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Chapter Text

"But Sheriff!-"

"Enough, Staci!" Sheriff Earl Whitehorse slams a hand down on his desk, making Hudson and Pratt flinch.

"I've said all I can to dissuade the Marshal into taking a different road. The fame of getting the most wanted man in the county into his custody has already gotten to him." he explains to the nervous deputies, rubbing his brow in frustration. "The marshal has jurisdiction at the moment, the only thing I can do is try to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"This plan is stupid." Staci whispers to Hudson, earning a glare from the Sheriff. "I would appreciate it if my two most trusted officers would shut up and listen to my orders for once." Whitehorse sighs and picks up his hat, adjusting it onto his head. "Let's go. Burke might explode if we make him wait any longer.

"Yes, sir." They say in unison.

Pratt chews his lip as they head up to the helicopter pad. This is bad, the cult is at it's worst and we want to go in with a few bodies and a piece of paper to try and arrest it's leader. He's seen the corpses of men and women who were lost to the bliss, the police force hoping to gain any information from the bodies. The marshal could be sending them to their deaths, he is so excited for a promotion that he's putting everyone else in danger. The three of them are the only true officers left in Hope county, the rest of them either left to join the cult or have disappeared. He's seen the crime board of all the terrible acts the cult has done, how they're 'saving' people and claiming the end is nigh. Wasn't that supposed to happen in 2012? 

Hudson startles him from his thoughts with a reassuring look and a clap on the back. "You good?" she asks.

Staci just nods and keeps taking the stairs just one at a time, stalling as much as he can. He sighs as the door to the roof opens, Whitehorse holds it open for them. His eyes land on Burke who is pacing back and forth muttering under his breath, obvious impatience on his face. Staci can't help but glare at him until the Marshal's eyes find his.

"Finally!" Burke yells to them, looking at his watch. "We should have been in the air 20 minutes ago!"

The female body next to him jumps a little at the sudden noise. What was her name again? Everyone was just calling her 'Rook' anyways. She had a fresh face, a face that hadn't seen a lot of action. She looks determined though, excited to be out of the office.

"Keep your vest on Marshal." the sheriff waves him away. "We're here now, lets get this done." he brushes past the bundle of nerves, that is Marshal Burke, and gets into the chopper with him close behind.

Hudson is next to join them, shoulders tense as she gets into one of the cockpit seats. Pratt has one more look back at the door they came through, wishing he could have just stayed and helped Nancy with the scanners.

"Pratt!" Hudson yells at him. "Let's go!" turning on the engines.

He swallows the anxiety that begins to choke him and jogs over to the helicopter, getting in and flipping the necessary switches to get them in the air. He takes one last look at the door before he lifts them into the sky, hoping that it won't be the last time he'll see that building again. His home.

They land and the're eyes on them instantly. Pratt looks out to the yard, it seems a little too empty from the stories he's been told and the reports he's read. Worn down buildings cover most of the camp, with the church closer to the water past the famous white gate. He nods to the sheriff when he tells him to keep the engine running and an eye out, they'll be back in a bit. They sure as hell better be. He watches them leave and head to the church, they disappear into the camp as peggies start following them from behind. His heart rate quickens with every minute they're gone, his hand gripping at the stick of the chopper. He let's his eyes dart between the peggies that had started gathering outside, some staring at him through the window and leaning into one another, speaking about god knows what. Probably guessing about what cleansing ritual will be used on the deputies, how to make them come to terms with their sins and carve it out of them.

Staci jolts in his seat as he starts to hear yelling coming towards him. He can see the marshal shouting at cultists to get back, his hand on his gun. Fuck. The sheriff is trying to calm him down while watching their backs. Hudson's trying to do the same as she clutches her gun, ready to use it if needed. Pratt's eyes finally land on The Father himself, Joseph Seed, calm and collected. Fucking fuck. Rook is leading him from behind, attempting to put on a brave face but looks more terrified than the rest of them.

"Come on!" Pratt shouts at them and starts up the rotors.

When he looks back the marshal has his weapon out and flailing. Dear god, no. He fires into the air and all hell breaks loose and it becomes a blur.

Everyone throws themselves into the chopper, Joseph Seed being put behind Staci and Sheriff Whitehorse climbing in next to him. Another blink and they are in the air, cultist swarming them and holding onto the doors.

Amazing grace....

Oh fuck!

Go! Go! Go!

Get them the fuck off!

How sweet the sound....

Shut the fuck up!

That saved a wretch... Like me...

He's being dragged. The smell of fire and smoke burns his throat and lungs. His eyes are heavy but he makes himself open them only to see the sky engulfed in smoke and ash, only the brightest stars shining through. His ears are ringing muffled shouts seemingly coming from all directions. A face cuts into his line of vision, bringing him back down to hell on earth. He tries to shift a bit only to find that hands are holding him down, he grunts a little when the grip tightens. The cultist looming over him comes closer, inspecting him and ripping off Pratt's name tag and badge off his chest. Pratt can't help but stare longingly at them. His whole life just taken from him and being in the held in the hands of a murderer, a thief, a peggie. 

"Staci Pratt." the peggies snorts and looks him over in disgust, nodding to whoever is holding him.

He's being dragged again, past the worn down buildings, through the white gate. He thinks he can hear dogs barking and Hudson shouting, her muffled words cut off by what Pratt assumes is a butt to the head with a gun. He is finally let go to fall onto his back, he winces as the wind is knocked out of him. He's roughly rolled and pulled to his knees, hands twisted behind his back and tied. He gulps air to regain his breath back, he see's Hudson's limp body thrown next to him, her hair covering her face as they tie her hands behind her. The sheriff is next, at least he's conscious. Conscious and yelling Staci's name as he is forced to the ground and tied. Pratt looks at him, numb and unresponsive, the ringing in his ears overwhelming everything else. The sheriff is rewarded with a shove and a few insults. Pratt's eyes drop back down to look at the dirt underneath him, finally regaining some of his breath. This is a dream, right? Just a bad dream. Pretty soon he'll be waking up in the station, snuggled in his cot, opening his eyes to the bright sun shining through his window. He would head to the coffee maker first, maybe sit out in the cold morning Montana air, letting the hot cup warm him up.

"And you," Pratt's head is jerked up by his chin to face the worst part of this nightmare, Joseph Seed. The ringing is gone, Josephs voice replacing it, making his body shake uncontrollably. "you are not here by chance." Joseph continues and shifts, placing his hand on Staci's shoulder.

"You were chosen, you were all brought here by god." blue eyes start to pierce through Pratt's, an unyielding wave emotions portrayed through them.

Joseph squeezes his shoulder and lets him go, letting Pratt finally breathe again, not remembering when he stopped. "You are all lost and broken, but never beyond saving, Not when you have come to us in such a way." He walks over to Hudson who has finally come to and has caught her second wind. She struggles at the ties, they've gagged her to try to stop her from interrupting, it sort of worked. "We have tools to help you." He gives her a small smile. "You will help our land and it's people prepare for the end, as well as the new beginning. We will bring you to your true potential, and the gates will forever be open to you."

"We got one!" A voice breaks through his speech.

"Let me go! I am a United States Federal Marshal! You have no right to detain me!" the voice is panicked but it's obviously Burke.

Pratt bites his lip, that's right. He doesn't see the Rook here, had she escaped? Perished in the fire?

"We are still looking for the last officer, might be looking for a body." one of the peggies states to Joseph. "I'm sorry, Father."

Pratt's heart soars with hope for a second.

He smiles. "Don't worry, she will come in her own time, we just have to guide her in the right direction."

"You!" Burke cuts through, wrestling with the two peggies holding him. "Tell your men to release me! You're all under arrest!"

There is a soft laugh behind them all, followed by light footsteps, everyone stops to look in the direction of the phantom voice. A flash of white and lace passes Staci and glides towards the marshal, Faith Seed. Pratt admits that she looks angelic, her brown hair flowing over her shoulders as she walks. She stops beside Joseph, waiting. "Yes, Faith." the Father speaks softly, offering her room to approach Burke.

She smiles and steps towards the still struggling man. "You have to give us a chance before you cast judgment." she laughs. "It's only fair."

Faith motions to one of the peggies who hands her a canteen. Bliss pours from the top as she opens it and blows it into the Marshals face. "Welcome to the Bliss." she lets out another ghostly giggle.

Burke calms down within a matter of seconds, his body going lax into the peggies arms. "What is this.." he slurs. Faith leans in to whisper in his ear and he's suddenly collapsed down on his knees, hunched over. Pratt's jaw hangs open, he's never seen the Bliss effects in person. It's interesting, yet utterly horrifying. The little hope he had, shatters into a million pieces.

"Joseph, will you let me help the Sheriff as well?" Faith asks almost curtsying to him.

"I think that would be just fine, Faith." He smiles at her eagerness. "I would like to think Whitehorse would feel honored to learn from you."

Staci hears the Sheriff shift and feels his eyes on him. He has nothing to give his leader, no comfort to offer, he wishes he could, but he instead lets his head hang back down. Waiting for his turn.

"John." Joseph suddenly calls for his younger brother who quickly strides over, meeting him in front of deputy Hudson. John looks too comfortable in this environment, he looks at the writhing deputy with pure glee, probably wondering how much she will be able to take until she breaks. "I leave this one to you." He places a hand on his brother's shoulder. "She will make it to the gates, or they will be shut to you." he warns. John nods through all of the conditions, almost licking his lips, ready to inspect the gift he had just been given. He finally leans down, and pets her hair almost gently, jumping back quickly and laughing when she squirms at his hand and tries to kick out at him.

"Jacob." Joseph ignores the current scene and beckons to the eldest brother. There's a grunt and heavy footsteps coming around Staci, stopping in front of him.

Oh God.

He's the last one left. He's being given to Jacob, the Culler, a monster. Pratt can't help but sneak a glance at him, he had seen the pictures and sat through the stories. Heavy boots, camo, dog tags, burn scars on his exposed skin. Jacob is looking back down at him, assessing, checking off a mental list. He looks...  Disappointed. The look is still terrifying and doesn't stop Staci's panic.

"Take him, Jacob, do what you do best, but-" Joseph puts a hand on Pratt's cheek, warm and gentle, making him shudder. " He makes it to the gate, they all do."

There is another grunt. "Yes, Joseph." Jacob clarifies.

Pratt sinks. Tears are threatening to spill from his eyes as the two brothers look down on him. A bad dream, that's all this is. Just a bad dream.



Please.

Chapter Text

Jacob Seeds hand is hot on the back of Staci's neck as they walk back through the white gate. He lifts his head, spotting several peggies at the road that are loading up Eden's Gates trucks with supplies and bliss drums to bring back to the mountains. There are judges being loaded too, eyes large and bloodshot, skin broken and infected, they chomp at the wire of the cages. One is loose, sitting by the lead truck, it waits for instruction and watches as the cultists work. She looks the healthiest out of all of them, it has a bright white coat with a red cross painted between her ears

Pure panic sets into Pratt again, the hand on him starting to make his body burn. His eyes start darting around, not knowing what he's searching for but when he does find it he bolts for it. Jacob lets him go, a small smirk on his face as he watches Pratt make it for the treeline across the road, wrists still tied behind him.

He makes it, launching himself into the brush, and sprinting into the darkness, he dodges through branches as they come into his sight. It starts to get darker the deeper he runs into the forest, he hears howls and hollers from behind him which spur him on even more. If he goes back now, they'll kill him, he knows that for sure. Jacob isn't the forgiving type, he might feed him to his judges if he's caught. The thought distracts him and he trips, losing his footing, he hits the ground face first. "Shit!" he yells, arms not being able to cushion his fall.

Pratt feels a warm sensation rolling down his cheek as he comes to, rolling on his side he winces and tries to blink they dizziness away. He stops when he can hear growling coming behind him. His head slowly turns revealing the judge that was beside the truck, saliva dripping from its jowls, eyes burrowing into his own. She finally takes a step back and lets out an ear piercing howl, Staci shuffles back, closing his eyes the sound.

"Good girl." Jacob emerges for the brush behind the judge, patting its side, blinding Pratt with his flashlight.

Jacob looms over him, looking him over, taking in the cuts on his legs from running through the brush. He reaches out to Pratt's head, touching the fresh cut, making the deputy flinch at the stinging pain that flares up. Jacob brings his hand back, looking at Pratt's blood on his thumb thoughtfully.

"Well, at least you gave my judge a good stretch, hm?" a dark chuckle coming from his gut, offering his hand to the wolf. It laps at the blood eagerly, not wanting to miss anything.

Pratt watches in complete horror as it cleans Jacobs' hand, he has to look away, anywhere but in front of him.

"You're weak, but even the weak can have a purpose, we will put you to good use, won't we." it wasn't a question. "You will not interrupt this mission, do you understand?" still not a question but something that needs to be answered by the tone in Jacobs' voice.

Pratt swallows and slowly nods, cause god, he'll do anything to keep the rest of his blood in his body. "Look at me, Pratt." He does, wet eyes meeting Jacobs blue ones.

"Do you understand?"

Pratt lets out a shaky breath, tears finally spilling over. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Jacob nods, roughly grabbing one of Staci's arms. "Get up."

The wolf trots along behind them, proud of her catch.

The peggies taunt and laugh at him as Jacob drags him to the lead truck, throwing him in and loading his judge into the back. Pratt tries to ignore the jabs, focusing instead on getting his sobs under control. He sits up, and clears his throat as Jacob opens the door, getting into the driver's seat and starting the truck. Jacob signals the go-ahead to the trucks behind them before putting their vehicle in gear and driving forward, the judge letting out a smaller howl than before, excited for the trip ahead. Staci makes himself small as they start their journey north, he looks out the open window, watching the buildings disappear and turning into barbed wire fencing. He can still see the smoke from the crash site, as they turn onto the main road, making this decision very much final.

The air grows colder as they head farther north, Jacob doesn't bother to roll the windows up, most likely used to the cold mountain nights. Staci sneaks a glance over to him, the dashboard illuminating his face enough to spot the scars on his face, partially covered by a thick beard. He's trimmed, the sides of his head shaved, leaving long red hair on the top. His breath becomes visible in the cold, he's steady, the strict regiment of the army has stuck with him for sure.

Pratt quickly looks away as Jacob takes a sharp turn onto a dirt road, his judge hopping off the back and running beside the vehicle, knowing she's close to home. They slow down as a gate comes into view, two guards open it when they recognize Jacob in the drivers seat, they reach for their radios to give everyone else a heads up to Jacobs presence. The veterans hospital isn't what he thought it would be, It looks well kept, the driveway clean from any bodies that Pratt thought it would be riddled with, there is even a large porcelain fountain in the center of the driveway. Oil drums are placed about the grounds, providing light and heat to those on guard duty, floodlights brightening up the rest of the dark corners. Pratt's eyes finally land on the cages at the very front of the yard, there's a sudden pit in his stomach as he recognizes Whitetail Militia uniforms on the bodies inside. None of them bother looking up to the trucks pulling up or to the loud noises of peggies greeting each other. Jacob turns off the truck and gets out, heading to a group of men, starting to give them instructions on unloading. The judge never leaves Staci, guarding him for her master. Staci doesn't bother with it. Instead, he watches Jacob through the mirrors of the truck, looking like he's being caught up to speed on recent events. Jacob finally turns back to the truck coming up to the passenger side, Pratt shifts nervously in his seat trying to find some relief on his wrists as he watches him. He lets Jacob manhandle him out of the cab and drag him over in the direction of the cages. The smells overpower him, his nose fills with the scent of death and filth. Pratt slips several times as the dirt pathway turns into mud, Jacob just huffs, yanking the deputies arm up, and adjusting his grip. They stop in front of an occupied cage, the body stirs as Jacob unlocks it. The Militia symbol comes into view as the man moves, groaning as he attempts to drag himself towards them.

"Please..." the man reaches for Jacob, his voice gravel. He's dehydrated, dying.

"Claaarke," Jacob drawls out, pushing the man's hand away with his boot. "How'd you like that, Pratt?" Leaning into the deputy, breath ghosting over his ear. Pratt gives himself a mental pat on the back at he suppresses a shudder and leans away from the voice.

"Look at what a week without food can do to us." disappointment clear in his voice as he squats down to Clarke, gripping the man's chin to make him look up.

Pratt stands there, numb, watching the scene unfold.

"Tsk, You told me that you would die before you would beg me for anything." he almost pouts at Clarke. "Did you not?"

"Jacob, please..." the dying man begs. "I'll do anything-"

Clarke is cut off my a strong kick to the face.

"Weakness." Jacob spits.

Pratt stares as the man slumps down, blood pouring out of his mouth, watching it flow into the mud as Jacob calls over to some peggies nearby. They bring a wagon as instructed, one of them unholstering his sidearm and handing it to Jacob who flicks off the safety. His attention turns back to Staci who's frozen in place, watching as they drag Clarke's body out of the cell, throwing him to the ground.

"We cull the weak." He says, making Staci look at him whose eyes are flashing between him and the gun. "It's ultimately their purpose, letting the strong survive and thrive." emotionless, he points the gun to Clarke's head, pulling the trigger.

BANG

Pratt jumps, quickly looking away. Rough fingers grab his jaw, forcing his head back to Clarke's twitching body.

"Never look away, take every opportunity to learn and adapt." Jacob releases him, giving the gun back to his men, eyes not leaving Pratt's face.

He makes sure the deputy keeps watching as they wheel away the former Whitetail Militia soldier, studying his reaction.

Pratt watches, but that's all he can do, his mind not being able to come up with any coherent thoughts. He barely feels Jacob turning him to the now unoccupied cage, pulling out his knife and cutting Pratt's hands free.

"I think you're beyond saving, Pratt. It's up to you to prove me wrong, or to prove me right." with that Jacob gently pushes him forward locking the cage door behind him.

Pratt listens as Jacob leaves, speaking to one of the peggies on duty, giving him instructions for their newest guest, he gives one last look to his new gift and leaves.

Pratt finds a somewhat dry spot in the back corner and gently sits himself down, rubbing his wrists. His mind is quiet as he sits there, unluckily the adrenaline in him is wearing off. His body flares up in pain, making him start to intake the injuries he has. Couple scratches on his leg don't worry him too much, but he will have to keep track of the cut on his head, it throbs as he prods it. He looks up, hoping to see the stars out, anything to take his mind away from here. He finds a loose tarp instead, covering most of the cage, it flutters softly in the wind. He takes it all in, brick wall behind him, with half-dead people in the other cages surrounding his.

Chapter Text

It's been three days. No. Four days? Everything has been in slow motion since the night Pratt was brought to this hell hole.

His stomach growls in pain, only having filtered water to digest a couple times a day. No one has been given rations in the yard as far as he can tell, Pratt is almost grateful, he might break down if he watched someone else eat in front of him.

The cold isn't as bearable anymore, he curls into himself to keep warm for most of the nights. At least it hasn't rained, the tarp above him doesn't look secure enough to even handle a drizzle.

Another breeze passes through his cage, he shudders and holds himself tighter, watching his breath turn to fog in front of him. Pratt often stares longingly at the oil drums nearby, watching the cultists warm up by it on their breaks. He wonders if it's worth begging for, but he thinks better of it. Pratt isn't that desperate. Yet.

Jacob hasn't even looked at him since his first night here. The monster would still come down and do his rounds, picking out who he's going to 'work with' that day. He has some sort of sick torture schedule that he likes to keep on top of it seems. A couple of the victims go kicking and screaming, they usually don't come back. Pratt tries to count how many prisoners they have currently, about fifteen he notes. It was some of his deputy instincts coming in, the rest of it was more to give himself a distraction from all of this. It actually frustrates Pratt, waiting to be tortured isn't a good feeling. He tries to keep his panic attacks to a minimum when he sees Jacob coming towards the cages, usually with a few of his men, sometimes his judge.

Pratt tries to be strong, he really does. He makes sure his cuts are healing, hoping nothing gets infected with the filth and mud on the ground. He washes them with some of the water that's always measured before it's served, and carefully dries the wounds with his shirt. Pratt's been letting himself stretch once in a while, only to get the blood flowing back into his legs. He's been trying to save his energy for whatever Jacob has in store for him, but the lack of food and the cold nights take a lot.

The sun finally breaks through the darkness, helping Pratt to warm up a little. He stands and basks in it, unsure if he's relieved or terrified he made it another night.

The morning bell rings, signaling breakfast and shift change, Pratt has been here long enough to remember some of the schedule at least. The peggies say their good mornings to as they relieve each other of their posts, Pratt assumes that most of them has a certain job at the camp when he recognizes the guards for the cages. He perks up when he hears the sound of water being poured, the water trolley making it's way through the mud as it comes down the line of cages. Pratt eagerly reaches out between the bars to receive his portion for the morning, licking his dry lips as they stop at his cage.

"Get your filthy hand back, Sinner." the peggie snaps, almost lunging at him. "No water for you today." the other cultist snorts and spits at Staci as they move on to the next person.

Pratt stumbles back a little, wobbly on his feet. The cultist's had startled him, that's for sure, but it made him think of a deeper meaning. It means that Jacob would be coming for him, it's his turn. Time for Pratt to make another decision, will he fight? Give in? What will make him strong enough to survive? The deputy slides back down into the corner of his cage, he watches the guards carry on as the blood drains from his face. Pratt's eyes refocus when he hears the morning roll call for the newer members of the cult. Jacob finally comes into view with a steaming cup in his hand. He studies each of them, going over their equipment and posture. Some of the cultists look visibly worried when Jacob critiques them, others are stone-faced. He talks to the peggie in charge of the group and lets him dismiss them all.

Jacob's eyes finally land on Pratt's, smirking a bit when he sees that Staci is already watching him. Much to his horror, he starts to walk towards him. "Good Mornin', Deputy." Jacob greets, stopping in front of Pratt's cage, taking a sip of his beverage.

Pratt can't help but focus on the cup, words stuck in his mouth. He can smell the scent of coffee from here, it teases him.

Jacob kneels down to his level. "I said, Good Morning." a warning.

Pratt looks away to the ground. "Good Morning." His voice breaks, days of keeping silent have made it rusty, Jacob's presence doesn't help either.

Jacob takes another sip of his coffee, letting out a hum when the warmth of it goes down his throat. He looks Staci in the eyes as he pours the rest of it into the mud next to him, he shakes it, making sure every drop is gone. Pratt shifts uncomfortably a the sight. Jacob throws the cup to the side and begins to unlock the door. Pratt kicks out some dirt as he struggles to stand up, hoping to reach his full height before Jacob gets to him. He almost does but Jacob is faster, a rough hand clamps on the back of his neck again, almost dragging him out of his cage. "I expect you to look at me when you say it next time." he growls, breath hot in Staci's ear, hand flexing on his neck.

"Yes, sir." Pratt let's out automatically, responding as if Jacob was the Sheriff. It stuns him a little but Jacob hums at him again and pushes him across the yard.

Pratt keeps his head down trying to avoid the glares from the cultists, it doesn't work, he can still feel the scalding eyes burrowing into his body. Finally, they cross the threshold of the veterans hospital, peggies stand at attention and make way when they see Jacob. Pratt's eyes follow the cracks in the cement floor, faded green walls showing up in peripheral vision. He tries to make a mental map when he's guided deeper into the building, Jacob muttering something under his breath as Staci trips a few times as he's lead up a staircase.

The eventually reach the third floor, Jacob pushes Staci a bit in front of him as the hallway narrows. Two peggies come into view stand on each side of a double door, they open both for Jacob as he nods to them. He's released when the doors close behind them, letting Staci finally breathe properly as he takes a look around the room. There's another pair of doors leading out to a balcony, the light from them illuminating the space. Papers cover a desk that takes up half of the room, tall cabinets and a projector are tucked in the corners. There's a bulletin board on the wall next to it, well decorated with a map of points of interest, red ribbon covering it like cobwebs. He notices Eli Palmer in a photo, almost all of the ribbon connects to the picture. Staci had only met him once, it was before the cult was a real problem. He had come in to the station talking about the Seed brothers, bringing evidence to prove his accusations. They had looked into it but it was just a small and worn down church in an empty field back then, not a whole village and an army. Joseph had made Eli out to be the bad guy, Pratt wanted nothing to do with it. It was nice to keep going on with normal and easy police work, just the quiet patrols of Montana nights, giving a ticket here and there.

The calls came in a couple months after that, people being dragged out of their homes, tortured and kidnapped. Eli was deep in it already, the department was on their own at that point. Pratt tries not to think back on the 'what if's', it makes him feel guilty, but maybe it was his fault?

The screech of a wooden chair being dragged on the floor makes him jump. He watches Jacob drag it over, placing it down and facing it to a blank part of a wall. "Sit." he orders. Pratt does as he's told, keeping his eyes on Jacob until he can't see him without moving his head. He sits on the edge of the seat, back tight and hands picking at the wooden armrests. There is a sound of doors being closed, the light disappears, leaving them both in almost complete darkness.

Jacob suddenly swears under his breath and another door opens, there is some muttering and it's closed again.

"Relax, Deputy. Sit back." There is a hand on Pratt's shoulder, pushing him against the back of the chair and given a rough pat.

"What are you doing?" Pratt blurts out, frozen in the seat.

The hand on his shoulder tightens, an unspoken threat. Staci lowers his head in submission, biting his lip in attempts to quiet himself.

"Good," Jacob breathes, taking his hand away. "Stay."

Staci obeys the command and doesn't move a muscle, he strains his ear to listen to Jacob rustling behind him. There's a click followed by whir of energy, and a light appears on the wall in front of him.

Images of wildlife project onto the wall, flashing through beautiful landscapes. His eyes scan over them, almost putting Pratt at ease. They quickly turn dark. Stills of war and chaos replace the serene pictures, with wolves hunting deer and tearing into it's flesh.

"The world is weak." Jacob's voice breaks through Staci's mind. "Always filled with disappointment." he huffs. "I don't know if my brother speaks to god, but I trust his instincts. Instincts never lie." he finally comes into view, admiring the images up close.

"They've allowed us to survive through the elements, hunt dangerous game, win wars...." Jacob turns to Pratt, the light from the projector covering his face. "I believe something is coming, not sure if it's the end of the world, but Joseph's words have let us take a look at ourselves as a species. This time, the lives of the few outweigh the lives of the many." he draws close, slowly stepping towards Pratt.

Pratt stares at Jacob, he's not sure whether to entertain Jacob's opinions, if he can call it that. It all sounds crazy.

"It gives us an opportunity to separate the weak from the strong, everyone has a purpose but our time is now limited, and we can't waste it on people who resist." Jacob leans down on to the chair's armrests, invading Pratt's space.

"Why should I bother with you, hm? What purpose will you serve in the new world?" Jacob seems to be staring past his eyes and into his soul, it's unnerving to say the least.

Pratt doesn't know what to say, he tries to catch up with Jacob's words, unsure on how to wrap his head around this mans view on the world.

"You can't-" Pratt shakes his head and licks his lips, not noticing Jacob catching the motion. "What do you want me to say?" He tries to look back at him with the same intensity.

"This shit is messed up, I don't-" his heart is slowly sinking to his stomach, his composure cracking. "I don't get what you're trying to accomplish here. I've seen what you and your men have done to people, the scraps you leave behind for us to find."

The images from the first crime scene he went to flash into his mind, chard corpses, bodies riddled with arrows and strung up for all to see. They took who and what they wanted, leaving the undesirable to rot, and to serve as a warning to whoever finds them. Pratt couldn't attend another one after that, the sheriff had noticed the uneasiness in him and set him to desk work for a while, making Staci organize the case files instead. It wasn't that much better, he couldn't help but look at the photos that were taken, anger and sadness fueling him.

Jacob studies Staci's face as he falls apart in front of him. He watches the deputies lip wobble as he shakes his head, trying to erase images that have stuck with him. He notices that Pratt tries to glare back through watery eyes, hoping to be strong, but failing. His chest rises and falls quickly, damaged but not broken, not yet. Jacob gives Staci a contemplating look and exhales.

"I'll find you a purpose here, but you'll need to be trained." Jacob ignores the outburst and stands. "Don't think you'll get special treatment because you were a gift from my brother." He reaches into his back pocket, Staci steels himself.

"You'll be tested," Jacob produces a small wooden box, which Pratt recognizes immediately.

It's exactly as the witnesses have described, the music box that kills.

"No exceptions." Jacob starts turning the key on the side.

Pratt's eyes widen and he sits up. "Wait-" The door to the hallway opens revealing the two peggies from before, they immediately stride over to the prisoner and grab him, holding him back against the chair.

"There will be no breaks." Jacob continues. "We're done when I say we're done." he stops turning the key, holding the box out in front of Pratt.

"Just wait, wait, hold on!" Staci struggles against the cultists, but their grip is firm.

It's all in vain.

Jacob opens the music box and the ghostly tune flows through the room.

Only you...

Pratt's body involuntary throws itself back into the chair, he feels a deep throbbing pain throughout his body, colours flash through his vision.

Can make... this world seem right...

He feels himself being consumed, as he slowly sinks into the ground.

Chapter Text

Pratt falls for what feels like an eternity, darkness enveloping him.

Is this what dying feels like?

"Focus." Jacobs voice echos through the void.

A bright light shines through and blinds him, not being able to anything but flail as he is swallowed by it.

Suddenly the ground is beneath him, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

"Focus up, Deputy." Jacob's voice cuts through once again, louder and deeper.

Pratt rolls on to his knees, clutching his stomach, coughing on the air he finally is able to inhale. He freezes when he feels vegetation below him, it makes him itch immediately. He finally sees the white flower, there are hundreds, the dark green leaves and grass make them glow. The smell of it is intoxicating, replacing the oxygen in his lungs with pure bliss. The pollen from it surrounds him in a thick fog, cutting his vision down to just a few feet in front of him.

"Get up, Pratt." the voice brings him back to himself again.

He finally stands on wobbly legs, staggering a few steps forwards before steadying. "What have you done to me?' he gasps.

"Focus on my voice."

Pratt whirls around to where he thinks Jacob's voice is coming from.

"Wrong." He's knocked down once again from a shove from behind.

He looks back up to find Jacob looking down on him, cold eyes showing the same disappointment from the first time he saw them.

"Try again." Jacob disappears back into the fog.

Pratt stands once again, eyes strained as he scans the bliss for any movement. The glow and scent from the flowers start to disorient him, heart beating faster the longer he waits for Jacob to strike.

"Here." Jacob is right behind him this time.

He tries to spin around. but it's too late. Jacob has him in a headlock, his cold body flush against Staci, freezing the man through his uniform.

"Get off!" Pratt tries, clawing at the arms wrapped around his neck.

"How'd you ever become an Officer?" Jacob chuckles, his beard scratching Pratt's neck.

He thrashes harder as Jacob's laughter is hot in his ear, panic rising in his chest. The grip only tightens around him, almost cutting off his air.

"Relax," a deep rumble. "I'm saving you from yourself." Jacob flexes his arm again before letting go, pushing Staci back to the ground. "Now, try again."

Sunlight shines on Pratt's face, making him stir. He's awake? Alive? He moves his legs, then his arms, making sure everything is accounted for. Pratt makes himself open his eyes, letting the sun in. He tries to get up, leaning his weight on his elbow, heart dropping when he sinks into familiar mud.

"Holy shit, you're alive?!" A male voice speaks up.

Pratt tries to respond but can only manage a grunt, his head is throbbing, throat dry and sore. He looks up to the new voice, trying to make out his surroundings. He can make out the bars of his cage and a dark figure moving closer to him.

"I thought I was sitting next to a corpse." the voice blares in his ears, the pain in his head making everything more sensitive.

The man helps him sit up, a hand gently touching his head to lean him up against the bars. "Here, I have some water left in my bowl." Pratt panics as he's let go, feeling he might fall back into the void. "Hey man, stay with me, alright?" the hand is thankfully back on his cheek, grounding him back into the mud.

His head is tilted up, something cold passes his lips, flowing down his throat. He gets what he can down, choking on the liquid. It's refreshing but it doesn't help with the pain.

"What's your name?" the figure asks as the bowl is taken away, his head kept level.

"Sta-" his voice isn't quite back. "Staci." Every word burning his throat.

He can make out the mans lips, stubble surrounding it with an angled jaw. He gives him a small smile. "My name is Markus."

Pratt barely registers the name before he's guided back down. Markus making sure that his head is resting on a dry spot. "It's nice to meet you, Staci. Get some rest, yeah?"

The hand is gone again, leaving him helpless in his own mind. He falls back into the darkness, unable to fight it anymore.

"Pathetic..." Jacob looms over him, watching the man's attempts to get up.

Staci coughs up blood, the pain from the previous blows all too real. There is a boot on his back, pushing him down to lay his stomach, and kicking him onto his side.

"Hope County's so-called finest." Jacob scoffs. "I've done my research on your little group, Hudson and Whitehorse have quite the list of achievements." he tilts his head, looking Pratt up and down.

"Not much on you, frankly." he stands over him, kicking Pratt's arms away from his sides. "You've been going through life with your head down," Jacob continues, kneeling down and straddling the beaten mans waist. "Not many friends, even less family." his hands wrap around Staci's throat, ignoring the man's sad attempts to defend himself.

He begins to squeeze the life out of the weakness underneath him. "What a sad existence, Pratt."

Staci's leftover adrenaline kicks in as his throat are closed, thrashing and clawing at Jacobs' arms, pushing at his chest and face.

"Come on, just let go." he leans in close, ignoring Pratt's weak punches. "No one is going to miss you." he coos as he applies more pressure.

Pratt attempts to speak, trying to deny the statements, but he chokes and gurgles on the blood left in his mouth.

"You feel that? Your survival instincts screaming at you and taking over." Jacob licks his lips, his hair oddly out of place.

Staci notices it, Jacob is all he can see.

"Listen to that feeling, guide it and then let it go."

His vision is coming in and out of focus, lack of oxygen finally taking its toll. Jacob's face is stone, intent on completing his current objective.

Pratt's hands fall from the man above him, unable to fight any longer, his entire body in pain. He can feel petals of the flowers under him, letting himself get lost in the sensation, the softness of it.

His eyes finally drift closed.

Weakness.

Pratt's eyes fly open, he gasps for air and immediately sits up, coughing when the coppery taste of blood blooms in his mouth.

"Staci?" There is a hand suddenly on his shoulder.

"Don't!" He violently shakes it off, raising his hands defensively.

"Easy dude! It's Markus!"

Pratt finally sees that he's back behind bars, in the mud, and underneath the tarp. His new cage mate is watching him from the other side of the cage, his face serious but cautious.

"Fuck." his voice breaks, throat on fire.

Markus relaxes a little, studying Pratt's face. "Your nose is bleeding." he points out.

Pratt raises his hand to check, it comes back bloody. "How long have I been out?" he asks, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand.

"I don't know, maybe half a day?" he shrugs. "It's gotta be late evening by now."

Pratt finally looks to Markus, taking in the features he can see with the light from the oil drums. He almost looks military, he's clean-cut, short light blonde hair with soft hazel eyes. The same eyes reflect pity when they lock on his.

Pratt cuts that off quickly, it's the last thing he wants or needs right now.

"Any water?" he hopes, also helping to change the subject.

"None since that last bowl you drank." Markus replies quietly.

Pratt's silent for a moment, licking his dry lips. "Thanks."

Markus gives him a nod, still staring.

"What did they do to you?" he finally asks.

He shakes his head, taking another deep breath. "I don't know." It's half true.

Glimpses of Jacobs cold eyes come to him, struggling to breathe, the softness of petals. He recalls Jacobs famous music box, the ghostly tune that had flowed out and wrapped itself around him. Sinking. Falling.

Only you...

Pratt cuts off the thought, something about the music making his mind stall.

"You're a deputy." he flinches at Markus' vocal observation.

 Pratt doesn't respond, it was a stupid question with him still wearing his uniform.

"Jesus," Markus runs a hand through his hair. "no one is safe."

"Who are you?" Pratt returns, taking offense.

"Markus Hale." he sighs, looking over to him. "I'm a consultant."

"A consultant of what?"

"Manufacturing." Markus replies flatly.

"That answers nothing." Pratt doesn't care if he's being invasive, he wants to know who this man is.

"Let's just say that I'm useful to Jacobs cause." he fiddles with a button on the neck of his shirt, avoiding Staci's eyes.

"Markus-"

"Listen, Staci-" he gives him a small glare. "You'll be better off not knowing."

Pratt chews on his lip, not wanting to let the matter go but not having the energy to argue.

"How did you end up here?" he asks, changing the subject again.

"They drove up to my house, put a gun to my head, and shoved me into their truck. Pretty standard peggie kidnapping." Markus replies flatly.

Pratt nods, it wasn't much of an answer but he'll take it for now. He wasn't much of an interrogator back at the station.

"What about you?" Markus' eyes are back on him, mainly on his uniform, studying the patch on his shoulder then the torn off threads where his badge and name tag used to be.

Pratt shakes his head, unable to respond or to barely register a thought about that night. It hurts to make himself think about it. Remembering the faces of his fellow officers, his friends, tied up and thrown in the dirt. He regrets not looking to the Sheriff when he felt his eyes on him. He regrets not yelling to Hudson, regrets getting into that helicopter. Pratt can feel his eyes water again, he lies down, facing away from Markus. He doesn't let himself fall back to sleep, terrified of the pain that's been coming into them lately. He listens to his new cage mate shift behind him, presumably finding a comfier position. Peggies pass by and mutter as they do the night checks, checking for any dead that would need to be removed. Anxious barks and howls come up from the judges in the distance, wanting to be let out.

Only you...

Stop.

Can make this darkness bright...

Stay awake.

Focus.

Chapter Text

Pratt jolts awake when the morning bell rings.

"Fuck." Markus groans. "that shit is loud."

They both sit up, adjusting their clothes, and stretching. Their eyes eventually lock, checking in on one another, both wishing they were somewhere else.

The sound of the rusty water trolley reaches their ears and Markus stands to wait for his portion. Pratt stay's seated, still feeling weak and trying not to get his hopes up about his share. Instead he takes the time to get a better look at the man, impatiently pacing at the cage door. He's covered in mostly black with his cargo pants and polo shirt, still looking somewhat presentable with the mud in his hair and stubble. Markus stops and straightens when the trolley reaches them, not backing away when the guard tries to stare him down while handing over two bowls.

"Good news." Markus smiles at Pratt, offering one of them to him.

Staci takes it, showing his appreciation with a nod. He's happy to drink unaided this time, feeling guilty for relying on a stranger to revive him. Markus seems trustworthy enough but Pratt can't help the incessant need to be careful, the recent events have made him wary, he's weak and defenseless.

He guzzles down the water without another thought, the pain in his throat simmers down but only for a couple seconds. He wants more.

"Feeling better?" Markus asks, watching him.

"A little." Pratt replies, voice hoarse, eyeing his cage mates bowl.

Markus sighs and takes another sip of his water before offering it to him, giving another small smile.

"Thanks." he tries to smile back this time, not sure if it looks genuine.

Pratt finishes it as fast as the first one, feeling a little guilty when he returns the empty bowl to Markus.

They're silent for a while, watching the peggies work on their morning tasks, a group of them are headed out with judges. They are armed to the teeth with rifles and bullet proof vests, the wolves chomping at their chains and the men who hold them, barking and howling as they head out into the Montana's mountains.

"Think they feed those beasts the leftovers of Jacobs training?" Markus attempts to start a conversation.

It's a poor topic in Staci's opinion. "When did you get here yesterday?" he changes the subject.

"Yesterday afternoon, I came in with the bliss shipment from Holland Valley." Markus explains. "I got shoved in here, a couple hours after that, they dragged you out of the hospital, you looked dead. Couldn't tell if you were breathing or not." his throat bobs, swallowing some fear down.

Pratt nods, picking at the dirt under his nails. "Did I say much?" he asks

"Didn't make a sound. Thought you were dead." Markus shrugs.

"Who brought me out?"

"Just some random peggies. Didn't put you down too gently." he admits.

Pratt huffs, unconsciously rubbing his nose.

Their conversation is interrupted by a kick to the cage, making it rattle. "Markus." a peggie with a rifle is standing in front, dark eyes looking at Markus through bushy brows. "Jacob wants a word."

Markus stands, arms rigid at his sides, looking over to the deputy. Pratt's not sure if he is trying to convey reassurance. It doesn't. It's the first time he has seen the man looking unsure or nervous, it scares him.

"Markus." the Peggie says again, becoming impatient, he starts to unlock the cage.

He gets it open. "Now." hands on his rifle.

Markus obeys, dragging his feet in the dirt as he's lead away with a gun at his back.

The cage door slams, making Pratt flinch, alone again.

He sighs and slumps down against the bars, letting his head roll back, the panic in him dissipating but not completely. Losing Markus would be a big blow, he doesn't know much about the man but they could help each other out in the long run. It's weird to say but he's glad he has someone going through this with him, although he wouldn't wish this on anybody, except the Seed family themselves.

Markus says he's important to Jacob's cause, but Pratt has never seen his name come up in their investigations, not even a picture. He said he was a consultant of manufacturing, there are some old factories spread across the county, most of them bought out or taken over by the cult. They were mainly used for mining, but now they are used in bliss production and making monster wolves.

Pratt doesn't know anything about him which is irritating, but his presence itself is helpful, the first days alone were difficult, Markus seems to make the day go faster.

The sun is above him, shining through the holes in the tarp when Markus is brought back. He looks absolutely wrecked. There are no visible injuries that Pratt can see but the man looks exhausted, his skin pale, eyes dull and unfocused. He stumbles when he's shoved into their cage, immediately sitting down in the dirt and letting his eyes close.

"Markus?" Pratt speaks up after the cultists had gone.

Markus looks at him through half-lidded eyes, emotionless. "What is it Staci..." voice quiet.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks.

"M'fine." He slurs, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to be more comfortable.

"What happened?" Pratt pushes.

Markus shakes his head and chuckles. "You didn't share, so I won't either."

"Forget it then." Pratt snaps a little, getting up to stretch his legs.

Several minutes pass, Staci pacing back and forth, hands on his hips. He stops and looks over to Markus when he hears him sigh.

"I'm a weapons-grade engineer. I make big guns and even bigger explosions. Jacob has become very fond of my.... talents." he reveals, eyes closed.

Pratt's confused, shocked, then mad. "What the fuck are you doing in Hope County?" he lets out, trying to keep his voice down unsuccessfully.

"Has your head been in the dirt? Where have you been the past several months? You didn't think the heavily armed, bloodthirsty cult wouldn't find you?" he stops when his voice breaks, taking a breath.

"You done?" Markus sighs.

"Not even close." Pratt's hands clench into fists, shaking his head.

"I live here, where am I gunna go?" he argues, struggling to stand, getting to Staci's level.

"Anywhere except here!" he yells, gesturing to the environment around them. "You've given them the perfect ammunition. You just killed us all."

"Oh yeah?" Markus steps into his space. "What about you, Mister Deputy?"

Pratt stands his ground. "I've been doing my job." he growls.

Markus lets out a laugh. "Great job you've been doing, Staci. Montana's in ruins. Have you just been giving the cult some tickets?"

That hurt, "You have no idea..." he shakes. "You don't know what you're talking about." looking away, images of decaying corpses flashing through his mind.

"No?" Markus seethes, taking another step forward, shoving him with his body. "You don't think I know what they've done to people? To my friends?" finger jabbing into Pratt's chest.

Staci glares back, standing tall and slapping his hand away. "And you stayed in your box while they were all slaughtered."

Markus lashes out at him, taking him by the uniform and slamming him against the bars, making the whole cage shake.

"Oi!" the guards finally catch on to the spat, "Knock it off!" they shout, jogging towards them.

They're ignored as Staci throws the best punch he can into Markus' face. He's shoved again, wincing when his head smacks against the bars. More hands come into the fight, the peggies finally able to reach them, trying to pry them apart.

"Scum." one of them spits.

Markus' nails drag into his arms and neck as he's torn away, leaving a trail of broken skin. Pratt is taken out of the cage and thrown to the ground, while Markus is still fighting against the other guard, who has him in a headlock. There's a rifle in Pratt's face, pinning him to the ground, the peggie above it snarling at him. "You sinners are dead, can't wait to see you're corpses thrown to the judges."

"Enough." A familiar voice interrupts.

The peggie responds to it by lowering his weapon and stepping away. "These two were fighting, sir."

Jacob grunts, coming into view, ignoring Staci sitting in the dirt. He goes to Markus first, looking him over, as the man slowly stops struggling, the adrenaline and anger starting to subside. Jacob leans in and speaks into his ear, making sure that only Markus can hear his words. He slumps into the headlock, eyes closing, the peggie letting him go to fall to the ground.

Jacob leaves him, walking over to Staci.

Pratt panics and shuffles away the best he can until the peggie from before walks behind him, putting a knee into his back.

Jacob reaches him, kneeling down to his level, looking him over. Eyes stop at the fresh scratch marks on Pratt's skin, his jaw clenches, it doesn't go unnoticed. Pratt watches the action, his breathing becoming erratic the longer Jacob looks at him. He's dead, he'll be fed to the wolves, the Sheriff will never find his body, never be laid to rest. Maybe he will give him to the judges alive, making him feel every tear of his skin, the noise of his bones being snapped between teeth. He can't. This can't happen. Tears well up in his eyes, he let's them fall, the anger he felt before replaced with terror. Jacob scoffs.

A backhanded smack snaps Pratt's head to the side, his hair whipping into his face.

"Focus." Jacob orders.

He lets out a shaky breath and slowly looks back to Jacob. "Yes, sir."

Jacob yanks him up by his shirt, grabbing a fistful and dragging him towards the hospital. Pratt stops in his tracks, his shirt straining against the grip. He can't go back into the building, he doesn't know if he'll come back out. Everything screams at him not to go any further, the building itself giving an intimidating aura.

"I can't" he lets out, feeling dizzy.

There are suddenly hands-on Pratt's face, rough and warm. He freezes, realizing that they could only be from Jacob, he refocuses in front of him, proving his assumption right. The monster is staring back into his eyes, watching him.

"Breathe." another order.

Staci does, scared that his body relaxes a bit at the voice.

"Good." a brush of a thumb on his cheek.

"Step forward." Jacob commands, gently tugging on his face this time.

Pratt does, the panic doesn't overwhelm him this time. The hold is light but it grounds him, similar to when Markus touched him. It gives Pratt a different fear, this man is not someone he can rely on. He's Jacob's prisoner, his gift from Joseph.

"Again." a deep rumble.

He steps forward on his own this time, letting out another shaky breath.

"Good." Jacob approves with a pat to the cheek before Pratt's let go.

"Walk on." he nods to the hospital, stepping to the side to let Staci through.

He does, with Jacob close behind him.

Pratt slows down once they're in the building, unsure on where to go, Jacob answers that quickly when he grabs his shoulder, leading him forward. He's led through two doors down the first hallway, they open up to reveal a dining hall. The room is spotless with several stainless steel tables and benches placed in an organized fashion, everything straight as an arrow. The ceilings are at least fifteen feet high, Staci looks up to admire them, the woodwork is beautiful. The smell of food finally reaches him, making his stomach turn and growl.

Jacob walks him over to one of the tables. "Sit."

Pratt steps over the bench and sits, arms leaning on the table. Jacob leaves, going into the back, Pratt can see him through the open window, shuffling through what he assumes is the kitchen. Staci picks at his nails, his leg jumping underneath the table. He's adding whiplash to his list of injuries with how Jacob's has been towards him. One minute he is the psychotic killer everyone expects him to be, the next thing he knows Jacob is cradling his face, in all too gentle hands, calming him down.

Jacob comes out of the back with a bowl, the smell reaches Pratt immediately, any food would smell fantastic right now, it's set on the table in front of Jacob as he sits down next to him. The dish holds a white substance that looks like old milk, the smell of it still attacks him, tempting him to just reach out and take it. He interlocks his hands together to try and control the urge.

"What were you and Mister Hale fighting about?' Jacob asks, fingers playing with the lip of the bowl.

Staci swallows, throat screaming at him. "I think the sun got the best of us, sir."

Jacob moves the bowl farther away, Pratt making a noise at the action.

"Keep lying, you don't eat." he clarifies.

Pratt nods, not taking his eyes off the food.

"Markus told me about who he was, about why he ended up here."

"And?" Jacob pushes.

"I was angry, upset with him that he had stayed." he says carefully.

The bowl is moved closer. "What should he have done, Pratt?"

Pratt looks at him. "Ran." very, very, far away.

Jacob huffs. "You wanted him to run from his salvation? Turn his back on the only sanctuary that would take him in?" his voice calm and quiet.

"You're going to use him," Staci pauses. "To cull Hope County."

Jacob runs a hand through his hair, looking slightly exasperated. "That's his purpose, he's a tool. Just like you."

Pratt's heart drops, that's all he is now, something for Jacob to use to his advantage. He's not sure how useful he could be to him, it's been made clear that he barely makes the cut. Jacob might have killed him the first night here, taken out in the wagon with Clarke, if he was just picked up off the road.

The bowl finally slides in front of him, the smell becoming too much.

"Go ahead." Jacob gestures.

Table manners are thrown out the window as he shoves the dish into his face, slurping down the indistinguishable food. It's warm at least, he notes as it passes his lips, trying to ignore the bitter taste. He feels Jacob watching him again, it's always unnerving but at this point he doesn't care, too focused on the much-needed meal.

He does care when he hears him laugh.

"Take a breath." Jacob smirks.

Pratt obeys, taking in a big gulp of air before going back to chugging down his meal. Sadly he finishes it a few seconds later, he puts the bowl down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Good." Jacob approves again, moving the empty dish away, turning his body to straddle the bench between his legs, eyes not leaving Staci.

He tries to sit still under it, waiting for Jacob's next move.

"You're learning." Jacob points out, seeing something that Staci can't.

Pratt stays quiet, looking at his hands in his lap.

"There could be hope for you yet." he continues. "Need more training, though. Lot's more." almost sounding excited.

Pratt shakes his head. No. No more.

Jacob's hand is on the back of his neck again, possessive and threatening. "What's that, Pratt?"

"The training, I ca-"

His head is yanked up by his hair making him hiss. He reaches for Jacobs' arm on instinct, only to have it slammed down by the man's other hand.

"You can't what?" Jacob growls.

Pratt swallows. "It hurts." his other hand gripping his pant leg.

"Ah," Jacob's hold loosens a little, his hand letting go of his wrist, moving to Staci's throat.

"This?" his voice dangerously calm.

"Yes, Sir." Pratt chokes out, eyes straining to keep on Jacob.

He hums, "Pain is part of the training." fingers ghosting over Pratt's neck.

It burns, goosebumps rising as the rough hands graze up and around, catching his earlobe.

"Don't." Pratt blurts, panic coming back. "Please." he adds.

"Don't?" Jacob's voice mocking. "Are you trying to tell me what to do with my things?" his hand wraps around his throat.

Pratt's whole body shakes, he feels sick to his stomach, Jacob closeness suffocating him.

"I'm sorry, sir." he finally blurts out, taking a shot to his pride.

Another hum. "You can make this go so smoothly," Jacob soothes, hand flexing. "You just have to be good."

"Yes, sir." he agrees, anything to make this stop. Please stop.

It does, Jacob let's go, only to haul Pratt out of his seat by his arm and back through the double doors. The hallways blur past him as he tries to match Jacobs pace so he's not being dragged on the floor. He makes out some scenery paintings of Montana, some pictures of military men in uniform, the 'art' that really gets to him, is the crudely painted words on the walls.

Sacrifice. Weakness. Cull the Weak.

Jacob slows down when they turn down a dimly lit hallway, several metal doors on either side. He lets Pratt go to reach into his pocket, producing a key, using it to unlock the very last door on the right, it's hinges squealing as it's opened.

Jacob looks to Pratt, "In." he quips, head gesturing to the open door.

Pratt cautiously passes Jacob and walks in, holding his breath until he's fully in the room. It's pitch black until he hears the flip of a switch, sudden light blinding him for a moment. It looks like a jail cell from the station, it's cramped, an already made cot off to the side, next to a combined toilet and sink. There is a metal square screwed into the cement wall above the toilet, a substitute for a glass mirror. The light flickers above him, making the room feel a little colder, more worn down. There are some scribbles on the wall, someone was trying to keep track of the days they were in there. Back when the Veteran Hospital was actually used for veterans, this might be a room they used if one of them had a bad day.

"I'll need you to be somewhat lucid tomorrow," Jacob speaks up, leaning against the doorway, watching Pratt take in his new home. "Take the day to rest and be ready for O' Six hundred." he starts closing the door.

"Wait!" Pratt starts towards him. Don't leave me alone.

Jacob stops this time, the door halfway closed.

He tries to find words, anything besides what his mind just screamed at him. His tongue suddenly cotton.

"Why?" is all he can come up with.

Jacob looks at him apathetically. "It's the will of the Father." he replies simply, fully closing the door, the sound from the lock turning into place echoes through the room.

Chapter Text

Thankfully water pours out of the nozzle of the sink when Pratt turns the taps. He cups his hands underneath, letting them overflow before chugging it all down.

His reflection is blurry but he can see that he looks as rough as he feels. Stubble is coming in patches on his face, most of it caked in what he hopes is just mud, along with his greasy hair. The cut on his head has scabbed over thankfully, but probably should have received stitches.

Pratt sighs, he tries to gives himself a bath in the sink, splashing water on his face and combing through his hair with a wet hand. As the dirt is washed away he's able to see more of the damage, his cheek is red from Jacob's hit. He gently grazes his fingers across it, replaying the scene in his head. What purpose could he possibly have? Jacob has everything he could ever want or need to keep Hope County hostage forever, now that he had Markus.

His eyes scroll down to his arms, the trails of broken skin left from Markus sting, but thankfully aren't bleeding. A dark bruise under his jawline catches him off guard. It's large and it almost goes all the way around his neck. His hand ghosts over it, flinching away when it starts to burn.

This is what Jacob was talking about, the mark he had left on Pratt. He had strangled him, that part was real. Terrifyingly real.

Pratt looks away, leaning over the sink, stomach turning. Inhale. Exhale. He backs up, flopping down onto the cot when the ledge hits the back of his knees.

The walls are closing in on him, his chest is tight. He starts unbuttoning his shirt, desperate for some relief, it slips from his shoulders. Pratt grips the cloth in his hand, the loose threads from before had come apart, making a hole just above his chest pocket where his badge used to be. He frowns at it. His uniform is all he has left of his old life, it doesn't smell like home anymore, it's scents now mixed with smoke from the burning oil drums and his own sweat.

He strips his muscle shirt and his jeans, leaving his briefs on. It helps his claustrophobia for a bit but the feeling of vulnerability takes it's place.

Pratt climbs under the covers instead, wincing a little when his muscles protest at certain movements from sleeping on the ground the past few nights, but the mattress feels like clouds. The blanket is scratchy against his skin, but he'll take the warmth it offers. Jacob seems immune to the cold, his sleeves on his jacket always rolled up to his elbows, with just a black shirt underneath. He doesn't bother hiding the burns on his arms. They look painful.

Pratt shakes his head, burying himself deeper into the covers. He doesn't want to think about that man more than he has to. Instead, he focuses on relaxing his body, starting with his toes and moving up, trying to make everything go lax. Inhale. Exhale.

Pratt blinks.

He's back on the roof of the station, the Sheriff holding the door open for him and Hudson, heading towards the chopper. He tries to dig his heels in. No. The force pushing him forward becomes stronger.

"Stop!" he yells at his friends, his family.

They don't seem to hear him, they're silent as they load themselves into the chopper.

"Sheriff!" Pratt screams, desperately fighting against himself.

Still nothing.

"Hudson?!" he grabs at her shoulder, her body feels like stone under his hand.

Hudson doesn't respond, she rips away from Pratt and gets into the chopper, putting a headset on, looking through him, eyes wide. Emotionless.

"Pratt!" she barks, voice echoing. "Come on!"

"No! Hudson, listen to me!" Pratt pushes at the helicopter door, trying to grab onto anything to stop himself.

Everyone is in the helicopter sitting still, but he notices the rookie deputy looking behind him. He follows her gaze to find a dark figure stand at the roof top door, piercing blue eyes cutting through him.

"Don't fight it, Pratt. Let go." Jacobs' voice comes out booming, making the ground shake beneath him, wind picking up.

"No!" Pratt looks back to his team. "Get out!" he screams again, yanking at the handle of the cockpit.

He pulls his hand back and smacks it against the glass window. "Don't take off, Hudson!"

She finally looks at him, "Staci?" she places her hand on the glass opposite of his.

"It's me!" he smiles, relieved that he received a reaction.

Suddenly the engine comes to life, the rotors starting to spin.

"No!" Pratt shrieks, running over to the other side of the chopper, finally released from the invisible force.

He stops when he sees Jacob sitting next to Hudson, headset over his ears, flipping switches on the dashboard.

"Jacob?" he breathes, a chill running through him.

Jacob looks up, smiling when their eyes lock, white canines flashing at the desperate deputy.

He pulls the stick up, lifting the helicopter into the air, his family sitting calmly inside, with Jacob Seed at the controls.

"No!" Pratt gasps, eyes flying open.

He finds himself sitting up in his bed, back in his cell.

He hunches over, hiding his face in his hands, shaking. He can't escape this place. Can't escape Jacob. Even in his dreams.

A bang on his door makes his start, he gathers his covers around him, hiding his bare chest, while he looks around the room for his clothes.

Metal slides against metal as a peggie slides back an unnoticed window, brown eyes look in and land on him. "Jacob is on his way." is all he's told before it's slammed shut.

Pratt doesn't waste any time, throwing off the covers, feet slapping on the cement floor as he rushes to find his clothes. He finds his pants and slides them on, hopping on one leg and buckling his belt. One down, two more to go. He throws the covers off the mattress, starting to panic, it's not behind the toilet either.

The door unlocks, making his heart stop.

In one last desperate attempt to find at least his uniform, he ducks down to look under his cot, his heart starts again when he spots it. The door opens as soon as he grabs it. Fuck.

"Pratt." It's Jacobs voice, his boots stopping beside him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing this was still a dream. He gets himself off the floor, slowly rising up, shirt in hand.

Pratt looks up to him but Jacobs' eyes don't meet his. Instead, they're roaming his body none too subtly, stopping at certain spots to take in detail. Pratt uses his uniform to cover his chest, unsure if he's allowed to continue getting dressed.

Jacob answers that by taking the shirt from him, tugging it away when Pratt tries to keep it glued to his body.

"I'll give you a choice." Jacob speaks, balling up the clothing in his hands.

"You can have this deputies uniform back," he shakes it in his face. "and go hungry."

He steps closer. "Or you can go to the dining hall, get your ration and spend the rest of the day bare-chested."

Pratt looks between the man and his uniform, it feels like Jacob is holding a part of him in his hand, easily able to destroy it in one motion. Then again the meal from yesterday didn't do much but to satisfy him in that moment.

He's brought back when Jacobs fingers brush over his collar bone, the hand finding a place on his bare shoulder. He stops the instinct to shrug it off, knowing that the action would be surely met with aggression.

"We don't have all day, you're already late." a finger taps on his shoulder, growing impatient.

The motion helps Pratt make a decision. "My uniform, sir."

Jacob offers it back to him. "Go on then."

He takes it, pretending that their hands didn't just brush, and puts it on, quickly buttoning it.

He freezes when Jacob starts shaking his head, he clicks his tongue and smacks Pratt's hands away from himself.

"Presentation is everything." Jacob steps close again, hands back on Pratt, flicking the disheveled buttons back open.

Pratt sucks in his stomach when a finger brushes his abdomen, each touch burning his skin. He can't help but feel frustrated, he never liked being touched so nonchalantly, he could handle a tackle hug from Hudson, but anything else felt inappropriate. This... This was beyond him.

Jacob doesn't seem to notice the smaller man coiling in on himself as he adjusts his collar and begins rebuttoning, taking his time with each one, focused on his own fingers while Pratt looks elsewhere.

"For someone that doesn't deserve this uniform, you have to make more of an effort." Jacob smirks, finishing the last button and brushing off dirt on Pratt's shoulders.

Another twist to the knife in Pratt's stomach. He admits to not being the most decorated deputy, but he's done his job, gone through the academy, said his vows. Jacobs expectations are high, but he's not his soldier, although the ex-army man might disagree.

"Pratt." Jacobs hold tightens and waits until he looks at him.

"Do better." his voice is sharp and cold, disappointed once again.

Pratt nods. "Yes, sir." cause agreeing will keep him alive, right?

Right?

Jacob makes good on his deal, there's no meal waiting for him when they walk into the dining hall, he gets to watch Jacob eat a full plate of meat and eggs with coffee, a different sort of torture. Most of the cultists don't give him a second look when they see him with Jacob, not wanting to question their leader, others chance it, and send glares his way. Their gruff looks don't scare him as much anymore, not after the looks he receives from Jacob, that man is his main concern right now.

Next stop was back to the office on the third floor, Pratt lets out a breath when he's told to wait outside, but feels anxious when he's left alone in the hallway. A pair of peggies walk by, he tries to get out of the way but still receives a shove and a insult, he takes it all in stride, straightening his uniform.

Jacob returns, handing Pratt a pad of paper and pen. "You'll act as my shadow, listen and learn, take notes not only for me, but also for yourself."

"Yes, sir." he responds, taking the pen and paper.

"Good." Jacob nods, then pauses. "Hold out your dominate hand." he adds.

Pratt hesitates but eventually obeys, raising his right hand, trying to stand still when Jacob reaches into his back pocket. Jacob smiles a little bit at his fear, but produces a wrist watch. He wraps it around Pratt's wrist, buckling it for him.

"It's already set, the alarm is always gonna go off so you will be ready at o'six hundred."

Pratt is a little surprised at first, not sure if he's just been given a gift. "Thank you, sir." he finally says.

Jacob nods and walks on, headed towards the staircase. Pratt follows a couple steps behind, his new belongings held against his chest, his other hand on the oak railing as they descend.

He takes in a breath when they reach outside, the sweetness of bliss is mixed in the Montana air, it makes him lightheaded for a moment.

"Pratt."

His head snaps to Jacob. He's waiting for him in front of the fountain in the middle of the driveway, arms crossed.

"Sorry." he catches up to him, following when they resume walking.

"We missed gear checks this morning, I expect not to miss them tomorrow, yes?" Jacob looks back, wanting an answer.

"Yes, sir." Pratt agrees, it'll be easier with his watch.

"Good, Judges are next today."

Chapter Text

 The judges are spectacularly terrifying.

Most of them have untreated wounds, rotting flesh, their docked tails ooze with infection. Their gums bleed as they gnaw at their enclosures, not seeming to feel any pain or know their surroundings. Pratt can't help but feel sorry for the monsters, they've been drugged and tortured, used as tools for Jacobs war. Like pawns in a sick game of chess.

"Jackson!" Jacob calls out.

A peggie standing at the cages turns his head to the name and jogs over. He's young, couldn't be more than fifteen, his skin is clear and pale but his height and lack of muscle give him away.

"Report." Jacob orders as Jackson gets close.

He glances at Pratt, lip curling in disgust. Another unfriendly face to add to the list.

"Judge number three broke loose in the night, had to put it down to save Jarv's throat." Jackson responds, a little wary of his boss's reaction.

Jacob pinches the bridge of his nose, veins in his forehead rising. Pratt decides to take down the information, he looks at his new watch to get the time.

7:35 - Judge #3 loose/was killed.

"If it happens again, let him die. Save the judge. We can't afford to waste those resources." Jacob tells the boy while walking past him, observing the new wolves that they've received. He kneels down, not even blinking when the scared animals lunge at him. "Beautiful, aren't they?" He smiles back at Pratt.

Pratt swears he sees a sparkle in Jacobs' eyes, he can hear the pride in the man's voice as he looks over his creations.

"Yes, sir." Pratt nods, clicking his pen.

"Liar," Jacob chuckles. "Jackson, move number nine forward, we can start training tomorrow."

Jackson scratches the back of his neck, confidence faltering. "I don't think it's ready, we just got em' in."

Jacob glares at him, mood switching instantly. Pratt takes a step back away from the boy, hoping that he's outside the danger zone while Jackson stands tall under it.

"Do I need to find someone else?" Jacob threatens.

"No, sir. I just think that-"

"Tools don't think." Jacob cuts him off, venom in his voice.

"Sorry." Jackson says quietly with his head down, unable to maintain eye contact.

Jacob huffs and walks over to the boy, bearing down on him. "Get it done." giving him a pat on the shoulder.

"Yes, Jacob." Jackson nods, confidence showing again.

Jacob nods and continues on, gesturing to Pratt for him to follow. Pratt gives one last look to Jackson, hoping to convey something positive. It's returned with a scowl. He tried.

Pratt catches up to Jacob and tries to match his pace with his shorter strides.

The day goes by fairly quickly after that. Pratt makes sure to take plenty of notes, including the usual daily schedule for the the week, thankfully Jacob helps fill in the blanks.

6am - Morning Bell/Shift change

6:05am - Breakfast

6:30am - Gear Checks

6:45am - Judge Checks

7am - FIrst truck arrives

8am - Inventory

9am - Judge Training

10am - Training

12pm - Lunch

1pm - Second truck arrives

2pm - Inventory

3pm - Sermon

4pm - Shift Change

6pm - DInner

8pm - third truck arrives

9pm - Inventory

10pm - Lights out

Jacob has enough people under his boot to complete most of the tasks on the list without him needing to move a finger. Although he wants to watch over the running of the facility, his brothers want him to focus on future big plans. The man is all business as he walks around the camp, discussing what needs to be done with his VIP's.

VIP - Group leaders

There are a few fences that need to be fixed, dead prisoners that must be removed, and bliss tankers that need repair. Pratt tries his best to keep up, the camp is more than just the area around the hospital, there are outposts all over the mountains that need to be maintained.

It hits 3pm quickly and Pratt looks at the schedule. Sermon.

He's never really been the religious or spiritual type. His mom made him go to a Sunday reading a handful of times just to give him the 'option'. It never appealed to him, almost a waste of time if he's being completely honest. Of course he should be more accustomed to the idea of it, now that he's here.

Jacob is busy talking to another VIP as Pratt's watch hits three. He's not sure whether he's allowed to interrupt even though Jacob has pushed the importance of being on time for everything.

"Sir?" Pratt tries, voice quiet.

They don't seem to hear him and keep talking about the new trucks that need to be brought in.

"Jacob?" the name rolls off his tongue without meaning to.

Stomach dropping as soon as it leaves his lips. He's never said the man's name before, more out of fear than respect.

Jacob goes rigid and the VIP stops mid-sentence, staring at Pratt over his leader's shoulder.

Pratt swallows and Jacob looks over to him. "It's 3 o'clock, sir."

"Dismissed" he waves his VIP away, waiting for him to leave before turning fully to Pratt.

"I'm sorry." Pratt blurts out, wanting to get this over with.

"Sorry for what?" Jacob raises a brow.

Pratt shrugs, a little more than confused at his response.

"Come on." he walks towards the hospital, knowing Pratt will follow. "Ever gone before?"

"Sir?"

"To church, family ever force you to go?" Jacob explains.

"Uh yeah, several times." he replies, a few steps behind him.

Jacob says nothing more and guides him through the threshold of the hospital, past the dining hall and the hallway that leads to his room. Pratt's mental map is building every day, it makes him feel a little more secure. The hallways become busier, peggies are grouped together outside of double doors that are crudely carved with several Edens Gate symbols, a colourful stained glass window pane glows above them from sunlight coming through on the other side.

Jacob doesn't need to say anything for his men and women to move out of his way. Pratt stays close so he doesn't get lost in the crowd. They make it through the doors, Jacob waits for him to walk through to close it after them. The room reminds him of the inside of pastor Jerome's church in Fall's End. It's simple besides a few modern add-ons with the tv's mounted on either side. A podium sits on stage, more Eden's Gate symbols cover it. The woodwork is beautiful, Pratt admits to himself. The rows of benches seem to be warm and inviting for a cultist church.

"Pratt." Jacob is behind him, seeming amused at his expression. "Take those," He points to the pile of books next to the podium. "And place them out on the benches."

Pratt nods and starts on the command right away while Jacob stands at the doors, watching him.

The books are well used and heavy with pages. He can't help but notice more of the symbols punched into the leather of them, he frowns at it. He's seen it all of the county, always covering crime scenes like a signature.

The doors click open, making both men look over to it, and a well dressed Joseph Seed walks in with a pair of heavily armed Peggies following suit.

The cult leader reaches his older brother with outstretched arms and connects their foreheads together in greeting. Joseph says something but Pratt can't hear him, a familiar ringing in his ears has returned, the same deafness as the night of the crash. He continues on with passing out the books, hoping to go unnoticed.

That hope is dashed when he feels a hand on his shoulder, turning him to face its owner.

"Staci Pratt." Joseph has both hands on him now, a soft smile on his lips. "How are you, child?" His voice now loud and clear.

Pratt's breathing stutters, unable to avoid the Father's piercing gaze. Jacob looks at him expectantly over his brother's shoulder, a painful reminder to behave.

"I'm fine." he replies eventually, voice steady so far.

"Jacob has been treating you well?" Joseph rests a hand on his cheek, the same side Jacob had struck.

Pratt knew that it wasn't a joke but, he can't help but want to ask. He doesn't as he looks at the Seed brothers stone expressions.

Best to give a safe answer. "Yes. He's been showing me the ropes." he nods to Jacob, his captor.

Joseph studies him, he moves Pratt's head to the side, most likely looking at the cuts and bruises he's received.

"Jacob," he drawls. "Was this really necessary?"

Jacob shrugs, actually shrugs. It awakens something in Pratt, he feels hot anger prickling under his skin, unable to shove it down.

His head jerks out of the Father's hold without meaning to, sending the two peggies on high alert, they make for him but Joseph waves them away. Jacob stays where he is, knowing his brother isn't in any danger.

Pratt doesn't move a muscle, not wanting to give the armed guards more reason to continue.

"It's alright." Joseph is close again, prying the last of the books from Pratt's arms. "I know this is a difficult time for you."

That was an understatement, his life has been torn apart, he's been tortured and manipulated, he can't imagine what his friends are going through.

Joseph's hands are back on his face, thumb stroking his cheek. The action doesn't comfort him, it does the opposite, it makes him desperate. "Please, just let me go." Pratt whispers, not just from the hold but from this entire nightmare.

The cult leader just smiles at him, gently turning him so they're facing the podium. "God hears you, he hears us all." he walks them forward, hand at Pratt's back.

"But it never changes his plans. You must have faith that he knows what's best." they stop at the stage, another hand moving Pratt so he's facing Joseph again. "Let go, give up control. You'll be so much happier."

Pratt's lost, he doesn't know how to say, so he just nods and looks away when he feels his lip wobble.

"Will you stay for the sermon?" Joseph asks.

Pratt clears his throat. "Yes." as if he has a choice.

Joseph shows him to the benches, sitting him down in the front row. "God will tell you when it's time."

"Time for what?" Pratt asks.

He doesn't get a response, Joseph focuses back on Jacob. "Let our brothers and sisters join us."

The doors are opened, letting in the cultist that were waiting outside. Within a few seconds, the room is full and Pratt is wedged between the arm of the bench and a peggie that doesn't seem to care about personal hygiene. Although he doesn't smell much better.

Joseph is at the podium with Jacob behind him, eyes scanning the room, seeming to look for something or someone.

The Father raises his hands and the room goes silent, all attention focused on him.

"These past few weeks have been hard," he starts. "The locusts in our garden have shown themselves. They've tried to take me all away from you. Taking a father away from his children." his soft voice travels around the room.

"But god did not let them."

"He who ignores the low flight of the bird, the darkening skies, and the taste of iron in the blowing wind, deserves the thunder and lightning that will rain down upon him."

The sermon ends with cheering and shouts of blessings. They all reach out to Joseph as he walks down the aisle, accepting some hands and giving some small blessings in return.

Pratt watches him stop at the door and turn, eyes finding his to give him a nod, and leaves. His children follow him calmly, hoping to continue feasting their eyes on the self-proclaimed chosen one.

"What did you think?" Jacobs voice comes from behind him.

Pratt doesn't know what to think, he's exhausted. How could this family manipulate a whole county like this? Being filthy rich must have helped, people are so easily turned when you throw money at them. Where did Jacob get his killer music box? How did Faith discover the bliss? What gave John the urge to literally carve the sins out of people skin?

Another hand is on his face, covering his bruised cheek, it belongs to Jacob this time.

"Left you speechless, hm?" he hums, smirking.

Pratt doesn't rip away this time oddly finding comfort in the touch. "No, sir." he replies, ignoring the thumb that sweeps across his cheekbone.

"We have to catch up on your training." Jacob says, reaching into his back pocket.

"Why?" Pratt panics. "Please, I've been good." he hates to beg but the words force themselves out.

"Sh sh sh." he soothes above him, producing his box. "This isn't a punishment Pratt. This is your salvation, I'm doing what's best for you." Jacob explains, eyes soft.

Pratt shakes his head and Jacob's hand retreats. He'll never believe that, he can't. It would mean defeat, giving in, failure.

"Do you understand?" Jacob finishes winding, ready to begin.

No.

"Yes." he nods.

Only youuu....

His hands fly up to his ears.

Can make the darkness bright...

Eyes squeeze shut.

Only you...

"Focus."

Weakness.

Pratt wakes up on the cement floor of his cell,  the coldness of it freezing him through his clothes. He groans as he rolls onto his back, body screaming in pain. The ceiling light blinds him, he tries to blink it away, wanting to get his bearings. He goes to rub his eye with the heel of his hand but stops when he sees new purple bruises circled around his wrist.

"You're not a deputy, never were."

Pratt attempts to sit up but his legs refuse to move. He needs water.

He ends up crawling to the sink, managing to pull himself by the lip of it and drinking directly from the tap.

"Might've been better if you perished in that crash, hm? Save everyone's time."

Pratt chokes and turns the water off, frustration building.

"Would've preferred to have taken your friend Hudson. She showed so much more promise."

He coughs, dragging himself over to his bed, sweeping off his pad of paper and pen that's been left on his pillow. He manages to roll onto the mattress, able to bring his shaking legs up with him.

"You're learning, I'll give you that. But it's not enough."

"Shut up." Pratt grits out, covering his ears with his hands.

"Just give in. Stop wasting my time."

"Shut up!" he screams, clutching his head when a sharp pain flares up in response to his yelling.

He digs his nails into his scalp, not caring if he draws blood. Blood means pain, pain means he's still alive.

Being alive is a small comfort in here, sometimes he wishes he wasn't, but he knows his friends would never forgive him if he gave up. Joey would be telling him to fight until his last breath, the Sheriff would be trying to reassure him, making sure he knows he's not allowed to die. Burke. Burke is probably dead by now, the man was so ill-prepared, he had no idea what he was running into.

Pratt wonders if the Rookie is still out there. They never did find her that night, the peggies sounded disappointed when they told Joseph the news. He hopes she's still out there, whether she ran or fought with the resistance, he wouldn't blame her if she hightailed it out of the county. His friends would be put on the missing persons' list, never to be found like so many others.

Pratt eases his hands away from his head, waiting for Jacobs voice to come back. It doesn't. He looks at his watch. 7pm. He's free from the haunting voice but left with his own anxious thoughts.

The thoughts break when his cell door unlocks, making his mind stall. "Jacob gave you his blessing?"

"Are you calling me a liar?" a voice coos in response.

"No sir, but my orders were-"

"Do I need to get my brother down here then?" it sighs.

There's a pause.

"I didn't think so." it hisses.

The door opens and in walks John Seed.

Pratt hurries to sit up, ignoring his body's protests.

"I appreciate the attempt but there's no need to get up for me." John smirks, closing the door behind him.

Pratt doesn't say anything, making himself lean back on his elbows, hoping to be ready for anything.

"Looks like my older brother has been treating you well. You scored the honeymoon suite." John walks into the room more, gesturing to the cement walls.

Pratt hasn't done much research on the youngest Seed brother. Mostly because there was very little to go on, the man was a ghost. The only thing they had on him was a few eyewitness accounts and photos. The man was always well dressed, not a hair out of place, with those infamous sunglasses on.

"Did he cut out your tongue?" John seems suddenly impatient at the lack of response.

"No." Pratt curtly replies, voice hoarse.

"Ah," he crosses his arms over his vest, dress shirt stretching impossibly tighter. "He's gone soft on you."

Soft?

"Jacobs visitors don't usually last more than a week. He's efficient that way." John explains, looking Pratt over, amused at the confused expression on his face. "Hudson misses you."

Pratts' heart soars at the change of subject, ecstatic to hear that his friend is still alive.

"Told her you would be dead by now. She'll be happy to hear otherwise." he smiles.

"Glad to hear she's alive too." Pratt confesses, mustering a nod.

John's smile falters, he nibbles at his lip, contemplating something. His eyes land on the office supplies strewn about the floor and his gleeful grin is back. He picks the pad off the floor and flips through it, "Is he actually having you take notes? That's cute." he chuckles.

"I should get my own personal assistant, although I doubt deputy Hudson will play ball. Maybe he'll let me borrow you." His eyes land on Pratt, the grin stretching wider across his face as he roams over the deputies face.

The thought makes Pratts blood run cold.

"John." Jacob cuts in, the cell door swinging open, slamming against the wall.

Pratt is almost happy to see him, but now there are two of the cults Heralds in his room.

"Ah, there he is." John sighs, disappointed that his fun is interrupted. "Your ears must've been burning." he throws the pad of paper into Pratts lap.

"What are you doing?" Jacob isn't amused.

John doesn't back down. "Just saying hello to your pet. You lucked out, he seems very submissive." he gives Pratt a wink.

Jacobs' face hardens. "You're overstepping the leeway that I've given you." he growls, stepping into Johns space.

He raises his hands in surrender. "Easy now Jacob. I'm just checking on everyone's progress." he confesses, smile still painted on his face.

"Leave that to Joseph, focus on your own tasks." Jacob orders, gesturing to the open door.

John tries to stare his brother down, pouting as if he just had his candy stolen. He looks over to Pratt. "Nice catching up with you deputy Pratt." he says before leaving quickly, scolding the guard as soon as he reaches the door.

It leaves the captive and captor in silence. Jacob gives the usual stare down and once over, but he catches something that makes his jaw clench.

"Did he touch you?" Jacob asks, voice low.

Pratt's taken back by the question and shakes his head. "No." he's quiet but firm.

"Good." he nods, and turns to leave but pauses at the door. "Never let him."

It sounds like an order, a command. Either way, Pratt is all for obeying it, John is the last person he would want to be alone with. He's proud of Hudson for holding on.

"We clear?" Jacob asks, wanting a verbal answer.

"Yes, sir." Pratt responds genuinely.

With that understood Jacob leaves, closing the door behind him with a slam.

Pratt pretends to be asleep when his cell door is being unlocked again, he can hear the key scratch against the door a few times before finding the hole. He can't see his watch to check the time but it must be past 10pm since the lights have been out for a while.

He wasn't able to fall asleep after his visitor, only tossing and turning, worried he'll see John in his dreams.

The door creaks open and Pratt holds his breath, his back to the door. Heavy footsteps come closer and stop at his bedside. The persons' breath is erratic, almost panicked.

The bed dips behind him, creaking under the added weight. Pratt squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that his 'pretending to asleep' plan works.

He almost moves on instinct when he feels a hand in his hair, stroking through the greasy strands, tugging out some tangles. He opens his eyes, giving away his consciousness. There's a hand placed next to his head, skin layered with scars and pockmarks.

"Jacob?" he blurts out, hoping that he's wrong.

The hand withdraws, finding his shoulder instead, pushing him onto his back. Strong legs straddle his waist, locking him in.

Pratt can only see the outline of him but he knows he's right, which scares him all the more.

Jacob suddenly begins to undo the buttons on Pratts uniform, almost tearing a few of them off in his haste.

Pratt grabs his wrists to stop him, sucking in a breath when he feels a finger graze his bare chest.

Jacob huffs, stopping for the moment. "Just let me. I have to." he rambles. "I have to."

Pratt can see the desperation on the man's face, his eyes adjusting to the dark. He doesn't know if he's allowed to say no to this.

"Pratt." Jacob grits out, hands paused at the last button.

Pratt relaxes his hold, unsure of what he's being asked. Jacob takes that as the green light and shakes the hands off before completely unbuttoning the uniform.

Pratt stares at the ceiling and bites his lip, searching his mind for something to take him away from here. He knows it's not going to be possible when he feels rough hands on his chest, slowly pushing away the now loose fabric if his shirt. Jacobs breathing seems to calm down as he roams his chest, relaxing at the sight. He takes his time tracing his muscles, the dip in his chest, the bruises left from training.

Pratt grips the sheets underneath him, trying to stay as still as he can, resisting the urge to shove the hands away. He shivers as his chest warms underneath the touches, maneuvering himself just enough so Jacob misses his nipple.

Jacob lets out a sigh, it sounds relieved and his eyes flutter. He leans down, covering Pratts body with his own and burrows his face into the crook of his neck.

Pratt smells alcohol coming off of him, more than enough to assume that he's drunk, no matter how large this man is. He's pulled enough people over for DUI to know when someone is over the limit.

"Good boy." Jacob breathes him in.

Pratt can't be compliant anymore, he's overwhelmed with shame and guilt when he feels a familiar tug in his gut. He pushes at Jacobs' shoulders and raises his knees to try and create a barrier between them.

Jacob grunts in his ear at the resistance and sinks his teeth into his shoulder. Pratt cries out only to have a hand clamp over his mouth to silence him.

Pratt struggles against Jacobs stone frame, barely able to put space between them. Nothing seems to work as the bite becomes stronger, more painful. He eventually stills under it, fingers digging into a scarred arm.

Jacobs teeth finally unlock, a reward for his compliance. "I have to." He repeats, his breathing has become irregular again. "I have to make sure."

The hand on Pratts' mouth leaves.

"Jac-"

It's replaced by Jacobs own.

Pratt tastes his blood on the man's lips, making the tug in his stomach turn to disgust. The kiss is sloppy and aggressive, there's no intimacy at all. Jacob is only claiming what's his.

Pratt lets it happen, unsure of what else he can do besides give in. He makes his lips go slack as the kiss grows rougher, hoping to appease him.

Jacob breaks away and Pratt takes the opportunity to gasp for air but he chokes on whatever he gets into his lungs.

"Turn over." Jacob orders.

Pratt stares at him. This is going too far. He doesn't even know what this is.

"No." He forces himself to say, protecting whatever's left of his dignity.

Jacob huffs and grabs Pratts hips, easily flipping him over and onto his stomach.

"Jacob." Pratts' voice wavers, quietly begging, moving his face to the side so he can breathe.

He's quieted with a sharp hush and hand that runs through his hair, tucking some behind his ear.

Pratt winces as his wrists are grabbed and raised to make him wrap his hands around the metal bars of his headboard.

"Stay." Jacob whispers in his ear, squeezing him with his knees.

The hands trail down his arms, over his back and stop at Pratts waistband. There's a long pause, the sound of himself hyperventilating is the only thing Pratt can hear. His breath freezes in his lungs as Jacobs' hand buries itself underneath his uniform. He feels him trace circles in his lower back, letting his fingers follow the line of his spine, dragging his uniform up with it.

Jacob slowly exhales behind him, relaxing again, finding comfort in what he sees. Pratt strains his eye to look at him, to say something, to do anything. Dark eyes burrow into his, a wild hunger clear on Jacobs face, a different kind of monster.

"He didn't." Jacob gives him a small smile.

"I don't understand." Pratt hopes for an explanation, voice muffled against his pillow.

Jacob leans down, eyes locked on his lips again.

Pratt avoids it by hiding his face in his pillow, squeezing his hands around the bars when he hears Jacob hum behind him. He waits for punishment. Instead, Pratt feels a feather-light touch on his upper back followed by a small kiss, Jacobs beard scratching against his sore skin.

"He didn't." He mumbles in between kisses, each one lower than the last.

Pratt bites his lip, the tug returns. The lips suck on his skin as they reach his waistband, he has to do something. His hand let's go of the bar, reaching back to quickly find Jacob, he finds a forearm and digs his nails in.

"Stop. Please." he throws pride out the window in exchange for mercy.

"Pratt." Jacob rumbles, hands tightening around his hips. "It's okay to enjoy yourself."

Pratt shakes his head, he can hear a smile in his voice, and it makes him hate him all the more.

"I don't want this." his voice cracks but he hopes it's enough.

"No?" Jacob chuckles.

He raises Pratt's hips so he can snake a hand in between his body and the covers, squeezing when he finds what he's looking for.

"Don't!" Pratt's panic erupts.

He breaks the order to stay still again and fights back, grabbing and twisting with whatever energy he has left. He gets some solid blows in before being pinned down face first, with his arms taken and held behind his back.

Jacob uses his weight to hold him there, breath heavy in Pratt's ear. "Just let me." His voice is desperate, hungry again.

"You're not thinking straight!" Pratt pleads to the man's consciousness, still struggling in the hold.

"I'm not?" Jacob mocks, grinding his hips down.

Pratt bites his tongue, he feels Jacobs hardness against him, shocking him to his core. Copper blossoms in his mouth, teeth cutting through flesh.

"I've said this before," Jacob continues, grinding down again. "You just have to be good."

Pratt goes lax. There's no use fighting anymore, part of this man is still true, a part of Jacob that actually wants this.

"Take it like it is. You want this too." Jacob lets Pratts' arms go, knowing that the fight is over.

Jacob maneuvers them so he can reach underneath him again, making his hips meet his groin while groping at Pratt's own hardness.

Pratt gasps, feeling utterly betrayed by his own body, it mixes with the sweet ecstasy of being touched after ignoring the need for so long.

"That's it." Jacob breathes, thrusting against him in time with his hand's movements.

Pratt grabs behind him again, this time finding a hip. He wraps his hand around the man's belt, only holding onto it as Jacob moves against him. His mind is blank, only focused on what's happening to his body.

"Fuck." Jacob swears under his breath, using the metal headboard as leverage to quicken the pace.

The word intensifies Pratt's sensitivity, getting off by knowing Jacob is enjoying himself. He hears whimpering and is mortified when he realizes that they're coming from him.

"Ja- Jacob-" He gets cut off by an aggressive thrust. "Please." He doesn't know what he's begging for this time, only that he has to have it.

"Staci."

His name on Jacob's lips does him in, fingers and toes curling as he unloads in his jeans. He shudders, another gasp forcing itself past his lips while Jacob rubs him all the way through.

The warm hand leaves him quickly though as he sinks into the bed, he brings his arms underneath him, curling in on himself as Jacob continues, working on his own release.

Pratt lets his body move with Jacobs movements, burying his face into his pillow, hoping that this ends soon.

It only takes a few more rough thrusts before his nails are digging into Pratt's shoulder as he comes. The sound he lets out is animalistic, growling loudly in Pratts' ear.

The arms beside Pratt shake, tired from holding Jacob up, they eventually bend to lower him down and rest on the body below him.

Jacob's body is heavy and warm. Pratt can smell a hint of the sweet bliss mixed in with the smell of booze, he focuses on the scent, hoping that it's enough to take him far away from here. At least it's over.

"Good boy." Jacob lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through Pratts sweaty hair.

Pratt tenses under it, at his limit. He can tell Jacob doesn't like the reaction as he makes him roll onto his back.

He keeps his arms glued to his chest, hiding his body from prying eyes, they rise and fall with his quick breaths.

Jacob gently takes away the barrier and softly places Pratt's hands onto his hips.

Pratt's first instinct is to pull away, to hide, scream, fight, but he doesn't. He lets his hands rest on Jacob's waist, closing the door on the racing thoughts in his head.

Jacob leans down once more, capturing Pratts lips with his own. It's more intimate this time, slow and careful. It makes Pratt kiss back, chasing the comfort that flows through it, calming the shaking of his limbs that are still dealing with the aftermath of what just occurred. He lets his fingers flex aroundJacobs's hips.

Pratt's the one to break it this time, the fog of intimacy finally clearing, common sense and decency returning.

Jacob licks his lips, tasting what's left over. "Don't lie to me."

It's not an order this time, it's almost a plea. Another thing he doesn't know how to answer. Dazed and confused, he nods, letting out a shaky exhale. "Okay."

Chapter Text

The alarm on Pratt's watch goes off.

He lets it go for a while, not wanting to move just yet but the lights eventually flicker on, he blinks and rubs the crud out of his eyes.

Jacob hasn't come for him yet, no one has. There's been a few footsteps outside his door but they fade away as quickly as they come. Possibly a guard checking the hallways. He squeezes his watch to silence it. 6:15am.

Pratt finds the energy to sit up but a stitch in his side makes him pause at the edge of the bed, telling him that he's dehydrated. He moves to put his feet on the floor but freezes again when he feels the evidence of last night scratching against his skin.

"Shit." Pratt rubs a shaking hand over his face.

He's never wanted a shower so bad.

The buttons on his shirt are still open, he didn't even think about it after Jacob had eventually left. He hadn't said anything when he got up, only adjusting his pants as he walked out the door. Like it was nothing.

He opens his uniform a little to look at the spot on his shoulder where Jacob bit him. It's red with dried blood as the area around it is turning into another bruise but with teeth indents this time. Pratt does his shirt back up, a sense of dread washing over him.

Everything aches. 

He eventually makes it to the sink, drinking his fill and using some of the water to rinse away old sweat and grime. It doesn't help him feel any less filthy, maybe he could soak his clothes in the bowl of the sink. Pratt decides against it, not wanting to be caught literally with his pants down.

The sharp pain in his side suddenly increases, knocking the wind out of him. He doubles over and uses the side of the sink to support himself as it grows stronger.

He's able to make it back to his bed to collapse on it, sighing when the pain fades away a little as he lays down.

The stitch comes and goes in waves, it's becoming unbearable and he wonders if he should call for help. He almost rather suffer just thinking about it.

The time hits 11am and the pain hasn't dissipated, it's gotten even worse. He's stopped sweating only because there is nothing left in his body to sweat out. Every breath is difficult to take as it pulls at his side, he tries to switch positions but nothing seems to help.

There's a sudden banging on his cell door, it's the only time he's actually thankful to hear it being opened.

"Get up sinner." it's one of the peggies that he's seen around the camp, maybe Jarv? Brown eyes, rough look.

"Ah..." he tries to sit up again, clutching his side.

"Now, Pratt."

He winces but is able to slowly sit up through the pain.

The peggie sighs in annoyance and grabs his arm, pulling him roughly to his feet. Pratt bites down a scream as his body is stretched, pulling at the internal stitch.

"Pathetic." Jarv growls, impatiently pushing the prisoner through the door.

He must've blacked out at some point because they're suddenly at the stairs that lead up to Jacobs office, tripping on several as he's pulled along. He blinks and the doors of the office are in front of him. Another and he's on his knees curled in on himself, black and white tile underneath him. One more and Jacob is in his face, pulling his head up to meet his eyes.

Jacob doesn't look concerned or upset at Pratt's state. Instead his eyes are curious, mouth slightly open in fascination.

Pratt feebly pushes against his chest, the other clutching at the pain in his stomach. Jacob is too close. He can't breathe. He feels the cold metal of Jacob's dog tags under his hand and he wraps his fingers around the chain, letting his arm hang from it.

"Get a stand." he hears Jacob order.

He blinks again and he's on his back with Jacob cradling his face, holding a hand out behind him to accept a needle from Jarv who stands just out of the way.

Pratt tries to protest but all he manages is a grunt, grabbing the collar of Jacobs shirt in a poor attempt to stop him. He doesn't want anything from this man, especially in needle form, it could be bliss or some sort of narcotic. Jacob's used it on his wolves, why not him too?

"Relax." Jacob scolds, directing the needle into the crook of his other arm.

A hand on Pratt tightens, holding him down. He barely feels it enter his skin but the little he does pushes tears out of his eyes. Pain on top of pain.

A thumb wipes them away as they roll down his cheek, he assumes it's Jacob but his sight has gone blurry, adding on to the tunnel vision.

Pratt feels the fluid go up his arm, a chill spreading throughout his body making him shiver. He relaxes a little and lets go of Jacob, hand returning to his side.

"Was wondering what was going to break first," Jacob tells him, focusing on taping the IV to his arm. "I thought it was going to be your mind. Your sanity."

Pratt lets his head roll to the side, staring at the legs of the desk chairs, he doesn't want to hear this, he focuses on his heartbeat instead, letting it fill his ears. Maybe he should ask Jacob to just let him fade away, a mercy killing. It's tempting but he knows that it would only just make things worse, or at least earn him a slow and painful death.

Pratt's skin prickles when he feels Jacob touch his cheek again, brushing hair out of his eyes. His chest becomes tighter, remembering how fascinated Jacob was by his long black locks while he was straddling him.

"You're the one not thinking straight, Pratt." Jacob rumbles. "You've made this more difficult than it has to be."

Pratt internally recoils as his own words from last night are thrown back at him. He didn't expect Jacob to remember much of what he had done, he still smells faintly of booze mixed with pine.

"I don't know what this is anymore." Pratt croaks, rolling his head back to face him.

Jacobs hand on his face freezes, eyes hardening in response.

But it's the truth. He's so lost. Last night had spun him around in more circles. No one... No one had done that to him before. He doesn't want this. He didn't.

Pratt covers his face with his free hand, hating how he shakes as he tries to take deep breaths. He can't cry anymore, he would if he could, but the fluids he's receiving have decided to go to more vital parts of his body.

Jacob moves his hand out of the way so he can look into his eyes. "This," he traces his thumb over Pratt's bottom lip. "Is whatever I want it to be." His voice is threatening, layered with possessiveness.

Pratt stares back into the blue eyes that are consuming him, pinning him in place.

"You're my tool." Jacob stands. "Mine to control," he grabs Pratt by his arms, pulling him up. "Mine to use," manhandling him over to a chair next to the desk. "As soon as you landed that chopper in Joseph's compound you were mine."

Jarv follows, rolling the IV stand over next to them, making sure he has plenty of slack. He leaves when Jacob gives him a small wave, dismissing him.

Pratt's eyes droop in defeat and exhaustion. He's a nobody now. In the earlier years of his life he could care less, wanting to keep to himself most of the time, but now with him being here, it meant something. He's lost claim to his own soul and its dehumanizing.

He barely hears Jacob drag over a chair and sits across from him, legs casually spread apart, knees knocking into Pratts. "Stay awake."

Pratt shakes his head. "I can't-" he tries to inhale. "... breathe."

"Focus on me."

He forces himself to look up, it's a horrible decision, it makes him feel worse as his mind flashes to last night when his eyes lock with Jacob's. The hunger is still there even without the alcohol to fuel it.

"In through the nose." Jacob breathes with him. "Out through the mouth, extending your gut."

Pratt follows the instructions, taking a sharp inhale when it pulls at his stitch. He tries again, leaning over to favor his side.

"Good." Jacob praises and leans back against his chair. "Keep focusing on me, I need your full attention."

He nudges at something on the desk making Pratt perk up. There's a white tray with a piece of bread and what looks like oatmeal.

"Who is the young deputy that came with you that night?" Jacob asks.

That night?

Oh. Rookie.

The right thing to do is to say nothing, but the sight of food loosens his lips. "She came in with the Marshal. I met her an hour before we left to serve the warrant." Pratt tells him, finally catching his breath.

Jacob doesn't say anything, he just sits with his arms crossed. He wants more.

"She's.... a fresh face. Determined. A desk jockey who wanted to get their feet wet." He tries adding in his own opinion.

Jacobs lack of response tells him it's not enough.

He starts to frantically search his mind for more but it's empty. "I don't know her, I swear." he spews out, the food taunting him.

Jacob studies him a bit longer before moving the tray closer, nodding to express his permission.

Pratt tears into the bread first, it's hard and dry but he doesn't care. He finds satisfaction in chewing through the toughness of it, feeling better immediately as he is finally able to get sustenance into him. He works on the oatmeal next, thankful that there is a spoon for him to use, he digs in and shovels as much as he can into his mouth. It warms up his throat, making him sink back into his chair, cherishing the moment. He can breathe again, even if it's a little quick, his chest is lighter.

"Your desk jockey has been causing trouble." Jacob says, watching him stuff his face.

Pratt slows down, eating suddenly taking a back seat.

"John's getting annoyed." he scratches through his beard, seeming to be undisturbed by his brothers' troubles.

She's alive? Not only alive but fighting back too? Will she come for him? Hudson? The sheriff? This means there's a chance. A chance that Jacob will try to destroy. A hope that Pratt has to protect.

"And you don't know anything about her?" Jacob asks again.

Pratt shakes his head, swallowing.

Jacob sighs at the lack of information, fingers tapping on the table in an all too familiar rhythm.

Only you...

Pratt doesn't sit well with it, he looks into memories again to see if he's missed anything but nothing stands out. Nothing that would be useful. Maybe he could-

He stops. This anxiety is different. He's not running away this time. He wants closure, approval, Jacobs praise.

"Pratt." Jacob breaks through his horrifying train of thought.

Pratt refocuses, thrown by his self-realization. "Yeah?" his voice shakes.

He can see that Jacob definitely notices something amiss by the way he looks back at him, his eyes cold and dark but curious. He doesn't say anything though, instead moving the tray closer. "Finish."

Pratt does as he's told and picks his spoon back up. Eating isn't as satisfying as it was before, he has trouble swallowing, his internal conflict making him feel sick again. This isn't him, this is Jacobs training. His mind is fighting against it but it's losing.

He forces himself to finish everything on the tray, knowing that his body needs it. He places the spoon back down to let Jacob know that he's done.

The pain has subsided enough that he can finally sit tall in his chair, finally able to stretch his back.

"Better?" Jacob asks.

"Yes, sir." he replies, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Jacob leans forward into his space. "Gunna thank me?"

Pratt shifts uncomfortably in his seat, he's being played with and he absolutely hates it but he knows that it wasn't a request. "Thank you." he makes himself say, teeth clenched.

Jacob reaches out to touch him again and Pratt turns his face away, exhaling in frustration as his space is invaded again, knowing this man never will have good intentions.

A touch to his neck proves it, he looks at his empty food tray and tries to repress a shiver as a finger drags down his skin to his collarbone. He keeps his mouth shut, hoping that staying quiet will help the situation, he looks over to the bulletin board and notices that more photos and ribbon have been added next to Eli.

Nick Rye stands proudly next to his plane, arms around his pregnant wife Kim. They had invited Pratt over several times for some casual flights, it was fun. Nick had shown him all his favourite places and some fishing spots they should go to. He smiles internally at the memory, wishing he could be in the skies right now. The other picture is of the rookie, she's carrying a rifle with a familiar dog trotting next to her. She looks like a goddamn action hero and it actually makes him jealous. The picture is taken from far away, someone must be following her.

His collar is tugged, bringing him back to the present. Pratt doesn't dare look as his shirt is pulled down, revealing more of his neck and shoulder. Jacob must be looking at his newer handiwork, taking inventory from last night. 

Hot breath ghosts over his bruised and broken skin as Jacob leans in closer, it makes his stomach turn when he feels lips on his shoulder followed by a tongue, licking at the dried blood that's there. His hands tighten around the arms of the chair as it swirls over his skin. He slowly places a shaking hand on Jacob's chest, wanting to push him away but worried about the consequences, the warmth under his hand almost makes him shiver again.

Jacob hums at the touch, taking it as permission to continue. He grabs Pratt's jaw and claims his lips with his own. Pratt squeezes his eyes shut and keeps his mouth locked to keep him out, he's unable to free himself from the grip on his cheeks but he can try to make this uncomfortable for Jacob too.

It works. Jacob doesn't like it and presses a thumb into his marked shoulder making Pratt shout, he takes full advantage of the now open mouth, exploring the taste.

Pratt finally starts to push hard at his chest when he feels Jacob's tongue invade, it's not even a kiss anymore, it feels like more of an extensive examination. He makes sure to breathe through his nose as his mouth is claimed and the search becomes rougher.

Jacob eventually pulls back, having to take a breath himself. He waits and watches as Pratt finally opens his eyes to look at him. "You know more than you're letting on."

Pratt shakes his head in the hold, looking down at the needle in his arm, suddenly finding it fascinating. "I've told you everything. I don't know her." his voice shakes.

Jacob sighs, flexing his hand on Pratt's jaw to get his attention again. "Tell the truth and I'll stop."

"I'm not lying," Pratt swallows the lump in his throat, forced to look back up. "She came in with Marshal Burke. They didn't even say a word to me."

Jacob smiles at him, it's dark and pained. He stands up and sweeps everything off the desk, papers flying to the floor and the tray smashing against the wall. He grabs Pratt by the arms again, only careful of the IV, and throws him into it. Pratt's brain doesn't register most of it, he barely feels his hips hit the sharp edge of the desk, everything's a blur. He catches up enough to try and get up but is stopped with Jacobs hand on the back of his neck, pushing his face back into the rough wood.

"You must really enjoy this." Jacob whispers harshly into his ear.

Pratt feels a hand start tugging at the buckle of his belt, and his heart begins to race. "I don't know what you want me to say!" He scratches frantically at the hand on his neck, wincing when he accidentally pulls out his IV.

Jacob stops, his hand paused at the button of Pratt's jeans as his nails dig deeper. "Say my name."

It sounds easy enough but Pratt still internally struggles with the order. "J-Jacob." He breathes out.

"Again." Jacob hums, continuing to work open his jeans.

"Jacob..." Pratt shifts his hips forward to make it difficult for his zipper to be pulled down, wanting to subtly build barriers to protect himself.

Jacob notices and easily pulls him back to meet his groin, giving his hips a tight squeeze as a silent but direct order to stay still. Pratt starts to shake as he feels Jacob's warmth pressed against him. "I really don't know anything-" he quietly tries once more.

He feels Jacob's heavy breath on his cheek again, "Shhh." he hushes before gently biting down on his ear, smiling around his lobe when he hears a whimper.

Pratt puts his trembling knees together when Jacob grabs his waistband and starts to slowly pull it down. He shakes his head, forehead rubbing against the desk as his fingernails dig into the wood, this is a different type of stress. A torture that he's never dealt with before. Work was rarely ever stressful, the worst he's had to be called for, besides Jacob's deeds, was gun misuse and even that was calm. This is so wrong.

Jacob is able to push Pratt's pants down to his knees, thankfully not pulling down his briefs just yet. Jacob lifts himself up to take in the view, releasing Pratt's neck to hike up his uniform, "Perfect." he breathes and grunts as he grinds his groin into the thinner layer of clothing protecting Pratt's ass.

All Pratt can do is to try and control his breathing, he feels sick and dizzy but he knows he has to stay focused. Jacob isn't drunk this time, he's sober and fully aware of what he's doing, it makes all of this so much worse.

Jacob's body suddenly disappears and Pratt thinks for a moment that it's all over, he chances a looks back. The hope is destroyed when he sees Jacob still standing behind him with his own pants around his thighs as his hand moves in his boxers.

Jacob stares back at him with eyes that are dark and heavy. "Stand up and face me." He orders.

Pratt's heart stutters as he stands up and slowly turns to face him, Jacob steps in his space as he does, their chests almost touching. He looks away and gulps down a large lump that's been building in his throat when Jacob pulls himself out of his boxers, deciding to stare at his shoulder instead. From the first glimpse, Jacob is on the large and thick side, insecurity is the last thing that he should probably be feeling right now but he can't control that anymore. Tools are to be used and that's exactly what Jacob is doing, that's all this is.

He shuts his eyes and grips the edge of the desk behind him when Jacob touches him, he feels a finger breach underneath his shirt to follow down a trail of pubic hair and hook itself onto the elastic of his briefs. "She's a stranger to me." Pratt tells him one last time, his voice shaking uncontrollably like the rest of his body.

It goes on deaf ears, Jacob pulls down the fabric and lets Pratt's cock bob free. "Don't tell me that you don't want this when your body is screaming for it." Jacob rumbles, taking him in hand.

Pratt gasps and grabs Jacob's arm, he didn't even realize he was hard. "I don't." He shakes his head, more in disbelief with himself than denying the comment.

"You're leaking, Staci."

He looks down and sees that Jacob is right, the front of his underwear is soaked and now it's coating his captor's hand. Jacob doesn't seem to mind as he slowly starts to pull at both of their cocks in unison.

Pratt grits his teeth and hates himself when his hips buck into the hand, physical desires taking control of him. How did it get to this? This doesn't feel like real life anymore, it's just a dream again, a nightmare that won't let him wake up. "Is this usually apart of training?" Pratt asks between gasps, he wants an answer.

Jacob surprisingly chuckles at the question and moves closer so their cocks rub together, he wraps a hand around them both. "No." He twists his wrist, eliciting a moan from Pratt. "This is... different." He replies, it sounds honest and Pratt doesn't let it go.

He hears the hesitation in his voice too, a weakness he can take advantage of. He scares himself just thinking about it, he's not a malicious person but Jacob is actually right, this is different.

He flinches as Jacob connects their foreheads together while he looks down at what he's caused, he slows down his hand's movements when he hears Pratt's breathing become erratic.

Pratt wants to tear out this man's eyes as the tug in his stomach disappears. "Jacob." He wants to sound threatening but it comes out as a whine.

"You wanna come, Peaches?" Jacob smirks at his frustration.

Pratt's only slightly irked at the new nickname, he's more focused on finding release. He nods against Jacob, trying not to let himself beg this time.

"Let me hear it." Jacob coaxes, speeding up again, his own breathing becoming quick.

Pratt's resolve crumbles quickly. "Yes, for fuck sake, let me." His hips buck against Jacob and into his slicked up hand.

Jacob obliges and picks up the pace as he finds Pratt's lips to kiss him again, swallowing down the noises that force themselves from his throat. It's softer and urgent this time, he gives Pratt a chance to kiss back, only if he let's Jacob lead.

Pratt does kiss back, it's the only thing he feels he can do, he's totally helpless in this man's arms. He places a hand on the side of Jacob's neck while his other is locked on the arm that is working them together.

Pratt breaks away to gasp and shudder into Jacob's shoulder, finally feeling his release spill onto the hand that keeps tugging him through it.

Jacob follows suit, mixing his own satisfaction with the mess that grows between them. He holds Pratt's head against him, gently tangling his fingers into his hair, taking a long breath in through his nose.

"Good boy." He breathes into his ear.

Pratt huffs at the praise, "I told you I don't know her." He tries to prove himself again, using what just happened as leverage.

Jacob hums again. "I know you don't." He admits.

Chapter Text

I know you don't.

Pratt has let himself be manipulated again, he's ashamed for giving in so quickly to something so juvenile, the moment only lasts seconds but it's addicting. It seems so easy for Jacob to get into people minds without showing he's being affected himself, practice makes perfect and he has a whole county of bodies to work with.

"You knew?" Pratt breathes out, searching Jacob's face for answers.

Jacob ignores the question and brings his hand to his mouth to suck on the side of his coated index finger, gazing back into Pratt's eyes like what he's doing is normal. Pratt doesn't know what to do with that image, he decides to store it away deep inside his mind, wanting to hide it forever in his brain.

"And you still..." He tries to stay angry and hurt but falters when Jacob wipes the remainder of the mess onto his uniform.

He shakes his head and tugs up his briefs back up to his hips, they're still cold and wet but the coverage makes him feel a bit more secure. Jacob doesn't stop him when he hikes up his jeans as well, he looks around for his belt next but he quickly gives up when a few small glances around the room turn up nothing.

"Still what?" Jacob urges, eyes daring him to say it as he fixes his own clothes.

Pratt dismisses it with a dip of his head, he wants this over and down with now, to sweep it under the rug and never think about it again.

He hears Jacob sigh before stepping in his space to reach behind him, producing his belt when he retreats. "I don't have to tell you anything, Peaches." he says as he begins to weave the leather strap through Pratt's belt loops.

Staci doesn't breathe as Jacob wraps his arms around his waist to pull it through the ones at the back, he can feel Jacob's beard scratch against his neck and he wants to rip away, the subtle touches are making him feel overstimulated. He tries to inch away but he doesn't go far when his tailbone hits the desk behind him, going forward isn't an option as Jacob's cement wall of a body is moving forward to block his escape.

"You're weak, worth next to nothing." Jacob mumbles, bringing the end of the leather belt to meet the metal buckle at the front. "But," He pulls it tight around Pratt's hips. "You have your uses." and secures it.

Pratt obviously doesn't take the comments as compliments, no sane person would, but it honestly makes him feel betrayed after what Jacob has just done to him. He knows he's not thinking the same way Jacob is yet, so he tries to remind himself that he's only here to be Jacob's muse. His tool... His toy... Not to be coddled about simple things like this.

Jacob moves to step away but Pratt shoots his hand out to stop him, he's able to catch an arm and feel Jacob go rigid under it. If this is going to keep happening, if Jacob really wants this... He must have some sort of leverage. "Can I shower?"

Jacob looks between him and the hand on his arm for a moment, mulling something over in his head, he eventually relaxes in the hold and locks back onto Pratt. "Be good and we'll see."

Pratt nods and lets him go quickly as if touching Jacob burned him. At least there is a chance for it because God, he wants one desperately.

A red streak on his arm catches his eye, it's his own drying blood from the crook of his elbow, he had forgotten about the IV in his arm, the stand is knocked over on the ground now, whatever fluids that were in the bag are now spilled out onto the floor.

"Are you strong enough to work today?" Jacob asks and runs a hand through his hair, fixing the strands that had fallen out of place.

Pratt wants to curl up in a ball and sleep forever but he could never say that to him, no more weakness, he has to get this label off him if he wants to survive. "Yes, sir." he stands up tall and adjusts his shirt a little, ignoring the new stains.

"Good, let's go." Jacob rerolls his jacket's sleeves and opens the door, waiting for Pratt to walk through.

Pratt puts on a brave face and walks out, he's still dizzy but he can walk well enough to not let on that he's struggling. Jarv is waiting for them outside, his face is unreadable but he could probably hear what was going on in the room, Pratt ignores him and swallows the humiliation that comes up as he heads towards the stairs.

He takes a deep breath of fresh air when they get outside, it was only yesterday since he was out here last but it's felt like an eternity. The peace of it is interrupted when he hears Jacob's voice call from behind him. "Wait at the fountain, Pratt."

Pratt nods and does as he's told, he makes it to the fountain and turns around to show that he's waiting. Jarv has Jacob talking in his ear, he nods and glances at Staci as he walks away, switching his rifle to his other shoulder before mingling with a group of peggies getting warm around a lit drum. He looks back to find Jacob heading over in his direction, he already has his eyes set on him, it makes Pratt even more nervous than usual. This man has a plan and he doubts he's going to like it.

"Come." he orders as he strides towards the cages.

Pratt follows along like the good dog he is, although he's not particularly happy about the direction. He hadn't missed the smell from the filth that litters the area, it gives him a different type of sick feeling.

"Mister Hale." Jacob stops at Staci's old cage and bangs on the bars to disturb a familiar body crumpled in on itself.

Fuck. It's Markus.

"What?" Markus groans, rolling onto his back.

"Got a visitor." he returns crossing his arms, not at all perturbed by the response he receives.

Markus grunts and takes his time sitting up, it's only been a few days but the lack of food and water looks to have taken its toll. His sunken eyes widen when he sees Staci standing behind Jacob. Pratt gives him a small nod as a hello, he hopes that their last interaction hasn't damaged their relationship beyond repair. He misses the man's company, being around someone with similar opinions on the cult was beneficial to keeping his own sanity intact while he's here. He's already forgiven him for staying as he stands here, he'll do anything to have a friendly face around.

"Hey, Staci." he mumbles as he tries to stand, holding onto the bars for support. "I don't have anything to say to you, Jacob. Thought I made that clear."

"Pratt has some questions for you this time." Jacob tells him, beckoning for Pratt to come closer.

Staci gives him a confused look as he walks over, he's grabbed and pushed forward into the bars with a hand on his sore shoulder. Markus' face is a few inches from his, a look of shock painted on it, he swallows and flicks his eyes back to Jacob.

"I'll do my best to answer them." He agrees.

"Good." Jacob releases Pratt and a key is shoved into his hand. "Take Hale up to the office, Jarv will make sure you both get there."

The new weight in his hand is a false power, it's just there to tease him, to make him think he has some sort of control of the situation. Pratt still wants to believe in it. He slowly unlocks the cage and opens it, cringing at the groan it makes when it swings on it's hinges. Markus stares at him as he walks out, probably wondering why he's taking orders from the enemy. Staci pries his eyes away when it turns into a glare, he already feels guilty enough.

Jacob stalks away when Jarv comes up to stand guard, he sets his gun in his hand, ready for anyone who feels desperate enough to make a run for it.

"What are you doing Staci? Switched sides already?" Markus hisses at him.

"Fuck you." Pratt shoots back before turning on his heel and starts heading towards the hospital, pocketing the key.

He hears Markus' quick footsteps behind him and his bad shoulder is grabbed but is let go when he hisses at the touch. "Look, I'm sorry about before but you don't have to do this."

Pratt's nostrils flare and he swirls around to let loose on him. "You think I want this?!" he feels betrayed again, but he never thought it would be by this man.

Markus opens his mouth to reply but Pratt cuts him off. "Don't. You have no idea..." he shakes his head but notices Jarv glare at him, it shuts him up and makes him move forward into the building.

"Then tell me!" Markus' voice echoes through the hallways.

Pratt would love to but he can't, especially not here, not now. "Just shut up, Markus."

"Staci."

"Come on." Pratt ignores him and keeps moving, leading them to the stairs.

Markus thankfully listens for once and is quiet the rest of the way up to the office, Jarv lets the pair of them go inside as he stands in the hallway next to the open door.

Pratt's gut twists as he looks at the strewn about papers, his mind going back to just minutes earlier when he was begging Jacob to let him come.

"Someone have a tantrum?" Markus strolls around the room, observing the mess.

Staci shrugs and starts picking up the mess, he doesn't know why but maybe it will help him feel better, his stomach protests as he bends down to grab the broken tray, his muscles are still tender.

Markus must've noticed something because he's at Pratt's side in an instant. "What's he done to you?" his voice is light and slow, the total opposite of Jacob's. 

He sighs and straightens himself, he has to give him something to chew on or else he'll keep asking. "Nothing, I've been kept busy." it's such a weak excuse but it's all he's got, he offers a stack of papers to Markus hoping he will take them for him.

He does so very reluctantly and tosses the pile onto the table so he can go back to questioning. "I can't help you if you don't tell me."

Pratt chuckles, he's so tired. "What could you possibly do?" He asks while trying to pick up the IV stand. "You know where we are right? What are you hoping to gain?"

Markus looks a little hurt at the response. He clears his throat, "I don't want to sound like Jacob but," his hands gently pry the metal stand away from Staci and places it up right. "Kindness is in my nature, it's a character flaw."

"Right." Pratt picks up some smaller pieces of paper. "Says the guy who builds nuclear weapons."

Markus laughs but it comes out as a cough. "Hey, I don't build them. I'm more or less the designer."

Pratt can't help but smile back at him, he has to admit that they work well together, Markus feels like an old friend, he brings back some humanity into his world. "Stace." Markus grows serious again. "It'd be nice to have a friend in this place, yeah?"

He wants to agree and deep down he does wholeheartedly but with recent events, it could be dangerous. "We can't." he forces himself to say.

"What are you afraid of?"

Jacob. Himself. Dying. A lot of things if he's being honest but he can't give Jacob any more leverage.

"It's not about fear." he lies, running a hand through his greasy hair. "I don't know how it would benefit us."

Markus' hand is suddenly on his to stop him fidgeting with the papers. "Does he have something on you?"

Pratt shakes his head. "No? I don't know. This is just how it is." he puts the papers down and leans the desk. "Has he used the box on you?"

Markus is quiet for a moment. "Yes." he moves to stand next to him, crossing his arms. "He... manipulates me. Tries to get inside my head." he lets out a shaky sigh. "I've been able to keep him out so far but... well you know how it is."

He knows it all too well and then some. "Does he... hurt you?" he's careful with his words, not wanting to reveal too much.

Markus shrugs. "Nothing compared to whatever he's done to you."

Pratt can feel eyes roam over him, no doubt taking in his injuries, he shifts under it and unconsciously scratches his neck.

Markus grabs his arm. "He's done more than bruises and cuts." he tells him like he already knows what's going on like it's a fact. "Hasn't he?"

Pratt glares at him and tries to get his arm out of the grip. "Let go." he keeps his voice at a harsh whisper, not wanting to alert Jarv.

"Staci." Markus reinforces his hold. "It's not your fault."

He doesn't want to hear it. It might not be his fault but he let it happen, Jacob made it happen. "You need to let me go." Pratt tries again more forcefully, checking the open door.

Markus let's go but stays close. "You don't have to be alone."

"He'll kill us both if he found out." Pratt walks over to a knocked over chair and puts it on its legs.

"Better than dying alone." Markus replies. "He's going to kill us anyways once we've served our 'purpose'." he makes air quotations with his hands.

Pratt freezes. It's a good point, Jacob has always left the threat of death hanging over his head but no matter how submissive he is, he could still end up dead.

"Staci."

"I get it, alright?" Pratt huffs. "You win."

Markus smirks. "In this case we both do." he holds out his hand to him.

Pratt takes it and gives it a firm shake, sealing the deal on some sort of alliance, he breaks it off quickly and checks the door again.

It's only minutes later that Jacob does arrive with Jarv following in and closing the door behind them. The pair glance at each other one last time before this whole thing starts, Markus' eyes reassuring him. Jarv breaks it up and grabs Markus, pulling him over to roughly sit him down in a chair.

"Pratt."

Pratt tenses, and looks over to Jacob who is waiting for him at the desk. He forces his legs to move closer, stopping just out of arm's reach. All eyes are on him for some reason but the only pair that matters to him are Jacob's, they're hard to read, and even harder to look into.

"Give mister Hale a sip." Jacob hands him a canteen.

He takes it, avoiding his fingers and turns to Markus who holds his hand out to receive it.

"Ah, ah." Jacob tsks, making them both freeze. "Let Peaches help you."

Pratt internally cringes at the nickname and avoids Markus' pitying stare. He brings the container to the other man's lips and tips it until he can see him swallow a few times, adams apple bobbing quickly in his throat.

"Enough." Jacob orders. "Come here."

Pratt retreats, immediately feeling guilty when Markus chases after it for another gulp. He slowly turns to Jacob but he's already in Pratt's face, the canteen is smacked out of his hand to clatter on the floor, spilling the rest of the freshwater on the tile. "I said a sip." Jacob growls.

Pratt doesn't look up, he stares at Jacob's dog tags instead. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Come on, Jacob." Markus speaks up. "You have some questions for me."

Pratt closes his eyes as Markus interrupts, he understands he's trying to take the fall for him but this will only make things worse.

"I do. Peaches is going to help us out with that." Jacob's hand wraps around its favourite spot on the back of Pratt's neck.

"I prefer my confessions to be in private." Markus' personality tries to shine through the cold dark room, Pratt appreciates it but Jacob certainly doesn't.

"You keep hiding behind jokes and quips, thinking that you're protecting people. Nothing could be further from the truth. You'll have this on your conscience for the remainder of your days." Jacob speaks calmly but his hand flexes tight.

The back of Pratt's leg is kicked in, making his knees hit the ground hard, he hisses as his hair is yanked back to bare his throat to the room. His own hands find the foreign one and tries to hold it in place, hoping to find relief. Jarv unsheathes a knife from his belt and tosses it to Jacob who catches it easily, bringing it to Pratt's neck. Markus has gone pale and his knuckles are white from gripping the arms of the chair to keep himself seated.

"No more games, Hale." Jacob continues. "Tell me where the bunker is."

"I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings but," Markus' voice is shaking, completely stripped of any and all confidence he had before. "Staci doesn't have anything to do with this."

"No," Jacob agrees. "But he means something to you, doesn't he."

Pratt can hear a smile in Jacob's voice and whines as his hair is pulled farther, making his back arch to accommodate for the pain. He doesn't know what Jacob is driving at but he must see something that Pratt doesn't. Whatever he sees, he's using it against them with Markus being the main target.

For once it seems Markus is speechless. Pratt can see him struggle to find words as his mouth opens and closes. "He's a stranger." he finally says. "We've even fought-"

Jacob scoffs. "People are desperate creatures, our instincts make us live in groups for safety. Don't take me for a fool, Mister Hale."

"You're definitely not a fool mister Seed." Markus returns. "You are a psychopath, and the last person that I would want using my weapons."

Pratt admires the courage Markus shows but then again he's not the one with a knife to his throat with a crazy man on the other end. He's really not sure if Jacob will kill him at this point, but inflicting pain is a different story.

Jacob sighs and pulls the knife away while releasing his hold on Pratt's hair, running his hand through it instead. "Do you hear that, Peaches?" he coos. "He'll sacrifice you to save the weaker side."

"That's not what I'm saying-" Markus tries.

"You have your uses. Why don't you tell him what you've been up to the past few days." Jacob's hand trails down Pratt's cheek to his chin, cupping it and forcing him to look up at Markus.

Pratt closes his eyes when they meet Markus', his heart is beating hard against his chest and it's increasing the longer he keeps his mouth shut. Don't do this.

"Jarv." Jacob calls and someone grunts.

Pratt opens his eyes and Markus is bleeding from his temple while Jarv is putting his rifle back into a comfortable position. "Go on, Peaches."

"Don't Staci. It's okay." Markus tells him before getting struck by the end of a rifle again to shut him up. "It's not your fault." he ignores the blows.

"You said you would be good from me, Pratt." Jacob reminds him. "Tell him what you asked me for earlier."

"I..." Pratt starts. "I asked for a shower."

Jacob hums. "Why?"

"Staci-" Markus is cut off by another hit and more blood streams down his face.

"Because..." Pratt's throat keeps closing, he wants to tell Markus how sorry he is, this is all his fault.

"Because?" Jacob tries to coax him as he sweeps thumb over his quivering lips.

"Y-You..."

"We could just show him instead." Jacob suggests.

Pratt starts to struggle in the hold. "Jacob..."

Anything but that.

"You called out for me earlier too." his hand tightens.

"Enough!" Markus shouts. "Jesus Jacob... He's just a kid."

"You have five seconds." Jacob tells him.

"It's in the fucking mountains, alright? I can take you there." Markus holds his head in his hands. "Just stop."

Pratt can breathe again, it whooshes out of him but it's not because he's relieved. He made Markus give in, made him appear weak and for what? To save himself some humiliation?

"Jarv, get him something to write with."

"Markus." Pratt blurts out, he wants to comfort him but he doesn't know what to say. Jacob has played them both and it's all his fault.

Markus looks at him through hooded eyes as blood drips off his brow. "It'll be okay." he tries to smile at him.

Jacob pulls Pratt up to stand and makes him lean back into him, wrapping an arm across his chest to breathe in his ear. "Good boy, Peaches."

Staci cringes at the praise. He doesn't want it, not for this. He should have been stronger, he should have see this coming, Jacob told him he was his tool and has used him as such.

"I think you've earned your shower." Jacob squeezes him and turns them towards the door, all too gently pushing him forward. "Jarv, make sure that he draws us a map, try not to break is legs."

"I'm sorry, Staci." Markus calls out to him.

Pratt's heart throbs when he hears him be hit again. He tries to look back but Jacob is already on him, glaring down into his eyes to keep him walking forward.

They don't go down the stairs like he's expecting. Instead, Jacob guides him farther down the hallway and makes them turn left. Another door stares him in the face, it looks new and freshly stained with a dark red coating.

Jacob leans down on him, caging him in with his arms on either side of the door. "Open it."

Pratt turns the knob and pushes, the door creaks open revealing a dimly lit bedroom. The cement floor turns into treated hardwood right at the threshold, his eyes land on the large bed that takes up most of the room, it looks unbelievably cozy with a puffy duvet and plenty of pillows. A stone fireplace completes the warmth of the room with fresh wood ready to be lit, there are pictures on the mantle but he can't make out the details.

Jacob's body is against him again, urging him through the doorway. Pratt stumbles in and turns to face him, it's just them again, he already misses Markus. The idea of running back to the office shatters as Jacob closes the door behind them and locks it. Pratt lets out a shaky breath and waits for whatever happens next.

"Boots off." Jacob orders as he sits on the bed and begins undoing the laces on his boots.

Pratt kneels down and slips his off with his socks then places them gently to the side, he stands up as Jacob finishes taking off his own and begins stalking over to him. He shrugs off his army jacket and throws it onto the bed making his dog tags jingle, his gaze never leaving Pratt. The black shirt he wears underneath fits him well, subtly showing off the definition of his biceps and shoulders. Pratt admits that he's in good shape for an older man, the files he had read showed that Jacob was at least in his mid-forties.

"Come're." Jacob orders softly and holds out his hand.

Pratt hesitantly steps forward but obviously takes too long because Jacob grabs his arm and pulls him in the rest of the way. He immediately starts unbuttoning his uniform without a word, while Pratt looks everywhere except in front of him. Jacob pushes the shirt off his shoulders and Pratt let's it fall to the floor, he doesn't flinch this time when his bare chest is touched as soon as it's exposed, he was expecting it at the very least. Fingers start to trace random shapes into his skin, possibly going over bruises that Pratt hasn't discovered for himself yet.

"Breathe." Jacob commands as he flattens his hand on Pratt's chest.

He follows the instruction and inflates his lungs as much as he can, breathing in time with Jacob but it only helps a little.

Jacob's hand moves down, trailing along Pratt's abdomen and stops at his belt, pulling away a little to unbuckle it. "Again."

Staci is only half paying attention as panic starts to seep in. He tries to breathe again but it gets caught in his throat making him hiccup.

"Easy, Peaches." Jacob pulls the belt out of the loops and throws it on the bed with his jacket.

Why is he even trying to reassure him? Just do something, get this over with. Pratt balls his hands into fists as they start to shake.

He can hear Jacob sigh and his hand leaves, only to return on his arm. He looks to Jacob who is hiking up his own shirt, he pulls Staci closer and guides his hand to touch his exposed skin.

Pratt jerks back as his fingertips feel the warmth and roughness of his body. Dread punches him in the stomach when he hears Jacob scoff. "I'm sorry, I don't-" he panics.

"Quiet." Jacob mumbles.

He let's go of Pratt's arm to take the rest of his shirt off, he throws it to the side, not caring where it falls. His scars continue up his arms and cover his torso, Pratt wants to know the story behind them but isn't strong enough to ask, he may never be that brave.

Jacob takes both of Pratt's hands in his and brings them back to rest on his bare hips, holding them there for a long second to watch Staci's fingers hesitantly wrap around his skin.

The marks are rough and bumpy but they don't bother him. instead, he's fascinated by them, he lets his hands roam up Jacob's sides and almost pulls away again when he hears him hum in approval. Pratt can finally breathe again and he's so confused. Jacob is the monster in this nightmare but is also the thing that's keeping him grounded the most. He wants to run and he wants to stay.

"Keep being good for me." Jacob whispers.

Pratt's heart beats impossibly faster as Jacob swoops in and softly claims his lips. He hates how he grips tight onto this man that beats him, who manipulates his mind and body. He's tired and wants to give in. A hand wraps around his throat and gently squeezes as he starts to kiss back sending a shiver down his spine. He loves it.

Pratt shoves the thought away, physically pushing Jacob in his panic, the shove doesn't make him go very far but it stops the kiss. He immediately misses the warmth under his hands but he tries to suffocate the feeling by focusing back on Jacob.

"Pratt." He's coming closer again.

"I'm trying." Staci croaks. "I still don't understand..." he looks down at himself taking in the marks that litter his chest. It makes him sick.

Pratt expects a blow but it never comes. A warm hand meets his face and slowly cards through his hair to cup the back of his head. He doesn't relax until Jacob brings him into his chest, letting him seep into his frame.

"Try harder."

Pratt nods against him, letting out a shuddering exhale into his skin. "Yes, sir."

Jacob pulls away. "Finish." he orders.

Pratt stays confused for a few moments before it eventually clicks, he reaches down to the button of his jeans. It takes a bit as the tremors in his hands are getting worse just thinking about taking the rest of his clothes off. Meanwhile Jacob is already pulling down his boxers, he seems calm and confident in his body, it makes Pratt jealous.

"See something you like, Peaches?" Jacob smirks when he catches him looking.

Staci tears his gaze away and feels his cheeks heat up. He continues on his own pants, pushing them down his cut up legs and stepping out of them. He pauses at the waistband of his briefs, the last of his personal security blanket while Jacob watches and waits patiently. He doesn't seem disturbed at Pratt's internal struggle.

"Staci." Jacob comes to stand next to him. "What are you afraid of?"

Pratt already knows the answer from his conversation with Markus. He stills struggles to say it out loud.

"Myself." he finally admits.

"Mm." Jacob hums. "Your morality, is it?" he suggests for him.

Pratt nods and swallows some fear down but it comes right back up when he feels Jacob's hand glide against his stomach, stopping at his hip to turn his body to him.

"Tools don't have morals, they do what's expected of them without question." Jacob's voice is cold again. "It'll get better with more training."

"Why?" Pratt blurts out. "You got what you wanted." his voice waivers when he thinks back to his friend bleeding in that chair.

"You think I'm going to throw you away after I used you once?" his grip on Pratt's hip tightens. "No." he shakes his head and chuckles.

"You don't need me." Pratt continues. "You have plenty of tools."

Jacob sighs. "You still don't get it." he pulls Pratt's underwear down, becoming impatient now. "You're here to be whatever I want you to be."

Pratt doesn't move as his briefs hit the floor, he desperately wants to cover himself but he won't, Jacob is getting frustrated so he doesn't dare move in fear of making it worse.

Dread washes over him again as Jacob directs him towards a door he missed when he had first looked around the room, it's almost camouflaged into the wall. Jacob opens this one but doesn't bother closing it behind them, he moves Pratt to stand in the center of the bathroom. It seems newly renovated as well, either that or Jacob eradicates whatever dirt gets on the tile floor. There's no curtain to pull over the shower. No privacy. No place to hide.

Jacob turns on the water and holds his hand under it, checking the temperature before shoving Staci into the spray.

Pratt hits the tile wall shoulder first and hisses as the hot water coats the left side of his face and back. He curls in on himself as Jacob joins him, he's in his space again and maneuvers Pratt to put his body fully under the shower head.

Staci gasps for air as the steam steals all the oxygen from the room, the hot water forces his muscles to relax and shake. He has to brace his arms on the tile wall in front of him to stay standing while Jacob helps keep him steady from behind with a hand on his hip.

He starts to slip as the strength from his body evaporates, he gives up and lets himself fall but Jacob is there to catch him. He brings Pratt flush against his front, easily holding him in his arms like he weighs no more than a feather.

Jacob is large and warm, his body fits Pratt's backside perfectly, so well in fact that Pratt can feel every groove of his muscles and scars. He tries to move away when his steady mindset turns into something different, something darker. Jacob only pulls him back, hooking his arms around his waist and chest to lock him in.

"I could take such good care of you, Staci. Just need to let me."

Pratt manages to shake his head. He won't. He can't.

"You'll have plenty of time to decide." Jacob whispers the promise in his ear.

"Why... me?" he finally asks the big question that has been hanging over his head since he got here. Jacob has taken everything from him, the least he could do is to give him this.

Jacob doesn't respond.

"Jacob?"

"I heard you, Peaches." Jacob loosens his grip and makes Pratt brace himself against the tile again before he pulls away.

Pratt takes the chance to get his breath back, he's getting used to the temperature and is finally able to get air into his lungs. Pratt lets his hair fall into his eyes as he leans his head in between his hands on the wall. He closes his eyes and focuses on the drops of water that hit him. It's calm. It fogs his mind and he stops thinking for one glorious moment.

It's interrupted when he feels something cool spread across his scalp. He jumps when rough fingers start scrubbing through his hair. The shampoo smells like an unscented cologne, it's not very strong but at least he's getting clean. He relaxes again as Jacob begins to massage circles into his head, slowly working his way down his to his collarbone, then his shoulder blades, and the base of his spine. He makes a panicked sound when Jacob inches lower surprisingly making him stop his ministrations.

"Relax." Jacob pulls him into the spray to rinse him off. "Turn around."

Pratt turns and looks up at Jacob. The hunger is back in his blue eyes again, but something is holding him back from attacking this time. The veins in his head pop with restraint, while his hands quickly place themselves on Pratt's hips to bring him closer.

Staci's fingers itch at his sides, he wants to reach out for some reason, to touch and trace the scars and marks. It scares him but maybe he can give in just this once.

Jacob goes rigid when Pratt touches the larger pockmark over his heart, the ridges are deep but not uncomfortable underneath his fingers. It feels... right this time. He can feel Jacob's heartbeat quicken under his hand, and he finally feels truly powerful to have such an effect on someone that seems so... closed off. Jacob sucks in a breath when Pratt lets himself wander up to trace the muscles in his neck, he can see his pulse jumping in his throat. It's a win/win situation really, Jacob is distracted enough by the attention that he's barely touching Pratt, it's a nice change. It doesn't last long.

Jacob loses the fight with himself and grabs the hands to yank him closer so they're chest to chest again. He makes Pratt hook his arms around his neck while he lets his own wrap around so he can squeeze the globes of Pratt's ass.

Pratt gasps and rocks forward, accidentally grinding his groin against Jacob's. "Wait." his mind stutters.

"No." Jacob growls and grinds back into him.

Staci hides his face in Jacob's shoulder and shudders as his cheeks are spread slightly. He's not ready for this. He never will be.

Jacob plants a kiss on his neck in an unhelpful way of comforting him, before he presses a finger to Pratt's entrance. Staci instantly tenses and digs his nails into the neck he's locked around, he can feel Jacob's member twitch against his as the foreign finger circles his hole.

"Relax or it will be worse." Jacob huffs in his ear.

"I can't." Pratt lets out a sob as the finger dips in a little, trying to tease the muscle.

"Breathe, Peaches." he orders again.

Pratt tries his best to relax and decides to focus on the water again, to try and hide in the fog that he had found before. Jacob pushes in more the second Pratt is able to force his body to cooperate.

"Stop." he begs.

His insides are beginning to burn and the added humiliation is making all of this unbearable. Jacob buries his finger deeper in response, not seeming to hear his cries.

"Please!" Pratt wheezes.

Jacob suddenly withdraws, making Pratt gasp in relief while his knees buckle to let him fall onto the tiles. Sobs force themselves out of his throat, he tries to muffle them with his hand but it's no use. He's lost control of all of his senses. He doesn't even notice Jacob leave the shower or the water turn off but when he blinks there's a towel being draped over his form. His face is lifted up by his chin, he can't see through the tears in his eyes so he just closes them, hoping to block out the world around him.

Familiar soft lips meet his, turning his cries into whimpers. The kiss is gentle and light, it coaxes his mouth to move with it, the shaking in his body slows as he does and his muscles turn to liquid. The lips start to pull away but Pratt gives chase, catching them quickly in his own and leads them back to him. This. This he can do.

They keep a calm pace, letting Staci take all the comfort he needs and wants. A hand lightly touches his cheek but doesn't do anything more.

Pratt keeps taking what's being offered until his lungs scream for air and he has to reluctantly let go, he immediately regrets doing so when the hand on his face leaves too. He opens his eyes and is able to catch a still naked Jacob leave the room, leaving him to shiver on the floor. He's not gone long though, he's walking back in with a fresh pair of boxers in his hands.

"Put these on." Jacob places them on the counter next to the sink and goes to leave again.

"Jacob." he calls out weakly. 

Jacob stops and turns to him, his face doesn't give away any emotions and it makes Pratt feel even more alone. "Stay."

He finally sees the corner of Jacobs' lips twitch but it's gone before he can register what sort of expression it was. He comes back and picks him up, carrying Pratt bridle style back out to the bedroom while leaving the boxers in the bathroom.

Pratt is losing his grip on his consciousness as he's laid down on the silk sheets. Jacob's arms leave but he doesn't have the strength to stop him this time. He sinks into the mattress as the duvet is thrown over his body. His eyes won't stay open anymore so he listens to the rustles and footsteps that Jacob makes around the room. The bed dips slightly behind him and the arms are back wrapping themselves around his shivering frame, someone is talking but it's all muffled.

He falls asleep feeling safe for the first time in a long time.

Chapter Text

Pratt stares at the dark wooden ceiling for a while as the alarm on his watch screams at him.

He's still butt naked in Jacob's sheets, he has no idea where his clothes are, the only item he's been able to spot is his belt that's hanging off the bed's footboard. There's another IV in his arm again with clear liquid in the tube that's entering his body, he assumes it's for his benefit.

The spot in the bed next to him is thankfully empty although he can still smell the faint scent of Jacob on the pillows. He's got to get out of here.

With some effort Pratt is able to sit up and lean against the headboard, trying to take things slow. Another smell reaches him and it makes his mouth water. He quickly turns off his blaring watch and looks next to him to find a full tray of food on the nightstand. Sausage, scrambled eggs, rye toast with peanut butter, and a glass of orange juice on the side. It's a beautiful sight.

His body moves on its own, only careful about moving the IV stand out of the way before beginning to chow down on the feast. He tries to take his time if survival training has taught him anything, it's that eating this amount of food after being starved for more than a week can be a shock to his stomach and he rather not throw all of this up.

It's all gone within a couple minutes unfortunately but he feels stronger already. He stares at the empty tray for a while and his mind goes somewhere else. Why give him food now? An apology for yesterday? No. Not Jacob. He's got something planned and he needs Pratt to not be a weak quivering mess. It's starting to make a little bit of sense now, he's beginning to catch up on how Jacob functions. The more Pratt learns about him, the more he's somehow terrifyingly fascinated by it all.

Jacob is trying to turn him into something he's not. A soldier. The title is appealing but that's not who he is or thinks he is. He is... A deputy? Was one?

Pratt is just a man, that's all he knows for sure right now.

But in the end... So is Jacob.

A door unlocks and it makes Pratt rush to cover himself. He gets his lower body covered before Jacob walks into the room.

Jacob has most of his clothes back on except for his jacket, while his boots are half laced up. He looks tired, almost human. It's a nice sight, Pratt admits to himself before shoving the thought away with the rest of the traitorous feelings. This isn't fair.

Jacob barely gives him a glance as he heads over to the wardrobe in the corner on the opposite side of the room. Pratt watches him shift through clothes for a bit, metal hangers scraping against the metal bar, he pulls out several to scrutinize before hanging them back up. Eventually, he chooses a long-sleeved black sweater with faded green cargo pants and throws it on the bed next to Staci, followed by some wool socks. "Put those on and meet me in the office." he orders.

Pratt takes the clothing and inspects them himself. The sweater is thick and scratchy against his skin, definitely made for cold weather, the same goes for the pants. He lets go of them when he sees Jacob moving towards him and reaching. He does his best not to move as rough fingers grab him and gently takes the IV out of his arm. Too gentle.

He feels that he should say something but he has no idea what. "Are we going somewhere?" he plays it safe.

Jacob finally looks at him and does his usual once-over as he applies pressure to the injection point, his eyes seem colder this time. Maybe he should've stayed quiet. Pratt has most of his body covered with the duvet except for his collarbone, he hikes it up higher with his free hand just to make sure.

It seems to snap Jacob out of it and he lets his arm go. "Get dressed." he orders again as he begins to leave the room.

Pratt dips his head. "Yes, sir." he quietly responds as the door clicks closed.

The tension seems different between them. Most likely due to the shower they shared and Jacob's hands groping his backside. Pratt's cheeks burn at the memory. He can still feel the violating touches ghosting over his crevasse.

He shakes his head, trying to throw the shame off his shoulders before gathering Jacob's clothes again and places his bare feet on the cold hardwood floor. The bathroom door grows tall and glares at him as he walks towards it, he has to stop to calm himself down as he touches the knob, biting down on the inside of his cheek when his backside suddenly throbs in pain. It disappears blessedly quickly and he takes the opportunity to swing the door open, making a beeline straight for the sink. Thankfully the boxers are still there from last night, he puts them on right away and sighs, relieved to have his privates covered.

The black sweater goes well past his wrists and hides most of his hands, he rolls them up to his forearms so he looks less like a child trying on his father's clothes. The pants are the same way but nothing his belt can't fix. He'll have to stuff the extra length of fabric into his boots. Pratt tries to ignore the fact that they smell like Jacob, he can't help but inhale the aftershave. He leans onto the counter and takes some deep breaths. He glances up at the mirror above the sink and almost loses it all over again.

There's a beaten stranger staring back at him with dull and sunken in eyes. It's not him, it can't be.

Pratt raises up his shirt, he can't stop himself from looking, he has to know. There's a long path of half-healed abrasions mixed with the bruises that start at his hips and go up to his chest, he wants to vomit. He makes himself turn around to inspect his back, his breath hitching as he sees the damage. It's worse than the front. The bruises he finds are more like hickies, 'love marks' he used to call them in simpler times. Usually, he would be the one giving them to his partners, not receiving them. Now he doesn't even have a say.

Pratt has always liked women, he loved their soft skin and talented mouths. Their bodies were always enough for him to know he was straight, although he would disappear if they got too clingy. He might have experimented with men a tad in college but it was never like this, like what Jacob has done to him. Maybe he should have been more willing to settle down, things might have turned out different. It's too late for all that now but it's comforting to think about what could've been. He would happily lose himself in the fantasy if he could.

Pratt faces the mirror again, wanting to check one last spot. He tugs his collar of his sweater down to expose his shoulder. The indents from Jacobs' teeth are still there, scaring his skin. Constantly reminding him of who he belongs to now, evidence of what's happened.

"Fuck..." he breathes out.

He splashes his face with the water from the faucet and takes a drink before running a wet hand through his hair to fix his bed head. Time to go back to his reality.

Jacob is leaning over a map on his desk when Pratt walks in. Jarv is on the other side leaning against the wall next to the porch doors, arms crossed. He seems to be the only one to notice the new visitor that's walked in as he gives him a nod.

Pratt warily nods back and closes the door behind him. The chair Markus was sat in is empty but now has flecks of blood covering it, the wood absorbed most of the splatter. What did Jarv do to him?

"You think he's telling the truth?" Jarv speaks up, directing his question to Jacob.

"Mm." Jacob grunts, eyes glued to his map. "The placement makes sense."

"It took a while to get the exact location." Jarv huffs and cracks his neck to the side.

Jacob chuckles. "You're losing your touch."

Pratt doesn't need to be Sherlock fucking Holmes to know that they're talking about Markus, but all he can do right now is to bite his tongue and wait for the right moment to come.

"We'll need to find a spot to camp, this will be at least a two-day trip." Jacob explains.

Jarv nods. "I have the equipment ready. Just waiting on your orders."

"We'll head out now." he declares, writing down something on the map with a sharpie. "Get mister Hale and put him in your truck, bring Caden and Liza with you."

"You think they're ready?" Jarv asks, seeming skeptical.

"I know you can handle yourself but it'll be a good test for them." he replies easily and opens his desk drawer. "Grab my rifle and Helia."

"Yes, Jacob." the old Peggie agrees and heads out the door to follow his orders.

Pratt moves out of the way, trying to subtly glare at Jarv as he brushes past, closing the door as he leaves. His eyes flick back to Jacob who suddenly has his music box in his hand. He lets out a breath when it disappears into his back pocket along with the map.

"Did you have a file on me back at the station?" Jacob asks, finally looking at him.

"Yes, sir." he remembers where they keep the evidence they have on him too.

"Know my history?" he steps closer, hands still in his pockets.

Pratt half shrugs. "A little." he admits, the information was very detailed and hard to get through.

Jacob is too close again. "Should've figured." he scoffs, looking disappointed again. "I was a marksman in the 82nd Airborne Division. One of the U.S. army's top snipers." he tells him as he takes one of his hands out of his pants and places it on Pratt's chest. "You'll be on a loose leash out there but I expect you to stay close."

Pratt nods through the threat, he already knows what the consequences would be if he were to run. Jacob's hand suddenly turns hard and shoves him into the wall behind him, he doesn't make a sound this time but turns his face away when Jacob leans in.

"If you run your training ends there." he rumbles. "Understood?"

Pratt's tongue darts out to moisten his suddenly dry lips. "Yes." anything to get out from under the pressure on his chest.

He flinches when another hand turns his face to look directly into Jacob's eyes.

"Again."

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Jacob lets go and Pratt can breathe again.

He'll never get used to the harsh words, the burning touches, and all the pain that comes with them. His skin still sizzles where Jacob's hand was.

"Get downstairs, you'll be riding with me in the lead truck." Jacob dismisses him and retreats back to his desk, picking up and punching numbers into a satellite phone when he gets there.

"Yes, sir." Pratt repeats and takes the chance to escape the room.

The yard is oddly buzzing with activity. He almost gets run over several times before he's able to get a foot out the door. Some Peggies are tossing delicate equipment and bliss drums while others are cleaning up the yard or yelling at the prisoners in the cages. The people that didn't make the cut are being rounded up and 'euthanized', they are taken away in the wheelbarrow just like Clarke. It's a busy day for it.

He makes it to the fountain in the middle and uses it as a platform to scope out the area, Jarv's black matted mane of a head finally pops up next to the trucks at the front gate and he makes a beeline for him.

"Pratt." Jarv greets him again as he walks up.

"Jarv." Pratt returns.

There's no doubt that Jarv knows what's been going on behind closed doors when Jacob has Pratt alone, but he doesn't seem to care in the least. He must know better than to involve himself in his leaders' personal affairs. But what would Jacob's brothers think of his actions? Getting more than close to the lowly deputy in an intimate way should be a big foul for the cult. From what he saw, before all this happened, sex wasn't allowed at all. It isn't part of the Peggie way to act on those feelings. Pratt almost internally laughs at the thought of Jacob breaking his own rules, it sounds ridiculous.

"Yo!" Jarv suddenly yells in the direction of two Peggies that seem to be just watching others hard at work. "Get yer shit! Jacob asked for you two!"

The man waves back in response while the woman rolls her eyes like a stuck up teenager. They get up and head off to grab their gear.

Jarv sighs. "Stay here. Those two are idiots, they'll need supervising." he adjusts his gun on his shoulder as he jogs after them.

Pratt stays put. He would have a closer look at the front gate but the two guards would certainly alert Jacob if they saw him snooping. He leans against the truck and decides to wait it out, not sure what else he can really do. He shivers when the wind finds holes in his sweater, he misses Henbane River. It was so much warmer and serene.

"Staci..." A voice croaks from inside the vehicle.

Pratt doesn't want to look. He knows it's Markus. His voice sounds hollow and broken, he can't imagine what he actually looks like. The will to avoid visual contact breaks when he can hear him wheeze, every breath he takes sounds painful. He looks into the passenger seat and is taken back by what he sees.

Markus is black and blue, Pratt can barely see his eyes through the swollen skin that engulfs them. He's breathing but only enough to stay conscious.

"Oh god." Pratt breathes out as he takes him in.

"Not quite." Markus coughs out.

"Markus, I'm sorry." Pratt places his hand on the beaten man's shaking arm.

"Don't." he manages to shake his head. "I'll be okay."

Streaks of dried blood stain his face and clothes, they've given him a blanket for the cold at least. Pratt adjusts it so it covers him fully. "What do they want from you?" he finally asks.

"Blueprints, equipment, the usual."

"All of this just for that?"

Jacob isn't short on anything from what he's seen. He's overflowing with tools and weapons.

Markus nods. "They want to take everything for themselves. I'm just prolonging my life a little longer. They'll kill me once they find it."

"No." Pratt shakes his head. "I can talk to Jacob."

Markus coughs out a laugh. "Talk? To that lunatic?"

Pratt looks away, breaking eye contact. He could do an exchange? He can't lose his friend now, their alliance had only just begun.

"No." Markus finally understands and turns stern. "No. You have to promise me that you won't offer anything in exchange for me."

"I can't do this without you" Pratt argues back.

Markus' hand finds his. "I'm already dead, Stace. Let me die in the wilderness rather than this hell hole." he pleads.

Pratt doesn't know what to say to that. Markus can't leave him, he's not allowed. What the fuck is he going to do?

"Endure," Markus tells him as if he can hear his thoughts. "For me and the Militia. They'll find you, I know they will."

"I can't-"

"You have to." he musters up a growl, making sure Staci knows he's serious. "Promise me."

"Pratt!" Jacob's voice makes Pratt jolt.

Markus doesn't flinch at the oncoming danger. "Promise." he holds onto him tighter, urging him with his hazel eyes.

Pratt's feels like he's being torn in two but he doesn't want to leave him without a reassuring answer. "I promise." he whispers.

Markus immediately lets him go and slumps back into his seat, trying to help Pratt save face as the enemy closes in.

Pratt turns to respond to his name but Jacob and Jarv are already there with the other two Peggies following behind. The lackeys have their arms full of supplies, each of them carrying a rifle and backpack on top of it all. All of them are armed except for him, he's defenseless against whatever they might find out there. He'll have to rely on others to survive and something doesn't feel right about that.

Jacob flicks his eyes between him and Markus. Them talking wasn't part of the plan, it's written clearly on his face. "Get in the truck." Jacob orders him as he steps into his space.

Pratt doesn't wait another second before heading to the lead truck.

"Let's move out." he hears Jacob command the rest of them. "John is expecting us now." he huffs in annoyance.

Pratt gets in and watches in the mirror as the rest of them pack into Jarv's truck, Markus is motionless in the passenger seat as the other Peggies load into the back. Jacob is on his way to the driver seat, he swings the door open making the vehicle shake. Before he gets in he puts his fingers to his lips and lets out a high pitched whistle. It hurts Pratt's ears and causes quite the fuss around the yard as a large white wolf comes bounding out of the crowded driveway and straight to her master.

"Truck, Helia." Jacob shouts before getting in the cab.

Pratt watches her wag her tail and hops in the truck bed, quickly making herself comfortable on the backpacks and coats.

He whirls around when Jacob slams his door closed and starts the engine, wasting no time in peeling out. He honks for the guards to open the gate and steps on it when he's just able to fit through. Pratt uses the dashboard to brace himself as they turn onto the main road, he looks into the side mirror to check if the wolf is still there. Sure enough, she is and looking surprisingly comfortable. Jarv is catching up too, keeping up Jacob's pace as they navigate the winding roads.

"What did Markus say to you?" Jacob breaks the tense silence while keeping eyes on the road and speedometer.

"He-" he has to clear his throat. "He told me what was in the bunker." he replies.

"I hope it was worth it."

Pratt doesn't respond to the threat. It was worth it. That might've been his last conversation with Markus and he won't regret it.

They cross the bridge to Holland Valley, the word 'YES' greets them at every corner as they speed though. Pratt's seen it all before but the amount of on Peggies on the road has increased dramatically. A lot of residents must have abandoned their homes and gotten out of the county once they heard even the cops were caught. The cult would have definitely used that to their advantage.

Jacob hasn't said anything else, his hands have been kept tight around the steering wheel the whole drive. It's obvious that something isn't going to plan.

Pratt hopes it's the rookie giving the cult hell. There was a hero underneath that crisp and clean uniform of hers, she hid her true colours well. He's glad she's on their side, if it was the other way around then the collapse of Hope County would have already happened. Maybe she'll rescue him. No. He can't rely on others anymore, he has to start fighting his own battles for once.

"Pull up here, Jarv." Jacob speaks into the truck's radio.

"Yep." Jarv's voice returns.

Jacob puts the radio back on the receiver and finally looks at Pratt. Even if it's just a glance, it will always make him uneasy. "Remember what I told you." he says, voice dark.

Pratt looks away, he'll be on his best behavior. With Jacob and his mutt here, there's no way to escape on foot. There's nothing for miles around here, he'd meet his fate sooner if he ran. "I won't run." he quietly agrees.

Jacob shakes his head and grips the steering wheel harder. "Don't let John..." he trails off, jaw clenching.

Pratt doesn't need him to finish. He gets it. "I understand."

Jacob lets out a breath and relaxes a little at the obedience before he takes a sharp right turn onto a dirt road, making Pratt hold onto the doors handle to avoid being thrown into him. The truck's wheels spin in the gravel as he pushes the accelerator to the floor when the flat road turns into a steep incline.

A rundown house comes into their view and in front of it stands John Seed. He's barking something at his men who are moving crates around while others stand on guard for any sight of trouble.

Jacob skids to a stop, almost hitting a few of their own as they pull up, he puts the truck in park before stepping out in one smooth motion. Pratt follows suit but stays behind the car door, hoping to use it as a shield against the younger Seed brother.

"Ah," John locks onto Staci immediately. "Deputy Pratt, so good to see you again."

Pratt nods to him through the window while keeping an eye on Jacob's body language, he's getting better at reading him now. So far he's been nothing but a bundle of nerves, ready to lash out at the slightest malfeasance.

"This better be important, John." Jacob steps forward to try and direct his brothers' attention to him.

"We'll get to that." John dismisses him with a pat on his shoulder before he begins to walk towards the deputy.

His gleeful smile doesn't falter as Pratt takes a step back, he looks to Jacob for help but his back is to him and hunched. "John." Jacob isn't having it but he's only ignored again.

Staci takes another step towards the back of the truck, closer to the still sleeping beast. If John touches him now it will be his fault, he'll be the one punished. It will reset what's already been done and Jacob will need to fix it. His marked shoulder aches at the thought, he tries to physically shrug it off but it's ineffective. All of the options he could have taken disappear as John rounds the trucks open car door, effectively caging him in.

"Pratt!" Jarv's voice makes everyone halt. "Come help your friend out of the car."

Pratt's not sure who's just been saved. Him, John, or Jacob. Maybe all of the above, but in the end, he'll always get the short end of the stick, or whatever is coming to him later. He'll never be safe until he's out of Jacob's control.

He begins to head to safety which oddly enough is Jarv in this situation, but a hand on his left arm stops him. His stomach drops. It belongs to John.

"Hold on now, I didn't get a hello." His smile widens, he knows what he's done.

Pratt doesn't hide his glare this time, if anything it makes the man's smile grow wider, showing off his pearly white teeth. "Hello, sir." he forces himself to say.

"Sir?" he chuckles. "You really have been training him well, Jacob."

Pratt can see Jacob already on his way over, his eyes cast down to hide what emotion is currently on his face.

"Took my words to heart, did you?" John continues, eyes seeming to lock onto Pratt's bitten shoulder as if he knows what's there.

John is finally yanked away by Jacob who drags him by his arm towards the house. "Help Jarv." is all he says to Pratt as he takes his protesting brother into the bungalow.

Pratt wants to run to Jarv but he forces himself to take his time. The other Peggies had stopped their work to watch the show but continue on once the front door slams behind the brothers.

He makes it to the passenger side door and opens it. Markus is already there to meet him with an open hand, he takes it and carefully guides it around his shoulder.

"You okay?" Markus asks in his ear as he puts his feet on the ground.

Pratt scoffs. "You're beaten to a pulp and you're asking me if I'm okay?"

"I am." he winces as he pulls himself up to stand.

Pratt steadies him when he feels him teeter forward. He might as well be honest. "I'm not okay, but I'll survive."

Markus' arm squeezes around him in a sort of half hug before it lets go. "You better." he whispers.

Pratt helps him lean against the cab before fully letting him stand on his own, he gives him a false smile before he turns his attention to Jarv who is waiting to hand him a coat.

"Put this on him, get one for yourself and grab a backpack." he tells him before shoving the coat into his arms.

Pratt nods and follows through on the order, he makes sure Markus is secure and warm before going back to the lead truck to get his own. Helia is still there snoozing on the pile, she lifts her head up and sniffs the air as he approaches. He remembers their first meeting in the woods, her glowing yellow eyes darting all over his body, probably wondering if she could eat him before Jacob got there. She doesn't seem to want to tear into his flesh this time, instead, she's curious when Pratt reaches for the belongings underneath her. She doesn't budge, she only stares at him inquisitively seeming unsure of what he wants.

"Uh." Pratt thinks of some commands. "Off." he tries.

Helia doesn't even blink. "Down." he tugs again and points to the ground.

She huffs at him and places her head back down, closing her eyes to resume her nap. Pratt sighs in frustration and decides to hold out his hand for the beast to sniff, like the normal dog you meet on the street greeting. He receives a low growl, her hackles raise and she stands to loom over him. He backs away with his hands raised in submission, he doesn't want to be mauled to death, that's not the way he wants to go. She stops when she seems to notice that he isn't a threat, another one of Jacob's weak tools that she doesn't need to bother herself with. She finally moves off the items and jumps out of the truck bed to sniff on the ground. Pratt takes the chance to grab a coat, not forgetting one of the bags and walks backward to Markus, not wanting to turn his back on the beast yet.

He turns when he hears Jarv quietly laughing, obviously amused at Pratt's squabble with Jacob's judge. What was he supposed to do?

He makes it over to Markus and stands next to him, tossing the heavy bag and jacket onto the ground for now. "You gotta be strong, Stace. You won't last much longer if their dogs don't even listen to you." Markus says as he leans against him for more support.

Pratt adjusts his feet to take on the extra weight. "I know." he sighs, a little annoyed. He looks over to his friend, taking him in again. "Do you think you'll make it wherever we're going?"

The question forces a smile from Markus. "Oh, I'll make it. You can count on that." he lets out a small chuckle. "Might need some help over a few rocks though."

"'Course." Pratt doesn't know what that grin is about, it's a little unsettling if he's being honest. But he trusts Markus, he has to. He doesn't have anyone else and he might be losing him today. He shouldn't jeopardize that over something small but... "Markus?" There's something bothering him.

"Hm?"

"What did Jacob mean about me... meaning something to you?"

Markus goes quiet, the smile and confidence are wiped away. "Markus?" he pries.

"I feel responsible for you, Staci." he finally responds.

Pratt's a little taken back. "Why? I'm supposed to be the deputy here." he tries to get Markus to smile again but it doesn't work.

"When I first saw you..." Markus clears his throat. "You looked like my brother. The same hair, body type." he sighs. "But you were wearing that damn deputies uniform."

Pratt's hand brushes against Markus' arm, he wants to comfort him but frustratingly he knows he can't. "What's his name?" he asks quietly.

"Parker." Markus finally smiles and looks up at Pratt with watery eyes. "I've been searching for him since this whole thing started."

Guilt suddenly hits Staci. "That's why you stayed."

He nods. "I couldn't leave without knowing what happened. The cult has him but I don't know where."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you didn't know." Markus wipes his nose with the sleeve of his coat. "The only regret I have is that I'm gonna die before I get to see him again."

Pratt squeezes his arm, he's never been good at comforting people but he can sure as hell try. Maybe another promise will help. "I'll find him, Markus. I'll find Parker for you."

Markus looks up to him, a tear runs down his cheek as he bites down on his wobbling lip. "Thank you." he breathes out.

He smiles back at his friend. He'll do his best.

"Jarv!"

Jacob's shout makes them both jump. He's headed back over while John is standing on the porch glaring daggers into the back of his head.

"Everything is ready." Jarv replies when Jacob gets closer.

Pratt makes space between him and Markus, making sure to take his hand away.

"Good." Jacob nods. "Caden."

The young male Peggie steps up to his name.

"Take Hale, you're in charge of him. Make sure he doesn't slow us down."

He nods before grabbing Markus and tearing him off the side of the truck, away from Staci.

"Liza, you're carrying supplies."

The female Peggie huffs, seeming rather annoyed to be a pack mule for the trip. "Yes, sir." she picks up one of the large bags and puts her rifle on her shoulder.

Jacob doesn't address it. "Jarv, you take the rear, I'll take front. Pratt, you're with me." he lists off.

Jarv hands him a large red sniper rifle. It's a beautiful piece of equipment, it looks to have been well taken care of. Jacob double checks the magazine and resets the safety before shrugging it onto his shoulder.

Pratt doesn't acknowledge the order, he heard it but he can't bear to look at Jacob right now. He knows he's in trouble and waiting for punishment is almost the worst part of it all.

The group begins to move and Pratt can't help but feel a set of eyes on him, he chances a look and sure enough, John has switched his glare to him. He dares to glare back.

"I'll see you later, Deputy Pratt." John doesn't smile this time.

"Goodbye, sir." he returns, trying to act like he's unaffected by his presence.

Jacob doesn't seem to hear their exchange, he calls for his pet instead, who comes immediately to walk beside her master. He gives her a scratch behind her ear as an award. Jacob can be so gentle with his wolf but when it comes to humans he seems so cold and closed off.

Pratt shakes his head, he hasn't even begun walking yet. He watches a wincing Markus be dragged past him, forced to keep up the fast pace that's been set. Liza passes him too, not bothering to look at him, he could care less.

"You better catch up to Jacob, kid." Jarv comes up and motions him forward with the gun in his hands.

He nods and puts on his jacket before picking up his own backpack. It's heavy, he winces when it yanks on his shoulders, he tries to adjust it to get more comfortable but nothing seems to work. He'll have to deal with it later, right now he has to catch up to Jacob.

Pratt does his best to jog up to him, passing Liza and Caden, sneaking a glance to his beaten friend before falling in behind the leader.

They make it past the house quickly and begin to follow a trail that takes them uphill. The scenery would be stunning but John's giant 'YES' sign taints it, the statue of Joseph doesn't help either. To him and the Militia, they're both an eyesore. Pratt's never been this high in the mountains on foot, he might've flown over them with Nick on several on their adventures. Their view was mostly blocked by the trees when they were in the sky, being on the ground level gives him a whole new perspective. Even though it's getting close to fall the lavender is in full bloom, it covers most of the hill as far as he can see.

They travel for quite some time, he helps Caden carry Markus over rocks and large logs. He cringes and whispers apologies when Markus yells in pain with almost every movement.

Jacob finally calls for a short break as it turns into mid-afternoon. Pratt heads to sit next to where Markus was dropped like a sack of potatoes on the ground but a hot hand on the back of his neck stops him. He already knows who it is.

"So eager to get back to Mister Hale, hm?" Jacob hisses in his ear.

Pratt's eyes flick to Markus who stares back at him in alarm. He can only imagine how Jacob is looking at him right now. Probably angry... hungry.

"Everyone replenish their fluids, we move out in 10 minutes." he tells the group. "Stay, Helia." he adds.

The hand pulls Pratt back, roughly turning him around and guiding him deeper into the treeline.

It's not his fault. It's not his fault. It's not his fault.

Pratt feels faint and clammy as he's forced to trudge through the dense thicket. He has to raise his arms to push back the branches, making sure they don't fly back and hit them in the face. Jacob doesn't let go of him, his grip tightens every time he stumbles. He can't breathe when he's pulled to a stop. The wind whistling through the trees and the twigs snapping underneath his feet as he shifts his weight are the only things he can hear. The silence from Jacob is daunting but he waits for it. The pain. The unwelcome pleasure. Anything.

Jacob finally comes into Pratt's line of sight, his hand follows his body, dragging around his throat and gently squeezing as he stops to stand in front of him. Pratt swallows and makes himself look up into the eyes of the monster who is about to consume him. Instead of the rage he expects to see, he finds Jacob's brow furrowed in confusion. It's just as terrifying.

"You're everything I hate," Jacob seems to say to himself, searching Pratt's eyes for answers. "And I can't get enough."

Pratt's too stunned at the confession to steel himself for the harsh kiss that follows it. He's pushed by his throat and grunts into Jacob's mouth when sharp pieces of bark dig into his scalp as he's pinned against a nearby tree. Pratt doesn't know what the hell Jacob is doing, saying things like that isn't part of the plan. Or whatever he thinks the plan is. He doesn't want to go down this route, it's humiliating. It's too much to ask of him, but Jacob obviously won't take no for an answer.

Pratt lets the kiss go on, trying to keep up with the lips and teeth in hopes that Jacob will take it easy on him. He even places his shaking hands on the man's strong waist to show his obedience.

It's not his fault. It's not his fault.

Jacob finally releases Staci's lips only to attack his neck, moving his thumb out of the way to lick and nip at the spot underneath. Pratt wants to run far far away this time. He's scared and all alone, Markus can't save him now. No one can.

He gasps as Jacob's other hand finds it's way through his heavy layers of clothing and grips his bare hip, blunt nails digging into his soft flesh.

"Jacob..." he wheezes. "Don't do this... Not here."

Jacob hums at the protest as he continues. He unzips Pratt's coat and pushes it off his shoulders. It gets caught between his back and the tree. Jacob doesn't seem to care, he's got what he wanted.

It's not his fault.

Pratt starts to push at Jacob's chest as hard as he can, his adrenaline beginning to pump through his system. His efforts make the hand on his stomach retreat again to catch his left arm instead.

Jacob finally relents on his neck, most likely leaving it covered in more hickies. His eyes are locked onto Staci's. "I told you not to let him touch you." his wet and swollen lips curl into a growl.

"I couldn't s-stop him." he argues back breathlessly. "I tried." What else could he have done?

"Not hard enough." Jacob mumbles. "Not strong enough." he corrects and rolls up Pratt's sleeve.

He raises his arm to his mouth and brushes his lips against it. Staci stares at him, feeling even more shame and guilt as he feels goosebumps rise all over his body. He shudders as Jacob's hot breath glides over his cold skin.

There's a sudden flash of teeth and Pratt screams.

Jacob lets him cry out this time, only pinning him back against the tree with a hand on his chest as his teeth cut into the meat of Staci's arm.

It's not.

Pratt thrashes out with his free arm, the pain making his instincts take over his body, doing whatever it takes to find relief. He claws at what he can reach, hoping to at least find an eye.

His fault.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" the words wretch themselves out of his mouth. "Please!" He can feel his muscles pop and tear as the teeth sink in deeper.

Jacob's eyes never leave him, he just watches Pratt beg for the pain to stop. It looks like he enjoys the cries and whimpers that he forces from him. Blood begins to appear from the sides of his mouth, showing Pratt how much damage is being done. Jacob looks like one of his judges, feasting on whatever is tossed into its pen, mercilessly tearing into animals, dead or alive. Human flesh in this case.

Pratt's vision is beginning to darken, he closes his eyes to welcome it. "I- I'm sorry." he tries again before he lets himself fully fall into the darkness.

It's his fault.

"S..."

He's cold.

"St..i"

So cold.

"Staci." Markus' voice breaks through.

Something touches his lips making him jerk away.

"It's alright." he soothes. "Just some water."

Pratt relaxes and keeps his eyes closed but opens his mouth slightly to accept it. The freezing water kicks him in the stomach, he's just too thirsty to care. There's something soft cradling the back of his sore head. He lets himself be held for now, knowing it's Markus there to support him.

The canteen is taken away after he's able to swallow a few times. His eyes flutter open and is ecstatic to see Markus' beaten face above him.

"Hey, Stace." he gives him a small smile.

"Hey." he replies, voice hoarse.

Markus suddenly wraps his arms around him and gives him a gentle squeeze. Pratt goes rigid in the hold, he knows it's supposed to be comforting but being touched is the last thing he wants right now.

"I'm sorry." Markus notices the tension. "I just... when I heard you. I thought Jacob....." he cuts himself off with a sniffle and holds Staci tighter.

The pain in his arm flares up at the mention of that name, his brain finally catching up to his bodies signals. He raises his uninjured limb and returns the hug, it's the best he can do at this point.

They eventually pull away after they hear someone clear their throat. Of course, they were never left alone.

"How long was I out?" Pratt ignores the peggies presence.

"Maybe five minutes?" Markus' thighs shift under his head, trying to get more comfortable. "Enough for your arm to get bandaged." he adds.

Pratt nods. "How much farther?"

Markus looks around to take in their environment. "At least five miles." he huffs. "We'll make it there for the sunset. It's quite a beautiful sight, it'll be perfect."

Pratt admires the hopeful look on his face as much as he can before it disappears and replaced by worry as someone steps closer. "Breaks over, get up." It sounds like Caden.

Pratt manages to stand up on his own while he cradles his injured arm against his stomach. Caden roughly brushes past him to pick up Markus. Jacob is nowhere to be seen, he doesn't see Helia either. Jarv looks to be finishing a harsh conversation with Liza, he ignores her whining as he walks away. "Jacob is meeting us up ahead." he says as he strides past. "You're with me until then."

Pratt nods and follows the grumbling Peggie back to the trail. Liza shoves one of the backpacks into his chest. "I'm not carrying all of this shit, make yourself useful, sinner."

He takes it and shrugs it back on. His coat has been zipped up too but it doesn't seem to help with the temperature.

You're everything I hate.

Jacob's voice makes him stumble. He whirls around to face him but he only finds Caden glaring and Markus giving him a concerned look. He lets out a shaky breath and continues walking.

I can't get enough.

Pratt blinks and tries to keep moving. He doesn't want to think about what Jacob meant. It was nothing, it was said out of misplaced rage and stress. The bite on his arm was strategically placed to reclaim the skin John had touched. But this is different, he reminds himself, thinking back to the office. Jacob had said so himself. His own values seem to be cracking too. Hell, he freaks out whenever someone touches him. Something is breaking down in that man's mind and he has to take advantage of it somehow.

"Pratt."

He jerks his head up to his name. "Sir?"

"Focus up. If you stare at the ground the whole time you'll be useless to me." Jarv calmly explains. "Need you alert."

"Sorry." he mumbles and looks around at their current surroundings, pretending to scope out the trees as they continue walking.

"Just do better. Jacob expects more from his tools."

Jarv's voice doesn't match the harshness of his words, he says it like a statement. A fact from someone who knows what's going on.

They walk until Pratt's legs begin to shake from exhaustion. The sun is getting low in the sky and the coyotes are beginning to stir, yowling for the moon to come out. There's suddenly a high pitched whistle making them all look to the tall and rocky hill to their right. A dark figure gives them a wave, It's Jacob and Helia. His rifle is in his hands, at the ready.

Was he watching them watching them walk up? Gun trained on his head in case he ran?

Jarv leads them up towards the Herald and his pet. Pratt helps Caden with getting Markus up and over several boulders. He catches him when he slips on some loose gravel. Caden drops him on Pratt once they reach the top, throwing the crippled mans arm off of him in disgust. "Heavy fucker." he groans as he dusts off his hands.

They ignore him and both settle down in the soft grass when Jarv tells them to take five before walking over to Jacob. It's just them and Pratt has no idea what to say. He can feel Jacob's eyes on him already making his arm burn. He shakes it off, refocusing on his friend instead.

"Look." Markus taps Staci's side and points to the sky. "Beautiful, eh?"

The sun is finally setting behind the bold Montana mountains. The orange glow reflects off the clouds that float in the fading blue sky. It's gorgeous.

"Amazing." Pratt smiles at the scene.

"Best seats in the house." Markus sighs and leans on his shoulder.

Pratt lets him. He doesn't care if Jacob is watching or not. This is their goodbye. He'll take whatever punishment comes his way as long as he's given these last few peaceful moments. He leans back into Markus, risking everything for a few seconds of comfort.

The sun is almost completely behind the mountains when Jacob cuts off their view, obviously unhappy with what he sees by the tight expression on his face. "Dates over." he crosses his arms and shifts his focus strictly on Markus.

Markus just smirks at him. "Best date ever." he chuckles.

Jacob roughly pulls him up by the lapel of his coat and throws him into Jarv who is prepared to catch him. "Show me." he's done with this.

"I intend to." Markus keeps smiling, adrenaline probably boosting his confidence level.

Pratt's on his feet but stays behind Jacob. Markus doesn't look at him, entertained with pushing the monsters buttons.

Jarv turns him around and shoves him. "Get to it."

Markus obliges and begins to limp forward. "You'll enjoy my weapons, Jacob." his voice strained from the pain. "They're 'strong'."

Caden and Liza are behind Pratt, muttering to each other. Some of the words are insults, others are complaints. He ignores the urge to whirl around and spit in their faces.

"Are you gunna do the dirty work this time?" Markus continues. "Or maybe have Staci do it for added effect."

"Shut yer mouth." Jarv spits, pushing him again.

Markus stumbles but remains on his feet. "Take it easy Jeeves. Almost there."

They walk another mile or two. The younger peggies take out their flashlights to illuminate the way. It's getting impossibly colder by the minute, making Pratt shiver uncontrollably in his coat.

The light finally hits a rock face and Markus brings them all to a halt. He places his hands on it, knocking on certain rocks before pushing down. "Open sesame."

There's a loud click and gears begin to whir. The rocks crack open and pull apart, he should have expected this from an engineer like Markus. A little overdramatic.

"Step back." Jarv orders him.

"As you wish." Markus obeys and wobbles back.

The rocks eventually reveal a reinforced door. It's as high tech as they come, Markus spared no expense when it's come to the idea of the apocalypse.

"Code."

"727537."

"Liza." Jacob calls, nodding to the door. "Clear it."

She comes up and enters the numbers into the keypad. The door unlocks and sets itself ajar, she readies her rifle and motions for Caden to join her before nudging the door open with her foot. She follows her rifle inside with Caden right behind.

Pratt takes the chance to get closer to Markus who is standing stock still, waiting for the inevitable. "Markus?" he whispers.

Jacob and Jarv don't seem to notice, they're too focused on getting their hands on whatever they find in the bunker.

"I don't know if there is life after death." Markus speaks up, directing it to Staci. "But I like to think I'll be able to watch over you and Parker."

Pratt swallows. Something is going to happen in that bunker and Jacob isn't going to like it. Markus has a plan too, he always did. "I'll miss you." Pratt confesses.

Markus finally looks at him and smiles. "Don't just live for me. Live for yourself. Don't let that freak break you."

"I promise."

"It's armed!" Someone shrieks.

There's a large blast that makes the ground shake. A fireball shoots out of the bunker. Pratt stumbles back and falls down in surprise, the force of the explosion hits him square in the chest, searing his skin and the fringes of his hair. He shields his eyes from the light and small pieces of shrapnel that find their way out the door. He peeks between his arms and sees Jarv wrestling with Markus.

Pratt's legs move on their own, he gets up and starts running towards them but something knocks him back down and pins him there. The tackle makes him yell out in pain as he lands on top of his arms. Someone else is screaming. He looks up and Caden is falling out the door as he tries to put out flames that engulf him. "You fucker!" he screams again. "She's dead!" he yells at Markus as his skin melts off his body.

Jarv has been able to get Markus down to his knees. He's stopped fighting and his eyes are on Staci's.

This is it.

"Markus!" he yells.

A smile is all he receives before Caden pulls out the pistol on his hip and shoots Markus in the head.

The ringing is back. He finds a pistol on Jarv's belt and locks onto it. He's somehow able to rip out of the vice-like grip and suddenly finds himself above Markus' body, pointing a gun at the one that just destroyed the only Only You- light he had left. He pulls Only You- the trigger, over and over and Can Make- over.

Can Make the Darkness Bright.

He pulls it as many times as he can before the song drags him down, down, down.

Chapter Text

3 Nights ago...

Jacob doesn't feel well. Like he has a burning fever. He's never been so angry at his brother, at least not for a while. "What are you doing, John?"

"I'm trying to find something to drink around here." His younger brother replies as he rustles through Jacob's desk.

"You know what I mean." he growls and slams the drawer shut, almost crushing Johns' fingers.

He jumps back just in time, "I certainly don't." putting on a clearly fake expression like he's astonished that he is being accused of anything.

"Hudson not enough for you?"

John let's out a laugh. "Oh, she's plenty." he moves to the other side of the office, tracing a finger over the line of cabinets that stand against the wall.

Jacob sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "You missed Joseph's service." he wasn't too happy about it either.

John sighs back. "I had my hands full with our newest pest." he stops at the board riddled with ribbons, inspecting it for a few seconds before moving on to the projector the corner. "Our missing Deputy has shown herself."

"Mm," Jacob grunts, he knows what's been going on. "I heard your guys screaming over the radio." It was pathetic.

"We won't be having pumpkin pie anytime soon." John scoffs but quickly quiets himself and clears his throat. "Joseph wants me to save her." he looks down to the tattoos on his hands.

"And?" Jacob would have killed her on the spot. She's a small threat to their cause, they don't have time to take back what's been stolen.

"And what?" John hisses. "You don't think I can do it?"

"Don't put words in my mouth."

"Then what, Jacob?!"

Being the older brother was never easy. They always came to him for safety when they were threatened with beatings and lashes. He would take as much as he could until he lost consciousness, what happened when he woke up he rather not think about. He can read his brothers like a book, and can tell John is already getting more than a little overwhelmed. He shakes his head and opens the desk drawer that John was searching through, he reveals a hidden compartment and pulls out a bottle of scotch.

John smirks at the bottle and hangs his head to take a breath. "Knew it was in there somewhere."

"Just don't tell Joseph." Jacob reminds him as he pulls out two shot glasses.

"My lips are sealed." John smiles, he throws away the imaginary key and waits for him to pour.

Markus!

Pratt's alive. He doesn't want to be, but he is.

It's freezing. The cold makes him violently shudder as it attacks his aching bones and muscles, he breathes into his hands to warm them but it's futile. The sleeping bag he's been wrapped in is next to useless as well with the small tent surrounding him, his claustrophobia makes everything ten times worse. An orange glow tells him there's a rather large campfire just outside, the heat from it barely reaches him.

Why didn't they just fucking kill him? Markus is gone, he's dead, along with the hope he brought. Pratt chokes on a sob that forces it's way out, he covers his mouth with his hand to keep himself quiet. His arm burns hot at the movement but he doesn't care. He deserves it. The sobs keep coming.

He must not be quiet enough because the tent door's zipper begins to move achingly slowly. Pratt doesn't need to look up to know who it is, he tries to bury into the covers again in a poor attempt at hiding. He can hear boots rustle on the tarp as the person steps in and the zipper is drawn back up. Something pulls at him, tugging at the sleeping bag. "D-don't t-touch me." the chattering of his teeth doesn't do his harsh tone justice.

"You're going to freeze to death." Jacob speaks up.

He tries to force his body to go still to prove him wrong. "I-I'm f-fine." he sniffs.

"Pathetic." Jacob huffs and tears the covers away from him.

The sudden cold hitting him makes him sit up. "I s-said d-"

"Shut up." Jacob scolds and forces his way into the spot next to him.

"No!" Pratt pushes him away when he feels his arm begin to snake around his waist.

He can't. He won't. Not this time.

"You took him away!" Pratt whirls around and screams in his face, pounding his fists against his broad chest. "You killed him!" he tries to push him to the other side of the cramped tent.

Jacob sits like a stone and stays quiet, he doesn't even try and stop the hands from hitting him. It doesn't look like he appreciates it as the glow from the fire illuminates the apathetic expression on his face.

"You fucking knew..." Pratt's punches slow down. "You knew and you used me!" he lets his hands come to a stop against Jacob's warm chest. Pratt leans his head to rest on him too. "You made me... kill him." he whispers into his coat.

He murdered his own friend, he had made Markus confess. The man saved the wrong person, he had given up the search for his brother so that Pratt could what? Live? Save the world? Unlikely. There's nothing left for him here except pain and misery. He's losing pieces of himself every day, each harsh word and touch chips away at his sanity. Markus was one of the things that grounded him. The only one left is... Jacob?

Next thing Pratt knows his lips are meeting Jacob's dry and cracked ones. He quickly pulls away when he realizes what he's doing, the desperation for comfort has made him delirious. He feels deeply ashamed as he pulls back and hangs his head. How crazy does one have to be to kiss the person that's holding you prisoner, who tortures you daily and makes you kill your only friend in this fucked up place. To be fair, he honestly thought it would make him feel better but he might've made this worse for himself by the way Jacob is staring at him, hard and stern. Pratt sniffs and shakes his head, he just wants to be left alone, he'd take that over Jacob's presence any day.

He moves to take back the covers that were trying to keep him warm but Jacob stops his hand and rolls him over onto his back, strong legs follow too and straddle his waist. Pratt lets himself be manhandled, ignoring the alarm bells going off in his head.

"You know what this is. I'm done repeating myself." Jacob keeps his growl low.

That's the issue, he doesn't want to know what this is. He'll keep denying it until the day he dies, which could possibly be soon at this point. He hears the clinking of Jacob undoing his belt and he panics. "Wait." he rushes to stop him. "I just want to..." he trails off, the guilt choking him.

Jacob stops this time and pulls back to look at him. "What?" the fire outside glows brighter to reveal his glare, eyes a little wary. "What do you want to do?" he asks again with a hand still on his buckle.

Pratt licks his lips, eyes flicking between Jacob's eyes and mouth as he fights with himself. "I just want to kiss." he finally admits.

Jacob doesn't say anything for a minute. His eyebrow quirks up at the confession, showing that he's processing it. He's taking too long in Pratt's opinion. "Please." he tries.

It seems to do the trick. Jacob let's go of his belt and rests his hands on either side of Pratt's head. "Go on then."

Pratt let's out a breath and sits up on his elbows, he expected to be attacked by teeth with a rough hand squeezing his throat. Jacob is making him show that he wants it, the scariest part is that he does. He wants the feeling of security to flow through him like before.

He runs a tentative hand up Jacob's neck, feeling the tendons strain against his fingers, trying to refrain from leaning into him. It makes a thrill go through his whole body and it encourages him onward. He places his shaking lips to Jacob's steady ones, he's hesitant at first, only moving when Jacob hums against his mouth. Eventually, he slowly starts to melt into him, it's returned at the same pace, no more, no less.

The comfort is coming back but just barely, he presses in harder to try and find more, Jacob notices and takes over. He mimics the hand on him and runs his own through Pratt's hair to bring him closer. He moans in appreciation when he isn't met with resistance as he dips his tongue in to explore the trembling man's mouth.

Jacob pushes him to lay on his back again and Pratt holds on tight to make sure it doesn't end there. He's not done yet, neither is Jacob it seems as he squeezes his legs with his knees to keep him still. It's not enough to make his thoughts slow to a pace where he can actually process them, anxiety and frustration rise as the comfort only comes in small waves. He grips tighter when Jacob begins to pull away, he's eventually made to let go when there's a hand on his chest pushing him down. "I- I'm-" he starts.

"Let me touch you." Jacob breathes out, voice suddenly desperate.

This is a bad idea but Pratt doesn't want to stop, if he says yes it might give him what he wants or it could totally backfire. He closes his eyes and tries to relax, silently giving some sort of permission.

Jacob takes it. He quickly unzips Pratt's coat and buries his warm hand underneath his sweater again, picking up where they left off. Staci lets out a shaky breath as rough fingers explore his sides and does his best to stay still when they frantically search to squeeze whatever else they can reach. They brush over his nipple making him gasp, he jolts when Jacob goes back to tweak it. "Not there." Pratt whispers.

"Hm." Jacob moves to play with the other one.

A heavy moan leaves his mouth and he quickly clamps his hand over it, eyes flying open. Fucking traitor. He doesn't deserve to breathe. Markus didn't save him to enjoy Jacob's 'company'. Pratt is the one that should have gotten a bullet to his brain, maybe it could be arranged if he tries hard enough.

Jacob pries his hand away from his mouth and pins it beside his head. "Jarv's asleep." he assures. "I want to hear you."

That doesn't make Pratt feel any better if anything it makes him feel more self-conscious, he totally forgot about Jacob's right-hand man. Jarv has enough information to have legitimate reasons to look down on him, he probably won't tell his colleagues about it but there's always a chance for it to get out. He doesn't want to be known around the camp for this.

"Mm!" Pratt bites down on his bottom lip to silence himself again as Jacob gently tweaks the bud of his nipple.

"Sensitive." He verbally notes and smirks.

Pratt looks away and glares at the wall of the tent, unknowingly baring his throat to the open air. Watching Jacob enjoy himself is giving mixed signals to his body. There's no doubt that he's aroused but the pit in his stomach makes him want to vomit.

Jacob pushes his sweater up and takes advantage of the exposed neck. He breathes against Pratt's skin before placing a small kiss next to his adams apple, it's careful and soft, completely different from all the ones before. It makes him look back into Jacob's now calm and steady eyes. "Keep still." he whispers and gives his wrist a squeeze before letting go.

Pratt finds himself nodding as Jacob exposes the rest of his chest to the cold, the hem of his sweater is rolled up to meet the underside of his jaw. His eyes don't leave Jacob as he watches him give the same reassuring kiss to his collarbone. He keeps going, only stopping to swirl his tongue over the nipple he's been teasing.

Pratt arches up into the sensation, he can't help it. The warm mouth sucks him in, no doubt leaving 'love marks' there too. He clenches his fists above his head, doing his best to ignore the sharp pain that shoots up his arm. The mouth smiles on his skin and moves to the other one, teeth grazing over marked flesh. "Nngh." Staci lets out as Jacob bites down a little too hard.

He kisses it as an apology and moves onto his stomach. "Hold your shirt up for me, Peaches."

Pratt swallows the protests that come up his throat. He does as he's told and holds the fabric up so the psycho murderer can trace the lines of his hips.

"Good boy."

Pratt's heart swells at the praise but it's not enough to shut off his mind. Markus is dead because of him and this is his reward. Pratt knows he's not a good person, he was always been a disappointment to everyone he's met. The Sheriff, Joey, the whole county knows of his failures. Jacob feels the same way, he knows he was miffed that he was stuck with him after Joseph had given him his leash. But out of everyone, Jacob seems to be the only one that wants to fix him, to improve on his faults and preserve the qualities.

The clinking and tugging of his belt being undone cuts through his thoughts. He looks down to Jacob unbuttoning his pants before pulling at the zipper. "Jacob." he digs his nails into his bunched up sweater. "I don't-"

Jacob's lips are suddenly on his, crashing into him at full force. He grunts into the mouth as a warm hand pulls his half erect cock out of his pants. He panics at the harsh tugs that follow, dry skin on dry skin.

Pratt lets go of his shirt and grabs Jacob's hand. "It hurts." he hisses through clenched teeth.

Jacob clamps his hand over his mouth. "Help yourself out then."

Pratt scrunches his brow in confusion. Does he want him to fight back? The hand clarifies it for him by turning into fingers that lightly trace his lips back and forth, waiting. "Come on, Peaches." he urges, quickly running out of patience.

No. He pinches his lips shut and locks his jaw. Jacob sighs in annoyance and quickly begins to roughly tug at his cock again making Pratt cry out and almost choke on the fingers that are shoved into his mouth. He has half a mind to bite down on the digits, they taste like scorched earth and salt but he's more humiliated at having a part of this man inside him.

"Make this easy for yourself." Jacob warns.

Pratt can feel his cheeks burn as he begins sucking on the intrusion. It's just another piece of himself destroyed, stolen, not a big deal. He feels Jacob shudder above him when he slides his tongue between his fingers and laps over the hard calluses. He does his best to get them as wet as possible before they're taken away, at least the rough hand has stopped moving, waiting for him to finish.

Jacob eventually retracts and replaces his fingers with his mouth. Kissing is an afterthought at this point as the now slicked up hand is quickly pumping him to full hardness. Pratt holds onto Jacob's shoulders for dear life, it feels like he's gonna fall. Jacob breaks the kiss to breathe into his ear. "Spread your legs."

Pratt tries to open them but the hand on him keeps moving and making him tense up. Jacob notices and slows down but doesn't stop, he helps him spread his legs by wedging a knee in to push his thighs out of the way. When they're significantly apart he then settles down between them like he belongs there. He takes his hands away and smiles when Pratt lets out a strangled noise as he pulls his hips closer to meet his groin.

"W- wa-" Staci stutters when he feels the heat of him seep through his pants.

Jacob's hands are back on him. "You're fine." he hushes and grinds forward, making Pratt's waist rise with him. "Hold onto me." he guides Staci's leg to wrap around his hip.

Pratt hooks his other leg around on his own and locks his ankles together. He has one of the cults Heralds in between his legs, panting in his ear like one of his wolves in heat. What the fuck has become of his life?

Pratt quickly inhales as Jacob's thrusts become rougher, more urgent. It makes him focus on his own pleasure in attempts to ignore the hard on that's grinding against his rear. He can feel it throb through his pants when Jacob suddenly stops. He almost sobs as the hand on his cock pauses and its thumb presses down on the tip. "Jacob." he wants to come, he needs to.

"Tell me." Jacob pants in his ear. "Beg me."

He shakes his head. "Just do it."

Jacob huffs. "Suit yourself." he lets go and continues on himself, spreading Pratt's legs more so he can grind in deeper.

"Ple-!"

He's quieted with another kiss as Jacob aggressively ruts into him. He whines and moves to finish himself, he can't take it anymore. This needs to end so he can start denying that it ever happened, the thoughts, and the feelings.

Jacob catches both of his hands and pins them next to his head. "Are Hope County's Deputies usually this desperate?" he mocks as he gives him another hard thrust.

"No, I just... Please..."

"Please what?" Jacob rolls his hips.

"Please let me come."

"You want my hands on you?"

"Yes." Pratt doesn't even recognize his own voice anymore, so weak and pitiful.

"Say it." The hands on his wrists tighten.

"I w-want your hands on me." Just do something.

"Where?" he whispers in his ear.

Pratt shivers. "I- Jacob..." he's getting frustrated.

"Show me." Jacob smoothes his hands over Pratt's until his own wrists fit into his palms.

Pratt slowly wraps his fingers around them, unsure if he's reading this right. When Jacob doesn't move away he begins to guide one of his hands down his body. He doesn't breathe as he makes the hand drag over one of his nipples, past bruises and cuts to stop just above the head of his cock. He can feel the wetness on his stomach and it wakes him up a little. The haze of arousal clears enough for him to ask just one question. "What have you done to me?" he stares into the cold and calculating eyes.

Jacob's lips twitch, it's the same tick that he had in the bathroom the other night. "Are you blaming me?" He glares at him.

A little. Pratt just wants answers to his questions. Is that really too much to ask? "No, all I- Ah!"

Jacob suddenly switches personalities and resumes thrusting relentlessly against him, while his hand returns to yank mercilessly at his cock. Pratt scrambles to find something to hold on to, he doesn't find anything and has to resort to gripping tight on the blanket that's still underneath him.

"You think the training is there to torture you?" Jacob snarls. "I'm not doing this just for me."

Pratt tries to keep breathing but Jacob's hips keep knocking the wind out of him. He wants to die right then and there.

"You're a tool that needs a lot of sharpening." he grunts, quickening the pace. "And I'm the only one that wants to bother with grinding out your true potential."

"I don't- hnn! Want you to!" Pratt manages to get out between thrusts and gasps.

Jacob lets out a dark chuckle and tightens his hand. "That's hard to believe when I have your ass vibrating against my dick."

"You're making me-!"

"Am I?"

Honestly, he has no idea. He might've started this but Jacob was the one that crossed the line. Now he has Pratt writhing under him and begging for release.

"I could've fucked you the night you came to me." Jacob continues. "Had you thrown out with Clarke after I was done with you."

The tug in Pratt's gut intensifies at the thought of Jacob shoving himself inside him. Hot and throbbing, barely slicked up in his rush to enter him.

He's disgusting.

"I saved you from me. Now, I'm saving you from yourself." Jacob nuzzles into his neck, tracing his skin with his lips. "You owe me."

Pratt shouldn't trust anything this man says, it all sounds like bullshit. But there's always some weight to the words, it gives him a peek on the other side of the fence. There's a small part of him that wants to know who he truly is.

A twist from Jacob has him gasping for air. Pratt can't take the pressure anymore, it's starting to turn painful. He arches up into the hand, moving away from Jacob's hips without meaning to. He receives a small bite as a warning. The feeling of teeth makes his shoulder and arm burn in memory, he sobs at the added pain.

"Sh sh sh." Jacob quiets him.

"Ja- ah!"

"I got you."

The comfort he's been begging for finally washes over him when he hears those words spilled in his ear, it pushes him over the edge. He doesn't make a sound as his mouth gapes open, he snaps it shut and squeezes his eyes closed. Colours flash behind his eyelids, he doesn't know how long it lasts but he can feel his cock throb as it shoots out what it's been holding back. It dribbles down his side as Jacob keeps pumping him, stopping his hips to focus all of his attention on him. He takes it in, mentally saving everything he can before it disappears.

Pratt eventually comes down from his high and makes breathing his next priority. He never knew orgasms could be so violent, he's still trembling from the shock of it when Jacob gives his sensitive shaft another stroke. "Stop." he breathes out, jolting at the touch.

Jacob lets go and smoothes his hand over Pratt's soaked stomach, mixing his sweat and cum together. "Beautiful."

The compliment makes Staci open his eyes and stare up at him. What did he just say? He doesn't get the chance to ask. Jacob digs his fingers into the back of his thighs and pulls them with him as he covers Staci's body with his own. He gently cradles his head, carding a hand through his hair and holds him against his shoulder. "Stay with me just a bit longer." he rumbles as he starts rocking against him again.

Pratt shudders and grabs a fist full of Jacob's jacket, breathing him in. He'll do his best. The feelings of comfort and safety will always come with conditions, something will always have to be exchanged.

He makes sure to keep breathing as Jacob picks up the pace while groaning promises of fucking Pratt in every room of the hospital. How he'll have him begging on his knees for anything he's willing to give.

Pratt tries to deny it but can't find the words, Jacob's cock throbbing against his ass makes it difficult to think about anything. A pathetic whimper is all he's able to manage, the feeling of him between his thighs is intoxicating. His own dick already twitches in interest at the words being moaned in his ear.

"God, Staci." Jacob gasps.

Pratt can sense him getting close, his hips start to stutter and shake but suddenly pull away, letting the cold air attack his exposed skin.

Jacob quickly unbuckles his belt and shoves his pants down just enough to pull himself out. Pratt watches this time, the tip is red and leaking while the thick shaft twitches in anticipation. He tugs at himself as he looks over the mess they both created this time.

Pratt sees an opening, an opportunity to do his own manipulating. He manages to sit up and grab Jacob's face to hold him still as he mashes their lips together. He sneaks his tongue in when Jacob tries to take a breath, he's able to swallow down a few moans of his own before Jacob tears them apart and shoves Staci onto his back again. "Pull your shirt up." he growls.

It wasn't the best plan but he can tell he hit a nerve. He's proud of himself, he stole something from Jacob even though he has no idea what he took. He pulls his shirt up again and waits for the inevitable.

Jacob finally lets out a hushed roar and Pratt can feel his hot release spill on his stomach, with some of it reaching his chest. He can barely see him but what he does makes his heart beat faster. The ex-soldier shoulders slump as he comes down from his own bliss, he looks small as he sits on his heels and takes in a few shuddering breaths. Pratt squeezes him with his legs, he doesn't know why, it just happens.

Something about it makes Jacob reel back and quickly put himself away. He takes Pratt's leg and lifts it off of him, forcing him to turn on his side so he can escape. He doesn't go too far though, Pratt puts his softening cock back into his pants while Jacob shifts about the tent behind him. He definitely brought something up. He can't feel bad, he shouldn't. But he does.

The covers are thrown over him followed by Jacob's warm wall of a body covering his backside. An arm snakes around his waist after it fixes Pratt's sweater, covering it to hide the evidence on his stomach. It's an odd feeling having his clothes put on rather than being torn off. He likes it.

They lay there for a while, he can hear Jacob still trying to catch his breath as he adjusts his body to get more comfortable. Pratt doesn't want to sleep, he doesn't want to see Markus' beaten and bloody face screaming at him, blaming him for what happened.

It's not your fault.

That's what the real Markus would say. If he was still here.

"What did you do with him?" Please just give him this.

There's a long silence before he feels Jacob relax into his back. "Let him burn with his belongings." he mumbles.

Pratt lets out a shaky sigh as an image of Markus' being thrown in the flames that engulfed his bunker etches itself inside his brain. At least he was laid to rest in a place that was familiar to him. Caden's melting face suddenly flashes in his mind and he stiffens, the arm around him tightens in response. "Are you..." he's worried about the answer. "Are you going to kill me?"

Jacob scoffs behind him as if the question was ridiculous. "For shooting Caden? No. They fulfilled their purpose as soon as they stepped into that bunker. If anything you showed that the training is sticking. I'm proud of you."

Those words have never been directed at him before. He's not sure if he heard him right. The only time he's heard it was from his mother when he accepted his certification from the police academy, she met him at the end of the stage and held her arms out to embrace him. He held her tight when she finally said how proud she was. It almost brings tears to his eyes when he thinks of her, she's all he has left, he would love to go home and hug her one last time.

"But it doesn't give you a pass." Jacob's voice is like gravel in his ear, it brings Pratt's happy thoughts to a screeching halt. "You'll need to make that up to me."

Dread presses into Staci's chest. "But I-"

"Sleep."

Pratt snaps his jaw shut. He closes his eyes and tries to think back to simpler times, wondering about how he could change his past to fix his future. The memories aren't strong enough to distract him from the warm hand on his stomach. It burns through his clothes.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In. out. In. Out.

3 Nights ago...

"I could take him off your hands." John offers as he relaxes in Jacob's office chair with his feet up on the desk.

Jacob tenses at the suggestion, something screams at him in protest. He shakes it off and keeps staring at Eli's picture on the board.

"He could probably use a break from you and all the diligent note-taking you're making him do." he downs his fifth shot of the night. "I can give you Hudson for a bit, I know you had your eye on her."

"No." Jacob says sternly before taking a swig from the bottle in his hand.

"Why not?" John pouts.

"It's not part of the plan." he turns to pour his brother another shot. "I have him on a schedule."

John smiles, he can read him like a book too. "That's not it."

Jacob glares down at him as he takes another gulp of the warm scotch, he's done talking about this.

"Have you already grown attached to yours?" he picks up the refilled shot glass. "I can't blame you really, he's a pretty little thing."

Jacob scoffs at him.

It urks John. "What?"

"Stop digging holes."

"Oh?" he sits up. "What kind of hole am I digging?"

"A deep one." Jacob growls. "One you won't be able to get out of if you keep inserting yourself into things that don't pertain to you."

"Mm," John takes the threat in stride, he knows it's just for show and nothing more. "Did I hit a sore spot?"

Jacob's glare falters. "You're cut off." he steals the shot glass back from his brother and downs it for him, followed by another from the bottle.

"What if I borrow him for a bit? I think it would be good to get some ink under his skin." John pushes. And pushes. And pushes.

"Get out."

"His shoulders look like a good place to start-"

Jacob shoves John's feet off the desk. "Get. Out." he's done with this.

John still smiles as Jacob looms over him. "Thanks for the drink." he gets up and begins to leave. "Have fun." he sings before he slams the door behind him.

Jacob leans on his desk as he hears his little brothers footsteps slowly fade away. Breathe. He tries. In and out. It's not working. He grabs the neck of the bottle again and downs the rest of it. His throat flares up and some of the liquor spills on his beard. Pain. Pain is good.

Jacob?

He jerks his head up when he hears Pratt's voice calling his name, the softness of it makes him grit his teeth. The pathetic whimpering and childish outbursts make him sick. What a fucking brat.

Thank you, sir.

Jacob growls and throws the bottle against the nearest wall, he doesn't flinch when shards come back and bounce off his chest.

Enough of this.

He suddenly finds himself unlocking Pratt's cell door and slowly pushing it open. It's pitch black but he can see the outline of Staci balled up on the bed. He approaches carefully, still unsure of what he's doing. He can tell that Pratt's awake by the way he's breathing, it's short and choppy, similar to his own. He looks so small. Jacob puts his knee on the edge of the bed and leans over him, his face is unfortunately covered by his long jet black hair. He puts his hand on the other side of his head and reaches with the other, it's soft underneath his hand. Pratt tenses up as he runs his fingers through the tangles he finds.

"Jacob?"

Jacob closes his eyes, he knows he can't hold back anymore, this will change everything but he'll have to deal with that in the morning.

Chapter Text

Jacob can't sleep, for the first time in his life he has no idea what he's doing. None of this was part of the plan but for some reason, he can't help himself when it comes to Pratt. Joseph had told him a lot of things about the future of the world, including his own. What he was told didn't make him flinch, although nothing came up about the pathetic boy that would make him toss almost everything he's ever stood for out the window for such asinine human desires. Human nature is what makes him lose his composure whenever someone like his brother touches his things. Pratt was given to him, just this once he would like to keep his gifts for himself.

He breathes in Staci's scent as they lay close, there's something sweet about it that makes him bury his nose into the cold damp hair. He can smell the fear too, it's faint now but it comes out strong whenever Jacob touches him. He frowns at the thought, the reason for it is obvious but he doesn't know how to deal with this any other way, the direct approach has always worked for him but it seems to make Pratt panic. The terror in his eyes amuses him sometimes, it even turns him on when Pratt squirms underneath his touch, trying to get away from the pleasure. This is all new to him too, an opportunity to explore rather than destroy, it's refreshing.

But he has to be careful about this, John knows what's going on and he wants to push whatever buttons he can before Joseph finds out. Jacob flexes his arm around the smaller man's waist when he thinks back to earlier that day. John had touched what was his, he had to correct that, clean Pratt of whatever was left on him from his brother and Hale. It had to hurt, not just physically but Pratt needs to know where he stands mentally, what and who he's really here for. The bite will scar, he made sure of that.

I just want to kiss.

Jacob has already noticed how Pratt eagerly kisses him back when it's offered, no doubt wanting to please him while doing the least amount of work, but deep down he wants it. Jacob sees it in the way he looks into his eyes when he's straddling him, begging to be taken like the secret whore that he is.

Pratt suddenly stirs, obviously having a bad dream, Jacob tightens his hold to still him. It brings an odd feeling to his chest, the same feeling he gets when Pratt begs him to be let go, to feel safe again. He wants to give him all the security he needs but he doesn't know why or how, he has to have Pratt want him back in order for anything like that to happen. Jacob can't waste his time on something he knows won't work, that's not who he is. He needs to be efficient in order to have a positive outcome for this project.

Pratt isn't slowing him down, not yet. This... This is just a side mission that he can easily abandon when he knows it has to be let go.

The project, Edens Gate, and his family come first.

"You know he won't change his mind."

"He will."

"None of them do, not really."

"He's... Different."

Pratt's alarm doesn't wake him, the singing of birds and the grumbling of his stomach does. He looks to make sure it's not broken, he doubts Jacob would have silenced it but the inspection of the dials and arms make him think that might just be the case.

Why?

The sleeping bag is around his hips with the spot behind him empty, he isn't surprised. He wouldn't know what to say or how he would feel if he woke up to Jacob's sleeping face so close to his, it would be too intimate. The dried mess on his stomach reminds him of how intimate they were last night, he shivers at the memory of large hands caressing over his skin, soft lips sucking and nibbling. He has to kill the thoughts before he gets hard again, Jacob is a man, the total opposite of any woman he's ever been with. Even with the gentle kisses like last night, it's too rough and he's on the receiving end of it.

Pratt rubs the sleep out of his eyes and gets up. Better not make Jacob wait any more than he already has.

The sun blinds him as he steps out of the tent, it's a warm day, warmer than yesterday, probably won't need a jacket but he rather keep it on.

The camp is set up in a heavily vegetated area off of a familiar trail, he recognizes the patch of grass from yesterday where he and Markus had sat down to watch the sunset behind the mountains, his head resting on his shoulder well after the sky had turned dark.

"Pratt." Jacob is suddenly next to him.

"Yes, sir." Pratt automatically responds while he stares into the distance.

"Time to go."

"Okay." But he doesn't move, he barely hears Jacob huff in annoyance and step closer.

Pratt rips his arm away when it's grabbed, the sudden movement hurts but not as much as the loss he's suffered by the same hand that has been jerking him off almost every night for the past couple of days. The action won't be appreciated and when he turns around Jacob's face shows it. It's a violent glare he's never seen in the light before, it makes the air rush out of his lungs but he won't apologize. Last night was a mistake and it won't happen again as far as he's concerned, he won't let Markus' death be in vain.

Jacob's jaw clenches but he doesn't say anything. Pratt can tell he wants to, his breathing becomes uneven and the hand that grabbed him flexes at his side. It looks like he's deciding which personality he wants to use to deal with this.

Jarv stands behind him, watching them glare at each other by the dying fire, it's none of his business but he'll help his leader whenever it's wanted.

Jacob sighs and runs a hand through his hair, trying to relax. "Jarv."

Pratt takes a worried step back while Jarv takes a step forward to acknowledge the order.

"Get Pratt back and settled in." He turns to pick up a heavily packed bag and his rifle. "I'll catch up."

"Yer sure?"

"Yeah, get home safe."

"Alright." He looks to the prisoner. "Come're, Pratt."

Pratt doesn't move. Instead, he stares at Jacob, waiting on his say so, watching his lips twitch up when he finds him waiting on his word. "Go on, Peaches." His tone is soothing as he nods towards the Peggie.

Pratt walks past him and stops to stand at Jarv's side, it's like switching handlers in a way, a very degrading way.

Jacob leaves with Helia who looks up at him as they walk back up the mountain, she whines at him until he gives her a pat, reassuring her.

Pratt watches them until they disappear over the hill and through the thick brush. He waits for relief to hit him but it never does, the confidence he expects to feel from being away from Jacob doesn't come either. Pratt hates who he's becoming, needy and dependent on the one that got him into this mess. He eventually feels... Empty when Jacob is no longer in view and he despises himself for it, this is not how this is going to go, he'll fight until Jacob eventually decides to kill him.

"Right. Let's get food into you." Jarv's voice makes him jolt, especially when it formed the word 'food'.

It's just oatmeal and an apple for breakfast, he takes it without complaint, not wanting to get on Jarv's bad side now that he has to babysit him. The man has always been passive around him besides their first interaction, if he does as he's told they can get along fine.

They begin to pack after he's scraped up the last of what's left in his bowl, Jarv has to show him how to properly clean up the camp when he watches him shove a blanket into one of the bags and tries to zip it up. He orders him to make sure the fire is put out while he fixes it, scolding him under his breath as he walks away to the tent Pratt had slept in.

His heart stops when he watches the sleeping bags be thrown out the door, he resists the urge to bury them under the hot coals. No more hiding the evidence, just destroy it for all it's worth, it's riddled with nothing but dark deeds and even darker thoughts.

It takes half of the day to get back to the trucks. It doesn't look like John had touched them after they'd left, the property looks completely abandoned now, almost reminding him of a true apocalypse. Edens Gate has a habit of only showing you what they want you to see, mutilated corpses being at the top of things that they like to display.

"Get in." Jarv gestures to the passenger seat that Markus had sat in as he throws his bags into the bed of the second truck.

"We're not waiting?"

"Nope." he replies, getting into the driver's seat.

Pratt stares at him confused. He takes another look to the tree line surrounding them, wondering if Jacob's gun is trained on him again, he doesn't see anything out of the ordinary but that still doesn't put him at ease. Jacob's eyes are roaming over him, he can feel them on his shoulders and move to the back of his neck, it makes him quickly toss his bag to join Jarv's and gets in. Tall cement walls surrounding him sounds great right now.

They pull up to the hospital gate and wait for it to open. Pratt thought about bolting the whole trip, it's just him and Jarv, no monster wolf to track him down this time. His leg anxiously shakes, trying to decide if now is the best time to run. Something has kept in the vehicle so far, he hopes it's just the pain in his arm that glues him to the seat but a voice in the back of his head tells him to stop lying to himself and admit that Jacob's training is having an effect.

No.

The chance for freedom fades away as the gate closes behind them, it was a slim chance that he would get very far anyways, it just hurts that he didn't even try.

"Get out and grab a bag." Jarv orders and puts the truck in park.

Pratt shoulders the door open, carefully cradling his arm as he gets out. The bite mark still burns as if Jacob's teeth were still sinking into it, he does his best not to wince when he grabs his bag and lets it fall into a puddle below.

Jarv doesn't say anything about it. "Stay at the fountain. Don't move until I get back." he orders before pulling away and disappearing behind the hospital.

Pratt doesn't flinch as gravel flies from the tires and hits him in the leg, his pain tolerance has grown since he's been here thanks to Jacob's harsh treatment. His newest wound should probably be flushed out before anything else, an infection is the last thing he needs right now.

The concrete fountain is too wet to sit on so he chooses to stand, he's exhausted but hopefully Jarv won't take too long. The longer he waits for his handler the more Peggies slow down to stare at him, some mutter to each other as they walk past, disgust and confusion clear on their faces. Pratt suddenly remembers what he must look like, his neck is probably glowing dark purple with hickies, no doubt making him the center of attention. He quickly pulls up the hood on his jacket but it's too late, his true purpose here has been revealed to the entire camp and it will spread like wildfire. Perfect.

Thankfully Jarv comes striding around the corner, calm as can be. "Come on." is all he says before he begins to lead them towards the hospital.

Pratt can't help but glare into the back of his head as he follows behind. Of course, Jarv wouldn't have said anything about covering himself up, that part of Jacob's life is none of his concern. It would've been the human thing to do.

He's lead back to his own room and forced to hand his coat and bag over before the door slams closed and he's all alone again. No Markus. No Jacob. No one.

His bed glares back at him as he stares at it. Images of Jacob's hands and heat flash through his mind, he can feel every caress as if the man was in the room with him right now. Breathing something dark in his ear as he unbuckles his belt.

The cement floor will have to do.

Pratt takes a long drink from the tap before sliding down the wall and huddles in the corner facing the door, trying to be ready for any more surprise guests. His arm flares up as he tries to get comfortable on the freezing floor, he should really check on it and let it breathe. His stomach twists as he slowly rolls up his sleeve and finds the crudely wrapped bandage already coming undone.

It's barely scabbed over, he almost gags when he sees his muscle twitch up against the mangled skin. He throws the blood-soaked bandage to the side and gets up to hunch over the sink again. The water should be safe enough to flush out the wound, as long as he can keep his breakfast down and stay conscious. He takes a deep breath and puts his arm under the lukewarm stream, it makes him cry out and grip the edge of the sink. The water seeps into each individual tooth shaped cut, it feels like his muscles are bubbling in an effort to get out whatever foreign liquid has begun to invade.

Pratt begins to wonder if he should have waited to see if they would have given him actual medical care, it's too late to think much on it, it's up to him now. The judgemental glares won't do a lot for him either, they all know who did it. An animal. A monster.

This was a mistake. The friendship with Markus, attempting to arrest Joseph, becoming an officer. The biggest one is being who he is, weak and easily manipulated, he's a fucking coward.

The pain in his arm increases to the point he has to take it away from the pressure of the water. He cradles it to his chest as he searches for something to dry it with. The pillowcase will have to do for now. He tries to quickly dab it dry before using the cleaner side of the fabric to wrap around his arm, tying and knotting it with his teeth.

This isn't good. He's maimed in enemy territory and the predator sleeps just upstairs.

Sometimes in your bed.

Pratt closes his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek. No one thinks that they'll ever be in this situation until they're actually here, this shit only happens in the movies. There's no way to prepare oneself for this, no one expects to be kidnapped and tortured. He wants to say he didn't sign up for this but isn't this apart of the vows he took as a Deputy? Maybe not the molestation part.

It doesn't matter anymore, he deserves this.

Right?

Days turn into weeks and Jacob still hasn't returned. Pratt shouldn't be worried, the man is more than capable of handling himself, but he often spends his days thinking of him.

It's wrong. So wrong. He hates who he has become and instead, he tries to think about how the Deputy is doing on her rescue mission of the entire county, while he rots here.

He's given a welcome package that new recruits get when they first 'sign up'. It comes with the basic toiletries with a few pairs of pants and sweaters. They already look well worn, the fabric is itchy but effective at keeping him warm, the worst part is the large Edens Gate symbol on the front. It sends a blaring message of whose side he's on now.

Just because the Herald is absent doesn't mean he gets a vacation, Jarv makes sure he gets put to work. It's mainly just cleaning after others seeing as they don't trust him with a gun, it's a smart move, he wouldn't know what to do with it. In the beginning, he would have figured he could use it to escape this hell hole, now he has half a mind to turn it on himself. Humiliation has gotten to him, after Jacob's little secret had been revealed to the whole camp it's been different, the looks have gotten longer and dirtier.

In the dining hall he's able to get rations but it's nothing like the breakfast he had in Jacob's room. A chunk of bread, gruel, and water are all he has to look forward to for every meal. He doesn't voice his disappointment with the lack of taste of the food, it would be suicide to do so. He'll take what he can get and be quiet about it, keeping his head down as he sits alone at a table. It's like high school all over again.

Jarv sits next to him sometimes and smacks his lips as he chews on some sausage. Pratt wants to strangle him but it's not worth it, the rough old Peggie is the closest thing he has to a friend right now, at least he trusts him to roam the grounds on his own. Jarv makes sure he gets to his room, checking in on lights out before going to do whatever it is he does.

Although the time has given his body the opportunity to heal and return to its natural skin colour, Pratt still feels every rough or soothing touch Jacob has given him, whether it was a hit or caress. It will ache in his muscles for the entire day, while he is hosing down the new wolves that have been brought in, he can even feel Jacob's hand when he's helping unload the trucks. It's embarrassing but easy to kill his hard-on when he's outside in front of the men and women that murder or kidnap all the 'sinners' that they can, it's difficult when he's back in his cell as he lays on his bed. When the thoughts are too much he'll try to sleep in the corner, the coldness of it helps distract him from all the guilt and shame that weighs on his shoulders. It hurts sometimes when he ignores it but he refuses to jerk off about Jacob Seed touching him, making him cry out for mercy when it's all too overwhelming.

The bite on his shoulder is fading at least, though it won't be as noticeable as the one on his arm, there's no doubt they will both scar. Jacob will be with him for the rest of his life, however much longer that is.

The image of Markus's dead body comes to him just as often as Jacob does, but it motivates him to find Parker no matter what. He owes it to Markus to give it his all, he won't half-ass it like he has for most of his life. He sets himself to work every day without complaint, it keeps him busy, the days begin to blur together with each task he completes.

Jackson, the young kid that handles the Judges, eases up on him when he makes him laugh one day as they try to feed the beasts and Pratt almost loses his hand to one of them while landing ass first into the mud. It leaves him embarrassed but a little proud to make the gloomy teenager smile even if it's just for a few seconds, he wants to believe they can be friends. The harsh words that come after extinguish the idea, he gets scolded and they move on to the next cage.

Pratt's conflicted as he feels pride in his chest when he's done a hard days work, it's the end of the day and he's finished all the tasks given to him by Jarv, the enemy. Jarv gives him a nod and sends him in for an early dinner, it's rare to be dismissed before quitting time but he immediately heads to the dining hall to grab his rations.

There are two Peggies standing in front of the doors when he rounds the corner, he's seen their short cropped dark hair and clean uniforms around the camp before, they look like brothers. He's watched them yelling and throwing the prisoners around on several occasions, most recently they've been picking on Jackson, getting bored of the sinners breaking down so quickly. Their antics have been more obvious since the start of Jacob's absence, Pratt has been able to avoid them so far but by the way they are looking at him, it seems like today is his turn.

"Pratt was it?" The taller one asks, Jackson said his name was Tyson.

Pratt wants to turn tail and run but the smell of dinner makes him hesitate. "Yeah." he tries to play it cool.

"That's 'yes, sir' to you." The other one growls, he should be Kleric.

"Yes, sir." He easily complies.

"That was easy, you sure Jacob would even bother with him?" Kleric asks his partner.

"Jacob's probably already got to him."

Pratt glares past them to the dining hall doors. "Excuse me." he takes a step forward.

"Nah, we wanted to have a chat." Tyson smiles, showing off his rotting teeth.

Pratt rather not, he wants to eat and slink back into his cell, safe from this stupidity. He tries to brush past them but they grab him by his arms and start dragging him down the hallway. They ignore the kicks he's able to land as they drag him into the hospital's church and throw him forward, making him skid face first on the hardwood floor. The door slams closed before he can attempt to get up, a boot meets his back to pin him down while someone laughs from above.

"They've healed up but I know what I saw."

"I don't know what you're talking abo-" A kick to his side cuts off his lie, he digs his nails into the wood as the air gets knocked out of him.

The boot lifts so he can curl in on himself and wheeze as he tries to get his breath back, an image of Jacob's boots colliding with his chest flashes through his mind.

Pratt.

He opens his eyes just in time to block a kick to his face with his arms, it leaves him open to another boot to his back, he grunts when it connects with his spine.

Focus.

"You think you can just fuck your way to the top?" One of them spits, saliva landing on the floor next to his head.

Pratt shoves his head between his arms and brings his knees up to his stomach, trying to protect the more vital organs.

Get up.

"What makes you so special?" The other growls. "Do you know how much shit we've been through just to be Jacob's footstools?" a hand grabs his hair and pulls. "Just gotta be pretty I guess, eh?"

Pratt's eyes fly open at the last part, bruising stomach dropping at what that could mean, he has to fight back and it has to be right now. "Fuck off." he coughs.

"What did he just say?"

"He told me to fuck off, Tyson." he laughs. "While he's crying on the floor."

Pratt isn't crying this time, his cheeks are dry and his body is on fire, he needs to move. He sees the kick coming this time and he grabs it, stopping it in its tracks. He uses all his remaining strength to twist it until he hears a sickening crack, it's satisfying to listen to Kleric scream and slam down next to him, not sure whether to retch his leg from Pratt's grip or wait for him to let go.

"Filthy whore!"

"What the fuck is going on here?"

Pratt and Tyson look up and Jarv is standing in the open doorway, it's hard to read the emotion on his face but it's enough to get Tyson to step away from the men laying on the floor.

Jarv takes in the scene and to Pratt's surprise, he starts to chuckle. "Get him the fuck outta here." He motions to Tyson to grab his still screaming friend.

"You gotta do something about that, Jarv. Kids a problem." Tyson argues as he carries Kleric out of the room.

"Just get your brother to the infirmary," he dismisses them.

Pratt stares at Jarv as he looks back to him, seeming to try and decide what he should do, he keeps being surprisingly calm as he extends his hand to help him up. Pratt is shocked at the offer but takes it, wincing when his stomach groans in disagreement, he makes himself stand up through it.

"Go get your dinner," he pushes him towards the exit.

"Yes, sir." Pratt starts to leave but stops and turns. "Thanks."

Jarv waves him away and brings a radio to his lips, closing the door as Pratt leaves the room.

Dinner isn't as exciting anymore; it's still the same old things. He eats as much as he can before he pushes the tray away from himself. He can't get a break; the news of him spread faster than he thought it would, and Jacob's vacation was poorly timed. Unfortunately, he can't hide behind him forever, if he wants to get out of here he'll need to grow some independence again.

"Pratt!"

What now?

He turns to find Jackson jogging up to him. "Come with me, you missed number six." He scolds.

Pratt tries not to roll his eyes as he hears the explanation, he wipes his face with his sleeve and gets up to follow.

Number six is absolutely livid when they arrive, it's mouth is bloody from gnawing at the cage, the sound it's making hurts Pratt's ears.

"Make a fresh batch for it, don't go inside until your done." Jackson orders. "I'll let Jarv know of your mistake." he leaves and takes a wheelbarrow full of animal bones with him.

The monster wolves get fed a mixture of dog food with the rest of it being all sorts of meat. The shipments come often, some of it is hunted in their own backyard, it helps with the training of both 'animal and man'.

Pratt takes a bowl and starts making a small portion, he'll add extra meat as an apology to the animal, hopefully it will calm it down.

The snarls grow louder behind him and he rushes to finish so he can go back inside. The others start to bark and growl as well, it's not out of the ordinary but it's still unsettling.

The scarier part is when he feels cold metal suddenly digging into his neck, he freezes and slowly raises his hands in surrender.

"You move, you die, Peggie." A hand clamps over his mouth and starts to drag him behind the hospital.

He's slammed into the brick wall in between storage boxes and turned to face his attacker, it's getting dark fast but he can see the familiar camouflage and badge, it's the Whitetail Militia.

"I'm-!"

"Shut up." The knife digs deeper into his neck.

Today is not his day, the floodlights aren't on yet to light up the back of the hospital, they've picked the perfect time to attack if that's what their plan is.

"How many of you are on the grounds?"

"My name is Staci Pratt, I'm one of the Deputies that was taken."

The soldier is silent for a moment. "You're not the reason I'm here, but you can help me take down this camp once and for all. Tell me the numbers." The knife doesn't leave like he expects it to as soon as he dropped his name.

"It's usually thirty on the grounds, the rest are inside for dinner."

"Has he used the box on you?" He eyes him warily.

"Yeah?" Pratt doesn't know what that has to do with anything.

"You're pretty much dead already then, I'll let them know that I found you."

"What-?"

"Sorry about this."

The knife begins to cut into his neck and he steels himself to die by the hands of the people he thought he was fighting for.

The sound of a gunshot echoes through the air and something warm splatters on his face as the soldier suddenly slumps on top of him, dead with a bullet hole in his head.

What the fuck?

The alarm starts to blare and the Peggies begin to yell orders at each other, frantically turning on the lights manually, and reaching for their guns.

Pratt looks to whoever just saved him but finds no one close by, nothing but the cement wall and some boxes, above that is the treeline but that's several hundred yards away.

Unless... Jacob?

Another gunshot goes whizzing past his head and into the brick behind him.

Get moving.

Pratt can hear him in the back of his mind, he follows the order and peaks out around the corner of the building.

The Militia have already breached the front gate, a couple of dead guards lay in the mud beneath their feet.

He turns back to the dead body and pats it down to check for weapons, he finds a pistol with a full magazine inside, nice. The knife will come in handy too, he puts the gun in the back of his pants and keeps the blade in his hand, trying to look like less of a target.

Jarv's voice screeches over the speaker system, yelling orders to the ones inside and whoever else is still alive on the outside.

"Get those cages open!" One of the Militia soldiers yells while he lays down covering fire for his companions.

Pratt could care less if they rescue their friends, he'd open the cages himself if they didn't just try to kill him.

He moves up to the judges, keeping his head low as he begins to open up the cages of the ones he knows have some training. Unfortunately, it includes number 6 but they need all the power they can get right now. He opens it and the wolf lunges at him, he readies the knife in his hand, ready to stab if he has to. It stops just a foot away from him, glaring, deciding whether or not to rip his throat out. Gunfire interrupts the stare down and it makes the wolf charge at the group of Militia soldiers that are currently shooting the locks off the cages.

Pratt takes the chance to free the other trained Judges, they don't look at him as they charge out of their cramped cages and follow number six into the fight.

He takes cover behind one of the sheds they keep the meat in, waiting for this all to end.

"Fucking, sinners!"

Shit, Jackson.

He peaks around the corner to find the teen laying in the mud, cradling his shoulder as blood leaks into his uniform.

Pratt takes a few deep breaths and runs to him, he grabs his uninjured arm as bullets fly past them.

"What are you doing?" Jackson yells.

He ignores him and begins to drag him back to the shed.

"You should've left me out there." He grumbles at him when they get into cover. "I'm not afraid to die."

"If you wanna go back out there and waste your life because of pride, by all means." Pratt snaps back.

Jackson doesn't reply, he shifts so he can bring out his own pistol from its holster.

A scream makes him look around the corner again, he watches number six maul one of the whitetails by the cages, followed by the rest of the pack. Several are downed before they're able to sink their teeth into anyone but it's given Jarv an opening to pick some off.

Pratt sees him begin to return fire from the front door, running out and ducking for cover while the rest the Peggies follow suit.

The tables have turned, the Whitetails are heavily outgunned and they start to realize it when there is just a dozen of them left. They start to pull back and get into jeeps that have pulled through the gate, peeling away when everyone is accounted for.

The yelling and screaming doesn't end there, they've left their injured behind and the Peggies stop the Judges from killing them outright, they'll be more useful alive.

Pratt finds an opening and picks up the struggling Jackson to throw him over his shoulder.

"I can walk!"

He puts him down and lets him walk over to the hospital on his own as he hangs back and looks over the destruction that's been caused.

There's plenty of bodies leaking blood on the ground, both sides have heavy losses, it's like a crime scene. His Deputy instincts make him want to get close and take notes.

But he stays back, still not fully believing that this is real life, he doesn't want to get in the way as they deal with their dead.

"Give me the gun." An all too familiar voice comes from behind him.

Pratt slowly reaches back and pulls out the pistol from his pants. It's quickly grabbed from his hand before he can do anything stupid.

The muzzle of a gun helps him turn around to meet the person who just saved him from certain death.

Jacob stands there, holding his red rifle across his chest, his beard has grown and is in need of a trim as is his hair. He looks like a true mountain man, living out in the wilderness like an animal, hunting only when it's necessary.

Pratt doesn't say a word as Jacob checks him over, eyes stop to the cut on his neck, caused by the same knife that turns nervously in his hand right now. He can feel his heart pump blood through the wound, not enough for it to be life-threatening but it's uncomfortable.

"Keep the knife. Go to the office and wait." Jacob orders as he passes him, headed towards Jarv who's yelling obscenities at his fellow brothers and sisters.

"Yes, sir." Pratt whispers and pockets the knife for now.

He hasn't been in the office for a while, it's gotten a bit dusty from the lack of use, he flips the light switch on as he enters.

Markus' blood is still stained on one of the chairs, it hurts to look at, he stares at the bulletin board instead. Nothing has been added since the last time he's been here, on his knees in front of his friend as he tried to tell him what Jacob does to him behind closed doors.

Pratt lays his hand on the back of the chair, he should have just said it, maybe Markus would still be here. The door creaks open and he quickly brings his arm to his side.

Jacob stands in the doorway, now unarmed, but still looking just as intimidating as he was minutes prior.

It's a small relief to see him again. He can't say he's missed him, he won't, but something scolds him for resisting the idea.

There's something wrong, Pratt can see it flick across Jacob's face, he wants to ask where the hell he's been the past couple weeks. He's been keeping a tally of the days on his notepad since the afternoon he returned with Jarv, it's depressing how long it's gotten.

He wants to know, so he asks. "Are you-" but is cut off when Jacob strides over and kisses him.

Pratt immediately melts into him, grabbing the extra fabric of his camouflage jacket to hold onto in case he falls. He's been waiting weeks for this, imagining what would happen when Jacob came back, either to torture or kiss him, he doesn't care now.

It's too easy to give in this time, he lets himself moan into the older man's mouth as his large hand cards through his hair, stopping to tangle itself deep into his greasy locks. 

Jacob rumbles his approval and picks him up to have him sit on his desk behind them, making his legs wrap around his hips. He starts to shrug off his jacket, keeping up their kiss while Pratt finds himself helping him so he can feel the curves of his muscles and scars that have been carved into his body.

Jacob grabs his sides, when his hands are free, to pull him forward. Pratt breaks off to hiss in pain, he holds onto the hands, trying to move them away. They shake him off and quickly pull up his sweater to figure out what the problem is, freezing when Jacob sees the bruises from the beating he received earlier.

"Who."

Pratt shudders, he doesn't want to talk about it, Jacob's back now so it doesn't matter.

"Pratt."

He holds onto his shoulders and shakes his head. "Just kiss me, please." He begs, twisting the collar of the man's shirt in his fist.

Jacob pulls the sweater off altogether before he fulfills the request. Pratt takes the chance to bury his own hands underneath his shirt, tracing the rough skin in a random order starting at his hips, he jolts when his nipples are played with in return.

The kisses move from his lips to suck new hickies into his throat, reclaiming what's theirs on the freshly healed skin.

Pratt digs his nails into Jacob's lower back as he licks over the scar on his shoulder, gently biting down over his own teeth marks.

It all suddenly comes to a halt and Jacob leans into him, panting in his ear. "I can't wait anymore." His hands tighten on his hips.

Pratt's eyes widen and he begins to pull away. "I'm not ready." He whispers.

"I know." Jacob replies and helps him off the desk. "I know."

Pratt starts to struggle in the hold as he's dragged down the hallway and into Jacob's private quarters.

He digs his heels in, the rubber of his boots squeal against the hardwood floor as he's easily pushed forward. "I'm serious, Jacob." His voice cracks.

He's ignored and thrown onto the large bed, the springs squeak loudly under the sudden weight.

Jacob looks to be serious too as he pulls off his worn long-sleeved shirt, staring at him as he does, baring his well toned torso to the room.

The view steals the breath out of lungs, new cuts and scrapes litter his chest. He wants to ask what happened out there but he knows he'll only get a vague answer in return. He shakes it off and gets up, shouldering Jacob out of the way to run to the door. It doesn't budge, he frantically twists and pulls at the knob, still nothing.

"Pratt." A rumble behind him makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Pratt tries one last time to open the exit but it stays firmly closed. He bows his head rest on the wood and lets out a shuddering breath, biting his lip when it starts to tremble. "Please." He whispers. "Just let me keep this."

Jacob doesn't say anything, Pratt can hear the floor creak as he takes a step towards him, his body shakes when his bare chest finally meets his backside. Arms wrap around him like vines, limiting his movements. He holds onto the doorknob, not ready to let go.

"A predator needs to know everything about its prey before it's able to hunt it," hands are on his belt, undoing the buckle. "To consume it." His fly is slowly pulled down.

"It doesn't matter if you struggle, that's your instinct." Jacob breathes in his ear while one of his hands moves to tweak with his nipple. "We train ourselves through repetition."

Pratt tries to stop the other hand from palming him through his briefs. "No-"

"I wonder how many times I'll have to fuck you until you stop fighting." He feels him smile, eager to find out.

Jacob begins to pull him away from the door but Pratt holds fast, tightening his hand on the door handle.

"Your friends aren't coming to save you, Pratt." The hand on his nipple moves to his throat and squeezes. "You're already in the safest place you can be."

Pratt wants to respond and tell him how ironic that statement is, he was almost killed several times tonight, with each time being by the side he thought he was supposed to be fighting for. Instead, he released man-eating wolves on them.

"Let go. Let me save you."

There's the offer again, it would be so easy to just give in and let Jacob take care of all of his worries. But in exchange, he would be giving away his life, his body to a psychopath that just wants to use him until he becomes just like him. It's a death sentence.

Pratt doesn't let go, he stays strong. Only then does Jacob wretch him away when he notices that his offer is being rejected yet again.

He's thrown back onto the bed, this time he shuffles back, kicking the duvet out from under him. Jacob watches him struggle, eyes roaming over him like he's thinking about what to do next. His dog tags jingle together as he bends down to untie his boots while Pratt props himself up on his elbows, waiting for his next attack.

It comes quicker than he expects, his ankle is grabbed and yanked down to bring him closer to the edge of the bed, closer to Jacob. The laces of his boots are already undone, he usually loosens them for meal time to take the pressure off his shins, they're easily but roughly pulled and tossed somewhere in the room.

"Turn over." Jacob orders, stepping closer.

Pratt's heart beats harder against his chest. "I can..." he thinks about what he could offer in exchange for a painless night. "I can do something else?"

Jacob's eyebrow raises in curiosity. "Are you trying to bargain with me?" he clicks his tongue. "You know that won't get you very far, Peaches."

"Please." His voice wavers. "Anything but this."

"Turn. Over."

There's no subtle way to turn and lay on his stomach, the movement is the final twist that snaps his pride in half, he waits for the next degrading touch to break him farther.

Pratt doesn't have to wait long, Jacob is on him fast. Hands grab his waistband, ignoring how he tenses up. "I don't want to hurt you, Pratt." he tugs his pants down to his knees. "The more you cooperate the easier this will be on the both of us." his belt clangs as Jacob throws the clothing to the floor, something skids across the hardwood reminding Pratt of the knife in his pocket.

How could he just let this happen? It's the only thing he has left of his older self, he'd be damned if he had it stolen without putting up a fight.

But Pratt doesn't find himself fighting back as Jacob forces him up on to his hands and knees, he lets his hips be pulled to meet the warm bulge behind him.

Pratt grips the covers as Jacob reaches between his legs to drag his hand over the hardness in his briefs and up the line of his crack, dipping in to graze over his hole. Staci's mind flashes back to the shower they shared just weeks prior, Jacob had a hard time listening to his pleas, ignoring them as he pushed in deeper, only pulling away when Pratt lost control of himself. He doesn't want it to get to that point again but he doubts that Jacob has any intentions of stopping this time.

Pratt whimpers as Jacob keeps repeating the movement. He tries to think of Markus' dead body bleeding from the bullet hole in his head, the pale body smiles at him as it sits up in the grass, telling him that it's not his fault. It just makes him sad but doesn't kill his raging hard on that he desperately wishes would die.

"You're leaking just thinking about me inside you, hm?" Jacob leans over him, cold dog tags tickling him between his shoulder blades.

Pratt shakes his head but doesn't respond, too ashamed to deny what the man only observes. His heart stutters as the hand sneaks past the elastic band and continues its ministrations on his bare skin. "No..." he trembles as a finger stops to tease his hole.

"I'll make this good for you." Jacob kisses him behind his ear. "Just be good for me in return."

No. No. No.

Never.

Pratt can say the words all he wants in his head but when it comes down to actually giving them a voice he always chickens out and suffers in silence. He's weak and immoral, the Militia won't want him now that he's been tainted, Jacob will kill him once he's had his fill. The Deputy will give up on him when she hears that he's gone compliant on the enemy, he'll die in this monsters vile grasp and no one will miss him.

Another hand is on his back, trying to push him down, he resists at first but eventually loses the fight as the pressure increases. His chest is forced down while his waist is made to stay sticking up in the air.

"Stay."

He's left embarrassed and exposed as Jacob leaves to search through the nightstand drawer. He quickly finds what he's looking for and tosses it onto the bed next to his prey's shaking leg.

Pratt knows what it is but still turns his head to look, the sight of the bottle confirms that this is really going to happen. He tries not to panic just yet and tears his gaze away when Jacob moves in behind him again, flinching when the hand is back on his bare skin.

Cold air hits his crack as Jacob slowly begins to pull his briefs down, he grabs the hand to stop him, it flexes with restraint and pauses.

"Breathe, Pratt."

Pratt doesn't remember when he started to hyperventilate but he can't stop the air rushing in and out of his lungs, he feels faint and holds on to the arm tighter as it continues to slide his underwear down.

"Focus." A dark rumble from behind has him wanting to sink into the warm tone that vibrates from it.

Instead, he gulps for air as the last of his barriers is finally being slid off his legs, leaving him to bare all to the monster whose breath hitches at the sight. It comes closer and grabs each of his cheeks, making him jolt in surprise and let go to push himself up. He can't do this.

Jacob shoves him back down with a warning. "If you move again I'll tie you down."

Pratt settles in the blankets, the threat of bondage makes his whole body tense with phantom pain. It hurts when fingers trace down his spine to stop at the end of his tailbone. It leaves and the cap of the lube is clicked open, he gasps as cold liquid is poured between his cheeks and shivers when some of it runs up his back.

A hand finds his hip to hold him still when he moves away without meaning to. "I- I'm sorry." he apologizes to get the blunt nails out of his skin.

Jacob thankfully eases up and smoothes his hand over his back, gently grazing over the bruise that he didn't cause this time.

Pratt turns his head to the side and tries to find something to stare at as Jacob slicks him up more before tossing the bottle next to his head. He focuses on the ingredients that are written on the back, the bottle itself is still rather full. He wonders if Jacob got it for him specifically or if he's always had it in his night table. The thought branches off into something he's never entertained, he can't be the only one that's been on the receiving end of this type of Jacob's 'teachings'. He could have anyone he wants, why him?

A finger suddenly breaches his puckered ring of muscle and he chokes into the blankets beneath him.

"Relax." Jacob drawls out behind him.

"Take it out!" he begs, gasping when the finger turns inside him. "Please!"

Jacob responds by pushing farther in. "Is this your first time, Peaches?"

"Of course it is!"

"Of course?" Jacob chuckles lightly. "You were a ladies man, hm? A playboy."

Pratt bites his lip to try and quiet himself but it all turns into a variety of whines. The finger twists again and buries deeper, scratching against his sensitive insides.

"You really never tried? Never curious about having a cock in your ass?"

"N-No..."

"Liar."

"I'm not- hnn!" Pratt shudders and jerks forward to get away from the sudden jolt of pleasure that shoots up his spine.

"There you go." Jacob breathes out and puts his knee up on the bed to follow him, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Feel good?"

Pratt turns his head away from the soothing voice. It doesn't feel good, it feels weird and foreign, something isn't right.

"Answer me."

"I d-don't know." he can't find the words.

Jacob bends his finger. "That's not good enough."

"Please, Jacob!" He can feel the tears coming, he shuts his eyes.

Goddamnit, no more crying.

"It's only a finger and you're already tapping out?"

"I don't- I can't want this. I shouldn't." he sighs a bit when Jacob stops moving to listen to him. "Y-You're the person I should be fighting against, the one that I need to be shooting at." Pratt swallows the lump that comes up, he won't stop now. "But I can't stop myself from watching you, thinking about the things you do to me. You're in my head and you won't fucking leave. "

And that's the end of his rant, all done with a finger deep in his ass. His life has definitely changed.

He takes Jacob's silence as an opportunity to catch his breath while he waits for him to continue.

"Fuck you, Pratt." Jacob grunts and withdraws, making him yelp. "Fuck you." he repeats as he flips him over onto his back.

Pratt doesn't know what he did so he starts to apologize but before he can Jacob kisses him, hard.

Teeth cut into his lip as his mouth is claimed and forced open, his heart pounds in his ears while Jacob spreads his legs so he can settle in between them. It numbs the pain in his body and helps soothe the panic. He feels secure, almost safe. The kiss deepens when Pratt wraps his arms around Jacob's broad shoulders to pull him in, doing the same with his legs to hold his hips close. He groans when his clothed hardness brushes against his own bare one, it feels like the man is about to burst out of his pants.

"You keep saying all the right things and you don't even realize it." Jacob pants, pulling back to look at him.

Pratt stares at him, his lips are throbbing from the kiss, no doubt red and swollen. He darts his tongue out to taste what's been left on them, it brings back the familiar tang of copper, the teeth had to have caught his skin, he's almost sad that it overlaps the taste of Jacob.

"You think you're begging and pleading will help you but it just makes me want you more. I can see right through you, Pratt. And you want this too." His blue eyes stare into pratt's soul, flicking to his lips when his tongue darts out to taste his own blood again.

The rough hand on his cock startles him but he doesn't move. "I can't stop either." Jacob confesses. "I've come to terms with it, you should, too. It'll be so much easier."

Pratt barely registers the kisses that follow, he stares at the ceiling as they travel down his chest. He's confused about what this all means, what has Jacob come to terms with exactly? The fact that he's going to force himself onto him? No. He knows better than that. It's more than just an action, Jacob is obviously feeling something deeper, and Pratt doesn't want any part of it. Or so he thinks.

Jacob pushes him farther up on the bed and pins one of his thighs down while still holding onto his manhood. Pratt's eyes widen as he feels the kisses grow closer to his groin, a rough beard grazing the sensitive parts of his flesh makes him squirm. "Um."

The hand on his thigh tightens and a hot mouth suddenly engulfs him, easily taking in most of his length at once. "Hah-fuck." he gasps and arches up into the wet cave.

Jacob hums around his cock making him jolt up again, panting when his tongue presses against the underside of his shaft. He moans when the mouth starts to move, sucking him in as it drags itself all the way up to the tip, almost letting go before sinking back down painfully slowly. Pratt's hips rise to meet the heat but are pinned down by rough hands. "J-Ja- Shit."

This isn't good. Yet another fight he won't win.

Does it need to be a battle though?

He wants to say yes when Jacob's hand begins to spread his cheeks again. The finger is back and nudging at his entrance, it's somehow freshly slicked up. Pratt looks back to find the bottle gone. Jacob has just been distracting him so he can get them back to where he truly wants to be.

Pratt throws his arm over his eyes and decides to submit, at least to the finger for now. Maybe if he just lets it happen the mouth will keep doing wonderful things to him. He tries to relax while Jacob keeps working on him, wrapping his tongue around and dragging it up to dip into the slit of his head.

Pratt shivers, the air is cold against his chest, he feels so alone. He lets his free hand wander down to find Jacob's face. It makes the pace slow down and he can tell Jacob is looking up at him but he refuses to unshield his eyes to confirm. Instead, he feels his way over the sharp hair on the side of his head and up to the longer strands on top. They're soft to the touch as he runs his hand through them, gently petting the beast as it consumes him.

Jacob hums again while pushing his finger inside, it forces a strangled groan from Pratt that turns into a whine. He shivers when the finger begins to move with the mouth, pushing in deeper each time he groans or loosens up to let it in.

It's a brand new kind of pleasure for him and he doesn't know how to handle it besides tightening his hand in Jacob's hair. He works on keeping his breathing under control when it becomes difficult to exhale, he forces his lungs to deflate and pushes the air through his mouth.

Pratt whines when the hot mouth abruptly leaves him, his arm is moved out of the way so Jacob can claim his lips again. He can taste himself when the tongue invades his mouth, coating the inside of it with his own pre-cum. All he can do is to lay there and take it, forced to submit not only to Jacob, but by his own wants and desires.

He begins to panic again when there's a second finger prodding at his hole, he breaks the kiss and gently pushes at the large man above him. "Wait." he breathes.

"I can't do that, Peaches." Jacob's voice is laced with want while his shoulders are tense, ready for any resistance.

"Can I-... I need more lube." Pratt tells him, blushing hard as the words leave his mouth.

Jacob stares at him for a moment, lips twitching into a quick smirk while he pulls back to find the bottle to pour more down his crack, letting it spill over his fingers before clicking it closed. "Better?"

Pratt bites his lip and nods. If this is going to happen it has to be done right, he knows that at least, better to take as many precautions as they can. He's never tried anal with his 'girlfriends' but even then they would use lube or condoms to make things go smoother.

Jacob's hand places itself onto his quivering stomach, squeezing it a little. "Breathe."

Pratt follows the order but grimaces when the second digit begins to slowly push in. "Slow- Jacob." he tenses up again when the pain becomes too much.

"Relax."

"I'm trying, j- just let me-"

He's cut off by hot pain that shoots up his back when Jacob suddenly pushes in farther to meet his other finger.

"You're hurting me!" he cries out, feeling a little betrayed.

Jacob sighs impatiently but pulls halfway out and waits for him to get his breath back. "Touch yourself." he orders.

Pratt doesn't complain, he's only incredibly embarrassed when he begins tugging at himself, he has to turn away to stare at the foot at the bed as Jacob watches him from his perfect vantage point. He closes his eyes and focuses on building up the pleasure that had him panting before, he pulls faster when Jacob starts pushing in again, scissoring his way inside. His hand easily glides over his cock with the help of spit that was left over from his blowjob.

"So fucking pretty." he hears him rumble as a hand roams up his chest, caressing both of his nipples before stopping to wrap around his throat.

Pratt grabs his wrist but doesn't push it away, it grounds him and right now he needs to be, though he'd love to lose himself in the pain and pleasure, it's just not an option.

He chokes when Jacob leans on him to suck harsh bruises into his chest as his fingers begin to thrust into him. The burn is thankfully starting to dissipate, he spreads his legs to let them go deeper, trying to show that he can be obedient.

Jacob notices and takes full advantage of it, bending his fingers as he drills in deeper.

Pratt moans when they hit his sweet spot again, he's never experimented with it before but he appreciates it now that it helps dull the pain. The pleasure is suddenly too much, it hits him like a tidal wave and he can't help but move with it, pumping himself faster to find that small push that he needs to get over that edge. "I'm gonna come."

"Go ahead, Staci." Jacob breathes in his ear. "Come with my fingers deep inside you."

Pratt shudders and cries out when the fingers bury themselves as far as they can go while he reaches the peak of his climax. Everything hurts and it's overloading the pleasure he's receiving, his orgasm has quickly come and gone, leaving only pain and rapidly cooling hot liquid behind.

He lets go and tries to ease Jacob's hand off his neck. It doesn't work, it only seems to make it worse. Jacob quickly retracts his fingers and starts to unbuckle his belt, eyes hungry as he looms over his prized catch.

Pratt stares back, he tries to argue, tries to plead his case but it's no use. Tears finally spring in his eyes as he's ignored and Jacob steps out of his pants.

He's scared.

Jacob grabs his thighs and pulls him back to the edge of the bed.

"Please don't." Pratt can't help but beg as he watches Jacob slick his throbbing cock in lubricant, pouring more on his sore hole too. "Jacob-"

"Stop crying." He snaps at him.

Pratt lays back down and follows the grain in the wood as he stares at the ceiling. Being scolded hurts just as much as the physical pain, by no means he expected any of this to be easy and gentle. But maybe he was hoping for something a little less... violent.

He closes his eyes when he feels the heat of Jacob come closer, hands grabbing him to position his body wherever it's needed. He tries to ignore the hardness that bumps into his thigh. "Condom?" The question leaves him as soon as he thinks of it.

"No."

Pratt sniffles. He figured as much.

His heart stops when he feels something much bigger than fingers nudge at his entrance. The bed dips beside his head. "Open your eyes." He feels Jacob lean over him. "Look at me."

Pratt isn't prepared for what he finds when he opens his eyes. Jacob is layered with sweat, his brow is pinched up in pain from restraining himself, veins pulsing over his temples. Pratt doesn't doubt that he wants to fuck him right through the mattress, he still could if he really wanted to, ignoring his screams as he forces his way in. But something is holding the military man back, maybe it's the thought of actually hurting him is enough to make him think this through.

Pratt clenches his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut again as Jacob starts to push in. The tip of it is barely in and his body is already on fire. "Ack! S-Stop!" he stills him with a shaking hand on the center of his muscled chest.

"Keep your eyes on me."

Pratt tries to open them but it's at the cost of letting the tears spill down his face and into his hair. He flinches when Jacob wipes them away with his free hand before placing it back next to his head.

It's too gentle, just like the kiss that follows, Jacob tries to coax him to return it as he traces his lips with his own. His eyes are hooded but intense, it keeps him from closing his eyes as Jacob continues to push in.

Pratt cries out into Jacob's beard when he doesn't stop until he's a couple inches deeper.

"So tight." Jacob gasps against his quivering lips.

"It hurts." Pratt whispers back, straining his throat to keep his voice under control. "T-Take it o-out."

Jacob hums and gives his mouth another peck before he slowly slides out, only to slide right back in, burying himself another inch deeper.

"N-No, Jacob-" he chokes out in pain. "S-Something isn't- hah- Something isn't right."

"You're fine."

More tears appear in his eyes when he hears the dismissal, the searing friction is unbearable, and there's no end in sight. He has to take a different approach.

Pratt surges forward and captures Jacob's teasing lips, pulling him in with a hand on the back of his neck, making the larger man catch himself so he doesn't fall on him. In exchange, the cock inside him throbs and sinks deeper.

"Mmph!" Pratt moans when it brushes against his prostate.

"Fuck, Staci." Jacob breaks the kiss and buries his hand in Pratt's hair as he hisses into his neck.

Pratt stares at the ceiling again while digging his nails into Jacob's scalp and heavily scarred shoulder as he begins to rock into him, whimpering when his sweet spot is focused on, the tip of Jacob's dick brushing against it.

Back and forth.

"There." He gasps, feeling his soft cock start to stir again.

"Yeah?" Jacob rumbles. "Feels good?"

Pratt nods against him, too ashamed to admit it more than once.

Jacob starts to pull away making Pratt scramble to hold onto him, if he let's go he'll be losing control of the pace, the pain, pleasure, everything.

"Staci."

Pratt focuses his eyes and expects to find his nightmare, his fear bundled into the shape of a man that has taken absolutely everything from him. But this time light shines behind Jacob showing a savior, a protector, someone that fills the definition of a human being. It makes him see what could've been, what could still be if he would just give up on his old life.

He doesn't want it to disappear. "Don't go."

Jacob freezes, he looks just as stunned as Pratt feels. But he means it, he has to confess that now.

"Say it again."

Pratt licks his lips. "Stay."

Jacob shudders and thrusts forward, making Pratt squirm away from the sudden pain. His wrists are grabbed and gently pried from the shoulders he's been digging his nails into, away from the only thing he can use to try and control this situation.

"Beautiful fucking peach." Jacob breathes out as he stands tall to take in the view. "I'm glad I kept you."

For a moment, Pratt is too, but then he remembers all the agony he's gone through since he was brought here. It makes him extremely conflicted again.

"Pass me the bottle." Jacob nods to the lubricant beside them.

It's clearly within reach of both of them, Jacob wants him to participate, to surrender everything to him and leave nothing hidden.

Pratt uses his fingers to bring the bottle into the palm of his hand, it's cold and heavy as he holds it out for Jacob to take.

"Open it."

His stomach twists at the order, Jacob gives him a shallow thrust when he sees him hesitate. Pratt quickly opens the cap with his thumb and shoves it towards him again.

Jacob reaches but doesn't take it, instead, he holds his hand out. "Pour."

Pratt shudders but does as he's told and begins to pour the liquid into the palm of the waiting hand, flinching when some of it lands on his stomach.

"Good boy." Jacob praises to stop him, pulling away to coat Pratt's hardening cock before almost sliding out to slick himself up more.

Pratt closes the bottle and returns it to his side, squeezing it when Jacob slowly sinks back in. "Ah fuck..." he throws his head back as the spot is rubbed again but tenses when it's passed to reach deeper.

Jacob groans above him, hands gripping and holding his hips still. "Mine."

Mine.

Pratt is Jacob's.

Pratt is whatever Jacob wants him to be.

His Tool.

Punching Bag.

Soldier.

Toy.

Pet.

Slut.

Whore.

That's his purpose.

This is fine, he can live with this.

He can live.

Pratt can feel Jacob's resistance crack as he begins to slowly thrust into him. It hurts but he doesn't fight back. This is why he's here, might as well get used to it.

He internally cringes when he hears Jacob grunt as he buries himself inside his tight warmth. "Should've- haa- fucked you sooner. It's made you so compliant."

Pratt probably would've fought harder at the beginning if he did but in the end, they both know it would end up exactly the same way, besides being mentally numb.

Jacob brings Pratt's feet to rest on top of his shoulders, spreading them so he can get a better angle. "Keep breathing, Staci."

His eyes widen with worry. "What are you doing?" he asks, heart beating faster.

Jacob suddenly slams into him, thrusting his full length inside, he hugs Pratt's thrashing legs while he tries to stay buried deep.

Pratt wants to scream but nothing comes out. His legs are held tight so he can't escape, he still tries to claw away, using his arms and hands in an attempt to frantically get free.

Jacob doesn't let go. He starts to fuck him relentlessly, making the bed creak and snap beneath them.

It feels like he's being torn in two, ripped open, or that he already has. It takes all of his willpower not to make a sound, someone could hear, someone would know. His building hard on is officially dead, no one could find this pleasurable, no one sane at least.

Jacob seems to notice and snakes his arm around to 'help' him.

Pratt does his best to glare at him as he slaps his hand away. "Don't fucking touch me." his voice breaks but it stops Jacob dead in his tracks.

He screws his eyes shut and turns his head away, waiting for the excruciating pace to continue.

"I'm sorry."

Pratt looks back to the man between his legs, his eyes are soft on his, hair stuck to his damp forehead. It's... A trick, it has to be. A Herald of Edens Gate, a homicidal cult, doesn't apologize. He's not allowed to be in the wrong, he is supposed to be an idol for all of his followers to look up to.

The sad expression quickly disappears and Jacob continues on, tearing his gaze away to focus on fucking him into oblivion.

Pratt doesn't know how much longer it lasts. All he remembers is silently begging it for it to end, begging Jacob not to come inside him but with no success. The warmth of the liquid spilling into him adds fuel to the fierce pain in his body while Jacob growls and whispers how good he feels, about how obedient he's being and that this will only make him stronger.

Stronger... That sounds nice.

Pratt stays silent, he refuses to respond to the vile things being said in his ear. He can't stop the whine of pain that leaves him when Jacob begins to pull out.

"It's okay, Peaches." Jacob hums into his neck, kissing the freshly formed bruises.

He tries to get away from it but his body refuses to move, still in shock from what just happened. It doesn't even matter anymore. He's ruined now, tainted from a man's actions and desires.

Jacob gently kisses him again. It would usually give him some comfort but he finds it empty this time. There's no reason for him to return the gesture, he does so anyways in case Jacob makes a fuss. He, unfortunately, still cares about what the man who just raped him thinks, he rather not lose whatever rapport he's been able to gain with him.

The softening cock finally slips out of him, he wants to cry when he feels hot seed leak out of his clenching hole. Jacob stands up to look at his handy work, spreading Pratt's shaking legs to get a better view. He gasps at the movement, everything hurts, even his heart throbs in pain.

It's not okay, none of this is okay.

It's not okay when Jacob picks him up and carries him to the bathroom, or when he shoves him up against the tile in the shower, definitely not okay when Jacob holds him up with his body as he rinses them both off.

The hot water increases the deep aches in his muscles, his skin feels easily tearable when Jacob forces him to stand on his own to check him over and take in his injuries.

Pratt digs his nails into the tile as his cheeks are spread to see if he has any serious tearing. God, how he loathes this man right now, he let this happen yet again. He almost thought Jacob would actually be a decent person and take care of things properly. The pain tells him he's dead wrong. It's... Disappointing.

"I..." Pratt tries to breathe through the hot steam. "I thought you didn't want to hurt me."

Jacob's whole body tenses behind him.

Yes. He's calling him out. Anger helps him speak up.

He hopes it hurts, a stab to his gut, a sharp cut into whatever feelings that make Jacob keep doing this. Hopefully, it will bleed out onto the floor and Staci can go back to being a nobody.

The body shifts behind him and Pratt prepares himself for a beating. Instead, a kiss is placed on the back of his neck, it lasts several seconds before Jacob leans his head on his shoulder, letting out a sigh into his skin. "It'll get better. I promise."

Bullshit.

Whatever he could have said, Pratt knows he's a liar now, promises can be broken and he doubt Jacob even wants to keep it. Promises are just used to manipulate and nothing more.

Pratt doesn't resist as Jacob quickly dries him off and guides him back to bed. Every step is agony, it's humiliating when he has to lean on the person who caused all this, but he would be on the floor if he wasn't helped.

He waits for Jacob to pull the covers back so he can reluctantly lay back down. Going back to his own room is probably out of the question, Jacob wants him here, so here he will unwillingly stay.

Chapter Text

This so-called Deputy doesn't look like much but Jacob knows more than anyone that looks can be deceiving.

He watches her inspect the wreckage of Markus' bunker with a few other Whitetails as he sets up to take the shot. She won't leave well enough alone and now that she's taken a break from annoying John, he can finally get rid of her before Joseph can object. Faith has been the only one that's been going on without any trouble, if her work is disturbed there will be serious repercussions to his own schedule.

Jacob lays down in the mud and adjusts his scope so he can get of clear picture of his crosshairs on the meddling Deputy's head. Helia lays down next to him to keep him steady and to block the wind from hitting his side.

The beast has been incredibly loyal from the start, he trusts her with his life like no one else, not even Jarv can compare to the bond they seem to share. It's easier to connect when their pups, she was perfect, brave and strong.

A yell from the bunker makes him refocus. Looks like they found the charred remains of the weapons dealer and the tools that he disposed of yesterday, they had played their part perfectly, done exactly what was expected of them until the end.

The Deputy inspects the bodies as her loyal dog sniffs around. The more he watches her, the less pressure there is on the trigger, she's... different.

Nothing like Pratt but still different in her own way. She seems to be discussing what to do next with a soldier, probably wondering where they can bury their beloved ally.

He could use her, for sure. But if he fails, the consequences would be disastrous, the whole project could go down in flames. Then again, if he succeeds it could be a monumental accomplishment, everything will go exactly as planned and even some smaller projects could be pushed forward.

Jacob sighs and flicks the safety back on. It's worth the risk.

They're behind schedule as it is and Eli needs to be taken care of within the month. This will make it easier to just walk into his home unnoticed.

Jacob lets her and the soldiers leave unscathed, he won't second guess himself as he watches them head south, down the mountain.

He follows them for days, tracking and watching their movements, usually coming along harvested animal carcasses and his own soldiers' dead bodies. Their panicked shouts filled the air as 'Rook' gunned them down while Miss Armstrong covered her. He'll need to up their training, fewer rations, more pain.

It'll probably benefit Pratt as well. The boy never truly leaves his mind as the week stretches on. He does his best to ignore how even the thought of him makes the feelings he's locked away for years blow the door wide open. It's mainly just a primal want and need, nothing to be concerned about, as long as Pratt cooperates it will be just fine.

It honestly might be better to just get rid of the distraction or stick him back in a cage and let him rot for the rest of the days they have left, to hide the temptation deep within his own camp. Joseph wouldn't approve but this is something that none of them have time for.

The big decision comes when he arrives back home and he finds Pratt pinned with a knife against his throat. There's no doubt in Jacob's mind that he told the soldier who he was, what he's gone through, maybe even begged him to be rescued.

Begged.

Like how he begged Jacob to let him come, to make him lose all control by his hands and mouth. So weak and pathetic. He loved it.

Jacob's hand tightens around the trigger just then, sights aimed at Pratt's head. He could end this right here and now, be set free of this burden. Joseph wouldn't want him to take this path but he's struggling with it, the boy is just a waste of time and resources and nothing more.

Nothing more.

Helia whines behind him, she can hear his heart beating hard in his chest, he's not sure from excitement or fear. These type of emotions are a bit rusty to him.

The knife at Pratt's neck moves and he has to make a choice. He quickly shifts and takes the shot, blowing the soldiers brains out and onto Pratt's shocked face. He likes him that way, covered in gore, blood from another piece of meat.

He frowns when he doesn't move, only searching the treeline while the front gate is being breached 

"Come on, Peaches."

Jacob fires again, hitting the brick wall next to him, the kid takes the hint and jumps into action.

He didn't lie when he had said how proud he was of him, it's still true as he watches the ex Deputy set the wolves on his own people and saves a wounded Jackson.

Jacob begins to make his way down when he sees Jarv run out and take out several Militia soldiers. It's back under control and it's mostly thanks to Pratt.

He takes the gun away from him when he gets into the camp, letting him keep the knife as a reward. A symbol of some trust that can be easily disarmed.

Jarv tries to bring him up to speed when Pratt heads upstairs but he barely hears any of it. He waves him away and doesn't stop himself from taking the stairs two at a time.

Jacob has given him time to heal, to let everything sink into that muddled brain, his bitten arm should be able to hold up for what they're about to do.

Pratt will beg him to stop and that's exactly what he wants.

Eventually, he'll break and Jacob will be there to pick up the pieces.

"Why did you do it?" Jacob whispers in his hair, squeezing his hip to make sure he's awake.

Oh, he's awake. The pain has only let him blink a handful of times since he was laid down and Jacob spooned him from behind.

Pratt knows what he's talking about, he knows that Jacob already knows why too, leaving him alone playing catch up. He has no idea why he did what he did, and he rather not discuss it, so he decides to play dumb.

"Do what?" his voice is like nails on chalkboard in his ears.

Jacob huffs and makes him lay on his back so he can look into his eyes, the light from the bathroom helps Staci find his glare. "You saved a lot of men tonight." he tucks a strand of damp black hair behind his ear. "But at the cost of killing your own."

Pratt grabs his wrist as his hand rests on his cheek but doesn't push it away. It's warm and comforting, it makes his tired eyes close, he won't be able to sleep but it would be nice to pretend.

"I don't know." It's half true.

His body had moved on its own, it seemed like the most logical thing to do at the time. The only thing he regrets is... nothing. Pratt wouldn't have changed a thing. The Militia soldier would have killed him if Jacob wasn't there to save his ass again, now he owes him more than he's worth, and it kills him to admit that.

"I won't blame you for being confused." Jacob props himself up on his elbow so he can trail his hand down Pratt's neck and roam his chest. "Sooner or later, you'll be able to see what I see." he leans in and plants a kiss on his shoulder.

Pratt shudders and tries to roll back on his side but he's stopped, the pain in his backside doesn't help either. The touches mimic something between lovers and that scares him more than anything, he'll die before that happens, either by Jacob's hand or his own.

"What do you see?" Pratt whispers, opening his eyes to find Jacob's gleaming back at him.

The hand finds his face again and he almost purrs. It makes him bite the inside of his cheek to keep quiet.

"I see a world setting itself ablaze." he leans in closer, his thumb sweeping back and forth on his cheek. "I see the weak weighing down the strong, everyone is soooo worried about the numbers rather than the quality."

Pratt listens close, getting an answer from this man is rare, it's important to take advantage of it. He has to push his luck at some point. "Why me?" he asks again.

Jacob sighs and softly kisses him but pulls away when it isn't returned.

Pratt wants this so bad. The answer to the kisses, the touches, the sex... He had sex with this man and he didn't even put up a proper fight.

"What's running through that head of yours, Pratt?" Jacob whispers against his lips.

"We... You..." The tone of the question forces him to answer but his old self is still trying to resist.

"Hm?" Jacob hums, moving down to lick and nip at his neck.

"Stop." he hisses at the teeth in his skin.

"Tell me." The hand moves down and sneaks under the covers.

"No..." Pratt tries to sound stern as Jacob wraps around his stirring cock.

"You just need to say it."

Pratt can hear the smile in his voice, it makes him shiver and his frustration rises. "I want to keep something for myself." he swallows when he sees the smirk fade, he should have stayed quiet.

"You keep forgetting your place." Jacob grumbles and shoves him back on his side.

Pratt can feel how hard he is when he grinds against the cleft of his ass. "It still hurts, Jacob." he whispers, trying to stop him with a plea and a hand pushing at his scarred hip.

"Brands are supposed to hurt." he returns, grinding in harder.

A brand? Is that what all this pain has been about?

"Why me?!" He asks louder this time, needing to be heard.

"You ask a lot from me while I've gotten nothing in return, just a few sad notes in your file is all I'm able to read." Jacob is already panting hot in his ear. "How am I supposed to know why if I don't know you?"

"I don't have anything left to give you." Pratt seethes out, gripping the pillow next to him when the thrusts increase in speed.

"Maybe not willingly," Jacob grunts into his hair. "But I'll only take what I need."

That doesn't comfort Pratt at all, how could it? It's just another false promise, Jacob is greedy, John should have a word with him. Carve out all of the sins he's committed with Pratt out of his chest, then move on to him. He has enough that he would hopefully bleed out before he was taken back.

"Fuck." Jacob digs his nails into his hip, holding on tight for leverage.

Pratt can feel him throb between his legs, resisting the urge to fuck him for the second time tonight. He cups a hand over his growing hard on, trying to hide how his body truly feels about this situation. Hopefully, it will die when Jacob stops frantically grinding against his ass.

"You're mine." he groans as his hips stutter to a stop and hot liquid spills down Pratt's thighs. "Only mine."

Pratt buries his face into the pillow underneath him, trying to muffle out the words coming from behind him. It was quick, thankfully, but there was nothing sweet about it. That's fine, Pratt doesn't care, as long as it's over.

He's brought out of his hiding spot with a hand tangled in his hair, tugging him back so he can be kissed. It's sloppy, just an afterthought in Jacob's sex hazed mind, it's all about him. It's always going to be whatever Jacob wants.

Another hand wraps around to grope his crotch, only to find it covered. Pratt closes his eyes and bites his lip, he knows this won't turn out well.

"You need this." Jacob rumbles in his ear. "Why deny yourself some relief?"

Because it would be by a murderer's hands, on his time, and in a monster's bed.

"Just don't."

Of course, Jacob ignores him and easily moves the barrier out of the way.

"Please- ah!"

The hot water helps him relax, he still couldn't sleep after Jacob had 'relieved' him, so he escaped his vice grip to have a shower with actual soap. It was tough to even walk in but the wall helps him stay standing as he scrapes off the searing touches he's still able to feel on his skin.

Jacob was still asleep when he looked back, whatever he has been up to the past few weeks must've been tiring, even more exhausting to come home and fuck his hostage raw.

 He has to stop scratching at his reddening skin or else his long chipped nails will begin to open new wounds. He can't help but wonder if he had dug his fingers hard enough into Jacob to make him bleed too. It would be so satisfying to see it run down his back, over old scars.

Pratt shakes his head, time here has changed him, not just the monster in the other room. Hard labor, cleaning out vile cages, lack of sleep, and the tiny morsels he gets all add up to the very ill person he's becoming.

The water is starting to turn cold, he turns it off and limps over to the damp towel they had used before, left crumpled and forgotten on the bathroom counter. He tussles his hair with it before wrapping it around himself all while avoiding his reflection in the fogged up mirror. The cold water from the tap is almost refreshing but it never seems like enough, he chugs it down until he feels sick to his stomach. He checks his watch as he heaves over the counter.

5:30 am.

Jacob will be getting up soon, the whole camp will, their Herald is back and ready to make sure things are still in order and on schedule. Except, nothing is the same, not after Markus or last night. It's not fair for him to go back to the same routine, acting like nothing happened, like Jacob didn't just take him to bed like some whore. Pratt's been working his ass off while he's been doing god knows what. It's beginning to sound like he wants a medal or something, a reward for killing his own and saving the enemy. It's so fucking sad.

"Breathe." Jacob's tired voice comes from behind him.

Pratt tries to whirl around but the man is already at his back, his warm naked body covering his smaller shivering one.

"I got you."

Jacob has him and is never going to let go.

The sob comes out of nowhere, Pratt tries to stop it but it's too late, he's exposed again. "Just t-tell me why." he begs.

"I told you." Jacob whispers in his ear, stroking his trembling stomach to try and comfort him. "This isn't just a one-way street."

"What do you want to know?" Anything to get an answer.

He gets hum in response and a kiss to his neck, it makes him sigh, the worst thing is that he can't say he hates this part. He does and he doesn't.

"Was I your first man?" he breathes against the pulse in his throat. "The first to fuck you?"

Pratt lets out a gasp of sadness at the words. "Yes."

Another hum and kiss.

"Plenty of girlfriends then?"

Pratt nods and thinks back to a girl named Beth he had dated in college for some time. She was sweet and great in bed, she stood out from the rest of them, their relationship was special. But it ended when he cheated on her, tempted by the lips of a blonde named Kelly. It took him a while to get over it, Beth had had an effect on him like no one else, she could've been the one.

"Boyfriends?"

"No, I'm not-... I wasn't..." He's not gay. "Just had some drunken nights."

"Ah," Jacob turns the tap on in front of them. "Good ol' college days, hm?"

"Yes, sir."

Pratt swallows when he sees a familiar blade come into view. His eyes flick to Jacob's in the mirror, wondering if he's about to stab or gut him and end it all right here. The blade is dipped into the stream, he takes slow shuddering breaths as he watches Jacob's hand twist and turn to soak both sides of it. It's the same knife that he was almost killed with, given to him after the battle was over as some sort of reward for his loyalty.

Now he'll die from it.

Pratt pushes back into Jacob as he brings the knife to his throat, he's forced to bare his most vulnerable area and wait. He shakes harder when the cold steel connects with his hot skin.

"Sh sh sh." Jacob tries to quiet him. "Keep still."

The blade slowly begins to drag against the grain of his beard, easily shearing it off in one smooth stroke before rinsing it off in the sink. 

Jacob is... shaving him, cleaning him up after weeks of hard work. Molding him into what he wants Pratt to be, or what he already sees. Another monster, just like him, for his ranks. A trophy to be polished and shown off.

The knife is back on his throat, continuing to shave away the harsh hairs until he starts looking more presentable.

"There." Jacob smiles at him in the mirror and puts the knife down on the counter.

Pratt sighs in relief and leans his head back on the large shoulder behind him while the towel around his waist is undone. He grabs it before his privates are exposed.

"Let it go." A growl.

He surprisingly follows the order and lets it fall to the floor. It's kicked away as he's turned around.

Pratt feels hot shame burn his cheeks when he realizes his cock is at half mast.

Jacob notices and immediately steps into his space once again, ignoring the hands that push at his chest. "I can't, Jacob. Not again."

He's ignored and arms wrap around him so they can be brought chest to chest.

"You missed me." Jacob breathes in his ear.

Yes.

"No." His voice shakes back, hands still pushing. "I didn't." he tries again.

Jacob chuckles, laughing at his obvious lie. "You. Missed. Me." the tone is reaffirming, it clouds his mind.

Pratt shakes his head against his shoulder, he can't verbally deny it anymore, something won't let him.

"Say it." A kiss to his neck.

Do it.

He lets out a shaky sigh. "I missed you." The words are ripped from his chest.

"Mm." Jacob hums into his skin. "You think about what I do to you?"

Just give in.

"Yes." Pratt finds himself burrowing into the warmth of the large body encasing him.

Jacob smells like the earth and trees mixed with life, pain, and death. He tries to sink into the scents when his face is pulled up to face his demons, all of them in just one human form.

He's being kissed again, oh so sweetly, it gives him the energy to try and take over. Jacob lets him in to explore this time, his tongue tentatively sneaks past his lips in search of something to steal. He earns a growl when he bites down on his bottom lip, making Jacob tear away to get back some control.

"What do I do to you, Staci?" He roughly turns him around to face the mirror again.

Pratt gasps and holds onto the counter as his third erection within 12 hours is grabbed. "Y-You make me question everything I've ever known." His hips buck forward when the hand on him tightens. "I can't do anything anymore without thinking about what you would do."

"Mm," A kiss to his shoulder. "What else?"

"God, Jacob. No more-"

"Look." His hair is pulled to force him to look at their reflection in the mirror while Jacob slowly begins to work him. "This is what I see."

Pratt looks totally wrecked while Jacob looks at him hungrily over his shoulder. His neck is covered in hickies and shallow bites from last night. He's lost weight and it shows in his face, his usually chubbier cheeks are almost nonexistent, making him look like someone struggling with sickness. In a way, he is, and Jacob is the virus.

"Jacob." The moan slips from him and he instantly regrets it when there's a cock being pushed between his cheeks again. "Stop." He begins to struggle, clawing at the arm around him.

"Shh." Jacob holds on tighter. "I can either fuck you like I know you want to be..." He begins to push against his sore hole.

Pratt jerks forward to get away but the hand in his hair keeps him put. "Or?" He asks, desperate for another option.

"Or... You can do something else for me." Jacob mumbles into his neck, still pumping him with his other hand.

Pratt knew that offer wouldn't be forgotten, he was scared, still is. But now that it's finally being accepted it doesn't bring him the feeling safety he thought that it would.

"Tick-tock." Jacob nudges, making Pratt grab the counter again to keep steady.

"Okay, just..." He tries to breathe. "What do you want?"

Suddenly, he's let go and the warmth on his back is gone. He looks over his shoulder to find Jacob stroking himself, taking in the details of Pratt's backside. "Turn and get on your knees."

Pratt's breath hitches but he does as he's told and slowly sinks down to the tile floor, the coldness of it shoots up his legs when his knees meet the ground. There's a long silence, he doesn't know what to say or do, so he just waits for the next command.

Jacob makes the next move and steps forward to card a hand through his hair while his hard cock stares him in the face. It's obvious what he wants, but Pratt has no idea how to give it to him.

The back of his head is pulled, a silent order to shuffle closer. He gets too close too soon and he shoots a hand out to grab Jacob's thigh. "Wait."

"Pratt." A warning.

"I.. I don't know how."

"Then stand up and we'll pick up where we left off." Jacob glares down at him.

Pratt hates that option even more. He looks back at his current one and makes his decision, he'll need some help though. "Teach me." He looks up to him with wide eyes, hoping for some guidance.

The request makes Jacob's eyes flutter closed and visibly shudder, Pratt can hear his breath catch as he waits for a response.

He's startled when thick fingers meet his mouth and begin to trace the shape of his lips "Open." Cold eyes meet his, not wanting to miss a single second of this.

Pratt swallows and licks his lips before he follows the order, catching one of Jacob's digits with his tongue.

Jacob's index finger quickly slides in as soon as he opens his mouth. "Suck."

He does, he tries to mimic what Jacob had done to him last night but this time it feels odd when he laps at the calloused knuckles.

"Good boy." A husky whisper from above encourages him.

The praise makes his own dick twitch but he refuses to pay it any attention, he won't get off to the sound of this man's voice, this is already humiliating enough. Another finger is added and pushed deeper, almost making him gag.

"Breathe through your nose."

Pratt does as he's told and moves his head, bobbing back and forth, effectively sucking down while breathing solely through his nose. It helps, he doesn't gag but it still feels wrong.

Jacob suddenly retreats and wipes the saliva on his cock before returning to offer his thumb. Pratt obediently opens his mouth again but this time his lower jaw is grabbed and gently guided closer. Pratt looks up, worried that he'll make a mistake, that Jacob will punish him for a poor performance.

Jacob doesn't acknowledge him or give any sort of encouragement. "Open wider."

Pratt squeezes his eyes shut and lets him slowly feed his cock into his mouth, the thumb leaves when he doesn't immediately bite down like Jacob might've been expecting. The member is like velvet on his tongue, the total opposite of the rest of its marred body. He remembers to breathe through his nose as Jacob groans and continues to push in, he can't help but gag again when it hits the back of his throat. It blocks his airway and he starts to panic, making him dig into Jacob's scarred hip as a plea.

"Not yet." A strong hand holds the back of his head and the cock sinks back in.

Pratt whines when he's unable to verbally beg this time, making Jacob shudder in his mouth when his throat vibrates around him. He starts to frantically claw down his thigh until he's eventually let go to fall back on the floor, where he takes the chance to wheeze and cough on the fresh air in his lungs.

"You're not even trying."

"I-I am."

"Markus would be so disappointed."

Pratt's stomach twists. "Don't." His rage instantly builds at the jab. "Don't even say his name."

"Oh?" Jacob smirks. "Still a sore spot for you, hm?"

Pratt collects himself, ready to spew flames. He winces when his back flares up as he tries to get to his knees. "I rather be sucking him off than you."

He can't say he expected the blow but he knew his words would get Jacob where it hurts. He cups his throbbing cheek and puts pressure on it in hopes to dull the pain, the small rebellion was worth the hit but nothing more, it's time to go back to being quiet and compliant.

A hand finds his chin and forces him to look into its owners' eyes. "You need me, Pratt." He squats down to his level. "But I can live without you. I could throw you to my wolves any time I want and not even blink. You can and will be replaced."

Pratt knew it, there's nothing special about him, Jacob is just using his body and nothing more. He feels betrayed and dumb all at once, he should have known better than to think he was at least an asset rather than just some other prisoner. 

"Do you understand?"

Pratt stares at the floor and sadly nods. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Jacob stands and pulls him up by his hair to meet his crotch again. "Now, try again."

The tip of his tongue just touches Jacob's cock when a knock at the bedroom door sends him reeling backward, away from the open bathroom door and hidden from view.

"Jacob?"

It's Jarv, Pratt exhales in relief, thank god for that miserable old Peggie.

Jacob sighs and walks out into the bedroom stark naked with a full hard on to see what the problem is.

He hears a door creak open and hushed voices, it closes with a slam and Jacob strides back into the room, familiar clothes in hand.

"Saved by the bell, Deputy." Jacob throws his uniform on the wet tile and walks out without another word.

Pratt crawls over to it like it will jump out and bite him. He takes it in his shaking hands and immediately hugs the rough fabric to his chest when he confirms that it's his beloved uniform, holes and all. It looks and smells washed, the fresh scent makes breathing easier as he hastily puts it on.

Jacob had kept it, not for him, but certainly for his own sick benefit. It's all part of the plan.

Chapter Text

Pratt covers himself with his hand as he walks out into the bedroom, the morning light shines in through the crack of the red curtains, showing the aftermath of last night on the bed. The mud from his boots is left on the sheets where he tried to scramble away from his attacker, only to be dragged back down and taken by force, he shudders at the recent memory.

"Take these." Jacob tosses fresh boxers to him as he rummages for his own outfit.

Pratt catches it against his chest and slowly pulls them on. He's still a bit distracted with the mess left on the floor beside the bed, his pants, the bottle of lube and the pain in his backside is enough evidence to tell him that last night was real.

The marks on his neck have been refreshed and now reach down to his hips, it will be impossible to hide them with the collar of his shirt. Everyone already knows but that still doesn't eliminate the humiliation he feels in his chest.

"Come on," Jacob picks his pants up off the floor and hands them to him. "Get dressed."

Pratt doesn't move, he stares at them blankly, he doesn't want to touch anything involved with last night. Especially Jacob.

"Pratt."

"They know." He licks his lips as his voice breaks.

Jacob's brow quirks up in a false look of inquiry, he knows what he's talking about but he wants to hear him say it.

Pratt's tired of these games. "They know."

Jacob sighs and throws the clothing on the bed. "And?"

"I want you to stop."

He just smirks at him and walks away to pull pants out of his wardrobe. "Why?"

Pratt swallows his fear, he wants to be logical about this, Jacob seems to understand and agree with things when they are explained without emotion.

"It's... a distraction."

"Try again." Jacob grunts, clearly not liking the answer.

"They saw..." Pratt gestures to his neck. "This."

He turns to look at what he's talking about, still smiling as he looks him over. He snorts and shakes his head as he continues to pull his pants on.

This is hopeless, Pratt feels like an idiot to think he could have a civilized conversation with this man, it's impossible. He grabs his own pants and puts his legs through the holes before he can dwell on how they were roughly pulled off of him last night. His boots are next on his search as he quickly buckles his belt and strides over to the one on the other side of the room.

In the past, he would be used to this, it would be routine to quickly dress and leave before his one-night stand woke up. But this time he can't run away. If he does now he'll get a bullet in his back and be left to rot in the dirt. He never thought he would have to choose between being fucked or die. If Jacob was a woman maybe this would be different.

No, he doesn't love pussy that much, it would still be as much of a struggle as it is now.

"There's always a reason."

Pratt picks up his boot and looks over to Jacob again who has a grey shirt in his hands, thoughtfully picking at some of the loose stitching as he turns to him.

"I don't have to explain anything to you." Jacob's eyes meet his. "But you need to understand."

"Sir?"

"Can you honestly say that humanity is at it's best right now? The news and politicians let you see what they want you to see. Your favourite celebrity having an affair made the front page while the corrupt and powerful lynch and sodomize the world underneath the radar." He steps closer. "The real problem is growing, spreading. It's a cancer."

"What's the real problem?" Pratt asks when Jacob doesn't continue.

"Us." He smiles again, it's darker this time.

Pratt tries not to shrink away from it. "Us?"

"You're finally beginning to ask the right questions, don't start acting stupid now." 

"You've been asking a lot of me." He hardens his stare in search of answers.

Jacob finally reaches him and throws the t-shirt over his shoulder so he can grab both of Pratt's. "I'm telling you to open your eyes." He gives him a small shake. "Making you see through the lies that you've been fed to keep you from realizing how far gone we really are. It's all to keep you tame."

A different type of desperation is laced on Jacob's face as he waits for him to respond. It's like that he wants to be believed in, to prove that he's not the crazy one here.

"I can wrap my head around a corrupt government." Pratt starts slowly. "But this? This is insane."

Jacob's hands fall back to his side, clearly disappointed with the answer. "It's not just some government bullshit, Pratt." He huffs and puts his shirt on. "The real problem is humanity. Humanity is it's own greatest enemy, it must be culled of its weakness in order for it to survive."

"Was Markus not one of the strong ones?" The question leaves Pratt before he can think it through, the death of his friend still cuts him deep every day.

"He made his choice." Jacob mumbles back.

"You forced him to make it." He whispers.

A hand is on his throat in an instant, squeezing and threatening to cut off his air supply, it makes him drop the boot in his hand. He doesn't struggle, if he couldn't handle it he wouldn't have said it, he's beginning to learn his limits. But he feels bold today, last night had destroyed him and paved a way for something else to grow, something stronger and more reliable.

All thanks to Jacob.

"I need you focused." He bares his teeth and flexes. "Mourn on your own time."

Pratt does his best to nod in agreement. It's better if he just keeps his sorrow to himself, no one cares, especially Jacob. "Yes, sir."

Jacob lets go, pushing him out of the way so he can get to his night table. Pratt watches him pick up a knife of his own with a red handle, pulling it out of its sheath to inspect it before securing it to his hip. The sight of it sends a chill through him, it's been there the whole time, sitting next to the lube until the right moment. Which unfortunately is now.

"You think this is insanity." Jacob clicks the clips around his leg. "But that couldn't be farther from the truth. I'm saving you, saving humanity from extinction."

Pratt moistens his lips but decides not to argue. It takes too much energy, energy that he can't spare, he collects the other half of his pair of boots and quickly laces them up. Meanwhile, Jacob retreats to the bathroom and comes back with Pratt's knife in hand.

He offers it to him but pulls away when he reaches for it. "Are you going to be good for me?"

The question makes Pratt's jaw clench, he probably should be used to the demeaning words by now but the stubborn part of him is still alive, unfortunately. 

It's better to quickly agree so they can move on. "Yes, sir."

"Kiss me."

Pratt's eyes snap to Jacob's, unsure if he heard the order right, he hopes he's wrong. He gasps as his shirt is grabbed and yanked forward to bring him in close again, his eyes squeeze shut when he feels Jacob swoop in but opens them when nothing happens.

"Make it good."

Pratt stares at the mouth in front of him and flicks back up to his eyes, trying to convey his true feelings about this, fear mixed with lust if he's being honest with himself too. He would usually jump at the chance for some comfort but last night has set him back, this could be so easy but Jacob has made it difficult to even stand next to him.

It can't be helped now. He takes a shaky inhale and tugs at Jacob's hard fist to ease the tension off the front of his uniform, eventually, Jacob lets him go but stays close. He watches him expectantly, waiting for him to do as he's told or if he needs to be taught another lesson in obedience.

Pratt knows he'll get there but he wants to take a different approach, something a bit softer, it could be the exact thing that throws Jacob off. He takes his hand in his again and makes him grasp his waist, holding it there until Jacob digs his nails in. The warmth on his hip makes him want to flinch away, instead, he stays still and licks his lips as he reaches up to lightly place a kiss to the corner of Jacob's mouth. 

The fingers on his hip tighten when Pratt tries to leave it at that, it's obviously not enough, he grabs the collar of Jacob's shirt and pulls him to his lips this time. It only makes it worse, Jacob enjoys the change of pace and holds him tighter to him, moving his hand to the back of his neck to keep him there as he sneaks his tongue in. Pratt tries to escape when he moans into his mouth but Jacob doesn't stop and that makes him panic, scared that last night will happen again so soon.

"Please." He's able to break away and immediately gulps for air. "Stop."

There's a flash of what looks like hurt on Jacob's face before it turns into his usual apathetic expression. "You really want me to stop?"

Pratt looks at him wide-eyed and hopeful, all too eager to see this end. "Yes."

Something screams at him to stop, warning him that this will be a trick and that he'll end up dead this time but he just waves it away.

Jacob raises the knife and Pratt's heart stops in his chest, only to resume when it's slid into his pants pocket.

"Prove it to me."

 There are monsters in all of us. Don't fight it, control it, use it to your advantage. Otherwise, it will consume you and those you hold dear. Your family won't forgive you this time, Jacob.

Jarv has a strong hold on him as he's dragged out the front door, the older Peggie's speed and strength don't do his shaggy appearance justice, he had grabbed Pratt as soon as they walked out into the hallway. He struggled as much as his body would let him but the deep ache in his stomach and Jacob's glare make him tame.

The fountain comes into view when Jarv lets him raise his head to the morning sun, switching his hold from the back of his neck to his arm. There's five roughed up Whitetail Militia soldiers there to greet them, kneeling in the mud as Jacob leads them over. Other Peggies stop to join in and watch what their leader has planned for the pathetic looking sinners.

Blood drips from most of their heads, it looks like they've already been thoroughly interrogated, now it's time to see who's worthy for Jacob's ranks. Pratt doubts it, one of them is barely conscious as he's forced to sit up while they approach.

Jarv gives him a shove forward so he stands next to Jacob as they come to a stop in front of the beaten group.

"What a sad sight." Jacob sighs.

Pratt has to agree with him this time, the men and the one woman seem broken already.

Jacob steps forward and starts to inspect them more closely, he takes the woman's chin between his fingers and forces her to look up. She glares at him with some fire in her eyes, trying to prove that she isn't scared but her body trembles as he leans in close. Pratt ignores the pit in his stomach as he watches Jacob move to each one, touching them similar to the way he touches him, gently, thoughtfully. He looks fascinated by the new bodies, excited to get started, Pratt can see it in his shoulders.

"And here I was expecting Eli's best." Jacob chuckles and runs a hand through his unkempt hair, he needs a shave too.

Pratt shakes the thoughts away and continues to stand at ease on the side of the enemy.

"Why don't you introduce yourself, Peaches? Make our guests a little more comfortable."

Anxiety turns to dread as he's ordered to reveal himself, Jacob doesn't look at him, he knows that he'll do exactly as he's told.

"My name is Staci Pratt." He quietly obliges.

Jacob turns to glare at him. "I don't think they heard you, Deputy."

Pratt shudders and bows his head to stare at his boots in the mud. "Deputy Staci Pratt of the Hope County Sheriff's office."

"Traitor!"

The outburst makes Pratt snap his head up to find the female soldier spitting at him.

"You don't understand." Jacob speaks up. "Pratt is here because he's lost, he doesn't know what his purpose is. Just like all of you."

Pratt chews on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from interrupting, Jacob is twisting the truth while putting his own sadistic spin on it.

"He found Edens Gate the same way you did," Jacob stands tall and holds his hands behind his back as he paces. "By blindly following orders from someone that thinks they are doing what's right."

He stops at the female soldier. "You've been lied to and sent to your deaths, over what? Information? To get your pawns back?"

"To kill you."

A meager voice comes from the other end of the line and everyone's attention is instantly on the younger soldier.

Pratt can imagine how Jacob's eyes gleam as he bears down on him in an instant. "What's your name?"

"Fuck you." The boy sneers. "You killed my sister."

"And you think revenge is the right way to mourn?" Jacob squats down in front of him. "It's a fools game, you will lose even if you put me ten feet under. You will never get back what you've lost, what I've taken."

The words send a chill through Pratt, he can relate with them so well it's like they are being directed at him, maybe they are.

"Your sister failed you, she wasn't strong enough. And honestly," Jacob pauses to look him over again. "I don't think you have it in you either."

"Then fight me without your mindless chosen." 

"Davey." His friend next to them tries to rein him in.

"Davey, hm?" Jacob hums. "Tell me, did your sister walk with a limp?"

Davey is silent for a moment as his fists clench at his sides. "What did you do to her." Tears spring into his eyes and he returns Jacob's hard gaze.

Jacob raises his hand to silence him. "Tell me something else," He continues. "You come across a doe with a broken leg in the forest, she's a beautiful creature, full of spirit. But she can't keep up with her herd and there's danger closing in. Do you risk your life and time saving her so she can be eaten another day? Or do you cull the herd?"

"She was my sister you sick fuck!"

Jacob stands, sighing as he motions behind him, it makes Jarv brush past Pratt so he can hand his leader his pistol.

"These are human lives! We have rights!"

"Humanity had their chance." Jacob cocks the gun, he aims it at the boys head but pauses and looks back at Staci. "Come here."

Pratt's legs follow the order on their own, his own body forcing him to comply, whatever Jacob is doing is working. A hand roughly grabs his clamy one and the sudden cold from the metal of the gun in his palm makes his breath hitch. Jacob is already behind him before he can question this rapidly accelerating situation. 

"Cull the herd, secure your place."

Pratt looks between the weapon in his hands and Davey wailing in the mud. The others look on in terror while some of the Peggies circling them whisper and chuckle to each other. This isn't what he had in mind, he just wants Jacob to stop fucking with him, to be treated like a human being again.

Another rough hand grabs his arm and forces him to aim at the sniffling Davey. "It's easy," Jacob breathes in his ear. "Just aim and pull."

Pratt focuses and adjusts in the hold, all too aware of the heat seeping into the back of his shirt.

Davey finally caves into fear and starts to tremble as he begs Pratt with watery eyes. "Wait."

"He's going to the Judges either way, the only difference is if he's breathing or not."

"Please!" Davey's eyes widen. "You're a cop, I'm on your side!"

Pratt cringes and his hand tightens. It's better this way. The only way.

Aim. Pull. Shoot.

"No!" One of the soldiers screams as Davey's slumps down. Dead.

The gun is taken away from him and he feels like he's going to float away without the heaviness in his hands. He hangs his head and stares at the dead kids' boots as he's dragged away.

"I'll offer you all the same way out." Jacob's voice booms over the yard. "Or you can take the chance to become stronger, an opportunity to prove your worth."

The air is silent, a few tweets from birds passing by makes Staci wish he was one so he could fly far away from here.

"I"ll take your silence as compliance." Jacob shifts and grabs Pratt's shoulder to turn him around. "Kneel."

"Sir?"

"You want me to stop?" The hand on his shoulder tightens. "Show me another way you'll be useful."

Pratt searches his cold blue eyes for more information but deep down he already knows what's about to happen. He keeps his gaze on Jacob as he slowly sinks to his knees, the hand helps guide him down, only leaving when he's fully seated on his heels. The fire in his back grows as Jacob leaves to reach into his pocket and pull out his favourite weapon.

"You will train," He begins to turn the key. "You will kill," Jacob looks directly at him. "And you will sacrifice."

Only you...

Pratt's eyes blur and flutter closed, he lets it happen, the darkness is already there to catch him as he falls down into the void.

Only Jacob...  Can make this darkness bright...

You need to get this under control, Jacob. You're losing yourself in this fantasy in hopes to gain something you've lost. It's a waste of time.

Pratt blinks and he's on his back staring up into a blood red sky. The tops of trees come into view as he blinks again and the world builds around him, taking him back to a familiar forest in Holland Valley, where Jacob had punished him. Punished him for something he couldn't control yet it was still his fault.

The red light makes it through the thick brush and shines on the exact tree he was pinned against, the sight makes his arm flare up for the first time in a while. Something calls to him to come closer, he cradles his arm to his chest and struggles to stand, falling a couple of times before he's able to make it over to the tree. His body feels incredibly heavy and his knees groan under the weight. He leans against the rough bark and takes a short rest to regain whatever strength he can, the pain in his stomach is gone at least, he can finally breathe properly.

"Train."

Pratt's eyes fly up to the vegetation surrounding him, the voice is raspy and hollow, almost inhuman. It's not Jacob this time, he doesn't recognize it, the unfamiliar tone makes him even more uneasy.

"Kill."

It comes from behind him this time, he adjusts himself so his back isn't to it, there's a stiffness on the side of his thigh that reminds him of the knife in his pocket. He pulls it out and readies it just in case.

"Sacrifice."

It's behind him again and too close, he spins around to find one of the Whitetail soldiers glaring at him with wild eyes, breathing hard like he's been running for miles.

"You..." He growls. "Fucking traitor!" It's his voice.

Pratt raises his hand to try and calm him down. "Hold on-"

The soldier suddenly begins to charge, the rage in his eyes keeps Pratt in place, he can't help but watch helplessly as his new foe runs at him with his teeth bared. The wind is knocked out of him as he's tackled to the ground and the knife flies out of his hand.

A fist collides with his cheek before he can say anything. "You killed him!"

Pratt hides his face with his arms to protect himself but it leaves his midsection exposed. It gets it's fair share of punches before he's able to get his legs in between them and push his attacker off. He instantly tries to search for his knife in the dead branches and leaves but is quickly flipped back over and punched again. His teeth cut into his lip as the blows keep coming, he sacrifices an arm to continue his search. His heart leaps in his chest when his hand brushes against a familiar handle, he grabs it tight and thrusts it forward, closing his eyes as he feels it hit and slowly sink into the body above him.

It's silent for a while, Pratt opens his eyes to find the blade buried in the soldier's neck, he begins to gurgle and blood begins to pour from his mouth.

"Shit," Pratt swears and flips them over. "I'm sorry."

Hands claw at his uniform, trying to push him off while he tries to put pressure on the wound.

"I'm sorry," His hands slip and slide, there's too much blood, it's coming out too fast. "I'm sorry." he can't stop it.

The rage from the soldier's eyes dims and his body goes lax as he begins to fade away.

"No, no, no!" Pratt shakes him. "Don't go." He doesn't want to face this alone.

But it's too late, the blood flow slows down and his chest stops rising, he's gone.

Good.

Pratt's horrified as his chest swells with pride at the praise.

Cull the herd.

"Stop it." He grits out.

He frantically wipes his hands on his jeans, trying to get the blood off but it's only effective in spreading it around. There's too much.

"Fuck." He can't stop shaking.

Focus.

With that word, his vision distorts and warps into another familiar place.

Pratt is back at the station, the body and his knife are gone from underneath him but the blood is still there, that's all too real.

There's a crash in the conference room and he has to forces himself to his feet, he can't let his guard down again, especially now that he's unarmed.

The noises continue as he slowly makes his way towards them, subtly checking the front door in a small hope that it will open so he can escape. As he expected, it doesn't budge. Another loud bang echoes through the building and a door swings open. A larger Whitetail soldier emerges from it. "Train. Kill. Sacrifice."

Pratt can't help but notice the knife gleaming in his hand, it's his, his reward for being a loyal tool.

Cull the weak.

Eyes land on him and the soldier begins to charge, knocking over desks in his haste to get to him.

Pratt books it. He knows he won't survive going head on with this enemy, he has to hide and wait for the right opportunity, to do what he has no idea.

The door to the locker room comes into view as he turns down the hallway. He shoulders it open and quickly spots an empty locker with its door ajar, it will have to do for now, there are heavy footsteps coming in fast from behind. He barely fits inside but is able to close it fully before the raging soldier stumbles into the room.

Pratt covers his mouth with his bloodstained hand in an attempt to quiet his rapid breaths as he watches him roar in frustration when the first lockers he checks come up empty. The bench is the next target and is flipped over, it slams into the wall of lockers he's hidden in, making it rattle and bend.

"Coward!" He bellows. "You must be culled!"

Pratt keeps quiet, of course he's scared, even after all he's been through and the thoughts of ending his life. Deep down he doesn't want to die.

The small hope he has about being able to go home after all this keeps him from giving up completely. Might as well take one from Markus and fight until his dying breath.

The light coming from the holes of the locker suddenly disappear making him look up to find bloodshot eyes bearing down on him. "Found you."

The door is swung open and he's seized to be thrown against the opposing wall. "Train. Kill. Sacrifice."

The pain hasn't hit him yet so he tries to scramble away but his leg is caught in a harsh grip and dragged down to meet his attacker face to face.

Pratt manages to land a few punches but it doesn't seem to have much of an impact. His heart pounds harder when he sees the knife raised above him.

Let it go.

He lets go, he stops thinking, giving his body control over this situation.

His fingers find eyes and push in as deep as they can. More blood streams down his arms as the soldier screams, he doesn't let go until the knife stabs the floor next to his head and the crazed soldier reels back, crying in pain.

The weight on his waist is gone and he takes the opportunity to try and claim the knife for himself. The blade is unfortunately stuck in the floorboards, the fresh blood on his hands make his grip weak and slippery. "Shit, come on."

"Train..." A shadow looms over him. "Kill..." A muscular arm wraps around his throat and starts to squeeze as he's pulled away from the weapon. "Sacrifice."

Pratt struggles hard against him as his air is cut off, he manages to land a few elbows into the soldier's ribs but it only makes him tighten his arm.

The knife is just out of arms reach, he lets go again and gives his body permission to be pulled back more so he can get his leg out from under him. The tip of his boot is able to hook under the handle, he pulls until it pops loose and brings it towards them with his heel.

It fumbles in his hands for a moment before he can get a good grip and stab blindly behind him. The soldier screams in his ear again and lets him rip out of the hold. Pratt managed to sink it into his shoulder, unfortunately, it's not deep enough as it's easily pulled out and now the crazy man is armed again.

Pratt tries to scurry away but is stopped when his back hits the row of lockers.

"I can still hear you!" The soldier yells and stumbles towards him.

He's too close for Pratt to sneak by, he'll hear him no matter what, all he can do is hope he misses.

A swipe of the knife has him hissing, hot pain flashes across his jaw as the blade cuts through his flesh making blood flow down his neck.

"Gotcha." The soldier smiles.

Here it comes. Pratt squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the final blow.

"Cull-"

Nothing happens for a few seconds. He opens one of his eyes to find the soldier bleeding heavily from his throat, it's slit, a clean wound from a sharp knife.

"Jesus." Pratt breathes out.

"Well, you got farther than I thought you would." Jacob sounds fairly surprised as he pushes the already dead soldier out of the way to reveal himself.

"Jacob." He gasps in relief. In relief.

"Pick up your weapon." Jacob orders as he sheathes his own.

Pratt quickly gathers himself and picks up his knife, gently holding it in his hands as if it's something precious.

He feels Jacob's eyes burrow into him as he attempts to stand on trembling legs. The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, his body feels extremely heavy again. He leans against the wall of lockers behind him and uses it as leverage to get him upright.

Footsteps come closer and stop in front of him, he stares at Jacob's boots, waiting for anything. His face is forced up with a hand on his chin, making him look into the eyes of yet another person he's failed.

"What should I do with you, hm?" Jacob looks him over, taking in his sliced and bruised flesh.

Pratt doesn't have an answer for him, he has no idea where they go from here, he wants to go home.

Jacob shakes his head and grabs his empty hand. "I could leave you here to rot." He brings Pratt's bloody fingers to his lips. "Or I could make it quick... painless."

Pratt's breath hitches as he watches his digits disappear into Jacob's mouth. He barely registers the words that have been said, the threats that have been made. The tongue makes him shudder and jerk as it wraps around him, getting in between his knuckles before slowly sucking up to the tips.

"It all tastes like ash to me," Jacob let's go and steps closer. "But yours..."

Pratt takes his hand back and looks away. The knife tightens in his grip as his sore throat is grabbed to keep him still.

What the hell is this?

There's hot breath on his cheek and his heart stops when the same tongue laps at the fresh cut on his jaw.

"Is something else." Jacob whispers.

"Let me go." Pratt pushes back against the lockers, trying to get away from this new extreme.

Jacob licks his lips as he pulls away. "I want to. It would make all of this so much easier."

"Then let me go." He starts to beg. "I'll leave Montana, you'll never see me again. I-"

"No!" A hand slams next to his head, making the lockers rattle.

Pratt's teeth click shut.

"Never say that." Jacob's brow pinches up in pain, holding himself back from doing something more. "I'll have to kill you."

Pratt stares at him, completely lost as to what this has become. "I'm sorry." He is quick to apologize.

"Good." Jacob nods and swallows his anger. "Now, sit down."

"What?"

"Sit down." He shoves him back.

Pratt's stomach drops when there isn't a wall to catch him. Instead, he falls into the void again, it takes him far away from home and back into Jacob's office where he suddenly finds himself in Markus' blood splattered chair. It's pitch black outside, he sneaks a glance at his watch.

12am.

The whole day gone, just like that, it could be more by the way his stomach growls for food.

Jacob is looming over him while Jarv is behind them setting up an older HAM radio. He's still covered in blood besides the part Jacob had cleaned off.

It was real, all of it, he killed someone and Jacob revealed how sinister he really is. Pratt can't erase the image of Jacob sucking the blood off his fingers from his brain.

But it's out there now, out in the open, Jacob likes how he... tastes. In a way, he has an answer to why he's doing all this, even though it's more sick and twisted than he could have ever imagined.

"It's ready, Jacob." Jarv interrupts.

"Good. Get out."

The Peggie doesn't waste any time in leaving, most likely happy to get out of there, Pratt envy's him more than he'd like to admit right now. 

A drawer opening makes his attention snap back towards Jacob who is pulling out a bottle of whiskey and a beat up medical kit. He places the items on the desk and opens the alcohol before offering it to Pratt.

He shakes his head, alcohol wouldn't be a good idea right now, not after what he's just gone through.

Jacob takes a sip before offering it again. "You'll want it for the pain."

Pratt huffs and takes it, eying the liquid inside before taking a couple of mouthfuls, it's warm and smooth. The burn in his throat takes him way back to nights at the Spread Eagle in Falls End, where shitty booze and lonely women had always made his day better. It made the job and schooling worth it too, girls love a guy in uniform, especially in a place like Hope County.

Rough hands bring him back to the present, it's uncomfortable and jarring, every touch from this man is either too violent or too intimate.

"Bottle."

Pratt reluctantly hands it over and watches Jacob take a sip before motioning him closer. He hisses in pain as his wound is flushed out, the blood and alcohol run into his mouth as he tries to pull away, he's held still with a strong grip on his chin. He spits out the extra liquid on the ground when he's let go, the coppery taste doesn't mix well with the whiskey. 

Jacob gives him back the bottle and watches him gulp it down. It keeps bringing back the comfort he's been missing for the past couple weeks. Finally, there's something to ground him besides the psychotic monster that is currently threading the eye of a needle.

"I would have taken you down to the infirmary but I don't think Kleric would appreciate your company."

Pratt watches him carefully, wondering if that was an attempt at a joke. "Did Jarv tell you?"

"Everything." Jacob admits.

Pratt looks away and picks at the label of the bottle. Is he proud? Angry?

"Ready?" Jacob brings a chair over and sits down a little too close, taking the bottle away again.

Pratt takes a deep breath and nods. He does his best to keep still as his space is invaded, his skin touched too thoughtfully, knees knocking into each other.

"Stay still." Jacob reminds him.

At first the pain is bearable but it quickly becomes overwhelming, adding on to the pain deep in his stomach.

He wants another drink.

But Jacob is closer.

Maybe it's the alcohol but his hand shoots out and grabs a fistful of his army jacket when they get to a bad spot. The hand on his face pauses for a moment but continues when Pratt settles down again.

"I knew you weren't ready." Jacob whispers. "I shouldn't have..."

Pratt opens his eyes just enough to watch Jacob struggle with his words, hopefully it comes out as an apology but he can only hope.

"But I wanted to break you."

He tightens his grip.

"I didn't know why my brother gave you to me but I'm finally starting to understand."

Pratt wants more, he wants to beg for him to keep talking, to spew his guts on the floor and finally bring some humanity to this.

"You are my test." Jacob declares. "A test from Joseph, from God I suppose." He corrects.

Pratt grunts when the thread is tugged through a little too roughly. He's glad he can't talk right now, he has no idea what to say to that, he's totally lost.

"If I set you free I will fail." Jacob explains, half focused on tying off the stitch. "If I fail so does the project." He continues and cuts the thread with surgical scissors from his kit.

Pratt doesn't let go of him, his shoulders sag as he stares at their boots, the alcohol must be hitting him hard. Rage and sadness battle inside his head as he tries to think of something meaningful to say. Something that will throw Jacob off so he can be dismissed. "I'm here to be your class project?"

Jacob chuckles and grabs the hand on him. "Is that really so bad?" He yanks him forward while forcing his head up so their lips can meet.

Pratt stops him with his other hand on his chest. "Please don't." His eyes begging. "You said you wouldn't."

"If you proved your worth." Jacob clarifies. "I had to save you yet again."

"But I thought... I killed..." This is demented. "What about yesterday? I helped the cult-" Jacob's face hardens at the use of that word. "I saved Jackson."

Jacob still doesn't look impressed. And that's all that matters right now. "You think doing what's expected will prove your worth as a soldier to me?"

Pratt tries to jerk out of the hold but it stays strong. He can never win, not when Jacob keeps manipulating everything to suit his needs.

"You're dense, Pratt." He sighs, always sounding so disappointed.

Pratt looks away. "I don't know what you want from me." He whispers.

"I think that's obvious." Jacob lets go of his arm and clutches Pratt's upper thigh.

He gasps at the painful grip and holds on to Jacob's arm in return. "No-"

Jacob kisses him, effectively silencing whatever protests that were about to come out. Pratt fights it at first, trying to stop the hand from sliding up to his groin. It's pointless, all of it, this will always be a losing battle. He relaxes a little and returns it until the taste of blood hits his tongue.

"No!" Pratt rips away, knocking over his chair in an effort to get away and stand.

Jacob stays seated, looking unamused at these antics, it's clear that he would rather force him over the table and take him but he doesn't and waits to hear the excuses this time.

Pratt swallows and takes a step back towards the door. "I can do better."

Jacob smirks at that and stands up. "Can you?" He takes a step towards him.

"Let me prove it."

"I already gave you a chance." Another step and he's too close again. "You failed."

"I will do better." He promises.

Jacob leans in and Pratt steels himself. "I don't believe you."

Pratt hangs his head, feeling utterly defeated, last night can't happen again. Jacob wanted to break him and he almost did. He can't steal back what's been taken anymore, no matter how hard he tries. All he can do is to try and protect what's left.

"Is fucking me part of your test?" Pratt's voice shakes.

"You like it."

"I like girls."

Jacob chuckles and it makes Pratt's blood boil. "So that's why you became a Deputy." He starts flicking open the buttons on his uniform.

"I wanted to serve-"

"Don't lie to me." Jacob scolds, voice like gravel. "You used them for your desires," The last button is undone. "Like I'm using you for mine."

Pratt shakes his head. "That was different," He swallows when a hand sneaks into his shirt, brushing against his bare skin. "I didn't force them."

"But what would happen in the morning, Pratt?" Jacob squeezes his hip. "They would ask you what this makes you and you'd have to make up some bullshit excuse to break their hearts so you can make your escape." He pauses to look over the bruises on his tools chest. "Or did you skip out before they woke up?"

"They knew what it was." Pratt shrugs, trying to pretend the words don't affect him.

Jacob scoffs. "And you think you don't deserve this?"

"I'm... I'm not a good person. I know that." Pratt admits, staring back at Jacob as a finger grazes over his nipple. "But no one deserves this."

"You do." Jacob confirms. "Sex is human nature, but lust has no place in the new world."

"There's a difference?" It's a genuine question.

"You're a whore, Staci." Jacob purrs.

Pratt steps away from the warm touch. The word had hurt him, he's heard it countless times before but when Jacob says it something breaks inside of him. But instead of sadness, rage builds in his throat.

"What does that make you?" He snaps.

The question wipes the smirk off Jacob's face and it makes Pratt giddy, powerful. It disappears when Jacob moves towards him.

"Jacob?" There's a knock on the door. "Sir?"

They both freeze and turn to the interruption.

"Come in, Jackson." Jacob sighs, frustration clear on his face. 

The teen walks in and immediately notices the high testosterone level in the room, eyes widening a little when he sees Pratt's shirt hanging open. Pratt looks away, shame burning his cheeks as he tries to hide his exposed skin and waits to be dismissed, or at least he hopes.

"Should I come back?" Jackson's eyes dart between the men.

"No." Jacob pulls away and picks up the fallen chair. "Have a seat."

He does as he's told and gets comfortable, wincing as he rolls his shoulder.

Pratt begins to do up his buttons but stops when Jacob glares at him, a clear warning that forces his arms to his sides.

Jacob refocuses on Jackson and crosses his arms. "I asked you here to talk about the agenda since you're going to be out of comission for a bit."

"I'm fine."

"Jackson." Jacob's voice turns hard. "You already weren't effective in your tasks today. I can't have any stations lacking."

Jackson scowls and looks to Pratt. "So you're going to put a sinner in charge?"

"Not quite." Jacob's eyes flick to Pratt as well. "Pratt is going to be your arms and legs, and he'll do exactly as he's told."

"And if he doesn't?" Jackson crosses his arms and sinks in his chair a little. "Sir?"

Pratt tries not to flinch away from the eyes, Jacob doesn't want him to hide, it seems like he's getting off humiliating him.

"Let me know, I'll deal with it." Jacob tries to hide his smile. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Jackson replies instantly.

"Yes, sir." Pratt follows.

"Good." Jacob strides over to the door and opens it. "Dismissed."

Jackson flashes a indistinguishable look at Staci before he makes his way out the door.

The door clicks closed and they're alone again. The silence between them is deafening, Pratt desperately wants to run, he almost wishes that Jacob will use the box on him again. But he knows that's not the truth.

Jacob is back at the desk and pulls out a chair. "Come here."

Pratt hesitates but ultimately gives in to his body who screams at him to follow the order.

A hand on his shoulder forces him to have a seat in the chair before Jacob starts fiddling with the dials on the radio.

A letter is placed on the desk as Jacob moves away and out of sight while Pratt's eyes quickly scan the page in front of him.

A hot hand on the back of his neck startles him but he doesn't fight it as it forces him closer to the microphone.

Jacob comes into the corner of his vision with his teeth bared. "Read it."

Pratt takes a deep breath but begins to read the words aloud while Jacob holds down the button.

"My name is Deputy Staci Pratt of the Hope County's Sheriff's Department." He pauses but continues when the hand squeezes.

"I want to apologize for the harm that I have helped inflict on the people of Edens Gate." He swallows and licks his lips so he can keep lying. "I never wanted of this to happen, I was brought here... under false pre-... pretenses and fed lies about Joseph Seed and his family."

Lies. Lies. Lies.

"Foolishly I believed them... but now after the great generosity they've given me... I now know the truth."

Every word is another stab to his sanity.

"Something... Something is coming, and if we do not prepare, we will perish. The world is plagued by a cancer of weakness, the only way forward is strength. J-Jacob Seed will give us that strength."

Or kill us all.

"He will give us the means to protect each other in the coming c-collapse. He will make us strong."

Another squeeze.

"My name is Deputy Staci Pratt of the Hope County's Sheriff's Department. And I will train, I will kill, and I will sacrifice in the name of the Father and the project at Eden's Gate."

Jacob releases the button and let's go of his neck. He takes the piece of paper and folds it up.

Pratt watches him, suddenly feeling empty inside, tired of being alive.

It's exhausting.

"I know you don't believe in these words," Jacob puts the letter in Pratt's shirt pocket. "But you will."

Pratt stays quiet, he's said enough for today.

Jacob gently cups his injured cheek and tips his head up to meet his glare.

"I have my own sins too, Pratt." He easily confesses. "The difference is I'm a Herald of a cult. The only one allowed to judge me is me."

Chapter Text

The next several days are a blur. Jacob doesn't touch him, he doesn't have time to. He is swarmed with work and that makes Pratt more worried than relieved. When he does see the Herald, he is deep in it, talking non stop with Jarv about what needs to be done. Like breaking in the new recruits, making sure that his chosen is wreaking havoc and culling the weak they don't have time for.

But he still takes the time to look over and watch him work with the wolves. Pratt can feel his eyes on him as he bows his head to receive a scolding from Jackson for taking too long with the feeding. The workload hasn't been too bad so far, it's all very repetitive. It's certainly less stressful than following Jacob around with a pen and paper, the wolves are way more inviting.

The wounds from 'training' are slowly starting to heal but the ache in his stomach still comes and goes as he works. Sometimes it forces him to lean against the counter for balance when it becomes too much, he wishes he could wash it all away with a shower.

The large bathroom and hot water in Jacob's room are all he misses while he lays in his cot, still covered in days worth of sweat and grime.

Jacob had taken back his deputies uniform when he found Pratt trying to wash out the blood. He had thrown the written letter he forced Pratt to read onto the floor before leaving with a part of him scrunched in his hands.

Pratt didn't argue or fight, killing people is exhausting and he had nothing left to say. He spent the rest of the night trying to get the drying blood off his skin and out of his hair, he didn't collapse until he knew all of it was gone, making sure by watching it swirl down the drain.

Pratt had never killed anyone before, he's never had to as a Deputy. But now it's expected of him, expected of Jacob's tools.

"Pratt!"

His shoulder tense at his name and the loud stomping footsteps that stop behind him. He turns to find Jackson fuming.

"Where is it?" The teenager growls.

"Where's what?" Pratt asks quietly, confused.

"This list!" Jackson steps closer, glaring.

Pratt steps back, closer to the wolves. "I don't know anything about a list." He sighs and turns back around to feed number six, his now favourite mutant wolf.

"For the new wolf shipment!?" His voice breaks behind him, obviously panicking.

Pratt just shrugs and focuses on keeping all of his fingers as number six snatches the food out of his hand.

A hand grabs his shoulder, ignoring his grunt of discomfort, and yanks him to face the whiny teen. "If it's lost, it's on you."

A chill goes through him at what kind of sick punishment he would receive for just a slip of paper.

"Okay, okay." Pratt shrugs the hand off. "Where could it be?"

"Probably up in the office if it's not here." Jackson takes the bowl of mixed meats out of his hands. "Go check, if you're not back in ten minutes I'll tell Jacob you lost it."

"Come on, Jackson-" He starts, taking the threats very seriously.

"What are you waiting for?" Jackson shoves him in the direction of the hospital. "Get going!"

Pratt drags his boots in the mud as he trudges across the yard, avoiding the glare he receives from Tyson who thankfully has guard duty until late. He hopes Kleric is in pain and that his snapped ankle never heals.

The office is fortunately empty as he carefully opens the door, worried he'll find Jacob working away at his desk. It's the first place he decides to look for this precious list.

The papers on Jacob's desk are all lists, names, addresses, supplies to be ordered, even a list of social insurance numbers. One specifically catches his eye, it's a cluttered list of names with what he assumes are dates of birth with the other side being the date they were disposed of.

Pratt flips through several pages until he finds his name. It's circled several times, almost crossed out in someones haste to circle it.

Pratt, Staci 26 yrs DOB: 4/27/93 DOD: N/A

Date of death.

Pratt slides the paper away and lets it fall to the floor.

Just the wolf list. Focus.

He goes to do so but stops when he eyes the wall cluttered with file cabinets.

They could be filled with more random lists. Or valuable information, possibly something to help him find Parker, he can finally start making good on his promise.

Or it could lead to his death.

They all appear to be alphabetized as he tentatively steps towards them. This should be easy enough.

H.

H for Hale.

Parker Hale.

Pratt opens the drawer with the bold letter 'H' and quickly begins to scan through the file folders. His fingers freeze when they reach 'M. Hale.'

He takes a deep breath and pulls it out. The first thing he notices is the word 'deceased' stamped with red ink all over the entire first page. It's his basic information, social insurance, address, age, height, even his eye colour. He turns to the second page and jolts a little when it reveals a headshot of his dead friend, it looks like it was cut out from his driver's license. Pratt can't help but smile at it. Markus had managed to sneak a smirk into his photo, looking healthy and happy, totally different from how he was on his last day on earth.

Pratt glances over his shoulder at the door before taking the paper clip off the corner to quickly put the picture in his pants pocket, ignoring the voice that screams bloody murder at him as he makes sure to put the folder back exactly where he found it.

He ignores it and moves on in search for Parkers, which is thankfully right behind his brothers.

It almost falls from his shaking hands in his haste to open it.

Parker Hale, 16yrs. 5'6, 120lbs.

The thing that gives him the most hope is what he doesn't see, the word 'deceased' is nowhere to be found.

"Pratt."

Jacob's voice makes the whole world slow down, he's in trouble, this could be what finally kills him. He closes the file and slowly turns to face his fate that is standing just in the doorway.

Jacob is smirking at him like he just caught a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. "What do you have there?"

Pratt opens his mouth a few times but nothing comes out. Whatever does needs to be the truth, no excuses or covering up what he's done. If he lies it'll just make this worse.

But the truth will be just as bad, so he takes one from Jacob and twists it a little. "Jackson needs the wolf shipment."

Jacob sighs and closes the door behind him as he steps in. "And you thought it'd be in my personal files?"

Pratt swallows and looks at the one in his hand. "I got curious." He quietly replies.

"Curious, hm?" Jacob stops at his desk and fiddles with the papers. "That's dangerous," He looks up and nods at the file in Pratt's hands. "Find anything good to read?"

"Not really." Pratt shrugs, trying to stay calm.

"You seemed really invested in it a minute ago." Jacob comes closer, his arms crossing over his chest as he stops in front of him, waiting for a reply.

"I was... mourning." He brings the folder to his chest as a barrier to protect himself, it's not a complete lie.

Jacob's eyebrow raises as he holds out his hand, curling his fingers in a silent yet stern order to hand it over. Pratt reluctantly gives it to him, carefully watching for any sudden change in the man's expression as he looks at the file he was caught snooping in.

"Still hung up on Mister Hale? You two must've been close."

Pratt's stomach turns at what Jacob means by that, the tone implicates that they were more than friendly with each other. That's not how Pratt took it, at least not on his side of things. "We were friends."

Jacob scoffs and closes the file. "I saw the way he looked at you."

"There wasn't anything going on-!"

The file scatters on the floor as Jacob drops it before shoving him into the cabinets and pinning him there with a hand on his chest. "So you were checking on his younger brother just because you were friends?" He hisses, eyes burning into Pratt's own.

He winces as the metal handles dig deeper into his back with each word. "I- I promised." The truth is ripped out of him pathetically quickly.

"You promised him." Jacob chuckles and eases up. "You'll keep a promise to a dead man but won't follow the simplest order we've given you."

Pratt's stomach ache, unfortunately, hits him at the worst moment and he can't bend over to find the relief that usually comes with doing so. All he can do is put his hand on his stomach and try not to show that he's in pain. Jacob would only use it against him.

"I'm sorry, sir." He doesn't know what else he can say to make all of this go away.

"You're sorry..." Jacob repeats, lips twitching up. "And how sorry are you?"

Pratt looks up to find Jacob's anger mixing quickly with a familiar hunger. He has to tear his haze away so he doesn't panic just yet, he said he could live with this, right? Just let Jacob take what he needs so they can get this over with, let himself be violated or killed so he doesn't have to suffer anymore.

"Pratt." Jacob's voice makes him jolt again.

"I'm v-very sorry."

So pathetic.

He can't help but shake as Jacob closes in.

The door swings open. "Pratt! You better have that list or so help me-!" Jackson freezes when he finally focuses on the sight in front of him.

Pratt's own eyes widen when they lock with Jackson's but Jacob ignores them both and keeps going.

A hand wraps around his throat while his lips are claimed. It's harsh, and Staci does his best to struggle out of it while Jackson looks on in horror.

The kiss grows more aggressive when he tries harder to protest, this is another level of humiliation and Jacob knows it, although he obviously couldn't care less.

Pratt's eyelids begin to droop in submission as Jackson finally looks away to try and hide the blush that spreads over his face and down his neck. He almost feels bad for the kid, it's sad that he has to be exposed to this.

As a final punishment, another hand cups him through his pants and Jacob smiles against his lips when he finds him hard. The hand squeezes him before traveling and burying itself into his pants pocket.

Jacob suddenly releases him altogether and steps back, leaving Pratt cold and horrifyingly turned on. He's still smiling as he glances to Jackson. "You should know better than to let him up here alone."

Jackson avoids eye contact as he nods in agreement, "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Pratt moves his hand to subtly cover the bulge in his pants, what a disaster.

"Take him back down," Jacob orders and tugs at Pratt's shirt to bring him forwards, throwing him towards the young Peggie. "You're behind schedule."

Pratt stares back at him, confused and humiliated, almost angry that Jacob is going to make him go downstairs like this. But Jackson grabs his arm before he can think on it or even argue. He rips his arm out of the weak grip as soon as they turn the corner.

"Pratt-" The hand comes back.

"Don't touch me." He snaps before quickly taking the stairs.

Jackson doesn't say anything as he escorts him back to the wolves.

He hides in the shed as soon as they get there, quickly trying to kill his erection by staring at the dead deer carcass hanging from the ceiling. It also gives him the time to check his pocket that Jacob had slid into, he was lucky it wasn't the same one with Markus' picture.

The item left in his pocket is the list for the wolf shipment, Jacob had it the whole time. Did he keep it on purpose? To test him? Did he know that Jackson would walk in? Why Jackson?

This is crazy. Maybe he's finally going insane and the paranoia is seeping in his softening barriers.

Pratt's wait's until he has calmed down enough to go out and hand it over.

"Jackson."

The kid looks up from feeding and his cheeks immediately go red against his pale skin as Pratt holds out the paper for him to take.

Jackson snatches it from him before opening and reading the contents. He nods in understanding and puts the precious list into his own pocket. "Thanks." He mumbles.

Pratt flinches at the harsh tone and begins to walk away. He should be used to it by now but it cuts him deeper now that someone other than Jarv has witnessed first hand what their Herald does to him behind closed doors.

"Pratt." Jackson's wavering voice stops him.

He slowly turns to acknowledge the next order.

"I'm sorry."

Pratt blinks at him for a moment, unsure if he heard that right.

Jackson thankfully doesn't get the chance to elaborate, they're interrupted by shouting coming from the front gate.

"Open'er up, quick!" Jarv orders to the guards as he walks next to a seemingly annoyed Jacob.

The gate opens and a red truck with a covered cab pulls in.

They both watch Jacob walk to the back passenger seat and open the door to help his angelic looking sister out and onto the muddy driveway.

Faith is still barefoot but the cold doesn't seem to faze her as she takes a look around.

Pratt can't stop himself from gawking at her beauty, she glows even with the almost constant overcast that leaves the area dark and grey.

Jacob has a hand at the small of her back, trying to rush her inside so they can talk business. Faith seems less than interested, even with the small smile on her face she looks bored. She scans the area, making her own mental notes as Jacob talks her ear off with Jarv following close behind.

Her eyes stop on him and her smile brightens. A chill goes down his spine when she seems to recognize him from the helicopter crash, that night feels so long ago.

Faith isn't related to the brothers by blood but it can be hard to tell sometimes when they all have the same terrifying expressions. Her's might be light and thoughtful but looks can be deceiving, even deadly.

Pratt manages to tear his gaze away and quickly seeks shelter in the shed, there's more food to be prepped for tonight's feeding anyways.

Jackson follows him in just to put an empty bowl on the ground, adding to the pile to be washed and dried before leaving without a word. Pratt wants to apologize to him for what he saw in the office, for the embarrassment he must feel. He's still so young and the surroundings can't be healthy for him physically and mentally, he's still going through puberty for christ sake. His childhood is being stolen from him every day and today must have increased it tenfold.

"Hello." A soft voice comes from behind him.

Pratt snaps his head towards it to find Faith Seed at the door with a familiar canister in her hand. She's impossibly more stunning up close and it makes Pratt nervous. Her eyes remind him of Medusa, he avoids them as much as possible while trying not to show how uncomfortable he is just standing in her presence.

"I knew I recognized you." She smiles and steps into the shed with him. "How are you, Deputy Pratt?"

"Fine."

It's all he can manage to say as he watches her float about the room, petting some animal carcasses to be skinned while she looks him up and down.

"You're hurt." Her eyebrows pinch up and voice lightens as she steps towards him to cup his cheek.

Pratt stumbles over the bowls on the ground in an effort to dodge it. If she touches him anywhere, in any way, Jacob will have to fix it. Pratt's certain that the order doesn't just apply to John, better to be safe.

He makes it to the other side of the shed untouched. It leaves Faith a little surprised but the shock is covered by another smile and a giggle.

"I'm sorry," Pratt blurts out. "Jacob doesn't... He said..." Should he even tell her? Does she already know?

"Did my brother do that?"

"I'm fine, Miss."

Faith steps closer again but thankfully doesn't reach out. "Be sure to know that it's done out of love."

Love.

Pratt almost laughs at the word. It's ridiculous just as much as it is terrifying. "I don't think he's capable of that."

"Everyone is," Faith bends down to pick up one of the bowls that are scattered on the ground. "Even Jacob." She hands it to him. "Do you want something for the pain?"

Pratt's eyes narrow a bit at the offer, she couldn't possibly know about what kind of pain he's in, not even Jacob knows.

"No, thank you." He shakes his head and tries to take the dish but stops when she doesn't let go. "I feel fine." He lies again.

Faith's smile fades and the air seems to change. The canister in her hands raised and opened to let the bliss billow out and into the bowl.

Pratt watches the green tinted smoke swirl and spill out the sides. He can already smell the sweetness of it, it's overpowering. Pratt tries to let go and step back but is stopped when the counter digs into his tail bone. "I don't want it." He tries to sound stern.

"But you need it." She grins back. "Let yourself fall, have faith that I will catch you."

Pratt doesn't know what that means, it obviously has something to do with the bliss clouding in front of them.

This shit is dangerous.

He's heard about what it does to people after extensive use. Even walking through the flower fields can put you under and the hallucinations can be violent.

"Sometimes the help that is forced upon you is the best kind you can receive."

Pratt doesn't take his consciousness for granted anymore after the few training sessions he's been through with Jacob's music box, even sleeping has become difficult.

The bowl is raised closer to his face and he finds himself leaning into the intoxicating scent.

"Faith!"

Pratt looks to find Jacob seething in the doorway.

Faith doesn't pay him any mind and suddenly purses her lips to blow into the bowl.

The bliss forces itself up into Pratt's face and nose, his lungs clench in his chest making him hack and wheeze. But the effects are almost instant, his vision blurs and he can't feel his legs underneath him.

It's the complete opposite from the music box, instead of searing pain, his head tingles pleasantly at the new drug ravaging through his system.

"Fall, Staci." Faith echos in his ears.

Pratt tries to look to Jacob for help but the light from outside is suddenly blinding. He can't hold on to his consciousness anymore and lets himself go only to find himself falling from the sky.

Fall.

Something soft and warm slows him down before he hits the ground. He can feel his legs again as his feet gently land in a field of very familiar flowers. It looks similar to the first time he was under this sort of spell with Jacob.

Enormous Bliss clouds surround him as well as a familiar white gate. It's from that night in Joseph's compound. He watched his friends walk through it, all hell breaking loose when they returned with the Father.

It's hauntingly beautiful.

"Where does it hurt?"

Pratt turns in slow motion to face the ghostly voice.

Faith is there with her smile looking sincere as she steps closer, carefully avoiding the blooming flowers. "Show me."

Pratt's hand automatically places itself on his stomach, the dull ache inside him flares up when Faith covers his hand with hers.

"Here?" She whispers.

Pratt bites his wobbling lip and nods. It's where he hurts the most after Jacob... After he...

"Can you make it stop?" His voice breaks, hoping for the best.

"Yes," Her hand tightens around his. "But the relief won't last if you keep fighting."

"He hurts me either way."

"Jacob has been on Earth longer than our brother's and myself," She moves a strand of hair out of his face as she speaks so calmly to him. "But that doesn't make him any wiser. He's damaged and lost but still knows what's expected of him and does what he needs to so the rest of us can survive. We all have to make sacrifices for the greater good. Joseph is our vessel, we trust him to keep us safe as well as the ones we love."

"Stop saying that word." Pratt snaps, it makes him sick.

"Jacob loves you, Staci."

"Shut up!" He rips away and covers his ears, squeezing his eyes shut.

It doesn't make a difference, her words still reach him.

"Don't hide from it," She holds his face in her soft palms. "You should be grateful."

"He doesn't, he can't. You have no idea what's happened." Pratt just wants this to stop, the pain is still there and the idea of Jacob having those kinds of feelings for him scares the shit out of him.

"God does." Faith giggles at Pratt's anger. "Which means the Father does too."

Pratt's eyes widen at that, Joseph couldn't possibly know, he would have stopped Jacob before it went too far. And it's obviously crossed the line.

Faith laughs at the confused look on his face and lets him go. He watches as she dances and twirls away towards the gate, beckoning him to follow her. His body moves on his own, floating over to where she stops to stand in front of the white gate.

Faith reaches out and interlocks their hands as she smiles up at him. "Do you want the pain to stop?"

Pratt nods. Desperately.

"Okay." She starts to pull him forward but he suddenly stops when something pulls him the other way.

Pain flares up on his wrist and he looks to find a scarred hand crushing it in its grip.

"Let him go, Jacob." Faith tugs at his other arm.

Jacob doesn't say anything, his face is void of any emotion.

Pratt wants the pain to stop so he tries to pull away from Jacob, he wants to go with Faith. "Let go."

Jacob's face hardens at that. "No." Is all he says.

Faith stops pulling and puts her hands on her brother, gently pushing at his chest. "Let him fall. Joseph needs you focused."

"Step away from me, Faith." Jacob growls at her and yanks Pratt towards him when he doesn't immediately do so on his own.

"Don't fall to temptation," Faith tries to stop him. "Joseph is testing you, he always is. You know this."

Pratt looks to the gate while the siblings argue. He has an idea what it would mean if he walked through it, it'll probably kill him. At least the pain would stop. "I want to go." He mutters to himself.

"What?" Jacob scoffs behind him, surprised.

"Wouldn't that make things easier for you?" Pratt looks back to them. "If I fell?"

If he died.

"Shut up, Pratt." Jacob snaps and pushes his adopted sister out of the way so he can drag Pratt away from the death gate.

"This isn't who you are Jacob!" Faith calls after them. "Joseph won't like this, he'll take it out on me!"

Jacob ignores her and keeps walking, pushing Pratt in front of him to put a barrier between him and Faith.

"Jacob!" She screams.

"Go home, Faith."

Pratt's blinded by a flash of light again before it dims and turns into the hallway light outside of his cell.

His body is moving against something that refuses to budge.

"Easy, Peaches."

It's Jacob holding him down as he convulses on his bed.

The pain is still there and even worse than before.

"Get off! Let me fall!" Is that him screaming?

"Jarv!" Jacob shouts. "Adrenaline!"

"I don't have a full dose." Jarv's rough figure comes in.

"Just give it to me."

A needle switches hands before they are placed back on him.

The sight frightens him and he just struggles harder. "No! No! No!" He hears himself scream again.

It's like he's just a passenger in his own mind, unable to control his body from thrashing out to try and free itself.

The least he can feel is his boot colliding with something and someone grunts in response.

"Damn it, Pratt. Just let us-"

Another kick and grunt.

"Idiot, hold him!"

"I'm trying!"

Pain suddenly explodes in his chest and his limbs gradually slow until eventually coming to a stop, shaking on his sheets.

Pratt hears whimpering and really hopes it's not coming from him. There are hands still gripping his arms, refusing to let go, not trusting that he's finally calmed down.

"Get out." Jacob's voice cuts through again.

A hand tightens on his leg. "But he could still-"

"Leave."

Two hands leave and two stay, one on his chest and the other moves to run through his damp hair when Jarv's footsteps disappear.

It's quiet for a while, Pratt wants to relax into the petting but stops when he reminds himself who's doing it and stays tense, ready for anything.

"Should've left you to burn with Markus." Jacob finally whispers.

"Probably." Pratt sniffs, wishing that he had.

Staci looks so beautiful on his cock, he should have fucked him on his stomach. Jacob's heart hammers against his chest when Pratt begs him to stay and that's when he knows he's in big trouble. This wasn't a good idea, he wanted to break the weakness beneath him, not the lock that had his heart stowed away. He doesn't know what to do with this so he tries to destroy it, fucking Pratt senseless seems to be the best way to do it.

It doesn't work.

Maybe pitting him against his former comrades will work.

Not even close. He doesn't let it happen. He saves Pratt before he's culled.

Jarv eyes him for a while until he orders him to set up the radio.

He needs to get Pratt away from him for a while. Jackson needs some help with the dogs, that should do it.

Jacob might be finally doomed when he catches himself watching Staci work. He wants to laugh when he watches him jump back and away when the wolves growl and lunge at him through the bars. Jarv tries to keep him focused, he would have fallen a long time ago if it wasn't for him, he trusts his judgment. But the human part of him is making him weak and distracting him from what's important.

He should kill him and finally scribble out Pratt's name from the roster.

But no. Faith gets to him before he can and puts him under.

It can't end like this, not at the hands of someone else, it has to be him for the sake of his own principals.

Jacob brings him back and makes himself promise that it's only for the sake of killing him sooner rather than later.

But they sit in silence for too long and he changes his mind.

Joseph knows. John knows. Faith knows. They know that he's starting to fail. And if he does they all do. All just for one man, one weak little man.

Chapter Text

"Sir?" Pratt's voice shakes and echos throughout his cell.

The rest of his body does too as Jacob pulls him up to sit on the edge of the bed. Pratt holds his head and wobbles a little before a big hand steadies him, making sure he doesn't tip and fall on the cold concrete floor. Of course, he's in pain, the bliss is so addictive and powerful that he can already feel the withdrawals coming. Pratt has unfortunately had experience with addiction, just a little in high school and a lot in college. Then had to be clean for the poor choices that were selfishly made. Becoming an officer was the biggest mistake.

Pratt gasps in surprise when Jacob kneels down in front of him and starts to untie the laces of his boots, hunching over so he can see the strings properly. Pratt keeps staring at it. The view is different. Jacob finally looks so small, still bulky in his shoulders, he just looks like a normal man when he's on his knees. Pratt swallows and lets his boots be taken and tossed somewhere in one of the dark corners of the cell while some courage gathers in his stomach.

"Sir?" He tries again, still hesitant as Jacob strips him of his sweater next.

"Hm." Jacob barely acknowledges him, focused on undressing the broken man.

Pratt doesn't know why he's doing this, why his hands are so gentle when they should be harsh and rough on his skin, bruising, cutting. This is scarier. Scarier with how much Pratt enjoys it. A flash of heat spreads through him as hands reach and start unbuckling his belt. He shivers at it. It's cold in here.

"You don't have to... I mean..." He doesn't know what he's trying to say.

Jacob looks mildly confused as well, his brow quirks up in what light there is left, peeking out from the hallway. But waits, instead of taking advantage of Pratt's obvious moment of vulnerability.

Pratt is floating, eyes lowered and consciousness not really there. It's too busy getting lost in the haze of whatever those flowers produce. He's not interested or brave enough to ask what's in it.

His hand moves on its own and wraps around Jacob's tensing wrist, gently bringing it away from his crotch and closer to his chest. The heat from Jacob's hand grounds him, brings Pratt back to himself just enough to think clearly about what the implications his next move will bring.

But the hand is hot, rough, covered in callouses. Felt amazing on his hips when Jacob was-

"Pratt?" Jacob's voice is low and helps him relax, drawing him in even more.

"Just let me..." Pratt whispers, lips finding the closest ones they can.

The ones they find tense immediately and quickly disappear.

Pratt catches and clings to the back of what he knows is Jacob's neck, nails digging into flesh, out of sudden desperation. "Please, don't go." He shakes his head, eyes still closed and swallowing a lump that refuses to go down. "I don't know what's going on."

It's the truth. Pratt feels strange and it's terrifying him. Jacob is the only one that's close by and that can explain what the hell is happening. At least he hopes so.

"You're still under the effects of the bliss." Jacob eventually speaks up, quietly, enough to get through the green fog still travelling through Pratt's head. "It'll wear off in a couple of hours."

Yes. It's just the bliss. These feelings aren't real. The man made chemical in his brain is clashing with the natural ones. Pratt pauses though when he feels something familiar in his gut, he's aroused, and it's obvious. He lets go of Jacob and crosses arms over his chest and lap to hide himself. "I'm sorry." He whispers.

"It's just the bliss." Jacob dismisses it and moves Pratt's arms out of the way so his hands can continue undressing him.

"I can do it myself," Pratt mumbles and tries to push them away. "Sto-"

"Shut up." Jacob keeps going, smacking him away.

Pratt starts to panic. If Jacob takes them off now he'll find the problem and try to fix it. Will try to make Pratt understand it, and he doesn't want to know anymore. He's fine with the explanation that's been given. It's just the bliss.

"I don't want you to!" He does his best to keep his voice under control but it breaks at the end and Jacob is having none of it.

"Relax-"

Pratt manages to rip away and frantically shuffle back, not stopping until his back meets the cement wall.

He wants something, that isn't Jacob, to take this all away.

The man is watching him from afar, eyes stern as Pratt curls into a ball, feeling so small and pathetic as he brings his knees up to his chin. If it saves him from more of that kind of humiliation, he doesn't care.

"I want to sleep."

"It's better if you stay awake." Jacob says flatly, hands still raised and threatening to come and get him if they have to.

Pratt's eyes are beginning to droop, cock throbbing, practically begging for attention. "I can't." He croaks, really not wanting this to happen again.

Jacob huffs, annoyed, and stands up to walk towards the open door.

Pratt's eyes widen, worried that he'll be left to battle these demons on his own, abandoned to suffer the withdrawals. Instead of leaving though, Jacob closes the door and the room is suddenly pitch black, the lock turning. The sounds of his heart pounding and boots scuffing across the floor is there to confirm that Jacob is still in the room.

"Jacob?" Pratt's voice cracks with uncertainty, more worried now than before.

"Focus on my voice." Jacob's voice is quiet, almost gentle in the dark.

Pratt strains his hearing until the bed dips in front of him. "What are you doing?" He flinches when a rough hand brushes over his cheek and into his hair.

"Close your eyes." The voice is there again, calming, sickeningly smooth.

"Sir, I-"

"Do it." Rougher now, almost tired.

Pratt takes a moment but does as he's told, only in fear, never because he wants to. It too dark to see much of anything anyways. It leaves him feeling more vulnerable, not even having the chance to adjust to the darkness.

"Good boy."

Pratt shudders and Jacob chuckles when he feels the movement through his palm, always so amused. "You like this." He says it like he already knows.

Pratt panics and tries to move away from the touch. "N-No, I d-" He tries to get up again, eyes shooting open, but another hand stops him. "Ple-..." He can't even finish his plea, a sob coming up his throat in desperation.

Not again, not here. Especially not in the only sanctuary he's been given. Jacob promised.

"Relax." Jacob drawls and helps guide him down to lay on the pillow, still damp with sweat. "I won't fuck you tonight, Peaches."

Pratt can't stop shuddering again, heart pounding just from hearing those words and that dreaded nickname. He doesn't dare feel relieved yet, knowing all too well that Jacob always has a plan.

"Close those eyes." Jacob can see through the darkness, can probably see Pratt's bare chest rising and falling, rapidly. "Breathe." His hands move and are at his waist, pulling his jeans down, leaving his briefs.

Pratt tenses, doing his best to stay still and keep his eyes closed as they are yanked off his feet and thrown somewhere, belt clinking. It exposes the obvious mound and Staci prays that Jacob will keep his word. But at the same time, he has so many questions.

Why did Faith do what she did? Was she really trying to kill Staci? Why did Jacob stop her? Does Joseph know about what his older brother does to the gift he gave him?

A long sigh rings out and bounces off the walls, making Pratt's mind stall. "I can hear you thinking," Jacob mentions, sounding annoyed. "Faith was out of line when she..." He continues then stops with another exasperated exhale.

When she what? Drugged him? Manipulated and almost killed him?

"Just go to sleep, Peaches." Jacob gets up and walks out, just like that. So easy to leave Pratt like this. A mess.

The door slams shut after him and Pratt jolts, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. He's going to die soon. He can feel it.

"You haven't failed. This journey has just begun. Let yourself falter and stumble. Learn from it. And then get back up."

They found her. They found the Deputy. Or Rook, Rookie? So many names. Sometimes they call her a Lamb, a Tiger, a Monster. Pratt can't keep count. Doesn't even care to. He is back into his officers' uniform, badge shining and sleeves rolled up. Just like how he was that night. Just how Jacob wants.

He's been planning this. Pratt knows that now. They caught her too easily and now they are headed to god knows where to meet up with the rest of the followers there. Two of the remaining whitetails are in the back, moaning and crying, begging to be let go. Jarv is there to make sure they don't do anything stupid and futile.

Pratt has learned to tune them out. Well, it's more that he's used to it now.

"Cheer up." Jacob's voice is the only thing that booms in his ears, deafening him. "You'll be seeing your friend soon." He smirks, one hand on the wheel and pedal to the floor.

Pratt doesn't respond and remains stone-faced as he looks out the window, breath fogging it up. It will only make things worse if he retaliates.

It's been nothing but hills, dirt, and trees for the past few hours, they have to be getting close soon. At least Pratt hopes so. The cab of the truck feels smaller than it used to and Jacob's scent is overwhelming. All of his senses are more sensitive. It's hard to even look in any and every direction. It's all so bright. He's had a constant headache since Faith and he can't seem to get any relief.

"You remember what your purpose is," Jacob turns down another dirt road. "You're a tool and nothing more."

Pratt nods absentmindedly, even though it sounds like the eldest herald is only reminding himself of why the weaker man is here.

"Say it." He wants confirmation, for the fact to be validated. "Look at me and say it."

Pratt does as he's told and looks up through the pain. "I'm a tool," He whispers, voice hoarse. "And nothing more."

Jacob's eyes are stabbing him, smile white as he makes another turn. "Good boy."

Pratt shudders, less in disgust and more in fascination. Horrifying fascination.

"Yo!" The car slows down and Jarv jumps out and waves some followers over. "Bring these sinners in, they're ready."

They stop in front of a familiar building and Pratt's eyes brighten up with it. His old high school is still standing even to this day, it was supposed to be demolished and here it is now, gross and falling apart, but still, a building filled with memories.

"Get out and stay by the truck." Jacob orders and gets out to yell at some Peggies who are leaning against the schools' wall, having a smoke.

They douse them quickly and hurry inside.

Pratt slowly steps out, carefully shutting the door behind him in fear that Jacob will find something to be mad about. He's on edge, needing this to go right. Sometimes, behind the scenes, Jacob is truly human.

But today he came into Pratt cell earlier, looking crazed, sweat everywhere, naked chest heaving and wearing lighter pants. He had heard the news, got out of bed, and ran to rub it in his face. Finally, something else to torture Pratt with.

The whitetails are dragged past him, the girl kicking and screaming, while the man seems to have accepted his fate and lets himself be taken.

"You fuckers! I'll kill you! All of you!"

Pratt flinches away, ears plugged and ringing. Her eyes are wild, the threats go for him as well. Reminding him on what side he's been put on.

"Somebody shut her up!" Jarv yells, exasperated, and ends up doing it himself with the blunt end of his rifle.

She goes limp, blood streaming from her hair, as they manage to finally bring them in.

"Pratt! Here!" Jacob calls him over, business dealt with, the stage is set.

Pratt gets there in a hurry, eyes still shining and watering at the emotions coming up because of the old building. He wonders if Jacob knows. Probably does and is hoping that this will give a twist the knife that's already deep in his gut.

Jacob claps a hand on the nape of his neck as soon as he's close enough. It's hot and reminding him of all the monologues Jacob has put in his ear. He's just a tool. Something to be used in Jacob's crimes and his trips into pleasure. It's an easy job. A purpose worth dying for, apparently.

A van pulls into the drive and screeches to a halt right in front of them, sliding along the gravel, kicking up some dirt. A few Peggies pop out, armed to the teeth, balaclavas covering their faces. The back opens and a body falls out, blond hair coming out of a beanie, blood drying and sticking to the side of her shirt.

Rook.

A bandanna covers her face but Pratt can see it's the deputy and that she's been shot.

He starts to lean forward, wanting to go to her. It's the first familiar face he's seen in months. He's not alone anymore. She came for him. She shouldn't have.

"Try not to get too excited, Pratt." The hand squeezes and brings him back to reality. "Remember your purpose." Jacob is still here, forcing Pratt to follow the masked men as they drag the Deputy inside, like a piece of meat at a slaughterhouse.

They bring them both through the echoing and now empty halls of the school. Pratt remembers them buzzing with activity the last time he stepped foot in here. That was back when he graduated. Empty lockers are knocked over and papers are everywhere now, showing how tired this place is. Pratt almost slips on some, kicking up a class photo from 2012. He can see the date clearly, and it really makes him think about how fast things went downhill.

Rook's combat boots scrape across the floor, her head lolled back and to the side, swinging as they walk. She looks like a hero. Even as she gets carried haphazardly to her doom, Pratt can't stop seeing the picture that still hangs in Jacobs' office, a dog standing proudly by her side as they look across the stolen County. Her chest rises and falls slowly, slightly labored but at least she's breathing.

"Are you going to kill her?" Pratt blurts out, unable to keep quiet anymore.

Jacob forces them to stop, nodding to his Chosen and Jarv to continue on without them. Pratt knew he should have kept quiet.

"I'm sorry, I thought-... No I should've-" Pratt shakes his head, already starting to sweat as Jacob slowly but surely pushes him into a group of rattling lockers.

His eyes are thoughtful, a small smile on his face as Pratt fumbles to take back the words. "Easy," Jacob purrs, closing in fast. "Sh, sh, sh..." He brushes the fallen strands of Pratt's greasy hair out of his face, tipping his wobbling chin up.

"You know why you're here, right? Why I brought you?" Jacob's eyebrows pinch up, giving a false look of sympathy. "It's okay, you can tell me."

Pratt blinks furiously, shaking both in pain and in fear. "I'm here to be your tool..?" He tries. He really does. But he's focus is split at this point.

Rook is here and all alone, bleeding out on some cement floor up ahead, waiting to be taken care of.

Jacob clicks his tongue and sighs, disappointed with the answer. "No, no. That's much too vague, Peaches." He pauses, thumb coming up to trace the healing cut on Pratt's jaw, then his black eye. "You can do better. Try again." His voice is at a gentle whisper now and that's just as dangerous as a roar.

Pratt's vision blurs with the touch, letting out a little gasp as his spine tingles. "The Deputy... You wanted me to see her." He says, just repeating what he has managed to observed.

He's playing it safe and Jacob won't let him get away with it.

A scarred hand pushes down on his chest, making his spine meet the jutted edges of the metal behind him. The air in the whole building seems to disappear and it's just them, everyone else is allowed to escape.

"You are an example." Jacob spells it out for him, hand turning into a finger and jabbing into his pectoral muscle. "An example of the weak having a purpose. And what happens when they pass their their test."

Pratt shifts his weight, swallowing down all the questions that arise and choosing just to ask one for now. "Have I passed my test?"

Jacob grins, finger tracing up his throat. "Not yet." He reveals, leaning impossibly closer and taking a deep inhale. "Not yet.." He repeats, letting the hot air out, warming up Pratt's shoulder.

"Jacob." Jarv's voice comes to save him once again, fluffing hair popping out and around the corner. "She's ready." He announces, not at all perturbed about the scene he's now apart of.

Jacob looks giddy as he pulls back and leads the way. Jarv makes sure that Pratt gets there by taking up the rear. Pratt isn't as humiliated anymore when Jacob's right hand man interrupts these moments. It's more of a rescue. But he knows that it's not supposed to be that way. Jarv is just fulfilling his purpose and sometimes that is to rein his Herald in.

The three captives are in chairs with a projector in the middle of their trio. Although, only two of them are tied, the Deputy is left free.

'Only You' is written on the walls in what Pratt hopes is red paint and not blood.

"Peaches can do the honors, Jarv." Jacob grunts and stays in the back of the room, taking in the stage.

Jarv nods and pushes Pratt forward who has stopped in his tracks, eyes wide, breathing becoming erratic. What will Dep say when she sees him? Will she see him as a traitor?

The Chosen leave, bonds tight on the whitetails wrists. They are both conscious now, struggling and grunting. Rook is just beginning to stir. It's a chance for Pratt to get some closure.

That's not what comes out of his mouth though when he strides over to tie her wrists down. "You shouldn't have come for me. You should have run."

Rook's eyes are slits at first, then quickly widen when she realizes who's in front of her. Her pink lips are now uncovered and moving but nothing comes out. Pratt's face must screams urgency because Jacob smiles, white teeth flashing in the dark. He shudders and fixes the buckle on the bonds to buy some time.

The extra time doesn't matter. Rook can't mold her mouth to form words, it's just gasps and pained moans. Jacob's smile fades and his head jerks, a gesture for Pratt to get out of the way.

He slinks back and around, letting Jacob start to introduce himself.

The projector is turned on with a click, making it whir to life. And something clicks in Pratt's head about his first one on one talk with Jacob Seed.

He looks to him, waiting for the words to come pouring out.

The words that started this horrible journey.

"The world is weak."

Pratt is cold again, shivering as the rain pours down outside. He made it back to the truck, although he doesn't deserve to. He should be thrashing and groaning in that chair. Not Rook. The rules of the box confuse him to no end, it's just as terrifying to watch someone sink under the effects of it's song.

Jacob is talking to his Chosen, pacing back and forth as they stand at attention. Pratt watches them in the rear view mirror. He wants to leave and never come back.

The Deputy is dead. She was bleeding from everywhere and had stopped breathing after an hour of watching her jerk in the bonds. The Whitetails? They were dead within minutes.

Maybe it's the shock settling in but he doesn't feel anymore, more numb actually. Jacob will fix that though, he'll bring the pain to the surface and make sure that a lesson has been learnt. Whatever it may be.

Hope County is doomed. Without Rook, there is no chance of it returning to it's former glory. Even though Pratt never sat to admire the views before, he is now, and it's depressing how much worse this dump has gotten.

The door opens and Jacob climbs in with a huff, slamming it shut behind him. Pratt flinches and shuffles as close as he can to the other side, head leaning against the glass window. He doesn't want to know what comes next now. He already has an idea.

He'll be tortured until his guts come spilling out. Jacob will suture him up and then repeat. They've had this conversation before. Pratt is a tool. Jacob's tool to do with as he pleases.

The truck starts and they pull away in silence and with Jarv following closely in the van behind them, a few new Peggie's in the back that they wanted to give some exposure to.

The trees start to swallow them up again and Pratt can feel dread building in his chest. It's getting hard to breathe and of course he can't say anything, it's already tense as it is. He takes a deep shuddering breath and cringes when it comes out too loud, getting Jacob's attention.

A warm hand touches him, grazing his forehead as to check his temperature before suddenly grabbing a handful of hair and yanking. Pratt sharply inhales, tears finally releasing down his cheek.

Jacob tsks when he sees them and shoves Pratt, making his head violently bang against the window. "Stop crying." He mumbles and takes a hard left turn.

Pratt's teeth clench at the added pain in his head and frantically wipes at his wet face, trying to follow the order. He doesn't need Jacob pissed. He needs his cold cell around him so he can break down in peace.

The tears keep going and Pratt can tell Jacob is getting more annoyed by the minute. They are out in the middle of nowhere, took them hours to get so far out, giving Jacob plenty of time to get angry at him.

Jarv might be able to interrupt it again but Jacob doesn't seem to care about an audience lately. It's been a whole week and Jackson still hasn't looked at him the same since that morning in the office.

Pratt's body has been trying to heal. But each day there is always a new wound to join the collection. His stomach still aches when they are close, like right now. And it's becoming too much. Too much to stay quiet and submissive anymore. The pressure is building and there is a limit that the human mind can handle.

"You just left her there." He whispers, head down, hiding his face. "Didn't even let me say goodbye."

Jacob chuckles beside him and the truck slows as a threat. "And why would I have? Probably would've just sobbed at her feet and begged her to rescue you."

Pratt's not sure what response he expected, maybe he's still holding on to the hope that Jacob will change and give him some leeway after all he has done to him.

"You had your chance when you strapped her to that chair."

Jacob is right. It's Pratt's fault. All of it. If he had just been stronger, the Deputy would still be alive and Jacob would be ten feet under. "You're right." Pratt croaks, hand reaching. "I'll do better." He won't let a chance like that pass him by again.

His hand grabs the doors handle and pulls, opening it wide and letting himself fall out, hitting the concrete hard. Pratt blacks out for a second before coming to in a grassy ditch with the sound of tires screeching in his ears. Adrenaline backs him up and makes sure there isn't any pain as he gets up to dart into the trees, heart pounding.

Muffled shouts reach him through the branches and pine needles, forcing his legs to move faster, sometimes stumbling over roots and rocks. He's been in this situation before. But this time, Pratt knows that Jacob will end his misery if he's caught. No more chances. It's now or never.

"Staci!" A roar finally gets to him, it's Jacob, starting his hunt.

His body suddenly locks and throws itself into the mud. Pratt's been submissive for so long that bending to Jacob's will is on automatic. But he needs to override it and he needs to do it now. There is no plan other than to just run, he didn't think this through. Pratt just wanted some relief and the fresh mountain air is helping him immensely.

The rain is soaking through his uniform though and the adrenaline is already wearing off. Jacob has been cutting down his already slim rations, letting his body feast on his muscles.

Pratt manages to unlock his joints bit by bit and get back to his feet, leaning on a tree trunk for support before picking up a steady jog. The pain will return tenfold and he will regret it. That's why he wants to take advantage of what he can do before he's swallowed back up.

Tunnel vision is both a blessing and a curse. Time is slipping away and the trail that he's left behind has made it easy for Jacob to track him down. Although, this isn't about escaping. He isn't stupid. Jacob will find him soon and Pratt won't fight it.

Pratt takes a break as soon as he reaches the top of the hill, hunched over and heaving, he takes in the view. It's a gorgeous Montana day that just keeps changing, subtly. The rain is still pouring down and the adrenaline is gone, letting the pain return. Pratt forces himself to stay standing though, not wanting to give in just yet. There's knew injuries that he can feel flare up. Probably when he jumped out of the still moving vehicle.

At least he can breathe up here.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't ya?"

Jacob's voice is loud and clear behind him, making it through the sound of the heavy rainfall. But Pratt isn't scared. He doesn't flinch and hide like he usually does. He's both in pain and at peace, it doesn't matter what Jacob does to him now.

A gun clicking doesn't seem to sway him either. It was expected.

"I just needed some air." Pratt responds flatly, taking one final deep breath before turning and facing the predator.

Jacob is just as soaked as he is while he stands tall in all his glory, hair out of it's usual place and sticking to his marred skin. His brilliantly red gun is trained on Pratt, aimed at his heart, one twitch and it's over.

Pratt smirks through the pain and nods. Almost giving him permission to do it. To set him free. He's ready. This is the only escape.

Jacob doesn't seem to like that. He lowers the rifle, lips twitching, telling Pratt that he's processing what to do next. "Get what you needed then?" He eventually asks, almost thoughtfully, like they were out grocery shopping.

Pratt's half smile falters and he blinks blankl, lips parting. He was so ready to get shot, Jacob saying anything wasn't supposed to be apart of it.

"I suppose I left you alone too long, hm?" Jacob steps closer, gun at ease across his chest. "I'll have to change that."

Pratt's lost, Jacob was supposed to shoot him, not make plans. "Why are you keeping me?" He asks rather frantically, brow pinched up. "Why don't you just kill me?!" He's shouting now, trying to hold back his raging emotions and failing.

The fresh air is working against him now. It's giving Pratt strength, despite how resigned he was to die just a few minutes ago. "You keep saying that I'm replaceable but freak out when someone even touches me.."

Keep going. Let it out.

Meanwhile, Jacob is keeping unusually quiet and it makes this so much more infuriating. Pratt stands his ground as the monster advances, stopping just a foot away, waiting for something.

Pratt keeps going. "I can't keep up." He shake his head, voice breaking, and forcing himself to stare back at Jacob. "You murdered who I was and expect me to thank you-"

A rough hand cups his cheek and Pratt stalls out, body almost crumpling. He hates this. He hates Jacob. Hates. Hates. Hates.

"Staci." Jacob's voice rumbles, still nice and calm as the hand adjusts to gently hold and caress Pratt's face, gun at his side now. "Who you were was poisonous. Not only to yourself but you infected everyone you touched."

Pratt is struck dumb. He can't even feel himself leaning into the touch, already so addicted to the effect it has on his aching body.

"But I'm tired, Staci," Jacob continues, eyes growing soft. "Tired of waiting and holding back. You're weak, just another piece of meat..."

This is a trick and his heart is fooled, wants to fall into Jacobs broad chest and take back everything he just said. He wants Jacob to be proud of him.

"And I can't let you go" Jacob finally whispers and kisses him, carefully at first, coaxing.

If Pratt knew any better, it almost sounds like Jacob does actually love him, scared that he had lost him in the forest. Underneath the certain words and implications, there is something there that Jacob can't hide forever. And it already seems to be leaking through.

Pratt is having an effect on him and he surges forward with that thought. Using it to his advantage and letting himself fall into that chest, hands gripping the back of Jacob's jacket. Just like how it was before that night. When Jacob took him. When he couldn't hold back. When Pratt begged to be kissed.

It all clicks.

Only you... Can make this darkness bright...

No, not yet. Pratt deepens the kiss, taking Jacob's face in his hands, urgent to stay above water.

Only you... Only you... Can make all this world seem right...

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

And with Jacob's voice, Pratt lets go, and falls into the void below.

Chapter Text

Run. Duck. Shoot. Run. Jump. Shoot. Run. Dodge. Stab. Run. Tackle. Slit. Train. Kill. Sacrifice. Train.    Kill.        Sacrifice.

"Good. Again."

Train. Kill. Sacrifice.

"Again."

T-- Train. Kil-l. Sacrifice.

"Again."

Tr--. -I--. Sacrifice.

"Again!"

Sacrifice.

"That was well done." Jacob's voice is behind Pratt as he circles him, doing the usual inspection after training. "You're getting stronger..."

He's covered in blood, never really knowing where it's from or who's it is. Pratt's mind is finally quiet and he won't waste the free time wondering what the hell happened after the song was played. Pratt hears it even when the box is nowhere to be seen. It doesn't hurt as much anymore. Like Jacob keeps telling him, he's getting stronger.

"Thank you, sir." Pratt's head is bent in submission and anxiety, not wanting to make eye contact for obvious reasons.

The tactic has been working well so far. At least he thinks it does. Jacob hasn't touched him since Pratt woke back up in his cell after their little kiss in the rain. His gut twists just remembering how it felt. It was far too intimate. Too natural. And Pratt doesn't want to admit how much he liked it.

It was a moment of softness, just like before that horrible night. He understands now though. Jacob was trying to destroy him instead of building him up as he had promised. The scarred Herald was failing. And now that he has caught himself, Pratt is just waiting to be his punching bag again. Or to be kissed and taken to bed.

Jacob usually throws him back in his cell to recuperate after 'training' or brings Pratt along to follow him and take notes, staying close so he doesn't get noticed. Pratt takes the free time to clean himself up in the sink, trying to rinse away the stench of death that clings to every inch of his skin. If not that, then he scribbles down his own words, almost like a diary, doodling on the side of the page. It helps with the rest of the noise inside his brain. Marcus' picture is still hidden away, underneath his mattress, only there to keep his useless hopes up.

This time feels different though, Jacob is more careful with his gaze, only looking at specific parts as to not fall into old habits. He's been doing well so far but Pratt knows the screen fading fast.

Jacob comes to a stop in front of him. Pratt stares at his boots for what feels like the longest time before he's forced to look up when fingers pinch his chin. "What's your purpose?"

Jacob always asks these questions afterward. Never saying if they're right or wrong, just hums and moves on to the next item on the agenda.

Pratt is too tired to guess today, his eyes avoid Jacob and look at his shoulder, watching the lines of the different shades of green that cover his jacket. There's some blood there too, making Pratt suspicious that Jacob is always closer than he thinks when it comes to training.

"I don't know." He confesses, refusing to start his usual nervous rambling, it's getting old.

Jacob doesn't hum this time. He doesn't even blink. "What are you?"

That's a question that Pratt knows the answer to now. After months of it being drilled into his head. He finally looks the man in the eyes and says it. "I'm a tool." It's an empty realization but it's the truth.

Pratt is a tool to be used by Jacob. And he assumes that's part of his purpose too.

Jacob's hand vibrates as he shudders at the answer, showing Pratt that he got something right. He's not happy about it though. There will be no true reward for his efforts. The only thing he wants is to be a free man again.

"That's good, Peaches," Jacob finally says something about it rather than just studying Pratt, so conflicted. "That's really good."

It's obvious that he wants to something more and Pratt is grateful when Jacob is still strong enough to pull away and go to his desk, picking up a few files. "I think you're ready for this." He hands them over and Pratt takes them, blood staining the sides.

The names on the files are familiar. Kleric and Tyson.

"Read them. Know what you're culling." Jacob pauses, waiting for Pratt to say something when his mouth parts slightly. "The weak." He clarifies.

Pratt shakes his head, looking to the files in his hands, not really listening or letting the words sink in. "You want me to..." Jacob can't ask this of him, he's killed plenty but that was different, he had the song-

"I don't want you to do anything, Pratt." Jacob takes a step closer, tapping the paperwork. "This is a test that I know you're ready for."

A test. Right. Another opportunity to prove that he deserves to be here. Pratt needs to take this seriously, it won't be something he can ignore. "Thank you, sir." He stands tall, feeling refreshed, even after hours of training.

Jacob is giving him a real test, even though he has no idea what exactly he's supposed to be doing. Is he supposed to murder these men? Why? Jacob knows what happened before. Pratt was thrown to the floor and beaten. He got lucky with snapping Kleric's ankle and then when he was saved again by a nosey Jarv.

Pratt won't let Jacob down this time. No more being saved. He doesn't know what he is supposed to do with this information but at least Jacob has faith that he will figure it out on his own. This is another chance to receive praise where he shouldn't. Pratt is shamefully excited.

He'll be good for Jacob.

"This is something that you have to do on your own. I can't help you." Jacob moves away with difficulty, jaw, and hands clenching. "Do what has to be done. Preferably by the end of the week." He sits down, starting to scribble some notes as Pratt stands there, while the blood dries on his skin, unsure what he's supposed to do.

By the end of this week, he has to do something about these two men. That's his test. It sounds pretty simple so far. But it's about to get a lot more complicated.

"Sir?" Pratt speaks up, fingers fiddling with the papers.

"Hm?"

"What day is it?"

Pratt has five days to figure out a plan. To do what? He has an idea now.

The files are filled with the Peggie brother's misdeeds, misconduct, even blatantly breaking the rules of Edens Gate. Pratt doesn't know why Jacob has been so forgiving with all of this, maybe he has been waiting for the right moment, a proper send-off. A purpose for Pratt.

Kleric is out of the ward and back on duty, with a slight limp to his step. Tyson is always keeping an eye on his wounded comrade so it's difficult to focus on just one of their schedules. He writes down what he thinks is important, later in his cell. The characteristics of the men, the clothes they wear, down to the way they talk. He really doesn't know what he is supposed to be doing, but it makes him look busy and determined, even when he is taking his five-minute break by the fountain, covered in sweat, legs shaking with exhaustion.

Jarv is sitting next to him, like always, never letting the kid out of his sight for very long. Just a glorified babysitter with a pistol and a rifle at his side, chewing on some sunflower seeds to pass the time.

"You're going about this wrong."

Pratt looks up, staring at the older Peggy. He has to be older than Jacob, the grey in his mop of hair gives it away, though the bushy beard on his face hides the rest of the evidence. "What?" He asks, tired, and sore.

"You're thinking about it too much."

Of course, Jarv would know what Jacob has him on. What kind of 'test' he has been given. "I'm fine." The old Peggy is already too involved with his personal life to be getting advice from.

It's Pratt's test. He can do it and make Jacob proud of him because that seems to suddenly matter to him. It's the only reason why he is trying to make sense of it all.

Jarv shakes his head and puts the rifle into his lap, seeming to use the gesture as a threat. At least that's how Pratt takes it. He tenses and eyes him warily. Jarv takes advantage of having his attention now and shifts closer, his smell assaulting Pratt's nose. He doubts he smells any better though.

"You haven't been listening at all, have you..." Jarv sighs and nods to the men. "What do you see." He asks while going back to his sunflower seeds.

Pratt looks at them again, a quick once over. "I don't know?" He doesn't understand what Jarv is trying to say. "They're tall?"

Jarv gives him a look, telling him to do better.

Pratt cringes and really looks. Kleric is still moving heavy boxes, unloading trucks, and wincing with the weight. Tyson is doing his own thing, or so it seems. The healthier man is distracted from across the yard, mind somewhere else. "Kleric is limping, It's distracting Tyson." He figures out, shrugging a little.

"Good." Jarv spits out another seed into the mud. "What's that mean?"

This is stupid, what is- "Uhm..." He looks once more, for a long while, almost wasting his break on this. "They are weak...?" He whispers the realization, looking between the two and then Jarv for confirmation.

He's been staring at him this whole time, waiting for it to click in his head. "And what happens to the weak?" Is the next question.

Pratt swallows, looking at the mud covering his worn-out boots. "They must be culled." He doesn't even recognize his voice when he says it, it's something he would've never said in his lifetime if Jacob hadn't have gotten a hold of him.

Jacob did this. And Pratt is supposed to be appreciative of that.

These men don't make the cut anymore. They are useless now, served their purpose, like those other Peggies at Markus' bunker. Pratt then wonders what will happen to him as soon as his purpose is fulfilled. He almost doesn't want to know.

"What do I do?" Pratt asks Jarv, Jacob's right-hand man.

Jarv shrugs and gets up, putting his snack away. "That's up to you." He gestures for Pratt to stand and get back to work. "Jacob is watching."

Pratt knows that. The Herald is always watching, making sure that the camp is running the way it needs to. And that Pratt is doing right by him with the so-called privileges he has been given.

"Thank you." He blurts out, walking past as quickly as he can, and getting back to work.

Jarv grunts and escorts Pratt back to one of the many sheds.

He works until dark, ankles, and heels bleeding from rubbing against his boots. It's been an unusually long day and Jarv has already headed in, tired of waiting for Pratt to finish. The silence has given him time to think, although, not very productively. He needs a plan, has one, and needs Jacob's help to execute it. Pratt needs something that he can't give himself and the only one who can is just upstairs.

Pratt drags his feet, limping like Kleric was earlier, and stops when he gets to the stairs. He blinks at them, at the landing, unsure if he is strong enough to go through with this. He has to though. He needs to pass Jacob's test.

Jarv can't always be there to save him.

Pratt grips the railing, heart in his throat with each agonizing step.

"Sir?" Pratt knocks at the office door, hoping that he doesn't answer and that Pratt can forget about this whole idea.

"Come." Jacob's booming voice, unfortunately, comes through.

Pratt bites his lip before opening the door, slowly, ignoring his brain that is screaming at him to run.

Jacob doesn't look up from his desk, too involved with the paperwork in front of him. It's a bit humanizing to Pratt, to see him hunched over, so focused on making his dreams a reality. Or rather his brother's.

"What is it, Pratt?" Jacob asks, eyes still down and working hard on scanning another page.

Pratt flinches, heart beating hard, nails picking at his sensitive blood-stained skin. "I..." His voice breaks, the pain in his boots becoming unbearable, this isn't the right time to do this. "It's nothing, I was just heading to bed, sir. Goodnight." He turns quickly, feet protesting.

"Hold up."

Shit.

Pratt stays still as a chair is pushed backward and Jacob comes closer, boots loud against the tile. He curses himself, complaining that he could've been in bed by now, nursing his wounds.

Jacob comes to stand in front of him, arms crossed, and to himself. "What did Jarv say?"

Pratt looks up, not even thinking about lying when their eyes connect. He's not exactly sure how to put it, the man had only told him to take another look, to try a different perspective on the targets. Reminding him what they do here. "He was reminding me." He answers honestly, in the best way he can.

"'Bout what?" Jacobs brow quirks up, interested.

"About what you told me." Pratt tries again. "About the weak and their purpose."

Jacob hums and steps closer, seeming to like the response. "And?"

Pratt glances at Jacob's dog tags, dread twisting and turning into something else entirely. Jacob is in Pratt's space and what should happen next is too much for the younger man to think about. "Kleric and Tyson, they... They've served their purpose." He finally gets it out, closing his eyes, and ready to be corrected, to be taught another lesson.

The music box will come out and Pratt will fall.

"That's good, Peaches." A warm hand is on his face, instead of the cold floor where he would usually end up. "That's really good." Jacob is smiling, eyes twinkling with the small amount of light the room has.

It's like yesterday, similar, but not the exact same. Jacob had praised him then too, treating him more like an underling. Tonight, there's something different in the air.

Pratt leans into Jacob's palm, sighing, letting himself relax in the space for now. Before what happens, happens.

"That's not why you came up here though, is it?" Jacob caresses Pratt's cheek with his thumb, suggestive. "To say goodnight to me."

Pratt blinks slowly, thinking about it before simply shaking his head no. That's not why he came up here, to Jacob's personal space. To the wolf's den. "I need your help, I think."

Jacob squints at him, maybe slightly suspicious. "You think?" He repeats.

Pratt puts a shaking hand on Jacob's, trying to be as loving as he can to the man who tortures him daily. He truly must be sick, losing the battle that he forgot he had been fighting. It hasn't been doing him any good.

What if he just... gave in?

Pratt thinks about the night Jacob came back, before they went to his room. They had kissed and Pratt was happy to do it. Even asking for it to continue when Jacob saw the bruises. The jealous look in his eye. That's something he can let himself get away with. He liked it. A reward for his hard work in protecting Jacob's property, and while being part of that, he saved what he could, instead of taking the opportunity to run.

Pratt's killed over and over for Jacob. At least he thinks he has, the song is all he remembers. The blood is the evidence.

"Yes," He breathes, unsure if he is letting go or forcing himself to give in to this. "I need your help." He repeats.

Jacob has a smug smile on his face as he takes Pratt's hand and helps him to the bedroom, down the hall, and to the left.

Pratt walks around the yard with fresh bruises on his neck the next day, still limping but not from Jacob, not this time. They didn't get that far. But obviously far enough to get what he needed. He can still taste Jacob on his tongue, can remember the feeling the weight of the man on his tongue. All for the greater good. Pratt had fought it a little but ultimately gave in when Jacob started sweet-talking him.

"That's it, Peaches. You're being so good for me, tighten those lips a bit."

Pratt shudders. He had followed the order, his spine tingling with the praise, liking the soft tone of Jacob's voice above him. It wasn't all for nothing though, the bruises are seeable, refreshed from the hard pressure of Jacob's hand and lips last night. They're perfect. He wouldn't be able to hide them if he wanted to. Much like the cut on his face, the bites on his arm and shoulder. Why not use them to his advantage?

Pratt had managed to find some baler twine in the shipments. He uses it to tie up his hair into a small bun, staring at himself in the metal mirror of his cell, making sure it's done right. The gift that Jacob gave him, the knife, is in the side of his boot and ready to be used when the time is right.

Pratt walks out into the cold morning air, breathing in deep as he strides over to help Jackson with the wolves. The boy stays silent as they prepare the meat for feeding time, the wolves snarling and snapping, not seeming to care what colour his skin is. Purple, red. They just want meat.

And they are all meat.

The yard seems a little on the quiet side today. Everyone's eyes are on him as he massages his bare neck, covered in sweat and grime. Most importantly, Kleric and Tyson can't ignore the display.

Pratt only has a day left to complete the test. It's now or never.

Pratt moves on to the next chore of the day, inventory. He takes the clipboard that hangs from the door and enters the cramped space, musty, with years of supplies stocked to the ceiling.

His heartbeat is making his head throb as the overflowing shelves tower over him, not leaving much room for error on either side. He's ready. The inevitable sound of footsteps come up to the door, two sets, one that's uneven. They stop, probably check to see if the coast is clear before entering without a word.

Pratt doesn't bother turning around, continuing to count the cans of corn they have, while the sounds of the floor creaking under some new weight gets louder and closer.

An arm comes around his throat, yanking Pratt back and making him drop the list, hands instinctually clawing at the meaty limb.

"Remember me, bitch?"

Yes. Pratt remembers.

"It's easier to just be Jacob's pet, isn't it?" Kleric's breath is vile and hot in his ear. "But you just had to rub it in our faces," His other hand moves, specifically to the buckle of Pratt's belt.

"Kleric." Tyson is still at the door, acting as the lookout, while his friend takes his revenge. "Hurry up."

Pratt wheezes, the arm squeezing, and flexing. "Grrgh-" He tries to speak to get their attention, wiggling his hips, weakly trying to get the hand away from his waist.

"What was that?" Kleric yanks at him again, wanting to hear what he has to say.

He probably wants Pratt to beg and plead, to fight back because it's more exciting that way. But as soon as the grip loosens to give him the chance to speak, Pratt acts.

He throws up his legs and kicks, using the end of the shelves to push Kleric back into the other side of the supply room. The metal shelves shake, threatening to topple over, as the men start to really struggle. Pratt throws several elbows into Kleric's ribs until he coughs and is forced to let go.

Tyson is the next to move but is too slow to catch Pratt before he slides out his knife and charges into the bigger man. He drives the weapon deep into his gut, twisting it, not only for added effect. He needs to do the most amount of damage possible before Kleric realizes what's going on.

"Gack!" Tyson hacks out blood, telling Pratt that he hit something important.

Good.

"Fucker!" Kleric roars beside them and tackles Jacob's pet to the ground, looking wild as he straddles him and starts to through blows.

The knife gets torn out of his hand as Tyson crumples to the floor, pure panic on his face as his brain finally catches up that he has been stabbed, fatally.

Pratt covers his face from the blows, leaving the rest of him vulnerable. "What have you done!?" Finally, hands find his throat, tightening enough to cut off air.

At this point, Pratt doesn't struggle, not as much as his body desperately wants to. It wants to fight and survive. He needs to save his energy and trust himself. He lets the world go dark, relying on Kleric's inexperience and the thought of his brother dying, bleeding out beside them, making him unable to finish the job.

Train. Kill. Sacrifice.

Pratt's eyes fly open, he's still here. With Kleric sobbing over his brother's corpse just next to him.

He rises, like something out of a scary movie, and lets his hair out of the tie. It falls gently over his shoulders, making him think about cutting his hair short as he steps behind Kleric, wrapping the ends of the twine around his hands and pulling it straight.

"Weak." Pratt spits before throwing the string around Kleric's head and yanking, catching his neck while both of them fall back from the force of it.

"Cnnk-!" The weakness feebly struggles, trying to reach up and claw at Pratt's face, desperate. "T-!"

One thing Pratt didn't count on is Jacob. The Herald is there in the open door, watching. There's a glimmer in his eye, standing calmly as Pratt uses his presence to urge himself on. He glowers right back and adds more pressure. Refusing to stop until Kleric's foot stops twitching.

"You look so beautiful." Jacob mutters as he steps in, over Tyson's body and the blood pooling beneath it.

Pratt's chest grows warm at the compliment, eyes brightening up as he holds strong on the twine, not ready to let go.

Jacob lets him continue, still putting a hand on his cheek, unable to keep himself from touching what he has created. "I'm so proud of you."

There it is again. Pratt lets go and scrambles, blood-stained hands reaching for Jacob next, grabbing onto his shirt and pulling. "I did it, I did it," He gasps, wanting more praise, needing it to feed himself.

He did it. The weak are dead and Jacob is here to congratulate and reward him on becoming what Pratt was fighting so hard against. His first culling was a success and he couldn't be happier.

Happy. He is happy.

Jarv is already here too, beginning to clean up the mess with a look of disgust on his face, yelling to another Peggie to come and help.

They end up throwing them to the wolves and Pratt watches as the now lifeless bodies are torn apart in a flash of white and red. All the while Jacob is by his side, a hot hand on the back of his neck like usual. A silent message for what's about to happen next.

A reward.

Pratt's small smile falters, his wide eyes slowly becoming unfocused, the adrenaline is starting to fade.

What kind of reward?

Reward?

Reward?

                                                         Reward?

                                           Reward? 

Reward?                                                         

Reward?

Pratt thought it was over. His body and mind totally consumed by the beast on top of him. Jacob won. And Pratt is left with just being meat.

"Jacob-" He gasps, drool escaping from his gaping mouth.

The bed is creaking, the headboard slamming against the wall with all of Jacob's ferociousness. The squelches and wetness sticking between his thighs Pratt will never get used to. He refuses. His hands grip the soaked sheets and twist, weakened from holding him up.

"A little more, Peaches." Jacob sounds just the same, sweat dripping is from his head, yet he's calm as he drives into Pratt's body over and over. "You can- Mm.. You can do that for me, can't you?" A sweet tone now, playing Pratt like a fiddle.

He nods against the pillow, lying and accepting this. Because what else is there to do? There's no use in fighting it anymore. The Deputy is dead. No one is coming to save him.

"C-Can I touch myself?" Pratt knows better than to go for it.

He asks for permission like the cock hungry slave he has suddenly turned into. It feels good and deep like Jacob is claiming him to be his and no one else's. It's the only security he will ever get while being here, however much longer that is. Pratt couldn't imagine anything softer.

"Not yet." Jacob grunts behind him and spreads Pratt's cheeks so he can reach deeper.

Pratt squirms and moans, arching his back the wrong way and making Jacob slip out. "Please..." He says, exhausted, using the interruption to his advantage, desperate for relief.

There are hands that bring him right back down to earth, hard. His face is pressed into the sheets, another on his hip, keeping him steady. "Already came twice and ready for more, hm?" Jacob chuckles lowly in his ear, putting more weight on.

Pratt has nothing left, yet still cries out when Jacob slides back in, slowly. He wiggles in the grip, it's all too much.

The punishing rhythm is already back and harder than before, a scolding for the small disagreement. It wasn't worth it.

It's true that he came twice before. It was Jacob's fault, there was something inside him that the man hit and now he's slamming against it with every thrust. The hand tangles itself in his hair, ruffling it. Pratt takes it as something positive. Pretends that he's being pet.

"Staci." Jacob breathes and bends kissing between Pratt's trembling shoulders, licking over new marks. Thick fingers squeezing his side.

Pratt nearly sobs again when he hears his name and the roughness on his sensitive skin. "I can't- anymore-" He tries to speak up and warn Jacob through the pounding.

Jacob sighs, a little disappointed. "We need to build up your stamina." His breath hot in the smaller man's ear.

Pratt shudders and squeezes his eyes shut. There's more to this. Being stripped down and vulnerable just isn't enough. Not even murdering or killing in the name of his Herald will earn a key to freedom. It has only cemented his place here.

Jacob moves on to grab Pratt's cock and begins to stroke it in time with his thrusts. Giving.

Pratt chokes out a wounded sound and curls away from the pressure. Jacob manages to stay in this time, not letting go. He's relentless as he brushes his thumb over Pratt's tip over and over, slick with cum from earlier.

He shakes and clenches down, making Jacob grunt behind him. Pratt smirks at that, crazed by the abuse. It's nice to get back at Jacob, even just a little bit.

"You're taking me so well now... Fuck-" Jacob is getting to his limit too it seems, he has lasted through all of Pratt's orgasms so far.

This third one feels more like a punishment.

"Harder-!" Pratt can feel it coming and will do anything to bring the release forward. "I'm gonna-!"

"Cum on my cock again, Peaches. Do it." Jacob is with him, balls tightening against his plump flesh.

Pratt's pretty sure the whole compound can hear him as he lets go and spurts whatever he has left over Jacob's hand, soaking the sheets some more. His body is so hot that when Jacob does the same, his seed feels cool. Splattering inside his stretched muscle.

Pratt sobs when it keeps coming. Jacob throbs inside him, growling like a wild animal in his ear. Pinning him down until all is said and done, filling him until it's spilling out the flexing sides.

Pratt yelps when Jacob withdraws, it's slow and he notices how it attempts to be gentle. It will forever hurt. If not physically, then mentally.

He's flipped on his back again and kissed, hard. Jacob holds his jaw and presses it open so his tongue can invade and mingle.

"Hmm..." Pratt can do nothing else but return it, or try to.

He digs his nails into the hand that's on him, wanting to hurt and maim. Still enjoying the sweet taste in his mouth. It takes all the energy he has left, wincing when Jacob's thigh presses between his legs, thick and strong.

"Better?" Jacob has the audacity to ask.

Pratt should really stop being so surprised at Jacob's actions. He needs to learn how to go with the flow. The flow of blood and tears. He nods, swallowing the rest of the hope that he had, down. "Yes."

This time was better, just like Jacob had promised.

Jacob fixes his toy's hair, petting it out of his face, actually smiling. Both seem thoughtful. Acting like they are on the same side after all that's happened.

Chapter Text

Pratt is fighting for his life again. That’s all he understands as the song pounds through his skull. It’s life or death. Only one will live another day.

Nails dig into his bruised, mud-caked flesh as they wrestle for something cold and solid. The gun that was thrown at their feet. It still smells of gunpowder, like it’s recently been fired.

The rules are painfully clear. The one with the gun wins.

The reward? He gets to live. And maybe, just maybe, Jacob will be proud of him.

It seems that’s all life is worth living for these days. Everything else has been stripped of him, torn off his bones, and used against him.

Pratt kicks his dreary opponent in the face as they struggle in the thick mud. It’s pouring rain, and their clothes are soaked through and bloody, yet all of the camp is surrounding them, enjoying the show that’s taking place in the middle of the courtyard. Shouts and jeers barely reach him through the loud hush of rain. They’re placing their bets, as this is the only entertainment they’ll be getting for some time.

Pratt needs to prove them all wrong. Including, Jacob, whom remains apathetic over this fiasco.

Staci will show his worth.

When the other prisoner seems to get the upper hand and begins to stand with the gun. Pratt tackles him back down with whatever adrenaline he has left, refusing to die like this. Jacob won’t save him this time, he’s made that clear. The man screams as Staci forcefully pries his fingers from the gun, they snap in his frenzy, one by one.

He shuts his eyes to the bloodcurdling yell of pain, and when he opens them, Jacob is there, arms crossed, with an all-knowing smile on his face. Proud of the monster he has created.

Pratt wins another battle, but never the war. Never his freedom.

He manages to get his legs under him, sinking into the mud, stumbling before he shakily points the weapon at the weakness below him. He fires once, then twice just to make sure, although there was only one bullet in the chamber. Even if there was extra, they would all find a home directly in his opponent's chest. Staci knows better. He is better.

The yard is suddenly silent, Staci swears he can hear the blood draining from the hole he just created in the other man’s body.

Eventually, the disappointed crowd clears, getting back to work. The body is dragged away, out back, probably to the wolves.

Pratt stands there, heaving, shoulders shuddering as the rain hits him even harder. The gun is still tight in his grip, worried that someone else will take it and try and challenge him.

”Peaches.”

Pratt instantly let's go and surrenders the weapon, the tone of voice is expectant, and warm. It gnaws at his cold bones and weak frame.

”Well done.” A purr, the heat comes closer.

Another shudder ripples through his body, ready to lean into whatever kindness is offered. A small compliment like that is a huge form of currency in here.

“Go shower.”

A reward. One that Pratt is grateful for. He walks inside with his head down, trekking in mud and fresh blood.

He scrubs hard, his naked body is hard to look at, especially for the people who knew him in his prime. A pretty boy with a bad attitude. Jacob fixed that. He absolutely deserves it too. It took Pratt a while to realize that. The Herald showed him the truth, he’s one of the very few to be saved.

Pratt watches a week's worth of hard work swirl down the drain, he watches the colours mix, remembering where and how it got in his pores. Some of it must be from cleaning the human cages, dragging out and loading the wheelbarrow with bodies, sometimes it is just parts of what’s left after Jacob’s faithful are done.

Pratt can hear them scream, while he sleeps next to the man who put them there.

Jacob’s been tired more than usual lately, too exhausted to use him properly. Pratt's not sure whether to be thankful for it or not. Something is coming. He can feel it.

”Pratt.” A gruff voice comes from behind, startling him.

He holds himself when he sees Jarv there, with a Deputy uniform in hand. Pratt frowns at it, totally sick of putting it on for Jacob to use as a weapon. “Where are we going?” He asks, instead of arguing.

Jarv shrugs and places the sour clothes on the vanity. “Just get ready.” He grunts, not up to comforting the broken man.

It doesn’t sit well with Pratt. He doesn’t deserve anything from Jacob’s right-hand man, but it would be nice. He keeps his mouth shut and dries off enough so he can slide on the old clothes. They don’t feel like his anymore, even if his name is on the front patch. Nothing will ever be the same.

Jarv leaves once he knows that the prisoner is doing as he’s told. Making the job easy for him.

The yard is a buzz when Pratt makes it downstairs. Everyone is active, even the ones who are on the night shift are running around, loading a line of trucks that have been pulled out of the garages and parked in the main driveway.

”Let’s go! Let’s go!” Jacob’s voice bellows across the dank space, as he gets surrounded by Peggie’s, waiting for their orders.

Pratt tries to make it through, running into several soldiers and getting lashed with insults. Everyone is on high alert, the air is tense with stress. Something’s wrong.

Jarv is there too, screaming like a drill sergeant as the fresher loyalists struggle to put on their gear. Slapping one of them when they talk back out of frustration, complaining about their jacket not fitting. Jarv literally kicks his ass to the back of the line. The chosen are at attention too, with ravenous bliss wolves at their sides, climbing into bigger vans to travel as a group. They are set up for war as mechanics and engineers check the mounted guns, freeing them of dirt to avoid the risk of pesky jams.

”Move sinner!” Pratt is shoved again when he gets confused while trying to navigate the crowd.

He loses track of Jacob and spots the armory handing out guns and grenades like they’re candy. Rocket launchers, bliss bullets, it’s all being loaded up. They’re going to war. What the hell happened?

Pratt makes it through the waves of weaponry and cold looks, finally managing to find Jacob at the lead truck, pointing to a map that’s laid out on the hood. The leaders of the squads are there, listening to every bit of detail. They get dismissed with a nod and Jacob begins to load up his rifle, checking the pistol that is usually secured on his hip.

”What’s happening?” Pratt asks when he makes it closer.

”Get in the truck.” Jacob orders, unwilling to explain, cocking and checking the chamber of his smaller gun.

He isn’t willing to listen so easily if he’s going into a fight blind. “I need a gun.” Pratt pipes up after a moment of tense hesitation.

Jacob isn’t having any of it. He roughly grabs his arm, holstering the pistol. “You need, what I say you need.” He yanks him out of his cemented stance and puts him in the truck himself, slamming the door.

It’s the reaction Pratt expected, yet there’s something different about this. Jacob’s face is tense with concern as he returns to the front of the truck, assigning men to vehicles as they come up.

To the naked eye, Jacob looks calm and cool, like the brave soldier he has claimed to be. Pratt has, unfortunately, spent enough time with him to notice the subtle ticks in his face and what they mean.

Jacob Seed is afraid.

”Trust yourselves.” Jacob gives the final group some parting words before dismissing them with a backhanded wave.

Everyone runs and the vehicles roar to life simultaneously, including the one Pratt is in. Jacob is driving, his rifle resting between them, remaining Pratt when it was pointed at him on that hilltop. Then, Jacob’s lips on his while the dreaded song played in the background.

”You’ll be happy to know your friend is alive.” Jacob speaks up as they wait for the gate to open, traveling down the dirt road once it does.

Pratt freezes, searching his list of friends that could survive this mess. He blinks, blankly, trying to remember which- Rook? He can’t stop the pleasant warmth that spreads throughout his body, making his fingertips tingle.

She’s strong.

”She just tried to murder my brother.” Jacob revs the engine, speeding up once they reach the main road, expecting the rest to keep pace.

No wonder he looks so concerned.

”I’m sorry-“

Jacob’s tense laughter cuts the apology off, making Pratt flinch as they take a sharp turn. “Don’t.” He shakes his head, a strained smirk appearing on his face when Pratt braves a quick glance. “Don’t you dare.” His hands tighten on the controls, switching gears with a grunt.

Pratt doesn’t bother arguing his case. He stays quiet as Jacob takes him southwest, towards John’s territory. It takes under an hour to cross over to Holland Valley. The travel time was cut almost in half with how fast Jacob was going. Plus, not having to respect at traffic lights help. Pratt could have written the disturbed man a hundred tickets by now.

Those days are forever ago. The times when things were easy. Patrolling empty streets, relaxing at the spread eagle, hitting on the women passing through. Jacob has been thorough enough with him that all of those blessed things can never happen again. It hurts to even think about, as they sit in this car driving towards either Pratt’s enemy or his savior. Does Rook know about what Jacob has created? While she’s been out, saving the world, does she even realize the true atrocities he has been made to commit?

Probably.

Maybe that’s why she hasn’t come for him. Everyone must have given up trying to save him when they heard about his resistance. Although, the Militia did try to kill him. His head is still reeling about that. Imagine if they did rescue his pathetic self, he might meet his maker sooner. Jacob will forever have him within arms reach, no matter how far Pratt manages to get. The song and the brand Jacob has seared deep within him make sure of that.

Suddenly, Jacob slows right down, the breaks screaming in protest. Pratt braces against the dashboard as he finally realizes the reason for the quick reaction. There’s several smoke trails in the sky, some closer than others. A signature of the chaos that’s erupted. Multiple silos are obliterated, and bliss fields are charred. There are decomposing bodies on the road, and birds of prey are already on them, stripping the burnt and discoloured flesh of the Peggie’s that were overwhelmed in the brutal battle for religious freedom.

Rook did this. She rallied whoever is left and the Militia, helping them make a clean sweet of John’s bountiful operation. Everything Eden’s Gate had built, burned down, and turned to ash.

”Jesus…” Pratt’s gut flutters unpleasantly as they continue down the road of death.

Jacob brings the radio to his lips, ordering the chosen to take lead and scout the checkpoint that should’ve been up ahead. They speed past, guns at the ready, wolves snapping and clawing at the windows. The rainfall is still heavy, taming the flames, and stopping them from going past the blessed crops.

Pratt’s already cracked sense of hope is shattering as they continue down the road. Obviously, he’s on the wrong side of things, yet he can’t help but think of this as another atrocity. It doesn’t really matter who did it if they’re fighting fire with fire. He feels like an even bigger traitor just thinking that.

Jacob stays quiet through the tour, body tense, jaw clenching tighter with each piece of wasted resources they drive by or over. He doesn’t bother wasting more to check for pulses. They can’t risk being caught out and adding to Rook’s Peggie count.

Instead, they move on, turning down a terrifyingly familiar dirt road. Chain link fences and dense forest appear on both sides as they drive deeper, closer to where it all began. Pratt knows better than to try to complain about it, especially now, after Jacob had witnessed their projects’ destruction firsthand.

Soon enough, the white church and it’s neighboring old buildings come into view. Families are working in the gardens, and even kids have taken shelter here, along with other battered survivors from the Militia massacre. The grounds are littered with the injured and dismayed.

”Park it, get to work.” Jacob orders his men and steps out, collecting his rifle before striding towards the infamous chapel.

Pratt follows without needing to be asked, head down as he gets a few hateful insults from the scared Peggie’s, worried that their arrival will bring more condemnation. A few ‘save us Jacob’ are shouted out, a crowd gathering around them as they walk deeper into the property. The Herald allows himself to be begged and caressed by the desperate victims of Rook’s rage. Some pray and cry at his feet, believing that he is one of the true protectors.

”I’ve brought more supplies.” Jacob announces, trying to calm his people. “Help each other, heal, and rest. You’re safe here.” He acts professional, even though he’s struggling inside, needing them calm and to get through the group.

Pratt can see the look, the desperation on Jacob’s face. He needs to get to his brothers.

Jacob gestures to the lines of trucks behind him. “Jarv!” He calls and the man comes jogging over, making his way through the crowd. “Get these people fed and off their feet. We need them strong.” He whispers into his most loyal Peggie’s ear.

He glances to Pratt then. “Put him to work.” He sniffs, treating him as if he’s an outsider all of a sudden.

Which he is. Jacob allowed him forget it for while with all the praises and soft touches. The news must be as jarring to him as it is to Pratt. Rook is alive and ready to pick off his family, one by one. Pratt was supposed to be a part of that plan. He’s one of them. It hurts to be excluded from both sides. Where the hell does he belong now?

Jacob disappears into the crowd, swept away by the overwhelming sense of relief and suffering. He’s a hero to them.

Jarv takes him to unload the trucks, bringing the supplies to each building, finding more injured behind curtains, crying wives and children. Pratt’s screamed at when they see his uniform, they throw the supplies back at him, forcing him outside to stand there like an outcast. It’s just fear. He keeps telling himself that as he walks back to the trucks, sluggishly.

“Pick it up, Pratt.” Jarv urges on, handing him another box. “They’re letting you off easy.” He chuckles, unbothered by the hate he’s receiving.

Pratt tries to brush it off, unwilling to let the gross words get to him. He’s had worse. Jacob’s helped toughen up his skin, allowing most of the harsh phrases to bounce off and sink into the mud. The rain is still sharp on his body, soaking his fresh Deputy’s uniform all the way through. He shakes as the cold begins to nip and suffocate him with the other bodies that are bringing in the much-needed supplies.

Eventually, everything is packed away just as the sun is going down. Jarv orders the group to certain cabins, fitting more bodies in the cramped spaces. The yard empties out as they head for shelter, a few shouldering Pratt out of the way as he waits for his own assignment.

”Pratt.” Jarv looks up from his clipboard, sighing when he realizes the boy is the only one left. “With me.” He sounds so disappointed.

They have an extra job. Locking all the doors to the trucks and securing the guns, double checking that they’re clear and ready to fire if need be. Rook would be crazy to attack Joseph’s island, it’s certainly part of the plan, but as it stands, it’s too fortified.

”Come on.” Jarv waves him up, making their way throw the property, following a beaten-up trail that’s been softly hidden next to the church.

They power through the tough weather and prickly trees, speeding up when a quaint-looking home comes into view. The lights are on, shadows pacing back and forth across the windows. Pratt’s never seen it before. It’s been hidden away by the lush forest, the blueprints of the area didn’t even have it when they were discussing the warrant. What a day that was.

As they get closer, stepping up to the porch, Pratt can hear harsh voices. Particularly Jacob’s. It vibrates the wood-paneled walls, footsteps thundering while they enter the bungalow. Family portraits and the scent of sweet bliss scream at Pratt, telling him whose house this is. A family abode. The Seed’s family's private hole, far away from the mess they’ve made.

”I told you, Joe! I told you!” Jacob’s voice comes through the wooden door, making Pratt shake for a different reason.

”Take off your boots.” Jarv orders with a harsh whisper, already doing the same, shedding the mud-caked footwear and tossing them on the covered porch.

Pratt mimics him, feeling like an intruder as he drips dry on the shag carpet, trying not to eavesdrop on the family conversation. It’s hard not to when Jacob is so loud he can hardly hear himself think.

Joseph’s softer voice comes out. “We all need to make sacrifices-“ He begins, then slows down, probably getting one of Jacob’s murderous looks.

Pratt takes a step towards the drama, out of curiosity, the door is open just a crack. He can see a bed and expensive monitors beeping in a steady rhythm. A tattooed hand resting above the the wool blanket tells him that at least all three brothers are in the room.

”Jacob…” Joseph crosses the room, hands outstretched, calming the beast.

Pratt can hear Jacob sigh in frustration as he’s corralled and tamed for the moment, making him wish he could do the same in these kinds of times.

”She’s a part of our story. John knew this, and so do you.” They’re talking about Rook. “This is where we are meant to be.”

Jacob scoffs, not handling this well. “You put him in harms way for the sake of your God.” He brushes off the touch and steps closer to John’s battered body. “We have the opportunity to be rid of those who would harm us, and yet you still leave us open to it.” His hand finds John’s face, caressing carefully, petting his unusually messy hair back into place.

Joseph remains silent, for once, he must be feeling the pressure. He can’t have his brothers turning on him now, not in the peak of the reaping. Pratt understands that as the softness Jacob is showing draws him closer to the forbidden door. Jarv is fiddling with something in the 90’s style kitchen, possibly looking for food after a long day's work. He always gets a fair amount of rations.

“I trusted you,” Jacob whispers, Pratt can literally feel the hurt in his voice, brow furrowing as he watches the power of brotherly love unfold.

Joseph doesn’t have anything else to say. He stays still, presumably feeling the weight of John’s injuries on his shoulders.

Jacob bends, his lips pressing to John’s resting face, kissing him sweetly before retreating. “Sleep well.” He tells his sleeping brother.

It’s surreal to see the brutal family have such a family moment. Even with all their followers, they seem to only have each other at the end of the world.

”What are you doing?” Jarv is suddenly there, roughly grabbing his arm and pulling him away, down the dark hallway. “You trying to get yer neck wrung, boy?!”

Pratt tries to find a decent reason as to why he was invading the Seed’s personal dilemmas. “I wasn’t-!”

”Jarv.” Jacob’s outside the room now, voice slow and clear. “Get him settled, I need you outside with the chosen.” He’s calm, and it terrifies Pratt more than anything.

A calm Jacob is an unpredictable one.

Jarv yanks him back and down the hall, practically kicking open a door before throwing Pratt inside. “You know better.” He grumbles, annoyed that he’s on babysitting duty again, and that he got scolded for letting the kid out of his sight for one measly moment.

The door is locked shut behind him, leaving Staci alone in the Seed family home. He shudders as he looks around the room, recognizing it as a younger child’s space. Two twin beds on either side with heavy sheets, the wallpaper is blue, with fluffy white clouds repeating around the space. There’s a window, facing the rundown tool shed that’s barely holding up in the storm. The wind has picked up making the trees shake and groan.

Pratt’s exhausted, a soft bed is a welcomed sight. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to sleep in one if he’s even allowed to close his eyes at all. Pratt can’t stand his wet clothes anymore, he unbuttons his shirt and lets it fall, baring his torso to the empty room, probably Jacob soon too. It’s normal now, to be so vulnerable in front of him. He’s noticed that he’s gained weight this time as he looks into the standing mirror in the corner. It’s mostly muscle, his rations were increased a few weeks ago. Jacob needed him fitter, more stamina for… things.

New and old bruises make him look like a rare spotted animal. Pratt sags, sighing at the cuts on his face. They’re still healing, but they will scar. No matter how well Jacob did stitching it up. The floor creaks outside, in the hallway, forcing Pratt to freeze, waiting for his punishment to come. It was interesting to see the tight family interact with such bad news. Anger, sadness, and even fear were shown. They’re all afraid.

Pratt manages to dive for one of the beds, the one away from the rickety window. His pants are still wet, ruining the sheets, but he wants to create space. He dreads what’s coming.

The door unlocks and creaks open, heavy footsteps tell him it’s Jacob, with his big boots on.

Pratt’s body tenses, his blotched bare back is towards the door, doing a poor job of acting like he’s asleep.

The footsteps come closer, the floor creaking under the ratty carpet, then heavy breathing. It’s strained and uneven. A hot, clammy hand slowly wraps itself around the back of Pratt’s damp neck, hair catching between big digits. He shudders, staying as still as possible while the hand tightens. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, submitting instantly to whatever is about to happen.

It’s easier this way.

Jacob doesn’t say anything. He barely moves, taking a moment of pure silence before running through Pratt’s soaked hair, gently tugging at the strands. It’s tender, another one of those times where Jacob confuses him completely with his unpredictable mood swings. He dares to look, turning his head slightly so he can see the large shadow out the corner of his eye.

”Jacob?” His heart races, finding this type of intimacy more difficult to swallow, rather than their usual, laced with pain and harsh words. “I’m sorry-“ He says again in case it wasn’t heard before.

”Shh.” Jacob finally makes a noise, something that should comfort Pratt, puts him on edge.

Pratt flinches and shies away, trying to find some relief from the intensity above him. Jacob still comes closer, the bed groaning under the new weight, unhappy with the two of them. “Peaches…” Jacob’s voice is condescending, telling Pratt that he should know better than to try and gain distance.

Pratt stills, bowing his head as he feels Jacob work his belt open. Here? Now? With his brothers in the next room? He can hear the heartbeat monitor through the wall. He doesn’t fight it as his pants are tugged down and off, taken, and laid on the vintage rocking chair that is hidden in a dark corner of the room. He shakes, mostly from the air attacking his cold body. There’s more shifting, Jacob’s undressing too, down to his briefs. For some reason it feels like he’s running a fever, hot and sweaty as he climbs in with Pratt again, his front melding against the smaller man's ice cold trembling back. Big arms wrap around Pratt, bringing him closer. They’re spooning.

Pratt makes the mistake of wiggling in Jacob’s grasp, trying to get comfortable. Something throbs against his ass and Jacob grunts, squeezing harder. He stops instantly, realizing his mistake, holding his breath as he prays that there isn’t a response.

”Relax.” Jacob scolds him, readjusting and keeping his composure. “Go to sleep.” He orders simply, expecting him to just do as he’s told.

Pratt swallows, trying to control his thoughts, keeping his body as still as possible to keep the strange peace. Jacob isn’t relaxing, an hour goes by and he seems to be running a fever, sweating and panting. Something is going to give.

”I hate you.”

There it is. Jacob comes out loud and clear with it. Pratt holds back a gasp of surprise. Why the fuck should he be taken aback? This isn’t a fairy tale, they’re not long-lost lovers. Jacob is a brutal killer, and Pratt is his victim.

”I hate that I can’t kill you.” Jacob’s breath is hot on his ear, voice full of rage and uncontrollable sadness.

It shakes, revealing cracks of weakness that Pratt should take advantage of. He keeps silent and ready for anything as the arms bring him closer, refusing him fresh air or the basic need to expand his lungs. “I hate when others touch you.” He continues, becoming louder, more obnoxious.

”I hate-“

”Stop.”

”When you say my name like you do.” He doesn’t listen and refuses to as he gets more agitated. “I fucking hate it when you cry out for me, Pratt.” Jacob’s hands come to grip and bruise his biceps.

Pratt starts to struggle, his instincts signaling danger, and possible death if he doesn’t get away soon. He pushes and tries to get away, despite Jacob’s desire to keep him trapped.

“When you beg me to let you cum-“

Pratt covers his ears instead, not wanting to hear how he wails for Jacob to fuck him harder.

”-crying when I-“

Pratt shakes his head, his drying hair getting caught in Jacob’s still-damp beard. He’s able to hear every disgusting detail, and even feel what Jacob’s describing, their most cherished memories of what they did together, that can’t be undone. Pratt grips his stomach, and the infamous pain that comes with Jacob's dark desires comes on in full force. He aches, and not in a good way, not like how the same dark man makes him cry in pleasure.

”Please!” Pratt finally raises his voice higher than a whisper, on the verge of breaking down. “Please, Jacob, stop.” He pants, unable to take anymore.

Jacob shuts them both up, he grabs Pratt’s weak jaw, squeezing it as he forces him to turn his head. He’s made to meet harsh lips, teeth accidentally cutting flesh in their haste. Pratt whines, unhappily. He’s confused, unsettled about the conflicted words and actions that’s thrumming through Jacob right now.

”Jacob loves you, Staci.”

Faith’s voice comes to tell him the horrifying truth once again.

”Don’t let that freak break you.”

Markus is here too, reminding him of the promise he made, and how far he has strayed.

Jacob’s already shifting to get on top if him, face slick with sweat, the lips creating new marks on Pratt’s already bruised throat. He’s in a fever, and attempting to heal himself with his victim. Pratt has to think of something quickly, before, before, before.

Jacob is shoving down Pratt’s underwear, deaf to the usual protests, he needs to hear a new one. Loud enough that his brothers might hear and come in to scold him.

”You don’t hate me.” Pratt begins, his voice is uneven as his stirring cock is freed. “Not enough to kill me at least.”

His body has gotten used to this type of touch, ready to harden at a single glare from Jacob, he’s available for use at a moment's notice.

”I scare the hell out of you.” Pratt leans up, his shaking hand touching Jacob’s tensing face, the rest of his steaming body stopping in its tracks.

Good, Pratt has his attention. He keeps going, wiping the droplets off Jacob’s brow, keeping it soft against the roughness of his skin. “This was never supposed to happen, was it…” Pratt meets the man's eyes, regretting it immediately when he finds them watering and ready to flood over. “You were never supposed to touch me, not like this. The test Joseph gave you, it was over the moment you got in that bed-“

Jacob jerks away, flinching as his fogged mind tries to process the truth. Pratt was never meant to be used in this way, a tool, but an intact one. He’s been torn apart over and over again, there’s no repairing it. Joseph can’t heal him, John can’t carve it out and staple it to walls, like abstract décor.

Jacob’s grip loosens and Pratt is able to pull himself to the other side of the bed, still within arms reach, he can get more air this way. He’s able to yank up his clothes too, covering the obvious sin in his shorts.

”Faith was right,” Pratt’s tone turns accusatory.

The glimmer in Jacob’s eyes fades. He recedes into his head, Pratt can see him searching for excuses, a denial that everyone will believe. Pratt should feel disgusted by the truth. Right now, he just feels numb, unsure of what to do with the silence he gets.

”She really was trying to save me from… this.” Pratt scoffs, holding himself, his spine aching as it leans against the adjoining wall.

Jacob’s face darkens, turning his head to hide from the moonlight streaming in. Pratt can’t see it anymore, the only thing he can use to try and guess what the monster is planning.

”She-“

”Shut up.”

A simple phrase that screams volumes. Pratt doesn’t try to speak again, instead, he casually waits for his doom to arrive.

It doesn’t. Not tonight. Jacob gets up and switches beds, quietly lying down under the fresh covers, without Pratt. It feels weird, having an entire bed to himself. The Herald is almost always next to him at some point in the night. It’s clear that things are strained, more so than before.

Pratt lays back down and watches Jacob, eyes burning a hole into the man's back, not trusting that he won’t get up again to finish the job. Eventually, sleep takes him, and when morning comes, Jacob is long gone.

Pratt is put to work after morning rations. He helps to repair and clean the vehicles, reinforcing their armour plating. He recognizes number six being trained in the yard, snapping and snarling at her handler. Pratt likes to think she wants to be free as badly as he does. Jacob has a tight collar on him, he wonders if it will ever snap under the pressure.

”Missed a spot.” Jarv barks in his ear, passing by with a few Peggie’s that chuckle, kicking mud up, splattering the side of the white truck.

Jarv scolds them, smacking one above the head. It won’t stop them from acting out, but he has to pretend to keep order.

Pratt wipes the muck off and continues on, nodding his head as he’s directed to clear the trails of debris, of course there will be guard there to keep an eye out. It’s a little ridiculous, where would he run to?

Pratt works up a sweat, he’s a true landscaper as he digs up roots and weeds that are in the way of the path. Sawing low hanging branches and throwing then into the thicket, there’s no way he can lug them up the hill by himself.

”Lunch!” The bell rings and Pratt is ready for a cool drink.

Winter is almost over. Strangely, there wasn’t much snow this year, probably won’t be anymore with spring around the corner.

”Not you.” The guard stops Pratt before he gets too far, hand outstretched, the other on his rifle “Jacob’s put you on a diet, Sinner.” He smirks, happy about the prisoners' misery.

This is news to Pratt. He was good. Very good. He has done everything Jacob has told him to. It this about last night?

The ugly Peggie shoves him back into the brush. “Back to work.”

His stomach growls, angry about the idea of skipping lunch. There’s no other choice. He gets back to work, pacing himself so he can make it through until dinner. Unless that’s off the table too.

He’s ugly with sweat when the time comes. Thankfully, he’s allowed to join the dinner service, far away from everyone else.

Jacob hasn’t been seen at all today. Not a word from anyone about where he is or what he’s doing. Pratt should stop caring, he has to. Yet, he does.

He lays awake that night too, unable to sleep, Jacob could walk through that door any minute. Pratt would like the chance to defend himself if Jacob changes his mind about killing him.

”Ja-…” A faint moaning from the other room, John’s room. “Jacob…” It’s John’s voice, broken and weak.

No one is here. Jarv has an eye on the place, and Joseph was at the church the last time he saw him. It’s just them.

”Please… Jacob… save me.”

Pratt know it’s a bad idea when he stands up, unsure what the hell he’s even doing walking towards Johns room in just his briefs. The monitors and a nightlight are the only form of light in the room. The beeping sounds right, even and steady. Maybe a little on the higher side as he steps into the room, tip toeing closer like the idiot he is. What the hell is he doing here?

John’s pleas were just too disturbing to ignore.

”Jacob?” John moans, like he’s in pain.

Pratt doesn’t say anything, just checks the machines, remembering which one does what when he had to visit the hospital for certain cases. He doesn’t touches anything, not until he notices that John’s IV has slipped out of his arm. He bites his lip, just wishing the man would shut up so he can worry in peace.

Pratt reaches, eyes adjusting to the darkness as he finds the lost needle. He spins it between his fingers, his gaze flicking between it and John’s arm. The metal shines in the dim light. If he was brave enough, he could up the morphine and end John’s pain, save so many lives. Rook might be proud of him, if she still cares.

Pratt’s weak so he doesn’t adjust a thing. He takes John’s hand, keeping quiet as the youngest Seed brother calls out for his family, hand squeezing Pratt’s expecting it to be Jacob’s. Pratt let’s it happen and begins to gently slide the needle into the back of his pale, broken hand. John whines at the pinch, unhappy. Jacob’s first aid training actually came in handy.

”It’s alright.” Pratt doesn’t know what he’s doing, trying to comfort the vulnerable man.

That’s all John is right now. A human being in pain. One that he could just smother under a pillow and possibly save thousands of lives.

“Jacob will be here any-“

Speak of the devil, there he is, seething in the doorway, eyes wide. Pratt can’t get away fast enough. Jacob is on him, throwing him into the wood panel wall, a big angry hand on his throat. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Peaches?” The hideous nickname mixed in with such a vengeful voice would make Pratt collapse if he wasn’t held up so tightly.

Pratt claws at Jacob, panicked. He tries to tell him the truth, but it gets caught below the hand currently getting tighter. Jacob sneers and throws him to the ground anyways, leaving him there while he tends to his wailing brother.

Pratt coughs and sputters, colours flashing in his vision as he’s finally able to suck in air.

”Jacob… Jacob…” More crying, that’s quickly quieted by Jacob’s soothing voice, caressing John’s hair back.

Pratt manages to get his feet underneath him and bolt back to his room, because where the fuck else is he going to go? He locks the door behind him. Jacob has the key, he’ll get in easily, or break the window in order to try and get to him. Nowhere is safe.

Shit, why did he do that? Why couldn’t he just do the strong thing?

The doorknob rattles, unkindly. Pratt jolts, backing away from the door as the key is used. He shakes, trembling in pure fear as the door creaks open, as the grim reaper reveals himself. The window light shines against Jacob’s sweat-layered skin, making him sparkle, like one of those stupid vampire books.

Jacob comes closer, stepping in slowly, stalking his favourite prey. “What were you thinking?” So, so, disappointed.

Pratt doesn’t answer. He hangs his head in shame, weak and bad. There won’t be any praise this time.

”Do you think you’re one of us?” Jacob scoffs, closing the distance, cages Pratt against the wall. “Is that what you want?” He’s mad.

Of course, he’s mad. Pratt crossed so many lines. He shakes his head and repeats his speech. “I’m a tool. Nothing more.” He needs this to be settled.

”Seem to have forgotten that.” Jacob grabs his jaw, tilting it up so he can embrace the fury. “Do I need to remind you?” His voice, his goddamn voice is so smooth, singing in his ears.

No, anything but that. Pratt’s on thin ice, anything could set this man off. Not to mention the immense stress he’s under too. The project is under attack, he doesn’t have time to remind his pet how to behave.

”I crossed the line.” Pratt speaks up, needing it to be enough. “It won’t happen again.” He gives it his all, gaze determined, yet submissive, silently begging Jacob to be good to him.

Jacob shakes his head and pulls out the box from his back pocket, ready to use it.

”No!” Pratt cages it in Jacob’s hand, pushing it down in the man’s palm, praying he will reconsider. “I’m… I’m yours. I’m your tool.” His hand slides up Jacob’s inner arm, following the seam of his jacket to his shoulder.

He has to be good, right now. The best he can be. 

The box lowers, for now. Jacob’s enjoying the reaction he’s getting, his tool is doing its job.

”Jacob?” John’s voice comes through the wall again, stopping Pratt in his tracks, the spell breaking.

Jacob sighs through his nose and, suddenly, he looks so tired. So tired of all the work he has on his plate. Pratt is just another problem he has to deal with now. It scares the hell out of the Ex Deputy, more than anything else. Pratt is becoming stale, less of a weapon, and more of a crack in the foundation.

Pratt’s purpose is suddenly in danger, and he has no idea how to fix it, not without losing his mind in the process. It’s pretty far gone already, but he has some sense left, enough to notice what he’s done wrong.

”Sleep.” Jacob lets him go and steps away, returning to his ailing brother away from his pet.

Pratt heaves in air as the door locks, chest tight and body burning, confused. He manages to find the edge of the bed, knees, and broken body refusing to settle as the adrenaline wracks through his burned-out system. He holds his throbbing head in clammy hands as he sucks in air until it doesn’t feel like he’s about to pass out.

Jacob hasn’t touched him in weeks, only small moments, they- he hasn’t had the time to use Pratt properly. Short, but never sweet. There’s been something off about it, and he might’ve hit a big nerve last night. The victory wasn’t really one at all. Instead, it could have sealed his fate. He feels so stupid for not realizing it until now.

He needs to think of something, quickly.

Jacob doesn’t come back. Pratt can hear muffled voices in the next room, the brothers talking amongst themselves, probably talking revenge strategies. Or if John feels okay after Pratt’s visit.

Pratt tries to rest. He knows there’s less food coming tomorrow, and plenty more hard work. Jacob won’t let this go, he’ll find the time.

The next day, Jacob is gone again of course. Pratt finds himself searching the tree line for him, wondering if he has his rifle trained on him like that night. The night things truly went to hell.

Pratt doesn’t get shot. He doesn’t get lunch again either. He's made to work, fixing the gardens from the intense rain they had. Helping such weak things grow, instead of ripping them out from the root, feels so odd. Jacob wouldn't want him to bother, but the children seem happy about it, giggling and pointing. He's a spectacle, and he'll make an exception this time since such young people are only following their peers.

"Are you a sinner?" A small voice comes from behind him, the 'r's' sounding more like 'w's'.

Pratt glances over his shoulder, finding a small boy, with brown hair and emerald green eyes. Sadness hits him in the chest, feeling sorry for the child, yet careful about how he responds. "Yes," Pratt's honest, shifting so he's on his knees, face to face with the boy. "But, I'm healing. Jacob saved me." The truth. The truth. The truth.

"Jacob?!" The boy gleams, recognizing the name, excited to be praised for his knowledge.

Pratt isn't the one to give it. He smiles and nods, somewhat happy to see someone smile around here. It's hope, in such a pure form. "Jacob." He confirms, picking at the dirt under his nails. "He sets us free." He quotes part of the song he keeps hearing over the radio station, humming it as the child squeals, clapping his hands.

"Nathan!" A womanly voice comes into the conversation, making the new friends look towards the sound. "Come here!" A young woman waves him over, face worried as she realizes who her kid is talking to.

Nathan doesn't want to, he pouts and looks to Pratt, torn between his new friend and family. Pratt gestures him onward. "Listen to your mom." He won't make this more complicated.

He stands and turns, raking up old leaves, freezing when he feels two tiny arms wrap around his leg. "Bye, bye, Sinner!" Nathan shouts for the whole village to hear as he runs back home.

Pratt grips the splintered handle of his rake tight, emotions swirling. He has to swallow them down, deep. Be good. Be good.

He continues with all eyes on him, he can feel it and should be used to it by now. It's just different. Familiarity runs through his body when his meets Jacob's across the yard, still tired, yet soft this time. He turns back to talk to Jarv, gesturing to the broken fence on the top of the hill.

Night comes and Jacob does come in. He doesn't say anything as Pratt watches him strip to his briefs and get into bed, groaning in pain as his tense muscles relax against the soft spread. He didn't bother looking at Pratt. He's useless, bad, and weak.

Pratt turns in his bed, unable to cement himself into the mattress, unsettled that Jacob has left him for so long. They have time, they have time. And Pratt needs to take advantage of it. Make himself useful and prove to Jacob that he's still sharp.

Pratt looks to Jacob again, watching as the moonlight highlights the outline of his form. The scars are heaviest on his back like he was shielding something valuable from the flames. He cared so deeply about something, or someone, that he sacrificed so much skin. Went through so much pain. Pratt has the urge to touch them, to trace the map along his back, wondering if it would soothe the tight skin back to its original form.

His body moves on its own. His feet float over the carpet as he takes a few steps toward the resting beast. There's no way he'd be asleep yet. It takes a while for Jacob to settle at night, Pratt has spent way too much time watching him after being used. He keeps track of the little things for some reason. Jacob has plenty of smaller details that he has to hide, he just can't manage it when he lets Pratt stay next to him so often.

He has to do this.

Pratt tugs at the covers over Jacob's waist, trying to pull them back so he can slide in. Jacob doesn't stir, only letting the sheets go after a moment of awkward silence. Pratt settles himself behind Jacob, facing his abused back. He holds his breath as he gets into a comfortable position, his knees bumping against the back of Jacob's strong thighs.

The man finally sighs and glances over his shoulder. "What are you doing?" It's bored, unwilling to waste time on whatever Pratt is trying to do.

"I don't know." Pratt whispers, afraid of his own reckless decision to switch beds.

”Better figure it out, fast.” Jacob grunts, impatient, needing commitment.

Pratt swallows, rethinking this every second that goes by, his heart is beating so fast that it’s making him nauseous. He moves forward, crossing the line of no return. His hand on Jacob’s hot shoulder tugs, thankful that it gives. Jacob turns, flat on his back so Pratt can swing himself aboard his waist.

A puff of air escapes Jacob, he looks slightly surprised, still suspicious. His big hands find Pratt’s narrowing hips, ready to push him off. He doesn’t. He waits, wanting to know what his little toy is up to.

”I’m..” Pratt speaks up, fear choking him up. “I’m your tool.” He repeats, continuing from yesterday, desperate to get this over with.

Jacob’s lips twitch, Pratt’s eyes getting used to the darkness swallowing them, the monitors still beeping in the room next door.

”And?” Jacob’s voice is lighter now, teasing, expectant.

Be good. Be good. Be good so Jacob won’t throw you away.

Pratt shudders, distracted as the hands begin to side up and down his thighs. He can feel the heat rise from underneath his ass, seeping through both their briefs.

Pratt’s body moves again, against his wishes, lips pressing lightly to Jacob’s chapped ones. It’s an attempt, only one, one that can lead to many more. He shakes as Jacob makes the proper shape, humming, telling Pratt that he’s doing the right thing. He’s being good.

More. He needs to do more. Pratt slips his lips down Jacob’s throat, stomach turning pleasantly as the man purrs like a kitten, opening his throat to the nervous attention. 

“Have I been neglecting you, Peaches?” Jacob chuckles lowly as Pratt traces the line of a chest scar, beginning to lose himself in the moment.

‘Yes.’ He wants to say, finally noticing how hot he’s becoming by his own actions. Jacob has trained his mind so well, broken it, and created something so ugly.

Jacob’s thick fingers are in his tangled hair, catching the knots, he helps set them free as Pratt works his way farther down. His hardness bumps against Jacob’s leg, forcing a gasp out of his chest, his hips thrusting forward against it like a horny dog. Jacob raises it a little to meet the movement, rewarding Pratt’s bravery and slutty behavior. Jacob’s own clothed cock is active too, pressing into Pratt’s stomach, adamant that it gets attention too.

"You know what you did wrong, right?" Jacob speaks up, tugging at his long locks, wanting Pratt to realize what he's done.

Pratt nods, getting it over with so he can go back to doing what needs to be done. It doesn't work. The hand tightens again. Jacob wants an answer, now. It could be anything at this point. Talking to the kid, talking back, going into John's room, or just plain existing. 

Being weak.

“I’m not weak.” Pratt rests his head against Jacob’s chest, desperate to get this right. “I’ve been strong for you-“

”Wrong. So wrong.” Jacob’s soothing voice comes out, his hand smoothing through Pratt’s scalp, petting him.

He’s wrong, oh no.

Pratt’s guided by pressure, downwards, chin brushing along the mound in Jacob’s briefs as he figures out what is wanted of him. He brings down Jacob’s damp briefs, swallowing as the moonlight shines on his thick shaft, orange curls glistening at the base.

Pratt’s learned some tricks about this, used to the taste and smell, the softness that rests on his tongue. It’s all the same as he takes Jacob inside his mouth and remembers to breathe.

”Good boy.” The praise vibrates from above, directly through him, down to his toes. “Been a while, huh,” Jacob smirks as Pratt moans around his cock, agreeing.

Pratt drowns out the slick noises his movement makes with the song, the goddamn song, it helps him manage the sickness in his stomach as the musky scent assaults his senses. Jacob is a man’s man. A true lumberjack if he was ever to take up the profession. He could have done so many things, yet he chose this. Kidnapping, killing, raping…

Jacob thrusts up, cutting off Pratt’s air supply for only a moment, enough to make him choke and attempt to pull off. The pressure forces him to stay, unwilling to lose what he’s gained. A warm hole.

”Focus,” Jacob speaks up, voice strained, using the time to teach. “Easy, Peaches.” He coaxes, fingers flexing around the back of Pratt’s skull.

No. No. No. Pratt needs air, he needs to be free, he needs more. He relaxes into the hold, letting his throat flex around the invader, he searches for Jacob, for more.

”That’s it.” Jacob is there, guiding him home.

There’s a release and Pratt can finally let go to get some air. He doesn’t. Pratt doubles down, forcing a grunt out of Jacob, winning. Salt comes into the mix, melting against the inside of his cheeks.

He doesn’t need air, he just needs Jacob. His body and mind, his lips telling him what to do. Without it, Pratt is lost.

Eventually, Pratt needs to breathe, or else he’ll die with Jacob’s dick in his mouth. He pops off, gasping, choked up on his own spit. “Please.” He whispers, his wet lips slipping along Jacob’s hip.

The grip is back, forcing him to look up. “What was that, Peaches?” Jacob wants to hear it, loud and clear.

Tears are already coming up to greet the man. “Please, Jacob,” Pratt says it how it is. “Don’t throw me away.” He asks, begs the Herald to keep him.

Jacob’s face falls, and his eyes widen when he hears those magic words, the ones that he’s always wanted to hear, since the beginning. “Staci…” For once, he’s speechless.

Pratt crawls up Jacob’s body and kisses him, hard. With everything he has left. He shifts, biting at Jacob’s lips as he shucks down his own briefs, getting at least one of his legs free before settling down heavy on Jacob’s waist.

”Staci.”

Keep going. Prove how strong you are.

Pratt retreats just enough to connect their sweat-slicked foreheads together, fingers tracing Jacob’s fresh lips. The Herald opens up and accepts the digits, sucking on them thoroughly, hands caressing his body up and down. Pratt gasps as his ass is squeezed and the pads of his fingers pet Jacob’s soft tongue.

It’s enough.

Pratt pulls them free, ready to do anything and everything to keep Jacob close. He reaches back, tensing as he presses one of the fingers inside himself. Using Jacob’s spit as lube, it slides deeper once Pratt manages to relax the muscle, eyes clenching shut.

”So beautiful.” Jacob kisses Pratt’s tear-stained face. “Even stretching yourself for me… Must be truly desperate.” He spreads his cheeks for him, helping where he wants to.

”Shut up..” Pratt doesn’t want to hear how pathetic he is.

A second finger and he already knows it’s not going to be enough. It’s going to hurt, but not as much as letting go of the hope he had been holding onto for months. He should get this over with.

Pratt hides his face in Jacob’s throat, breathing hard as he lines the spit-slicked membered to his barely prepared hole.

”Slow down.” Jacob hums, hands at his wrist, actually trying to stop Pratt from impaling himself. “Let me help.” He offers, grinning like it's his birthday.

Pratt doesn’t listen. He soldiers on and sits down, mewling as the tip breaches him. It’s not too bad, the surprised noise that Jacob lets out makes this worth it. “Staci.” Jacob kisses Pratt’s trembling shoulder, quieting him when the burn spreads deeper. “Easy now- mm!” He’s cut off with lips, with Pratt doing everything he can think of to make things okay again.

Pratt forces himself to take in another inch while Jacob’s distracted. It gets stuck a few times, adding to the discomfort, dragging harshly against his walls. Jacob thrusts up, uncontrollably, it’s so sudden, seemingly instinctual. It’s like rubbing rubber against rubber. Pratt can’t help but let out a strained moan as the pain radiates up his spine.

”Stop.” Jacob mumbles and catches Pratt’s shaking waist. “Stop.” He’s upset, disappointed, Pratt has to fix this.

He tries to roll his hips, ignoring the order and forcing the issue, doing his best. Continuing the kiss, pressing hard as Jacob tries to turn and escape.

”Enough!” Jacob tears away and pushes Pratt off of him, throwing him to the side.

He over shoots it and Pratt ends up tumbling to the floor, taking the table lamp with him. It shatters on the corner, and shards of porcelain bury themselves into the carpet around his feet.

Pratt just lays there, a little in shock, his ass is throbbing. He failed, again. Jacob literally threw him away. He avoids Jacob’s stare, he can feel it as the room cools down, only the beeps next door ring through his ears. It’s over. He’s not one of them, he’s a Deputy, working with the Whitetails. Despite all they’ve gone through, Jacob won’t let him in.

Pratt slowly begins to move, it’s agony mentally and physically, but he manages to slip his briefs back on. He flinches away when Jacob’s feet come into view, stepping carefully over him, towards the end of the bed.

”Get up.” Jacob’s pissed.

Pratt doesn’t move even with the order, frozen in fear, he curls up into a ball and accepts his fate. He rather be culled here, instead of being forced to travel to another burial site.

”Get. Up.” Another one, livid, unwilling to take any more nonsense.

He forces himself to get up and stand tall, his tired eyes gazing out the window, noticing the sun on the horizon.

“Get dressed. Meet me at the truck.” More orders as Jacob pulls on his pants, cock flagged after Pratt’s tantrum.

”Yes, sir.” Pratt manages to speak up, biting his lip when it starts to wobble, understanding that this is likely the last sunrise he’ll ever see.

Jacob leaves, fully clothed, knowing that his pet will follow when he is ready. Pratt does, he goes because there’s nothing else he can do, absolutely nothing.

”Get in.” Jacob grunts, gesturing to the truck when Pratt catches up.

Birds are singing songs as the engine turns over, interrupting their serene music with its polluted noise. Pratt straps in, noticing movement in the passenger side mirror. Jarv is loading up in the truck behind them, including other armed Peggies, prepared for a fight.

”Ready.” The old Peggie’s voice comes through on the radio.

Jacob shifts uncomfortably in his seat as they head out the front gates, adjusting his crotch, possibly in pain from being teased. They had stopped so abruptly, even Pratt feels a little empty, devastated that he wasn’t enough.

He needs to try to fix this. “Jacob-“

”Not a word.” Jacob swiftly shuts it down, leaning his head in a hand, resting his elbow against the high part of the door. “Not a fucking word.”

Chapter Text

They drive for a while in darkness, taking unfamiliar roads that are barely paved, branches brushing against the side of the truck and scratching the paint. Pratt is sitting as far away as he can, holding himself as he wonders where the fuck they’re going. He’s so tired.

Jarv is still in the vehicle behind them with the other Peggies keeping bumpers close, almost kissing fenders. It’s been radio silence since Joseph’s island, nothing but running engines and the squealing of tires. Pratt chews on his cheek, impatient for his fate, he wants this humiliation over with.

He’s so confused. Why did Jacob just throw him off like that? Is he truly tired of him? That was quick. Although, it’s getting close to half a year now, half a year of torture and brutality. He made it farther than most. Yet others, including himself, might think that death is a mercy compared to this.

"Where are we going?" Pratt finally asks, unable to stay quiet, it might get him killed outright.

Jacob’s hand twists on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white, ready to snap and strike. He could do so very effectively. Pratt has seen it, the memories are still fresh in his mind. The cracks and pops of bones breaking, screams that turn into blood-filled gurgles, sinners begging for mercy and never receiving such a gift.

Sometimes Pratt had the option to finish them off before they went to the dogs. He quickly realized that Jacob was allowing him to end their suffering, to be their hero, in a way.

Pratt returns to silence when Jacob doesn’t respond. That might be an answer in itself.

Floodlights shine bright in the distance, behind tall pine trees, and a cell tower. A sharp contrast against the pitch-black darkness of night. Pratt wishes it was an army coming to rescue him. Rook would be at the front leading the charge. It's not. They pull into a large space, a tall cement wall is there to greet them, angled to work with the hill it's built with. John has way too much money to spend.

The bunker conceals the loyal behind thick concrete and guards at the front gate, who Jacob slows down to talk to, rolling down the window to hear their reports properly. The red flags flapping in the wind can't distract Pratt from the human body currently strung up above the entrance, decorated with barbed wire and flowers, reminding him who he is sitting next to. It's not hard to forget and least of all surprising.

'YOU ARE MEAT'

Pratt had only seen pictures of the place in reports and on the offices' corkboard. It's much bigger in person. Pratt has to lean forward to see the top of it through the windshield. There are more details about the decorative corpse that Pratt would rather not look too hard into so he stares into his lap and listens to the guard talk about trucks being loaded with precious cargo as they speak. No one is sleeping tonight. He sits back when they pull forward and park, while Jarv and his entourage come to a stop next to them.

Jacob gets out and slams the door. Pratt scrambles out, too, understanding that he is to follow and not say a word. He keeps his head down, only watching Jacob's hands as he uses the key around his neck to open the bunker door. The mechanisms turn and click. The bolt thuds and retreats, unlocking the bunker for the group.

Markus's was much more complicated. He was a brilliant man that didn't deserve what happened. It should have been Pratt.

"Get them settled. I want to start shift changes as soon as possible. I need things moved so we can house more people in here." Jacob walks and talks, stepping down the metal stairs two at a time, his military boots making the bars shake.

John's bunker is gone. Unoperational. Destroyed. They need to make room to bring in the faithful, Joseph's island is temporary, and more trucks are coming to fill these cold rooms. The purge was supposed to send them on to the county, to cull and collect supplies. Instead, they are losing more than they are bringing in.

They stride through the damp and dark hallways as a group. Some break off each time Jacob points to a job and gives instructions. "Make those beds up properly." Old habits come through. "How long has it been like that?" He's displeased.

There are some problems with leaking pipes in a security room. A place where you'd never want any water. There are several screens with live feeds, mostly the hallways, and several important-looking reinforced doors. Some are covered with bars. Another cage for the sinners they're still working on. The entire bunker is claustrophobic with rounded, muddy green steel walls, and white-painted scriptures litter the busier traffic areas. Some words are nonsense, created out of the fog of Jacob's favourite song. This is where they go when the world implodes. They'll scurry to the bunkers and pray to see the sun again someday.

The entire issue adds to Jacob's poor mood. "Sort it out." He motions to Jarv, who takes the last few workers with him.

It leaves the two of them alone again.

Pratt stays quiet and follows Jacob further down the unwelcoming corridors. Some are stocked full of preserved food and bottled water, although Jacob mentioned that a natural source goes through the mountain. They'll have an infinite amount once the pipes are worked on and fixed. It's a perfect place to hide away in. Pratt wonders how Jacob will function down here when the time comes. He's an outdoorsman. Will there really be a place down here for him in the darkness?

The pair reach another blue and grey large door. Jacob unlocks it and pulls it open effortlessly, making Pratt go first before closing it behind them and letting the mechanism lock. The metal grinds together, squealing unpleasantly behind them. The lights turn on one at a time when they detect new movement. Bit by bit the area is revealed and narrows. More shelves, food, water, and books. Lots of them. Pratt runs his finger along the spines and reads as he walks. Survival guides, old fairy tales, murder mysteries, stories that would last a lifetime with some board games cluttered at the bottom. They welcome Pratt deeper into the room and show off a larger space.

It's a living area with a few open doors that lead to other rooms, he can't see what they contain from here. There's an old couch in front of an even older tv, a mismatching carpet, and a rickety coffee table really pulls it together. Jacob keeps moving them. Pratt notices the small kitchen for warming up old canned food and preparing small diners. Who knows when they will eat fresh produce or feel well-fed again.

But, it's a home.

Maybe this is where some of the Peggies will live. It's cozy, even with the walls being made of thick cement and steel. And the floor. And the ceiling. Someone has made an effort to make it into something it was never supposed to be. It's clean, too. Pratt notices some of the cabinets' familiar organization of hand towels and condiments. The cupboard doors could use a little more sanding. He rubs clean a smudge on the plastic counter out of habit. He always enjoyed a clean space. The girls he brought home seemed impressed, too.

"Do you like it?" Jacob speaks up.

He's been watching intensely this whole time. Waiting for the right moment to ask.

Pratt shrugs. "It's fine." He's a bit confused as to why his opinion matters now when it hasn't before. "The walls could use some decoration." He decides to lighten the mood a bit and test the waters.

Jacob doesn't even twitch, he only stares and simply gestures to one of the open doorways. Pratt reads the order and steps through the threshold. It's a bedroom, slightly smaller than the living room. There are two queen beds, a nightstand glows in between with a garage sale lamp light on top of its wood surface. The sheets are made up tightly, military style. More books and smaller items of possible sentimental value. A fur rug and deer antlers help decorate and bring a sense of fear into Pratt's stomach.

It's too late to run. Jacob's chest is already at his back, his warm arms wrap around and trap Pratt in a tight hug. "Do you like it?" He repeats, confirming Pratt's worst fear.

It's not just some random living space for loyal followers. It's for them. Together. Down here in this damned bunker is going to be their home when Joseph decides the world is over. "No." His voice cracks in his effort to stay firm.

Jacob lets out a disappointed sigh and lets go. "You can make changes." He points to the furniture as he returns to the living area, suggesting they can move the couch to a different corner of the room. "Whatever you want. I'm not picky." He's actually trying to make Pratt comfortable in this horrible situation.

Pratt follows to watch him fuss with some books on the coffee table. "I thought you would like these," He thought of him while picking out certain reading material. "We could-"

"No, Jacob," Pratt repeats, refusing to let this man try and make this okay.

"-move the TV into the bedroom if you want to-"

"Jacob,"

"-there won't be anything to watch but-"

"I'm not staying here with you."

That shuts Jacob up. He freezes and fiddles with the books he is attempting to show off. His shoulders are hunched as something begins to brew in his already made-up mind. It's like he thought Pratt would just go along with it and pretend this was fine.

Pratt remains as calm as he can as the books are carefully placed back on the shelf in some sort of order. This is turning into a very horrible night for both of them. "Do you really think I'm going to let you go?" A scoff comes from Jacob as he presses the last paperback into its proper spot.

Chills run up Pratt's spine. The air immediately thickens with unpleasant energy, especially when Jacob turns with a pained smirk and steps closer. Pratt stands his ground in the living room Jacob has built. He won't let this go.

Jacob touches Pratt when he gets close enough, caressing his clenching jaw with his rough knuckles. "How many times do I have to leave my mark?" The touch falls to his clothed shoulder and hovers over the scar underneath.

Pratt hates the pressure and makes his body move away. It's still stuck under the rules Jacob has wired into his brain. He disobeys and steps backward, towards the bedroom door. Jacob's hand doesn't give chase. He simply waits for whatever plan Staci has to come into play.

If there ever is a time to take a stand. It's right now. This truth could kill him and unfortunately, he is still afraid to die, terrified of the black void. If there is a heaven, he doubts that it would accept him. A few weeks ago he thought he was ready. Jacob showed him how wrong he was with a kiss and hours upon hours of bone-breaking training that should be impossible for the normal human body to withstand.

Today, he wants to live. He wants to be free.

Pratt musters up more courage and speaks his mind. "I want to go home." And he doesn't mean the veterans center.

He means the shitty little apartment that he once called home for most of his career as a Deputy. The one he kept spotless when he knew a girl was coming over or his mother dropped in for a visit. His family. They don't talk. But that will never mean he doesn't love them dearly. Pratt hasn't allowed himself to think too hard about them. Luckily, Jacob didn't care to ask who or where they were. The Herald doesn't need to. He has all the power he could ever have over such a weak-minded person. Pratt had no idea how mentally fragile he was until his head welcomed such a dangerous intruder.

Pratt stares that same person in the eye and prepares to ask them to get the fuck out. "Please, let me go home." He can’t do this anymore.

Jacob’s gaze never breaks. It absorbs Pratt’s and eats whatever confidence he has been able to build up the last couple of days. It’s clear that his mind is made up. He already spent time in this depressing hole, trying to make the space comfortable for his prisoner.

The motive is becoming more apparent each day, with every look, touch, and word, Pratt sees it. Jacob is weak. Love is weak. This cold room proves how their positions have switched. Jacob is still clearly in charge, but the dynamics have changed. There’s a reason Jacob stopped Staci tonight and he needs to know what it is.

"No."

It’s so simple. So easy how this one man can take control of another like this. What a horrible day.

Pratt’s heart sinks to his stomach along with his shoulders. They visibly sag at the heavy response. He expected it. It’s impossible to ask for anything in return after being forced to give his all into something he struggles to believe in.

The room turns stale as an awkward silence takes over. There’s nothing else Pratt can say or do to convince Jacob that keeping him here is only for his benefit and no one else’s. He’s tired of fighting, too.

Radio crackle breaks the moment in half. It’s coming from one of the rooms. Jacob leaves to take care of it, with Pratt taking the minute to get strength back into his legs. It’s only after that he hears certain words and, more importantly, the muffled screams coming from the same room. Pratt pushes rationality out of the window and gets close, eavesdropping on the enemy for information he can’t tell anyone about. He peeks in, noticing the area is set up as a small office. Desk, papers, more food, a small desk light. It’s almost identical to the one at the veterans center.

The sounds of bullets flying and explosions going off cut off the description one of the Peggies is giving. "We need reinforcements at the Southeast border! Heavy artillery-!" It’s overridden by another bomb going off.

Jacob is hunched over the desk and remains silent, carefully listening to his tools going up in flames. All those supplies being destroyed and dogs being put down. There’s nothing the great Herald can do. It’s too late. He can only wait until the gunfire stops ringing through the vibrating metal box.

"Father, save us," The fight continues over the Peggies' prayer. "Protect your children from evil, give us stren-" Familiar splatter rings through, telling a story about the end of another person's life. A loyal man who was fighting for what he was told was right.

A few more unmistakable noises and gurgling fill both their ears, the receiver must be tight in the dying man's grip, confused as to why there’s no one coming to save them. Why Joseph isn’t there to protect and guide them through the gates.

Jacob's body vibrates with rage, his claws turn into fists, braced against the groaning desk. Pratt holds his breath as he waits for the eventual release.

Footsteps begin to replace the sounds of death as the fighting ceases. The crunch of gravel graces the space and stops close. A final shot rings signals the winner of the battle. A long silence fills the air until a whine of a dog comes through and curious sniffs. The hand cupping the radio is nudged, cutting the transmission for just a moment before another replaces it.

Heavy breathing flows out, hesitant to make a sound or threat. Jacob already knows what’s going to happen next. Rook doesn’t need to waste her words. So she doesn’t. The line goes dead, probably smashed underneath her blood-stained boot.

She's coming for him. For Jacob, for Pratt. Rook is in the region. Did they say southeast? That's Faith's territory. Pratt wonders what kind of damage she's left in her wake.

Jacob is probably thinking similarly as the tension finally snaps and the radio goes flying across the room, smashing into multiple pieces along with important-looking papers and cheap pencils. The table was cleared in one swift stroke of a brutal arm. If it was a little colder Pratt would be able to see the steam coming off of Jacob's shuddering shoulders. This is somewhat new. Jacob has never shown this much anger before. Things have built up the past couple of months and it's all coming to a head right here with just the two of them.

Jacob Seed is hurting. And Pratt finds himself drawn in as he steps closer to the wild man who is currently looking for more things to smash. A slight touch to his searing shoulder is what does it. Pratt was brave enough to reach out, but now he's being greeted with a shaking fist clenching in his shirt, popping a few buttons off the Deputy's uniform in the process.

Jacob's eyes are wild. He snorts and breathes like a bull seeing red as he attempts to recognize who this small man is, confused about how he was able to sneak up on him so easily.

"Jacob," Pratt whispers as he holds up his clammy hands in surrender.

His name seems to shift his mind back into a clearer space. Jacob blinks away the frustration flooding his vision but doesn't let go. He's still tense, ready to tear and destroy, brow furrowed and ugly.

Pratt doesn't want to be a part of the mess on the floor. He smoothes his hand over and up Jacob's rolled sleeve, slowing down when Jacob flinches, uncertain where it's going. "Breathe," Pratt encourages, returning Jacob's own words at him. "It's done." They need to get ready for the next move, whatever it may be.

Jacob lets out a long shaky breath he'd been holding when he hears the reminder. His hand is still stuck in Pratt's clothes, the muscles are frozen and refuse to unlock. He has a shocked look on his face when he realizes what Pratt is attempting, and that it's working.

Rook is doing her job. Staci needs to do his.

He presses closer, thankful that Jacob's elbow gives and he's allowed to take up space. "Let it go," He tells the Herald as his hand cups his twitching cheek.

Be useful. Be strong.

Jacob's eyes frantically search for something in his, lost and unable to see through Pratt's real intentions. Even though Pratt himself has no idea what he's doing. The desire to survive is currently stronger than his fear of this man. Instead, fondness comes over him. Jacob makes him feel good when he gives in. He's offered it so many times and Pratt has fought it tooth and nail. It's true that the last thing he wants is to spend years of his life down here. But, if this is what it takes to keep himself alive, he has to make a difficult decision, right now.

Before he even realizes it, Pratt's soft lips brush carefully against Jacob's chapped ones. He has no idea who leaned in first or why it feels so natural at this moment. He keeps going, gently pecking at this side of Jacob's mouth, shivering when he eventually makes the right shape and reciprocates. Pratt presses close, the fist in his chest softens and moves to his hip, squeezing tight. He gasps lightly, pausing in surprise when he realizes how much his body is relishing such a simple touch.

Jacob isn't as shocked anymore. He crowds Pratt towards the messy desk and deepens the kiss, eating up the little noises he rips from his toy's weak body. His ridged shoulders begin to slowly relax as the new development distracts him. Hardness presses into Pratt's other hip when Jacob wedges a knee between his, still hot from hours before. It sends a pleasant warmth through Pratt, overriding the fear that usually comes into the mix by now.

This is how it should have stayed. If Jacob just kept his cool and waited, maybe they wouldn't have gone through so much pain. Maybe Pratt wouldn't have fought so hard.

"Jacob."

The entire moment shatters with a familiar voice at the door. Jarv stands there, calm and collected, with spare radios in his hand and on his belt. Undisturbed by what he just walked in on. Pratt didn't hear the sound of the heavy door unlocking from the echoing halls.

Jacob takes his time pulling away, his eyes are locked, heavy on Pratt's shy and hooded ones. He's calmer, and that's what the goal was. Pratt did that.

"We need you." Jarv steps in, forcing Jacob to refocus as he hands the radio over, stoned-faced.

Jacob's gaze stays on Pratt as he brings the receiver to his swelling lips. Smirking when he notices Pratt's fingers still tangled in the edges of his jacket. "We need to talk, Deputy." His voice is rough and dark, giving Pratt goosebumps while he watches Jacob send a message.

The music box is brought out and turned once, twice, three times.

Pratt keeps his mouth sealed and his body still as the box is opened. The song flows directly into the waiting radio calling out to those who recognize its tempo. His mind goes hazy, clouded, and lost. He shakes his head to try and fight the darkness. He grips the desk behind him to try and keep upright. It's not for him. He was good.

"Use the bliss bullets!"

Only you...

"We only need to hit her once."

Can make this...

"Jacob wants her alive."

Darkness bright...

"For the Father!"

Only you...

"We got her."

What?

Jacob shuts the box with a snap, his hungry stare still firmly fastened on Pratt. "Bring her to me." He orders into the radio, ready to show off what he has planned.

Of course, Jacob Seed is always three steps ahead. And now, Pratt has given him the power to stay there.

The whitetails in the cage next to Rook try and give her the leftover water they had saved. They need her alive and fighting fit. She looks cold. The Peggies stripped Rook of her extra layers when they dragged her limp body through the gates and threw her into one of the individual cages, soured with dirt and mud. Her blonde hair is coated in it, her sharp eyes are baggy, exhausted from lack of sleep and battle after battle. She's so strong. She needs to stay strong. And that's what Pratt says to her through the bars before the brothers can stop him.

"They want you to be strong," Pratt grips the bars tightly. "One of you will be strong-"

"Get outta here, Peaches," Jacob grumbles and shoves him to the side, out of the way of Father Joseph.

Pratt returns to the darkness, hands clasped in front of his waist and arms stiff. No, not here. He finds a better spot in the mud while the brothers embrace before Joseph comes close. Pratt listens carefully, his head down, as the middle brother tells a special story to the half-conscious Deputy. It's chilling to the core when he begins to make sense of Joseph's calm words. His tone doesn't match what is being said. It's ghostly and unnerving to all who hear it.

Jacob is next to him, hanging on every word as if he hasn't heard it before.

Pratt is sick to his stomach of the details falling from his mouth. His wife's death was merciful. His daughter's was more of a struggle. Her little lungs must have been in incredible pain. Jacob keeps an eye on him, keeping track and making sure he is still there, listening. Joseph took more than his baby's life that day. He took away Jacob's niece, too.

Rook seems to wake up at the new truth being told to her. Her lips are cracked and dehydrated on Jacob's orders of no food or water. She's not enjoying this either. Although, it does give them an insight into how this all started. Joseph heard a voice. One that would not be ignored. So he slayed some of his closest family in an effort to show the wise voice how devoted he could be.

Joseph has built something impossible. And he wants Rook with them when they walk through those white gates. They've had ample opportunities to be rid of the threat to their plans, yet they continue to set her free and open themselves up to continued destruction. Joseph is so desperate to follow God's plan that he refuses to accept that Rook can't be saved. He must have seen a special spark in her, a part of her that is worth saving more than anyone. Even his own family.

"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh... Pain. Sacrifice." Joseph grabs her ruined shirt and uses it to help drag her up to his level. "They are all part of his test. Only have to prove that we can serve god... No matter what he asks." He sets her free from his grasp and turns his attention on his patient older brother, placing a hand on his chest, the one that wears his well-used rosary.

"You've done well." Joseph praises him.

Jacob stays silent, still deep in thought when Joseph walks away to glance through the other sinner cages. He floats, head held high, chest up, and guiding him out the green tarped gates. Jacob manages to move, reaching back, he produces his favourite tool. Pratt can only watch it all unfold. The cursed song plays and Rook fights to stay standing. She grips the bars tight, holding on for dear life yet her body fails to keep her upright. She falls as they all do. Convulsing in the dirt, blood dripping from orifices, spit foaming at the mouth. Her whitetails fall, too. They fell long before Rook had hit the ground. They're weak. Too weak.

Pratt himself sways slightly, flinching when the box closes again after fulfilling its purpose. It's his turn for Jacob's attention. He stares at his boots as his personal space is stolen. Jarv is nearby, apathetic to the moment in front of him, as always. Pratt should apologize for his earlier maleficence. He spoke out of turn, Joseph- The Father was right there-

A dreadfully familiar calloused hand cups his bruised cheek, forcing him to look up into its owner's eyes. "Did you miss her?" Jacob asks quietly, clearly not in the mood to hear a lie.

Pratt swallows the excuses that come to try and soften the Herald up. "Yes." He admits, gaze flicking to Rook's ridged corpse.

She's not breathing. But, Pratt knows better than to believe his own sight.

"Good," Jacob huffs and reveals a set of freshly cut keys.

They jingle and shine against the strong floodlights across the yard. "Here." He forces them into Pratt's trembling hand. "Clean up." Is all he's told before Jacob walks away with Jarv in stride.

Pratt squeezes the jagged metal in his hand into it hurts. He knows exactly what Jacob is asking of him. He unlocks the cage after finding the right key and begins his job, starting with Rook.

She isn't hard to carry. He uses the rickety wheelbarrow contraption and takes her with the other bodies to one of the old trucks they use to dump the remains. Pratt loads the others first. It will give her space for her lungs to expand if they ever fill with air again. He subtly takes her pulse and is happy to feel a faint one in her wrist. She will survive, just barely, but it isn't over yet. Jacob seems to understand that, too.

Pratt brushes a strand of blonde hair out of her face, staining his fingertips with blood, so he can take a good long look at the county's last chance at survival. He will do everything in his power to help her while he's stuck here. The best he can do right now is to leave her here with the other rotting corpses. The truck will be dumped early tomorrow morning, giving the weak to the hungry forest, and the strong the opportunity to survive.

Pratt leaves her there. The keys sway on his belt as he walks away from his hero and towards the enemy, prepared to hunker down until Rook comes to rescue him again.

God, he hopes she's strong.

Pratt gets more responsibilities. He's formed a false sense of trust with Jacob. Or, the man simply knows that Pratt is too weak to do anything about the power he has been given. There's no escape, even with the keys and new schedule. The supply trucks come late at night. Each one is thoroughly checked for any stowaways that might have changed their minds about the cult. Pratt's noticed that they don't check the top though. He'd have to find some sort of vantage point, and the only place he can think of is Jacob's porch that hangs off his office. It would be impossible to jump off unnoticed.

He's stuck until Rook regains her strength and gets back to battle. Even then, it might be too risky to return for him. Jacob has a plan. Pratt has been piecing it together since the bunker. From what he's been able to understand so far, the Whitetails are in trouble.

"Please," The sinners in the cages beg Pratt when they see his uniform. "Help me get out of here. I'll do anything-" The Peggies put them down, or make Pratt do it, others are still in training, being worked thoroughly if Jacob sees potential in them.

Pratt has yet to see what the criteria are. He's certain that he doesn't meet it. Jacob is keeping him for another reason. Maybe two. One, Joseph wouldn't allow him to cross the gates without Pratt in tow. The second one is very complicated and Pratt doesn't want to delve too deep into it. Jacob won't admit to anything, the only evidence Pratt has is embedded on his skin, permanent tattoos that can't be lasered off.

Pratt has been holding his own for the past several days. Jarv always has an eye on him when Jacob grows busy. Usually, Pratt would be by his side, watching the tests break people down as well as build them up as Jacob's special 'Chosen'. It's not like Pratt enjoys the show or wants to be close to him. The time they spend apart is building up, and Pratt is finding himself barely regaining lost sleep in his old cold cell.

Jacob has a lot on his shoulders and it shows. But, Pratt sees something more. An internal battle from within the Herald that won't calm down until one side wins. He can guess which one is in the lead by the glances he still receives, the gaze he can feel on his back when they're in the yard, watching as he works. He can't avoid Pratt forever.

It will all come to a head, and Pratt will be the one in Jacob's sights. The peace of hard manual labor and ruthless training will eventually end in disaster due to Jacob's uncontrollable wave of emotions. Rook has rattled the entire Seed family. The eldest, who is normally calm and collected, has been struggling to find reason lately.

Pratt has to find a way to survive the fallout, no matter what happens. So, he works hard and keeps his head down, accomplishes everything that's asked of him and then some. He won't bend when both Peggies and Sinners yell curses at him. Some of the Chosen sneak some hits in when they pass through the narrow corridors. He still sits with Jarv at each meal, who keeps his nose in a book. Pratt knows better. The old man is stuck being his babysitter until Jacob can take over again. He's there to report anything and everything to the Herald, not be his friend.

Jackson has his pack to stick to. He would receive the same treatment if he was found to be a friend or even an acquaintance. Pratt can't blame him for that. He understands the circumstances better than anyone.

"Jacob wants you in his room tonight," Jarv speaks up at dinner, between his loud chewing, and through his thick paperback.

The full spoon in Pratt's hand, halfway to his mouth, stops still. The slop they feed him spills back on the wrong part of his metal tray. He swallows dryly, hating himself when a blush climbs up his neck. Jarv is way too casual about it. He continues eating like a pig at a trough, fed well because he's strong, and he has Jacob's favor. Pratt wonders what that story is like, how they got so close, and why Jarv lets this happen. He must have some sort of opinion on it.

"I have to help Jackson with the night shift." Pratt forces the spoon in his mouth, making the food slide down his collapsing throat.

He's not hungry anymore, but his body needs the sustenance if tonight is going to go the way he thinks it is.

Jarv scoffs. "Did I ask what yer doing?" He returns snarkily, ready to put the novel down if need be. "I told you where ye need to be." The volume of his voice stays the same

Pratt shrinks low in his seat and manages to down another mouth full of whatever they feed them. "Yes, sir." Excuses never work, yet he finds the strength to try.

Jarv lets the tension flow out his nose as he sighs and returns to his feasting, his job done.

Pratt puts down his utensil, unable to stomach anything else. Jacob wants him upstairs tonight, and they both know what that means. He's a tool to be used, nothing more.

"Why?" It comes out like a kick to the stomach. Pratt can't stop it.

"What?" Annoyance instantly radiates off Jarv's shoulders and the book is put down.

Pratt wants to crumble under the critical gaze he's suddenly got on him. It burns. It's not as bad as Jacob's, but it's still terrifying. "He... You let him..." The adrenaline fades, already used up from the brutal work earlier, and every day prior. "It's against Joseph's word-"

"Pratt," A warning.

He is about to cross a line.

"Jacob can use his tools any way he likes," He continues, echoing Jacob's words harshly. "It's not my place to judge." It's the same cult bullshit again, loyal like hungry dogs.

"Don't forget what you've learned."

Pratt won't ever forget this. If he ever gets out of here, there will be reminders everywhere, no one can afford the therapy he'll need.

"Yes, sir." He repeats, effectively tamed and silenced. "I won't."

Jarv slides Pratt's food tray away from him. "Go," He grunts. "Do the work, finish before twenty-two hundred."

Pratt swiftly stands and makes his way out of the mess hall, to the wolves and Jackson. Number six whines at him when he comes close and licks at the wire mesh of her cage. The submissive behavior is not her style, it's worrying. They upped the dose of bliss yesterday for several wolves, her body could still be adjusting to it.

"Easy," He crouches in front of her, keeping a safe distance, the bliss makes her unpredictable.

Pratt can't help but feel bad for the beast, she's his favourite of the creatures here if he had to pick one. Her coat is matted, and the open sores on her legs ooze a foul-smelling substance. The drug is making her go grey.

"Don't give up," Pratt asks for a miracle under his breath.

The wolf seems to respond, she sits and presses her head against the sharp metal, like a dog asking for pets. Pratt knows better. "I know," He sighs. "It'll be..." The lie refuses to be said.

He can't know if it's going to be okay ever again. Especially, when they are going through so many wolves. The fresh batch of bliss didn't get along with the new catch of them. Most of them died instantly, and others suffered until they were put out of their misery. What a waste.

"She's almost ready to be partnered," Jackson speaks up from behind, startling both of them. "Jacob will assign her to a Chosen."

That's sad news. Pratt has seen how the wolves are treated at their sides. Beaten, made to fear, punished if one paw steps out of line like he has. He doesn't want that for her, or any of these beautiful creatures. 

"Is she strong?"

"One of the strongest we've had," Jackson shows a knowing smirk. "She'll be okay, Pratt." He reassures and scribbles something down on his clipboard.

A sigh of relief leaves Pratt's shallow lungs. Good. The stronger, the better.

He works hard cleaning, feeding, moving, and disposing of the wolves. The weak are quickly dispatched, and skinned, there's not much to their bodies after the training. The bliss ruined the meat, so it's burned in the barrel fires. It smells disgustingly sweet.

Time passes way too fast. Jacob is waiting for him. He rather not leave Jackson with the rest of the work, but Jacob must take priority, it would cause them both trouble if he was late.

"Where are you going?" Jackson catches Pratt trying to slip away. "We still have the backyard."

Pratt isn't in the mood to explain why he has to ditch him so early. No matter how subtly he explains it, Jackson is too smart, he'll see right through it. "Jacob needs me," He says casually to get it over with.

Jackson pales, uncomfortable with the knowledge he wasn't entitled to. "Alright... I..." He forces the words out and scratches the back of his head nervously. "See ya.." The teen waves him off and travels to the next set of cages.

Pratt doesn't dawdle, he can't let Jackson's reaction affect his purpose. His aching legs take him up the flights of stairs, his boots drag and squeak across the linoleum floors, tracking in mud from the yard.

Shit. He should clean that. Pratt makes a stop in the office in search of a mop, what he finds stops him in his tracks. The corkboard has been updated. New pins are stuck in the map of where the Whitetails hideout could be. They're getting closer together, which means they are running out of time, the Wolf's Den could be discovered any day now.

That's not all there is.

Recent pictures of the deputy hang over the old ones. Her gaze is clouded, the bliss and the dreaded song are fixed in her head. Pratt can relate. The fog stuck in his brain never clears, and Jacob makes sure to refresh it every so often.

Pratt touches the pictures, the tip of his calloused finger catches as it drags along the ribbon that connects the pins. Trials. 1... 2... 3...

She's in training, Jacob knew she was strong, knew that Rook would survive and thrive. A new tool for his arsenal, shiny and new, she is the key.

1... 2... 3... Then he's got her.

Rook can't get caught again, she has to leave and never come back, Pratt needs to learn and accept his fate. For the good of Hope County and its remaining non-Peggie population, he needs to give in.

"You're late,"

Pratt jumps and whirls around to find Jacob at the open door, hand tight on the doorknob, his finger tapping impatiently on the worn metal. He looks exhausted, run-down, and at his limit. There will be no room for negotiation tonight.

"I'm sorry, sir." Pratt backs away from the wall of destruction and stands at ease, military style, his heart is still threatening to stop at any moment. "I was looking for a mop to clean the-"

"Did you find it?" Jacob breathes heavily from his nose, his hands fidgeting at his sides, gaze heated, and flicking between Pratt and the plans he has in store.

"I..." Pratt scans for the familiar wooden handle in the corner of the room. "No, I haven't." He'll have to find one.

The air is awkward, thick with uncertainty and ugly tension. It's hard to breathe and find a way to escape.

"I'll go get one,"

"No," Jacob stays Pratt with a raised hand. "Grab a coat-" He grunts, "we're going for a drive." Is all he is willing to explain before he leaves towards the stairs.

A drive. Nothing good has ever come from one of those. Jacob's fuse is already so short that he'd burst if Pratt tried to delay the inevitable. So he finds a coat quickly, like a blizzard is on its way, and meets Jacob in the courtyard who is giving Jarv a few final words, the old Peggie sharply nods at each new task that's given. It's quiet outside, crickets fill the silence between the gaps in conversation.

Pratt huddles in his jacket and takes the opportunity to stare up at the stars. There are so many in the sky tonight, sparkling bright, showing off how amazing the world can be. Pratt can count on his hands the number of times he's felt like this. Like, he could achieve anything because it's so overwhelmingly beautiful.

"Pratt," It's ruined by reality.

Jacob is getting into the driver's seat of a dark green truck and readying it for their travels to wherever the hell they're going.

As Pratt steps into the warm cab he notices a gun case, food supplies, a first aid kit, a stuffed duffle bag, and an empty one stashed in the truck bed. The land isn't so Peggie friendly anymore, with the whitetails close by, Jacob takes every back road possible as they leave the fortress and head south, through trails Pratt has never seen before. The lack of white and Eden's Gate symbols on the vehicle will help them stay anonymous.

It's silent. The air feels like blankets, and Jacob seems to have calmed down a bit, distracted by the directions in his head. He's focused on arriving at their destination without any trouble and arriving on time. Everything is a schedule.

Pratt can feel his shoulders sag with fatigue, his eyes struggle to stay open as the twisting road rocks him back and forth, goading him to sleep and be vulnerable.

It works.

A pothole in the pavement forces his body to jolt up in the seat and land on something softer than the passenger window he thought he would be snoozing on. It's warm and smells like cheap soap, fresh aftershave. His lashes flutter open to find himself slanted, his cheek pressed and perched on Jacob's surprisingly comfortable shoulder. He doesn't panic, yet.

Jacob is still driving as if nothing is wrong, he's allowing Pratt to use him as a pillow. It twists his stomach in all sorts of directions. He could take advantage and earn some rest after a hard day, saving himself for later. Or he can throw himself to the other side of the cab and suffer in silence.

Pratt lets his body relax. He sleeps on the shoulder of the enemy, regaining his strength for the night ahead.

"Take him, Joseph." Jacob is failing.

"No," Joseph's voice responds through the phone.

"Joseph," Jacob sighs, slouching at his desk, sitting heavily in his chair. "She needs my full attention."

"Yes, she does, and so does he."

It's not what Jacob wanted to hear. It never is. He's tired.

Vulnerable.

Every day he fights himself along with the world that condemns his family's existence.

"You know I will do anything for you," Jacob stays calm, loving. "Please..."

Silence.

"Struggle with your sin, Jacob. Succumb or overcome it. I will love you, always."

"Pratt."

The rumble startles him awake. He instantly ensures that he shuffles to his side of the cab before taking in the surroundings. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes, rubbing them raw when the first glimpse of structures he sees reminds him of home. The three-story, red-bricked, run-down apartment building that is ready to topple over should never be in his vision again. Jacob said so. He said no.

When he looks again it's still there, appearing worse for wear than he originally remembered. There are bullet holes in the brick and smashed windows up to the top floor. The front door is busted inwards, purging Peggies are most likely to blame for the property damage, along with his neighbors who tried to fight them off. Pratt never made an effort to gain any sort of relationship with them, there wasn't any point. He had long shifts, girls coming over, and other selfish hobbies that filled his time.

They are on the border of Henbane River and the Whitetail Mountains. It's not a great place for them to stay too long.

Pratt remains calm. He can't get his hopes up. Jacob could have brought him here for an important lesson or to brag. Probably both.

He keeps his head down and his shoulders forward. "Why are we here?" His voice is barely above a whisper.

The truck is still running, keeping them warm, and the headlights highlight the address engraved into the concrete steps. Another confirmation that this is home.

Jacob keeps his gaze forward, his jaw set, clenched at the question. He's holding back. Holding back what, Pratt has no idea.

Just be good.

"Go in," Jacob's voice is raspy, strained, tired from the drive, and much more.

Pratt is stuck. His body refuses to budge, distrustful of the order. It's a trap. He'll run home and Jacob will laugh, mock him for being so gullible. 

"Pratt," An Eden's Gate issued flashlight is handed to him as he is scolded. "Don't waste my time." 

Pratt musters up the strength to open the car door and step out. He closes it softly behind him so the sound doesn't travel. There are a few abandoned houses nearby that might be home to the enemy, although he's unsure who that is anymore. He would hate to find out right now.

He flicks back to the dark form in the truck cab, scared of punishment as he takes the first step of the chipping cement stairs. It never comes. Pratt faces the shattered doorway and takes a deep breath in, the familiar scents are still stuck in the air, reminding him of better memories. Broken glass crunches underneath his boots when he decides that he can't stand the cold outside anymore and carefully enters his home for the first time in months.

It feels like years as he walks through the corridor, ignoring the blood smeared along the ugly red-papered walls and old gold shag carpet. Someone was dragged out, taken to meet their maker. He pauses when he sees a child's toy, a stuffed cheeseburger bear, torn and left in a panic to escape. The limited vision turns the scene uglier, like he is in some sort of horror movie.

Pratt begins the climb to the top floor, passing by more handprints, dried blood pools, and crudely painted words splattered on every surface. It doesn't get any better when he reaches his destination. Most of the apartment doors are folded in, and his is no different. Number thirty-two is shot off its hinges and kicked in, landing on his similarly shattered loveseat. 

If Pratt hadn't been in the helicopter that night, they still would have found him. Purged his apartment, possibly killing him outright if he tried to resist. Does that make him lucky to be in Jacob's care? He isn't sure. It depends if he was ever supposed to go to the Herald in the first place.

The small bachelor pad is turned upside down, and ransacked, no storage space is left unchecked. The graffiti continues throughout the rooms, violating his private spaces. Pratt's chest grows tighter the deeper he travels. Everything he worked so hard for is gone and smashed to pieces. There's nothing left.

Pratt tries the light switch, and strangely it flickers on, revealing the devastation. He lets the flashlight rest on the rickety table next to the nonexistent door, where he would usually put his keys, before making his way in.

A loud crunch of glass attracts his attention to the cracked picture frame underneath his foot when he finds a way to the kitchen. He crouches to take a better look at the abused photograph. It's his family. Mom, Dad, him in the middle when he was just a kid. He was probably twelve when this was taken, when his Dad was still alive and sober. Mom tried her best to protect her child from the reality of having an alcoholic parent.

Pratt was nearly there himself, drinking almost every day, hanging out at the Spread Eagle like it was his second home. He hated his Dad for a long time and blamed him a lot for his personal failures. God, maybe he does deserve this.

Pratt traces the crack in the frame with his thumb, wondering if he can smuggle it into his new home without Jacob noticing. He slides the photo out and quickly folds it so he can hide it in his pocket. It's a risk he is willing to take.

The next stop is his ruined bedroom. He turns on the lamp next to his bed to surprisingly find the mattress still there, fit securely on the queen-sized frame he bought a few years ago. The sheets are askew as if someone yanked them back, searching for a sinner, disappointed that it was empty.

The closet has been emptied of his clothes, and fabric they didn't want is ripped up in a frantic anger. His police-issued under-armor is soaked in the same white paint that's coated multiple parts of the building. When they discovered the apartment belonged to a Deputy, they took extra time to tear things apart and leave their mark.

Nothing is his own so far. It's all gone.

A creak in the floorboards demands his attention. Someone is exploring the living room, the footsteps are heavy and dark. The ceiling light is turned off, leaving just his bedroom lamp to fight the shadows.

"Did you find what you wanted?" Jacob walks in carrying the supplies and weapons from the truck, laying it down in the corner of the room. "Here," He tosses over the empty duffle bag.

It hits Pratt in the chest before he catches it in his arms. He stares at it, then Jacob, then back to the bag.

"Take what you need," Jacob hastily urges, rummaging through his own things and pulling out parts of his rifle. "Preferably small things." He talks casually as he builds his gun up to its full potential.

Jacob Seed is in his home, what's left of it, acting like everything is fine as if this is how a home should be.

"There's nothing left." Pratt returns the bag to the bed, anger seeping through.

Why the hell are they here? What is Jacob thinking?

The red rifle clicks together, and the matching magazine slides perfectly into place.

"Why are we here?" Pratt asks again, unwilling to follow more empty orders.

"My men already swept the area," Jacob continues on, checking the sights on his big gun. "I have a couple of trucks making rounds-"

"What is this..." Pratt huffs out an exasperated laugh.

He runs an anxious hand through his long hair, hating the fact that it almost touches his shoulders. 

"Hurry up," Jacob hangs the weapon over his shoulder and begins to leave the room, avoiding the crisis his prisoner is currently struggling with.

Pratt won't let this go. He needs answers and Jacob running away isn't going to solve anything. He crosses the line on purpose and grabs Jacob, holding on tight to his arm so he can't ignore the truth. "Jacob-!"

Jacob instantly rips away. "Don't touch me." He snarls, charging into Pratt, backing him up and into the crumbling wall between the antique dresser and emptied closet.

The impact punches the wind out of his strained lungs, his hands instinctually claw at the attacker, coughing when he chokes on the lack of air. It hurts. He instantly wants to submit and apologize for what he's done, but the anger overrides his thorough conditioning.

"Why are we here?!" Pratt lets out a yell, teeth bared and ready for a fight.

He's not dumb, he knows why they are currently in his broken home right now. That's not what he's asking. This is more than just a field trip.

The outburst earns him a steel-like clamp over his mouth, the rough calloused hand irritating Pratt's soft lips. It's unhelpful to his current fight for oxygen. He struggles harder and raises his knee to gain more space, pressing it deep into Jacob's rigid torso.

"Why can't you just do as you told!" Jacob is losing control, he's already been so tightly wound up, and it's easier to get a reaction. "This would be so much fucking easier..." His voice wavers, breaking as he leans forward and rests his brow against Pratt's crunched one.

Pratt makes a confused noise and continues the fight, while Jacob's body is set in stone, unmoving. All his efforts to escape the hold are futile. Slowly, the adrenaline wears off, his body grows weak again. It aches, his muscles complain, throbbing each time he tries to gather his strength back.

"If you would just listen..." Jacob's growing hot again, his body temperature is skyrocketing as it fights itself and other ideas.

His gaze darkens and sinks into Pratt's alert one, sending a warning signal through his entire system.

If he would just listen and realize that Jacob has already given Pratt all the answers he has ever needed.

Jacob loves you. 

No. Nononono.

Pratt is devasted when his gut turns and knots in his stomach, it's painful. The revelation which was always obvious hits him directly in the chest. He never wanted to accept the fact that this monster could actually have some sick form of admiration for him.

"I can't," Jacob murmurs, a look of sorrow on his face. "It hurts when I don't."

The hand takes its time in releasing Pratt's lips, and slides down his chin, allowing him to catch a few gulps of air before Jacob seals it again with a soft kiss. It's light, coaxing, begging for Pratt to show some sort of reciprocation.

Pratt is frozen, his vision blurs, focusing in and out on the tip of the rifle still sitting heavy on Jacob's shoulder. This is what Jacob was fighting so hard against? The urge to kiss him?

Because he loves you.

The kisses trail down his stubbled jaw while Jacob holds him steady, cupping his opposite cheek tenderly, tipping it to the side so he can gain more access to the blemished skin.

"Jacob." Pratt forces the name out of his mouth, unsure what the hell he is supposed to do.

"Staci," Jacob returns it to the side of his bobbing throat.

His jacket is tugged, creating an opening for Jacob to slip underneath multiple layers to squeeze his sensitive side. It sends a jolt of twisting heat flowing throughout his body, down to his curling toes.

This bedroom has seen it all before. All the girls, the positions and tricks Pratt tried to pull off, he wanted to make sure they would remember him. He wanted to leave his mark as Jacob has done over and over. They aren't so different. A commitment was terrifying, no matter how hard they worked to 'fix' or change him, Pratt struggled to meet them halfway. The more they grew attached, the less he desired them.

Although, it hasn't seen this before. Pratt has to draw a line and soon. Jacob is growing impatient, teeth are beginning to nip, hands are continuing to roam. He's scared. This is his home, a place where he's supposed to feel safe. Jacob keeps stealing, manipulating, and owning. Not here, he'd rather the cab of the truck, the shed out back, or even on the asphalt in the street.

Pratt attempts to appease the eager man by leaning close, pressing his body into his shaky touch. Through the fear, it feels incredible. His breathing hitches when rough pads trace over his hardening nipple.

Pratt can't stop from reacting exactly how Jacob craves. He pulls out the absolute worst in him and sets it in the foreground, teaching the broken Deputy how to accept it. He broke him, and now this is how he will heal.

It's hopeless.

Pratt curls his fists into Jacob's army jacket and yanks, forcing him to come back and kiss him properly. Jacob instantly licks into his mouth, taking and claiming what Pratt is offering. He can feel the older man vibrate with excitement. Having a compliant partner is much more interesting, they can push limits together, and explore this burning desire that neither of them can seem to shake.

The rifle is set down to rest against the closet door and Pratt is picked up. He gasps in embarrassment and shock, protests on his tongue as he's made to hold on tight to Jacob with his swiftly weakening arms and legs.

"I got ya," Jacob reassures as they move together, carrying Pratt over to the old bed.

Pratt knows he does, he always will, it's a fact he can never forget. The humiliating pleasure increases when Jacob Seed places him down in the messy sheets and proceeds to strip him of the borrowed warm layers hiding his fragile frame. He arches up into the kisses that greet each inch of skin that is revealed, making weak little noises with every touch. His boots are untied ceremoniously and slipped off his aching feet before a rough pair of hands drag down his heaving chest, his heavy lids almost closing when they reach his waistband.

"Don't close them," Jacob is keen to have Pratt see everything he is about to do to him. "I need to show you how to do this properly." He smirks down at him, his eyes crinkling at the sides and showing his age.

That fact has never bothered him. It was the least of his worries while he had been wasting away in Jacob's fortress. He has plenty more to worry about lately as the buckle on his belt is opened so his pants can be slid off his stiffening legs. 

Pratt watches Jacob carefully. He leans off the bed for a moment, searching through one of the packed bags, and brings back a fresh bottle of lube. Pratt wants to ask where the hell he got it, and why he brought it with them. He traps the questions in his head as Jacob lifts Pratt's thighs to the side, letting the back of his knees hook over his steady shoulder, the bottle placed next to Pratt's head for easy access.

Pratt holds his breath when his briefs are tugged and pulled over his ass. His hand shoots out and clasps Jacob's wrist, heart pounding so hard he swears he can feel the bed shake.

Jacob's face twists, he's about to scold and chastise, desperate to have obedience.

"I'm scared." Pratt blurts out with fluttering wet lashes, openly vulnerable, finally asking for comfort.

He has done this before, but that doesn't mean he wasn't terrified out of his mind. He's never dared to ask Jacob for anything, besides his freedom. Since it's been denied, he can only cooperate and hope for the best.

Jacob stays frozen for a moment, a mix of confusion and relief joins the other muddled reactions. It's a pleasant surprise for Jacob by the way he returns Pratt's concern with a smug smile.

Jacob slowly continues pulling his briefs down, leaving them tight around Pratt's knees. "Are you scared of me, Peaches?" He asks a question he already knows the answer to, but that's not what Pratt is talking about. "Or are you scared of doing this with me?"

Both.

Pratt still has a hold on him while Jacob pours the cold lube and rubs it between his fingers for Pratt to see. Some of it escapes and drips onto his hot quivering stomach, sending his body further into the mattress in a fruitless attempt to get away from the sizzle.

"I'm scared of what this means," Pratt takes advantage of Jacob's loose lips and presses him for more. "Why you risked...." His courage fades when a thick digit traces his entrance, the bottle at his naked side.

"Why you would risk coming here," He forces the words out, tensing when the finger threatens to slip in. "A-After the bunker, you said-"

"What did I say?" Jacob urges on, petting his hole while he traps his wiggling thighs to his chest with a strong arm, bending him.

Pratt's cock is already twitching on his hip, almost full and ready to be attended to. It's adapted to the situation and learned how good it can feel to be taken like this. To be mounted by a man. He can't trick himself into thinking that this is just a human reaction anymore. He likes it. He needs it. Sex with Jacob means he did well, it's a reward.

"Eyes open," Jacob orders and Pratt realizes that he has shut his eyes, lost in thought and other sad memories. "Tell me."

"I asked to go home," Pratt gazes up at Jacob, taking in the features of his scarred face, the bigger ones catch the most light. "And you said no- Mm!" He bites down on his lip when Jacob suddenly pushes through the resistance and starts the job of stretching his flexing walls.

He fumbles to find something to hold onto, blindly pawing at Jacob's hard thighs around him, his nails digging into the Herald's rough jeans. It feels good.

"I did," Jacob acknowledges it without issue.

It's frustrating to hear him be so casual about it. Pratt is unable to control Jacob's responses, all he can do is deal with the outcome, and it makes him feel even lonelier. Jacob is telling Pratt to figure it out because he refuses to admit the truth.

He's scared, too.

A second finger quickly joins the first, bringing a slight burn with it, luckily there's enough lube to simmer it down. Eye contact is growing nearly impossible as Pratt grows lost in the pleasure, Jacob is already pressing deep inside him, a dark thirst thrusting the moment forward.

Jacob hums happily into Pratt's skin when he takes it without complaint, planting kisses on his banged-up knees, and nibbling at his thighs. "Good boy," The praise shoots through Pratt, his cock pulses, and Jacob chuckles. "Look at you," The laughter turns a little sad at the end, and the fingers twist, forcing Pratt's back to arch suddenly.

The moan that's ripped from him is loud, unable to be silenced by the teeth in his swollen lip anymore. 

"Bet all the girls you've fucked in this bed moaned like you do," Jacob teases, knowing how hard it will hit close to home. "How would you make them cum, Staci?" He sinks knuckle-deep to attack his sensitive nerve.

Pratt cries out again and breaks the rules. The pressure forces his eyes shut, and his heels dig into Jacob's shoulder in an attempt to find relief. He can't breathe.

"Show me how you did it," Jacob grows harsher and pulls free, shoving Pratt's briefs off one shaking leg so they can fall open.

"W-What?" Pratt stutters when he regains some control.

"Show me how you would take care of those girls from the bar," Jacob comes close to take Pratt's hand and bring it down to the wetness between his legs "Properly this time." It's already prepped for a show.

Jacob must've enjoyed his effort last time, dissatisfied that he wasn't able to use it. That night Pratt wanted to be kept. He still does, in a way, as an equal. It will never happen, but there's no other way to survive.

The humiliation is heavy on Pratt's body as he slips a finger inside himself, wincing when his broken nails accidentally catch his walls and still ache from the previous intrusion.

"You were gentle with them, hm?" Jacob comments on Pratt's slow pace, smiling as he watches the man prepare. "Manipulative." He accuses.

Pratt shakes his head in denial and tries to focus on accepting his own digit. It's difficult to get the right angle that Jacob is asking for.

Pratt loved making love. He loved the attention and the pleasure, the sounds he could pull from the girls he brought home were delicious. They were so soft. He felt... wanted.

Jacob leans over him. "Deeper," He whispers in Pratt's reddening ear, kissing and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. "We'll need more room."

Pratt swallows and sits up so he can reach adequately, understanding just how much room they'll need. He can feel the size rubbing against the back of his thigh as Jacob grows increasingly impatient.

His attempts are frustratingly futile, he's sweating hard after being teased and then left to his own devices. The lips on his skin help send a twinge through his nerves, causing his toes to curl and teeth to clench.

"It's..." Pratt pants, leaning into Jacob's equally wet face and asking for help.

"Need help?" Jacob wants to hear him say it.

Pratt nods, their beards rubbing together, creating more friction. Jacob's clothes are scratchy against his bare skin, the buttons threatening to cut into his sensitive muscles, his dog tags making indents in his chest.

"I need your help." He asks when Jacob is already sitting up and retrieving the bottle. "Ah..." Pratt gasps lightly when Jacob is too excited to warm up the fresh coat lube this time.

Pratt goes to remove himself but is stopped. "Stay put," Jacob mumbles as he begins to slide his own finger behind Pratt's.

That's new.

"What are you doing?!" Pratt tries to wiggle free of the grip and dig his heel into Jacob's hip.

Jacob stops that nonsense with a harsh grip on his ankle, pushing it up and out of the way, growling. "Showing you-" He guides their tangled fingers to the bump and presses.

Pratt's head throws itself back as the neglected nerve is active again, sending jolts of electricity through his entire being. Pratt is utterly powerless, he's trapped inside himself without any possibility of escape.

"-how good it feels to be with me,"

Pratt questions Jacob with wide watery eyes and catches a glimpse of worry on his brow as if Pratt has a choice to leave him. Jacob is tired of fighting this, exhausted from battling the emotions constantly running through his already twisted mind. Maybe he just doesn't want Pratt to hate him anymore, maybe he feels other human emotions, like guilt. It's unlikely, but Pratt is learning that he is Jacob's most significant threat right now, and is doing everything he can to exploit that fact while staying above water.

Pratt is drowning as another of his fingers is manipulated into himself, replacing Jacob's thicker one. "Right there," Jacob instructs, his body beginning to tremble above Pratt. "Don't stop." It sounds like a threat.

Pratt is beyond arguing at this point, his cock is leaking, whole body shaking with need. He can't stop this. He nods and sits up enough to do as he's been asked to open up and let more in. He's barely aware of the world around him, only when Jacob goes to leave does he panic and cling desperately to his jacket.

"Where-"

"I'm not going far," Jacob promises and gently pries Pratt off his clothes.

He slides away and leaves Pratt open to the cold lowly lit room, quickly stripping his coat and shirt to join Pratt's forgotten pants. Jacob's eyes are glued to the busy hand, which speeds up when it realizes what is coming next, understanding how important it is to be ready.

Jacob's tongue flicks along his chapped lips, his eyes are bagged and starved for the meal in front of him. Pratt whines and turns his head to escape the frightening stare and focuses on the slick noises between his legs which grow louder with the extra effort he's putting in.

"Hey," Jacob wants the contact. "Eyes." He demands.

Pratt automatically submits and finds himself caught staring at a broken man, his cock free from his pants and in his hand, pumping it to get some relief after being trapped this entire time. Pratt watches Jacob groan, his head tilted back, still watching through hooded eyes. It's beautiful

"Wider," Jacob asks for a better view.

Slowly but surely, Pratt manages to let his stiff knees fall open. He clumsily scissors his hole, attempting to mimic Jacob's talent for opening men up. Pratt has never had a problem doing it for the girls he used, they enjoyed it, and he loved giving it to them.

Of course, Jacob was right about Pratt being a scumbag. He would leave before they woke up. If they were in his bed, he'd make up an excuse to get them up and out as soon as the sun hit the window next to his nightstand. The disappointment on their faces was clear, even more so when they would cross paths at the bar. A drink or two would be thrown in his face, and his date would leave, but there would always be someone else. Someone who was only passing through the small county and looking for a 'friend'.

Jacob stalks closer, reaching and putting pressure on Pratt's working hand as he leans over him. "Press." He hisses, mouth twitching when Pratt squirms.

Pratt's resilience is on the edge of breaking. His gut twists with his fingers, an embarrassing warning sign telling him how close he is to failing. "I think... I'm gonna cum..." He shares the fact with Jacob, who hums and steps out of his jeans.

His boot gets caught in the pant leg until he rips it free, kicking it across the room. "Cum." He encourages, bracing half his body above Pratt's so he can supervise.

Pratt doesn't want to. Not like this. The orgasm is dubiously held and simmers down. He can't do it.

"I can't-"

"You can," Jacob is there to stop the panic from rising.

Pratt's heart almost stops when the blur in his vision clears. There it is again, the glow, Jacob is shining in the low light. A savior in this dark and demented world. The only hero that's coming to save him. No matter how hard Pratt pushes him away, Jacob continues to offer the security he has constantly chased after. It's hovering above him with a kind smile. Pratt touches it. The stretched lips go slack instantly, shocked by the movement, but they stay close.

Pratt sits up with the rest of the strength he has left, his fingers still active. He hangs on the back of Jacob's neck for support, effectively pulling him forward so they can meet again, and softly kisses the corner of his mouth. "I wish..." Pratt speaks so quietly that it comes out as a whimper.

Jacob freezes and listens.

"I wish we had met before," He swallows and shakes his head as the truth comes filtering out. "Maybe there could have been something." If they were able to start over, Pratt might've fallen for him naturally.

Now, they can never have that. It's been robbed from them by the cult. By Joseph.

"Maybe we would have-"

Jacob shuts him up, shaking. He kisses Pratt until their lips ache and bleed, lungs empty, heart full. It hurts.

Love hurts.

"The urges won't stop," Jacob murmurs, sharing air, his tremors are rocking the entire bed. "Everything hurts when I try to resist." He pulls Pratt's fingers out of his way and gets up on the bed, his combat boots smearing gravel and mud on the sheets.

"Hold on-" Pratt needs to delay the inevitable so he can get a fresh coat of lube.

Jacob is already lining up, spilling his guts when Pratt is only half paying attention. "Fucking you makes them go away... for a day or two." He sounds utterly defeated, greatly burdened by this new found obsession.

Pratt is scrambling to find the bottle as his legs are spread, his briefs still dangling around his left ankle, while his pruned fingers brush against the rounded plastic. But the leftover wetness loosens his grip and it slips out, falling to the shag carpet.

Jacob breathes lightly, bewildered at his loss, happy that he can finally let go.

Pratt turns in the hold to try and retrieve the helpful tool, only to be stopped halfway on his side, his leg tossed in the air, and is made to rest on Jacob's bare shoulder. The other is securely pinned to the bedding, beneath Jacob's body, done with his indecisiveness.

The head of Jacob's cock clumsily slides with the slick, back and forth over his hole in search of warmth. It feels like it doubles in size when the tip finally catches and brings an inch of girth with it. 

Pratt tenses as he expects Jacob to just shove the entire length in, ignoring his cries again, taking what he thinks he's owed. He seems too far gone to have any rational thoughts left. It's best to hunker down and take it. Pratt grabs a fistful of old sheets and hides in the crook of his arm, prepared for the worst.

"Staci," It's soft.

Pratt flinches when he feels Jacob's calloused hand slide up his protruding spine, and curls inwards when Jacob leans over him, pushing his leg's flexibility to its maximum. 

"Breathe," It's comforting.

Pratt does as he's told and gulps for air.

"Relax for me." It's loving.

He chokes as the wandering hand's ghost over his neglected cock. It's been left untouched, avoided on purpose, edged so he can release at the right moment.

"Ngh..." Pratt is having trouble relaxing the instant Jacob attempts to slide the rest of the way in.

He did a decent job stretching, but the mental games they play are a struggle to win. He's exhausted and Jacob won't stop pushing.

Is this what it will be like in the bunker? With how things are going, Pratt will be Jacob's exclusive hole for eternity. He's already worn down to the root, raw and ugly. Jacob will get bored of him eventually and Pratt can't survive without him. There has to be an end to this.

The bed creaks with the shifting weight as Jacob threatens to force it. Pratt can hear his teeth grind, his body is burning hot, and doing everything it can not to take the easy way. 

Why?

Pratt sneaks a peek and finds Jacob Seed losing it. Sweat drips from his furrowed brow, focused on making this a decent experience for the both of them. The dim lamp light reveals the pain in his face. Jacob doesn't want to do this; he never did. It was a test Joseph knew he would struggle with. The Father knew his older brother had weaknesses, a void that couldn't be filled in the natural sense. This couldn't possibly be Pratt's only purpose. To be Jacob's salvation is the heaviest burden he can imagine.

Pratt needs to meet Jacob halfway or else they'll be back to square one. Blessedly, the Herald is determined to keep his promise of making this better, yet Pratt isn't doing enough to help him achieve that. Like a lover would.

Pratt comes out of hiding and frees the sheets from his aching grip. Slowly, he slides his squeezing hand to the globe of his ass and spreads the flesh, assisting in opening himself since he's having trouble relaxing.

"Gently," Pratt's throat is sore, hoarse from the strain of keeping all these convictions in. "Please."

Jacob looks like he's about to break at the words. The help might've not been so helpful.

"Fuck..." Jacob huffs, ready to crumble.

Jacob does his very best under the circumstances. They have to pause a couple of times when Pratt whines at the stretch, unpracticed, it's been weeks since he was used this way. Jacob almost pops a few veins when he makes his starving body wait for the meal below him. He strokes Pratt's leaking cock to distract him with pleasure as he feeds his body the rest.

"It's all in," Jacob announces the good news.

Meanwhile, Pratt is struggling to settle. He feels so full it brings tears to his eyes. It's not painful. Jacob is just so fucking thick that it knocks the composure right out of him. He digs his nails into wet flesh, unsure if it's his own or Jacob's. It itches like crazy, and the only way to find relief is to have Jacob scratch it.

"Easy-" Jacob is attentive to his distress.

"Move," Pratt demands, losing it with each breath he draws. "Move!" He begs when Jacob isn't fast enough.

Suddenly, The Herald pulls back, almost out, giving him space to finally surge forward. He slams in and groans gratefully, eyes rolling as he greedily starts thrusting.

Pratt cries out, thankful for the thorough debauchery, as he fumbles with the damp sheets again. Jacob's hips snap back and forth furiously as he braces his hands next to Pratt's head, strands of his black hair getting caught between his flushed knuckles. His leg slides off Jacob's shoulder from the multiple impacts and is caught on his bulging forearm, allowing his body to rest on its back, facing the monster above him.

Pratt doesn't see one when he opens his eyes again. It's just a man. A broken one, but a man all the same.

A warm hand cups his damp face as wild steel blue eyes gaze back at him. "Okay?" 

Pratt can hear the concern in Jacob's voice. It's hard to catch it through the sensual sounds, yet it's crystal clear to him. It's the best Jacob can do without giving away how much he truly cares.

Love is weak.

Pratt's brow gently knocks into Jacob's as he lifts his weary head, foggy from fucking, and nods his approval. He's okay.

"Thank you." Pratt lets the words escape his lips before they meet Jacob's, appreciative of the hard work he has put in tonight.

He didn't have to do any of this. The trip to Pratt's home, his precious time, and the effort he put in to make this pain-free.

Jacob kisses back shallowly, hesitant at first as if each peck burns, stunned by the words. It was probably the last thing he expected to hear tonight. Pratt's trying to encourage this kind of fuckery, it might be the only way he'll be able to survive in the bunker.

Honestly, he needs Jacob to love him if he wants to live to see the sun again in the new world.

"Mm!" Pratt tenses with pleasure as Jacob finally seeps into the kiss and thrusts upwards where he knows he likes it.

Pratt drags his nails across Jacob's back, catching some of the scars, making him wonder if he'll ever be told the story behind them. They weren't mentioned in the personal file at the station. Back then, nothing stuck out about this man other than being a suspect wanted for crimes such as kidnapping, murder, and plenty of other warrants

Jacob responds with a hiss and teasing teeth, ready to plunge into Pratt's jaw in revenge. Pratt swears he can feel his stomach bulge to accommodate Jacob's insistent pounding, reaching new depths he's never experienced in their time together.

His orgasm comes out of nowhere. White and painful. It's ripped from him like everything else in his miserable life. He cries into Jacob's scruff as his hole clamps down without warning, earning a grunt from the man above who continues to mercilessly fuck him through it.

Pratt hardly realizes how his shaking legs are locked around Jacob's waist, desperate to keep him inside, afraid that his comfort will escape. He refuses to let go, giving Jacob little room to continue, causing him to slow down and rock upwards to pull more weak sounds out of his prey. Pratt arches up into Jacob in his effort to get away from the oversensitivity rippling inside him, still determined to keep him close.

"Let go," Jacob asks softly, tugging at the legs around him, slowly unlocking the hold.

Pratt swears under his breath when he feels the wet warmth stuck between their stomachs, embarrassed he couldn't hold it. "I'm sorry," He panics, expecting the real Jacob to be revealed and punish him for his selfishness. "I couldn't-"

Pratt keens as Jacob retreats and slips free. "Jacob," He struggles to sit up on his elbows, another apology on his lips.

He was too fast. Too needy. He left Jacob behind-

"Beautiful," Jacob smiles, his eyes star-gazing over Pratt's body, taking in his creation.

The moment knocks Pratt around, increasing the confusion he already has stirring in his chest, torn in opposite directions.

He jolts when Jacob bends and hot lips caress over his perked nipple. They kiss down his chest, sucking lightly, murmuring sweet things into his chilled skin. Jacob's tongue is hot and pressing as it peeks out to taste the mess, lapping at the evidence of their time together with long, slow strokes.

Pratt gapes at the situation and grabs at Jacob's shoulder to stop him, but the extra rest he earned on the drive over is used up. All he can do is enjoy the scene and find the power he needs to persevere for the rest of the night.

Jacob eventually cleans up most of the mess. Pratt cautiously runs his trembling fingers through the short red strands in front of him, his mind drifting off to faraway places, ones that he'll never be able to reach again.

Jacob returns to kiss and offers Pratt his share. The reward tastes sweet and warm in Jacob's mouth. He presses in to search for more.

"Greedy," Jacob smirks and wraps around Pratt's waist to pull him up, still kissing where he can.

Pratt tries to be helpful and actively wiggles into Jacob's lap, tensing for a split second when their cocks brush. His softer one twitches, still interested after Jacob's careful cleanup.

"Sit up," Jacob whispers, his active mouth sliding across Pratt's coarse jaw.

Pratt does as he's told and sits tall on his knees while Jacob shifts under him, lining up his member with Pratt's already thoroughly fucked hole. He slowly spears himself without needing to be asked, understanding what his purpose is.

"Haa..." Pratt pauses when it's halfway in, still struggling with sensitivity and the girth.

Jacob nuzzles his throat and squeezes his narrow sides to keep him steady as Pratt folds his arms around Jacob's scratched raw shoulders and leans into what's offered. He takes a deep breath in and out as he lets the rest of Jacob slide inside.

"Good boy," Jacob groans blissfully in his ear, happy to be surrounded by warmth once again.

Jacob hugs him tight, keeping Pratt in place while he thrusts up uncontrollably, pushing the limits. Pratt bites down on his lip, muffling pathetic sounds that want to escape and show off how good he feels. How right it is to have this man inside him.

Jacob's body is shifting beneath him, struggling to stay straight while he attempts to find a decent rhythm. He's tiring. Pratt steps up to the plate and presses a palm to Jacob's chest which tenses in response, expecting Pratt to try and stop him.

"Lay back," Pratt promises that this isn't a trick. "Let me," He offers assistance to the man who has the world on his shoulders.

It takes a minute for Jacob to accept it. He straightens out his legs and bit by bit his backside finds the damp sheets, dirtied from the muddy boots he still has on. Pratt can feel how tense Jacob is, his thighs are rock hard as Pratt adjusts for comfort and tentatively bares down on the pulsing intrusion.

Jacob grunts and digs his blunt nails into Pratt's hips, his jaw is clenched tight, struggling with his natural instinct to take charge again. Internally fighting everything he believes in and what he's been preaching about for God knows how long.

It's for you.

Pratt shoves that fantasy away quickly and focuses on the reality below him. A skeptical Jacob Seed is at his mercy. He appears smaller like this, weaker, and less imposing. It's surreal to see him so vulnerable. A stronger person would use this as a way out. A person without convictions would have been free by now. A lover would stay and fuck this man's brains out.

Pratt braces his hands on Jacob's heavily scarred torso for support as he summons whatever strength he has left to tighten his core. His hole is still slick with lube and precum, making the grinding manageable.

"Shit," Jacob's lashes flutter as he lifts his head to watch his cock disappear between Pratt's quivering thighs.

Pratt blushes harder and counts his splayed fingers covering the fleshy craters. Pratt's darker skin tone contrasts well with the rest of Jacob's naturally pale one. He traces the edge of the biggest pink scar that drapes across Jacob's shoulder and down a large portion of his left pec. His lips part, about to ask about them, ready to hear the story.

No, not now.

Pratt can't delay the inevitable forever. But, he would honestly like to learn of Jacob's past. If they are going to spend the rest of their lives together, he should get to know every dirty secret. "Will you tell me about them someday?" Pratt asks thoughtfully as he begins to find a rhythm he can keep pace with.

The corner of Jacob's mouth twitches up, and he huffs out a laugh. "Maybe," His thumb rubs circles into the meat of Pratt's thigh. "Depends how well you keep riding my cock." He smirks through the sensations.

Pratt's never done this before. It's embarrassing, but there's a sense of pride to it. Jacob is finding pleasure in his body and that has to count for something. He puts more effort into his movements and fucks himself thoroughly, gasping when Jacob's member drags along his delicate walls at a new angle.

Jacob helps where he can while he begins to enjoy the change of position. His grip is painful, ready to put Pratt in his place in case he does something stupid.

Pratt has no plans to make the wrong move. He wants to stay in this moment and won't risk anything to rip them out of it. 

It's surreal.

Pratt dances in Jacob's lap, pulling from his favourite porn videos in the cowgirl genre and doing his damndest to imitate the way those girls would rotate their bodies, only concerned about the men below them and their paychecks.

Pratt sees Jacob. He sees the dreaded love seeping out of his pores, including the ones clogged by fire. A man torn between family and raw desire. Every groan is laced with reluctance and guilt, hateful of the fact he can never let Pratt go. 

At this point, neither of them are prepared for the infamous pearly gates. Jacob is lost and Joseph has abandoned him for the sake of his atonement.

"I didn't realize you wanted to know so badly," Jacob's chuckle pulls Pratt out of his head to see his hard cock slapping against Jacob's stomach, bouncing with the fatiguing movements.

The wet slaps grow louder when Jacob launches into the heat, his patience melting, the brink coming closer. He follows Pratt when he struggles to escape the pressure and lift his hips, only to give Jacob the room to fuck him, deep.

He thrusts into him without concern, hushing the cries that he tears out of his prisoners lungs.

Pratt can't sit straight anymore, he topples over and catches his weight on either side of Jacob's head, his hands sinking into the breaking mattress.

"Jacob-!"

Jacob kisses the plea back in as his hand slides down Pratt's quaking back and keeps his ass steady, forcing him to bear it all.

Pratt can't breathe. He's being violated at both ends, spit-roasted by the same man, Jacob's demanding tongue suffocates him while his hungry cock piledrives him.

If Pratt were to ever question who he belongs to he's sure Jacob will be forever thrilled to remind him.

He is fading.

Pratt doesn't know where they are anymore. He can't keep up. It's hard and unforgiving, yet he can still sense the passion that Jacob is insistent on denying.

"Mmnh!" Pratt whines at the final brutal thrusts that Jacob is able to give before he finds his release, burying it deep as if he's trying to keep it there for a goal they could never achieve as men.

Pratt's vision is colorful and he can feel the static surrounding his body. It's humming as he regains other senses, too out of it to be startled when he recognizes Jacob's heavy arms around him. His wet face is plastered to rough rising and falling flesh.

There's stickiness between them. Did he cum again?

Pratt's eyes won't open, and his limbs refuse to move, dead to any signals to flee. The colors fade, and eventually grey turns to black.

"Staci?"

The voice is worried.

"Staci..."

It's scared.

Jacob knows he pushed it too far again. He couldn't stop, not after holding back for so long. It was painful to simply watch Pratt exist without his cock inside him. Such a waste.

"Staci..." Jacob rolls Pratt flat on his back and gives him a small shake.

The man's head rolls limply to the side. No response.

He checks his pulse and counts his breathing.

Heart racing.

Jacob puts a shaky hand on Pratt's forehead to take his temperature.

Burning.

He's running a damn fever.

Jacob swears and launches off the bed to swiftly make his way to the duffle bags sitting forgotten in the corner of the room, under the harsh lamp light. He riffles through the full one and squints his eyes, ignoring the mess splattered across his front, he reads the fine print on the medicine box in the first aid kit.

It needs to be taken with food.

Fuck sake.

Jacob leaves it on the nightstand for later and rushes to the bathroom in search of an absorbent cloth. There is a forgotten hand towel on the floor that will have to make do for now. He soaks it with the canteen of water he brought along. The County's pipe system was destroyed by a certain someone months ago. It doesn't matter, it would have been tainted by bliss anyway.

Jacob uses it to wipe Pratt down, slowing slightly when he's distracted by the mismatched bruising, fully pausing as he washes over Pratt's scarred shoulder, connecting to the other one on his arm. He thoughtfully traces his own teeth marks, remembering exactly how Pratt tasted, how he had wailed. Pratt will carry them for the rest of his life.

That fact makes him proud. Prideful, as Joseph would say. If the Deputy is strong enough to kill him, Pratt will most likely live on and carry the marks forever. Rook won't be able to destroy that.

Jacob shakes off the fantasy that often creeps up on him and attempts to erase the misdeeds with the cool cloth. They won't disappear so easily. The act was done out of arousal and jealousy, sins he doesn't have the energy for, yet here they are.

"I wish we met before, maybe there could have been something-"

Did he mean it?

Jacob's gaze fixes on Pratt's slack face. He's watched him sleep a handful of times. At first, it was out of fascination, now it could lean towards obsession. Some nights Jacob goes down to his cell and stands at the door, his hand rolling the key between his fingers, tempted to use it.

No one is there to stop it. Joseph has left him. John is too weak. Faith can't risk straying from The Father's word. Jacob was okay with being alone before Pratt, but now he struggles to make it through a day without him.

Jacob sighs through his nose and sits on the edge of the bed. He carefully presses the clean end of the towel to Pratt's brow, wiping away sweat and drying tears as he drags it to his flushed cheeks.

"I'm sorry," He whispers, overburdened with conviction and doubt.

Jacob gets completely on the bed and cleans up what's left over on Pratt's shuddering stomach and between his thighs. His hole is one of Jacob's favorite sights and he can't help lifting Pratt's leg to take a look. It's red and puffy, probably sore from tonight's activities, Jacob may have pulled a muscle. What really gets his attention is his seed escaping, unable to find a spot to rest inside, sad that it didn't stay longer.

It's still a beautiful view.

Jacob gives it extra attention. Gentle when he traces Pratt's rim with the towel.

"Mn..." Pratt tenses in his sleep, unhappy with the texture, and his face twists with displeasure.

Jacob is quick to finish, thrown off again when he knows Pratt is in pain. "You're safe." His heart tightens at his own words.

This is his fault. He enjoyed the ride, but the aftermath was a mix of self-hatred and selfish gratification. It feels so good to hurt this man. It feels even better when he's able to take care of him, in whatever form that may be.

He should take him hunting—just the two of them. Pratt could use extra skills before the collapse, he's barely held a rifle since he's been here. Jacob hasn't trusted him not to turn it around in the yard.

Jacob returns to the bathroom to refresh the cloth and clean his own body. His back is red and bleeding from Pratt desperately clinging to him. He was crying in pleasure with each thrust and came twice without being touched. How can Jacob ignore that?

It will be better in the bunker. Pratt has to see that this is what's best and that Jacob is sacrificing everything to have him by his side.

He glances at Pratt's silent form on the bed, staring to ensure he is still breathing. He's turned on his side now, roached back facing him. Jacob keeps in mind that it's all part of the process, this is how the new world will be, survival of the fittest.

Pratt is weak. Jacob will make him strong.

Jacob wrings the towel free of excess water and leaves it hanging to dry over the shower curtain pole before plodding back into the room. He rounds the bed and sits down so he can see Pratt's face, his sunken eyes are shadowed by his unruly long black hair. Jacob fixes it out of the way before pressing a steady hand to his hot cheek.

He's so fragile.

Jacob leans in hesitantly to plant a soft kiss on the boy's worried brow. He smiles when he sees it relax and Pratt nuzzles into the touch. There has to be something here. Something good.

The sheets are ruined and unfit to keep Pratt warm. Jacob pulls out a spare blanket from the bags and unrolls it across Pratt's waist, tugging away the old ones. It's getting colder. He looks around for another, but the room has been raided thoroughly.

Jacob grabs his army jacket as a last resort and carefully drapes it over Pratt, setting it snug around his shoulders. Careful not to disturb him when he stands once more to take care of his boots and slide them off his aching feet in order for him to redress.

Sleep isn't ready for him. The nightmares are getting stronger. The end is getting closer.

Jacob spends the rest of the night watching over the sleeping man. His rifle rests in his arms as he sits quietly on the bed, staring at the walls and thinking of what could be. Of what they could accomplish together.

"You love him."

"... Yes."

Chapter Text

"Pathetic."

"Weakness."

"What a waste."

                                                                                                    "Beautiful."

"I can't let you go."

      "I hate you."

"I love you."

Staci startles awake. It's early morning. The sun is barely breaching the disintegrating curtains through the broken windows. It shines across the room, highlighting the floating dust in the air.

He's at home? 

Pratt groans and rolls on his back, bleary-eyed, unfocused on his familiar surroundings. He blinks it away and rubs his eyes, tugging the warm blanket around him further up his chest.

The events of last night suddenly come crashing down when he catches a whiff of Jacob Seed. He's close. Pratt can't find him when he frantically scans the room. Where the fuck is- Pratt freezes and looks at the fabric currently clamped in his fist.

It's Jacob's precious army jacket.

Pratt's gut flips as the facts stab and sink deep into his chest, confirming what he fears most. The blanket that was keeping him warm against the howling wind coming from the bullet holes layered in the walls belonged to Jacob. The Herald draped it over his body after... Well, Pratt can't remember the end of it, but he sure as hell can feel everything that happened last night.

Pratt sighs and hides his face with the proof, breathing it in deeply, letting himself be weak and pathetic for a while longer. Jacob took care of him, well, the best he could. It was the softest he'd ever been in bed. It felt good. Jacob Seed felt good inside him. Mind, body, and soul.

He'll never escape. And for now, he has to be okay with that. This is how he survives. If it means he'll spend eternity with Jacob, so be it. The man is simply asking for what he has already taken.

Heavy footsteps tell Pratt how little time he has to decide. He moves to hide, but his tight muscles flare hot at the sudden stretch. The grunt he makes gives away his awareness as Jacob walks in, on a mission to get things moving.

There's a long sigh and rustling. Pratt assumes he's packing for the trip home, back to the project, responsibilities, and blood.

Pratt isn't ready. He doesn't want to go. He can bear this version of Jacob, he's barely caring, rough around the edges, and cruel. But, Jacob is safety. He's careful and able to adapt. He's strong. At the center, nothing is waiting for them besides pain and loneliness. Here, they are comfortable, they can be human with each other. Pratt might even be able to accept his fate if they stayed a while longer.

A tug on the jacket brings Pratt back to earth. "Time to go." Jacob needs to go back to his family.

Pratt holds tight, not ready to face the world so soon. This is the last time he will be in his home. It's unrecognizable after the Peggies cleared it clean through, ruining its bachelor charm. But, he has to give it up.

Jacob is his new home.

"Staci,"

Pratt finally sets the fabric free and it's peeled away, allowing the cold air to attack his suspiciously clean skin. It's all the colors of the rainbow by now. Jacob is running out of spots to bruise and claim.

The air is silent. Pratt dares to peek over his shoulder to find Jacob, taking it all in. His eyes are dark again, hungry as they count the newest bundle of his handiwork. The frenzy he was in last night has passed, although, the heat is there, rekindling what Jacob is so desperate to douse.

For once, Pratt stays perfectly still when Jacob reaches for him, he closes his eyes as the rough hand cards carefully through his messy hair a couple of times before resting on his tense brow.

It's warm. Pratt allows himself to lean into it as his wet lashes flutter, ready to fall asleep.

It lingers for a while and he doesn't complain. Pratt is aware that these moments won't come often. As soon as they leave the weight of responsibilities will fall on Jacob's shoulders again. It will take priority, and Pratt will stay by his side, no matter the task.

"Fever's gone." Jacob sighs through his nose and reluctantly takes his hand back, his face is unreadable this morning, the walls are back up.

Pratt gingerly sits up, leaning on the heels of his hands, and watches Jacob put his jacket back on before thoughtlessly rummaging through the duffle bags.

He's wasting time, too.

"Here," Jacob tosses a canteen in Pratt's lap.

He chugs the water inside, noting that it's barely half full. He coughs violently, his eyes watering when the fresh liquid coats his irritated throat, threatening to come back up from the shock of it.

The distress breaks through the awkwardness of the room. Jacob said and did many things last night, things that should have never come to the surface. It was terrifying and Pratt hated how it made him feel. The thrill of being a point of weakness for this criminal sends an incredible amount of pleasure through him. Pratt would have one chance to make a difference, a single chance to redeem himself in Hope County's view. But, something is holding him back from the opportunity. Something he isn't able to identify as they sit here in the morning afterglow.

As much as it horrifies him, Pratt wants answers and needs to figure out why he wants Jacob to stay close.

It hurts. This man hurts him. Yet, he can't imagine life without him now. Even if he was able to escape, what then? How will he survive?

"Jacob?" Pratt wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Mm," Jacob grunts the permission to speak and zips up one of the bags, throwing it next to the rest waiting by the bedroom door, including his shining red rifle leaning on the rotting wall.

"In the bunker..." Pratt starts and Jacob stops to listen, interested in this kind of inquiry. "How will this work?" What will he be down there? Will he always be a prisoner?

Jacob chews on the question for a moment, possibly wondering the same thing. "It depends," He finds words as he tosses Pratt's clothing on the bed, insistent that they begin moving.

"On what?" Pratt asks as he carefully slides to the edge of the bed and works hard to put a foot through his briefs.

"On you," Jacob places Pratt's worn boots in front of him. "On what you decide to do with the gifts we've offered."

Pratt knows that Jacob would prefer a more willing partner next to him. Life in the bunker would be far less tolerable if Pratt fought him down there, too. They're already exhausted on the surface-

"What are you thinking about, Peaches?" Jacob is still here, crouched, eyes expectant as he watches Pratt work through all the information he has been given the past several months.

His tone is caring, encouraging this type of process, hopeful that he has finally broken through.

Maybe he has. Pratt has nothing left to lose.

He searches Jacob's cold gaze. "I'm just trying to survive." Pratt manages a small, sad smile, hiding the fact that Jacob isn't the only one struggling with new affections.

Jacob smirks and stands. "Keep trying." He walks away to let Pratt finish dressing.

They need to leave.

Pratt pushes through the stiffness and double-checks that his family photo is still in his jeans pocket. It's there, a little crumpled, but intact.

"Is that all you want?" Of course, Jacob notices.

Pratt shoves it back in his pocket and hastily puts on the borrowed warm layers. His jacket is still in the corner of the room where they tussled last night, forgotten about when Jacob lost control.

Pratt keeps moving and tries to ignore the fact that he is being treated like many women who have been manipulated here. Forced to pick up the aftermath and leave, as if they meant nothing like they're just another used-up tool.

No matter how much Pratt justifies it, he was wrong. Jacob has shown him that, literally.

He was poison.

"Ready," Pratt mutters and zips up his coat, ready to leave his old life behind and rebuild wherever they end up.

They.

Pratt and Jacob.

Together.

His arm is grabbed and pulled away when he reaches to take one of the bags. He looks to Jacob, puzzled, unsure of what the issue is.

"I found this," Jacob keeps a hold of him as he brings out a familiar piece of jewelry from his pocket. "Figured it was yours." He helps slide it over Pratt's trembling fingers, securing it, and tightening the string around his right wrist.

Pratt is stunned into silence. He thought it was gone forever, his beaded bracelet, the one he lost in the crash. Or so he thought. He could have sworn he was wearing it that day. The beautifully carved wood, the rich browns that swirl along the delicate grain. It was a gift from his mother, a graduation present for completing his Deputy training. She was so proud.

A genuine smile spreads across his face as he twirls each bead to his satisfaction while memories that were locked away come to the surface.

Jacob returns to the bags and begins to load up the truck, leaving Staci to collect himself and say his final goodbyes.

The drive home is cold and uncomfortable. Pratt stays silent, distracted by the piece of his old life on his arm. He holds himself, the stomachache is back and grows stronger with each pothole in the road. A particularly large one makes him suck in sharply and blush when he feels last night's reward leak from behind and soak into his briefs.

Jesus.

Jacob cleaned up last night. He did his best with Pratt's unconscious body, refreshing where he could with what he had. Again, it was a romantic gesture. The list keeps on growing.

"Are you able to be useful today?" Jacob notices his discomfort.

Pratt nods. "Yes, sir." Even if he's not, Jacob would put him to work and double the load.

"Good," Jacob turns a corner, heading northwest. "We need to make a quick stop."

Pratt won't ask where they're going. He won't get a proper answer. Jacob likes to watch him squirm.

Instead of poking and prodding, Pratt adjusts in his seat and watches the wilderness pass by. His body throbs warmly as he tries to put last night behind him and look forward, preparing himself for whatever is next.

"I can't..."

It's not so easily done.

"It hurts when I don't..."

Jacob tried this time. And Pratt rode him like a whore.

"The urges won't stop."

The face the Herald made was one of pure joy. He loved it, and so did Pratt.

"Fucking you makes them go away... for a day or two."

Stop it.

Pratt feels sick again. His reflection in the window shows how pale and worn he is. Jacob is fucking the life out of him and building something new. At this point, he has half a mind to let it happen. He wasn't anything special before the crash, he was scraping by, and his life was meaningless. With Jacob, he can be better and contribute properly to things bigger than himself. A fruitful goal for his empty life.

Jacob gave that to him. The gift of purpose.

The reflection reveals Jacob as well. He appears rejuvenated, his hand on the steering wheel is relaxed, shifting it out of the way when he checks the fuel gauge. His arm is comfortable on the gear shift, mind seemingly quiet after fucking away his discontent.

They cruise through the empty road, passing abandoned vehicles broken down and salvaged, left to rust in ditches. Edens Gate's convoys are the only active threat on the road. It could change instantly if they cross the wrong street. Pratt has heard and read reports of the Whitetail's recent activities.

Surprise attacks, traps, explosions. They're not holding back.

Jacob took a huge risk coming out of the center, which puts him in a vulnerable position, and adds to Pratt's suffocating confusion.

His pleas were answered for once. An act of 'kindness' before they go underground and wait for the world to heal. Jacob is working hard to change Pratt's view of him, subtly adjusting the regimen while staying loyal to his ideals; he doesn't always want to be the monster Pratt fears.

It will take a lot for that to happen.

"Fuck," Jacob swears under his breath as a Peggie roadblock comes into view.

Pratt sits up and observes. The recruits appear exhausted as they rest against the cement blocks and the unmanned trucks, the machine guns are empty and unprepared for battle. They barely notice their frustrated Hearld pulling up with his pet, stopping in the treeline a few yards from the road. The old train bridges over Lake Silver stand tall behind the force.

The one Peggie who notices their arrival comes jogging up, rifle on his shoulder. He's young, barely a man. Their army is growing thin.

"Why haven't the shifts changed?" Jacob gets straight to the point.

The boy acts professional and cocks his shoulders back, standing tall, attempting to impress his favorite Herald. "We lost contact with the relief team hours ago, sir." His voice breaks, unable to pretend anymore. 

"Why wasn't I notified?"

The Peggie glances at Pratt in the passenger seat, his lip curling in disgust for a split second. "We were told to keep contact minimal." He knows.

They all do.

Jacob rubs a frustrated hand down his face. Displeased. It's Pratt's fault.

"There were reports of the Deputy in the area as well." The Peggie adds quickly, ripping off the bandaid.

Rook. She survived.

Jacob is still at the news, staring forward, searching for something.

"Faith said she would take care of her-"

"It's fine," Jacob puts the truck in park. "Let Faith have her turn."

The Peggie shuffles back as Jacob shoves open the truck door and steps out. He only turns to retrieve his rifle that is resting between the seats. He shakes his head and slams the door when Pratt scrambles to follow him.

"Stay, Peaches." A serious order. No arguing.

Pratt struggles to obey. It feels wrong. The order itself is normal, but having space between them at this very moment makes his anxiety skyrocket. His leg shakes uncontrollably as he stares longingly at Jacob's back. His body, stiff and sore, refuses to move. It was told to stay put. The song makes sure of that.

It hums inside him when he gets the slightest idea of rebelling.

It wasn't needed last night because-... Because...

You like it.

No.

You need him.

His teeth grit while Jacob is surrounded by his men.

They bow their heads as he scolds them for the blockade arrangements and their stale appearances. They need to be stronger.

Pratt tries to keep still and distract himself from calling out for Jacob. The truck keys are still in the ignition, the engine is running and ready to take him away from his fate if he was stronger. He'd be dead before he turned the corner. Despite the field trip and revelations, he has no doubts that Jacob would still do it.

Jacob would rather kill Pratt than allow him into enemy hands.

For now, Pratt waits, unhappily, as Jacob attempts to rein in his soldiers and set things straight. His expert hands point and direct. The Peggies follow and adjust the equipment as instructed. Those same hands were so calm with him last night, gentle and loving.

Jacob looks refreshed and ready to get back to business. He's reset after using Pratt properly, regaining control of his mentality.

Pratt did that for him. No wonder he wants to keep him so close and somewhat content.

The fine line between being a tool and the focus of admiration is becoming thread-thin.

The radio resting in the cupholder suddenly begins to crackle with indistinguishable messages. After a minute of hard listening, Pratt can determine that it's one of the Chosen Scouts sending frantic warnings through the channels. The only problem is the coordinates.

The trouble is close. Very close. It's around the corner.

The Peggies and Herald are already on the move. They're yelling at each other, setting up their stations, and the young boy from earlier is running to the machine guns mounted on the trucks.

Pratt grabs the door handle, ready to pull it, and run to Jacob. He loses him in the brush when he charges up the hill to the east, his red rifle in his arms. It's too dangerous to follow now.

All Pratt can do is sit tight as a rhythmic thrumming reaches his ears. It's bouncing off the landscape, vibrating the leaves, and gravel around the truck. Whatever is coming around the corner is gaining speed by the second.

Pratt considers the keys again. Is it still breaking the rules if he reverses down the street?

No. Jacob told him to stay.

Hopefully, the truck and the few skinny pine trees around him will catch most of the carnage. Or whatever is coming around the bend.

The vibrations grow stronger and the bombastic noise is turning into familiar music.

'I'm a two-wheel flyer! Risking everything!'

Oh, shit.

The first thing Pratt sees is the American Flag. It flies high on both sides of a charging navy blue Hummer.

'Tempting fate, time and time again!'

It's quickly gaining speed. The driver is unreadable, his knuckles are the only part catching the light, revealing a gold wedding ring.

'Bones break and crumble!'

The stainless steel grill aims for the center of the roadblock.

'Grim Reaper in the wind!'

The Peggies don't hesitate. They open fire immediately and riddle the enemy vehicle with everything they have. Machine guns, rifles, one screams orders, and prepares an RPG behind the cement blocks. 

It's strange. The intruder isn't firing back, they aren't avoiding the defenses, only barreling through. Blood paints the inside of the windshield, giving away their accuracy.

'One man of his word Not afraid to lose it all!'

No way he's gonna-

'A single shot of whiskey – ready to take a fall!'

He is.

No one has noticed the more than likely flammable liquid in the passenger seats and the trunk. The bullets will ignite it, and it's already too close to the barricade for it to be detonated safely. It's a 'For Freedom and Hope County' kind of plan.

It's too late. Pratt dives into the dirty seats and covers his ears just as the truck reaches the first row of barbed wire.

The shockwave from the explosion cracks the truck windshield on impact. Debris falls like they are in a rainstorm, and silence replaces the previous chaos. The truck's engine has stalled, upset at being knocked around.

Pratt attempts to peek over the dashboard and scope the damage only when the tremors cease.

The roadblock has been obliterated. Hot shrapnel and charred body parts litter the blackened road. Screams ring out when the owners of those parts finally realize what they're missing.

The two trucks that were used as the main deterrent are gone. There's nothing to retrieve or salvage. The rebellion has done its job, leaving a gaping hole in Eden's Gate's defenses.

Pratt glances over to the dense treeline, searching. He should regroup with Jacob-

Revving engines and jeers again fill the area, stopping Pratt's heart on a dime.

There are more. So much more. The Whitetails are on cleanup duty, their numbers are steady, and their skills have become the Peggies' equals. Two full truckloads are heading directly towards the new door their predecessor just made, faces determined, and hearts heavy with sacrifice.

Maybe Jacob is rubbing off on them.

Pratt ducks down again and the survivors rise, returning fire as the Whitetails take positions and engage.

Stray bullets strike the ground around him, and eventually his shelter itself. The windshield completely shatters and dusted glass begins to fall on Pratt's curled frame as he attempts to make himself as small as possible.

Sniper fire joins the battle, announcing the stellar marksman's presence as they slice through steel and flesh like butter. Jacob is beginning his work thinning out the sinners. The yells of agony and sorrow can be faintly heard, confirming the kills of loved ones and friends.

The war is so chaotic Pratt can barely think. But, he has to do something because they are losing. Badly.

Pratt can't lose Jacob. He can't lose that safety, that love. He needs to save his spot by Jacob's side.

He's unable to cower away from that reality anymore.

He reaches for the truck keys without looking, feeling around for the only idea he can come up with. After a few tense moments of flinching and close calls, he's able to grab and turn them. The engine groans, struggling with the extra stress being put on it.

"Come on!" He keeps trying as the windshield comes completely loose and collapses in on him, the noise from the fight is on full blast, pounding in his head.

"Fucking start!" Pratt screams at the damned machine, ready to pray to whichever god is listening.

Just this once. Please.

One must have heard him because the truck reluctantly chugs to life.

Thank you.

Pratt drags himself up to the steering wheel while avoiding the incoming fire within centimeters. There's no time to flinch or second-guess his idiotic plan.

Pratt can see how desperately they need this through the smoke and flames. It's simply death ahead of him.

This is the only way.

Pratt pulls the gear shift into drive and floors it, his head down, aiming for the heroes. He can only take one out, but it may be enough to turn the tables.

He hits flesh and bone first, running over a couple of Whitetails before the main target, the engine roaring.

More blood and cries.

Adrenaline continues to take over and tunnel vision sets in as the front of his truck meets the side of an unaware load of confident citizens fighting for their futures.

It goes black. Pain radiates through his body and hot plasma runs down his face.

Get up.

Jacob is close.

Be strong.

Pratt forces his eyes to open. The world is upside down and red.

"He killed-!"

Echoing voices are becoming clearer as the world around him resumes.

Get up, Peaches.

Loose glass crunches under soldiers' feet as they run away from the wreckage. The frame of his vehicle teeters back and forth over the side of a deep ditch as Pratt shifts and realizes both trucks have flipped, trapping him in the middle of the warzone. 

"Get back in cover!"

Pratt groans and rolls onto his stomach, the glass shredding his hands and legs as he crawls out of the driver-side window and into the light.

A cold, dead gaze is there to meet him. It belongs to one of the Whitetails. One of the 'good guys'.

Focus.

Pratt scrambles over the body resting in the grass and reaches for the rifle that's fallen beside her. A muddy boot stops that from happening. Pratt cries out in pain as his hand takes all of the pressure, trapped underneath a raging force and hot metal. The young bloody militia member holds his leaking side as he raises a black pistol and aims directly at Pratt's head.

"Whatever he's done to you," He glares down at him with his remaining eye, permanently blinded and crippled. "You deserve it." His finger curls and tightens around the trigger.

A gunshot rings out, but Pratt doesn't see the holy light like he's been told. Instead, he watches the gun fall into the splattered red foliage, and the Whitetail slowly drops to his knees with a fresh hole in his head.

Jacob.

Pratt hurries to the pistol and aims at the sounds of footsteps coming around the wreckage, using the previous bodies to prop himself up. His legs won't move, this is the best angle he's got.

The Whitetail that comes running sees her friends first. Her expression is one of pure shock and rage. Pratt shoots twice as she raises her rifle in revenge, following what he's been repeatedly taught for months.

Good boy.

Her body joins the collection around him. Their deaths were quick and that's what matters most.

It's what he will keep telling himself when he runs this over and over in his head forever.

Even if they were the ones ready to kill him first, without question, they'll never forgive him for this. He's completely severed the tie.

Another chugging engine and multiple hurried boot steps make Pratt raise his newly acquired weapon once more, prepared to add to the current record of murder charges.

A familiar tuft of black hair comes around the corner, stopping him from pulling the trigger. "The fuck ye doin', boy?" Jarv scowls and lowers his rifle, curious about the corpses around him.

Pratt is too shell-shocked to answer, his mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. His voice is still catching up.

Jarv takes cover with him. The fight is slowing, the gunfire has diminished, and it sounds like Peggie reinforcements are cleaning up the area. Jarv rips the gun from him, untrusting, and oblivious to the giant sacrifice Pratt attempted to make.

"Jacob..." Is the first thing that comes out of him.

Jarv scoffs and aims over the flipped truck, shooting at the stragglers. "He's fine." He casually reassures and reloads.

"Chris! Report!" The radio from the Whitetails cuts in and out, fearing the truth, unable to believe it so soon. "Please!"

Pratt shuts it off. Still utterly torn and confused. His instincts took over again, but he shouldn't rely on that excuse forever. Eventually, he will have to admit that this is where he belongs.

Pratt stiffens when he hears Jacob's booming voice over Jarv's radio, throwing orders around, unhappy with what they've lost. They begin to echo as the Herald grows closer, ready to put the road back together again for the next attack.

Pratt struggles to get up while Jarv becomes at ease with the surroundings and leaves to answer the call. They need to clean up and mutilate the dead to leave a warning for the Whitetail scouts.

Pratt leans on the wreckage and gets his legs under him, only then does he realize how covered in blood he is. It's not all his, but there's still a worrying amount leaking from his head.

He has to keep moving. Jacob is on the way to deal with him, and it's best if he crawls out of the ditch and faces him properly.

At the top he finds the Peggies collecting their dead and throwing them along the edge of the treeline, their bodies will be good fodder for the earth beneath and hungry animals searching for an easy meal. The body of the eager young man from earlier is the next to be thrown in and forgotten about.

The Whitetails are being handled like spoiled meat. They are gutted. Their fresh organs slip onto the heavily stained asphalt and kicked away as they are replaced with the infamous bliss flowers.

The sight increases Pratt's nausea to the brink. He's almost thankful when Jacob's rigid frame comes to block off the horror show. He appears a bit worse for wear, too. He's sweating hard, and Pratt swears he can see the rifle on his shoulder is smoking hot with hard use.

He's harshly grabbed and dragged to an old Eden's Gate truck to be thrown in without a word. The tense silence continues as Jacob joins him on the driver's side and guns it for the dirt path that leads to the old railroad bridge with the rifle haphazardly thrown across Pratt's lap.

The last time he checked it was severely unstable and closed down for repair. The county never had the funds to start the project so it's continued to rot.

"Jacob-"

"Where are you hit?!"

"What?!" Jacob pushes the old truck to go faster over the rough terrain, sharp rocks threaten to cut through the bald tires. "Jacob, the train-!"

"Answer the question!" He yells, his hand gesturing authoritatively, demanding to know.

Pratt holds tight onto the dashboard when Jacob takes them over the rusted tracks, the force bounces him out of the fabric seats, adding to his upset stomach.

The speed steadies as they hit the first section of rotted wood bridging. The rusted metalwork groans and trembles around them, ready to collapse if they hit one of the many weak spots.

"Pull over!" Pratt shouts back, trying to stab some common sense into Jacob's thick skull.

Jacob veers to the right between where the first bridge ends and the second portion begins. It's an island that used to be a hang-out spot for young teens and families during the hot summers. Old tents, sleeping bags, and firewood litter the space while the surrounding Lake Silver shines brightly against the sun's strong rays. It smells sweet with the pollution of the bliss.

Pratt stumbles out of the truck as soon as it stops without thinking of the consequences. He's only worried about what's happening inside him, physically and mentally. He leans on the first pine tree he sees and wretches behind it as he throws up the water he had this morning.

Everything is hitting him all at once. The adrenaline is wearing off quickly and the pain is extraordinary. Breathing is barely manageable, each breath he draws brings a sharp sting to his lungs, creating the issue of lack of oxygen.

Flashes of the destruction he's just caused run through his mind as he begins to hyperventilate, his body desperate to stay conscious when he hears the sound of a slamming car door behind him, and boots swiftly cutting through the dry grass.

Pratt stands and falls multiple times in his attempt to gain distance, but the lake's shoreline cuts off his escape. He must look totally out of it, covered in blood, gasping for air, crawling away from his punishment.

He knows there will be one. Jacob told him to stay. Instead of listening, he drove a valuable tool right into enemy lines. It doesn't matter what he was trying to accomplish, tools obey, and nothing more.

"Pratt."

Knock it off.

Pratt immediately sits still, blinded by his own stinging blood and recent events, he can only wait in the dark.

The sand shifts under Jacob as he closes in. Pratt can hear how hard he's breathing, too. He must be angry, pissed at what his family has lost-

Pratt is suddenly pressed into the beach and kissed, hard.

Jacob is on his knees, caging him in, and kissing him like it's the last one they'll ever share.

Pratt can taste copper as Jacob deepens it, pulling a relieved whimper from him, thankful for the lack of violence.

He weakly paws at Jacob's chest and arms, using all the energy he can muster to appease the confused man above him.

"Should be dead," Jacob mumbles against him. "Rotting in the ditch with the rest of them..." The kiss slows, and eventually, Jacob rests his forehead on Pratt's and sighs, beginning to regain his composure.

"Jacob-" Pratt gasps, still blind, his brow pinched in fear and confusion.

He's still trying to figure out if he did the right thing.

Jacob is trembling, his clothes are soaked through. He fought for his life and his family. Pratt helped save what they could but the project has taken another major hit today.

Jacob has to be proud of him, right? He was strong.

He needs to hear the praise if he's unable to see it. 

Pratt wants it to fill his ringing ears and take away this intense pain. It's almost unbearable at this point, but he will sit through it, he will be strong.

Jacob's warmth sadly leaves and for a minute Pratt believes he's going to abandon him here, bleeding and wounded, while he listens to his fading footsteps.

He tries to move and press his hands into the beach to sit up. He needs to catch Jacob if he wants to survive. Dying here wasn't part of his shitty plan.

"Stop moving." Jacob's rough voice returns, already scolding him.

Pratt sags and hunches over, hands on his knees, secretly thrilled to have the enemy close as a damp cloth is dragged firmly over his eyes.

Jacob's hand on the back of his head keeps him steady when Pratt nearly falls over from the pressure.

"Your nose isn't broken." Jacob starts to take in his injuries, sounding slightly relieved and frustrated at the same time.

His tool is in pieces and it will take a while to put it back together, but they don't have the time.

"I'm fine." Pratt lies to both of them.

He's lost a lot of blood. The fluids he had this morning are gone, expelled somewhere to soak into the soil, leaving him empty and weak.

Jacob must know Pratt is useless at this point. It would be pointless to carry dead weight on his shoulders all the way home.

Pratt needs to show Jacob that there's a chance for him to recover in a short period.

"I'm fine," Pratt repeats louder as his vision returns.

"Mm," Jacob sees right through it.

Pratt is covered in blood. Some his, some not. He's a full-blown traitor now. Eli, The Deputy, the entirety of Hope County, won't hesitate to put him out of his misery. He is lost, dead or alive.

"Don't cry," Jacob sighs, staying close as Pratt recovers his damaged senses.

Pratt hasn't noticed the tears running down his face, mixing with blood and sweat, he has lost control.

"I'm not," Pratt grunts and wipes his eyes with his sleeve.

It only helps to smear it all around and aggravate the skin. He has to stop this habit of completely breaking down, it's a waste of their time.

Pratt freezes when he feels fingers under his shirt, searching, gliding up his back, and taking their time to check each blemish and bump. He shudders as it slides lower along his spine, pressing when it finds a fresh wound.

Pratt hisses and flinches away, unsettled by the touch, uncertain if there's a punishment or a prize on the way.

"You look so beautiful."

He remembers how much Jacob enjoyed the sight of him like this. Used and filthy. The bodies of old tools surrounding him, cold and broken.

"Stop." Pratt is sharp with it, attempting to shut it down before it gets out of hand.

Jacob replies by pushing harder, forcing Pratt onto his chest, his face meeting the dirt.

It appears last night wasn't enough, and by the looks of things, it never will be.

"Let me." Jacob's too far gone to be rational, his voice is empty, mind distracted.

He's been out of it since he came down from his vantage point on the hill.

When Pratt still tries to maneuver out from underneath the weight above him. It's simply countered with a skilled shift and Jacob continues to explore as his jacket is shoved up and out of the way.

Pratt takes a deep breath in and out, preparing to continue to be the voice of reason. The nervous air disturbs the dirt beneath his cheek making him cough painfully, visibly wincing when his ribs rattle. 

Fighting would only cause more damage so he quiets down and lets Jacob examine him. It's also the fastest way they'll be able to get out of here. Jacob is the first to know that they can't do this here. Even with the rotting bridges, the Whitetails could still be close by, in the water and the air. The brush are barely enough to hide them from their scouts.

The last thing he wants is for them to discover his true purpose here. As far as he understands, only the center knows, and he would like to keep it that way.

Jacob takes his own deep breaths and eases up, his hands run through the back of Pratt's head again, tangling in the blood-soaked strands. He tugs at them gently as he crowds him, his lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"Well done."

Pratt's eyes flutter at the warm reward. The pain is numbed instantly, allowing him a small moment of solace before it comes back in waves seconds later.

"We have to go," Pratt slowly whispers back.

He's less inclined to do so with Jacob beginning to relax against him after finding most of his body intact. No bullet holes or stab wounds. Pratt is relieved, too. It's a miracle he came away with only a few deep gashes and bruised ribs.

"Don't do it again," Jacob murmurs under his breath as he gets up, leaving Pratt to put two and two together.

The warm fuzzy feeling immediately disintegrates when he registers the statement. Such a simple reprimand holds so much power.

It's an improper 'I love you', 'I care about you', and 'don't risk your life again.'

The complete opposite of what's been welded into his being since he was brought here.

His brain is misfiring as he uses a nearby tree to claw his way to his feet and lean on the sharp bark.

Jacob is at the open truck, pulling out his gun and slinging it over his shoulder, acting like what he said was the most normal fucking thing in the world.

"Can you walk?" Jacob asks when he reaches the helpful tree and pulls a pistol from the back of his waistband.

He checks the magazine and the chamber before offering it to Pratt, handle first.

"Take it," Jacob orders and steps closer when Pratt simply stares at it, refusing to fall for the trick.

Pratt slowly obeys and carefully wraps his fingers around the weapon, double checking the safety switch for good measure, his old Deputy instincts kicking in as he puts it in his jacket pocket.

"The lumber mill isn't too far away," Jacob sniffs and looks north across the lake. "Should make it there in time for lunch." He says as he takes the first few steps towards the old tracks.

It's their only way out. The water is too cold and infested with bliss, plus the Whitetails are on their boats and making rounds. Taking the truck would draw too much attention and is way too heavy for the bridge to support.

Pratt must have managed to earn a little trust from his tormentor. Or he's incredibly desperate to reach safer ground in one piece. And to be honest, so is Pratt. Jacob was right, again, the safest place is at the center with him.

The train bridge creaks under their feet and sways with the wind as Pratt manages to find the will to move and catch up, staying in step with the man who hates his guts and loves his soul.

Even with the most direct route the grueling hike takes hours, following the old rusted tracks, and funneled in the open by sharp hills. Jacob makes them pause and hide in the brush each time something doesn't feel right, which was often. Pratt can barely feel his legs by the time they see the Baron Lumber Mill silos. The Eden's Gate Flag is still strapped across the old structure, a beacon of hope for any surviving Peggie, and traitors like himself.

The Peggies that live here come running as soon as they're in sight. The scout on top of the mill must have spotted them and radioed it in. The cavalry welcomes them in trucks and guns, touching and caressing Jacob as he walks through them, refusing vehicle assistance. He has to appear strong and unshaken for them. For Pratt, he can see the weight return to his shoulders, the responsibility of survival for so many is heavy on his body.

Pratt begins to feel lucky to have seen this brilliantly broken man with his walls down. He knows he shouldn't be. But, maybe the trip they had wasn't just for him.

Pratt keeps his head down and follows the crowd of hopeful men and women into the outpost. They celebrate, completely ignoring Pratt's existence as Jacob steps into the mill's portable office and slams the door behind him, a clear signal to leave him alone.

Pratt doesn't hover. He takes in the area and the condition of the cages here. The dying and tortured sinners glare at him through the bars, using their spare energy to loathe him, blaming him for their situation.

Pratt sees the same look everywhere he goes. They all hate him. Sinner and Peggie alike. Jacob is the only one left that actually gives a shit about him in the most fucked up way possible.

It's ironic.

Pratt continues his tour, hopeful for a food station around the corner of the next group of cages. The place is old and was shut down years ago due to safety issues. Eden's Gate has improved and salvaged what could be saved, welding support beams, and cleaning up dangerous rubble. It's clean and has a strict regimen, similar to the setup at the Veterans Center, they are keeping spirits high.

The smell of a hot lunch reaches him as soon as he passes the last cage. A large tent is set up at the back of the property, with bunks, outdoor showers, and a blessed dining area. Pratt limps in, ignoring the shocked and confused gazes, they know what he is and who he belongs to.

No one stops the blood-covered pet from grabbing a tray and self-serving. He knows how much is allowed, and breakfast has long passed, the lunch portion is his favorite meal of the day. After his morning work, it's a decent time to regroup and tally the bodies he needs to remove, and how much time each task will take him. He's on a strict schedule, the more he falls behind, the fewer opportunities he has to gain rewards.

Pratt finds a bench by himself and digs in without bothering to utter a prayer like the rest, he skips thanking Joseph for saving them and providing the opportunity for a new life.

He won't be thanking anyone for putting him in this situation, even if it's changed him for the better, there has to be a healthier way.

Warm slop drips down his chin as Pratt works to get every last drop out of the bowl section of the steel tray. Every bit counts if today has taught him anything. Last night revealed everything he needed to know. More than he wanted to know.

The pain has slightly dissipated and is now a bearable thrum in his body. At the very least, he will be able to function today.

When he's finished Pratt wipes his mouth with his sleeve, adding to the blood and dirt strains. His stomach still screams in hunger as he throws his dish in the dirty pile at the front. All the murmurs he hears while he passes are about him, disgusted by what he has become.

Pratt has to agree. Jacob has created a monster, a pet that will do as it's told with little complaint, it only takes a little coaxing or a lot of fucking.

Pratt returns to the cages, he needs to work it off with the little energy he has been able to gain, there are a few he saw that need cleaning. He knows what he's allowed to do without needing to be asked. He'll only need the keys. The office should have them, but Jacob is inside, returning to work.

"Staci Pratt," A dry voice sinks his feet in the mud.

Pratt's heard it before somewhere in his lifetime. He turns to find a green hooded figure curled in the back corner of her cage. Long dark brown matted hair drapes down her chest, the hem of her sea blue shirt is torn and filthy, and old blood seeps through her bandaged hands.

"You look like shit," She snorts and uses the cage to get to her feet.

Pratt can see her face now, the scar, the dark eyes, and the anger.

"Jess?" Pratt squints at her, finally realizing where he's seen her.

Jess Black.

She's part of a friend group he was on the edge of. He would hang out with them if he had nothing better to do. A decent excuse to drink. He never bothered talking to her, she didn't seem interested in a fling, or anyone.

"Wow," She smirks and falls against the front of the cage, gripping hard onto the bars. "You actually remembered my name." Her teeth grit as she tries to put weight on her right leg, possibly suffering a sprained ankle.

Her sarcasm makes Pratt bristle and tense. It was unexpected and Pratt is searching his rattled mind for any reason she would have to hate him. Besides the fact she's in captivity and he seems to have the run of the place.

"You know," She keeps her eye contact intense, her soul strong. "I get bored in here a lot, between being mind fucked and sitting here, watching people die... I listen."

Pratt should walk away, he needs to keep moving, the keys... He needs the keys.

"The Peggies think we can't hear them." She gets comfortable, her arms resting on the horizontal bar while her brow leans against the cold rusted metal.

Whatever plasma he has left runs cold. Pratt knows what she's starting to get at, word travels fast in this community of raiders and murderers. Oh, how many stories they share about the supplies they steal, the innocent people they kill, and the entertaining torment of survivors who have potential.

The stories where Jacob fucks the sinner Deputy Pratt until he cries. They can hear him beg for more from the front gates, pleading for Jacob to go faster, and harder.

"I don't-"

Jess refuses to listen to any of the excuses he has planned. Instead, she catches the front of his sweater and yanks his ailing body forward, slamming him into the bars.

"There's nothing you can say that I'm going to believe." Jess hisses, keeping the pressure on as Pratt struggles to get free. "I can smell it on you," Her lips curl, utterly repulsed by the truth.

Pratt can't get her off, she's stronger than she looks, even after days of starvation and hard training. She won't let go.

"I know what you are," Jess's fingers rip and stretch Pratt's shirt, leading her to dig into the back of his neck to keep him close. "It's disgusting."

Enough.

Pratt sacrifices skin for freedom for the second time today and wrestles his way out of the death grip. A cold puddle catches him, soaking through his clothes, and seeping into his throbbing muscles.

"You deserve it," Jess repeats the truth as Pratt wallows in his misery. "All of it."

Fuck. He's so tired of hearing that. 

Pratt knows he deserves this, he repeats it daily in his head, but hasn't he suffered enough?

"I know," Pratt croaks, slipping in the mud as he finds his footing, coated in filth. "I know I do."

Jess eyes the handle of the gun Jacob gave him as it peeks out of his pocket. He fixes it back into place and stays out of arms reach.

"Jess,"

"Don't fucking talk to me." She snaps and backs away, skulking to her place in the back of the cage. "You're one of them now." The statement is final, she's said her peace.

Pratt wants to say his, too. He needs to tell her everything that's happened, to unburden himself of what he's done, it's not fair. This isn't his fault.

It's the box. It's Jacob. It's Joseph. It's Eden's Gate. Not him. Never him.

Don't let that freak break you.

Markus.

He barely remembers him and what was promised. It's been twisted and used to validate the true enemy. Pratt has lost his way through sex and exploitation. He had no idea he stopped fighting a long time ago.

This entire time he thought he was doing the strong thing and taking the brunt of it all for the sake of the County. In reality, he was selfish again and did whatever he could to keep his head down while his friends fought and died around him.

He's weak.

Oh, god. What has he done?

Pratt blinks and squints as if he's awoken from a deep slumber. The late afternoon sun blinds him as he stumbles away from his old acquaintance and heads towards the front of the property. He needs to stay calm, and act as if nothing has changed, that he is still under the song's spell. It's still stuck in his mind, humming through his body, calling him back to the darkness

He keeps his head down in shame as he passes dying people in cages he swore an oath to protect. He has to make good on it. Even if it means sacrificing everything he has built here, he's the only one who can do this, who can give the Deputy another shot at stopping the slaughter.

Jacob will kill him and Pratt is oddly calm about that fact. He doesn't want to die, but maybe it will bring his friends some solace that he did the right thing in the end.

If Joseph speaks the true word of god, Pratt will be able to see his parents sooner than he expected.

He slows his stride when he hears Jacob's booming voice several yards from the office. From what Pratt can understand, he isn't happy with his beloved chosen. They were hand-picked to turn the tides in the exact situation they most recently suffered, and not a single one made it in time.

No air support, reinforcements, or shift changes. 

It's Jacob's area of expertise and he couldn't leave it to them for one night. They failed and it's his fault. He trained them to be the best, and he shares the blame for their performance, no matter how poor.

"We made contact with-"

"That's not what I asked!"

Pratt steps closer to listen to the scolding, stopping outside the front porch wooden stairs to shamelessly eavesdrop.

A few mumbling brethren pass him, knowing better than to stay and pry. Pratt is aware he is breaking a large rule, but he's preparing to break them all soon, compared to that, this is a small infraction.

"You disregarded my orders," 

"We did what was right," One of the special soldiers isn't taking this lashing well. "While you were on vacation with your toy, we chose to save our brothers and sisters." There's that disgusted tone again, this time, it's toward the Herald they are meant to worship.

There's a dangerous silence. Pratt steps back, expecting the entire building to explode in Jacob's wrath.

A sudden bang in the office makes Pratt jump and retreat, eyes remaining forward, waiting for the beast to emerge. Yells of pain and regret rattle the metal walls as a body is thrown up against the office door window, shattering it.

A crowd begins to gather as the soldier is repeatedly thrown against the frame until it breaks open and he's launched outside, landing hard in the mud driveway.

Jacob is still on the attack. He jumps down the staircase and strides to the writhing body of his former trainee, his knuckles already bruising from the fight. "Get up." He orders, rolling up his jacket sleeves. 

The Chosen pushes himself up, the iconic red mask hiding the damage that's been done as he stands, prepared to fight for his life. It looks like a large portion has already been knocked out of him as he holds up his limp fists and stares down his Herald.

Pratt stays out of the way and joins the crowd, satisfied being an audience member rather than one of the fighters again. It's fascinating to see Jacob in this position, determined to kill and brutalize, with rage in his eyes. 

Pratt hates that it makes him excited. He hates it even more when Jacob catches a jab to the jaw and he has to hold his breath to suppress a concerned gasp. The song is quiet, yet he's still at the mercy of these thoughts and 'feelings'.

Jacob returns the punch with a kick to the chest, knocking the soldier back down. "Again," He barks as his Chosen wheezes in the muck.

It reminds Pratt of his training, rushed and brutal, he still has a long way to go. He'll never be able to be as good as the one currently fighting to get to his feet, but he's learned enough to take on the average man. Against Jacob, he'd lose each time. He has lost every time.

"Again!"

The Chosen is already on the ground again, bleeding heavily from the mouth, his jaw likely broken. The mask soaks the blood as much as it can, dripping when it's reached its limit.

Most Peggies have gathered around by now, staying silent as one of their brothers learns a vital lesson. An Eden's Gate truck pulls up, Jarv is at the wheel, quickly stepping out when he takes in the situation. He stops at the front of the crowd and watches apathetically as Jacob straddles the gurgling soldier and begins to viciously strangle the life out of him.

The weaker's legs kick out from underneath and his fingers claw at Jacob's face, cutting his skin and smearing blood down his cheek and neck. Jacob sits tall and avoids the desperate digits attempting to blind him. They struggle for a while, the Chosen not ready to die, he was sorted out of the chaff for this kind of thing. Jacob selected each one incredibly carefully, and it shows.

The fight is over with an echoing crunch. Jacob uses his weight to finalize his decision and the Chosen's neck snaps, his body instantly falling limp.

Nobody moves.

The only things that can be heard are the cries of dying sinners and Jacob's heavy breathing. After a few long moments, Jarv steps forward and calls to his hunched-over Herald.

"Jacob." He taps his shuddering shoulder.

It unlocks Jacob from his murderous trance and he stands, dragging his feet, using the crumpled body beneath him to push himself up.

The crowd slowly disperses as he straightens and gestures to the two remaining Chosen in the office, silently ordering them to clean up their sibling's remains.

"Jacob," Jarv tries again, holding his friend steady when he threatens to lose his balance.

Jacob brushes him off and moves away. He's exhausted and unable to show it, partially because he's too proud to give away hints of his suffering. Pratt can see it when Jacob locks onto him, his starved gaze forcing him to stay put as he stalks towards him.

Pratt keeps his nerve and sings the song in his head while Jacob's bloodied hands cup his equally stained and battered face.

They match perfectly.

"I-"

"Shhh..." Jacob gently quiets him. 

Pratt doesn't like this. Jacob is weak in front of his people.

The office. They can hide in there-

Jacob shakes his head and gives him a small pained smile, uncaring of the mess he's made. The fight was a statement. No one will question their situation again, at least not openly.

Pratt shrinks as Jacob makes their brows connect, mimicking his faith-obsessed brother, signaling his stance on his pawns' complaints. He's failed them, miserably. 

It won't happen again.

Jacob lets go and retrieves the music box from his chest pocket. He turns it once, twice, three times.

Pratt shakes his head. This isn't the reward he hoped for when he helped kill the heroes of Hope County. He has to stay awake through the song, he can't let it take over again.

He locks his jaw and stands tall, ready for the pain, the training, and the darkness.

Train. Kill. Sacrifice.

Block it out.

Only you...

Stay strong.

Can make the darkness bright...

His eyes flutter as he glares at the box, hating how each note echoes in his head, they force him to his knees and tremble in front of the thinning group of Peggies.

They need to see this. They need to know that Jacob is still in peak condition and ready to protect those who would harm them. That includes Pratt, even after his work today, he will use this tool to keep morale high and their doubt non-existent.

The truth of their field trip will remain secret between them. And Jarv.

For you it's true, you are my destiny...

Pratt makes one last futile attempt to change Jacob's mind, reaching out and touching his stained boots in a plea for mercy.

It's ignored. Jacob stands mute as he watches Pratt sink and suffocate into the encroaching void.

You're my dream come true, my one and only you...

"She's gone," Jacob's solemn voice comes through the satellite phone.

They found her body in the river.

Joseph Seed stays quiet for a while. His hand rests on John's forehead as he receives the news.

He's healing well and they will be able to take him to the bunker soon, machine-free. He's awoken several times and remembers their names, their purpose. Joseph wishes he had forgotten some of their past, but it's still very much active in his baby brother's troubled mind.

"Joe," Jacob is still waiting for a reply.

Joseph sighs and closes his tired eyes behind his yellow-tinted sunglasses.

"Bury her."

Faith is dead.

Jacob buries her deep in the woods facing east on a hill where the warm sunrise will greet her each morning. Collapse or not, she will be at peace for the rest of eternity, protected from the unkind world.

Faith was supposed to be his sister, a loved one, but as the last shovel full of dirt was laid on her grave, he felt nothing. Ultimately, as they all are, she was just another tool in Joseph's arsenal.

Jacob is Joseph's tool, his protector, a willing lethal weapon to aim at those who would harm them—a sacrifice. One has to be made soon if the Deputy keeps making progress.

Their outposts are constantly under stress as the Whitetails have rallied behind their hero and are pushing north. Jacob will have to bring her in earlier than he would have liked.

They can't afford to lose that precious ground and the spare bunkers underneath. Now that they've lost Faith's bunker, they are running out of spare beds. Neither hers nor John's are salvageable and the supplies stored within are lost.

The pressure is mounting and all Jacob wants to do is fuck Pratt senseless.

Sex with Pratt is the best outlet he's ever had available. Every time he's inside him, thrusting away, and listening to his cries, it gives him complete lucidity. The relief he feels filling Pratt to the brim is addicting and he's not ready to let it go.

He's a perfect tool.

Just a tool and no more than that.

"You love him."

Jacob is trying to forget the conversation ever happened. Joseph has a talent for seeing the truth in people's souls before they discover it for themselves. It's annoying.

What troubles him most is his response to the statement.

"Yes..."

It was ripped out of him before he could catch it. Another one of his blessed brothers' skills that he's unable to counter.

They sat in a long silence after the reluctant confession until Joseph smiled softly and reassured him.

"Then love him properly."

Jacob has no idea what that means, and he won't have time to figure it out as the radio chatter brings him to the present and fills the room with sightings of the Deputy once more, begging for reinforcements that they can't spare.

Instead, Jacob plays the song into the receiver and brings her in.

Pratt plays his part of the broken man perfectly as he carefully shaves Jacob in front of his former colleague. It's incredibly satisfying to catch The Deputy's hungry glare through the bars, wishing she was the one with the knife so she could do the right thing. The strong thing.

The Deputy is within feet of saving the world and all she can do is stuff her face with her raw food ration for the week and listen to the story that started Jacob's passion.

Pratt is listening, too. He stiffly pours water over Jacob's hands, timing it carefully, working in sync with his movements.

He's been working Pratt hard, rigorously training and cleaning filthy cages, keeping him full of it so there aren't any problems so close to the end.

Because this is it, the plan is coming to its climax and Jacob can't help but vibrate with excitement. After all the work he's put in, he'll finally be able to release himself from his self-restraints and be part of the big picture.

The culling is coming for the Whitetails. And by the hands of one of their own no less. It will be beautiful.

"Hoorah..."

The exhilaration is dampened later that night as he dryly stares at the map on his desk, covered in red pen, circling empty bunkers they've found for their displaced followers. Jacob's won't be enough to house them all.

The weight of 'Rook's' devastation has returned to his shoulders as he sits, head leaned into his hand, and scans the names of the desperate. He tries never to dwell on the past, but he's been in their position before, homeless and lost.

He has no idea how Joseph and John found him in that mess. Broken and afraid of the world he was sent away to protect. The public treated him like an invader, and the government threw him away after breaking his body and spirit, acting as if he would be able to pick up a normal life.

Jacob stares harder at the printed landscape, lit by a low lamp light, as his vision becomes unfocused and blurry. He's tired, but sleep won't help him now, the nightmares will ensure that. He needs to get this done.

Next on the list is...

'S. Pratt'

Jacob had to rearrange his plans. The followers take priority; in this case, Jacob will sacrifice his home comforts for their lives. But letting Pratt out of his control is unsettling.

The moving around has dislodged him from Jacob's future bedside. There just isn't enough room and the priority goes to the people who believe in Joseph's word, who've fought for it. Those who deserve it most have made the biggest sacrifices.

Pratt has made some progress, although, it may be Jacob's fault that it wasn't more. He's been weak and used Pratt's body as a distraction, a source of power.

A tool that he can put anywhere with confidence.

Jacob determinedly writes Pratt's name down in the southern group, the bunkers are newly built, and supplies are decent. It will be a good starting point when the new world is safe to explore.

The confidence wavers and the pen slows down halfway through the letter 'a'. The ink bleeds into the paper as it stops halfway through, its holder hesitating.

No, he should put him north, the bunkers are older, but sturdy, properly insulated for the cold. It will give Pratt a better chance to adjust.

'S. Pra'

Not there either. It's too close to the crumbling mountains, the bunker door could become inaccessible from fallen rubble.

'Staci Prat'

The east is too close to the water, it could contaminate the drinking supply if the soil soaks up enough of the bliss.

'Staci'

Jacob puts the pen down and falls into the back of his desk chair, sighing.

What the fuck is he doing?

He stares at the smoke-stained ceiling, one of several imperfections left unrenovated when John acquired the place. He had big plans for the rest of the rooms, but Jacob wanted to make it his own, he stopped John after he managed to put the finishing touches on his bedroom.

John complained about the structural issues to get his foot in the door, excited to show off his creative side. Eventually, Joseph calmed him down and set him on another project.

He misses him.

The whiskey is still half-full in his desk drawer and he's tempted to reach for it, another distraction, another sin.

It's either a hot drink or he finds Pratt. He's somewhere with the wolves, helping Jackson with the night feeding. Hela, his trustworthy companion, has been left to run free around the property. She has been helping to lure others to the wolf beacons.

Pratt is busy. The drink isn't.

He opens the drawer, ready to indulge, but the office door opening makes him close it again.

Jarv walks in, still in uniform, rifle across his chest. He raises a brow at the messy scribbles across the map, saying plenty without opening his mouth.

Jacob can sense his concern as he sits up and picks up the pen again. "You should be in bed." He skips Pratt and reads the next name on the long list.

Jarv snorts and steps in, leaving the door open. "So should you," He returns as he comes round to peek over Jacob's hunched frame, most likely noting the written struggle. "What about here?" He points to an empty bunker nestled in the hills below the Grandview Hotel.

It's well hidden from bad weather and possible raiders once the surface is finished scorching and the air is safe to breathe. It's perfect.

"No," Jacob brushes it off and assigns 'P. Hale' to one of the northern bunkers.

"I didn't mean him-"

"I know who you meant." Jacob sharply cuts the conversation off before it starts.

Next on the list is 'T. Fowler'. Not the most loyal of members, he's just looking to survive, uninterested in Joseph's beliefs. Although, he is a decent shot and well-built. Jacob begins to write his name down in the East.

He tenses as a heavy hand places itself on his tired shoulder. "Let's get some air."

Jacob is reluctant to leave this room until he's done, but ignoring his most loyal soldier and best friend would be unwise.

Jarv has been part of the project since the beginning. He was among the first to grace Joseph's doorstep after his sermon at Pastor Jerome's church in Fall's End. Jacob was told the story of that fortunate Sunday multiple times. The Pastor was livid. Jarv was very descriptive of the horrified look on the man's face when he realized Joseph was speaking the truth, Jacob almost wishes he was there to see him rage.

Jarv was ready to surrender it all and would only allow himself to be baptized under Joseph's hands, fully prepared to carry out whatever task was given, simply happy to be serving God and his word. He's always been more religious than Jacob.

He resisted the friendship at first, thinking that all he needed were his brothers, but Jarv never took it personally. He waited while Jacob gained some ground before trying again. Their shared veteran status broke down one of Jacob's walls. 

Of course, Joseph encouraged Jacob's attempts to reach out, even if it was for his sake. John was the opposite, jealous of sharing his attention with anyone else. 

He quickly got over it when he saw Jacob begin to heal. They laugh at it now, jabbing at the memories of Jacob running away from every possible chance for conversation. Between adjusting to life in America, healing, and hiding within his brother's shadows, he wasn't ready.

Jarv never pushed or pulled for information. He stayed quiet and waited for Jacob to open up naturally. Their bond quickly grew and has never wavered, even during heated arguments and physical fights. The following day, they continued as if nothing had happened. The only evidence of their disagreement was faint bruising and a new story to joke about.

The cool night air is a welcoming sensation on Jacob's irritated skin as they step out the back doors. The crates of supplies they stored here have mostly vanished, either used or sent to the bunkers for storage, they've left imprints in the drying mud.

A few guards linger and scan the treelines below the mountains. It's a difficult angle for enemies to attack, so the protection is minimal, and Hela would alert them if anything were disturbed. It's a perfect place to be scolded if that's what Jarv is planning to do.

They walk to the tall cement walls and lean against them, gazing at their home, at the fortress they've created. Jacob hates to say it, but he couldn't have built such a place without Jarv's help and expertise.

Jarv was part of a small yet important squad that built trenches and assessed areas of interest, clearing the enemy out and setting up large bases of operation in the desert with minimal support. Jacob admires him, although he's partially jealous of how well Jarv recovered when he returned home. He's stronger than him.

"You're my brother, Jacob," Jarv finally speaks after minutes of silence, careful of what he's about to say.

Jacob raises a brow at him, waiting for the 'but'.

"But," There it is. "Ya also asked me to be your partner." Jarv sniffs and keeps his eyes busy with their barren surroundings, not one for these kinds of talks.

"It's my job to keep you alive'n focused," He sighs and rests his head on the wall behind them. "This project... I owe it everything I have."

"Jarv,"

"I will always be by your side, brother. I will never judge you." Jarv is intent on getting this out. "But, I need ya to put 'im somewhere."

Him?

"Put him away and work on what's important."

Pratt.

Jacob is ready to throw his weight around. "This isn't your place." They connect their intense looks, neither willing to back down.

"That's what'm saying." Jarv faces his friend, his rifle resting on the wall behind him. "It's exactly my place."

Jacob is the first to look away and sighs through his nose, frustrated with the truth. He had asked Jarv to be his partner, not only in the project but also personally. They both knew the task was too large for him alone, although he would never admit it, Joseph has asked a lot from him.

"I don't care about whatever feelings are goin' on with this kid-"

"There are no feelings." Jacob snaps and stands tall, defensive, ready to walk away.

Jarv can't possibly understand how this feels, and there's nothing he can do to help relieve this kind of pain.

It hurts to be apart from Pratt for even a second, to be out of reach of his favorite tool makes his skin crawl and his heart race, it's truly pitiful how far he's let this go on.

Jarv is holding out a hand, trying to save Jacob from himself, but he's too wary to grab it. He can't let anyone in. They'll see the cracks and the weakness seeping through.

"It don't matter," Jarv continues, remaining relaxed as his Herald is distracted by inner turmoil. "I'll do whatever ya ask, I'm your tool, all I want is to see ya succeed."

That's right. Jarv has always been on his side, never questioning his tactics, only offering his advice, and doing exactly as he's told without complaint. His best tool is asking for clarity and security, the least he can do is get his head on straight for the home stretch. 

He has to pull it together, right now.

In the bunker, he can lose his mind as much as he wants. It would be easier to stay sane with Staci by his side, using him whenever he needs to vent, and able to keep a close eye on his progress. They're poor excuses, but it may barely be enough for him to decide.

Jacob dips his head and nods, slowly. He can now see what others do, his failures and shortcomings are surfacing. It's time to complete their mission before it's too late.

Jacob manages to smirk and glance at Jarv who is still leaning against the cold stone. "You're my brother, too."

Jarv gives his version of a smile and steps towards him, his hand outstretched. "Always." They shake on their strengthened bond and embrace for a moment before retreating.

Their talk isn't as refreshing as sex with Pratt, he still itches, hungry for his cries. It will have to do for now as he finishes assigning the lost to their homes. They need him to live up to the promises he's made.

"Where will you put him?" Jarv picks up his rifle and prepares to call it a night once he knows Jacob is back on track.

Jacob chews on it for a second and goes with the first place that comes to mind. "Close." He hums, unusually happy with his decision.

Jarv shrugs, satisfied with that answer. "I'll-"

"She's gone!" A guard yells out into the night.

The ear-piercing alarms suddenly ring, the song mixing in for escapees, and make Jacob's warm feelings instantly disappear, replaced by pure dread and panic. The bonded brothers give each other knowing looks, with Jacob attempting to keep the disappointment hidden from his bloodshot eyes.

"Find her!"

His men run to cover more ground, tight grips on their weapons, clearly nervous that they may be added to the Deputy's kill count. The wolves howl and bark as the last truck of the night leaves the compound.

The reveal of Pratt's betrayal brings a small wobbly smile to his face as he watches a single dark figure squirm on the box of the transport. Pratt didn't make the jump. He's proud of him in a way, the kid is getting stronger, more bold.

It's too bad really, they could have survived together for years to come, maybe Pratt would have learned to be content with his new life.

It's too late now. Pratt has ultimately decided his fate and Jacob's problem has solved itself. So why does it still hurt so much?

Why is the pain increasing?

"You love him."