protect me - Chapter 1
Semi-police AU. As a teenager, Yoochun was rescued by Yunho’s police officer father. Twenty years later, his dark past comes back to haunt him.
Pairings: 2U, bff!Yunjae, bff!Yoosu, slight Minsu
Rated: PG-15 for mature themes, violence, minor character death
~
Yoochun was hiding in the corner of the darkened room, hardly daring to breathe for fear of being discovered. He shifted slightly to try to peek out the door, holding back a gasp of pain as the fresh whip marks on his back made themselves known.
It sounded like there was a fight going on downstairs, and Yoochun flinched as a gun went off. It was like that gunshot had sent him whirling back in time into a memory from three years ago, so similar to his current situation that he could barely differentiate the two.
His parents were fighting in the kitchen again, ugly words ripping through the air. Yoochun peeked out from his darkened bedroom, holding back a gasp at the pain in his shoulder, courtesy of his father when he’d kicked Yoochun out of the kitchen.
He shut the door, trying to muffle the raised voices, and climbed back into bed with Yoohwan. Yoohwan was only eight years old, sniffling quietly as he cuddled closer to his big brother. “Chunnie, why are they fighting?”
“I don’t know, Hwannie,” he whispered back, trying to keep from crying as he hugged Yoohwan tightly. It would only worry Yoohwan more if Yoochun showed weakness like that.
Yoochun was almost asleep when there was a loud crash from downstairs, followed by their mother’s piercing scream. Yoochun bolted out of bed, heart pounding as he looked over the upstairs balcony into the kitchen, where his father lay in a pool of blood.
Several masked men had broken into their house with guns raised, and Yoochun’s mother was backing into the living room, pleading tearfully with them. “Don’t hurt my children, please, I’ll do anything you want, just leave them alone...” She sounded like she knew who they were.
Yoochun ran back into his bedroom, shaking Yoohwan awake. “Hwannie, Hwannie, wake up!”
Another gunshot sounded and he managed to get Yoohwan out of bed, the younger boy rubbing his eyes as Yoochun gripped his hand tightly and led him silently down the stairs and into the foyer, hoping to sneak out of the house and call for help.
They had almost made it when one of the men suddenly appeared in front of them, his mask already removed and his mouth stretching into a leer. “Naughty,” he admonished them. “Running off when your parents can’t stop you?”
Yoochun backed away slowly, shielding Yoohwan behind him. “What do you want from us?” he demanded, proud that his voice was steady.
The man shrugged, watching them with amusement. “Your blood, perhaps,” he said, grinning when Yoohwan whimpered in fear. “Or maybe just your body.”
Yoochun swallowed, trying not to think of what the man might be talking about. Instead, he whipped around, pushing Yoohwan towards the back door. “Run,” he hissed.
Yoohwan sprinted towards the kitchen and the porch beyond as fast as his legs could carry him. Yoochun made to follow him, but suddenly an arm wrapped around his throat, a hand muffling the scream that threatened to escape. He thrashed wildly in his captor’s grip, watching with horror as his captor raised his gun, aiming for Yoohwan.
“Hyung?” Yoohwan called out, stopping halfway through the kitchen when he noticed that Yoochun wasn’t behind him. Yoochun struggled, trying to warn him, tell him to run, but watched helplessly as the gun went off, sending the bullet straight into Yoohwan’s small body.
Yoochun was jolted from his memories by the creaking of the door as it opened, several masked men entering cautiously, guns raised. The thirteen-year-old held still, hoping they wouldn’t notice him, but suddenly, one of the men reached over and flipped on the light.
Yoochun let out a small scream and darted behind the couch, squeezing himself into the small space. He barely heard the men whispering among themselves over the pounding of his heart. “Is that the boy we’re looking for?” one of them whispered, before he was quickly hushed.
They’re looking for me? Yoochun thought, his heart racing even faster as he thought about why they might be looking for him, the memories returning to him unbidden.
The fear in his mother’s eyes as she begged them to leave her children alone-Yoohwan lying on the kitchen floor, bloodied dark hair fanned across the tiles-the pain Yoochun’d gone through when his captors began to take an ‘interest’ in him-
Oh God, Yoochun whimpered to himself, what if they’re here just to kidnap me again?
Three years ago, when he’d been kidnapped and the rest of his family murdered, he thought he’d been taken by one of the main gangs in the city. There were gang wars all the time, and it was likely that any prisoners of the gang would be transferred to the victor.
Yoochun squeaked as the couch was pulled away from the wall, exposing him to the men who were closing in around him. Terrified, he looked around for any possible opening, making a desperate dash for freedom when one of the men moved away from the wall.
He had almost reached the door when an arm wrapped around his throat, another arm around his waist as he was lifted bodily off the floor. “Don’t struggle,” the man who had picked him up said softly, carrying him out the door and starting to head down the stairs. He was no longer wearing his mask.
Yoochun struggled even more when he realized they were taking him away from the house, letting out a small cry as the whip marks on his back began to bleed again, warmth trickling down towards the band of his tattered pants. He felt a stinging pain at his elbow and looked down to see one of the other men pull a syringe away, even as he sensed the sedative beginning to take effect. He tried to fight it, but it was no use and he slumped limply into the arms of the man carrying him.
The man sighed, half in relief and half in sadness. “Thanks, Joon,” he said wearily, shifting the boy in his arms as they headed back towards the police cars, whose sirens were still wailing and flashing. This boy, he thought, he’s supposed to be thirteen. He’s so small...and definitely too light even for his size...
Daejoon patted him on the shoulder after he’d handed the boy over to the medic who’d tagged along with them, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. “You all right, Tae?” he asked kindly, speeding back to headquarters.
“Yeah, ‘m fine,” Taehyun muttered, looking out the window as they crossed the bridge.
Daejoon snorted, swerving into a faster lane. “We’ve been best friends since we were in diapers,” he reminded Taehyun. “I’m not pushing you, but I know when you’re lying.”
“It’s just...” He chanced a glance towards the backseat to make sure the boy was still out. “The boy’s so close in age to my son-to both of our sons,” he corrected himself, “and I can’t help but picture Yunho in that situation. Or Jaejoong, for that matter.”
Daejoon sighed, sobering up as he slowed down slightly when he entered downtown. “It’s a wonder that boy lived through it all.”
Taehyun nodded. “At least treatment should be straightforward, right?” he said softly. “Medical treatment for the injuries, therapy for isolation and trust issues...”
“I hope it’s that easy,” Daejoon muttered, and Taehyun pretended he didn’t hear the doubt in his best friend’s voice. He got out of the car when Daejoon parked in front of the city hospital, motioning for the medic to bring the boy in.
The boy stirred slightly when he felt the prick of the IV, his eyes fluttering open to the sterile white of the hospital room. Taehyun leaned over him and the boy gasped, probably recognizing the man. Biting his lip, Taehyun retreated a few steps. “Sorry,” he said, making sure the boy could see him and anything he was holding. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay?”
The boy relaxed a bit as Taehyun put more distance between them, and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. Taehyun noticed his crooked arm, probably broken several times and healed wrong.
“What’s your name?” he asked gently.
The boy looked frightened again, and shook his head, thin fingers gripping the sheets.
“Or...you could tell me what they called you?” Taehyun offered, trying not to push the boy.
“Yoochun,” the boy finally whispered, his voice hoarse. “My name is Yoochun.”
Taehyun did his best to smile comfortingly at the boy, mentally checking the possibilities again. The boy had definitely been abused-those fresh whip marks on his back looked ugly, the scars and crookedly-healed bones even worse, and he was severely malnourished. But there was still the nagging possibility that those monsters had done something even worse to him. He shuddered at the thought.
He knew that asking the boy would be no use, and instead reached down to unbuckle his belt and pull it free of his pants, snapping it experimentally in his hands. Yoochun flinched at the sudden sound but for the most part remained calm, staring at Taehyun with a spark of childish curiosity that not even those monsters had been able to smother.
Taehyun’s knees felt almost weak with relief, and he smiled again at the boy. “I hope you feel better soon, Yoochun ah,” he said quietly, slowly stepping towards the door.
He closed the door behind him and slumped onto the waiting bench outside, leaning against Daejoon, who reached over out of habit and carded his fingers through Taehyun’s hair. “How’d it go?”
“Good,” Taehyun told him, leaning into the touch. He laughed, a little breathlessly. “He’s only been physically abused, nothing else.”
“Thank God,” Daejoon said, sighing in relief. “Oh yeah, Nari texted you while you were in there,” he added, tossing Taehyun’s cellphone to him.
Taehyun’s eyes lit up at the mention of his wife, snatching the phone and reading the text with a fond smile. “Looks like I have to get home now,” he said, stretching as he stood up. He hugged his friend tightly. “See if you can make any progress with Yoochun,” he added. “I’ll see you later.”
Pairings: 2U, bff!Yunjae, bff!Yoosu, slight Minsu
Rated: PG-15 for mature themes, violence, minor character death
~
Yoochun was hiding in the corner of the darkened room, hardly daring to breathe for fear of being discovered. He shifted slightly to try to peek out the door, holding back a gasp of pain as the fresh whip marks on his back made themselves known.
It sounded like there was a fight going on downstairs, and Yoochun flinched as a gun went off. It was like that gunshot had sent him whirling back in time into a memory from three years ago, so similar to his current situation that he could barely differentiate the two.
His parents were fighting in the kitchen again, ugly words ripping through the air. Yoochun peeked out from his darkened bedroom, holding back a gasp at the pain in his shoulder, courtesy of his father when he’d kicked Yoochun out of the kitchen.
He shut the door, trying to muffle the raised voices, and climbed back into bed with Yoohwan. Yoohwan was only eight years old, sniffling quietly as he cuddled closer to his big brother. “Chunnie, why are they fighting?”
“I don’t know, Hwannie,” he whispered back, trying to keep from crying as he hugged Yoohwan tightly. It would only worry Yoohwan more if Yoochun showed weakness like that.
Yoochun was almost asleep when there was a loud crash from downstairs, followed by their mother’s piercing scream. Yoochun bolted out of bed, heart pounding as he looked over the upstairs balcony into the kitchen, where his father lay in a pool of blood.
Several masked men had broken into their house with guns raised, and Yoochun’s mother was backing into the living room, pleading tearfully with them. “Don’t hurt my children, please, I’ll do anything you want, just leave them alone...” She sounded like she knew who they were.
Yoochun ran back into his bedroom, shaking Yoohwan awake. “Hwannie, Hwannie, wake up!”
Another gunshot sounded and he managed to get Yoohwan out of bed, the younger boy rubbing his eyes as Yoochun gripped his hand tightly and led him silently down the stairs and into the foyer, hoping to sneak out of the house and call for help.
They had almost made it when one of the men suddenly appeared in front of them, his mask already removed and his mouth stretching into a leer. “Naughty,” he admonished them. “Running off when your parents can’t stop you?”
Yoochun backed away slowly, shielding Yoohwan behind him. “What do you want from us?” he demanded, proud that his voice was steady.
The man shrugged, watching them with amusement. “Your blood, perhaps,” he said, grinning when Yoohwan whimpered in fear. “Or maybe just your body.”
Yoochun swallowed, trying not to think of what the man might be talking about. Instead, he whipped around, pushing Yoohwan towards the back door. “Run,” he hissed.
Yoohwan sprinted towards the kitchen and the porch beyond as fast as his legs could carry him. Yoochun made to follow him, but suddenly an arm wrapped around his throat, a hand muffling the scream that threatened to escape. He thrashed wildly in his captor’s grip, watching with horror as his captor raised his gun, aiming for Yoohwan.
“Hyung?” Yoohwan called out, stopping halfway through the kitchen when he noticed that Yoochun wasn’t behind him. Yoochun struggled, trying to warn him, tell him to run, but watched helplessly as the gun went off, sending the bullet straight into Yoohwan’s small body.
Yoochun was jolted from his memories by the creaking of the door as it opened, several masked men entering cautiously, guns raised. The thirteen-year-old held still, hoping they wouldn’t notice him, but suddenly, one of the men reached over and flipped on the light.
Yoochun let out a small scream and darted behind the couch, squeezing himself into the small space. He barely heard the men whispering among themselves over the pounding of his heart. “Is that the boy we’re looking for?” one of them whispered, before he was quickly hushed.
They’re looking for me? Yoochun thought, his heart racing even faster as he thought about why they might be looking for him, the memories returning to him unbidden.
The fear in his mother’s eyes as she begged them to leave her children alone-Yoohwan lying on the kitchen floor, bloodied dark hair fanned across the tiles-the pain Yoochun’d gone through when his captors began to take an ‘interest’ in him-
Oh God, Yoochun whimpered to himself, what if they’re here just to kidnap me again?
Three years ago, when he’d been kidnapped and the rest of his family murdered, he thought he’d been taken by one of the main gangs in the city. There were gang wars all the time, and it was likely that any prisoners of the gang would be transferred to the victor.
Yoochun squeaked as the couch was pulled away from the wall, exposing him to the men who were closing in around him. Terrified, he looked around for any possible opening, making a desperate dash for freedom when one of the men moved away from the wall.
He had almost reached the door when an arm wrapped around his throat, another arm around his waist as he was lifted bodily off the floor. “Don’t struggle,” the man who had picked him up said softly, carrying him out the door and starting to head down the stairs. He was no longer wearing his mask.
Yoochun struggled even more when he realized they were taking him away from the house, letting out a small cry as the whip marks on his back began to bleed again, warmth trickling down towards the band of his tattered pants. He felt a stinging pain at his elbow and looked down to see one of the other men pull a syringe away, even as he sensed the sedative beginning to take effect. He tried to fight it, but it was no use and he slumped limply into the arms of the man carrying him.
The man sighed, half in relief and half in sadness. “Thanks, Joon,” he said wearily, shifting the boy in his arms as they headed back towards the police cars, whose sirens were still wailing and flashing. This boy, he thought, he’s supposed to be thirteen. He’s so small...and definitely too light even for his size...
Daejoon patted him on the shoulder after he’d handed the boy over to the medic who’d tagged along with them, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. “You all right, Tae?” he asked kindly, speeding back to headquarters.
“Yeah, ‘m fine,” Taehyun muttered, looking out the window as they crossed the bridge.
Daejoon snorted, swerving into a faster lane. “We’ve been best friends since we were in diapers,” he reminded Taehyun. “I’m not pushing you, but I know when you’re lying.”
“It’s just...” He chanced a glance towards the backseat to make sure the boy was still out. “The boy’s so close in age to my son-to both of our sons,” he corrected himself, “and I can’t help but picture Yunho in that situation. Or Jaejoong, for that matter.”
Daejoon sighed, sobering up as he slowed down slightly when he entered downtown. “It’s a wonder that boy lived through it all.”
Taehyun nodded. “At least treatment should be straightforward, right?” he said softly. “Medical treatment for the injuries, therapy for isolation and trust issues...”
“I hope it’s that easy,” Daejoon muttered, and Taehyun pretended he didn’t hear the doubt in his best friend’s voice. He got out of the car when Daejoon parked in front of the city hospital, motioning for the medic to bring the boy in.
The boy stirred slightly when he felt the prick of the IV, his eyes fluttering open to the sterile white of the hospital room. Taehyun leaned over him and the boy gasped, probably recognizing the man. Biting his lip, Taehyun retreated a few steps. “Sorry,” he said, making sure the boy could see him and anything he was holding. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay?”
The boy relaxed a bit as Taehyun put more distance between them, and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. Taehyun noticed his crooked arm, probably broken several times and healed wrong.
“What’s your name?” he asked gently.
The boy looked frightened again, and shook his head, thin fingers gripping the sheets.
“Or...you could tell me what they called you?” Taehyun offered, trying not to push the boy.
“Yoochun,” the boy finally whispered, his voice hoarse. “My name is Yoochun.”
Taehyun did his best to smile comfortingly at the boy, mentally checking the possibilities again. The boy had definitely been abused-those fresh whip marks on his back looked ugly, the scars and crookedly-healed bones even worse, and he was severely malnourished. But there was still the nagging possibility that those monsters had done something even worse to him. He shuddered at the thought.
He knew that asking the boy would be no use, and instead reached down to unbuckle his belt and pull it free of his pants, snapping it experimentally in his hands. Yoochun flinched at the sudden sound but for the most part remained calm, staring at Taehyun with a spark of childish curiosity that not even those monsters had been able to smother.
Taehyun’s knees felt almost weak with relief, and he smiled again at the boy. “I hope you feel better soon, Yoochun ah,” he said quietly, slowly stepping towards the door.
He closed the door behind him and slumped onto the waiting bench outside, leaning against Daejoon, who reached over out of habit and carded his fingers through Taehyun’s hair. “How’d it go?”
“Good,” Taehyun told him, leaning into the touch. He laughed, a little breathlessly. “He’s only been physically abused, nothing else.”
“Thank God,” Daejoon said, sighing in relief. “Oh yeah, Nari texted you while you were in there,” he added, tossing Taehyun’s cellphone to him.
Taehyun’s eyes lit up at the mention of his wife, snatching the phone and reading the text with a fond smile. “Looks like I have to get home now,” he said, stretching as he stood up. He hugged his friend tightly. “See if you can make any progress with Yoochun,” he added. “I’ll see you later.”