Chapter Text
The six boys had settled around him in the dimly lit room, ignoring all of Jimin’s angry questions and talking quietly amongst themselves. As Jimin sat there and watched them, his knees still pulled up to his chest, a torrent of conflicting emotions mixed through his body like a murky lake.
He wanted to hate the people that took him away from his parents. He wanted to hate how they handled him so roughly, tackled him to the ground, gagged him, opened his wound even further, used their Gifts against him and forced him to sleep.
But as he watched them all interact with each other through quiet, soft conversation and familiar touches, Jimin felt…something a lot softer than hate. They treated each other the way Jimin always imagined blood brothers to treat each other, and it was clear to see even in the short amount of time Jimin spent with them. There was something gentle and accepting in the air, one that had Jimin’s shoulders unwillingly slumping, guard slowly dropping.
Was this how it felt? To be surrounded by people who were just like you, who went through the same hardships as you did, who fear the same fears and dream the same dreams? It had a tiny part of Jimin’s heart yearning and aching, for something that he was unaware he even wanted.
However, seeing the way they were together also made Jimin miss his parents, the only people who have shown him unconditional love, and that emptiness sat like a hard stone in the pit of his stomach.
Jimin’s eyes kept flickering down from their seemingly friendly, calm faces to their waists, on which each of them had a belt weighed down with a myriad of weapons.
“Minsoo hyung is on his way, he’ll explain everything once he’s here. Be patient a while longer,” the one with a serious face explained when he caught Jimin’s eye.
Namjoon.
He said his name was Namjoon.
They had given Jimin their names, but nobody gave away their Gifts, other than Jin, who Jimin could deduce was a Compeller.
Jimin wondered if it was just as deeply ingrained within them to hide their abilities as it was ingrained in Jimin. Gifteds lived a life tainted by fear, always trying their best to hide from the government. Wariness and suspicion followed them as closely as their own shadows.
Hidden behind their masks in the clearing, Namjoon and Jin had seemed faceless. They seemed evil, large, sure of themselves. But as he looked around the room, he did not see kidnappers, or a resistance group — he barely even saw men. Jimin saw youth and a lingering innocence in the one called Hoseok’s laugh, in Jin’s surprisingly endless jokes, in Jeongguk’s wide eyes, in Namjoon’s dimples that popped up easier than Jimin would expect for someone who had more weapons in his belt than Jimin's ever seen together in his entire life.
Whatever they were there for, whatever they had captured Jimin to be apart of…Jimin already knew that they were doomed.
The door creaked open and in walked a middle aged man with cold eyes, wearing a dark cloak and heavy boots, a belt full of weapons also slung around his waist.
Jimin sat up straighter, immediately defensive.
This man radiated power, his confident demeanor and stance said it all.
“Park Jimin,” the man smiled. “A pleasure to officially meet you.”
“Afraid I can’t say the same,” Jimin spat, feigning bravery, his heart pounding heavily.
He heard one of the boys cough loudly.
Instead of getting angry, however, the man let out a quiet chuckle.
“Oh, I see you're going to fit right in,” he mused. “I have to admit, I was uncertain when The Seekers insisted on bringing you to the team. From what I could tell, you were nothing more than a frightened doe hiding away in your little meadow.”
Jimin bristled and cut a sharp glance at Namjoon and Jin.
“Yes, until you sent the big bad wolves to take me away from it,” he said.
“The Seekers have known about you since you were just a baby, you know,” the man continued on as if Jimin never spoke.
Jimin paused. He knew the man was baiting him to ask more questions, and he debated with himself on whether or not he should sink his teeth around the hook and risk being reeled in.
In the end, curiosity got the best of him.
“The Seekers?”
The man leaned back against the wooden table, crossing his arms. He was tan, with age lines around his eyes and mouth, a long scar beginning just underneath his right eye and dragging down across his cheek, past his jawbone, and sliding underneath the collar of his shirt.
He was a man who was clearly unafraid of violence.
A man who was clearly familiar with it.
Jimin suppressed a shudder.
“The Seekers are our recruiters, for lack of a better term. The Resistance is constantly searching for those born with Gifts that could be useful to us in the future. We have spies everywhere. This revolution has been building for years, since before any of you were even alive, and we are finally approaching that tipping point. That fall into a better society, a more just government…it starts with you, Jimin. It starts with everyone in this room. The Seekers have been watching you, reporting back here about your Gift, and preventing the government from discovering your talents,” the man explained.
“So…you all were…also brought here? Against your will?” Jimin looked at the other boys, incredulous. He would have thought they grew up here, what with how comfortable they seemed with each other and the situation in general.
Namjoon nodded.
“A few years back, yes. We were in your exact position, Jimin. But we’ve all come to realize that we were chosen for a reason. Our Gifts were chosen by the Seekers because they complement each others’ well, and because they’re powerful, rare. We have a mission, a plan for a better future, and we’re all here to see this plan through,” Namjoon said.
Jimin shook his head.
“I’m not powerful, though. I — I can’t fight, or plan a revolution, or even be a stupid pawn in your hyped up scheme! I can’t. I won’t. Just let me go back to my parents.”
The boy with raven hair and black eyes, who up until this point hadn't spoken a word, let out a quiet scoff, annoyance radiating off of every one of his features.
“Just let him go home, Minsoo hyung. If his heart is too selfish to want to help anybody with his Gift, then just let him run back to his Mommy. Our team is complete with just us six.”
Jimin bristled, sitting up straighter and directing a harsh glare at the other. Something akin to guilt began eating at his stomach, but he quickly brushed it away. He would not let these people brainwash him into feeling guilty for not wanting to be apart of this…this suicide mission.
The man, Minsoo, laughed.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Yoongi,” he said. “Jimin is not going home. He’s going to be helping all of you, probably more often than you’d like, if your mission proves to be as dangerous as we are expecting.”
The entire room quieted, anticipation thrumming through the air like electricity. Though it was clear Gifts were common in The Resistance, everybody was raised with a certain level of curiosity towards others' Gifts. Something kept so secret and so personal was definitely going to gain attention when it finally revealed itself. The thrill of mystery and the almost taboo connotations connected to Gifts were ingrained in everybody's minds, whether they wanted to admit it or not.
Minsoo simply smiled, and before anyone could even blink, he withdrew a small blade from his belt, grabbed Taehyung’s arm, and swiped a cut down the length of his forearm.
The rest of them, Jimin included, cried out in surprise. Yoongi straightened from where he was leaning against a table, reaching out for Taehyung, but Minsoo pushed him back with a firm hand.
Taehyung stared at Minsoo with wide, confused eyes. But Minsoo was only looking at Jimin.
“Go on,” the man crooned, wiping the blood off his blade onto his black pants. “He doesn’t deserve to hurt like that.”
Namjoon and Jin, the only ones who knew of Jimin’s Gift, stared at him, waiting for his reaction.
Jimin was furious. This man was cruel. He might have an easy smile and a friendly voice, but Jimin knew right away that if it came to it, this man would become monstrous if they opposed him.
Was The Resistance even truly good? Was it really going to help him and all the other Gifteds? Or were they simply switching out one corrupt government for another?
He clenched his fists and stared at Taehyung’s arm, which was still frozen in the air, dripping blood. That innate sense of wanting to help and heal overcame Jimin, the way it always did when he looked at another’s wound.
However, he was still for too long, because Minsoo sighed impatiently and nonchalantly twirled the blade in his fingers.
“Do it or I’ll cut him again, deeper this time,” he said in a deceptively soft voice.
Jimin was quick to move then, reaching up and wrapping his hand around Taehyung’s cut. The air in the room was still and tense, as if the world itself had paused to witness Jimin’s Gift.
He’d never used his Gift in front of anyone but his parents before, and even that was rare, so Jimin was only too aware of their eyes burning through his skin as he closed his own. He felt his Gift flow through him, and relaxed as if he were in the presence of an old friend. It was a rush of love and warmth and good, aching to heal and help and soothe, and soon enough he was pulling back his now-bleeding arm to reveal Taehyung’s smooth, blemish-free skin.
“It’s gone,” Taehyung marveled, bringing his arm back and pressing his fingers against his skin.
“It’s not gone,” Yoongi said, surprise in his voice. “Look at his arm.”
They all glanced down at Jimin’s arm, and surprise flashed in their eyes.
And for some strange reason, Jimin felt a need to explain himself.
“I heal faster than the regular person. This will be gone by tomorrow,” he said.
“Damn,” Hoseok muttered. “Do you not feel pain either, then? You didn’t even flinch."
“I feel pain as much as all of you,” Jimin said. “But living my entire life with this Gift, I guess I’m just…used to it.”
There were a few beats in which nobody said anything. Someone handed Jimin a cloth to staunch the bleeding, and he took it quietly, pressing it against his arm.
“That’s a pretty shitty Gift, if I’m being honest,” Jeongguk broke the silence.
For some stupid reason, Jimin choked up. He simply pressed the cloth harder against his arm, breathing through the stinging pain.
“I guess so,” he whispered. “But I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
❃
Everything moved too quickly for Jimin after that.
Once Jimin bandaged his arm, Minsoo lead him and the group through The Resistance’s underground quarters as the team explained the mission to Jimin.
They passed by hundreds of training soldiers, and Jimin was shocked to see everyone using their Gifts so openly. There were people moving things with their minds, shape-shifting into different animals, disappearing from where they were standing only to appear again on the other end of the room.
Though Jimin was also Gifted, and these were his people, he still felt out of place. He still felt as if he had stepped into an alternate universe, or was trapped in an unescapable nightmare.
"This is what the world can be, once we succeed," Minsoo said to Jimin, a hand placed on his shoulder. "Gifteds can live freely, not having to always look behind their shoulder. Isn't this the life you want, Jimin? For yourself? For your children? For the rest of the people just like you?"
Jimin said nothing, but for a moment he was overwhelmed with how much he did want that. How much he wanted to live peacefully, to grow up and fall in love and have children and not have to worry about someone taking him away for being different, for being Gifted.
The group steered him down a long hallway, each room filled with tables ridden with worn maps and chewed-up pens and stacks of documents.
Then, Jimin was thoroughly briefed.
Their mission was simple: to kill the king.
But of course, there was always a catch.
There was only a handful of people who really knew where the Capital was, which was where the king and his family resided. Years ago, after many assassination attempts, it was decided that it would be safest for the king and his family to go into hiding. Some generations have passed, and now the location of the Capital was so unknown and vague that some even doubted its existence.
But no secret can be kept forever.
It is known that the only ones who know the Capital’s location are the ones living in the Capital — the royal family and the king’s most trusted advisors. But there were always leads. There were always moles, tiny hints and clues, people willing to sell information, rumors that have actual weight and merit. Through all of these, workers for the Resistance have managed to compile thousands of clues and trails.
The problem was finding out which of these clues, or combination of them, would lead them to their final goal.
Their plan was, in Jimin’s eyes, not even truly a plan.
The six others had been studying the hints for years, familiarizing themselves with officials’ names, suspicious characters, possible informants, and the layout of almost every village in the country.
They were going to follow the most trustworthy hints, and, essentially, play it by ear until they found the Capital.
Then they would call for backup, The Resistance’s army would storm The Capital and kill the king, placing their own king in power.
The mere thought of all of this happening had Jimin’s heart leaping to his throat.
He was not made for this, for battle paint and suits of armor and military tactics.
He was raised in gentility, in quiet, in tender sunlight and soothing rain.
Jimin was not a warrior.
Jimin was not a fighter, and he doubted he ever could be.
Jimin listened to the plan silently, absorbing as much as he could, yet simultaneously formulating different ways in which he could escape from the group once they were outside and find his way back to his parents.
All the while, there was a tiny trickle of dread in the back of Jimin’s mind. One that foreshadowed so much darkness that it threatened to consume Jimin from inside out.
By the next morning, their group was ready to leave. Jimin was dressed in an outfit similar to the other boys — black form fitting pants, sturdy combat boots, and a long floor-length cloak that was pinned in-between his collarbones with a silver clasp.
Looking at the others’ faces, serious and determined, Jimin fidgeted.
They truly believed in this.
Truly believed in themselves, and in each other, and this entire crazy scheme.
“We’re counting on you,” Minsoo stood in front of them, looking deeply into each their eyes. For a brief moment, Jimin saw something paternal flickering within his irises. “Don’t let us down. We’ll be waiting for your reports back.”
Namjoon nodded. “We won’t.”
As they turned to leave, backpacks full of supplies slung over their shoulders underneath their cloaks, Minsoo’s voice stopped them.
“Jimin,” he called. “I know you’re still reluctant to be part of this team. But just think of all the good you are bringing to the world by being apart of this. You’re saving lives. Present and future Gifteds will thank you.”
Jimin clenched his jaw.
He wanted to fight back, wanted to spit out that he didn’t want gratitude, or respect.
He wanted his home.
He wanted familiarity and comfort and safety.
With these thoughts in mind, he kept quiet, clenching his fists, knowing that it would be easier for him to escape from this group of six than from the entire force of the Resistance base.
“Just a fair warning,” Minsoo continued. “If you run away, we know where your home is. We know where your parents are. And we know that you’re Gifted.”
Jimin immediately bristled once he realized the implications of Minsoo’s words. “Are you threatening to turn me in? After everything you’ve preached about helping and protecting Gifteds? You’re a hypocrite.”
Minsoo’s eyes were cold, unwavering. “We do what has to be done for the greater good, Jimin. You must understand.”
Jimin clenched his jaw, breathing heavily, but said nothing, dread building like black poison in his heart.
He felt the group’s eyes on him, waiting for his reaction, so he lifted his gaze and nodded once, curt.
Minsoo nodded back, seemingly satisfied.
“Fear nothing,” The Resistance leader started.
“Sacrifice everything,” the six of them finished the maxim.
Jimin was silent.
As he turned with the rest of the boys to walk out the doors of the Resistance's base, he knew the next time he walked through familiar doors again — whether it be the front door of his house or back into this underground base — he would be a different person than the Park Jimin he was that day.
And nothing scared him more.
❃
For the next three days, they worked their way through the forest, Seokjin leading them with the map in his hands. For the most part, the group was quiet, though at night when he found Namjoon and Jeongguk pressed close together for warmth, or when Seokjin reached out to steady Hoseok when they were crossing a rushing river, Jimin felt a slight tug in his heart and would look away.
During this time, too, Jimin got a stronger feel of their individual personalities.
Yoongi was by far the quietest, the least open. Though Jimin did find him quietly shifting Taehyung’s snoozing body closer to the fire one night, his acts of kindness were almost always missed. The way he looked at Jimin had something uncomfortable squirming in his gut. He knew the other man didn’t like him. He could tell that Yoongi thought he was weak, and spineless. Strangely, that bothered Jimin more than it should. The way Yoongi brushed past him to walk ahead of him, or scoffed at Jimin’s occasional questions stung. But Jimin put on his bravest face and pretended that none of it mattered to him.
Namjoon and Jeongguk constantly gravitated towards each other, in such a simple and subtle way that Jimin was unsure if they were aware that they were doing it.
For all of Namjoon’s seriousness, Jeongguk made up for it with a surprising amount of childish qualities, his laugh loud and unhindered, his mouth easy to lift into a smile. Once Jimin discovered that Jeongguk was the youngest in their group, hard to see past his tall height and toned body, it had his heart aching for this boy’s lost childhood. For all of their lost childhoods, taken and wrung out by the hands of adults who constantly wanted to harm them for something they couldn’t control.
Hoseok was a skilled hunter, and Seokjin a skilled navigator, and the way they worked together so effortlessly and seemed so comfortable in the forest somehow brought a little bit of ease to Jimin’s heart. At least he knew that they wouldn’t die from lack of food.
Taehyung was the one who stuck closest to Jimin, often walking silently next to him or whispering a sweet ‘good night’ to him before he rolled over and dozed off. In the beginning Jimin was wary of his friendly advances, but the more he was around Taehyung, the more he could see an innocence in him that had already died within Jimin.
Though Jimin never responded to his subtle acts of kindness, Taehyung was slowly earning a secret, fond spot within Jimin’s heart more quickly than he’d like to admit.
The way these six treated each other — there was something so silently sweet about it.
So familiar and effortless, yet their closeness had Jimin distancing himself even more.
With every passing day, Jimin attempted to steel his resolve.
He decided to keep a running list of affirmations in his head, constantly thinking to himself, You will escape, you will see your family again, you will escape, you will see your family again.
He didn’t know when, or how, constantly debating back and forth on whether he should risk running away to his family, but those affirmations were the only thing keeping him moving, keeping him determined to stay alive.
The worst part was, the group wasn’t terrible to him.
Though they weren’t outwardly affectionate towards him like they were with each other, they weren’t cold towards him either.
Jimin had always had a soft heart, easy to love and easy to be loved.
And in this situation, he hated that about himself.
So on the second night when Seokjin absentmindedly shared part of his cooked rabbit meat with Jimin, who took it after an intense flash of gratitude and surprise, he knew that the longer he stayed with these people, the more attached he would become.
With that thought in mind, Jimin worked hard towards distancing his mind and his heart, not wanting to become soft towards a group of people who had essentially kidnapped him.
The next day, they reached their first destination.
There was a government base tucked away in the middle of a bustling village, one much bigger than Jimin’s own, and his eyes were wide as he peered at the competing vendors and busy taverns. There were mothers herding their children by the hand down the streets, juggling their purchases with their free hand, and there were groups of men sitting outside the taverns, nursing large mugs of beer. What really caught Jimin’s eye, though, were the Capital guards strolling right past the group. Dressed head to toe in the signature gold and red uniform, identical expressions of haughtiness and power etched onto their faces. Even without the uniforms, Jimin would be able to tell who was a guard and who was not, as they walked with a confidence that one could only have if they lived a privileged life, and was not afraid of using that privilege to their advantage.
Jimin knew that there were more guards in the more populated cities, but even just seeing the flashes of red and gold sent a spike of fear down his spine. He lived his whole life learning to watch out for those uniforms, to hide from those uniforms, to equate those uniforms with the murderers of his people. He walked stiffly whenever they passed by a guard, but if anybody else was tense, they didn’t show it.
Yoongi led them into the tavern, the seven of them pretending to be weary travelers passing through for a meal. They slung their dusty cloaks over the backs of their chairs, and Jimin sighed in relief when the first sip of cold water slipped down his throat. Yoongi had a large sack of coins hidden somewhere in his belt, and he used that to pay for their drinks and food.
The seven of them ate like they were starved. Though it was easy enough to find animals to hunt and eat within the forest, Jimin was tired of eating overcooked, unseasoned rabbit. The stew they were served was so flavorful and satisfying Jimin would have asked Yoongi to buy him a second bowl if he weren’t sure that it would make the older man hate him even more.
Once they were all done eating, Yoongi sat straighter in his chair, pulling a deck of cards out from his pocket. Dealing out the cards in the guise of a game, Yoongi handed each one of them a card, going from the ace to the seven.
Jimin’s happy mood that curled up within his body from the good meal immediately dissipated.
The mission started now, and Jimin felt like a floundering fish out of water.
He was wholly unprepared, the weapons tucked away in his boots and hidden inside his belt were foreign weights against his skin.
Jimin had no idea what he was doing, and surrounded by six others who had trained for years for this — he felt even more terrified and alone.
“The most important thing is to watch the sky,” Yoongi began, voice quiet and serious. “Once we split up, it’s imperative that we meet back up at the same place at essentially the same time. We must end up back together. Once the sun has completely dipped below the horizon, twilight will last for approximately half an hour. By the time it is dark enough to see the stars, we must all be back to the tree I marked a quarter of a mile south.”
Just as Yoongi was about to say more, a loud commotion drew their attention away from his words.
“Guards! I’ve caught one!” a large, potbellied man with an expensive jacket draped over his shoulders had his hand clenched into the back of a boy’s shirt.
Other groups of people in the tavern focused their attention on the man as well, curiosity in their eyes. The boy was struggling viciously, clawing at the man’s hand with his nails, skinny arms flailing wildly like the wings of a bird.
Two guards walked in, trailed by a handful of other people, seemingly the man’s friends. Sneers were painted onto their faces, twisting their features viciously.
Jimin’s stomach churned. The stew he ate so deliciously not even five minutes before was threatening to come back up.
“A damn Gifted,” the man guffawed. “Little idiot used his Gift right in front of my eyes!”
Once he caught sight of the guards, the boy, only around 13, began screaming.
“No! He saw wrong! I—I’m normal, I swear it!”
The man let go of the back of the boy’s tattered shirt and slammed a fist into his side.
Jimin flinched as if he were the one who was punched. He felt a gloved hand settle on his thigh. When Jimin looked up at Yoongi, the man was still looking at the scene, expression neutral.
Was he warning Jimin?
Or was he possibly trying to comfort him?
It didn’t matter.
The hand on his thigh burned, sent a shiver down Jimin’s spine, even past the layer of Yoongi’s gloves and Jimin’s pants.
Jimin drew in a quivering breath.
“He took a man’s wallet right out of his pocket,” the man said.
One of the guards raised an eyebrow, drawing in a breath to say something.
“Without his hands.”
The room went silent.
A Levitator. Jimin grimaced. Judging by the boy’s narrow frame, he was probably so desperate and hungry that he didn’t care about concealing his Gift anymore, unable to live off of street scraps any longer. Hunger could make anybody stupid — it was a raw, aching pain that could only be tolerated for so long.
“Show us,” one of the guards said.
The boy trembled, eyes wide and searching around the room, desperate for help, desperate for something, for someone.
His eyes met Jimin’s.
Jimin stopped breathing.
He wanted to help.
He needed to help him, he was just a child, he was just hungry and afraid and—
Yoongi’s hand tightened.
Jimin did nothing, feeling like his entire chest was going to collapse into itself.
The guard sighed, pulled a long dagger from the folds of his uniform.
“Show us or I will kill you now, scum.”
With a quiet, desperate keen, the boy closed his eyes, breaking their gaze, focusing on his Gift. Moments later, a stool went sailing through the air, flying straight towards the two guards.
Though a valiant attempt, it did nothing but anger the two as they dodged it, the stool crashing into the wall and then tumbling to the ground soon after.
The guards lunged forward, each one grabbing one of the boy’s scrawny arms.
Jimin’s legs flexed to stand.
“Don’t you fucking dare, Park Jimin. There’s nothing you can do,” Yoongi whispered. “Calm your expression, now.”
“Where’s my reward money?” the man who had caught the boy asked loudly.
Jimin turned his face away from the scene, towards Yoongi, heart breaking. The man had essentially taken the life of another human being and the only thing he cared about was money. He listened as the boy was dragged out, his cries pitiful and desperate. Rage built and built within Jimin, but he willed it away, forced himself to act and look as natural as the rest of his team, still aware that they were Gifteds themselves, that that could be their fate if they weren’t careful.
Once the guards and the boy left, chatter slowly but surely began to fill the tavern again, and within minutes everybody was back to normal.
Jimin hated them all.
He hated them all, including himself.
Yoongi gave Jimin’s thigh one last squeeze before he cleared his throat, hands going back to fiddle with the stack of cards.
Jimin couldn’t tell if he imagined the newfound tremor in Yoongi’s gloved fingers.
Continuing on with their pretend card game to lessen suspicion, they leaned their heads close together to talk.
He gathered up the cards he previously dealt out and shuffled to begin a new round, beginning to pass them out once more as he spoke.
“Listen closely. The Resistance has been watching this base for years now. Underneath this base is one of the largest prisons in the country. It is the current residence of a prisoner named Lee Hyunshik. He was a former government official working his way up the ranks, until he was caught working with The Resistance, feeding us information. We lost all contact with him the moment he was captured.”
“If anyone knows where the Capital is, or at least knows steps towards finding it, it would be him,” Namjoon murmured.
“Exactly,” Yoongi affirmed. “However, the only people who come in and out of this base are government officials, guards, and the captured Gifteds.”
“So how will we…?”
“We have 4 guard uniforms that the Resistance has managed to get. Hoseok, Jin, Jungkook and I will fill that role.”
“And what about the rest of us?” Jimin asked after a beat of silence.
Yoongi’s eyes move to meet Jimin’s.
His eyes were burning again, a determination so strong flaming within Yoongi’s irises that Jimin found it impossible to look away.
“You have the time it takes us to change into our uniforms. Expose your Gifts, but as little as possible. We must make it look convincing. Once we have those uniforms on, we do not know each other. We do not hold back.”
Yoongi’s hand flicked forward, a card sliding face-up and landing right in front of Jimin.
Jimin stared down at the card he was dealt.
The ace of spades.
“You three are going to run. And we are going to catch you.”