Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pip wasn't a bad person.

He never had been.

But somewhere around mid August last year, he found the struggle wasn't a minor inconvenience to overcome, it was just a burden to endure. And with that realisation came a wave of anger so strong it there his brain for a loop and messed his morals up a little, and ultimately dragged him to where he was now. The prison bus. Headed for the one and only BlackGate Penitentiary Institution- or 'The Gate', as most referred to it.

The Gate was a notoriously high maintenance and secure prison, and in all its decades of existence, not a single convict had escaped. Some had attempted to, sure, but to succeed would be a damn feat in itself, let alone surviving the journey home through miles and miles of overgrown woodlands in all directions around the gargantuan 20 square miles wide building. Besides, if navigation wasn't a problem, there were also dangerous wild animals roaming freely amidst the trees, lurking in the shadows and no doubt prepared to leap at any prisoner who came by. In short, it was impossible to escape and gut wrenching to get in.

Pip hunched over and rested his head on his hands. He cringed at the state of his hands- muddy and scuffed. He'd give anything to wash them.

He discreetly shifted his gaze to the boy next to him. He was a complete mess- he was trembling like he was sitting upon the engine, his eyes were twitching and he was tugging at his wild blonde hair so hard he would surely be bald by the time they arrived at the slaughterhouse. His state was a sorry sight, especially as he was really quite pleasant looking under all the anxiousness- he had soft blue eyes and long eyelashes, straight, white teeth and high up cheekbones.. but he absolutely stank of meth. It masked all of what would've been his natural odour and stung the insides of Pip's nostrils. 'A long term addict, most likely..' He thought to himself. He decided the respectful thing to do would be to focus his attention elsewhere. Turned out Pip had a habit of people watching.

The guy in the row of seats next to them was a sight to behold. The first thing Pip noticed was his stunning shock of curly red hair underneath a mossy green and very well worn ushanka. It was a shame he kept his hair hidden as it was so gorgeous and silky-looking, Pip thought. Upon closer observation, he noticed that the boy also had a striking pair of green eyes, pale skin with slightly sunburnt shoulders and an explosion of freckles scattering his cheeks and general torso area. Like every other convict on the bus, he was also wearing the bright orange prison jumpsuit and matted black boots. In general, he looked like a decent guy.. The only thing about this guy that got Pip a little on edge was how furious he looked, his hands balled into fists, his brow furrowed and his pupils beady and glaring at nothing in particular. Pip was just glad he wasn't on the receiving end for once.

The next person who caught his eye was for a different reason. It was out of fear.

There was this huge, wide and bad-mouthed scum at the back of the bus, maybe out of sight but definitely not out of sound. For the entirety of the ride, said passenger had been spitting out nasty jokes and slurs at whoever he could aim at, his breath foul smelling and the insults rolled off his tongue like a sailor. Most of the insults were- lo and behold- aimed at the redhead Pip had been admiring earlier. And by the way they interacted, he immediately knew they had history with eachother.

"Hey! Hey Kahl! Did they finally make you Jews illegal?! Bahahahah!"

The greasy haired pig snorted

"Fuck you fatass!"

"Heh- what- what are you in for? Haha, they find out you slashed some little tires?! BAHAHHA MAN THATS SO WEAK!"

"SHUT UP CARTMAN, I'LL KILL YOU!"

'Kyle and Cartman, huh.' Pip thought, 'they must really hate eachother to be fighting like this before we even get there.' He sighed, knowing it was going to be a long ride.

The boy next to Kyle was trying desperately to calm the redhead down, whispering things like 'they're gonna make your sentence longer' and 'he's just an asshole, ignore him' until the latter finally calmed down and let out a half sigh half groan, crossing his arms and bouncing one leg irritably. Pip tried to get a closer look at what he assumed was the best friend, but could only make out a crocheted blue and red bobble hat. It looked very sweet, but also quite out of place for somewhere like a prison bus. Pip scanned the rest of the vehicle, which resulted in him being more stressed than before.

'At least some people are civil.. But this is a high security jail after all..'

Pip clutched his paperboy cap impossibly tightly as he found he could make out a prison-shaped object nearing closer and closer through the front window, as if it was supposed to climb back to him and reassure his that everything was okay and that he wasn't about to become a victim of The Gate. Which, of course, he was.

Upon arrival, all convicts had to exit the bus in an orderly line without speaking or even looking at others. Then, they were led to the main entrance, where they would one-by-one empty their belongings and pockets to prove they weren't in possession of any forbidden items like weapons and alcohol and the such. After that, they were taken to their cells, where they'd be with one other person the wardens deemed suitable. If a convict was too violent to be with another, they'd stay in solitary confinement- a horrid, damp square cage with nothing but a basin, a dirty mattress and thick bars that gave them little privacy whatsoever.

'Oh yeah.' Pip felt sick when he took in the sight. 'This is prison.'

Interrupting his train of thought, a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder, consequently causing him to jump out of his skin in shock. The perpetrator took a step back in surprise, obviously not expecting such a reaction. Pip looked her in the eyes and immediately realised she meant no harm.

A tall woman with long brown hair, crooked glasses and a nasty bruise under her left eye loomed over him, looking simultaneously confused and guilty for scaring him. She wore a slightly crumpled but professional outfit, and her badge read 'Martha Tucker, Pharmacist'.

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry if I scared you!" The woman waved had hands frantically, her voice a little high pitched and ever so slightly nasally "I assure you that I would never play such a cruel joke on you purposefully, I really just-"

"Haha, it's quite alright." Pip assured the flailing woman, trying more so to calm her down than to calm himself down- he had a feeling she was new to the job. "Are you here to give me my pills..? Judging by your badge, that is."

The woman took a second to register what was being said, then exclaimed "ah!" And crossed her arms casually. "No, no, I'm not here for that just yet, I'm here to assign you a cell slash cellmate! You are sir Phillip... Ah, um... Pirr..up? Is that how you pronounce it?" Not waiting for a response, she continued. "Ah, let's see here hmmm... Phillip 'pip' Pirrup, 17, 5'9.. Pip is a rather odd nickname!"

"Yes, it is isn't it? I can't remember quite how I got it." He replied rather meekly

"Yes indeed.. Alrighty, here we go! Cell number 17 in... D block?! Oh!"

Martha's eyes widened at the letters on the paper. She pulled a pair of reading glasses out her pocket and winced at the words. She looked from the paper to pip countless times, each time looking more and more bewildered.

"Um.. Is there a problem miss?"

"There must be.." She muttered under her breath. Then she very rapidly and quite neatly folded the sheet up and placed it back into her pocket, a large but forced smile plastered on her face. It put Pip a little on edge.

"I believe that we should take you to ID picture.. Taking.. Before we get into the serious stuff, right? Haha! Cmon now!"

She then continued to half-shove, half-pull pip to a large hall in line with a bunch of other inmates and leave, which made Pip wonder if something on the paper was the problem and not just Martha's terrible eyesight, though he prayed silently that it was the latter.

Finally, he was at the front of the line. The cameraman looked at him for barely a second and groaned so exaggeratedly that Pip took slight offence to the very gesture, albeit he was a prisoner.

"Right, which funny guy let the women into the men's building!" He snarled, a cigarette butt peeking out from the corner of his mouth. Pip watched in awe as the smoke swirled around his head like a halo or as if it had been trained to do so.

"I am male, sir." He managed out, suddenly fearing for his life.

"You are biologically male? A likely story. Someone get this kid ou-!"

But before he could finish, another guard had whispered something to him, then the cameraman whispered back and so on until he finally came back to his position behind the lense, grimacing as he looked Pip up and down.

"Just got informed that 'cha a boy. Pretty girlie, aren't ya, fella?"

Pip was feminine looking. He'd known that his whole life- his shoulder length blonde hair, his shiny round blue eyes, his slim face, he never heard the end of it. But being stood unable to say anything in front of a man actively denying your gender was something he had to add to his mental 'most humiliating moments' list for sure.

"Smile for the picture, Pip."

Oh great. The staff had already caught onto that stupid nickname. Just his luck.

Pip had lied to Martha earlier- he did remember where he got the name. It was when he was in the foster home, all the kids would call him Pip because they hated him and said he didn't deserve a real name. So Pip had come to be, a stark reminder of his past that made him nauseous. He heard it every day. Nonetheless, he smiled for the damned photo, wincing a little at the unexpected flash that came with it. After the war was over, Pip pulled his hair into a small ponytail and headed for the cell he was assigned. What was it Martha said? Cell 17.. D block..?

He made his way down various hallways, each darker than the last, each more menacing than the last, and most importantly, in each one he went through, someone asked him "Are you sure you're going the right way?" Which he found to be incredibly odd and quite disturbing.

Finally, he made it to the final door, the one labelled 'D BLOCK' with a very reassuring 'DANGER. DO NOT ENTER' Message underneath written in blood or some other unknown red liquid that dripped down the pasty white door.

"Hey. You're in the wrong bit." He heard a voice say. A female one, not too different to Martha's, but slightly more bitter and steady. He looked at the woman. She was stunningly beautiful, with long curly blonde hair, a bold red jacket and a beauty spot on her cheek. Her badge read 'Bebe Stevens. Security.'

"I'm not, Ma- Miss Tucker said I was in D Block, Cell-"

"17." Bebe cut him off. Though with the amount of dominance in her voice, it felt more suitable to call her Miss Stevens. "You're the new one? Good grief, just about anyone turns to crime these days. I can't believe someone like you would end up on the list though."

Pip was feeling more confused than he had been since he got there.

'What's up with D Block? Why doesn't anyone think I belong here? What the hell is the list??'

"I'm almost scared to ask but.. What's the list?"

"Are you fucking stupid?" Miss Stephens put her hands on her hips and sighed at the incompetence.

"The FBIs most wanted list. That's why you're in D Block."

...

What?

Chapter Text

Pip was frozen in shock.

The FBI most wanted list?! He wasn't.. He...

How did he not know? Why was he on there?! He knew he was bad and did terrible, unforgivable things, but.. But...!

"Oh... G-God- I'm gonna be sick.." He barely managed to mumble out, feeling as his legs started to give up on him and finally buckled, sending him side-first onto the wet, hard floor. Miss Stevens rushed over to him in a panic, spewing things that didn't fully register to Pip's brain into her radio, her voice frantic and she seemed almost as shocked as he was.

The FBI most wanted list. What was the criteria? Pip had made sure to read up on it when we was a kid. Let's see.. 'To be considered for the list, a fugitive must have a lengthy criminal record, be a significant threat to society, and have a wide-reaching impact. The FBI also considers the likelihood that national publicity will aid in their capture.' He'd read that somewhere at some point for whatever reason. Possibly to avoid getting on it in the first place- how ironic. It was laughable.

He was a threat to society? He never saw it that way. He only hurt people who.. Well, quite frankly, people who deserved it. He tried his best in the fleeting moments of consciousness to recall his deeds.

20 murders.

No... 19.

One got away.

19 murders, all of adult men- Pip wasn't so cruel as to murder woman or children. In fact, Pip wasn't so cruel to kill without reason at all, but given the state he was in, that wasn't the first thought that came to his head.

As the cops crowded him, as the headache inducing lights blurred, as his vision grew blurry, he was in the exact position he was in the day they found him. The day he planned to be his last, and in some ways it was.

"Pirrup!"

'Close your eyes..'

Was someone singing? No, that's absurd.. Who would be-

'Have no fear.'

...no, no, it was the stress, surely..

'The monster's gone,'

"He's not responding!"

'He's on the run,'

"Fuck, how did this happen?! He's literally dying!"

'And your daddy's here.'

"Someone carry him to his cell, quickly, before the warden gets here, she'll slit our throats!"

______________________________________________________

Pip felt his muscles ache and his bones creak with each stiff movement he made. His hips were especially sore, and after pulling down his waistband a little he was met with an unsurprising, but nonetheless hideous, big, purple bruise.

When his brain caught up with his body, he realised that he wasn't on a cold hard floor anymore, but a cold hard mattress, one with a pillow and a thin, paper-like blanket that did hardly anything to conserve any body heat whatsoever. He found the strength to sit himself up with his one non-painful arm and peered curiously around his new surroundings.

There were two beds with about a half metre space between them, Pip's being what he supposed was the original prison covers and one being a little more appealing with a thicker black duvet and a black pillow sewn by hand with a contrasting deep red thread. On Pip's side there was an empty trashcan, plastic desk and basin, all his items being the generic cream and blue colours that he saw in every empty cell, and one big window slightly closer to his side than the other person's. On the opposite side, it looked a little more disturbing. There might have used to have been a desk, but in its place was a thousand chunks of plastic on the floor, a tipped over trashcan overflowing with paper, a basin that was unusable due to its pipe being slashed with a sharp object which very well could've been a piece of shattered desk, and distressing, cryptic scratches engraved into the wall, the biggest one spelling out 'where's your saviour now?' In ragged lines. Pip didn't find himself wanting to look at it for very long, and focused on the more interesting items.

For starters, he was very pleased to see simple, normal-ish items around- there was a shimmery, black electric guitar which sadly seemed to have no amp, lots of books on dark magic, which Pip was immediately drawn to as a firm believer of the supernatural, a black set of pyjamas (which was really just a pair of shorts and a tank top) and various pieces of beautiful silver jewellery, one being a pentagram, one being lots of stars interlocking into a choker, paperclip earrings and a wide range of skull shaped accessories. His roommate sure had style, though it did scare Pip a little to see so much death and despair everywhere.

Pip suddenly got brave and slowly edged closer to the glittering pile of silver on the bed with the innocent intention to inspect them closer, to see all of the shapes and fun things that you rarely ever saw in prisons.

However, the second he lay a finger on whatever necklace he lay his greedy little blue eyes on first, he was met with the odd feeling of being shoved violently onto the ground by an invisible force and having his lovely blonde hair tugged at aggressively once he was on his hands and knees on the floor.

"Ow-! Wha- Ow, Ow stop!"

"Then maybe quit playing with my stuff!" Came the aggravated and unanticipated response in a voice that sounded so unnecessarily dramatic that it had to have come from the mouth of a teenage boy. Pip didn't realise or rather care about that fact at the time, though, as he was too busy having a nervous breakdown over the fact that he was hearing things that weren't there.

Except it was there.

A cloud of menacing, black smoke emerged from a specific spot looming over Pip and quickly dispersed into tiny whisps, then thin air. And, as if it were magic, a boy stood there where nothing but a voice was prior, dressed head to toe in black and staring down at the crumpled Brit with literally fiery eyes, flames flickering incessantly within the confinement of his pitch black irises.

"Huh? Da i ahn angel kures.. Who are you? Why are you in my chamber?!"

"Chamber..? No, I'm your roommate. This is a cell."

Pip replied with as much of a pathetic tone he could muster in hopes of avoiding nonessential conflict.

"Cellmate? Par blans sent ol ah MORTAL cellmate?!"

The dark boy crossed his arms and grit his teeth. They were dreadfully sharp, like a shark's, and his canines were slightly longer than the others. Pip had to refrain from staring blatantly into his mouth like a creep and to resist his notorious curious nature.

"Haha, uh, I believe so, sir!" Pip squeaked, his understanding of the language the boy was speaking being absolute zero and looking anywhere but the absolute weirdo leaning over above him. "My name is Phillip Pirrup, but everyone calls me Pip-"

"Pip is a ridiculous name, Phillip."

"... Uh... B-but everyone calls me Pip because they hate me." Pip repeated, caught off guard by the rare use of his actual first name.

"I don't care. I hate all mortals, yet I do not resort to petty insults to express my distaste. I much prefer to take the enemy down physically." He demonstrated this claim by shooting a fireball at Pip, narrowly avoiding his head and hitting the wall behind the other boy, who was so out of it he couldn't bring himself to question what was possibly the strangest occurrence of the night and instead stood blankly with a flabbergasted look on his face.

"Oh. O...Kay.."

"I came to be called Damien here. Where I'm from I am referred to as the dark prince."

Damien stared at Pip in silence for a moment, before going off on another foreign tangent to himself, pacing around the cell as if he were pondering something.

"S, ol hate angels. 'Pip' trian noan ahn dodsih, father.."

"Um, Damien, was it?" Pip stood up and dusted himself off, his body aching ever the more but still stressing his good impression, "What language are you speaking? It's charming."

"What.. It is Enochian! You must speak it, you're an angel, correct?"

"Ah, no, haha! I'm flattered though!"

"Do NOT be flattered!" Damien gripped Pip by the shoulders and shook him aggressively. "Angels are terrible creatures!"

"O-oh, okay! Got it! Ah.. Uhhhh... Do you play guitar?" Pip blurted out, terrified and desperate to change the subject to something more pleasant.

"Guitar..? Yes, I do.. You must've seen my one." Damien's demeanour switched completely in a matter of seconds, and suddenly we was on the other side of the room, hanging the guitar over his neck and plucking at the strings. "I trust you didn't mess with it while I was gone?"

"Oh, no, I wouldn't! Though I couldn't help but admire it. Do they allow this in prison?"

"Wouldn't matter. Rules don't apply to me because the staff here are so fearful that I'll take their lives."

'Well that's something we have in common.' Pip silently commented, not daring to speak his thoughts aloud for that very reason.

"Would you?" Pip asked, not fully expecting the response he got.

"Oh, absolutely. I'd kill anyone up here and I feel I've proved it. Every heard of The Demon King Killer?"

He looked up from his guitar at Pip's face, his eyes narrowing and a wide, crazed grin etched onto his sickly pale skin.

"Guess who that is."

Chapter Text

NEW CHAOTER OUT SOON. THE AO3 CURSE GOT ME AND I NOW I AM SCHIZOPHRENIC. GOD BLESS THE GUY WHO KEEPS COMMENTING IM SO SORRY MAN I LEFT FOR LIKE A YEAR.

Chapter Text

'Dear Mr Pocket,
I am quite afraid for my life so far!
I have been placed in a cell with a disturbing young man who claims to be a serial killer and rambles for hours on end about the devil! God bless the chap, he must have been through some trauma. I can't say I recall his name, though, if he even bothered to inform me. I would so love to be back with you in South Park and I am terribly worried for you! Hopefully the bullies don't give you too much grief. Ah, the mail women is coming around. I shall write again soon!
- Phillip'

Pip hesitated momentarily before handing the bitter faced woman his paper. After she left, he slumped pathetically onto the edge of whatever was behind him and let his heavy, throbbing head sink into his hands. Everything felt so hopeless. He felt hot tears pricking the corners of his eyes and it took all of his power to refrain from sobbing right there and then.

"English boy. Are you aware of your position?"

Oh god, of course, he had a roommate who could appear out of thin air whenever he pleased. Just his luck- he'd surely be beaten to a pulp one of these days if he kept this up.

"Ah- yes, I am quite overwhelmed to be hone-"

"Your mental state is the last thing to concern me. My point is that you," he stabbed a sharp, black-nailed finger in Pip's direction. The blonde boy heaved his head up wearily. ".. Are placed upon MY resting place!" The demonic boy's pasty white features contorted into a deep disgust.

Pip looked down at his lap, observing the fact that the sheets he was planted on were in fact a deep black shade.

"Dreadfully sorry.."

He just managed to stagger over to his side of the cell, swaying like that of a drunkard and rubbing his eyes, framed with purplish dark circles after a good couple nights of crippling insomnia. The dark boy raised an eyebrow in evident confusion, but said nothing. After a few suffocating moments of staring and silence, a familiar sight of a cloud of smoky fog wrapped around him like a blanket and he was once again whisked away- Pip was alone again, and felt more alone than ever.

Pocket's letters had been mysteriously disappearing whenever he turned a blind eye, and he had a creeping suspicion that his terrifying 'roomie' could be held accountable, which caused him to believe that they may contain something pretty important. This triggered a possibly unreasonable amount of worry in Pip, not wanting this hellspawn to get involved with his personal life whatsoever. Though, hiding things from an invisible force proved to be near impossible.

He groaned to himself and decided that taking a pleasant walk around the prison grounds would cheer him up and possible tire him out enough to get at least an hour of sleep, so he pulled himself up with the handle of the door and called out weakly to Martha Tucker through the small opening window, who was whistling to herself next to the D Block door and obviously uncomfortable. She immediately whipped her head around to the direction of the meek wail.

"Oh dear, I do hope the birds didn't get in again.." She muttered to herself. However, her face brightened when Pip was in her line on vision, and she didn't hesitate to rush over to the door.

"Pirrup! Good morning! Oh gosh, you sure look tired. Wanna walk around?"

"Yes please, Miss Tucker. That'd be wonderful." He squeaked out, his throat raw and sore. He was coming down with a terrible cold.

"What a pleasant young man! Okay, let me unlock your cell, dear.."

Pip felt a rush of refreshing cold air wave over him as the doors unlocked with a satisfying click. He inhaled deeply, suddenly chipper. He felt his throat loosen up a little and coughed harshly, shivering at the uncomfortable sensation of puke in his throat, which he swallowed. It was strong and acidic, and lingered for far too long.

"You look terrible!" Martha remarked with no malicious intent. "You got a fever, Hun? Go to the cafeteria and get some hot water."

"Is there tea?" He asked hopefully.

"I wouldn't hold my breath." Martha let out a brief chuckle. Her laughs were distinct, sounding literally like the words 'ha ha ha'. "I'd get going if I were you, it's almost physical therapy time out in the yard."

"Ah, okay. Get going where exactly?"

"Oh sorry, I forgot you were new!" Martha bent down to his level and handed him a neatly drawn diagram of what he supposed was the way to wherever he was headed to. The cafeteria was the most likely destination, given that was the topic of their last, short sharing of words.

He nodded her off politely and pulled his ruffled blonde locks into a messy ponytail, the long bangs either side of his neat fringe falling loosely from the rubber band and curling inwards slightly towards his face. He hadn't straightened his hair in days, and some of his natural curls had started to creep back.

Making his way down the halls, Pip observed that each door was a slightly lighter shade of red as he went on through the alphabet- first his block, D, then C, then B and finally A, where the door was a nice shade of light coral. His was deep red.

Another thing he observed was the fact that he was being watched intently and with no shame by the other inmates, who either whistled crudely, laughed at him or quickly turned to their friends, not bothering to whisper when they dared to call him 'fresh meat' or 'girly-boy', all the usual nonsense. Pip could easily brush it off, though the sickening knot in his stomach only grew tighter.

Upon reaching the cafeteria, Pip was greeted with the exact same layout his old cafeteria at South Park Elementary had, which was at least a little comforting. It had the same smell too, unfortunately. Cheap, store-bought mush all smelled and tasted the same- rubbish.

Pip shuffled on his feet in line, and when it was his turn, he was positively mortified to be met with the same twitching crackhead who was with him on the coach ride there. His label read 'Inmate volunteer - report to B-Block'. Pip found it amusing that he was placed in a more secure cell block than a literal insane person, but hey-Ho.

"Good day!" He chirped, his positive glow radiating off him like sunlight. "Could I bother you for some hot water?"

"Hot water?? Ghh.. That's it???" The wild haired boy stammered, bony fingers clutching at the ends of his apron.

"Oh, and some toast if you have some, please."

"Ok-kay... We only got-- Gah-! Brown bread, hope that's fine."

"Perfectly fine!"

"..'Kay."

After about a minute of waiting, Pip got a plastic cup of hot water and two slices of toast with messily spread jam and butter. Oh well, better than nothing, which was what Pip had been eating for the past two days. Despite his smallness, he was usually a big eater.

Now, seating arrangements. Pip decided that the floor by the bins would do him good. And they did, and before he knew it he was finished and very hungry still, but at least he half filled the hole. He didn't know, however, if he could manage to drag himself to whatever prison PE class he had to attend. After deciding he couldn't, he settled for dragging himself behind the building in the yard for a good sit down.

It was a somewhat pleasant day outside. The sun was peeking through the grey clouds that took over the entire sky, bringing a very light drizzle of rain down onto the dry ground. Despite this, it was quite warm and pip found that it reminded him a lot of where he grew up in Kingston. He slimed up at the sky and took in a deep and satisfied gulp of air.

Sitting on a cold metal bench, Pip watched with great interest as the other boys played a game of basketball. The guard watching over them had seemed to have forgotten Pip entirely, which, although it hurt his ego a little, Pip was pleased about. The last thing on his bucket list was to throw around murder balls with a bunch of high level criminals.

Just then, Pip saw someone lurking in the shadows around the pitch Pip was watching, clutching a ball and standing there looking a mix of furious and mightily confused. Pip would recognise that face anywhere. And given that the name 'Damien Thorn' was plastered across his old, worn name tag, he knew he was right.