A03 - Blog Posts

22. Aftermath

Kidd - 5 | Killer - 9

Tags specifically for this chapter:

Children in danger

Killer gets named

Killer's been an orphan for a long time

Kidd becomes an orphan

Baby Killer's first steps in Observation Haki

Child-Laborer!Killer

Killer running errands for the mob/bagman

lots of background death for this one, including some named oc's

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

He's too small for the good paying jobs, but he's a fast learner, and dexterous. And while mending nets and quality checking ropes doesn't make him a lot by way of coin, he's reliable and known and most of the dock masters will find something for him to do. He's become a familiar face both on the docks and in the taverns and sometimes they even left him sleep where he falls and pay him all the same.

He also stated to be trusted for other tasks - a note from a sailor to the City Boss, an envelope from the Boss back to the docks, sitting watch at a door until just the right man came around. He'd make more in those nights than he'd make in weeks of rope mending.

He'd make a name for himself that way too - when the wrong man came sniffing around. He hadn't meant to kill anyone, but the man not only refused to go away, he'd gotten physical with the little boy, not expecting much of a fight from a 6 year old. But a 6 year old with a nail studded board got the drop on him none the less, and the man woke up tangled in rope and sinking in the bay.

He wouldn't wake back up again, even if his body was pulled up, picked over for clues, dead eyes staring back at the little blond child that had gotten the better of him.

"No body messes with our little killer," the dock master had said, ruffling the boy's hair as the dead man's identity and loyalties were sniffed out.

So Killer got his name, fell in deeper with the black markets of the docks, and sometimes even got to sail on some of the ships on their shorter day voyages.

And when the inevitable happened - and once some small time Street Boss rose up to overthrow the City Boss, and throw down his sympathizers - 9 year old Killer was meant to be rounded up with them. But three years of running errands for a mob boss had taught Killer the signs to watch for - and all the best hidey-holes in the city.

He just really failed to understand the scope of such a take over. He heard the fighting outside, listened in horror as fighting turned to guns turned to explosions. In the end he'd climbed down in the water itself as the buildings and the ships started to burn, clinging to the dock pilings. It was foul, and so polluted he was afraid the sea might catch fire too. The heat would get so intense at a few times he had to dive completely under, holding his breath until he could no more, only to risk surfacing for air and diving back under again.

The fires burned for hours. The smoke would linger for days more; thick and cloying. It burned his eyes and throat and each breath hurt.

The docks were unrecognizable when he could tread no longer and lay gasping and exhausted on the stone work at the shore. The ships were gone. The wharf and piers charred down to the sea. The taverns and markets and shops no more than rubble as far as he could see. Corpses littered the streets, burned and mutilated, left to rot.

He wandered the streets - everything changed so much he didn't know where he was anymore, even if his feet did - eventually taking him back to the long time safety of Eustass' Tavern & Inn.

It too had been caught up in the fires, the Inn part completely gone, and only a scattering of the Tavern's shell still there.

"Mòr Mhàthair?" He was sure he sensed something in the smoking remains. He glanced down the street - still empty and still. "Mr. Eustass? Are you still here?"

He climbed over the smoldering wood beams that might have been part of the roof; there was definitely someone here, he could tell, but he wasn't sure who or exactly where. Worried the tavern matriarch might be trapped somewhere, Killer made his way back to where he believed the kitchens had once stood.

Sure enough, she'd been trapped. Unfortunately, Killer was far too late to do anything about it. He didn't know how to feel as he stood over her - one of so many burned mangled bodies he'd found since he thought it finally safe enough to climb out of the bay's water.

She might have been on of the few he would cry about if he had any strength left for it.

But there was still someone here...

Killer respectfully crawled past her, moving some of the rubble that had fallen against the bricks of the fireplace. Hiding in the soot bricks, covering in grime himself, was sunshine boy. He didn't look too bright now, just terrified, the only clean part of him was where his tears had been streaming down his face.

"Hey Sunshine." Killer said soothingly, pulling more rubble away so he could get closer, "You okay? Are you hurt?"

He shook his head no, but didn't move. Killer tired to move more of the debris but lacked the upper body strength, "Kid.. kiddo, you gotta come to me, okay? Can you move?"

The boy nodded, crawling forward until Killer could awkwardly pick him up. Killer started picking his way back out of the former building, whispering, "close you eyes" as they passed auntie, "keep them closed" he murmurer, when he spied Eustass' body on his way out. "It's okay... I've gotcha..."

21. Battle

Kidd - 15 (not really in this one) | Killer - 19

Tags specifically for this chapter:

Killer's side of the Break-up

How Killer got to be Boss

I kill some OC's again

Kidd is talked about a little but is not present for this one

Killer isn't really a main player either until the end

another blink-and-you-miss-it future!crew cameo

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

Boss Athair may not have time to form an opinion of the Heaps recruit that called himself Killer, but his right hand man certainly does. A man of few words, Ceannard is old enough to be retiring form this whole business, but his loyalty to his Boss means he won't do so without someone trust worthy to take his place.

He's got many a men who make good soldiers, very few that will make good leaders. And even fewer capable of advising a leader.

Solider Brathadair is none of these things, but he'd been at Athair's side longer than anyone, and Athair treats him like a son. Solider Killer is all of these things, but is nothing more then 'Boy' to the Boss. It's maddening to Ceannard  - seniority overshadowing all else. Athair claims to trust Ceannard in all things, but here is the impasse they have stalemated on.

Athair wants Ceannard to train up Brathadair to replace him. Ceannard has been working with Solider Boy for almost three years now and last fall even got him to swear fidelity to Athair and become a made-man. Ceannard knows who the better choice would be; Athair thinks Boy's ties to the new Heaps Boss is a liability, Ceannard sees it as proof that Killer has a good head on his shoulders, and could be a very good tool to have with negotiating, he just needs some refining.

The Heap's Boss is wild and impulsive, and the crew he's gathering have no restraint or etiquette. But he could be a strong ally, and Athair needs one after things fell apart with the young upstarts that have taken charge of the west and south parts of the city. Athair is the old man on the block, and the only one still pretending to respect him in the Big Boss in the City, and Ceannard knows it's only a matter of time before that becomes it's own fiasco.

<><><>

He just wasn't expecting it to happen so soon, a hail of bullets ripping though the hall. Not many are afforded the luxury of fire arms  - and Ceannard would very much like to know what finally caused their last ally to turn on them, and how they got this far with no alarm being raised.

"Soliders!" he's ordering them into position; his men armed with sword and daggers, against unknown numbers with guns and fire - if he had to guess based on the smoke starting to come in though the door. He and Brathadir will fall back to cover the Boss; The rest will likely die here, but hopefully give them time to move.

His next order never leaves his lungs, Ceannard gasping as the air is driven from his body by the blade driven through his back. Athair looks back at him stunned, horrified at the blood now falling to Ceannard's feet. Behind them the soldiers have engaged with the intruders, back to them, unable to see him falter. Athair falls forward on his own accord to catch his man before Ceannard hit the floor, the Boy was kneeling next to Athair and Ceannard, post forgotten as he tried to help Athair stem the bleeding.

It was a hollow endeavour. Ceannard knew it. Athair knew it. Solider Boy likely did too, but it didn't stop him from trying to keep his mentor from bleeding out.

"Brathadair!" Boss Athair summoned, looking for his senior soldier for backup in the unfolding chaos.

"Boss..." Solider Boy whispered, drawing his attention back. Athair watched his oldest friend slip away in his arms, numb. But that's not what the young man was drawing his attention to.

No, he was looking at the blade still sticking form Ceannard's back, a familiar hilt in the hazy light. Athair knows this blade to well - a gift from his own hand to Brathadair. His face is unguarded for a precious moment, disbelieving the man he called son would take the life of his dearest friend. He grabs a fistful of the mask Boy wears over his face - he'd mocked him for that Athair recalls, but it's working well for him in the thickening smoke - and pulls him close enough to glare into those ice blue eyes - "Solider - You find the man coward enough to stab my partner in the back, and you end him. You massacre everyone of those men if you have to, but the man who did this dies today."

"Yes Sir."

<><><>

When the dust does clear, there are clear losers. Ceannard is dead. Most of his men are dead. Brathadair is dead, along with the turncoats who allied with him.

Somewhere in the chaos, Athair took a bullet to the face. Killer's not sure why, the man never really liked him after all, but he still moves the corpse over to Ceannard.

Only one other Solider made it as far as Killer can tell, and even though he's a head taller than Killer, he still some how manages to look up at Killer for directions. He's as pale as Kidd, with a lost look to him, his dark blue frazzled hair sticking out erratically to complete the distressed nervous energy coming off him.

He stands there, looking over Killer, and then their fallen Boss, and their commander. "Now what do we do, Boss?"

20. Metal Trinkets

Kidd - 7 | Killer - 11

Tags specifically for this chapter:

Children in danger

Sometimes, Kidd is still a child

Killer doesn't understand playing pretend

He's so confused but he's trying

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

Kidd had a cute chubby face that meant people didn't feel guilty giving him things, and he had been slow to grow and was still very small looking for seven. He was also quick tongue and lacked any of Killer's hesitancy when it came to demanding attention. Everything about him was loud, and he just could stand in crowded streets and adults would stop to see what he needed help with.

He'd pretend to be lost, or spin them some other fantastic story, and Killer would lift items from their bags or coin purses from pockets. And then later they'd awe at their spoils and feast like Kings. Sometimes the items could get pawned for coin; sometimes they kept them, if they were small enough. A neat watch that Kidd would break almost immediately because he tried to take it apart, a box of luxury chocolates that they gorged themselves on - too sweet and rich for them in the end - and once they even pilfered a doll that ended up being far more trouble then it was worth.

Children's toys were a complete unknown to Killer; Children's games in general were a mystery to Killer, and Kidd long declared him the absolute worst at playing pirates when he'd spend most of their game correcting Kidd on the names of the parts of their non-existent boat. "No, that would be the backstay."

"It doesn't matter!"

"… but it does?" Poor Killer just could not wrap his head around Kidd's point of view, and if Kidd had anyone else to play with he'd probably have left to do so.

But, Killer was also his best friend, and Kidd thought it important that someone teach Killer how to play. So when the doll had appeared in one of the packages they'd lifted, Kidd had wanted to keep it. The problem was, playing with just the one doll between the two of them was difficult, and trying to teach Killer how to play dolls with just the one was proving to be impossible. He'd intently watch Kidd demonstrate, but when it was his turn, Killer would freeze up, and just cradled the dainty little doll like he was afraid to break it.

Stealing a second doll had so far not worked out for them - Kidd was starting to suspect Killer wasn't trying to find them another one - so Kidd took it upon himself to make one. He'd already been making little abstract things with the scrap during slow spells or when he couldn't sleep but he didn't want to wake Killer up. Killer didn't sleep though the night very often as it was, so when he did pass out during the day, Kidd was more than happy to keep watch and let him rest. Granted, making a doll was a little harder since it needed to look like something when he was done, but Kidd was pretty proud of how it was coming along.

He'd been out looking for new pieces when he'd spotted a dozen City Men in the Heaps. They'd come by from time to time to dump their trash, but normally the only ones coming this deep were ditching a body or looking for someone. Heap-folks learned to avoid them; pretend you don't see them, they pretend they don't see you.

These men didn't seem to want to follow the script, because one pointed directly at Kidd, "That red yokel, that's one of them!"

"Killer! Run!" he'd yelled back to their hovel, taking off in the opposite direction, hoping they'd follow him instead. Kidd knew the Heaps like the back of his hand, he could run this place blindfolded if he needed too. And as long as Killer wasn't nearby, Kidd was happy to -wreck- shit up without worrying his friend getting caught in his still sporadic control over his magnetism. He could -attract- things towards him without hurting himself anymore, but -repealing- was still like firing a scattershot and he hadn't figure out at all how to aim it.

Unfortunately, only about half the men took the bait, and all Kidd could do was pray Killer had enough warning. Frustratingly, the man who'd pointed at him had not been one to follow.

Kidd was small and fast, and he new all the best paths to run along, and which were filled with tripping hazards. And alone, he was free to -pull- and -push- piles to his whims to trip up or even bury his tag-alongs.

Once he was sure he'd lost his tail, he made his way back to the last place he'd seen Killer and started looking for the older boy - only to hear cursing and swearing beckoning him toward their shelter.

"WHERE IS IT!"

Kidd stuck his head over one of the lips of trash. The leader of the group was screaming at Killer who was ignoring him completely to fight with the man who was trying to keep him in a head lock. The three of them were covering in blood splatter and the man looked like he had a child size shoe print across his face. The other four men that had stayed behind with him hadn't fared so well, bodies twitching and discarded in the rubble.

Kidd froze when he recognized the knife the man was threatening with was Killer's own blade, and its very sharp point was being waved far too close to Killer's own face.

"Where is the Duck House?!"

"I dun what that means!" Killer had gasped out when the man's free had grabs a fist full of his hair, and the other man finally got his forearm successfully under Killer's chin and against his neck.

"The Duck House!" The man screams again, and the knife is going for Killer's face, and Kidd -pulls- in a panic, the blade sinking in to the trash pile as he ducked back down to hide behind once more. The two men turned and looked in the opposite direction, reasonably believing someone shot something to disarm them. There are no devil fruit users on Kutsukku after all. Those are just Grand Line myths the Marines use to trick people.

Killer however, uses the distraction to mule kick the man holding him in the groin, and is running the moment his feet hit the ground. Kidd wants to send the knife back to him, but he's terrified to hit Killer with it by mistake.

The grunt is still huddled in on himself, and his leader screams and picks up some scrap to throw after Killer. Kidd -pushes- that off course but remains otherwise crouched and hidden. He knows that Killer knows he's nearby, and no doubt will double back, so he stays down, listening, waiting. Watching.

He watched the two men tear into their home, the makeshift walls light enough for children to put into place no match for adults as they are ripped away. He bitterly watched as their meager things get tossed aside, just more trash in these men's way.

They tear apart blankets, rip open the 'pillow' Kidd and Killer share, throw clothes aside regardless of the mud. The parts to the watch Kidd was still trying to figure out get scattered, lost forever in the scrapyard.

Killer slid down next to him, panting softly, eyes a little manic from adrenaline but hands soft and steady has he checks Kidd over for injures he doesn't have. Kidd keeps watching the City Men as they destroy everything.

Finally, they make a triumphant noise, and the leader is holding out the doll relevantly, her porcelain skin dirty from her time with Kidd but intact. The man is grumbling about the state of her dress, and Kidd and Killer shoot each other dumbfounded looks.

But this doll is apparently worth the lives of most of his crew, and they go to leave, their treasure reacquired. The leader can't help but twist his heel into one of their shirts as he walks by, grinning at the sound of ripping cloth.

All this for a doll. Killer looks pissed, and Kidd can't blame him. Two on two - they could still mess this man's day up. But Kidd is also frowning at the blood dripping from Killer's nose still and touching it seems to drain all the blood-lust out of Killer's body. He just looks forlorn.

The men are getting way, but…

Kidd climbs to the top of the heap, and holds his hands out in concentration. Everything crackles around him, but he's not -calling- for anything nearby. No… he wants something much farther away. It's hard to pick the -song- of any specific piece of metal, they all -sing- pretty close to the same frequency.

Kidd finds the right song and he -calls- for it, across the yard, a large shuttering network of pipes welded together as part of a crane at some distant point in its life. It vibrates as Kidd isolates its sound, "Attract…" he muttered, concentration on just it.

The beam starts towards them. But more importantly, it starts rolling toward the men picking their way out of the Heaps, standing just below it. Killer jerks his arms down, and Kidd looses is focus on it, but it's already moving. Rolling down the hill as more clutter follows it down.

The men don't stand a chance.

Killer is draped around him, loosely pinning Kidd's arms to his sides, both boys watching and the Heaps buries those who dared cross into Her Realm uninvited.

They'll pick over their home and see if anything is salvageable, and then they'll find somewhere else and start over. Kidd never does find all the watch pieces, the tiny parts eaten by the endless yards of trash accumulated under their feet. The doll - a Duck House Doll, apparently, whatever that was supposed to mean - was destroyed along side the City Men with the trash slide, leaving Kidd with just his mostly finished doll that was meant to go with her.

He had left the unfinished project behind with the rest of their unsalvageable belongings.

A lifetime later, after Killer left him to go be a yesman for one of the City Bosses, and it was clear he wasn't coming back, Kidd had raided every cache Killer had left behind in a rage. He was angry and he just wanted to break things, and he had no more of a goal than to destroy anything the tied Killer to Kidd's turf.

Most of the caches were clothes, mostly warmer winter gear, knives, a full coin purse and usually a handful of little trinkets Kidd had made over the years. The last one Kidd would raid angry was more of the same, with one glaring exception. Inside the metal box to protect Killer's things from the elements was a well balanced dagger, it's hilt unlike the style mostly found on Kutsukku, and a flintlock pistol, polished and clean but without ammo. Both looked unused - new. The two weapons framed the last item, a long forgotten metal robot doll smiled back at him, clunky arms wrapped purposely around the drawstring coin bag with it's crudely stitched skull and crossbones.

19. Pirate King

Kidd - 4 | Killer - 8

Tags specifically for this chapter:

songfic again - same song as before

our babies have a good night for once

the adult men are not being creepy

which is rare for me, i know...

when i'm talking about the dock workers from here on out > they see Killer as a little brother or a son

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

One thing that could be counted on was the crowds of men every two weeks that his the port side taverns in mass. And without fail, every 14 nights, Killer would wait until the sun was firmly down before crawling in the back windows of Eustass' Tavern & Inn and sneak his way into the front of the house.

Eustass himself would have long thrown him out had he tried the front door, but Mòr Mhàthair was a soft touch, and as long as he waited until the dock workers were in their cups, she let him roam from table to table, polishing off plates of forgotten diners. Sometimes other street kids would show up but most of them didn't know the tricks to staying and would get kicked out the next week or never make it in the doorway to start with. But there were lots of other pickings on these nights, and Killer never once felt bad watching one of them get tossed out as he hid in the shadow of a chatty drunk and ate him out of his hard earned coin.

Away to the cheating world go you,

He had to listen to their terrible ditties, week after week, so he thought the meal was really only fair. By the time Killer usually arrived, the singing had already started and he just hoped they were fun ones instead of the sadder ones about loosing loves and such.

They were already well into it this night, the change up only being the other boy that seemed to be around more often theses days, a chubby little red head that Killer suspected might be Mòr Mhàthair's boy or nephew or something, or otherwise maybe the cook's son.

He was in the thick of it tonight, tiny little form standing on the table in the middle of the room with a crowd of drunkards, all bellowing the words out together. He had to be 4 or 5 at the most, probably looking forward to starting school like all the other good kids that belongs to people, Killer mused.

A bright shock of short red hair, unruly and ruffled from the hands of many a dock worker, thinking him some kind of good luck charm. By the end of the night it be sticking out at every angle, like the rays of the sun on a children's drawing. Killer would watch him ever few weeks as he soaked in the attention of those not fortunate enough to have families of their own. He was magnet for the downtrodden it seemed, a little mascot the laborers rallied behind every paycheck night.

Where pirates all are well to do,

Some weeks, the kid would even turn to him as the hours drew late, when sleep started to override the joy of being somewhere warm and well fed. Killer was always careful to leave before last call, never giving the matron a reason to turn him away next time. The kid never had this restriction, and would watch him quietly as he snuck out of whatever booth he'd camped in for the night, slipping out of the back.

The one time Killer had looked back, the boy had waved at him, a sad little bye. Killer didn't return the gesture. Not that night.

But after a few months, the kid would see him and grin, and he'd find himself smiling shyly back across the noisy tavern.

And as the spring turned to summer, Killer finally waved goodbye back.

But I'll be true to the song I sing,

Sometimes, the kid would try to include him in the group's singing, especially the nights when they sang his favorite song: the pirate king anthem. Killer was mortified to be the center of the room's attention, and had hid under the table until one of the dock workers took pity on him and picked him back up to sit on the bench next to him, hidden from the room in general with an arm thrown over his shoulder and just tucked in close.

Most city people didn't want Killer anywhere near them - said he smelled funny and suspected he'd try to pickpocket them. Which was true for both cases more often that not. But the dock workers didn't particularly smell great either, and the dock master often gave him little jobs to do so he'd quickly become a familiar face to many of the men. And this one was pushing his half finished dinner in front of Killer so Killer really didn't have much motivation to steal from him. And week by week, he'd find himself shyly hiding from the boy at Eustass' behind one laborer or another, and it seemed to be a great source of entertainment for the blue-collar workers.

And live and die the Pirate King!

For a little pocket of time, every fourteen days, Killer felt like this must be what a family felt like. Sitting next to some man too rough and tumble to be a father to any real child; warm and dry, belly full of delicious properly cooked food. He'd listen to them spin fantastical yarns, then the sunshine boy himself would come sit next to him and demand songs from the men, and every time, someone would break out into one, and a cacophony of out of tune drunks would rattle the windows and Sunshine Boy would turn and beam at him like it was the neatest trick he'd ever learn to do. And maybe it was.

Killer would smile back, listening to the men warble on about Pirate Kings and Bink's Brew and in the days to follow would day dream about letting those silly ballads take him away from Kutsukku for good. Maybe he'd take Eustass' Sunshine Boy with him.

18. Trust

Kidd - 12 | Killer - 16

Tags specifically for this chapter:

Children in danger

Killer lives up to his name

Kidd makes Killer's dating life complicated

Kidd devils fruit

he's getting better with it

but it draws unwanted attention

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

Kidd was getting better at the smaller things, easily convincing the deadbolt to open for him in the grey afternoon, clouds overhead repeating another day of cold autumn rain. 'Talking to locks' as Killer called it, and there was no way Kidd was going to tell him it was more like singing.

His devil fruit was absurdly loud, all of the time, and everything demanding his attention like ostentatious exotic birds; their songs fighting for his attention at all hours. Most of the time his usage of his abilities was just going, 'Okay sure,' and just -attracting- or -repelling- everything in mass. Which was a great offense/defense kind of move, but didn't work for shit if Killer was standing next to him; his poor friend caught in friendly fire more than hurt by their pursuers these days.

It made Killer extremely paranoid when ever he did, and Kidd's not so sure it has anything to do with any sense of self preservation in the teenager. If Kidd uses his ability, Killer does not leave witnesses.

There had been a boy recently, one that had been nice to them, and while Kidd hasn't really felt any which way about him, he knew Killer liked him. A lot. Caught them making out once after Killer thought he'd gone to sleep.

...

Caught Killer crying over him when a group of thugs hadn't liked them squatting in their turf, and a fight broke out. Kidd had ended up killing a few of them by -repelling- an entire dumpster at them; and it was pretty obvious he'd done it, because he'd yelled it when he'd done so.

It had made it so much easier, calling it out like that. The exhale of sound and breath, and then the metal had moved like an afterthought, no convincing required.

Any joy in him figuring out such a trick was lost though when he turned to his two companions.

Killer looked at him heartbroken.

Kidd thought the other boy might be uneasy, scared... but no. No one had ever looked at Kidd like that before. Hungry. Greedy. And then with a blink his face was casual, forced jovial before nothing at all as Killer stabbed him in the back, once, twice, three times, aiming up under his ribs for the lungs.

Half a life time ago, Killer had told him not to let anyone know he'd eaten a devil fruit. At 12, Kidd is haunted by The Boy's face - and he's just The Boy, Kidd refuses to remember the name of anyone who looked at him like that - and vows that one day, he'd get to so powerful with his abilities that people look at him in fear instead. No one will even look at Eustass Kidd like he's an easy payday. And he's going to be strong enough that Killer doesn't have to kill his boyfriends to protect Kidd.

If the dead bolt is in place, then Killer is already home. While the other boy is crafty enough to jimmy open most locks given time, he's certainly not skilled or patient enough to try and get them locked back up when he leaves. Kidd does because it's easy enough for him, and lowers the chances of an opportunist slipping in and running off with their stuff.

It's not a lot of stuff; and never anything worth much. Killer thinks its bad luck to keep that nearby, like it's inviting danger, and Kidd likes to joke Killer was a pirate in a past life, the way he buries his treasures all over the place.

"Jokes on you then," Killer would tease back, "because I don't leave maps with 'x's' on them for you to find."

A very long time ago, faces Kidd can't remember used to sing songs about Roger and Pirates and he has vague memories of someone trying to explain log posts to him. "The pirate king uses a log post, not maps," Kidd had teased Killer back, and he'd let the island sing to him until he'd lead Killer right to one of his hidden caches.

And then to another one

And another one

"Good thing i trust you not to rob me blind," Killer had joked, but his voice was coloured in a kind of awed pride in Kidd.

Killer doesn't trust many people these days; he certainly hasn't brought another boy around Kidd since. He won't even show Victoria where they live right now; Killer rarely brought girls over to start with - most girls don't want to hang out with the two of them in whatever place they've shacked up in at any given time. But Victoria was at least judgemental in away that feels teasing instead of cruel. Not of the ruthless criticisms that barbed other girls' tongues.

Kidd adores Victoria, he loves hanging out with her, but even he's afraid now that he might slip up and show her. He's terrified one day she'll look at him they way that boy had, ready to turn on him for a coin.

...

He's afraid one day, Killer will have to choose between Victoria or Kidd.

And he's afraid of what either answer would mean.

17. Sacrifice

Kidd - 18 | Killer - 22 | Heat - 23

Tags specifically for this chapter:

Food Issues coming up again

yeah, all these assholes had some kind of eating disorder at one point

vague references to starvation, overeating, and eating rotten food

Killer struggles to throw rotten food out

Kidd does too but actually manages to go through with it

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

Kidd had slept though breakfast - which was not unusual for him - and had wandered down to the galley to pilfer a snack as Pomp & UK cleaned up after the meal. And if Killer was not to busy prepping for lunch, to get the man to make him something personally.

And he planned it perfectly it seemed, because Killer was indeed standing causally at the kitchen counter. He had his notebook out; Killer had his own means of how his thought a kitchen should be run, but so far there's been no real complaints and everyone been well fed. Killer's seasoning work was hit or miss, seeing as he wanted to try every mix or herb or spice with very little experience to back it up.

But it had flavour, and the flavour wasn't penicillin.

At the moment, Killer was repeatedly tapping the pen against the counter in his right, studying something in his left.

"What's up?"

"Its gone bad..."

Kidd paused, looking at his first mate in confusion. He thought Killer was doing meal planning, or inventory or something. That 'gone bad' was a problem, but Killer's voice was distant and almost a little lost.

"How bad?"

Killer's head turned slightly, and he lifted his hand up enough for Kidd to see he was holding a jar of something. He was unreadable behind the mask for most, but Kidd could tell it was worse then the normal stoicism he like to pretend he had once it was on... This was a different quiet - like he was stuck.

Kidd came over to peer into the jar, Killer tilted it to him to see. It was a jar of fruit preserves, still about a third full. The jam itself looked fine, but the sides had begun to grow over with soft wispy mold.

"Do we have more?"

"Different fruit, but yeah."

"The other one still good?"

"Still sealed, so it should be fine."

Kidd made an executive decision then, and took the jar and table knife from Killer.

Killer handed both other with no hesitation.

Kidd left the galley.

Every part of him was trying to get him to turn back around - they could spoon out the bottom still, that was at least four more sandwiches at the bottom. Six if they were for some of the smaller members of the crew. And they had a big crew right now - nearly thirty strong and almost all of them having run with at least one of the four commanders back on the island.

Thirty mouths, at least three times a day. Figuring in the night squad, Killer was feeding a platoon of people four times a day, a meal of some kind on the table every 6 hours. UK had been stepping up and assisting him so the man didn't burn out, familiar enough with Killer to navigate his idiosyncrasies without stepping on any toes. And House, Mosh, Pomp, and Disc J had stepped up from the other gangs to form the Punks' mess hall squad. But it was still thirty people.

It didn't matter how well stocked they were, there was always that fear that the next time they turned around, the pantry would be empty. They'd all grown up with it, all of them living through days of not being sure where the next meal was coming from. Years of getting their hands on just enough food to make it to the next day but never enough to stop feeling hungry.

Kidd contemplated the jar again once he stepped out on deck, an uncertain shadow named Killer trailing behind him. They'd all made themselves to sick in those early days, dropping obscene amounts of money at taverns in those first few ports. They had no idea what shit was worth once off the island, nor had they cared, eating themselves well past the point of sick. It had taken them all the way to Reverse Mountain to finally start to get a handle on things and Heat had worked with Killer, the two making remarkable progress getting everyone on responsible eating habitats.

Still didn't mean there wasn't severe hang ups lurking under the surface.

Heat had been making his way the crow's nest for his shift, and paused to watch the two of them. Watched the jittery way Killer followed. Watched the jar in Captain's hand.

Kidd stood at the railing, touching the 'good' jam at the bottom with the table knife. Six people! his head was screaming, and he was surprised how hard to was to finally stir it up, loosening the jam and mold both, mixing them. Inseparable. Before he could think about it, he upended the glass, shaking it until the jam fell loose and into the sea.

He could feel Killer tensing up even without looking at him. He did met Heat's gaze though, the man doing his best to look nonchalant to hid his interest.

He continued to hold Heat's gaze as he handed the empty jar back to Killer. "We don't do that no more. As long as I'm Captain, we will never go back to that."

He looked at Killer then, "If in doubt, throw it out. You don't serve rotten food to my crew," His voice softened, "and you don't eat anything that's gone off ever again. You hear me?"

"Aye Captain." Killer murmured, taking the jar, shoulder's slumping as he lost tension; The responsibility of the choice taken from him.