Chapter Text
Feet hit the ground with a quick pace. Dirt and browning leafs were kicked up behind him with each step he took, his breathing heard and visible in the cold evening air. His eyes skimmed his surroundings, the tremble of his body unshakable.
There was nowhere to go.
Frustrated tears brimmed his eyes before he squeezed them shut,"come on think!" His trembling hands shot up to his hair, running his cold bleeding fingers through it. There must be a way to get out of this there has to be a way— his arms shot back down to his sides in tight fists. He spun around when he heard a faint voice and footsteps from behind him. His widened eyes quickly flickering between all the leafless trees, sweat slowly dripping down his forehead and the bridge of his nose, creating a bead before falling from the tip and down in the moist dirt by his feet.
Once his inner voice was finally able to yell him out of his frozen state and into focus again, he was able to notice an old dark building in the distance. There was no way he could keep outrunning this guy, with him being taller and stronger. He needed to hide.
Springing back to life he forced the burning muscles in his legs to start working again and push him forward to the safety of the building. Hoping it was hidden well enough so the other man following him wouldn't notice.
He was wrong— and he knew it the moment a rough calloused hand brushed the back of his neck, gripping the collar of his jacket and yanking him back hard enough that he lost his footing and hit the rough ground with a vocal huff. He scrambled into a sitting position, his elbows digging into the mud and dirt beneath him as his breathing lost its pace again.
"Please!" He yelled out trying to stumble back up to his feet. Two hands collided with his chest, pushing him back down, his head hitting the ground with the force of it all. He blinked the haziness away. "I can't let you leave now— you've— this is too risky." The man hovering above him mumbled, reaching into his pocket. Pulling out a switchblade, the noise caught his attention as he quickly flicked it out, eyes quickly connecting to his hand before the other was pulling his arm back.
The youngest eyes widened in panic, his hands quickly shooting up to thrust at the mans chest to get him off of him. The man fell off balance, giving him the chance to get up and escape.
"Hey! Come back here you—" the man stumbled after him after getting to his feet. He whipped his head around to see exactly where the other was, his hair sticky and dirty with mud and sweat— and though most of it had stuck to his forehead— still bouncing gently with each step he took.
This had by far been the worst day of his life.
He thought, thinking of how he even got himself into this mess. Trust him, he loved his job and what he did but sometimes things got so unnecessarily out of hand it pisses him off and it does horrible things to his mental health.
So after another bad day with another bullshit rumor of him trending on Twitter he'd decided to take the day off. Off his recordings, off Twitch, off YouTube and especially off Twitter. Once he'd realized it had been raining, eyes wandering the window, he had decided to go for a walk outside. The steady beating of rain against the pavement amongst other things, had always calmed him down immensely.
Today was not that day.
He'd heard it before he'd seen it. The engine of a car from behind him, rumbling low, slowly slowing down until it was beside him. He caught sight of it next from the corner of his eye. What he hadn't seen was someone getting out of the vehicle and going up to him. He didn't know why or how exactly he was taken and where he'd somehow ended up, it all happened way too fast. But here he was, after successfully getting out of the car and running into the most nearby forest, no better place to go that was nearby.
He yelped out— snapping back to reality— as his foot slipped in the mud, his knees and palms harshly hitting the ground beneath him. The wetness of the mud soaked and stained his pants. Knees cold trembling and weak. Wincing he scrambled back up to his feet, noting the man was still right behind him.
Wait what the fuck am I doing?! He realized, having to force himself not to come to an abrupt stop before the building. How the hell was he supposed to get out of this building once he enters it? Just stay on the first floor.
Apparently his slight hesitation had already been enough though— a sharp blade cut through his jacket and into the back of his right bicep as he stumbled up the porch. He cried out, his left hand shooting up to his right arm and clasping around it tightly. He felt warmth seep through his fingers and drip down his palm instantly, a sting shooting up his arm in time with his heartbeat. He could hear it drumming loudly in his ears as he ran to the door.
He bursted through the decayed wooden door, snapping easily through the lock it was on as the wood splintered to the floor around him. He quickly tried to catch his footing again as he stumbled into the building, his eyes quickly scanning the house before him. Stairs to the right and a living room on the left— stay on the first floor stay on the first floor stay— before he even had a chance to set another foot into the house the man pushed him to the floor once more, the harsh push against his shoulder blades leaving them pulsing and aching as his hands and knees hit the floor once more.
Heaving he managed to set a foot underneath himself again, both hands pushing his body back up. His bloodied fingers brushing the carpet in the small living room, he continued pushing even when it made the cut in his right arm burn and scream at him to stop.
"No you fucking—" an angered growl came from behind him. The man obviously wanting him vulnerable and down on the floor. This time he heard it before he'd felt it.
The swoosh of the switchblade coming down at him through the stifling air. He yelled out, a deep slash coming down from his right shoulder to his left side. He nearly fell over from the pain, a sob involuntarily escaping his lips as he ran around the couch to try and steer the man away from him, put some space between them. His tear filled eyes connected to the mans wild ones as they stared at one another from each end of the couch, teeth grinding together.
His eyes found a small vase with withered flowers on his left side that was stood on a small table. Before the man could notice he connected their eyes again, slowly taking a step to the left. The other followed.
A slow grin spread across the mans face. "There is nowhere you can go. Nothing you can—" after another step he quickly turned and gripped the vase. Throwing it at the man across from him. He yelled out upon impact, glass shards hitting the floor and falling on the old couch.
He took the chance to run. Back to the door just get back to the door and outside please— the man had recovered quicker than he had hoped. His heavy footsteps appeared on his right side, before crazy eyes connected to his again. Exactly where he needed to go.
He yelled in panic as the man slashed the knife at him once more, driving him the other way. Left left go left. He turned left, taking whatever he could get was better than giving up and getting stabbed. He didn't care if he had to jump down from a window or lock himself away in a closet forever, he just wanted this to end and to be safe.
He just wanted to go home.
The stairs were left.
The stairs were the worst choice. They creaked loudly under his frantic steps, the panic made him misstep but one misstep was already too much. He felt a sharp sting in the back of his shin, another one right above it, worse now. His cry echoed through the hallway, his leg turning to jello for half a second. He put his arms to work again, his fingers brushing the carpeted steps, pushing himself up before the man had the chance to catch up even more. He felt a tight grip around his ankle.
Another sob escaped his throat,"let me go! Just—" a frustrated yell escaped his lips. He turned, kicking his legs at the man to hopefully get him to let the fuck go of him. A good kick to the nose made the other let go, stumbling down a few steps.
Wincing he painfully got back up on both legs, trying to step up the last steps as quickly as he could.
The man was already recovering again, eyes stinging with tears, blood streaming over his lips and down his throat, he wiped it before quickly getting up from the steps and trying to go after the other. At the last step the younger his foot caught the staircase, his other foot made it up on solid ground again, but wasn't strong enough to carry his entire weight. His eyes widened as he saw the window at the top of the stairs come closer, trembling and pulsing arms shot up to cover his face from the inevitable impact with the window.
One moment the house was silent, aside from stumbling steps up an old wooden staircase, and the other a body made contact with the wall and window. A loud thump and the shattering of glass tore through the empty halls and peaceful woods.
He hit the floor afterwards. Blood smearing over the wooden planks. Eyes squeezed shut as splinters off glass fell from above him and in his hair. He didn't get to sit for long before he remembered why he was sitting on the floor beside a broken window in an abandoned house in the first place. He heard the angry footsteps slowly approach him from downstairs.
Even when he felt the glass cut his fingers open, he used them to push himself up off the floor again and down the hallway. He realized the moment he had entered the room it was a mistake.
All there was was an old desk in the left corner of the room a little ways away from where he entered, another window across from the door, a dirty old graying carpet laid out in the middle of the room. He slowly closed the door behind him as quietly as he possibly could. He tried to stifle his shuddering breathing by clasping both hands over his mouth as he slowly took steps backwards away from the door, rounding the corner beside it. The scent of iron filled his nose as he pressed his bleeding back against the wall with the desk on his left, the door on his right. Squeezing his tear filled eyes shut he tried to listen to where the man may be. The footsteps echoed down the dark hallway right outside the door, his bottom lip quivering out of fear. Please, please, please don't hear me, please don't come here.
The steps stopped at the door. The wood creaking one last time before it turned silent outside the door. He opened his eyes, knowing he needed to come up with something quickly or he would die. No time to be scared right now, he didn't want to die, so he had to do something about it.
The latch on the window. He quickly tried to get to the other side of the room as quietly as possible, bleeding fingers trembling and dripping once he tried to reach out and unlatch the window.
He could make the jump—
could he?—
He shook his head, tears silently falling down his cheeks, replacing the salty sweat. His whole body ached at this point, the adrenaline slowly leaving his system. Soft sniffles escaped his lips as he fumbled with the lock, unable to open it. Just smearing his blood over it. "Please, please no." He whispered out, voice hoarse.
"Please I don't—" he rested his forehead against the window before him trying to calm down.
A sob escaped his lips.
Too loud.
Two footsteps was all it took before his door was reached again, it slammed open with force making him jump in panic as he turned. The guy looked so horrifyingly relieved to have found him, only thinking about saving his own skin. He tried to stand, but was roughly pushed back, the breath escaping his lungs with force as his back collided with the window. It cracked, a short way away from breaking. He was grabbed by his collar and pulled back into the room.
"Now you're mine." The man grumbled out. But he wasn't giving up, stomping on his foot— hard— the first opportunity he had. The man loosened his grip, giving him the chance to free his arm, he hit the man in his side to get him to let go. The grip around his collar loosened as the man gripped his side in pain, a groan escaping his lips more in anger than anything. He shakily took hesitant steps back, it was either the door or the window but he was standing right in between both of them.
His eyes flicked between the two, the man regaining his composure as he examined the other through furrowed brows.
The door, just take the door you won't make the window—
He just didn't want to die.
The moment he set a step to the right and to the door the man shot up fully again. Where's the knife where's— the mans right hand went straight to his gut. He cried out, "fuck!—" He chocked out after. Both his hands clenching the others jacket and hood tightly as he leaned his weight on the other, just strong enough to keep his head from lolling on the mans shoulder.
He was so tired.
The man forced them to take multiple steps forward. He followed, stumbling back, his feet dragging over the floor. First his hip hit the desk, the sudden force making it groan and crumble, falling halfway to the floor as he gasped out, the knife plunging deeper into his gut as he was pushed fully against the wall.
"What a pity~" The man mumbled solemnly, taunting him, obviously not giving one shit. He scowled at the other, tired hooded eyes looking into the others crazy ones again. And with the last of his strength he spat at the mans face. Knowing he would regret it.
Big mistake.
He gasped, fingers tightening around fabric as if it'd make a difference. "Stop! Argh! Please!" He whimpered, the hilt of the knife now flat against his gut as he felt his warm blood ooze from the wound and seep into his clothes, his vision swam, head lolling forward anyways. His words and screams turned sluggish for a moment before the knife was pulled out at such an instance he blinked away a dark pattern of stars and panted for a moment before his brain even caught up it had happened in the first place. The man took a step back, letting him slowly fall to his knees, his shaking and bleeding legs finally giving out on him. "You caused me so much fucking trouble you piece of shit." The man growled out swiping his sweated hair from his face, blood drying beneath his nose.
He really tried, he tried to get his body to get up and move because this isn't what he wanted— this wasn't supposed to happen.
It was just a bad day. He had to go back home. Back to his cat to feed her, back to his family and friends online, back to his work and fans, back to try and fix things. There was so much left unsaid. So much left unfinished.
His throat felt hoarse and his voice broke when he tried to speak. "Please I don't— I don't want to die." He pleaded tearfully. Trembling body sunk into itself, heavy and bleeding arms wrapped around himself. It seemed like his blood was everywhere, he smelt it so strongly.
The man didn't listen to his pleas. He sobbed as he tried to fight the mans hands off of him.
Somehow the second time he felt the knife plunge into his stomach it hurt worse. The third was just as bad, he felt his blood seep further into his clothes, soaking them and making them stick to his stomach, chest and sides. The fourth came down higher, he thinks he felt it crack a rib. The grip he had on the man hovering over him— hands tightly gripping hair and an arm— gradually loosened as his sobs slowed. His blood painted the man red above him each time the knife retracted and plunged down, he felt it on his own face too. The once white carpet that had already started graying slowly turned a deep deep red. Specks of red painting the wall beside them.
He doesn't know exactly how many times the man had stabbed him, he stopped counting around twenty something— or lost count? Or stopped feeling? The line started to blur.
He just knows it hurt. It hurt a lot.
It was excruciating.
He tasted his own blood on his tongue, dazed eyes staring up at a blurred ceiling as empty tears escaped them, rolling down pale cheeks and past his jaw behind his ears, blood slowly spilling from his painted lips.
He barely heard the man grunt again, barely felt the knife pierce through his skin one last time, barely felt his blood bubble up from his throat and choke him, barely felt it spilling even further from his lips and past his jaw and neck.
His arms fell limply to the floor beside him.
Please.
He tried to swallow past the blood.
He shallowly gasped for air, trying to breathe. Though he was unable to.
And that's where he took his last breath. Unseeing eyes staring. Staring up at his murderer, staring up at a molding ceiling in an abandoned house somewhere far from home.
Far from his family and loved ones. Far from everything and everyone.
Alone.