Forced back on his feet, thrown out of Neroâs office, the door slammed shut behind him. The noise vibrated right through him and it felt like his head was about to split open.
Lucas caught himself as he nearly sank to his haunches. He gripped his head tight, groaned as he lightly leaned forward. Please, please, donât be a concussion. But well, if it was, what was he gonna do about it?
Left to fend for himself, he stumbled along the hallway, gripping and pawing his way along the wall for support. Though short, that beating was nothing but severe. A severe warning. Meaning things could only get worseâŠ
Taking a deep breath and checking himself before he entered the common space back to his cell, he clenched his jaw. With some effort he stood straight and walked in, desperately trying to make it seem like nothing had happened to him.
Though a little slower than usual, with his body wanting nothing more than to slump over and each step requiring enormous strength, he dragged himself up the stairs, ignored all eyes on him, and shuffled towards his cell.
One of his neighbours leaned against the bars of cell from the inside, arms resting on the horizontal bar, dangling out. His cellmate, outside, leaning back against the railing of the pathway, stopped mid-conversation and pressed himself back to let Lucas pass.
âWhoa man, you alright?â
Lucas stopped.
It was a simple question. Yet it pierced his guard and shook him right to his core. It forced him to acknowledge what happened, and worse, forced his mind to catch up with the state of his body.
His throat tightened and he swallowed hard. Forced a smile, forced himself to take another shaky step towards his cell, and he heard himself squeak, voice a little higher than usual: âYeah... Yeah, Iâll be fine, thanks.â
Not yet. He swallowed again, forcing the lump down.
He made it to his cell, shed himself from the concerned gazes on his back as he disappeared from sight, and collapsed onto his cot.
The question still rang through his mind. Was it the genuine concern that got to him? Or did the question hit something deeper? Because, no, he was not alright. But if he admitted to that⊠then â Neroâs voice echoed in the back of his mind â heâd know what to do tomorrow.
And he wasnât going to do that. Meaning heâd have to go through this again. Tomorrow. The day after. And Nero wouldnât stop after three blowsâŠ
He stifled a sniffle. Not yet! Squeezed his eyes shut. They might come see if youâre alright. Stay quiet, pretend youâre asleep.
So he waited. Laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, just⊠existing. He didnât acknowledge the pain rumbling through his body, didnât engage with the worries screaming in his mind, because if he didâ
He waited. Waited until the buzzer announced lights out in five minutes. Waited until everyone was in their cell, until no one would pass by his anymore, until no one would have the opportunity to check in on him, see if he was alright, or mock his weakness.
And when the lights went out with a plastic ting and the chorus of metal scraping the cell doors shut had ceased with a loud clangâ
The first tear tickled down his cheek.
And it burst out.
He pressed his pillow over his face, desperately trying to keep his sharp heaves from slipping free. He couldnât stop it; all emotions finally broke free from the cage where heâd stowed them all. He wanted to scream, but even muffled screams carried well through the silence of night. And he didnât want to be the hot topic discussed over breakfast tomorrow.
Everything, not just the beating from tonight, everything that had happened these last couple of days, everything heâd had to bury, came crashing over him.
When your world comes tumbling down, itâs not just one thing.
When it rains, it pours. The water steadily rising right up to your neck, sure. But it also corrodes everything around you. It slowly tears down the wall of the world youâve build around you, the world that you trusted. And that trust suddenly collapsed in on itself, large chunks breaking off, splashing into the water around you, and youâre surrounded by the remnants.
It wasnât just his freedom that theyâd taken. The life he had. It was his faith in the system. The system he worked for. The system that now worked against him and was exploited with loopholes and carelessness to keep him here.
Heâd had clients of course who had treated him with outright contempt, convinced he wasnât there to help them but make things worse. Heâd always tried to prove otherwise. Tried to prove the system not only worked, but worked for them.
But now⊠now he started to see where that contempt came from. Itâs a tough system to fight. Once youâre in, itâs hard to get out. Especially if youâve got no one in your corner.
Luckily he had. Thank god he had put his trust in Ava, shared the story when he could. And now, he had all hopes pinned on her. He just had to hold on. Had to.
He flipped his pillow so he wouldnât feel the cold tear stains press against his cheek. A final soft sniffle and he closed his eyes. Better out now than bursting into tears in Neroâs office. At least it calmed him down. Or well, more likely he was just empty; hollowed out, having finally given in to all emotions. Only the dull pain throbbing with every heartbeat kept circling through him.
Scare tactics, he tried to tell himself, resting an arm over his eyes. This was all just scare tactics. Only it would leave him with more bruises and maybe even broken bones every day, every night. Until he was so scared that heâd cave.
He turned over, exhaustion washing over him. He was glad he was alone, didnât have a cellmate. Now at least he could break down in peace and in silence with everyone stuck in their own cells. Alone with no one to distuâ
His eyes snapped open.
Footsteps sounded through the silent hall, metal echoing under heavy boots.
No⊠no, no, no. He recognised that slow footfall, those deliberate steps. Fear gripped him tight, despite his protests, froze his limbs. What was this? Going for just desserts?! Because he wasnât hurting enough yet and he couldnât wait until tomorrow?
The footsteps got closer and closer, and Lucas could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. But then they stopped. Farther away than heâd expected.
He opened his eyes. There was no dark silhouette in front of his door. The shrill creak of a cell door opening pierced through the air and thank god it wasnât his.
Despite all warning bells, he slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door, peeking through the bars.
It was indeed Nero standing outside one of the cells.
Graff, the man who had tried to protect his cellmate the other day stepped out. Deflated, defeated, but without prompting and without a word, a certain determination â maybe even relief â in his posture, as if heâd been waiting for this. Nero stepped back to let him walk ahead.
The two silhouettes walked off. A door fell shut. And silence draped over the cell area once again, as if nothing had happened.
Lucas retreated back to bed, but kept listening intently for that silence to be broken again, for shuffling footsteps not unlike his own that signalled Graff returning. But nothing happened. And he couldnât fight sleep off any longer.
The next morning he quickly got dressed â fast as he could â and stood outside his cell before his door had even fully opened.
Yawning and stretching, the other prisoners followed suit, falling into rank. Except for one cell, where the door was open, but no one stepped outside.
An ominous feeling swirled around his stomach, though some relief mixed in when he saw Nero wasnât making the morning rounds today. One of the regular guards did rollcall and didnât even glance in his direction nor reminded him of his impending doom for that evening. Guess Nero didnât do both night and morning shifts.
During breakfast, Lucas glanced around the cafeteria, but didnât see Graff anywhere. Nor his cellmate.
He did spot Marcus, but decided against sitting with him. He didnât want to follow the first guy that had been somewhat kind to him around like a duckling. Also, he couldnât bear to have Marcusâ eyes roam the fresh bruises on his face, see the disappointment in his eyes that he hadnât listened to his warning.
Instead, he sat with some of the guys he worked with. Could feel their stares poking at the bruise across his face, but they didnât say a word. Overall, they didnât seem surprised.
âHave you guys seen Graff?â
âKarl? Saw Nero march off with him last night so, infirmary, probably.â
That was what Lucas suspected too, but to hear it confirmed so casually⊠âBut he didnât do anything wrong?â
A short silence. Then one of the men spoke quietly, a hint of remorse in his voice.
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It had been a two-day journey to the prison. It was bound to be a weekâs journey back to the land he called home. But he didn't have that much time. He needed to somehow find the strength in himself to succeed. He staggered in the knee-deep snow, nearly blind by the violent snow that whited out everything in his view. It had most likely been half an hourâŠthey would die like this. He needed to find a place to lay low and wait for the storm to pass.
âLet me know if you see a caveâŠor a treeâŠor any damn thing,â he snapped to the unconscious figure against his chest. The act of raising his legs so high only to sink into snow sapped most of his strength. While Ro was not heavy, just that added weight tore at his shredded back. The bruises deep in his muscles from his last whipping were more painful than the superficial gashes. His old scars burned against his sensitive flesh and old injuries toyed with his effectiveness. He whimpered when his hip buckled.
There was nothing he could do but carry on. For another hourâŠtwo hoursâŠLouie lost track of time. The snow had numbed most of his senses besides his lower back. He had been too afraid to use his magic for fear it would take the rest of his strength. By the time a tree hit him in the face, he was nearly a snowman. He blinked, stunned for a moment before the color of brown filled his vision. The wind was not as strong. Louie shuffled himself around to eye the blazing storm still whirring behind him. He had walked into the beginning of a forest. The trees, so thick, kept the wind and snow out. Louie sighed in relief, dropping to his knees. Ro fell out of his frozen grip like a pile of logs.
His hands were useless by now but he rubbed at them until he had enough control to grip two sticks. He went about making a fire, wanting nothing more than to use his magic just for a tiny bit of warmth, and then maybe it would be enough to knock him out for a few hours. But fire was important. Ro would need heat and it would keep animals away.
Once a spark lit his pile of wood on fire, Louie collapsed. Exhaustion was the only thing in his senses. Once he slept, just a tiny bit, he would help Ro. He felt for his magic and the moment his body warmed, he was gone to the world.
âŠ
It was the small breeze that ultimately convinced Ro that the prison was long gone. Instead of a prison was a deep forest and, a few feet away, an enormous white storm too scared to face the forest. A fire spat and crackled near Roâs feet and a body lay, curled on its side, on the other side of the fire.
Ro snarled.
The body was completely still. Arms lay stretched toward the fire as if the fire could do anything about the bluish fingers. The body was dressed in nothing but a tunic and leggings for a chilly evening. That was oddâŠuntil Roâs senses felt the fur.Â
Ro was no idiot to survival. She had already lost enough blood. The only thing that had kept her alive so far was warmth and rest. She lifted herself, gritting her teeth to counterbalance the effects of prison life. Getting up was more important that keeping enough droplets of blood in her body. She crawled to the body, noticing immediately the bag still wrapped around the bodyâs shoulders. The body did not move as she approached. Nor did it move as she felt around the bag. There was nothing usefulâ
Ro saw it then. A pocket knife tied with a string around the strangerâs neck. She opened the knife and sliced through the string, content enough to make her way back to the leaves still warm from her own body. But she paused, regarding the body.
A man. Ro hated men. But this man smelled different. And he bore more scars than most men had. His bottom lip, a cheek, and one eye were swollen and purple. From the loose cloth around his neck was a peek of deep, oozing cuts. These were not the superficial scars most men boasted about.
Ro left his side and settled back into her own nest of leaves. If she could flee she would but she could not flee until she knew who this man was. When the stranger woke, she would be ready.
Day 24: FIGHT, FLIGHT OR FREEZE |blood-covered hands | "I don't want to do this anymore" | catatonic
Alt 12: Carried to safety
+ this prompt by @whump-all-the-way
After Whumpee's betrayed and beaten by their team, Caretaker rescues them.
1.2k words
CWs: past beating, past betrayal, aftermath of a beating, past captivity, past choking, past stabbing, implied torture, emeto
Whumpee crawls out of the sewer and slumps against a shop door, hand pressed to their throbbing ribs, now broken as well as slashed, blinking away pained tears. They'd expected some sort of response to their return â suspicion maybe, they'd understand that, relief or joy even. They'd hoped for treatment for their injuries. They are... were friends, after all. But not... not this.
Not a beating as bad as Whumper often gave them. Not for Leader, who took them under his wing, who they looked up to for years, to punch them as soon as he saw them. Not for Teammate, their so-called 'best friend', to look at them coldly as they lay on the floor and demand to know what they'd betrayed, knuckles bloody.
Whumper called them an animal, a nothing. They didn't realise their team would feel the same way.
They thought Whumper broke them, when he finally conditioned them to stop reacting to hits, to call him Sir and thank him for the pain. But apparently there was a part of them left that still hoped. Hoped for a reunion, friendly voices, to belong again in a place that wasn't a cell.
A part of them left to break.
Not any longer though. That's gone.
Whumpee runs a wet hand down their aching face. Are thereâ they thought that muzzle scarred. It certainly felt like it dug in enough to.
Did it not? Or did their team just not care?
Whumpee groans and closes their eyes, whole body throbbing. They really took a pounding back there. Oh, their team left them alone, of course, once they were thoroughly beaten down. Left them in a cell, probably to come back to the next day. Without even any restraints.
Whumpee snorts at that, then claps a broken hand to his head. If they'd bothered to care about what happened to him, they'd never have left him unrestrained. They're not as hopeless at escapology as they once were. But they did.
They did, because they didn't care.
Whumpee needs to move soon, before their former team comes out looking for their prisoner. But they really can't summon up the energy to. What do they have left, after all? Where can they go? All they had was the hope of seeing their team again, and that's gone now.
"You realise you're leaving a trail of blood, darlin'? I can follow you all the way to your HQ."
Whumpee looks up to see someone standing on the opposite doorstep, wearing a black trenchcoat and hat, and smoking a cigarette. He pushes himself off the wall and stubs out his cigarette when he sees Whumpee's face.
"What the 'ell 'appened to you?"
Belatedly, Whumpee realises that they didn't bother to wipe their face. Their teammates earlier didn't notice anything was wrong, why the fuck would anyone else?
Apparently, someone else would.
"None of your business. Just fuck off."
The man frowns. "Your voice. You been choked lately?"
Whumpee feels a lump in their throat, and holds still as the man approaches, tracing the air above their sensitive, bruising throat. Their hands twitch to use their powers and hold the man off but they've learned over the past two months what happens if they even appear to be using them. So they just watch, warily, as the man touches their bruises lightly.
It's a kinder touch than they've had in months. This stranger is being kinder than their own team and they don't trust it.
"The fuck are you doing?"
"Making sure you can still breathe right, since you ain't doin' it."
"You can't tell that from... that."
"Sure I can. Dunno why I bothered though, it's clear from the arguing that you can. Didn't you 'ave some sorta power last time we met?"
"We've never met."
The man shrugs with an air of deliberate nonchalance. "If you say so." Whumpee slumps forward, suddenly drained, and the man puts a hand on his chest, holding him upright. "Woah. Easy there darlin'. Want help gettin' back 'ome?"
"'m notâ not going back to base. And I'm not helping you either. Just to be clear. I'm done with this fight. I've been on both sides and neither's worth it. So either kill me or leave, I'm no use to you."
"Oh no you don't, darlin'. Well, you don't have to fight, but you'll die if you stay here. And I'm not lettin' you die... Whumpee, isn't it?"
"Maybe. Who are you?"
"Caretaker. Well, that's not my real name o'course, but maybe if you stay long enough you'll find it out. So. You comin'?"
Whumpee pauses, looking the man up and down. He looks... sincere, but not honest, although Whumpee themself isn't always honest either. Technically, he's also their enemy, but they don't really have any allies left.
And he's right. They will die if they stay here, if not now then as soon as their team finds them. Or maybe not as soon as. Maybe the team will beat them up some more first. They nod, regretting it as their head throbs.
"Fine. I'll come."
Caretaker grins. "Excellent. Can you walk?"
"I don'tâ" Whumpee tries to lever themself up against a wall and falls with a yelp as they try to put weight on their ankle and an agonising pulse runs up their leg. "Maybe not."
"Well, I'm gonna have to carry you then. 'old still." Caretaker hefts Whumpee into his arms, cursing as he stumbles. "You eaten anythin' lately? Cos it sure don't feel like it."
"Not for a while," mumbles Whumpee, clamping their lips shut as their stomach roils and everything hurts from the jolting. "'m gonna be sick."
"Well don't do it on my coat, it's already got your blood on it. Far too much in fact. You been stabbed?"
"Slashed," murmurs Whumpee, before retching. Caretaker tips them sideways so their bile falls onto the pavement, waiting patiently for them to finish.
"You done?"
"F'r now."
"Well, can you hold on until you're not gonna throw up on my favourite coat?"
"Probably?"
"That'll do." And Caretaker takes off walking at a brisk pace. Whumpee slumps against his chest, unable to hold themself up anymore. Even if this man does mean harm, they're in no shape to defend themself. No point bothering to try.
"Dammit darlin'. Hold on just a lil bit longer, come..."
Caretaker's voice fades, along with the rest of the world.
_
Whumpee half-wakes to the sound of voices.
"How are they?"
"They'll live, boss. And their wings should grow back, if the latest research is correct. But it's weird."
"What is?"
"I did an MRI scan to check the state of their brain, because I needed to see what that knock did to it, and it looks like someone's been meddling with it. There's energy traces in there. It's not just a concussion causing problems."
There's a growl. "Someone with powers has been inside their brain?"
"Yes, boss."
""That's... that's why they don't remember me, int it?"
Whumpee groans, wanting to ask what's going on, why Caretaker sounds so unbearably sad, but their mouth won't obey and nor will their eyes and before they can try to move their aching body, the world fades again.
When they wake, they won't remember this conversation at all.
_
Picrews (link) - Whumpee just after being treated, Caretaker, and Medic
There's a prequel but basically he got himself beat up.
This is a year after William lost his parents and way before he met Choolwe and Theo. But it's right after he met James.
****************
Keir woke up again and he still didn't know where he was. He looked around again, turning his head to the light snoring nearby.
He saw the same blonde man from last night and a few hours ago.
The painkillers' effects were less now and his mind cleared up enough for him to realize the man took care of him but why beat him up only to treat him later.
The blonde man stirred awake.
"You awake kid?" He said with a yawn. He stretched his arms and legs while on the chair.
Keir didn't say anything, he just looked at the man confused and on guard.
"Don't worry kid. I'm not going to hurt you." He said with the same smile coming back on his face.
"Why'd you help me?" Keir asked the man.
"Straight to it ahe? Ain't you gonna ask where you are?"
"It's your house isn't it?" Keir answered.
"You're right Kier." He walked over to the bed.
"You feeling ok?" He asked as he started checking him.
"How do you know my name?" He asked, ignoring his question.
"I helped you for the same reason I know your name." He answered, still checking him. "How's your breathing? Does it still hurt?"
"What do you mean?" Keir was getting annoyed with this.
"You know you're not as pleasant as Edna." The man answered sitting back as he finished the check up.
This man just kept coming in with surprises and he just kept confusing him.
"How do you know my mother?" He demanded
"From the other one." He stated "I came maybe twice at your house to check up on one of them. Let's see how old you were?.......... I think 9 and 12"
Keir thought back there was a time a man came to his house once with one of his moms. He helped treat her wounds but his other mother made him go play outside while it happened. It was odd but he didn't think anything of it until it happened once again but other than that he never came back.
But he was probably just a work mate of one of his mothers; she used to hang around dangerous people.
"Tell me how's your mom?" The man asked.
Keir didn't answer, he just looked away.
"Oh okay. If you don't want to tell me. Either way I don't think you came here for me anyways."
The man stood up from the bed when he heard the knock at the door.
"Guess the person you came for is here." The man began walking away.
"Wait." Keir called out. The man stopped.
"Who are you?"
"How rude of you not to ask sooner. I'm James, your nurse and torturer for the day." James continued on his way to the door.
Keir stayed in the bed and tried to sit up. The pain came back and breathing was actually hard. He took short breaths to minimize the pain. But it was still there. He managed to sit up not without pain though.
"Still hurts huh?" James said at the door.
He came back with a woman. She had dark brown skin and long curled hair.
"Mainshi." He announced.
She was his mothers old work friend right before she left her work. They were work partners. She was one of the few people in her past his mother still let in her life.
"Hello. Heard you came looking for trouble last night." She walked closer to him looking annoyed that a stupid boy came all this way to get himself beaten.
Keir didn't answer, he just looked away like a stubborn kid being scolded
"What would Evren and Edna say?" Mainshi scolded.
"They're dead." He declared.
His words sent shock waves to her and to James who was still standing at the door.
Her heart sank
Mainshi looked at the boy. She didn't know what to say, he didn't look like he was lying and he wouldn't lie about this. But she never would have imagined her friend dying so soon.
Mainshi looked back at James asking him to leave. He nodded showing he understood they needed to be alone, then left the room, closing the door with him.
Mainshi moved and sat closer to the boy.
"WhenâŠâŠ.. When did it happen?" Mainshi asked, trying to keep herself from crying.
She hadn't seen him and his mothers in years. She doesn't even know how long it's been since.
"Year ago." He answered. The boy's lukewarm expression was something she wasn't used to on him.
"How?"
"Execution style Mainshi. Then they burnt my house. With my mother's inside." He's voice was so cold.
"KierâŠâŠ. I'm so sorry." The poor child. To lose his family in such a way. If only she was still with them but it was Evren who wanted to cut ties with her old life even if that meant her too.
"They did this Mainshi." He announced looking in her eyes.
There was so much anger in this boy's eyes. Then she realized what he wanted.
"That's why you came here? Look Keir I am not putting you in danger just go backâŠâŠ"
"Go back where Mainshi? My home was destroyed. Where should I go? I can't go back home. They took it away from me." He shouted back. There was so much anger in him he had to take them down.
"Keir I'mâŠâŠ..I'm sorry." She looked down. She still couldn't believe her old friend was gone. Sure they didn't talk much after she settled down with her new familyâŠâŠâŠ.damn how could this happen.
She moved closer and hugged him.
"Kier, I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry." She repeated, consoling the poor boy.
But he didn't say anything, he didn't move, he didn't hug her back.
She pulled back from the hug. He still had the same face, one determined to destroy those that took his family.
She frowned.
"You're determined. So you came here thinking I'll actually point you in their direction."
"You have to. " He demanded.
"Why would I do that? You think Edna would want this for you?"
Edna was hesitant to get with Evren for Keir. Her life wasn't one she wanted to raise a child around.
"She's not here!!! And it's their fault!! I won't let them be."
She stood up from the bed.
"Kier, go live your life, turn back from this and live your life. "
She began walking away.
" What life? They took it from me." He growled. He stood up and held her hand back forcing her to turn around.
Then the wounds from the beating sent pulses of pain all over his body. He sank down clutching his upper body, biting back sounds of pain.
She sank down on one knee, held his shoulders and looked in his eyes. Though he tried to hide it his face showed how much pain he still felt. He was clenching his teeth to make sure he didn't cry out.
Then in a low voice she said.
"You took a bad beating, you should rest. "
In other words she's not going to help him.
Then she stood and opened the door. James was standing next to it.
"Take care of him." She instructed. Basically telling him to make sure he doesn't get in trouble again.
James nodded and she walked down the stairs. The door opened and closed and she was gone.
James peeped inside to see the small boy still on the floor. He looked so lost. Probably was lost having nowhere else to go and all but that was physically.
*****************
James walked in as the boy began to get himself off the floor.
The pain was evident in each movement but he didn't ask for help.
"You ought to stop keeping your feelings inside and cry." James' voice was more serious and less casual than before.
"I'm done crying." Keir said as he sat himself on the bed.
James continued.
"You were crying yesterday even before anyone hit you."
He saw it when he looked into the boy's hood last night. Though he was trying to hide it.
"Give me my clothes." Keir demanded. Paying no mind to James.
"That's why you got yourself in a fight." Something else he noticed about him.
"What are you talking about?" Keir scowled at James.
"You were so angry yesterday. You really didn't have to go through those guys but you just wanted to hit something." James felt it was best to let him blow it off then he noticed something else while he was fighting.
Keir turned his face away. Holding in his pain that threatened to come out. There's no use doing that anymore. Crying wasn't going to solve or change anything.
James just continued. He didn't know how to help the boy especially if he was going to be this reckless about his life and if he kept locking his feelings up.
"Then after a while you just let yourself get beat. You blame yourself. Getting Main's attention wouldn't have been hard."
Main wasn't a high profile person, but many people knew her and getting to see her wasn't going to be hard.
He didn't know what the boy saw. Maybe he felt he should have died with his mothers or he felt he could have saved them but he didn't care about his life anymore.
CW: bruises, blood mention, aftermath of a beating, creepy comfort, intimate whumper, conditioning, blaming
Heart-Shaped Bruises
The purples and reds mixed beautifully in contrast to the snowy white hair that fell in front of it. Nathan couldn't believe that his Brody had any way of being more attractive or stunning, but this was a pleasant surprise. The hockey player's left eye was swollen and mottled with bruising that complimented his hazy green eyes. His head lolled as Brody tried to look up toward his roommate.Â
The younger college boy sat on the kitchen floor with his wrists ziptied behind his back and his face covered in bruises. Nathan gently wiped the blood from Brody's busted lip as he tilted the battered face up toward his own. He watched with an amused look as the hockey player tried to focus his gaze on Nathan's face.Â
"My sweet, you're doing so good." Nathan murmured reassuringly before speaking with a more possessive tone, "I think I'm ready to forgive you for blowing off our last two dates to be with that awful goalie."
Brody could only offer a pitiful moan of pain as his face felt mostly numb. He flinched when Nathan cupped his face but soaked up the tender touch from the hands that had caused him agonizing pain only minutes earlier.Â
He leaned into the touch and stammered weakly, "m'sorry⊠didn't mean t-to⊠to make y-you m'mad." The hockey player whimpered as he felt his nosebleed start up again.Â
"Shh shh sweetheart, I forgive you⊠I won't be so forgiving next time, though. Don't let it happen again" Nathan said as he held Brody's face. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the hockey player's split lip.Â
The football player gently pulled his Brody up to his feet and embraced him tightly. Brody made soft whimpers that began to fade as he was finally given the chance to relax. He smiled warmly as his roommate's head rested limply on his shoulder. Nathan supported the hockey player's weight easily and gently rocked him back and forth to an unheard melody.Â
He wasn't sure when, but Brody had passed out at some point during their dancing. It was okay though, his Brody still relied on him, needed him, loved him.Â
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CW: References to parental death/murder in the past, references to conditioning, memory loss, box boy setting, past trauma, injuries as a result of beating/police brutality sort of. Stimming. Brief reference to past noncon/whump of a minor.
âYes,â Chris says automatically, without looking away from the window, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He keeps his head slightly back, staring through a crack in the new drapes that Naomiâs friend Kari brought by and hung up herself. Kari used to be in the military, too, and she and Jefferson made fun of each other for being different kinds of military - oh good the Chair Force has arrived vs. Iâd insult you but you were already in the army, what more can I say?, but they laughed a lot about it and he thinks it was a nice kind of making fun, like when Jake teases him for always moving or Nat ruffles his hair.
âChris?â
âI said Iâm listening, Antoni.â
He says yes anytime anyone asks if heâs listening, because part of his brain is, thereâs a track listening to Antoni and a track thinking about the cake they made from a box mix Antoni found that someone brought over and a track that sees the cardinal is back again building a nest in the white birch tree, here for good, for keeps. There are tracks running all of the directions there are, big tracks and small.
Chrisâs mind is racing, and he feels swept away by all his thoughts.
âChrisha, you must be gentle.â
âUh huh.â
âYou must not hug too tight.â
âI, I, I wonât.â
âYou must remember he is likely very hurt.â
Chris sees a car and his heart leaps in his chest but it drives past and his heart drops again. Not yet. Soon. Not yet. Soon.
âChris, you need to listen.â
âI, I am listening, I hear, um, I hear you, Antoni, I hear hear you, Iâm, um, Iâm listening, I am.â
Part of him is listening.
Most of him is a train where wheels on the tracks whisper come home, come home, come home to me. He can hear the circle of thought inside his mind and he wishes and wishes and wishes and hopes that wishes are good enough to make it all happen faster.
The wall is cool and familiar as he taps on it, the gentle soothing rushes of calm that move through him, settling his nerves, keeping his eyes locked on the road. Jefferson left in an old car the color of one of Jakeâs favorite sweaters, a deep deep red that has a little brown in it that Jake calls burgundy and Nat calls maroon and Antoni calls is this really worth having a disagreement over?
âCome on come on come on come on,â He whispers to himself, his eyes moving back and forth, scanning and scanning. Jaden and his friends are in school today because people go to school, other people, people who are allowed to read and write and learn things that donât get taught at the other end of pain.
Jake is going to miss school. Chris swallows back the guilt. Jake is going to struggle because of him. But Jake would have missed him, if heâd gone with the cops, and Chris is smart enough to know that if he had gone, he wouldnât have come home.
Jake will come home.
âCome away from the window,â Antoni says gently from behind him, setting a hand onto his shoulder. Chris leans into the touch, closing his eyes briefly. The hand on his skin centers him, reminds him that the world is not just part of the train tracks in his mind but itâs real, this is real, he is real and he is wanted even if heâs not owned, not anymore, not like he was.
âI canât,â Chris says, softly. âIf I, if, if I move away he might come back and, and, and-and-and I wouldnât be here to, to see. I need to see. I, I, I need to see him, Antoni, need, need to be here, need to, to seeâŠâ
âOkay, Chrisha.â Antoni leans over, presses a kiss to the top of his hair, and Chris closes his eyes and tilts his head, feeling an odd twist in his chest, a hint of a strange heat at the backs of his eyes.
Are you going to bounce like that until he walks through the door, baby? You know he had to travel this week.
The voice is startling and familiar all at once, it sits deep inside of him. Itâs a voice he knew before he ever heard it out loud, he knows that somehow. A voice and a heartbeat, wrapping him tight. A different way of being in the world. Who said that? Someone said that, once.
âAnt, um, Antoni, Ant-Ant-Ant, can, can I, can I ask-â
âAnything,â Antoni says softly, giving his shoulder a squeeze before he pulls back and away, leaving Chris briefly feeling lonely at the lack of another personâs warmth where he had been standing.Â
âWhat, um, what, what what what kinds of voices do you remember, when you, you you remember voices from before?â
Antoni is still for a second, and then says, quietly, âI often think of my little brother. And my mother.â
âWhat, what, what does a mother sound like?â He doesnât look away from the window. Another car drives past, a deep bass beat thumping so loud the frame of the car is audibly rattling as it goes. Chris wonders how the man inside doesnât have hearing loss, then thinks he probably does and just hasnât noticed yet.
âWhat does-... Chrisha⊠why do you ask me that?â
âSometimes,â Chris says, twitching the drape a little with one hand. He likes the way it feels when he does that, so he does it again and again and again. Itâs almost like tapping. âSometimes I hear someone in, inside my memory and I think it feels like, like, like like like a mother-voice.â
âWhat does a mother voice sound like?â Antoni sits down on the couch, but his eyes are trained on Chrisâs back. Chris feel them, a steady reassuring weight without touch. Antoni doesnât like touching as much as Chris does. No one likes touching as much as Chris does, except Kauri, and neither of them is supposed to. Heâs figured that part out by now.
âI donât know. Like a voice I, I know even though I canât remember it any, any, anymore. If I heard her Iâd know, though. I think.â His heart twists at that, for reasons he doesnât understand except he knows he wonât hear her again. He canât remember why, but he knows, anyway. But thereâs a sense of the blood on the wall, the blood that isnât Jakeâs and ran down a different wall. Blood and bone and bits of something else he canât name, doesnât remember, he wonât remember this-
Chris gasps in a breath, clenches his eyes shut. His heart twists again, so tightly heâs worried it somehow stopped beating. Is this what a heart attack feels like? It could be. Thereâs supposed to be pain in your arm, though, maybe, isnât there? Unless there isnât. He doesnât know what heart attacks are supposed to be like.Â
People die with their eyes wide open.
âChrisha? Are you okay?â
Why didnât I listen when she told me not to move?
âIâm⊠fine,â Chris says, slowly. He tries to calm the racing trains of thought. âI have⊠false⊠memories. False memories are⊠common⊠after⊠training.â
â... Chris,â Antoni says, a little uncertainly. Hesitant. Chris tightens his fingers around the rough, thick cloth of the drapes. âI donât think the memories are false. I think⊠I think they are a thing we have been lied to about.â
âLike, like everything else,â Chris whispers.
âLike everything else,â Antoni says firmly. âChrisha, I need you to listen again. When you remember something, if it does not hurt to hold the memory, you must hold onto it.â
âI donât want to. I donât want, want to hold any of it anymore. My, my, my my my my memories hurt, they hurt so fucking much-â
Antoni catches his breath when Chris curses â he can hear it hitch in from across the room. âChrishaâŠâ
âI donât want to, to think about it and you, you you you you canât make me, you canât, canât make me.â Chrisâs voice drops to a whisper.
I donât want to remember when I did it all wrong. I donât want to remember when I did the wrong thing. I only want to remember that this time I did it right. I donât want to remember her voice. He swallows against a lump in his throat, like something is stuck there, all the feelings he wants to scream.
Baldur, darlinâ, silence is better than screaming.
A finger pressed to his lips, pushed in between his teeth against his tongue.
Chris shudders, pushes that thought away, too.
âI donât mean to force you to-â
âThere he is!â Chris shoves it all away, then, all at once, derails all those trains he doesnât like and doesnât want any longer. He throws them off cliffs inside his mind, one after another, the voice he doesnât know and the empty eyes he doesnât remember and all the things heâs ever done wrong. He lets them crash into the ocean of all the things heâs not supposed to know any longer.Â
The beat-up car pulls into the driveway across the street, Jeffersonâs house, and Chris begins to bounce on his feet again, chewing on his lower lip absently, staring through the crack in the drapes, listening to the low rumble of the old engine, staring and staring and staring.Â
Jefferson gets out first, tallish but not as tall as Jake and thin. His belt buckle flashes in the sunlight. Chrisâs breathing speeds up, and Antoni joins him at the window, pushing the drape a little further aside so the two of them can watch together. Jefferson turns and says something into the car, and Nat gets out next.
Her hair is a mess, all frizzly and he can see itâs tangled even from here, wearing the same nightclothes they arrested her in, right down to the housecat thrown over the top, right down to her slippers instead of shoes. Thereâs a bruise on one side of her face, and Chris feels a twinge of a familiar pain in his own, in sympathy.
The back door of the car opens on one side, and Jake gets out.
Chrisâs heart beats once, leaps to his throat, and becomes trapped there.
Even from across the street he can see Jakeâs black eye, swelled and a ring of blackish-purplish-yellowish. He can see the bruise on one cheekbone and the way he holds himself carefully, a way of walking that Chris has known, again and again, in his own body. When he wasnât good, when he didnât learn fast enough, when he tried to say no.
Did Jake say no?
Chris lets out a whine, low in his throat, tears in his eyes. Antoni reaches out to touch him, whispering something in that odd way of speaking he has sometimes, the words he doesnât remember that come to his lips anyway, unbidden. It sounds like a curse.Â
âJake-â Chris pulls away from Antoni and moves to the door, doesnât even feel his feet touching the ground, like he can fly if he has to, if Jake is hurting. Theyâre walking across the street this way but Chris is already opening the front door even when Antoni calls out a warning. Chris doesnât hear what he says.
All his trains are one train, now, the train that powers down the track chugging jake is home, jake is home, jake came back to me.
Chris runs barefoot, one heel bandaged from the glass still, wearing one of Jakeâs shirts and his knees sticking out from his shorts, feeling the walkway to the front porch warm from the sun under his feet, the sudden burst of light in the world around him that he has to blink to adjust to, and at some point he gets close, right in the middle of the street, black asphalt layered over gravel warm and sticky underfoot, before he launches himself up.
Jakeâs eyes raise to see him just as Chris barrels into him, jumping, legs around his waist and his arms around Jakeâs neck. Chris doesnât hear Jakeâs hiss of pain or feel him fall back, losing his balance, only able to stay standing because Jefferson catches him and Nate grabs one arm.Â
Chris only hears Jakeâs low sound, the same one he is making but lower-pitched, a hum of not-quite-crying, as strong arms come around his back and hold him.Â
âJake-Jake-Jake-Jake-Jake-Jake,â Chris whispers the nonstop litany, tears running down his cheeks and wavering his voice, burying his face against Jakeâs neck, the only part of him he can see that isnât bruised. âJake-Jake-Jake-Jake-Jake-Jake-Jake-â
âHey, man,â Jake says, his own voice thin and strained with a mix of pain and tears. âYou did okay without me, huh?â
Chris locks his ankles together behind Jakeâs back, cries into his neck without trying to hold back the sobs, feeling Jakeâs cotton sleeping-shirt go damp under his cheek. âI was so, so, so worried, so worried, Jake, I, I, I-I-I-... I didnât, didnât know, I was so scared for you.â
âChris, honey,â Nat says gently. âYou need to get down, Jakeâs hurt-â
âHeâs fine,â Jake says tightly. Thereâs a silence Chris doesnât understand, a weight between Jake and Natalie that hasnât been there before. âI can carry him. Iâm going to carry him.â
âJake, Iâm just-â
âNat.â Jakeâs voice clips tighter, sharper. Chris sniffs, tries to go silent and safe in Jakeâs arms, against the anger that edges his voice, an anger Chris doesnât understand. âLet me hold onto him. He needs this.â
âBut you need-â
âTo give Chris,â Jake says, even more firmly, âwhat he needs. You think I havenât had the shit kicked out of me before?â
Nat is quiet, but itâs a silence that Chris can feel, full of words she wants to say. âBecause of yourâŠ?â
âYes. Because of my.â Jake doesnât finish the sentence, just lets it hang there at the my. âWeâre not talking about that.â
âJake, we need to-â
âWhen they told me you were one of them,â Jake says, voice still low, and theyâre still standing in the middle of the street but no one says anything, no one drives by, no one moves. âI said all that mattered was that you left. But itâs not, is it?â
Another long pause. Jefferson is still standing with them, silent as a gravestone with a name Chris canât read anymore written on it. Finally, Natalie sighs heavily, rakes a hand back through her hair, catches her fingers in tangles and winces. âNo. Itâs not. I know what youâre thinking. Iâm trying-â
âWeâre all trying, Nat. Debrief after Iâve had some sleep and Chris is taken care of.â
âWe, uh.â Jefferson clears his throat. âI think we did a pretty good job. Taking care of him, I mean. While you all were gone.âÂ
âSeems like, and Iâm really⊠really thankful for that. Iâm sorry, Iâm just⊠tired. The last three days have been a whole hell of a lot, you know? If you donât mind, Iâm taking him inside now.â Jake starts to walk, moving slow with one leg slightly dragging, and Chris only tightens his grip around Jakeâs neck as the taller man adjusts his arm. It slides lower on Chrisâs back, to take his weight even as Jake lets out a soft exhalation at the ache it must cause.Â
âI, I, I can get down and walk, Jake,â Chris says into the warm skin of his neck.
Jake snorts. âDonât you fuckinâ dare. Thought about you for three fucking days, Chris, Iâm not putting you down âtil Iâm damn good and ready.â Jakeâs voice is slurred and blurry from exhaustion, and thatâs another thing Chris knows really well. How it feels to not sleep and not sleep and not sleep until your body doesnât know what sleep is any longer and it feels like youâre dying, piece by piece, with every single minute that passes by still conscious.
Jake carries Chris inside, the other two trailing behind ready to catch the tall man if he falls, but he doesnât. He doesnât falter. He takes his time and he walks slow, limps on one side, but he never loses his balance and he never lets Chris go.
The door closes behind them, and Chris hears Antoni and Natalie hugging, Antoniâs whispered questions a mile-a-minute, his hands on either side of her face, staring into her eyes. Fussing over the bruise on her face, the shadows under her eyes.Â
Jake doesnât stop there. He barely speaks to Antoni, nothing more than a greeting. His eyes are focused up, thinking already of the bed waiting for him, of the sleep heâs been denied.
He walks up the stairs, one by one, the muscles in one leg trembling and shaking, his teeth ground together and his jaw set, and Chris still settled in his arms, clinging to him like Jake is all that will hold him to the Earth.
Jake doesnât seem to notice the changes to the house until they reach his room, and he stops in the doorway. âThatâs all new,â He says, blinking at it.
âEveryone from, from, from from everywhere came over and gave us new stuff,â Chris says, keeping his eyes closed, breathing Jake in. He smells gross like sweat but under it all is the Jake smell, the one that he knows means safe, means home.Â
âIâll thank them when I can stand to be awake a second more,â Jake says, and his voice is thin again, trembles, itâs a shaking voice full of tears that Chris can hear, can feel in the hitching motions of his chest, the sound of his breathing. âChris, when I was in there⊠they told me about-... they showed me-â
âShowed you, you, you you what? What did they, they tell you?âÂ
Jake is silent for a second, then shakes his head, the whisper of stubble rough against the side of Chrisâs temple. âDoesnât matter. Not now. Thanks for waiting for me.â
âThanks for, for, for for for coming back,â Chris whispers, and Jake moves to the bed. He tries to lower Chris into it but has to drop him, his injured arm canât hold the weight that way, and Chris falls the last foot or so onto the mattress with a gasp and a soft whine of pain in Jakeâs throat.
Jake doesnât get into the bed with him, exactly.
He collapses into it, his body simply done with this whole mess, and his eyes are closed before his head hits the pillow. He slides an arm around Chris and pulls him close, holding him tightly, almost too tightly.
Chris doesnât mind. He tucks his head under Jakeâs chin, resting his ear right over Jakeâs chest, right in the center of it, one arm sliding to hold him, to hug him even now.
âMade you a promise,â Jake whispers, mouth moving against Chrisâs hair with breaths of air that shift the reddish-blond strands. âI held out, man. No one has to go back.â
âI, I, I stayed hidden and I did it all just right,â Chris whispers back, closing his own eyes, settling his head against Jakeâs chest. No one had to die because of me this time.
He listens to Jakeâs heartbeat as it slows, gradually, as he falls asleep in the bed. He listens to the breathing as Jakeâs chest rises and falls. Feels the simple certainty of the warmth in the bed next to him, Chris tapping idly on Jakeâs collarbone. It doesnât wake him up.
He starts to drift off alongside him, right where heâs supposed to be, with the person he is supposed to be with.
I will never stop marching to reach you in the middle of the hardest fight, itâs true
He falls asleep to the simple, slow beat of Jakeâs heart. To the sound of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest. The murmurs he makes, even in deep sleep, not-quite-words that never turn into sentences. Low rumble of his voice.
I will rescue you
Itâs a heartbeat, a breath, a voice he knows on a deeper level than thought. Safety and certainty that live underneath his skin, inside his bones, sunk so deeply into him that he would rather die than lose this again. He lost it all once, and he canât lose it again, he can't lose the breath and the heart and the voice that mean home.
Just like the heartbeat of the woman he doesnât remember anymore.
