[ Flipside - A DSaF Fanfic ]

[ Chapter 13 | Locked Away in a Castle ]

[ short chapter because my brain is being dumb :/ ]

[ woo!!! trans peter headcannon go brrr!!! one day, i'm going to explain this headcannon on here, but that day is not today. ]

    At first, all he heard was the panting of a dog, his family dog, and his own breathing. The world was dark, fuzzy. He then, suddenly gain awareness. He was in a drowsy haze, having just woken up. The place looked like a house, his house, but...distorted? Behind the window there was a black void, with flickers of eyes. The eyes didn't seem to be attached to anyone, rather, they just existed. He turned his attention from the window to the picture on the wall. The same one he had in his house. One of him, Jack and Dee. It was wrong as well, showing Jack, himself with his phone-head, and the puppet he had seen in his last location. He stretched, and finally snapped out of the sleepy fog.

    Peter had stop counting how long he had been here; there seemed to be no time in this place. Maybe it had been days, maybe months, maybe years. Days blended together. The only "people" he knew were here was Jack's soul, who called himself Blackjack, himself and...

    He shuttered at the thought of the last one, the one mere feet away from him. His murderer. Peter could already feel the sharp, cold metal insides of the springlock suit clawing at him as he thought about him. He turned away from the door, hands shaking. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to suppress his fear. The purple mutt, Blackjack, had been keeping him hostage here, saying he was "bait". He wasn't sure what he was bait for, but if it was for anyone even half as bad as the pink man behind the door-

    He halted the thought. Blackjack was just like how Jack had been, before he died. A selfish, self-entitled, a̷s̷s̷ arsehole. The one who caused Dee's death, because he was too f̷u̷c̷k̷i̷n̷g̷ hecking drunk to remember to pick her up. But, also, he was someone Peter had failed to protect. He had to protect him now, as Blackjack was the little amount of family he had left. Peter sat down on the floor, watching Blackjack. His fingers tensed every time the mutt stirred, as if he was going to awake. But, he never did. Blackjack claimed he was a guard dog, trying to protect them from Henry, but they both knew that was foolish. Every moment they sat there; Henry only got more powerful. Peter fidgeted with his hands, nervously.

    Peter had tried to make do with what he had. He had torn the window curtain off to make a makeshift chest binder, though he was definitely not a craftsman. It was too tight, as if it would snap his ribs, but any looser and it wouldn't do any compression. He would ask Blackjack for help, but A. Blackjack had paws, and no apposable thumbs, and B. Blackjack wasn't a fan of Peter being a man. Peter didn't want his help anyways. Sure, they were brothers, but Blackjack's "husk" felt more like a brother than Blackjack had ever. Plus, he was pretty sure brothers don't tend to kidnap each other. But what did he know? Peter pivoted to his right, hearing rustles. The sound of him getting up.  His breathing stopped, frozen in place. The dog got up, stretched, and then shook as if he was trying to get rid of water on his fur.

    "Lnqmhmf, rhrs-"

    "Brother." Peter corrected him, casting a glare in his direction.

    The soul-dog rolled his eyes. "Xdr, xdr. Aqnsgdq, vgzsdudq. Zmxvzxr, H gzud fnnc mdvr!"

    "That news being?" Peter leaned, curious. What did he see as good news?

    The dog bounced up, his tail wagging. "Sgd adhmfr zmc bqdzstdr H'l trhmf xnt sn ktqd zqd mdzq!" Peter felt a pit in his stomach.

    "And...who are you trying to lure here...?"

    "Xnt jmnv sgdl. Rnld xnt knud, rnld xnt gzsd." 

    He sighed, turning back to the door. That wasn't very clear. But if he was taking about who he though when he said, 'some that he loves'.... Maybe he was talking about his dead wife, about Caroline! Peter shook his head. It wasn't smart to get his hopes up. Plus, this Jack hadn't known him since he and his body departed. Who's to say who he thought Peter loved and hated? 

     Peter leaned back, now laying down, sighing. He longed to be out of here, to no longer be bait. He longed for whatever afterlife awaited him after this. Heaven, hell, purgatory, some other thing, whatever it was, it'd be better than this. Laying down, he stared at the ceiling. It hurt to breath; his lungs felt like they'd pop. How long had he worn his binder? Eh, he wasn't sure. He hadn't dared to take it off ever since he had made it. 

    "Why are you even using me as bait?" Peter asked, mindlessly.

   "Adbztrd, xnt gzud bnmmdbshnmr sn zkk vgn H'l sqxhmf sn ktqd, zmc adbztrd xnt vdqd sgd dzrhdrs sn bzostqd."

    Peter groaned. "Very reassuring."

    "Lx ina hrm's sn qdzrrtqd xnt. Sgzs vzr xntq ina, nkcdq rhakhmf, zmc. Xnt. Ezhkdc."

    A pang in his heart made Peter get up, still sitting. Harsh. But, he kept his mouth shut.

    The mutt continued. "Xnt'qd z ezhktqd. Zs kdzrs H chc rnldsghmf vhsg lx khed, xnt nm sgd nsgdq gzmc, vzr itrs z bknf hm z bnqonqzsd lzbghmd."

    His hand curled into a fist. He scowled at the dog.

    "Xnt bntkcm's dudm rzud tr. Rzud xntq rhakhmfr. Sgzs vzr xntq nmd ina."

    "It's not my fault!" The words came tumbling from his mouth. "If you hadn't h-hecking gotten drunk that night, Dee might still be alive!"

     The dog snarled, returning Peter's scowl. "Xnt'qd sgd nmd vgn sqtrsdc ld sn szjd bzqd ne gdq, itrs adbztrd xnt vdqd snn kzyx sn cn hs xntqrdke!"

    "It's my fault?! Sorry I had work and couldn't spend my day looking after our sister. All you ever did was sleep all day."

    "Mns lx oqnakdl."

   Peter took a deep breath. Jack's soul was impossible to work with. He'd much rather have Jack, the one he saw as the true Jack, here instead of the mutt.

    "Gosh...why are you like this...? You're like a toddler, I swear."

    The dog stood up, straightened his position. He, then, turned to Peter, and lunged at him. Peter rolled away and stumbled up. He held onto the wall to get up. The dog lunged again, this time striking Peter in the stomach. He yelped, falling forward. He crumpled into a ball, groaning. 

    "The heck?!" He growled at the dog, his hand held to his wound. He glanced down, feeling something warm. He looked at his hand. Blood. His whole hand was coated in scarlet. He, then, fainted. The darkness consumed him again.