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Trying to help a child who's been drawn into a fight he doesn't understand puts Wes in a bad situation.
Content warning for violence committed by a radicalized child.
Read on AO3 here or below the cut.
@whumpril
Two days of searching and it turns out, the killer they’ve been looking for is a ten year old kid.
Belgian officers have managed to bring the kid in and placed him in interrogation.
Hopefully, Wes can get some information from him, find out it he was working alone or if someone had put him up to it.
Wes is pretty sure the answer is the latter, but he has to convince the kid to talk to him.
Otherwise a ten year old kid faces the consequences for the murder alone and the ones who are really responsible get away to do it again.
This is their one and only chance to stop further violence.
He steps into the room, nodding to the officer standing by the door.
Sinks into the chair, studying the youthful face across from him.
“Hi Marc.” he says, keeping his tone even. “My name is Wes.”
“What do you want?”
“I’d like to talk about Ellen Roy.” Wes says.
“Bitch got what she deserved.” Marc says, shrugging.
“How did you meet her?” Wes asks. “She was only in the country a few days.”
“The company that she works with has been harming local businesses for a long time.” Marc scowls.
And that sounds a hell of a lot like something a local resistance group would say.
This kid has been radicalized by someone.
The target may or may not have come from him but the rhetoric certainly didn’t.
“Where did you hear that?” he asks.
“What?” Marc asks.
“You’re just a kid, Marc.” Wes says, leaning forward. “Running and playing, buying candy. There’s no reason you would be interested in business. So who’s telling you what’s ruining them?”
“My father reads the news every morning.” Marc says. “He’s lost his job twice in two years and it always comes back to American businesses.”
“So your dad talks about it at breakfast, you saw Ellen and decided taking her out would fix things?” Wes asks.
“Sure.” Marc retorts.
“How did you know who she was?” Wes asks.
“I…”
“Somebody put you up to this, Marc.” Wes presses. “Just tell me who and this doesn’t have to ruin your entire life.”
“I… can’t.” Marc whispers. “Our country is in danger. We only do what we must.”
“Gunning down an innocent woman in the streets doesn’t save anyone.” Wes tells him. “There are better ways.”
“Governments don’t care.” Marc argues. “They get money for screwing us over and they’ll keep doing so.”
He doesn’t sound like a ten year old.
Whoever’s been working this kid has sunk their claws in deep.
“Whoever told you that, whoever sent you after Ellen, they don’t care about you any more than the government does.” he tells him. “They are counting on you taking a lighter hit because you’re just a kid but they don’t give a damn either way.”
“And you do?” Marc demands. “You want me to give someone up and then what? You send me home with a target on my back? My people hate me for turning on them, the cops just waiting for me to step out of line again…”
“I can speak to our governments about extraditing.” Wes says. “If it helps stop the violence, I think your government will go for it.”
“I need more than you’re sure.” Marc says.
Wes resists sighing.
The kid’s smart, knows better than to take Wes’s promises.
Because there’s a lot of moving parts he needs to convince before he can make any real guarantees.
He stands up.
“I’ll let them know what you need.” he says. “Sit tight here.”
He rounds the table, heading for the door.
Marc turns, lunging and Wes turns too slow to stop the fist that crashes against his side.
Stumbles back, looking down to see a pocket knife sticking out of his side.
Gasps choking, pained breaths.
The door slams open, officers piling into the room and wrestling Marc to the ground.
“Wes.”
Hands are flitting over him, Andre leaning over him and looking over the injury.
“‘dre.” he chokes out.
“You’re going to be okay, brother.” Andre says. “We’re going to take care of you, Wes.”
His legs give out, sending him crashing to the floor.
Andre drops with him, still talking but Wes’s brain is refusing to process his words.
He can’t breathe.
The knife must have punctured his lung.
There’s a scramble of footsteps and then he can see blue gloves.
Feel the sting of a needle at the crook of his elbow.
Increased pressure over his stomach.
Something over his face.
Cool oxygen blowing against his skin but he still can’t breathe.
The voices are getting louder, the volume and speed increasing.
But his vision is still darkening at the edges.
No matter how hard he fights, consciousness seems to be getting further and further away.
So he lets go.
Somehow, he wakes up again.
His throat hurts like hell and he wishes the knowledge that he’d been intubated wasn’t so instinctive.
He’s lost count of how many times its happened in his life.
But at least he’s still breathing.
And he’s doing it on his own.
No tube shoved down his throat at the moment.
But he can still feel one shoved into his side.
Swivels his head.
“Hey man.” Andre says, squeezing his hand. “Welcome back to the living.”
“‘r face is still ugly.” he mutters.
“Wow.” Andre says, shaking his head. “I saved your damn life.”
“‘ppreciate it.” he says. “Said what I said.”
“Just good to have you breathing, man.” Andre chuckles. “Even if you are a jerk.”
“Marc?”
“They’re still pressuring him to give up his recruiters but things just got a hell of a lot hotter for him.” Andre tells him.
He nods.
“Who knows how long ago they started working him.” he says quietly. “Hard to know if that kid ever stood a chance.”
“That’s what these guys do, isn’t it?” Andre asks, shaking his head. “They radicalize kids younger and younger all the time so we won’t see it coming.”
Wes nods, sighing.
He was used the same way, corrupted and manipulated because he was a kid who never saw it coming and wouldn’t raise red flags.
He’d been lucky, he’d been found by the right man who’d found the right things to say to help him find himself again, to discover who he really wanted to be.
Marc hadn’t been that lucky yet.
Might never be that lucky given that he’s done something that he may not be able to get past.
all my shows are coming back, and i'm reminded of how many men i love and how attractive they all are. nothing will compare to my TGM hyperfixation, but i would also just like to warn y'all in advanced lol
