(no subject)
Title: Gone 1/?
Author: veiledndarkness
Pairing: Future Bobby/Jack
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Characters not mine, no harm intended.
Summary: AU. Jack's been taken, a pawn of Victor Sweet's game.
*
Jack lay on the cold, hard floor, his knees tucked up to his chest. He coughed weakly, his chest rattling in the silence of the room. He licked his dry, cracked lips slowly and looked around the dark space. He heard the heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and shuddered. He tucked his head down to his knees, tensing at the other's approach.
"Hey!" Jack edged away from the voice. "For fuck's sake," the voice sighed.
Jack clamped his lips shut, willing the person to go away, anywhere, just not where he was, not there, God, where the hell was Bobby?
The voice sighed again, tinged with weariness. "He ain't comin', kid. Get over here and drink this," the unseen person said. There was a dull thud as a bucket was placed on the ground near Jack. The person walked away, more heavy steps on the creaking stairs.
Jack waited until there was nothing but silence again before lifting his head cautiously. He pulled the bucket closer to his chest and lifted it with shaking hands, taking small sips of the cool water. He pushed the bucket away and curled up, shivering hard.
"Bobby..." he whispered hoarsely.
*
Jack answered the knock at the door, grateful to be away from the argument inside. Bobby and Angel were far too distracted to pay attention to something like the doorbell ringing. He sighed and moved off the couch. He pulled the door open only to be hit with an icy snowball. It slammed into his chest and face, a cold slap.
The insult from the boy walking away from him, it cut right through his senses. Before he stopped to think, he grabbed up a snowball of his own and was about to toss it right as the boy turned around, a gun clutched tightly in his hand, trained on him. He stopped dead in his tracks, a look of fear etched on his face.
The gunman took one step closer to him. Jack took one back, scrambling to stay upright in the slippery snow. He opened his mouth to call for help, his voice nothing more than a whisper. Jack watched with growing horror as the gun was pointed at his head, and he faintly heard the man speak to him. He strained his ears as the man came closer.
"Don't fuckin' move," he said, his voice low. Jack glanced back at the house, the sounds of angry yelling still spilling out the door. "Don't bother. You scream, they die," he said. Jack shook his head, willing himself to stay calm.
"C'mere," the man said before roughly grabbing Jack by the shoulders and holding the gun at his side. Jack struggled weakly in the man's grip, his shirt ripping as he moved.
"You deaf?" the man snarled. "Hold the fuck still," he hissed, tossing Jack into the van, the two men inside catching him and holding him down while they tied his hands behind his back. Jack whimpered once, the cold metal biting into his wrists, the memories of being tied up before swarming him. He shuddered helplessly, whispering a litany of 'no's.
The first man slapped his gun against the back of Jack's head, knocking him unconscious. Jack's eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped over onto his side.
*
Bobby huffed angrily as Jerry yelled at him, his eyes wandering around the room. The hair on the back of his neck stood up just then, a growing sense of unease. He turned slightly to the side and glanced out the window, his heart stopping for a moment when he saw a masked man pull a struggling Jack across the snow covered front yard and throw him into a van.
"Jack!" he yelled, fury sending him into motion. He grabbed a shotgun from the dining room table and ran for the door, aiming and shooting without blinking at the men who came out of other vans, firing at the house and at him.
"Angel!" Bobby barked roughly. "They got him," he yelled, shooting one man, then turning and shooting another in the shoulder. The man went down with a scream of pain.
Angel yanked Sofi by the arm and threw her into the kitchen. "Get down, stay down," he ordered softly. She opened her mouth to yell. Angel kissed her quickly, a hard bruising kiss before getting up and running over beside Bobby, firing his gun steadily.
Jerry leaned against the wall, his eyes wide with panic. Sofi held her hands to her mouth, muffling her sobs as she heard the bullets explode in the house, pieces of wood and glass raining on her.
Bobby held his gun steady on one man, advancing slowly towards him. "You'd best stop right there, you son of a bitch," he snarled softly. The man dropped his gun, his arms in the air.
Bobby stepped up to him and ripped his ski mask off. "Where is he?" he demanded.
The man shook his head, his eyes bulging with fear. "I..." he tried to say, his voice fading.
Bobby gripped him by the neck. "You better fuckin' speak," he growled. A loud pop exploded near Bobby's ear, the bullet hitting the man in his chest.
The man opened his mouth and blood poured out over Bobby's hand. He pulled his hand back in disgust, as the man dropped to the ground, blood leaking from the hole in his chest.
Angel nudged him with his boot. "He dead?" he asked quietly. Bobby nodded. "Almost," he said coldly.
The other shooters stood across the yard, all eyes on Bobby and Angel. He stared at them silently, his gun held tightly in his arms, ready to shoot. They backed up slowly and got into the various vans, driving away quickly.
"What the fuck?" Angel said lowly. "Why they leavin'?"
Bobby felt his fingers go numb. He dropped his gun and walked stiffly back into the house, directly into the bathroom, his eyes dead. Jerry stood behind him, sputtering.
"What happened? What the fuck is going on?" he said. Jerry flinched at the look on Bobby's face when he looked back at him.
"He's gone," Bobby said hoarsely. "He's gone, they took him."
He closed his eyes, tears running unnoticed down his cheeks slowly. "Jackie," he mumbled, his fingers digging painful gashes in his palms, bloody crescents imprinted in his skin.
*
Jack awoke several hours later. He opened his eyes warily and looked around the dark room. "A basement," he said shakily. "A fuckin' basement." Jack struggled to breathe slowly, his memories clawing at him.
He shivered, curling into a tight ball as light spilled from the doorway. He lifted his head slightly, watching a large man stomp heavily down the stairs. He bit his lip, holding back his fear.
The man came closer. He reached out with one hand and gripped a fistful of Jack's hair, lifting him a few inches of the ground. Jack bit his lip harder, a thin rivulet of blood trickling down his chin as he felt the ripping pain in his scalp. The man smiled crookedly.
"Hush little baby, don't you cry," he crooned, moving his hand back and forth, sending Jack crashing into the wall. He cried out sharply, his head ringing in pain. The man chuckled and dropped Jack, letting him hit the floor.
Jack clutched his head, his vision swimming. He wobbled up onto his knees and edged away from the man, away from his hands, and his curiously blank face. The man blinked and smiled again, his teeth glinting yellow in the sparse light from the doorway.
"Little baby Jackie," he whispered, petting Jack's stinging scalp. "Hush little baby."
Jack shuddered. "Don't touch me," he snapped. The man frowned. Jack felt a moment's panic wash over him. The man yanked Jack close, his sour breath fanning over his face.
"Bad boy," he muttered crossly. He backhanded Jack, sending him flying. He landed in a crumpled heap, his back screaming in pain. The man shook his head slowly and placed a large blanket on the floor. He then left, the stairs creaking under his weight as he went up them. Jack dimly heard the door close, then the sounds of several locks turning.
He glanced at the blanket on the ground, and with one shaking hand, reached out for it. He wrapped himself tightly with the blanket, cradling his sore head. "Bobby," he whispered through numb lips.
*
Angel stood by the window, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He half-listened to Jerry trying to explain to Bobby why they couldn't just storm the streets, looking for Victor Sweet.
"...I'm tellin' you Bobby, you can't," Jerry said, frustration heavy in his voice.
"Can't and shouldn't ain't the same," Bobby snarled. He placed another bullet in his gun, eyeing it carefully as he spun the barrel. Jerry slapped his hands down on the table, amidst the guns and bullets that littered the table top.
"This is fuckin' insane," he said evenly. "It's a trap Bobby! You know Sweet's countin' on you to go lookin' for his men, shooting them all up."
Bobby placed a pistol beside his shotgun. He spared Jerry a quick glance. "I won't be," he muttered.
"Then what the hell is all this? How do you get this many guns?" Jerry said. He picked up a hunting rifle. "Where'd this come from?" he asked with a grim look on his face.
Bobby gritted his teeth. "Never fuckin' mind," he said. "The less you know the better."
Jerry shook his head. "You got a goddamn death wish?" he said quietly. "Is that it?"
Angel walked over to Jerry, his eyes dark and unforgiving. "There's a guy outside, by your car, Bobby," he said. "Guy thinks I can't see him."
Bobby smiled then, a horrific grin. "Bring him in then," he said, switching the safety off his gun. Jerry rubbed the side of his head. "This is insane," he repeated.
Bobby grabbed him by the shoulder, pushing him against the wall, his eyes furious. "Either you help us find Jack, or I'll kill you myself," he growled. Jerry struggled in his grip.
"Have you gone around the bend?" Jerry yelled. "I'm your brother!"
Bobby chuckled dryly, nothing more than scraping sound. "And I love you, but Victor's after us because of you. He already got Ma, he sure as fuck ain't getting my Jack."
He let go of Jerry roughly, pulling on his coat and loaded the various weapons into his pockets. "You...you blame me?" Jerry asked, his hands twitching. "You think I caused this?"
Bobby glanced at him. "You got in with the wrong people," he said coolly, adding a pack of matches to one pocket. "Sweet's got it in for us cause of your shit goin' bad."
Jerry shook his head. "I never wanted nothin' to do with Sweet. I thought we talked this shit through, I told you what happened!" he snapped. Bobby glared at him.
Angel came into the room, a guy in a headlock in his arms. "Look what I found," he said.
Bobby gave Jerry a warning look then held the man's chin tightly. "Well, look at this," he said. He pulled his arm back and rammed his fist into the man's face, knocking him unconscious.
Angel hugged him tighter, holding the heavy weight carefully. "We gotta take him somewhere," he said. Bobby nodded. "Get some answers," he agreed.
*
"Tell me where he is," Bobby demanded softly.
The man sat on the wooden chair in stony silence, his eyes glittering defiantly. "Tell me," he said again.
The man smirked and Bobby felt a strand of his patience snap. "Tell me!" he yelled, before punching him, taking a moment to glory in the yelp of pain that followed.
"When I ask you a question, you'd better answer quickly," Bobby said next to the man's ear. "What's your name?" he asked, waiting only seconds before viciously slapping him.
"What's your fuckin' name?" he asked again. The man spat at him, grinning through a mouthful of blood.
Bobby glanced up at Angel and nodded. Angel lifted the red container beside him and began splashing it over the man's head and body. The smirk began to falter as he sniffed, the heavy scent of gasoline filling the room.
"What the fuck you doin'?" he muttered, fear in his eyes for the first time.
"Y'see, I don't take too kindly to people not answerin' me," Bobby said, almost conversationally while slowly pulling a pack of matches from his coat pocket.
"Not just cause I want answers, but it's awful rude too," Bobby said. "Now, you're gonna tell me what I want to know or I'm gonna roast your ass," he said, a small grin creeping across his face.
The man looked from Angel to Bobby, his left leg shaking slightly. "I...I can't...I don't know nothin'," he cried.
"Mmhm, there's the problem though. I don't believe you," Bobby said with mock sadness.
He opened the pack of matches and ripped two loose. Sweat beaded over the man's brow.
"Now, what's your name?" Bobby asked. "You know your own name right?" he coaxed.
After a long minute of silence, the man sighed. "My name's Thomas."
"Well Tommy," Bobby said as he flipped the pack over and fingered the edge of the matches. "Something tells me that you know where Jack is."
Thomas's eyes darted back and forth between Angel who lifted the gas can again slightly and at Bobby who was flicking the head of the matches with his thumbnail, looking bored.
"I don't know any Jack," he said nervously. Bobby nodded at Angel, who then began pouring more gasoline over Thomas.
Bobby took one step closer to the chair. "I'm running out of patience Tommy," he warned. "I'm sure you've heard about my bad little habit of settin' shit on fire when I'm mad."
Thomas gulped softly. He eyed the matches before shaking his head. "I can't tell you anything," he said, his voice trembling.
Bobby lit one of the matches, the scratch against the pack deafening in the room. He held it close to Thomas's face. "Don't think I won't do it, asshole," he said quietly.
"You don't start talkin' and what we do to you will be twice as painful as what Sweet would do," Angel said close to his other ear.
Thomas felt his heart seize. He gasped shakily. "Fuck, don't do this man," he pleaded.
"Tell me where Jack is and I won't," Bobby said, waving the matches closer to his face.
"I don't know much, I swear. He's at Sweet's house, they got him there," Thomas babbled.
Bobby frowned. "Why? Why Jack?" he asked.
Thomas squirmed in the seat, the gasoline irritating his skin. "Shit, I don't know," he mumbled. He yelped in pain as Bobby slapped him again, blood spurting from his mouth.
"You know something. Why else would you have been staking out the house? Huh?" he said sarcastically. "Don't play dumb with me, fucker or you'll regret it."
"He said somethin' about leverage. That's all I know, I swear!" Thomas said, with panic in his voice as the look on Bobby's face darkened. He tried to stand up, to run, only to have Angel shove him back down in his chair, his grip like iron.
Bobby blew out the matches and tossed them at his feet. "Thanks for your help, Tommy," he said with a smirk. He cocked his head at Angel as he turned around. Thomas breathed out a sigh of relief.
"Thomas?" Bobby called. He met his gaze, his heart speeding up as Bobby pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans.
"Oh god, you said if I told you, you wouldn't burn me!" Thomas yelled, tears in his eyes.
"True," said Bobby, a twisted smile on his face. "I never said anything about a gun though."
With that, he pulled the trigger and watched with some satisfaction as the bullet exploded into Thomas's chest, his death instant.
*
Jack huddled in the blanket, swallowing dryly, his throat parched and sore. He stared up at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the walls. Time passed slowly. He sang softly until his throat hurt, whispering the words, anything to keep his mind occupied.
He heard the heavy footsteps on the stairs and cringed. The man was back. He held still, his eyes wide and fearful. The man slowly walked over to him and prodded him with one large, meaty finger.
"Little baby Jackie," he said softly. Jack bit his lip, opening the dried cut on his lower lip, a drop of blood appearing.
The man sighed huskily and sat down on the ground. Jack stared up at him. The man was enormous, a foot taller than Jack. He opened the bag that he had brought with him, laying several knives on the ground, and one large pistol. Jack inhaled sharply, fear making him tremble.
"Let me go," he asked quietly, ready to beg if he had to. The man shook his head silently.
Jack felt his stomach twist as the man gripped his shirt and neatly sliced it off him, his skin prickling in the cold air. "Don't do this to me," he mumbled, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.
The man slid the cool blade over Jack's skin, tracing the sharp edge over his throat. Jack swallowed reflexively, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "P-please," he said, closing his eyes.
The blade ran over his chest, making small cuts and nicks along the way. Jack gasped, a strangled sob as the knife pushed inwards, his blood seeping from the shallow cut. He opened one eye, groaning as he saw the excited look in the man's eyes. The man licked the blade clean of his blood and pointed it at Jack's stomach.
Jack began to hyperventilate, thrashing wildly. "Don't, God, don't fuckin' touch me!" he screamed.
The door to the basement opened and more light spilled into the room. Jack wrapped himself into a tight ball, rocking fast. Another man stood before him, his arms waving as he spoke.
Jack struggled to understand what he was saying. He felt faint, dizzy as he tried to listen.
"The fuck did I tell you?" the voice said. "Check on him, not fuckin' carve him!"
Jack blinked at the hazy figure now in front of him. "Bobby," he murmured softly.
The figure snorted. "He ain't coming," the voice spat. Jack shook his head, the room going darker.
"He will," Jack said, swaying as he fell back down to the ground. "Please God..."
*
Author: veiledndarkness
Pairing: Future Bobby/Jack
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Characters not mine, no harm intended.
Summary: AU. Jack's been taken, a pawn of Victor Sweet's game.
*
Jack lay on the cold, hard floor, his knees tucked up to his chest. He coughed weakly, his chest rattling in the silence of the room. He licked his dry, cracked lips slowly and looked around the dark space. He heard the heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and shuddered. He tucked his head down to his knees, tensing at the other's approach.
"Hey!" Jack edged away from the voice. "For fuck's sake," the voice sighed.
Jack clamped his lips shut, willing the person to go away, anywhere, just not where he was, not there, God, where the hell was Bobby?
The voice sighed again, tinged with weariness. "He ain't comin', kid. Get over here and drink this," the unseen person said. There was a dull thud as a bucket was placed on the ground near Jack. The person walked away, more heavy steps on the creaking stairs.
Jack waited until there was nothing but silence again before lifting his head cautiously. He pulled the bucket closer to his chest and lifted it with shaking hands, taking small sips of the cool water. He pushed the bucket away and curled up, shivering hard.
"Bobby..." he whispered hoarsely.
*
Jack answered the knock at the door, grateful to be away from the argument inside. Bobby and Angel were far too distracted to pay attention to something like the doorbell ringing. He sighed and moved off the couch. He pulled the door open only to be hit with an icy snowball. It slammed into his chest and face, a cold slap.
The insult from the boy walking away from him, it cut right through his senses. Before he stopped to think, he grabbed up a snowball of his own and was about to toss it right as the boy turned around, a gun clutched tightly in his hand, trained on him. He stopped dead in his tracks, a look of fear etched on his face.
The gunman took one step closer to him. Jack took one back, scrambling to stay upright in the slippery snow. He opened his mouth to call for help, his voice nothing more than a whisper. Jack watched with growing horror as the gun was pointed at his head, and he faintly heard the man speak to him. He strained his ears as the man came closer.
"Don't fuckin' move," he said, his voice low. Jack glanced back at the house, the sounds of angry yelling still spilling out the door. "Don't bother. You scream, they die," he said. Jack shook his head, willing himself to stay calm.
"C'mere," the man said before roughly grabbing Jack by the shoulders and holding the gun at his side. Jack struggled weakly in the man's grip, his shirt ripping as he moved.
"You deaf?" the man snarled. "Hold the fuck still," he hissed, tossing Jack into the van, the two men inside catching him and holding him down while they tied his hands behind his back. Jack whimpered once, the cold metal biting into his wrists, the memories of being tied up before swarming him. He shuddered helplessly, whispering a litany of 'no's.
The first man slapped his gun against the back of Jack's head, knocking him unconscious. Jack's eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped over onto his side.
*
Bobby huffed angrily as Jerry yelled at him, his eyes wandering around the room. The hair on the back of his neck stood up just then, a growing sense of unease. He turned slightly to the side and glanced out the window, his heart stopping for a moment when he saw a masked man pull a struggling Jack across the snow covered front yard and throw him into a van.
"Jack!" he yelled, fury sending him into motion. He grabbed a shotgun from the dining room table and ran for the door, aiming and shooting without blinking at the men who came out of other vans, firing at the house and at him.
"Angel!" Bobby barked roughly. "They got him," he yelled, shooting one man, then turning and shooting another in the shoulder. The man went down with a scream of pain.
Angel yanked Sofi by the arm and threw her into the kitchen. "Get down, stay down," he ordered softly. She opened her mouth to yell. Angel kissed her quickly, a hard bruising kiss before getting up and running over beside Bobby, firing his gun steadily.
Jerry leaned against the wall, his eyes wide with panic. Sofi held her hands to her mouth, muffling her sobs as she heard the bullets explode in the house, pieces of wood and glass raining on her.
Bobby held his gun steady on one man, advancing slowly towards him. "You'd best stop right there, you son of a bitch," he snarled softly. The man dropped his gun, his arms in the air.
Bobby stepped up to him and ripped his ski mask off. "Where is he?" he demanded.
The man shook his head, his eyes bulging with fear. "I..." he tried to say, his voice fading.
Bobby gripped him by the neck. "You better fuckin' speak," he growled. A loud pop exploded near Bobby's ear, the bullet hitting the man in his chest.
The man opened his mouth and blood poured out over Bobby's hand. He pulled his hand back in disgust, as the man dropped to the ground, blood leaking from the hole in his chest.
Angel nudged him with his boot. "He dead?" he asked quietly. Bobby nodded. "Almost," he said coldly.
The other shooters stood across the yard, all eyes on Bobby and Angel. He stared at them silently, his gun held tightly in his arms, ready to shoot. They backed up slowly and got into the various vans, driving away quickly.
"What the fuck?" Angel said lowly. "Why they leavin'?"
Bobby felt his fingers go numb. He dropped his gun and walked stiffly back into the house, directly into the bathroom, his eyes dead. Jerry stood behind him, sputtering.
"What happened? What the fuck is going on?" he said. Jerry flinched at the look on Bobby's face when he looked back at him.
"He's gone," Bobby said hoarsely. "He's gone, they took him."
He closed his eyes, tears running unnoticed down his cheeks slowly. "Jackie," he mumbled, his fingers digging painful gashes in his palms, bloody crescents imprinted in his skin.
*
Jack awoke several hours later. He opened his eyes warily and looked around the dark room. "A basement," he said shakily. "A fuckin' basement." Jack struggled to breathe slowly, his memories clawing at him.
He shivered, curling into a tight ball as light spilled from the doorway. He lifted his head slightly, watching a large man stomp heavily down the stairs. He bit his lip, holding back his fear.
The man came closer. He reached out with one hand and gripped a fistful of Jack's hair, lifting him a few inches of the ground. Jack bit his lip harder, a thin rivulet of blood trickling down his chin as he felt the ripping pain in his scalp. The man smiled crookedly.
"Hush little baby, don't you cry," he crooned, moving his hand back and forth, sending Jack crashing into the wall. He cried out sharply, his head ringing in pain. The man chuckled and dropped Jack, letting him hit the floor.
Jack clutched his head, his vision swimming. He wobbled up onto his knees and edged away from the man, away from his hands, and his curiously blank face. The man blinked and smiled again, his teeth glinting yellow in the sparse light from the doorway.
"Little baby Jackie," he whispered, petting Jack's stinging scalp. "Hush little baby."
Jack shuddered. "Don't touch me," he snapped. The man frowned. Jack felt a moment's panic wash over him. The man yanked Jack close, his sour breath fanning over his face.
"Bad boy," he muttered crossly. He backhanded Jack, sending him flying. He landed in a crumpled heap, his back screaming in pain. The man shook his head slowly and placed a large blanket on the floor. He then left, the stairs creaking under his weight as he went up them. Jack dimly heard the door close, then the sounds of several locks turning.
He glanced at the blanket on the ground, and with one shaking hand, reached out for it. He wrapped himself tightly with the blanket, cradling his sore head. "Bobby," he whispered through numb lips.
*
Angel stood by the window, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He half-listened to Jerry trying to explain to Bobby why they couldn't just storm the streets, looking for Victor Sweet.
"...I'm tellin' you Bobby, you can't," Jerry said, frustration heavy in his voice.
"Can't and shouldn't ain't the same," Bobby snarled. He placed another bullet in his gun, eyeing it carefully as he spun the barrel. Jerry slapped his hands down on the table, amidst the guns and bullets that littered the table top.
"This is fuckin' insane," he said evenly. "It's a trap Bobby! You know Sweet's countin' on you to go lookin' for his men, shooting them all up."
Bobby placed a pistol beside his shotgun. He spared Jerry a quick glance. "I won't be," he muttered.
"Then what the hell is all this? How do you get this many guns?" Jerry said. He picked up a hunting rifle. "Where'd this come from?" he asked with a grim look on his face.
Bobby gritted his teeth. "Never fuckin' mind," he said. "The less you know the better."
Jerry shook his head. "You got a goddamn death wish?" he said quietly. "Is that it?"
Angel walked over to Jerry, his eyes dark and unforgiving. "There's a guy outside, by your car, Bobby," he said. "Guy thinks I can't see him."
Bobby smiled then, a horrific grin. "Bring him in then," he said, switching the safety off his gun. Jerry rubbed the side of his head. "This is insane," he repeated.
Bobby grabbed him by the shoulder, pushing him against the wall, his eyes furious. "Either you help us find Jack, or I'll kill you myself," he growled. Jerry struggled in his grip.
"Have you gone around the bend?" Jerry yelled. "I'm your brother!"
Bobby chuckled dryly, nothing more than scraping sound. "And I love you, but Victor's after us because of you. He already got Ma, he sure as fuck ain't getting my Jack."
He let go of Jerry roughly, pulling on his coat and loaded the various weapons into his pockets. "You...you blame me?" Jerry asked, his hands twitching. "You think I caused this?"
Bobby glanced at him. "You got in with the wrong people," he said coolly, adding a pack of matches to one pocket. "Sweet's got it in for us cause of your shit goin' bad."
Jerry shook his head. "I never wanted nothin' to do with Sweet. I thought we talked this shit through, I told you what happened!" he snapped. Bobby glared at him.
Angel came into the room, a guy in a headlock in his arms. "Look what I found," he said.
Bobby gave Jerry a warning look then held the man's chin tightly. "Well, look at this," he said. He pulled his arm back and rammed his fist into the man's face, knocking him unconscious.
Angel hugged him tighter, holding the heavy weight carefully. "We gotta take him somewhere," he said. Bobby nodded. "Get some answers," he agreed.
*
"Tell me where he is," Bobby demanded softly.
The man sat on the wooden chair in stony silence, his eyes glittering defiantly. "Tell me," he said again.
The man smirked and Bobby felt a strand of his patience snap. "Tell me!" he yelled, before punching him, taking a moment to glory in the yelp of pain that followed.
"When I ask you a question, you'd better answer quickly," Bobby said next to the man's ear. "What's your name?" he asked, waiting only seconds before viciously slapping him.
"What's your fuckin' name?" he asked again. The man spat at him, grinning through a mouthful of blood.
Bobby glanced up at Angel and nodded. Angel lifted the red container beside him and began splashing it over the man's head and body. The smirk began to falter as he sniffed, the heavy scent of gasoline filling the room.
"What the fuck you doin'?" he muttered, fear in his eyes for the first time.
"Y'see, I don't take too kindly to people not answerin' me," Bobby said, almost conversationally while slowly pulling a pack of matches from his coat pocket.
"Not just cause I want answers, but it's awful rude too," Bobby said. "Now, you're gonna tell me what I want to know or I'm gonna roast your ass," he said, a small grin creeping across his face.
The man looked from Angel to Bobby, his left leg shaking slightly. "I...I can't...I don't know nothin'," he cried.
"Mmhm, there's the problem though. I don't believe you," Bobby said with mock sadness.
He opened the pack of matches and ripped two loose. Sweat beaded over the man's brow.
"Now, what's your name?" Bobby asked. "You know your own name right?" he coaxed.
After a long minute of silence, the man sighed. "My name's Thomas."
"Well Tommy," Bobby said as he flipped the pack over and fingered the edge of the matches. "Something tells me that you know where Jack is."
Thomas's eyes darted back and forth between Angel who lifted the gas can again slightly and at Bobby who was flicking the head of the matches with his thumbnail, looking bored.
"I don't know any Jack," he said nervously. Bobby nodded at Angel, who then began pouring more gasoline over Thomas.
Bobby took one step closer to the chair. "I'm running out of patience Tommy," he warned. "I'm sure you've heard about my bad little habit of settin' shit on fire when I'm mad."
Thomas gulped softly. He eyed the matches before shaking his head. "I can't tell you anything," he said, his voice trembling.
Bobby lit one of the matches, the scratch against the pack deafening in the room. He held it close to Thomas's face. "Don't think I won't do it, asshole," he said quietly.
"You don't start talkin' and what we do to you will be twice as painful as what Sweet would do," Angel said close to his other ear.
Thomas felt his heart seize. He gasped shakily. "Fuck, don't do this man," he pleaded.
"Tell me where Jack is and I won't," Bobby said, waving the matches closer to his face.
"I don't know much, I swear. He's at Sweet's house, they got him there," Thomas babbled.
Bobby frowned. "Why? Why Jack?" he asked.
Thomas squirmed in the seat, the gasoline irritating his skin. "Shit, I don't know," he mumbled. He yelped in pain as Bobby slapped him again, blood spurting from his mouth.
"You know something. Why else would you have been staking out the house? Huh?" he said sarcastically. "Don't play dumb with me, fucker or you'll regret it."
"He said somethin' about leverage. That's all I know, I swear!" Thomas said, with panic in his voice as the look on Bobby's face darkened. He tried to stand up, to run, only to have Angel shove him back down in his chair, his grip like iron.
Bobby blew out the matches and tossed them at his feet. "Thanks for your help, Tommy," he said with a smirk. He cocked his head at Angel as he turned around. Thomas breathed out a sigh of relief.
"Thomas?" Bobby called. He met his gaze, his heart speeding up as Bobby pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans.
"Oh god, you said if I told you, you wouldn't burn me!" Thomas yelled, tears in his eyes.
"True," said Bobby, a twisted smile on his face. "I never said anything about a gun though."
With that, he pulled the trigger and watched with some satisfaction as the bullet exploded into Thomas's chest, his death instant.
*
Jack huddled in the blanket, swallowing dryly, his throat parched and sore. He stared up at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the walls. Time passed slowly. He sang softly until his throat hurt, whispering the words, anything to keep his mind occupied.
He heard the heavy footsteps on the stairs and cringed. The man was back. He held still, his eyes wide and fearful. The man slowly walked over to him and prodded him with one large, meaty finger.
"Little baby Jackie," he said softly. Jack bit his lip, opening the dried cut on his lower lip, a drop of blood appearing.
The man sighed huskily and sat down on the ground. Jack stared up at him. The man was enormous, a foot taller than Jack. He opened the bag that he had brought with him, laying several knives on the ground, and one large pistol. Jack inhaled sharply, fear making him tremble.
"Let me go," he asked quietly, ready to beg if he had to. The man shook his head silently.
Jack felt his stomach twist as the man gripped his shirt and neatly sliced it off him, his skin prickling in the cold air. "Don't do this to me," he mumbled, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.
The man slid the cool blade over Jack's skin, tracing the sharp edge over his throat. Jack swallowed reflexively, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "P-please," he said, closing his eyes.
The blade ran over his chest, making small cuts and nicks along the way. Jack gasped, a strangled sob as the knife pushed inwards, his blood seeping from the shallow cut. He opened one eye, groaning as he saw the excited look in the man's eyes. The man licked the blade clean of his blood and pointed it at Jack's stomach.
Jack began to hyperventilate, thrashing wildly. "Don't, God, don't fuckin' touch me!" he screamed.
The door to the basement opened and more light spilled into the room. Jack wrapped himself into a tight ball, rocking fast. Another man stood before him, his arms waving as he spoke.
Jack struggled to understand what he was saying. He felt faint, dizzy as he tried to listen.
"The fuck did I tell you?" the voice said. "Check on him, not fuckin' carve him!"
Jack blinked at the hazy figure now in front of him. "Bobby," he murmured softly.
The figure snorted. "He ain't coming," the voice spat. Jack shook his head, the room going darker.
"He will," Jack said, swaying as he fell back down to the ground. "Please God..."
*