Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

How had your life switched to the worst in one single night? How did you allow yourself to fall into such a situation? You mentally had smacked yourself, as you did fully blame yourself for this horror ridden nightmare you were now in.

Earlier this night, you were casually strolling in your cheap run-down car, humming to yourself. The cool night air was bliss, despite the harrowing anxiety growing within your stomach. You were on your way to your further family, who were across the city. However, along the way your GPS had stopped working, and your phone had coincidentally died on you too.

Despite not wanting to, you had decided to travel down a dirt road in hopes of finding human contact, anyone who could help you with your situation. There was a jagged old wood rotten sign swinging with rusty chains along the road, a deafening sound pierced your ears each time it swayed with the wind.

‘Cottonwood Farm’, is what it had read. Had you known what was in store for you, you would’ve quickly turned away. You had been oh so naïve. The road was gravelly, and definitely not a smooth ride. Arm resting on the edge of the window and one hand on the wheel, you slumped back into your seat. You had no preparation for what you were going to see.
Just then, as you drove in between some trees on the same road, you had heard gurgling noises, and deafening squeals, deep from the throat. An ugly, dirt smothered lumpy body lay ahead of your car, violently jerking its head on something on the ground.

“What the..” you muttered to yourself, eyebrows furrowing at the weird creature. What even was it? It had resembled a pig yet had elongated limbs such as a human. It’s arms and legs were crooked, discoloured from the rest of its figure, it all looked so unnatural.

You couldn’t help but keep staring, you were simply so confused, it looked like something out of a movie. As the deep resonant squeals consumed your thoughts, eyes glued to the mutant, a sudden knock was on the window that your arm was resting against.

Your heart jumped out of your chest, thundering against your rib cage as you turn your head. You only had managed to register that it was a man, broad in nature, before he had raised something of a weapon and smashed the window. Before you knew it, you were knocked unconscious, and a throbbing pain had pierced through your skull.

Now, it was hours later. It was still dark outside. You had since then met the two brothers residing within Cottonwood Farm: Jackson and William. You were still woozy from your head being hit, gooey blood had painted your scalp now, with some of it dripping down the side of your face.
You had made a mental note that William, the seemingly older brother, was stoic in nature. He was far more closed off and seemingly void of empathy. Jackson however, was deranged and maniacal. Both were, of course, psychopathic. But they were both distinct with their intense dispositions.
Remembering the knock at your car window, you realised the one who had knocked you unconscious must have been William. He seemed indifferent towards you, deeming you a waste of space. That’s what it seemed as, anyway.

His behaviour towards you was almost as if you were nothing but another pig on their farm. In his eyes, you were just more meat to cut through. Which was terrifying enough from his intense stare, as his stocky and rugged appearance was telling enough. Jackson on the other hand, humanised you slightly, even calling you their ‘guest’. Creepy, is the word you would use to describe him.

You were tied with rope earlier, and it had been so rough that the skin underneath had been raw. You managed to slip out of the restraints, despite it being extremely painful and having to bite down into your own shoulder to muffle your squirms.

You had actually been hopeful, hopeful that you had the courage and determination to escape from these two maniacs. Truly, how naïve of you.

Now back to the present, your body was pinned to the ground, teeth gritting as Jackson kept his hands tightly wound around your throat. You were gasping for air, nails clawing at his hands. The stark difference in strength was terrifying, and you were slowly losing faith.

Your plan was to incapacitate Jackson, knowing he had the key to the chained off porch, but your plan had foiled as you heavily underestimated his capability. The look in his eyes was sinister, dark, and cold. Contrasting with his bubbly persona he would portray. Your legs were kicking from underneath him, desperately attempting to push his weight off you, but to no avail. Your bloodshot eyes were becoming strained with tears, veins becoming prevalent amongst your bloodied temple.

You had a nasty gash in your side from when he had fought back, his cleaver carved deep into your side. Deep enough to cause immense pain and infection, but maybe not enough for you to bleed out. The feeling was insatiable, the bleak edge was sharp against your plushy skin. The pain was immeasurable, and any odds you had against him were completely gone now.

“You’re real silly, you know that?” He growled out sardonically, as you struggled against him, flailing around. His eyes burned into you, a sense of mischief and humour radiating off him. He had on a dark, unhinged smirk upon his lips. “Did you really think you could just get away?” He sneered mockingly, twisted amusement in his voice.

Before you knew it, the pressure on your throat was released suddenly as he surged to the side of you both, reaching for his cleaver. A gasp lurched from your throat, raspy, ironically almost choking on the amount of air you were receiving.

Instinctively, your hands found your throat and cradled the bruised skin uselessly as you choked out cries. Before you knew it, his cleaver was threateningly resting underneath your chin, right against your jugular. It was rusty, but still sharp enough to cut even when simply pressed against fragility, which in your case was you.
He was frustrated as you tried to catch him off guard and escape, but you could tell he was thoroughly entertained as well. He hadn’t expected such a determined captive. A game of wolf and rabbit had always been fun for him.

His victims usually just screamed and pleaded for their lives. He had grown bored of that, you see. In his own contorted way, you were like a breath of fresh air. A new game to play.
You swallowed harshly, your throats warm skin colliding with the cleaver’s cold exterior.
Eyes staring back into his, fear riddled within them, despite fighting against the terror deep within you. You were terrified. Your chest was heaving now, mouth dry as you stayed silent. What would you even say? Bargaining for your life with a maniac was helpless, you were going to die tonight, and that was that.

Jackson didn’t like this, the lack of response. His demeanour switched in an instance, giddy one second and cold the next. His lips twitched slightly as you simply laid there. He pushed the cleaver slightly forward, enough to pierce skin but not enough to be fatal, which led you to groan in response.

He moved himself to where his knee was now on your stomach, keeping you pinned against the cold floor. The pressure was immense, and you simply could not afford to move even an inch. You felt like those insects pinned down onto the foam displays.
Pain lurched up through your throat as the pressure undoubtedly formed bruises underneath your clothes. You were so helpless, you had fought against him with all the strength you could muster to no avail. Averting your eyes away from him now, you take a moment before you speak to him.

“Just kill me.”

Jackson was not expecting this from you, and it threw him off guard for a moment. He paused, staring at you intently as if he was studying you. He cocked his head to the side, mirroring you, eyes roaming across your face.

“Oh, so you’re brave and stupid, huh?” He said with a hint of mockery, lips tilting upwards into a mocking smirk.

Your lips quivered as your chest sought air desperately, letting silence reminisce between the two of you once more. Jackson stayed still, unmoving with the cleaver still against your throat as his eyes continued to linger across your face.

He studied every feature, your eyes, your nose, chin. You were alluring, he had to admit. A pretty little thing, which made this game all the more exciting. He found himself leaning in unconsciously, his breath fanning over your face, hot and heavy.
Your eyes dragged over back to his face, confusion swarming you as he didn’t press the cleaver down further. His knee was still stubbornly pressed against you, like he was the hunter, and you were the prey. He stared down at you with a strange intensity.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?..” You asked hesitantly, regretting doing so as it escaped your lips.

His intense gaze fixated on you for a long moment.

“Not yet.”

With that, he began to move, slowly pulling himself up and off you. He kept his cleaver pointed at you in threat, a clear warning. He sat back on his heels, eyes never leaving your face.
Your body was frozen, chest sighing with something indescribable, perhaps relief. You stayed unmoving, petrified of what he will do next. Jackson’s smirk only grew wider, enjoying how obedient you were behaving now.

“Good girl”, he said lowly, the words rolling off his tongue. He goes to place the cleaver on a table nearby, close enough for his reach but far enough from you. He crosses his arms as he returns, eyes never leaving you.

“You’re surprisingly compliant now.”

Suddenly you lurched on instinct, laying onto your stomach with rapid speed and hurled. The pressure from his knee must’ve done a number on your gut, feeling release. Your throat tried to regurgitate anything, but nothing came out. Fingers clawing at the floor for support, as you did so. The stench of rust and iron stained your nose, with a volatile rotting smell too. Everything flooded your senses at once, which your body had blocked out previously due to the adrenaline consuming you.

Jackson’s smirk vanished. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, grumbling something about the mess. But as you began to heave, only dry heaving came out, his expression morphed into one of annoyance.
He stood to his feet with a huff, putting his hands at his sides as he walked closer to you.

“You done?” He said sarcastically, looking down at you with irritation. It’s almost as if, in his mind, you are spoiling his fun and ruining the fantasy.
You spit some blood out, as saliva pooled within your mouth from the nausea. You stagger to wipe it off your lips, hand shaky.

“Fuck you” You breath out, throat straining.

Jackson’s irritation only grew at your response.
“Charming”, he remarked sarcastically, crossing his arms again and tilting his head slightly as he looked down at you. “Such a sharp tongue for a person in your position.”
He then knelt beside you, a condescending smirk upon his face. “Careful there, or I might have to cut it out to shut you up.”

You flinch away from him, crawling towards the other wall as you attempt to create distance between you two. “Where do’ya think you’re going? We’re not done here.” He states, almost with an excited gleam in his voice.

He followed you until you were backed up against the wall, his towering frame looming over you. He was not as stocky as his brother, but he still held enough weight on him to overpower you. As your body was succumbing to exhaustion, the gash in your side decided to make itself known again. A sharp sensation tingled your side, blood soaking into your clothes in a deep dark red.

You couldn’t stand now, and both you and Jackson knew this. Reaching for the wound, your hand goes to cradle it, as some sort of cruel self comfort. Jackson was exhilarated, almost proud at the debilitating state you were in. He noticed the blood seeping at your side, and hummed to himself, almost comically.

“You just can’t seem to make things easy for yourself, can you?”

You try to respond, but your throat is instantly strained, leaving only a strangled noise to come out. Blood gurgles out of your throat unexpectedly, and you fold yourself to spit it out. The wound had been tensed too much from the struggle, you realised. And also, that maybe it had been deep enough to be fatal after all.
Jackson noticed the way your body was struggling to even respond, the way that blood kept resurfacing. His expression shifted from mockery to a strange fascination. It most definitely was not concern, he was way past that, too far gone. He leaned in closer, eyes narrowing as he observed your quivering and desperate state.

“You’re not lookin’ too good.” He states with a hint of laughter at the end, almost as if it was unexpectedly funny to him. Humorous.

“You’re bleedin’ out worse than I thought you would.”

He knelt right beside you now, gaze flicking from the wound to your face, watching the colour drain out of your eyes.

“I’m going to die” You stammer in a hushed voice, almost as if you were talking to yourself instead of him.

Jackson’s lips pulled into a thin line as he listened to your words. You spoke to yourself as if you had succumbed to the realisation of your fate. He took in your battered form once more, the way you were losing your strength and losing it fast. This was the boring part, he thought to himself. Where’s the fun in your prey allowing death to take the reins?
He let out a long exasperated sigh, his expression unreadable.

“Looks’ it, mump.” He commented, his voice softer than before. “Seems like that stubborn streak of yours finally gave out on ya, huh?”
He stood then; eyes still fixated on you. You didn’t respond to him, there was nothing to say that could change the fact you were dying, draining of life.

“You know, I’ve always been of the mind that it’s a shame to let a pretty thing like you just… slip away”, he states with his lips curving into a sly smirk. Your eyes then searched for his, glistening with a pleading nature, contrasting with his unnaturally emotionless stare.

Your fragility was euphoric to him; he had exactly where he wanted you. Completely at his mercy. Not all his victims made him feel this way, especially those who begged, screaming that they had a family and such. William had always said that was his main flaw, that he gets too excited when there is a new game. That he breaks things too often from his exhilaration.

“You’d do anything to live, wouldn’t you?” He said, his voice low. You felt the unnerving tension build, not intimate but invasive. His posture was rigid and towering. His gaze was predatory, like he was deciding what to do with you.
You responded only by continuing to listen, showcasing your interest.

“Lucky for you, I’m feelin’ generous today!” He proudly exclaims, hands gesturing exaggeratingly. Your head was throbbing. The wound had probably turned septic, infection and fever prevalent.

“You want to keep breathing don’t ‘cha?” He asked, dragging his cold and stiff hand across your face, faking intimacy in mockery. Then, his voice dipped lower, laced with something unspoken. “Then you’ll owe me yourself”, he begins, cold and calculating.

“You survive because I choose it. And in return, you don’t belong to yourself anymore.”
You swallowed, throat dry. Cracks of blood within your lips and teeth. You couldn’t fight anymore, and you had to do what you could to survive. Even if that meant surrendering to his weird perverse fantasies.

“Okay”, is all you could muster. You told yourself you were only saying it to survive, that you didn’t mean it at all. Anyone would do anything to survive, right?

The faintest flicker passed through his expression, like a spark in a dry forest.

“There it is”, he murmured, almost reverently. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He was looking down at you like a craftsman admiring his newest project. His smirk only widened, satisfaction growing over the control he had over you. He relished in it. He already knew William would tell him that he’s wasting his time and that they should just kill you off, but there was something about this new game that Jackson was looking forward to.

And you knew, deep down, that survival had come at a price far worse than death.

Chapter Text

You awoke with a pounding throb all over your head, the sensation burning deep. A groan escapes your lips as your hand searches to clutch your throbbing head, only to realise that your hand could not move too much.

You must’ve passed out, as you couldn’t recall ever being in this room, or being tied up for that matter.
Peeling your eyes open, they adjusted to the newfound light, and you peer across your body. You noticed that you were laying on a filthy mattress, flies swarming the room. Brown ish red smudges covered the surface area, is that blood?

Attempting to gage how tight the restraints were, you summon all the strength that you could and pulled. Your wrists were still raw from when you had escaped previously, the skin red and inflamed circling your wrists. You ignored the pain, gritting your teeth in agony. It was of no help. Grunting at the pressure, you lay back down and sigh in frustration. As your body accidentally stretches from the sudden movement, a strong tightness swelled at your side.

“The fuck?” You asked yourself, fumbling around within the restraints so that you managed to lift your shirt slightly. You almost gagged at the sight. Where previously presented a gash, now presented a crudely stitched up scar. It was jagged and uneven, definitely not cleaned, and hurt like hell. You instinctively try to move your hand towards the scar, to feel the bumpy sown skin. However, as you did so, you noticed something all the more terrifying.

Your pinky finger was gone.

Your blood ran cold, your head began to feel woozy, and saliva was pooling inside of your mouth. Your gut threatened to vomit, but you held it back, as you would likely choke on it. Your eyes began to flutter in and out of consciousness, and your hand began to shake.

Where the fuck was your pinky finger? Had they cut if off whilst you were unconscious? Holy shit.

A million things ran through your mind. You wanted to scream. You wanted to get the hell out of there. Breath becoming rapid, you turned away from your hand, you couldn’t face it let alone look at it. You may have gagged a few more times, but then again, once you stepped foot into Cottonwood Farm, that’s all you did. The smell of the place, of seeped urine, old blood and rotting meat.

Then the look of the place; The hooks swinging openly, the expired food left staggered around. You looked around the room, avoiding your hand and noticed a few crosses nailed to the walls. These crazy fucks were religious, really? It was almost unbelievable.
You had also noticed what looked like a family portrait, proudly standing on a table.
It appeared to be an older woman alongside two young boys. You could instantly recognise Jackson, although he looked so innocent. He had a few teeth missing but was still smiling brightly. He used to be a normal kid…

Next to him must be his brother, who Jackson mentioned to you before in passing, and you were pretty sure he was the one who initially attacked you.
God.. they just look like normal kids. What happened for them to turn out the way they did?

As you were reminiscing, stuck in thought, your troubled mind was interrupted as the door suddenly opened, loudly.
Your heart began to race, palms sweating incessantly. Your body locked up, face stilling as your eyes stared at the doorway.
In came what seemed to be William; A black and red button up flannel covered his bodice, and you noticed he styled his hair different to Jackson. He walked in nonchalantly, almost annoyed, as his eyes roam across your doe-like form.

He doesn’t speak, only gruffly stares at you intimidatingly. He walks over, each weighted step creaking the floorboards beneath him. He was much taller than Jackson, and heftier too. He studied you, like a carcass on a table. He had a chipped mug in one hand, that he then placed on the bedside table.

“Still alive.” He said, not with relief just observation. As he edges closer, his rough hand gripped around your ankle, that was tied to the foot of the bed. The touch is tantalising, cold and callous. His head turns in your direction, still holding your leg.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” He threatens, eyes glaring.

You couldn’t reply, frozen in fear. He then undoes the restraints on your ankles, allowing you to adjust your body into a sitting position, with your hands still held down. His hands were so nimble in the practice, almost as if he’s done this a million times before.
"You're finally still. I like you better this way." He remarks. Once satisfied, he reaches over to the chipped mug once more and forwards it into your direction.

“Its water. Drink up.”

Your wistful eyes switch from the mug to his face, then again. Defeated and not wanting to anger him, you lean your face forward closer to the mug and wrap your blistered cold lips onto the ceramic rim.
Unexpectedly, his other hand goes to enclose underneath your chin, his fingers taking a strong hold of your jawline. He tilts the mug so that the water begins spilling into your mouth, and you have no choice but to swallow it.

With each gulp, you could feel his grip tightly wound on your skin. It was weirdly intimate, but in a deceiving kind of way. Almost as if he was imitating from observation, on how people care for others. It seemed practiced, as if it didn’t come naturally to him.

Once you had finished drinking, he placed the mug back down and without warning, lifted your shirt to view your scar. You yelped at his touch, the area sensitive.
He makes no notice, somewhat ignoring you, and drags his fingers across the handiwork.
His gaze was of some sort of disturbing pride, like he was admiring his work.

“It’s messy… but it’ll hold.” He begins, voice low and deep. It took everything for you to stay still, to not squirm and kick your legs at him. Because you knew, if you did, you would most certainly die.

“Skin’s softer than fingers. Easier to work with” he says, casually.

What? Genuinely, what? Your mind was running on overdrive, as you registered what he had just said.
He must’ve noticed your baffled stare, as he decided to keep talking, almost to explain himself.

“Jackson used to lose his fingers all the time playing with his cleaver. Always begged me to sow them back on.”

He lowers your shirt back, mumbling something about Jackson being a fool. His proximity was suffocating, and only when he steps away did you realise you were holding your breath at times. He had been so close to you, almost stealing all of your air.
Then, you suddenly connected the dots.

Skin softer than fingers…

With a moment of hesitation, heart palpitating as you mustered the words out of your mouth-

“Where is my finger?”

He was grabbing some sort of rag but turned back to you as you confronted him.
The edges of his mouth curved slightly, as if he found this humorous. You believe that’s the first time you’ve seen him smile, sort of, and in reference to cutting your damn finger off.

“In the fridge.” He states, as if its simple procedure.

Your lips part to respond, but nothing comes out. You are taken aback. In the fridge? They really are fucking crazy.

He leans in closer again, his breath grazing you. The rag was swiped across your hairline, where blood had formed presumably from when you were attacked in your car. You winced at the pressure but let him clean you up.

“It’s a souvenir. First piece of you that you gave up.”

He answered your unspoken thoughts, as if he knew what you were thinking. His eyes gazed over to yours as he continued cleaning the drying blood, dark and sombre.
Unwillingly, your eyes watered as the situation of it all weighed heavy on you. Your captives were medically torturing you and then taking care of you in a disturbed caretaker roleplay.

“You’re fucking crazy” You whisper breathlessly, almost like a confession. You had no mental strength to fully scold him, but enough to let him know what you think.

“You think I’m the monster? You’d be in a shallow grave if I wasn’t here to fix what he breaks.”

He drops the rag back onto the table and returns to hover over you, menacingly.

“You’re more durable than I thought…"

He then lurches back, grabbing the mug from before and makes way to the door.

“Jackson will come down to feed you later”. He assures you, and before you knew it, he was gone. You were left to wallow in your isolation; hands tied at your sides and your legs floppily parted as if you were a ragdoll. At least you could move them now.

You lay your head back down onto the uncomfortable mattress in defeat, basking in your despair. You didn’t even know what time it was. Despite not feeling sleepy, your body caves in and your eyes begin to flicker shut with your vision becoming blurry. Your thoughts became unintelligible.

Soon enough, you dozed off. Whether it was by choice or not, you didn’t know.
--
Your mind was slowly returning to alertness, as you felt your face being lightly patted, and an incomprehensible voice was present. You opened your eyes and as you did so, realised there was a figure right in front of you, painfully close, smirking.

You flinch back on instinct, frightened by the sudden closeness. As your eyes adjusted, you soon realised it was Jackson. He pulled his hand away and laid it across his other arm that rested on the mattress. He was kneeling beside the ‘bed’, head resting upon his arms like a curious child.

“Hey, sleepyhead!” He remarked cheerfully.

You begin to sit up groggily, back slightly aching from the wretched mattress.

Your hair was tattered, maybe matted in certain areas and you felt lethargic. You grumble in response, body feeling stiff. How long had he been next to you for?

And God.. he smelled awful.

“I’ve got somethin’ for ya”, he states all proudly, quickly clambering up excitedly. He goes to reach towards the bedside table and grabs a plate and fork that he had presumably placed earlier.
He sits beside you, plate in his lap. You observed what was on it, it seemed to be some kind of meat, but you couldn’t tell exactly. It didn’t smell nice either.

He stabs a piece with the fork, and you swear you could hear the metal pierce the flesh. Whether you were hyper aware of your senses or you were slowly losing your mind, it didn’t matter because either way no way in hell did you want to eat whatever he was going to offer you.

“C’mon, open up.”

The food travels towards you, but you refuse to open your mouth, even turning your head away.
His hand falters, lowering ever so slightly. His eagerness clearly ruined, now pained with irritation.

“I’m not eating that.” You state calmly, averting his eyes.

He stays silent. You could hear the fork clink back onto the plate, and you felt him place it all back onto the bedside table.
Before you knew it, your face was being forcefully grabbed to face him. Your eyes widen in shock, cheeks squished, almost painfully so.

“Eat it. Or I’ll shove it down your throat and watch you gag on every bite.”

His eyes were staring directly into yours, and his threat burned deep into you. Whether it was the fever or not, you weren’t sure but suddenly your body was swept into a cold sweat. His fingers suddenly felt painful pressed into your face.
You nodded reverently, eyes pleading.
His demeanour quickly switches, mouth tugging into a smile. He lets go of your face, the marks still present.

“Smart girl. Next time, don’t make me ask twice.”

He takes the plate back into his lap and picks up the fork once again, thrusting it towards your mouth. You hesitate but pry your mouth open to take the mystery meat. He watches you incessantly, prowling for your reaction. You begin to chew; the meat is tough and lukewarm at best. Your face pulls into a grimaced expression, as your teeth pull apart the chewy, thick substance.
His fingers drum lightly on his thighs, twitchy and impatient. He could barely hold his excitement, like a child watching a windup toy.

“Mmm! Right? I mean, who wouldn’t love my cooking?” He chippered eerily, already preparing your next bite.

You chewed a few more times before ultimately trying to swallow it. When you first tried, it wouldn’t go down. As if your body was simply rejecting it. Then you tried again. Squeezing your eyes shut as you pretended it wasn’t some horrid meat. You forced it down, squelching your throat shut as it slid down your oesophagus, as to not throw it back up.
You opened your eyes and breathed heavily. What the hell did you just eat? You didn’t dare ask him, as you feared you would not like the answer. Knowing how crazy the two are, it could be anything. Ignorance is bliss, you told yourself.

“Like feedin’ a baby bird, ain’t it?” He chuckles in a giddy manner. Clearly, he was the only one finding this whole ordeal amusing.

“Say ahh”, he drags out in a sing-song voice, smirking. You of course open your mouth, not wanting to be reprimanded once more. Except this time, he drags the fork painfully slowly, and before
reaching your mouth, does a complete U-turn and waves the fork around.

“Wheeee! Here comes the airplane!”

It was insulting, really. Like salt in the wound. You couldn’t even retort, as he quickly stuffed your mouth, forcing you to chew once more. Your cheeks burn hot, a fresh wave of shame flashing your face. You let out a quiet, choked sound, somewhere between a whimper and a sob.
He continues spooning you small portions of the meat until it was all gone. By the end, you had streaks of silent tears down your face. You hated this.

“Aw, don’t cry,” Jackson croons with a tilt of his head. “You’re gonna make me feel like the bad guy.”

He laughs at his own joke, breathless, like he’s genuinely enjoying himself.
Your fingers trembled, legs slightly shaking. He pats your head, slow and delicately, the movement smoothing out any fly aways.

“You’re acting like I hurt you”, he says, feigning confusion.

“But all I did was feed you. I’m keepin’ you alive. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you”.

But he did hurt you. He’s the reason you’re in this godforsaken place. He’s the reason you had almost died from blood loss.

“I don’t want to die…” You begin; voice hushed in a whisper. “But I didn’t want this, either.” You curl into yourself slightly; knees now folded in front of you.

His eyes lock onto you, as if he didn’t understand why, you were reacting this way.
“You’ll understand, eventually” he starts, head turning to face the cross on the wall. “The lord wants us to show everyone our gift… and we cannot disappoint the Lord.”

He pauses then and turns back to you. He wasn’t being sly anymore, you realised, he was being dead serious. He must be delusional. What gift? You stare at him intently, trying to dissect his emotions, but you simply couldn’t. Then, he speaks again.
“I’m not your villain. I’m your salvation.”

Your eyes follow his hand as his knuckles go to graze your leg, from your knee to the mid-section. His sudden softness was almost worshipful; it petrified you how quickly he could switch. It made him scarily unpredictable.
Without saying more, he gets up and leaves the room. No warning. No telling of when they will next see you. You noticed he left the plate and fork on the bedside table, which was disgusting as the plate still held some of the juices from the meat.

The taste of the food was still clinging onto your tongue like something rotten. It was quiet. You rest your head on your knees, staring absentmindedly at the plate to the side of you.
And before you knew it, you already had a plan forming. Because you knew they would be back.

And that you had to do something.

Chapter Text

You were flat on your back, twisting your body around using your now freed legs so that your lower half of your body was now somewhat facing the bedside table.

Luckily, the restraints they had tied your wrists with wasn’t as harsh as the rope they had used before. It seemed to be some sort of leather. How considerate. With some small grunts and curses under your breath, you managed to position yourself direct enough where your feet could reach the table.

You stuck your tongue out, slightly biting down to maximise the most concentration. As one foot was resting atop the surface, you dragged the other close to the plate and began using your toes in attempt to pull it close to you.
For every little noise you heard outside of your room, you stilled, listening. You had to act fast.
Once satisfied, you began using both of your feet to pick up the fork and shuffle your body so that it would land on the bed. It took you a few tries, a small clank escaping each time it was dropped back onto the ceramic plate.

In one final stroke, you slowly but surely sandwiched the fork in between both feet and contorted your hips to throw it onto the bed.
Your head lands in a silent thud onto the mattress, sighing relief. Okay, we’re nearly there. Just gotta do a little more.
You shuffle on the bed, so that you aren’t diagonal anymore and then use your feet again to pull the fork up close to your hands. As your legs can only go so far before humanly impossible, you give it a slight kick in hopes it would reach far enough.
And.. its not.

“Fuck…” you murmur to yourself. You switch so you lay on your side, uncomfortably so, but then use your thighs to push it higher.

Your eyes fill with light, but you didn’t smile yet—you didn’t want to jinx anything. You grab the fork and begin prodding at the restraints, prying it in between the leather and your skin. You manage to create enough of a gap where you can start to wriggle slightly, stretching the leather out. And by the grace of God, you rip your hand out. You’re shaking, but don’t relish in the moment of the small victory you just gained as you need to urgently release the other one.
You rush to untie the other hand, fidgeting like crazy, breathing becoming rapid. Once it’s free, you stumble to your feet but grip onto the table as your legs are weak. Being strapped to a mattress for hours on end will do that to you.

You grab the fork, as you need something to defend yourself with, and once stable enough, begin to stagger around the room.
You pressed your ear against the door, palm resting lightly underneath as you held your breath and listened. Nothing.
You drew the door back slightly ajar and peaked through. Where were they?

The silence was unnerving, and not knowing the layout of the place definitely didn’t help either. You tiptoed outside and began walking aimlessly around the house. Clinging to the wall for support, your fingers tightly wrapped around the fork in your other hand as you take in the disgusting state the place was in.

You swore that you could hear the tiny pitter patter of rat’s feet, alongside the buzzing of endless flies swarming the bundles of junk and rotting food. The walls were a grotesque yellow, stained with God knows what. It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in others. They felt slightly sticky and had the same odour you would find in an elderly home. Except it doesn’t smell comforting.

You reach a hallway, avoiding creaky spots within the floorboards and try to memorise the layout. Theres wilted flowers in dull-coloured vases, with the tabletops being dusty--it seems like no one has cleaned up the place for quite some time. The brothers don’t seem the cleaning type, anyway.

Then you recalled the family portrait, and the older woman that stood beside them both. Was that their mother? It seems like she hasn’t been around for some time…
You push the handle on a door that seemingly leads to an outdoor porch, and swallow harshly when it opens with a squeak. You check behind you--nothing. You’re good to go.

But your happiness is very quickly killed off, as the entire porch is enclosed with wiring and there is no way to get outside. You don’t give up, though, rushing to a room further ahead.
As you enter, you are greeted with such dread, that you almost dropped then and there. Snaring its yellowed teeth, a huge monstrous creature loomed in front of you. Saliva dripping from its jagged mouth, its jaw was crooked and gaping. Its deformed body resembled a cow, but its limbs were of human nature.

Except the exterior seemed skinned and burned black, the smell exuding from it was putrid. As if it had already decayed and come back to life. The cows, no, the thing’s lifeless eyes were bulbous and too wet. They latch onto your form, and a harrowing yell resounds throughout the room.
You scream on impact, hairs standing on end, hands shaking incessantly. The thing begins to walk towards you, at a quickened pace and you immediately begin backing away, legs almost collapsing underneath you. The fork slips out of your grasp, palms clammy, thudding onto the floor with a loud clank. Your heart was pounding, the beat drumming inside of your ears.

But as you back up, you feel a solid warm body behind you, unmoving. Your knees buckle, struggling to stabilise your mass. A second later, two arms--thick as fence posts, scarred and calloused wrapped around your waist.
He hoists you up like you weigh nothing, slinging you over his broad shoulder with a grunt. Air rushed out of your lungs, as you flopped over like a potato sack. His shoulder was all bone and iron muscle beneath rough fabric, and he didn’t let go.

You kicked and wailed in panic before the cow’s vulturous breathing receded. It had stopped. You twist to glance behind you both, and sure enough, the creature had calmed, blinking its heavy-lidded eyes and swaying where it stood.
It had recognised him. And so did you, once you looked down and noticed the red flannel.
William.

Your chest heaved, breath caught somewhere between terror and disbelief. You had never seen something so horrifying before. This was worse than the pig.

“Please put me down-" You squirmed, voice ridden with fear.

William didn’t say a word, boots squelching as he carried you back down the previous hallway. His hands were clasped onto you, and it was clear that his build was that of a man used to violence and work. His presence alone was weighty, oppressive even.

You passed many rusted tools hung up like ornaments, and you swear you saw a dismembered hand lying on the floor.
Entering the cluttered house, you catch a glimpse of Jackson leaning against a beam, with that shit-eating grin that makes your stomach twist.
His eyes light up when he spots you hanging helplessly from William’s shoulder.

“Well, would ya look at that”, Jackson drawls, his voice thick with amusement. “You go off to see the sights and end up hitchin’ a ride home. Sweet, ain’t it?”

The moment your feet hit the ground, you stumble back a few steps, instinct driving you to put some distance in between you and them. Your eyes were still wide, chest rising and lowering rapidly, scarcely drawing in enough air each time.
William still towers above you, his thick arms falling to his sides.

“Daisy almost attacked her.” William states nonchalantly.

Jackson straightened up slightly, walking over. “Well… no wonder you’re shakin’.” He states, looking down at you, eyes dragging.

He then lets out a low whistle, head turning in the direction of William, smirking. “Ain’t like you to step in.”
William looked irritated, but his eyes were kept on you- cowering by the wall, shaking.

“Jackson”, he said.

Jackson’s eyebrows furrow, awaiting some lecture William was probably going to give. That’s what big brothers do.

“What?”

“They're not ready.”

Jackson then pauses for a moment, and you found two sets of eyes gawking at you with disturbed interest. You couldn’t decide who to look at, eyes darting between the two of them. You looked pathetic, like a deer in headlights.

“She’ll get there.”

An uncomfortable stillness fills the room and without delay, Jackson parades over to you and yanks your arm, pulling you towards the big dinner table in the middle of the room.
“No, no- c’mere now,” he muttered, more to himself than you. Your body is limp; you practically throw yourself at him.

Abruptly, he slams your arm down, hand still clutching around your skin, pressing you down hard onto the table. As he does so, a loud slam is heard and the clutter of your feet adjusting to the position. You can feel his chest slick onto your back; his face stuck next to yours. He’s warm and heavy, like an anchor trapping you in place. He stunk of blood, sweat and a hint of urine. You repulsed away from him as much as you could, but he kept you firmly in place.
His mouth brushed close to your ear, hot breath against your cold skin.

“You know…” he murmured, voice almost gentle. “I’m tryin’ real hard to be patient with you. Real hard.”

His hand slid down your arm, fingers curling around your wrist to keep it splayed wide.
“But you keep makin’ this harder than it has to be.”

You whimpered; breath caught deep within you. Your throat was scratchy, screams wanting to crawl their way out but unable to.
“You hear me, little rabbit?” he whispered, his smile audible. “Hurt my feelings when you run.”
He raises his head slightly.

“William,” Jackson called lazily, eyes never leaving you. “Hilda..please.”

Hilda? Who was Hilda? William didn’t pause, instead he stepped forward and passed him Jackson’s cleaver. As soon as you saw it, you began trying to pry your hand out of his iron grip--repeating various ‘no’s’ and ‘pleases’.
He gripped the heavy cleaver with his other hand, twirling it once. Your body stiffened. He began to tap the cleaver between your fingers, slow and deliberate. Not fast enough to risk a slip, but enough to make your body seize in place.

“I think”, he drawled, “You owe me an apology.”
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Only a strangled breath.
“Say it.” He stopped the tapping, cleaver hovering above one of your fingers. Your hand still had bandages on from when they took your pinky finger.

His mouth was right against you now; his breath was hot but cooled instantly against your stiff skin.
“Say it,” he hissed, all charm gone. “Say you’re sorry- and that you’ll never, ever try that shit again.”

“I...” you croaked, voice barely there. Truly, you mentally kicked yourself as you knew you should just say it, but your body was so overridden with fear you couldn’t regurgitate it.
Just a second later, he slams the cleaver down right in between two fingers, so close that you felt the rush of air as it landed.

“SAY IT!” he roared, the sound exploding through your ears. You jumped violently, whole body wracked with tremors now and began to sob brutally.

“I’m sorry” I’m sorry!” You quickly forced out, voice hiccupping with each sob. “I won’t run- I won’t- I promise!”
Tears were falling and dripping onto the table, your eyelashes damp. You could barely see anymore.
He stared at you for a moment, lips twitching. Then, the soft smile returned.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”
He drew the cleaver away, dragging it gently across the wood with a nails on chalkboard scrape. Before you could recoil, his hands moved--not to restrain, but to gather. One arm coiled tight around your middle, yanking your front against his. The other, dragged itself up and pushed your head down onto his chest.

He drew in a long breath through his nose, inhaling your fear, your sweat, your scent.
“You don’t even know what you are, do you?” he murmured against your scalp, more to himself than you. “You were meant for this.”

Then, almost as if he was sealing a ritual, planted his lips to the top of your head. Not soft, not warm. A brand, not a kiss.
“You understand now, don’t you?” he said quietly, nearly soothing. “There has to be consequence. Correction.”
You flinched, lips quivering as your voice broke. “Please… Jackson, please don’t- I didn’t mean to- “

But he was already shaking his head, gently tutting, like a parent with a child. One hand rose to cup your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye where tears stained your skin.
“Shh,” he hushed. “This is part of the process. You fight it now, but you’ll thank me. He laid this path out long before you and I ever walked it.”
What the fuck was he talking about? He pulled back only enough to look you fully in the eyes again, voice lowering.

“The Lord’s got a plan for you; you were destined to come down that gravel road.” He whispered, a terrible peace in his tone. “And I won’t let you stray from that plan.”
William then stepped forward, his face unreadable. He grabs your upper arm, as Jackson let go of your face. You begin thrashing, voice raw and shrill with immense panic.
“No- NO! Please, don’t- don’t do this! I’m sorry, I’ll listen! I’ll do anything!”

They didn’t respond.

William took your other arm now, and between the two of them, began to drag you towards a door. Your heels were scraping desperately along the floor, panic overtaking any sense of strategy or dignity. William kicked the door with his foot, his strength evident. A staircase followed down below.

“Please! I’ll be good! I swear, I will just- please don’t take me down there, PLEASE- “
Your voice cracked, dissolved into incomprehensible sobs. William shifted in his grip, tightening it as he lowered down the fleet of stairs.

“The screaming’s only proof you still need it.” Jackson said, holding your legs in place.
Your wails began to echo, as you all lower deeper into the dark basement. It smelled damp, and of a sickly iron. Before reaching the last steps, they hurl you down, not enough to hurt you too much. But enough so that you wouldn’t be able to get back up and run for it.

You land with a big huff onto your side, the grime of the floor sticking to your wet face. The door shuts behind you with a soft click.
You’re alone. But not for long.

Chapter Text

It was dark and desolate, with the only noise filling your ears being your own heavy breathing and the occasional dripping of fluid from the ceiling. You brace your upper body, pulling your weight up using your arms. William and Jackson were long gone now, you had realised, which left you to your own incentives.

Pain was pulsating through your whole body, but you managed to pull through and drag yourself up against a wall. It wasn’t entirely dark, you noticed--a few broken bulbs flickering in the distance. Your eyes squinted, the musk setting in.
The air was suffocating, but you trudged through the murky floors, determination mixed with curiosity. Reaching the dimly lit room, a warm stench of decay hit your nose. This time however, you didn’t pinch your nose, and you suppressed to vomit, taking in all of the smells.

Because you knew you weren’t escaping anytime soon, and that you needed to adjust to your surroundings if you wanted to stabilise yourself. You had to eat away at your fear. It was hard, each breath consuming a waft of spoil. However, your mind quickly averted its fixation onto something else. There were rusted bathtubs plotted around, and various for that matter.

Limping further into the room, the shadows outlined chunky and unshapen figures, slumped within the tubs, perhaps even leaking. Your eyes couldn’t make out what they were at first, so you slouched closer and observed from a wary distance. You didn’t reach out to touch whatever it was--you had watched your fair share of horror movies after all.
Indeed, a few resembled a similar bodice of the ‘Daisy’ creature you encountered before. You would have been alarmed, but they seemed incapacitated and unmoving. Maybe they were dead? They seemed to be marinating in some sort of oozing liquid, some of the flesh meshing onto foreign parts that didn’t seem like their own.

In another tub across the room, appeared to have a larger body inside of it. Its face was longer than the others and its eyes were hollowed and empty. You decided it was a lot creepier, and that you would stay away from that area for your own sake.
The light was dim, and the deafening silence was beginning to ring in your ears. It was too quiet.

A few hours pass by, and you had managed to scope out the entire basement. You had opted to rest on a throwaway table; it was way better than the sickly floor. Your eyes simply wandered across the ceiling, minding every discoloured patch as you pressed yourself flat against the tabletop.
The entire place was horrifying, that’s for sure--but what do you expect out of a couple of maniacs? You couldn’t dwell on the horrors of the place; your focus had to be on your escape and survival. You had to look out for weak spots.

What was the thing that they had said about you? Something about being intended for a purpose...

Being stuck, isolated with only your thoughts is dangerous; you had begun to conspire all kinds of strategies, some more unconventional than others. Despite how distasteful it might be, it probably would give you the best advantage.

You had to play along.

You had spent the entire day in the basement with zero contact. Neither of the brothers had come down, nor had you heard them from up the steps. You didn’t even know what time it was, and there was no way of telling either.

Was this any better than being tied to the bed? You weren’t sure.

Hyper aware of the soaking bodies beside you, you couldn’t exactly fall asleep that assuming night and instead stared into nothing for hours on end. They wouldn’t just leave you down here to rot... right?
--
You didn’t know how long you had been down here now. It was merely impossible to gage the hours passing by, as there was no indication of sunlight or anything at all for that matter.

All you had was the flicking light and the occasional, rare, footsteps above you. Sometimes it seemed like they had stopped moving right above where you sat. Sometimes you thought you had heard tapping on the floorboards straight after the footsteps stopped, but it was hard to differentiate it between the loud dripping. Maybe your mind had only been replaying the sound of footsteps so that you wouldn’t feel so alone.

Every so often, heavy boots shifted weight above the floorboards, dragging large masses across, deliberately and slowly. Could be moving furniture. Or a body…
Your body used to freeze up at their footsteps, heart racing. Now, you found yourself straining for it, ears twitching in silence.

A few hours back, you swore that you could feel a presence looming behind the basement door--listening. Sensing whether their captive was still alive or not. When you felt it, you had clambered up the steps and had pressed the side of your face up to the door, ear flat against the base and holding your breath so that you wouldn’t miss a scrape of sound. The waiting made something hot and aching bloom in your chest. But you heard nothing.

Were you beginning to imagine things?

You didn’t think so, but there was no denying it. Even your own brain had started to form faces in the various bundles of decay congregated around the rooms, like some grotesque Rorschach tests.

At certain moments, you had begun talking to yourself aloud to fill the void, only to realise you had been answering questions that no one asked. It wasn’t just the first night that you spent awake for constant hours, it was almost the entire time you had been down there. There was no surprise that you had become delirious.

Stomach almost caving in, you had begun to grow awfully hungry. Thirst wasn’t entirely an issue, as you had resorted to drinking some mysterious fluid in glass jars that was stored in an abandoned cupboard. It had been clear enough, and you didn’t want to succumb to dehydration. Nevertheless, you were not prepared to eat some mystery meat again.
The bodies in the shadows didn’t speak, didn’t look at you. Everything was so still that it was torturous, they simply sat there and rotted. When in a dazed stare, you would imagine slight movement from time to time.

You didn’t know when it had started happening, but you began to wait for something, anything, to break the silence. The longer you spent away from the brothers, the more you caught yourself listening out for them, thinking about them.

The idea made your stomach twist, yet the thought burrowed deep: you had grown familiar with the environment, and undeniably them.
You told yourself that it was purely for survival, but was it?
--
You were checking the cupboards once again, you had lost count how many times you already had, for anything new. The fridge stayed bolted, but you still dragged your fingers across the chains. Ears perking up, a whisper of motion could be heard from the corner of the room.

However, it had vanished once your eyes peered into the darkness. You stilled, waiting for another noise but nothing came. That’s it, you’re officially going crazy.

Then it happened again, a sluggish scrape and a wet breathy exhale. You stared at the heap of shadows, one shifting with its limbs bending and skin dragging across the floor.
Stomach turning cold, you didn’t move. You couldn’t tell if you were fully losing it now or if it was real. Then it shifted its elongated head at you, ribs protruding out of its chest cavity and bony limbs staggering.

Without thinking, you bolted towards the stairs, legs shaking so hard that you stumbled halfway up and almost tripped. Your palms slapped against the basement door, banging until your skin stung and the sound echoed back. The door rattled, its old frame evident but strength lingering.

“Open the door! Please-“ Your voice cracked, hesitating a moment before deciding to call out their names directly.

“William! Jackson!” You pound harder, each thud frantic. The basement begins closing in on you, shadows pressing against your spine, the faint scrape and heavy breathing pulling in closer.
“I’m sorry I’ll-“ The words break apart into sobs. “Just let me out!”

You press your forehead against the door, breathing ragged and whispering their names like they might materialise if you said them enough. It was disturbing, how their names simply rolled off your tongue, like a broken prayer.

Then, the lock clicks.
Your hands fell away to the floor, strength draining from your body instantly. There you are, on your knees and chest heaving. The warm light from the hallway spills over your hunched form and down the stairs.

You look up, bewildered and pathetic, trembling so hard that your teeth were chattering. Ahead of you, Jackson’s silhouette fills the frame. Your voice was still catching on his name, softer now but still audible.

He doesn’t speak, simply reaches down and grabs your arm in a firm unyielding grip. In one smooth motion, he hauls you upright and out of the hallway, slamming the basement door behind you.
The second the door clicks shut, you cling onto him--hands clawing at his shirt and suspenders, forehead pressed against his chest as you wail uncontrollably. He lets you cling onto him, the weight of your fear settling against him. His eyes are dark, but there’s a twist at the corners of his mouth, a faint unsettling pride. You had called for him. Even at your lowest, you had cried for his name.
His free hand brushed your hair back almost tenderly, but it was more to see your face clearly, to see the fear.

“Knew you’d come ‘round eventually.” He murmurs against your head. “You’re not goin’ anywhere. You know that by now.” He lets the words hang for a beat, his tone almost casual. “Best thing you can do is to stop fightin’ it.” He says, voice low edged with satisfaction.

You hated it. Your mind was screaming at you to push him away and to run for it, but your body just kept gripping onto him. He consoles you with various hushes until you eventually let go of him, fingers aching from how tightly you clung.
He stepped forward before you could even establish enough distance between you two, arm sliding under yours--the solid weight of him forcing you to lean against him.

“Careful now,” he drawls, voice sweet with mock concern, “Don’t want our little flower falling over now, do we?”

His arm is solid, but it feels as if you’re clinging onto a wolf in a suit. He begins steering you down the hall, leading you into the filthy kitchen. Your mind kept peering back to the disfigured monster down in the basement, but you gathered your wits and put on a bold face. The room is warm, air heavy and your eyes gaze over to William, who is already seated. His eyes meet yours at you enter, lingering enough to feel as though you’re pinned to the floor.

Jackson pulls out a chair for you, almost ceremonious as he signals you to sit. His grin is a little too wide for your liking. Nervously taking your seat, you rest your hands in your lap and fidget quietly.

Once Jackson claims his seat, he bows his head enthusiastically with William following suit, except more casually. You follow their lead, not wanting to disturb the current peace. They both mutter a short, perfunctory prayer, voices low and even, as if they have practiced this for years.

As the final words escape their mouths, they begin picking at the meat on their plates, silverware clinking. You mimic their every move; it was disturbing how familiar you looked sitting beside them. It was like the average family dinner.
The meat is different tonight, richer and more brightly coloured. Juices pooled beneath each slice, and it smelled fresher too. You hesitate for a moment, fork halfway up to your mouth. Your mind flickers back to the basement--the dragging noises and thuds above your head.

Hunger quickly dulls your suspicion, as you hadn’t eaten in presumably days and this was going to be the only sustenance you would get. You plop it into your mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing, chasing the thoughts away.
Across the table, William’s eyes hold onto your form for a second too long, as if he was gaging for a reaction.
Jackson on the other hand, seemed almost boyishly excited to watch you eat. You remembered him being as such, as he was like this last time too. He leans forward, elbows on the table and grinning proudly.

“See? I knew you’d like it- Can’t beat fresh!” His tone is light, but there’s a gleam in his eyes. A gleam that says he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and that he’s enjoying every second you force yourself to dismiss it.
--
After dinner, Jackson had been in a buoyant mood, the unpredictable sing-song kind of cheer that always left you feeling unsettled. He had lounged in the armchair, boots kicked up on the table- despite William telling him not to- and spinning a small knife between his fingers while humming tunelessly.

William simply had gone out to tend to whatever animals they had, cigarette balanced between his lips, eyes half lidded. It seemed that he was more routinely than Jackson and tried to maintain a sense of order in their unkept home.

They had given you permission to roam around, and you had paused before doing so as you weren’t sure if they had been joking. It wasn’t real freedom, more like they kept you on a leash.
You moved carefully through the halls, figuring that if you were useful, you might buy yourself some breathing space. Starting in the front room, you had begun picking up old glass bottles and righting the chairs. The kitchen was worse, dishes crusted with grease, counters sticky under your fingers. You worked in silence, the scrape of ceramic on wood oddly grounding.
It distracted you for a moment, forgetting that you were the prey in this sick game. It allowed you to keep the delusions at bay, despite you still seeing things in the corners of your eyes from time to time.

In one corner, half buried under a pile of worn blankets sat a teddy bear. It was small, beige once but now dulled to a sickly grey brown. One of its arms was nearly torn off, stuffing threatening to spill out. Two buttons for eyes, but one hung by a single thread.

You turned it over in your hands, observing each crevice. There was something out of place about it, something so innocent in a house full of bloodshed. You searched through drawers until you had found a bent needle and a spool of dark thread.
Sitting on the edge of the couch, you began stitching. You weren’t skilled but knew enough on how to do the basic fixing up. Focus took over you, nimble fingers steadily making neat lines--you didn’t even hear him approach.

A shadow fell over you and you froze.

William stood there, towering with his usual expression. You could smell the faint trace of smoke clinging to his shirt.

“I- I just found it,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself like word vomit. “It was torn, so I thought- “

“That’s mine.” He stated lowly.

You sat there, looking up at him until he suddenly reached out and took the bear from your hands. You didn’t say anything and watched his face closely.
He held it close, turning it slowly between his large, calloused fingers. His eyes narrowed slightly as he examined the stitches. He was quiet, until his gaze lifted, meeting yours.

“…Thanks,” he said, his voice barely more than a grunt, but there was a strange weight behind it.

You thought you saw something flicker in his eyes, not like Jackson’s, but something else that you couldn’t decipher.
But the interaction didn’t last long as he turned away with the bear tucked under his arm, leaving you sitting there with your hands empty and your thoughts tangled.

It was growing late, and you had spent the rest of your evening aimlessly staring out of a window. The grass was surprisingly flourishing, and it was somewhat relaxing to watch the wind dance with the trees. It was silent, the calm occasionally broken only by distant creaks of the old house settling. There were bundles of hay scattered across the field, that you had watched William rake through earlier. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t fascinated by his skilful movement. The way that he drags his arm across his forehead when he sweats and how he takes a swig of beer each time he pauses.

“Boo!” Jackson’s voice suddenly slices through the quiet, and his hands clamp over your mouth before you can scream. A jolt passes through your body, heart hammering and breath catching. But then his laughter bubbles out, infectious and wicked. You nervous chuckle in response, as his hands glide off your face.

“Alright, enough fun for one night.” His voice softened just a touch, but there was no mistaking the command behind it. “Time for bed.”

He took your arm again and steered you away from the window. You didn’t resist--the tension being too raw and exhaustion prevalent.
He led you back to the room you were tied up in before, everything had been kept the way it was before except of course, there were no items left hanging around that could potentially be used as weapons.
He opened the door and gestured you inside.

“Sleep tight!” He smiled, “But don’t think about trying to run again.” He stared at you intensely, the tension feeling almost awkward and embarrassing. He let the threat hang in the air, unfinished but clear.

With that, he shut the door with the click of the lock, sealing you inside. The room was cold and empty, but it was your own strange sanctuary. Sprawling your body out onto the mattress, it wasn’t long until you fell asleep as your body was practically begging for it.
--
In the middle of the night, a faint unsettling sensation stirred you awake. It was subtle at first, a delicate touch at the back of your head. Your fingers twitched, brushing your hair gently as if to shoo away whatever it was.

You were half asleep, and your vision was unfocused in the dark. The moonlight filtered weakly through the small window, casting pale shadows but revealing little.
It must’ve been just a bug of some sorts, you concluded, as it wouldn’t be unusual for a farmhouse. Though, the unease gnawed at your mind, and you slowly scanned the room. Empty walls stared back, and the room was as still as ever.

Once deciding that you must be delirious from the lack of sleep, you pressed your head back down and eventually dozed off again. However, the silent presence was still there, watching over you.
His eyes were trained on you as you lay there so vulnerable, sitting just beyond your peripheral. Hands threading through your hair as his face kept still, emotionless. Your breathing evened out, the tension in your muscles slowly unwinding.
The touch was strangely soothing, a dark lullaby that coaxed you deep back into dreamland.

Chapter Text

Your restless body stayed in a deep slumber until the late hours of the morning, body heaping with sweat and mouth parched from the light snoring. You hadn’t fully rested in a while, so it’s no surprise that your body took the opportunity to fully release itself.
You didn’t move when you had awoken however, laying limp across the mattress and eyes trained onto one particular spot on the wall where the wallpaper had been ripped, displaying the wooden underbelly.

The right side of your face has indents from the mattress, speckled dots imprinted across your plushy cheek. As you turn onto your back and smear your hand across your soused face, a few cracks exit your body but no noise escapes from your mouth. There was no sentiment about waking up in Cottonwood, you didn’t enjoy it or necessarily despise it either. You were simply numb.
Without realising, you were stroking your own hair, twirling the shorter ends in between your fingers--your pinky moving along on instinct. You had forgotten that it was even gone. It didn’t even feel that way, just felt as if you had scraped it and then bundled it with bandages.

Fingers pausing, they repeated the same twirl movement on a specific section of hair, rolling the dull jagged edges in between your finger pads. That's when you looked down, and noticed it had been cut shorter, and very obviously so.

It wasn’t too chunky, but not neat enough to not notice. You swore you felt someone in your room last night, but the exhaustion was too much and you were unable to alert your senses.
Neither of them had come to wake you today, leaving your sopping body to soak with the blood and sweat. You dragged your body out of the bed, feet padding the floor, each footstep with heavy haste. Peering out of the window, your eyes search for the familiar silhouettes of the brothers, but to no avail. Where were they?

You walked down the hallway past the kitchen, peering into it before continuing your journey, walking past what was presumed as an ‘at-home’ slaughter room– dried blood spewed across the floor. Not wanting to indulge yourself in such a crude environment (ironic considering where you are), you intended to wander straight past it, when you heard something fall to the floor and a slurred ‘Awh, crap’.
Slowly edging inside, you peer into the room, eyes falling upon the figure of a man. He seemed shaken, and rightfully so for the horror house he was in. Brows webbed in anguish and form staggered--unconfident and uneasy.

You grip onto the wall, unmoving and unsure of what to do, staring at him like a doe in headlights.

“Oh Dude- You totally scared the crap outta me”, he whispered in a hushed voice, slouching closer to you.

You don't reply, your brain trying to figure out who the hell this was. It seemed like a survivor of sorts, another victim. Like you.
A part of you felt relief, that you weren't the only one, not alone. But the other part of you felt unsteady.

“I for sure thought you were one of the brothers creepin’ up on me”, he states breathlessly, picking up his hat off the floor.

“You get kidnapped by them too?” He asks, concern riddled within his voice as he notices your frightened form.

It takes a moment for your voice to escape your throat, mouth dry and tongue caught on your words. “Yeah”, you manage to muster out, voice small.

He closes the distance between you two, not suffocating but comfortable. He looks disheveled, hoodie mucky and shoes plastered with dried mud that seeped into the small crevices.
His lips were dry and cracked and some small scratches littered across his slim face. The hat seemed old, maybe sentimental, as some loose threads hung from various directions.

“Alright listen- We gotta get outta here. I think I overheard the brothers talkin’ about some key.”

You register his voice, it was warm and croaky. His dialect was informal but homely. Unlike William and Jackson's, who were rigid and unnerving.

“Key?”, you reply.

“Something like that. Leads to the garden.”

Suddenly, you hear that familiar disturbed laughter from down the hall, drilling through your ears. And just like that, your heart was ramming through your chest and your body shuddered.

“Crap- Alright, I'll catch you later, yeah?”

You nodded at him feverously and right before your eyes he disappeared into the shadows, body dispersing weight thoughtfully.

Body still wrapped around the edge of the doorframe, heartbeat thumping against the oak, as you feel fingers wrap around your mid section.
The touch lingers on your waist, even when his hands travel upward to hold your wrists loosely, his presence ghosts your body. His index finger extended to slot into the crook of your palm, almost endearingly.

You watch him do so, noticing the crude stitches lined across some of his fingers. His fingernails had dirt under them, at least you thought it was dirt. He pulls your weight to twirl you around, and a hum escapes his throat as he does so.

There was no resistance from you, body following like a lost puppy. Once you turned to face him fully, his arms raked up to your shoulders and stayed there, unyielding.
“What're you up to, hm?” Jackson cooed close to your ear.

Breaths shallow, you realised that he hadn't seen the guy that you had run into. That's when you stumbled in your thoughts– do you tell him about your encounter?
No, surely not. This could be your chance to escape. Although, if he were to find out…

You dreaded thinking about it, about what he could and might do to you. You ultimately decided to keep quiet about the run in, opting to appease Jackson instead.
“I was looking for you.” This wasn't inherently a lie, as you had woken up undisturbed, which was so far abnormal for the brothers.

Jackson tilts his head, that wolfish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His dimples betray the softness of his expression, but his eyes are sharp, watching every flicker in your face.
“Awwh. That's cute.” He replies quietly, one hand reaching up to cradle your neck, fingers lightly wrapping around the base.

“You weren't doing anything you weren't supposed to, were you?” He asks, voice quickly turning cold. His thumb finds the air passageway of your throat, pressing force onto it.
He eased into the threat, as it slowly became harder to take in breaths. His eyes were trained on his hand, but they were unfocused. He paid no mind to your reaction, absentmindedly testing your boundaries as he continued applying pressure.

“N-no.” You mutter, voice strained.

The pressure then stops, and his thumb opts for rubbing circles in the same spot– almost soothing.
It was like he was playing with you, testing out a new toy and testing if It'll break.

Jackson’s thumb still ghosted over the soft spot of your throat, like he couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to hurt or comfort. His gaze unfocused again, as if he were talking to himself as much as to you.
“See… trust ain’t something people deserve anymore. Not just handed out like candy. Before, sure. People had rules. Promises meant somethin’. Now?” His lips twisted into a humorless grin, dimples cutting sharp into his cheeks. “Now you tell someone a secret, and they’ll sell it for half a can of beans. People’ll stab you in the back for shoes that don’t even fit ‘em.”

You look up at him, eyes searching for any reasoning for what he was babbling about. Before you could even catch a word in, he continues.

“Do you trust me?” he murmured, almost conversational. It was weirdly intimate, the closeness, the topic.

However, he keeps talking once more, not letting you respond directly.

He leaned closer, voice dropping lower–“You-you’re different. I can see it. I can feel it. You don’t lie to me. You’re not stupid enough to. And maybe that means I can trust you. But that goes both ways, darlin’. If I trust you, you better damn well trust me back.”

Every nerve in your body was alert, every hair standing on end. But when his eyes bore into yours, watching, testing, you found yourself speaking before she could second-guess it.
“I… I trust you,” you whispered, voice barely audible, strained with fear.

He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, the faint brush of his breath against your skin.
“You do, huh?” His voice was low, almost a purr, his tone soft but carrying a dangerous edge. “Good. That’s… that’s what I like to hear.”
–-
It had been a few hours since your encounter with the guy you had found, and it was reigning on your mind constantly. You wondered where he was hiding now, if he would get caught. You didn't even know his name…

Like the day before, you had eaten with William and Jackson at the table, prayer welcoming the meal. Today, the meat was more chewy, rubbery and harder to swallow.
But you had gotten through it. You had to. Afterward, you decided to wash everyone's plates with whatever water they had. The taps had been rusted over, some having plant growth secreting out of the cracks. Instead, you used an old bucket that William had filled for you.

In replacement of a sponge, you used some old tatted cloth and began scrubbing. Your fingers ached afterward, but that in itself was mercy– it proved you were alive.
Meanwhile, Jackson was in his room that he shared with William, the teddy that you had fixed sitting atop William's bed.

Jackson was sitting on his bed, body hunched and legs spread casually. He held a single lock of hair between his fingers, turning it over slowly, watching how the light caught the strands. His thumb brushed along it absentmindedly before he lifted it to his nose, inhaling sharply. The scent clung to him, a mix of sweat, faint blood, and something uniquely you that made his chest tighten.
He let the hair drift through his fingers, the strands tangling around his calloused skin.

He leaned back slightly, still holding it, and closed his eyes for a moment. The lock of hair was more than just a piece of you, it was a reminder, proof that you existed in his space–that he had a hold on you. The thought made him shiver with that twisted pride he always carried, like he owned you.

Without a word, he brought it to his lips, letting the tip brush against his tongue. He bit down lightly, teeth sinking into the soft strands, and slowly pulled it through his mouth. A low, pleased hum escaped him as he swallowed. The act was intimate, perverse, almost ritualistic, a twisted mark of possession.
–-
As the sun bore down over Cottonwood, you grew increasingly agitated as your ‘friend’ hadn't come out of hiding.
You were returning to your room, footsteps quiet and tiresome. You decided that you preferred making your own way back instead of Jackson dragging you there, it allowed you to have some sort of autonomy.

You closed the door carefully behind you, not letting it creak. Relief fluttered in your chest, as neither brother had followed you to your room. The little sanctuary of your room was one of the only places you could breathe without their eyes on you. Well, that’s what you thought anyway.

The second you took a step forward, suddenly an arm hooked around your waist and a hand clamped down over your mouth. Body stiffening, a muffled sound caught within your throat, instinct surging as you sank your teeth down into the fingers across your dry lips.

“Shit!” The grip snapped away immediately, and you spun around, heart hammering in your chest.
As if your prayers had been answered, there stood the same man you had ran into earlier; Eyes sunken with fatigue, body droopy as if he was clinging onto any strength he had left.
He was cradling his hand that was now oozing with warm red blood– and staring at you with wide offended eyes. His voice came out in a sharp whisper, still half panicked.

“Hey! Dude, it’s me! What the hell-? You almost bit my damn finger clean off!”

Your pulse was still racing, mind turning foggy as it remembers the feeling of teeth sinking into human skin. “You- you can’t just-”
He gave you an uneasy grin, still flexing his bitten hand and turning it over to inspect it. “Yeah, yeah, not my best entrance, I get it. But relax, I’m not them. I’m not here to hurt you. I’ve been keeping low”.

His tone was hushed, a little breathless and exasperated. “And holy hell, you’ve got a strong bite for someone stuck playing housemaid”.
He must have been here long enough to see your little parade. How hadn’t you noticed?

“You don’t get it,” you hissed, glancing back towards the door as if either of the brothers could barge in at any moment. “If they find you-”

He interrupts you, voice croaky with determination. “Look, we don’t have much time. I found that key. They keep it in their room. You know the one I’m talking about, right?”

You stood there, staring at him, mind reeling at the thought of being caught again. You were not about to be thrown down into the basement again. Or worse, hung up on the meat hooks.
At least that's what you told yourself.

He noticed your uneasy demeanour, and his voice softened towards you, as if to coax you into understanding– a soft slap into reality.

“That key could get you out of here. Get us out of here. You don’t have to stay here anymore.”

The words hung deep, stirring something deep within you. You should want this. You should leap at the chance. But all you could feel was dread, the sickening image of William’s glare, of Jackson’s cold ghostly touch.

His nervous smirk faltered, realising the disturbance in your head wasn’t simply uncertainty, it was hesitation. Hesitation that should not be there. “What? Don’t tell me you’re actually-” He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “You’re scared of them, I get it. But trust me, being scared is better than being dead. And if you stay here any longer? Dead’s where you’re headed”.

A silence sits in the middle of you two as you contemplate whether to take on his offer or not. His eyes never leave yours, the soft warmth radiating off them. He’s human, just like you. Not a monster. Then, his hand reaches towards you, keeping it hung in the space between you.

“Name’s Anthony. If it makes you feel any better, we’re in this together. We’re pals now, yeah?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

You took his hand and shook it, but before you could take your hand back, his grip tightened.

“Come on. I’m not asking you to think, just move.” He states, voice insistent. His touch wasn’t the cruel type that you had grown used to, but it was desperate.

He urges you forward, and without much choice, you went with him. Your heart was pounding in your throat, as if it wanted to jump right out of you. It’s really happening.
When you two reached the hall that led to the brother’s room, you faltered. Your feet slowed, then stopped, as if invisible chains clamped your ankles to the floorboards. Anthony must have understood, and took the initiative to take the key.

He looked back at you, a comforting smile painted on his face, as if to tell you it will all be okay. The door was slightly ajar, faint light spilling out and grazing the edges of Anthony’s figure.
He turns to slip inside quietly, as you loomed behind.

And then it all happened. William emerged and tailed Anthony, his large presence locking them in the room. William’s hand shot out, grabbing Anthony by his hood, jerking him off balance. The noise of struggle, shuffling and a muffled cry struck you hard. He was going to die.

You stayed back, nails digging into your palms so hard that you drew slight blood– the sweat mixing into a concoction.
Anthony’s eyes locked onto yours, wide and frantic. His lips parted as if to shout something, but the weight of William’s arm around his throat cut it off into a strangled gasp. Still, his stare didn’t waver.

Multiple cuts were marked across William’s arm, as Anthony’s hands clawed at him. His face was turning slightly blueish red, eyes bloodshot and legs kicking from underneath.
He stared at you like you had the power to shift the outcome, because you did.
William’s back was turned to you and just a few feet away, a heavy vase sat on the dresser. You could grab it, one act of courage and Anthony could be free. And maybe–, maybe you too.

You didn’t move.

Every thought twisted itself into knots. If I do that, then.. They will.. If I betray them.. But I’ll betray myself.. If they see, I’ll lose everything..
The logic smothered you, not that there was any, but beneath it all was something uglier; the sinking realisation that a part of you didn’t want to move.

That some seed planted in your mind had taken root, you told yourself countless times that this was all for survival when in reality, it was an act of submission.
Just then, William’s axe flashed, swift and merciless. Definitely not clean. The sound was wet, some small cracking as the weapon bludgeons hard into bone. Anthony crumpled at his feet like discarded trash, opened flesh splaying out. The scene was disturbing, disgustingly gory. As if he was some animal to the slaughter.

The coppery scent of Anthony’s blood was thick in the air, his eyes are still wide and glassy but he is terrifyingly still. He was talking to you a moment ago. William drops his axe beside him, breaking the silence. You jump slightly, as your thoughts are disturbed.

He looks at you. You can’t read the emotion, if there is any. His lips twitch faintly, not into a smile exactly, but maybe acknowledgement.
The eye contact is broken as William begins dragging Anthony’s limp, still warm body. The sound is grotesque, fabric rubbing against the floor, blood smearing a slick path in his wake.
Even with his heavy footsteps fading, you’re still standing there, staring at the stain spreading.
–
Time stretched and broke, limp arms hanging at your sides but unmoving. Your fingertips grazing the fabric of your clothes without recognition of touch. The light outside of the grimy window shifted from a waning gold to a bruised shade of purple, but you didn’t track it.

You had stared at that patch of floor, vision unfocused until red and brown blurred together. You hadn’t even realised how long you stood there for.
At some point, though you couldn’t have said when, footsteps creaked down the hallway behind you. A hand settled on your shoulder, but you didn’t move. You hadn’t even registered his hand on you until he spoke directly to you.

“C’mon, sweetheart..”

Jackson bent slightly, his breath fanning near your temple, murmuring words of comfort you barely took notice of. His hand slid down your arm, wrapping around your wrist as he coaxed you into motion. You felt as though you were a robot out of fuel.
He simply kept on spewing fragments of reassurance as he led you back to your room.

“Look at me, just me, yeah? That’s it.”

He opened your bedroom door and steered you inside, easing you towards the bed. You sat when he pressed down on your shoulder, limbs folding automatically. You felt the mattress dip beneath your weight but registered none of its texture.
He crouches besides you, fingers brushing hair out of your plain face. And that's when you feel the only emotion you felt in hours. You tilt slightly into his hand, the heat of his palm fuelling your emptiness.

It’s sick, how much relief washes over you from just his touch, a comfort you would have recoiled from days ago– that now feels like the only thing keeping you from splitting apart.
His arm slides under your shoulders and pulls you against him, as he eases himself onto the bed you now claimed. Face pressing against his foul shirt, you don’t pull away as you simply can’t. Your eyes barely blinked, let alone noticed the intimate position you now laid in.

You stayed, complicit and docile, seeking his comfort the way a wounded animal might crawl into the hands of its hunter. It’s wrong and twisted, but it feels good.