Jacob woke slowly, loathly, despite the bright shine of sunlight bathing his face. It was early morning, but a quick glance to the side confirmed that his sister had risen before him. Again. Jacob cursed and shot forward. Evie was likely up and impressing father already, and he couldn't help but feel a little sting of jealousy. Why didn't she wake him?
He pulled back the comforter and that's when he realized how plush, how rich, the bed he found himself in was. Soft fabric beneath his fingers, and a mattress stuffed with the softest feathers he'd ever laid upon. It felt like sleeping in a cloud – or as close to it as he could ever imagine – and all at once he was aware that he was waking up somewhere he had never been before.
The room was large and just as extravagant as the lovely bed he had woken in. Thick carpeting, a heavy wood desk larger than any other he had ever seen, and racks upon racks of books. Huge, thick tomes that would send Evie and his father all aflutter. Speaking of which, where were they and why would they leave him alone to wake in such a strange place? It was unlike the paranoia so common to his father. 'Caution, patience,' he would always say, 'were the keys to surviving in this world.'Had he and his sister's roles been reversed and it had be him who woke first, his father would have insisted they wait for her. Jacob scowled and leapt down from the bed.
There was a moment, briefly, where Jacob felt a pang of something not right. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Why had they left him alone though? It was so unlike them… And in a place he'd never been… He suddenly felt so small.
New places didn't frighten him, though. And while Evie might pretend to be cautious and doe-eyed around their father, they didn't scare her either. They were the same kind of brave, the same kind of daring, and passionate about the same kind of adventure. They both wanted something more than the boring routine father insisted they live day in and day out. Jacob just didn't lie about it. And with that thought, Jacob braced himself and stomped toward the door. It was unlocked and gave way easily.
He peeked left, then right. No one.
Jacob scoffed and quietly exited the room he had found himself in. His steps were soft, muted by the estate's plush carpets. Not that he needed to sneak around, but he enjoyed it. It would surely brighten his morning if he could sneak up on Evie before she could notice he'd even woken.
But they weren't anywhere on the top floor, he quickly found out. He did spy a few strange men in one room, all seated around a table with cards in their hands – rowdy and far too inept to notice him. Jacob felt proud that he had been able to slip in and out of their presence so easily, but he also knew they weren't Assassins. He'd never been able to sneak up on an Assassin before.
He quickly found himself at the top of a grand staircase, and couldn't help but pause as that little niggling of doubt suddenly bloomed in his mind once more. He frowned, annoyed with himself, and shook the thought away. Surely father and Evie were down there.
The bottom floors were even more elaborate than the top floor had been, with ceilings so high he nearly went cross-eyed looking up at the intricate light fixtures hanging from their depths. He spotted a maid just a moment before he himself had been noticed and quickly ducked into a side room before she saw him wandering about.
Part of him said it was fun to hide, to practice his stealth. But the other part of him knew the real reason why his heart was suddenly pounding. He didn't want to engage with anyone before he found father. It was that paranoia talking – the stern, yet comforting drone of his father's daily lessons.
'Be cautious. Be patient. Assume that nothing is as it seems.'
He flattened his back to the drawing room's door as he listened to the maid pass by. He waited a good sixty seconds before dipping back into the hall and continuing his hunt. Pride once again sent his stomach into a dizzy twist, and he couldn't help but smirk a bit as he went – excited to tell his father how well he had managed to sneak around the estate, especially since sneaking was not exactly his forte. It was Evie's.
Everything was…
That brought his excitement crashing down. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the sudden negative thoughts, when he found himself suddenly at the doorway of an occupied room. It was a large dining room, with a glossy table that looked to be nearly a kilometer long! And on the far end of the table, parallel to the door Jacob found himself at, was a large wall of windows that cast the entire room alight – silhouetting two figures at the table's end.
"This looks lovely, Mrs. Ballenger. Thank you," said a voice, deep and rough and kind in a way that made the fine hairs on Jacob's arms stand up. The man sounded familiar, and so Jacob was inclined to stay. But something about the way the man spoke – formal, easy, and confident; as though his kind words were a generosity rather than polite formality – made Jacob want to run away.
"Thank you, Sir," Mrs. Ballenger, a large, portly older woman, said with a small bow that might have been a curtsy on a younger girl. "I'll be attending to the kitchen if you need me."
And then she left the room through a small side door – 'a service exit' his mind supplied, although he had never seen one before. Jacob's eyes slid from the door to the man who then took to gazing out onto the garden beyond the large glass windows, his back to him and his body all aglow. Jacob was just about to air on the side of caution and slip away when the man suddenly spoke, making the young boy nearly leap out of his skin. How had he even noticed him, his back turned as it was? Was he an Assassin?
"Jacob. Good of you to wake when you did. Breakfast is ready," the man said.
"I—uh…," Jacob stammered, then curled one hand into a little fist, furious at his own cowardice. He was an Assassin, even if he had been caught. He raised his chin and straightened his back before clearing his throat and saying, "I'm looking for my father and my sister. Have you seen them?"
That caught the man's attention, evidently, because his posture straightened ever so slightly – like the ears of a dog perking at an unexpected but not unwelcome sound. The man turned his face slightly over his shoulder, paused, then turned completely to address him.
Back to the window as he was, Jacob still could not make out his face.
"Frightening to wake alone in a new place, isn't it?" The man mused, his voice suddenly softer than it had been, the sort of tone adults often adopted when speaking to children. It drove Jacob mad, but all the same, it made him feel less threatened. Just another dumb adult dismissing Jacob as useless just because he was six and small for his age. "Not to fret though. You're in good hands."
"Father's not here?" Jacob asked.
"You're quick," the man said, sounding pleased. "No. Your father isn't here."
Jacob looked around for any clue of their location or the allegiance of the estate's owner. But the world beyond the window was too green, too richly maintained, to be anything near Crawley. And the estate itself was completely devoid of Creed paraphernalia. His mind drifted to the men he had seen upstairs – brutish men. Guards?
No, not guards… worse… Something tingled painfully in his mind, like pressure in his ears whenever he swam too deep – pressing and uncomfortable and just waiting to pop. He groaned and took a step back, unaware of how close the man was getting until he was practically right in front of him. He looked worried and that scared Jacob.
"Jacob?" He asked. "Are you alright, my boy?"
Jacob squinted at him through the pressure, and close as he was, suddenly his face was visible despite the backlighting from the window. A strong face, younger than he remembered. Smoother, somehow. A kind smile topped with cold, calculating eyes. Jacob gasped as the pressure in his mind expanded suddenly, his eyes aching with an unexpected rush of images.
Hands at his neck, a desperate pulling, and shrinking – down, down, down.
Evie calling his name.
Jacob fell to his knees, the carpet a harsh burn against his skin. He was distantly aware that the man was crouched in front of him now, hands cupping at his face and pulling at his eyelids and smearing something wet across his upper lip. Jacob licked at it and tasted copper. His nose was bleeding.
He felt sluggish as his mind wrapped around the sudden switch in processing, rebooting. All he knew was that he was in trouble. Horrible, horrible trouble.
"Jacob? Jacob, can you hear me?"
That voice… He knew that voice. Confident and fake and so capable of cruelty. He knew that voice, remembered how it boasted that his sister was dead. He knew…
Jacob blinked twice, then jerked away abruptly after the third. He landed awkwardly on his butt before he desperately scooted away, putting much needed distance between himself and the maniac that had made him this way.
"W-what happened?" Jacob spluttered, his heart racing. It was like flipping a switch, he realized in horror. One second he was six, and the next, distinctly twenty-one. Jacob felt his skin breakout into a cold sweat.
"You're alright," Starrick said, but did not move to come any closer. He stayed as Jacob had left him, crouched and reaching out to him. Concerned. Pleased. "There's nothing wrong, Jacob. You're alright."
"Alright?" Jacob exclaimed, grimacing at how high his voice went. "I couldn't – I didn't –"
He stopped himself when he saw the ravenous look of curiosity on Starrick's face. Feeding off his fear, off his progress.
Jacob scowled and used his sleeve to wipe the blood from his nose, adding another stain to the one he had created last night from his first nose bleed. He felt a twist of pride when he saw Starrick unable to stop his lip from curling at the sight. He was sure to wipe at it one more time, just to make sure he got it all.
Jacob's voice was low and measured when finally he finished with a soft, "I guess I was just confused. Must've woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
Starrick smiled knowingly, but took the comment for what is was – a mask – and rolled with it.
"It happens to the best of us, my boy," he said, then gestured to the food that Mrs. Ballenger had left out for them. Flakey scones, thick country ham, fruit. All sorts of foods that made Jacob's mouth water and set his stomach to a hungry boil. Starrick did not miss the greedy glint in Jacob's eyes, and Jacob felt his face heat before he could stop himself. He scowled and looked away, even though Starrick was already moving on.
He watched from underneath his lashes as the man slowly walked to the other end of the table and sat down, being sure to take his time before addressing Jacob.
"Sit. Eat," He said without looking at him, his hands already reaching for food to place on his own plate. "After days of bed rest, you must be famished."
Days. His stomach gurgled. It certainly felt as though it had been days… Jacob crossed his arms regardless. He couldn't show that he was dependent upon this man, even if he was. He couldn't just eat from his table. God only knew what it was laced with. It was a test, it had to be. How desperate could Crawford Starrick make Jacob Frye?
Turn him into a child and drown him in kindness. Plush beds. Rich food. Concerned words. It was a cruel, backwards game that Jacob didn't know how to play.
Starrick was loading his tea with fine little sugar cubes, his spoon clinking delicately against fine china, when the man spoke again – breaking Jacob from his thoughts.
"You can't possibly expect to be strong enough to escape if you don't eat," he said. Jacob looked at him with wide eyes when Starrick suddenly caught his gaze from above his teacup – calm and knowing. "I hardly expect anything less from you, my boy. Eat. By all means, fight me. Put forth your best effort. It'll help cement the lesson when you realize how fruitless the endeavor is."
He said it simply, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather, before finally moving his gaze to the morning paper that Mrs. Ballenger no doubt left out for him. Dismissing him. Jacob felt rage, hot and furious, crawl up his spine. It was spite that led him to the table. He was sure to grab the plate that Mrs. Ballenger left for him seated at Starrick's right and make a show of dragging it down the table, away from Starrick. He sat as far from the man as he could without being completely out of reach of the spread before them. Starrick didn't say a word.
They dined like that, together. Quietly. Calculatingly. Eager to prove the other wrong.
[a/n] Thank you guys for the support! Between AO3 and , I can't believe how much love these fics are getting. I wasn't expecting much, and every kind word, every kudo is absolutely amazing to me - you guys make my day, I'm so glad you're enjoying my crazy. THANK YOU SO MUCH.