Jongdae runs, and runs, and runs, because that’s what he’s supposed to do. The other end of the leash clipped to his collar is in Kai’s hand, and Kai’s up on a horse, cantering across the Plains, back to the Palace.

The ground is foreign and soft underfoot, yielding easily. Jongdae’s thankful for that, at least, as dimly thankful he can be among the bag of jolting pains his body has becomes.

It hurts too much to even gasp much, now. The back of his throat has been on fire for so long it hurts to swallow, and the burning sensation has spread to the back of his eyes, now drying and stretching the skin on his face.

The rest of his body is a lumbering, alien creature Jongdae would chop off if he could. Anything to make this terrible, dead weight gathering in his limbs go away.

Anything to keep up, with Kai.

--

They’d stopped, and Kai had waited, for Jongdae to close the distance, staggering slowly to Kai’s horse. He kept his gaze on Kai’s legs, astride the horse. Helplessly collapsed, forward, against the flank and dark, sweat-stained tack of Kai’s stallion.

No one else, in his life, has touched Jongdae like that. Kai cradles Jongdae’s head in his hands, letting Jongdae bury his miserable wheezes into Kai’s robe. The cotton scratches his cheek, but the smell of Kai seeps through. Rough, like grass and earth churned and uprooted by hooves.

Kai touches Jongdae, like he knows him. Those hands, Jongdae’s body knows them. The tensed, locked muscles in Jongdae’s face, and the overstretched skin, yield to Kai’s direction. He has a dizzying sensation of his muscles moving, molding themselves to Kai’s hands, even though he knows that’s impossible.

Kai’s shifting, leaning down to cup the back of Jongdae’s head in a leather-gloved hand. Jongdae’s cramped fingers scrape the side of the saddle, and Kai’s robes, uselessly.

“Don’t pass out on me,” Kai says, voice colored with a tone Jongdae can’t name - “we’re not there yet.”

Jongdae gets enough air to make a soft, futile whine.

“You said you wanted to come with me,” Kai complains. “I can’t protect you – I can’t even protect myself, on a good day. And it’s like this … Jongdae, if you can’t keep up, if you can’t be stronger than me, one day I’m going to hurt you, worse than this … the kind of hurt that clasps on to your ankles and dogs the rest of your days, and one day you’re going to hate me enough to turn on me, and kill me. And I’m afraid of dying. Terrified, of how long it takes, to cross that border from almost-death to certainty.

So I don’t want that. I need you to stop me. I don’t need you to die … you want to live, as badly as I do. But I need you to stop pretending that you want to die.

I’m pushing you, and I’m telling you … stop me. Tear me down and hurt me, until I stop hurting you.”

The thing is, Kai’s hand is gentle.

Jongdae doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Has never wanted to hurt anyone.

He shakes his head, as best as he can.

“Let’s keep going,” Kai says, over the sound of Jongdae’s still-confused gasps.

--

Jongdae knows the depths of pain; has sunk into it before, goes back into it now, familiar. Lets it lead him over the Plain, breath gone, night falling among then.

Horses thundering across the Plains, Jongdae tethered to Kai’s horse, feet sliced to pieces and consciousness imploding, smothered slowly minute by minute.

Out of the sea of pain, there’s a realization, happening, rising slowly.

--

They reach the end, the Palace.

Jongdae’s still upright. Dimly he bumps into something  - reaches out, fingers, to clench on.

“Stronger,” he croaks, “stronger – I’m, I’m stronger. I can get stronger.”

Feels (imagination, it’s all his imagination) Kai shifting, hand on the back of Jongdae’s head again.

He’s leaning down. Listening.

“Stronger,” Jongdae insists, “stronger.”

Kai’s mouth opening around Jongdae’s, tasting his jagged gasps. Something wet at last.

Jongdae’s standing on glass, standing on fire. He’s sectioned, impaled on spikes of pain.

It’s Kai that shifts his hands under Jongdae’s arms, lifts him (why – how can Kai –) bodily, off his feet. Up onto the horse, in front of Kai.

Kai holding him, arms around Jongdae.

Jongdae noses in, bones disjointing as he starts to change. Fangs long, he presses teeth to the vulnerable skin of Kai’s throat, tasting earth and blood.

Kai goes very, very still. Stops, as Jongdae lets the blood trickle through his teeth, into his malformed jaws. Down his still – changing tongue, into his torn human throat.

“I can,” Jongdae says, shoulders heaving, but his words come out unrecognizable, more a pained snarl than human connection – “I can hurt you.”

Jongdae could have torn through something important. An artery, and the blood would have gushed, not slowly leaked in, thin trails of iron and guilt.

But he didn’t. He didn’t hurt Kai, only grazed, punctured the skin slightly. Enough to wet his throat, and talk.

Kai tilts his head back and fingers the bite marks. Jongdae can’t see his expression.

Then Kai touches him, with his mouth, again  -  the blood from Jongdae’s fangs, tongue sliding across the half-changed teeth, Jongdae’s blood and Kai’s blood wet on their joined tongues. Kai’s hand is on Jongdae’s elongated jaw, where the bone pushes at flesh, threatening to burst through.

Then Jongdae can’t keep hold of it; the transformation slides back, and he’s human again.

Kai has a hand to his mouth, where Jongdae’s fangs cut his tongue. The blood is dark, through his fingers, down the column of his tensed throat.

“You should have said, if you were hungry,” Kai says inanely. Jongdae’s thrown him off-track.

He catches Jongdae, as Jongdae twists in his hold to throw up – blood hot down this throat, writhing in his stomach. Jongdae back and caught in this mortal body of ruined meat and bones.

“So you’re not,” Kai says, over Jongdae.

Jongdae wants to hit him.

--

Jongdae sleeps. He falls asleep just after they catch sight of the Forbidden Palace on the horizon, the sloped roof and the imposing, burnished walls barely visible in the early dawn light.

He wakes up again when Kai pats him awake. Kai slips off the horse, while Jongdae’s left blinking on it. His legs, the base of his feet, still hurt.

They’re in a giant square that stretches on and on around them, flagstones wide and smooth under the hooves of the horses. Around Jongdae, the other riders are dismounting, moving in the morning sun.

In front of Jongdae is the Forbidden Palace; granite walls long, imposing, flanking the main gates, with three thoroughfares through them. Above the gates are the famed orange roofs, gently fluted on either side, guarded by stone animals lining the top of them.

“We can’t take the horses into the Palace,” Kai says, extending his arms. Jongdae glances at him, then at the other warriors, all retrieving their belongings from their horses.

Gingerly, he climbs down from the horse – Kai catches him, lifts him up and slips him over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. Jongdae buries his face into Kai’s clothes again, glad to not need to see anything.

So he sees the flagstones, smooth and polished, below. Sees the pavement give way to a stone bridge, the water below it clear to its depths, sees them go up flights and flights of stone steps.

There are people talking, in the accent that people in the Capital have.

Kai doesn’t sound exactly like them. They speak more slowly, measured. Kai’s loud and slips the ends of his words.

And then Kai goes tense, stopping.

“You’re back at last, brother,” a voice says. It’s polite, and calm. Refined. A pause, then – “you brought company, I see.”

“Don’t like keeping my bed empty,” Kai says, “if you took that stick outta your … you’d make space for someone else, finally.”

“I don’t need anyone up there,” the voice says, “you could send them to Xiumin, instead. I’m sure he’d receive them with open legs.”

It sends thrills up Jongdae’s spine, this cultured, careful voice speaking word after word of obscenity.

“Why, have you tried?”

“I have propriety,” Suho returns, unruffled by Kai’s sharp reply. “It’s in short supply around here, lately. Bringing a shifter back … those are the teeth marks of animals on your throat, Kai. I’d pull each of his teeth out, and then fill the gaps left with molten lead, if any shifter dared do that to me.”

“And they call me barbaric,” Kai says, relaxing.

“It’s our secret,” Suho says, and Jongdae can hear the smile in his voice.

“Is that all?” Kai asks.

“Rein in your dogs,” Suho says, nicely. “Or I’ll get them neutered, for you.”

“They’re just exercising,” Kai says, mock-exasperated.

“You made your point,” Suho shifts, robe shuffling. “Loudly. Every noble in the Court is either going to come begging at your feet, or shake hands with a knife behind their back.”

“The more unsettled, the better.” Kai adjusts Jongdae, shifting his weight. “If you all are going to keep me trapped here, waiting for me to waste away – I’ll make it as uncomfortable as I can, for everyone.”

“Oh, the threat,” Suho says, sarcasm strong through the entirely polite tone he maintains. “Really, Jongin – how old are you, I forget sometimes. So the Emperor doesn’t trust you, won’t give you land. Won’t send you back out again. So sending your Pack all around to the estates, stirring up trouble … that will convince him to send you back out, into battle.”

“ I’m so honoured to be a threat to you, brother.”

“I don’t know why I even bother,” Suho says, disinterest – something finally marring that politeness – “go ahead, scheme and plot. It provides me with something to do in here, at least.”

He walks off, and Kai starts walking again. But Jongdae can feel the tenseness that refuses to leave Kai, the arm clamped like an iron bar over Jongdae.

--

Kai’s rooms are palatial, panelled with wood of a warm, red-like hue – paper screens and bamboo doors delicately crafted – but there’s nothing inside his sleeping chambers but rows and rows of paper scrolls, and a bed, recessed in the wall, gauze curtains pulled tight over it.

Those next few days, they are the best memories Jongdae will have for a long while.

Behind Kai’s room is a warm spring, bubbling out of the rocks like a miracle, cloud of steam visible in the cold nights. Kai takes Jongdae to only two place – his bed, or the spring. At night sometimes Jongdae holds Kai, while Kai reads, Jongdae’s face buried in Kai’s wool undershirt. Other times Kai takes care of Jongdae, changes his bandages, feeds him, him until Jongdae falls asleep, fingers clutched tight in Kai’s clothes.

It’s like they’re safe in here, both of them.

On the fourth day, when Kai’s out, someone else comes in.

Jongdae recognizes his voice. He parts the curtains, looking down at Jongdae, who’s slowly struggling awake.

“Lynx,” the man says, and Jongdae knows that voice – it’s the same person he heard, the one called –

“I’m Suho,” the man says. He reaches a hand down and grasps Jongdae’s collar, swiftly, pulling it forward to inspect it – strong enough that Jongdae’s hands scrabble at the collar, it’s choking -

“Have you forgotten about the rest of your tribe?”

Jongdae stares the yellow, stitched on his sleeves. He opens his mouth to say he hasn’t, and for a confusing moment, he doesn’t know what Suho’s talking about.

But he does, doesn’t he? He’s forgotten.

“It took a while to find out where he’d picked you up from. If you do something for me, I’ll reinstate your tribe,” Suho promises. “If you don’t, I’ll let you choose for them – brothel, coal mine, or the Pit.”

“It’s nothing bad,” Suho reassures, “we’ll just talk, once every few weeks. You’ll come and we’ll talk, about what Jongin has been up to. Now,” he says, “I know Jongin’s off to see that Pack of his … why don’t we start, now? What Jongin and Xiumin are up to, together?”

--

a/n -  so this story is difficult in a way I've never quite met before - and I don't really use twitter or tumblr, so... It's been hard to develop a writing community here (don't get me wrong -I've met many lovely people) - if you would be willing to read through my drafts or bounce ideas back and forth with me, just drop me a pm ? It would be such a lifesaver