Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Despite what others might believe, Jax has always preferred to stick to a routine. It was one of the reasons why he adapted so well to the circus compared to the others…not that he’d tell anyone this, of course. Afterall, it’s far more enjoyable to be a wild card and keep everyone on their toes. And regardless of their protests, at least his antics did stave off the boredom and existential dread of that virtual reality which was slowly creeping up on them all.

Did he ever receive a thank you for his valiant efforts? Of course not, because Jax knows fully well that he’s never been the ‘valiant’ or ‘courageous' sort of person. He only ever acted in his own personal self interest, afterall.

But that’s neither here nor there. Nor anywhere, really. It’s been a good year since they all managed to escape from the circus. Well, it was just a year. Not good, not bad.

A blatant lie. There were far more bad days than good. But then again, that’s nothing out of the ordinary.

And-so, it looks like today is going to be yet another uninteresting, tedious day.

He wakes up in the morning, plans the day in his head, practices his smile in-front of the mirror. Jax isn't deluded enough to believe he can even be a fraction as charming as Ragatha…not that he ever found her ‘charming,’ per say. Her unearned optimism in the circus was grating at best, suicidally idiotic at worst. But out here? In the real world? Someone like her is valued. Coveted, even.

Jax doesn’t understand what Pomni sees in Ragatha. And that’s another thing. After spending so much time together in the circus, it’s still difficult for any of them to refer to the others by their real names.

Honestly, Jax still feels like a stranger in his own body. A part of him almost misses those rabbit ears. Almost, but not quite, considering those things were stupid as fuck.

He knows his name as well. Of course he does, but it doesn’t feel right.

It feels like he’s living on borrowed time.

Kaufmo didn’t make it out of the circus. He abstracted. And Ribbit…Jax was there. He could have saved him. But the one good person in his life…the only person who ever mattered to him is gone now.

Jax is certain he'll never forget Kaufmo…that he’ll never forget Ribbit for as long as he lives.

He’ll never be as kind and charming and lovely as what’s expected of him. However—

Jax still practices, regardless. Makes sure that he looks okay-enough to not be a cause of concern for anyone. And isn’t that a downright riot? He never gave a fuck about what anyone thought of him in the circus, but it’s different in the real world. Outside of that simulation, he has to keep his head down low again. He has to smile [Not his shit-eating grins, but something that’s friendly and welcoming but not too inviting], act as nice as he’s capable of……

It’s tedious. It’s exhausting.

He doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to keep himself together, and that he manages to look happy and put together [as much as a perpetually tired college student can be], and that he doesn't cause anyone too much stress. And again, Jax doesn’t care about anyone except himself.

But considering he’s a second generation immigrant in this good for nothing city, he has no choice.

Jax knows fully well just how much of a shitty player he was in the simulation. It was fun and rewarding. And despite how often he broke Gangle’s dumb, stupid mask, he’s sure she enjoyed it when he was mean to her. For all he knows, she’s just some masochistic furry or something…not that Jax is judging. Oh, he’s judging hard.

After that incident with the maid dress, and Gangle’s attempts of getting them all to cosplay in a butler café, well……

The less said, the better.

Anyhow, Kinger of all people taught him the value of appearance. Jax has always been tidy [As much as someone who never gives a fuck could be], but he lingers a bit longer by the mirror, willing the dark imprints beneath his eyes to go away. The concept of wishing--of hoping, doesn't work, of course. But he practices his smile again--the same smile that means, 'I'm fine, everything is okay.'

His smile melts away as he turns away from the mirror, steps up to his front door and looks through the peephole. Jax exhales, unaware that he had been holding his breath the entire time. His heart skips a beat, hands twitch as he reaches for the chain. There's no one in-front of the door. Of course there isn't.

No one is waiting for him out there.

And if a shadow seemed to move, looked almost 'human' in shape, Jax would chalk that up to sleep deprivation. He was up late again, pulling an all-nighter [Missing years of school did not do any kindnesses for him]—no, but what if there was someone behind the door? What if that man had been there?

 Ah, that can’t be right. Jax is sure he scared him away, and…Jax had scared that man away. In the commotion, Pomni and Ragatha had ran out of their apartment unit and assured Jax that everything would be alright. Jax had merely scowled at them, flipping them both off half-heartedly before he stormed off. They're good people, and certainly more than what Jax deserves, not that he’d ever tell them that, either.

He looks in the mirror but doesn't see his face sometimes. All of the time.

Jax still remembers the weight of that sickle in his hands. The glint of moon light against rusted iron. It had been dark and cold and lonely in that field. Surrounded by corn, with no one to hear him except the crows.

And he could care less about the way that woman who shared his blood—his mom, had stared back at him. Eyes wide, features paling, the stutter in her voice as she argued with Jax. But her lips were then drawn back into a sneer as she called Jax a bad child, a terrible son, had screamed all sorts of insults about him, about how he was just like his dad.

Jax is happy most days. All days. But he wonders why his that man hadn't finished the job all those years ago. He wonders why he hadn't killed Jax, and a sickening part of his already twisted head feels...almost disappointed that man didn't do just that all those years ago. Disappointment and anger that Jax didn't turn that sickle towards his own chest.

He spent much of his childhood wondering just what made him different. He would scour the library for psychological books, searched the internet for anything that could help. But statistics always dictated that children who grew up with violence would in-turn treat their own spouses and children in such ways.

There's much that Jax remembers about his childhood. But there are also those memories that are faded and gray, and pieces of missing time in his head that don't add up. He used to hide underneath tables, stayed in the furthest corners of the room and covered his ears. Averted his eyes. There were always screams and shouts and his blood still runs cold whenever he hears a raised voice.

But it's silly to feel this way, when that all happened so terribly long ago.

Jax locks the door behind him. Checking once, twice, three times to make sure the door wouldn't just give way with a harsh push. He looks left and right, sighs heavily as he walks down the steps of his apartment. The sky is clear and blue. Jax has never seen a sight more disgusting than this in his life.

Though, he goes through the motions. Greets that kind old lady running the flower shop [He fucking hates this job. He would’ve rather worked for a butchery, but the economy’s shit, and the pay here is surprisingly decent for a broke college student like himself], picks up those fancy sweets his boss loves so much, checks through his messages, and now and again looks behind him. No one there, of course.

"You're rather early today," Ragatha greets as Jax steps through the front door.

Jax merely rolls his eyes, holding his bag of pastries up to Ragatha. And that’s another infuriating thing about her. He already knew she was rich, but not vieux riche. It’s one thing to be a horse girl, and it’s a completely separate thing to be a horse girl that’s a real estate agent and a wedding store owner on the side. Seriously, what the fuck.

Miss ‘Sunshine, Rainbows, and Lollipops’ smiles sweetly, hands clasped demurely to her side. Jax already knows what she wants to say. ‘Do you think I'm the type of woman who only cares about sweets?’

But instead, Ragtha huffs, casting an almost fond look at Jax [Honestly…fucking horrifying. Jax is dead certain Ragatha is just biding her time and waiting to pay him back for the whole ‘throwing her into the deep fryer’ incident] as she says, "We have a client coming in at 9. She’s searching for the perfect wedding dress."

"How long were they married for?" Jax asks as he places the box of pastries into the fridge.

"Fifty years."

"Wow, what a bummer," Jax noncommittally mutters. He opens the pantry, taking note of what needs to be restocked. 'Green tea cakes and checkerboard cookies are running particularly low. Jax hates sweets, but ya’ know what? He’ll get some of those new chocolate-strawberry crisps too and put them on Ragatha’s dime.

"Hey, Ragatha, guess it's time to restock again. Anything in mind?" Jax spins on his heels, holding a nearly empty box of orange marmalade cookies. He shoots a deadpan look at Ragatha, though she seems...conflicted.

Ragatha falls quiet, piercing blue eyes studying Jax. The dark-haired man looks behind him before turning back to her. "Uhhh, the fuck is wrong with you?”

For the life of him, Jax can't figure out what that inexplicable expression on Raragtha’s face is. And for Ragatha’s part, it looks as if she wants to say something. Ragatha’s lips are parted, brows furrowed as she takes one tentative step towards Ragatha. One hand is placed against the counter now, and Ragatha moves just a bit closer.

But the bell at the front door immediately starts ringing. Ragatha still appears to be conflicted, eyes flickering from the door and back towards Jax. Ragatha sighs, a look of dismay plastered her face for a fraction of a second. It immediately disappears as soon as she ushers the client into their office.

Jax stays in the kitchen this time, listening to Ragatha’s excruciatingly painful voice as she goes about with giving their guests an impromptu lesson on the history of wedding cakes. That’s still cringe as hell, but Jax supposes it’s better than breaking out into a song and dance. Or talking about horses. Again.

He takes out a matcha chiffon roll from the pantry before fetching two china plates. They're painted with bright red chrysanthemums and emerald vines—shitty pieces of art that were gifted to them by a previous client. Jax's hand falters momentarily as he slices into the chiffon cake.

The glint of silver catches his attention, and suddenly, the knife feels far too heavy in his hands. He stumbles slightly, knees buckling as his elbow lightly bumps into the table counter. Something viscous like blood falls from his palm in rivulets, and for a second, he hears a sound like screaming in his ears. A familiar voice—one that he heard time and time again in his childhood.

The lights overheard are bright. Sickeningly-so, and with a jolt, Jax realizes where he is. Ragatha calls for him from the showroom.

Jax looks down at the plates, at the chiffon roll set upon the counter.

He does not look at the knife again.

But as he places the two slices of matcha cakes in-front of Ragatha and their new client, Jax can't help but recall that new knife he bought a couple of weeks back. The exact knife he’d used as protection, and...Jax wonders why he hadn't thrown it out. The knife's original packaging is still buried somewhere underneath his bed, and as for that weapon...he never got rid of it.

The feeling of polished silver, the eerie premonition of driving a knife deep into flesh and cracking bones haunts Jax for the rest of the day.

He had come so close to plunging that knife deep into that man's chest. Jax hadn't, but...a strong part of him wishes that he had.

Jax knows this isn’t meant to last. Ragatha will come to her senses soon enough and fire him. Afterall, he’s someone unsafe [It had been funny in the circus, but it’s different now that they’re all outside of the game], who could very will turn out like his mother one day.

A broken person from a broken family can never be fixed. Especially not one who is one step away from...violence. Jax already bought the knife, so who's to say he won't turn it on someone else one day? But this time, permanently?

He never wanted to die, but on some days he never wanted to live much, either.

---

Jax continues with his routine. Same as always.

If Ragatha had noticed anything was off, she didn't say. But he's gotten even more 'softer,' started speaking more lightly whenever he'd notice how Jax would flinch at particularly loud voices. Fuck, when did Jax get so bad at acting? He used to be so good at controlling his emotions, but if even Ragatha of all people can sense something’s off?

What the fuck is he even doing?

Jax still checks his door three times before leaving. Wakes up in the middle of the night, afraid he'll hear screaming or see a figure lying on the ground. Bloodied, tired, and he walks up to the door and checks that it's locked. That man still knows where he lives.

Stifling a yawn, Jax halfheartedly converses with the young woman seated across him. She's checking out matching necklaces with her wife of four years—asking how he had come to know Ragatha, and how finals are going. Typical small talk.

The rest of the day is a blur, and Jax finds himself scrolling through the internet. It starts off small, but he winds up looking at the 'best ways to disappear.'  He's not depressed, nor does he want to die. But someone like him shouldn't exist. Not when he's one step away from hurting someone he should protect.

It's a Tuesday when Jax sets his plans in motion. He doesn't want to die, but he doesn't want to live, either. He spent more hours than he could count looking for the best ways to take his life.

Jax won't let himself disappear. There's no way he could give Ragatha or Pomni or the others false hope that he might still be alive after he does this.

He still doesn’t understand why any of them even care about him.

Hell, Jax only ever prioritized himself! And even he doesn’t particularly care about what happens to him after this.

So…he tries to find the best ways to kill himself.

However, jumping off a building or into the ocean is out of the question—he can't force someone to clean up his mess. He won't traumatize anyone who finds his corpse. It’s funny in the simulation, but again, far different in the real world. Throwing himself into the ocean isn’t going to be as romantic as the movies paint it out to be. If he falls the wrong way, then there’s still a chance he could be saved. Falling into water is like crashing straight down into concrete.

He’ll leave behind a mangled, bloodied corpse.

Jax found other methods, too. All painful, because the act of taking one's life is never painless. But even if there was a...less painful way to die, Jax would never choose it as an option.

This is his punishment, and if no one else will put an end to him, well…he’s the only person he could possibly hope to rely on.

A week passes, and then another. Before Jax knows it, Sunday has come to a close. He bids farewell to Ragatha…even though they’re neighbors. But she’s going out on a date with Pomni after work, so she won’t be privy to what he plans to do. Throughout the previous weeks, Jax made amends to the best of his ability. Said farewell to Kinger and Gangle. Even Zooble and their stupid bartender friends.

Jax even stopped by the remains of that facility where he first entered that circus simulation. He’d cursed them out…everyone who was responsible for that nightmare. And he’d professed his sins. He had wanted to stay more, but...Jax supposes it won't be long before he returns.

Jax doesn't remember how he returned home, but he does remember the thoughts that ran through his head as he searched for the knife. Slitting his throat, gouging out his own heart--both possibilities had definitely slipped into his mind. But the amount of blood that would spill out is certain to be...a lot, and it would cause problems for his landlord. Not that he cares, because he really fucking doesn’t. But……

Blood is difficult to get rid of hardwood.

Hanging was also a possibility, but what if Pomni were to walk in? Or Ragatha? He doesn’t care, but considering just how PG that stupid as fuck circus had been, he’s more than certain Ragatha and Pomni would die from fright. And where Jax is going, well…he was never a religious man. But if anyone here is going to die, it’s just going to be him, and him alone.

The only place in his apartment where blood wouldn't be a pain to clean would be the restroom. It would be a ghastly sight, but...Jax is nothing if not selfish. He leans against the tub, unsure of what he should feel. But he wants this pervasive sense of 'nothingness,' of guilt and self-loathing to dissipate like mist.

Jax just sits there for a moment, wondering what death would feel like. It certainly wouldn't be painless. Is there an afterlife? It's twisted, but then again—all of Jax is messed up. He wouldn't mind if this was it. If he were to sleep and never wake up. He's distinctly aware of how alive he is, and how in the span of several minutes he won't be. That is, if he plays his cards right.

Slowly, Jax opens his eyes to what must surely be the last thing he ever sees. The butcher knife is a heavy weight in his hands. In the end, it was bought to end a life.

He supposes it was inevitable that the life it will steal away is his own.

Jax grips the handle of the knife tight enough to cause bruises. Slowly, he brings it up to the delicate skin of his left wrist. He traces blue spider-like veins from beneath his skin—not hard enough to break flesh, but enough for a slight hiss to escape his lips. It takes him a few tries, and a brief sense of shame washes over him as 'fear' grips at him. But he can't bring himself to turn back.

Jax knew long, long ago that he was never long for this earth. Maybe he should have disappeared sooner—had taken his life while he was still young.

For a moment, Jax hesitates. His heart is beating a mile a minute, and his hands begin to shake. He takes a deep, shuddering breath as he closes his eyes. The knife is pressed against his wrist, and in one sharp motion, Jax digs the knife into his wrist.

Immediately, his breath hitches as small droplets of blood begin to appear in a long but shallow line in his wrist.

The onslaught of pain is nearly enough to make Jax drop the knife, but he presses on. Again, he slashes the knife into the fragile skin of his wrist, eyes watering as a sense of vertigo hits him. Jax leans even further against the tub. He finds himself slipping, but this will not do. This blood is nowhere near enough to kill him, and certainly not one from such a shallow wound.

With a sudden burst of determination [or perhaps, resignation], Jax's grip on the knife tightens as he slices even deeper into his flesh--all the way from his palm and towards his elbow.

Crimson begins to leak from the wound, and before Jax knows it, his entire arm is caked in blood. He allows himself a second to calm down, wincing as his left hand involuntarily twitches. It feels as if his flesh was doused in flames, as if his lungs are lacking for air.

It's, well...it's indescribable. The feeling of tearing his own flesh apart, of the sensation of a sharpened knife burrowing into his bones. But it's still not enough.

A soft cry escapes his lips as he attempts to move his left hand. His nerves are clearly damaged, but he can still move his fingers. An agonizingly long minute passes as he attempts to grip the knife in his mangled hand. He's practically lying on the floor now, the last vestiges of his sight flickering away into oblivion. But light suddenly paints his world in crimson as he brings the knife to his right. It digs into his palm, and perhaps it is self-hatred or guilt or something else entirely that causes him to sink the knife even deeper into his flesh.

Tears prick at his eyes, trickling down his face. Again and again, he slashes his wrist, practically tearing it into ribbons. Jax considers doing the same thing to his ankles to hasten the process, but his hand falls limp upon the tiled ground. A strangled cry leaves his throat as his mangled arms collides harshly with the ground.

Jax's never felt anything like this before. The pain from broken bones or from that time man had thrown him against a wall, had pushed him down the stairs could never compare. It's horrible, as if his flesh was seared by the harsh bite of flames.

Only his arms were wounded, so...why is it that everything hurts?

It's gotten increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. His vision is hazy, eyes glassy and far away. There's a ringing in his ears, and distantly, he can feel blood trickling down his mangled arms in rivulets. Jax had done his research, but it wasn't enough.

He knew it would hurt. Of course he did, but how could he have ever prepared himself for this?

Jax always knew he wasn't long for this world.

Maybe he was able to make himself forget this on most days, but always, always, always, he was living on borrowed time. Through his squinted eyes, Jax assesses the damage. He wants to wretch at the sight of his shredded flesh. He wants to scream, cry, shout, but he doesn't deserve to mourn. To have regrets or feel anything except this--because if he hadn't done this to himself, then eventually...

Someone else would have taken his place. And by his hands.

But what Jax hadn't expected was how cold he'd feel. As if he was doused in ice cold water, as if he's in the midst of a harsh, unforgiving storm. His fingers are numb, his head is light and it feels as if he's slipping. Fading, fading, fading, and why hadn't Jax done this sooner?

It was on a Tuesday morning that Jax made up his mind to die. And it was on a Sunday evening that he decided to take his own life.

Jax could almost make peace with this.

Afterall, Jax always knew he was not long for this earth.

His eyelids begin to droop, and the last vestiges of his sight begin to fade away. He hears the sound of footsteps in the distance. Harsh, jarring, and he wants them to stop--words accompany the sound of footfalls, and they're yelling now as something thumps against his front door.

Jax fades in and out of consciousness, but then a sudden burst of pain causes him to cry out. He opens his weary eyes, gaze locked upon a familiar face. Vivid red hair, blue eyes, but her features are...off. Somehow, Jax knows this person, and is aware that they're someone he has history with. Not good, however. Though, that’s nothing too out of the ordinary.

But he can't bring himself to focus on anything save for the feeling of something rough harshly pressed against his wrists, against his arms. Another wave of agony causes him to hiss, and Jax hears someone call out to him.

But for the life [or death] of him, he cannot figure out just who they may be.

---

Jax attempts to cringe away, a small whine escaping his lips as Ragatha presses the cloth over his wrists. Jax can barely see her, his vision nearly fading away completely. But he feels blood trickle down his wrist in rivulets, feels himself grow colder by the second.

"Sorry, sorry!" Ragatha tearfully apologizes as she applies more pressure over the wounds. "Pomni, oh shit—sorry Jax!" she frantically hisses out as he readjusts the cloth. " Jax needs an ambulance, quick!!"

But Pomni can't move. It feels as if a spell was cast on her, and she can't move, can't speak. Her feet are nailed to the floor, and she watches—eyes wide and heart hammering wildly in her chest, as Ragatha kneels beside Jax's prone form.

Jax looks like a corpse...it looks as if he’s dead.

Everything about this is wrong. Jax has always been lively. He’s always been a fucking pain in the ass, but this still isn’t right. He shouldn't be here, nearly dead and lying in a pool of his own blood. Jax hasn’t even reached his mid-twenties yet. He's far too young to die.

Nothing about this makes sense.

Everything about this makes sense.

---

Ragatha should have spoken that day—back when Jax had started to get jittery at work. She wanted to believe it was due to school, or perhaps that it was just Jax being…well, Jax.

But, Ragatha knows now. She’s seen this happen before. The telltale signs.

Jax had looked so happy and lively when he came into work on Saturday. Okay, well, that’s a hyperbole. He looked simultaneously grumpy and annoyed. Nothing too odd there, right? Ragatha wanted to believe everything was alright, that Jax had gone back to being his exasperating but strangely endearing self.

Sadly, it turns out that Ragatha was wrong to a devastating degree, and…now Jax is here. Alive, but he'd might as well be dead. He's still. So terribly still that Ragatha fears Jax's heart has stopped beating.

---

The next few hours are a blur. Ragatha can't quite remember what had transpired, but she doesn't want to ask Pomni what happened. Not yet, at least.

Her sweet, lovely girlfriend is sitting right beside her, clutching a magazine in her hands. It's one of those typical magazines that hospital waiting rooms always have—probably about cooking. But Pomni hasn't read it, and it feels as if they're going through the motions...hoping to bring some modicum of normality back into their lives.

Ragatha brings his clasped hands up to her forehead. She’s leaning forward, eyes closed as if he were in reverent prayer. Crimson still clings to her sleeves. A garish color that should not belong here. Jax's blood should never have been spilled upon the floor, should not be seeping into white cloth.

'Why hadn't I confronted him sooner?' Ragatha tearfully wonders, unwilling and unable to bring himself to look at Pomni or anything else in this sterile white hospital waiting room. 'I suspected something was off, and yet I...” She pauses for a moment, tears dripping down her cheeks. “Will Jax be alright?"

And sadly, neither Pomni nor Ragatha know the answer to this. But when she steps into Jax's room, sees the pristine white bandages wrapped around his arms, around his wrists, Ragatha...knows that he hates his.

Jax’s eyes are hollow, tired, and weary. He offers a slight wave, wincing as he jostled his wounds. Smiling, Jax asks what brings Ragatha here, as if he were discussing the weather.

Ragatha doesn't smile, but she pulls up a chair and takes a seat by Jax's bedside.

There is much to discuss in due time, but for now, she can take solace in the fact that Jax is still here. Still alive, still breathing, and maybe in time, Ragatha can help Jax through this. But for now, all Ragatha can do is stay by his side and hope for the best.

Chapter Text

It’s dark, are the first thoughts in Jax’s head as he slowly awakens from a dreamless slumber. For a moment, he imagines himself to be back at the circus. There’s a faint, rhythmic ‘thrum’ coming from somewhere to his right, and slowly, he tilts his head to the side, only for his gaze to fall upon an EKG machine.

He’s disoriented. It feels as if his head is stuffed with cotton, and his movements are slow, sluggish. Jax numbly stares up at the ceiling, unable and unwilling to process the events of the last few days.

But…try as he might, it’s impossible to ignore.

The bandages tightly wrapped around both of his arms are a testament to his sins. To what he’d attempted to inflict upon himself mere days before. Had Jax been a religious man, he would have been worried about where he would have ended up if he succeeded. But he’s not. Never had been, in-fact. There’s nothing after death.

In another life, he would have bled out on the cold, tile floor. Crimson would have pooled underneath his slowly cooling corpse like rose petals.

He could have died. He should have died.

Jax was never all that suicidal. He never wanted to die, but he never wanted to live all that much, either. Prior to the circus, he was always aimless. Merely a wanderer, traveling from place to place with no goals or purposes in his life.

All he wanted was distance away from that town which he had once called home. To live somewhere away from the fields, away from the corn and bloodied sickles and perverse stares and disgusting, unwanted touches. To leave behind his past self. His defiled body, everything that made him, ‘him.’ And it was by chance that he ended up in that simulation.

He doesn’t want to die. Fuck, Jax really fucking doesn’t want to die.

But he doesn’t want to live, either.

It was only by sheer chance that Ragatha and Pomni found him when they did. All he needed was a few minutes to fulfill what he set out to achieve. He could have died. He should have died, but…Jax supposes being trapped in this hospital and placed under ‘suicide watch’ is his punishment. It’s what he deserves for failing to kill himself.

Jax isn’t suicidal. He just doesn’t want to live.

His vision is blurry, and his mind is muddled. A sharp gasp tears out of throat as he drapes his bandaged arm over his eyes. The beeping from that monitor is incessantly loud and grating on his nerves.

He shouldn’t be here.

That man…the nice one from town wasn’t supposed to be there, either. When Jax fled from home, when he ran into the corn fields. Blood coating his hands. Feeling numb, feeling cold and tired and…it wasn’t good to be numb, right? At least with that man, Jax felt something.

Jax isn’t going to cry. This is his punishment for failing to end his own life. Being treated as an invalid stings, and…having Pomni and Ragatha see him in such an undignified state hurts even worse.

Ever since they escaped the circus, those two had changed their perceptions of him. Hell, even Zooble started treating him like glass, like something almost worthy of protecting. Jax doesn’t fucking understand why when he made it his life’s mission to be as much of an asshole to those idiots as much as possible.

And hell, that rabbit avatar was repulsively cuddly. But it’s better than being seen as weak…than being seen as someone fragile and pretty.

Jax was never the sentimental sort, but a part of him almost misses the circus.

Everyone saw him for what he was back there. No one pretended to care. But here? Jax supposes Ragatha sees him as a charity case. That must be why ‘Little Miss Perfect’ had been there on the first day he woke up.

But thankfully, Ragatha’s not family, despite how she might otherwise behave. He’s under suicide watch [And even that doesn’t seem right to Jax. He never did anything worthy of being coddled like this. Though, it feels like a prison], and a part of him hates Ragatha and Pomni for finding him when they did.

Apparently Ragatha’s been trying to visit him nearly every single day, but again, she’s not family. Jax turned everyone away, and…Ragatha wasn’t even supposed to be here when he woke up the other day.

He doesn’t know much about hospital, except that healthcare is a fucking joke, and that he’d sooner die except be taken by an ambulance. But—

Ragatha isn’t family, so he supposes she bribed the hospital staff into letting her into the mental health ward.

If Jax didn’t feel so utterly humiliated by her seeing him like this…by Ragatha seeing his failed attempt at ‘taking care of the problem,’ then he’d almost feel proud of the woman. He always knew he was a bad influence, and it’s nice to see that his habits are finally starting to rub off on her.

Though, if only the same thing could be said about Gangle.

Jax doesn’t want to open his eyes. If he were to remain like this. If he were to remain still and silent, he could almost delude himself into believing he was dead. But, it’s useless. And despite Jax’s best efforts, tears prick at the corners of his eyes as a sharp, radiating heat sears into both of his wrists, burrowing right into his bones.

His heart hammers wildly in his chest, and he does his best to remain calm, to not let this pain get to him when it’s all deserved. He let this happen to him. He allowed himself to fail, and for Ragatha and Pomni to see him as weak.

Though, Jax fears he’ll never get past the fact that those two saw him at his lowest.

He isn’t crying. He’s incapable of crying. Jax can’t recall the last time he shed tears, not even when he was pushed down the stairs, shoved against a wall…had his bones broken and flesh torn and hands wrapped around his throat. When bruises had been painstakingly etched into his neck......

Not even once did Jax cry.

No, but that’s a lie, isn’t it? What about when that man in the corn field had…?

Jax lifts his hand up. And he hates how sluggish and imprecise his movements are. His body doesn’t feel like it belongs to himself anymore. Though, it hasn’t felt like it belonged to him for a long, long time, already.

And he stares up at his bandaged hand, and as he slowly flexes his fingers, it’s difficult for his mind to believe what it’s even seeing. Jax shouldn’t be here. There’s a fluid IV connected to his right hand. He sees a sliver of the needle digging into his skin, but the pain from that hardly registers from the agony tearing through his arms—From his elbows, and straight down into his hands.

It’s only by some miracle that he didn’t permanently fuck up his hands, but he cut deep. And to Jax’s immense frustration, he wasn’t even able to do that correctly.

Hurts…

But it’s fine. It’s what Jax deserves.

The bandages wrapped around his arms are pristine white, considering those nurses never failed to change his bandages ‘round the clock. And everything in this room is pristine. Everything is clean and sterile and devoid of anything, reminding Jax immensely of that simulation he was trapped in for years.

As Jax stares up at his bandaged, wounded hand, he wonders if perhaps, he should be feeling something.

He killed himself. Or rather, that was what he set out to do.

And yet, he’s still here. Still alive, still breathing, and in tremendous pain. It’s nothing he isn’t familiar with, but as Jax slowly lowers his hand down, he wonders just where he went wrong. He failed, and that is downright unforgivable.

Jax curls up on his side, flinching as the action pulls at the IV connected to his hand.

Ragatha isn’t here. Good riddance.

None of the others are here. Jax is dead certain they’ll all forget about him soon enough.

It’s unforgivable that he’s still alive…that he’s still breathing.

A part of Jax wonders if this is just a bad nightmare. He’ll wake up and find himself in his rabbit avatar again. And then he’ll head out and join the others in yet another crazy misadventure of Caine’s design. There’s no way this can all be real, right?

Jax doesn’t cry. He’s incapable of such a thing.

He’s not weak. He doesn’t want their pity.

No, Jax deserves this.

But…he needs to see what became of his work. He carved into his flesh deeply, had sliced his arms into thin, bloodied ribbons, not too dissimilar to what Gangle had looked like in the circus.

As Jax sullenly stares out at the window, as his gaze falls upon the starry night sky, he wonders once more why he failed. He made preparations, had planned this all out weeks in advance. He said his goodbyes, and yet…here he is. Still alive, much to his immense dismay.

He’d been doped out of his mind for days, but the pain killers had finally worn off. Good.

The EKG monitor is beeping. It’s grating. The hospital bed is hard, uncomfortable. Everything here is too sterile, too white, too clean.

Jax’s hand is trembling as slowly, he reaches for his left wrist. He winces as the action pulls at the IV, but slowly, he takes the end of his bandage and slowly begins to unravel it. Faint cries and whimpers tear out of his throat as he sets out the unenviable, arduous task of attempting to unravel his bandaged arm.

He pauses for a brief moment. Eyes dazed and glassy, pupils dilated as he takes short, gasping breaths. It hurts, his mind unhelpfully supplies as the bandage catches against his tattered, ravaged skin.

It feels like he’s stabbing into his arms all over again.

Jax clenches his eyes shut as he clamps his trembling hand around his wrist. It feels like he’s burning, and another strangled gasp spills out of his throat as his fingers involuntarily spasm. And he feels as if he’d been impaled clean-through like a butterfly in a display piece.

But…he needs to see what he looks like underneath all of these stuffy, oppressive bandages.

The constant pain, the sheer heat radiating deep into his bones nearly causes Jax to stop, but he can’t. Slowly, agonizingly, he unfurls the last of the bandage, though he’s unable to breathe a sigh of relief as the bloodied cloth unceremoniously falls onto the bed.

He stares at his arm, unsure of what he’s seeing. Disbelieving that he caused this, that this is a part of him now. Stitches adorn his flesh, starting at his elbow and extending down into the palm of his hand. He sure did a number on his flesh, considering the intensity at which he slashed into both of his arms.

Jax’s breathing is shallow. His eyelids are drooping, and for a brief moment, he’s back in that restroom again.

And he’s bleeding, laying on the cold, hard tiles all over again.

It’s been days since his failed efforts in taking in his own life, and yet, somehow, it hurts even more than it did back then. His heart feels heavy, and every part of him is shaking. It hurts. It really fucking hurts, but he’s running on adrenaline. His wrist is shaking. Every part of him is trembling, and all he can think about was how pretty his blood had been.

Jax runs his fingers down a particularly large stitch. The black stitching is a stark contrast against his tanned complexion, and he’s sure it’ll leave an ugly scar once it’s removed.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. But when Jax opens his eyes once more, all he can focus on is just how pretty his blood had been. And all he wants is to see it again. It had been painful, when he sliced his wrists open. It still hurts, even now. But there was that brief sense of euphoria as his heart began to still, as every part of him had felt cold and numb.

A part of Jax misses that feeling. He craves it, and…it had been nice. To be numb and dead to the world.

And yet, Jax hesitates for a brief moment. He traces the stitches embedded into his arm, and, he takes another breath before he suddenly sinks his nails into his wrist. Jax visibly flinches. Tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, vision flashing black momentarily as he sinks his thumb into his wounded flesh and moves it upwards.

Jax lets out a pained cry as he tears through his stitches, as he pulls himself apart like a rag doll. It feels as if he’s falling apart at the seams, and for a brief moment, he wonders if this is what Gangle had felt like, considering she was nothing more than a mask attached to a few ribbons back in the circus.

But even those thoughts recede from his mind as he tears into his flesh, as he breaks through his stitches…as he undoes all of the work that was done to mend his skin back together.

Blood seeps through his fingers, falling down his arm in rivulets.

It stains the bedding a vivid shade of red. The EKG monitor is beeping wildly, and all Jax can think about it just how pretty his blood is. He hears voices, hears harried footsteps. He turns his gaze toward the window, and he wonders just how lovely this summer evening might be.

And he wonders just how high up he is, and if the world would look beautiful from above the ground.

He’s sure the impact would be just as memorable.

Jax never wanted to die. He still doesn’t, but he wants all of this to just fucking end.

Quickly, he gets to work with his right wrist. He unfurls his bandages, adrenaline coursing through him as he slashes through his wrists, as he undoes all of the work in agonizingly knitting his flesh back together in mere second.

It’s…it’s excruciating, but he’s never felt more alive.

Blood drips down from his wrists in rivulets, staining the white blankets a bright shade of red. Jax stares down at his mangled wrists, entranced. The bandages lay by his side, and—he hears voices. And for a brief second, he’s not here. Not in this hospital, or bleeding out his restroom, or even in the circus.

He’s back in that corn field. Bleeding out, crying, wondering if that was his final night. Wondering if he was about to take his final breath as that man had…as he……

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Jax rips the IV out of his hand. He attempts to pull himself out of the bed, gaze fixed firmly upon the closed floor. Though, with a strangled cry, he falls sharply towards the ground. He kneels, hunched over, bloodied hands pressed upon the cold, hard tiles.

All he needs is to get up. The window is right there.

Jax can’t stay here. He’s been living on borrowed time, and he knows that he’s long overdue to go…to leave this all behind. To end everything.

But, as Jax has come to sadly understand, the universe is never that kind. Not to someone like him. The door bursts open, and a nurse stands at the threshold. Her features blanch, and she’s horror-stricken. Though, she wastes no time in calling for help, and as much as Jax wishes he could put up a fight, he finds himself growing still from blood loss and pain.

His vision flickers in and out of view, but when he next comes to, he’s on a gurney. He tries to protest, tries to push them away.

Jax clenches his eyes shut. Breathing ragged, throat hitching as they prod at his arms, as cloth soaked in antiseptic is harshly pressed over his wounded arms. And…the pain, it’s indescribable. He tries not to cry, tries not to scream or beg as they press in even deeper. It hurts, far more than when Ragatha or Pomni had pressed cloth into his arms to stem the bleeding. Somehow, it hurts nearly as much as when he sliced through his wrists the first time—

And even more than when he pulled his stitches apart mere seconds earlier.

He doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t know if life is worth living, knowing that there’s nothing more left for him on this earth.

Jax weakly tries to push them away. But he can’t move. His arms are being held down.

There’s a heavy weight on top of him. Hot breath fanning his bare throat. The ground is cold and hard underneath his back. He tries to look past the man, but it’s dark. He’s trapped, pinned to the ground like a rabbit.

“Stop…” Jax begs. To that man, to Ragatha and Pomni, to these people as they press onto his ravaged skin.

There’s nothing here in this corn field.

His arms are caked in blood. Every part of him is bleeding. He should still be in the circus. Everything there had been bright and colorful and fun and…nothing hurt. He shouldn’t be here in this hospital.

He should have never gone into the corn field that night.

And…Jax never should have run away. All of this could have been avoided if he just stopped his bitching and stayed home.

Jax very well knows that he’s living on borrowed time.

There’s a heavy weight on top of him, tearing into his throat. Ravaging his insides.

The scent of antiseptic is strong, but it does nothing to mask the metallic scent of blood. Everything hurts.

Jax can handle this. He’s been through far worse. He tries and tries and tries to fight back against that man, tries to not let the unthinkable happen to him. He tries to speak, to find his voice, to beg these people to not save someone who doesn’t want or deserve to be saved.

It would be far kinder if they were to just kill him.

Falling would hurt far less than this.

Chapter Text

Jax is being followed. He runs through the field at night, scarcely able to breathe. Barely able to see, save for the faint light of the full moon. But it’s hidden by clouds, and he’d might as well be wandering aimlessly through the dark.

If only he could sleep and never wake up.

There’s a man following him. Reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. One of those men Jax would have avoided, had he been a woman.

His vision swims in and out of voices. There are voices talking over him. About him. Jax is thankful he’s no longer a rabbit, else all of this auditory noise would be absolute hell. Except…he supposes that he’s already in hell.

While he was never a particularly religious man, he had to attend mass every Sunday.

He’s helpless to do anything as a small plastic cup is pressed against his lips. Jax’s eyes are dazed, half-lidded. He can’t speak. But he nearly gags at the saccharinely sweet taste. It might be alcohol. It might be medicine. Who can really say?

Should he recite his final rites? That man…Jax knows that he’s planning to kill him.

The lights here are bright. Much too bright. They sear into his retinas, and for a brief moment, Jax thinks this must be some demented game that Caine conjured up. He’s all for fucked up games where he can kill as many NPCs as he wants, but somehow…this game isn’t very fun. He would very much like to return to his shitty room and get some much deserved sleep.

Two other figures emerge from the corn stalks. Their sharpened features hidden by shadows. Jax could easily protect himself against one man. But three…?

Jax knows he’s in the circus…knows that he’s in a hospital. Probably the psych ward or something. While the others [rightfully] think he’s fucked out of his mind, Jax knows for certain he doesn’t belong here. He’s not some mental case that’s not beyond saving. And…Jax knows he’s not in that corn field anymore. He’s not that scared, traumatized, lonely twenty-something who ran out of the house after yet another fight with his mom’s new boyfriend.

No one is going to miss him when he’s gone.

He didn’t consent to this. Jax’s heart is racing a mile a minute. There’s a heavy weight on top of him, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. Jax tries not to dwell on just how cold it is at night. The fields are always freezing at night. That’s nothing new.

His mom won’t even notice that he’s no longer here.

Jax tries to speak, but no words come out.

She’ll only realize he’s dead once he returns home in a body bag.

Panic sets in a moment later as he attempts to move his arms. Jax flinches, a strangled yell tearing out of his throat as radiating heat sears through his bandaged arms. And it only increases tenfold as Jax attempts to turn his wrists, only to discover that they’d both been restrained. He pulls uselessly at the restraints, tears pricking at his eyes as agony assaults his senses—As needles dig into his bones. As crimson drips through the bandages, tarnishing pristine white cloth with his defiled blood.

They’re grinning at him. Openly leering down at him, lecherous grins etched into their faces as they descend on him, tearing into him as if he were prey.

A woman rushes to his side, tries to get Jax to stop. She says he’s a danger to himself, that he’s a danger to others. But it’s pointless of her to state the obvious. Jax already knows this. He attempts to pull at his restrained wrists, uncaring in the slightest as they burn into his already abused, mangled skin.

He’s never liked the field…never liked the farm.

Why did they restrain him there? He’s already in this shitty hospital, for well…failing to do what he intended. Out of all the damn fucking places they could have held him down, they chose his wrists?

Jax waits for death to come for him, but it never does.

It’s never stopped hurting. Not his arms, his legs. Everything.

He should have died that night.

Jax doesn’t want unconsciousness to take over again. He wants…well, all he knows is that he doesn’t want this. But all he can do is struggle uselessly. Darkness seeps into his vision. His arms still burn. It feels as if he’s slashing into his delicate flesh all over again, and a part of him wonders if it was a mistake to leave the circus.

The others are all doing quite well out of that simulation. Thriving, even. But there was never anything for Jax in the real world.

His mom is…well, since there was no body to be found, no corpse to be buried, she probably still hasn’t noticed that he’s been missing for four years.

That, and the farm, and the corn field—

Jax does his best to not dwell too deeply on that.

And as for those men…no, he can’t. They’re not here. They’re still alive. Jax knows it. But most people who live in that rural Southern town also die in it. Jax’s mom was born there, and her mother before that. And so on and so forth. Their ancestors had built the railroads. But they never belonged, either. Jax always knew he wasn’t like the others. His skin wasn’t too light, but it wasn’t too dark, either. His eyes were pitch black, and growing up, the other kids would taunt him for the shape of his eyes. For his features that were so unlike their own.

But it changed as he got older. There were whispers. And he was dismayed to find that people thought of him as delicate.

Oh, hell. If people thought of his kind as ‘delicate,’ then why were they forced to build the railroads that cross through this side of the country? Why the fuck were their women and girls abducted from overseas? Why were they Shanghai’d and forced into brothels? Jax has never cared about any of this growing up. He still doesn’t.

And he never will. No one ever cared for him, and he’s sure as fuck certain that Ragatha’s fake compassion will eventually run its course.

If he was ‘oh so delicate’ like people said he was back home, then why did those men—

Jax doesn’t want to fall asleep. It’s not the worst feeling to lose consciousness, to drift away into oblivion. But the problem, however, is that it makes waking up all the more difficult.

He feels his blood dripping down his wrists. And he’s on that cold, tile floor again. Helpless to do anything. Unable to protect even a modicum of his dignity as Ragatha and Pomni stumbled upon him. They stepped in a puddle of his own blood, and isn’t that unusual?

Jax never knew the human body could possess that much blood.

Ragatha kneeled down in a puddle of his own blood, staining her designer dress with crimson. Jax would have laughed if he could. But his memories of that night are hazy and distorted and gray, like he was staring at everything through the lens of an old-fashioned camera from the turn of the century.

He always wanted to traumatize Ragatha and bring her down to his level…bring her down to earth.

But not in that way.

Never in that way.

His dignity will never recover from how she saw him like that…and how Pomni saw him like that. Jax’s only consolation is that Zooble, Gangle, and Kinger hadn’t stumbled upon him.

Every part of him hurts. Every part of him is numb.

Jax never wanted to die. But at this very moment? He finds the idea of ‘living’ to be unappealing. He’s given up on trying to free himself.

The weight on top of him is heavy. It’s a blanket. That much, he’s certain of. But when he closes it’s eyes, fear kicks in. And he finds his throat becoming constricted. His arms are trembling, and it feels as if his heart is about to burst out of his chest. There’s an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, and all Jax could feel that night, aside from those men as they—

There’s a heavy weight on top of him. Something disgusting sliding into his mouth. Jax could very well retch.

Jax never got this worked up. Not even when Kaufmo had abstracted……

He never did like the corn fields. Especially at night.

It was always difficult for Jax to make friends. Both in real life and the circus. But then he met Ribbit. And for the first time, Jax’s life was filled with color. He was…good. Far better than what Jax deserved. But that was the problem. Nothing good ever lasts.

Ribbit abstracted. Though, considering that game is no more, Jax supposes the more apt term would be that Ribbit died.

Jax lived. Ribbit died.

He never even got the chance to learn Ribbit’s real name. And Jax still wonders what Ribbit could have looked like as a human.

Oh, wow, look at him! Jax was never the sentimental sort, but he supposes this is all that he can do right now. There’s nothing to do except think and reminiscence about the ‘good old days,’ though…there was never anything even remotely good in his life. No one, except for Ribbit.

The very night that Ribbit abstracted, Ragatha attempted to come to him for comfort. Same with Gangle. Kinger tried, but that chess piece was always up in the clouds.

Ragatha wanted to talk about their feelings, and some other bullshit like that. She wanted to create a safe place where the remaining player characters could express their proper emotions and ‘grieve.’ But, it’s not like there was anything that Jax should have been mourning over.

Nothing in that game was real.

Why would he grieve over someone he never even met?

Jax merely slammed the door in her face. If Ragatha wanted to play pretend psychiatrist, then fucking good for her! She could do whatever the hell she wanted, as long as she kept all of her feel good bullshit and crying to herself.

He doesn’t deserve to be here.

Or…maybe Jax does. But he knows how this works. Eventually, these restraints will be removed from his wrists. It probably hasn’t even been that long. Twenty minutes tops, though it feels more like twenty years in his eyes. But either way, they’ll take them off and reapply a fresh change of bandages.

All Jax wants to do is tear and tear and tear at his own skin until it peels away. Until he slips his finger into his wounds and undoes all of his stitches. Until he scrapes away his flesh and blood from his bones. Until he becomes nothing more than ashes.

But, Jax knows very well that they won’t let him die. Not here, at least.

He’ll play the part of a ‘perfect’ patient.

Jax will smile. He’ll be pleasant [No, he very much will be anything but nice]. And he’ll pretend as if he never attempted to kill himself. He’ll try to convince them all that it was accident, and merely a slip of the wrist.

He never intended to kill himself.

They can’t hold him in here forever.

And true to Jax’s word, in a matter of minutes, the restraints are removed. His bandages are replaced, and he’s given another dose of pain killers. Though, it’s nowhere near as high as the previous days. The ache in his bones is ever present. It feels as if white hot knives are stabbing into his arms and straight into his bones.

Jax rolls over to his side. Curls up on himself as he clutches his left wrist. A faint hiss tears out of his throat as the muscles in his wrist involuntarily spasm. He tightens his hold, wishing for nothing more than this pain to subside.

It’s agony, being confined to a hospital bed like this.

The thought of being treated like an invalid is downright abhorrent, but…there’s nothing more that Jax can do in those regards.

But try as he might, it’s impossible for him to not dwell on that night. He never did like the farm, afterall. And it’s not like Jax will ever return to that town. He’ll never see those men again. He’ll never have to get lost in the corn field, or leave the house in the dead of night with bruises, only to return the very next evening with cuts and scrapes and blood dripping from his mouth and aching bones.

There’s no going back.

Those men already got what they wanted. And as for Jax? He lived through literal hell, and then he got trapped in that simulation not too long after.

He still recalls the scent of alcohol and tobacco. They’d all been drunk that night they chased him in the fields. And they were still drunk as they pinned him to the ground. Laughing and laughing and laughing as they tore into him. As they treated this whole night like a game. Like a fond, pleasant memory worthy of remembering.

Jax isn’t going to cry. There’s nothing worth crying about.

The simplest fact of the matter was that he lost. He wasn’t strong enough to fight them off, so it’s only natural that they took advantage of him.

He isn’t going back.

Jax is never going to see any of those men again. He’ll never see his mother again, or that man she called a lover.

Never again will he leave home covered in cuts and bruises, only to return the following evening. He’s never returning to that town. There’s nothing there for him…nothing at all. He isn’t…he won’t. He returned home that very morning. After all that happened in the field. Mom hardly paid him any attention, but her lover paid him a bit too much attention.

He packed his bags not too long after that.

One thing led to another, and he ended up hitchhiking along the highway. He was already defiled once, so Jax supposed he had nothing left to lose. His dignity was already forcibly stripped away, and…considering he had little left to his name, he had no better options. At worst, he’d have to pay them back ‘that way.’ But it would be different this time, considering it would be on Jax’s terms.

During one of his many travels, Jax had taken a shine to exploring abandoned, derelict buildings.

Turns out that’s one thing Jax shared with Pomni and Zooble.

Though, unlike those two, Jax really only did this out of survival…not that he’d ever tell them this, of course.

Jax still must admit that he’s rather impressed that Pomni of all people was a urban explorer. He checked out her Youtube channel, and…yeah. With a bit of polish, she’d actually have videos worth watching. But nonetheless, it’s a risky hobby. It’s dangerous for anyone to explore these places alone, let alone a woman.

But then again, Jax isn’t a woman, even if those men did treat him like one that night.

It was through one of his many explorations [Aka an attempt to sleep somewhere with a roof over his head], that he discovered a rather tall, imposing building situated in the middle of nowhere. And when he entered and wandered through its many hallways, he had discovered a remarkably well-preserved computer.

Technology was always a luxury in his hometown.

The minister always argued against the evils of modern technology. He also stressed the importance of remaining faithful, and yet, it was an open secret that any unwed woman was to sleep with him whenever he so desired [Hell, even married women weren't off the table, so long as they were young and desirable] so—

Jax attempts to not dwell on those thoughts, either. It’s not like he’s ever going back to that town.

He supposes that he’ll continue on like this indefinitely.

And he’ll travel from place to place. Hitching rides from strangers, getting into fights with anyone who pisses him off…which happens to be pretty much everyone he encounters. He’ll do this again and again. Rinse, repeat, until one day, the inevitable happens.

Eventually, Jax gets into a car or truck or whatever the fuck people even drive. But, it turns out this is the sort of person he shouldn’t associate with.

That man, or woman—Jax hates everyone equally, and he knows very well that women are just as shitty as any man, himself, included. Anyway, they’ll drive him to a secluded location under the guise of ‘getting lost,’ before eventually ordering him out of the car. And there, lost in the wilderness, they’ll definitely torture him. Jax has listened to enough true crime to know where this is going.

They’ll likely fuck him too. Nothing that Jax isn’t unfamiliar with. And afterwards, they’ll probably torture him some more.

But as for the real fun stuff? They’ll kill him. But as for the methods, that’s something Jax is genuinely curious about. Asphyxiation and immolation are overrated. They could stab him, but that would be boring. A gunshot in-between the eyes? Plebian.

Maybe they’ll just torture him again. Or violate him.

Either way, Jax knows very well that he isn’t going to have much time left on this earth, so he’d might as well have as much fun before he goes. And-so, despite common sense dictating otherwise, he boots up the computer he stumbled across in a random building in who the fuck even knows where.

Much to his surprise, the computer actually works!

Jax takes a seat, and reaches for the keyboard. And, well, what happens next is anyone’s guess.

---

He’s still not dead, and isn’t that a downright travesty? Jax should be coming up with a scheme to escape from this hospital, but instead, he’s burrowed himself in a threadbare hospital blanket. His arms are still aching, and no matter how many painkillers he’s ingested over the course of days, he doubts this agony will ever go away.

Jax lowly hisses as the action pulls at the IV needle digging into his wounded hand. There’s a bruise growing there. A dark shade of purple, and tender to the touch.

And while he knows very well that he’s making all of this worse for himself, he doesn’t really fucking care at the moment. Jax squeezes his eyes shut, desperately willing for all of this to just go away. It’s cold. His skin feels like it’s burning. There’s an pounding ache in his skull, as if he striked across the head with a hammer.

There’s a tray of food on the table, but he can’t bring himself to eat. Everything tastes like ash on his tongue.

He wants to go home, wherever that might be.

All he wants is to sleep and never wake up.

Jax’s vision flickers in and out of consciousness. His bandages are changed. Medicine is given. He thinks he passes out at one point. But it only feels like a second, as when he next comes to, it’s to a sudden onslaught of pain as he feels the full extent of his cuts and bruises and burns from the restraints on his arms, on his wrists.

And he tries to scream, but nothing can be vocalized. A rasping cough tears out of his throat, and that action alone increases the agony tenfold. His lungs feel as if they’re burning. His throat is constricted.

He turns his head to the side. Vision blurry and distorted. Something wet drips down his face. Jax doesn’t dwell deeply on this.

But…his heart practically plummets as his gaze falls upon his beside table.

There’s a bouquet of flowers in a ceramic vase printed with smiley faces and rainbows. Some get well cards from those circus idiots that still refuse to leave him alone after all of this time, and……

Jax’s throat hitches. His eyes are watering, but no tears are shed. He stares at a face that he thought he forgot from long, long ago.

Slowly, Jax attempts to reach out to the stuffed frog placed on his bedside table, only to wince as the action pulls at his IV. He stares at the stuffed frog, clearly handmade, with sheer disbelief. With longing. It’s Ribbit. His Ribbit.

They were friends. Ribbit was his. They made a promise to escape the circus together, but Jax was never able to keep his end of the bargain.

He tries again to reach out, but only his fingertips brush against the stuffed doll.

Jax lowers his hand. Every part of him aches.

A part of him still misses Ribbit. And he wonders what that might be. It’s a strange feeling. A pervasive sense of longing, of loneliness. There’s a hollow in his heart that will never be filled. But this can’t be love, because nothing in that circus was real.

Had Ribbit met Jax in real life? Well…Jax knows for certain that Ribbit wouldn’t like what he sees. He’d never be with someone like Jax. Ribbit wouldn’t think so kindly of Jax if he knew about what happened to him…about everything that he had to do to survive—

If he knew about the things Jax willingly let happen to him.

Chapter Text

Blood clings to her hands, to her blue taffeta dress that’s admittedly out of fashion by a good eighty or ninety years. The scent of copper is overpowering, and Ragatha could almost retch at the sight of angry red lines etched into Jax’s frail wrists. And her stomach lurches as the lines extend upwards. A garish splash of red against the tiled floor, and much to her grief and horror, she can’t discern the difference between blood-splattered cloth and tarnished flesh.

Ragatha tries to call out Jax’s name, but she finds herself unable to speak. She practically straddles his legs as she clamps her hands tightly over his wrists to stifle the bleeding. But it’s impossible when there’s so much of it.

Pomni’s collapsed to her knees. A despondent look in her eyes, before she buries her face in her hands. She called 911, and…that’s good.

Jax can be saved this way.

And Ragatha has never been the biggest fan of him. She knows very well that the feeling is mutual. But never in a million years did Ragatha think Jax was capable of turning a knife on himself. For a brief second, grief is indistinguishable from hate as she wonders why Jax did this…and she could very well learn how to ‘hate’ if he doesn’t make it out of this alive. If he traumatizes Pomni even more than he already has—

But she shakes her head, trying to will those invasive, selfish, vile thoughts out of her head. Tears drip down her eye, and all she can think about is how young Jax is. He shouldn’t be laying in a pool of his own blood.

He shouldn’t have attempted to kill himself.

Ragatha should have noticed sooner.

She loves him like a brother, despite everything he put her through…despite all of the cruelty he inflicted upon Pomni and everyone else in the circus. And she hates him as well. She loves and hates Jax in equal measure, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

If she were to hate him, if she were to be anything less than ‘perfect,’ then she’d be no better than her mother.

Pomni deserves better than her.

All Ragatha does is mess up and ruin everyone that comes into her life. If Ragatha doesn’t get her act together, then Jax will die. If Ragatha doesn’t maintain her positive, can-do attitude, then Pomni will leave her.

“You’ll be alright, Jax…” Ragatha whispers. Desperately trying to save the man she hates the most in this world. She loves him. She doesn’t want him to die.

But Ragatha fears that it’s this ‘love’ that will ruin her, just like how her mother had showed her love through screaming and harsh looks and cruelty and isolation and……

No, this isn’t about Ragatha.

She failed. If only she tried harder…if only she took every single bad thing Jax said and did back in the circus in stride, then he wouldn’t be here. Dying. Bleeding out. He was cruel, but so was she. He doesn’t deserve this.

Ragatha’s trembling. He looks so young like this. And it’s impossible for her mind to piece together what she’s seeing.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Ragatha sobs, tears dripping down her face as she realizes that nothing’s changed. Before and after life in the circus, absolutely nothing about her has changed for the better. She’s gotten crueler, meaner, and maybe this is all some big cosmic joke. Maybe it’s karma. Except it’s all wrong, wrong, wrong, because Jax doesn’t deserve this. Pomni doesn’t deserve this.

Ragatha should have tried harder, but she failed, and now Jax is paying the price.

---

Pomni shoots up in bed as she hears crying. And it takes her no time at all to realize that it’s Ragatha. Her Ragatha that is crying. Pomni’s heart is pained at the sight of her girlfriend trembling as she buries herself underneath the duvet. Clearly awake, but trying to stifle her tears.

She wastes no time in pressing a gentle hand on Ragatha’s shoulder.

“Ragatha…?” Pomni asks.

For a brief moment, Ragatha falls deathly still, before—

“Oh, Pomni, what’re you doing up so late?” Ragatha asks, quickly wiping away her tears as she rolls over in bed, til’ she’s facing Pomni. She wears a smile on her face. Lovely, cheerful, and adorable, but to a concerning degree. And it’s all fake, but Pomni knows there is a time and place for everything. She’ll broach this topic again, once things have settled down a bit. If everything settles down.

Pomni hesitates for a moment, considering she’s never been that affectionate sort, but she scoots over and wraps her arms around Ragatha’s waist. “Is this okay?” she asks, averting her eyes.

Ragatha’s gaze softens, before she returns Pomni’s embrace. “Of course it is.”

And once more, silence falls between them both.

There’s much that Pomni wants to say.

“I think you should go to a psychiatrist, Raggie. There’s no shame in asking for help. You remember how much of a nervous wreck I was in the circus, and even after…it’s done wonders for me.”

Gradually, Ragatha’s breathing stills, and much to Pomni’s relief, it seems like she’s getting rest. Goodness knows how little Ragatha has gotten sleep these last few days.

Pomni very much wants to tell Ragatha that none of this was her fault. She knows her girlfriend well enough to have an idea of what’s going on in that pretty head of hers.

These last few days have been…well, it’s been excruciating. No word from Jax, which is to be expected. Ragatha’s been trying to visit him every single day this week, but Jax turned her away [Once again, as expected]. Ragatha desperately wanted to call the others and tell them about what happened, but Pomni managed to dissuade her from that.

It feels…wrong, to withhold information like this.

But it’s private, and Pomni very well knows that Jax is too prideful to want Zooble, Gangle, and Kinger to find out that he’s injured…about what he did to himself. And Pomni still doesn’t understand why Jax had attempted to take his own life.

She still recalls all of that blood spilling out from his wrists.

And when she closes her eyes, all she can see is Ragatha kneeling on the ground. Crying, bloodied, desperately trying to save a man who caused her immense grief in the circus. It should have been easy to hate Jax. If they were any other person, perhaps they would have though, ‘Ha, serves you right.’

No, maybe Pomni would have never thought that way. No one deserves this. And Jax, for his many, many, many faults, didn’t deserve this. It is not pity that Pomni feels. She very well knows that Jax would hate her for feeling pity.

What she feels is worry.

Jax is her friend. They all clawed their way out of hell together [Pomni is still convinced that circus was hell], and…he can’t die. Not after they all endured so much together.

She doesn’t want him to die.

Pomni can’t lose him too. She already lost Gumigoo.

She lays on the bed, tucked underneath the covers with her girlfriend by her side. It’s awfully domestic and homey, and Pomni will forever be thankful that Ragatha agreed to ber hers.

Slowly, her gaze flickers over to the windowsill.

It’s empty. Absolutely nothing is there, and Pomni wonders what became of that stuffed rabbit Ragatha had gotten from Gangle. Pomni vaguely recognized the fluffy critter as a member from the circus who abstracted long before her time.

With the frog now gone, the window looks strangely empty.

But at least it’s a beautiful night.

---

The moon is full tonight.

Jax sits up on his bed. Arms wrapped around his stomach as he doubles over. He hadn’t stabbed himself there, and yet, every part of him hurts. It feels as if he doused himself in hot oil and set himself aflame. Tears prick the corners of his eyes, and even though he’s alone, shame still takes over.

He lifts his head up, hating himself for being so weak in-front of his old friend, And it may just be a shoddy replica of Ribbit, but…it’s all that he has left of him now.

Jax lived. Ribbit died.

And a part of Jax wishes that he’d abstracted alongside Ribbit. He can’t…he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There’s no returning from this. He was supposed to be at a lecture today.

He had a schedule. He managed to carve out some semblance of a life for himself, but he threw it all away, and for what?

It’s pathetic. He very much well knows how pitiful and ridiculous he’s being, but he doesn’t want to be alone right now. Jax slowly presses his palms against the bed, wincing as the plethora of wounds ensnared around his wrists and arms let themselves be known. He takes a deep breath, and then another, before he makes the slow, arduous attempt at getting out of bed.

The hospital personnel hadn’t bothered to restrain him again, but it’s not like there’s anything here that Jax could possibly use to kill himself.

Well, that’s not exactly true. He could always fashion a noose out of the bed covers and hang himself. He could throw an electronic into the sink and kill himself that way. Throwing himself out of the window is an option, if he were to get a chair and push it over to the windowsill, but……

Everyone’s on high alert. It’s pointless to attempt anything now.

Jax sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. It’s dark. It’s cold. He’s back in that field again. Laying on the ground, on his front. Stripped of all clothing as he’s taken from behind. As he cries into the dirt, screaming, begging as those men took him from behind. As they shoved their lengths inside of him and tore and tore and tore and burned him until he lost his voice, until gradually, he no longer belonged to himself.

Until his body no longer belonged to himself.

When Jax next comes to, he realizes that he’s on the ground. Collapsed onto his hands and knees, the IV digging painfully into his wrist. Jax lets out a cry of alarm, panic taking over as for a brief, agonizing second that spans an eternity, he fears that those men are back.

That he’ll be taken, that he’ll be dragged out of the field, that they’ll force him to walk to the barn. And he trembles, gasping, wrapping his arms around his midsection as he recalls that night. At how his virginity was forcibly stripped away as he was placed onto a lap. As he was grabbed from behind, moaning as he was forced onto his hands and knees, as two of those men had thrust deep, deep inside of him, as the third man leered down at him.

Grinning, laughing, before his eyes slid down to his aching member. Barking out a mirthless laugh as he reached down in-between his legs and pumped him to completion—

Jax all but collapses onto the ground. Unable to cry, but unable to stop thinking about that night, either.

There’s an uncomfortable heat in the pit of his stomach.

Jax very well knows his cheeks must be flushed red from the memories of his humiliation. But…it’s all in the past now. It’s not a big deal. He’s not a woman. He was unable to get pregnant, no matter how viciously those men had tore into him. It’s alright. He’s never going back to that town. Those men can’t find him here.

But he must be sick, demented, twisted…and it had been painful, excruciating, what those men did to him that night.

He enjoyed it. Every single thing they subjected him to.

Maybe that’s why Jax was always so fucked in the head. His own consolation is that they never forced a maid dress onto him. But…maybe a dress would have been better than nothing at all, when they dragged him out of the corn field and forced him to walk over a mile to an abandoned barn, where they all proceeded to……

Jax clenches his eyes shut. Tears threatening to spill. Burying his face in his hands, unwilling to entertain those thoughts anymore, as he desperately tries to not think about just how aroused he’d been.

Those men should have just killed him that night, after they had their fill of him.

It would have been kinder, had he been hacked up into pieces and buried in that barn.

He was defiled that night. But…it was bound to happen, eventually. Jax was no woman, but he was always ‘different’ from everyone else in town. He was always seen as too delicate, too fragile, too ‘pretty.’ He heard the rumors. He knew what just about everyone thought about him and his mom,

Eventually, he was always bound to be…well, bound. Tied up and gagged and violated until he could no longer scream. Until he was reduced to cries and moans. Until he was raped and killed. Until he was dead.

He should have died that night.

Maybe if he did, then Ribbit would have never abstracted. And it relieves Jax, that Ribbit never knew him in life. But it pains him in equal measure. He wishes he could have hated Ribbit. It would have saved him the heart ache.

Jax doesn’t want to be alone right now.

Slowly, he gets up to his feet. Or, at the very least, he tries to. He collapses to his knees. Pausing for a moment as he takes a moment to catch his breath. His injured wrists twinge with pain. It feels like he was scalded with hot water. But again, Jax attempts to get up to his feet. He leans against the bed frame for a moment as vertigo sets in.

He grits his teeth, dark spots creeping into his vision. But he presses on, wrapping his hand around the portable EKG machine, before slowly, he attempts to walk over to his bedside table.

Much to Jax’s immense frustration and humiliation, he has to pause every so often.

An inordinately long amount of time passes before Jax finally manages to reach the table. He silently stares down at the stuffed frog. He supposes Ragatha left this for him [Oh, he knows she had. She drew him a card and everything. Saccharinely sweet bull shit, really. The sheer amount of glitter, rainbows, and kittens Ragatha had thrown onto her extremely unwanted ‘get well soon’ cards are sickening].

Jax is sure this must be some sort of ploy. Yeah, Ragatha must be playing the long game, because there’s no fucking way someone as nice as her could even exist in real life. All that Jax is certain of is that Ragatha doesn’t…ahem, doesn’t want him in that way. She’s annoying as fuck, and her fashion sense is stupid, but Jax very well knows that for all of Ragatha’s fake smiles and stupid talks of ‘friendship,’ she isn’t some sort of sick, disgusting bastard.

She’s definitely not the worst person he’s ever met…though, it’s not like those standards have ever been all that high.

Though, considering Ragatha ‘saved’ him [Again, very much unwanted], he knows for a fact that Ragatha doesn’t want him dead.

Wait.

Maybe…Ragatha wants to kill him?

Hmmm, perhaps. That’s the only way any of this could even make a modicum of sense.

But nonetheless, Jax supposes it’s pointless to think about all of these inane scenarios in his head. If Ragatha murders him, ehhh, it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it. He’d rather Miss Shirley Temple doesn’t murk him, but he’ll get there when he gets there.

As for now, all he can think about it why Ragatha left Ribbit here. Was it to mock him? Is this a challenge? Is she calling him weak?

And maybe Jax is weak.

He shouldn’t touch Ribbit. Not even a replica. And not when Jax was defiled. Ribbit was good. Far better than Jax. He wouldn’t want Jax to infect him with his filth. He would have never given Jax the time of day had he known that he was degenerate…that he seduced those men into violating him that night.

But Ribbit abstracted.

Ribbit died. Jax lived.

And isn’t that the darn funniest joke anyone has ever head? But…Jax is nothing, if not selfish. He already tried killing himself once. He already left the circus without Ribbit. He did nothing as Ribbit abstracted. He let himself get raped.

Jax knows very well that he’s weak and pitiful and pathetic. That he’s only humiliating himself by clinging to this stuffed doll. That he’s acting childish, that this is beneath him.

He never got to embrace Ribbit in the circus. Which is fine, by the way, considering Jax could never love another man in that way. Ribbit was just…well, he was good. And funny, and silly. He was never a looker, but to be honest, Jax just never had a thing for cutesy frog creatures with big ol’ googly eyes and bowties.

Jax winces, faintly crying out as white hot pain stabs into his hand. But it’s a momentary discomfort, and one that Jax is more than willing to endure for the time being.

With an uncharacteristic amount of care, Jax carefully scoops the stuffed frog into his arms.

His head hurts. It feels as if he could pass out at any moment, but Jax can’t bring himself to go back to bed. He doesn’t want to sleep anymore. He doesn’t want to lay there, dressed in nothing but a thin, flimsy hospital gown. He doesn’t want to stay here. Flat on his back, with his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to be lost in the memories of that nigh.

He doesn’t want to wake up screaming. Cold sweat pouring down his face. Heart hammering wildly in his chest. Wrists bleeding, legs aching, as he attempts to put up a fight. Unable to do anything…helpless, as those men pinned him to the ground and tore into him, as the doctor restrained his wrists to the bed.

As Jax cried and pleaded and screamed and moaned. As his voice was stolen away.

Jax embraces the stuffed frog to his chest. He cradles it in his arms, like one would a baby. He was never held like this. Jax is sure of it. Jax sharply gasps as the IV snags against a table. And it takes him several moments to untangle it, before he plops down onto a chair situated by a small plastic table.

He leans back in the chair. Closing his eyes as he hugs the stuffed frog even tighter. Uncaring as crimson slowly seeps in through his bandages.

Ribbit abstracted. Ribbit died.

It hurts. He never stopped hurting.

Slowly, Jax opens his eyes. He stares at the stuffed frog, wondering why his heart feels simultaneously empty and heavy. Jax doesn’t know what this feeling is. He doesn’t think he ever will.

He stares up at the window. It’s a full moon tonight.

There’s nothing here. There’s no one here.

Jax has always been nothing.

But at least it’s a beautiful night.

Chapter Text

There’s a woman dressed in a white lab coat sitting across from Jax. She smiles at him pleasantly, before turning her gaze towards her clipboard. And she holds onto that smile as she asks him how he’s doing, as if he wasn’t admitted to this shitty as fuck ward for committing the oh-so-grievous crime of trying to kill himself in the privacy of his own home.

Jax reluctantly returns her smile, though it’s a look that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. If he wants to get out of this hospital as soon as possible, then he knows for certain that he’ll have to start following the rules…much to his immense displeasure.

And much to his frustration, he would have been due to leave days prior, had he not bled all over hospital property.

If he only gave himself superficial cuts at home and…here, then he could have easily convinced everyone that he hurt himself by accident. He could have gotten them all to believe he was doing all of this for attention, or that he was curious about what his blood looked like. And perhaps, he should regret it. But all Jax can think about is how pretty his blood looked, at how lovely the jagged lines he carved into his flesh had turned out.

Unlike everything those men put him through, at least these carvings were made by his own hand.

At least in this way, he was able to reclaim his body, and slowly, undo everything they forced upon him…even if it meant destroying himself in the process.

They sure as fuck can’t hold him here indefinitely. If they did, Jax would sue them for violating his constitutional rights or some other shit like that. But even he knows they’re not going to let an allegedly ‘suicidal’ person out on the streets.

But he’s not suicidal. He merely wanted to bleed.

“Do you know why you’re here, Mr…?”

Rolling his eyes, Jax retorts, “No need for the formalities. Just ‘Jax’ will do.”

She stares at him for a moment, before picking up a pen and scrawling something into her notes. There’s no doubt about it. She definitely thinks he’s a complete nutcase. Well, Jax can kiss his hopes for freedom goodbye.

“Is that so? Well then, Jax it is,” the woman asks in a seemingly concerned manner, reminding Jax immensely of Ragatha. “That’s quite an interesting nickname. Surely, there must be a story behind it?”

Jax glares daggers at her, not taking the bait.

He knows what she wants from him, and there’s no way he’s going to tell a complete stranger about himself. She’s doing her job, sure. But it’s not like Jax would ever willingly tell another living soul about his ‘feelings.’ But as he tiredly stares back at the woman sitting across from him, all he can think about is how fucking expensive his hospital bills are going to be. Does his health insurance even cover this? He doubts he’ll be returning to university anytime after this, so who the fuck even knows how that will go……

She asks him the same old, same old. And she tries to dig into his life, into his past, but there’s nothing about his old life that’s worth remembering.

If Jax wasn’t trying to speed up his release date from this nightmare, he’d probably flip her off. But as it stands, all he can do is smile prettily and hope that he looks stable enough to this woman. But considering how his arms, wrists, and hands are still heavily wrapped in gauze, Jax highly doubts that he looks to be the pinnacle of perfect physical and mental health.

Eventually, the psychiatric evaluation ends.

Jax scarcely even recalls what happened there, considering it was all so dull and idiotic and useless.

He’s fine. He’s fine. He doesn’t need help—

And he most certainly does not need a complete stranger to dig around in his head. If Jax wanted to listen to someone nag at him, he’d just go to work or crash at Ragatha and Pomni’s place.

It’s almost unbelievable, but somehow, the circus felt even less oppressive than this hospital.

A part of him misses the circus. Hell, even that rabbit avatar wasn’t all bad.

His arms still ache. And the pain in his wrists hasn’t subsided in the slightest. His head is still pounding, and his vision flickers in and out of view every so often. Jax supposes this isn’t normal, but he’s almost gotten used to it. And…it’s almost nice, to feel something. Anything. And to know that whatever pain he’s feeling was inflicted by his own hands.

But that’s not to say that Jax is a masochist. He’s not, and he’s never enjoyed pain, unless he was inflicting it on others.

---

Jax returns to his assigned room sometime later. The TV remote is laying on the bedside table, right next to his stuffed frog. A sharp pang of regret and longing and grief stabs into his heart as his gaze falls upon Ribbit, but Jax tears his eyes away from the stuffed doll a second later.

He’s already wallowed in his grief, in his sorrow. Jax doesn’t deserve to mourn when Ribbit abstracted instead of him.

Oh, he wishes there was something else to do here.

What he wouldn’t give to bully Gangle or tease Ragatha.

Pomni was decent company, and Zooble was…well, she was Zooble. There’s also Kinger, but he’s always so out of it, and it’s not fun to annoy someone who’s one good deed away from becoming a canonized Saint. And yeah, Jax still doesn’t have a good read on Kinger, even after all of this time. But it turns out the guy’s some sort of genius savant.

Kinger was the first to bounce back onto his feet as soon as they got out of the circus. Even landed himself a teaching job for computer science at a semi-prestigious university roughly two hours away.

Everyone adjusted to life outside of the circus fairly quickly.

Jax wonders that must be like. ‘Normal’ life, that is, considering he spend the entirety of his early twenties in the circus. There’s nothing for him outside of here. Everything that was ever good died once they left that simulation. Ribbit isn’t here. And much to Jax’s immense grief, he never even got to learn Ribbit’s real name.

He was never going to hold a funeral for the guy. Afterall, funerals are only meant to comfort the living, not the dead. Only Jax cared about Ribbit. Like, really cared for him. And once Jax is well and truly gone [Hopefully sooner then later], then…there truly wouldn’t be a point to hold a funeral for his abstracted companion.

Not now, and not ever.

Aside from Ribbit and the various other get well cards and trinkets that Ragatha left for him, there’s nothing else remotely interesting here. The TV’s up on the wall, sure, but…Jax can’t find it in himself to turn it on.

There’s nothing else to do but sleep. But he just…he can’t.

The thought of laying down on the bed and closing his eyes…the thought of allowing himself to be vulnerable in such an open, public place leaves him with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He can’t. He can’t.

Jax involuntarily wraps his arms around his midsection. Closing his eyes, bowing his head slightly as he collapses onto a chair. A faint hiss tears out of his throat. His bones are aching, and the bandages wrapped tightly around his wrists are itchy, stifling. He so very much wants to tear at his bandages, at his skin and bones until nothing remains.

It feels like there are maggots writhing beneath his flesh.

Slowly, Jax opens his eyes. He tilts his head back, sullenly staring up at the ceiling. He shouldn’t be here. Ragatha and Pomni should never have saved him, but it was his own mistake for not attempting to take his own life in a more discrete area.

He made a mistake, so now he’s paying the price.

Teeth, biting into his ear. Jax heavily panting on the ground as he was forced onto his hands and knees. Trembling, crying out as he was rammed into from behind. As he fell down onto his elbows. Forehead pressed against the ground as he cried and screamed and moaned—

For reasons unbeknownst to Jax, he somehow forgot about all of this while he was in the circus. Everything, that is, save for his strong aversion to corn.

A part of Jax wishes that he still forgot.

If the circus was hell, then…it was a far kinder ‘hell’ than the one he left. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to go back to that ‘hell.’ To leave behind this defiled corpse on earth. To shed aside this rotting meat and tear and claw at this carcass until it’s nothing more than blood and sinew on the cold, tile floor.

Or to throw himself off from the highest ledge. To fling himself to the ground, leaving behind nothing more than a bloodied, gory imprint upon the earth.

He’s alone here. Momentarily.

Jax silently gets up from the chair. Not bothering to spare Ribbit another look. Not bothering to check if the door’s locked [But it’s not. It’s never locked].

And the sheer amount of sleep Jax has lost on constantly checking, checking, checking. No one here took advantage of him. No one violated or defiled or raped him, but…at the same time, how can Jax really be sure?

He knows that he wasn’t defiled here. Far better than most. There was no ache in-between his legs. No blood dripping down from his inner thighs. No bite marks or circumspect bruises on his hips, around his neck and shoulders……

His legs are shaking, and it feels as if he could very much collapse as he treads towards the restroom.

As Jax steps inside, he flicks on the lights and quietly shuts the door closed behind him. There’re no locks here, either, but he’ll make do with what he has. And that being nothing, of course. But if Jax is caught, if he’s taken advantage of, then it’s his own fault. Nothing too different from before…from that night when those men had—

He wishes there was a mirror here. That he could see what he looks like. Jax is very many things, but he’s not so prissy as to care about his looks unlike good ol’ Raggie.

No bathtub or shower either, but that’s to be expected.

Jax leans his back against the door. Closing his eyes as he reaches up and presses a hand over his left shoulder. He leaves it there for a brief moment, unsure of how he should be feeling at how loose these garments are.

Hospital gown sizes always run large by a size or two, but he’s always been rather scrawny and unassuming. Tall and lanky, sure. Not too dissimilar to his game avatar, but his physique isn’t so amusing in the real world.

All it does is paint him as an easy target.

The cloth easily slides down, leaving his shoulder completely exposed.

Jax still had a bit of fight left in him as that man threw him onto the dirt. As he climbed on top of him, a single hand wound tightly around his throat before the other hand reached for the buttons of his shirt.

Ever since he returned from the circus, he barely looked at his reflection. Jax very well knows that those scars never disappeared. Not with how deep his wounds had been. But…he realizes that the hospital personnel had seen him. Had seen everything. And that, in itself, is nearly a greater violation that everything he’d endured five years prior.

Only a slight tug on the hospital gown is enough to leave him entirely bare, save for his boxers.

Only a slight tug on his cock is enough for him to come undone.

Jax’s throat hitches as he reluctantly presses a hand over his stomach. Unsurprised, dismayed, embarrassed, at the feeling of garish scars etched into his flesh. They’re fucking old, but…they’re deep, prominent.

And the thought of anyone seeing him like this…of seeing everything he managed to hide underneath layers and layers of clothing is almost too much to bear.

He needs to know what those doctors thought of him. Of what Ragatha and Pomni truly think of him. They must think him disgusting, like mom had. Like those men had. Like what Ribbit surely would have if he learned what Jax willingly let happen to himself. If he knew that Jax let himself be raped, and that he enjoyed it.

Jax had cried and screamed and begged and pleaded with them all to just kill him, but if his body enjoyed it…if he came despite the abuse and torture he was put through, then…perhaps he wanted it all along.

His hand lingers on the waistband of his boxers. Just one slight tug would be enough to leave him naked, and…Jax, he doesn’t—

He didn’t want any of that. He never wanted to be sodomized.

He enjoyed it. What they did to him. He wishes they killed him.

Jax closes his eyes, tears threatening to spill as he slips a finger underneath his waistband and pulls the undergarment off entirely. He kicks it to the side, desperately attempting to not retch, to not cry as the memories from that night threaten to overwhelm him. And it’s not like that was the only time that something like that happened.

Only a few weeks prior, he had to deal with a suitor. Or maybe a ‘stalker’ would be the more apt term. It was the reason why he bought that knife, afterall. Though…turns out that the only person Jax ended up using that knife on was himself.

When Jax opens his eyes, when he next looks down, his throat tightens, and his heart is hammering wildly in his chest.

Scars litter every part of his lower half. Some more vivid than others.

Jax tentatively traces a finger over his hip, disgusted at himself for doing this. Appalled that he let those men scar him like this.

His legs are shaking. Every part of him is trembling. He leans against the door, panting heavily as he lowers his hand, as his fingers graze against the soft flesh of his inner thighs. Jax wants so very much to dig his nails into them and paint his flesh red with blood.

By the time those men were finished with him, his legs were bruised, lacerated, bloodied. Resembling rotten meat more than human flesh. Blood fell down his tattered skin, dripping down onto the ground and staining the dirt a darker shade of brown.

Jax knows very well that everyone here is aware about what happened to him.

That he willingly let himself get raped.

They must think of him as disgusting. They must think that he deserved all of it…and, he did. They must think of him as weak, of pitiful, that he was reduced to a failed suicide attempt just because he overreacted to a bruised ego. They must think that he’s wasting all of the time, all of their precious resources that would be better used for people who actually deserved it.

He should have died that night.

Why oh why did he not die that night? Why did those men not kill him? Why did they let him go free and force him to endure the full brunt of their humiliations?

Ribbit would never have abstracted if Jax died long before they met each other.

It’s inevitable. As long as Jax remains here, then history will repeat. He can’t lock his doors. He can’t tear into his flesh. He can’t climb out of a window. If he stays…if he remains complacent, then he’ll be making himself an easy target. They know his history. They know he was violated. It’s obvious, just by looking at his scars.

They’ll want to rape him again.

And Jax…how does he know that it hasn’t already happened?

How does he know that it won’t happen again and again and again?

Maybe he’s still in that field. Perhaps this is his brain, attempting to protect himself from the horrors that he endured…that he’s still being subjected to. Jax fears that when he wakes up, he’ll still be in that field once more.

He never wanted to die, but he doesn’t want to live, either.

If those men are going to defile him, then it’s best that this all happen on Jax’s terms.

There’s nothing remotely desirable about him. Jax supposes he was just in the wrong place and at the wrong time. It was late. It was dark. Those men were drunk, and after having yet another fight with his mom’s newest boyfriend, Jax stormed out of the house. He  needed to clear his head, and the fields were always empty at that time of night.

He knew what happened to young, vulnerable women at the dead of night.

Jax never thought something like that would happen to him. He never thought men could be…he never thought anyone would want him in that way. He only wishes his first time hadn’t been with those three men. He only wishes they didn’t publicly claim him in a field. He wishes he fought harder. He wishes none of it ever happened, but there’s no going back now.

His first time, his dignity, his first kiss…all of it was stolen that night.

Never again can he reclaim his first, his second, third, fourth…he was…he was held in that field, in that barn for hours. He lost track of how many times—

If Jax wants to reclaim even a small part of himself…if he wants to make it so that those men no longer have control over his life, then he has to let himself be taken again. And willingly, once more, considering he just knows history will repeat itself.

Men can’t be trusted. Same with women, considering everything Jax had to do to ensure his survival out on the roads.

He laid in that barn for what felt like days. His legs ached, his breathing was ragged. Bright purple and blue bruises were wrapped tightly around his throat. His shoulders and neck were littered with bite marks, along with his thighs, legs, he…he needed to leave. He needed to get out, needed to dress and make his way back home.

Jax tries and tries and tries, but the memories from that night threaten to consume him whole.

Those men devoured his very being that night. Had ravaged his body, his very soul, until nothing was left.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Jax realizes the predicament he got himself in. The door is unlocked. He’s unclothed. It’s dangerous. He could…it happened more than once. It could very well happen again.

Jax lost track of how much time passed. He lay in a pool of his own blood, in other fluids. Handprints and teeth marks etched into his flesh. He doesn’t remember much else from that time.

There are footsteps. He hears the door to his room swing open. Jax’s heart is hammering wildly in his chest. He looks around, distressed to find that flimsy gown, his only article of clothing, isn’t within arms reach.

Mom never looked at him the same way after that moment. Her newest lover had looked at him with a bit too much interest.

He hears knocking on the door of the restroom. Jax leans his against it, trying to find his voice. Desperately wanting to plead with them to go away, to give him time. To not walk in and see him like this…to learn about everything that he willingly let happen to him.

In his dreams and waking nightmares…at home and in the streets, he could never get away from those men. From their laughter, from their eyes and salacious grins. From their hands, from their touches as they tore into him.

It’s going to happen. Jax let this happen. He’s going to die. He wishes he could just die.

Jax doesn’t miss the way the other members of the congregation throw glances at him at church. Gawking at him as if he were an animal in a zoo. Some with disgust, others with amusement as they knowingly grin at him—

He tries to find his voice. He wants so very much to beg them to not come in. Jax tries to keep the door shut, but his hands are trembling. His wrists feel as if they were set aflame, and he can see faint spots of scarlet seep through his otherwise pristine white bandages. And he finds himself slipping…

Mom stopped looking at him, stopped acknowledging his existence. She never said anything, but Jax knows she must have been so disappointed in him.

Jax cries out, feeling a bruise forming on his shoulder as the door swings open, as he collapses onto the ground,

Her lover would shower him with attention. A hand placed on his shoulder, to the nape of his neck. Hot breath against his collarbone, lingering touches on his waist, on his hips. Clear unadulterated lust etched into his eyes as rumors circulated over how Jax was ‘easy.’ At how he was giving himself out for a price, as he gave out his ‘services’ in the fields. At how he’d lay on his back and spread his legs for just about anyone.

Jax feels something wet slip down his face. His vision is blurry. His ears are ringing, and every part of him hurts. It feels like he’s going to die. And…surely, surely, the humiliation of that night, of everything that will happen to him again will be more than enough to kill him.

His only consolation is that Ragatha and Pomni aren’t here. That they won’t see him as weak.

He stares up, eyes locked upon a shocked, scandalized face. And, Jax is unable to hide his arousal as those men had taken him in the fields, as they violated him in that barn until he was bloodied and broken. Until he was used and discarded.

Jax wraps his arms around his midsection as he lays on the ground. He’s trembling, vision blurry. Heart threatening to burst out of his chest. Mortified, humiliated beyond all measure as he let this happen again. As he lays on the ground, bereft of all clothing, his member twitching at the unwanted attention.

Chapter Text

All Jax could helplessly do is stare at the other two men, face flushed, only to let out another scream as his attacker mercilessly twisted his nipples, before shooting straight down for his member. His attention entirely focused on Jax as with a smirk, he reached down and vigorously pumped his cock as Jax moaned, tears streaming down his face as they all bore witness to his shame.

It feels as if time has gone completely still…it feels as if Jax is dying. His face is flushed as he stares up at the intruder. At his hand, which is firmly set in-between his bare thighs.

He needs to clear things up. Needs to tell her that it’s not what it looks like…

That he only wanted…no, he needed to convince himself that he wasn’t touched. That his chastity was still whole, still in-tact.

Jax threw his head back, eyes clenched shut, loudly moaning, screaming as that man increased the intensity of his ministrations, as his onlookers laughed, shining their cameras on him, as it all proved to be too much, as he felt too sensitive, too far gone to beg them to just let him go, to kill him—

Only for Jax to let out a shrill cry as two more unfamiliar faces stare at him, at his shameful display.

He hears that nurse speak. “Sir, I heard someone fall. I thought a patient was injured……”

And somehow, he’s back in that field again.

Stripped of all clothing, forced onto the ground as those three men towered over him. Openly leering down at him as he tried to claw and bite and tear at them, until he was quickly overpowered.

He tries covering his face, tries to shield himself away from their view, but the other two aren’t paying him any mind. But…one of the nurses, she stares at him. An unreadable expression in her face, and one that Jax dares not too decipher. His face is burning as he realizes that he’s still stark naked while his intruders are all fully clothed, and that she’s staring at his exposed cock.

Jax held onto his only remaining article of clothing. Had desperately tried to maintain even a semblance of his dignity as he held his ruined shirt up to his chest.

It’s too late. Jax was fucking stupid for doing this. They must think of him as a slut.

They must think that he wanted this…that he’s easy. That he stripped himself bare just waiting here, practically begging to be fucked.

Jax’s throat is constricted. His face is burning. But he’s too humiliated too speak, to beg them all to let him dress, to ask them to just leave. He wraps his arms around his midsection, feeling cold. Far too cold. And as much as Jax would love to get dressed...

He all but lost himself entirely as with one final tug, he spilled his seed…as he came all over that man’s hand, as he spilled onto the ground.

This is it.

He’s going to die.

He’s going to die.

He’s going to die.

It’s best that he get this over with. They know what happened to him…what he let happen to him all those years ago. Maybe Jax wanted it. Maybe Jax missed them…those men, what it felt like to be touched by another person. He’d been trapped in that circus for so long that it fucked with his head. What happened back in that field, it was all consensual. Jax wanted it, because if not, then…what was even the point of all of his suffering?

He was a man. He was scarcely into his twenties when it happened.

If Jax didn’t want it, he should have fought harder. If he didn’t want it, then he should have killed himself soon after.

He’s going to die.

And if not by the hands of his spectators, if not by the hands of those men or the circus or Caine or who the fuck else, because Jax fucking failed at killing himself, then the mortification of being seen like this will surely kill him. His chastity is non-existent. His virginity, his dignity, it was all stripped away from him all of those years ago.

Maybe this is karma for everything he did in the circus…for all of those NPCs that he killed. Perhaps this is fate. Jax was always meant to die. It was just due to sheer chance, sheer luck [Not that he ever felt lucky, especially after that night], and—

“Please, just kill me…” Jax whispers, eyes fluttering shut as he awaits the inevitable. As he feels a hand clamp over his mouth, as he felt something wet pressed against his bare throat.

His heart skips a beat, his stomach lurches as he feels something pressed over him. As he feels something warm draped over his shoulders.

Slowly, reluctantly, Jax opens his eyes, only for panic to set in as he sees a man kneeling before him.

“I need you to breathe,” the man quietly says. Jax feels as if he’s dying.

He can’t speak. He gagged as they forced him to swallow.

Jax can’t…he can’t.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the man in the white lab coat softly says.

“We’re not going to hurt you, pretty boy…”

“You’ll be fine.”

“As long as you behave, we’ll make sure you have a VERY good time……”

He doesn’t want this. He never wanted any of this. But…if that were the case, then why didn’t Jax fight them all off? Why didn’t he try harder? Why did he have to run out of the house that night? What that man did…what his mom’s new lover did paled in-comparison to everything those men subjected him to in the fields.

Jax silently stares back at the doctor. He instinctively wraps the coat tighter around his shoulders. And the doctor politely, kindly asks him what’s wrong, why he’s like this, if anyone else went inside of the room, if Jax was forced to…to……

If only Jax could speak, then he could clear all of this up.

“Everything will be just fine,” he says, offering Jax a faint smile.

‘Everything will be fine?’ That’s what mom used to say, back when she still acknowledged his existence. Back before he was raped. Back before she still loved him. And that’s all Ragatha told him in the circus…and all that she ever said after they all got out.

Nothing about this is remotely fine.

Jax knows very well that this doctor is the same as every man he’s ever met…that he likes the idea of having Jax beneath him. That seeing him in such a debauched, exposed state must be titillating.

Despite himself, despite knowing exactly what he’ll find, Jax’s gaze flickers over to the two nurses standing by the door. His ears are burning, tears threatening to spill as one of the nurses is whispering into his associate’s ear…and that woman, the very same one who openly stared at his member, who’s eyes raked all over his bare form, she’s grinning.

She brings a hand up to her mouth, attempting to stifle her laughter. And her associate isn’t bothering to conceal his amusement, and Jax could very well fucking die. It’s impossible to breathe. He thinks he’s dying. His vision is blurry. There’s a voice speaking out to him.

They’re all staring at him.

Jax tries to get up, tries to fight them off, tries to beg them to leave him, to just kill him.

And for a moment, he doesn’t know if he’s in that field, if he’s in the circus or in a hospital. All he sees are faces, leering down at him with hungry, lecherous expressions.

The ground is cold, hard, underneath his back. The coat slips off from his shoulders, leaving him completely bare once more. A strangled cry tears out of Jax’s throat as his injured wrists are pinned to the ground, as he feels a heavy weight on his legs, as he looks down and sees that very same woman holding onto his bare legs—

She locks eyes with him. Shooting him a wink, before slowly raking her nails across his exposed ankles.

Jax bites his lip, desperately trying to not cry, scream, moan, to give this woman any sort of satisfaction, whatsoever. Her associates aren’t paying her any attention. Instead, they try to talk to him, try to calm him down. But all that he can focus on is her touch as her hands slip upwards, as she traces feather-like touches on his legs, before resting her hand on his bare thigh.

He was right. He…brought this on himself.

How can the other two not notice her? Unless Jax is just overreacting…unless he’s acting like a fucking bitch over nothing. Isn’t this what every man wants? For a woman like this to throw herself at him?

All he wants is to slip underneath his covers and sleep and never wake up.

Oh, how he desires for nothing more than to tear into his flesh, to strip off his skin and rip up his muscles. To reduce himself to nothing more than a sinewy, gory mess on the tiled floor.

They all must think that Jax wants this.

That he stripped himself down for this very purpose. And he realizes just how bad this might have looked to everyone who stepped inside of his room. He knew that he was in a public space…he knew there were no locks here, considering he’s here in the psychiatric ward. And yet, he still fucking got naked, and for what? Just to provide them with entertainment? Just to prove those men right?

She barely even touched him. She didn’t even touch his member, and yet, Jax finds himself aroused, hard at her ministrations. As she rubs gentle circles around his thighs. And it…it hurts.

He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want their attention, doesn’t want them to see him like this. Doesn’t want…he never wanted this.

But Jax can’t speak. His voice was stolen away by those men.

A heavy weight on top of him. Something sliding in as Jax gasped, tears streaming down his face as he instinctively wrapped his arms around the broader man. As he cried, begged, moaned, as if he wanted this…as if he was begging him to fuck  him.

There’s a heat pooling in his stomach, shooting straight to his groin. Jax doesn’t want this. He can’t, not in-front of them all. Not in-front of an audience. Not again. Not again. But that woman’s associates aren’t looking at his lower half. Their backs are turned away from her. She brings one finger up her lips. Salaciously grinning as her hands are pressed against his inner thighs, dangerously close to his aching member.

All Jax has to do…all he needs to do is speak, to let her associates know—

No, they clearly know. There’s no point in stating the obvious.

Jax doesn’t want this. He never did. Or, is that yet another lie?

It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

A part of him wishes she’d just grab his member. That she’d wrap her hand around his length and stroke him, that she get this over with. But he finds himself almost receptive to her deceptively light touches. Tears threatening to spill as he thrusts his hips—

As Jax wantonly thrusted his cock into a cupped hand, much to their immense amusement and his mortification.

He feels himself, so, so close to a release, but…he can’t. Not here. Not in-front of an audience.

The other two are calling for help. He desperately wishes that they’d let him go.

His throat is burning up. They’re asking him what’s wrong. He feels sick to his stomach, feels as if he’s dying. And it feels wrong, how good this feels. Maybe he’s always just been fucked in the head, if something like this feels almost…nice. It’s different, from feeling nothing at all.

Jax doesn’t know what’s better, but…he finds himself close to a release. There’re butterflies in his stomach, and he finds himself simultaneously anticipating and dreading it, finding a release. Climaxing.

There’s a heat pooling in his stomach. He looks down, sees that woman openly leering at him. And he wonders if he’s the first, or if he’s the last. Jax supposes that doesn’t matter.

His onlookers are confused as Jax heavily pants. As his back arches, as he clenches his eyes shut, cheeks dusted red. Not even once, does that woman touch his member. He’s thankful, but a part of him wishes she’d touch him, that she make this easier…that she’d get this torture over with, already.

And…he finds his mind wandering.

He’s back in the field again. There’s a hand, pressed in-between his bare legs. It feels nice. It feels horrific. All he desires is to tear off his own skin, and to bleed out all over the ground.

With a strangled cry, his stomach lurches. His eyes flutter open. Pupils dilated as he screams, spilling his seed, crying, moaning as the doctor and his associate stare at him with unabashed shock, as that nurse retracts her hand and laughs.

As those men raucously laughed as they forced him onto his feet. As one of them held onto him from behind, while the other pressed one finger beneath his chin and tilted his head upwards—As he felt hot breath fanning against his exposed throat.

Her associates immediately snap their eyes towards her, clear horror and disgust painted over their features.

Jax doesn’t know if they’re disgusted at her or him, but…

It doesn’t matter. He feels them let go of his wrists, but it’s not a release. Not when the gravity of his situation is sinking in. Not when he willingly came in-front of an audience yet again. Not when he came untouched.

His face is burning. He clenches his eyes shut, unable to stop his tears from slipping. Jax drapes an arm over his eyes, wishing for all of this to be nothing more than a bad dream. He doesn’t cry. He can’t. He forgot how to cry long, long ago. He doesn’t deserve to cry. Not when he could have easily stopped this…not after he clearly wanted this.

If Jax didn’t want this, then he should have said something.

But…he didn’t. He’s a man, and that woman was quite easy on the eyes. She was one hell of a looker. Or, well, he’d imagine that to be the case. If he didn’t want this, he could have just asked her to stop. But she was doing him a favor. She knew what he wanted, what any man wants.

Afterall, he willingly stripped himself in public. He was waiting here in the nude, clearly hoping for someone to find him and vent out their frustrations on him.

It was only due to a bout of bad luck that Jax happened to have gotten an audience.

“Oh, please, you’re all making baseless accusations,” the woman laughs. Wearing a bright, sunny smile, one hand still pressed over Jax’s thigh. “You both know as well as I do what this man was doing…” she says, gaze flickering over to his member. Jax averts his gaze, cheek pressed against the tiled ground as he tiredly stares at the wall.

There’s no use in denying her accusations.

He wanted this. It felt…pleasant. All he wants to do is tear and tear and tear into his flesh and spill out his blood. He wanted to feel something, anything, but not this. Never this.

Jax doesn’t cry. This is what he deserves, for allowing himself to sleep with those men…for seducing them into laying with him.

There’s no fucking use in crying.

He deserves this.

He deserves this.

They all speak amongst themselves, making it a point of ignoring Jax, save for that nurse who pays a bit too much attention to him. Just like her mom’s newest lover, who paid Jax a bit too much attention when word got out…when rumors circulated. When he opened the mail…when he took a letter that was addressed to Jax and opened it—

And when Jax returned home that night, only to be confronted with an opened envelope, and when he discovered images of a certain field, and Jax had been the focal point……

His mom’s boyfriend waited up late for him. Reeking of cigarette smoke and cheap booze, just like those men had.

“—Out awfully late again, weren’t you?” he laughed.

Jax was well aware that he knew.

His only hope was that mom hadn’t seen those images. That Jax could at least try to earn her forgiveness back.

“Let me guess…you were in the fields again, boy?”

Jax tried to deny this. Desperately wanted to say something, anything, but there was no use in talking. Not when he already saw the images, not when everyone knew exactly what Jax let happen to him.

And as expected, his mom’s lover took his silence as a confirmation.

Jax’s gaze slid over to the table. Alcohol bottles were littered all over the hardwood, all over the ground. An alcohol bottle slid out of his hand, clattering noisily to the ground. Jax watched, entranced, as dark red liquid seeped into the carpeting. And the glass pieces were…pretty, and he wondered what it would feel like to bring those pieces to his wrists—

To cut and slice and tear at him.

He wondered if his blood would be just as pretty.

And…he wondered, what it would feel like, to sink his teeth into this man’s jugular. To slit his throat with the glass, and…Jax wonders, what that would feel like. But he’s brought out of his daydreams as he’s shoved against the wall.

Jax dully stares at the taller man. Pained, withdrawn, so, so, so fucking tired, when…his eyes widen as teeth noisily clack against his. And Jax is left unable to breathe as he’s brought in for a messy, desperate kiss.

But he doesn’t cry.

Not when he asked for this.

Except—

He catches sight of his mom as she enters the living room. She regards the scene with a surprised expression. And Jax could almost just cry with relief as his mom’s gaze falls upon him. Her expression melting into one of disgust as her lover releases his mouth, only to then press a kiss against his throat.

But…Jax’s heart plummets as without a single word, mom turns on her heels and leaves.

Desperately, Jax attempts to call out to her. He weakly pushes away her lover, crying out, desperately trying to get her to look at him, to speak to him like she used to.

His legs are aching. And they’re still bruised, injured, from all that transpired a few nights prior.

Jax falls to his knees, but he manages to catch her before she ascends the stairs.

He latches a hand around her wrist.

“Mom, please, it’s not what it looks like,” Jax pleads, desperately trying to make her understand. “I didn’t mean to…”

He never meant to embarrass her like this.

He never meant to steal her lover.

He never meant to betray her.

She’s still not looking at him.

There’s so very much that Jax could say. He wishes everything bad would just go away. He wishes mom didn’t find him a disappointment, a burden…he wishes that he could convince her to love him again.

It’s his fault. Every single bad thing that happened here was—

All. His. Fault.

“I’m…I’m sorry……”

She doesn’t turn around to look. Doesn’t say anything. And Jax wishes, oh, he wishes that he could make things right. But she doesn’t do any of that. Without saying another word, his mom leaves—

And as Jax stays there in the hallway, watching her retreat into her room, he feels an icy chill wash over him…that he’ll never make it up to his mom.

He didn’t know it back then, but it was the last conversation he ever had with her.

Chapter Text

Jax tries to speak, but no words come out. Or perhaps, that’s not quite the correct terminology to use here. There’s nothing more that Jax can really say. He keeps his head down low, the events from the previous hour playing over and over again in his mind.

Try as he might, he can’t forget, even though he wanted it…even though he’s had to suffer through far worse than what that nurse subjected him to. And again, he wanted it.

If he didn’t, he could have just fought her off. He’s a man, afterall. He should have protected himself.

He should have tried harder to fight off those men, when they—

There’s a voice speaking to him. Jax tries to focus on them, but it’s difficult when he’s trapped in a labyrinth of his own design…when it still feels like he’s that scared, traumatized twenty-something in that field, and he thinks that he could very well die again. That the mortification of it all could very well kill him. But much to his disdain, he’s still alive. Some might consider this a blessing. A miracle, even, that he managed to live for so very long, but all it feels like is a curse.

Something like him should have never been born.

The only ‘good’ to come out of this is that he’s out of that hospital gown. And he instinctively squeezes his legs just a bit tighter, as if fearing that woman is going to…fearing as if those men are going to force them apart again. But none of that happens.

He’s dressed in his street clothes again. Well, not the exact same clothing from when he nearly managed to kill himself in the week prior. Someone [Probably Ragatha], had dropped off spare clothing, his phone, hell, even his wallet, while he was doped out on painkillers.

Oh, who’s Jax even kidding? It definitely was Ragatha, but he still has no fucking idea what she gets out of this fake, bullshit ‘goody-two-shoes’ act.

She’d be better off if she forgot about him, about everything that happened in that circus.

But then again, that was where she met the love of her life. So maybe to her, that circus was more of a blessing than a curse. Jax could really care less. All he wants is to get out of here, and for an ‘exit door’ in-general.

Slowly, Jax lifts his head up. That woman is sitting across from him. Still dressed in her uniform, one leg crossed over the other, eyeing him up as if he she wanted to devour him whole.

Just like those men, Jax’s mind unhelpfully suggests.

He knows that that hospital wants him in for question, but…he’d rather do this without this nurse in the room with him. He closes his eyes momentarily, willing for his heart to calm down. And he resists the urge to cover his burning face with his hands, too ashamed to look at her in the eye, considering the last time she saw him, he’d been naked. And he tries, tries, tries, to not cry, still unable to get over the humiliation he endured, as to how he came in-front of her……

At how he clearly must have wanted this nurse and her associates to see him at his most vulnerable.

When he looks back at her again, she’s still the same as ever. But she doesn’t dare say anything to him, not when there are others in the room. But her smile twists into a smirk as Jax involuntarily flinches. He looks down, fingers digging into them hem of his shirt.

“—Would you care to enlighten us as to what happened, Mister XXXX?”

They’re talking to him. But it’s his old name. The very same one he cast away when he left home all those years ago. He needs to say something.

Instead, all Jax does is shake his head.

There’s nothing more to say. He wanted it. If he didn’t, then that would mean his body betrayed him. But the thought of not even having control of himself is too much to bear.

Nothing in his life has ever gone right for him. All he wants is to leave.

“She’s never done something like this before…”

Jax flinches. He immediately looks up, a blank expression painted over his features. Of fucking course. He seduced her like he did to those men, like he was reduced to out on the highway.

“Oh, you know me,” the nurse brightly laughs, completely in her element. “I’ve only ever have our patients best interests at heart. Have I ever received a single complaint or write up during my time here?”

Nothing more is said, but the implications are glaringly obvious.

“It’s your fucking fault for turning us gay…”

If Jax didn’t want any of this, then he would have never stripped down. Or he would have tried harder to keep them out, or told her to stop touching him. But he knows fully well what he must have looked like…knows full well the free show that he was putting on for them. He knows fully well what he looks like when lost in the throes of passion, even though he didn’t want any of that…even though he clearly did want it, considering the evidence splattered all over his stomach and thighs was obvious.

He was reduced to whimpers and cries, throat completely hoarse from screaming as they led him out onto the road. As those men forced him to walk a mile, his clothing scattered, in disarray, left behind in the field.

Everything she’s saying must be true, considering the doubtful, scathing, accusatory looks they’re throwing at him.

They half dragged, half forced him into that barn. Shutting the door shut behind them, bolting it closed with a cast-iron lock, before throwing him onto a hay bale. Tears pricked at the corners of Jax’s eyes, a strangled cry tearing out of his throat as the jagged pieces of hay stabbed into his bare, lacerated, bruised back. As they held his exposed legs apart and—

She’s not going to get anything out of all of this, except for fond memories. Jax wishes that the same could be said for this. Not even a slap on the wrist, but then again, it’s not like she did anything worthy of punishment.

Jax is already damaged goods. He was used, defiled, so it’s not like there’s any part of him that was worthy of protecting.

If there was anything to be thankful of, it was that those men brought him to this secluded spot, instead of continuing their abuse in the fields…instead of leaving him there until daylight, where anyone could have found him.

“Do you have any relatives around, Mister XXXX?”

He’s lost in his memories. Far too gone, and the memories of that night are threatening to overtake him. But Jax manages to shake his head, only for his eyes to widen in shock, in horror, as he sees his reflection in a full-length mirror hanging right by the window.

Pain surged straight down to his groin, bordering on pleasure, at just how exposed he was, while those men eagerly watched him.

He needs to calm down. He needs to breathe. He needs to get past everything and try to put this all behind him.

One of those men holding onto him was grinning as without warning, he increased the intensity of his ministrations. Jax screamed out, clenching his teeth shut as he thrusts his cock into that man’s hand without abandon. Crying, screaming, as he stared at his flushed face in the mirror they’d forced him in-front of. Mortified at how he bared himself entirely to them, as to how he’s the only one unclothed while his onlookers were all fully dressed.

They’re speaking to him. They’re accusing him of seducing this nurse, of sexual harassment. Of being in that state when they found him. Jax just knows it. Everyone knows, but…if Pomni were to find out…if Ragatha were to hear of this—

He’ll never be forgiven, no matter how much he degrades and humiliates himself…no matter how much pain and endless suffering he’ll have to endure.

Jax was screaming as he was rocked on a knee, as his nipples are being mercilessly twisted, pinched, his own cock untouched as he moans and writhed on that man’s lap. As his onlookers watched with amusement, with lust, as lips were pressed against his back.

“Let me go…please, just……” He’s babbling nonsense now. All he wants is to leave. And he very well could, except, no, that’s not quite right. He’s still injured. And while he didn’t cut deep enough to permanently damage his hands, they’re still aching. Even the slightest movement feels as if white hot daggers are being shoved into his arms, into his hands and wrists.

Clearly, he’s doing all of this for attention. If he wasn’t so much of a bitch, if he didn’t let those men treat him as their bitch, then none of this would have ever happened.

Jax weakly struggled, begging them to stop, when his already sensitive nipples when pinched, when his aching length twitched. And with another scream, he spilled his seed, before finding himself growing incredibly faint......

Only for color to flood his vision as he heard a metallic ‘click.’ As he heard them erupt into racuorous laughter, as deceptively gentle, feather-like kisses were pressed against his exposed back.

He doesn’t know who he’s begging to now. To this nurse, the hospital, those men? But he can’t…he cant. Not like this, he can’t allow himself to be defiled again.

Jax openly wept. Men don’t cry, but…they don’t let themselves be fucked into the ground, either. Tears dripped down his face as he laid on that man’s lap. Stark naked, his shame entirely visible to everyone leering down at him as he wantonly moaned and writhed like a bitch in heat. As he felt himself coming undone at the seams. And this should be a relief, to feel this good despite being bloodied and bruised and cut and bleeding all over.

He never wanted an audience…never wanted his first time to be like this. He never wanted a first ‘anything.’

“Behave like a good, obedient slut, and maybe we’ll keep this to ourselves…”

Jax could only stare incomprehensibly as a camera was thrown at his face. As he numbly watched the footage play out, as he realized a second too late that it was him. That they recorded him, that there was proof. That he led them on, that he—

He doesn’t know how this happened. Everything else is all a blur. But they interrogation is finished, and much to his confusion, much to his suspicion, he was deemed competent enough to leave, to be discharged from the hospital…that he’s no longer under ‘suicide watch.’ Jax vaguely recalls running off in a hurry, unable and unwilling to give that nurse the chance to approach him again.

And he continued to run through the halls, ascending up the stairs before eventually making it to his room again. Quickly, Jax went through his meager possessions, stuffing them all into his bag, only for him to stop dead in his tracks as his gaze falls upon Ribbit—

“Aww, there’s no need to cry.”

Jax involuntarily leaned into the touch, simultaneously comforted and repulsed as a calloused hand wiped away his tears. He wrapped his legs around his torso, grinding his lower half against him. Arms thrown over that man’s shoulder as he slowly felt himself coming undone. He was hurting. He’s still hurting, but they forced ‘something’ down his throat.

Every part of him is burning, but…he wants this. He presses his lower half against him. Panting and moaning and crying as his onlookers laugh, as they record him, as he’s ‘gently’ lowered onto the ground.

“Give that cute little cock of yours a tug for us,” they laughed as Jax panted and moaned on the ground. He was gone. Too far gone, even knowing that this would have been too much. That he could never turn back away from this if he complied, knowing fully well that they had everything on video. That they’d record this, that they would—

Panic had set in as without warning, on of them grabbed his face. Had forced his mouth open, before pressing a glass vial to his lips. It tasted sweet, like fermented grapes, but it wasn’t until much, much later that Jax realized it was an aphrodisiac.

Ribbit would never forgive him, had he learned about everything Jax willingly done. At how he willingly degraded and abused himself for the enjoyment of others. At how he was never clean, at how he touched himself—

Jax stared up at them. Unsure of what to do to make this heat in his stomach to go away, to make this pain recede, to…He momentarily closed his eyes. A palm pressed over his stomach, when, he moved it downwards.

“Keep your eyes open, pretty boy. Don’t keep that cute face of yours hidden from us……”

And reluctantly, he complied. The drug kicking into his system, and the desire to feel good…to feel like he’s in control to overpower ever other part of him screaming at him to stop. Urging him to fight past this, to not give them what they want. That if he were to do this, he’d never be able to show his face in town ever again. 

His vision was blurry, but he could still make out their faces. Grinning, lecherous smiles, hidden behind the light of their cameras.

Jax hesitated for a moment, before reaching in-between his bare legs and wrapping his hand around his cock. As he cried and moaned as he gave it an experimental tug. As he tightened his grip, as he thrust into his cupped hand, baring his shame for everyone to witness.

He can never be forgiven. Had Ribbit known what Jax let happen to himself…if he knew Jax willingly touched himself for those men, that it was all recorded, then he’d never forgive him, the very same way mom hadn’t. And everyone in town knew. Jax heard the whispers, saw the pointed, disgusted, amused, aroused glances thrown his way. He never saw the footage after that night. Never saw the photographs, either, but he knows they must still be around somewhere.

Jax had left town soon after that. Part of it was guilt, knowing fully well that he ruined his mom’s reputation in the span of a single evening. It was why she refused to talk to him, let alone even look at him after the rumors……

Not that she ever really acknowledged his existence.

And her lover, he…he stole him, just like how Jax had seduced those men, had seduced that nurse.

A part of him wants to fall where he stands. To lay here and never get up, when the memories from that night prove to be too overwhelming. But…things are different now. As much as Jax would otherwise wish, he’s not quite as ‘alone’ as he used to be.

No, but Ribbit is gone now, isn’t he? And he abstracted, leaving Jax all alone.

Jax may not particularly like Ragatha and the others. He’s dead certain they all despise him [And for good reason], but he can’t let things remain as they currently are. As long as those photographs are still around, as long as that footage is still in-existence, then he always runs the risk of something leaking out.

He never intended to live this long, and, it’s not like Jax ever had anything worth protecting. With all the commotion in the circus, and his new rabbit avatar, the worries from his previous life had slipped away.

It’s not that he outright forgot, but everything bad that happened to him had all felt like a grotesque, distant nightmare.

But…he’s never going back to the circus, is he?

Jax told himself that he was never going to step foot into that town. He well and truly thought that he was never going to live this long…

He thought he was going to die the very night that he lost his virginity.

And he thought that…well, isn’t that exactly the problem? Jax made far too many assumptions. He thought that someone like him could never be violated, but it seems like he has no choice. The thought of any of that being spread around is too much to bear. He has to go back to that town. He has to find those men, if they’re still around…if they didn’t already leak that footage online—

He needs to see them again. Needs to experience that night all over again…needs them to finish what they started.

Maybe things are different now. He’s sure they must…miss it. Everything they subjected him to, just like how Jax finds himself unable to let the memories of that night recede from his memories.

He’ll return to that town and allow them to finish what they started, but only after he finds that footage and destroy it.

There’s always running the risk of them already uploading it all on the dark web, but…there’s nothing else going on in Jax’s life. There’s no going back, not after Ragatha and Pomni saw him like that. And he was a fool to think he had a chance of normality after living for so very long in that circus.

Jax is going to die. He doesn’t have much time left. But before he does, he’ll destroy all of the evidence from that humiliating night. And then he’ll let those men have their way with him again, if they so please. He’ll allow them to paint his body black and blue. He’ll allow them to tear into him, to make him bleed.

He doesn’t fucking care anymore. All he wants is to ensure that no one that he knows will ever find out about how fucked in the head he is…at how he willingly allowed himself to get fucked by those men, and at how he let them record it all for their own amusement.

Jax is going to die.

He is going to die. But he finds this rather appealing, and…poetic in a way. To allow those men to finish what they started……

With his mind now set, Jax finishes packing up the rest of his belongings, wincing every so often as even the slightest movement aggravates his lacerated arms. But it’s a minor discomfort, compared to the memories that are repeating over and over and over in his head as he checks himself out of the hospital.

And as he makes his way to the lobby, he catches sight of a tall, pale woman with wavy orange hair speaking with the receptionist. She’s dressed in a fancy blue dress, with an equally blue hairbow tied to her head, and…Jax’s heart threatens to give out entirely. Her back is turned away, but Jax would be able to recognize her anywhere.

It’s Ragatha. She’s speaking with the receptionist. And while her voice is soft, demure, Ragatha’s outright arguing with the receptionist by how heated her voice is.

“What do you mean you can’t take this up to him?” Ragatha huffs, holding up a plastic bag filled with…textbooks. Yeah, leave it to Ragatha to give the depressed, injured guy homework in a fucking hospital.

But with Ragatha clearly distracted, Jax can make a quick escape….

Which is what he would say, except the universe has never been particularly kind to him. Jax cries out, falling to the ground as a particularly rowdy passerby bumps into him. He collapses to his knees. Gaze blurring, dark spots seeping into his vision as static rings in his ears. He cradles his injured hands to his chest. Too overwhelmed, dry-heaving as he could very well pass out from the shock.

Agony is stabbing into his abused wrists, and he’s unable to stop his tears from falling now.

Soft, timid footsteps ruminate behind him. And when Jax tilts his head upwards, he locks eyes with Ragatha. She presses a hand over his back. Gently rubbing circles, attempting to calm him down. She’s looking at him with concern, but for the life of him, Jax can’t understand why.

But her touch is too much…far too much, even from her.

Though, he can’t stay here. Can’t allow her to see him like this.

He backs away, as if scalded by the harsh heat of flames. Ragatha immediately jumps to her feet, and without thinking, she latches a hand around Jax’s wrist before he can run.

Ragatha can’t see him like this. She can’t know about what happened here in this hospital, about what happened all of those years ago.

And if she ever finds out, she’ll think he’s dirty. She’ll think he sullies his body like this every night, even though he hadn’t in years. Even though he hasn’t experienced the touch of a man in five years. Though, Jax knows he’s in the wrong here. Jax was never supposed to bare himself to another like this. He was never supposed to experience arousal by another’s hands, and yet here he was. Trapped in the memories of that night.

Jax practically collapses against her. Gaze half-lidded, delirious from pain, but alarm sets in a second later as he feels arms wrap around his midsection—

Arms wrapped around his midsection as he was propped up in-front of that mirror. As he was forced to stare at his reflection as he was thrust into from behind. His bare arms pressed against the cold mirror as he was bent over. As he cried, screamed, as he moaned and whimpered while a rough, calloused hand wrapped around his aching cock and denied him his release.

Chapter Text

“Jax, sweetheart, you doing alright there?” Ragatha softly asks, knowing full well that Jax isn’t alright in the slightest as she gently lowers him onto the ground. But much to her immense worry, Jax isn’t responding to her either. She kneels by his side, tentatively pressing a hand against his cheek. Ragatha’s brow furrows at just how despondent and lifeless Jax appears to be. There’s a glassy look in her eyes, as if he’s gazing right through her…as if he isn’t entirely all ‘here.’

He isn’t responding. He isn’t saying anything. Clearly, Jax isn’t well. For goodness sake, it’s only been a week since he had…since he—

She still recalls all of that blood splattered all over the tiled floor. Spilling out of Jax’s abused wrists, and he was so still, so faint. His pulse was barely even there, and as weak as a butterfly’s wings.

Ragatha knows that Jax isn’t technically her ward. Hell, she’s only eight years older than him and…Jax isn’t exactly helpless by any means. [Except he is. Jax is helpless and weak and how did Ragatha not notice any of the signs sooner?]

And she really did hate him back in the circus. Or at least, she thought he did. But things changed, and when they escaped, it just struck her at how young Jax had been when he was trapped in that simulation. Scarcely out of his teen years, and yet he spent what should have been the happiest time of his life a virtual circus.

They’d all been under the mercy of Caine. And while Ragatha would never consider him ‘evil,’ he was an AI. He was essentially their ‘god.’ Caine did mean well, but those are memories that Ragatha would rather not dwell on at the moment.

Though, somehow, the circus feels a lot more warm and inviting than anything that reality has thrown her way as of late.

Ragatha sorrowfully gazes at Jax. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

Still no response.

“You’re still not entirely well, Jax…” And she presses a hand against her cheek, looking back at the receptionist with an incredibly worried look. “Maybe…we should extend your stay…….”

At this, Jax slowly looks up at her. He doesn’t speak, but there’s a flicker of emotion in his dead, sullen eyes.

If Ragatha wasn’t distrustful of her own sight, she’d say it was fear.

Jax weakly pushes against her, to-which Ragatha places her hands over his shoulders. Not strong enough to cause any real harm, but all she wants is for him to get better, even if Jax doesn’t see it that way. “I’m doing this for your own good.”

Immediately, Jax flinches. Tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he protectively brings his bandaged hands up to his chest.

Ragatha’s heart practically sinks at the sight. And it’s odd…distressing, to see Jax like this. But she’d be lying if she said that she preferred his shitty attitude in the circus. There’s something almost soft, gentle about him. Ragatha never had any brothers, but she’d be remiss to say if she didn’t want one that was this docile—

Though, as her gaze flickers back to Jax, she swallows back her own guilt. Jax caused her a lot of problems in the circus. All he ever did was bully everyone else. He constantly broke Gangle’s masks. He made fun of Pomni and laughed at her anxieties. He was shitty to Zooble and equally as shitty to her.

She should have let him go the first chance she got.

…But Jax the rabbit is different from Jax the human.

Turns out, Ragatha never knew who he was underneath that mask. It doesn’t make anything okay. It doesn’t make up for the hurt and pain he inflicted on her, on Pomni, on everyone else. But a part of her understands him. And she hesitates to admit this, even internally. But he’s a part of her life now, and she can’t imagine living in the real world without him or the others in it.

With her mind made up, Ragatha lets go of Jax’s shoulders, only to lightly pat him on the head. He clearly can’t decide for himself, but luckily for Jax, she’s here for him!

“Just wait right here, Jax,” Ragatha brightly says, with a bit too much forced cheer to be anything but genuine. “I’ll get you all of the help you need! Give it a week or two, and you’ll be as right as rain!”

Jax hesitates for a moment, before weakly tug on her sleeve. He shakes his head, eyes downcast as he softly murmurs, “No.”

Despite herself, Ragatha can’t help but genuinely smile. She never realized just how much of a good boy Jax was when he’s not being a huge prick. Again, Ragatha lightly pats him on the head, happy that Jax is finally opening up to her. He doesn’t even push her away, which must mean Jax actually likes her now!

“Aww, no need to by shy, silly!” Ragatha chirps, clasping her hands together. “I understand that talking to new people can be scary, but that’s why I’m here for you. I’ll be back in a jiff, once I get things all sorted out.”

Again, Jax shakes his head. “Please, don’t.”

Ragatha’s eye widens ever so slightly. And for the first time all day, she almost considers going back on her decision. There’s an almost fearful look in Jax’s eyes, but Ragatha is dead certain she’s just imagining things. “Oh, really now…” Ragatha huffs. “Look, Jax, I’m doing all of this for you.”

Jax isn’t looking at her. He isn’t listening.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, sweetheart,” Ragatha sighs. “I’m doing this because I care…because I want you to get better. Now, quit being such a stubborn, stick in the mud bunny and accept help when it’s being offered to you—”

Her voice tapers off to a halt, and once again, that sense of guilt washes over her.

Ragatha kneels beside Jax, completely stunned. Rendered speechless at herself, at just how dead Jax looks, even though he’s no longer drowning in a pool of his own blood. Even though he’s alive. Still here, still breathing.

She presses a hand over her mouth. And all Ragatha can feel is guilt, guilt, guilt, even though she did nothing wrong.

Even though all she wants is to help Jax get better.

“Everything I’ve ever done was for you, sweetheart…Never forget that mother loves you so very much……”

No, this is different. Ragatha is doing this because she cares.

Jax can’t think for himself. It’s more than apparent, considering the mess he left behind…Considering that Ragatha had to take care of him yet again.

No, no, no, no, no—

Something here isn’t adding up.

Ragatha tried ignoring it before. Tried deluding herself into pretending that everything was fine, but again, there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. And she knows very well that something here isn’t right. This goes beyond a childish fear of hospitals. Something happened, she’s sure of it.

But Ragatha doesn’t know who she’d be able to question. Not in such a huge hospital like this. And she’s not family, so no one would be able to provide her with any answers.

“Jax, you need to tell me what happened—”

She’s practically knocked to the ground as without warning, Jax violently shoves her to the side. Letting out a pained cry as the action pulls at this stitches. Ragatha becomes reoriented a second later, but much to her immense surprise, he’s quick on his feet despite his heavily injured state. Ragatha’s heart is hammering wildly in his chest, but she follows after him, albeit at a much slower gait.

Ragatha curses at herself for choosing today of all days to wear heels.

Jax is injured. Surely, he’ll get tired soon enough. Right? Right?

---

It’s been so, so long since Jax was chased like this. He feels as if he could go faint at any moment, and it’s as if he’s back in that corn maze again. He nearly escaped the first time…only for gravity to take root, along with his own shitty luck as he tripped, moments before he found an exit.

Unfortunately for Jax, there are no exits here.

His only consolation is that Ragatha wouldn’t do to him what those men had…what that nurse had……

He may not exactly like her, but Jax does trust Ragatha in those regrds.

But…he saw the suspicion in Ragatha’s eye. She clearly knows what happened to him. Or rather, what Jax let happen to him, and she thinks him invalid. She rightfully thinks he’s weak, that he should be locked up. That he’s disgusting, filthy, that he willingly let himself be defiled. And she must think it imperative to keep him there, that he be beaten black and blue until these unsightly ‘inclinations’ of his are stripped away.

She can’t know what Jax did. He’d never be able to live with himself.

“Jax, please, I just want to talk with you!!” Ragatha calls out, sounding far too breathless as she chases after him through a bustling city block.

No, it’s a trick. In his weakened state, she’ll just drag him back to the hospital. And considering what happened…considering how he seduced that nurse, considering he put on that show for her, for her associates, they’ll lock him up. All he belongs in is the psych ward. But he can’t. He doesn’t think his heart will be able to take any more humiliation. Not after that…please, no more……

Every part of him is aching. His lungs feel as if they’ve been depleted of oxygen, and his legs are burning. His bandaged wrists aren’t doing any better, but distressingly enough, his upper thighs feel…awful. They’d been bruised. Bluish-purple markings had been etched over his thighs, all in the shape of hand prints. That nurse had handled him far too roughly, but Jax didn’t pay it too much attention at the time.

He should be thankful that unlike those men, the nurse didn’t do enough damage to inflict permanent scars on him. But somehow, that thought doesn’t comfort him in the slightest.

“Jax, I’m…I’m sorry,” Ragatha desperately pleads. “Please, just…stop running. I promise I won’t make you go back there!”

She’s just lying to him. That’s all that anyone ever does.

“Something…happened to you, didn’t it?”

Immediately, Jax stops dead in his tracks. Ragatha quickly catches up to him. Cheeks flushed, completely breathless as she takes a moment to recompose herself. “I’m right, aren’t I? You don’t need to be scared. If something happened to you, then we’ll report it—”

“No…”

Ragatha looks at him, bewildered. “No?”

But…Jax can’t believe her. “No, not here,” he whispers. She can’t be doing this to him. Out here. Out in a busy street, where anyone can hear about what happened to him. They’ll think he’s weak. They’ll know that he let himself get defiled…that he enjoyed it so much the first, second, fifth time, that he let it happen again—

Realization sparks in Ragatha’s eye. “Oh, of course,” she solemnly nods her head. “Right, not here. We could stop by a café and discuss this over tea and scones? I’m sure you must be starving from all of that running!” she says with far too much forced cheer. “I’d imagine you’re already sick of hospital food.”

No, no, no, how can Ragatha not understand?

“I can’t…” Jax instinctively wraps his arms around himself, in an almost protective embrace. Worry flickers in Ragatha’s gaze, but Jax desperately tries to ignore it. “It’s too…” Humiliating, demeaning. “I can’t talk about it…what if someone hears?” And more importantly, what will you think if you find out everything about me?

“Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, sweetheart!”

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all the way out here?”

“If that’s all that you’re worried about, well…don’t stress! My lips are sealed.”

“Why don’t we put that mouth of yours to good use?”

Jax dares not look back at Ragatha, in fear of what he’ll see. Fearful that all he’ll see his hatred, disgust, or worse? Pity. She must think of him as weak. “I don’t want to talk about this…” Not with you, or anyone else, for that matter.

But much to Jax’s frustration, Ragatha doesn’t let up in the slightest. “You need to talk to me, Jax. I’m trying to help you.”

He’s moving on autopilot. Nothing about himself feels as if it even ‘belongs’ to him, anymore. “I don’t need your help,” he retorts, sounding far more cold than he intended.

Ragatha’s gaze hardens. “Well, be that as it may, you’re stuck with me now.”

I’ve always been alone. I don’t need your pity.

“I don’t need your help,” Jax vehemently hisses.

“Oh, but you clearly do,” Ragatha condescendingly retorts.

Jax doesn’t…he doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want Ragatha to pry into business that should not concern her. “You’re not my mom,” he huffs, crossing his arms, only to wince as the action pulls at his stitches.

“Yeah, who’d even want someone like you as their son?”

“—Hey, doesn’t he look familiar to you?”

“I’ve seen him around before…Yeah, no doubt about it. He’s that Oriental bitch’s son. But I can’t imagine any broad would be happy with a son as slutty as this……”

No matter what he did, no matter how much he begged, pleaded, cried, no matter how much he debased himself, those men refused to let him go until they had their fill. Until they got sick of him, until they were finished with their fun and dragged him back into the field…until they left him there. In a pool of his blood and other fluids, broken, battered, like a used up doll.

And no matter how much Jax wishes Ragatha would just drop this subject…no matter how much he wishes that she’d stop acting like she actually cares, she refuses to let him go.

“Jax, Jax, are you even listening!!?”

Fuck, her voice is so fucking shrill. Jax wonder how Pomni can stand living with this woman.

“For the last fucking time, you need to look at me when I'm trying to speak with you!” Ragatha angrily huffs.

At this, Jax actually regards her with surprise. Afterall, he’s only ever heard Ragatha curse a handful of times……

“And why should I?” Jax quips, feeling far too tired and drained and empty to deal with any of this bullshit.

If they were still in the circus, if Jax felt anything remotely like ‘himself,’ then he’d find it comical to see Ragatha this angry. She’s practically on the verge of tearing out her own hair in frustration, and…it’s almost comforting, to know that Miss Goody Two-Shoes isn’t quite as sweet and calm as she pretends to be.

Ragatha closes her eye for a moment. Inhale, exhale—

“Jax, I will only say this one more time. You have a problem…”

His heart nearly stops beating. “Ragatha, not so loud.”

But Ragatha isn’t listening to him, either. “You do have a problem!” Ragatha tearfully exclaims. “Jax, I…”

Don’t say it.

“I found you on the floor. We both did, and Pomni…she was so scared……”

Everything’s fine now. You got what you wanted. I’m not dead.

“Jax, you tried to kill yourself—”

Not here, not here…

Oh, fuck, people are staring. How could Ragatha…of all the people to…she had to betray him like this? In the middle of a busy city block, she just…it was supposed to be private. She was never supposed to find out.

Yes, he tried to kill himself. But for her to announce it like this!!?

Ragatha falls silent, guilt flickering in her gaze. “Jax…”

His vision is blurry. Something wet is dripping down his face, and it feels like his eyes are burning. He tiredly wipes at his eyes, dismayed to find that he’s crying. That he’s crying out here in public, in-front of Ragatha. That she clearly thinks of him as some broken doll that’s meant to be pitied.

“Jax, I’m sorry…”

Words are cheap. It’s easy to say ‘sorry,’ just like it’s easy to tell someone how much they ‘love’ them. He furiously wipes at his face, ashamed at the fact that he’s letting people see him like this. That he still can’t stop crying.

And he spins on his heels, unsure of where he’s going. But all he wants is to disappear…all he wants is to get away from her.

Jax runs and runs and runs—

If Ragatha’s following him, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t even care at this point. But anything is better than dealing with her pretty, saccharine words and fake pity. She doesn’t care about him. She doesn’t care about him, unlike his mom. And mom used to care about him. She used to love him, before he betrayed her. Before he embarrassed her, before word got out that he was assaulted……

That he was raped out in the fields.

She never looked at him the same way after that, not that she ever looked at him at all.

His mom had raised him from birth. She clearly loved him. Ragatha, however, Jax doesn’t know what’s in this for her.

He’d rather she just quit her nice girl act. It would save him the heartache and her the trouble. They’d all be much happier that way.

But as far too lost in his thoughts as he is, Jax doesn’t quite know where he’s going. And when he eventually stops, when the sheer gravity of his situation sinks in, Jax realizes that it’s evening. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, only to let out a curse at the realization that he’s all out of bars.

It’s…it’s far too late. He’s done. Ragatha must be pissed off at him by now. But that’s good, Jax supposes. Maybe this means she’ll finally stop pretending like she actually cares about someone as broken and used up as him.

Jax leans against a brick wall. The street lamp situated towards his left is flickering. It’s dark. It’s summer, but he’s never felt so cold.

Slowly, Jax finds himself slipping. Dark spots seep into his vision, and when he next comes to, he’s collapsed on the ground. Alarmed, Jax looks down, breathing a sigh of relief upon seeing that he’s still clothed. But…he needs to get up. He can’t tempt fate. It’s dark, it’s far, far too late.

“A pretty little thing like you could be devoured if you’re caught wandering around this late at night. But luckily for you, we’re more than willing to help……”

Jax tries to get up, only to immediately collapse. He lowly hisses, grasping onto his right wrist as he tries to breathe, as he tries to ignore just how painful his wrists had gotten. At how he feels bruised all over, at how he feels cold. But it all pales in-comparison to just how hollow and lifeless and empty he is. As if there’s always going to be a hollow in his heart that’ll never be filled.

He needs to get up. He can’t stay here—

Only a stone’s throw away, he hears footsteps. And Jax’s adrenaline spikes. They’re back. Those men, they’re going to……

“What the fuck!?”

Jax wearily looks up, only to find a face that he knows all too well staring down at him.

“What in the actual fuck…Jax, what the hell are you doing here!?” Zooble exclaims, looking far too bewildered.

And Jax tries to think of a good enough retort to piss them off. It’s what Zooble deserves. But…slowly, ever so slowly, he finds himself slipping. And before he knows it, he’s laying on the ground. Darkness seeping into his vision. There’s a ringing in his ears, and it drowns out Zooble’s voice.

Jax’s gaze is half-lidded. Zooble rushes over to his side, looking unusually frantic as they grab onto his hand, only for them to flinch for a second as they catch sight of his bandages.

He feels them prodding at his wrist, clearly trying to gauge his pulse.

Jax wishes he could tell them to stop. But…he finds himself being lulled into a dreamless slumber.

Chapter Text

Zooble heaves out a sigh upon detecting a noticeable, albeit erratic pulse from Jax’s wrist. But they aren’t relieved in the slightest as they let go of him. Not when there are bandages covering his hands, his wrists, and probably his entire arm, not that Zooble’s going to check. They’re not close enough to Jax [Nor do they want to be], but that’s a complete breach of trust that Zooble dares not to cross. 

“What the fuck is even going on…?” Zooble murmurs underneath their breath, sorely craving another cigarette. They’d taken a five minute smoke break, and it was only be sheer chance that they noticed Jax stumbling around like a drunkard.

For a moment, Zooble thought they just mistook him for some other random twink, but considering how it’s sadly not exactly the most diverse place around [Zooble fucking knows just how backwards this shitty hicktown is. Hell, they nearly clocked a guy for hitting on them only an hour ago, insisting that Zooble was a hot chick or something like that].

And while Zooble can’t particularly stand this moron [And that sentiment is more than mutual], they aren’t enough of a bastard to leave him unconscious out on the streets. They have no fucking clue what’s going on, but it would just be a disaster waiting to happen.

They kneel by Jax’s side. Staring intently at him for a moment, hoping that by some unholy miracle, he opens his eyes and does what he knows best. Aka being a little shit, and making Zooble’s already tedious existence even more grating than it already is.

“Oi, Jax, not that you’ll be able to hear me, but asphalt’s not the coziest place to take a nap on,” Zooble sighs once more, long and suffering.

Despite their best efforts, their gaze flickers over to Jax’s wrist yet again, peeking out from beneath a white dress shirt that Zooble knows fully well must have come from Jax. They doesn’t hang out with this guy often, and more times than not, it’s always against their will, but they’ve been around him enough times to know that he favors hoodies and Y2K edgelord fashion over something this elegant and presentable.

Zooble must admit Ragatha’s a saint for putting up with his bullshit on a daily basis, considering she actually hired this stupid rabbit.

They wait for another moment, but surprise and almost panic soon sets in as they catch sight of crimson seeping through Jax’s bandage. It’s thankfully not too much, but it’s more blood than they ever expected to see from him.

With no time left to lose, Zooble reaches forward and attempt to scoop Jax up into their arms—

Only for them to immediately give up.

Well, Zooble had a good run, but they suppose it’s time for both them and Jax to just die.

They’re half-tempted to collapse onto the ground and just give up on life. Their smoke break has gone to complete shit, so it’s not like there’s anything else going on for them. But just one quick glance at Jax’s weirdly peaceful, almost cute sleeping face is enough for Zooble to discard that idea.

Oh, there is no fucking way they’re going to die at the same time, in the same place with Jax of all people.

With a bit more determination, they try again…but it’s no use. Jax isn’t heavy by any means. He’s essentially just a twig that only lives to sass Zooble and talk shit, but Zooble isn’t exactly built like Hercules, either.

“C’mon, rabbit, let’s get you out of here…” they say again, attempting to half-carry, half-drag him out of the street.

If there’s one thing to be thankful for, it’s that Jax didn’t choose to pass out in some shady, back alley street. Zooble sure as hell doesn’t like the guy, but they consider him more of an idiot that talks big these days. And they shudder to think of what could have happened if someone else found him like this.

The bar they work at is relatively safe, all things considered, but everything out on the streets is, well……

Best to not dwell too deeply on anything like that. The important thing is that they found Jax, and that he’s safe now—

Wait, of fucking course!

Zooble wraps one arm around Jax’s midsection, while they reach into his shirt pocket and pulls out his phone, upon hearing a series of mechanical beeps. Seems like the guy didn’t bother to customize his phone outside of the factory setting. Ehhh, the more Zooble learns about him, the more they get confused.

They’d love to pawn off this idiot onto Ragatha or Pomni. Afterall, Zooble still has to go back to work, and to be quite frank, they’re sure Jax would rather die than to have Zooble see him like this.

Both of them are lucky that Jax passed out, else everything here? Yeah, now all of this would be real fucking awkward.

…Except, one quick look at his phone is enough for Zooble to develop a migraine, because nothing in their life is ever that simple, huh? They quickly scrolled through Jax’s messages, and yeah, it’s a breach of privacy, but Jax is passed out in their arms, and really, Jax should be thankful Zooble didn’t just murder him on the spot.

There must be over two dozen messages from Ragatha, all in the span of a single hour.

“Where are you?”

“I’m sorry, please, I just want to talk!”

“You’re making Pomni cry. Don’t worry. I’m not mad, but you need to come home right now.”

“I only say this because I care, sweetheart. You’re a mess.”

“Please, answer the phone. Don’t do this to me. It’s really your fault for acting up, Jax…”

“If you call me back right now, I promise I won’t get angry.”

“Jax…?”

Zooble stares at Jax’s phone. Stunned, bewildered, and more than a little bit unnerved.

 “What the hell…?” they murmur, before quickly marking all of the messages they scrolled through as ‘unread,’ and quietly putting it back into Jax’s pocket.

Well, this just complicates matters. Under normal circumstances, they’d rightfully think Jax was being a dick to Ragatha or the others again. But this…? Everything they just read on his phone? Yeah, it’s not normal, but Zooble isn’t going to pry. Whatever’s going on here is between Jax and Ragatha. And maybe Pomni too, considering she’s one step away from eloping with Ragatha to Vegas or something.

But, man, this really is Zooble’s life now, huh?

They heave out a sigh yet again, before tightening their hold around Jax. And again, he’s not all that heavy [Honestly, it wouldn’t kill Jax to gain a few more pounds], but he’s lanky as shit and also stupid and ugly and Zooble hates him. But they’d be damned if they just left him out here to get stabbed or mugged or worse.

“Don’t do this to me, Jax…” Zooble mutters as they carefully try to bring Jax back to the relative safety of their bar, only for them to stop dead in their tracks as their hand accidentally brushes against Jax’s bandaged wrist.

Jax lets out a sharp gasp, before slowly, his eyelids flutter open. He looks disoriented. Eyes glassy and distant, as he looks around at his surroundings. Zooble tries to get his attention as they grab onto his wrist without thinking—

Immediately, Jax lowly hisses. Squeezing his eyes shut as he instinctively throws his arms over Zooble’s shoulders.

What in the actual fuck…?

But Zooble reluctantly returns his embrace, all the while wondering if they died, and if they somehow ended up in hell for tax embezzlement or mail fraud. They have never done any of those things, but maybe they’re getting punished for a future crime they’ve never committed.

“You’ll be…well, you’ll be something, alright,” Zooble awkwardly tries [and fails] to comfort their enemy? Friend? Idiotic rabbit that refused to leave them alone? Well, Zooble doesn’t know, but they pat him on the back, which only incentives Jax to cry even harder.

They’re dismayed and bewildered as Jax trembles in their arms. And they decide to not point out at how damp their shirt is, considering Jax really is crying, huh? Normally, they wouldn’t put it past him to use crocodile tears, but…yeah, this isn’t normal. Alarm bells have been blaring in Zooble’s head ever since they found Jax passed out on the streets.

A part of them wants to call Ragatha and have her deal with this mess, but one quick look at Jax is enough for that idea to die yet again.

Zooble doesn’t know what’s going on between those two, but…Jax is completely out of his fucking mind, and Ragatha clearly isn’t doing any better. But Zooble isn’t enough of a completely heartless jerk to leave Ragatha in the dark, sooo, they quickly takes out their phone and snaps a picture of them and Jax over to Pomni.

And if Pomni knows Jax is with Zooble, she’ll let Ragatha know.

While Ragatha would definitely drive over here immediately and take Jax off of their hands, Pomni could easily dissuade her from that idea.

Zooble wonders if they went crazy as well, considering they’re willingly spending time with this bastard.

Jax’s head is turned away, and they made sure to have their phone on silent, considering if he knew, he sure as hell wouldn’t let them hear the end of this.

“Hey Pomni, I’m with Jax rn. Dunno what’s gotten into this idiot’s head, but guess he’s staying with me for the night. Going to torture him into watching reruns of Friends and lock him in a closet. If I don’t call you first thing in the morning, it means we both probably killed each other.”

Only five seconds pass before Zooble receives a response.

“That really okay with you, Zooble? Ragatha’s a bit…preoccupied right now—”

“IDNSHOLAETwwWEO—”

“ASJFIoKisoeiwpIEWEWEW—”

“HE’S THERE!!?”

Immediately, Zooble’s phone rings. And with much weariness, Zooble picks up, only for them to regret their decision in the spot, as their ear is assaulted by a loud, ear-piercing screech as Ragatha and Pomni both try to speak at the same time.

“Yes, yes, Jax is with me…” Zooble huffs, as Jax slowly turns his gaze over to the phone, sheer horror painted over his weary features. Zooble awkwardly pats Jax on the shoulder. And their worry increases tenfold as Jax doesn’t pull away or flip them off.

Ragatha tearfully interrupts Zooble, and they can’t even find it in themselves to be too annoyed with how genuinely distressed she is. “I’m really sorry about everything!!” Ragatha exclaims. “The fault was entirely with me, Jax. But again, you do need to be more considerate about others.”

“Just give him some space, Raggie…” Pomni calls out from the background.

“I did give him space. We both did, and look what happened?” Ragatha uncharacteristically snaps back. “But anyway, I know you’re a good boy at heart, Jax. You’ll do the right thing and come home at once.”

“He doesn’t live with us—”

“But I know what’s best for him, darling,” Ragatha counters, before addressing Jax. “Anyway, don’t you think it’s about time you stopped bothering Zooble? Goodness knows how busy they are. And you’re not a burden, but I think Zooble has better things to do than to put up with you……”

Zooble’s eyes flicker over to Jax. His expression is completely blank, and he looks dead, lifeless, devoid of all emotion.

For a brief second, they consider just dumping him off at Ragatha’s place. Clearly, she cares about Jax, even if this is…even if this is certainly something, alright. But guilt soon takes root. And it’s not like they’re obligated to care, but hell, Jax is only a few months younger than Zooble. If they were in Jax’s shoes, they’d definitely be pissed off to be talked down to like this.

“Ragatha, he’s not a child,” Zooble gently says, attempting to calm down the anxious woman.

“You don’t know what he’s like…what he put me, I mean, us through……”

And Zooble doesn’t know if Ragatha is talking about the circus or something more recent. They can certainly relate to that, considering Jax was the fucking worst. But it’s not like he was the one who got them all trapped there in the first place. Zooble doesn’t like Jax, but they can symphatize at the indignity of being treated like a child.

“You do know Jax is twenty-five, right? He can make his own decisions.”

A slight pause. Zooble hears what sounds like soft crying, before Ragatha weakly murmurs, “I know he isn’t, but...there was so much blood—”

The phone immediately cuts off, but Zooble is soon greeted by a text message from Pomni.

“Sorry about that, Zooble! Please don’t be angry at Ragatha. She’s been under a lot of stress these past few days, with…well, ANYWAY, thank you for letting us know Jax is in good hands!”

Zooble quickly types, “Nah, I understand. But I’m being serious when I say this is a plot to kill him. Gonna feed him to some porcupines. It’s what he would’ve wanted…”

Typing…

“Ahaha, sure thing! Thank you again, Zooble!! >w</

Despite the tense situation, Zooble can’t help but let out a faint laugh. But it soon melts away as they catch sight of Jax, staring at them, being eerily silent. And seeing him like this—Despondent, quiet, as pretty as a porcelain doll, it really does give them the fucking creeps.

Jax remains completely silent, but at least he can stand on his own two feet again.

“Sor—” Zooble immediately cuts themselves off, knowing full well that Jax would outright hack them up with a machete if Zooble tried showing them any pity. Instead, they point over to a bar only a block away. “My shift ends at nine. Wanna grab pizza and head over to my place after work?”

Much to Zooble’s concern, Jax doesn’t respond.

Reluctantly, they reach out and hold onto his wrist. Jax doesn’t pull away, and…he doesn’t protest as Zooble slowly guides them over to their bar.

---

Everything looks washed out and gray. It feels as if Jax is looking at everything in one of those old-fangled cameras from a hundred years ago. A part of him knows that he should be ashamed. That he should feel self-conscious and embarrassed for allowing Zooble to see him like this. To willingly embrace Zooble and go to them of all people for comfort.

But…it hurts. It’s all too much. He shouldn’t be here. All Jax wanted to do was get away from that hospital, from Ragatha, everyone. He’s been to this area a handful of times. Usually just to annoy the ever living hell out of Zooble on Friday nights. It used to be something of a timeless tradition, but he never intended to go here now.

And it’s Friday again. Looks like Jax kept to the tradition, but there’s a difference between annoying Zooble and making a laughing stock out of himself.

“Hey, Jax…oi, asshole, got this for you!”

Jax silently turns around, only to find Zooble glaring down at him as they slam a bright blue fizzy drink onto the counter table.

“What am I even looking at?” Jax warily asks, eyeing the monstrosity with disdain.

“It’s poison,” Zooble retorts in a saccharinely sweet voice.

“Uhh, there’s…pink glitter in it.”

“There sure is!” Zooble mockingly chirps.

Jax’s gaze flickers over from the questionable beverage, before turning back to Zooble. “I don’t want your pity.”

Zooble picks up the glass and practically shoves it in-front of Jax’s face. “It’s not pity. I just really fucking hate you. It’s poison, trust me. Suuuuuper toxic and lethal and banned in fifteen countries.”

“Ohh, is that so?” Jax attempts to rest his arm against the table, only to flinch as his stitches pull at his skin. Immediately, Jax tucks his injured hands underneath the table, desperately trying to hold onto his lackadaisical smile. “Was this your plan all along?” he laughs, feeling tired, faint, as if he could pass out at any moment. “Playing the long haul to get me to fuck off this mortal coil?”

“Nowwww you get it,” Zooble retorts with a teasing smile. “But really, this isn’t a pity drink, jackass. Got bored, poured a bunch of colorful shit together into a glass and made it all nice and special for you!”

Jax tilts his head, eyeing the glass with disdain. “Eh, if I die, there’re witnesses. And I’d be an idiot to say no to free booze in this economy.”

Hell only knows how much I fucking need a drink right now.

Zooble spins on their heels, leaving Jax to his drink, only for them to look over their shoulder. “By the way, that’s non-alcoholic.”

“Cheapskate,” Jax huffs.

“Dumbass rabbit,” Zooble laughs. “Anyway, my shift ends in an hour. Think you can hold out until then?”

“Of course I can!” Jax retorts. “Got this shitty drink, my phone…uhhh, I can always throw straws at you if I’m bored.”

Rolling their eyes, Zooble deadpans, “Riiight, because you’re so mature. Anyway, die in a ditch, asshole,” they say, flipping him off with one hand, before turning their attention to an actual customer.

---

Now that Zooble has finally, finally left him alone, Jax feels as if he can finally breathe. He leans his head against the counter. Unable to really do or say anything as he finds himself increasingly lost in his own thoughts. As he finds himself dwelling on memories of the past, and his eyes prick with tears at how only a few hours prior, he was at the hospital.

And his skin is crawling, feeling as if maggots are writhing beneath his flesh.

He so very much wants to tear at his own arms. To rip up his bandages, to see if his wounds are festering. If he’s dead, if he’s dying. He feels dead. It feels as if his heart had been gouged out, and that he’s merely going through the emotions.

His skin is itching. The places where that nurse had touched him are burning, even though she’d been so soft, so gentle, so much kinder than those men ever had. All he wishes is that she hadn’t done that in-front of an audience, that she granted him even that much dignity. But then again, since when has Jax ever deserved privacy during intimacy? Those men hadn’t afforded it to him back then, and…everything that happened with that nurse?

It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last when he has to do all of that in-front of an audience.

Jax closes his eyes, very much wishing that he could sink into the ground. That he could die exactly where he sits. But instead, he reaches for the glass and downs the disgustingly sweet beverage Zooble had given him in one go.

Zooble’s a complete asshole, sure, but they don’t have the guts to poison him.

“Konnichiwa, beautiful…”

Jax nearly cringes on the spot at the shitty attempt at a pick-up-line. He turns around, only to find some random dude with sandy blonde hair leaning against the counter. Jax supposes he’s handsome enough, in a rugged sort of way. Not that Jax even really gives a shit, and doubly-so with racists.

He almost corrects the guy because ummm, yikes, but…it’s getting late. Jax doesn’t feel up to returning home, not when Ragatha lives so close by. Zooble is an option, but Jax doesn’t want nor deserve their pity.

And staying on the streets for one evening is completely out of the question.

Jax leans in closer to the man. Batting his eyelashes, a coy smile worn over his face as he wordlessly beckons for the man to take a seat beside him. And he doesn’t waste a second in accepting Jax’s offer.

“What brings you to these parts?” he asks.

But Jax doesn’t answer. Instead, he shakes his head. Feigning ignorance of the language, pretending to be nothing more than a tourist as he says in broken English, “Visiting. Friend.”

Those men had liked it when he had…they called him exotic. Said that it was a shame he wasn’t a woman, because then, they all could’ve had real fun……

It all passes by in a blur. The man goes on and on about himself, clearly enraptured at the thought of having a foreign, exotic ‘pretty little thing’ holding onto his every word…even though he clearly thinks that Jax can’t understand a single word he’s saying.

Zooble’s far right now. They’d been assigned to the kitchen for something. Jax honestly doesn’t know, so when the man orders a drink from another bartender and offers it out to Jax, he immediately accepts.

And it’s bitter, tasting more like battery acid as it slides down his throat. But it’s also pleasant, and…it’s nice, to feel like this. Numb. Better than being in pain, in agony, than being trapped in his memories of the past.

The man leans in just a bit closer. Jax squeezes his eyes shut, smile frozen as he allows this man’s hand to crawl to his thigh. Disgusting, unwanted, but…this is nice. Almost pleasant, even, now that he has alcohol in his system. It’s been so long since he’s bedded someone like this. And it’s nice, for this to be on his own terms for once.

“Why don’t we find a nice, quiet place where we can continue this conversation?” the man whispers into Jax’s ear.

Jax gazes up at him with half-lidded eyes, noticing fully well at just how cognizant this other man is, despite them both drinking the night away. But he complies. Nodding his head as the man helps him up to his feet.

From the corner of Jax’s eye, he catches sight of a bartender looking at him with alarm. The bartender sets aside the glass he’d been polishing before immediately running over to the kitchen.

The next few minutes are a blur, but when Jax next comes to, he’d been led out to an alleyway right beside the bar.

“You alright with this?” the man asks, hands pressed underneath Jax’s shirt.

Jax nods his head, before weakly throwing his arms over the man’s shoulders. And it’s the only response he needs to give before a knee is shoved in-between his legs, and Jax lets out a sharp grasp as it grinds against his lower half. His eyes flutter shut as he lowly whines, which is taken as approval as a finger is pressed underneath his chin, as he’s pulled in for a wet, needy kiss.

Jax cried out in a mixture of alarm and shame as one of those men walked behind him. As they grabbed onto him from behind, before he flicked his nipples without warning. His cock jumped, the intensity of their touch dizzying as he was left screaming. His legs were trembling, and much to his shame, he enjoyed this.

This is exactly what Jax wanted…he’s exactly where he belongs.

He trembled in his abuser’s arms. Unable to hide his undeniable arousal as he wrapped his arms around Jax, from behind and presented him to his friends, as he pressed kisses against his exposed back.

This man’s saying something, but Jax can’t…he doesn’t care. He just wants to feel something, wants everything he went through to mean something. It doesn’t matter what he needs to do, he just…there had to have been a meaning behind all of it. Everything that happened that night.

He must’ve enjoyed it enough, considering how nice he felt. And how it felt even better when he came, even though it was humiliating, everything that he willingly allowed to happen to himself…at how he let those men disgrace him, parade him around, and it was only by sheer chance that no one else had heard, had seen Jax when he was stripped naked in the fields. When he was ordered to walk, when those men, when they eagerly watched as Jax reached down in-between his legs and—

Not again. Not again. Jax brought this on himself. This was what he was made for. It’s all that he’s ever been good at. Being nothing more than a quick, easy fuck.

“You’re so fucking pretty …” the man growls into his ear. Jax silently cries, holding onto him, unable and unwilling to let go.

“It would be a damn shame to kill someone with as pretty a face as this, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

He hears footsteps, hears someone calling out for him. Jax couldn’t care less.

A sharp gasp tumbles out of his lips as he was forced to look into a camera, as he was forced to continue with this shameful display. Jax thrusted his hips, his cock painfully visible to the other two men standing a few inches away.

All he wants is to tear at his arms, at his stitches. To bleed and bleed and bleed……

Jax cried as he was thrown onto the ground, flat on his back. Desperately trying to cover himself up, but unable to stop the heat from pooling in his stomach. From being unable to hide his arousal as he wrapped his hands around his cock and pumped it, as he was assaulted with wolf whistles, as he stroked himself, as he willingly debased himself. Crying out as his hand was ripped away right before he could climax.

He lets out a cry as he falls to the ground, as Zooble pulled the man off of him and slammed him against the wall.

Jax clenched his eyes shut, turning his head away as a hand clamped around his member and pumped it. In a matter of seconds, Jax turned into a quivering mess. Panting, bent over as he clasped his hands onto the edge of the table. Tears dripping down his face as his onlookers laughed in approval.

He buries his face in his hands. Shoulders trembling, desperately wanting this. Desperately wanting to forget. This wasn’t how he wanted his first, second, seventh time. His thoughts flicker back to Ribbit. There could have been something there, but Ribbit is gone now. He abstracted. He’s dead.

"I can't do this..." Jax whispered, mortified, as he sits in-between of the men. As they touch him all over, practically pinning him to the ground. He’d been close to tears as they openly leered at him, clearly amused as Jax  desperately tried to cover himself, as bright lights seared into his retinas, as a camera was turned in his direction.

"We already saw you naked. What’s a few extra eyes going to make any difference for a slut like you?”

"I..."

It was all endless. His torture, his defilement. It was cold. He wanted to get away. He can't...he can't......

It's all a blur. He remembers nothing.

He remembers everything.

Remembers that man’s features contorted into a mirthless grin as Jax was pulled into one of his abuser’s laps. Jax, doubled over. Hands gripping the edge of the table as they teased his skin, as they tortured him to the brink of insanity. As he cried and moaned and screamed at the top of his lungs as they twisted his nipples, as he screamed and yelled...until his voice withered away.

Chapter Text

Jax kneels on the ground, legs tucked in as he buries his face in his hands. His head is pounding, as if he was bashed over the skull with a hammer. But it pales in-comparison to the feeling of hands crawling all over his skin, trailing down to the waistband of his pants and—

He squeezes his eyes shut, desperately trying to forget. There are voices here. Jax desperately wishes that Zooble hadn’t found him like this. Or rather, he wishes they didn’t find him at all. It’s one thing to be a nameless patient at that hospital, but for Zooble of all people to see him in this state?

But as much as he would love to get the hell out of this alleyway, his body completely betrayed him. He’s collapsed to his knees, feeling as if he’d been doused in hot oil and set aflame. There’s an incessant ache in his bones, and as he gingerly touches his bandaged wrist, Jax lets out a low hiss. He protectively brings his injured arm to his chest, while the other uselessly grapples against the brick wall, hoping to gain some sort of traction.

Once again, Jax makes the slow, arduous attempt of getting up, only to immediately collapse.

But he doesn’t cry. He doesn’t dare voice out his anguish or anger or anything of that sort. Instead, he lays there. Dead, despondent, wishing so very much that he could sleep and never wake up.

“I didn’t do anything that he didn’t want in the first place, babe.”

“Didn’t do…just look at him! He’s barely able to stand upright, and yet, you still dragged him into an alley!”

“Only because he asked for it……”

“You fucking roofied him!!”

“Oh, don’t tell me that you’re planning to fuck him too—”

Crash.

When Jax next comes to, it’s to the sight of a very livid, irate Zooble glaring daggers at a man more than a head taller than them. He’s sprawled out on the ground, bleeding profusely from his head. Zooble crouches down, whispers something into their ear, before kicking him in the ribs. Hard.

But that’s all that Jax can glean, as his vision flickers in and out……

Only for white hot pain to sear into his right arm as he feels a hand clamp tightly around his wrist. Jax’s eyes snap open, tears dripping down his face as he stares up at Zooble. And they’re…angry? Relieved? Who could even say?

“Jax, what were you…you know what, nevermind,” Zooble sighs, pinching the bridge of their nose. “I’m not going to have this conversation with a drunk guy.”

Offense crosses Jax’s features as he tiredly slurs, “Who’re you calling drunk?”

Rolling their eyes, Zooble offhandedly murmurs, “I don’t get paid enough to deal with your bullshit. Anyway, time to get up before the cops arrive, sleeping beauty, because I sure as fuck am not planning on giving you a piggyback ride.”

And Jax would tell them to piss off and leave him the fuck alone, but nothing really registers in his mind. He feels himself going ever so faint once more. And it feels…almost nice, to be lulled into the confines of a dreamless slumber. Jax’s eyes are half-lidded, and his breathing goes still. He slumps against the wall, arms splayed out at his sides as slowly, ever so slowly, he closes his eyes…

But his peace doesn’t last as hands clamp around his waist, pulling him in closer, and panic sets in as Jax lets out a startled scream. He desperately tries pulling away, only for that action to set his wrists aflame as his stitches are jostled.

His throat is constricted. Darkness is seeping into his vision, but fate has always been merciless towards him, hasn’t it? As much as he would desire for nothing more than to sleep, than to pass out, he’s sadly, regretfully conscious.

He wants so very much to just…to forget. They’re here, he’s still in the cornfield.

Jax never left.

Their faces. Tall, looming shadows, leering down at him. Contorted into delight as Jax writhed on the ground. As he wrapped his arms around his midsection, gasping for air, only to cry out as he felt his insides burning. As they stabbed into him, as they thrust their lengths inside of him—

“We can’t stay here, Jax. C’mon, I know it’s hard, but you need to get up!”

“I’m not weak,” Jax tearfully cries, begging Zooble to realize this was a misunderstanding. He wanted this. While he was drinking with that man, he wanted that man to be rough. He didn’t say anything, but he undid the buttons of his shirt, gave him a full-view of his collarbone as he bared his throat out to him. It was an open offer, which that man graciously accepted.

He was doing Jax a favor. All he wants is to feel useful. To feel wanted, just like how much those men clearly ‘wanted’ him back in the fields.

Zooble looks down at him. Pitying him. Jax wonders if it would be less painful, less excruciating if any other man or woman regarded him with lust…with something far more banal than this.

“I can’t believe it…this fucking whore gets off on pain…”

Jax wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to tell them they were all wrong.

“Let’s make him beg for more…”

“It wasn’t…I didn’t……” Jax cries, trembling underneath Zooble’s scrutiny. “I was never…I wasn’t, I wasn’t. I’m not weak…..”

“Of course you’re not,” Zooble softly says. “What you are is a huge pain in the ass. If I could, I’d sell you for a single potato chip,” they murmur, gently patting Jax on the back. “Believe me when I say that I really do fucking hate you, jackass. Now, it’s getting late, so why don’t we call it a night. You can take the sofa.”

Jax doesn’t respond. His gaze is glassy, distant. Barely anything Zooble says registers in his mind as he mutters over and over, “I never intended, I…didn’t want…that……”

---

Zooble stands there for a moment, worry flickering in their eyes at Jax’s concerning display. And his words are much cause for alarm, as a single, disturbing idea filters into their head. There’s something about Jax’s words…about the way that he desperately clings to his clothing, as if afraid they’ll be torn away from him—At how he keeps mumbling to himself about how he ‘never wanted it,’ that makes Zooble want to actually beat someone else up on Jax’s behalf, which is something they never thought they’d ever do.

Honestly, that creepy fucker that dragged Jax off to this alleyway isn’t really all that much of a concern anymore. They’ve got CCTV footage of the whole night, and Zooble’s dead certain Jax won’t get in any trouble with the cops for this.

On the otherhand, Zooble might have a case. But they suppose there’s not much to worry about in these regards, either, considering that man doesn’t seem like the type who wants people to know that a ‘hot chick’ beat their ass. Yeah, so, Zooble definitely isn’t worried about any of that.

Jax is what takes most of their attention now, and for reasons that they never expected.

As much as they hate the guy, he’s grown on them like mold. From the Bubonic Plague. Because Zooble is certain Jax is probably lethal to their mental, emotional, and physical wellbeing, since he’s an asshole, a bastard, a jerk…

But then again, that’s kinda what makes him funny. In moderation. Sometimes. Though, that only applies now that they’re all out of the circus. They still want to beat him up on most days, but as of right now? All they want is for Jax to get better. Hell, they’d almost give anything to have the old Jax back.

“I know you’re tired, but you can rest up at home,” Zooble says, lightly shaking Jax’s shoulder.

Jax listlessly stares out at nothing, not saying a word.

And this…it only sets off even more alarm bells in Zooble’s head. Guilt and worry flickers in their eyes, considering they’re left with no other choice but to attempt to lift Jax off of the ground. And again, they reach for Jax, pressing one hand behind their back, while the other held underneath his knees as Zooble attempts to lift them up—

Immediately, Jax’s features blanch. His eyes are widened, pupils dilated as he cries out. Arching his back, throwing his head back as he all but collapses in Zooble’s arms. Zooble tightens their hold on him, half-dragging, half-carrying him out of the alleyway.

Jax is heavily panting, tears streaming down his face by the time they make it to Zooble’s car. He’s no longer screaming. That’s good, Zooble supposes.

Nothing about this feels remotely right.

Zooble briefly considers putting Jax in the backseat, but they’d feel more at ease having him right next to them. It takes a few tries, and Zooble actually wants to apologize to Jax as they buckle in his seatbelt and accidentally struck his injured arm, but they bite back their tongue, knowing fully well that Jax would never take kindly to anything he’s misconstrue as pity.

It’s not their place, but…something here is really not adding up.

“Hey, Jax…?”

As expected, Zooble receives no response. Once they’re at a red traffic light, Zooble’s gaze flickers over to Jax. He’s still conscious, albeit barely. Cold sweat pouring down his face, dark brown hair matted to his forehead. Arms wrapped around his midsection as he appears to be gazing at something that only he can see. Or rather, someone.

Zooble hesitates for a moment. The light turns green. Several minutes pass before they muster up the courage to ask, “Do you…want me to take you to the hospital?”

And as if broken out of a reverie [Or nightmare], Jax heaves out a trembling sob. Bowing his head as he quietly whispers, “No, no, please, don’t, I…I’m sorry…my fault, she didn’t, I wanted it……”

Zooble tightens their hold on the steering wheel, to the point their knuckles are bone white. “Of course it wasn’t,” they say, on the cusp of figuring out exactly what is going on with Jax. But there’s still a missing piece of the puzzle, and Zooble would be lying if they said that they didn’t want to find out…

Jax shakes his head. “My fault.”

Instead, Zooble keeps their voice soft and gentle as they say, “You didn’t do anything wrong, Jax.” For once.

The rest of the drive is rather quiet, save for Jax’s soft cries. Zooble’s heart could very well break at the heartrending sounds, but they keep their eyes on the road. They originally planned to head out and grab a slice of pizza, but considering Jax’s current state, all they want is to get him to their house as soon as possible.

But…the more time that they spend with Jax, the more that Ragatha’s bizarre behavior had started to make sense.

Of course, that doesn’t make her weird, deeply concerning obsession any good. But now that Zooble’s with Jax, they honestly do understand! They only stepped out of the room for twenty minutes, and it was only due to a bartender running into the kitchen that Zooble found out Jax left the bar with some shady as fuck man.

Zooble was only gone for twenty fucking minutes, and they made damn well sure to avoid giving Jax any alcohol.

Even in the circus, he was a notorious lightweight…which was both pathetic and impressive, considering it was all just digital booze. Nothing was real. Though, it all certainly felt real.

A part of them really does want to drop Jax off at Ragatha and Pomni’s place. They’re not equipped to deal with this sort of thing.

Ragatha was always the sweet, emotional one, and Pomni was the more rational one out of everyone in the circus. Zooble always just…they never felt as if they fit in. Not in the circus, with their mismatched parts. They felt the same way before the circus as well, but now that they left…now that they’re out in the real world, they don’t quite hate themselves anymore, and they no longer feel mismatched, or like the missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

---

Jax is jolted awake by the sound of a car door slamming shut, before he’s greeted by a faint gust of evening air as Zooble helps him out of the car. If Jax didn’t feel as if the ground had been ripped out from beneath his feet, he wouldn’t have accepted Zooble’s help. But alas, left with no other choice, he reluctantly leans against Zooble as they step into the modest apartment complex.

The lights are flickering, and…it’s oddly desolate here. But also rather peaceful.

“We’re almost home now, Jax,” Zooble says as they both step into an elevator. Once a metallic ‘ding’ fills the awkward silence, they step out onto the third floor.

Jax barely feels entirely ‘there.’ He’s merely going by the motions. Merely feeling more like an empty husk, like an automaton, like a broken doll that had been used and discarded.

When he next comes to, they’re both inside of Zooble’s apartment.

Obviously, he’s never been here before. And if this was under any other circumstance, Jax wouldn’t have hesitated to be a nosy bitch and rifle through all of their drawers, or check their TV set-up to see if they had any fun games to play. But unfortunately, Jax can’t find it in himself to do any of that anymore. He no longer feels like himself, and that person who would have been nosy feels far too removed from who he actually is.

Everything is…hazy. His mind is muddled, and his vision is blurry.

Jax all but collapses onto a soft surface. And it takes his brain a moment to catch up, as he dully realizes that it’s a sofa.”

Zooble hesitantly takes a seat on the sofa’s armrest. “C’mon, Jax, you can take the bed,” they say in a voice that’s meant to convey nonchalance and complete indifference. But Jax just knows they’re pitying him…that they think of him as weak, useless, as a broken, defective, useless doll.

But he doesn’t respond. Instead, he closes his eyes, desiring for nothing more than for sleep to take him.

Though…it feels strangely empty here.

His heart feels empty, and it’s cold. It’s…

Jax hears something crinkling. When he next opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of a cute, smiling frog. And despite the situation, despite the company that he’s in, Jax doesn’t hesitate to pull the stuffed frog into a tight embrace. He’s trembling. Whether from pain, agony, heartbreak, sorrow, guilt, he cannot say.

It’s warm in Zooble’s apartment, but he’s never felt more cold—

Alarm spikes, and sharp knives stab into his heart as he feels a weight on top of him. As he sees a figure loom over him and…...

“Get away…please, get off of me,” Jax whimpers, staring at Zooble with wide, glassy eyes as they drape a blanket over him. As those men are looming over him. Tears dripping down his face as he tries to close his legs, as he tries to preserve what little modesty he still has left.

Surprise and hurt flickers in Zooble’s gaze. But it’s soon replaced by sorrow and worry and pity. But Jax doesn’t…this wasn’t what he wanted. They’re not supposed to know.

No one was ever supposed to know.

One of them grabs onto his scalp, yanking his head up.

Jax cries out in pain, whimpering as he feels hot breath ghosting over his throat, as he feels teeth clamp onto it. Trembling as a tongue drags over his flushed skin.

“A pretty little slut like you is only good for one thing. You must be just like that whore mother of yours…I bet she was just as easy to fuck as you……”

That night…they took photographs. They took videos. Jax was never able to live that night down, except…he didn’t die. They refused to be merciful…those men refused to kill him after they forced themselves on him…after they recorded everything. There were rumors. People knew.

“If you didn’t have a dick, imagine the fun we could have had, pretty boy…”

Jax is never going to live this night down. They’ll kill him, by the end of this. Or if by some miracle, he escapes…if they let him go, he’ll kill himself afterwards. No one can know. Mom would be so disappointed in him, that he willingly laid with other men.

That he let himself be touched before marriage.

Jax very well knows that people saw. That the recordings from that shameful night when he submitted himself to those men had been distributed all over town.

He cried out as they tore into his shoulders.

As they painted his defiled body black and blue.

They tore and tore at his throat, threatening to rip out his vocal cords. Said that he’d never be able to live this night down…that word would get spread fast, that the pretty Asian bitch…was nothing more than a cheap whore willing to sleep with anyone.

That he was nothing…and that he’ll never be anything more than a quick, easy fuck.

It was his fault. He willingly slept with those men, and somehow, it had corrupted him. When he saw Ribbit, Jax had thought it was only friendship that he wanted. But it wasn’t until much later, until Ribbit had abstracted…until he was laying in that field underneath a starry night sky, talking with Pomni that Jax realized what he felt towards Ribbit wasn’t mere friendship.

What he felt was lust.

And…somehow, a part of him almost felt relieved that Ribbit abstracted. That he managed to remain pure, remain whole and untouched before Jax’s own selfish, disgusting desires took root. And he knows those men had corrupted him, in the same way that he could have corrupted Ribbit if they stayed together.

He willingly slept with those men. He let himself be defiled. He willingly let himself be raped.

If Jax hadn’t been so stubborn that night…if he just toughened it out and stayed at home. If he ignored his mom’s new boyfriend and just locked his bedroom door, then none of this would have happened. Jax would never have been defiled. Ribbit would still be alive.

“Jax, Jax, I need you to breathe……”

His clothes had been torn, scattered all over the ground. Splayed out on his back, crying out as they crowded him, as they threatened to do more.

“It’s fine. You’re safe now. That man isn’t going to hurt you.”

Once they got bored of his face, they forced him down on all fours.

“From behind, it’s impossible to tell he’s even a man.”

Jax cried out, falling down onto his elbows as they rammed their cocks inside of him. His cries only silenced as they forced his mouth open and spilled their seed. As Jax choked on them. His ass burning, his flesh far too sensitive, his vision blurry.

“You’re exactly where you belong,” one of them growled as he was thrust into, as Jax screamed, trembled, his body betraying him. That somehow…he felt ‘enjoyment’ in his defilement.

“So, why not beg for all of our cocks like your bitch of a mother, pretty boy?”

Chapter Text

The mere act of awakening from a long, fretful slumber has always been a rather disorienting feeling. At the very least, that’s what Jax always thought. Though, as it currently stands, he’s unaware of even that fact. There’s a soft sensation underneath his back, but it’s uncomfortable, stifling. It feels cold. It feels unbearably hot. He desperately buries his head underneath the covers, desperately trying to forget the fields.

And he tries to not linger on the feeling of hands, crawling all over him. Slicing through his clothes, tearing deep, deep inside of him. There’s ice inside of his veins, and every part of him aches. And yet, he misses them. Misses the feeling of those men as they brutalized him, but that must be a testament as to how truly fucked in the head he’s always been.

Maybe mom was right to ignore him…to pretend he was never even born, if this was all that his existence amounted to.

She knew what happened to him. She knew all that he had to endure that night. And she knows how he let it all happen. Her only son, her only child, amounted to nothing more than a cheap slut willing to spread his legs for anyone. His only regret was how he didn’t die after that night. That he had to live and bring shame to her like that.

He willingly laid with those men. He allowed himself to be sodomized.

Absolutely nothing he could ever say or do would make up for what he did. She’ll never forgive him. Not in life, not in death.

The logical part of his mind is urging him to not return back to that accursed town. If he does, if he willingly gives himself up to those men again, then what would that say about him? They tore and violated and defiled and cut and rape him, and yet, he still came back to them, crawling on his hands and knees, begging them for more.

She’ll never forgive him. Even his death would not amount to much. Not something as undignified as being fucked to death in an open field.

It was excruciating, humiliating.

He loved every moment of it.

If he didn’t, then why did he moan and writhe on the ground like a bitch in heat? Why had he came for them all? Why, why, oh why didn’t they just kill him that night? Why couldn’t they have spared him the humiliation of living after everything was all said and done…after they had more than their fill of him? It would have been kinder if he had just died that night.

Jax squeezes his eyes shut as he buries himself underneath the covers.

There’s no one here. He’s safe. He’s alone.

He feels a phantom sensation…something wet and hot tearing into his throat.

Hot breath ghosting against his exposed collarbone, reeking strongly of alcohol and tobacco. Jax’s arms straining from exertion as he falls down to his elbows. Choking back a sob as he feels a cock ram into him, only for his cries to be silenced as he’s forced to take their lengths into his mouth.

Jax isn’t in that field anymore, even though a part of him wishes for nothing more than to be back there. It had been excruciating, being forced to feel the full brunt of their ‘affections.’ But it was still preferable to this. To the uncertainty of this all. At least in the fields, he’d been too preoccupied with screaming to think of anything else.

He was able to endure back then. Throughout the evening, well into the morning.

All Jax had done was scream and cry and beg until his voice was hoarse. Until his throat was all torn up. Until he was nothing more than a bloodied, brutalized doll laying in that barn. Until they dragged him out into the fields in broad daylight and left him there. Broken, humiliated, crying, clothes nowhere to be found, begging them all to just kill him.

There was no point to leaving him alive after all of that.

He could have died. He should have died.

Jax was lucky enough that no one saw him like that. Laying on the field, covered in blood and white fluid. Bereft of all clothing as he laid flat on his back in the fields. Staring up at the sky, which was so blue and bright that it all felt too pretty to be real. And he can’t remember how long he stayed there.

The aftermath was calm, peaceful, idyllic. It was nothing more than some fucking sadistic, cosmic joke.

He knew that he had to leave. That if he were to stay in that field, he would have risked those men coming back for more. Or even worse? That someone else would find him. That his mom’s lover would come across his battered body and—

No, Jax can’t think of him now.

And he tries to think of happier thoughts. Tries to remember the good old times from the circus. Breaking Gangle’s masks…throwing Zooble’s head at the gloink queen, unleashing that fudge monster onto the denizens of the Candy Canyon Kingdom.

It was nothing more than mindless, silly fun.

Just the mere thought of it all leaves Jax with a hollow feeling in his chest. Nothing in that circus felt real. All of that fun, all of that joy he shared with…with Ribbit, it was nothing more than mere frivolity. Nothing there ever amounted to everything. Zooble’s still pissed off at him for his lackadaisical antics, sure, but they moved along with their lives. Everyone else did, except for him.

Being in that circus wasn’t exactly ‘living,’ but Jax can’t exactly say residing in the real world is any better.

And…Jax supposes nothing good will come out of crashing on Zooble’s couch like some sad, lonely stray that they took pity on. His head hurts. It feels as if there’s a hammer wildly pounding into his skull, but even this pain pales in-comparison to everything else. And it’s easy enough to ignore, even if it has him seeing stars.

But just one quick glance at his phone is enough for Jax to think that perhaps this one time, fate has taken pity on him. It’s six in the morning on a Saturday, so unless Zooble’s even more of a freak than they already are, they’re definitely asleep.

Jax has always been stealthy [Okay, that’s actually nothing more than a fucking lie]. All he has to do is pick up his bag and—

Immediately, Jax falls silent as his gaze flickers towards the ground.

And all at once, his face feels hot as he finds a dopey, smiley-looking frog staring up at him from the floor. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except that he’s not in the privacy of his own home. It was already pathetic enough to cling onto this frog in the hospital, but at least no one there personally knew him.

But Zooble, on the otherhand? They’d never live this down.

Luckily for Jax, this will be the last time he ever sees them. Alive, that is. Because if there’s an afterlife…if there’s hell, Zooble is sure going to follow soon enough. They’re too much of a prick to end up in the pearly gates.

If Jax wasn’t hard pressed for time, he’d probably bash his head against the wall. But instead, he quickly picks up the stuffed frog. Or rather, he attempts to. Jax lets out a sharp gasp as sheer, radiating heat stabs into his bandaged arms. Jax tenses up, desperately trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible as he massages his aching wrist.

He lingers there for another moment, but eventually, the stabbing ache in his arms becomes just slightly more bearable. With much haste, Jax stuffs the frog plushie into his bag and quickly walks away from the couch…

Only for him to stop dead in his tracks as he passes right by the kitchen.

Jax closes his eyes for a moment, half-certain that his stress-addled mind is merely playing tricks on him. But when he opens his eyes again, it’s to the sight of Zooble happily munching on a slice of pizza in their kitchen. Headphones worn over their head. Dressed in a band tank top and shorts, elbows resting against the counter.

And like, it’s their apartment. So of course they’d be eating, but……

Zooble shoots a bored look at Jax, before beckoning over to a pizza box situated on the counter. “Help yourself.”

“It’s…six in the morning,” Jax says, unable to do anything but stare at Zooble in sheer and utter disbelief.

Rolling their eyes, Zooble huffs, “Well, glad to see you slept off that hangover.” And Jax can see the slightest hint of worry in their gaze, clearly thinking about the events of the previous night…and how Jax had left the bar with that man. But instead, all that Zooble says is, “I skipped out on dinner last night. Sue me.”

Under normal circumstances, Jax would gladly use this as a free opportunity to piss Zooble off. But nothing about this is normal. He never thought of Zooble as some bourgeoisie weirdo, but again, they’re eating a whole fucking pizza box at six in the morning on a fucking Saturday…and it’s not even frozen.

He was supposed to make his grand escape, but—

This is just too fucking weird. He’s gotta see what else Zooble does in their natural habitat.

And-so, Jax finds himself sitting in a cramped kitchen with Zooble of all people at the crack of dawn. He definitely must have died, because everything about this? Yeah, it’s not normal.

“Where’s the pineapple?” Jax asks as he makes do on his promise from the previous evening and pokes the back of Zooble’s head with a straw.

“Uhhh, you must be joking,” Zooble retorts, with a mouthful of pepperoni pizza.

Jax eyes the pizza box once more. He can’t recall the last time he’s eaten a full meal, and while having a full box of pizza at six in the fucking morning is weird as all hell, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t even the tiniest bit hungry. But it’s not exactly breakfast food, now is it?

“You people have no sense of taste,” Jax dramatically sighs as he takes the offered slice.

“Oh yeah, uh-huh, as if anyone could actually like pineapple on their pizza.”

“…Racist.”

Zooble merely shoots them a withering look. “You’re the one who said my people!!”

Shaking his head, Jax sighs once more. “First your people take our spices, and next, you try to impose your shitty taste of food on us. Absolutely horrible. My ancestors didn’t die in the war, only for their descendant to be subjected to such tyranny.”

And it looks so very much that Zooble wants to strangle him, but instead, all they ask is, “What war?”

“You know, the war. That war.”

“Everything that comes out of your mouth is fucking nonsense,” Zooble deadpans.

“Okay, you know what this is? Racism. I cannot stand here as you betray my people like this,” Jax says with a shit-eating grin, feeling almost…happy. And it’s jarring, but he almost feels like he’s back in the circus again.  But that’s exactly it.

Absolutely nothing here is real.

“Oh, for the love of—!!”

This isn’t where Jax is meant to be.

“Just eat the stupid fucking pizza, Jax!!” Zooble exclaims, before angrily tearing into their own slice.

And it looks good. Jax is hungry, but…he easily complies, bringing the pizza slice up to his own mouth—

“You’re so fucking tight. Let’s change things up, pretty boy.”

Jax refused to open his mouth, trying to cover his face, tried to bite off his tongue. They forced it open. Tears dripping down his eyes as a cock was shoved down his throat, as they took another photograph even of that.

He can’t do this.

It’s safe. He’s safe. Those men are no longer here with him, but their taste still lingers, and the memories of their touch had been excruciating, intoxicating. He needs to breathe.

His throat is constricted.

It hurts to breathe.

There’s something, pressed against his back. Jax feels as if his heart is going to burst, as if he’s going to drop dead. The pizza had tasted like nothing more than ash on his tongue. He barely even ate a single bite. He can’t…he can’t, not after they had—Not after he had taken their lengths into his mouth. Not after that. He can’t, not with Zooble here.

He can’t. It hurt to breathe back then.

As he was forced onto his front. On his hands and knees, until he fell down to his elbows. Forced to take them in his mouth, as his backside hurt. As it burned from how they rammed their cocks inside of him. As how he was reduced to nothing more than mere whimpers as he obeyed. As he played the part of their perfect, adorable slut.

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay,” a calm voice tells him, again and again. “You’ll be just fine, Jax…”

But they must be lying, because Jax know very well that nothing will ever be okay.

Not after all that he endured. Not after he let it all happen.

 He was shaking as one of those men, as one of his rapists had brought him to the end of the table.

Wrapping one arm around his bare waist, treating him as tenderly as a lover would as he laid him down on the table. And it was so gentle, so soft that Jax could have very well cried.

Seconds could have passed. Minutes, hours, but all Jax could focus on how good he felt as how he could no longer feel their touches on him. At how he was no longer forced to stand, no longer forced to bend over as they ravaged his insides. That he could just pretend it had all been a bad dream.

That he was merely taken to bed by a lover, and that when he awakens, this will all be nothing more than a pleasant memory.

But shame kicks in moments later, at how he can be aroused despite all of these men baring witness to his humiliation, when one of them reaches out, nails dragging painfully against his skin, before another one pinches his nipples hard, causing Jax to scream at the top of his lungs.

Throwing his head back, baring his throat, the entirety of his bare form, to his hardened member jumping at the attention they’re all showering upon him.

When he next comes to, he’s laying on the cold, tile ground. And adrenaline and fear and desire kicks in, as for a brief second that spans an eternity, he well and truly thinks that he’s back in the field. But he looks up, sees a concerned, horrified face staring down at him, and shame sinks in as the full gravity of his situation sinks in.

It was one thing for those men to strip him bare, to ravage his insides.

And it was another thing entirely when that nurse and her associates caught him naked in his room…at how she gleefully ‘played’ with him.

Jax never intended for anyone to know, let alone Zooble.

He dreads what Zooble will think of him after this. Though, he knows very well just how pathetic he truly was when Zooble stumbled into that scene…when they witnessed Jax whoring himself out as that man was trailing kisses down his throat. He reeked of alcohol, and it was…nice, comforting, to see that nothing had changed after all of these years.

Jax very much wanted to tear off his own skin.

Zooble falls silent for a moment. One hand pressed against their head, a look of pure, unadulterated grief flickering in their gaze. They open their mouth, before closing it. But much to Jax’s mortification, Zooble chooses to broach the subject…the very same one that Jax was so desperately hoping they’d just forget.

“Do…you want to talk about last night?” they hesitantly ask, gaze never wavering even once from Jax.

And to this, there’s nothing else that Jax can do except to weakly shake his head. “No.”

Zooble sits there right by Jax’s side. They hesitate for a moment, before gently clasping one hand over Jax’s. Immediately, Jax pulls away. And he does his best to ignore the worry and pity in Zooble’s eyes once more.

He loses track of how long he lays in Zooble’s kitchen, but before he knows it, the sun has fully risen. And Zooble hadn’t left his side even once.

It’s a kindness that Jax doesn’t deserve.

And he doesn’t even know what the point of any of this is…and he can’t understand just what, exactly, Zooble even gets out of any of this.

It’s awkward. It’s painful. Jax should maintain whatever dignity he has left. He should leave and spare himself the further humiliation, because clearly, there’s nothing remotely worse than this. Than having someone like Zooble pity him, even though there is absolutely nothing to be sad about. Not when Jax wanted all of that. And not when he eagerly kissed those men and bent over for them.

Not when he got so much out of that experience.

He never felt like that. Had never known he could feel that much.

As they tore into him. As they brutalized him, had painted his skin black and blue, Jax’s gaze wandered. He found himself staring up at an old iron cross nailed to the wall of the barn. And Jax wondered, then, if this was as ‘He’ intended. If this was fate, and it would be one thing if Jax was a woman. At least he could say that he was fulfilling his duty.

Jax was never all that religious.

If it was up to him, he’d never go to Sunday mass…especially after ‘that’ night. Not with all of the rumors, and not after the footage was distributed throughout town. Jax had…he’d seen it. Had come across photographs in his own home, in that man’s possession……

Tears dripping down his face, hands wrapped around his delicate throat, bruises and cuts and bite marks plastered all over his bare flesh…Jax had wondered what led to this, and how he had willingly sold himself for a quick, easy fuck. Being grabbed onto from all over, bare legs spread forcibly wide as he was made to look up at the camera.

He needs to make amends. He needs to beg for mom’s forgiveness. He needs to relive that night. He needs to see those men again and make everything right.

Their touch had been repulsive, but at least it was something. At least he could feel something.

Jax cried and cried and cried as he pumped his quivering member in full view of those men. As he desperately pulled at his cock, as he gave them all a free show as he writhed on the table. As they laughed and catcalled and wolf-whistled.

Zooble is talking to them. It’s probably nothing all that important. Jax wishes they’d leave him alone. All he wants is to sink into his memories. To go back to that town, to allow those men to ruin him once more. To defile him. For his torture to have had meaning. For all of this to make sense.

Lecherous faces hidden behind their cameras. Treating all of this as if it was some sort of punishment, as if it was their divine right to humiliate him…to teach him a lesson that he’d never forget.

All he wanted was for them to just kill him. But they didn’t. They refused. It was a sin to take the life of another human, even if his blood was impure, and even if his skin wasn’t as pale as theirs. Even if he was less than them…even though those men were his ‘betters.’

He was always too effeminate. It was only right that they showed him what it truly meant to be a woman, and what his duties would have entailed, had he been born as the opposite gender.

They took him, underneath that cross. Had tore and tore and tore into him as they spoke of hellfire and eternal damnation. Reeking of alcohol and tobacco smoke, but clearly still aware enough to fulfill their duties……

Jax drapes an arm over his eyes. Everything hurts. But it wasn’t all so bad. He’s talking, merely rambling nonsense. “It wasn’t all bad,” he says, unsure of whether he’s talking about his old life…those men, or something else, entirely.

“You should see how shameless you look naked and sprawled out all over my lap, pretty boy,” a man growled into his ear, arms latched around his bare waist as he thrusted his length inside of him.

“He was nice,” Jax murmurs. “When I was little, he used to give me piggyback rides. I couldn’t have been older than three or four, but…I remember, how I’d always tell him to raise me up higher…”

All he could focus on was the intensity of their cameras…at the light searing into his retinas. At their laughter as Jax was reduced to lustful moans. Disgusted and ashamed that he could enjoy this, after everything they put him through.

“I always thought he was nice…wish he didn’t have to go,” Jax tiredly says, voice barely above a whisper. “Mom’s boyfriends used to be so nice……”

Jax closed his eyes, throwing his head back against the man’s shoulder, crying out as they pumped him. As he begged, pleaded with them to stop, until his voice was reduced to nothing. Until all he could do was moan and  beg  for more like their own personal whore.

He hears Zooble speak, hears them ask, “Oh…is that so? He must have been a kind man.” Brief silence, followed by, “And your mom, is she…?”

Those men forced him to get up, his bare feet padding across the floorboards. Tears dripping down his face as they all laugh and joke amongst themselves as Jax nearly fell, as if he was forced to carry his own crucible, only to be caught from behind and pushed onto the ground. Crying, begging them to stop, to just kill him, only for his throat to hitch as they forced him in-front of a mirror.

“She’s still alive,” Jax tiredly responds.

Jax had stared at his reflection, refusing to believe the pitiful figure in the mirror was him. Battered, bruised, covered in scratches and bite marks and burns from their cigarette blunts—Unable to hide himself, unable to run away from what reality had forced upon himself as one of those men sauntered over, grabbing onto Jax’s face, forcing him to look directly at his reflection.

He chokes back sob. “I…I miss her…”

“You must be wondering why we’re doing all of this,” one of those men had said, voice deceptively kind as his eyes raked all over his bare form. “Well, it’s like I’ve told you before. I gave you ample warnings. Told you time and time again that someone of your standing does not belong here. But you ignored me, us…the will of god……”

There’s a surprised inflection in Zooble’s voice. “After we escaped from the circus, you never contacted her?”

“Remember your place, boy.”

He shakes his head again, “No.”

Jax had been unable to fight back, unwilling to fight back as they drag him over to the a metal grate on the ground, as he shrieked as cold metal pressed painfully against his bruised, lacerated flesh . As they tied up his wrists, as they positioned their cameras, as those men eagerly climb on top of him, tearing into him.

“Why…don’t you give her a call, Jax?”

Jax stared up at the barn ceiling. Counting the cracks in the splintered wood, trying something…anything, to distract himself from the reality of his situation. Helpless to do anything as he feels a heavy weight on top of him. Feels teeth tearing into his delicate flesh, cries out in agony as they thrust into him.

“I can’t. Not after what I did. Not after I hurt her,” he says, choking back a sob.

Crying, moaning, until he’s no longer able to even whimper or whine. Unable to make a sound. Tears dripping down his face as they shred his insides. As they all had their way with him. Taking their sweet time in making him hurt. In making him bleed.

All he wants is to make things right. “But I…I need to go back. Need to see mom again. Need to make amends…”

Jax came to screaming as he was rocked on a knee, as his nipples were mercilessly twisted, pinched, his own cock untouched as he moaned and writhed like a bitch in heat.

A hesitant voice. Followed by, “Are you sure?”

One of those men pressed their lips against his back. Kissing Jax as he caressed his front.

“Yes.”

He tries to cover his face, only for him to let go entirely as with a scream, he experienced his release. Jax cried endlessly as he still found himself aroused, unable to beg them to stop. Not wanting them to stop when he never felt this good.

But...he heard creaking footsteps. Harried footsteps, followed by a sharp gasp.

“XXXX!!?”

His eyes widened as he looked up, finding a startled gaze staring down at him. 

Horror-stricken, Jax weakly struggled, attempting to get them to stop, when his already sensitive nipples are pinched, when his aching length twitches. And with another scream, he spills his seed, before finding himself growing incredibly faint......

But before the last vestiges of his senses fade away, he hears laughter.

Jax openly weeps. Tears dripping down his face as he lays on one of those men’s laps. Stark naked, his shame entirely visible to his spectators as he moans and writhes. As he feels himself coming undone at the seams.

“Alright…if that’s what you want, I’ll help you return home.”

Chapter Text

Jax stares up at Zooble with tears in his eyes, looking at them as if they hung all of the stars in the sky…acting as if anything that Zooble just said or did was anything worthy of reverence. But as Zooble kneels by Jax’s side, noticing how just the slightest touch on his shoulder is enough to flinch as if he was scalded by hot water, Zooble feels as if they just signed his death certificate.

But that’s absurd, right? Jax said it himself! All he wants to do is make amends with his mother, and isn’t that understandable? Commendable, even, from an asshole like Jax.

“I’ll help you meet up with your mother,” Zooble says, not entirely sure if they’ll even be able to keep that promise. Zooble’s relationship with both of their parents was pretty decent, all things considered. But judging by how Jax only ever talked about his mother, they doubt his dad’s even in the picture anymore.

And it should be enough. That should be the end to all of this.

Jax should be back to being a complete, unrepentant bastard in no time flat. But as he lays on the ground. Sad, helpless, demure, Zooble isn’t quite sure about that.

He weakly tugs on Zooble’s hand, causing them to look down.

“Don’t tell Ragatha. Please, she can’t know about this,” Jax tearfully pleads, and isn’t that just the strangest thing Zooble’s ever seen? And that’s saying a lot, considering they lived in a virtual simulation that was ruled over by a pair of talking dentures for who even knows how many years…

“Why not?” Zooble quietly asks.

Jax hesitates for a moment, before he weakly responds, “You know what Ragatha’s relationship with her mother’s like.” Another pause. “Don’t want to make her jealous or anything,” he says with a forced laugh.

Zooble can recognize a bullshit lie from a mile away, but they hold back their tongue for now.

“I haven’t seen her in so long,” Jax softly murmurs.

“…Well, I sent my parents a card and some flowers last Christmas,” Zooble responds, if only to fill the awkward silence.

Jax weakly attempts to get up into a sitting position. And Zooble nearly helps, only to hold themselves back at the last minute, knowing fully well that Jax would only take it as an affront to his supposed masculinity. He wraps his arms…his bandaged arms, around his legs, before burying his face in his knees.

And now that he’s like this, Zooble can see the full extent of his injured arms. They’re entirely covered in bandages, and they suspect there must be more hidden underneath his shirt.

They’re already jumping to conclusions, each one more disagreeable than the last.

But…it’s not their place to pry into Jax’s life. To actually give a damn about him, but they can’t leave him here like this. Not after everything they both went through in that circus.

“Is it…” Jax hesitates for a brief moment, voice muffled. “Is it strange that I barely even remember what mom’s voice sounds like anymore?”

Zooble confusedly asks, “What?”

“Or what she looks like?” he tiredly mutters. “I’ve been told I look just like her, but even when I look in the mirror, I can’t see it.”

Why are you telling all of this to me now? Zooble wants to ask.

But instead, all they say is, “Well, you’re her son. Of course you’d look like her.”

“Hah, that’s a funny thing for you to say,” Jax casually responds, no real malice in his words.

Silence looms over them. Zooble tries to think of something, anything, to break the tension. “What was your mother like?” they ask, wondering if it’s too personal of a question for them to posit.

Jax doesn’t respond for several moments. But eventually, he raises his head—

Taking Zooble completely aback at just how dead he looks. At the dull, glassy look in his eyes as he looks at them…as if they’re looking through them. “She was just like any other mom out there,” Jax says, emotionless mask slipping ever so slightly, displaying just the barest hint of grief.

“Ahh…”

And again, Zooble tries to say something. But they’re not like Pomni. They can’t go all therapist on Jax, nor do they particularly want to. And they’re nowhere near as invested to lend Jax a shoulder to cry on, unlike Ragatha [Not that Jax would ever willingly cry on someone’s shoulder. Though, now Zooble’s starting to second guess that particularly assessment about him].

“—The fields.”

Zooble immediately turns their head towards Jax. Completely bewildered as they ask, “Come again?”

Jax closes his eyes. Taking a deep breath, before he whispers, “The fields…Mom found out. She knew…”

They look at him, utterly confused. But Jax doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“It was dark,” he says. Small, helpless, looking so very much like a frightened child. It’s…unnerving, seeing Jax like this. Hearing him speak like this, as if he wasn’t talking about himself. “It was cold. The corn…too many……”

Zooble’s throat hitches. “The…corn fields?”

Jax averts his gaze. He utters a hollow laugh. “I didn’t like it.”

And all Zooble can think about is that time. At the bar, when Jax had made up that bullshit backstory over having lung cancer…when he joked about growing meth with some random guy…a story that he directly ripped off from a show that Zooble already watched a dozen times over.

“Mom…she knew,” Jax’s voice cracks, grief sinking in.

Zooble had placed that corn cob onto the bleachers, thinking that it would be funny. And it was, considering what fucking loser is afraid of corn? Gangle certainly thought it was a riot, and for the longest time, they only thought of it as a weird quirk. Jax has always been impossible to read, so there was nothing deeper about it.

It’s not their fault.

They did nothing wrong.

“She knew…I tried to apologize, but she didn’t listen…” He’s just talking to himself, and Zooble has the suspicion that Jax doesn’t even notice where he is, or the company he’s with.

Though, their theory is soon disproved when Jax turns his gaze towards them. Wearing a saccharinely sweet smile on his face as he says, “You knew, right? That I didn’t like corn?”

And…Zooble should just let this go.

Jax isn’t in a good place. That much they can see. But this is…all they can think about is everything he put them all through. The insults, violence [Albeit, G-rated cartoon violence], and just…everything about him. He was a fucking asshole with absolutely no regard for anyone’s feelings except himself.

But…that was then and this is now. It’s nigh impossible for Zooble to see the connection from that shitty purple rabbit and this…scared, traumatized boy. They try to hold onto their anger, but all they see is…

“You knew, but you still did it……”

Zooble closes their eyes. They know what he’s trying to do…that he’s trying to push them away for whatever reason. It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, but they grew up with three younger siblings. This whole ‘guilt-tripping’ nonsense isn’t going to work on them.

“I always did hate the stuff…”

And again, they try to ignore him, but…it’s seven in the morning on a fucking Saturday. They’re running low on sleep, considering they barely got any shuteye after everything that transpired the previous evening.

“Jax…it’s just corn—”

“You forced me to wear a maid dress.”

Zooble’s eyes widen ever so slightly at the accusatory, deliriously happy tint to Jax’s voice. They immediately turn their gaze towards him, left completely stunned, baffled, worried, as Jax brightly smiles, “Both you and Gangle put everyone to a vote.”

And they try to say it was just…it was just a costume. It didn’t mean anything.

“Ah, so what you’re saying is that you’re a boy now? Is that it? Want to feel unique ? Think dressing like ‘that’ makes you special? Or is this tomboy act merely a ploy to gain attention from boys, XXXX?”

Zooble knew from a young age that they weren’t like the other girls. Or that they weren’t like the other boys.

“What? You’re not even going by XXXX anymore?”

That wasn’t their name.

“No need to be so dramatic. It’s just a name. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Look, Jax, I didn’t meant it—”

Jax sharply grins, a manic look in his eyes as he says, “You knew…you both knew I didn’t want to wear the dress. And you knew I didn’t like corn…”

And Zooble…they need to be the bigger person here. They grew up with three siblings, and they’ve heard much, much worse than this. But it’s…they don’t even know what more they can do for Jax. “Oh, it’s not like you were a saint, either,” Zooble hisses, unsure of whether they’re angered or aggrieved. “For fuck’s sake, Jax, all you ever did was act like a complete dick around Gangle…around all of us!”

Jax narrows his eyes. Accusatorily glaring at Zooble. “You knew, I…out of everyone, you of all people should have known……”

“It wasn’t my intention! I—”

He wraps his arms around his midsection. Still smiling as he whispers, “What you did…it was…” A sharp intake of breath. Jax raises his head, still smiling. “You wanted to humiliate me…you did humiliate me.”

And Zooble tries, they reach out…only for Jax to slap their hand away. A crazed, manic look in his eyes as he violently flinches. Looking so very much like a cornered animal as he desperately pleads, “Get away from me—!!”

Zooble reaches a hand out, “No, Jax, I was just trying to…”

Jax weakly gets up to his feet, only to immediately collapse to his knees. “Don’t…please, don’t touch me……”

Grief flickers in Zooble’s eyes. “Alright…alright, I won’t touch you…”

“Liar.”

Zooble feels as if the ground was pulled beneath their feet. “Jax, I promise you that I won’t—”

Only for their words to be completely cut off as Jax…as he laughs. A manic, hollow, broken laugh tears out of this throat. Tears falling down his face. Still smiling, still laughing despite his grief, despite the agony surely plaguing him as he repeats again and again, “That’s what they said…”

This…it’s all too much.

Zooble’s completely out of their element. It’s clear Jax isn’t doing well at all, and that’s the understatement of the century.

Finding Jax collapsed in the streets…bring him to the bar, only for him to nearly get abducted by a shady-ass man, and everything that’s happened this morning. They know Jax doesn’t want to go to the hospital, but if not, then their only option is Ragatha. And they do know Ragatha only has the best of intentions at heart, but Jax needs help. Professional help.

“Okay, alright, Jax…just stay there—”

Jax looks up at her. No longer laughing, but he’s still smiling. Zooble has never seen such a creepy, fucked up look in their life.

“Everything’s going to be just fine…”

Realization flickers in Jax’s eyes. “No, Zooble…you can’t.”

And Zooble shouldn’t outright say this, but they’re not like Ragatha. At the end of the day, this is still Jax’s choice. “Listen, Jax, you need help. Professional help—”

“You can’t.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t…” Zooble tiredly sighs. “Look, I can’t help you anymore. Not like this…”

“N—No……”

And Zooble actually wants to comfort him, but they have no idea what they’d even be able to do. Not when they’re so unequipped to deal with emotions and feelings. They already know what Jax did. The proof is etched all over his arms, even if Zooble can’t see his work from underneath his bandages.

They understand Ragatha’s worry to a distressing degree.

While Jax is a pain in the ass on most days, he doesn’t deserve this. All they want is for their dumbass rabbit back.

“It’ll be fine,” Zooble says, which only sends Jax entirely over the edge.

Nothing will ever be fine.

Jax weakly gets up onto his shaking legs. Panting heavily, one hand pressed over the countertop as he begs, as he outright pleads for Zooble to not send him back. “You can’t…” he whispers. “I won’t go back…I need to return home……”

---

It was a mistake for Jax to come all the way out here. To accept Zooble’s help, to sleep on their couch and…there’s no way in hell he’ll go back to that hospital. Not when he has so much that he needs to do…that he needs to apologize for. He needs to make amends with his mom for disgracing their family name.

He needs those men to finish what they started. It’s only in death that his life will finally have meaning…that all of his suffering to have had a purpose.

“Mom…please, I need to talk to her—”

It was cold. It was dark. The otherwise quiet evening was broken by his screams, by the racuorous laughter of those men as they tore and tore and tore into him.

“Jax, just…you need to calm down!!”

He thought this was it. That he finally going to die.

“I can’t go back to that hospital…”

“Hey, this slut sure is pretty, huh? Too pretty to keep only to ourselves…”

“There’s nothing more I can do…Jax, I’m sorry……”

“Mom, I’m sorry, just…please, let me explain!! I promise…I never intended, I never wanted those men to—”

Except, that was never true…he wanted it. He asked…no, he begged those men to…he wanted it. Nothing, he was nothing.

He had no one to blame except for himself.

---

Five years prior…

Immediately, Jax lets out a sharp gasp. Legs buckling as a hand reaches out and clamps around his member. As they forced him up to his feet, despite every part of him aching, despite him wanting nothing more than to cover himself up.

Jax bites his lip, desperately trying to not moan or worse? Beg for more as his erection is being palmed, as the other two men are eagerly watching him. As Jax instinctively bucks his cock into a large, calloused hand. As a searing heat pools in his stomach, shooting straight down to his groin.

He’s bent over. Pressing his forehead against a broad chest, while a large hand palms his quivering member.

And he tries. He desperately tries to remain silent, but his resolve is weakening. Jax could very well cry as his knees buckle. His cheeks flushed as his onlookers howl with laughter, as Jax sobs, tears dripping down his face.

“Doesn’t seem very right, keeping all of this fun to ourselves,” one of the men laughs, reaching over to Jax’s front and pinching his abused nipples, causing Jax to cry out in pain.

And he tries to speak, but no words come out. He squeezes his eyes shut, instinctively leaning into the touch. Repelled and yet somehow craving it…at how good this feels, as how he wants this—

At how he wants this night to be over. For these men to kill him, for all of this to stop feeling…for him to not want this……

“We’re not doing this for fun,” a gruff voice chuckles.

Despite himself, Jax looks up. Face flushed red with humiliation as a man leers down at him. But immediately, Jax’s eyes flutter shut as his cock is given a firm squeeze. And he’s left gasping for air. Simultaneously aroused and horrified.

His gaze flickers over to a glass bottle shattered on the ground. It tasted…it tasted good. The only kind thing those men did, even if it only left him wanting for more.

They forced ‘it’ down his throat. That purple liquid, their cocks—

Tears drip down his face, and he breathily moans as his member is squeezed, as they let go…as he no longer feels a hand in-between his legs.

Instead, one of those men is standing behind him. One hand pressed over his shoulder, before he’s presented over to his two other onlookers.

“Please…” Jax weakly pleads, tears pricking his eyes.

And he stands there, albeit barely…the only one entirely unclothed, as these men watch him with growing interest. Faces contorted into mirthless grins as Jax stands there with his head bowed low. Hands desperately trying to cover his shame, only for him to cry out as his hands are violently ripped away, leaving him completely bare.

“How much were you paid?”

Jax looks up at them, in-disbelief, mortified, as he tries to speak, only for him to scream as without warning, fingers wrap around his cock, nails digging painfully into the sensitive organ.

"This clearly isn't your first time. You must've done this before."

Jax tearfully whispers, "No..."

“Then you only agreed to do this because you wanted it?” a voice growls into his ear. And Jax sharply gasps as a hand makes its way to his hip, while another rubs circles around his inner thigh.

His eyes are half-lidded, breathing heavy. “No…” He cries out as his nipples are flicked. Shame taking over as his onlookers burst into laughter.

And despite the situation, despite how he’s been reduced to nothing more than a greedy slut, Jax finds himself enjoying this. His body betraying him as he bucks his cock into a cupped hand. As he’s being held onto from behind—

“Think the whore’s enjoying this a bit too much…”

Jax weakly shakes his head, while his abusers only watch with amusement.

“I find that hard to believe.”

No…this wasn’t…Jax never wanted this…any of it……

But he’s evidently lying to himself. And…this is where he was always meant to be. If he didn’t want this, then he should have tried harder. He should have fought them off, but his body clearly desires this. Wants this. Craves their touch, this abuse as he stands there. Held up, held from behind as he’s presented to the other two men.

Another sharp gasp tears out of his throat as his nipple is pinched, as a hand reaches in-between his thighs and spreads them apart. Though, much to his relief, much to his frustration, his abused cock is left untouched for now.

He heavily pants. Reduced to whimpers and lustful moans as he’s touched, prodded all over.

“Please, please, please…” Jax babbles on and on as his cock is vigorously pumped. As his nipples are being abused. As the men openly leer at him with lust, with desire. There’s a voice, whispering into his ear. Mocking him.

“You’re enjoying this…what a needy little slut you are,” an amused voice growls into his ear as he strokes Jax’s quivering member. And Jax can only stand there. Accepting the full brunt of their ‘affections.’ As he writhes and moans as those three men grope and leer at him. Intimately aware at how he must look like this. The only one in the nude, while his onlookers are completely clothed. Chest heaving, cock leaking as they poke and prod and ridicule him…

Reduced to nothing more than a cheap, easy slut at the complete mercy of these men.

And he thinks that this is the end of it. That his torments will finally end, that they’ll grow tired of him. That his mortification will dissipate as they tear into him. As they stab into him. Violating him, ruining his insides—

But their next words send ice in his veins.

A finger is pressed underneath his chin. Tilting his head up, forcing Jax to look up at a grinning face. He clenches his eyes shut as hot breath ghosts against his collarbone, but a firm hand wrapping around his cock forces him to open his eyes. Jax’s breathing is stilted. Tears dripping down his face as the man patronizingly pats his head.

He’s grinning, openly leering down at Jax as he laughs, “There’s no need to cry, boy…”

The others soon join in, “We’ll cure you of this…affliction, in no time……”

And he’s left with no time to prepare as he’s forced to walk…as they force him out of the corn field. Jax sobs, desperately trying to cover himself, searching aimlessly for anything, for any article of clothing, when his gaze flickers towards the ground—

Relief soon floods in as he sees his clothing on the ground. Scattered, rumpled up, but merely a little worse for wear.

He tries, desperately tries to free himself from those men. Relief flooding into his heart as he attempts to reach for a shirt—

Only for Jax to cry out, to protest as he’s grabbed from behind. Arms wrapping around his midsection as one of the men tramples all over his clothing. And Jax can…he’s tired. No longer able to cry, no longer able to scream as he’s barely able to stand. Numbly staring down at the ruined remnants of his clothes as the man saunters over to him.

“Don’t worry, slut,” the man chuckles, rubbing Jax’s bare shoulder. “You won’t need any clothes where you’re going…”

But all he feels is numb, numb, numb all over as he’s pushed out of the corn field. As the men laugh and joke amongst themselves, claiming him to have succumbed to degeneracy…to have seduced them. Corrupted them. Good, god-fearing, law abiding men. As he’s forced to walk out of the farm, bare feet padding against the ground.

One of them looks down, openly leering at him. “Hmm…don’t you think something here isn’t right?”

Jax supposes nothing about this is right. But all he feels is cold, numb.

“Animals should be crawling down on their hands and knees…”

Though, they don’t force him down onto his hands and knees. And they don’t force him to crawl for an entire mile. It should be a relief, but Jax feels nothing. But they stop him, force him to look out into a vast, empty road.

No cars in sight. Jax should feel relieved.

He feels nothing at all.

Not even when they threaten to parade him naked all over town. Not even when they present his nude body in-front of the road. Not when they force him to stand, nor when hands grope at him. Not when they stroke his cock, twist his nipples. Not when he feels lips press kisses against his back. Not when he’s exposed like this. At the complete mercy of these men.

Not when they say they’re doing this for him.

And he feels nothing when they liken him to a wild animal…that he’s corrupted them. That he’s defiled their souls.

He feels nothing.

They’re doing this for him. So that he can be accepted. So that god will forgive him.

But…it’s not possible. Something like him…with his tarnished, black blood. With his sullied body, with the countless sins he’s committed. He’s been to sermons. He knows what his role should be. And…this isn’t it. Men aren’t supposed to bed other men. He did this.

He did this.

Forced his desires onto these men. Forced them to take him like one would a woman.

He’ll never be forgiven. Not in life, and most certainly, not in death.

He failed the scriptures. Went against everything the church stands for.

Jax feels nothing.

They’re going to…they’ll defile him. Parade him around, for everyone to know just what he did to these men. And they’ll—

It’s no use.

Jax deserves this. It’s his fault for choosing to not fight back because he wanted this. Wanted their affections all to himself. Wanted them to satiate his lust, no matter how unnatural, no matter how sinful it may be…

His innate desire to bed other men. To be taken by them…to be underneath them.

Jax cries out as a hand wraps around his cock. As he’s being vigorously pumped, milked dry. As he throws his head back and cries and cries and cries…looking out at the empty highway, wondering when this will all end. Or if this road to nowhere will somehow become his salvation.

Chapter Text

Four years, seven months prior…

It’s been three weeks since Jax has woken up in an empty bed. Three weeks since he didn’t have to worry about finding where to sleep at night. Three weeks since he wasn’t bent over behind a truck at a rundown gasoline station, ass up in the air as he was getting rammed into by—

Who even gives a shit?

Jax scarcely remembers what he even had for dinner last night, let alone the last guy who fucked him [With the answer here being that he skipped dinner].

But that leaves him at this latest conundrum. It’s been three weeks since he crashed at this guy’s house, uhhh…Richard. He seems pretty nice all things considered, even if he’s something of an “annie-may” nerd, and don’t even get Jax started on Richard’s stupid fixation with cutesy frog slippers.

Anyway, Jax knows sooner or later that Richard’s good will is going to run out. And while Jax could just easily bail, he’s racked up too much of a debt. Momma raised no quitter.

It’s a darn shame that despite mom’s best efforts, he amounted to little more than a failure. An easy whore that was held down five months ago and……

The problem here is that Jax wracked up a debt. He hardly has any pennies to his name, considering his meager savings from working as a farmhand are all but depleted. Sleeping around and exchanging ‘services’ was his main way of getting by, but that’s not going to cut it here. Or rather, Richard seems to be the…shy, virginal type.

Jax has never given a single thought on how attractive a person could be.

That brunette man with the wolfish smile from the fields was very easy on the eyes. Jax went to school with him. Had seen that man, only a teenager at the time, walk around with girls on each arm. Jax always wondered what it would have felt like to be held by those strong arms.

He just never imagined it to happen in that way.

Held down from behind. Face pressed into the dirt. Tears dripping down his face as he was rammed into. All the while wondering if this was revenge. If this was his punishment for regarding that man in such an untoward way, even if he never acted on his desires until that point…and even if he only kept such unholy thoughts in his head.

Richard is merely a means to an end. Jax is just laying low, trying to figure out what to do with no education beyond his high school diploma, and no job experience aside from tending to farm animals and growing vegetables.

All he’s done is cook a few lousy meals for Richard. And sure, it was admittedly kind of cute whenever Richard’s emerald green eyes would light up at the sight of a home-cooked meal. Jax also imagines the way Richard tucks his blonde locks behind his ear while filling out paperwork is…endearing. And the way he randomly falls asleep in the strangest of places is somewhat funny, but—

Jax can’t ruin this. His perversions will corrupt him. Richard deserves better than him. He’ll marry a nice girl. Have two children, live in a house with a white picket fence. That sort of life is something Jax could never be a part of.

If Richard isn’t going to make the first move, then Jax has no choice but to be ‘forward.’ He hasn’t…being on top, it’s……

Jax saw the way Richard would look at him. Would study every curve and contour of his body, like those men had when they tore into him. When they refused him any article of clothing, had forced him to walk a mile to that barn. When they threatened to parade him all over town in the nude.

For the life of him, Jax cannot figure out how that was the one line they didn’t cross. Maybe it was pity, when Jax fell to his hands and knees. When he clung to their legs, begging them to spare him that one shame. Promising that he’d do anything that they asked…that he’d let them do anything and everything they wanted to him…

Jax has no other choice now. He can’t bear to leave Richard without clearing out this one debt. Unlike every man and woman Jax has encountered these last few months, it was only Richard who was decent company. That treated him as more than a convenient hole to vent his frustrations on.

He owes this to Richard.

“—You’ll never be forgiven…a child of sin. Everything that happened tonight was your doing. If you didn’t want this, you could have easily fought back…”

It won’t be six for another few hours, but then again, that’ll give Jax plenty of time to prepare.

“But then again, none of this counts. We’re not the ones who wanted this,” that brunette laughed as he bit Jax’s ear, as he reached over to Jax’s front and pinched his nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing Jax to howl in pain. Tears streaming down his face as lights shined on him. As he felt exposed, filthy…

He closes his eyes. It’s too early in the day to think about that night, no matter how much he misses it. The touch of those men, tearing into him. Violating him. Or that brunette with the rugged good looks, even though all Jax can think about was his laughter. The way he cupped his ass, had whispered the filthiest words into his ear as blinding lights seared into his eyes. As his associates pointed their cameras at him, taking his pictures…shooting a film.

Threatening to distribute them all over town, to reveal his shame. The sin that he just committed against god…the fact that he took three of his most devout followers and coerced them into degeneracy.

“A boy like you…with that pretty face? It would be enough to turn any man gay.”

Into sodomizing him.

---

Jax supposes there’s no point in putting any of this off now. He has a debt to fulfill, and…maybe it’ll be nice this time. Pleasant, even, since Richard doesn’t seem like the type who enjoys humiliating and degrading his sluts. He thinks of how to go about this. If he should ease Richard into this, before quickly discarding that idea. The last thing Jax wants is to get cold feet. He has a duty to fulfill.

“This is what you were made for…the role you were meant to fulfill……”

He could strip off his clothes and open the front door for Richard with a smile on his face. Or maybe he could wear nothing but an apron and serve him dinner that way—

For a brief moment, Jax considers a maid outfit, but…he grimaces. Quickly discarding that idea, and having no desire to partake in that again.

Richard would appreciate it if Jax called all of his friends to the apartment. If Jax stripped naked, sat on Richard’s lap, and gave everyone a free show to remember.. Except he’d find himself hesitant to proceed, which is when Richard would give him that sickeningly sweet purple liquid that those men had back in the fields.

Jax never figured out what it was. He never drank alcohol before, but maybe it was wine.

And he’ll sit there on Richard’s lap. Content, happy, as he willingly spreads his legs apart. As he lets Richard wrap his hands around his cock and pump him in full view of his friends. As Jax moans, cries, as he eagerly ruts his member into Richard’s hand. And it’ll be here that his life actually means something.

That he’ll feel complete. Whole. Happy.

Jax would be so content that he wouldn’t want any of the others to touch him. Only Richard. No one else…no one else. Jax will actually be happy with only having one partner for once. He won’t let anyone else fuck him. But if Richard wants it, he’ll allow them to. And maybe it’ll be enjoyable that way too. On his hands and knees in the middle of their cramped living room.

A cock ramming into his ass as Richard stays by his side. Gently caressing his exposed back. Reassuring Jax on a job well done…that Richard is proud of him. That there’s nothing innately wrong with Jax. That it’ll all be fine. That he’ll stay with Jax. That he’ll love him despite knowing all the sins Jax had committed……

Despite the fact that Jax allowed himself to be defiled by three men in that field where anyone could see. Out in that field, underneath the vast, evening sky. Where god was surely looking down on him with sorrow, with disappointment……

Immediately, Jax gasps. Tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he finds himself standing in the restroom, blankly staring at his reflection.

Richard doesn’t know anything.

Jax never told him. If he knew, he’d surely get angry. He’d strike Jax across the face, beat him black and blue. Maybe he’d actually find the idea of Jax being nothing more than ‘damaged goods’ titillating, and take him right then and there. Their doorway wide open. An invitation for anyone to watch or join in.

He closes his eyes for a moment. Pressing his forehead against the mirror, knowing fully well it’ll hurt less if he chooses to make the first move. And slowly, Jax opens his eyes. Wearing a pleasant smile—

Those men had called him sultry. Had said his screams were ‘dead sexy,’ that he was enjoying his punishment far too much, as they all eagerly sunk their teeth and cocks into him, as he arched his back and moaned and begged them for more.

A saccharinely sweet taste on his tongue, purple liquid dripping down the corner of his mouth, mixed with blood and white fluid……

And without hesitating, Jax reaches for his collar and undoes the first three buttons, before moving onto his suspenders. They’re not exactly the epitome of fashion, and he’d be remiss to say that…it wasn’t the most pleasant get-up in the city, but it was all he had. At the very least, he knows people find him attractive.

Richard certainly finds him attractive. But then again, Jax has seen his room. The weirdo collects far too many statues of cartoon frogs than is necessary.

It doesn’t matter. All he needs to do is shed off his clothes.

Maggots were crawling underneath his skin. He wanted to tear into his flesh. Sink his nails into muscle and bones. To rip himself apart.

When Jax next comes to, he’s completely bare as he exits the shower. As he pats himself dry with a towel, save for his water-logged hair, which clings to his face. Clothes scattered all over the ground in a haphazard heap. His throat hitches as he stares into the mirror. Both relieved and dismayed that his scars are barely visible, that the ‘affections’ of those men have nearly disappeared from his flesh, even though they constantly occupy his every waking dream and nightmare…

Torturing him, defiling him, making ‘love’ to him……

But…it’s been three weeks. Jax can’t present himself to Richard like this. He hasn’t been able to get ‘it’ up on his own. Not without an audience.

“Why don’t you give that cute little cock of yours a tug for us, pretty boy?”

Jax closed his eyes. Desperately wishing for those men to go away. Unable to do anything. Helpless as he reached down his front. Hands caressing his exposed stomach, causing him to shiver,, before reaching in-between his legs and wrapping his hands around his quivering member, much to his immense humiliation and the delight of his onlookers.

There’s no going past this.

He already got this far. And…Jax owes it to Richard. He willingly got naked for everyone else. Had allowed himself to be taken in a field, in countless parks…hell, even behind a pickup truck in a gasoline station. It wasn’t even in use anymore. The place was left abandoned, but it was a known gathering for anyone who wanted to get hooked up with drugs, women…anyone pretty.

Or…for the more ‘adventurous,’ who didn’t mind sharing with others.

At least Richard will offer him the privacy that he’s never deserved.

And with that thought in mind, Jax reaches down for his member—

Throwing his head back, clenching his eyes shut as he weakly paws at it. Unwilling to touch himself so soon. Not without preparation. Not without an audience, like when those men had deflowered him in the fields. When they recorded him in the barn. Or when Jax got down on his hands and knees in that gasoline station. Had allowed himself to be stripped bare as that truck driver rammed into him.

As Jax desperately tried to keep silent, only for curious passerby to wander over to him and watch…

He’d wanted it. Unlike with those men, Jax explicitly asked for this. He needed to feel something. Anything. And even the high of being discovered. Of being dicked down in that derelict gas station was better than nothing. He wrapped his legs around that truck driver. Jax never even learned his name. He barely even remembers his face, but there was no point to that.

Afterall, Jax was only doing this to feel a release. To finally be in control for once.

And he enjoyed it immensely. Every moment of it. Throwing his arms over that man’s shoulders as he grinded his dick against him. As he babbled nonsense, screaming out at the top of his lungs. Wanting this to never end.

Wanting to die. For the very act of this to kill him.

He was already going to hell, so Jax might as well enjoy every minute he has left.

But…it was…….

He never wanted to be taken this way. His first time should have been special, right?

It was getting too…too much. Too public. Jax weakly got up to his legs. Shaking, trembling all over. Heart beating a mile a minute. There weren’t too many people here. Only a handful. He barely even remembers. More than three, but less than ten. He didn’t bother to get dressed, wanting to continue this elsewhere. And that man helped him. Had scooped him up into his arms as Jax showered him with kisses.

“Never thought I’d meet a sexy little thing like you out here…” the man whispered into his ear, before gently letting Jax onto the ground.

Jax’s knees buckled, but a firm hand on his back kept him from falling.

This was exactly what he needed. A release.

He wanted to forget that night. He wanted to relive it. He needs this…needs to feel something.

And…he glances back. Cheeks flushed red as he looks at his meager audience. This was what he was made for. That night, when those men treated him like the Whore of Babylon …well, Jax is going to prove them right.

This is all that he ever amounted to.

All that he was made for.

It’s different this time. He wants this. Craves it like nicotine. Or wait, perhaps not. He needs this like oxygen.

“I…want you. Please, please, please…” Jax deliriously begged, before pulling his partner in for a kiss. It was chaotic, messy. Their teeth clacking painfully against each other. It wasn’t enough. He needed more. He craved more.

He pulls away.

Those men recorded him…had threatened to distribute it all over town. If they knew…if everyone saw…if mom saw, he just…he can’t. It doesn’t matter. At least this is on his own terms now.

At least he wants this.

Jax reaches in-between his legs. Touches himself like those men taught him how. Reaches for his member and strokes it. Feeling himself so close to a release, when—

“Don’t you think you came more than enough for one evening?”

Jax blankly stares up at him, not entirely processing anything. With a smirk, his partner slaps his dick, hard, eliciting a pained shriek from Jax. This…this  was  what Jax wanted all along, right? He wanted it rough. It’s the only way he’ll feel anything…the only way that he’ll feel remotely loved.

He truly wanted to feel as if he was owned by this man. He tries to get up, but every part of him feels weak and boneless.

And it…it hurts. He’s never felt this good.

Not even in that field, when he was taken from behind. On his back, on his front. Not even when two cocks were shoved into him at once, not when he was made to take them in his mouth—

He’s desperate. Desperate, needy, wanting.

But…there’s a pressure building up in his stomach. A firm pressure in his lower half, and Jax screams as he feels something cold and constrictive wrap around his aching member. He looks down, staring in disbelief, in shame, as his cock was shoved into a metal ring.

He never…he turns his head back at the man. At his partner. Tears dripping down his face as he begs for a release…to come. To—

And Jax loses track of the time.

Again and again he’s filled up. The man pulls away every so often. Asks him if he still wants this. Asks if he remembers the safeword. But Jax isn’t…he’s not a quitter. He wants to feel something. He wants that night to have had a purpose…a meaning.

And he feels a hand wrap around his member. Feels himself being stroked as he looks up at his onlookers. As he wonders why this doesn’t feel like that night…

Wonders why he feels just as bad—

And he cries out. Falling down onto his elbows as his cock is vigorously pumped. Crying, screaming, shouting, when he’s so, so, so close…

Only for his vision to black out as a finger is placed over his tip.

---

When Jax awakens the next morning, he at first doesn’t know where he’s at. He stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Vision slowly coming into focus, before the events from the evening return, threatening to overtake him entirely. His eyes tear up, but he dares not cry. Afterall, he wanted it.

He specifically went to that gasoline station, knowing fully well what it meant for him. The types of ‘services’ he’d be offering.

And…when he turns around, it’s to that same man from the previous evening. The one who took him in that crowd. Jax doesn’t remember what happened after that moment. After that ring was shoved onto his cock…after he passed out—

Wait.

He unfurls the covers, discovering that he’s still naked. But that’s to be expected. They discussed this beforehand, and Jax asked for this. Had asked to remain…like this. Unclothed. Vulnerable. Nothing more than a whore.

“No…just be thankful you’re not crawling down on your hands and knees. Sluts like you don’t deserve clothing.”

This man is different. He’s nothing like those men from the fields.

And when Jax looks over to his partner, he’s…shirtless. Still wearing trousers, and Jax supposes that he was dressed before coming to this motel. Or maybe not. Jax doesn’t know. He doesn’t care.

He just wants to feel something.

Jax doesn’t know how long he lays there. The feeling of cheap motel sheets on his bare skin is…uncomfortable. And the bed is far too soft. But he lays there. Unwilling and unable to get up.

He doesn’t know how long he lays there when his partner slowly wakes up.

There’s a broad grin on his face.

Jax returns his smile.

The blanket is unfurled, and Jox resists the urge to hide himself. Merely smiling as eyes rake over his bare form, before an arm wraps around his waist and pulls him in close. Jax tries not to cringe as the rough texture of his partner’s trousers rub against his sensitive skin.

Instead, he throws a leg over his partner’s clothed thigh. Baring the entirety of himself as he slowly, agonizingly grinds against him.

“What a beautiful sight to wake up to,” his partner laughs, softly kissing his shoulder.

Jax merely smiles. Pleasant, lovely, fake.

Is this love?

It must be. His mom had a whole string of lovers. Each one lasting much less than the others. There was a word for women like her. Jax heard about it in church, at school. Heard the whispered rumors, heard people comparing him to her.

Those men said they were cut from the same cloth.

Afterall, there wasn’t any other way an unwed woman like her could earn her keep.

Especially one that was…exotic and foreign and ‘desirable.’

Jax has often been told he was a dead ringer for his mother.

It was what those men called him as they took him in the fields. Smelling of alcohol and tobacco smoke as they pinned him to the ground. As they choked him. Suffocated him.

“You’re so good to me,” his partner says, tenderly wrapping Jax up into an embrace.

This must be love, Jax thinks.

It must be love.

Chapter Text

It’s unforgivable how he’s still alive, that he’s merely living on borrowed time. This must be my punishment, Jax supposes, because it’s inconceivable how he managed to live past that harrowing night…the single evening where his entire life came crashing down five years ago. And it’s unfathomable how he managed to escape from this circus. Alive and whole but far from alright. Unable to do anything except rely on Zooble’s pity.

And it’s fucked, how his life came to this.

Helpless to do anything on his own. Merely relying on the ‘good will’ of others, except, that’s just another fucking lie. Everyone has their price. And what Jax can’t give monetarily can be provided in other ways…but they know for dead certain that Zooble would never want that for them.

So, that means everything’s good, right?

But even-so, despite Jax knowing Zooble would never take advantage of him in that way, his innate wiring screaming at him to run, to hide, to flee, reverberate within his skull. Zooble reaches out to him, clearly about to touch him—

Like how those men from the fields had touched him. Ravaged his skin, littered bite marks on his legs, arms, throat, anywhere they could sink their teeth into.

“Don’t touch me!!” Jax clenches his eyes shut as he slaps Zooble’s hand away, before wrapping his arms around his midsection. Trying to remind himself that it’s okay. That it’s safe…that Zooble won’t hurt him, even though a part of him wishes that they would…that they’ll ruin him. Stab him with a butcher knife, with anything they could find, if only to spare himself the trouble of returning to that town, himself.

And to spare him the humiliation he’d suffer at the hands of those men, if he were to return to them. On his hands and knees, begging them to just kill him, already.

Zooble immediately jumps back, horrified realization flickering within their eyes. But it’s gone in a matter of seconds. They don’t come closer, but they don’t leave, either. Instead, they kneel on the ground. Not breaking eye contact from Jax, treating him as if he was nothing more than a scared, wild animal.

“What a good little pet you are…”

Nothing about this sits right with Jax. Zooble shouldn’t be treating him like glass. They shouldn’t pity him like this.

Jax tries to speak, to demand them to drop the subject, to just let this go, but he can’t find his voice. It’s gone. Stolen away. Forcibly silenced, just like what those men did to him five years prior. He was always good at talking. It was one of his strong points, but these days, Jax doesn’t find much of a point in speaking. It’s all just so…exhausting.

Everything is tedious. He’s tired. All he wants to do is go home. To return to that town and let those men finish what they started. It’s the only way that his life…his death, all of the suffering he endured—

It’s the only way he’ll actually be worth something, and for his life to finally have meaning.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Zooble softly murmurs.

And at this, Jax merely levels an unimpressed look at them. “I know,” he sighs, long and suffering. You don’t have what it takes to kill me. Though, he keeps that part to himself. Not out of tact or consideration, but it’s just…everything about ‘this.’ About being alive, being cognizant, it’s so tedious.

I wish you’d hurt me.

All he wants is to feel something…

Wait, that’s it! Jax cranes his head to the left, eyes falling upon a digital clock. It’s…oh, 8:30 A.M. They’d both been in this kitchen for far longer than he realized. The day is still far from over. It’s honestly just begun, but that’s perfect! The best news he’s had all day, really. If Jax purchases a bus tickets for 9:00 A.M., he should make it back home in roughly two days.

Nevada to Iowa. It’s manageable enough, even if transportation there has never been all that good, per-say. Especially since he lived in the more rural part of Iowa.

With his mind now set, Jax attempts to get up. Even the cuts on his arms are no longer as excruciating with the knowledge that soon, none of this will even mean anything.

“Jax.”

He’s already got this plan all set. Those men…they wanted to punish him. To cure him of his afflictions of the body, mind, and soul. It’s why they chose to do everything they did that night. Jax was never all that religious, but he still remembers the scriptures. Recalls going to Sunday mass with mom. Back when she still saw him as something worthy of her time. Of someone worthy of love.

But that’s all in the past. He’s no longer that sad, scared five year old who clung to his mom’s skirt. It’s different now. He’s different now.

“Jax.”

Okay, alright. Jax just…it’s been a long since he’s been there. And while he’s still far from being a hotshot city boy, he’s admittedly gotten rather spoiled by everything modern technology has to offer. And he got used to having public transportation that was reliable 17% of the time…on a good day.

“Jax.”

He hears a voice, calling out to him. But everything’s faded, hazy. And it all barely registers in his mind as he turns his tired gaze over to Zooble.

“I said, I’ll help you go back home,” they say. Still keeping their voice soft and almost kind, even though Jax would much prefer for them to just scream at them. It’s all so…uncomfortable, seeing Zooble act like this.

“There’s no need. I’m just going to book a ticket, and I’ll leave you to your…err, whatever it is your people do,” Jax responds. Already expecting Zooble to heartily agree. Afterall, it’s not like they’re even friends. And the sooner Zooble is rid of deadweight like him, the better, right?

Zooble narrows their eyes, clearly insulted. “And what do you mean by that?”

Ah, good. Now there’s the Zooble that Jax has always…moderately tolerated.

He flippantly waves his hand in a disparaging manner, only to immediately grimace as the sudden action pulls at his stitches. But he blinks back his tears, desperately hoping Zooble didn’t notice. And with a bright, sunny smile that’s far too saccharinely sweet to be anything but genuine, he laughs, “Well, you know what I mean. Your people. Posers, hipsters, uhhh…scene kids?”

Crossing their arms, Zooble huffs, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, do you?”

Without missing a beat, Jax retorts, “I grew up on a farm. I know nothing of these new-fangled ideas that ‘your’ people know. I am but a simple country boy.”

“Can you stop fucking saying ‘my’ people!!?”

“…Hey, it’s not racist when I say it.”

“Oh, that is it,” Zooble angrily hisses. “I have had it up to fucking here, smartass. I’ve been trying to be nice, understanding, I know you’re going through some things, but that does not give you an excuse to treat me like complete shit in my own home.”

Jax falls silent for a moment, before sharply grinning. “It’s not your home, Zooble. We’re in an apartment.”

Zooble’s eye twitches in annoyance.

“Also, you kidnapped me and forced me in here against my will. It’s veeeeery different.”

“You fucking piece of sh…you know what? I’m done,” Zooble sighs, stepping over to the counter and taking a seat. They massage their temple, looking as if they could combust at any moment. “I don’t even know why I tried…why I thought you actually needed my help…”

Jax leans against the counter, hiding a wince as he brightly chirps, “And you thought wrong! Honestly, when you think about it, everything here was your fault.”

But…much to Jax’s surprise, Zooble doesn’t say anything. They rest one elbow against the countertop, pressing their cheek into their hand. Not even looking at Jax. Not acknowledging him—

Acting so very much like mom did, a few days after the fields, when the rumors circulated.

When the shame of knowing the sins her only son had committed proved to be too much for her to bear.

She never bothered to listen to his side of the story, no matter how much he pleaded for her forgiveness…no matter how much he cried, thinking back to that night. Unable to go anywhere in town without his mistakes following him. Unable to last an entire mass without his sins being made public.

It put a strain on their relationship. Mom hardly even talked to him before that night.

He could never get her attention. Nothing he did or said. Not until his sins proved to be too great. It was apparent she knew about the fields.

Afterall, her lover did know all about it to a shockingly accurate degree.

It was on his final night in town that Jax packed up his meager belongings into a single, threadbare bag and fled. After being corned, after being chased down in the fields mere days after the first attack. After he was pinned down and—

He doesn’t want nor desire Zooble’s pity.

“I mean, you never stop to consider how your actions take a toll on others, Zooble~!!” Jax chuckles. Leaning his weight against the wall, trying so very hard to not collapse onto the ground. To clutch at his mangled wrists and tear into them. To spill his blood onto the tiles. To sob and cry and beg forgiveness to mom…to a god he’s never believed in.

Zooble doesn’t look at him. They’re treating him like nothing.

Mom never paid attention to him. Her loved regarded him with a bit too much attention. But just once…only once, he wanted her to look at him. To comfort him about that night.

If she did, then maybe he would have stayed. If she did, then he wouldn’t have bled out on that cold, tile floor one week ago. If she did, he wouldn’t have gotten himself fucked behind that pickup truck, or allowed those people to record him at the gasoline station as he stripped himself bare and rutted against that man, begging him for more.

Wanting the hollow in his chest to be filled, for him to feel something…for him to finally die that night. Or to have woken up naked in countless motel rooms. Tangled up sheets with men he could never even remember.

Desperately trying to relive that night…to find a purpose. For him to be someone’s first and only. For him to be wanted, desired, even if it meant throwing away every part of himself. Even if it meant he had to play a certain role, to give himself up to carnal desires. All so that he’d feel wanted, feel loved—

To feel desired…for him to feel wanted…for his suffering to have had meaning.

Fate never intended for him to die that night, so that must mean he was kept alive for some greater purpose.

But Jax could never figure out what that purpose was.

“Tell me again, who was it that forced me to wear a maid dress?”

More times than he could count, he was made to wear attire that supposedly ‘accentuated’ his features. That aligned with certain ‘desires,’ all of which he never felt comfortable with entertaining.

But it was better than being stripped naked in a parking lot.

Then getting bent over in a cramped restroom at a bar….than being chased in the fields and pinned down as those men sought to enact the will of the lord on him.

Finally…finally, Zooble turns their gaze over to him. “Jax, for the last time, I’m……”

Jax hadn’t even been in his own body when he was forced into that dress. It was merely a costume. He looked nothing like his real self, but somehow, being made to wear that maid dress was no less violating than being stripped bare and fucked into the ground.

“I’m sorry.”

Wait…what.

No, no, no, no, no—

That’s not what Zooble was supposed to—That wasn’t what Jax wanted.

“I don’t need your pity,” Jax icily retorts. Just like how he didn’t need Ragatha’s apology when she brought up Ribbit, over how he had no friends. And…there was nothing to apologize for. Ribbit wasn’t his friend. Jax was never a true friend to him. If he was, then Ribbit would have never abstracted.

Ribbit would be alive if it weren’t for him.

Zooble sighs once more. And they look as if they’re on the verge of developing a migraine as they exasperatedly continue on. “Look, don’t get me wrong. You’re the biggest asshole I know. You were a piece of shit in the circus, and you’re only marginally better nowadays, but you’re still a dumbass. And I wonder how an idiot like you even remembers to fucking breathe. To be quite frank, I want to kill you on most days, but I know being made to wear…things that you’re uncomfortable with isn’t okay. It was wrong of me……”

“That’s not…just, shut up!!” Jax exclaims. “Shut up, shut up, shut up…” he repeats over and over again like a broken record. “I don’t need to hear this from you! How dare…you don’t just get to apologize and pretend like nothing’s happened!!”

“Jax, something did happen—”

He’s vehemently shaking his head, just wishing for Zooble to drop this subject. For literally anything to… just, oh, he doesn’t even know.

Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing ever made sense. Not since that night in fields.

“Yesterday night, at the bar…Jax, you were intoxicated.”

“It’s my life,” Jax retorts.

“If it wasn’t for my coworker, I wouldn’t have gotten to you in time,” Zooble tiredly responds. “Only a few minutes, and that man would have……”

“But nothing did happen!!” Jax cannot believe the nonsense Zooble’s spouting. Why, they sound no better than Ragatha.

“His tongue was shoved down your throat.”

Jax angrily glares at them. “It’s a free country.”

“You couldn’t consent,” Zooble insists. “Not when you were flat-out drunk. That man got you drunk and intentionally dragged you to that alleyway…”

“Only because I wanted it!!!”

All that registers in Jax’s ears is static. And he feels a pressure around his wrists, feels hands digging painfully into his bandages…as if he’s being held down. As if he’s back in the field again, in the barn, as he was thrown onto that metal grate and……

“You did not want that,” Zooble lowly hisses. Halfway torn between anger and grief as they wrap their hands painfully around his bandaged wrists. “Jax, look at this,” they hiss, forcing Jax to look down at his injured wrists. “I don’t know what happened to you, but this? It’s not okay. You’re not okay.”

And he tries to sound affronted as he retorts, “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Jax..you’re injured. You shouldn’t have been drinking at all. Especially a lightweight like you.”

Offense crosses Jax’s features. “I’m not a lightweight.”

Looking as if they could tear out their own hair in frustration, Zooble raises their voice. Angry, worried, scared. “He almost assaulted…no, he did assault you—!!”

Jax returns Zooble’s gaze. Numb, tired, so fucking done with this all.

“It wasn’t assault,” Jax numbly murmurs.

Zooble’s grip on his wrists tightens, eliciting a pained cry from Jax. “It was…it was. Jax, you need help. More than I or Ragatha or even Pomni can give you!” And with their point now made, Zooble releases Jax’s wrists.

Jax falls back, leaning against the wall. Eyes glassy and dazed as he clutches his bandaged wrist in one hand. Panting heavily, dark spots flickering into his vision. His heart is hammering wildly in his chest, and it feels as if he’s running on adrenaline. It hurts…it really fucking hurts. He squeezes his eyes shut. Gritting his teeth as he desperately clings to his injured wrist.

But it’s…it’s impossible. It feels as if white hot knives are being stabbed into his wrists, into his arms. Though, he doesn’t collapse. Not here, not now. Not when Zooble is right here…watching him, pitying him.

Their voice is soft, guilt-ridden as they dig the final knife into the wound. “Jax…I know you want to go to your hometown on your own. But you can’t. Not in this condition…...”

He tries to speak, but no words come out.

Instead, his eyes feel as if they’re burning, and there’s something wet falling down his cheek. Jax does his best to not dwell on this. But he finds himself slipping, and when he next comes to, he’s laying on the ground. Zooble stands over them, looking at him with pity…with guilt.

But they don’t apologize, which is quite alright with Jax. More than alright, really. He can’t take another apology coming from them.

“It’s understandable that you want to see your mom,” Zooble says. “No matter what you may have done to her, I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

No…no she won’t. Not after Jax gave into temptation. Not after he seduced those men and coerced them all into having their way with him. Not after he then turned around and seduced her lover.

“You’ll be able to go home. You’ll be able to make amends with her, but you need to get better first…”

Jax rolls over onto his back, before draping an arm over his weary eyes. “I can’t…I need to see her now.”

Silence. Followed by, “Alright…alright, but you can’t go there alone.”

“But I need to…” I need to right my wrongs. I need to ensure that those men take their time. That they finish what they started…that I’ll never be able to leave that town outside of a body bag.

“Jax, if I didn’t get to that alleyway in time, that man would have…”

Zooble’s voice tapers off.

“What that man did, it wasn’t assault.” Jax’s throat hitches. “And it definitely wasn’t rape.”

It wasn’t rape, what those men in the fields did. And it didn’t count as rape when Jax stripped down in that parking lot. When he was taken from behind in public. Panting, moaning, begging him for more…hoping that by the end of that night, he’d end up dead.

When Jax looks up, it’s to Zooble standing over him.

Those men had towered over him. Laughing at him. Degraded him as they aimed a harsh kick at his rib cage, his stomach. In-between his legs. Though, they made an effort to avoid his face.

“That man…he could have……” Zooble’s voice is soft, barely audible. “You could have died.”

Jax averts his eyes. All he feels is cold, tired, numb.

“Then you should have let me die.”

Chapter Text

It hurts. It’s cold. It’s dark. He’s still in the fields, screaming, crying, begging for them to stop…to make this end. For nothing to hurt as they tear and tear and tear into him. Unable to make any of this stop on his own. Unable and unwilling as they…as those men had……

 Why oh why why why why why can’t they just kill him already?

No matter what he willingly put himself through, the humiliation he endured, those men still refused to kill him by the end of the night. Afterall, what would the point have been in punishing something like Jax, if he were to die immediately after? He needed to live with the shame, needed to reflect on all of the sins he’d committed up to that point.

It was his fault. Every single fucking thing that night in the fields. It was why mom no longer regarded him with any amount of kindness. It was why those men had seen him as something to be lusted over.

And it was why mom’s lover soon turned his sights towards him.

A part of Jax still wonders if he’s in the fields. If he never lived past that night, and he’s in hell, forced to relive this one moment in his life over and over for the rest of eternity.

He never wanted to die. Not until that night, at least. The very same evening in-which in his entire life came crashing down. There’s no going back to before. Not after what he did. Not after he disgraced himself, not after he betrayed his mom. Not after he broke that one taboo. Not after he went against the wishes of god and coerced those men into having sex with him.

There’s no going back.

Jax can’t live. Not like this. Not when Zooble knows what he did, because surely, surely, anyone can tell just by looking at him. He fornicated with other men, allowed them to sodomize him. It’s why he left. He couldn’t accept any further punishment back home. Couldn’t grin and bear with it, even though he deserved every single moment of his mortification.

He needed to pay penance, but even that much, Jax couldn’t bring himself to do.

Zooble knows.

Jax can’t do this.

And again, he quietly murmurs, “Why oh why couldn’t they have just killed me…?”

There’s an audible gasp to his left. Jax buries his face in his hands, no longer able to stop his tears from falling. Uncaring if Zooble heard him…if they heard everything. He can’t tell if he’s speaking, or if all of this was in his head. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t fucking care. It’s appalling, unforgivable, as to how he’s still alive.

But he thinks back to the previous evening at the bar, when salvation arrived in the form of a smooth talker promising him sweet nothings. Had given him alcohol, which blessedly lowered his inhibitions and dulled the pain. Jax hung onto that man’s every word. Clinging to that man’s arm as he stumbled out of the bar.

Jax could have been saved that night. Afterall, that man was exactly what he needed.

If Jax played his cards right…if he pushed the right buttons, if he ‘put out’ and gave that man exactly what he wanted, then maybe, just maybe, he could have returned the favor and killed Jax.

He doesn’t understand what any of this had to do with Zooble, but a surge of anger wells up in his heart at the thought of all of this being Zooble’s fault.

At how they’re still alive, even though he shouldn’t be. Even though it would be far, far better for something like him to die.

But when Zooble speaks, Jax is reminded of shattered glass.

“Jax…who are they?” A slight intake of breath, sounding suspiciously like a startled cry. “You said that I should have let you die…” Another brief pause, followed by, “You said that ‘they’ should have killed you……?”

It doesn’t matter.

He looks up at Zooble. And Jax can’t even tell if he’s smiling, if he’s crying or something else entirely. But he just stares at them. Numb, tired, dead, and he wonders what would’ve happened to his corpse if he was killed in that corn field. He supposes those men would have just left him there. Bloodied, broken, painting the ground with crimson. Or maybe they would have doused his corpses in kerosene and set him aflame, or use acid to get rid of any trace of him.

Nothing matters. Not anymore.

Jax shouldn’t have lived. Something like him should have never been born.

“—Doesn’t matter…” he tiredly sighs.

Silence immediately falls over them, save for the distant sound of passing vehicles. It must be close to 9 A.M. by now. Looks like Jax already missed the 9 A.M. bus, but if he pulls himself together, he should still make it back home in roughly two days.

All of his problems would be solved if he were to return home…if he were to beg for mom’s forgiveness…if he were to seek out those men and hand himself over to them. To allow them to finish what they started……

Zooble’s voice suddenly breaks the otherwise still silence. “It does matter…”

Jax doesn’t bother to even regard them. Doesn’t bother to acknowledge that they’re even here. All he wants is to tear at his own skin, to watch as his blood drips down from his abused wrists. He bled so prettily just last week.

“Look at how prettily he blushes…”

He begged them to kill him. Tried to cover his face, to at least provide himself with that one measly comfort as they forced him to spread his legs, as they amused themselves with his body as he bled out on the ground. As he cried ‘prettily’ for them.

“But no matter how pretty you may be, a soul as tarnished as yours can never be saved……”

Jax desperately tried, but he was never able to forget that night, at how those men towered over him, looking so very much like death. But death would be a mercy after enduring this wretched night. Towering over him, holding an infernal contraption in his hands.

Forcing Jax to look up at the camera as he was split in two, torn apart from the inside out.

A heel, slamming against his bare shoulder. Holding him up.

Staring into lights, searing into his retinas.

His heart, hammering wildly in his chest. Threatening to stop beating entirely.

‘Click.’

Jax was unable to run off. To flee like the helpless rabbit, the sweet, loveable, adorable slut that he is as they held him up. Bleeding, filthy. No longer held the love of the only person who ever cared for him. Lost his dignity, his virginity, in the span of a single evening. Never regaining that which he’d lost…broken, ruined. Unclean.

He wishes…wishes, wishes that he could take back that night. That he could right his wrongs. But there’s no going back, and no possible way for him to properly repent for every sin that he committed in the fields. Though, his sins continued on far past that night, and there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he thinks back to countless nights after that first.

At the countless beds he’d jumped into, at how he willingly slept with anyone who even showed him the slightest bit of kindness. And he recalls those men…the other men he encountered after that night, and how it corrupted him. And he found himself simultaneously attracted to those men, but repulsed at himself for even harboring such unholy attractions to them.

Night after night, he sought them out. Anyone who could hopefully fill the hollow in his heart. Desperate to be someone’s first…to be someone’s last.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t find parts of his time on the roads enjoyable. There were some that he considered decent company. And he received more than a few offers to settle down, but it wasn’t quite the same. No matter how many men and women he slept with. No matter how many times he was forced onto his hands and knees. No matter how many times he was rammed into, no matter how many times he begged them for more…to stop, for them to never stop, he never felt better.

He was never to able fully replicate everything he endured on that one, singular night.

Those men had…they only meant to punish him. They knew of the wickedness in his heart, of his unholy desires. They were only doing what anyone would—

Jax lost track of the days, weeks, months since he left town.

He grew careless and didn’t think twice of following any man who offered him a free ride, a place to stay the night.

And he didn’t think twice to strip naked and slip into their beds.

Didn’t give it a single thought as phones and cameras were shoved into his face as he was left panting, moaning. As he was willingly complied, desperate for something, anything…to feel even remotely alive.

Jax doesn’t bother to get up. He lays on the ground, uncaring, unfeeling of anything as the coldness of the tiles seeps in through his shirt, nor does the sharp stabbing pain of his lacerated arms registers in his mind. “It doesn’t matter,” Jax numbly whispers.

He so very much wishes that Zooble could just drop this subject—

It was the only possible way he could be given even the slightest bit of control. To reclaim even a small portion of what was stolen from him that night. When he was held down, when those men had pushed him in-front of a camera.

Always beneath them, crying, begging, except when they had…just once, when they allowed him on top. When they pushed him onto one of their companions. Laughing and jeering as he was forced to plant his ass on-top of a cock, as he was made to spread his legs wide for their cameras.

Face flushed red as he bounced up and down, feeling far too exposed as his audience jeered and laughed at him.

His own cock left painfully neglected as searing lights were burned into his retinas. As he threw his head back and cried, horrified, embarrassed, distraught, shamed, and yet…despite all of the abuse and torture he suffered, his own body had betrayed him. And he found himself simultaneously aroused by the sensation, by the men surrounding him, by the warmth pooling in his lower half.

And he cried, moaned, screamed as he felt himself be filled up with that man’s seed, while his own needs were left neglected.

Jax often found himself wide awake at night, thinking back to the ‘fun’ those men had with him. And he wonders, dismayed, simultaneously aroused at the thought of that night. He wonders what became of the images, what became of the footage. And he wonders if those men still look back fondly on that night, when they made love to him.

When they forced his nude body in-front of the camera.

Forced him to touch himself, to bounce on their cocks, to take them in his mouth. Forced him down onto his hands and knees, filming his shame for their amusement.

And Jax wonders what they must think of him whenever they look back through those photographs with a fond smile on their faces. Or when they watch the videos, and how they went through the painstaking effort of filming every single part of him, all the while hiding themselves from frame—

So that they could only focus on him and no one else.

All of those photographs…all of the footage they took from that night, it was all leaked.

There’s no going back.

He should have fucking died, if only to spare him from living with the humiliation of everything he willingly put himself through that night to satiate his own lust.

Stumbling upon that game was both a blessing and a curse. Jax was somehow able to forget the very worst parts of his life in that simulation. He was able to play pretend, to delude himself into believing that make-believe land was all that life truly had to offer. A part of him wants to go back. It wasn’t much of a life back there, but it’s far more preferable to his fate in the real world.

Distantly, Jax can vaguely register Zooble talking to him. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing they can say or do will change anything.

He needs to return home. Needs to beg for mom’s forgiveness. Needs those men to kill him, no matter their methods, and no matter the torture that they’ll surely subject him to once more. But it’s fine. Despite everything, despite all that he suffered at their hands, a part of him desperately craves their touch, and the feeling of them inside of him. It was all horrific, painful, but…he felt alive. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something.

Jax doesn’t feel much of anything these days.

There’s a faint voice in the back of his head, screaming at him about how all of this is wrong, wrong, wrong. It sounds suspiciously like Ragatha, but Jax doesn’t dwell too deeply on the implications of that. And he hears Zooble speaking. He lifts his head slightly, only to find Zooble sitting on the counter and holding a phone in their hand.

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“I’m telling you, what he needs is……”

“Oh shit, you’re already here--!!?”

As if on cue, there’s a knock at the front door.

Zooble spares Jax a single, fleeting glance, before they hastily end their call and rush over to their front door with an uncharacteristic amount of urgency. The next few minutes are a blur, and Jax fids himself drifting in and out every so often. He doesn’t lose consciousness, persay, but his mind drifts, wanders, and it’s difficult for him to remember that he’s not in the circus, and that he’s no longer in the fields.

But eventually, he finds himself feeling dazed, tired, and his eyes are falling shut……

Except he’s not even offered that small comfort as he hears the sound of harried footsteps, as he hears a shrill, girlish voice cry out to him.

His heart is hammering wildly in his chest. Anxiety and dread clawing at him as he recognizes the sound of that voice. With much reluctance, he opens his eyes…and low and behold, Ragatha is right here. Kneeling by his side. Tears glistening in her eyes before she throws her arms around his waist and pulls him in for a tight hug.

Jax immediately cries out, desperately pushing against her, only for his arms to fall limply at his sides. He feels tears slipping down his face, but he’s too tired, too pained to fight back. He merely trembles in Ragatha’s arms. Unwilling and unable to return her embrace.

But much to his dismay, even after several seconds pass, she doesn’t let go.

He needs to grin and bear with this. He’s suffered through far worse, so having a fragile, delicate woman like her cling onto him shouldn’t hurt this much. But it does, and Jax’s own self-control is all but gone as he silently cries. Shoulders trembling, feeling delirious from blood loss, from pain, as Ragatha refuses to let him go.

“Hurts…” Jax gasps, unable to stifle his own voice.

Ragatha stiffens up at hearing this, but she refuses to let him go.

There are other people. Two people. Zooble and Pomni. Or rather, Jax hopes no one else is here with them. His gaze flickers over to Zooble. And despite knowing that he’s done nothing to earn Zooble’s good will, he can’t help but feel betrayed that Zooble sold him out like this.

Zooble opens their mouth, about to speak—

But Pomni immediately cuts them off. “It wasn’t Zooble,” she apologetically says. “Ragatha, well…she really wanted to see you……”

“I’m so, so, so glad you’re safe, sweetheart,” Ragatha murmurs, resting her head over his shoulder. “I really thought we lost you last week—”

“Please, don’t…” Jax outright begs. Not in-front of Zooble. Please, they can’t know…they can’t ever find out. Not in this way.

Ragatha lets out a hollow, lifeless laugh. “It’s your own fault, my dear.”

“It’s your own damn fault for being so fucking easy……”

“You need to consider the feelings of others more,” Ragatha whispers. Tenderly holding onto him, gently coddling him like a mother probably would. Though, Jax can’t exactly recall the last time his mom ever held him in her arms, or if she ever did. “If you had…if Pomni and I hadn’t gotten there in time, then think about how hurt she would have felt……”

Pomni’s eyes widen at this. Panic setting in, followed by tired resignation as she finally attempts to intervene and pry Ragatha away from him. “Raggie, let go. You’re hurting him…”

Ragatha doesn’t listen. Instead, she deepens her embrace, looking as if she could actually die if she were to break contact. “I can’t…Pomni, he was cold…there was so much blood.”

No, don’t……

“I thought we lost him,” Ragatha cries, tears dripping down onto Jax’s collar. “He’s only…he’s so young. He nearly died, and what would that say about me if I let him die!!?”

Zooble is the next to cut in. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but you need to give him some space.”

Ragatha shakes her head. Jax very much wishes that the ground could open up and swallow him whole this very instant. “I can’t. I gave him space, and look at what happened! He tried to…he nearly killed himself—”

Jax’s eyes widen at this, and panic sets in as he desperately tries to free himself from Ragatha’s embrace. “Stoooop……” Jax whines, tears dripping down his face. He doesn’t dare to look at Pomni, or goodness forbid, Zooble. This was what…this was exactly why he desperately tried to avoid her. She can’t. After everything he went through, she had to go and say this......

It takes additional effort from both Pomni and Zooble for Ragatha to finally let him go. And it’s only when they’re all situated on the couch—

Or rather, Jax is laying on the couch, a blanket draped over him, that Ragatha once again finds another way to break him in the most ‘kind’ way possible. She smiles down at him. Voice saccharinely sweet as she forces an excessive amount of cheer into her voice. “Guess who I just invited over?” Ragatha manically giggles, booping Jax on the nose.

From the corner of his peripheral vision, Jax catches sight of Zooble with an expression that screams, ‘WTF,’ while Pomni genuinely looks confused.

Jax is too tired to speak, to argue against Ragatha.

“I realized it’s been a whole entire year since we all escaped from the circus!” Ragatha exclaims with a bright smile. “Soooo, I decided to call Kinger and Gangle over for a party!”

“You did what!!?” Zooble and Pomni exclaim in-unison.

Pomni steps over to Ragatha’s side, looking on the verge of a panic attack. “We can’t have a party now, and…” There’s the briefest hint of grief in her voice as she asks, “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

Ragatha tilts her head as she looks at Pomni with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Because I wanted it to be a surprise, ya’ silly goose! Everything’s been sooo….blah, and well…” Ragatha casually gestures over in Jax’s direction. “Nothing cheers me up quite like good food and good company! Trust me, this is exactly what we all need!”

“Uhhhh…you do realize that Jax can’t…” Zooble cuts themselves off for a moment, before instead saying, “I’m not exactly a ‘party’ sort of person, and neither is Jax. Or Gangle.”

“Or me…” Pomni weakly joins in.

“Oh, nonsense,” Ragatha guffaws. “Everyone loves a good party! And don’t worry, this’ll be very fun. Trust me! It’ll be lowkey. Just a simple tea party between good friends, though I probably should’ve told Kinger and Gangle that the dress code is semi-formal.”

Zooble’s face blanches. “Shit…”

And Pomni appears to be going through the five stages of grief, before settling into thinly-veiled annoyance.

Ragatha turns her attention back towards Jax once more. “Luckily for you,” she says, patting him on the head, “You already have a pretty nice wardrobe! Your everyday wear is good, but you should just…” Ragatha gestures over to her own throat with a grimace on her face. “Maybe get rid of that purple neckerchief. It’s cute and all, but you look much more handsome without it!”

Jax tries to speak, only for his throat to close up as he devolves into coughing fits. Ragatha immediately jumps up to her feet and pats him on the back, while Pomni rushes over to the fridge to get him a glass of water.

“Why…?” is all that Jax can manage to choke out.

Ragatha merely offers him a smile. Pleasant, lovely, fake.

“It should be obvious by now, sweetheart!” Ragatha beams, before lowering her voice so that only he can hear. “You’re weak.” A sharp stab of pain digs into Jax’s heart. “Fragile.” Jax very much wants to protest, but…Ragatha cuts him off. “Pitiful.”

And she offers him another smile. Carding a hand through his hair as she says in that oh-so-cheerful voice of hers, “You’re a terribly troublesome boy, but I can’t help but worry for you!”

“Ragatha, you do realize that Jax isn’t a child…”

“I don’t think that’s what you should be saying—”

But Ragatha drowns out their words. All Jax can focus on is her. At her smile. At how she regards him with kindness, with warmth, with attention. But as much as he wanted attention, wanted for someone to notice him, this isn’t quite it. This wasn’t what he wanted.

“You’re terribly weak,” Ragatha sighs, as if scolding an unruly child. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll protect you.”

Chapter Text

Jax hated Ragatha the moment he first laid eyes on her. She was bubbly, cute, pretty. The epitome of perfection. Nothing more that a lovely porcelain doll. Whole, untarnished, completely oblivious to just how cruel the world was outside of her happy bubble. She would have been the kind of child his mom would have been proud of. A polished, pretty girl like her and a broken, defiled doll like him…he could never hope to even hold a candle up to her.

But…Ragatha was damaged just like him…just like everyone else in the circus. Though, for some unfathomable reason, she never gave up hope unlike him—

Unlike Ribbit.

She was just like those women that he’d met out on the roads. Pretty little things that could only smile and act coy, merely pretending to be kind, when clearly, they had ulterior motives.

Afterall, women are just as fucked in the head as men. Jax has always been an equal opportunity hater, and he detest women just as much as men.

There must be some sinister motive as to why Ragatha has refused to leave him be even after their escape from the circus last year.

It’s revenge. It has to be……

Ragatha refuses to leave him. She leans over the couch, smiling down at him with a dead, cold look in her eyes. But she reaches down, gently cards her hand through his hair in an almost comforting manner. She’s soft…warm, alive unlike him. He’s dying slowly, painfully. His body is decomposing while he’s still alive.

All he wants is for her to leave him be, but…there’s something about her that makes him almost want to give into this deluded, fucked up fantasy.

There’s a floral fragrance to her perfume. Her hair is immaculate, her hands uncallosed and unblemished, unlike something as undamaged, filthy, disgusting as him. Everything about her is polished like silver.

He can’t allow this. Can’t let someone so fucking perfect to touch something like him.

Afterall, she said it, herself.

“You’re weak.”

“What an obedient little slut you are...weak to even the slightest touch……”

“Fragile.”

Those men degraded him. Teased him, accusing him of being fragile as they pinned to the ground like a butterfly with torn wings. Rough, calloused hands grabbing onto his bare legs, spreading them wide apart. Fear tore straight through him as a lighter was held up to him, as radiating heat caused him to buck, to scream out in agony as a harsh, orange flame was held up to his perineum.

“Pitiful.”

It felt good as they tore into him, as they burned him, painted his battered flesh black and blue.

A part of him misses it. The feeling of their touch on his skin as he cried and cried and cried until his voice grew hoarse…until it felt as if his lungs had been shredded with a red hot knife.

He needs to go back…needs to make amends with mom for throwing away his life, the future she clearly wanted him to have, all because he was too weak and fragile and pitiful to fight back…to resist himself from falling into temptation. For seducing those men into defiling him that night.

And those men, the abuse they put him through. At least Jax knew exactly what they wanted as they tore into him.

 As he screamed as they increased the intensity of their thrusts. His arms pinned up over his head as hands gripped onto his pelvis, as he felt himself being torn apart, as he heard rather than felt a sickening crack in his pelvis as he screamed—

Jax looks up at Ragatha. Not quite sure of what to believe anymore. Ragatha’s kindness is fake. Surely, she’s playing the long game. If he were to close his eyes, maybe he’d be rewarded with a knife in his throat. But…Ragatha’s warm, soft, almost comforting in a detached sort of way. Though, that’s exactly the problem.

He can’t stay here. Can’t allow himself to be complacent with this undeserved kindness, no matter how false it might be.

“Raggie, I think that’s enough…” Pomni hesitantly says, attempting to pull away Ragatha from him.

Ragatha blinks. And she looks…stunned, confused, as her dissonant, serene smile fades away, only to be replaced by a bashful grin that appears to be just as forced. “Hm?” Ragatha asks, tilting her head as she gazes down at Pomni. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Could you please say that again, sweetheart?”

“I…just…well, I think that maybe we should give him a bit of…” Pomni’s eyes flicker over briefly to Jax, before she immediately pivots to instead saying, “What time do Kinger and Gangle get here?”

For a brief moment, Ragatha falls silent. There’s a dazed look in her eye, as if she’s not entirely there.

Jax resists the urge to bury himself underneath the covers. He made his grave, so he has no choice but to lay in it now. Jax can’t quite decipher the look in Ragatha’s eyes. But for a brief moment, he’s vaguely reminded of mom. At how he’d often find her staring off at nothing, as if seeing some unseen force. Or rather, as if she was looking right through him.

But it’s gone within a fraction of a millisecond, and Ragatha’s eye lights up in glee as she pulls out her phone. “Ooooh, that’s a great idea, my dear!” Ragatha exclaims a bit too cheerfully as she unlocks her phone. “Looks like I received some messages from Gangle…been quite a long time since we saw her, huh…?”

…Only for Ragatha’s features to blanch as a look of pure, unadulterated horror and dread to appear on her face.

Concerned, Pomni takes the phone from Ragatha. And she looks down, eyes widening ever so slightly before she quite literally chucks the phone at Zooble and runs out the front door…not even bothering to close it.

Zooble quirks one brow at this. Bewildered but ultimately not surprised, before turning their attention towards Ragatha’s phone.

“What the fuck.”

And without missing a beat, Zooble turns the screen around for Jax.

Yeah, okay…so, this is…actually, right. Jax gets it now.

Ragatha looks to be as if she’s going through the five stages of grief. Pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind her back as she incoherently murmurs something that suspiciously sounds like, “It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay…”

Zooble shoots her a concerned, worried look, while Jax resigns himself to staring up at the ceiling.

So much for catching the 9 A.M. bus.

“Look, Ragatha, it’s not the end of the world,” Zooble says in a soft voice. “I’ll call Gangle right now and get this all sorted out.”

Immediately, Ragatha stops pacing. Still smiling as she cheerfully exclaims, “Of course everything will be fine! I just need to help Kinger with his wardrobe. He already makes for a dignified figure…” But underneath her breath, she dazedly murmurs, “It’s certainly a choice, but wearing a black checkered suit jacket and neon blue swimming shorts printed with dolphins is…unique……”

It takes several moments, and Jax is almost content to just drift off into a dreamless slumber, when Pomni suddenly walks back into the room. Breathless, red in the face as she tries to wipe the shit-eating grin off of her face as she all but collapses onto the floor right by the couch. Pomni looks up at Jax, and…that’s all it takes for both of them to devolve into a fit of hysterics.

Or rather, Pomni’s losing her fucking mind as if this was the funniest shit she’s ever seen. And even Jax can’t help but offer her a faint smile, though it melts away as soon as Ragatha shoots a rather pointed glare in their direction.

Pomni, however, doesn’t seem entirely perturbed. “You do have to admit that outfit is very Kinger,” she chuckles.

Ragatha presses a palm against her cheek. A worried look in her eye as she sighs, “You don’t understand—Tea parties are no laughing matter!!!”

“Zooble…?” Gangle hesitantly asks, though her voice sounds static-y. She’s probably still on the road……

“Hey there, Gangle,” Zooble says, wearing a genuinely fond smile. “Ragatha, Pomni, and the idiot rabbit are here with me…”

“Rude…” Jax huffs underneath his breath, while Pomni quietly chuckles.

Gangle chirps, “Tell them all I said hi!!”

“—And also me,” Kinger cheerfully says, only for his voice to be cut off as Gangle shrilly screams, “Eyes on the road, eyes on the road!!!!”

Zooble waits for a moment for the commotion to die down, while Ragatha looks to be on the verge of pulling out her own hair in frustration. But eventually, Zooble hesitantly says, “So anyway, about those pictures you sent us…”

“Ragatha called me this morning,” Kinger’s voice calls out. “Oh, Gangle just asked to take the wheel. Sure thing! Just pulling over right now,” he casually explains. The sounds of a door opening and closing are muffled in the background, before he continues on, “We’re all going to have a tea party, so I wanted to look my absolute best!”

“And I agree. You’re very handsome, Kinger, but I forgot to mention that this party’s semi-formal,” Ragatha interjects. “I absolutely love your suit, but…ahem, the shorts are cute as well, but they’re not exactly…tea party attire……”

Confusion is interlaced in Kinger’s voice as he asks, “But aren’t we going to the beach?”

“…Ragatha said we’re having a tea party, Kinger,” Gangle gently says.

“Exactly! Everyone knows all tea parties are held on beaches. Ragatha really did choose the perfect day for a tea party. And just look at the sun! It’s so…bright, and beautiful……”

Gangle sighs, “Please don’t look at the sun.”

Ragatha takes a seat by the counter, flattening her dress as she sits prim and proper. A part of Jax wonders how she makes it all look so easy. “Where’re you two at right now?” Ragatha asks. “I could meet you both halfway, considering I’m planning to buy a new dress for the party.”

“Uhhh, let me just see…” Gangle’s voice tapers off. “Kinger, could you check?”

“We’re right by a drug store, ohh…there’s this really big, creepy looking mansion across from it.”

Ragatha’s features light up. “Ah, that must be Emerson Street!” But her expression becomes more subdued as she says, “Though, I have to keep an eye on Jax—”

“I can drive you there,” Zooble offers as she bites into a slice of cold pizza. Ragatha’s gaze flickers over to the box, but when Zooble nudges it over to her, Ragatha immediately averts her gaze. “Oh no, I really shouldn’t…” she says, though Jax is unsure as to whether Ragatha’s talking about the pizza or something else entirely……

“I’ll drive him home,” Pomni says. “No need to worry, Ragatha! We both have outfits.”

“Hmm, I’m really not sure about that…”

Pomni hesitates for a moment, wordlessly glaring at Jax, the threat made implicit, before she turns her attention back towards Ragatha. “I’ll wear that red dress you like so much—”

“Deal,” Ragatha automatically responds, while Zooble suddenly drops their pizza slice and devolves into a coughing fit.

---

It takes far more effort and help than Jax would be comfortable of admitting, but thanks to a certain four-eyed loser who barely reaches up to his shoulders when it comes to height, he’s back in his apartment for the first time in a week…which is what Jax would love to say. But alas, fate had different plans in store for him, so instead, he’s condemned to the cruel fate of being trapped in a pink living room filled with hundreds of plush dolls.

“This is hell. I’m literally in hell,” Jax vehemently hisses underneath his breath. He’s still on a fucking couch because some things never change, but after a glass of water and some pain killers, his headache subsided somewhat, and his wounded wrists are slightly bearable.

Pomni steps into the room holding a bowl of trail mix. Rolling her eyes as she retorts, “Dramatic much?”

“Kidnapped for the third time in one week…I deserve compensation for the emotional distress you’ve put me through,” Jax laments.

“…No one kidnapped you.”

“Racist.”

Without breaking eye contact, Pomni scoops up a handful of trail mix from the bowl and chucks it all straight at Jax.

“Ohhh, and a hate crime too? I’m suing.”

“Is that your response to everything? Racism?” Pomni quips, before she takes a seat beside Jax. Laying upside down, legs dangling over the head of the couch, while she balances the trail mix bowl in one arm. “If you’ve forgotten, I’m half-Vietnamese.”

“Yeah, but I…” Jax wracks at his head for a response, before quickly saying, “You’re just…really, really ugly.”

Pomni doesn’t even bother to dignify this with a response. Instead, she just throws another handful of trail mix at Jax’s head.

“I’m suing.”

“Right, right, sure you are…” Pomni rolls her eyes once more. “I sure did miss having a ray of sunshine like you back in my life again,” she says, before reaching over for the remote and turning on the TV. “Anyway, it’s been ages since we’ve had a movie night with just the two of us.”

“It’s 10:28 in the morning,” Jax retorts.

“Yeah, and so?” Pomni drawls.

“This isn’t a movie night. This is a movie morning.”

Pomni slowly turns her face away from the screen. “Riiiiight……”

“I’m sure this is a ploy or something. Uhhh, Ragatha and you are conspiring…” Jax’s voice tapers off. It’s so fucking hard to concentrate with dozens of beady-eyed stuffed animals staring at him, and what’s even going on with all of these shitty frilled doilies on the table?

“Conspiring to what?” Pomni huffs.

Yep. This is it. This is where Jax dies. “You dragged me off into a serial killer’s den, and you’re both planning to harvest my bones to cook into a stew!”

“Sure, that’s exactly what we’re planning to do,” Pomni deadpans. “Anyway, I was scrolling through Youtube the other week. Saw a trailer for this super old movie, and it reminded me of you.”

“You’ve gotta admit all of these stuffed bears must be really creepy at night…”

Pomni’s irritation flickers away briefly, and Jax is dead certain he isn’t imagining it when a haunted look crosses her face. But…his amusement soon melts away to frustration as on the screen is……

“Beverly Hills Chihuaha!!?” Jax exclaims, offense crossing his features. “How the hell does this remind you of me!!?”

Pomni shrugs. “I mean, just look at it.”

“I’m looking, despite how much I wish that I could just gouge my own eyes out.”

“Gouge your eyes out on your own time, buddy.”

“We’re not friends,” Jax retorts, with no real bite to his words.

The brunette woman smugly grins at him, before plucking out a single piece of trail mix and throwing it right at Jax’s head. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say…anyhow, I doubt we’ll make it to that tea party by noon, sooo……”

“I’m not watching Beverly Hills Chihuahua.”

“No one’s forcing you to watch it.”

Jax crosses his arms, only to slightly wince as the cold sensation of pins and needles digs into his wrists. “You’re not going to make me watch this garbage.”

“Again, I’m not forcing you to watch this.”

“I’m not watching this!!”

---

Jax somehow ended up watching the entire film, much to his dismay, while Pomni somehow managed to fall asleep in the first five minutes. Naturally, he hated every minute of it. Yeah, definitely, he most certainly did not enjoy a cheesy 2000s movie about talking dogs.

Anyhow, with the credits rolling, his gaze flickers over to Pomni. Sometime during the movie, she ended up using his lap as an impromptu pillow, because she’s always been that much of a bastard.

He doesn’t understand how anyone could see her as sweet, when she’s been a major pain in the ass ever since they left the circus.

With each passing day, he can definitely understand why Pomni enjoys urban exploration so much.

Jax looks down at her, wondering if he’d get arrested for first-degree murder if he smothered her face with a ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ embroidered throw pillow, or if he could plead momentary insanity. Either way, it’s been the first time in weeks since they got to hang out like this, and…has she always looked this tired? This frail? There’re bags underneath her eyes, and while Jax doesn’t feel guilt [Because none of this was his fault…all of it was his fault], he suspects that Pomni hasn’t gotten much sleep as of late.

Slowly, Pomni’s eyelashes flutter. And in a matter of seconds, she’s awake again. She groggily rubs at her eyes, and it takes another moment for her to acknowledge Jax. “Hey,” Pomni says, not bothering to get off of Jax’s lap.

“Sup,” Jax says, not bothering to push her off, either.

Silence falls between them. But it’s…comfortable, and not at all awkward, unlike the evening spent with Zooble, or everything that happened between him and Ragatha.

They don’t speak. And it’s completely silent, save for the music blaring from Pomni’s phone as she idly starts playing a puzzle game.

Jax takes this brief respite to look around and study their living room. And…in a weird, extremely ugly sort of way, it feels…homey, lived-in. It feels more like welcoming than his home with mom had been.

While the entire room is pink and looks like the fever-dream of a sugar addict on meth, there’s still some touches of Pomni’s own interests here and there. Tons of gaming guides are piled up on-top of a dresser, such as Call of Duty and so on and so forth. There’re a lot of ties and suit jackets hanging up on a coat rack, along with frilly hats and colorful shawls.

And hanging on the walls are a bunch of photographs featuring the entire circus gang. Though, Jax’s attention is drawn over to a picture of Pomni and Ragatha inside of a golden frame.

It’s…not quite as lovey-dovey as one would expect from a fairly new couple. But it feels intimate, somehow, even though it was just a stolen shot Gangle had taken of the two. It was December when Ragatha and all the rest decided to go sight-seeing.

Snow was gently drifting down from the Heavens, and Pomni and Ragatha were merely gazing out in the evening sky. Shoulders touching as they both didn’t say a word, instead comfortable to enjoy the evening together. Thankful that they were finally out of that simulation, and could finally live the rest of their lives together.

“How did you know that you liked Ragatha?” Jax murmurs, not entirely realizing that he’s even speaking out-loud.

Pomni shrugs, before going back to her game. “It just happened.”

Jax studies the other pictures on the wall, and…he wonders, what it must be like to find that other person who completes you.

Had he been better…if he didn’t allow himself to be defiled, for those men to…if he wasn’t so weak and delicate and pitiful, would Ribbit have stayed? Would Ribbit have never abstracted?

“Nothing just…happens,” Jax numbly mutters.

Ribbit died because of him.

Pomni looks up from her game. “Everything happens for a reason, Jax. Even if it seems pointless, things have a way of making sense in the end…”

“I…” Jax sighs. “How did you even know?”

And it takes another moment for him to find his voice, while Pomni patiently waits for him to continue. “How did you know that you liked women?”

Pomni opens her mouth, clearly about to say something stupid that would culminate with Jax making good on his unsaid threats of smothering her with a pillow. But she pauses again, before saying, “That’s the thing. I didn’t always know.”

Jax doesn’t respond, unsure of what he could even say to that.

“And it’s not like I can say that I fell for her at first sight, either,” Pomni continues on. “I mean, she was literally a rag doll, and I was this, uh…”

“Hideous freak of nature,” Jax can’t help but suggest.

Pomni rolls her eyes for quite literally the third time that day. “As I was saying, I didn’t know that I even liked women yet. Not that I gave a single crap about romance, considering I was a bit too preoccupied with not abstracting.”

“But…how did you know?” Jax asks. “And why Ragatha of all people…?”

“Hey, watch it,” Pomni half-heartedly warns. “That is my girlfriend you’re talking about.”

“Ragatha’s such an uptight, prissy, stick in the mud, though,” Jax says, not sounding nearly as offensive as he would have preferred. “And you’re, well…you also suck, but really? Her???”

Pomni merely glares at him, but her expression quickly fades away into one of complete and utter exhaustion. “It broke her…”

Jax wordlessly stares at Pomni, to-which the brunette woman sighs. “Last week, when we…when you had…” Pomni’s voice tapers off. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, clearly unsure of what to say. “There was a lot of blood,” Pomni shakily exhales. “And Ragatha had…she was the one who found you first……”

He shuddered as he took what should have been his final breath. Bleeding out on the cold, tile floor. Crimson dripping down from his mangled wrists, reminding him immensely of Gangle’s wrists…and he felt calm, serene, as he found himself drifting off. As his eyelids drooped, as the last vestiges of his sight slowly slipped away—

Only for searing pain to tear through his flesh, through his muscles and bones as he felt hands wrap around his wrists…as he heard two women, frantically pleading with him to not close his eyes.

As he vaguely caught sight of firey-red, as he saw Ragatha kneeling by his side. Blood seeping into her blue dress, onto her pale hands. Tears dripping down her face as she cried, as he apologized for some unfathomable reason.

Was it for Ribbit? Was she still stuck on that?

His vision was quickly receding, and something like guilt stabbed into his heart as Ragatha’s cries grew in intensity. As she refused to leave his side…until his body gave up on him and he passed out from the pain.

“I know that you and Ragatha haven’t always gotten along,” Pomni softly explains. “You were kind of…no, you were a huge dick in the circus. No offense, but you did uhh…well, you threw me out of a truck. I can’t really say that I’m not still a bit pissed off about that, but anyway…” She clears her throat, looking far too uncomfortable. “I also know Ragatha isn’t the best at this whole, well,” she vaguely gestures over at Jax.

“You’re gesturing to all of me,” Jax mutters.

Pomni nods her head. “Exactly. She’s not so good at this whole…I’m actually not sure how to describe it. But she’s not perfect. No one is, and the sooner that she accepts that, the happier she’ll be. I’ve been trying to get her to go to therapy for months, but I’ll try to convince her to let up on you. Sorry, by the way…”

“For kidnapping me?” Jax can’t help but snark.

“Fuck no,” Pomni retorts. “But everything that she said at Zooble’s…none of it was true. You’re not weak. Or delicate. And I don’t pity you, either.”

Jax’s throat hitches. His eyes are burning, and he tries, tries to not react. Not that he’s even sure of what to do. Of what he could even say.

Pomni’s wrong. Ragatha’s right. She saw right through him. And if she knew the full extent of everything that he was forced to endure…if she knew that he willingly laid with other men, she’d never look at him the same way again.

She said it herself. Weak. Fragile. Pitiful.

If he wasn’t, then why did he…why did he beg those men to touch him as he bled out on the ground. As he screamed for them, as they called him pretty, weak, fragile, a used up slut that wasn’t even worth a good fuck.

A heated, burning gaze raked over his naked form as his arms were held over his head. As his wrists were pinned to the ground.

Jax was unable to look away, unable to do anything but writhe and moan oh-so-prettily as kisses were pressed all over his exposed body. As his throat was bit into, as a tongue dragged down his stomach. It should have been a relief, only having two men here. But it wasn’t. Not when all he could feel was dread, terror, arousal, as they tore into him—

As it all increased tenfold when he heard footsteps. When he was forced to look up at one of the men who’d returned. Grinning as he wielded a camera, as he held it up over Jax and…

Their faces, grinning, blood dripping down from his throat. From in-between his legs. His skin defiled, ravaged, lacerations and teeth marks tearing through every part of him.

They marked him. They owned him.

All he could focus on were the lights of their camera.

Jax isn’t there anymore. He’s not in the fields. He’s nowhere near those men, even though he knows that all of this is wrong, wrong, wrong. He needs to pay penance for his sins, for allowing himself to be sodomized. For allowing himself to be recorded.

He betrayed her. Betrayed mom.

Ragatha only treats him like this because he’s weak. Pitiful. Disgraceful. And she knows…she’ll learn everything. She’ll tell everyone, just like how she publicly shamed him on that street, as she quite literally yelled at him for killing himself.

Everything that happened that night? It was a punishment. He never bothered reading the bible after leaving that town. He merely indulged in all of the pleasures that life had to offer. He wandered around aimlessly. He crawled into bed for any man that showed him even the slightest bit of kindness. But sometimes, he wasn’t even offered that much.

Jax doesn’t look at Pomni as he quietly asks, “Then…why’re you here?”

There must be a reason. A logical, sound reason, because there’s no way that Pomni doesn’t look down on him. But he can’t…nothing’s adding up.

Nothing makes sense. He has no purpose here, but back in that field? He knew exactly what he needed to do. Knew what was expected of him…

“Isn’t it obvious?” Pomni asks.

But Jax can’t figure out exactly what about any of this is obvious.

It must be pity.

That’s what Ragatha said…and Zooble, well, there’s no other reason why they would take him in like that. And it’s unfathomable, unforgivable, that he let all of them see him as weak…that he allowed himself to be at his most vulnerable around them. And surely, Kinger and Gangle must know by now.

There’s no doubt in his mind that Ragatha didn’t hesitate in the slightest to tell them about what he did…about how he nearly killed himself the previous week.

Pomni looks at Jax. Gaze never wavering as she casually says, “Because you’re my friend and I care about you.”

Jax numbly stares back at her.

“Again, don’t get me wrong. You’re a huge jerk, but you’re my jerk, even if you did throw me out a moving truck,” she mutters that last part once again. “And who else is gonna co-op with me in Call of Duty, considering…well,” Pomni visibly winces. “Ragatha doesn’t like shooting games, Kinger’s a bit too good at shooting games, Zooble can’t be bothered, and Gangle’s sworn off any type of videogame for life.”

“You’re my friend,” Pomni repeats once more. “And someday, I hope you’ll also consider me your friend as well……”

Chapter Text

This is good. Great, even. Everything is fine.

Or at the very least, that’s what Ragatha tells herself as she sits on a cheap, plastic bench, waiting, hoping that Kinger will grace her with his presence sometime within the next century. Oh wait, that sounds too mean. Ragatha never meant it that way!

It’s just…with everything going on with Jax and this tea party, along with the fact that Ragatha can’t decide between a chique mermaid cut aquamarine dress, the knee-length pastel dress with the glittery white sash, the orange tiered dress, the beige Bohemian one, the emerald, the white lace dress with fills, the……

“Don’t you think this is all a bit much?” a meek, soft-spoken voice calls out from behind her.

Ragatha turns around, only to find Gangle practically buried in a mountain of clothes. Clasping her hands together, Ragatha beams, “Oh, those will all look positively lovely on you, Gangle!” With a bit too much forced cheer, Ragatha jumps up to her feet, dusting off imaginary dust from her skirt before she retrieves a red checkered dress from the top of the pile.

“Try this one out first,” Ragatha exclaims, not giving Gangle the chance to regain her footing before she’s dragged over to the first open stall. “I’ll look great with the new headband I bought you.”

“Wait, what headband—”

…Only for Gangle to be completely cut-off as Ragatha inadvertently slams the door right in her face, as she hears footsteps ruminating from down the hallway.

And there, standing at the end of the corridor is, admiring his reflection in the mirror is…Kinger. Wearing what could only be described as a balaclava, poncho, and furry pants.

Ragatha stares at him for a moment, smile frozen in place, before she quickly excuses herself.

---

Jax doesn’t know how long he’s stayed like this. Motionless, completely dead to the world. And he wonders, why he’s still alive…what the point of any of this is.

“You’re my friend and I care about you,” Pomni says.

But…that doesn’t quite add up. Why would she…why would anyone……

And he doesn’t know how much time has passed since Pomni stopped using him as an impromptu pillow, and neither does he know how long it’s been since she left his side. He sits there on the couch. Numb, despondent, barely able to register the slight stinging sensation in his wrists. Slowly, Jax looks up at the clock. And he stares at it uncomprehendingly, not quite sure what the point of any of this is.

He supposes that he should get up. There’s a party to go to, right?

It’s already well past noon. He’s too late to catch a morning bus. And he’s far too late to make it home by the end of the week. Jax closes his eyes for a moment, before he looks down at his hands. They’re resting on his lap, and gradually, he turns them over, palms facing upwards. Bandaged…just like his wrists, just like his arms.

Disgusting, broken, filthy, unwanted.

A part of him desperately wants to unravel his bandages and pull at the crimson thread connecting his flesh together. If he were to give them just the slightest tug, would they completely unravel him, just like how just the slightest tug on his cock was enough for those men to unravel him that night?

He never wanted this. Never wanted those men to…or maybe he did. That must be it, right? Jax wanted it all. And he thought he didn’t want to go to this tea party. But if he’s still here, if he chose to stay, that must mean something.

Jax isn’t crying. He can’t. Men don’t cry. And yet, his eyes are watery. His vision is distorted, and he feels as if his heart could give out at any moment. He doesn’t understand how Ragatha could delude herself into being so happy. He doesn’t understand why Gangle could have been happy in the circus by merely wearing a mask. Or was Zooble the answer? Was Gangle only happy because Zooble was there?

Did Jax make Gangle that miserable, just like how he’d been with his mom?

And what about Pomni? How dare she…how dare she call him his friend.

They’re not. He can’t be. The last person he befriended had been Ribbit. Except Ribbit wasn’t his friend either, and look at what happened to him!

Ribbit abstracted. Ribbit died because of him.

If he wasn’t around then Ribbit would have……

“Jax?”

Can’t be here. Can’t be here…

“Jax, sweetheart, you doing alright?”

When Jax next comes to, it’s to the sight of a woman with doll-like features. She’s sitting beside him, knees touching his, as she rests her gloved hand over his. Jax instinctively shies away from the touch, to which the woman, Ragatha, merely smiles sadly at this.

From the corner of his peripheral vision, Jax catches sight of a very distraught Pomni biting her nails as she stares in abject horror at a shit ton of ritzy shopping bags piled onto the floor.

“Where’s Gangle…?” are the first words out of Jax’s mouth.

Nevermind Kinger, who probably couldn’t even find his way outside of a paper bag…it’s Gangle who Jax is most concerned of. Does she know? Did Ragatha tell her that he had…that he tried to kill himself?

She must have……

Afterall, Ragatha didn’t harbor such reservations when she’d announced to the world what he tried and failed to do.

Ragatha’s smile softens ever so slightly. “You’ll see her at the party.”

He feels something drip down his face. Ragatha’s expression morphs into that of worry as she reaches out for him—

“You’re so fucking tight. Let’s change things up, pretty boy.”

Jax refused to open his mouth, trying to cover his face, tried to bite off his tongue. They forced it open. Tears dripping down his eyes as a cock was shoved down his throat, as those men took another photograph even of that.

He’s running on adrenaline as he turns away from Ragatha…as he desperately tries to push those men away. Face burning as they cut into him, as they bit and tore and spat at him as he tried to get away…as he was reduced to begging, crying as they forced him onto the ground. As one of those men straddled him, while Jax stared up at them with large, tear-stained eyes.

Unable to fight back. Unable to do anything as fingers slid into his mouth and……

Jax covers his mouth, staring back at Ragatha…no, at those men as they penetrate him. And he stares up at the moonlit sky. At the ceiling. Desperately wanting to get away. Desiring for nothing more than them to kill him.

He’s on the ground. Bereft of all clothing, the coarse dirt biting into his bare skin.

And he pushed away Ragatha. Unable to comprehend her expression shifting from shock to hurt to concern and pity as he collapses onto the ground. His wrists are burning. Every part of him is burning, and it very much feels like he’s coming apart at the seams. His hands are pressed on the ground. Jax doubles over, feeling as if he could retch. He’s dry-heaving, desperately trying to get the taste of those men out of his mouth.

But nothing comes out. He can’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. He can’t let Ragatha know. Can’t let Pomni or mom know. Can’t let the whole fucking town know, but it’s too late.

The photographs…the films, it was all leaked. Distributed like cheap candy, and in the span of a single night his whole life was ruined. And all because he wanted a quick, easy fuck…all because he was too eager and willing and far too much of a slut to say no. To fight back like any man should.

He hears them calling out to him. Pomni and Ragatha, panicking by his side. Ragatha shedding tears while Pomni looks to be on the verge of crying, herself.

And he hears those men. Jeering at him, mocking, laughing at him. At his torments, his agonized wails and screams as they beat him black and blue. As they treat him like a used-up doll. As they defile him, break him from the inside out.

“Jax, honey, you’ll feel a lot better if you get off of the floor—”

Hands, reaching out towards him. Leering, lecherous faces, grinning down at him. Jax, wrapping his arms around his midsection. Desperately trying to shield himself from their lustful gazes. Trying so very much to preserve his non-existent modesty, only to fail as rough, calloused hands grab onto his legs and pull them wide apart……

“DON’T TOUCH ME!!” Jax all but shrieks as he pushes Ragatha away.

Ragatha lets out a startled cry as she falls to the floor. She clasps her hand to her chest, as if scalded by hot water. “Jax…?” Ragatha whispers, looking heartbroken and scared and confused and sorry and—

Her expression shifts, and it’s something akin to realization, followed by horror and dread and no, no, no, no, no, no…she can’t find out.

“Are you…?” and again, Ragatha tries to reach out to him.

Jax tries to fight back. He desperately tries, but his attempts aren’t good enough. He’s never been good enough. Not for mom, not for Ragatha…he was never anyone’s ‘first option.’ All he’s ever amounted to was the ‘easy option.’ The easiest person that was willing to put up, and he just…she can’t see him. He won’t let her. And she can’t touch him, not when she’s pure, clean, and especially not with someone who’s very body and soul were defiled.

“It’ll be okay…” Ragatha cries, looking so very much like a sad, scared animal.

And it’s funny. So, so funny that Ragatha is crying over this. That she thinks she has the right to cry when she’s always been ‘Little Miss Perfect’ with her rich farm and perfect, idyllic life and a mother who just wasn’t the best to her…but that’s life! Not everyone can have a mom as good as his. She used to be nice, kind. She still is, but Jax betrayed her that night.

And every night before that. Just the mere act of living is a sin, but it was a sin to take his life. That’s why he didn’t die last week…why he didn’t die five years ago, because living is a far greater punishment than anything that hell would offer to him.

But…it’s funny, right?

That Ragatha is crying because of him? But not because of anything he caused.

Oh no, she’s crying on his behalf, as if she has even the slightest idea of what it was like to work as a farmhand, or what it was like to be the only non-white kid in a whole town that hated you for the shape of your eyes, for the color of your skin, for your ancestry…and she doesn’t know what it’s like to fight tooth and nail to make it in the real world, or what it’s like to be ripped apart…to fall apart, as if you’re nothing more than a rag doll being ripped at the seam…..

Except, no, Ragatha is a rag doll! Or rather, she was.

Though, just one look at her is enough to remind Jax that yes, Ragatha is indeed a doll. She’s pretty, in that prissy, old fashioned sort of way. The exact type of girl his mom would have loved as a daughter. She’s everything that he’s not. She can wear dresses without fear of ridicule, can be together with other men. And sure, Ragatha chooses to be with a woman, but it’s not the same.

It’s so, so funny, huh? That Ragatha thinks that something like him is worth crying over? And it’s so fucking funny that he can’t help but laugh……

Both Ragatha and Pomni stare up at him in shock, and distantly, Jax hears what sounds like laughter. It takes Jax a moment to realize that he’s the only one laughing. And he tries to stop. It’s all so fucking hilarious, but he can’t remember the punchline. He laughs, wishing so very much for them to just kill him. For him to drop dead on the spot. And he doubles over, feeling as if white hot knives are stabbing into his arms.

Ragatha tries to approach him, but Pomni lightly grips onto the taller woman’s head. Shaking her head as she says, “Let me handle this…”

Jax’s shoulders are trembling. He feels as if he could pass out at any moment. There’s someone pressed against his side, but when he turns to look, it’s a short, petite brunette woman. Pomni softly murmurs, “I’m not going to think any less of you for crying…Do’t worry, I’m here for you……”

And he softly laughs, but…nothing about this is funny. But Jax finds himself growing ever so faint, and despite his best efforts, something in him just…breaks, as he all but collapses into Pomni’s arms. Not quite crying as he desperately clings onto her for dear life. Pomni doesn’t pat him on the back, doesn’t promise him that ‘everything will be alright.’ And she doesn’t offer him any saccharinely sweet promises as he silently weeps.

But slowly, he feels slim arms wrap around his waist.

Jax clenches his eyes shut, tears dripping down his face as he apologizes over and over and over…

“Sorry…mom, I’m so sorry……”

Ragatha’s eye widens at this, and she opens her mouth, about to speak…except, no words come out. But she looks at Pomni, she looks at Jax with something resembling betrayal and heartbreak and some other emotion that Jax couldn’t even hope to decipher.

But eventually, Ragatha scoots over closer to him and Pomni.

She reaches one hand out, only for Jax to instinctively flinch away. Ragatha kneels beside him, smile still frozen in place. And now that he looks at her, he realizes that she hasn’t stopped smiling the entire time. Tears threaten to spill down her face. And her lips are trembling as she quietly murmurs, “I just want to help you be happy…”

Jax meets her gaze. It’s easy for her to say that, though…there’s no way someone like Ragatha could possibly be happy. Not a dull, dreary, porcelain doll like her.

Ragatha tries again. Desperation interlaced in her voice as she says, “Jax, please…let me help.”

Pomni speaks up, keeping her voice steady and emotionless. “Raggie, it’s not…”

“Not what…?” Ragatha asks in a soft, hushed tone.

“It’s not that simple,” Pomni sighs.

“No one stays sad forever,” Ragatha says, still smiling, still looking as perfect as ever. “Everything will be alright, sweetheart. You caused Pomni a lot of grief, but it’s fine. You’ll be as right as rain in no time!”

And…he feels himself growing ever so weak once again. It feels as if all blood has drained from his veins as Ragatha softly smiles.

“If I knew you were always this delicate, I would have never let you out of my sight—”

“Ragatha,” Pomni lowly hisses, alarm sparking in her eyes.

At this, Ragatha visibly startles. “I’m just trying to help.”

With a long, suffering sigh, Pomni lets go of Jax. She rubs at her eyes, looking on the verge of collapse, herself. “I told you I could handle this.”

“And I know you can, but Jax is my friend too,” Ragatha insists. “It’s not my fault that he’s so weak.”

Jax openly stares at her, all color draining from his face. “Is that what you thought of me this entire time?”

“Oh, don’t worry that pretty little head of yours,” Ragatha smiles. “I, for one, think it’s quite adorable—”

“You’re so fucking adorable, pretty boy…”

He was unable to do anything except endure like he’s always done. Still smiling, faintly, prettily, as those men violated him.

It would have better if they merely fucked him. If only that had been it. One of the men lets out a low chuckle as the room is soon enveloped with the sounds of love-making. 

Bare legs hooked over a man’s shoulders as he rams his length inside of him. Jax loudly moaned, eyes glazed over with lust as he helplessly writhes from the touch. Wrists pinned to the ground as two others stand over him, getting themselves off to his violation. As they stand over him, looking the very image of death as a camera is held over Jax. Mirthlessly grinning as took countless photographs.

Jax’s lustful moans drowned out by their laughter, by the sounds of a camera ‘clicking.’

He hears voices…and, it’s them. Ragatha and Pomni. But he doesn’t care. He just wants everything to be over with. He can’t be here. Not with Pomni seeing him at his lowest, nor with Ragatha finally coming to the realization that he’s weak, delicate, fragile, pitiful.

Slowly, Jax raises his head, uncaring of just how awful he looks.

But…no, that would be a lie.

Ragatha’s everything that he’s not. She’s perfect, and that, in itself, feels unnatural…to see someone so ‘pristine’ being in the same room as him. He doesn’t belong here. Not a mere farmhand who’s bloodline originated from the far East. And for the first time in a while, Jax realizes just how ‘out of place’ he truly is.

Pomni is all dolled up, wearing a rather modest red dress, and Ragatha is dressed in pure white. But as for Jax? He’s merely in overalls and a white dress shirt, though it’s really beige due to how old it is. And the bandages wrapped around his wrists, his arms, they’re all stifling and garish and ugly.

But it’s what’s underneath the bandages that are truly horrific.

He doesn’t belong here.

Not when he could never hold a candle to someone like Ragatha. And not when he’s so out of his element. He should have never left town. If he did, then…maybe he would have been long dead.

Jax averts his eyes. He stares at his wrist, at the bandages clinging to him. And…it’s more clothing than he was afforded when those men had…when they dragged him out of the field, had forced him out onto the road stark naked.

“It’s more than you deserve,” they had laughed as Jax begged them to kill him. To not let this escalate, for them to not make good of their promise in parading him all over town.

He made a compromise with those men.

No…that was a complete fucking lie. He was never in control. Or maybe he wanted it all along, which is why he never fought back and let it all happen.

Jax closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath, before he whispers, “I’ll do it…”

Both Ragatha and Pomni fall silent. Though, Ragatha is the first to speak up. “Excuse me?”

“The tea party. I’ll do it,” Jax says, as if he had any other choice in the matter.

“Are you sure…?” Pomni hesitantly asks, while Ragatha practically lights up. There’s a manic look in her eye as she exclaims, “Ohhh, I knew you’d come around! Don’t you worry, hun, I’ll get you all dolled up for the tea party.”

And before Jax can react, Ragatha is already right by his side.

There’s a look of worry in Pomni’s gaze, but Jax shakes his head. And…he doesn’t object as Ragatha pulls him up, nor does he put up much of a fight when she pushes a fancy, button-up shirt and black slacks into his arms, all of which look and feel far more expensive than anything he’s ever owned.

Jax doesn’t object to anything. Doesn’t protest as he listlessly follows through with Ragatha’s wishes. None of this matters. In a matter of hours, he’ll be gone. He’ll never see Ragatha or Pomni or the others ever again. They’ll all be out of his life, and he’ll no longer have any part in theirs, either.

It’s fine. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter, since he’ll be dead by the end.

He’s going through the motions. Nothing feels real anymore.

---

Eventually, Jax finds himself sitting at a rectangular table from the others. Ragatha tries to pile up his plate with teacakes and sandwiches, only for Pomni to intervene and pull her away at the last minute.

Sitting directly across from him is Gangle, who has been staring at him for a long time…a very long time.

“Take a picture, why don’t you?” Jax suggests, feeling the phantom sensation of hands crawling all over him…as he sees lights, searing into his retinas. As he hears a metallic ‘click,’ followed by raucous laughter—

Gangle immediately flushes. “No…no, I wasn’t……”

Jax leans in closer, elbows resting against the table as he lackadaisically asks, “Soooo…Gangle, about that figurine collection of yours?”

All at once, Gangle screeches, while Ragatha shoots him an admonishing look and Zooble flips him off.

Jax laughs, but it’s hollow, lifeless.

This is fine. He was never meant to be here, afterall. And…it will all work out in the end, once Ragatha finally gives up on him. He’ll return home soon enough, and all of his problems will fade away. He’ll die.

He’ll never see any of these idiots ever again.

It’s all that he could ever want.

Or at the very least, that’s what he tells himself……

This is good. Great, even. Everything is fine.

Chapter Text

Twenty-four years ago…

Ragatha was nine years old when she first experienced death for the first time, which was either too late for some, or too early for others. In another place, in another time, death had perhaps come too swiftly and violently for a man that Ragatha would eventually meet in a virtual world.

Though, Jax was less than half Ragatha’s age when he first encountered death. A nice, local girl who taught him how to skip stones had been found dead at the quarry. Her bloodied, torn clothes had been piled up in a messy heap. Ligature marks wrapped around her neck and a gunshot to the head.

Her death had been ruled a suicide.

As for Ragatha, death meant stuffy, itchy clothing and white face powder and polished shoes and long, winding corridors and lots and lots of boring old adults saying ‘sorry.’ She sat in the corner, swinging her legs back and forth as she watched sad-looking people milling about in black clothing.

She stared up at the quartz chandelier [Mother always said it was made out of diamonds, but Ragatha learned about diamonds in class just the other week! They’re hard and expensive and only used for jewelery, not chandeliers!], which was the only remotely interesting thing around.

The flowers were awfully pretty, but mother forbade her from touching those.

Ragatha’s stomach grumbles, and she finds herself forlornly staring at some apple and pear tarts on the tables. But it’s against the rules. Girls don’t eat sweets, unless they want to get fat and grow up to be an ‘old spinster.’ Ragatha thinks that probably means someone who uses one of those old sewing wheel things, and honestly, those seem pretty neat to her!

But when Ragatha said she wanted to become an ‘old spinster,’ when she grows up, mother nearly fainted on the spot.

Ragatha frowns as she idly fiddles with her pearl necklace, only to stop as mother shoots her a reproachful glare. Right, no playing around. She’s not a little kid anymore. Afterall, she’s at an adult party for a dead person. There aren’t any ghosts here, because they don’t exist and a mature, sophisticated adult like her doesn’t believe in spooky stories anymore.

She was nine when she first encountered death for the first time. Ragatha didn’t know what else to think as she peered into an obsidian casket harboring her grandmother. She barely met her, and mother rarely talked about grandma, except with a lot of screaming and some very mean-sounding words.

Grandmother’s dead, but it looks like she’s sleeping. Ragatha stares at her face, and it looks really peaceful, even with all of those wrinkles.

Ragatha hazards a quick glance back at mother, but she’s not looking at her. She doesn’t know what to make of that, but quickly, Ragatha reaches into the casket, wondering if grandmother would wake up if she gave her a little poke—

Though, Ragatha’s valiant attempt in trying to wake the dead is thwarted.

Within weeks, Ragatha forgets all about this funeral, when her head is preoccupied with endless tea parties and horses and ballet and singing and studies……

There are more funerals that follow throughout the years, but it’s not until Ragatha is in her twenties that she realizes what it means to truly lose someone. She’s lost count of how many friends had abstracted, and even more about how many funerals she’s hosted.

Ragatha stood at the podium countless times, recalling the names and faces of people she barely even remembers. There was Ribbit, of course, and how Jax had reacted to that was, well…

It doesn’t matter.

But Ragatha realizes that she barely really knew any of those people at all. Even with Kaufmo, her knowledge of him was lacking when she gave her eulogy. She never really knew anyone. Not a single person.

Afterall, she was never anyone’s first choice, nor was she their last.

She’s only ever been the easy choice. The convenient choice, when no one else was left. And it wouldn’t be another twenty-three years before she became another person’s ‘convenient choice.’ Ragatha doesn’t know what Pomni sees in her, when they have nothing in common.

She very well knows that Jax would have been her first choice, but Ragatha deeply suspects that Jax isn’t all that fond of women.

Ragatha was never anyone’s first choice. And she highly doubts that she’ll be anyone’s ‘last.’

Afterall, mother dearest always said she was a simple-minded girl with plain looks. No true aspirations or goals in life, and a failure in every sense of the word. She could never quite hope to draw the attention of others, unlike Jax who for some reason, manages to garner attention no matter where he goes.

Not good attention, mind you, but unlike Ragatha, Jax was someone’s first choice.

Ribbit chose him. He was Ribbit’s first choice.

Pomni didn’t quite ‘choose’ her when they were in the circus. Or even after.

Even now, when Ragatha is in her thirties, she doesn’t quite think she’ll ever get used to death. It’s a concept that will forever elude her. She’s supposed to cry, and she does. But she finds herself forgetting faces, forgetting names, and she supposes that’s just what death is. The complete erasure of everything.

When she dies, no one will remember her.

---

Present day…

“Take a picture, why don’t you?” Jax asks, shooting Gangle a lopsided grin as she buries her flustered face behind her hands.

“No…no, I wasn’t……” Gangle stutters, looking as if she’ll spontaneously combust on the spot.

As Jax teases her about her anime figurine collection, Zooble immediately flips him off. “Oh, why don’t you fuck off?” they huff. “It hasn’t even been five fucking minutes, and you’re already being a dick.”

Jax brings a hand up to his heart, hiding a wince as he brightly laughs, “Zooble, dear, sweet, stupid Zooble…”

“Call me ‘sweet’ one more time, and I’m fucking beating your stupid twink ass—”

“Uhhh, guys, this isn’t really polite conversation to bring up at a tea party…” Ragatha murmurs, a pleading look on her face as she turns her gaze over towards Pomni…only for her expression to melt into disbelief. “You brought a Switch to a tea party!!?”

Pomni shrugs. “I knew this was going to happen,” she responds, pointing over to Jax.

At this, Jax merely grins at Ragatha. “Awww, your girlfriend knows me so well!”

Ragatha’s eye involuntarily twitches. “Ahahaaa…you are just so funny,” she hisses, forcing a bright smile onto her face, before asking Kinger, “Sooo, how’s the teaching going? I heard you wrote a new paper.”

Kinger drops his ham sandwich mid-bite. “I wrote a paper!!?”

“Say, Kinger, I have a great business deal that I’d like to propose to you. How do you feel about meth” Jax laughs, doing his best to hold onto his smile as feels white hot knives digging into his arms, as he feels the phantom sensation of hands crawling down his spine. As lights sear into his retinas, as he hears voices…as he hears screaming—

Pomni shoots Jax an unimpressed look. “…You’ve never done meth in your life.”

But Kinger actually has a considering look on his face. “Hmmm, I prefer lemon drops, but menthol is good too. Or is that Mentos?” But then, he looks questioningly at Ragatha. “How do you feel about Mentos, my dear?”

Ragatha’s lips are pursed into a thin line, a look of complete and utter irritation painted over her features. “I’m not, I…”

“What the hell do you know about meth?” Zooble scoffs, and it’s only now that Jax catches sight of a paper bag hanging from the side of Zooble’s chair. His stomach nearly lurches at the sight of a green frog head peeking out from the bag. Right…he forgot about Ribbit in all of the commotion from earlier that morning, but…why did Zooble bring him here!?

Though, it’s not like Jax needs Ribbit where he’s going…

Zooble quirks a brow at Jax, disdain painted on their face. But it softens ever so slightly as they follow his line of sight over to the stuffed bag. And much to Jax’s chagrin, Gangle squeals in delight as she looks over to Zooble and finds a cartoon frog with a goofy smile peering out of the paper bag.

Without hesitating, Gangle fishes the stuffed frog from the bag and cradles it to her chest. “I didn’t know you liked my plushies so much, Zooble!” Gangle chirps. “Actually…I do remember giving this to Ragatha…...”

Jax locks eyes with Zooble, desperately hoping that they don’t spill anything that happened yesterday night.

Zooble offers him a slight nod, and if Jax really was high on meth, he’d think they were regarding him with concern. “Yeah, this just ended up at my apartment. Somehow.”

“Oh, I know!” Kinger suddenly interrupts. “Why don’t we all make chowder? I know this great recipe for clam chowder that I learned at the beach.”

Slowly, Pomni lowers her game. “Err, what’s this fixation you’ve got with beaches?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Kinger cryptically replies, when Gangle suddenly chokes on some teacakes. Good. Jax hopes she fucking dies so that he can finally leave this stupid party.

Zooble pats Gangle on the back, and much to Jax’s dismay, Gangle miraculously survives. Bummer.

And do you know what also sucks?

Ragatha.

“What are you doing?” Jax asks, though his voice sounds far, far weaker than he would like. “No, seriously, what are you doing?” he repeats once more as Ragatha not-so-discretely tries to slide a spinach quiche onto his plate.

Ragatha blinks, staring at Jax with a blank expression.

Jax stares back at her, perturbed. And his irritation only grows ten-fold as Ragatha suddenly forces a smile. “Whatever do you mean, Jax?” Ragatha asks as she then scoops up a large spoonful of grapes and puts them onto his plate. Are grapes even something that people eat at tea parties…?

“Stop it.”

Ragatha merely stares at him, before going right back to piling more food. “You’ve hardly eaten all day.”

“We both ate trail mix earlier,” Pomni supplies.

Rolling her eye, Ragatha huffs, “It doesn’t count if most of the trail mix was on the floor.”

Pomni merely offers her a sheepish smile, before suddenly stuffing a macron into her mouth. Traitor.

“I’m not hungry.”

Ragatha sighs, before shooting him a smile bordering on condescension. “You’re all skin and bones. Really, it’s quite concerning. A boy your age shouldn’t be skipping meals…”

Jax glares back at her. Though, he doesn’t bother to move, to speak, as it’s all just…exhausting. And he finds himself growing ever so weak, and it’s taking all of his effort to not rest his head on the table. To fall asleep, to pretend that everything is okay even though it’s all clearly not.

For the second, third, fourth time that day, Zooble steps in. “You do realize that Jax is twenty-five, right?”

And he really fucking hates this, that Zooble of all people has to intervene again. Despite every part of his mind is screaming at him to not make eye contact with Gangle, as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat. Jax hazards a glance, and much to his dismay, much to his immense irritation, Gangle is regarding him with a look that can only be described and pity and understanding.

Great. This was exactly what Jax wanted in his life. To be grouped with the resident weeabo.

“Of course I know,” Ragatha haughtily quips. “And I know what’s best for him!”

Gangle hesitantly raises her hand as if she were in a classroom, sleeves falling down to her wrist. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but shouldn’t we all just sit down and enjoy the meal—”

“I am sitting down,” Ragatha retorts, only for her eye to widen as Gangle’s expression falls. “Oh no, Gangle, I didn’t mean to…” Ragatha cards a hand through her hair, looking to be on the verge of a panic attack. “I just, it’s been a long day, a long week and……”

Gangle half-heartedly smiles at her. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Ragatha insists. “It’s just been a loooong week,” she sighs once more, resting her head against Pomni’s.

Pomni merely pats Ragatha’s hand, before going back to her game.

Man, Jax wishes he could just chill and not give a shit about this party like Pomni.

“I had a long week too,” Kinger suddenly brings up. “Oh wait, what I meant to say was that a tree fell on my car.”

“But…we drove here together,” Gangle confusedly replies.

“Well, yes, that was because a tree fell on a replica I had of the 1885 Benz Patent-Motorwagen. It took me a lot of popsicles to eat to make that car…”

Without looking up from her game, Pomni asks, “Couldn’t you have bought popsicle sticks?”

“Oh…right!!” Kinger exclaims, a light bulb practically glowing over his head.

And, it’s all rather awkward after that. Or rather, Jax can’t really be bothered to keep up with anything that’s going on. Pomni had finally put away her game and managed to convince Ragatha to leave his plate alone. Though, upon Ragatha’s request, Jax reluctantly picked up a fork, only to drop it onto the plate. Noisily, and it could have very well been a gunshot with the unimpressed glare Ragatha is throwing at him.

But she puts on a smile as she wordlessly holds up a little fork, before putting it into a slice of strawberry shortcake and taking a demure bite.

Without breaking eye contact from Ragatha, Jax takes the biggest spoon that he can find [With that being the spoon for the sugar bowl], and stabs it into a slice of chocolate cake.

Zooble shoots him a disgusted look.

Before Ragatha can protest, Jax puts the spoonful of cake up to his mouth and takes a bite. But as expected, it merely tastes like ash on his tongue. Jax desperately tries, tries, tries to not think too deeply on this, on anything as he drops the spoon back onto the cake.

Ragatha very well looks like she’s going through the five stages of grief.

Pomni looks…concerned, before she glances down at her phone to check the time.

“I’ve never been to a tea party before, but are they usually supposed to be this, uhh…messy?” Gangle asks, gaze flickering over to Jax’s plate.

“Awww, I thought a little anime-loving freak like you would know alllll about these sorts of things!”

Gangle doesn’t respond, looking far too confused.

Ragatha’s practically seething as Jax throws that tiny dessert fork she was gesturing towards into his teacup. And just for added measure, he pours salt. All over it, because yeah, this is a tea party, right?

“Quit behaving like such a child,” Ragatha hisses, getting far too close as Pomni tries to pull her back.

“But…I really never did go to a tea party before……” Gangle sadly murmurs.

“Could’ve fooled me, considering your fixation on maids and all.”

Gangle looks at Jax oddly, before realization flickers in her eyes. She claps her hands together, regarding Jax with a hesitant smile as she says, “Oh, right, the maid dress!” With a cheerful laugh, Gangle recalls what must have been a funny memory to her. “It was a good look on you.” Another giggle. “You really did look cute, Jax!”

Zooble’s face blanches, before they gently nudge Gangle with their elbow.

Tilting her head in confusion, Gangle asks, “What’d I do?”

“Yeah, Zooble, what did she do?” Jax callously laughs.

Zooble’s gaze flickers from Gangle, before returning back to Jax. “Look, I know it wasn’t right that we made you wear that…”

Jax doesn’t bother responding to Zooble. Not when his attention is focused solely on Gangle. “Had a good laugh, didn’t you? I did say you can take a picture if you want. It’ll last longer.”

Gangle tugs her hair, practically covering her face as she nervously looks away. “I really don’t know what’s going on, but what was the big deal, anyway? It wasn’t real.”

It felt real. So fucking real to the point that Jax couldn’t tell what was reality and fiction anymore.

“You’re not a rabbit,” Gangle continues on.

“Gangle…” Zooble sighs.

“It was just a game.”

It’s just a game. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Right, riiiiight,” Jax chuckles, a slightly manic ebb to his voice. “Of course, it was all just a game! That must be why you’re sooo, well, this,” he laughs, gesturing over at her. “No mask, and yet you’re just so happy!” He falls silent, smile slipping entirely from his face. “I really did like you better when you were sad.”

Gangle visibly flinches, clear hurt flickering in her gaze.

Jax averts his eyes, a slight pang of guilt stabbing into his heart as Gangle’s eyes start to tear up.

It’s…silent.

He doesn’t bother looking at any of the others. Tries to not look at Gangle. She isn’t worth crying over. Someone like Gangle…she was never happy without that stupid mask. He doesn’t understand how she’s like this. How she can be happy and giggly one moment, but sad and on the verge of tears in an instant.

Gangle was happy with that mask. Gangle was happy with Zooble.

Was Gangle always that depressed because of Jax?

“Jax, I really do think that’s enough,” Ragatha lightly admonishes with a gentle, serene smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. A complete juxtaposition. And Jax doesn’t understand how Ragatha could smile while saying such vitriolic words. He doesn’t understand anything about her.

He glares at her, wanting so very much for Ragatha to scream, cry, to berate him with words, with her fists. For her to beat him black and blue, to slice into his flesh with knives, rather than mere words. And for her to just…break, just like him. But not in that…never in that way. Not like how he was the night that he had been—

“What?” Jax scoffs. “You said that you wanted us all to gather here! And I kept up my end of the bargain, right? Even got dressed up all nice and fancy just like you wanted. Because clearly, that’s all that I’m good for, hm?”

No one’s speaking. They’re all looking at him, even Kinger. But it doesn’t matter. Jax will say what he wants, and then he’ll leave and never see any of them ever again.

“I never said that’s all that you were good for,” Ragatha angrily hisses.

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Jax darkly laughs. “All that I’ve ever been good for…”

“You’re a natural slut, aren’t you, pretty boy?”

“When did I ever tell you that!!?” Ragatha exclaims, dropping all polite pretenses as she slams her hands onto the table.

Zooble acts quickly and stops a teakettle from toppling over.

Jax could very well laugh at the absurdity of this situation, at how Ragatha’s acting like he’s the crazy one…that he’s imagining everything. That it’s all in his head. “Are you even hearing yourself right now!? Sorry that I’m not perfect like you!”

Ragatha grits her teeth. “Since when did I…I’m not……”

“Not all of us can act happy and nice and just, what do you even want from me?” Jax sighs, feeling on the verge of tears as he could very well cry in frustration. “If not…if not that—”

“I gave you a job. I helped you find a safe place to stay,” Ragatha retorts, counting on her fingers. “And I was there, the night that you had…”

Immediately, Ragatha cuts herself off.

Jax sighs, feeling all but drained as he whispers once more, “What do you even want from me…?”

Ragatha closes her eye, and for a brief moment, Jax wonders if Ragatha merely wants another copy of her. If she sees in him what he views her as. Nothing more than a pretty, porcelain doll—

“Now, put your talents to good use and perform a show for us, why don’t you?”

Jax stared up at his captors with wide eyes. Tears dripping down his face as he was forced to stand on his shaking legs. It was too late to run…too late to make his escape. He was in the fields. After an argument with his mom’s newest lover, he fled the house. But he wandered into the corn fields, where there were monsters lurking around. Where there were men who reeked of alcohol and tobacco. They dragged him here and……

He can’t…he won’t.

They all hollered and whistled and degraded him as he humiliated himself. As he held his length in his hands and loudly moaned. As he bucked his cock into his hand. As he felt himself close to a release…too far gone to care that he was doing this in-front of an audience.

All Ragatha wants is a doll…for him to be ‘Little Miss Perfect’ like her. But he’s not. He can’t be like Ragatha. Loved and appreciated and cherished and born with a silver spoon in her mouth. He was only made to be hated and ridiculed and abused. Those men had tore and spat and cursed at him as they ripped him apart from the inside.

He’s nothing like Ragatha.

No one would ever think kindly of him if they knew all that he did…if they even knew a fraction of the sins that he committed.

Ragatha is perfect and pristine and lovely. A beautiful porcelain doll that has never worked in the fields under the sweltering sun until her hands blistered and bled. Until she could have very well fainted from dehydration and exhaustion. She never experienced what it was like to return to a cluttered house filled with screaming and silence and silence and screaming and how it had felt to run away from home with nothing more than a single backpack and the clothes on his back—

She never knew…never experienced…had never, never, never known what it truly meant to have loved and lost…to have lost what was never his to begin with.

Ragatha achieved her happy ending. She has Pomni with her.

Ribbit abstracted. Ribbit died, while Jax was forced to live without him.

And Jax, well, he has nothing left to show from that circus. From the night that he was brutalized, when even the scars those men inflicted on him has faded away.

Ragatha is loved. Jax is hated.

Though, that’s not entirely true. Mom used to love him before he betrayed her trust. Before he fled from home and wandered into the fields, where those men were eagerly waiting for him. Except that hadn’t been entirely true.

Jax was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It was a fucking joke. The fields were very much meant for everyone, but it was only due to sheer bad luck that he encountered those men when he did.

Those men all hollered and whistled and degraded him as he humiliated himself. As he held his length in his hands and loudly moaned. As he bucked his cock into his hand. As he felt himself close to a release…too far gone to care that he was doing this in-front of an audience……

Ragatha should give up on him. He isn’t worth her time or effort or care. Not when everything about her is fake. When she clearly couldn’t give a damn about someone like him. If she knew that he had…that he willingly stripped for those men…and if she knew about the thoughts racing in his head……

As he touched himself, as he gave them a show, as he defiled himself, they pawed at him. Spat at him, called his virtue into question. Said he was a natural born slut. Had jeered and laughed as one of them ripped his hand away from his member.

Jax wonders when this nightmare will be over. He wonders if he’s sleeping. And a part of him desperately wishes that he’s still in the circus. If he were to open his eyes, would Ribbit be here right beside him?

He cried and moaned and whined and whimpered as they forced him to start that humiliating process all over again.

The sooner that Ragatha gives up on him, the better. It’ll save her the hassle and Jax the heartbreak. But…when Ragatha looks at him again with a blank, dissonant smile, it’s as if ice is flowing through his veins.

It’s almost as if Ragatha is gazing right through him as she asks—

“What would Ribbit think if he could see you now…?”

Chapter Text

“What did you just say to me?” Jax lowly hisses, anger clear in his tone.

Ragatha merely smiles at him. Calm, serene, as cute and pretty as a button as she demurely brings a hand up to her mouth. “You heard me, Jax,” Ragatha pleasantly hums. There’s a hollow look in her gaze as she leans in just a bit closer, to which Jax resists the urge to back away. “You used to be such a considerate, kind boy. What changed?”

Jax stares back at her. Eyes wide, pupils dilated, brows furrowed in anger. “Nothing changed.”

But at this, Ragatha shakes her head. “No, no, so much has changed!” she exclaims, gesturing over to the other guests. And it’s as if a pin was dropped, when Jax suddenly remembers the company they’re with.

Despite his better judgment, he hazards a glance back at the rest of the guests. As expected, Gangle’s cowering, looking close to tears as she cozies up next to Zooble. Typical. And Zooble, well…the less Jax tries to decipher whatever’s going on in that stupid head of theirs, the better.

Ragatha suddenly grabs onto both of his hands, practically yanking him out of his chair, the action of which jostles his wounds. Jax lets out a faint cry, desperately trying to pull himself out of Ragatha’s grasp. From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Zooble attempting to get out of their chair, only to be stopped by a confused Gangle. And as for Pomni……

“Hey, maybe you shouldn’t…ya’ know?” Pomni’s voice tapers off as she vaguely gestures over to Jax’s hands.

Realization sparks in Ragatha’s eye, followed by sheer horror as she immediately releases Jax. “I’m so…Jax, I’m so, so sorry,” Ragatha tearfully murmurs, guilt-stricken as she repeats once more, “I just don’t want to…”

Jax averts his gaze. “It’s okay—”

Only for his voice to suddenly cut off by the loud, cacophonic sound of shattering glass. His heart skips a beat, his stomach lurches at the sudden sound, and it takes a moment for him to remember that he’s no in the fields, that he’s not in the hospital. And he brings a hand up to his chest, desperately trying to still the beating of his heart as he stares at Gangle.

But when Gangle’s eyes meet his, she visibly flinches. “Oh, I’m…” her voice tapers off, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “I’ve never been to a tea party before.”

Ragatha’s gaze softens ever so slightly. “Right…right. I’m sorry, Gangle.” And once more, Ragatha repeats, “You’re absolutely right. This isn’t proper conversation for a tea party. Please accept my apologies.”

Gangle’s gaze flickers briefly over to Jax, before returning back towards Ragatha. “No, no, I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Ah, no, I should apologize as the host of this party.”

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” Gangle insists.

Ragatha frowns. “Let me make it up to you—”

“Oh, for the love of—!!” Rolling his eyes, Jax filches a macron from the tea set and quite literally shoves it into Ragatha’s mouth. “You’re both sorry. Okay, alright, end of discussion.”

“…Should I also say sorry?” Kinger suddenly asks.

Jax’s eye involuntarily twitches, before he throws his arms up in exasperation. Slightly wincing as the action pulls at his stitches. “You know what, fine. I am…I’m done. I need a smoke break. Pomni, you coming?”

Pomni peers at him from over her Switch. “Nah, I’m good,” she dully replies, right as Ragatha exclaims, “You’re going to what!!?”

“I’m also going to rob a bank and steal the president’s shoelaces,” Jax deadpans, shooting Ragatha a blank look, before getting out of his chair. And without missing a beat, he heads right over to Gangle. “C’mon Saddy, you’re going with me.”

Gangle stares at him, mouth slightly parted. “No, I…”

Jax sighs, feigning hurt as he drapes an arm over Gangle’s shoulders. “It’s been a looooong time since we’ve hung out. Don’t you miss it? You and me vs. the world?”

But much to Jax’s vague confusion and annoyance, Gangle’s merely reduced to stuttering nonsense. She hides her face behind her mop of pitch black hair, and she merely sits there. Silent, unwilling to speak, unable to even look him in the eye. She’s always been one hell of a crybaby, but that was the circus.

He sighs once more, before shooting Gangle a lopsided grin. “That’s no way to act in the real world, Shortie! What was fine in the circus isn’t going to cut it here. So, why don’t you quit it with this whole sad thing you’ve got going on?” he half-heartedly chuckles, vaguely gestures over at Gangle’s…everything.

Gangle’s eyes are downcast as she mutters in that gratingly high-pitched voice of hers, “But…I am happy……”

“Sure you are,” Jax laughs.

“But…I really am,” Gangle tearfully insists.

Jax leans one elbow on the table, before moving just a little bit closer into Gangle’s personal space. His grin widens as Gangle nearly topples over, only to be saved at the very last second by Zooble.

“Can you not act like a fucking jackass for one fucking minute!!?” Zooble hisses, protectively wrapping their arms around Gangle’s waist.

Jax’s gaze darkens ever so slightly. He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Oh, you have got to lighten up, Zooble!”

“You’re making her uncomfortable.”

At this, Jax tilts his head in-confusion. “But…she likes it when I tease her.” But as Gangle’s flustered gaze locks onto his, Jax proposes for the umpteenth time that day, “You really can take a picture if you want. It’ll last you a good while.”

“No, no, I…”

“Oh, that is fucking it!!” Zooble angrily exclaims. “I have had it up to here with you. And for starters, who the fuck would want a picture of your shitty face?”

Jax stares at her with a large, hollow smile, before leaning in ever so closely. “You’d be surprised.”

Zooble rolls their eyes, “Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I’m very much coveted, I’ll have you know.”

“Riiiiight,” Zooble responds, clear disbelief painted over their features.

“Even got some films just laying around,” Jax laughs. Still unable to stop smiling as he feels nothing inside. As he stares at Zooble, at Gangle, with a vacant look in his eyes. Smiling prettily as without warning, he rifles through Gangle’s purse and pulls out her phone.

Immediately, Pomni rushes over to his side. “Might want to tone this down a bit, bud…”

“Nonsense,” Jax forces out a laugh. “Merely giving her something to remember me by for old time’s sake.”

Pomni’s face blanches. “Excuse me…?”

Jax merely shoots a peace sign as he snaps a picture, before tossing it over to Gangle. Even Zooble looks off-put as Gangle stares at her phone in complete and utter confusion. “It’s…uhh, a nice photo?” Gangle says, though it sounds more like a question.

“Of course it is,” Jax grins, while Pomni’s trying to pull him back to his chair, when Kinger quite literally pops up out of thin air and absconds, or rather, borrows Gangle’s phone. “Let’s take a group picture together!!” he beams, while Gangle quietly murmurs, “But…that’s my phone……”

“Give us a nice, cute smile for the camera…”

Ragatha quietly steps over next to Jax. “That was a very kind gesture, Jax.” Though, Pomni doesn’t look quite as assured.

“Welll…I am a natural, afterall.”

“You’re a natural-born slut. It’s like you were made for this,” an amused voice had laughed as Jax was forced to look up into their cameras. Legs spread apart as he held his quivering member in his hand. Tears dripping down his eyes as he vigorously pumped himself, as he wept and wept and wept, begging for them all to just kill him……

Gangle looks half-torn between tears and laughter as Kinger tries to get a photo of both her and Zooble into a single frame…only to inadvertently take a selfie of himself. “It looks good,” Gangle praises, and even Zooble’s lips quirk up into a faint smile as she nods her head in agreement.

Jax regards the scene with a numb, hollow, empty feeling in his chest.

Ragatha skips over to the trio. Clasping her hands together as she gushes over Gangle’s new look. “See!!? I told you that dress would look so cute on you!!! And Zooble, you should definitely join us for our next shopping trip! Oooooh, actually, let’s go to the mall after this!”

Pomni forces a smile, offering a thumbs up as she hesitantly says, “Great…just what I wanted. More social interaction……”

And…Jax doesn’t know what to feel. Seeing all of them like this. Happy, full of life, clearly looking forward to the future—

A future of which he has no part of.

He’s only ever lived on borrowed time, and it’s only right for him to return what he owes. His gaze flickers over to Gangle for a brief moment, at how she’s smiling. At how she’s acting happy and carefree as she cheerfully embraces Zooble, all the while smiling for the camera.

“Smile for the camera. Give us all a show to remember.”

Jax doesn’t belong here. He’s nothing more than a dead man walking. And…it feels like he’s intruding on something personal and intimate by staying here. With much reluctance, he turns away from the scene. Feeling disgusted with himself, as if he were a voyeur as he shoots one look back at the others.

It’s bright here. The venue that Ragatha chose. Saccharinely sweet wallpaper, sickeningly cute pastel hearts and flowers and crystal chandeliers, all of which are way too bourgeoisie for his simple country-boy tastes.

He doesn’t belong here. Not amongst the living. Not when he’s already dead…when he already died.

Jax doesn’t know why he’s still here. Why he lived while Ribbit abstracted…

While Ribbit died.

“What would Ribbit think if he could see you now…?”

Jax already knows the answer. Ragatha didn’t…she didn’t have to—

If Ribbit knew of the things Jax allowed those men to do to him. If Ribbit knew that Jax willingly spread his legs and violated himself for the sheer enjoyment of his audience. If he knew of the photographs…if he knew of those films, if he knew those men had shot a porno of him, he’d be disgusted. He would never look at Jax the same way again.

But it’s good that Ribbit will never learn about just how depraved and broken and fucked Jax has always been. Afterall…

Ribbit died. Jax lived.

Though, Jax doesn’t feel alive anymore. He merely feels like an automaton with faulty pieces. And…he’s nothing more than a dead man walking.

He wonders how he can even exist when every part of him already feels dead. When his heart feels as if it’s being weighed down by lead, and his wrists feel as if they’re nothing more than open soars. When it feels like he’s merely a decomposing corpse, forever trapped in those open fields underneath the gaze of the scorching hot sun—

 Jax will die soon enough.

He’ll die, because if not, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why was someone undeserving of like him giving a second…third, fourth chance at life, when Ribbit died? When he abstracted and left Jax all alone?

But then again, that’s nothing new. Jax was always alone in his old life and in the circus. Even after they all managed to escape, he had a cordial, albeit distant relationship with Ragatha. It was only after…well, it was only after he attempted [and sadly failed] to kill himself last week that he’s suddenly found Ragatha practically glued to his side.

He was on close enough terms with Pomni, to the point that they could be considered ‘friends,’ but…it’s not the same.

Pomni is alive. Jax is dead. Or, well, he will be dead in a matter of days.

He finds himself wandering with no clear direction in mind. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours since he left Ragatha’s tea party, but when he looks at his phone, only five minutes have passed.

Though, it feels like an eternity in his mind.

What would Ribbit think if he could see him now…?

Jax clenches his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, trying to calm his trembling arms. He wraps them around his midsection, desperately trying to not dwell on all of that anymore. The circus, the hospital…the farm, the…the……

No matter how desperately he tries to forget, he’ll remember the fields for as long as he lives.

Thankfully, blessedly, Jax knows he’s not long for this earth.

But he supposes that where he’s headed to next won’t be nearly as pleasant.

And he shouldn’t feel so worked up about this. About the fields, those men, that nurse, the pictures, the films…

Everything that happened in the fields, in that barn, was his punishment for allowing himself to be taken. For giving into his own lust and allowing those men to have their way with him. 

In Jax’s pain, in his delusional state when he’d been pushed past the brinking point, he confessed to everything…that he had…that he didn’t want any of this. Didn’t want them to touch him, to be tied down and violated and descrated. To have been chased in the fields, as if he was nothing more than prey…than an adorable, innocent rabbit—

That he didn’t enjoy it when three ravenous wolves pinned him down that night and gnawed at his insides.

Those men never believed him. Not a single word. Too many. There were too many. Not counting his spectators, who never laid a hand on him. Who never touched him in the way that actually mattered since they only ever saw the photographs…since they only ever watched the films, there were still three others.

Jax runs, lungs burning, bruised ankles aching from the phantom sensation of rough, calloused hands gripping onto his legs. Threatening to break them if he didn’t spread them wide apart. Those photographs…there’s no way Jax can get his hands on everything and destroy them. He’ll kill himself. He’ll fucking kill himself before word gets out. Before the others find out just how unloveable, filthy, defiled he truly is.

How many people saw? Those men promised…they all promised to distribute them [And they did]. Jax knows. He’s heard the recordings…he saw the photos, the films. If Jax wasn’t already a dead man walking, he’d die from the mortification.

He’s collapsed on the ground. Dry-heaving, on his hands and knees, too far gone to maintain even a shred of dignity as he’s forced to relive that night.

Squeezing his eyes shut, tears threatening to spill. Vision blurry as he could very well faint from exhaustion, from humiliation, from the memories of that night. His arms are trembling. His wrists are burning. The lamp lights are flickering, and Jax wonders how long it’ll take before someone finds him like this.

Easy, wanting, far too exposed as he’s on the ground. Practically offering himself up like the Whore of Babylon as he assumes the favorite pose of one of those men.

And Jax had thought it was degrading. To be stripped down entirely and forced onto his hands and knees as he’s rammed into from behind. But he was quickly proven wrong as he was forced onto his back. Completely and utterly naked as those men crowded him. As one of them got in-between his bare legs and eagerly watched as he pumped his member. As his spectators got too eager, too aroused as they reached down and twisted his nipples. As they ripped away his hand from his aching cock.

As he wept, crying inconsolably, still fearful of death, of suffering an even worse fate—

But somehow being simultaneously aroused and horrified as he was fed circumspect purple liquid that tasted like fermented grapes. As he pumped his cock, as he milked himself dry as he howled in pain and pleasure and embarrassment, tears streaming down his face.

His agonized wails drowned out by the incessant ‘clicks’ of their cameras.

Jax thought he was going to die that night. He truly believed nothing could ever compare to the humiliation he suffered at the hands of those men. But he was quickly proven wrong the next morning, when they dragged him out of the barn. Battered, bruised, barely clinging to life. Forced him to walk, only for his shaking legs to fail him as he collapsed in the fields.

And…they all stared at him. With hatred, with disgust. Degrading him, calling into question his morality, his character, his…everything. He wasn’t a woman, but he allowed them to treat him like one. And it was clear that he enjoyed it. They caught it all on camera. His shame, the sheer depravity he engaged in at that night as he practically begged those men to sodomize him.

Jax didn’t think it could be worse than that.

But he laid in that field for what felt like years. Battered, bruised, naked and lying in a pool of his own blood and other fluids that he just can’t…he can’t—

He clenches his eyes shut, desperately trying [and failing] to block out the memories.

Jax had gotten to his knees, retching as bile filled his throat. Though, nothing came out, not when he hadn’t eaten in two days. He wrapped his arms tightly around his midsection, feeling far too exposed. Eyes watering, vision blurry as he wept. Unable to move on, but knowing fully well that he couldn’t just stay here.

No one had found him. Those men hadn’t…they didn’t return.

Even though they knew Jax was still here, exactly where they left him. Even though they knew he was still in the fields. Naked, broken, bleeding. But…as his own ‘lust’ left him, all he felt was disgust at himself for letting go of his inhibitions…and for forcing those men to fuck him.

But even-so, he can’t stay here.

Not in the fields, where anyone can find him. Though, no one will. Not here. Not in these parts, where the soil isn’t quite as fertile. And most certainly, not so close to the highway…to the only part of town where outsiders could be found [Albeit extremely rarely and only once in a blue moon].

It takes Jax tries to get up…only for him to immediately collapse to his knees. He wraps his arms around his chest, feeling far too vulnerable, far too exposed, even though no one can see him like this. He looks down, too numb to really process anything. Too tired, too exhausted, too ashamed as he looks down at his member.

He recalls how it felt like when those men touched him. And…he recalls how good he felt when he—

“Jax…?”

He’s here. On the streets. On his hands and knees, dangerously close to tears, even though someone like him doesn’t deserve to cry. Not after all of the sins he committed. Not after he let those men defile him. Not after he let Ribbit go…not after he let Ribbit abstract because of him.

And it’s unforgivable to be caught in the act like this. To be seen at his lowest by Gangle. Jax closes his eyes once more, a part of him wishing that he’ll pass out, if only to spare him from the awkwardness of this situation. But unfortunately for him, when have things ever gone his way?

Forcing a smile back onto his face, Jax gets up to his feet. Pretending as if nothing happened and everything is okay as he practically skips circles around Gangle, before draping an arm over her shoulder. “Called it~” Jax chirps, before pushing Gangle forward. “Looks like you also hated that party!”

Gangle averts her eyes. Staring down at the ground as she says, “No, not really…”

Eh, Jax knows she’s lying. No one knows Gangle better than him, afterall! Especially not Zooble.

“Couldn’t resist staying away from me, huh?” Jax laughs, a hollow, lifeless sound. “Luckily for us, the night’s still young, and I’ve got just the place an anime-obsessed freak like you would just love!”

“But I…” Gangle’s voice tapers off, before she eventually musters up her courage. “What about the party? And…Zooble, I kinda just sort of left them, considering there was this incident with an teacup and Kinger’s light-up sneakers and Pomni may or may not need a new Switch……”

Jax rolls his eyes. “Oh, forget about the party.”

“Ragatha worked really hard on it!” Gangle exclaims in that gratingly high-pitched voice of hers.

Ugh, and Jax thought Ragatha was the killjoy.

“Quit being such a goody little two shoes. Don’t you want to live a little?” Jax asks, nudging her forward. “And…don’t you want to blow off some steam?” Another short pause. “Don’t you want to fire some guns?”

Gangle falls silent, before slowly turning around with a blank expression.

“Tell me more.”

Chapter Text

When Jax had suggested that they both go and ‘fire some guns,’ the arcade wasn’t what Gangle had in mind. She tried to protest. The keyword here being ‘tried.’ Zooble always told her that she needed to stick up for herself more. This isn’t the circus anymore. They’re in the real world. Jax can’t hurt her…he can’t retaliate if she were to ever say no. But she finds herself slipping back into her old mask whenever they’re together, and a sick part of her mind almost enjoys this.

It’s easier to pretend, to be something that she’s not, when trying never got her anywhere. Well, that’s not entirely true. She got her portfolio all sorted out, and she ended up going back to community college. Who knew Kinger could be that persuasive?

“Why did you bring me here?” Gangle quietly asks, unable to look Jax in the eye. Quite literally, in-fact, considering she only reaches up to his chin. And that’s another thing. Jax was already tall in the circus, but it’s not fair that he’s also tall in the real world.

Jax merely smiles at this, deflecting the question as always. “Isn’t it obvious?”

No, no it’s not obvious.

Is this some sort of plan? Did she say or do something at the party that he didn’t like? Gangle tries to wrack at her brain for answers, but nothing comes up. And for all intents and purposes, that party was a complete disaster. Or maybe it’s just how parties go? She never really had all that many friends going up, so she’s not a good judge of character at that.

With much reluctance, Gangle gazes up at Jax. She finds herself staring at him again without realizing, unnerved at just how…‘un-Jaxlike,’ he is. She never gave much thought as to what he looked like as a human while they were all in the circus, but now that they’re here in the real world, she often finds herself at a loss for words.

It’s hard to connect that sadistic rabbit with this man right here. He’s much better dressed than she would have imagined. There’s almost an ‘old world charm’ about him, though again, Gangle supposes that’s just because of the vintage outfit.

“You’re staring again,” Jax chuckles, before resting his arm over her head.

Gangle visibly bristles, wanting so very much to tell him to ‘fuck off,’ but again, old habits die hard. And she finds herself slipping back in this role. Maybe a part of her is nostalgic for the old days—

Or, well, that’s not entirely true, either.

But she spent so many years in the circus. It was Jax who first named her, afterall. The others were nice, but they didn’t really spend as much time with her as he did. He was kind at the start. Or maybe he never was. Gangle has never been a good judge at these sorts of things.

She would have liked to think Jax was her friend. He named her, afterall.

“I just…” Gangle falters. She tears her eyes away from Jax, instead focusing on fluorescent neon lights and a screen from one of those old-school arcade cabinets reading ‘Game Over’ in a bright red font highly reminiscent of blood.

It’s one of those zombie shooting games. ‘House of the Dead,’ or something, but Gangle would imagine those kind of games might be bit too modern for this arcade.

A shudder runs down her spine, memories bringing her back to the circus. She looks down at her hands, but all she can see are ribbons in a similar shade to that blood red ‘Game Over’ screen. But she’s not a bodiless entity comprised of only ribbons and a mask that’s prone to breaking.

She’s alive. She’s real. She promised herself to never play another game again, yet alone step foot into an arcade. Everything about this place screams ‘The Mid-Nineties.’

“Just admiring the view, huh?” Jax teases. “Can’t imagine you’re able to see much of anything from your height, Shortie.”

And that’s another thing. It’s so not fair that Jax is taller than her, even though she’s his elder by four years.

“You said we were going to shoot guns,” Gangle pouts.

Jax finally stops using her head as an armrest, though from the corner of her peripheral vision, he almost seems to flinch. Bringing his hand up to his chest, Jax absentmindedly massages it while shooting her a Cheshire Cat grin. “Did you really think I was going to take you out shooting with real guns?” he teases. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but that’s illegal.”

Rules didn’t stop you before, Gangle bitterly muses. But instead, she says, “I was expecting paintball guns or…”

Rolling his eyes, Jax drawls, “Yeah, because ‘paintball’ is something you’ll find in this town. No can do, Gangle.” He reaches forward, about to pat her on the head—

Gangle instinctively flinches, clenching her eyes shut. It’s fine, it’s fine. Jax hasn’t laid a hand on you since leaving the circus. She tells herself this again and again. He’s not going to…not in public. But even on the rare occurrences that it was just the two of them together, he’s never tried anything. He never pushed her down the stairs, never broke her things. Never called her anything too mean outside of ‘crybaby.’

This isn’t the circus. This isn’t a game. Of course Jax was mean to her in the game. She did something wrong…she did something to anger him. He won’t hurt her here now. Nothing there was real.

But it sure felt real.

Though, Gangle doesn’t feel anything. With much reluctance, she opens her eyes, only to find Jax standing there. Motionless. He’s staring down at her with an unreadable expression, but once he makes eye contact with her, he immediately turns on his heels. “C’mon, Ribbons. You said you wanted to shoot a gun, right?”

---

This…also wasn’t what Gangle had in-mind. She stands behind Jax at the register in a dollar store. Both of them dressed to the nines…both of them clearly adults as Jax gleefully slams two water pistols onto the counter.

“What are you doing!!?” Gangle lets out a faint squeak as Jax suddenly throws some firecrackers onto the counter as well.

“You said you wanted guns, Gangle!” Jax sing-songs. “I’m giving you what you wanted~”

“This isn’t what I had in mind!!”

“Aww, you two make a cute couple,” the girl manning the cash register praises. “On a date?”

Gangle internally screams, No, no we’re not.

Jax laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, she’d never be able to afford me.”