Chapter Text
Caden was awake by the time Steven’s donation was finished, and so was Cinderella, who was screaming her little head off where she pranced around Caden’s legs.
“Shhh…” Caden was trying to hush her as Steven was released from his restraints, and he gripped the arms of his chair in an effort to quell the dizziness in his head. Steven had donated blood enough times to know when they were taking too much, and his captors had definitely gone too far. There wasn’t much he could do about it, though, so he just swung his legs over the side and carefully lowered himself down to the floor.
“Here.” Elias paused in his task of packing away the collected blood to offer him a water bottle, which Steven accepted without a word. He fumbled the cap open and took a small sip, tilting his head back to rest against the plywood wall. Between their rough night and him losing at least a pint and a half of blood, he was absolutely exhausted.
When he looked down again he found Caden gazing at him with a fearful look on his face, and he gave the kid what he hoped would be an encouraging smile.
“I’m fine,” he told him. “Just tired.” Caden didn’t look convinced, but he lowered his gaze to the irate kitten at his feet.
“She’s hungry,” he mumbled.
“Her and me both.” Steven scooted closer, ignoring Elias as the blond left the room with his prize. “Hey, uh… if I pass out, don’t worry about it, okay?” As soon as the words had left his mouth he knew that they were a mistake, Caden’s eyes shooting wide open in alarm, and he hurried to elaborate. “I’m serious, it’s happened before,” he insisted. “The first night that Brine turned up at my place, I passed out solely from the shock of it.” Caden snorted, his lips twitching into a hesitant smile.
“O-oh.” He hesitated, looking down as Cinderella let out an especially irate screech. “So he was… uninvited too?”
“Yeah.” Steven gave him a wry smile. “I have the worst luck with getting my house broken into, huh?”
“Yeah…” Caden sobered again, rubbing Cinderella’s tiny head, and Steven leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes. Surely Brine knew they were missing by now… but, would he be able to find them?
Footsteps caught his attention, and he opened his eyes again as one of the more nondescript of their captors approached the room. He was holding a bag of fast food in one hand, and his other arm was in a sling. Oh, maybe he was the one that he had stabbed.
“Here.” The guard accepted the bag, then turned around to offer it to them. Caden scrambled up to grab it.
“Here,” he said breathlessly as he sank down beside Steven again. “Take whatever you need.”
“It’s for both of us,” Steven pointed out.
“ Yeah, but you just lost a lot of blood, and I’m used to not eating anyway,” Caden insisted. Steven could see their guard eying him at that.
“Still.” Steven reached into the bag, finding a container of chicken nuggets and holding them out. “Hey, Cindy.” He held one of them in front of the screaming kitten’s nose, and she ceased her cries for long enough to sniff it intently before sinking her little teeth into it.
He split the contents of the bag between them as evenly as he could, setting aside a couple more nuggets for Cinderella as he did so, before digging in. He was pretty sure that chicken nuggets weren’t supposed to be a part of a kitten’s diet, but it was better than her starving.
As they ate, Steven wondered again what would become of Caden. When they had first arrived, the man who seemed to be in charge had said that they could ‘probably find a use for him’… which didn’t fill Steven with confidence. And, of course, his abusive father was here too, and Steven knew that Caden’s treatment would only get exponentially worse after he had run away. They couldn’t release him, either- he’d seen their faces, heard their names, and would be able to easily identify his father. Whatever business they were in, it seemed like Caden was bound to become a victim.
Once they had finished eating, Steven collected their trash into the fast food bag and rolled it up before setting it aside. It wasn’t the healthiest of meals, but it was sustenance. Actually, he reminisced ruefully, this kind of thing had made up the majority of his diet before Brine had come in and insisted on being his personal chef. In a matter of weeks, having access to good, nutritious food had changed the way he had viewed the way he fueled his body in a drastic manner.
A lot about his self image had changed since Brine came into his life. Only a few months ago, he would have gone to the donation center once every four to six weeks to give up a pint or more of his blood, and spend the rest of his time until his next donation trying to recover from the loss. Brine had scolded him that he was slowly killing himself, and by this time Steven was inclined to agree. His quality of life had increased significantly since Brine had first broken into his apartment, both on a physical and social level. It was a little embarrassing to admit it, but Brine and Caden were really his only friends. Maybe he should get out more.
Unfortunately, expanding his social circle further was going to have to wait until he got out of here. If he got out. Steven shifted and leaned back against the wall again, shutting his eyes and trying to rest. He had a hunch that his captors would not be waiting the mandated eight weeks in order to draw more of his valuable blood.
There was a click from the door, and Brine lifted his head as a meal tray was slid through a slot onto the floor.
He dragged himself up from where he had been reclining on his cot, making his way over to scrutinize the offerings. Prison fare was not exactly to his tastes, but it seemed he would have to endure it for now. At least he could enjoy getting his meals delivered to his cell where he could enjoy them in private, rather than having to share with the other inmates. One of the perks of being a psychotic killer.
He had slept uneasily for several hours on the hard cot that he had been assigned, growing increasingly frustrated the longer he spent without any news of Steven and Caden. He had no idea if the police had made any progress, as, unfortunately, he was not considered a part of their investigation. He wasn’t even sure they were convinced that it wasn’t his fault yet.
Brine scooped up the tray and brought it back to his cot, sinking down on the hard mattress and beginning to eat. He didn’t have much of an appetite, but he knew how important it was for one to keep up their strength.
He ate slowly, musing over his knowledge of the situation and Steven’s kidnapping. The officers hadn’t mentioned Caden at all… actually, they might not know he existed. Steven’s name was the only one on the lease, after all. Maybe he should tell them. But, then again, then he’d have to explain why a runaway teenager was staying with the well-respected blood donor that he was claiming to be keeping tabs on in case he needed to use him as his personal blood bank.
He could only assume that the same people who had attacked Steven that one night were to blame for his disappearance, and had quite possibly called the cops in order to try and take him out at the same time. It wasn’t as if Brine had been particularly subtle. That still gave him very little information… those two hadn’t left a calling card either. And, to be honest, there could be more than one criminal group making a target of his rich, albeit rather incompetent roommate.
Herobrine had just placed his last bite of overcooked broccoli into his mouth when the door clicked again, and he looked up as it slid open and stale, fluorescent light poured into his cell.
“Brine.” A bulky officer stepped into the doorway, staring him down. “Come on out.” Warily, Brine obeyed, setting aside his tray.
“We doing another round of questioning?” he muttered as he stepped into the light.
“Not this time.” The officer lifted a pair of handcuffs, expectant, and Brine grudgingly offered his wrists. He wasn’t sure that he liked where this was going.
The door to his cell was shut and locked behind him, and the officer began to lead him down the hall… in the opposite direction of where he had come. This police station wasn’t the largest he had been in, but it wasn’t the smallest either. It also wasn’t nearly as well defended as the prison that he had spent some time in… meaning that, if he played his cards right, maybe now would be a good time to make his escape.
As it turns out, he never got the chance. As they reached a dimly lit bend, the officier turned around to look him in the eye.
“I want you to hit me,” he said. Brine blinked owlishly at him.
“What?”
“Hit me,” the officier repeated. “I can’t exactly just let you go, can I?” Brine tilted his head.
“Well, no, but I’ve never had a cop tell me to hit him before. Elaborate.”
The officer gave a heavy sigh. “There’s a young lady, a teller at Whitmore bank.” Immediately, Brine knew what he was getting at. “She was taken hostage recently during a robbery, and held by the thieves for almost a day before she turned up, unharmed, at a fire station.”
“She your daughter?” Brine muttered.
“My niece.” The officer’s face was grave. “She told me what you did.” Brine frowned, a little irked that he had been outed as a softie, but under the circumstances maybe it was acceptable.
“Yeah, well…” Brine shrugged. “My reputation precedes me. Turns out I’m not the psychotic killer that everyone thinks I am.”
“I can tell. And…” The officer shifted his weight, digging the keys to the handcuffs out of his pocket. “…it isn’t as if we’re making much progress here on our own. Go find your friends.”
“So, what?” Herobrine held up his hands as the officer unlocked his cuffs. “Because I saved one kid’s life, you trust that I’m not going to go on a murder spree?” The officer gave him a little smirk as the cuffs came free.
“I’ve done a little reading on you since we locked you up. Turns out there’s a lot more of a connection between your verified kills than we first assumed. Now-“ The officer took a step back. “Hit me. And make it good, if you would.” Brine flexed his wrists, taking a step back, and he felt a momentary stab of guilt at the thought of punching out an innocent man.
Then again, he would probably never get another chance to punch a cop and get off scot-free.
Fifteen minutes later, Brine was using the officer’s keys to get out through the back door of the building, slipping out into an alley and vanishing into the night.