Archive of Our Own

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Do you know what it feels like, to be swept away,

and be transported somewhere else?

For with her eyes,

she held me captive.

I never want to leave.

- Timothy Joshua

Staci Pratt was always a ladies man. He could make any girl giggle and blush, and any older lady smack him gentle on the arm,

'if I was 20 years younger!'.

On Friday nights, he would be spotted in the Spread Eagle with a gorgeous 'lil' thing', he would call them at work, and on Saturday morning, he would be seen bringing groceries to the oldest residents in the county. Needless to say, he knew the way to any woman's heart.

On Monday mornings, you could usually find him with his feet up on his desk, sipping a freshly brewed coffee.

This Monday morning proves to be no different.

“Deputy,” the squeaking door breaks the peace of the room, and brings the attention of the two deputies to Nick Rye, who steps over the threshold for the door and into the office. It’s a warm, sunny day today - the sun is beaming through the windows, and the smell of hot coffee is filling the air. The tinny radio plays quiet country songs in the background. “Oh - sorry, Deputies.”

“Nick, how are you, buddy?” Pratt chirps, kicking his feet from his desk and rising to shake the mans hand. Nick returns the gesture and smiles, his face, whilst kind, full of frustration. “What can we do for you? Everything okay with you and Kim? And Baby Rye?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re good - everything’s good. Look, I’ve gotta ask, what’s up with that? Are they even

allowed

to do that? Hell - it’s ruining the view! Did they get permits?”

The two men glance out of the window and at the looming

Y E S

sign in the distance. Hudson rolls her eyes from behind the newspaper. Whilst she understands that people have their concerns, she’s frustrated at how little they are able to do about it.

Pratt speaks before she can.

“We’ve been through this, Nick. We ain’t got the powers like people think we have - the Sheriff has made a referral to see if we can get a Marshall or someone else in, who has a bit more power than us, and then we can try and do something. None of us are happy with what’s goin’ off right now, but there ain’t a whole lot we can do about it. It’s out of our hands. I’m sorry.”

Nick mumbles something, and shakes his head. “It’s just… We’ve been watching them f0r a while now, and-and it started off as a joke, but… I dunno, man. Something’s coming. Something big.”

“We’re all annoyed, but what can we do?” Pratt shrugs, “We’ll get to it.”

“Hm. Heard that one before, too. These Seed brothers - and that girl, they’re bad news, and you need to keep an eye on ‘em. And none of this whole

‘yeah yeah we’re watching’

stuff either - we need to be worried.”

“Yes, Nick. We know.”

“Well, make sure you do. Or we’re all fucked. Them Peggies are crazy, but you lot are on the front line. So y’all better be ready - or you’ll suffer more than anyone.”

The door shuts close behind him, and Pratt can hear Nick’s footsteps as he walks away, the creaking of the old planks that he keeps forgetting to replace.

“You know, you can come across as a bit of douchebag, sometimes.”

"I do not!"

"Yes you do. Just pretend we're dealing with it, even if we're not. We don't want people finding out we haven't got nearly as much power as people think we have."

Pratt throws his hands up in despair and rolls his eyes, muttering about

not being able to do 'owt right,

just as the sound of the phone ringing fills the air. Hudson steps over to grab it, as a truck rumbles past the office. Pratt grabs a glance and sees that it has a black cross hastily painted on the door, and a group of men sat in the bed. He frowns at it - but out here in the neck of the county, he's seen worse before.

"Are you fuckin' listening or what?"

"What?"

"Some psycho's causing trouble up near the Fang centre. Let's go."

The truck rumbles along the road, kicking stones and dirt as it goes. They pass a few familiar faces along the way, and caution one of the more fire-y residents about the dangers of attaching a flame thrower to his exhaust

'to make it look cool, ya know.',

but both Pratt and Hudson recognise that they're seeing more and more unfamiliar people, all donning long, scraggly hair and baggy white tops.

"Something just ain't right," Hudson comments as she glances in the rear-view mirror, "We used to drive these roads and see everyone. Now I don't recognise a soul."

"Times are changing,"

"Hm. Not like this though. Bet it's one of these white shirted fuckers."

The journey continues for another few minutes before the Fang centre rolls into view, along with the sound of shouting and swearing. The two deputies exit the truck, slamming the doors shut behind them. Pratt runs a hand through his hair - a way to calm himself before an encounter.

"I told you to get off my fucking land! I'll shoot you!"

"You'll see, when the day comes, you'll see!"

"What are you two shouting about?" Hudson puts her hands on her hips and looks at the two parties arguing with an unimpressed look. "Really?"

"This dingus is tryna steal Cheeseburger!"

"It is needed for The Chosen!" As Hudson had predicted, the man before them dons a white shirt, with greasy, shoulder length hair, and a look in his eye that suggests he is a force to be reckoned with. "H-Hand it over, or, or Joseph will come and get it!"

"It! It

has a name, and his name is

Cheeseburger!"

"Gentleman, come on now. Sir - Cheeseburger belongs to the Fang centre and you can't have him," Staci steps up, between the two, with his arms outstretched as though to defuse the situation. "Let's both take a breather and leave, shall we?"

Both of the men continue to argue, Hudson directing her attention to Cheeseburger's owner, and Pratt walking over to the man in the white shirt.

"I think it's time for you to go," he says calmly, grabbing the man by the arm. In retaliation, the man swings with an almighty force, and punches Pratt to the stomach.

"YOU'LL BE SORRY!" He screams at him, "WHEN IT'S TIME, AND YOU'RE LEFT BEHIND. ALL OF YOU."

Pratt begins to feel rage bubble inside of him, consuming him from his core. He wheezes for a second, breath stuck in his throat and unable to make it to his lungs.

This fucking job.

Truthfully, he had always wanted to be a police officer. Or a fire fighter. But out here, there isn't a lot of choice. He just didn't expect incidents like this - well, he did. He just didn't expect to feel so

angry

all the time.

"Back the Hell off," he hears Hudson say as she marches towards the man, "I'm telling you, you better back off."

"It's coming - they're coming, and when you do, get fucking ready."

The breath is returning to Pratt's lungs, and he looks up to see the man in Hudson's face, spit flying from his lips. She is shouting back at him, their words unintelligible.

"She said back off," Pratt shouts, standing upright once again. "So back the fuck off."

"And what are you gonna do, Pretty Boy? Are you her bitch or something?"

Before the man can even turn to Pratt, he has landed a punch on his cheek, and then a kick to his stomach. He is yelling swear words as he grabs the man by the shirt and pulls him towards him, punching him several times to the face, breaking his nose and knocking a tooth loose.

"Who the

fuck

are you talking to?"

"Fuckin Sinner!" The man spits as Pratt's assault stops, blood trickling from his nose. "The world is gonna end, and you better be fucking ready when it does."

"Pratt, I think we're done here."

Staci knows he's in trouble. The ride back to the office is silent, and they both know they're going to have to report it. The man has nursed his hand, where the skin has split around his knuckles, and he has caught the man's tooth, causing a cut across one of them. The truck bounces on the road, the radio turned off and the humming of the engine being the only thing making noise. He can sense the anger in the cab, the tension between them. Hudson hates when he gets angry - and damn, she

should.

He puts both of their jobs at risk - but

why

should people be allowed to talk to them like that? What, because they're wearing badges? He doesn't think so.

"You need to get your anger under control or they're going to fire you. You better do your best dick sucking to make sure they don't sack you today." The door slams shut behind Hudson, and she throws the keys onto the side board, next to the coffee pot. "It's too much."

Wordlessly, she grabs the first aid kit, and brings it to Staci, who has sat at his desk, his leg bouncing up and down as he clenches his first. She takes his hand in her own and examines the bruises and the cuts, before opening the first aid kit and retrieving some anti-septic wipes. Staci hisses as she presses it against his knuckles.

"Good. I'm glad it fucking hurts."

He doesn't retaliate. Instead, he lets her study his hand and bandage it up for him. He is ashamed of his actions - but damn, that psycho had it coming.

"Whitehorse is going to be mad," she says quietly to him, as she ties the bandage and shuts the lid of the kit. "You know he does everything to protect you. You know you're practically his son."

"I know,"

"Well, start acting like you know. Because that man puts his own fucking job -

his retirement -

on the line. For

you.

He's already had a minor heart attack, don't give hi-"

"I

know."

She opens her mouth to keep going, but when she sees how Staci is obviously avoiding her eye contact, she leaves it be.

She walks to the back office and shuts the door behind her, and Pratt knows she's reporting it. And she has to, he tells himself, it's her job. But still, he hates himself.

The office begins to warm up in the early afternoon sun, but the smell of coffee is beginning to get old, so Staci opens the window to let some fresh air in. He stares out of the window and watches traffic pass, thinking of his impending doom.

Being fired, he could take. Disappointing his family? Well, they're all miles away so he doesn't have to tell them until he's found something else - and even then, he'll call it a

career sidestep

. But disappointing Whitehorse? He wants to punch himself for being so stupid. Whitehorse took him on when he didn't deserve to be given a chance - and now to shove that in his face?

What a dick.

After some ten or so minutes, the door opens again and Hudson steps out. "Coffee?"

It's nearing the end of Hudson and Pratt's shift when a truck rocks up outside the office. The rumbling of the motor interrupts the peaceful evening air, as the sun sets quietly behind the mountains, and a purple haze occupies the fields as the last bits of light escape through the trees and their branches. Fireflies populate the darker areas, shining like little stars in the dead of night. The tone had picked up throughout the evening, with Pratt daring to make more conversation, and Hudson daring to engage in it.

"That'll be Whitehorse," Pratt says to no one in particular, putting away the paperwork for the day into the locked cabinet, and throwing Hudson the key in the same way they always do.

The door creeks open - but both deputies are surprised to hear two sets of footsteps as opposed to just the one. They share a quick glance, and then look back to the door.

"Deputies," Whitehorse steps into the office, followed closely by a well dressed man, "I hope you can stay a little bit late tonight."

"Well, there goes my post-shift beer," Pratt jokes, although the look that Whitehorse gives him tells him to shut up, and he does.

"This is Mr Cameron Burke. He is a federal agent."

"Good evening, both," Burke looks disappointed at the cavalry in front of him - although he knows the job shouldn't take two minutes. "I've been sent to talk to all of you about Joseph Seed. I've been presented an arrest warrant which we have to execute tomorrow night - take them by surprise, and all that-"

"Excuse me? This was not mentioned on the way over here. You said you needed paper work."

"We've got plenty of that," Pratt comments, but again, there is no chuckles or smiles. "Ok."

"Well, no point having the same conversation three times over."

"No. We're not doing this. Please

do not fuck

with Joseph Seed. You do not know what that man is capable of -

we

do not know what that man is capable of. Sometimes it's best to leave well enough alone."

There is a pleading in Whitehorse's voice - one that Pratt has heard a few times, mostly on nights where he has seriously fucked up and made a mess of things.

"Mr Seed is wanted for radicalisation, drugging, kidnapping, false imprisonment... The list goes on, Earl. What else are we meant to do? Let him just take over Hope County?"

The three men turn to look at Hudson, who continues and references the conversation had with Nick Rye just hours earlier.

They read through the arrest warrants and the paperwork to back it up, as well as Hudson and Pratt contributing their own paper work where people had made complaints about the brothers or their followers. It takes several hours and even more cups of coffee, and the purple haze that once lingered in the field outside the window has now retired for the evening - the very same that the two deputies and their manager should be doing.

"This will lead to nothing but trouble," Whitehorse sighs as he grabs a pen and the arrest warranting, signing his name along the bottom. The document is passed amongst the group and each member signs it, signing their fate to the job tomorrow night. "I'll get people in to cover your shifts tomorrow. Make sure you're well rested. Now go home and get something to eat and get some sleep."

As Pratt goes to walk towards his car after saying goodbye to Hudson and Burke, Whitehorse puts a hand on his shoulder.

"

This

has to stop." He says to him, in a tone that is caring but emphasises the importance of his words. "I can't be having my deputies running around, throwing punches the way you do."

"Well it was him or Hudson," Pratt says quietly, almost as if he is offended that he is getting the blame. "Self defence, no?"

"Staci. I care about you. I don't want to see you, or Joey, getting hurt. I don't know what I would do without you, or her. But I don't want you to lose your job, either - and you are already skating on some rather thin ice. I

worry

about you." There is a moment, and Pratt looks away whilst Whitehorse maintains eye contact. "You need to work on yourself. On your anger issues. I hope that the next time I get the chance to have a proper chat with you, you better be a different person."

He almost debated not going to the bar. He almost debated going home, getting a shower, watching a movie, and grabbing an early night.

Instead, he is in the bar with a pretty young girl clinging to his arm.

Her mouth is on his and she tastes vaguely of cigarettes and cherries, but smells of vanilla. Her hair is dark, long, and silky, wrapped between his fingers as he keeps her head close to his so they can keep kissing. He is several beers in, but can't help himself.

"A Sherriff's Deputy!" She exclaims as she drunkenly pulls away from him, a wide grin on her face. "How handsome! And tell me, what did you do to your hand?"

"Hey, it's not very often that the bad guys fight themselves," he says with a wink, although slightly annoyed that her lips and his are no longer together. "Someone's gotta do it,"

"So when I woke up," Pratt tells Hudson as they fly towards Joseph Seed's camp, "I was naked as the day I was born, didn't have a clue where I was, with a naked woman in bed next to me."

She looks unimpressed.

"But the worst bit? I got up and got dressed whilst she was still asleep-"

"You're a sleezebag."

"Look, game is game. But I got up, and went to leave - and her kid is sat at the table - I swear to God, he couldn't have been older than seven, asking me where breakfast is."

Hudson just sighs and turns off her headset.

"What? What? I was telling you a funny story!" He rolls his eyes and glances behind him. Burke bought along another deputy, but Pratt didn't pay him much attention. "Doesn't this guy ever fuckin' talk? Jeeze."

After ten or so minutes of flying, the camp becomes visible beneath them, despite how dark it is.

"Just set it down here, Pratt," Burke says over his headset as they hover for a moment, "And wait for us to come back."

"Yes, Sir," he responds with next to no enthusiasm. Who the Hell is this guy?

He sets the helicopter down in a small clearing, and he can already tell by the amount of figures walking over that they are not welcome. He shares an uneasy look with Hudson, but she departs as she tells him they’ll be back soon, but to be ready to go.

Pratt couldn’t tell you what happened next.

He remembers being in charge of getting them out - it was his

one job.

And he

failed.

The same thing he had done countless times before, the same thing he had years of pracitce in,

the same thing he would brag about being able to do.

Fly the fucking helicopter.

What went wrong? He had done everything right.

He remembers that the helicopter wouldn’t fly the way it usually did - there were people hanging onto the helicopter, dangling even though they were some thirty feet from the ground.

Everyone

was shouting… was someone singing? He tugged on the controls, trying to make the helicopter comply, but it wouldn’t.

They fell to the ground. He woke up upside down, he thinks, smelling petrol and feeling the heat of fire burning behind him. He looked over at Hudson, who was out cold. He remembers hearing shouting and rushing to get his seat-belt undone. He heard Whitehouse shout his name.

Hands grabbed at him, pulling his shirt and his arms and his hair.

And then… And then…

Fuck. What happened then?

He doesn't remember.

But he wakes up in a cage. His throat is sore, and pain radiates throughout his body as he lifts his head - but it feels heavy. Was he drugged?

There is a shuffling, but he can't keep his eyes open for longer than a few seconds. The smell is horrendous as it fills his nose and his lungs, but he supposes it is better than being dead. The ground he lays on is wet, and he can feel muddy water in his hair and in his ears, though he can't bring himself to move.

He slips back into sleep, his aching body finding a moment of peace before he is yanked up by his collar and slammed into the bars of the cage in which is contained.

"What is your name?"

He opens his eyes but nothing but darkness greets him.

"Your. Name."

"Who are you?" A hoarse, meek voice leaves his throat and he doesn't believe for a second that it is his. A hand is placed around his throat and pressure is applied.

"I would ask if I look like someone who enjoys repeating themselves, but I guess you wouldn't know." A soft voice. A

gentle

voice. "But, I'll be nice. What is your name?"

"Staci."

"Staci?"

"Pratt."

"Pratt?"

There is silence, and a fear bubbles up inside of Pratt - what does he say now?

"Oh, Sweetheart. You know, in the army, if you get asked a question, what should you reply with?"

"Uh... Uh... Sir?"

"Uh...Uh..."

Pratt can hear the smile in his voice. "Sir. That's correct."

Pratt lets out a shaky voice.

"Do you want to die, Pratt?"

"N-No!"

A pause.

"N-no, Sir."

"Right. Well, I think you and I will become well acquainted then." A thumb is run over Pratt's lips, but he pulls his head away. "Uh-Uh, no pulling back. Your lips are dry. Do you need water?"

Pratt nods with a whimper.

"Well what do we say when we ask for water?"

"Please, Sir."

"Please, Sir... Good boy."

He is thrown to the floor with quite some force, and he wants to lie there as still as he can - but in fight or flight, his body moves faster than his brain and he pushes himself backwards into the corner, his hands rushing to release the blindfold from around his head. He looks to the man stood a few feet in front of him, but his eyes keep travelling up due to the height of the man. His blue eyes pierce into him, commanding respect without words.

"Jacob," he says quietly, his heart dropping to his stomach. He had heard things about this man - about how fucked up he is, about the run ins people had had with him.

"Ah, look at us. We're practically friends."

Pratt can't avert his gaze. His breath is caught in his throat, but he is petrified of evening slightly moving.

Jacob beckons for one of his… Assistants? Henchmen? And mumbles something to him. Pratt still can’t bring himself to look away as his heart pounds in his chest and his breath sits in his throat. He could vomit.

“Oh, come here. You’re alright.” Jacob crouches down next to Pratt, who, without meaning to, pushes himself further into the corner of the cage. “You’re alright, Baby. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Jacob’s hands plant themselves on Pratt’s cheeks, his thumbs running gently over his cheek bones. He then drags his fingers up and through Pratt’s hair, which is knotty and tangled.

“Are you okay?”

No answer.

“Do I need to ask again?”

Pratt shakes his head.

“No, you’re not okay? Or no, I don’t need to ask.”

No. No to both.

“I’m ok.” Pratt whispers quietly, his voice hardly audible to Jacob. Who then removes his hand and punches Pratt so hard to the face that all he can taste and smell is blood.

“Sir.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Three days.

Three long, mind numbing days.

Pratt is left in the cage with a broke nose, bloodied face, and black eyes. Each day he begs which ever of Jacob's Peggies walks past, to let him out, to feed him, to give him something to drink, or anything, please, I'm begging you. But his pleas fall to deaf ears, as if no words had left his mouth. Some of the Peggies would spit on him, some would mock him, kneeling down as they ate their meals slowly right in front of him, throwing scraps into the dirt - just too far for him to reach. If he tried - and, believe me, he did, they would stamp on his hand.

His hunger went from a pang to an ache to agony to nothing. His thirst dried his throat and made him cough, almost as if he'd come down with something. The wounds stopped hurting after a while, and just itched.

Three long, hopeless days.

Word spread around the county about the disappearance of not only the local law enforcement, but the rookie, and the Federal Agent. Some of the town just ignored it, just as they had done with the Seed brothers, and hoped for it to go away. Some complained, but did nothing. But somewhere, there was a quiet murmur of frustration beginning to bubble.

"Well, we tried to warn them." Nick states, putting his pint glass back onto the table. They are sat in the Spread Eagle, in Falls End. They noticed each night that the number of patrons was dwindling. He is sat with Kim, Merle, Mary May, and Jerome, as they discuss the happenings. "They didn't wanna listen, nothin' else to it-"

"If they can take the entire Sheriff's Department, how long 'till they get to us?" Mary asks, interrupting Nick's rambling. She gestures to Kim, sat sipping an orange juice with a hand on her (very) pregnant belly. "We ain't looking after just us no more, Rye. There's an entire county - country, probably, at risk. Your family. Your child."

"If the 'entire Sheriff's Department' didn't mean just two Deputies and a Sheriff, I'd be a tad more more concerned."
"And a Rookie Deputy. And a Federal Agent - who has taken down some of America's most prolific criminals. They sent in a helicopter! Ain't that gotta stand for something?"Mary pours them all - but Kim, of course - a line of shots, which they eagerly shoot back. When Nick's glass slams onto the table, and the burn of alcohol runs down his throat, he sees that everyone is staring at him."What y'all lookin' at me for? What do you want me to do? Walk up to them Damn Peggy bastards and ask if we can have our local law enforcement back?" With a scoff, the pilot removes his hand, shaking his head. "I'm sorry - but I ain't laying my ass on the line for it.""Nick, have you even heard of the Seed Brothers?" Jerome questions."Who the Hell hasn't!""We can't let them get away with it."Kim rolls her eyes."They're fucked up. Jacob likes to hunt people for fun, and John's a lawyer so he knows every loop hole in the book. Word has it, Faith isn't even part of the family, and that older one... Joe? Whatever, he drugged her and kidnapped her," she leans back in her chair, "Them Deputies may have come across as douchebags at times-""Especially with Pratt constantly sneaking out my sisters room," Mary utters, rolling her eyes. She remembers all the times that she had caught him leaving their home, cheeks burning and a stupid grin on his face."But whatever it is that they're going through - and it will be torture - they don't deserve that."  In the early hours of the fourth day, Pratt grows used to the noises of dogs barking and horses whinnying in the background, the shouting at the screaming which has kept him awake all of this time. He finally drifts off to sleep, his eyes burning and his spirit cracking more and more by the day.As the sun rises higher and higher into the sky, Jacob finds Pratt still fast asleep behind the bars. He is the owner, and Pratt a disobedient dog. He folds his arms."Have you fed him?" He asks the man stood by the cages, keeping an eye on the captives."No.""Hm."He rattles the cage door in it's place, the noise ripping through the air as if it was a chainsaw - it startles Pratt awake. He heart leaps to his throat, his blood running somehow hot and cold at the same time. He looks to Jacob like a deer in the headlights, his eyes wide, but extremely red."Come here."Pratt sighs and looks down."Fuck off.""Got quite the mouth on you. Come here."Pratt just lies in the dirt, too stubborn to move."Pratt."Still no answer. A tense silence fills the air, and even some of the other captives have started listening.Pratt doesn't turn around, but there is silence for a few moments. Fuck this, he thinks, frowning at the floor, his anger at the world setting through him. Fuck Jacob."Guess I'll eat this alone, then."Pratt's stomach gives a loud gurgle.
Food?
He lifts his head and looks towards Jacob, who has a stainless steel bowl in front of him. He shows it to Pratt - there's some potatoes, and some juicy pink meat. He stares at it, suddenly regretting not going to Jacob in the first place.Jacob lifts a potato out of the bowl and bites into it - and it looks soft and fluffy. He puts the uneaten half into the bowl."I can share," he tells Pratt calmly, "If you come here."Pratt glances to the captive next to him, who, when he meets his eyes, quickly looks away, finding the dirt more interesting.He lacks the strength to pull himself up and walk to the door, so he just crawls the few feet towards him."Good boy," Jacob's eyes run over the man's back, looking at how his shirt fits him. He's lost a noticeable amount of weight since he arrived. "Here,"Jacob personally presents Pratt with the bowl, throwing it to the floor in front of him through the small letterbox sized gap in the door. Pratt can't help but eagerly reach out, almost like an excited toddler, before perching on his knees and retrieving handfuls of meat and potatoes out. The meat squishes under the pressure of Pratt's dirty fingers, telling him it's raw. The potatoes aren't as soft as they once looked, nor do they taste as cooked - but he's too starved to kid himself into caring. He shoves the food into his mouth and chews until his jaw aches, and then immediately goes back for more."Calm down now, Pratt. Even the wolves take their time."But Pratt doesn't listen, he finishes the contents of the bowl eagerly, and even licks it after, sucking his fingers in case there's anything left. It's probably the worst meal he's had for a while - if not his life - and his stomach gives a loud rumble, but no from hunger.When the bowl is empty, Pratt rises to his feet, feeling like he's lifting a twenty stone weight as he does so, uneasy and aching. He thinks of throwing it at Jacob, making a point. Instead, he posts it back through the hole, so Jacob would have to retrieve it from the floor."You even licked the bowl clean," he comments, an entertainment in his voice. "Like a good little puppy. And yet, you still don't have manners."Truthfully, the bowl wasn't the cleanest one when Jacob had instructed his men to fill it. He wouldn't be surprised if one of the Judges had just had his breakfast out of it."Are you a fighter, Pratt?" The soldier is ignoring the bowl on the floor. "Show me your hand."The younger man debates the impact of him not following the soldier's orders. He feels his nose aching as a reminder.But he doesn't react quick enough, so Jacob forcefully pushes the door open, sending Pratt flying backwards and landing back on the floor in a heap. When he hits the ground, Jacob wastes no time in kneeling over Pratt, using his knee to immobilise his arm as he investigates his hand.
"I don't ask you to do things, Pratt. I tell you to."

Jacob rips the bandage off of his hand, taking some of the scabbing with it. It's pretty bruised, and there's a cut across his knuckles, which Jacob knows from experience is from a tooth. He makes some sort of short, grunting noise, and summons his guard to go and retrieve another person.

It is at this moment that Pratt realises that Jacob never used a key. The door was unlocked the entire time. And he's suddenly infinitely more pissed off than he was before - but this time, it's at himself. He tries to catch the breath which was knocked from his lungs, but Jacob's crushing weight on his chest doesn't help, and the numbness in his arm as Jacob cuts the blood supply off with his knee begins to make his fingers tingle. He can't help but stare the door.

"Look at me. Don't panic." There's something about Jacob's voice which is almost calming and soothing. He speaks so quietly for a man who has seen so much, but the world quietens down just to listen.  He turns Pratt's head to look at him, and uses his thumb to trail the blood down Pratt's face. "Goodness me. I made quite he mess of you, didn't I?"

"It's rude to not respond, when people are talking to you."

He increases his weight, and Pratt just blinks up at Jacob.

"I don't know what to say, Sir."

Something about the way the words leave Pratt's lips - so quiet, so weak, so helpless, or maybe it's the way he looks, like a wounded animal, with fear in his eyes. It makes Jacob feel warm.

"Oh, Sweetheart. Don't be afraid of little old me."
 
Just on time, the summoned man appears in Jacob's line of sight, distracting him from the one slowly suffocating under his weight.

"Ah. Come here. Have you met our little friend?"

There is a slight pause before the man answers him, his voice confident and almost smug.

"Yes, Sir. He is that Deputy who stopped me from getting the bear you requested."

Pratt moves his head to look at the man, and immediately recognises him. The scruffy hair, the crazy look in his eye - the black eyes, broken nose, and missing tooth.

Fuck.

"Pratt. Did he do this to your hand?"

Jacob turns his attention back to Pratt, who's stops trying to breath when their eyes meet again. He's never felt so weak. So vulnerable.

"Answer me."

"I-I hit him, Sir."

"Oh, right."

Pratt looks back at the man, almost flinching in case Jacob throws a fist in his direction.

"And I didn't do nothin'! That Sinner was just throwing his authority around, and, and denying the word of Joseph. I told him! I told him we needed that damn bear-"

In a swift movement, Jacob retrieves his pistol from it's holster, and shoots a bullet straight through the man's forehead. The noise deafens Pratt for a moment, leaving his ears ringing - sure, he had heard gun shots before, and he had shot guns before. But he was expecting it then. Nobody was killed, then.

Even as the body drops to the floor, Pratt still can't comprehend what he has seen.

He lets out a shaky noise that almost resembles something of a gasp and a scream, but it falls short.

"Shh, Peaches. It's okay." Jacob pats the side of his face. "Nobody can hurt you now."

Pratt can hardly hear anything that Jacob is saying to him.

“Peaches. Nice little name for you, isn’t it?”

The blood rushes into Pratt's arm as Jacob rises, relieving the pressure - it makes Pratt's arm almost burn, but he can't feel it, his mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. He stares at the body, his chest rising up and down rapidly. He can't catch his breath.

"What's wrong, never seen a body before?"

The guard is watching Jacob. The other captives are watching him. He looks down at Pratt and releases a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. He saunters over to the body, rubbing his hand over the bullet hole in his head, covering it in blood. He turns back to Pratt, and transfers the blood from his hand, and to the young deputy's face.

He tries to pull away, shaking his head - but he doesn't feel like he's actually there.

"Pl-please-" he begs weakly, "Please... Please don't..."

He reaches up and clutches Jacob's wrist, but he puts no effort into restraining him.

"You're not in charge," Jacob's clean had moves to Pratt's throat, squeezing slightly. Pratt's hands remain clamped around Jacob's wrist. He paints his face with the blood. "You look pretty, with a bit of colour in your cheeks. You should say thank you, considering I've kept your useless sack of shit self alive for as long as I have."

He lingers his fingers on Pratt's cheeks, watching as the mans squirms uncomfortably, his eyes squeezed shut.

"I could have easily let John or Joseph or Faith take you - but then, what fun would we have?"

His fingers trace down his jaw line, and he tilts Pratt's chin up. There's suddenly a pair of dark eyes looking back at him - the whites of them standing out against the red of his bloodied face.
He makes a groaning noise, and tries to move his head, but Jacob keeps him in place.So Pratt vomits down himself.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The hallways of the Veteran's Centre are dingy and dull, covered with notices and long lists that Pratt can't quite make out. He had been dragged to his feet by his captor, by the collar of his shirt, the way a wolf would pick up their pup. He made no attempt to fight, his hands still shaky and his mouth still tasting of blood from Jacob's victim.

"I think it's time you and me got to know each other," Jacob tells him, towering above the boy. Pratt has to walk at three times his normal pace just to keep up. There's a moment when the occasional Peggie might turn towards them, a quick flash of something Pratt will only call anger in their eyes. When they notice Jacob's looming frame in front of Pratt, they quickly get back to work.

He is taken to a room that smells of stale food and cigarette smoke. The Deputy would complain, if he hadn't had his face mere inches away from human and animal waste for the past few days, and if there wasn't vomit, still wet, down his mouth, neck, and on the collar of his shirt. There's a table in the middle of the room, and a few chairs. An ashtray sits in the middle of the table, and there's a clipboard on one side. A singular bulb hangs from the ceiling, providing the only light in the windowless room.

But the lightbulb looks how Pratt feels - dying. It doesn't produce a lot of light.

"Sit down."

Pratt silently takes a seat, his whole body shaking.

"When is your birthday, Peaches?"

"December fourteenth, Sir."

"Of...?"

The man stutters, his mind too exhausted for the question to make sense. He begins to realise just how much he stinks.

"Uh... Of?"

Jacob looks at him, displeased. He almost looks like he's waiting for the punchline as he stares at Pratt, almost as if he's staring into his soul. Pratt breaks eye contacting, instead choosing to pick at the leather band on his wrist.

"Of what year, Pratt?"

"Oh. S-sorry... 1992."

A light smile appears on Jacob's face, and he lets out a light chuckle. He takes a seat opposite Pratt and lights a cigarette, the glow of the burning tip illuminating his face slightly.

"Just a baby, aren't you?" He teases, releasing a puff of smoke. "I was signing up to the military when you were born."

"the m-military?"

"Do you struggle with your hearing, Pratt?"

"...Sorry, Sir..."

Jacob shakes his head and takes a deep breath, deciding to look down at the clipboard. Pratt mentally scolds himself for failing to do something as simple as answer the fucking questions right. He retrieves a pen from his jacket pocket, scribbling down Pratt's name and age. He flicks the cigarette, letting the ash land on the table, before he lets it rest in the ash tray.
He then shifts his weight and reaches into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out Pratt's silver Deputy star, which he hadn't realised he was missing. Pratt stares at it as Jacob spins it in his fingers, rubbing his thumb over the engraving. For some reason, Pratt feels embarrassed. He squeezes his nails into his palms and slumps back in his chair, wishing he'd never taken on the job in the first place."Sit up." He instructs Pratt. "Poor posture will ruin your back."Pratt sits up."A deputy... Hm. What made you want to be a deputy?" He pauses to look at Pratt, but continues before he can give an answer. "I bet you were a right pussy magnet.""Uh-" Pratt is taken by surprise, and his voice comes out a whisper. Jacob isn't exactly wrong - the biggest incentive for him to join was just to get laid. "Well, I uh... Yeah - I-I guess so. All the girls love a cop... I-I didn't do too good at school - I'm dyslexic, I can't read too quick too well, have a hard time recognising words on a page an-and stuff... Joined as Junior and worked my way up. I grew to like it, in the end. H-helping people, I mean.""Or so you tell yourself.""Well, you were in the military. Bet that was for the same reason," he kind of tries to laugh, but Jacob's pissed off face tells him he's not impressed at Pratt's attempt to find some sort of mutual ground between them. "Sorry..."Jacob leans forward and lets the clipboard fall to the table with a clatter. "You don't know shit about me." He tells the man in a stern, but quiet, voice. "And don't pretend like you do. You don't know me, or why I joined the military. We are not the same. We will never be the same."His sentence grows louder as it goes on, and Pratt begins to cower in his seat a bit."Stop cowering. Are you weak?""Weak?""Yes. Weak. Are you weak?"Pratt stumbles for his words, but he doesn't know what the right answer would be."Tell me, Pratt. When were you at your weakest."His brain rattles through it's 26 years of life to try and pinpoint any moment that could stand up against any criticism or scrutiny that Jacob may throw at it... It's not as if he's been to an active warzone before - or been part of a cult. His struggles in life will never compare to what Jacob will have experienced in the military, and they both know that."Don't disappoint me, Peaches. If you're weak, you should tell me. The weak must be culled."Anger begins to bubble in Pratt's stomach, and whilst he should know better, he can't stop himself."Well what do you want me to say?" He asks, his voice showing his frustration. "I've been locked in a cage for... for... Days. I've been kept hostage. I've just been fed raw meat, then watched you shoot a man and smear his blood on my face. What-""Want to carry on, or is your little outburst all done?"Another bubble of anger, "How can you call me weak after you've just-"He stops talking when Jacob chuckles to himself. He takes his cigarette, leans back, and kicks his feet up on the desk in the same way that Pratt once would, but doubts he'll ever be in that situation again. The captive's stomach rumbles loudly, and a pang of ache begins to radiate."You've got indigestion, probably. You shouldn't eat so fast." He takes a drag of the cigarette, and then stubs it out. "Either that or you need to stop vomiting."The way Pratt stares at him entertains him - he can see the anger in his eyes, but he unfortunately ends up looking more like a sulking dog than he probably intends. He somewhat enjoys the way Pratt tries to fight back."Prove to me, then, that you're not weak. Follow."

"Come back to me, Peaches."

A soft voice cuts through the red, clearing the black spots that occupy his vision. The man's hands shake, and everything smells and tastes of iron. There's a song playing from somewhere Pratt can't quite place, one that he vaguely recalls singing along to. Somewhere... with... someone...

The voice is miles away.

"Peaches. Come back to me. Come on."

Hands grasp his wrists and steady the shaking. Pratt's hear his hammering in his chest, and the quick, short breaths don't really help. His white knuckle grip on the shotgun loosens, and his hands ache from how hard he was holding it. Jacob's frame begins to form in front of him, and the red subdues and the black spots disappear, gifting his vision back to him.

"You're okay," he tells Pratt, albeit very quietly, almost too quietly for him to hear. "Good boy."

And for some God forsaken reason, Pratt just wants to fall into Jacob's arms and be held just for a moment - even if Jacob is the reason that he is here.

He blindly follows behind Jacob as the man turns to leave, feeling like a puppy on a lead. He doesn't want Jacob to be away from him.

He is led to a shower room, and handed a white t shirt, a pair of dark green cargo trousers, and a pair of boxers, socks, and boots. Then, he is left alone.

Alone.

The panic begins to fill him - he's on his own?! But what if... What if... God, why is he panicking? He lives alone - he hasn't lived with his family since he left them over four years ago now, and it's not as if he's ever had a girlfriend which has lasted for more than a weekend.

What is there to be scared about now?

The man swallows the fear with an audible gulp, and begins to strip himself of his dirty clothes. They are covered in things he doesn't even want to think about, so he kicks them to the side and presses to turn the shower on. There's a row of showers either side of him, but he is the only one in the room.

A sharp inhale aches his lungs as he steps under the freezing water. But he perseveres, regardless. The weak must be culled he thinks to himself, as if, by having a cold shower, he is sticking a middle finger up to Jacob. The water that washes over his body and down the drain is a dark brown, but gradually lightens as the dirt and the blood washes off of him. He uses a bar of soap to wash his hair, but wastes no time when he quickly washes his body and steps out of the shower. There are a bunch of towels piled up, so he takes one and dries himself quickly before he dresses himself.

Does he leave?

Does he wait for Jacob to return?

He quickly ruffles the towel over his head to try and get most of the water out. When he takes the towel off of his head, Jacob is walking through the door, as if on cue. Pratt feels relieved at the sight of him.

"Look at you," he mumbles, picking up the dirty Deputy uniform on the ground, "Don't you brush up nice? Good guess with the sizes of the clothes and the boots, then."

"Yes, Sir."

"Come on. You can do some jobs for me. Make yourself useful."

Pratt spends the afternoon filling in forms for Jacob, following the man around, and following his orders. He wonders, for a moment, where all of that burning rage went, the rage that used to control his life and suffocate him until he gave in to it. But, Jacob is a man whose presence demands respect - you do as he says, no argument. On one occasion, Pratt fucked up an order form (which he couldn't even really understand), and Jacob treated him to a busted lip, telling him it's the only way he'll remember to do it right next time. Clutching his face, Pratt wanted to swing back, but he could almost feel his arm being broken as punishment.

When the sun begins to set, Pratt lands back in his cage.

"Please don't leave me here," he whispers to Jacob as the door shuts, this time locking with a definitive click. There is a bowl of just meat on the floor next to him. He wants to grab Jacob by the shirt- "please?"

Jacob pretends he doesn’t hear it, but it makes him smile inside.

Stripped down to just his boxers and a t shirt, Jacob stands in his bedroom and looks out of the window, down into the prisoner area. He almost enjoyed the way that Pratt had begged him not to leave him there - it made him feel nice, made him feel like the training is working. He has instructed everyone to show him no mercy - hurt him, if you want. But when I say stop, you stop.

His thoughts are interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone on his bedside table.

He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose before answering.

"Hello..."

"Jacob! Brother! How kind of you to pick up the phone, this time. Did you hear about our little friend?"

It's John.

Jacob has always had a soft spot for John - his youngest brother, by several years. He hated seeing John be hurt as a child, and never regretted standing up for him. But still, he can't fathom why John likes to call him every single night and give him a run down of the days events.

"Huh?"

"There were five people in that helicopter. You got one - that long haired ugly bastard-"

"His name is Pratt." There's a growl in his voice.

"Well, whatever - anyway, the point being that one of them managed to escape, and we don't know where they've gone."

The grip on the phone tightens.

"I'm chasing them, but damn are they good. I know you'll have broken Plate by now-"

"Pratt."

"Whatever - why does it matter? Anyway, I think we should do something to entice him to come back to the arms of Joseph - perhaps a TV broadcast, or something. Just do something, because we need him to say yes."

"Stop with that just say yes shit, John. You're not trying to get me on board." He grunts. "I'll see what I can do."

"Okay, Brother. Thank you." A pause. "I love-"

The phone slams down onto the receiver, and, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep, he takes a seat at his desk with a pen and paper, rattling his brain to make a script for Pratt.
 
"A... A radio broadcast, Sir?"

Pratt lit up like a lightbulb when Jacob appeared at the door of the cage this morning, breakfast in one hand and a script in the other. He reminded Pratt by a short but blunt kick to the ribs to slow down and chew his food - which, thankfully for Pratt, he did.

"A radio broadcast. One of your little buddies is still running around out there. We need him to come home."

Jacob doesn't slow down as he paces down the hallway and to one of the spare rooms he had set up in the early hours. There is a single lamp, two chairs, and a table with a microphone set up, the wires connecting it to a machine in the corner.

"I would have liked to do a TV broadcast," he lies, "But seeing as I was so kind as to feed you and let you wash, you don't look... Rough enough."

Pratt decides to keep quiet and Jacob sits him in the chair, sliding the script in front of him. He takes a moment to read over it because of the funny marks - but then Pratt realises that-

"I've sounded out some of the bigger words for you." He is told, quietly, as if nobody else should hear. "Are you ready?"
He doesn't wait for an answer as he presses the record button.
“My name is Deputy Staci Pratt, of the Hope County Sherriff’s Department, and I want… I want to apologise for the harm that I have helped inflict on the people of Eden’s Gate. I never wanted any of this to happen… I was bought here under… false pre-pretences,” he stumbles over the word and glances up at Jacob, who is just nodding along - he didn’t notice. “And fed lies about Joseph Seed and his family. Foolishly, I believed them, but now after the great generosity they’ve given me, I know the truth. Something is co… something is coming, and if we do not prepare, we will perish. The world is plagued by a cancer of weakness, and the only way forward is strength. Jacob Seed will give us that strength, he will give us the needs to protect each other in the coming col…”

He struggles with the words again. He glances up to Jacob, who is just nodding along.

“Collapse. My name is Deputy Staci Pratt of the Hope County Sheriff’s Department, and I will train, I will kill, and I will sacrifice in the name of the Father, and The Project at Eden’s Gate.”

“Good boy. We’ll work on your reading.”
 
"Oh, right, yeah, that's super convincing."

"I know people think he was a douche, but I always preferred him over Hudson."

On this occasion, they are sat in the Eight-Bit Pizza Bar, Sharky joining the Rye's and Adelaide for a quick drink.

"I don't know how it got that big," Sharky says, drinking from his can and then putting a card into the middle of the table. He's bet $40 on this game and he's confident a win is imminent. "I went to one of them barbeques when they first started recruitin' people, worst potato salad I ever had in my life. Thought you were meant to poison people after they joined the cult."

The table releases a laugh, but Nick is still clearly frustrated about the whole situation. He and Kim had argued about the newly attached guns to his plane. She adores how passionate her husband can be - but sometimes wishes he would let things go. She rolls her eyes and picks up a card from the deck.

"Remember when your plane broke down?" She asks Nick, "Pratt drove an eight hour round trip to pick you up and take you back, with more fuel."

"Well... Yeah... I ain't ever said I agree with them, Sugar Bear! I ain't sat here thinking that what they're doing is a good thing!"

"A bit of empathy would go far, Nick."

"I am!" His voice is almost a whine, and at this point, Sharky and Adelaide start complaining that he's holding the game up. Sharky comments that the game would have been faster if played by their unborn child. "I am empathetic, you guys - but whatever Jacob or John do to them, well, they ain't ever gonna be 'emselves again, so... Jacob needs to write better scripts. And did you hear about that Junior Dep? The rookie? Still out there! Escaped!"

"Well, maybe there's a chance of hope. Anyway, full house, I've won."

Adelaide lays her cards on the table and picks up the cash.

Sharky looks at his cards.

"Never stood a chance, by the way. That ain't even a run of cards. I worry 'bout you."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Pratt is left in his cage, again.

This time it was because Jacob was required for a special meeting with Faith, about some more shipments of Bliss. He notices all of the other captives stay away from him, diverting their eyes whenever he tries to talk to one of them. Jacob had put him through more of the trials that morning, and they had both realised, although neither had mentioned it aloud, how only Jacob could pull him from the haze that it sent him into.

One.

Two.

Three.

One.

Two.

Three.

Hurry up, Peaches.

Faster this time. Work harder.

One.

Two.

Three.

Good.

Cull the weak, Pratt.

Good boy.

The voice - the song - it's all too much. His mind becomes overwhelmed and he couldn't even tell you his own name. When Jacob pulls him out, it's like they are the only people in the world.
He had already dragged his fingers through the dirt, making small paths as he went. He'd tried to interact with the other captives, but they had ignored him, awkwardly looking away and then looking at each other. Instead of attempting anything new, he just decides to try and sleep off the haziness in his mind. 
Jacob hadn't wanted to leave the Veteran's Centre this morning. He enjoyed watching the way his captive's progressed, how they would fight back, try and stand their ground - but everyone breaks, eventually. He liked to see them finally break. There was something in that which satisfied him.

The truck rumbles beneath him as he and one of his followers travel to the Henbane River, to see Faith. He hadn't been keen on coming here, initially - said it was too small a place to develop an army. But Hell, the army followed, and the views were peaceful. He'd always loved the outdoors - whether it was because he can escape his parents (foster, or actual) easier, or because the opportunities seem endless when you're out there. Climb a tree, swim in the lake, run away and never return.

He loved it.

"Jacob," his follower says, breaking the silence for the first time. The radio is playing, although very quietly - and not that weird shit that John and Joseph had insisted on recording, too. Actual music. "I think you should know, I was guarding the prisoners last night, and that... What's his name? The long haired-"

"Pratt."

"Oh, ok. Yes. Pratt. He was whispering to some of the other prisoners, about that one that escaped, and how they made a plan before all of this that, if anything went South, they would rescue each other. Pratt knows more than he's letting on..."

A small lick of a flame of anger sparks up inside Jacob's chest, his stomach dropping slightly.

He had grown somewhat fond of Pratt, and his unwavering loyalty whenever Jacob showed him the slightest bit of kindness.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. I gave him a good kicking for it, but-"

"I didn't see any bruises on him, this morning."
"No, Sir- I mean, under his clothing-"The man rambles on and on, but Jacob stops listening. His knuckles grip the steering wheel harder. He had fed the man, showered him. And he's been keeping secrets, all this time?"All I'm saying is, he knows more than he's telling us, and rot... Rot spreads from the inside out. He's weak, Jacob. Weak.""Stop fucking talking."Any spark of a conversation is suffocated.In the company of faith, the man is short with her, and she makes several comments on how he needs to find a release. He just grunts in response, and watches the dozed up followers load his truck up. He'd always hated how she had to drug them - he found it to be the laziest way out. There was nothing that a bit of conditioning couldn't do that bliss could. He scribbles something down on a clipboard, and leaves it on the table behind him.The whole time, Pratt is on his mind. Had he been taken for a fool? Has he let Pratt play pretend, acting as if he's an innocent man when actually, he's following a predetermined plan?He gets so angry that he picks the clipboard up again, snapping it with his bare hands.He leaves in such a hurry, the follower is left behind, staring cluelessly as the truck leaves in a cloud of dust. "Oh, Peaches. Jacob isn't here to protect you, now."There is a kick to his ribs, which causes him to give a pained yelp. He'd been asleep, albeit not comfortably, and not deeply - but enough to know he's done no wrong."You're a fucking kiss ass. The father wouldn't allow a snake such as you to plague his garden." "I haven't done anything," Pratt mutters through gritted teeth and pained, short breaths. He holds his ribs as he sits up on his knees. "Fuck off.""Oh, feisty now Daddy isn't around, aren't you? Not trailing him around like a little puppy."Another blow to the ribs, and then one to the face."You think we're happy with locusts like you poisoning our space? Eating our food? You're weak, Deputy. And the sooner Jacob sees it, the sooner he will rid us of you. You're a leech.""Did I stutter? I said 'fuck off'."Pratt rises to his feet, blood trickling from his nose. He doesn't feel particularly strong enough to be on either side of a punch, but the burning anger and adrenaline in him pushes him on. The feeling of blood trailing down his face, or tasting it in his mouth, is becoming far too familiar for his liking.He throws a punch at the man, landing it directly in the nose, and knocking him for a second. He uses the time to lift his leg and sweep the mans feet from under him - and the pressure almost makes Pratt join him, but he, fortunately, keeps his balance.At the sound of a scuffle, more followers gather around the cage, and some take it upon themselves to pin Staci to the ground, allowing the injured Peggy to paint his skin in painful shades whilst he is unable to fight back."You're a fucking coward." He spits at the man as the brutal attack eases for a moment. "You had to get your fucking buddies to pin me down. And you think you're strong? You, you think you're impressing Jacob like that?"He takes breathes rapidly, his chest rising up and down with not a small amount of pain. He spits a mouthful of blood to the floor."Would've fucking floored you if... fuck... if it was a fucking fair fight."
His mouth tastes overwhelmingly of blood, but there is suddenly a bunch of noises that he can't identify over the shouting and the ringing in his ears - but his voice cuts through the chaos like it was tissue paper.
A sigh of relief escapes from his mouth, hoping that Jacob is coming to his rescue. Laboured breaths make his lungs burn, and the Peggies drop him to the floor with an oomph. He audibly groans.Jacob says something, but the words scramble in his ears before they have chance to make it to his brain."Get up. Pratt. Get up."Like a dog is held by the scruff of his neck, Pratt is dragged to his feet and pulled out of the cage, his feet practically stumbling over themselves as he tries to keep up. He is hunched over the whole time, his shirt almost slipping over his head.He can't tell where they're going, but with a push, Pratt falls down some stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom, before he is dragged into a room.Jacob slams his hand against the wall to turn the light on, which flickers and hums. "Sit down. And start talking."The door slams shut behind them, and Pratt is thrown in the general direction of the chair. He struggles to scramble to his feet and plant himself on the chair, fearful of another bout of pain which he knows is certainly headed his way."A-A-about what?" The words leave his mouth in such a rush that they're barely recognisable."Sir. About what, Sir.""Sir..."In frustration, the soldier's fist collides with the wall, plaster crumbling down to the floor and landing in a pile. Pratt doesn't dare move an inch or make another noise - he waits with baited breath as his mouth pools with blood, and an ache from where his back hit one of the steps begins to make an appearance. His mind races of things that he may have done to deserve this punishment, but it comes up blank."I have meet told," Jacob talks slowly, and turns to look Pratt in the eye. His fist has small cuts on which are beginning to bleed slightly, "That you have been talking to other prisoners about the Rookie Deputy."Pratt shakes his head, somewhat frantically. His hair, now dirty, falls in front of his face slightly."So, you haven't?""N-no, Jacob. I swear - none of them even talk to me, and I don't even know the Rookie!""Hm. So you're calling my source a liar, Pratt? Is that right?""Yes! I mean no! I haven't said anything, I promise, Jacob, I-"With each footstep that Jacob takes towards Pratt, the young man's heart beats harder and harder, echoing louder and louder in his ears. He squirms in his seat as his brain goes into panic mode. He pushes himself back into the chair.The light flickers again."Please, Jacob please, Sir - I haven't - I haven't done anything wrong - I haven't and I won't talk to anyone. Please. Please don't hurt me."
A rough hand grasps his throat, restricting Pratt's breathing with every ounce of increasing pressure. The man's breath turns from quiet pants to wheezy gasps, and then to nothing. Black spots begin to dot across his vision, and he tries to fight against his captor, kicking and trying to pry his hands from him.

"Don't fight it."

The voice is right in his ear. Jacob's breath is warm against his skin.

"It ain't gonna get me off."

Pratt kicks his leg up and manages to catch Jacob in the stomach, knocking him back just far enough to allow him to have a quick intake of breath. Slightly stunned turns to furious, and Jacob takes a step away from Pratt, just enough to give him a bit of hope he can fight him.

And, he does throw a punch - a pathetic, weak attempt, and it doesn't even connect.

Jacob puts his strength into his swing, and his fist connects straight to Pratt's head.

Despite him being unconscious, he beats Pratt until he's hardly breathing.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Pratt isn't convinced, when he finally wakes up, that he is still alive. The room is pitch black, and there isn't an inch of his body that isn't hurting. He can't breathe without sharp, stabbing pains in his lungs, and there's a hot pain radiating from his shoulder. He can't even recall what happened for him to end up here.

But where is here?

His hands reach for his face, but only one of the manages the journey up. It's covered in a dry... something? But it's too dark for him to see. There is a distinct stench of mental in the air, which makes his throat feel sore. A mouthful of blood is spat on the floor, and a muted retch makes his stomach churn - followed shortly by an audible one as the contents of his stomach empties themselves on the floor, his body finally realising it made it.
He rolls onto his side, and passes out again.When he was a child, Pratt remembers messing around under the porch of his grandparents' house. There had been some funny noises coming from somewhere in the house, and this was the only left to check. He'd just heard his parents talking to his aunts and uncles that they were worried about him - he'd failed yet another English test, and the rest of his classes weren't going much better. So, six year old Staci was determined to prove that he could do something.
It was dark, he remembers that. There were a lot of spider webs, too. He crawled through them, clearing them with his arm as he went. He was, and continues to be, a bit squeamish when it comes to stuff like that - but he swallowed the rising lump of fear in his throat and continued.
Shining the torch in his shaking hands around, he finally caught a glimpse of two terrified eyes looking back at him. A hairy thing, wiry hair sticking out all over the place. It's foot caught in a bunch of wiring and household junk, that had trapped him in place. Upon realising he had been seen, he bared his teeth and snarled, trying to get up to defend himself against the stranger in front of him."You're okay," Staci whispered quietly, trying to make himself smaller as if to show the dog that he was not a threat. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a biscuit that he had sneaked from the cookie car, and offered it to the dog. "Good boy, you're okay. Look."The dog thought for a moment, but despite it's exhaustion, it crawled as close as it could get to Staci, before gently taking the biscuit from his hand.Quickly, Staci had gone back in to retrieve some chicken scraps an his uncle's army knife - and within an hour, the dog was set free, with a full stomach and generous helpings of water."You did a nice thing. It's graceful to show mercy," his mother had told him, as the dog trotted away from the house. As it went, the young boy noticed it still limping, and bleeding from it's leg. "But sometimes, the right thing to do is to put the weak ones down."He saw the dog dead on the side of the street the next morning.He dreams of being at his grandparents again, with all of him family. His cousins and his siblings, his grandparents - even his mom and dad, before his dad left. Warm hugs and the smell of fresh, hot food filling the air. He dreams of hot chocolate by the fire, his stomach full and giggles escaping from his and his siblings' mouths.He dreams of being home. Each time he wakes up, there's a new pain. He can't apply pressure on his left shoulder and can hardly move his hand, and if he stands up, he'll vomit bile and hit the ground again. He begins to scratch at the floor, chipping his fingernails away until they bleed, leaving it so it's just his skin rubbing against the floor.It's been a lifetime. The stench of iron and sick gets too much for him - and Hell, he can't even tell if he's peed or not.But one day, when his hair is just a knot, and it feels like he's starting to rot, the door opens with an awful screech, light flooding into the room and blinding him. Pratt makes a feeble attempt to push himself to the corner of the room, and no matter how many times he blinks or tries to force his eyes to focus, he struggles to regain his vision.He raises his hands and finally gets a good look at them - they're covered in dark blood, his nails chipped half way down. The floor around him is covered in a mixture of blood, sick, and bile.Jacob's boots finally come into frame."Ready to talk?

He didn't fight, as Jacob dragged him to another room - one with brighter lights. His arms and legs are restrained with leather straps, but it doesn't scare him. Nothing feels scary anymore. Everything hurts and he's in so much pain that he can't even lift his head to look at Jacob.

"I want you," the man says, pulling a chair and turning it backwards, sitting down in front of Pratt, "To tell me everything you know about the Rookie Deputy that seems to be causing my brother a bit of bother."

Pratt hardly even opens his eyes to look at Jacob. His eyelids are heavy and it hurts to breathe. He just wishes he could lie on his back.

Maybe he'll just die, right here.

"You better start fucking talking, Pratt."

"I don't know anything about them," he replies quietly, his throat sore and his voice gruff and rugged. "They came along with us - a trainee from another county. Not one of us."

"Oh, is that right, hm?"

Silence. Not an inch of movement from Pratt.

"Do you want a drink?"

At that comment, Pratt manages to lift his head, so Jacob stands to retrieve his canteen from the table. He holds it up to Pratt's lips, and uses his fingers to tilt his head back. The younger man drinks almost greedily, and when some of the water trickles down his skin, it almost burns him, leaving clear trails behind it.

"I don't hurt you because I want to," He tells Pratt, as a pair of bruised, tired eyes look up to him. Something stirs inside of him, but he maintains eye contact. "I hurt you to protect you. If you keep acting up, if you keep your little secrets, if you keep hurting Eden's Gate, you'll have to go to John, who will tattoo you and carve it off of your body. Or you'll go to Faith, who will drug you until you're tripping over yourself to do what she wants. Or, you'll go to Joseph."

He doesn't explain what Joseph will do - but he's seen enough of the maimed bodies lying around the county to understand that he doesn't need to.

"You're... You're lucky to be with me. I'm not here to drug you, or make you into something you're not. I'm simply digging inside of you to bring out your strength, strength you didn't know you had. I'm working hard to make sure you're not weak."

"Not weak." Pratt echoes as the canteen is pulled from his lips. He runs his tongue over them and they're cracked and sore. He tries to take a deep breath. "'Am not weak."

"Well, you certainly aren't strong, going around and whispering rumours to the other captive's. They're not strong. You are not strong. So tell me, what did you tell them?"

He sits back down.

"Didn't." The words come out like each one pains him. Pratt would tell you that they do pain him.

"Use your words, Pratt. What did you tell them?"

"I'm not lying. I don't know anything. 'Didn't tell them anything-"

A fist connects to Pratt's lips, and blood begins to pool immediately into his mouth, which he spits on the floor. He puts his head forward, and keeps his eyes shut. Another quick jab to his cheekbone.

"You are one brave mother fucker, Peaches," Jacob tells him, running his thumb over Pratt's swollen cheek bone. Snot begins to run from Pratt's nose. "No one has ever fought back the same way you did. I was almost impressed."

There's silence again.

Another punch - this time straight to his nose. The running snot is replaced with gushing blood, and Pratt lets out a pained groan - and as he tilts his head back, the blood runs down his throat and makes him cough. Some of it lands on Jacob's shirt, but it doesn't look like he notices - either that, or he doesn't care.

Pratt lolls his head forward again, and the blood trickles down onto his trousers.

"I want to trust you," he says calmly, grabbing Pratt by his hair and craning his head back. Jacob admires his work - the broken nose, the already black eyes. "I want to keep you around. You were so good during the trials."

Another punch. Pratt doesn't have the energy to scream or yelp or make any form of noise.

"Weren't you so good?"

"Yes, Sir."

Another, to the stomach, this time.

"Can I trust you?"

Pratt is doubled over, trying to catch his breath. His mouth is open and there is blood and saliva dripping onto the floor.

He pushes him back in his seat, and grabs his shirt, poising his fist for another hit - but three short, sharp knocks interrupt his momentum. A disappointed sigh leaves his lips, and he lets go off Pratt's shirt.

"What?" He barks at the door, his tone harsh. Pratt flinches, but his head is hanging to the side, his bleary eyes still observing Jacob. There's scarring that runs down his neck, and he briefly wonders where it's from. The bones in Jacob's hands crack as he stretches it out.

"Sir - the witness statements you asked for."
 
Warm water hits his back like little bullets, and he still feels like he's drowning in his own blood. No matter if he takes short breaths or long laboured ones, they still hurt, and it still doesn't feel like any of the oxygen is making it's way to his lungs.

"Good thing we cleared that up, isn't it, Peaches? You know better than to betray my trust like that." Jacob stands in the doorway of the bathroom, watching as the water beats off of the wounded man's back. He's just sat at the bottom of the shower. The water that swirls down the drain is filthy, full of dirt, blood, sick, and God only knows what else. "You wouldn't betray me like that, would you?"

Silence.

"You gonna talk to me?"

The sound of water hitting skin.

The solider rolls his eyes - serving in the army had made him used to sharing spaces with countless other men, meaning that seeing them in various states of undress isn't much out of the ordinary. But if it's not enough that he feeds him, he now has to wash him, too?

And the silent protest. God, Jacob would have preferred it if he had been screaming the building down and trying his best to get away.

He decides to force Pratt into the water, grabbing him by the left shoulder and pulling him - the water runs down his face and clears little trails as it does so. Pratt lets out a pained noise that somewhat resembled a scream. Jacob immediately eases his grip and looks at the boys shoulder... It doesn't look... Right.... and it felt warm under his touch. A pang of guilt rips through him.

Guilt?

He deserved what he got. Fuck that. He hit you first.

Pratt sits himself forward again, his hand gingerly rising to comfort his shoulder - but Jacob pulls him back again, rougher this time, making sure just to squeeze that tad bit harder. An actual scream releases from Pratt's mouth this time.

"Shut up." He tells him, wiping Pratt's face with his hand to clean the dirt off of it. He's pissed off, and definitely not being kind about it. "You're weak. I've been kind enough to put you in the shower - my shower, with my warm water. And you're going to scream like a little bitch?"

Jacob throws a bar of soap at him.

"Come out when you're done."

The door slams shut behind Jacob, whose stomach is in knots. He tries to find refuge with his head in his hands as he sits on his bed, taking slow, deep breaths. Nothing had made him feel bad - not since he'd enlisted in the army. Not since Joseph claimed he had heard the word of the lord. And never in the way Pratt just did - the pained yelps, the complete lifelessness in his eyes and in the way he moves. Fuck. The other prisoners had corroborated Pratt's story - the punishment had been against an innocent man after all. He'd had the follower sent over by Faith, and he'd been locked in the chamber, ready for when Jacob decides his appropriate punishment.

Feeling guilty is for the weak.

He rises to his feet again in an angry huff, and hammers on the shower door in frustration - but Jacob couldn't tell you where the frustration is directed.

"Hurry up, Peaches."

He flicks the hot water off.

And Pratt continues to sit there, even with hot water hammering on his back.

Jacob returns to Pratt's side and connects his boot to Pratt's bruised ribs, making him yelp again.

"Talk to me, Peaches."

There's a growl in his throat, the anger seething through his teeth. He crouches next to Pratt, who eases a hand onto his ribs. They're already pained in various ugly colours. Fuck, why didn't I just kill him? He's already shown the ignorant little rat enough kindness.
He takes Pratt by the chin, and pulls his face to the side. Pratt lets his head follow, but his eyes just loll open, swollen and red. They meet Jacob's.Blood is running from his bust nose, and clearly at some point, Pratt bit through his lip. Jacob makes sure to show no emotion on his face, despite the guilt that quietly flickers away inside of him."I said: Talk to me.""Jacob," the voice is weak and hoarse, "I think you've broken my shoulder."Ignoring the use of his name, Jacob rolls his eyes again."Well, I'll break your other one too, if you don't get the fuck up."Do it. Pratt wants to say. Just break me. Break my neck. Take me out. I'm done.Instead of saying any of that, he just runs the soap over his hair with his good arm, and runs his fingers through it to try and get most of the knots out - it fails, for the most part, but oh well. He wipes around his face with his hand and lets the water run over it, but just wipes his armpits and his crotch with the bar, briefly.Jacob leaves him alone.Pratt wishes he hadn't.It takes a great effort and three failed attempts, but Pratt manages to get himself to his feet, shut off the water, and use the nearby towel to dry off his lower half. He tries to dry his hair with it, but with just one hand, it proves to be a pointless task. He doesn't dare to try and lift his arms to put the shirt on.He glances out of the window. It's absolutely pissing it down with rain, so he decides there's no point in drying himself fully, since he'll only be outside again.He leaves the bathroom donning just his bottoms and socks. Jacob briefly makes eye contact with him - he's changed into a pair of jogging bottoms. Pratt watches his eyes flick to his chest, and then down to his stomach. If he hadn't just seen him stark bollock naked, Pratt might have made an attempt to cover himself - but dignity has long since gone out the window. His ribs show under his skin.Jacob begins to walk towards him."Please don't hurt me." His voice is much alike not only his frame, but his spirit. Weak and broken. "I'll- I'll do anything-""Let me look at you." A flash of worry crosses the Deputy's face, but he lets Jacob move him around so he can get a good look at his shoulder. It was hot in the shower, but it's even hotter now - all Jacob does is lay the back of his hand on it, and Pratt pulls away from him."You're okay," he says, softly. "I won't hurt you."
Again. I won't hurt you again.
"Let's get your top back on, Peaches."He holds Pratt's arm as he gently eases it up, moving slowly so it doesn't hurt him. Pratt releases a few short hisses of pain, but thanks Jacob for his help regardless. Why the fuck should I thank you? You're the one who did it in the first place."Get some rest," the soldier gestures down to the floor on the other side of the room, where a blanket and a pillow have been laid, "I'll get someone to look at your shoulder tomorrow."Pratt wants to say that he wouldn’t sleep a wink - he feels cautious that Jacob might just be waiting for him to let his guard down again, before he attacks. Again? When was your guard up today? He wants to say he was ready for a fight, and, that no matter what, he would still defend himself.
But truthfully, the blanket lays right above the hot water pipes, so the heat radiates through the floor. The blanket is so thick and soft that it feels like a hug, something Pratt desires more than he can let on. His eyes are so heavy and his body is so sore that even if Jacob does decide to attack in the night, he wouldn’t bother to defend himself.

Jacob lies in bed with his back facing Pratt, but when he hears soft snores fill the air, he turns over to have another look. He’s curled up in a ball, lying on his right shoulder with the blanket covering him, like a dog with it’s bed.

He waits for a few more moments before he gets back out of bed, pulling on his jacket and boots and heading towards the chamber where his former follower is waiting, tied to a chair. There is fear is in his eyes, and it makes Jacob smile.

“Now, lying isn’t very strong, is it?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Pratt sleeps into most of the next morning, his aching mind and body finally catching up on rest. Jacob goes about his day, trying to ignore the thoughts of Pratt that probe his mind. When it reaches half ten, with only thirty minutes before the scheduled appointment with the Eden's Gate doctor, he decides he best check to make sure that Pratt actually made it through the night.

"John will be here soon," he says to Pratt, after giving him a gentle kick to wake him up. It had taken a minute for him to actually come around, but he stares up at Jacob with tired eyes, trying to blink away the sleep.

His body aches more now than yesterday. He can feel a scab forming over his lip, and despite how much he had slept, he still feels exhausted.

"John, Sir?" His voice is quiet, and he has to stop the groan of pain leaving his mouth as he rises to his feet. An attempt at a stretch tells him that the pain in his shoulder wasn't momentary - and then he feels the heat radiating through his chest and down his back.

"My dearest little brother. He knows a doctor who can help us."

Pratt wonders if John 'knows' the doctor in the same way that Jacob 'knows' Pratt. He then debates attempting a conversation - I didn't know you had brothers, Sir- or something of the sort, but Jacob would know it's a lie. Everyone knows the Seed brothers, and not for good reason, so he decides against it, anyway.

"And if you think what I did to you was bad, well, be thankful that John isn't the doctor."

There's almost a chuckle in the way that he speaks - almost as if it's an inside joke that only Jacob is in on.
Pratt just awkwardly nods, but avoids eye contact. Jacob has sat Pratt on his bed, and the heat of the sun beaming through the window makes Pratt feel even more tired than he felt before. He almost feels relaxed because of it. If he shuts his eyes tight and ignores the dull ache in his back and the pain from his shoulder, he can almost pretend he's on a sunny beach somewhere. Breathing has stopped hurting, for now.
"It's dislocated, Mr Seed," the doctor says to the youngest of the Seed brothers, after spending some time touching and poking at Pratt's shoulder.

"Not broken, then."

Jacob's voice, especially in comparison to John's, is so calm and soft. It almost feels like a hug. Pratt had glanced at John, when he had first arrived - there's something about him that doesn't come across nicely. Pratt doesn't dare to look at him again. There had been some hushed conversations that took place in the hallway prior to them entering, when it was just Pratt and the doctor. The doctor had quietly whispered to him to stay on Jacob's good side, to be useful - and then they were interrupted.

They both now know the other is a prisoner - but a doctor is easier to keep around, better to keep around than just... Pratt.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Put it back in, then..."

It feels like John is on the brink of exploding.

"Ok... Three, two-"

"I don't keep you around to be kind. Put it back in."

"I'm sorry," the doctor says, but Pratt doesn't know if it's to him or to John. He braces himself for the-

There's a loud pop, and then a firey hot pain spreads through Pratt's shoulder as it is forced back to it's socket. The man releases a pained shout, and grips the bedsheets firmly.

"What do we say, Pratt?"

"T-Thank you, Sir..."

His hand goes up instinctively to his shoulder.

"Pratt? You're Hudson's partner! Joey!" John laughs, as if recognising a mutual friend. "And she said you were gonna come for me,"

"Joe-"

Jacob bats Pratt to the back of the head to shut him up, before promptly escorting John and the doctor from the room. The pain is beginning to make him feel sick.

Like a child, the doctor is sent to wait in John's waiting truck as he and his oldest brother speak by the door of Jacob's compound.

"Joseph won't be happy, Jacob. We are not supposed to waste our resources on our prisoners."

"Well, what Joseph doesn't know won't hurt him, will it? So you best keep your mouth closed.

"As long as they see the light of Eden's Gate, it's a job well done. But Jacob - try to feed him once in a while. He doesn't look well."

There's an entertained grunt that leaves Jacob's throat. "Hunger will break him," he says, glancing to his fists, which are covered in faint bruises - either from the beating that killed the snake last night, or from the attack on Pratt.

He pushes the thought to the back of his mind.

"What is happening with that Rookie?"

"Ah, another slippery rat in Joseph's garden. Likes to crop up every now and then, makes a racket, and then disappears. Word has it that they're rallying a revolt, but they won't get far. The law can do nothing, Brother, I made sure of it."
 
There is a smell that fills the air. Pratt can almost place it as being something similar to what his grandmother would cook in the dead of Winter, and it makes him stomach rumble, his mouth water, and his heart flutter slightly with excitement. He feels like a child - he knows deep down that the food won't be for him, but nonetheless, he can't dampen the hope.

"Pratt."

"Sir."

He rises from the bed in a flash, as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn't be. Jacob is stood in the doorway, holding a stainless steel bowl in each hand - Pratt can't look away, once he notices that they are the source of the smell.

"Here," he says, holding the bowl, and a spoon, out to the man. Staving, wounded, and beaten, Pratt gratefully accepts it - there are tender chunks of meat floating in a thick gravy, accompanied by fresh veggies. It reminds him of the stews that Hudson would share with him on the cold late shifts when the colder months rolled in.

"Don't wolf it down, Peaches. I'm being kind to you."

"Thank you, Sir, thank you."

Pratt reseats himself on the bed, but when the word floor is uttered, he quickly relocates. Jacob sits at his desk, and sets his meal aside, his pen scribbling some notes down. Pratt desperately tries to steady himself and take his time with his meal, but the meat is melting in his mouth, and the gravy is thick. It's too good, much too good to take his time with.

Jacob lets out an audible sigh as the scribbling of the pen stops.

"What did I just say?"

"I'm sorry."

Pratt is speaking through fat mouthfuls of food.

"I told you to take your time."

The soldier glances behind him, and Pratt, who sits against the wall, is using his knees to balance his bowl, using his left arm to gingerly hold it, and his right arm to eat. He can't help the smile that appears on his face - Pratt finally looks like the fight has been beaten out of him.

"Your arm will get better." He tells him with certainty, wondering if he should try and find a sling or something for it. "You will be okay."

"Yes, Sir."

Jacob looks down at the paper in front of him. It’s a form, one for every prisoner. It has a little bit of information about them, and usually dies with them, too.

S PRATT - 26 - 14/12/1992.

Former Deputy

Most of his trials are complete, with only a few left, and one sacrifice.

But Pratt hardly came here willingly. What sacrifice could he ever give?

His life?

Jacob contemplates the idea of Pratt sacrificing his life for him. Not killing himself, no - but dedicating his life to serving Jacob, to serving Eden’s Gate.

He has always said he could use an assistant around here.

For a moment, Pratt wonders if Jacob feels bad for hurting him the way that he did. He’d never seen another captive eating a bowl of warm food, and he’d certainly never seen one come back after they’d disappeared. Usually when one of them was taken, especially by Jacob himself, they didn’t come back.

And they certainly were not sleeping on the floor of Jacob’s room, above the warm pipes, having used his shower.

He glances up and sees Jacob picking at his stew, whereas his own is almost empty now. He tries not to think about whatever may be coming next - Hell, it was only yesterday that he was sat locked in a caged room, and now he’s been showered by Jacob, slept in his room, and eaten with him. What next?

He almost wants to ask Jacob, but he can’t find the confidence to do so. Instead, he just sets his bowl on the floor and waits.

It’s a long wait, whilst Jacob eats and looks at the various reports on his desk. He takes his time, but whilst he is warm, inside, fed, and not being beaten, Pratt won’t complain.

Eventually, Jacob sighs and stretches. He turns to face Pratt.

“I have a… Well, I would say it’s a choice. But you either do it, or find out what happens.”

Pratt looks up to Jacob, not daring to question his words.
“I need someone to help me with jobs. I need someone who will do as I tell them. If I say jump, you jump. You don’t ask why, or high how. You do it. Is that something you can do?”
“Yes, Sir.”

Jacob nods, “Well, in return I won’t beat you half to death. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours, Peaches. No one will mess with you. You’ll have something to eat, somewhere to sleep. Just keep me happy.”

“Sir.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It took a while for the deputy to grow used to his new role - every day, he would make sure to prove himself useful to Eden's Gate, and the sneering, ugly comments from the other Peggies began to bother him less and less. He would stand behind Jacob, as new captors came in, as he gave his speeches, and he was even trusted to shave Jacob - something the soldier enjoys showing off to the new prisoners, almost a brag at how much he had broken and rebuilt Pratt.

Every night, he and Jacob would eat together, and then he would sleep on the floor of his room. Jacob began to let him use his shower, too - all of which was granted on the basis that he was good that day. The bruises on his face began to fade, their colour slowly getting lighter and lighter, just as the leaves on the trees started to. If he needed to be corrected, Jacob would treat him to a new one.

His trials had been successfully completed - and after each other, Jacob would have to pull him out of it, calming the man down. The night would then be spent with Pratt and Jacob drawing up plans of how to make the trials faster, stronger, harder. It would make Jacob smile.

Pratt was finally strong - and all it took was Jacob rewiring his entire brain and almost taking the man's life.

For all Pratt knows, it could be four weeks or four months that he's been here - he thinks it might have been early September when he was in the helicopter, but it's all just a blur. There are occasional murmurs about the Rookie cropping up here and there, but they never live for too long, and they never seem to be of any important.

"We really need to get this done, unless you want to starve."

He is stood in the shed where all the rations are kept, doing a stock check with a group of Peggies. He tries to give some vague instructions of what needs to go where and how much, but they are all talking over him, refusing to listen.

"We all need to eat."

"Don't act like you're one of us," one of them laughs, shaking his heat Pratt, "You think we don't know that you eat with Jacob? You think we don't know about your special treatment? Out of everyone, Jacob chose you."

"You're just his bitch." Another comments quietly, "Bit different from pissing yourself from fear in that cage."

"Watch him, 'soon as he realises Jacob isn't here, he'll start panicking."

There is a chorus of laughter from the group, and it feels like an audible version of a kick to the teeth.

"Look, at the end of the day, the job needs doing, we all need to eat."

"And you'll do exactly what Pratt tells you."

The laughter is silenced immediately.

"Pratt works with me, because he's proven that he isn't weak. If any of you wish to question my authority - or Pratt's - feel free to take it up with me."

Pratt doesn't dare turn around to look at Jacob, because half of him feels like he's just had his big brother protect him from a bunch of bullied, and the other half of him feels like he's disappointed Jacob. He stares forward.

"Pratt. With me."

Fuuck.

"Follow your master, Dog."

"Run along now, Daddy's calling."

The comments are quiet, but he can't brush them off as easily as he usually does.

"You ever rode a horse?" Jacob asks over his shoulder, walking a few paces ahead of Pratt, to a side of the Veteran's Centre that Pratt hasn't been to. He almost feels ashamed of what has just happened - should he have been more assertive? Should he have protected his name - no, Jacobs name - more than he did?

"Uh... Y-Yes, sir."

"Good," the solider replies, "We're going hunting."

A frown covers Pratt's face - they have plenty of food left, with dedicated hunters coming and going constantly. Why would they need to go hunting?

"We have plenty of food, Sir."
"We're not hunting for food, Peaches." It's a short drive to a small barn just off a side road, where two horses are tacked and waiting, one with it's nose in a water trough, and one dozing off. Pratt somewhat feels like he's taken back to his childhood and his teenage years, helping his grandad on his farm."That's Donny," Jacob tells him, nodding to the darker horse, which has a white blaze up it's nose and three white legs, which stand out from his bay coat. "And this is Hawkeye."The comment takes Pratt back."Hawkeye, Sir?" He questions, holding his hand flat near Donny's mouth as the horse sniffs him, and then licks his hand to see if he has any snacks. "Like... The Marvel character?"Jacob ignores him, but Pratt reckons he has hit the nail on the head. He leaves Pratt with the horses for a moment as he retrieves a sniper rifle from the bed of his truck.They lead the horses from the barn and to a small clearing, where they mount their respective animals."Did you - did you have horses growing up, Sir?" Pratt questions quietly, one hand on their reins and the other resting on his leg. Perhaps it could be a daft question - but in the rural US, it's not particularly uncommon. At least from Pratt's experience.This is the first time he's been out of the Veteran's Centre, and the air smells somehow cleaner. It's finally like the weight of the world isn't on his back.Jacob doesn't look at Pratt - at first, he doesn't even respond. He pulls a small chunk of wood from his pocket, and retrieves his knife from it's sheath. He quietly whittles away.So Pratt takes in the silence, letting Donny follow wherever it is that Jacob is leading them.They cross over a river and through a bit of crowded woodland, and the younger of the men looks at the squirrels that hop for safety, the birds that fly from the trees, or the occasional deer that may make eye contact with him, if only for a brief moment."I learnt to ride in the army," Jacob finally announces, his voice almost fitting in with the peace of their surroundings. "Dunno why they bothered. Never saw a live horse out there.""Oh."Another beat passes."Do you want to... Talk?" He asks gently, "About the army."Jacob lifts his head, looking straight at Pratt."No."So Pratt decides it's best to keep his mouth shut."I'm putting a lot of trust in you, Peaches.""Yes, Sir, I know.""Better not show me up for it. This rifle here ain't for show.""No, Sir."They ride for another two hours or so, over the mountains and into the very North of the county."Get off. We're leaving the horses here.""What are we hunting, Sir?"Pratt dismounts Donny and realises how much his legs ache. It's been a while since he's been in the saddle. He hitches Donny's reins around a tree, and Jacob stands close to him as he does the same."You'll find out."They trek for ten minutes, and then Jacob stops them."Should be close enough now," he mumbles, nodding to the smoke stack rising in the near distance. "That's their camp. You see, Peaches, when people come and betray you, taking advantage of your generosity, eat your food, use your resources - and then leave without a thank you, kiss my ass, or a fuck you, well... It doesn't tend to sit very nicely."Jacob sets up the rifle as he speaks, and Pratt observes him silently."What are they, Peaches?""Weak." He mutters, but loud enough for Jacob to hear."And what do we do to the weak?""Cull them."Jacob smirks."Good boy, Peaches. Now, look through the scope, tell me if I got a good shot."Pratt lowers himself to the floor, closing one eye and peering through the scope. In the crosshair sits a woman on the ground, a man sat not too far away from her. There is a makeshift ten in the background - which consists of a sheet hung over a wire that is tied to two trees."Good shot, Sir," he says, continuing to look through the scope."Well, take it then,""H-huh?"Jacob cocks his head, "What's wrong, Peaches? Didn't think you'd have to do any dirty work? Thought you'd just get to sit back, and let me do it?""Well, I-I-""Pull the trigger, Pratt."The woman is holding a small teddy of some sorts, and her partner sits next to her to hug her. Pratt swallows a lump in his throat."I... I think they've got a child, Sir.""Ok, and?""Well, I-""Are you arguing with me?""N-no!""Pull the trigger, then."There is a click next to his ear, and Pratt feels cold metal press against the back of his skull."Or are you the weak one? Pull the trigger. I'm not asking." When Kim and Nick got married, on one of the hottest Summers Hope County has experienced, he made a vow to always protect her and to always love her, but most importantly, to always be there for her no matter what. And he kept his word - at any minor or major inconvenience or life event, he was there, her first port to call, her favourite shoulder to cry on.One of the things that had drawn her to him was his undying passion - for his plane, for his land, for his family. Nick loved with his whole heart and absolutely nothing less.Needless to say, that passion can occasionally get in the way.He had called for the help of Hope County's resident Pyromaniac and his equally as explosion obsessed cousin, and then took off up the mountains.She sat on the runway in a deck chair, watching through her binoculars as they ascended the mountain.And when they had discussed potentially taking down the Y E S signs with Sharky and Hurk prior to them ascending the mountain, Hurk had, ever so gracefully, referred to the signs being as stiff as a virgin in a whore house.There is a distant boom, and the Y shatters into a million pieces before her eyes."Nicholas Rye, you wait 'till you get your ass home. That ain't your truck doing that."She should have known better than to trust Nick, Hurk, and Sharky together. "Three seconds, Pratt. Pull the trigger. Or I will."There is a bang so loud that for a moment, Pratt thinks he has waited too long.But a red splatter of blood bursts from the woman's head, her body falling face down onto the floor."Good."He quickly shuffles the rifle so it's pointed at the male, emptying the casing of the last bullet, and depositing another one into his brain. He watches the scene, his chest rising up and down heavily as he makes sure there is no further movement."Fuck..." he whispers under his breath, his hands shaking as he lets go of the rifle. Weak - good boy, good boy - you did good - Jacob will be happy - good boy. Strong."Good shot, Peaches," there's a laugh somewhere in the way that Jacob talks, "I was going to keep him alive, but... Good job, Kid."
Kid.
Something swirls in Pratt's stomach."Shall we... Get the bodies?" He questions, his mouth feeling suddenly dry, "See... See if there's a kid?""No. Nature will take it's course, Pratt. Let's go."He takes one last look at the bodies, before rising to his feet and taking the gun. Jacob smiles internally at the way it shakes in his hands - either from the adrenaline or it's weight. He lets Pratt hang it from his shoulder and carry it back to the horses."When I was a kid," Jacob starts, once again walking a few paces ahead of Pratt, "Things weren't so great. My friend had these comic books that had not long since come out, and I was so Jealous. Why did this kid get everything he asked for, the day it came out, and me and my brothers didn't get shit? So one day after school, he invites me round. And it's sat on his bookshelf, just one in at least thirty or forty he had. So I thought, fuck it - I want to read it, so I just put it in my bag and went home. I know he knew it was missing, and his dad had a right go about it - but he didn't bring it up to me. Didn't really matter, anyway - was only at the school for another month or so. But I read it inside and out, up and down, back to front - Joseph loved it too.""Hawkeye?""Mhm. Then enlisted in the army and didn't wanna be seen as the new guy carrying around his comic book, so I left it with Joseph. Dunno what he did with it."Thunder begins to rumble overhead, and Pratt lifts his head to look up. A slight rain begins to patter on his face, and the ground starts to smell fresh. And back when he was still a Deputy, he would love this weather. He'd sit by the open window and finish his reports, smelling the Earth and the rain, or he'd go out and make house calls, with the radio blasting and the windscreen wipers going. He wants to say it reminds him of that time - a better time, but the guilt of his actions make him feel sick.Pratt decides not to say anything else.The journey home is done in silence.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

When they had returned back to the Veteran's Centre, after leaving the horses at the stable they had taken them from, Jacob was requested to take a somewhat urgent phone call from Joseph. Wet through, he had instructed Pratt to go and make himself busy whilst he dealt with whatever nonsense Joseph was about to tell him."The Rookie Deputy was found in the hills of the Henbane, unconscious just down from my statue," Joseph told him, "They'd had a run in with Faith - they've already escaped John's grasp once. And now Faith. They even removed John's signs.""Okay? It was childish, anyway.""They're starting a revolution, Jacob!" Joseph practically roared down the phone, but Jacob stood, unbothered. "That bar tender, the pyromaniac and his inbred cousin, his aunt - the pilot - half of the animals in this county, Jacob, how are they doing this?""The world is weak, Joseph. They need safety in numbers. Wait until I catch up with them."The anger from Joseph's side was almost audible."We need to do something, Brother.""They will find their strength.""They will die when the world burns-"The phone clicked down.And it had been true - the Rookie had been rallying support from every corner of the county. There were murmurs of a revolution - and Pratt had caught wind of it from some of the other Peggies. But he didn't know whether to support it or not. After all, Jacob had made him strong, he had made him into the man he needs to be to survive.And how could he ever go back now? How could he ever go back to being weak, like he was before? 
A child. Alone in the woods.

A child.

Alone.

In the WOODS.
The young Deputy tries to sleep, but the images of his victims, lying dead of the floor, play like a presentation in his brain. His chest tightens at the thought of them, and no long, deep, or short, quick, breaths will get rid of that tightness.
If they are strong, they will survive. If they are weak, they will get what they deserve.
Snores from Jacob's bed fill the air, and Pratt bites his nails down to the quick.
Weak.

Stop thinking about it.

You are being weak.
He shifts from lying on his left side to lying on his right, trying to ease the pressure on his shoulder - it's healed, for the most part. But putting too much pressure on it, or lifting it too high, can cause it to ache.His leg bounces up and down from the anxiety that eats him from the inside out, and he shuts his eyes tight. Sleep will not relieve him of this anxiety soon, and he knows this."Fuck... fuck. Fuck. Fuck," he whispers, burying what's left of his finger nails into his hair. His heart is hammering in his chest and he can't rid his mind of the images that taunt him. The breaths become gasps as he pulls at his hair, which has grown longer than he has ever had it before.His mother would kill him, if she saw the state of him now. Or would she be proud of him, just for surviving this long? Would she be proud of him, for being strong this time?"Pratt."Jacob's voice startles Pratt, who doesn't know whether to keep quiet, and pretend he's asleep, or face up to Jacob. Tears that he hadn't realised had welled in his eyes, begin to spill down his cheeks."Pratt... C'mon."There's a noise - a shifting of sorts, and the light by Jacob's bedside flicks on. The bulb is dull, but Pratt carries on facing the wall, wiping his face with his hands and then the blanket."I'm sorry-" he says quietly, "I didn't, I didn't mean to-"Jacob grunts, and Pratt hears him rise out of bed, stretching his back and shoulders. And then, Jacob is stood over him."Wanna go for a smoke?" Pratt had had his first memorable nightmare on the night after he'd found the dead dog that he had tried to help. He still remembers it - it had been his own weakness that had killed it. He hadn't done enough, worked fast enough, worked hard enough to try and save it. And he had cried in the dream and begged the dog for it's forgiveness - he hadn't seen the dog die, but he knew it had, in that funny way you just know things in dreams. And he equally knew that the dog was upset with him for not being enough.But when he'd woke up, that same tightness in his chest, tears flooding down his face, and he realised that there was nothing more he could have done, and there was nothing more he could do now. It had taken him weeks to feel better, weeks before he stopped blaming himself. And he thought he'd never get over it - he thought he would always blame himself.Eventually, of course, he did get over it.He never forgot about it, but he did get over it. He accepted that there wasn't anything more he could have done. He accepted that nature took it's course, in the same way it always does.But this time, he knows he'll never get over it."It's hard. Taking your first life."They're outside, on the balcony. It's cold, but the earlier storm has cleared, leaving a clear, starry sky overhead.The smoke curls in his lungs and burns them, but it keeps him grounded. He blows it out through his nose, his shaking hands flicking the ash away.He and Jacob are sat against the wall.Jacob is already staring at him, when Pratt finally manages to muster the confidence to make eye contact."I remember mine. Lost track of how many, somewhere along the line - but it's like your virginity, you always remember the first, even if a thousand more follow.""Who was it?"Jacob looks away for a second, laughs, and shakes his head."The kill or the virginity?"Pratt let's a smile take over for a second, and takes another drag of the cigarette."It's not important. Killing people - it's different, depending on the circumstances. Some people deserve it.”"Deserve it?""Yeah. I mean, if someone is shooting at you, it's fair to shoot at them back - and if you hit them before they hit you, well... Shucks."There is a pause."I almost killed my dad. That's how I ended up in Juvie."Pratt suddenly doesn't know whether he should continue with the conversation."My foster dad, I mean. And mom. I was just a kid - and he beat the fucking shit out of us. Didn't feed us, made us work from the second we woke up to the second we went to sleep. When the state came by, we had to play happy families as if we weren't covered with bruises under our clothes. Let the animals free from the barn, burnt that, and burnt their house down with them in it. Made us suffer enough, so fuck 'em. They survived - serious burns, covered all their body... Fuck 'em. Deserved it.""And you went to Juvie?""'Till I could enlist, yeah. Joseph got put back into the system, John got adopted by some Bible bashing family out in the city - think he'd have been better off in the system, they fucked him up real good. Suppose the joke is on me, really. Got burnt like Hell in the army."Jacob takes a long drag of his cigarette, and his fingers fiddle with the dog tags around his neck."None of it mattered. All gonna end up in the same place when our numbers up."And given his confession, Pratt realises how weird it is that he feels so comfortable in Jacob's presence.The soldier suddenly clammers to his feet."Fuck this," he says, finishing the cigarette and flicking the butt of the balcony. "Stay."Goosebumps begin to appear on his arms as a cold chill goes through him. He finishes his own cigarette, and discards the butt, exhaling the smoke from his lungs. He looks at the stars, and wonders if his family are looking at them, too. Do they even know what has happened to him? Are they worried about him? Or do they think he's just being a dick and not answering the phone, in the same way he would when he was too busy thinking with his dick than his actual brain?Fuck, he should have been better.But it's okay, because I will be okay, he wants to tell them, Jacob will protect me.Since being outside, his panic attack has subsided and his thoughts of his victims have... Mellowed.The door opens and clicks shut again, and Jacob is carrying a full bottle of whiskey and a six pack of beers. Pratt wants to feel excited - but the intention behind the gifts is what makes his apprehensive.
“Half each,” Jacob says, sitting down again. “Been keeping it, for the harder days, but… Fuck it.”
The bottle is consumed quickly, but Pratt gets far more drunk than Jacob does. His words begin to slur, and his breath reeks of of whiskey. Jacob watches him with amusement in his eyes, the way one would look at a kitten with a new toy - the way that his cheeks have flushed red, and how, for the first time since he's known him, Pratt is genuinely smiling and giggling like a fucking school girl.It pissed him off.But he allows the man another cigarette, which Pratt gratefully accepts."Thank you," he says, putting it his mouth as Jacob lights the end of it. "I don't mean for the cigarette - well, yeah, thank you for the cigarette, but thank you for... For showing me I'm not weak.""Shut up, Peaches. You're drunk.""Well, so are you."Jacob just hums in response. He is drunk - drunker than he's been in probably a few years, now. But still."D'ya actually think the world is gonna end, then?""Dunno. I don't ask questions.""I just find it weird-""Pratt. You shouldn't ask questions.""'M sorry."Jacob laughs. A genuine laugh, this time. It makes Pratt feel warm."Tell me something, Pratt.""Like what, Sir?""No formalities. Just tell me anything."Pratt tries to think of life before Jacob - he can remember his family, and maybe a few of his friends before he left for Hope County, but other things get a little hazy."I'm fluent in Spanish," he decides to say, finally, "I grew up near the border - got some family in Mexico, some over here in the states. Big family.""Oh, really?""Yeah. Got loads of cousins. One brother, three sisters. Became an uncle, just before... Just before...""Huh. And I thought my family was big.""Think that's why I struggle bein' alone so much - never been lonely for too long. When I moved to Hope County, I liked on my own, had the occasion girlfriend but never for longer than a weekend-""Just liked getting your dick wet, then?"Staci laughs."Pretty much.""We've all been there."Jacob sips at one of the beers - which he's enjoying less and less as time goes on. He leans towards, Pratt, taking the cigarette from him and taking a deep drag - but their faces are merely centimetres away from each other, and Pratt can smell the alcohol and smoke on the older man's breath.His heart is in his mouth, and he can hear it hammering.Jacob finally means his eyes, and, with the cigarette grasped between his fingers, he plants his hands on either side of Pratt's face."Jacob, I-I-"His beard is rough against Pratt's face as their lips connect, the hair scratching him.Jacob pulls his face a touch closer, but keeps it as still as he can as he gives hungry kisses. His hands move from his cheeks to his hair, ruffling it and giving little tugs.And fuck, it's not enough - it could never be enough, not right now, not in their drunken haze.Selfishly, Pratt wants more.Or does he want to give more?Jacob's got him wrapped around his little finger.Their lips part, and the taste of beer and tobacco lingers on Staci's lips.He just stares at Jacob, who shows next to no emotion on his face."Come on, Peaches. Let's get some rest."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Maybe it was the alcohol that had gotten to his head, or maybe it was the stress of the day's events that had exhausted him, but when Pratt got back under his blanket, he slept like a baby for the rest of the night. His dreams were filled with warmth, love, and sunny days - a familiar sense of light that vaguely reminds him of his childhood.

He swore he felt free again.

He awoke with a lingering fog in his mind, but nothing that kept him off of his feet.

Jacob rose half an hour later than usual, silently rising from his bed and heading to the shower. His subordinate was already dressed, and decided to fetch breakfast whilst Jacob was busy.

"I'm not hungry."

His voice is as calm as usual, although a little rough around the edges. He doesn't have to look up at Pratt for him to see the bags under his eyes, and the paleness of his skin. The plate is pushed away from him, and Pratt - now rising to the floor, his own plate empty - watches the way he keeps his hand held under his nose, in a way that suggests he's resting his head, but Pratt knows it's just to stop the smell from getting to him.

There's a jovial tone in his voice.

"Are you hungover, Sir?" He teases, not really knowing if Sir is still the correct title, but going with it anyway.
The look on the soldier's face is all he needs to tell him that he doesn't appreciate his tone - but he can't tell that Jacob suddenly despises the age difference between himself and Pratt. If he were twenty-six again, he'd be out running laps in the desert by now."Fuck off, Peaches. Go make yourself useful somewhere else."Pratt can't hide the shit eating grin on his face.Jacob sleeps the rest of the morning off.

The younger - and far less hungover - boy fills his morning with cleaning, first with the Judge's Kennels, then the kitchen and toilets, and then the chambers - where he pretends he doesn't feel sick at the mere sight of them. He knows it's one of the jobs that people complain about the most, but he doesn't mind it. Maybe it'll put him in a few good books.

There's a craving that sits somewhere in his mouth, smoky and consuming. For a moment, he struggles to identify what it is, until he recalls the cigarettes that he had Jacob had shared.

And then the beer they shared...

And suddenly he realises the craving is a mix of the two.

Pratt doesn't allow his mind to wander to the happenings after.

He works until the sun is high in the sky, and sweat patches have appeared under his armpits and down his back. He moves on from cleaning, to helping prepare lunch, and then the evening meal. Small jobs that need doing.

Around half three, he is headed to the cages, where he had been informed that there was a broken gate.

One of the hinges has dropped slightly, leading the gate itself to drag along the floor. He thinks of the tools and parts he needs, and where to find -

Psst.

The noise catches him off guard, at first. But he doesn't dare to look up.

The shed. He can find the items in the shed - or in the garage. One of them will-

Psst.

He finally lifts his head, meeting the eyes of one of the captives. Scared, but hopeful eyes.

"Please-" he says, his voice no lounder than the wind in the trees, "You gotta help get me out."

Pratt looks back down at the gate.
"Please.  You're-you're the Deputy! We need to help your friend!"
No.

No no no.

Stop talking. Please, stop talking.

"The Rookie keeps escaping," he says quickly, as though the words may spark the end of his life - and they very much could, just as they could equally end Pratt's. "They know you're here. The Whitetails - they're coming for you. There's a resistance growing out there, and-"

Shut up shut up shut up.
Pratt lifts his eyes again, a lump of panic growing in his throat."If you help me, I-I can help you-""Pratt,"It comes like a truck as the conversation is cut short, hits him and almost takes the air from his lungs. He had been in his own bubble, just him and the captive.But when he whips round, feeling like he's been caught in the act, he finds it's just one of the Peggies stood before him.
“Can you tell Jacob I searched that campsite - we found the two bodies, but no kid.”

He can't help but look cluelessly at her for a moment - his heart is hammering in his throat. It makes him feel sick that he now has information he knows that Jacob will want - and he'll have to show where is loyalties lie.

But where do they lie?

No kid. Two bodies.

Jacob sent someone to check.

For Pratt.

"Oh, yeah," he stammers out, his blood running hot and cold at the same time, "Of course, I'll tell him, yeah. Thank you."

The Peggy walks away, and out of ear shot.

“Deputy Pratt-“
“Don’t. Stop - don’t talk to me again.” 
"Her name was Rachael, first - before Faith. We went to high school together. Real sad - think her mom and dad were... Not great, but she was just a kid. A vulnerable young kid."

Tensions are running high.

A light flickers overhead, and there's always something about the main cell rooms that feels eerie and tense, like you don't dare breathe when you're in there.

The group - the Sheriff, Virgil, Tracey, and Charles Lindsey are sat around a table that had been set up in there. A cold breeze blows through, making the hair on their arms stand to attention.

The Rookie has been in and divulged them into their latest plan - to kill Faith Seed.

Enough is enough, they had uttered, their face covered by the hood of their jacket. It's time we start showing them we mean business.

"I watched her grow up - real sad to see."

The Sheriff looks down at his coffee mug, though he hasn't taken a single sip and it's long since gone cold. She had been a pretty girl, he remembers. Always smiling and polite. She had been fourteen when she was first targeted by Hope County's sleaziest residents, taking advantage of her naivety. He'd advised her parents - but dad was under investigation for tampering with prescriptions and her mom was in love with the bottle.

He'd watched her downfall in slow motion.

"I went to school with her - she was bullied, sure, but I didn't... I didn't expect her to run off with a cult."

Charles' voice is exasperated, as if he can't believe that they're just giving up.

"Who are we to dictate who should live and who should die?" He questions, "Have we not seen enough death and suffering already? Why do we need to add to the count?!"

"Well, who are we to allow it to continue?" Whitehorse replies, "Just to sit back and watch these assholes take over? Not on my watch. Fight fire with fire, that's what I say."

"No good will come of it!"

"What is one life compared to the hundreds that they have taken? And not just the lives - the people. Friends, loved ones... What about my deputies - when do their lives start to count? Stuck with those maniacs, going through God knows what?"

"They are gone, Earl. Joey and Staci - they will never be the people that you remember... It's time to accept that."

The Sheriff recoils, as if the comment was made against his own children.

He had known since he’d been freed that Hudson and Pratt would suffer at the hands of John and Jacob - but he had hoped they would still be them. The thought that they may not be hadn’t even crossed his mind.

"Maybe they won't be," he finally says, calmly. "And that's okay. They might not be the same, but after everything, it's still them.”
 
There's something that reminds Pratt, as he walks up to Jacob's room, of the way he would feel when called to the headmasters office. The same anxiety and dread, the wonderings of where your morals sit - do you snitch on your friend, or take the  blame yourself?

Jacob is sat at his desk, his breakfast still untouched but definitely cold. He is lost in thought, his pen endlessly moving across the paper. He writes so much, but Pratt has never seen any of it.

"Jacob, Sir-" he says quietly, clicking the door shut behind him. He can feel his palms sweating.

"What is it, Pratt?"

He doesn't look up.

"I-I need to tell you something..."

The pen stops moving, if only for a brief moment, before returning back to it's endless scrawling.

His moral compass is spinning. Should he repeat the words said to him? Or should he keep it between himself and the captive? After all, if there truly is a growing resistance (and there must be, given the rumours, and now the other captive telling him), then this could spell his freedom... But fuck, Jacob had housed him, fed him, protected him... He is not here by choice, but Pratt finds peace somewhere in the moments of kindness that Jacob has shown to him.

And Jacob deserves to know, doesn't he?

He wants to crumble to the floor, and tell Whitehorse everything - the Sheriff would always give the best advice, and it kept the young Deputy from falling off of the path on several occasions.

But Whitehorse isn't here. And Pratt doesn't need advice. He's strong, now. He's not weak, seeking advice from others. Strong. He can make his own decisions.

"Oh, Pratt. Spit it out already."

"One of the captives has just told me that the Rookie keeps escaping."

The pen stops moving, for definite this time. Jacob turns and looks at Pratt.

"H-he said that, that the Rookie is on their way here..."

"And?"

"And they're coming to get me."

Pride swells in Jacob's chest. He'd certainly done a good job of moulding the boy to be exactly how he wanted him.

He knew the Rookie was a slippery bastard - first John and then Faith. He expects to see them before long.

But still, he's impressed at his own work.

"Thank you for telling me, Peaches," he says, his voice shockingly calm compared to how much Pratt is shaking. He shifts his weight. "What do you want to do about it?"

A beat.

"I'm sorry, Sir?"

"Well, do you want to leave?"

"N-No, Sir."

Jacob nods again.

"And this captive, that shared this information with you. Do you know them?"

"No, Sir."

"Hm. Leave it with me, Peaches."

Pratt avoids the cages for the rest of the day.
 
"Pratt, with me."

The cold mountain air practically sticks to Pratt's body as he follows Jacob, his breath appearing in front of his face. It wasn't this cold last night - or maybe it was the alcohol that kept them warm.

They head out of the Veteran's Centre, and up a short pathway, to one of the sheds. He can hear the crickets in the grass and the owls in the trees.

"I figured," Jacob tells him, still several paces ahead of him. A howl from one of the Judges silences the wildlife. "Seeing as you bought it up to my attention - which I'm very proud of you for, by the way - you should be the one to conduct the punishment."

Pratt almost stops dead in his tracks.

"The... The punishment, Sir?"

"Yes, Pratt. We can't have locusts infecting Eden's Garden now, can we? What good would that ever do?"

Pratt suddenly feels rather sick.

"You don't have to say anything," he tells Pratt, retrieving his knife from its sheath as they head inside.

Pratt's hands are shaking already.

"You just need to do the slicing."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The two men emerge some time later, the older one unphased by the atrocity that has been carried out in that room, and the younger one maintaining a thousand yard stare. His hands and clothes are decorated with blood, and some splatters have found their way to his face - he had tried to use his hand to clean himself of them, but ultimately ended up making it worse.His breathing is shallow, his mind somehow racing at a million miles a minute but yet it cannot think of a single thing.
You were one of us, you fucking traitor!
The scream plays around his head like a broken record - the pained pleas to stop, the agonised begging in his voice.
Fucking Hell.
He had skinned the man alive.The very same man that had tried to give him a way out.How could he have done that to him? How could he have done that to anyone?
Fuck.
He can feel the contents of his stomach getting ready to come up."Look at you," there's a smile in the soldiers voice, and his hand comes up to Pratt's head, ruffling his hair in the same way one would pet a dog, "Your third kill."Pratt's chest heaves, and as he doubles over to vomit, Jacob just walks off, leaving him to it."You'll get used to it," he calls over his shoulder - but all Pratt can do is stand there, his hands on his knees which leave bloody handprints behind.
What have you done?
Autopilot takes over his body, and he follows after Jacob, jelly like legs carrying him. He can hardly even tell where they're heading, and, as they ascend the stairs, his grip on the banister becomes so strong, his knuckles turn white."I tell you," they reach Jacob's room, "You look nice with a bit of colour on you. Maybe we should do it a bit more often.""Please can I shower?"His voice is catching in his throat."Come on, Peaches. You're alright, Kid."The young man just shakes his head and takes himself off to the bathroom. Jacob watches him go - and then hears the sound of the shower turning on and Pratt retching again. He shakes his head and undresses himself for bed.At least he's not hungover, anymore. "Man, you're honestly gonna try and kill Faith?"Sharky is sat in the back seat of Rookies car, behaving in such a way that would suggest that he is a teenager being dragged to his mom's work event."She's hot, like smoking hot - I mean, I'd explore her bunker, if you know what I mean."The Rookie rolls their eyes and opens their mouth to speak disapprovingly of Sharky's words - but Grace beats them to it."'Explore her bunker'? Really, Sharky? It's like that?""Hell yeah it's like that! If she gave the Sharkster a chance, she'd be all over me.""Do you think she'll have forgotten that time you puked on my friends shoes, down at the roller rink? I think it was that night when you, you know, burnt the whole block down..."Grace is sat in the front seat, occasionally giving directions.Sharky stammers to begin with - but there's an embarrassed, entertained grin that appears on his face."I did do that," he admits finally, the words leaving his mouth in more of a laugh than a sentence, "That was a good day."And suddenly, it's like he's an elderly man, reflecting on his life. The scenery passes them by, and Sharky winds down his window, taking his cap from his head."That was the day I found the love of my life.""It's fire, isn't it?""Yes ma'am." Pratt slept in the bathroom that night, hugging the toilet bowl like a teenager who drank too much. The sights played like a film under his eyelids every time he closed them, and every time the room fell silent - which was a rarity between the Judges, the Peggies, the creaking of the pipes, and Jacobs snores - the screams would terrorise him like he was still in the room.It needed to be done, he told himself, in the hopes it would help.
He was weak.

Jacob wanted you to.

You did nothing wrong.
Jacob is proud of you.
Good boy. Good boy. Good boy.
He felt like a dog licking his wounds - trying to comfort himself, trying to reassure himself, but it wasn't until morning broke and Jacob repeated those words to him, expressing how proud of the boy he is that he has done so well in his training, that he actually felt like they had an impact.Pratt thanked him, but still refused breakfast.He returned to his old habit of following Jacob around like a lost lamb - at least this way, no one would try to talk to him, no one would try to infect his mind with words that could spell the end for either of them.No.This way, he is safe.This way, he gets to be with Jacob.And Jacob will keep him safe. 
Jacob puts him through the trials again when he refuses dinner. He had never held the expectation of Pratt responding positively to yesterdays events - but he would like to iron out the creases, so next time, he doesn't react at all.

As per the norm, he personally over sees them - it's just himself and Pratt. He makes the Deputy work until he's shaking, until there's no fight left in there, until his spirit breaks, and until he follows Jacob's words down to the T. There's something in the way that he sits and verbally abuses Pratt - calling him pathetic, useless, weak, and then he gets to sit there and watch him almost kill himself to prove Jacob wrong. Jacob enjoys it.

He makes Pratt work until the sun sets, when he directs pratt to go and get some intelligence out of one of the captives, who looks like he knows a little bit too much.

Pratt stands by Jacob's desk some thirty minutes later, his hands bloodied, and the victim's confession leaving his lips.

The sight of him, the un-remorsefulness in his eyes, the eagerness to please...

It does something to Jacob. Something he enjoys a tad too much.

He hadn't forgotten about kissing him. Neither of them had mentioned it, but he knows Pratt hasn't forgotten, either. He'd like to call it a lapse in judgement - it wasn't a moment of weakness, no, it was the alcohol talking. Maybe if he could convince himself of that, he could believe it.

But right now...

Fuck.

"I-I'm gonna... Go. Go wash up. Gonna go wash up."

"No."

Staci becomes aware of Jacob's fingers on his wrist - he's not clamping his hand down, but he's definitely stopped him in his tracks.

"Don't wash your hands... C'mere."
 
Thick fingers get tangled in locks of dark hair as the deputy shows how eager he is to please Jacob.

The soldier had been turned on by the sight and state of Pratt, but he hadn't imagined in a million years that he would have the boy between his legs, performing magic on him like no one ever has before. Fuck, his frame looks so small when he's like this.

But he feels amazing.

Pratt lifts his head with a deep breath, slobber running down his chin. He looks so good, so pathetic - and it takes Jacob all of his strength to not finish right there, and to not just return Pratt's mouth back to where it was.

"Can we?" The boy pants.

Jacob is getting impatient.

"Can we what?"

For a brief second, there is a flash of something that could be embarrassment on Pratt's face, but there's still that strong determination in his eyes to please Jacob.
"Can we just fuck?"
Fuck.
"I'm not one of your hook ups, Pratt."Jacob would have leapt at the chance like a tiger, honestly. But what is the point, when Pratt probably won't remember any of this come the morning anyway? He recognises the contradiction - seeing as Pratt is currently choking on his dick. But still, there's a big difference between a sloppy late night blowjob and full blown anal sex."Please, Jacob."It's getting harder to resist, but Jacob shakes his head."No."And as he reaches down and pulls Pratt's face up to meet his own, connecting their lips, Jacob realises he would set the world ablaze just to keep Staci safe.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

His mom is getting ready for work, shouting at his brother to get out of the shower and for Staci to get up and get to school. The air smells warm, of coffee and maybe waffles. The boy buries his head into the pillow and takes a few deep breath as his mind welcomes the morning. The blanket that is wrapped around his waist and legs is warm but slightly scratchy, so he kicks it from himself.But that was years ago...He's not been home in years...Why is he even in a bed?!He whips his head up, wide eyes taking in the room around him. It's still Jacobs room, where Pratt should be, but Jacob is missing and there's dried blood on the bed. When he looks down to his hands, his heart is hammering in his chest, even when he realises it's not his own.

Fuck.

Just as the memories of last night come flooding back to him, he crashes to the floor as he tries to practically throw himself out of Jacob's bed, realising that the coffee and the waffles aren't real.

Within ten minutes, he is showered, dressed, and heading outside. He doesn't know where he's going or why but fuck, he needs fresh air and - Jacob. He needs Jacob.

He tries to distract himself, first making the Judges' meals, and then the meals for the captives, delivering them according to the sheets in the kitchen. When one of them tries to barge past him to escape, he pushes them to the ground with all of his might and kicks them in the back of the head.

For a moment, he felt like killing them, just to prove a point.

Jacob would've liked that.

He then fixes the gate that he abandoned yesterday.

Good boy.

Good boy.

Somehow, his own words don't calm him in the way that Jacob's do.

Fuck...

It's been rough. Killing that couple, killing that man - if you could even call it that. It was torture, at best. He can almost hear the screams and feel the warmth of his blood as it rushes over his fingers and down his arms-

He rubs his hands on his jeans, as though it could rid him of the terror, of the guilty.

The anxiety that has grown through his body like a virus is suffocating him. How on Earth did he end up... Well, end up doing what he did last night? He'd never been with a man before, and whilst he had definitely had his fair share of walks of shame, dressing in silence, and leaving with his shoes in his hands - and had it done to him -, Pratt struggles to understand how Jacob has managed to do it to him. He is forced to share that space with him. How can Jacob just get up and leave like nothing had happened?

Did anything happen?

He can't even try and convince himself it didn't - he remembers the pining in his voice as he asked Jacob if there could be more, even if he wasn't in the right state of mind.  Needless to say, Jacob had thoroughly enjoyed the night they had spent together. Pratt had definitely shown his worth and proved why he is worth keeping around. Every time Pratt would look up to him with those big brown eyes, he could have melted - though it did take him back to Pratt being strapped in that chair, his face bloody and bruised. Perhaps he had been too harsh at first - but Pratt needed to learn.When they had finished, Pratt had practically collapsed on the bed next to him, succumbing to sleep almost immediately. Jacob had sat for a few moments, his breathing heavy - and, if only until morning, it felt like all the stress had been lifted from him. It had been a while, to say the least. He had looked down at Pratt, who was somewhat sprawled out - and he couldn't help but smile. Is that really all it took? He debated bundling Pratt up and dropping him to the floor, but he decided to let him stay. Just for the night.He flicked off the light and settled into bed next to him, pulling the quilt around him. Just as he was drifting off, though, he felt Pratt press his back against Jacob's side. It had disturbed the solider enough for him to look and see what the deputy had done, which made him roll his eyes and roll over so they were back to back.In his sleep, Pratt had pressed himself further against Jacob's back. "Where is Jacob today?"Pratt is stood in the kitchen alongside one of the Peggies. The Peggy is cutting slabs of meat, and Pratt is chopping vegetables - although his shaking hands mean that they come out in all sorts of angles and shapes, but it's food at the end of the day, and they should be thankful they are getting to eat.His anxiety is still wrecking through his body, and he has tried to distract himself, but there's only so much he can do. Whenever his mind wasn't occupied, his thoughts went to Jacob... How on Earth has he gone a full day without even making an appearance?He isn't stupid enough to know that Jacob's disappearance isn't related somehow to last night.Hell, does he even want to see Jacob? The man had made a clear effort to avoid him, so it would be awkward when they finally did. What is the point of fuelling the fire?"I don't know," he answers, honestly. "He wasn't there when I woke up this morning."
He wasn't there when I woke up in his bed.
"Oh. That is odd. Normally he leaves a list of tasks for us to do.""Well, not today."He scrapes the vegetables into a big pan."Strange. Oh well, must just be with the Father. Apparently that Rookie and Faith ha-""I don't want to know."Pratt's tone is sharp, but he doesn't feel any remorse for it. He'll never forget what happened to the last man who had fed him information about the Rookie, and he is determined there will be no repeats.The Peggy smiles."I'm glad you are seeing the light, Deputy." Pratt finishes the day by helping with a few of the jobs that need doing. Hopefully, he will earn some rep that he's more than just a verbal punching bag for them. He hasn't eaten all day, but the knots in his stomach have filled him more than any meal could have done.When darkness finally falls, he tidies up Jacob's room and makes his bed, before lying on the floor once more, under his own blanket. His desperate loneliness begins to develop into a panic, so he takes it out on the skin around his fingernails, gnawing on them until they bleed.Jacob still isn't back.Did he fuck up, last night? Jacob seemed into it, Hell, he pretty much initiated it. But still, maybe Pratt had gone too far. Maybe he wasn't meant to actually do anything... Maybe he's the reason Jacob left.What is he going to do now?What is he meant to do now, without Jacob? How could he survive? Did Jacob bring him here just to abandon him? The sun rises with pinky-red hues, and it is at this point that Pratt decides he has had enough of lying in wait. He gets up and feeds the wolves first, but decides ultimately to skip breakfast.In the absence of their master, it is up to him to put the captives through their first trials - but he's no good at it. Not in the way that Jacob is. He doesn't want to tell them they're doing a good job - because they're not. They're fumbling and refusing and fighting against him - how on Earth are they ever going to make for a half decent army?He releases a groan in frustration as one of the captives refuses to even move. He doesn't have the charisma for this - why would they listen to him?He directs one of the Peggies to put them back in their cages and leave them to starve for a few days.Once again left to his own devices, he puts his head in his hands and takes a few deep, calming breathes. Jacob isn't going to be-"Good job, Peaches."It almost feels like the air has been sucked from his lungs."Starve the fight out of them, first. Just like I had with you. It's a good idea. God, you were a stubborn little shit."Pratt whips around on the spot and turns to face his master.
Jacob.

"Thank you, Sir."

His voice is merely a whisper.

They are alone again.

"Look how far you've come, Pratt. I'm happy to see you've kept the place running in my absence. Good boy."

"Thank you, Sir. W-where have you been?"

He doesn't know if he should have asked the question, but at this point, even if it means being beaten black and blue, any touch from Jacob would be great. Jacob just brushes him off with a wave of his hand.

"Just business," he says, his voice as calm as ever. "Nothing interesting. I should have told you. But I suppose it's good to know I can drop these things on you with no warning."

"I didn't do much-"

"You did enough."

"Oh."

"Come with me, anyway. I've got something to show you - I think you'll like 'em."

The sun is firmly in the sky and a light breeze scatters orange leaves around the two men. Now back in his company, Pratt looks like a puppy whose master has just returned home. There is a spring in his step as he follows behind him.

"Get the doors," someone says as they see Pratt and Jacob approaching the driveway, where a large prisoner van sits. Pratt had seen these things coming and going and noticed more and more names being added to sheets, and then eventually they would become part of the army just as everyone else did. He had never been bought to one of the vans - so something, perhaps a bit of curiosity, or maybe an anxiety, begins to bubble inside of him. He assume it's that Jacob is trusting him enough to train these prisoners up.

The doors are hauled open, and a nudge from Jacob sees Pratt heading in first. He looks over them, to see if he recognises anyone's face, but he doesn't. He isn't exactly clear on what he's supposed to do.

"Look again."

And suddenly, it's there. In a sea of clothes, it stands out as if it were bright pink.

The green deputy shirt.

The Rookie badge attached.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"You shouldn't have come for me."

Pratt hasn't been able to breathe right since he saw them.

They're back in the training room. The Deputy is one of the three prisoners who have been taken to the seats, ready for their first round of trials.

The Deputy's eyes begin to blink open, and somewhere in there is a flicker of recognition in there, even if they had only met once.

"You should have run..."

The projector clicks off, and the room is left in a hazy darkness. He looks up to Jacob, who is walking to the front of the room, so he takes this as his cue to join him at the front of the room. The projector flicks on, about blinding Pratt, and Jacob begins his speech, though he doesn't pay attention as his eyes flicker between the solider and the Deputy.

A growing panic appears on the faces of the prisoners - and it makes Pratt want to comfort them. It's okay, he wants to tell them, you will be strong. One of you will be strong, I promise - I was like you once too. I was weak.

When Jacob opens up his music box, he sees the way they writhe and shake in the chairs - and for a moment, he is taken aback, almost disturbed.

"Come, Peaches. Let's go."
It's like his feet are trapped in concrete as Jacob begins to leave the room. He can't stop looking."Pratt. Now.""What are we going to do with them?" He asks quietly, catching up with Jacob. "We can't just leave-""Stop worrying, Pratt. It's all part of my plan."He is about to walk through the door, but he decides to turn around and glance behind him. The front two prisoners - not the Deputy - have stopped thrashing. They lie completely still, and Pratt wants to turn around and make sure they're okay - but Jacob grabs his arm and pulls him through the door, shutting it behind him. He keeps his hand on the small of Pratt's back as he guides him down the hallway, towards the truck waiting for them."Was... Was I like that, Sir?""What do you mean?""Well... Did I thrash around like that?”
A light laugh escapes Jacob's lips.

"No." He answers calmly, approaching the truck. Jacob opens the door for Pratt, and allows him to climb into it before he shuts the door and walks around to the drivers side. "You were too hungry, too tired to even try and fight like that. I reckon I could have told you to lick my boots clean, and you'd have done it."

"Too weak," Pratt comments, which slightly catches Jacob off guard.

Not weak, no. Jacob wouldn't have called Pratt weak. Worn, perhaps, but certainly not weak.

"It took a lot of starving and beating to get you to that point, though." Jacob can remember Pratt's bloody face, his twisted arm, and his refusal to speak all night. "Do you remember?"

Pratt looks for a moment as if he is thinking, and then he nods.

The truck rumbles to life beneath them, and Jacob isn't convinced. His eyes linger on Pratt for a moment, and then his hand reaches into his pocket and pulls a cigarette out. He holds one out for Pratt, and then lights his own before holding the lighter under Pratt's.

"I never smoked this much, before," the younger man says quietly, "Only when I was drunk."

"Bad habit to develop."

Pratt hums in agreement and takes a lungful of smoke in, keeping it there for a moment.

"Your fault." He comments quietly.

Jacob supposes he doesn't enjoy thinking of the dynamic they have - Pratt hasn't chosen to be here. He has been forced to, by Jacob. But he enjoys his company, and perhaps if they had met under better circumstances, Pratt would feel somewhat warmer to him. Perhaps, in another world, they could work the way Jacob would like them to.

"I saw John," the words escape his mouth before he can stop them, "Your friend, she will be alright."

"My friend?" Pratt can see Jacob searching for a name. "Wait, Joey?"

"Hudson? Yeah. She's alright."

Pratt nods, but a smile breaks out on his face - they tested each other's patience, but their soft spot for each other was undeniable. At some point, she practically became his sister. He wants to ask more questions, but decides against it.

"Thank you, Sir."
 
The rest of the journey was filled by Jacob humming quietly to himself. The sun made it's way down and Pratt could have sworn that yesterday didn't go nearly as fast as today.

He helps Jacob fill in some paper work for the new prisoners, and then, at Jacobs request, they practice boxing, which Pratt had expected. To get your muscles working, Jacob had told them, there's a lot of muscle wastage going on. It isn't healthy.

The night ended with dinner - tonight is venison, roasted potatoes, and veggies.

"You'll get there, Peaches," Jacob has his feet propped up on his bed, his boots kicked off to the side of the desk. He is sat on the chair, somewhat slouching. "It's hard - I worked for hours every day to get ready for the military."

"You did, Sir?" Pratt asks, his whole body aching. He isn't unfit, but it's been a while since he's had a proper work out like that.

"Mhm. Not a lot else to do when you're locked up in Juvie - but it was different, anyway. I was classed as 'prone to reoffending', so it was either the military or probably ending up in prison."

Pratt feels silly for nodding along, as if he could ever understand having to face such a choice. The boy has, on occasion, been on the wrong side of the law - mostly from fighting in his youth, but all of that had seized once he joined Hope County's Sheriff Department. Prison had never been in the equation - it had only ever been a night in a cell to sleep off the drink or a slap on the wrist.

Jacob had been decorated as many times as he had been injured in the military - and he had only left once his hand had been forced. There were many days where he wished he had met his end in the battlefield - at least that way, his life would've meant something.

And this mess would never have happened. Well - it may have, but he wouldn't have played a part.

The military had never interested Pratt. A few people that Pratt had gone to school with had enlisted, but none of them had returned home. He'd seen veteran's walking with missing limbs, or recounting horror stories whilst sat nursing a pint. That alone had been enough to put him off.

And then there were people like Jacob. The people who war had changed in fundamental ways.

Besides - there are easier ways of getting your dick wet than having people shoot at you.

Actually, in his current circumstance, Pratt would like to withdraw that statement.

"What did you want to do, when you was a kid?"

"Started off wanting to be a vet," he says, remembering his childhood. "Saw loads of injured animals, growing up. My grandpa had a farm, some horses, cows, couple of sheep... Just got used to bein' around 'em, and it was the best feeling to nurse them back to health... Then I wanted to be a paramedic, but never bothered doing anything about it. Just floated around, cash in hand work 'til I joined the Sheriff's Department."

"You wouldn't have made for a good paramedic."

"I know."

"What about you?"

Jacob chuckles.

"I just wanted to survive..."

Pratt doesn't dare to pry any further.

"I only wanted to be a paramedic 'cos one Christmas, my family went away to Idaho to see a family friend. The snow up here is wicked mad, so my brother slips on this patch of ice - broke his wrist, really fucked it up, bone came through the skin, it's just pouring with blood. I tied my scarf around it, told him to keep his hand above his head, help stop the bleeding - my mom told me I saved his hand. Obviously she was just trying to make me feel better, but it worked."

"Sweet thing to do, for your brother."

It's not quite burning down a house...

"I mostly did it 'cos I hoped he'd stay out sledding for longer..."

Jacob can't hide the smile that appears on his face, the sight of a small Staci stood there annoyed that, after all his hard work, he still had to go back inside.

"No dad?"

"Sorry, Sir?"

"You've mentioned your mom, grandparents, siblings, cousins... But no dad."

Pratt hesitates and picks at the food, pushing it around the dish. He looks down at the floor.

"I asked you a question, Pratt."

Pratt looks back to Jacob, and is almost jarred by the way the soldier is staring at him.

"I don't like to talk about him... He cheated on my mom, left us up shit creek without a paddle, not a dollar to our name. He had a second family the whole time - took the house, let them live in it. I was thirteen, and he used to write to me at Christmas, send cards with a bit of cash in... Thought I'd be the weakest link and reply."

"And did you?"

He shakes his head.

"My mom was a troop - she intercepted them and returned them to sender. She was really strong, didn't cry the whole time, not once in front of us. Kept a brave face, never spoke poorly of him... She was..."

"Was?" Jacob interrupts.

"Is, my hero. I don't know if I ever would have replied to my dad. It was really difficult at first - took me a while to accept that he wasn't the person I thought he was, took a while for us all to adapt to having a single mom working two jobs."

"Hm. Some kids are better without parents."
Pratt knows that Jacob isn't talking about him.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Along with many other things that usually happens during the course of life, Jacob had never been interested in falling in love.There had been many girls who had caught his eye, who made him do a double take. But there had always been a bigger priority - first it was keeping John and Joseph safe, and then it was surviving Juvie, then basic training, and then just trying to survive whilst deployed. There had been nights of quick, no-strings sex, but the relation had never made it past the sex, never mind through the rest of the night.His discharge from the military came as quite a shock - he had thought he'd done well at hiding his internal battles, but clearly not well enough. But his skin was scarred and he found himself keeping his t shirt on at all times. Every glance in the mirror resulted in him just seeing his father stood staring back at him. And the flash backs would hit him like a truck. It's different, now. He would tell himself, as he tried desperately to identify the differences between his father's features and his own. You are in control of the trigger this time.And then Pratt happened.And suddenly, maybe he was enough. Maybe Pratt could be enough. Enough for each other, enough to change Jacob's mind and make him want to love and want to be loved.But it's too late, now. He and Pratt could never be. The Rookie Deputy is gone."By the leader of the Whitetail Militia, Sir."Jacob recalls that name from prior to the arrival of Deputy Pratt and his law-enforcement buddies. If he remembers correctly, their leader... Eli?... had failed basic training in the army and hadn't been allowed to join, so when the Seeds' rolled into town, he decided that was the perfect time to play Army."The Whitetail Militia, hm? I never imagined them being much of a threat... Well, I still don't.""Eli is apparently trying to undo the conditioning you put the Rookie through.""Not get far with that," Jacob replies to his hunter, as he carries on filling out the latest captive sheets. How the Hell does nobody know the Rookie's name? "I'm not stressed about Eli or his little pretend army. He can have the Rookie, if he thinks it'll work. But they will come back to us, with their tail between their legs."Just like the rest of his army did.He likes to think that Pratt would, if presented the option. Deep down he thinks Pratt would stay, but he's not naïve enough to present him that option. A starved dog will eat from the hand of his abuser, if it meant getting something in his stomach.Pratt this. Pratt that. God he's beginning to sound like a broken record..."Yes, Sir. Did you mean to leave them there? The Deputy, I mean.""Do I look like someone who makes mistakes like that? This is strategic. You have to know your enemy in order to undermine them. The Deputy may think they and their little revolution are in charge - and let them think that. They'll see." Jacob signs off on the order sheet and shoves it in the hands of the hunter. "Take that down to the storage so they know what to order.""Yes, Sir."The phone rings. Jacob picks it from the receiver, but doesn't speak. He knows who it will be."Tell me why each one of my siblings have had their hands on this slimy little Deputy and every single one of you have let them go...""Good afternoon, Joseph. How are you?""I will not allow this to happen forever. They are making a mockery of Eden's Gate. They are making a mockery of all of us.""You told us to keep them alive, did you not?""Keep them alive, Jacob. Not free."Jacob can tell how angry Joseph is through the phone. He can practically feel the heat radiating from him.And it's in moments like this where Joseph really annoys Jacob. Jacob had fought his whole childhood to keep Joseph and John safe, to keep them from abuse - and it may not have been a constant success, but Jacob had taken many beatings on their behalf. Sure, Joseph had found him when he was at his darkest moments, but Joseph always holds the attitude that Jacob is now indebted to him. But not once does he thank Jacob for taking the hit for him.When will he be enough? He had proven himself countless times.He decides not to say anything in return."JACOB!" He shouts down the phone, "I'm talking to you.""I don't care, Joseph. I have done my part of this. You cannot blame me, or Faith, or John, when you are hiding in your bunker, not doing anything.""I'm not hiding!""Where are you now, then?""It's besides the point, Jacob. I expect you to rid the garden of that rat before I catch up with it. And if you don't, I will make sure to make an example out of all of the pests in the garden. Your little one included."Jacob puts the phone down onto the desk without hanging up, and lets Joseph rant away.The phone call ruins Jacob's mood for the rest of the day, which he takes out on the captive's as he beats them prior to their trials. Who the fuck does Joseph think he is? He had taken this word of God bullshit and ran the full fucking Monty with it. How people fell for it, Jacob doesn't know - but he stands by his point. The world is weak. Joseph is weak. He hides behind his siblings yet calls himself the father - the warlord commanding his army from the comfort of his castle.He knows that Joseph would never come for Pratt. He knows he wouldn't. Because he wouldn't, right? The leaves and branches crack under his feet as he walks, most of the bushes towering above him.He is a child again - alone, it seems, in the woods. The trees are tall and there's a cold breeze blowing around his legs.Is he lost?"Mom?" He shouts, but his voice is small again, soft and high pitched. "Mom!"A small clearing in the forest appears in front of him, only a small campsite that somehow feels a tad familiar. There is a campfire and a tent, and a small bear-And then his mother's body, lying on the floor in front of him.
"Pratt."
Small, innocent hands pick up the teddy and he takes it to her as if it could bring her back. He knows she's dead, in the same way he knows he's a child, and he knows he's seen something like this before."Mom, come on... Don't leave me here."
"Pratt."
"Don't leave me here!" He shakes her arm and then lifts her head, to find a bullet hole emerging from his mother's head. "Mom! Please... Don't leave me here!""PRATT!"The room is dark and he is dragged from his nightmare with a startled gasp, fat tears welling in his eyes. There's a sudden hole inside of him, one he knows could only be filled with his mother's embrace. He wants to know she's okay, and to tell her he is okay.He hyperventilates for a moment, his breath hitching in his throat and a sob threatening to come out. But there's also a growing panic - this isn't the first time he has woken Jacob up in the middle of the night."C'mere."The young Deputy rises to his feet, not daring to make much noise as he walks towards the soldiers bed. He wipes his face free of tears but they keep coming - he can't make out Jacob's frame through them.Jacob hasn't even opened his eyes."I-I'm sorry, Sir-" he says through panicked breaths. The tears continue to spill down his face. "Didn't - I didn't-""Come on."There is a noise and Jacob shuffles to the other side of the bed."C'mon, Pratt. Gettin' fed up."The bed is soft and this time around he can actually appreciate how nice it is in comparison to his usual sleeping arrangements. Jacob's body heat has done a good job of warming it - but even with the warmth, the tears continue to flood down his face.And Jacob suddenly feels bad for shouting."You wanna talk 'bout it?"He'd already disturbed the night - and he'd made Jacob sit outside with him, too. He doesn't dare to bring up shooting those people."N-no, it's okay. I'm sorry."Jacob moves the blanket over Pratt a bit higher, and lies on his back. Pratt doesn't know how to lie - usually it's him sleeping on his back with his latest girl lying on his chest, or he'd sleep facing her.But that would be weird."I miss my mom."His voice is hardly a whisper, he's shocked Jacob even hears it. He hadn't really expected the words to fall from his brain and out of his mouth.Jacob doesn't know how to respond. He doesn't want to tell him that he'll see her again, because that might set him up with expectations, but he equally can't bare to tell him to get over it, in the same way that he once would."You'll be alright."Pratt sniffles in response, burying his head into the sheets.Jacob decides to just ignore it.He begins to let himself drift off to sleep, just as Pratt rolls over. and again. And again. And then again for a fourth time."Don't make me regret inviting you here, Peaches."
It's not the first time he's been here, Jacob. Last time had been after he'd-
"'m sorry." It's somewhere in the early hours when Jacob's own terrors wake him - although he's much more used to it than it seems Pratt is. He's seen the horrors this world has to offer, and has done since he was a child. Nothing his mind conjures can scare him now.He glances down to his side to see that Pratt is snuggled up to the side of him, curled in a ball and snoring away. One of his feet is lying on top of Jacob's ankle.For a moment, he considers teaching him a lesson about personal space, and shoving him out of the bed.But he'll be alright like that.Jacob appreciates the company.He moves his arm, allowing Pratt to snuggle a little bit closer to him, his forehead pressed against Jacob's ribs. Jacob just rests his hand on his back, and puts his head into the pillow, closing his eyes once more.He could get used to this.John and Joseph don't need to know.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

They settle into that routine, for a week or so. Time blends together these days. They wake up together, complete their daily tasks, Pratt keeps up with his physical strength training and gets put through his trials, and Jacob oversees the running of him army. In the evenings, they would eat together, and then settle into bed. Wordlessly, Pratt would snuggle up to Jacob, who would wrap his arm around him, and that's where they'd stay until morning broke.Neither ever spoke it aloud, but both men looked forward to it. Especially as the nights grew colder.Somewhere after the first week, Pratt begun to notice that there was something happening. He's not sure what, and he would struggle to verbalise it if asked - perhaps it was in the way Jacob stopped talking about his day, or skipping every other meal due to work, or the fact he would lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling but too lost in thought to notice that Pratt was still awake.He tries not to think about it, much. It's not as if he can walk away from the situation he is in, so getting worked up on Jacob's behalf won't do anything worthwhile. It would just annoy Jacob, anyway.And then, one chilly afternoon, Pratt is cleaning some of the trucks when there is a sudden, rather startling noise. He continues to kneel by the side of the truck, sponge in hand, looking out of the open garage door. The world falls silent for a touch, and then he catches sight of Jacob, who may as well have smoke coming from his ears. From a distance, Pratt can see the anger on his face, which he knows Jacob is trying to hide, albeit unsuccessfully. Pratt drops the sponge into the bucket, wipes his wet hands onto his shirt, and catches quickly up with him."Are you okay?" He asks quietly, just as they head back inside the building. He can see that there is blood dripping from his knuckles, but it takes a moment for him to realise that it's Jacob's blood, and not anyone else's. "Jacob?"When Jacob is angry, everyone knows about it. Everyone feels it.Jacob takes the stairs to at a time."No."The answer is short and snappy. Pratt knows better than to pry.They head into the bedroom, and Jacob heads straight through to the bathroom.He turns on the cold tap and holds his hand under it. It hadn't been his brightest idea, but he either punched the concrete wall, or slammed his head against it.Fucking Joseph.He doesn't like to snap at Pratt - he tries his best not to. The young Deputy had done his best to prove his worth - but this is turning into one of those instances where Jacob wants him to leave him alone, but desperately needs him to stay.Pratt just wants to help him. But it's constant. And no matter how much Jacob wants to appreciate it, he'll be damned if Pratt ever thinks he's indebted to him.The water in the basin runs from red to clear as the man eases a sigh from his lungs, the anger leaving his body and flowing down the drain."Why can't people just... fucking leave me alone? The prisoners are running behind their conditioning, and the hunters haven't been stockpiling nearly as much as they should in order for us to survive the Winter."The words he's speaking aren't untrue, but it's not the whole story. Still, if he feeds Pratt a half truth, then he shouldn't suspect that it's not the full story.Pratt is stood by the window as Jacob leaves the bathroom, and takes a seat on the bed, his large hands covering his face, still dripping with water. The deputy glances out the window - it's already getting dark, and Pratt has noticed that it's getting darker and darker every time he wakes up.Is Winter already on it's way? He's sure it was early Summer when he was bought here... Maybe Spring?"I don't know if they just think we can order a pizza, or go to Walmart, or what..."He takes his hands from his face as Pratt gingerly takes a seat next to Jacob, perhaps a little closer than he should have. He contemplates wrapping a supportive arm around his shoulders, but he decides against it."Is there anything I can do to help?""I just... Fuck me, I wish none of this were real. Normal people go on vacations - they go to the Caribbean, or they go skiing in the alps. But I fucked myself up in the army, and then Joseph decides he can hear the word of God, and has to fuck around with everyone's lives like we're his puppets."It's a risky move, but Pratt kind of laughs.And it makes Jacob kind of laugh, too.He isn't unaware that the grave was dug with his own shovel, but if he could turn back time...The world is weak. But maybe it isn't his job to fix it. Not like Joseph had told him it was."Your arms are looking bigger," he says, clearing his throat. Pratt looks down and almost flexes his arms, "I guess all that training is paying off.""Hm. I guess so," he agrees, "Used to look way bigger when I was a teenager, working on my grandpa's farm."But Jacob isn't listening. He's just taking in the man by his side.
Fuuuck. He looks good.
"And your shoulder," he says, tearing his eyes away from Pratt if only for a moment. "You still having problems with it, or is that alright now?"Pratt hums. "Mostly healed," he says, "Bit sore every now and then - feel it more now it's getting cold.""Well, that's joints for you, huh? I'm sure your brothers wrist still hurts in the Winter, too."Both of them share a smile.There's a moment of silence, and then Pratt feels Jacob rest his head on his shoulder. He almost jumps away from his touch."I don't know what I'm gonna do, Pratt."There's a faint undertone of helplessness in the way Jacob talks, but Pratt doesn't know whether it's intentional or not.But it makes Pratt feel something. Jacob. So big, so strong... So helpless? Hm.He's aware of the fact Jacob is overworked - though through his own doing. He's always back in time for Pratt to fall asleep with him, but Pratt couldn't tell you a time when he was the first to wake up. Jacob is usually gone by the time Pratt is up."It'll work out," Pratt tells him, "It always does. You aren't an idiot and neither is anyone here. You've done a good job with them, they'll pull through.""Hm, I hope so. I wonder what sort of folk we've dragged off of the streets at times..."Jacob keeps his head on Pratt's shoulder, and doesn't move when Pratt leans his head on top."I'm just tired.""Take a day off?""You know there are no days off... Joseph won't allow it."Fuck Joseph, Pratt keeps his thoughts to himself."I enjoyed the other day."The words fall from his mouth before his brain kicks into action to stop them."What do you mean, Pratt?"And suddenly, Pratt feels awkward. Why the Hell did he open his mouth?"You... You know what I mean..."And the realisation hits Jacob like a truck."I don't think you did," he says quickly, trying to push away the memories of how good Pratt made him feel. His heart begins to hammer that tad harder. He tries to distract himself, but..."No, I did. We could always... Always do it again...""No, it wasn't right...""Why do you get to decide that?" John had agreed to his sacrifice.Faith had agreed to her sacrifice.It only left Jacob, who fought against Joseph like a stubborn child.The first meeting had been held at the beginning of the week, at the church at Joseph's compound. It had been between just Joseph and his older brother, nobody else had been present.He explained the other two siblings' sacrifices, and watches how Jacob's face hadn't changed."No." Jacob had replied, firmly, his expression stone."Jacob?""I said no.""I'm... I'm not allowing you the choice, Jacob. We will take the sacrifice on your behalf, if it is not surrendered willingly.""No, Joseph. You won't take anything."Jacob had paused, anger seething through his veins. He clenched and unclenched his fists."This needs to end. Now. It's gone too far...""After all of this, Jacob? After all I have done? After I have protected you?"The anger swelled so hot, Jacob was convinced it come spew from his mouth."Protected me?" He repeated, his voice gruff and harsh, "My whole life... My whole childhood was about protecting you, and protecting John. You needed me. I burnt that house down for you, for John. A solider is only ever as strong as his chain of command, and it's about time you stepped down.""Don't be like that. It's the word of the Lord - he is warning-""It's the word of you. I'm leaving, but you won't-""We will come for it, Jacob.""And you shall leave empty handed." "Good fucking boy, Staci."He hadn't been able to reject Pratt's advances. There isn't a lot to look forward to around here, so if Pratt is willing, why not?The boys mouth feels amazing. Jacob's fingers are curled in his hair, a slight tug giving Pratt all the encouragement he needed."God- fuck - wait, Pratt- Jesus Christ."He can feel the stress of the last few days melting out of him."Please, Jacob-""H-huh?"The solider is stood against the wall, trying to catch his breath. His brain hasn't quite caught up with itself yet. He hasn't finished yet, but he feels like he's just seconds away."Please,""Please what?" He's getting impatient."I want you, Jacob."And suddenly it's a massive battle to not just finish right there.And suddenly it feels more than just a sloppy blowjob."Get on the fucking bed, Peaches."Before he knows it's, he's on top of Pratt, rock hard but ignoring it for a moment as they kiss, hands lost in hair and exploring chests. Jacob keeps his t shirt on, but Pratt is in all of his glory. His shirt had practically hit the floor the second Jacob had given him the signal."You ready?" He asks Pratt, moving from kissing his lips to kissing his neck. Pratt gives an audible but positive moan. "C'mon, Peaches. Use your words.""Y-yes..."He'd already smothered himself in lube, so he gently positions himself."Just... Tell me if you want to stop, okay?""Have you done this before?" The younger man questions, his heart hammering so hard he feels like it could explode.He's never been so scared and so horny in his whole life."No. Have you?"Pratt shakes his head, "No.""Okay. That's okay. We will take it slow."Jacob hesitates before he begins with the slowest movements he can possible muster. He watches Pratt's face change, his breathing hitching just a tad more."That okay, Staci?"Pratt's eyes are closed, but he hums in approval. It's a lot and it's so new. He tries to get used to the new sensation as he reaches between his own legs, taking his dick in his hand."What do you want me to do?"There's a silence, which is broken by soft, quiet moans."Staci. I'm talking to you.""Hm - yeah, uh - fuck,"All Pratt can do is nod.Jacob picks up the pace, steadily. He takes it slowly and makes sure to keep his hands on Pratt at all times, either helping him touch himself, or holding his face."Fuck, c'mere..."Pratt reaches up to Jacob and Jacob meets him half way, joining their lips together. The older man leans further into Pratt's embrace, and deeper into him.Overwhelmed, Pratt aches his back, gripping the bedsheets tight."Fuck, Jacob-" he pants, intensity in his eyes. Is it too much? Am I too rough? Is it me? Questions race through Jacob's mind but-"I think I love you."It almost makes Jacob lose all of his momentum."Shut up, Pratt.""Jacob-""Shut. Up."Jacob is practically growling down his ear. It sends shivers down Pratt's spine. He touches himself with one and finds Jacob's arm with the other. Wordlessly, the older man intertwines their fingers, squeezing his hand tight. He returns to kissing Pratt, first on his collar bone, and then licking up his neck and to his jaw, finally moving to his lips once more.He will never admit it but he does love Staci.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

A cool, mountain breeze blows around the room, and Jacob sits by the open window, cigarette smoke filling his lungs. He's running on fumes and struggling to keep his eyes open, but the cold air is aiding that.

He had sorted Pratt out for a shower first, leaving a pair of boxers and a t-shirt for him for when he comes out. Perhaps in another world, they'd be showering in order to be ready for work tomorrow. Jacob doesn't know what sort of civilian job he would do - he'd never really looked into it. Obviously, as a child, he had dreamt of being an astronaut and an action hero. Being a soldier hadn't occurred to him until there were only two options presented to him, both of which would ruin his life more than he already had.
It hurts him, somewhere deep inside, a place he tries not to go to. This won't last forever, he'll have to say goodbye to Pratt eventually. And even if it did, what sort of relationship would this be? How could Pratt ever introduce him -  Hello, this is my boyfriend Jacob. Oh, how did we meet? Well, funny story! He held me captive and beat me until I was conditioned enough to behave. And then he realised he loved me and never let me go! And that's implying that Pratt would ever want to be with him. The words  I think I love you  had about knocked Jacob from his feet - but would they have been said, if they weren't actually having sex? Would Pratt even bare his company, if he hadn't been the one to share his room, his food, his shower, and then his bed? If he opened the gate and told Pratt to go, he would.
Anyone with sense would.

Jacob would.

He would run far, far away from this life he has created, if given half a chance. 
He isn't dull enough to try and plead ignorance that he is part of the problem - if not  the main  part of the problem. But all of his life has been  serving  or  owing  people. First it was his dad, whom he'd try and please to protect himself and his brothers from violent attacks. And then it was himself, to prove to himself he could be more than the deadbeat loser that his dad always spat at him that he'd be. Then it was his country, which would ruin him completely, leave his body and mind with scars that he will never recover from. And then came Joseph, who found him in a homeless shelter and tried to convince him that what he heard was the truth and the world needed to prepare.
But he doesn't believe a word of it. Joseph isn't hearing the word of God, no - but somewhere in there, he's got a point. He'd seen enough in his life to know the world was weak and getting weaker. It needed to change to survive - and he decided he could be in charge of that. He'd been used to violence his whole life - but now, he was the puppet master who could dictate.

He could have said no. Maybe rotting alone in the homeless shelter would've been better than whatever sins he is committing here.

A deep drag of his cigarette, Jacob rests his head against the wall. It has been a while since the last time he'd been intimate with anyone - if you could call quick, drunk sex 'intimate', that is. The girl underneath him had never told him they'd loved him. In fact, had anyone ever told him that before Pratt?

"Jacob, are you asleep?" Pratt emerges from the shower in the clothes left for him. His hair is dripping wet, but he's tousling it with a towel to help dry it.

"No," the man answers quietly, prying his eyes open like they're superglued shut. "Sit down in front of me."

Jacob retrieves a pair of scissors from his desk, and Pratt takes a seat at his feet, his scalp cold from the cold breeze blowing through damp hair.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to cut your hair. It's too long now."

His hair - which Jacob has been meaning to cut for a few weeks now, has grown longer, past his shoulder. It irritates him more than he lets on, but Pratt has always been a bit fussy about his hair. And he doesn't really trust Jacob to not skin him... Like he had done that man...

Fuck.

He shakes the vision from his head.

"That okay?" He asks, offering a cigarette to Pratt before running his fingers through his hair. Pratt panics for an answer - he doesn't want his hair being touched, but at the same time... Well, if he can have sex with Jacob, surely he can let him cut his hair.

"Yeah..." Pratt takes a drag of the cigarette, and Christ, it's one thing having a cigarette after you've had your face smashed in, or have a nightmare - but it's another thing to have one after Jacob. "You can cut it."

Jacob tilts his head forward, in the same way that a hairdresser would, and moves the lamp to get better light. Pratt just keeps his head down, his body suddenly feeling its exhaustion.

He'd never let any other partner, sexual or not, touch his hair in the way he's letting Jacob.

He'd never told another partner that he loved them, in the way that he did with Jacob.

"I hope... I hope you wanted to do that."

Jacob's voice is quiet and calming. They'd both got an orgasm out of it, and Pratt swore he saw Heaven for a moment.

"Yeah," he answers, just as quiet. "I did. I enjoyed it."

"Hm." Jacob stops cutting Pratt's hair for a moment and flicks the ash off of his cigarette, out of the window. "Well, good. Me too."

They embrace the silence for a moment, but it's getting colder and colder and it's making Pratt shake a bit. There's the sound of fireworks in the distance.

"A few more minutes and we'll be done, Peaches."

Peaches.

Pratt tries to keep still as Jacob finishes trimming his hair - and it's no work of art, but as Pratt finally gets to look in the mirror, it's not as bad as he thought it'd be. Jacob comes up behind him, and brushes the hair from his shoulders.

"Thank you, Jacob."

And then Jacob kicks him out of the bathroom so he can shower.

Pratt was the first to drift off to sleep - both of them had been running on fumes, but clearly the younger one's tank ran out first. In all fairness, he had fought hard to keep himself awake whilst Jacob had showered, and Jacob had been surprised to see him still up when he had come out of the shower. He tried to blink away sleep so he could try and  think  for a bit, as he watched Pratt sleep, listening to his snores. Eventually, he caved too, pulling Pratt closer to him and holding him tight, his forehead on the base of his neck.
Even if it's only temporary, he could do this forever.

And that's how they slept, the entire night.

When a new dawn breaks over the Whitetail Mountains, and the bedroom is seeped in a gorgeous, golden sunlight, the shrill ringing of the phone pulls the two men from the depths of their slumber and back into reality.

The warmth of the two men is separated as Pratt basically throws himself out of bed, and Jacob quickly rising to his feet. He shoos Pratt off to the bathroom to do whatever.

"Jacob."

It's John - which somewhat takes Jacob by surprise. He has been ignoring John's nightly phone calls for so long that they had ceased - Jacob had assumed he'd got the message, so this implies that there's something going on…

“Joseph has spoken to me. He isn’t happy, let me tell you that.”

Well, it can’t be that bad. Perhaps John didn’t get the hint, perhaps he just figured he’d chance his look at calling some other time. And to give him credit, clearly it worked.

“Okay? And?”
“And?” John repeats, his voice doing that high pitched whiny thing it does.
When Joseph managed to track down Jacob, it wasn’t particularly difficult for them to reconnect. They were similar in age and both shared the memories and experiences of their childhood, they had common ground and something to work with. Something that kept them going despite it all. Joseph had never forgotten Jacob’s selflessness of subjecting himself to such needless abuse in order to protect himself and John.

Jacob hadn’t believed, initially, that John and Joseph had been separated. They seemed to get along so well, like they had never left each other’s side. But Joseph has that charm and charisma that would help to build that relationship, and John clearly sought anything that would make him feel better. It was practically a match in Heaven.

But the last time Jacob had seen John, the man had only been small - his memory of Jacob was probably hazy anyway, never mind with a couple of battle scars, years worth of aging, and a truckload of mental health problems sprinkled into the mix.

He’d always felt like he was talking to Joseph’s friend than his own brother. And John constantly felt like he was trying to build a rapport with that kid in high school who is so much older and so much cooler than he’ll ever be.

“Joseph is never happy, John.”

“Well this time, he seems even worse. That Rookie-“

“Oh, Rookie this, Rookie that. Maybe Joseph should do something about it then.”
He is truly getting sick and tired of it, now. He’s not an agony aunt - why is everyone bitching to him? Is Joseph incapable of taking measures into his own hands? He can build up Eden’s Gate and have everything seemingly legal, but not take down a singular Deputy? A fucking Rookie, no less.
“I’d be expecting a phone call, Jacob. Eden’s Gate is under threat, and-“

Jacob is developing a bad habit of hanging up on people.

“Pratt!”

The door to the bathroom opens and Jacob realises how unfair it was to make him wait in the bathroom, but clearly he has spent it productively as he comes out washed up, his face red from hot water.

“I have to head out. Should be back by tonight.”

“Where are we going, Sir?”

There’s something about Pratt, perhaps in the way he acts or in his endless loyalty, that means Jacob can almost imagine a wagging tail behind him.
“Not us, Peaches. Me.”

He had arrived at Joseph’s compound and left his truck abandoned near the church. There was a debate of giving himself five minutes to sit and breathe to help himself calm down, but he decided to go in with his anger still burning in his throat.

Joseph is stood in front of the Pulpit when the doors of the church are opened, though he doesn’t stir any. He is quietly praying, rosary beads wrapped around his hands and intertwining his fingers, a silver cross sat against the fat of his thumb. His back is facing Jacob, and no matter how many times he’s seen Joseph walk around shirtless, he still doesn’t truly understand all the scarring and tattoos.

“Joseph.”

His voice is curt. There’s no time for pleasantries. How dare Joseph think he can use John as a pawn against him, and how dare he think he can continue to bully Jacob into handing Pratt over when he’d already refused.

“Jacob, I had a feeling I would see you today.”

“Well, I’m sure it was all in your plan, seeing as you called John.”
Joseph turns to face Jacob, and the older brother realises he no longer sees his actions as charismatic - they seem rather predatory and damn near creepy.
Something in Jacob’s stomach doesn’t sit right. The air suddenly feels colder, and Jacob quickly realises that some of Joseph’s clergy are seated in the room, something he was perhaps too blind to notice at first.

“What is a brother, if not someone I can turn to in my time of need?”

“Shall we take this somewhere else?” He questions, trying to maintain his stature. A wolf may be able to fight off a coyote, but there’s strength in numbers and Jacob knows he’d be on the wrong side if things are to turn South.

Joseph ignores the question.

“There is a cancer growing, Jacob. A cancer that I fear may begin to infect even our strongest, and spread through the rest of us. It is your job to stop that cancer from spreading - let’s say, remove the tumour before it can do any real damage.”

Joseph takes a step towards Jacob, and Jacob takes a step backwards.

The anger is melting away into something else.

“Have you removed the tumour, Jacob?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Joe.”

Joseph chuckles and looks down to his hands. There’s something in Joseph where his unnerving calmness makes it feel like he can snap at any moment.

Truthfully, the longer that Eden’s Gate had existed, the less and less Jacob began to care about the rumours of revolution. Whether that was due to the strength of the Project or his wilting loyalty towards it, he’ll leave that up to you to decide.
“But I think you do, Brother. There is cancer among us. And it’s affecting how we are helping people.”
Another step forwards.

Another step backwards.

“Joe. Let’s go outside-“

Jacob realises the doors are shut.

“You were meant to present your sacrifice to me. The cause of your cancer. Where is he, Jacob? Where is Deputy Pratt?”

“I already told you,” Jacob doesn’t bother to deny the allegation put to him. He knew it would be about Pratt, but he knows he’d rather kill the world himself than see any harm come to Staci. “I already said no.”

“You see, everyone, perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t a cancer, perhaps it was a… Hm… Is it an Ophiocordyceps, I believe? It gets into the system of insects and controls them, whilst the host is still present, unaware.”

There’s a murmuring among the clergy.

“Do you not see what he is doing?” Jacob is speaking to the Eden’s Gate followers now - he is in too deep to fight his way out and he knows it. “Think about your families - your partners, your siblings, your parents, your children. Where are they? Why are you not with them? Has Joseph not done the same to you?”
But the words fall on deaf ears and why did he ever decide to come here in the first place?
Fuck.

He can’t give up now. Joseph would have to get through Jacob first, before he could get to Pratt. But Jacob knows that if he doesn’t put up somewhat of a fight, Joseph will go straight to Pratt.

“Joseph-“

“Shh, Jacob. You’ll be okay. But I need to give you a reminder of what you must do to ensure the future of the Project at Eden’s Gate.”

And it’s weird, because Jacob can only just comprehend what Joseph has said, before his feet are taken from under him and his body hit the floor with such a thud that the air left his lungs.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The act of harming people is not one that Joseph particularly enjoys. Not in the way his father had once enjoyed hurting him and his brothers - but he supposes any attempt to justify his own violence would be the pot calling the kettle. Although he would still argue there's a difference - his violence has a reason. To pave a path to a better horizon, to show the common folk the light, and in Jacob's case, Eden's Gate demands a sacrifice in order to protect itself, it's integrity, and at the end of the day, and their top soldier refuses to provide it.
Jacob was being unruly. What else was he to do?It had been one of his clergy - a man called Douglas - who carved the harsh letters into Jacobs skin, and for a moment it had taken Joseph aback. Jacob responded the same way that he did when he was a child. There was no vocalising the pain, no screaming or yelping, but there was a distinct look in his eye. As if he'd taken his mind somewhere else, so he wasn't actually there in the room. His arms had tensed and he'd tried to fight back, but when there was a number of people pinning him down - and by that he means sitting on, throwing punches at, kicking him - anything to keep him down, really - he didn't stand a chance.Jacob had it easy, really. If John had been there, the skin would've been peeled from his body and put up as a decoration in the church, a constant reminder that when the Project calls, you deliver.He'd lay on the floor for a period of time following the brutal assault, blood trickling from the wound. Short, shallow breaths tried to fill his lungs. The injury didn't bother him as much as it did that he would have to return to the Veteran's Centre with it, and hide it from Pratt. It's late evening when Jacob finally makes it back to his bedroom. The truck is dumped on the driveway, somebody else's problem. The sight of Pratt, sat on the edge of the bed biting his nails down to the quick again, actually floods him with relief. And then a sudden nervousness.Blood has seeped through his t shirt, staining the material a dark red. He uses his jacket to try and cover it.At the sound of the door, Pratt jumps to his feet, rushing to the man."Jacob," he says, wanting to hug him but not quite sure what to do. Even in the dying light, Jacob seems pale - even more than he usually does. Jacob watches as his face turns from a mix of excitement and caution, to anxiousness. "Jacob, are you okay?""Hm."The solider brushes past Pratt and walks straight into the bathroom. He can't kick his boots off because sitting had been painful, and the walk from the truck and up the stairs had been agony. So he doesn't really know what to do.Pratt watches him from a distance, confused, curious, worried eyes burning into him, but Jacob refuses to return the eye contact. After a minute of Jacob just staring in the mirror at himself, he can see Pratt move closer to him from his peripheral vision."What's going on, Jacob?" He asks quietly, quickly realising that Jacob is bouncing his leg up and down as he stands there, and his hands are shaking. He's obviously in a lot of pain but please just talk to me. "I can try and help - I, I can't fix much, but I-""No, Pratt. Leave me alone."But Pratt doesn't move. He continues to just stand there, and Jacob wants to be angry about it - he wants to shout and swear and punch the man but none of it is because of Pratt. It'd be misdirected.
Fuck everything hurts so much.
He's embarrassed. No, mortified. How fucking dare Joseph do this to him. How dare he maim his own brother in the name of this fucked up Project. Joseph's initial request had been too far, but if that's far, this is fucking miles over the line.The t shirt is sticking to the cuts and it's irritated more and more by every movement, whether that be his walking or his breathing. It's itchy and it's so sore and Jesus fucking Christ he's sure being shot at hadn't hurt this badly?When Pratt continues to stand there, his irritation builds."Pratt, just fuck off."His voice is raised and harsh, but Pratt continues to remain there. He grips the porcelain of the sink.
"Pratt!"
"Just show me, Jacob," he says, his voice pretty much a whisper in comparison. "I just want to help you."
Because I care about you.

Because maybe I think I love you.
In frustration, Jacob lets go of the sink and stands straight upright. He takes a few quick breaths and then sheds his jacket, turning around so Pratt can see the damage."Jacob, what the Hell happened?"Soft hands reach for the t-shirt but hesitate, unknowing whether to continue. Jacob hasn't moved to stop him, so Pratt takes this as a sign to continue. The t shirt is damp from the blood and it covers pretty much the entire lower half of his left side. As it rises, he can make out a few letters, but he can't quite comprehend what it says - he struggles with words anyway, and the fact the cuts are still swollen and jagged, with blood smeared around them, it's nigh on impossible for him.Jacob lets out a hiss of pain as the cool, fresh air touches it. Pratt looks at him, eyes full of worry.Fuck, Jacob thinks, he's about to cry and I knew he would. Maybe I shouldn't have shown him.But he wouldn't have been able to hide it all night."I'm sorry - here, let me clean it. You're okay, I've got you, you're okay."He doesn't even know it, but he's using the same words Jacob has used to comfort him.The shirt is left half way up Jacob's chest, but in frustration, or perhaps to distract himself from the pain, he takes it off completely. He leans against the sink, his blood running hot and sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and neck. Fuck, is he about to hit the floor?Is it the pain of the carving? The pain of the betrayal? Or the embarrassment?Pratt realises, as he watches Jacob move, that he's never seen him shirtless before. His skin is covered in scars and burns, and he tries not to look too much as he fetches a wash cloth and runs it under the cold tap. Jacob can feel a little bit of the water splash against his back, but it hardly registers."What does it say?" He asks quickly, gently putting the cool cloth over a few of the letters and holding it there. He can feel the heat even through the cold. "Who did this?""It says 'sacrifice'," the admission is quiet, "A reminder by my dearest middle brother."Jacob's voice is a tad louder than just a whisper. He makes a good attempt at hiding the pain, but nonetheless, Pratt can still see right through it. He can feel Jacob shaking beneath his touch."Why?"And finally, their eyes meet. Jacob wants the ground to swallow him whole, and Pratt wants nothing more than to help soothe the pain. There's a first aid kit in the cupboard, and whilst he lacks confidence that it'll be useful considering the size of the area he has to cover, it has to do something, right?"Don't ask." When they finally get into bed, Jacob has to lie on his right hand side in order to not irritate the wound. Pratt has done his best to disinfect and bandage it despite the limited resources he had to work with, and Jacob had joked that if he'd been this good when he was younger, maybe he could've stopped out sledding. It's the first time they've not cuddled since the whole arrangement began, but Pratt is still lay in front of him, watching him cautiously.They both know that the soldier won't be able to sleep any time soon, but Pratt doesn't mind staying up for him. He's holding his hand, which has stopped shaking, and runs his thumb gently over scabbed knuckles.Jacob feels like utter shit. His skin is too hot and he wants to vomit, but it's mostly his ego that's wounded. Every time he shifts his weight, a wave of pain makes him flinch."Not working tomorrow," he tells Pratt in a mumble, "Not doing this no more."Pratt just stays silent and plays with Jacobs hands, moving to toy with his fingers.He'll take a few days to recover, at least. He won't be running around as normal tomorrow. He'd go and retaliate if he thought for a moment that he was in any shape to do so - but Joseph has proven with this that he doesn't play fair."Thank you for helping me."Pratt puts a hand on Jacob's cheek and moves to kiss him gently, and without opening his eyes, Jacob returns it, his hand moving to Pratt's ribs.He leans into it slightly and - "Fuck." He pulls his head back, ending the kiss. His fists ball in pain, and one of them moves to rest over the bandage. He bites his lip hard. Maybe being shot hurt less than this, because he didn't really care if the bullet had killed him. "I'm sorry, Stace."
Stace. That's new.

Pratt brushes it off.

“No, I’m sorry. Try and get some sleep.”

But neither of them do. Not anytime soon.

The sun had just started to show it's face, when Jacob finally managed to get to sleep. Despite his worry, Pratt had drifted off before him. Jacob felt too sick and too hot, even as he lay in just his boxers with the covers kicked to the bottom of the bed (Which Pratt then bundled himself up in). He didn't dream nor stir, he just laid flat out.

When Pratt wakes some hours later, he allows himself to look over Jacob's torso once more. The bandage is hiding a lot of the cuts, but when he places a gentle hand against it, it's still burning hot. Maybe he should've left it uncovered so it could scab over. But the sight of the injury last night is burnt into his memory - it was nasty, and from what Jacob has told him about Joseph and what Pratt has picked up since the brothers arrived in Hope County, he cannot fathom why Joseph would do this.

Or why Jacob would let him.

His heart truly aches for Jacob.

He knows it shouldn't, considering the state he's been put in by Jacob's hands, bloodied face and dislocated limbs - but still, he can't help it. And things were different then, right? Pratt was weak and he needed it. Jacob wouldn't do it to him again...

Right?

He goes down to breakfast - which is more like a lunch at this time, like he does every morning, but he doesn't grab Jacob a plate this time. Some of the other Peggies invite him to sit with them, but he doesn't feel like it, not with everything on his mind. For ten minutes, he pushes the food around on his plate.

Why sacrifice? Why that word specifically? How is that related to Jacob, is his life not enough?

Following his two bites of his meal, he clears his plate and heads to the shed to feed the Judges. They sniff at his hands and lick as he walks into the cages, commanding them to sit and wait before they eat. He supposes they're not so different, really, he and the wolves. Neither of them had planned to be here, but ultimately their loyalty to their master comes before anything else.

The Veteran's Centre feels eerily quiet. Pratt doesn't like it. The wolves are fed and he moves to feed the prisoners before he finally goes back to Jacob, who is still fast asleep, in the exact same position Pratt had left him in. There's a few unfinished prisoner forms and Bliss order forms on his desk, so he sits down to do them.

After roughly forty five minutes, Jacob's eyes finally open. His mouth feels dry and his eyes are sore, but he keeps them focused on Pratt.

"Staci," he says, pulling him from his trance. He appreciates how much Pratt helps him, even if he doesn't admit it. "C'mere."

Pratt looks over his shoulder at the solider, who has lifted one of his arms up to embrace Pratt.

To embrace him. To actually hug him.

Jacob wraps him up in a hug, his arm tucked under Pratt's, and his hand on the back of his head.

"Woke up earlier," he says, "Missed you. You eaten?"
Missed you? As in I missed you, or as in I didn't catch you earlier?
"Yes, are you hungry?"

"No."

He leans forward so their foreheads are pressed against each other. Jacob's is damp from sweat and his skin is burning hot.

"Could be getting infected, think it's too early to tell, though."

Jacob pauses and Pratt realises how laboured his breathing has become. It's kind of terrible to see Jacob in such a state - he's a fighter, he's a soldier. He has seen things that most people wouldn't be able to cope with. And to see him down and out, lying in bed and unable to do anything... It doesn't feel right.

"You'll be alright," Pratt replies, although he's not entirely sure that Jacob hasn't fallen back to sleep. His hand still stays in place, fingers entwined in Pratt's hair.

He closes his eyes, leaning forward a little more to increase the pressure, to feel closer.

"I promise, I promise you'll be alright."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It takes a few days before Jacob feels ready to return to his post. The wound had started to scab over, and, whilst still sore as fuck and irritated, had luckily not caught an infection. The rumour mill had been running, spitting out various theories as to why Jacob hadn't been seen since he'd been out to meet Joseph. Apparently, he had been extra cautious to not let any of the followers see him. And needless to say, the soldier's usually undying loyalty to the cause and to his brother has started to diminish.

During his rest, he had taken the time to stew over his brother's actions and his lack of remorse, enough so to formulate a plan. It played over and over in his head like a film, until he'd practically written a mental script. And then ten more scripts, just in case Joseph deviated from the original.

It was hard to keep it to himself, all things considered. He'd been torn in two one night, as he and Pratt lay in bed, on whether or not to share his plan. Ultimately he decided to keep it to himself. Pratt is strong, Jacob had made sure of that. But the more people who know, the more likely it is to be fumbled. He felt bad for not sharing it, but he's sure Pratt will understand.

He'll maybe understand, but it's unlikely that he'll ever trust him again.

If they ever meet again.
 
He starts his plan four days after Joseph's assault on him. A big part of it is hoping that nobody questions his intentions - but he can control who comes in and goes out, so he can limit who knows what.

"Jacob-"

The first step of his plan is to stop the trials.

There are two followers in front of him - he believes their names are Joshua and Henry, but he couldn't tell you for certain. Everyone just becomes a face eventually. He's in the office which contains all the information regarding the latest recruits and their progress. Jacob never usually has reason to come in here - after all, he usually just signs to the paper and gives it to someone else.

"Sir!" One of them says, maybe Henry. He looks like he could be a henry. There's a sudden tension in the air and he can feel how nervous the two men are. "It's good to see you again. How can we help?"

Like loyal dogs to his feet.

"The trials stop now." He says, bluntly. He knows they won't be brave enough to question him. "Burn all of the records. We won't be needing it any more."

There's a stunned hesitation from the two men, who just stare at him, mouths slightly agape. He can see that they're questioning his decisions, but they say nothing.

"Orders from The Father," Jacob elaborates, going to the filing cabinet and retrieving a large handful of folders. "Burn them, today. All of it needs to go... There's too many people sniffing around."

They don't look convinced, but Jacob doesn't particularly care.

The scabbing on his stomach is beginning to irritate him, so he hands the folders over to Joshua, who stands in silence as he accepts them. He looks almost scared of Jacob, and the man quite likes having that effect on people.

"I'm sure I can trust you two to get it done."

"Uh... Yes, Sir. Okay, Sir."
The two men share a nervous look, and Henry rises from his seat and moves to the cabinet next to Jacob to retrieve more folders. He doesn't dare to make eye contact."Come on," Jacob says, "I'm not that scary, am I?""N-No! No, Sir."And it makes him want to laugh - because the pair of them remind him of himself, when he had first joined the army. Yes Sir, no Sir, how high, Sir?If only he could go back and undo it all. Maybe everything would be different."Would you like us to burn... Everything, Sir?"They look sheepish and as the folders begin to pile."Yes. Everything, like I said. I don't want anything to be left in these drawers.""Okay... Okay, Sir." He leaves the office and heads out of the building, and to the kennels, where the Judges bark and howl at his appearance. To his, rather pleasant, surprise, Pratt is stood in one of the pens, throwing a ball for the youngest and smallest pup of the pack.During their pillow conversations, Pratt had bought up this pup and expressed his soft spot for it, which hadn't particularly pleased Jacob at the time. It's the runt of it's litter, too small and too weak to be of any use for the Project - but Pratt looks like a kid who's been given a puppy for Christmas. He'd named it Woody, or something like that. Jacob had asked him if he was going to get a female to call Bo Peep."This all I keep you around for?" Jacob teases, which actually makes Pratt drop the tennis ball just as it leaves his hand. It falls to the floor, but Woody still bounds after it, paws all over the place. There's guilt stricken across Pratt's face."Yeah, I-I'm sorry, Jacob. I should've... Should've been feeding 'em, but he wasn't settling and-"He looks sheepish, as if he's been caught red handed. Jacob doesn't particularly care - Pratt has a pretty loose leash these days, and, come the end of the week, it's a very real possibility that he won't have a leash at all."Shut up, Pratt. I'm messing with you. It's a joke. Is this Woody?""Yes, Sir," he replies, just as the puppy comes bounding back. He leans down and scoops the pup up in his arms, smiling as it enthusiastically licks at his face. "I told you he was small.""Hm," Jacob agrees. The pup is tiny, even in Pratt's arms. The sight makes Jacob smile, but only ever internally. "Tiny. Weak. Wouldn't be worth keeping around.""What? No. If we can make strong soldiers out of the weakest then-"Jacob gives him a rather bemused look, and at this point, Pratt decides to stop talking."You like it?"The question is genuine, even if Jacob already knows the answer. Pratt has never had a dog, despite how he used to plead and beg for one every Christmas and birthday. The nights before, he'd pick out names and what tricks he would train them - only to be disappointed the morning after."The dog?""Yes, Staci, the dog."Woody starts to fuss in Pratt's arms and tries to jump down, so Pratt gently places him on the floor and throws the ball for him. The dog yaps as it runs away."Well... Yeah. Look at him. How could you not?""Easily. You can train it then. And what about the other Judges? They all trained?""Me train him? I couldn't - I've n ever even had a dog.""You'll get the hang of it. You have with everything else."They stand and stare at each other for a moment, Woody entertaining himself.Even with greasy hair, Jacob thinks that Pratt looks so fucking good. His muscles are getting bigger and Jacob always enjoys seeing them."Well?" Jacob asks, "Are they all trained?""Oh..." Pratt looks like he's been ripped from a trance. "Yes, Sir. All the others are trained."Nodding, Jacob looks over to them. Some of them are eating and some are trying to fight the others."Do you think they could survive outside, in the wild? It's-"He lets the sentence drop off before he can say any more. He already knows Pratt won't buy a single thing that Jacob says about Joseph from this point forward."Huh? Why?"Think on your feet."We're strong enough without them," he says quickly, "Taking up too many resources for what we're getting out of them.""But-""No 'buts', Pratt. Will they survive out in the wild, or not?"Pratt glances to the Judges, and then back to Jacob. He looks nervous and cautious and fuck please don't catch onto me.
"Well, with all due respect, Sir, I wouldn't be able to tell you. I haven't been involved in their training. But I do think they'd be too dangerous, out in the wild. But... What's the other option? Killing them?"

That idea doesn't sit right with Pratt, but he doesn't feel that he's in a position to argue.

Since he was injured, Jacob has been surprisingly affectionate. He wants Pratt to touch him, he wants to hold Pratt. It's no longer something he does because Pratt wants to. And the other man has enjoyed it, don't get him wrong, but is it starting to feel like there's something more going on? Something Jacob isn't telling him.

"No other choice."

"Doesn't it feel wrong?" He asks, almost as if he has some other suggestion. "Just killing healthy wolves? Taking their one chance at life?"

Pratt hesitates.

"It's not their fault they ended up here."

And Jacob knows he isn't talking about the wolves now.

He nods to the pup, "You can keep that one. The rest will be killed."
 
The deconstruction of his own part of the Project continues through the day. He helps (as best he can) to make a bonfire in the yard, pouring petrol over the top and setting it ablaze, as well as disabling a lot of the vehicles in the garage. He watches as the captive's paperwork is burnt, and commands one of his Hunters to kill the wolves - apart from Pratt's pup. He told the hunter that if he discovers the pup has been so much as touched, Jacob will personally put a bullet in his head.

There's a weird aura around the Veteran's Centre. Nobody dares to ask Jacob what is going on, but they all know something isn't right. Nonetheless, they continue with their new assignments.

He has sent Pratt to go and do some menial task, so he can have some alone time. In fear of the pup feeling lonely, Pratt had practically begged Jacob to let him keep it in their room, to which Jacob rather reluctantly agreed. It's  almost night time, now, so the pup is just lying on the floor, his head down and eyes closed, though not truly asleep.

Jacob looks at his newest scar in the bathroom. It's covered with thick scabs, and it's still giving him a bit of grief - but it spurs him onto to keep destroying what he and his brothers built.

A fuck you to the brother who created the scar.

Joseph had left him alone since the assault - and Jacob understands, because he'd probably leave him alone too. Perhaps it was weird for Joseph, seeing the same lanky teenager who'd spent his life protecting you, now a grown man with enough scars for the whole family. He can almost understand Joseph's way of thinking, especially because of their father. But fuck it, he should've known better, especially after everything.

If he wasn't one for taking a phone call, he definitely isn't one for making a phone call, either.

But needs must.

He picks up the phone and dials Joseph's number. It takes a while of ringing before Joseph eventually answers, but Jacob doesn't give him the luxury of actually talking.

"Joseph. I will be there with my sacrifice as eleven, tomorrow morning. I trust you have everything set up."

And the phone slams down.

And Jacob begs for foregiveness.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Pratt had tried to initiate, that night. He'd pined after Jacob, 'accidental' brushes of personal areas catching the man of guard - and God, Jacob wanted to allow it to continue, but he had to use all of his strength to resist the man's advances. The guilt was eating him from the inside out - there wasn't a prayer that he could be with Pratt in that fashion, when tomorrow he is feeding him to the wolves.

And that is, of course, ignoring the literal wolf pup that was lying on the same patch of floor that Pratt had once occupied.

Jacob had struggled to sleep, again - and it took a while for Pratt to, as well.

Maybe he knows what Jacob's plan is...

No.

No, he couldn't know.

How could he know? Jacob hasn't even breathe a word aloud...

No. He's in the clear. He has to be in the clear.
By the time morning finally rolls around, the guilty almost stops Jacob's plan in it's tracks. they eat their breakfast in complete silence, which is mostly because Jacob can't bare to look Pratt in the eyes. He must've noticed by now, but doesn't say anything. He just looks at his own dish, picking at it as Jacob pushes his food around his own.His stomach is in knots.Around half seven, when Jacob has picked at his breakfast enough to make it look like he's at least eaten something, he turns to the man sat on the floor. Woody, the wolf pup, is lying in his lap, sniffing after the leftovers on Pratt's plate. Pratt is entertaining him, giving him a little scratch behind the ear and fussing him."I need you to trust me," he says, his voice laden with seriousness. It's enough that he's betraying his own brother, but now Pratt, Pratt who he had already hurt so much.
God fucking damn it...
Pratt just stares at him for a moment, his brow furrowed - confusion turning quickly to worry."What do you mean, Jacob?" He asks quietly - and Jacob fucking hates it, because it reminds him of how he would have to speak to his own dad when he was growing up. The constant fear. The constant anxiety. Walking on eggshells all the time. It wasn't fair for him as a child, and it still isn't fair to do to Pratt as an adult."No - I'm not going to hurt you!" He quickly reassures, although it's not really the truth. Jacob won't hurt him, sure, but Joseph very much could. Jacob has a billion plans in his head, but how they will play out in reality, if any of his plans are even what Joseph has in mind - well, that's a different story.The possibilities of what Joseph may do are endless. There's no way that Jacob could plan for every single eventuality."I-I promise, Staci. I promise I am not going to hurt you. I just need you to trust me. Please, can you do that?"Pratt shakes his head, bundling the pup up in his arms. The pup looks around, cluelessly."No! I knew something was going on," it's almost like a gotcha, of all things, "Tell me what's going on."The colour is draining from Pratt's face, and panic is beginning to set in. It suddenly feels like it's his first day here again. The pup squirms in his arms, and jumps out, pottering around the bedroom. Neither Jacob nor Pratt give it another look."Calm down," Jacob tries to reassure Pratt, although it doesn't look like it's working, "Please. I need you to keep calm and just trust that I'll keep you safe."Pratt shakes his head again, stubborn."Tell me what's going on, Jacob.""I can't, Peaches. I just need you to know that I will... I will come for you, Staci. You just need to trust that I will be there, and you need to not panic. Okay?"Staci looks... Not very confident, to say the least. And why would he trust Jacob? How could he? After everything that Jacob has done to Pratt - hurt him constantly, rewired his brain to be exactly how Jacob wans it to be... There's no reason he should ever trust him again.
After all this time, this is how you die.

You're a fucking idiot for thinking he could ever like you, for thinking you could ever trust him.
But, well, Pratt concludes that death is a near guaranteed certainty at this point. He'd trusted Jacob enough to have sex with him, and he supposes Jacob had taken good care of him for the last few weeks...Jacob wouldn't share a bed with someone he doesn’t trust.But why keep him captive then?But it's for Jacob.And Jacob would be worth dying for.The battle consumes his mind, and Jacob doesn't continue trying to convince him."Okay!"He snaps as if caught up in an actual argument. His hands go to his temples and he squeezes his eyes shut."You trust me?" Jacob asks, kneeling in front of Pratt. The other man doesn't remove his hands from his ears, and keeps his eyes closed."Yep. Yes. I trust you."Jacob nods. He feels somehow relieved but he knows Pratt isn't genuine in his response. He's just said that to please Jacob. It would be easier if he let Pratt in on his plan, but he needs Pratt's act to be genuine. He needs him to fear for his life, so Joseph doesn't suspect anything."Okay." He says, putting his hand over Pratt's, which is still on his head. "Good. Are you ready to leave?""Leave?"Pratt takes his hands off of his head and his eyes open wide. He looks terrified, and Jacob tries to ignore it as he rises to his feet, extending a hand to Pratt to help him up. His hands tremble in Jacob's, and he realises that it all feels like he's being sent to his death."Can... Can Woody come with us?"There's a loud sigh, and Jacob puts his hand back by his side. He knew letting Pratt keep the pup was a stupid idea... But he can tell how fond he is of it, and with any luck, he'd be able to get him reunited with the bloody thing later on tonight...How the logistics of Staci having a wolf is going to work, however, is up for him to decide."Fine." 
They head to the garage, where Jacob has made sure to keep only one of the vehicles working. He grabs the wolf pup by the scruff of it's neck, and puts it into the passenger seat. It immediately settles down.

"Turn around," Jacob says quietly as he fetches some rope from one of the drawers. It's fraying in the middle, Jacob made sure of that. Pratt looks uneasy as he watches him, but allows the other man to direct his arms to where he wants them to be, and keeps them there and the rope winds around them. "Good boy. You promise you're gonna trust me?"

"I don't really have much choice now," he replies quietly, not even looking over his shoulder at Jacob. He rests his head against the roof of the car - which is just one of the white pickups that have become a give away for Eden's Gate. There's no complaints when Jacob puts his hand on the back of Pratt's head, pushing his fingers into his hair and lightly craning his neck back. "Jacob-"

"I have made you a promise," he says quietly, into his ear. His voice is almost a whisper, and if Pratt wasn't fearing for his life right now, he'd be excited to see where this goes. "I will keep that promise, Staci. I don't care if it kills me."

Jacob gives a light tug to Pratts hair and then walks away from him, to a cupboard on the other side of the garage. Pratt looks behind him and sees Jacob picking out a potato sack, and he begins to verbally protest, turning around on the spot.

"C'mon, Peaches. Listen. I'm going to put this sack over your head, and we're going to go ahead and have a little drives. When we reach our destinations, we might be separated for a little bit - a few hours, max. But I will come and get you. Hell or high water. Peace or damnation. I will be there to get you."

"I don't want to do this, Jacob. If you put that over my head, I swear to God I will fucking scream the place down, okay? I don't care where you're taking me, or what-"

Jacob reaches into the cupboard again and fetches the duct tape, which he tears a strip from, and covers Pratt's mouth, despite his fight to stop it.

And it's stupid, the way that Jacob kisses him over the tape. The way that Pratt looks at him makes him hate himself even more.

"You'll understand, soon." He covers Pratt's head with the bag and then drags Pratt by the rope around his arms to open the trunk. Bridal style, he picks Staci up, who tries to kick out at him with muffled shouts and screams coming from his mouth, and places him in the trunk. "I'm sorry."
 
The mental route that Pratt has tried to keep track of in his head becomes skewed, somewhere into the line. This part of the county had been more Hudson's stomping ground than his own, so it was rare that he ever came this far North. He couldn't even tell you what direction they're travelling in.

Panic has taken over his body, so he tries to work on his breathing - which is, of course, easier said than done when your mouth is covered. There's sunlight poking through the sack, so he takes a little bit of comfort in the fact he isn't submerged in complete darkness.

In and out.

He takes a deep breath and hangs onto it for a moment. Tears begin to pool his eyes. He exhales.

In and out.

There had been, at the start of the drive, a desperate fight against the ropes that Jacob had tied around his wrists - but if he knows Jacob, there's not a chance he'll get out of them.

After he'd asked Pratt to trust him, too... What a fool he is.

How could he ever, ever consider Jacob to be trust worthy? How could he have ever thought that Jacob would keep him safe?
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He should've known from the start that this was all a trick.
His head occasionally hits the bed of the truck as they go over rocks or holes in the ground. He tries to keep his head upright, but it's not very successful.

But eventually, the rumbling of the truck comes to a stop, and he hears Jacob's door open and then slam shut. Pratt can tell he's not happy - especially when he is dragged by his feet out of the truck. He tries to kick out at Jacob, but the man is stronger than he is, so it's a futile effort.

"Trust me."

Again, Jacob's voice is merely a whisper. He puts Pratt onto his feet.

"I'll see you again soon."

There is conversation but blood is rushing around Pratt's head and he can't focus enough to drown it out - but then there are arms dragging him away, his feet kicking as his is dragged, screaming and trying to call for Jacob's help even if he is the reason he is here.
 
Staci Pratt had hit the ground with quite the thud, smacking his chin on the concrete and about breaking his jaw. The room smelt damp, but that was the least of his worries.

It was completely black. He could feel his hair pressing against and catching on the sack over his head, so he knows that it hadn't fallen off. There was the loud slamming of the door which made him jump, but he couldn't hear or see anything.

He managed to manoeuvre his body until he could get himself in a seated position, and leant against something he could only hope was the wall and not the door. The panic that had began to consume him had stifled now, though it still ran through his blood and made him feel too hot and too cold at the same time.

Had the man had the ability to see anything, or had the ability to speak, perhaps he would've noticed the other presence in the room. Equally as blinded and silenced, though with headphones on which meant she couldn't hear a single thing sat his fellow Deputy and friend, Joey Hudson.

But one might ask, where is Sherriff Whitehorse or Marshall Burke in all of this?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Faith Seed was killed overnight.

Joseph breaks the news to Jacob the second the door closes behind him. The room is reasonably sized - with a big, oak desk in the middle with papers scattered around, but the room smells musky, as if rotting from the inside out.

It takes Jacob by surprise - truthfully, he had never thought particularly fondly of Faith. He never agreed with the use of Bliss, or the fact that their levels of loyalty is entirely dependent on how intoxicated the Eden's Gate followers - or 'Angels', as she calls - called them, were. Regardless of all of that, though, she was still a young woman, a lost soul trying to find anything to grip onto.

Unfortunately, the thing she gripped onto was Joseph. His faith. His charisma. Him.

She'd have had better chances if she'd stuck to the drugs and never interaction with Eden's Gate.

John is leaning against the table, staring down at the wood. It's as if he is making a point of not looking at Jacob. He hasn't even looked up since his older brother entered the room. It's not the warmest welcome party - although Jacob won't pretend he particularly wants to be here.

"What... What happens now?" He questions, trying to gauge if there's any reaction from either of his younger brothers. Joseph maintains eye contact the whole time - and there's something in the way that he stares at you, something that makes you feel... Small. Like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't have. "Now that all of the 'sacrifices' are here?"

He uses air quotations as he speaks, as if to point out how ridiculous this whole pantomime is - but deep down inside, he is worried. He's worried he's wrong about what is waiting for him. He's worried about Pratt. He's worried he may not be able to save him, like he has so sincerely swore he would. What if he's unable to get there? What if Pratt dies? Thinking Jacob has been betrayed him?

No.

No. That can't happen.

The thought alone makes him feel sick.

He takes a deep breath to stifle his growing nerves.

He's used to this sort of feeling - trying to push away emotions. He did it as a child, facing his father whilst his whole body was shaking from fear, he did it the day he joined the army, the day he was deployed, the day he came back, and every day since then.

No. Not today.
Hell or high water.Joseph debates approaching Jacob, but he decides against it. He knows from his rambling of expletives and curses that Jacob had left him with the last time they were in each other's company, that Jacob probably is not his biggest supporter right now. But it was all for the best. Never mind, he will come round, eventually. It's all part of His plan. And His plan always works, and never deviates.
"The Deputy is still on the loose, which fuels my desire to continue with the sacrifices. I am hoping that it will draw the heretic from the shadows and bring them into our light. The fact you have decided to provide a sacrifice pleases me, Jacob. I thought for a second that you were lost - but I am pleased you have seen the light."

"For The Project," Jacob agrees. He doesn't actually believe any of it, but fuck it. If it keeps Pratt's heart beating, he'll host the sermons. "How will the sacrifices be taken?"

He almost calls Joseph Father. The same stupid fucking name he makes his clergy call him. He cannot for a moment begin to wrap his mind around why Joseph wants to be called that - especially after what their own father did to them. It disgusts him - it feels as if he is honouring the same man that ruined their lives prior to them properly even starting.

What sort of fucking scum deserves that?

Suddenly, Jacob begins to wonder exactly what happened to his one and only niece.

A smile takes over Joseph's face. It should be calming, but it puts Jacob even further on edge.

"You shall see."

And that doesn't help in the slightest.

He doesn't allow any emotion to show on his face - he keeps his expression stern and completely still, despite his growing frustration and panic.

There is a knife sheathed in it's holster on his leg, a pistol on his other, and another knife hidden in the waistband of his jeans. He has come well equipped for whatever may come, he just hopes he is equipped enough.

"And you think this will work?" He questions, "You think this will draw the Deputy out of hiding?"

And every time he hears that word - and potentially every time he may hear it for the rest of his life, whether or not it ends tonight, he will always see Pratt. The nervous, eager to please Deputy. Deputy Pratt.

His

Deputy Pratt.

The same Deputy he had shared meals with, shared kisses with, the same Deputy he had been intimate with and the same Deputy who had told Jacob he loves him. The first person Jacob felt like staying around for.

"Either the Deputy comes crawling out of the shadows, and we prove a point - or we prove a point without the Deputy being there. Either way, I'm sure the sinners will get the message."

John slams his hands down on the table, making a noise that would probably startle anyone who wasn't his brothers. A pen rattles and falls off of the table. Jacob glances over at him, and Joseph turns slowly, in the same calm manner he does with everyone.

"Can we just get this over and done with?!" He snaps, his face red with frustration and anger. He has hardly known John throughout his adult life, but if there's one thing that sticks out to him, it's that he is quick to rise to anger. "We have live sacrifices waiting out there, ready to hang! Why are we waiting around? What on Earth are we waiting around for?!"

Ready to hang.

That is a possibility he hadn't considered, for some stupid reason. He had written a script for all of the other scenarios - but not for this.
Fuck...
At least he has the knives.He will get to Pratt.There is a knock on the door, and Joseph looks between his brothers with his arms extended and a weird excitement stricken across his face. It makes Jacob want to punch him.He clenches and unclenches his fist."Come on then, Brothers!" He says, a teasing sort of tone in his voice. "The lord says he is ready."Although Jacob is pretty sure it's just Brad, one of Joseph's loyal followers from the beginning of Eden's Gate. It's a weird sensation, trying to walk when you're not exactly sure where your feet are supposed to be going. It almost feels like there's an invisible rope tying them together, like he has to shuffle along. It makes it worse, when your arms are tied together and you know you won't be able to help yourself if you trip.Pratt is walked along what feels like a long, straight hallway. He feels like he could piss himself and vomit from fear, but he tries to ignore it. A short but harsh shove makes him fall forward and into a set of stairs, which he bangs his knee against.It's eerily quiet, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. A cold breeze blows past him, and his arms are yanked harshly backwards to stop him from moving. His hands are shaking and his legs feel like they're about to give way.He feels something being placed around his shoulders, and then it tightens to sit at the base of his neck.Joseph begins to talk - something about betrayal and loyalty, which is ironic, considering Pratt has been nothing but loyal to Jacob for the last God knows how many weeks.At some point in the blur of time since he has been here, he truly thinks he may have fallen in love with Jacob - and he recognises how stupid that sounds, but he really does believe it. He craves being around him, craves the warmth of his arms, craves the touch of his lips.What the Hell would Joseph know about loyalty? What the Hell would Jacob know, if he is willing to kill the one thing that has stood by his side?The blood rushing around his ears begins to deafen him. The panic grows from his core and spreads around his body like a disease.His breath catches in his throat, and no amount of breathing through his nose will help him.He tries to scream, but the tape begins to rip the skin around his lips.His feet drop from beneath him.A gun shot rips through the air.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Joey lands in a dishevelled heap on the floor, and, despite the sudden shock, breath floods to her lungs in such a way that her chest has a choice but to heave with a deep, painful cough. Finally becoming aware of her consciousness, her hands reach up to paw at her face, pulling the bag from over her head successfully, and then moving quickly to her neck where she wastes no time in loosening the noose, allowing herself generous lung-fills of oxygen. Her face is bright red, and her throat is feels like she's been parched for months.How the fuck is she alive?Hell, is she even alive? Since the crash, she hadn't been confident that she would survive John Seed - he had tested every limit she had and beyond, and caused enough damage to know she'd never truly rid of him.But to be here, without his presence is... It's something else.The floor is a less than welcoming recipient to Joey's body, and her arm took the brunt of the fall. Her attempt to push herself up is futile, and she only makes it part of the way before it gives out beneath her, leaving her to smack her jaw on the floor. Deep breath.Deep breath.A blurry figure moves somewhere in front of her, but she can't get her eyes to focus enough. Everything is blurred and her head is throbbing.As her eyes do finally adjust, she recognises that there is one man crouched over another - the ginger hair and beard give away that it's the oldest of the Seed brothers, whose name is currently escaping her. He moves quickly, his hands working around a dark mop of hair on the floor.

Fuck.

The identity of the man stops her thoughts in their tracks, and she feels like she could vomit.

Is that Staci?

An attempt at a noise escapes from her mouth, but it comes out as just a wheeze instead, and again, forces coughs from her lungs. Her hand reaches out, fingers bloody and nails caked with dirt and God knows what, a weak attempt at helping her fellow deputy and friend.John hadn't been kind to her. She had suffered at his hands.But she isn't one for giving up.Anyone would tell you, she's one Hell of a fighter, which is mostly out of spite than anything else. But even so - there were days where she'd rather have succumb to the torture than spend another day in that demon's company."Staci," she whispers through choked coughs. Jacob, she recalls his name, doesn't so much as look over to her, holding Pratt's face against his own - it almost looks as if they are kissing. He then moves to pump his chest. "Stace..."And his body looks lifeless. Hands limp, head lolling to the side, skin a sickly pale shade that she's only ever seen on people who would shortly find themselves in the morgue or in a grave.That's not Pratt.The Pratt that Joey remembers had his feet kicked up on his desk, recalling his latest rendezvous from the weekend before, a cheeky grin on his face as he sipped at his coffee. He always had this strange way with words, where he would allow enough of the story to be told, but leave enough untold that it allows the mind to wander. It bought on a lot of laughs and just as many questions.She can almost smell his coffee, feel the warmth from laughing at his stories, and see that sleezy grin on his face that made her look at him like a brother.Pratt cannot die."Leave him alone!"Sure, her voice is coming back, to some extent, but it's not enough of a deterrent or even enough to be noticeable for Jacob to falter at his task. There are blood splatters on the walls around them... John and Joseph were here - she remembers that, now. But where have they gone?A deep breath fills her lungs and, for the first time, it doesn't make her cough. Instead, she lies her head back down on the concrete, finally realising the pain that radiates through her jaw.The only thing that stands between them and escape appears to be the oldest Seed brother.But Joey doesn't rate their chances. 
The whole of Hope County had watched it happen.
Eden's Gate had televised it live, as if to send a message. It aired on the only remaining network in the county - one that usually only aired the preaches from Joseph or the propaganda videos from the other two.However, when the youngest Seed brother receives a bullet to the shoulder, and sulks off with the middle one in tow, and then the oldest brother decides to defy the project and save the two captive's - the message tends to get blurred somewhere down the line.Patrons gather in the Spread Eagle, the former watering hole of the local law enforcement. A shocked silence smothers the crowd gathered around the small TV, which Mary May has set up on the bar. Even Bowshaw can't find any words, which is unusual for him.
"A blind man could'a taken a better shot than that," Grace mumbles, taking a long sip from the bottle in her hand. She rolls her eyes, but frankly, it's ripping her heart out - she had always felt particularly close to Joey, and seeing her like this... "One fucking chance. One. And they fucked it up."

The rest of the bar remains silent and it appears her comment has gone unheard, eyes too glued to the screen to take any notice. It's as if they are watching a soap opera - something to gossip about at work tomorrow.

The grainy TV shows Joey on the left hand side of the screen, reaching her hand out to Jacob and Pratt, who are on the right. She lays her head down on the floor, and watches as Jacob pumps up and down on Pratt's chest, although their faces are hardly even identifiable through the pixelated screen
.

With each passing moment, each pump of the chest, and each mouthful of oxygen being given, the tension grows. The room is waiting with baited breath for any sign of life from the deputy.

"C'mon, Pratt, Jesus Christ," Mary May whispers to herself, biting her nails from nerves. There isn't really anyone in the county that she isn't friends with - but when you run a bar, and the local law enforcement are throwing out trouble makers from said bar every other night, you tend to develop friendships with them. Her fingertips are pressed against her lips and the anxiety is building and building, "Please, God, please..."

"He's stopped..." Nick Rye whispers, but everyone hears it. Kim, holding their new born, reaches and grabs his hand, unable to tear her eyes from the TV.

And Jacob has stopped performing CPR on Pratt. He gently lifts his head, and puts their foreheads together for a moment.

"Does that mean...?"

If any words are spoken, the microphones do not pick them up.

He gently puts one arm under Pratt's back and the other beneath his knees, lifting him off the ground bridal style. He then turns around, away from the camera, and carries him out of view.

Joey remains on the floor.

"Do... Do you think he made it?" One of the townsfolk asks - one of the local farmers sons, who Pratt had gone to school with. "D'ya think Jacob would... Would save him?"

"Who has time for asking questions?"

Sharky rises to his feet, picking up his pint glass and finishing it before slamming it down on the table.

"Those bastards are still there, and now is our chance whist little pretty boy John is wounded."

Nick joins him in rising to his feet, the expression on his face saying it all.

"No, Nick," Kim whispers, pulling his hand down as if to encourage him to sit, "It's not just me and you anymore. You have a daughter to look out for."

"Yes, Kim - and letting these bastards run around thinkin' they can control us will mean none of us have a future. There will be no one to protect her if we don't act now."

"Please, Nick..."

Nick kneels down, and kisses Kim to the forehead and his daughter to the cheek.

"You're my girls, my ride or dies. I'd do anything for you and you know I would," he says, stroking Kim's cheek. "And I'd die for you both, too."

"You're not going to die for us, Nick!"

"Exactly, baby. I ain't going anywhere, but ya need to let me go finish this."
Suddenly, the car park that had been overflowing out onto the street suddenly looks bare. "Jacob?"Pratt feels like it's been years since he last had a sip of water. He can hardly see, his head is pounding, his lips and throat are dry, and his voice is weak and hoarse. Lethargy fills his body, and yet he feels like he's slept a thousand years. You know when you wake up from a nap, and suddenly you have no idea where you are or how you even fell asleep? That's how Pratt feels."Jacob... S'appening?"He realises he is in Jacob's arms, being carried along a long hallway. Jacob isn't taking his time - he's marching down, as if avoiding someone.So Jacob did come back for him.He didn't betray Pratt, as he once believed."Shh, baby, shh," he says, glancing down to Pratt with eyes full of something that Pratt can't quite recognise. "You're alright, you're okay, Peaches. We're leaving."There are a million questions on the tip of his tongue, but he lacks the energy required to push them out of his mouth. Instead, he closes his eyes and leans against Jacob's chest. He can hear how his heart hammers, despite his calm, peaceful demeanour. News has surely spread by now, and Jacob reckons that they can get out of Hope County if he plays his cards right. Hopefully the guards at the borders won't question him too much, especially with Pratt rumoured dead. Still, he tries to stifle his nerves - he has tried so hard to keep Pratt here, he cannot fail now.They get outside and the fresh air blows around their bodies, and Jacob manages to open the passenger side door with one hand and place Pratt in there, clicking his belt over him. Woody, who had been asleep whilst waiting for their return, shuffles over to make room, and then climbs onto Pratt's lap. The man's hand rests on his fur, but his head falls down, his chin resting between his collar bones."What happened?" Pratt asks quietly as the truck rumbles to life beneath them, and pulls out of the parking space. He remembers... Being scared. Being blinded, everything being quiet... They tried to hang him. He remembers that. "Jacob...""They tried to kill you," Jacob says, reaching over and taking Pratt's hand in his own, fingers entwined. "I told you I'd come for you."Pratt grunts, but it hurts his throat as he does so."Wasn't convinced.""I promise you." A squeeze of his hand for reassurance - although Jacob doubted his own abilities for a moment. "I wouldn't let you go like that.""Hm... Where's your brothers?"
Jacob's foot goes down to the floor and the engine roars as the truck speeds up. They leave a cloud of dust behind.

"I don't know, Staci," he answers honestly. He doesn't particularly care, either. "I need you to listen to me... And I know I keep... I know, okay? Whatever it is that you're thinking, I get it. But I need you to trust me again."

"What is it this time? What now, Jacob? What? They have to shoot me before I can leave?"

As if it gets any worse than being strung up by your neck.

"Staci."

It's that same stupid tone of voice. The ever calm tone that could tempt even the most untrusting to believe in his words. If he didn't feel like shit, and hadn't literally have just been bought back to life, Pratt would argue with him.

"We are getting out of here. I am going to drop you off, and you will be okay."

"Hm. Alright."

A flurry of white trucks donning the Eden's Gate cross fly pass them, and Jacob dips his head down as if he can go unnoticed. Somehow, it seems to work.

"They will be abandoning their posts," Jacob tells him, "To go and fight for John and Joseph."

"And why are you here with me?"

Another squeeze of his hand, Jacob just looks at Pratt, deciding he's better off keeping his mouth shut this time.
 
"Where are they?!"

John slams Joey up against the wall, the plaster crumbling to the floor from where her body makes contact.

It took far more will and effort than the Deputy would be willing to admit, but somehow, she eventually managed to get to her feet. It felt like her entire body was working against her as she hunted John and Joseph down, following her intuition like a bloodhound. After all, she never was one for letting things go.

Jacob had taken Pratt, she knows that much. Carried him off bridal style, but she doesn't let her mind wander as to his fate. Fucking psycho. She daren't think of what Pratt went through with the man.

John practically froths at the mouth, and there's a rage in his eyes that Joey rarely sees in anyone in the county. The spit lands on her face, but at this point, it doesn't bother her. He looks like a dog that's fighting against it's own collar to get to it's prey.

"Where did Jacob and his little pet go now?! Who was the shooter?!"

"John, settle down, now."

If his little brother wasn't trying to kill her again, she may roll her eyes. She hates that tone, the way Joseph speaks like he knows better than you, like he is better than you. It's so patronising and... She can't listen to another word. She's had enough of this fucking family.

"We do not speak with violence, do we?" What in the gentle parenting is this?! "We use our words."

"No, Joseph! Some people deserve-"

A knife is pulled from it's scabbard and Joey feels the pressure of the steel against her throat before she even registers there's a knife there. The blood rushes to her head so quickly that she can't hear whatever grovel comes out of John or Joseph's mouths, but she feels the blade cut her skin almost like a paper cut - enough to be known, but not enough to draw blood.

"John."

The youngest Seed brother feels a calm hand be placed atop his, which he realises now is shaking. He fights against it, but eventually succumbs to Joseph's touch, allowing him to lower the blade and then disarm the man. He believes every word that leaves Joseph's mouth - he has always been the voice of reason, the calm of the storm that constantly rages inside of him.

The end is coming, because Joseph said so. And Joseph wouldn't lie.

He is looking forward to watching the world suffer and plead for Josephs help, all from the safety of his own bunker.

The fools.

A smug smirk covers his face if only for a second, but his emotions battle inside him.

"I'll fucking kill you!"

Joey allows the tension that holds her body straight, go. A deep breath fills her lungs, as she realises she isn't armed - knife, gun, or otherwise. She is at a significant disadvantage in comparison to the other two in the room - and she is aware of what they are capable of, especially John. Her mind and body are left with enough scars to never question that demon's capabilities.

But they haven't snuffed the fight out of her yet.
 
As they approached the checkpoint to get in and out of the County, Pratt noticed how Jacob became visibly nervous, in a way that he has never seen before.

"Lie against the window," Jacob instructed him, lifting the pup by the scruff of the neck and putting it in the footwell, removing his jacket and putting it over the animal with a command of lie down and stay. The cuts carved into him are still healing, but having carried Pratt like that, he was obviously in pain. "Don't say anything."

And it might have been harder, if Pratt didn't feel as though he was already on the verge of death.

He just lay his head against the window and stared blanky as the truck came to a stop. With his blank stare and deathly pale skin, nobody dared to question Jacob's motive, and with some fabricated excuse and their leader potentially dead, they were allowed to proceed.

They were allowed to leave.

They were allowed to be free.

"What are we doing, Jacob?"

The question comes when Pratt realises that this is the first time he's seen a sky that doesn't belong to Hope County in quite a considerable amount of time. He'd fantasied about this so much, that he's lost now that it's happening.

"Where are we going?"

Jacob swallows the lump in his throat, and glances over to Pratt. Woody has moved to lie atop Jacob's jacket, falling asleep to the vibrations of the engine which ricochet through the floor.

"We're getting out, Pratt. To safety."

The answer is as truthful as it is dishonest.

"We'll head out to Missoula. Get you somewhere warm and with enough food. Keep our heads down."

"We? Our?"

The thought of leaving with Jacob and having a life with him fills him with fear as much as it does satisfaction. Perhaps even complacency.

"As in, me and you?"

Jacob hesitates, "Do... Do you not want that?"

And then Jacob realises that there is no universe out there where Pratt would ever choose to stay with him - and Hell, why would he? The gate is wide open for him to leave - Hell, if the man has two brain cells rubbed together, Jacob will be on death row by this time tomorrow.

"I want that," Pratt mumbles, "I want you. With me."

But that doesn't bring any joy to Jacob, who grips the steering wheel tighter, until his knuckles turn white and he realises he still feels sick.

They drive a fair bit, but not too long, until Jacob pulls into the car park of a motel, which backs onto the high street of a small town, and both men exit the car.

"This where... This where we're staying?" Pratt asks him, like a sleepy child. Jacob just nods, helping him out of the truck, and grabbing Woody by the scruff of the neck and putting it on the floor by Pratt's feet, commanding it to stay. This whole thing has been full of mistakes, but fuck... "What are you-"

He plants two hands firmly on the sides of Pratt's face, lips connecting with a sort of passion that Jacob doesn't allow him very often. He holds Pratt there, as if relishing in the feeling and the kiss before they part.

"I want you to have this," he says quietly, unclipping the dog tags from around his neck and rehoming them on Pratts. He pulls the neck of Pratt's shirt and puts them down the front.

"What... what are you... No..."

"I'm not coming with you," he says, firmly confirming what Pratt was about to guess. "I want you to go and get yourself some help. Get away from here-"

"Jacob, no-"

Pratt could vomit. It's been betrayal after betrayal.

"Listen to me. I need to go back and clean up that mess, okay? I'm gonna find all your friends, gonna make sure they're okay. Get away-"

"But what about me?!" Pratt asks, taking a step back from Jacob as fat tears sting his eyes. "You fucking... You dick! You've kept me like that, locked me up, fucking... Ruined me! And then you just run... Run away with some fucking bullshit excuse?!"

"I will come back for you."

Jacob steps towards him and the younger man doesn't argue with the kiss that is planted on his lips again. They both fear it'll be the last.

"I will find you again. I promise. When all this has calmed down, I need you to meet me. In the North West - there's a bridge, called something like Rattlesnake. I will be there, on your birthday."

"M...My birthday..."

Pratt blinks.

He doesn't even know what date it is today. Nevermind his birthday...

"Mhm." Another kiss, "December fourteenth. I will be there, Baby."

Another. Somehow hungrier than the last. Maybe if Pratt just holds Jacob's waist he won't go-

"Please don't leave me."

The desperation in his voice is killing Jacob.

"No, Jacob - no... Don't leave me here!"

"I'm sorry, Pratt. I never... I never wanted this to happen..."

Jacob has never been ashamed of the person he is, or the person he ever has been. He is the product of his environment and his upbringing, and his own failures. He hates the way he conducts himself, sometimes - how quick he is to rise to anger, and how much he resents himself just for sharing similar attributes to his father.

Admitting his vulnerabilities has never been a strong point, but if he's going to go back and clear up that shit show, and at least try and prove he can do something, then he can... He can accept himself.

"I will always come back for you, as long as you want me to. I will always be there for you, if you want me to be. If you don't want to see me again, I understand - just don't show up, I'll get the message. But if I survive and I can get to you, I will wait there every year for you until you're ready, even if it's not in this life."

He hesitates, and he realises that both he and Pratt have tears falling down their cheeks.

"I love you, Staci."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Twenty-nine years old.

That can't be right now, can it? Twenty nine?

He's sure his twenty-first was just a week or so ago. Where did the time go?

The fresh mountain air is cold and bitter against his toasty warm skin as Pratt reaches his arms from the comfortable confines of his sleeping bag, his joints giving a click as he does so. The soft snores from next to him falter for just a moment before they resume, and Pratt reaches across, his fingers fussing Woody's thick fur.

Although it's undeniable that he wants to go back to sleep, he knows better, so he finally subjects the rest of his skin to the temperature change as he sits up. The chill would have bothered him, in his younger days.

But there's not a lot that bothers him these days.

It almost scares him.

A deep breath fills his lungs and it is held for a moment, until it begins to ache. He then slowly releases it - just as his therapist had instructed him to do so in the mornings.

"Today, Woods, is the day," he says quietly, using his hands to wipe his face, and then reaching for his t shirt from the floor of the tent. He slips it over his head, putting his arms through the holes and pulling it down - he then does the same with his jumper. "No turning back now. We're already here."

You can do this, Staci.

He has survived once.

He has survived every day and night since then.

He can do it again.

But the variables are too much - maybe he's not even here... Maybe he's not even, well,

here,

anymore.

After Jacob had left him, nothing else really came out about Eden's Gate. It was confirmed in a local paper that Joseph and John Seed were found dead from gunshot wounds to the head in what was a suspected murder suicide. Jacob was assumed dead - too many unidentifiable bodies for anyone to be sure. Nobody in Hope really wanted to talk about it - Sharky and Hurk would share their war stories with the Deputy to whoever asked, but a lot of it was believed to be exaggerated stories of a much lesser event. The cult existed, which is an undeniable fact. However, people became doubtful of the extent of the trauma the county had seen.

People's lives had been ruined. People had died, people had been left with scars they will never be able to shake.

But life went on regardless. People would roll their eyes at the tales - the 'YES' sign erected on the side of the mountain, the Cook, who would kill and eat people in front of their families. It was all too much to be true, apparently.

Woody whines and groggily lifts his head, stretching his paws out and releasing a big yawn. His paws are about the size of dinner plates, but, admittedly, Pratt can forget about the size of his companion until he has to take him out in public - which, coincidentally, is pretty much every time Pratt has to be in public. The wolf had become more of a service animal than he had a pet; he had acted as Pratt's security many times, and further acted as an anxiety blanket whenever the thoughts grew too much. And that was... Well, more times than it wasn't.

He hates to think about how he would have coped if Jacob hadn't left Woody with him.

Woody watches Staci as he quickly replaces his boxers, and swaps his tracksuit bottoms with cargo pants. He rises to his feet and sniffs around the floor of the tent, so Staci opens it up for him before he finally slips fresh socks on and his boots.

He trots off into a bush, to do whatever it is that domesticated wolves like to do at twenty past eight on a random Thursday morning, and when he is finally dressed, Pratt puts himself down by the river, using the cold water to wash his face and then brush his teeth.

The view is, as always, perfect. The sun is rising over the valley, casting gorgeous purple hues across the sky. The beginning of the morning light is beginning to infiltrate the grass and the trees, preparing to melt the morning frost.

It's been a while, since he was last in the county. He'd briefly returned, once upon a time - not too long after everything, actually. But the realisation came like a truck that he would never be the same Deputy Pratt that he was before - or even the same Staci Pratt.

And the people around him weren't the same, either.

The Sherriff's Department had had a drastic change. Whitehorse had decided that enough was enough, put in for retirement the first day that he could, and he booked a one way ticket to the Sunny South coast. He served a quiet three month notice before he left. Pratt wasn't invited to the farewell party - partly because he had been advised to resign before he was fired, but mostly because of the person he had become. His anger was far worse than they were before, and, by God, was he skating on thin ice even before Eden's Gate reared their heads.

Complaints about him increased ten fold. His language was deemed as 'unacceptable' - apparently telling anyone

'you're weak, and if Jacob had you, you'd be sorry-'

was a step too far. Violence was always his first answer, even after months and months of online therapy sessions. But they couldn't help him - he wasn't willing to be honest enough to be helped. Jacob became a crazy ex-girlfriend and the full extent of the story was never spoken aloud.

It had been Joey to tell Whitehorse that Pratt's time as a Deputy had to come to an end. Later that same night, in his kitchen, she had chewed his ear off as he nursed a can of beer. Each word was pushing him closer and closer to the edge. She spat horrid

lies

about Jacob and the impacted he had on Pratt Pratt.

"What

did he do to you?!" She demanded, her tone showing her frustration. "What did that asshole do? Who the fuck even are you anymore?"

"Don't talk about him like that," his grip on the can tightened, and it made an audible crunch in his had, "You have

no

idea what he was like. You have no idea how he treated me."

"You seriously aren't defending him-"

"Joey!" Pratt's voice echoed through the room that it almost caught him off guard. "I

loved him-"

No, you didn't, Staci." She had planted both of her hands on either side of his face, "I do not know what happened to you, or what he did to you, but he did not love you.

I love you,

and I

care

about you. And you were his victim."

He jolted his head to get her hands from his skin, and turned away from her. "You can call it what you want, Joey. But I

know

he loved me, too. And maybe

this

is just who I am! Maybe I am just an utter cunt. Maybe he had nothing to do with it, and maybe this was just-"

"So that's it then?" There was almost a laugh in her voice. "You've fucked countless women. We used to have Monday morning debriefs about it - but you got held hostage by some psycho and that's it, you're 'in love' with him?"

"I

chose

to say. He didn't hold me hostage."

It wasn't particularly the truth, but it wasn't a lie.

Joey didn't need to know.

There was nothing more she could say to him.

The following day, she took Whitehorse to their airport, and watched the planes take off whilst she nursed a coffee. There was a debate in her head on if she should head somewhere,

anywhere

that wouldn't hold the same secrets and horrors that Hope did. She put the car into drive and headed for Missoula, to live with her partner.

But Whitehorse's post had just gone up. And how could she not put in an application?

And given everything that happened, there were no other applicants - and even if there were, she'd have blown them out the park anyway.

The Rookie Deputy that kept the brothers' on their toes disappeared without a word. Rumour had it that they had taken the shot that hit John, but nobody could decide if it was the Rookie, Whitehorse, or just one of the resistance who managed to get a good shot.

Pratt missed the county. The familiar roads. The friendly faces.

But it didn't miss him.

And besides; nowhere has felt like home. He missed having a place that didn't have trauma lurking around every corner, that didn't have demons waiting in the shadows for him.

He'd kept the dog tags hidden from everyone. They were

his.

"Woody, c'mon," he calls, taking a deep breath to try and bat away the thoughts. "Let's go and get some breakfast."

A small fire crackles and Pratt busies himself fetching his cookware; a pan, a small plastic plate, plastic cutlery, and a small bowl for Woody, and then moving onto his food. A knob of butter, four eggs, and eight thick slabs of bacon, which had been sourced from the Woodson Pig Farm. He was both surprised and pleased to find out they had restarted their business, and were doing as well as they were prior to the Seeds.

The smell of the burning wood and the peaceful crackling takes him back to camping with Jacob. It's a strange memory - he tries to push it from his mind and deny any of it took place, but he desperately tried to cling to it, he would dream about it.

He puts the butter in the pan and patiently waits for it to melt, and then adds the bacon. Woody sniffs the air at the scent of the cooking meat, his tail wagging as he looks up to Pratt in expectation of his meal.

To say he has struggled has been an understatement.

When he was left at the motel, his heart had stopped again. It was frankly a miracle that a couple just happened to leave just in time to save him. He spent weeks in hospital recovering from numerous physical and mental health problems - he suffered terribly from malnourishment as well as heart problems, and they couldn't even scratch what was happening in his head. Woody had enjoyed a temporary residence at Miss Mabel's.

After his release, he moved in with his mom and his brother for a while. He'd fed them some bullshit about this fictional ex-girlfriend being abusive and controlling him, which is why he couldn't talk to her for around ten months. And they bought it - he'd had his issues but they had worked through them, as a family.

And then he started punching walls and rising to anger in ways he never had before. And that's when his mom knew that it was more than Pratt was telling her. His brother and the rest of their siblings had tried to get it out of him - but it did nothing more than turn him into a cornered dog; baring his teeth and lashing out at anyone who came too close.

He felt almost like a child as he'd sat on the stairs, listening to his mom and his brother argue.

I'm not coming over 'till he's gone, mom. This is fucking ridiculous. He needs help, like, proper, professional help. And get that fucking dog out the house, things more like a fucking wolf.

She'd set him up with therapists, but, again, he'd never shared much. Only diluted versions of the truth, because he didn't want to talk about whatever he and Jacob were, the horrors he had to witness, the horrors he had to

do.

Nothing. Nothing would get that information out of him.

Instead, he had given his mom what his siblings had wanted and found a little place near Idaho. It emptied his savings (and part of his moms, too), but it suited he and Woody perfectly.

He then wouldn't leave the house for weeks at a time, only ever to hunt or buy food, which he would stock up on so he wouldn't have to leave.

His mom died that Winter. He flew home for the funeral, but only one of his brothers spoke to him.

He cracks two eggs into the pan. The oil spits at him and lands on his skin.

It's been a challenging three years. It had taken him at least a year to stop saying

good job, good boy, Jacob would be proud of you.

"Here," he says when the food is cooked, putting an egg and two slices of bacon into the small bowl, and Woody sits and waits, and, upon request, gives Pratt his paw. He then tucks into his meal, and Pratt fishes his own food out of the frying pan, and onto the small plastic plate. "Enjoy, buddy."

There wasn't much of a plan for the rest of the day; he'd been too nervous to think about it too much. He'd debated going to see Joey, but figured she'd be too busy in her new role as Sherriff to have small talk with him. Then he'd debated going to the Spread Eagle, but he couldn't bare the thought of seeing people. Sharky. Hurk. Nick... No. It was too much. They thought differently of him nowadays.

Instead, he spent a few hours fishing, a few hours reading, and then, at about one o'clock, tucked into one of the fish for their lunch. He napped with Woody's head in his lap until three thirty, just in time to catch the last of the dying light. He found, when he woke up, that he'd been gripping Jacob's dog tags so tightly that the metal rim had imprinted into his flesh.

"Go on then, go to the bathroom," he tells Woody with a yawn as he stands up, rubbing his face. His mouth tastes of sleep and honestly, he could have slept through the rest of the day. But Woody continues to stay, staring at one spot. "Go on, Woody,"

And then he snarls; Pratt hasn't seen him like this in a while, the fur on his back standing up and focusing so heavily on something.

Pratt checks around him and shakes it off.

"Woody, go."

Woody stops snarling. He gives a tail wag, and then trots away to use the bathroom.

Staci just shakes his head-

"Peaches..."

The voice is as soft and as calm as it ever has been.

It makes Pratt want to vomit - the hairs on his arms stand to attention and his stomach immediately twists into knots.

He turns around, slowly. Blood runs cold around his body.

He's just as tall as Pratt remembers - easily head and shoulders above even him. He's a little stockier than he used to be, but fuck he's just as handsome.

"I didn't think I'd be seeing you-"

"I thought you were dead."

And that was the truth; despite the fact that Jacob was assumed dead, he clung onto hope that he had somehow survived - but deep down inside, he knew it was unlikely.

"Hello to you, too."

There's a small chuckle, but Pratt notes how it doesn't seem like Jacob doesn't want to get any closer. He keeps his hands in his pockets, staying back in the tree line.

His hair is longer, that's for sure. It doesn't quite grow over some of the burns on his head, but it's less noticeable than before. There's definitely grey hairs hidden in there. His beard is even longer, his blue eyes more tired than he recalls. But there's a

warmth

in them that makes Pratt want to melt.

"Oh, how I've missed you..."

"I... I almost died, Jacob. You left me, a-at the motel. My heart stopped and I almost... I..."

"C'mere," Jacob extends his arms, but doesn't step forward. He waits for Pratt to come to him, which he does, like a lamb into the arms of his shepherd. "I'm sorry, Baby. I didn't want to."

"You tricked me! I thought we were leaving together."

And suddenly he's sobbing and struggling for breath. Jacob's arms feel like

home.

"I'm sorry, Staci. I tried to do my best for you - but I had to go and... I had to go..." There's a pause where Jacob can't quite bring himself to finish the sentence. "I should have driven you to the hospital. I shouldn't have left you in that motel. I am sorry, but I had to go back."

Soothing circles on his back; Pratt nuzzles against Jacob's chest and

fuck

has he missed Jacob. There hadn't been a moment where he hadn't longed for his touch, longed for his affections and attentions.

"I came here every year," Jacob admits, "I didn't think you'd show up - I understood. But I'm glad to see you - and you look well."

"I look like shit, Jacob."

They share a smile.

"Yeah, you do."

Their lips connect and it feels like all he warmth in the world has rushed to Pratt's chest. He feels sick and he feels loved and he feels

alive.

Jacob's hand finds it's way to his cheek, and Pratt sinks into the kiss like his life depends on it.

It's debatable that he ever let go; but he knows he never wants to be without Jacob again.

"Happy birthday, Staci."

The fire warms them as they sit, drinking a cup of coffee each that Jacob had brewed for them.

It's the least I can do,

he had told Pratt, as the sun set behind the mountains. The chill has picked up again, and they are snuggled in coats and scarves, but Jacob is lounging next to him with his legs sprawled out as if it's just a camping trip between buddies.

"It's cold," Pratt mumbles, cradling his cup of coffee.

"Hm. Still make your arm ache?"

"Yeah. Never really went away."

"I bet your brother says the same thing about his wrist."

There is a light chuckle from both men, and Pratt is astounded that Jacob even remembers.

"What happened, when you left me?" He asks quietly, still not quite believing he is in Jacob's company. He feels nervous, as if he's ready for Jacob to lash out, to paint his skin all those pretty colours he had years prior. "You went back to Hope, but why?"

"Told you," Jacob replies, his answer short and curt. "Had stuff to sort out."

"What stuff?"

"Stuff."

The answer silences Pratt, sucking the air from his lungs in the same way it would have done back when their company was forced. He decides its best to refrain from asking any further questions, which is good because, truthfully, Jacob fucking hates even thinking about it. The night after he'd left Pratt in the motel car park, he had sat in his truck, his pistol resting on his temple but he lacked the confidence to pull the trigger.

Perhaps it would make for a better story if it had come down to it being his life or theirs. If they had fought back and given him so reason to do it.

But they hadn't. Joseph had accepted this was the best way out for him, and John had pissed his pants and begged like a coward, swore that he'd never speak to him again, swore that this whole thing would be in the past and forgotten about - but it was far too late. The fury had burnt through him and smothered his sense. All he saw was Pratt hanging, and then his lifeless body on the floor as he tried desperately to pump life back into him.

And he'd killed his two baby brothers; the same brothers he had been beaten black and blue to protect. The same baby brothers he had put his life on the line for. The same baby brothers he'd burnt buildings down for, and ruined his life for.

He had killed them.

Because how fucking

dare

they try and hurt Pratt.

"It doesn't matter," he says to Pratt, not daring to meet his eyes. "It was a long time ago, and none of it matters now. They met the consequences of their actions."

Crickets begin to chirp from the grass next to them, and Pratt gazes up at the stars, the same stars he had gazed at wondering if his family knew he was okay, wondering if anyone was worried about him. Woody is snoring in front of the fire.

"I do mean every word I said to you, though," Jacob finally says after a short silence. He could vomit right now - he's tried to work on being honest with himself, but, just as he was all those years ago, admitting vulnerability isn't something that comes easy to him. "I love you, Staci. And I have hoped every year that you will show back up here. And I would have come back every year 'till I died, just in case you decided you were ready. I didn't want to leave you, but they- I

had to do it,

okay? I couldn't... I just..."

He's growing frustrated with himself, and Pratt can see it in his hand gestures, as if he's trying to pull the words from his head.

"It was

you

or it was

them.

And I chose you, Staci. And I'd choose you every day, in every life, in every universe."

Three years.

Three fucking years Pratt has spent trying to get over this man. The same man that had beaten him black and blue, until his joints were dislocated, and he was moments from death. The man who shaped him into the mess he is today. The man who ruined his entire fucking life.

How could he ever open that door again? How could he ever let Jacob into his life again?

Why the Hell did he even come here in the first place? He had his opportunity for freedom; he looked it in the face and still denied it being the best thing for him.

But here is again, hanging on Jacob's every word.

"I love you."

Pratt's reply is merely a whisper. Truthfully, the fondness for Jacob had faltered; there had been days where he had cursed his name, wished nothing but the worse on him. But like a wounded dog with tendons too torn to beg, he knew he'd end up there again.

"It wasn't right-"

"I know. I am sorry."

But it doesn't sit right with Pratt.

"You know, sorry doesn't tend to cut it, honestly. You didn't hit my car by accident, or spill your drink on me. You... You fucked me up, Jacob. You ruined my life."

In a sick sort of way, he's always tried to justify Jacob's actions. We were both the product of our environments, he would tell himself, his hands bleeding from smashing plates and glasses against the wall. If we had met in a bar, things would be different.

Any sane person would recognise that self soothing lies, but Pratt was lapping it up like a starved mutt. He would find any way to try and pretend that Jacob is a better person than he is.

"I know," Jacob replies, "I shouldn't say it. I don't expect you to forgive me - I didn't come here for your forgiveness."

There's another pause, and Pratt stares dully at the fire. It feels like one of those strange moments in life where nothing feels real. It feels like they could sit there for hours and not a moment would pass.

"I moved in with my mom. After they released me from hospital, I lived with her and my brother. I never told them what happened... They... They tried to help me, but..." Pratt gestures, almost shrugging. "Didn't open up. Started getting nasty with people - lost my job too. Mom had to help me with money, helped my buy a little place."

"I remember you telling me about your mom," Jacob briefly looks up to read Staci's expression, but there's not even an inkling on his face. "She seems nice."

"She was. Always went out of her way for me. Shame, really. I wasn't a good person to be around. I'm not a good person to be around. She passed away, last Winter."

The way that he says it almost surprises Jacob. Pratt's always been emotional - crying over shit that he shouldn't be, getting worked up about things he has no control over. He just sounds so flat and defeated.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Honestly, Pratt doesn't really know why he's talking - perhaps it's to fill the silence, or maybe it's to try and encourage anything out of Jacob. It's a pointless task; Pratt knows that now. And besides, he enjoys listening to Pratt's stories.

God, the guilt will never not kill him.

"What have you been doing, for the last three years?"

The question marinates in the silence, and Pratt recalls a time where the silence would have suffocated him until he was nothing more than an anxious wreck.

Maybe things could be different thing time? He's not as scared of Jacob anymore. His silence doesn't kill him, his presence doesn't put him on edge the way it once would.

Jacob finishes his coffee and puts the mug down onto the dirt carpet. He looks handsome - Pratt almost imagines braiding his hair and his beard in the same way that a Viking may have.

"I've been keeping my head down. Hunting for food, surviving entirely independently. Not much choice, really. I don't know if anyone is after me, the law or the national or anything." Jacob pauses. "I wanted to see you at least once before they got hold of me."

Pratt almost laughs.

"I don't reckon anyone else knows about it - couple of reporters came sniffing about, but no one was willing to talk about it. I reckon you'd be fine."

"Hm. I didn't fancy risking it."
The memories of them swirl around Jacob's mind; Pratt cowering under his touch, begging for mercy - and then merely weeks later, begging for his touch. Not a day has gone past in the last three years where he hasn't longed for Pratt's company. For his companionship. In the coldest of nights, he craved Pratt's warmth, and in the sunniest of days, he craved the laughs they would share. He just craved Pratt.Without averting his gaze, Pratt leans over and takes Jacob's hand, entwining their fingers. The glow of the fire is illuminating their faces in an orange hue, and the warmth is almost burning his feet."I don't forgive you for what you did.""You're kind of giving me mixed signals, Pratt..." Jacob nods down to their entwined fingers. "But as I said, I didn't come here for your forgiveness. It's okay if you don't want to see me again.""You're definitely not one to talk about mixed signals, Jacob. You think I don't remember you dislocating my arm, and then keeping me in your room the next day?"Jacob just nods. Regrets won't change anything, it won't make him a better person, but he can't pretend he doesn't hate himself for it.It's been a very long three years. They settle by the fire and talk until they lose track of time. The moon is high in the sky, and fireflies are hovering above the grass around them. Jacob had kept the fire going, and Pratt had fed them both with the leftover food he'd bought - enough for just one, but they stretched it far enough to make it work. Woody just continues to sleep undisturbed, his ears or his paws twitching every now and then.Eventually, the silence sets in, and the sounds of nature and the crackling fire could lull Pratt to sleep if he wanted it to. It's borderline freezing, so Jacob has his arm wrapped over Pratt's shoulders, and Pratt is leaning into Jacob's side, his legs sprawled out in front of him. He's longed for this for a while."I want you to come with me."His voice is quiet, but it still cuts through the silence so abruptly that it catches the older man off guard. He glances down at Pratt, who is fiddling with his finger tips."Come where?""I told you. My mom helped me buy a house near Idaho. It's out in the sticks, so no one will nosey around." Finally, Pratt looks up to Jacob. "I only came back here for you... Everything else is too much. But I think my house would be perfect for us - you don't have to, if you don't want to, but I think-""You ramble a lot. You always used to ramble a lot, too."Pratt can't help but feel that Jacob is avoiding the question."Regardless, I don't want... I don't want you to leave me again. I don't want to be alone again. I don't want to go through any of the last three years again." Frankly, Jacob, I would rather be cramped in that room with you beating me black and blue than I would relive a single moment of the last three years. "I just want... I just want you."Jacob just stares at him, his expression unreadable. But Pratt doesn't break the eye contact."I think you would be making a mistake.""I don't think you call the shots anymore."And fuck does that tone make Jacob want to go feral; it's hot, the way Staci has started standing up for himself.He almost wants to put him back into his place. He wants to pin him to the floor - hm. It's better if he doesn't let his thoughts go down that route."You really want me to come?" He finally asks with a sigh, as if it's a chore."I do, Jacob."The man hums, and breaks eye contact. A life with Staci is undeniably all they want; they're definitely not the most conventional nor the best lovers on the planet, he can admit that. But they could make it work together, right? Jacob has taught Pratt how to hunt, and maybe Pratt can teach Jacob how to live a normal life at home, instead of never really knowing where he belongs or what is coming next."Are you sure?""Positive."Pratt's determination has always been something that has stuck out to Jacob. He smiles at him, a warm smile full of unspoken love and gratitude, as if Jacob has already told him the answer. Jacob's own eyes are softer now."Well, let's go then, Staci." The truck flies down the highway, the windows open to let the chill into the cab and keep the two men awake. The horrors of the past disappear in the rear-view mirror, and a path to whatever awaits them opens up with the highway ahead of them, illuminated only by the trucks headlight and their own shared hope. The journey isn't clear, but Staci feels confident that they will work through it together.Needless to say, Staci Pratt wouldn't describe himself as a ladies man. Those days are long behind him, but he's excited for whatever lies in front.