Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Steven Stonewall was accustomed to strange encounters in his line of work, but this one really took the cake.

As one of the very few humans on the planet with the blood type XO+, his occupation, that of being a portable source of blood, was one he was forced into from the time he became of age and size to safely draw his special blood from. It paid well, and he lived a comfortable life, but it was hardly quiet. He basically had no option to settle down - his blood, unfortunately, did not keep well. So, he was hauled around the world on a regular basis, necessary due to his blood's properties of being safe for several other, even rarer blood types.

He didn't dislike the travel, he saw amazing things that many people would never see in their lifetimes. He also met hundreds of interesting and unique people, from royalty to the simplest of farmers. He enjoyed the adventure, the thrill, and all it cost him was his blood to be used to save people's lives. Honestly, he had it pretty good.

But a murderer?? This was the man whom he had been hauled across the state to save??

The man was in handcuffs when Steven first saw him, cuffed to the railings of the hospital bed he lay dazed in. His eyes fluttered open when the door swung against the wall, and Steven shuddered as he was guided onto the bed set beside him. His eyes were pure white.

"Please, don't worry about a thing." A blonde nurse urged him as he lay back onto the stiff mattress. "He's drugged and firmly secured, there's no way he can hurt you." Steve gave her a stiff nod as she hiked up his sleeve, swabbed a patch of skin on his forearm with a sterilizing pad, then stepped away to prepare the transfusion. Steven's eyes wandered to the recipient, and shivered again when he found those pale eyes on him. How disturbing.

The man he had come to save was known as "Herobrine", a serial killer who had finally been subdued in a firefight with police. Despite his almost feral countenance and wild nature, rather than opting to execute him right away it had been decided that he would have a trial like any other killer. While Steven admired their loyalty to the path of justice, he wished he didn't have to be the one that kept him alive.

The man's shirt was off, bloodstained bandages coating his torso. He had reportedly been shot several times in the firefight, it was a miracle he was still alive at all. Gritting his teeth, Steven looked away, choosing to focus on a medical poster on the far wall instead.

"...heeeeyyy..." The word reached his ears in a cross between a growl and a purr, and he whirled around with wide eyes at the sound of the man's voice. "Herobrine"s mouth was parted in a grin, and Steve grimaced. His teeth were pointed, and he couldn't help but wonder if they had a function in his killings. Those handcuffs were suddenly looking a lot less secure.

"Y'ur... the guy to s-save me..." The murderer croaked. "Huh?" Steven hesitated, frowning. Normally, he enjoyed talking to those he could save. In this case, however...

"That's right." He answered softly. The man stared silently, then chuckled a bit.

The blonde nurse returned to his side, and the other man lapsed into silence as a needle was slid into Steven's upper arm. He barely flinched. He was used to this. The other man, however, let out an animalistic growl and a hiss as the needle approached. The nurse was unfazed, and a second needle was soon pumping precious blood into his body. She only stayed for a moment longer, ensuring that the machine was running correctly, before leaving them alone.

Steven side-eyed the man once more, meeting his eyes. Surely he wouldn't try to escape a procedure that was saving his life, right?

"How does it feel?" The growl-purr echoed through the room once more. "To know that you are saving the life of one who has taken so many?" Steven didn't respond, his fingers curling around the armrest of the hospital bed. "Does it hurt? Do you feel guilt?"

"Do you?" Steve cut in, desperately hoping he hadn't antagonized the man. Herobrine's grin only widened.

"No."

"Do you know what's going to happen to you?" Steve continued. "You're going to die. If not now, before a firing squad, you will die of old age in a rancid cell. Was it worth it? Were all the lives you took worth it for- for the high?"

"I don't think you-" The man cut off with a raspy cough. "Understand. No, no, you don't understand. No one-"

"If you're trying to get me to sympathize with you, it won't work." Steve cut him off. "You're a murderer of innocents, and that is unforgivable."

"They weren't innocent!"

The shout caught him off guard, and Steven's head snapped to the side at the intensity in the killer's voice. Gone was the mocking, the nonchalance. Herobrine's face was stiff, expression dead serious.

"None of them," He repeated quietly, "were innocents." Steve hesitated, then prompted.

"Then... how do you mean?"

"My best friend was killed by his father." The words came out in a rush, almost as if they weren't meant to come out at all. "I knew he was cruel, I did everything I could to help, but he killed him." The dam was broken, and the words spilled over one another as Herobrine held his gaze. "There was no evidence. El was- Eli was found under a bridge miles away. But I knew he had done it, I knew, and he admitted it before I killed him."

"There was a little girl, she was- a man owned her, I saw him buy her in a back alley." Herobrine's eyes were wild, his gaze dropping to his own hand, cuffed to the side of the bed. "He dragged her around like a dog, I didn't wait to see how he would treat her behind closed doors. I killed him."

"A man poisoned his wife and children to collect their life insurance. I killed him."

"A woman was selling drugs to teenagers, schoolchildren, prompting them to share them with their classmates to get more of a market. I killed her."

"A bartender who assisted men in drugging the women they were attracted to. A woman who charmed men, young and old, before killing them and robbing their corpses. A man who knowingly sold dangerously toxic food to poor families to make a profit. I killed. Them. All."

Steven could only watch as the stories came out, one after the other. At first, he was skeptical. But the emotion on the man's face was true, genuine, and he felt a pang in his heart at the sight of a tear that trailed down Herobrine's face.

"No, I don't feel guilt." His voice was soft again. "And yes, it was worth it."

The room lapsed into silence, the only sound the humming of the machine as it transferred Steve's precious blood from one man to the other.

Then Steven Stonewall reached over, placing his hand over Herobrine's cuffed one, and gave it a little squeeze.

Chapter Text

"To the shock and alarm of law enforcement all over the Baymont area, the convicted serial killer known as 'Herobrine' escaped containment during transport to a higher security prison around noon yesterday. Residents are advised to avoid spending time alone outside, and to call the police if there is any suspicious activity. Law enforcement is..."

Steven tuned out the rest of the broadcast, forced to focus all his energy on staying upright. Sometimes he was lucky enough to get a seat on the subway home, but today it was jam-packed, forcing him to stand and clutch a handle above his head for dear life. He hoped the other passengers couldn't see how hard he was fighting to stay upright.

Herobrine, wasn't that... the man he gave blood to once?

Today had been an especially rough donation. The facility had requested two pints instead of one, and also harvested some plasma. He hadn't had a chance to eat between drawings, and had only gotten through the day by fantasizing about taking a nap as soon as he got home. Now he just hoped that he'd make it home before he passed out. The world spun rather dangerously with each turn the train took.

Something was being announced through the speakers, and the doors slid open. Steve blinked as people began to file out, looking at the electric sign above it - oh, Notch, this was his stop. He quickly slipped out before the doors could close on him.

Each step was a chore as he made his way up the stairs from the station, knuckles white where they clutched at the railing. It was about two miles home. One step at a time, Steven plodded his way down the sidewalk, his thoughts a constant loop of don't pass out don't pass out don't pass out don't pass out. It wouldn't be the first time he had fainted after a blood draw, but passing out alone and in public would undoubtedly be far more dangerous than in a sterile hospital room.

Finally, the front door of his apartment came into view, and he nearly collapsed just from relief. Fumbling his key out of his pocket, he jammed it into the lock and pushed the door open. Stepping into the entry hall, he shut the door behind him and locked it, sagging against the wall with a sigh. Almost there...

Wait, why were his lights on?

Steve blinked at the light spilling from the living room entryway. Was that... he could hear the TV, too. Had he forgotten to turn them off before he left? He was certainly scatterbrained enough for that. Notch, his electric bill was going to be through the roof if he kept this up...

Steve stumbled forwards, intent on turning off the electronics and passing out on the couch, but he froze stiff the moment he got a good look at his living room.

A stranger was reclining on his couch, watching his TV comfortably with a bag of chips in his lap. At first, he didn't seem to notice him, but the tiny gasp Steve made alerted the man to his presence. The stranger glanced over, only to offer him a sharp-toothed grin.

"Evening, Stonewall."

The world spun dangerously, and the last thing Steven saw was the ground rushing towards him before he blacked out.

.

.

.

The soft chatter from the TV was the first thing he heard when he eventually woke again.

Steven scrunched up his face at a touch, a finger poking his cheek.

"C'mon, get up." The voice urged. Why was it so familiar? "Eat this before you waste away."

"Huh-" The word came out in a croak, and he coughed, blinking his eyes open. Before him was a plate, on which was a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The plate was held up by a hand, and following the hand down to its owner revealed a face with blank eyes and sharp teeth.

Steven jerked. "Herobrine!"

"You remember me!" Herobrine grinned, standing up straight. Steven's mouth opened, then closed.

"Y-yeah??" How could he forget? The man had been drugged up and exhausted when he met him the first time, but he had spilled half his life story to him, something Steve doubted many others knew. "I heard- the radio- you escaped?" Still grinning, Herobrine nodded. "Why are you in my house??" Steve's heart rate spiked. "I swear I didn't tell anyone, anything you said-"

"Calm down, Stonewall." Herobrine interrupted him, still offering the sandwich. "Eat something, for Notch's sake, you're pale as an egg." Steven blinked, momentarily stunned.

"...an egg?"

"Eat." Herobrine shoved the sandwich at him more insistently. Finally, Steven obeyed. He did feel awfully weak and queasy still.

As he scarfed down the sandwich, Herobrine took a seat opposite him. The killer was dressed in nondescript, secondhand clothing, faded and a bit torn. Dug out of the garbage, most likely. But what was he doing here? How did he even get here?

Herobrine crossed one leg over the other, patient, as Steven finished his sandwich.

"So," he began, conversationally. "You must have questions."

"You're right about that." Steve wiped his mouth off on his sleeve, still too exhausted to care for table manners. "What are you doing here? How do you know where I live??"

"Everyone knows where you live." Herobrine shrugged. At Steven's horrified look, he laughed and continued. "I saw you walking home yesterday, and I broke in after you left this morning." He nodded to the door. "Your lock isn't exactly state-of-the-art."

"Well I never thought it would have to deter a serial killer." The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and Steve covered his mouth, looking worriedly to his intruder. Herobrine, fortunately, only seemed to find it amusing.

"Well, luckily for you you got a friendly one." He told him with a grin. "I'd advise upgrading, though. You're very valuable." The words sent a chill through him, and Steve gave him a worried look.

"...you didn't answer my question." He repeated himself. "What are you doing here?"

"Hiding out." Herobrine turned to hook one leg over the arm of the chair, sprawling out sideways. "Everyone and their mother is looking for me, and I can't exactly just throw on a hoodie." Steven swallowed a grimace, looking away.

"I suppose I don't have any choice in the matter."

"What do you mean, of course you- Stonewall." Herobrine cut himself off, waiting for Steve to look at him again. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Could've fooled me."

"I made you dinner!" Herobrine threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Besides, I owe you my life. You don't think you deserve at least a little loyalty for that?" Steven blinked, his face becoming guarded as his meaning set in.

"...so you're preserving me for in case you need blood again."

"Oh Notch, you're so paranoid." Herobrine pressed a hand to his forehead. "No. I don't intend on needing more blood anytime soon, anyway."

"It's not paranoia! You broke into my apartment!"

"And it's a good thing I did!" Herobrine gestured to him. "You were half-conscious by the time you got here, I'm impressed you made it at all. How much blood did they take??" Steve blinked at the apparent care for his well-being.

"Uh... more than usual." He thought back to the day before. "I'm usually fine, I just... didn't finish my breakfast this morning."

"Notch above. How is this your full-time job and yet you don't know how to take care of your body?" Herobrine scolded him. "What was your plan when you got home? Starve to death on your living room floor?"

"I wouldn't starve." Steve protested. "Even if I did pass out, I'd wake up and make myself something eventually."

"I couldn't help but notice a lack of any decent protein in here." Herobrine folded his arms. "That peanut butter was about all I could find." Steven shot him a suspicious look.

"...you were going through my food...?"

"To keep you from dying!"

"I'd be fine." Steven sighed heavily. "I don't get a lot of perishable food since I have to travel a lot. I eat out a lot, too, I was just too tired to try to get anything tonight." Brine gave him a suspicious look.

"...how often are you giving blood?" He asked. Steven gave a helpless shrug.

"Every... two weeks or so, usually. Sometimes more."

Brine blinked. "You know the average donor is only allowed to donate every two months?" Another shrug.

"My blood is in higher demand. Well, not really. That is, my blood is in less supply." Steven rubbed at his left arm self-consciously, which had a dark bruise on it from his time at the donation facility. Brine just gave him an incredulous look.

"Land sakes, he's going to kill himself." He muttered under his breath, then pushed himself to his feet, holding out an expectant hand. "Give me your credit card."

"What??"

"I'm ordering you a pizza. Give me your credit card." Herobrine didn't falter. Stunned, Steve dug his wallet out of his pocket, handing it over with trembling hands. Herobrine took it, started to move away, then stopped. "...and your phone."

"There's a phone in the kitchen." Steven pointed, then paused. "Wait, you don't have your own?"

"I'm a convict, I've been out of prison for one day, cut me some slack." Brine shot him a grin, then vanished into the kitchen to call the nearest pizza place.

Steven lay quietly on the couch, absently watching the flashing lights and colors on the TV. The carbs and protein from the sandwich were starting to kick in, his hands not shaking so badly now. He mused over Herobrine's words, again wondering if the killer truly had his best interests in mind. He seemed against the concept of Steve giving blood frequently... to ensure that he would have blood for him if he needed it? But he'd said he wouldn't. And, oddly enough, Steve believed him.

Herobrine walked back into the room, sinking down in the chair and scooping up the remote to change the channel. He flipped through until he found a news channel discussing his escape, which he sat and watched with interest. Having nothing better to do, Steven watched as well, listening as the hosts described Brine's escape and his appearance to those who may be watching out for him.

"Why do you let them hate you?" He murmured at last. Brine turned, raising a brow at him. "You only kill people who deserve it, right?" In his eyes, at least. "Why do you let them believe you're a senseless killer? Why don't you tell them what you told me?"

"Whole lot more trouble." Brine shrugged a bit. "Besides, 'they deserved it' doesn't hold up that well in court."

"Even if the law wouldn't endorse you, surely the media would sympathize if they knew why you did it." Steven insisted. "They'd love a vigilante. That's a scoop they barely have to work for." Brine snorted softly.

"You think so?"

"Of course."

"Well, the more anonymous I stay, the better." Brine shifted in his seat, looking back at the screen. "I don't need newscasters theorizing about my next move. If they're right, they could tip off my targets."

"They're already theorizing about your next move." Steven pointed out.

"Yeah, but they're way off course." Brine pointed to the screen, where the hosts were talking about the type of people Brine usually killed- 30-50 year-olds, apparently. "I'll be out of the state in a week. A contact of mine has informed me of a potential target down in Johnsburg."

"Contact?" Steve looked at him curiously. "You have allies in this?"

"Sure. Some I've helped in the past and want to repay me, some found out about me other ways. They help me find predators who prey on innocents so I can wipe them out." His words made Steven shudder a bit. The way he spoke so casually about killing...

The doorbell rang, and Brine looked up.

"You'll have to get the door." He gestured down the hall. "My face is plastered all over every channel." Steve blinked, then nodded, standing up and moving for the door. "Don't forget to tip!" Brine tossed him his wallet as he passed by, which Steven managed to catch by a very small margin.

He collected the pizza - an extra-large, how much did Brine think he ate? - and gave the delivery driver a $20 before heading back inside. Brine had vanished into the kitchen, and emerged a moment later with two glasses of orange juice. At the quizzical look Steven gave him, he shrugged.

"You need some fruit, and I'm not about to put pineapple on that." He sank down in the chair again, setting one of the glasses on Steven's coffee table.

"I don't mind pineapple on pizza." Steve set the pizza box down next to it, sinking down on the couch again. Brine stared at him.

"You're sick." He opened the pizza box, grabbing a slice and turning back to the TV.

"Was an extra-large really necessary?" Steven asked as he grabbed one as well.

"Figured you can have leftovers if you're still exhausted tomorrow." Brine told him, not looking away from the TV. Steven blinked, grudgingly acknowledging his forethought.

The two of them ate dinner in silence. Eventually, Brine got bored of hearing about himself, and changed the channel to some weird, late-night history documentary. He didn't even really seem to watch it, Steven supposed he was just one of those people who needed background noise all the time.

By the time he had finished eating, Steven was feeling a lot better. His limbs didn't quiver and shake, and he was no longer on the verge of collapse when he stood to go put the remaining pizza in the fridge.

"You still haven't answered my question." He spoke as he returned to the living room. "Why are you here? Why me?" Brine turned to him, looking momentarily confused.

"Ah." He sat back in his seat. "You... I told you my story. There are few who can truthfully say that about me. And you didn't laugh, or mock me, or be cruel to a man destined for execution." He shook his head. "You sympathized. You held my hand while I was drugged up and in pain." Steven blinked, his face coloring a bit. Ah. He remembered that. "So... I figured the safest place in the city was here." Herobrine continued. "That you wouldn't turn me in." He turned, meeting his host's gaze. "Was I right?" Steve chewed his lip, going over his options. Obviously he wouldn't turn him in in front of him, but he could easily do so as soon as he wasn't looking. And yet...

"Yeah." He said at last. "You were right." He jabbed a finger in his direction. "But you'll be out in a week, right?"

"A week." Brine confirmed, the grin returning to his face. "In the meantime, I'll do your chores for you, since you're a fudgin' horrible caretaker of your body. Also, please go grocery shopping." Steven just shook his head in bewilderment. It seemed that every new thing that came out of his guest's mouth caught him by surprise.

"I'm not a great cook." He found himself saying.

"Oh, I can cook. Do you like Mediterranean food?" Herobrine started rattling off ingredients, only stopping when Steven pressed a hand to his aching forehead. "You should go to bed." He urged instead. "That nap won't get you very far."

"Ah... sure." Steven turned around, steering himself towards his bedroom in a mild daze. "Don't ransack my apartment."

"Ah, if I'd wanted to ransack your apartment I'd have done it before you got home." Herobrine waved him off. "Now go to sleep." Steven obeyed, shutting himself in his bedroom to change into his pajamas.

As he lay in bed, eyes shut, with sleep bearing down on him steadily, Steve mused over how differently this evening had gone than how he expected it. He had a serial killer in his apartment.

And... somehow he was okay with it.

Chapter Text

Steven shouldered through the front door of his apartment, made his way down the hall, and walked past Herobrine into the kitchen, setting down his armful of grocery bags on the table. His imposing roommate followed him in, scrutinizing his purchases as Steven rubbed at his aching arms.

"That's all?" He asked. "This won't last us more than a couple days."

"How??" Steven threw his hands up in the air. "And you try carrying another four bags while riding public transport!"

"Don't you have a car?"

"I've never needed one."

"You could get one anyway!"

"I never learned to drive! It wouldn't be much use."

"You could hire a chauffeur! Land sakes, man." Herobrine pulled a bundle of kale out of one of the bags, giving it a decisive nod.

"Waste of money when I can take a bus." Steven sank down in a kitchen chair. "Just because I can spend a lot of money doesn't mean I should. How are we going to eat all that in two days, anyway?"

"It'll go a lot quicker once you start eating correctly." Herobrine started to unload the groceries, putting them away in the proper places - chicken, beef, Greek yogurt, greens, and spices. Steven had been sent with a very specific list to his local grocery store, which he'd tried his best to follow. "Did you not get almonds?" Brine asked, peering in the bags. Steven paused, then groaned.

"I knew I was forgetting something."

"I gave you a list." Brine scolded. "But, it's alright. We can do without." He continued putting things away. Steven watched him idly.

"You're very... enthusiastic about this." He commented.

"I don't get to cook for people often." Was Brine's response from halfway inside the fridge. "I consider it a privilege." Steven blinked, a bit stunned. It felt... nice to have someone do something for him.

"Have you ever considered getting a service dog?" Brine was asking. "I hear they have varieties that tell you when you're about to faint."

"It's not enough of a problem for me that I would look into it." Steve shrugged. "Plus, I'm allergic."

"What about a cat?"

"A service cat?" Steve raised a brow.

"No, just a cat." Brine shook his head. "Keep you company." Steven paused, considering this.

"Well, I'm not allergic to cats, so... maybe. I just worry I wouldn't be able to clean up after it."

"Hire some housekeeping then, you're rich." Brine stood up straight, closing the fridge door. "To be honest, I respect your frugality, but I think you're going too far."

"What do you mean?" Steven stood, reaching for a jar of spices to put it away in his cupboard, but Brine got to it first.

"I mean, many in your position would be spending carelessly, it's true." Brine set the jar on the counter where he was collecting them. "But you're practically pinching pennies. You live in a dingy apartment, you don't own a car and take the bus, and you're living off of ramen noodles and peanut butter and jelly." Steven didn't respond for a moment, a bit stunned.

"This place isn't dingy." He protested after a moment.

"It isn't?" Brine glanced around the room. "I suppose it probably would look nicer if you knew how to decorate."

"You're so rude for an uninvited guest."

"Personal chef!" Brine brandished a spatula at him, grinning. "I apologize. Either way, you ignore my point."

"It's true, I don't spend a lot of money." Steve allowed, looking around his kitchen. Herobrine was right in that it was very bare. "But I travel enough that I don't spend a lot of time here, so I see no reason to spruce it up."

"Wouldn't it be nice to have a nice place to come home to?" Herobrine countered. "And surely food is worth it."

"I spend a lot of money eating out while traveling." Steven patted his stomach. "Which is a lot of calories, so... not eating when I'm at home keeps me from putting on weight." He grinned, but Brine's smile vanished.

"...you starve yourself at home?"

"No, no." Steve assured him hastily. "No, it was a joke. I eat." Herobrine frowned, looking away.

"Not a very funny one."

"Sorry." Steven rubbed the back of his head. "I guess I don't have a choice on whether I eat well now, huh?"

"You bet you don't." Brine pulled a mixing bowl out of the cabinet, beginning to combine ingredients together in it. "So how much money are you saving by living so... thriftily?"

"Quite a bit." Steve admitted, wondering momentarily if it was wise to reveal his net worth to the serial killer taking residence in his apartment. "I have more than a million saved so far." Brine turned around to face him, brows hiked up.

"What for?" He asked. "Retirement?"

"I don't know if I'm going to retire." Steve shrugged. "It's just.. emergency funds." Brine frowned, turning back to his bowl.

"Not going to retire?" He echoed. "Why not?"

"Well, I don't really work, so..." Steve played with the cuff of his sleeve. "I don't see any reason to retire. As long as I'm being a leech on society, I may as well continue to do what little I can."

"Leech??" Brine echoed incredulously, now coating the raw chicken in the marinade he'd created. "Stonewall, what on earth are you going on about?"

"I don't work, I don't contribute, I just make money because I happen to be lucky with my genetics." Steve shrugged weakly. "I want to get a job so I can at least feel like I've earned it, but my schedule doesn't-"

"Don't contribute other than life saving blood??" Herobrine interrupted. "Oh, don't give me that look. You call yourself a useless leech in front of the person whose life you saved and don't expect me to argue?" Steve stared at him, stunned. "You sacrifice your time, personal life, and health to help others and consider yourself a burden for it?? You passed out last night upon coming through the door, and I doubt that was the first time!" He paused, giving Steven a suspicious look. "Who told you you're a useless leech on society?" Steve blinked.

"What? No one." He rubbed his head. "It's just... an observation I've made."

"Well if you're a leech, what am I?" Brine countered. "I don't work either." Steve gave a rueful chuckle.

"No, but you get rid of the bad guys that the law can't or won't deal with. Surely that means something."

"For me to live in a day where being a serial killer is considered nobler than donating blood." Brine muttered under his breath. "Incredible." He stepped over to the sink, washing his hands. "I'd better see you taking care of yourself while I'm here." He added, his voice vaguely threatening.

"You will." Steven assured him. "Either way, you'll be gone before my next blood draw anyway." Brine crossed his arms.

"I suppose." Herobrine dried his hands, then covered the bowl with plastic wrap and slid it into the fridge. "What do you typically do on your days off?"

"If I'm feeling up to it, sometimes I'll take a walk." Steven stretched. "But I've already been to the store today. So I'll probably just watch TV or play a game."

"Game?" Brine echoed. "A computer game, or something like solitaire?"

"I could be playing solitaire on the computer." Steven pointed out. "But no, I-" he hesitated, his face coloring a bit. "...my one- the only thing I spend an unreasonable amount of money on is my computer." Brine lifted a brow.

"May I see this machine?" He requested. Steven sighed, nodded.

"Sure."

Chapter Text

Why oh why couldn't he just learn to drive like a normal person?

Steven looked up at the stars winking in the sky as he trudged down the sidewalk, holding his throbbing left arm. Years upon years of blood draws and he still hadn't gotten used to it. He'd made up his mind to call a taxi to drive him home, better than trying to walk in this condition, only to discover that he had neglected to bring his wallet. This clinic was within walking distance, so he hadn't thought he'd need to bring his bus card with him, so he hadn't thought about his wallet, and... now he was walking home in the dark.

At least he didn't feel as sick as he sometimes did, he considered, trying to focus on the positives. He was about halfway there, only two miles to go. The exercise would keep his blood pumping. Probably better this way.

He lifted his chin to the sky, gazing at the stars again. His stomach was starting to complain, and he was looking forward to having some of Herobrine's cooking when he returned. The man himself had left almost a week ago, now, but he had been thoughtful enough to prepare a good number of reheatable meals for once he had gone. He had also tried to harass Steven into signing up for a meal-kit delivery service, which the latter was still considering. He wasn't sure he would have the energy for even that after a draw.

Steven kicked a pebble on the sidewalk, watching dully as it skipped over the concrete and landed in the grass. He... missed having Herobrine around. It was odd having someone in his house, but... nice, too. It filled the quiet in a way that blaring the TV all day never could, and it was nice feeling like someone... actually cared about him.

But, Herobrine had to go. It was safer elsewhere for him, since this was the area he escaped in, and he had people to help. Steven couldn't expect this legendary vigilante to just stay in his home and be his personal chef.

As he walked, Steven realized suddenly how quiet it had become.

A sense of unease came over him. It was after 11 PM, and there was almost no one around. He was nearing a stretch of sidewalk with almost no streetlamps, only the barest light from the moon above illuminating his path. Steven wondered if he should cross the street, try to find another route - but, no, he would just get lost. He just needed to hurry.

Steven broke into a slight jog as he entered the dark part of his route, trying to keep his breaths quiet so he could listen for approaching footsteps. Before long, he ran out of breath and was forced to slow to a walk again, but he continued listening, glancing around himself as he walked. Almost out, almost to the light.

He stepped into the light of a street lamp.

Steven let himself breathe again. He was so paranoid. Just because he was walking in a dim area didn't mean he was going to be jumped. Not that he was going to continue doing it, but still, he was being foolish. He paused, took a deep breath, then continued.

He only heard the other footsteps an instant before he was struck in the back of the head.

Steven pitched forward, barely catching himself with his arms as he hit the sidewalk. He gasped, but immediately struggled back to his feet, feeling his attacker's hand nearly close around his wrist before he bolted down the sidewalk. Shouts followed him, then rapid footfalls. Steven knew he couldn't outrun them, he was weak, they could-

A hand grabbed his shoulder, jerking him back and causing him to stumble harshly. He tried to get his bearings, only for a hand to seize him by the hair and slam his head into the wall of a building.

"Careful!!" A voice snapped as Steven crumpled onto his front on the sidewalk. Oh, Notch his skull felt broken... "He's no good to us dead!"

"I didn't hurt him badly." Another voice protested. Steven tried halfheartedly to get an arm underneath him, only to freeze at the click of a gun. "Stay down."

"'have nothing," Steven croaked out. "Le' me go..."

"Shut up." A knee was planted in the center of his back, and his wrists were yanked behind his back, swiftly zip-tied together. Steven's addled mind slowly pieced these things together - no good to them dead, tying his wrists- oh Notch he was being kidnapped.

"n-NO! Get off!!" Steven bucked, trying to get free, and he managed to throw his attacker off balance enough to knock him off. Rolling over on his side, Steven moved to try and get upright. He only caught a glimpse of the man closing in on him before the gun slammed into his head, sending colors flashing across his vision.

Steven could do nothing but lay still as the men muttered to each other, pain throbbing through his head. What could... what did they even want with him?? He had nothing, except for... except the insanely valuable blood that his body produced. Oh dear Notch no...

"...van around." One of the men was saying. Steven squirmed, jerking at his wrists, but the zip tie that bit into his flesh held fast. No one was looking for him... no one would even know he was missing until his next blood draw. Would they find him? Would there be anything left of him to find?

"RAAAAAGH!!" The sudden roar had Steven flinching and cowering, anticipating an attack, but all he got were the screams of his kidnappers. He heard blows landing, and several pained sounds, before hasty footsteps as the men fled. Steven lay on the ground, half curled into a fetal position as he waited tensely for any sort of cue. What... just happened? His head was pounding too much to think straight...

Footsteps approached him, slow, casual, and he stiffened before he heard the voice of their owner.

"You picked a good night to be kidnapped, Stonewall, any sooner and I might not have been in town."

Steven's eyes shot open, and he looked up just in time to see Herobrine step over his prone form and kneel down behind him.

"H'ro-" He choked out. A moment later, the zip tie snapped, his hands freed.

"You're in quite the shape." Herobrine muttered. "Let me guess, on your way back from an appointment? Haven't eaten all day?"

"Ate b'fore I left..." Steven managed in a small voice. Herobrine stepped around him again, crouching down before him to look him in the eyes, but Steven could do nothing but stare. In the dimness, he could see why those would-be kidnappers had screamed as they did - Brine's blank eyes and sharp teeth would scare even the most resolute of villains.

"If I find you're lying to me," Brine threatened. "I swear I'm going to hire a butler for you." Steven snorted, managing a small smile.

"W-with what money..."

"Yours." Brine cocked a brow. Steven just stared. That was believable enough. "What did they do to you?" Herobrine asked, now looking him over.

"Hit in the head... twice. No, three times." Steven lifted his hand, prodding gingerly at the back of his head. It felt intact, fortunately.

"You're bleeding." Brine noted, and Steven winced. "Side of your head." His fingers shifted to investigate, and, sure enough, there was a gash on the side of his head. Likely from being slammed into that wall.

"Alright," Brine straightened. "Let's get you home. You need rest."

"Wha' 'bout hospital..." Steven gasped out, trying to push himself up, but Brine stopped him with a hand pressed to his shoulder.

"For now, you need rest and a full stomach." He told him firmly. "Bright lights and machines hooked up to you will only bring you more stress. If you're feeling awful in the morning, you can call the hospital then. But tonight you sleep in your own bed." Steven didn't argue. He wasn't strong enough to refuse him anyway.

"Don't know if I can walk..."

"I won't make you." In one, swift motion, Herobrine slipped his hands under Steven's limp body and hoisted him up against him. Steven swayed dangerously, a small sound escaping him as his head throbbed, but Brine merely settled his head against his shoulder.

"I swear, you need a private car." He muttered, starting to walk. "Walking home at night practically screams 'I'm kidnappable, come get me'." Steven shut his eyes, sagging in Brine's grip as he was carried home. He doubted he would even see his street before he passed out. Thank you, Notch...

Chapter Text

"See?" Herobrine strolled along beside him, a reusable bag in each hand as they transported their groceries home. "Isn't taking a walk so much more pleasant when you're not on the verge of collapse?"

"I don't know how to tell you this, but I did not spend my entire life before I met you on the verge of collapse." Steve snipped back. "You simply had very good timing when running into me."

"Suuuure." Herobrine eyed the single bag that hung at Steve's side, and the latter rolled his eyes.

"And no, this isn't too heavy for me."

"You sure?" Brine cocked a brow. "You got hit pretty hard..."

"Ah, the lump's almost gone." Steve shrugged nonchalantly. "And if I don't do something I'm going to go soft."

"You're already soft."

"Thanks, Brine, that's encouraging." It had been a week and a half now since Steve had been attacked on the street, Herobrine having stuck around to help to nurse him back to health. Brine's pre-made meals had nearly run out, and Steven had decided to make his first foray out of his apartment to go grocery shopping. Of course Brine wouldn't let him go alone.

"Who's Brine?" Herobrine shifted to tug his hood over his head. "In public, I'm your good friend, Jeff."

Steve snorted. "You couldn't pick any other name than Jeff?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Well, nothing, but you don't look like a Jeff." Steven gestured at him. "Maybe... I don't know, a Henry, maybe an Aiden, but not a Jeff."

"Too late, it's set in stone." Herobrine adjusted his sunglasses with a nudge from his shoulder. "Pick up your feet, Steven, we're almost there."

"I thought I was supposed to take it easy."

"Not when it inconveniences me."

"Got it." Steven looked ahead to where the door of his apartment was coming into view. It was a short walk to and from the grocery store, which was one reason he picked this place. Another was the price, which was very reasonable, and the size, just enough space for one man living on his own. And, fortunately, for an uninvited guest.

The two chatted amiably as they made their way down the sidewalk, Steven fumbling for his keys as he climbed the single step up to his apartment door. When he slid it into the lock, however, his face shifted into a frown.

"Brine, didn't-"

"Jeff."

"Shh, I'm serious. Didn't we lock the door?" His concerned tone gave Herobrine pause, and the vigilante stepped up beside him.

"We did. Is it not locked?"

"No." Steven removed the key from the lock, leaning down to take a closer look, and found scrapes around the keyhole. "It... looks like it's been forced."

"Behind me." Herobrine nudged him aside, abandoning his groceries on the step and placing a hand on the knob. "Now." Steven obeyed without argument.

Turning the knob, Brine slowly pushed the door open. Steven could feel his heartbeat quickening, breaths too shallow and causing him to gulp for more air. Had his attackers from the previous week come back for him? Were they lying in wait inside his apartment? They'd had guns, Brine was strong but he wasn't bulletproof!!

When the entryway came into view, it was dark.

Brine stepped into the dim hallway, footsteps almost soundless on the carpet. He motioned for Steven to stay put, which he did with no small amount of anxiety. Trying not to hyperventilate, Steven watched as Brine made his way down the hall and turned the corner into the living room.

After a few, tense moments, Herobrine called out to him.

"You can come in, Steven, whoever did this is already gone."

Steven exhaled, grabbing the groceries and hurrying inside. He shut and locked the door, hesitating before slipping out of his shoes and going to join his roommate.

Someone had been here, that much was clear. The house hadn't been ransacked, but it had clearly been searched - books on the shelf were pushed aside, furniture moved and not returned to its' original place. The only damage was a vase, which lay shattered on the kitchen floor.

Herobrine was scowling when Steven joined him in the kitchen, quietly setting the groceries on the kitchen table. "Seems a petty thief took advantage of our absence." He grumbled. "Did you have cash anywhere in the house?"

"A little." Steve glanced out into the living room. "It's not very well-hidden, they probably found it."

"In your room?" Brine guessed. Steven nodded.

"I'm going to check, if you can put the groceries away." Leaving the chore to Brine, Steven headed for his room, willing his hands to stop shaking as he pushed his door open.

His room was in much the same state as the rest of the house, to Steven's disappointment. Leaving the door open, he headed for his bed and knelt down, reaching under to where a piece of carpet had come loose and feeling around for the envelope he had hidden underneath. To his surprise, his fingers soon brushed paper, and he pulled the envelope free. The thief hadn't found his stash after all.

The point of a knife pressed into his back. "Don't move."

It took everything Steven had to not move, not to jerk back and impale himself on the blade. Slowly, he raised his hands above his head, heart hammering out of his chest.

"What do you want." He managed. In response, the envelope was snatched from his hand.

"Get up," the voice ordered. "Turn towards the door. Keep your hands on your head." Steven obeyed, shakily getting to his feet. Could he not have one week where his life wasn't threatened by some lowlife?! "Good," the intruder was saying. "Walk. Out to the front door." Steven forced his legs to move, putting one in front of the other as he prayed that Brine wouldn't do anything stupid.

The moment he stepped out into the living room, Brine yanked him to the left and lunged at the intruder.

The man cried out as Brine slammed him into the wall, Steven stumbling and catching his balance on his easy chair. Spinning around, he found Brine pinning his wannabe assailant against a wall, gripping his wrist and twisting it until his knife clattered to the ground.

"You picked the wrong place to break into." Brine growled. The intruder, a young man who couldn't be older than 18, gasped and jerked at his hand.

"I-I'm sorry! Let me go, please!!"

"Do you know what I do to people who threaten innocents?" Brine hissed. "Worse than anything you could do with that knife."

"Brine," Steven interjected, straightening up and hurrying closer to snatch up the knife. "I think he gets it." The boy nodded, chest heaving.

"I-I didn't- I thought I'd get out before you came back, I never wanted t' hurt anyone." He pleaded. "I saw you leave an' thought-" He was cut off by an exceptionally loud growl from his stomach, and his cheeks flushed. Steven frowned, and he and Brine seemed to notice at the same time how alarmingly thin this youth was. He was dressed in jeans and a faded t-shirt, despite autumn being in full swing.

Brine sighed, relaxing his hold just slightly. "Start over. What are you doing here?" The young man's gaze dropped to the ground.

"I-I saw you leave." He began again, struggling to keep his voice steady. "So I thought I'd look around-"

"-break in." Brine interrupted.

"-thought I'd break in," The young man corrected himself. "and see if I could find some money... so I could eat something." His voice trailed off into a mumble. Steve and Herobrine exchanged a glance.

"Well..." Steven shrugged. "We can't exactly call the police." Brine sighed, releasing the boy and letting him stumble to find his footing.

"Right." He shoved his hands in his pockets, ambling towards the kitchen again. "I'll make dinner."

"Better eat up, Steven, kid's giving you a run for your money."

"Oh be quiet." Steven rolled his eyes, spooning up another bite of stew. "You're embarrassing him."

"He broke into your apartment and threatened to stab you," Brine pointed out. "I feel I'm justified in embarrassing him." The intruder in question flushed deeply and busied himself eating his stew.

The teen had, as Herobrine cooked dinner, introduced himself as Caden, a 16-year old runaway from a neighborhood a few blocks to the west. He hadn't given them many details, only that he hadn't been able to stay at home anymore, and had been struggling to find food for the past couple of days. The kindness of strangers had kept him upright, but he was beginning to get desperate, which had led him to try to rob Steven's apartment. All things considered, it had gotten him fed, so on some level the endeavor had been a success.

He was dressed in one of Steven's hoodies, now, and eating like he thought his bowl was going to run away from him. Steven didn't know exactly what his situation was, but the longer he watched him the more he knew he wouldn't have the heart to send him back out on the street.

Brine was a little bit more wary - understandably so. He had encountered far more of the criminal element than Steven had, and was as such more reluctant to trust. But it was Steve's apartment, not his, so he was going to have to suck it up.

"Mister, um..." Caden's voice broke Steven out of his thoughts, and he looked up to find the teen's grey eyes on him. "Can I... keep this?" He tugged at the sleeve of the hoodie, and Steven blinked.

"Oh, sure, if you like." Steven smiled at him. "Doesn't really fit me anymore anyway." Caden mumbled his thanks, averting his gaze and continuing to eat. Steven's smile faded. Poor kid.

His apartment was a bit cramped for three... he could probably get an air mattress and blow it up on the living room floor for a third bed. Until then, the easy chair could recline and would make a decent sleeping space. Steven might have to fall back on his money reserves for once, to get the kid some clothes. He didn't seem to have anything at all other than the clothes on his back - and the pocket knife he had threatened Steven with.

"Caden." He caught the boy's attention. "Did you really run away with just the knife?" Caden flushed again.

"Ah, well..." he shrugged. "I brought some money I'd saved up, but I was stupid enough to let someone see it... and they stole it."

"Oh."

"Have you been on the streets since then?" Brine interjected. Caden nodded. "Never thought to try a homeless shelter?"

"No." Caden pushed his dark hair out of his face. "Didn't want my dad tracking me there." The two men exchanged a glance.

"Are people looking for you?" Brine asked after a moment.

"Maybe, I don't know." Caden shrugged again. "I don't know if he'd care to report me missing. Though, my school probably noticed when I stopped showing up."

"Right." Brine caught Steve's eye. "Steven, we need to talk." Steven quirked a brow, but obeyed, standing and following his self-appointed bodyguard out of the room.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Brine spoke, his voice low. "Steven, I know you feel sorry for him, but he cannot be here."

"It's my apartment, Brine." Steven folded his arms. "You're a freeloader, you don't get to tell me what to do."

"I'm serious." Brine insisted, "He's a minor, and a runaway. If you're found harboring him, you could be charged with kidnapping. If he's facing troubles at home, it's best to let law enforcement do their job."

"Surely you see the irony of telling me not to harbor a runaway?" Steven shot back. "And that of you telling me to let law enforcement work?"

"I deal with murderers and terrorists, not social cases." Brine protested. "There are programs in place for kids like him."

"Aren't you in this life because your friend was killed by his father?" Steven hissed. Brine blinked, his eyes narrowing into slits at having the painful memory used against him. "Look, Brine, I consider myself a good judge of character." Steve pressed on. "It's why I trust you. So believe me when I say that Caden did not run away for frivolous reasons. He's scared, whatever he's facing at home has him braving cold and starvation, avoiding the very places that could help him the most because he's afraid he might be taken back." Brine's jaw worked slightly, and Steven sighed. "Look, if law enforcement shows up here I'm screwed already." He elbowed his roommate gently. "Serial killer, remember?" Brine scoffed.

"I thought we agreed that we would say I threatened you."

"Well, you can be the one who kidnapped Caden, too." Steven thumbed over his shoulder. Brine rolled his eyes.

"Steven..." He sighed, glancing at the window. "...he may be a kid, but that doesn't mean he can't hurt you." Steven blinked, stunned.

"Why would he?"

"I mean, if he is in the situation you think he is, many like him tend to react violently." Brine mimed holding a knife, then driving it into his gut. "Lashing out." Steven frowned.

"He had the chance to hurt me when he caught me by surprise, and he didn't. He just wanted out with the money."

"That too," Hero agreed. "A desire for money can be dangerous as well."

"Brine, you didn't let a couple of armed thugs hurt me," Steven crossed his arms. "I'm certain you won't let a kid take me down."

Brine snorted. "I won't be around forever."

"Well, neither will he." Steven countered. "But, for now, it's cold outside and he has nowhere else to go. If he wants to stay, he can stay." He held Brine's gaze for a few, long moments, before the vigilante sighed and gave a grudging nod.

"Very well." He gestured dismissively. "He stays." Steven's shoulders slumped, grateful to not have to continue arguing this with him.

"Good." He turned, starting to head for the kitchen again, then paused. "We may have to buy more groceries." Brine just sighed.

Stepping into the kitchen, Steven headed for his seat, sliding into it and facing his new guest. "Caden."

"Mm?" The boy looked up from his bowl, fidgeting with his spoon.

"Do you want to stay here a while?" Steven offered. "I wouldn't mind the company." Caden blinked, wariness creeping over his face.

"I- I can't pay-"

"I know that," Steven interrupted. "For free. No strings attached." Caden's uneasy gaze shifted to Brine, who now stood in the doorway, then back to the man before him.

"None?" His voice was small, and Steven nodded. Looking a little stunned, Caden pushed the stew around in his bowl, then voiced quietly, "I- yeah, I'd like that."

Chapter Text

"Steven, sit down, you're going to hurt yourself."

"Or, instead of you lazing about, you could help me?" Steven shot over a glare from where he was washing a window, wiping off his forehead on his sleeve. "If you're so concerned."

"Hey, it's not my apartment." Brine deflected, reclining on the couch where he was watching TV. "I'm just a freeloader."

"Yeah, I can see that." Steven leaned back, wincing as his back popped. "Can you turn that down? Caden's sleeping." His gaze shifted to his closed bedroom door, into which he had herded Caden early that morning after watching him stumble around for half an hour.

Having two uninvited guests in his apartment had made Steven finally realize how dingy the place had become, and he had resolved to spend the morning cleaning it up. Brine, after cooking breakfast, had evidently decided that his work for the day was finished and sprawled out on the couch to laze around for the rest of the morning.

"Fine." Brine flailed for the remote for a moment before getting ahold of it, turning down the volume by a few points. "In all seriousness, you should take a break."

"I'm fine." Steven coughed into his sleeve, shooting a Brine a glare when he made an I-told-you-so face. "There's just a lot of dust." Brine rolled his eyes and turned back to the TV.

Having a third person in the house was definitely... odd. Caden, despite his initial aggression, had become incredibly meek at the first sign of kindness, and even more quiet when Steven invited him to stay. Steve really hoped that was a good sign. Brine had confiscated the boy's knife, so Steve doubted he could do any harm, but he still hoped that Brine hadn't been right about Caden lashing out from fear or desperation. The entire situation honestly reminded him of trying to rehabilitate a stray cat.

"Sit down, Stonewall." Came Brine's voice as Steven coughed again.

"I'm fine." Steve straightened up, moving on to the next window. "Why are you so crabby this morning, anyway?" Herobrine snorted.

"'Crabby'?"

"That's the perfect word for you, yes."

"I'm not, I'm just looking out for you." Brine crossed his arms. "Though I do wonder why you clean the house for Caden, but not me."

"Well, for one, I invited him to stay." Steven pointed out. "You invited yourself."

"He broke in."

"So did you!"

Brine paused, nodded. "Fair point. But I didn't try to rob you."

"You did make the decision to stay with no input from me."

"Yes, well, you needed it."

Steven straightened up, fixing his roommate with a suspicious look. "Herobrine, are you jealous?"

"What? No."

"You are!" Steven barked a laugh, setting down his washrag. "You're jealous that I have more friends than you, now." Brine scoffed.

"If I did help you clean, would it stop you from making these baseless accusations?"

"'Baseless' my foot." Steven shot back. "But, yes, if you helped I would refrain from telling you the t-" His chest suddenly constricted, and he doubled over, coughing harshly into his sleeve as he tried to catch his breath.

By the time his coughing subsided, an arm was snaking around his waist, and Brine was dragging him over to sit on the cough. Steven sagged down where he was placed, muffling his coughs into his sleeve.

"Stay." Brine told him sternly. "Do you have medicine for that?" Steven took a slow, careful breath to avoid setting off another coughing fit.

"In th' kitchen cabinet. My inhaler."

Brine nodded, standing and heading for the kitchen. Steven pressed an arm over his chest, grimacing at the burning in his lungs.

After a moment, Brine returned with the medicine, and Steven nodded in thanks before taking a puff of his inhaler. Brine watched him carefully as he held his breath, then slowly let it out.

"Stop looking at me like that." Steve told him, feeling his breath wheeze a bit in his lungs.

"Like what?"

"Nevermind." He was, of course, referring to the I-told-you-so look that had returned to Brine's face. Taking another puff, Steven capped his medicine again and handed it back to Brine, sinking back in the couch to let his lungs recover.

"Well," Brine said as he returned from the kitchen, scooping up the cleaning supplies that had been abandoned on the floor. "Shame to leave a job unfinished." Steven coughed.

"So all I had to do to get your help was have an asthma attack?"

"Maybe." Brine eyed him suspiciously. "But I'll remember that you made that connection." Steven scoffed lightly, but didn't respond, idly watching as Brine tidied up the room. His house wasn't that dirty - he didn't have all that many possessions to clean. But it certainly looked better once the job was finished.

As Brine put away the cleaning supplies, Steven stood, intending to make his way to the kitchen and wash the breakfast dishes.

"Nope!" Brine dashed to his side, pinning him down on the couch again. "Sit."

"I'm fine." Steven protested. "The medicine's kicked in, I was just gonna get the dish-"

"I'll take care of it, you sit down." Brine fixed him with a scowl.

Steven gave up. "Fine."

Instead of going to the kitchen, however, Brine sat down next to him, tuning back in to the TV. Steven eyed him, starting to shift away, but an arm wrapping around his waist kept him still. Giving up, Steven accepted his fate and focused on the inane sitcom blaring from his TV.

Herobrine woke up to the floorboards creaking.

His blank eyes eased open, focusing on the dark ceiling above him. Steve's living room was lit only by the light of streetlights that peeped through the windows, shrouding the furnishings in darkness. Even so, Herobrine could tell that the recliner that had previously held Caden was unoccupied.

Brine rolled slowly onto his side, analyzing the dimmed room with narrowed eyes. Caden had slept a lot during the day, so it was quite possible that he was just no longer tired, but Herobrine's intuition told him otherwise. There was no reason for him to be creeping around at... what was it? Likely past midnight.

Steven's door was still closed, fortunately, which meant his host was safe and sleeping. Though, surely the boy was too cowed to try anything. Brine could see it by the way the kid looked at him - he knew who he was. Caden knew he shared a living space with a wanted killer. Maybe he was trying to sneak out, get away while they slept. Would he give up a warm place to sleep and unlimited food? Most people would, if they thought their life was in danger.

A small click came from the kitchen, and Brine stiffened. Why the kitchen? There was no way out, so he wasn't running - unless he was stealing food, a last meal before he did so. On the other hand, the kitchen also housed knives, a decent weapon even in untrained hands. Caden could easily take one and slaughter them both in their sleep. If Brine hadn't woken up, of course.

Shifting, Brine eased himself up from the couch, moving soundlessly towards the kitchen. He heard a small clatter as he approached, positioning himself just behind the divider wall. He paused, then, with one step, moved within reach of the light switch and flicked it on.

There was a small crash as he did so, as Caden dropped the box of cereal in his hands and sent it scattering all over the floor. Herobrine blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light, and found Caden flinching against the counter, one hand gripping the edge of it as the other shielded his eyes from the light. When his eyes adjusted enough for him to see who had caught him, his eyes widened with horror, lips parting a bit as he tried to mouth an apology.

Brine's gaze dropped to the floor, now covered in cereal, and he sighed, stepping forward to fetch the broom from where it leaned against the wall in the corner of the kitchen. The moment he moved, however, Caden cowered, eyes squeezing shut as he shrank against the cabinets. Brine stopped. Processed the situation.

"Sit down." He said at last, gesturing to the kitchen table. "I won't hurt you." Caden's eyes cracked open, peeking up at him as if to gauge the sincerity of his words, before he hurried soundlessly to the table and parked himself in a chair. Brine was well aware of the teen's eyes on him as he collected the broom and swept up the mess he'd made.

Only once he was finished, and had returned the broom to the corner, did Brine meet his gaze. "Hungry?" He asked bluntly. Caden gave a small nod. Brine stepped over to the fridge, pulling out a container of leftovers, then grabbing a saucepan to heat it in.

Neither of them spoke as Brine heated up the leftover stir-fry. Caden was clearly embarrassed about being caught, but there was more to it than that. His behavior was all too familiar to Brine who had, long ago, known another boy that hadn't been allowed to eat outside of mealtimes.

Only once he'd set Caden's food before him did Brine begin to speak.

"How long ago did you run away?" He asked. Caden fidgeted with his fork, unable to resist taking a small bite before replying.

"Almost two weeks."

"Two weeks." Brine echoed. "And how long have you not had enough to eat?" Caden's gaze shot back up, now filled with dread. Looking away, Brine sat down opposite him, trying to make the interaction feel less like an interrogation. "You're allowed to eat, here." He added, more quietly. "As much as you want. Okay?" Two weeks on the street would cause anyone to lose weight, yes, but Brine could recognize the signs of prolonged starvation anywhere.

Caden squared his shoulders, giving a little nod. "I-" He cleared his throat. "Didn't have much food at home. I ate at school and that's it." Brine waited for a few moments before asking,

"Why?"

"Dad usually ate out." Caden pushed his food in a circle on his plate. "We never had food at home. And I didn't have any money."

"Does your father work?"

"No, he was on unemployment." Caden scoffed quietly. "Got more money because he had a kid."

"Hmm." Brine was quiet for a few moments, watching him eat. It sounded like this had been going on for a long time. Surely this alone wouldn't be cause to run away, especially if it was something he'd grown used to. "Does anyone else know that you weren't being fed?" The boy's shoulders slumped.

"I told a school counselor." He mumbled. Brine waited for him to go on, but he didn't.

"And?"

"And he talked to my dad." Caden fell silent again, and Brine wondered if it would be wise to prompt him to go further. As it turned out, he didn't need to, as the boy finally said "And my dad told me to stop being a f###### p####." He shrugged, stabbing a piece of bell pepper with his fork. "And pointed a gun at me."

"Ah." A familiar buzz was beginning to sound in Brine's head, and he willed it to leave him alone. Going ballistic on this man wouldn't help anyone.

Brine was quiet for a few more minutes, waiting as Caden cleaned his plate. Finally, he spoke again. "Did your father ever hurt you?"

Caden froze, halfway to setting his fork down on his plate, and his averted gaze was all the answer Brine needed. The vigilante sighed, resting his chin in his hand and drumming his fingers on the table with the other. What a situation this boy was in.

"...um once." Caden mumbled at last. "That's why I ran away."

"Mm." Brine stood, pacing across the kitchen to set the dishes in the sink.

As he ran water over them, Caden spoke in a small voice. "You're... Herobrine, right?" Brine paused, glancing at him.

"I am."

"Why..." Caden traced a line on the table, not looking at him. "Why... are you here? Why... is Steven a friend of yours?"

"You could say that." Brine washed his hands. "I hate to give out my secret so freely, but the media coverage of me is wrong." He turned around, leaning back against the counter with a smirk. "I'm not a serial killer." Caden blinked up at him.

"Could've fooled me."

"Now, I am a killer," Brine held up one finger. "That much is true. But I prey not on innocents, but on predators. I kill those who should have been arrested and dealt with accordingly, but have escaped this fate one way another, whether by avoiding being caught or by leveraging political influence." Caden blinked, and Brine summarized, "I only kill bad guys."

"That's..." A tiny smile appeared on Caden's face, though he struggled to tamp it down. "So you're a vigilante." Brine dipped his chin in a nod.

"Exactly."

"And... Steve knows?" Caden glanced at the entryway into the living room at the dark room beyond.

"He does." Brine nodded again. "I was once caught and locked up, but I was wounded in the process. Now, I have a very rare blood type." Brine tapped his wrist. "And no matching blood was available. However, Steven also has a very rare blood type, one that can mesh seamlessly with any other on the planet. So... they brought him in to save me." Caden's gaze went from him to the entryway again.

"And how did that... end up with you living with him?"

"Well, they'd drugged me up considerably, and I ended up spilling somewhat of my life story to him." Brine admitted. "I only know because they had a video of it at my trial." That was something. He pushed the memory away. "But, when I escaped, I came here to hide out, and he never kicked me out. Currently, I'm in town waiting for communication from a contact of mine."

"Oh."

"Besides, Steven apparently needs a bodyguard." Brine went on. "As I've had to scrape him off the sidewalk at least once." Caden blinked. "His blood type makes him rather valuable," Brine added. "It's where he gets all of his income."

"Oh." Caden seemed a little lost. Drying his hands, Brine approached him again, pleased to find that the teen no longer flinched away.

"You should go back to sleep." He urged him out of the chair, and Caden stood, allowing himself to be herded back towards the living room. Brine allowed the teen to reach his makeshift bed before turning out the kitchen light, quietly heading back to the couch as Caden made himself comfortable.

"Herobrine?" The sound of his name had him looking up.

"Yes?"

"...are you gonna kill my dad?" Caden asked softly. His tone made it clear he didn't want him to.

Brine sighed. "No." He refuted. "But I will help you." He fixed the boy with a glare, though he doubted he could see it in the darkness. "Which doesn't mean hiding in this apartment forever."

"I-I know." A shuffle from the chair. "...thank you." Brine's little smirk turned into a genuine smile.

"You're welcome."

Chapter Text

"You know, I used to only have to shop once or twice a month."

"It was your decision to take in a teenage boy, Steven." Brine reminded him, a reusable grocery bag slung over each shoulder as he ambled along the sidewalk beside him.

"I didn't expect him to eat the same amount as three grown men!" Steven threw his hands up in the air. "I've never taken care of a kid before."

"You've been a teenage boy, haven't you?" Brine pointed out. "Surely you didn't come out of the womb a fully-grown doormat of a man." Steven barked a laugh.

"You're so rude."

"I prefer 'witty'."

It had been almost three weeks since Caden had introduced himself to their rapidly growing household, and the boy was slowly starting to come out of his shell. It took a little while, but he seemed to have figured out by now that he was safe there. Since he was eating regularly now, he was starting to put on a bit more weight, and no longer looked like the starving urchin that had broken into Steven's house and threatened him with a knife.

Steven had allowed him to entertain himself using his computer, under the condition that he spent a certain amount of his day doing something educational to make up for the time he was missing at school. So, Caden was teaching himself JavaScript. Anything computer-related seemed to come naturally to him, and it kept him entertained while his hosts were out of the house.

"To answer your question, I did not, in fact, eat a lot as a teen." Steven shifted his grip on the grocery bag in his hand, rolling his shoulder to alleviate the growing ache. "That's when I started donating blood, so I wasn't very active."

Brine hiked up a brow. "And you didn't... eat more to make up for the blood you were losing?"

Steven shrugged. "I had a lot of protein shakes."

"That isn't food."

"It's nutrients, and hydration."

"Still not food!" Brine pointed an accusing finger at him. "And... you started as a teenager? What did your parents think about all this?"

"They encouraged it." Steven's face colored slightly. "They were getting all the money from my donations, after all." Brine didn't respond for a moment.

"...they sold your blood to make themselves rich."

"Pretty much." Steven shrugged. "When I was seventeen, I contacted a lawyer, and moved out a few months later."

"Well, good on you." Brine patted his shoulder. "Perhaps you're not a doormat after all."

"That's the nicest thing you've said about me all day."

The pair turned onto Steven's street, Brine continuing to poke fun at his rich roommate as they approached his apartment. When they reached it, Steven unlocked the door, calling as he stepped into the front hall,

"Caden, we're home!"

There was a brief pause before he got a response, coming from behind his closed door. "Hi guys."

"Didn't get up to too much trouble while we were gone, did you?" Herobrine called as he passed the door on his way to the kitchen. There was no response, but neither man gave it much thought, continuing their conversation as they put away the fresh groceries.

"I've been in contact with a few of my local allies," Brine told his roommate as he slid a jar of dill weed into a cupboard. "About getting the kid some help. He clearly can't go back with his father, but my research has shown that he may have influence over local protective services,"

"What kind of influence?" Steven was leaning against a kitchen chair, catching his breath. Regularly walking to the store instead of taking the bus was helping his stamina, but he still needed a bit to recover.

"He has friends in high places." Herobrine made a face. "Government friends. It's unlikely a report to CPS will do anything, not unless there's evidence they can't brush off. It might be wiser to just get Caden out of the area."

"Would that work?" Steven sounds doubtful. "Surely he's been reported missing by the school, right? If he pops up, even in another state, they'll track him down."

"I use fake IDs from time to time. Short of being recognized by facial recognition, or taking fingerprints or a DNA test, he should be alright."

Steven looked at him for a few, long moments. "Sometimes you scare me."

"I'm a serial killer, that's the point."

"I thought you were a vigilante."

"I'm whatever's funnier in the current context."

Steven scoffed quietly, releasing the chair to put a gallon of milk in the fridge. He closed the door, then leaned against it, quiet for a moment.

"Suppose he... Caden's dad... needs him for something?" He catches Brine's eyes. "Like my parents did with me?"

"Could be." Brine shrugged. "Though I would guess otherwise. Eli's father just liked the control he had over him, the abuse he knew he could get away with." The vigilante stretched, sighing. "Italian or Mexican for dinner?" Steven blinked at the abrupt change of subject.

"Uh..."

"You're right, we had Mexican the other day." Herobrine pulls a package of pasta from one of the bags, setting it by the stove. "I-" He cut off, going silent.

"What?" Steven asked after a pause.

"Shh." Brine hushed him. "Did you hear that?" Steve gave him a quizzical look, but stayed quiet.

A faint, high-pitched sound came from his bedroom door.

The men exchanged glances, and Brine immediately headed for the door, knocking sharply before Steven could stop him.

"Caden, what are you doing in there?"

"Uh..." the young man's voice seemed on the edge of panic, and Brine reached for the knob, but Steven grabbed his wrist before he could open it.

"Caden?" He made an effort to soften his voice. "Everything alright?" There was a long, tense moment of silence.

Finally, the knob turned, and the door opened just enough to reveal half of Caden's anxious face. "...sorry."

His hosts exchanged a glance. "For?" Brine prompted. In response, Caden opened the door further, revealing the tiny, grey kitten tucked into the crook of his arm.

"It was crying at the front door." Caden looked thoroughly chastised, though his hosts had yet to react either way. "I thought... it's probably cold." He rubbed the kitten's head, causing it to squeak. "So I brought it in. Um... I'm not gonna keep it, I just... I thought maybe it would... maybe we could bring it to a shelter instead. So it wouldn't freeze." His gaze was at his feet now. "Sorry." The kitten squeaked again, clinging to the arm of Caden's hoodie, and Steven looked at Herobrine.

Brine cleared his throat. "Let me see." Caden's worried gaze flickered up, but he reluctantly unhooked the kitten from his arm, offering it to him. Brine took the kitten in both hands, scrutinizing it as it mewed and flailed for a claw-hold.

"It's a girl." Brine reported after a moment. "And too little to be away from its mother." He settled it in his arm, letting it sink its claws into his sleeve. "You said it was crying at the door?" Caden nodded, not meeting his eyes.

"I didn't see anyone else. No other cats, that is. Or people."

"Hm." Brine stroked the kitten's head as she looked around curiously. "Did she run away when you opened the door?"

"No," Caden shook his head. "She came right to me."

"Unlikely to be a stray, then." Brine heaved a sigh. "And she's well-fed. Add that to the fact that it isn't kitten season, and she was most likely dumped by those who didn't want to take care of a kitten." He nodded to Steven. "That said, do you remember when I suggested you get a cat?" Caden immediately perked up.

"Uh." Steven searched his memory. "Yes?" Brine held up the kitten, giving him a quizzical look. "Are you asking if we can keep it?"

"Why not?" Brine continued petting the cat. "She's friendly. And she's a very pretty little cat."

"What if she belongs to my neighbors?" Steven protested. "She could have just slipped away." Herobrine considered this for a moment.

"It's possible." He admitted. "In the meantime, she's here, and she's most likely hungry." Brine turned away, heading back towards the kitchen with the kitten tucked into his arms. "Caden, have you considered any names for her yet?"

"Um," Caden trailed after him, a little grin on his face. "'Byte'- B-Y-T-E, because she kept nibbling on my fingers."

"Really? Hm. I'm less creative. I was thinking of 'Ash', or 'Smoke', or-" Brine snapped his fingers. "You know what would be cute? 'Cinderella'. Because she was nicknamed such for sleeping in the fireplace for warmth."

"Oh. I like Cinderella."

"Was asking for my permission for show only?" Steven complained, following them into the kitchen and watching as Brine retrieved a can of tuna from a cabinet. Caden turned an imploring look on him, and Steven sighed, looking away. "...not that I was going to say no." Caden's face lit up, and Steven knew he'd made the right choice.

Brine scrutinized the cabinet, then turned his gaze on the kitten again with a sigh. "Suppose we'll need to go back to the store again."

Chapter Text

Caden cast a glance at Steven, chewing his lip. "Do you have, like... a ladder, or a stepstool, or something?"

"I'm afraid not." Steven shook his head. "I could grab my chair from my desk-?"

"No way!" Brine interjected from the next room over. "Don't you remember what Officer Buckle says? Never stand on a swivel chair!" He poked his head into the room to find them both staring at him in bewilderment. "Neither of you- okay, it's an old children's book, stop looking at me like that."

"I just don't understand how she got up there." Caden turned back to the bookshelf, and Steven followed his gaze up to where their tiny, grey kitten was perched on the very top, mewling and crying as if her life depended on it.

"Well, that's the thing about cats." Brine marched into the room, his hands on his hips as he craned his neck to look up at her. "They climb. If she can get up there, she can get down."

"But she's so small!" Caden protested. "What if she hurts herself??" Brine heaved a sigh, then turned away.

"I'll get a kitchen chair."

It had been three days since the kitten, Cinderella, had arrived unexpected at their doorstep, and both Steven and Caden had found the little creature to be a bit of a handful. Beyond the typical cat care duties they were expected to perform, she was also small enough that she needed to be bottle-fed every three to four hours, which meant at least one of them was waking up every so often to feed her. Brine shouldered a lot of this responsibility, claiming that he had the most experience, but he supplemented this by complaining the whole time.

Despite Brine being basically the kitten's nanny, Caden had bonded with her the quickest. Steven suspected that they saw the other as a lost kid like themself. Whatever the case, whenever Cinderella (or Cinny, or Ellie, or Soot, or any of the other plethora of nicknames she had already gotten) wasn't bounding around Steven's apartment she was usually curled up in Caden's hoodie.

"Here we go." Brine said as he carried a chair into the room. "Honestly, don't either of you have any common sense? You don't stand on something with wheels."

"Skateboards." Caden fired back. He had gotten much more comfortable with Brine, almost overnight. Steven wasn't sure why but he wasn't complaining.

"A skateboard is a mode of transportation. You're trying to move." Brine set the chair at the base of the bookshelf and stepped onto it. "With a chair, you're trying to stay still, and wheels are kinda bad for that."

"Maybe." Caden replied coolly. Brine scooped up the kitten from the top of the bookshelf and handed her down to Caden, who immediately set her on his shoulder to snuggle into his neck.

"Hey Ells." He murmured in a sing-song voice. "Thanks, Brine."

"No problem. Keep your kid off the furniture." Brine hopped down, picking up the chair to return it to the kitchen as Caden scampered off with his playmate.

"You're a saint," Steven remarked as he followed him back to the kitchen. "Thanks for being patient with them."

"Oh, cats are just like that." Brine shrugged as he scooted the chair back into place. "And she probably was too small to get down on her own. I'll try to find out how she got up there, she can't jump that high yet."

"Right..." Steven paused by the kitchen counter, drumming his fingers on the granite. "...have you found a place for Caden yet?" Brine, now heading for the dishes in the sink, gave him an odd look over his shoulder.

"Ready to be rid of him already?"

"No, of course not." Steven shook his head hurriedly. "But, neither of us are parents, much less his, and he needs to be in school. I can't provide that for him, not in this area with his dad looking for him. You're the one who said he'd be safer somewhere else."

"Yeah, I did." Brine nodded. "Yeah, I've... been in contact with some people." He turned around to lean back against the counter. "Haven't found a place for him yet. Some possibilities to work on. Communication isn't exactly quick or easy when I can't just..." he made the phone hand sign next to his ear. "...call them up without the risk of being tracked down."

"Right." Steven conceded, pacified by the news that it was in the works. "Thanks, Brine."

"Sure."

The two men fell silent as Brine washed the dishes, Steven standing by quietly as he did so. He'd been trying not to think about it too much, but it still grated on him- soon enough, Caden would have to leave, and so would Brine.

Steven had been alone since he had separated from his parents at 17. He'd grown used to the silence and the loneliness, filled with gaming and blaring his TV at all hours of the day and night. He'd gotten used to doing everything for himself, getting himself to his blood draw appointments and dragging himself home when he was halfway unconscious. It became normal enough that he didn't even consider how nice it would be to have help.

But it was nice. It was very nice to not have to scrounge together a peanut butter sandwich at 11 PM when he finally made it home, or sit on the couch with his lungs rattling like an old car engine after trying to clean, or walk himself home alone in the middle of the night. That one wasn't just uncomfortable, it was unsafe too. Those men who'd attacked him- that wasn't a mugging, they had tried to kidnap him. That was premeditated.

Obviously, Caden couldn't stay forever. And neither could Brine. He had more responsibilities than just Steven, he couldn't stay here and be his bodyguard and personal chef forever. Steven would survive without him. It wasn't like the last time he'd left he'd been nearly kidnapped...

"You need something?" Brine's voice startled him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to find the vigilante eying him curiously.

"No, just..." Steven waved him off. "...thinking."

"About?"

"Just..." Steven shrugged. "How unexpected life can be."

"Got that right." Brine grinned at him, showing off his sharp canines. "I'm taking this out, I'll be right back." Grabbing a worn baseball cap, Brine set it on his head and pulled the full trash bag out of the kitchen trash.

"Alright." Steven watched as he stepped out the door, then shut his eyes and leaned back against the wall.

The nondescript van parked on the side of the road only barely caught Brine's attention as he walked past.

"Think you've got the wrong apartment." The first man muttered to his partner, watching the camera feed. "This guy's the only one I've seen go in or out."

"Stonewall only comes out to go to his appointments or grocery shopping." His partner told him. "Rarely alone."

"Why the sudden change? Where did this guy come from?" The first man gestured to the screen, watching as the man with the baseball cap tossed the trash bag into the dumpster. "He suddenly decide to get a roommate after we failed the first time?"

"Considering Stonewall's loaded and never goes anywhere without him, I'd say he's more like a bodyguard."

"Well, can't we just take him out?"

"If he is a bodyguard, he's probably dangerous." His partner said irritably. "More than we can handle."

"Well, call the boys in." The first man reached for his phone.

"I don't know that there's a need for that." The second man zoomed in on the stranger, his brow furrowing when he tugged the cap down to shield his face. "I think there are other ways we can remove him from the picture."

Chapter Text

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three." Steven brushed his roommate's hand away from his face with a scowl. "You're being dramatic."

"You've passed out twice today." Brine grabbed his hand, checking his pulse again. "I'm only being cautious."

"I'm on the couch, Brine, what's the worst that could happen?" Steven grimaced as he was poked and prodded, the dim light from the other room enough to make his head throb. "I sleep?"

"Passing out is not sleeping, Steven." Brine scolded him. "And I won't have you sleeping until you eat something. You haven't eaten since before your appointment."

"Guess so." Steven admitted, not willing to fight. He'd had a package of crackers, but those were hardly satisfying, and his roommate's cooking was a far superior option.

"I'm going to the kitchen. Don't die on me." Brine instructed, then rose from his side and walked off. Steven unlocked his phone to occupy himself and keep him from drifting off, idly scrolling through his calendar. He had another donation appointment in 6 weeks… hopefully that would be enough time for him to recover.

He could hear Brine moving around the kitchen, but otherwise the apartment was silent. That wasn't out of the ordinary for 2 AM. Caden was asleep in the other room with his cat, and the only reason Steve and Brine were awake was because his roommate hadn't stopped fussing over him since he'd arrived. He didn't feel any worse than he normally did after an appointment, except for a little more fatigued, but he wasn't going to argue that point with his serial-killer-slash-vigilante of a roommate.

"You're killing yourself, you know." Brine's voice made him look up, and he tracked Brine's shadow on the wall until he came into view to sink down next to the couch. "Keep this up, you're only going to get worse."

"W-well…" Steven coughed to clear his throat. "Does it matter, really? It isn't as if I do much else with my body."

"What kind of a mindset is that?" Brine fixed him with a glare. "I think the blood banks could survive a few more weeks between donations, if it meant you lived to give them for another forty years."

"I… guess." Steven rubbed at the inside of his arm, over the bandaid that covered the injection site for his IV. He usually didn't get one. They'd told him he was dehydrated.

"You're so callous with your life." Brine muttered, half to himself. "You're more than just a body… you know that? You're more than just the blood you produce." Steven shifted, looking at his phone again. "Hey." Brine grabbed his hand, forcing Steve's attention back to him. "You have a mind and a soul, you have worth as a human. Understand?" Stunned, Steven blinked at him.

"This feels like a therapy session."

"Maybe you need a therapy session." Brine flicked him in the forehead and made him yelp. "I'm going to go stir your food before it burns." He got up to leave the room again, and Steven gazed after him, watching his shadow on the kitchen wall.

It didn't take him long to return, bearing a plate of reheated stir-fry which Steven pushed himself up to accept with a murmur of thanks. Brine seated himself nearby as Steven ate, neither of them speaking until the plate was all but clean.

"You're all Caden has right now." The former said at last, drawing a startled look from his patient. "Try to take care of yourself." With that, he took the plate and went back to the kitchen to wash it. Steven sat there quietly for a few minutes as his meal settled in his stomach, mulling over Brine's words in his head. Finally, he opened his phone, going to his calendar and pushing back his next donation by four weeks.

Chapter Text

Brine zipped up his hoodie, pulling the hood over his head and fumbling open his sunglasses before looking back at the hall, where Steven and Caden were silently watching from the doorway.

"Oh, don't be so somber." He scolded them. "I'm coming back."

"I know you will," Steve said, but his tone implied otherwise. Caden said nothing, quietly petting the zonked-out kitten in his arms.

The previous night, Herobrine had received a call from a contact of his. Apparently there was an incident on the other side of the city, one that required Brine's specific area of expertise. So, he'd packed up his necessities with a promise to return as soon as the situation was dealt with.

The concern was, of course, the men that had attacked Steve before and tried to kidnap him. Steve felt safer with his competent killer of a bodyguard with him at all times. But Brine leaving also meant he had to take care of Caden alone. The kid was hardly a handful, but he was still a traumatized teen with the potential to lash out. At least, Steven mused, Brine leaving him alone with him meant that he trusted Caden not to shank him in his sleep.

"The freezer and fridge are full, and I should be back in plenty of time for your next donation, Steven." Brine pulled a mask over his face, obscuring his mouth and nose. "So you shouldn't starve, and you shouldn't have to leave the house. If all else fails, Caden knows how to make ramen."

Steven snorted. "I know how to make ramen."

"Yeah, but your ramen sucks." Brine told him. "I should be back no later than Saturday." With that, he opened the door, stepped out with a wave, then he was gone. Caden went up to the door and watched through the peephole as he walked away.

When Steven could no longer hear the retreating footsteps, he shuffled a step back, glancing into the living room.

"I'm going to heat something up for breakfast," he said. Caden just nodded, still looking through the peephole.

As the day went on, Steven tried to tell himself that his apprehension was just due to missing his friend. That he was worried something would happen. The feeling of being stalked, being watched, was just his anxiety acting up. It got harder when he saw Caden fidgeting, looking out the windows, looking distracted while he played with his cat.

Brine had left before. What was different about this time that made them both so uneasy?

Steven and Caden ended up on the couch together hours after dark, watching some mindless TV program to keep their minds off of Brine. Cinderella was a little ball of grey fur in Caden's lap, purring like a little engine as he scratched the top of her head. Neither one spoke, in silent agreement that they really should be in bed by now.

A soft sound came from the front door.

Steven and Caden both looked up, then at each other. Grabbing the remote, Steven muted the TV. "Did you hear that?"

"Mm." Caden nodded. Slowly, Steven stood, stiffening when the sound came again- a scraping noise.

"Hide." He ordered lowly. "Go." Silently, Caden obeyed, scrambling up and vanishing into the bedroom. Steven hurried to the kitchen to collect his biggest carving knife, then positioned himself by the doorway into the front hall, listening as the door was forced open with a small thump. A set of footsteps entered the front hall. Two, maybe three. Steven drew back the knife as they got close.

The first intruder stepped into view, and Steven hesitated only a moment before driving the knife into his arm.

The intruder shouted with pain, jerking back, and Steven lunged at him again to drive him away. The man was wearing a ski mask, obviously not someone he recogni-

Something smashed into his head and he went down.

The knife clattered to the ground beside him as he landed hard on his side, one hand reaching up to feel at the back of his head. His wrist was seized and he was shoved onto his front, his hands pulled behind his back and something cool and hard looped around his wrists.

"He stabbed me!" One of the intruders exclaimed in a borderline-hysterical voice.

"Quiet! Wrap it up, we'll deal with it in the car."

"But-"

"Let me see!"

Steven groaned, tilting his throbbing head to try and get a look at them, but there was nothing to see but dark clothes and ski masks. One of them was clutching at his arm, which had a tear through the sleeve. Steven couldn't have stabbed him that badly.

One of the men glanced down at him, then crouched down beside him. "I wouldn't try anything funny," He said shortly. "I don't want to use this-" he patted the gun on his waist. "But I will if I have to."

Steven huffed, fixed him with a glare. "You don't know who you're messing with," he warned. The man smirked through his mask.

"Actually, I think we do." The next thing Steven knew, a bag was pulled over his head and his world went black. From there, he was hauled up from the floor and dragged, no matter how much he tried to go limp or struggle, down the front hall and stairs to where he was shoved into a car. His hands, he now recognized, were zip-tied behind his back. If they were in front of him he might be able to break it… not that that would do much good with an armed kidnapper on either side of him.

"We got him." Came one of the voices. "Go."

"Wait," another one cut in. "Check the house, make sure there's no one else inside." Steven stiffened at that.

"I'll be right back." The vehicle creaked, then footsteps retreated over the concrete sidewalk. Steven could do nothing but wait and pray that Caden stayed out of sight.

"Just across the street there is the fire station." Brine pointed out the building, well-lit by streetlights. "Tell them who you are and what happened to you. They'll take care of you."

"Y-yes sir." The young lady clutched Brine's hoodie around herself, still trembling a bit from residual fright. "Should I tell them about- about you?"

"If you like. I suppose they'll want answers." Brine shrugged. "Tell them some white-eyed freak burst in and started stabbing people, and that you got out in the chaos."

"Okay." The girl dipped her head. "Thank you again. S-so much."

"Of course. Now go, I'll watch until they let you in." Brine shooed her gently away, and the young lady stepped out of the shadows and hurried across the empty street towards the fire station. True to his word, Brine watched while she made her way up to the door and knocked. Only when a fireman answered and ushered her inside did he step away, vanishing back into the shadows of dusk.

A robbery at a bank on the outskirts of the city the previous day had gone sour for the would-be thieves, and they'd ended up taking a young teller hostage in order to escape. Given that this was a tricky situation for law enforcement to navigate, Brine had taken it upon himself to deal with the thieves and rescue the young lady. Fortunately, she was unhurt, and he was able to simply turn her over to the appropriate officials to be taken home. Now Brine could go home himself.

He stuck his hands in his pockets as he strolled down the dim sidewalk, though he found that he couldn't completely relax. Ever since he had left Steven's apartment he'd felt an odd sensation of dread. He'd hoped that it was just nerves, he hadn't been out on a mission like this in a long time, but the feeling had yet to go away. Brine knew better than to ignore his instincts- something was wrong. And the feeling of wrongness only got stronger the nearer he got to Steven's apartment.

As he turned on to Steven's street, a van shot past him, running the stop sign and banking hard as it merged onto the road. Brine shot it an odd look, but kept walking, wondering idly if Steven would still be awake or if he'd have to break in again.

When the apartment came into view, however, he found that he wouldn't have to as the door was hanging wide open.

Brine broke into a run, drawing his knife from his pocket and flicking it open as he stepped through the threshold.

"Steven?" He called warily. No answer. The light was on in the living room, and he turned the corner to find it empty as well. Listening intently for any sign of either his host or an intruder, Brine scanned the floor for a clue.

His heart stopped when he found blood.

A carving knife lay discarded by the lamp, blade dirtied with blood, but whose? He crouched down beside it, hesitated, then flipped the knife over with the point of his own. It was one of Steven's knives. Had he been the one to wield it?

Caden. Brine's gaze flashed to the bedroom door, which was askew. If someone had come for Steven, maybe the kid had managed to stay hidden - or maybe he was dead. Brine straightened, his footsteps cautious and silent as he stepped over to the bedroom door and nudged it open.

No sign of Caden. Only Steven's cell phone, laying smashed on the floor beside the bed.

"Caden?" He murmured. No answer. "Caden! D#####!" Brine swore, whirling around to return to the living room. He'd left them for a day, and someone had taken them. They had to have been watching, waiting for him to leave, and he'd made it so easy. They must have been the same ones that tried to take Steven before.

The van. Brine's chin jerked up, recalling the black, unmarked van that seemed in an awful hurry for 11 o' clock at night. They'd gone right past him, and he'd had no idea. With a low growl, Brine tried to recall the license plate - though that would do him little good without a way to track it. He didn't even know where to begin with this, but he refused to simply hand it over to law enforcement. Steven could be gone by the time they opened a case file.

Speaking of the police, were those sirens?

Brine jogged back over to the front door, and his jaw tightened as he spied the red and blue flashing lights coming off of the highway. He was sure they weren't here for him, maybe Steven or Caden had been able to call for help, but they would arrest him all the same if they got a good look. Brine clenched his teeth, looking back at the apartment. He needed more time, maybe the kidnappers had left some sort of clue?

Police cars screeched to a stop on the street outside. Time was up.

Stowing his knife in his pocket, Brine slipped out the front door and banked left, intending to vanish behind the building, but a flashlight beam landed on him before he could take two steps.

"Baymont City Police, STOP!"

Brine ran.

Chapter Text

“ 911, please state your emergency.”

“S-some men just came into my house and kidnapped my- my host.”

“Okay, can you tell me your address? Are you safe at the moment?”

“I- yeah, I think they left… s###. Um, the address is… 1780 Mince Hill drive, Apartment #8.”

“Alright. I’m dispatching law enforcement to your location now. Stay where you are. What’s your name?”

“It’s…”

“Sir? Are you still there?”

“Y-yeah, it’s, um, Caden Petrovsky.”

 “Can you describe these men? You said they were gone?”

“N-no, I… was hiding. I’m still hiding. I just heard voices. I haven’t heard anything in a while, so- oh s###.”

“Caden?”

“I think they’re, um, back. I’m gonna hang up.”

“The police are on their way, try to stay hidden.”

“I- y-yeah. Thanks.”

Caden grunted as he hit the backseat of the van, glaring daggers at his captor before the door slammed shut.

“Caden?” Steven’s voice was muffled by the bag over his head. Caden swallowed.

“Y-yeah.” He huddled up against the back seat, watching as the masked man who'd grabbed him climbed into the front.

“Shouldn't we blind him too?” One of them asked.

“Did you bring another bag?” The driver asked

“No.”

“Doesn't matter, there's no windows back there anyway.” The driver turned back to the road, and Caden shifted, trying to wiggle out of the zip tie that pinned his wrists behind his back. It was far too tight, and he soon gave up, scooting closer to Steven instead.

“You okay?” He whispered hoarsely.

“I'm fine.” Steven shifted. “You?”

“Y-yeah, fine.” He wasn't fine , but he was unhurt, which was close enough he supposed. Of course he was terrified, he was being kidnapped and taken to God knows where for being a witness to his host being captured, presumably for his blood?? Brine had said that he was valuable, right??

The van lurched forward, and Caden cast another glance up front. The three men were speaking in low tones, not paying attention to him. 

“C-can I at least put my seatbelt on?” He stammered. One of the masked men glanced back at him.

“I don't care.” Was his blunt response. So, Caden carefully twisted in his seat, looping his bound wrists underneath his feet and getting them in front of him. Once his hands were free, he fumbled for the seatbelt and pulled it across his lap. If his kidnappers noticed that he'd moved his hands they didn't say anything.

What would they do to him? Caden was trying to avoid considering the question, since… well, they didn't look like they intended to let him go, so maybe they'd kill him, or… ugh, he didn't want to think about it. He had a brief moment of bitterness where he wished he'd never met Steven or Brine, but rational thought took over a moment later, and he was forced to acknowledge that if he hadn't broken into Steven’s house he’d probably be dead from exposure or starvation by now.

He glanced up at the front again, then at Steven. His former host was sitting stiffly in the far right seat, his hands zip-tied behind his back and a bag over his head. Every time the van took a turn he swayed dangerously, and Caden gave his captors one more look before reaching up and pulling the bag off.

Steven inhaled in surprise as the bag was removed, blinking in the dim light for a moment before his gaze alighted on Caden. Presumably wary of their captors, he said nothing, just shook his head to try to get his hair out of his face. There was a lump on the back of his head, Caden noticed with a wince.

Neither of them spoke for a little while. With his face uncovered, Steven seemed to be able to balance a little bit better, which meant he wasn't bumping into Caden quite so often. Caden kept his eyes glued to the windshield, what little of it he could see. He doubted he would be able to do anything with this information even if he did somehow escape, but it made him feel better to be doing… some thing.

Something wiggled in his hoodie, and Caden froze.

He barely breathed as Cinderella popped out of his hoodie pocket, stretching and sniffing the air, before he snatched her up and bundled her to his chest. The kitten let out an indignant squeak, and Caden hushed her quietly, terrified gaze flashing back up to the front seat. His captors hadn't seemed to notice, but he couldn't hide her forever. What would they do to a cat??

Steven had already noticed, and he looked just as alarmed, mouth pressed into a thin line. Shakily, Caden set to petting his kitten, and she eventually stilled again against his chest. Her gentle purrs did little to calm him, as he couldn't stop glancing nervously up front to see if they'd noticed her yet. So far so good, but…

Steven nudged him with his shoulder, and Caden glanced up. 

“ It's going to be okay .” Steven mouthed at him. Caden pulled a face, but didn't argue. He couldn't imagine how this could possibly be okay, so this was probably just an empty attempt to be reassuring. At least he had someone to… care enough to try.

Caden focused on the road again, stroking Cinderella’s tiny head with a thumb. Their only chance to make it out of this was Brine… and for all they knew, he hadn't even realized that they were gone.

Brine swung his leg up onto the roof, dragging himself over the edge and slumping onto the concrete. He lay there sprawled for a moment, panting, unfocused gaze pointed up at the stars. He could barely see them due to the light pollution, but there was one really bright one… Oh wait, that was a helicopter.

Peeling himself up off the ground, Brine ducked behind a roof-mounted air conditioning unit, counting on the cover to shelter him until he’d gotten his bearings. They had obviously recognized him - half the policemen in the city (if not all) were out looking for him. Maybe he should rethink his serial killer persona, he considered as he peered out at the city. He needed to get out into the countryside, somewhere that police cars would struggle to chase him down. There was a massive forest to the east- could he get to it without them catching him?

He drummed his fingers against the concrete, deep in thought. He had never been in a situation quite like this one before. Usually he was quite adept at slipping under the radar, getting in and out of danger before the authorities could be called. Last time he had been caught it had been due to injury. Now, he was perfectly healthy, but it seemed he had lingered just too long at Steven’s apartment. 

Brine ground his teeth, casting a glance up at the helicopter again. He didn’t have time for this. Every minute he was running and hiding was another that Steven and Caden were being taken further and further away. Unfortunately, he doubted that the cops would be sympathetic if he tried to tell them - more than likely they would assume he was at fault.

“Hang in there, guys.” Brine muttered to himself. Then he ran towards the edge of the roof and vaulted over the edge.

The van shut off, and Steven lifted his head, blinking around blearily. It was light outside. How long had they been driving for-? It felt like hours, but maybe he had just drifted off.

The van door slid open, and Steven was momentarily blinded by fluorescent lights.

“Out.” A gruff voice ordered as he winced and lowered his face. Stiffly, he obeyed, stumbling out of the van and into… a warehouse? The massive room was mostly empty, though by the far wall there were some plywood dividers set up. There were maybe ten or twelve other people scattered around in small groups. So this wasn’t a huge operation.

“You too, kid.” The man went on, and Steven turned around as Caden climbed out of the van. Cinderella was concealed in his hoodie again, and he had his arms pressed to his chest to try and conceal her. Steven could feel the anxiety radiating off of him, he seemed more worried about the cat than he had been himself.

The man pulled off his ski mask, and Steven got his first good look at him - dark hair, stubbly beard, green eyes. Unfortunately, he assumed that meant they didn’t plan on letting him go… ever. Same for Caden, who was nervously glancing around the warehouse.

“Who’s that?” A new voice called over, and Steven followed the sound to a tall man with light hair who was on his way over.

“Kid was in the apartment too.” Their captor nodded to Caden. “He was callin’ the cops, so we picked him up.” The newcomer folded his arms, scrutinizing him.

“Could’ve just left him.” He said at last. “But we can probably find a use for him. C’mon.” The man beckoned for them to follow, and Steven obeyed as he began to walk away.

He and Caden were led across the warehouse towards the plywood walls, flanked by the now-unmasked man from the van. They had only made it about halfway across, however, when a shout interrupted them.

“ Hey! ” A dark-haired man stormed across the warehouse towards them, and Caden went deathly still. “What’s- where on earth’d you find him??”

“You know him?” The blond man nodded to Caden.

“ That- “ The dark-haired man glared daggers at Caden. “-is my son. Ran away weeks ago.” Steven’s heart picked up speed as Caden was given a few more curious looks.

“I didn’t know you had a kid.” The blond man said. Caden’s dad pushed closer, reaching out for him, only for the man from the truck to shove him away.

“He’s not your problem, Petrovsky.” The man blocked his path. “Get back to your work.”

“That’s my son!! ”

“Don’t care.” Was his blunt response. “Go.” Caden’s dad glowered, but turned, reluctantly slinking away. Caden was still frozen, and Steven wished he could at least wrap an arm around him. “Go on,” the man urged them, unfazed by Caden’s father’s appearance. Numbly, Steven obeyed.

They were herded into one of the makeshift plywood ‘rooms’, which contained what looked like a hastily-cobbled together donation chair. For now, though, Steven and Caden were just instructed to sit against the wall and stay quiet. Steven wondered idly if they intended to keep him long-term, or drain as much of his blood as they could get and move on.

“Stay and watch them,” The blond man told the one from the van. The latter nodded, and he took up a position by the ‘doorway’ as the blond man- who seemed to be in charge - walked away. 

Steven shifted into a more comfortable position, which was hard with his arms bound behind his back, their guard wasn’t actively threatening them, but the gun in full view on his belt was threatening enough. All Steven could do was try to remind himself that Brine was very good at his job, he would find them.

Caden jolted suddenly, and Steven’s eyes flickered over as Cinderella popped out of his shirt with an indignant meow. This immediately caught the guard’s attention, and his narrowed gaze fell on the cat even as Caden tried to hide her.

“What’s that?”

“‘S m-my cat,” Caden stammered, his voice halting. “She was… sleeping i-in my shirt.” Quite bored with this, Cinderella attempted to wiggle free of Caden’s grip, eager to explore her new surroundings. “C-Cinderella, no-“

“‘S alright.” The guard cut him off. “I won’t let her wander off.” He sank down to the floor, sitting cross-legged in the doorway to act as a human barrier. Caden hesitated, then, given no other option, he finally obeyed.

True to his word, all the guard did was redirect Cinderella when she tried to scamper out of the room. The anxious tension eventually faded from Caden’s hunched shoulders, and he ended up slumped against Steven as he watched his cat run around with half-lidded eyes. Neither of them had slept in nearly a full day, Steven noted. 

Eventually, Caden drifted off, and Cinderella wore herself out and sprawled out to sleep in a corner. The guard fetched her and set her back in Caden’s lap, where she curled up and zonked out for the foreseeable future. Steven was uncomfortable, but he was also exhausted, and after about an hour he managed to nod off against the plywood wall.

Chapter Text

Run.

Brine remained focused on his breaths as he sprinted through the trees, ignoring the burning in his limbs that begged him to stop and rest. He didn’t have the luxury of that right now - not with helicopters combing the forest for him, and half the police force on the ground. And- oh, that was barking, wasn’t it? Now they had dogs.

They had never gotten this close before. No, well, that wasn’t true- he’d been arrested before. But that was very different. That time, he’d been shot, he was bleeding, he really didn’t have much of a say in the matter when he was handcuffed and tossed in an ambulance. This time, he was unhurt, but being the subject of a manhunt was interrupting him from far more important matters. Matters such as Steven and Caden were gone, and nobody was looking for them.

Brine stumbled over a root, shouting as pain shot up his leg. Only a twisted ankle, but it would make running that much more difficult. He didn’t even know where he was running to, just… away. He would endanger his contacts if he tried to go to them, and he didn’t have any hideout of his own. The only civilization in this direction was a small town several miles away, and if they knew his trajectory they had probably already alerted the local authorities. He could hardly hide and try to slip through them with the dogs on his trail, but there was nowhere for him to go. Would he be able to get help for Steven and Caden if he turned himself in?

A solid wall appeared in front of him, and Brine staggered to a halt, throwing out a hand to keep from slamming into the cliffside. Seemed he didn’t have much of a choice.

Brine turned around, wincing and lifting a hand to shield his face as a searchlight from one of the circling helicopters landed on him. With a sigh, he lifted his hands, placing them atop his head as his pursuers closed in.

“Why’d he run, then?”

“I- how should I know?? He’s a d### teenager-”

“ Why’d he run , Petrovsky?”

“I don’t know!! And how’d he end up with #### Stonewall??”

The sound of his name roused Steven from his doze, and he lifted his chin slightly as he tuned in to the conversation going on before him. His guard was standing in the ‘doorway’ of their makeshift prison cell, facing the outside with his arms folded. Steven leaned slightly to his left, and was able to catch a glimpse of Caden’s dad standing outside. Ah. Looking down, Steven found Caden still asleep, slumped against the plywood wall with a little gray tail sticking out of his hoodie pocket.

“You’re at work,” The guard said gruffly. “Focus on your job.”

“Can I have my son back after you’re finished here??” Caden’s dad asked irritably. “I didn’t want him involved in all of this.” The guard grunted noncommittally.

“We’ll see.”

“Fine.” Caden’s father turned and walked away, throwing up his hands in exasperation as he did so. Only once he had retreated a good distance away did the guard turn, and in doing so notice Steven’s eyes on him.

“Morning,” the man greeted him, his voice as flat as when he had been talking to Caden’s father. Steven just shifted, sitting up straight and lifting his hands above his head to stretch.

“Mm.” A spike of pain shot up through his neck, and he winced, momentarily jealous of Caden’s ability to sleep hunched up in a ball. “How long’d I sleep?” The guard checked his phone.

“About three hours.” The man was standing now, likely having gotten up in order to scare off Caden’s father. Even though they’d kidnapped him and Caden, Steven maintained a grudging respect for the man for keeping Caden out of his father’s hands… at least, so far.

“Right.” Steven hesitated. “How much time do I have?” The guard turned, meeting his eyes for a long moment.

“Not sure,” he finally said. “Up to the boss.”

“Oh.” Steven broke eye contact. “Alright.”

He felt eerily calm considering the circumstances. His head still throbbed from where he’d been bashed, so maybe his calm was just from untreated concussion. Or maybe it was Caden’s presence, the kid was obviously far more freaked out than Steven was… and he couldn’t blame him for that. If nothing else, at least Steven knew what they wanted with him. Caden had to wonder whether he would be handed back over to his abusive father or not - and, if not, what then?

Movement caught his eye, and Steven looked up to see the guard moving aside to admit a young man into his makeshift prison.

The man was unfamiliar, not one of the men who had kidnapped him or anyone he had seen thus far. He had long, icy blond hair that was pinned up in a haphazard bun, and was dressed in clean, blue scrubs. Without acknowledging him or Caden, the young man made his way over to the donation chair and began to wipe it down with disinfectant.

Steven watched him quietly as he worked, gripping his own arm instinctively where he had been pricked hundreds of times before. It seemed like his time was up, though he still didn’t have an answer as to whether they intended to keep him around long-term or not. It would probably be more financially responsible for them to keep him prisoner and continue to harvest his blood over a long period of time, but they would have to feed him… and they ran the risk of being caught.

Steven shifted uncomfortably, trying to banish his anxious thoughts from his mind. Who was this young man, anyway? He was dressed like a nurse, but surely any registered nurse wouldn’t be involved in… something like this.

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice cracking a bit, and he cleared his throat. The young man looked up from his work, his face passive other than narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Who are you?” Steven tried. “You’re their doctor?” The man averted his gaze, scoffing quietly.

“I guess, you could call me that.” He yanked a strap loose, fumbling with the latch. “Don’t get paid nearly as much though.” Steven cocked his head.

“Crime doesn’t pay, huh?”

“Oh, don’t get smart with me,” the young man snapped. “Not everyone can be born with gold running through their veins, you know.” Obviously, Steven thought to himself, since if everyone had his blood type then it would have no value, but he said nothing to avoid provoking him further. “Not everyone has a choice,” the young man went on. “I have to eat too.” Steven just shrugged.

“Sure,” he said. “But you’re ruining other people’s lives in the process.”

“Why should I care?” the young man muttered. “They’ve never done anything for me.” Steven’s lips thinned.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“None of your business,” the guard cut in.

“Why not?” Steven eyed him, feeling uncharacteristically brave considering the gun strapped to his guard’s waist. “I’m not getting out of here alive, am I?” The guard frowned at him, but said nothing more.

“It’s Elias,” the young man muttered.

“Elias.” The name sounded oddly familiar, but Steven couldn’t put his finger on why. “I’m guessing you know my name.”

“Yeah.” Elias turned to give him a flat look, resting a hand on the tattered donation chair. “Steven Stonewall, millionaire. Lives in a crappy one-bedroom apartment. Doesn’t drive, doesn’t cook, spends all his time watching TV and feeling sorry for himself while never having worked a day in his life.” Steven blinked at him, indignation shooting through him.

“I don’t drive or cook because I was never taught,” he countered, “And I live in a cheap apartment because I don’t want to flaunt my wealth.”

“Still, you’re a lucky b###### who got everything handed to him on a platter.” Elias’ voice was derisive. “So if you’re trying to make me feel sorry for you, it’s not going to work. Now get up.” He gestured curtly. “It’s time for your first draw.” Steven’s jaw tightened, but he stood, not wanting to give the guard any reason to motivate him.

“I’ll need something to eat,” he mutters. “And water. If you plan on keeping me alive, at least.”

“Yeah, I know.” Elias beckoned him over to the chair, strapping his wrists down as soon as he’d settled into his seat. “And you’ll get some. Just sit tight and don’t struggle, we’re going to be here a while.”

Brine ground his teeth together, his jaw beginning to ache from the pressure as he clenched his hands into fists. “I’ve told you already,” he snapped. “I had nothing to do with Stonewall’s disappearance. I was there to check on him.”

“For what purpose?” The officer countered, and Brine bared his teeth. Unfortunately, his intimidating appearance didn’t seem to have any effect on the man sent to interrogate him.

“Why do you think??” He bit out. “His blood is the only reason I’m still alive right now, I need to make sure he stays in good health should you and your boys get all trigger-happy again.”

It was nearly morning now, and Brine hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep as he was tased, cuffed, and dragged back to Baymont to be processed. No sooner had he been assigned a cell, however, than he’d been pulled out and brought to an interrogation room for questioning. Unfortunately for him, they were long convinced that he had something to do with Steven’s kidnapping, and he was having quite the time convincing them otherwise.

“If you-“ The officer started, only to be interrupted by the door opening behind him.

“Mocas, come out here for a moment.” A second officer beckoned him out of the room, and Brine picked at the cuffs on his wrists as the men conversed in low tones. Every moment they were sitting here questioning him was another moment that Steven and Caden were in danger.

After a minute of fidgeting, the officer returned, now bearing a file folder. “This van,” he began as he sat down again. “Was caught on a traffic camera leaving the neighborhood only a few minutes before we found you.” He set down a printed photograph in front of him, and Brine peered down at it, immediately recognizing the vehicle.

“Yes, I saw that as I was getting there,” he confirmed. “Was in a real hurry, but I didn’t realize anything was wrong until I saw Stonewall’s door wide open. I was about to go after it when I was so rudely interrupted.”

“Did you see anything else?” The officer pressed. Brine glanced up at him.

“Other than the bloody knife and smashed cell phone? Have you gotten DNA off that knife yet, by the way?”

“We sent it in.” The officer’s face is a mask. “It’s not Stonewall’s, not his blood type.” Brine let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Well, good on the man for defending himself,” he muttered, directly before a wave of panic hit him at the thought of Caden being wounded. He hadn’t seen any blood on the floor, though, so whoever had gotten stuck must have been swiftly treated.

“Nothing else you can tell us?” The officer asked. Brine splayed his cuffed hands in a helpless gesture.

“It isn’t like you all gave me much of a chance.”

“Alright.” The officer stood, pushing in his chair. “Sit tight, someone will be around to collect you in a moment.” Brine doubted that anyone would be letting him get back to his cell for at least an hour, but he said nothing as the officer turned to leave.

“Oh,” he spoke up suddenly. “You didn’t happen to come across a cat, did you?” The officer paused.

“A cat?”

“A kitten.” Brine cupped his hands in illustration. “Small and gray.” The officer stared at him for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

“No, no sign of a cat.”

“Mmh.” Brine frowned, hoping the little thing hadn’t run out the open door into traffic. “Well, thanks anyway.” The officer gave him a bemused look, then left the room and locked him inside, leaving him to stare into the one-way mirror at his own reflection.

Chapter Text

Caden was awake by the time Steven’s donation was finished, and so was Cinderella, who was screaming her little head off where she pranced around Caden’s legs.

“Shhh…” Caden was trying to hush her as Steven was released from his restraints, and he gripped the arms of his chair in an effort to quell the dizziness in his head. Steven had donated blood enough times to know when they were taking too much, and his captors had definitely gone too far. There wasn’t much he could do about it, though, so he just swung his legs over the side and carefully lowered himself down to the floor.

“Here.” Elias paused in his task of packing away the collected blood to offer him a water bottle, which Steven accepted without a word. He fumbled the cap open and took a small sip, tilting his head back to rest against the plywood wall. Between their rough night and him losing at least a pint and a half of blood, he was absolutely exhausted.

When he looked down again he found Caden gazing at him with a fearful look on his face, and he gave the kid what he hoped would be an encouraging smile.

“I’m fine,” he told him. “Just tired.” Caden didn’t look convinced, but he lowered his gaze to the irate kitten at his feet.

“She’s hungry,” he mumbled.

“Her and me both.” Steven scooted closer, ignoring Elias as the blond left the room with his prize. “Hey, uh… if I pass out, don’t worry about it, okay?” As soon as the words had left his mouth he knew that they were a mistake, Caden’s eyes shooting wide open in alarm, and he hurried to elaborate. “I’m serious, it’s happened before,” he insisted. “The first night that Brine turned up at my place, I passed out solely from the shock of it.” Caden snorted, his lips twitching into a hesitant smile.

“O-oh.” He hesitated, looking down as Cinderella let out an especially irate screech. “So he was… uninvited too?”

“Yeah.” Steven gave him a wry smile. “I have the worst luck with getting my house broken into, huh?”

“Yeah…” Caden sobered again, rubbing Cinderella’s tiny head, and Steven leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes. Surely Brine knew they were missing by now… but, would he be able to find them?

Footsteps caught his attention, and he opened his eyes again as one of the more nondescript of their captors approached the room. He was holding a bag of fast food in one hand, and his other arm was in a sling. Oh, maybe he was the one that he had stabbed.

“Here.” The guard accepted the bag, then turned around to offer it to them. Caden scrambled up to grab it.

“Here,” he said breathlessly as he sank down beside Steven again. “Take whatever you need.”

“It’s for both of us,” Steven pointed out.

“ Yeah, but you just lost a lot of blood, and I’m used to not eating anyway,” Caden insisted. Steven could see their guard eying him at that.

“Still.” Steven reached into the bag, finding a container of chicken nuggets and holding them out. “Hey, Cindy.” He held one of them in front of the screaming kitten’s nose, and she ceased her cries for long enough to sniff it intently before sinking her little teeth into it.

He split the contents of the bag between them as evenly as he could, setting aside a couple more nuggets for Cinderella as he did so, before digging in. He was pretty sure that chicken nuggets weren’t supposed to be a part of a kitten’s diet, but it was better than her starving.

As they ate, Steven wondered again what would become of Caden. When they had first arrived, the man who seemed to be in charge had said that they could ‘probably find a use for him’… which didn’t fill Steven with confidence. And, of course, his abusive father was here too, and Steven knew that Caden’s treatment would only get exponentially worse after he had run away. They couldn’t release him, either- he’d seen their faces, heard their names, and would be able to easily identify his father. Whatever business they were in, it seemed like Caden was bound to become a victim.

Once they had finished eating, Steven collected their trash into the fast food bag and rolled it up before setting it aside. It wasn’t the healthiest of meals, but it was sustenance. Actually, he reminisced ruefully, this kind of thing had made up the majority of his diet before Brine had come in and insisted on being his personal chef. In a matter of weeks, having access to good, nutritious food had changed the way he had viewed the way he fueled his body in a drastic manner.

A lot about his self image had changed since Brine came into his life. Only a few months ago, he would have gone to the donation center once every four to six weeks to give up a pint or more of his blood, and spend the rest of his time until his next donation trying to recover from the loss. Brine had scolded him that he was slowly killing himself, and by this time Steven was inclined to agree. His quality of life had increased significantly since Brine had first broken into his apartment, both on a physical and social level. It was a little embarrassing to admit it, but Brine and Caden were really his only friends. Maybe he should get out more.

Unfortunately, expanding his social circle further was going to have to wait until he got out of here. If he got out. Steven shifted and leaned back against the wall again, shutting his eyes and trying to rest. He had a hunch that his captors would not be waiting the mandated eight weeks in order to draw more of his valuable blood.

There was a click from the door, and Brine lifted his head as a meal tray was slid through a slot onto the floor.

He dragged himself up from where he had been reclining on his cot, making his way over to scrutinize the offerings. Prison fare was not exactly to his tastes, but it seemed he would have to endure it for now. At least he could enjoy getting his meals delivered to his cell where he could enjoy them in private, rather than having to share with the other inmates. One of the perks of being a psychotic killer.

He had slept uneasily for several hours on the hard cot that he had been assigned, growing increasingly frustrated the longer he spent without any news of Steven and Caden. He had no idea if the police had made any progress, as, unfortunately, he was not considered a part of their investigation. He wasn’t even sure they were convinced that it wasn’t his fault yet.

Brine scooped up the tray and brought it back to his cot, sinking down on the hard mattress and beginning to eat. He didn’t have much of an appetite, but he knew how important it was for one to keep up their strength.

He ate slowly, musing over his knowledge of the situation and Steven’s kidnapping. The officers hadn’t mentioned Caden at all… actually, they might not know he existed. Steven’s name was the only one on the lease, after all. Maybe he should tell them. But, then again, then he’d have to explain why a runaway teenager was staying with the well-respected blood donor that he was claiming to be keeping tabs on in case he needed to use him as his personal blood bank.

He could only assume that the same people who had attacked Steven that one night were to blame for his disappearance, and had quite possibly called the cops in order to try and take him out at the same time. It wasn’t as if Brine had been particularly subtle. That still gave him very little information… those two hadn’t left a calling card either. And, to be honest, there could be more than one criminal group making a target of his rich, albeit rather incompetent roommate.

Herobrine had just placed his last bite of overcooked broccoli into his mouth when the door clicked again, and he looked up as it slid open and stale, fluorescent light poured into his cell.

“Brine.” A bulky officer stepped into the doorway, staring him down. “Come on out.” Warily, Brine obeyed, setting aside his tray.

“We doing another round of questioning?” he muttered as he stepped into the light.

“Not this time.” The officer lifted a pair of handcuffs, expectant, and Brine grudgingly offered his wrists. He wasn’t sure that he liked where this was going.

The door to his cell was shut and locked behind him, and the officer began to lead him down the hall… in the opposite direction of where he had come. This police station wasn’t the largest he had been in, but it wasn’t the smallest either. It also wasn’t nearly as well defended as the prison that he had spent some time in… meaning that, if he played his cards right, maybe now would be a good time to make his escape.

As it turns out, he never got the chance. As they reached a dimly lit bend, the officier turned around to look him in the eye.

“I want you to hit me,” he said. Brine blinked owlishly at him.

“What?”

“Hit me,” the officier repeated. “I can’t exactly just let you go, can I?” Brine tilted his head.

“Well, no, but I’ve never had a cop tell me to hit him before. Elaborate.”

The officer gave a heavy sigh. “There’s a young lady, a teller at Whitmore bank.” Immediately, Brine knew what he was getting at. “She was taken hostage recently during a robbery, and held by the thieves for almost a day before she turned up, unharmed, at a fire station.”

“She your daughter?” Brine muttered.

“My niece.” The officer’s face was grave. “She told me what you did.” Brine frowned, a little irked that he had been outed as a softie, but under the circumstances maybe it was acceptable.

“Yeah, well…” Brine shrugged. “My reputation precedes me. Turns out I’m not the psychotic killer that everyone thinks I am.”

“I can tell. And…” The officer shifted his weight, digging the keys to the handcuffs out of his pocket. “…it isn’t as if we’re making much progress here on our own. Go find your friends.”

“So, what?” Herobrine held up his hands as the officer unlocked his cuffs. “Because I saved one kid’s life, you trust that I’m not going to go on a murder spree?” The officer gave him a little smirk as the cuffs came free.

“I’ve done a little reading on you since we locked you up. Turns out there’s a lot more of a connection between your verified kills than we first assumed. Now-“ The officer took a step back. “Hit me. And make it good, if you would.” Brine flexed his wrists, taking a step back, and he felt a momentary stab of guilt at the thought of punching out an innocent man.

Then again, he would probably never get another chance to punch a cop and get off scot-free.

Fifteen minutes later, Brine was using the officer’s keys to get out through the back door of the building, slipping out into an alley and vanishing into the night.