Rated T for language, violence, and drug abuse.

This is a gift for Traci because she deserves it. uwu Please enjoy I promise it'll get better.

Having one's ass kicked was undeniably humiliating. But being knocked to the ground, face scraping the pavement, and literally getting a kick to the backside was an all-new kind of mortification. Gamzee choked, his tongue feeling too big in his mouth, utterly unable to react. Another steady blow smashed into his ribs, knocking out his breath. He rolled to one side, clutching his chest and moaning as an initial reflex, but his mind hardly registered the pain. His brain was on fire, his vision crisp, and the next thing he knew, he was on his feet again.

He faced his attackers with his lips twisted in a malicious scowl, ready for anything. His three adversaries only smirked and taunted him, their knuckles hardly scraped.

"You want more, fuckhead? If you beg we'll hit harder for you," one cawed, wiping his boot in the dirt as if to get all of the Gamzee residue off of it. The others howled and snorted in amusement, becoming savages in their victim's eyes. The speaker had the most muscle on him: broad and angry and puffing steam into the winter air: a bull. His two henchman were skinny and trembling—no doubt junkies. They held their shaky fists in the air, ready for another assault, but only at an order from their leader. They were the dealer's dogs, strays with greasy fur and peeking ribs. The bull would snort a snarky comment, and they would echo with mindless barks.

There was something about ripping into these animals that seemed appealing to Gamzee. He'd been knocked off his feet, helpless, but he was ready to fight back claw and tooth. Without assessing the situation, he stumbled straight for the bull. They connected and he threw his entire weight onto the man, grabbing his dark nest of hair to whip his head to the side. Before he could deliver a satisfying fist into the bull's jaw, two dogs had ahold of his legs. They threw Gamzee off of their master and to the merciless pavement again.

Gamzee's dealer now had a barbaric look in his eyes. They shone brightly, reflecting streetlights and casting an eerie glow on the alley. The boy was ready to stand again and fight for his dignity, but a low, menacing order was growled from the leader's throat.

"Pick him up."

The henchmen did as they were told, eager to please. Gamzee was lifted by two pairs of hands under his armpits, and hoisted into the air. He kicked and thrashed against the restraints of the two men, but it was no use. Their grip never slid and their knees never buckled. Gamzee's side, however, was starting to pulse and ache from the force of the dealer's kick.

"Against the wall."

He braced himself for the bricks hitting his back, but it still came as a shock when his head was knocked against stone. He maintained his posture, proudly, even as he was pinned six inches in the air. His long legs still flailed, his teeth were bared, and his fingernails dug into the arms of the two men restraining him. His body sagged, however, after his dealer connected a prize-winning punch to Gamzee's vulnerable face.

The man continued his assault until his hands grew slippery with Gamzee's blood. It gushed down his face, warm and unpleasant as it dripped onto his chest and soaked through his shirt. The punches eventually ceased, a heavenly relief, but the bull still huffed before him. His victim was beaten bloody and into insolent silence, but he was not satisfied. A single, quick kick to Gamzee's groin fixed that. Pain shot up the boy's entire body, and he caught the flicker of a gold tooth in the dealer's grin before he was shoved to the ground for the final time.

His entire mind and body was focused on the screaming, stinging, aching pain between his legs, causing his ears to block out the crunch of his primary attacker's boots on the asphalt. The rest of his body numb with cold and indifference, the boy hardly noticed when a hand grabbed hold of his shirt collar and yanked. But he felt the itchy tickle of stubble on his bloody cheek, and a whisper close to his ear sent a shiver through him.

"Don't fucking think this covers your debt. Next month, you owe triple." The man stepped back. A plastic baggie, filled with the dealer's cheapest dope, was tossed to the ground, stepped on, and spat on for good measure. The last conscious thought that ran through Gamzee's mind was how glad he was that damaging the bag would not soil its contents.

xXx

To the young man's fuzzy mind, the time he'd been lying on the ground in a back alley was quite unclear. His fingers, numb like extensions of wood from his palm, but not yet frostbitten, told him that it had not been a dangerous length of time. Pain seemed to shoot from every other inch of his body as his injuries fell into place from memory. The frigid air made them sting even more, and with growing certainty Gamzee decided to stay on the ground. His mouth tasted like metal and his teeth were gritty with dirt, but remaining prone seemed like a better idea than making any movements.

"God, not again." The words shook the young man from his numbness. He skittered away from the sound defensively, positive that he would not receive another blow tonight, no matter what it took. A small hand rested on his back, urging him to stay still, as its owner crouched beside the beaten boy. Gamzee opened his mouth to greet the figure, using too much effort to pry his blood-caked lips apart.

"You really can't stay out of trouble, can you?" The voice was loud and a bit harsh, but all too familiar. Two hands slid under his armpits, pulling firmly. The bruised muscle groaned and protested. "Come on, get up. Get up already."

"No… Let go, bro, they done me up pretty bad and you're not helpin' anything," Gamzee protested, going limp against his companion's grip. "Let me be here or you're gonna end up poppin' somethin' all outta place. Shit—Kar, be more gentle, would ya? I've only got two arms."

Karkat merely grunted and yanked him strenuously to his feet, sending a wave of intense pain through Gamzee's shoulder and arm. The tall boy hissed. "Suck it up, that wasn't so bad—"

Emitting a low, animal growl, Gamzee shoved the considerate hands off of him. His voice was deep and booming, bouncing off the walls of the narrow alley. "Don't. Motherfuckin'. Touch me." He anchored his shaky feet to the pavement, bracing himself for another hefty shove at Karkat's chest. He leaned forward but before he could strike, his knees gave in, buckling.

The ground flew up fast, but Karkat's pale arms were faster. He caught the other boy, supporting all six feet of adolescent stoner with as much strength as he could gather. Gamzee finally ceased his resistance, leaning heavily on the other's chest in instability. His long, slender fingers crumpled Karkat's shirt as he hung his head on his friend's shoulder, humiliated and broken. Gentle hands stabilized him, coaxing him to juggle a portion of his own body weight, and began to tug at his arm.

Gamzee brushed his fingers along the crumpled, dirty, sticky plastic bag in his pocket to remind him why he had come to this alley in the first place. He lifted his head, allowed his arm to be swung over Karkat's shoulder, and hobbled home.