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whumpacabra · 8 days

Text

Barfight

Choking, violence, attempted stabbing, homophobic language, ableist language, racial slurs, threats, knife mention, neonazi mention

[Directly follows Night Out]

Alister knew this skinhead. East’s first impression, wary and poisoned by a whisper he dismissed had been correct. (No one ever talked about what Alister had done to end up in prison. Somehow it now made sense why.) Ice in his veins had East frozen where he stood, but with his hearing implants he could clearly understand their conversation across the bar.

“Fuck off.”

“What? No ‘hi Andrew, long time no see’?”

“No. I’m not talking to you.”

“You are right now.”

“He told you to fuck off, prick.” Tomas’ grumble was soft, but it made Andrew prickle. East flinched in sympathy with Tomas - the skinhead’s glare was venomous.

“Don’t talk like that to customers, Tomas, it’s bad for business.” East saw him slide money across the bar. Tomas glared at the cash, frozen. Andrew’s condescending voice was laced with an unspoken threat. “Don’t tell me you forgot my usual, did you Tommy?”

There was a tense moment where Tomas and Alister shared a look, but the barkeep eventually relented, turning away. (He didn’t touch the money, leaving it in the counter.) Andrew got more comfortably embedded in Alister’s space, leaning back against the bar as he spoke.

“I don’t blame you - for selling the boys out. You did what you had to do, right?”

“You don’t know shit, Andy.” Alister took a deep swig of his liquor. “I don’t want anything to do with them anymore. I’m not coming back.”

“Really? C’mon, like I said - I don’t blame you. None of us do. Let’s get out of this shithole and go - ”

“I’m not fucking around Andy. I’m done.” Alister set his drink down harshly, glaring at Andrew. From this angle, East couldn’t see the newcomer’s face, but he could see the coil of tension building between his shoulders.

“You’re one of us - ”

“I was. I’m not anymore.” Alister’s voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “Just fuck off, please.”

“Hey - he said fuck off!”

East’s heart nearly lept out of his chest as Tierney, in his drunken confidence, shouted at Andrew from across the bar. His steps were surprisingly steady as he wove between tables, but he stopped a few paces away. Even he could tell Andrew was looking for a fight, disgust and hate in his eyes.

“You’re fucking pathetic, Al. Hanging out with gypsy homos - ” Andrew paused, looking down at the hand on his shoulder, surprised to see East beside him.

(He had used Tierney’s shout as a distraction to slip between the booths and make his way to the bar. It only took a few short steps to be close enough to grab him.)

“You’re in that gypsy homo’s seat, dickheaded cunt.” East’s voice rumbled low, cold and threatening. It was a role he knew well. He would lie to himself, that he didn’t feel the familiar rush from when he played the role of the Wolf. But unlike his victims, Andrew only looked up at him with disgust, swatting away the hand and stepping away from the bar. (Away from Alister.)

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“He called you a dickhead.” Tierney took East’s cue and sidled up to the other side of Alister’s seat. “And a cunt.”

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Al…” Andrew scoffed, still posturing as he looked between the trio. East turned back to the bar, taking a swig from his beer. (He was going to need it, hands shaking with adrenaline.) “Fine. Fuck you too, then. Enjoy your new friends - ”

Things seemed to happen in slow motion, but all at once.

Andrew slapped East’s ass. Whether it was intended to be purely provocative or inappropriately teasing had no bearing on East’s reaction. It was a fluid movement, turning on the balls of his feet, taking a step to Andrew’s right. East’s other leg hooked behind Andrew’s, sweeping him off balance. The skinhead started to raise his arms in defense, but East was too strong and too fast. He caught both of Andrew’s wrists in one hand, and used his opposite forearm to press down on Andrew’s throat. Their momentum did the rest, the bar deathly silent save for Andrew’s gurgling gasps where East had him pinned down on a table.

East was surprised - mostly that he was so aware of what he was doing, and who he was doing it to. This wasn’t a panic reflex, thinking Smith was back from the dead. He wasn’t seeing ghosts or caught in a memory. East looked down into Andrew’s pale eyes and saw fear. He was here and now, putting this punk in his place.

“Fuckin’ hell dude…” Tierney’s breathy whisper broke the silence, eyes shifting uncomfortably between the pair and Tomas, watching wide eyed behind the bar. Andrew was starting to run out of air, struggles growing weaker but more erratic.

“East - East, let him go.” Alister had never sounded so small, so ashamed. “He’s not worth it.”

(East knew well how long it took to strangle someone to death. Andrew wasn’t even unconscious yet.)

“I don’t know, prison wasn’t so bad the first time.” East was in his comfort zone - putting on a show. Playing the monster. He looked back down at Andrew, easing the pressure on his throat enough that the man didn’t lose consciousness as he dropped his tone. “Follow in your hero’s footsteps and go find a hole to die in.”

He released Andrew, stepping back as the skinhead sank to the ground, gasping for air. East watched him, now knowing better than to turn his back.

“You’re fucked - you know that?” Andrew’s voice was reedy and thin with strain as he struggled to his feet, hands tentatively probing his bruised throat. “I’m - once the cops find out - you’re so fucked. Assault absolutely violates whatever bullshit probation you’re on.” He gagged and sputtered between his words, wheezing. “You fucking hear me?”

“I do. Now get out of here before I reconsider.”

“What? Apologizing to me, you fucking maniac?”

“Before I reconsider going back to prison for assault or for murder. Now get, the fuck, out.” East took half a step forward, satisfaction warm in his chest when Andrew flinched away. (This was when the Wolf was safest - posturing and threatening victims for the entertainment of others.) Andrew started to shuffle back, turning away. He had a hand in his pocket - getting brass knuckles or a knife, if East had to guess.

“I’m going - I’m going, you fucking psycho.”

East nodded, purposefully turning away. He was curious - was it a knife or knuckles? Two quick steps and something slashed the fabric at the top of his jacket. Knife it was.

East turned heel and caught Andrew’s knife hand, a squeeze at his wrist forcing the blade to drop into East’s waiting hand. A quick jab to his nose sent Andrew reeling back, East’s hold released to examine the knife while the wanker whined about his bruised and bloodied nose.

“You hold it wrong.” East demonstrated, holding the knife upside down in his hand as Andrew had held it. “This kind of stabbing isn’t effective - not with a moving target. You want it like this.” He flipped the knife around, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “See? Smooth. Much more control in your slashes.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Andrew panted, exasperated disgust across his face. East narrowed his eyes at the bastard - he was scared of East, sure, but he was too proud to leave without the last word. East squared his shoulders, appraising Andrew the way he did a cut of beef at the deli.

“I’ve killed better men than you.” East took a step forward, Andrew took a step back. “I’ve killed worse men, too. But you - you might just be the most cowardly, pathetic, whiny little bitch I’ve ever had the chance to relieve this earth of.” Another step forward, another step back. “Go to the police - go to your skinhead brothers and tell them how you were beaten and bested by some Sinti son of a bitch who didn’t consider you worth the time it would take to break your fucking neck.”

Andrew had backed into another table, flinching away from it even as East stepped into his face. He knew that look on Andrew’s face well. The fear. The shame. The rabbit-like panic from being cornered and hurt and humiliated and helpless.

(It was an expression he had worn many times.)

“Get the fuck out.” East spat, leaning back enough for Andrew to scramble toward the door. Half frustrated with the memory of his own weakness and half sure the bastard needed some extra motivation, East threw the knife after Andrew. It landed solidly in the doorframe, of course - he wasn’t trying to kill the guy - but with the curses Andrew screamed, you would have thought he had been stabbed.

The door bell chimed, window panes rattling as the door slammed behind Andrew and he ran into the rainy streets. The bar was silent, save for the prattle of the television program and the rumble of thunder outside. East stalked to the door, taking the knife from the frame and inspecting the knick it left behind. Not too deep. He walked back to the bar and took another swig of beer.

“Sorry about the door, Tomas. I can pay - ”

“Don’t worry about it.” The barkeep said, a smile stretching across his face as he laughed. “Don’t you worry about paying me anything ever again.”

The bar seemed to release the breath it had collectively been holding, laughter and chatter erupting from the patrons. Tomas poured East another drink, while Tierney and Alister looked at him with wonder and gratitude respectively.

“How’d you fuckin’ do that? Huh? You gotta teach me - that take down was smooth as butter.” Tierney’s rambling praise settle light and warm across East’s back. He rolled his eyes at the half drunk requests for sparring lessons, giving Alister a glance.

“Thank you.” He mouthed, a shaky relief in his eyes as Tomas laid out shot glasses of hard liquor for the three. East smiled, toasting with the others. He could push his personal worries and guilt aside - it was hard to feel panic in his throat when it burned with the best vodka Tomas could find.

[Directly before Bared]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath @genuineformality

#whump #choking #violence #knife #threats #ableism #homophobia #racism #neonazi mention #freelancers #also yes Andrew is referring to tierney specifically. given the conflations between Irish Mincéirs and nomadic Romani in the UK.#‘beans is this a power fantasy bc of all the white supremacist Jackass you’ve had to deal w lately?’ maybe. idk.#East deserves a little power fantasy. as a treat for the both of us.#anyways. punch Nazis but don’t let them make themselves martyrs. they find power in ‘being proven right’ about being hated by the Bad Peopl #so make sure they’re aware of how deeply pathetic and laughable they are #also as an aside I’m pissed abt the ‘Nazis can’t be punk’ sentiment lately. you can’t no true Scotsman your way out of your due diligence #to keep tabs on your community and who you associate with. skinheads started as a punk counter-social movement that got co-opted by nazis s #badly that we call nazis skinheads to this day. if you let one nazi in the bar it becomes the nazi bar. don’t give an inch.#on a lighter note. well. getting the Hell presentation over w today wish me luck o7

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