Author's Notice: My writing has been stolen twice by someone who tried to pass it off as their own. If you recognize my writing anywhere please contact me immediately.

A WARNING TO ALL REEDUS WRITERS: In light of posting a very angry author's note to the story that the content was stolen from. I have been informed by a fellow writer that many other writers in the Reedus fandom have had their work stolen recently.

This person will most likely make a new blog, steal more writing, and submit it as their own to another innocent fic blog. Look out for writing you recognize and if possible inform the rightful owner.

Please make sure you've read part one of the series first, Dangerous Recipe!

A little boy sits in the back of a rusted Cadillac. His skittish blue eyes dart from the rocky landscape whizzing by outside his window to the blond woman driving with a cigarette clutched in her hand. Worry creases his brow as he squirms in his seat, pain pricking his bladder.

"Mom I still gotta go potty." he squeaks out, just barely loud enough to be heard over the drawling lyrics of a country heartbreak song.

"If you make one more sound I swear to god I'll dump you on the side of the road right here for the buzzards to eat." the driver snaps, maneuvering her rear view mirror to catch the golden haired child in her resentful sights. "We'll be there in half an hour, just hold it."

The boy does his best to stay quiet, wiggling this way and that, desperately trying to relieve his discomfort while pleasing the temperamental female in front of him. He watches the little clock on the dashboard, the pain becoming unbearable by the time fifteen minutes pass.

He tries to keep his tears of shame silent as steaming urine pools on the leather seat beneath him and runs down his legs. A small sob at disappointing his mother slips out making her arctic eyes flit to the mirror.

When her eyes lock with his fear strikes through him and he cries harder. They return back to the road when she only sees his blubbering face. Making him confused as to why the yelling and pain hasn't started yet. More anxiety riddled minutes tick by before the scent of pee reaches her nostrils.

"Did you piss your pants Mackenzie?" she screeches, turning around quickly to look at the sobbing soaked child scornfully, making him flinch and bury his face shamefully in his hands.

If she could have safely reached back there to smack him without the car veering off the road she would have. The thought of pulling over just to beat him was almost as appealing as the end result of this road trip.

"You worthless little fuck, I can't wait to-" she cuts herself off, knowing she almost let slip what would set off a full on hysterical tantrum, instead pushing the gas pedal down harder.

She turns the music up louder to drown out her son's cries and apologies, getting giddier with every passing mile marker. When they finally pull to a stop she doesn't waste a second before getting out to haul a faded backpack from the trunk, wrenching the rear car door open.

"You go on in there and give this to the man behind the counter. Can you be a good boy and do that for me?" she asks sweetly in a sickeningly fake manner, holding out an envelope with a name on it.

Eager to please his mother after soiling himself the little boy nods, taking the white rectangle in his tiny hands. Grateful for a chance to make it up to his mom he moves forward with outstretched arms. Only to be rejected as she steps back with a look of disgust on her face.

"Go on, you'll get a hug after." she lies, wrinkling her nose at him.

She watches him run to the bar, excited to complete this mission in exchange for his mother's love. His mother only waits until he's barely inside the door before tossing the backpack into the dirt and climbing back into the driver's seat.

The boy waits patiently as a man with a ponytail reads his mother's note. Horror and anger flash over the strange man's face before he charges out the entrance, yanking the little boy along roughly by the arm.

The pain shooting through his small limb is forgotten when he realizes the taillights vanishing into a cloud of dust belong to the person who was supposed to love him most in the world. He doesn't understand. He was a good boy, he did what she asked. Why was she forgetting him?

"Momma wait for me!" Mackenzie screams, frantically trying to get away from the man to run after her, watching the car disappear into the distance.

Watching her leave him behind.

When the man's grip loosens the boy falls to the ground, crawling to the pack as he cries, clutching it for dear life as snot and salty water pour down his face. He calls out for his mother in between keening wails, desperate to not be ignored for once.

"Look at you, no wonder she ditched your sorry ass." the man sneered down at the distraught child, making him cry harder.

"No son of mine would piss his pants and cry for his mama, that slut don't know shit." he growled to himself, returning to his work, leaving the boy to snivel in the dirt.

Eventually Mackenzie's cries died into sniffling tremors that wracked his small frame. Self soothing hopes of his mommy turning the car around when she realized he wasn't in the back seat quieting him.

After almost getting run over he moved to sit on top of a picnic table so he could be easily seen when she remembered him and came back. He sat there stone still, trying his best to be a good boy. She was always telling him to sit still and be quiet. He wanted her to be proud of how good he was being when she returned.

When his back began to ache and he was forced to re-position himself he felt like a failure, sure his mother would know he moved. She always knew. Even if he really hadn't done anything she was always right. And he was always punished.

As he sat there he wondered if he would be punished for not coming back outside quick enough. He already knew he would be for his accident. The penalty for such a crime was a forceful scrubbing in the bathtub with the metal wool along with being held under the water until he fell asleep.

Even when it got dark out with the bar's porch lights illuminating a parking lot packed full of cars. He still confidently told every person who asked him where his parents were that his mom would be back soon. Truly believing she would be. His young mind came up with countless reasons why she was taking so long. Each one strengthening his naive faith in her return. Even though he was miserably hungry and chilled to the bone from sitting in wet pants all day.

As it got later he fought to keep his eyes open and watch many people leave, until only one truck remained in the lot. The sound of keys jingling and a door shutting came from behind him before gravel crunching footsteps approached him from behind.

"Still out here waiting on that whore piss-boy?" a gruff voice asked him, making his tiny fists ball up.

He hated his man, the one she left him with. His shaking was no longer from chills but unhealthy intense rage. Anger that'd been held inside from years of being neglected and abused.

Springing off the tabletop he attacked the man, scratching and punching with all the violence his little fury could muster. Until a hard slap to the face made his nose bleed and the tears start up again, pissing off the man in front of him further.

"Shut it you little pussy." he roared dragging the wailing child towards a strip of motel rooms, locking the door behind him once he forced the boy inside.

"No son a mine is going to be soft. I'm gonna pound the pussy right outta you pretty-boy." Walter growled, unbuckling his belt as he advanced on Mac's cowering form in the corner.

He was screaming again, crying in his sleep.

She hated nights like these when she had to listen to him whimper in agony as the demons of his subconscious tortured him. While she was powerless to stop it.

When hot liquid seeped underneath her from his side of the bed she knew she couldn't just sit by idly anymore. Braving another injury she shook him lightly, not moving fast enough when a blind fist swung out at her.

"Son of a bitch." she hissed, clutching the boob he sideswiped, the female pain equivalent of a nut punch shooting through her chest.

"Mac wake up!" she bellowed once the pain passed and she could breathe again, rattling him roughly until his eyes opened.

He gave a startled whine before frantically searching, his breaths coming in labored pants until his eyes finally found her. Mac grabbed for her, yanking her down underneath him, clinging to her.

"I'm here." she assured, ignoring the warm wetness saturating her skin as his weight pressed her down into the piss soaked mattress. Instead she brought a gentle hand up to stroke his hair and push the strands off his sweaty face.

"I'll always be here." she promised with a wheeze when his crushing grip refused to loosen, his embrace becoming painful, bordering on cracking her ribs.

Her other arm wrapped around him to squeeze reassuringly before her palm ran down his back in a soothing gesture, sweeping over raised scar tissue.

"It's okay, It was just a nightmare." she whispered when he finally gave her leeway to breathe, though he continued trembling.

He couldn't even remember how he coped with the night terrors before she came along, any drug paling in comparison to the relief her touch and presence afforded him. Letting out a long calming breath he burrowed his face deeper into her neck, settling into the comforting feel of her body underneath him.

Mac stiffened noticeably when a distinct scent wafted up to him from his place on top of her. The physical embodiment of his nightmare memory coated them both. He recoiled from her embrace, shame slicing through him even deeper now that he was an adult.

"You fucking elbowed me in the bladder in your sleep and I peed the bed." Kristy lied in a growl, trying to take the blame for his accident, attempting to spare him the embarrassment.

Looking away from her in self-loathing he only grunted in reply before getting off her to head towards the shower. Mac didn't need Devon to say it for him to know she was too good for him.

Once he was out of the room she let the choking gag slip out she'd been repressing for his sake, scurrying to get off the bed. If someone had told her four months ago that she'd be voluntarily rolling around in piss to prevent Mac's feelings from being hurt she would have laughed in their face.

"Good lord, what is he, a fucking camel?" she muttered to herself once the top sheet was pulled away to reveal an unreasonably large piddle puddle.

With a quick glance at the bedside clock she dialed Walter to leave a message calling off for the coming day, grateful he wouldn't be up at this hour to bitch her out.

The difference between her reaction and his mother's didn't go unacknowledged as Mac stood under the spray. Krystal always knew what to do to make him feel better, be it him getting fired again or screaming like a little bitch in the middle of the night. She always made it better by just being there. Let alone everything else she did to soothe him.

"Thanks for keeping it warm while I cleaned everything up." came an exhausted voice from behind him as the glass door opened.

"I called off for today." she added around a yawn, moving in front of him to steal the hot water and rinse his dried urine from her skin.

"Aint Walter gonna be pissed?" he commented, thankful she'd changed the topic so quickly.

"Fuck Walter, he can serve his own damn food just like he used to before we had to shut down." she grumbled, grabbing for the soap.

The way she so brazenly did as she pleased without fearing his father made Mac wish he had such courage, such strength. Leaning his face into her hair he wrapped an arm around her, foolishly half hoping some of it would seep in through his skin.

"You want to talk about it?" she quietly asked, leaning back into him.

Obviously that one was a big fat "no".

"You wanna fuck?" she offered when her first question was greeted with stony silence.

Kristy knew taking his emotions out on her with violent sex almost always did the trick. A shift of his hips against her backside told her all she needed to know.

"M' gonna call off too, spend tha day fuckin' yer brains out." Mac declared, kicking her legs apart, more than happy to do so instead of spending it covered in grease.

"Uh-uh you already called off twice this week." she chided, gasping when he roughly inserted himself.

The force of it would have knocked her over if not for the large hands encasing her hips, thick fingers digging into her soft flesh. Bruising. Marking.

"Richie aint gonna fire me, lil shit wouldn' dare." he growled, bending her over forcefully until she could touch her toes.

"No Mac, you're going to work." she ground out breathlessly, his erratic harsh movements silencing her there after.

Apart from animalistic noises.

"I call that the moon patch." Kristy informed him when he swept light fingertips over a group of circular craters in her upper bicep. "She'd call for me and if I didn't come running fast enough with an ashtray she'd use me instead. Sometimes she'd just use me for the fun of it."

Of course he'd gotten his way with little resistance. And now there they were, snuggled up in the living room on an air mattress nest consisting of every clean blanket and pillow they owned. She couldn't say no when she'd woken him for breakfast and he gave her that look.

He'd poked his head from beneath the covers, bed-head sticking up in all directions, bottom lip sticking out, big blue eyes turning her to mush. Mac had mastered the puppy dog face quite quickly when he'd realized it actually worked on her. But she always spoiled him whether he was being a manipulative little shit or not.

Mac was thoroughly enjoying their twisted game instead of being at work, sickly fascinated with the stories that accompanied her damage. At the same time he wished the people who'd given them to her were still alive so he could kill them again.

"Hey, it's my turn!" she whined when Mac tried to choose another mark.

"Got that fallin' offa cliff, tryina rape Devon's college girlfriend back when alla that shit went down." he shared when her fingers ran along a raised line underneath his hair.

"Crazy bitch tackled me right offa tha damn side." he added as his eyes swept along her exposed body, choosing his next one.

"Those are actually all my fault." she laughed as he grabbed onto her burn covered toes. "I was experimenting with the formula only wearing flipflops."

"What about this. I know it's not a scar but I still want to know. Devon has one too, I've seen it." she insisted, tapping at the amateur spider tattoo located where his collarbone ended and his shoulder began.

"Never mind." she quickly backpedaled when the slight grin on his face vanished at her question, his eyes clouding over, hardening.

Kristy cherished every one of his decaying smiles, something rare that only happened when they were alone and he wasn't in one of his gloomy moods. She didn't want to be the cause of its disappearance.

"How 'bout them, never could figure 'em out." he admitted, moving on past the memory the spider brought back.

Tracing lines between the small raised welts peppering the skin on her side just above her hip, he looked up at her expectantly.

"Cattle prod." she supplied before taking a sip of water, knowing he'd want the whole story. "They hung me from my bound hands so my toes could just barely touch the floor. Doused me with ice water and then every time I wouldn't answer I'd get a jolt with the prod. It wasn't so bad. That was just about the only time I got any heat unless they were burning me."

Her fingers tapped lightly at healed meth scab scars along his chest before she settled on a thin faded line over his heart, placing her palm over it. He looked up at her, his features darkening again. Kristy couldn't understand why he'd made up this stupid game if it was going to upset him so much. She was more than willing to tell him whatever he wanted to know if he just got the balls to ask.

"Sh' tried killin' me when I was a baby. Stabbed me an left me in a dumpster. Changed 'er mind an came back when she got high again. Fuckin' whore bragged 'bout it when I was a lil older, told me I shouldn'a survived." he whispered just when she was about to relinquish her turn.

"Thas why she called me 'er lil cockroach. 'Cause I wouldn' die." he added with a dark sarcastic laugh.

Krystal's hand had balled into a fist over his heart during his short story. She was practically shaking from containing her rage, her face turning red from held in breath and anger. Exactly why Mac had dodged every scar given to him by his parents whenever she unknowingly chose one so far.

He pulled her down to rest on his chest, relieved when she finally let out a long breath and started breathing again, his heartbeat keeping her meltdown at bay. And here she thought he was the one who couldn't handle it.

"Damn good thang we didn' make this inta a drinkin' game." he commented, getting a slight chuckle from her.

After a few moments Mac pushed her off, shifting onto his side so he could grab for her hands, choosing his next set of faded scars. The lines extending the width of her hands were so faint you could only see them if the light hit them just right, her shins sported matching near invisible stripes.

"How'd ya get them." he inquired, running his thumbs over her palms, moving to rest his head on her stomach.

"I was never really scared of her and she knew it. I wasn't afraid to tell her what a whore she was or hit her back and it pissed her off to no end. One day I just snapped and knocked her over the back with a kitchen chair." she began, stroking a hand through his hair while she tried to remember the exact details.

"No wait, it was a baseball bat I'd stolen from a neighborhood kid. Either way, that night when I was sleeping she picked me up and tossed me in the oven. She turned it on and held the door closed, started cooking me until she couldn't stand the smell anymore."

"I faded them on purpose. Those were always the ones I hated the most because she actually put some fear in me that night." she explained when Mac brought her hands closer to examine the lines.

"Wish that bitch was alive so's I could barbecue 'er ass alive." Mac growled, showing the first sign that any of her trauma effected him beyond his sick fascination.

"Don't worry, I got her back the next night. It hurt like hell to strike the match but I lit her hair on fire while she was sleeping." she snickered, making a wide smile stretch his face along with a barking laugh.

When she went to reach for the ones on his back he rolled over, silently telling her those were off limits. That was a loophole in the game. If they chose a scar the other wasn't willing to talk about then the chooser lost that turn. Mac never lost a turn.

"This one." he demanded, opening her legs before thumbing the teeth marks on her inner thigh.

"Oh that's a special one." she purred with a naughty smile, knowing where that scar would lead as he settled himself in between her thighs.

"I got that one the night my man made me his."