A/N: This is one pretty dark, partitally inspired by the darkfic entry in my 10 sentence meme fill.

Jaebum’s arms are starting to ache and there’s a crick forming in his neck. He doesn’t know why he keeps swinging, the body beneath him has long stopped thrashing–and squirming and flinching and twitching, really has stopped displaying any sign of life–but the burning in the pit of his stomach still hasn’t been sated, so he carries on until he slips and his fist goes slamming into the cold, hard ground.

“Ah, !” Jaebum curses, holding his injured hand close to his chest. He carefully flexes his fingers, wincing at the pain that shoots through his entire hand. It’s a minor injury compared to others he’s received – not to mention inflicted – and so he just shakes it and prepares to switch hands. He’s stopped by a smaller pairs of arms clinging to him.

“Please stop,” Youngjae croaks, tears running in rivulets down his face and snot dripping from his nose, “Hyung, please,” his voice cracks. Jaebum blinks in surprise. Although his younger brother had been the impetus for his attack, he honestly forgot the boy was here with him. Youngjae opens his mouth again, presumably to plead some more, but he shuts it with a snap, his body convulsing as his gaze falls on what’s left of the man below them.

“Ah,” Jaebum sighs as the contents of his brother’s stomach are hurled onto both of their trousers. “If I wasn’t going to burn these clothes before, then I definitely would have to now,” he shakes his head, idly wiping the blood that coats his hands off on his trousers. He then fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket and uses it to hold his mobile phone.

“Jinyoung, I need the rubbish men to make a stop at 21/52 and make sure they bring two new bin liners. Good.”

He hangs up and turns to his brother, who is now doubled over on he ground, his shoulders shaking as pathetic sounding whimpers escape his lips. “Come on, Youngjae, it’s time to go,” he reaches down and grabs the boy by the shoulders, pulling his body into a sitting position. Jaebum frowns when he realises he’s gotten blood on his brother’s uniform blazer. These things cost so much money and there’s no way he’d ever get the red stain out of it.

“Hyu-hyu-hyu,” Youngjae stutters, his lips trembling too much for the words to form properly.

Jaebum shifts his hands under Youngjae’s armpits and hauls the younger boy to his feet. “I’m sorry, but you’re not allowed to be weak, little brother – not anymore,” he rests his hands on the younger boy’s shoulders, both to support him and to impart the seriousness of his words.

“Hyung…” Youngjae sniffs, a hiccup rattling his body. For a second, Youngjae is even younger and smaller than he is now and he’s missing one of his teeth as he stares up at Jaebum with a black eye and a split lip.

Jaebum blinks away the memory, his fingers dig harder into his brother’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, I really am, but I can’t afford it anymore. Not after what just happened,” he says seriously. “Do you understand?” Youngjae nods ever so slightly and Jaebum pulls him in for a short hug. A small hand fists itself in Jaebum’s shirt, right over his heart. “Good boy.”

The two of them only have to wait for seven minutes until two of Jaebum’s men come stalking into the alley, a duffel bag slung over one’s shoulder and a much larger–and much emptier–bag held under the arm of the other one. Jaebum quickly strips out of his soiled clothes as easily as he ties his shoelaces, but Youngjae is much slower, hesitant to strip in front of the strange men even when Jaebum orders them to turn their backs. Once they’re both dressed in the fresh clothes, Jaebum stuffs their old clothes into the bag, pausing only when he catches sight of the stark red handprint on his not-so-white shirt.

While his men get the body into the bag, Jaebum directs Youngjae to the backseat of their car and drops the duffel bag with their clothes in the trunk. By the time Jaebum opens the door and sits adjacent to him, the boy has stopped crying. His face is still pale and stricken, but it’s a start.

“Hyung,” Youngjae whispers hoarsely, his hand snaking out to clutch the sleeve of Jaebum’s shirt while his eyes remain fixed on his lap, “I don’t think I can be like you. Even if I become strong, I can’t be strong like you,” he turns to blink up at Jaebum.

“Good,” Jaebum nods.

“Oh, okay,” Youngjae blinks in surprise.

Jaebum turns his face away to hide his bitter smile. I don’t want to break you any more than I already have to, he thinks.