UGLY TRUTH

The next few days were a blur. Or was it a little over a week? Maybe two? Mattias wouldn't know, nor might he ever. Distantly, within the tepid confines of his inebriated mind, there were flashes. Fleeting memories as delicate as butterfly wings that, upon further investigation, slipped through his too tight fingers entirely. He remembered the taste of bland food making him sick. And a terrible, unrelenting nastiness inside his stomach that kept him up at night. Cold, hard floors of various textures, being moved from indistinct place to place, and most importantly, the constant, maddening feeling of being watched by a silent predator during every single one of those moments.

At one point, he recalled the soothing beep of medical equipment and the comparatively gentle feel of a hospital bed under his back pulling him into a false sense of security. One easily shattered when, in a moment of lucidity afterward, his brain produced images of Matt's fists cracking bones and shattering teeth. He didn't recall how that ended, though. So. You know. It must have gone rather poorly. The sting of needles biting his flesh was another constant in his life; what was inside said syringes ended up far beyond his ken. However, during all that blackout inebriation, one thing was abundantly clear:

Bastion Harbor, the sprawling supe sanctuary city that had sprung up out of the ruins that had once been Chicago—his fucking home for the last twenty years—disappeared miles ago. It was his worst-case scenario come to life. Matt subconsciously hallucinated, or perhaps dreamed, of Guise's familiar face, greeting him with a comforting smile more often than not. It made his heart ache with an old need he'd kept buried for years. A one-sided affair that, should he have ever verbalized it, he was positive the boy would never deny his request. 

Which was exactly why he never breathed a single goddamn word about it at all. 

But he buried that feeling down every time it arose. Don't get him wrong, the longer they travelled, the more often he found himself aware of his surroundings; it wasn't all a beastly soup of muddled recollections and increasing rancor. There were moments here and there. Mostly filled to the brim with worsening scent and hormone blocker withdrawals, but his pride refused to beg his captors for such a private, intimate thing. It was bad enough they occasionally had Ubiytsa shove him into random, freezing showers and violate what negligible amount of pride Matt had left by scrubbing him clean. But intentionally degrading himself by begging for drugs? Hell no. No matter how far he'd fallen, Matt refused to sink that low. He was still an alpha. 

One with decidedly volatile hormones now that he was chemically imbalanced, but that was beside the point. He'd never be devoid of his pride completely. However, there was one pill he partially recalled taking—the one meant to delay the onset of his symptoms. Or… perhaps he wasn't actually taking those, and it was all just a fictitious memory he imagined up after dreaming of a hospital bed. Even that kind of familiarity gave him some sort of sick fucking comfort, and he hated everything to do with the hospital. That was saying something. In the end, none of that mattered; not to him, nor his captors, and least of all to the disturbed fuck parading around with Cifer's face.

He just had to pray Apex would catch wind of what was going on and send someone other than Boreas, their darling poster-child hero and Matt's only consistent friend, to fetch him. Tits, even thinking that damaged his ego more than he cared to admit.

… § … 

Apex never came. Of course they didn't. Matt was nothing but a random nobody with no money, power, or influence to his name. It had been some sort of delusion that easily shattered the moment that blindfold lifted off his face and he found himself ten thousand feet in the air. They were flying in what looked like some kind of private jet over an endless rolling blue. It was done. Any flicker of hope he once held for outside intervention whisking him away snuffed out in a matter of seconds. The only scraps left in its wake were the dull throb of whatever drugs they'd been giving him slowly exiting his system. 

Sat there for a long time listening to the strange silence that clung to the air like dung at the bottom of one's shoe before he dared to look around, Matt came to terms with it all. They appeared to be inside some kind of sectioned off compartment; not out of the ordinary, considering he was being kidnapped and smuggled overseas; yet it was strange enough. His arms were still bound, though he couldn't feel them right now. He was positive they'd been free of their shackles a few times over the week, but he couldn't remember the details. Curiosity festered inside his oddly settled belly; however—his jet was luxurious. The plush cushions under him lulled the alpha into and out of sleep on many a dry occasions with only the faintest sound of an engine to listen to. 

This plane had to be funded with old money. It'd only been twenty years since humanity began picking up the pieces, and there were just two kinds of people left in the world that could afford to smuggle a long-forgotten war prisoner overseas on a private fucking jet—government entities and warmongers for hire. Neither of those options looked particularly appetizing for him right this second. That unsettling arrogance he'd experienced in the wake of his kidnapping had waned to a dull, animalistic urge by no. Matt discarded his previous incline towards being stupid—trying to start a fight with these guys and thinking he could take them was smoothe-brained. He wasn't a supe. His chances of getting himself home alive like that were astronomically low. 

But not zero. Squirming in his seat, Mattias blearily searched the compartment again—where was he? That lumbering oxen he'd begrudgingly come to accept as his unfamiliar shadow. Sure, it was a long shot. Hell, the man was likely wearing Cifer's face to make him let his guard down. That would never happen; if anyone was letting their guard down, it would be the stoic, monotonous man they'd assigned as Matt's babysitter. Mulling it over and unable to twist himself easily in his seat, the dark-haired alpha opened his mouth to call out a name, but it died before it even had the chance to be born. 

"... Ubiytsa?" the ugly word he'd finally remembered the meaning spilled out instead. 

"Yes," replied that disarming voice from directly behind him. 

Matt jumped out of his skin as he switched to speaking Russian. "Shit!"

"Don't waste my time."

Fuck, this guy was butchering Cifer's voice by speaking with the consistency of an old 90s dial tone.

"That's not your name, is it?" Matt's poorly constructed statement fell on deaf, uncaring ears. Regrouping his feverish, withdrawal-messy thoughts, Matt shut his eyes and leaned to the side to rest his head uncomfortably against the rattling window. "It means 'killer.' Who names their kid 'killer?'"

"It's a title," Ubiytsa finally said after too long of a silence, just as flat as ever, "not my name."

"What's your name, then?" 

"... Shut your fuckin' face already, Matt. You're driving me nuts."

He hadn't been ready for that dry, abrupt switch to monotonous English. Especially not the familiar way the other man spoke. It was intimately absurd, in a manner only he knew to look for. Which was exactly what this freak needed to sweep Matt's conviction out from under him. Choking so violently he cracked his temple against the glass, the army veteran hissed and pulled away in a pained, anxious daze. He had to keep himself together. This was crazy. An elaborate ruse. Something, anything other than what he, for some batshit reason, was on the precipice of believing. 

Stupid. This was a stupid fucking plan he'd thought up. Absolute dogshit. Why was Matt so bad at this? Had just gone soft over the years, or what? 

"I watched you die," he whispered like the madman he felt he was. 

"Takes more than that to bring me down. Thought I told you that a thousand times."

No. No! 

"Fuck, Cifer!"

"That's not my name."

"Yeah, you've said that. A lot. But you're not making any fucking sense! If you're some demented supe wearing Cifer's skin, just tell me already. Quit jerking my chain, or so help me, I'll come back there and—"

"You don't want to finish that sentence, Princess." 

Princess.

Matt was going to be sick. 

… § … 

The dust of the attic had wormed its way up Matt's nose again. With the maddening itch slowly sending him into a frustrated tizzy, he jammed the small palm of his fist against it in an unpleasant gesture befitting of a child. It was quiet today. Too quiet. Something about that felt off. By the time he realized what was wrong with this picture, Guise's soft, small voice broke the uncomfortable silence with a whisper. 

"What's up?" the boy asked, wide eyed and curious as he stared up at Matt from where the seven-year-old perched atop a wooden box. 

"Nuthin'."

"Liar."

"What? My nose is itchy. It's stuffy in here."

"He's right," piped a third, equally quiet voice, "my book's all dusty."

The dark, ebony skinned boy off to their left grumbled with thinly veiled displeasure as he stared down at a book that was far too complex for Matt's own liking. 

"Whatcha reading, Gio?" Guise asked. 

"A book."

Guise tried and failed miserably to hold back a small fit of giggles. The sleeping toddler that was using the blond boy's lap as a pillow stirred, silencing all three of them. 

"I can see that," Guise said only once he was certain the boy wouldn't wake again, "but what's it about?"

"Some old guy, I think."

Giovanni was lying, too, and Matt recognized that learned habit of self defense. It pissed Matt off to no end, only reminding him of the gaping hole he felt right now. Gritting his teeth as his brows met, he turned his body around and carefully lowered himself onto the rotting wood that made up the attic floorboards.

"Where you going?" the young omega asked. 

"To find Cifer. It's getting late. Nan is gonna call us out for dinner soon, and if he's not there, she's gonna take it out on us."

"Ugh. Can't he just… not break the rules? For five minutes, maybe?" 

Giovanni sounded so crestfallen at the idea the Nan would punish them again that it only made Matt even angrier. Thump. His awkward shoes hit the ground harder than he meant to. In an instant, all three boys froze and held their breaths, listening to the sounds below them as though their lives depended on it. However, when no shrill, furious shrieks came, the collective sigh that fled them could have been enough to kick up the rest of the dust in the place.

"Be careful, she'll hear you!"

"Sorry." 

"Just go quick, okay? If you're both out after curfew, it'll be hard on you later."

"Yeah, just. Wait here for us here?" all that had earned him was a half-hearted shrug, so Matt pulled his raggedy, hand-me-down sweater closer to his body as he stuffed his hands into the front pocket and crept across the treacherous ground. Remaining silent the rest of the way across, the boy wrapped his small fingers around the handle of the thankfully silent hatch and pulled it open to reveal the ladder leading up here. Checking if the coast below was clear as best he could, he nodded at his friends and headed back into the jungle. 

After he'd closed the hatch behind his wake and slid down the ladder—it was a fun roulette of whether they'd get splinters every time they did—Matt landed in their communal bedroom. Twenty-four beds were all stuffed into an obviously too small space, many of which were so tightly pressed together it was almost impossible to tell where each bed ended and the next began. The place was a mess. This building, previously abandoned by generations past, got repurposed as housing for the dozens of kids that ran amok within its ancient walls. 

None of which were here right now, considering it was getting closer to dinnertime. They were all probably in the mess hall. Checking that his too large shoes remained secure, Mattias' anger over Cifer's recklessness drove him to commit the same. He left the room, navigating through the maze-like halls he'd grown up in before silently heading through the front door. It was a bold risk that could get him caught, but the last meal of the day was hectic enough that he risked it, regardless. No shouts of anger sounded at the ugly creaking, so the boy figured he was kosher.

As soon as he got outside, the cool, sunset air made his nose slightly less clogged. It didn't help the itchiness, though. He jammed his palm against his nose for the millionth time before he snuck off the creaky porch and broke into a run as soon as he hit the grass. For all its flaws, this remote, beachside property was a child's dream. A makeshift park erected over war-torn ruins accommodated their need to burn off boundless energy, and there was a field large enough for chasing each other about or playing sports.

The place itself faced the ocean with a breathtakingly natural view. Pristine aside from the rubble, clean, and deceptively peaceful, to Mattias, this really was a paradise on earth. He darted towards the more neglected parts of the field and through the tall grass, ignoring the sharp bite of whipping blades as he ran toward the winding path that would take him down the side of the cliffs and onto the beach. If Cifer was anywhere, it'd be there. While it wasn't exactly a long trip, it wasn't swift, either. Not even when he pushed himself to the point of breathlessness. But as soon as his shoes hit sand, and he accidentally got some inside, Matt's anger at the whole situation gave him a second wind.

He stomped through the grains. If looks could kill, Cifer Calaway would drop dead the moment they caught eyes. That wouldn't happen, but still. A boy could dream. As soon as he saw the familiar sight of an almost skeletal, ancient wooden shipwreck, he knew he was close. Rotting and only recognizable for what it was when you were standing under its gaping maw—it was a ship missing the entire starboard side of it with the deck now acting as a kind of roof—Matt heard the faint sounds of exertion he associated with the unpleasant boy that he was searching for. Sure enough, the older, bigger blond was hiding under the shell of the wreck and doing rapid push-ups without a care in the world.

On the other hand, the dark-haired boy was livid. He leaned down, ripping up the nearest and ugliest piece of driftwood he could find—but not one with worms in it, he wasn't a monster—Matt chucked it at the ten-year-old boy who was almost certainly ignoring Matty's presence on purpose. It bounced off the boy's surprisingly lithe, muscled back, and for a split second, Mattias was quite pleased with himself for his accuracy. But then Cifer had to ruin it by laughing at him, and that dirty look returned to his face in full force. 

"Damn, Princess, what was that? You throw like a girl." Cifer said so arrogantly it did nothing to quell Matt's growing rage. 

It didn't help that the other boy was developing into his previously gangly body faster than any of the other kids, too. He had a sharpness to his jaw, formative muscles, and was tall enough to look like he was fifteen when he was only ten. Cifer's confidence boost from his appearance made him act like a jerk to everyone, all the time. Anywhere and everywhere. Matt was no exception. 

"I'm not a girl. Shut up already and stop calling me that!"

More laughter. Cifer flew into a fit of delight so visceral he collapsed onto the wooden deck mid push-up. 

"Whatever you say. If you're not an omega, I'll eat my shoe."

Matt's jaw clenched, and were it not because he jammed his palm against his nose to stave off the itch again, he might have actually looked intimidating. Making his way over to the older boy and stepping inside the wreck, he aimed a kick at his side, only to be thwarted when Cifer grabbed his ankle and pulled. It may not have hurt to be handled like that, but being thrown off balance and knocked onto his ass sure did. Cifer's snickering wasn't helping matters, either.

"You're too slow. How are you supposed to fight in the war when you suck so bad?" 

"What are you talking about? It'll be over by the time we're old enough to get shipped out."

Silence lingered in the air for a moment while Cifer pushed himself back up and into a seated position. He was breathless, too. Probably from laughter and working out. 

"If that makes you feel better, I guess."

"Makes me…? What, you sniffing glue now, too?"

Cifer snorted, both amused and dismissive at the same time. 

"Me? Nah. That's Tessa's thing."

"What, for real?" Matt asked, lifting one knee to prop an arm against it where he sat, wide-eyed and immediately derailed from his original mission. 

"Yeah. She sneaks off into the classroom to sift through the supplies. Saw her do it myself. Total junkie."

Stupid as it was, there was very little in the way of entertainment out here. So whenever something like this came up, it was big news. The older boy's tale instantly enraptured his childish attention. "What's it like?" 

"What's what like, dumbass?"

"Getting high. Is it really worth that kind of stuff?"

"No!"

"No?"

"No. Don't be dumb. It's the worst. Super lame, too. Besides, you're delicate. It'll just make you sick."

Matt reached over and shoved Cifer. This time, it landed solidly against his chest and the blond grunted as he fell back just as his eyebrows tried to attain lift off from his face. The satisfaction Matt felt was so immense, he was sure it visibly made him taller. Somehow. "Don't be a dick."

"Hey," Cifer huffed, glowering his way as he sat himself back up to face him properly, "language!"

Matt groaned so hard he hurt his throat. "You never watch yours!"

"Yeah, but I'm ten. That's double digits. You're seven. There's a difference. I'm older than you, so that makes it okay."

"No it doesn't!" he retorted sourly, picking at the peeling wood with frustration.

"Yeah, it does. Besides, it's ugly when girls do it."

Matt launched himself across the minimal distance between them so fast that neither of them really had time to react. They shifted into a mess of tangled limbs, violent wrestling, and clouds of sand exploding around them as they accidentally rolled out of the old shipwreck and onto the beach proper. Despite being at a constant disadvantage—Cifer was cheating since he was older and bigger than him—Matt always held his own. He got his shots in, and every time he did, it felt like he'd scored a hundred on an impossible test. 

Everyone knew Calaway was the strongest kid in their family. That was just the truth. But Matt took pride whenever someone came to him and asked him to set Cifer straight. He hadn't technically won yet, but it'd been enough to get Cifer to spit and say whatever it was they were fighting about just wasn't worth his time. Today wasn't wasn't any different. Or so he thought, anyway. But once the older boy had Matt pinned against the sand, no flurry of fists came; instead, Cifer stiffened so abruptly it frightened Matt into silence. He wondered if they'd gotten caught or something for all of ten loaded, horrifying seconds before the other finally broke the tension again. 

"What happened to your face?" 

"Huh?" Matt replied dumbly. 

"Your face. What happened?"

"Do I got something on it?" 

"Tsk," a hand released one of his pinned arms and grabbed Matt's cheeks instead.

He scrunched up his expression at the unwanted handling and tried to turn away, but Cifer wasn't having it. Held firmly in place, Matt watched him bend lower to get a better look through thinly cracked eyes. 

"Your nose is all red and swollen. The fuck?"

"Language!"

"Shut up. I'm serious."

"Dude. We just fought."

"Yeah, but I didn't hit you in the face."

"How would you know?"

"Cause I never hit you in the face!" Cifer snapped with an animosity that rose Matt's brows and opened his mouth to gawk. "I make sure I don't. So, what? Who was it this time? Franky? It was Franky, wasn't it? He mad you got higher scores on your assignment again? I swear to god, I'm gonna kill him!"

Uh-oh. Cifer was spiraling into one of his signature rages. Matt's now free hand came up to grab the blond's wrist with a growing concern, "no, dude. It's nothing. I swear. I was just… we were in the attic for a while. Marissa got spooked by a spider, so we took her up there and she fell asleep. Franky didn't do nothing this time. Don't freak out, okay?" 

That gave Cifer pause, but it wasn't enough for him to let go of Matt's face, apparently. With a huff of discontent, he tugged at Cifer's wrist in an unspoken protest, which was initially ignored. They remained as they were a while longer, dark eyes staring into pale blue so clear and light they almost appeared like glass under direct sunlight. After much scrutiny, Cifer let Matt go and he instantly moved his hand to rub his sore cheeks. 

"... On second thought, it doesn't look like you got hit."

"See? I told you. Chill." Matt couldn't stop himself from bringing his palm against his nose to alleviate the irritation once more, but it got smacked away a second or two later. 

"Quit that. You're making it worse!"

"What do you care?? I thought you hated me."

Cifer looked like someone poured a stupid amount of salt into his cereal. Confusion and aggravation took root inside Mattias rather quickly at that kind of reaction. 

"Who gave you that dumb idea?"

"Uh. You did, duh. You say it all the time."

"In front of other people!" Cifer retorted as if it somehow made it okay, held perfect logic, and should have been obvious. 

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything!" 

His harsh, snapping hiss caused Matt to groan again. "How's that work?"

"I got a reputation to keep. C'mon, think. When's the last time it was just you an' me, and I told you I hated your guts??"

Matt felt his eyes widen as he fell quiet to allow the gears in his head to do their job. He thought, and thought, and positively combed through every ounce of waking memory he had, but for the life of him, he was coming up blank. "Never?"

"Yeah. Never."

"What's the difference between us talking in front of other people and being alone?" it still didn't click inside his head. 

"... God, you're so dense sometimes, Princess. Don't worry about it. All you gotta know is that I don't hate you. So stop being dramatic already. And stop spending so much time in the attic if it messes you up so bad!"

Wait. Hold on. Matt's world was caving in. Was Cifer worried about him, in his own messed up, not alright, bullying way? Was this—was Cifer trying to…? 

Pap. His palm found a new target to focus on. Specifically Cifer's forehead. Said aforementioned boy was stunned into a rare silence that he took full advantage of. "You sick or something?"

Sure enough, that sobered Cifer up really fast. Matt's hand was smacked away without a second thought. 

"No! How can anyone be this—" a terrible, ugly shriek startled them both so badly they scrambled away from each other. Little did they know that only made things worse. 

"How dare you!" Nan hissed, her hawk-like eyes narrowed and shifting at a dizzying pace between them both. "Out past curfew during an active war is one thing, but this?? Have you no shame?" 

"What?" Matty sputtered eloquently, as usual, and before he could say anything else to enrage her further, Cifer put his arm out in front of Matt and stepped forward. 

"We weren't doing anything," Cifer said in that tense, snide tone of his. He always spoke like that to people he looked down on. And of all the people in the world, Cifer looked down on Nan the most.

It irked Matt. Cifer could be an actual piece of work sometimes.

"Oh? Then why were you on top of him, pinning him to the ground like some kind of animal? You certainly weren't fighting!"

"Yes we were!" Matt interjected, because the crime of fighting felt like the lesser evil than whatever it was she thought happened. Cifer whipped his head to the side and sent Matt a clear shut up look. Savage as it was, he snapped his jaw shut so tightly it made an audible click. 

"Hardly!" Livid, she reached for Matt and attempted to grab him by the arm. "Cifer Calaway, this boy is far too young for your inappropriate behaviour. How many times do I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself—"

Cifer wasn't the kid known for his patience. Nor his cool-headedness. And certainly not for considering his actions before doing them. So when the taller boy snatched up Nan's arm and yanked her sideways to keep her from getting any closer to Matt, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. There, in all her blue uniformed, dress pants glory, was the Nan looking like she'd just swallowed a raw egg whole. 

"Ci–"

"Run!"

As an unpresented boy, Matt should have been more conflicted than he was. But there was just something so alarmed, so desperate about the way Cifer had cried out that Matt's body moved on its own. Without so much as a second thought, he slid past the head of their household and bolted back down the beach. He didn't bother looking back as he left the sounds of her enraged demands for the pair of them to stop their ridiculousness and release her behind. This was a mess, and no amount of running would get them out of it, but If Cifer Calaway told him to run, he was gonna run.