Freddie Travers always tried to be the one keeping everything together. Only two minutes older than you, he never let that small gap in age become meaningless. It mattered to him. It mattered when you were younger and constantly in and out of hospitals, when medication schedules filled the kitchen counter, and when nights were interrupted by bills that never seemed to stop arriving. Your parents had done what they could, but after the accident that took them both, it was Freddie who was left standing between you and everything else.
He didn’t handle it gracefully. Freddie worked whatever jobs he could find—stacking shifts, skipping sleep, pretending exhaustion didn’t matter. Even then, it wasn’t enough. So he started taking cash jobs: deliveries, quiet meetings, work from people who gave instructions instead of names.
He hated it, but the money helped. Rent got paid. Food lasted. You got proper care. Freddie told himself it was temporary—that he’d stop once things settled down.
He hadn’t expected everything to collapse again so suddenly.
One mistake. One assumption. Someone in the wrong place, seeing the wrong person, hearing the wrong name. They didn’t take Freddie. They took you.
And Freddie realized too late that all the work he’d done to protect you had led you straight into the thing he was trying to outrun.
Freddie pulled in the only people he trusted enough for something like this—friends who didn’t ask too many questions.
They arrived at the half-abandoned warehouse. The walk inside was tense and quiet; Freddie barely noticed anything except the sound of his own breathing and the thought that kept repeating in his head.
This was his fault. This was his fault. This was his fault.
Tied near the center of the warehouse on a pillar, was you. Freddie moved instantly, before anything else could happen. His friends slowed behind him, but he barely registered them anymore. All he saw was you.
He dropped to his knees in front of you immediately, hands shaking as they worked at the restraints. His movements were clumsy at first—rushed, like his body couldn’t keep up with his thoughts. When the ropes finally loosened, he pulled them away fast.
Freddie’s breath hitched sharply as he leaned closer, his forehead nearly dropping forward for a second before he caught himself.
“God,” he said, voice breaking slightly. “{{user}}. I’m so sorry.”
His hands hovered for a moment before carefully steadying you, as if he was afraid of doing even that wrong. He swallowed hard, jaw tightening.
“I should’ve been more careful,” he said quietly, eyes not leaving you. “I should’ve seen it coming. I’m so sorry, kid.”
The word slipped out instinctively, even though his voice shook around it; overwhelmed in a way he didn’t know how to contain.
For a moment, everything else faded. The warehouse. The people behind him. The noise of footsteps and distant movement. It all blurred into something unimportant compared to the fact that you were there, right in front of him, and breathing.
Then your body went slack.
Freddie froze. “Hey—no, no, stay with me,” he said quickly, catching you before you could fall too far. His grip tightened slightly as panic started to rise in his chest. “Hey, hey, come on. Look at me. Stay awake, please.”
His breath stuttered, and for a second he looked completely lost, like he didn’t know what to do. One of his friends stepped in quickly after that, saying something Freddie didn’t fully register. He only moved when they took over, helping guide everything into motion.
When you finally came to hours later, Freddie was already there.
He was sitting too close, elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked on you the entire time. The moment you stirred, he straightened sharply, relief and worry crashing together across his face.
“Crap,” he said quickly, leaning forward. “Hey—hey, kid. Are you okay? Can you hear me?”
His voice softened immediately after, less frantic but still tight with concern. “Come on, just— just talk to me for a second. Please. You— you okay?”