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piratesfromspace · 4 months

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Night Blue (Price x Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Price

Rated: Mature

Word count: 3k

Summary: "Between two containers, he sees the target, bloodied and tied up to the floor." or when Price comes to your rescue.

Note: I'm not the author of this fic, it is actually a Christmas gift from my boyfriend (yes I have the best boyfriend ever)! He writes for a living and has yet to dip his toes in fanfic territories, but I think he did fantastic and was very good at writing with the female gaze in mind. His take on Price has me drooling. He used the codename Rain, but note this is not part of the Rain Universe. Please let him know in the comment what you think of his first CoD fanfic!

Content: military!fem!reader, Reader has blue eyes but no body description other than that, mention of food & alcohol, rescue mission, implied torture, competency kink, typical level of violence

Muffled voices. Metallic clinking. Crowded interior. This could be your next mission. Or the last one. But it isn’t. It’s only a date. Well, Only. If only “only” could be only. It isn’t. It’s been years. You know him. This isn’t a first. But somehow, your heart is racing. It’s a fancy restaurant, after all. In the middle of good old London. He always had great taste, if not old-fashioned. But he’s late. He’s always late. You never understood that. How could someone that precise on the field be this messy in civvy street? Where the heck is he?

Did he try to take the tube? Again? He can’t do that. Not anymore. Not after what happened the last time 141 was deployed in London. He should be in a cab right now, on his way, with a big, innocent grin on his face. At least, you hope he is. You don’t want to drink this expensive bottle alone. Spend the night by yourself. Fall asleep in a cold bed.

“Don’t let me down, Bravo 6.”

You said it aloud with a sigh. Someone answers.

“Oh, you know I won’t, darling.”

He’s here. Where did he come from? Doesn’t matter. His noise discipline is on point. That’s something he brings from the field. Ever so stealthy, he takes the chair before you and says “hi” in his thick accent. Thick as his moustache. What’s the name again? Mutton chops or something. He’s so damn proud of it. It’s cute. You noticed he trimmed it for the occasion and probably added some kind of oil to it. You smell it from here. An odd but somewhat comforting smell. Like a cosy fireplace or a warmish glass of Scotch. You wonder if your sheets will smell like that in the morning. He’s trying to say something, but you're already lost in the thought. Split seconds where you don’t listen, only think about those infamous mutton chops climbing your legs. Focus, damn it. What is he wearing? A suit? That’s strange. Well, you always thought anything besides a loaded chest rig looked weird on him. Wait, no. That’s not true. He wears jumpers and cardigans quite nicely. You always pictured him as an old British gentleman. A sailor embarking on a frail boat. Or a hunter walking to a black forest. Something like that. Old-fashioned indeed. It’s an acquired taste.

So you talk. Like a lot. Spend time in each other’s eyes. Those grey-blue marbles, in which you see more than what is said. The joy of the moment, of being here, yes. But also the sadness, the pain. What is supposedly left behind, somewhere on a desolated field, and yet always comes back to scratch those eyes. It’s okay. You have the same. That’s why it’s working. But you remember. You remember how bright, much brighter, these eyes were the first time you saw them.

TEN YEARS AGO

Black and white. Night and snow. Somewhere in Northern Europe, the winter wind sweeps the clouds across the sky and dusts the flakes off the trees. But two bushes remain still. Until they don’t. All ghillied up, two operators crawl in powder snow. They talk as loud as the wind allows them to.

“Follow me and keep low, lieutenant. Target’s right ahead.”

“Solid copy.”

Captain MacMillan leads the way in near-total silence. His second in command, Lieutenant John Price, tries to keep up. He misses the warmth of the base. Of a pub. Of anything warmer than this icy desert at this point. But he needs to stay focused. They’re deep into enemy territory, trying to retrieve an ally he only knows by reputation. A track record he admires. So he wonders. What happened? A trap? A mistake? Perhaps it’s a warning in disguise. It goes to show that no one is ever too good to get caught. To get killed.

Listen to the captain. Do what the captain says, his head repeats. Enough to forget his instincts or the will to think for himself. Violence and timing. Once you’re on the field, only these two matter. They don’t require you to think. Only to act, and act at the right moment. Old man MacMillan told him so. And despite his age, Alpha Six is teaching him a lesson. The captain moves like a damn ghost. The cold doesn’t seem to bother him. It’s almost like the snow melts around him so he can look like a real bush. The deadliest bush in the country, probably.

“It’s a goddamn convention around here, John.”

Price looks down. The warehouse and its surroundings are barely lit, but using thermal goggles, he can already count twelve guns guarding the target, plus three engineers working on an Infantry Fighting Vehicle. Guards, not soldiers. The new plague of the free world: PMCs. Former soldiers, swapping insignias for fatter paychecks. Russian, probably. He hears them talking through the wind. Or maybe French. They hire all across Europe, after all. The captain’s accent brings him back to Scotland.

“We could wait for them to break off, but that’d be playing with the target’s life, and we’d probably freeze our asses to death… There’s only one way to do this, innit?”

“Right. Care for a suggestion, captain?”

“I’m all hears, lieutenant.”

“That IFV. Maybe it is operational. Maybe it isn’t. I don’t want to find out. We take it down first. C4 should do the trick. They hear the boom. We split. You dance, I get inside. Once the target’s identity is confirmed, I take the long trek home through the forest, and meet you at LZ.”

“You forget your rank, lieutenant. Why should I be the one dancing, John?”

“With all due respect captain, you forget your back. I’m sure the target’s a big boy. Unless you’re ready for the fireman carry of your life, you let me do it. If you hurt yourself, who will put those Christmas lights on the tree? Your wife will never forgive me…”

“Alright John, lead the way.”

They don’t need their ghillies anymore. The bushes become men. They check their weapons. Price is about to take point when MacMillan nudges him. His fatherly smile almost lights the dark.

“The next time you bring my wife into this kid, you’re going down.”

“Roger that, captain.”

One of the engineers went for a cigarette. Lord bless the smokers. They all leave their post, eventually. Even when they don’t, that smoke will shake their focus. Move fingers away from triggers, grenades, alarms. Enjoy that last cigarette, lad. This smoke’s about to kill you faster than lung cancer. MacMillan jumps from the white shadows, arms instantly locked on his prey. His combat knife bites. Screams die in the engineer’s throat. Blood bubbles explode. The wind covers almost everything. The fluff of the snow takes care of the rest.

Words come to them, though, and both captain and lieutenant freeze instantly. Their weapons are up, ready to strike. But they don’t want to fight. Not here, not now. More words. Price is trying to make sense of them, but he skipped too many classes for that. Damn you and your bad boy attitude, he thinks, until he hears a laugh. The words are repeated, but not as a question. That delivery transcends all languages. It’s a joke. Tension goes down, but MacMillan is already one step ahead.

Pripyat. Urzikstan. Many more. Price has fought next to the captain since he joined the SAS. It’s a weird thing, but by now, he probably knows him better than friends. Better than family. And it shows. They don’t have to speak, but that’s always been a requirement on the field. What’s more impressive is they don’t have to sign full sentences either. They’ve experienced enough settings and parameters to understand how the situation will eventually play out. So they commit to the action, together, before the scenario can even start. Like two polished pieces of the same high-precision clock, they act as one to define time itself.

“Together”, he signs.

For the two engineers, it’s time to die. Focused on the scratched hull of their IFV, these poor bastards never see it coming. A .45 ACP bullet penetrates their skulls at subsonic speed and settles down in their brains, avoiding any ricochet on the armoured surface of the vehicle. They climb on top of the tank. Price removes the bodies to find a hatch while MacMillan gets a block of C4 ready. Except for the wind, the place is silent. Which means no one knows they’re here. Good. But it could also mean the target is dead by now. The same thought has crossed the captain’s mind. He suddenly acts faster, despite the gloves and the numbed fingers they’re supposed to protect. Price follows and places the C4 inside the IFV, next to what he remembers to be a fuel tank.

About ninety-two seconds later, John learns his memories are correct. From the safety of distance, MacMillan has blown the IFV straight to hell in one glorious explosion. But it only takes about twenty more seconds for the PMC to react, learns Price on his watch. And that’s bad news. They’re still sharp. Drilled. Ready to respond. And they do. John counts half of them spreading out of the warehouse through truck gates and access doors. Their plan is sound. They’re looking out, trying to nullify the effect of surprise with a solid assessment of who or what is outside.

And it’s only one man, but he gives them a round for their money. MacMillan uses every trick in the book and every weapon he carries to make them think there’s a whole squad hunting for them behind the snow, between those big black trees. And they fall for it. At least one of the mercenaries does, and chooses to provide firing support from the door he was supposed to shut behind his comrades.

John sees the opportunity immediately. Timing. In just a few rounds, the mercenary will have to reload. Or maybe he will suddenly realise the door is still open and stop firing. An empty mag hits the floor, and Price jumps out of cover. Violence. He grabs the mercenary’s weapon with one hand while the other secures the kill. The bastard’s heavy, and the thump of his fall makes a lot of noise. Silenced handgun raised, Price waits for a moment, scanning the entry corridor for potential targets. But no one comes. More words, inside. More shots, outside. Chaos is settling in, everywhere.

Another opportunity, then. Price presses on, checking his corners with the precision of a machine. A door opens to his right. Two mercs, rushing out of a room to help their comrades overwhelmed by MacMillan’s tactics. John is almost as surprised as they are, but not quite. Timing. They’re too fast, and likely to fire from the hip. Violence. He empties his mag on the two targets. One mercenary drops suddenly, like a puppet cut from its strings. The other falls, but slowly. His vest caught the heat. If he’s good, there’s a chance he might go for a sidearm, or a knife. No time to reload then. Price runs and then falls on his knees to finish his target with a clean cut from his combat blade. The bastard knows death is coming, but he’s not ready to embrace it just yet. His arms move in a life-or-death reflex, and Price is stopped a few centimetres away from a kill. There’s no timing anymore. Only violence, a test of raw strength. John tries to stab the merc down the neck. The poor guy can’t do anything but buy some time, and wait a few seconds for someone to go check the corridor. But no one comes for him. Only death, in the form of a straight silver blade slowly piercing his throat.

Rolling to the side, Price suddenly remembers to breathe. Staying on his back, he reloads his weapon without thinking, his two eyes locked on the door the mercs have opened seconds prior. He counts. One when he entered. Two in the corridor. With half of them still outside fighting MacMillan, that’s two mercenaries unaccounted for. Usually, it is the wounded, the insecure or the frightened you leave behind. But when it comes to target protection, it’s the other way around. Your last wall of defence is also the toughest. The big guns stay with the target until the end. If Price wasn’t so actively trying not to think, maybe he would have remembered that.

He enters the room. More like a hangar. It’s dark. Only the moon and distant muzzle flashes provide some light through large, rectangular windows. Timing? Put the night vision set on, find the bastards, and apply a bit of violence. Wait. Price holds on to his set. Did someone cut the power? It could be MacMillan toying with them. But more likely, the mercs have figured their opponents are properly equipped. And now, they’re just waiting for Price to put his night vision on. They want him to rely on the tool, for there’s no faster way to blind a man than putting the power back at the right moment. So Price throws the night vision set away, into the room. Five thousand quid of government-issued tech crash on the industrial floor. One second. Two seconds. The light goes back and the night vision set dies a second time, broken apart by crossfire.

The shots from the right probably came from that little accounting office Price sees through a piece of shattered glass. He resists the urge to throw a grenade, that could threaten the target’s life. His back on the wall, he’s getting closer to the office. More words. They come from the left. These mercs can’t shut up to save their lives. What is it this time? There’s a trace of panic in the sentences. They’re probably asking for reinforcements, but there’s a hell lot of static on the other end of the line. MacMillan has done his part, and there’s no military base around anyway. In typical Laswell fashion, Kate had saved the only piece of good news for the end of her briefing, Price remembers. So good luck with that, lad. But keep talking. The echo allows John to move closer and closer to his next kill. Until the warehouse is silent again. Until something inside the office decides to move.

It’s a lock. Inside the door, it jiggles enough for Price to notice someone’s about to leave the office. He waits for the final click to bash the gate. It arrives a split-second later, and John kicks the door like his dad used to kick rugby balls on Sunday mornings. Wood breaks. Bones follow. Price puts another bullet in another skull. It happens so fast the merc can’t even fight or scream. But his finger was already on the trigger, so his assault rifle yelled for him. The burst catches price off-guard. Bullets pound his plate and the walls alike. He falls.

When the kick finally fades, the world is backwards. Literally. Between two containers, he sees the target, bloodied and tied up to the floor. Or is it the ceiling? He’s not sure anymore. His ears are buzzing. His chest is compressed by the impact. There’s no gun in his hands. He wants to rise but he can’t. Someone comes. Someone that’s not MacMillan. Price rolls from back to belly. The world looks finally looks right again. Well, right as it can be when you’re crawling unarmed in the face of the Grim Reaper.

His weapon raised, the last merc stops next to the target and fires. Not rounds, but words. More words. Insults, probably. Weirdly, they’re not aimed at Price. They’re for whoever is still under the same black hood they always put on prisoners. She answers, proudly, in their language.

Wait, she?

Gunshots. They come from outside, from the forest. Surprised, the last merc tries to sneak a look between the crates. Price gathers the little strength he has left to look for a weapon. But he’s still dizzy. A hippo with a full belly would be faster. He looks up, facing death with both eyes open. Only death doesn’t come for him. The target is free. She climbs on the mercenary like a damn spider, using her legs to maintain the bastard’s weapon against his chest while she strangles him with the little piece of plastic tying her two hands. John finally finds his sidearm. He wants to help her. He wants to shoot. But SAS lieutenant John Price is not so sure of his aim anymore. So he looks, and eventually, the mercenary crumbles.

Price now moves a bit faster and a bit closer. The target’s still fighting. But her prey is long dead. There’s no breathing left in him. His neck is broken. So broken that little piece of plastic is slowly severing head from body. And yet she fights, furiously. Moving slowly, talking even slower, he tries to calm her down. She releases her grip on the dead mercenary. Describing his every move out loud, John carefully guides his blade between her two hands and next to her neck. Underneath the bruises and the cuts, she’s a woman alright. Their eyes locked. Back to the mission.

“Lieutenant John Price, British SAS. I need your codename, fast.”

“Why are you here? I had it under control!”

Her voice is confident. Not a single taint of doubt in it. Price chuckles.

“I’m not sure I see it that way, darling. Now, give me your codename so I can get you out of here.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Again. Confident. She’s looking at the half-decapitated mercenary with disdain, not disgust. She killed before. In more ways than one. More brutal ways.

“I had it under control.”

Her time to chuckle. She pauses. Takes one good look at him. That sort of threatening gaze birds of prey will give you if you happen to drive through their land. She measures. Judges. And weirdly enough, the whole thing ends with a sight smile.

“Codename’s Rain. Nice to meet you, lieutenant. Now, can a lady get a proper extraction, or what?”

“Sure thing, ma’am. Follow me.”

They grab some gear and step out of the warehouse. Outside, the night is silent again. The moon shines on the black of the trees. The white of the snow. The red of the dead bodies.

And the blue of their eyes.

#price x reader #cod fanfiction #captain price x reader #jonathan price #captain john price #john price x reader #captain price imagine #captain price #captain price fanfic #search and rescue #light angst #hurt/comfort #fem reader

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whumpsday · 10 months

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Kane & Jim #52: Trust

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: kidnapping, rescue, comfort, vampire whumpee / caretaker / whumper, whumper turned whumpee turned caretaker, caretaker turned whumpee, begging, humans as livestock, mild classism?

Whumpmas in July Day 12: Search & Rescue

here it is! i've been trying to write this one since literally april, sorry it took so long. i imagine the present arc as divided into 3 parts.

this is the finale of part 1!

It had been six months since Jim brought him home, and Kane was fully on a human schedule. He'd gotten into human music as well, with Jim bringing home new CDs for him on a regular basis. He liked to listen to them before bed, after Jim had locked him back downstairs and the sun had set. He would take notes on the music, his hand no longer shaking with weakness. And when he was done and the basement he'd come to think of as home was silent again, he would drift off to sleep. Plagued often with nightmares, but he always knew that he'd wake up safe and unharmed.

A quiet, peaceful life. Kane got a shallow bowl of fresh blood each day, Jim never hurt him, and he had his own little space with possessions of both need and want. He didn't care that he was a prisoner, that the now-fixed door bolted shut each night, that he was made to wear chains upstairs, that he couldn't leave if he wanted to. He was safe. He was happy, something he never thought he would be again.

So it was all the more worrying when his quiet night was interrupted by the screech of tires and the sound of someone's frantic struggling with the front door.

Kane got up from his desk and went to bed immediately, wrapping himself up in his blanket as his mind raced with possibilities. The hunters, always his first fear. It made no sense, they'd handed him over to Jim willingly, but he couldn't stop picturing it. His tormentors coming to snatch him away from his new, peaceful life, where he didn't hurt anybody and nobody hurt him, bringing him back to that horrible place where there was only pain. He shuddered at the thought.

The front door clicked open upstairs, the right key finally inserted. "Jim!" Liz's familiar voice cried.

Kane allowed himself to relax, somewhat. Yes, a hunter, but one who he knew by now wouldn't hurt him without cause. He could never bring himself to feel fully comfortable around her, but she hadn't harmed him yet. And if he kept being good, maybe she wouldn't ever.

Jim's footsteps came quickly, and though Kane couldn't make out the exact words of their conversation after Liz's initial shout, he could tell it wasn't good. She was crying, he was pretty sure.

Kane slowly got out of bed, concerned. Something was wrong, that much was obvious, but he was locked in the basement, and there was nothing he could do. He crept over to the stairs, but didn't climb them, unwilling to get closer to the silver door.

"They took Laken!" Liz sobbed. "They're gone!"

Kane felt his heart drop into his stomach. There was only one thing Liz could have meant by that, only one they she could have been talking about. The relief he would always feel when one of the more sadistic hunters never came back, his gratitude that vampire hunting was such a dangerous job, come back twisted and cruel. The kindest hunter he'd ever met had been taken.

He imagined Laken, always sweet and friendly, Laken who fed him with their own blood as his birthday present, alone and scared and in pain. Shipped off to the blood farms, or kept as someone's personal blood source, their mind stolen from them over and over until persuasion erased their warm, loving personality entirely.

Tears sprung to his eyes at the thought. He couldn't breathe all of a sudden, Liz's sobs perfectly encapsulating his own roaring despair. His head fell into his hands as he cried along with her, sitting on the bottom step. Laken was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Wasn't there?

Kane picked his tear-streaked face up as the gears started to turn. He stood and knocked on the wall, unable to touch the door itself. "Hello?"

"Kane, man, just- not right now, okay? Go back to bed," Jim called, voice choked up.

A direct order. Jim hardly ever gave those. Kane scurried obediently back to bed, listening to the humans cry.

It was only a few minutes before he got back up. He was defying orders, now. He hadn't defied orders in years, hadn't ever defied one of Jim's, not since coming here. His legs felt like gel, his hands shaking at the prospect. But he had to.

He knocked on the wall again. "Jim?" he asked, wincing preemptively.

The door flew open, revealing Liz: bleeding from a wound on her jaw, her eyes red and puffy from crying, glaring down at him with unrepentant disdain. Stakes and nasty silver weapons still hung from her belt.

"What? What could you possibly want?" she snapped, her voice breaking.

Kane took a few steps back, heart pounding as he stared at her weapons. He'd disobeyed, and now the hunter was angry with him. He knew all-too-well that hunters always got more sadistic after they'd lost one of their own to his kind.

"I- I'm sorry, never mind," he backtracked, cowering away from her.

Jim peered over from behind his sister, wiping his face. "Lizzie-"

Liz paid him no mind, stomping down the stairs. "What? What is so important right now?" she demanded through tears.

Kane felt sick with panic, his safe haven suddenly horribly unsafe. He'd been doing so well, and now it would all be over, pain introduced back into his life. He bumped back against the wall, no more space for him to put between himself and the hunter.

"No, no, please!" he begged, holding his hands up defensively. "I'm sorry! I'll stop, please don't hurt me!"

"Liz?" Jim came down after her, arms wrapped around himself, looking haunted.

She kept her attention squarely on Kane. "No. I want to know. What?"

He should just make something up, he really should.

But Laken.

"I had an idea." He drew out each word as if to stall, his voice barely above a whisper.

Liz's voice came deadpan, devoid of anything besides resentment. "An idea."

Kane couldn't bear to look at her. He looked past, at Jim. Jim who had never hurt him, who had assured him over and over again that he was safe here. "I could- if you allow it, I could go over and try to bring Laken back?" he squeaked.

Liz pounded her fist against the wall next to him, making Kane yelp and duck for cover. Jim winced at the sound.

"Are you fucking serious!?" she shouted, her features contorted with fury. "Now? You're using this to try and escape, now of all times? What, so you can go join the party and take a human too?"

He cowered on the floor, breaths coming quick, like he couldn't get enough air. He knew this would be a mistake. "N-no, that's not what I meant! I'm sorry!"

Jim approached slowly, stepping past his sister despite his apparent fear. "Kane, you can get up. It's okay," he said softly, eyes distant.

"It's not okay! Nothing is fucking okay!" Liz screamed. She kicked the desk hard, and both men flinched. She sobbed and kicked it again, shaking.

Jim uncurled his arms from himself. "Kane. Look at me."

Another direct order. Kane looked up.

He had never seen Jim so serious. "Do you really mean it?"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, I really didn't mean anything bad by it, I'll-"

"Did you mean it?" Jim repeated. "You could get them back?"

Kane knew he should be begging for mercy right now. The last thing he should do was double down. But... it was Jim. Jim was safe.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I would need more information." He glanced briefly at Liz, still sobbing brokenly, before looking back to Jim. "I'd need at least a description of who took them. I'm sorry. Please- I was just trying to help." He wrung his hands anxiously. "I care about Laken, too."

Jim stared at him long and hard. "I've really tried to help you, you know that, right? Make life here not suck."

"I know." It was the one constant in Kane's new life. Even when he got scared and panicked, he knew Jim would make it better, help him calm down. "I would do anything to make it up to you. If you let me go- I would try my best to find them, and I'd come back either way. I'd go back down in the basement and you could still keep me here. I don't mind. I like it here. Please, I swear I'll come back." He stood up. "Please let me help."

Liz was paying attention again, but the fury had faded. "What's in it for you?"

"I just want to help." Kane had nothing more than that. He had no way to prove himself. All he had was his word, and given what he'd done, his hopes that they would believe it were slim.

The Liebermans shared a glance.

"I think he really means it," Jim offered.

Kane couldn't believe this was happening. Jim actually believed him.

Liz sighed wearily. "It was two of 'em. They were wearing the same clothes, like a uniform."

"Blood farms," Kane realized. That was good- it would be a lot easier to get them from one of those than someone's house, and there would be a lot fewer places to check. "I mean- a blood processing facility. I can find them. There's only so many of them nearby."

That broke her. For once, Liz looked at him with something other than poorly disguised hatred or the bare minimum of tolerance- she looked hopeful. "Please bring them back to me. I can't lose them," she pleaded.

It was surreal. A hunter had never begged him for anything before.

"I will," he promised. "Jim, could I borrow a suit?"

Kane was ready. Jim only had one suit, and it didn't fit him quite right: Jim was a few inches taller than him, and while Kane had made a lot of progress in the past five months, he still hadn't completely recovered from his years of starvation. But it would have to do. He looked more like his old self than he ever had, now.

He stepped into the front doorframe. He was outside, at night, fully fed and able to run. He'd never thought this would happen again.

"I'll see you soon. With Laken," he promised, determined. He put his hand forward.

Jim nodded. "Alright. You just- yeah." He shook Kane's hand, like they were making a deal, one Kane would be sure to honor. "Stay safe out there."

"I radioed base and let them know what's going on, so you shouldn't run into trouble with any hunters as long as you stay in our district on the way to the border," Liz added. "Straight shot."

The thought that every hunter in a 100-mile radius knew where he was and what he was doing was horrifying, but this meant he had permission. This was safer, he told himself. "Thank you."

And with that, he ran off into the night.

Kane hadn't run like this in years, hadn't even been physically able to until recently. There were no chains binding his ankles, not the hunters' cruel burning ones or Jim's soft padded ones. There was no weight of starvation sucking the muscle out of his body and the energy out of his stride. He ran faster and faster, and he would have laughed gleefully into the cool October air if he weren't so worried about Laken. Even the fact of being free brought fear- Jim wasn't here to protect him if something happened.

Despite his nerves, he crossed into vampire territory without issue. Like it was easy. Like it wasn't something that had been an unattainable fantasy just months ago.

It was only about two hours before he made his way to civilization. He slowed as he got to town, got to people- it was the middle of the night, and the streets were full of vampires, like him. He didn't have to hide. He didn't have to be afraid. He stopped for a few minutes and just watched, mesmerized. He hadn't seen more than Jim, Liz, and Laken since Jim rescued him, hadn't seen another vampire in so long-

"Doesn't that guy look like Kane de Sang?" a woman whispered to her friend, a hand shielding her mouth like that would prevent her from being heard.

"Stop reading tabloids. He's dead," her friend reminded her with a roll of her eyes.

Right. Father was a very public figure, his death must have made the news. He couldn't deal with this right now. He had to find Laken.

Kane hustled away. He almost went into a store to buy a map, before he remembered that he had no money. It was a strange feeling, not having any money, one he'd never experienced before. Technically he hadn't had any money since his capture, but he hadn't been in a position to buy anything either, so it hadn't come up. But now, he really could use some.

His bank accounts would be closed, of course. Not only did he have no money, he had no ID. He felt like one of those older vampires who complained that everything required paperwork these days, like Father.

That was one way he could solve things, he supposed. He could go home to Father. The thought of confronting him with the fact that he'd been held captive by humans all this time was unbelievably unappealing, but he would of course do it if that would help him save Laken. Though, his father would surely put a stop to any plans for him to take a human from the blood farms, no matter what excuse he used, naming it an embarrassment to the family. Nobles were supposed to catch their own prey, demonstrate their superiority.

But those women had mentioned a tabloid. That would mean his face was known, wouldn't it?

Kane ran a hand over his cheek, hardly even sunken anymore.

He was Kane de Sang. He just had to act like it.

It took him a while to find the closest blood farm, the one most likely to have Laken, but he found himself there eventually. He strutted in like he owned the place. Confident and assured, everything he used to be and wasn't anymore.

The blood processing facility was not a customer service establishment, and there was no obvious place to go to find someone to talk to. He approached a man carrying buckets of human food, foul-smelling as always. Cereal, he was able to recognize one as, after months of sitting with Jim as he ate his meals. The other contained some sort of organ meat he couldn't place, aside from the fact that it thankfully didn't smell human. Jim didn't eat meat anymore, said he'd stopped sometime after his escape.

"Excuse me, I need to speak to a manager?" His first words to another vampire in years.

The man eyed him up and down. "Yeah, place is too spread out for you business-types. They really should put some signs up. Follow me."

"Thank you." He definitely wasn't acting like his old self. The old Kane de Sang wasn't polite to commoners. But after years of having politeness drilled into him, it was hard to stop, and he saw no reason to.

The man took him to an office, Kane thanked him again, and it was over. He wanted to take the man's hands and weep, tell him how he was the first vampire he'd spoken to in years upon years, but he couldn't do that. He just watched him walk away to deliver the food to captive humans.

Right. Captive. Everyone in this place was keeping defenseless humans captive. They'd likely taken Laken, and even if they hadn't and Laken was at a different facility, they'd taken so many more.

He knocked on the office door twice before pushing it open. A normal office, an environment Kane was more familiar with.

"Hm?" An older man, clearly a manager, looked up from his desk.

"Ah, yes, I'd been told you're the manager? Kane de Sang," he introduced himself.

The manager raised an eyebrow. "Like the dead noble?"

"Like the living noble," Kane corrected. "I've been living off the grid, as they say."

The manager squinted at him, shock slowly dawning on his face. Perfect: he was recognizable enough to be believed. He wouldn't have to involve Father.

"I see. And what can I do for you, Mr. de Sang?"

"I believe a couple of your employees accidentally snatched up my escaped human." It was a lie that would have been completely unbelievable for anyone else except for him, given his lack of persuasion. "It wouldn't be hard to find mine, one with blue hair, just brought in earlier tonight?" It was possible that Laken could be at a different facility, but this one was so close to where they'd been captured that Kane was almost certain it was this one.

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Mr. de Sang," the manager said. "All of our humans are sourced directly from human territory. If you lost track of your human so much that it was willing to make it back there... well, a human belongs to whoever's taken it over the border."

There was no way a commoner would speak like that to any other noble besides him. The old anger rose up in him, like being back in vampire territory had allowed his old self to come crawling out of where Kane had buried him. He almost went to push away the bubbling rage, but...

He didn't need to anymore. He wasn't in danger. He was in vampire territory, and this man was keeping Laken away from him. Keeping Laken captive, hurt and scared-

Kane slammed his hand on the desk. "You will return my human at once!" he shouted.

He winced at his own outburst, visions of punishments flashing through his mind, eyes wild with fury and terror. Still, he did not stop. "Or I will do everything in my power to ruin you, through means legal or otherwise. I am not leaving without my human."

The manager seemed to mull over the idea before deciding that dealing with Kane was far more irritating than losing one human. He sighed, standing up. "Very well. Follow me."

Kane pulled his hand back, trembling. He should be punished for that. The hunters would have a field day with him if they knew how he'd acted out. Though, he doubted they'd care that he was disrespectful toward a fellow vampire.

"Yes, sir," he said on instinct.

The manager didn't seem to take it as unordinary, nodding and leading him to where the humans were stored. Kane followed along, bewildered it'd been that easy. They passed hundreds and hundreds of humans with dazed eyes and gone minds, packed into livestock pens. He was just glad they were too far-gone from persuasion exposure to feel anything at all.

Past that were closed rooms. Kane could hear someone shouting expletives behind one of the doors, like he had when he'd first been captured, and someone crying behind another, like him in all the years after. But he couldn't do anything about that: he had to focus on Laken.

"We keep the new captures in isolation," the manager explained, briefly peeking through small peepholes in the doors.

Kane remembered how Jim was when he first brought him home, a defiant teenager who hadn't yet learned fear. "That makes sense."

At last, the manager stopped in front of one of the doors, satisfied with what he'd seen through the peephole. "Blue hair, brand-new capture. This one was reported as a hunter, though, so probably not yours. I can-"

Kane practically leapt at the doorknob. "No, this one's mine! This is my human, you must be mistaken! Open the door!"

The manager sighed again, but obliged, unlocking it.

And there they were.

Laken sat huddled in the corner inside, just like Kane had been in his cell, stripped of their hunting tools. They were in bad shape: it was obvious they'd put up a fight before being taken. Their shirt was torn in a huge gash at the side, blood staining the edges, though Kane could smell that they weren't bleeding anymore. They clutched their arm to their chest defensively, like it was hurt, and looked up at him with fear in their eyes.

But he couldn't comfort them yet. "This is my human," he insisted.

"Kane?" Laken asked, voice drenched in fear and betrayal.

It broke his heart to see Laken so terrified. Of him, at that. They either didn't realize what his plan was, or... didn't think him morally capable of coming to their rescue, after everything they must have heard from Jim about what he'd been like in vampire territory.

"Huh. I guess this is your human. Up you get, then." The manager waved them over.

Laken slid up the wall and shuffled over, shaking.

Kane scooped them into his arms, careful to avoid aggravating their injuries. Laken was bigger than him, but far weaker, he realized. He was strong now. He'd been strong for a long time, ever since Jim started feeding him. He just felt so consistently vulnerable that it hadn't really sunk in until now.

Laken didn't resist, the fact of their helplessness equally obvious to them.

"Thank you," Kane told the manager, curt. He turned and hasted toward the exit, relieved it had gone so smoothly.

As soon as they got out, he opened his mouth to start explaining, but Laken beat him to it.

"Kane? Buddy?" Their voice was too strained to sound natural as they peered up at him with nervous eyes. "We're friends, right? Remember when we did your birthday together? Listen, if it's my blood, you can have some! That's fine! I just-"

Kane hugged them close. "I'm here to rescue you," he choked out, trying not to cry. "It's okay. You're safe now."

He felt Laken untense all at once. "Oh, thank fucking god. I totally thought..." They laughed giddily, wiping their tears away with their good arm, but more came anyway. "Dude, you're a lifesaver. Like, literally."

"I'm- I'm trying to be good. I want to be better." Not just well-behaved. Good.

"Well, you're being pretty damn good to me right now." Laken reclined in his arms. "Hey, how fast can you get going? Those assholes who took me were pretty fast, and they didn't even seem like they were trying all that hard. What's, like, the fastest you can get?"

Kane burst into a grin. "You want to find out?"

He could tell it wasn't as fast as he'd ever gone. Kane was still in the process of recovering all the muscle he'd lost during his captivity, and though his speed was still at least forty miles per hour if he had to guess, it wasn't top-level for a vampire. Still, Laken seemed impressed, so he took it as a win.

Liz was waiting on Jim's porch, Jim just inside, talking to her through the window. As soon as he set Laken down, they ran at Liz, but not as fast as she ran at them. They met in the middle with such force that Laken cried out in pain, but neither stopped, wrapping each other in a tight embrace.

"I thought you were gone!" Liz wept. "You were gone, they took you!"

Laken laughed, alight with joy. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

Jim opened the front door, and almost took a step out onto the porch, but hesitated, obviously frightened by the night's events.

Kane scampered up to him. "I came back. Just like I said," he reported, grinning.

"You really did. Huh." Jim stared at him like he'd never seen him before.

"And- and now you know. You know I'd always come back. And if anyone ever tried to take you, I'd bring you back, too. Just like how I saved Laken." Quieter, he added, "Just like how you saved me."

Jim smiled at that, finally finding the courage to step onto the porch. He nudged Kane's shoulder. "Right back at you."

Kane beamed. Jim had promised him he was safe from the hunters over and over, but it felt different this time. Not an attempted comfort during an episode of panic, but mutually-assured protection. There was something to it that felt stronger, more real. A bond.

"I'm gonna take Laken to the hospital!" Liz called back. "And hey, Kane? Thank you."

A thank-you from Liz was almost as precious as the fact that she was trusting him unrestrained, alone with Jim, at night. She still wore her hunting gear, but she felt less scary for once.

He nodded back at her. "Any time."

"See you guys!" Laken gave them finger-guns, punctuated with an "Ow," when they moved their injured arm wrong.

Liz laughed and helped them into her truck, leaving him alone with Jim.

"I'll go back in the basement," Kane promised. "Just like before. Nothing has to change."

Jim blinked with disbelief. "Are you kidding me? Kane, I'm not gonna keep you locked up anymore. I'm not saying I'd never be scared around you again, but... you're not a prisoner anymore."

Kane should feel happy about that, shouldn't he? That's what he'd wanted for so long, trapped in his cell back with the hunters.

Why did it make his stomach turn with dread?

"Um, I don't-"

"I mean, there's not enough time left before sunrise for you to get home tonight, especially if you wanna pack first. But you're not trapped in my basement anymore. You're free to go, man. You can head back home tomorrow night if you want."

Kane shuffled his feet awkwardly. "What if I... don't want?"

"Don't... want? You don't want to be free?" Jim asked, baffled.

Tears sprung to Kane's eyes. This was his home, the only home he'd known in years. "I don't want to leave," he whispered.

Jim exhaled a long breath, the smile dropping from his face. He was silent for a moment before taking Kane's hand. "Okay."

"Okay?" he sniffled, fingers curling around Jim's.

"Okay, you can stay. Long as you keep your promise and protect me. Plus you gotta get your own blood now. And I guess-" Jim chuckled, shaking his head. "I guess we can figure it out as we go."

"I can still wear the chains," Kane offered. "So you feel safe."

"Man, fuck the chains." Jim led him inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

Kane went back down to his basement, tucking himself into bed. As the sun crested over the horizon, he fell asleep behind an unlocked, open door.

thank you all for coming with me on 50+ chapters of this journey so far :) i hope you guys like present arc part 2 just as much as you liked part 1! we've got some fun stuff coming up! i know a lot of you have been asking after two things in particular, a kane/bellamy reunion and kane reading jim's book. both of those will be in present arc part 2! as well as a bunch of other fun stuff :)

tune in on saturday for some non-K&J vampire shenanigans, and more K&J (jim recovery arc) on the following tuesday. present arc part 2 will start in august.

taglist in reblog, as usual.

event: @whumpmasinjuly

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