A/N: Experimenting with fanfiction again, basically just to see what this story reads like online. I'll move it to AO3 when I've got more chapters fleshed out. Also, I'm playing around with a "20-words per line" limit. LMK if it reads alright.

He's taken right from under their noses.

Ray retreats to the SUV to call Julianne. "Lloyd might actually pull this trigger," he says.

He's not lying. Lowery looks like the animal Damien's trying to turn him into.

Spittle dots his chin, his knuckles white. He's shivering like he's been locked in a freezer for weeks.

Julianne starts to set off the fire alarms. Lowery toes the crag. Then Ray blinks.

A single gunshot rings out.

When Ray looks up, Lloyd is gone. His phone lies abandoned, next to Max.

The circus freak is shuddering, choking, clutching at the bullet wound in his chest.

Time slows. The phone slips from Ray's ear.

He thinks of Charlie bleeding out in the dirt and Lowery's dropped gun and the bastard's done it again.

Ray calls an ambulance. They search everywhere, every way out, to no avail.

Minutes later, Julianne receives an anonymous tip. Theresa's on the rooftop of the warehouse.

With no leads on the ground, Ray returns to rescue his daughter.

She emerges on the roof, bound and crying and weak, but untouched. Damien kept his word.

After that, they don't see Damien or Lloyd for a long, long time.

Too long.

Damien manhandles him away from the overpass and into the passenger side of a car.

Lloyd stares at the blood on his pant leg with half-lidded, glazed eyes.

The world is a tunnel of screaming white noise. He sees blood, he hears Max scream.

The gun's kick loops in his hands' muscle memory. His stomach churns like he's falling feet-first into an abyss.

He pukes onto the dashboard. Damien clasps Lloyd's neck and shakes him. Lloyd tries not to dry-heave into his lap.

He didn't pull that trigger. He didn't kill Max. He didn't.

Murderer.

The ringing in his ears swells, then subsides. Damien says, "—dn't think you had it in you, doc."

Lloyd's mouth is moving, but nothing comes out. He screws his eyes shut and cradles his fists against his temples.

He didn't do it. He couldn't. He's not capable. Not him.

He shouldn't be alive. He shouldn't be here. Damien is here. He should be running. His muscles won't listen.

Damien's hand is at his neck. Max is dead. Max is dead. He should be running.

He doesn't know what Damien could possibly want with him now. He doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense.

He's panting. He didn't kill Max. He didn't. His mouth tastes like bile. Why isn't he running?

"First one stings a little, I know. But don't worry. Aftercare is something of a specialty of mine," Damien says.

He's grinning. His thumb strokes the back of Lloyd's neck like a knife over skin. Lloyd hears himself whimper.

"Hey, now. Look on the bright side. I won't have you feeling anything for much longer."

Lloyd writhes, but Damien's grip is firm. Grounding. Ever-present above the blood and screaming and hollow, sinking guilt.

Lloyd pulls himself tighter, folding as small as he can get.

Promise? he finds himself thinking. He doesn't realize he's spoken aloud.

Damien glances sideways at him, eyes eager.

"I promise."

A/N: Funny thing, how those fanfiction guidelines have changed in recent years. Ironically enough, fanfiction seems to have taken the same route as every good show with a shitty last season. I've never been more grateful that we have AO3.

Also, why isn't Damien listed in here as a BK character. Come on.

Review if you like, I'd love to hear your thoughts :)