I’m late to the party but “I’ll take care of you” for the five sentence fic?
(B/Daniel belongs to @hackles-up - Scott and Connor Manning are mine.)
CW: Death threats, whumper trying to be a better person but being shit at it, recovering whumpees
"I don't like the way you look at me, lately." Connor waves the chef's knife in his hand lazily, and Scott's eyes track it, his heart beating a little faster as he kneads the dough, punching and then rolling and stretching, over and over again. "Like you're going to put arsenic in my soup."
Scott forces himself to take a deep breath, and looks down. Kneel, his instincts scream. Tell him to have your mouth, or you. Make him happy.
Romantics are only safe if someone's fucking them.
He fights it off with every ounce of strength he has. He keeps working the dough, reminding himself that there are other things his hands can do, now. "I don't even know what arsenic is."
"It's like poison powder. My Aunt Anne used to watch this movie-... That isn't the point. The point is that I don't like it. I feed you, I get you clothes, I take you into town sometimes. You know? I hide you from Ferrick when he visits-"
Scott feels a chill down his spine and closes his eyes against the memory of John Ferrick's wandering, cruel hands. He stills, hands buried in the elastic dough.
"Like, I do whatever you and my sweetness need me to do," Connor continues, seemingly oblivious. "And still you look at me like I have three heads and four sets of fangs."
"He deserves better than you." Scott can't help it - the words come out on their own. He takes in a breath but despite the panic inside him, his mouth won't stop moving. "You're a handler."
"I was a-"
"You're still a handler. You don't get to just shrug off everything you-... you did to us because you feel bad about it now. If I thought Daniel-"
"B-"
"Daniel wouldn't be angry with me, I'd k-kill you right here and n-n-now-" He shudders, terrified of himself, of what might happen next.
Connor only stares at him, dark eyes wide, chef's knife aimed squarely at Scott's chest. "What?"
"I'd-... I'd take Daniel." Scott shapes the dough into a rough loaf and drops it into a bread pan, trying to hide his shaking hands. "And leave. Go somewhere."
"Where?"
"Anywhere. Away from y-you. You're still... You're still everything terrible that ever happened to us and I hope you choke on a bone one day when Daniel isn't inside and I swear to God, Handler Manning-... Connor, I swear if that happens I'll w-watch you die."
There's another long silence while Scott opens the preheated oven and shoves the bread pan inside, hearing it thunk against the back as it slides along the metal rack. He lets the oven door close with a thump, and turns around to find Connor's knife just touching his breastbone, pricking the cloth of his shirt.
"I'm taking care of my baby," Connor says, voice low. His eyes are darker than ever. "You get that? I got him out of there, I gave him a place to stay, I gave him the barn cats, I gave him you-"
"I don't want to be given to anyone anymore!" Scott is pushed backwards by Connor's weight. Their hips push together, a feathery pleasure twisted sick in the base of his pelvis. The oven digs against the small of his back, heat rising up his shirt, tickling the nape of his neck. "Don't-"
"Why not? You just said you would." Connor hums. Outside, B is singing to himself as he works on the yard. Scott could cry out. That's all. Just one yell...
"Listen to me," Connor whispers. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'll take care of you, because my sweetness wants me to. But if you take him away from me... Before he's ready-"
Scott sees the twist of pain and guilt that Connor shudders with before he shoves it away.
"-if you take my baby... I'll find you. And I'll take care of you a different way. All it takes, Scott, is one little scan of that barcode. So stop looking at me like that, and enjoy your fucking life out here. All I want is to be here with my baby. Just my fucking luck he loves you, too."
Connor turns and stalks out of the room, the knife dropping with a clatter onto the counter as he goes. The door opens and shuts. Connor calls out a greeting to B, who shyly returns it.
Scott closes his eyes.
They're kissing.
He knows it.
He sinks slowly down to seated on the old tile floor, his back against the oven, hands pressing slowly over his mouth.
He hates it here.
But he can't leave Daniel, and Daniel won't leave Connor Manning.
