Someone's Child
Title : Someone's Child
Author : dalehead
Pairing : VigBean
Rating : NC-17 - this is not pretty. Not a deathfic but maybe not happy ever after either. Loosely based on the BBC drama Five Daughters
Summary: There is nothing glamorous in this job.
A/N : This is for Cherry and Jackie.
Viggo slides into bed beside Sean.
"You washed?" Sean mumbles blearily.
"No hot water remember."
"Fuck," Sean cringes but allows Viggo to wrap himself around his warmth.
"Sorry..."
"You made much money?"
A pause. "About eighty quid."
"Christ, that won't keep us in gear for long."
"Your turn to go out tonight."
"I'm scared."
"Yeah well I was scared last night."
"Let's talk about it later, sleep now yeah?"
"Yeah."
They live in a smallish town. It's the sort of town you imagine everyone knows everyone else but that's not true. The red light district is hardly that, more of a red light street. The locals hate the Toms, hate them. They hate the drugs that go with the territory, the used condoms, the spent needles and worse. They hate the human detritus that washes up on their streets.
Later in the day, Sean slips out. He comes back with four slim packets. It's not enough. But then it's never enough. They get their tin out, their belts, their needles. They are not stupid, they don't share their needles.
"You don't know what that shit is cut with," Viggo's last remaining friend from his old life reminded him before it got so bad he found himself alone in the world.
And they don't. They don't have a clue but they're past that stage. Long past it.
~~
"Sean ... Sean ..." Viggo nudges Sean awake.
"Whassup."
"Another one, they've found another one," Viggo sounds terrified. "Oh god, Sean, what are we going to do?"
"M not going out tonight."
"You have to, we'll need more gear, Sean you have to, I went last night, I need..."
"Alright, alright I'll go then."
"You can't go, something might happen. I don't want to lose you..."
"But you said..." Sean sounds confused.
"I know." The terror in Viggo's voice is growing. "What shall we do?"
"I'll go out. I'll be careful." Sean doesn't want to go, already his voice shaky with terror. But it is his turn. They need the gear, hell, they need to eat.
~~
It all started a few weeks ago. One of the boys had been found in a shallow grave a few miles out of town. At first the atmosphere had been one of disquiet. Until they found the next one. Then people had been careful, stayed away, stayed indoors, but then the need for drugs, food or both kicked in; gradually they'd crept back.
Sean and Viggo had stayed away longer than some. Being a bit older they were more afraid than most, more cautious too. But like the youngsters, hunger and addiction drove them out into the cold once more.
Initially it felt like the police were unsympathetic; they changed their tune; soon realised the situation was one that they could not appear to be taking less than seriously. When it became clear what a vicious killer they were dealing with, the police did indeed step up to the plate. A couple of cars patrolled Paradise Lane, the ill named street where the toms plied their trade. Several community constables tried to persuade the toms, or the sex workers as they'd been instructed to call the flotsam and jetsam of the street, to stay indoors.
~~
Sean gets up, he has a wash and puts on clothes that are not particularly clean. He coughs. And coughs some more, then lights a cigarette.
"Smoking will kill you," Viggo says with no trace of irony. He wraps himself up in the bedclothes, trying to keep the world at bay. He shivers. "I wish you'd give up."
"Cancer'd be better than this," the words are bleak. In truth, Sean doesn't think he'll make old bones. He sighs. "Okay, gonna have a cup of tea then I'm off."
"No milk," Viggo reminds him.
"Have it black then..." Sean sounds tense.
"Don't go."
"I have to go. We need to eat, we need a fix."
"I'm scared."
"I'm fucking terrified but I'm going out." Sean is upset, he grabs Viggo's jacket because it's warmer than his. "I'll see you later."
"What about your tea?"
"If I don't go now Vig? I won't be able to go out at all," he is nearly paralysed with something that isn't just fear of what's out there. Need, the taste of need is at the back of Sean's throat. Need for food, for a cigarette, for smack.
There is nothing to say. Viggo knows that. He went out before and now it's Sean's time. They share everything, down the middle, 50/50. That means they do half the work each. They each take half the cocks, down their throats, in their arses, they give hand jobs, they do whatever it takes to get their next fix and a bite to eat. They share everything so when Sean got a dose of the clap, so did Viggo. When one of them catches a cold, so does the other.
It takes Sean half an hour to walk from their flat to the spot they ply their trade from. A couple of the guys think they should take a pimp but to date, they have resisted. He gets a few nods but they are jumpy. The knowledge that someone wants to hurt you, take your life away from you is a sobering thought. Sean takes his place and waits. He has no cigarettes and is desperate for a smoke. He could cry when he sees a car approaching.
The window is wound down. Sean takes a deep breath and walks towards the car.
"Looking for company?" He ducks down to peer through the window.
~~
Viggo sleeps fitfully. He doesn't really sleep at all. He is hungry, cold and needs a fix. He desperately needs a fix. He lies in bed and imagines he can feel a hundred thousand insects swarming over his body. He daren't move, if he moves, they'll find their way up his nose, down his throat and he'll suffocate. His breath comes in short pants, he's dying, this is it, he's going to die ... He wakes up with a shudder. It's only an hour since he woke up last. He sits up.
"Where are you Sean?"
He lays down again, dozing fitfully until the light begins to creep through the thin curtains. They never open the curtains. Bright light hurts their eyes.
"Like vampires," Sean is fond of saying when he isn't feeling the after effects of really bad drugs.
Not like vampires at all. Like men whose systems are overloaded with drugs cut with any amount of shit. Viggo lies in bed and waits for the time to pass until he can get up, until Sean comes home.
Except Sean doesn't come home.
Fearfully Viggo dresses and drags himself out of the flat. He is shaking as he makes his way into town. He passes people on their way to work, they don't make eye contact with him. A child stares at him.
"Mummy? Why is that man..." the woman with the kid shushes him. They walk by quickly as if even breathing the same air as a junkie will infect them.
Viggo walks quicker, he has a sense of impending doom; what if Sean is the next victim?
By the time he reaches the police station, he is in a cold sweat. He is imagining Sean ... his Sean on the cold slab of the mortuary.
~~
They had met a few years ago. It hadn't been love at first sight. Sean had just come out of a messy relationship and ended up with nothing. He'd turned to drugs to help him get through the day. Coke at first, managing to stay on top of his work then moving on, with the help of his dealer, to heroin. Eventually his world had imploded and he'd ended up on the streets, washing up here, in a small town where he'd been forced into prostitution to feed his habit.
Viggo was more complicated. He had never told Sean, but he was the son of a rich merchant banker who utterly rejected his family and their values after they reacted badly to his sexuality. Like many young men, he'd wound up in a big city where eager hands showed him how he could earn some money in an age old profession. To ease the pain of prostitution, Viggo had started taking drugs; had wound up owing some big people big money and run away here. He had once visited the town as a child. There had been a magnificent museum, now closed due to lack of funding, that had fired his imagination.
He and Sean joined forces; despite everything, had fallen in love.
~~
"I'd like to report a missing person," Viggo can't help but notice, in the bright light of the station, his hand are grimy, stained with fingernails bitten down to the quick.
"One moment sir," the desk sergeant looked Viggo up and down before going off to find the officer in charge of Vice.
Shifting uneasily from foot to foot, Viggo looks around him. He knows he hasn't done anything wrong but he still feels uneasy here. The law does not like his sort. Bad enough he's a sex worker, the term almost makes him smile, but he's a junkie to boot.
Please God, please let Sean be alright.
He looks up as a slim, dark haired man walks in. To his surprise the man holds out his hand.
"Detective Inspector ... " all Viggo can hear is white noise ... "report a missing..."
He ushers Viggo into a side room, opens a packet of cigarettes, lights one, pushes the packet towards Viggo.
"Before we go any further, I should warn you that this morning, at 6.30, a milkman on his way to work found a body," he pauses. "Is your friend a prostitute?"
The room begins to spin. "Yes."
"Stay with me," Viggo has gone deathly white, his palour obviously alarming the detective who gets up, goes to the water cooler and fills a plastic cup with water. "Here..."
Viggo gulps the water down gratefully. "Thank you..." he whispers.
Afterwards, Viggo never remembered how he got to the morgue. He remembered the trolley, the glass that seems smeared with a hundred finger marks, as if countless hands had pressed against it, desperate to touch someone love just one more time.
A man wheels a trolley in, looks at the detective who nods.
"Do you recognise this woman?"
TBC
Author : dalehead
Pairing : VigBean
Rating : NC-17 - this is not pretty. Not a deathfic but maybe not happy ever after either. Loosely based on the BBC drama Five Daughters
Summary: There is nothing glamorous in this job.
A/N : This is for Cherry and Jackie.
Viggo slides into bed beside Sean.
"You washed?" Sean mumbles blearily.
"No hot water remember."
"Fuck," Sean cringes but allows Viggo to wrap himself around his warmth.
"Sorry..."
"You made much money?"
A pause. "About eighty quid."
"Christ, that won't keep us in gear for long."
"Your turn to go out tonight."
"I'm scared."
"Yeah well I was scared last night."
"Let's talk about it later, sleep now yeah?"
"Yeah."
They live in a smallish town. It's the sort of town you imagine everyone knows everyone else but that's not true. The red light district is hardly that, more of a red light street. The locals hate the Toms, hate them. They hate the drugs that go with the territory, the used condoms, the spent needles and worse. They hate the human detritus that washes up on their streets.
Later in the day, Sean slips out. He comes back with four slim packets. It's not enough. But then it's never enough. They get their tin out, their belts, their needles. They are not stupid, they don't share their needles.
"You don't know what that shit is cut with," Viggo's last remaining friend from his old life reminded him before it got so bad he found himself alone in the world.
And they don't. They don't have a clue but they're past that stage. Long past it.
~~
"Sean ... Sean ..." Viggo nudges Sean awake.
"Whassup."
"Another one, they've found another one," Viggo sounds terrified. "Oh god, Sean, what are we going to do?"
"M not going out tonight."
"You have to, we'll need more gear, Sean you have to, I went last night, I need..."
"Alright, alright I'll go then."
"You can't go, something might happen. I don't want to lose you..."
"But you said..." Sean sounds confused.
"I know." The terror in Viggo's voice is growing. "What shall we do?"
"I'll go out. I'll be careful." Sean doesn't want to go, already his voice shaky with terror. But it is his turn. They need the gear, hell, they need to eat.
~~
It all started a few weeks ago. One of the boys had been found in a shallow grave a few miles out of town. At first the atmosphere had been one of disquiet. Until they found the next one. Then people had been careful, stayed away, stayed indoors, but then the need for drugs, food or both kicked in; gradually they'd crept back.
Sean and Viggo had stayed away longer than some. Being a bit older they were more afraid than most, more cautious too. But like the youngsters, hunger and addiction drove them out into the cold once more.
Initially it felt like the police were unsympathetic; they changed their tune; soon realised the situation was one that they could not appear to be taking less than seriously. When it became clear what a vicious killer they were dealing with, the police did indeed step up to the plate. A couple of cars patrolled Paradise Lane, the ill named street where the toms plied their trade. Several community constables tried to persuade the toms, or the sex workers as they'd been instructed to call the flotsam and jetsam of the street, to stay indoors.
~~
Sean gets up, he has a wash and puts on clothes that are not particularly clean. He coughs. And coughs some more, then lights a cigarette.
"Smoking will kill you," Viggo says with no trace of irony. He wraps himself up in the bedclothes, trying to keep the world at bay. He shivers. "I wish you'd give up."
"Cancer'd be better than this," the words are bleak. In truth, Sean doesn't think he'll make old bones. He sighs. "Okay, gonna have a cup of tea then I'm off."
"No milk," Viggo reminds him.
"Have it black then..." Sean sounds tense.
"Don't go."
"I have to go. We need to eat, we need a fix."
"I'm scared."
"I'm fucking terrified but I'm going out." Sean is upset, he grabs Viggo's jacket because it's warmer than his. "I'll see you later."
"What about your tea?"
"If I don't go now Vig? I won't be able to go out at all," he is nearly paralysed with something that isn't just fear of what's out there. Need, the taste of need is at the back of Sean's throat. Need for food, for a cigarette, for smack.
There is nothing to say. Viggo knows that. He went out before and now it's Sean's time. They share everything, down the middle, 50/50. That means they do half the work each. They each take half the cocks, down their throats, in their arses, they give hand jobs, they do whatever it takes to get their next fix and a bite to eat. They share everything so when Sean got a dose of the clap, so did Viggo. When one of them catches a cold, so does the other.
It takes Sean half an hour to walk from their flat to the spot they ply their trade from. A couple of the guys think they should take a pimp but to date, they have resisted. He gets a few nods but they are jumpy. The knowledge that someone wants to hurt you, take your life away from you is a sobering thought. Sean takes his place and waits. He has no cigarettes and is desperate for a smoke. He could cry when he sees a car approaching.
The window is wound down. Sean takes a deep breath and walks towards the car.
"Looking for company?" He ducks down to peer through the window.
~~
Viggo sleeps fitfully. He doesn't really sleep at all. He is hungry, cold and needs a fix. He desperately needs a fix. He lies in bed and imagines he can feel a hundred thousand insects swarming over his body. He daren't move, if he moves, they'll find their way up his nose, down his throat and he'll suffocate. His breath comes in short pants, he's dying, this is it, he's going to die ... He wakes up with a shudder. It's only an hour since he woke up last. He sits up.
"Where are you Sean?"
He lays down again, dozing fitfully until the light begins to creep through the thin curtains. They never open the curtains. Bright light hurts their eyes.
"Like vampires," Sean is fond of saying when he isn't feeling the after effects of really bad drugs.
Not like vampires at all. Like men whose systems are overloaded with drugs cut with any amount of shit. Viggo lies in bed and waits for the time to pass until he can get up, until Sean comes home.
Except Sean doesn't come home.
Fearfully Viggo dresses and drags himself out of the flat. He is shaking as he makes his way into town. He passes people on their way to work, they don't make eye contact with him. A child stares at him.
"Mummy? Why is that man..." the woman with the kid shushes him. They walk by quickly as if even breathing the same air as a junkie will infect them.
Viggo walks quicker, he has a sense of impending doom; what if Sean is the next victim?
By the time he reaches the police station, he is in a cold sweat. He is imagining Sean ... his Sean on the cold slab of the mortuary.
~~
They had met a few years ago. It hadn't been love at first sight. Sean had just come out of a messy relationship and ended up with nothing. He'd turned to drugs to help him get through the day. Coke at first, managing to stay on top of his work then moving on, with the help of his dealer, to heroin. Eventually his world had imploded and he'd ended up on the streets, washing up here, in a small town where he'd been forced into prostitution to feed his habit.
Viggo was more complicated. He had never told Sean, but he was the son of a rich merchant banker who utterly rejected his family and their values after they reacted badly to his sexuality. Like many young men, he'd wound up in a big city where eager hands showed him how he could earn some money in an age old profession. To ease the pain of prostitution, Viggo had started taking drugs; had wound up owing some big people big money and run away here. He had once visited the town as a child. There had been a magnificent museum, now closed due to lack of funding, that had fired his imagination.
He and Sean joined forces; despite everything, had fallen in love.
~~
"I'd like to report a missing person," Viggo can't help but notice, in the bright light of the station, his hand are grimy, stained with fingernails bitten down to the quick.
"One moment sir," the desk sergeant looked Viggo up and down before going off to find the officer in charge of Vice.
Shifting uneasily from foot to foot, Viggo looks around him. He knows he hasn't done anything wrong but he still feels uneasy here. The law does not like his sort. Bad enough he's a sex worker, the term almost makes him smile, but he's a junkie to boot.
Please God, please let Sean be alright.
He looks up as a slim, dark haired man walks in. To his surprise the man holds out his hand.
"Detective Inspector ... " all Viggo can hear is white noise ... "report a missing..."
He ushers Viggo into a side room, opens a packet of cigarettes, lights one, pushes the packet towards Viggo.
"Before we go any further, I should warn you that this morning, at 6.30, a milkman on his way to work found a body," he pauses. "Is your friend a prostitute?"
The room begins to spin. "Yes."
"Stay with me," Viggo has gone deathly white, his palour obviously alarming the detective who gets up, goes to the water cooler and fills a plastic cup with water. "Here..."
Viggo gulps the water down gratefully. "Thank you..." he whispers.
Afterwards, Viggo never remembered how he got to the morgue. He remembered the trolley, the glass that seems smeared with a hundred finger marks, as if countless hands had pressed against it, desperate to touch someone love just one more time.
A man wheels a trolley in, looks at the detective who nods.
"Do you recognise this woman?"
TBC