Warnings: Drugging, violence, some gore, explicit sexual situations, non-major character death, mentions of domestic abuse and physical and sexual abuse of a child. Also slightly pervier-than-canon Walker, just in case that needed a warning.

Notes (important!): A little exposition on where the events of the fic fit in since this is obviously AU now. It's set three weeks after Brendan asks Ste to discharge him from the hospital and Walker threatens him in the flat, assuming that Walker vanishes immediately after that to bide his time and none of the gun and Declan shenanigans take place. It's also a rewrite of some events within the show that I've altered to fit the story, since this is a WIP and will be ongoing for a while. Stug friendship only, no romance between them whatsoever.

Title and lyrics below taken from the song Baltimore's Fireflies by the amazing Woodkid. Beautiful song and it suits them so perfectly.

Shiny new story cover is a picture drawn by teiubesc8 on tumblr (can't post urls here) and inspired by this fic. Her art is amazing and you should swing by and give her other stuff a look. Thanks so much for letting me use the picture, honey!

What is the price, am I supposed to pay?

For all the things I try to hide?

What is my fate, am I supposed to pray?

That trouble's gone with the sunlight?

Ste could swear he's only had two drinks. Two drinks and the SU Bar is spinning around him like he's accidentally stumbled onto some waltzers. He edges out of the bathroom and looks around trying to spot Doug or Leanne or Texas but he can't see anything but the glowing green of the exit and he needs some air badly or he's going to run out.

He pitches out of the double doors and over to the railings to lean and just breathe.

"Hey mate, are you alright?" he hears a concerned voice behind him.

"Think I just drank too much," Ste slurs, the words coming out thick and slow. His vision is fuzzing black at the edges and he blinks rapidly to clear it.

"You really don't look so good, let me help."

He feels the strong arm of someone taller than him fit around his waist and he grips his hand into the fabric of the man's jacket. His voice sounds familiar.

They get down the steps and onto the street and Ste feels unease creep into his muddled brain but he can barely walk right now let alone think straight so he concentrates on not tripping instead.

"Right, I'm gonna need you to keep your balance there for just a second," they've stopped and the stranger has propped him up against a dark coloured car. Even stationery with something to lean on he's unsteady and he slides down until his arse hits the ground and he can rest his head on his knees. He squints around, it's dark, really dark; no street lights or buildings close by at all.

"Get up mate, come on," he's hauled up by his shoulders until he's practically being embraced. He looks up and squints into a face and he knows this guy and he really doesn't feel good about this.

"I-I need to- g-get, get back," he can hardly form words he's that drunk twodrinksreally? and the stranger smiles at him like he's a funny puppy and he feels insulted and frustrated.

He feels like he's in danger.

Then the man slides a hand up his neck to his cheek and strokes his thumb underneath his eye and then he knows he is. Ste panics; pushes the guy with all the force he has and it obviously catches him off guard because he reels back a good distance; enough for Ste to edge his way to the bonnet of the car and get his legs steady.

He's too clumsy though, too slow to move because he feels hands grab his shoulders from behind and he's pulled flush against his attackers chest.

"Now that's gratitude for you. A man tries to be noble and help out a person in distress and it's thrown back in his face?" he murmurs into Ste's neck, warm and damp; makes a humming noise like satisfaction.

"What do you want?" adrenaline has sharpened him a little bit and he realises with a painful shock that he's been drugged. Whoever this man is he isn't fucking about and Ste's potentially about to get seriously hurt.

"Don't worry, this isn't about you. You just behave, son, and you won't get hurt."

He tries to steady his breathing. He knows attempting a struggle is pointless until whatever drugs he's been slipped wear off so all he can do is try to calm down. He isn't getting away right now. Doesn't doubt the guy has a weapon on him somewhere either.

The man behind him can obviously feel his body relax and he's rewarded a pat on the chest.

"Good boy," he says softly, "get in the car."

He does as he's told with some assistance and the door's shut firmly and finally after him. He's trapped now, still can't even see straight no matter how much he tries to blink away the haze covering his eyes so he shuts them and leans his head back against the headrest. He feels the creeping darkness of unconsciousness pulling at him and he tries so hard to fight it but it's no use. He's out before the stranger has even gotten into the driver's seat.

Ste wakes up once, opens one eye and tries to focus on the view out of the car window he's resting his head against but everything's moving too fast so he shuts it away.

He awakens again when the car comes to a stop and he's jostled forward slightly, his hands coming up slowly like they're moving through treacle to press against the dashboard.

He jumps slightly as the passenger door opens and he's looking up at the man who has actually now kidnapped him, officially. The guy's shrouded in darkness and Ste's brain is melting and he knows him, it's right there but it keeps trickling through his fingers like water.

He cannot believe this insane situation he's in; he has the urge to pinch himself because who in the world has ever been this unlucky? He wishes he had his faculties about him so he could at least roll his eyes.

"Come on now, up we get," the man cuts him off, pulling his arm around his shoulders and gathering him close with surprising gentleness; supporting his weight again while he closes the door. Then they're stumbling up the path and into a house that looks very average and nothing like the blood stained torture dungeon he was half-expecting. If anyone was watching they would have looked like two drunken friends staggering home together after a night on the lash.

They're in a small, dark entrance hall with some stairs leading up and a door to his left and Ste tries to take in his surroundings, to fix them in his brain in case he has a chance of getting out. He's guided through a large living room and then into a kitchen-dining room where he's plonked down at a table. The lights in here are too bright and Ste feels like he's going to be sick, folds his arms on the table and buries his face in them. His head pounds and the whole room tumbles violently around him and the feeling of helplessness is excruciating.

He hears the man shouting something from the doorway. It's not directed at him and his heart sinks because that means there's someone else here.

Ste thinks he must have drifted off again because suddenly his head's been pulled up roughly by his hair and he's looking into the appraising face of a blonde woman.

"This will work?" she asks and that's not directed at him either, "you're positive?"

"Yeah I'm sure," the guy says from somewhere behind him, "he'll do anything for this one."

"Well sort it out quickly then, the quicker it's dealt with the easier I'll breathe," she let's go of him and walks away and his head is reeling because even though his thoughts are as clear as a murky puddle, he's pretty sure he knows who this guy's talking about. He should have fucking known.

He's so angry all of a sudden that he smacks his fist into the table. "Brendan!?"

It's stupid and he shouldn't have given himself away like that but he's not thinking clearly and his frustration bubbles over, out of his control. Suddenly two hands are planted firmly on the table at either side of him and the man's body is leaning heavily against his back for the second time tonight.

"I told you this wasn't about you," says the sofamiliar voice right into his ear, "I also said behave. Can you do that? Or will I have to teach you a lesson?"

He swallows thickly and nods. A face flashes before his eyes, tall and slender, sharp features and dirty blond hair, sat around Brendan's dining table, walking through the village.

"Good." He's hauled up again, this time with his arms held behind his back, and pushed firmly back into the entrance hall and up the stairs. Ste counts five doors on the upstairs landing and he's shoved through one to the left. The door's locked behind him.

He stands in the middle of the room for a moment breathing in painful, stuttering bursts and then he's frantically checking all his pockets. He'd known before he'd tried that his phone would be gone but he still can't help the stab of despair at finding it true.

The rooms large and nicely furnished; big double bed, matching white wood wardrobes and unit. There's a door to what looks like an en suite on the wall next to him and, opposite, a large window with the curtains still open. He goes over to it shakily, leaning on the furniture and trying not to sway or fall.

It overlooks a garden surrounded by thick bushes and beyond that nothing but fields. No neighbouring houses he could signal to for help. Glass double glazed and the bits that open out both too small for a person to fit through and locked to boot.

He turns and makes his way into the en suite. Turns the cold tap on at the sink and splashes water on his face, cups his hands and drinks some to ease the sandpaper scratch of his throat. It makes his stomach roil until he has to lean his hands on the enamel and breathe deeply to stop it coming back up again. He looks up and is startled by his reflection.

He's very, very pale and his pupils are blown so wide his eyes look like slicks of black oil. He looks like a stoned ghost.

He knows he needs to lie down before he falls down, drugs still coursing through his system, on top of the fact that he's been awake for nearly 20 hours, making him tired and weak. He's fought it for as long as he can but can recognise his legs shaking under his weight as a sign that it's useless and destructive. He has two children who need their daddy to be sensible and there's no room for stubborn bravado right now. He lies down on the bed and is passed out in seconds.