Wreck | Jasper, Andrew, Tanner
Tanner chuckled through the rough kisses he planted on Jasper’s lips, and his steady breath had turned into a deep pant as his hands pulled Jasper’s face closer to his. “Only us,” he said, his voice rough and dark as the night. “I want it to be only us against the rest of the world.” He never wanted them to break apart, and as Tanner saw the world slow down around them, he only wanted to kiss Jasper more. He only had to wait a few minutes for it to be over, just long enough for them to capture everyone.
Finally, after he broke away from Jasper, he smiled and sighed, proud of the boy. Hopefully they’d got the job done and over with, and as soon as the two had broken from one another, the silence had begun to ring out and everything had changed. Instead of the laughter and the beat of the music, it turned black except for the small orange glow of the bonfire far away. In a flash it seemed as though the big man had disappeared and then reappeared. Tanner had seen him around the rebel camp before, he just never bothered to talk, or much less stare at him. Nevertheless, the man had hit Jasper heavily on the head and then carried him on his shoulders like a sack. “Get in,” he spoke to Tanner. His voice was deep and scratchy, his breath smelled of cigars, and overall he intimidated Tanner, something hard to do most of the time.
He then entered the truck, noticing the three other figures in the darkness. The man recognized the twins and they smiled at him as if he were an old friend, except that their smiles sent shivers up Tanner’s back. The truck rattled a little while until it came to a halt and the man decided to climb out the back door of it, slamming the metal. The twins still stared at Tanner with a pale trance as they all waited, only to find that a few minutes later a body was shoved into the truck with a bag attached to it’s head. The bag was then pulled off to reveal Andrew, his face holding an angry expression with a cut lip.
Tanner turned pale and became dead silent as he heard him demand to be released, only to look up and see the knives placed near his throat. He had only killed a person a couple days ago, and he definitely didn’t want that to happen all over again. Now this time, he was afraid that Andrew and Jasper would find out about everything, and they would be the ones to kill him.
[Trigger Warning for Mobile: a whole lotta cursing, some blood, a long ass piece of writing, death kinda, and all the sads.]
Andrew forced his body to physically stabilize himself, sitting still enough inside the car so he could see if Jasper was still breathing. It wasn’t until he saw the blond’s chest go up and down weakly that he let out a breath through his own parted lips, gasping into the thick air. He was still breathing. Jasper was still alive. Why wouldn’t he wake up by now? Why wasn’t he moving?
“What did you do to him?!” He demanded again, this time more forceful even if his words were coated with fear and desperation. The knife on his neck sunk closer to skin, but he couldn’t care less if it was cutting in. “What did you do?!” He refused to flinch at how loud his own voice was, scratching against his throat on the way out.
Tanner seemed paralyzed by Big Dude’s side, white as a paper sheet and wide-eyed. He snarled at him, he snarled at them all; he felt like a dog, foaming on the mouth, showing his teeth in preparation for the attack. “What did you—” his head turned and he felt the skin of his neck splitting open where it dragged across the sharp knife. Just for a second, and then it was gone and hot pain was exploding from his chin down his jaw and up his ears.
He blinked once, twice, breathing hard enough to shake his whole torso up and down, the copper on his tongue doing nothing but firing him up even more. He had never felt the utter urge to kill as big as he had now. He wanted everyone in that fucking van dead and buried six feet under for whatever they did to Jasper. My God, Jasper. Andrew spat, aiming at Big Dude’s feet, a splatter of bright red landing on one shoe with a sickening sound.
“What the fuck did you do to him?” He shouted louder, angrier, bitter. His eyes turned to Tanner when he saw the man look at him with pity — or was it remorse? — in his eyes, head shaking softly.
“What the fuck did you do?!” This time it was loud enough that everyone flinched, loud enough that Jasper should’ve waken up, would have woken up if he could. “Tell me!” His screams got as loud as it could go and he thrashed around, metal piercing into skin at the handcuffs on his hands.
He was going towards Big Dude now, the cut on his neck stinging and his jaw pulsing in hot red pain, but he kept yelling, kept demanding, so out of himself he could’ve killed the whole crew by now with his bare hands if he was given the mere chance. “Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!” He refused to stop, refused to quiet down. His voice was blaring, his hands were shaking, his heart was pounding in his chest, and he wouldn’t stop moving towards the rebel.
The man lifted his hands up and not the sheer fear in his eyes nor the blood Andrew spat on his face did anything to satisfy him. “I don’t know,” he saw the man’s lips form, but he couldn’t hear him, not with his own voice ringing in his ears, his own throat still scratching, the ripped screech of “tell me! Tell me! Tell me!”
The blood that lay on his tongue was now dripping down his chin and everywhere else, staining Big Dude’s face with a dozen droplets like someone had busted their heads right open in front of him. Andrew would if he could.
Hands were on him, tugging him back hesitantly, away from the scared man’s bloody face and he roared, thrashed around more forcefully, like a wild animal being locked up. “Don’t touch me!” His thunderous demand was met with hands disappearing from his arms and it did nothing to soothe him. “Let me go!” He repeated into the deafening silence from the other men, and then his handcuffs were being unlocked and his hands were free.
The metal restraints still dangled limply from one wrist as he pulled his hands to his front, seeing harsh redness that he could barely feel. He punched the wall beside Big Dude’s face hoping to feel something, but nothing came of it.
“We’re going back to the beach,” his voice was not as booming as before, this time cracking under his hard breathing as he slumped back into his seat. He heard the car rattle as it made a turn and he assumed they were going back. The taste of blood still drove him insane every time he swallowed.
The silence that fell over after his outburst was sickening. The blood he spat was everywhere with all the yelling he’d done, painting red dots up the walls, splattered on the ceiling, dripped on the floor. He watched out the window to avoid looking at Jasper’s body still limp, laying lifelessly with them, sleeping soundly. He felt the urge to laugh. The boy who hated sleep was now so deep into it he couldn’t be awaken. So much for irony.
By the time the tires were screeching to a soft stop in the sand, Andrew had gotten his breathing down from manic asthma to athlete who just went for a jog. He could feel everyone else’s eyes on him, watching with fear. “You're going back to wherever the fuck camp you came from and you're gonna get the smallest gun you have and you're gonna fucking paint the walls with your brains, do you understand?” His voice dripped with disgust as he switched eyes between the big guy and the other two boys. He saw them nod in hopeless agreement before he climbed out of the car.
Andrew didn’t care for anyone else in the goddamn van, not Tanner, not the other rebels, all he wanted was for Jasper to wake up. His hands were shaking, either from adrenaline aftershock or just fear, but he managed to gather the boy into his arms before leaving, his body still warm and heavy and pliant.
The walk to the beach isn’t easy on shaky legs and holding twice his weight, and Jasper’s head is tilted back, falling down from his shoulders, and his arms are resting in a weird angle that is sickening to watch, so Andrew doesn’t. He walks and stumbles and trips until he’s falling to his knees on the spot by the — now dead — bonfire, clutching the limp blond boy in his arms like a lifeline of his own.
“Jasp,” he calls in a whisper, a broken sound accompanied by a gasp as he moves so that he’s sitting on the soft sand and Jasper’s torso is on his lap, his long legs stretching out inertly, head still tilted back and mouth parted. “Jasper, no, Jasper, come on,” he pleads desperately, hands clawing up the boy’s chest and cradling his head to hold it up instead.
It’s dead weight on his hands and moves nauseatingly easy around the junctures of his neck. Andrew holds his jaw closed, thumbs at his pale skin, breathes fire out his lungs and doesn’t realize he’s crying until a tear drips down the younger boy’s cheek and into his hair. “Jasper, come on,” he urges again, and an ugly sob escapes his throat as he frantically searches Jasper’s face, needing some response from him, an eye twitching, a mumble, anything, he’d take anything.
“You can’t, come on, don’t be like this, don’t let it be like this,” his words are barely sensible over his struggling breaths and he’s never felt fear like this before. It consumes his head and swims in his blood vessels and lays heavy on his tongue. “Jasper! Jasper, wake up!” He speaks louder this time, shakes the boy’s head gently, desperately, messy finger scrambling in hopes a touch could bring him back.
His own tears are trailing down to meet the blood on his chin and dropping to create stains of pale red irregular circles on Jasper's shirt. Andrew can't stop shaking. "Wake up, please, wake up," his voice is distorted and it's a desperate cry from his trembling lips. He doesn't remember a time where he openly cried like this since he was ten and broke a bone. Jasper wouldn't wake up. He had to wake up, he had to, he absolutely had to. Andrew could still feel his chest moving up and down and the air being inhaled and exhaled through his nose.
He wipes his lips angrily on his sleeve, ignoring the red tint they leave behind, and shakes Jasper again. Andrew's arms move to hold the younger man's frail form instead, fitting his limp head against the crook of his shoulder, wrapping him in a tight embrace that did nothing for him. He couldn't feel Jasper's hands holding back, couldn't feel his tight grip, couldn't feel his own desperation mirrored in the boy like they had held each other before. He buries his face in the crook of the blond's neck because it's the closest he'll get to him and squeezes him tight enough to be uncomfortable.
"Don't leave me, please, don't you dare leave me," he repeats the words Jasper said to him the other night. Again, how ironic it had to be, that he would be the one leaving Andrew behind, after all. "I can't-- I can't do this without you, Jasper, please, Jasper," he's wailing and crying like a newborn baby now, and one hand moves to nestle the limp head against his own neck, careful fingers entangling in dirty blond curls. He repeats Jasper's name like a mantra, whispers it into his neck until it makes little sense anymore, holds him and pretends to feel him returning the embrace like he should.
Desperation curls around his insides and squeezes his heart, crushes his stomach, suffocates his lungs in an iron grip so strong it makes him tremble and hiccup and scream against Jasper's skin. "Wake up, you have to wake up," he wails again, holds Jasper tighter against his chest, as if by holding on tight enough and for long enough could maybe bring him back. "You're not gone yet, please don't be gone, please," he sobs around a last whisper, "please come back."
