Chapter Text
Pain. Why was he in pain? Where was he?
As his head began to clear from the pain, awareness came slowly to the boy, as he felt himself shivering on the cold, stone ground. Attempting to sit up, he was met with firm resistance. “What the hell?”, he quietly groaned, struggling against the thick, scratchy cords of rope coiled tight around his body. Slowly coming to his senses, the boy whipped his head around, trying to work out where the hell he was. It doesn’t make any sense, he’s supposed to be in Germany right now with his mom. Where was she? Did something happen? Did his father’s people catch up to them in Hamburg so soon after the last time? The barrage of questions wouldn’t stop, causing the boy’s breathing to pick up, his panic quickly rising. His ragged breaths rattled through the dark room, piercing the otherwise silent space. Black spots quickly appeared in the corners of his vision, forcing the boy to take deep, painful breaths before he accidentally passed out, like Mary had taught him. “…I-I’m fine. I just need to find mom and she’ll know what to do. Everything will be fine”, he murmured to himself. With a newfound resolve, the boy began to push his body up, groaning as the ropes pulled against dozens of fresh cuts he couldn’t remember receiving. ‘That explained the pain then’, the boy thought. A few minutes later, propped against what might have been a steel table, something caught his attention. His ears pricked as he picked up the sound of someone getting closer. Blinding light seared his vision, causing him to instinctively curl up and close his eyes as sparks flashed behind his eyelids. Thud. Thud. Thud. Heavy boots could be heard descending the wooden staircase and getting closer and closer to where he lay. He didn’t want to open his eyes, afraid of what he might face. Feigning sleep was the only option, silence had been always been his safest bet in life.
Cutting viciously through the room like the sharpest blade, a throat was loudly cleared, before the voice of his worst nightmares rumbled smugly, “I know you’re awake, Junior”.
No. No no no. Everything stopped, his breath cut short in his lungs, his blood turned to ice in his veins, even his heart stopped beating for fear of being heard by the monster. His monster. The man who had haunted and hunted him for the past 4 years of his life was here, ready to finally kill him. The terror clung to him like a second skin, all-consuming now in the face of his father. The butcher was here and he was ready to play with his son. Realising the futility of playing dead in the presence of the very man who basked in its violence, the boy slowly opened his eyes, wishing for whatever happened to be as quick and painless as possible and knowing the naivety of such a thought. For what stood in from of him was no man, it was a demon. A demon with fire for hair and a crazed smile that was just as likely to cut you as the sharpened cleaver in his hand.
The boy couldn’t hold it in any longer, he screamed.
“am….bram…Abram!” Mary shouted as she shook him awake. Abram leapt up from where he was lying on the creaky, old mattress. He wildly scanned his surroundings for threats, hardly noticing Mary kneeling closely next to him on the floor of the abandoned apartment they had found since moving to Hamburg some months ago. Blood still singing from the adrenaline of his nightmare, Abram tried his best to calm himself, knowing that Mary wouldn’t stand for his dramatics for very long. He could already see her patience wearing thin as her dye-blonde brows began to pinch inwards. She was impatient at the best of times, let alone recently, where they had begun to suspect that his father’s people were closing in. Perhaps that was the inspiration for his latest dream, they had both been on edge recently and he had always experienced the stress acutely in his dreams, where he couldn’t lie or supress the fears like he could when awake.
As his heartrate slowed and his body began to be under his own control again, Abram noticed that their miniscule belongings had all been packed up while he was asleep, his rather worn duffel bag propped against the metal bedframe. He looked at Mary expectantly and, now calm enough to remember that he was currently Christoph, a 12-year-old boy born and raised in Berlin but who had recently moved to Hamburg, asked in German, “why are we packed? I thought we were staying for longer?”. Christoph was confused, he had only recently settled into the local school, Mary’s preferred method of blending in, so why were they leaving now? Emma, the identity Mary currently adopted, responded smoothly back, “we are leaving of course, get up Christoph”. She moved to put on her shoes and bag as Christoph continued to lay there, stunned at the abrupt change. “But why?” he whined, “we only just got here, I have only just joined the school, it doesn’t make any sense!”. Emma paused as Christoph failed to notice his mother’s mood souring at his complaining. He huffed at her silence and sulkily got out of bed, making his displeasure known through his slow movements. His mother had had enough and stormed over to him quicker than he could react. Mary’s face had dropped deeper into a scowl as she grabbed a fistful of his similarly dyed-blonde hair, sneering in disgust as she could see the auburn roots fighting to show through. She tugged viciously on the brittle strands as she loomed over his smaller body, scornful as she responded, “while you were pathetically thrashing about in bed like a child, I watched a car circle the block a few times before leaving, I’m sure it’s them. We’ve stayed here for too long Abram, it’s time we move on”. Abram wanted to question further, this wasn’t the first time his mother’s growing paranoia had caused them to pack up and move pre-emptively, it had gotten worse over the last couple of years as they had a few too many close calls with Nathan’s men since being on the run. Despite his reluctance to leave, Abram knew that complaining any more than he already had would earn him a swift slap to the face and another tug on his hair, both of which were a favourite way for his mother to both shut him up and hurry him up. He knew she was just trying her best to protect him though, and that he was lucky to have her looking out for the both of them, so he quickly grabbed his bag and shoved his feet into his scruffy shoes. He slept in his clothes for this very reason after all, they were no strangers to rude awakenings and quick getaways. Fully dressed and duffel bag over his shoulder, he turned to Mary and spoke in German for possibly the final time as he softly asked, “where are we going now?”.
Mary, already impatiently waiting by the door with her own bag in hand, scanned his face and seemed to soften minutely before responding, “…America”.