Chapter Text
Six was at a loss as far as what to do, but the pleasant fog of praise and pride nullified any uncertainty. She poked the warm meat cheerfully. Right up until-
"What about now?!", the same annoying voice chirped. Six jumped and spun around to wave her spoon menacingly. The boy put his hands up in surrender. "I'm serious. I know we can leave this time. I even locked him in his dead animal shed to buy us time." He wiggled his hips to make the key ring on the rope around his waist jangle. "I know a bunch of safe paths through the Wilderness. I promise I can get us out of here safely. Please. Trust me this once?"
Six glanced at the perpetually open window he always entered through. He always showed up when she was alone. How much time did he spend watching her? She peeked at her pot of boiling meat and water, too much.
"No." She replied cooly.
"No?!" He squeaked, dropping his arms. "Why not? And don't say my ideas are stupid because this one's not."
The girl gritted her teeth. This guy was so full of it.
"I just don't want to."
"That's crazy," he rebutted, "a monster holds you prisoner and you're fine with it?"
"I-"
"No," the boy interrupted, stalking toward her. "You can't say no this time." He grabbed her wrist, she dropped the spoon. His grip was weak, but an uncomfortable vibration emanated from his fingers. It weakened her own hand and made her arm ache the longer he held on, like her muscles decided moving wasn't worth the effort. "I'm sorry if you don't like what I'm doing, but I'm saving you whether you like it or not. That's what friends are for." The paper bag said in an almost guilty tone.
Gray eyes darted from side to side. She was trapped.
She couldn't go back and run, the hot stove was behind her. Jumping was risky too, what if he held on and fell on top of her? Her weapon was gone and the boy was already pulling her toward the open window.
Six growled and yanked him back to her with the arm he wouldn't let go of.
"I'm."
She wondered if he was more surprised when she spoke or when she dove for his leg.
"Not."
She pushed his legs out from under him while using her arm to pull him over her back. He was taller than she expected. Taller than her.
"Your."
She jabbed his midsection with her shoulder as she rose to a hunched standing position. Effectively knocking the breath out of him. He released her arm, but she held onto his ankle. Her slightly numb hand joined its sister in a firm grasp by his foot. He barely fought back.
"Friend!"
Six stumbled back and turned herself around. Her arms rose in preparation, while the boy, realizing what she was planning began to thrash like the bird from earlier that day.
She heaved. Pulling him past her shoulder in an arc. Using momentum the same way he had when he broke into the basement all those weeks ago.
"Wait!" He yelled.
But it was too late. She'd already flung him over the lip of the heavy pot. He only had half a second to react before a thump shook the container violently. Quickly followed by a splash and a bloodcurdling scream.
A woosh of steam launched the boy's paper bag off his head while he screeched and desperately tried to pull himself out of the excruciating death trap.
He was scalded by the the liquid, trying in vain to swim and grab the edge of the pot while his heavy clothes dragged him down.
Upon closer inspection, Six realized another issue, his head was crooked and refused to stay upright. He must have broken his neck when he landed in the pot, maybe cracked it on the edge. Which explained some of the noises currently assaulting her ears. Flesh and steam peeled off him at a surprising rate, it almost looked like he was vaporizing before her very eyes. Flakes of black sparkly particles rose with the steam
His screams died in his rapidly deteriorating throat and the stream of particles wove through the air diving to hide inside his last surviving article of clothing. The paper bag on the floor.
The Hunter returned about two hours later, bringing movement and noise with him.
He was a whirlwind of mixing and seasoning, putting things in the oven, then removing them. Pots and pans fell on the ground, were picked up, brushed off and filled with one thing or another. Dough turned into crusts that baked their respective fillings. Plates jostled and dishes were redistributed. Poor Six could barely keep track of all the sudden bustling.
When dinner time finally arrived, she found herself greeted by two enormous delicious smelling pies. Almost as wide as she was tall, the Hunter cut into the one blanketed by dough and retrieved a thick slice. He spilled it on her plate, savory meat and gravy falling out of its roughly triangular formation.
She immediately dug in, crying out at the hot food burning her mouth. It was impossible to chew and swallow. She grabbed the bowl of water next to her dinner plate. Something that was added after scalding her tongue so badly, once, that she'd had to skip dinner. A long sip brought her relief, she pulled out the stringy unchewable meat. It wasn't meat. It was cloth. A strip of cloth. Maybe part of a jacket.
The Hunter crunched loudly on something across from her and made grunt of surprise. A glove reached under his sack of a mask and retrieved a set of keys. The rest of his mouthful was swallowed without issue. She looked at the strip of cloth on her plate, then at the Hunter. He didn’t even care that were eating bag boy.
She wasn’t especially surprised by his nonchalant cannibalism as she was that he had nothing to say about it. Then again, she wasn’t much better. Maybe he just wanted to enjoy the meal. Maybe she should too. She continued her dinner with a brave expression, pointedly ignoring the paper bag boy in all his forms.
Dessert was cinnamon-rich sweet potato pie, a delicacy, a hallmark of celebration, a treat that was meant to reward her and encourage her to keep up the good work. It was paired with a tall glass of milk, which she spilled. Surely this meal was the best she'd ever had.
When the giant locked her in the attic that night, he placed a rectangular, her-sized pillow on the floor by her blanket. She prodded it tentatively before realizing it was supposed to be a mattress. It was lumpy and occasionally spines would jut through the fabric, prompting her to remove the offending black feather, but, it reminded her of something she couldn't remember.
It reminded her of home.