I Want You To Need Me Title: I Want You To Need Me
Author: [email protected] (Mary)
Fandom: Pitch Black
Pairing: Richard B. Riddick/William Johns
Rating: NC-17
Status: In the works
Series: Yep! Probably be a long one, too.
Archive: Yes, to CKoS, and any other place that wants it, feel free to give me an ego boost and post it there.
Warnings: First-Time, AU, domestic abuse, extreme violence, m/m, Spoilers for the movie.
Notes: This takes place before PB, probably be an AU eventually. Johns captured Riddick once and now he's escaped. Johns is in the process of finding him again. This is will be ongoing series. Not sure exactly where I want to take it but any requests or feedback is great. If anything seems a little off, write me, and I'll fix it.
Dedicated: To Paula. You know who you are and I just had to slash this M*A*N* one more time for you.
Summary: Johns is looking for Riddick once again, only this time, he has some unwanted company. Riddick is forced to realize that the seemingly cold-hearted Johns needs his help before it's too late.
Disclaimers: Johns, Riddick, and everyone else from PB belong to David Twony or, however you spell his name. They are not mine! That character of Max Dallas is mine, though.
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He should have left.
Riddick stared at Johns from across the dimly lit bar. The younger man was not aware of his presence yet and Riddick should have left the moment he spotted the mercenary that was hunting him. Hell, he'd even backed up towards the door. But something in Johns' face had stopped him.
Desolation. Loneliness. Pain.
They were all deeply etched in the handsome face that was hung between the strong shoulders. His shoulders were slumped and his head rested on his folded forearms as he eyes stared off sadly into space.
Riddick shook his head from where he sat in the back of the bar. It gave him a good view of Johns' face. His expression and his body language made him look pathetic. Made him look broken.
Curiosity whirled around in the serial killer's mind as he eyed his current prey. This was not the loudmouthed, smart-ass merc who had captured him and sent him back to the Slam. He was attracted to Johns. Not just because of his physical beauty, which was lacking nothing. A strong jaw, smooth skin, and the brightest blue eyes that Riddick had ever seen. He could always tell what the young merc was thinking just by the look in his eyes.
But something in Johns' personality drew Riddick to him. The younger man had such fire in him, such spirit. Yeah, Riddick admired him. The merc was the only one who had the balls to go after him, not only once but twice.
As Riddick's silver eyes focused on Johns again he realized that the spirit was gone. And his curiosity made him stay. Dozens of serial killer, rapists, and child molesters hadn't broken the young man. What had?
Well, he wasn't going to get answers from where he sat. If the merc still had enough gusto in him to chain Riddick up again, then he would escape later. Curiosity kills the cat. Well, not knowing would eat away at him. Johns' and his lives had been intertwined for too long now for something this drastic to happen.
He got up from his booth and stalked his prey. He took a seat across to the merc in the booth at the back of the bar. It was a darkened corner, so he took off his goggles.
Silence passed between them for long moments.
Riddick cocked his head to the side slightly, as if to inquire what Johns was thinking.
Johns sighed but didn't move."I'm not drunk enough for this."
Riddick snorted at the comment. "You gonna 'cuff me now?"
Johns remained silent. Riddick slid over to where Johns was sitting. He took out his shiv and pressed it against the other man's side, not hard enough to pierce but enough to let Johns know he was in deep shit. No one could see the knife and from the looks of the people who came to this dive, they wouldn't have come running over to help a nun. At first, Riddick had been curious, now he was second-guessing himself. Not something he liked doing. He wasn't going back to Slam.
Johns didn't move. He felt the serial killer's knife and his hot breath on his neck. But he didn't care. "Then do it."
Riddick stared at him, surprised. He pulled his arm back and moved away a few inches from the man, so that he could look into his face. Such sadness. The bruises on his face, the cuts. Must have been one hell of a fight with his last bounty. He leaned against the back of the booth. "What the fuck happened to you?" It was a whisper, bland yet it cut through the bullshit.
Johns snorted. He took a long gulp of his beer, which had become stale as he had sat there daydreaming, thinking about Max. "I went to church."
He glanced at Riddick and found the stoic mask unnerving. He shrugged. "I got into a fight."
"With who?"
Anger stated to bubble up in Johns. He needed an outlet for all the painful emotions whirling around in him, all the helplessness. "Why you want to know?"
Riddick noticed the tone but ignored it. "So I can thank him."
Before Johns could reply with a nasty comment, a voice called out," Thought I'd find you here."
Riddick watched as a man in his early forties walked over to them. He had dark hair that was streaked with silver and black eyes. His presence radiated anger and violence. Riddick's instincts kicked up and his muscles were filled with adrenaline, ready for a fight.
The newcomer's gaze went from Johns, to Riddick, and then back to Johns. "Who's your friend, Will?"
Only then did Riddick notice that all of the anger had left Johns and deep-rooted fear had taken it's place. Riddick could smell the other's fear it was so tangible. He also noticed how tense the young merc was.
Johns stared at his bottle of beer. "He's no one, Max. Really."
The malevolence in the man increased with each sentence. "No one, huh? Well, while you're sitting in this dump, flirting with 'no one' Riddick's out there, running."
Riddick assumed that this guy, Max, was Johns' partner and probably a merc as well. He wondered why Johns didn't tell him about the convict sitting right next to him. It wasn't surprising that Max didn't know what he looked like. Johns knew his face anywhere and didn't carry a photo ID.
Johns glanced at Riddick, then looked back at his beer. "Yeah, just thought I'd take a break."
Max must have caught the glance. He put a hand on Johns' right shoulder, squeezing painfully. Anger laced his words as he ground them out. "Well, 'break's' over, Will."
Riddick saw Johns wince in pain as the knuckles on the hand turned white with pressure. He heard the pain and defeat in Johns' whisper. "Please, Max." The other man tightened his fist, pressing his fingers into a Johns' pressure point. The young man gasped in pain but didn't move.
Riddick's muscles tightened in anger, the source of which he didn't want to acknowledge at the moment. "Stop," He growled. The one simple word a thinly veiled threat of impeccable violence.
For the first time all evening, the other man looked a little afraid. Johns looked at the serial killer in shock. Max released his shoulder but pulled Johns by the upper arm. "Let's go, Will." It was obvious that the guy wasn't used to being afraid and he didn't like it.
Riddick watched, amazed, as Johns docilely followed Max out of the restaurant. This was interesting. And this wasn't Johns.He got up and followed Johns and the malevolent man that was connected to him.

Johns winced as Max slammed the door shut. He knew that his lover was possessive -- and angry. Two things that were a dangerous combination. He heard Max drop the keys down onto the wooden coffee table by the door. The loud clatter made him jump. Silence followed. Johns stared at the white wall, feeling his lover's glare against his back.
"You know, Will, if you want to fuck him, just tell me."
Johns snorted, again. Of course he wanted to fuck Riddick. The man was like a panther, powerful muscles that glided beneath the surface of olive skin. Silver eyes that pierced a soul and a voice that sent shivers up his spine. But, he wasn't stupid enough to say it aloud to his current lover. "Don't be stupid, Max."
It was the wrong thing to say. Max flew at him. He grabbed Johns by the hair and slammed him up against the very wall he had been staring at. He grunted as the wind was forced out of him. Max punched him twice in his kidneys and grabbing his hair, slamming his head hard against the wall.
Stars swam in Johns' eyes as physical pains replaced emotional ones. In a way, he welcomed the replacement. The physical pain was real, he could touch it and feel it fade. The emotional ones never faded, just ate away at him like molecular acid, seeping into his nightmares. It was rather amusing, actually. He had beat the shit out of numerous convicts who had looked at him the wrong way. But with Max and his short temper, he just took it. He loved Max. He knew he didn't deserve the beatings, but he put up with them because when the bruises faded and the cuts coagulated, Max would kiss the pains away and he would never feel happier.
He was thrown to the floor and Max straddled his hips. He punched Johns' face repeatedly, causing blood to flow and bruises to rise to the surface. And the younger merc took it with quiet gasps of pain and whimpering noises.
After a few minutes, Max stopped. His black eyes glinted in the florescent light as he smiled suddenly. He leaned down and gently kissed Johns. The young merc couldn't help it; he tensed at the contact and tried to get away. Max, angry that his lover wasn't completely subservient, bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood. Johns cried out and struggled out from beneath the man.
Max laughed, cruelly. "You'll just take it, won't you?" When he got no response, his laughter faded. "You'll never leave me, will you?"
Johns tried to get his breath back, as his hand swept over his face. He looked at his hand -- it was covered in blood. Pain and dizziness swept over him, as the beating mixed in with the alcohol, caused his body to cave in on itself. He needed fresh air to keep him from passing out. Johns stumbled out of the apartment and walked down the three flights of stairs to the ground level, where he collapsed on the stoop.
Max had let him go. "No. You'll never leave me." He whispered, softly. But no one was in the apartment.

Johns buried his face in his hands, wincing as his fingers pressed up against reopened wounds as well as new ones. A familiar feeling. He tried not to remember the times when Max had been so nice to him. His father had beat him, too. He was a mean drunk but a sad man when he was sober. He would beat Johns when he was drunk and then apologize sincerely when the alcohol had fled his system. Right up until the day he shot his mother with a .45 and then turned the weapon on himself.
That was what Johns knew.
Love begets violence and vice-versa. Max was the first man that he'd ever been with and had not been violent at the beginning. No, he wouldn't leave. He had nothing else but Max and morphine. His throat contricted. The tears of childhood threatened to rise again and the salt stung the open wounds. Suddenly, he felt a hand on the back of his neck. The hand rubbed his neck in a gentle, soothing manner that calmed him immediately. The reassuring touch was such a contrast to the violence he'd just experienced that his chest heaved with quiet sobs.
He kept his head buried in his hands, he didn't want to know who it was, didn't care. His whimpers must have struck something in the other person because the hand changed into an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against a firm chest. Strong, muscular arms tightened around him and he welcomed the comfort. Eyes closed, he nestled into the nook of the stranger's shoulder but did not return the embrace.
A deep voice spoke softly. "How often does he hit you?"
Riddick.
Johns knew he should get away from the cold-hearted serial killer that he was hunting but he didn't move. He was the one that felt cold inside and the warmth of Riddick's skin slowly began to seep into his weary body. "Too often." Johns replied, in an equally quiet tone.
They just stayed like that, sitting on the stoop. A few people passed but few gave them a second look. This was a town for the lost souls and people were numb to human suffering. After about twenty minutes, Johns said." I have to go back upstairs."
Riddick tightened his arms around him. "No."
Johns didn't move, didn't want to. "He'll get angry again."
"Then come home with me."
The request took the merc by surprise. "Why do you give a damn?"
Riddick rested his chin on the top of Johns' head, his curly blonde hair surprisingly soft. "I don't know." A pause. "But I do."

Johns followed Riddick numbly as they boarded the subway. It was late by now, probably around one in the morning. Very few people were on the subway car. Aching from his injuries, Johns collapsed onto one of the empty seats. He saw the serial killer grab the bar next to him, giving Johns some space.
He sighed and surveyed the subway car in hopes that if he concentrated on the present he couldn't remember the past or worry about the future. It was an old car, benches were wood with cheap plastic seats and metal bars for when rush hour came each day. But now, it was like a ghost town.
A homeless man that was sleeping on a bench near the end of the car. His dark skin looked dried out from the cold weather that had permeated the city during the past few days. He was older, probably around sixty. Johns wondered what his story was. Did he grow up on the streets or did he run away from home? Did his daddy hit him or mommy rape him? Did he have a family somewhere? Did they worry about him? Did he care? The only other person was a brunette in her early forties sat a couple benches down, her legs crossed and her orange purse in her lap. Her cheap furcoat and black fishnet stockings completed her look. Her face was drawn and aged before it's time, despite the devil-red lipstick she wore. She glanced over at him, staring for a few minutes before getting up and walking over to where he was. She sat down next to him, her eyes glued on Riddick. Her hair went down to the middle of her back and Johns could smell the sharp scent of the peroxide she had used to dye it blonde. He didn't look at her, choosing to stare out the windows on the opposite side of the car. A few months ago, he would have leapt at the chance for sex from her but now she merely annoyed him.
Even Riddick was annoying him but he wanted the serial killer to stay with him. He wasn't quite sure why the presence of a man who had killed several people suddenly was a soothing balm to his jittery nerves and nightmarish memories. Maybe it's because he's just as fucked up as you are, he thought to himself.
"You okay, Hun?"
Johns looked at her, startled. "Uh, yeah." He was suddenly and painfully reminded of the cuts and bruises on his face. He must look like hell three times over.
She must have caught the embarrassment in his voice. "Don't worry about it, kiddo. I've seen much worse. You get into a fight with a girlfriend?"
Johns frowned.
She laughed. "If it was a fight with a stranger, you wouldn't have that 'my-puppy-just-died' look on your face."
Johns sighed. He wasn't in the mood for this. He glanced up at Riddick, who was watching their conversation impassively. "Not a girlfriend." "A boyfriend?"
He looked at her.
She nodded, her dark brown eyes filled with sympathy. "A boyfriend." She looked up at Riddick, eyeing him warily.
Johns caught her look and turned to stare at the floor. "He didn't do it." The woman nodded, her gaze settling back on Johns. She started rifling through her bag. "You want a cigarette?"
"I don't smoke." Johns snorted.
"Yeah, neither do I." She said as she pulled out a joint.
Johns was acutely aware of Riddick's stare. "Look, could you wait until I got off?"
The woman stopped but didn't put it away. "You don't look like a goody two-shoes. I can smell the beer on you."
"I'm not." He replied. "I'm . . . I've just had enough bad habits for tonight."
She decided to take pity on him. "Okay, Hun. Seeings how it's the only thing I can do for you." She looked back up at Riddick. "What about you? You want a good time?"
Riddick shook his head.
Johns bristled. "You don't have to miss out on my account. I can go and get a drink and wait." Riddick's goggled-eyes stared hard at him. He felt sorry for Johns' situation but he still didn't like him much. "You've had enough to drink."
"What are you, my mother?" Johns' reckless nature was taking hold again. Well, Riddick thought, at least he's getting back to being his old self again. "No, but I'm the only one you got right now."
The truth of the words hit home. The anger seeped out of Johns, letting in the exhaustion. "That's depressing. "He replied drily, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the cold metal of the subway car.
Riddick, satisfied that he'd gotten his point across, said quietly. "The truth usually is."
The woman looked at Riddick. "So, what about it?"
The serial killer shook his head. "You're not my type."
She caught the glance he shot the blonde man, who's eyes were closed." Not your type? Is it 'cause I'm a hooker or a woman?"
Johns kept his eyes closed, unmoving. He was rather interested in the answer himself.
However, Riddick didn't answer. He just smiled at the woman.
She didn't take offense. "Okay. You take care of the kid. He looks like he needs someone." The subway came to a stop and Riddick put a hand on Johns' shoulder to signal to him that this was his stop. The merc looked up at him, tiredly. Riddick rubbed his shoulder before stepping out of the car. He walked through the cold tunnels to walk up the stairs that led onto the streets. He was acutely aware of Johns following him a few steps behind, lost in his own thoughts. Riddick could help heal the cuts and bruises but there were some pains that he couldn't. He would try but there was little he could do. Johns didn't have to face the demons alone, but they were his demons. They would be there forever.
He reached his motel room and got into the elevator, following by Johns. They stood in silence as the metal box lifted them up the seven stories to the serial killer's current home. He'd only been there for a few days. It was a dump but no one asked questions and *no one* called the cops. It was a place for those who didn't want to be found.
They walked down the hallway, which were unnaturally silent. The halls were empty but most of the rooms were filled. It literally smelled of suffering. The walls were a dirtied brown and rust clung to the edges of the pipes above. They stopped before a room and Riddick used his keys to open the door.
It creaked open and Riddick walked inside first. As soon as Johns was inside, he locked the door.
The lights were off. Riddick was used to staying in the dark. The light from a streetlamp cast a slight illumination into the room. He moved to turn he lights on for his guest, who wasn't gifted with his special sight.
Johns shook his head. "Don't."
His hand froze. "You can see in the dark?" The bite of sarcasm was little sharper than he'd intended.
The blonde-haired man walked over to the window to look down into the street below. "No. It just feels safer.
Riddick granted the request and stood where he was, by the door, watching Johns' face as the merc watched an unseen show below. You can't hide from your demons in the dark, Johns, he thought.
The merc didn't look up. "You have a lot of balls to bringing me here." The serial killer leaned against the wall by the door, as he took off his goggles.
Johns turned to look at him. "We've been trying to 'x' each other out for years. Why are you helping me now?"
Riddick shrugged. "Takes two to play the game."
Johns didn't buy it. "What else?"
The serial killer paused, images of Kyle and Zach flashing before his eyes. The ten-year-old boys crying. Screams. Whimpers. Silence. Riddick walked away from the wall, trying to banish the thoughts from his mind. "You better sit down before you fall down."
He was aware of Johns' eyes on his back and knew that the merc had caught something. Ignoring the stare, he grabbed a bottle of pills and a glass of water from the tiny kitchen off to the side. He walked out to find Johns sitting on the couch, staring at the blank television. He sat down on the opposite end of the black couch. It was surprisingly comfortable.
"It's more interesting if you turn it on."
Johns seemed to snap out of whatever reverie he was in. He turned to look at Riddick who handed him the bottle of pills and water. At his guest's inquisitive look, he replied nonchalantly. "Aspirin. You're head's gotta hurt."
Johns nodded and silently drank the pills down with a sip of water. The killer took the glass from him and set it down on the table. "What are you, serial killer turned nursemaid?"
Riddick decided to ignore the comment. Neither of them had the energy for a fight, verbal or physical, right now. He tossed the remote to Johns. He didn't watch much television so he had no idea what was good to watch. Both realized that it would be a good distraction.
Johns skimmed through a few late-night talk shows that drabbled on and toyed with the idea of letting it stay on an infomercial, just to see how long Riddick would watch it. Instead he left the channel on Ricki Lake. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Riddick turned to look at him.
He shrugged. "It shows you that someone else's life is more fucked-up than yours."
Riddick snorted in laughter as spouses argued over infidelities. After the show was over, he glanced at Johns. The merc was asleep, leaning against the arm of the couch. He hadn't told Johns that the so-called 'aspirin' pills were actually sleeping pills. He didn't want the bounty hunter getting any ideas about bringing him in.
He turned the television off and pulled Johns from the hunched over position to lie down on the sofa. The merc shifted but was out-cold. He debated whether or not to just to leave him like that in the cold apartment. Sighing, he went and got a spare blanket from the closet and pulled it over him. He stopped to watch him sleep for a moment. Damn, the asshole looked young. Riddick wondered how old he really was. He was going to have to go see Squeaky tomorrow to book passage on a couple of transports. He wanted to be ready to leave in a minutes notice as soon as Johns got the idea back to bring him in.

//Mommy was bleeding and crying. He didn't understand why. Daddy had yelled about dinner not being ready on-time. Mommy couldn't help it, he'd fallen off his bike today and gotten hurt. She'd had to take him to the hospital to fix his arm. It wasn't broken but it hurt a lot still and he had to wear a bandage over it for a few days. Daddy had hit Mommy even though she'd said stop. Usually, he did but not tonight. I screamed at him to stop and he threw his beer bottle at me. It hit me in the face and broke. Shards of glass cut my face and the beer stung the cuts. I was crying. Why did Daddy do this? He said he loved us.
Mommy said that she was taking me and leaving. Enough was enough, she said. Mommy's pretty face was bleeding, it was even in her yellow hair. Daddy ran to his room and Mommy grabbed my arm and brought me upstairs. Pack, she had said. She pulled out my suitcase from under my bed and started to help me. I heard Daddy walking up the stairs. Mommy had locked the door and he started banging on it and screaming. Mommy told me to hide under the bed.
I wiggled under the bed and lay there on my stomach as Daddy screamed and banged on the door. Mommy was crying and I wanted to tell her it was alright but I was crying too. Daddy had never been this bad before. He shot the lock off the door and walked into the room. I could see their reflections in the big mirror that went from the ceiling to the floor. Daddy grabbed Mommy's arm and asked where I was. Mommy lied and said that she had sent me next door while she packed. Why did Mommy lie? Daddy said, "No one leaves me." And he fired the gun at Mommy. It was loud more blood came out of Mommy's chest. She fell to the floor but I remembered Mommy's words. "Be quiet."
Daddy put the gun to his head and another loud bang. He fell to the floor by Mommy and the gun went flying across the room. I could see them, they were really close now. I called for Mommy but she didn't answer. I knew something bad had happened. Mommy was dead. She wasn't my Mommy anymore. She left me. I started crying, really hard now. I laid there until it was nighttime and my aunt came home. She ran upstairs and hugged me. But Mommy was gone. Mommy didn't hug me.//
A woman's scream pulled Johns out of his sleep. He was thankful for the reprieve from his dream but the sound startled him. A man and a woman were arguing heatedly in the room directly above them. He sat up and leaned his head back against the back of the couch, rubbing his eyes as he realized he wouldn't get much sleep with all the racket. He tried to forget about his dreams. He always went back to the same mentality he'd had when his mother had died. He never understood why but the psychiatrist had said that it was because he couldn't face it as an adult. Johns had laughed. He didn't have much choice, his parents were dead. A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped. Riddick sat down next to him, clad in only his black pants. Johns tried to keep his eyes from scanning over the muscled chest. The silver eyes searched his face. Johns sighed. "Jesus, make some noise when you move. You're going to give me a fucking heart attack."
Riddick nodded but was silent. The screaming intensified.
The merc glanced up at the ceiling, at the source of the noises. "Wonderful neighbors you got here."
Riddick shrugged. "They don't ask questions. It suits me."
"Guess if you want to hide, you gotta hide with the rats."
"Exactly." Riddick replied.
Just then there was a loud slap, followed by a woman's soft crying. Neither men moved off of the couch. Johns stared at the floor as he felt the other man' eyes on him. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the woman crying.
"Why do you think she stays with him?" The quiet in Riddick's tone taking the sting out of the question.
"I'm not in the mood to play mind games, Riddick." Johns replied, anger tinting his voice.
At the serial killer's silence, Johns replied. "Maybe she loves him. Maybe the bad times make the good times even better." His next statement was a whisper. "Maybe she doesn't know how to get out."
Flashes of the past echoed through Riddick's mind as another victim and another was remembered. Though not personally, Riddick understood that. "You let someone in, past your defenses. Make you trust them, love them. And then they betray you and you don't know how to deal with that. So you just hope it goes away. That the person you love will come back. And in the meantime, you let them take away a part of your soul, a little at a time, until there's nothing left and then they kill you."
Johns bit back the tears as the truth of the words sunk in. He felt a hand on his shoulder again. It was warm and strong, comforting. He looked at the serial killer who had become his savior in some ironic twist of fate.
"You sound like you speak from experience." It was a shot. Trying to find out the secret Riddick had almost shown earlier that evening.
"Not me." Johns was about to inquire further when Riddick spoke again. "You don't have to go through this alone."
Johns snorted. "Not being alone is what got me into this hell."
Riddick didn't know how to respond to that. Obviously, he was going to have to earn this man's trust. Tentatively, he moved his hand to put his arm around the other man's shoulders. Testing the waters. Seeing how much Johns actually did trust him and how much further he had to go.
Johns allowed it. The arm was an extension of the hand and it warmed the cold inside him. He leaned back against Riddick's chest, sleep starting to chase him again. A thought occurred to him.
"That wasn't aspirin I took, was it?"
A chuckle as the other arm came around him and they settled into lying on the couch. "Sleeping pills."
"Bastard." But Johns didn't have the energy to put his agitation into the word.
He felt the other man nuzzling his hair, then his temple and cheek. He felt so warm now. He leaned up into the nuzzle and his lips grazed over Riddick's. There was a spark between them. And the kiss deepened. Riddick's lips opened to allow the demanding tongue entrance. He felt Johns twist around to straddle him, not breaking the kiss. He wrapped his arms around Johns, his arms massaging the other's back as their tongues danced and twined. He could feel Johns' hands roaming over his body, caressing his cheek, and his arms, clinging to him. Damn, he tasted good. Like the beer, something sweet, and a very minute taste of blood. Johns kissed the other man back, fiercely. He poured all of his anguish into the kiss, hoping for an escape, at least for tonight. He felt impossibly strong arms pull him close. He tried to drink in the taste of the other man, who tasted of mint, probably a mouthwash. A sudden panic overwhelmed him. Max would kill him, literally. He pulled away from the kiss, and tried to run away, but the arms wouldn't let him go. He looked around, panicking. Riddick was going to kill him.
Riddick had felt Johns tense suddenly and now the young man had tried to make a break for it. His blue eyes were wild and his body was tensed for a fight. "Easy, easy. What's wrong?"
Johns closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. He looked down at Riddick, saw the silver eyes searching his for an answer. He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't do this. Not yet."
Riddick suddenly knew. Ghosts were hard to banish, especially when they were, made of flesh and blood and carried a semiautomatic. "I won't let him hurt you."
Johns didn't respond.He didn't like being vulnerable. Shakily, he rested his head in the crook of Riddick's shoulder, feeling the arms hold him closer at the gesture of vulnerability. He didn't want to think anymore tonight. And after trying several escape routes, he decided sleep was the easiest. He closed his eyes and drifted off into nothingness.
Riddick felt the other man's body relax into sleep. Taking care of Johns was not going to be easy. He'd been more emotionally traumatized than Riddick had first suspected. It was going to be a long road, he thought sarcastically, I just hope we both survive it without beating the shit out of each other.

Johns awoke the next morning, alone. He was lying on his stomach with a soft, dark green blanket covering him. He grinned as he wondered how Riddick had managed disengaging himself without waking him. The drugs probably helped, Johns thought wryly. Wherever he had gone, Johns knew he would probably be back. The serial killer would never tell him where he was going. The mistrust seemed mutual, but then again what did he expect.
There was a knock at the door. Johns got up from the couch. Speaking of the devil, he thought. Johns undid the locks and opened the door saying. "What's wrong? Forget your key?"
Johns froze.
"Hey, Will. You never came home last night. I was worried. " Max's voice didn't sound the least bit sincere.
There was a knock at the door. Johns got up from the couch. Speaking of the devil, he thought. Johns undid the locks and opened the door saying. "What's wrong? Forget your key?" Johns froze. "Hey, Will. You never came home last night. I was worried. " Max's voice didn't sound the least bit sincere.
Johns paused, a moment of panic sweeping through him. The complete surprise of his former lover's visit stunned him. His formally quick-witted brain was caught off-guard at the sudden presence of violence when he had been expecting safety.
Max walked into the apartment, pushing Johns inside with him. The dark-haired man closed the door as his eyes swept over the dwelling. "Nice place." He said, sarcastically. " You know, it wasn't easy finding you, Will. I had to pull a lot of strings and I owe a lot of favors now. You want to know who?" Johns remained silent, his eyes warily following Max's every move. The other man shrugged. "I didn't think so."
Max started walking into the kitchen. The walls were a faded wood in color and texture, dust gathered near the ceiling and the corners. A refrigerator was snug in the far corner, beside that a small counter and a sink. There were a couple of cabinets above and below the counter.
Johns stood by the door as Max continued his exploration of the apartment. There was a horrible tension in the room, now. One of anticipation, anger, and fear. Johns was unsure of what to say or do to diffuse the atmosphere but he knew the wrong move would set Max off. Experience had taught him that much. Max gazed back at him through the kitchen threshold. "You know I was waiting for you to come back up last night but you didn't." The older man walked over to a cabinet and withdrew a wodden-handled, eight-inch, butcher's knife from it. Max admired it, twirling the knife in his hands. Reflections of the sunlight outside bounced off the object, flickering over Johns' face.
The older man didn't look up from the weapon he held in his calloused hands. "You always came back to me, Will. " He waved the knife at Will, casually.
"But you didn't." He looked back down at the knife, again. "I looked out the window and saw you with him. Just sitting there, on the stoop. I watched you leave with him. I didn't stop you. I didn't have to."
Confusion mingled with his fear and anticipation as Johns listened to the other man speak, wondering where the hell Riddick was. Did the serial killer sell him out? Was it all just a sick ploy to see whether he could get to Johns? He swallowed, realizing that if the that was true, his would-be savior could be in the next quadrant by now. And Johns would have to think of way to get out of here.
"I followed you, watched you get on the subway. I saw the hooker. I called in some favors and had a few guys pick her up and bring her to a...quieter place."
Johns interest was piqued. Few people had ever been kind to him in his lifetime, so it was easy to remember the ones that had.
Max never looked up from the knife. "She was fun, for a while. Not my breed, but good. Everyone took a turn. She screamed at first. But she soon realized that it was futile, so she just ... whimpered after that. We tied her up and beat her. She was a stubborn bitch." He looked at Johns. "Kinda reminded me of you, come to think of it. Finally, he told us the place the you got off at and we slit her throat while she screamed for God and mercy." He imitated the stroke with the knife a few centimeters away from his own neck.
The bounty hunter's heart filled with dread. He had never even thought that she might be in trouble, but he should have. It may see like a cliche but everyone around him seemed to suffer or die. His mother. His father. The aunt who had taken care of him after their deaths had become bipolar after his tenth birthday. His fiancee, Rachel, had been killed in a car crash. His baby sister, Tessa, had died of SIDS. Everyone. Guess Riddick got out while he could, he thought, morbidly.
Max seemed unaware of his lover's distressed state. "Then we found a junkie outside on the street and after some persuading, he informed us of your current residence in this flea-bag motel. The other boys left, their job was done. There was a young girl that was playing on the stairs, inside the building. Her mother was propositioning a customer outside her apartment. I grabbed the young girl, Arianna I believe her name was, by the throat and asked the mother if she had seen a blonde-haired man, medium height, in his mid-twenties." He grinned, evilly. "She was pathetically informative."
Johns shook his head, speaking for the first time since Max had showed up. "You're a monster," He whispered.
Max strode up to where Johns was standing, but the blonde-haired man refused to back down. In a fit of anger, Max threw him bak against the wall. "Always were a stubborn one." Max pressed his body against Johns in a way that made him nauseous. Now, the man's very touch made him sick. He could smell the hooker's blood and cheap perfume on him, but no alcohol. No, intoxication wasn't needed for Max. The sick bastard *enjoyed* it.
Johns struggled but Max slammed the knife into the wall, just inches from the younger man's temple. He froze. He could feel the anger simmering off Max in waves. He looked around the apartment. The place that had once felt so safe to him, now felt like his prison. No one could hear him in this tomb.
Max roughly nuzzled the left side of Johns' face and neck, smelling him the way a wolf does prey. So different from last night with another man. After last night, Max's touch felt alien and noxious. A coldness settled in his stomach as he stood there, knowing that if he struggled, Max would end it.
The older man didn't need his participants willing, Johns doubted he needed them alive, either. The thought sickened him, even as he realized he still didn't possess the willpower to fight back against the man who made him feel helpless.
Still, the other man must have felt Johns' muscles stiffen. His tongue traveled down the length of his neck, the smell of saliva making Johns gag. He whispered into the other man's ear as his hands traveled under Johns' shirt. " You know how it works. You fight me, it'll make it worse."
Johns didn't move, knowing that he'd wait until the right moment to escape. He may not be able to fight Max but he wasn't just going to stand there and take it. Not anymore.
Suddenly, Max stiffened and started gasping for air. Johns' blue eyes stared at him, questioningly. Someone stood up behind Max. Riddick. The serial killer jerked the knife along Max's spine and then pushed the body away from Johns. Max landed a few feet away from the blonde-haired man, gasping for breathe. Riddick took a few steps back, now able to watch both Johns and the would-be rapist.
Boneless, Johns slid to the ground to sit against the wall, his knees up in front of him. A wheezing sound filled the air, hinting that the knife had hit the fallen man's lungs. Dark and pain-filled eyes looked at Johns but ice-blue ones met them with indifference. He just didn't care anymore, the numbness circling his heart like a dark, cold cloud. Riddick watched him with growing concern. Whatever progress they had made last night to help Johns seemed to have vanished. He waited for Johns to speak first, knowing that if enough time passed the young man would. He didn't have to wait long.
"You're late." Johns said, blandly.
Riddick snorted. "Not that late, from the looks of it."
Johns stared at the Max, who was still wheezing. "How did you know?"
"I caught word of the hooker's death. I knew he'd come after you." He didn't touch him, not yet. He wasn't sure of the other man's mental stability after so much emotional trauma.
The young man nodded. After a pause, he asked. "Where'd you go?"
Riddick took a cautious step towards him. "Where I'm going to take you now." Johns laughed humorlessly. "You're too late. I've already been to hell." The serial killer knelt down next to him, so that they were eye-level but the young man kept staring straight ahead. "You trusted me once. Do you still trust me?"
"No."
Riddick nodded, accepting that for now. "I didn't tell him where you were." The blonde-haired man looked down. "I know."
"Then why?"
Johns looked up and finally met Riddick's gaze, evenly. "Because *I* don't understand why. Why are you here? You have every reason in the world to want me dead but you save me. Why do you care?"
Riddick glanced at the dying body lying a few feet away and then at the dying soul next to him. He didn't want Max to pull Johns down with him. "Come with me and I'll tell you."
Johns nodded and followed Riddick out the door, not looking back but still haunted.
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