Chapter Text
Iain sat, hands propping his chin up, staring absentmindedly out the building window. He was in his classroom supposed to be grading papers, instead he was watching the birds peck at the trees.
He hadn’t been able to think straight since last night. Leo had refused to tell him who had gone and choked him in the middle of the street.
He’d ended up just letting his class talk over him, giving up at the very beginning of the day. He was too tired and distracted to deal with that.
“Iain!” Professor Crawther walked up to the classroom door and knocked on the door frame, a bright smile on his face.
Iain looked up, brushing the hair out of his eyes, “Eric,” he smiled, getting up from his chair and walking over to him.
Eric Crowther was one of the first friends he and Leo had made upon taking the job. He was a great guy, highly regarded by his students and peers.
“What’s up?” Iain saw the smile waver for a moment.
“Do you have any idea where Leo is?” He asked, a frown flickering over his bright smile.
“Oh, he’s ill, called in this morning,” Iain said, deciding he better not share the choking incident.
A deeper frown appeared over Eric’s face.
“Why? What’s the matter?” Iain asked, starting to get worried.
Eric shook his head, “Come see for yourself,” He gestured for Iain to follow him, turning around and walking towards the exit of the building.
Iain froze, fear starting to form all kinds of scenarios in his mind. Had a student gotten injured? Gone missing? He hurried to follow Eric, blinking in the harsh sunlight.
“What’s happened?” He demented again, trying to turn to face Eric but he just kept walking.
“Just hurry,” He said, breaking into a stride.
Now he was freaking out. Iain started running after him, only to be stopped when Eric spun around and pulled a gun from within his coat.
Iain barely had time to register the fact he had a gun to his head before the block of metal crashed into his temple.
His vision swam with darkness and he felt his legs collapse beneath him, sending him tumbling to the ground. The cold concrete was there to meet him.
He didn’t know what was going on anymore, everything was fuzzy. Iain tried to force himself to his feet but didn’t even come close to succeeding.
Eric’s hand wrapped around his shoulder and dragged him to his feet, shoving him against the brick of the wall. He pushed his mouth right against Iain’s ear, overly enunciating each syllable.
“Where. Is. He?” Eric whispered, and Iain felt the cold muzzle of the gun press against the side of his neck.
Iain swallowed, trying to clear the pounding pain obscuring his thoughts.
“I-I don’t know,” He slurred, barely managing to keep his eyes open.
Eric shook him roughly, “Yes you do!” He shouted, mouth still too close to Iain’s ear.
He tried to bring his hands up to his face, trying to block out the sound and light. He just wanted to melt into darkness, he couldn’t even figure out what Eric was talking about.
Eric grabbed his arm, pushing against the wall and forcing Iain to look at him.
“Tell me where Leon Fires is,” He snarled each sentence, a blazing fury alight in his eyes.
Iain shook his head, the world was spinning, even with Eric’s specification he could barely force his thoughts to who the heck he was talking about.
Eric scoffed, “Fine, you just come with me,” With that, he crashed the gun into the side of Iain’s head once again. This time, he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
. . .
James sat silently, staring out the window, eyes focusing on every little detail that passed by.
Ben sighed, he had been talking to the other man for what was probably hours before realizing that he was no longer listening.
“Just gonna ignore me for the cars?” He asked.
When James didn’t answer, he scoffed and got down out of his chair, going to the small kitchen to get something to eat.
“You want a sandwich?” he called to the living room.
Predictably, James didn’t answer.
“Cool.”
Ben turned his focus to the jar of peanut butter laying open on the microwave counter. He sighed.
“James, why is there an open bottle of peanut butter on the microwave?” he called, not even bothering to look over his shoulder, he didn’t expect an answer.
Which is why he was surprised when James spoke out behind him, “Jar.”
Ben spun around to see him leaning against the door frame, hands in his pockets and correcting Ben’s grammar.
He rolled his eyes, “Right, yeah, why’s it there?”
James shrugged and nodded to the corner, “Bink was hungry last night, I suspect he got his own food.”
Ben glanced to the corner and, sure enough, the rascal cat himself was sitting there, licking his paws and looking smugly up at his humans.
Ben sighed and rubbed his head, “By now I think he owns us.”
James didn’t respond to his quip, instead walking over to the refrigerator, opening it, and throwing a fresh jar of peanut butter in Ben’s general direction. He had to dive to catch it, just barely grabbing it before it crashed against the wall.
“Dude, calm down!” Ben cried, setting the jar on the counter and turning to look at an unfazed James. “You want some?” He sighed, letting his arms fall to his side in submission.
James shook his head, “You’re the one who insists on eating every five hours,” With that, he turned on his heel and walked right out of the kitchen, quickly followed by Bink.
The orange cat looked greedily at the spilled peanut butter from last night, giving Ben a look that made him think that he was about to fight him for it. Instead, he merely followed his young human out the door, leaping up onto the couch beside him.
Ben shook his head, cats.
He started to scoop the butter off the microwave with a plastic knife, shoveling it back into the jar. Nothing needed to go to waste, they were broke enough already.
The knife slipped multiple times and nearly took out a chunk of his hand along with the peanut butter. Curse that cat!
When Ben was finished he finally got to making his sandwich, piling peanut butter onto it, followed by just a small amount of jelly. James was always disgusted by this way of making sandwiches, always insisting that it should have the same jelly to peanut butter ratio. Ben really didn’t care though, the guy was always insisting on one thing or another.
He marched out of the kitchen, improperly filled sandwich in hand, and plopped down in his chair. Ben glanced over to see James frowning at the door, looking almost as alert as Bink did.
“What’s up?” He asked, setting his sandwich on the napkin he had brought over.
James sprang up, rushing over to the window. “Someone’s here,” He said blankly.
Ben’s head snapped up, as an outlaw they always had to worry when they had some unexpected visitors. “Is it cops?”
James shook his head, “Bright yellow car, not inconspicuous enough for cops,” He rushed to the door, throwing the lock off.
Ben leapt up, “Woah! What are you doing?” He cried running over just as James opened the door to a very confused looking man.
“Who are you?” James demanded, gray eyes sizing him up as if he were a lion and the man a piece of prey.
He staggered back, “My bad, my bad, I meant to knock!” He cried.
Ben knew he didn’t recognize him. With the collar of his black coat turned up and the shadow of a large brimmed hat obscuring most of his face it was impossible. He knew what James would say though, “Do at least try to process what your eyes see. Otherwise, your brain is working for nothing.”
“James Fires, correct?” The man asked, his voice clearly dropping from kindly to cold.
“Yes, what does that mean to you?”
Ben glanced at him in shock, just giving people their names now it seemed.
“You have a brother, correct?”
Ben saw emotions chase each other across James’s face before it settled in a scowl.
“I do.”
“Good, good, I was hoping I hadn’t kidnapped the wrong person.”
James’s hand went to his pocket and he grabbed the knife he always kept there. He lunged forward, pinning the man against the wall and ripping his hat off. James shoved the knife against his throat and snarled, “Where is he?”
“James!” Ben didn’t know what else to say, he slowly advanced on the two, wishing he hadn’t left his gun on his bedside table.
“First, you will give me something,” The man said carefully, trying to move his head away from the knife that was getting dangerously close.
“What do you want?” James snarled.
“The knife.”
He froze, eyes locking onto the man’s. Then he scoffed and jerked his hands free of his coat.
“Yeah right. I warned him,” James turned on his heel and marched back into the house calling behind him, “You’ll have to buy your own Crowther.”
Ben didn’t know what to think, he just stood there blinking, the words of the conversation streaming through his mind and being turned into a jumbled mess. Why were they always so cryptic?
Crowther turned to Ben, “You may want to consider convincing your friend that his brother really is in danger. Tell him to meet me alone at midnight. He knows where,” Crowther then turned away, coat swirling dramatically behind him and walked swiftly away.
Ben heard Bink’s purrs and peered inside the open door to see James had reclaimed his seat on the armrest and was absentmindedly stroking the cat.
He rubbed his head, he felt like he was surrounded by people much smarter than he was. Which, honestly, was likely true.
“James, what was that man on about?” He demanded, walking into the room and closing the door behind him.
James didn’t answer.
“Oh no you don’t,” Ben snarled.
He walked forward and grabbed Bink, dragging the cat, who instantly started hissing and trashing, away from him. James leapt to his feet, hand poised with his knife before he realized it was Ben.
He stared at him for a few seconds before falling back into the couch and glancing pointedly at Bink.
“Right, I let Bink go, you tell me what’s going on.”
“Fine.”
Ben let Bink onto the ground, the cat immediately ran for Ben’s chair, leaping up onto it and placing his paw on his sandwich. He sighed, that cat was vengeful.
James didn’t say anything for a second, then, “I have a brother, you’ve heard of him, Leo?”
Ben nodded, coming to sit on the opposite side of the couch.
“We hadn’t spoken in years but I overheard someone talking about harming him. One of his colleagues, Eric Crowther. I approached him to find out more, all I found out is that he’s a psychopath,” James turned to stare at Ben, his normal “alright, my part’s done, what idiotic question are you going to ask now?”
Ben nodded, “Kay, so why does Crowther want your knife?”
“He’s a collector,” James said simply.
Ben nodded again, “Alright, I still barely get it.”
James sighed, “Then you don’t need to know,” He got up and scooped Bink off of Ben’s chair, tossing him to the ground.
“Toss the sandwich,” He suggested.
“No way. In case you can’t tell, we’re kinda broke,” He said.
James just rolled his eyes, “I have to go find Leo.”
“Yeah, I’m coming, hold on,” Ben grabbed his sandwich.
James shook his head, “Meet me at the end of the block.”
Ben sighed, “Sure.”
. . .
Iain raised his head, swallowing painfully and trying to blink the blurriness out of his eyes. It felt as if he had just slept for a year. He groaned softly, trying to bring his hand up to his eyes. Failing as he realized that they were tied down.
“Iain Atonal, highly regarded teacher at the university. Though some students say you’re a little too enthusiastic,” Eric’s mocking voice rang out, the older man walked into Iain’s blurry eyesight.
With a groan, he tried to force himself to look at him, wincing as the extra light only worsened his headache.
Eric smiled warmly before crouching right in front of him, “I checked Leo’s house, he’s not there. I checked your house, he’s not there. Tell me where he is, Iain.”
He shook his head, “I-I don’t know,” He stammered.
Eric lurched forward, grabbing Iain’s head and forcing him to look up at him. “Well then, you just don’t have any use to me.”
He pulled a gun from beneath his coat, pressing it against Iain’s temple for the second time that day.
“Gonna hit me again?” He asked through clenched teeth.
Eric scoffed, “Oh, no, I’m not going to do that,” With a click, he cocked the gun, “I’ll just shoot you.”
Iain wished he could stop his body from shaking. But he couldn’t, he was cold and could barely even see what was right in front of his face. In fact, without his glasses, trying to focus on the figure in front of him was agony.
He tried to pull his head away, inadvertently trying to use his tied up hands.
“Uh, uh, uh,” Eric tutted, “Go on, tell me.”
Iain licked his lips, “No thanks,” He rasped.
Eric pressed the gun harder, “Want to think again?”
Iain gritted his teeth, trying as hard as he could not to cry out, “No, I’d rather not.”
Eric scoffed and jerked the gun away, standing with a swish of his coat and spinning to face away from Iain. “Well, let’s see if we can get something out of you, huh?” A sadistic grin was marring his face. “You ever seen the scars a whip can give?”