Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hard to believe this man was the same sniveling brat he’d met on that lab table a short 4 years ago.

‘Feels like it’s been a damn lifetime’ Fontaine thought, absent mindedly chewing on the filter of his unlit cigarette as he watch his little science experiment repeatedly bash in the skull of what was once a man.

To think, just a few days ago the kid stumbled outta that bathysphere tremblin’ like a leaf “twisting in the wind”.  Fontaine smirked and started running his hands up and down his pockets trying to feel for his matchbook while recalling how the kid whined about how he didn’t “wanna hurt nobody”, When his new helpful friend ‘Atlas’ told him to “give ‘em the one-two punch.”

He tore his eyes away from the screen where the kid was still beating the long dead splicer’s head into a gruesome mush. He shimmied around to dig his matches out of back pocket to light the cigarette that had started to turn somewhat soggy still hanging lazily from his lips. Finally wrenching his sad worn matchbook from his trousers, he was forlorn to see only one light remaining.

Shit.

Only half-wishing he’d spliced some Incinerate before all of Rapture went to hell, he carefully ripped his last match out of the pack and struggled to light it on the faded strip of the book. Busy with his current task he glanced back to the monitor where his kid still seemed to be in a distressed trance, continuing to bring down his wrench on what couldn’t even be identified as a human head anymore.

Fontaine concluded this wasn’t going to end anytime soon and just as he decided it was time for ‘Atlas’ to step in and keep the ball rolling, he saw movement from the corner of his eye on another screen.

It was a group of men, noticeably spliced up and headed right in the direction of his out-of-it kid.

He cursed and smashed his last light, sitting up and fumbling for his radio, he put on that Irish accent.

“Hey there lad, pretty sure you got ‘em”.

No response. Not even a twitch.

Fontaine gave a look back to the group shuffling their way into the direction of the damn kid. Probably following the sound of him banging his wrench to the metal flooring.

There was hardly any flesh to cushion the blows at this point.

He grits his teeth and tries again.

“You’ve got company coming your way, a group of splicers.”

The boy gave no indications he’d even heard him and continued banging his goddamn wrench to the floor. He was breathing heavy and shaking. Seemed to be having some kind of fit.

But there wasn’t time for the kid to be have a fucking tantrum. Fontaine had had enough of this; the kid was out of time.

“Jack! Would you kindly snap out of it and get going!” Fontaine shouted, seeing the splicers in the same room as the goddamned kid. There was no point in him trying to be quite about it. They knew where he was.

Jack froze, wrench above his head and gave a hard shiver then blinking once, twice, three time. Before finally seeming to come back to some of his senses.

A spliced-up man on the other side of the large desecrated room he was kneeling in gave an excited holler “ADAM! He’s got ADAMS!”

The boy scrambled to his feet hearing the Irish accent of the only voice he felt he could trust yell-

“Goddammit! Would you kindly MOVE!”

He was moving before he had a chance to even comprehend the situation or his surroundings, looking around trying to find an exit. Not seeing one and having nothing but his wrench and not a drop of EVE in his him, he started to panic.

“Ahead of ya and to ‘yer left, behind the shelf!” Atlas’s voice urged over the cracking radio on his hip.

Jack spotted the broken shelf and made a mad dash for it not know what was behind it but if that’s where Atlas told him to go he trusted it.

Practicality throwing himself onto the broken shelves of the bookcase, he franticly looked around it to see- a way out! a door! It blended with the dark wooden wall and the bookshelf had obstructed his view of it, but it was a way out. He threw it open so hard he dented the wall behind and nearly tore it from its hinges.

Jack got one foot through the door before someone grabbed the collar of his jumper, yanked him back in and threw him harshly to the broken tiles of the filthy floor. His head and back collided with a pile of rubble and debris that left him gasping in pain and seeing spots.

He shut his eyes reeling from the hard blow to the back of his head but heard a blur of unfamiliar voices laughing and talking manically to one another quickly making their way to where he lay.

“Look at him glow! You can see the ADAM pumping through his veins!” he was hoarse and sounded elated.

“C-cut open ‘is belly! We’ll drink the ADAM from ‘is blood like one o’ ‘dem glowy eyed girls.” The eager voice of another man rasped.

“Now hold your horses fellas, what’s the rush? He ain’t goin’ nowhere.” The slick southern accented voice was the sanest he’d heard out of the bunch. Jack doubted it was a good thing.

There was the shuffling of feet right next to his head and he could feel a presence looming over him, then there was a rough hand slapping his cheek.

“Wakey Wakey, kiddo.” The southern voice that could only be defined as smug.

“Wake up, kid.” A distantly familiar deep drawl that was… was that in his head?

He willed his body to move but it was all he could do to crack his eyes open. Jack tried to look at the faces of the fidgeting bodies circled around him but was seeing double.

The only one he could really make out was the man currently crouched over him looking down on him… smugly.

Must be smug voice.

Jack objectionably noted smug guy was touching his face.

“Well what a pair of big ol’ doe’s you got there, kiddo.” smug guy had a big grin that was too toothy and dark eyes that were trailing down Jack’s face, pausing on the lips his thumb was near ghosting over.

“Unless there’s ADAM spillin’ outta of ‘um, who gives a fuck about ‘is eyes? The gruff voice seemed to put a damper on smug guy’s musings as his wide grin turned down into a sneer of annoyance.

“Thick swine...” Smug guy muttered before standing and turning a shark’s grin to his running buddies.

“Apologies gentlemen, just thinking this kid could be of a bit more use than just a quick fix of ADAM. In fact, I reckon’d this… sweet young thing would be so kind as to help us scratch another itch that’s difficult to satisfy nowadays.” Smug guy’s statement ended with another toothy grin that had the other men grinning in succession as they exchanged knowing looks before Jack felt all sets of eyes back on him where he lay on the filthy pile of tiled rocks, starting to better recover himself.

Not knowing what they meant by “itch” and not liking the prospect of being gutted for ADAM, Jack got an arm under himself and rolled onto his hands and knees, trying to push himself up to make a sprint for the door they had come through.

He got maybe three feet before he felt two sets of hands wrap themselves around his shoulders dragging him back kicking, that then shoved him down hard to his knees.

“Whoa there, kiddo! Sit a spell why don’t’cha.” Smug guy was standing over him once again staring at him with that seemingly everlasting air of condescension and superiority.

“Now, we was just wantin’ to get to know you a little, sugar. After all, somethin’ as sweet as you only comes around once in a blue moon now…” Smug guy trailed off running a finger down the side of Jack’s face.

***

Fontaine brought down a fist to his desk, standing and glaring hard at the screen where he had to watch this play out.

His lip curled over his teeth as he did nothing to conceal his rage at hearing this hick prick suggest the kid “would be so kind” words he found too close for comfort, to help them out with an “itch” and judging by the kid’s face…

He had no idea what they were talking about.

The little frankenstein wasn’t even five years old, had very little to no life experience and had been basically sleep walking for the past two years.

Of course, he wouldn’t know nothing about sex.

The kid was in a bind and Fontaine wracked his brain on how to get him out of it. After all, he wasn’t about to let all that time, planning, and money he poured into his little trump card be wasted by a bunch of junkies looking to get their rocks off.

Fontaine knew they wouldn’t stop at love ‘em and leave ‘em.  No. they weren’t going to leave him with an ounce of ADAM or blood after they were done with him and since that paranoid bastard Ryan had had every last vita chamber in Rapture dismantled for fear someone like Fontaine would have tampered with them to have himself revived in the event of his ‘unforeseen’ demise-

The kid wasn’t going to have any second chances.

He looked back to his many screens to try and find some way to tip the odds back in the kid’s favor and saw the guy who seemed to be the leader of their little gang and the least spliced of the bunch touching the kid again, running fingers down his face stopping to trace his mouth.

Rubbing himself through his trousers with his other hand, getting ready.

Fontaine grit his teeth and looked harder for something, anything to turn the situation around-

There it is.

Down the hall. It was one of those creepy brats and her hulking Daddy skulking around for ‘angels’. An idea forming, a twisted grin curled his lips.

Now to find the nearest security bot station and he’d get his big plans for the little bastard back on track.

***

Jack tried to no avail to pull away from the two strong pairs of hands holding him firmly down on his knees. He looked frantically around the room for something that might help him but seeing nothing of note other than the ordinary security camera Atlas had to be watching him from.

Please Atlas, what do I do? I need you to tell me what to do! Jack was jolted from his thoughts by a hand suddenly taking hold of his cheek and non to gently directing his eyes from the camera to smug guy standing above him.

“Relax, sugar. Ain’t no on behind those camera spyin’ on us.” smug face tried to speak in a soothing manner while rubbing his thumb against the cheek he’d yet to release. “You got a name, kiddo?”

“The kid got a name?” Jack blinked and wondered why the man had repeated himself, before realizing that low voice came from his own head. Maybe he was going nuts like everybody else in this underwater hell.

Jack just gave the man a glare, hoping that wasn’t the case.

Smug face’s eyes seemed to wander back to his mouth and that prodding thumb followed soon after, teasing his bottom lip. “So can you speak, kiddo? Or are you deaf and dumb?” no response, just a little more intensity to his glare that only made the man give a small laugh “ok, so maybe not deaf, just dumb then.”

“What? You lame, kid? Speak!” again he heard that coarse drawled voice thrumming in his head, giving him a headache.

Jack turned away when the man’s thumb went past his lips and rubbed against his teeth. He has no idea where this stranger’s hands have been. Gross.

Smug face gave another chuckle before shoving his hand in Jack’s hair and gave it a hard tug, forcing him to look back and notice the hand smug face wasn’t using to hold him by his hair he was dragging across his crotch.

He couldn’t take his eyes of the motion of the man’s hand slowly rubbing himself up and down, seeming to apply a little more pressure each stroke. Jack could feel his cheeks flare up which didn’t go unnoticed by smug face.

“Ha… like what you see? Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna leave you there just watching.” Jack frowned looking away, wondering how he was supposed to be involved with what the man was doing to himself before the sound of a zipper brought his eyes back up to see smug face pull his pants down his hips just far enough to pull out his penis and start lazily stroking it right in his face.

Jack’s cheeks were on fire and not know what to do he squeezed his eyes shut and willed whatever was happening right now to go away.

Of course, it’s not that easy.

Suddenly that rough hand was back, it gave a hard rub of his bottom lip before the thumb plunged into his mouth. Stroking his tongue, feeling around the hollows of his cheeks before stroking his back teeth.

“Mm, you even think about bitin’ me with these, we’ll be using that wrench of yours to knock ‘em outta your head.” Smug face said so casually tipping his head in the direction where his wrench lay right outside the open door he’d failed to escape through.

Jack stilled and made a point to not clench his jaw.

“That’s right, gonna be a good ol’ boy for me.” the thumb in his mouth pulled out and was replaced with something much bigger and blunt rubbing along his lips. His eyes flew open to see what he already knew was the man’s penis, tracing along his lips like lipstick.

Jack jerked his head back to get as far away as possible from the offending appendage but didn’t get far with the pair of men still firmly holding him in place, one of which removed a hand from his shoulder to grab his hair and yank his head back forward.

Smug face reached out and grabbed the side of his jaw with one hand and the base of his own cock with the other and continued tracing Jack’s lips with it. He looked down at him with mock kindness and spoke.

“First time kiddo? Don’t worry I’ll be gentle.”

Smug face smirked at Jack’s pleading expression before slowly plunging the mushroom head of his dick past his lips and into the warm cavern of his mouth and stilled, taking a moment to adjust to the pleasurable warm.

But just for a moment.

He pulled back out what little he’d put in and push back in almost half his length. He quickly builds up a rhythm, forcing Jack to take a little more in each time. The man moved his hands to clench in Jack’s hair, tipping his own head back and enjoying the ride. When was the last time he got to stick his dick in such a pretty hole?

The man kept thrusting quicker, deeper and Jack started to gag, losing air to the thick organ in his mouth. Smug face sensing his distress simply groaned “Breathe thorough your nose, kiddo.” Not even bothering to slow his pace, loving the feeling of the throat constricting his cock he moved both hands down to grip the sides of Jack’s face and shuffled closer, so he could get more of his length into that hot mouth.

Jack managed a shuddered breath through his nose and shut his eyes against the reflex tears that threatened to spill every time he was chocked on the man’s quickly thrusting need. He noted the musky smell and the taste of sweat, dirt, and a faint iron, almost like blood.

His eyes were involuntarily drawn up to the man above him when he gave a nearly breathless exhale and muttered. “Come on kiddo, suck me. Know you can do it, such perfect lips for it.”

Jack regarded the man with an odd detached interest as he used his mouth. Eyes screwed shut in pleasure, muttering curses in a low groan under his breath almost like a prayer, with a light sheen of sweat coating his face.

Would Atlas look like that, using him like this. Was Atlas watching him?

Jack unwittingly flicked his previously motionless tongue up along the pulsating girth in his mouth, not expecting it to practically jump down his throat, the man had squeezed his face tight and forced his head down until his nose was pressed against the flesh and hairs of his pelvis.

Jack struggled to breathe through his nose as his throat convulsed around the man giving hard shallow thrusts, doubled over him letting out a string of curses.

“Sweet Jesus! -“

With little other warning there was a thick, salty, liquid spilling down his throat, filling his mouth. The tears behind his eyelids finally fell as he was trying to swallow whatever the bitter wetness in his mouth was so he could breathe.

Smug face gave a few more hollow thrusts of his hips, drawing out as much pleasure as possible. Stilling to catch his breath then slowly pulled his softened member from the boy’s mouth.

He buckled his trousers back up, looking satisfied and smirked down at Jack. Before bending over and tracing his puffy, abused lips with his thumb again.

Jack wished this guy would stop putting his hands all over his face.

Among other things…

“Knew you had perfect cock sucking lips”

Jack stared back at him blankly, not wanting to give the smug face the satisfaction of seeing how whatever happed affected him. Noting the horribly salty taste in his mouth, and the slightly uncomfortable tightness that had built in his pants.

Smug face started to look genuinely annoyed by his silence and just as he opened his mouth to speak because he couldn’t seem to get enough of his own voice, The only man out of the four who’d yet to touch him called out in his gruff tone of voice, sounding impatient.

“’k Vic, you had your fun, now it’s my turn!” the burly man was already at half mast, his penis in hand.

Geez.

The gruff man was currently stroking himself and glaring in challenge at the two who’ve been holding onto him this whole time, daring them to say otherwise.

Smug face or- ‘Vic’ apparently, gave the burly guy a slight irritated glace before letting out a sigh, shrugging his shoulders in a show of defeat.

“’ight Lloyd, he’s all yours.” ‘Vic’ gave Jack one more appraising look before patting his cheek and said with condescension oozing from his slick southern twang “Nice work, sugar.” Before swaggering away towards a dirty couch, passing an enthusiastic ‘Lloyd’ along the way before throwing himself down on it and stretching lazily. Getting ready for the show.

Lloyd was upon him in seconds, he shoved the other two men away and grabbed Jack’s shoulders, forcing him on his back with his huge bear like hands. Jack’s whole body shuddered.

He hated bears.

Lloyd mistook his reaction for something else.

“Ha, fuckin’ queer, just so damn eager for it ain’t ‘ya?” the huge man covering him spat in his face, large hands moving roughly down his body before fighting to work down his pants.

Jack didn’t know what he was supposed to be “eager for” and he didn’t want to find out. Jack fought harder, but the man was huge and built like a bear. He moved his arms up and trapped them between his body and Lloyd’s, trying to put as much space between them as possible.

He started to panic. Hyperventilating when the other man ripped the button of his trousers off and tried to pull them off his kicking legs. He could feel more tears building up in his eyes but this time they were from fear and frustration.

Jack didn’t know why this giant man was forcing him undressed and he hated it. These few days or few weeks for all he knew, he’d been trapped in Rapture Jacks felt there were things going on here that were obvious to everyone but him!

Like what’s happening right now.

He was trapped miles below the ocean in a secret underwater empire that collapsed after a power struggle between two big wigs; Ryan and Fontaine and a revolution for the less fortunate people, led by the last good man alive in this city, Atlas. Now there were basically nothing but insane, murderous, drugged out people and genetically experimented on children roaming around. Yeah, he got that.

But what he couldn’t wrap his head around was why people were doing such horrible things!

Like this.

Like killing innocent people who just wanted to get out and survive.

Like Atlas’s family.

Jack stopped struggling as hard. This was his fault, he deserved this, to feel this way. He couldn’t save them, didn’t save them; Atlas’s wife and son. He can’t imagine what he’s put him through. Atlas has looked out for him since the beginning, and how does Jack repay him? He lets the only person who’s given a damn about him down.

Let’s his family die.

The tears were flowing freely now, he stopped struggling completely and lets the man pull his trousers from him. Whatever was about to happen to him he deserved it.

“Tch, that easy huh? Quit trying to play hard to get already?” The bear on top of him growled, rubbing his paws down his now naked legs. “Shame, fighting for ‘yer meal makes it all the better.” The bear once again growled right next to his ear.

Jack didn’t move. Just stared at the ceiling as his mind began to drift away from this, from thoughts of Atlas’s family to his own. Jack thought about his mother.

What would she say?

….What would she say?

He didn’t know.

What was his mother like? Why couldn’t he remember what she looked like?

The bear ran a paw under his large filthy jumper and over his most intimate area. Jack let out a gasp and a fresh wave of tears fell. Jack could only recall one certainty, something real, and someone that cared about him.

“Atlas…”

He’d mumbled the name so lowly he doubted even the animal directly on top of him would hear it. He didn’t want it to anyway.

What would she say?

“Remember to forget.”

“Ah! Mr. B!”

Gunfire and buzzing was heard from the direction of the open door on the far side of the room, where the men had come in from.

Not to mention the distorted screams of a little girl and angry inhumane groans.

There were ground trembling footsteps quickly approaching the room from the long hall, along with buzzing and shouts of “unzip it Mr. Bubbles!”

The men looked to one another in dread. That racket was headed straight towards them. Before the men could consider fight or flight a smoking security bot came buzzing through the door way and started shooting in the general direction of every living being that didn’t carry Andrew Ryan’s genes.

The bot hit Vic as he vaulted behind the couch he had been relaxing on, lodging a bullet in his back.

Lloyd jumped off Jack without a second thought, not even bothering to tuck his dick back in his pants as he sprinted for the open door only to come face to face with one angry Big Daddy, already glowing an aggressive red.

It wasted no time driving its drill into the fleeing man’s skull.

 Apparently not satisfied by the kill, it spun its drill for good measure, tearing the head to pieces and slinging gore in every direction.

The other two men had pulled out their guns and destroyed the already smoking bot quickly, turning their bullets to the angry Big Daddy who’d begun charging to dash right at them, slinging one of them to the wall who then crumbled to the floor brokenly.

The last man standing knowing he didn’t stand a chance started booking it. He ran, stepping over Jack who’d been laying there staring blankly at the ceiling, detached from the prevailing events.

The Big Daddy was on him in seconds, drill impaled through his back and out his chest, lifting the man off the ground before spinning it and tearing his flesh and organs as if wet paper. Blood and bits of the man splashed onto Jack who lay mere inches from the Big Daddy’s bulky feet.

Vic stumbled out from behind the couch he’d been cowering behind, leaning heavily on it and clutching his injured shoulder. With the menacing hulk occupied with his ‘friend’, Vic made a break for the door Jack had been previously unsuccessfully in escaping through himself.

The Big Daddy not stopping the whirling of his drill until what was left of the man was flung off, started to calm believing his Little Sister safe in the room now seemingly devoid of life. The filthy child on his back climb down, speaking happily of all the new angels around them before skipping to the nearest corpse of which used to be Lloyd.

Jack lay there still, in nothing but his underwear and favorite slightly too large sweater that came down just far enough to cover him. He continued to just stare off into space, looking at nothing and thinking about everything, not even reacting to the hissing of the radio still attached to the belt loop of his discarded trousers.

“You alright there, boyo?”

“What’s wrong, kid?”

“Jack!”

“Jack?”

“Remember to forget.”

Chapter Text

How was it the kid could make hackin' a dozen bots look like child's play, while he was sweatin' over the one little flyin' gun? The damn things where originally engineered in his own factory for christ sakes! By that boffin turned fanatic, Gilbert.

Tch, not like he could get that egghead workin' under him again. Last he'd heard, the guy willingly went full on fanatic for that twist, Lamb's little "The Family" cult and was starting to lose it.

Well whatever, he'd get the job done. It was just gonna take a bit more time was all. He spared a glance at the screen that held his kid, still on his knees, dick in his mouth. Fontaine sneered.

Why wasn't the kid putting up more of a fight? Sure, he was still a whiney brat. But he wasn't weak. He'd seen the kid take down Big Daddies like it weren’t nothing. He'd paid those scientists, the oriental and that kraut, good money to build more than just a mindless sack of muscle to toss at Ryan. His boy wasn’t the biggest thinker but he was resourceful, knew just where and when to strike an enemy to bring 'em down quick.

 Fontaine like to think the kid got those smarts from him.

But that episode, what with him bashing that junkie's head in till there weren’t nothing left.

What's going on with the little freak?

He couldn’t afford to have his toy broken when there was no one around to fix it. He’d custom ordered it special and with those vita-chambers gone there was no replacing it.

When he’d heard of the development of those Lazarus tubes Fontaine was fucking ecstatic, he thought he’d have an unkillable solider. Part of the reason he’d gone to the trouble of getting Andrew Ryan’s seed; the unborn fetus of that whore in Eve’s Garden, was because that schizo had every fancy gizmo in this joint tuned to aid his unique genetic code… well, now it weren’t so unique.

Maybe that’s why the kid had no fuckin’ trouble getting these goddamned machines dancing to his tune. On that frustrated thought he got the damn, flyin’ gun whirlin’. If there was one thing Fontaine had learned in life, it was that patience is bitter, but its fruit was sweet.

Turning back to assess how the fruit of his labor was faring; on his knees, face planted to the splicer’s pelvis.

 Fontaine felt enough of his time had been wasted.

He directed the security bot to where a Little Sister was playing with her Big Daddy and started shooting at them.

The thing that could hardly be called a child at this point, started crying out disgusting noises of fear for her companion.

“Ah! Mr. B!”

The grisly brute went angry red in an instant, grabbing his Little Sister and slinging her on to his back before knocking the buzzing bot back.

Fontaine smirked, “Well, got its attention.” He then sent the now damaged bot flying to the direction of were the kid was being held captive. The angry daddy gave chase, letting out furious groans as he stomped down the hall.

When the bot reached the room where his kid lay, unmoving under some large splicer. He set the whirlin’ gun to auto, sat back, and watched it wreak havoc with a smile that only grew when the Big Daddy joined the party.

His good humor was soured though as his eyes were drawn back to the kid laying on the dirty ground, half naked, and motionless like a dead fish.

The hell was wrong with him?...

He’d not made a single move while every other man in that room met a violent, bloody death. Well not every man, Fontaine dully noted as his eyes tracked one scurrying away and out of the gruesome scene.

When the kid still had not moved, even long after the danger had passed and that little monster started merrily colleting ADAM from what was left of the bodies, Fontaine grew concerned.

For the state of his plan, of course.

Clearing his voice he slipped into that oh so charming honest Irishman façade that’d had broads spreading their legs for him.

“You alright there, boyo?” He made sure good ol’ Atlas sounded wracked with worry.

Just like earlier. The brat didn’t respond. He was gettin’ real tired of the little ingrate’s shit. Here he was, fightin’ for the kid; keepin’ him alive. The least he could do was grace him with a response. Sure, the kid had never been much of a talker, even as a child. But this was getting ridiculous.

Fontaine with a lot less concern and a great deal more frustration, voiced it with a firm-

“Jack!”

That seemed to rattle him some in whatever stupor he was in. Fontaine watched him as the kid slowly moved his arms from where they had lay limp by his head and ran them through into his hair before clenching his fingers and squeezing his eyes shut just as tight, as if trying to block out some loud noise.

Not knowing what he was watching, Fontaine didn’t even know how to go about fixing it.

Fontaine didn’t even have to fake the troubled tone in his voice this time.

“C’mon, boyo, you gotta speak to me…”

The boy rolled onto his side curling in on himself into a fetal position, he was shaking.

Not sure if he were more disturbed or annoyed by this, Fontaine knew sitting back on his ass wasn’t going to get him anywhere this time. He let out a sigh before muttering to himself.

“Okay kid, you win.”

He stood up and stretched before pulling on his suspenders that hung from his belt, took a good look about the areas surrounding the room his kid lay in before feeling satisfied there would be no more ‘visitors’ he made up his mind.

Seems the only living beings on the whole floor were in that room. Ha, as if either of those words could be used to describe any of ‘em.

“Hey boyo, would you kindly not wander off.” No response. Not like he’d really expected one at this point.

He picked up the cigarette that’d fallen from his lips during the commotion and looked around for his last match.

He really needed a smoke.

...But it looks like he won’t be getting it since his light now lay broken and useless.

It’s been a bad day.

With a forlorn sigh he grabbed his pistol and spared a last glance to the “marvel of genetic science.” as the German had put it and left the security of his control room.

He’d needed to make a smoke run anyhow.

This was just a pit stop.

***

“C’mon, boyo, you gotta speak to me…”

“Come on, kid, you gotta learn to speak up.”

Who was that?

His father?

No… that wasn’t right, didn’t feel right.

“You’ve grown, last I saw ya you was still a baby.”

Jack wasn’t a baby.

His head was pounding, the lights were too bright.

But not as bright as the ones in Papa Suchong’s lab.

What lab?

He was in Papa Suchong’s lab again.

He was in the bright room.

The bright room made Papa Fontaine’s head so shiny.

Baby bet it was even smoother than the shiny table he sat on.

“How old is it now?” Papa Fontaine’s voice was different from Papa Suchong’s and Miss Tenenbaum.

“Baby is 54 days since neonatal pod extraction.” And Papa Suchong sounded so different from Miss Tenenbaum.

Papa Fontaine was looking at Papa Suchong like Papa Suchong looked at him when he did something wrong.

 But Papa Fontaine’s looks were scarier.

“Physically.” Papa Fontaine didn’t sound happy.

Miss Tenenbaum didn’t even look at Papa Fontaine when she answered him, too busy examining him where he still sat on the cold table, like a good boy.

“The child is being around 4 years old, physically and mentally.”

Did all people speak so differently?

Baby has only ever known 3 people in his life and they were so different from each other.

Miss Tenenbaum spoke with him every day, even though it seemed like she didn’t like him all that much.

She was still nicer than Papa Suchong.

Papa Fontaine was so different from both of them, while they wore long white coats Papa Fontaine wore multiple layers of different but similar colours. They were mostly like blue but darker like black but still not quite that dark, they were brand new colours that Baby had never seen before. His eyes were drawn to the string tied around Papa Fontaine’s neck; it was the same near black shade of blue as his top layer coat, but shinier with little patterns.

Baby wanted that string.

He couldn’t stop staring at him.

Then Papa Fontaine looked back.

“What, kid?” Papa Fontaine’s voice was the deepest he’d ever heard, and a lot scarier when directed at him.

Baby just looked down to his swinging feet, little fists bunching up the hem of his grey gown. He didn’t want Papa Fontaine to yell at him. When Papa Suchong got angry with him, he found it was best to be quite and just stay out of the way. Baby hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“ What? You lame, kid? Speak!” Baby couldn’t do what Papa Fontaine wanted, he didn’t want to! Last time he spoke, Papa Suchong got real mad.

Tears started to well up in Baby’s eyes, remembering how Papa Suchong would punish him when he was being a bad boy.

Hearing footsteps coming closer he pulled his knees up, trying in vain to hide behind them.

Papa Fontaine was going to hit him.

He held his breath and waited… but nothing happened.

“What’s wrong, kid?” His voice had changed, it was still scary but… softer?

Baby cracked open his watery eyes and saw Papa Fontaine had moved right in front of him, he was couched down to look up at the child’s face.

Papa Fontaine’s eye were prettier than his neck string. They were another colour of blue but also reminded Baby of the cold steel of a doctor’s knife.

Baby decided they were his favorite of all the new blues he’d seen today.

Remembering Papa Fontaine was waiting for an answer and Papa Suchong having taught him better than to waste people’s time, Baby didn’t know what else to do but show him what he wanted.

Unwrapping one arm from his knee he pointed at the string tucked around Papa Fontaine’s neck.

Baby knew he wasn’t supposed to ask for things, but he’d never wanted something as much as he wanted that pretty neck string.

Fontaine looked puzzled for a second then following the little finger pointed at his chest, comprehension donned his face. Looking back to the child then down to his tie, he took hold of it, and started to pull it free from where it was tucked into his suit’s jacket and waistcoat. Still knotted around his neck, he held out the tie, arching a brow as if to say, ‘this?’

Baby clenched the hand he’d pointed to the string with, scared this was another test he would fail but… the string was so pretty he couldn’t resist. Eye flicked back up to Papa Fontaine with a fleeting look of trepidation before reaching out to pinch the material between his little fingers and rub it. It was silkier than he thought it would be.

Baby couldn’t help the smile that blossomed to his face at the feel of the soft material.

Fontaine, indifferent but contented with his findings seemed to make up his mind about something, giving a nod to himself before pulling down the tie and working on undoing the knot.

 “The kid got a name?” Not bothering to look up, the man was speaking to whomever would answer first.

He felt the urge to introduce himself to Papa Fontaine, to proudly tell him ‘My name is Baby!’

Suchong seemed bored with the whole display whereas Tenenbaum observed the events with unseen curiosity.

“Baby is tool, no point for name.” Suchong spoke with finality, walking away while looking over Tenenbaum’s physical examination notes of the boy.

But… that was lie, he had a name. His name was Baby

He wanted to jump up and tell Papa Fontaine this, but Miss Tenenbaum spoke first.

“Maybe you would like to be one who gives name?” She tried to sound as disinterested as possible.

Baby could feel new tears coming to his previously drying eyes.

Why were they lying? He had a name. He wasn’t a tool, knives and needles were tools and he was like them.

He was people, and people had names.

“Eh, it don’t matter.”

Fontaine freed the material from his neck, holding out the proffered tie to the boy who seemed even more distraught than before, once again looking down and wringing his gown in tiny fists.

The boy was so caught up in his inner turmoil he didn’t notice the offering or how Fontaine grew impatient with his lack of response.

“Well?”

The child jumped, alarmed by Fontaine’s change in tone. Both having a similar thought.

 ‘His moods change so quickly’.

The boy looked at the pretty string no longer attached to Papa Fontaine’s neck that seemed to be held out for him to take.

He wiped his wet eyes with a balled fist, looking to Fontaine in permission before reaching out and grasping the tie.

He brought it to his face and brushed it along his cheek before sticking a thumb in his mouth.

It smelled nice, and it was comforting.

With The boy not seeming keen to interact anymore Fontaine gave a sigh and final look to the child who held his tie like a security blanket, sucking his thumb as an infant would before standing up and wincing at the pop in his legs.

“Well, I’m not gonna call the thing ‘baby’.”

“I suppose you better be thinking of name, then.” With that Tenenbaum gave a sharp turn and went to leave, but coming to the door she turned back to address the boy.

“Little One, when he is leaving you are to be coming to education.” Doubtful of a reply she didn’t bother to wait for one and left through the door leaving nothing but the echoing of heels on tile.

Baby- no, that wasn’t his name. He didn’t have one. The though made him want to cry again.

 “Tch, jerry cunt.” Fontaine watched where she had left before turning attention back to the nameless child he’d been left alone with.

*sigh* “How’s something like you supposed to bring down Ryan.” He didn’t seem to be asking the boy, the question was more like he was thinking aloud.

“What am I supposed to call you? Not like I’m out there namin’ kids on the regular.”

The child just sat there quietly and let the man talk to himself. Papa Suchong got mad when he interrupted his thoughts.

Another sigh “Well doesn’t matter I suppose, the slant ain’t wrong.” Despite that vocal thought, Fontaine ran a hand through the boy’s hair and gave it a small ruffle, not expecting a tiny hand to suddenly grab his thumb.

It really was small; the little fist didn’t even cover his whole thumb.

“I...” Hearing the kid, Fontaine give it his full attention. It was the first time he’d heard it speak.

It looked up at him, brown eyes with slight tears in them.

“I… I want a name.”

Well whatever Fontaine had been expecting, it wasn’t that. The boy’s voice was so soft and small like it didn’t get much use.

Fontaine gave a small hm of acknowledgment and absently rubbed the little hand still holding tightly to his thumb.

“Do ya now? And what do you want it to be?”

“I… dunno” The boy didn’t know what made a name, didn’t know what he could choose from.

He started to look away from Papa Fontaine, releasing his hand figuring that was it, he didn’t get to have a name ‘cause he didn’t know any. Well, any that weren’t already taken. He thought Papa Fontaine would leave now, but he just placed his big hand on top of his head again and gave a heartier ruffle of his slightly curled mop.

“Well we’ll just have to do somethin’’ about that, wont we.” He’d never heard Papa Fontaine or anyone really, sound so nice. It made his chest feel like flowers were blooming in there, and it had him smiling brightly at the man he’d heard had done many great things.

No one had ever been so nice before.

Papa Fontaine actually smiled back at him before taking his hand back and sticking it in his pocket.

He missed the warmth of it on his head.

“Heh, see ya ‘round, kid.” Fontaine with both hands in pockets, turned away, not looking back as he walked out of the bright room.

And just like that he was alone again, Fontaine seeming to take all the warmth in the room with him like he did with his hand on his head.

The nameless boy wanted to cry again until he realized he still had Papa Fontaine’s pretty string in his hand.

He’d let him keep it.

The boy brought the soft material up to feel it against his face again, and could still smell Papa Fontaine on it.

It made him feel safe.

He wanted to wear it like Papa Fontaine did, like a person did. With that thought, he threw it around his neck, trying to tie it best he could, ending up with a knotted mess that he felt proud of.

Remembering he had education time with Miss Tenenbaum, he hopped off the chilly table and skipped out of the bright room, excited to show Miss Tenenbaum the pretty string Papa Fontaine let him have.

Chapter Text

It really did feel like longer.

To anyone watching, Atlas was taking a merry stroll down the middle of the street like he owned it. Hell, once upon a time he had.

He weren’t no chump, Fontaine’s eyes were darting left and right, watching for the smallest movement, listening for the tiniest sound.

No one got the drop on Frank Fontaine.

Turning a corner, he saw the sign of the hovel the brat was holed up in, The ‘Pink’ Pearl. Once a swanky joint for the upper crusts to live in, now it was just a destitute slum of a ‘love hotel’. Ha, just a pretty way to say whorehouse.

Now if Fontaine was being honest with himself; which he’d like to think he usually was. He’ll admit a small part on him was a bit eager to see the kid after so long.

When he’d put Jack on that bathysphere and sent the kid topside, he’d intended to never see him again, at least not in person. ‘Cause he knew what’d he’d have to do when the kid came back down, after he does Ryan in.

The kid was never intended to live past his use.

Things was different with them back then, he’d spent too much time with the kid, let himself get attached. Who he was back then doubted when the time came if he’d be able to go through with it.

But that was then, and this was now.

Things’ve changed. Without the kid here to distract him, he got his priorities back on track. All the shit Ryan’s pulled in this little tug-o-war for ‘the great chain’…

No… He loathed Ryan more than he might’ve once cared for the bastard’s son.

He wasn’t about to blow a con 12 years in the makin’ for a kid “a tool” that’d been alive barley a quarter of that time. Fontaine safely passed the threshold of the slum and now stood at the base of a staircase.

He took a few resolved breaths before making his way up the stairs, down the hall, to stand in front of the open door where he could see the kid was still just lying there, curled in on himself, crying, and barley dressed.

Just like the day he’d really met him.

With another exhale he ran a hand through his greasy black hair. He fleetingly wondered if the kid would miss his “shiny head”.

No, he wouldn’t.

This kid wasn’t supposed to even know the name Frank Fontaine, but word got around down here. Hell even if he did still know him he wouldn’t recognize him. He weren’t Frank Fontaine no more, he was Atlas.

At least for now.

“All right, showtime.” With that, he started cautiously making his way to the kid, stepping over a gruesome corpse in the door. Figuring it best to make his presence known and not startle the boy, not knowing if he’d lash out in his current state, Fontaine made a point of putting weight to his steps.

“Hey there, boyo.” Right now, to the boy Atlas was just a voice, he didn’t know his face, and he was just another stranger.

Boy had the kid ever learned a little something about stranger danger today.

So, best be to be vocal about who he was and to get them reacquainted right quick. He was a mere foot away from him now, crouching down to place a hand on the young man’s shoulder and shake him awake.

“Come on, lad. Up and adam, can’t go bein’ a layabout now.” Fontaine started to move his hand down from his shoulder and back up his arm in a way he hoped the boy would find comforting. He didn’t know what else to do. He watched as the kid huddled closer on himself and seemed to give hard tremors with every motion of his hand.

“What’s goin’ on with you kid…”

Fontaine was reminded of a time when Jack was still small, he’d had to console him on a few occasions.

“How’d I use to do it…?”

Coming back to him like reflex, Fontaine ran his hand from up the kid’s arm until reaching his head and begun petting back his damp hair humming Danny Boy, an old favorite of his.

He’d sung this out right for Jack once, would hum it to him on a few occasions, always helped calm him down.

After a good minute of it, the kid’s shaking slowed and the pained grimace that’d been on his face started to relax into something that couldn’t quite be called peaceful but damn if it weren’t a start.

His mind began to drift with the motions of his hand and the humming of a familiar tune, legs beginning to ache in his crouched position he was close to just slapping the little shit back to the waking world.

“Fah…”

Fontaine startled back to reality, it was the first sound he’d heard from the kid in hours. Hell, days really.

“Pa… Fon…”

His stomach dropped as if full of lead.

Had the kid… said his name?

No, no that couldn’t happen, there weren’t no way.

That chink said ‘Code Genesis’ would wipe the kid’s mind completely and put it into a “factory default” they’d imprinted in his head; a fairy tale of a simple life on a dreary farm with a loving family.

But didn’t the oriental also say something about “possible triggered memory” or somthin’ of the likes. 

Was that what was going on with the kid? What could have set him off?

What’s going to happen to the kid?

The slant had said it could break his mind, that he could be left as good as a potato.

What the fuck was he supposed to do then? There’s no way he’d get to Ryan on his own.

Fontaine’s petting hand turned to a clenched fist in hair just as the other began to stir, seeming to finally regain consciousness.

Bleary eyes turned up to him in question, his mind not caught up yet.

Fontaine had silently thanked the boy’s mother over a dozen times for those dark eyes.

If he’d had to look into the eyes of Andrew Ryan every day, he’d probably have strangled the little bastard.

“Back with the livin’ then are ya? Had me worried there, boyo”

Fontaine could see the exact moment the kid recognized just who he was looking at; who he thought he was looking at.

Atlas gave his kindest smile to the kid staring at him slack jawed, like he’d just met his hero. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten that look from the kid.

“Hm, there ya are…” He’d spoken practically in a murmur.

The kid moved too quickly to sit up, making himself dizzy. Fontaine had to move the hand that had been petting his head to support him, grabbing his shoulders.

“Easy there, just take a second and breathe.”

Always eager to please, the boy did just that before looking back at him with those eyes that held the highest adoration for him.

And only for him

The kid opened and closed his mouth a few times in what he’d say was a decent impression of a fish, before seeming to work up the nerve to actually speak.

“Atlas?” soft spoken as ever.

“In the flesh.” Fontaine suppressed a smirk and made sure to keep that sweet smile on Atlas’s face, giving a small squeeze to his shoulder.

“Nice finally meetin’ ‘ya, boyo.”

The kid was still too trusting.

***

“Nice finally meetin’ ‘ya, boyo.”

Jack couldn’t believe it. He had to be dreaming.

He’d started to think of Atlas as just a voice; he didn’t think he ever really meet him in person.

Raven hair and dark stubble, he was handsome.

Recalling Atlas had just spoken and was probably expecting a response he blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“I-I’m sorry I -!” He cut himself off, I didn’t save them. Being left unsaid.

“Sorry? Whatever fer’?” Atlas sounded baffled and looked so concerned.

It made him feel like garbage.

“Your family, I tried but I couldn’t- I’m so sorry, Atlas!” Jack’s vision went bury and he had to move a hand to cover his face, he was so ashamed. Atlas should be the one crying, not him.

This was his fault.

Atlas stiffened, Jack had almost forgotten he was being held in the other man’s arms . Atlas had been taking care of him since the day he’d first arrived, and Jack wasn’t there when he’d needed him most.

He didn’t deserve his kindness.

“Hey.”

Jack couldn’t bring himself to look at the man.

“Hey, look at me.” Atlas sounded firm yet still so kind. The other man took hold of the hand covering his face and held it in his own rough one.

“What happened… it weren’t ‘yer fault. It will never be ‘yer fault.” Atlas released his hand in favor of holding his jaw to gently force Jack to look him in the eyes.

Blue steel, cutting sharper than any knife.

Jack almost forgot how to breathe.

“The only one ta’ blame for this mess is Ryan. But don’t ‘chu worry, ‘cause you and me, we’re going to make the bastard pay. So please, no more tears on my behalf.” Atlas ran a calloused thumb across his eye, wiping away the evidence of his shame.

“Now, think ya’ can walk? Here ain’t exactly the ideal place to sit and chew the fat.”

Quickly looking away and taking in his surroundings, Jack was inclined to agree.

Like most of Rapture, the room was filthy and falling apart. Its most apparent aesthetic being the fresh blood and bodies scattered… well, everywhere.

What happened here? Actually, how’d he even get here?

Where were his pants?

At this point he was sitting practically in Atlas’s lap half naked.

Jack had to look away, feeling his face heat up.

“Ah, you’re redder than a beat, lad! ya feelin’ alright?"

Atlas brought his hand up to rest it against his forehead, pushing back his fringe. He just made it worse.

“Tch, you’re runnin’ a temperature. Well, c’mon then, let’s get’ cha outta here” With that, Atlas stood, cursing the popping of his knees and held hand out a hand for Jack to take.

Jack still couldn’t shun the feeling he didn’t deserve Atlas’s kindness, but not wanting to seem rude and missing the physical contact, he grabbed Atlas’s extended hand and let himself be hauled to his feet.

He looked himself over and pulled down on the edge of his sweater that had always ‘thankfully’ been a bit big on him, trying to cover himself as much as he could.

“…Where are my-"

“Here! Let me.”

He watched Atlas pick up his mysteriously vanishing trousers and shake them out.

“Guh, Feckin’ boors.”

Still tugging at the end of his sweater, he walked over to see what Atlas was muttering about. Jack looked over the other man’s shoulder at the pants he held out in scrutiny. The button of his trousers had been ripped off and the center seam torn apart.

Well he won’t be wearing those again.

“Gods, I’m sorry lad. I sent aid quick’as I could, but still. I wish I’d gotten to ya sooner."

What? What does Atlas have to be sorry for?

About to ask just that Atlas went on.

“Just ‘tinkin what them bastards done to ya- what they were going to… gets my blood boilin’.” Atlas had the look of a man who’d killed and would do it again.

What the hell happened?

“What?” Atlas whipped his head around to look intern at the young man peering over his own shoulder.

Had he said that aloud?

“I said, what happened?”

Atlas was looking at him in a mixture of worry and like he’d just told a joke in poor taste and seemed to weigh his words before speaking slowly.

“What do you mean by ‘what happened’?”

Jack was exhausted and felt frustration start to jerk its way out of him before he could reel it in.

“I mean what happened? What are you apologizing for, what happened to these… people? Why am I covered in fresh blood I don’t remember spilling? And why don’t I remember how I even got here!?”

By the end of his tirade he was shouting and waving his arms around in gesture. Atlas was staring at him in no small amount of shock and something else he couldn’t place, standing ridged as if one wrong move would set him off.

“Ahem… you don’t remember?”

Jack wanted to shout, “remember what!?”

So he did.

Atlas was staring at his face but not really looking at him, seeming to be thinking hard about something before closing his eyes and rubbing a hand down his tired expression and nodding to himself.

“Okay, ah… small blessings perhaps…”

Jack just furrowed his brows and crossed his arms. Atlas heaved a sigh.

“look lad, we’ve dawdled here long ‘nough, can’t we take this conversation somewhere else? Somewhere safe?”

He could tell Atlas was diverting but felt his resolve waver under the man’s pleading expression but wanting answers, remained firmly rooted.

“I’m right knackered and I know you gotta be more so than I, So please, would you kindly not act the maggot on this.”

Atlas held out his hand, tone begging.

Just like that Jack felt all the fight leave his body in an exhale, and with a small nod, took Atlas’s hand.

In a sign of gratitude Atlas's hand squeezed his own and the man flashed him the most charming smile he’d ever seen.

Jack could feel his heartbeat in his ears.

“Good man, now luckily I know a place ‘taint a tic from here we can recoup at.”

Jack gave another nod in silent agreement but for some reason was still feeling defiant.

“Okay… But I still want answers.” he muttered, sounding unimpressive to his own ears.

Atlas, still holding his hand in his own warm one started to pull him away to leave.

“And you’ll get ‘um. Right after we get you cleaned up and… dressed.” On that last note, Atlas looked back at him giving a smirk as his eyes moved pointily down Jack’s body in a way that had him red-faced and looking away, self-consciously tugging at the hem of his sweater again.

Atlas gave a hearty laugh and released his hand. Despite missing the contact Jack was about to tell Atlas to stop teasing him before colliding into a strong back.

He was so warm.

Atlas had stopped to stand in front of a headless corpse lying in the way of their exit.

Why didn’t he just step over it?

“Atlas?”

Not bothering to answer, he crouched down to the bloody body that was once a man and started searching his pockets.

Well, he himself wasn’t above grave robbing these days.

But still… time and place.

“Hah! Paydirt!”

Jack leaned over to see what Atlas was so delighted to find.

A… flip lighter?

Seeing his puzzled look of disbelief Atlas supplied his silent question with a response.

“Ain’t all treasure in silver and gold, boyo.”

Atlas wiped the lighter on the dead man’s coat, cleaning off the blood.

“Oh! But this is. It’s gold.”

“…”

“Right then! Let’s go, done shillyshallied long ‘nuf.”

With that Atlas stepped over the corpse and led on.

Chapter Text

So here they were. Hand in hand, strollin’ down the streets of Olympus Heights, headed home.

‘Just like the good ol’ days’, Fontaine mused sourly.

He subtly looked over to the kid, not that it mattered considering the boy was making an effort to look anywhere but at him. The kid was all nerves, fidgeting with that fucking sweater that just barely came down past his hips.

Despite having his memories scrubbed the kid hadn’t changed much. Not really.

From the way he was balling up that filthy sweater the kid seem to be fighting with himself on something.

Better check in.

“Ya doin’ alright, boyo?”

He gave a chuckle when the kid startled and tripped over his own feet.

“Y-yeah I-I’m fine, juss-where are we going?” The kid was flushed and slurred over his words.

“Whoa, hold up now.” Fontaine stopped, gabbing his shoulder to take a good look at him.

The kid was swaying on his feet.

“W-What?”

The kid looked him in the eye briefly before ducking his head to look away. Fontaine was too used to this behavior to be irritated by it. As the kid got older into his adolescence, the more trouble he seemed to have maintaining eye contact.

At least with him anyway.

“Just sit still for a tic.” He held him firmly to keep him steady and with his other hand, grabbed his chin with an open palm to force him to look back at him. But the kid’s eyes just darted away.

This time feeling slightly annoyed by the kid’s antics he had to keep it out of Atlas’s voice.

“Would you kindly look at me, boyo.”

Instantly the kid’s eyes snapped to his, he could feel the face under his hand grow warmer.

The kid’s pupils were blown wide, one just a fraction bigger than the other.

“How are ya feelin’, lad? Be honest.”

“I don’t know… have a bit of a headache.” he mumbled sounding unsure. Fontaine had tried to get the kid to speak up more when he was little, but he was always so reserved.

“Feelin’ sick? Dizzy? Any ringin’ in ‘yer ears?” Fontaine’d taken a good few licks to the head in his life and was familiar with the sign of the aftershock.

Believe doctors called it a ‘concussion.’

“I-uh kinda, a little, and sort of?” Always so damn uncertain.

“Mhm.” Fontaine released his cheek and ran a hand through hair, feeling for a knot or swelling on the back of his head.

Jack gave a hiss the moment his fingers made contact with a small wet spot at the base of his skull.

He held up his fingers more to show Jack than confirm what he already knew, they were wet with blood.

“That mine?” it annoyed Fontaine how nonchalant the kid sounded about it.

“Aye, could you turn around for me.”

“I’m fine, it’s no big deal.”

Such a pain in the ass.

“Humor me.”

With an melodramatic sigh he turned his back to him, just as requested.

God, he was such a fuckin’ child.

Fontaine parted his hair where he could see already drying blood. There was a small cut with some slight swelling around it, but other than that it didn’t look serious. That blow to the head ‘prolly just knocked his brain around a little.

May be why he didn’t remember what went on with him and them splicers.

He’ll be fine. After all the kid was made to withstand blows like this, ‘super regenerating cells’ n’ all. He’ll be okay.

Realizing at this point he was just reassuring himself, Fontaine heard a small voice creeping in the back of his mind, the distinct voice of a certain German bitch mocking him, calling him a “mother hen”.

With that thought Fontaine took a step back and put booth hands on the kid’s shoulders and gave him a hearty shake.   

“Ah, you’ll be fine, boyo!”

“I told you.”

Fuckin’ child.

“Right, well can’t blame me for lookin’ out for ya, now we’re almost there, practically around the corner it is.”

He slung an arm around the swaying kid’s shoulders and kept them going.

Passing through the Central Square Bistro, He looked to the kid who was taking in their surroundings, alert for conflict, well as alert as he could be in his state. Fontaine searched his face for any sign of recognition. The kid came through this area on his trips to and from the lab, he’d even brought the boy here to eat a time or two.

Seeing none he didn’t know if he felt relief or disappointment.

By the time they’d made it to Mercury Suites he’d had them switch places, throwing the kid’s arm around his own shoulders to keep him standing, ignoring his pathetic protests.

“Atlas, I told you I’m fine.” He’d whined the whole damn way through the apartment complex till they reached the elevator that led to the penthouse suite. He’d have to put in the passcode.

“Aye, so you did.” Fontaine carefully released the kid not quite trusting him to stay on his feet, the boy just pouted, crossing his arms looking indignant. Fontaine ignored his sulking, flicking the dials to the code.

“Fontaine…”

Fontaine whipped his head around so quick he might’ve he’d gotten whiplash. Hearing the kid call his name now was the last thing he’d expected to hear from him. Feeling his heart in his throat or more like he was gonna puke, Fontaine looked to Jack who wasn’t even looking back at him.

He was looking up at the gold name plaque above the elevator door

F. Fontaine

He couldn’t hold in the breath of relief that made the kid’s eyes dart back to him in question.

“Yeah.” He sounded winded.

“Yeah, I took that bastards place as me own.” Breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

The kid easily accepting his answer, simply nodded and took place leaning against the wall, eyes drooping.

“Figured what more a secure place than the home of ‘The captain of industry’ himself.”

He was just rambling now.

*ding*

Saved by the bell

“Well, here she is, lad. Now let’s get you up there and taken care of.” With that Fontaine resumed their previous position of supporting Jack, surprised by the lack of more whining.

Getting in the elevator he leaned back allowing himself a moment to relax, the kid pressed flush against his side. He didn’t let himself think about his hand that found purchase in the boy’s dirty hair, running fingers through it.

The moment didn’t last long anyway.

The elevator opened to his zen garden that wasn’t so zen no more, besieged by footprints and a turret gun hidden behind the boulder in the middle of it. Fontaine went to stand, still holding the kid he realized he was 100% dead weight.

The little shit had passed out.

‘Prolly not a good thing for him to be passing out so soon after a knock to the head like that.

Well he wasn’t about to carry him like a fuckin’ blushing bride and he probably shouldn’t just leave him lyin’ in the elevator.

So with no other options it pained him to have to wake the kid up. Really.

He snapped fingers in the boy’s face.

“Boyo, ya gotta wake up” when that didn’t work he shook him some.

Bupkis.

“…Nuh…Pa…” the boy muttered.

Losing his grip on the boy and becoming agitated, his tone dropped an octave and he moved to shove the other with more force.

“Wake up, kid. We’re home.”

Fontaine felt the kid go stiff and watched his eyes fly open. The kid’s gaze locked on him then quickly shifted around as if expecting to see someone else here, before making their way back to him, but still not quite looking him in the eye.

“What did you say?” He seemed shaken.

 “I says, ‘Wake up, boyo. We’re here.’” Fontaine mentally patted himself on the back for his acting skills; keeping his front steady.

The kid seemed to search his face for something before looking down and started mumbling again.

“M’sorry, guess I was dreaming.”

“Dream of anything ‘particular?” He couldn’t resist probing. Like stickin’ your finger in a dying man’s wound and twisting, it was fun but left evidence. It got dangerous.

“My family? My Dad, maybe?... I’m not sure.” He seemed to be talking more to himself as he trailed off.

“Your Da, huh.” Fontaine didn’t know what to feel about that one.

 “I don’t…know.” Kid seemed to be doing some serious soul searching. Time to break it up.

“C’mon, let’s get’cha cleaned up.” He went back to helping Jack stand straight who seemed to be losing a battle with exhaustion and fatigue. They walked through the already destroyed zen garden, no point in bothering to go around.

Fontaine had warned Jack when he was small, said if he saw one tiny footprint in his garden, he’d beat his ass, or something to that affect. A small smile found his lips, remembering how all he’d received for his threats was a blank stare, the kid not finding his intimidations to be anything new.

Fontaine pressed the button to open the door to his apartment, greeted by all those stairs leading up to the foyer. He hiked the boy up reassessing his grip on him then started their assent up that goddamned stairway.

After reaching the top, Fontaine released the boy throwing his hands to his knees, he had to take a moment and regain his breath, fuckin’ hell he wasn’t a young man no more. Christ, for a kid that looked like a slight breeze might’ve blown him over, the boy sure was dense.

Jack’d still been a pretty scrawny kid when he’d put him on the sub, Fontaine had to wonder how the boy had packed on the muscle while topside.

Whatever none of that matters.

All that matters is getting his little half-baked assassin patched up and sending his happy ass back on his way to Ryan’s doorstep to slaughter the son of a bitch.

Speaking of, Fontaine looked over just in time to see the kid sway then tip forward and in seemingly slow motion, plummet headfirst towards the hard wood floor.

Still hunched over, hands to knees, he dropped one of those knees to the abovementioned hard fucking wood floor and threw out an arm to catch the full-grown bastard about to break his goddamned face.

A concussion would heal. Bleeding in the brain, not so much.

Fontaine gasped at the pain in his knee and the straining of his arm. The kid had fainted.

Fucking christ.

This kid- No. This grown man, was bent over his arm and knee, the one Fontaine hadn’t busted to save his fucking face, hand clutching his chest to keep him from toppling over.

This was a joke, right?

This was what he’d paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for? This was his genetically altered super solider!?

He looked like a child about to receive a lashing from father.

And by gods did he want to give him one.

Fontaine seriously debated doing just that, looking at the uncovered ass protected by nothing but a thin layer of briefs.

But that wouldn’t be the Atlas thing to do.

Still, he couldn’t resist running his unoccupied hand down the boy’s back coming down to grab a handful of cheek.

He’d filled out nicely.

Not that Fontaine had a memory to compare it to, he didn’t exactly get his giddies off to children. In fact he hated the sticky little worms. But Jack was once the exception to the latter.

Wasn’t he always.

He gave one more gratifying squeeze of the soft flesh in his hand before wrenching his hand away and tried to ignore the feeling of need that’d built in his lower body.

Fontaine never gave a man a second glance in his life. The very though sent waves of disgust through him. But like it seems with everything, Jack was the exception.

Fontaine cradled the young man’s head, kid was still too warm. Maneuvering him from across his knee to lie on his back, he took great care around his head. Last thing the kid needed was any more brain damage. He then sat back to drop heavily to his ass, resting an arm on a propped knee.

He hoped the kid’s losing consciousness didn’t imply anything more profound than exhaustion. If it were worse there wasn’t anything he could do about it, and not too many sane doctors around nowadays.

His eyes were drawn to the sleeping kid’s surprisingly peaceful face, bringing him back to earlier temptations.

Being true to his claims of honesty with himself, he could admit the kid wasn’t hard on the eyes, for a man anyway. Full cheeks brushed by dark lashes framing closed lids that Fontaine knew held big doe eyes that somehow managed to retain their innocence despite the horrors seen and committed in this hell, he let his eyes roam the dust of light freckles around his nose, more evidence of his recent adolescence. He followed the patterns of freckles down an upturned nose till reaching lips shaped like cupid’s bow, too plush to belong to a man.

Damn, for a boy he was a real dish.

The young man really had grown into himself in the past two years he’d been left to develop naturally, still a bit scrawny but not lanky, the ruse of lean muscle yet he knew physically the boy was stronger than him two times over, but still soft in just the right places. His ass. thighs…

Fontaine impulsively moved the hand that’d be resting on his own knee to place it on the boy’s calf and ran his hand up and down, giving a little twist to his wrist to feel the underside along its journey upward. He noted the kid’s whole body felt a bit warm. His legs were smooth, the hair on them more like a too thick, coarse peach fuzz.

That cunt scientist had said something about low testosterone as a side effect of rapid ageing… little to no facial hair… little body hair… little-

Fontaine found the higher his hand went the less he could hear the bitch in his head.

Well if that wasn’t incentive to continue.

Fontaine gripped his inner thigh, knuckles brushing Jack through his underwear, making the boy’s body twitch and thighs close around his hand like a flytrap. He hung his head and gave a low grown at the warm flesh his hand was now ‘trapped’ between.

He’s started to rub the kid through his briefs, cupping him, and felt him twitch under the attention. Fontaine moved his other hand over his own manhood, feeling it press uncomfortably against his zipper.

Fuck, he was almost half chub just from fondling another man who could barely even be called that. He must be more desperate than he’d thought.

This time groaning in pent up frustration and with no small amount of difficulty, he pulled his hand away from the other’s growing dick held in his palm.

Fontaine lay on the floor, opposite of the kid. He threw an arm across his eyes and a hand against his chest, willing away the growing arousal.

Could you really blame him though? He’d had nothing but his own hand and some dirty magazines for over 6 months now.

Hey don’t get him wrong, he’d never had trouble bedding women before. Not as Frank Fontaine and certainly not as Atlas.

But there weren’t too many decent women around anymore that weren’t covered in boils or didn’t have scarred leather like skin.

Or weren’t just off their fuckin’ rocker.

Over the last year the people’d started gettin’ really bad, and after all the splicing Atlas had started losing his followers to the insanity that came with ADAM junkies.

It was a shame.

Once he’d been able to have a different woman every night.

There was something about a “tall, dark, and handsome” liberator who was fighting a war “just for them”, that had broads goin’ weak in the knees. The honest Joe, Irishman accent certainly didn’t hurt neither.

Like with that Miss McClintock, that’s right, he’d fucked Ryan’s woman into a dirty mattress on more than one occasion. He’d usually plow her face down due to her disfigurement. Bein’ caught in the cross fire of a raid left her less than desirable, but Steinman, despite being off his fucking rocker was a fine surgeon.

He had the face to prove it.

Now call him a hypocrite but looking at her, he could tell where the real ended and the fake began, and it turned him right off. But he didn’t need to see her face to fuck her.

Thinking about her fake face was helping.

Feeling his need subside a bit, he’d started to move off the floor to stand.

It couldn’t be good for his back.

Testing the weight of his now bad knee he had to reel back the pressure immediately.

Fuckin’ great.

Not only did he have to take care of the kid’s injuries but now he had his own to attend to.

He hoped the kid could walk on his own, cause he wasn’t going to be able to carry him anymore.

Speaking of.

Fontaine let his eyes wander the kid’s body again because he was feeling masochistic. He watched eyes move behind lids, thick lashes fluttered as if dreaming, his cheeks flushed.

The kid was hard.

“Guh..” He pinched his brow and focused on his breathing.

In. Out. In. Out

This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were never meant to meet again.

OUT. IN. OUT

This wasn’t the same brat he’d been forced to raise, he couldn’t let him be.

OUT. IN. OUT

This wasn’t his Jack, this was just some kid.

IN-

Fuck it. Nap time was over. He needed that brat out of his apartment and back on the streets. The kid would kill Ryan and he’d wash his hands of him.

For good.

He was just biding his time, building his solider back up before sending him to the slaughter. He wasn’t even a real person.

This wasn’t Jack.

He died on that bathysphere two years ago.

Code Genesis was Jack’s ending and this kid’s beginning.

This thing means nothing to him.

Fontaine was glad the kid fucked up his knee, ‘cause if he could’ve, Fontaine would have bent down and slapped him across the face and told him to just get the fuck out and get it done.

But he couldn’t do that, not with the way he was now. That’d just be a death sentence.

And the kid hadn’t lived to his use yet.

And Fontaine couldn’t be the one to lead him there.

But Atlas could.

Chapter Text

The nameless child sat on the edge of his bed, legs swinging without a care while reading one of the many new books Miss Tenenbaum left for him. Said it was, “good stimulation of a developing mind.”

This one was called Dick and Jane and it was his favorite because it had a doggy in it named, Spot.

Even the doggy got a name.

The first time he got to meet Papa Fontaine, he’d told him he’d have a name of his own.

But that was weeks ago.

And Papa Fontaine had come to visit twice since promising to give him a name and still hadn’t given him one.

He’d found out his name wasn’t actually ‘Baby’ and then after learning in education time what a baby actually was, he’d told Papa Suchong not to call him that anymore.

More like he screamed he wasn’t a baby.

The child grazed a hand to his cheek where he could still feel the ghost of a much larger one covered by a rubber glove.

Well, he was being a bad boy, so he knew he deserved it but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

The boy looked up as Miss Tenenbaum poked her head through the door.

“Be coming to examination lab.” She went to leave but stopped and stuck her head back in, seeming to forget something.

“Fontaine is here.” She didn’t bother with pleasantries, leaving as quickly as she came. But the boy didn’t care, excitement already filling his body he jumped off his bed nearly hitting his head on the new “conditioning helmet” bolted above his bed.

Papa Suchong had told him it was like his education time helmet but instead of learning lots of new things he’d just be learning how to be a good boy.

Papa Suchong had been talking to himself while bolting it to the wall, he’d said Papa Fontaine would be happy to hear about his “conditioning”. The helmet was uncomfortable but if it made Papa Fontaine happy then it made him happy too.

The boy ran to his dresser filled with nothing but grey gowns save for one thing tucked safely at the bottom of a drawer. His favorite thing in the whole world, the navy-blue tie Papa Fontaine had given to him.

He’d learned the proper name for the neck string and its color from where he learned everything, in his education helmet.

He carefully took out the neck str- TIE from where he kept it hidden from Papa Suchong. He knew he wasn’t supposed to keep secrets but he was scared Papa Suchong would take it from him.

The child went to the little mirror above his sink, stepping on his stool so he could see himself, and went to work knotting the tie around his neck. He’d practiced a thousand times, trying to make it as pretty as the way Papa Fontaine did his.

He only took it out when he was sure Papa Suchong had left the whole lab or was playing with those other kids –GIRLS. He wished he could play with the girls too, but they never got to be in the same room. One time he’d asked Miss Tenenbaum if he could play with them and she’d gotten really sad, telling him “fate has bound them to equally tragic paths not meant to mingle.” He didn’t know what she meant but he never wanted to make her feel bad again, so he never asked again.

Finished tying the tie he inspected it, making sure it was perfect.

It was a jumbled mess of knots but to the little boy it was his best work yet.

Papa Fontaine would be so impressed, he’d know then that the child deserved the best name ever.

With that thought driving him, the child hopped off his stool and bounced the whole way to the bright roo -EXAMINATION LAB.

He started to slow the closer he got to the examination lab, hearing voices.

One he instantly recognized as Miss Tenenbaum’s and the other one was really deep and sounded angry.

Papa Fontaine was in there.

“I don’t give a damn! You squeeze every last ounce of ADAM outta those little rats, kickin’ and screamin’ for all I care! Everybody and their mother’s lookin’ to splice up now a days and ADAM don’t grow on trees.”

If it had been anybody else in there yelling like that the boy would have turned tail and run to hide under his bed. But this was Papa Fontaine, he thought he was the nicest person in the world.

Even if his world was kinda small.

Whatever Miss Tenenbaum was about to say back died right there when The Boy waltzed right in and climbed up to sit on the chilly table.

She balled her fist and trudged to the boy sitting patiently awaiting instruction. He would show Papa Fontaine what a good boy he was.

“Basic Physical.” Her tone was clipped but that’s all the boy needed to know. He held out his arms and started to go through the motions as Miss Tenenbaum started to check how big –TOOK MEASUREMENTS, put the squeeze thing-CHECKED BLOOD PRESSURE, put the cold thing on his-LISTENED TO HIS HEARTBEAT.

He looked to Papa Fontaine who was looking back at him. The boy puffed out his chest so Papa Fontaine would see the tie, he bet he was so impressed that it helped him think of the perfect name-

“This is it??”

Papa Fontaine didn’t sound impressed.

“Its barley grown in weeks!” Papa Fontaine gestured to him and the boy realized he wasn’t upset about his tie.

He was upset with him.

“I’m payin’ for a hulking guerrilla! Not a rawboned brat!”

He wasn’t happy about him

“And you will be getting it, but is going to take time.” Tenenbaum, seemingly unbothered by his shouting, carried on with the child’s examination

“I aint got time!” The boy jumped as Fontaine suddenly slammed his fist to a side table covered in vials and jars of strange liquids, knocking a few to the floor.

Done with his examination Tenenbaum turned to Fontaine to address him directly this time.

“Frank, I am working round clock to see to this child’s development and conditioning, if you wish for success it cannot be rushed! Gross quantities of ADAM are required for the rapid ageing agent, and besides-

“Besides what?” he sneered, voice low and dangerous. Tenenbaum was calm, holding his gaze without a shred of fear.

“ADAM does not grow on trees.”

The boy scoot back in time to avoid flying shards of glass from the beakers and vials that once held strange liquids, now on the floor because Fontaine had just flipped the table that once held them.

“Don’t get cute with me! You forget whos it is that funds your little ‘experiments’?!”

“The same who must now acquire me more equipment so that I may continue doing these ‘little experiments’ for him.”

The boy peeked above his knees, eyes darting between Papa Fontaine and Miss Tenenbaum, unable to decide who was scarier right now.

Fontaine’s gaze suddenly snapped to the small child, cowering behind the pathetic barricade he’d made of his legs.

Papa Fontaine’s eyes closed then, and he took loud, steady breaths. After a few seconds of that he spoke a lot calmer but it was near a growl.

“I expect results, Brigid.”

“As I said, you will get them, but he needs time.” She was exasperated but calm, continuing before Fontaine could start shouting again.

“The Child’s body will fail if introduced to large amounts of ADAM without giving it adequate time to adapt to accelerated hormonal changes and physical growth, if his genetic structure is not allowed a restoration period to evolve to the unnatural changes the stress of it will kill him.

Fontaine looked hard at her for a moment before those still hard eyes found their way to the small child.

“Fine.”

With that Fontaine dropped himself to a leather chair in the corner and lifted a hand to cover his eyes, massaging them.

Their feud with one another subsided for now, Tenenbaum let out a breath before motioning the nameless child to scoot back to his previous position on the metal table.

“Arm.”

He held out his arm so she could take a blood sample, eyes on Papa Fontaine.

He looked tired.

Tenenbaum, blood sample in hand walked to the far end of the lab to stick it into a machine while writing in her clipboard.

But the boy didn’t really care what she was doing, because Papa Fontaine was in the room. He still hadn’t moved from the chair he’d slumped in; his hand had stopped moving completely and just lay over his eyes.

The child thought this was the perfect time to show Papa Fontaine his tie.

The boy hopped off the table and walked to stand in front of Fontaine, who didn’t seem to notice him.

He looked like he was asleep.

So, the young boy decided to poke him in the tummy.

When nothing happened, the boy readied his finger to poke again just as Fontaine’s hand slowly lifted from his eyes just enough for him to glimpse through his fingers. He said nothing, simply arching a brow.

The boy shifted his outstretched finger from its hovering position over the man’s stomach to point at the knot of his tie. He puffed out his chest and bounced on his toes, excited for praise.

The boy figured Papa Fontaine didn’t comment on his tie earlier because he’d been so busy being mad he just hadn’t noticed it

He’d be so impressed he’d tell him what a good boy he’s been and that he deserved a name right there and then, he’d be so proud-

“That looks like shit, kid.”

The boy’s joyous bouncing came to an instant halt, pausing to take in what Fontaine had said and looking down to scrutinizing his own tie then compare it to Fontaine’s.

Papa Fontaine was right, his wasn’t as good. He made the pretty tie look ugly.

The boy felt his face heat up and his vision went watery. Little hands moved to hide the knot as if covering his shame. Papa Suchong was right, he couldn’t do anything right, he was ‘slow’. No wonder Papa Fontaine didn’t bother to give him a name.

With blurry eyes he looked back to Papa Fontaine who’d let out a hard breath.

He sounded annoyed.

Fontaine motioned him closer with the hand that wasn’t being used to prop his head, then sat up to start undoing the mess of knots around the boy’s neck.

The child bit his lip and twist his gown in his hands to stop himself from reaching out to stop him.

He was going to take it back.

“How the hell did you even- goddammit…” Fontaine was having a hard time undoing the knots, muttering curses in his frustration.

Papa Fontaine must be so disappointed in him.

Papa Fontaine didn’t think he deserved the pretty tie, like he didn’t deserve a name.

He felt the tie come loose from his neck and be pulled away. The boy’s vision finally cleared when the tears fell from his eyes.

He saw Papa Fontaine holding his favorite thing in the world, straightening it out with his hands, trying to make it pretty again after he’d ruined it. The boy looked back to the tiled floor, twisting his gown so hard it might rip.

“Look up.” His voice was deep as ever and sounded bored.

Just as he lifted his eyes he saw something being thrown over his head. The pretty tie was back around his neck.

His looked down to see Papa Fontaine’s big hands move quickly and efficiently, flipping and tucking the tie under his chin several times before it looked like a pretty knot, just like Papa Fontaine’s.

“There.” Papa Fontaine put a hand on his shoulder and with the other one gripping his jaw, turned the boy’s head to inspect his handiwork.

Papa Fontaine really was amazing.

Satisfied, Papa Fontaine took the hand on his shoulder back and would have taken the other with it if the little boy’s own hand hadn’t shot out to grab onto his index finger, bringing the appendage back to its previous position on his cheek.

The child snuggled against the rough hand, relishing in human contact that wasn’t just a means to poke and prod him.

So this is a hug.

He’d learned in education what a hug was –TO SQUEEZE SOMEONE IN AFFECTION. And tried to give one to Miss Tenenbaum, but she’d yelled at him, which she had never done before and told him to never touch her again.

But Papa Fontaine wasn’t yelling, the child opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d even closed to gauge Papa Fontaine’s reaction.

He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry either. He didn’t clench or move the hand that he’d let be dragged to the child’s face. If the boy had to put a word to Papa Fontaine’s face right now it would be neutral; he was just observing and thinking.

“Alright kid, that’s enough .” Papa gave his cheek little pats and forced his hand from the child’s weak grasp.

“Time to go.”

But he didn’t want Papa Fontaine to leave yet, he just got here! And he hasn’t given him his name yet!

The child reached for the man who was now impossibly far, wanting to hold the hand he could still feel patting his cheek.

He was surrounded by darkness, he was left behind.

“You gotta wake up.”

He needed Papa Fontaine. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t wanna be alone anymore.

“Open your eyes.”

He reached into the darkness, for the voice that sounded so near and the ghost hand that’d been patting his face turned to smacks that were starting to hurt.

“Kid!”

He couldn’t breathe.

“DON’T LEAVE ME!”

***

SLAP!

His head jerked violently to the side shattering the darkness.

His face hurt like hot red burning, one side throbbing. He could see now but everything was blurry and more watery than usual. Blinking helped.

“Boyo.”

Atlas

He wasn’t alone. Atlas was here. He couldn’t see him, not turning his head to try, but he could feel him. A hand rubbing his face where it burned as if trying to sooth. The hand was too rough, too dry, too warm, but it was so familiar. It was perfect.

It was safe.

“It’s okay, I’m here.” Jack slowly turned into the calloused palm, pressing nose and lips to it. Breathing in sweat, smoke, and a scent that was familiar but Atlas.

“Atlas…” the man ran a thumb over his eye, helping remove the blurriness.

“M’sorry lad, couldn’t get ya to wake any other way.” Atlas murmured so lowly that if it hadn’t been completely silent around them he wouldn’t have heard it.

Jack didn’t know what he was apologizing for and didn’t care, Atlas would never mean to hurt him.

Whatever he did, he’d forgive him.

Always.

He didn’t speak, just placed his hand atop the one holding his burning face, giving it a squeeze and pressing himself into it, taking a shaky breath through his nose.

Atlas was shaking or maybe it was him, he couldn’t tell.

Atlas inhaled loudly then cleared his throat.

“Can you-ah Think ya can sit up?”

He didn’t feel like moving, he was so tired. But since it was Atlas asking, he would. Sitting up was no real difficulty for him but as soon as he did, waves of dizziness hit that had him lolling his head forward to grip in his hand.

His head was throbbing from the inside and the heat that had been focused on one cheek was indistinguishable from the heat that had spread all over his face and was migrating across all his body.

Atlas moved his hand from his forehead to replace it with his own.

“Fever’s rising… Need to bring it down.” Atlas released him entirely, grunting as he moved to stand, having some trouble.

“I’m not gonna be able to carry you, boyo. Can barely carry me self now.” Jack looked to him in concern, wanting to ask what’d happened but Atlas seeing his worry brushed it off.

“Ah don’t worry ‘bout this ol’ mule. Taken shots worse than this in me time.” Not giving him a chance to talk about it, he held out a hand for Jack while supporting himself on the wall behind.

Jack shifted to his knees and took the hand offered in support, pulling himself up he placed his other hand on Atlas’s bicep to steady himself as the dizziness got worse.

Jack had to lean forward to stop himself from falling back to the ground, pressing himself flush to Atlas who he’d inadvertently pinned to the wall. Jack dropped his head to the crook of his neck, breathing hard and trying to clear the fuzziness from his head.

He could hear, feel Atlas’s throat move and swallow. The hand that wasn’t squeezing the man’s bicep, he’d wrapped around Atlas’s shoulders, gripping his shirt and the elastic of a suspender. Everything was spinning and he was so hot he’d started panting.

The boy felt a strong arm snake its way around his waist in support, oblivious to the way his sweater bunched above it, exposing him. He enjoyed the feeling of bare skin to his own. He took it in comfort, unable to remember the last time he’d had this much physical contact with a person who didn’t intend to kill him.

Another hand joined the one on his back, working its way under his bunched-up sweater, and running finger tips up his back and down again, in repeating motions that had the heat of his body move to focus around his pelvis.

“Shh, I got you. Just breathe.” Atlas sounded like he needed to take his own advice, his breaths were coming out in rapid succession.

Jack couldn’t tell if Atlas’s touches helped or made it worse. The air on his back felt amazing as Atlas worked his oversized jumper higher to dust those teasing fingers on his sweating skin. His legs began to wobble, feeling like jello.

It was too much, this was too much, whatever this was.

Atlas, probably feeling the way his body shook ‘how could he not?’, moved the arm around his waist much lower just as his legs gave. Grabbing him from his bottom and pulling him impossibly closer, press their hips together in a way that left both breathless.

I’m either going to burn alive or drown.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Atlas turned his head, lips relaxed against his temple as he gave a low groan. Accent going deeper than the boy had ever heard.

“A-Atlas it’s so hot, too hot-too much” He couldn’t catch his breath, his body was on fire, and felt so much of what he couldn’t understand; couldn’t take.

Atlas suddenly shifted him so he was back on unsteady legs, moving that hand that’d pulled him so close, to its previous position at his lower back. He wasn’t expecting Atlas to swiftly grip the back of his hair and yank his head back to force eye contact.

“Jesus, you’re burnin’ up, we gotta get’cha cooled off, now.”

Chapter Text

Fontaine nearly lost it when he’d gotten a handful of that sinful ass and heaved the young man closer to grind his swelling hardness against him

His lips grazed the boy’s sweaty temple.

The kid was on fire.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Fontaine leaned back heavily against the wall as he had to take on the boy’s full weight to keep him from dropping while trying to keep the bulk of it from falling to his bad knee as well.

Feeling the kid give a roll of his hips to rub himself against Fontaine’s own clothed cock, he found he didn’t mind too much.

“A-Atlas it’s so hot, too hot-too much”

And fuck was he hot. The kid was sweating bullets, the smooth skin of that back his hand had been wandering was starting to become sticky with the mixing of dirt and sweat. And the heat from the kid’s face that was hidden in the crook of his neck was starting to become unbearable.

It was starting to feel like he was holding a goddamn furnace.

But a large part of him didn’t want to stop. The kid had started this, so he should take responsibility for it. The way he pressed himself against him, he had to know what he was doing.

 But something was seriously wrong with the kid right now. His body temperature wasn’t normal, not even for a fever, the way he fell out just minutes ago, and that incident with him beatin’ in that guy’s skull. It’s like the kid was cracking.

So Fontaine did what Atlas would be expected to do.

Put the kid’s needs before his own.

God fuckin’ dammit.

He lowered the feverish boy back to his feet, releasing that wonderfully pert backside in favor of moving his hands to the kid’s waist to keep him steady.

The kid was still compressed tightly to him, head on his neck, chest to chest, groin to groin. Fuck.

He was full of pent up frustration and wanted to take it out on the boy, it was his fault. So feeling petty he couldn’t resist getting a little rough with the kid. He ran his fingers through short locks before gripping them and jerking the kid’s head up to look him in the eye.

Fuck his pretty eyes.

He mustered up as much concern in Atlas’s voice as he could, given the situation.

“Jesus, you’re burnin’ up, we gotta get’cha cooled off, now.”

The kid looked up to him with those doe eyes of his, dark lashes fluttering.

Fucking brat.

Fontaine felt cheated.

Keeping his hands on the kid’s waist to make sure he wouldn’t fall, he begun to put distance between them.

“C’mon, lad.” With that he pushed off the wall, leading the kid by the small of his back. They hobbled together, him limping on a bad knee and the kid swaying back and forth like a newborn fawn. Fontaine leaned against the railing of ‘nother flight of stairs they were going to have to climb, cursing his extravagant home.

Fontaine was brought out of his irate thoughts when the kid started pressing into his side too hard and a hand pawed at his chest, finding place fisting his shirt and a suspender. Annoyed with the kid’s sudden clinginess he looked to see what his problem was now.

The young man’s eyes were locked on the stuffed polar bear that had sat at the split of his stairs for years.

He looked absolutely horrified.

Fontaine could do nothing to stop the hard snort of a laugh in amazement.

After everything this kid has been through; everything he’d done, he was still scared of the taxidermy bear?!

Fontaine threw his arm around the kid’s shoulder to give him a firm shake and squeeze.

“Ah, ain’t scared of that wee thing are ya, lad?” He smirked, recalling how the kid would go to great lengths to avoid the thing when he was a child. The kid just pressed harder on him, shoving him into the rail that dug into his rib and really fuckin’ hurt.

“Why would someone have that thing?!” he sounded positively scandalized. He refused to comply with Fontaine’s attempt at tugging him up the stairs, grabbing the railings to keep planted where he stood.

 “It’s just a bear! Long dead and stuffed.” Fontaine gave up trying to drag the brat up the stairs, and he wasn’t in any condition to force him.

Physically.

“Look boyo, both of us are in a bad way and we can’t just sit down here. So would you kindly get yer arse up those steps.” And just like that the boy started to make his way up the stairs, though keeping himself pressed against the rails, as far away from the stuffed polar bear as possible while keeping his mistrustful gaze on it as if expecting it to lung at him.

Fontaine followed behind also holding to the railings in support. Going up the stairs was inconsequential without the burden of having another person cling to him.

When they’d made it to the top, Fontaine couldn’t resist picking at the kid.

“Good job, lad! Done made it past the beast in one piece.” He pat the kid on the back making him look down in embarrassment and pick at his sweater.

He was slightly disappointed at not getting a rise from the boy. Fontaine put a hand on his shoulder to lead him through his bedroom. The kid looked around in interest, from the huge king bed covered by crisp albeit dusty red satin sheets, to the unlit fireplace in the middle of the room.

Fontaine didn’t give him time to take in the sights, having moved his hand from the kid’s shoulder to the back of his neck, his thumb brushed over a very familiar old scar that he firmly ignored and hurried to lead the kid through the bedroom and into his master bath, straight to the giant tub.

He was way too warm.

He made the kid sit on the edge of it, and turned the taps to make the water as room tempter as possible. Didn’t wanna throw the kid into ice water and send him into shock or something.

“Are we taking a bath?” he asked in innocent curiosity, not understanding how it sounded. The kid just made himself such an easy target.

“Ha, well I reckon we’ll both fit, though I’d been meaning this bath just for you, but if you insist…” Fontaine thumbed his suspenders wondering how far the kid would let him go.

“N-no, I didn’t- I just meant-“, Taking some mercy on the kid, he ruffled his fringe.

“Just messin’ with ya.” The kid pouted and looked vexed.

“Like I said, you’re burnin’ up and I figured this might help. Besides I figures you might appreciate a wash.” Fontaine gestured to him. The kid was filthy, covered head to toe in dried blood and grime.

Examining himself, the kid seemed to agree. Fontaine went to the cabinet that held once clean towels and rags, now a bit musty, but it’ll have to do.

It’d been a while since Fontaine had been in his own apartment, having to live the life of a proletariat man to run his little ‘revolution’.

When Rapture went to shit he’d mostly holed up at ‘Atlas’s’ office in his old base of operations that had been converted from one of his poor houses. He hated it, reminded him too much of his time as a kid in the orphanage; when he was a nobody.

Fontaine got Jack’s old bathing necessities from under the sink, soap, shampoo, and conditioner. The conditioner he’d gotten just for Jack. When the child started staying with him, he found conditioning the curly mop was the only way he could run a comb through it without rippin’ it outta his scalp.

Moving back to the tub to shut off the water and lay out his findings he side eyed the kid who’d just been staring at his lap picking at a string on that filthy sweater.

Fontaine had been disgruntled to see the kid step outta the bathysphere still wearing that damn ugly thing.

Jack had been wearing it that day too, when he’d put him on that sub and sent him to the surface.

Clearing his throat and thoughts Fontaine made a wide arm motion to the tub.

“Well, it’s all ready for ya.” He stepped back and leaned on the counter crossing his arms, figuring the kid could handle getting in the tub on his own, but kept eyes on him.

The kid stood up with a wobble looking to the tub and started to lift up that hideous sweater but froze, his eyes moved to Fontaine’s as if feeling his ogling.

The fevered boy’s cheeks flushed an even deeper red, moving his sweater back down he started wringing it in that nervous habit of his.

Fontaine had noticed earlier he still had that little tic, he’d been surprised he’d retained so much of what he used to be even without his memories.

“Are you gonna…?”

Fontaine knowing full well the kid was asking for privacy, decided to be mean. It’d been awhile since he’d gotten to have any fun. And the kid had left him hanging.

“Whats that? You need help?” He moved quicker than the boy could stutter, hands grabbing the hem of that foul sweater attempting to work it off his body only to be thwarted by flailing arms.

“Atlas! No I got it! Please- I can do it myself!” Fontaine grabbed the arms attempting to push him away only to pull his body against him. Fontaine leaned down to put his lips on the kid’s ear.

“Now, what’cha shy for, boyo? You ain’t got nothin’ I haven’t felt before.” To make his point Fontaine ran his thigh between the boy’s legs, alluding to their earlier rutting. He felt the body forced against him gasp and shudder.

And why not? They’ve already been dry humping each other like a couple of horny teenagers.

Fontaine has never been so sexually frustrated in all his life and this kid… well damn if he weren’t a looker.

Fontaine pressed his thigh harder against the kid who pressed back, and christ was it difficult to pull away from that. But now wasn’t the time, the kid felt like he was overheating.

With not no small amount of effort, he pulled himself away from the boy, who looked overwhelmed but wanted more.

Fontaine wondered if the kid even knew what he wanted.

Still holding the boy by his wrists he pulled him so close, he could feel the kid’s rushed breath on his lips.

“Now be a good lad, get in the tub and relax.” The kid looked like he wanted to protest.

“I’ll be in the other room, aint goin’ nowhere.” With that said he released the kid’s wrist and went to leave if not for that small voice.

“Promise?”

Fontaine froze

His kid… hasn’t changed a bit.

“...Promise.”

***

Jack watched Atlas go, gently shutting the door on his way out.

Jack let out a breath and looked around the now empty bathroom, it was huge and somehow made him feel safe.

It felt familiar.

Jack had been having that feeling the entire time he’d been in this apartment, every time he looked into Atlas’s eyes.

Jack pushed his underwear down his legs before grabbing the edge of his favorite sweater and pulling it over his head. Like he almost had earlier, until he saw Atlas’s face. The way Atlas had been looking at him, it made him feel that powerful burning deep in his stomach.

Thinking hard on it, if Jack had to put a name to that feeling, the closest word for it would have to be love.

Not love in the way he loved his parents, in fact he couldn’t feel anything for them. It was more like romance but more intense.

Speaking of intense.

Jack looked down to the source of his deep burning.

This had happened before. When Atlas spoke over the radio for great lengths of time he’d get like this and there was earlier, atop the steps when Atlas had held him close and rubbed his against it, it had been incredible. Just like moments ago, Atlas just rubbing his leg over it was amazing.

Jack ran a hand down his body from his chest, reaching his penis he stroked his palm over it. It was nice, but not like when Atlas had touched him.

Jack didn’t like the feeling of it as it was, it was starting to feel pretty uncomfortable so he did what he always did about it. Ignored it.

Making a point to do just that Jack threw a leg over the huge tub and sunk down into the cool water.

It was so cold but felt wonderful.

Jack leaned back, closing his eyes to relax but his thoughts wouldn’t let him. So much had happened today.

He’d met Atlas.

Actually met him in person.

Got to touch him.

Jack blushed thinking of the ways he’d touched Atlas. This didn’t help his little problem at all.

He tried to focus on something else.

What had really happened today, what went on in that room, full of newly dead bodies. What was so bad that Atlas would venture out into danger to save him? And why’d he apologize?

Jack tried to concentrate on what had happened before Atlas showed up. Why had he’d been covered in blood that wasn’t his own? Had he killed those men? Were they innocent people or violent splicers?

No, the way they died; their injuries, they were beyond what he was capable of. One man looked like he’d been hollowed out from the inside, another headless but not clean cut or sawed off, more like it’d been ripped apart.

Another man had been headless too, but not in a way like the other. This guy’s head had been mashed into a boney paste. Someone had taken the time to beat that guy beyond death.

Who had-why would- Jacks head was really starting to hurt.

Then he thought about F. Fontaine.

Frank Fontaine.

This was his apartment, this was his bathtub. So why did he feel so safe here? Because Atlas told him it was?

Now he couldn’t stop thinking of Fontaine.

From what he understood, Frank Fontaine was some mobster turned entrepreneur who’d gotten into a pissing contest with Andrew Ryan and lost big time.

Thinking of Frank Fontaine dying a miserable death in some shootout made him sad, like he was going to cry actually.

Why did that…bother him?

He didn’t even know the man. Was it just human empathy?

Frank Fontaine had been a horrible human being. He was to blame for the Little Sisters. Jack knew Dr. Tenenbaum was the one to implant those sea slugs into the little girl’s stomachs, but she regretted what she did. She was making up for it.

Frank Fontaine had orphanages built just so he could lure in children and use them to make a profit.

Jack knew the guy deserved what he got, so why did part of him want to mourn him?

He grabbed the shampoo bottle hoping washing his hair would also wash away his troubles. If only for now.

He needed to relax, Atlas asked him to relax.

Whatever went on in that room; whatever’s going on with him, Atlas would tell him.

He promised.

***

Fontaine dropped down into his favorite armchair that sat in the corner of his bedroom. Relieved to finally get off his leg. He wrenched the pistol out from where it was tucked in the back of his pants and deposited it on the side table next to him.

He massaged his throbbing knee, eyes unconsciously making their way to the door where he knew behind it the kid would be undressing right about now.

He’s probably taking of that god-awful sweater, shimmying underwear down past dirty, soft thighs.

Fontaine didn’t know when his hand had moved from its place on his knee and up his thigh, the same thigh the kid had ground himself on, to rest over the bulge that’d never truly went away since rutting against the boy in the foyer.

He palmed himself over his jeans, still looking towards the door but not seeing. He let his mind wander back to the kid, the way he had clung to him earlier, the hot breaths on his throat, that firm ass he’d had in the handfuls.

He pressed down harder on himself but it wasn’t enough. Fontaine popped the button of his pants and worked down his fly to pull out his quickly hardening dick.

Fontaine spat in his palm before taking himself in hand and gave long strokes from the base to the head, twisting his wrist down the shaft.

He thought about the kid, on his knees doing this for him with a smile, shy but always so eager to please.

His head lolled back and legs spread wider as his strokes got faster.

The kid would be curious about it, the taste. Jack was always so curious about everything. Jack would put his lips to him, start at the tip and slip his tongue into the slit before sealing those lips on it, not taking him in but running the suction of his lips down the side and to the base before dragging that inexperienced tongue flat up the underside of his cock.

Fontaine started to raise his hips thrusting into his own hand, eyes pinched shut, lost in his fantasy.

Jack would keep his eyes on him to make sure he was doing a good job, expecting praise that Fontaine would readily give him, telling him what a good boy he was. Jack would want to show him just how much of a good boy he’d be for him and only him.

Jack’s tongue swirled around the head of his dick before closing his mouth around him and sucking his way down. He’d draw in more than he could take in that virgin mouth until gagging but still not stopping because he wanted to make Fontaine so proud.

Fontaine grabbed the back of Jack’s head forcing him to take it all, not that Jack would fight, he was happy to be used this way by only him. He started to thrust rapidly, feeling his balls draw up he knew he was close, he wanted Jack to swallow it, for a part of himself to be in Jack.

“Shit- Jack!” Fontaine gnawed his fist to keep quite as he came.

His hips hovered off the chair, thighs quivering as pleasure spurted out of him, around his jeans and on his off white shirt.

He gave hollow thrusts into his fist, riding the pleasure high as long as he could. His cock softened as the last of his seed was pulled from him, lower body dropping back into the chair as he sunk deep into it to relax as endorphins pumped through him.

Fontaine’s chest heaved, not thinking of anything as his gaze remained on the door that held the object of his fantasy.

Or the shell of him, anyway.

With that sobering thought, Fontaine’s scrutiny turned to himself.

He’d made a real mess.

His semen splat in messy lines across his pelvic region, already absorbing into his dark trousers and dirty button down.

It was going to stain if he didn’t wipe it off soon.

With a regretful sigh at having to move he heaved himself out of his comfy chair and stretched his back resulting in a satisfying crack.

God he was really starting to feel his age.

Fontaine looked around the room to find something so to clean himself up some, eyes landing on the hamper. He made his way to it, leg really not bothering him with the natural pain reliever of endorphins sill running through his nerves.

He looked into the hamper that held dirty laundry that’d been festering near two years.

Some his, some Jack’s.

Fontaine grabbed one of his stale old button downs and wiped his spooge away best he could but seemed to only smear it in. ‘Great’

‘Atlas’ only had so many clothes. He was gonna have to wash it, which wasn’t a bad idea actually. His clothes already stunk of blood and body odor which was easy to forget as you got used to it, he probably didn’t smell too pleasant himself. He should probably take a shower while he was at it.

Hell, he was home again so why not take advantage of it.

In that decision Fontaine slid open his closet for a change of clothes, picking out his favorite set of blue/black pinstripe cotton pajamas. Before the child lived with him he’d just sleep in his underwear, never naked though, naked left you vulnerable; at a disadvantage.

But when the little boy had started staying with him more and had the tenacity to crawl into his bed while he slept because he was “scared to be alone” Fontaine had made himself start wearing clothes to bed.

Didn’t feel right bein’ in nothing but his boxers with a little kid creeping in his bed. The very implications of that revolting even to a guy like him.

As Fontaine stripped he contemplated wearing nothing but boxers to mess with the kid. He weren’t no moron, he saw the way the kid looked at him or well, the way he’d try to look anywhere but at him.

Jack had been the same way. He developed an obvious crush on him as he’d gotten older. Not that Fontaine ever acted on it, why would he when he was surrounded by beautiful dames just beggin’ for it. Sure, it might have crossed his mind a time or two, couldn’t help it seeing as Jack had grown up so pretty, too pretty for a man but in some twisted sense he’d been something of a son to him.

As much as he hated to admit it he’d cared about him. Didn’t really want to hurt him or see him get hurt. At one point he might’ve even thought about canceling project Ace in the hole, to just keep him and raise Jack like normal, like he deserved. He could’ve groomed him into an heir, teach him everything he knows, spoiled him and give him a happy life.

But then Ryan made it clear there weren’t no room for Frank Fontaine in his utopia, he was out for his blood and all outta cards, Fontaine’d had to play his Ace.

He’d had NO other choice.

So he set his big plan into motion and for that plan to really work Jack couldn’t know him, couldn’t know Rapture, Jack couldn’t be Jack anymore.

He’d gotten that gook, Suchong, to implement a reset switch in Jack’s head, ‘Code Genesis’ – The start of something coming to being, but he wouldn’t be a blank slate. As a sorta final gift to his boy, he’d write a history in his head that he knew Jack would’ve loved. A simple house, on a simple farm, with simple parents who loved him.

It’s what his Jack had always wanted. Normal.

Fontaine had balled up his pajama bottom in fists while in his thoughts.

He came back to his earlier consideration of whether or not to tease the kid by prancing around in his underwear before deciding he wasn’t in the spirit of it anymore, taking off the rank boxers, he threw on his PJ bottoms and nothing else.

Fontaine took his soiled clothe to the wash room under the stair case that housed a top of the line automatic washer and dryer. He tossed them in the wash with a generous amount of laundry sauce. He wondered if the kid thought he stank.

About to head back up, Fontaine turned off the closet light and saw another dim light coming from the crack of the open dryer door. Had that bulb stayed on for over two years? Not expecting to find some great secret in his dryer he wasn’t astounded to find clothes.

Jack’s clothes.

The last load of laundry done in this house had been by Jack. Nothing about that was significant or brought up any sentiments so why did that knowledge make his chest feel so tight? The last time he’d felt this kind of emotional constraint was when he’d put Jack on that sub knowing he’d never see him again.

Not as Jack.

Fontaine dissected the bundle of clothes in the dryer, picking out articles of clothing and recalling when he’d last seen Jack wear them. He reached in grabbing a plain black wife beater, some cuffed dark blue jeans, a pair of white socks, and white briefs.

Fontaine brought the chosen pile to his nose, inhaling the musty scent of dust and faintly Jack.

The kid didn’t smell quite like Jack did. There was that hint of something familiar there but it was covered with blood, sweat, and dirt. Well, Fontaine established he didn’t smell like no bed of roses neither.

As Fontaine nudged the dryer door closed with a leg he noticed a roll of elastic bandage atop the shelf above the automatic washer and dryer.

As if sensing the nearby aid his knee throbbed to remind him it still needed treating. Taking its advice, he grabbed the bandage and stuffed it in his PJ’s pocket before leaving the wash room, kicking the door shut on his way out.

Making it back to his bedroom he laid the bandage on the end table next to his armchair before laying out his picked clothes for the kid on the bed. As tempting as it was to make the kid cavort about in nothing but a towel, ‘Atlas’ would go to efforts to make sure the kid was comfortable.

Speaking of the kid, he’d been in the bathroom a pretty good while now, Fontaine thought wearily. Whatever was wrong with the kid, he’d passed out three times now.

Could just be the blow to the head makin’ him drowsy but that fever he’d had wasn’t normal, Fontaine was pretty sure if a normal person had had a temperature like that, they’d be dead, or brain dead at least.

Good thing the boy weren’t no normal person.

Chapter Text

Jack was so tired, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten more than 2 hours of sleep. He couldn’t remember much before Rapture actually.

It terrified him.

Jack went through the motions of scrubbing his body while trying to recall his life before he’d been on that plane to visit his cousins.

Who were his cousin’s? He didn’t know their names, he didn’t even know what they looked like. Drawing a blank at his cousins he tried to focus on something else, something that had to be important to him.

A lover –Blank

A job –Blank

Friends –Blank

FOCUS!

A place - A small house, on a farm, and his loving parents.

Home – A small house, on a farm, and his loving parents.

Family - A small house, on a farm, and his loving parents.

The only thing he could think of was his home and family so he tried to focus on that. His house was… it was… a house, he couldn’t remember what the inside looked like or even the outside really. His farm, they raised… or they grew… were they a ranch? A dairy farm? Or did they just grow vegetables?

Jack was panicking, unable to remember basic details of where he’d spent all his years… years?

How many years was he? When was his birthday?

FOCUS!

Jack sheltered his head with his hands, trying to block the sharp ringing in there and to peer through the fog clouding his mind.

When was his birthday?

“Well ya didn’t have no birth.”

Who was that?

“-̢͏͟'̡e̶̢x͏tr̷̢̧acţ̨͠e͡d̛'͞ on September 1^st.”

September 1^st when?? And who was that!? He’s heard that voice, in his dreams, in memories. It made him feel safe, made him feel angry, made him fell so many things. It made him think of his Papa.

But he told him not to call him Papa, said he wasn’t…

FOCUS!

His parents. His mother was- brown hair? White coat… what about his Papa?

His Papa could be scary, but he was kind. His voice was deep and his head was bald, or was there hair on the sides? He was handsome- no a really old man he…

Blood.

There was blood dripping in the water.

Jack moved a shaky hand from his temple to under his nose where it was bleeding. He wiped it away roughly before laying back into the tub, his exhaustion catching up.

He was breathing deeply and his ears were ringing loudly even though his head was stuffed with cotton.

Why couldn’t he remember anything from before?

Before this, before the plane, to times spent outside the lab.

Who’s Lab…?

Papa Suchong.

His eyes were so heavy. He was drifting…

***

The child hated days with Papa Suchong more than anything.

Somedays with him were worse than others, today they were doing “negative stimuli training” which was usually one of the bad days.

Today he had to hold himself up like he was at the top of a push-up and make sure he didn’t drop. Papa Suchong’s feet were on his hands, keeping him in place while he hit his back with a long thin stick with two leather tails on the end. It hurt a lot but better this than the pain the collar caused when he disobeyed orders.

“Now do not move, w̵̢̕͟ơ̧̡u͝͏̸̨l̴͘͢d̵̡͘͢ ͜͠y̵̢͘o̡͜͢͞͠u̵͘͢͟ ̴͏̷k̷͜͜͠į̕͜͝n̛d̵͢͏l̷̸̴͡͡y̸̡.”

Papa Suchong always said those words during good boy training, the child had come to hate them. They usually meant if he didn’t do as told he was going to hurt really bad.

The first few hits Papa Suchong did slowly, counting to three in between each strike to let the boy get used to the feeling. But it didn’t help, he still flinched every time.

*STRIKE*

“One, Two, Three”

*STRIKE*

“One, Two, Three”

*STRIKE*

On the third strike the boy cried out and was rewarded with another swift hit.

“W̵̤͎̎̐͝o̶̠̬͘ǔ̸̓̎ͅl̴͇̪̘͊ḓ̸̫̓ ̴̢̯̞͊͗̇̈́͛̍y̴͍͔̱̌̏͝ơ̷̰̮̬͈̪̖͒͋͑̍̔u̵͔̼̰̤̎̓̈́̃ ̸͕͕͓͙̩͍̬̈̒̾̀͘k̸̞͍̔̍̆͑̚͝i̸̧͔̗͇̱̱͛̈́̋̂n̴̜̝̗̦̽̅̄͠͝d̸̥̬̓́̇̂l̸͚͉̭͔͇̿͝ỳ̴̝̮̹̲̓̓̈́̕͜ͅ, not make a sound.”

He knew he wasn’t expected to answer but still nodded and gave a hard sniff and bit his lip to be quiet, tears were starting to well from the pain.

When the next strike came the boy locked his arms to keep from falling, he knew if he did, the pain he felt now would be nothing compared to what would come.

Remember to forget. Focus on something else. Something happy.

*STRIKE*

The boy tried to take his mind somewhere else.

*STRIKE*

He thought of Papa Fontaine, or just Fontaine. Last time he was here he’d told him not to call him Papa.

*STRIKE* *STRIKE*

  Fontaine had taken the time to show him the steps to tying a tie properly, told him he did an okay job.

*STRIKE* *STRIKE* *STRIKE*

He pat his head.

*STRIKE* *STRIKE* *STRIKE* *STRIKE*

Told him what a good boy he was.

*STRIKE* *STRIKE* *STRIKE* *STRIKE* *STRIKE*

Promised to visit again soon.

*STRIKE* *STRIKE* *STRIKE* *STRIKE* *STRIKE* *STRIKE*

He promised

*STRIKE*

The child whimpered and his arms buckled.

He fell.

Papa Suchong clicking his tongue in disappointment was the only warning he got before the tight collar on his neck started to make him hurt everywhere.

Every muscle in his body convulsed as electricity shot through his body, the child clenched his arms to his chest and his spine curled back unnaturally almost as if he could crawl out of his own skin and escape the pain pulsating through his flesh.

It seemed to go on for hours, the pain starting to become a lesser sensation to the distorted voice repeating the same phrase in his head.

Ẅ̸̢̛̛̰̭̦̙̙͕̫̩́̇͌͘̚͝ȯ̶̡̘̹͍͖̩̯̣̏̽̂͛͝ͅu̵͓̯̽l̵̖͖͖̉d̷̙̮͇̣̼̗̯̽͐́͌̆ͅ ̴͍͈͍͋y̴̧͇̬͇͓̑̂̃̈́͆͘ǫ̴̡̧̯̰͓̝̮͒̂͌͒͌̏̅̕u̸̖͊͂ ̷̢̖̫̯̺̱͕͇̻͋̊̃̋̏͘k̷̢͙̉į̵̾̉n̷̬̻͎͊̒͐̕d̶̗̗͈̭̠̃̐̄̽͑̈͠l̵̢̗͚̭͉̝̿̋͛͛̽y̶̹͚͕͇̯͋̾͌̈́̃̏͊̚͝, W̴̛̼͍̻̺̝̝̠͂̽̊̾o̴̡̡̩̥͒̽͗̎̏͜͝u̷̗͒͠l̷̝͎͓̜̾͋͐̈́̽̌͌d̵̟̆͋͗̏͌̕ ̷̬̬͒̄͂͘y̶̨͕̤͈͉͕͓͋o̶̫̰̗̮̭͚͂̎̓͜u̶͚̖̐̍̀̌̓͌͠ ̸̡̟͇͙̯̠͛̋̄́̒̂ḳ̵̨͓̮̖͚̈͜į̶̙̠͔͍̭́̾n̴̢͇̊̓̃̌͠d̶̪͍͎̣̤͌̅̓͐̿͘ḻ̸͓̒͗͠y̵̢̨̹̞͈̙͗̆̈́̃̑͝., Ẅ̸̢̛̛̰̭̦̙̙͕̫̩́̇͌͘̚͝ȯ̶̡̘̹͍͖̩̯̣̏̽̂͛͝ͅu̵͓̯̽l̵̖͖͖̉d̷̙̮͇̣̼̗̯̽͐́͌̆ͅ ̴͍͈͍͋y̴̧͇̬͇͓̑̂̃̈́͆͘ǫ̴̡̧̯̰͓̝̮͒̂͌͒͌̏̅̕u̸̖͊͂ ̷̢̖̫̯̺̱͕͇̻͋̊̃̋̏͘k̷̢͙̉į̵̾̉n̷̬̻͎͊̒͐̕d̶̗̗͈̭̠̃̐̄̽͑̈͠l̵̢̗͚̭͉̝̿̋͛͛̽y̶̹͚͕͇̯͋̾͌̈́̃̏͊̚͝, W̴̛̼͍̻̺̝̝̠͂̽̊̾o̴̡̡̩̥͒̽͗̎̏͜͝u̷̗͒͠l̷̝͎͓̜̾͋͐̈́̽̌͌d̵̟̆͋͗̏͌̕ ̷̬̬͒̄͂͘y̶̨͕̤͈͉͕͓͋o̶̫̰̗̮̭͚͂̎̓͜u̶͚̖̐̍̀̌̓͌͠ ̸̡̟͇͙̯̠͛̋̄́̒̂ḳ̵̨͓̮̖͚̈͜į̶̙̠͔͍̭́̾n̴̢͇̊̓̃̌͠d̶̪͍͎̣̤͌̅̓͐̿͘ḻ̸͓̒͗͠y̵̢̨̹̞͈̙͗̆̈́̃̑͝. Ẅ̸̢̛̛̰̭̦̙̙͕̫̩́̇͌͘̚͝ȯ̶̡̘̹͍͖̩̯̣̏̽̂͛͝ͅu̵͓̯̽l̵̖͖͖̉d̷̙̮͇̣̼̗̯̽͐́͌̆ͅ ̴͍͈͍͋y̴̧͇̬͇͓̑̂̃̈́͆͘ǫ̴̡̧̯̰͓̝̮͒̂͌͒͌̏̅̕u̸̖͊͂ ̷̢̖̫̯̺̱͕͇̻͋̊̃̋̏͘k̷̢͙̉į̵̾̉n̷̬̻͎͊̒͐̕d̶̗̗͈̭̠̃̐̄̽͑̈͠l̵̢̗͚̭͉̝̿̋͛͛̽y̶̹͚͕͇̯͋̾͌̈́̃̏͊̚͝

He was drowning. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel, couldn’t think.

Remember to forget. Focus on something else. Something happy.

Papa Fontaine running a hand through his hair. It was his favorite feeling in the world.

“You’re pretty greasy, kid. No wonder you stink.”

He was sitting in a giant bowl of water-BATHTUB, he was in Papa Fontaine’s bathtub and the water was warm, the boy didn’t know water could feel so nice.

This was a bath, he was taking a bath just like he saw in education time. His baths at the lab were cold and sprayed at him through a hose.

Suddenly Papa Fontaine was back and he was carrying a bottle and a yellow bar.

“Alright kid, here’s shampoo and soap.” Papa Fontaine indicated which was which before setting them down on the bathtub. The child didn’t know what ‘shampoo’ and ‘soap’ was and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with them.

The boy was about to voice this but Papa Fontaine was leaving. He started to panic at being left alone and not knowing what to do.

“P-Papa Fontaine!” He may have yelled louder than meaning to but it made Papa Fontaine stop. He looked back with a sigh, seeming annoyed.

“Come on kid, told you not to call me that, I ain’t your Papa.” The boy still didn’t know what he meant about not being his Papa, he didn’t know Papa was something that could belong to someone, he thought it was a nicety like ‘Miss’ Tenenbaum and ‘Papa’ Suchong.

Not wanting to think about Papa Suchong he left those thoughts alone and focused on ‘learning to speak up’ like Papa Fon- Fontaine told him.

“I…” It was harder than he thought. But Fontaine just looked at him patently; didn’t rush him. And it made him feel better.

“I… I dunno what to do…” After all, Mr. Fontaine hadn’t given him instructions so it wasn’t really his fault, Miss Tenenbaum and- They usually gave an instruction before making him do something new.

“What?” Fontaine looked confused before he seem to understand.

“You don’t know how to bathe?” the boy nodded and it seemed to make Fontaine irritated again. He seemed to be good at making Fontaine look like that.

“Guh, Alright.” Fontaine made another irritated noise through his nose before he came to stand in front of the tub again and picked up the bottle of ‘shampoo’.

“This is shampoo, you put it in your hair so’s to clean it and make it not so damn greasy, or in my case it helps my head stay nice and ‘shiny’ as you done pointed out.”

The boy covered his lips with hands so he didn’t laugh and interrupt Mr. Fontaine. Fontaine seemed to find humor in it too ‘cause he gave a smirk and kept it on as he continued to explain shampoo.

“To use it, ya lift the cap like this, and hold it over your head like so, and squeeze some out. Then ya cap it, set it aside and rub the shit into your hair real good, then you’s lean back into the water to wash it out. Simple right?”

The child nodded with hands still covering his lips trying hard not to laugh but couldn’t keep back stray giggles as Mr. Fontaine had gotten really into it and started to demonstrate and gesture with exaggerated movements.

He was outright grinning now as he picked up the soap to continue educating the child.

“This here kid, is a bar o’ soap used for cleanin’ your body of filth and stink. Ya just rub it all over and be makin’ sure to, get your pits, behind your ears, and scrub your face. Got it?”

The boy gave another nod as he giggled harder at Fontaine’s antics, He had taken the soap and made extravagant scrubbing motions over every part he specified.

Seeming to come back to himself, Fontaine coughed into his hand and cleared his throat.

“I’ll be in the other room, towels over there and just holler when you’re done.” Fontaine looked at him for a moment that ended too quickly and ruffled his hair again before walking out the door, leaving it open.

Alone again, the child looked around the large bathroom and felt a little overwhelmed, he figured the sooner he got clean the sooner he’d get to be with Mr. Fontaine again.

He grabbed the shampoo bottle and went over Mr. Fontaine’s directions in his head as he started to put them in motion.

He lifted the cap and held the bottle upside-down over his head just like Fontaine had, and he squeezed real hard to get the stuff on his head. Fontaine didn’t tell him how much he needed but he figured he had enough when he felt it dripping down his neck and forehead. The boy closed the cap and set it aside like Fontaine said, simple. Then began to rub his tiny hands across his hair and rub it in. The stuff was a bit gooey and slimy but it smelled nice.

He wondered if he’d rubbed it in ‘real good’ enough as his felt the goo drip down past his eyebrow. The child went to wipe the stuff away from his eye with a lathered hand and it burned. The child shrieked and bent forward rubbing furiously at his eye as more goo ran down from his head and into them.

He started crying and wiped both soapy hands that seemed to get soapier over his eyes but it wasn’t helping, unable to make the burning stop he started sobbing so loudly it echoed off the walls.  

“Jesus, kid!” He heard Papa Fontaine shout and rush over. He felt a large hand on his bare shoulder and another forcing his own hands away from his burning eyes. The large hand consuming his shoulder forced him to lie back while the other pushed his head under the water.

“Lean back, kid!”

He was drowning. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel, couldn’t think.

***

Its shit like this that made Fontaine just marvel at the fact this was his genetically enhanced assassin.

As he’d suspected, his over half a million dollar investment had carelessly fallen asleep in a full tub and scooted down far enough for his chin to be touching the water.

How the hell had he even made it this far!?

If the kid hadn’t had his guardian angel ‘Atlas’ lookin’ out for him he probably never would have. When he’d had the kid built, Fontaine hadn’t expected he’d need this much hand holding.

Fontaine pinched his brow to still his irritation. He approached him, noting his hair since being washed and beginning to dry, had returned to its light brown almost dirty blond colour, Fontaine had simply thought his hair darkened over the years, turns out it was just a buildup of grease and dirt.

He pondered how he should go about waking the kid. Pushing his head under water to teach him a lesson was appealing but wouldn’t be very ‘Atlas’ of him.

Fontaine couldn’t see much of the boy’s body hidden by murky water, just bare shoulders and the distorted shape of a human body. He rest a palm on the boy’s forehead, satisfied by his significant drop in temperature and ran his fingers through the now silky hair. He’d expected the boy to wake up or at least sir but got no reaction from him. His eyes were moving rapidly under lids as if dreaming but the kid didn’t seem to be in another fit, and he looked calm.

Fontaine figured it was just the stress of everything catching up to him, exhaustion and the lack of nutrition. Hard to sleep when you know your throat could be slit the second you let your guard down and all he’s seen the kid eat were expired pep bars and stale chips. Fontaine made a note to feed him before sending him back into the fray.

There was something captivating about watching the kid while he slept, maybe it was ‘cause it could be difficult getting a good look at the kid since he tended to keep his head ducked, always so damn bashful.

Fontaine couldn’t resist touching more of him.

He sat on the rim of the tub and let the hand in the boy’s hair wander down, thumbing his brow, running fingers across a full cheek, before tracing full lips with a thumb.

These were the lips he’d imagined stretched around his cock. Fontaine shuddered at the thought but didn’t linger, moving his hand underwater he lay it on a bare shoulder and massaged it lightly before leaning in.

To shove the kid’s head underwater.

The kid reacted almost instantly as he got a nose full of water. The boy flailed and grabbed to Fontaine’s own bare shoulder and would have pulled him in if he didn’t release the kid to stand back.

The kid sat up and looked around franticly, expecting another attack before his eye’s fell on his buddy ‘Atlas’ holding his gut and having a laugh.

“D-didn’t your Mam, ever teach you not to fall asleep in the tub?” The boy understood the situation then but didn’t seem to find it as funny as him, just looked away and started blowing out his nose to rid the burning the water had caused.

It’d been a long time since Fontaine had laughed in honest. He looked back to the boy to pick on him but stopped short when he noticed the kid wasn’t laughing or smiling, the kid wasn’t even looking at him.

Goddammit, he’d hurt his feelings. For something with a high pain tolerance, he could be pretty fucking sensitive.

“Ah, geeze, boyo.” Fontaine made sure Atlas sounded ashamed of what he done. He rubbed his neck and approached the boy whose head was bowed as he rubbed his eyes. Fontaine wondered if they just stung from the water or if the kid was actually crying.

Fontaine crouched down and put his hand back on the boy’s shoulder to console him.

“I’m sorry, lad. Should’ve known better than to scare ya like that after everything you done been through, it was cruel.” Fontaine started to rub his back in long stokes to comfort him.

He tried to peek at the boy’s face but he’d placed a palm over his eyes and brought his knees up. The kid shook his head and tried to speak.

“No it wasn’t- you didn’t I’m just-” The kid took a shaky inhale.

“It’s okay, boyo.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say ‘cause the kid shook his head harder and sniffled before pushing him away to stand up in the tub.

“IT’S NOT!”

Fontaine kept his arms outstretched ready to catch the kid if he fell. He kept his eyes trained on the kid’s face, now wasn’t the time to appreciate the view.

“Nothing’s okay! Why can’t I remember anything from before!?” The kid was hysterical. Fontaine was grasping at straws for a way to get him to calm down.

“Boyo, what happened back there- ya see, the scuff ya got into with those men left ya a nasty bump on the noggin, I’ll tell ya what happened if its bothering ya so much, I told ya I would.”

Fontaine extended an arm to the boy further, it was makin’ him real nervous the way the kid was waving about in a slippery tub.

“Not that! I don’t care about- I mean before before! This started before then, before that room with those bodies. I couldn’t remember-can’t­ remember anything from my life before Rapture!”

Fontaine finally got a hand on the kid’s bicep, feeling better now that he could hold him steady. The boy didn’t seem to notice the hold he had on him, he wasn’t even looking at him. The kid had a hand clenched in his own hair and was biting his index finger in a tightened fist, brows furrowed, he looked at nothing and seemed to be thinking hard.

Fontaine was horrified to see tears overtake his eyes, he hated it when Jack cried like this. It was appalling and made him uncomfortable.

“… Atlas, I can’t even remember my own mother.” Fontaine felt like a deer in headlights when the kid’s tear-filled gaze turned on him full-force.

Fontaine, not wanting to have to look at the kid’s leaking face anymore, moved a hand to his neck to pull him in. It wasn’t an embrace, just a resting of the kid’s head to his chest, he made sure to keep a distance between them considering the kid’s current state of dress.

Or lack of, that is.

He could feel the boy’s tears and what was probably snot on his bare chest, he tried not to shudder in disgust. The kid seemed to hover closer, he then felt an insecure hand slowly slide around his side and up his back to rest just under a shoulder blade, he had to hold in another shudder for a completely different reason.

The kid seemed to be calming down, rapid breaths becoming shallow while tears and snot turned to pitiful sniffles. The kid still standing in the tub, moved his other hand in parallel to the other until what they were doing could be classified as an embrace and used the leverage to tug Fontaine in closer.

He kept his feet firmly planted as his upper body was shifted to the kid’s will. The boy moved his face to the crook of his neck and forced their bare chests together, similar to their previous position in the foyer but still nowhere near as close.

Fontaine had to tell himself that was a good thing as he felt hot breaths against his throat.

Did the kid even understand what he was doing to him? The compromising position he’d put himself in, a lesser man would have taken advantage.

Fontaine never claimed to be a good man.

He lay his cheek to the head of hair under his chin. The boy smelled better.

Like Jack.

Fontaine wasn’t a good man.

But Atlas was.

He indulged in a final scent of Jack before gently unwinding the arms wrapped around him and taking a step back. The kid’s eyes, still a bit wet, looked up to him in confusion and hurt, for being pushed away or for his own qualms Fontaine didn’t know and didn’t want to look to deeply on it.

Both reasons would still be his fault.

“Ah, lad. Let’s get ya dry, you’ll catch cold standin’ in the buff.” Still holding his arms, Fontaine began to pull the boy and lead him from the tub. Leaving him dripping on the fluffy bathmat he grabbed the stale towel and gracelessly threw it over the boy’s head and began rubbing his hair dry like he was a kid again.

The boy just bowed his head. Didn’t complain or whine, and for some reason it didn’t sit right with him.

“’bout yer memory…” He wanted to cheer the kid up but what was he ‘sposed to say?

‘I think the inhumane mental conditioning I’ve put you through all your life is failing?’

Well now he had to say something, he’d felt the kid start to attention and was waiting.

“You says you can’t remember important things, like yer Mam but earlier in the elevator, you says you was thinkin’ ‘bout yer Da?”

There he went, pickin’ at scabs again. But that little bit was still pokin’ ‘round the back of his mind in masochistic curiosity. Had the kid been thinkin’ of him? Or the fantasy father tattooed in his head.

Not that he considered himself the kid’s father but he knew Jack had seen him as such in a way. The kid seemed to put him in the spotlight for many roles in his life and the older he got the more…involved, the roles got.

Friend, Guardian, Father, Infatuation.

“I don’t know if he was my father… it feels like he was and wasn’t… I know it doesn’t make sense.”

It never did, did it.

Fontaine realized he’d stopped drying the kid’s hair a while ago and his hands just massaged lazily over the towel that hang limply from the kid’s head, effectively hiding his face like the veil of a bride.

“Well that somethin’ aint it? To remember someone at all, from before Rapture.”

“I don’t know if he was before Rapture.” The kid was mumbling and sounded grim as he went on

“I’m starting to feel like there never was a before Rapture.” Fontaine saw a single dark eye peer through the towel up at him, the way the kid was looking at him, the way he talked. It was almost accusing.

Or it felt that way.

Fontaine could feel his throat dry up at the intensity of his gaze and the weight of his words. The eye piercing through him didn’t belong to the empty vessel of ‘some kid’.

It was Jack’s.

He was broken, but he was there.

Looking into that eye he could see it, it was like the spark of a match in the dark, gone in a second but it was there.

Recognition.

And for just that second and not a moment longer, they weren’t Atlas and some kid.

They were Jack and Fontaine.

Even if the kid didn’t realize it.

Jack wasn’t gone.

Chapter Text

He was going crazy.

Despite Atlas’s reassurances of it being just a result of hitting his head, Jack knew his memory loss wasn’t because of some bump he’d gotten from a run in with some splicers.

Way before then, back in Arcadia. Jack had had a powerful moment of melancholy whiles listening to the audio diary of a mother speaking of her child. It’d made him think on his own mom but when he thought of her, only one image came the mind. No memories or voices or real emotions, just the still image of him standing between her and his father drifted through his thoughts, it was the same picture he had in his wallet.

Jack had tried harder to think of a memory of her, something happy but still there was only the same picture. Jack had taken out his bill fold hoping he’d get something from looking at the family photo but it’d just made him feel worse.

Because he felt nothing.

He’d stared intently at the photo of him, smiling with arms wrapped around what essentially felt like two strangers and waited to feel something. Nostalgia, homesickness, love. He’d felt none of it.

He’d felt nothing until Atlas radioed him to ask how he was doing.

Then he’d felt so many things. Things he’d expected to feel looking at himself with his family, that and more.

It’d terrified him, so much so he didn’t want to think about it. It wasn’t the time too. Jack had never intended to make the time to dwell on the things he’d felt when it came to Atlas. But it was hard to keep ignoring those feeling now when they assaulted him every time he was forced to look into the man’s eyes.

Beautiful wasn’t the word for them, those eyes of blue steel were mesmerizing. Hearing his voice over that radio had been nothing compared to the enthralling sensation of being trapped in his gaze.

If he let himself sink into those deep cold pools for too long he’d forget to breathe. It was like drowning.

Jack was standing on a very fluffy mat, nude and dripping wet. He wondered if he should at least act concerned for his modesty as Atlas draped a towel over his head and began drying him.

It should probably alarm him how trusting he was around a man he’d met only hours ago. Sure he’d known his voice over a crackling radio for a few days now or has it been weeks? But still, when they’d first met in person, all apprehension he’d had about waking up to a strange man leaning over him had dissipated as soon as he’d looked into those eyes.

They were familiar, safe, they reminded him of-

“’bout yer memory…” Jack, unable to see anything with the towel over his head, gave a small jump at Atlas’s voice not knowing why part of him had been expecting Atlas to sound any different.

“Ya says ya can’t remember important things, like yer Mam but earlier in the elevator, you says you was dreamin’ ‘bout yer Da?”

His father… again that picture of him standing between his parents was the first thing that popped to his head but it wasn’t the only thing. In the farthest reaches of his hazy mind seemed to be memories of a man, a man who made him feel safe and cared for along with some less than pleasant feelings.

Resentment, betrayal, love.

While love was typically a joyous feeling to be celebrated, in this instance it felt like crushing shackles binding his very soul.

Or chains around his wrists.

“I don’t know if he was my father… it feels like he was and wasn’t… I know it doesn’t make sense.”

As Jack spoke, he tilted his head down to look at them, the twin chain tattoos he couldn’t even remember getting. He had considered them before, wondering for what reason he’d gotten them but looking at them now, they seemed to carry a great weight, figuratively speaking.

“Well that somethin’ aint it? To remember someone at all, from before Rapture.”

Jack tried to remember more about this man but it was like a thick mist muddled his mind, hiding important things he’d forget under a wet blanket and if he peered to deep into the fog his head began to ache and ears rung.  

But still he tried, and the harder he looked the more glimpses he got. It was like watching a moving picture but blurred and filled with holes. The man was bald and had a muscular build framed by expensive suits.

He looked just like the man of his fever dreams whose features became more and more defined every time Jack closed his eyes. The infamous man’s face Jack had come to recognize the longer he slogged through Rapture. He’d seen that face on discarded newspapers reporting the shootout that took his life.

Frank Fontaine.

“I don’t know if he was before Rapture.”

At first Jack believed these visions or dream or whatever they are, were because of all the splicing. He recalled an audio diary he’d stumbled upon that claimed visions of ‘ghosts’ were a result from using ADAM recycled from corpses.

But these dreams are different. It felt like he was actually living them and not just spectating, complex emotions formed for every person he saw in those dreams, like memories.

These ‘memories’ seemed to take place in a select few very confined spaces. A lab of some sort and this apartment, Frank Fontaine’s apartment. Not once has there been a blue sky or green grass.

“I’m starting to feel like there never was a before Rapture.”

Atlas had stopped drying his hair and Jack could feel the weight of his hands as they just sat atop the fluffy cloth covering his head. Jack looked up through a slit opening of the towel that obstructed most of his vision and swore his heart had migrated from his chest to his brain because he could feel it beating in his skull.

Since the first time of being captivated by Atlas’s stare Jack tried to avoid it for fear of getting lost in it, but this time was different.

With images of Frank Fontaine fresh in his mind, Jack saw those eyes before seeing the man who currently held them. It was like he was really seeing them for the first time.

 Razor sharp and dangerous, like the edge of a blade; unforgivingly cold steel and like icy blue waters they brimmed with intellect and cunning.

Jack couldn’t look away from those eyes, he was trapped. Sounds and images, memories assaulted his mind all at once, too blurred together to pick them apart but all had a constant, those hard eyes and the face of a man. Jack tried to focus on the face of the man who stood in front of him but it was unstable and convulsing with only those eyes remaining stagnant. For just a moment, quick as a flash Jack wasn’t looking up at Atlas.

He was drowning. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel, couldn’t think.

Frank Fontaine

Papa Fontaine

Mister Fontaine

Fontaine, Fontaine, Fontaine, Fontaine, Fontaine-

“Boyo?”

The towel was dragged from his vision and those eyes drew closer.

“You’re bleedin’!”

Something damp and fluffy was placed under his nose and fingers snapped in his face but he couldn’t react, those eyes had paralyzed him.

“Hey! Hey! Wake up, kid!”

“Wake up, kid.”

A pressure squeezed his arm and shook him.

“Jack, would you kindly snap out of it!” and just like that, everything stopped. No more ringing and pulsating in his head, no more noises and pictures running in his mind like a burning film reel.

He could breathe, He could think, He could feel.

Jack blinked rapidly, eyes dry from holding them open too long and for every half millisecond his eyelids closed the distortion of the face in front of him settled back into the one he’d met just hours ago.

Those eyes no longer had a powerful hold on over him. Those eyes were kind and concerned, they were Atlas, and oney Atlas.

Jack didn’t understand what had come over him.

“Hey… where’d ya go, boyo?” Atlas’s voice was gentle as he ran a rough hand run up and down his arm.

Jack made himself look back up into his eyes and only saw Atlas. He gave a breath of relief or tried to as his nose was covered by a fluffy white towel. Jack peered down and his eyebrows furrowed in question.

“You were bleedin’, lad. Nose just started spoutin’ blood, and ya weren’t all here, I man you was here but was thinkin somewhere else. Had me worried.”

Atlas was too good. How could he ever compare someone like Atlas to a monster like Fontaine?

But had Fontaine really been that bad…? In these visions he didn’t seem so horrible, and these were memories, right? But who’s? They couldn’t belong to Jack, there was no way. He was born and raised on the surface, from what Jack understood he was older than the city of Rapture itself, so he couldn’t-

“Hey, look at me.” Atlas shook him and drug him back up from the rabbit hole he’d nearly let himself fall down again.

 “I’ve lay some clothes out on the bed fer ya, you’re gonna go put them on and you’re gonna lie down and rest while I wash the stink off meself. Is that okay?” Atlas had moved his hands up to cup his face and ran a thumb across his cheek, he spoke to Jack like you would a child. A dense one at that.

Jack tried not to come off miffed about it even if he kind of was. He knew he deserved the treatment considering he’d done nothing to prove himself competent while in Atlas’s company.

Atlas really has been caring for him like one would an ill child.

Jack looked down and clenched his fists trying to bury how bothered he was, Atlas didn’t deserve anymore of his outbursts. Shame only added to the mix when it sunk in he was still naked, he’d been naked this whole time.

Jake felt his cheeks burn and remembered Atlas had asked him a question, not wanting to come across as anymore standoffish than he probably already appeared he looked back up and fixed his eyes to the bridge of Atlas’s nose, not quite ready to look him in the eye again.

“Y-yeah thanks. That’s okay, I’m okay.”

Atlas didn’t seem convinced but let it go.

“Right then, won’t be more than a few minutes.” he seemed to want to say more but left it at a firm squeeze of his shoulder and pulled away.

 Atlas turned and started grabbing things from a closet so Jack didn’t linger. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned against it to let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and scanned the extravagant bedroom, he hadn’t been given the time to take it all in as Atlas shoved him through it to get to the bathroom.

He made sure to take in everything, his eyes mapped every detail even though he didn’t need to, he already knew this room. He’d been in here enough times to know everything to the last corner by heart… or whoever’s memories these were did.

It was jarring to think that his thoughts and memories weren’t his own so he told himself now wasn’t the time to think about it.  

Remember to forget.

Jack pushed off the door and circled around the grand bed, absently dragging fingers across the materiel of clothing Atlas had taken the time to lay out for him only to stop when he came to a crumpled and castoff nightshirt at the edge of the bed.

Jack picked it up and shook it out, it was a dark blue with black and white pinstripes. Jack pinched the cotton material and it was just as soft as he knew it’d be, dusty but familiar. Jack knew why he’d been drawn to this piece of clothing in particular, Frank Fontaine wore this quite often. Even though he tended to forgo the shirt this had been part of his favorite set of pajamas.

Without a thought Jack threw it around himself and buttoned it. Atlas had told him to relax, so why not be comfortable? Jack pulled on the briefs and cuffed jeans, they were just a bit tight around his waist but still fit him surprisingly well. Where had Atlas gotten these? They were obviously way too small for a guy like Fontaine.

Jack spread his arms and dropped to the wonderful bed, appreciating the sensation of sinking into the lavish mattress but still in spite of his coziness and fatigue his mind wouldn’t let him rest.

Jack couldn’t make sense of these acquired memories, what connection did this little kid have to Dr. Tenenbaum, Frank Fontaine, and that Dr. Suchong guy. Was it Fontaine’s kid? Why else would clothes like these be in Frank Fontaine’s home if he didn’t have someone here who fit them.

Jack lolled his head to the bathroom door and then to the door on the other side of the room-FONTAINE’S STUDY. Jack winced as new information was slapped into his brain leaving a ringing in his skull.

Jack placed a hand on his head to subdue the piercing ache but kept his stare on what was apparently ‘Fontaine’s Study’, wondering why this kid? Why did it seem to just be their thoughts in his head? As sickening as it was Jack knew he had to have injected the reused ADAM of dozens of dead people. So why was he only reliving moments of this kid’s life, and why did they seem to center around Frank Fontaine?

Jack knew it shouldn’t matter, if he had this kid’s ADAM in his system then the child-no if these were his pants Jack was wearing then he’d have to have been around Jack’s age, but still he had to be dead. Jack wanted to know more about him, and what better place to start than Fontaine’s study.

Jack looked back to the bathroom door again and wondered how long Atlas would be, not knowing why he felt the need to be sneaky about having a look around. This wasn’t even Atlas’s home, why would he care.

With that settled Jack rolled off the bed and went to stand in front of the sturdy door, he grabbed the knob and was consumed with an irrational fear of making Frank Fontaine mad.

Papa Fontaine told him not to go in there.

Jack shook his head of the ludicrous thought yet still puffed out his chest with an odd sense of rebellion as he opened the door. Walls covered with shelves of books he doubted Frank Fontaine ever read, a comfy looking chair in the corner and a big wood pedestal desk in front of frosted pane glass that gave a blurred view of the hall. It was a pretty boring room.

Jack walked around the desk covered in disorganized papers and rummaged about them, only finding reports and documents of the many properties owned by Frank Fontaine. Fontaine ran a whole conglomerate of businesses and being a thug seemed to translate well into his practice as a businessman Jack duly noted seeing that people had to pay a monthly ‘protection fee’ for the services of ‘Fontaine Fire Fighters’.

Fires at the bottom of the ocean, Jack wondered if Fontaine was the one to start them.

He looked through a few more papers finding nothing interesting so he opened the center drawer finding more papers, how had he found anything in this chaos?? pens, pencils, a pistol, and a couple of books. Jack picked up the only thing of real interest, the first book he saw. It was a hardcover called ‘Rearing Children for Success and Prosperity’, Jack opened to a random page thinking the title having the words ‘success’ and ‘prosperity’ together was a bit redundant but figured in a city like Rapture words like those sold better than say ‘happiness, health, or love’.

“Never hug and kiss the child, never let them sit in your lap. If you must, kiss them once on the forehead when they say good night. Shake hands with them in the morning.”

With a book like this Fontaine must have had a child, poor thing. Jack flipped through it noting a lot of paragraphs scribbled out with some notes written in, it got worse in the chapters after the ‘Puberty’ section.

“With a growing body comes a growing appetite but do not give into pleadings for more food, doing so will not only breed bad habit but promotes an unhealthy intake. Continue to provide only the essential three healthy meals daily. If we teach our offspring to expect everything to be provided on demand, we must admit the possibility that we are sowing the seeds of socialism.”

“---The kid starts whining halfway through the day about stomach aches when sticking to only 3 meals, Doc says he needs a lot of nurishments considuring what he is, at this rate kids eaten me outta house and home.”

‘Considering what he is’? What was that supposed to be, a growing boy? Jack shook his head at that, heck he was a grown man and couldn’t be left to eat only three times a day, he tended to inhale anything edible in sight.

“When dealing with an insolent youth you must remind them who is in control, that you are the provider of their life and as such their lifestyle is yours to control. If they fail to comply with orders, reclaim something they value that you have provided for them. Propose to them it may be returned once they start behaving with amenability.”

“---whats there to take? Don’t care what he wears, what he eats, don’t got much to value -Except ME.”

Frank Fontaine didn’t sound like such a loving father, one of the richest men in Rapture and his kid didn’t have anything they valued, except him? What did he do, take himself away? Send the child away? Were all parents in Rapture this damn cold? “Fail to comply with orders”, this book sounded more like a manual on raising a slave than a child.

Jack’s eyes were drawn to his chain tattoo and a pang of sadness squeezed his chest. He threw the book down on top the messy desk, no point in trying to hide his snooping, the guy was dead anyway.

That thought didn’t make him feel any better.

Jack looked in the open drawer at the other book and was baffled. He picked it up just to be sure he was reading it right.

‘How to (Gently) Care for Small Animals’

‘Gently’ was overlapping the title in a heart.

Did… Frank Fontaine raise a pet? This book was a much thinner paperback that’s appearance suggests it to have been handled a fair bit, the edges were bent and peeled, and the pages had a big brown coffee stain. Jack continued his founding tradition of starting a book from the middle and read over a random paragraph.

“The animal is still not used to his surroundings so while still giving him space to adjust, speak calmly and softly around him to ease his nerves, be sure to speak to him daily and call his name gently. After a few days have passed, he will allow you to touch him. Rub his head gently and accustom him to physical contact. During this time, you must not chase after him forcefully.”

“---don’t like loud noises, responds well to quiet tones and his name; thrives on affectionate contact but is getting clingy; Need to find balance between respect and friendliness.”

Jack didn’t know what to make of it, he wouldn’t figure Mister ‘big bad’ Frank Fontaine to be an animal person. He flipped through a few more pages, reading a paragraph that had been circled, underlined, and had some aggressively scrawled notes written by it.

“Little mammals are more intelligent than you think, and eagerly respond to incentives. Strong punishments, such as spanking or yelling won’t make them more cooperative, it will only do more harm than good. Affection is a good motivator, but toys and treats may also be a reward for your little buddy.”

“---Hit him the other day, lost my temper. Wouldn’t even look at me after that; was scared of me, yelling made it worse, just made him cry.”

“--Got that mongrel. Speaking to me again, is happy and Reg says he’s doing better at the range. Positive reinforcement, who knew.”

To say Jack was lost would be an understatement. This was a little book on raising small animals like hamsters and gerbils. Mongrel, range? Was he raising a show dog following this guide…?

Jack flipped through the last of the pages and a piece of paper slipped out onto the desk. It was a photo, glossy and made of thin paper. Jack could barely make heads or tails of it; the picture was really blurred but it looked like a weird baby. It was curled up tight and it was floating in some kind of liquid. Jack flipped the photo and scrawled on the back was:

‘(around) 36 – 38 (biological) weeks’

The handwriting was like chicken scratch and very different from Frank Fontaine’s writing. Jack had no idea what it was supposed to mean.

“Get bored waitin’ fer me did’ja?”

Startled, Jack jumped with a noise and threw the book up and over his shoulder hitting the glass pane while dropping behind the desk in reflex. Quickly remembering him and Atlas were the only people in this apartment he felt like a moron.

“Pff, nice survival instincts. But still a poor of sense situational awareness.”

Jack felt his cheeks warm at Atlas’s teasing and pouted as he stood. Atlas was in the same PJ bottoms as before but his hair was wet and he had a towel thrown across his broad shoulders, Jack turned and picked up the book he’d flung in shock as Atlas sauntered to stand next to the desk and picked up the picture Jack had been looking at.

Jack watched curiously as Atlas regarded it with an unreadable expression that didn’t last long as those eyes turned to himself. Something about the way Atlas had looked at that photo made Jack think he knew exactly what he was looking at.

“What is that?” Jack had come in here looking for answers and only had so many more questions.

“Hm? Looks like a photograph to me.” Atlas give it a wave as evidence, only to receive a dry look from Jack that made him shake his head with a laugh.

“Hah, ‘bout as fun as a hole in the head ain’t ya, boyo? It’s a babe.” Atlas stated as if it was obvious.

“Yeah, but it’s strange, the way it’s in a ball like that, floating?”

“’Prolly ‘cause it ain’t been born yet.” Atlas gave smile throwing an arm around his shoulders and leaned in to show him the picture.

Atlas smelled nice.

“But then how…?” If it hasn’t been born how’d they get a picture like this? It would be in a woman’s womb.

“Ah, science is an amazing thing, lad. Dey got these cameras called ultragrams or the like that can take pictures of the inside of a woman’s stomach from the outside.” By the end of Atlas’s elucidation Jack was sure his jaw had dropped, that was pretty amazing.

Jack reassessed the photo in wonder and didn’t notice Atlas’s hooded gaze shift to him.

“A right beauty ain’t he.” Atlas’s voice was a murmur in his ear but he still didn’t notice in his awe of the baby.

“Yeah…” Jack had never seen a baby up close before and he didn’t notice Atlas draw closer, the man’s chest almost pressed against his own back, face turned in and lips hovered above the crook of his neck.

Oh yeah.

With a thought, Jack turn his face to the one mere inches from his own.

“Did Frank Fontaine have a child?”

Atlas was unmoving, eyes so close and wide in surprise that Jack had to turn his own to the side but otherwise didn’t move. He was embarrassed by their close proximity but still didn’t quite grasp the situation.

“I’m ah- not sure. Why ya ask?” Atlas slowly stepped back from where he’d been leaning over Jack and averted his own eyes, grabbing the edge of the towel on his neck to start drying the back of his hair.

“Well, him having a picture like this would make it a reasonable guess, right?” Atlas made a noise of agreement as Jack took the few steps required to close the distance between him and the desk, gently placing the book on animal care into the drawer before shutting it, keeping his back to Atlas.

Jack didn’t know why he was so hesitant to tell him about these dreams and thoughts that may not even be all his.

“Why the sudden interest in Fontaine and his family life? You know he ain’t got one of those anymore, he’s dead.” Atlas’s voice may have sounded light but there was an undertone of something.

“Yeah, I’ve heard. I guess It’s just ‘cause we’re in his house, wearing his clothes that I- I don’t know, I just feel like…” Jack didn’t know what he felt, what feelings were even his own. It would be so much easier to just tell Atlas about the things he’d seen, but some strange and unusual part of him felt the need to hide it, like he’d done something wrong.

A gentle but heavy hand gripped his shoulder, forcing him to face Atlas. Jack had to turn his head away to avoid those eyes, they were still too much for him.

“What’re ya feelin’?” His voice was barely above a whisper as he moved closer, moving a hand to Jack’s cheek but not forcing.

“Why won’t you look at me?” Jack didn’t know why, he knew, but didn’t. The ways Atlas affected him, the way he was filling him with an urging warmth in the deepest pit of his stomach in a way he couldn’t understand, how he made Jack feel like he might be lost if he let himself be drawn in too deep.

Like he was drowning.

Jack shuck to the side, smashing his hip into the edge of the desk to pull himself from Atlas’s suffocating hold. Atlas looked genuinely stunned but Jack tried to play it off with a stammered laugh.

“I aha- I’m sorry it doesn’t matter, still just not feeling well, headache.” Jack didn’t wait for a reply, backing away towards the door as he spoke, feeling too confined in this large open study.

Atlas must think him so abnormal, but Jack couldn’t help it. Being so close to Atlas caused an array of sensations to consume him, the most overwhelming being fear and desire. Fear of Atlas or what he’d made him feel Jack couldn’t be certain, he understood the desire even less. What he wanted he didn’t know but was filled with urges, the longing to be closer, to touch him, the need to just breathe him in and feel all of him.

It had scared him how familiar everything here was but this was unfamiliar and it was terrifying.

Chapter Text

Fontaine watched the kid awkwardly flee from the room ‘cause that’s exactly what he was doing, running from him.

How much had the kid figured out? ‘Cause he knew something he wasn’t telling, and why wouldn’t he spill his bleedin’ soul to his pal ‘Atlas’? For the same reason he wouldn’t look him in the eye.

Fear.

Of what Fontaine didn’t know, after all what reason had he given the kid to distrust him? ‘Atlas’ has been nothing but good and attentive, sure he could think of a time or two he may have gotten a bit ‘inappropriate’ with the boy but he knew the kid liked the attention.

But the way the kid had looked at him earlier in the bathroom, like he knew exactly who he was looking at, he still couldn’t shake the chill it sent down his spine. Then what he’d said about there not bein’ “a before Rapture”, Fontaine had been sure the kid had remembered everything and had held his breath, waiting for Jack to say more, throw a punch or something but as quick as it came that look of recognition morphed to one of confusion and panic.

Then there was the nose bleed. Hell, the nose bleed, the fever, the way the kids been fallin’ out. Fontaine didn’t believe for a second that was all just ‘cause the kid got a bump on the back of his head, he ain’t never seen a crack to the head cause that kinda damage.

No, something was wrong with him, like the kid was breakin’ from the inside and isn’t that what the slant said would or could happen if he suddenly popped the cork on his memories, said his brains could be as good as soup.

Yeah could, Suchong said it “could happen, but probably will not”. Ha, This was why Fontaine was never one to take bets on ‘coulds’ ‘cause then you end up with shit like this. But he’d been desperate, the memory wipe thing had been a last minute slapdash job. To be honest when he’d had the kid made he hadn’t had this whole scheme fleshed out, all he knew was Andrew Ryan liked to keep himself tucked away behind genetic locks and his own super solider who just happened to be carrying Ryan’s genes might come in handy someday.

So he figured why not.

Now his genetic key, his winning hand, his Ace in the hole was cracking up, what was he supposed to do if the kid kicks it or becomes a potato? That kid is his last play at winnin’ this war and his only shot of ever gettin’ outta this fish tank.

He couldn’t afford to get sentimental, memories or not it didn’t matter if Jack was still in there. Fontaine’s number one priority is and always will be his own survival and for that the kid had to die.

He wasn’t going to stay Atlas forever.

Fontaine carefully slipped the photograph of Jack when he’d been an infant in a tube back between the pages of that shitty child rearing book and grabbed from his desk his old Colt M1911A1, the only gun he’d come to Rapture carrying.

It was a well-crafted, custom-made pistol with fancy frills and such engraved along the barrel and initials F.G. carved into the handle. It’d been a gift from a little honey he’d been seein’ in his days as Frank Gorland, an airhead whose daddy had dough. She’d been head over heels and he couldn’t even remember her name.

Leaving his study, he carried it lazily at his side.

Best not to idle, Frank’d learned better than to leave the kid outta his sight for too long and trust him to stay put.

***

Jack stood in the middle of the extravagant bedroom, twisting the end of Frank Fontaine’s nightshirt in shaky fists. His cheeks were burning and so was that pit in his stomach.

It made him anxious and he started to pace back and forth before sitting on the side of the bed facing away from the study door. Atlas had been so close, Jack had been able to feel the warmth from his body, felt his breath on his cheek.

He’d smelled so good.

Jack bent over and shoved his hands between his jean clad thighs and wrung the nightshirt tighter, he felt like he wanted something but not knowing what, didn’t know what to do with himself. He was so frustrated.

At the soft click of a door his head shot around to Atlas as he walked in from the study. The first thing Jack noticed was the glint of a pistol in Atlas’s hand that out of instinct put him on edge, he tried to calm down.

Atlas would never hurt him.

Atlas gave him a tired smile that had him bunching his shirt tighter. He wanted to return the smile but found himself ducking his head instead. Why was he like this? Atlas, seeming used to his strange behavior just dropped heavily to a chair near the door and rubbed his knee with a hiss.

Jack watched from the corner of his eye as Atlas lay the pistol on the end table next to where he sat and picked up a roll of bandages.

That’s right, Atlas was hurt; he’d gotten hurt at some point in the foyer when Jack had passed out. Jack had wanted to ask what’d happened but Atlas had brushed it off. He’d intended to ask again but then he’d fallen onto him and they’d been pressed real close and…

Jack squeezed his thighs tighter around his hands, the burning in his core intensifying thinking about how close they’d been, how touching him had felt.

Atlas had been hurting all this time and hadn’t done anything for it, He’d put it off to make sure Jack was alright. Jack thought back to how he’d yelled at Atlas before, in the bathroom and after he’d ventured all the way out here to help him.

He really was the worst.

“How’d you hurt your leg?” Atlas looked as startled as he was at the sound of his own voice breaking the silence.

“Ah don’t worry ‘bout it, don’t even hurt much anymore.” Atlas had begun to unfurl the roll of elastic binding.

“…But how’d it happen?” He could tell Atlas was skirting around the question, so he took a breath and made himself face him. Atlas’s eyes didn’t bare as sharp from this distance, making it easier. Atlas met his gaze and let out a reluctant breath.

“When ya fell out, atop them stairs. Well, you was fallin’ and I may’ve busted me knee catchin’ ya. But like I said s’no big deal, ‘prolly just a sprang.” Jack had had a feeling it was his fault, he knew Atlas was trying to down play it for his sake and felt awful as he watched him sit up and start to wrap his injured knee.

Jack stood, walking to stand in front of Atlas making the man freeze. He got on his knees and placed his hand over the other man’s that held the bandages, wondering where his sudden burst of courage had come from as he managed to look up into his eyes.

“Let me?”

Those eyes caused a heavy weight in his chest that made him feel short of breath, but he pushed it down, he knew what he was feeling as he stared into those stunning eyes of blue steel was all in his head and he needed to get over it. Whatever it was.

Atlas regarded him with slight surprise and gave a single silent nod.

Jack slid the bandages from his hand and turned his head down as he wrapped under and above Atlas’s knee in a way that would help support it. Atlas leaned back, never taking his eyes off him but Jack kept his head down as he worked. It was so quiet and somehow felt intimate.

“I’m sorry.” It’d come out whispered and cracked, his throat dry. He kept his head down but listened as Atlas took a breath through his nose and let his words just as quiet, carry on an exhale.

“s’not your fault.”

“Not just for this… but before, I yelled at you. All you’ve done is help me and I’ve just-“ his words were interrupted by a heavy hand in his hair. During his apology he’d stopped wrapping and stayed still with the weight on his head.

“Said it’s not your fault, been through a lot. We both have.” The fingers in his hair began kneading and gave the slightest tug of his hair, bringing him back to his task. He finished casing the knee and secured the elastic bandage with two metal clips on the end but didn’t move from his spot, just sat on his knees between Atlas’s legs with a hand still resting on the man’s bandaged knee while fingers ran through his hair.

Atlas didn’t seem to mind.

“Look at me.” the hand had moved down to give a tug up at his fringe but otherwise wasn’t forcing. Jack couldn’t stop his gaze from snapping up to take in Atlas.

He was gorgeous.

His face, handsome with those catching steely blues and a strong jaw shaded by five o’clock shadow that was turning to stubble, it nearly hid the mole just down left of his lips that were a dull pink. The skin tag poked at the hazed memories in the back of his mind but Jack forced the feeling down as his eyes continued exploring all of Atlas.

Dark curls of hair disheveled his chest, he was muscular, without well-defined abs but still firm. Jack’s eyes journeyed farther down the man’s body, following a trail of dark hairs that lead lower from his navel to end at the border of dark stripped pajamas. The red-hot pressure in Jack’s lower pelvis raged harder in his appreciations of the way those PJs defined certain parts of the man, his eyes traced the curves that outlined Atlas’s-

“See somethin’ ya like, boyo?” Jack looked back up to the man he’d been gawking at and gave a hard swallow as saliva had started to thicken in his mouth. Atlas wore a confident smirk and his voice though practically a deep murmur was teasing.

Something about what he’d said jabbed at an unease that was different from the usual tensions he felt when it came to Atlas. It stirred an unfamiliar and cruel voice.

“Ha… like what you see?” the southern tone was nothing like the one he usually heard in his head, this one was unpleasant and smug.

Jack shook his head and locked this voice away like every other uncomfortable thought that was running through his mind right now and focused only on the man in front of him. His eyes, his lips.

He wanted to touch him.

“I want to… try something.” Jack may’ve sounded hesitant but for the first time since being down here he was sure of one thing he wanted. Atlas’s hand had moved down from his head and only a thumb traced his cheek. The man’s expression unreadable as he gave his permissions in a mutter.

“Go ahead.”

Jack took a shaky inhale, building his resolve and placed a hand on the chair between Atlas’s thighs for leverage to haul himself to the man’s level. He placed his other hand at the top of the armrest, brushing against Atlas’s arm and looked up at the man through the thick of his lashes. Half expecting the other to push him away, Atlas just sat stock still and watched him with a hooded gaze, not moving an inch as Jack did what he wanted.

Jack regarded Atlas’s lips before pulling himself so close he could feel the man breathing hard through his nose. Jack saw his adam’s apple bob and paused, glancing up once more to the man, his expression gave away nothing, but eyes burned with a heat Jack hoped wouldn’t end up burning him.

Throwing reason to the wind Jack made that finial push, shutting his eyes before pressing his lips to Atlas’s own.

***

It was an innocent press of lips to his own bottom one. Just a simple still contact of flesh against flesh that could hardly be called a kiss. The kid hadn’t even puckered up.

Fontaine didn’t close his eyes like the kid had, didn’t press back or pull away. Just watched through half lidded eyes as the boy’s brows furrowed and pressed harder for a response.

It was just like how Jack had kissed him two years ago.

Except this time, he wasn’t about to do the decent thing and push the boy away.

The kid’s kiss might be innocent but the way he’d been oglin’ him wasn’t. He saw how the kid’s eyes filled with lust as he looked at his body, the way his cheeks blush so pretty and how he’d squeezed his thighs together staring at the bulge of his pecker.

Watching the kid look him up and down like that, gettin’ all hot and bothered had, quite frankly gotten Fontaine a bit excited himself. Feeling the kid’s lips start to quiver, Fontaine figured why not take what the kid was offering.

Whether he knew just what he was asking for or not.

A wounded sound came from the kid, figuring he’d been rejected, went to pull off him but Fontaine didn’t let him get far. The kid turned his head and Fontaine caught a cheek in his palm leading the kid to turn hurt and confused eyes back to him so he could lay a real kiss on him.

The kid sucked in a breath and stood ridged as Fontaine released his lips with a wet smack. His eyes were wide and searching before surging forward to open and close his lips around Fontaine’s, mimicking the way the other man’s had moved.

This time Fontaine did let his lids slide closed and participated in earnest. The kid placed a hand on the back of his chair seeming unsure of what to do with them, Fontaine grabbed the one by his head and the other gripping the chair between his thighs and directed them to move along his chest.

The kid caught on quickly and mapped his hands across Fontaine’s bare chest and shoulders. He then snaked an arm around the kid’s waist to drag him into his lap, the boy followed easily, not stopping his needy smacking of lips. Devouring him like a man starved.

He let the kid enjoy his moment of leading the lip locking before seizing control by fisting the back of the kid’s hair to rip his face away and tilt his head to the side, planting his mouth back on the younger’s soft lips with bruising force. He lapped at the kid’s mouth and he opened right up for him, letting his tongue slip in with a moan.

Without hesitation the boy started running his own tongue along his then pulled it in and sucked, dragging a groan from the back of Fontaine’s throat. He ran a hand up under the kid’s too big night nightshirt and managed to wedge the other in too tight jeans grabbing his ass and directing the kid to move his hips.

Fontaine leaned back so he could meet each roll of the kid’s hips with thrusts. The kid moaned with every slide of friction between them, breaking away for air, he rest his head on Fontaine’s shoulder as he rode him. 

Fontaine slid the hand that’d been running along the kid’s back to its previous position in his hair and mouthed along his jaw, sucking and nipping his way down to the crook of his neck to focus his attentions on one spot.

The boy was unrelenting, the movement of his hips picking up and pressing down harder, seeking more pressure against his arousal but gave a low groan of frustration.

“Atlas, please.” He sounded absolutely wrecked.

Fontaine gave the mark he’d been working on a generous bite, making the kid cry out and dig nails into his shoulders. Fontaine knew what the boy wanted; what he was begging for but did the kid understand it?

“Please what?”

He’d learned how limited Jack’s knowledge of sex was in his teens, his understanding of intercourse going about as far as what was required for reproduction. There were no awkward talks of birds and bee or safe sex, only what the boy had learned in his ‘educations’ with them scientists.

Unless something uncouth had happened while the boy was tucked away on the surface, he was a virgin.

“Not enough, please- need more.” The kid wrapped both arms around his shoulders and buried his face against his neck, kissing and sucking like Fontaine had him but much more gentle. Fontaine prodded a bit more, wanting to know just how ignorant the kid was to the desires of his own body.

“More of what?”

“I don’t know!” The kid gave a desperate whine and pressed down harder. Fontaine, feeling pretty desperate himself, decided to move this little make out session along and show the kid just what he was needing.

He pulled his hand out from the confines of the boy’s pants, moving both to grip his firm ass before scooting forward to stand, taking the young man with him, making him yelp in surprise and wrap legs around his waist to keep from being dropped. Quickly being reminded this was a full-grown man, Fontaine and his sore knee appreciated the short distance to the bed.

Gracelessly dropping the kid onto the luxurious mattress with a bounce, the younger man quickly scoot back as if he needed to make room for him on the bed that could comfortably fit five people. Fontaine pressed knees to the bed and drew closer the where the kid lay back on his forearms breathing hard and watching with anticipation.

He moved between the kid’s legs and wordlessly unbuttoned his jeans before yanking them down, dragging them past his hips and thighs nearly taking underwear with them. Those briefs now rode low on his hips, the only thing that’d kept them up was getting caught on the kid’s growing arousal.

While pulling his pants off the kid had gotten this look in his eyes, it reminded Fontaine of the glazed gaze the kid had gotten in the bathroom. The kid squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and gave a small shake of his head before turning clearer eyes back on him.

He figured the boy was just nervous. This was why Fontaine would take a woman with experience over beddin’ a virgin, they expected him to be gentle and hold their hand through it but he wasn’t and didn’t.

Frank’s first time he’d been 17 and the girl, bein’ a virgin herself, had been so nervous but he only coddled her as much as needed to get her panties off. He’d been rough and blew his load in five minutes. She cried after but he hadn’t cared, all that mattered was he’d gotten off.

He’d make sure it was different with Jack; his boy’d enjoy his first time with him.\

Fontaine scoot in between the kid thighs and leaned over him to devour those lips, thrusting his hips to grind his swollen hardness against the boy’s own. The kid broke away from the kiss to fall back off his arms and let out a moan at the contact now filtered only by a thin layer of fabric.

Fontaine grinned at how sensitive the younger was and continued rutting against him, leaning back down to mark his throat. The boy threaded a hand through his hair while the other scratched his back with dull nails, legs moved along his sides with one wrapping around him to press harder as he dry humped the kid and enjoyed the symphony of uncontrolled moans.

Hearing those noises become muffled, Fontaine gave a particularly harsh nibble along his neck, receiving another stifled groan. He raised his head to see the boy’s face turned to the side, biting his fist with eyes squeezed shut.

Now that just wouldn’t do.

He ceased his motions, pulling the boy’s fist from his mouth and pinned it to the mattress, the kid turned lidded eyes to him in question.

“Nuh uh, No keepin’ that lovely voice from me. Not when we’re like this.” He clarified with a roll of his hips that made the boy give an open moan and squeeze his eyes shut. He gave another thrust against the boy.

“Can’t hide them pretty doe’s neither.”

The kid’s eyes shot open with a startled breath before squeezing them shut again and blinking rapidly. Before he could question him, the kid grabbed his shoulders to bring him down for a sloppy kiss, shoving his tongue down his throat almost desperately.

Fontaine indulged him before grabbing the hands on his shoulders to pin them down and pull back with a nip to the boy’s searching lips. The kid’s chest was heaving, he looked thoroughly ravished.

“What do you want?”

Those pretty dark orbs were blurry, freckles standing out against the scarlet of his cheeks as he seemed to struggle with what to say before responding, managing to make it seem like it should be obvious yet still sounding insecure.

“You.”

It gave Fontaine pause and he could do nothing to stop the crack of a grin that held little humor. The boy’s hazy eyes gazed at him in confusion and Fontaine had to lean over pressing his lips to the kid’s forehead, effectively hiding his expression because he knew it wasn’t a nice one. His chest shook with silent laughter at the parallels of now and from back then, though he didn’t find it particularly funny. 

This had happened before.

He’d asked Jack this question, and Jack had given the same response.

It caused a painful knot in his chest that was quaking with laughter over a humorless situation.

Last time, he’d berated and mocked the child for what he’d been asking for and now here they were together.

Fontaine wondered at what point he’d started wanting his boy like this.

“Atlas..?”

It didn’t matter. It is what it is and he’d take what he wanted.

And right now, he wanted Jack.

Fontaine gave Jack a bruising kiss, silencing his concerns. Then bit and sucked his way down the boy’s chin, passed his collar bone, his debauching of Jack’s body being thwarted by his own nightshirt the boy wore.

His eyes turned up to make sure his boy was watching as he gripped the lapel of the shirt in his teeth and released one of Jack’s arms to fist it and pull it apart, the buttons snapping from the expensive cloth easily.

He continued his expedition of Jack’s body stopping to suck on a nipple and roll it between teeth, he made sure to show the other one abuse, rubbing and pulling it with a calloused thumb, not stopping till Jack’s breathing was rapid and he’d begun to lift his hips in search of friction against his neglected need.

He moved farther down over ribs that were too defined to be healthy, licking past a belly-buttonless abdomen before reaching underwear. His chin bumped Jack’s clothed cock as he took elastic in his teeth to release and snap it, making the boy start.

Fontaine sat back on his knees to take in Jack. The boy was flushed from his cheeks to his chest which was littered with bites that would undoubtedly bruise, the nightshirt he’d torn in half pooled around the boy’s elbows that he leaned back on with legs splayed open and inviting, there was a wet spot where his hard cock, straining against underwear had already begun to leak precum.

Fontaine’s body was wracked with a visible shudder at the absolutely sinful sight. He ran an open hand down the boy’s abdomen and palmed his swollen sex, the younger man groaned and rocked into him lolling his head the side.

“Christ, if you ain’t just the most temptin’ thing I ever laid my eyes on.”

He himself was in as well of states as the boy, near breathless with want, the throbbing of his heavy cock was near unbearable, but he was going to draw it out a bit more and make sure they both enjoy this.

He’d never get this opportunity again. Once they leave the sanctuary of this apartment, they’ll go separate ways and never meet again.

Not if everything goes according to plan.

He took his hand back to instead rub along soft thighs and Jack let out a cry of frustration with a muttered string of “nos” and “please.”

“What’s is it, boyo? What do you want me to do?”

Jack’s eyes darted to his own need and back to Atlas in silent begging. The pure desperation on the boy’s face nearly making him give in but he needed to hear just how bad Jack wanted it; wanted him.

“Said no holdin’ out on that sweet voice, I wanna hear it. Now tell me what you want from me.”

Jack’s cheeks blushed an impossibly darker shade and he bit his lip, blinking wetness from his eyes that again looked pointedly to himself, Fontaine followed the motion of a tongue darting out to wet puffy lips red with abuse. The boy was driving him mad.

“Please… Please, want you. Put your hands on me, please.” Jack’s voice was broken and pleading and how could he deny him when he begged so sweetly? He rewarded him with a wet kiss and muttered praise on his lips.

“Good boy.”

Fontaine ran his hands back down Jack’s body, letting them catch on briefs that already hung so dangerously low, tugging them down. Jack gasped when they pulled over his length, freeing it to slap and lay across his stomach. Fontaine pressed the boy’s thigh down to his chest, manhandling him to yank underwear off and hooked that leg over his own shoulder.

Jack was breathing in hard pants, now completely bare and spread open for him, wanting. Fontaine pressed the heel of his hand to his own covered cock, so hard it was painful. He could tell himself it was just his many months of reluctant abstinence but right now he’d never wanted to fuck someone so badly in his life.

He had to move this along.

Fontaine licked a long, wet stripe on his palm leaving a glistening coat of spit and made sure the boy was watching as he took him in hand and lazily stroked him from base to tip. Jack hung his head with a throaty moan and Fontaine nipped the knee thrown over his shoulder making the kid start and getting his attention.

“Keep your eyes open, want you to watch.”

He bent forward, keeping their gazes locked he gave the tip of the kid’s dick a lick before taking the head in to suck. Jack bucked his hips, needing more but Fontaine planted his arm across the boy’s pelvis forcing him still as he took Jack in almost halfway and started to bob his head.

Fontaine stuck a hand down his own pants, getting off on Jack’s slack jaw expression of bliss. He could count every time he’d gone down on a woman on one hand and here he was sucking off another man and enjoying it.

But this was different, Jack was special.

Fontaine slid the leg off from his back and released him with a lewd pop leaning back up to lick into Jack’s open lips, not stopping his leisurely fondling of Jack’s wet cock as he mouthed needy words along Jack’s jaw,

“Need to feel all of you, be closer.”

“Yes, yes, Atlas please.”

The boy pawed at his back and let out mindless streams of moaned “yeses” but Fontaine didn’t think he really understood what he was getting at.

“Wanna fuck you so bad.”

He felt Jack freeze and those blunt nails on his back dug in his skin.

“Fu-?... But we’re both men, how-?”

Fontaine swallowed the boy’s questions with his mouth before moving his lips to the shell of Jack’s ear to whisper heatedly.

“There are ways, love.”

He dragged fingers down the boy’s swollen lips before pressing two against them for entrance.

“Suck.”

Jack’s look was confused but he took the digits in easily, sucking them as told. Fontaine dropped his head to the boy’s shoulder and groaned feeling the wet tongue run over his fingers. He stuck a third in and started pumping them in and out of that hot cavern.

“That’s right, gotta get ‘em nice ‘n wet.”

Jack sucked and licked them eagerly, loving the responses he was able to pull from Atlas.

Fontaine drew his fingers from Jack’s mouth and lifted the boy’s leg to hook it to its previous position on his shoulder. He ran the wet digits down the boy’s shaft and circled the pucker past his balls. He’d done it in the ass with women before and figured same rules apply here, get it wet and start slow.

Fontaine slowly pushed a single finger in, getting to the first knuckle before the kid clenched up. He kissed the knee on his shoulder.

“Relax, just breathe and relax.”

Fontaine rubbed the boy’s hardness with feather light strokes to distract him as he pressed in deeper. He could feel Jack’s body loosen up to accept him and a bit hastily shoved a second finger in to stretch him open.

He could tell the kid was uncomfortable but doing his best to relax, wanting to be good for ‘Atlas’. Jack would have done anything for him, always wanting to please him.

He stretched and crooked his fingers until the kid surprised him with a breathless moan, arching his back.Fontaine kept his eyes on the young man as he slowly moved his fingers, searching for what had caused such a fierce response. Until-

“Ah-Atlas, that’s- !”

Jack’s whole body tensed with a moan and he couldn’t seem to decide if he wanted to press towards or away from that intense sensation.

Fontaine watched in interest as he crooked his fingers up against a bundle of nerves that had the boy tossing just like a woman when you fingered her just right. Fontaine smirked, maybe there was something to homos wanting things shoved up their ass after all.

He was able to slip a third finger in pretty easily after, focusing just the right amount of attention to that spot inside the boy that had him moaning like a seasoned whore and goddamn if he wasn’t putting on the most tantalizing show.

Jack arched his back and fisted sheets by his head, twisting to find purchase to ground himself against the onslaught on pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable.

The kid was taking his fingers with ease and watching the boy push back in his hand, actively getting off on his fingers alone was driving him insane.

Fontaine couldn’t wait anymore.

He pulled his fingers out receiving a whine of protest from the boy.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. Gonna give you something better.” Fontaine spoke thickly as he eagerly pushed down his PJ pants midway passed his thigh, just far enough to release his thick arousal.

He couldn’t help feeling pleased with himself with the way the boy was staring at his manhood. Flushed, breathless, and wanting.

He spat in his hand and stroked himself, slicking up his cock and putting on a show for the wide-eyed young man.

Fontaine would ruin him.

He guided the head of his dick to rim along the boy’s ass, seeing Jack’s expression turn startled as if he just figured out where this was going but Fontaine wasn’t going to stop if the kid asked. He couldn’t, not when he was so close, not when he had Jack laid out for him like this.

Fontaine watched the head of his dick sink into that obscene hole and hung his head with a low groan. The heat of the kid wrapped around him was amazing, it took everything in him not to just thrust in with abandon.

He had to wait. This wasn’t some cheap tart he’d charmed into his bed, this was his kid, his Jack.

Jack’s fists were twisted in sheets and his face contorted in discomfort. Fontaine squeezed and massaged the thigh hooked over his shoulder to try and relieve Jack’s tension but to no avail.  He let the limb slide from his shoulder to lean forward and claim the younger’s lips, filling his mouth with his tongue hoping to distract him.

He mouthed his way down the kid’s throat and stroked him, trying to get him to loosen up while pressing deeper into that torturously tight channel.

“C’mon Darlin’, need you to relax. Be painful if you don’t but can be  good, can make it so good for both us.”

Fontaine had never had to beg anyone in bed before but he said he’d be gentle with Jack and for that the kid needed to relax and just take it. Jack’s nails broke the skin where they’d dug in his back and his eyes were clenched shut as he took shallow breaths, he could see the kid was trying but it wasn’t good enough.

So, he’d do what he always did when the kid was havin’ trouble, he’d help him out.

“I got ya, love. Not gonna move ‘till you’re ready. So would you kindly just take a breath and relax.”

Just like that, all resistance in the boy’s body left him with a breath and Fontaine was able to slip in to the hilt with a guttural groan.

It was so good.

Fontaine planted both forearms on either side of the kid’s head and hung his own, taking deep breaths and using every last bit of his restraint to not start pounding into that tight pulsing heat that held him like a vice.

“Gods, Feel so good on me…” Fontaine ground himself impossibly deeper to ease the tension but not enough to satisfy. He felt the kid’s shaky legs run up his sides and those nails run down his back.

“It’s so…Atlas…” The boy was breathless and trembling so hard as those legs tightened around his waist and arms wrapped around his shoulders, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“I know” he muttered in reverence.

Fontaine drew out some and pressed back slowly, letting Jack get used to it. He felt like a thirsty man surviving off a slow drip of water; it wasn’t enough. He just wanted to let go and do this proper.

He pressed his head to the younger’s shoulder and moved his arms down to take hold of the legs wrapped around him under each knee, spreading them open as he gradually pulled out. Dragging his length across the boy’s silken walls, pressing the bulbous head of his cock along that spot inside the boy that made him writhe in pleasure.

He slid back in, inch by torturous inch into that deliciously hot cavern until he bottomed out. Fontaine set a slow pace, his thrusts shallow as if he were carving out a space for himself inside of Jack that only he could ever fill.

The pivoting of his hips increased, his arousal being fueled by the desperate moans slipping from Jack’s lovely lips but it still wasn’t enough, he wanted more of the boy, to hear more, and take more.

Fontaine ran his mouth up Jack’s bruised and abused throat to suck anther claim to the underside of his jaw, thrusting harder as a hand twisted in his hair. He lapped at the spot he’d bitten hard enough to draw blood and a whine of his name from the boy twisting under him.

“Atlas! Its so good- need more-more more…”

Jack’s begging went straight to his dick, making Fontaine spread those gorgeous legs wider, pressing them to the kid’s chest and pound into him in a near punishing pace.

He had intended to be gentle with the boy, he really had. But here his little virgin was begging for it harder, how could he deny him? ‘Sides he seems to be enjoying getting his sweet ass pounded raw.

Fontaine pressed his lips to the shell of Jack’s ear, not slowing the hard thrusts of his hips.

“You’re fuckin’ amazing, know that? Takin’ it so good for me, always been such a good boy for daddy. Daddy’s gonna take such good care of ya.”

Fontaine licked his ear before sucking in the lobe.

“Yes! Yes! Atlas!” Jack moaned and tugged harder on the raven locks his hand was buried in then gave a barked cry when Atlas bit the delicate lobe captive in his teeth and growled in his ear.

“Say it. Say whos takin’ care of ya. The only one who can.” Fontaine’s thrusts into the willing body were becoming erratic with the familiar pressure building in his core, his body was eager for release but he never wanted this to end.

“Atl-DADDY!”

The rhythm of his hips stuttered as he nearly blew his load.

“Guh-God, still too good for daddy.”

Fontaine wasn’t going to last much longer, he dropped the kid’s legs and grabbed Jack’s neglected cock to hurriedly stroke him, needing the boy to cum on his dick.

The sudden hand on Jack’s hardness was rough and jerking but amazing, seeming to give the white hot burning in his pit direction.

“At- Daddy, gotta-“

Fontaine lifted himself with his free arm to take in the image of his boy stretched out for him, his mouth open and eyes clenched shut as he bucked up into his fist and took every demanding thrust with a moan. He could tell Jack was close, that tight hot muscle squeezing his length was seizing around him, making him drive his hips faster.

 “Take it, take it. M’so fuckin’ close. Let go sweetheart, come for daddy.

Fontaine pumped the boy’s leaking arousal and those silken walls of heaven spasmed, gripping him in their divine heat as Jack’s orgasm seem to hit him like an earthquake.

The kid’s body arched and trembled as if struck with electricity, his face was screwed tight and soaked with sweat and tears, his mouth hung open in a silent cry as strips of ecstasy were pumped from him and spilled over his own stomach and Fontaine’s hand.

Jack’s expression of raw overwhelmed pleasure and his sweltering insides convulsing around Fontaine’s throbbing member were too much.

The arm holding Fontaine’s weight buckled and his body dropped to blanket the boy as he rut like an animal into Jack’s sensitive body still reeling in pleasure. Sweat dripped from his brow as he roughly pounded into that too hot channel milking him for all he had, all thought and guise forgotten as he chased his own bubbling release.

“Daddy’s good boy, gonna keep ya this time, never let ya go again. You’re mine. Mine, mine, mine…” Fontaine’s fake Irish dialect was slipping, his voice turning to a deep panted growl as he mindlessly rambled.

Needing something to ground himself he grabbed the kid’s hips with rough hands and squeezed with bruising pressure. More marks to show just who Jack belonged to.

Finally, with a throaty groan he tensed up as his own orgasm was ripped from him in a shudder. Fontaine pumped his hips and his body was wracked with tremors as his seed shot out to paint the boy’s quivering insides. Fontaine felt shaky legs brace his sides and arms wrap around his back as the kid held him through it.

The boy really was a treasure.

With a few hollow thrusts he was spent and dropped his full weight on the kid like a limp ragdoll. Fontaine could hear Jack’s racing heart from where his head rest on Jack’s chest. The only other sound in the room being their mixed panted breaths as they were both drained.

Fontaine had no intention of moving quite yet, content to lay here in Jack’s mess and listen to the rhythm of his boy’s rapid heartbeat. Jack was still trying to catch his breath as he basked in the passing passion.

The calming beat of Jack’s heart steadied, and the heaving of his chest slowed. Jack’s fidgety fingers found their way into his sweaty hair to card through his short tresses making Fontaine feel more relaxed than he had in years.

Jack busied his other hand with running feather light fingertips across his back, sometimes catching on areas that stung. The kid had really clawed him up, not that he could bring himself to mind.

Fontaine ran his own hands along Jack’s sides and up the underside of his arms, resting them on the back of Jack’s shoulders to hold him in silence.

Frank was a restless man, unhappy if he wasn’t out on an edge. He either stayed busy working a grift or lost himself in a woman’s arms. Otherwise he started thinking too much. Like about his old man dumping him in that orphanage when he was a boy.

But this time was different, it’s because of whose arms held him now that he couldn’t quiet his racing mind, this weren’t some throwaway broad he’d just screwed.

He’d just slept with his own kid.

Jack wasn’t his son, but the kid was still his. This was the snot nosed kid whom he’d have to bathe in the tub himself ‘cause the boy couldn’t be trusted alone in a small body of water without drowning himself or rubbing fuckin’ soap into his eyes.  

The little boy that got teary eyed when you hollered at him. The brat that would do anything if he thought it’d make him proud. This was once the child that called him Papa.

He raised this kid.

Fontaine tightened his hold on the soft body he lay on.

He wasn’t a man of morals by any means but something about this felt fucked.

Parents always say ‘they grow up so fast’ well he’d watched Jack grow from a sprout in a tube to a fully-grown man of 6 feet in the span of about two and a half years. He’d been there when the kid was ‘born’, when he’d learned to walk, he’d named him only four years ago.

The short time he’d spent with Jack had felt like a lifetime, well he reckoned it was a lifetime, Jack’s lifetime.

And it was going to end soon. It had to.

Frank didn’t have regrets, when he made a decision he stuck to it. Never regretted coming to Rapture, didn’t hesitate to push this into a war, not once did he rethink sending Reggie, a man he’d known for over 20 years and was the closest thing he ever had to a friend, to die in his stead.

Yet unfailing, Jack was again the exception.

For whatever goddamn reason, Jack made him think of ‘what ifs’.

And that was dangerous.

Fontaine groaned in frustration, startling the body under him and making those soft fingers pause their blissful kneading. He’d almost forgotten who he was laying on.

Funny how he could get so caught up thinking about Jack that he’d forget about The Kid.

He felt the boy swallow and that heart under his ear speed up.

“Are you okay?” the boy’s tone was nervous and hesitant.

Fontaine couldn’t help barking a laugh at the question as he slid his carefully crafted facade back into place.

“Think I should be askin’ you that. Was rougher than I meant to be.” ‘Atlas’ remained still where he was but ran a palm down the boy’s side in apology and felt some of the tension leave the kid’s body.

“No, it’s fine. It was nice.” The boy’s voice sounded so warm he could practically hear the blush he knew was colouring the boy’s cheeks. Fontaine chuffed through his nose, amused by the boy describing the most intense orgasm he’d had in years with ‘it was nice’. He felt the kid tense again.

“Was I-… Did I do okay?”

Fontaine didn’t know if he frowned at the insecurity in the boy’s voice or his own need to shower him with reassurances and praise.

“Ooh Darlin’, you were better than okay, had me seein’ stars you did.”

Fontaine closed his eyes, suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever and laid his forehead to the boy’s chest and placed another kiss to the soft flesh.

He felt the boy’s heart beat speed up.

Fontaine was disturbed with himself. He should be bathing in the afterglow of fantastic sex but here he was feeling so… melancholy.

Jack sensing his gloom, started running those pleasant fingers through his hair again, offering him comfort.

“Atlas… what’s wrong? Please tell me… Is it about your-“ the boy cut himself off, seeming to come to his own conclusions on why Atlas was suddenly so disheartened. The hand on his shoulder tightened and the fingers in his hair faltered as if unsure they were welcome.

“I’m so sorry…” Fontaine’s eyes snapped open at that, the boy’s voice sounding wet and wavered.

“I shouldn’t have- I wasn’t even thinking about how you’d feel so soon after losing your- I’m so sorry.” He looked up at the boy’s averted eyes that held pain and shame and wondered what the hell the kid had gotten in his head he’d done wrong, then it clicked.

‘Atlas’ had just lost his wife and child only a few weeks ago.

Christ, did the boy think he just ‘took advantage’ of a grieving man?

Jack tried to pull away but Fontaine wrapped an arm under the kid’s waist and grabbed the retreating hand that had been on his shoulder to press lips to the kid’s pulse point, right on that damned tattoo. Fontaine still couldn’t get the memory of Jack’s broken voice on the day he’d gotten it out of his head.

“Chains for a slave.”

“S’nothing you did, lad. M’just thinkin’ too much” he mumbled against Jack’s wrist and flicked his gaze back to the boy’s own, he still looked uncertain.

“Nowhere I’d rather be right now.”

Fontaine was uneasy with how true that may be.

Chapter Text

“You ain’t a real person, just a half-baked lab experiment I had cooked up!”

This again.

“A motherless freak.”

Words he’d drown in drink flooded his unconscious.

“Ain’t no one else in this world gonna want you. I’m all you got.”

A night he’d drive from his mind in the arms of nameless women assaulted his thoughts.

“That’s not true! I am a person! My name is-“

Jack.

This was Jack.

The child- the teenager, was pinned down by his wrists on Fontaine’s bed.

By Fontaine.

This was that day-that night.

Why was he reliving this?

He couldn’t make it right.

So what does it matter?

Why did he even care?

He didn’t want to care.

A young boy seemingly aged somewhere in his late teens, bordering on the cusp of manhood, met his livid glare with hesitation but those amber hues also burned with a brilliant fire of defiance.

“I’m sorry alright! I’ll never do it again. Now get off!”

For all he’s done for this brat, this is what he gets?

It seems a lesson in respect was long overdue.

The lithe body under him twist, fighting to get away only managing to press up against Fontaine’s own solid frame. Making the striped tee shirt the boy’d grown out of ride up over his stomach.

Exposing a bruise just above his hip.

A handprint.

Fontaine froze.

He squeezed the wrists held captive in a grip he knew would be leaving more prominent marks than the one tarnishing the boy’s hip.

Good.

“So…” Fontaine felt a twisted grin curl his lips as he strained to keep his tone level, his anger rising rapidly, zeroing in on the hand shaped bruise.

 “This why you was sneakin’ out, kiddo?”

He shook with ill-concealed rage at the evidence that- that little nose wiping greaseball, he’d found his kid with had actually-

He couldn’t even finish the thought.

“How many times you sneak out to fool around with that two-bit greaser before you gave it up?” the interrogation was sneered.

That look of confusion the kid was trying to sell only served to piss him off more.

“I didn’t-give what up?”

Fontaine barked a cruel laugh.

“Or maybe he wasn’t your first? Huh? Was you just so desperate for it that you went out and let the first fag you seen in Fort Frolic screw ya?”  His tone rose at the prospect of his Jack, HIS property being used by someone else.

Jack was trying to play it tough with an angry glare but his eyes were wet and his lips forced to a scowl, quivered.

After hours of anxious searching for his missing kid, Fontaine’d found him in the arms of some grease-ball teen.

He was still astounded by the restraint he’d managed up until now.

But that Jack had the fucking gall to keep playing dumb, squinting his eyes as if Fontaine was a crazy man speaking a whole other language, wasn’t helping his rising blood pleasure.

 “Desperate? What are you even talking about?”

Fontaine hung his head and counted deep breaths just as that creepy counsellor Lamb instructed.

In. Out. In. Out.

Innnnn.

“’What I’m talkin’ about…’”

Ouuuuut.

“Is how many men have you gone out and spread those slutty legs for? Just ‘cause you couldn’t get what you really wanted from me.”

Had Fontaine been in a right state of mind he would have been able to clearly see the pure ignorance Jack displayed wasn’t faked, that the boy really was just that naive.

Fontaine knew the child couldn’t act for shit; that he was a terrible liar.

But Fontaine hadn’t been in any good state of mind that night.

Jack was scared and confused but he didn’t care. He was too angry to care about anything other than what he himself was feeling.

Fontaine couldn’t even figure out what the hell it was he felt but it made him so angry.

“What I…wanted?” the boy mumbled, really not knowing what to do.

“You know what, kiddo? Fine. You want it so bad? -Here!”

Fontaine pressed his weight on Jack’s thighs to keep him from trying to wiggle away again and moved his hold of the boy’s wrists to one hand. Using the other he yanked off his loose, hastily done tie and with nimble fingers undid the top few buttons of his wrinkled white dress shirt to uncover his bare chest.

The body under him stiffened and Fontaine watched the teen’s eyes, red from unshed tears roam his groomed torso before the boy squeezed them shut and threw his head to the side, a dark shade tinting his cheeks.

“Please Mister Fontaine, I’m sorry! I don’t know what you want! Just tell me what you want me to do!”

Jack’s chest was heaving as though he couldn’t breathe, and he was shaking so violently Fontaine could feel it quake through his own body.

Fontaine grabbed Jack’s strong jaw and squeezed to force the boy to look at him.

“Ooh, but this isn’t about what I want. It’s about what you want, sweetheart.” Fontaine roughly released the child’s face.

“Come on, kid. You said this was what you wanted, remember? Don’t tell me you forgot?” Fontaine belittled him with mock encouragement.

“You put your lips right –here.” Fontaine traced Jack’s trembling lips before tapping that finger to his own bottom one.

“And said you was ‘in love’ with me.” His tone mimicking and mocking. “That you wanted me.” The teen’s cheeks burned red with embarrassment and he clenched his eyes shut again, biting his bottom lip, fighting the urge to cry.

But Fontaine wouldn’t let up.

How dare this brat demand more from him after he’d been nothing but good to him.

In that irrational moment it had felt like everything he thought Jack had done had been purely to spite him for not giving him what he wanted.

Fontaine leaned forward looming over the adolescent, supporting himself on the arm that held his wrists down.

“Did you think’ of me as you was gettin’ fucked?”

He roughly ran his hand down Jack’s chest, going lower.

“I-I don’t-“  

Lower.

“You think about me touching you- here?”

Fontaine’s palm lay over the younger’s crotch.

He’d felt he had to restake a claim on what was his, but Jack, a sheltered teenager who couldn’t even be called a young man yet.

He hadn’t even understood what Fontaine was doing to him.

Fontaine rubbed Jack over his jeans; working his soft member and leaned in to breathe into the boy’s ear.

“This all you hoped for, kiddo? Look at you, gettin’ hard from a man touchin’ you over your pants. Want it so bad don’t ya, you little queer.”

The kid panted and squirmed harder, trying to pull his arms free of Fontaine’s heavy grasp but the larger man had him firmly pinned.

Fontaine could feel Jack swell and sweat started to form on the man’s brow as the boy arched against him and struggled.

“Mi-ster Fontaine! I don’t want, what are you-??”

Jack was already getting stiff in his hand.

“Somethin’ wrong with you, gettin’ so hard over another man. How many you let see you like this? Touch you like this?” Fontaine growled, swearing to keep the boy locked away from now on. No more walks through the parks of Arcadia, no more theater shows, no more fucking balls thrown by psychotic, handsy, fruitcake artists.

Jack shook his head in denial, panicking as he struggled to breathe through his anxiety and inexperience with this.

“I’ve never- never done this! D-don’t…”

“Sure kid. Then where’d ya get this little number.” Fontaine placed the hand he’d been groping the child with over the hand shaped bruise on Jack’s hip, squeezing him harshly and feeling a benign victory that his hand was bigger.

Jack was breathing heavy as he resisted and tried to buck him off.

“That isn’t-he didn’t! Was almost hit...STOP!”

Fontaine grit his teeth and bared down harder against the teen’s struggling.

 “Mi- F-ontaine, PLEASE! I Haven’t done this, promise!”

The child was terrified.

He pressed his face against Jack’s to snarl nasty words into the boy’s ear.

“Guess whore just runs too deep in your genes to cut out.”

Like mother like son.

“But understand this, kiddo. You belong to me. You live only ‘cause I let you. Ya ain’t a real person, just a half-baked lab experiment I had cooked up.”

“That’s not true!”

The kid managed to twist and buck a leg between his groin, hitting hard enough to dislodge him and jerk his wrists from Fontaine’s strong grip while he was stunned.

Jack quickly wormed out from under him to scoot back on the giant bed, bracing himself against the headboard with a knee curled to his chest like a barrier. It wasn’t like the boy could run, he was incarcerated to Fontaine’s apartment, at the mercy of whatever the man subjected him too.

 “I’m a person! My name is Jack!”

Fontaine braced himself on an unstable arm, his other curled around his abdomen as he was hunched over reeling from the blunt force of Jack’s thigh ramming up into his sack. Fontaine gave a broken, dark chuckle, faltering as he fought down the urge to puke from the physical pain.

“Yeah… that’s what I call ya; what I chose for ya.” His head was bowed as he blinked the spots from his vision, he peered under his brow at the boy who’d pressed himself against the headboard like a caged animal.

Jack’s chest heaved from a burst of adrenaline, brilliant eyes tracking his tiniest movements, burning deep with stinging betrayal and distrust.

Fontaine knew it was the darkest look the boy’d ever given anybody in his life.

 “But I could’ve called ya lab rat and it wouldn’t have made a licks difference.” Fontaine jerked his head, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders in a smooth motion, releasing his stomach to place both hands to the mattress. Looking much like an animal himself, ready to pounce on fleeing pray.

Fontaine’s own eyes met the teenager’s in challenge.

“At the end of the day you’re just a tool. My tool, to do whatever I want with.”

The kid tensed when Fontaine slid an arm and knee forward, slowly creeping to the boy barely six feet away.

“No I’m not! I am a real person! I have a mo-!”

“Nothing.”

Fontaine could see Jack flinch as if he’d been slapped. He stalked a little bit closer.

“Everything you got, I provided. Don’t you get it? I own you.”

The youthful insolence brimming in the boy’s eyes was slowly being overtaken with panic and helplessness.

“Everything you are, I made. You belong to me.”

The young boy stared at Fontaine, frozen like a deer in headlights as the man cut deep with his words. He was within arm’s reach of the boy’s untucked leg now.

“I-I’m a-“

“A motherless freak.”

“YOU’RE WRONG!”

Fontaine snatched Jack’s ankle with competent reflexes and dragged him down before the kid could react. The boy threw a messy swing that Fontaine easily grabbed and diverted to the mattress, forcing Jack onto to his stomach.

Fontaine swung his leg over to press his full weight into Jack’s own smaller frame. Fontaine leaned a heavy hand between the boy’s shoulders, pressing the struggling body flush to the mattress as he trapped the fist still in his grasp under his knee.

Moving the hand that’d restrained the boy’s fist to replace the one on his back, Fontaine caught the boy’s upper arm as Jack tried to elbow him, taking the boy’s only leverage away and making him face plant into the bed.

Fontaine twist Jack’s arm behind his back and sat back on his haunches, straddling the teen he watched twist and turn with envied energy as he himself was trying to catch his breath from their little wrestling match.

A young boy, underweight and a good few feet shorter than the other, facing off against a grown man twice his figured age and had easily 80 pounds of muscle over the lean teenager.

The kid hadn’t stood a chance.

Jack may have some training in hand to hand combat but bein’ in a real fight was a whole other ball game.

But Fontaine wasn’t trying to fight him.

Oh he was going to hurt him. Bad, but Fontaine wouldn’t hit him.

He doubted he could bring himself to.

Besides he could beat the child to a bloodied mess and he knew it wouldn’t scratch the surface of the bodily horrors this boy has been put through. Jack had been heavily conditioned to a high tolerance for pain.

Physical pain.

Sticks and stones will break his bones.

But only words will really hurt him.

“Gotta say, kid. I’m not impressed.” Fontaine had to pause and take another breath. Jack stilled his struggling, keeping his face planted to the bed.

 “Reggie’d said you was gettin’ better but here you are, knocked on your ass in ten seconds like a one punch chump. Didn’t even manage to lay a scratch on me despite all them lessons. What was I even payin’ for?”

Fontaine watched him carefully from his perch on Jack’s ass, not feeling so much as a twitch as the kid kept his face firmly buried in the bedspread.

 “But can’t says I’m too surprised, Doc had it right when he said you was slow in the head. Heh, just another of your shortcomings to add to the list.”

A nerve. The kids’ always been self-conscious about his intelligence, quick to jump at the chance to prove himself.

Nothing, no reaction. He honestly wondered if the kid was trying to smother himself.

“Nothin’ to say now? You never was the talkative type. Nah, you was always just too much of a pansy to have a voice, too ‘fraid of your own words to speak up. Guess it all makes sense, you bein’ a nance.”

Despite his lack of outward reaction, Fontaine knew he was getting to the boy. Sitting on him with his hand leveled between Jack’s shoulder blades and his other squeezing the pulse point of his wrist, he could feel every tiny reaction that pasted through his body. The boy was trembling and his heartbeat was erratic.

Fontaine hadn’t felt a single breath fill Jack’s lung since he’d started berating him. There was no way the kid was able to breathe through that thick duvet.

“Ya gotta lotta problems, kid. Things wrong with you that people get locked away in the nut house for, wantin’ to be with ‘another man ain’t normal. You’re sick in the head, Jack.”

He still hadn’t taken a breath.

Just as Fontaine was about to pull the boy’s hair and force him to come up for air, Jack turned his head, showing only a small part of the side of his face.

But enough to breathe.

Jack kept his eyes fixed down, glowering in hurt as he spoke quietly.

“But you’re the one who had me made this way…  I’m what you wanted, Miss Tenenbaum said so…”

The child’s voice was low and full of resentment but still stricken for validation.

“Heh, nah kid. You ain’t nothin’ like I wanted. You’re the most disappointing investment I’ve ever wasted my time with.”

Jack’s eyes went wide, the tears that’d been swimming in them finally falling is large drops.

But it still wasn’t enough.

Fontaine just wanted to cover his hand in salt and twist it into Jack’s fresh bleeding wounds.

“Only reason you’re still walkin’ around is sos we can figure out what went wrong with ya. Gotta make sure the next monster we’re whippin’ up don’t come out as defective as you.”

It was a lie but… what if it wasn’t. If they were to make another bastard of Ryan’s then let the new one be the guinea pig.

He’d keep this one for himself.

“I can’t help but blame myself. See, I think it was me lettin’ you keep pretending to be people, like you was a someone, that got you so damaged. Gave ya a name, let you call things your own, just indulged ya too damn much.”

Jack’d pressed his forehead into the mattress. His hair, long over do for a cut, spilling over and shielding his eyes but Fontaine didn’t need to see his face to know the boy was crying. He could feel the kid trying to hold it in, with only tremors of his shoulders and ragged breaths through his nose giving him away. The boy was a terrible liar and terrible at keeping things from him.

Or so he’d thought.

Fontaine squeezed Jack’s captive wrist tighter.

“But give ‘em an inch and they take a mile… It stops now. Everything you have, your existence, is a privilege. You’re just a thing, a livin’, breathin’ tool.”

“A slave.”

The teens’ shoulders went ridged and he gave a cracked inhale.

“A toy to be used however I want.”

Fontaine ran the hand stationed between Jack’s now still shoulders down the boy’s back, snaking it under the hem of tight fabric to curl possessively over a flat stomach, as it ascended, he dug blunt nails into the boy’s chest. He pressed himself down on the young body to snark in Jack’s ear.

“But you’ve already been used like this. Haven’t ya, kiddo?”

With something almost primal urging to stake his claim he leaned back and bit into Jack’s neck.

Hard.

With the taste of copper filling his mouth Fontaine really did feel like a predator that’d caught its prey, teeth clamped around its throat as it fought for freedom.

But Jack wasn’t fighting.

The kid didn’t try to squirm away as Fontaine pressed down harder on him, didn’t struggle as Fontaine sunk his teeth into his flesh like an animal, in fact he wasn’t moving at all.

He wasn’t even shaking anymore.

Fontaine released Jack’s limp wrist to instead fist the teen’s hair as he bit into the back of his neck, making sure to really sink his teeth in so as to leave a long-lasting mark to show anyone that looked twice that this boy was owned.

Jack just lie there as Fontaine sat back and yanked him by his hair, wanting to see his face as he-

Whatever intentions he had were stopped cold.

There was a clear wetness under the boy’s nose and on his lips that’d begun to dry into a crust as he took shuddered yet eerily controlled breaths, laying there like a corpse.

Jack’s eyes, normally bright and expressive were dull and red with irritation as they continuously leaked fat streams of tears. His gaze while not seeming to be actively avoiding Fontaine’s own was locked to the side, seeing nothing.

Taking in Jack, snot drying on his face as he cried, completely silent, unmoving and lifeless with a stare that could rival a dead man’s. It shook him just how broken the boy looked.

Fontaine braced both hands on either side of Jack, not wanting to touch any part of the boy now and hung his head with eyes clinched shut, gritting his teeth.

He was filled with bitter, burning fury and disgust.

But not with Jack.

With an irritated sound Fontaine pushed off the static boy, wavering as he stood to back away until his back collided with the writing bureau. He caught himself, leaning against the desk and side chair, trying to ground himself against the returning urge to be sick.

‘What had I been about to do?’ He questioned himself.

‘Nothing the kid hadn’t already let others do to him.’ A darker part of him replied.

He said he didn’t, he promised. Jack doesn’t lie to him.

But he did lie. The kid lied the day he started sneaking out of the apartment after promising him he’d never go nowhere without permission.

Jack had come back though. It was innocent, inexcusable but he didn’t mean any harm, he’s a kid.

Oh, there was nothing ‘innocent’ about the teenager’s little hormone fueled outings. Not with the way he had found him, pressed against the wall by a strange man, face flushed as the guy leaned in to take him.

Fontaine clutched the back of the chair in a white-knuckle grip, lips curling with animosity as he glared absently at Jack who’d curled in on himself, expressionless eyes maintain their thousand yard stare.

He had to turn away. Bracing arms on the bureau as he was overwhelmed with rage.

And guilt.

Fontaine picked up the formerly abandoned glass of bourbon he’d poured for himself after bringing Jack back up here to his room, he’d been trying to calm himself so he could have a conversation with the boy.

He hadn’t meant for things to get so out of hand. All he’d intended was a stern talking to, a shamed apology from the kid with promises of never running off like that again, and of course some kind of punishment.

Not this.

But Jack being Jack wouldn’t let it be that easy.

All they did was argue at one another. They did that a lot lately.

Earlier Fontaine had thrown back 2 glasses of his imported whiskey, slamming his third drink down unfinished to advance on the younger, shouting what a naïve little shit he was. That there was only one reason a guy like that would want anything to do with a kid like Jack.

It’d ended with him restraining the child on his bed.

Defiling and denouncing him.

He swigged the fine whiskey, tasting the iron of Jack’s blood. He quickly fumbled to pour another.

“Go pack. You’re going back to the lab in the mornin’.” He knocked back that one.

“And you ain’t leavin’ for a long time.” And poured another.

“We’re done here.” Then tipped that one down, slamming the glass on the writing desk and whipped around when the kid had yet to make a move to leave.

“OUT!”

Startled, Jack’s eyes widened before snapping shut as he slowly sat up, the boy’s drained gaze met his own briefly then turned away just as quick.

Jack’s previously emotionless features contorted in hurt as a fresh hot wave of tears burst forth, the boy slapping a hand over his face in a pathetic attempt to hide it as he slid off the bed to stand on shaky legs.

Fontaine scowled, again turning his back to the child. Bourbon spilled over unsteady hands as he mechanically made himself another drink. His conscience seeking a crutch to cope with the foreign burdens invading him.

Fontaine could do nothing but stand stiffly as Jack shuffled passed him quietly as he could, grimacing into his glass at the echoing of the boy’s muffled snivels in the open hall that lead to the exit of his bedroom.

With the gentle click of the door he was left in silence. The only sound being the steady ticking of the clock on the desk he leaned over, staring fixedly into the drink he held in a grip so rigid it was a surprise the glass didn’t crack.

Numbly watching the dark liquor ripple with the tremors of his grip, he admired its colour. Rich brown, glittering golden amber when the light hit it just right.

Just like his eyes.

Fontaine growled and hurled the glass across the room with an infuriated curse.

It shattered.

Everything.

Leaving him in murky darkness.

His senses ripped from him, he could not deflect the onslaught of feelings bleeding into his being. The feelings were not physical, they consumed him, downing him in a dark ink ocean of-

Shame.

Regret.

Guilt.

Fighting back with anger and hatred he could do nothing as the darkness finally overtook him.

And he woke up.

Snapping up with an inhale, Fontaine’s sweaty chest heaved as his gaze franticly search the room of the swallowing darkness that’d threatened to consume him. Slowly calming, he gave a breath of relief as he took in the familiar surroundings of his bedroom.

The room, though dim wasn’t anywhere near the suffocating darkness that had assaulted his unconscious. Still dazed, Fontaine looked to the wall where he half-expected to see the remains of his drink.

Nothing there. Fontaine’s breathing steadied, his mind grasping that it’d only been a nightmare.

A memory.

Fontaine leaned forward, raising his knee to rest an arm on while running a hand through his damp fringe. He was soaked. Fontaine simply sat there for a long moment, the sweat on his back cooling as his muddled mind crawled back to reality.

Eyes drifting to the left he just now took notice that he wasn’t alone, his tired gaze traveled over the expanse of a nude back presented to him, seeing but not truly processing just who he was sharing his bed with.

Well, it certainly wasn’t his first time waking up next to some naked broad, he didn’t bother trying to remember names or attach faces. His slowly waking eyes continued their journey of his current bedmate, taking in the view.

They faced away from him, curled around a pillow, the sheets pooled under the swell of a well-rounded ass. Sharp, narrow hips curved up to a strong back, mapping modest yet definite muscle leading to broad shoulders and thick biceps…

Huh?

With the heels of his palms Fontaine rubbed the sleep from his eyes to better adjust to the darkness and take a proper look at the oddly muscular woman sleeping next to him.

Blinking through the dim, ocean blue glow bleeding through the windows he realized just what was off about her.

That weren’t no her.

Not at all.

As muscle memory inched his hand under a treacherously bare pillow where there should’ve been a pistol, he realized the identity of the buck-naked, mystery man and with that, recalled the events that’d led them here.

Oh.

He’d actually done it.

He’d fucked his kid.

Burying his face in hands Fontaine stifled a groan to avoid waking the other, not quite ready to face ‘the morning after’.

He’d been with this brat for all of a day and it’d ended with him deflowering the boy in his sheets. Hell, yesterday if you was to tell him he’d be sucking a cock, well, that’s a good way to end up with a hole in your head.

With any luck that bottle of liquor was still on his bureau.

…

Now he weren’t no ‘friend of Dorothy,’ never saw nothin’ appealing about no other man and didn’t know why any sound man would.

Regardless of Rapture’s broadcasted prepossession on no shame in desires, whatever they may be, that ain’t the consensus topside. The people may’ve moved fathoms below the Atlantic but that don’t mean the view’s changed.

Well, no point in cryin’ over spilt milk. Frank wasn’t never one to let menial convictions like petty morals stimming from religion or polite society get in the way of him taking what he wanted. ‘Sides, this was different; Jack was different. Not like there were any downsides to his little roll in the hay, in fact it should only serve to strengthen the kid’s loyalty to Atlas.

No bigger fool than a man in love.

Fontaine smirked and allowed his eyes to roam back over the body he’d left well used and spent. Without that god forsaken sweater swamping him the kid did flaunt a real nice body, made him wonder how much of a hand them geniuses had played in that or if his boy’d just hit the genetic lottery. Made enough sense. That mother of his had been a real slice.

Lingering on some plump assets Fontaine considered working in a round 2 before he sent the kid packing.

A short-lived thought that’d lost its luster once his wandering eyes settled on a familiar scar on the back of the boy’s neck.

When was the last time he’d had a smoke?

Fontaine’s hands habitually reach for the nightstand drawer that had always., housed a pack or two, only to be met with deceitful empty space.

Right, wrong side of the bed.

He looked back over the enticingly nude body that’d claimed his usual spot by the nightstand that no doubt held the ailment to his edging tension. With a groan, he swung his legs over the bed and rose with a stretch.

He had to say, despite his body’s urging for nicotine, he was feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time.

Kid had taken him for one helluva ride.

Skirting around the bed and ransacking the drawer, he was delighted to turn up half a pack of his fundamental vice and wasted no time getting a stick between his lips, only to scowl when he failed to turn up a light.

Knowing he’d picked one up, he clicked his tongue after searching his pockets, recalling he’d thrown his other pants in the wash. Rubbing his scruff in irritation, Fontaine found himself regarding the boy again, laid out as still and bare as the day he were born.

Kid gave a shiver and hugged the pillow he was wrapped around tighter. Not wanting the other to wake just yet, Fontaine grabbed the sheet resting at the boy’s thighs and went to cover him, pausing when he took notice of the marks littering his shoulder.

With no small amount of satisfaction, the man admired the mess of bites and bruises he’d left across the younger man’s body. Too bad with his ‘super regenerating cells’ and what not, those marks will have healed soon enough he thought while eyeing that scar on the back of the boy’s neck.

Yeah, you gotta cut him real deep to leave a lasting mark.

Fontaine threw the blanket over the kid and turned to the bathroom, he needed to piss.

***

After finishing his business and going to leave, Fontaine stumbled and nearly fell flat on his face when his feet got caught on something near the bathtub. Grumbling as he searched the dark for what it was he tripped over, he knew immediately what he had in his hands when grabbed hold of it.

As if he could ever mistake the coarse wool of Jack’s well-worn sweater for anything else.

He shook it out and nearly gagged, the foul clothing reeked of sewage and rotten meat. Maybe it’d just been the fact he himself hadn’t been clean in months that a stench like that went unnoticed but christ that was bad.

If he knows the kid like he knows he did, the boy’d be wanting this back, well he was headed back to get his own laundry anyway, might as well.

After hobbling down the stairs while cursing the returning ache of his knee the whole way, Fontaine was relived to find the lighter he’d dug out of his damp trousers still worked.

After lighting up his cigarette and taking a moment to just bask in the nicotine rushing through his lungs, he started to move his clothes from the auto-wash to the tumble dryer and Jack’s into a laundry basket.

He faltered when grabbing a familiar striped tee shirt, the neckline stained with dry blood the auto-washer had failed to remove.

Jack’d prolly left it to sit in the hamper for too long before attempting to wash it.

Stupid kid.

He’d done told the boy too many times about cleanin’ up after himself before leaving home to go back to the lab.

Why couldn’t he ever just fuckin’ do as he’s told.

Goddamn kid…

He balled the shirt up and vehemently threw it into the basket with the rest of the boy’s old clothing before tossing Jack’s ever-present sweater into the wash in a similar fashion. As the washer began its cycle, Fontaine braced himself on it and bowed his head.

He was losing it.

Again.

Getting all worked up over some snot nosed brat.

Again.

Over nothing.

What was it about the boy that got under his skin, he’d prided himself on his control and ability to maintain composer under the heat.

But when it came to Jack…

He found himself acting irrationally, taking pointless risks.

Doubting himself.

Doubt was the one luxury he couldn’t afford, made you weak, made you vulnerable.

Got you killed.

 “Ah- Shit!”

Fontaine swat the cigarette from his lips when it burnt off enough for the cherry to singe his mouth.

Weren’t nothing that could be more valuable than his own life.

Nothing.

He crushed the discarded cigarette under his bare heel, snubbing out the light he’d carelessly allowed to persist long enough to burn him.

Doubt was a distraction.