Work Text:
Whack, went the baseball bat, against Bryce's upper back. Whump, went Bryce against the ground. His gun, a sawed off shotgun, left his grip as he fell, landing a couple feet away. A swift kick to the ribcage moved him further from his weapon.
Bryce rolled onto his back, wincing slightly. He knew he was going to be sore as could be in the morning. He'd make it out again, he's been in worse situations and he knew that the Subway Witch's Hunter wouldn't kill him. He never did. 'Never have figure out why, the fuckin' jackass.' Bryce thought, as he propped himself up on his elbows and locked eyes with Jeremy.
A few years ago.
The talent scouter was at the school, looking for promising young sports players to give scholarships to. Jeremy was nervous but excited, baseball was one of the few things he truly and honestly enjoyed, and the chance to get a scholarship for it made him ecstatic. The opportunity to show off his skills was just after lunch. He waited for the bells to ring, but instead the fire alarm began its shrill cry.
Gunshots rang out in the hallways of the high school, students scattering into the classrooms and hiding behind desks. Homemade pipebombs sent shards of glass and nails flying into the lockers, some unlucky students getting struck by the shrapnel. Smoke began to cloud the hallways.
Strutting through the halls, the gunman took quick aim at the fleeing students and squeezed the trigger. The shot left the barrel and hit one boy in the thigh, severing the artery and dropping him like a stone to the ground. He was left to bleed out like a stuck pig.
Jeremy ran through the halls, trying to make sense of the chaos. He turned the corner, and saw the doors leading out to the back of the school. Oh, thank god- He thought, but his thoughts were cut off by a gunshot behind him, and a rapid pain in his shoulder. Hitting the ground as a second shot went off, Jeremy clutched his shoulder and yelled. Laughter greeted his ears.
"Oh man, I wish I coulda seen your fuckin' face!" The gunman strode towards him, and kicked Jeremy in the stomach, the gunman's duster flaring out behind him as he did so.
"Bryce, what are you doing?!" Jeremy asked, shaken at the realization of who's responsible for the carnage gripping the school at this moment.
"Yeah, I'm selling girl scout cookies. The fuck's it look like I'm doing, dipshit?" Bryce snapped. "Get outta here, you fuckin' dramatic bitch." Jeremy hesitated, before scrambling to his feet and running to the doors as Bryce let off a wild shot at him. Stumbling out the doors, he looked around wildly for help.
Jeremy's shoulder never did heal properly.
Present day.
Bryce glared up at Jeremy, then turned his head to the side and spat, a small amount of blood mixed with saliva.
"The fuck do you want?" Bryce hissed. Jeremy grabbed Bryce by the collar of his duster and slammed him against a tree.
"This is all your fault!" Jeremy yelled, nodding towards his injured shoulder. "I lost my chance at life! All because you had to be a loser and shoot innocent people!" Jeremy shoved the school shooter to the ground. Bryce rolled away from the tree, sitting up back where he started.
"Then why the fuck don't you finish your sloppy work then?!" Bryce snapped back. "You never kill me! Just attack me and then leave like a goddam coward! Why don't you just man up and fuckin' kill me already?!?"
"Because I like you!" Jeremy shouted, his facial features quickly filling with regret.
"You what?" Bryce hissed, before laughing sharply. Jeremy turned tail, aiming to run, run far away. As soon as Jeremy turned around, Bryce lunged for his shotgun. Swinging it around quickly, he pulled the trigger and let loose the buckshot.
Jeremy's legs didn't stand a chance. They buckled out from under him, pain flaring through both. He tried to stand and collapsed again, instead trying to crawl backwards, at least until his back met a tree trunk.
"You're goddamn useless, ya know that? This is fuckin' rich, liking the guy who's shot you! Who apparently ruined your whole damn life! Fuckin' useless fag."
Bryce left, leaving Jeremy to ponder his fate. He'd tell one of the other proxies that the Witch's Hunter had been shot, and was waiting to die. Kicking the old wooden door to the farmhouse wide open, Bryce puffed his chest out.
"What's got you all proud?" A brunette grumbled, busy sharpening her combat knife at the kitchen table.
"I found the Hunter's weakness. It's me. I'm his goddamn weakness. Fuckin' gay. That's why he never finished his work and killed me." Bryce scoffed. "Useless fucker."
"Speaking of useless, did you drag him back here for harvest, or did you fucking leave that for someone else again?" Break Away snarled.
"Fuck, you think I'm touching that homo? You're hilarious. Nah, I left him for Chains to drag in, assuming that dumbass can find the Hunter. I'm fuckin' going to bed." He shrugged his duster off, draping it over a chair and headed towards the stairs. Climbing up the rickety steps, the boards creaked and groaned, alerting the other proxies someone was back.
"My room better be fuckin' void of the others I swear-" Bryce nudged the door open, only to see a girl in a dirty dinosaur onesie curled up on his bed. Closing the door quietly, he tip toed towards his bed. "For fuck's sake, 'Nilla..." He mumbled. "Why you always gotta be in my room?" Lifting her carefully, he deposited her on her cot in the room, careful not to step on the scattered ammunition. 'She must have been trying to build towers again, Christ...'
Bryce stretched out on his bed, his torso sore and a small grin on his face. Soon the Hunter would be dead, his organs harvested for the Field Children's master and the body thrown into a river. Soon he wouldn't have to deal with Jeremy ever again.
If only Chains had found the Hunter first.