#actual angel bryce McQuaid

[chinxino5-blog]

It’s A Package Deal - Ten

Bryce couldn’t sleep. He woke almost every hour, falling in and out of consciousness as his family drifted through his mind. He saw them running in front of him, his mother holding desperately to her youngest child’s hand as they ran and didn’t look back. Ran away from him. They didn’t hear his crying, his begging, his screaming as hands grabbed at his ankles and shoulders and pulled him back and back and back.

No matter how close they were, he couldn’t reach them. He couldn’t run fast enough. He couldn’t yell loud enough.

He screamed until his throat felt raw and ran until his legs refused to hold him up.

11:19pm. 1:31am. 2:54am. 4:00am.

He woke a fifth time to stare out at the glowing sky, rays of orange reaching across the Earth to pull the sun up. He couldn’t move other than a slight sway of the head, body desperate to be pulled back into sleep and to stay there. He blinked lazily, breathing in deeply before dropping his eyes closed again.

He sunk down, mind submerging before his brother’s scream filled his ears and he jerked back. Peering through his lashes, the sun had jumped into the air in his three moments of sleep and two hands were fumbling with his wrists. The cuffs were pulled away and his arms fell like weights, dragging a low groan from his lips.

His arms dragged him down and his forehead bumped to rest on the cold window. He didn’t have the energy to pull himself up.

“What’s your problem?” Ohm’s voice was husky from the morning, rough with sleep hanging from his tongue. Bryce listened to the sound of a cap unscrewing and Ohm swallowed down a mouthful of water.

In response to his question, a groan rumbled in the blonde’s throat and he caught the scoff of amusement. “Sleep,” he croaked out, forcing himself to clear his throat several times before his voice actually listened to him. Movement around him made him shift, feeling another body move close and reach across him. Lethargy lined his eyelids with glue and he didn’t even try to open them.

The door he leant on clicked and he felt his body drop as it vanished from beside him. A cry of shock left his lips, eyes snapping open and arm hooking around the back of his seat. He stared, heart pumping, at the frosted grass below and gasped in the freezing morning air. It took him a moment to regain his whereabouts and he hauled his heavy body back into his seat, turning and gawking at Ohm who was crunching on dry cereal.

He looked very smug as Bryce yanked the door shut. “Awake?” he asked, voice slightly tinted with amusement.

“What the fuck was that for?” Bryce hissed, fingers rubbing the sleep from his eyes in slight irritation. Ohm ignored him.

“Awake?” he repeated, completely ignoring what the other had asked.

Still shaken, Bryce exhaled and nodded slightly. His mind was foggy, no matter how long he blinked out over the brightening sky. No matter the small segments of restless sleep he’d gotten, he hadn’t recovered any energy and his mind was still exhausted from the abuse of his nightmares.

“McQuaid.” Bryce snapped his head back up before it could hit the window again and he blinked at Ohm. “Did you sleep at all?” he asked gruffly, shoving a water bottle into Bryce’s hands. “Drink, eat and then go the fuck back to sleep.”

Bryce sighed heavily, tipping the bottle back. It took him far more energy than it should have to swallow and breathe as the cool liquid slipped down his throat. As much as he needed it, he didn’t think he’d be able to go back to sleep. Not after a night like that.

Even so, he did as he was commanded, taking the offered bowl of dry cereal and focusing his energy into chewing. He wouldn’t have ben surprised if he accidently choked. He managed to get through several long minutes of staring out at the awakened forest and chewing on cheap, dry breakfast foods, but barely kept his eyes open while doing so.

Ohm watched the younger man, amused at the zombie-like trance he was caught in. His body sagged, visibly weighted down by the sleep he’d missed out on and his eyes were almost glazed over with how unfocussed they were. He didn’t seem to be seeing or hearing anything, body automatically chewing and swallowing for him. “You must have had a really bad night,” he remarked, shifting to tuck his legs up under him on his seat. Bryce merely grunted in acknowledgement. He placed two apples on the dashboard and replaced the esky bag in the back of the car.

Switching on his phone, he scanned the blank screen before shoving it into his jacket pocket and sighing. Bryce’s bowl was dropped onto the dashboard before the man put his seat back further and collapsed down on his side.

After a few moments of soft breathing, Ohm snatched a spare shirt from behind his seat and threw it over Bryce’s head. He didn’t want the blonde to wake up any earlier than he had to, and after a moment of thought, he shoved the keys into the ignition and turned on only the power in the car. Flicking on the heater and putting the volume of the radio on 3, he silently slipped out and shut the door behind him.

 -

 Ohm left his cigarettes in the console, knowing better than to have another after less than 24 hours. It was a rule he gave himself, especially in stressful times. He didn’t want to end up anything like his father and therefore made sure to take precautions.

Instead, he laid back against the windshield, hands behind his head, and breathed in the fresh forest air. His eyes rested shut, listening as birds flittered here and there, and the trees shuddered in the breeze. The constant song of leaves rustling together filled open spaces and he felt the iciness of the morning attach to any skin it could find.

Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to the previous night. He felt part of himself still living in the moment, so vividly feeling incredibly cold and warm at the same time. He could feel the coldness of the bottom of his feet and toes, and the warmth of the heater breathing on his face. He could hear Bryce’s slow breathing, his voice asking questions and his silence just as loud when he listened to Ohm speak.

He listened with interest, something that made Ohm frown in confusion.

What was there to be interested about?

He was an odd person, Bryce. He was curious about Ohm, a hitman who had stolen him away from his life with a cocked gun, harsh insults and nasty glares. He was curious about everything: the way he worked, what he did, how he lived, how he’d become who he was. He asked so many questions and even when he was silent, curiosities drifted in his eyes, trapped behind pursed lips and itching fingers. He had far too much interest in the man delivering him to his death.

It was strange, especially for Ohm.

He knew nothing more than how to be cold, nasty and ruthless. He didn’t know how to be nice, or how to greet people. He didn’t know how to ask questions, or be curious or interested in people, and lives, and places. He didn’t know how to have conversations. Until then, he’d never needed to know how to speak to anyone other than greedy business men.

All he ever did know, all he ever needed to know, was how to be silent, how to stay under the radar, and how to successfully put a bullet in someone’s head.

Thinking back, he realised the previous night was the first time he’d ever been asked what his favourite colour was. It hadn’t been the first time someone had asked about his past, having made countless business deals with curious men who liked to pry. But what made his brows draw together was realising it was the first time he’d answered.

It was a weird conversation.

Ohm hadn’t snarled at him, or glared at him, or told him to shut up. The only thing that made Ohm believe it had actually happened was the memory of Bryce hesitating. He had felt the blonde stop, having been almost enjoying talking to the hitman before he’d dropped back.

Ohm had no doubt it was the reality of their current lives. The reality that he was joking around with a hitman, with a psychopath. He was joking around with Ohm, and he wasn’t supposed to joke around with Ohm. He was supposed to be silent, and scared, and not ask questions. He was supposed to shy back under grey eyes and keep his own bright blues to his feet.

He was supposed to be small and insignificant and let Ohm do his job, until he was waving goodbye, left alone in the heart of Los Angeles.

It seemed like Bryce didn’t like doing what was expected of him.

No. He asked questions, and complained, and spoke aloud what he thought. Of course he was terrified of Ohm, anyone would be, but for some reason completely unknown to the hitman, he didn’t pay much mind to it. There was no explanation, other than possibly boredom, or just plain stupidity, but he knew Bryce wasn’t a total idiot.  

Even though he’d asked a hitman what his favourite colour was. Even though he’d told him that grey was a shitty favourite colour. Even though he’d talked about his little brother, and cried himself to sleep. Even though he made dumb comments and inserted himself further into Ohm’s day than he had to.

Even though he did what he did, he wasn’t a total idiot.

 -

 Bryce dragged the dark pencil in shapes and lines and squiggles over the page for half an hour before it was completely blunt. He’d created a white page of black clouds, toxic dark shapes of figures; outstretched hands and bowed heads. He kept his eyes down, and hand moving until he pushed his pencil back into the case and closed his sketchbook.

His eyes were burning.

The clock had read 8:22am when he had reawakened, and he felt far lighter in his seat than when he had woken a few hours earlier. As limited as it had been, he had managed a dreamless sleep and had renewed as much energy as possible.

He’d awoken to a shirt blocking the sun from his closed eyes, and Ohm’s body laying back on the windshield in front of him.

He hadn’t bothered alerting the other of his conscious mind, instead dragging out his sketchbook and drawing hard, dark, and heavy. There was no reason for it. He felt like there was a part of him that merely just wanted to run his pencil flat, and he saw no reason to stop it.

The pencil had run flat, and by that time his mind was ninety percent in the present moment. He managed to get his body functioning once again, chewing on an apple to wake up the last ten percent, and settled to stare past Ohm’s back at the endless road ahead.

When he was done, he sat forward, readjusted his seat and wound down his window to throw the apple core out onto the grass. The sound drew Ohm’s attention and the hitman glanced back through the windshield. He blinked at him for a moment, expression showing how far he’d drifted off into thought and Bryce watched him come back. He watched as his eyes focussed and followed his movements as he carded his fingers through his hair and shifted off the hood of the car. His fingertips trailed along the dark metal and he dragged his feet to his door, before getting in and stretching back in his chair.

When he shifted his blank gaze to the blonde’s, Bryce turned and busied himself with winding the window back up. The cool outside was overwhelmed by the warmth of the heater and Ohm let his hands come to rest on the steering wheel. Ignoring the urge to curl over it and go to sleep, he twisted the key and felt the car buzz to life in the cold. He let it hum for a bit, yawning as he felt the warmth of the car chase off the cold that clung to him from the outside.

He glanced at Bryce. “Get much rest?”

A lazy nod was directed at the closed glove box and Bryce rolled his neck, feeling it pop with a satisfying sound, before raising his gaze to Ohm’s. “As much as I could,” he mumbled, voice still slurred slightly.

‘As much as he could’ wasn’t enough to completely revive his energy, but it was enough to himself and, seemingly, enough for Ohm also as the brunette pulled out onto the road once again.

Driving, driving, driving; they still had a long way to go.

First: Prologue

Previous: Nine

Next: Eleven

Okayy! This is actually as far as I have written as of yet, I’m going to start on c.11 tonight and try get some more done this weekend but I might be another week or so before I get it on here.

Thanks for your patience guys, I’m getting there <3

gi

#brohm #bbs #fanfic #fic #brohm fic #bbs fic #brohm fanfic #bbs fanfic #it's a package deal #its a package deal #ten #stockholm syndrome #hitman!ohmwrecker

[chinxino5-blog]

It’s A Package Deal - One

Ohmwrecker (or Ohm if shortened). A name known to most – especially in the city of Los Angeles – and a name to be feared. A hitman, an assassin, a masked murderer with no remorse, no connections and no identity. There have only ever been three puzzle pieces of basic knowledge that were left behind in his footprints for the public to play with.

1.     A large majority of people believe he is some sort of demon or spirit. He never once shows his face, he can’t be tracked or followed and he can disappear without any tracks.

2.     He does his job and he does it well. He assassinates who he’s told to, he never fails a deed, he never gets caught. For this, though, he definitely does not run cheap. He is the guy to go to, but only if you are able to afford him.

3.     He is cold, manipulative and emotionless. He has no connections with anyone – no family, or friends – and he never hesitates. He does his job without batting an eye and leads the cops on goose chases with every murder he leaves behind.

When a man such as this roams the streets of America’s biggest cities, working with the most feared gangs and powerful men, people would be smart to avoid any sort of contact with said groups. People who steal from, betray or get gang members in trouble better have a good common sense to fear their wealth. If you get a wealthy gang angry enough that they hire Ohmwrecker to be the cause of your demise then you’d better be leaving the country and getting the Hell out of there.

Ohm always does what he’s paid to do.

Less people walked around New York City in the night. When the sun gives way to the moon, the streets become far less safe. The assassin wound his way between tall buildings; glancing over street signs, address on the paper in his fingers and map on his phone. His hood was up and hands were gloved, and he stuck to the quiet roads, wandering down alleyways with a look of carelessness. Anyone watching him would assume he had no purpose, no place to be, no destination – but he knew exactly where he was going and what he was doing.

His sneakers made no sound as he entered the apartment complex, tucking the paper and phone away and resting his hands in his hoodie’s pockets. His forearm rested against the gun at his waist. His expression remained relaxed and innocent as he joined two women in an elevator, resting against the side as they rose. Neither even glanced in his direction. He kept his gaze on the doors.

They both got out before him and three floors later he followed suit. He dawdled on his way down the hallway. When he stopped, he took time in examining the curly 43 stuck on the door. He had his destination, he had what he needed. He raised a clenched hand and knocked twice.

-

Bryce placed his cup of tea on the table. He hummed a tune as he stood and pranced to his front door. His lover’s face was plastered in his mind and he moved with a bounce in his step. As the door opened, he was met with a situation that dampened his bounce and stole his smile. Specifically, he was met with a gun.

Click.

A cocked gun.

The tune he’d been humming got caught in his throat, his skin paled and his eyes shot wide open. His lips parted with words that refused to form, but what do you say when looking down the barrel of a gun? It took a few stunned moments for the man to actually realise the situation, to understand he was standing in a hoodie and baggy pants at his front door with a man he’d never seen before pointing a gun at his head with a finger on the trigger.

“Step back.” A voice of control. Complete power – not a flicker of doubt or concern in his voice. He was comfortable and confident in himself and the situation. He didn’t seem bothered in the slightest – he didn’t even seem tense. The gun was casual in his hand, but definite in its purpose. His other hand rested in a pocket.

Bryce didn’t need to be told twice. Eyes wide and unblinking, he stumbled back. His knuckles were going white with how tight he was clenching his fists. “W-what do you w-want from me?” he whispered, his voice hushed and shaking with fear. He could barely form his words, his tongue heavy and numb in his mouth. The assassin followed him into the apartment, gun trained directly between his eyes. Bryce held his hands up level with his head, unsure of how to act in such a situation. He knew one wrong movement could be the cause of his life and he was pretty certain that death wasn’t on his to-do list. Being held at gunpoint really wasn’t plan for his Thursday evening. “I don’t have m-much money but I c-can give yo-”

“I’m not here to kill you or take your money, just shut the fuck up and listen close.” He looked over Bryce with sharp, dark eyes. Assessing. Analysing. Making decisions. To Bryce’s dismay, he kicked the door shut and stepped closer, pressing the end of the barrel to his forehead. The blonde jerked back only to be stopped by the wall. He tilted his head back, fighting the urge to curl up on the floor and squeeze his eyes shut. The metal burnt a hole above his brow. “We’re going to walk down to the bottom level, nice and calm. If you do anything dumb, I will shoot you and leave you. My job is to deliver you, but it was not specified whether you were to be delivered in one piece, or several.”

Bryce was fucked.

His heart was slamming against his ribs so hard it sent throbs of pain through his chest. His knees were barely able to hold him up. The fear that flowed into his bloodstream with the adrenaline, consumed his rational thoughts completely. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. He could barely keep his lungs working. This man had come in here, put a gun to his head, and Bryce was just about ready to faint, or start sobbing, or start sobbing and then faint.  

What was worse was that he could feel the honesty of the assassin’s words. A promise of pain should Bryce disobey. This man wanted him for something, maybe needed him from something. He said Bryce was to be “delivered”. But to whom? And for what cause?

Seeing that he was being held at gunpoint without the possibility of negotiation, whatever or whoever he was being delivered to probably wasn’t going to want to go on a nice lunch date to get to know him. The idea sounded awful, in any way he thought about it, but it seemed like he was expected alive. There was at least some positivity to the situation. It was practically impossible to focus on anything positive about the situation as the barrel dropped to his throat, digging in to the sensitive skin.

“We’re going to go find my car and both get in, nice and easy, got it?” His words curled around the gun tighter, laying his tongue on the trigger. At Bryce’s fear-stricken silence, he pulled his lip back in a nasty snarl. “Got it?” The boy flinched away, brows pushed together and lips trembling in fear.

His head bounced shakily in reluctant agreeance and the hitman’s expression relaxed.

The fear was delightful, there was no doubt about that, but if the boy looked like that there was no chance he, nor Ohmwrecker, would get out of the building successfully. Anyone with two working eyes could see the boy was extremely distressed. He looked pale enough to be seconds from passing out and that would be even more of an inconvenience.

The gunman huffed a sigh, Why is God’s name did I agree to this shit? He decided against voicing his irritation, taking a step back from the boy whose wide eyes were darting around everywhere and anywhere. His thoughts filtered through his eyes and Ohm kept his gun held at chest height. “If you try anything, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your leg.” The threat was enough to draw the panicked focus back to him and the mechanism in his hand. His arm was relaxed, but his finger rested on the trigger as a warning. “Now. I’m going to give you ten minutes to collect the basic essentials you’ll need. Clothes, toiletries, whatever the fuck you think you’ll want or need.”

Bryce swallowed down his fear, and forced himself to nod stiffly. His eyes stayed on his attacker the whole time as he made his way to his bedroom. It felt as though weights hung from his wrists and ankles as he moved. Stiff, heavy and icy cold – fear was consuming him mentally and emotionally. He dragged a duffel bag out from beneath his bed, filling it with comfortable clothing, reaching for a small bag to shove his tooth brush, deodorant, soaps and such into. His movements jerked with violent shudders under the watch of the stranger and he barely paid any attention to the things he was shoving in the bag.

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

“Is this your phone?” the nameless gunman asked, holding up a small silver device. His features were slack with boredom, far too comfortable in such a situation. Bryce couldn’t help but wonder what other things he’d done to people. Other things worse than what Bryce was dealing with.

The blonde nodded and clenched his jaw tightly as his beloved phone was dropped to the carpet and crushed under the heel of a heavy boot. He turned away, squeezing eyes shut. Gosh, how he wished he could wake up.

Zipping up the duffel, his shaky knees reluctantly held his weight and he allowed the bag to be taken from his hands. “Need anything else?” The situation almost seemed friendly. Holding his bag for him, making sure he didn’t forget anything, threatening him with a gun… “You can bring your shitty little iPod and some earphones, I just have to make sure you can’t be contacted or tracked.”

He shoved the devices and charger into a backpack wordlessly, along with a pencil case and sketch book. Who knew what he’d need while traveling with his new companion?

There was a bitter taste on his tongue as he was followed out of his home. The two shut themselves in the elevator and he looked anywhere but the person beside him. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret, McQuaid.” The words were venomous and sharp, yet accompanied with an arm around his shoulders. The stranger held them both close as the elevator opened and harshly pulled the younger boy out with him. Any onlookers would see two friends looking quite glum, going out for a late night party or feed. No one noticed the way harsh fingers squeezed bruises into the blonde’s shoulder, the way his feet dragged as he lagged slightly behind, the way neither looked friendly towards each other in the slightest, the way the younger looked so completely out of place.

No one questioned them or bothered to even smile as they left the building and strolled down the street. Once alongside the car, Bryce gave one more desperate glance around and across the street. Whoever walked past didn’t look up and the tinted window sealed his fate. He didn’t dare do anything as the other walked around the front of the car, sliding into the driver’s seat.

The engine coughed to life and they joined the traffic of the street in silence. The hitman had one hand on the wheel, the other still loosely holding onto the gun that rested on his leg.

The twenty-two year old held in his sigh, temple falling to rest on the glass as little lonely raindrops began to splatter his reflection. He watched his home city run away from him, eyes downcast, attention elsewhere. He was forgotten and ignored behind dark windows. He was stolen away from oblivious streets.

First: Prologue

Next: Two

Updates will likely be slow seeing as I am back in school, and it’s likely that they’ll be inconsistent as well. Just bare with me guys, and if it has been a while, shoot me a message or something and I’ll hurry my ass up <3

gi

#brohm #brohm fic #brohm fanfic #fic #fanfic #one #hitman!ohmwrecker #stockholm syndrome #it's a package deal