A/N: Thank you to Deb for once again supporting me and encouraging me to keep going despite almost three years passing since the last time I put content out. It was inspiring to see that you've stuck with me even after all this time, and I am so grateful for you. Thanks as well to LHisawesome4ever, for taking the time to post your thoughts. I will be updating this story as much as possible, as you guys are very important to me but I also have other things in life that, while they aren't as fun as fanfiction, sometimes have to take priority. As an early Christmas gift I've prepared an update to this story, as I feel this experiment has been successful and it's worth continuing to upload this story on this platform. Please stick with me your support means the world to me and I swear I will do everything to make sure that Trust Me is worth your time.

Love, as always.

-SOSXE

I am legitimately blown away. Never in my life have I seen anyone talk to Slade like that. I know just from seeing him earlier that Chris is afraid of Slade. Yet he could say all of that and stand up to him? Not just stand up to him, but completely tear him down and expose him. Never in my life could I do something like that. My best line of defense is sarcasm and a frighteningly impressive ability to make it through enormous amounts of pain.

Chris drapes my arm around his shoulders and we make it a few steps before rapid footsteps echo down the street, quickly gaining on us. Chris bolts, and adrenaline pushes my feet to carry me with him. But, I repeat, I can barely stand, let alone run. The limping, awkward gait soon slows to a near stop. Even if I was at 100%, that kid is fucking fast and I don't know if I could keep up with him. In my current condition, it's impossible. Chris turns to see me rapidly losing ground. Without even a moment's hesitation, he picks me up over his shoulder and keeps running without hardly slowing down at all. I dig my nails into his skin, trying desperately to hold on, mostly because I know what'll happen if I fall. "Do you trust me?" He grunts out, sprinting around a corner.

The concept that I think Chris fails to comprehend is that I don't trust anyone. The last person I trusted was my mom and she skipped out on me when I was eight. I don't do trust. It makes you vulnerable. Not to mention, I met this guy like 25 minutes ago. He could be a serial killer for all I know, I hardly know anything about him. But now is not the time for us to sit down and have a heart-to-heart about my trust issues. Now is the time you act, you act fast and you act right, or you get destroyed. So what choice do I have?

"Yes." I mutter in his ear. He slows to a stop. The corner wall will give us cover, but only for a few more seconds.

"I'm dropping you in this alley. You need to sprint, and I know you're beat up, but you need to fucking sprint or they're gonna see you. Sprint and find something to hide behind. Not something like stupid obvious either, okay? No matter what happens, no matter what he does to me, no matter what you see or hear, you cannot move from that spot if you want any chance of survival. Do you understand?"

"Chris, wha—"

"No. No questions. Do you understand?" I nod curtly before employing what I imagined to be a sprint but was much more of a lopsided jog. But it's a jog for my life. Because even though he was trying to hide it, Chris sounded scared. I find a giant, heavy roll of unused chain link fencing propped up on a garbage can. Jackpot. Quickly, I shimmy my way under it, into safety, out of sight. Unable to resist my own curiosity though, I poke one eye out to see how Chris is going to get himself out of this one.

Answer? He isn't. He's just standing there. Waiting.

What?

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Uh oh. You found me." Slade smirks at him and pushes him back into the alley. Chris only smiles. "You worried about witnesses? Big scary big brother Nick is worried about someone breaking up his fun?"

"It's a percussion."

"I think you mean precaution," Chris tells him, snickering. Slade growls at him.

"This is your last chance, Chris. Tell me where you hid the street rat. I won't even make you hit him, since you suddenly care about him so much. Just lead me to him, and all you have to do is watch, and we'll be square. Your alternative is that I beat the information out of you, total the kid anyway, and then dad finds out you've been bringing boys up to your room when he works late. Think about what would happen if he found out. Think how ugly that would get. For once in your life, just pick the easy way out, man. This comes from a good place in my heart." Chris shows the ghost of a smile and looks down.

"What heart?"

"So it's gonna be the hard way, is it?"

"I'm not a kid anymore, Nick." Slade still twitches in anger at the name. "I'm not afraid of the big bad wolf. I've got nothing to lose. I don't know where Jon is, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Fucking come at me." Slade scratches his chin as if still weighing the options himself.

"Huh, nothing to lose. Interesting." The words are cold and detached, and before I know it there's a knife to Chris' neck. My stomach plummets through my shoes. They're gonna gut him right in front of me.

But Chris doesn't even flinch.

"Oh wait," Slade tells him as if he had somewhere to go. "I have a better idea." He looks at each one of his thug friends in turn and then smiles, showing yellow teeth. "Search this place for the twerp. He couldn't have gotten far." Oh yay, that's me. I was starting to worry they'd forgotten.

Without a moment's hesitation, Chris punches Slade square in the jaw and sprints past three gang members, trying to make a run for it. For a moment, it actually looks like he's going to escape. He handles the whole thing right, like he'd done it a thousand times, but the odds are insurmountable. One of the goons sweeps his leg from behind and he hits the ground like a ton of bricks, face first. Said goon pulls Chris across the frozen pavement and back to the mouth of the alley. He sits down on Chris' back and Chris immediately starts squirming, almost as if he knows what's coming. I sure don't. The kid then grabs both Chris' ankles and pulls them towards his head. This effectively folds him up on himself, and the pained look in his eyes is almost too much for me to bear. Sure, I don't know the guy, but he's done a lot for me. And fuck, it looks like they're about to break him in half. But even through all the pain he must be feeling, he still isn't thinking of himself.

"You fucking leave the kid out of it!" He screams hoarsely, making the agony he's feeling obvious to anyone who hears it. Me again. Why the fuck does he care so much?

Slade shakes his head as he squats down to Chris' level, just out of his reach. "I'm a little let down that you thought I'd be too dumb to take advantage of you. That's what I do, isn't it? I manipulate people? I grew up with you, man. I know every strength and weakness. You're fine at taking the punishment, you have no real regard for your own safety. But you can't watch someone else take it. So what do you think I'm gonna do?" The kid I recognize as Lyja, the one sitting on Chris, he leans back and Chris screams hard. The very noise itself sounds like it was ripped out of him, like it hurt just to utter it. My breath catches in my chest. He's taking that for me, he could've easily given me up. I would've given him up.

I think, at least.

I don't even know him. I don't think I'd sacrifice my own safety for his. So why is he martyring himself for me?

One of Slade's other thugs is getting closer and closer to my hiding spot. I shrink against the building, trying to hide. But the chain above me creaks, just a bit, and I know I've given myself away. He lifts the heavy fence from off of me as if it were made of feathers and pulls me out by the collar of my jacket.

"Look what I found!" He shouts to the group gathered at the end of the alley. Chris' head snaps to the side and his eyes widen like saucers.

"Oh fuck no," it was probably supposed to be yelled but it came out as little more than a breath, clearly showing the hope leaving his body like air being let out of a balloon. I struggle and try to hit the boy dragging me toward the gang, but he slugs me hard in the face, stopping me momentarily. After that, he lifts me clear off the ground and holds me far enough away from him that I can't hit him again.

He drops me to the stone cold ground and I fail to keep my feet. Eyes locked on the gritty asphalt below me, I take a few deep, painful breaths. There is no way out. There is no one to stop him. This is going to be a long night.

I have to find within me the strength to face that. Me, a kid afraid of his own shadow. I have to reach within my chest and find the bulletproof courage I keep in short supply. I know if I use it now, there'll be none left for my father the next time he comes after me. But the thing is, if I don't make it through this night, I won't survive to see my dad's angry, boozed up face again. Courage won't do me any good six feet under the ground. I let the confidence surge through me with every painful beat of my heart, I let the will to live fill my lungs. I don't have to do it with a smile on my face, I don't have to be bulletproof, I just need life left in my body by the time the sun rises over Cincinnati once again.

I hear Chris' raspy voice from a few feet away.

"Run. Run, get out of here. Now."

"I can't just leave you like this," I whisper, still not looking him in the eye. This is my fight too. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't get out of here. I'm better off enduring Slade's rage than I am trying to outrun 10 guys with a bum knee and useless lungs. I chant inside my head, doing everything I can to stay grounded, to stay here, hopeful, present, alive. You've done it before, you can do it again. You've done it before, you can do it again. You've done it before, you can do it again.

"You are not obligated to me. The life you need to save is your own."

"I can handle him." I feel Chris pound one of his fists against the ground in what is either mental anguish or physical pain. I don't know which one would be worse. "I'm asking you to trust me," I echo his words. "I don't care if it's hard, you have to do it. Neither one of us is getting out of this without a scratch." Before I can get confirmation from him, there's a hand roughly grabbing my chin, lifting me up to my knees. I don't even have the time to make eye contact with Slade before his fist connects with my jaw and I crumple back down to the concrete. That wasn't just a punch. That was a knuckle duster punch. Normal Slade punches don't dislocate my jaw and gash up my chin. Spitting blood out onto the ground, I force it to one side sharply to get it back into place and suppress a scream when it does.

"Ooh, this is a fun game." I cough out, turning my head back to look him in the eye. "We should play this more often. Regular punches were getting so boring."

Slade laughs in an almost pitying way. "God, just… neither of you has any clue when to shut the fuck up, do you?"

"That is not known to be one of my many talents, no." He drags me up to my feet as a different kid pulls my jacket up and over my head. With one hand, he pulls one of my arms behind my back. More specifically, the right one, the one attached to my bad shoulder, the one that was dislocated by Slade himself before Chris made an appearance. I got it back in place pretty soon after it had happened, but fuck, it hurts. His other arm wraps around my neck, knife in hand. I whimper. He presses just deep enough to break the skin. I'm breathing crazy fast and shaking something fierce as he holds me tightly, pain radiating from my shoulder. The cold bites into my skin but the situation sets my nerves on fire, heart racing, sweating and squirming against Slade's much warmer body.

"Scared?" He hisses in my ear. "You're shaking like you're scared, tough guy." He slices deeper, enough that warm blood starts pouring from the gash. "Does having a knife in your throat make you uncomfortable?"

"Nick, please." Chris mumbles. Deeper. I'm afraid to breathe.

"Go ahead. Call me Nick again. Let's see how well that works out for you. Let's see how much it'd really bother me to have this street rat's blood on my hands." Slade leans his head against mine, his warm breath against my ear. "Ain't like anyone would miss him when he's gone." He whispers to me. "There's plenty of other weak, pathetic kids that daddy could play with, right?" I try to keep the reaction off my face, but my whole body goes stiff as a board. Slade knows better than anyone how to make me squirm. Chris winces as the name I've always known his brother by comes out of his mouth.

"Fine. Slade. You're gonna kill him. C'mon man, that's enough."

"What kind of big brother would I be if I didn't hold you accountable for your mistakes? How else are you supposed to learn?" The knife moves away from my throbbing neck, and I'm thankful for a brief moment before he pulls my arm out in front of me, keeping the other one pinned behind my back with the weight of his body. I can feel the twisted smirk on his face as he forces the weapon deep into my wrist. A dozen horizontal cuts make their way all the way up to my elbow. I try to pull my arm away, to get pressure on the wounds before the blood loss starts affecting my brain, but he's got a death grip on my wrist. Chris' face is ashen and his eyes cloud over with shame. "Am I embarrassing you?" Slade asks his brother. What did I miss? What difference does it make to Chris where I bleed from?

"Stop." His voice trembles. "That's a line you don't need to cross."

"What line?" Slade asks, snickering. "Since when is there a line? There's never been a line with me. None of your fuck ups are off limits." I struggle against his strong hands. In retaliation, he sinks his knife into my wrist again, slitting it vertically from the heel of my palm all the way down my forearm. I shriek with the sheer pain, grimacing and biting my lip. Every alarm is going off in my head. This is how people commit suicide. I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, he's gonna make it look like I did it to myself. The blood is gonna leave my body and I'm gonna be a cold, white corpse hidden away in an alley. Slade clicks his tongue at me. "Am I hurting you? Sorry, bud. Blame my brother this time." He locks eyes with Chris and tilts my arm towards him so he can get an unobstructed view. Chris' face is turning green at the sight, looking like he's about to vomit. "See, Princess? This is the right way to do it."

"Put…" Chris briefly looks away and tries to compose himself. "Put the knife down, Slade." The name seems to pain him almost as much as the blood does. "If he dies, the fuzz are gonna come after you again, and you'll have to find a new toy, won't you? All those years of conditioning down the drain. You don't wanna lose him." I know he's trying to speak Slade's language to get me out of this, but the way he talks about me like an object strips away just a bit of the trust he was starting to earn. Slade thankfully flicks the knife closed but responds by wrapping that arm back around my bleeding neck and the one holding my wrist returns to my shoulder, wrenching it up my back, my wrist nearly touching my shoulder blade. I can feel the ligaments start to tear as he makes a far more earnest effort to make breathing impossible for me. Blood drips down my fingers and onto the cement beneath me. I'm in a bad, bad way. But I'm used to fighting for my life. It's been this way for years. It'll be this way until the day I escape the death trap that is the projects of Cincinnati. I just pray I'll live to see it.

"That kid has nothing to do with this between you and I. Please just leave him out of it. He doesn't have to be collateral damage."

"Well, first off, it's so much more fun this way. Second, you need to wake the fuck up, Princess." Chris flinches as if he had been hit.

"Don't."

"Don't tell me what to do, how about? Wake up, because this isn't about you. This is about me and him. You're the one trying to get in the middle of something that doesn't even concern you." Chris struggles with the weight on top of him, but it's too much. The constant pain is still obvious on his face. "To be honest, I don't really know why you put yourself in this position. But why should I care that idiots travel in packs? Problem is, you refuse to accept the fact that this little piece of shit street scum, he's mine. You're about three years too late to change that. You could've kept yourself safe, you could've stayed out of it, but you just gotta be a goddamn hero, don't you?"

"But—"

"One more thing, too, dumbass. You think he's such a freaking angel, he's far from innocent. You don't even know him." He looks down at me. "Wanna tell him how I met you, huh?" Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Ain't no way those words are coming from my mouth. His arm wraps tighter around my throat, and I have to force the air into my lungs.

"Hard to tell your little stories when I can't breathe." I rasp. His grip slackens just a little bit. "Thanks. That was nice. You're such a teddy bear, Slade." He yanks violently on my injured shoulder, and I groan through my teeth.

"Tell him," Slade commands me.

"Go to hell. They miss you back where you belong." Now I'm suffocating.

"You're a funny fucker. You're real fuckin' funny sometimes, kid. You want me to tell him? Is it too hard for you to say it?"

"You know, I'd really rather no one say it, but if that's not one of the options—" My words get cut off when my airway does.

"Story time, kid. You were only what, twelve?" He pauses like he's expecting an answer when he knows I can't give one. "Yeah, twelve. You been a delinquent since you were four feet tall, right? Stealing smokes from a gas station. All scared when I caught him, begs me not to take them, they're for his old man, he says. Give me a reason to let you go, I tell him." I squirm in his arms, pain shooting up my arm. It's just a side effect. What's got me worried is where this story is going. I don't wanna hear it. Not out loud. Not right now.

"No," I choke out, hardly even audible. "No more, please. Don't."

"I gave you the chance to tell him yourself, kid. Doesn't he deserve the truth? All the sacrifices he made for you tonight, and you still wanna lie to him? Damn, that's cold."

"Nick—" Chris starts, clearly forgetting Slade's #1 rule.

"Holy shit dude!" He screams, wrenching my shoulder back. "Get it through your skull! You use that name one more time and you will seriously regret it. This is your last warning." My mouth is open in a silent scream as I throw my head back against Slade's chest, fists clenched, trying and failing to breathe through it. The sizzling pain shoots from my shoulder all the way down my spine. The tendons are just begging for a reason to tear themselves completely off my bones. I will Chris silently not to let that word leave his lips again. I think my arm may be ripped from my body if he chooses to disobey his brother.

Chris meets the threat with defeated silence. Slade smirks. "That's what I like to see. We're just about to get to the good part, you don't want to interrupt me again. Scared little street rat with the black eye tells me if he comes back home empty-handed, his daddy ain't gonna take it well." I struggle harder. Nothing is off limits for Slade. Never has been. "Oh, and what ever could that mean? He gets tight-lipped after that, but threatening to take them away made him much more responsive." I stare straight ahead as my body starts to tremble. I'm caught between caring with everything I have and being numb to the whole thing. I know my stupid emotions are gonna win. And I also know that, like an idiot, my mouth will deny what my heart knows is true as soon as those words are said out loud.

"Fine, you win. My dad beats the shit out of me, calls me worthless every chance he gets, breaks my bones, tears my flesh. Ruins me. Regularly. There, happy?" It's far from the whole truth, but I hope against hope that it's good enough for him. He just laughs, and I know there's no way I've satisfied him.

"You have a funny definition of the truth, kid. Here's a hint: it involves the whole story, not just the parts that don't make you look bad. We both know what happened that night. Everything that happened. All the gory details. And you're sorely mistaken if you imagine I don't plan to expose it all. You're done. Give up."

"Please," I beg, a futile last-ditch effort. But there's no mercy. Not in my world. Not in Slade's world.