He must have fallen asleep, Alfred thought wildly, staring up at the open gash in the ceiling of his prison, which had been previously filled with sunlight. Now there was nothing but darkness, the crevice connecting him to the outside world barely a faint line in the cloying black. He curled himself back against the jagged rock wall, ignoring the pain that the movement caused in his ankle, as his trembling fingers searched for his cell phone. They slid across its smooth surface once, twice, before managing to grip it enough to pull it into the open. He nearly fumbled and dropped it in his frantic attempt to slide it open.

Two forty seven pm. No signal.

Alfred's breath froze in his throat, stuttering out again as he reread the glowing numbers. That was impossible. His eyes flickered up to the darkness, repelled only slightly by the bluish light of his phone screen, before he clenched them shut. He was almost twenty-three years old, by no means a child, but this was the kind of blackness that has always lurked beneath beds and inside closets, where anything can hide. His heartbeat fluttered with sudden fear as the light of his phone dimmed, and he scrambled to slide it back open again.

Two forty eight pm. No signal.

Matthew should have been back by now. The town was only an hour away at most, and Alfred had fallen just after noon. There should have been rescuers looking for him, staring down through the crevice that should have been shining with sunlight. The shadows around him taunted him with visions of what might have happened to his brother. He didn't dare close his eyes this time. The light of his phone dimmed again, and that was when he noticed it.

Something moved in the darkness.

Alfred jerked backwards, shoving himself to his feet and nearly crying out at the pain that spiked up through his ankle. He twisted his phone around, shining its faint light into the pitch black. "Who's there?" His voice was strong in the dark.

Whatever was moving drew to an abrupt halt. "Are you- Are you human?" The reply was strained and weak, as if emerging from vocal chords that had been pushed far beyond their limitations. But it was a human voice, and Alfred felt the tension in his shoulders drain somewhat.

"Yeah, I'm human." To say the words aboveground would have been laughable, childish, but encased in this lightless prison, they almost seemed to flow naturally out of his lips. "Are you?"

"Yes." It was a whisper, and the movement began again. Slowly, the glow of Alfred's phone began to meet the contours of a body, and then the features of a man. Alfred sucked in a sharp breath. The man was sickly pale, eyes wide and sunken and bruised with lack of sleep, clothing dirty and torn. They stood in silence, simply staring at one another. Alfred glanced down at his phone.

Two fifty five pm. No signal.

"How long?" he asked the man. He hadn't meant to. The words slipped out over his tongue.

The man smiled, lips stretched and cracking. It probably would have been a warm, friendly smile in the sunlight. "I don't know. What day is it?"

"August twenty-first."

"Two days, then."

Alfred leaned forward, flinching at the pain in his leg. "No one's come looking for you?"

"I don't know." The man's gaze had caught his wince, and traveled downwards to the ankle he was favoring. "You're injured."

"Yeah," Alfred said. He frowned down at his foot. "I landed wrong when I fell."

The man's mouth drew into a tight line. "That's not good. They'll catch you easier like this." His eyes met Alfred's again, and even in the dim lighting of the phone, they were vibrant green.

"They?"

"They." It was a final answer. There was nothing more to say. The man knelt down in front of him, gently touching the side of Alfred's ankle as he said, "I'm Arthur."

"Alfred," replied Alfred. He leaned back against the wall, wincing when Arthur's fingers pressed against the broken bones, shifting when he felt his sandal being removed, keeping the light of his phone shining as it began to dim again. "How did you get down here?"

"The same way you did. I fell." Arthur did not look up from his task, and for the first time, Alfred noticed that he was missing two of the fingers on his right hand.

Crude cloth strips were wound around the rest of his hand.

"Was that… them?"

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed. "Yes." Their eyes met again. Such green irises would have looked striking in the daylight. "You can't run like this. They'll catch you and tear you apart."

Alfred swallowed down his suddenly dry throat and nodded.

Two fifty nine pm. No signal.

Arthur's left hand tore at his shirt, shredding the dirty fabric into uneven bandages and wrapping them around Alfred's foot and ankle. "I'm no doctor," he said, and it was an apology. Alfred said nothing. "They'll be here soon. They always know where their prey is."

"How have you survived for two days, then?" Alfred asked. Arthur's gaze flicked down to the bandaged ankle, and Alfred knew. "By running?"

"It's all I can do."

Something clattered in the darkness. Alfred's phone dimmed. As his fingers struggled to slide it open once again, he felt Arthur pull away from him, heard the sound of his footsteps shuffling away into the black. Alfred didn't blame him, not really. But he was not about to stand there and die, either, so he leaned his side against the rock wall and staggered forward, gritting his teeth at the pain. His movements were slow, but at least he was moving. The light of his phone shone across the rocky floor in front of him, jolting about at each step he took, and he forced himself not to look back over his shoulder into the darkness.

The hole hadn't seemed this large when he first fell. He wondered where, if anywhere, Arthur was running. His bandaged foot stubbed against a jut of stone, and he hissed in a hurried breath. The sounds in the black were growing louder. Alfred nearly stumbled when his single sandal caught on a ledge. He paused for only a moment to kick it away, forward, into the looming dark beyond the edge of his phone's light. He heard it bounce, skitter along the ground, and then the faint plop of a fall into water.

He hadn't realized there was water in this hole.

There was a gasp somewhere in the darkness, and the writhing sounds slowed and quieted. He wondered again where Arthur was. All he could hear was his own hoarse, painful breathing. His phone began to dim, and he forced it back open. The pale light poured out across the ground, something moved behind him, he pushed himself forwards without looking down. His foot crashed through the still surface of the water.

It surged up around him as he fell, ice cold, nearly tearing his phone from his grasp, rushing into his open mouth and nostrils. The screen cast an eerie, wavering glow upon the walls, the bubbles, his skin. He felt nothing beneath his feet but empty water. He kicked upwards, lungs clenched firmly around what air he had left. Down there, beneath the surface, the sting of his ankle was not as pronounced, and he almost reveled in it while it lasted. He drew closer to another breath of air.

His fingers broke through the surface, feeling the sudden warmth of the dark cave, and his head followed. He gasped in a breath. His phone dimmed, and he was treading water in a pool of black as inky as the air above his head. The water splashed around him as he strove to light it again.

Five past three pm. No signal.

The darkness above him let out a shrill cry, and Alfred's legs froze in their kicking. He sank down into the water. Then he was giving out his own strangled scream as something grasped his broken ankle and pulled him downward, back beneath the surface. He didn't have time to draw in another breath. He choked on the water, burning through his throat and nose. The surface moved farther and farther away, but no matter how he struggled, the thing would not let go of him.

Bubbles erupted above his head. His flailing arm struck something hard, and a hand seized his wrist. Arthur's eyes met his, brief and brilliant in the eerie light, before he dove further down into the depths. Alfred continued his struggle upwards, lungs burning in chest. He could feel Arthur's fingers against his leg, scratching at the thing that held him fast, and Alfred kicked down with his free leg to try to help.

Pain shot through his body. What little air was left in his lungs burst free as he screamed into the water. Something was digging into his skin, tearing it, rending it open. The water around him began to froth red. Liquid rushed down his throat, into his lungs, tasting of ice and copper. But then his leg was free, and arms wound around his torso, and the blood red of the water faded along with the light of his phone, and they were moving, though his drowning mind couldn't tell in which direction. His hand slid, limp, across the smooth, slick stone wall of the pool.

Oxygen once again struck Alfred's lips, and he gasped and choked on it, coughing up the water in his lungs. Arthur's hands pressed him against the dark wall. Even as he threw up whatever had passed down his throat that day, he scrambled to pull himself up out into the air. His leg felt as though it were engulfed in an inferno. His phone clattered out into the blackness ahead of him, but he didn't search for it, instead turning to dip his hands into the inky water and feel for Arthur's arms. The man gasped when he found them, but didn't pull away.

"Your phone, Alfred, your phone-"

"Yeah." But Alfred continued pulling on those arms, heaving Arthur onto the rocky ground. The darkness around them was silent except for their harsh breathing. His lips tasted like blood and vomit. It didn't matter, so he turned, leg dragging across the stones and burning, and groped along the ground.

Behind him, Arthur heaved out a trembling sob. "Oh god. Oh god."

"Religious?" Alfred said. It felt good to speak, to fill the overwhelming darkness. His fingers closed around the plastic casing of his phone. They shook as he slid it open, and the rocks were bathed in faint light again.

Three eleven pm. No signal.

"No, I'm not. It's just…"

Alfred didn't listen, nearly dropping the phone as he moved closer. "Arthur, your arm." The fingers of his free hand reached out, stopping just before they touched, breath catching in his throat. The bandages wrapped around Arthur's hand were shredded apart, revealing the dirty, scabbed stumps of his missing fingers, and where those stumps met his knuckles, his skin stopped, and a mess of tattered flesh began. The limb was hardly recognizable as an arm. Blood ran freely to the rocks beneath him.

"I'll bandage it," Arthur said, voice tight. He looked even paler than before. His unharmed hand began to tear at the fabric of his already destroyed shirt when he froze, staring at Alfred. "Your leg. Stop, Alfred, your leg-"

The fiery pain from before spiked up in intensity, and Alfred knew what it looked like. The image of blood and muscle and dangling skin was mirrored back at him from Arthur's arm. "I'll bandage it," Alfred replied. He set his phone down beside him, close enough to touch when it would eventually fade again, and pulled his shirt over his head. Freezing water dripped off of it, down his arms. He grit his teeth and forced his leg to bend. "Why did you come back for me? You wouldn't have gotten hurt if you stayed away."

Their eyes met, and Arthur looked at him, through him, and shook his head slowly. "I don't know." He turned back to his makeshift bandages, wrapping them around what remained of his arm. Alfred watched him. His movements were graceful, even stilted by pain as they were, and he might have been a beautiful dancer in the daylight.

The silence drew out between them. The darkness remained still.

"We should probably talk," said Alfred after a while. The wet shirt wrapped around his leg was slowly staining red. "I don't want to go into shock down here."

"I suppose you're right." Arthur drew his knees up to his chest and stared into the blackness. He wasn't wearing any shoes either. "What should we talk about?"

Alfred hummed lightly. "Let's start off this way." He held out his hand- his left hand, carefully his left. "My name's Alfred Jones."

Arthur looked at it, then up into Alfred's eyes. "Arthur Kirkland." His hand was dirty, scratched, but smooth and slender. It felt comfortably warm against Alfred's palm.

"Nice to meet you." He settled back against the rocks. His leg burned at the movement.

Before the silence could envelop them again, Arthur said, "I'm a writer. I was here looking for inspiration for my first book."

"What do you write?"

"Fantasy." Arthur's lips twisted in the faint light. "I don't suppose I'll finish it now."

"You never know," Alfred replied. The words fell flat. "I came here with my brother, to celebrate our birthday."

"Twins?"

"Yeah. Almost identical."

"He's probably searching for you."

Alfred didn't reply. The idea of Matthew finding out what lay down in this cave was not pleasant. He bit at his lip, silence dragging, before he said, "He's a photographer. I just work as a lab assistant." The phone faded between them. He slid it back open without thinking.

Three twenty seven pm. No signal.

"Someone will come looking for you, at least," said Arthur. He wound his good arm around his knees, closing his eyes for a moment. He looked so young. "No one knows I'm here."

"No one at all?"

"My brothers don't know where I am." He paused. "I doubt they even care."

"That's not true." Alfred's voice rose, sharp, fierce, and the words tumbled out of his mouth. "When they realize you're missing, they'll care. No matter what's happened, they're your brothers. They have to care."

Arthur stared at him. Then that smile twitched at his lips again, and he ducked his head to press it against his uninjured wrist. "You're something else, Alfred Jones."

If they had been standing aboveground, Alfred would have laughed. But in the darkness he just returned the broken smile. "Thanks."

He didn't know how long they sat there in the darkness, sliding the phone open again every time its light faded away, but time was slowly beginning to mean nothing. His gaze no longer searched out the neon numbers on the screen. The silence drew out.

"My arm is going numb," Arthur said from beside him. They had moved closer together sometime in the silence, close enough that they could take turns relighting the phone. The air smelled of blood.

Alfred nodded. "So is my leg." That was a lie. He hadn't been able to feel it at all for a while. He let out a long breath. "Why haven't they attacked us again?"

"I don't know. Perhaps they're just waiting for us to grow too weak to fight back." The light dimmed. Arthur groped for the phone.

As if it had heard them, something in echoed in the dark.

"Nice," Alfred groaned. His fingers clutched at the rocks behind him, forcing himself to his feet. His leg pulsed with a flash of pain before fading into numbness again. He was about to step- hobble- away when an arm wrapped around his waist. "Arthur?"

"I know you can't walk, not without help." Arthur's breath warmed the side of his neck.

"Why?" But he wrapped his arm around Arthur's shoulders and tried to move along with each step, away from the noises in the dark. "I'll hold you back like this."

Arthur shook his head. "I can't leave you to die. Not now."

"Oh," said Alfred. He tightened his hold and moved faster. He would not be the reason for Arthur's death, either. "Speed up. I'll follow." If he could.

They walked. Alfred didn't know how far. He counted the sounds of Arthur's breathing, focusing on that instead of the shooting pain of every step. The darkness followed behind them. But Arthur's arm was trembling, and his breath came shorter and harsher each time. He stumbled over a rock, nearly collapsing.

"Put me down," Alfred said when Arthur stumbled for the third time. "Arthur, put me down."

"No." It was desperate and stubborn, but there was weariness behind it, and Alfred remembered that Arthur hadn't slept in two days. "I won't leave you."

"Arthur-"

He stumbled again, and they both fell. The phone clattered to the ground. The light faded. "Alfred, I dropped-"

"The phone, where's the phone-"

Arthur screamed. It choked off into a wet gurgle, and Alfred threw himself forward, ignoring the scrape of his immobile leg as he grasped for his phone. His fingers brushed against it. But it was stuck, lodged inside a narrow gap in the stone. He heard more shrieks from behind him, the sound of something cracking, and he dug at the rocks. His fingernails snapped and broke. He didn't stop. Words were tumbling out of his throat, but he couldn't understand what they meant.

His thumb caught against the side of the phone, and he wrenched it free. One of his fingers refused to move along with his hand. He felt it snap, the flesh along his knuckle tear. But now he was holding the phone again, and he shoved it open. The light was dimmed by smears of his blood. He wiped it against his chest, holding it out into the darkness.

Everything was splattered red.

"Arthur? Arthur?" His voice sounded hoarse and broken. He dragged himself forward along the ground.

"Alfred-" Another piercing scream echoed in the black. Then it all went silent.

"Arthur." Alfred pulled himself closer to where the voice had been. "Arthur, say something."

"I think I should have been religious," Arthur said. The words were thick and choked, muted by pain.

Rocks dug into the open wounds along Alfred's hands as he laughed. It was wild, shrill, not like the way he laughed in the sunlight. He kept moving forward until the faint light of the phone caught the edges of Arthur's body. He had to force himself to get closer. Arthur's stomach was torn apart, muscle and bone and organs jerking with each breath. Blood pooled beneath him. "Don't move. I'll…"

Arthur smiled at him. His mouth was stained red. "I don't think I can run anymore, Alfred."

"No." Alfred dragged himself further, until his tattered hands could feel the tips of Arthur's hair. "I'll fix you. I'm sorry." He didn't know what he was trying to say, but he twisted until he could unwrap his shirt from around his leg. It wasn't serving any purpose there.

"Stop," Arthur said, and he reached out to touch Alfred's hand with his three fingers. "You should run."

Alfred shook his head. "You know I can't." He pushed Arthur's arm aside to press the shirt to his bloody torso. Arthur jolted, whining. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I've survived for two days. Perhaps you can survive now."

"No." Alfred looked down into green eyes, barely lit by the phone, and shook his head again. "No."

"Oh."

Five fifty two pm. No signal.

"They're playing with us," Alfred said as he knelt there, his hands red with Arthur's blood. Arthur said nothing, so Alfred allowed his mouth to keep speaking. "Tell me something about you."

"About me?" Arthur's body spasmed. Alfred flinched but didn't move back. "There's nothing to tell."

Alfred smiled down at him. "There must be something."

"Well, I used to be able to sing."

"Were you in a band?"

"Yes."

"Can you sing for me now?"

Arthur's voice broke, wet, on his laugh. "I don't think I can, Alfred."

"My friends call me Al." He couldn't tell which bloodstains were his and which came from Arthur.

Arthur closed his eyes. "Al, then."

"Yeah."

Silence.

Six twenty seven pm. No signal.

"I suppose they'll be back soon." Arthur whispered now. His lips trembled with each breath.

"They won't get you this time."

"Al-"

"No."

"Fool."

"I know."

Six thirty five. No signal.

The phone's battery was starting to die.

The darkness churned around them. Alfred laid his shirt out across Arthur's body, shielding his open stomach. Arthur's hand grabbed at his arm, but he laid it gently back down. "I'm sorry."

"No," said Arthur, and he smiled. "Don't be."

Alfred smiled back. Something wound itself around his body and pulled him back into the darkness. The faint circle of light drew further and further away, and he heard himself scream as his body was torn at. His broken fingers scrambled against the thing, but they found no purchase, and his voice rose into a shrill wail. Arthur's voice called out for him. He wanted to scream back. He couldn't seem to find the words.

He gasped and choked as his arm was grasped. His elbow snapped, and the lower part of his limb seemed to be pulling away. Blood rolled down his bare side. His arm was gone. His vocal chords broke on his shriek. Liquid burbled up his throat, over his tongue, spilling out between his teeth. It tasted like copper. His eyes rolled back into his head.

"Alfred?"

His eyelids twitched, and opened to see green. "Arthur."

"You're alive." Every word was strained, but Arthur was smiling. His unharmed hand held the phone up against the dark. "I wasn't sure."

"Everything hurts," Alfred said. He was only seeing out of one eye. The other side of his face felt wet and empty.

"I know." Arthur clutched at the shirt still pressed against his stomach. His cheek was bloody.

"Did you follow me?"

"Of course."

"Crazy."

"I know." Arthur lay down beside him, curling up to tuck his head beneath Alfred's chin. "You're warm."

Alfred laughed around the blood. "So are you." He felt Arthur's smile against his neck. Even in the faint light, the darkness ate at his vision.

Seven thirty four pm. No signal.

"You know," Alfred whispered as they lay there in the dark, phone forgotten beside them, "I think, if we had met some other way…" He trailed off, his tongue feeling thick and swollen within his mouth, blood gathering at the creases of his lips.

Arthur nodded, torn cheek brushing against Alfred's chin. "I think I might have fallen in love with you." His three fingers slid through Alfred's matted hair.

"Yeah." Alfred closed his eye and wound what was left of his arm around what was left of Arthur's body. "Yeah." Arthur hummed in the back of his throat, some kind of song that was muffled and choked by blood, and Alfred joined in. It might not have been the same tune, but it would probably have sounded beautiful in the sunlight.

Something writhed and shifted in the shadows.

Alfred had fallen just after noon, while they were climbing across the rocky terrain. Neither of them had seen the crevice, and Matthew had only heard Alfred's scream as he fell, had looked down into the hole to see his brother clutching his ankle and groaning with pain. He'd called down for Alfred to hold on, that he'd be back as quick as he could with help, and he'd ran back to the town.

When he returned two hours later, followed by tired, tight-lipped police, the crevice was nowhere to be found. The rocks were as beautiful as ever, painted with the colors of the midday sun, and Alfred was gone. The police gave up the search only an hour in, their eyes weary and knowing and sad. Matthew was left alone to call for his brother, frantic, sobbing, and it was only as the sun began to set that his gaze caught on the sliver of plastic wedged between two rocks. It was scratched, casing broken, front screen cracked down the center, coated with coppery streaks of dirt and blood. He recognized the monogram etched into the back, and his fingers shook as he opened it.

Seven thirty nine pm. No signal.

The phone flickered once and died.

A/N- What is this? I honestly have no idea. It was written on a whim and turned into something incredibly bizarre. I don't even know what genre it is anymore. But, well… I hope you enjoyed it anyway?

Also, I know I took some liberties on how long they would be able to survive while literally bleeding out with no medicine or anything. I'm not looking for critique on that- I know it's wrong.

Credit for the inspiration goes to Semebay and Ellarose C.