#hitman!ohmwrecker
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It’s A Package Deal - Epilogue
1/2
Stockholm syndrome was something Bryce didn’t completely understand. He didn’t believe in fate, nor did he go on about how “everything happens for a reason”. All in all, he didn’t have any specific beliefs about how the world worked.
Whether Stockholm syndrome was the source of it all, living with Ryan proved to be… different. The first few months were definitely odd as they came to fall out of their previous lives. It was strange going from a college student with an apartment and a boyfriend, to a guy who was living out in the Michigan forests with an emotionally-constipated ex-hitman. Ryan had, despite how much he hated and denied it, an addiction of sorts when it came to his gun and using it.
Eventually he properly taught Bryce and they would go out and play around with shooting bottles and trash as targets. Ryan also thought it was worth-while in case someone got the idea of killing the Great Ohmwrecker, or whatever. Bryce living with him would never be totally safe, it was best he learnt how to protect himself if it ever became a necessity.
He also began working out, keeping his strength and ability as high as he could. Bryce joined in with him every now and then but he much preferred to sit back and read.
His biggest goal was to open Ohm up and find Ryan. No longer a hitman, no longer a murderer. He was someone able to start fresh, but doing so was far harder than he expected. Untangling the mess of an emotional barrier he’d encircled himself with. Years and years of getting colder and harsher, it was not a two-day task.
It was blatant that both of them were getting antsy as days passed. Sitting around all day every day doing barely anything got boring after a week or two.
Eventually, Bryce strode into Ryan’s room one morning and demanded the two would go into town. The ex-hitman, obviously, had nothing better to do and they ended up returning with five tins of paint, a guitar and a little bit more enthusiasm. No matter Ryan’s uptight and tense attitude in public, Bryce chattered away and didn’t bat an eye. No one saw them as anything other than newcomers.
They painted the days away, the blonde being absolutely hopeless with a paintbrush or pencil, especially beside Ryan who had some sort of good luck with hidden talents. Their home had two bedrooms and Ryan’s soon filled up with painted canvases. Bryce fell into the pattern of just watching the older man work away at the white, his fingers often strumming at a guitar and his voice often humming or singing along to whatever melody the instrument released.
Those were the nicest days. They didn’t need to speak. They enjoyed the presence of music and the presence of each other.
Months passed and they spoke more. Ryan never changed in that he wasn’t much of a talker. As much as he complained, he still loved listening to Bryce talk. He took in all the information about him and noted all the little quirks throughout his everyday life. He learnt to love living with him and hearing his voice and watching his eyes wander and sparkle with curiosity, and joy, and excitement.
And maybe he was falling a little bit in love as months turned into years. And maybe he hated the idea of such a thing and would never mention it aloud. But maybe it wasn’t so bad when there was no longer enough space in his room to be a bedroom so Bryce let him sleep in his room until they sorted out another area for the paintings to go. Maybe neither really cared for finding another place to put them.
It wasn’t so bad as Bryce fell in love with Ryan’s warmth next to him each night. And when it went unspoken after the first few nights of going to bed apart and waking up entangled, they didn’t care for personal space or distance. They never spoke about it, they didn’t need to.
They fell in love over years of just each other. They found comfort together and that was all they really needed. Between kisses to cheeks, and kisses with tongue and teeth and skin on skin, and loose arms around waists or fingers hanging from fingers. They found a simplicity they needed to stay together and stay alright.
As much as Ryan wanted to hate it because how cheesy could it get, he was addicted. His gun stayed in his bedside table for longer and he left the house to go shopping with Bryce more than he did to go shooting. He curled his fingers around paintbrushes, and pencils, and blonde hair instead of triggers. He snarled at the coffee machine when it didn’t work for him, instead of assholes who didn’t pay for what they got.
He learnt to open up, even if it included several nights of frustrated tears and refusing to acknowledge he was cuddling Bryce because he’s not a teenage girl. Frustration of “I don’t know who Ryan is,” and “I want to change but I don’t know how!” Frustration calmed by Bryce’s fingers running through his hair and touching his cheeks and lips and eyelashes with gentle reassurance of “You get to decide who he is,” and “It’s not an overnight thing, you have to give yourself time.”
Bryce was always patient and calm. He knew the man he lived with and he knew the man he loved. He accepted his outbursts of anger and distress and didn’t say anything about how some nights his hold was tighter and slightly more desperate. He didn’t mention when Ryan’s sleep was restless and just lay awake while the other hid his face in his neck.
He gave him the time needed to change. To get better and relearn how to live a relatively normal life. Relearn how to go out in public without walking down back alleys and carrying guilt on his shoulders when he did nice things and helped older ladies across crosswalks and off buses.
They were there for each other at most and accepted that they were both missing pieces. Love doesn’t account for missing pieces, and neither man really cared much about specifics. They lived alone and comfortably and that was all they wanted. That was their paradise.
2/2
Bryce smiled up at the brunette, earning a nasty glare in return. The older dropped onto the couch behind the blonde who sat on the floor with his guitar in his hands.
“You’re terrible,” Ryan grumbled, head falling back as Bryce lovingly patted his knee. He laughed aloud as the other swatted him away. “You can barely cook, you manage to shrink clothes and dye them different colours, you make the beds with the wrong sheets.” The list only made Bryce smile wider, very aware of how horrible a housemate he was. Plus, Ryan loved to have control and know everything that was going on. It bugged the Hell out of him when Bryce didn’t do things the way he was supposed to and the blonde used it to his advantage and laziness. He also loved to complain. “Is there anything you can do?”
Bryce set his guitar to the side, twisted around to kneel and look up at his “housemate” with a smirk. Playfully, he dropped his hands to Ryan’s knees, pushing himself up to hover above him. Silver eyes widened ever-so-slightly, the closeness unexpected as Bryce’s lips crawled up his jaw to his ear.
“Well--” the blonde pressed a kiss below his ear, voice low and hot, “--I’ve been told I’m pretty good with my tongue.” Heat spread right across Ryan’s cheeks and his body tensed up as the teasing fingers trailed up his thighs slowly. Teeth played with his earlobe and he could barely focus on breathing, let alone the heat that was flushing every inch of his skin. “Want a demonstration?”
His hands found Bryce’s arms and he roughly shoved the blonde away. He didn’t look up at the shit-eating grin. “Fuck you,” he huffed, standing and trying not to squirm. His pants were suddenly extremely uncomfortable and he dragged himself towards the kitchen.
“That was the plan,” Bryce cooed, giggling to himself as he pranced after the ex-hitman. Catching up to him, he slung his arms over his shoulders and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “You gotta take the good with the bad, baby,” he sung ignoring Ryan’s huff of fake-irritation. “I’m a package deal.”
The brunette turned, catching his jaw with calloused fingers and pressing his mouth hotly to the other’s. Hands squeezed Bryce’s ass and he lifted the twenty-five year old up onto the counter. The space between them became very small and very hot.
He gasped as Bryce rolled his hips forward, growling and slipping his hands up to grasp his hips tightly. “Fuck, you,” he said again, rough and breathy. He was so easy to set off, the blonde just couldn’t help himself.
Bryce grinned against his lips, tangling their tongues as he continued to rock his hips in the way that got Ryan worked up. He pulled back slightly, flashing a satisfied grin as the brunette’s head tipped back in a whisper of a sigh. His teeth nipped at Ryan’s jaw. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”
Ryan rolled his eyes, tired of the other’s words, and pulled him back in close, melting them together just the way they both loved it.
End
First: Prologue
Previous: Twenty-One
FINALLY
ITS DONE
I’m so fucking happy omg, this thing took almost three months and I actually loved it wow. I’m excited to go back and read through the whole thing tonight and see how it really flowed because I’ve had some really sweet feedback and I think I’m pretty happy with how it turned out.
Now. Future plans. I am writing a mini story, a cliche, [punk! pastel! h2ovanoss because I felt like it would be fun]. I don’t know how that will go but it will be fun to write so fuck it.
I might open requests for certain ships and stuff, I don’t know how that will go over either. Either way I don’t think I’m going to take on any longer chapter stories for a while. I reckon people will enjoy a lot of short fics and I can explore different genres and that sort of thing, I think it’ll be good. You guys tell me what you want.
Back on topic of [It’s A Package Deal] Thank you guys so much for putting up with my mistakes and sections of inactivity, I’m happy to have been able to finish it in the end and I really appreciate feedback so I can see how to improve and what to focus on in the future. It was hell fun to write, hell fun to post and I’m so happy some of you guys really enjoyed.
I’ll let you guys know what else is going on later, I’m probably going to write a bit more for now and maybe see what I have tonight. Thanks again, I appreciate every single one of you.
gi <3
#brohm#brohm fic#brohm fanfic#bbs#bbs fic#bbs fanfic#fic#fanfic#hitman!ohmwrecker#stockholm syndrome#its a package deal#it's a package deal#epilogue#final chapter#end
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what do all the things in your icon represent?
Well, they represent some of the fandoms I’m in(though not all of the fandoms I’m in, and I’m not necessarily actively participating in all of them)Here’s a list, in no particular order...
God of War
Evolve: Stage 2
Legend of Zelda
HITMAN
Warframe
Team Fortress 2
Undertale
Mario
Dead by Daylight
Metroid
Fire Emblem
Friday The 13th
Ohmwrecker
CaRtOoNz
H20 Delirious
JackSepticEye
Markiplier
VanossGaming
JT Music
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I'm ... Alive? (Ohmtoonz GTA AU)
A/N: So, I only partially blame me writing this to @poly-bus (great blog, check them out!) for getting the gears going and my brain for coming up with so many ideas for this. So, don’t panic, more is coming. Especially since this one is only Ohmtoonz and there is no Del or Bryce yet. They’re later, I promise. But enjoy!
Also, I’m stuck between doing another Ohmtoonz next or upgrading to H2O Ohmtoonz. Let me know which one you guys prefer.
~•~
“Do you know why I’m here?” Luke asked as he pinned the former client against the wall. The man was shaking like a leaf, his five eight stature seem like nothing compared to Luke’s six flat stance. The latter had to lift the quivering man just to get him to eye level.
“Because I owe you money?” Luke rolled his eyes quick before pushing his silenced pistol against the other man’s forehead. His eyes seemed to bulge out of his sockets at the inclusion of the new element.
“You don’t seem to learn, do you? This is a business, not a charity. I need the money NOW. Plus interest, of course.” Eyes never left the gun as beads of sweat dropped down.
“Listen, man. I can get it back to you. Just … give me time! I need more time.” The gun buried itself deeper into the man’s forehead.
“Times Up.” CaRtOoNz deadpanned, just as he heard another gun cock. It pressed itself against the back of his head.
“That goes for you as well.” A new voice, steady, replied. Luke pulled the trigger on the pistol, making sure it was only him and his aggressor in the alley. He made sure to the corpse up so there were no squealers. “Drop the gun.” Luke complied, holding the weapon out before dropping it a considerable distance away from himself. “Now drop the man.”
“Gladly~” Luke replied, dropping the lifeless body to the ground. “Although, it’s not so much a person anymore as it it a body.” The other person seemed to growl under their breath, and the smirk on Luke’s face only seemed to grow. “Mind if I turn around to see your pretty face?”
“Why not? Last face you’re going to see anyways.” Luke scoffed at the statement.
“Not the first time I’ve heard that phrase.” Luke took the time to reach around and grab the gun pressed against him. He twisted left, making his assailant loose his grip on the weapon as he pulled it foreword. He quickly turned, pointing the attackers weapon back on him.
Luke was met with a fine specimen. Hazel eyes stared back at him with determination not to give up anymore ground. His expression was hidden behind a gray bandanna painted with an omega symbol on the front. He was built, that much he could tell from his natural guns as he raised his arms.
“Who. Hired. You?” Luke punctuated, making sure his lust for the man in front of him didn’t show through his words. Luckily for him, he was able to hide his emotions very well.
“Can’t say. Clients are very scarce these days, and I don’t want to betray them.” The man in front of him smirked, just a little. “Not everyone can afford me.” CaRtOoNz frowned. High profile hitman, obviously.
“Why aren’t I dead than?” He blurted, trying to connect pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite for. The hitman raised an eyebrow, and hesitated a moment before replying.
“Your profile said you were the leader of one of the most prominent gangs in this city. Wasn’t going to eliminate another potential client. After all, this is a business.” He felt like the whole story wasn’t being told, but he left the issue slide. He needed to get out of here, before anyone realized a complication had occurred.
“Name?”
“Ohmwrecker.” Luke had heard the name floating around before, though he’d never had a need to use it. He’s always had confidence in his own abilities and those of his gang to get things done. He already had an ex-assassin on his side anyways, so what was the point of a hitman anyways?
“Alright then, Ohmwrecker.” Luke said, bending down to pick up his silenced pistol from the ground, before tossing Ohm’s pistol behind him. Ohm didn’t make a move to retrieve it as it was clear that Luke had control of the situation. “I would kill you, but you’re too handsome of an offer to pass up.”
“That supposed to be a compliment?” Ohm asked, and Luke laughed.
“Call me sometime, Ohmie~” Luke smiled, and walked away from the hitman. He didn’t need to look back to know he’d won that.
~•~
He was still stuck in Luke’s head. Ohmwrecker plagued his thoughts and left him with a sleepless night and a tired morning. Here he was, trying to drown his tiredness in coffee at a local Starbucks, all while a hitman that tried to kill him dominated his mind.
“Seat taken?” Luke looked up to stare back at familiar hazel eyes, and lips finally not concealed by a bandana. Luke matched Ohm’s warm smile, and gestured to indicate the seat was free.
“Well you obviously didn’t need my number to find me.” Luke stated, quickly taking a sip from his drink. Ohm laughed, while tried his hardest not to make out with him right then in there.
“A hitman must know how to locate his target, CaRtOoNz.” He purred. Luke held up his hand.
“We’re in public, baby. Call me Luke.” He could practically feel the sweat forming on his brow. Some of his best men didn’t even know that much about it, and here he was spilling it to a complete stranger that he’d managed to become infatuated with in under 24 hours.
“Well, in that case.” The hitman held out his hand. “The name’s Ryan. Pleasure to meat you.” Luke smiled and took the hand.
“The pleasure is all mine.” They broke away, and the two began talking. Talking as if they didn’t have a gun pointed at each other not a day earlier. Like their friends had set them up because the sexual tension was too much. If anyone looked their way, they would see two dudes trying to stubbly lean towards each other at a Starbucks table because they’re totally gay.
“So … is this a date then?” Ryan asked, hopefully.
“Yes.” Luke didn’t stutter, but the quick response had the other nearly choke on his drink. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Ryan waved off, pounding his fist twice on his chest to make sure everything was clear. “I just wasn’t expecting such a … direct answer.”
“Well, I’m a very direct man who is about to ask you a very direct question.” Luke proclaimed, before leaning his body toward Ryan as much as he could. “You want to be my boyfriend?”
Ryan pretended to scoff. “At least take me to dinner first.”
“Sorry if I wanted me to claim that ass of yours before anyone else did. Though, I didn’t quite get a good view of it yesterday.” Luke stands, trying to get different angles off to see Ryan’s butt. “I bet you got some good shots of my ass yesterday.” Luke turned around, and proceeded to strike poses while flaunting off his ass. He glanced at Ohm’s reddening face on his over the shoulder shot, and quickly morphed into a more … hinting pose.
“Luke…” Ryan whined. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“First off, if I’m embarrassing anyone it’s myself.” Luke explained as he retook his seat. “You’re not the one flaunting themselves off in a Starbucks. And second of all, you’re not inviting anyone of these people to your next family barbecue. So I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck.” Luke leaned back in his seat, finishing off the drink he had ordered. “Still didn’t tell me if you got some good shots of my ass.”
“That’s … actually the reason you’re alive.” Ryan muttered, loud enough for Luke to hear but soft enough that nobody else did.
“Care to … elaborate maybe?”
“The deal you had the day before yesterday. I was on the roof of the building across the street from where you meet. I had just gotten you lined up in my scope when you turned around. I … I couldn’t pull the trigger. You were so goddamn HOT. Honestly the rest of the time I was staring at your ass. It’s a nice one; I have to admit.”
Luke blinked. “Well, … who know the mighty Ohmwrecker’s weakness was the fabulous CaRtOoNz’s booty.” Ryan playfully slapped him.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.” Ryan smirked.
“Okay.” Before Luke knew what was happening, Ryan had grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. After the initial shock, he let himself melt into the softness of Ryan’s lips. They said firing a gun had the same reaction as a passionate kiss. But Luke had fired tons of guns and nothing compared to this. Ryan broke away, there was a moment as both stayed silent. They could hear each other breaths as their foreheads remained touched.
“At least take me to dinner first” Luke finally said to break the silence.
“Shut up.”
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It’s A Package Deal - Sixteen
“Don’t think I care in the slightest about your dumb life, and your dumb questions. Just shut the fuck up and call me ‘Ohm’.”
The words branded themselves to Bryce’s mind. They imprinted beneath his flesh and burnt their way to permanence.
The silence within the vehicle was suddenly all too much. It clung to his skin and face and clothes and crawled down his throat. It suffocated him completely and removed his voice of all but a small, “Oh…” that dripped from his tongue along with a broken exhale.
He couldn’t rip his gaze from the brunette’s. His attention was frozen to the other, and he could do nothing but stare with wide eyes and try and keep his blinking to a minimum. For a long minute, neither moved. Ohm kept his teeth bared, eyes ablaze and jaw locked. Bryce had never felt more like prey. He felt as though the slightest movement would have his throat slit. He held his breath and just stared as Ohm huffed and puffed.
Eventually, the hitman retreated. He released a heavy exhale, his eyes ever-sharp, and sat back in his own chair. Almost reluctantly, he came back to his senses, silence ringing in his ears. He glanced back out his side window, the street fortunately still empty as far as he could see. When his fiery eyes came back to the blonde, he hadn’t moved. He stayed where he was, now breathing heavily himself. His eyes shook as they stayed glued to his coiled figure. The hitman could feel angry heat radiating off his own flesh and a small part of his mind knew how terrified the young man must have felt. A small part of his mind told him what Bryce saw, told him just how cruel he looked – he was a monster, he was a ruthless, terrifying monster.
He drowned that part of his mind and suffocated those thoughts. He didn’t have time to care about the way Bryce stayed pressed to the door as far from Ohm as possible. He didn’t let himself look over as the blonde hugged his knees to his chest. He didn’t let his mind ponder on what he was thinking, how he was feeling.
Bryce couldn’t stop himself from shivering. He could feel the anger swelling within the car. It was pressed down on him, clawing at his flesh and pushing him back. He stayed as far away from its source as he could. He kept himself curled up, curled over his heart which shuddered and whimpered in fear and loss.
Bryce struggled to determine exactly what he felt he’d lost. He never had Ohm’s care. He never had Ohm’s trust. He never had anything from Ohm except cold stares and bitten words. So what had he lost?
Ohm had shouted at him, outright screamed at him. He told him exactly what Bryce already knew, exactly how he thought of him, how he hated him, how he couldn’t wait to see Bryce’s voice finally silenced. Bryce knew this. Of course he knew this, he knew it since the first time he was shoved back into his apartment with a gun to his forehead. He wasn’t surprised, he shouldn’t have been surprised.
So why did it hurt him? Why did it ache, and sting, and burn in his throat? Why did his eyes blur and chest squeeze?
He didn’t know. He didn’t get it.
His teeth grit with frustration, tears slipping down his cheeks in silence. Tears that burnt like flames. Tears that Ohm didn’t see. Tears that Ohm didn’t care about. Tears Ohm probably enjoyed.
He turned his head to the side, kept his jaw clenched and swallowed down any sobs that tried to crawl up his throat.
Ohm’s nails dragged back and forth along the steering wheel. Little white lines ran deeper and deeper into the leather as the hitman ground his teeth. After pulling the car back into the correct lane and pushing it up into a speed higher than the limit, he locked his body and mind in place.
He ignored the man beside him. He ignored the blonde. He ignored the inaudible sniffling.
Ignoring the body in the passenger seat was far easier than ignoring the guilt that clawed at his chest. Guilt that inspired anger, anger that inspired hatred, hatred that inspired disgust, disgust that inspired guilt. His tongue didn’t sit comfortably in his mouth and words fought to pass his lips.
Words of “I’m sorry,”, and “It’s not your fault,”, and “I shouldn’t have yelled,”. Words of regret and sorrow and empathy. It was all wrong, it was all so awful, and sickly, and painful. Ohm was a hitman, a sociopath. Sociopaths were cold, nasty, apathetic and heartless. They didn’t feel regret, they didn’t feel guilt, they didn’t feel empathy. That’s how they were, that’s how he was.
That’s how he’d lived for years, how he’d done his job. Head high, eyes cold, tongue sharp. He didn’t look back, he didn’t look down and he certainly didn’t feel bad for the bodies that dropped all around him. He hadn’t felt sorry in countless years, not for anyone but his decomposing family.
There was no plausible, understandable, possible reason to why he would ever feel guilty about snarling at Bryce. No matter how many times he ran it through his mind. No matter how many times he searched for a simple explanation – he found nothing but aggravation and fumed in his seat. Upon realising he was growling deep in his throat out loud, he stopped himself short and risked a glance at Bryce’s form which was curled up tighter and shaking even more jerkily.
The slight guilt that started to drip down his throat turned to bile. He grit his teeth, swallowed it down and threw his emotions out the open car window. With a sharp breath in and out, he shook away lingering annoyances and settled as much as he could with the anger still pumping through his veins.
He just drove.
Ten hours of silence. After three, Bryce sat up and stretched out his legs. He forgot only for a moment, almost asking the driver if they could pull over and properly stretch to wake up sleeping limbs. The memories of hateful words resurfaced and he burrowed his head in his hands, ignoring the way his feet tingled and zapped with pain. After another two, he fell asleep, slumped against the door and didn’t notice Ohm’s unfairly irritated glare. When he woke again, the anger had shrunk and the irritation had settled. The hitman’s aura circled him still, but had lessened and was far more relaxed than when the blonde had fallen into slumber.
Bryce peered at him through his eyelashes, the remnants of his limited rest gluing his eyelids together.
The hitman no longer sat coiled like a spring. His shoulders rested down, his back against the seat, his fingers loose on the leather. The bandana had stayed around the lower half of his face but his silver eyes no longer cut like knives. Instead, they swirled like melted aluminium and stayed on the road ahead.
Words hung off Bryce’s heavy tongue, but his mouth was too dry to form them and his lips stayed glued together. As much as the silence accumulated at his eardrums, he locked himself up and didn’t let out a word. He couldn’t. As much as the need to break the silence tugged at him, he stayed voiceless.
The first time he moved from his position was to stretch back and let his jaw click open in a wide yawn. The moment he shifted, Ohm’s posture flinched. His back pulled forwards off the seat and his shoulders locked up. His fingers went white around the steering wheel and the melted pools of metal froze and hardened in jagged, ugly shapes.
Bryce blinked at him in shock and instantly dropped his eyes as the aura of irritation flared up in the small space. He found himself pressed back up against the door and window, eyes downcast and mind scrambling to be anywhere but there.
He could do nothing to get away. He closed his eyes. Ohm’s glare on his shoulder forced a shudder through him. It made him wince and almost burnt through his flesh as he squeezed his eyes shut. His head tucked down further and he felt like a real prisoner for the first time in days.
Afraid to look Ohm in the eyes, afraid to speak, afraid to move, afraid to step out of line at any moment at any time.
He was afraid.
For some stupid reason, he’d thought they got along. For some absolutely ridiculous reason, he’d thought that maybe Ohm didn’t completely hate his company. Maybe he enjoyed their little conversations, maybe he didn’t mind the random nonsensical questions, maybe he regarded Bryce as a little bit more than just a package printed with an address in Los Angeles. Bryce had been wrong. Ohm hated his voice, hated his words, hated his questions. Ohm hated him.
And God did Ohm wish that was true. He wished he hated his guts, wished he would be able to put a bullet between his eyes. He wished he didn’t feel the nagging pull at his throat, tightening each moment he resisted to regret. Each time he swallowed down the words of apology. Each time he will himself against turning on the radio because he did not want to hear Bryce hum along.
It was all because he took a deal he shouldn’t have taken and he couldn’t fucking learn to leave his “job” behind.
He’d spent years in complete isolation. He never lived with anyone, he never spoke to anyone outside of business deals – the only times he spent with real people were drunken one-night-stands and even then he never stayed the night. He didn’t let anyone get close to him physically, let alone mentally.
Four days spent babysitting Bryce, watching him, making sure he wasn’t doing anything wrong, suffering through his little chitchats and listening to him spout random little facts about himself. Four days of learning to understand him, sleeping in the same room as him, listening to him breathe and hum and speak. Listening to him cry. He’d seen this human being break open in front of him. He’d seen him give up in his arms.
A human being who never meant badly but only ever got “badly”.
All Ohm ever did was ruin things. That was why he never got close to anyone, why he never tried to learn names or why he never asked questions. Why he never let anyone tell him much about their lives. He only ever left them behind and if he didn’t, he’d hurt them one way or another. That’s how things worked with him, and maybe it was just karma for all the shit he did in his life. Maybe that’s just how his world worked.
It was the same with Bryce. The man broke into countless pieces right in front of him and when he tried to pick them up and put himself back together, all Ohm did was crush them beneath his boots. All he did was hurt him more, was push him back down, was tell him to shut up and stay there.
That’s how it’s supposed to be, he tried to tell himself. That’s how it has to be. His promised words were half-hearted lies and he knew it all too well to try any harder.
He’d grown attached to his companion. He didn’t know when it happened, whether it was when he told him his favourite colour was grey, or when he laughed as the other spluttered and coughed puffs of incorrectly inhaled smoke, or when he had his tears soaking into his shoulder and hands desperately clutching the back of his sweater. No matter when it happened, it had developed and swelled and Ohm had to do something to stop it before he was making stupid decisions again.
His “doing something about it” plan had done a half good job of what he’d wanted it to. Bryce could no longer look at him, he seeped dread and fear and clearly wanted to get as far away from the hitman as possible. Ohm felt ever-growing hatred towards him also. For that he could tell he’d succeeded, if only slightly. Although, his success tasted sour. He couldn’t tell whether he hated Bryce or whether he hated himself more. For all the fear running up and down Bryce’s flesh, guilt threaded through Ohm’s.
If anything, by yelling at the blonde he’d shown himself just how much he craved the other. He craved any sort of interaction between them and it made him snarl. A part of him wanted to take it all back and accept the use of his real name so they could have driven all day with the radio on, Bryce’s humming in his thoughts and a calm aura wafting in and out of open windows.
The stale silence smelt sickening and the aura of jagged fear, anger and guilty mixed and mingled. It stained his clothes, his skin, his hair. It consumed the two of them and pushed and pulled them apart and away.
Bryce was too scared to say anything, too scared to try and change things, ease things back to a softer vibe and calmer expression. Ohm was too stubborn to let himself care, or worry, or think about it at all. He was so set on not thinking about it, he thought of nothing else the entire ten hours.
First: Prologue
Previous: Fifteen
Next: Seventeen
Short chapter which I was supposed to post earlier but I didn’t?? Here it is now <3
Check my next post for an update on upcoming chapters, I’ve actually completed the story to the last sentence, I just have to edit it all.
gi
#brohm#brohm fic#brohm fanfic#fic#fanfic#bbs#bbs fic#bbs fanfic#hitman!ohmwrecker#stockholm syndrome#sixteen#it's a package deak#its a package deal
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It’s A Package Deal - Twenty
He counted out at least eight men in black uniforms, pushing things over with guns, pulling up bedsheets and looking around tables. Ohm had about fifteen seconds before either he or Bryce were found and when he glanced back at the blonde, he was met with wide, terrified eyes. They were ten metres apart, several empty stalls between them as Ohm moved forward. He ducked around his crate to a stack of wooden boxes that completely concealed him from sight. As long as he put distance between Bryce and himself, he was calm. That way the firepower would be directed at him and away from his companion.
Glancing back again, his eyes narrowed at the woman who was sneaking closer and closer to Bryce. She likely had no idea how close she was, and the hitman aimed his gun without having to the think about it. The first shot hit her in the back of the head and the air around him erupted with gunshots. The wooden crates chipped and splintered as he ducked down and waited. They shuddered as they absorbed every bullet and he dragged himself a few metres to the left, hidden by stacks of tables under white bedsheets.
He rolled his shoulders and his neck, adrenaline flaring as he popped up just above the table. His gun flicked up with all four shots and he narrowly dodged three by ducking down once again. One let out a blood curdling shriek.
Bryce ducked his head instinctively as guns released their first bullets. A body dropped with a thud only metres away from him and he scrambled towards a table with a sheet over it. He ducked beneath it, concealed and hidden. He didn’t feel safe in the slightest.
When the shriek reached his ears, he cowered, almost dropping his gun as his heart thumped in his head. He held the weapon even tighter to his chest, staying crouched on his knees and ready to shoot the moment it was necessary.
Thirty seconds passed before anything changed. The bullets kept flying and every now and then he heard the sound of a body slamming to the ground. Then there was walking near him. Footfalls he barely heard but a shadow that clearly casted over his sheet. He didn’t breathe.
The shadow grew larger. Bryce feared his pounding heart was audible and pressed a hand to his chest in hopes of calming himself.
The popping of guns was still heard, and he no longer took notice to them as the outline of the end of a gun poked the sheet in front of him. It lifted up, taking a part of the sheet with it, causing Bryce to shuffle back even further.
Then, more shooting from closer. Louder bangs from what Bryce could only assume was Ohm. The intruder froze, his gun paused in its motion.
Then it was gone. The sheet swung back into place and the shadow drifted away.
He’s going to Ohm. This man had strayed further from the other gunmen and was likely not noticed by Ohm. He was probably there to search for Bryce but he was closer to Ohm than he’d thought, closer to someone that if he killed, he’d become just as infamous. Killing the hitman would make his job far easier and far more rewarding.
No one could kill Ohmwrecker.
Bryce felt his lungs stutter, fear rising in his throat. His fingers were shaking. Shoot him, don’t let him get close to Ohm, you have to help, you have to do something.
With the most caution he could, the blonde pulled up the sheet and peeked out at the back of the man. A gun hung from his left hand and he was slowly sneaking around the back of the building behind them. Towards Ohm.
Thoughts bounced back and forward, reasons, persuasion, fears, risks. Before he could properly decide, he was slinking after the guy who was listening intently to the sound of Ohm’s bullets which came in spurts every few moments.
He snuck around tables and crates and drapes, eyes not moving from the direction of the bullets, eyes unaware of the movement behind him.
Bryce followed with light feet. He held the gun with shaking hands and his whole body screamed at him. Don’t use it! Don’t kill! Don’t be like him! Don’t, don’t, don’t!
He didn’t want to, he knew he shouldn’t have to because Ohm would notice him and kill him in moments. Right around this crate he’d be dead, this table, this bench. Any second now. He’ll kill him. He’ll be dead. Why isn’t he dead? Why hasn’t Ohm killed him, Ohm would kill him the second he sees him! Bryce watched him stay close to the side of the building. Every time Ohm popped up, he was visible to both of them. Once he was in perfect sight… If he’s not dead then Ohm hasn’t seen him, if Ohm hasn’t seen him then he can kill Ohm. He can’t kill him. Don’t let him kill Ohm.
Bryce raised his gun, encouraged by racing thoughts, Ohm’s words running around his mind. He fixed his posture, his aim, his… his shaking wouldn’t stop but he didn’t have time to calm himself. Any second, any moment now…
The gun shots had slowed to a stop. No more sound. No more shooting. He sucked in a breath and let his finger touch the trigger.
Bang!
His hand jerked.
Ohm turned at the sound, all his attackers shot and killed. All but one it seemed. His eyes settled on the final man’s back and when Ohm raised his gun he realised why he faced away.
Bang! Bang!
He fired one shot. The man fell to the concrete with a hole in his temple.
Bryce let out a broken cry and Ohm was walking over the body in less than a second, dropping to the ground in front of Bryce.
He got shot. You let him get shot.
Quivering hands hovered above his thigh, a gaping hole in his pants showing blood seeping down over his knee. Blue eyes stared with disbelief and hands settled on a wound Bryce couldn’t even feel. When he snatched them back, his fingers were painted with blood and his leg was twitching from an intense amount of stress that clawed and scratched at a barrier of adrenaline.
Bryce couldn’t feel a thing.
“I’ve been shot,” he croaked, his voice struggling to work, almost refusing to appear under such a circumstance. It was barely a whisper and Ohm resorted to muttering curses under his breath as he sat up and looked around the courtyard. No one else had appeared and there were empty cars by the entrance. That’s what they needed desperately.
“Yes, you’ve been shot and that means we need to get you into a car now,” Ohm grunted, and crouched down. He grabbed Bryce’s right arm and hooked it around his neck. “Come on, weight on your left leg. Do as much as you can but don’t put pressure on your right.”
Bryce barely paid attention but allowed himself to be yanked up onto one leg. Ohm caught him before he stumbled but grunted under his weight. He might have been thin but he was tall.
“My body won’t… I can’t feel my leg…” His words caught in his throat, painful and reluctant. They refused to cooperate with his mind, catching on the insides of his throat. He couldn’t understand what was happening. His body was heavy and his movements were stuttered, but he could not feel the immense agony that tried to shut him down.
Ohm held tightly to the man’s waist. “I know, I know, just keep moving with me okay? It’s just the adrenaline, you’ll feel it soon enough but keep your left leg moving.”
He nodded lethargically and Ohm began half-leading, half-dragging the blonde around stalls.
Bryce’s heart refused to make up its mind, racing in one moment and slowing right down the next. His whole body was wracked with spasms every few moments, trying to get some sort of feeling into him. He even leant on his wounded leg at one point only for his body to stop working altogether.
Not once did he feel the pain his body wore.
Ohm’s cool-calm-and-collected-ness was beginning to flicker, as the blonde’s head began to swing, and his body grew heavier. “Bryce are you still with me? You’re so quiet, I don’t… I don’t know what that means.” Worry was beginning to filter into Ohm’s words and Bryce lifted his lips in the slightest of smiles. The bullet was too low in his thigh to have hit the major artery and thankfully it wasn’t spurting blood. It didn’t mean he wasn’t losing any though, and as they got within five metres of the closest car, engines buzzed from the other side of the market place.
The hitman threw an unsure look over his shoulder, edging forwards as quickly as he could. Only seconds later, he was dropping below a stand of several large plates of metal. His hands were tender and careful as he eased the man back against one of the chairs beside them.
He stayed crouched between the outstretched legs and tapped two fingers against Bryce’s cheek. The big blue eyes blinked up at him, heavy and tired. They seemed to almost look past him. “I’m okay,” he mumbled, hands white with how tightly he gripped his sweatshirt.
The hitman nodded, not trusting himself to speak before he peeked around the edge of the stall. Two bikes pulled up on the other side of the fence and he almost sighed in relief for the barrier, before a car crashed straight through it.
He didn’t hesitate, settling against the tabletop and letting bullet after bullet rip through the air. Four bikes drove through and sure enough, he killed three while driving. Their bikes crashed through wood and crates and he didn’t pay any mind to the catastrophe around them as he focused on the fourth biker.
Bryce watched as he dropped down, bullets zipping in his direction also. He watched the set expression of concentration twist into the hitman’s features. He watched focused eyes snap back and forth wherever they could and after a few seconds of heavy breathing and loud shooting, those eyes fell on Bryce.
Ohm popped up, let three more bullets fly and killed the final man on a bike and one hanging off the side of the car. “I’m sorry,” he said to the blonde, snatching attention that was beginning to blur. It settled on him instead and Bryce frowned in confusion. “I didn’t want to yell at you, I’ve been feeling awful since I did it and I need to apologise.”
Bryce barked an unamused laugh, but it barely came out as a wheeze. “Now is not the time to be worrying about that,” he told him, forcing out the words as loudly as he could manage to be heard as he loaded another clip into his handgun with shaking fingers. The moment Ohm’s trigger only clicked and no longer shot, he had a loaded, ready gun thrown into his hands.
Bryce got to work trying to reload the second gun but his hands shook too violently to retrieve the bullets from his pocket.
“No, I have to. It’s been eating at me and nothing I said was really true.” Bryce barely heard Ohm say much. Hearing him ramble was strange and he was too entranced to tell the man to stop. It filled him with an odd feeling. “You’re a right piece of shit but you must have done something right seeing as I can’t even fucking get rid of you. Don’t put my efforts to waste now, you have to stay alive at least until we’re out of this fucking city.”
Bryce’s lips were white with the pressure of pursing them so tightly but he managed a small grateful smile as Ohm yanked him back up and pushed him up into the car they reached.
The driver’s seat was open and welcoming, key jammed in the ignition still. He couldn’t help but feel relieved at that, not needing to hijack or hotwire the vehicle like he’d thought.
No, he merely needed to twist the key.
The engine rumbled and Ohm had to lean across Bryce to shut his door for him seeing as the blonde’s head was swinging back and forth. The hitman glanced back over the marketplace. The bodies were thrown around like trash and he didn’t let his gaze settle for too long.
He knew pondering never went well.
So he slammed the car into reverse and pulled out onto the street. A series of horns erupted into the street air but he didn’t give a backwards glance. He threw the car into drive and wound through traffic at a speed far higher than he should have.
The sounds of car horns and sirens followed them but they didn’t stop. Soon enough the sound of gunshots joined into the mix.
As soon as they started off, Bryce’s head snapped up and his eyes landed on Ohm.
The hitman couldn’t take his eyes off the road for a second but his brain was still whirring. The stopper in his throat pleaded for his own silence, unwilling to allow any other words to pass through. He’d said too much. He’d gone too far. He was still a hitman, he was still as emotionless and cold as he had been for the past six years. But for the first time in six years he had too much to say, and no idea how to say it.
“Ryan,” he blurted out, mind wrestling for control over his tongue. His instincts scolded and snarled, unable to lock down his words. He had to say what he was thinking. He’d implode if he didn’t.
Bryce’s head swung back to him and Ohm risked a small glance. The blonde’s expression was strained. “What now!?” he gasped, two words too much for him.
The hitman grit his teeth, fighting himself as he spun the wheel. “I made up my mind, you can call me Ryan.” Bryce’s head slammed against his headrest and he let out a loud groan.
“Oh my God. I really think we can talk about this when we’re not running for our lives,” Bryce hissed, pressed a hand down on the bloody mess of his leg. The pain was starting to sink in, his adrenalized mind spinning back down once inside the “safety” of the vehicle. He whimpered, wishing for the numbness to return. At the slightest touch of the pain that washed through him in tsunami-sized waves he felt tears soak his cheeks. His mind flicked back and forth. The pain, Ohm, driving, the shooting, Ohm, the guns, Ohm, always fucking driving, the agony.
Ohm glanced at him again, only to yank the car up onto the footpath to avoid slamming into the back of a bus. Bryce gripped the door, terrified. “Jesus, Ryan!” Ohm let his lips twist in a small smile. “Pay attention to the fucking road.”
The blonde twisted in his seat, shoving back the protests of his ruined body. Two big black cars followed them closely, letting off police sirens. They were definitely not police, and that was definitely illegal, but it had the right affect as cars parted and gave them a clear path.
“Alley.” Bryce grunted, falling back and grabbing the gun resting at his feet. “It’s too narrow for them!”
Ohm let his head fall in a nod and Bryce gripped his seat as the car spun to the left, barely dodging two teenagers who jumped away from the footpath. The gap between the two buildings swallowed them, only to spit them out seconds later onto another street.
The cars were already split along the sides of the road and Ohm ran a red light tearing through the city. He headed for the distant openness, foot down and eyes sharp.
They left black cars and an angered gang behind, curling their fists and shooting the road as their little “borrowed” car sped away. Bryce sat silent and pale in the passenger seat, hands pressed down on his wound and lip quivering as waves of pain began crashing through him, heavier and angrier than he’d ever felt. His head was spinning and throbbing and his hands were glowing red with blood.
He watched, unable to speak or move or do anything but let Ohm pull one of his bloodied hands from his leg. He watched as long fingers linked with his and focused on the feeling of the hitman’s thumb run up and down from his thumbnail to the back of his hand.
The pain eased lightly and he rested back into his seat, eyes falling closed.
First: Prologue
Previous: Nineteen
Next: Twenty-One
y’all gotta call me out on my bs when i forget to fakin post dudes
#brohm#bbs#brohm fic#bbs fic#brohm fanfic#bbs fanfic#fic#fanfic#hitman!ohmwrecker#stockholm syndrome#it's a package deal#its a package deal#twenty#nearly there!!
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It’s A Package Deal - Twenty-One
By the time they were back in the suburbs, their speed had slowed to avoid accidents and, after several minutes, they pulled over to the side of an empty street. Ohm’s fingers vanished from Bryce’s and the blonde hugged his hands to his chest unable to lift both legs up onto the seat. The brunette opened the door beside him and he reached a red hand up to grab onto something. He got a fistful of shirt and yanked it close.
Ohm grabbed onto the top of the car as to not fall on top of the half-conscious man, and blinked down at the hazy blue eyes. The moment froze still, Bryce’s uneven breathing taking the place of the air held in Ohm’s lungs. Nothing passed between them and Bryce’s eyes fluttered uncontrollably.
“Ohm,” he murmured, tongue heavy in his mouth. The hitman shook his head, unlatching the hand from his sweater and pulling back to stand up straight. He felt soft as he did nothing to stop Bryce from winding their fingers together, and just bent down slightly to examine his leg.
The pocket knife sliced through the pant leg easily, tearing it halfway down his thigh to ripping it off completely.
The wound was clean, fortunately, and Ohm had taken care of his own fair share of bullet wounds over the years. He spent ten minutes stitching and patching as well as he could before tapping two bloody fingers to Bryce’s cheek. The blonde flinched back, eyes blinking wide and alert. Seeing Ohm so close he melted almost instantly. Thoughtlessly, he reached up to scratch at the spot Ohm had touched, leaving a big red streak on his cheek.
Blue eyes dropped to the large bandage on his leg and he swallowed thickly. He cleared his throat a few times, unable to form words.
“Don’t push yourself,” Ohm told him, patting his shoulder lightly. “You’re going to be tired, sore and out of it for a while.” He popped a few painkillers onto his hand and grabbed a water bottle. “Open.” The blonde complied, allowing the pills to be dropped onto his tongue, and swallowing the water that nudged his lips.
Ohm tried to pretend he didn’t linger by Bryce’s side for a few extra seconds, before he dragged himself to the other side of the car and returned to the driver’s seat. They were far from safe still, and needed to get somewhere else a long way away from there.
Paradise.
The thought popped into his mind and ignited several other thoughts and ideas. Paradise sounded perfect, but that meant sharing paradise with Bryce, likely for a long time if Bryce had nowhere else to go. But that wasn’t awful, even though he was a pain - Ohm could get used to him. Although, he might not actually want to be a part of Ohm’s life anymore. He probably wanted to go home, to return to his family and finish college and get a job and a wife or husband.
Ohm was just a hitman. He was a man with blood on his hands and attachment issues - a man no one wanted to be around. Bryce shouldn’t either.
I’ll ask him when he wakes up, he thought to himself. He wondered what answer he actually wanted to hear, whether he hoped the blonde would join him or go back to New York. He couldn’t help but feel mildly disappointed in himself when the idea of living alone seemed so lonely.
It had been less than a fortnight since he’d been living comfortably all by himself, but it felt like it had been months. Going back to such a life didn’t seem so simple, or enjoyable.
-
When Bryce came to, he noticed a few things. Firstly, he was in a car and it was moving - nothing different to the past week. Secondly, there was no light behind his eyes. Wherever he was was dark, or the daylight just wasn’t hitting his face. Thirdly, his whole right leg was throbbing.
His eyes felt glued shut and his throat clogged with sleep. Soft music played from whatever radio was being used. It was nice music, his music.
“Bryce?” The familiar voice of his smuggler filtered into his blurry thoughts and with more effort than necessary, he unstuck and opened his eyes a crack. When his head swung to the side, he took in the forest around them and the twilight it bathed in. Dark grey eyes watched him with a calmness that replicated itself in the melody around them. “You awake?”
The blonde nodded slowly, licking his lips and clearing his throat a few times. A few seconds after the affirming nod, his head lolled back towards the window and he fell back out on consciousness.
The brunette huffed a laugh, shaking his head and making a turn. He’d been driving for two days, having had a three hour break at one point a long while ago. Bryce had woken every few hours, dropping in and out, never saying much other than possibly murmuring “Ryan” or “Ohm”. The man himself would never admit to smiling when it happened, or feeling any sort of warm fuzzy feelings because that would be utterly ridiculous and he wasn’t a fifteen year old girl.
Once or twice a day, he’d nudge the twenty-two year old awake and push the opening of a water bottle between his lips, possibly a painkiller with it for the times he woke crying, or twitching with the pain from his leg. Ohm had redone the bandaging hours ago and although he was still pale and mostly unconscious, he wasn’t getting worse.
They were finally at the north most area of USA, entering Michigan (unrelatedly heading for their fake identities’ home). They found themselves in a little town, and Ohm booked them both a hotel room.
Bryce woke fairly easily, eyes flickering open and a yawn escaping his lips before he even realised what was going on. “Where are we?” fell out of his lips without thinking much of it as the brunette got to his side of the car. Bryce looked around and after a moment added, “How long have I been out?”
“Two days now,” Ohm said, examining the bandaging tenderly. “Careful, swing your legs around. I’m gonna help you out and we’ll get a room for a few days.”
The first time he moved his wounded leg was agonizing. His whole body twitched and he gasped when his vision went bright white. Ohm’s voice brought him back, hands on his upper arms and cold silver eyes once ice, now snow. “You’re okay, just breathe.”
Swallowing down the whimpers of pain, Bryce nodded. He could feel the wound oozing blood once again and refused to look down. Seeing red bandages would only make him feel sick.
He focused his concentration on getting out of the car, allowing himself to slide down and stand on his left leg. His right leg remained bent off the ground, and he ignored the throbbing pain.
Ohm watched him carefully, instantly linking an arm around his low back and pulling Bryce’s over his shoulder. The less stress on the wound meant less bleeding and faster healing. Once out of the car he helped Bryce into some baggy pants. Taking it very slowly, he lead the man to the lobby and booked a room out for a week. He then asked if they had crutches seeing as his friend had “rolled his ankle” and needed help moving around.
Thankfully, the receptionist provided a pair and he helped Bryce fit them under his arms before reluctantly stepping back. When he stumbled the first step, the brunette was ready to grab his arm and hold him upright.
He stopped himself when Bryce ground out a strained, “I got it.” and hobbled the rest of his way to the elevator under the cautious watch of silver eyes.
The owner of the silver eyes followed him in, pressing a button and allowing the doors to close. Each second that passed between them grew tension like vines and by the time Bryce was dragging himself out into a hall, he was nibbling on his bottom lip.
The sound of their footsteps and the key turning in the lock was all that rung through the hall and when the door finally clicked shut behind them, Bryce located a couch and dropped the crutches to the floor. The material sunk under his weight and he welcomed the comfort. He welcomed the ease and tried not to focus on the heavy pain in his leg.
It was difficult.
He listened to the brunette clink around in their little half-kitchen. Listened as the kettle whistled and the cabinets opened and shut loudly. He paid attention to his hearing and not his leg. He paid attention to Ohm.
When a body sunk down beside him on the couch and a steaming mug was pushed into his frozen fingers, he blinked up at silver eyes that stayed locked onto the scratched coffee table.
Silence settled between them and Bryce couldn’t tell whether it was tense or calming. He couldn’t tell whether to sit upright or relax back and resorted to just sipping the hot chocolate which he half-expected to be tea or coffee.
He wasn’t complaining.
“What now?” The words spilt into his cup and he watched the last of the cocoa flakes melt into the heated milk.
Ohm watched him, silence filling his mouth. He replaced it with hot chocolate and lifted his eyes to the unwashed blonde hair. Words were heavy in his lungs and he didn’t have the effort to remove them to make space for oxygen. He just watched as Bryce sipped at the liquids and tried not to adore the way his eyelashes kissed at the skin above his cheekbones.
“Ohm?” A reminder that the blonde was expecting some sort of response.
“I said you can call me ‘Ryan’, Bryce.” The response was not particularly the one he was aiming to receive but he met Ohm’s gaze with eyes of surprise. They wore hesitance and caution but “Ryan” only nodded in confirmation.
Still, he let his eyes drop before he repeated the name. “What now, Ryan?”
Ohm didn’t like giving people choices. It was a selfish habit, but having to plan around other people’s decisions only took extra effort he didn’t care to have.
Sickeningly, he had the effort for Bryce. “I can take you back to New York, you can… live I guess.” He hated talking normally. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t enjoyable, it only made him anxious to get moving. Talking felt like a waste of time, but it was necessary. He didn’t know what he wanted, and maybe if Bryce did, things would be simpler for the both of them. “I’m going to buy a house around here somewhere, likely outside of town and away from everything. I have the money and I… I’m not going back into the city.”
Bryce watched the stoic expression flicker only slightly. He barely noticed and even when he did, he couldn’t decipher its meaning. Ohm wouldn’t open up for a long time, if ever. Bryce couldn’t deny he wanted to know how he would, what he was like in his core. He wanted to understand him as Ryan and perhaps so did Ohm himself. He wanted to be a person, instead of a hitman. Ryan, instead of Ohm.
“There is… space for you—“ the ex-hitman licked his lips, struggling to find words that matched his thoughts, “—if you want it… But that’s probably stupid to you and you have a family and college to go back to, it’s just an offer if you…” He couldn’t find anymore, but the blonde understood.
It was an offer. A very different offer for a life that would be very different to his very normal college life.
“I don’t know if I want to go back.” The words began flowing, quite the opposite to Ohm in that Bryce had too many. He didn’t know which ones to pick from or where to start or how to show the brunette what he really meant. “My family are always my family, but I can’t go back and live with them. Ralph’s gone and if I ever saw him again…” He chose against continuing that train of thought and moved on. “College is… money I don’t have by myself. I don’t… I wouldn’t want to… If you want me...”
It was difficult for the both of them. A mind of nothing but boxed thoughts and emotions, and a mind of crammed words and never-ending thoughts too tangled to understand.
The lightest of silences settled between them and Bryce continued sipping until his cup made a home on the coffee table. His blue eyes lifted and dragged silver attention.
“If you want me around, I’ll stay.”
He knew just as well as Ohm did that something was there. They didn’t like each other, they weren’t ‘besties’, they definitely weren’t in love. To be blunt, they both were fairly battered and bruised. They had pieces missing, pieces that were impossible to replace, but pieces that could be filled with the presence of others.
Maybe they could help each other out. Maybe they could find some sort of peace.
“I can tolerate you,” Ohm admitted, taking the mug from the table and standing. He threw a soft look over his shoulder, not missing the little smile on Bryce’s lips as he added, “if you clean up after yourself.”
He disappeared from the room and Bryce caught his own smile, a relieved exhale washing the fear of rejection from his lungs. It amused him as he thought about Ohm. The actions of “lightening the mood” were ones the blonde would never think the ex-hitman was capable of. He eased his weight onto his good leg, snatched up his crutches and hobbled after his partner.
Leaning against the doorway, he watched the muscled man rinse the cups with a small smile. “I will if you make sure my leg doesn’t fall off - I’m quite fond of it still attached to my hip.” The joking in his voice got a sideways glance and a small huff of laughter.
It was enough to have Bryce grinning and he felt a heavy determination build in his chest. A determination to learn who Ryan is. A determination to understand little quirks about him, to see what he could find. A determination to break down the wall of ice he hid behind and see what warmth he kept locked down in chains.
“We’ll see how much you bug me,” Ohm bit out, the smallest bit of playfulness tweaking at his voice.
He had a thick shell to break out of and Bryce promised himself that he’d be the one to cause the cracks.
First: Prologue
Previous: Twenty
Next: Epilogue
Heyy, we’re pretty much done! This is the end of the story, ignoring the two short epilogue pieces (I’ll post them in an hour or so, probably less). I’ll leave a message on the bottom of them about what’s going on n shit.
But this is such a relief to post
gi
#brohm#brohm fic#brohm fanfic#bbs#bbs fic#bbs fanfic#fic#fanfic#hitman!ohmwrecker#stockholm syndrome#it's a package deal#its a package deal#twenty-one#twenty one#ahhh!H!H LAST CHAPTER#last chapter
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It’s A Package Deal - Fifteen
The hitman let his captive sleep for two hours extra after he woke at sunrise. He ignored the waking world behind the old curtains, and tried not to focus on the sound of the younger man breathing a few metres away. Instead, he tried to pay attention to small tasks, like packing bags. He never bothered to clean rented rooms before but did so to avoid thinking.
After an hour of standing and sitting, and letting his leg bounce with constant thoughts and concerns, he grit his teeth and left the motel. His hands hid from the cold in worn pockets and his body reluctantly shuffled down the road to the car hire.
Standing right beside the heater, he spoke to an elderly man with short sharp sentences. His mind circulated the still-sleeping blonde with every word, every step, every nod of the head before he was handed keys and lead out to a five seater car. He paid, got in, and drove from the garage back around to the motel.
Bryce was sitting up in his bed when Ohm returned to their room. He looked deep in thought and it took him a few tired moments to pull his eyes from the carpet to the man standing in the doorway. A little smile lifted his lips – of thanks or welcome, Ohm couldn’t tell.
He didn’t want thanks but instinctively nodded his way, collecting the bags by the door. “Come on, we need to get the car ready and go.” His voice was too soft. His words were too gentle. They tapped the blonde’s cheek and shook off whatever tiredness hung in bags under his eyes.
The hitman turned away, an unknown feeling of dread curling around his lungs. He couldn’t be nice. He shouldn’t be nice. He had to be cruel, and cold, and remind Bryce that he was still just a hitman, he was still just a gunman.
He rolled his shoulders and turned away. “Lock the door and come out in five minutes.”
His feet lead him to the doorway only to be stopped against his will.
“Ryan?” He couldn’t help the way he flinched, squeezing his eyes shut. He shouldn’t have told him. He was an idiot to tell him. “Thank you.” Bryce’s words were too soft, too shy, too scared of being broken. Too trusting. He used the wrong name, he said the wrong words – Ohm couldn’t stand it.
His teeth hurt from how hard he clenched his jaw and he forced out a short, “Don’t thank me,” before he removed himself from the room. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about Bryce. Don’t.
The guilt pooled in his footsteps as he walked away. Guilt of snapping at the man, guilt of feeling guilty over foolish things, guilt of still thinking about him as he opened up the back of both cars side by side. It added extra weight to the bags over his shoulders and they fell like bricks to the back of the seats.
His body fell into autopilot, putting the back three seats forward to expand the space of the boot. He moved bags of clothes, boxes of foods, three cases containing firepower, boxes of files with details about his previous and current targets. He moved everything into the new car before another presence appeared beside him.
Bryce looked over the new, untouched car. It looked pristine and perfect alongside their black cruiser. He felt like they’d at least look like relatively casual tourists in the loaned car rather than with their shot-out windshield and run down tires.
He set himself to work pulling stuff from the front of one car and replacing it in the other, unable to draw his close attention away from Ohm’s movements. Ryan’s movements. His own movements. The way he moved instinctively closer to the older man, how he made sure to brush against him when they passed, how he listened to his footsteps, and his heavy exhales behind the thin grey bandana. How he watched long fingers run through brown hair.
The blonde couldn’t concentrate on anything that didn’t involve the hitman and he didn’t know why.
“That everything?” Bryce asked, eyes on Ohm as he used one arm to yank the boot door down and shut. Grey glanced at him, a short nod and feet striding to the driver’s door. Bryce hesitated a moment before following suit and getting into the passenger seat. He thoughtlessly crossed his legs and settled back.
Ohm didn’t say anything to the blonde.
Driving. That was what he had to focus on. Drive out of the motel carpark. Drive out of the town. Drive out of the state. Drive to LA. Drive home.
Home put a fowl taste on his tongue. His secluded apartment, all big windows and luxurious carpets. Money thrown away for the sake of spending. Spending careless and thoughtless and mindless. Home was just a pile of money he slept in, ate up, bathed in. Home was just bundles of cash splattered with blood and tears of innocent people killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Innocent people killed for getting caught up in the wrong situations, falling in love with the wrong people, taking a bullet for the wrong guys.
People like Bryce.
For a moment, he let a question wander through his mind: Would you accept a bundle of money stained in Bryce’s blood? He didn’t know whether answering “yes”, or “no”, was worse and harshly slammed a door on the thought in his head.
“Err, Ryan?”
Ohm closed his eyes, turning his face slightly away so Bryce couldn’t see the way he grimaced at the use of his name. A name that hadn’t been used in many years. The name of a man Ohm no longer recognised.
It was only something family ever called him. Old friends in high school, a few exes here and there, possibly even a few who stuck around long enough to earn titles of “best friends”. The name was allowed by those Ohm used to love, those Ohm treasured and wished he could have protected. People he would have done anything and everything for if only he had a second chance at things.
His name on Bryce’s tongue was not right. He would not do anything for Bryce. He did not treasure Bryce. He did not love or want to protect Bryce.
Bryce did not deserve his name on his tongue.
Ohm did not deserve to hear his name on anyone’s tongue.
“What?” The words in his head were snappier than the one that left his mouth and he bared his teeth at his window. He couldn’t be nice and gentle and soft. Kissing meant absolutely nothing. It didn’t mean he liked Bryce. It didn’t mean Bryce liked him. It didn’t mean they were about to run away and live together on beach and sleep under the stars – that wasn’t how this life worked.
It wasn’t how he wanted it to work either.
All he wanted, all he ever wanted, was to be alone, and away from the rest of the world. That how he liked it. That was how he’d live.
“When will we get to Los Angeles?”
The hitman glanced at the blonde, slight surprise in his eyes. He wasn’t expecting such a low tone in his voice, not expecting to feel the sorrow of his mood drip down the walls of the new car. He didn’t expect to feel it slam against his own ribs.
In response, he only thought to shrug. “Tomorrow.”
Short, not very sharp, it was enough. Bryce fell back into silence.
He was going insane. His mind was tangled and racing, thoughts blurring around behind his eyes. The silence was suffocating and the blonde couldn’t bear it for long. He needed to speak, or listen to the radio, or listen to someone else speak.
He needed to say something. “What’s your favourite animal?” What a dumb question…
Ohm shot him a blank look. His brow was raised and his eyes reluctantly curious. When they met Bryce’s, he couldn’t help but notice the confliction in them. Confliction of irritation and humour, arrogance and curiosity. He didn’t care, he didn’t want to care, he couldn’t help caring.
Bryce just didn’t want silence.
“Cats.” His voice didn’t give anything away and Bryce wasn’t surprised. The man had spent years in hiding, years killing and hunting and being robotically emotionless – he wasn’t readable, he didn’t let himself be readable.
Bryce turned his little smile to the dashboard. “I like cats too. I had two with my family before I moved out. I really wanted a dog but my brother hates dogs. He’s also allergic to the fur.”
Ohm willed himself to keep his lips pursed and tried to put more of his focus on the road but he struggled to let anything else into his thoughts other than the soft voice. A voice telling him things he didn’t need to know, things he didn’t want to know. He had to block Bryce out, there wasn’t anything he could do for him, there wasn’t anything he could say to him. The man was a lost cause driving towards Death and Ohm was to do nothing but help him get there.
He couldn’t get attached to a package.
“Did you ever have pets, Ryan?” Bryce’s voice had gained strength over the long minutes of boring driving and little snippets of one-sided conversation. Ohm could still here the strain. The strain and fear of what was to come but desperation for some kind of simple comfort.
Simple comfort he searched for in him. Simple comfort he found in small touches. Simple comfort he found in a kiss. Simple comfort he pleaded for in words.
Ohm shook his head lightly. “Just call me ‘Ohm’, McQuaid.” His voice was jagged. It was wavering on the edge of a blade and not quite as sharp as he wished it to be. He had to be sharp. He had to have edge. He had to be cold.
Bryce swallowed his words.
His blue eyes slid to Ohm’s figure, confused. The cold eyes didn’t look at him. The pursed lips were clothed and hidden. Ohm hadn’t called him by McQuaid in ages. He hadn’t worn the bandana for a while either, especially not in the car with Bryce. He didn’t usually care, the blonde had assumed, so why now?
And Bryce didn’t understand why he couldn’t just call him by his real name. So he asked, “Why? Ryan is your name, I’m not doing any harm.” He much preferred calling the brunette by his real name. His true name. His name that made him a person, not just a hitman. It gave him a heart, a childhood, parents, a school life – it made him a real person. It gave him thoughts and feelings and humane qualities that he otherwise refused to reveal.
Bryce liked to try and forget he was a hitman, liked to try and pretend he was just a guy. He found it easier that way.
“Because I said so,” Ohm bit out, turning and snapping at the blonde with exactly the sharp tone he was searching for. Blue eyes flashed with fear for just a moment before flaring with irritation as the older man continued. He jabbed his own chest with a finger. “I’m in charge—“ he jabbed the finger against Bryce’s chest, “—you listen to me, got it?” The snarl that curled around his words infuriated Bryce.
Why did he have to be such a dick? Without thinking, he snapped back. He didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t bother him, or go against him – he called him by a damn name. “What’s your problem today!?” The words were nasty and he spat them from his tongue with stubborn arrogance. Foolish arrogance. Arrogance no one should have around a man with a reputation and a gun.
Ohm grit his teeth, slamming on the breaks and turning the car hard. It skidded for a moment, stopping half on empty road and he twisted in his chair. His silver eyes burned with emotion, with fury, locked onto the expression of shock. He reached a hand up and yanked his bandana down off his face. His snarl was visible and the fire in Bryce’s crystal blues wavered. He didn’t have time to back out or take back his jab before words were flying.
“You!” the hitman barked and Bryce flinched back away from the pointed finger. “You are my fucking problem. You calling me Ryan, asking me questions, telling me dumb shit about your dumb life that I could not care less about. I don’t care about you. I don’t care about your life. Your life is done, McQuaid, it’s over.” The words dug through Bryce with needles. Sharp pins dug deep inside his chest, his stomach, his throat. He lost his voice, he lost his anger, he lost his breath. He could only stare at the erupting volcano of snark and disgust. “You think this is all just a fun little road-trip, a little get-to-know-each-other adventure? Wanna pull over here and make some daisy chains? Would that be fun!? Wanna be best-fucking-friends, Brycey!?”
The blonde had pressed his back almost completely to the door behind him. His eyes were open wide and he watched the anger burn in flames before him. Every word bit into him, pelted at him like bullets and attached to him like staples.
Ohm was on fire. His skin was crawling with furious energy. His vision tinted red, his heart was thumping in his head; he couldn’t stop now. He had too much to say, too much to get out of his lungs. The softness was gone, the gentle kindness no longer existed – he was bubbling with rage.
“I’m a hitman,” he spat, his tongue tasting fowl. He was shaking with anger and the bitter taste of his title made a growl grumble low in his throat. “I kill people. I get paid to kill people. I am getting paid to kill you. I don’t have feelings. I don’t have morals. I don’t care for anything, especially not anyone, especially not you.”
His nostrils flared and the car was suddenly too small. Too small for him, too small for Bryce, too small for his anger, his gun, his bullets.
“You’re a business deal!” he shouted, pressing closer. He was leaning across the console, pushing into Bryce’s space and forcing him back completely against the window and door. He couldn’t look anywhere but Ohm’s snarl. His fingers clutched the cloth of his jumper with white knuckles. “You are twenty five thousand dollars. You’re an expensive package being delivered to be killed by a group of rich gang members. You are going to die, McQuaid. You’re going to die because of your dickhead little boyfriend. You are going to die because of me. Don’t think I give a shit. Don’t think I care in the slightest about your dumb life, and your dumb questions. Just shut the fuck up and call me ‘Ohm’.”
First: Prologue
Previous: Fourteen
Next: Sixteen
:D
#ok im really sorry#i felt bad writing this chapter#but i also dont#i hope it hurts#brohm#brohm fic#brohm fanfic#fic#fanfic#bbs fic#bbs fanfic#hitman!ohmwrecker#stockholm syndrome#it's a package deal#its a package deal#fifteen
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It’s A Package Deal - Fourteen
Ohm was a smart man. He lived a separated life. He knew how to avoid people, he knew how to hunt people, he knew how to kill people and he knew how to deal with quick thinking situations.
Even with all his experience, he had no idea what to do in that motel room. Bryce had cried for a long time. He’d sobbed into Ohm’s shoulder for at least ten minutes before peeling away. He never looked up from the ground. He allowed himself to be nudged in the direction of the bathroom and reappeared after a long shower, a fresh face with sunken eyes and split lips. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t cry anymore – Ohm didn’t think he had the energy.
Instead he yanked off his shirt, crawled into bed and turned to face the wall as soon as Ohm locked the handcuffs in place.
The light went out. Neither spoke.
The night swallowed them.
Bryce’s mind was consumed by dreams the moment darkness flooded their room. His cried-out eyes were exhausted, and he had no possible chance of remaining awake. His head was heavy, his body was heavy – everything was heavy and he didn’t have the strength to hold himself up any longer.
So he succumbed to the unconscious world.
All he heard was the phone call. His ex-lover’s words drawing happenings behind his eyelids. Ralph holding a gun to his head. Ralph holding a knife to his throat. Ralph shoving him back off bridges, off buildings. Locking him in dark rooms, leaving him out in the rain. Giving him to a group of faceless men himself.
There was nothing more painful. Nothing more agonising.
Ohm didn’t sleep. He skimmed the very top of his own dream world, slipping in and out of brief visions of nothing. He couldn’t recall much other than his well-loved paradise, Bryce’s corpse, and an empty hand.
His paradise wasn’t supposed to come with a hollowed out feeling of loneliness. The trees weren’t supposed to sway with guilt. The birds weren’t supposed to sound so full of sorrow. The bodies weren’t supposed to already be dead. His hands weren’t supposed to be empty.
He blinked the dreams away and woke when the moon was high. The sounds of Bryce murmuring caught his ears, mercilessly wrenching him from the weak sleep he’d been trying to make the most of.
He was ready to launch a pillow over there to get him to shut up before he realised the blonde wasn’t sleep talking and was in fact calling his name. He pretended to sleep for a few more moments of silence before his name was called again. Seemingly, the blonde wasn’t about to give up and go back to sleep.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” he slurred, barely awake.
Ohm debated grabbing his gun from the bedside table and silencing him with a bullet, because it was so fucking early and he could not care less about Bryce’s needs. He settled for prolonged silence, a more civil option. Unfortunately, no amount of pretending to sleep shut the man up and he huffed a loud sigh before rolling over. “Do you have to?” he snarled, far too tired to be vicious at all.
Bryce just hummed a sleepy affirmation, his upright form silhouetted in the darkness of the room. He was slightly swaying and the older of the two almost expected him to just collapse forward. It probably would have been amusing, and may have even knocked the man out.
But that was just wishful thinking.
The handcuffs were cold when Ohm unlocked them, cold like the night around him, itching at his feet. He was very aware of the previous evening. How Bryce had collapsed into bed with the exhaustion of giving up. He’d seen it in the blonde’s eyes that hid below long eyelashes. No more hope, no more chance - he was already dead and there wasn’t anything Ohm could say to convince him otherwise.
He’d just be lying.
As soon as the blonde was freed, he rubbed his wrist and stood. Nightmares had plagued his every sleeping moment and he was even more lethargic than he had been when he’d fallen into bed hours earlier.
It was just blackness and words. Ralph’s words. Harsh, cutting words that threaded blades through his body like needle and thread. His eyes were stinging and his pillow was damp.
Making his way to the toilet, he didn’t interact with the hitman any more than a small “thanks”. Every step was more effort than the last and he debated giving up all together, wondering if his body would let him pass out on the rough carpet. Once behind a locked door, he had to refrain from hitting himself because did Ohm really deserve thanks for anything?
Bryce didn’t have enough energy to think about it, not enough to put into hating him.
He honestly had half a mind to fall back into the brunette’s arms and sob to him rather than to his dreadful nightmares. It would do nothing for him, unfortunately. So he did his business and returned to his bedside, where Ohm sat with the cuffs in his hands.
Bryce watched him for a moment. The man looked like a statue, looked dead. He was still other than little movements like his breathing and his hands. He watched his finger twirl the little device around, locking it and unlocking it, making it wider, making it smaller. He caught Ohm’s gaze, watching him come back from where he was staring out into nothingness, thoughts clouding his grey eyes. He watched them slide over to his wobbling form, look over him with a blankness Bryce couldn’t read.
His feet dragged him to the bed, his fingers finding one ring of cold metal connected to another hooked in Ohm’s fingers, pulling it towards him loosely only to watch Ohm tighten his hold. Bryce sat. The bed creaked. His eyes lifted from the dim metal, only barely able to see through the fog of darkness that shrouded the room. He tugged again, focussing his energy to lift his head and meet Ohm’s silver gaze which traced his features with a lazy curiosity. A bored wonder.
Silence hummed between them, empty of tension or irritation. It was light, soft, and cradled their minds. It understood their instability, their brokenness, their loneliness. It curled around each of them, around both of them, held them close in one another’s space.
Bryce felt the cuffs tug back, a strong pull dragging his hands from his lap, towards Ohm. Through sleep and lack of thought, he allowed his body to follow, pressing forwards. Numbly, he found Ohm’s prickly jaw with tentative fingertips, and found his chapped lips with his own.
The hitman’s lips felt like fire against Bryce’s. They were freezing, and boiling, making his own cold lips tingle. His body pressed forwards further, their legs caught between them and bodies twisted. It was awkward and clumsy and Bryce leant at an uncomfortable angle.
Ohm’s mind followed his body as he released the cuffs, hands reaching forward to curve around Bryce’s hips. The cuffs fell to the ground, a forgotten, soundless thud. A hand slipped up the back of his neck and threaded through his hair, a pressure that made his skin fizz.
Hands found the blonde’s hips, pulling him up and allowing him to shift his legs. His lips pulled back slightly, arranging himself with Ohm’s breath on his eyelashes until he was sitting on the hitman’s lap. They paused for a moment, breathing each other in through deep breaths. Their fronts together, arms around Bryce’s back, hands on Ohm’s face and in his hair. Their breathing was warm and lazy.
And then they were kissing again. The night draped around them like an invisibility cloak, hiding them from the world, hiding them from logic and rationality. Just two bodies, two hearts, both jagged and shattered and missing several pieces, but able to find a temporary comfort within each other. A temporary attachment.
An attachment Bryce couldn’t understand for the Hell of him, but couldn’t fight. “Ohm.” The name slipped from his lips like liquid, dripping onto the hitman’s tongue. Words followed, water slipping through his fingers. “I’m sorry.”
His voice was weak, exhaustingly heavy with sleep but desperate to clutch the moment in his fingers and not let go. Desperate for the tight hold Ohm had on him, arms locked like chains around his body. The words had those arms tightening further, flushing Bryce’s body to his and enveloping Ohm in the warmth. His mind was a blur, only able to absorb little things. Little things like how Bryce’s hand dropped from his jaw to his shoulder. How it slipped a bit further, grasping onto his bicep as though letting go would throw him back into the abyss. Ohm held him in place, kept him on Earth, in their little motel room, in his tired mind.
He could only focus on little things. “Call me ‘Ryan’.” He couldn’t even hear his own voice, his throat rumbling being the only feeling he was aware of other than the burning hold on his arm and the lips that reconnected with his, moving with an incredible strength of trust, and dependency.
Dependency that didn’t make sense, trust that was completely foolish, but Bryce did not care. He could not care. He was too tired, too hollow, too heavy with that awful feeling of mourning.
All he wanted was to do what he wanted. And he just wanted comfort, no matter how foolish it was.
So he tugged at Ohm’s hair, lips pulling back and pressing forward, teeth nipping at lips, tongues skimming over lips, delving into forbidden territories, dancing around one another with purposeful little touches.
“I’m sorry, Ryan,” he corrected himself, a mere murmur against the other’s lips. He felt something relax within him, the sound of a different name on his tongue, an honest name. A name that belonged to a person who did bad things. A person who was just a person. A person doing good things.
Ohm grunted, the name making his chest constrict and fingers curl into fists behind the younger man’s back as he sealed their lips together once again. He shouldn’t like how much his name sounded on someone else’s tongue, on Bryce’s tongue in particular. It sounded wrong, but perfect and awful. Ohm realised in his sleepy mind that this little attachment would come to cause quite the problem if they continued down the path they were venturing towards.
He, like the blonde in his arms, could not find the energy to care. He couldn’t find the energy to remove his arms, to stand up, to remove himself from a bliss he’d not experienced in countless years. He allowed himself to drown in the pulsing harmony that seemed to spread from any part of him that Bryce’s skin touched.
They stayed like that. Unable to get any closer. Unable to move apart. Unable to talk, think or move other than Bryce carding his fingers through soft brown hair and Ohm drawing little swirls on Bryce’s back with his index finger.
When Bryce could no longer shake his mind awake, and had to put his complete focus on keeping his lungs working, he dragged his bottom lip from between Ohm’s teeth and allowed his head to fall heavily onto his shoulder. His breath washed over Ohm’s neck and the brunette slowly drew his hands out from behind him. He supported the blonde by his hips, easing him back onto the bed and putting any lasting energy into standing.
Already half asleep, Bryce clumsily shoved his legs under the blankets and Ohm tugged them up over his chest. He dropped a blunt look to the handcuffs on the ground, half kicked beneath the bed. He left them there, moving towards his cold mattress only to be stopped by fingers grasping his.
Swinging his head back, he met blue in the darkness, seeing broken pieces, and hollow remorse. He cradled the other’s gaze in his, a quietened part of him begging to hold Bryce’s face in his hands and kiss him until the pieces fell back into place.
Instead, he nodded, a silent “Sleep,” hanging purposeless in the air. Bryce’s hand dropped away from his and he climbed back into his own bed, not knowing how he would be able to walk him up that staircase in hand cuffs and count out fifteen bundles of money right in front of him.
First: Prologue
Previous: Thirteen
Next: Fifteen
Here ya go! It’s a bit shorter than the last one but I think you’ll like it! I’m not super good with romance but it’s supposed to be quite emotional as well because they’re not in love and they have a confusing relationship.
It’s not going to be all sunshine and rainbows from here either so enjoy the sweetness while it’s here <3
Lemme know what you think!
gi
#brohm#brohm fic#brohm fanfic#bbs#bbs fic#bbs fanfic#stockholm syndrome#brohm kiss#fic#fanfic#hitman!ohmwrecker#it's a package deal#its a package deal#fourteen
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It’s A Package Deal - Seventeen
Bryce felt hollow. No matter how many slices of stale bread he stuffed himself with (four and a half) he couldn’t fill the emptiness within him. The food was sickly going down his throat, the air was sickly filtering into his lungs, everything he touched felt sickly. He was too afraid to ask if he could wind down the window.
After ten minutes of letting his food sit and pretending to not be hyper-aware of Ohm breathing beside him, he huffed a small exhale. His fingers shyly opened the door beside him, eyes on his hands.
Ohm looked up from his phone. Bryce didn’t make the mistake of looking him in the eye. “What are you doing?” His voice was blank, devoid of emotion or energy. He didn’t let his curiosity shine through and Bryce wouldn’t have seen it even if he did.
“I just need some fresh air,” he murmured. I just need to get out of this damn car. “I’m feeling ill.” I want to go home.
The silence that circled him, lifted his chin and his blue eyes timidly met Ohm’s. He showed no emotion, whatever thoughts he dwelled on completely shielded from public view. After a long minute of Bryce glancing up and back and up and back, unsure whether to just close his door and deal with it or wait any longer for a response, Ohm finally dipped his head in a nod. His gaze reluctantly returned to his device.
There wasn’t any real harm that could come from the blonde stepping out of the car, he could watch exactly what the blonde did from where he sat. Plus, he could understand how stuffy the small car was becoming. As the door shut behind the other man, he thoughtlessly wound down his own window and breathed the fresh evening air in deeply. He couldn’t decide whether he loved the taste of that more, or the taste of the cigarette he placed between his lips.
His lungs filled with and emptied of the hazy substance and his eyes followed Bryce as he hopped up onto the hood of the car and rested back against the windshield. He stayed to his side as far as he could away from the hitman and Ohm turned his head to release the smoke outside the car.
The glass was cold against Bryce’s back and he closed his eyes to block out the setting sun. The fresh air washed over him like water. He breathed in deeply, feeling his lungs fill with the purity of open space and environment. His second lungful of air tasted of cigarette smoke and he let it linger in his throat. He didn’t know whether the taste made him feel comfortable and calm, or anxious and exhausted.
All it reminded him of was the way his companion’s sweater smelt twenty-four hours prior – cigarette smoke and salt.
A part of him told him it was stupid to hold the taste of second-hand smoke on his tongue for a few seconds longer than he normally would and he couldn’t find the energy to try and think why he did so. He couldn’t find the energy to care much about it at all.
The next day he’d be handcuffed and left in the hands of faceless criminals who would likely find humour in the way he’d plead for his life. In his eyes, there was no reason left to care about anything. There never had been.
For the umpteenth time he grit his jaw and glared at the insides of his eyelids, not wanting to wonder why he ever thought there was because he feared what his answer would be. He let his thoughts settle as he hung onto the smell of smoke-polluted air, and his head rest back against the glass. Whatever warmth the sun had bathed him in no longer touched his skin as the coolness of dusk caressed his cheeks.
He didn’t let himself cry again. He couldn’t. He’d cried too much and it meant absolutely nothing. Crying now only made him angry. Everything made him distressed, and his distress made him angry, and his anger made him hateful. He found himself gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, and couldn’t decide whether he hated himself more than Ralph or Ohm.
Said hitman realised his thoughtful staring had become glaring as his internal anger at himself channelled onto Bryce. No matter what he tried to think about, it always came back to how much he hated his job, how much he hated his actions, how much he hated everything about himself. He never knew anything but hatred, manipulation and how to correctly kill someone. He liked to think he never needed to know anything else. That was the easiest way.
He blinked himself back to the present, unbeknownst to how much time had passed away with his thoughts. It had been long enough clearly as Bryce had had enough of the fresh air and had dragged himself around to the passenger seat door. Ohm watched him carelessly as he quietly seated himself and pulled the door shut beside him. His eyes stayed to his hands and he didn’t even sit in the centre of the chair.
Ohm put all of his mental energy into refraining from expressing his anger outwardly. The blonde aggravated him whether he said too much, or nothing at all. No matter what he was doing, how he was acting, what he was thinking – Bryce just pissed Ohm off and he couldn’t understand it. Presently, the hitman directed his glare away from the man and instead towards the darkening sky because why won’t he fucking look at me.
He almost wanted Bryce to get angry. Wanted him to hit him, to shout at him, to scream in his face about how much he fucking hated him. He wanted Bryce to tell him everything he told himself.
When he put his seat back, dropped his fag outside and wound up the window, he faced away and went to sleep to the memory of how the blonde’s hair smelt as he sobbed into Ohm’s shoulder. In his last few conscious moments, he struggled to decide whether he actually hated the smell, or whether he just told himself to hate it.
When Bryce curled up on his seat, he didn’t want to go to sleep. He feared what his unconscious mind would conjure up for him behind his eyelids. He no longer had an anchor. No family, no Ohm, no Ralph; not even himself.
Unfortunately, he could do nothing to stop his exhaustion and just sighed as he fell back into the void.
-
His void was shallow and he dropped in and out of his body in the car on the side of the road in Nevada all throughout the night. When the vehicle began rumbling below him, darkness still breathed heavily. The soft shuddering of the car roused his drowsy mind and he almost groaned aloud as his chance at limited sleep jumped from his reach and vanished altogether.
Ohm let the frozen engine run for a few moments, waking and warming up slowly. His fingers danced up and down the steering wheel in thought - he was wide awake and had had a simple empty sleep. No dreams. No paradise. No stress.
From beside him, Bryce shifted slightly. He’d woken up still plastered to the car door and upon his mind drifting back into the real world, it strived to find some sort of comfortable seating position. Ohm spared him a glance as he wriggled against the seat but snapped his gaze away in correction. He did not care.
His fingers found his phone and he glanced at the time. Thumbs tapped at the keys and he typed out a short message to an unnamed number.
I won’t be later than 0900, expect me.
As he replaced his phone in the console, the blonde beside him shifted again, rolling onto his back. His head fell to the side and he peered through long eyelashes at the hitman who clamped his teeth around his, “Go back to sleep,” choosing to avoid all interaction with the man from the start.
His hand shifted the gearstick and he pulled their small rental car back onto the road as the numbers on the digital clock flicked to 1:00am exactly. Bryce lay still, awake but dazed and obviously sleep deprived. Ohm tried so hard to focus on not thinking about him he ended up only thinking about him and had to refrain from digging his nails into his palm.
The radio screen glowed soft blue and he pressed a few buttons before settling back as soft music began to waft through the car. His seat held him comfortably and his eyes wandered over the uneven land. He strived for calmness despite his coiled posture and ignored any stress that tried desperately to drown him.
After Bryce eased his chair upright and fixed himself an apple for breakfast, he kept his eyes on the passing mountains. He ignored his thoughts, he ignored the driving, he ignored the hitman. It was just him passing through the mountains. His impending death sobbed in the back of his mind. He ignored the music. Ohm gave up waiting, giving up with irritating disappointment when the blonde didn’t hum along to the first song, or the second, or the third.
He gave up questioning his own disappointment, he gave up trying to decipher his own thoughts. He focused on the road, not the boring radio tunes and lack of Bryce’s voice.
-
Bryce’s finger tips navigated through the sketchbook slowly. They danced over old sketches and rubbed against the edges of thick paper. His eyes followed them, voicelessly falling in love with ink and lead over and over with each page turn.
It gave him something else to think about other than their next destination. Other than the hitman in the seat beside him. Other than his zero percent survival chance. Other than the crumbling remnants of what once was a perfect life.
He didn’t pick up his pencil, despite his fascination, and merely appreciated each sketch as it showed beneath the light of the early morning moon. It was a better alternative to thinking.
That he knew for sure.
The soft music shrouded him in a calmness his sketches also provided. The two worked with one another to remove the hitman from Bryce’s existence and to place him in a world of simplicity and contentment. They removed the blood. They removed the death. They removed the ex-boyfriend, the money, the business deal.
They removed all but himself.
As the darkness ebbed away, and the sun crawled up the east, it painted unmatchable colours across the sky and Bryce’s eyes lit up at the sight of them. He’d always loved sunrises. He never knew that they could look so beautiful away from New York and the polluted city. Away from home. Appreciate it, it’ll be the last time you’ll ever see the sun rise.
Once at the end of his sketchbook, he didn’t care much for it, slipping it back into his bag. It won’t ever be opened again. He fought away the thoughts and zipped up the backpack a bit harsher than he meant to. He didn’t look back up at the sky until all the colours had faded back to blue.
His thoughts nagged at him but he refused to let them wander, he knew where they would end up and he couldn’t be bothered, couldn’t find the energy to care. He busied himself with rummaging for a bag of food behind his chair, turning and pressing himself as tightly to the side of the passenger seat as he could. He didn’t wish to be close to Ohm. He knew Ohm wished to be nowhere near him. If it was the last he could do (likely), he didn’t want to irritate the man any further.
Retrieving a packet of biscuits, he twisted back and settled, ignoring the way his body instantly melted against the door. He didn’t pay mind to the glance Ohm shot him and whatever the hitman had been thinking was cut off as his phone vibrated.
Bryce glimpsed an unknown number before the device was picked up and the screen was hidden from his view. He felt sickness swell in his stomach. He clenched his jaw and turned away. He didn’t let himself think, didn’t let himself ponder - he ate his biscuits and watched the mountains roll past. By the time he’d counted seven big mountains, he passed out from pure exhaustion and fell slack and silent in his seat.
Ohm averted his gaze away from the closed blue eyes and forced his thoughts to follow. His phone screen glowed mockingly and he reluctantly flicked the message to the side and cleared it.
Five hours. Don’t be late.
He didn’t freak out - he wasn’t supposed to. He was cool, calm and collected. He had nothing to worry about. There was no reason to panic. It was just another business deal, it was just another pay check. He’d been to hundreds of finalising meetings, and spoken to hundreds of rich assholes.
There was nothing wrong. Nothing would go wrong.
He spared another glance at Bryce’s slack expression. His soft lips were parted slightly as he breathed in and out. His eyes fluttered back and forth, twitching with dreams. His skin was flushed slightly.
Ohm was rocked with an overwhelming feeling of: Fuck, I can’t do this.
He ducked his head instantly, forcefully slamming the thought out of a head with a nasty: I have to! He clenched and unclenched his fingers around the steering wheel, trying desperately to stay grounded in their car on the rural road, on their way to 25k.
On his way to 25k and on Bryce’s way to agony and death.
He uttered a small, “Fuck,” under his breath, feeling completely overwhelmed with confusion. He didn’t know what to do. He knew what he was supposed to do. He knew what was right. He knew what he’d always known when it came to business, and that was to never go back on a deal.
But this was no normal deal, this was Bryce. He wasn’t just a package like Ohm had told him so. He wasn’t just some murder case. He wasn’t just some freak accident on the news - a guy in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Ohm wasn’t supposed to not know what he was doing. Ohm wasn’t supposed to care.
But for some dumbass reason, he did and it terrified him.
First: Prologue
Previous: Sixteen
Next: Eighteen
k but how the fuck does queuing work because what i dont get it gkdjgbvdv
also i got it edited so why not post it now <3
I’ll probs post one more today before I leave becasue I don’t trust queuing stuff, and then the rest will come through next week or so <3 I’m probably not gonna give them out like once a week because that’s a wait and i cant be fucked when i can just post them all once a day and be done with it :)
hmu with feedback or questions or literally anything!
gi
#brohm#bbs#brohm fic#bbs fic#brohm fanfic#bbs fanfic#fic#fanfic#hitman!ohmwrecker#stockholm syndrome#seventeen#shits gonna get intense baby#ooooo#it's a package deal#its a package deal
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It’s A Package Deal - Nineteen
IMPORTANT - so this is the chapter some of you have already read and i’m so sorry about that, I missed c.18 because I was rushing and don’t check things because I’m dumb. So go read c.18 and then reread this or whatever, it’ll make way more sense.
Eighteen
“Bryce.” Ohm’s voice was low and hushed, unsure of who accompanied the black-eyed man into the unit. Dealing with armed idiots as well as a hyperventilating Bryce having a panic attack, was more than he could currently handle. “Bryce listen to me, you’re going to have a panic attack. Focus on my voice, okay?”
Bryce’s mind swirled, taking each word in and processing them individually. His wide blue eyes focussed on the man holding his arms in the darkness. He felt the cold tiles against the top of his feet and his knees, felt the other kneeling just in front of him. He gasped in another breath of musky air. “Of course I’m having a panic attack, I’m going to get killed,” he hissed between clamped teeth. “I’m going to be shot and taken and killed. They’re going to hurt me. They’re going to kill me. I’m dying, I’m dying, I’m dying…”
He wheezed as he tried to recover the oxygen his words consumed and Ohm’s hands slipped up to his shoulders. He squeezed lightly.
“Hey.” The gentleness of his voice slipped into Bryce’s lungs with dusty air and he felt his cramped body settle ever-so-slightly. It was different to the usual snapping or monotonous tones he used. It was nicer. “Focus on my voice. Take deeper breaths, you’ll be o—“
“I can’t,” Bryce whimpered, his breathing getting faster and shorter and emptier and- “I need something else. I can’t… I can’t breathe… I need… fuck…”
Ohm raised a hand to Bryce’s cheek, squeezing his shoulder again and holding him there. He could just make out the glimmer of distress and fear in his oceanic eyes. He didn’t like it. “Focus on me.” The words were out of his mouth before he thought to analyse them and he pushed his lips against Bryce’s. They were weighted and purposed and they knew what they were doing more than he did.
He shocked himself probably more than he shocked Bryce as the blonde had a few seconds of what the fuck is going on before realising he was being kissed. His panicked breathing was cut off and he switched to using his nose instead as he moved his lips. His eyes closed. His thoughts drew blank. He forgot about the bathroom, the dust, the gunshots, the body. He forgot about everything except Ohm and how hands were firm and comforting against his skin.
Compared to the first time, Ohm was more aware of what he was doing as he moved closer to the lankier man. The tension and panic within and between them slowed and lessened. He tilted his head, pressing closer, letting his tongue wander. He could feel the other’s breath against his cheek and lip.
Bryce breathed. He sat back on his heels and lifted heavy hands to the back of Ohm’s neck and head, and kissed back with a need. A need to be held, to be touched, to be taken care of.
A need for Ohm.
Ohm pressed forward as Bryce relaxed, chasing what also relieved the tension between his shoulders. He let the hand on Bryce’s shoulder slide to the side of his neck, kissing with as much as he could. Kissing in a way that relaxed him more each second and had the man before him melting.
He nipped at the blonde’s bottom lip and felt him sigh into his mouth.
When the hitman pulled back, he tried to look less dazed than he felt and eased himself back onto the tiles. Bryce almost followed after him, chest swelling with big deep breaths that contrasted majorly to those he breathed only moments earlier.
Ohm didn’t know whether he wanted to look Bryce in the eye, unsure about accepting he had an issue. Kissing the blonde was wrong on so many levels but there he was going back on a pricey deal and trying to get away from a gang who had a lot of guns and a lot of men. The kiss was one of the least of his issues but the biggest in his thoughts. Even so, he did what he did best and pushed it out of sight, pretending it never existed. Unfortunately for him, his issue had working lungs and a voice that didn’t seem to stop.
It was difficult to pretend he didn’t exist, but it didn’t stop Ohm from trying.
“Are you alright?” He pushed those thoughts (and memories) from his mind and focused on Bryce who was still recovering. From the almost panic attack, or the kiss, neither knew.
After a moment, he got a slow nod and blue eyes fluttered in the darkness. Ohm resisted grabbing his face and slotting their lips back together as he eased back onto his worn sneakers and pulled Bryce up also.
Bryce felt cold metal push against his hands and peered down at the glinting weapon. He could feel the hitman’s gaze, one of firm caution and couldn’t help the ice cold shudder that sunk into his bones.
He’d killed someone. He’d killed a man, likely with a wife, maybe even kids. A man with a heart and lungs and thoughts just like his own.
He had stopped that heart. He had left that family without a husband and a father. He had killed someone.
The warm hands curled over his, wrapping his frozen fingers around the weapon despite how much they didn’t want to. He looked up at the silver eyes with worry. The hitman wore a mask of calmness but didn’t bother hiding the caution left by Bryce’s episode. As much as he could try to pretend he didn’t, he cared and seeing the man in such distress wasn’t going to be good for what they were about to do.
“It’s okay.” His words were still almost silent and he kept as close to Bryce as he comfortably could. In the back of his mind he knew they should be moving, should be making sure there was no one else - but no one had made a sound and engines never followed them up to the dusty unit.
Even so, there was not much to be done about the paranoia and he kept straining his ears around each of his words.
“If you hesitated, he wouldn’t have.” The words were scarce but they were true, although the realistic side of his mind told him that maybe taking advice from a murderer with emotional constipation wasn’t his best idea. He silenced that part and nodded shakily, reasoning with himself. The gang member had also held a gun and it was clear he wasn’t coming upstairs to offer them a cup of tea. Had Bryce not put a hole between his ribs, the results would have been quite displeasing for the blonde.
He didn’t particularly like the idea of bleeding out of stained, dusty carpet.
“Do you know how to shoot?” Bryce’s mind was lured from the body outside their cramped bathroom and he leant into the space Ohm occupied. He shook his head, despite the way his index finger burnt from the touch of the trigger.
Before he could process it, Ohm had moved around behind him and calloused fingers crawled from his elbows to his wrists. The twenty-two year old froze up at the pressure of his back to Ohm’s chest and the muscled arms mirroring his either side of him. He was all too aware of every little brush of contact and felt red warmth glow all over the side of his neck where the brunette’s breath touched.
Words were circling his head as gloved hands adjusted his grip, instructions of how to hold the gun, how to aim the gun, how to shoot the gun.
“Keep your finger on the trigger, you have to be ready.” The words made him shudder and shiver and he couldn’t stop himself from wondering how many triggers Ohm had tugged. How many of those tugs had led to death on concrete, on carpet, on floorboards.
His anxiety skyrocketed as he slipped his finger into the ring, pushing it against the metal so it didn’t at all touch the trigger. The slightest contact terrified him and he stayed coiled painfully, waiting for the gun to jerk with a loud bang and more blood.
Bryce held the gun a little higher and Ohm’s hands thoughtlessly dropped to the blonde’s waist. He didn’t acknowledge the sharp intake of air and watched closely as the gun was pointed into the dusty darkness, analysing his positioning.
The hands around the gun shook violently, despite how much their owner tried to stop them. Bryce flinched back against Ohm at the sound of a creak just below them and they both stayed completely still and silent. Their little gun lesson was put on hold. The hitman listened, hearing little creaks and complaints from the house around them. It wasn’t strong enough to hold them all and he wandered just how many it was supporting.
Bryce grit his teeth as Ohm breathed in and out against his chest. The hands on his hips burnt with satisfaction and the blonde couldn’t help but feel like they had to be there, as much as he told himself that was stupid and Ohm was still a hitman, and he was still unpredictable, and they were both going to die before they set foot outside of LA. He silenced his own rambling thoughts.
When Ohm squeezed lightly, Bryce jumped but focused on the words breathed into his hair not the way they made him shudder. “They’re going to come up, find the body and search the room. When they come in here, I will kill them. Then we are going to go downstairs, get one of those cars and go. Stay behind me and stay close. Do not hesitate.”
Bryce resisted the urge to turn and press his mouth back to Ohm’s and instead nodded in the darkness. The older man was close enough to feel the movement. He removed his hands and body, slinking back towards the door and into the darkness. Bryce took a moment to breathe in and out, before moving back toward where the tiniest glimmer of light filtered under the door. He placed himself on the other side, unable to even make out Ohm’s figure in the darkness.
He rested his arm against the cold wall and they both waited like statues.
The sound of the bedroom door creaking open pulled Bryce’s eyes from his feet and he waited. The quietest of curses dropped from someone’s throat. Soft footfalls crossing the room and past the bathroom door. Footfalls of more than one person.
He waited still, his body tensing up more and more like an elastic band being twisted, and twisted, and twisted. He was ready to snap.
More murmuring, too far and too quiet to understand. Bryce picked up a few words like, “fuckers…”, “get that…”, and “look every…”
He pressed the top of the gun to his chest, clenching the handle too tightly.
Bryce counted thirteen seconds before the doorhandle just beside him jittered. Light leaked into their room before suddenly he could see the entirety of their shitty bathroom hiding place. He didn’t have time to examine.
Ohm shot from where we was crouched, sending the first man back against the door and to the ground. He waited half a second before two others jumped into the room, guns ablaze. Ohm spent three shots before he was grabbing at Bryce’s wrist and dragging him out of the room. Blue eyes stayed wide as they looked everywhere but the three bodies he walked over. He didn’t like to think about what he’d stepped on as he rushed from the room and downstairs. The front door crashed open and a woman fell back out of the house dead before she even stepped in.
The gun in Bryce’s hand didn’t need to be used and he only stared at Ohm in a mix of fear and gratitude. He much preferred not shooting it and just pretending the bodies didn’t exist.
He didn’t want to look over his shoulder either. He knew he’d only see bloodied footprints and nothing made him want to vomit more.
“Come on,” Ohm hissed, giving his arm a yank before dropping it completely and leaning out the busted open door. No one else stood outside but two motor bikes stood tall. “Get on.” Bryce nodded hastily, absolutely clueless about driving bikes. He took the helmet, hoping he’d also be able to take it off without holes in it, before settling on the back of the vehicle behind Ohm.
Unsure and more worried than before, he grabbed fistfuls of the hitman’s sweatshirt. Sirens were sounding in the distance and they could hear engines roaring up and down streets and alleys around them.
“Bryce,” Ohm turned slightly, his helmet concealing his expression. His voice was clear enough in his don’t-be-an-idiot tone. “You’re going to want to hold on a bit tighter than that.”
The blonde second-guessed himself, shifting forward as the engine below him revved. His arms curled loosely around Ohm’s waist and the moment they began to move he tightened them with the increasing fear that flooded him. He didn’t want to think of his body flying from the bike and skidding along asphalt.
He didn’t like the idea of becoming street art.
The adrenaline was beginning to sink into Ohm’s lungs as the bike flew between the buildings. He couldn’t help the grimace of a smirk that crawled onto his face, as sickening excitement filled him. He loved the action of city crime life. Being on the run almost constantly and so easily confident in his own ability, he could only laugh.
It was a cold, dry kind of amusement that coated his attitude and seeped through his words but he couldn’t do much to change it as the sound of other small engines started up behind them. Old habits stick. Bryce was too scared to even look back as they found themselves in a windy alley system he thought too complex to even exist.
He tucked his head down, helmet to Ohm’s back, and held on. They were going too fast. Way too fast. It was too risky, they would spin out of control in seconds. They were going to be killed by a fucking motorcycle.
And then they weren’t. Ohm slowed the vehicle down reasonably smoothly before throwing it to the side when both were on their feet. He shot both tires as Bryce shrugged off the helmet (hole-less, thankfully) and looked up at the dead end they’d found themselves at.
A large fence stopped them in their path and Bryce looked at Ohm hopelessly. He was completely unfazed, striding up to it and nodding at the blonde. “C’mere; I’ll boost you.” Ohm saw the untrusting blue glide over the mangled wire and he hardened his stare. “Bryce. No hesitating, come on.”
With a heavy exhale, he stepped up onto the man’s hands and allowed himself to be shoved upwards, grabbing the metal pole and slinging his leg over it. He steadied himself before dropping to the dirt below just before Ohm dropped down beside him.
There was no time to blink in surprise before engines revved closer and the street entrance was blocked off by several dark cars.
Ohm doubted they were there to set up some stalls and he dragged Bryce down the back of the building, stopping to drop down behind some tables on their sides. Bryce crouched down, and the two listened close as stomping shoes spread out around the area.
“Look behind and under everything,” a voice boomed, and the two looked at each other.
Bryce saw confidence and self-assurance in the swirls of silver. They represented the hitman himself: calculated and quick. He knew what he was doing. He knew how to handle himself. He was confident.
Bryce however doubted everything. He doubted himself, his thoughts and feelings and actions. His ability to do what he had to do. Killing someone did not come easy. He was a college student, not a murderer. He doubted Ohm, doubted that he really gave a shit, doubted that he was able to get them out of there, doubted he wouldn’t get sick of the dead weight hanging off his shoulders.
But with approaching footsteps, he didn’t have time for doubts.
“Stay here. Use your gun if you have to, don’t do anything dumb. Yell if you really need to but don’t let them know where you are otherwise.” Ohm thoughtlessly brushed his hand against the blonde’s arm and nodded reassuringly. “Don’t hesitate.”
If you hesitate, they won’t.
Then he was watching Ohm move. Shades were drawn down the backs of old gazebos, concealing the hitman as he snuck further along the edge of the markets.
Ohm had his confidence. He settled behind some crates and peeked through the cracks in the aged wood. He always had a plan, whether it was set out on paper or just spreading as he moved. He knew what he was doing.
That much was for certain.
All he needed was a gun in his hands and he was perfect.
First: Prologue
Previous: Eighteen
Next: Twenty
#brohm#brohm fic#brohm fanfic#fic#fanfic#bbs#bbs fic#bbs fanfic#nineteen#hitman!ohmwrecker#stockholm syndrome#it's a package deal#its a package deal#im so soRRY FOR STUFFING IT UPPP#love you guys
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It’s A Package Deal - Thirteen
“I need to make a phone call real quick.”
The words tasted like poison on his lips as he exploited the man’s kindness and toed the limits of his freedom. “Mine was stolen from me at a bar a few days back and I need to give my mother a call. Do you mind?” he asked with the sweetest voice he could manage.
As expected Michael complied, fishing the device from his pocket and typing out the password. Bryce shivered as he took it into both of his hands and formed a smile, a small “thank you” dripping off his tongue. He clutched it between his fingers, and moved to the side of the building out of sight, keeping his eyes on the ground.
The phone would change everything. The call he made would change everything. He had a chance. A chance to get out, to get away, to get back to his safe little apartment. Install a better security system, maybe move in with Ralph so they could watch over each other.
He had a chance.
But there was little time.
The bones in his fingers rattled violently in the cold of the evening. It took him longer than it should have to type out the number. He even had to take a deep breath before he could press the green call button, feeling anxiety like a swarm of bees in his lungs. The lightest of rain droplets fell to the back of his hand, collecting on the screen..
He raised it to his ear, listened to the rhythmic beats.
It picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” The voice sounded exhausted.
Bryce almost whimpered. “R-Ralph?”
The name tasted foreign on his tongue, but his lover on the other end shifted, something clattering loudly to wooden floor boards. “Bryce!? What the fuck, where are you!? Are you okay, baby? What happened?” The urgency in his voice flushed Bryce’s chest with desperation. All the exhaustion he tucked up inside of him; the lethargy he’d hidden between his fingers, under his jaw, beneath his eyelids, in the bottom of his lungs – it all burst out, filling him completely. The weight above him pressed down harder than it ever had and he resisted the urge to fall to the gravel, his legs not wanting to hold him up any longer. He wanted to see his lover’s face. He wanted to feel his hands in his, in his hair, cupping his cheeks.
He felt so uncontrollably alone without him.
“I-I’m okay,” he whispered, voice hushed and low. He couldn’t risk being heard by anyone. He couldn’t risk anything. He had little time. “I’m in Utah.” His words quivered, anxiety itching beneath his flesh. The rain was growing steadier, and he leant against the bricks behind him. For support or shelter, he couldn’t tell.
“Are you safe? What happened?”
He felt sickness swell in his gut, his jaw clenched to hold back to bile that bubbled in his gut. He wished he hadn’t called, he wished he hadn’t taken the risk but he’d had to. He’d needed to. For himself, for Ralph, for his life. It was worth it, wasn’t it? It had to be worth it.
“For now, but I’m here because of you, Ralph…” Silence. His boyfriend’s aura flowed through the device. He felt the desperate love and will for him, how he missed him and wanted him back in his apartment, in his arms. He felt it change. He felt it lower. It was replaced with caution. With confusion. With curiosity.
“What do yo…”
“Twenty thousand dollars.” Bryce’s voice betrayed his emotion. His exhaustion. He needed answers, he needed to know why, to know what. “What would you even need that kind of money for, Ralph?” He forced himself to keep talking, biting out the words in a voice of hushed haste. “You’d better have that money now because without it I’m dead.”
He waited. His chest was tightening and the rain was heavy in his hair and on his shoulders. The phone was warm on his ear but he felt so fucking cold.
“I don’t have that kind of money anymore, Bryce.” The words didn’t sound like his boyfriend’s. They didn’t sound loving, or concerned, or hopeful. They didn’t sound sweet. They didn’t sound like Ralph.
Bryce grit his teeth and glared into the darkness. The cold of the night was beginning to crawl up his legs, clawing at his flesh with hunger. “What do you mean ‘anymore’, what did you even use that for!? I’m going to be fucking killed, Ralph, and for your mistakes, not mine. You have to come and fix this.”
A longer pause than the last settled. Bryce’s jaw was starting to ache from how tightly he clenched it. His fingertips were beginning to freeze and his body was shaking. He couldn’t will himself to wipe the hair from his eyes, his body paralysed as it was. He just closed them.
“I… I got caught up in a drug incident with my ex and I did some shitty things but that happened years ago. I couldn’t tell you. It’s not easy to talk about it – how I fucked up my life… but now I’m past it – we’re past it, baby.” Fake. Liar. Sickening.
He felt ready to throw up, ready to keel over and wash away with the rain. His lungs were hardening the heavier it got but he refused to move off the wall. He had to keep breathing. He had to keep talking. He’d be dead if he didn’t, he’d be gone. This was his last opportunity, his last chance.
Didn’t Ralph see that?
“Don’t ‘baby’ me now. Clearly you’re not past it and I shouldn’t even be a fucking part of this. I’m going to be shot in the fucking head, if they don’t get their fucking money. And once my body’s thrown into a river, yours will be next. You have to come and fucking fix this now, because I’ll be in LA in two days, staring down the barrel of a gun, if not several.” Bryce’s tongue grew heavier with each desperate word. “You bet my name will be on the news again when they find my fucking body on the streets in a few days – that is if I’m even recognisable. This is your problem, not mine and you have to come and do something about it before it’s too late.” His voice broke.
He waited, but he already felt like he had a gun to his head. His body was beginning to shut down. From the cold? The confusion? The fear and anxiety?
He was terrified. Terrified of what Ralph would say. Terrified of being caught. Terrified of being recognised. Terrified of being saved, of arriving at LA.
He was just so fucking scared of everything.
“I can’t do that.”
His gaze softened. His shaking lessened. He couldn’t even think to form words. To ask questions. What did he mean? What would he do? Why didn’t he tell him, or pay them back, or figure things out by himself?
“W-what...?” Bryce didn’t have to be thrown into the mess, he didn’t need to be – it wasn’t his place. So why was he?
“I’m sorry Brycey, good luck though. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” His last chance let out a little chuckle, heartlessly amused. “I guess you came through for all those times you said you’d take a bullet for me!”
Click.
He was gone.
Fuck.
Ralph was gone. His last chance. He’d hung up. He’d left him. He’d said adieu and sent him off to death with a fucking joke. A laugh. That’s all this was to him? That’s all Bryce was? A joke? A small sacrifice for his happiness and safety?
It wasn’t Ralph. It wasn’t his boyfriend, his lover. Three and a half years of his life spent with a man who had only fed empty lies into his mouth with a few extra packets of sweetener to make it just perfect. It had been Ralph. His Ralph. He had left him behind like a dog that just wasn’t young enough, didn’t learn fast enough, couldn’t stay quiet enough. He’d left him behind and didn’t even blink.
He’d ran out of sweetener. He’d ran out of lies.
Bryce’s hand fell away from his face. His chest constricted. He felt… He didn’t know what he felt. He was swallowed up in the overwhelming feeling of nothingness. The feeling of not feeling anything. It was like the hollow feeling of mourning a dead friend or family member. Not believing they’re gone, not wanting to believe they’re gone, but still somewhere deep beneath your heavy, sleepless eyelids knowing they’re nothing but a memory.
Bryce realised this, as he walked back around to Michael’s car, the rain beating down at him. He understood, returning the phone to the kind man through his window and saying a small thanks and farewell. It was not Ralph he was mourning, not even their splintered relationship that lay broken in unfixable pieces around the empty carpark.
It was him, his death, his hollow funeral.
It was his body bleeding out with a hole between his eyes. His bones shattered and skin torn, body painted to the alleyway pavement like graphic street art. The grazes and bruises littered over his body, left behind by the rain as punishment for being who he was.
He had only himself to mourn and for that, he felt nothing.
His bare feet lead him up the stairs of the building, not acknowledging the disappearance of rain. Water dribbled down his face in replace of the tears that wouldn’t fall. His heart felt heavy in his chest, felt weighted down. He felt weighted down.
Numbly, he located Ohm’s shoes and the open door, number 63 rusted over on the wood. He stepped into the room, swinging the door behind him, unable to look anywhere but his own feet.
Ohm looked up from where he sat on the little stool by the bed, eyes landing on Bryce’s figure. He was drenched, to the hitman’s dismay whose lips parted to snap at him about why the fuck he got caught in the rain for so long, before he looked at his face.
His blue eyes seemed faded, their shine long since lost. His lips were chapped, and his eyes were sunken. Ohm didn’t think he’d noticed how exhausted the man looked before then. How his shoulders sagged with an incomprehensible weight, how he didn’t ever seem to fall asleep more than drifting in and out of ugly dreams. How his head bowed ever so slightly in concern, in fear.
Ohm stood, tugging off his bandana, and strode up to him. “Are you hurt?” His voice was jagged, and his hands curled around Bryce’s upper arms tightly. He looked over his shoulder at nothing but the sheets of rain outside the railing before the door met its frame. When he looked back at Bryce’s face, he almost flinched.
He watched him crumple. It was no longer just rain that fell down his cheeks. His head rocked forward slightly, hanging in shame, in fear. He sobbed, but shook his head in a no.
Ohm stared in shock at the wet mess of blonde. “What happened?” he asked, voice shaking in caution. He wasn’t used to comforting crying men, especially not crying Bryce. He was used to glaring at crying Bryce, used to threatening, and ignoring, and rolling his eyes at him. Hoping he’d fall asleep, or shut up or something.
But this wasn’t what he was used to doing.
This wasn’t just crying Bryce either.
No, this was Bryce breaking apart right in front of him. This was him shattering, falling to pieces, collapsing to the stained carpet.
Bryce didn’t answer, his lip trembling far too much to form words. Instead, he raised his heavy hands, finding the back of Ohm’s shirt and clutching it tightly. He dragged his body two step forwards until he was pressed up against Ohm’s chest, face pressed against his shoulder. He curled into the hitman like he was the only thing he had left, the only thing stable enough to hold onto.
Ohm coiled up like a cat, Bryce’s wetness soaking his front. His arms hovered either side of Bryce’s shoulders, absolutely clueless of what to do, where to go. He held his breath, eyes wide.
It was a hug.
Ohm hadn’t been hugged in years.
He knew he was supposed to hug back, he guessed. Put his arms around the other, rub between his shoulder blades. That was comfort, wasn’t it? Ohm barely knew anything other than shitty novels and movies. He knew little, but anyone could see that a pat on the back would do nothing for the man who held him so desperately.
Bryce jerked, shaking with each heavy sob. They slammed through him like waves, crashing against his chest in dry, awful hiccups. He gasped in air that he couldn’t breathe, and squeezed the fabric of Ohm’s sweater with the limited energy he had left. He knew the moment he’d let go, his legs would give up and he’d fall.
He didn’t have enough. Enough energy, enough strength, enough will. He didn’t want to have to stand anymore. He didn’t want to have to hold up the weights on his shoulders, the fears, and worries, and sorrows that hung from his mind. He didn’t want to. He knew he couldn’t.
So he held onto the last thing still standing in his life.
Ohm.
A fucking hitman, but someone who didn’t lie. He was truthful, though cruel. He did as he was supposed to and, although probably not in the best way, he’d be with Bryce until the end. Until his date with Death. He was going to take him right to her doorstep and escort him inside.
He wasn’t exactly the kindest thing to hold onto in his life, but he was the most stable. The strongest.
And Bryce felt guilty. Shame dropped from his eyes in salty tears, soaked into Ohm’s shoulder and tried to hide away from the world. “I… I’m sorry,” Bryce choked out, gasping for anything to fill his lungs as he curled his arms tighter, holding onto the muscled form.
Ohm frowned lightly at the door, his arms lowering. He didn’t say anything. He knew there was nothing to say that would help him, he knew nothing would be able to glue his pieces back together.
“I c-called him.” The words weren’t even strong enough to be called words. They were frail, and thin, and broken up between desperate gasps. “He… he let m-me go. I’m g-g-going to be k-killed and he…” There were no more words left in him. He let out a breathy whimper, no longer having any sort of strength to care about how the hitman thought of him. How the hitman would scowl and sneer at him. How he’d growl at him for going against him. How he’d brush him off and turn away because all he was was business.
Ohm didn’t do any of these. Instead, he just stared at the door behind Bryce. He let his head tilt slightly, feeling the wet hair brush against the side of his jaw. He gained the strength to release the breath he was holding, his body relaxing in the other’s desperate grasp. He allowed the younger man to cry, and lifted one arm to curl around his back.
Bryce’s breathing stuttered, and his body curled into Ohm further to shy away from the touch. After realising it was Ohm, after realising Ohm was half hugging him back, he sobbed louder and clutched him tighter.
Ohm held him loosely, and just breathed. He let his eyes close, and his head tilt forward slightly to rest his cheek atop Bryce’s head.
And he waited.
He wasn’t mad, or irritated, or at all annoyed at Bryce. He didn’t even think about the fact that’d he’d tried to call for help. He just listened, and stood still. He listened to the broken sobs and held the agony under his arm.
He felt Bryce fall apart over and over again, pressed tight against his chest.
First: Prologue
Previous: Twelve
Next: Fourteen
Say it with me, y’all!
Ralph is a dick!!
This is probably my favourite chapter, it was very metaphorical and (i’m hoping) emotional and I’m pretty proud of it. This is where things are getting interesting because aw they’re having a bonding moment and Bryce’s gonna die and Ohm’s kind of confused before what is hug???/
Sorry this took a while, @puddlesocks kept calling me when I wanted to write so blame them, he’s a fuckboy.
Please tell me what you guys think because I really love to know. Tell me if you want me to change something?? Idk, just talk to me I love interacting with you guys.
ANYWAY hope this is good shit but sad shit and hope you guys are enjoying.
gi <3
#brohm#brohm fic#brohm fanfic#bbs#bbs fic#bbs fanfic#fic#fanfic#thirteen#hitman!ohmwrecker#stockholm syndrome#it's a package deal#its a package deal
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It’s A Package Deal - Twelve
The sound of a car engine reached Bryce’s ears and his head jolted up. His eyes were beginning to blur from staring off into the distance for so long, but the sound had him shaking the fog from his thoughts. Sure enough, as he blinked away the dizziness, he locked onto a rust-covered ute that cruised around the bend. The engine hummed loud enough to be heard from fifty metres down the road and the blonde jumped to his feet, wobbling slightly.
The car pulled up beside them, the driver half leaning out the window as he looked Bryce up and down and squinted at their car. “Need a hand?” he asked sarcastically, and Bryce exhaled the breath he’d been holding as the pair of brown eyes lit up with a friendly spark.
“God, yes please,” Bryce laughed and the other grinned.
He tugged at the handle on the outside of his door, pushing it open and dropping to his feet. Holding out a hand, he shook Bryce’s firmly. “The name’s Michael.” His voice was deep, and matched his noticeable muscle. It was built up over his biceps and shoulders and Bryce made sure to keep his lips pursed as to not gape. He looked like he could lift him in one hand, while drinking a coffee and eating an apple.
Bryce was thanking the heaven’s that, one; he actually stopped, and two; he was friendly. “I’m B- Adam.” He saved himself just in time, remembering their pretend backstory with reluctance. “Thank you so much for stopping, the car just died and neither of us know anything about this sort of thing.”
The guy laughed heartily, running a big hand through his thick hair. It was buzzed on the left side, the short brown locks falling loosely to the right. Bryce stepped back so Ohm could be seen, face planted to the car chair. His slack form looked asleep but a part of Bryce believed he wasn’t. He paid no mind to it, focussing on their saviour.
“I’ll have a look at it for you, see what I can do. It might just need a jumpstart and I have clamps for just that so if that’s the case you’ll be moving again in no time.” Kind voice. Thoughtlessly selfless. Bryce almost wished he hadn’t stopped. Guilt was beginning to nip at his tongue.
This man was about to help a hitman continue dragging Bryce to his death, and Bryce was letting him. He mentally shook those thoughts away, and focused on the task at hand.
He smiled gratefully, eyes following the fingertips that ran up the hood and settled on the top as he looked down into the arrangement of metal. Leaving Michael to have a more particular look, he turned to the window and stared at the back of Ohm’s head. Cautiously, he reached out a hand, finger ready to prod the other’s shoulder. Only about an inch from making contact, the shoulder rolled back and its body grunted in irritation.
“Touch me and I’ll break your wrist.” The sleepy voice of Ohm had Bryce taking a small step back, not doubting he would do as he threatened. Even so, his voice was thick with sleep and lacked any sort of honesty behind the grumble.
Bryce shook his head. “This guy looks like he knows what he’s doing, Kyle,” he dragged out the fake name purposefully and watched Michael retrieve two long chords from his car, opening the hood of his ute. “Hopefully that means we’ll be able to keep moving soon.” Bryce rested his hands back on the window sill of the car and leaned forward to try and glimpse the other’s face.
“Bryce,” he growled, slightly more menacingly, and forced the blonde out of his space. “Just wake me up when I need to drive.”
“No way, you’ll fall asleep on the wheel,” Bryce scoffed. “I am not dying in a car crash because you drove into a river. Move into the passenger seat.”
Ohm lifted his head, stretching out and rolling onto his back. His silvery eyes met Bryce’s with a pinch of irritation. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m driving.”
Bryce’s eyes narrowed. “I do now. Move over, or I’ll get in his car instead and you can drive into a river by yourself.” He nodded towards Michael who was doing something technical he didn’t understand. His presence was a stopper on Ohm’s malice. As much as the dark eyes glared, he couldn’t act out any of his threats in front of their guest, and they had to be believable in their little game of family. Michael whistled as he moved, attaching clamps to things and connecting the cars.
The two held a glare for a strong moment, almost feeling energy pop between them.
“Try the ignition?” Michael called from the front of their car.
Before Ohm could pull his arm out from underneath himself, Bryce reached around and found the key, twisting it.
The car coughed, and coughed, and the engine revved to life again. The sharpness in Bryce’s eyes dropped and he turned to flash a grin at Michael. “Thank you so much, man, we’d be here for hours without you,” he said genuinely and allowed Michael to grab his hand and pull him into a bro-hug. Another hand clapped his back and the two split.
“Don’t sweat it,” he said, ever-smiling. “Where you headed? I’ll drive with you just in case your cars kicks it again.”
Ohm sat up in his seat and ran a hand through his messy hair. “We’re set west for a few hours until we find a cheap motel, or something. I’m Kyle, by the way, we’re step-brothers,” he explained with heavy amounts of easy charm. Michael nodded in thought.
“I’m headed that way too – meeting my girlfriend in Utah. I’ll be driving with you most of the way anyways so that won’t be a problem.” Bryce stared hard at the ground and listened as Ohm agreed and thanked the man. The guilt was starting to make him feel sick.
The big guy returned to the hoods of the cars, winding up the chords and locking up the exposed mechanisms, before he jumped into his own. Ohm huffed a sigh and shoved the door open. He didn’t bat an eye as it hit Bryce in the side harshly, and ignored the blonde’s glare as he got out of the driver’s seat, moving around the back to the passenger side.
The blue eyes softened as they acknowledged what he was doing, and Bryce took the hitman’s place behind the wheel with a softer expression. Ohm yanked the door shut harder than necessary and shifted his seat back. He tugged his bandana up over his eyes. “Do anything dumb and I’ll shoot you and Big Bird over there,” he yawned, and Bryce rolled his eyes and nodded, even though it was unseen.
He didn’t bother responding or thanking the other for moving. He should be the one thanking Bryce because there was no way he would have been able to last another three or four hours behind the wheel.
Bryce didn’t want to die in a ditch.
A glumness swelled in his gut as he put the car into gear and shifted into the lane behind Michael’s ute. It was a ditch or an alleyway, which would he prefer?
A bad taste settled on his tongue and he sighed, letting his hands slip down to the sides of the leather wheel. Unfortunately, those thoughts didn’t stop. Now that he wasn’t talking, or moving, or thinking about anything else, sick curiosities infiltrated his mind without his permission.
Why didn’t he run? Why didn’t he jump into Michael’s car and scream at him to fucking drive? He could have let Ohm drive, and grab his gun when he was trying to focus on the road and staying awake. He could have given himself complete control and forced Ohm to drop him off in the closest town. He could have done anything, he could have asked if Michael had a gun, he could have asked to drive with Michael on the way there. He could have… He should have…
He still could.
He was driving. He could turn the car around and follow the roads until they hit more civilisation. Anywhere with a phone, or people who saw the news, or a police station.
Anywhere that would get him back to New York.
But what if Ohm did hurt Michael? If he shot him on the way out? Michael was readable the moment he stepped out of his vehicle. He was kind, generous and selfless and would undoubtedly make sure everything was okay if there was a fuss. He could be the one to receive Ohm’s anger. A bullet in his head. A snap of the neck.
The hitman probably wouldn’t even think about it. He’d just do it, just kill the man and move on to hunt Bryce down and force fear back into his oceanic eyes.
He was unpredictable.
But they were driving again and currently, that was what was important. They would stop at a motel, Bryce would have chances to make a move then. For now, he focused on staying awake and staying on the road.
After a few seconds of debating, he switched on the radio and allowed his conscience to float on the melody. His thoughts almost instantly lulled to silence and he allowed himself to hum softly to himself, unheard by the sleeping Ohm.
-
The sun set while they drove. Once, Michael pulled to the side of the road and checked on their car to make sure everything was fine, but otherwise Bryce just stared at the back of his ute and tried not to doze off completely.
Ohm had barely shifted in his sleep and Bryce felt more relaxed that he was at least sleeping. He had a feeling his humming had lulled him into a deeper rest, the man having slept like the dead. That was good for both of them. Hopefully it would leave the older in a nice mood, maybe even a talkative one.
Bryce didn’t understand his thoughts. One of the biggest things was why he felt so keen to talk to Ohm. Maybe it was his secretiveness – how he never said anything that wasn’t malicious, and how he was both cruel and heartless, yet so overwhelmingly human at the same time. He acted like any other man in his grouchiness, and his careless attitude. Yet in only a few seconds he could be ready to kill you without a second thought. He only did things if they benefited him, and he held a gun like Bryce did his phone. He didn’t care, but he still yawned, and sneezed, and slept badly, and did everything else human.
He didn’t understand it, and he told himself he didn’t need to, he didn’t care about it. But there was no point trying to lie to himself when he couldn’t help but ask little questions. He couldn’t help but nudge at the barriers, see how far he could push before he was slammed back and Ohm was at his throat once again.
“What’s the time?” Speak of the Devil. Ohm groaned from Bryce’s side and Bryce watched from the corner of his eye as the brunette yanked the bandana down and arched his back off his seat.
He focused back on the filthy hunk of metal driving ahead of them. “Almost eight-thirty,” he responded, voice heavy. Shockingly, a motel bed was starting to seem really desirable.
Ohm murmured something incoherent and huffed a small sigh as he twisted up to sit properly. He listened as Bryce resume his soft humming and sleepily twisted the dial to increase the volume of the music itself. Bryce glanced at him curiously but didn’t let his gaze linger on the scruff that decorated his jaw.
A smidge of jealousy tickled him. He’d always wanted to grow facial hair, something both Ohm and his boyfriend were able to do. He, unfortunately, hadn’t been so lucky, and instead settled with always rubbing at the prickly scruff on his lover’s face with either his fingertips or his cheek. For a moment the urge to do the same to Ohm grabbed at his thoughts before he shook it off with an internal snicker.
Definitely a strange thought, but one that amused him to ponder over how Ohm would react.
Probably shove his gun right down Bryce’s throat then and there.
He wandered when the last time the man received any sort of comfortable touch. The playful curiosity only lasted for a moment before he realised that it had probably been uncountable years since such a thing had happened. Ohm had been in this business for so long, he probably hadn’t dated anyone in longer than that, and if he had he doubted it would have been a healthy relationship.
He didn’t know of any family, if there even were any, or how long they’d been around. He didn’t know what Ohm’s upbringing had been like, how he’d lived, where he’d gone to school, if he’d gone to school.
Bryce frowned at the steering wheel. “Did you go to school?” he blurted out without thinking and flinched. He opened his mouth to pull the question back and apologise, but couldn’t form the words.
His curiosity didn’t let him.
“Don’t ask stupid questions, McQuaid.”
Bryce directed his frown at Ohm. First off; what the fuck did that even mean? That could be a: “Don’t ask stupid questions; of course I didn’t go to school, I kill people for money”, or it could be a: “Don’t ask stupid questions; of course I went to fucking school, do I look uneducated to you?”
Bryce bit back his response, a demand for further explanation that would certainly only treat him with silence. Instead he addressed another circling train of thought.
He’d called him ‘McQuaid’. He hadn’t called him by his last name since the previous evening, which of course wasn’t that long ago, but it still sounded strange. It made him feel like Ohm was talking to him professionally, like he was some sort of businessman or a teenager in trouble.
It was weird.
Bryce decided he definitely liked it more when he was called by his first name.
“Where are we stopping?” He changed the route of conversation and Ohm breathed in deeply, pulling out his phone. He spent a few minutes tapping and swiping before glancing up around them. The blonde listened closely as he began directing them, pulling forward and overtaking Michael’s ute to show they had a set destination. He fell into place behind them with a friendly toot of the horn.
Soon enough they were where they wanted to be, pulling up to a more modern looking motel than the previous establishment. They pulled up, jumping out and Ohm shook the muscled man’s hand before dismissing himself to go book a room. Moving past Bryce, he told him he’d leave the door open and his shoes out the front so he knew which room they were in before dragging his body to the main reception building.
Bryce watched him go for a moment before Michael was stepping up beside him. “The car looks fine for now but I don’t doubt it’ll die again. Your best bet is organising to hire a car or something for the remainder of your trip, or get yours serviced but with that back windshield I don’t think there’s much point,” he said, placing a hand on Bryce’s shoulder.
Bryce turned to him with a lopsided smile and nodded, laughing. “Yeah, my brother smashed it out at our last stop; reversed too fast and ran us back into a tree. That car’s been through too much,” the blonde lied.
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Liar. Liar. Liar.
He felt sick at just how smoothly the words rolled off his tongue, and how easily the other man accepted them. He clapped the smaller man on the shoulder once again and grinned. “Well, you think you two will manage from here?” he asked, another offer of generosity before his departure.
Bryce found himself caught, his heart racing as a thought slipped into his mind, an idea. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Could you do me one last favour and let me borrow your phone? I need to make a call real quick.”
First: Prologue
Previous: Eleven
Next: Thirteen
Is this a cliffhanger? I think it qualifies <3\
gi
#brohm#brohm fic#brohm fanfic#bbs#bbs fic#bbs fanfic#fic#fanfic#twelve#stockholm syndrome#hitman!ohmwrecker#it's a package deal#its a package deal
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It’s A Package Deal - Eleven
Bryce spent ten minutes contemplating turning on the radio. The car was silent and although it was pleasant, he wished for some sort of sound. He liked sound. As much as the two were at peace in that moment, Bryce still wished for something to fill the space between them other than silence. Ohm had been in a comfortably good mood and Bryce deemed himself safe enough to reach a hand forward and spin the volume dial up so he could hear the voices chattering away.
Feeling the hitman’s watch on him, he plugged in his phone and shuffled his playlist. When he sat back, he met blank grey eyes for just a moment before the focus was returned to the road, not a shift in his expression.
He smiled to himself ever-so-slightly at his small success, seeing as Ohm’s gun wasn’t in his hand and it wasn’t aimed at him. A calm, not-pissed Ohm, was a good Ohm.
It was something.
Their surroundings thinned over the morning hours, the forest dropping away for the vast openness of the Kansas country. The land stretched out to the horizon; flat, endless and empty. Despite the exposure, Ohm felt himself settle back as they sped down long roads. There was no one around to watch them as they went, no one to pick at their phones or murmur amongst themselves.
That was fortunate at least, seeing as their back windshield was completely shattered and they didn’t look like your everyday road-trippers. There was no need to worry, no need to stress. The emptiness of their location was just as good as the envelopment of the forests. They were still alone.
Bryce rested his head back against his chair, the tension and exhaustion in his body rushing out of his lungs with a sigh. His music floated on the air, coating him in familiarity and comfort.
He barely acknowledged his own voice as he hummed along, eyes staring out at where the earth ended.
“Bryce.” He blinked over to Ohm, meeting those cool grey eyes again. They watched him with a narrowed gaze, but lacked malice as he raised a brow. “Shut up.” Words sharp, but uncaring. A cool warning. The hum faded in his throat and his gaze dropped to the radio. He had a very vivid memory of the gun at his throat and didn’t really want a part two.
Nodding stiffly, he adjusted his seat slightly and let his legs stretch out as much as they could.
The two fell back into silence, and just listened as the song changed once again. Without much thought, Ohm leaned forward a touch and turned up the volume so the sound was heavier in his mind. The music was nice, and he mentally thanked Bryce for not listening to bullshit like heavy metal or annoying hip hop. Instead, he played soft songs with sweet melodies. They were calming and enjoyable to listen to while driving, but not so slow that they’d lull him to sleep. It wasn’t bad.
At least the blonde had a few good qualities.
Ohm found himself rolling down his window and could practically feel his thoughts unwind as the wind fluttered through the car. It washed over his face with a freshness untainted by pollution and untouched by anything but dirt, grass and clouds.
He breathed in deeply through his nose, wanting to breathe in that very air every day for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to taste the polluted city air. He hated the city air. It was thick with smoke and fuel and every kind of pollutant you could think of. Comparing that to out there in the vastness and emptiness was like comparing sewerage water to drinking water.
It was only point to add to the list of things he adored about country life.
Drifting off into the love for his paradise, he acknowledged Bryce’s humming long after it had begun and caught himself following the melody. After a few more long moments of fresh air and pretty humming, Ohm realised he probably should have told the blonde to shut his trap minutes ago.
His mouth opened, Bryce’s name on his tongue, but he found himself pressing his lips together and shaking his head. He didn’t care, it didn’t bother him. He daren’t say he liked the sound, but he wasn’t fussed as it curled around his thoughts and ran along until his fingertips.
He could tolerate the humming – he could learn to tolerate Bryce too.
-
The atmosphere of the car was hard describe. Bryce liked to think it was pure. Ohm wasn’t glaring and scowling and snarling. Threats weren’t rolling off his tongue like any other day. His eyes weren’t cold and hard and hiding malicious thoughts like they usually were. Instead, his bandana rested around his neck, and his expression was calm. His eyes were soft and his hair ruffled with the wind that flushed through his open window. His hands were relaxed on the leather wheel, his posture was slack, his gun remained untouched.
He was soft, content and calm.
Bryce was almost happy to say he felt comfortable alongside the man, unbothered by him and no longer shuddering with intimidation. The hitman still terrified him, and it was hard to look him in the eye without shrinking back, but it was a nice day. He had a nice aura.
Nice compared to the feeling he usually gave off when they were together.
Bryce felt relatively content. He’d sat with his legs crossed most of the day, sketch pad in his lap and pencil flying over paper. He flicked over page after page, leaving random quirky drawings on each one without purpose or order or proper design. He realised he had started humming again halfway through the day and startled himself, worrying how long he had been doing so and wondering if Ohm had even noticed.
To both concerns, he had no idea, but nothing had been said and the older man had only ever glanced at him every now and then. With slight hesitance, he allowed himself to relax and didn’t bother to overthink the little tunes he hummed along to.
Under Ohm’s directions, he retrieved a box of food from behind his seat and opened up a bag of chips for the driver and another for himself. They snacked on little titbits of food throughout the afternoon, nothing much changing.
The world around them was an exception. Endless flat horizons grew into mountains, and little orderly fields fell apart to acres of low shrubbery. Little clusters of trees dotted the shaped land and they soon found themselves travelling between and around hills and cliff-faces.
That was, until, the car stopped.
They were moving, flying along as they looked up and around the world they passed through, and then they weren’t.
“What’s going on?” Bryce asked, blinking over at Ohm who was frowning at the steering wheel. He chose against responding, twisting the key in the ignition. The car coughed, spluttered, and choked. It didn’t start. “Ohm…”
The brunette groaned, slumping forwards over the steering wheel. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Know anything about cars?” he asked, lifting his head slightly to blink at Bryce with tired eyes. The blonde could see the need for sleep growing heavier in the swirls of grey and sighed, regretfully shaking his head.
“I probably know less than you but I’ll have a look and see if anything’s noticeably destroyed. You should try and rest or something,” he remarked and Ohm straightened immediately. He rubbed his eyes, wishing the lethargy away. “I can sit outside and wave down a car. You look wrecked and you won’t be able to drive if you can’t stay awake.”
He bit out a short, “I’m fine,” and Bryce just shook his head.
He stepped out of the car and dragged himself to the front. Popping the hood, he raised his brows at the mess of mechanics he knew absolutely nothing about. Thankfully, there wasn’t any smoke and nothing looked cracked. But he had no idea what internal damage there could have been. He knew next to nothing about cars, and even less about cars that didn’t start.
He didn’t often do big trips.
“Nothing looks really out of place?” he called to the hitman, carding his fingers through his head hopelessly. Leaving the hood up, he walked around to Ohm’s side and rested against the door. The brunette was trying hard not to look exhausted, and failing. “Just get some sleep, or at least try. I can’t do shit out in the middle of nowhere with a broken down car. I’ll just stand out here and wave down someone driving past.”
Ohm looked at him with doubt. He was exhausted, unfortunately, and Bryce’s humming had definitely done a number on his energy levels. A nap sounded really desirable.
“Fine. But do anything and I’ll know,” he grumbled, the weak threat not doing much to faze the blonde who nodded. Defeat hung off his sigh as he unclipped his seatbelt and pushed his seat further down, rolling to face away from the open window. .
Bryce nodded, satisfied with the other’s compliance, and sat himself down on the road. He hoped that someone would drive past soon.
His gaze dropped over the mountains. They had stopped on a road that rose up in a rocky hillside to the right, and dropped off down over bushland to the left. The vast openness they’d previously been racing across had evaporated to an unstable landscape. Roads wound among hills, along ridges and through spots of forests. There was no pattern to it, no journey to follow; it was a curious adventure with a careless destination.
A destination which had been prolonged, at least for just a bit.
He hoped for not too long, not wishing to be out so late waiting for luck he didn’t believe he had. He didn’t want to sit out in the cold all night, begging for headlights to appear around the bend with the sound of an engine. He didn’t want to talk to random strangers and make up a dumb backstory to who they were and what they were doing.
He wanted to find himself in a moving car, with the heater on and nice music playing. He didn’t like the idea of being stuck. It wasn’t like they could contact anyone, the least contact with people, the better. Calling a towing company would be a long time, and a bigger chance to be recognised.
Some stranger driving around would be less likely to recognise his face. If they did, he was sure Ohm would do something about it.
That thought wasn’t welcome in his mind.
But what if he took the chance… He could wave down a stranger, explain the situation and have them drive off to the next city with just him. He could find authorities, give them Ohm’s information, book a plane ticket home and be back in his apartment with his lover’s arms secured around him, a promise of love and safety. He could leave the hitman sleeping in his car without the slightest idea as they raced off through the country.
Ohm was asleep. The window was open, but he was still asleep. Was he a light sleeper? It was likely. Living his sort of life, he’d have to be. Always in hiding, always on the run. He’d be moving the moment he felt or heard anything.
That meant putting his window up would be too risky, and too difficult to explain without seeming guilty if he awoke. If any car came speeding down the road their engine would certainly rouse him also. Talking would alert him. Car doors opening would alert him.
There were little to no chance of getting out.
Bryce let his head fall to rest on his bent knees, glaring at the gravel. His mind threw thought after thought into a mental rubbish bin, fear battling with his will to get away. The risks were too high, but were they worth it.
He could feel the bruise that had formed at the base of his throat, having glimpsed it in the side mirror when getting out of the car. It wasn’t pretty, and the memory was still vivid despite how calm his partner had been all day. He was still wary and allowed his fingertips to brush along the tender skin.
The thought of what Ohm’d do to him if he was caught making a run for it kept him planted to the side of the car, and his will to run and scream and make a fuss was locked down and silenced in his conscience.
He wasn’t reckless, or brave. He stayed seated on the road.
-
His gun didn’t shoot. It wouldn’t shoot.
The longer he looked into those blue watering eyes, the more his energy bubbled. In anger? Frustration? Panic? Distress? He couldn’t tell his emotions apart, but he felt he was going to implode. His gaze followed each tear that dribbled down his cheeks, following the line of his jaw and dropping to the grass.
He was just a man. Just a victim. A subject. A deal. He was just another blonde. He was just another pair of blue eyes. He was nothing special, he was nothing specific. He was just someone to be shot.
Ohm yanked the trigger back as far as it could go, only to listen helplessly as it clicked. For the second time, he checked there were bullets in place. For the second time, he assured himself there was. For the umpteenth time, he aimed between the sobbing man’s eyes and shot nothing.
He wanted to scream, but his grit teeth didn’t allow it. Instead, he glared at the blonde. His eyes were big and wide, it was all Ohm could see. Two big swirls of blue, crinkled at the edges and leaking down his sickly pale skin. His lips trembled with words he couldn’t say, and after a few more moments, he fell to his knees.
His eyes stayed on Ohm.
The hitman let out a cry of anguish. “Why can’t I shoot you!?” His fingers trembled around the black weapon, and he only held it tighter. He tried again, hearing it click and click and click. He grit his teeth, running a hand through his hair and gripping it tightly at the roots.
His feet were planted in the grass, little vines entwined over them. He couldn’t turn, or run, and his eyes refused to close.
They stayed on Bryce. He watched the tears soak his skin and drip to the grass below. He glared as green curled over to grey and brown.
He blinked.
And his paradise was dead.
Not a patch of alive, green grass could be seen, trees were coated in thick layers of charcoal, no flowers swayed in the chilling breeze that was pleasant and calming only moments ago. The sound of birds morphed into the wailing of the wind and he could only glare as Bryce fell back onto his heels.
Blue eyes. Staring. Crying.
You can’t kill him unless you mean it.
Ohm snarled, yanking his hand from his hair. He wanted to punch something, to claw at something, to make something bleed. “What’s that supposed to mean!?” he spat, lip pulled back in a vicious sneer. Anger and distress flushed through his bloodstream. He raised the gun again, two hands clamped around it in shaky determination. “I want him fucking dead!” With a final shout, he squeezed the trigger and the bullet buried itself in between those two big blue eyes.
A woman fell to the ground, blonde hair falling over her face as it gushed blood. Her big blue eyes filled with red and Ohm tore his feet from vines that weren’t there. He threw his gun to the side and walked into the trees in search of his paradise.
First: Prologue
Previous: Ten
Next: Twelve
Ayy, I posted! I’m actually getting extremely excited about this because it’s about to get far more interesting and far more emotional with the characters. This, my friends, is where the story starts kicking <3
Hope you all enjoy it! Let me know what you think about it
gi
#brohm#fic#brohm fic#fanfic#brohm fanfic#bbs#bbs fic#bbs fanfic#stockholm syndrome#hitman!ohmwrecker#it's a package deal#its a package deal
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It’s A Package Deal - Ten
Bryce couldn’t sleep. He woke almost every hour, falling in and out of consciousness as his family drifted through his mind. He saw them running in front of him, his mother holding desperately to her youngest child’s hand as they ran and didn’t look back. Ran away from him. They didn’t hear his crying, his begging, his screaming as hands grabbed at his ankles and shoulders and pulled him back and back and back.
No matter how close they were, he couldn’t reach them. He couldn’t run fast enough. He couldn’t yell loud enough.
He screamed until his throat felt raw and ran until his legs refused to hold him up.
11:19pm. 1:31am. 2:54am. 4:00am.
He woke a fifth time to stare out at the glowing sky, rays of orange reaching across the Earth to pull the sun up. He couldn’t move other than a slight sway of the head, body desperate to be pulled back into sleep and to stay there. He blinked lazily, breathing in deeply before dropping his eyes closed again.
He sunk down, mind submerging before his brother’s scream filled his ears and he jerked back. Peering through his lashes, the sun had jumped into the air in his three moments of sleep and two hands were fumbling with his wrists. The cuffs were pulled away and his arms fell like weights, dragging a low groan from his lips.
His arms dragged him down and his forehead bumped to rest on the cold window. He didn’t have the energy to pull himself up.
“What’s your problem?” Ohm’s voice was husky from the morning, rough with sleep hanging from his tongue. Bryce listened to the sound of a cap unscrewing and Ohm swallowed down a mouthful of water.
In response to his question, a groan rumbled in the blonde’s throat and he caught the scoff of amusement. “Sleep,” he croaked out, forcing himself to clear his throat several times before his voice actually listened to him. Movement around him made him shift, feeling another body move close and reach across him. Lethargy lined his eyelids with glue and he didn’t even try to open them.
The door he leant on clicked and he felt his body drop as it vanished from beside him. A cry of shock left his lips, eyes snapping open and arm hooking around the back of his seat. He stared, heart pumping, at the frosted grass below and gasped in the freezing morning air. It took him a moment to regain his whereabouts and he hauled his heavy body back into his seat, turning and gawking at Ohm who was crunching on dry cereal.
He looked very smug as Bryce yanked the door shut. “Awake?” he asked, voice slightly tinted with amusement.
“What the fuck was that for?” Bryce hissed, fingers rubbing the sleep from his eyes in slight irritation. Ohm ignored him.
“Awake?” he repeated, completely ignoring what the other had asked.
Still shaken, Bryce exhaled and nodded slightly. His mind was foggy, no matter how long he blinked out over the brightening sky. No matter the small segments of restless sleep he’d gotten, he hadn’t recovered any energy and his mind was still exhausted from the abuse of his nightmares.
“McQuaid.” Bryce snapped his head back up before it could hit the window again and he blinked at Ohm. “Did you sleep at all?” he asked gruffly, shoving a water bottle into Bryce’s hands. “Drink, eat and then go the fuck back to sleep.”
Bryce sighed heavily, tipping the bottle back. It took him far more energy than it should have to swallow and breathe as the cool liquid slipped down his throat. As much as he needed it, he didn’t think he’d be able to go back to sleep. Not after a night like that.
Even so, he did as he was commanded, taking the offered bowl of dry cereal and focusing his energy into chewing. He wouldn’t have ben surprised if he accidently choked. He managed to get through several long minutes of staring out at the awakened forest and chewing on cheap, dry breakfast foods, but barely kept his eyes open while doing so.
Ohm watched the younger man, amused at the zombie-like trance he was caught in. His body sagged, visibly weighted down by the sleep he’d missed out on and his eyes were almost glazed over with how unfocussed they were. He didn’t seem to be seeing or hearing anything, body automatically chewing and swallowing for him. “You must have had a really bad night,” he remarked, shifting to tuck his legs up under him on his seat. Bryce merely grunted in acknowledgement. He placed two apples on the dashboard and replaced the esky bag in the back of the car.
Switching on his phone, he scanned the blank screen before shoving it into his jacket pocket and sighing. Bryce’s bowl was dropped onto the dashboard before the man put his seat back further and collapsed down on his side.
After a few moments of soft breathing, Ohm snatched a spare shirt from behind his seat and threw it over Bryce’s head. He didn’t want the blonde to wake up any earlier than he had to, and after a moment of thought, he shoved the keys into the ignition and turned on only the power in the car. Flicking on the heater and putting the volume of the radio on 3, he silently slipped out and shut the door behind him.
-
Ohm left his cigarettes in the console, knowing better than to have another after less than 24 hours. It was a rule he gave himself, especially in stressful times. He didn’t want to end up anything like his father and therefore made sure to take precautions.
Instead, he laid back against the windshield, hands behind his head, and breathed in the fresh forest air. His eyes rested shut, listening as birds flittered here and there, and the trees shuddered in the breeze. The constant song of leaves rustling together filled open spaces and he felt the iciness of the morning attach to any skin it could find.
Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to the previous night. He felt part of himself still living in the moment, so vividly feeling incredibly cold and warm at the same time. He could feel the coldness of the bottom of his feet and toes, and the warmth of the heater breathing on his face. He could hear Bryce’s slow breathing, his voice asking questions and his silence just as loud when he listened to Ohm speak.
He listened with interest, something that made Ohm frown in confusion.
What was there to be interested about?
He was an odd person, Bryce. He was curious about Ohm, a hitman who had stolen him away from his life with a cocked gun, harsh insults and nasty glares. He was curious about everything: the way he worked, what he did, how he lived, how he’d become who he was. He asked so many questions and even when he was silent, curiosities drifted in his eyes, trapped behind pursed lips and itching fingers. He had far too much interest in the man delivering him to his death.
It was strange, especially for Ohm.
He knew nothing more than how to be cold, nasty and ruthless. He didn’t know how to be nice, or how to greet people. He didn’t know how to ask questions, or be curious or interested in people, and lives, and places. He didn’t know how to have conversations. Until then, he’d never needed to know how to speak to anyone other than greedy business men.
All he ever did know, all he ever needed to know, was how to be silent, how to stay under the radar, and how to successfully put a bullet in someone’s head.
Thinking back, he realised the previous night was the first time he’d ever been asked what his favourite colour was. It hadn’t been the first time someone had asked about his past, having made countless business deals with curious men who liked to pry. But what made his brows draw together was realising it was the first time he’d answered.
It was a weird conversation.
Ohm hadn’t snarled at him, or glared at him, or told him to shut up. The only thing that made Ohm believe it had actually happened was the memory of Bryce hesitating. He had felt the blonde stop, having been almost enjoying talking to the hitman before he’d dropped back.
Ohm had no doubt it was the reality of their current lives. The reality that he was joking around with a hitman, with a psychopath. He was joking around with Ohm, and he wasn’t supposed to joke around with Ohm. He was supposed to be silent, and scared, and not ask questions. He was supposed to shy back under grey eyes and keep his own bright blues to his feet.
He was supposed to be small and insignificant and let Ohm do his job, until he was waving goodbye, left alone in the heart of Los Angeles.
It seemed like Bryce didn’t like doing what was expected of him.
No. He asked questions, and complained, and spoke aloud what he thought. Of course he was terrified of Ohm, anyone would be, but for some reason completely unknown to the hitman, he didn’t pay much mind to it. There was no explanation, other than possibly boredom, or just plain stupidity, but he knew Bryce wasn’t a total idiot.
Even though he’d asked a hitman what his favourite colour was. Even though he’d told him that grey was a shitty favourite colour. Even though he’d talked about his little brother, and cried himself to sleep. Even though he made dumb comments and inserted himself further into Ohm’s day than he had to.
Even though he did what he did, he wasn’t a total idiot.
-
Bryce dragged the dark pencil in shapes and lines and squiggles over the page for half an hour before it was completely blunt. He’d created a white page of black clouds, toxic dark shapes of figures; outstretched hands and bowed heads. He kept his eyes down, and hand moving until he pushed his pencil back into the case and closed his sketchbook.
His eyes were burning.
The clock had read 8:22am when he had reawakened, and he felt far lighter in his seat than when he had woken a few hours earlier. As limited as it had been, he had managed a dreamless sleep and had renewed as much energy as possible.
He’d awoken to a shirt blocking the sun from his closed eyes, and Ohm’s body laying back on the windshield in front of him.
He hadn’t bothered alerting the other of his conscious mind, instead dragging out his sketchbook and drawing hard, dark, and heavy. There was no reason for it. He felt like there was a part of him that merely just wanted to run his pencil flat, and he saw no reason to stop it.
The pencil had run flat, and by that time his mind was ninety percent in the present moment. He managed to get his body functioning once again, chewing on an apple to wake up the last ten percent, and settled to stare past Ohm’s back at the endless road ahead.
When he was done, he sat forward, readjusted his seat and wound down his window to throw the apple core out onto the grass. The sound drew Ohm’s attention and the hitman glanced back through the windshield. He blinked at him for a moment, expression showing how far he’d drifted off into thought and Bryce watched him come back. He watched as his eyes focussed and followed his movements as he carded his fingers through his hair and shifted off the hood of the car. His fingertips trailed along the dark metal and he dragged his feet to his door, before getting in and stretching back in his chair.
When he shifted his blank gaze to the blonde’s, Bryce turned and busied himself with winding the window back up. The cool outside was overwhelmed by the warmth of the heater and Ohm let his hands come to rest on the steering wheel. Ignoring the urge to curl over it and go to sleep, he twisted the key and felt the car buzz to life in the cold. He let it hum for a bit, yawning as he felt the warmth of the car chase off the cold that clung to him from the outside.
He glanced at Bryce. “Get much rest?”
A lazy nod was directed at the closed glove box and Bryce rolled his neck, feeling it pop with a satisfying sound, before raising his gaze to Ohm’s. “As much as I could,” he mumbled, voice still slurred slightly.
‘As much as he could’ wasn’t enough to completely revive his energy, but it was enough to himself and, seemingly, enough for Ohm also as the brunette pulled out onto the road once again.
Driving, driving, driving; they still had a long way to go.
First: Prologue
Previous: Nine
Next: Eleven
Okayy! This is actually as far as I have written as of yet, I’m going to start on c.11 tonight and try get some more done this weekend but I might be another week or so before I get it on here.
Thanks for your patience guys, I’m getting there <3
gi
#brohm#bbs#fanfic#fic#brohm fic#bbs fic#brohm fanfic#bbs fanfic#it's a package deal#its a package deal#ten#stockholm syndrome#hitman!ohmwrecker
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It’s A Package Deal - Nine
“Will you stop fucking humming?” Ohm was about to put a bullet into Bryce’s head and then his own if the blonde didn’t shut the fuck up. He was unknowingly humming to whatever shitty music was playing in his head and Ohm had been awfully unsuccessful in blocking out the sound.
It wasn’t loud or anything, but he couldn’t stop focussing on the little melody emitting from Bryce’s throat. No matter how many different thoughts he threw around his mind, the little song wormed its way in. He couldn’t escape it.
Blue eyes dropped to his scowl and blinked in shock. An earbud was removed. Ohm tore his glare from the road ahead, meeting Bryce’s gaze with a fierceness the blonde didn’t expect. He didn’t care for the rising concern in his eyes, or the way he leaned back slightly in his chair. He wished he could cut out Bryce’s tongue, or just shove the gun down his throat. He just wanted to do something; anything, that would silence him and scare him and fill him with fear.
“Sorry, w-what did you say?” There was only worry in his voice and Ohm felt fire erupt behind his eyes. Without paying much mind to the empty road, he snatched up his gun and jammed the end of the barrel harshly into Bryce’s throat. The man jerked back in pain, gagging. Ohm hadn’t cared how hard he shoved the metal into the soft skin and didn’t care for the water that collected in Bryce’s eyes from the pain. His hand flew to the base of his neck, gaping at Ohm in alarm. Yes, he was full of threats, but he’d never actually hurt him. It was a strange feeling that settled in his lungs; worry, fear, dread.
The gun stayed inches from the man’s neck and Ohm glanced back at the road to make sure they weren’t off centre. His entire focus fell back to the confused and increasingly-more-scared Bryce after just a moment.
“If you don’t stop fucking humming, I will shove the barrel of this gun down your fucking throat and then you can try and sing, got it?” he snarled, pressing the cold metal to the back of the blonde’s hand. Shakily, Bryce jerked his head in a nod and coiled as far back away from the hitman as possible as soon as the gun was lowered.
He pulled the other earphone out and turned off his iPod, losing his desire for music.
The sun was nearing its home below the horizon and Bryce didn’t let his hand drop from the offended skin for a long time. It was as though he was scared that removing his hand would allow scream after scream, and sob after sob to pour from his chest. His hand held him together, pursed lips and rigid back. His voice had curled up and tangled just beneath the tender flesh and he didn’t doubt it would be bruising within the next day or so. He knew he’d have a big green and purple flower blooming when the gun had jabbed. He knew that flower would not be pretty.
His head fell back against the headrest and he let his eyes fall shut for just a moment. The racing fear bouncing around in his gut painted images behind his closed eyes. A bullet embedding itself in the officer’s head. The officer jerking to the side, mouth agape. The officer crumpling, dead. He watched the moment loop around in his mind again and again before he saw himself on the ground, looking up at Ohm’s bored expression. He saw the gun aimed between his eyes and heard the sigh of disinterest as the safety clicked off.
Bryce opened his eyes and stared at his knees, one bouncing with the fear and adrenaline that refused to leave his system. He didn’t close his eyes again, fearing the feeling of looking down the barrel of a gun
-
The cigarette hung from Ohm’s lips. He breathed out puffs of lethargy, the hood of the black car cold beneath him. The trees around the road concealed the fading colours of the sunset. It was dim out, and Ohm rested the fag between his two fingers, dragging it out from between his teeth, and exhaling the wisps of grey cloouds. He watched the chilling breeze whisk them away and emptied his rotting lungs.
He wasn’t much for smoking, never really got addicted or had a problem. Unlike his father.
It was one of the only things he remembered of the man. A gruff guy without time for love and nurture. All he’d ever had for Ohm was the smell of cigarette smoke and a few careless looks. He was in the child’s life for only a few years, and never even stayed long enough to hear him say “dad”. Ohm didn’t think he wanted to, or cared to.
His mother never cared much to tell him anything about her husband either. She didn’t even cry when he left for work and didn’t return. He’d left them both long before he packed his bags.
The sound of the car door opening dragged Ohm out of his memories and he tilted his head back to look up at the sky as he replaced the cigarette in between his teeth. He waited. And sure enough, “Can you unlock me?” Bryce asked, voice carried on the wind. Ohm smirked at the shy tone, still satisfied with the fear he’d shoved into the blonde’s system earlier that evening. He’d silenced himself for the following hours and ended up dozing into the unconscious land, much to Ohm’s delight.
Ohm had locked him up when he left the car, just to make sure he didn’t get any ideas while Ohm couldn’t hear or see him.
“No,” he called back, trusting the winter air to deliver his message to the younger’s ears. An irritated sigh was heard and he breathed out the smoke with his smirk still settled. “What do you want?”
“To piss, unless you want me to wet myself on your leather seats.” The blonde bit out his words and Ohm sighed out the remainder of smoke before jumping off the hood of the car and dragging his feet around to the open door.
The blonde waited patiently as the keys were found and used, before he jumped up and hurried past the first line of trees. Ohm shut the door before returning to his place on the front of the car, shuffling back to sit just in front of the windscreen wipers. Relaxing back against the glass, he pointed his toes and stretched out the cramped muscles in his legs as he exhaled.
Smoking definitely wasn’t a bad habit he’d adopted. He knew better than to waste his cash away on an addiction that would kill him. He knew better than the man who’d called himself his father. But he kept a pack and a lighter in his car for whenever he needed to taste the thick poison on his tongue. Despite the memories that hung from his lips with the smoke, he definitely loved the smell.
It was, oddly enough, calming, and every now and then he liked to fill chest with it. He was a friend of Death. That, or an enemy. He wasn’t quite sure how she thought of him, but they knew one another well enough. He bought Death with him in little silver capsules and had delivered her to so many people he no longer knew how to kept count. And as much as he grew attached to giving her away to others, every now and then he loved to have her filling his lungs.
The car shifted beneath him and he watched out of the corners of his eyes as Bryce shuffled up onto the car beside him. He made a show of keeping a few feet of space between them as he folded his legs and leant tenderly back against the glass.
“Do you want something?” Ohm spoke around his cigarette and Bryce spared him a worried glance. He couldn’t deny the fear that coursed through him while near Ohm after his burst of aggression. He was scared he’d trip him off again. The blonde resorted to just shaking his head, looking up into the navy sky once again.
Ohm watched him for a moment, before easily sliding the pack from his pocket and offering Bryce one with his lighter. He waited, a surprising amount of patience settled in his mind from the smoke as Bryce blinked down and stared at the packet. He looked up. “I… I’ve never smoked before,” he said, curiously taking a cigarette between his thumb and finger. “No one in my family does and Ra- my boyfriend hates smokers.” His voice was quiet. It was very obvious how lightly he was treading around the hitman.
Ohm held out his own cigarette, putting the unlit one back in the pack. “Try mine so you don’t waste one. Breathe through it.”
Bryce spared him a look of uncertainty before taking the fag and exhaling. Putting the end between his lips, he breathed in deeply and Ohm pursed his lips to stop himself from laughing as the blonde ripped the thing from his mouth and coughed violently. He curled forwards, smoke wafted from his lips as his body forcefully removed the substance. His blue eyes watered from the pain in his chest and Ohm couldn’t help laughing lightly as he took back the cig and fit it between his lips.
“What… d-did I do…. wrong?” Bryce gasped, hands flat over his chest as he gaped at Ohm, eyes full of tears and despair.
He watched as the bearded man drew in an even breath of smoke before he blew it out into Bryce’s face. The blonde scrunched up his nose, waving the smoke away with a hand. “A lot of things,” Ohm said easily, night draping them in a coat of dim moonlight. He jumped off the car hood, dropping the half dead cigarette to the road and grinding it under his boot to put it out.
He and Bryce got in either side and he instantly turned on the heater. The winter was still chilling and as much as they both adored the shiver it brought with it, enough was enough. “I breathed it in, I don’t know why it didn’t work,” he muttered to the dashboard, genuinely confused. “I thought smoking is something that is difficult to do wrong.”
Ohm snickered to himself, easing his chair back. “Oh, it is.”
He earned himself a half-hearted glare as the blonde fiddled with his own chair. Ohm tugged his bandana up over his face, sighing softly to himself.
“Can I ask you questions?” Plural this time, interesting.
Ohm blindly tucked his gun down the side of his chair. “No.”
He knew the blonde would ask either way, and sure enough his soft, curious words were wandering to his side of the car. “How old were you when you started killing people?” he asked and Ohm tucked his hands up behind his head.
He didn’t even know if he could remember. “Something like twenty, maybe nineteen,” he answered and Bryce made a low sound of discomfort. He couldn’t blame the blonde. It was younger than he was and Ohm was sure that Bryce was in university and doing some degree for something he dreamed of, living a simple life.
He wasn’t running down alleyways and slitting throats, buying guns behind the counter with blood stained money as Ohm once was.
“What’s your favourite colour?”
Less personal, more random and pointless. He scoffed. “Grey.”
Bryce let out a strange noise, sounding like some sort of surprised, mocking laugh. “Grey. You’re favourite colour, of a whole spectrum of different colours, is grey. The most plain, blank colour that has absolutely no power or colour or feeling in it. Grey.”
It seemed as though he’d lost all of the fear previously flushed through his body at the ridiculous idea that grey could be someone’s favourite colour. He voiced his opinion with heavy amounts of judgement and Ohm smirked beneath the cloth. As much of a pain in the ass the guy was, he was stupidly amusing at times.
Mostly times where Ohm was a tad bit too tired to think straight.
“Sounds pretty perfect. Plain, blank and without feeling.”
“Of course, of all people.”
“What about you then, McQuaid,” he sneered the name, making fun of the dumb conversation. He almost got angry at himself for being so amused before realising he really didn’t have the effort to try and be cold. It was late, he was tired and there wasn’t much he could do wrong by having a conversation. “What’s your favourite colour?”
He hadn’t had a conversation with someone in a long time that wasn’t about business or just before a deal.
Bryce hummed slightly, licking his lips as he thought over the question thoroughly. There were a lot of different colours on the spectrum. Without thinking, he rolled his head to the side to look out over the forest. The night shrouded every corner in darkness, but the colouring was still there, albeit dark. “I like a lot of greens,” he answered, ignoring Ohm’s huffed laugh at the amount of thought he put into his answer. “But I do also like some dark purples. It depends on my mood.”
He swung his head back the other way, grinning at the blind-folded man through his last statement. It was dumb, and dorky, and he knew it would seem utterly pointless to his companion. But it shook him a little too hard when he looked at the brunette.
He was yanked back to Earth. Back to the car. Back beside the murderer who was failing at containing little breaths of slight laughter to what Bryce was saying. He was yanked back to a reality where he was joking around and talking to a man who wanted nothing to do with him but to leave him out on someone’s doorstep to be starved, be tortured and likely die curled up in a cold, dark room.
He remembered the reality and his grin faded. His amusement got stuck in his bruising throat. Bruising from the gun of Ohm. The hands of Ohm. Hands that murdered, and killed, and collected stacks of notes stained in innocent blood.
He looked back out the window.
He expected Ohm to doze off into his thoughts. Into a small shell of whatever the man thought of. Whatever tugged at his attention and abused him in his sleep. He didn’t let himself wonder of what could be so attention grabbing that it was capable of drawing the man back to spend more time in his head than on his feet.
He just stared blankly at his window and tried not to think too much.
“Do you have any siblings?”
Bryce blinked at the car window, slightly steaming up with the warmth of the heater and the two men breathing. He didn’t expect Ohm to speak to him. Ohm didn’t say anything to him that wasn’t threating, nasty or a disgruntled answer to something dumb Bryce had said. He didn’t ask questions.
Still, the blonde struggled to find a response. “A younger brother.”
Even saying it aloud, he felt a heavy weight settle in his gut. He let his head rock back against the seat, his brother dancing into his thoughts. The big cheesy grin in his mind had Bryce’s nose stinging, acknowledging the tears that began to collect.
Ohm listened to the quiet. He felt Bryce grow cold beside him. He felt Bryce relive memories of what was likely a good brother. A loved one. A loved one who probably mourned the danger his older brother was in. A loved one who would probably kill Ohm had he ever gotten the chance to even see his masked face.
“What’s his name?” His voice was even quieter. He didn’t sound scared, or worried, or much like he cared at all. If anything, he was stuck half in the reality, sitting there with Bryce in their cloaked car, and half in his mind swirling with curiosities and lethargy.
Bryce made sure he didn’t sniffle or choke on the tear that slipped down his cheek. He didn’t make a sound or let any sobs form at the back of his throat as he saw pictures of his brother, his mom. He remembered nights of stomach-hurting laughter. Big, dumb conversations over delicious meals. Pretend brawls that always ended in twisted ankles and bruises.
“Caleb.” He didn’t believe he’d be able to manage any other words and thankfully, Ohm resumed to his own silence and thoughts. He heard the strain in Bryce’s voice. The strain of painful memories. Memories that made him want to sob and scream and punch Ohm in the face. Memories of only happiness that now made him feel more lost, and desperate than he ever had before.
It was the second time in one week that he drifted into an uncomfortable sleep in the same car, in the same seat, with the same tears dribbling down his face as Ohm faded into his thoughts and listened to the younger man’s choked back sobs.
He didn’t feel anything but cold.
First: Prologue
Last: Eight
Next: Ten
I have no idea about Bryce’s family so I’m gonna make things up because my fic = my rules. Anyways, this is was fun to write, I don’t know how smooth this story is either because I’ll need to read it all in one shot to figure that out so I’m legit going to have to wait until I’m done before I realise any hiccups in the flow or whatever.
I’m sure you guys have dealt with worse.
Either way, there’s emotion in this. I’m attempting character development and it’s fun. In all seriousness, hope you guys are enjoying! Let me know what you’re thinking, and I’ll try have something else up by the weekend.
Thanks!
gi
#brohm#brohm fic#brohm fanfic#fic#fanfic#bbs#bbs fic#bbs fanfic#nine#stockholm syndrome#hitman!ohmwrecker#its a package deal#it's a package deal
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It’s A Package Deal - Three
Ohm had slept dreamlessly. He often did. Whenever he did dream it was always an empty hallucination. A lonely wander through an infinite maze of thoughts and emotions. Often they weren’t of the happy kind, but the assassin had had his fair share of bad dreams before. He had learnt his own methods of conquering his feelings – most of which included: 1) ignoring them, 2) distracting himself, and 3) pretending they didn’t exist.
No matter how childish, he didn’t have time for stupid angst. He wasn’t a teenager. He wasn’t a young adult. He was thirty-four. He was a man and he was a hitman, and he didn’t have time to wake up crying and wishing his mother was there to love him.
He didn’t get to make wishes anymore – he’d long since stopped blowing dandelions and eyelashes and staring up at the night sky in hopes for shooting stars. He wasn’t a person anymore, he wasn’t a citizen; he was a murderer, he was an expensive weapon to be used by rich assholes who don’t want to their hands dirty. There wasn’t anything left to him, there wasn’t anything left to his life.
When he woke, he chewed on a cereal bar and drank some water before pulling the car back onto the road. He didn’t blink in Bryce McQuaid’s direction. He didn’t spare him a glance. He pretended he didn’t exist and felt relief fill his yawn when the other ignored him too.
He hoped that meant the brat no longer would bother him with his stupid voice and would just shut up and watch his life drift further and further away until the other side of the country was around them and Ohm could return to his secluded apartment just out of town and put his cash into a good haircut, some comfortable clothes, and a little house far, far away from traffic lights and clothes stores. Maybe he’d even get himself a cat.
The morning light shone in through the windshield, much more of a stronger colour rather than the pale sunrise light that had woken Bryce hours earlier. Now that the first of the three numbers shown on the digital clock was eight, the world was waking up too. The trees seemed to shake themselves out, standing tall over their dark car and watching as they passed. Mother Nature roused from her rest and so did all she created.
It was quite mesmerising, despite the situation with a threatening gun only half a metre from Bryce’s beating heart. The blue-eyed man never did have the chance to road-trip as he was growing up. His family weren’t huge campers so he never did get to explore the wilderness such as the huge areas of forests and bushland that grew like algae over West Virginia.
It was depressing that now was the only time he’d get to do so.
He tried to convince himself that he should make the most of it. He should smile at the stretching branches, the greenery that he never got to see within the city. He should wind down a window and breathe in the purity of nature. He should drown himself in the peace and quiet, the lack of car horns and police sirens. He should be positive! Be happy!
So why did a tear roll down his cheek?
He let it leave a shiny trail, letting his eyes close, biting the inside of his bottom lip. He wanted to go home. He wanted his apartment and the car horns and police sirens. He wanted his boyfriend, he wanted the busy city back.
He wanted to go home.
He wasn’t mean to anyone, he didn’t steal or cheat or say nasty things. He wasn’t selfish, he wasn’t a bully. He was a good guy. A good friend, and a good boyfriend. He always went back to help people, he never put himself before others. He tried so hard to be the boy his mom raised him to be. Sweet, selfless and kind. So why was he the one caught up in such a situation? Why did he deserve to be punished when all he ever did was lend a hand?
He sat back in his seat, facing the driver. The moment his gaze settled on the man, grey eyes shot to the blonde with a nasty sneer. “What?” he spat. His mood went up in flames merely from Bryce looking at him and the blonde’s features twisted with concern and slight fear.
Bryce didn’t like his eyes, and although he was scared he was growing sick of being snarled at. “I didn’t do anything,” he said under his breath, dropping his eyes to the bag at his feet. The hitman continued to glare at him, furious and slightly surprised to be spoken back to. After a moment of gaining courage, Bryce looked back up and met his gaze with a glare of his own. “I don’t know why the Hell I’m here, can’t you spare me the briefest of reasons or at least where we’re going and why I’m being taken there!?” The words tumbled off his tongue and he squared his shoulders as much as possible with cuffed hands. He hadn’t bothered to ask for them to be removed when his kidnapper had woken up hours ago. Although they were stiff and starting to hurt, he hadn’t had the effort to deal with the nasty gunman.
Now he didn’t care.
To his surprise, the man turned back to the road, fixing his snarl to the bitumen instead. “If I tell you, you have to shut the fuck up at least until we stop again, got it?” he growled, voice thick and low. He was tired and grouchy, and Bryce was only getting on his nerves the longer he heard his voice. The blonde nodded, despite his shock and waited as Ohm sighed. “I’m taking you to LA, you’re little boyfriend owes some rich assholes 20k and they want to use you to get that money back.”
Bryce almost regretted asking, feeling his anger give way to worry and confusion. His boyfriend? Ralph? What the Hell would he even have used twenty thousand for!? That’s a lot of money, and he took it from some guys in LA? “What, like a gang?” he asked, voice no longer crackling with fire but instead growing heavier as he understood the situation.
“Yes,” the hitman said, his own anger cooling slightly as Bryce calmed. “A gang, and an important one.”
So he was going to be held hostage until Ralph paid off what he owed. What would they do to him? Bryce was sure they wouldn’t be very hospitable, an LA gang. And he’d sad they were rich assholes?
Bryce wasn’t rich.
Bryce definitely didn’t have 20k lying around either.
Either Ralph would have to come rescue him like some damsel, or he’d be done for. What if Ralph didn’t come? What if he didn’t have the money? Bryce would be useless!
He didn’t want to think about what a gang does to people who are useless to them.
“And if it’ll shut you up, you can call me ‘Ohm’,” the brunette said and Bryce took a good look at him for the first time. His bandana was resting loose around his neck, no longer blocking off half his face which was oddly calming to the blonde. It made him look more human – more real. Made him a guy with blood, bones, skin, and a beating heart. Made him a guy with thoughts and feelings, maybe not the same as other guys, but still thoughts and feelings.
It was something, if not much.
He had brown hair, dark and chocolatey. It didn’t look specifically styled or done, it didn’t seem like he had any time for stuff like that. It sat in a slightly messy quiff, a couple of strands sticking out in odd directions. He also had stubble over his jaw and chin, making him look quite a bit rougher and more tired. The way he looked straight forward with a set jaw and sharp features. His expression still looked soft, arched brows and cold eyes.
He was just a guy.
And now a guy with a name. Not a birth name, Bryce assumed, but a name – a title. Ohm. It was good enough.
The dark eyes glanced over at Bryce, flicking between him and the road three times before he eased the car to the side of the empty lane, letting the engine run as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of keys. Bryce watched as he flicked through the set, finding a long silver one and leaning across the console to him.
He froze up at the close proximity, not wanting to be anywhere close to the guy if he could help it. Although they had had a slight conversation, he still reeked of danger and unpredictability. Ohm paid no mind to the younger man’s discomfort. He didn’t even notice when Bryce softened his posture upon realising what the brunette was doing, jamming the key into the blonde’s hand cuffs and unlocking them. As soon as they were off, Ohm was locking them onto his door and shoving the keys back into his pocket, swerving the car back onto the road and settling into his seat comfortably as though they hadn’t even stopped in the first place.
Bryce watched him, rubbing his wrists with a soft expression. He let his gaze linger a second longer before stretching his arms out, touching the windshield, and twisting back to face the blurry bushland.
“Thank you Ohm.”
Ohm didn’t react, just focused on the long few days of driving ahead of the two.
-
The car cruised along the endless roads, splitting and meeting up all through the forest. They cut areas of trees into sections, mapping puzzle pieces out over the state like a child’s Christmas present.
The two passengers didn’t speak for hours, the driver resting in the peaceful silence with his window down. He breathed in the winter air as his mind rambled and wandered over endless topics, plans and ideas. His future, his present, his wishes, his needs. Everything and anything that would come to mind would do a few laps of his brain before tagging out for another thought. The serenity was beautiful.
The passenger sat with his chair rested back slightly, feet on the seat and notebook on his knees. His pencil marked lines and shapes and letters for hours as the sun did its dance over the sky. He drew pictures, and wrote words. He wrote his own thoughts and sketched little cats up the margins of the pages.
He drew without end goal or idea, and wrote without meaning or understanding. He never deemed himself artsy or particularly creative. Not a perfect artist, nor a poet with words that brought tears, but he liked to experiment. He liked to have a go at anything he could. Stories, poems, sketches, shading. Whatever his thoughts allowed, whatever his brain directed, he would draw.
Music played through his earphones, random songs and melodies that either allowed his thoughts to flourish, and pencil to dance faster and more eager, or tunes that threw him back to his apartment, dancing barefoot with a broomstick in his hands or singing to his lover while they swayed around the kitchen bench.
He didn’t bother to brush away stray tears that flowed from the harsher of thoughts. The darker of songs. Once or twice he had to skip past a favourite. Too strong a memory hanging from each note. Songs that had played from his speaker during picnic dates, songs that he’d rocked out to while cleaning one too many times.
Good memories that now only made his chest ache.
First: Prologue
Previous: Two
Next: Four
Thought I might as well post c.3 because c.2 wasn’t too exciting and this one actually has character interaction so your welcome - we easin into this shiz <3
gi
#brohm#brohm fic#brohm fanfic#fic#fanfic#bbs#bbs fic#bbs fanfic#stockholm syndrome#three#hitman!ohmwrecker#it's a package deal#its a package deal
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