Blood Brothers

[london9calling]

Title: Blood Brothers
Length: 8,366 words
Pairing: Sehun / Kai (Platonic)
Rating: NC-17 (for violence)
Summary: Sehun finds out that the past is never really forgotten, especially when Kim Jongin reappears in his life.
Warnings: Copious amounts of swearing, violence, character death, mentions of torture, murder

originally written for 12horrors


Sky blue pink at night, sailors delight. Sky blue pink in the morning, sailors take warning. Or so his mother used to say. Sailors should take warning, he guessed, the sky a pastel pink. It was probably all a bunch of shit, the stuff his mother said usually was.

Sehun raised the cigarette to his lips, taking a long drag. He exhaled slowly, the smoke rings he wanted to blow never materializing. He ashed, not caring that he didn’t have an ashtray. He could hear the television, low volume – an infomercial, a neglected bit of entertainment gone on too long, humming from the bedroom. A low price, only shipping and handling – desperation and commerce and everything he could give a lesser fuck about. He ashed again, flicking the cigarette so hard he wondered why it didn’t break.

Flick, flick, ash, ash. The birds were waking up. Sehun leaned forward and snubbed the cigarette out on the treated lumber, only momentarily noticing the ugly black mark it made. He opened the patio door, retreating within the apartment. A cat was meowing from somewhere within the apartment.

Sehun checked his phone. A quarter after five in the morning. The cat must be used to being fed by now. Maybe the food was kept in a cupboard somewhere, one of the ugly laminate boxes that marked the place as a 1970s nightmare-outdated mess.

Sehun walked passed the bed not bothering to glance over, where a tick, tick, tick – no, drip, drip, drip sounded.

Not bothering to see the two men lying lifeless on a queen sized pillow top mattress. Not bothering to acknowledge the large puddle forming, creeping, and staining the cheap cream colored carpet. Not bothering…





Four days ago….

The sound startled him, the music loud and abrasive amidst the quiet hum of the electric fan and the low strains of the television show he had left on as he drifted off to sleep. It took Sehun a few seconds to realize it was his phone ringing. He scrambled to pick up the cell phone off the floor – the usual place it slipped to as he tossed and turned the night away.

“Hello?” Sehun’s voice was raspy, his throat parched.

Silence.

“Hello?” Sehun held the phone out so he could check the number. He hadn’t bothered to before he answered; his focus was on ending the hip hop ringtone from causing his imminent deafness. The number was unknown. Putting the phone back to his ear he waited, hearing only a dead silence. Clicking the red disconnect button he tossed his phone down on the bed, burrowing under the covers. Little did he know that phone call was only the beginning.





Sehun hated his job, but it was a paycheck and it fit his skill set. He didn’t have a college degree but what he did have was a talent at dissembling engines, fixing electrical issues, and diagnosing a problem from vague descriptions like “It keeps thumping” or “The oil light came on and then it kicked”. Chanyeol, a middle aged man with a beer gut and a plethora of dirty jokes at his disposal had hired Sehun on the spot after Sehun wowed the man with his ability to dissemble a carburetor in record time.

Working at Park Repair and Salvage Monday through Friday filled his days. His nights were reserved for going to the neighborhood bar and watching a game, plopping in front of his television and flipping through the channels until he ended up watching some crappy movie for the fifteenth time. On the rare day he felt motivated he went for a jog in the park by his apartment. Weekends were spent doing much the same, a monotonous set of actions but a sense of routine in some ways, if boredom could be translated to routine.

That particular Wednesday he was exhausted at noon, completely wiped out by five o’clock. Chanyeol had ignored the fact there were only the two of them working and had made promises that he should not have. Sehun spent most of the day swearing and running around the shop, trying to finish his tasks before the car owners would be standing in the office, asking for their keys, not giving a shit if the repairman was overworked and underpaid.

Sehun was so exhausted after work he had little thoughts of going to the bar, god forbid the thought of exercising. He trudged home, nearly forgetting to check the mail on the way to his apartment. He probably would have completely forgotten if it wasn’t for the large brown envelope sticking out from the metal rectangle, the third from the left in the row of mailboxes. Sehun fiddled with his keyring, finding his mailbox key he opened the metal box. Reaching inside he retrieved the envelope. There wasn’t a return address and his address had been handwritten in red. Curious.

Sehun tore open the envelope as soon as he was inside his apartment, letting the rest of his mail, the junk advertisements and his credit card bill, fall to the floor. He pulled out a single sheet of paper, notebook paper to be exact. Written in large letters was a single word.

Hello

Sehun stared at the paper in confusion. Was this some sort of joke? It wouldn’t be the first time in his life he had a sick prank pulled on him, people trying to rile him up. He decided to laugh it off, chalk it up to some harmless teenager or acquaintance that wanted to scare him. Hell, maybe Chanyeol did it after one too many rum and cokes, trying to scare Sehun for his own amusement. Crumpling the paper up into a ball he deposited it in the wastebasket, thinking no more of it for the rest of the evening.







“Can you stop scheduling this shit one after another?” Sehun shouted at Chanyeol. He was halfway through another overbooked day, made all the worse by Chanyeol’s hungover state. He hadn’t dared move from the air conditioned office for more than a few minutes at a time, letting Sehun do all of the work.

“What is wrong with you today? Can you not yell?!” Chanyeol groaned, clearly not as concerned with Sehun’s anger as he was with the way Sehun’s shout had made his headache worse.

“Fuck off.” Sehun wasn’t above swearing at his boss, he never had been. Not when Chanyeol was often a total dick about things. Chanyeol didn’t bother responding, slinking back to the office to throw his head on the desk yet again.

Sehun grabbed the keys for the silver Hyundai Accent that was sitting in the lot, ready to be driven onto the hydraulic lift. The thing was a piece of shit, dented on one side and sounding like a dying pig resided in place of the engine. Sehun could tell that it needed major mechanical work, assuming the owner wanted to stick more money into the old car.

Shifting the car into first gear, Sehun maneuvered the vehicle until it was on top of the lift. Once he made sure the parking brake was secured he exited the car, glancing towards the office he spotted Chanyeol retching into the garbage can. Sehun clicked the button to raise the hydraulic lift, hearing the familiar decompression noise in between the loud and disgusting noise of Chanyeol vomiting. He couldn’t take it anymore. Sehun walked over to where the shop radio sat, turning up the volume so he could cover the noise of his boss puking his guts out.

Returning to the task at hand Sehun walked under the raised vehicle, flashlight in hand to inspect the undercarriage of the car. Fluid dripped out of the bottom of the car, Sehun found the leak and moved the flashlight closer.

A vibration in his pocket made him groan. It was probably his mom, who without fail always called during working hours. Walking out from under the car he pulled out his phone, seeing the number was unknown he sighed. He put the phone to his ear and walked out to the front of the shop and around to the side of the building, needing a moment to escape the searing heat inside. The metal roof of the building made the place hotter than an oven during the summer, making it all that much more taxing to be scurrying about for eight to nine hours a day.

“Hello?”

Silence.

Sehun was not in the mood for another prank call. After another hello he pushed the red button, disconnecting the call he slipped his phone back into the front pocket of his work jumpsuit. He leaned back on the side of the building, relishing the feel of the cool breeze. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes, a terrible habit that he always resolved would end in a week or a week after that but never did. Lighting up he took a drag. He exhaled the smoke slowly, ashing as he relished the feeling of nicotine in his veins and the wind against his face.

He smoked the rest of the cigarette quickly, knowing a few minutes were probably more than he could afford. Walking back into the shop he didn’t bother to glance at the office, knowing it would only piss him off further. Retrieving his flashlight from where he had left it on one of the worktables he went back to examining the underside of the vehicle. He was close to determining his next steps in the repair when Chanyeol threw open the office door.

“Sehun – I need water.”

Sehun was torn between telling his boss to go fuck himself and actually getting him water from the fridge that sat in the corner of the shop.

“I will give you a fifty cent an hour raise. Please…I am dying here.”

Money was a powerful incentive. Chanyeol stumbled back to his desk once Sehun muttered a “fine”.

Sehun had taken no more than five steps forward, out from under the car and towards the fridge when it happened. The floor rumbled, a crash sounded, deafening – steel hitting concrete- as the Hyundai Accent crashed to the ground, the hydraulic lift giving out under it.

“What in the hell?!” Sehun stared in horror as the vehicle he had been standing under only seconds before was now at eye level.

“Jesus Christ can’t this place ever be fucking quiet!” Chanyeol shouted from the office, not bothering to figure out what had caused the loud noise.

Sehun froze, taking in the scene. How in the hell had the lift failed? Lifts didn’t just fail. He had never seen it before, the things were built with a safety catch. He strode over to the control panel. While crouching down he examined the hydraulic hoses. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

One of the hoses had been cut, cleanly in half.

Someone had cut it. Someone who may or may not have thought Sehun would be standing under the car when the lift failed.

Sehun felt his heart begin to race, his body racked with nervous tremors as he stared at the severed hose. What in the hell was going on?! Who…who….

It wasn’t an accident, he was sure of it. Yet no one else had been in the shop since he had hoisted the car up – and he certainly didn’t think Chanyeol would sabotage his own equipment. Sehun had been there the whole time, he didn’t see anyone enter or exit. Then it hit him.

The phone call. He had left to take the phone call.

Suddenly Sehun was the one who felt like throwing up.







The bar was loud and crowded, exactly how Sehun knew it would be. There was a big game on, two rival football teams duking it out, the patrons of the bar shouting insults and cheering in equal turn as the game went one way and then another. Sehun found an empty stool at the bar counter, the only one left, and plopped down. He didn’t have to order; his usual drink was pushed in front of him.

“You look like hell.” Jongdae, the bartender among bartenders at Edison’s Pub eyed up his weary customer.

“Thanks. Nice to see you too.” Sehun grabbed the beer bottle and took a big swig. He needed a drink after what had happened earlier that day.

“So what happened?” Jongdae wiped down the bar counter in front of Sehun, leaning in closer so he could hear the man over the shouts of the exuberant customers watching the game. Sehun had known that Jongdae would pick up on his mood right away. The bartender knew him too well. He was a regular and usually came in when Jongdae was working. Countless drunken nights spouting nonsense to the man had forged a rather close if not alcohol-based friendship.

“Chanyeol keeps booking too many repairs.” Sehun almost held back, but let it go. He kind of wanted someone to talk to, someone to tell about what had happened. “And I think someone sabotaged the car lift.”

“Sabotaged?” Jongdae quirked an eyebrow. “Who in the hell would sabotaged anything at that subpar mechanic shop? No offense.”

Sehun gritted his teeth, ignoring the near insult as he explained. “I don’t see what else it could be. The hose was cut cleanly in half. The car fell from the lift only seconds after I walked out from under it.”

“Shit.” Jongdae whistled. “That does sound fishy.”

Sehun chugged down the rest of his beer, Jongdae replacing it with a new bottle without being asked. “Who could have done it?”

“I don’t know.” Sehun fiddled with the bar napkin that Jongdae had laid down under his new bottle of beer. Did he dare let his mind wander to who would have tried to hurt him – hell, maybe even kill him? Did he want to know?

Jongdae appeared hesitant for a moment, Sehun leaning forward and uttering a threat when he noticed the bartender’s body language changing abruptly. “Don’t even think about it.”

Jongdae held his hands up, pleading his case. “Hey, I don’t know who else would want to kill you – it is the only thing you have done that would piss people off, right?”

“That was a long time ago.” Sehun took a swig of his beer. “And I told you not to talk about it. I am different now. It was a mistake.”

“Well, some people might not have let it go, or realize you are a changed man.” Jongdae pointed out the obvious.

Sehun downed the rest of his beer, throwing a few dollars down on the bar he stood. “Have a good night.”

Jongdae waved, taking the money, not at all put out by Sehun’s sudden departure. He was used to Sehun’s mood swings.

Sehun had caught a small buzz, not nearly half of what he wanted to feel. He decided to stop by a convenience store on the walk home and pick up some more beer, something to drown himself in to forget what had happened that day. During the short walk to the store he recalled Jongdae’s words, knowing full well the bartender was right. If someone was actually trying to hurt him there would be only one reason for it. He had made a mistake, a huge mistake, when he was young and that mistake might not be forgotten by some people. Still, Sehun wasn’t sure how anyone could have found him. He had made sure to fly under the radar, not daring to associate with the same people he had as a child – well, other than his mother, of course. Hell, he didn’t even use his real last name anymore. So how could someone have found him?

After purchasing a six pack of beer Sehun traversed the remaining half block to his apartment, tempted to bust open the beer as he walked and drink one…or two before he got home. He didn’t, not wanting to be hassled by the cops if they saw him walking with an open beer – but as soon as he was in his apartment he opened one and chugged it down, appreciating how the cool and frothy liquid felt as he swallowed. Refreshing.

Sehun had three more beers in him before he staggered towards his bedroom, deciding a shower was in order. He was still dressed in his dirty work overalls, grease and grime staining the front of the grey work uniform. He had a decent buzz now, enough to take a break for a few minutes. He pushed open his bedroom door, letting the cheap wood door hit the wall hard. Taking a few uneven steps forward he stopped.

His bed. There was something on his bed staining his dark green comforter. He didn’t remember spilling anything on the bed before he left for work that day. He bent down to run his hand on the stain, curious what it was, and found that whatever it was must be under the covers, only showing a shadow of a stain on the top of the blanket. Pulling back the comforter he recoiled in horror as he stared down at the large puddle of green paint that was sitting in the middle of his bed.

Green paint. The same color from way back then, way back when he was young and stupid and influenced to do terrible things.

Now he had no doubt. Whoever it was, whoever had broken into his apartment, and messed with the lift…they knew exactly who he really was – his real surname and his past. And that fact scared the shit out of him.







Sehun couldn’t sleep, not even now that he was out of his apartment. After finding the paint on his bed he had thrown a few things in a bag and walked to the cheap motel a few blocks from his apartment, checking in for the night. Yet…was he safe? If whoever had left the paint in his apartment had cut the hose in half – and Sehun was pretty sure it was the same person – than they were probably watching him. Was there anywhere he could go? But what could he do? Should he call the police? Was that even an option…Sehun didn’t know. The last thing he wanted was to be under police scrutiny, not after he had been under their watchful eye for half of his life. Yet…wouldn’t it be the smart thing to do?

His phone vibrated. Checking it Sehun saw that he had one new email. He didn’t use his e-mail very often so the notification was strange. He slid open his lock screen, slightly afraid to see who may have e-mailed him – more specifically if he would find a threat waiting in his inbox. What he found was an email from KK94@gmail.com, and not recognizing the address he braced himself as he clicked on the new message.

Sehun,

Hey. We need to meet. This is Jongin. You can call me at xxx-xxxx.

Jongin…Sehun dropped his phone, terrified. Jongin wanted to talk to him? Kim Jongin….

Sehun didn’t think he would ever talk to Jongin again, ever hear from him. They had been childhood best friends, attached at the hip, skipping school and running wild while their parents ignored their hijinks – until everything got out of hand….until the day that changed everything.

Could it be that simple, call Jongin? What did he want? Was he being threatened too? Sehun picked up his phone. Sitting on the edge of the cheap motel bed he stared at the message debating if he should dial the number. Minutes passed as he considered every avenue before him, what could work, what would be a mistake.

Jongin might be a big mistake. He wasn’t a good influence, he never had been and Sehun was sure of it. Yet he might be going through the same thing. He might be panicked and terrified and trying to find the only other person in the world that knew what it was like to always look over your shoulder because of some youthful error – and what it felt like to suddenly see something over your shoulder, watching and waiting.

Sehun picked up his phone and dialed the number. It rang a few times before connecting, a hoarse voice answering. “Hello?”

“Jongin?” Sehun hadn’t said the name aloud in years – it felt foreign on his tongue.

“Sehun? Oh thank god. I thought you wouldn’t believe it was me.” Jongin sounded relieved, maybe a bit scared- and definitely different than how Sehun had remembered him. Yet Sehun was sure it was Jongin, the voice was the same – perhaps deepened with age, but it was definitely Kim Jongin.

“Why do you want to meet?” Sehun fidgeted with the edge of his shirt as he spoke, a plethora of emotions running through him as he heard the voice of a person he never thought he would talk to again.

“Someone is threatening me,” Jongin confirmed what Sehun had guessed. He didn’t elaborate on who or why, knowing full well Sehun would understand.

Sehun sucked in a deep breath before admitting what had happened to him, detailing the weird phone call, the letter, the lift falling, and finally the green paint. “I was thinking about going to the police.”

“Sehun, you can’t. Listen, we need to meet up and talk about this. Where do you live now? I live in XXX.”

Sehun realized that Jongin was living less than thirty miles away, strange considering he had fashioned a reality in his mind where Jongin was as far away as could be- not a half hour by car. Sehun gave Jongin the name of the city he was residing in and the motel where he was staying, Jongin quickly stating he would drive over right away.

“Jongin….” Sehun shut his eyes tightly, a headache coming on, caused by the fast and furious series of events. “Do you think this is a good idea? Us meeting again.”

Silence.

“I don’t think we have a choice. Just keep calm and don’t call the cops for Christ’s sake. I will be there soon.”

Click.

Sehun cradled the cell phone in his hand, fighting back the need to throw up. His already frazzled nerves were in overdrive at the thought that Jongin would be at his motel room door before the hour was out. Jongin, who had been like a brother, Jongin who had turned out to be something Sehun never needed in his life. What madness was this – had he really just agreed to see Jongin again?

Sehun couldn’t hold it back any longer, rushing to the bathroom and puking out his guts.

After throwing up for five minutes straight Sehun found he had nothing left to wretch up. He stumbled back from the bathroom and collapsed onto the bed, the smell of stale cigarette smoke that lingered in the room making his stomach turn yet again. He stared at the yellowed ceiling, a hand on his stomach, his mind filled with darkness.

Kim Jongin. Kim Jongin. Kim Jongin. A bad seed. A person who could hone in on someone’s dark side, push that side of them forward, and in the end make them feel like they had only acted the way they should have been acting all along.

Still, Sehun didn’t find himself utterly innocent. He never fashioned himself as a pawn only directed by Jongin. He had his own fair share of blame. Yet there was a big part of him that knew that alone he could never act the way he did when he was with Jongin.

Jongin would arrive soon. What should he say to him first, what would Jongin say first and would any of it matter? Would Jongin care what Sehun had been doing for the last twelve years or the fact that he deeply regretted the type of child he had been way back when? Did Jongin regret his own actions? Sehun gravitated towards Jongin being completely and totally lacking in remorse – because that was the Jongin he had known. Act first, think later – and usually not give a shit despite the consequences.

Sehun felt the dark place he kept buried inside his head coming back, flashes of memory, and he felt physical pain at the emotionally intense process of recalling and feeling what he didn’t like to recall, what he didn’t like to feel.

He closed his eyes and tried to will the bad memories away, tried to think of inane and stupid shit like one of Jongdae’s bad jokes or how much he wanted to punch Chanyeol in the face half the time. Focus, Sehun, focus. Forget, Oh Sehun, forget. Don’t think of the docks, don’t think of green paint, don’t think of how a tiny hand felt when it took yours, so trusting, so unsuspecting.

Forty five minutes passed quickly, the knock on the motel room door loud and hurried. Sehun sat up, dragging a hand through his hair, inhaling a deep breath. Then he went to meet his old friend. Throwing open the door he was faced with a man – not the child he remembered. Jongin had grown, obviously; it had been twelve years. He was now an adult, almost as tall as Sehun, his dark complexion and dark eyes the same but his face leaner, more defined.

Jongin pressed past Sehun, skipping the pleasantries as he barged into the motel room. He was same in a lot of ways, Sehun considered. Impatient, not waiting for an invitation.

“Tell me what happened to you. Again, everything. Think of the smallest details.” Jongin sat on the edge of the bed. His anxiety was apparent as he clasped his hands together tightly and drummed his foot on the cheap teal carpeting at a furious pace. Sehun took some comfort in the fact he wasn’t the only one on edge, he wasn’t the only person that was terrified.

“You didn’t tell me what happened to you.” Sehun grabbed the stained, chipped and beaten up chair, scooting it forward so that he sat facing Jongin.

“Someone tried to hit me with their car. I didn’t get a good look at them.” Jongin fidgeted, continuing to tap his foot on the ground at a rapid pace. “I got a call and the bastard only said ‘found you’ or some shit like that. I got a letter too, and god damnit if he didn’t break into my apartment.”

“Green paint?” Sehun guessed, flashing back to the moment he had found the mess on his bed.

“Yes.” Jongin looked towards the motel room door. “You better lock that.”

Sehun had been too fixated on surviving the initial few seconds of being reunited with Jongin that he had completely forgot to put the chain back on the door. He quickly fixed the situation.

“Who do you think it is?” Sehun was curious if Jongin knew, had any ideas. Hell, Jongin had found him- and Sehun had thought that would be impossible. Yet he had. Maybe he knew who was targeting them.

“Fuck, I don’t know. I could guess, but I don’t know for sure.”

“I think we should go to the cops.”

“Sehun, you know we can’t, especially not now. You know it was a condition of our release, that we can’t see each other.” Jongin looked alarmed at the mention of the police.

“They won’t know, just go back home. How would they know we met?” Sehun was well aware of the fact they were never supposed to meet again. It was part of their sentence, that they should never have contact and if they did so they would face further jail time.

“Do you want to go to prison? Do you want to spend the rest of your life in prison, Sehun?” Jongin countered, an unblinking stare fixated on Sehun.

Sehun didn’t want to go to prison. Years in juvenile detention and a year in a halfway house had been enough for him. Why had he decided calling Jongin was a good idea? He could have just called the cops and not even be faced with a reality where he spent years in some concrete hell hole. “Well then what in the hell do you propose we do?”

“We get him before he gets us.” Jongin’s answer was so confident it gave Sehun chills. It didn’t help that Jongin had stopped fidgeting, his entire stance becoming more confident as he announced his plan.

“And how are we going to do that? We don’t even know who’s threatening us.”

“We bait him.”

“Jongin, I don’t know.” Sehun was starting to feel like it was twelve years ago, that he was standing outside a shopping mall, playing hooky from school while Jongin told him about a great idea he had had. That it was sure to work, that Sehun just had to listen.

“I won’t hurt him, I just want to scare him into stopping this shit.” Jongin tilted his head to the side, examining his old friend. Sehun bristled under Jongin’s gaze. “You are taller than me.”

“Hm.”

“Probably weigh more too. What do you do for a living?”

“I fix cars.“ It was small talk and it felt weird considering what they had been discussing. Jongin still liked to flit around conversations, Sehun thought, just like when they were kids and nothing could hold the boy’s attention for more than a few minutes at a time.

“So how about it, Sehun? Or would you rather end up dead thanks to some vengeful freak?”

A choice. A choice to say no, to call the cops, to maybe go to prison because he was stupid enough to meet Jongin again. Or a choice to scare whoever was threatening him away, avoid jail time – if he was careful, if they were careful.

“Can I trust you?” Sehun asked, wanting something – even a few simple words – to make him feel better about his decision.

“Of course.” Jongin didn’t break eye contact, didn’t look away or show any signs of distress. He was waiting.

“Fine. But if this backfires I am blaming you.”

“Good choice, friend.” Jongin put the emphasis on the last word and the sound of it – the sound of that word – had Sehun feeling a mixture of fear and excitement, a tandem set of emotions that he hadn’t felt for years, not since he had last walked hand in hand with Kim Jongin.








Sehun sipped the disgusting motel room coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste and texture. He had given up attempting to fall asleep, it was impossible. Not only was he afraid for what may happen, who may find him, but there was also the issue of a tall man on the motel room bed, stretched out and snoring. Jongin had announced he would spend the night, that they needed to put their plan in action as soon as possible – the next day preferably. Sehun had grunted a word of agreement, flicking on the television he had only a few minutes to wait before Jongin was asleep.

Sehun watched as Jongin’s chest rose and fell, the sound of snoring following each exhale. He looked relaxed, sprawled out across the bed, hugging a pillow to his side. It was infuriating, that Jongin could look so peaceful at a time like this.

The drone of the television, a late night cooking show, was no more than background noise as Sehun continued drinking the lukewarm coffee, staring at Jongin. How long had he been staring? Sehun glanced at his phone. It was almost three thirty in the morning, the night having slipped away. He would need to call in to work in a few hours, for there was no way he was going in – Jongin probably wouldn’t let him anyway. He set the foam cup down on the side table.

Sehun walked to the door, peeking out the peep hole. The parking lot was almost empty, a few rusty cars and a truck or two occupying the lot. He wanted to go outside and get a breath of fresh air. The motel room reeked like stale cigarette smoke and the small room was feeling even smaller as the hours ticked by. Would it be safe to go outside? He stood at the peep hole for a few minutes, when he didn’t see any signs of activity he decided to chance it – opening the door he slipped outside as quietly as he could so he didn’t wake Jongin.

It was cold, the late night air dry and less refreshing than Sehun had thought it would be. Hugging himself against the chill he glanced around the parking lot, wondering which car Jongin drove. Was it the rusty red pickup truck – or perhaps the dented old Toyota? For some reason the mental image of Jongin in a beat up car didn’t fit. Over the years Sehun had built him up as someone who was driving a fast car, maybe living with a woman, no longer concerned with the past. Not like Sehun, working some shitty job while he tried to forget. Jongin was always stronger, Sehun had taken it as fact that he probably had forgotten, or not even cared to do so much as conjure up a past that he felt no remorse for.

“Sehun!”

Sehun whipped around to find Jongin standing in the doorway of the motel room, his hair wild and his eyes half open, a ghastly appearance illuminated by the bug clad light hanging over the motel room door. “Thinking about ditching?”

“No,” Sehun answered quietly, walking back to the room. Jongin must not trust him – but did he dare believe he could trust Jongin?






The matter of who would act as bait was contentious. Neither man wanted to be the one who waited around for some crazy person to attempt to hurt them. Jongin said Sehun should be the bait as he was a better lookout, Sehun argued that Jongin was no more perceptive than he was which had Jongin counting off five instances of his excellent observation skills. In the end Sehun grew annoyed at the argument and told Jongin he would play bait just so he wouldn’t have to talk about it anymore.

“What if he kills me before we can catch him?” Sehun knew that the answer to such a stupid question was rather obvious. If that happened he would be dead and Jongin would be left to his own devices.

“I will avenge you,” Jongin answered matter-of-factly.

Sehun guessed Jongin meant he would kill the person. Sehun should have given a spiel about murder being wrong and morals and all of the things he had come to believe during his time in detention – but he would be dead, so did it matter? Jongin could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

Jongin urged Sehun to return to his apartment. “I will keep watch from outside, the fucker will probably be waiting for you.”

“Then why don’t you come inside with me? If he is inside what good is it if you sit outside?”

“I could be wrong, he might show up after you get there.” Jongin brushed off his earlier words, dismissing any further discussion with a glare.

Jongin drove the beat up pick-up truck, Sehun mentally noting every clank that sounded as Jongin turned the key in the ignition. The thing needed a ton of work, probably an entire engine overhaul by the sounds of it.

“You will have to give me directions.” Jongin drove out of the parking lot, stepping on the gas harder than he should. Sehun didn’t doubt that Jongin liked to drive fast, it would suit his personality.

Sehun nodded, focusing on the way the heater rattled. “What year is this thing?”

“1990 something. Left or right?”

“Right.” His apartment was not far away, within walking distance. A few minutes and he would know for sure if the person was waiting for him. A few minutes…

The sound of a car horn blared. Sehun only had a second to brace himself before Jongin turned the wheel so violently the truck almost flipped. It was blur, the truck sliding to a stop as another car sped past them under the half burnt out street lamp.

“Fuck. I think that is him.” Jongin stepped on the gas, the tires squealing as he peeled out to follow the silver car that had almost hit them. “He tried to ram us.”

Sehun gripped the dashboard as Jongin accelerated, the speedometer reaching and passing fifty miles per hour. It was way over the speed limit, and if there were any cops watching there was no doubt they would be pulled over.

Jongin ignored a red light, passing through it in order to keep up with the silver sedan. As he drove he cursed, strings of swear words pierced with ramblings that Sehun couldn’t and didn’t exactly want to follow. Jongin weaved around the few cars that were on the road at such an early hour, nearly missing a semi-truck that was changing lanes.

The chase continued down residential streets. They were getting further and further away from the parts of the city Sehun knew well. Jongin was hot on the other car’s tail, not letting up, not daring to stop lest he lose the person. Sehun noted the license plate number…in case.

The chase ended when the silver sedan pulled into an apartment building parking lot. Sehun could scarcely believe the person would lead them to his home, but it appeared that way. A small man hopped out of the car, running for one of the buildings. Jongin slammed on the brakes, leaving the truck in the middle of the lot as he jumped out, Sehun following him.

They managed to reach the door to the building before it closed, a good thing as it was a safety door that locked. Sehun ran after Jongin, blindly following as they chased the person that may or may not have been the source of the threats. Up a narrow staircase, to the second floor, they followed.

“He went in there.” Jongin’s breathing was ragged as he stopped in front of an apartment. #201. He tried the handle, locked. Undeterred he moved back a few feet, hurling his full body weight at the door and he managed to break it down. Sehun knew that they had just committed a crime but they were too far gone now. He followed Jongin into the apartment, shutting the half broken door behind him.

“I am going to call the fucking cops!” A man stood in the middle of the apartment, his cell phone in hand, a terrified look on his face.

“Why in the fuck did you try to hit us?” Jongin walked forward, the smaller man backing up as Jongin approached. “Are you trying to kill us?”

“What?! No! I made a mistake, I didn’t break! Fuck, why did you break in? Why in the hell are you following me?!” The man held his phone out, ready to dial.

Jongin acted quickly, grabbing the phone away. The smaller man screamed, struggling to get away.

“You looking for revenge you sick fuck?” Jongin wrestled the man to the ground, easily able to overpower him. Jongin had a good six inches and probably thirty pounds on the man. He pinned him down, lying on top of him as he struggled to control the smaller man.

“I don’t know who you are. HELP SOMEONE HELP!” The man started screaming, still trying with all his might to escape Jongin’s grip.

Jongin grabbed the collar of the man’s shirt and began slamming his head into the floor. Once, twice, three times.

Sehun stood motionless, watching, frozen as he recalled years ago when he didn’t move an inch as he observed Jongin’s violent side come out. Why…was it the same?

Jongin clamped a hand over the man’s mouth, stopping his more violent assault as the man’s resistance grew weaker. “Sehun, get me a knife.”

A knife. A knife. Jongin wanted a knife.

“Sehun, get me a fucking knife!” Jongin turned back to look at Sehun, his eyes wild, and his entire expression desperate and angry.

A knife. Jongin wanted a knife.

Sehun didn’t move.

Jongin moved.

Sehun watched as Jongin’s hands encased the man’s neck, squeezing. The man began to flail, kicking a few times as the air was restricted from his lungs.

Sehun watched.

Until the man wasn’t struggling anymore.

“I will get my own fucking knife.” Jongin left the motionless body on the floor. He walked to the kitchen and reappeared holding a butcher knife. He didn’t bother to look at Sehun before he walked to the body and plunged the knife into the man’s chest.

Sehun snapped out of it, the sight of blood making him regain his sense. “What in the hell did you just do?!”

“What? If he called the cops we would both go to prison.” Jongin shrugged his shoulders. “I did what I had to.”

“You fucking killed him!” Sehun didn’t know how to say what he was feeling, because he didn’t know the words that could convey the shock, the horror, and the confusion that was pulsing through him. “You killed him!”

“Chill. I did what I had to. For both of us.”

“He wasn’t even the one after us!” Sehun couldn’t know for sure if that was true, yet the man’s reaction was…he might have been nothing more than a man who avoided a traffic accident.

“Calm the fuck down. We need to leave.” Jongin left the knife plunged into the man’s chest, stood up and walked towards Sehun. Placing a hand on his shoulder he pushed him forward. “Come on, Sehun, we need to go.” It was too friendly, too serene of a gesture considering a body was lying five feet away.

Sehun watched as the puddle of blood crept over the cheap carpeting. Who was this man? Was he someone’s husband? A son…he was…innocent. Jongin had killed him. Jongin had killed him for some bullshit reason that was his fault to begin with. Go to jail? Didn’t Jongin start that path when he contacted Sehun? Didn’t Jongin create that reality when he said they shouldn’t go to the cops?

Jongin. It was always fucking Jongin and his ideas and the fact he did whatever in the hell he wanted and didn’t care that Sehun was the one who ended up paying the price alongside him. Jongin. It was always Jongin. Maybe it was time for Jongin to get a taste of his own medicine.

A fury built within Sehun, a repressed anger building over twelve years. Eight years of incarceration, a year in a halfway house, twelve years since it happened – twelve years. Twelve fucking years of knowing that he had looked at Jongin as a twelve year old boy and agreed to it. Thought it was a great idea. Thought that his best friend couldn’t be wrong. Kim Jongin wasn’t wrong, no, everyone else was. Twelve fucking years.

“We should wipe the prints.” Sehun spoke slowly, purposefully, and Jongin nodded in agreement. A few feet forward, to the body, and Sehun was pulling the knife from the man’s chest. He stared at the bloody blade for only a split second before he acted, not daring to consider any further lest that conscious he had developed told him to turn back. He turned and plunged the knife into Jongin’s chest, again and again, watching as Jongin gasped, a look of utter terror and shock on his face as he collapsed to the ground.

“Sehu-“He never finished saying Sehun’s name before he fell silent. Sehun couldn’t stop now that he started, plunging the knife in again and again. Over and over and over again. Each plunge of the knife was a release, each thrust downward, each time he pulled the knife out, meeting resistance as Jongin’s body convulsed against the metal blade, another piece of his guilt and frustration disappearing.

This had to be the end. He had to end it. He would decide that it ended then and there.





Sehun moved the bodies to the large bed, dragging them one at a time, leaving wide blood trails across the living room floor, down the hall, and to the bed. After laying them side by side he flicked on the television in the bedroom, background noise for the rest of his work. He wiped the knife of prints, throwing it in the middle of the bed. He grabbed a towel and opened the balcony door with it, needing a smoke. He was existing on pure adrenaline from the murder, pure adrenaline from seeing Jongin’s end. And somehow…he didn’t feel any remorse.

After a cigarette he went back inside, not bothering to look at the bodies. Sehun heard a cat meow from somewhere inside the apartment, he ignored that too. The sun was beginning to rise, and still no sirens. He couldn’t believe no one had heard a thing, but if they had they had apparently not bothered to call the police. People could be so stupid sometimes. He glanced at a stack of mail sitting on the kitchen table. Do Kyungsoo. So that was his name. That was who Jongin had stabbed.

After another wipe down of the apartment Sehun left, peeling off his bloodied sweatshirt he balled it up and held it against him. The apartment building was quiet. He didn’t see a single soul as he left.

Jongin’s truck still sat in the middle of the parking lot. Sehun had taken the keys, knowing full well he needed to get rid of it. He climbed inside, driving it over to the repair shop. Chanyeol wasn’t in yet, it was too early. Sehun had keys to the place – a necessity when his boss didn’t show up half the time. He opened the garage door and drove the truck inside. He would chop it up for parts later that day, completely dismantle it so no one would ever see it again.

Throwing the keys to the truck in the office he left, closing up the garage, he started the walk home. Breathing in the morning air he felt refreshed, free. Unburdened. Was someone still out there, waiting for him? Probably. Yet somehow he felt better than he had in a long time – in twelve years. Jongin was gone. He was in a world where Jongin no longer existed.

It was a good day.





Three months later….

“Ready for your first one-on-one?” Junmyeon pushed the folder towards the newest parole officer, Byun Baekhyun, who was still under his direct supervision. Perhaps supervision was a misnomer. He followed Junmyeon around to all of his meetings like a sidekick, learning the ropes with the senior parole officer constantly at his side. Today would be the first time he would have a meeting with a parolee without Junmyeon in the room.

“I hope so.” Baekhyun picked up the file, flipping to the first page. He glanced at the profile and realized he was already familiar with the parolee – Junmyeon had given him the file during his first month of training, explaining that the man was at the same time one of the most reliable parolees but also possessing one of the darkest backstories. “Oh Sehun.”

“Yes. There was a recent change to his situation.” Junmyeon took a sip of his coffee, black, just the way he liked it. “He is under police protection twenty-four/seven now.”

“Why?” Baekhyun was curious.

“Someone was threatening him. The man who was also charged in his original crime ended up dead a few months back – the police think there is someone out for revenge.” Junmyeon sighed. “It is too bad, because he is a nice kid, really reformed himself after all those years in detention.”

“He killed a kid, right?” Baekhyun flipped through the file, perusing Oh Sehun’s criminal record. He had been imprisoned at the age of twelve, after being convicted of torturing and murdering a five year old.

“Yes, it was all over the news at the time but you are probably too young to remember it. He was one of the two boys who kidnapped a five year old from a shopping mall. They took the boy out to the docks and tortured him, threw paint in his face and did all sorts of terrible things to the boy before killing him. It was so shocking at the time – still is.”

“And he ended up in juvenile detention, I see.” Baekhyun noted the sentence. He did eight years for the crime, was released to a halfway house and given a new surname to use lest anyone come looking for him.

“The judge didn’t think it was appropriate to throw either boy into adult court, which was a good decision in my opinion. Mr. Oh has reformed himself. He has had a spotless record since his release. From what I understand the other man was also reformed. It is a shame he was murdered. “

“Have there been any leads on who may have committed the murder?” Baekhyun had heard something about a murder in the city, a brief blurb on the news as he was getting ready for work one morning.

“No, they don’t have any suspects either from what I have been told. I guess they found him with another deceased man in an apartment. The entire situation was bizarre.” Junmyeon wished he could say it was the only unsolved case in the city at the moment, but that was far from the truth. Some murders were never solved.

Baekhyun closed the file, he would review it in more detail before his appointment time with Oh Sehun. “I hope they figure it out. How scary to think someone is out to get you when you already paid your debt to society.”

“A shame. It is a damned shame.” Junmyeon agreed.