The Twisted Chain || A Disney Fanfic [discontinued]

26. the first fight

HAPPY PRIDE, EVERYBODY! :D I'm actually so happy right now. My two closest friends are gay and bisexual and I'm relieved to know that eternal love will now be guaranteed to them. Yay, marriage law!

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On with the chapter!

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We met eyes for the first time in years, and the world paused, reminding itself to breathe.

His appearance was altered, though not drastically. He was significantly paler, as though someone had been hiding him in the dark. His cheeks were less plump than I remembered, ridden with angles that could cut through stone. And his face... he bore a new scar, one that I'd never seen before- however, the word 'scar' felt like an understatement. A slim gash, highlighted by repulsive burn marks, beginning at the innermost edge of his eyebrow, scaling the bridge of his nose, and traveling to his jawline.

He hadn't changed a bit, and yet, he was a completely different person.

Which one was it, Caleb?

The heavy crunch of something snapping was enough to rupture the silence, and a sense of panic awoke amongst the drinkers.

Noise came in explosions- feminine squeals and masculine gasps, interlaced with an aria of supersonic popping. Above me, bullets ricocheted between wooden posts, aimed into the crowd. Dancers scattered like cockroaches, some pressed against the wall in order to avoid the showering of bullets, others making a run for it. The furthest table from the bar was upturned, deflecting bullet after bullet after bullet. The top few centimeters of a blonde head peeked over the curve of the tabletop, and I felt my heart climb into my mouth when I saw Jim's mess of auburn hair come into view- along with a set of bandaged hands clasped around a gun.

Jim shot at the attackers and retreated, hiding behind his wooden shield. Beneath an adjacent table, a shuddering figure squealed in alarm- Anna.

I whipped my head around, struggling to absorb everything. Jim's attacker, much to my surprise, was the bartender, a greasy finger nestled against the trigger of a pistol.

As for his left hand- well, he had no left hand. Rather, wedged atop his wrist was a pointed scrap of metal curled into a hook.

I tried to hoist myself off the floor- however, Caleb's grip was like iron, hands tattooing red imprints onto my forearms. Slamming a knee into his crotch was all that it took to free myself. He howled in pain, toppling over, and I crawled free, ducking under a table.

"Hook!" I heard Jafar shout, covering Gaston's downpour of curses. "Hook, you lousy son of a-"

"Save it, Jafar!" the bartender screeched, firing as I crawled to another table. Another bullet whizzed through the air, this one shot by Jim, barely nicking the tip of the bartender's gigantic nose.

"The mistress wanted Hawkins alive!" Jafar groaned, jumping to his feet and attempting to wrestle the gun out of the bartender's grasp. Lightning in my knees and thunder in my stomach, I crawled beneath the bar, peeking between stool legs.

"Silver made a deal," the bartender growled, "and it was a deal that he couldn't hold up! Hawkins dies." His boots, a mere six inches from my nose, reeked of rum and peeling leather.