Next chapter at 250 comments! Dedicated to glassrae
   — TWs for blood, gore, graphic imagery & death.

  CLOSE YOUR EYES. Don't look. This was a nightmare. A never-ending terror. She prayed it wasn't real, that this wasn't really happening.
Seven had known cruelty, both seen and dealt some of the harshest punishments known to man, — but not this. Not him. Seeing him suffer this way brought a whole new meaning to the word she thought she'd once honed.

She screamed so much she deafened herself, or maybe her vocal chords finally gave up on her. Either way white noise became the only sound. He was dying right before her, blood racing from his wounds with sickening speed, and yet all he could do was look to her. Telling her to close her eyes. All cared about was her.

This was all her fault. She should've fought. That should be her, bleeding out on the stage before a crowd. Why had she ever allowed him to volunteer for her? She was foolish, and now she'd pay the price.

Static blared in her ears, and she reached for her wand, only to have it snatched from her hands, " — Don't be stupid!" Someone hissed, far too close. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't look away.

Avery glared down at Draco with wicked glee, making him seem impossibly small; impossibly weak. He was neither. He never had been.
— And it was then that something strange occurred. Avery dropped to his knees, writhing in agony the agony of a spell Seven knew all too well.

The Cruciatus curse.

He screamed, he cried, and yet nobody came for him. Nobody moved. The horror was not the same as when Draco had fallen, bloody and torn, — this was more of a sick fascination with Avery's suffering. Seven couldn't look away from the writhing man, a strange feeling swelling within her chest, erupting all the way through her to tingle at her fingertips.
  Heads flickered back and forth within the crowd, everybody scanning for the wand that had cast the curse, only none could be found. Seven had finally fallen silent, just as shocked as the rest, through her the screaming, nobody had heard origin of the uttered spell, if there had even been one.

  Draco's body stirred, aching with bleeding life, and forcing himself to his feet through gritted teeth. He would not get another chance to stand once Avery's curse stopped. "Seven." His voice was lower; tired and breathy, but still her eyes would not leave the scene of Avery's agony. "Seven... Stop."

  She snapped back, frantically turning her face to Draco, who met her with something close to a smile — or at least, she told herself that's what it was meant to be.
  At once Avery stopped screaming.

  He remained on the ground for a few pained moments longer, the last remnants of the curse causing his limbs to twitch. When he finally came to stand, his legs seemed weak, his eyes unfocused and he spat out a mouthful of blood into the floor of the ring; he'd bitten his tongue during his fit.

Draco's shirt hung from his back, shredded by the wire, and even through the rich black fabric, Seven could still see the faint glimmer of the blood soaking it.
This time, Draco struck first, his face the perfect portrait of pain as he threw his body weight into a punch. One that connected directly with his opponent's jaw sounding a stomach-churning crunch. Avery didn't even try to dodge, instead he was thrown to the floor like a rag doll, though he had enough sense to roll, right as Draco's foot came down in the same place his face had been seconds before.

He stumbled to standing, staggering back a few steps, dangerously close to the wire. Seven hoped he would fall, — hoped Draco would shove him in the same way Avery had shoved him. She wanted to see him bleed.

The two men launched at one another, fists flying, and bones breaking. A hailstorm of strikes and screams.
When they broke apart, chests heaving hungrily, Avery had Draco's shirt wrapped firmly in his fist, leaving the pale-haired man's upper-half exposed.

  Seven clamped her lips closed to incarcerate a feral cry. For now she could see the true extent of his injuries, but that was not all. She saw his tattoos, all the ones she'd never even known him to have.
  Black ink curled across almost the entire expanse of his skin, though not as one large piece, instead, as many separate stories, all coming together to create a man so hellish that even the devil himself would tremble before him.

  Impossibly transfixed, Seven found herself trying to devour the sight before her, eating up as much as she could possibly find about the secretive boy.

  His skin bore every secret he would never dare to speak. Every sin he couldn't bring himself to relive.

  But what caught her eyes most, was the art permanently engraved into the left side of his rib cage, the largest of the works. A beautiful, yet strangely tortured portrait of a tower, or at least, that's what she thought it was, unable to place the building though she knew she'd seen it before somewhere.
  Behind the tower stars glinted mutedly, overshadowed by the cast of a hollow moon, shifting and flexing as the two men traded blows. But blood had begun to creep across the tower, ruining the once perfect image.

  Draco's wounds tore through much of the art on his back, shoulders and arms, permeating black ink with scarlet rivers. Bitter and vile and yet brilliant at the same time. He looked like a war zone, the beauty of his skin becoming trampled by the greed of violent intent.

  The bang that sounded as Avery's skull smashed against the floor had Seven feel sick, and one of the women beside her began to throw up, before being quickly escorted away by several of Navy's men.

  "Give up." Draco snarled, standing over his sprawling counterpart. "We both know how this ends."

  Avery wiped the gore from his lips with the back of his hand, "Fuck you." He slurred back through a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. "Go on. I dare you..." Avery tried and failed to stand, falling back down harder than before with a mournful groan, "You don't have the guts... And at least that way — everybody will know you're a fucking coward." His speech beginning to fail, slowly but surely. Maybe it was the many blows to the head. Maybe it was the strange appearance of the curse. Or maybe he had just grown mad.

Draco didn't answer, instead turning to Navy, an unspoken question echoing between them. Navy's face greyed, and she nodded grimly, before turning and leaving the hall, unable to watch whatever she had just permitted.

It happened fast. And was over before the crowd even had time to gasp. Draco stalked forwards, taking Avery's head in his hands, and then broke his neck so violently Seven doubted she'd ever forget the sound.

• • •

THAT NIGHT SEVEN'S DREAMS were filled with blood. Every death she'd ever witnessed, be it by her hand or by another's, replayed in her head. An endless cacophony of mortality echoing through her mind, like a broken record unable to move on to the next song.

  But for once, when she awoke it was not to the sound of her own screams, instead she was forced conscious by the pain in her chest. An aching, waking, hollow feeling. And one she did not like the feel of at all.

  Though there were no windows this far down underground, when Seven glanced at the clock she pictured the moon just as it must be now. Hanging high in the sky, just like the one reflected in Draco's tattoo, the one with the strange tower and it's pointed turrets. She wondered if the stars looked the same as they did on his skin too, a thousand tiny refractions of light, glimmering like sun on water.

  Once her mind found thoughts of Draco, there was nothing she could to do tear herself away from them, no matter how hard she tried, infecting her, taking root in the hollow of her chest and worsening the ache tenfold.
  — She ached for him.

  He wasn't far, she knew that much, though she wasn't exactly sure where the infirmary was. Nonetheless she peeled herself from his bed, bare legs glinting in the low light. The stone floors were cruelly cold beneath her bare feet, the light padding sound echoing off the carved halls as she wandered.

  Led by nothing more than her instinct, Seven eventually came to the mouth of the infirmary, scanning her eyes over the rows of sterile while cots.

  She found him at once, even with his face away from her Seven instantly recognised the thick red slashes soaking through the bandages on his back.

  Silence ate up the infirmary air that was thick with the scent of alcohol and misery as she slowly made her way over, cautious not to stir a soul.

  Draco slept on his front, arms up by his head, long fingers curled around the upper edges of the pillow. Even in rest he looked on edge. Seven wondered just what horrors this world had inflicted upon him to make him this way.

  Bandages wrapped around the upper half of his torso, and whilst it appeared the bleeding had not yet stopped, it had certainly slowed. A small mercy that slightly dulled Seven's ache.
  Her eyes were once again drawn to his art; impossibly more beautiful up close. A strange tower, across his ribs. What looked like a gnarled willow peaking from beneath his bandages, the branches stretching across his right shoulder. Seven's stomach clenched when she notices the rope noose hanging from one of the willow's limbs. What could have inspired him to get something so... Dark?

Then he stirred in his unconsciousness, shifting with a pained expression on his handsome face. Sleep-filled words falling from his lips, ones he would never dare say sober. Seven held her breath, praying he didn't wake. He did not.

  "...Don't... Seven. Please... Don't leave me."

  ***
QOTD-What do you think Draco's tattoos mean?
  Also, some of you may have noticed, I've started dedicating each chapter to a different reader! (Those who I notice most frequently voting and commenting!) so keep up the voting and commenting for a chance to have a Fallout chapter dedicated to you!