we're moving to an internet where children would be banned from reaching out for help and friendship online but abusive parents can post their children's every second online to humiliate and expose them for money with no pushback
mama rolls in her grave knowing the boys canonically stink, i’m sure. clearly i like jackson if you couldn’t tell, but i’ll give william some love soon..
I finished The Butchery a week ago, and it was so worth it!
And yesterday, 5 little chicks in my family's incubator hatched, and I decided "lol what if the Hillbros have 5, too?" And that's how we ended up here! This is also my 1st attempt to draw chickens so forgive me if they aren't great!
I know I haven't been active for a while, and honestly it's because school is starting and I'm preparing for college so life's been extra busy <:]
That’s one month of nothing but stale air, locked windows, the sour stench of rotting meat, and the ever-present worry that you were going to die here. Everything felt like it was out to get you. From the monstrous animals behind every locked door to the very house itself, nothing was truly safe, and everything wanted you dead.
Most notably, the brothers.
Difficult to read and each about as emotionally mature as a rock, you’d grown as used to them as anyone could be. Which, considering they’d kidnapped you, planned to kill you (until a certain greasy-haired freak took a liking to you), and kept you here for a month wasn’t really that much. But you managed.
Despite how hostile and gruesome life felt—if you could even call it living— you’d gotten fairly accustomed to how things worked. You spent your nights in an old sleeping bag you’d stick in a closet, helped with household chores when told to, eaten whenever the brothers decided they wanted to, hid in the closet whenever the brothers had a ‘guest’ in the house. After the first week or so had passed by, you’d fallen into something of a routine. The chores weren’t so bad, especially when they leaned towards basic housework instead of anything that forced you to remember that you were assisting two serial killers.
You’d managed to find a moment of respite in between tasks and hiding from the brothers’ guests, and had chosen to spend it in the attic. It was isolated, far from the common spaces, and, most importantly; quiet. You’d grabbed a book at random the last time you were downstairs, which led to you being stuck reading a 400-something page encyclopedia on the Oregon Trail. Whatever. It was peaceful enough up here, and the book was just barely engaging enough to let you forget about the horrors of your current life, if only for a little while.
That was, until the horrors themselves spoke up from the doorway.
“Ha! Knew I’d find you here...”
Jackson Hillwalker.
A lean, greasy-haired manchild of a captor who could flip on a dime. Intense and deep in the midst of a religious obsession, it was damn near impossible to figure out what he was thinking through his needless bravado and attention-grabbing personality. While his brother seemed to fade into the background and ignore you most of the time, Jackson had made it his personal mission to mess with you any chance he got.
“Hey, I’ve got something way better than that book there for ya, buddy. I need an extra hand down in the basement—William’s out getting a guest for the week, and those piles of human remains aren’t gonna carry themselves!”
Gesturing wildly with cleaver as he spoke and snickering at his own bad joke, he shot you a grin and waited for an answer. It really wasn’t like you had a choice in the matter, anyways…
“…Yeah, sure. Um— I’ll be right down.” You called back with a sigh, reluctantly standing from your nice spot against the wall. By the time you’d looked back up at the doorframe, you could already hear Jackson’s footsteps receding. Of course you wanted to do quite literally anything other than what Jackson had planned, but what choice did you have? You’d seen how violent he gets when he isn’t ‘respected’ enough, and you’d been on the receiving end of that aggression enough to last a lifetime.
So, taking a moment to stretch your arms, you headed down into the basement, already dreading the work ahead.
____
“God. You… you’re actually kidding.”
You mumbled aloud to yourself, standing in the doorway to your ‘room’ in the closet with a hand to your head in disbelief. As if hauling limbs around all day, getting dragged off the moment you were able to relax, and having a cleaver whiz by your head thanks to a pissed-off Jackson wasn’t enough, your space was now absolutely, utterly trashed. The table inside was tipped over, the lower halves of the walls were lined with desperate fingernail marks, your bedding was torn and strewn about, and you could see a splotchy trail of dried blood on the floor as if something had been dragged out.
Somehow, while you were busy moving slightly-decayed body parts with Jackson, the guest William brought must’ve broken loose, tried to hide, and subsequently gotten bludgeoned to death in the closet. At least the day could only get better at this rate, you thought with a deep sigh, grabbing a raggedy blanket from the back of the closet that was mostly free from blood. Whatever, whatever. You decided to bite your tongue and find somewhere else to rest for the night.
All you could do was hope you didn’t get your head bitten off in your sleep.
_______
You’d been flitting between dreams for about a half hour or so. Every time you managed to get settled enough to drift off, you were woken up by a distant cry of some horrible amalgamation in the basement followed by loud cursing. You’d used a stretch of relative quiet to try nodding off for what must’ve been the fifth time, before you were woken up by an ominous presence hanging over you. Before you even had a chance to open your eyes, you felt the familiar sensation of the dull end of a cleaver lightly jabbing your cheek.
“Now what’re you doing napping on the couch here, buddy? Though you’d know better than anyone that it isn’t safe to sleep out in the open..”
Snapping awake with a jolt, you were greeted with the sight of Jackson leering over the edge of the couch at you with his brows furrowed slightly into a curious look. Once he noticed you were awake, he pulled back his cleaver from your face and propped his chin up against his hand, his pale green eyes locked onto yours and face splitting into a grin. Well, you thought. At least Daisy wasn’t the one waking me up. The flash of fear from being caught asleep here was now replaced by the subtle, looming sense of dread in your gut that lingered throughout every interaction you had with Jackson. You sat up quickly, kicking your raggedy blanket to the other end of the couch and shifting in your spot to sit upright.
“The, uh— the closet was…” You trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it. What was the politest way to say your usual pile of rags at the bottom of a closet was too bloody to sleep in? To your relief, Jackson got what you meant, standing upright and tapping his finger on the back of couch while looking around the living room idly. Was he already bored somehow? He was the one that initiated the interaction to begin with…
“Ohhh, that. Mm, what can I say? Someone just didn’t wanna cooperate with me and Will earlier.” He answered with a vague shrug, having now taken to tapping the dull side of his cleaver against the couch.
“…Oh. Alright.” Was all you managed to say, both upset at not being able to sleep safely and suddenly overcome with a subtle sense of disgust and horror creep into your chest at how casual Jackson was over murdering someone in your space. He somehow picked up on your disappointment, and reached down to ruffle your hair with the same manner someone would use on a dog.
“D’aw, don’t worry. Get your blanket, you caught me in a good mood. C’mon, let’s find somewhere you can conk out without losing your head.” He replied with squinted eyes and a wide smile, shoving himself up off the back of the couch and stretching out his arms while he apparently waited for you. Naturally, considering his tendency to swing from one extreme to the other, you didn’t immediately trust his offer. But following him was probably safer than pissing him off by not complying and risking getting something chopped off.
Jackson led you through a couple rooms of the house without incident, occasionally commenting on details of the room or making a jab at you in some way. You trailed behind him on his seemingly aimless path though the kitchen, stopping in the garage to let him poke around and mutter to himself, waiting silently as he fumbled with the lock to the centipede door, and sticking behind him as he continued to drag you along with him through the house.
By the time you’d looped back around to the base of the staircase, you were fighting to stay awake. Jackson didn’t seem to notice, standing before the first step with his hands placed on his hips in thought, cleaver haphazardly shoved into his pocket.
Today was too much. You felt wrong for saying that; today wasn’t even your worst day. But between your only safe space being destroyed, not eating anything but takeout scraps, and overexerting yourself with today’s chores… you wished you could disappear. You always did since being brought here, but this was more intense. Was this it? Was this really, truly it? Struggling to stay alive through each day, putting up with constant belittlement and dehumanization knowing full well you’d probably be dead within the month— is that the life you fought for?
You couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help it when you felt your face get warm, your eyes get itchy, your throat ache with suppressed sobs, your—
“D’aw... hey, hey— don’t look so down, buddy. I don’t feel like lettin’ you bite it in your sleep tonight.” Jackson interrupted your spiral with a firm clap on the shoulder, a look of… concern on his face? No, that couldn’t be right. Whatever, his ugly mug already morphed into an even uglier smile at you.
“…You’re one of my favorites, y’know? C’mon, I think I know a spot that’ll work for ya.” He reached out to ruffle your hair, and you could feel his short, chewed off nails digging into your scalp.
Reluctantly, you let Jackson lead you upstairs by the shoulder. Maybe it was dread, some subconscious act of defiance, or simply the day’s exhaustion catching up to you, but each begrudging step up the staircase felt heavier than the last.
———
It was a strange feeling, being in the brothers’ room. You’d only seen it from the outside so far, which lead you to feel cautious (more-so than usual) over this new territory.
To start off, the room smelt marginally less suffocating than the rest of the house— it was clear they didn’t get up to much violence in here. It still smelt awful, of course, but less so than what you’d grown accustomed to. Moving onto the actual layout, this definitely wasn’t built with the idea of housing two adults in mind. Maybe it was just the sheer amount of clutter around the space, but the beds themselves seemed to take up the majority of the room. It definitely didn’t help that an old crib (a keepsake from either of the brothers’ pasts, maybe?) was crammed in front of the closet, allowing for little more than walking to and from one’s bed. Now, the beds themselves weren’t of much note, although you were quickly able to deduce whose was whose. Jackson’s entire side of the room was littered with miscellaneous scraps of notebook paper, old toys, and other such knickknacks. Knowing Jackson, it was kept around for less nostalgia, and more of an inability to move on from his past.
“…right, so— so do you want me to sleep on the floor?”
Jackson immediately straightened up at that.
“What?! Goodness, what do you take me for? LORD no, I’m ashamed you’d think such a thing! Tsk, all I do to be a good host…”
What.
“You’re gonna bunk with me, dummy. I’m sure William won’t mind another person in the room for a night… as much as he might not like ya, I promise I won’t let him bully ya for now. That’s my job, ‘course!”
The hell.
Your stomach dropped at his clarification. Was this just some sort of elaborate ploy to kill you in your sleep? A flurry of suspicions and rightful fears immediately flooded your thoughts— Did he plan this out in advance? Was this his real plan? Had you done something wrong, were you no longer useful? Were you always just limbs to them?
You were completely wrapped up in what-ifs and paranoid ideas— but your spiraling was quickly cut short by a gangly arm clapping you on the shoulder with enough force to knock you off balance. Jackson paid no mind to your brief stumble, giving your arm a quick, firm squeeze before walking past you to his bed and throwing himself down upon the mattress with a loud squeak of the springs.
“Alrighty, let’s see here… Obviously, I’m not letting you wear…“ he gestured to your current, grimy outfit with a slight grimace “..that in my bed.” Like he could be talking, you thought to yourself.
He pulled out a drawer of clothes from under his bed, picking out different pieces and holding them up to you with a scrutinizing look as you stood by the foot of the bed, feeling wildly uncomfortable.
Thankfully, after not too long, he tossed an old sweatshirt and pajama bottoms at you, which you barely managed to catch.
“Alright friend, go ahead!”
“…with— with what??” You asked, a twinge of fear in your voice.
“Changing, of course. Duh.”
You were gonna disappear. It wasn’t a want anymore, it was just something that was going to happen. Yep. Your atoms would fold in on themselves until you poofed into the air.
“Oh— right!! Good Lord, I’d forget to blink if it wasn’t natural.” Jackson spoke up after a long moment of horrified staring directed at him. He scrambled up to leave the room thankfully, and— no, wait. No. He was just… standing in the corner with his hands over his eyes. Blair-witch-style. Awesome.
You were already wondering if you’d have to do that, imagining yourself standing in that same corner as he took his sweet time unbuttoning his shirt, clipping off his suspenders, unzipping his— oh no. Oh, no.
Instead, he told you to step out of the room. You were snapped out of your brief fantasy, being reminded of his sheer levels of hypocrisy. Yikes. You’d have plenty of time to reflect on your thoughts in the hallway, at least…
—————
After ten minutes of waiting, you decided to just let yourself back into the room. Not even in your most embarrassing fantasies did anyone take this long to change. Unsurprisingly you were right. He’d forgotten to invite you back in, judging by how he was snug as a bug in his stupid sleep shirt and stupid pajama bottoms.
“Oh, hey!! I almost thought you’d gotten eaten out there. You scared me a ‘lil.” He called out to you before scooting over to one side of the bed, eagerly patting the other with a stupid, weirdly genuine smile. Like he was happy to see you. Or…something.
“Well, come on now! Don’t be a stranger.”
You clambered into bed beside him, and he threw the blanket over you, passing you a single pillow. How generous. Still, he seemed weirdly pleased to be doing this. Like it was his first slumber party.
“I’m excited. This is gonna be fun— I’ve never had a sleepover before!! We can hang out, and tell stories, and stay up late, and—“
Well. That explained it, you thought as he rambled on before being suddenly interrupted by the door slamming open. You both yelped at the sudden intrusion, and your fear was only lessened slightly at seeing it was just William, already in his own sleep clothes with a toothbrush in his mouth. His eyes widened for a second at seeing you, before narrowing again and deliberately spitting out his toothpaste onto the hallway floor. Gross.
“Jackson, what the hell are you doing, bringing them in here? In your bed?”
“GET OUT OF MY ROOM, WILLIAM!!” Jackson wailed back, grabbing your pillow from under your head and hurling it at William. He caught it with an ‘oof’, now glaring at Jackson. Thank God his anger wasn’t directed at you.
“It’s OUR room, you goddamn moron!”
“SHUT UP!!! GO, GO, GET OUT HERE!! WE’RE BUSY! SLEEP ON THE COUCH!” Jackson replied, scrambling over you for his cleaver on the nightstand table.
“Good lord, ALRIGHT! I’m going!” William called back, throwing up his hands in defeat. Him and Jackson exchanged one final short sequence of looks, before William scoffed loudly and walked off, the sounds of his aggressive tooth-brushing being heard until he made it down the stairs.
It was at that moment you realized Jackson was essentially on top of you, never having moved back after reaching for his cleaver. He gripped the handle angrily for a moment with a glare at the doorframe, before glancing down and realizing his situation. The cleaver clattered to the ground as he locked eyes with you. He stayed there a moment too long just staring at you, before quickly letting out a loud, nervous laugh and slowly climbing off you. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he began to speak again.
“…sorry ‘bout that, friend. You know how he gets. I, ah— what were we talking about? I don’t— I can’t remember what I was saying.” The words fell out of his mouth as he glanced from you to the wall, eyes wide. Was it just your imagination, or was he looking at your lips?
“Oh, no, it’s fine. I’m just glad he wasn’t mad at me this time, to be honest…” You admitted, bringing your knees to your chest and looking over at Jackson. He was still staring at you.
“Good Lord, how could any of us be mad at you? You’re— um… you know…” He began urgently, turning over to look at you before locking eyes and trailing off again. It definitely wasn’t just your imagination— he was way more awkward now that you were in his bed.
“I’m what?” You replied with an involuntary smile, enjoying this side of Jackson. It wasn’t often he was the nervous, sweaty one worried of saying the wrong thing. Does this make you as bad as him?
“I— I dunno, you’re… not like William, or me, or anyone else we’ve ever killed, or the people in town, or— I, um… you don’t look at us like we’re monsters. I like that.” He answered almost sheepishly, gnawing his nails between sentences and stammers. He was kinda cute like this. If you just squinted a little… then a little bit more.. then closed your eyes… you almost liked him.
“That’s… that’s weirdly sweet, Jackson.” You spoke, and he perked up like a dog when you said his name. It was like he was hanging off your every word. You shot him a weak smile, and he grinned back at you, chipped, yellow teeth and all.
“Alright. Um, I’d like to get some sleep, so…”
“Oh! Yeah, yeah, lemme get that for ya!” He spoke up, leaning over you again to turn off the nightstand light, lingering over you for just a moment too long again. You had to lay closer to him now, with your one pillow having been thrown across the room in a blind fit of rage and all. But, weirdly enough, everything felt peaceful. There were no screams from the basement, no moos from downstairs— just you, Jackson, and the quiet sound of insects outside his window.
You’d almost finally slipped off into sleep before Jackson spoke up in the darkness. You cracked open an eye to listen, watching as he stared up at the ceiling with his hands folded. He looked so domestic.
“…you really are different, you know. You’re— gosh, I don’t know— you’re nice. Soft, even. You don’t freak out when you see me, you don’t— you haven’t killed any of the animals tryna escape.. hell, you haven’t even tried to escape..!” Jackson spoke with an unfamiliarly vulnerable tone, glancing to the side as he quietly tacked on a ‘not to my knowledge, at least’.
“I dunno. It’s… hard to describe, but I don’t— I don’t hate you. You aren’t just meat to me, you’re… well, gosh, you’re you. And that’s new to me. All of this is new to me, but I don’t mind that. I don’t mind it one bit.” He continued on, his pale green eyes now deeply locked onto yours as he brought a hand up to brush some hair out of your face. But, for the first time, he doesn’t take his hand away once he’s done. And you let him keep it there.
So, so slowly and with exactly the same level of grace you’d expect from a man like him, Jackson learned in towards you. He paused right before making contact to stare back up at you, wordlessly searching— no, pleading for reciprocation. For some sign of approval from you. He looked almost pathetic as he stared up at you, barely an inch from your face. For a moment, you were able to forget where you were and why you were there.
And, so, you leaned in.
His other hand immediately snaked up to clutch the back of your head, pressing you into him like you’d try to slip away at any moment. He was messy and uncoordinated with this— you could immediately tell he’d never made out before. Probably never even kissed anyone before, from the feel of it. If it weren’t for the slow buildup and prior pleasantries, you would’ve interpreted this as some sort of attack. But it wasn’t. It was different, and new, and a little bit scary— but it was nice.
He was warm, his face especially was scalding. Your own hand trailed up onto his shoulders, subconsciously holding onto him, too. It’d been a long time since you were last able to let your guard down, but right here, in this exact moment, everything felt like it was going to be okay— Jackson was warm, his bed was comfortable, and the world outside was peaceful.
Maybe you weren’t going to die here.
Maybe your life had only just begun.
AN: AHHH!!! HI HI HI!!!!!!!!! this is my first ever published fic, so please be kind friends!! i wanted to do SOMETHING to start off my summer, and this was basically rotting in my drafts. i hope u all enjoy it!! if this gets any sort of popularity, i’ll absolutely post more. i has so much fun writing this!! thank u to everyone who’s supported me and my unhealthy obsession with this absolute disgusting freak of a man💚💚
