A Measure of Salvation (4/8)

[rawthornewrites]

Title: A Measure of Salvation (4/8)
Authors: butterflyweb & rawthornewrites
Genre: Sci-fi!AU
Pairing: GD/TOP, hints of BaeRi
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: Dub-con, mind fuckery and other bad shit in later chapters.
Summary: Earth's atmosphere ignites outside the thick glass pane, miles of ocean and cloud reduced to scorching lava. Cities are obliterated in mere seconds. All life ceases by the time Seunghyun opens his eyes to the mesh ceiling and the steady drip of a burst pipe.
AN: Written because...well... come on. We had to. Banner made by the wonderful and talented atenais_pala.





Lowering the ship through the ion cloud by hand, with no interference from the AI, is simply exhilarating. It's like being alone in the black, just him and the console, hands clutching the wheel with primal confidence and second hand knowledge of technology his species has yet to discover. It works until they set down and then Daesung is clapping, his long legs dangling over the co-pilot's seat as he spins and spins like a child. Can't let him have his victory.

"You almost burst two engines and we're missing a buffer panel, but ooh. That was smooth." He wears black this time around, eyes matching his shirt.

Seunghyun flips him off, unlocking the hatch. "We won't be gone more than thirty minutes. Keep the burn down and cloak us if scouts start snooping around. Try not to shoot at anything?"

Daesung grins brightly at him, saluting with a flourish. "You got it."

He ignores the reply, Seungri and Youngbae at his back, Jiyong skulking further to the rear of their little party. He can sense the Ahma's tension and it makes him feel a bit sick to his stomach, even as the decision has already been made. Winning trust back, if it was there at all before, is going to be a bitch.

It shouldn't be his role, either. Jiyong started all of this. But this isn't a playground argument. Lives are at stake - and not just theirs. He checks the charge on his gun for want of something to do, letting Seungri take the lead. His speed and agility are better guides than Seunghyun's, especially when he's distracted.

The ground is soft and soggy, boots mired in mud the moment they step off the ramp. He makes a sound of protest but no one indulges him. Not even Jiyong.

The landscape is a blur, the sky a dull gray, moisture hanging in the air enough to make it a physical wall to push through. His clothes stick to him, hair damp around his temples and Seunghyun can't help but grimace in discomfort.

Youngbae doesn't seem to be feeling the effects at all, a bandanna tied around his forehead to soak up the sweat, features as inscrutable as ever. Seunghyun turns his eyes back to the front, trying to keep the scowl off his face. Their ship's best kept secret is public knowledge, but it's not the crew member who suggested it that's taking the heat. It's Seunghyun.

Typical, he figures. Just typical.

"Should be up ahead and to the right," he mutters, reminding Seungri of the job at hand and the same map they've all memorized. In a place like this, with this much fog, memory is all they can rely on.

Almost feline, Seungri disappears through thick foliage, the rustle of leaves all that announces his presence. On the bright side, there's no way anyone can take them by surprise. Sucky jungle weather works the same for everybody.

The cities of Candaba are buried under the soft earth, a way to escape the heat and the unpredictable weather of the surface world. Not that there aren't those who live above, farmers and livestock, and some who even choose to. Seunghyun shakes his head, ducking under a branch. He's been spending too much time with Daesung if this stuff is sinking in.

They're deep in the thickness of the underbush when Seungri whistles for them, giving the okay. Daesung's map didn't lie and there are no surprises. Mole City beckons with a gaping tunnel mouth.

"That doesn't look creepy at all," he snorts, humor his last resort when the whole world seems to conspire against him.

Youngbae brushes past him. There would be light below. Yours is not the only species with a fear of darkness.

Seungri is slightly more comforting with a smile, even as he lifts his rifle from his back. Hesitating a moment, he moves to hand it to Seunghyun. "Wouldn't look right for a slave to be carrying a plasma rifle, right?"

Seunghyun takes the weapon, offering a smile of his own. "We won't be here long."

The other man shrugs, already giving up the lead. He doesn't seem too beat up about it and Seunghyun has a single, guilty thought that it's because there's company in bringing up the rear. The feeling lasts until Seungri speaks again, a trace of worry in his voice. "Where's Jiyong?"

He sees Youngbae freeze and turn to look back, his eyes searching the mist. The motion spells trouble.

"He was right behind us..." Seunghyun trails off. Where else would he need to be to run away without getting noticed?

Seungri turns to Youngbae, agitation written over his features. "Can you hear him? Is he nearby?"

Whatever answer the mind reader gives him doesn't pacify Seungri, determination set in cold lines over young, pale features. "Come on. We have to go look for him. He could get lost out here or...or picked up by a trader or...Seunghyun?"

Or he could've run off on them. Doubled back to the ship. Seunghyun reminds himself not to trust the Ahma, that he's nothing like Seungri. He doesn't believe it for a second.

"We'll split up," he rules, tossing the rifle back into Seungri's arms. "Stay close enough that 'bae can read us. He can't be far."

Relief crosses the other Ahma's face, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and starting out, back into the swamplands. And maybe it's not so strange, Seungri's concern for Jiyong, his quickly growing attachment to the other. How long has it been since Seungri has been with one of his kind? If there were another human around, Seunghyun figures he'd be acting just the same.

Mud sludges around his boots as he walks, making his steps slow and difficult, keep him alert for any sight of Jiyong. The mist makes it even harder to advance, but Youngbae is in his head, his humming familiar and reassuring - especially since Daesung should be able to tap into the frequency and come get them if they get in trouble. He tries not to congratulate himself too strongly for the plan. It's carved out of need and suspicion.

There's no need to assume the worst, Youngbae points out with infuriating calm, nowhere in sight but voice clear like he's standing beside him.

Seunghyun ignores him. Shouts "Jiyong!" like there's a chance the Ahma might answer back. "Fat chance."

There is the possibility that there's a much simpler explanation for this.

"What?" he snaps aloud, annoyance rising in him fast. That they have to look at all, that while they're wasting efforts on a search, Jiyong could be doing something to the ship, could be--

His thoughts were troubled last night. I tried not to listen, of course, but it's difficult to ignore so much distress.

"Not my problem." Except it is, in more ways than one and the guilt clawing at him makes him stomp through the mud a little more viciously than strictly necessary. He uses the rifle for a machete, carving a path through wild plants and picturing pale, alien skin in their place.

You're right, Youngbae agrees, still speaking into his mind. It's more of a collective problem.

"You want to blame me? Just come out and say it. Say I'm the type of bastard who would pawn another human being for supplies, that's what you're thinking, right?"

You're being defensive. Had any of us thought that you were such a man, we wouldn't be a part of this crew. Being irrational is not going to solve our current dilemma.

"I'm not being irrational!" he shouts into the mist, disproving his point even as he says it. Fuck them all and their mind games and their preternatural intelligence. Seunghyun's frustration tangles around his feet, boot dragging through the mud as he takes another step and finds himself falling into thick green foliage.

Perfect. Even the fucking planet hates him.

Seunghyun...

"What?" If he's got more wisdom to impart, Seunghyun can tell him right where to stow it.

There's a pause that clearly indicates Youngbae heard that one, but the Nabu chooses not to comment. I'm picking up traces of Jiyong's thought patterns. He is near you.

It gets his attention sure enough, the muscles in his arms clenching as he rights himself and all but pulls a plant clean out of the ground in the process. The mist around him is unchanged, quiet and damp and eerier and sticking to him like a second skin. "Where? I can't see for shit."

Close. I can't pin his location exactly, his thoughts are too erratic. A pause. Head south.

"South, right," he mutters aloud, because apparently he has an innate inner compass he hasn't known about until now. He settles for heading whatever way looks like 'down', pushing through the damp, suffocating foliage.

The mind reader doesn't correct him, so he figures he must be right, eyes and ears pealed to the slightest sign of wandering Ahma. Maybe he got lost after all. It's easy enough to do in this jungle.

Maybe he shouldn't think the worst of people. Maybe Youngbae needs to stop getting into his brain. It's turning to mush.

The underbush gives way to a clearing and unmistakable footsteps in the mud. "'bae, this can't be right, you've got me back where we started--"

"He must've gone down," Seungri rules, showing up at his side like a shadow. Eerie bastard.

"This is getting impossible," Seunghyun grumbles, fingers tight on his weapon, really just needing to wring something's neck at this point. "Youngbae, you said he was--"

There's the crack of a branch and their attention snaps to the right, to blonde hair and a satisfied expression, Jiyong grinning at the both of them.

"Looking for me?"

In the absence of something, someone will do just fine. He doesn't look a bit like a man who just got lost on a strange, wet planet. If anything, he's beaming like an asshole, a bag of some kind slung over his shoulder.

"What did you steal?" Last thing they need is mercs on their asses, tracking them for a pile of... what? Credits?

Rations, Youngbae answers for him, appearing behind Seungri, and Jesus Christ, people need to stop sneaking up on them.

"I didn't steal anything," Jiyong protests, looking offended, handing the bag to Seungri. "I bought them. With my own credits." The frown only lasts moments before the self-satisfied grin returns. "So you can tell your computer to stick his head up his pixalated ass. I can contribute."

Seungri frowns, looking at the bag, then to Seunghyun. "What's he talking about?"

"Daesung's a dick, what else is new?" he answers dismissively, not buying Jiyong's answer. "You disappeared. Think you could've said you had means to buy protein before running off into the sunset?"

There is no--

"Figure of speech!" Seunghyun snaps, wiping muddy hands on his thighs. "I can't read minds and even I can tell he's lying."

Anger blooms over Jiyong's features. "I'm not lying! I didn't have credits then. I had to find a couple of willing marks in the city first, and like hell was I going in there with you. Not with your eyes seeing fifteen thousand credits every time you looked my way."

Seungri doesn't let it slide - why should he? "What the fuck is he talking about?" he presses. "There's ten days' worth of rations in here. What's that got to do with fifteen..." He turns to Jiyong, head cocked to the side. "Willing marks. You... You sold yourself."

Anger falls away to pride, Jiyong beaming in Seungri's direction. "It was ridiculously easy, honestly, Seungri-yah. I only managed to get one--I didn't want to be gone too long--but I can do it again at next port." He turns to Seunghyun, a reproachful look on a pretty face. "I don't steal."

He looks so damn pleased with himself Seunghyun could punch him. He might, if he could move. It's not that his boots are stuck in the quagmire either. It's the rest of him that's the problem, a sick chill working its way up his spine and down his arms.

"No. You... whored yourself." The pieces fit together easily after that's made clear. What happened in the shower and what happened minutes ago are one and the same thing.

"Exactly," Jiyong replies, matter-of-fact, the disgust in Seunghyun's voice missing him completely as the Ahma moves closer to Seungri's side. "So I can stay right? I mean, I can earn rations myself, though credits for repair might be harder." He grins at Seungri. "You can help."

"Like hell." Seunghyun remembers how to walk just in time to step between them, his rifle pressing right into the Ahma's chest. "Like hell he will. You don't touch him. Ever." It's a battle of words fought by proxy, accusations sticking in his throat because he doesn't dare voice them.

A wash of bewilderment and hurt covers Jiyong's features, shrinking back from Seunghyun's gun. Seungri grabs the barrel quickly, pushing it away, jaw clenched tight.

"Stop it. He doesn't understand why you're mad. Just stop."

"He doesn't..." Seunghyun repeats, turning a withering stare to Seugnri. "He whored himself out for us. Congratulations, you've just become a pimp, kid. Enjoy the spoils." He tastes sick in the back of his mouth, mixing with spit and tasting just like he imagines Jiyong's lips must taste right now. Doesn't stick around to listen to Seungri's apologies, cutting a path through the fog in the direction of the ship.

The others can follow or stick around and open a fucking brothel for all he cares.

Daesung greets him brightly as he comes up the walkway, but Seunghyun is far from being in the fucking mood, giving him the cold shoulder as he storms past, heading straight down to his quarters where he intends on fucking staying. Seungri and Jiyong can share fucking blowjob technique stories, he doesn't give a shit.

Seunghyun, are you--

"Youngbae, for fuck's sake, stay out of my head!" He snaps, voice ringing off the walls of his chambers. There's no reply.

It does nothing to improve his mood, rifle hitting the bulkhead right above the bed and clattering down noisily. He doesn't feel any better. Jiyong is still a whore. He still got played. Mud peels from his clothes, leaving chocolate scabs on the ground as he sinks to his haunches. His stomach feels tight and hollow, like he got punched. Like someone reached in and tore out a part of his soul.

He's still on the floor some time later as the ship rattles to life and breaks atmo. No one comes to tell him where they're going or to offer him the chance to play pilot. So much the better.

He stands at last, stripping ruined clothes from his body, unlacing his boots and kicking them off to the side. His stomach growls loudly but he ignores it, crawling into his bunk and turning down the lights. Pressing a pillow over his face. Trying to just block out this whole fucking day.

It doesn't work. He can hear every sound echoing through his metal cage, what he imagines to be footsteps outside the door fading into crew quarters. There is no alien humming, at least, and Daesung doesn't make an appearance. He's alone with his thoughts, just like he wanted, and all he can hear is the grumbling of his stomach. Fuck it.

Turning over and punching his first into the mattress, he drags himself out of his bunk, pulling on a pair of sweats and leaving the room. The light of the hall stings his eyes, but he ignores it as best he can, padding barefoot towards the mess.

Every step feels like a betrayal, like cutting a part of himself and leaving it behind in true Hansel and Gretel fashion. It's messed up, but it is what it is. He can't die of hunger. Not now. No one on Earth would trust the rest of the crew and it's his responsibility to finish this journey. It's his burden to carry, damn it.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he's sat down, silver foil package open and protein crackers staring at him defiantly.

Pushing them away, almost violently, he rests his head in his hands, trying to ignore the gnawing in his stomach. God, what the fuck was wrong with Jiyong? What was wrong with him, to make the Ahma feel like his options were between being sold for credits, or whoring himself on the streets?

He's never felt like such a bastard.

He's the one they should leave behind. Maybe, if he's really lucky, they've got a meeting going now, up on the bridge, trying to decide between an arid desert or a water planet somewhere. Maybe they'll just airlock him instead and save themselves the trouble.

It's the knowledge that Youngbae is too much of a pacifist to agree to any of the above that makes him sob, self-pity as potent a channel for his self-disgust as conjuring up images of Jiyong with a faceless man.

"Don't be sad," the Ahma tells him, voice so soft it takes Seunghyun a second to realize it's for real, that he didn't imagine it. He looks up to see the pale creature in the doorway, a half-smile quirking his lips.

Jiyong enters slowly, crossing to sit next to Seunghyun. He lifts a hand, hesitating before reaching to thumb away Seunghyun's tears. The smile on his face doesn't fade, but it doesn't reach his eyes either.

"Seungri told me. Explained to me, I mean. That humans get upset over things like this. I didn't know." Jiyong shakes his head, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

What the fuck does that matter? They're a million miles from anything that might look even remotely like home to either of them. What do tears matter? What is 'upset'?

Seunghyun makes to pull away, too hollow to feel shame. "Some of us... some of us aren't evolved enough. That's all."

Jiyong shakes his head again, pale hair catching the dull light. "No. Every race is different. You wouldn't call Youngbae less evolved because he can't speak, would you?" He tilts his head, watching Seunghyun. "That's why...that's why you were upset in the showers. I'm sorry. I was stupid to assume."

It's not entirely right but whatever. Doesn't matter. Seunghyun just nods, taking shuddering breath after shuddering breath. Trying to get control over his tearducts. Trying not to shiver when Jiyong touches a hand to his arm.

"Can I make it better somehow?"

"Oh God. Please don't offer to sleep with me. I don't think I can take it right now."

"I wasn't going to," Jiyong replies, even as the uncertainty in his voice points to that not being entirely true. "I just...it's my fault you're upset. And whatever you think of me, I'm not heartless. I'm just new at this. I haven't had to care for anyone but myself in a long time." He pulls the protein pack closer. "Sometimes I forget other species are different from my own."

And that maybe hits a little closer to home because he's not the only one who's made that mistake. How many times has he gotten pissed at Youngbae for speaking in his mind, forgetting that's the only way the Nabu can speak at all?

"It's...alright. I mean, I don't like you doing that, but I'm not your fucking keeper. Not really my choice, is it."

"No, but... I owe you one. After all, you haven't sold me yet." It's a back-handed ploy for forgiveness but Seunghyun doesn't have the energy to be pissed off at the idea. Not when the Ahma pushes the protein toward him insistently. "Eat. I didn't get it for nothing."

Seunghyun hesitates, but gives in at the insistence of Jiyong and his stomach, biting off a piece of the cracker and letting his gaze flick to Jiyong. "Did you eat already?"

The Ahma looks pleased that the storm cloud over Seunghyun's head has faded, nodding even as he picks up a cracker himself. "Earlier. No one wanted to disturb you." He takes a bite, the way he eats delicate, strangely out of place with the trouble he seems determined to get into.

Seunghyun follows his lead, lapsing into comfortable silence. It's a start.

Protein in his mouth, Jiyong leans his head against Seunghyun's shoulder, the workings of his jaw shaking him lightly. "You never told me where you were going."

"Home. To Earth." Seunghyun watches the tin foil reflect fragments of light from the broken neons.

The Ahma swallows, looking up at him. "Why?"

"Because it's going to burn."