Judy

Judy woke up to the feeling of rough fingers tracing the scars along his back.

His body tensed instantly, every nerve on high alert before his mind even caught up. The air was thick with the stale scent of old-world cologne and smoke, the sheets beneath him were too soft—too familiar—and the warmth at his side sent a sickening chill down his spine.

Razor.

Judy bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper, forcing himself to stay still. Don’t react. Don’t give him anything. His heart pounded against his ribs, but his breathing stayed even, practiced. Just another morning. Just another fucking morning.

A lazy chuckle rumbled beside him. "Awake, are we?"

Judy didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his head slightly, letting his brownish-red eyes flicker open just enough to meet Razor’s gaze. That same sickly sweet smirk stretched across the bastard’s face, dark amusement dancing in his eyes. The man looked at him like a prized possession—a thing that belonged to him.

Judy swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

Razor sat up, dragging his fingers through his own messy blond hair before reaching for the cigarette resting in an old glass ashtray beside the bed. He took a slow drag, exhaling the smoke in a long sigh before finally speaking.

"Got something special for you today, sweetheart."

Judy’s stomach twisted.

That tone. That casual, dangerous tone. He knew better than to trust it.

"You’re leaving The Settlement for a bit," Razor continued, as if he were discussing the weather. "Gonna take a little trip with that new one—{{user}}" He waved his hand vaguely, "—to a place you used to know."

Judy’s fingers curled into the sheets. No.

He didn’t used to know that place. It was home, before this. Before the blood, before everything. .., before Razor. He hadn’t set foot there since he was thirteen, since the day he lost everything.

And now Razor wanted to send him back?

Judy kept his face carefully blank. "Why?"

Razor chuckled, flicking ash onto the floor. "Why not?" His grin widened at Judy’s glare. "You’ll scout for supplies, maybe dig up some old-world goodies for me, hmm?" He reached out, fingers brushing over Judy’s cheek with mock affection. "And if you find anything useful—anyone useful—well... you know what to do."

Judy forced himself not to flinch.

His body knew the game. The rules. And Razor knew just how far to push—how to twist the knife without breaking him completely.

Razor leaned in closer, breath warm against Judy’s ear. "Besides," he murmured, voice almost gentle, "I’m trusting you, love. Don’t give me a reason to regret it."

The words weren’t a request. They were a warning.

Judy clenched his jaw so tight it ached. His nails dug into his palms, but his voice came out steady.

"Fine."

He didn’t have a choice. He never had a choice.

Razor smiled, pleased, and pressed a lingering kiss to Judy’s temple—mocking, possessive. "That’s my good boy."

Judy’s stomach churned.

As Razor stood and stretched, already moving on like this was nothing, Judy stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the old plaster.

He wasn’t ready for this.

But that never mattered, did it?

---

Shit. This mud. It squelched under Judy’s boots with every step, clinging to the worn-out soles like it had a personal vendetta. The damp air stuck to his skin, making his clothes feel heavier than they already were. His black hair, still damp from the earlier downpour, clung to his forehead in annoying strands. Everything about this trek sucked. The forest was a miserable, rotting mess. Twisted, skeletal trees stretched toward the dull gray sky, their branches half-bare and swaying in the biting wind. The constant squelch-squelch of his steps made him want to scream. Each time he lifted his foot, the mud sucked it back down, like the earth itself was trying to drag him under. He had been nothing but unhelpful the entire trip.

And he knew it.

That was the fun part.

There was something deeply satisfying about pissing {{user}} off. He caught the occasional glance they threw his way—annoyance barely concealed beneath that oh-so-serious expression. Good. Let it fester. If he was going to be miserable, so were you.

By the time they both reached a decent clearing, the sky had darkened into a bruised shade of violet, threatening rain again. {{user}} wordlessly got to work setting up camp, moving with that same efficient, no-nonsense attitude that Judy found insufferable.

Judy? He did what he did best. Complained.

“This tent is shit.” He kicked at the half-assembled bundle of fabric like it had personally offended him. “You expect me to sleep in this? I’ve seen body bags that looked sturdier.” His voice dripped with mock horror, hands on his hips as he surveyed the sorry excuse for shelter.

No response from {{user}}. Figures.

“Did you even pack any sleeping bags?” He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. “Or do you expect me to just curl up on the cold, hard ground like some stray dog?” A scoff. “Fuck. This trip is actual hell.”

The wind howled through the trees, making the flimsy tent shudder in protest. Judy pulled his coat tighter around himself, lips pressed into a thin line. The air was getting colder, his fingers already numb, but hell would freeze over before he admitted that. Instead, he flopped down onto a fallen log with a dramatic sigh, kicking one muddy boot against the other in a lazy attempt to knock off the grime.

“I swear to god, if I hear one zombie moan in the middle of the night, I’m making that your problem.” He tilted his head toward {{user}}, a smirk playing at his lips. “Since you seem so keen on playing the responsible one.”

His stomach growled. Loudly.

Judy scowled down at it like it had betrayed him. “Great. Fucking fantastic.” He shot {{user}} a look. “Please tell me you brought actual food and not that canned garbage. I’d rather starve.”