Archive of Our Own

Leo thinks it's about damn time Spoke meets the hefty sword of justice head-first. He knows it'll be so satisfying to bring his weapon down upon him and have his body disappear into dust, he knows.

He will have the chance soon. For days on end, he's followed Spoke and the group of people with him—which strangely, doesn't include Mapicc for once—through amplified terrain that simply never stops. He doesn't know the people Spoke is with, but he doesn't quite care either; if they're with him, they'll pay the price. But the distance from BAT headquarters is the only thing keeping him from tumbling into a rage-induced insanity, one he knows he's pretty much on the edge of. Catching Spoke is the one thing he wants most, Law be damned, and his lifeline is knowing he'll be doing the world a favour.

They disappear two weeks into their journey. A little hole, nestled between two goliaths of mountains. Leo is lucky to catch sight of them at all. He notes Spoke’s last known location, those intricate red lines on his old and beaten chestplate that stand out against the green of a jungle gone for the first time in weeks.

Leo has to be delicate in the way he thoroughly searches the rest of the terrain. Where he finds silence and undisturbed nature, he grits his teeth and fights the urge to destroy it all. He almost reaches for the carts in his inventory. There’s a fire burning in his heart, a raging forest fire that wants to blaze everything around him to ashes as long as it means Spoke goes down with it. He wants him gone, dead, banned from this place permanently. He hates him. He hates him.

Now, he's so close, but he can't go in guns blazing. If it’s a trap, he’ll know. If they’re waiting for him, he’ll know. Not a block goes uncovered as he travels in a circle around the entrance he saw Spoke leave into. And only when he deems it safe, only when he can’t do anything else to prepare, does he stand in front of the entrance.

He can’t say it’s anything special. Two blocks mined into the dirt, just barely tall enough for him to fit under. They’re dug out strategically; at first glance, if you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t say anything’s off about the sight at all.

A deep breath in and out does nothing to quench the fire inside. His gauntlets dig into his hands when he clenches them into too-tight fists, preparing himself before he steps into the hole. His ears are twitching to catch any sound. His boots on the dirt floor are quiet, not silent enough, when he takes a step, and another, and a third, glancing over his shoulder at the last rays of sunlight that catch the entrance before they’ll disappear behind the mountains.

What could this possibly be? This place can't be anything other than a trap or a safe house. He's not sure which option he hates more. A trap just means he's got more reason to kill Spoke and bring justice to him … as if he really needs any more reason.

He doesn’t dwell on it for too long. He rounds a corner and another, then the slim tunnel slopes downwards into a crude staircase that goes on for a dozen or so blocks. He has no choice but to follow.

The air inside is hotter than outside. A few torches line the walls, clunky enough that he has to dodge around them. Every step he takes he questions, every item he sees could be a trap. He tests every stair, pushing on them with the tip of his armoured boot before he dares to settle his full weight on them.

At the bottom is another turn. He takes a silent breath and peeks around the corner. After a few steps, the tunnel opens up into a slightly bigger one, but at his second glance, he can tell it can only be a cave of some kind. He steels himself, straightening his shoulders, and heads in. His sword sits heavily in his hand, shield ready in the other.

He’s not prepared to see two guards, kitted out in enchanted diamond. Leo freezes. He eyes them, waiting for any kind of reaction beyond their gazes settling on him. They don’t draw their weapons. All they really do is regard him with bored intrigue.

Leo steps forward, giving them a nod they both return. His hesitance must be showing, because as soon as he makes it closer, they make their way between him and the cave that slopes further down. They hold no aggression with the act, but it’s obvious they’re serious about their work.

Before he can so much as open his mouth to ask a single question, the player on the left talks first. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

He takes them in, weighing the question in his mind. They don’t know him. In turn, this means they don’t know BAT. What kind of connection do they have with Spoke if they don’t know who he is? Would they even know about the Law? They’re not lying about it either, because their question is genuine.

“My name is Leo. I’m here looking for a friend.” The word is bitter on his tongue and he has to swallow down the bile. Friend. Is that what Spoke is? It's what he was, and that thought hurts more than any other.

“Do you know what this place is?” the other player speaks up. When he lets his gaze wander over them, they narrow their eyes and search his own. Silently, he wonders what they’re looking for. “Are you sure you want to enter?”

He opens his mouth, but for a moment, an absence of words overcomes him. They’re giving him a clear warning, lacking in aggression as the question is.

“I do. Am I allowed to?” He squares his shoulders, prepared.

Apparently, it’s as easy as that, and they step aside to let him through. He frowns, but won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever is down here, they don’t seem to need to protect it that well.

He gives them another nod but they don't return it this time. Their expressions shift into something Leo can't quite place as he steps past them and onto the path down the cave. He doesn't relax his grip on his sword yet. For all he knows, the cave opens up after the first bend and he'll need it sooner rather than later. He's almost hoping for it.

"You can still turn back, y'know?"

He stutters in his step, damn near missing where the path dips down with the lack of proper stairs. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees the guard who warned him give him what can only be a plea with the look he's wearing. The guy is patted on the shoulder and turned back to the entrance by his friend.

"Leave him be. It's none of our business what people come here for. You know some folk just look to get lost. Some of them just want a fresh start."

Leo ignores the rest of their conversation. He breaks the connection between himself and the guard first, taking a deep breath in and releasing it silently. The meanings of his plea or the reply to it are lost on him. If this is a place to get lost in, why is Spoke of all people here? He's never shown his goal to be hiding and cowering, it's always in his plan to stay just ahead of Leo to the point it's frustrating and irritating, but smart nonetheless.

A relief washes over him when he turns a corner; no more eyes on him. The cave goes on for ages. He has the echo of his footsteps to keep his thoughts company as he mulls over the dilemma. If anything, he has his stasis set and the accompanying rod to get him out of any trouble. But the idea of a trap seems less likely now.

He's not an idiot, everything about this is all pointing in one direction. He's at the entrance of an underground civilisation. He doesn't know about it because no one else knows about it. He's never seen it on a map because it's not on any map.

He's proven correct later than he'd like. At the end of a walk that's too long for his revenge-driven mind after weeks of following Spoke, the tunnel opens up into a massive cavern. He stands, takes it in, not allowing himself to be impressed for even a second even if it is. Before him stands a whole city, built into the cavern like lichen growing on a tree, making it its home. Wherever he looks, buildings are dotted around.

And it's alive too. Leo dives into the street—the main road, surely, or at least one of them—and within seconds has to dodge the people. Just … ordinary players. There are people with food, with children, with carts and some shout about their products, some come up close and marvel at his netherite, muttering about a pretty price he can't even be bothered to hear out.

Slums. He doesn't feel any disgust towards the word and this place, more an indifference. He could pity these people but do ordinary folk go out of their way to hide in civilisations like these? He knows most of them will be hiding from the Law, the Mafia, anything really, trying to get away from the main server. They have their reasons to be here, he can't really care enough. He's not here for them, anyway.

He's here for the wearer of that stupid redstone-trimmed chestplate that he just barely catches sight of in the distance as Spoke disappears into an alley. Leo sheathes his sword and makes his way through the people. Little care goes into how he pushes away some players. He'd equip an elytra if he didn't think it would be stolen off his back at the mere sight of it. He knows he was lucky to see Spoke when he did with the dim lighting of dirty copper bulbs that act as streetlights, and next time he won't be so fortunate.

The alley is less crowded. He bursts out of the busy street and instantly slips into the darkness of the alley, entirely unlit by streetlights or else. He's once again happy his leopard traits give him the upper hand, he can see enough to keep going. The alley curves, he follows.

A building waits for him at the end. Really, he should've noticed the music that played, those loud drums and heavy bass almost solely greeting him as he finds his way there. Maybe greed and revenge were too heavy on his mind—it's not a maybe, is it? The door to what's obviously a club is shut tight, a gang of armed players guarding the entrance. They notice him the second he rounds the corner, if the tilts of their heads and the hushed whispers they exchange are anything to go by.

He prepares himself for the worst, and approaches. "Hello, gentlemen," he starts, easy enough. They aren't impressed by him nor his netherite. He'll try to be polite. Keyword: try. "You wouldn't happen to have seen a voidling enter this place, did you? Shorter than me, wears netherite, redstone trims? He's a … dear friend who I need to talk to."

There's that word again. Friend. What a joke. They were friends once. He really thought that they could be good friends, at the time. Instead, Spoke broke his trust like he breaks everything around him, because he's simply a black hole that lets nothing around him stay whole.

"I don't know who you're talking about." A player with phantom wings and half a horn left shrugs, eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

Maybe his natural authority rubs these players the wrong way, he wouldn't put it past them. This doesn't seem like the place where his status and role in BAT do him much good and do him bad instead. The armour doesn't help, nor does the clear way he's here to arrest and possibly kill someone. Maybe they wouldn't care about the latter too much, but authority can't be high on their favourites list.

The door opens and a figure stumbles out. Leo's eyebrows shoot up at the flood of music and smell of alcohol that floods out with them before the door is shut. He has nothing to say about the leopard-print pants, he's a snow leopard himself after all, but he can't quite save the company from his grimace at the combination of those and a fancy pink shirt with several dozens of necklaces that can't match in the slightest, as well as the sunglasses on their crooked nose. Now, he's not an expert on fashion, but he'd like to think he's at least a little good at putting together an outfit. This? This isn't it.

But this guy isn't some ordinary drunkard. The players guarding the entrance now seem more defensive. He eyes the strange guy a second time. The owner?

"Now who's this?" the owner asks, fingers tracing a very rough outline around him, their tongue poked out like they're entirely focused on that task. Once they're done, they grab the sunglasses from their nose. "Those are some impressive pieces of armour. Surely you're not here to trade? I've got some stuff you might want, and I'll even put a discount on it for you, darling."

Leo wants nothing more than to back away when a finger almost fully concealed in rings reaches over to lift his chin a little. He sets his jaw. Biting back probably loses him the chance to get inside, won't it?

"My name is Leo—"

He doesn't get the chance to continue before the owner is giggling. "Leo! Oh, Leo, what a lovely name. What are you here for, Leo?"

"I'm—" he starts, mouth hanging open uselessly for a second. A shudder fights to creep down his back. "I'm here for a friend. Spoke. A voidling, with redstone trims? He's got a rainbow bandana. I have reason to believe he's inside."

The players around him all look at the owner to wait for whatever they have to say. He's definitely got the right person then. All he needs to do is play into their hand a little bit, enough to get inside, find Spoke, and then get back out. He can do that. He can get through this. The fire of revenge is stronger than his disgust.

"Oh, the voidling!" The owner grins. Leo hates it. "Yes, he's inside of course. He really needed a bit of a break of reality, it seemed. So do you, I think. You're welcome inside: relax a bit, enjoy the music, the drinks, the company, that friend of yours."

Leo swallows down any offensive words. "Thank you, I will. Can I go?"

The second he steps forward, a finger on his chest stops him. The owner tuts, like he's a misbehaving child. They even shake their head like they're disappointed. This time, Leo does shiver.

"We have a strict 'no armour inside' policy. Sorry darling, I'm afraid your fancy metals will scare the other partygoers away. Then who will buy my drinks and dance to my music?"

He sighs, a deep breath out his nose that speaks over a million words more about his frustration than a glare could at this moment. At least he can step away from them to set down an e-chest, and he keeps his eyes firmly on the group as he undoes the straps to his armour and lets them fall to his feet. They only return the favour. The owner of this club hums approvingly, though his gaze is drawn more to the powerful gear that disappears into the chest than Leo himself—thank the universe for that.

"Now can I go?" Dusting off his suit, he steps back up to them. He expects a yes, albeit a reluctant one. So far, he's done nothing but follow the orders of this creepy guy. They can't turn him down now.

Instead of a reply, a glass bottle is fished from their inventory. It's smaller than a potion bottle, much fancier too. A mysterious green liquid sits inside. When they slosh it around, it doesn't look too different from just a normal drink of alcohol. Still, he wants to be sober when he gets inside, mind entirely clear so he can focus on dragging Spoke out of here by his throat.

"What's this?"

A grin. They lick their lips. "Entry fee," they say, words hushed, like they're barely allowed to be heard over the music. They add a wink, like it helps their creepiness at all.

He stares at the bottle. The longer he does, the more suspicious it becomes. A sigh wants to be released from his lungs when he takes the bottle and uncorks it. If Spoke escapes now, he came all this way for no reason. If he escapes now, he'll never have such an easy chance again.

He sets it to his lips and tilts his head back. A sip should be enough, but the player tilts it upwards, making him drink gulp after gulp so he doesn't choke on the liquid that burns his tongue and crawls down his throat violently. When it gets to his stomach, it ties into knots in protest. It's hot and cold at the same time, sweet and bitter. He's never tasted something so disgusting and enticing at the same time.

When their eyes meet, Leo's panicked ones and their amused and satisfied ones, the bottle is finally lowered. He almost spits out the drink, but he forces himself to swallow. He can't help himself when he gags and a shudder runs down his whole spine.

An arm slings around his shoulder. The malicious laughs from the other players feel distant when the door opens and drowns him in pure noise. "Enjoy the party," is whispered directly into his ear.

And then he's shoved inside, an uneven wooden floor making him stumble through the bead curtains and tapestries hung up as a makeshift noise barrier. He's surprised by how much it does, how even inside it's so much louder than before. He grits his teeth, blinking into the darkness, squinting against the fire on very few pedestals in the massive room which somehow feel brighter than the sun. A single disco ball hangs from the ceiling. Beneath it, an enormous crowd dances, one big sea of players. Their stomps align with the beat of a thunderous song that Leo can feel drum against his ribs.

The first step he consciously takes is hesitant. He's been in clubs before, he's not a baby, but whatever drink he was just force-fed seems to seep all the courage from his body. Leo walks up to the crowd and can't get himself to push his way inside immediately.

He should scout out the place. He needs to find an escape for when he needs it. He needs to discover any possible traps. He needs to … He needs to?

Leo needs to find Spoke. He's here for Spoke.

Trying to cling onto reason is a lost cause. Something hangs in the air, he breathes it in and it fills up his lungs, makes his thoughts harder to steer in the right direction. He clings onto the one goal that still sounds like reason as if it's a lifeline. He can find Spoke in the crowd of people.

The players don't even notice him even if he shoves his way inside. He's swallowed whole. And the whole world becomes this room. All he sees is bodies that swing and sway, blurry faces, the sound of deafening music drowning out most of his thoughts. He can't breathe beyond the smell of sweat and alcohol and who-knows-what else.

Somewhere deep inside, he knows what's happening. A small part of him knows he's stepped right into the trap and his foggy mind is going to get him killed. But, much louder, the rest of him is happy with the lack of thought. Everything is simple, now. Everything makes sense. He needs Spoke.

What does he need Spoke for again? He just needs him. He does. Leo misses him. The crowd and the music feels lonely, like he's not part of the crowd but an imposter inside it. He needs Spoke by his side.

There's no one else left for him. All of his friends are gone, or indifferent to his existence if they're not dead.

Maybe that's where he is, in some tomb, a grave, and he's punished to search this damn crowd forever. He still pushes on. Maybe … maybe he'll see his friends again. Maybe he'll see the people again who care about him, who love him.

But it doesn't make sense, does it? He shakes the thought away. If he's dead, he wouldn't be looking for Spoke. Because Spoke is alive and he simply needs to find him. No matter what else, he needs to get to him—

"Leo?"

He stops dead in his tracks and the world twists and turns around him, like he's a rock in a wild river. Blinking away the dizziness hardly helps him. When he looks over his shoulder, he's too scared to breathe. It gets stuck in his throat, crushes his windpipe, squeezes all the air from his lungs. No. No, that's impossible. He has to be dreaming.

The lights stand out on his frame, painting him in every flattering colour, shielding him away from Leo's eyes when they turn to shine on someone else. But Leo's already seen him, it's too late to go now. He turns on his heel, slowly because going any faster might make the image disappear.

He'll recognise him anywhere. Those horns, that smile, those markings on the skin of his face like constellations.

They're face to face before they know it. Leo still towers over him but he can't find it in himself to laugh about it. He's just met with shock, like they're both unsure about this meeting, like it's not supposed to happen.

"Leo."

It's the only clear thing in the chaos. His voice. His voice. And the warmth of his hand as it cups his face, hesitant until the thumb brushes his cheekbone and hit bottom lip with clear intention. Despite the fog in his mind, despite the ocean of players, despite the way his ears threaten to go deaf with the noise, he feels as perfect as he can.

"Nufuli," he whispers, the name tainted with disbelief—he can't be here, he can't, and yet he is. He's here. His own voice fades away into the chaos, distant even to himself. He's hardly sure he even managed to get the word off his tongue.

"Leo, why are you here?" he's asked, but it's clear to both of them he doesn't want an answer. Instead, he pulls him closer, the other hand joining to drag his face down and Leo doesn't fight him.

The twinkle in his beautiful eyes, Leo falls into them, losing track of where he is, it all becomes a big blur. He can't recall the last time he got to see Nufuli. He can't remember why he's been missing him so much. But now he's here and in his arms and he doesn't have to miss him anymore, the hole in his heart at the lack of him filling up finally.

They're the only real thing in this room. They're all that matters. Everything's right in the world when Nufuli kisses him. All his regrets are washed clean and painted white. His eyes fall shut against his own will but it doesn't matter because it's Nufuli who pulls him in and closer and who he wraps his arms around. He doesn't have to see him to imagine him, and he's so beautiful, glittering in the lights.

But he changes in Leo's arms. Even when they press together and their kiss deepens into something he might get lost in forever, he feels how those strong hands gain the sharp edges of claws. The body he holds turns thinner, more fragile, clothes baggier. It's like Nufuli is transforming into a whole different person right here.

His eyes struggle to open at his command. He pulls away to breathe in, the world twisting around him like a Ferris wheel when he does, and in front of him doesn't stand Nufuli. All he can do is stare dumbly. Void-black skin, glowing white eyes, starlight constellations of freckles dotted on his cheeks and nose but they're not blue and pulsing like Nufuli's. The horns on his head are shorter, bear more scars and hold no jewelry, not the delicate chain once gifted by Leo.

"You're not him," he mutters. He breathes out, face caught into a frown. This is Spoke. Nufuli isn't here, and he never was. When he blinks, the people around him go from strangers to familiars, back to strangers. This was never Nufuli.

Spoke's eyes drop down to his tie, no reply for once. Leo would almost say he looks hurt for a moment before he's got that dreamy expression back on his face. He can't even keep himself from finding his eyes again, like he's got no other place to be, like he wants to be here, with him.

It's that damn drink, isn't it? Better a realisation late than never, but now he can't push himself away from Spoke to grab some milk because his arms refuse to cooperate. He's not alone, at least. Spoke doesn't seem aware of his internal confusion, blinking slowly at him and tracing his lips with a shaking claw. And Leo lets him. He doesn't lift a finger to stop him from wearing that lovesick expression that shouldn't belong on his face when he's looking at Leo.

They're not … this. He swallows heavily, watching Spoke track the movement. They're not lovers, never have been. Whatever longing that potion sprinkled into his heart is fake, delusions he can't control. There isn't a single part of him that still cares about him in any way, especially not in this way; not his racing heart or lack of breath, not his protective hold on him, not the way he leans into it when Spoke kisses him a second time.

He can't even hide behind the fact that he imagined Nufuli. Right now, he knows fully well it's Spoke of all people that he's holding. Spoke, the murderer and the liar, who he cradles close to him, hand on the back of his head and the other on his hip. The way his lips twist into a smile is almost entirely unwillingly.

There should be no part of him satisfied at this. They're unwanted feelings that still flutter and fill up his chest like he's going to choke on it at the softness with which Spoke and him embrace each other, a softness which belongs nowhere near the former. He can't imagine the last time Spoke had been this soft. He'd definitely never been gentle around him, that's for sure. So seeing it here, now, while his mind is breaking down slowly, sinking into some dark abyss slowly, feels nice, perfect, like a dream come true.

And before he knows it, Spoke's lips are gone. He opens his eyes—when had he closed them again?—to see Spoke's eyes roll to the back of his head before he falls into Leo's arms. He doesn't even try to hold himself up, and Leo suddenly lacks the strength to keep him upright. Instead, he has to bring him down to lay on the ground, unresponsive to his pokes.

What happened? Did he pass out? Leo gets back onto his feet to look around, but all he sees are endless players jumping and dancing. He needs to get help, now.

Pressing past some people, he grits his teeth against the pushing and the shoving and the bumping. Spoke is waiting for him. He needs to find someone. He needs to find him water. Where is the bar? He can't see anything, and those lights flashing into his eyes every other second has a pain growing in his skull.

That dark abyss creeps closer, a void of no thoughts that threatened quietly while he'd been with Spoke. He breathes out, hardly able to open his mouth. The air slips past his lips clumsily and the breath back in is hot and heavy. His mind is spinning.

At this point, he can't even remember where he left Spoke. When he looks behind him to check, the world just keeps spinning and spinning and spinning—

Someone kicks his feet out from under him. The room spins more, upside down and in circles, he watches the lights streak across his vision, the sparkles of the disco ball blinking in and out.

And then his head hits the floor and everything goes black.

Everything stays black for a good while. Coming back to himself feels like dragging himself through soul sand without footwear: impossible and exhausting. There's a light waiting for him, a portal to some place he can't name while his mind is still swimming. He reaches for it, sluggish, slow. It takes ages to take each step. Still, for as long as he's been struggling, he can't seem to be able to wonder why he's there at all.

When he finally reaches that light, his head rises with a groan. He has to blink against the light, even when he comes to realise it only comes from a few candles scattered around in the room. He's slower to realise the pounding headache is actually music playing from beneath him.

That one opens his eyes wide. He sits up straight in the chair he's in, chest rising and falling with the first clear breaths he manages in ages. The party is below him. He's in a chair. Struggling only tells him his hands are bound behind the chair, and his ankles tied to the legs of it. It's not rope, they're chains. A panic settles in his guts that he fails to quench, mind still reeling, his body having a hard time catching up.

He'd been drugged and kidnapped.

Lock in. Focus. Leo tries to suck in a calmer breath. At least there's no gag to prevent him from it. A pain remains behind his eyes, a headache that's threatening to be there for a while at least—all thanks to that single suspicious drink.

There's another chair next to his. He recognises it when he can finally set his mind to possible escape. A chair holding a person in the same way as he's held captive, except the other player is hunched over, still fully knocked out. But even in the darkness, he recognises him anywhere.

"Spoke?" he tries, voice rough to his own ears. He sounds wrecked.

There's no reply, not even a twitch to show he's been heard. He swallows the lump in his throat. With a terror he hopes doesn't show in his tortured body, he drags his eyes across the room instead of focusing on Spoke. He finds the candles lighting up the room, a door probably locked shut, a table and … a dark figure leaning against said table. Beyond them, the room is utterly, bleakly empty.

It might have been a while—ages even, something he's been thankful for this entire time—but Leo doesn't fail to recognise him.

"Ash."

Beneath the glitch that obscures a third of Ash's face, his lips split into a menacing grin, showing off his sharp teeth. Memories, nightmares, come back to stare him in the face. He's not missed the Mafia, and he's missed this fucker even less.

"I was wondering how long it would take either of you to wake." Ash moves only to pull a black glove off one hand. Leo's eyes are drawn to the corrupted purple-brown skin underneath. "I didn't want to wave you two off just yet, not without having a little chat, hm? I think we have some catching up to do."

Leo leans back in his chair when Ash walks over. His netherite armour is unmistakeably and powerfully enchanted, the sheen of purple lighting up his face—he's no longer content being without armour and vulnerable. It's unfair how much Ash leans over him. Normally Leo has the height advantage, but now the other bends down over him, mirth in his one visible eye glimmering like the flickering candles. He knows he's intimidating, he probably knows that the potion given earlier made the hearts of his victims race against all reason.

He must've been unable to hide that stupid fear because all he can see in front of him is glee and satisfaction. If he weren't so out of it, he would've wanted to punch that stupid grin clean off his face. Now? Now he's staring up at a nightmare come true.

"You were the sword, right? In my ranks?" Ash grabs his face with his de-gloved hand and there's nothing Leo can do to fight him. His guts churn uncomfortably when his head is tilted from side to side like he's inspecting some particularly interesting trinket. "As good as the invisibility was as a weapon, I think I prefer you like this." At those words, his grip tightens painfully and Leo can't help the slight groan.

"Fuck you," he manages to spit out. All he gets is a laugh for that.

"Ah, little Leo. You're cute." He lets go only to flick his ear, admiring his obviously rare fur. Leo wants to bite his finger off, show him just how cute he is.

Luckily, Ash leaves him alone. He follows his every move as he steps aside to go to Spoke instead. Less than friendly, Ash's hand trails into Spoke's hair before it's lifted up. He shakes his head, eyes dragging down his face with unclear intentions.

Somehow, Leo hates this more, but he can't get himself to do anything. If he acts now, it's too early; he has no idea if there's guards outside the door, or if his own body will even listen to him yet when he does get onto his feet. He's not even sure if he can manage to grab an axe to get out the chains without Ash noticing.

"Fish bucket …" Ash mutters. He hums, lips pursed in thought before he lets Spoke's head hang again, this time more gently. "It's almost a pity to do this. I would've loved to make both of you pay handsomely for the pain you've caused me." He sighs deeply, then turns back to Leo.

He licks his lips, they're dry and chapped. Swallowing tells him he's gone way too long without some water. All in all, he's weak and hurt. An awful state to find himself in, especially with Ash.

He can only take the bait obviously laid out for him. "What are you planning, Ash?" Leaning back, he twists his wrists and ankles to see just how much leeway he's got. The chain burns against his skin, so not too much. Damn it. For now all he seems to be able to do is listen to whatever Ash is more than happy to talk about as he reveals his plans, after which he can hopefully break out of these chains. From there, he'll figure something out.

The grin on Ash's lips that only widens at the question doesn't help the hopelessness of the situation. He's thoroughly amused by Leo's lack of awareness. He's holding no weapon, there are no guards, and it's just the three of them in this room, and that's apparently all it takes to scare him.

Leo won't stand for the silence. "Drugging people is low, bro. Even for you that's low."

At that, Ash sighs and goes back to that table to lean against it. "Is it? Leo, you don't know me at all. You don't know this place at all. Tell me, did you come here expecting to find Spoke and what? Take him home? Kill him? That's funny."

He stares at him for a bit, then scoffs. Rolling his shoulders to get some blood flowing back to his hands does nothing but prove how tight the chains are. Doing the same with his ankles gets him even less. His feet are starting to feel numb.

"Yeah, so what if I wanted to kill him? I thought you'd want the same."

A hum. "Oh, I'd love to drag a knife through his skin and carve out his heart for my collection," he starts. His gaze shifts to the subject of their conversation, an anger burning in his eyes like a raging fire. Leo doesn't miss the way his nails dig into the wood of the table. Seeing his anger just makes his own worse. "But I'd rather have him suffer first. So I can't say I hate having to tell you it's not my call to make this time."

That's … news, for sure. Who could ever command Ash around like that? He can't imagine someone having genuine power over him beyond the threat of killing him.

"Yeah? Who's your boss then? Maybe I can have a chat with them."

"You'll find out soon enough. How much do you know about this place, Leo? You sound awfully unprepared to be here. Tell me, was your plan to just escape once you were done with him?"

"Yeah?" He shakes his head. What is Ash getting at? "It's not that hard. I could take those two guards at the entrance, or I could just dig out. But tell me, oh wise one, why I wouldn't be able to escape? Is it because you drugged me and chained me down?"

"You'll wish that was all."

He lets his head roll back. The ceiling is a much better sight than Ash's haunting expression. Sitting nonchalantly and uncaring is hard to do cramped and chained up like this. Though, apparently, it gets the job done, because Ash walks back over to him.

The last thing he expects is for Ash to grab his chair and tip it over. Leo yells. His whole body goes tense like he can do anything to stop himself from falling. But Ash holds on, keeping him tipped over and balancing on two chair legs as he gives him a look that's barely anger but something else entirely. Leo can't decipher it with his racing heart and focus on trying to lean forward.

"You don't get it. Once you're down here, there is no getting back out."

Leo stops and looks at him. Really looks at him. Ash's expression isn't just one of rage, but he looks tired, exhausted. His facade of confidence only does so much to hide a spark of discomfort and uncertainty, something Leo doubts he's ever seen in him.

"You're going to be worse off than me. I got lucky. My reputation gave me this, a place and a job to smuggle him players without much trouble. I think you know damn well this isn't by choice."

A shaky breath escapes him. He looks down at the drop to the floor before giving Ash the slightest frown. "Him?"

When Ash lets him go, it's not to let him fall. Leo still can't help his sharp intake of breath before he's stable on all four chair legs again. He glares at him nonetheless.

Neither of them can say another thing. A grunt has them both looking up to the side, where Spoke finally moves. Where his head hangs, Leo can see him blinking open his eyes. The questioning groan that leaves him is almost pitiful. Then, just like Leo had, Spoke sits up in his chair like he's zapped, and his head shoots around the room in a panic. He sees the exact moment Spoke finds Ash.

"You—" he struggles against the chains, cursing and spitting in immediate anger, "—did this?"

"Good morning, Spoke. Or evening, I don't actually know or care. The sun doesn't come down here." Ash finally leaves Leo alone to step in front of the other, leaning over him with a grin. "Glad to see you're finally awake."

Leo rolls his eyes. Surely he's not about to hear the same spiel again?

Luckily, Spoke is more than ready to change it up. He spits right in Ash's face, who doesn't recoil as much as he just straightens up. With a hum of disgust, he wipes the spit from his face. Silence holds the room in a chokehold for a few long seconds.

In the blink of an eye, Ash acts. Using the back of his hand, he hits Spoke across the cheek. Leo winces. The sound is loud in the small room.

But finally, after the violent smack forced his head to turn to Leo, their eyes meet. He drags his gaze up and down his face like he immediately forgot about the pain, eyes moving in a jittery and almost nervous way. A frown drags his eyebrows together, mouth hung open as his chest heaves with each breath in and out.

Leo purses his lips. He's this close to him, if he weren't bound to the chair he could reach over and kill him right now. That's what he's here for. That's what he came all this way out for. He hasn't been this close in weeks and yet he's so far away.

"Well, isn't this adorable?"

They both snap their heads back to Ash, who retreated to take them both in. He smiles innocently, but it speaks nothing but malice and amusement. He crosses his arms, then raises one hand to caress his chin. Slowly, his smile breaks out into a full grin and Leo can't say he's missed it since it disappeared. Dramatic asshole.

"I saw the little show you two put on downstairs. Both of you looked so desperate. It was … kind of gross, but I can see the appeal. Two killers, bound by fate. It must be so hard being in love."

"Bro—" Leo chokes out at the same time Spoke calls him a creep.

They share a look, which quickly turns into fiery glares. But when they look at Ash, they only have one thing to say to him, the one thing they can both agree on: "we're not in love."

Ash drags a hand down his face. Still, he laughs, shoulders shaking before he doubles over and laughs at their obvious misery. "Oh, you two are so pathetic. How do you deal with being so in love and so in denial? How do you manage to be so absolutely fucking obsessed with each other? Your friendship that had so much potential to turn you into lovers but Spoke betrayed your trust and Leo broke your heart so now you take turns in trying to assassinate each other without rhyme or reason, no holds barred. Was this the first time you kissed? Must have been, right?"

Spoke can't seem to look at him. Leo just glares at him, breathing out his nose in an attempt to keep calm. Ash is getting on their nerves on purpose.

"You don't know anything," Spoke says, the first to talk. As scared as he looked, his voice betrays his anger. Always the little manipulator. "You're a liar, Ash."

"Am I?" Ash doesn't give him a second to even breathe. He tilts his head. "Spoke, can you confidently say that I'm a liar? I think you know that I'm very adept at telling the truth. I can read you like a book. You're the best little liar out of the three of us and yet I can see through it all. One sip of that drink and I knew exactly what you and Leo had going on."

The way Spoke looks away has to be shame. But whether it's shame for his actions or his feelings, Leo can't tell. He's not as good at reading him as Ash is. If he were, things probably wouldn't be as they are now.

When a silence falls, Leo shakes his head. "Why the hell did you come here, bro? Did you know what this place was?"

"You weren't supposed to follow me." Spoke glares at him, but he looks more offended than angry at this point. "You were supposed to stay at BAT and do BAT things. I only wanted to get away from you."

Ash sucks in a deep breath dramatically. Leo ignores him.

"You lied to me. I could've helped you, Spoke. You didn't have to lie when you made a mistake but you just kept making it worse."

"That's what he's best at—"

"Shut up, Ash!" He clenches his fists behind him, gritting his teeth. Lock him up with his two worst enemies, why not? That's good for his health, sure. "You know I would've done anything for you, bro. But I should've known your destructive tendencies would rip apart BAT. Maybe it was better you ran before you could make things worse."

Ash looks between them, faux shock in his raised eyebrow and fallen-open mouth.

"I didn't mean to, if it helps anything." He doesn't sound defeated, but close enough to it, he supposes. "We were friends, but everyone has their limits. The only person who can stand me is Mapicc. I didn't expect you'd try to understand."

Leo wants to strangle him even more now. Conflict makes his headache flare up once again, or maybe it's the increase in music once again below them. He stares ahead—though a deathly glare would be a more accurate description—away from the both of them. Spoke is a careless bastard who only thinks of himself, and yet Leo can't help but read into the cry for help obviously set as a trap and another lie. The part of him that has his heart yearning for whatever they shared on the floor below says it's real, the broken parts of his heart say he should kill him before he can do worse.

"That's all very sad, but I'm afraid our time here is up."

Ash grabs two sacks. He doesn't even hesitate to walk up to Spoke to drag it over his head. The yell for help is cut off when Ash punches him in the throat.

Leo decidedly shuts up when he's next. But there's hesitation. Ash narrows his eyes, looking almost disappointed with himself, before he leans in close to whisper in his ear. Leo shivers at the breath on his neck and the almost lack of warmth the old mafia boss has.

"You're going to find yourself in a game. Don't be fooled, it's all rigged. Don't try to win." He pauses to listen out for something, then hurriedly continues on. "If you kill Spoke, I can get us a way out of here. It'll be your only chance out."

Then, he pulls the sack over his head just as the door opens. Leo's world is bathed in darkness. Several people walk into the room. He tenses up, raises his chin like it'll do anything to intimidate the players obviously staring at them. The drugs are finally letting up, his mind clearer than it has been the whole conversation. His throat still feels dry and he's desperate for some water, but he highly doubts anyone's going to give him some in the near future.

"Oh yeah, these will do." The voice is heavily accented. Leo can't say he knows them.

Before he knows it, players are removing his chains from the chair. His hands are bound together before he can grab a weapon, just his luck. Then, he's pushed to the door with a sing-songy goodbye from Ash.

Whatever 'game' he was talking about, Leo is sure he's about to find out.