*All out to save our skin, what's there to win?*

Dirt cakes the old house. Roof caving in, sidewalk dirty, yet everywhere he steps is clean. Don would never allow himself to touch such disgusting things. As he lifts his tool box and sets out new shingles, he admires the set up.

Anyone watching would see a promising young man fixing up a cheap new house. Anyone smart would know better. Luckily for him, no one too smart lives anywhere near.

A perfect setup for a perfect heist.

When he was younger, he would play here with his grandparents. Tyler would play with him too, years before anything happened, that is. Back when she was still missing four teeth and she looked ugly, her hair always messed up and her completion awful. She never wore makeup then.

Back then, neither of them needed something this badly. She didn't need to run. He didn't need to chase. Back then, they were children, confident of all and nothing all at once.

Don doesn't give himself much time to dwell on it though. The past is the past, he thinks with a sigh. Besides, I have basically everything now.

Basically.

Andrew pulls up, looking nervous. His feet and hands are jittery. Don scoffs as he watches the boy walk up, knowing that he's probably caught up with a guilty conscience. He has every reason to. Boy couldn't even do a simple job properly.

"What do you want, rat?"

He waves a black and gray touch screen phone at him, one of the cheap ones that he knows only costs about thirty bucks and last through everything--even if you don't want it to. "Guess what I got?" he asks in a sing-song-like voice.

"What?" Don grunts, looking at Andrew's phone in distaste.

Andrew grins. "Her phone."

"Chicken shit," he snorts, going and playing with his nails. Not in the mood to listen to Andrew try and make up losing Tyler by pretending to have some dumb phone, he starts to go back inside the house. A hand grabs him by the shoulder.

"No, really. I jacked it off 'er when I fell into her."

"Give it here," Don commands. His hand immediately jerks out, waiting for the phone to be placed into his palm. It only takes a second for the metal to touch his skin. The moment it does he's walking into the house again, not even stopping to see if Andrew is following or not. Absentmindedly he scrolls through her phone. Like always, she was too stupid to put a lock on it. Don laughs to himself, opening the screen door and slamming it behind him.

Dimly he hears it open and close again, footsteps moving past him into the kitchen. There's no furniture yet, nothing really in the house. The phone is more interesting though, so he sits down in one of the four chairs he's managed to get inside. Screen gliding past as he chews on his lip, he tries to think of what he should look at firs. The temptation is exciting, little shoots of metal through his bones, chilling him sensually.

One click and he's into her contacts. Alise. Kitty. Mom/Dad. Jake <3. With a sly grin he chooses to text Alise, feeling another shiver run through him. Finally, finally things are going right. Just how he needs them to.

Alise! Dad's picking out a new house. They say Mom's going to be better soon so we're moving! Isn't it great? I'm checking it out right now with the owners. Come by soon so we can look at it together! :) Though not his usual style of texting, he knows it's hers.

Alise texts back instantly, REally? Great! B there soon!

Awesome! Thinking that the conversation will end there, Don starts to look at the other contacts again. One of them sounded familiar, like something he'd heard before...a name, somewhere he'd heard that name.

Alise distracts him though. A beep sounds, and without hesitation he pushes the buttons on the side until there's no sound at all. She'd sent a picture of her and some other girl, their tongues sticking out and smiles on their faces. He savors the pictures, grinning as he images her there again. The other girl is in his imagination too, her long tongue doing much more than sticking out.

A chill lights him on fire.

One bang from the kitchen brings him immediately back to the present, though.

"Will you shut the hell up!" He shouts with malice, stomping his foot to get his point across. A weak sounding sorry is his only reply. Don rolls his eyes, focusing back on the phone.

Looking good, he texts back.

She doesn't reply at first, giving him time to look through the phone again. Something had caught his attention before but he can't remember what it was. He dismisses it without another thought, yet when Alise texts back he remembers everything. The person, the place, exactly what it was.

Heroin, he thinks with a grin. Of course, they're Heroin.

Rereading her message the grin only widens. Kit and me should be back soon! I'll drop her off at the apartment and then come to check out the house with you!

It only takes him a few seconds to find the contact again. God, how could I possibly forget? Of course it's them. Where else would Tyler be rooming? Who else?

The number is different from the last time, but he's certain it's them. Don sets down Tyler's phone on the edge of his leg, pulling out his phone and typing in the number exactly. So you know Tyler. Simple, yet it says it all. With a satisfied sigh he clicks send.

Just like always, the reply is only a second later. What are you talking about? I told you to stop texting me.

How cute, little kitten.

What do you want?

Tyler.

Fuck off. At that, Don cracks up laughing. The idea of them hurting him, getting even close enough to...no, they couldn't. Weak as a little bone, he thinks with a grin. No muscles, no arms, just a wispy little beast.

Already did. Now, pray tell, how do you know her? The answer is obvious, yet asking lets him be in control. He knows they could just stop texting at any moment, but knowing them, they won't. He knows where they are, where they've always been. He knows that they won't leave.

Just like he suspected they keep texting. I'm not telling you anything. Always stubborn, always trying to do the right thing. He knows they won't though. They never do.

I'll go ask your sister, then. She loves me.

Stay away from her. Stay away from both of them. Though seemingly calm, he can imagine the fury they've worked themselves up to. They always were one to get so emotional. One minute perfectly calm, the next bouncing off the ways. Of course, I helped a bit...he chuckles.

Now now. Sheath the claws.

No response.

Knowing that they're going to give in sooner or later, he sends another text. She lives with you, doesn't she? Another obvious question.

They reply this time. Three simple little words that show all the restraint they're trying to have. Like always, trying to be civil. Go to hell.

You're probably even friends. Part of him wishes he could hear their voice again, yet he knows that he doesn't want to. It always annoyed him so much.

I'm fucking serious, Don. Oh, cuss words now. Aren't you getting peeved off? The idea of them so steamed up makes him laugh again, feeling oddly sadistic. It's done. She's not coming back.

So the bitch told you, he sends, figuring she'd do it eventually. Traitorous bitch.

You mean telling me what a sadistic dickhead you are? She might've mentioned it.

Quit being such a pussy.

Bye. The text is immediate, yet he knows it's not final. Nothing about 'bye' is final to him. It's never been, never will. It's as if the entire system that says 'bye' is one big joke. No one, no one tells him bye. They don't end the conversation. He does. They might think they have, but the upper hand always goes to him. Always.

It'd be a shame, Heroin, if she got an extra dose of salt in her IV.

You son of a bitch! Don't touch her.

Don grins, thinking of the text he last sent them. She looks just like you. Scars and all. The memory of the scar on her left thigh comes to mind. It's actually three or four shots there, all taken too deep, to many times. The needles would never go away, even if by some miracle she woke up. A grin itches into his face. What Heroin doesn't know is that he'd done that to her. It was his dose that had been mixed that night, his own special dose just for her...

I'm done with that, and so is she.

I bet the cops would hate to see you thrown in jail by drug charges. I bet you haven't told Tyler either. She's never looked in your cabinets, has she? Never gone through your stuff.

Don can practically see them seething. You can't threaten me into this. I'll gladly go to jail to keep you away from them.

Too bad. Don types in a sad smiley face as well. I'll see you at the funeral.

Oh, what he wouldn't give to have called them instead. It's already gone too far for that, though. He looks back at the phone, knowing the hesitation to send means they're thinking about it.

Don't you dare. Don't even joke about that. I will come over there and kick your ass.

He goes into direct threats now, too lazy to keep playing at this game. You've got two hours.

Don't! He imagines their face, so desperate now. So willing to do anything to keep her alive. Dammit, Don. Don't hurt her.

Bring me Tyler and the two of you will get out scotch free. I'll even send in a professional to treat her. I bet she might wake up soon if Tyler gets her ass over here. It's hard to fake someone being in a coma. But, at the same time, it's perfectly doable. Of course, she was actually in a coma for the longest time. He just cannot afford to let her wake up, always figuring that something would come up where he can use her. The drugs to keep her asleep hardly cost anything.

Not a penny out of his own pocket.

As he thinks on the situation, there's no response. Good, he thinks. "Andrew!" A hesitant yes is yelled back to him. "Get me something to eat, you wimp! Get me a beer as well. I need something good. Tell your Rachel that she'll be working on her video with Suzy in an hour. Lovely girlfriend you've got there."

Andrew doesn't reply.

"You really like her, don't you?"

"Yes...yes, sir. I do." His voice is calm. There's the sound of the fridge opening and closing. Ah, he smiles, my beer. Nice and cold. This assistant thing is going better than I thought.

"That's nice to know. Hurry up!" He knows that the girl doesn't feel the same about him. Don spoke to her earlier, and the way she threw herself at him told it all. Andrew wasn't a boyfriend in her mind, he was a puppy. He was getting her to where she wanted to be in life. Most likely holding down a job to support her and her dreams, never once suspecting a thing. Such a damn loser.

He's so lost in his own thoughts that he nearly doesn't catch it when they finally respond.

I'll do it.

"Good." Don replies aloud, the top half of his left lip curling into a smirk. There's a bag behind him, and he reaches for it, pulling out a joint and lighting it up with his zippo. "What a good day." Taking a long drag, he blows out the smoke in little rings, settling back in the chair. Andrew comes back out with some heated up leftover pizza and a Sam Adams. The beer is cold, settling down in his stomach nicely. He waves the eager boy off without a second glance.

Right now, he's just going to celebrate the first success he's had in a long, long time.