TW:
- gore
- cussing
-blood
-torture (in slight detail)

*NOT PRE-READ*

JOHN'S POV

I stagger into work, late as per usual but not caring enough to rush.

I pass by Washington's office, ignoring most of my coworkers in favour of looking at my room-temperature Starbucks coffee.

"Laurens, stop." I hear a commanding voice demand. I turn around, coming face to face with the one and only Angelica Schuyler.

"You, my dear friend, look like a piece of dog shit." She adjusts my tie and straightens out my blazer. Scanning my outfit, black jeans, a white shirt, black tie and a black blazer (with black converse), seemingly satisfied.

"Go home, sleep. I'm sure the other comic book nerd can draw some pretty pictures for you." She commands and pushes me back towards the elevator.

"How many times do I have to tell you, we don't read comic books?!" I shout exasperatedly.

"Sure thing. Oh, how's the bird?"

"I think you'll find his names Mance and he's doing great, thank you very much."

"Oh sorry, Mance." She says in an overly dramatic posh accent.

"Few people are coming over to mine later on tonight, be there."

"What time?" I call but she's almost out of sight before I can shout her again.

"ANGELICA WHAT TIME?!" I scream, thankful that the elevator was vacant, but she doesn't reply.

Guess I'll just turn up whenever.

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VANESSA'S POV (damn... thats new)

"USNAVI!" I shout, his head popping around the corner and meeting my eyes questioningly.

"WHAT?!" He copies my tone, laughing childishly at his own joke. We started dating a few weeks ago, just enjoying each other's presence.

He settled in so quickly, changing from speaking Spanish to English every so often.

"WE'RE GOING TO ANGELICA'S!" I shout at him, stifling a laugh whilst looking him directly in the eye.

"FINE!"

"WILL YOU GUYS SHUT UP?!" I faintly hear our next door neighbour, Derek Shepherd, call.

"SORRY SIR! WANNA HAVE DINNER SOMETIME SOON?" I scream through the wall.

"THAT WOULD BE NICE!" He accepts.

"HEY, CAN I COME TO DINNER TOO?" Out other neighbour, George O'Maley, shouts.

"SURE. WANNA COME OVER TOMORROW?!" I ask them and they both shout their approval.

"HEY, VANESSA, CAN I BRING MEREDITH?"

"WELL OF COURSE YOU CAN- I WASN'T GONNA NOT COOK FOR HER." I confirm and from then the shouting ceases.

"Vanessa... can I ask you something quickly?" Usnavi mumbles. Oh shit.

"Of course, what's on your mind?" I sit on the kitchen counter and he walks forward, perching on the edge of the stool by the door.

"Have you heard anything about the search for 'Xander?" He whispers, eyes cast at the floor.

"No, I'm sorry hun. We might hear something soon." I sympathise. It's not a topic we speak of often, instead trying to keep the atmosphere light.

"I... I need to go change." He whispers, standing and walking into the bedroom. I'm pretty sure he was on the verge of tears, voice cracking ever so slightly.

I decided to refrain from following him and instead busy myself with wiping down the sides and adjusting the towels that hang over the oven handle. (I don't know what you guys call them)

After around 5 minutes I move over to the doorframe to see 'Navi crying softly into his knees- which he'd pulled up to his chest- against the headboard. I walk over and take his head into my lap, stroking his hair slowly.

"Shh, I know it hurts 'Navi. We don't have to go tonight if you don't want to-" he cuts me off, shaking his head quickly.

"You still wanna go, baby?" I whisper quizzically, unsure of how he'll pull himself together enough to face other people. He nods and buries his face into the blanket.

"Okay, that's alright." I run my hand up and down his back and let him get it all out; his sobs heart wrenching. After around 10 minutes he rolls over to face me and his eyes are very red, tear tracks travelling down his flushed face.

"Go wash your face, baby, it'll help." I command softly and he stands, stumbling into the bathroom and doing what I'd asked.

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(TiMe SkIp brought to you by bagels- pt 2)

Everyone was gathered at Angelica and Theodosia's house, Thea being taken care of by their baby sitter.

Everyone had a drink in hand and some laughed loudly, whilst others were more reclusive, standing in corners, keeping to themselves.

The night was about to take an interesting twist; one that no one in that room saw coming. For a message would be delivered through the door, one of horror and disgust. A small Polaroid picture of a boy, looking no more than a babe by the terrified complexion he bared, chained to a pole- near-naked, starved, beaten. His body bared scars of different varieties, those old and new. Bruises made up most of his skin, black, blue, purple.

Blood ran from his nose, from the mixture of fresh cuts, even from his mouth. Pools of bodily fluids lay on the floor- the colours mixing to create a vile brown mess. A word, spelling something illegible under the blood stains, carved into his flesh as though it were a tree, a table or a pumpkin.

'W H O R E'

It spelt. The letters large- stretching from his hip to his knee.

But his eyes, they were the spectacle that no one could keep their eyes off of. Shining with unshed tears, pain coating them like a glaze.

A broken boy, some said.

But John Laurens, no. He saw something beautiful, only distorted by the torture he was being put through.