yes, I remember,” his voice softens and a smile creeps onto his face. “You, and the others. Tell me, how many of them are still alive?”

Dan closes his eyes and bows his head, “None, sir.”

“That’s right. It’s the price you pay. Tell me boy, do you know why you alone survived that pathetic little uprising of yours?”

Dan clenches his jaw and shakes his head. He’s asked himself that for a long time.

“Words, boy!”

“No, sir.”

“You were made an example,” the man explains as if talking to a four year old, “We aren’t monsters, you know. We can be forgiving and understanding. You were young. Perhaps you didn’t understand the rules. It was my decision to let you live. And look at what has become of you. The Prince of the Underground.”

There’s a predatory glint in the man’s eyes as he studies Dan from top to toe. Dan recognizes it immediately from all those hellish nights he’d been assigned as Lover. An involuntary shiver passes through him. He stays silent, avoiding the man’s heavy gaze.

The man licks his lips, “You’re lucky our clientele is fond of you, Dancer. You’re still an example,” he drawls before opening one of the drawers in his desk, “I want you to take a look at this.”

One of the guards pushes him forward and Dan reluctantly walks over to the desk, looking down at the picture. Once his eyes lock on, he can’t look away. Mouse is right. It’s like he’s turned into stone.

“Do you recognize this man?” The Monster behind the desk questions, pointing at the picture.

Dan’s jaw is clenched so tightly that he cannot speak. He stares, stares hard and feels his insides turn to mush. It’s almost like he’s down in the arena and someone has tackled him and is busy ramming his abdomen over and over again-

“I said, do you recognize him?” the man shouts, voice shrilling through the room and causing Dancer to flinch vehemently.

He inhales sharply, nostrils flaring before looking up at the man, “No sir.”

“Don’t lie to me!” the Monster slams a hand down on the desk harshly, but Dan doesn’t flinch this time.

“I don’t know him, sir.”

“His name is Park Jimin,” the Monster reveals, annoyed, “He’s been looking for you for a while. Always chased dead ends though. Do you remember your last mission for us?”

Dan looks down at the picture again, recognizing the place, “The hardware store.”

“Yes, you were spotted on camera.”

Dan looks up, tilting his chin and looking down at the slightly shorter man across from him, “Then why did you send me there?”

The Monster gives a nearly inconceivable wave to the guard on Dan’s right and before Dan can comprehend what happened, the blunt end of their hunting rifle has slammed into his bad hip. He gasps, biting back an anguished cry before sinking to his knees. He breathes heavily as he looks up, glaring at the Monster. This pathetic little maggot wouldn’t stand a chance in an arena fight, he thinks. If there weren’t two heavily armed guards in this room, the tables would have been turned in an instant. The Monster bends down over Dan’s hunched form, “This is not a place where you ask questions,” he whispers. “Your mission was to do as you were told. Nothing else. We’ve asked the owner of the store nicely to let us review the footage.” Another shiver runs over Dan’s back at the word ‘nicely’. “It’s like you were trying to be seen.”

Dan shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“No?” The Monster straightens back up with raised eyebrows and a mocking lilt to his voice, “Perhaps it’s just a coincidence then that Park Jimin shows up. There was a younger boy with him too. Pretty. But they are asking too many questions.”

Kookie

“So I have a new mission for you.” Monster watches him with that same piercing, lust filled gaze that Dan swears burns him to the bones, “You are going back to Seoul. These two will go with you, along with a few other guards. You are strictly forbidden to talk to anyone besides Park Jimin.”

“You want me to talk to him?”

“A warning.”

“Why not kill him?”

Another blow to his hip has Dan biting his lip hard enough to bleed. The Monster looks at him, almost bored, “Our reasons are not your concern. Your mission is to take this boy off of our scent. Whatever it takes, make sure your warning sticks. Or we will.”

Or we will

The threatening tone rings through his mind as Dan listens to the rain patter against the roof of the van. He’s been stowed in the back, just like all those years ago. He faintly wonders if they’ll be poetic enough to drop him off at the same spot they’d once taken him.

No, evidently not.

He’s pulled out of the van and stood on the street. They push a knife into his hand that feels too familiar there. They tell him fifth floor, apartment five-zero-three and then they drive away, but Dan watches them stop at the corner of the street and the van stays parked there. Inconspicuous. They’ll be surveying him closely, he knows. He looks down at the knife in his hand. He’s been dressed in all black, a stark difference from the white he’s been forced to wear for five years. The gloves around his hands feel rigid and it isn’t long before rain starts dripping down his face.

He looks up tentatively. The streets glisten the way they did that night his life got ruined. An inexplicable fear creeps up his neck at the memory. Like his body is afraid it will happen again. He tears his gaze away from the street, looking up at the tall apartment building right in front of him. If he had to guess, he’d say it had been an old factory of some sort. Masterfully repurposed for apartment living. It looks expensive, but not as expensive as the standard of living he’d once been familiar with.

The door to the main lobby has been left ajar by someone. It is completely abandoned. How convenient, Dan thinks, as he shuffles through to get to the staircase. It’s almost too quiet here. Like people have been forewarned to stay away. He shivers at that thought. It’s a set-up, his brain supplies, they’re placing a trap for the both of you.

But Dan’s stuck like a sewer rat. He’s been stuck like a sewer rat for years and years. He grips the knife firmly in his hand and sneaks up the stairs towards the fifth floor. The apartment itself isn’t hard to find. And Dan remembers enough about his old life to know exactly what number combination Park Jimin would use to lock his front door. Birthday, of course. Fucking doofus.

He creeps into the apartment like it’s second nature. Even in the dark he can tell it’s a mess. He weaves skillfully around various obstacles, not making a sound. He huddles himself into a cramped corner besides a laughably large TV. Satisfied that he’s sufficiently hidden, Dan looks around and finds the nearest object to throw on the ground. A busted mug that says Good Luck Duck on it. He thinks he faintly recognizes it.

It clatters to the hardwood floor and the sound echoes through the otherwise silent apartment. Dan waits. There’s not a chance that Park Jimin didn’t wake up from that. Dan wonders, belatedly, if Jimin will have the guts to come out of the bedroom by himself. Maybe he’ll just call the cops from in there.

Help, there’s someone in my house

That would be the sensible thing to do.

Dancer listens closely to any sound coming from the bedroom. It’s quiet aside from some rustling and Dan presses himself further against the wall, holding his breath as he sees the door opening. A smaller man sneaks out, something in his hands held high as he shuffles into the living room. Dan almost wants to cry when he sees it’s an umbrella. He feels the weight of the knife in his hands and bites his lip. Something in Taehyung’s heart breaks significantly at the sight of Jimin’s silhouette against the windows.

Dan shakes his head, adjusts his grip and after mentally counting to three, he rushes up behind Park Jimin before the slightly older man can reach the front door. Jimin yelps and promptly drops the umbrella in his hands. They struggle for a bit, but it’s barely a problem holding onto the smaller man. Although Taehyung was half a head bigger than him, once upon a time they were quite matched when it came to pure strength. But that time is long gone. Now Jimin squirms and twists, trying to see who has grabbed him, but Dan won’t let him. He clamps one arm around Jimin’s throat, covering his mouth and feeling the man weakly scrabbling against his hold. He uses the knife in his other hand and places it precariously against Jimin’s throat, rendering him instantly immobile.

Park Jimin is breathing hard, tensed and nearly whimpering in fear. Dan grips him a little tighter, the back of Jimin’s hair tickling his nose before he grumbles, dark and low, “Don’t make a sound.”

The result is immediate, just like Dan feared it would be. Jimin sags in his arms, clearly dizzy with realization before taking a single breath, “Taehyung-ah.”

It’s not even phrased like a question. Just a statement. Taehyung’s here. He’s come back.

Dan steels himself for half a second before strengthening his hold, “I said, don’t make a sound.”

He’s been wired, he knows. Jimin doesn’t. The smaller man has a million questions, completely ignoring Dan’s command for the second time and going how where what when-

Dan doesn’t want to, but he holds the knife a little closer to Jimin’s throat and the other man stops breathing and freezes. “My job here is to warn you,” Dan says roughly.

“Taehyung? How did you- When did you-” Jimin starts up again and Dan shakes him harshly, eliciting a surprised yelp.

“No,” he growls calmly, “Taehyung was a scrawny, naïve idiot. It’s no wonder he didn’t last long in the Underground.”

“What?” Jimin squeaks, thoroughly confused, “No! I saw him! I saw you!”

A darkness falls over Dan at that moment as he holds the man he lost years ago tightly to his chest. But it’s not a loving hold. Nothing like the way they used to hold each other. Glitchy, fragmented memories plague his mind before he shakes out of it, “What you saw was a ghost.”

“No,” Jimin refuses, shaking his head adamantly, “No, I know it was you! We all do!”

“Taehyung is dead!” Dancer growls loud enough for Jimin to start shaking with fear. Sobs intermingle with his breaths as he keeps shaking his head, throat dangerously closed to the knife.

“What happened?”

“He died a long time ago,” Dancer replies flatly.

“How?”

Dan takes a second to reply, squaring his jaw, his grip on Jimin and his knife eerily steady, “I killed him.”

Jimin gasps, trying to push Dan’s arm away but not having the strength to do so. Dan regards him, resigning his emotions to whatever the mission demands of him now. Jimin keeps murmuring, voice high and heartbroken. No no no no no no no no no

“You have to stop looking for him,” Dan says coldly.

“I won’t!” Jimin shouts, deep wheezing breaths spurring out of him with how tight Dan’s grip around his throat is.

“Listen to me!” Dan hisses, shaking the smaller man again, “You don’t know what you got yourself into. You couldn’t have known. This is far more complicated than you could ever have imagined. Far more dangerous.”

“No!” Jimin grunts, curling his fingers around Dan’s wrist, “I’m not afraid of you. You won’t hurt me.”

An anger flashes through Dan at Jimin’s defiance. Anger because he’s here, trying to warn him. That Jimin needs to listen, because the alternative is so much worse. Anger that he’s been forced into this position in the first place and anger-

-that none of them ever showed up for him

He presses the knife against the flesh of Jimin’s throat and pushes. Blood starts to spill immediately and Jimin cries out, feet scrabbling against the wooden floor and nails digging into Dan’s wrist.

“No! No! Stop, please stop!” The older man hiccups, crying and coughing.

Dan pulls the knife away. The wound isn’t deep. More of a warning than an assault. Still, it bleeds heavily, pouring over his gloves. Jimin whimpers in his grasp. A weak, squirming animal that Dan’s about to spear-

“Stop looking for him,” Dan repeats his demand, “They know who you are. They know everything about you. They’ll always know where to find you.”

Jimin draws in a wheezing breath when Dan finally lets him go and pushes him forwards. He stumbles, but before he can regain his balance and straighten up again, Dan has dropped the knife to the floor and disappeared out of the door.

Chapter Text

It’s ass o’clock in the morning when Seokjin opens the heavy wooden front door of his house to a disheveled, frantic looking Jimin.

Jimin, wide eyed and jumpy, pushes his hyung aside and rushes in, stumbling into the spacious front lobby. Seokjin frowns at him, looking outside to see if there are any more lunatics roaming around out there before closing the door with a soft click. He regards Jimin for a moment, who looks like he’s seen an actual ghost.

“Are you insane?” Seokjin asks for good measure, “It’s five o’clock in the morning! Everybody is still sleeping!”

Jimin looks up at him, out of breath, with an expression that suggests he’s just remembered that Seokjin is there in the first place. “Hyung!” He squeaks.

“What are you doing here?”

Seokjin had woken up to loud banging on his front door and what he was pretty sure was a madman yelling outside his window. That madman turned out to be Jimin, apparently. Luckily Soomi was an incredibly heavy sleeper, just like Yunha.

Jimin neglects to give him any verbal reply, hurrying over to the windows, checking outside before swooping the curtains closed quickly. He does this with every window on the ground floor scurrying criss cross over the carpet floor. Seokjin watches him, dumbfounded, and raises one finger in question. “Are you okay? You seem a little… paranoid.”

“Oh, do I?” Jimin replies, completely out of breath, checking the front door again.

An uneasy feeling starts to settle in Seokjin’s stomach, “Is there a… reason to be paranoid?”

Jimin turns to look at him in all his haste, face reddened and eyes still wide open, “You are not going to believe what happened.”

“Try me,” Seokjin replies, unsure.

“Promise me you won’t freak out,” Jimin rushes.

“I don’t have the best track record of staying calm,” Seokjin says in all honesty.

Jimin bites his lip, still looking around feverishly, like he expected someone to just jump through the window. Then he leans over conspiratorially, “Taehyung broke into my apartment.”

“What?” Seokjin’s voice rises to a pitch he didn’t even know he could reach.

Jimin grabs him by the arms and pushes him backwards, shushing him, “Don’t freak out!”

Seokjin lets out an unidentifiable noise, then shakes his head quickly, “N-no, I’m not freaking out. A-a-a-are you sure it was him?”

Jimin’s face falls dramatically, “You don’t believe me.”

“I mean-”

“For fuck’s sake!” Jimin exclaims, throwing up his arms, and Seokjin takes a careful step back. Jimin seems more than a little… unhinged. Whatever has happened tonight, it sure left a mark.

Seokjin contemplates this for a second, unsure of how to proceed when Jimin gets like this. “Come on,” he beckons his younger friend, “Let’s sit down for a second.”

Jimin looks at the door and the closed curtains one more time before nodding. They walk into the large living room and Jimin flops down on one of the couches with a sigh. Seokjin studies him worriedly for a moment before also sitting down. “It’s just… we’ve been here before, Jimin-ah.”

Jimin’s mouth falls open, but no sound is coming out. Seokjin realizes it was probably the exact wrong thing to say to him as he watches Jimin’s face turn dark, “This is nothing like before. He was there, hyung.”

Seokjin remembers that period right after Taehyung disappeared. They all had a really hard time with it, but Jimin took his grief to a whole new level. He kept insisting that he saw Taehyung around his apartment. That he dreamt about him every single night. That he talked to him. Eventually, it faded away, but Seokjin wasn’t sure if that was because Jimin had learnt a healthier way of coping with loss, or if he just no longer talked about it whenever he would see Taehyung.

And here they were.

“How can you be sure?” Seokjin asks cautiously.

Jimin squares his jaw and his mouth twitches, a telltale sign that his anger was flaring hot, “Would you ask the same question if it were one of the others?”

“Jimin-ah-”

“Oh no, Jimin’s seeing Taehyung, better call the fucking psychiatrist on him again!”

“Jimin!”

“He was there!” Jimin explodes, jumping up from the couch, “You don’t think I can tell the fucking difference between reality and my imagination?”

“Come on, that’s not fair!”

“Isn’t it?” Jimin bristles, “Then I guess I made this up too!” He yanks down the collar of his polo shirt and Seokjin gasps at the gash on his throat.

“What the hell?”

“Right?” Jimin says, “That’s what I was thinking. There I was, just lying in bed, minding my own business. Something clatters to the floor in the other room, so I guess I go check it out. He fucking grabs me from behind. He’s freakishly strong now, by the way, despite how banged up he looked on that security footage. And so I think, rejoice! He’s back. But it was so weird-”

“Wait, he grabbed you from behind?” Seokjin interjects, “Did you see his face?”

Jimin’s eyes shoot daggers at him, “No, but I could recognize that voice anywhere.”

“So that’s it, just his voice?”

Jimin opens his mouth a few times, points at Seokjin with a finger shaking in unconcealed anger, lets out a frustrated growl, and turns his back, “Should have gone to Namjoon-hyung.”

“No wait,” Seokjin sighs, “I’m sorry, alright? It’s just really hard to grasp this concept. I mean, how did he get in?”

“He knows my security code because he’s my best friend.”

Seokjin deadpans at him, “Is your security code your birthday?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“No, that’s exactly the point,” Seokjin argues, shaking his head, “Literally anyone can break into your apartment. Your birthday is plastered all over the internet.”

“Will you just stop and listen to me?” Jimin hisses, and Seokjin feels like the younger man is ready to pull his hair out from frustration by now, “This was not just some random dude breaking into my apartment. He talked about something called the Underground. And he-”

“He what?”

Jimin chews his lip, looking away, “He said that Taehyung was dead. That he killed him.”

Seokjin swallows, “That doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s what I said! And then he just started threatening me that I should stop looking for him and that they know who I am, and they know where to find me.”

Seokjin’s eyes widen at the imposing threat, “Shit.”

“And then he nicked my throat and bailed.”

“None of this makes any sense,” Seokjin whispers.

“Well, that’s what we’ve been saying for weeks,” Jimin mumbles, slumping down on the armchair near the TV. “It just seems to get more and more complicated.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“I know it was Taehyung,” Jimin says, eyes pleading with Seokjin to believe him. “He’s different, though. Even though I knew it was him, for a few moments there, I was really scared of him.”

Seokjin frowns. He’s still not quite convinced that it was Taehyung that broke into Jimin’s apartment, but whoever it was, they were making some serious threats and they actually drew blood.

It was personal now.

Chapter Text

Dan notices the shift in atmosphere immediately upon his return to the barracks. It’s quiet. Usually there’s chatter about all sorts of meaningless stuff, mostly to pass the time. Now though, the silence weighs heavily upon the room. Around twelve pairs of eyes stare at him for guidance.

Something’s happened.

Before he can even begin to form a question, though, a white blur slams into him from the side. Dan stumbles and it’s enough for Twist to push all of his weight against him, pinning him to the wall, “Where were you?” he growls, face red and inches from Dan’s.

Dan’s about to put the younger boy in his place, but stops when he notices the desperate glint in Twist’s eyes. He glances up at the other’s quickly, noting that nobody intervenes. They’re all staring at them. Some curious, some fearful, some confused.

Dan focuses back on Twist, who’s still pushing him harshly against the wall. He tilts his head up to show he’s taller than the younger, but his voice is calm when he asks, “What is going on?”

Twist’s face twitches, crumples for a second before he pulls it back into a scowl, “You son of a bitch.”

A few of the others look away and concern flares up in his stomach, fires up into his chest. He frowns, “What happened?”

“You would know what happened,” Twist hisses, pushing against Dan with every word, “Had you been there!”

Dan grows tired quickly of Twist’s evasive answers and his blatant display of disrespect. He grabs the younger boy’s wrist and pulls it away from his shoulder, squeezing. “Let me go,” he says slowly.

Twist snarls, giving one last push before tearing himself away from Dan. It’s only then that Moon comes to stand in between them, holding out a placating hand to both of them. “Hyung,” he whispers, looking at Dan with pleading eyes. “There was a Ceremony tonight.”

“Tonight?” Dan replies, “No. That’s too soon.”

“We were ushered into the arena after you left,” Moon explains, glancing back at Twist who’s looking at them begrudgingly, “All of us.”

The implication slowly begins to dawn on Dan, but he still refuses to let it sink in. He shakes his head, feeling his heartbeat pick up the pace. He knows what Moon is saying. He knows. He won’t look though. He won’t let the truth declare itself. “It’s too soon,” he whispers.

He sees the grief on Moon’s face, looks up to see it on all their faces. Moon’s lip trembles, and he has to start over a few times before he finds the words, “He was assigned Fighter again tonight,” he says quietly, “Grudge had no mercy.”

“No!”

It’s a wounded type of sound. Half a moan, half a scream. Something Dan didn’t think he was capable of any longer. Thought the feelings of loss and love had withered along with his hopes. Every tragedy in this godforsaken Underground, no matter how big or small, had lost its intensity the more Dan had to endure them. He’d grown numb to them. They’d become dull markers on his radar. A part of this life, nothing more. Just like Mouse had said that day.

Even something like this is something you can get used to

Mouse

Oh God

Dan hears his own ragged breathing beside the ringing in his ears. He stands, still with his back against the wall, which has become the only thing that keeps him upright. He can’t look. Can’t see. His heart hammers in his throat. The others stare at him like he’s supposed to do something. Give a grand, meaningful speech or something. Tell them it’s okay. He’s their leader, after all. But he’s never asked for this role. He’s never asked for any of this.

He’s shaking as he turns slowly, away from the group.

He sees. Of course he sees. A bed in the corner. Medical equipment haphazardly scattered across the sheets in a desperate attempt to make it useful. But the result is unmistakable. They pulled a sheet over Mouse’s face. It’s as if he’s not there. As if he’s never been here. Dan’s eyes slide over the filthy sheets, the bloodied gauze, the hand that has escaped from underneath the blanket.

It’s not right.

Mouse shouldn’t have been down in the arena. Badly wounded team members get a free pass for the next Ceremony. Unless-

“You were outnumbered,” Dan comes to the conclusion and it feels like being hit by a truck.

“Fifteen to sixteen,” Twist growls, venom lacing his voice with every syllable.

Usually they had a few spares, depending on the other teams wounded. But they’d lost to Blue a few times in a row now, and Dan guesses Red must have also lost against Blue if Blue had their full team present at the Ceremony. And with Mouse down and Dan gone-

Gone

Dan’s full team is seventeen. If he’d been there, Mouse wouldn’t have had to be. If he had been there-

“Where were you?” Twist questions and it’s said with so much resentment, so much contempt that Dan feels his resolve crumble by the second.

What is he supposed to tell them? That Mouse died because Dan went back home and got to meet up with his old life for a bit? That he left that old life behind for the second time to come back to this hell on earth?

That he didn’t have a choice at all in the matter?

What kind of leader doesn’t have a choice?

Twists scoffs disdainfully, shaking his head. He stands, moving towards the middle of the half circle that has formed around them. It’s sort of funny, Dan thinks, how he can almost feel authority shift from himself to the younger, much more brazen person in front of him. There’s fiery life in his eyes that has long since dimmed in Dan’s. There’s fight in the way he talks, where Dan’s words have become compliant. A promise of revolution. A promise of violence.

Their eyes have disregarded him, and Dan shivers against the uneasiness that crawls up his throat. He slinks off to the abandoned infirmary. Hears the yells and chants increase in volume as the rest of the group riles itself up with renewed vigor. Dan turns his back to them, grabbing Mouse’s cold hand that had fallen away from the sheet. He pulls back the fabric from his best friend’s face and lets himself collapse in grief against the side of the bed. He lets the tears run their course, unconcerned that the others might see him. He clings to Mouse’s body like he clung to him so many times. The only soothing, reassuring touch that he’d ever known down here. The only one that had still seen him as the scrawny, overwhelmed youngster that he’d been in the beginning.

Even something like this is something you can get used to.

Mouse whispers in his ear. He’s there. For a moment. It’ll fade though. Sooner or later, they all fade. First it was Brick. Then Jockey. Slice. Racket, Bear, Leaper, Kicker, Claws, and so many more. They hang around for a bit before they fade. Forgotten. Mouse smiles at him sadly and nods. Dan closes his eyes, tries to hang on to Mouse’s image, but it’s already fading. Somewhere, in the furthest regions of his thoughts, Kim Taehyung cries bloody murder at him.

Chapter Text

Rain pours from the sky in heavy streams. The wind has picked up tremendously and even in this well-isolated, cozy land house, Jimin can hear it howling as it brushes along the outside walls, over the roof and down into the garden. Seokjin’s long, secluded driveway and lawn are getting muddy and Jimin watches Hoseok’s white Civic treacherously slip and slide over the wet cobbled stones. The rain pelts against the roof of the car, attacking it from all sides, but unable to reach the people inside as Hoseok drives slowly, but expertly over the narrow road, trees swaying from side to side along his path.

The storm has begun

It’s been three days since the assault and Jimin is jittery, as Seokjin calls it. He hasn’t been back to his apartment, for obvious reasons. Hyung demanded they notify the police, and they did, but the results were unsurprisingly underwhelming. No signs of break in, no fingerprints. For all Jimin can prove, he invited that intruder in himself by setting his birthday as his security code.

Namjoon had called him an idiot. Yoongi had sworn something much nastier under his breath.

He watches them pile out of Hoseok’s car from the living room’s window. They get assaulted by the rain in a matter of seconds and are fairly soaked in the short time it takes them to walk from the driveway to the front door. Jimin hurries to let them in.

It’s a bit of a hassle for them to drive all the way up to the northern countryside every time there’s a meeting, but Seokjin’s home is nice and above all, inconspicuous. Jimin’s skin crawls when his thoughts land on the fact that the intruder knew exactly where he lived, even down to the apartment number. He’d been living there for only two years, so even if it was Taehyung, he couldn’t have known from memory.

It’s their biggest concern of today. Besides trying to make sense of what happened, of course.

Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok shuffle inside quickly. Jungkook had already arrived yesterday, being dragged out of his apartment by a paranoid Jimin. They had been investigating Daegu together, after all. No intruders had shown up at his place yet, according to his security cameras, but you couldn’t be too careful. If they knew where Jimin lived, it was just a short distance to Jungkook.

Jimin rushes to shut the door behind the three former rappers, but not before inspecting the driveway thoroughly. Hoseok’s Civic was nothing special to write home about, but its license plate was registered under his name. Were they sure they weren’t being followed? What if someone decided to stake out their houses?

Jimin hated the way he thought about things like that now.

They know everything about you. They’ll always know where to find you

He shudders, stomach twisting. He hasn’t been able to get a wink of sleep ever since. Operating on espresso mostly for the last three days. He’s not sure if Seokjin or Jungkook have noticed it, but if they have, they avoid mentioning it.

They get situated in the living room after Jimin’s managed to close all the blinds. Jungkook trudges down the stairs in bright red socks, dark blue pajama pants and a white hoodie. His entire outfit is clearly stolen from Seokjin’s closet. He plops down next to Yoongi on the couch without a word, leg bouncing restlessly on the floor. He’s also jittery, but for different reasons.

Seokjin makes a grand entrance by swinging open the door and spreading his arms, “Ah, there they are, ladies and gentlemen, the elegant, the charming, the robust, the one and only BTS!” He lets out a few subdued cheers before his face changes into a neutral position, immediately shifting into hyung mode as he points Jimin to an empty armchair. The rest of the group stares at him, unimpressed. Seokjin clears his throat, nodding, “I assume you all got the memo of why we’re here?”

Five gazes shift to Jimin, who shrinks into himself involuntarily. Before he can say anything, Seokjin continues, “Three nights ago, an intruder broke into Jimin’s loft while he was there. Disregarding the fact that the doofus put his own birthday as his security code, I think this is plenty reason for concern.”

Jimin feels their stares still burning into him from across the room. He touches his throat gingerly. The cut had already begun to heal, yet a shiver runs through him whenever he recalls the cold sting of the knife digging into his skin. It was Soomi, Seokjin’s wife, that had fussed over the cut initially, followed by Yunha, who kept asking him if it hurt.

No Yunha, it doesn’t hurt

Me has hello kitty Band-Aids, do you want them?

No Yunha, I don’t need-

Do you want them, Ahjussi?

And so now Jimin is strung up on espresso and covered in pink hello kitty plasters all over his face, because one cannot nearly be enough to take care of the pain, according to Yunha. And who can deny Yunha anything with those big round eyes?

Jimin swears, if there’s anything good that has come out of the past five years, it’s Kim Yunha.

“An intruder?” Jungkook narrows his eyes, looking at Jimin, “I thought you said it was Taehyung-hyung.”

“The jury’s still out on that,” Seokjin says before Jimin can reply.

The hyungs mumble and grumble about this amongst themselves while Jungkook keeps staring at Jimin. It stings that they don’t believe him. By now Jimin doubts his own perception of that night. Hates himself for not being able to somehow twist around in the man’s iron grip around his throat and face him properly. What would he have done then? If he could have confirmed it was him? That fierce yearning. That brutal loss. He would have grabbed him and never let him go. Would have somehow convinced him to stay, damn the consequences. Would have grabbed his face and kiss him with the passion he should have possessed years and years ago. Nothing like the careful, stolen pecks inbetween rehearsals. Nothing like the secretive touches in the middle of the night in one of their hotel rooms. He’d declare it to the world, the universe. Life was too short to keep it a secret.

I’m not afraid of you, you won’t hurt me

The piercing sting of where that sharp knife had broken his skin. Seokjin had suggested that maybe Jimin had wanted so much for the intruder to be Taehyung, that maybe he’d matched their voice to his. Jimin feels that prick of the knife whenever he closes his eyes and somehow thinks that Seokjin is wrong.

Jimin keeps quiet, watching his hyungs trying and failing to come to a conclusion.

“Makes no sense,” Yoongi grumbles eventually.

“Jimin and Jungkook are staying here for the time being,” Seokjin informs them. “They were the two investigating Daegu last week, so we suspect they are their main targets, for now. It won’t take them long before they connect them to the rest of us, though. Check and see if any of your addresses are listed publically. For now this house will be our safe spot. I haven’t been listed as the owner. My wife is.”

“My wife is also listed as the owner of our house,” Namjoon mentions, “Just always seemed safer that way.”

“Good, you should be safe for the time being, then. It’ll take them longer to find you if-”

“Don’t mind me asking,” Hoseok interrupts, concern growing on his face as he switches from looking at Seokjin, to Jimin, to Namjoon, “But who are they?”

“That’s the million dollar question now, isn’t it?” Yoongi mumbles, leaning back against the chair. “Why would they send Taehyung to warn Jimin?”

“If it was Taehyung.”

Jimin’s had enough of this. He’s never been known as a very patient guy, but the blatant dismissal of his experience ignites the fire in his veins. “Tell me any of you wouldn’t recognize Taehyung-ah’s voice if he’s standing in the same room as you.”

He remembers the voice most of all. Five years he’s spend listening to it late at night. There’s plenty of recordings. A benefit of being famous, he guesses. He could take his pick every night. Always soothing, calming with its deep, dark qualities. So distinctive, Jimin always thought.

He’d be able to pick it out of thousands.

And there it was, tickling the back of his neck as Jimin was pressed tightly against him. If Taehyung hadn’t wanted Jimin to recognize him, he should have known to change his voice.

Although Jimin doubts he would have been fooled for even a second.

Taehyung is dead! He died a long time ago. I killed him.

He’d lost count of how many times his heart had broken in the last five years. Remembers that first time most of all. Could still hear that detective on the phone apologizing, but they’re closing the investigation. You should assume the worst has happened. Jimin had cursed him, screamed at him. People are only missing if other people stop looking! He called Taehyung four times a day, even if he knew that Taehyung hadn’t had his phone with him when he disappeared. Taehyung’s voicemail is the kind that makes it seem like he picks up right before announcing you’ve reached his voicemail. Jimin needed that, in those first few weeks, months, year. Needed that small shot of false hope every time he heard this is Taehyung, not there at the moment, probably killing it in the studio, leave a message if it pleases you. Toodle pip.

Jimin knows it by heart

And when that wasn’t enough, when just Taehyung’s voice couldn’t soothe the grinding ache in his chest anymore, that’s when he started seeing him. He’d told Seokjin eventually and yeah, hyung was real quick to get Jimin some good old professional help.

His psychiatrist had assured him that it wasn’t uncommon for people in mourning to see or even talk to their lost ones. Part of the process, she had said. And Jimin was sane enough to know Taehyung wasn’t really there. Figured that whatever he saw must have been a product of the sudden, glaring absence in his life that had once been his soul mate. The psychiatrist was very interested in exploring the relationship the two of them had shared, but even years after the disappearance, Jimin couldn’t talk about it. Afraid he would start speaking about Taehyung in the past tense. Start thinking about him in that way too. Wasn’t ready for that.

How long are you supposed to mourn someone?

A question that would never be answered, Jimin thinks, as he watches the others frown at him. He knows all of them are connected in such a way, that they would have recognized Taehyung just by his voice too. That they wouldn’t have doubted for a second that it was him. Spending every day together for nearly six years will give you that firm connection, that even after five years, they would have known.

So why did they doubt him?

“He threatened you,” Hoseok reminds him.

A tingle of uneasiness runs up and down Jimin’s spine at the implication. It couldn’t have possibly been Taehyung, Hoseok seems to wanna say. Taehyung wouldn’t threaten you.

Taehyung would have stayed

Jimin has no explanation. Lets his head hang for a moment before he remembers the phone call earlier this morning, “I wasn’t the only one that was threatened.”

This is complete news, even to Seokjin and Jungkook. They turn to him with wide eyes, surprise written on their faces. Almost comical. Jimin looks at the group conspiratorially, “They’ve gone to Mrs Lee as well.”

“The hardware store?” Namjoon questions immediately.

Jimin nods, “She told us that Daegu police aren’t doing shit about the disappearances in town. That they’ve been going on for years.”

“Bunch of useless assholes,” Yoongi grumbles darkly.

“I asked her to compile a list of people she knew that had also had a loved one disappear without the police doing anything about it. I was actually planning on taking Yoongi-hyung with me to Daegu later in the week to see if the locals would be more inclined to talk if it was to another one of them. She e-mailed the list to me two days ago. And yesterday they showed up at her store.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she moved in with a friend in Ulsan for the time being. She’s pretty shaken up.”

“Was it Taehyung that threatened her?”

Jimin stares back at Hoseok with renewed intensity, “No,” he shakes his head slowly, “She swears it was her son.”

Chapter Text

“Keep walking, eyes on the ground!”

Shrill command

Shove against his lower back

Bare feet shuffling through the fresh sand

Shaking from top to toe

Scared beyond belief

“Keep walking I said!”

Commotion at the front of the line.

A pleading voice, “No no, please no. I had nothing to do with it, I swear! I tried to stop them!”

A wet smack

He flinches

Keeps walking

Feet feel disgusting as he reaches the part were the sand turns wet. This part of the arena has not been cleaned yet. The Ceremony tonight has been cut short by the uprising.

So close

So far away

His breath came in short gasps. His bound hands shook wildly in front of him. The arena was familiar to him. He’d hoped to never see it again after tonight.

He would die here.

Maybe in a few minutes. Maybe they’d drag it out for a few hours. But it was all over.

They line up next to each other in the sand. Some sobbing, some praying. Some murmuring pleas and promises. Some calling on their mothers. Dan squeezes his eyes shut, trying to remember his own mother. His father. Their laughs. Their smiles. Their soft, soothing hands. His siblings that looked up to him with all the awe in the world.

He’d had it all

Their faces are blurs to him now. He hasn’t seen them in too long to be able to remember the details.

He feels his bottom lip tremble and bites it hard, unable to prevent the sob from bursting out from his lungs. Slice, their leader, isn’t faring much better next to him. His white shirt is already soaked with blood at the collar. His head is profusely bleeding and Dan faintly wonders what Mouse is thinking right now.

He’d warned them.

It’s not the right time

They make them wait on their knees. For a while, they make them wait. Shaking and scared. Counting the minutes that they’re still alive. Over the last few years, Dan had wondered countless times what death would be like. Had seen it enough down here to be able to take a good guess. Could describe the process perfectly up until the last breath-

-what would happen after that?

The other prisoners of the Underground slowly gather behind the bars of the arena. Dan sees blue shirts and red shirts and only the few white shirts that are left. The few white shirts that were not involved in the uprising stand lost and forlorn, grief already etched into their faces. Dan searches and searches, but he can’t find Mouse.

He hopes with all the strength he has left that they didn’t catch him. Mouse knew about their plan. Didn’t support it, but knew about it. Didn’t report it.

Penalty for that is probably also death

Dan gasps in relief when his eyes finally cross Mouse’s gaze from behind the bars. The other boy is desperate, hands curled around the steel barrier and shaking his head furiously, tears streaming down his cheeks. He shouts something, but Dan can’t hear him.

The guards wait until the arena is full. There’s no audience anymore tonight, besides their fellow prisoners and they definitely don’t look like they want to witness this. Some probably know what’s coming. A rebellion in the Underground is dealt with in extreme measures. Rebels are not just executed, they are massacred. Uprisings have never been successful and the harsh consequences make them an extremely rare occurence.

Until tonight.

The first in line, Milky, is hauled to his feet. He whimpers, whispering loyalty and mercy and please please, not like this, never like this. A sharp slash with a machete leaves him curled up in the sand, gasping, bleeding. Dan feels the shock going through the rest of the line up and squeezes his eyes tightly shut. Panic flashes deep and unforgivingly. His breathing is out of control. Absently, he thinks that he’s never been so scared in his entire life.

“This is what happens when you stand against your providers,” one of the guards raises his machete, showing it to the other prisoners. Some have sprung away from the bars, revolted. Mouse is still there, seemingly unable to uncurl his fingers from around the steel. Dan remembers their fight earlier tonight.

I won’t let you do this!

Don’t you understand? If I don’t do this, nothing will ever change!

It won’t work! You cannot escape the Underground like this! Why won’t you listen to me!

What then? Stay until we get beaten up one too many times and die down here? Is that what you want?

That’s not what I mean and you know it! I’m trying to keep us safe!

Well, I’m trying to get us out-

That’s the last words they spoke to each other. Dan can see it in the tears across Mouse’s face that he regrets not persisting more. Over half their team is facing execution tonight because of a half baked plan that seemed so foolproof in the beginning.

Milky gets a few fingers cut off first. He screams and screams and Dan doesn’t look. He knows he owes it to Milky to at least look at him, but he can’t. Feels his own fingers throb with every gurgled cry that leaves the older man’s throat. He doesn’t know what else they do to Milky after that. Tries to banish the haunted screams and agonized shouts from his mind and go someplace else. He used to be so good at that. Close off and retreat. Grandma always said he was off dreaming in his own little world.

Grandma

Dan realizes with a shock that he hasn’t thought about her in years. But he can see her now. Clear as day.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the awful sounds of the arena smack back into him with a vengeance. They are four down the line now. Some have been killed quickly. One with an arrow, one with a bullet to the brain. They’re back to torturing the fourth. It seems to be completely random who they choose to torture, and who gets the mercy kill. Dan’s second to last in line. He has to wait. Has to hear them gurgle and cry. They wet themselves. They grab onto the guards as if they’re saviors.

Next to him, Slice flexes defensively. These are their teammates. And they can do nothing but watch. It’s a slaughter, nothing more. Dan knows these people. They patch him up when he gets beaten. They shoveled sand together. Taught him to fight.

A whimpered gasp leaves him when Slice is dragged to his feet from next to him. Even when faced with death, he remains stoic and defiant. Spits at the guard in front of him. A final act of rebellion.

It costs him his feet.

They’re cut off with a heavy looking axe. Slice screams, crumples to the ground. His blood saturates the already soaked sand underneath him. The guards have no mercy. They hoist him up to make him stand on whatever is left of his legs. He gasps and splutters, eyes boring straight into Dancer’s. He shakes his head in warning.

Don’t tell them anything

Dan’s unable to respond, breathing hard while the arena seems to spin around him. Nausea comes and goes in waves but he can’t throw up.

“Keep walking!” One of the guards sneers cruelly. He laughs, pure sadism dripping from the sound as he shoves his rifle into Slice’s back. Slice groans. Even tries to take a step forward, but you cannot walk without feet. He falls forwards, the guard grabbing him by his short black hair to keep him from faceplanting.

“What do you think?” he asks their horrified audience, “should we have mercy on their leader?”

Slice is the White team'ss leader. But he wasn’t the one that came up with the plan to escape.

The audience fails to reply, to the chagrin of the guard, and so he turns around and stabs a jagged hunting knife through Slice’s abdomen. Slice curls up immediately after he’s dropped to the ground nonchalantly. He dies within minutes.

Panicked breathing is all Dan can hear. From himself, as well as the only remaining rebellion member next to him. Cheeky is white as a sheet, a wet stain covering his trousers as he suppresses his high pitched sobs bravely, but ultimately fails.

“Look at me,” the cruel guard growls slowly as he comes to stand in front of Dancer. Dan slowly looks up, biting his lip against the fear paralyzing him from head to toe. He has no brave last stand. He can’t think of any inspiring last words. The guard blocks his view from Mouse behind the bars and it’s all over.

“I know it was you,” the guard grins wickedly. Dan tries to shake his head, the guard grabs him by the chin to stop his movement. “Would you like to live?”

Dan stares back at him, terrified. He doesn’t know the answer. Cannot get a word past his lips. The guard’s intense gaze on him devours his last nerve. There’s something in that gaze that Dan has never seen before. Something so rotten, so foul, that it’s a rarity, even here in the Underground. “Not so brazen anymore now, are you?”

He lets go of Dan’s chin and Dan falls backwards with the force. Unfazed, the guard nods at a colleague behind him. Dan hears the click of a gun being cocked and closes his eyes.

The shot is loud and moves through marrow and bone and Dan gasps, whole body jumping with the shock. His ears are ringing, but the expected pain doesn’t come. Opening his eyes wide, he watches Cheeky collapse lifelessly to the sand, chest still smoking from being shot at such close range. The smell burns Dan’s nostrils, but he keeps staring, not daring to look away. In his periphery, the guard steps back, putting his hands on his hips to observe the bloodbath for a second. He nods to himself, gathering the other guards with a flick of his hand before they neatly leave the arena in a perfect line.

Dan doesn’t remember how long he sat there. Couldn’t move even if he wanted to. Wasn’t sure he wanted to. Sees dead bodies whenever he’s forced to his knees in the exact same arena. Hears their bones crack and flesh sizzle. Dreams of their desperate pleas and gurgled deaths. Their lifeless, haunted faces look back at him in his sleep because it was his fault.

Prince of the Underground

Chapter Text

Dan startles upright with a gasp, images of soulless eyes and bloodied sand still fresh in his mind. He curses, trying to focus on breathing evenly. It’s one thing to wake up from a nightmare in the middle of the night, but the rest of the team doesn’t also have to wake up.

In the Underground, your sleep is either riddled with nightmares, or entirely dreamless. There’s no in between.

Dancer runs a hand across face, then rubs it a few times to get rid of the lingering fear that had overwhelmed him not even a minute ago. He looks around cautiously. The bunk above him doesn’t move, and the beds around him also stay quiet.

Good

Going back to sleep is out of the question, and so Dan carefully lifts himself out of bed, wincing with every creak the old metal underside produces. He shuffles towards the bathrooms, figuring that some water will cure his parched throat. There’s more people there for the exact same reason. Nightmares are a regular occurrence, and several people sitting the night out in the bathrooms is not rare sight.

Dan ignores the others for the time being, first washing his hands, then his face and then sticking his head entirely under the tap for good measure. The water clears his thoughts like always, but it doesn’t alleviate the stone that’s been sitting in his stomach ever since they took Mouse’s body away.

Mouse doesn’t get a funeral. His parents will never know what happened to him. He died lost and forgotten, and the only people that know what happened to him, will also die right here, just as lost, just as forgotten.

Jimin remembered your name

But Jimin never came

Dancer sighs, slowly sliding down to the floor. Runner, a few meters away, takes it as his cue to scoot closer to him and Dan doesn’t stop him. For a bit, they say nothing, staring at the white tiled wall, both consumed by their own thoughts. Runner plays with something in his hands, but Dancer hasn’t had the energy to look down at it.

He’s so tired. Has had only a few hours of sleep since Mouse died. He guesses that’s it’s the kind of tired that sleep won’t resolve, though.

After another five minutes, Runner opens the package in his hands, but instead of a playing card, he retrieves a cigarette and a lighter. Dan stares, surprised. Smuggling in a deck of playing cards is one thing, but harboring a pack of cigarettes was extremely dangerous.

Runner catches his warning glare and grins, “I don’t smoke,” he says, “But you look like you could use one of these.”

“The guards will smell it,” Dan grumbles and with that, Runner puts the cigarette back, disappointed.

“Just trying to be nice,” he mumbles, “You’re losing half the White Shirt team to our populist new leader.”

“Oh yeah?” Dan mutters back, “And what about you?”

“Are you asking me for my loyalty?” Runner asks with a smirk. “I don’t choose. I’m free as a bird.”

They look at each other before chuckling at the ridiculous statement. Runner leans back, “You used to laugh more.”

“There used to be more to laugh about,” Dancer replies, looking up at the ceiling.

“I trust you,” Runner states in all seriousness, “You’ve never led us wrong. But I also understand Twist’s agitation. Something’s gotta change.”

“One day,” Dancer murmurs.

“That’s what Mouse used to say,” Runner sighs, dejected, “Look how far it got him.”

“We can’t just run into things and hope it works itself out,” Dancer argues, “It’s gonna end badly.”

“Is it because of what happened last time?”

Dan looks at him. Runner wasn’t there last time. He came right after, when their team desperately needed new recruits because it had been more than halved in one night. But Dan is sure that Runner’s heard the stories. The warning tale of a half assed escape attempt that cost nine White Shirts their lives. Hell, it was probably Mouse that told him. Dan and Mouse were at odds with each other for a long while after that. Mouse blamed him for what happened. Dan did too.

Maybe we would have succeeded if you’d been brave enough to help!

Dancer squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He doesn’t like being reminded of the worst mistake of his life. He fiddles with the hole in his brown trousers for a bit before deciding to change the subject, “Where were you last night?”

Runner’s entire posture becomes defensive as he leans away before scooting back a few feet, clearly trying to create distance. “Where were you the night Mouse died?” he growls back.

Dan hadn’t told anybody, nobody dared to ask. Until now. He closes his eyes before turning to Runner, “Secret mission.”

“Me too.”

They stare at each other. Hard. Dan tries to remember how much he actually knows about this kid. Showed up three years ago. Very young. Fast. Runner.

That’s it.

“They sent me back to Seoul,” Dancer says softly, immediately feeling Runner’s defensive glare turn curious.

“That where you’re from?”

“I lived there.”

“Who did they make you threaten?” Runner asks, as if he knows exactly what happened.

“A friend,” Dancer replies with a sigh. A soul mate. More than that.

Runner nods, leaning back as he slowly relaxes again, “It was my Mom for me.”

“I don’t understand why.”

“It doesn’t matter why. Just seeing her again, after so much time… I think that’s what hurts the most. Not being able to stay.”

“Jimin knew it was me right away,” Dancer smiles sadly.

“Jimin?” Runner frowns, studying him. Taehyung backs away a little, suddenly weirded out. Runner’s eyes widen and Taehyung knows before he says anything, “Oh my God, it is you!”

“I don’t-”

“I always wondered, but I didn’t put it together until now. You always seemed familiar. But you were gone already for a pretty long time before I was thrown in here.”

“That was a long time ago.”

Runner shrugs, “Loved that song.” He starts humming.

“Thanks.”

An uncomfortable prickle in his neck.

“Stop staring at me like that.”

“Sorry.”

“And don’t tell anyone.”

“Nobody knows? Y’all were fucking huge for quite a while there.”

“It doesn’t matter down here. We all got our own problems. My past has nothing to do with it.”

“Now you’re Dan.”

“You get it.”

“Cigarette?”

“Please.”

Runner’s gone by the time Dan wakes up on the bathroom floor. The cigarette is safe in his pocket. Dan won’t light it. Not in the Underground.

Before he can get up from his curled position on the floor, a spray of cold water is splashed into his face. He gasps, glaring up at a smirking Moon. The younger throws the water bottle at him and Dan catches it swiftly, still scowling.

“You looked like you could use some refreshment,” Moon offers innocently.

“I don’t look that bad, do I?” Dan mumbles, taking a few sips from the bottle.

“You’ll be 6.8 percent more handsome if you shave,” Moon replies casually.

Dan chuckles, “6.8 percent hardly seems worth it.”

“It’ll be 18.7 percent if you let me make you a decent haircut to go with that freshly shaven chin.”

“Tempting,” Dan groans as he gets up slowly. His busted hip protests more than usual because of the night spent on the hard tiled floor. “I’m getting old.”

“Tell me about it,” Moon mumbles. “Seriously though, you need to shave. The guards will whip your ass til Sunday if they see you like this.”

“Fine,” Dan sighs, taking the offered, and only razor blade from Moon’s outstretched hand. There was only ten months of age difference between them. If Dan had been the leading father figure of their team, Moon was the mother. And Mouse the estranged uncle with the good advice.

Dan’s the absent father figure now, he thinks as he steps back into the dorm after his shave to what looks a Mexican stand-off. Pinky is glaring at Twist, whose glaring right back at him. Shifty is busy placating them, standing in the middle with his arms wide. There’s a noticeable rift in the group since Mouse’s death. Twist’s rebellious behavior translating to a vast following overnight. He and his disciples stand with balled fists, furious. Dan doesn’t know what happened, but tension in the group is resolved by talking, not by fighting.

But it’s Pinky that makes a move first. Dancer curses, pocketing the razor blade, before taking the few long strides necessary to intervene. Shifty is clearly powerless in the middle, but Dan is bigger and sturdier, grabbing Pinky’s arm right and yanking it back before the shorter man can tackle Twist to the ground. “Hold it!” Dan shouts.

“He’s a fucking danger!” Pinky yells, spit flying from his mouth, “He’s gonna damn us all!”

“There’s your hero!” Twist yells back, pointing at Dan, “Why do you keep fighting on his behalf? He’s done nothing but sulk around!”

“He’s kept us safe for years!” Pinky roars, voice deep despite his small stature. “You’re gonna get everybody killed!”

“You don’t want to be involved, that’s fine!” Twist replies heatedly, “You and your leader can stay here and rot.”

Pinky gives another snarl, trying to pull himself free from Dan’s grip. “You don’t understand! You’re not gonna be the only one that’s punished when you get caught!”

“I know that!” Twist shouts back, “And that’s exactly how they keep you down!”

“That’s enough!” Dan barks, pulling Pinky away from Twist effectively. “We’re gonna have a good long talk about this tonight.”

“Because you say so?” Twist sneers.

“Yes,” Dan says warningly, “And because I don’t want my team mates to kill each other.”

Twist’s eyes narrow dangerously, “Fine.”

Dan gives him a curt nod before turning himself and Pinky away. He keeps a firm grip on the shorter man’s arm as he drags him to the dorm. “You can’t keep going off at him like this.”

“Fuck that, I don’t trust him!” Pinky spits.

“That’s fine,” Dan tries to reason, “But fighting is reserved for the arena. We don’t need any of that in the barracks.”

“Spare me the lecture,” Pinky growls, yanking himself loose. “Mouse always kept saying the same thing. But he was as passive as they come.”

“Don’t talk about him like that.”

“He was a good man, Dancer,” Pinky laments, “But our team has taken too many losses to keep doing the same thing over and over. I’m not saying Twist’s impulsive plans are the way to go. God no. But something’s gotta change. Mouse didn’t die for nothing.”

“I should have been there,” Dan replies, “It’s my fault.”

“You didn’t kill him. Grudge did.”

“Grudge just happened to fight him.”

“You should have been there,” Pinky mumbles, “You could have seen it. It was almost like he was enjoying it.”

Anger surges through Dan’s veins that night at the ceremony. He stiltedly takes a step forward, waiting until he’s assigned as Medic before stepping back. He keeps glaring straight at the Blue team’s leader. It’s the first time since Mouse’s death that their teams are up against each other again. Dan can feel a similar animosity wafting from his other team members towards the Blue team. They all know what Grudge did to Mouse. Dan hadn’t been there, but Pinky eventually relented and told him the whole story.

Dan clenches his jaw as Twist is assigned Medic as well. Their cooperation together is going to be interesting to say the very least. Shifty and Moon are Cleaners and Runner-

“Fighter!”

Runner’s eyes widen. Hardly ever a fighter because his fighting style is deemed rather boring. Gets the Cleaner job most often. Or a Lover. Dan looks across and sees Grudge’s predatory eyes already devouring Runner’s flesh.

Grudge is almost always a Fighter.

Dan barely thinks before taking a big step forward, but he does what he knows he should have done that first time Mouse was called as Fighter. “I’ll volunteer in his place!”

Complete silence follows before hushed whispers start up behind him. You can do that? Isn’t that against the rules? There’s too many rules.

The announcer clears his throat through the speaker, “Ah, the Prince of the Underground wants to steal the show for himself?”

Dan’s mouth twitches in dismay, “Yes,” he grounds out.

A pause. The microphone is covered as the announcer is busy discussing this twist with whoever is his superior. “Very well!” he comes to the conclusion, “Grudge and Dancer,” he says scornfully, “Should make for a very interesting headliner tonight.”

Chapter Text

It had nearly been a year since Yoongi had been back in his hometown. He remembers how much it used to mean to him. A boy with nothing, from the wild streets of dilapidated Daegu, rising up to make a name for himself. Making people listen to whatever he had to say had seemed such an important goal then.

It means nothing to him now.

Jimin drives with stoic determination. He doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck that his life is under threat and holy shit, this whole thing has suddenly become fucking dangerous-

Jimin has a single-minded goal.

It’s important, Yoongi knows. But he wonders if they’re the correct ones for the job. Their lives have been under threat before. Countless times, in fact. It came with the territory of gaining popularity in the music industry. There was always an idiot making anonymous death threats online. But they’d had the company back then. A whole network of security guards and managers that took care of everything.

They only needed to show up.

And diving head-first in what was more and more shaping up to be a ruthless, powerful cult, Yoongi wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

But then what?

The police wouldn’t help. They’d proven that countless times. And whatever evidence they’d gathered so far, was too ambiguous for the press. They had nobody but their powerless selves to figure this out. Because the other option was to ignore it all together. To stop looking. Knowing fully well that that meant that they had to leave Taehyung in whatever terrible situation he’d gotten involved in

No

Five years they’d done that. Unknowingly, but still. Now that they knew their friend was alive, they couldn’t just sit and wait in good conscience.

And so they drove back to Daegu. Armed with a list of names that Jimin had gotten from Mrs Lee, and armed with nothing else. Anticipation grew as Yoongi stares out of the car’s window and sees the landscape take on a more familiar form.

Back to where it all began

The spring sun shines down upon them fiercely when they finally park the car at the fourth address. The first three have been nothing more than a door slammed in their faces as soon as the words missing persons fall from their lips. Jimin exits the vehicle and purses his lips, hands on his hips as he looks around. The area is dusty and empty, except for a single trailer near the edge of the woods.

“You sure this is the right place?”

“It’s the correct address.”

“How would you even know? There’s no house number, nothing!” Yoongi hisses as they walk along the narrow, sandy pathway towards the trailer.

“Do you see any other house out here?” Jimin mumbles back.

“Hardly call this a house,” Yoongi grumbles.

Jimin gives him a look before knocking on the steel door. They listen as half the stuff in the trailer seems to tumble to the ground before the door is opened. A middle-aged man with scraggly hair and an equally scraggly beard peers out at them. “Who are you?”

Anyeonghaseyo, we’re BTS, we’ll work hard-

“Yoongi and Jimin,” Jimin quickly introduces instead, as if those two names perfectly explain the situation.

“What do you want?” the man sighs, running a calloused hand over his face tiredly.

“We’re investigating a few disappearances around the area-”

“Y’all investigators?”

“Well, not really, but-”

“Get off my property.”

“But we’re-”

The door is closed before Jimin can finish his sentence. Yoongi is ready to shrug this attempt off and call it a loss, but his younger friend is more persistent. Probably because he’s tired of being rejected.

Jimin sprints to the other side of the trailer, “We just have a couple of questions about your son!”

The man opens a window and leans out, “Don’t talk about my son!”

“He disappeared a year ago, didn’t he?”

“I have nothing to say to you two, now get off this property, or I’ll call the police!”

Spending the night in a Daegu jail cell wasn’t a very compelling idea. Daegu jail wasn’t a nice place, let alone the negative press that it would undoubtedly generate. Yoongi is about to grab Jimin by the arm and drag him back to the car before he sees the miserable expression on his face.

And so Yoongi squares his jaw and looks up at the window, “Look, we’re just trying to figure out what happened to all those people. This shit’s been going on for too long,” he says in his best accent.

The man pauses and stares at him. He chews the inside of his cheek in contemplation for a bit before sighing, “You boys from around here?”

“I’m from the city,” Yoongi confirms with a nod, “Born and raised.”

“What about him?”

“Busan,” Jimin replies gloomily.

“You lost someone too?”

Yoongi looks at Jimin before nodding, “A brother. Five years ago.”

“He from around here?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi breathes. He has to be patient, but it’s getting on his nerves. “Rural Daegu.”

The man’s fingers tap restlessly against the windowsill as he thinks about this. “Alright,” he mumbles, “Come in then.”

The trailer is as small on the inside as it looks on the outside. Jimin and Yoongi slot themselves into a booth by the window, slightly nervous.

“A drink?”

“Yes-”

“-no.”

Yoongi chuckles awkwardly, “He’s driving. I’ll take whatever you have.”

Jimin gives him a look full of disdain, but doesn’t argue. A glass of whiskey is put in front of Yoongi, followed by a glass of water for Jimin. Both men bow their thanks as well as possible in the cramped space. The man shuffles around for a bit more before sliding into the booth across from them. He gives Yoongi a stern look, completely ignoring Jimin, “What family are you from?”

“I’m Min Yoongi,” Yoongi introduces, “My father is Min Jeonho?”

“Ah,” the man nods, his features smoothing as he hears the name, “Good people. Honest. Actually lived a few blocks away. Name’s Kang Minhyung. Small world, eh?”

Yoongi hums, “They keep saying how much they miss Daegu.”

“Didn’t they move away like, years ago?”

“To Seoul, yeah.”

“Hate the city. All those big fancy people thinking they can make it out there. What’s wrong with a simple town, huh?”

Yoongi could name several things, but he chooses to keep his mouth shut. Next to him, Jimin sinks down into his seat a little. “You used to live in Daegu?”

“Yeah, near the center, actually. Time’s been kinda hard, as you can tell. Marriage fell apart after our son… Well, lost the house, the car, just wanted to get out of that place for a bit, really.”

“Daegu’s nothing like it used to be,” Yoongi mumbles. It’s not a question.

“That’s for damn sure,” Mr Kang growls, “Used to be an honest town, with honest folks. Nothing complicated, everybody their own place.”

“What changed?” Jimin asks, curious.

Mr Kang observes him like he’s determining how much he can trust people that are not from Daegu. “Hard to say. Town’s gotten a lot more dodgy over the years.”

“How so?”

“Shady folks. Blackmail. That sorta thing. Can’t even trust the police anymore.”

“Why not?”

“They don’t do a damn thing about all the shit that’s going on. Probably being bought off, if not worse. People are terrified, nowadays.”

“How about you?” Yoongi asks, “You lost a son. Police must have investigated. What happened?”

“Same charades they do after every disappearance, I guess,” Mr Kang grumbles, staring out of the window as he swirls his own whiskey around in his glass, “It’s almost like they know exactly what’s going on, but they don’t give a fuck. Like they’re being told to do nothing about it.”

“By who?”

“Hell if I know,” Mr Kang sighs, “Shady folk, that’s for sure. They’re everywhere. Can do whatever the fuck they want. Taking people’s children, threatening people’s lives-”

“They threatened you?”

“Sure did,” he grumbles, “Couple days ago, actually. Showed up in the middle of the night. Couldn’t get in, thank fuck. Left a note.”

Mr Kang dives under the small table and rummages through a box, coming up with a small note.

Stop looking for him. We know where you live. We know where your ex-wife lives. We know everything about you. You will never see your son again.

Yoongi reads it with open mouth then slides it over to Jimin. Jimin reads it carefully, biting his lip in concentration. “Good thing they couldn’t get in.”

“What do you mean?”

“They threatened Jimin too,” Yoongi replies, “With a knife.”

“And they did it by using our… brother as a mouthpiece,” Jimin says, voice dripping with scorn.

“That’s really fucked up,” Mr Kang says, looking around before leaning in, “Probably not too happy that I’m talking with you boys either.”

“You’re the only one that’s been willing to talk to us so far,” Jimin admits, “We really appreciate it.”

“So now what?”

“Well, we’ll need to ask around a little more,” Yoongi sighs, “Stake out the town for a bit, maybe.”

“You boys be careful,” Kang warns softly, “They’re probably keeping tabs on you. Stay away from shady places. You two seem exactly their type.”

A shiver runs over Yoongi’s back, but he nods nevertheless. “We’ll look out for ourselves. Daegu people always do. And I’ll keep an eye on him, for that matter,” he smirks, winking at Jimin.

“Shut up, hyung,” Jimin grumbles in return, turning red.

They try to interview a few other people from Jimin’s list, but don’t get much further than get away from me, or I’m not supposed to talk to you. A stake out in town seems inevitable. After visiting a bar and asking around in there for a bit, Yoongi and Jimin learn that most disappearances happen late at night. Always on the street.

Yoongi stretches as they walk out of the bar, still completely sober. He’d kill for another glass of whiskey, but Jimin is adamant that they need to be sharp.

The door to the passenger side of the car is already unlocked. Real sharp, Yoongi thinks with a disapproving look at Jimin. Jimin gives him a peculiar look back. A strange feeling settles in Yoongi’s stomach and he lets go of the door handle. “You know, I think we should go try that other address after all, that one on Hanyun street?”

“Huh, we already been-”

“I really think we should go there. By foot.”

Jimin must read something in Yoongi’s stare, because his expression suddenly falls flat, fear enveloping the shadows on his face. He too lets go off the door, carefully pocketing the keys before stiltedly taking a few steps away from the car, “Y-Yeah, I think you’re right.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, turning around and brusquely walking away from the parking lot. Jimin follows him with hunched shoulders and ragged breathing.

When they hear a car door slamming, they start running. It’s when they reach the end of the street that Yoongi feels a looming presence behind him. He looks. Jimin is gone. He gets half a shout out before a hand covers his mouth and pulls him into an alley.

Chapter Text

The wooden stick in his hands feels familiar. It fitted neatly into his hands when he got it off the rack. He swings it around a few times, listening to the swooshing sounds as it moves through the air.

“You better not do anything stupid,” Pinky growls behind him.

Dan looks down at him, face set in stone and eyes cold, “I know what I’m doing.”

“Why did you volunteer?”

He doesn’t answer. He knows why, but he doesn’t think it’s something Pinky would like to hear. An anger flows through him, and it feels somewhat unfamiliar. Strange. Anger is one of the emotions that is completely justified and often experienced down here in the Underground. This feels… different though.

Cold rage, is how Dan would describe it.

His fingers grip around the wood firmly, and he watches Pinky pull off his shirt and throw it at one of the guards, who gives him a warning glare in return. Pinky, although a seasoned Fighter by now, is clearly on edge. Dan gives him a half smile to try and ease his mind, “Don’t worry about it.”

“See, you saying that is what’s making me worry.”

“Weren’t you the guy that was ready to bash Twist’s head in just an hour ago?”

“Don’t deflect.”

Pinky’s gaze is stern, but they both know they don’t have time for a deep psychoanalysis right now. Pinky is called away for his fight against one of the newer Blue Team members. Young, but awfully inexperienced. Dan has no doubt that Pinky will give them an early victory tonight. His gaze flicks to Grudge, over at the Blue Team’s Fighting Station. The wooden stick in his hands swooshes through the air expertly before Grudge looks up and meets Dan’s stare. He grins.

Dan can’t get himself to grin back.

As expected, Pinky’s match is an easy victory. He’s gained a couple of bruises on his cheekbone and shoulder, but it’s nothing that a good ice pack can’t deal with. Their way of life, Dan thinks absently, giving Pinky what he hopes to be an approving smirk. It feels fake and doesn’t fool Pinky in the slightest, whose eyes immediately switch back to fierce concern.

He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s very right to be concerned.

It’s about twenty minutes later before Dan’s called into the arena. He looks back once at Pinky, who is already holding an ice pack against his cheek. After a curt nod, the gate closes and Dan hears a few cheers as he enters the pit. A part of his mind will always flash to the image of a filled out stadium, dancing light sticks and gleeful faces, shouting and singing in adoration. He jerks his head, refusing to liken this crowd to the fan base he once knew. There was no adoration in these cheers. These people would rather see him bloody and beaten. They bet money on his injuries, they cheer when his friends die.

He doesn’t give them the satisfaction of acknowledging them, trudging towards the middle of the arena slowly, wooden stick held stiffly in his hands.

A minute later, Grudge enters and the crowd cheers and hollers quite a bit louder for him. Grudge grins widely, putting up his stick and fist and roaring with the audience. Dan watches him in disdain, disgusted and a little ashamed that he had once been like that.

He hadn’t been the Prince of the Underground for nothing.

He’d been great at crowd manipulation, giving them exactly what they wanted, but where it was all just an act for Dan, for Grudge it seemed a little too real. And so the Prince title had unceremoniously switched from Dan to Grudge after one too many losses. After the passion had faded from his fights. After everything he did in the arena seemed a little too rehearsed.

Grudge doesn’t glance at Dan once while he’s busy greeting the audience. It’s not the first time they fight each other. Grudge didn’t used to stand a chance against Dan. He was younger and clumsier, even if he was quite a bit taller. Didn’t have the rhythm or speed Dan always possessed. And so it had once been easy to dodge Grudge’s wild and uncoordinated swings. Really, you could see them coming from miles away. Once you figured it out, it wasn’t a difficult choreography in the slightest. But the years of experience had given Grudge more victories under his belt. He’d learnt to compensate for his clumsy attacks by brutal strength. He was now a crowd favorite, thanks to his ability to cause some real damage to unsuspecting opponents. And so Dan always made sure to warn new recruits. Watch his feet. They always reveal his next move. He’s strong but slow. Use that to your advantage.

Grudge got picked as a fighter almost every ceremony. The scars on his body seem not to bother him, as if he was made for this role and this role only. Where once he’d been a gangly, awkward looking youngster, now he was toned and confident. His muscles visibly flex as he continues to hype up the crowd, a warning that his strength is quite different from years ago. Dan is out of practice, he knows. Grudge knows it too. Dan’s usually a medic, nowadays, patching up whatever is left of the messes made in the arena. Hoping that some bandages, splints and painkillers can compensate for whatever permanent damage may have been inflicted.

As if they’re not all permanently damaged by now in the first place.

“Fighters!” the microphone blares over the noisy crowd, “Take your position.”

Dan glares daggers at Grudge as he plants both his bare feet in the muddy sand and slightly hunches over with his stick grasped tightly in two hands. Grudge smirks playfully back, either not seeing the venom in Dan’s gaze, or not caring about it.

“Our two Princes!” the microphone echoes loudly, “Who will claim his throne once and for all?”

The crowd roars at the made up stakes. There is no throne, Dan thinks gloomily. All you get for winning is more abuse, more torture, more dying friends. And on and on it goes. Forever. Forev-

He loosens the grip on his stick. Tonight it ends, he tells himself. One way or another.

He feels eerily calm as he looks down at the stupid weapon in his hands. Great for causing superficial spectacle. Blood and bruising are frequent in stick fights. But it’s not enough to kill a person. Not nearly. He glances back at Grudge. He wonders if Grudge has ever killed anyone in a stick fight before. Probably. Grudge’s death count was revered in the Underground. He either left his opponents too beaten to survive for long, or he killed them on command. A mercy kill, as the guards called it.

Dan thinks of Mouse. Only of Mouse in those long ten seconds it takes before the announcer calls a start to their fight. Grudge, as predictable as ever, heaves his stick into the air before smashing it down against Dan. Dan doesn’t move away, instead lets it crash against his own stick. The force of the blow jangles through his arms. The crowd goes wild.

Grudge repeats his action, leaving his abdomen and chest unguarded as he lifts up his stick again. It’s almost too easy. Instead of using his stick, Dan slams his right shoulder into Grudge’s chest and the giant is caught off balance immediately. He stumbles back, growling like an animal. Then he grins, crooked teeth on display, “At least you have more fight than my last opponent did.”

Dan steps forward without thinking, because they both know who Grudge’s last opponent was. Grudge takes this opportunity to quickly smash his stick against the side of Dan’s ribs. A large splinter bores into his side and Dan gasps, a hand flying up at the offending intrusion. It’s not in deep, but it stings fiercely and limits his movements on that side. Before he can contemplate removing it, another slam is directed towards him, this time aimed at his shoulder.

Now Dan does jump out of the way, turning skillfully on his heels and using Grudge’s forwards momentum to his advantage. He lets his stick crash onto Grudge’s muscled back. Grudge falls forward on his stomach, but rolls onto his back quickly before Dan can continue his assault. Instead it give Dan just enough time to yank out the splinter in his side. Blood spills down immediately but it’s not serious enough for Dan to stop focusing on his downed opponent.

Years of arena fights have given Grudge quite a few tips and tricks that he can use in a stick fight. Where once all his fighting came down to brute strength, now he’s cleverer than he used to be. As Dan jerks his stick back to ram it into Grudge’s abdomen, he’s caught off his balance by a quick swoop against his ankle. He jumps away, breaking off his attack and giving Grudge the time to swiftly get back to his feet.

They face each other, panting and sweaty, very much aware that the two of them are still equals in this fight after all. Grudge makes a move forward, Dan blocks him. Their sticks push together as Dan is forced backwards by Grudge’s overpowering strength. “Your weakling friend wouldn’t even lift a finger as I was beating him.”

Dan remembers why he volunteered for this fight and snarls as he pushes Grudge backwards. Grudge’s mouth twitches before he rams his stick against Dan’s bad hip.

Dan sinks to his knees immediately as pain crawls out from the joint’s socket, to his back, even up to his shoulders. He’s reminded of the first time he broke it. A hefty guy named Pounce had slammed him against the steel, immovable, bars of the arena and Dan had heard and felt his hip crack. He remembers that pain as he staggers back to his feet. His hip throbs something foul, but it’s not broken this time. Years of experience have taught Dan to tell the difference between broken and bruised. Still, he can barely stand, wavering dangerously off balance as he straightens back up, “He was already injured, you psychopath,” he growls at Grudge.

Grudge laughs darkly and it earns them a stilted warning over the microphone. Communication between teams is strictly prohibited. But Grudge doesn’t give a fuck. He’s the current favorite, he can operate on his own rules. “I’m talking about the first fight, you fucking dumbass.”

Dan frowns, hands shaking as he tries to ignore the pounding pain in his hip and back. “What?”

Grudge’s nostrils flare as he takes another step forward, already on the offence again, “It’s like he wanted to lose.”

“You’re lying!” Dan snarls, charging head first into Grudge, sticks be damned. It’s unexpected, and Grudge lacks the coordination to handle a direct attack like that. They topple over together, sand flying up to their ears.

Grudge knows exactly what hip to target in fights with Dan to gain the upper hand. But Dan knows exactly what shoulder to punch to do the same. They’ve fought each other for years. Studied their ways of fighting. One agile, one powerful. Dan rages at Grudge’s dismissal of Mouse’s death. It opens a festering wound that has been bleeding for days on end. Tears it wide open until all Dan can see is red red red. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Mouse’s fading image is begging him to stop. But he keeps punching. Grudge’s face deforms under his fists into a bloodied mess. The crowd is thoroughly entertained.

Mouse was a pacifist.

But Dan’s not.

It’s another half minute before Grudge has had enough and throws Dan off of in a grand display of power. Dan loses his balance and stumbles backwards until he falls back in the sand, already injured hip taking another painful blow. Grudge has stood up, no longer playful and entertaining, but furious and vengeful as he stalks towards his opponent –prey- with his stick raised high above his head. Dan’s eyes widen and he rolls onto his stomach, forcing his arms and legs under him before crawling towards his own abandoned stick.

Grudge forcefully swings his stick down onto his opponent, but Dan’s just in time to fend it off with his own stick. Grudge’s attack has so much power behind it, however, that it breaks Dan’s stick in two, splinters flying everywhere as Dan is pressed further down into the sand. He drops whatever is left of his stick, trying to raise his arms over his face and wait for the inevitable.

“No,” Grudge growls darkly, “You don’t get to die like him. Not you.”

He pushes away from Dan, throwing him half of his broken stick. It’s an uncharacteristic move and Dan is left unable to process the meaning behind it. The stick in his hand is useless. Barely long enough to land a blow without coming in too close vicinity. Grudge walks around the arena, spitting out blood and lifting his hands to engage the crowd. And then Dan thinks he understands. Grudge wants to drag this out. He wants spectacle. He wants to kill the former Prince of the Underground in the most glorious way possible.

That’s his mistake.

Dan slowly gets to his knees. Hears gurgled screams and sees bloodied bodies as he closes his eyes. This place is of slaughter and brutality. There’s no glory in this hell. The Prince title is as empty as any promise down here could ever be. Grudge lives with this illusion, cruelty in hopes of a better life than all the other prisoners of the Underground. Maybe, if he slaughters enough innocent opponents in the arena. Maybe, if he pleases the crowd anyway they want to. Maybe then he’ll get to go home.

Watch his feet, they always reveal his next move.

Grudge should have finished the fight while he had the chance. The broken stick in Dan’s hand is short, but the splintered end is sharp as a spear. Grudge is too busy with the crowd to notice Dan coming up behind him. Dan lashes out, and the sharp end of his stick leaves a deep cut across Grudge’s back. The taller man cries out, hands awkwardly grasping backwards at the injury. Anger intermingles with pain as Grudge turns and snarls furiously before charging at Dan with his own stick. His stick is still intact, though. All it does is leave bruises as he whacks it against Dan’s head, his shoulders, his ribs and his legs. Dan is used to this pain. It’s enough to sting for days on end, but not enough to end a life. Grudge notices this disadvantage as well. He desperately jerks his stick backwards, but there’s not enough room to ram it into Dan’s midsection with any notable force. Instead, it give Dan the chance to grab Grudge’s stick with his free hand and pull. Grudge stumbles forward, back into the middle of the arena.

Pain is fading into the background as Dan runs on nothing but adrenaline. In the corner of his eye, he sees Mouse’s fearful gaze, but his silhouette vanishes whenever Dan tries to focus on it. He knows what Mouse wants to say though. That he’s punishing the wrong person. But Dan can only take so much of Grudge’s shit-eating grin before he snaps.

Blood runs down Grudge’s back in thick streams. It makes him unsteady on his feet, and Dan watches his feet intently. Winning against Grudge isn’t easy, as anyone in the Underground will tell you, but it’s far from impossible. Grudge must also notice how the tables have suddenly turned against him, because his eyes flint from Dan’s face, to the weapon in his hands. Dan sees those same nerves as he saw in their early fights years ago. A boy that didn’t know how to fight and had nothing to go off of than his own strength.

Grudge makes a last attempt at charging forward, but Dan’s quick enough to dodge a frightened, rampaging bull when he sees one. Grudge flies passed him, earning another slice into his side. He curls towards the pain predictably and Dan takes the opportunity to push Grudge off balance enough that the taller of the two falls down into the now bloodied sand, gasping in pain. His stick rolls away from his outstretched hand, out of his reach.

Dan kicks it further away, breathing harshly as he pins Grudge’s shoulders to the ground with his knees and sits on his legs. Every exhale is audible, hysterical, even. Dan thinks of Mouse under a sheet. Of Slice without legs. Of cries and pleadings down in this very same arena. He thinks of losing his name, of monsters with cigarettes shaving his head. He thinks of being thrown in the back of a van like he’s nothing. Of hanging up birthday decorations in an empty dance studio.

Grudge’s eyes stare back at him, but betray nothing of the fear he must be facing. Dan has an iron grip on the broken weapon in his hands. The sharp, splintered end resting close to uncomfortably against Grudge’s chest. Like the knife he held to Jimin’s throat only days ago.

“Finish it,” the microphone releases its verdict, “Reclaim your throne, Prince of the Underground.”

Dan’s been in this position before quite a few times. Usually, a fight doesn’t go as far as to kill. But sometimes the crowd and the circumstances command it. He’s had people begging him to end it, please, for the love of God. He’s refused and complied, and it all made the same difference. Once you go over that threshold, there’s no going back. Dan feels Grudge gasp for breath harshly underneath him. Alive and vibrant. Shuddering with anticipation. Dan knows there’s no more surprise moves Grudge can pull.

This is it.

“Finish it,” the microphone repeats when the crowd becomes alive with impatient murmurs.

Dan inhales. Exhales. Then pushes forward.

It takes a surprisingly short amount of time before Grudge goes limp. His eyes remain open, life quickly fading and it snaps something in Dan.

He gasps, stumbling to his feet after pulling out his weapon from Grudge’s body. A strictly forbidden move. After a kill, Fighters are supposed to remain still until removed from the arena. He shakes his head wildly, trying to rid himself of the ringing screams in his head. The broken stick in his hands drips with blood, but he doesn’t notice it as he swings it around frantically, getting covered in it within seconds. He cries out, Mouse’s image intertwining with Jimin’s. Both victims of circumstance. Shouting at him. Afraid, so afraid. When’s the last time you’ve been properly afraid? Taehyung-ah, he breathes against him, relief and wonder in his high, distinctive tone. An animal that Dan’s about to spear.

Murderer

He cries out when a guard approaches him from behind. Cries out and swings. His spear impales the man, even through his armor. Dan holds on to it. It was an accident. But the next one is not. He gets the weapon bored into the side of his throat. They stop approaching him after he’s dropped two bodies. He hears the click of their automated shotguns from the sidelines of the arena. He yells at them. Do it! He’s an animal gone wild, don’t they see?

“Hold fire!” a voice shouts over the noisy, panicked crowd. “Drop the weapon, Dancer.”

Dan doesn’t comply, stands hunched over in the middle of the bloody arena. He’ll die here, he’s decided. The one choice he’s able to make in this hell hole. A long suffering sigh over the microphone. Dan waits for the order. Hears a distinctive, jittery noise. Feels all his muscles tense up and blacks out.

Chapter Text

Kang Minhyung has to give credit where credit is due; neither of the boys in the backseat have wet their pants. Yet. He rolls his eyes at the frightened whimpers whenever the car takes a sharp turn or goes over a speed bump.

And these two had called themselves investigators?

His eyes flit towards his companion, Lee Sooji, whose staring out of the window with a knowing smirk on her face. She’s enjoying this.

Minhyung shakes his head disapprovingly and Sooji shrugs. It’s unfortunate, having to traumatize these two boys to get them off the scent. They have no idea what they’re up against and ultimately, this is for their own safety. But neither of them know that yet. They must think that whatever it is that happens to all those missing persons they’re ‘investigating’, it must now be happening to them too.

Better had stayed in Seoul

Another speed bump and then one of the boys on his back seat is brave enough to garble out a question through the hood over his head, “Where are you taking us?”

The decent human being in Minhyung wants to reassure them that they’re not being kidnapped. That this is for their own good, but he needs them to be well and truly scared for a bit longer in order for this to work. And so he ignores the question until he pulls up to the trailer. He puts the car in park, takes a deep breath and opens the door. The boys in the backseat squirm, panicked. The sturdier of the two tries to kick out when Minhyung opens the back door. A fighter, for sure, just like Minhyung knows Daegu folk to be.

“Where are we?” the young man commands, head moving around even if he’s prevented from seeing anything, “What are you gonna do with us?”

“Oh, calm down,” Minhyung grumbles, hooking a hand around the kid’s bicep to help him out of the car.

“You sound familiar,” the boy comments, “Who are you?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ve already asked that.”

“And you haven’t answered.”

Minhyung grunts noncommittally, wondering why he’s stuck with this quickfire question asking pain in the ass while Sooji is having a much easier time with the silent and still other one. “Just walk forward, alright?”

“I don’t really have a choice.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“Fuck,” the boy swears to himself as he starts walking, hands bound and blinded by the hood still over his head. It’s a little much, Minhyung will admit, but it gets the message across that this situation is serious and dangerous and that these boys have bitten off far more than they can chew.

When they get to the cabin, Minhyung pushes their two captives inside and closes the door behind him. He fumbles in the dark for the light switch. The old fluorescent lights have not been turned on in ages and they buzz angrily for a moment before flickering on. Giving a short nod to Sooji to do the same, Minhyung reaches out and removes the Daegu boy’s hood, revealing a short, red-faced, angry looking guy.

“You!” the boy hisses, immediately recognizing his captor.

“Me,” Minhyung answers flatly, unimpressed.

“You’re working with them?” the other boy finally interjects, face as red as his companion’s, and maybe even angrier, “I thought your son was missing! Mrs. Lee-”

“You, my friend,” Sooji interrupts with an amused smile, “Have come to a totally wrong conclusion. Kind of sad, for a detective.”

“I don’t understand,” the Busan boy shakes his head in confusion, breathing heavily.

“We’re not who you think we are,” Minhyung mumbles, pulling two chairs from the small dining table, “Sit.”

“Will you untie us, at least?” Daegu hisses.

“Right,” Minhyung nods at Sooji again, who takes out her pocket knife.

Both boys gasp in unison at the sight of the blade and Sooji rolls her eyes. “For crying out loud, you boys are wholly unprepared for whatever you’ve gotten yourselves into.”

“Why don’t you tell us?”

“We will, patience.”

“Is this what you’ve done to Taehyung too?” Busan still doesn’t seem to grasp the situation, even if he does seem to be the main driving factor to the detective plot these two had assigned to themselves.

Sooji chuckles as she cuts the two morons loose, then pushes them down to sit. “We’re just gonna have a talk, you boys are going to listen very well, and then you’ll get back to that rental car of yours, put Daegu in your rearview mirror and leave this case to the professionals.”

“What professionals?” Daegu questions, frowning. His eyes flit from Minhyung to Sooji and then realization seems to dawn on him, “You?”

The disbelief in his tone is beyond impolite, but Minhyung will let it slide for now. They did just kidnap these two and dragged them out to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Still, his patience is wearing thin by now. He’s getting too goddamn old for this shit.

“Yes, us,” he bites at the brown haired boy, “We’ve been on this trail for nearly a decade before you two showed up.”

“Well, you’ve been doing a bang up job all that time,” Busan bristles. “People are still going missing.”

“You two have no idea how big this ring is.”

“Why don’t you tell us?”

“You boys know too much already,” Minhyung grumbles, “When you mentioned this morning that they’d already threatened Busan boy over here… do you have any idea how dangerous these people are?”

Fear and doubt flash over Daegu’s face, but he masks it quickly with defiance, “We keep hearing the same stuff, but no one’s actually telling us who these people are.”

“They’re powerful people,” Sooji fills in, “They know what they’re doing and will not hesitate to keep doing what they’re doing. No matter the cost.”

“So you tried to kidnap us instead? I don’t get it,” Busan mumbles.

“You haven’t been kidnapped,” Minhyung sighs, “As my partner Sooji said, you’re completely free to leave once you have understood what we’re trying to tell you.”

“That these people are dangerous and we need to leave it alone,” Busan sums up, “Yeah. But no.”

“What is wrong with you?” Sooji asks, more curious than exasperated, “What part of ‘dangerous’ do you not understand? It’s ridiculous how easy it was to sneak up on you two and throw you into a car. Doesn’t that tell you enough?”

“I don’t care,” Busan grounds out, voice wavering and light.

“You don’t care?” Minhyung has had it with this foolishness, taking a step forward towards the two on the chairs, “We have more important things to do than worry about two washed up idols playing detective.”

A bit of shame seems to creep into Daegu’s expression and he looks away, but Busan boy doubles down, face again reddening in anger, about to explo-

“Five years I’ve been searching for this!” he yells, suddenly alight, “Everyone thought I’d gone fucking crazy, chasing dead end after dead end. I rarely ate, or slept, half-assed my job at the school as a fucking dance teacher, because he was everything to me! Deep down, I knew he was dead. It had been too long. Never found anything real. Every lead I chased was a bust. Every lead but one. And now that I know he’s still alive. That he’s being held against his will with people doing God knows what to him… now you want me to just let it go?”

His hands have balled to fists, shaking with frustration. He’s panting, and even if he doesn’t look like much –skinny, short- there seems to be a strength to him that goes beyond physical attributes. Minhyung observes him for a second before nodding, “I understand you’re reasoning. But-”

“If you were me, would you let it go?”

Minhyung sighs, looking out the window to see if no one is there watching them. An old habit that has flourished after years of paranoia. “I wouldn’t,” he admits softly, “I haven’t.”

Busan’s –Jimin, was it?- face softens and he nods slowly, “You know what I’m talking about. Sir.”

Him plastering on a formality now after all this time is hilarious, but Minhyung ignores it, sitting on the edge of the table, studying his hands before sighing again, “I used to be a police officer down at the Daegu Police Department. A detective, if you will. Vice. It started slow. A few colleagues that dropped certain cases without proper reasoning. Suspects being let go for lack of evidence. Nobody said a word about it. Every question was met with a shrug. Our jobs were slowly but surely turning into a joke. Then one day, about seven years ago, I was called out to a missing person case. There was a strip club close to where the boy had vanished. He’d been barely eighteen. Mother thought the strip club might have something to do with it, that’s why I got involved. Combed out that entire club, didn’t find anything. Every trail disappeared and every question I asked, whether it was the townsfolk or my own goddamn colleagues, was met with reluctance.”

Boxes of disorganized files. Unlabeled pieces of evidence. The room was a mess. Minhyung had walked around in astonishment. It was like a whirlwind had gone through the evidence room. It certainly did not look like how he’d left it last night. There must have been a break in after he’d locked up. He’d been down here until late night, trying to dig up anything and everything about missing young males in the last five years. Now that he looked around, all the files he’d picked out were missing, except for the ones he’d taken with him to study at home.

“People go missing all the time,” Hoyun, his partner at the time, had said, “most of them turn up within weeks, or they’re gone forever. Working the Missing Persons department sucks, exactly for that reason.”

Minhyung had nodded absentmindedly, but then stopped to think about it, “All the stuff I searched for yesterday is missing. I told no one about what I was doing down in the evidence room,” he’d said slowly, “No one but you.”

And Hoyun had grinned awkwardly, had shrugged and turned away. And after that the bribes had started. At least, first it was bribes, which did nothing but assure Minhyung that there was something very wrong going on here. Slowly but surely, Minhyung discovered that whatever was going on, it was as much of an inside job in the police department, as it was an outside job.

“That’s when I quit,” Minhyung grumbles. “I bet nearly every cop that still works there is being corrupted in some way. They start with bribes. But it turns to threats and blackmail fairly quickly after that.”

“You quit your job?” Daegu –Yoongi- asks, “isn’t that a little counter-intuitive?”

“When every last cop in Daegu is evidently working against you, I figured it was better to lay low. They wouldn’t suspect I was still continuing the investigation if I’d quit. They’d just think I’d given up. But no,” he looks at Jimin, “I couldn’t let it go either. So I called in my niece Sooji here for help.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” Sooji smiles, “I was over in Seoul working my fucking ass off in a shit ton of cases. It’s what happens when you’re the rookie and your superiors want an extra day off. Uncle calls, bristling about quitting his job and that he’s onto something huge.”

“And you didn’t get the whole Seoul Police Department involved?” Jimin sounds incredulous. Minhyung regards him for a second. The naivety on his face is almost tangible. His loyalty to his missing friend is admirable, but his stupidity is going to land him in a lot of trouble. If it hasn’t already.

“There was barely any proof,” Sooji says before Minhyung can tell Jimin what he thinks of him. “Besides, what do you think would happen to all those missing boys once those fuckers notice a sudden increase of cops in the area?”

Jimin blanches as maybe a small inkling of what he’s gotten himself involved in starts to dawn on him. He needs to realize how delicate of a situation they have on their hands before he jumps head-first into self-destruction. “What are they doing to them?” he asks, voice wavering.

Sooji hesitates, looking at her uncle for confirmation. Neither of these boys are ready for the fucked up truth. This is not something that might have ever crossed their privileged minds.

Before Minhyung can start, Yoongi’s nerves get the best of him, “It’s a cult, isn’t it?”

Minhyung does a double take, “A what?”

Yoongi, immediately realizing he said the wrong thing, shrinks into himself, turning his gaze to the table quickly before muttering, “It’s a working theory.”

Minhyung shakes his head, he would laugh if these boys’ incompetence weren’t so fucking dangerous. “Think less cult and more organized crime.”

“Mafia?” Jimin mumbles, and Minhyung can almost see the gears in his head move.

“Yeah, something like that,” Minhyung doesn’t feel like getting into the semantics of what counts as mafia and what doesn’t. They don’t have time for that.

“What does the mafia want with Taehyung?”

“Oh, Taehyung is most likely just an innocent victim. Most of the boys are. They pluck them from the streets at random. They know what they’re doing though. Always at night. Never any witnesses. Or evidence of violence aside from maybe the victim’s blood. Nothing that can be traced anyway.”

“But why? What do they need them for?”

Minhyung pauses, because here’s where it gets dark. And speculative, “We believe there’s a fighting and prostitution ring being run somewhere around Daegu. These victims are prisoners, essentially. They don’t have a choice. It’s believed to be operated by four brothers from a highly respected Daegu family. Without strong evidence, we don’t stand a chance of dismantling it. They hire guards and kidnappers from all over the country, maybe even North-Korea. Anything to make it seem like their own hands are clean.”

Minhyung watches as his two guests try and fail to process this information, “Why would anyone do that?”

“It’s highly lucrative, unfortunately,” Sooji says softly, “People get fucked up once they are rich enough. They call it The Underground. A place where rich vermin comes together to talk business, bet on cage fighting or buy one of the victims for the night.”

Yoongi’s face crumples and Jimin seems about to throw up, “Oh my God,” he whispers, appalled, “T-Taehyung… when he broke into my apartment, he-he mentioned something about the Underground.”

“The victims are all completely under the control of their captors. They achieve this by strong threats and cruel punishment. Whatever Taehyung might have told you that night, those weren’t his words.”

There’s a small sense of relief that flashes over Jimin’s face at that, but it’s quickly replaced by horror, “Oh my God,” he mutters, “Five years.”

“And your son-”

“I was too obsessed,” Minhyung says through clenched teeth, “I needed to find the truth, no matter the cost. I didn’t know I had so much to lose until it was too late.”

“Which is why you boys need to stay away from all this,” Sooji comments, not unfriendly, “You are exactly their type. They seek out young males from ages sixteen to thirty. As long as you look even remotely healthy, you’re not safe.”

“I abandoned my apartment,” Jimin mutters, “I’m staying with a hyung on the countryside.”

“If there’s one thing these fuckers are good at, it’s keeping tabs on where their enemies are. Chances are they already know where you went after Taehyung broke in. Chances are they know you two went to Daegu today. Chances are they’ve followed us here at this very goddamn place. You’re safe here though, for now. The guard dogs will alert us if there’s anything suspicious outside. They’re about as paranoid as I am.”

“What do we do?” Jimin asks, lost.

“Go back to Seoul, live your lives like you normally would. They’ll leave you alone once they think you’re no longer worth the effort.”

Jimin seems defeated, but accepting as he slowly nods his head, slumping in his seat. Yoongi, however, shakes his head defiantly, “No,” he growls, “No way.”

“-hyung-”

“No.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to see you boys ending up down there in the Underground. Once that happens, no one can help you, don’t you understand?”

“No one can help me.”

“Exactly.”

“But someone should.”

“Excuse me?”

“How long have you been working on this investigation? No one can help me? Really?”

“Now wait a min-”

“Sounds like you’re the one that needs help.”

“From you?”

Yoongi decides to ignore that statement, shaking his head, “You need evidence, right?” he says, words going a mile a minute, “How are you ever going to get that from what, a miniscule trailer and a wooden cabin in the middle of nowhere?”

“Very carefully.”

“We can help,” Yoongi continues, “I mean, okay, we may not be the best detectives or know anything about police work, truly. But we’ve got resources. Connections. We can help.”

Sooji swirls on her heels to look at Minhyung in complete surprise. This isn’t how either of them had predicted this little side project going. But Minhyung notices the conviction in Yoongi’s eyes. Jimin, too, seems to have recovered from his brief stint of defeat and nods fervently. Minhyung stares back at them until he feels Sooji’s hand on his arm as she tugs him to the side, out of earshot.

“They’re idiots, the both of them,” she starts off, “But they’ve got the money.”

Minhyung huffs, fairly annoyed to admit that she might be right. That they might need these boys to ever really get anywhere. Because they’ve been in a slump for so long now. Those motherfucking Jeon Brothers always two steps ahead. “Sooji-ah-”

“Imagine it,” Sooji smiles softly, “All those lost young men, finally free. All those families reunited. Ours too. The Jeon family finally getting what’s coming to them. This nightmare could finally be over.”

It’s a pipe dream. Minhyung believed in it at the start. But that was seven years ago. He’s been going through the motions. But with the right amount of support, “Imagine that,” he grunts, nodding.

Chapter Text

The water is icily cold as it blasts against his side and he wakes in an instant. He gasps, hears someone laugh. Another blast of water has him crying out and curling onto his side instinctively. They’ve stripped him of his clothes, he’s completely naked as he shivers.

“Filthy rat!” one taunts in a high pitched voice, its shrill quality slices through Dan’s brain like a hot knife, “Ain’t no amount of water ever getting you cleaned, but we try!”

The next blast is for his face. Dan tries to shield himself with his arms, but they don’t seem to work right. Every movement he makes has a delayed response. It looks clumsy and uncoordinated and it earns him another haunted laugh. Dan squirms on the slippery tiles, scrambles until his back hits the wall. The water’s high pressure is painful enough, but it’s when they set it from freezing to scalding that Dan yells out. His wrists are bound together, chained to a metal ring on the floor. He doesn’t know this room. From the absence of light and murky smell, he assumes he’s even deeper in the Underground. His teammates. He must get to his teammates. They’re-

The water turns hot

It burns. They aim it at his legs and he starts kicking. His skin turns red immediately. He cries out again, groaning at the pain shooting up to his thighs, hips, sides.

“See, cold water never washed anything clean,” someone says, “You gotta be aggressive about it.”

The water goes higher, crashing against his shoulder, steam rising up to the stained ceiling. Dan screams, raw and painful. Sags against the wall when the water’s suddenly turned off.

“Enough.”

“They said we could have him.” A pause, “Sir.”

“You’re almost as bad as these fucking rats. First wait.”

“Yes sir.”

Footsteps come closer. Dan doesn’t look up, disoriented as he slumps limply against the wall. He feels his limbs shaking, either from pain, or the aftermath of being tasered. He notices the shadow as the man crouches in front of him, but knows better than to look directly at him.

A beat

“It rubs the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again,” the man mutters.

No answer

“You don’t want the hose again, do you?”

No answer

The man exhales, leaning back on his haunches, “What am I supposed to do with you?”

Dan bites his tongue, breathing heavily, but still avoiding eye contact.

“My brothers tell me to shoot you. Take you behind the barn like a rabid dog. Seems a bit brutal, doesn’t it? Although… we can’t deny you’ve gone a bit rabid, can we, Dancer?”

“You’re a fucking monster.”

The man’s face hardens, “You’re the one that just killed two people. Three, if you count the rat in the arena. But I’m not mad about that. It’s a hazard of the job, honestly.”

Dan swings his gaze up to meet the man’s calm stare, “Fuck you,” he spits, mouth bloody and teeth chattering.

“What I am mad about, though, is that you seem to have forgotten your manners,” the man continues, unfazed. “You’re a rat, Dancer, nothing more than a rat. Rats live underground and they do what they’re told. They don’t bite the hand that feeds them. Clothes them. Provides them.”

“You’ve ruined my life!”

The man clicks his tongue and shakes his head, straightening up to tower over Dan’s slumped form. “They want me to shoot you. But that would be too kind, wouldn’t it? It’s what you want, right? An end to all of it. Like that scruffy lover of yours that got killed the other day. What was his name? Upset the whole clientele with that nasty display of yours at the ceremony. Cost him his life, didn’t it?”

Dan gasps, jerking against the chains around his wrists, “Don’t you fucking talk about him.”

“You’d hardly be the first one to beg me to end it,” the man said, looking down at him, a half smirk around his lips.

Beg. That’s what he wants. Dan remembers begging. One of the first punishments he got. After his second fight, probably. Whipped for not being brutal enough. Tortured because the whole country was apparently looking for him. He’d begged. Cried. Let me go, he’d pleaded, tears and saliva dripping down his chin. Please, I want to go home. He’d sobbed, promising them he wouldn’t tell anybody about the Underground. If they would just let him go. Please

He’s beyond begging now. It hardly seems worth it. It hadn’t ever accomplished a damn thing except for making them laugh and kick or hit him harder. And so he does what he’d seen Slice do all those years ago. Right before he got killed. He works his jaw and spits right in front of the man’s feet.

The disrespect is what gets to the guy. He seems agitated, hands turning into fists before he lets them relax. “You used to be so polite,” he mutters softly, “What happened to you, Dancer?”

Dan is ashamed to admit it’s true. He used to be one of their star-players. In the beginning, he’d been so numb with fear that he’d do anything they asked. And where at first he’d been clumsy and inexperienced in the arena, soon he became one of the best fighters in the Underground, taught mostly by his teammates. He’d always been good at following directions, it was some of that old trainee discipline that helped him here, he guessed.

He’d gone into a permanent state of rage when those teammates got slaughtered right before his eyes. He became angrier and angrier, cursing himself over and over and over for letting it happen. His rage was helpful in the arena, it fueled the anger and desperation, but it became a problem as a Lover. It didn’t take long before he was taken off both the fighter and the lover role. And when he was assigned as medic or cleaner, again and again, he grew apathetic. Patching up his team or cleaning up the mess became a routine. Death and new recruits became a routine. He’d offer words of advice and showed them fighting techniques, but there was no real empathy to it. He’d forgotten the feeling. Too long in the Underground, and the only feelings left were rage or apathy, he supposed.

He was back to rage now.

They’d killed Mouse. They made Dan kill Grudge. And then he realized that no matter how many orders he would follow, it would never stop. They would keep killing. They would keep making him kill. How long before he killed a Mouse? Had he already? He barely knew anybody in the blue or red team. But they must have the same kind of friendships and co-dependence as they did in the white team. Even if it was just bonds made over shared trauma.

“I see you’ve lost that fear of death,” the guard –is it a guard?- muses, “I see it with everybody that has been down here too long. You’ve seen it too much. And now you think you can get away with anything because you don’t care anymore if we kill you. Am I getting close?”

Dan rolls his eyes with a huff, pressing his burning shoulder against the cool tiles of the wall. “I guess you’d know.”

“Ah, mirroring,” the monster laughs, high and shrill, “You’re trying to deflect? This is not about me, Dancer. You think that because we have traumatized you over and over again, there’s nothing more we can do to make you care enough to obey, but I think we both know that’s not true.”

Dan sighs, eying the man annoyed, “’t be a lot quicker if you just shot me.”

“Ah! But where’s the fun in that?” the man squeals, somehow delighted, “You’re my little plaything, Danny-boy.”

Dan dismisses him by looking away and it works. This is a man that demands respect. His stature and high tone are undermining him and so he whatever this version of intimidation is. A maggot, Dan thinks. A maggot trying to be a dragon. Dan’s unwillingness to engage drives the man into taking a step closer, sneering. “I know there must be something you still care about. Remember your last mission on the surface?”

Dan feels his scowl fall into alarm, “I told you I don’t know the guy.”

“You think we’re fucking idiots? I know who you are,” Monster says, sounding almost bored, “But sure. If you don’t know the guy, then you won’t care if I tell you we’ve been tracking him ever since you broke into his apartment.”

His heart rate picks up, yet Dan tries to shrug nonchalantly, “So? Why should I care?”

“I know he’s gathered all your old little pals and they’re holed up somewhere north of Seoul. They think they’re onto us, isn’t that adorable?”

A sense of foreboding creeps up his neck and Dan hopes his face remains neutral, “Are you going anywhere with this?”

“Thing I’m trying to say here is that we could do either of two things. We could let them play this game for a bit. It’s fun to see, I admit. They hardly pose a threat, they’re just being cute. Or, we could round them up. We’d kill the useless ones, of course. Some are just too old, after all. Maybe we’ll pick one or two, though. Throw them into the back of a van. Get them all the way out here to Daegu. And don’t you worry, I’ll make sure they’ll get in Red or Blue. And then… well then we’ll just watch you boys fight each other. Knives, maybe. It’s been too long since we’ve seen a proper knife fight.”

Dan’s sure that by now the color has fallen from his face. His life in here and the world outside have always been separated in his mind. It’s the only way he could deal with it. The brief mission of telling Jimin to back off, it hardly seems like anything but a dream now. He remembers Jimin breathing under his tightening hold, remembers the sob of relief when- Taehyung-ah

He’d dreamt of them coming to his rescue, those first few months down here. A hyung, maybe. With something stupid like blazing guns or a heavy motorbike. But the months turned into years and nobody came. And he concluded that that was for the best. He never wanted to see any of them down in here.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” he cries out, shooting away from the wall until his chains yank him back. The monster raises his eyebrows, not moving a muscle otherwise.

“Or you’ll what?” he grins, then nods in satisfaction, “So you do know them. Gotta tell you, almost fell for that excellent poker face you had going there.”

“If you hurt any of them-”

“You have no bargaining power, Dancer, my boy,” Monster says, wriggling a finger at him, “My brothers could never understand why I always picked a favourite. They’re too business-like, those three. They never just let themselves enjoy what we’ve built. They never know just how fun it is to watch you poor little souls struggle for just a semblance of control. And how satisfying the looks on your faces are when it’s taken away.”

“You are one fucked up asshole,” Dan whispers.

“It’s been said,” Monster drawls, narrowing his eyes as his face turns dark, “But I promise you this. One more step out of line, and there’s going to be a slaughter north of Seoul. I don’t care about the media-attention. We’ve dealt with that once, we will do it again. We know how to cover our tracks. Might even go after your eomma. Appa. Little brother. Baby sister. They’ve since moved on. They won’t know what hit them.”

Dan swallows, “They’re not…” he trails off.

“You’re going to be a good little boy.”

It’s fear, Dan realizes, that courses through him. It paralyses. Hasn’t felt anything like it for a long time. It was always just his own life on the line. Or those of his team mates. The outside never had anything to do with it. He looks down at the stained tiles. He doesn’t know where he is. Must be deeper in the Underground. Somewhere in Daegu. Has been here for five years. Shoulders slump in defeat.

Monster backs off when he notices he won’t get a response anymore. He looks at the other guards behind him. “Have at him. When you’re done and he’s still alive, throw him in isolation for six days. No food, no painkillers.”

Chapter Text

Jimin had never given the concept of grief much thought. He’d lost his grandparents on his father’s side when he was two, both in the same year. He vaguely remembered his dad being sad for a while, then in later years saying that it had just been their time. They’d both been well into their eighties, after all. The grandparents on his mother’s side were still alive.

He’d been to funerals. But always in a supportive role. Never had he been the one to receive the condolences. So many people passing by, sadness dripping off their faces. Their pitiful looks became a blur. They’d grab his hand, squeeze it for a second and say just how sorry they were.

He wanted to slap them all.

He realizes, with a scoff and a chill, that that funeral was exactly five years ago. Five years ago they’d given up. And Jimin had sat there. Beside an empty wooden box that he’d helped pick out. Well, not empty, really. Filled with pictures and memories. Heartfelt letters, artwork, favorite candy.

No Taehyung

A semblance of him. His favorite cologne. Favorite comic books. A few vinyl records. Some songs from them were played during the service and it had stabbed something deep inside of Jimin because he’d heard those songs countless of times. Muffled, through the thin walls of their dorm. Or on full blast, if Taehyung felt that everybody at home needed a good, therapeutic Louis Armstrong session. And because nobody could ever deny Taehyung anything, Jimin knew these songs word for word. Mouthed them along as they echoed through the small church hall. Saw Taehyung for the very first time, in the shadows in the very back, belting along like he wasn’t attending his own funeral. He’d shrugged when Jimin caught his eye, like he’d wanted to say ‘what? It’s a good song.’

Jimin had blinked and he’d disappeared. No longer than a few seconds, at the very beginning. Leaving Jimin with a hollow chest and dry eyes. He’d sat there, for an immeasurable amount of time. People crying and screaming all around him. His bandmates, his managers, Taehyung’s family.

God his family

And he’d watched all of them with a stone expression. Nodded or bowed whenever they’d pay their respects. Mumbled his thanks when people from all over the industry shook his hand and muttered words of support.

Yet he didn’t feel it

He’d tried. Had heard and read a lot about the process of grief in the last few weeks. Knew how it should feel. Thought he recognized it from the sad tearjerkers he used to watch together with Hoseok late at night as a sort of cool down after a hard day of work. They’d shut off the TV with red rimmed eyes and a heavy feeling in their chests, even if both were too cool to admit to it.

Now there was only this empty, hollow feeling. Maybe just as heavy, if he really considered it. But also preventing him from expressing any form of sadness. By now his friends must have been wondering what the hell was wrong with him. And so he forced himself to grief. Sought it out, actually. Watched old videos of them all happy and together. Dancing and laughing, carefree and on top of the world. Always together. Even being apart for more than four days seemed wrong and unnatural.

He watched it all, private and public, intimate pictures just between the two of them. Whispered promises as voice memos, anything he could get his hands on. And just when he thought he started to feel it. That fierce, intense feeling of loss, of missing something so deeply he couldn’t breathe. That’s when he’d show up. Dressed just as he was the day he left. He’d scoff and shake his head, watching Jimin’s pathetic attempt at mourning disapprovingly. He’d clear his throat and mutter, “You don’t really believe I’m gone, do you?”

He said it so casually, as if it made perfect sense. How could he be gone? Wouldn’t Jimin have felt differently if he were? They were connected, weren’t they?

Soulmates

Jimin considers this now, as he desperately puts as many miles as possible between himself and Daegu, as fast as he can. He’s going well over the speed limit. Yoongi knows it too, shoots nervous glances at him every few minutes. Probably thinks Jimin is losing it.

He’s probably right

Still Jimin drives, the engine of the rental car roaring in protest. He stares out the windshield, but swears he sees nothing. Empty road ahead, empty road behind. He avoids the highway, paranoia eating away his last shreds of sanity. Every second is a few meters more that he drives away from Taehyung. It feels like betrayal. High treason.

He keeps it together for a while longer, until he checks his rearview mirror one too many times and sees Taehyung lying in the backseat. Bloodied, beaten. Slumped against the window, eyes half closed, one arm stretched out, reaching-

Jimin slams the brakes, causing both him and Yoongi to sway forwards in their seats, seatbelts stopping their momentum, digging into their shoulders painfully. Yoongi pants, wide eyed, staring out of the windshield. Jimin has his hands clamped around the wheel like vices. Breathing hard. Checks the rearview mirror one more time.

Nothing

Digs his nails a little further into the leather steering wheel. Takes a deep breath. “Get out,” he says, tone even and steady.

“What?”

“Get out of the car,” Jimin repeats, very reasonably.

“Jimin-ah, I don’t think tha-”

“Get the fuck out of the car!” Jimin shouts, less reasonably.

Yoongi scrambles with the door handle, still wide eyed and unsure. The door opens with a click and he stumbles out, dumbfounded. Jimin turns his head towards him slowly, face feeling like it’s carved out of stone, all stiff and immovable. “Close the door please,” he mumbles softly.

Concern and worry drip out of Yoongi’s usually reserved expression, but he does as he’s told, slowly closing the door and stepping back.

Jimin nods to himself. Once. Once more.

And then he feels it.

Heavy, like a tidal wave sweeping him and the car and invisible Taehyung in the back up in a storm only he can experience. He screams, high and loud, beating his bare hands against the wheel. He doesn’t care if he breaks the wheel or his hands. Something has to break. Pain flares up his arms but he keeps going. Tears are streaming down his face like they refused to do all those years ago. He feels it. Raw and real like it only happened yesterday. It’s heavy and intense, passes through him in waves. It winds a chain around his heart and weighs an anchor at the end of it. It drags him down as he kicks and screams. Through the car seat. Through the floor. Through the asphalt. Down through the dirt, down down down he goes. Into a deep dark place where he finds all those missing people. All staring. Dead eyes and dead faces. Staring and staring with no expression.

It’s exhausting and sooner or later he has to stop. His arms fall limply by his sides as he rests his heated forehead against the wheel. Shuddering breaths. In and out. It’s all he can do. There’s no one in the backseat. He checks. A couple of times. Feels a yearning so intense, it takes his breath away.

He sighs, slowly turning his head towards the passenger side. It’s only after a while that he hears Yoongi; cursing and yelling outside, trying to open the door, but it’s- locked?

Jimin reaches over, slowly regaining his composure as he pulls the lock on the door upwards. Yoongi waits a few seconds, then opens it and climbs inside. He stares out in front of him for a moment, then breathes, “You okay?”

Jimin lets that question sit for a few long seconds, then shakes his head, “No,” he grounds out, voice hoarse and worn.

“Me neither,” Yoongi whispers. “I don’t think you should drive, though.”

Jimin nods wordlessly, opening the door on his side and stumbling out. He looks around, the cold evening air assaulting his face. They’re precisely in the middle of nowhere. The wind howls ominously, like it’s trying to steer him back to Daegu.

Yoongi has also gotten back out of the car. He circles the hood before leaning against it, shoulders sagging as he looks down. “It’s not gonna be easy.”

Jimin scoffs, silent tears dripping down his face, disappearing into the soft earth underneath his feet as he stands on the side of the road, back facing Yoongi. He sniffs, unable to form words as he shakes his head.

“We will find him though,” Yoongi says, and it’s convincing enough that Jimin nearly believes him.

“How?” Jimin whispers instead, gesturing at the road they left behind, “He’s somewhere over there. And we’re just running away. Hiding. How could we ever find him?”

“Don’t you give up now,” Yoongi grumbles, “He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Minhyung-ssi and Sooji-ssi have been looking for years. I’ve been looking for years. He’s been down there for five years, and I-”

“Jimin-”

“I should have gone with him, hyung! That night! Or- I should have gone after him! You know how impulsive he could be. Of course he didn’t bring security! I should have known! Then maybe-”

“What? It wouldn’t have happened?” Yoongi challenges, “Or maybe we would have lost the two of you. Do you think that might have been better?”

“I-” Jimin breathes, exhausted.

“You are not responsible for what happened to Taehyung. Or for what’s happening to him now. Only those motherfuckers are. And yeah, I feel it too. Every second that passes and Taehyungie has to spend longer down there… from what we now know… it’s eating me alive.”

“What could we possibly do?”

“Well, we’re BTS,” Yoongi says, holding up a hand when he hears Jimin scoff, “Yeah, I know that sounds corny as hell. But we’re nothing if not persistent. We’ll find a way. We can do whatever the fuck we want if we stick together.”

It didn’t sound like much of a plan. Yoongi had never been their big speech giver. He was curt and to the point. And maybe that’s exactly what Jimin needed right now. He heard the determination in Yoongi’s voice and clung to it. If anyone knew how to achieve impossible goals, it was Min Yoongi. He’d find a way. Would probably dig through all of Daegu to run into an underground fighting ring. Just like that. Jimin nodded, eyes wide and hanging onto every word that came out of Yoongi’s mouth.

“First,” Yoongi sighed looking out into the distance, “We’re gonna have to tell the others what we know.”

Jimin nodded again, slightly wincing as he thought about how to even go about telling the others. But Yoongi was right. If they were even going to achieve anything substantial, they would need to stick together. Gather the people they trusted the most and go from there.

“I-I keep thinking about what you said,” Yoongi mumbles, looking down at his hands, “he was everything to me.”

Jimin closes his eyes, leaning his head back towards the star-filled sky. “Yeah,” he breathes.

“Did he- did he know how much he meant to you?” Yoongi’s voice is soft, but Jimin can tell he knows exactly what he’s saying.

Jimin nods slowly, face still towards the night sky. The wind plays with his hair. He feels floaty, like that wind could pick him up and blow him far away. To the past, maybe. Where everything was simple and clear. Where people didn’t get kidnapped and monsters didn’t exist. Where he and Taehyung would take each other by the hand and drag the other out of the dorms to watch the Seoul night sky by Han River. Just as impulsive, just as irresponsible. Where they would laugh until they cried, running because for those short few hours, they were free. They would deal with mad hyungs and worried managers later. They would fall down into the damp grass, would wrestle each other until one of them would be on top –usually Jimin- and he would stare into Taehyung’s eyes. And Taehyung would stare back. And then, one of those days, a breath would leave him. A single muttering. Unexpected, like his mind didn’t come up with the words, but his mouth just blurted them out.

God, I love you

He’d ducked away immediately, turning away from Taehyung with a beet red face, before stumbling upright and making a million excuses. But Taehyung had just run after him, grabbed his face and kissed him right then and there.

Magical

And they’d laughed and cried because they’d found each other, even if they’d had each other all this time. How stupid they were to keep it a secret from one another for so long. Life is short, Taehyung had shouted at the river, let us dance!

And they did. Four weeks, they did. Stolen kisses in the night. All secretive and giggling. Curious touches and a deeper understanding. If the others hadn’t noticed anything, they were fucking blind. Four weeks. Until Hoseok’s birthday.

Such a short window of time, Jimin thought.

Yoongi listens carefully as Jimin tries to explain all this to him. He doesn’t know why he’s kept it a secret from them all this time. He knew they’d understand. Those first few weeks were just his and Taehyung’s. Nobody else needed to know. And then Taehyung disappeared and all of it hardly seemed to matter. The group had fallen apart like sand through your fingers and Jimin had decided that no, maybe they didn’t need to know. It was hard enough as it was.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin mumbles as the wind brings him back to where he was. “I don’t know why I never told you guys.”

Yoongi lets this sink for a little while before mumbling, “It’s okay. You’re not the only one that’s kept secrets all this time.”

Jimin frowns and looks at him. Yoongi looks forlorn, older than his early thirties. He seems to wrestle with himself for a bit, then sighs, resigned, “It was always Hoseok for me.”

He says it like it’s something that’s tortured him, dragged him through the mud like an unwilling participant. Like it’s just something that happened to him, without his consent. Jimin feels a half smile forming on his face, “Does he know?”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head, “You think he’d be fooling around with a goddamn history teacher if he knew?”

“Hey, Minyeon is a pretty good guy,” Jimin smirks.

“Fuck the good guys,” Yoongi says, probably more venomously than he intended.

“How long have you felt that way?”

Yoongi gives a long suffering sigh, reluctantly rolling his eyes, “I don’t know. Halfway through… Danger I guess.”

“Ten fucking years?” Jimin exclaims, voice rising in pitch.

“Not so loud!” Yoongi hisses, looking around as if anyone could hear them out here.

“You’re a goddamn idiot,” Jimin says, folding his arms, “Hyung.”

“I’m a goddamn idiot?” Yoongi replies, indignant, “I always assumed the dude was straight as an arrow, always going on about that one girl that dumped him in high school. And then he starts fucking a history teacher and then I’m just- well I just got mad. At him, at myself, at the goddamn cosmic joke of the universe.”

“Well, how sad for you,” Jimin grumbles, trudging towards the car again, “Once we get home, you’re telling him.”

“I can’t tell him!” Yoongi shrills, shocked.

“Yeah? Why not?”

“He’s got a fucking boyfriend,” Yoongi replies, hurrying after him, “how’s it fair to him or his boyfriend if I just go and drop this frikkin’ ten year old bombshell on him.”

“You,” Jimin swirls around and points at Yoongi, who’s much closer than he thought, “should have told him ten years ago. What are you going to do? Sit by until you’re both old and grey? Tell yourself you’ll get over it? You’ll find somebody else? How’s that been working out?”

“You’re a fucking brat, you know th-”

“No! Taehyung and I could have been together much sooner if we hadn’t been telling ourselves these lies the whole time. And he’s gone! But at least he knows. Whatever shit he’s going through, at least he knows what he meant to me. What he means to me.”

“I don’t-”

“Hoseok-hyung is right there. Sure, he might be confused for a bit, because you waited ten fucking years. He might even reject you. But at least he’ll know,” Jimin felt the anger course through him, “Really hyung, is this really a secret you want to take to your grave?”

Yoongi looks desperate as he throws up his hands and turns around. And Jimin knows what it is. Sees that fear of rejection in Yoongi’s stony expression. Felt that same fear years and years ago, right before he blurted;

God I love you

And it worked out well for him. Might have still been a secret if Taehyung’s glowing, wonderful face hadn’t dragged the words out of him that night.

“Do you- do you think Hobi and Minyeon… are they serious?” Yoongi tries, timid and cowering.

Jimin sighs as he sits down in the driver seat, staring at the steering wheel that he just tried beating to a pulp. Not a mark on it. “I don’t know,” he mumbles reluctantly. He doesn’t have time for this teenage romance, “They seem pretty casual. I don’t think hyung lets anyone close these days. Too afraid they might… disappear.”

Yoongi swallows, then balls his fists in determination. “Okay,” he nods, “You’re right. I should tell him.”

Chapter Text

There’s a faucet on the far wall. It drips constantly. Dirty ground water, but the only resource at the same time. It drips drips drips, but Dan can’t hear it half the time over the sound of his own rasping breaths.

Everything hurts.

The first few days were miserable, but went by in a blur. He was unconscious most of the time, gasping and spluttering for the times he did wake up. Just for a few moments. Then the pain would take him under again.

Day three and his entire body feels swollen. Panic flares because he cannot move. They’ve dumped him in this hole and the only way he can describe it is that it’s a hole. The walls are made of dirt and clay, it smells horrific and Dan supposes this was just an unfinished part of the Underground. He’d often theorized the Underground looked most like an abandoned mine. Perfect for criminal activity.

Daegu

He never knew he was down in Daegu. He wondered if that monster had meant to let that information slip like that. He tried to wreck his brain if he’d ever heard about an abandoned mine in Daegu. Or anything that could be underground. It should be traceable, right?

Like it mattered.

Breathing hard, he slowly pushed himself from his side to his back, instantly regretting the movement. A pathetic whimper escaped him and he gritted his teeth.

“At least five broken ribs, might even be six,” a voice stated calmly, “New record, even for you.”

Dancer squeezed his eyes shut. His mouth felt parched, his lips were chapped. His only goal in life right now was getting to that faucet. With a mighty heave, he pulled himself to his other side, finally getting a clear view of the leaky tap. A small puddle had accumulated underneath it, tainted by the dirt floor.

“Have you been having seizures again?”

Must be, if I’m hearing you.

“That hip is going to be out of commission for a long while.”

Said hip throbbed in response. Dan reached out, grabbing a handful of dirt, before finding a grip and pulling himself to his chest. Just one step away from getting to his hands and knees, he bit his lip furiously and pushed. Pained flared viciously and his arms strained before shaking so badly that he had to abandon his mission and let himself fall down in the sand again. Breathing hard, he groaned in pain and frustration, waiting for the pain to subside.

“What’s the point?”

“I’m thirsty,” Dan grunted. He didn’t know why he bothered saying it out loud. It wasn’t like Mouse was actually there. He was still sane enough that he could figure that out.

Dan 1 Delirium 0.

“Yet you are talking out loud.”

Dan 0 Delirium 1

He breathed out, entertaining the thought of just giving in and letting himself slip into madness. Because yeah, what was the point?

“They’re just gonna keep beating you. From this day to forever. You’re gonna be stuck here forever. You know it. You’ve always known.”

“Is that why you gave up?”

Mouse’s voice is silent for a few seconds. Dan hears him sigh, “I was done fighting.”

“You left us here. You left me here!”

The anger gets to him in a way it had not done before. It clashes with the hurt and pain and mixes into a great big turmoil of madness. He feels the cold dirt under his palms, smells the wet clay on the walls and realizes that yeah, he is stuck down here forever.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay,” Mouse says softly, “I couldn’t bear the thought of getting punched, kicked and raped anymore, is that so hard to understand?”

Dan winces at the word raped. They never say it out loud. Never even think it out loud. It was just something that happened. You close off your mind once you get into one of those rooms and open it back up once you’re sore but out. Some were better at it than others. Dan was good at it. Pushed away the memories like he pushed away everything else. They hadn’t caught up with him so far.

So why did Mouse have to mention it?

“You were a coward,” Dan growls, once again pushing his hands underneath his body.

“I survived for seven years down here. Seven years without anyone rescuing us. Seven years, Dancer. I had enough.”

“What was all that talk about one day, then?” he grunts as he pushes himself off the ground again.

“I don’t know,” Mouse admits and when Dan looks up he sees him there. For the first time he looks and sees just how young Mouse must have been when he was thrown into the Underground. How much of a mismatch he was to the life down here. Still, he’d managed to survive. Was never interesting enough to be chosen as Fighter. And, after a while, not pretty enough anymore to be a Lover. He survived by being a Mouse, not standing out in the crowd, keeping his head down and doing whatever was expected of him.

And he died bloody.

“I know you’re thinking of rebellion,” Mouse mumbles, sitting down against the dirt wall. Pale and skinny. Two front teeth the only ones left in his mouth. Was there no better ending for Mouse? The eternal pacifist. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“I can’t keep going like this,” Dan grumbles back, his arms are shaking again and it takes every bit of effort to lift himself to his knees.

“Have you forgotten what he said? One more step out of line, and there’s going to be a slaughter north of Seoul.”

Ice shoots through his veins at the reminder, he groans before he falls again. Cursing, he smacks his hands against the sand in frustration. It’s not just the lives of himself and his team members at stake anymore. Now, all of a sudden, it’s everyone he’s ever loved. “Then what am I supposed to do?” he whispers, dejected. It sounds pathetic and hollow. No one can hear him down here. He’s just talking to himself. He’s-

“There’s only one way to escape the Underground,” Mouse says, and Dan does not miss the stern undertone in his voice. “It happens all the time. No one will blame you. They’ll understand. At some point, everything just gets to be too much. There’s no shame in it.”

Dan stares at the water tap. So close. But miles and miles away. He’s parched. His head is pounding along with the rest of his body. He tries to swallow, but it gets stuck halfway down his throat and it feels like he can’t breathe. Realization of what Mouse is talking about slowly enters into the back of his mind as the idea starts to form. “The water will help.”

“Yes,” Mouse nods softly, his eyes calm and reassuring, “If it’s warm enough, it will.”

Dan nods along with him, reaches down to his trousers. He snakes his fingers down into his pockets, wonders briefly, absentmindedly, why there’s even pocket in these trousers. Closes his fingers around the sharp metal object he shoved in there a thousand years ago right before breaking up the fight between Twist and Pinky.

“It won’t hurt,” Mouse promises. “Not more than everything else already does.”

“What will happen to the team?”

“That is no longer up to you.”

That soothes him, weirdly enough. The razor in his hands is rusty and old, but Moon always kept it sharp. It wouldn’t be the first time it was used as a weapon, rather than a tool. Mesmerized, Dan stares at the shiny blade. The little light that filters in from the corridor outside the stone door gives the razor an eerie glint. “They would be safe, those on the Surface,” Dancer whispers. “There would be no reason for those monsters to go after them anymore.”

“It’s okay,” Mouse’s voice is gentle.

Dan breathes, feels his ribs shift against each other and bites his lip until he tastes blood. It’s over. It’s finally over. Agonizingly slowly, he shuffles towards the tap on his knees. The water feels cool and soothing against his blotched, broken skin. He splashes it on his face, drinks what he can until the foul, rancid taste forces him to cough it up again.

At that, he feels the anger surge through his bones again and with a growl he brings the razor down against his wrist.

He blinks, and Mouse is gone. Frustration bubbles up higher and higher. The sting of the blade is a welcome distraction, but it does not bring the devastation he was hoping for. It’s not deep enough. He’s never done this before. Is he supposed to just… keep digging?

“Mouse?” he calls out. Blood starts pouring down over his arm. Water washes it away, but it keeps coming back until there’s a puddle of watery blood down by his knees. “Mouse!”

He keeps calling, desperation lacing the syllable. He can’t just start hacking, can he? “Mouse!”

“Do you remember Dad’s old saxophone that we found in the attic that one summer we were bored out of our minds on the farm?”

It’s not Mouse. The voice of the boy speaking is deeper, smoother. Dan breathes hard, flinging the razorblade away and pulling off his stained, already bloodied shirt before wrapping it around his wrist. Unfazed by Dan’s current, urgent predicament, the voice carries on, “We were so intrigued by it. It was old and dusty. Remember how the copper glint had dulled over the years? Dad said he’d gotten it from an old guy at the farmer’s market when he was young. So even he had gotten it second-handed.”

Dan clenches his teeth as the soft voice mindlessly tells its story. “We asked if we could use it. He gladly gave it to us. High time this thing passes onto a younger generation, is what he said. And we cherished it. We cleaned all the grease and dust from it. From every valve, every cylinder, every tube, until we knew it inside and out.”

“We couldn’t even produce any sound from it.” Dan mumbles, preoccupied by the blood still seeping heavily through his shirt.

“No,” the boy chuckles, “We couldn’t have been more than ten. Hadn’t ever seen a real life saxophone before. But we remembered the sound of it from Grandpa’s old jazz vinyls. How smooth. How melodic.”

Dan doesn’t remember the last time he heard music.

“Do you remember what it sounded like when we learned how to play?”

He shakes his head slowly. He doesn’t remember anything.

“Do you remember how proud he looked when we finally felt confident enough to give him and grandma and grandpa and eomma a living room recital?”

He shakes his head again with a sharp inhale. He doesn’t remember any of it.

“It must have taken at least twenty lessons before that happened. Lessons he paid for with a discount because he promised Mrs Oh to show her some sowing technique that kept her strawberries from getting eaten by birds.”

“He was smart like that.”

“He was,” Taehyung mumbles, “Probably still is.”

“You think he’s still out there?” Dan whispers, unaware of how young he suddenly sounds.

“I know it,” Taehyung nods.

“You think he’s still proud?”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything. When Dan turns around, he sees him there. He sits against the wall with his knees against his chest. A bruise on his brow from where they hit him before throwing him into that godforsaken van. He looks lost here, in the Underground. A boy that definitely didn’t belong. He wraps his arms around his knees and buries the underside of his face against them, “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For everything.”

Dan doesn’t understand what that means. He looks down at his bleeding arm, closes his eyes and thinks he can hear a saxophone playing somewhere in the debts of his memory. Tries to imagine his family’s faces beaming at him with pride. He can’t. Visual memories only last for five years. After that, you forget what something, or someone, looks like.

Bitter, he unwraps his arm. The moment the pressure is lifted from the sliced veins, blood starts pouring again. He stares at it, a feeling of sorrow and calm overwhelming his senses.

Taehyung watches in disdain, a wry grimace on his face as Dan refuses to stop the flow of blood. “You know, it’s a good thing none of them came down here for the rescue. I don’t think they would even recognize you.”

Dan chuckles humorlessly, “Like it matters.”

Taehyung ignores him, “What would they say, you think? If they knew? All the people you’ve gotten killed. All the people you killed yourself?”

“You seem to forget one thing, Tae,” Dan grimaces back at him, “We’re the same person.”

“I am nothing like you!” Taehyung spits.

There it was. Dancer bites his lip as he glares at the boy against the wall. He looks so very young. Wide eyed and unaware of the terrible things he would have to endure down here.

I’m sorry.

For what

For everything

It was all his fault. Taehyung had refused to connect his life to this tragedy that happened down here. Refused to take the responsibility, like he’d always refused to take responsibility for anything. The boy in the baseball cap and faded hoodie had left that night exactly for that reason. If he’d just put up those goddamn birthday decorations when he was supposed to, his life would have turned out very differently. If that godforsaken, irresponsible idiot had taken security with him when he left, or even his goddamn phone, Dan wouldn’t be down here!

For everything!

“You think you can get away by just saying you’re sorry?” Dan spits, suddenly enraged. Taehyung looks up, sharp eyes boring back into Dan’s similar ones. “You fucked off when things got too hard, Taehyung. You fucked off and left me here. And no, I don’t remember any of that stuff about strawberries and saxophones, because I’ve been stuck like a rat down here the whole fucking time!”

“It’s not my fault you’re a fucking killer!”

“Is that what this is about?” Dan yells, hands balling into fists despite the still flowing blood, “You made me, Taehyung. You made me because you couldn’t take it. Everything I did, every fucking decision I made, every goddamn fight, those were your decisions too! Even if you don’t want to see it! All that blood on my hands? It’s on yours too.”

Taehyung shrinks further into the wall behind him, shaking his head, “No.”

“Yes! You just decided one day that your life didn’t belong down here. And you were always great at playing roles. You just made up somebody that could take it. Step into your place. Someone that didn’t care about the blood. Or the broken bones. Or the dead stares from those that fell by his feet. That could deal all those punches, all those stabs. That would be covered in his own blood, as well as that of his opponents. A fucking savage.”

“With no memories,” Taehyung whispers, haunted, “He needed to have no memories. He was born down here. And he would die here. And no one would know he was gone. That by the end, he had taken his own life.”

“And what a life it was!” Dan hisses. The cramped space starts spinning around him as he feels the lightheadedness sneaking in.

Taehyung was good at creating stories. At pretending to be someone else. As a child, he’d often pretended to rescue princesses and slaying dragons while walking to school. Always got in late because of it. Later, he loved to reenact the dramas he watched on television after school. Always got so into it that sometimes… he forgot he was acting. His imagination ran wild, but it were always the happy stories that he loved most. His charm originated from his naivety and childlike demeanor. He refused to grow up, sometimes to the endearment and sometimes to the annoyance from the people around him.

And then he got thrown in here.

And at first, he was in denial. This couldn’t be happening to him. This only happened in the few scary dramas he’d watched and quickly turned off late at night. These monsters weren’t real. Nobody could be like this. It was all just an act, right?

No

These were real people. Creating real horror.

And okay, Taehyung had thought. He’d play along for a few days, do what was asked. Did the laundry, washed the cutlery. And then the police would come and get him out of here. That was how it worked, right?

And he would wrap himself in Jimin’s arms and cry for a week. Probably would need a year of therapy, and then he would continue his happy little big life up on the Surface.

But days became weeks. And washing the laundry and the cutlery became breaking bones and setting bones. And Taehyung couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened. Maybe after a few Ceremonies. Maybe only after his failed rebellion. But he became… someone else. Not a knight rescuing a princess. Not a charming idol up on a world tour stage. He became the Dancer, a new name, another identity. Carefully crafted so that he could sit back and watch from the sidelines. Close his eyes whenever Dancer would freakin’ snap someone’s neck.

Because it weren’t his hands doing that.

Right?

They wouldn’t even recognize you.

Dad had thought it was a scam when Taehyung came home from the internet café that evening to tell him about the phone call from Big Hit Entertainment. Never heard of that company, he’d said, musing. Taehyung had forgotten to mention he’d even done the audition a few weeks prior. Never in a million years had he expected to hear back from them. After figuring out that it wasn’t a scam… well, Taehyung had never seen such a gigantic smile on his father’s face. He’s gonna be an idol, this one! He’d boasted to everyone in their village. Fifteen years old. Son of a farmer. Moving all the way out to Seoul! And Dad had taken him there his first day. He had gotten scammed out of his hard earned money by taking a taxi ride that took forty-five minutes, where it only should have taken five. But nothing could deter him from his good mood that day. He’d delivered Taehyung safe and sound at the dorms that would be his home for the next 18 months. Told him how proud he was over and over. Fighting.

Taehyung didn’t know it back then, but now he recognizes it clearly. Opportunity. Nearly none of the people in his village had ever gotten a chance like this. Dad recognized it for what it was. A chance to become something bigger. Better.

You think he’s still proud?

He tries to imagine his father’s face, smiling and proud as he watches Taehyung Dan break someone’s neck in a stranglehold down in the arena. As he watches a Lover take Taehyung’s Dan’s hand and forcefully pull him into a room with a locked door.

You think he’s still proud?

You think it would be better if he believed you were dead? That the last memory he has of you is smiling up at you as he watches from backstage, together with your mom, scolding your sister for not paying attention because she’s bored. Is that the person you want him to remember? Was that ever really you? Or are you what you have become? Would he blame you? Would any of them blame you if they knew? Jimin knows you are alive.

Jimin knows you are alive

Jimin knows

Has been searching for you all this time.

A flare of something bright flashes through Taehyung at the thought. He doesn’t immediately recognize the feeling, but it makes his heart beat faster and sharpens his vision. The world stops spinning and he tightly wraps his shirt around his wrist again.

It doesn’t matter if he dies here in this hole. Jimin will never stop. There’s a lot you can say about Park Jimin. He doesn’t look very menacing. Some would say one harsh blow of the wind and he’d tumble right over.

But boy is determined.

To a fault

Hadn’t accepted Taehyung’s death for five long years and got rewarded for it by getting Taehyung delivered right to his doorstep. You think a knife to his throat and some growled threats were going to stop him? Think that would scare him off?

Probably only fueled his determination.

Enough to gather up all his little pals and hole up somewhere north of Seoul. The monster had said it tauntingly, like it seemed nothing more than a joke to him. Hardly pose a threat, he said. But he doesn’t know them like Taehyung does. He underestimates the group that had once taken over the world with not more than caffeine, attitude and a strong determination to keep going.

You were someone else once before. Every time you climbed that stage and it seemed too big for a farm boy from the outskirts of Daegu.

Dancer would have to die here. He could never escape the Underground. Would not know how to live up on the Surface. Only existed to survive.

But Taehyung had been someone else before.

He spots the razor glinting in the dirt. Picks it up, shoves it back in his pocket. The fresh blood on his hands is still wet. His fingers glisten with it. He crawls over to the door and reaches up. Draws a single letter on it, staring at it with wonder.

You are thinking of rebellion.

Now would be the perfect time.

Chapter Text

“I think the best thing right now is to take a couple of days to process all this,” Yoongi says, eyes flitting around the spacious living room. Seokjin sits, frozen, as he slowly lets the information sink into his mind. Jimin had done that thing where he shared what they had learnt over the last two days as if it concerned complete strangers. His tone monotonous and strange. Seokjin had felt more and more darkness creep into his voice with every new sentence. Yet none of it had quite managed to land yet.

Others weren’t faring much better. Hoseok had his hands over his face, shaking his head repeatedly. Jungkook was pale as a sheet, tears streaking down his cheeks and his expression hollow. Namjoon was muttering to himself, hands balled into fists, shaking on his knees.

Seokjin focuses back on Yoongi when he clears his throat, “I’ve asked Minhyung to come down to Seoul to meet at a public spot. We can discuss proceedings there.”

“Proceedings?” squeaks Hoseok.

“Yeah, we need to determine what the next step is going to be.”

Seokjin stares a Yoongi for a long moment. The second oldest has clearly already made up his mind about all of this. He’s in it all the way, damn the consequences.

the consequences

“Don’t mind me asking,” Seokjin speaks up, wincing at the crack in his voice, “what are the chances that these people already know we are here?”

“Don’t worry about that for now,” Yoongi dismisses him.

Don’t worry about that

Don’t worry?

“That’s easy for you to say when you don’t have a family to protect!” Seokjin flares.

Yoongi turns and stares at him, first in disbelief, then that quickly switches to anger, “I have a family!” he says, voice echoing around the room, “It’s this one!” he growls, as he gestures to the others, “The one you abandoned!”

“You are ignoring my question, Yoongi-ah,” Seokjin shouts as he stands, voice matching Yoongi’s intensity with ease, “What are the chances?”

“That’s our brother out there, hyung!” Yoongi retorts, also standing up. He’s smaller than Seokjin, but makes up for that with the burning fury in his gaze, “He deserves for us to at least try!”

“That was before I knew the fucking mafia was on our ass!”

“You thought dealing with a cult would have been easier?”

“I don’t know!”

“Guys, for fuck’s sake!” Namjoon rises, hands raised in a placating manner that Seokjin remembers from years and years ago. “Yoongi-hyung is right, we probably need a couple of days to process all this. Let’s not go completely paranoid yet. Alright?”

Namjoon’s logic reasoning wins again and Seokjin feels the tension from his shoulders fade almost automatically. He sees Yoongi clench his jaw, but the shorter steps away and nods.

With that, the conversation ends. They mumble a few short goodbyes as they get up. Seokjin stands by the living room door as he watches them get their coats.

“Jimin-ahjussi! You want more cookies?” Yuhna shouts as she comes running into the hallway. She and her mother had made a gigantic plate of raspberry cookies when they learnt they were going to have company over. The house had smelled like butter and raspberries the entire day. Only Namjoon and Jungkook had taken any.

Jimin gives her a stiff smile for her sake, then shakes his head, “No thank you, Yuhna-ssi.”

He doesn’t pick her up like he normally does when he sees her. He doesn’t swirl her around until she giggles. Just nods at her before heading up the stairs to his room. It sure has its effect on Yuhna. Seokjin watches her face fall into a confused pout. She looks as Jimin disappears through his door, followed by Jungkook. Then, she turns her questioning eyes to her father, “Jimin-ahjussi is sad,” she says.

From the moment they met, Jimin and Yuhna have made a great pair. She had been drawn to him immediately. And because Yuhna is very perceptible for a three and a half year old, she knows exactly when something is wrong.

“It sure seems that way,” Seokjin nods at her.

“Maybe needs more bandaids?” Yuhna concludes.

“I don’t think you can fix Jimin’s sad with any more bandaids, sweetheart.”

Yuhna quickly dismisses this ridiculous statement as she runs off, presumably in search of more Hello Kitty bandaids. Seokjin sighs, turning towards his leaving guests, who are muttering amongst themselves in the large hallway. Hoseok opens the door, shouts a goodbye before walking towards his car in the driveway. Namjoon gets into the passenger seat and Yoongi also prepares to leave before Seokjin clears his throat.

“Yah, Yoongi-ah!”

Yoongi looks up, then first locks eyes with Hoseok. Hoseok nods and then Yoongi chews his lip before trudging back to the house. Seokjin steps outside, hesitating as he descends two of the three steps that lead to the front door. Yoongi meets him halfway.

“I’m sorry,” Seokjin mutters.

Yoongi looks at him, then nods, “Me too. I didn’t mean what I said. I was just angry.”

“You were right though, we are family. Or, we used to be. I’ve been an absent asshole for so long, I-”

“You really think this is the best time to talk about it?” Yoongi mumbles, looking around the house. “Look, I know I always made it seem like it was your fault. I’m sorry for that. I know this group would have fallen apart regardless of whether you left or not. There was just too much shit we had to deal with.”

“Still, I think we should talk about it at some point,” Seokjin replies, “If we’re gonna be a family again, we should try to fix what we have broken.”

“I don’t think doing one reckless rescue mission together is going to fix all those cracks that have formed over the years, hyung. But yeah, trying is a good start.”

Seokjin nods and with a hug, a few claps on the back and a firm see you later, Yoongi disappears into Hoseok’s car and they disappear into the night. A shuddering breath escapes him and he feels dead tired all of a sudden. There’s laughter coming from inside the house behind him. He recognizes Soomi’s voice in it. He bites his lip as he stands frozen on the step, tears forming in his eyes. He wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t left five years ago. If he hadn’t abandoned them all in a fit of rage and frustration. He’d turned his back on Seoul without a second thought. Turned his back on his group, the industry-

-on Taehyung

It was somehow easier to live with when Taehyung was presumed dead. Now that Seokjin learnt Taehyung was most likely still alive, his actions from five years ago became a lot harder to justify for himself. And now that he learnt what Taehyung was likely going through, it became damn near impossible.

How is he supposed to reconcile all that he had gained, the happy family that he had built, with the mess he had left behind?

He stumbles back into the house, feeling hollow and haunted as he moves through the hallway, into the kitchen. He takes a cookie from the plate. It’s delicious. He knows it’s delicious, but can’t push himself to take more than one bite. His stomach also feels hollow and haunted.

In contrast, Soomi is smiling brightly as she floats into the kitchen, also snatching a cookie from the plate before putting it nearly whole in her mouth. “Why, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, Jin-ah, what’s going on?” She asks with smiling eyes, chewing fervently.

Seokjin turns his head to her with a solemn expression, “I think I’m gonna go and drown myself in the backyard pond.”

“Woah, what?” Soomi chuckles with a confused frown. “Are you okay?”

The smile on his face feels foreign. He feels as lost and forlorn as he did that day he showed up on Soomi’s doorstep, completely in disarray. He doesn’t know what made her take him in and take care of him the way she did. He wasn’t giving her anything in return. Maybe she’d just felt sorry for him. What else could convince her to fall in love with an old fling from twelve years ago.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles.

“Sweetie, what’s going on?” Soomi’s playful expression turns a lot more serious as she places a hand on his shoulder.

“I just-” Seokjin starts, then swallows, “I just don’t want to imagine what I would do if anything happened to you or Yunha.”

Soomi knew what happened five years ago. She knew Taehyung had disappeared without a trace. She didn’t know much about everything that happened after. Or before. With her, Seokjin had started a new life. And he had been very careful not to let it intertwine with his old one. When he was with Soomi, it was almost like all of his old life hadn’t happened. He met the guys once or twice a year, sharing liquor and superficial stories. He forced money into Jungkook’s bank account to make sure the youngest at least had the means to take care of himself. And in all the time he didn’t spend with his past, he buried himself in work and Soomi and later Yunha. They were his present, and his future. And the past was behind him. And never the twain shall meet.

Until now.

“We’re fine, Seokjin-ah,” Soomi reassures him, her hands kneading his shoulders. “What’s gotten you so out of sorts?”

“Nothing, it’s-” Seokjin sighs, “It’s nothing.”

“If it’s Jimin and Jungkook staying over here-”

“I thought you were okay with them staying over?”

“I am!” Soomi says, her hands sliding down his arms before disappearing, “They’re wonderful. They can stay here as long as they need. But Jungkook’s holed up in his room all day and Jimin seems very anxious about one thing or another. So there must be something going on.”

“You notice everything, don’t you, Noona?”

“You bet,” she smiles, “Come on, we can talk about it at the table.” She took the plate of cookies and placed it on the table cloth, pointing Seokjin to his usual spot. He loved it when she took charge. She was gentle, but confident, and always seemed to know how to handle things.

“Yunha asleep?” Seokjin asks, stalling.

Soomi humors him with a smirk, “Out like a light. It’s always easier to get her to sleep when the days are getting warmer and she’s outside all day.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin drawls, studying his hands. What would he ever do without Soomi or Yunha? “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She nods patiently, taking his hands in hers as they both sit down across from each other. “I figured.”

“You know how we were a group, right? The seven of us?”

“I’d have been living under a rock not to know,” Soomi replies.

“Right,” Seokjin nods, “Well, it was more like a family. We were really close. We lived together for quite a few years. I think we saw each other day and night 360 days of year. When you work and live together so intensely, I don’t know… you get kinda… co-dependent on one another, I guess. I always felt responsible for the younger ones. Swore to myself I would protect them. Namjoonie, Hobi and Yoongi, they could take care of themselves. But Jimin, Taehyungie and Jungkook, those were the bumbling, carefree idiots of our pack.”

Soomi chuckles, squeezing his hands in a quiet sign to continue.

“They were so young when we started. I mean, we were all pretty young, but they were the ones that were still underage. They got blown into a world that demanded bigger and better things from us every single day. I guess they needed to blow off some steam once in a while. It was mostly Jimin and Taehyung who would sneak out at night. Sometimes they dragged Jungkookie with them. God, I used to get so mad at them when they came home.”

“You stayed up for them?”

“Course I did. They were seventeen. They were living together with us and we were barely a few years older. Do you know how godawful early we need to get up in the morning? I used to yell at them. They were so irresponsible. We’d have a photo shoot or a rehearsal the next day and they’d be dead on their feet. That’s what I was concerned about most. How it would look. And yeah, I knew we only ever got a few hours to ourselves, that they wanted to use those ours to explore the city life they were so new to. But we had a job to do.”

“I understand,” Soomi says softly.

Seokjin scoffs, “I wish they did, back then. But as years went by, they got a little more mature. They still snuck out from time to time, but I guess they figured out how to hide their tiredness better. It never seemed to affect our performance anymore. Then suddenly it’s 2019 and we’re finishing the biggest world tour we ever done. Tensions were high and we got almost no time to prepare anything for Hoseok’s birthday. And Namjoon and Taehyung fought because Tae forgot to put up the decorations Namjoon bought and so he went out, pissed, to put them up anyway, and-”

“That’s the night he disappeared.”

“Yeah. And I stayed up. Just like all those years before. And I waited. And waited. I was getting more and more pissed off, because it would have been just like Taehyung to just all of a sudden decide to meet up with a friend to go out and stay over and not letting us know because he forgot his damn phone. I don’t know what made me get out of the dorms, go downstairs in the dead of night, and roam the streets of Seoul in my goddamn pajamas. I went to the dance studio where we would have Hoseok’s birthday party the next day and it was perfectly decorated.”

“And Taehyung wasn’t there.”

“Not a sign of him. It must have taken him over an hour to put them up. Too late to meet up with friends and go clubbing. And so I went back the same way I knew he must have gone too. Several times I did that. I called managers and bodyguards and they walked with me. Over and over. Like Taehyung would just appear one time or another. And a part of me already knew something terrible had happened. It was telling the other part of me that was in denial and thought Taehyung was just being an irresponsible bell-end. Even later, much later, we finally called the police.”

“You must have been terrified.”

“More confused, I think. I didn’t know what happened. None of us did. One moment we were gearing up for a birthday party on our day off, only to dive head first into recording again the day after that. The next moment, our lives were forever changed. And we didn’t know why. And we couldn’t deal with that. The most horrible thing was that I kept thinking that Taehyung would just show up all of a sudden. He’d apologize for what he did and then we would continue our merry ways.”

“If only.”

“If only,” Seokjin shakes his head, biting his lip, “we ended up in this storm of media attention. They were demanding answers and we didn’t have any. Anytime we were out in public, I’d look out for him. As if he’d appear in a corner somewhere and I could point to him and tell everyone, there he is! But the days went on and on and slowly but surely that thought became more and more unrealistic. And then the police told us that they’d found his blood on the way from the dorms to the studio and I remember thinking I had walked that way over and over and over that night. And I had found nothing. If I had, maybe they would have still been able to pick up a trail, maybe-”

“Don’t blame yourself, Seokjin-ah,” Soomi murmurs softly, her thumb caressing his.

“I thought he was dead,” Seokjin continues, “they told us to assume the worst. And I did. He was dead to me. I went to the funeral, mourned my loss and fled the scene. I had a giant shouting match with my members a few days after and then I left.”

“What did you fight about?”

“Everything I guess,” Seokjin mutters, studying their intertwined hands, “None of us were exactly dealing with what happened. We had broken apart at the seams, it was no use continuing as a group. Not if we never be seven again. It just- it just hurt too much, I think. So I was a coward and I ran away.”

“And then you came here,” Soomi finishes.

“Yeah,” Seokjin sighs, “I don’t deserve you, or Yunha.”

“You didn’t deserve what happened either. None of you did.”

“But it happened,” Seokjin whispers, voice breaking, “And I failed as a hyung, as a protector. I couldn’t find him then, how am I ever supposed to find him now?”

Soomi frowns, sitting back as she detaches her hands, “Now?”

“Right,” Seokjin mumbles, “He’s- he’s alive.”

“Who?”

“Taehyungie.”

“How did you find out?”

And Seokjin tells her everything. Jimin’s lead in Daegu. The security footage. Taehyung breaking in. Minhyung’s investigation. Soomi’s eyes grow wider and wider as his story continues. When he’s finished, he looks at her, waiting for her to take the lead.

And she does, “This sounds dangerous,” she states, slowly getting up and walking around to grab his arm, “I’m gonna send Yunha to my Mom tomorrow.”

“And then?”

“Then we’re gonna figure it out.”

Chapter Text

It’s like falling asleep, he thinks. Like the steady drip drip drip drip of the water that tries to keep him awake, instead lulls him into a state of calm.

Maybe this is it.

A thought he’s had countless times in the past five years. Every time he entered the arena. Every time Dan would take over. Every time a client was a little too rough he thought they might break him. There were times he was afraid of it. Times he would have welcomed it.

He’s not so sure now.

He sees the bright red V on the door. Morbid and bold. A reminder. He grins at it, hysterical. He didn’t find him. He’s not a singer. Not a Dancer either. All that’s left now is a poor farm boy lying in the dirt. His body is on fire, but he can barely feel anything. The feverish delirium takes him under bit by bit. His infected arm twitches in a last effort to alarm him, but then that dulls too.

The darkness encroaches. Like an old friend. Soothing and familiar. And Taehyung’s missed him. So, so much. Can feel the warmth, the calm and longs for it with all of his being. Come, the dark friend whispers, come it’s alright.

And it is.

A bright certainty, clearer than anything, a sharp sting in his fever riddled brain.

It’s alright

Who are you? He doesn’t know if he says it out loud. Maybe only thinks it. But it doesn’t matter. It understands. It inhales with a sob before enveloping him fully. Warm and soft and good. Oh my sweet, sweet Taehyungie.

And Taehyung wants to reply. Tell it not to worry, tell it he’s found peace. Here at the very end. But every breath is a struggle. Every blink is a fight. And he’s fought enough, hasn’t he? He doesn’t know how long he’s been in this hole, but it’s not like it would get any better from here on out, right? How would that even be possible? It’ll just be more of the same.

Bright and red. Morbid and bold

A reminder

He gasps, fingers feebly grasping at the dirt beneath him. Darkness moves over him, into him and he’s not in the hole anymore. A dimly lit hallway. Cozy, he would have described it as. If he had stopped to think about it, that is. If Dan’s mind hadn’t been so preoccupied by the mission at hand. His feet move automatically, no time to stop and stare at the tasteful paintings lining the walls. Once upon a time he might have done that. Once upon a time he would have paused and marveled at every piece of art along his way. Until a manager or a band member would have tugged him along and told him to focus. Taehyung had never been good at focusing on anything, really.

He’d had V for that.

Where are you, he asks and it is loud enough to echo through the hallway. The wooden floor looks pristine. Upperclass apartments behind every single door. Nothing bad ever happens here. He looks down to see the glint of the knife in his hand. He came with a mission. He knows how it ends. A warning. A little bit of blood. And then tearing himself away before his heart can break. Darkness hums softly behind him, following every foot forward. It gently moves him along, lets him play out the scenario exactly like it happened.

The code to the apartment is more than obvious. He remembers rolling his eyes as the display blinks to green immediately. Startles at the thunder. Hasn’t heard thunder, or felt rain or wind in five years. Had there been rain that night? He looks behind him, at the darkness. It stays silent. He swallows.

The door unlocks as he turns the knob. It clicks softly before swinging open. The apartment is beyond messy. Paper cups and sheets are scattered around the floor, the countertops, the windowsill, everywhere. The smell of coffee is strong and he remembers all the candy wrappers haphazardly thrown in the trash can. Dan didn’t stop to think about it. Only hears the monsters’ words echoing over and over again in his mind. In and out. No funny tricks.

They have a hold over him that goes beyond physical threat. But Taehyung’s just along for the ride. And so he sees, and he smells and he hears. It’s like stepping into a chapter of his past. Warped, because it never was, but everything about this apartment revolves around his old life still. All the stupid knick knacks, funny gifts and wacky pictures. Dan doesn’t remember any of it. Doesn’t pause at the nostalgia. The yearning. But Taehyung does. His chest clenches.

Who are you, he whispers. Quiet. But Darkness hears.

I love you, it says back.

Taehyung takes a deep breath, watches the Darkness twist and contort until it all culminates into one thing.

Jimin-ah

Jimin’s silhouette is sharp against the moonlit window. Taehyung cries. Knows what will happen. Wraps his arms around Jimin’s back at the same time Dan puts a knife to his throat. It’s not me, Taehyung wants to say, but he can only gasp. Feels the anger flare from Dan as Jimin struggles in his grip, not cooperating. Stay still, don’t you know how important this is, you need to goddamn listen to me-

I knew you’d come back to me

And he would like to apologize. Drop the knife and then fall to his knees. Jimin would turn around and hug him and the emotions would be unbelievable. He’d stay there for the rest of his life. Jimin had the best embrace and the wisest words. He knew how to calm him down. He knew how to get him out of his head. He needed that more than ever. If he’d only given him the chance.

Here’s your chance, Darkness whispers. You could stay here.

It’s hard to believe. But Taehyung doesn’t think twice. Crashes to his knees as the knife falls to the floor. Can’t feel his legs as his knees dig into the soft carpet. And Jimin, sweet, innocent Jimin, crashes down with him. Hugs him and cries. Cries like Taehyung has never seen him cry before. Urgent and raw, but so, so relieved.

Yes

Yes, that’s how it should end.

Taehyung’s tired. So very very tired. He tells Jimin this. Jimin just cries harder. Hugs Taehyung tightly, who’s gone awfully limp. Jimin shakes his head, over and over and over. His fingers dig into Taehyung’s back, like he’s somehow trying to keep him here. Like there’s something that he knows. Something Taehyung hasn’t quite grasped the reality of. He’s cold, even in Jimin’s arms. He can’t feel his legs. Every breath is a struggle. Every blink a fight.

I can’t fight anymore.

There’s a deep sadness in the Darkness. It knows exactly how he feels. It moves over him and into him. The apartment dims slowly. Jimin’s arms feel lighter and lighter but never quite disappear.

Do you ever feel like, I dunno, we’re connected, somehow? He’d said it quietly, but quickly, like he was embarrassed of its implications. Jimin stared at him for a reaction, ducking his head when Taehyung took a second to reply. Bemused, Taehyung had turned to him. He remembered the grass tickling his bare underarms as they lay on that small strip close by the river. Much too late at night. With no one knowing where they were.

Connected how? He’d asked and had watches Jimin turn bright pink in the stark street light.

You know what, never mind, he’d groaned, it’s so stupid.

Well, we’re soul mates, though, aren’t we?

And Jimin had turned back at him, eyes wide and wondrous and prettier than anything Taehyung had ever known. You really think so?

And Taehyung was bold and confident back then. Impulsive, perhaps even. Had jumped up, twirled around and spread his arms. We’re soul mates! He’d shouted at the river, carefree and so in love. And Jimin had joined him soon after, shouting just as loudly. Because they were soul mates. Wherever Jimin went, Taehyung would go. Whatever their paths chose for them, they would stick together. Nothing could come between them. They were inseparable.

Connected.

Maybe that’s what he meant.

Darkness smiles softly, weeps as Taehyung sinks deeper. Or maybe he’s not sinking. Maybe he floats. Flies. Up and up and up. Through the hole, the barracks, the arena, right through the exit. Up to the Surface. Up to Daegu, right back to Seoul, and further still.

I love you

Jimin squeezes him, keeps him there with all his might. Sobs and snots, tears staining his cheeks and his chin. He’s more beautiful than anything Taehyung’s ever known. But his gaze drifts off, wanders aimlessly until it focuses on the picture on Jimin’s bookshelf. It had been there. It’s not a figment of his fading mind. Dan had looked at it once, shocked for a half second before disregarding it.

Simple really

A rehearsal

Taehyung in a silly, exaggerated dance pose and Jimin doubled over in laughter beside him. A single moment in time. Now prominently displayed on a Seoul apartment bookshelf.

And not a single speck of dust on it.

Taehyung holds onto it. It takes all the energy he has left. But he doesn’t let it fade. Jimin whispers all kinds of promises. How he can stay here. How they will protect him. How he never has to go back ever again. They’ll call the police, they’ll know what to do. You’ll be safe

Safe

Safe

All of these things must have crossed Dan’s mind too, but the overpowering fear was stronger. Enough to cut into Jimin’s throat and leave him there. Go back to where he came from, dragging Taehyung with him, kicking and screaming.

Don’t go, please don’t go.

I am so scared

I don’t want to go

Hold me

I can’t feel my legs

I want to go home

I knew you would come back to-

“Dan? Dan-hyung? Come on, we need to see how bad you’re hurt. Can you hear me?”

“Jimin-ah…”

“What? No, we need to- do we have any needles left? Dan? Dancer-hyung?”

The shouting hurts. Jimin vanishes into thin air. There’s a whirlwind of commotion. Screaming and whispering. Murmurs and questions. Everything hurts. He yells when they pick him up and move him. His back meets the cheap mattress of the infirmary bed, but it’s an actual bed.

“God, they put him in isolation like this? That’s a new level.”

“Shut up, Pinky, you’re not helping!”

Taehyung yelps and twitches with every touch, every slight movement. He’s in so much pain. But he’s so alive. Like every nerve had decided to join this hellish party and now their ends were slowly burning up.

Well, everything was burning up, really.

“Go find painkillers, now! What do we have? Morphine? We have morphine? How did we get- Fucking fantastic. No, I don’t know how much he needs. Even a little is better than this, right?”

“Hyung? Hyung, listen to me! We’re gonna help you, alright? We just gotta assess the damage. You know the drill by now. It’s gonna hurt like a bitc- ah, morphine. This’ll take the edge off, don’t worry.”

Liquid relief floods through him, starting from where Moon urgently jabs the needle into Taehyung’s arm and spreading through every last inch of his body. There’s a dull reminder that keeps stubbornly pulsing through his core, but the worst is over. Moon keeps talking to him, but it’s getting harder to concentrate. “-thought for sure you were dead this time, hyung. Hopper kept saying how you don’t come back once you’ve taken down a guard. Let alone two. Goddamn, here he is. You’re like a cockroach. No offense. But we had already kinda given up on you. Pinky held a speech and everything.”

“-wouldn’t call it a spee-”

“I would have too, but couldn’t really think of anything, you know. Not that you’re unremarkable, but, you know, once you get put on the spot, it’s- ah, those ribs have seen better days for sure. Does this hurt? –uh huh, guess it does. Holy shit, man, you’re like blue and purple and brown and yellow and green all over. Let me guess, you had no food or painkillers even once down there, right? Fucking animals. And they call us rats. Damn, that must have sucked. Isolation is the worst they can do. Well, next to torture, I guess. Although, thinking about it, I don’t know what I’d rather choose. Hell, you’re burning up, hyung. But I can’t find the source of the infec- oh.”

The waterfall of words stops suddenly as Moon quickly lets go of Taehyung’s wrist.

“Oh…” he mumbles again. Recognizes the slashes. The once bright red, bleeding cuts turned dark and purple and oozed a smelly, sickly looking liquid now instead. “Oh, fuck.”

Taehyung’s drifting too far away to reply. To explain. But he doesn’t need to. He sees it in the drop of Moon’s shoulders. In the small moment of grief that passes over his face. Sees him steel himself for this reality. That isolation might have gotten to Dan more than he would have believed. Or maybe it was everything before that. Maybe it’s a number of things. Maybe it’s everything.

Taehyung looks at him, tired and unapologetic. Knows that this will not stay between the two of them. Others will care for him. Others will see. It’s scars he’ll carry for the rest of his life. Along with all the others. An impressive tally, really. In an overview, they’d seem unremarkable. Just a few in so many. Moon looks back at him, mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” he says, wrapping a fresh roll of gauze over the stinking wounds, “sleep, hyung. We got you.”

Chapter Text

And that is how Choi Soomi, Kim Seokjin and an older fellow named Kang Minhyung, ended up on his couch. If Choi Soohyun had known they were coming over, he would have tidied up the place. But lo and behold, the bell rang and there they were. From the corner of his eye, Soohyun spots the leftovers from last night’s takeout and flashes another shade of pink in embarrassment.

Once upon a time, he and Kim Seokjin had been on the very same level. Both had enrolled in college with vague dreams of theater and films, dramas and variety shows, but had more motivation for video games, really. Both the same age, it hadn’t been long before they’d started hanging out, spending their time playing said video games and commenting on the girls enrolled in their year. This is how Soohyun had introduced Seokjin to his cousin, Soomi, who was a year older than the two of them and studying second year economics. They’d went on a couple of dates, then decided they were probably better off as friends. Soomi was already very mature for her age and Seokjin… decidedly wasn’t.

Soohyun made fun of him when Seokjin first told him about being chased out of his bus by a Big Hit Entertainment scout. About thinking it was a joke until realizing the girl was relentless in following him and giving him a calling card. They had obsessed over the card for two days until showing Soomi. She’d said it was as nice of an opportunity as any and why not try?

And that’s where Choi Soohyun’s and Kim Seokjin’s lives had diverted into very different paths. Now, anytime they met, Soohyun perceived this kind of superiority from Seokjin he was sure was all just in his head. But it was Seokjin, together with Soomi, that had bailed him out of trouble in the past half decade. Where Seokjin’s career had soared higher and higher into unimaginable heights, Soohyun’s had pretty much immediately taken a nosedive right after finishing college. He’d learnt fast and hard that being a graduated actor was a very different thing from being a successful actor.   

The first thing that comes to mind when his three guests take their seats in his small living room, is that this must be an intervention. Soohyun sees it in their restless hands and nervous faces. They’ve got something to say, but let Soohyun stall for time by getting up and going to the kitchen to make coffee. He pulls some cookies from his cupboards that must have been there close to a million years and returns with a vague smile and three steaming mugs. The coffee’s too strong, Soohyun can tell by the strained face Soomi pulls. Seokjin, however, doesn’t move a muscle as he pours the steaming hot mug of coffee down his throat all at once. Soohyun blinks at him.

They exchange pleasantries for a bit.

“How’s life?”

“Steady. How’s work?”

“Good. How’s Yunha?”

“Growing like a cabbage.”

“Ah, how old is she now? Like, two?”

“Almost four.”

“Jeez, where does the time go?”

There’s an underlying tension from both sides. Soohyun guesses it probably has to do with the broody, greying man in the armchair by the door. He watches their meaningless conversation unfold and doesn’t say a word. Seokjin, who’s usually really good at dissolving tension by cracking a joke or two, has been looking awfully serious as well. Very out of character. Soohyun tries to wreck his brain, but can’t come up with a reason why he should need an intervention. He’s been clean for over a year now. Sworn off the drugs, the booze and the crime. Paid off half of his debt already as well. Got a steady job at the university as an acting coach. So what in the world…

“We need your help.”

Soohyun focuses back on Seokjin immediately. It seems like his slightly younger friend had been chewing on this sentence for a while now, partially relieved that it has left his mouth in a hurry, partially terrified.

“Sure. With what?”

And so it begins. The old man in the corner comes to life, telling a story about an underground, illegal fighting ring down in Daegu. Run by an organized crime family of four brothers. Shady people, doing very, very shady stuff. They pull innocent victims off the streets, force them to live underground somewhere and fight against each other for other’s entertainment. Big money in bets and prostitution. The longer Minhyung keeps talking the bigger the knot in Soohyun’s stomach becomes. He’s somewhat familiar with organized crime. Has come across their workings and even the slightest encounter had made him want to run very far away.

“I’m sorry,” Soohyun interjects at some point, thoroughly confused, “What does all of this have to do with me?”

“Nothing,” Minhyung huffs, “Not yet.”

“We need your help,” Soomi repeats.

Soohyun nods slowly, trying to understand. This is a very strange intervention. He makes eye contact with Seokjin, who seems to have trouble maintaining it. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Outside?”

Seokjin bites his lip, looks at Soomi first for confirmation and after she shrugs and nods, he exhales slowly, getting to his feet. Soohyun pulls him into the kitchen, then out of the back door, closing it softly behind them. “What’s going on, man?”

“We were just about to-”

“I thought y’all were out here trying to do an intervention!”

“What? No, we’re… should we?”

“No!” Soohyun rakes a frustrated hand through his short hair, “What’s with the creepy story? Who’s that guy?”

“Soohyun-”

“What do you have to do with this? Why are you he-”

“Soo-ah-”

“Haven’t really talked to you in about a year. What gives?”

“I-”

“Why are you here, Seokjin?”

“Taehyung’s down there!”

“I-” this shuts Soohyun up effectively. Ever since Seokjin married into his family, the roles of their dynamic were clearly defined. Soohyun, the troubled soul, and Seokjin, the savior. Soohyun could pretend all he wanted, but it had been Seokjin that had paid off the mafia when Soohyun had been in way over his head. Seokjin always insisted that he didn’t need the money back, but Soohyun had his pride. Now that he had an honest job, he’d been steadily paying his friend back every month. But never, in a million years, had he ever expected Seokjin to need his help with anything. He knew his friend had gone through tragedy right before he married Soomi. But Seokjin never talked about it. It was like those six years in showbiz had never happened to him. Like he’d just finished college alongside Soohyun, then married the girl of his dreams and took up a dull office job in finance. “Kim Taehyung?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought Kim Taehyung was dead.”

Seokjin flinches. Bites his lip again. It’s getting red. “Look, I don’t really know what happened to him. But there’s enough evidence to suggest he’s down there in that shit show Minhyung-ssi just described. And I need to-”

“Save him?”

The desperation on Seokjin’s face is genuine. He’s still in that role of savior, but it’s not Soohyun he needs to save this time around. “I’ve only found out a couple weeks ago. I can’t sit back and do nothing. It’s eating me alive. It’s eating all of us alive.”

“All of us? You mean the band?”

“Yeah, we’ve been trying to- Well, I don’t even really know exactly what we’ve been trying to do. But we gotta do something, you know?”

“Then what do you need me for?” Soohyun asks, getting more and more confused as seconds tick by. Seokjin looks at the door longingly, probably silently asking Soomi for back-up.

“Look, I can’t do it myself,” he mumbles quietly, barely looking at Soohyun, “They know who I am. They know my connection to Taehyung.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re an actor,” Seokjin rushes, grabbing Soohyun’s upper arm, “I couldn’t think of anyone better. You’d be perfect for the job.”

“What job?!” Soohyun exclaims, aware the two people still inside can probably hear them perfectly. “You’re freaking me out, man.”

“We need someone to kinda go… undercover.”

“What?!” Soohyun didn’t know his voice could go to such a high pitch.

“Not as a prisoner, obviously,” Seokjin says quickly, hands raised pleadingly, “As a customer.”

“You want me to- no!”

“Soo-”

“Do you know how much it has cost me to get out of that world? I mean, you’re the one that bought me out, of course you know!”

“I was just-”

“You think that didn’t mean anything? No one in their right mind would ever get themselves involved in that shit. Whatever Taehyung’s done to-”

“Taehyung is a victim!” Seokjin replies heatedly, taking a step closer, “The only thing he’s done wrong is going out alone at night. He didn’t ask for any of this!”

There’s a lot left unsaid as Seokjin stares him down. Soohyun thinks of all the threats, all the blackmail, all the desperation and feels like he can’t breathe. The blackest period of his life, and now here’s Kim Seokjin, the one that fished him out, just to throw him right back in. “I can’t go back there, Jin-ah, I can’t.”

Defeat and disappointment battle for dominance on Seokjin’s face, then he quickly masks it with understanding. He nods, once to himself, once more for Soohyun. “I understand it’s a lot to ask,” he sighs, “I’m an idiot. You can’t just barge into a friend’s house and ask them to risk their life for you.”

Soohyun scoffs, “Seems like we’re only friends when one of us is in trouble,” he mumbles, watching Seokjin look away in shame, “Although, I guess that is the best time to have a friend.”

“Will you think about it?” Seokjin asks quietly. Soohyun looks at him. It’s not how he knows him. Ever since Kim Seokjin came back into his life, Soohyun has known him to be prideful and morally superior to anyone else. Always on such a goddamn high horse, that it must have taken a really big turn of events to drag him down to ground level. If he could, Seokjin would just buy Taehyung out of the mess he’s in, like he’d done with Soohyun. No matter if it’d cost all the money he’s got. But apparently, this isn’t something you can fix with a bag of money.

Soohyun takes a deep breath, eyes overseeing his ill-tended backyard. He’s got a steady life now. Has a house, a backyard, a job. It’s quite possibly all thanks to the dude standing before him. “Couldn’t think of anyone better, huh?”

Seokjin looks up, a glint of hope in his gaze, “Well, you were definitely in the top three actors of our year.”

Soohyun smiles. Memories of a determined, but panicked Seokjin awkwardly throwing a duffle bag full of cash on the ground, next to a beaten up Soohyun. His words, swift and icy, so full of anger, it was hard to hear the fear between the syllables. Hanseong and his men, calm but curious. Slowly picking up the bag. Weighing it mockingly. If they knew Seokjin’s face, they didn’t mention it. Where’d he gotten this kind of money from? Was there more where this came from?

Seokjin risked his life for Soohyun once. Hanseong could’ve latched onto him and never let go. Might’ve. Soohyun doesn’t know how Seokjin got rid of him exactly. Never asked. There’s so many things he’s never bothered to ask. That period of his life is a black page, smudged with hazy memories of drugs and paranoia. The thought of going back overwhelms him with fear.

But he’s gotta.

“What is your plan?”

Chapter Text

Moon lets out a weary, deep sigh as he collapses down on his bunk. The barracks are a mess. If the guards see the state their living quarters are in right now, quite a few of them are going to get beat and can join Dancer down in the infirmary. But Moon has spent the last few days training two new recruits and they have certainly not been helpful so far.

The problem, Moon thinks, is that they have a serious shortage of experienced team members right now. With Dancer out of commission for quite a while longer, it’s just Moon, Pinky and maybe Runner that could steer this ship. The tension in their team is palpable, has been ever since Twist stood up to their leader and has worsened when Dan was tasered and dragged out of the arena. The next Initiation Night is only two days away and the new recruits are nowhere near ready. In a few days, the infirmary is going to be a lot more busy.

Reluctantly, Moon turns his head to the bunk next to him. Twist is buried in one of the old books that have passed through what must be hundreds of different hands at this point. It’s one of the few that is still mostly intact. A true treasure. Moon has never been one for reading, but he’ll take any distraction during the rare moments that there are no chores, fights, or dying team mates to take care of. “What part are you at?”

“The eclipse,” Twist mumbles, not taking his eyes off of the page.

“Ah yes,” Moon sighs, “Poor Laura. First time I read it, I didn’t see it coming.”

“No spoilers, man.”

“Sorry,” Moon snickers. He must have read the book at least twenty times in the four and a half years he’s been in the Underground. It wasn’t very good. Pretty contrived at some points, if he had to leave an honest review. At least it was thick. Kept you busy for a few days.

Twist lets the book fall against his sorry excuse for a pillow and props himself up on his elbows. He winces from the bruises on his back and shoulders. With their good fighters all out of commission, it’s the unlikely team mates that get chosen for combat. Twist has only a couple of fights under his belt. None of which he has won. He gets chosen whenever a champion or favorite needs a quick warm up. The brutal and the spectacle are saved for the bigger fights, but Twist gets beat up nonetheless.  

“Runner’s got a lighter,” he mutters.

“Yeah, I know,” Moon replies.

“He got it from a Lover,” Twist emphasizes.

“I know.”

“Isn’t there something we can do with that?”

Moon exhales, refusing to look back at the younger boy. He used to be like Twist. Trying to see an escape plan in everything. Dancer and he schemed until late in the night, careful of prying ears or eyes. It wasn’t until Dancer decided to take matters into his own hands and go through with one of their plans that seemed particularly plausible. The massacre that followed serves as an exemplary cautionary tale of why escaping the Underground is a very bad idea. It’s almost like overthrowing a government. The only ones that suffer are the ones on the bottom.

Trapped forever.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get rid of the thoughts, then sits up with a groan. He stretches, then places his bare feet on the stone ground. He leaves a resigned Twist in the sleep area as he slowly saunters towards the infirmary.

It’s been nearly three days since Dancer was unceremoniously thrown back into their team. Honestly, Moon hadn’t thought he’d ever see him again. He killed two guards, after all. Maybe they just want him to have a slow death. But then why not just leave him in the hole? He shakes his head. Trying to understand those monsters causes nothing but headaches. Mouse always said that they weren’t meant to understand it, they just had to endure. And maybe that was the point? These fuckers making off the cuff decisions just to see them squirm. Like everything was nothing more than a game to them.

Dancer is still as pale as he was when Moon jabbed that dose of morphine in his arm. Moon’s tried to use the painkiller sparingly since then, but their supply is running out fast. They might have to switch to codeine soon. Less effective. And Dan’s made little to no progress so far. If Moon has to guess, he’d say their leader is holding on purely out of spite. The bruises dotted over his entire frame take on different colors every day. His face is flushed with fever still. The infection isn’t letting up. Still, he clings on. If there’s anything seriously wrong internally, they can’t help him, and Moon is sure Dan knows that. But his friend is not a stubborn bastard for nothing. He suffers through what must be a world of hurt, the occasional grunt the only indication of the pain he’s really in.

Moon’s eyes wander to the source of the infection. The bandages were refreshed only a couple of hours ago, but they’ve already yellowed again and are emitting a foul smell. He bites his lip, looking up to Pinky, on the other side of the infirmary, frowning at him intensely. They’ve talked about it for about an hour last night. All in all, it’s a simple procedure. Moon has seen it done countless times before. Mouse was an expert at it. Dan’s even done a couple himself. A finger here. A toe. Half an ear.

Never an arm, though.

The thought that holds him back is that they wouldn’t be saving anything by crippling someone in the Underground. You can miss a finger. Or a toe. You’ll be incapacitated for a couple of days to let it heal, and then you can continue your work as expected. It becomes something else entirely when you’re missing half of your arm. You can’t hold a shovel with one arm, so the Cleaner job is counted out. You’ll be a very ineffective Medic, too. And try winning a fight when your opponent has two good arms to make use of. And Moon still has to meet the first Lover that’s into cripples for the night.

Moon wonders if it’s irony that the wounds that are likely to kill Dan in the end, are the wounds he’s probably inflicted on himself. They haven’t talked about it. Mostly because Dan hasn’t been lucid enough to speak a single sentence, let alone give a sensible explanation for the deep, festering cuts lining his wrist. Moon’s made his own conclusions when he found his mangled razor in Dan’s pocket.

He slowly, carefully, takes Dancer’s wounded arm in his hands and starts to unwrap the gauze. He winces in sympathy as Dan hisses when the material sticks to the wound and Moon has to tug to detach it from Dan’s skin. The smell that comes free makes his stomach flip and he has to turn his head away in order not to gag. The skin around the wounds is an angry red, fading to purple at the edges. Dan’s hand and most of his arm is swollen beyond recognition. Moon tricks himself into thinking the swelling has gone down since the last time he checked. “Sit still,” he mumbles, slowly getting up.

He takes one of the ice packs from the freezer and wraps it in a towel carefully. Dan’s still in the exact same position as he left him in, but Moon watches him sigh out a deep breath of relief when he presses the cool compress against the raw wound. “Might just wrap it like this.”

He does, having learnt from Mouse’s expert advice of wound dressing in the past. It looks a little ridiculous, though. The big, bulky bandage around an already swollen arm. Moon doesn’t care, adding every kind of antibiotic they have to Dan’s IV.

He’s not cutting off arms today.

And so he sits and waits. Let’s Pinky handle the next training session with their new team members. He’s a better fighter anyway. Together with Runner, they’re in capable hands. Moon’s not known for his exceptional fighting skills like Dan’s or Pinky’s. Or for his extensive medical knowledge, like Mouse. He’s known for being the guy with the Razor. And for his loyalty. And so he sits. And he waits. Falls asleep in the uncomfortable chair, Dan’s labored breathing the only thing to keep him company. Every few hours, he replaces the bandages, and the ice pack, and puts another cocktail of antibiotics into that IV. And he hopes. Hopes that he doesn’t have to force his leader to lie still and bite down on one of wooden blocks that they have exactly for that reason. That he doesn’t have to watch Runner or Hopper with a barely sterile scalpel, cutting through skin and flesh and tendons and muscle and bone. Doesn’t have to whisper that it’s okay, you’ll be okay, and this is for the best.

Four and a half years ago, he would have never imagined him in such a position. Four and a half years ago, he had a home. And a family. A Mom, and a dog. An older sister. School. He might have even considered his life to be boring at one point. Had maybe longed for a bit more sensation.

He’s very careful of what he wishes for now.

It’s another two, maybe three days, Moon loses count. And then, all of a sudden, he doesn’t have to trick himself into thinking that the swelling has gone down. Because it has. The cuts are scabbed over, a sign of healing. And Moon sighs with so much relief, he feels dizzy. Dan wakes and for the first time, his eyes aren’t glassy and delirious, but just tired and confused. And Moon decides to show his appreciation and relief in the only way he knows how, by making it into a lighthearted joke. “You better get better real fast, I’ve wasted all my good antibiotics on you.”

Dan lets out what Moon determines to be a scoff, “Wouldn’t let me die in peace, would you?”

“Fuck you,” Moon replies.

Dan chuckles, which soon turns into resounding coughing and once that’s over, he lets himself fall back against the relatively soft pillows. When he opens his eyes again, there’s a glass of water before his lips and a hopeful, wide eyed Moon behind it. “Drink. If the infection isn’t gonna kill you anymore, it’s gonna be dehydration or starvation.”

Dan looks like he wants to roll his eyes, but must then realize how completely parched he is and gratefully takes the glass of water with his good hand. He gulps it down within seconds, grimacing before handing it back to Moon. He’s got quite a long way to go, but at least he doesn’t seem to be balancing on the brink of death anymore, so that’s good.

“Can you move that hip at all, hyung?” Moon asks cautiously.

Dancer winces, clenching his teeth as he tries to move the swollen mess that is his left hip. After a few failed attempts, he gives up with a pained grunt, “Nope. How long am I looking at?”

Moon sighs, “Do I look like an expert? Mouse was always far better with estimates than I am. Couple weeks, at least.”

“Fuck, they’re not gonna give me a couple of weeks,” Dan snickers. “Surprised they gave me this long already. How long has it been?”

“You’ve been in the infirmary for just five days.”

“Oh,” Dancer mumbles, “And the hole?”

“Six days, give or take,” Moon replies, biting his lip, “What was it like?”

Dan’s face hardens. Solitary punishment is infamous for being one of the cruelest ordeals you could go through down here. And that includes all the shit those so called Lovers were allowed to pull. The only thing Moon knows about it is that it takes place in a deeper part of the Underground, and that you’re completely left to your own devices for Lord knows how long. They never tell you beforehand, and days will feel like years. If you don’t get beat up right before, it’s your own paranoia that will get to you. Moon was shocked when he found the cuts on Dan’s wrist, but all things considered, he shouldn’t have been so surprised.

“Dark,” Dan grunts, “and cold.” It’s all he says, but Moon’s sure he’s reliving a thing or two, judging by the faraway looking in his still glassy eyes.

So Moon decides to distract him, “We’ve got two new recruits. Both pretty young, not even twenty, I’d guess. And I have to guess, because can’t get a word out of either of them.”

Dancer settles back against the pillows, “They’ll come around,” he breathes out, exhausted.

“Or not. One of them shows potential. Might make it further than a month. The other one… I don’t know.”

“Well, we gotta try,” Dancer mutters, voice slurring slightly as his eyes start to droop.

“Doesn’t help that our best trainer has his lazy ass planted in the infirmary all day.”

“This lazy ass has just spent six days in the hole, thank you very much,” Dan growls back.

“Maybe he can think of two new names while he lies cooped up here, then.”

“Kim Taehyung,” Dan mumbles, nearly asleep.

“Excuse me, what?”

“’s my name,” Dan smiles, and Moon wonders if he’s slipped into delirium again.

“Yeah, and I’m Kim Namjoon,” Moon scoffs.

Dan cracks one eye open and studies him seriously, “Nah, you look nothing like hyung.”

“Neither do you.”

“Not anymore, I guess,” Dan sighs. Moon looks, just to humor him. Kim Taehyung went missing a few months before he did, if he vaguely remembers, so that kinda matches up. Dismissing Dan’s crooked nose from having it broken so many times. His messy, patchy dark hair. Countless scars across his face. Moon tries to remember what he looked like four years ago. But Dancer had already been scarred and crooked when Moon came here. He tries to remember what Kim Taehyung looks like, but he can’t for the life of him recall the looks of a random pop star.

“You do have nice bone structure,” he settles on, “You could have been an idol.”

“Thanks. You don’t know the half of it,” Dan chuckles, this time the coughing fit that follows is shorter, thankfully.

Moon has never heard Dan talk about life before the Underground. Almost none of the boys talk about their lives from before. It’s a strong guideline for survival. One instated by Mouse, and enforced by Dancer himself. Focusing on the situation at hand instead of dwelling on the past. It had always made sense to Moon. And he’d expected Dancer to be the very last one to break that guideline.

Dancer

Hadn’t Kim Taehyung been a dancer?

Huh

“Well fuck me,” Moon mumbles. “Never thought I’d be on the same team as a world class idol.”

Dancer groans, “Taehyung is… I am- it’s complicated. I guess I’m just fucked up.”

“Isn’t everybody down here?”

“Good point.”

“Do you remember anything? From before?” Moon asks tentatively. Queries to the past have always been brusquely shut down by Dancer. This time, however, Dan seems wistful, fevered cheeks making a stark contrast with his pale features in the sharp fluorescent lighting above them. For a moment, Moon could see it. A neatly styled mop of perfect hair. Sharp features. A straight nose, distinguished jawline, clean, unblemished skin. In his memory, Kim Taehyung was that perfect example of a Disney fairytale prince.

“Sure I do,” Dancer says quietly. “But it gets harder the more time passes. How about you?”

A silence passes between them and Moon uses it to pick at one of the loose threads on Dancer’s blanket. He sighs and feels the sorrow and longing leave him in that single breath, “Yang Daewoo,” he mumbles. “Surely missed by his Mom, sister and his dog Bogo.”

Dan’s eyes fill with sadness and Moon feels all the worse for it. There’s a reason they don’t talk about the past down here. There’s nothing they can do about their situation, so there’s no point reminiscing better days. Still, to his utmost astonishment, Dancer presses further, “You think they’re still looking for you?”

Moon looks at him, but the question was clearly not meant to be mean spirited. He bites his lip, “I hope not. I hope they moved on.”

“What if you could be sure they’re still looking for you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Dancer sighs, “But there’s people out there that know we’re in here. There’s gotta be.”

A bit of the old Dancer re-emerges, Moon thinks. A part that had been buried by grief and guilt and bitterness for so long. The part that stayed up all night to scheme all kinds of escape plans. A part that was only reminded how utterly powerless they were against the monsters that captured them, once he’d had half of his team slaughtered around him. Moon still sees them sometimes when he closes his eyes. Still hears their screams, their begging for mercy. One by one, killed off in the cruelest ways. Only Dan, not even a significant fighter or anything yet, survived. To say he had learnt his lesson after that, had been an understatement.

But here it is again. Defiance

“Twist is rubbing off on you after all,” Moon mumbles.

“This has nothing to do with him.”

“Yeah, you’re freaking me out. Sure that fever fried your brain,” Moon huffs.

“We need a plan, a solid plan this time. No rushed decisions.”

“Dan-hyung-”

“What are we fighting for, Moon-ah?” Dancer interjects, eyes wide and intense, “We get beat up, spend our time rotting here while all the world thinks we’re dead! That’s not living anymore. And I know- I know a large part of it was always about survival. But think about what happened to Mouse! He survived for seven long years down here, and what did he get for it, in the end?”

“Last time-”

“We ain’t talking about last time!” Dan urges, “Last time was a bust. And I know I’m to blame for that. I was too rushed, too eager. But you and I know what went wrong last time. We know how the Undergrounds works now, probably better than anybody else.”

“It’s gonna end in another massacre, hyung. I know it. Just because you somehow never get killed, I’m not so sure about all the boys that don’t happen to be the favorite, or the champion. We don’t get that privilege.”

“Think about it this way,” Dan mumbles, “We got nothing to lose. If we don’t do anything, nothing will ever change. We’ll be down here until we’re too beaten, but get dragged into the arena anyway. Just like Mouse. Just like so many before us.”

“He’s right,” a gruff voice adds. Moon hadn’t noticed Pinky coming up behind him, and twists around to look at his weary face. “Ain’t nothing for us down here. We either die in the arena, fighting against our will, or we die for our hopes of freedom. I know what I’ll rather do- what?”

Moon regards the both of them with open mouth, than closes it with more strength than necessary, “I’m sorry,” he speaks as calmly as he can manage, “I think I need a moment to process this.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Moon’s eyes flit to Dan’s quickly, “Because Mr Popstar over here was one wheeze away from death only yesterday, almost getting his arm chopped off, and now y’all want to overthrow the Underground like it’s a regular Tuesday!”

“Chopped off?”

“Mr Popstar?”

Moon lets out a frustrated groan as he is confronted with two confused gazes. “Yes, you are so goddamn lucky that cold compress killed the swelling and enhanced the antibiotics, because we have no drugs left like that.”

A sheepish expression crosses over Dancer’s face and he sinks a bit further into the covers, “Thanks.”

“Mr Popstar?”

Moon clenches his jaw, ignoring Dan’s widening eyes, “Yes, turns out that in another life, Dancer Dear was a fucking celebrity.”

“Fuck me,” Pinky mumbles, suddenly scrutinizing every inch of Dan’s face, “You an actor?”

Dancer shoots daggers with his eyes, waits a few seconds before he’s fed up and cries out, “You know BTS?”

Pinky’s eyebrows shoot up as quick as they can go, then his eyes narrow suspiciously, “Nooo,” he drawls incredulously.

Moon rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I didn’t believe it either. But he insists.”

“Oh for crying out loud, I wouldn’t have said anything if y’all gonna be like this.”

“Well, joke’s on us, cause you didn’t say anything for five fucking years.”

“What difference does it make, I’m still the same!”

“I don’t see it,” Pinky lets them know, helpfully.

“Well thanks,” Dancer grumbles, trying and failing to fold his arms with a pout.

“Why did you tell me?”

He sighs, “I don’t know. Felt like the right thing to do. I think we need to disregard what we learnt down here. That we needed to forget our old lives.”

“A lesson you taught us.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dan looks away, at the white walls of their cramped barracks, “And I learnt it from Mouse. But I think… I think we need to remember who we were. Who we loved. That there’s still people out there that might not have given up on us. And if we ever want to see them again…”

“You really think that’s a possibility?” Pinky sounds a little skeptical.

“Yes,” Dancer replies and Moon hasn’t seen this much determination in years. “We’ll need a plan. And time. But if I know one thing for sure, it’s that the Underground underestimates us. Those monsters throw around information as if we’re incapable of understanding. But we can use it. We’re more powerful than they think.” He pointedly looks over to the dorms, where Runner is shuffling his playing deck of cards. Moon thinks about the razor in his back pocket. The lighter Runner got from a Lover.

“If we stay under the radar, play their games like they want us to,” he muses, “maybe. Maybe we have a shot.”

Chapter Text

Jungkook lets his fingers drum against the table one more time before shoving them in the front pocket of his hoodie. They continue their restless twitchiness there, but at least it’s not visible anymore. He’s seen the others annoyed looks and has made sure to give an equally annoyed stare in return.

It’s not withdrawal. It’s impatience.

In fact, Jungkook has been sober for nearly two months now. Partly because Seokjin keeps all the alcohol in the house far away from him and Yunha, but mostly because he needs to stay focused.

God, he needs a drink

They’ve been gathered in another pointless meeting. Jungkook doesn’t even know why he keeps coming to these. Today’s topics are the same as always; discuss process on the infiltration job and gauge where they’re standing when it comes to building a security team. It’s a lot of talking, a lot scheming and plotting, but not a lot of action.

Meanwhile most of them have gone back to their jobs. Even Jimin. He says it’s to not raise too much suspicion, but Jungkook figures they’re sitting ducks right now anyway, so what’s the point?

Instead he has to listen to the minimal progress on buttering up these criminals in order to finally get an invite to the Underground. Apparently, this organization was very exclusive and they needed to trust you wholeheartedly before even considering sending you an invitation. Almost there, Kang Minhyung kept promising, relaying the information from his last short meeting with Choi Soohyun. Honestly, Jungkook hadn’t realized that going undercover meant that you just stood in Daegu bars all day for two months trying to crawl up some crime boss’ ass-

“What was that?” Jungkook mutters, suddenly sitting up straight, eyes focused on the window.

Namjoon’s head whips around wildly, a clueless look on his face. “Wh-?”

Jungkook keeps staring at the window with laser focus, “I thought I saw something.”

Hoseok and Yoongi give him an uncertain look, humoring him by following his gaze to the window. “I don’t see anything.”

“Well, it’s gone now.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know, like- a shadow or something?”

Minhyung scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk, “Welcome to paranoia, kid.”

Jungkook frowns at him, “I’m not an idiot, there was something there.”

Minhyung’s jaw clenches, contemplating Jungkook’s serious expression, “Fine, I’ll go take a look.”

He goes outside together with Seokjin. They come back after ten minutes to say there’s nothing to worry about. Might have been a deer, they get those out here sometimes. Jungkook feels like a fool. His hands twitch nervously inside his pocket.

He needs a drink.

The rest of the meeting goes over his head. A slow idea starts forming in his head. When everyone gets up to leave, he remains seated. He runs his hands over his face a few times, trying to make up his mind. Then he nods to himself and without saying a word, takes the stairs up to his room. He grabs his army duffle bag and throws it on the bed. Grabs a few spare clothes, underwear and his phone and throws them haphazardly into the bag. Tests the weight and when he’s satisfied, swings the bag over his shoulders.

Sneaking down the stairs, he’s relieved to see the hallway empty. He’s not in the mood for awkward confrontations right now and makes sure to stay quiet while slowly creeping out the front door.

First he does a lap around the house, just to be sure. But Minhyung and Seokjin were right, there’s nothing to be seen. Finally settled, Jungkook sets out for the driveway. His steps are brusque and sure and for the first time in forever, he feels focused and certain. He’s missed this. That feeling of being on a mission. Of having something to focus on, so that he can keep his mind from wandering all over the place.

He makes it out of Seokjin’s long ass driveway in no time, feeling the cool evening air play with his too long hair. Seokjin doesn’t live exactly in Seoul anymore, but the city isn’t that far from here. Two hour walk, tops. From there, he can take a train to Daegu. And then- well, he’ll just have to see about then.

The walk is easy. He’s spent his two sober months getting back in shape. He’s been ready for confrontation, even if the others aren’t. He needs to do something. Doesn’t understand how the others can just sit around and talk, go back to their jobs, while knowing fully well what is going on in Daegu.

-well maybe he doesn’t know the half of it quite yet, but he’s never minded a bit of improvisation-

Because getting hyung back is what’s important here, isn’t it? Have we forgotten about that?

Frustration and disbelief bubbles higher and higher and he keeps shaking his head, hoisting the bag further up his shoulders. The sky is getting dark. He’s not quite lost, of course. His phone knows where to go. He contemplates stopping, getting his phone out of his bag, letting it slow him down as he stares at the map.

A car’s following him.

He freezes when he realizes this. Takes a few steps, then starts running. He skids around a corner of a cramped alley and hears someone cursing.

“Goddamnit Jungkook-ah!”

In contrary to popular belief, Jung Hoseok was in no way a stranger to swearing like a sailor. There are a few more colorful curses and Jungkook’s shoulders sag in relief as he looks back and recognizes the ugly brown Civic. Hoseok hangs from the driver side’s window, waving angrily at him. “Get your stupid ass over here!”

Now that the immediate threat of getting kidnapped and infiltrating the Underground that way seems to be narrowly avoided, Jungkook arrives at the next problem. He doesn’t intend on listening to Hoseok; this mission is for him and him alone. He didn’t plan on letting anyone in on his plans, but Hoseok does not take no for an answer.

And so Jungkook keeps stubbornly walking forward, while Hoseok keeps stubbornly following him. Why is he even here? How did he find him? Jungkook was pretty sure Hoseok left right after the meeting, but he hadn’t paid enough attention to be positive. It was gonna be another very awkward hour until they reached the train station.

Hoseok must realize that cursing and yelling isn’t helping his cause, because halfway through, he turns things around by appealing to Jungkook’s common sense. “Come on, Kook-ah, I know you want to take action, but you can’t take on all of Daegu by yourself, right?”

Jungkook shrugs, keeps walking, “We’ll see.”

“I know you’re angry. We’re all angry. And impatient. And it’s taking so goddamn long. But we can’t just take matters into our own hands.”

“We have to do something,” Jungkook spits.

“So what’s the plan here then, exactly?”

Jungkook’s expression sours more, his steps harsher as he fastens his pace, “Coming, seeing, conquering.”

“Great,” Hoseok mumbles, scouring the street for a possible threat, “Are you armed?”

“What?”

“Do you have weapons?”

“What? No! Can’t get on a train with a fucking weapon in your bag, are you insane?”

Hoseok regards him with narrowed eyes before finally deciding that he’s had enough. He parks the Civic on the side of the road, gets out, slams the door closed with enough force that Jungkook swears he hears the entire car groan, then brusquely walks up to Jungkook. “So let me get this straight. Your plan was rolling up in Daegu unarmed, seek out some crime bosses, and start talking shit?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, carefully stepping around his angry hyung to continue his way, “No, my plan was getting a weapon in Daegu, place seems corrupted enough it should be easy, right?”

“And then what?”

“Then I start talking shit. And whoever bites leads me to the Underground, or they get a bullet in their nasty little heads.”

Hoseok’s face would be hilarious if Jungkook wasn’t so focused on avoiding his persistent little ass. “Oh my God,” the older squeaks in despair, “You are an idiot!”

Jungkook sighs in exasperation, “Alright, I don’t have much of a plan, but at least I’m not staying here sitting with my thumbs up my ass all day. We’ve known for nearly three months that Taehyung is alive, and we haven’t done shit about it.”

“We have to stay careful!”

“Yeah, everybody keeps saying that.”

“Because it’s true! What do you think will happen to Taehyung and the other prisoners’ safety when you go stomping down in Daegu demanding things?”

“Their safety? Are you fucking kidding me, hyung?”

“Yes, their safety! The only thing that keeps those boys somewhat safe is the steady business they find themselves in. Once that business is threatened, nothing will stop those fucking monsters from shutting it down and skipping town. And they’re not just going to set those boys free from the kindness of their hearts. They know too much.”

Jungkook falters at that, wide eyes turning to the elder as despair slowly sinks back in. “Then what the fuck are we supposed to do? Just let them carry on with it?”

“No,” Hoseok shakes his head, “We’re working on it, you know we are. And you gotta give Taehyung some credit too. I don’t know how he’s done it, but he’s somehow managed to survive down there for five years already. Plus, he knows at least Jimin’s looking for him. Once we can establish contact-”

Contact. It sends a shiver up Jungkook’s spine. He finally stops walking, “You really think we can do that?”

“I hope so.”

“What would you say to him? If you had the chance?” Jungkook’s spent the better part of five years contemplating this question. All the things that had been left unsaid. All the stupid fights they’d never worked out. All the things he needed to hear. All the things he needed to say. All twirling and fluttering inside his mind until the only thing that could calm them down was a bottle of whiskey.

Hoseok shrugs helplessly, “I’d tell him to hold on. That we’re coming for him. And that it’s going to be okay.”

Jungkook nods jerkily, “Yes,” he whispers, “That’s good. I think he’d like to hear that.”

Hoseok nods as well, then sighs, “Now will you please come back to the car with me?”

Jungkook gives one last longing look at the twinkling city lights that beckon them from the distance, then turns and starts to follow Hoseok back to the car. The eldest makes sure Jungkook enters into the passenger side before getting in as well. He doesn’t start the car yet, though.

“I know it’s tough, Kook-ah, but I’m proud of you.”

Jungkook works his jaw, bobbing his head a few times, “You know what I’m most afraid of, hyung?”

“Hm?”

“Five years. What if that place- what if it’s changed him? What if we get him back, and we’re total strangers?”

He can tell it’s not something Hoseok has considered yet. They talk a lot about how they are going to uproot the Underground, and how they were going to rescue all the prisoner’s down there. But no one has yet dared to talk about what happens after that. How they are going to deal with the fallout. What that fallout would even look like. He lets Hoseok chew on this for a minute, staring out the windshield with a forlorn expression.

“I think you’re right. I think that what we’re getting back is not going to be the same boy that we lost five years ago. He is going to be different. But I don’t think our goal should be to pick up right where we left off.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply. How many nights had he fantasized about finding Taehyung somewhere and just going back to doing what they’d always done. Like nothing had ever happened. But he knows things aren’t that simple. They can’t be.

“But he’s still going to be my dongsaeng. He’s still going to be your hyung. He’s going to need a lot of time to decompress, to heal. I think our goal should be to make sure he has enough time a space to do just that.”

Jungkook nods, then smiles, “When did you become so wise?”

“Ugh,” Hoseok mumbles, turning the ignition, “I wish.”

“Come on, that was beautiful. Namjoon-hyung and Yoongi-hyung have nothing on you.”

“Don’t talk to me about your Yoongi-hyung.”

Jungkook snorts in surprise, “What he do?”

Hoseok groans, turning the car onto the street, “I’m not supposed to say.”

“Oh come on, don’t tease me like that!”

Hoseok stares at him for a moment, chewing his lip, “Fuck it. Your hyung thought it was a good idea to casually mention he had a big crush on me during Danger.”

“He what?!” Jungkook’s voice shoots into an impressive pitch.

“Don’t even ask me,” Hoseok mumbles, “That’s like ten years ago.”

“And he told you, just like that? Wow.”

“Yeah, I had no idea how to even react.”

“Well, did you ever have a crush on him?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know. I’m really not good with recognizing that sort of stuff, you know. I guess I always found him pretty charming, but-”

“You know what, you two would make such an adorable couple.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Ah, you ruined it.”

“It’s just a stupid crush from ten years ago, right? It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You don’t think he’s still head over heels and that’s why he told you?”

“Oh my God, now I do.”

“I told you.”

“Damnit, now things are going to be even more awkward between us,” Hoseok whines, pulling up onto Seokjin’s long ass driveway.

“Look, y’all just need to have a good long talk about it.”

“I don’t know. I guess I kinda am blaming him. If he’s really so in love with me… I mean… I could have used him five years ago, but he was nowhere to be found then. It’s all a little late now.”

“Yeah, we all fumbled really hard five years ago. Taehyung-hyung’s gonna be so disappointed when he finds out what happened. I mean, we-”

He doesn’t go further with his sentence. Instead his eyes widen and his mouth drops open. Hoseok shouts something as he brings the car to a stop right in front of the burning house.

Chapter Text

Taehyung stumbles forward at the jab of the rifle against his bad hip. He’s limping badly, but he won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him wince or hearing him hiss. He’s used to this pain, has carried it with him for years. Has learnt to work around it. It doesn’t slow him down.

The lights on top of the arena blink on with a harsh clang. The crowd’s long gone, the ceremony over and dealt with tonight without much of a hiccup. Normally, nobody’s supposed to still be here at this hour of the night.

His heart is pounding in his throat. Fear and excitement twisting and turning, unable to deal out a victor between the two. Taehyung bites his bottom lip and keeps his head down. He’s not supposed to do anything until spoken to.

It’s the same monster as always. The one that threatened his friends and family, the one that sent him after Jimin and into the hardware store. The one that killed half his team at the last rebellion and left Taehyung alive as an example. The one that likes to mock and taunt and make life miserable for the people around him.

That one

“Dancer, step forward.”

Taehyung spares a quick glance around the arena. He’s the only one here right now. The monster has hidden himself behind the steel bars around the arena, hidden from sight in the bright beams that shine down into the sand. So Taehyung shrugs, hobbling towards the middle of the arena.

Something must have happened.

There’s silence for a long bit, but Taehyung doesn’t speak up. These kinds of things require patience, he’s learnt. Don’t let them know they’re getting on your nerves. Act like you don’t care.

“What am I to do with you?”

It’s a rhetorical question so Taehyung continues his silence. He stares at the freshly overturned sand and swears he can still smell blood.

“See, I’ve tried being nice to you; letting you go on your little field trips. I’ve tried being cruel with beatings and solitary confinement. Yet you still continue to defy me.”

Taehyung tries to remember what he’s done wrong tonight. If that monster is talking about what he thinks he’s talking about, that marks a huge milestone already. He tries not to let the excitement and anticipation get the better of him yet, though. He needs to be sure.

The monster seems annoyed at Taehyung’s lack of response and he hears it sigh exasperatedly, “There was a death on your team tonight, correct?”

Taehyung stiffens, unconsciously standing up straighter, “Yes sir, Runner.”

“How did he die?”

Taehyung carefully keeps his gaze trained on the sand, shrugging, “I’m not sure, sir. I wasn’t on the medic team tonight.”

“Hm, that’s right,” the monster says, its voice suddenly coming from a different side of the arena and Taehyung twists around instinctively in response, “You were on the Cleaner role, weren’t you?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“That must have been very convenient for you, right?”

“I don’t follow, sir? We don’t choose our own roles.”

“So you know nothing about his death then?”

“I saw the fight,” Taehyung replies coldly between clenched teeth, “It was pretty brutal.”

“Still wouldn’t have had a deathly outcome, don’t you agree?”

“Are you suggesting my team had something to do with it?”

“Are you?”

“No sir.”

“I know you’re lying, Dancer!” the man suddenly exclaims and Taehyung flinches. Unconcealed anger drips into the arena and it spurs his heart on and on and on. “You’ve always been awfully good at that. A worthy opponent, for sure, but the time for games of the sort is over.”

Something really must have gone wrong tonight.

Taehyung does his best not to grin, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did something happen?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

A muffled curse, and then there’s another jab at Taehyung’s hip. He goes down willingly. He’s been down on his knees in this sand enough times to feel the familiar coolness. It grounds him, weirdly enough. The last time he’s been in a similar position was right after his fight with Grudge. He feels the presence of the two guards behind him. He could probably take them both out in two quick strokes. But he won’t.

The plan involves patience. So, so much patience.

“Your entire team is playing goddamn dumb,” the monster goes on, “It’s like all of you’ve fallen into a kettle of stupid or something.”

“What would you like me to say, sir?”

“So polite, all of a sudden,” growls the man from yet another part of the arena. Taehyung doesn’t bother twisting around this time. “Where is Runner?”

Taehyung frowns, feigning confusion, “Uh, dead, sir?”

“He succumbed to his injuries, is that what you want to go with?”

“Sir, I was a Cleaner tonight. I only learnt about his death after I got back to the barracks. Everything had already happened then.”

“Everything?”

“He was struck exceptionally hard in the chest. Moon believes it caused an arrhythmia or something. He died of cardiac arrest. There was nothing they could do to save him.”

“Is that right?”

“I think so. It’s what I’ve heard.”

“There was still morphine left in your medicine supply, wasn’t there?”

“Yeah, a little bit.”

“Is it still there?”

His hands have gone sweaty and he swallows, not letting the nerves get the better of him, “No sir, they’ve used it.”

“On Runner?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t asked.”

“You were seen talking to Runner right before his fight,” the monster’s voice is slow and deliberate. Gone is the mocking, playful tone. “What did you say to him?”

Taehyung squares his jaw, the wetness of the sand seeping into his trousers

“Are you sure about this, Hojeong-ah?”

“I’m the fastest of the team, aren’t I?”

“This is beyond dangerous.”

“I’ve been ready a long time ago, Taehyung-hyung.”

“I told him to watch his footwork. He had trouble with that sometimes. See, people always think that these fights are just about hitting the hardest, but it’s actually so much more intricate than that. Did you know that most of the fights in the arena could be choreographed to the smallest detail? It’s truly just like dancing, I suppose. Of course, that also depends a lot on your opponent.”

“Stop- stop talking!”

Taehyung grins, hands grabbing a fistful of sand and letting it seep through his fingers. “Do you reckon he didn’t watch his footwork enough?”

“Is this truly a game to you?”

“Not really,” Taehyung shakes his head as the last of the sand falls to the ground, “But to you, it always must have been.”

“Do you know what happens when somebody is given an overdose of morphine?”

“Yes,” Taehyung replies, still smiling, “It stops the heart.”

“That’s correct,” the monster growls coldly, “And your pal Runner died of cardiac arrest, did he not?”

“I know what you’re saying,” Taehyung answers flatly, “You think my team did it.”

“There was still morphine left, and now it’s gone. That’s suspicious, isn’t it?”

“Not if he was in a lot of pain,” Taehyung shrugs, wishing the man would just come to his point already, “Why do you care so much how he died?”

“Because the thing about morphine, Dancer, is that if given just enough; it will not necessarily stop the heart permanently. If given a stimulant on time, it might just continue beating its jolly way again.”

Taehyung swallows, “I don’t see how that would have benefitted anyone.”

“Maybe not immediately,” the monster replies softly, “But your team wasted no time in calling the guards to report a dead body. Poor Runner boy wasn’t even cold yet.”

“Are you suggesting we let our dead bodies lie around until they start to smell?”

“You and your smart mouth do not seem to realize the amount of trouble you and your team mates are in right now.”

“What happened?”

“Where’s Runner?”

“Dead.”

“Is he?”

“The guards came and picked him up, didn’t they? They must have seen he was dead.”

“See, and that’s so strange about this whole thing. They did. Boy was dead as a doornail when they picked him up. And yet somehow-”

“What?”

“Nowhere to be found after they dumped him.”

Taehyung can’t hold back the snort of laughter at that, “What?”

“You think that that's funny?”

“Little bit. You get dead people moving around a lot?”

“No, I don’t, actually.”

“This seems like a you problem, though.”

“Is it my problem, yeah?”

Taehyung expects the next blow to his hip. Barely even feels it. The relief overwhelms all other senses. “Unless you are suggesting that somehow this body with no heartbeat injected itself with a stimulant to make it magically come back alive again and then somehow was fit quickly enough to get up and moving without anyone seeing it, yeah, sounds like you just misplaced a dead body and are trying to cover up for it.”

“You and your team have something to do with this.”

“Hm,” Taehyung hums, eyebrows raised, “That would require us to somehow have the foresight of knowing where dead bodies are taken. And, judging by your reaction, that is not somewhere you want alive prisoners to be. We would have to know the exact dose of morphine to slow down the heart, but maybe not stop it entirely. Just enough so that a heartbeat is nearly undetectable. Unless you would have a heart monitor, and we don’t have those here, do we? So how did your guard team determine Runner had passed?”

“You don’t ask the questions here.”

“It’s probably become very routine for them, right? Looks dead. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Must be gone.”

“Is this a confession?”

“Not at all,” Taehyung grins at the steel bars of the arena, “We ain’t that smart, sir. But at least I am absolutely certain I can trust my team. Can you trust yours?”

It’s silent for a long second, then Taehyung hears a long sigh, “You know, I didn’t want to tell you this yet. But there’s been a fire in Seoul tonight. A house on the country burnt down.”

Ice envelops his soul, but Taehyung swallows it down, “So?”

“I think you might know the owner. It was registered by one Choi Soomi. But I think you’re more familiar with her husband, Kim Seokjin?”

Taehyung clenches his teeth, closes his eyes, “And?”

“They were said to both be at home when the fire started. They had two guests staying with them. Jeon Jungkook and Park Jimin. Oh, and their three year old daughter, Kim Yunha. All are said to have been burnt alive in their beds.”

“You’re lying.”

“Now why the fuck would I lie about that?”

“This fire happened tonight?” Taehyung snarls, suddenly out of breath, “Yet you know the exact outcome already?”

“I have little birdies everywhere.”

“I don’t believe you.”

An incredulous scoff, “I’ve put too much effort into this heist for you to dismiss it.”

“Too bad,” Taehyung mumbles. He feels sick. There’s a real possibility that this monster is telling the truth. He’s got no real reason to lie. But calling his bluff is the only way to keep the ball rolling.

“Where’s Runner?”

“He’s dead!” Taehyung sighs, “We have never known where you’re taking dead bodies, so we got no reason to fake a death. Yes, we had morphine, but not nearly enough to cause cardiac incidents. Even if we did, we had no stimulant drugs to counter the effect. You can check all that in our cabinets. We had nothing to do with this. Your guard team just misplaced his body somewhere and won’t tell you because they’re too afraid.”

“Fine, keep denying,” the monster growls from the shadows, “Your team will be on nothing but rationed rice and water for the next month. Try to keep your strength up.”

Taehyung’s hauled back to his feet by one of the guards. He’d expected punishment. He and his team mates can deal with it. He’s led back to the barracks and meets Haru and Daewoo’s expectant eyes. He nods and sees the relief roll off of them in waves. They wait until the heavy metal door has closed behind him before shouts of excitement and accomplishment fill the room.

Chapter Text

When Seokjin wakes up, the entire house is on fire.

And there’s something so fundamental, so basic about fire, that none of his following actions are conscious decisions. He doesn’t remember fleeing out of bed, or shaking Soomi awake. He doesn’t remember pointing her towards Yunha’s bedroom, barking a few desperate instructions.

He remembers the smoke. And the heat.

The house is already groaning and creaking. It’s an old house, probably more than two hundred years. Been in Soomi’s family for decades. Mostly made of wood.

It burns quickly.

They get to Yunha’s room in one piece. The fire hasn’t reached it yet. Yunha is asleep when Soomi picks her up and holds her tightly. When the child wakes up, she starts wailing in panic. Even children as young as Yunha understand the dangers of a burning house. She clings to Soomi desperately, screaming Eomma over and over again. Seokjin is sure it will haunt his dreams, if nothing else will. There’s no time to comfort her, no matter how heartbreaking the fear on her little face. She knows Eomma and Appa are there with her, and that, for now, would have to do.

The stairs are a problem. Flames have latched onto the wooden boards of the steps and Seokjin hears the wood groan warningly as they approach. He turns towards his wife, barely able to see her face through the thick dark smoke that’s rising towards the second floor. “You wait here, I’ll go down!”

“Jin-ah, be careful!”

He nods, once to her, once to himself. The first six steps hold his weight, despite their threatening creaks. The seventh breaks, despite his careful movements. He yells as his leg goes through the wood and the splinters tear into the flesh. The flames underneath the stairs latch onto his socks and screaming, he pulls his leg back up. The following steps look even worse and he comes to the alarming conclusion that there’s no way he can get himself, and his family down this way.

Panic rages well and truly now that there’s no logical way to get out of the house. Embers are floating up through the wooden floorboards. The ceiling can’t hold itself up much longer. The house will collapse and Seokjin and his family are trapped like rats. And there’s something about fire and panic and a lack of proper oxygen that makes you unable to think. And so Seokjin scrambles back up the stairs, screaming and flailing as the flames catch his pajama pants. He manages to stomp out the fire, but the pain is already crawling up and down his leg and he thinks he could just cry but there’s no time.

“What do we do?” Soomi’s eyes are big and shiny, almost the only thing Seokjin can still see through the smoke. He coughs, mind racing a mile a minute. They can maybe get out through a window in one of the bedrooms the fire hasn’t reached yet. Yunha’s bedroom is still a beacon of hope in that regard. But how do you climb through a window with a three year old in your arms-

Before Seokjin can make a decision, the front door of the quickly deteriorating house slams open, causing the fire to lurch with the newly added oxygen. If Seokjin isn’t mistaken in his daze of panic and lightheadedness, he hears someone cry out in surprise. The door remains open. Then he hears the rush of what must be a fire extinguisher and he almost laughs and cries at the same time. The idea of putting out a raging house fire with just one fire extinguisher is so absurd, it makes his head hurt.

With what seems to be a battle cry, Jeon Jungkook storms through the front door with no regard for the towering flames licking their ways over the walls, the floors, the stairs, fucking everywhere.

“Hyung!” he yells, looking around wildly, pulling an arm over his face to keep the smoke from entering his mouth.

There’s a million things going through Seokjin at that moment. Part of him wants to yell at his youngest dongsaeng because how dare he get it in his mind to enter a burning house like this. But the floor underneath his feet is cracking and his burnt leg is limiting his movements and so he thinks he sobs in relief instead. “Kook-ah!”

Jungkook looks up immediately, eyes wide in shock as he tries to climb over a burning cabinet. His face is furious as he aims the extinguisher and it does an okay job of keeping the fire away from him, for the moment. “Hyung, we need to get out of here!”

Thanks genius!

Seokjin doesn’t have any words at the moment though, protectively hovering in front of Soomi and Yunha. His daughter is still wailing and about seventy percent of his cognitive function is preoccupied by worrying how much smoke inhalation crying causes. Soomi does her very best to shush the child, to no avail.

Seokjin watches Jungkook’s brave attempt of killing the fire on the stairs, but to nobody’s surprise the extinguisher is quickly done for. With an angry snarl, Jungkook tosses it aside before grabbing the railing and jumping up the first few steps.

“No!” Seokjin cries out, “Don’t come up! The stairs aren’t safe!”

Jungkook, out of breath, stares at him in fear, but doesn’t try to climb up further.

Then an idea springs to mind.

“Get down,” he urges Soomi as he gets to his knees, hurt leg be damned, “Give her to me,” he says, reaching for Yunha in her arms. Soomi hesitates, an age old instinct that keeps mothers from handing over their children in dangerous situations. But this is her husband. And so she overrides that instinct quickly and passes Yunha to Seokjin.

“Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin rushes, coughing as the smoke irritates his lungs and eyes and makes it so very very hard to see anything in this hell. The landing’s railing has already broken off and fallen down to the ground floor. It creates the opportunity to- “I’m gonna reach her down, so you can catch her, okay?” Seokjin says quickly, watching Jungkook frown at the very suggestion. The ceilings are high and so the gap between where Seokjin can let go and Jungkook can catch is alarming.

But there’s no other way.

Jungkook comes to that same conclusion, wincing at the heat that’s quickly surrounding him from all angles. They need to be fast. Very fast.

The younger man nods frantically, already putting his arms up as he positions himself the best he can underneath Seokjin and Soomi. It’s difficult with the burning debris littering the hallway. He steps on what used to be a pretty fancy side table and it huffs as it falls apart, embers floating up as smoke pricks his eyes. “Okay, okay hyung!”

And Seokjin feels Yunha thrash wildly, panicked and scared beyond belief. If they get out of here alive, this night might haunt her for the rest of her life. But there’s no time to think about that right now. She’s solid and warm and alive in his hands, and then he lets go.

Yunha screams in fear those milliseconds she is weightless. It seems like the moment is suspended in time. Seokjin watches Jungkook catch her perfectly, almost in slowmotion. “Kook-ah?”

“I got her, hyung!” Jungkook reassures him quickly. Seokjin has no idea where he came from. Why he was already outside. What made him decide to come in.

But thank fuck

“Get out of here!” Seokjin yells, voice hoarse and breaking as the heated smoke destroys his throat.

But Jungkook’s got a thousand questions that he decides now is the best time to ask. “What about you? And Soomi? Jimin-hyung?”

Jimin-hyung

“Jimin’s not out yet?” Seokjin only now remembers he had a guest staying over for the past two months.

Jungkook shakes his head wildly, looking so much like a lost little puppy that it hurts. Seokjin feels his heart sink all the way down to his stomach. “Get out!” he cries, watching as Yunha claws at Jungkook’s shoulders frantically in all her panic. Jungkook hesitates, but the three year old around his neck makes the decision easier. He bites his bottom lip, then gives Seokjin a solemn nod before turning and precariously making his way around the burning debris that used to be their pristine hallway. Seokjin only dares to take another smoke-filled breath when he sees his younger friend disappear out the door.

His strength leaves him at that moment and he sinks down to the dissipating floor. A tiredness beyond sleep crawls over him, breathing getting more and more difficult. He coughs, smoke the only thing now that’s visible.

“Come on!” Soomi is pulling on his bicep, still frantic enough to keep going. Seokjin shakes his head. Soomi stops pulling.

For two glorious seconds, everything is still and even as he closes his eyes-

A stinging slap to his face and Soomi’s furious glare swims into view when he reopens them. She sneers at him, livid, “Don’t you fucking dare, Kim Seokjin!”

And it’s hard to get back to his hands and knees, but he manages it with Soomi grabbing and pulling him along. They reach Yunha’s bedroom, where the fire has started to destroy the purple star-filled wallpaper and flames are touching her colorful drawings hung on the corkboard above the dresser. The dresser itself is already very much aflame.

“The window!” he waves at Soomi, coughing harshly as his lungs are starting to give out completely, “Take the window, but be careful! There’s gonna be a rush of oxygen when you open it. Stand back.”

She nods, “There should still be ivy on the outside on a wooden frame against the wall. We can climb down. Don’t worry, we’re gonna make it out of here.”

We

“Fuck!” Seokjin curses, “Okay, open it!”

A rush of cold air sweeps through, quickly followed by a rush of the strengthening fire behind them as Soomi slides open the large bedroom window. Soomi leans over, gulping in sweet cold oxygen before carefully climbing through the gap. Fortunately, she’s right about the ivy. The wooden frame aiding its growth creaks and groans when she puts her weight on it. It might break when she climbs down, but a broken limb is better than whatever alternative waits if she stays in this burning house.

It takes her awfully long to realize Seokjin is not following her down.

“Seokjin-ah!” she screams when she’s halfway down the ivy. She contemplates climbing back up to see where he is, but it’s exactly at that moment the thin wood of the ivy frame breaks and she falls down in a rain of wood and plant. She lands considerably softly on her back in the grass. She stays there, dazed for a moment. Maybe Seokjin was waiting for her to make it down before also putting his weight on the frame, but why isn’t he by the window then- “Seokjin-ah!”

“Noona!”

She doesn’t pay the voice any attention, because it’s not Seokjin, where is he, where did you go, please come out please please please

She quickly clambers to her feet, still coughing from the smoke that seems to have permanently cemented itself in her airways. The world spins maddeningly around her and she wheezes as the cool spring night air clings to her face. Still she keeps her eyes trained on the bedroom window far above. “Jin-ah!”

“Noona!” someone grabs her from the side and she gasps, another coughing fit doubling her over before her knees give out and she collapses back into the grass. Hoseok holds onto her on her way down, putting an arm around her heated back as he desperately looks around for help. “Here! We’re here! Help!”

More voices swirl around her, dizzying her already jumbled mind. She shakes her head. Where’s Yunha? Where’s Seokjin? What’s happening? Hands grab at her, trying to force her down on a stretcher. She keeps shaking her head, squirming in response. “No, no! I’m fine! I’m okay! Where’s my daughter? Where’s my husband?”

“Your daughter is safe, ma’am,” someone says, voice much too calm and even, given the situation. “She’s out front.”

“Seokjin-ah-”

“We’ll get you to safety too. There’s an ambulance waiting. You’ll be alright.”

Soomi is unable to reply as a plastic oxygen mask is put over her face and God, it has never felt so good to be able to breathe. She relaxes for the first time tonight, blurring worried faces swimming above her as the stretcher is pushed over the grass. Fatigue washes over her like a warm soft blanket and she closes her eyes. Just for a second. It’s all alright if she just closes her eyes for a second.

Chapter Text

Against the guards’ better judgment, Hojeong is in fact not dead. Close though, it has to look real. His heart has slowed down to an undetectable rate due to the mix of morphine and diazepam. A dangerous mix, for sure, but their team was desperate, and Hojeong determined enough to try. It feels strange, like his heart should be racing a mile a minute, considering the dangerous situation he’s in.

The guards’ voices sound distorted and distant. Hojeong can barely tell what’s up and down and left and right. He tries.

All this just because they overheard a guard say dead bodies get brought up to the Surface.

Such a long shot. But worth it. Everything is worth it, at this point.

And so Hojeong lays still, couldn’t move even if he wanted to. Wrapped up in fucking tarp of all things. Hoping. Praying. That they don’t just have dug a hole in the deepest corners of the Underground where they throw dead bodies in. A mass grave. Never to be seen by anyone again.

Alone and forgotten.

Hojeong hadn’t really started his life yet when he got taken into the Underground. He’d lived with his mother and father in Ulsan, then Dad died in a car accident and Mom found a job as a clerk in a hardware store in Daegu. Hardly anything exciting. Hojeong had barely finished school, trying to figure out what to do next during his late evening jogs on the outskirts of the city when… just like that.

He didn’t have to figure out anything anymore after that.

No, down here it was just doing what you were told. Ask no questions. Learn from your mistakes or perish. And he’d seen far too many of his team mates perish to not learn from his mistakes. He was an average fighter, at best. Possessed no strength to speak of, but he was fast and light on his feet. Dodged most of the heavy, brutal attacks thrown his way. Didn’t have much in light of a counter attack though. So his fights dragged on longer than most others. Usually until one of them gave up in exhaustion.

Usually his opponent did, because Hojeong was used to running.

The journey to wherever they are taking him isn’t that long, considering the expanse of the Underground. There’s a faint feeling of moving upwards, but it’s too vague to draw any conclusions from. The wheel of the wheelbarrow they’ve thrown him in keeps squeaking incessantly as they’re moving and moving and moving.

And then it stops.

Hojeong hears a few mechanical sounds, but he’s still too out of it to identify them. He needs the guards to leave him alone. Take their eyes off of him for long enough so he can jab the single shot of adrenaline he’s got hidden in his underwear in his thigh and be ready for action.

According to plan.

In fact, Hojeong has no idea what another shot of drugs will do to his body after he takes it. He could count the times he’d been chosen as Medic on one hand, and even then, they hadn’t had any fancy drugs stocked up to choose from. Too much adrenaline after a cocktail of morphine and diazepam will probably just stop his heart altogether.

What a terrible plan.

He feels like he’s being lifted, then dumped onto a flat surface. A million scenarios flash through his mind. What if these motherfuckers are some kind of organ harvesters? What if they don’t bury or burn dead bodies at all, but instead dissolve them in acid or whatever? What should Hojeong care? He’s supposed to be dead.

He doesn’t feel the late night air on his face because of the tarp covering it. He does, however, feel the rumble of an engine being turned on.

He’s in a car.

There are no cars in the Underground.

He tries to wriggle, but his body doesn’t cooperate. Every movement is delayed and weak. He takes in deep gulps of air now that he’s sure nobody’s watching him. Tries to slip his hand into his underpants and feels the capped needle waiting on the side of his hip. Clumsily, he curls his fingers around it. He’d been more than a little afraid when Haru came at him tonight with a dose of morphine and diaz, but it’s what they had been planning for weeks. Still, none of them really knew it would work. And with Taehyung away because he’d been chosen as a Cleaner, Hojeong had felt his little bit of courage melt away at the mere sight of the syringe. But he was the chosen one. The one that would lead them out of this hellish prison, one step at a time.

He had a job to do.

He barely feels it when the needle breaches his skin. His fingers feel numb, just like the rest of his body, but he manages to push the top of the syringe all the way down.

And then he waits.

The car has started moving now and Hojeong can feel the wooden boards under his back shift around because of the rough terrain. He waits for a sign. Maybe for the numbness to fade away. Maybe for his heart to start beating normally again.

Then it feels like he’s been stabbed in the chest. Repeatedly. Pain so fierce and adamant that it sets all his nerves on edge. Hojeong would like to scream, but that would defeat the entire purpose. His heart starts beating like he’s running a marathon. All of a sudden, he’s completely out of breath, chest feeling like someone has dropped an actual anvil on it. The adrenaline courses through him, setting his entire nervous system on fire.

It feels wrong, so very very wrong, but-

He can move

He squirms out of the tarp with more effort than he cares to think about. Everything is a blur as he opens his eyes. He watches the night sky move slowly above him. Stars and clouds and a sliver of moonlight. He hasn’t seen the sky in over three years.

It’s almost more breathtaking than the shot of adrenaline he just took.

But Hojeong has no time to stare and marvel at the expanse of space, because the pickup truck he’s been dumped in is moving and jostling him around. He looks and sees a few more bodies wrapped in tarp. More casualties of the night, he presumes. He doesn’t remember there being any more fights after his, but the night is a complete blur to him at the moment.

Besides, prisoners succumbed to injuries and sickness all the time. Not every death is a direct result of the arena.

He rolls onto his stomach, planting his elbows on the wooden floor. Thankfully, one of the bodies is placed in such a way that it makes it impossible for the guard driving to see Hojeong from the truck’s cabin. Still, Hojeong sneaks a peek through the back window just to be sure. Loud but muffled hardcore music resounds through the front of the truck and it enhances Hojeong’s luck tenfold. He grabs the closest side of the pickup, wincing as one of the wheels hits a particularly deep pothole.

He looks over the edge and sees the problem.

They’re driving across what looks to be a farm field. Far too fast for Hojeong to just jump out. He needs to wait until the car slows down. Maybe at a turn. Preferably before they reach their destination and the driver gets out. And even more preferably, before the adrenaline runs out and he dies of a heart attack or something.

And so he stays curled over the edge of the pickup. Watching the terrain move under him so fast, it makes his head spin. His heart beats in his throat, way too fast. The fate of the entire team, maybe the entire Underground, presses down onto his shoulders.

And then he feels himself slide harshly forward when the driver suddenly slams on the brakes. His head smashes against the steel barrier next to him and blackens his vision and he nearly passes out. He hears a grumbled “fucking cats,” and the car starts moving again.

“Shit,” Hojeong curses, quickly grabbing onto the truck’s side again through blurry vision. This is going to be his only chance. He pulls his uncooperative body up and clumsily scrambles over the barrier. Takes one deep breath, and lets go.

His back connects with the rough, muddy ground first, the fall effectively knocking all the air out of him. He stays there for a moment, completely dazed. His head is pounding in time with his heartbeat and he swears to never take drugs again in his life. However long that may last.

By the time he has regained enough composure to lift his head up, the truck is already miles away. A brief sense of relief and victory sweep over him before he realizes that he can’t stay here.

For one, it’s fucking cold. It must be spring, Hojeong figures, judging by the tree line at the end of the field, but it may as well be freezing still. The rigid ground under him affirms this and wincing, he pushes himself up to a sitting position. And then it slowly starts to sink in.

He’s out.

A scoff of disbelief escapes him at this. Then he starts laughing, completely uncontrolled and with what must be a kind of maniacal twinge to it. He can’t stop. Three years of pain and despair escaping him as he sits here, all by himself in a frozen field of mud. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but knows he suddenly has to shut up when he sees headlights appear at the other side of the field.

“Oh fuck,” he mumbles, scrabbling against the cold ground with his feet to find enough purchase to stand. It’s hard. He sways dangerously for a few moments. “Oh shit.”

He didn’t think that driver would realize so soon that one body was missing, but he can’t take the chance of finding that out. The world dances around him in colors and shadows and sounds as he makes a break for the tree line. His legs are wobbly and he can’t seem to run in a straight line with how much he’s swaying around. He stumbles over a few tree roots and only just manages to catch himself with his arms as he falls forwards into the forest.

Thoroughly out of breath, he hides behind an ancient looking tree, pressing the back of his head against the bark and closing his eyes. He listens as the truck comes closer and closer. If the driver catches him, he’s dead after all. Hojeong is fairly sure that the frozen ground hasn’t left any footsteps to follow him into the forest, but he knows that he has to keep moving.

Swallowing, he slowly makes his way further into the forest. He has no idea where he is. This part of the country seems completely abandoned. Which may be why the Underground has been able to operate for so many years. He doesn’t even know how far he is from the Underground. How long had he been lying in that truck? Not that long, surely. He’d wriggled out of that godforsaken tarp. Then had to wait a bit for the truck to slow down. How long had he waited?

Did it matter?

Maybe. Kinda. But not right now.

He had a mission.

It was beautiful in all its simplicity: escape and find help. They figured pretty early on in their scheming that overthrowing the Underground was going to be impossible without outside help. Only few had ever managed to escape the Underground, and those that did, were immediately hunted down and murdered; their bodies thrown into the arena for all teams to witness.

Another example in line of many.

It served its purpose well. Few ever tried to escape by themselves. There were little rebellions here and there –Taehyung’s three years ago had been one of them- but never had they actually gotten close to even making a dent in the system. They had always been harshly shut down, punishments beyond measure for the littlest signs of revolt. Hojeong had watched their leader Taehyung go from a spirited rebel to a quiet, obedient slave of the Underground. Letting Taehyung live after his rebellion had maybe made him into the strongest example of them all. Long he had discouraged every idea of uprising, and for a while there, Hojeong had even been afraid that Taehyung was relaying all information inside his team to the monsters that enslaved them.

He’d been stupid to mistrust one of their own. Of course he wouldn’t do that. You could beat Taehyung senseless and he wouldn’t spill. But for the three years Hojeong had known him, he’d been incredibly hard to read. He’d been guarded and reserved, merely doing his duties as a leader in preparing his team for Initiation Nights or regular Ceremonies. He cared, Hojeong had had no doubt about that, he wanted to keep his team safe and keep the casualties to a minimum. But there had been no fight left in him. Even his fights in the arena –a rare occurrence in later years- looked rehearsed and automated, like he was just going through the motions.

Until Mouse’s death.

Now that they had started calling each other by their actual names, it stung even worse that nobody in their team had known Mouse’s real name. Hojeong would even argue that Mouse also served as an example. Seven years of being careful, keeping quiet and minding your own business. Only to be brutally murdered when the time called for it.

But the times had changed.

In the last couple of weeks, now that the determination and spirit had returned to their teams, they’d started to analyze the patterns. Fewer deaths occurred on purpose during fights in the arena. Used to be that a Spectacle Fight happened every Ceremony. And someone always died in those. Now, Spectacles rarely happened at all. These days, you had way higher chances of surviving a Ceremony as a Fighter. Teams were also getting smaller. And even though that meant that the members had to work harder to make up for fewer people, you could also maybe perhaps cautiously draw the conclusion that the monsters had trouble finding new recruits. Whether that meant that there were just fewer unsuspecting people walking around that they could snatch from the street, or if they were being extra careful because they were somehow under scrutiny, that was a question Hojeong should ponder while making his way through the forest.

It didn’t take long, less than an hour, for the effects of the adrenaline to wear off for the most part. His heart started to slow to –thankfully- a normal rhythm, but this also meant that the exhaustion was quickly catching up with him. He developed fairly good stamina over the years, hadn’t been called Runner for nothing, but when the blood started rushing in his ears and the world was once again spinning around him, Hojeong flopped down against a tree. It was still completely dark and he had been stumbling through the forest mostly blindly, except for the small sliver of moonlight through the top of the trees.

He closed his eyes, just for a second, wondering whether the monsters would be able to track him down. Maybe they’d use dogs. They’d been able to track down everyone else that ever escaped. How much hope was there that he could make it to civilization before those hunters caught up with him? And even if he did, he’d never truly be safe. They were everywhere. And he was just one guy.

Biting his lip before it can start to tremble in despair, Hojeong slowly gets back up on shaking legs. He has to keep moving forward. He doesn’t know where he is. Can’t tell north from south in this darkness. But spring was in the air. Soon it would be daylight.

And Hojeong would be there to see it.

Chapter Text

The sound of the monitor lulls him into a sense of calm. Jimin is determined to stay awake though, despite his compromised condition. He keeps vigil, stoically and quietly. It’s the least he can do.

He’s drifting off slowly though. Fire and smoke taking over his senses. Yelling and screaming. Something heavy on his chest. Can’t move. He’ll die here. He’ll die here without answers, without fulfilling the mission he’s set out for himself more than five years ago. Somewhere, throughout all the flames and roaring smoke, he hears Taehyung scream his name.

Doesn’t he know that Jimin is stuck? Destined to burn alive here in this godforsaken, far too large guest bedroom. Part of the back wall came down and pinned him to the wooden floor. He doesn’t know if he’ll die because of the crushing weight on his torso, or by the fire that seems to be all around him. Taehyung keeps screaming. Hysterical and panicked. And then suddenly, it’s not Taehyung anymore that’s screaming his name.

Seokjin-hyung.

Jimin sees him as a silhouette through the flames and the smoke. He’s bend forward, hand in front of his mouth and coughing violently. He squints through the smoke, stumbling as he seems to completely have lost his sense of balance. Seokjin yells his name again when the coughing fit subsides, faltering over to what used to be Jimin’s room. And Jimin yells back at him. Doesn’t know if he sounds relieved or frightened. He’s never been so scared in his life. Never known the feeling of fear of death. But there’s nothing else that can describe this. It courses through him, like- well, like fire, he supposes. He barely feels the pain of the heat from the flames that creep awfully close to his head. Just another minute and his hair will be on fucking fire. And he can’t do anything but lie there.

But Seokjin hears him. Turns around so quickly it must be dizzying. Takes in the ruins of Jimin’s room with more than a little despair in his eyes.

“Hyung help!” Jimin cries and it looks like those words set off some sort of automatic response in Seokjin. He crashes forward past the crumbling wall, stumbling over the burning floor boards until he’s right next to Jimin. His face is smudged with soot and his left leg is bleeding badly. Jimin only now realizes that Seokjin has an entire family living in this house. Yet he’s here. He’s fucking here.

And Jimin could cry. Thinks he does. Or did. Time is a relative concept right now. Seconds lasts for hours. Minutes are months. Seokjin, unlike his argumentative nature, wastes no time with conversation. He starts pushing against the metal, stone, wood burden that keeps Jimin pinned to the ground. It’s hard work and Jimin tries to help him as well as possible, but even the two of them can’t budge it enough to make escape possible. Desperate, Seokjin looks around wildly for anything he could use as leverage. There’s no time. The room is crumbling and burning and collapsing all around them. The age old home standing on its very last legs. They’re both crying in pure, unadulterated fear. There’s no shame in it now.

“Go!” Jimin cries, sobbing as the fire creeps close to his shoulder and burns right through his tattered clothes. “Get out of here!”

But Seokjin doesn’t go. Somehow manages to kill the flames that are searing Jimin’s shoulder. Hyung’s basic survival instincts seem to have completely passed him by and he stays right there, playing the fucking hero. And as a result they will both die here.

And it’s all Jimin’s goddamn fault

All the tears they cry immediately dry up, evaporating in the room’s extreme temperature. Seokjin’s breathing has a distinctive wheeze to it, his lungs probably completely ruined by now. Still he stands, grabbing a scorched beam lying by the destroyed back wall. He drags it along, his sooty face serious and determined.

“Hyung,” Jimin hiccups, “Go, please.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Seokjin mumbles, voice nearly unrecognizable. He struggles for a second, a minute, a week, a year. Jimin’s powerless to change his mind. The room has deteriorated in such a way that you can basically just step outside, there’s no more walls. With the further ruin of the house, it could be possible for Seokjin to get down from the second floor relatively unharmed. Jimin doesn’t know if hyung’s naïve enough to believe they will be fine here for much longer, or if there’s something else going around in Seokjin’s mind that Jimin would rather not touch. The elder finally manages to place one end of the wooden beam under the debris covering most of Jimin’s body. And for a second, Jimin believes that Seokjin could keep the smoke and the flames away by the sheer power of his anger. Because how dare it fuck up his house.

But fire does what fire wants and soon it has Jimin yelling out in panic as it latches onto the wooden beam Seokjin just so carefully maneuvered. The sheer power of Seokjin’s anger does help in swatting down the flames, but Jimin hears him hiss and cry out in pain as the fire also burns through whatever is left of his pajama top.

No time

Without much of another thought, Seokjin hoists up the beam with herculean effort. Jimin sees him straining not to dissolve into a coughing mess as he kicks one of the nearest structures he can use as leverage –another beam, the room is filled with those, by now- underneath the first one. Jimin watches, wide eyed despite the prickling smoke, as Seokjin pants, wheezes painfully and then puts his entire weight onto the first beam.

A puff of embers floats up, the structure groaning and the floor creaking threateningly. But Jimin can feel the massive weight on his chest and legs lift up. A little more and he can wriggle out, if his body could even cooperate a little bit. Seokjin is holding his breath, sweat streaming down his face and making even more of a mess as it mixes with the soot. Jimin thinks he mustn’t look much different. His skin feels strange. Stiff. Like it isn’t his own. Like he’s pulled a fullbody mask on. He can’t distinguish pain from heat anymore. “Hyung,” he pleads softly, doesn’t know what he means.

Seokjin’s face twitches and he doubles his efforts, putting that much force into pressing down his makeshift construction. Jimin’s burden cracks and groans and then it feels like he can breathe lighter again. He looks at Seokjin, eyes big and hyung quickly motions for him to move because he cannot fucking hold this any longer.

The lower half of Jimin’s body barely works, but he manages to drag himself from underneath the debris that he was sure was going to be his death sentence. He’s shaking with adrenaline. He’s stayed low to the ground, so somehow the smoke hasn’t affected him as severely as it seems to have affected Seokjin. Hyung crashes to his knees, doubling over with his hands on the burning floor as he coughs harshly and doesn’t seem to stop. Jimin’s legs are bruised and torn, but don’t seem to be broken and he manages to crawl towards his savior. “Hyung,” he says. It’s the only thing he can say anymore.

Seokjin doesn’t acknowledge him, too busy coughing up his shredded lungs. With all the strength Jimin can muster, he grabs Seokjin by the upper arm and tries to drag him towards where once the walls to the outside world stood. Now the night sky greets them as nearly all of the wall is gone. “We have to try and get down,” Jimin urges, still tugging Seokjin’s arm.

Hyung can’t seem to speak anymore. He’s gone mostly limp, movements small and jerky as he makes a half effort to crawl towards the edge. Jimin’s torn between showing him how to get down by going down first, or insisting that hyung goes first. “We’ll be alright,” he mumbles, squeezing Seokjin’s shoulder, “We’ve made it this far. Seems wasteful to die now.”

He feels hyung nod weakly against him, mostly out of it by now. He’s barely breathing anymore, Jimin notices. It spurs on the fear in his veins and he grabs the stone edge, peering down. It’s a long fall from here, but there’s grass underneath. They only need to get down a little bit further until they can land relatively safely. Reluctantly, he lets Seokjin go, biting his lip as the pain flares through him when his knees are forced to scrape over the burning floor in order to get over the edge. Jimin climbs slowly, willing his legs to keep supporting him. He manages to climb down a few feet and then his foot slips mercilessly and he falls the rest of the way down.

He gasps awake, immediately coughing as his lungs don’t appreciate that much work right now, thank you. He wheezes pathetically and curses. Four days later and breathing is still nearly impossible at times. He waits for the fit to pass, carefully scanning his surroundings. If anyone notices he’s not in his room, he’s going to be in huge trouble. But the ICU is quiet and still this time at night. It’s quiet and still most of the time, actually. 

He drags a tired hand over his face, wincing as the bandages around his shoulder and ribs shift and drag on the healing skin. He’d been lucky enough that the burns he sustained would mostly heal in time, leaving very little scarring.

They still hurt like a bitch though.

It’s mostly just annoying, right now. Now that the fear of death has passed, Jimin feels that old, impatient yearning to do something eating away at his thoughts. Everyone keeps trying to convince him that he needs time to heal and how are you ever going to be of help to Taehyung if you’re wheezing and wincing all the way over there?

Thanks Yoongi-hyung, for the encouragement.

And honestly, he was going to be fine. One day more or less at the hospital wasn’t gonna change much. No, in the end, it hadn’t been Jimin’s life that had precariously hung in the balance.

“Jimin-ah?” a soft voice asks and Jimin twitches as he turns around, actually hissing out loud this time as the skin on his shoulder nearly tears at the movement. “What are you doing here?”

Soomi’s face is full of concern as she quickly walks into the room. Jimin wants to reassure her; say he’s got everything under control. Tell her not to worry about him. But his voice has been pretty much gone for the past four days, so instead he settles on, “Hey.”

The concern doesn’t disappear, but Soomi manages a faint smile for his sake. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

He could ask her the same question. It’s far past midnight. At least Jimin’s supposed to be in the hospital at this hour. He wonders, for a moment, if Soomi sees fire and flame also every time she closes her eyes. A stab of guilt flashes through him at the thought and he looks away, “Already got- a lecture- from the nurse,” he huffs.

“Good,” Soomi mutters, “Spares me the trouble.”

“Noona-” Jimin whines softly. A peace offering and he watches with relief as Soomi’s smile grows just a little bit brighter.

“You’re a menace,” she tells him, then turns to the bed that Jimin had perpetually planted himself next to, “Anything new here?”

Jimin looks at hyung lying quiet and still on the bed. It’s wrong. Seokjin is wriggly and squirmy most of the time. Simultaneously a childish idiot and a responsible hyung. Jimin had always admired the way Seokjin could switch between the two at the drop of a hat. “No,” he sighs, “Hyung likes his beauty sleep a little too much.”

Soomi grins, “Yeah, don’t we know about it. Four days is too long, Seokjin-ah.”

Seokjin, as expected, doesn’t respond in any way. The soot has been cleaned from his face, revealing the paleness of his skin. His lungs had been in a lot of trouble when he and Jimin finally got to the hospital. And where it had taken Jimin only about a day to be able to breathe somewhat regularly again without support, Seokjin was still getting there. His left leg had been burnt pretty badly as well and Jimin swallows with difficulty just thinking about it. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

Soomi, surprised, looks at him, “Sorry? For what?”

“The fire, I guess,” Jimin replies in a smothered tone, “it’s all my fault.”

“Were you the one that threw a burning rag through our living room window in the middle of the night?”

“No-”

“Then it’s not your fault.”

Jimin shakes his head, needing her to understand. “He wanted to save me-”

“And he did. Would probably do it again.”

“I dragged you guys into this,” Jimin laments, overwhelmed, “They were following me.”

 “Can I ask you something?”

Jimin nods immediately.

“All these years of dead end leads. What made you keep going?”

He huffs in response, “Been honestly asking myself that. I was just… I couldn’t believe he was gone. I couldn’t accept it.”

“Because he was your best friend.”

“He was. He is.”

“He’s more than that, isn’t he?”

He glances up at her. “How do you know?”

She smiles, “Women just know sometimes.”

“Bullshit.”

“Language.”

“Sorry.”

“No. It’s the way you talk about him. The look on your face when you do. Taehyung is lucky to have somebody so dedicated on his side.”

“How lucky,” Jimin scoffs softly, “took me five years.”

“While everybody else thought he was long dead.”

“Well, he could have been, I had no way of knowing.”

“And so you didn’t give up. Now tell me, if you had been Seokjin, and Seokjin would have been you. Would you have left him to save yourself?”

Jimin shakes his head quickly, appalled by the idea. “No.”

“That’s why I don’t blame you for what happened, Jimin-ah. Nobody does. Nobody should. Seokjin here made his choice regardless of what you thought about it. And he’s going to be okay. He’s gonna be grumpy for a while, I suppose that comes with such physical discomfort. But he’ll live a long life after that. He gets to watch his daughter grow up and kick ass. It’s been a rough couple of days, but we’ll move past it eventually. We’ll leave all of this behind us. And I wish that for you and Taehyung as well.”

Jimin smiles sadly, “So long I thought I lost him. I don’t even think I know what to say if I get to see him again.”

“You will get to see him again.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“They wouldn’t have set our house on fire if you weren’t at least posing some sort of threat.”

“Maybe.”

“You know, ‘Hi’ might be a good start. When you see him again.”

Jimin chuckles at that, “That simple, huh?”

“Sometimes.”

“How did you meet hyung?”

A wistful smile, “In college, actually. Just like normal people. It was before all of y’alls fame and fortune. I have to admit, never thought someone like Kim Seokjin would ever admit himself to an idol trainee program. At least, not at that time.”

“Really?”

“Sure. We were just college kids. Friends mostly. Went on a couple of dates, but it didn’t really work out back then.”

“And now you’re married.”

“Oh that has nothing to do with what happened with the good old boyband of yours. On the contrary. We didn’t talk at all during that time.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“Oh sure I did. But we had such obviously different lives. It just never really fit together, you know?”

“He came back to you? After all those years?”

“Isn’t that something?” Soomi laughs, looking over at her sleeping husband fondly, “Confessed his undying love there and then right outside my doorstep. Said he’d always felt that way. I didn’t really believe him then. But he’s proven me wrong countless times.”

“Sounds romantic.”

“Hm, your hyung’s got more in him than you think. Anyway, it just happens that I had been recently on my own again and it just worked out perfectly that way.”

Jimin looks at her. She seemed mature, kind and calm. A direct opposite in many ways to Seokjin’s chaotic nature. Jimin didn’t know the full story of how they’d found each other after all those years. Did Soomi ever wonder if Seokjin would have come and find her if Taehyung hadn’t disappeared? Did it really matter to think about it? He breathes deeply for what feels like the first time in over four days, “I wish I could have a love story like that.”

“Me too. Yours involves a little more… misfortune, it seems.”

“Ugh,” Jimin groans, “Why can’t I have a romcom like you guys? Why did I get burdened with the Greek tragedy?”

“It’s cause you’re a major pain in the ass,” a rough, gravelly sounding voice replies.

“Hyung!” squeaks Jimin.

Seokjin looks at them, eyes only tiny slits as they flit between Soomi and Jimin and back, “Since when do romcoms involve house fires?”

“He’s kinda dragged you into his Greek tragedy, I’m afraid,” Soomi replies matter-of-factly.

Seokjin breathes out, a noticeable wheeze leaving his healing lungs, “Well, ain’t that a bummer.”

“We’re all fine, by the way.”

“Yunha?”

“Completely okay. Although, she’s been mourning the loss of seventeen stuffed animals.”

“Ah crap. Bernie too?”

“Especially Bernie. Couldn’t be saved.”

“Would it help if we get her a new Bernie?”

“Hoseok already tried.”

“No dice?”

“None.”

Seokjin stares at her for a long moment, then something glints in his eye, “Well…. You know… we could-”

“No.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet!”

“We’re not getting a dog.”

“But it could be so good for Yunha!”

“We don’t even have a house right now, Seokjin-ah. Where do you want to put a dog?”

“Shit, I didn’t even think about that. Where have you guys been staying?”

“My mom, mostly. She’s been pretty overbearing though, as usual. But I manage to sneak out long enough to go to the hospital. I’ll probably be subjected to another interrogation when I get back, though.”

“Well, bed’s big enough, you could stay here.”

“I’m not leaving Yunha alone with her for that long, are you crazy?”

“Will you think about it though?”

“About what?”

“The dog!”

“Kim Seokjin!”

“Come on. I’m hurt and sore. Don’t you feel bad for me?”

“Are you trying to emotionally manipulate me?”

“Is it working?”

“No!”

“Then no.”

“We need to think about a house first, Jin-ah.”

“Fine, house first.”

“Good.”

“But we could call him Bernie.”

Chapter Text

“I am so goddam hungry.”

“We’ve heard you the first six times, Lee.”

“How do you suppose we stage a coup, with no food in our bellies?”

“Well, first we need a plan.”

“Oh yeah, enlighten us with what you’ve got so far, hyung.”

 “Now that we’ve got Hojeong out and about, we need to establish connections.”

“With blue and red, you mean.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“That’s gonna be a tough job, boss. They’re pretty adamant in keeping us separated at all times.”

“Most times. We’re always separated except for-”

Laundry duty

It was as simple and as boring as it sounded. The estimated count of thirty white shirts and an equal amount of brown trousers their team had in circulation, needed to be washed every now and again. That task, of course, came down to the prisoners themselves. While they all had their own assigned washing machine, baskets and products, all teams still did the washing at the same time, in the same laundry room. It was big. Nearly as big as the barracks. Usually watched by only two guards. Nobody had ever tried to pull any funny tricks at laundry time.

It wouldn’t be suspicious.

Taehyung keeps a firm eye on the guards while slowly creeping his way closer to what he was fairly confident to be the red team’s leader. The guy was very tall, but had a calm, sensible demeanor about him.

He looked approachable.

He seemed to be around Taehyung’s age, which meant that he also had to be one of the oldest prisoners in the Underground. Taehyung could not remember if he had been here before, or after him. He shamefully had to admit that he knew very little about any individual in the other two teams. The only one he’d been keeping an eye on was Grudge, and that was only out of sensible caution. Now that Grudge was gone, the three teams had resumed minding their own business.

So it was no surprise that Taehyung gets a very firm ‘what do you think you’re doing’ stare from the other team’s leader as he sneaks closer to Red Teams little laundry corner.

The guards are out of sight, but when Taehyung is nearing too close, the other team’s leader switches between scowling at him to nervously watching the place he knew the guards to be. A few other members of the red team apprehensively watch the white team’s leader carelessly invading their territory, but seem too confused to do anything about it but stare.

They all knew the rules very well. Contact between teams was strictly forbidden.

“Don’t look at me,” Taehyung says calmly and evenly, though he had to admit he felt his heart hammering in his chest.

The men knew a direct order when they hear one, even if it wasn’t from their own leader, and turn around to pretend to continue with their laundry. Their own leader still has half an eye trained on the doors, while watching Taehyung with what could only be disdain. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you get the note?”

For a short second, Taehyung is sure the taller is  going to lie, but the man shrugs and casually picks out a red shirt from his basket to fold it on the table. “It was barely readable.”

“Yours must have been written by Jungho then, he’s missing both pinky fingers.”

The Red Team’s leader doesn’t see the humor in that and gives Taehyung a stern look, “We’re not supposed to communicate with each other, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

“Oh, I am,” Taehyung lets him know quietely, “We’re not getting caught.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Haru is causing a distraction, we have time to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Dancer.”

Taehyung flinches at the name, “I go by Taehyung now. Whats your name?”

“Why do you think I should tell you?”

“Because I’m older,” Taehyung mutters, and surprisingly, that does get a slight smile from the other.

“When were you born?”

“December 95.”

“February 96.”

“See?”

“Min Junseok.”

“Kim Taehyung.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fine, whatever. Park Taehyung then, if that helps.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“Does it really matter?”

Junseok’s eyes nervously travel to the big metal doors again and he finally decides that arguing over names isn’t worth his time. “I guess not.”

“We need help.”

“With what exactly?” Junseok asks through clenched teeth.

Taehyung stares at him intently for a second, then takes a deep breath, “We got one of our guys on the Surface.”

The other blinks at him, “Bullshit.”

“I’m not lying,” Taehyung urges, grabbing the edge of Junseok’s basket to keep his attention, “Lee Hojeong, Runner, got out.”

“He died, didn’t he?”

“Well, that’s what everybody is supposed to think.”

“Why should I believe you? Even if he got out, he’s probably already been killed.”

“They’ve been starving us for nearly two weeks now. We get beaten every day. They want one of us to give him up. They wouldn’t do that if they’d already caught him. They’d rub it in our faces.”

“You don’t look very starved. Or beaten.”

“That’s the joke, isn’t it? We always look starved. And beaten.” Taehyung rolls his eyes and lifts up his white t-shirt to briefly show the evidence. “I don’t think half of my team is going to be able to stand upright during the ceremony tonight. Heaven forbid there’s gonna be any spectacles tonight.”

Something seems to melt in Junseok’s stoic, reserved gaze. He looks down at his hands, resting on the folded clothes in the basket. His face twitches slightly and Taehyung wonders what he’s thinking about. Then Junseok looks at him, “How many have you done?”

“What, spectacle fights?”

“Yeah.”

“Including Grudge? Nineteen. You?”

“Eleven.”

“You remember all of them?”

“Every detail.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“So what’s your plan? I assume you have a plan.”

“I want to form an alliance. Our teams will be stronger when we work together. We’ll keep it under wraps. Only communicate when we’re sure we can.”

“To what purpose.”

“I think you know.”

“Forget it, Taehyung,” Junseok’s face hardens again, “Me and my team will not get involved in one of your schemes. I was there. I remember what happened last time.”

“I think about what happened last time ever single day,” Taehyung admits through clenched teeth. “Long I was sure that keeping our heads down and doing what needed to be done was the safest way to survive.”

“So what changed?”

Taehyung wishes there was an easy answer to this. Multiple things changed over the span of a few months, but what it boiled down to- “Honestly? Grudge.”

“What do you mean?”

Taehyung stares at the other team’s leader intensely for a few moments, “This place,” he says slowly, “It changes you. I’m sure you know what I mean. You’re told to do horrible things. Unspeakable things. And then one day –you don’t need to be told anymore. They become normal to you. You don’t think about what it means. What it does. During those fights… when it’s kill or be killed. There’s this rush.”

Junseok clenches his jaw, clearly enraptured by his words.

“Grudge had it. He killed without needing to be told to. I know I felt it too. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to become one of them. That rush you feel, that tingling lightheadedness when you’re looking up at the crowd after a fight and your hands are soaked in blood, it’ll become the only thing that can make you feel alive. I know you know this too. I didn’t need to be told to finish it when I was sitting on top of Grudge.”

There’s a hint of wetness around Junseok’s eyes, but Taehyung ignores it politely. He lets the other think for a moment, Junseok biting his lip as he clenches his fist and involuntarily undoes his folded laundry. Then he starts nodding, “You’ve spared our people more times than you had to, I know you’ve taken beatings for my team when you refused to finish it,” he says softly, “You’re not a monster, Taehyung. But yes, I know the feeling you are talking about. And it terrifies me too.”

Taehyung nods back at him, a small sense of relief running through him, “I know.”

“Have you already established contact with the blue team?”

He scoffs, “I’ve killed their leader not too long ago. Gonna have to figure out a way to get around that.”

“From what I know, Grudge was as much a tyrant to his own team, as he was in the arena. They’re not losing too much time grieving over him. I think they might even thank you.”

“How do know this?” Taehyung asks, amazed.

“I have my ways,” Junseok smiles. “I’ll talk to my team, get the foundations running. We’ll communicate on laundry days, if we can get away with anymore distractions.”

Getting the Red Team’s leader on board brings him one step closer and Taehyung feels light on his feet as he walks back to the barracks with a somehow soaked wet Haru. Taehyung doesn’t know exactly what kind of distraction Haru had caused and the younger man refuses to elaborate when asked. Still, it worked. They’d raised no suspicion during their little chat, as far as Taehyung knew. Next plan was to get his team somewhat in shape for the Ceremony tonight. That was going to be difficult. The lack of nutrition and the constant beatings they received made it hard to get any proper training in. For the experienced fighters, that wasn’t too much trouble, they’d get by. But the newer recruits; they may just collapse after a few seconds from lack of strength alone.

Taehyung was fully intending to be a Fighter tonight. He could try and pass another note. To Blue Team, this time. The other Fighters would try too.

He says all this to his team when they get back to the barracks. They nod and mumble their approval. They sit and talk about what they would do when they finally get out, like they’ve done most nights. Daewoo –Moon- says he’ll probably take a long drive across the country. Catch up on all the things he’s missed in the last four and a half years. Jungho laments the fact that he lost two fingers, but says he would like to try and enroll into bakery school again. Haru mentions a girlfriend he’d been together with for two years. Justin would fly back to America and hug his twin brother close. Never letting go, he adds with a sad smile. Taehyung admits he finds it hard to think about a normal life back on the Surface, but agrees he’d probably visit family and friends and stay with them for as much as he can.

It’s nice, he thinks. Cathartic, almost.

He’s calm and confident when they’re ushered out of the barracks again for the Ceremony. The sand is as cold as always between his bare toes. To his relief, his team manages to remain standing during the role call. There’s already five fighters chosen when they get to the end of the line, where Taehyung is waiting to be called.

“Lover!”

Chapter Text

One week earlier

“You mean you got an actual invitation? You’re sure?”

“My dude. Who’s been spending all his free evenings down at some sleazy Daegu night clubs? Hard work pays off, you know?”

Namjoon scoffs and shakes his head. His idea of hard work didn’t include watching strippers all night while talking to some local, rich assholes. Apparently Soohyun had done an amazing job pretending to be one of those local, rich assholes, even though nobody had heard of him before. When Namjoon listened to Soohyun’s stories, he always thought the older man was taking it way over the top. Apparently, though, those Daegu bastards liked that sort of thing.

Namjoon didn’t like actors very much, was what it was.

“So when’s the invitation?” Yoongi got straight to the point.

“There’s a Ceremony tomorrow. They call it Ceremonies, it’s disgusting, I know. Betting is already in full order. I said I would probably put down 200 million if there were any good Fighters and they said that for that amount of money, I should totally come and watch.”

That was how it went. They were slowly but surely buying their way into the inner circles of the Underground. Information around town was scarce and even when drunk and loose lipped in the strip clubs, invitees only spoke about the Underground in hushed whispers. But over the weeks, Soohyung had managed to gather all these hushed whispers to give them a pretty good idea of what was going on down there.

Seemed almost like a perverted rich man’s fantasy, if Namjoon had to put a name to it.

“We have to stay careful, though,” Minhyung grumbled in his usual gravelly voice. “This operation depends on a lot of factors. If you ever feel like you’ve raised suspicion, even if it’s just a hunch, I want you to come here straight to this cabin.”

“Do not pass go, do not collect 200,000 won?” Soohyun smiles nervously.

Minhyung doesn’t smile back, “You’ll be save here.”

“Thanks.”

“We would have to try-”

Four heads shoot up at the sharp barks of Minhyung’s two rottweilers. Namjoon knew they were standing guard further into the woods, in case any unwanted visitors tried to sneak up on the cabin. Minhyung wasted no time in getting his shotgun rifle from behind the desk and stomping outside. Namjoon, with hunched shoulders, was once again reminded of the situation he’d found himself in over the last three and a half months.

He’d been hesitant about coming here today. Jimin was only now being discharged from the hospital en Lord knows how much longer it would take for Seokjin. They needed all the support they could get right now. But Hoseok and Soomi were already constantly swarming around those two and Jungkook was running errand after errand for them and Jimin had told Namjoon that they’d be more than a little alright with some more space to breathe.

There was also the fact that Namjoon hadn’t told his wife anything about what he’d been doing these last few weeks. He’d said he was trying to reconnect with his friends to see if there was any future potential for a collaboration possible and she had been so supportive. And Namjoon had felt worse and worse the longer time went on and he still hadn’t told her the truth yet. She was going to read about the fire any day now and freak the fuck out.

Yeah, he should just tell her everything.

But before that, he stumbled after Minhyung, out of the cabin. Despite it being May, the woods were still pretty cold. The harsh wind bit into his cheeks as he trudged over the rough forest ground, hugging his coat around him a little tighter. The barks were getting closer and Minhyung had already cocked his shotgun, ready to shoot at any trespasser in sight.

They found the two dogs barking up at a tree and for a moment, Namjoon’s shoulders sagged. They’d probably just found a squirrel and got excited. Then he thought about all the squirrels in these woods and how the dogs had never alarmed about them before and he looked up at the tree as well.

Before he could determine anything, the shotgun went off and just barely missed the guy that had clambered up the tree.

The young man shouted in surprise, only having been able to keep his attention on the two dogs that were jumping and clawing at the tree, “Holy fucking shit!”

“Who are you?”

The man hugged the bark with both his arms as he sat on a precarious looking side branch of the tree, and peered down. “What?”

“Who are you? Identify yourself!” Minhyung barked along with his dogs.

“I can’t- I can’t fucking hear you!”

“For fuck’s sake,” Minhyung growls, snapping his fingers. Both dogs quiet down immediately and Namjoon raises his eyebrows, impressed.

“Thank fuck, I thought I was going deaf!” the man shouts from up the tree.

The dogs are still staring up the tree, eager as they pant and wait for further instructions. Minhyung has already cocked his gun again, “You make one funny move and I’ll blow your head off.”

The man in the tree is not having it, “For crying out loud,” he mumbles, “Who are you and why do you have to maniacal dogs trying to tear me apart?”

“They’re not maniacal,” Minhyung calls back, offended, “Roxy and DJ have never torn anyone apart. But they would; if I told them to.”

The guy stares down at him, eyes sharp and distrusting, “Are you with them?”

“Them?”

“Were you following me?”

“This is my property you’re sitting on, kid, I’ve got you at gunpoint. So let me ask the questions here.”

“Fine.”

“Are you with them?”

“With whom?”

This was getting nowhere, so Namjoon takes a step closer, “I think we both know very well whom we’re talking about. And judging by y’alls questions, it’s safe to say that none of us are with them.”

“Then who are you?” Minhyung repeats his question from the beginning, aiming his shotgun for emphasis.

It works. A shock travels through the young man in the tree and he instinctively puts his arms up, swaying dangerously on his branch. “Okay, alright! My name is Lee Hojeong. I’ve been lost in these fucking woods for nearly six days!”

Namjoon observes him. The man is dirty and disheveled, torn clothes hanging around his thin frame. A scraggly, week old stubble clings to his chin and cheeks and on closer look, he seems absolutely exhausted.

Minhyung doesn’t lower his weapon, however, “How did you get lost?”

“How does anyone get lost?” Hojeong says back.

“I ain’t playing games, kid!”

“I know, I know!” Hojeong says quickly, “It’s a fucking long story, alright. Just… just let me get down and I’ll tell you.”

“Are you armed?”

“Would I have climbed a fucking tree to get away from your hellish dogs if I was armed?”

“They’re good dogs!” Minhyung shouts, then motions with his gun, “Fine, come on down.”

Hojeong is careful as he slowly climbs down the tree, wary of the two dogs still circling around it. He stands on unsteady feet, awkwardly brushing himself off before straightening up to face them. He stares at the shotgun disdainfully, “If you knew how many times I’ve been held at gunpoint in the last three years-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll explain, like I told you. Just… let me get somewhere warm first.”

Namjoon sees the hesitation on Minhyung’s face. The older man is not planning on letting the enemy walk into his safehouse, thank you very much. But the more Namjoon looks at Hojeong, the less he’s convinced that the enemy has sent a spy.

And so the slowly walk back to the cabin. Hojeong in front, with Minhyung and his shotgun behind him and Namjoon and the dogs at the back. Namjoon feels like they’re taking a lamb to slaughter.

Yoongi and Soohyun are as suspicious as Minhyung when they finally enter the cabin. Their faces are hard and cold as they throw question after question at Hojeong. Hojeong seems too tired to react to any of them, taking a seat at the burning fireplace and heaving a sigh of relief. Namjoon wouldn’t be surprised if Hojeong just fell asleep here and now. But he owes them a story first, so he lets his shoulders slump and closes his eyes, taking in the heat from the fireplace.

“I came from a place they call the Underground.”

There’s a lot of people talking all at once at that, but Hojeong just keeps staring at the flames. The questions and doubts ricochet off of him, seemingly without effect. He waits for everyone to quiet down before he clears his throat, “Apparently y’all know about the place.”

“Oh we’ve heard.”

“Then you know it’s literal hell.”

“Were you a prisoner down there?”

Hojeong’s stare remains on the fire, but Namjoon can tell he’s somewhere else entirely, “Yes. For three years.”

“How’d you get out?”

Hojeong finally looks up, watching these four strangers and their disbelieving faces, “They didn’t just let me out, if that’s what you’re asking. We had a- a plan.”

“We?”

“Yeah, me and my team,” Hojeong scoffs, “An escape plan, if you will.”

“And that worked?”

“It was a shot in the dark, really. I was like 95 percent certain I was going to die.”

“You the only one that got out?”

“Yeah, we figured that it would be less suspicious if only one of us got out. But I’m sure by now those monsters are torturing my team in order to get answers.”

“So what was the plan exactly?”

Hojeong shrugs, “Well, it hasn’t really been going to plan exactly so far. I played dead, essentially. They take dead bodies up to the Surf- the real world. We had made a cocktail of drugs and stuff to make it look like I really died, and they put me in a pick up truck and then I just sorta… jumped out and stumbled into the woods. Thought I was going to run to civilization in a day or so, but yeah, I’ve been living on suspicious looking berries and a few fresh water creeks whenever I could find them. These woods are… expansive.”

“So we’re just supposed to believe you? You got out of the Underground when no one else ever has?”

“Oh, people have tried before me,” Hojeong shivers, “I didn’t know I’d end up in the middle of nowhere. Most escapees get hunted down within a day or two, but I’ve been managing to avoid them so far. Blood ran cold when those dogs came after me.”

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologizes quickly. Even if the others remain suspicious, Namjoon can tell Hojeong has clearly been through a hell of a lot. And if what he was saying was true, that was huge. Getting to meet an actual prisoner from the Underground instead of trying to worm their way in from higher up, it would accelerate their case faster than Namjoon could anticipate.

“So, now you know where I came from,” Hojeong sighs, “how do you know the Underground?”

“A friend of ours is down there,” Namjoon replies.

“A brother,” Yoongi corrects, “We suspect he may also be a prisoner. He came to Seoul, told to threaten another brother.”

Hojeong’s eyes narrow as he looks back and forth from Namjoon to Yoongi and Namjoon knows that stare well enough to know what’s next-

“I know who you are!” Hojeong exclaims.

“Then you know who we’re talking about.”

“You’re Taehyung’s hyungs!”

“You know Taehyung?”

Hojeong, re-energized, nods fervently, “Sure do! He’s the leader of our team! He told us you guys we’re looking for him. I was skeptical, but… holy shit!”

There’s frantic relief in the way Hojeong smiles at them, looking as if he’s found his saviors.

“He’s alive?”

“Well, last time I saw him, yeah!” Hojeong nods eagerly, “Although, in the Underground, that doesn’t say much.”

“What do you mean?”

Hojeong willfully ignores that question, keeping his gaze going between Yoongi and Namjoon, “Holy shit. I manage to escape, wander through the woods for six days, and the first people I find are fucking BTS! That’s insane!”

Namjoon smiles at the enthusiasm, but there’s something nagging the back of his mind, “You said they’re probably torturing your team for information?”

Hojeong immediately pulls his face back into a serious expression and nods, “Oh yeah, they do that. They take rebellion very serious.”

“What kind of torture?” Yoongi asks.

Hojeong seems reluctant to answer. Namjoon thinks that for a guy that has just escaped such a horrible place, Hojeong is putting on one hell of a brave act. The young man shakes his head, “I don’t know. They’re pretty creative. Experts when it comes to getting what they want. I was supposed to get out and get help. And that’s you guys, I suppose.”

“Damn straight that’s us,” Minhyung grumbles from the corner, “You can stay here at the cabin for the time being, if you want. It’s safe. Motherfuckers haven’t been able to find it, even though they know I’ve been on their trail. Name’s Kang Minhyung.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hojeong’s relief is almost palpable.

‘We’ll figure out what to do next tomorrow. First, get some rest. I’ll have Yoongi and Soohyun over here get some food from out of town.”

“Are we really in Daegu?”

“That’s right.”

“My mom lives in Daegu. She’s the only family I have.”

“I’m sorry, kid. We can’t have you go out and about just yet. They’ll likely know where your Mom is, and suspect that she’s the first one you’d come and see. It’s not safe.”

A bit of disappointment creeps onto Hojeong’s face, “I understand, sir.”

“And don’t go to the police either. The number one rule of this operation is that we don’t trust the police. Stay here, for now. The dogs will keep you company and I come by every other day or so. You can give us a lot of valuable information in return.”

Hojeong looks at the two rottweilers with uncertainty, but nods slowly nevertheless, “And then what?”

“Then maybe we can finally tear down this organization once and for all.”

Chapter Text

Dan’s beyond pissed as he trudges through the corridors on the higher levels of the Underground. He’d had it all figured out for the Ceremony tonight. Everything had gone according to plan so far. But of course he’d been thwarted at role call.

Of course!

It’s been a long time since he’s had the Lover role, and he would have very much liked to keep it that way. He’d pretty much scared off all the regular customers with his behavior over the years. He’d been punished, naturally, oh had he ever been punished. When the customers couldn’t take what they wanted from him, the guards would. But it had effectively kept him from being hired as a Lover since forever ago.

The note for Blue Team was still burning in the pocket of his trousers. He hadn’t had time to pass it off to another team member before he’d been escorted out of the arena. Thankfully his team mates all had their own notes. He just hoped he wouldn’t be frisked before entering one of those hellish rooms.

He was pushed into a holding cell while the customers were all being led into their rooms. The guard that had been nudging him along sneered at him, “Hair’s too long. Wait here.”

Dancer rolls his eyes at him. Of course, now that he’d been chosen as Lover, they suddenly cared about his appearance again. It wasn’t long before two other guards forcefully enter into the cell and shove him against the wall, chest digging into the wet stone. They make quick work of shaving his head down to a prickly buzz cut before they release him. ‘Room seven,” one of the monsters lets him know, then smirks, “Just your type.”

Dan gives him a murderous look, but doesn’t say anything. He’s been in this corridor more times than he could count. Back when he was still pretty enough to be on the top of the list. The ugly scar over his brow had quickly diminished interest, and his behavior towards the customers didn’t help either. Now he only visited this place in his nightmares.

But here he was again.

It’ll never stop, a voice he recognizes whispers, we have to get out of here.

He has to wait in front of room seven until the guard says he can go in. He imagines the sleazy old bastard lying half naked on the bed and his stomach twists with disgust. He hates this. Always has, always will. But the times that they could overpower him and intimidate him in these rooms are long gone. He knows their games. Knows their disgusting weaknesses. Knows how to exploit them.

They want power. They crave it. The trick is to let them think they have all the power at the beginning, and then twist it around to let them know who’s in charge. Some actually liked it that way, to Dancer’s dismay, but most were not expecting a sudden role reversal, and he’d be kicked out. Hopefully within half an hour.

“Go on in,” the guard next to the door grins wickedly at him and Dan gives him a wicked grin back.

He opens the door, keeping his eyes on the ugly, stained carpet. He looks up briefly and does a double take.

It’s… not what he’s expected.

The man is still fully clothed, and nowhere near the bed. He’s much younger than the usual customers, might only be slightly older than Dan himself. Dancer frowns at him, confusion and irritability swirling around inside him and tying his insides into a frustrated knot.

The guy stares at him, seemingly at a loss of what to do. Dan wonders if this is his very first time. He doesn’t seem eager whatsoever, considering how much money he must have paid for this. A Lover Night was… expensive… allegedly.

Seemed like a very easy target. This is what he’s missing the Ceremony for.

Dan’s not supposed to give the commands, has to wait for instructions before being even allowed to move. So he stands by the door, hands clasped behind his back as he calmly observes the Lover standing frozen in the middle of the room. “You don’t look like you’ve thought this through,” he says softly. He knows they’re being monitored through security cams, but he knows from experience that there’s no audio to the footage.

The man seems in shock, like he’s seeing a ghost. His mouth opens a few times, but closes each and every time. He seems to be in no state to give instructions so Dan decides to give a suggestion, “Shouldn’t you get on the bed?”

“No!” the guy says quickly, stretching out a hand to stop him, even though Dancer’s not moving.

Dan raises his brow, “Do you want me to get on it?”

“No no,” the man shakes his head quickly, eyes darting across the room like he’s the one trapped here. He looks like it. He seems too young, too good looking to be down here in the Underground at a Lover Night. He looked pale, but that could just be his complexion. Dancer didn’t know. Didn’t care either. The faster he got this over with, the sooner he could collect his punishment and go back to the barracks, maybe even get some sleep on time too.

“What would you like me to do, sir?” Dancer asks, trying to make his face look as innocent as possible. They usually like that. It’s disarming. Makes them think they’ve got all the control. Dan remembers how they crawl all over him, like insects, with their dirty hands and dirty words. Their disturbing fantasies and their careless abuse.

The first time it had happened, he didn’t believe he could ever recover from it. But he had. Or, he believed he had. Never got the time to process it properly, probably. Didn’t look forward to it. But after a few times, it became just another horrid part of being stuck down here. It hardens you. It chafes down the rough sharp edges until there’s nothing left but smooth stone. Everything slides right off.

The man’s eyes widen when Dancer starts to undo the string around his trousers. It’s just to get that part over with, but he stops when the man rushes forward, waving his hands, “No no, don’t do that! You don’t need to do that!”

Dan frowns at him, “You want me to keep these on?”

“Yes, please.”

They don’t say yes and please a lot, so Dancer pauses as he watches the customer with a confused expression. “We’re being watched,’’ he informs him with a nod towards the security cam behind him, ‘’we need to do something.”

“Shit,” the man curses, stepping forward and grabbing Dancer by the arm, “Can they hear us too?”

“No.”

“Okay, alright, good,” the guy mumbles, seemingly out of breath. “You can keep your clothes on, you don’t have to do anything for me, okay? God, I can’t believe they would- I just came here to talk to you, Taehyung.”

Taehyung freezes before wrenching himself out of the man’s grip. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m a friend, I’ve come to help,” the man says, holding up his hands reassuringly.

“Who are you?” Taehyung dismisses the guy’s attempt at calming the situation and takes a threatening step closer.

“I’m a friend of Kim Seokjin’s!” the customer squeaks, shrinking back.

Taehyung stumbles back in surprise, “Seokjin-hyung?”

The man nods quickly, “My name is Choi Soohyun, I’ve been undercover, working with your friends and an ex-detective.”

That was too good to be true. Taehyung lets this sink in for half a minute, then slowly starts to see the irregularities. So he holds back, suspicious, “You’ve been to the Underground before?”

Soohyun nods again, “Yeah, I got invited over a week ago. Watched what y’all call a ‘Ceremony’, it’s hella brutal.”

Taehyung takes another step away from him, wondering when the guards will show up when they see their customer and prisoner aren’t doing anything. This isn’t right. This can’t be right. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing!” Soohyun spreads out his hands again, voice rising in pitch, “I just thought I would inform you that we’re working on getting you out of here. All of you. Your team mate Hojeong showed up at our cabin.”

Taehyung stiffens completely, brow dipping as he swallows, “Hojeong is dead.”

“No, no,” Soohyun, or whatever his name really is, shakes his head, “he escaped! You know he did, right?”

It’s a trap. Taehyung has been down here long enough to recognize it.  If they can’t get the information out of you by torture, tricking you like this is the alternative. He almost fell for it too. He’s getting sloppier. His jaw tightens as he glares at the man, “There was a fire,” he manages to grunt out through clenched teeth, “Seokjin-hyung-”

“Is fine!” Soohyun assures him with raised eyebrows, “Well, he got banged up pretty bad, but he’s gonna be fine! His family too.”

“J-Jimin-ah?”

“Everybody got out, Taehyung, they’re safe.”

Taehyung shakes his head stiltedly. This man is a liar, he has to remember that, no matter how much good news he spits out. All lies. All the things Taehyung wants to hear, they’re all lies. And it hurts like nothing has hurt before. This is how they get to him. This is their new game.

Always so many games.

“You’re lying,” he says therefore, face twitching in contempt.

The man suddenly seems to remember he’s dealing with a trained fighter, because he takes three careful steps back, “I’m not, Taehyung-ah. Good things are happening. I promise.”

“Stop lying to me!” Taehyung shouts, anger flaring through his veins. They use his fragile, new found hope against him. They’ll rip it away once he gets careless enough to give Hojeong up. But it won’t be him. He’s onto their plan.

Something akin to pity crosses over Soohyun’s face and it sets the flares of anger within Taehyung wildly aflame. He takes two threatening steps towards his ‘customer’ and shoves against his shoulders, making sure to aim for the bed.

Soohyun’s eyes widen, sensing the impending danger, “I’m not lying to you, Taehyung! I swear! We’ve been working on this for months!”

“You’re a friend of Seokjin-hyung’s? Really? Why the fuck would you willingly come down here? What the hell could he promise you that you would ever consider this hellhole?”

“It’s complicated!” Soohyun squeaks, arms covering his face, “He’s helped me in the past. I owe it to him.”

“You know that doesn’t make any sense, right?” Taehyung sneers, “Go on, call the guards. Get me kicked out.”

“I-I came here to make a plan. To know what you need so we can get it to you.”

The promises and the reassurances are too good, doesn’t this stupid asshole realize that? If they wanted to trick Taehyung, they should have spoon fed him good little details, not dump it all on him at once. Fucking idiots. “I need you to kick me out.”

“What?”

“I’m not playing these fucking games anymore. We haven’t done anything wrong!”

“What are you talking about?”

Dan draws back a fist and slams it into the bastard’s jaw. The man recoils, crawling back over the bed. He looks at Dan in perfect horror, hand gently touching his jaw. The gig is up.

“Runner is dead.”

The silence stretches on. Dan’s not about to give up the only hope he has running around on the Surface.

Chapter Text

Okay, so maybe Soohyun had been a little naïve when deciding that a week as a customer in the Underground was enough to take matters into his own hands and request Dancer as his ‘companion’ as they called it. Hojeong had told them Taehyung’s identity, because, looking at him now, Soohyun doubts he would have easily figured it out himself.

Kim Taehyung looked nothing like he did the last time Soohyun saw him on TV. His face had hardened and was covered in enough scars to make him hard to recognize. His nose was crooked and his jaw had clearly been broken at some point. He was conspicuously pale, from a lack of natural sunlight, but his eyes still looked the same though. Big and wide, but with a distrustful anger diminishing that once characterizing innocence.

He was notably thin, but disturbingly strong as he straddled Soohyun on the bed. Soohyun realized belatedly that Taehyung would make sure to get himself kicked out, if Soohyun wouldn’t do it himself.

This boy was violent.

And it breaks something in Soohyun. To think that this is what five years in hell have done to someone like Taehyung. That the moment Soohyun reassured him and promised to help, Taehyung had turned against him. He doubts Seokjin had ever spoken of a friend named Soohyun, so why should Taehyung believe him? Why should he ever expect any help to just come down and offer itself to him?

What had they taught him down here?

Soohyun thinks back to a week ago, when he’d nervously been waiting at the agreed upon pick up place. The van that picked him up had blacked out windows and there were already other people sitting in the back. They were jovially grinning and talking with each other. They probably did this every weekend. If they saw how nervous and out of place Soohyun looked, they’d probably chalked it up to first time excitement.

He couldn’t see where they were going, which was probably the whole point. The Underground’s location remained strictly undisclosed, even for members. All the other customers in the van seemed perfectly fine with being taken to an unknown location every week, getting their phones taken from them and being frisked up and down for good measure. All to ensure they weren’t smuggling in any contraband for the prisoners. Not all had the money to hire a companion for the night, but the ones that did were especially being kept an eye on.

They were excited about their bets, and Soohyun had done his best to seem excited as well, despite his nerves. They talked about their predictions, how Team Red was going to overpower Team White easily. Team White had lost almost all its trained and experienced fighters now that Runner was gone. Shame, they said. It would make the night rather boring. Soohyun had asked what good fighters were in Team Red and who should he bet on. They had happily elaborated, glad to share their niche passion for watching violence between unwilling slaves. New Meat, they called him. Soohyun had grinned wickedly at them, relieved that he seemed to be falling well into this group.

He hoped they would all be arrested very soon.

Team White and Team Red had been standing across from each other in a large, round area filled with sand, aptly called ‘the Arena’. Soohyun soon came to realize that this was where the fighting would take place as he and his fellow ‘clients’ watched from above, behind glass, safely in a dimly lit room. This was the main spectacle. Four White Team members and four Red Team members were called away for the Lover’s role. Soohyun had turned to the large guy next to him that had introduced himself as Chan, and asked what the Lovers actually did. The older man had grunted at him in amusement. Told him to definitely try if he had the money and he was into that sort of thing.

“What sorta thing?”

“Come on now, why do you think they’re called Lovers?”

Soohyun had felt a little queasy after that. From what little he had gathered in the short time he’d been able to talk to Hojeong, he’d been a Lover more often than a Fighter. Managed to charm his customers in such a way that they’d give him little presents like playing cards or cigarettes. He didn’t say anything else. Soohyun now wonders what Hojeong must have had to do to charm them in such a way. Chan laughed and clapped him on the back, saying he was probably still too green to get involved in the Underground like that. Soohyun had laughed with him uncomfortably. Role call had continued. He watched two rather young looking prisoners be called as medics and Chan had said that that said enough about what kind of bloodbath to expect for tonight. No spectacle, probably. They usually call more experienced Medics for those. He seemed disappointed.

White Team’s leader was called Dancer, and Soohyun had sat up a little straighter when they called his name. He watched through the skybox’s window how the man reluctantly took a step forward, face full of contempt. Chan, next to him, scoffed in dismay. The nerve on some of these rats.

Fighter.

Chan had shook his head in disapproval. Soohyun had asked why.

Good fighter, but too calculated. Now Grudge, that was a good one. Always bet my life savings on Grudge. Got a good return too. You know, until he was killed by Danny-boy over there.

Wait a goddamn second.

Killed?

Oh yeah, none too gently as well. Management decided at the last possible moment it was going to be a spectacle fight after all. And between two team leaders. What a night. Had never expected Dancer to come out on top, though. Seemed like he’d gone old and crooked over the years. Thing went fucking mad after finishing the job, killed two guards before they could get to him. Thought they would definitely execute him, but seems like they got him back in line.

Soohyun did not want to know what it took to get Dancer back in line and thankfully, Chan didn’t seem to know either.

The fights had been… incredibly hard to watch. Each Fighter had gotten a pair of brass knuckles and some of them really went to town with it. Blood and teeth flew across the arena and the hair rose all over his body as Soohyun listened to the roaring approval of the crowd behind him. He had to agree that Dancer’s fight was… rather uneventful, compared to the others, like Chan had predicted. He was clearly holding back, which Chan assured him Dancer would be suitably punished for, even though it was incorrigible. A few good punches and a kick to the opponent’s ribs were all it took for Dancer to come out as the winner, though. He seemed undeterred by this as he stiffly left the arena after throwing off the knuckles.

How much do you think it will cost to hire Dancer as a Lover for the next Ceremony?

Chan had laughed displeasingly long at this. He’d shaken his head, amusement twinkling in his squinted eyes, oh son, you do not want a Team Leader like Dancer as a Lover.

Why not?

Team Leaders are usually experienced, and can be pretty cunning. Dancer has been notoriously disobedient in the bedroom, is what I heard.

Did you ever hire anyone?

Oh hell no, I ain’t into that kinda stuff. But I know plenty people that are. Gotta get your kicks somewhere, right?

Right.

Don’t sweat it, kid. Everything that happens in the Underground, remains in the Underground. ‘s What’s good about this place. Can cost you up to a fortune for the new and pretty ones, but you can do whatever the hell you want to them. Dancer even was one of those new and pretty ones. Scared and pliant. The years have kicked the shit out of him, though. And he doesn’t give a fuck anymore about being punished, it seems like. So unless you’re into disobedience, I wouldn’t consider it.

Soohyun thinks about the way Dancer had ended a fight in less than six minutes with a few well-timed punches and one kick as the younger man looms over him threateningly now. His brave ass had boasted to Chan that he was into the strong and silent types and they had both laughed as they had continued to watch the fights. But goddamn, he’d thought it would be easy to convince Dancer –Taehyung of his true intentions. That the tortured prisoner would jump at the chance of possible freedom.

What a joke.

Of course he should have known better. Should have realized what these five years had done to Taehyung, that it went far beyond the physical scars that Soohyun could see so plainly. They glistened in the dimmed light of the bedroom and made him look even more dangerous together with the menacing sneer on his face. The man had somehow convinced himself that this was all a trick, an assumption probably caused by years of mental torture and threats of violence. Soohyun was way out of his debt here.

The only reason Taehyung wasn’t tearing him apart right now was probably the security camera behind him. Yet he draws back his fist again and Soohyun only manages to block the punch by throwing his arms over his face, “Wait, wait!”

Taehyung’s breathing hard, looking like every fiber of his being is ready for another punch, but he holds back, staring down at Soohyun in anger. “I don’t give a fuck about what you have to say.”

“I’ll prove it!” Soohyun rushes, his jaw still pulsing with pain from Taehyung’s previous punch, “I’ll prove it next time, alright? You don’t have to believe me right now. We can- I can… bring pictures? Or notes. From your friends!”

The air leaves Taehyung at once and he lets his fist fall down to his side, “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll hide them well,” Soohyun reassures him, wincing at the doubt and confusion he sees on the younger man’s face. Even if he manages to convince Taehyung he’s not one of his captors playing tricks on him, it’s gonna take a whole lot to get him to trust him. “They’re worried about you, Taehyung-ah. They want to get you out of here, I promise. But we need a plan.”

It’s of course Jimin that rushes up to him first when Soohyun gets back to the cabin, far past midnight. Despite his still healing chest and shoulder, Jimin seems frantic as he swarms around Soohyun with a thousand questions. Soohyun is completely sure that if Jimin wouldn’t immediately be recognized, he’d have gone undercover himself. This waiting game seems detrimental to him.

Yoongi, Minhyung and Jungkook are also surrounding him. Hojeong sits in the back, pale and quiet. He gets this haunted, faraway look on his face sometimes and Soohyun guesses the former prisoner isn’t completely present in those moments.

Like now.

Luckily, Hoseok is sitting next to him, calmly talking, even though it’s clear that Hojeong isn’t listening to a single word. Hoseok only looks up briefly when Soohyun enters, then continues trying to get Hojeong back in the present moment.

“Did you see him?” Jimin asks for what must be the twentieth time in the past two minutes.

Soohyun nods slowly, ignoring all their questions and their stares as he lets himself fall unto one of the stiff wooden kitchen chairs. The cabin acts as something of a safe house now, with Jimin, Jungkook and Hojeong all staying here. It’s too small for a single person, though, let alone three. Seokjin has wisely refused to move down to Daegu once he gets discharged from the hospital, opting to stay with his mother in law further north. Minhyung had grunted that he’d still be a sitting duck over there, and Seokjin had glared at him fiercely, saying he was angry enough to strangle anyone that even looked at him and his family the wrong way.

Soohyun hadn’t seen that fierceness often, but he immediately believed his friend.

Park Jimin isn’t known as a patient man by any means, and before he can grab Soohyun by the collar and shake him until he spills all the information, Soohyun clears his throat, “We have clearly gone in too fast.”

“What does that mean?” Jimin demands, “What did you do?”

Soohyun sighs, leaning his head back tiredly. He still sees Taehyung’s threatening scowl as he towered above him on the bed. It was disturbing. Soohyun would definitely need therapy after all this. And he was going to make damn sure Kim Seokjin was paying for that too. “Well, I hired Taehyung for the night,” he mumbles, seeing all of them wince slightly at his choice of words, “and he showed up right on time.”

“So you did see him?”

“Yes,” Soohyun nods, “I told him that I was a friend of Seokjin’s. That he didn’t have to do any Lover stuff and that I just wanted to talk. He seemed confused, at first.”

Jimin and Yoongi nod. Minhyung seems skeptical, “Go on.”

“I said that we were working together to bust the Underground. It wasn’t until I mentioned Hojeong though, that he became violent.”

“Violent?” Jimin asks with wide eyes, like he can’t believe his best friend would ever be violent.

“Yeah, he got it all twisted and thought I was working with those damn monsters to get him to spill information. I don’t know what they’ve been doing to him, but it was mad. He kept insisting that Runner was dead.”

“They’re probably trying to get them to give up my location,” Hojeong mumbles flatly, “Usually they try physical punishment first, but they know how to get inside your head too. I guess all of us have grown fairly paranoid over the years.”

Soohyun sighs, “He nearly punched me out of the room. Oh, and he knew about the fire. Thinks Jimin, Jungkook and Seokjin burnt alive.”

Yoongi’s gaze lands on Soohyun’s bruising jaw and he winces in sympathy. “That all but confirms those bastards were behind it. So what do we do now?”

“I told him that I could show him proof. He seemed reluctant to listen, but at least he stopped punching.”

“What kind of proof?”

“We could take a few pictures, write a few letters. I could give it to him next time. We gotta find a way to hide them well though. Motherfuckers frisk the hell out of you before you’re allowed into the Underground.”

Minhyung bobs his head thoughtfully, “That could work. If that’s what it takes for him to start trusting us. It can also serve as a rehearsal.”

“Rehearsal?”

“Yeah, if we really want to help these boys, we’re going to need to smuggle down a lot more stuff in the future.”

Chapter Text

A wave of dizziness slams into Taehyung and he sways dangerously. His temporary instability is quickly taken advantage of by his team mate, who takes the opportunity to swipe a leg under him and sends Taehyung crashing to the floor.

He lands on his bruised and torn back and can’t help a cry of pain as the air gets knocked out of him.

The new recruit’s eyes widen tremendously and he quickly waves his hands in lieu of an apology. “Oh god, I’m sorry sir.”

Taehyung doesn’t know what hurts more, his bleeding back or the fact that this eighteen year old just called him ‘sir’. With a groan, he sits back up, ignoring the swirling world around him. When it finally settles, he notices the others staring at him as well. He mumbles something as he slowly gets back to his feet, “That’s exactly what I meant by minding your foot work, well done.”

He can’t remember the last time he ate something.

At first, it was just annoying that they would only get one pack of rice per week, to be shared among them as they saw fit. As the days stretched on and the punishments continued, that one pack turned into half a pack.

Last week, they hadn’t gotten anything at all.

And Taehyung sees it in their hollow faces. The fear, the despair. And it’s so unfair, he thinks. Most of these boys don’t even know anything about Hojeong’s escape. It had all been the idea of a select few and Taehyung fortunately trusted them enough to know they would never snitch. Now half of his team was down in the infirmary, either sick or just plain starving. None of them have the energy to start a rebellion, that’s for sure.

His vision is blurred as he gets back into a sparring position, hands raised and feet adequately apart, as seems second nature by now. He blocks a few inexperienced swings, but holds back on his own. This sparring lesson isn’t to show how strong and competent he is, it’s to teach these newcomers strength and a little competence of their own. And so he lets them try to hit him. Tries to show them that the distinct bruises covering nearly every last inch of him for the past three weeks, do not bother him in the slightest.

He does a well enough job, he thinks.

His head starts pounding by the third match. Another boy, big, but barely seventeen –God, are they getting younger?- makes a daunting move and Taehyung only barely manages to dodge this rampaging bull. The headache intensifies to a point where he can only see black spots crawling over his vision. He takes on the sparring pose on autopilot, but before he can wonder if this inconvenience is brought on by hunger, or something else, his legs fail him completely and he crumples to the ground. There’s a few shouts of ‘hyung’ they ring and echo in his ears, and then the black spots take over completely and shut out everything else.

Breaking arms and legs in the arena

Watch your entire team get murdered on your behalf

Your friends, gone.

Burnt in their beds

A three year old girl, dead because of you

What’s she done to deserve that, huh?

What has she ever done?

What’s the point, Taehyung-ah?

Why didn’t you end it when you had the chance? You were right there. You were so ready. What changed?

God I’m hungry

They’re all hungry

All because of you

There’s only one way to escape the Underground. And you have always known what it is.

An end to all of it. The pain. The guilt. It would all end, just like that.

Crushing skulls in blood-soaked sand.

You could never live on the Surface again. You’re too tainted.

And you can’t use me as an excuse anymore, Tae.

He gasps, clawing his way back to consciousness with a shout. He’s still on the stone floor of the barracks. About ten people surround him, some curious, some worried. Their faces blur as he lets himself lie back in exhaustion. Daewoo and Haru hover over him.

“Seizure,” Daewoo mumbles in order to inform him.

Seizures were surprisingly common in the Underground. Mouse had them. So did Hopper Jaeseo and Pinky Jungho. Head injuries happened all the time. And where a mild concussion here and there had no lasting effects, usually, count them all together and add a few more severe injuries to the tally and yeah, things like seizures were pretty much inevitable. Especially amongst the experienced Fighters on the team. Taehyung can pretty much pinpoint the start of his own around a year ago, when an opponent with brass knuckles had slammed his fist into his temple so hard that it had knocked Taehyung unconscious immediately. Very short fight.

Mouse had said there’d been blood coming out of his ear.

And yeah, that couldn’t be good.

It had taken a while to recover, and mostly, he had. But the seizures remained. Not too frequent. Once in two months. Sometimes three. Daewoo assured him it was usually nothing more than a few twitches and grunts. Still, Taehyung felt a little embarrassed about it, even if he’d seen countless seizures on his team mates.

There was something about losing control so utterly and so suddenly, that send shivers down his spine.

A lack of proper nutrition and sleep didn’t help, probably. And so he slowly stands up, with the help of Haru, who has a deathgrip on Taehyung’s armpit. Taehyung nods at him, a motion that sends another shockwave of dizziness and pain through his system, but he remains standing. Haru regards him for a moment, then reluctantly lets go.

It was interesting how Haru had given up all pretense of leadership once Taehyung had recovered from his stint in the hole and announced that they were making a plan of revolt. He’d watched the relief on the younger man’s face as he suggested that they started using their real names again. Try and remember the life you’ve lived before. The life that you want to get back to. Jaeseo had grumbled that not everybody had had such a great life as the Untouchable Pop Star Idol Kim Taehyung, and Taehyung had countered that whatever life they’d led, it couldn’t be worse than what they were forced to live now.

Jaeseo had nodded in appreciation.

And where Taehyung had once seen Haru as a stubborn opponent, it turned out that the young man was a great follower, as long as they had the same goals in mind. It wasn’t like he was deliberately working against Taehyung out of spite, even if Taehyung had once thought he might be.

“You should lie down,” Haru insisted.

“I’m fine,” Taehyung mumbled back quietly, annoyed by the constant staring all around him. “It wasn’t a long one, was it?”

“Well no, but you’ve barely eaten anything in what, three weeks?”

“Well, neither have you.”

“More than you.”

“It’s not a contest.”

“No, I know,” Haru sighs, “That’s exactly my point.”

“Is there anything left?”

“No.”

“Then that’s exactly my point.”

“Alright, then what’s the plan here? Are we going to put up a revolution before we all starve to death? Most of us can’t even walk in a straight line without collapsing to our knees it’s gone that far.”

Taehyung swallows. He should say something smart. Something well thought out that showed that he was always three steps ahead of their enemy.

But he wasn’t. How could he possibly be? When the enemy had greater power and controlled every aspect of their lives. The only thing they could do right now was write little notes and hope that the other teams would come through. They could only make little acts of rebellion, from the shadows. And they were being punished severely for it. There was no keeping up. No greater plan.

They needed help.

He thinks back to nearly two weeks ago. The manipulative Lover session he’d had that confused him to this day. This man had offered his help so freely and so suddenly, it had thrown Taehyung for a loop. Hope had sparked wildly and overwhelmingly, but had been quickly diminished by the common sense that it was clearly all a trick. They wanted him to affirm that Hojeong was alive. That he had fled to the city and was staying at his Mom’s, or wherever. Point was, that nobody in their team knew where Hojeong went, and only very few knew he was even alive, still.

Dirty tricks.

Disgusting.

I’ll prove it! The guy had screeched. Had made vague promises of pictures and letters, but Taehyung hadn’t seen him since. Was glad he hadn’t fallen for it and had warned his team about this latest scheme of manipulation.

He lets someone else take over the sparring match, but refused to go and lie down himself. Instead he sits at the side and gives pointers here and there. Exhaustion sweeps over him, but doesn’t persist enough to crumple him. When the guards open the door, he goes with them willingly.

He’s shaking by the time he makes it to the arena. He gets a taunting sneer from his captor, a spiteful remark after he’s told to take off his shirt.

“Looks like our plan is working.”

Taehyung’s too busy on keeping himself standing to reply. He’s been taunted and tortured enough in the past five years, especially the past three weeks, to know when to keep silent.

“How’s your plan coming along?”

He shrugs, the simple gesture tearing at the healing gashes on his back. He’s going to get new ones in a minute or so. He knows the spiel by now. It’s worth it, he thinks.

Is it worth it?

Half of your team murdered because of some stupid escape plan.

Slice walking without feet, remember that? Was that worth it, to you?

“You know the drill by now, Dancer,” the monster calls, “Tell us about Runner, and we’ll stop the sanctions.”

“Runner is dead,” Taehyung mumbles, his voice sounding hollow and weak.

“Don’t you see what you’re doing to that team of yours? Do you think we care if all of you drop dead like filthy flies? We can eliminate the White Team entirely, if you don’t play by the rules. We’ll just have Red and Blue, then.”

The first slash of the whip on his shoulder shouldn’t hurt so much, but his skin’s raw and immediately starts bleeding and Taehyung grits his teeth. He’s tired. So very very tired.

You can’t do this anymore.

Let me step in.

Let me fix this for you like I always fixed everything

There’s barely any gauze left in their barracks. Most of his team members are walking around wrapped in bandages from the cruel, over the top punishments they have been receiving. Pain killers have long since run out.

“Is it worth it, to you?”

Another slash.

“You could have enough food to feed the whole team. The punishments will cease. Everything would return back to normal. You rats can live your little lives, we don’t care. As long as you obey.”

Taehyung’s fallen to his knees, hands clutching at the sand as another slash of the whip cuts into his back. The pain is maddening, the sound of the whip ringing through his skull long after it’s made its mark.

“Just tell me about Runner.”

“He’s dead!”

“Liar!”

It’s a whistling sound. Sharp and harsh before pain explodes across his back again. And again. Four. Five. Six. He’s sure his back and shoulders and neck are a complete mess of torn skin and extensive bruises. Blood pours down his sides as his arms shake to hold him up.

The monster gives up before Taehyung can collapse completely. It always does. Two guards grab his upper arms and drag his bloodied form out of the arena. He’s shoved back into the barracks and takes two, three brave steps towards the dorms before his knees buckle and he sinks down. Before he can hit the ground, Daewoo and Jungho catch him. The infirmary is full, so they pull him towards his own bed. Taehyung barely registers how another team member is called out for questioning.

He closes his eyes, just for a second

The arena is full of bodies. Haunted stares, hollow and betrayed. Death washes over them one by one. You could call it mercy. They stare at him, empty and alone. Like they did last time. Like they did in his dreams ever since. Mouse and Daewoo. Jungho and Haru. Justin, Jaeseo and Hojeong. Jimin and Jungkook. Seokjin, his wife, his daughter. The other hyungs. His family.

They start blinking, their arms stretching and grabbing.

Come join us

You could call it mercy

It’ll be over in a second.

Their words turn into screams. Of pain and despair. Some are burning, some are sliced in half. Blood and flesh fills the arena. A pool, a river, an ocean. Washes over him until he’s soaked in it.

It will never come off.

“Hyung!”

He startles mightily, almost hitting his head on the top bunk above him. With a glare, he turns towards Jungho, who stares at him intently. “What?”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“Hamburgers.”

Jungho groans, letting himself fall back onto his own bed. “Fuck you,” he growls and Taehyung can clearly see the extra piece of string he’s tied around his waist to keep his trousers up.

“What time is it?”

Jungho stares at him like he’s asked the most ridiculous question ever, “Fuck if I know. You were shouting in your sleep, so I woke you up.”

“Thanks.”

“Those hamburgers trying to eat you?”

The very thought of hamburgers made Taehyung’s stomach twist in all sorts of shapes. After a week or two of no food, hunger becomes a crippling need. At some point, Taehyung was sure he could start eating his mattress, just to have something in his stomach. He swallows the excess saliva the mere mention of hamburgers caused and shakes his head, “Not quite.”

“Gotcha,” Jungho concedes, clearly unable to sleep himself, “Must be well past midnight.”

“Did I miss anything?”

‘They questioned some of the newer recruits, fucking useless. I think they’re doing it purely to pressure us. Daewoo got another beating, too.”

“Damnit.”

“We got two deaths in the infirmary too.”

“Who?”

“Jaku and Des, two newer ones, died of infection.”

“Fuck,” Taehyung whispers, “We’re down to… twelve?”

“Eleven,” Jungho sighs, “There was another death right after you collapsed.”

“Another patient?”

“No.”

Jungho looks at him, the meaning clearly written in his eyes. Taehyung thinks, then comes to the damning conclusion, “Oh,” he breathes out, “Justin?”

The younger man nods slowly and Taehyung’s shoulders slump in defeat. Justin hadn’t taken the latest turn of events very well. He was only sixteen, after all. He hadn’t slept in three weeks and the lack of nutrition had made him even more nervous and jumpy than he already had been. The hallucinations had started two days ago, panic latching onto every last fiber of his being and Taehyung had sworn to keep an eye on him.

But there’s always a moment they slip through your attention.

“How’d he do it?”

“How most do it, I suppose,” Jungho mutters, “Found him in the corner of the showers. Wrists completely torn.”

Taehyung doesn’t miss the way Jungho’s eyes land on the scars on Taehyung’s wrist for just a fraction of a second. The wounds had healed, but had left grotesque scars in their wake. The skin discolored and ridged, a constant reminder of how far he’d gone.

“Hyung, I don’t know if we can keep this up.”

Taehyung looks at him, biting his lip, “We can’t give them what they want. We don’t know where he is.”

“We could lie. It’ll buy us some time.”

That would mean admitting they’d helped Hojeong escape. “You’re not naïve enough to believe that.”

“Then what? We wait until we starve? We don’t even know he’s alive.”

“He’s alive.”

“Just because those monsters didn’t find him, doesn’t mean he’s alive, Taehyung-hyung. Could be eaten by bears, for all we know.”

“There’s no bears in Daegu.”

“My cousin’s from Daegu. He saw a bear once.”

“Yeah right.”

“That’s not the point. Even if Hojeong manages to get to a town or a place, even if he manages to convince someone to help us, it’s gonna be too late. You know that, right?”

“Yes!” Taehyung bites, “there’s nothing we can do right now. We need time. We need- fuck we need weapons. We have nothing besides some fake promises from the other teams that they’ll join our cause.”

“We could lie, hyung. Say it was all my idea, or something. That he went to his Mom at the hardware store.”

Taehyung shakes his head resolutely, “No! You know what they’ll do to you if you admit to rebellion.”

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. It can’t be worse than this.”

“It will be. You know it will be.”

Jungho contemplates that for a second, but Taehyung can see he’s made up his mind in the past five minutes, “Next time they call me out for interrogation, I’ll tell them.”

Chapter Text

To say he’s shocked the next time Soohyun sees Kim Taehyung, would be an understatement. He holds his breath as he watches the younger man stumble into the room, barely keeping himself upright. Taehyung grabs the nearest piece of furniture –an armchair- to keep from losing his balance completely. He doesn’t look at Soohyun once, keeping his gaze on the ugly carpet on the floor, and swallowing with difficulty.

Gone is the fierce distrust and the fiery gaze. Taehyung looks worn out beyond believe and so much worse than the last time Soohyun saw him, only two weeks earlier. He’d hoped it might not be that bad when Hojeong said they were likely torturing his left behind teammates.

Foolish

Taehyung doesn’t seem to realize it’s Soohyun that has requested him for the night. He keeps staring at the floor, blinking and faltering every few seconds. He’s waiting for instructions, Soohyun now knows.

The ‘evidence’ is hidden inside Soohyun’s shirt on his back, and it feels like it’s burning a hole through him. He regards Taehyung carefully, scared that if he’ll move, he’ll shatter the boy forever. Taehyung’s pale and seemingly hollow, shaky and frail. His breath comes in shallow puffs of air, like it takes him a lot of pain and effort just to keep standing on his feet, and so-

“Sit down on the bed, Taehyung,” Soohyun says in the sternest voice he can muster.

As if responding automatically, Taehyung stumbles towards the foot of the king-size bed, collapsing down with an audible sigh. He still doesn’t look at Soohyun, subdued and obedient like they’ve taught him to be for years.

It’s heartbreaking.

“Do you remember me?”

Taehyung glances at him briefly, as if that simple act will cost him greatly. In that second long gaze, Soohyun sees no recognition, and he feels despair threaten to swallow him when Taehyung shrugs with a noticeable wince.

It raises enough concern for-

“Take off your shirt.”

The younger man stiffens at the request and Soohyun feels horrible. But he needs to know. He needs to know how bad it has become. How much time they really have to carry out this mission to a success.

“Look at me.”

Taehyung flinches at the sharpness of his words, hands curling around the hem of his stained white shirt. He drags his gaze up once again and Soohyun is nearly floored by the emptiness he sees there. There’s nothing. Or maybe it’s everything. Five long years with no hope. So much time, that when hope does present itself all of a sudden, it will not be accepted for what it is. Taehyung’s hands are shaking, fumbling with the material between his fingers. He’s not scared, Soohyun notices, but the mere effort of lifting his arms enough to take off his shirt, it’s nearly impossible of a task.

Soohyun rushes in, “Let me help.”

Taehyung recoils violently with a smothered gasp, shaking his head, “No, I can do it.”

“I’m here to help, Taehyung, do you remember?”

With herculean effort, Taehyung manages to raise his shirt over his head and throws it on the sheets next to him. Very self-aware, he curls into himself under Soohyun’s stare. But Soohyun can’t help it. He feels instantly sick as he looks at the state of Taehyung’s upper body. He can only guess that his lower body doesn’t look much better, but he’ll be damned before he asks Taehyung to take off his pants as well.

Whatever skin is still left, is blue or purple, bruising so extensive that Soohyun cannot detect an inch of Taehyung’s natural skin color. There are long, countless gashes over his back, his neck, his shoulders, his arms, everywhere. The skin looks angry and raw and some wounds are deep enough that blood will seep through with the slightest of movements. He must be in a world of pain, yet he sits there, quiet and still, just waiting for whatever Soohyun wants him to do next.

“Who did this to you?”

The younger seems a little surprised at this question and shivers. “Guards, mostly,” he mumbles.

“Why?”

Taehyung looks at him, unsure, “Because they think we deserve it.”

“They’re doing this to your whole team?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god,” Clenching his jaw, Taehyung looks away and Soohyun only now sees just how emaciated the younger man is. He can see the bones move under Taehyung’s skin and shivers at how deep his cheeks and eyes have sunken into his face. “They’re not feeding you either anymore, are they?”

Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head dejectedly, then a sound that could be a laugh escapes him, “Why do you care?”

“I’m here to help, remember?”

“No, you’ve come back to manipulate me,” Taehyung decides.

“I haven’t,” Soohyun replies, “I said I would prove it to you, and I can.”

Taehyung looks at him, doubt and distrust clouding his gaze. He seems nowhere near as threatening and scary as he did last time. If it came down to it, Soohyun thinks Taehyung could still kill him within seconds, but it’s less- convincing than it was before.

Soohyun reaches back, to where the paper is now sticking to his sweaty back. The pages were wrinkled and damp from the journey, but no less valuable as Soohyun saw something spark in the emptiness of Taehyung’s eyes.

“What’s that?”

“I promised, didn’t I?” Soohyun smiles softly, gently sitting down on the edge of the bed, making sure to put enough space between himself and Taehyung. He reaches out his hand with the papers, nodding when he sees the hesitation in Taehyung’s movements, “Your friends miss you all a lot.”

Taehyung takes the bundle of paper from him with trembling hands, folding open the first letter with crooked fingers and a wet gasp. His eyes fly over the words as he holds his breath. Soohyun has read the letters hastily before coming; they’re meant to be encouraging and uplifting, but Taehyung breath hitches, emotion pouring out of him as he clutches the paper to the point of almost tearing it.

My dearest Taehyung-hyung,

I haven’t written a lot of letters in the past. And this feels almost like writing a letter to a ghost. For so long, I never thought you’d ever be able to read anything that I write ever again. You’ve been gone for so long, and I miss you so much.

Hojeong-hyung tells us how difficult it is in the Underground. And it takes everything in me not to go with Soohyun-hyung and drag you out of there myself. I can’t. It would ruin everything. Just… know that I will. When everything else fails, I will.

Love,

Your Kook

The small, but rushed handwriting is unmistakable and the picture Jungkook had included is recent enough for Taehyung to believe it’s real. Jungkook’s awkward smile beams up at him from the polaroid attached and Taehyung grabs at it, bringing it close to his face to study it.

“He’s gotten older,” he whispers.

Soohyun only nods, handing him the next letter. It’s Hoseok’s. Brief but full of hope and bright words. How everything will be okay. How proud he is. Seokjin’s is similar. Telling him sorry for not coming into contact sooner. How he will tear up the entire Underground if that’s what it takes. And, when he finds him, Taehyung better had be taking his ass back home, it’s been long enough. A combination of a chuckle and a sob leaves Taehyung’s lungs at that. He clutches at the pictures, studying them all thoroughly, eyes taking in every detail. Namjoon and Yoongi’s letters are straight to the point. They tell him not to worry too much. To hold on like he’s done for the better part of five years now. That they’ll come and get him. Whatever it takes. They have been building resources, they promise. Soon, very soon, Taehyung.

It’s the sixth letter that floors him. Neatly written in Jimin’s perfect handwriting.

My lovely Unicorn,

It’s been nearly 2,000 days since I last saw you. That is, if we don’t count that brief breaking-into-my-apartment-ordeal. Because I couldn’t see you. It was dark. And I was facing the wrong way. I would have turned around, if I could. I would have never been able to let you go, Tae. I would have gone after you. We would have probably ended up in the same place.

What I’m trying to say is… you mean everything to me. Always have. For five years, I couldn’t think of anything else. I tried so hard to find you, but you were gone. It felt like a dream. For so long, I didn’t believe it. People don’t just disappear. Other people just stop looking. Saw you everywhere I went. Behind trees, under streetlights, on the overpasses. And so I kept looking. And I found you. I still don’t dare to believe it. To think this whole nightmare could be over.

But it could be.

We’re gonna make sure it will be.

I promise,

Your Jimin

Taehyung clutches the paper to his chest, clearly trembling from the effort not to dissolve into a sobbing mess. The picture Jimin included is older. Taehyung in a silly, exaggerated dance pose and Jimin doubled over in laughter beside him. It doesn’t function as proof, but as a reminder. Of what once had been. Of what may be.

The younger’s eyes are glistening as he finally looks up to Soohyun again, “Thank you,” he whispers. A light of hope and relief shines in his eyes and Soohyun feels a burden lift from his shoulders. For the first time he sees trust in Taehyung’s expression, and it’s the first step to building a solid foundation.

“They’re trying to assemble a team of security experts,” Soohyun informs him, “People they knew from back in your heydays.”

“So the fire-”

“Destroyed Seokjin’s house, but no more than that.”

“They’re really alive?”

Soohyun nods, pointing at the letters, “Yes, these were written just a few days ago.”

“And Hojeong?”

“He’s with us. He’s already given a lot of valuable information we can use. I’m here to gather evidence. The information Hojeong gives is great, but we also need solid evidence.”

“Like what?”

“Pictures, preferably,” Soohyun hesitates, eyes roaming over Taehyung’s battered body once again. “I’ve managed to keep from getting frisked too thoroughly by bribing the guards. They’re easy to convince once you give them enough money. But that only worked with the letters. But I can try-”

“You have to be careful.”

“I know,” Soohyun nods quickly, “They trust me. I’ve been enabling them with a lot of money, so I’ve made it to top costumer in no time. I don’t think they suspect anything at all.”

“They will when they review this footage,” Taehyung reminds him.

Soohyun eyes the camera in the top left corner of the room, “Nobody’s watching.”

“You paid for that too?”

“Yes. And told them they didn’t want to see all the fucked up stuff I was going to do to you.”

“Gross.”

“Minhyung, he’s the detective that’s helping us, he says it’s good to be as prepared as possible. Hojeong said your team has been planning a rebellion, right?”

Some of the mistrust returns to Taehyung’s eyes and he looks away, “If that’s what you heard.”

“We have to be fast,” Soohyun says, once again regarding the state of Taehyung’s condition, “How much longer do you think your team can hold out?”

Taehyung sighs, “Most haven’t eaten in over a week. Some even two weeks.”

“And you?”

“Seventeen days,” Taehyung mumbles dejectedly, “Could literally kill for a scoop of rice right now.”

Soohyun tries to imagine what it would be like to go hungry for seventeen days and feels a little of the despair he felt earlier rise back up to the surface. “And they’re beating you?”

“They want to know what happened to Hojeong,” Taehyung nods stiffly. “We didn’t know, so we couldn’t tell them. I guess now I do know.”

“But you’re not going to tell them?”

“What do you think?”

“What will happen if you tell them?”

“Nothing good,” Taehyung grumbles darkly, “If they find out Hojeong is helping you guys tear down the Underground, the punishments we’ve been receiving so far will feel like spa treatment in comparison to what’s in store.”

“And what’s that?”

“They’ll get creative,” Taehyung mutters and leaves it at that.

“What do you need?” Soohyun asks, “Whatever we can do, we’ll help you.”

“We need food, first and foremost,” Taehyung replies, still clutching the letters tightly, “And medical supplies. Painkillers, bandages, that kind of stuff. It’ll help us get through these punishments a little better.”

Soohyun nods quickly, “We can do that, I think. How long can you hold out?”

Taehyung looks at him and Soohyun is once again reminded of the severity of the situation when he sees the hollowness of his face and the almost see-through quality of Taehyung’s bruised skin, “A few days. A week, at most.”

Chapter Text

Taehyung misses the first sign that something is very wrong.

It’s when they’re being led to the arena for another Ceremony. He’s too preoccupied checking on his team mates to pay attention to the people coming from the opposite direction. They pass them silently, two guards and a prisoner dressed in blue and black in the middle of them. They keep a firm hold on the man’s biceps, tell him to keep his head down, what are you looking at.

Taehyung doesn’t think anything about it.

The last couple of weeks have been, eventful, to say the least. As by a miracle, his team is still mostly intact. There’s ten of them left, their number now so small that it’s a struggle to deal with during Ceremonies. Especially when Taehyung’s called out as Lover each and every time.

It’s for good reason. He notices his Team heave a sigh of relief whenever the announcer assigns the role to him. It’s a sign they have not been forgotten.

Soohyun has delivered on his promise to bring food and medical supplies. And then some. Taehyung doesn’t know how he does it without raising at least a little bit of suspicion. But he can’t afford to worry about it too much. It’s a combination of nastiness and seduction that allows Taehyung to slip passed the guards with ten packs of rice strapped to his back. The gauze and the pain killers are smaller. Easier to hide. He’s welcomed as a savior whenever he returns to the barracks.

They ration the rice, just for precaution, but at least they can sustain themselves without literally starving to death.

It’s when Soohyun shows up with a photo camera and ten handguns that Taehyung takes a few steps back. How is he supposed to keep that hidden, he asks, not unreasonably. Soohyun completely disregards the weapons for a moment and tells him he needs to take some pictures of the Underground. Of the punishments they’ve received. Of the conditions they are being held captive in. Of their injuries.

The worse, the better

He tells him Hojeong is ready to press charges with Seoul police. Not Daegu. Never Daegu. But they need hard evidence. Pictures would be great.

Taehyung tells him that keeping a camera hidden in the barracks is punishable by death. Soohyun stares at him, incredulous.

He has no idea.

Taehyung continues that if keeping a camera hidden is reason for execution, he doesn’t want to think about what will happen if he tries to hide ten loaded pistols under their pillows. Their barracks are raided by guards nearly every week. The white team is under high scrutiny ever since Hojeong’s escape. Physical punishments have continued and it’s like the monsters are waiting for one more excuse to just eradicate their group altogether.

Soohyun says that if they ever want to be able to rebel against the Underground, they will need weapons.

Is there anywhere else you can keep these guns safe until the rebellion is ready?

And so Taehyung goes back to the Red Team’s leader, Min Junseok, who nearly curses him out of the laundry room for even mentioning the guns. Taehyung insists that it’s an important part of the plan. That they need this rebellion to succeed on something other than dumb luck. Junseok asks how he even got these weapons and Taehyung tells him everything. The time for suspicion and doubt is long gone; the only thing remaining is a desperate need to trust.

Junseok would not go to the guards. He’s already in too deep.

His Red Team is under no suspicion whatsoever, even if it has helped Taehyung’s Team survive the last two months by smuggling some of their leftover food and supplies through the big laundry carts and it’s exactly those carts that are used to put the ten guns in and just like that, Taehyung has made sure that they are kept safe and far away from the guards’ raids on their barracks.

It’s the camera that proofs more difficult, actually.

Taehyung tries to keep it on him most of the time. It’s small enough to fit in the pocket of his brown trousers, but it raises a few quirked brows by the outline it makes through the material. Daewoo helps him by stuffing both of Taehyung’s pockets full of gauze and tells him to say it’s for emergencies.

Taehyung manages to say it sarcastically enough that the guards leave him alone over it.

He takes pictures of the barracks, mostly. Of his team mates. The regrettable amount of food they have left for the week. Soohyun is happy enough with them when he comes back to collect the camera next Ceremony.

And it’s the last time Taehyung sees him.

Which is strange. He feels a little worried the next Ceremony he’s called out as a Medic instead of a Lover. His team gives him confused side eyes as they wait for the rest of roll call to finish. Soohyun hasn’t mentioned he was done. Said he would try to bring in more painkillers next time, in fact.

Maybe they’re busy building the case, Taehyung thinks.

Next Ceremony, Taehyung is Cleaner.

After that, Medic again.

It’s a slow kind of panic. He hasn’t realized how dependent he and his team had become on Soohyun’s contraband. Now that’s it’s gone, he can clearly see that the lack of food and pain medication are driving his team mates and himself right back to that edge of desperation. He manages to make a deal with Blue Team and gets a share of their morphine. It should worry him just how quickly that stash is depleted, but he doesn’t have the capacity to care.

There’s one pack of rice left the moment Jaeseo and Niko lash out at each other over… God, Taehyung doesn’t even know what it’s about. But there’s no stopping them. There’s remarkable strength left in them considering neither of them have had a decent meal in months. Jaeseo launches himself at Niko and the resulting crack is audible through the entire barracks. Daewoo and Jungho throw themselves on Jaeseo and it’s enough to finally break up the fight.

Niko spends two days in the infirmary before he dies.

Jaeseo turns catatonic.

And three days later, there’s only eight of them left.

Taehyung looks at the blade in his hands with a trance-like fascination.

Fighter

It actually takes a lot of effort to tear his eyes off of the weapon long enough to let his gaze wander across the battle station. There’s four other Fighters tonight. None of them have knives. They have only one Medic.

They know what it means.

They’ve always known.

Let me

Please

Taehyung shakes his head. He’s never lost a Spectacle Fight before. You can’t lose a Spectacle Fight. It’ll be the last thing you ever do. But it was never him.

Let me

You’re not strong enough

Let me

The dread on his team mates’ faces tell him they’re afraid of his intentions. This Ceremony feels wrong. The other Teams weren’t present during roll call. They’ve been announced separately. Something’s about to happen. Something big. And Taehyung’s gonna be smack in the middle of it. He smirks to himself. Even if he wanted to, there’s nothing he can do about it. It’s the game they play. And the rules get changed all the time.

Sometimes, you’re just supposed to roll with it, Namjoon had once said. Taehyung had whined that they couldn’t expect him to get home at eleven at night, then wake up the next day at six. What were they? Monsters?

Monsters

No

The first few fights go as well as you’d expect. Daewoo manages to keep from getting trampled, but is more than a little unsure on his feet getting knocked on the head with a baseball bat. Dazed he exits the arena, half walking, half dragged by their only Medic, Haru. The two new recruits actually do a decent job dodging the hand to hand combat and watching their opponent’s footwork. They don’t win, obviously, but it could have been worse. Jungho makes quick work of dropping his opponent to the ground with time to spare. He grumbles something in that grumbly way of his and Taehyung smiles at him without understanding what he said.

It’s his turn.

Twenty Spectacles.

This one would be his last.

Let me

No

He enters the arena slowly. He wouldn’t say he’s savoring the moment, but he is hyper aware of the sand between his toes. The roar of the crowd above. The spot lights blinding half of his vision as his unknown opponent enters the ring.

The knife lies comfortably in his hand, and Taehyung assumes the sparring position as per automatic instinct. He has to make it look real, at the very least. The spot lights move away from him to shine down on his Red Team opponent.

“No,” Taehyung chokes, dropping the knife immediately from his grasp.

Chapter Text

Hoseok would admit that not everything was going exactly according to plan.

“Jung Hoseok, this is by far the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done,” he mutters.

“What?” Hojeong asks, next to him, shuffling from one foot to another.

“Nothing,” Hoseok replies, “I tend to talk to myself when I get nervous.”

“Oh.” A pause, “This is the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?”

“By far,” Hoseok nods firmly, making eye contact with Namjoon on the other side of the street, “And I used to let a whole Park Jimin jump, fly, somersault over me. So I think I know what I’m talking about.”

Hojeong laughs. An honest, genuine sound. Nothing like the fake, absentminded chuckles he gives sometimes when Hoseok talks to him. It’s nice, he thinks. It gives hope.

The hardware store stands out in the middle of nowhere. A crappy, dilapidated building only one story high. It’s been closed for a while. Hoseok pretends to read the signs on the door. Hojeong’s mother has long since left the city, like they’ve told him, but there’s still something in the younger man’s expression that’s reminiscing. “I haven’t been back here in three years,” he whispers, almost mesmerized.

They’re out in the open. Hojeong still looks as pale as he did the first time Hoseok met him. Been hiding away in that cabin ever since. If nothing else happens today, it’s nice to get some fresh air. But that’s not why they’re here.

They wait.

Like sitting ducks, they wait.

And it feels like hours, but must only be around thirty minutes, before they hear commotion across the street. Loud voices. Panicked shouting. Namjoon is overdoing it a little bit. He’s being pushed out of the bushes he’d been hiding in. A grinning man, tall, but slender, is pointing a gun to the back of his head. He’s maybe around forty, with thinning dark hair and sharp features. He may have been handsome, once, but by now he looks rugged. He’s wearing an expensive looking suit, not a speck of dust or dirt on it, which is remarkable, considering he just came out of a rather dusty looking bush.

Namjoon’s eyes fly towards Hoseok’s, telling him to stay still. This is, by far, also the most dangerous thing Namjoon has ever done. He hasn’t changed much over the years, except for the permanent bags under his eyes. His authoritative stare still demands compliance, though and so Hoseok stands as still as possible, reaching out a hand to keep Hojeong from moving as well.

“Well, would you look at that,” the man cackles, “Three for the price of one. It’s been a while, Runner.”

Hojeong doesn’t reply, let’s Hoseok move in front of him instead. “We just want to talk.”

“Talk?” The man sneers, “Are you saying you are using that poor boy as bait?”

“I came here of my own accord,” Hojeong bites.

“My brother’s been looking for you for nearly two months!” The man yells suddenly, “How dare you speak!”

The handgun in the back of Hoseok’s pants feels heavier by the second. He’s never carried a weapon before. Never had any need to. He’s not supposed to pull it out. Not yet. They need to control the situation. Appear humble and caught. “We know you’ve been looking for him,” he tries, voice sounding as even and controlled as he can manage while looking at the gun pointed at Namjoon’s head.

The man’s squinted eyes flash towards Hoseok in an instant, “Oh really? What else do you know?”

“Nothing!” Hojeong rushes, “They don’t know anything! I just ran into them and said I needed a place to hide. I haven’t told them anything!”

“Don’t you fuck with me,” the man says, pushing Namjoon out onto the street while waving his gun at Hojeong, “I know exactly who these two are. They know far too much.”

“Like Hoseok said, we just want to talk,” Namjoon mumbles, hands raised.

“I got the three of you at gunpoint, why wouldn’t I just shoot all of you?”

“Maybe you’re interested in what we have to say?” Namjoon keeps talking, “If you wanted to kill us, you would have already, I figure.”

“Ah yes,” the man smiles wickedly, “Kim Namjoon, the intellectual.”

“In the flesh.”

“And then you must be Jung Hoseok, the dancer. Think you’ll be fast enough to aim and shoot that gun in your pants when the moment calls for it?”

Hoseok’s eyes widen as he pales, “What gun?”

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” The man sighs, turning back to Namjoon, “You are sort of right. I’m more than interested to know what you know, cause I know there’s more of you. And then I will shoot all three of you. The big question first is, though, why are you so willing to give yourselves up like this?”

“We know what you’re doing to Taehyung and his team,” Namjoon grumbles.

“Ah yes, Taehyung. My little brother’s plaything. Almost forgot he had anything to do with you guys. Funny thing is, you’ve been on our radar for quite some time. Going around snooping through Daegu like tiny little detectives, you. Was adorable, really. It wasn’t until Runner here escaped that we needed to take some drastic measures.”

“You started the fire.”

“My brother’s orders, he’s in charge. We needed to send a… warning.”

“There was a three year old in that house,” Namjoon growls.

“A very serious warning.”

“The whole building was destroyed.”

“And yet you didn’t fucking listen!” the man shouts, pushing Namjoon so hard that he stumbles and falls to his knees. He winces as he hits the asphalt and Hoseok feels his entire body twitch in response, but it’s again Namjoon’s warning glare that keeps him from taking action.

“What do you mean, we didn’t listen?” Hoseok mutters, voice shaking as he stares at the man’s angry expression.

“Don’t act like you don’t fucking know!” the gun is swung Hoseok’s way and Hoseok stiffens in response, “I gotta say, that was a smart move. Ya’ll figured money was the answer, huh?”

“What?”

“Choi Soohyun is a good actor,” the man sneers, “The guards fell for it, the customers did too. It wasn’t until we reviewed the footage that we noticed something amiss.”

Panic lashes through Hoseok wild and untamed, “Where is he?”

“Ain’t either of you ever going to see him again.”

There’s a stone falling from Hoseok’s stomach down to his guts. His mouth goes completely dry as he stutters, “H-he’s dead?”

“Soon enough. Ain’t one to survive the Underground, I reckon.’’

“Y’all are fucking insane,” Namjoon mumbles from his kneeling position.

“It’s been said,” the man snickers, “Tell me Namjoon-ah, how’s the wife?”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh really?” the monster leers as he kicks one foot into Namjoon’s lower back, “have you told her yet what you and your pals have been doing in the late night hours? Does she know you’re about to get shot through the head? That baby gonna grow up without a daddy?””

“N-no,” Namjoon replies and for the first time, Hoseok hears the fear in his voice.

“You know what it’s gonna be yet, Joonie? Boy or girl?”

“Please, don’t-”

“Boy or girl?” the gun is pushed directly at the back of Namjoon’s head.

“Boy!” Namjoon gasps, shaking from top to toe. “It’s a boy.”

“Such a happy little family, huh?” the man replies softly, “So you moved on, found yourself a little wife, a nice little house. Quiet. Peaceful. Everything you’ve ever wanted?”

“If you hurt them-”

“You’ll what? You’ll be dead. You’ll never know. Tell me, did you ever feel the guilt? Living your happy little life in the mountains while little bro was getting the shit beaten out of him every other week? Or was it just easier to presume he was dead?”

“I didn’t know.”

“No, you never tried to know. Thought you were the smartest among them. If anyone could have figured it out sooner, it would have been you. But you never bothered.”

“Don’t listen to him, Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok pleads, the cold metal of the gun searing into his lower back. He could just… so easily…

“Could have spared little Taehyungie a whole lot of trouble if either of you had done something more than moping around!”

Namjoon’s jaw clenches in determination, “Yeah? We’re here now.”

“And once again you’ve fucked up.”

“Have we?” Hoseok’s former band leader replies, voice suddenly stern and unwavering, “You may know a lot about us, cause –let’s be honest- most of it is public knowledge. But we know a lot about you too.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Your name is Jeon Wonsik, you’re the second eldest of the four Jeon brothers. In charge of managing the guards and policing any sort of trouble outside the Underground, am I right? Y’all managed to build an imperium down here in Daegu, mostly by building and selling real estate. But you figured there was a whole lot more money to be made by entering the underworld. And so the four of you have been managing and maintaining a very illegal Underground fighting and prostitution ring.”

“Beats a nine to five.”

“Is that a confession?”

“What?”

“I think we have enough for a confession.”

The meaning of Namjoon’s words seems to slowly sink in as Hoseok watches Wonsik’s face twist in pure fury. The man cocks his gun, sneering, “You idiots. What makes you think I came alone here?”

Hoseok steps forward with a scowl, “Oh, we didn’t think you would.” On his cue, three officers step out of the tree line, holding three black clad men wearing masks at gunshot. Wonsik’s head twists around and Hoseok watches in satisfaction as the man finally seems to realize the tables have taken a drastic turn. “Neither did we.”

“Jeon Wonsik, you are under arrest on suspicion of illegal business including forced labor and prostitution,” Lee Sooji walks out of the bushes, gun raised, “Drop your weapon and keep your hands up.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, you bitch?”

Sooji flashes her badge in annoyance, “Detective officer Lee Sooji, Seoul Police Department.”

“This ain’t your jurisdiction.”

“You are suspected of kidnapping and torturing Seoul civilians. That in and of itself makes this case my jurisdiction. I will warn you. Everything you say will be held against you. I’d call my lawyer if I were you.”

Chapter Text

Jeon Jungkook will be the first to admit that not everything is going exactly according to plan, but he’s a little too preoccupied with bleeding out on the side of the road at the moment.

Let’s rewind a bit, to the part where he’s sitting in the back of Kang Minhyung-ssi’s car. He’s nervous, impatient, as is evident by the annoyed glances Jimin keeps throwing him through the rearview mirror. With a long suffering sigh, in which you can still hear a faint wheeze if you know to listen for it, Jimin spreads out an honest to God freaking paper road map over his side of the dashboard on the passenger side. Jimin’s good at all this detective crap. Jungkook, on the other hand, feels like he sucks at it. He’s too impulsive, too impatient. He watches, exasperated, as Jimin’s finger trails over the map, “Right now, we’re here,” Jimin says, a little redundantly.

Jungkook nods obediently nevertheless. They’re waiting at the pick up place Soohyun-hyung has mentioned a few times. Inconspicuously hidden in Minhyung’s old station wagon, they’ve been watching the road for hours. Today should be a Ceremony day, but they’ve been wrong before. It was a lot easier when Soohyun was still going to Ceremonies. But, in a sudden, fucked up kind of way, now there was one more soul to rescue from the Underground. And with the disappearance of Soohyun, their connection to Taehyung had also been severed. No longer were they in the know about what was happening in the Underground. Was Soohyun still alive? Were Taehyung and his team still able to endure their cruel punishment?

It was time for action.

A lot of the groundwork had already been done by Hoseok, Sooji, Namjoon and Hojeong at the hardware store. Stupid Jeon Wonsik had walked right into their little trap, Jungkook wished he could have seen it. Now at least one of the four Jeon brothers was locked up in custody at the Seoul Police Department.

He wasn’t talking, though.

Which wasn’t much of a hindrance. They already had enough evidence to keep him under arrest without an option for bail. Taehyung’s pictures, Hojeong’s witness report and Namjoon’s recording made sure of that.

They just needed a location.

They’d been looking everywhere, trying to piece together the puzzle from Hojeong’s vague clues about his escape. They’d been able to draw a circle for the general location, but it covered a lot of land. Minhyung managed to find out the Jeon brothers had purchased an abandoned mining complex nearly a decade ago and it did fit into the circle, but of course, the original entrance was no longer there. The mining grounds covered nearly six square kilometers and if they were to randomly start digging around, it would surely cause suspicion. So Jimin had come up with a brilliant idea. So brilliant, Jungkook was surprised nobody had thought about it before.

Follow the rich guys.

But now that they’ve been waiting here for three hours straight, Jungkook starts to doubt the brilliance of the plan. Soohyun had described a black van, with blacked out windows, but this place seemed to be crawling with those. How were they ever going to tell which one was the right one? Jimin didn’t seem to bother with that question and left the scrutiny up to Minhyung, who’d been silently staring out of the windshield for the better part of three hours. Jungkook had to trust him and guess that this weathered detective must know exactly what to look for when watching suspicious vehicles. Which left Jimin and Jungkook to focus on the map.

Jimin, like a true detective, had drawn a large red circle around the mining grounds they were looking for. He’d put a big red cross over the old entrance that had caved in and was destroyed. The area was surrounded by farm land and thick forests, which matched well with Hojeong’s descriptions.

This had to be it.

“Do stake outs normally take this long?” Jungkook mutters, knee bopping up and down restlessly in the backseat.

Minhyung scoffs, the first sound he’s made since they arrived at the spot, “You have no idea.”

“I gotta say, I thought detective work was a lot more… exciting.”

“That’s cause you’ve been watching too many movies,” Minhyung replies gruffly, “They tend to edit out the long boring bits, makes for an easier watch.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Jungkook concedes.

“Most of detective work is waiting around until something happens,” Minhyung informs him.

“That is super boring.”

Minhyung shakes his head, returning his eyes to the abandoned street before them, “I’m not even sure why I brought you two kids along for this.”

“Cause it’s us they’re looking for,” Jimin replies, still studying the map.

“All the more reason to stay at the cabin.”

Jungkook tries not to roll his eyes. If he had to stay in that godforsaken cabin for one more day, he would probably go insane. There was something about being alone in the middle of the wilderness that should be cathartic, but instead it made his teeth stand on edge. Add to that Jimin’s wheezing breaths and Hojeong’s terrifying nightmares, and Jungkook would admit he was more than a little ready to get away from that place. Once again he laments the fire that had completely destroyed Seokjin’s house.

That had been a cool place.

“It would be at least a thirty minute drive before we even get to the edge of the circle,” Jimin mumbles, “Does that line up with what Soohyun-hyung told us?”

“I think so,” Jungkook nods for good measure. The only thing Soohyun had ever been able to tell from the drive to the Underground was that it took relatively long to get there from the pick up point. They would have to make absolutely sure they followed the right van, or all of this would be for nothing.

“See that old guy over there?” Minhyung grumbles suddenly, “He seems to be waiting for a while now, doesn’t he?”

Both Jungkook and Jimin peer out of the window to see where Minhyung is pointing. A man in his fifties is waiting patiently at the street corner. It’s getting relatively late by now, but in mid-July, the sun is still up. It makes it easier to watch the street. “You think it’s one of the customers?” Jimin whispers.

“Fits the profile,” Minhyung nods. All three of them are silent as they focus on the man. He’s wearing expensive clothes and a watch that looks like something Jungkook had seen Hoseok wear once at a gala, in their fame days.

It’s another ten minutes before a black van shows up, and Jungkook holds his breath when it happens. It stops perfectly inconspicuously at the corner the man had been standing and once the guy gets in, it quickly resumes driving. Jungkook feels Minhyung’s old car lurch forward as the retired detective steps on the gas as well.

And just like that, they are swerving through the Daegu suburbs, trying to keep enough distance to remain unsuspicious, but stay close enough not to lose the bright red tail lights of the black van. Jungkook hopes this is the right vehicle, and that this guy is not just going to a golf club or something.

Going to a golf club. At ten forty-five at night. In a blacked out van.

This had to be it.

Jimin, in the front seat, is the epitome of concentration as he draws a comprehensible route over the map. It’s not easy, as the car keeps turning and his map keeps shifting across the dashboard. Jungkook would have argued it might have been easier to just pull up a digital map and track his location from there, but Jimin is very big on keeping his GPS location hidden these days. Probably a solid idea.

Backup in the form of Seoul Police Units is waiting downtown. Minhyung barks directions through his radio and it’s just like he’s never left the force to begin with. Jungkook feels a little safer knowing they’ve got an entire police squad watching their backs. They’ve been instructed not to follow Minhyung’s car directly, because it would be too suspicious, but they should know where they are at any given time.

“If nothing else, we’ll be able to get them by the sheer amount of red lights they’re running,” Minhyung mumbles, watching the black van speed away from the traffic lights while he waits patiently at the red light. It’s quiet enough in this part of the city to not have to wait too long.

“Do you think they know we’re following them?” Jimin asks, looking up from his map for only a second before moving his pen a little further.

Minhyung doesn’t answer this. Soon enough, they’re on the open road, away from the suburbs. It’s only farmland now. Gulfing over hills as far as the eye can see. This must be exactly the kind of area Taehyung grew up in. Exhilaration fills Jungkook’s mind as he considers that he might see his youngest hyung again very very soon. They’ve come so far. So close. Just a little bit more. It’s like dragging somebody back from the dead. Almost unreal.

The van is about half a kilometer in front of them. The tail lights are still fairly visible in the quickly darkening sky. Minhyung has shut down his own headlights, out of precaution. It makes the drive a lot more tricky, but it keeps them hidden enough to continue their pursuit.

They’ve been driving for about twenty minutes when the black van takes a sudden left turn. The road isn’t on Jimin’s map and Minhyung can barely find the start of the road with his headlights turned off. He curses, but manages to take the turn with relative grace. It’s a dirt road, full of gravel and big rocks. Jungkook can hear them hitting the underside of the station wagon as they drive further and further into no man’s land. Jimin’s slightly panicked as he has to guess where they are on the map. The plan is to follow the van all the way to the entrance of the mines and then silently drive off again. Only to return with nearly half of the Seoul Police Force. But they can only do that if they know where they are.

Jungkook doubts there’s any satellite connection out here anyway.

“Fuck,” Minhyung growls, yanking his steering wheel sideways to avoid a giant rock suddenly appearing out of nowhere. “This is too dangerous.”

“They’ll know they’re being followed if we turn our lights on, right?” Jimin asks, “Ain’t nobody else ever taking this road.”

“That is the problem,” Minhyung nods.

Jungkook peers through the windshield as he leans over the middle of the front seats and sees the problem, indeed. The ‘road’ they’re driving on, isn’t much of a road at all, really. Sand and rocks fly across the windshield as the old station wagon tries, but ultimately is not build for this type of terrain at all. Meanwhile the van in front of them is driving a lot faster, and the tail lights are quickly getting smaller and smaller. They don’t have a choice.

They have to turn their lights on.

Minhyung seems to come to this same conclusion and grumbling, he clicks on the head lights. Jungkook hopes that by now, the van is already too far away to see them. It seems to be driving mostly in a straight line, so as long as they copy, it should be fine.

It’s another ten minutes of tense driving, in which Jimin desperately swivels his head around to detect any sort of landmarks that he can locate on his map. He mumbles to himself, dragging his pen across the paper in a much more uncertain way than he did before. Minhyung tries to keep up with the vehicle in front of them, meanwhile.

It’s actually Jungkook that first notices that there’s a vehicle behind them, as well. He sees its headlights flashing through the rear window.

A black van.

Darkened windows

Fuck

“Minhyung-ssi!” he yells.

Minhyung has exactly one second to check the rearview mirror before a shot rings out and shatters the rear window. “Shit!”

The car swerves dangerously, nearly colliding with a rogue tree on the side of the path. Another shot and Jungkook ducks down across the backseat. His heart is thumping near his throat and his thoughts seem to run a mile a minute. The van behind them roars its engine, quickly coming closer. Minhyung steps on the gas, but the station wagon can’t find enough purchase on the loose sand to drive any faster. Glass is scattered all over the backseat and Jungkook winces as he picks at a large piece that’s bored itself into his elbow when he ducked out of the way.

“Kook-ah, you okay?” Jimin asks frantically and Jungkook’s not sure if his hyung’s voice is shaking from the rough drive across the wilderness, or from pure fear and adrenaline. Probably both.

“There’s fucking glass in my elbow!” Jungkook lets him know.

“No bullets in your elbow though,” Minhyung comments, trying to keep his steering wheel under control.

“Are they shooting us?”

“What do you think?”

The engine of the van roars again, and it’s a lot closer this time. This wasn’t part of the plan at all. Five years ago, when Jungkook was probably the most expensive person living in Seoul, his managers would have had a heart attack if they could see where he’d ended up now. Back then, it was the utmost priority that BTS was kept safe and together, lest one of them would fall away and the livelihoods of thousands of people would be in jeopardy.

Which, thinking about it now, was exactly what happened.

And, in an even more bizarre twist of fate, it had led them exactly to this point.

But Jungkook doesn’t have time to contemplate the intricacies of this as another shot sneers through the air and shatters the side window of the back seat. More glass rains down on him and Jungkook yelps in fear. For all his bravado, all his tough guy talk, he really doesn’t want to die tonight. He can’t see the van from where he’s curled up on the floor of the back seat, but he knows it’s no longer behind them. It matches their speed perfectly and there’s nothing they can do.

Minhyung’s armed, but the van is on the passenger side and it makes it really hard to aim as the car shocks every which way. The chances of firing and the shot ricocheting back into the vehicle and hitting one of them instead, are terrifyingly high. He can give the gun to Jimin, but Jungkook knows Jimin’s aim is shoddy at the best of times, and these are not the best of times.

To his utmost horror, Jungkook watches from the backseat floor how Jimin slowly scrolls down his window, exposing himself to the wide open.

“Stop the car!” a voice from outside their vehicle demands.

Cautiously, Jungkook looks up and sees the black van has its window scrolled down as well. It would be so easy for them to aim their weapons and shoot Jimin straight through his head. But they hold back.

Jimin nods stiltedly, nudging Minhyung next to him to do what they say.

Minhyung curses vehemently, but lets the car slowly roll to a stop.

In the middle of nowhere.

Nobody will find them here.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

“Get out!” the voice commands after the black van has stopped as well.

Jungkook’s breathing is loud and uneven as he watches Jimin scramble for the door handle. He wants to yell at him to stop moving. But Jimin opens the door, stepping out of the car on shaking legs that are barely able to support him. Four masked men exit the black van, all armed with expensive looking rifles. Minhyung grumbles something before also opening his door and getting out of the car.

“Your weapon.” It’s not a question, as one of the men step forward and holds up his hand.

Minhyung hands over his hand gun with a face predicting thunder. The man nods in satisfaction before aiming the gun at the back seat, “You, back there! Be a man and come join the conversation.”

Jungkook surpresses a whimper as he slowly gets to his knees. A shot flies through the shattered window and the bullet bores itself into the leather covering of the backseat next to his head. Jungkook yelps in shock.

“Hurry up!”

Frantic, Jungkook scrambles upright, awkwardly pulling at the car’s door handle before stumbling out. The piece of glass that had been stuck in his elbow, has come loose and blood pours down his arm, to his fingers, leaving a trail as he uncomfortably shuffles over to Jimin and Minhyung.

“Fancy seeing you three here,” one of the taller men speaks up with a gravelly voice. “Taking matters into your own hands, I see. Respectable.”

“What do you want from us?” Jimin bites.

The man laughs, looking at his companions before they start laughing as well, “Funny question. You were the ones following us, am I wrong?”

“Did you know we were coming?” Minhyung asks.

“No. But we’ve been on the lookout,” the man replies, studying them, “You boys aren’t the only ones that can lure people into a trap, you know?”

Jungkook swallows. “Are you going to kill us?” he asks, hating the way his voice shakes into a higher octave.

“Not sure yet,” the man says, contemplative, “Have to make sure what’s worth more. Bringing you in alive, or dead.”

“Wouldn’t you have killed us already if you wanted to?” Jimin tries.

The man rolls his eyes in exasperation, “You, my friend, have watched too many dramas.” He nods at one of his companions, who takes only a flash of a second before aiming and shooting Minhyung in the chest. The older detective gasps wetly, reaching behind him as his knees give out immediately. He sags against the station wagon, slumping sideways.

Bile rises up in Jungkook’s throat, but he can’t throw up as every orifice in his body seems to have permanently sealed itself shut. Jimin, next to him, yells something and doubles over. Jungkook checks, but can’t see if Jimin’s been shot as well. Everything moves in slow motion and his ears are ringing so loudly that he can’t hear anything else. Jungkook keeps his eyes firmly on Minhyung, the image searing itself into his brain and his memory. A significant pool of blood has already begun to form under the retired detective. Jungkook can’t see if he’s breathing.

“Alright okay!” a loud voice penetrates the state of panic he’s in and Jungkook’s eyes snap to the leader of the four men in front of them. “No need to get all worked up, we all know he was too old for this type of business. We’re usually looking to recruit much younger folk.”

Jungkook stares at him, shaking all over. He vaguely remembers his plan to travel to Daegu by himself and uproot the Underground, guns blazing. He’s glad Hoseok stopped him then.

For all the good it’s doing now.

“Please,” he mumbles.

“Aw, so polite,” the man grins, “Don’t he look like a puppy dog?”

The other men snicker and nod and the leader smiles at Jungkook fondly for a second, “You’d fit right in boy. Both of you. But alas, we only have one opening at the moment.”

“Take me and let him go,” Jimin says immediately, taking a brave, but stumbling step forward, effectively shielding Jungkook from view.

“Let him go?” the man laughs, “We ain’t letting nobody go. You must not have read this situation you boys find yourselves in correctly. You are in no place to make any demands.”

“Don’t you fucking hurt him, I swear to God,” Jimin replies, voice shaky and thin.

“Cute,” the leader mumbles before cocking his shotgun, “Now, time to decide. You boys wanna settle this with a coin flip or you wanna rock paper scissors over this?”

“What are you gonna do?” Jungkook murmurs, fear occupying every corner of his thoughts.

“Little slow, aren’t you?” the guy breathes, “One of you comes with us, the other can join old pal detective over there.”

Shit

Jungkook’s eyes fly around haphazardly, looking desperately for a way out. Would their backup units have already noticed Minhyung’s updates have stopped? Are they close? Do they even know where they are? There was a GPS tracker in the car, but this place doesn’t look like it has any sort of reception. And Jungkook doesn’t think they can stall this conversation any longer.

“Eenie, meenie, miny, moe,” the man mutters, moving his shotgun back and forth between Jimin and Jungkook. And, just for a moment, Jungkook sees stadia full of dancing lights.  Sees fireworks shooting out from the edge of the stage. Hears a crowd of thirty thousand people sing every single word in time with the music. A razor sharp certainty that this is where he belonged. That he doesn’t know how to do anything else.

Jimin’s hand grabs onto Jungkook’s as the man with the gun finishes his rhyme. Jungkook barely feels it, having grown completely numb as he stares at the barrel of the shot gun.

“No!” Jimin cries, “No!” He sounds so far away, even if Jungkook’s standing right next to him.

The guy clicks his tongue, shaking his head, “Aw that’s too bad. I was rooting for you, puppy dog.”

Everything seems to happen to someone else. Jungkook’s no longer present as the gun is cocked. He doesn’t even remember how to cry. Beg for his mother. Pee his pants. He counts his breaths. Wonders how many more.

Bang!

A white hot pain unlike anything Jungkook has ever felt before sears through his shoulder, close to his collar bone. He grunts, and it’s the only sound he makes before he falls backwards against the car. Dazed, he slides down, next to Minhyung, whose color has long since disappeared from his face. Blood immediately starts gushing out of the close range shot wound. Jungkook gasps, splutters as blood starts to collect in the back of his throat.

It’s not good.

Not good at all.

As if from miles away, Jimin’s cries and shouts and pleas fill his ears. Jungkook thinks he hears his name, desperate and furious. He watches, paralyzed, how the four men wrestle Jimin to the ground and then pick him up like he weighs nothing. They practically fling him into the back of the van and it’s the last Jungkook sees of his hyung.

Jungkook wheezes, unable to do anything other than stare as the van closes up and drives off. He coughs, blood filling his mouth and he whimpers in fear. His breath hitches, leading to another coughing fit. The incredible pain in his shoulder shoots through every last nerve in his body, it seems. He can’t move. Can’t even think to try. He’s losing blood with a frightening speed.

There’s nobody here.

His phone’s lying forgotten on the sandy ground and Jungkook reaches for it with all the effort he can muster. The screen is cracked badly, but it still turns on.

No reception

“S-shit, oh s-shit,” he shivers, letting the phone drop uselessly back onto the ground.

The radio

There’s a radio scanner in the front of the car. Minhyung was using it to keep communications over with their backup units. Jungkook turns his head slowly. His vision is starting to blur and blacken at the edges. Jimin’s door is still wide open, but getting up and climbing into the passenger seat seems about as doable as climbing Mount Everest.

There’s no other way though.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Jungkook manages to turn around on his knees, planting the hand of his good arm against the car for dear life. He hold on tight, leaving bloodied fingerprints all over the rusted paint as he crawls towards the passenger door. He gasps for air falling into the passenger side of the car with a pained whimper. Every inch of his body screams at him to stop moving, he’s making everything so much worse, what are you doing just lie still-

Panting frantically, he looks up at the radio’s microphone neatly hooked on the device next to the steering wheel. It’s too high to reach. He has to get closer. Blood’s making the floor on the passenger side slippery and treacherous. Jungkook hears the vehicle groan as he drags himself further into the car, crying out in pain as any movement sends a shockwave down his left side. His hands are wet with blood by the time he circles his fingers around the microphone. He studies it for a moment.

“H-hello?” his voice is weak and barely audible, even to his own ears.

Nothing.

Not even static.

He glares at the microphone in betrayal.

You have to push the button on the radio, you idiot!

With what hand?!

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles, voice slurring the syllables together. He lets the microphone drop to the ground, reaching up farther to push the button on the radio itself.

Static fills the space before Jungkook cries out, frantic, “Help! Help, somebody help!”

It’s loud and high pitched and it takes all the energy he has left. He waits, consciousness fading quickly as blood continues to pour out of the front, as well as the back of his shoulder.

Went straight through.

Jungkook giggles at that, delirious. It probably takes a few seconds for the static on the line to turn into a voice, but it feels like a lifetime. “Hello? This is unit three, over.”

“Help, I need help!” Jungkook shouts again, crying out in agony, “I’ve been shot! Please!”

“Who’s this? Over.”

“Jeon Jungkook!” Jungkook replies, sobs taking over his voice as tears swarm his already blurry vision. “Help, please! We were ambushed. I think Minhyung-ssi is dead! They took Jimin-hyung!”

His voice has taken on a squeaky quality, wet sounding wheezes and splutters intervening with his words. The finger on the radio’s button shakes violently and Jungkook doesn’t think he can keep his arm up any longer.

“Jungkook, we’re on our way,” the crackly voice says. It’s a woman. Jungkook thinks of his mother and whimpers. “Do you know your location? Over.”

Jungkook shakes his head, remembers a second later that the other person can’t actually see him and cries a resounding “No!” through the microphone.

“Okay, that’s okay. We’ll go to the last coordinates Kang Minhyung has given us and take it from there. Hold on for me, okay? Over.”

“Okay,” Jungkook replies softly, completely out of breath.

Okay

Chapter Text

Park Jimin will be the first to admit that none of this is exactly going according to fucking plan.

For one, he just watched Jungkook get shot in the middle of the road, out in the Daegu wilderness. It’s all he can think about. He’s not entirely sure, but he thinks he saw him get hit in the shoulder, which might mean he’s still alive. Can you survive a hole in your shoulder the size of a freaking water bottle?

Not for long

Even if Jungkook manages to call for backup, all the units are at least twenty minutes away and Jimin wants to wallow in despair as he considers how lonely and afraid Jungkook must feel. All while Jimin’s being hauled away from him with the speed of the devil, it seems like. He tries to hold on, but there’s nothing to grab onto in this empty van as it sways and shocks every which way.

This, Jimin thinks, is exactly what Taehyung must have been through all those years ago.

And he tries to think clearly, to order his thoughts, but it’s hard. He knows exactly where he’s going. It’s the place he’s been trying to find for over five years. Getting there this way was never quite the intention, though.

The van drives through another ditch and it sends him sprawling sideways. He hits his head roughly against the side wall and his vision starts swimming.

“Well, here we are.”

Jimin looks up, glaring as he sees Taehyung sitting on the other side of the wall, elbows resting on his knees and gaze turned downwards. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. Here’s the answer to the question you’ve been asking yourself for five long years. Was it worth it?” Jimin looks at him. Really looks at him, and shakes his head. This Taehyung is five years too young. A remnant of whatever Jimin had clung unto at the time Taehyung had been forcefully ripped from his life. This Taehyung wasn’t real.

No. The real Taehyung was the one that had assaulted him in his apartment late at night. The real Taehyung had held a knife to his throat and spoken in raspy, icy words. Had promised pain and consequences if Jimin didn’t stop looking.

The real Taehyung was a completely different person from whoever was sitting across from him now.

This Taehyung was an intrinsically warped, romanticized version of whatever Jimin remembered him to be. Malformed by nostalgia and years of longing. This Taehyung, Jimin realizes with a scoff, had probably never been real.

Jimin blinks, and he’s gone.

What seems like ages later, the van comes to a grumbling stop. The side door slides open and Jimin squints against the flash lights that are shone into his eyes.

“Alright, let’s go.”

“Where are we?”

“I think you know exactly where we are,” the leader mumbles, reaching out to grab Jimin’s arm.

Jimin wants to scream and kick and bite and he does, for a few seconds, he does. Then there’s the cold barrel of a hunting rifle in his neck and he has to freeze. He gives the owner of the gun a furious glare. Because how dare they?

How dare they shoot Jungkook and Minhyung? How dare they throw Jimin into a van and take him god knows where. How dare they make Soohyun disappear? How dare they set fire to Seokjin’s home? How dare they rip Taehyung from their lives for five terrible years?

“You picked the feisty one, didn’t you?” one of the guards laughs.

“As fate decided,” the leader mutters, grabbing Jimin’s arm once again. “You’re lucky, kid. Normally, you’d be all drugged up for this.”

“For what?”

“Transport.” With that, Jimin’s pushed forward by the end of the rifle in his back. He walks, hands raised and stumbling because he can’t see anything in the dark. They stop at a tiny little building with a single door and no windows. From the outside, it looks like a maintenance shed.

It’s his only chance.

Jimin reaches down in the pocket of his pants and fishes out the tiny little GPS tracker that he ripped out of the station wagon’s dashboard right before he’d opened the door to confront their attackers. It’s not exactly according to plan to have backup squads only being able to trace him through a single GPS tracker, but Jimin will admit none of this has been going according to plan anyway. He drops the device to the ground next to the shed as nonchalantly as he can. He can’t keep it on him, it’s too dangerous. He hopes that at least one police officer on the force is smart enough to see the GPS tracker is missing from the car when they find Kang Minhyung’s ruined station wagon.

And Jungkook.

Jimin’s insides clench painfully as he’s pushed through the wooden door of the shed. The space is tiny, but there’s a big metal hedge in the middle of the ground. Soohyun had mentioned a hedge before, he remembers. It’s thought to be the only entrance to the Underground.

This is it.

Two of the guards go down the ladder first. Then it’s Jimin’s turn. The metal feels cold but clean against his shaking, sweaty hands. It’s a long way down before Jimin can feel solid ground beneath his feet again. He breathes, straightening up as he looks around. The corridor is dark and grimy, lit by a few ancient looking oil lamps that hang from hooks beaten into the dirt walls. Exactly what you would expect from an old mining base.

He grunts when the gun is pushed into his back once again, “Keep walking.”

They shuffle through the corridors slowly, going deeper and deeper into what must be the Underground. It’s not a cozy, welcoming place by any means. The corridors are narrow and the ceiling is only about two metres from the ground. There’s no open spaces anywhere. They keep walking. Left, right, another right, then left again. Jimin tries to remember their path as well as possible. He’s got a good memory. Hopefully it’s good enough.

The leader of the guards pushes open a door and Jimin’s pushed into a tiled room that looks huge compared to the suffocating corridors. The door is slammed behind him and when he looks up, there are two men standing in front of him. One is holding a set of clothes –a red shirt with white trousers- and the other one is holding a razor. Jimin’s eyes widen and he looks back at the locked door behind him. One of the guards that had come in with him blocks his way and grabs his shoulder, half dragging, half pushing him to the single stool in the middle of the room.

“Ah, this the sacrificial lamb I hear about?” the man with the razor asks with a broken accent.

The guard grunts, “Practically threw themselves into our laps, almost too easy.” Jimin sneers at him, flinching wildly as the electrical razor turns on next to his left ear.

“Eh, you never know, he might win tonight.”

“Against a team leader?” the guard scoffs, “No way.”

“Ah yes, Jeon Wonjae’s pet. Prince of the Underground. I reckon a single gust of wind will blow him off his feet these days.”

“He’s surprised us before,” a laugh, “Remember how he took Grudge down?”

 “Holy hell, that was one for the records,” the man with the razor nods in agreement as he expertly drags the blade across Jimin’s scalp. Jimin sits, frozen, feeling his rather long hair fall down his shoulders, down to the ground. “But I’m pretty sure White’s only a few more days away from starvation. Don’t know what the plan there is.”

“Not up to us to speculate.”

“Thank fuck it isn’t. I can only imagine what it must be like to keep these animals in check.”

“You almost done? It’s getting late.”

“Yeah yeah,” the man grumbles, dragging the razor over Jimin’s head a few more times before nodding in satisfaction. “There, perfectly sheared sheep. Ready for sacrifice.”

Jimin swallows as he’s pushed off of the stool and quickly stripped down to his underwear. The man with the set of clothes had been silent so far, and still doesn’t say a word as he swiftly dresses Jimin. He turns to the guard, clearing his throat, “Team Red’s already called in for roll call. You better hurry up.”

“Fine,” the guard growls, squeezing Jimin’s neck harshly before pushing him towards the door again. They walk a few more corridors and then they enter a rather large, tall looking area. This must be the arena Soohyun had talked about. It looked like a large round cage filled with sand, surrounded by steel bars to ensure those trapped in the arena had no way out. One of the metal gates opens and Jimin’s pushed violently into the pit, stumbling through the sand. He looks up and sees a line of people also wearing red shirts and white trousers. They turn to him, frowning and confused, and watch him conclude the end of the line. None of them dares to take a step towards him, though. Their numbers are called and they step forward one by one. Medics and Lovers and Cleaners and Fighters.

Jimin’s last and just like the guard had said, he’s called as a Fighter. Somebody pushes him towards a small side area, where he’s meant to wait. A nine inch blade is pushed into his hand and he looks up with wide, scared eyes. “You’re the spectacle tonight,” a Red Team member says with a gruff voice, “You ever been in a fight before?”

Jimin shakes his head, not trusting his voice enough to speak. The other man’s shoulder slump. “That’s alright. You just gotta make the best of it.”

With that, Jimin is mostly left to his own devices. He can watch the other fights, but after the first two, he’s decided he’s seen enough blood and violence and broken bones for the rest of his life. Which, apparently, isn’t a very long time.

It’s his turn and Jimin can barely hold onto the knife in his hand. His opponent is already standing in the arena, and from the trained stance, Jimin can already tell that this is definitely an expert fighter.

He doesn’t have a single chance.

The spot lights swerve across the arena, keeping the two fighters from getting a proper look at each other. The announcer shouts a few words and the crowd above them howls and roars. Jimin can only hear his own frantic breaths and hammering heart.

The spot lights settle and he makes eye contact.

Chapter Text

Senior Seoul Police Lieutenant Dae Juhla has been on the force for nearly twenty years. She knows the ins and outs of policework like the back of her hand, by now. The Daegu Underground kidnapping case was shaping up to be one of the biggest in her career, if the little snippets she had gotten from it were any indication.

Dozens of missing young men could be traced back to this very case. All in all, they were looking at close to a hundred and fifty people in total, counting over the span of ten years. Out of those, there were an estimated fifty people still alive. Finding and securing them was their utmost priority right now. Evidence had trickled in slowly, at first, but was now forming a solid foundation for locking some very influential people away for a long time.

It was exciting enough for her to agree to sitting the night out in a squad car next to a nervous rookie that was checking the rear view mirror every two minutes. “Stop being paranoid, Min.”

“Sorry lieutenant.”

Juhla shakes her head, leaning back in her seat. She’s getting too old for this. Captain Jung at the precinct had offered her a job in the office on multiple occasions, but Juhla had refused every time. She didn’t mind paperwork, but the thought of her work only consisting of paperwork made her skin crawl. She wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment just yet.

The radio crackles and Juhla frowns, realizing it’s been quiet for a while now. They’d been getting regular updates from detective Kang Minhyung, leading officer on the case. But the last update had been around eleven o’clock. It was almost twenty past, now.

Min Taeyun’s fingers tighten around the wheel, but before he can reach for the mic, Juhla grabs it instead. Static crackles for a bit before a frantic voice replaces it: Help! Help, somebody help!

That’s not Kang Minhyung. Immediately on high alert, Juhla sits up, ignoring Taeyun’s worried stare boring into the side of her face. “Hello? This is unit three, over.”

The person on the other side seems to care nothing for radio communication etiquette, because after a quick inhale, he shouts into the receiver: Help, I need help! I’ve been shot! Please!

There’s an obvious edge of panic lacing every word and Juhla takes a deep breath to settle herself. She thinks, trying to recall who else had been on stakeout duty together with Kang Minhyung. “Who’s this? Over.”

Jeon Jungkook! Comes the immediate reply. Taeyun’s eyes widen impossibly. Juhla needs another second before identifying the voice across the radio.

For some strange reason, a former pop group had gotten themselves thoroughly involved with the Underground case. Or, if Juhla took two moments to think about it, not such a strange reason at all, really. She’d always said that the case of Kim Taehyung’s disappearance five years ago had been dropped far too quickly. Sure, there had been no leads to tie him to an illegal fighting ring down in Daegu, and hind sight was twenty-twenty, but dropping such a high profile case after only a month of investigation had always seemed a little… odd, to her. Turns out this kid’s band mates had taken it upon themselves to continue the investigation instead.

Fools

They had no idea what they were doing, and it was all the more obvious judging by the harsh, sobbing breaths Jungkook transmitted over the receiver. Help, please! We were ambushed. I think Minhyung-ssi is dead! They took Jimin-hyung!

“Goddamnit,” Juhla curses, slapping Taeyun’s arm to get him to start driving. Their unit was closest to Minhyung’s last known coordinates. “Jungkook, we’re on our way,” she promises the man on the other side of the line. “Do you know your location? Over.”

A lot of static takes over and Juhla curses again. They’re already in the middle of nowhere. “Get emergency services ready,” she barks at Taeyun, who nods fractically.

No! Jungkook shouts into the radio, voice thin and struggling. They need to hurry. Taeyun finishes pushing buttons on the dashboard’s screen. “Emergency vehicles are on standby, they’ll be following us shortly,” then he shakes his head, “I don’t know what detective Minhyung was thinking taking two civilians with him.”

Juhla frowns, “He would have been ambushed regardless,” she points out, then grabs the receiver again, “Okay, that’s okay. We’ll go to the last coordinates Kang Minhyung has given us and take it from there. Hold on for me, okay? Over.”

There’s no response and it immediately sends a chill down Juhla’s back. Minhyung’s last known location is only a couple of minutes away and Taeyun is flooring the pedal hard. Frustratingly, but not surprisingly, they find nothing at the coordinates. The terrain is rough and there’s barely a road here. The idea is the keep going in a straight line, hoping to find the vehicle. Juhla’s fingers tighten around the receiver, thinking before she pushes down the button. “Attention to all units. This is Lieutenant Dae and Officer Min, we are going offroad, following a distress call from unit one. Presumed ambush with one casualty, one wounded and an abduction. All units, follow unit 3. Over.”

“There’s a tracker in Minhyung-ssi’s car, but it’s not responding,” Taeyun grumbles.

“Can you locate it manually?”

“I can try.”

There’s no light aside from the squad car’s headlights, making the dusty, dirt road seem as treacherous as possible. Taeyun is a skilled driver, but Juhla keeps hearing the usually quiet young officer curse over and over as the rocks and dust assault their car. The radio crackles and one by one, their fellow officers confirm their following. Juhla recognizes Min Yoongi’s voice in unit seven, strained and on edge. Kim Namjoon’s in unit five. Great. Just what they need. More civilians in the line of fire.

“They probably know more about the Underground than half the SWAT team,” Taeyun comments and only then Juhla realizes she had said the thought out loud.

“Can you see anything?” Juhla asks, ignoring Taeyun’s comment.

“No,” Taeyun shakes his head, then stiffens, “but I can hear something.”

They listen carefully, dismissing the noise of the gravel that ricochets off the underside of the car. Then, there it is. A faint, continuous drone, getting louder and louder as they drive on.

Definitely a claxon.

“Keep going.”

“It might be a trap.”

“We’ve got over a hundred officers and SWAT guards at our disposal, we take the risk.”

Taeyun doesn’t reply, carefully driving until Minhyung’s seemingly abandoned car appears into view. They exit their vehicle cautiously, weapons drawn. It’s not long before they find the older detective against the side of his car. Taeyun checks for a pulse, then shakes his head slowly. Juhla sighs, listening intently for any noise that might indicate they’ve walked into another ambush. It’s hard to hear anything over the car horn blaring loudly.

When she looks inside the car, she finds who must be Jeon Jungkook slumped over the steering wheel, chest pressed against the claxon. He might have attempted driving at one point, but it’s abundantly clear that he didn’t get the car in motion.

Very carefully, Juhla lifts up the man’s chin to check for a pulse. The result is immediate. Jungkook gasps raggedly, flailing before remembering his shoulder has a hole in it. The entire driver’s seat is covered in blood. The fact that Jungkook is still alive and breathing is a miracle in and of itself. Juhla does her best to calm him down, but the younger man doesn’t seem to hear her. He mumbles something unintelligible, fingers clumsily grasping at his shoulder.

“Hyung,” he splutters, “They took my hyung.”

“We’re gonna go look for him,” Juhla promises with a hushing tone, “Did you see where they went?”

Jungkook’s face crumples and he shakes his head the best he can, “Think they gonna k-kill him,” he grounds out, biting his lip in what must be a world of hurt.

“We’ll find him,” Juhla replies absently as she presses a palm against the wound in the man’s shoulder.

He hisses loudly, trying to squirm away from her in his semi-upright position on the front seat. Then his eyes widen as he seems to remember something, “I-I think he took the tracker,” he rasps out, bloodied finger weakly pointing at the dashboard, “’s no longer here.”

“Who?”

“Jimin-hyung!”

Blood still seeps out of the hole in the young man’s shoulder, but it has obviously slowed down. Still the whole car seems to be covered in it. His face is ashy pale and he’s shaking from a combination of shock and cold. As far as Juhla can tell, nothing vital was hit by the bullet –maybe a lung has collapsed, by the sounds of those stuttering breaths- but the exit wound looks grotesque and yeah, the kid has lost a lot of blood. So she leans closer and mumbles, “Try to save your strength. Don’t speak. We’re gonna go look for your hyung, I promise you. We just gotta wait for the ambulance to get here, alright?”

Jungkook seems to relax a little bit at that. He closes his eyes, sagging against the driver seat, “Hurts,” he mutters, still weakly trying to wriggle away from Juhla’s grip on his shoulder, “’n cold.”

His lips are turning another shade of purplish blue and Juhla clenches her teeth, looking around and sighing in relief as she hears the faint sounds of sirens coming closer. “They’re here, Jungkook-ah, you’ll be alright. Just hold on for us, okay?”

Jungkook doesn’t reply; the hand that had been clumsily trying to remove Juhla’s pressure from his shoulder, falls away limply. Juhla straightens, trying to keep hold of Jungkook’s shoulder as she looks up over the car’s roof, “Over here!” she shouts, “He’s hurt!”

Four paramedics jump out and rush over. They ask a bunch of questions Juhla can’t answer. “He was responding until ten seconds ago,” she tells them, “Shot went straight through, lost about two pints of blood, I think.”

They take it from there and Juhla is forced to stumble back to her partner, who’s trying his best to get the GPS on their car to work. “The other units are closing in, but Minhyung’s car doesn’t have a GPS tracker,” he mumbles.

“Jimin took it,” Juhla lets him know, “Can you find it?”

Taeyun makes a noncommittal noise as he fiddles with the radar some more, “You don’t suppose he’s within a five mile radius?”

“I’d make it ten miles, just to be sure.”

“Be less accurate then.”

“SWAT on the way?”

“Yep.”

“Good job, tell them to follow.”

“We don’t even know where to go.”

“He has the tracker, Taeyun,” Juhla says, “The fact that you can’t find it around here, means he was able to hold on to it after he was taken. Now, we’ve been going in pretty much a straight line since we left the road, I suggest we keep doing that until we pick up a signal. Tell all units, including SWAT, to follow us.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Chapter Text

He looks smaller, Taehyung thinks as he stands there, frozen, and stares at Jimin’s hunched form in front of him. Panic lashes wild and unchecked inside of him, but he can’t move a muscle. He can see it takes Jimin a bit longer to recognize him, which is fair, he thinks. He’s changed a lot over the years.

The moment recognition ignites Jimin’s gaze is more than obvious as a shock seems to travel across the entirety of his body. Jimin makes a high pitched noise before throwing away the knife in his hand like it’s suddenly burning hot. He makes a strange kind of jump away from the weapon and Taehyung stiffens in worry as he hears the murmuring disapproval of the crowd above them. His own knife lies glinting in the sand in front of him, a result of him dropping it involuntarily at the sight of his friend. He hears the familiar crackle of the announcer’s microphone.

A tinny chuckle, as if that monster finds their reactions endearing to some degree, then a stern voice, “Pick it up.”

Taehyung, conditioned by years of violence and punishment, leans down automatically.

Jimin, across from him, has had no such conditioning yet. The moment Taehyung’s fingers close around the hilt of the knife again, he feels arms enveloping him and pulling him close. His first reaction is to fight. Shout and push and when that doesn’t work, he squirms and kicks. Jimin holds on, weeping and sobbing; nails digging into the fabric of Taehyung’s tattered white shirt. He whispers things Taehyung doesn’t understand, but he slowly relaxes in Jimin’s hold, the fight leaving him with a long sigh.

The crowd roars and the announcer shouts in disapproval, but for that single moment, there’s nothing but Taehyung in Jimin’s arms. Years of distance making it feel closer than ever before. He wants Jimin to know everything. The horror and the pain. The shame and the guilt. But Jimin doesn’t belong in this world. To Taehyung, he’s still pure and unmarked.

And he needs to get out of here.

“Very touching,” the announcer shouts over the mic, “But we haven’t come to see a Lover’s scene, have we, folks?”

The crowd yells angrily, impatient to see their anticipated Spectacle Fight. Taehyung feels Jimin’s arms tense around him; either in fear or in anger, he’s not quite sure. Jimin rises up on his toes, and Taehyung leans down to accommodate him, like’s he’s done so many times, so carelessly in the past. Jimin’s lips graze the shell of his ear, his breath tickling as he whispers, “Tonight, Taehyung-ah. They’re on their way. It’s gonna be tonight.”

And Taehyung gasps, letting go of him. He stares, knife still in his sweaty grasp. Not once since seeing him, had he thought Jimin might have a plan. That he may not have come as alone as he seems to have done. Admiration flashes across Taehyung’s face before worry takes over completely. The crowd is getting more and more impatient. It’s a matter of seconds before they’re under shot, forced to continue their fight to the death. They need time, Taehyung realizes.

Time and help.

And so he grasps Jimin’s upper arms aggressively, glancing at the crowd before glaring at Jimin’s tensed stare, “Play along,” he growls softly, shaking Jimin roughly before pushing him to the ground towards his knife.

Jimin stares at him with big round eyes from his spot in the sand, shaking his head wildly as Taehyung pointedly glares at the weapon. “Taehyung-ah-”

“Dance with me,” Taehyung whispers, spreading his arms and getting back to his fighting stance.

Another beat before understanding dawns on Jimin’s face. He nods nearly imperceptibly and then their choreography starts. Jimin picks up Taehyung’s subtle cues flawlessly, as if they’ve done this a million times before. Which they have, Taehyung thinks, adding a few angry snarls and vicious grunts for emphasis. The audience eats it up. Jimin dodges and jumps out of the way right when he’s supposed to and he charges whenever Taehyung invites him. They swipe at each other with their knives, but it’s all for show. Taehyung lets Jimin chase him to the barred walls of the arena, sand flying everywhere for added dramatic effect. They skid to a stop, panting and heaving, looking as fierce and as feral as they possibly can. Taehyung gives a backwards jerk with his head, inviting Jimin to lash out. Jimin does, knife held high and missing Taehyung with only an inch. He’s as accurate and precise as he used to be, Taehyung admires as he forces his marred back against the steel bars of the arena. Behind him, the other prisoners watch with bated breath. Taehyung turns his head towards them slightly. Whispers.

Tonight

A few eyes widen in shock and –thankfully- realization. Red Team’s leader, who’s been following the fight with worried eyes, frowns and his face turns to stone. He looks to be steeling himself for a second before giving a curt nod. Then he scurries away to the shadows.

But they can only keep swinging and growling at each other for so long before the crowd’s impatient again and starts shouting for blood. Taehyung trusts his fellow prisoners to be making preparations, but how much time is there before hell breaks loose? And what if it does? What did Jimin have planned? And what was going to be the Underground’s reaction?

He doesn’t have a whole lot of time to worry about this, though, as the roars from the crowd above are suddenly drowned out by shouting and stomping from the other side of the arena. Taehyung stares, and Jimin also turns around as the steel gate to the arena is opened and a group of guards is forced inside before three heavily armed SWAT officers scurry in after them. There are more of them, dozens of them, running through the corridors, identifying prisoners from guards.

Before closing the gate to the arena, a female officer grabs Jimin and Taehyung and pushes them towards the exit. “Follow officer Ang, do not panic, everything is under control.”

They’re put in a holding area before the guards come to their senses and decide to shoot back. Chaos erupts with more yelling and Taehyung instinctively grabs Jimin by the arms. “Do you know the way out?”

Jimin searches his face before nodding frantically, “I memorized it.”

Taehyung bites his lip, watching their rescuers busy themselves with combat on their behalf, “We gotta make sure everybody gets out of here. Most were watching the fight, but some are back in the barracks.”

Jimin clenches his teeth as people are running past them, friend or foe, Taehyung can’t tell. For once, no one’s paying attention to two rogue prisoners. Taehyung keeps a firm grip on Jimin’s hand as he sprints towards the White Team’s barracks, adrenaline coursing through every last vein in his body. When he arrives, out of breath, he finds most of the room empty. Only Haru is left, already armed with a handgun, which means the Red Team’s leader Junseok had kept his end of the bargain and distributed the weapons to their disposal quickly.

Haru’s eyes fly from Taehyung to Jimin, back to Taehyung. “I expected one of you to be dead by now,” he grins from ear to ear.

“Different plans,” Taehyung grunts back, pushing Jimin towards Haru.

“So it’s true then?” Haru asks, eagerness filling his voice, “There’s a raid?”

Taehyung nods, “Where are the others?”

“Already left, after Red Team came to hand out the guns.”

“How many do we have?”

“Guns? Three, including mine.”

Taehyung does a quick calculation before nodding in satisfaction, “Should be enough. You take Jimin. He knows the exit. Take as many prisoners with you as you can. Check the barracks first.”

“What are you gonna do?” Jimin demands, having picked up on Taehyung’s phrasing immediately.

Taehyung stalls for a moment, eyes gliding over the empty barracks for what he hopes will be the very last time, “Soohyun,” he mumbles.

“You don’t know where he is,” Haru replies with a frown.

“No,” Taehyung admits, “But I think I have an idea.”

Chapter Text

When Yoongi was later asked to describe it, he’d say it looked like an exodus. He’s pretty sure he could even write a song about it. Full of grit and venom, of course. He’d watched, completely mesmerized by the dozens of people pouring out of the small, shed looking building. Some crying. Some screaming. Some completely numb.

The prisoners were easily recognizable by their clothes. They wore what could only be called tattered rags. Blue and red and very few white. They were quickly taken in by what must be over a hundred police officers in total. They did not resist, looking exhausted and overwhelmed.

After about fifteen escapes, the pour out stopped. Yoongi’s jaw had hardened, his eyes trained on the door, almost willing more people –his people- to come out. SWAT had gone in only ten minutes ago, clearing the way, but amongst the escaped prisoners, there were also guards trying to get out of the situation.

Guards could be recognized by the armor around their body, although some had wisely shed and fled. They were still obviously not prisoners, though, so as soon as they came out, they were worked against the ground, hands forced behind their backs as they shouted and spat. And what had first been a fairly organized operation, soon turned to chaos as the small shed was overrun with people. They’d started fighting and shooting and Yoongi had just enough time to get back into the car before a rock hit the side of his door.

The prisoners that had already gotten out became restless, shouting things at each other and at the police.

Some even seemed to want to go back.

To this day, Yoongi still doesn’t know what compelled him to get out of the car and mingle himself into the heat of the battle. An urge to help, perhaps. Or a fucked up, dysfunctional lack of self-preservation. He kept low to the ground, gravel and dirt scrunching under his boots. He almost made it to the shed before one of the prisoners got hold of him, “Please,” he pleaded, eyes wide and haunted, reminding Yoongi so much of Hojeong. He wondered if he’d see it back in Taehyung’s gaze as well.

He wondered if he’d ever see Taehyung again in the first place.

Yoongi looked around, trying to find the officer responsible. “You’ll be okay,” he mumbles absentmindedly.

“They don’t understand!” the now freed prisoner growls, “I have to go back!”

Yoongi looked at him. A short young man, pale and thin, like most of the others. Barely able to stand and walk. And Yoongi would tell him that his fight has been fought. That he’s free. That they’ll take care of the rest now. But before he could open his mouth, a vehicle skids to a screeching stop in the middle of the chaos.

Instead of managing the tumult, it added to it as its doors opened and Namjoon, Seokjin and Sooji jumped out, completely disregarding the panicked prisoners and shouting officers as they ran across the field. Yoongi cursed, running after them. They stopped in front of lieutenant Dae Juhla, panting and grunting. She regarded them with a surprised expression and Yoongi could see she wanted nothing more than to point them back to their cars and get the hell out of danger. But Namjoon held up a hand from his hunched over position. “Stop the raid!” he coughed, completely out of breath.

“What?” lieutenant Dae barked.

“We have to stop!” Seokjin wheezed, his raspy, labored breaths worse than Namjoon’s.

They didn’t seem to come to the point, so Yoongi asked the only question that really seemed to matter, “Why?”

“The guards,” Namjoon growled, “They have a failsafe!”

“What?”

“A protocol to follow when the Underground is compromised like it is now,” Seokjin supplied. “C4.”

“C-,” lieutenant Dae threw her head back with a shocked expression, “Are you sure?”

Both men nodded, eyes big and worried. Yoongi, admittedly, took a little to comprehend the situation, “What’s going on?”

“How do you know?” the lieutenant asked, completely ignoring Yoongi.

“Wonsik,” Namjoon grunted, “Seemed very pleased with himself when he told the detectives.”

“Any chance he’s bluffing?”

“None,” Sooji spoke up, “It’s too much of a risk, lieutenant.”

“Damnit,” Dae fisted her hair as she turned towards the shed, “We’ve been going full blast.”

“How many inside?”

“A hundred still, easily. Officers, prisoners, dozens of guards, probably.”

“Tell them to evacuate as soon as possible. Secure all guards and prisoners. Let them make sure no one slips through.”

“What the flying fuck is going on?” Yoongi demanded, panic rising in his throat until it was all he could taste.

He ignored the scowls from the two police officers, glaring back at them before Seokjin grabbed his shoulder and turned him away. Seokjin’s eyes were wide and serious as he leaned down like he was talking to a child, “A failsafe Yoongi-ah. They have explosives to bury the Underground forever. Whenever their dirty secrets are compromised, like during a police raid, everything will be destroyed.”

It’s like a second freight train rams into him tonight. The first was when he learnt Jungkook got shot and Jimin got dragged to the Underground. “Jimin and Taehyung are still down there.”

“We have to get everybody out as soon as possible,” Sooji said, “We don’t think they have enough explosives to blow up the whole place, but they might have enough to collapse the only entrance. And then everybody will be trapped like rats down there.”

“Do you know if any of the Jeon brothers are still in there?” lieutenant Dae asked.

“No idea. They might still ignite regardless.”

“Fuck.”

“What do we do?” Yoongi asked.

“Inform SWAT, they can handle it.”

“How long do we have?”

“There’s no way to tell, detective.”

*****

Jimin’s legs felt sore and heavy as he dragged four or five prisoners along the narrow corridor. They seemed unsure and distrusting of him, but they didn’t say anything as he led them towards where he knew the exit to be.

Haru mumbled something to himself, as he seemed to do a lot in the half hour that Jimin got to know him. Another shiver ran down his spine as he listened to the sounds of violence and chaos still coming from the arena. Guards and police were still shooting at each other, and it was so easy to get caught in the middle of it.

As the final stretch of corridors came into sight, Jimin quickens his pace. The walls seemed to close in on him by now, as if willfully trying to trap him here. Haru had said that escaping the Underground was nearly impossible without help from outside. Haru was argueably the slowest of their group, currently. Weeks of malnutrition weakened him to such a degree that he was dragging his feet and seemed thoroughly out of breath even at a normal walking pace. Jimin’s gut clenched when he remembered Taehyung didn’t look much different.

And he was going to find Soohyun on his own?

Jimin cursed himself as he pointed out the directions to the other prisoners. They walked past him silently, not looking back once they arrived at the final corridor. They climbed the ladder and then they were gone. Jimin stared at the ladder, wondering if he should go with them, or go back and find more prisoners. Haru pressed the gun into Jimin’s hands, probably reading the dilemma on his face. “You want to go back.”

Jimin bit his lip. Want was a big word. Need was more accurate. There were many more prisoners fighting for their lives still, and Haru was in no condition to do it himself. And Jimin was stupid to let Taehyung go off on his own. Again.

And so he went back, barking directions at prisoners that were already going his way. Hiding from guards that were storming through the hallways, in search of blood. He did this a few times, going back and forth from the arena and back, waving his gun and shouting freedom. A fiery determination that kept him coming back. The more he saw from the Underground, the angrier he became. These were no conditions to live in. Not for a day. Let alone years.

He’d just reached the ladder again, three prisoners in tow, when he felt it. Faint, at first. A rumbling under his feet. The other prisoners stopped, alerted. “Does this happen sometimes?” Jimin asked, hoping for the answer. But the others shook their heads and looked around nervously. The rumbling got more intense and the ground started to shake beneath their feet. Instinctively, Jimin knew what was going on. Suddenly reminded of that horrific night of fire and smoke. He freezes, images and memories of flames and soot and can’t breathe, it’s so hot, help somebody please-

“Hyung!” a blue shirted boy grabbed Jimin’s arm, shaking him to return him to the present. Jimin shook his head. They were going to die here. They were gonna die here, just like he was gonna die that night. They would get trapped beneath rubble and debris. And Jimin doubted that somehow Kim Seokjin was going to show up down here to save the day again.

Best to just sit against the wall and wait for the inevitable.

A menacing rumble emphasized his fears and Jimin raised his arms over his head. It was over. He’d lost. Got Taehyung back. Let him go again. Now he was going to die here-

“For fuck’s sake!” suddenly he’s pulled along to the exit. The ground shook and the walls groaned. There were more people running their way. Stopped their fighting, no matter whether they were prisoners, police or guards, they all were running for their lives by now.

Jimin waited, refusing to be pulled to the ladder that was now being overrun. People shouted, getting trampled in order to get to the Surface faster. They were being flushed out, Jimin thought.

Like rats.

He pressed himself against the solid dirt wall behind him, closely watching the people that ran past, trying to identify anyone he would recognize.

I have an idea, Taehyung had said. And then he was gone. Before Jimin could even react, he’d taken off. On a mission. Focused, but gangly. Hadn’t said where he was going. The idiot.

And just when Jimin made up his mind to go back and turn over the entire Underground in search of Taehyung, the ceiling collapsed. He’s pulled backwards roughly, falling backwards as he watched the sand and dust and wood come down from the heavy soil above them.

“Come on!” someone shouts as the ceiling above the whole corridor gives another desperate groan. And then, even though Jimin’s stubborn, destructive mindset refuses, his legs carried him towards the exit automatically. As if he no longer had a say in the matter. He climbed up, getting kicked in the face a few times and feeling hands pull at his shoes. He thinks he loses his shoes at one point, socked feet clambering and scrambling. The ladder felt like it is miles long as the Underground implodes behind them. Jimin’s heart thumped in his chest and his panicked breathing dizzied his thoughts. It’s pure survival now. He reached up, climbing out of the hole he’d been forced down in only a few hours ago. The shed was no longer there, having been torn down in the pure, raw chaos that erupted all around them. Police and medical workers were running around, shouting orders. Jimin was covered in dirt from head to toe, but there were no broken bones. Not even a scratch.

He was one of the lucky ones, he guessed. He saw people crying and screaming with pain. Shot wounds and broken limbs. Crushed ribcages. Heads covered in so much blood and hips pulled out of their sockets. He stumbled, looking behind him where people were still pouring out of that hole in the ground. He waited, waited and waited, until the pour out stopped.

Something heavy sank down into his guts. There was only one way in and out of the Underground. With an unceremonious huff, the exit collapsed.

Jimin screamed, running before somebody grabbed him from behind and held him back. No, no no no nonononono let me go!

“Stop!” a familiar voice said and Jimin wanted to curse him, wanted to spit in his face and fight and fight and fight. He’d dig a way through that tunnel again. He’d find him again. He’d grab him again and would never ever let him go. Jimin would go down there again and find a way.

“No!” he screamed, panic and anger mixing into a grotesque outpour of emotion, making him heave and gasp for breath.

“It’s gone, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi shouted at him, “The Underground is gone!”

“He’s still there!” Jimin cried, struggling against Yoongi’s strong grip. He should have never climbed up that ladder. Should have stayed down there. Should have let himself be buried in dirt and sand and soil.

“You got as many people out as you could,” Yoongi said in a low grumble, tightening his arms around Jimin’s waist, “You can’t go back. There’s no way.”

He couldn’t breathe, sobs leaving his throat in awful, terrifying wails. He was crumbling. Every last part of him collapsed against Yoongi, shattered into a billion tiny little shards, impossible to repair. He grieved, now for the fucking second time in his life. His vision blurred and blackened around the edges. Exhaustion threatened to overtake him, but the adrenaline kept his gaze forcefully trained on the hole, the ladder.

Nobody.

They waited, both of them standing stock still while people ran and crawled all around them. Not a single soul came up from the Underground. Yoongi kept waiting with him, but Jimin suspected that it was more of a consoling gestures, than that Yoongi had any hope of more escaped prisoners appearing.

Yoongi had long since let him go, but Jimin still shook off the comforting hand on his shoulder. He didn’t want to be comforted. He didn’t want the fucking truth, that Yoongi was always so capable of providing. He kept watching, and ignored the world on fire all around him.

Chapter Text

The first feeling that coursed through him as Taehyung raced through the tunnels was exhilaration. Many prisoners ran past him from the opposite direction, some of them giving him odd looks as he went what surely must be the wrong way. Because instead of going up to the Surface, Taehyung went deeper and deeper Underground. There were nearly no more people left in the Underground. Taehyung ran into one unarmed guard, who looked at him with wide eyes, then quickly ran away.

Taehyung scoffed to himself, amazed. He’d been totally ready to elbow the dude in the face, instead he just ran past him, not paying him anymore mind. It’s then that the full meaning of what was happening sprang to mind.

He was no longer a prisoner to the Underground.

He laughed. Softly to himself first, then louder, to anyone that could hear. He was surely going mad, but he was allowed, he thought. After so very, very long. He could just walk out of the door and reclaim freedom.

But he didn’t. Because for the first time in literal years, he was given a choice.

And he chose to go deeper.

A weird hunch, is what he´d call it. He hadn´t seen Soohyun anywhere, even though he was sure the monsters had gotten him. They wouldn’t have killed him, cause believe him, they´d parade his dead body around the arena and make everyone watch.

No, they saved Soohyun for something else. Something they needed him alive for, supposedly.

And Taehyung knew just the place.

The tunnels were getting darker. The last time Taehyung had been dragged over the muddy floors and across the dirty walls, he´d been barely alive. Delirious and ailing. Coming back from solitary confinement was no fun. And few ever came back at all.

He was exhausted by the time he got to the very bottom of the Underground. He had to be dozens of meters below the ground, could nearly hear the tunnel walls groan with the pressure.

He needed to be careful. The entire Underground seemed to have turned into a battlefield by now. He guided himself carefully along the damp, earthy walls, barely daring to breathe.

It’s not enough.

A biting pain cut into his side and he doubled over momentarily. The bullet only grazed him, but it still took a chunk of flesh with it and Taehyung gasped for breath, clamping a hand around the superficial wound with gritted teeth. He’d dealt with pain before. This was nothing.

Furious, he looked up, staring at the now useless barrel of a guard's shotgun. “Really,” he growled, sneering, “You waste your last bullet like that?”

The guard’s eyes were wide as he kept a tight grip on the gun, as if it would someone be able to save him. Without a working ranged weapon, they were now equals. But not really. Not really at all.

Taehyung made quick work of disarming the guard and pushing him against the musty wall, like they’d done to him so, so fucking many times before. A rush of power, anger and hate swept through him and he pressed the man into the dirt with all the strength he had left. “The door code,” he huffed into his ear.

“You’re going to kill me once I tell you,” the man spoke in a thin voice.

“With my bare hands!” Taehyung yelled, his voice echoing through the dark tunnel.

The man whimpered in his grasp, and it felt good. So damn good. “Please,” came the tiny reply.

Taehyung’s face twitched in anger as he kicked up one knee against the older’s lower back. A fearful yelp, and then he’d had enough, “I am nothing like you,” he grumbled, letting go. “The door code.”

“Let me go.”

“The code.”

The stare-off was tense, but Taehyung relished every moment. He needed this. And he would get what he wanted. He could see the guy’s resolve crumble away like it was nothing. When it really came down to it, none of these guards had any sense of loyalty. Not when confronted with a seasoned Underground Fighter.

It was almost child’s play to knock the man out after he’d gotten the code. Taehyung walked away, pressing a hand to his side to find the bleeding’d already stopped.

Amateur

There were more solitary cells than necessary. Frustration bubbled up as he yelled Soohyun’s name over and over without result. He needed to hurry. He didn’t think there’d be more guards down here; they’d probably all gone up to the arena to help with the attack there, but you could never be entirely sure. With a haphazard shrug, Taehyung decided to just start with the first door and go from there.

Most cells were empty. He found two prisoners that lay lifeless in the corner, completely forgotten. One prisoner in the fourth cell was alive, staring at him like he’d found his holy savior. That sentiment only strengthened when Taehyung told him what was going on. The Blue Shirted prisoner clung to him, crying and begging for something unclear. So Taehyung told him to wait.

Are you sure he’s here?

He had to be.

I have a bad feeling about this.

Time was of the essence.

What do you even care about him anyway? He’s gotten himself into this mess.

It was his fault.

“Soohyun-hyung!” Taehyung shouted again, his voice taking on a desperate edge.

And then finally, at the end of the tunnel, he found him. Soohyun sat hunched over in his cell, hands bound behind his back. He’d been beaten. Badly. Taehyung winced in sympathy as he took in the sight. Soohyun barely even noticed the door had opened at all. He looked up, dead stare passing right through Taehyung. Taehyung chewed his lip for a moment, then decided they had no time for explanations as he rushed forward and grabbed Soohyun by his armpit.

Soohyun yelled out in fear, swinging back before using his momentum to bash his head against Taehyung’s chest, who was sent sprawling backwards, back out of the solitary holding cell. “Fuck! Hyung! It’s me!”

“Seokjin-ah?”

“What?” Taehyung shook his head, “No! It’s Taehyung-ah.”

“Fuck Seokjin-ah, Taehyung’s dead.”

Taehyung stared, shoulders slumping, “It doesn’t matter, hyung. I’ll get you out of here.”

Soohyun didn’t dare looking at him, noticeably shaking as his tears streamed down his face. Taehyung felt the stab of guilt grinding itself into his guts. “Come on,” he said softly.

Soohyun nodded slightly, only flinching a little now when Taehyung carefully helped him up. The older man made it out of the cell before collapsing against the wall. Taehyung bit his lip, contemplating. They needed to get out of this place. Go up to the Surface. To Jimin. And whatever else was out there. But Soohyun could barely walk. And Taehyung was in no shape to carry him. They both tensed when the Blue Shirted prisoner approached them. He held up his hands placating and swung one of Soohyun’s arms around his shoulder, motioning for Taehyung to do the same.

And so they shuffled slowly out of the deepest pit of the Underground. The Blue Shirted boy was quiet, while Taehyung attempted a light conversation, with no success. Eventually, all of them resorted to silence. They went up four sets of steps before Taehyung heard the cock of a handgun behind them.

“You boys really thought this was going to go over easy?”

He knew that voice. Heard it during punishments, during Spectacle Fights, during his nightmares. It had haunted him for years, and it would haunt him for many more. He turned around slowly, letting Soohyun’s arm drop away from his shoulder.

The monster was nearly unable to stand, aiming the gun sloppily at the small group of prisoners. A large cut above his brow caused blood to continue to drip down his face and when Taehyung looked down, he saw a big flesh wound located on the man’s thigh.

He could take the risk of getting shot and lunge at the guy to disarm him. But Taehyung wasn’t alone. the shot would certainly hit somebody.

“It’s over,” he growled menacingly instead.

“I say when it’s over!” the monster yelled, waving the gun. A shaking rumble resounded through the entire Underground, it seemed. A fierce kind of anger twitched unto the man’s face, “I could still do this.”

Taehyung straightened, coming to stand before the other two prisoners, “This is between me and you. We can fight it out like men.”

“Don’t you fucking tell me what to do, you filthy rat! You were nothing! Prince of the Underground for as long as I let you be. I could have had you killed a hundred times, but it was always me who saved you! Show some respect!”

He waved the gun threateningly again, but before he got to shoot it, a shot resounded from another direction. It nestled itself neatly in the man’s upper arm, and the monster dropped the weapon with a pained shout.

Taehyung gasped, watching as Daewoo stepped out of the shadowed side tunnel, aim steady and gaze completely void of emotion.

“Do as he said,” Daewoo grumbled, neither his stare, nor his aim breaking even slightly. “Be a man.”

“You wouldn’t dare shooting me,” the monster bristled.

“I already have,” Daewoo stated, voice low and menacing.

Doubt washed over the man’s face, as he was suddenly confronted with facing four escaping prisoners, while completely unarmed himself. Hatred was readable in his eyes as he slowly raised his good arm. “Fine then, you’ll have your fun, for now.”

“Don’t you understand?” Daewoo said slowly, “Everything’s changed now.”

“My brothers-”

“Are all gone.”

Something akin to fear passed over the monster’s features, before it was quickly replaced by rekindled anger, “You filthy piece of sh-”

“To the arena,” Daewoo pressed the end of the smuggled in handgun against the man’s wounded upper arm. He got an anguished yelp in return and Taehyung felt a rush of satisfaction. The monster walked out in front, one arm raised, the other useless by his side. Taehyung had never even dared to dream of this.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed to Daewoo as they walked side by side, closely following their capture.

“Rescuing you, apparently,” Daewoon grumbled in return. “Took me ages to find you.”

“You should have been up on the Surface by now,” Taehyung mumbled.

Daewoo gave him a deadpanned stare, “You and that fucking hero complex of yours, I swear to God.”

“I don’t have a-”

“Oh no? What the fuck were you thinking going down there all by yourself? If Haru hadn’t told me what you were doing, y’all would have been shot by this asshole.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

By the time they got to the arena, both stopped talking. The whole area was strewn with bodies. Executions. Friendly fire. Who was to say? Taehyung’s head started hurting something fierce as he counted the red- blue- white shirts.

They were supposed to get out.

They were supposed to be free again.

Instead they died here. At the very last possible moment.

A deep sadness settled in his chest, before Dan quickly replaced it with anger. He lurched, shoving against the monster’s shoulders so the man stumbled into the blood filled arena. Dan’s hands balled into fists and he didn’t hold back as he swung back and crashed his knuckles into the monster’s jaw. The man lost his balance immediately, falling backwards onto his back and crying out as his momentum rolled him onto his hurt arm. His short hair was tousled badly as he wiped an arm across his mouth, staring at Dancer.

“There he is,” he sneered, eyes turning dark.

Dancer ignored him as he lashed out again, jumping on top of the monster that had caused him so much pain and torture over the past five years. His fists smashed against the guy’s body; his face, his chest, his stomach, everywhere. Dancer was as strong as he had always been. There was no stopping him, there never was. He went on and on, the anger consuming every last inch of him.

The monster’s face had turned purple and swollen, but still the mad man was smiling with bloodied teeth. A hoarse laugh with every harsh punch, as if he was enjoying every second. It only fueled Dancer’s anger, frustrated shouts leaving his lips as he swung and hit.

“Hyung stop!” It took longer than Dan would admit before he was able to hear anything besides the harsh breaths leaving his lungs in compacted puffs. “Hyung!”

Dancer looked up and then he heard it, the rumbling they’d noticed earlier. Much closer now. Only a few seconds before-

A wave of heat and dust washed over the arena, blasting through the steel bars as the ceiling cracked and came down. The protective glass roof over the arena –which had been there to keep the prisoners away from the clients, kept the smaller pieces of debris from falling down, but the larger rubble crashed right through. Glass shot down everywhere, along with heaps of sand and dirt. Dan duck down, flinging himself into one of the Fighter Stations, which were still intact. The small, cage like construction groaned with the added weight and Dan started coughing harshly, smoke and dust filling his nose and mouth. He tried to scream out, but his voice wouldn’t cooperate.

The Underground was collapsing.

Dan thought back to what Mouse had always said to him. You can’t escape the Underground, Dancer. There’s only one way out for the most of us.

But he’d been wrong. You could escape the Underground. But in order to do so, you had to destroy it from the inside out.

He was unable to see anything as the dust obscured everything from view. He continued coughing, lungs aching. The Fighter Station was going to implode any second. Dan’d be buried under layers of sand, steel and concrete.

What an end.

“Taehyung-hyung!” Daewoo’s scratchy voice called out.

Taehyung peered into the smoke, eyes pricking and tearing. “Dae-ah?”

“We have to get deeper down!” Daewoo yelled back, voice interrupted by his heavy coughs.

Taehyung scoffed. He couldn’t even see his team mate, everything had turned dark and heat swallowed and ate up everything that was left of the arena. Then a hand reached out from the smoke and clamped around his scarred wrist. He was pulled away from the Fighter Station just in time, as the metal structure gave one last huff before collapsing in more dust and smoke.

Taehyung tumbled down the steps, his already bruised and battered body screaming at him in protest. He landed on his side with a groan, keeping still for a couple of seconds. Then he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position.

The low light from the torches flickered against the dirt walls and in it Taehyung could see three people stare back at him with frightened eyes. A fourth person lay unconscious and discarded against the wall.

They were still alive.

And they were completely doomed.

“There’s no way out,” the Blue Shirted prisoner Taehyung had saved from the solitary cells whispered hollowly.

A shiver ran through him as he heard the top of the tunnel they were in groan in warning. The floors above them had all collapsed, the sudden weight causing a ripple effect to the tunnels below. It wouldn’t be long before what was left from the Underground would completely cave in on itself and the place that Taehyung had spent the last five years of his life in against his will, would be gone forever.

Taking them with it.

Discouraged, he sank against the wall, leaning his head back. He should have known it was too good to be true. He couldn’t get back up to the Surface.

Probably didn’t deserve it, too.

No, this was probably for the best-

“For fuck’s sake, we gotta go!” Daewoo still didn’t seem to get the message as he tried to get Soohyun up.

“There’s no way out,” Blue Shirt whispered again, voice bouncing against the narrow tunnel walls despite its low tone.

Taehyung observed him, “What’s your name?”

“Chae Seokmin,” the relatively young boy answered, “Everything’s gone, isn’t it?”

“Not everything,” a rough voice said and Taehyung’s gaze snapped to the previously unconscious man against the wall. A barely controllable urge to start smashing his face again overwhelmed Taehyung, his hands already turning into fists again.

He turned his eyes to Daewoo, snapping, “Why’d you pull him down too?”

Daewoo ignored him, letting go of a despondent Soohyun to stomp over to the monster, “What do you mean?”

A snicker, twisting Taehyung guts in dismay. It echoed until it was all he could hear. He winced, grabbling at the glinting piece of metal he saw laying in the sand. “Give me one good reason,” he growled warningly, aiming the handgun at the man’s head.

“You need a way out,” the monster shrugged, flinching with the movement.

“There was only one way,” Daewoo said, “It’s gone.”

“I’m the one who build this place,” the monster replied, sneering, “I think I’d know better than a fucking rat.”

“There’s another way?” Taehyung demanded, closing the distance.

“Of course there’s another way,” the man grinned with a bloody mouth.

“You’re lying,” Taehyung mumbled, finger playing with the trigger. It would be so easy. So satisfying.

“Shoot and you all will die here. Maybe slowly. Maybe quick. But you’ll never find it by yourselves.”

“He’s lying!” Daewoo cried out, lashing out with a quick punch to the monster’s left temple.

“Wait!” Taehyung barked. Everything in him screamed to shoot. It was what this man deserved. To die with his creation. To stay and be buried in this hell. “Tell us!”

“If I do, I die,” the man shrugged, “And what’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t believe you.”

A deep sigh, as if the monster was dealing with a bunch of kindergarteners, “There’s another entrance. Or, exit is more appropriate, I suppose. It’s deeper than the other. A chain elevator. It wouldn’t have been destroyed. Only me, my brothers and a few designated guards know about it. Although… I think your friend Runner is familiar with it too.”

“It’s where they take out dead bodies,” Daewoo filled in, a bewildered look on his face.

“Bingo.”

“Get up,” Taehyung grumbled darkly.

The monster slowly stood up, with the help of the wall behind him. He stood, unsteady and faltering, but still grinning. Always that goddamn grin. “You see, Danny-boy, who’s still really in control?”

Dancer growled, aiming the gun upwards and pulling the trigger. The bullet dug itself into the earthy ceiling, causing a cloud of dust and dirt to rain down. Another flash of fear crossed the monster’s face, before something close to admiration came in its place. “You’re really that angry, Dancer, my boy? What have I created?”

Taehyung stiffened, willing himself to calm down as he aimed the gun back on the man’s head, “Show us the way.”

“Gladly,” the monster replied, nonchalantly turning and stumbling his way forwards.

They walked through the dark tunnels slowly, shooting nervous glances whenever the ceiling above them would creak or rumble. They went down a few more steps, going deeper into what was left of the Underground. Cracks along the walls and ceiling predicted tragedy, but the taste of freedom was so close. Taehyung tried to ignore all the jabs and comments the monster threw their way as they walked for what seemed like miles. His finger itched to pull the trigger and be done with it, but he couldn’t do that.

He needed to get out. If only for a moment. Needed that cold air of the outside on his face. Needed to see the stars again. Even if the tunnels came down on him, he’d crawl his way out.

He’d promised Jimin.

There was a rush of relief that flooded his veins as a simple, rickety elevator came into view. It was nothing more than a small tub, held by long chains that reached up into a long shaft that seemed to go all the way up, further than could be seen.

“At your service,” the monster mumbled, looking at the elevator. ”I’ll go first.”

Dancer had cocked the gun faster than he could think, “I don’t think so.”

The monster stared at him, studying his face, “Do it.”

Dan’s face twitched as he backed the monster into the wall, “You don’t deserve to live.”

“Probably not,” the monster shrugged, no trace of fear visible on his battered face.

“You’re a fucking monster,” Dan huffed, pressing the barrel of the gun into the man’s forehead.

“Pull the trigger then,” they guy spat, “show them what I’ve turned you into. Who’s the real monster, Taehyung?”

Taehyung’s eyes widened and the gun shook in his grasp. Never before had he been called by his name by this piece of crap. “Shut up,” he whispered.

“Finally you have a choice. And all you want is for it to end violently. Bloody. You could never live out of the Underground anymore. It’s too late for you.”

“I said, shut up,” Taehyung’s voice faltered.

“How many, Taehyung-ah? Five years, is it? How many have died at your hand? How many then? How many today? All because you needed to survive.”

Taehyung snarled, grip tightening around the gun. For once, it wasn’t Dan that pulled the trigger. For once, it was just him. The sound echoed through the darkness, bouncing against the walls. Taehyung twisted around. The hand that had yanked his arm back still held a death grip around his wrist. Daewoo stared at him. Hard. Then he looked at the ceiling above them, where the bullet had bored a hole through the dirt, leaving cracks and groans in its wake.

“Run.”

Taehyung dragged Soohyun with him, following Daewoo and Seokmin into the small elevator. Daewoo punched the button before the monster could climb in as well. They heard him snarl and scream as they slowly ascended. Taehyung panted, looking at Daewoo with wide eyes. “What have you done?”

The ground shook below them; the walls along the elevator shaft cracking and sagging, making their way upwards unsteady and stuttering. They gripped unto the side bars, but could only hope as the Underground completely collapsed underneath them.

Chapter Text

Jungkook was, if he got to describe it, pretty much completely fucking useless right now. He drifted in and out of awareness, almost close to comfortable. But not quite. Not quite at all. Floating just below the surface most of the time, he was aware of the people around him, keeping their vigil dutifully.

Now it was Seokjin’s turn, apparently.

‘Yeah, I’m at the hospital right now-”

“-not much to see.”

“-stable-”

“Yeah, I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine-”

“No clue. They’re still looking.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet. Give her a kiss for me, okay?”

“I know. I will-”

“I’ll get back once this whole mess is sorted out.”

“-love you too, bye.”

A deep sigh and Jungkook feels something remotely heavy being tossed onto the sheets that cover him all the way up to his chin, it seems like. It’s really hard to tell. Most of his body feels completely numb, like it doesn’t even belong to him. He feels more like a giant floating head in space right now.

That thought is ridiculous enough to make him smile in his sleep and he hears a chuckle from his left.

“At least you’re still finding things funny.”

Jungkook replies with a soft groan. It’s all he can muster right now. He doesn’t quite remember how he ended up in the hospital in the first place. All his deeper worries have been pushed down in order to complete the simple task of lying here and keeping quiet. He doesn’t know why Seokjin’s here. Or where the others are. Doesn’t know if his unexpected hospital stay replaced a concert. Or a photo shoot. Or a music video.

God forbid he missed a fan sign.

He squirms, slightly uncomfortable. Immediately, there’s a gentle hand on his wrist.

“Stay still, you idiot. There’s a hole in your shoulder.”

Curious.

“Why?” he breathes out.

“Why? Why do you have to keep still, or why is there a hole in your shoulder?”

“Hole.”

Another sigh. The hand is removed. “Talking is easier if you open your eyes, you know?”

“’s too bright,” Jungkook mumbles, voice a mere whisper. He’s tried opening his eyes. It hurt. Besides, he can hear Seokjin just fine and Seokjin seems to understand what Jungkook’s saying as well. Which doesn’t take away the fact that Jungkook’s noticed Seokjin has dismissed his question altogether, “Why?”

“You were shot, Kook-ah,” Seokjin replies, shuffling before he sits down, “Scared the living bejeebus out of all of us.”

Very curious.

Jungkook furrows his brow, trying to think, but he’s too doped up on medication to come to conclusion all by himself, “Concert?”

A pause as Seokjin clearly tries to puzzle together what he means, “During a concert?” he snorts, “No. No concert, Jungkook.”

Jungkook hums in annoyance. It’s frustrating when people don’t just straight up tell you things. Does he have to continue the guessing game? “We got mugged?”

“I-” Seokjin gives another chuckle, “No. It’s… complicated, Kook-ah. Just get some sleep, alright?”

No. Jungkook’s wide awake. He doesn’t know what time it is. When he got here. Basically, he doesn’t know anything. He needs someone that’s direct and truthful. “Where’s Taehyung-hyung?”

It’s silent. The moment stretches on until Jungkook is forced to open his eyes. The flare of the dimmed lights frizzles his brain enough for him to dig the back of his head further into his pillow. He grumbles something unintelligible, then proceeds to glare at Seokjin. The older man looks a little disheveled, but relatively unharmed. There are smudges of dirt still on his face and it seems strange to Jungkook that his hyung has let even a single hair spring out of place. Now he really wants to know what happened. He hopes the story is cool enough to brag about it for years to come.

I was shot in the line of battle.

He continues to stare at his hyung until Seokjin’s shoulders slump in defeat, “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“Would you?”

“Good point,” another heavy, goddamn sigh, “But you really need the rest, Jungkook-ah.”

“I feel fine.”

“Yeah, cause you’re so doped up on painkillers that you probably don’t feel anything at all.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. How’d he know? “I’ll rest after you tell me.”

Seokjin huffs, shaking his head, “Hard chance.”

That does nothing to settle Jungkook’s nerves and he frowns, searching Seokjin’s face for clues, “I can handle it.”

Seokjin stares back at him for a long while before exhaling slowly, “What do you remember?”

“Absolutely nothing,” is the immediate answer.

“I figured. Those drugs messing with your head, aren’t they?” Seokjin mumbles. “It wasn’t a concert, Jungkook. There hasn’t been a concert in a very, very long time.”

And then the last five years just sort of slot back into place. Jungkook gasps, hand of his good arm gripping the sheets tightly. “Taehyung-hyung-”

“Yeah.”

“He’s gone?” The feeling is fresh, like it was only a few hours ago that Jungkook had sat in their godforsaken dorms, waiting, waiting, waiting. People running around all day. Hoseok’s birthday. Nobody paying attention. Gone gone gone gone. Assume the worst has happened. A dark emptiness in his heart. His soul hollowed out and the big black void luring him from below. The pain as raw and unforgiving as that very day. Dancing and screaming to try and fend it off. But it always came back with a vengeance. Needed three bottles of vodka just to quiet it down enough to let him sleep. And now-

“It’s complicated, Kook-ah.”

Anger washes over him. His mind’s not right enough for him to figure it out by himself, but he needs to know. Head hurting from the simple effort of remembering, “They took Jimin too, didn’t they?” he grinds out, out of breath.

Seokjin nods slightly, doubt and caution on his face. And Jungkook wishes he’d just tell him Jimin’s fine. And Taehyung’s back too. And it’s all going to be alright. The five year long nightmare; finally over.

But truth is funny like that. It doesn’t really care what you want.

“Jimin’s alright. Bit of a concussion, probably. Took three grown men to drag him to the hospital. Man’s stubborn. Hoseok is with him.”

Jungkook nods.

“Namjoon is still at the site. Said he’ll call if there’s any news.”

“News?”

“You remember how you got shot?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes, “I think so.”

“There was a police raid after they found you and Jimin took the tracker. A ginormous operation. SWAT and everything.”

“They found the Underground?”

“They found the Underground,” Seokjin nods, biting his lip, “Place was huge. Nobody had ever thought the expanse of the activities. There were an estimated total of fifty active prisoners. About as many guards. Around thirty clients at that time.”

“Holy shit.”

“Turns out they had a failsafe for when a police raid would take place,” Seokjin says softly, voice hitching slightly.

“A what?”

“Explosives. So that the entire Underground and all the evidence would be buried and gone. We got as many people out as we could. Jimin made it out right before-”

“No-”

“They’re still looking, Kook-ah,” Seokjin rushes to say, “Search and rescue is still recovering people from the rubble. They’ll find him.”

They’ll find him.

Assume the worst has happened.

“This is just like last time,” Jungkook whimpers, throat closing with tears as he’s swept back to that hopeless day sitting on the couch, watching everything break apart. They’ll find him. They’ll find him. They’ll find him. Can’t have gone far. Told that kid to stay put. Never stays put. But they’ll find him.

“This is nothing like last time,” Seokjin barks in reply, voice suddenly strained and stern. “We know he’s there.”

“Namjoon-hyung’s gonna call?”

“Any moment now.”

And so they wait. Like they did five years ago. Both afraid of the phone ringing, and afraid of it staying quiet.

He can’t die twice. I can’t go on if I lose him again.

It’s completely silent in the room, except for the occasional beep of a monitor or IV. A few nurses come in and out, rushing to do their job as they immediately seem aware of the tense atmosphere. Jungkook tries his very hardest to stay awake, but it’s getting increasingly difficult and eventually he has to give into a light and restless slumber.

Until Seokjin’s phone starts buzzing on the sheets beside his legs.

His eyes snap open wide and he stares as Seokjin’s hands fly towards his phone in the fraction of a second. Hyung clumsily swipes his thumb over the call screen a few times before the connection is established and Jungkook is witness to a one sided conversation.

“Joon-ah?”

“Yeah, I’m still at the hospital. He’s awake. Gonna be perfectly alright in a couple of months, probably.”

“Just tell me-”

“Yeah-”

“Okay- and they’re coming here?”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh thank fuck.”

“You saw him?”

“Okay, we’ll have to wait then, I guess.”

“Yeah, Jimin’s arrived about two hours ago.”

“Hoseok.”

“Want me to tell them?”

“When will we know more?”

“No, you don’t look like you have any idea.”

“Well, cause I can’t see you.”

“It’s not important, Joon-”

“Are you coming here?”

“Alright, tell him to keep us posted.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, I’ll let him know.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Jungkook looks at his hyung with the most intense stare he can summon. Seokjin avoids his eyes for a couple of seconds after he’s ended the call. Jungkook swears he’s gonna strangle Seokjin with his bare hands –destroyed shoulder be damned- if hyung continues to be this evasive.

“They found him.”

Chapter Text

If you asked Jimin, he’d say the two hours he’s spend on this godforsaken stretcher in this godforsaken ER, have been absolute torture. There’s a ridiculously large bandage around his head and only one doctor had looked at him, shining a penlight into his eyes before quickly concluding that Jimin was definitely not a priority case right now.

Jimin couldn’t blame her, because the ER was being flooded with priority cases right now. Jimin feels like he’s just sort of in the way.

Hoseok is fluttering around him constantly, all encouraging words and concerned touches. He’s his usual busy self, but there’s a barely concealed, nervous and frayed edge to it. So much so that it makes Jimin want to snap at him. And he has. A couple of times. But Hoseok keeps coming back.

Jimin doesn’t remember how he got to have a concussion. He supposes that part of a concussion is not remembering how you got the concussion. He remembers screaming at Yoongi, though, when the older had decided that enough was enough and Jimin, for fuck’s sake, you’re bleeding, you need to get to the hospital.

Yoongi didn’t understand.

That just a simple head injury wasn’t enough to justify losing Taehyung all over again. That Jimin needed to stay. Because only then… only then…

And then Seokjin shows up to tell them Taehyung had been found.

Words Jimin had wanted to hear for so long. Had yearned for for five years straight. And so he subjects Seokjin to a thorough interrogation. “Where is he?”

“Take it easy, Jimin-ah,” Seokjin hold up two hands, “They’re probably still on the way.”

“They’re coming here?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know?”

“He was pulled from the ruins. He’s hurt bad. Was unresponsive when they found him. He’s alive, though.”

An overwhelming sense of relief washes over him at that point and Jimin gasps for breath. He was there. He saw the collapse of the Underground with his own eyes. To think Taehyung could get out of it alive was more than he’d hoped for. He scrambles on the stretcher in order to get up and away. Hoseok, of course, is immediately there to stop him. “Just wait!”

“For what?”

“All Underground victims are being held in a designated area in the hospital, regardless of the severity of their injuries.”

“They’re kept in separation?”

“Yes, like a quarantine.”

“What the actual fuck?”

“Many of these people have been missing for years, Jimin-ah. They need their identities confirmed and the police are afraid of underworld retaliation, so they’re being kept under heavy security.”

“So they’re still not free?” Jimin sneers.

Seokjin’s mouth snaps shut as he considers this, then he sighs and shakes his head, “No, I guess not.”

“It’s probably also done as a way to not overwhelm them,” Hoseok jumps in, looking from Seokjin to Jimin and back.

“Are they allowed visit-”

Male, early twenties, near amputation of lower right extremity. Three units of O-neg, heartrate 135, bloodpressure is 75/60. UV, going to designated area.

Their heads snap up at the flurry that rushes through the ER. Jimin has seen several, at this point. Honestly, by now he’s surprised there are still doctors left to cover these cases. This rundown Daegu hospital does not at all seem equipped for a crisis of this magnitude. The ER has been overrun for two hours now. And there doesn’t seem to be an end to it. Which is… good, Jimin supposes. It means there’s still people being found alive. Still hope.

Hoseok convinces Jimin to stay where he is because you can’t do anything for them right now, can you? Underground victims are not allowed visitors until security has been properly set up and Jimin scoots back on his stretcher, chagrined. He keeps staring at the door once Seokjin leaves with the announcement he’s going to wait for Namjoon and Yoongi to get here.

Male, late teens, cardiac arrest. CPR for 18 minutes. No pupil reflex. GSW to the left temple. UV, going to designated area.

Every time a stretcher bursts through the doors, Jimin’s heart hammers in his throat. They were all male. They were all young. And each of their conditions seemed devastating. Most of the minor injuries had already come in. Every new arrival seemed grave and severe and it churned Jimin’s insides to mush to have to keep waiting.

Male, late twenties, respiratory arrest on arrival. Was buried after the collapse. Suspected pneumo thorax caused by pierced lung. Abdomen is rigid. Unresponsive. Pupils are sluggish. Heartrate 124, bloodpressure 70/60. UV, going to designated area.

Male, late twenties

Jimin rises automatically, already ignoring Hoseok’s protest.

Buried after the collapse

He can barely see anything as the stretcher is rushed through the corridor. They take it where they take all of them. Up the elevator and then gone.

Going to designated area

Jimin’s feet are on the ground before he knows it. He’s a little unsteady, but he can walk just fine, he thinks. Just one look. He has to know. And so his walk turns into a run. People are yelling at him, but there’s no way they can stop him. There’s still not much he can see in the chaos.

Bare feet, brown, dirtied trousers, a white shirt in tatters. Crooked fingers.

“Taehyung-ah!” he calls out, but Taehyung is, in fact, unresponsive. They’re pushing air into his lungs with a large blue bag and not a single part of him is moving. Jimin pleads with the doctors that are ignoring him. At one point, he’s pretty sure he’s yelling. He fights when hospital security grabs him from behind. Because they don’t understand. They don’t know what Jimin’s been through to get here. They don’t know how long he’s waited.

Hoseok looks furious when security deposits Jimin back on his stretcher, but his features soften as he studies the younger’s face. In one motion, he throws his arms around Jimin’s shoulders and pushes him close. “Taehyungie?”

Jimin nods, eyes big and tears threatening to fall. He’s been through literal hell tonight. He’s more than exhausted and his head is pounding something fierce. He swallows before pressing his forehead against Hoseok’s shoulder, sobbing quietly.

And Hoseok doesn’t move. Whispers soft words and promises. Taehyungie is strong. He’s been through so much, this is probably nothing. We’re gonna find out everything we can, okay? But first we’re gonna let them work.

Chapter Text

“This isn’t right,” Hoseok mumbles, stiffly standing in front of the window.

Jimin, fuming beside him, shares that sentiment, “What in the world?” he bristles.

The nurse and doctor that brought them here seem self-conscious as they stand in the corner of the waiting room. It had taken three rounds of security measures to be able to get here; Hoseok was growing impatient and Jimin was a breath away from exploding.

It’s the first time since the Underground’s collapse that they’re allowed so far into what’s been dubbed as the UV wing, an entire week later. UV crudely stood for Underground Victims and Hoseok is willing to ignore that fact, if it weren’t for what he’s witnessing right now. Before he can say anything, though, the doctor steps forward with invitingly spread arms, “Now if you boys would first like to take a seat, we will explain.”

“You’re gonna explain this?” Jimin growls. He’s been furious for the better part of a week. Which isn’t abnormal for him, by now. Hoseok remembers a softspoken, polite young man when they first met. All bows and smiles and yes sir, or yes ma’am. To the outside world, Jimin was always soft and quiet and maybe a little reserved, even if he was at times loud and rambunctious within the group. Now, after being dismissed and ridiculed for his theories and findings for five years straight, it is clear that Jimin has stopped giving a damn. Hoseok had a big part in that, he’ll admit guiltily.

“Sit down,” the nurse comments, pointing to the chairs with a stern face.

Hoseok sinks down almost automatically. Jimin engages in a stare off first before concluding that the most likely way to get the information he wants, is to comply. Both doctor and nurse remain standing. The doctor looks through the window for a second before sighing and clearing his throat, “The first thing you have to understand is that Mr Kim’s body has been through a lot of trauma. Both recently, with the collapse of the Underground, but also many times before.”

Hoseok nods stiffly and sees Jimin swallow next to him.

“The reason he’s being restrained is that when he first woke up, he was very disoriented and he did become violent. Keeping his recent and older injuries in mind, and following standard hospital protocol, we decided this was the best course of action.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Jimin interrupts in a soft but deadly tone, “You have bound and restricted a person that has been bound and restricted against his will in a godforsaken hellscape for the past five years!”

“This is protocol, Mr Park,” the nurse replies sharply, “Mr Kim hasn’t been alert enough yet to understand where he is or what has happened. His actions are solely based on confusion and fear.”

“And this is only going to make it worse!”

“We see this behavior in a lot of Underground Victims. They are not to blame, but for their own safety and that of others, we need to take these measures.”

“For someone who was comatose for two days, he’s pretty strong, I’ll admit that,” the doctor mumbles.

Hoseok blinks and for the first time he sees the faint bruise on the doctor’s jaw. His eyes widen, “We understand,” he replies quickly, ignoring Jimin’s furious stare. “When can we see him?”

“You can go in in a moment, if you like. Only briefly though. We’re very careful not to overwhelm these patients. Our psychologists say it’s best to reintroduce them into their old lives as carefully as possible.”

There’s already a bit of disappointment on Jimin’s face, but Hoseok nods. Considering the fact they weren’t allowed anywhere near the UV wing for the past eight days, he’ll take all he can get right now. “How is he? Physically, I mean?”

The doctor pauses. At this point, nobody has full medical guardianship over any Underground Patients. They’ve been considered dead by the state for various amounts of time. Judging by the doctor’s hesitance, Hoseok can see that Taehyung is probably not capable of giving permission at this time. So he steps forward, eyes pleading, “Sir, Taehyung had been living with us for over seven years before he went missing. We’re not officially family, but we’re the next best thing.”

“Have you been able to contact his real family?”

Jimin nods, “Yeah, but they were out of the country for a while. You know, out of precaution. They’re expected to come over later this week.”

The doctor’s mouth twitches as he stares at the window, then exhales, “Alright. He’s out of the woods by now. Our biggest concern was his lungs. Both had collapsed and one of them had been pierced by a rib after the collapse. We repaired most of it in surgery, but he’s got quite a bit of recovery ahead of him.”

“Alright.”

“There was also quite a bit of heavy internal bleeding. We dealt with that during surgery as well, but he’s expected to feel very sore for a while.”

“That makes sense.”

“Those were the main two consequences of the collapse of the Underground. But we have detected a lot more injuries that were older and that might require special care in the future. His left hipbone, for example, is very damaged. He runs an incredibly high risk of dislocating it, just by walking. It may have happened a few times already, judging by the swelling.”

A stab of sympathy courses through Hoseok and he winces, “What would be the smartest thing to do then?”

The doctor seems glad he asked, “I’d recommend a few orthopedic surgeries. He’s most likely going to lose the joint altogether, but there are a lot of artificial alternatives these days. Most likely, he’ll only have a bit of a limp when all is settled in a couple of months.”

“Right.”

“There are many more old fractures that we have been able to identify on the x-rays. Some of them didn’t heal properly, but are not causing much trouble in mobility. I would leave them be for now. You’d only be able to tell by the way his arm and fingers look a little crooked. We don’t think he’s in pain from those.”

The nausea rises further and further up Hoseok’s throat as he’s forced to listen to the extensive list of injuries. Five years. If they had only been able to find him sooner. If they had only done more of their best. “Could you confirm he isn’t in pain from those injuries?”

“When he’s a little more aware, sure,” the doctor nods, “He’s been drifting pretty much in and out for the past few days. He’s very weak from the trauma, and the obvious malnourishment. We’re going to take things very careful if we want him to get his strengths back up again. But we also saw a concerning injury on the CT scan of his brain.”

Hoseok swallows the bile back down, insides squeezing together. For some stupid reason, he hadn’t thought that finding Taehyung and getting him back into their lives would have such drastic consequences. Like they could just move on and go back to being happy. It’s not that easy. He remembers that night he followed Jungkook when the youngest had somehow convinced himself that he should go to Daegu all by himself and find the Underground by force.

What if that place- what if it’s changed him?

I think you’re right. I think that what we’re getting back is not going to be the same boy that we lost five years ago.

He’s going to need a lot of time to decompress, to heal. I think our goal should be to make sure he has enough time a space to do just that.

It doesn’t matter how severe the issues are, Hoseok thinks. They owe it to Taehyung to stand by him. He closes his eyes, then asks, “What was it?” in a shaking voice.

“Quite a bit of scar tissue under the membrane next to his temple. From the looks of it, it’s already a year old, but it’s not clear whether he experiences any symptoms from it. He might have just gotten lucky.”

Yeah, Taehyung had been marvelously lucky so far.

“What kind of symptoms could he get?”

“Tiredness, most likely,” the doctor continues, “The more of your brain that can function fully and properly, the more energy you can distribute. With scar tissue, you essentially block out some areas and pathways. This could also lead to seizures or muscle weakness. Although… I think we can rule muscle weakness out, considering that excellent right hook he threw at my face.”

Hoseok doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the joke, so he just gives the doctor a wet semi-smile, “Is there anything that needs to be done about it?”

“Not at the moment, I don’t think so. There’s no swelling and considering it’s been there for more than a year and he’s still functioning, I don’t think it’s going to be progressive or life-threatening anytime soon. We’re going to keep a close eye on it and I would ask you to keep an eye out for any of the symptoms I mentioned.”

A bit of relief appears in the back of his mind as Hoseok nods with a sigh. Jimin, next to him, seems as overwhelmed by the news as Hoseok himself. He despairs when he thinks about the fact they have to relay all this info to the others. But not before- “Thank you, doctor Yang. Can we see him now?”

The doctor nods softly, “He’ll most likely be sleeping. We gave him a mild sedative for the pain, and to help with the confusion. Although, it might do him good to see familiar faces, who knows.”

Hoseok doesn’t know, but he nods. He hasn’t seen Taehyung in five and a half years. The last time was right before his 25^th birthday. He’s over 30 now. That alone is enough to let a sob escape his throat and he quickly turns away. He’d griefed. For a while. An appropriate amount of time, actually, despite what the others might think. He’d had to learn with the idea that Taehyung was gone. That they needed to move on without him.

And now he was standing here… it was incredibly difficult to reset his mind.

Jimin is… less hesitant. He quickly steps forward and is through the door in an instant. Hoseok follows him and then he’s there. And it’s like he’s skipped five years in time.

Taehyung lies still on the bed. He looks small and incredibly thin. His breathing is labored, but he’s no longer intubated. What shocks Hoseok most, though, are all of the countless scars he can easily see on the younger man’s body. Some ugly and grotesque. Others thin and fading. It tells a story that Hoseok wouldn’t even be able to imagine, should he try. He’s heard terrible things about the Underground. From Minhyung. From Hojeong. But he wasn’t there himself. He could never understand.

Jimin is already standing close, right next to Taehyung’s head. He whispers things that are meant to be too intimate to hear. Hoseok has quite an understanding of what Taehyung and Jimin mean to each other. He thinks he’s always known, deep down. But the way Jimin’s hand traces lightly over Taehyung’s arm, makes him think he’s witness to something private. Jimin’s hand comes to a stop next to Taehyung’s crooked pinky finger and he stares at it for a little bit. Something between a gasp and a sob escapes him and his shoulders start shaking. It’s like he’s only now realized that this is, in fact, Taehyung.

And then Hoseok realizes it too.

And it’s overwhelming. All rationality flies out of the window as all that grief, all that sadness and depression wash over him in terrifying waves. How is he ever supposed to deal with this. Someone so close, so loved, had been dead dead dead and it hurt. It had goddamn hurt so much that it had never stopped hurting. Not until five seconds ago. Not even now.

They weep; all those feelings pouring out until it culminates into one strong emotion: we should have found you sooner.

Hoseok doesn’t think they are making too much noise, but after a few minutes, he notices Taehyung stir with a shock and his eyes fly open. The oxygen mask over his face fogs up in desperate, uneven puffs as he winces with the strain it’s putting on his lungs. His eyes are wide and panicked, hands grabbing wildly as he tries, but fails, to understand what is going on around him.

Jimin is quick to wipe away his tears and clutch Taehyung’s hand in his. He leans over, other hand running through Taehyung’s short, patchy hair. There’s a wet smile on his face and his voice is full of tears, “Shh, Taehyung-ie. It’ll be okay now. We’re here. It’s your Jimin-ah. And Hoseokie-hyung’s here too. We’re gonna take care of you now.”

It doesn’t calm Taehyung down in the slightest and a bad feeling prickles down Hoseok’s spine as he watches the heart monitor work itself up into a frenzy. “No!” Taehyung moans, muffled by the mask on his face.

His arms pull desperately at the restraints around his wrist, chest heaving with the breaths he’s unable to draw. Hoseok quickly moves to stand on his other side. “Taehyungie, look at me, please. This is not what you think.”

Jimin blinks at him in confusion overhead, but Hoseok ignores him, “We’re not in the Underground. They didn’t get us, Tae. You’re out. You’re out. I promise you.”

Taehyung’s breathing is quick, near hyperventilation, but his gaze bores into Hoseok’s, begging for confirmation. “O-out?”

Hoseok heaves a sob, “Yeah. Yeah, bud, you did it. You did it. You’re back with us.”

Taehyung’s eyes fly from Hoseok to Jimin, trying to determine the truth. Like they’re playing some kind of sick trick on him. His breathing is still out of control, bordering on dangerous and Hoseok expects a horde of nurses and doctors to storm and whisk them away any minute now. Taehyung tries, but he can’t catch a good enough breath to form the words, so it takes him quite some time to groan, “Don’t you lie to me.”

“We’re not,” Hoseok rushes, desperately, and it’s so much for not overwhelming our patients and best to reintroduce them into the their old lives as carefully as possible, “Ï’m not, Taehyungie. It’s true. I promise. I pinky swear, buddy.”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me,” Taehyung repeats, overwhelmed, and it’s all Hoseok can do to give him a little bit of room. He looks over at Jimin to do the same and Jimin, wonder above wonders, seems to understand.

“I would never lie to you, Taehyungie,” Jimin whispers, “Nobody’s tricking you. But it’s okay. I get it you’re not ready. You’re scared. I can’t possibly understand just how fucking scared you must be or have been. But it’s okay. We’ll be right here, alright?”

Taehyung’s shaking breaths settle down incredibly slowly as he lies there, staring up at the ceiling. Trying to deal with this confusing reality at the moment. Hoseok understands the restraints. The sedative. It’s not to torture Taehyung.

It’s much more torture without them.

Hoseok sinks down into a chair at the foot of the bed. He shakes, trying to imagine what life with Taehyung is going to be like.

But they owe it to him.

And so they let him be for a few moments. Let his heavy breaths fill the silence. They hear him mutter something to himself a couple of times. Jimin starts speaking from the other side of the room, putting as much safe distance between himself and Taehyung as possible. “The Underground has collapsed,” he tells him, voice sounding calm, but you can hear the strain if you know what to listen for, “It’s gone. Do you remember the police raid?”

Taehyung continues to mutter, seemingly not paying much attention at all. Jimin must conclude that asking Taehyung questions gives no satisfying results, because he continues without them, “Most of the prisoners have escaped, Taehyungie. Some were hurt pretty bad, including yourself. But most are still alive. Those criminals had planted explosives, though, for when the Underground would ever be compromised. So after the raid had started, it wasn’t long before they went off. You and about a dozen others were still down there when that happened.”

“There was another way,” Taehyung whispers, gaze still firmly trained on the ceiling.

Jimin nods with a shaky smile, “Yeah. You and Daewoo guided people to the other exit. We think the elevator must have failed right before you reached the top.”

“No, not true,” Taehyung mumbles, shaking his head slightly, “It’s not true. I didn’t know the way.”

“Daewoo?”

“No, Moon either,” Taehyung rambles, brow pinched. “The monster. The monster knew.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Jimin says.

“Is he dead?”

“Who?”

“M-monster?”

Jimin looks at Hoseok for help and Hoseok nods his head firmly. They don’t know for sure, but it’s easier to reassure Taehyung, than to leave him in doubt, “Y-yeah, he’s gone.”

Taehyung shakes as he sobs quietly. “Don’t you lie to me, not you.”

“We’re not, Taehyung,” Hoseok says softly, “Nobody’s gonna hurt you anymore, okay?”

A long sigh before Taehyung nods cautiously against the pillow, “Okay.”

It’s not long after that that they’re being sent out of the room. Unlike Hoseok’s fear, Taehyung doesn’t fight the hospital staff this time. He lies perfectly still, like he’s turned on auto pilot. Maybe that might be a way for him, Hoseok thinks. He’s afraid of what the future brings. But he knows they succeeded.

The Underground is gone.