i cried while writing the first part of this lmao how eDgY

sorry Yuri's part is kinda shit, I rushed it bc I wanted to update Today

this chapter was kinda difficult to write and im not too proud of it but ehhh its out there! I love yall and sorry for leaving such a cliffhanger asdfghjk,

Otabek

Throat dry. Head heavy. Black dots swirling in his eyes. Blood that was pumping in his ears, pumping in his temples, wave after wave of pain crashing down on him like a meteorite on the surfaces of distant Jupiter.

But Jupiter was strong. Jupiter was powerful and intimidating, jaw-dropping and fascinating. The boy wasn't any of those things. So while Jupiter would stand strong against a pathetic meteor, he simply tugged weakly on his father's hands and stared into eyes of fire with blurry vision.

Maybe his sister was crying next to him, maybe she ran away to safety. Hopefully the latter.

She didn't need to see him die.

Dying. Everyone's worst fear, apparently, according to polls and surveys. Dying came before 'heartbreak' and 'failure' every time. Dying was something that had plagued society from the first birth, and will continue to spread its disease until the last breath of mankind. Dying would come in the form of quick, unsuspected loss such as a car crash or suicide, yet it was also spectacularly good at seeping into bloodstreams in the form of a cancer. Life was a sand timer, his mother had always told him that, and every passing day was just another grain lost, eventually leading you with nothing. Dying was the sand running out.

At age 18, he didn't realise how little sand he had left.

Sylvyan. He thought of her first, her laugh and her jokes and her strength. Her stupid fashion choices that left him trying to hold back a smile. The way she would run her fingers through his hair when he was having trouble falling asleep, all the while complaining about how she was going to throw away his hair gel because she hated the texture of it. How she refused to confine to everyone's expectations; when they wanted her to dress in pink, she wore cargo pants and her brothers leather jacket. When they wanted her to be a perfect housewife, she stayed up late watching Australian outback movies to prepare herself for the life of a snake wrestler.

You're going to do brilliantly, baby girl.

Umar. Skating. My country. He thought of his biggest passion next, flashbacks of memories filling him with euphoria, easily seen behind his blackening vision. No amount of injuries or discouragement could ever hold him back from the ice. Who cares if he wasn't flexible, who cares if his body was stiff and he had to find a way to skate that was different than everyone else, he had given it his all and he refused to back down.

Remember me, Kazakhstan.

Yuri. Blond hair that he dreamed of running his fingers through, green eyes that sparkled- no, he didn't need to think of every minute detail. He'd done enough of that while he was lying awake at 3 in the morning begging for the bravery to ask for help. Now, in his half-conscious state, in his last struggles to find oxygen, the boy could only form a final thought before he knew it would be over:

I love you. I always have.

Ten more seconds, that's all it would take, before he would be free from this nightmare and wouldn't have to deal with the pain and fear and dread that had become the norm for so many months and-

"Argh! Get off me, you little bitch!"

-and then the hands were gone. Vanished as quickly as they had arrived.

He sucked in deep breaths, greedy for oxygen, ignoring the hammering inside his skull. Only focusing on inhaling that precious, precious air. His legs were shaking significantly more than the trembling in the rest of his body, making him feel like his knees were going to give out, and he was about to give in and collapse to the floor when a persistent tugging on his hand managed to grab his attention just enough for him to look for the source.

"Beka! Beka, come on!"

A small girl's voice. She sounded afraid and distressed, her lips were moving as if she was saying something, and maybe the boy would be able to hear her if he wasn't gasping so loudly. Not important anyway, probably. He just needed to breathe.

"Please, Beks, you've gotta be quick!" The tugging didn't stop; her hands had moved from his own palms and were gripped tightly on his sleeve. She was using all her weight to pull him towards the door, and in his weakened state the boy stumbled along with her. Just a few steps.

But a few steps were enough for Otabek to find himself and realise what was happening.

"Shit!" The effect was immediate. He suddenly forgot about the overwhelming agony and fear that lay like grime around his throat, and lunged towards the still-open front door. Too weak to carry Sylvyan, too weak to run very fast anyway, so it would be easy for her to catch up with him.

Where were his parents? Were they waiting outside? No; he would have noticed them walking past, or Sylvyan would have been pulling him in a different direction. There wasn't any time to investigate or consider their other routes of escape. If his father got a hold of him again, he would kill him.

The neon warning sign was back, the word 'run' flashing in his mind, though this time he didn't freeze in his path to become bait for all who wanted to hurt him. This time his legs were co-operating and he took clumsy steps up the path, onto the street, nearly tripping over every rock and stone.

Sylvyan had stopped to grab something from the unkempt hedge that bordered their garden, but now she was in front of him and almost dragging him along with her.

Past the corner shop that sold magazines and fresh goods. Past the cemetery, past the run-down Church that sat next to it, past shocked pedestrians who had to dive out of the way to avoid colliding with these wild kids. Otabek had no idea where Sylvyan was taking him, nor did he really care. It wasn't as if he had any better plans. All they wanted to do was get as far away from that house as possible.

They were nearing city centre by the time Otabek could really begin to feel the burning in his legs and the dryness of his throat, and Sylvyan clearly could, too, since she was now running alongside him rather than in front. But they had to keep going. Stopping for a second to turn around to see if their father was in hot pursuit could be fatal.

A group of tourists were crowded around Almaty Central Mosque, and they didn't hesitate to cut straight through the middle of them. If their father was following, sticking close to other people would be the wisest thing to do. Not only would it make it harder for him to find them, but there would be more witnesses if the madman decided to choke them out in a busy area. Unpredictable turns, small alleyways, and cutting across grasslands instead of keeping to the pavement would further make them difficult to catch, and Otabek was leading by the time they entered an empty-looking village. No people around to stare or ask questions. No visible street signs that would give away where they were. No noise to mask a pair of footsteps following them.

In fact, the only thing this village had was silence. Silence that was broken by their panting and small sobs.

But not by footsteps or shouting.

Their father wasn't following. They were safe.

"I… Oh. God." Words were too painful for either of them. Sylvyan took a couple of shaky steps to the doorway of a closed-up shop and sank to the floor, head on her knees, trying to catch her breath and supress her crying at the same time. Otabek nodded in agreement and curled up next to her. His legs were hurting, his chest stung, his throat was probably hideously bruised and swollen- but they were alive. Sylvyan was exhausted, he was a wreck, they were both now virtually homeless. But they were alive.

Pulling his sister onto his lap, Otabek closed his eyes and willed his breathing to slow. The last few minutes (or, what he assumed were minutes- they could have been running for 5 minutes or 2 hours and it still felt the same) had been chaotic and terrifying, leaving them both feeling overwhelmed. It would take a while before either of them were ready to speak again.

Sylvyan recovered first. She sat up right and looked up at her brother with those brown doe eyes, made so much more heartbreaking by the wet tears that framed them. Otabek smiled sadly at her and tried not to burst into tears himself.

"You need a… a doctor, Beks. Y-your neck is so… poorly." She gasped, reaching up to touch the newly-blossoming bruises, but thinking better of it and just leaning against him instead. She was probably right, Otabek admitted dully, but a doctor was out of the question. They would contact their parents because he had a kid with him. He'd rather his father had killed him than risk Sylvyan getting hurt.

Actually, how was he still alive? The grip had been tight, his father was clearly aiming to kill him, he was so close to passing out, yet he felt like it had taken so long. Of course he was still in pain, his breathing was laboured and would probably stay that way until he healed… though he wasn't on the brink of passing out. His vision was mostly clear. His headache wasn't as severe as it should have been considering the circumstances.

Cautiously, he raised a hand to the affected area, expecting to feel awful swelling but instead was greeted with the damaged tissue of bruising and not much else. He cast his mind back to biology class. The neck contained the jugular and carotid veins, both of which would cause almost immediate knockout if pressure was put upon them, so his father must have missed the vitals. That left the cartilage and glands that were more towards the centre of the neck, as well as thick muscles. Like all muscle injuries, the neck muscles would hurt like fuck when inured, but wouldn't cause death.

His fingers wandered to the sternocleidomastoid muscles, the scalene muscles, a few more that he couldn't remember the name of. Oh, they hurt alright, he could barely keep his fingers on them for more than a few seconds. But it became pretty clear that his father had been squeezing on the sides and back of his neck rather than cutting his airways off.

Otabek smiled in spite of himself. Stupid idiot. Couldn't even strangle someone properly.

"I think I'll be okay, love. How did- what happened?" Thinking about the hands around his neck reminded him of when the hands suddenly weren't around his neck anymore. When his father had pulled away for whatever reason. Sylvyan's smirk only intrigued him more.

"I used my gnashers." She snapped her teeth together to reinforce the point. "I bit his arm real hard, and shook my head all around, and I think I made him bleed. He let go of you and went into the kitchen with mama, and that's when I dragged you out, because he might have been getting a knife or something to hurt us with."

Otabek just stared at her. His 7-year-old sister had saved his life in a tremendous act of bravery that he'd never be able to repay her for.

"And I also got these from the bush, just like you always said to do." That was when he first noticed the luggage she was carrying. Her school bag remained on her back, since she hadn't had a chance to take it off, however she was also holding onto two smaller black bags that were covered in dead leaves and mud stains. Otabek suddenly remembered what they were. So that was why she had stopped to reach into the hedges before dragging her brother away from the house.

They didn't contain much, he could list their contents with the fingers on one hand. He had hoped they never would need to use them, hoped that they wouldn't be put in a situation that required such a quick getaway. Better be safe than sorry. And now he was grateful he had taken the precautions.

One bag was his, the other was Sylvyan's. Each one contained a change of clothes, their passports, a small amount of money, a toothbrush, a couple of personal items. The passports were in there mostly for safety; just in case their parents one day decided to destroy them in an attempt to gain even more control, but the other items were for if either of them had to escape the house for a bit. If things were particularly bad at home, then they could just grab their backpack from their carefully hidden spots in the garden and be able to survive for a short amount of time. Otabek had put a piece of paper with directions to Umar's house in Sylvyan's bag, so she could find a place to stay for the night if she was ever on her own, along with a short and brief explanation. Like always, her safety was his priority.

Seeing them now caused tears to burn in his eyes. Such small, insignificant things, things he barely missed after they were stored away in the backpacks, and now they were the only possessions they had. The clothes were most likely too small, especially for Sylvyan, and there wasn't anywhere near enough money for them to get a place to stay for the night. But despite the drawbacks, Otabek didn't wipe away the tears that fell with gratitude as he reached for his bag. It would probably make a semi-decent pillow. The 5pm sun didn't stop him from suddenly feeling exhausted and in need of a nap.

"Beks… What are we going to do? I don't think I want to go back home." Sylvyan sniffled. It wasn't their home anymore and it hadn't been for a long time. It used to be a house they lived in. Now it was dangerous and corrupt, the place where the horrors that Otabek had been experiencing were made crystal clear to the innocent eyes of his sister, and surely a death trap if they were to wander anywhere near it.

What were they going to do? He wished he could answer his sister's question, yet he didn't know himself.

He was crying freely now, small sobs that made his shoulders shake and hands tremble, trying to push back the urge to have a breakdown because he had to think. They weren't going to be homeless, they couldn't, all of his hard work to keep them safe would have been for nothing if it meant Sylvyan had to curl up in a doorway and shiver herself to sleep. Couldn't go to Umar; he would call the police or social services and Sylvyan would be taken away. Couldn't go to the police because word would get out and-

Oh, fuck. He suddenly knew why his parents had disappeared into the kitchen.

The house phone was plugged in next to the sink, and Otabek knew for a fact that the only numbers that were logged into it were his mobile and a few companies. And one number he didn't recognise. Probably the number of a friend.

They could be looking for him now, the people he owed money to, instructed by the tattooed man who would have carried out his promise to hurt them if anyone ever found out. Sylvyan had told someone at school about the man grabbing Otabek's wrist, how their parents would shout and drink and hit, how her big brother was covered in bruises and had to steal food. No doubt his parents knew about the threats that the serpent had made. No doubt they would have called him and let him have free rein.

It was only a matter of time before their luck ran out.

"Sylvyan, you put your outfit into your schoolbag. Do you have my scarf with you?" Otabek asked, sitting up straight and looking at her with a serious determination. How ignorant he was to think they were safe just because their father's hands weren't around his neck anymore.

She nodded and pulled her bag off to rummage around in it. Her lunchbox, reading books, bottle of water, orange crop top, heart sunglasses- there! The black cashmere scarf that now had a few pieces of lint stuck to it. She handed it to him with wide, curious eyes.

Without hesitating, he wrapped it around his neck, ignoring the pain, only focused on covering the black and blue bruising. They had run for several miles most likely, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. Their only hope was to get out of the country.

But how were they going to…?

A thought struck him, and he cursed loudly for not thinking of it sooner. For not trusting the only other person who meant anything to him.

His phone was on 11%. Hopefully it would be enough.

Otabek was still crying as he pulled up his contacts and called the only person who could save him.

Yuri

After failing all his jumps and refusing to stop for a break, Yakov had promptly sent Yuri home, much to the blond's disproval. How was he going to win gold if he wasn't even allowed in the rink? So what if he was letting his emotions get the better of him. So what if he was too distracted to attempt a quad salchow. That didn't mean he was going to give up and take another day off.

Yakov had different ideas, apparently. It was mid-afternoon by the time Yuri, Yuuri and Viktor arrived back at the apartment; the other two had decided to cut training short as well, much to Yuri's annoyance. And entire day spent confined in a tiny building with those idiots was his idea of hell.

"We can watch a movie, Yurio!" Viktor had excitedly proposed, probably mentally listing the new additions to Netflix and trying to remember if they had any popcorn. The old man was always trying new ways to get them to spend time together. Occasionally they worked- Yuri couldn't deny that he enjoyed going to a sports game one time, or visiting the beach (something he had done very rarely as a kid). Most of the time they ended with him locking himself in his bedroom afterwards and refusing to talk to them.

So, he had rudely declined the movie, and headed straight into said bedroom the second the door was open. His only plans for the evening included wallowing in self pity and scrolling through Instagram, trying to ignore how bad he felt.

"This must be what depression is like, I suppose." He muttered to himself as he flopped onto his bed. It was unlikely that he was depressed in the sense of clinical depression, and he knew it was unfair to compare his sadness to such things, but he definitely recognised some of the commonly talked about signs. Lack of motivation. Finding less joy in hobbies. Shifting between feeling irritable and angry to feeling numb and empty. He had never been the happiest kid, but this was a sadness that ran bone-deep. Yuri quickly decided that he'd rather stick with his unmanaged anger problems than remain feeling this shit for any longer.

The sound of the movie echoed down the hallway from the living room, making him feel more alone than ever. He almost regretted saying no. Even if he curled up on his phone for the entire hour-and-a-half, at least he would be around other people, at least he would have the illusion of company. Katsudon and Viktor were complete morons but they sure knew how to make people feel welcomed.

Sitting alone with his thoughts had weird consequences, like Yuri catching himself subconsciously wringing his hands together or biting his nails. Like hearing his skate music playing perfectly in his head. Like imagining the sound of the ringtone he had assigned to Otabek. Like finding out he had picked more threads off his favourite blanket. None of these came with visual hallucinations, therefore he was often left to stare into space in his dim room, which was now lit up slightly by his phone for whatever reason-

Hang on. The music that was coming from his phone sounded too realistic to be imagined, it provoked an emotional response that was stronger than those that came from his daydreams. And if his phone really was lighting up his room, then…

No, it was too good to believe. His brain had tricked him into almost mourning Otabek for fucks sake, as if he was dead, as if he was never going to talk to him ever again. Seeing his name in a notification on Yuri's screen was less likely than Jesus rising this very second. Still, he glanced over to his phone anyway, just to prove that it was another disappointing figment of his imagination.

And there, clear as the sky would have been if it wasn't for the onset of a storm outside, were the words 'Otabek' glowing on his screen.

Yuri had never moved faster in his life.

Practically throwing himself across his bed, he grabbed at it in desperation, his brain already creating a string of curse words and insults to fire at the Kazakh for being so fucking stupid and not getting in contact for days. After the horror of seeing the tattooed man, Yuri had constantly been fearing for his safety. Those emotions all came spilling out when he pressed the green 'answer' button.

"Otabek!" The Russian shouted down the microphone, unable to disguise his anger, and not really wanting to. Viktor and Katsudon wouldn't be able to hear him over their movie so he had no reason for keeping his voice down. "You better have a good fucking reason why-"

There must have been a connectivity problem in Kazakhstan, because a strange noise was coming from the other end of the call. It wasn't the familiar hum of static or the buzz of a call breaking. It sounded like sniffing, like someone was thumping against the screen. Yuri frowned and pulled the phone away from his ear to see if the call was still connected, which it was, therefore the strange noise wasn't anything to do with the connection.

If it wasn't technological, then it must have been…

"Beka?" Yuri asked, gentler this time. Listening.

Listening to the sound of his best friend crying on the other end of the line. The thumping sounds were sobs that were being disguised by deep breathing and hiccups.

"Hey, Beka, I'm sorry. I'm not angry, I'm just worried, because you-"

"Yura, please. I don't have much time." Otabek's voice sounded awful. His throat sounded like he had been swallowing razor blades and hadn't had a drink for god knew how long. A hint of desperation was detected in amongst the painful-sounding croaks, making Yuri snap his mouth shut with wide eyes. Something was seriously wrong.

"What? What happened?"

"I… I'm in trouble. I can't… Oh, God." He was close to having a breakdown, that much was clear. He was hyperventilating now, Yuri recognised the sound from the many times he witnessed Katsudon having a panic attack, and small whimpers highlighted how vulnerable he was. Yuri felt his heart break at the sound of his friend in such pain.

"It's okay. It's okay, Beka. Just tell me what's happened."

Grandpa was wrong; he should have been foolish and acted sooner. Whether it was something to do with the tattooed man or not, Beka was hurting. Yuri pushed his frustrations aside and mentally swore to do whatever he could to help.

"I'm hurt. Me and Sylvyan, we don't... We might…" No matter how he tried, Otabek couldn't get his sentence out before he was overwhelmed with another wave of sobs. It was scary. He was usually so stoic and collected, he was the emotionally stable friend who helped Yuri when he was consumed by anger, he was logical and strong. Now it seemed like the roles were reversed.

Yuri was about to say something again when there was another unidentified sound, another soft bang, but this sounded more like the phone being dropped than noises that came from a person. A few seconds later he could hear breathing again, though this time it was slower and calmer, much different than Otabek's hyperventilating.

"Hello, Mister Pletsky." Sylvyan's voice sounded so grown up in comparison to her brother's distressed rambling. Ironic since she was 11 years younger, but Yuri quickly grabbed this opportunity to get some answers. She was a sweet kid, perhaps the only person under the age of 16 he could tolerate. And like Otabek had said so many times, she was extremely intelligent.

"Sylvyan, hi." He began, "what's happening? Can you tell me?"

"Some bad stuff happened, Mister. Beka won't stop crying and we're curled up in a shop doorstep."

Yuri bit back the urge to state that she needed to be more specific, and let her continue.

"We got home from school and mama and papa were very angry. I told a teacher at school about them hitting Beks-"

"Wait, what? What do you mean your parents were hitting him?"

"No interrupting! There's not enough time. Anyway, papa was furious and tried to strangle Beks, so I bit his arm and we ran away. And now we're all lost and alone and don't have any money or nothing and my teeth are hurting."

Her thick Kazakh accent paired with the bad call quality made her a little difficult to understand, but Yuri was certain he had heard correctly. He was certain because his heart had dropped into his stomach and was making him feel nauseous and dizzy all at once. The hair stood up on the back of his neck as shivers ran down his spine, and for a few seconds he couldn't do anything but gape. Little kids liked to make up stories sometimes, sure. Though Otabek's crying suggested that Sylvyan had never been more truthful in her life.

"H-how long has this been going on, Sylvyan? How long have they been hitting Otabek?"

"Oh, a while. They always have. It's got worse recently though. Mister Pletsky, there isn't much battery left on this phone. I don't know what to do." Her voice broke at the end of her sentence, and judging by the chaotic background noise, Otabek was still sobbing.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. Don't cry. I'm going to… I'm going to get an adult. Hold on."

As much as he hated asking the two idiots for assistance, Yuri was only 16 years old, and honestly had no idea how to go about helping. Thank fuck Otabek had thought to come to him for help, but this wasn't something he could solve alone. Conscious that the call could cut off at any time, Yuri pushed himself off his bed and ran into the living room, throwing the door open to confront Viktor and Yuuri. Their pointless film would have to wait. His best friend and his sister were in danger and he wasn't going to let them get hurt.

"Yurio! Have you decided to join us-" Viktor began, smiling that stupid heart-shaped grin of his. Which soon fell when he took in Yuri's expression.

"Shut up. Listen, there's a problem. I don't know the ins and outs of it but… oh, fuck it. Sylvyan, can you explain, please?"

He handed Viktor the phone, happy to let Sylvyan recall the tale. It would take less time than it would if he attempted to recount everything he had heard. Besides, he wasn't sure if he was mentally capable of saying more than a few words- an odd sensation of shock and dread had settled on his skin, leaving him feeling like he was going to burst into tears at any second. The thought of his best friend having a breakdown only contributed to his despair.

But no, he couldn't cry. He had to be strong. Viktor was frowning deeply and leaning forward, phone resting between his shoulder and his ear as he typed on his laptop and spoke in rapid-fire Russian to the little girl in Kazakhstan. Katsudon looked extremely confused and was looking at Yuri as if he wanted an explanation. Yuri himself was alternating between running his hands through his hair and chewing on a hangnail.

Every weird thing that had been happening these past few months now had an answer, and the answer made him sick to his stomach and want to tear his skin apart.

The black eye and other weird bruises. The lack of messages. The way Otabek would apologise for every slight thing and feel like he had to explain himself. The exhaustion that laced his voice in every skype call and audio message.

His best friend was being abused and Yuri was too fucking ignorant to notice.

"No, no, don't be silly Otabek. Don't worry about the money at all. You can get the bus, yes? Try to keep some phone charge but don't worry if you can't." Viktor was saying, his voice much more gentle and relaxed than it had been just moments before. He must have been talking to Otabek again. Yuri reached his hand out, wanting to say something to his friend, just get a couple of words in while he could.

"Beka?" He asked after Viktor passed the phone back. "What's happening?"

"Viktor s-said… Ask him, I can't talk much. We have to go. I'll see you soon."

And the line went dead.

Yuri stared at the blank screen, then up at Viktor.

"What the fuck? What happened?"

"I bought them both plane tickets. Almaty to St Petersburg, luckily the next flight is in a few hours. The little girl said they had their passports with them and enough money to get the bus to the airport."

It was at least a 5-hour flight, maybe closer to 6, meaning they wouldn't be arriving until around midnight. But that was okay.

"Oh, shit, I… Thank you. Thank you, Viktor."

For once, Yuri didn't feel ashamed to thank someone to passionately.

He left Viktor to explain things to Yuuri, and slipped back into his room. His heart was pounding as if it was him who had been hyperventilating over the phone. A part of him felt so disgusted in himself- how the fuck didn't he notice sooner- although the majority of his feelings were focused around a rush of relief knowing they would both soon be safe and a grey area of confusion. Otabek would soon be here in person and would be able to explain things.

The night was going to be hectic, and logically Yuri knew he should try and get a bit of sleep in, that he wouldn't be sleeping much tonight and would be exhausted in the morning.

But he couldn't, he didn't try to fight the truth. Sleep was impossible- physically and mentally.

Instead, he settled on glaring at his clock, willing for time to pass more quickly so he could hold his best friend in his arms.

The next few hours of waiting were going to be the worst hours of his life.

yes, i made up/guessed a lot of the stuff relating to neck medical knowledge, and no, i have no idea how planes and airports work because i've never been to one before lmao

after this the chapters will be one whole section, not split into yuri/otabek like they have been previously

thanks so much for all your lovely reviews! Please review if u have a spare second, seeing the email notifications really makes my day