#hostage tw

the events are already on repeat in his head. what could he have done differently? what was the girl's mother going to say? connor had one job: save the hostage at all costs. and he'd failed. god damn it, he tried. he leapt for the girl as she was pulled over the edge of the roof. their hands even grazed. but he was too late. connor landed harshly on his chest, his front half hanging over the edge. he watched them fall. watched them land.

"connor! are you okay?" a familiar voice asks. but he can't speak. he can't move. hank has to physically pull him back onto the roof. "connor. hey. talk to me." nothing.

they'd trusted him. connor was trained in negotiation, and he was damn good at it. he didn't fail - it just didn't happen. why now? why this case? was he going to be fired? charged with manslaughter?

it's another five minutes before connor is able to stumble to his feet. and when he does, he dashes to a lower floor with a private, single-stall bathroom. the second the door is locked he collapses. it's hard to breathe. he rests his back against the wall, hands grasping at the side of the toilet bowl. he feels like he's going to throw up, or pass out, or both.

Shortly, the guards entered the tent, hands firmly clamped on Braughtman’s arms.

“Leave us,” Aldon said with a wave of a hand. It was just Aldon, Karl, and Braughtman now.

“What is the meaning of this?” Braughtman asked, the contempt dripping from his voice. He was probably in his forties, hair just starting to gray at his temples.

Aldon was sitting in a chair, his ankle resting on his knee. He hoped he looked casually threatening. But he really didn’t know, he was new to all this.

“I hear you’ve been hurting humans. I am sure you can understand why I’m concerned,” Aldon said calmly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Braughtman said. Aldon gritted his teeth. He did not have the patience for Braughtman’s games right now.

“I talked to 486.”

“Fuck,” Braughtman muttered under his breath. Aldon quirked an eyebrow.

“Fuck indeed. This is a clear violation of Statute 074 prohibiting damage of military property. You are hereby stripped of command and will be imprisoned until we return to the capital, at which point you will be court martialed. Do you understand?”

“No I fucking don’t,” Braughtman spat out. “Who are you to impose your fucking will on me? You never should have been made general, not after the disaster at Red River.”

Aldon’s lips thinned. Braughtman continued. “You’re a fucking disgrace to this country. You should be chained up and left to rot in the sun.”

Aldon was on his feet now, anger burning. In two steps he was in front of Braughtman and grabbed his collar.

“You better choose your next words very carefully,” Aldon growled.

Braughtman didn’t seem phased at all.

“My only regret is that I didn’t kill the fucking blood bag,” Braughtman said smugly.

Aldon slapped Braughtman across the face. The former major reeled back in shock. He raised a hand to his lip and it came away a dark red.

“Guards!” Aldon called, eyes locked on Braughtman. “Get this disgrace of a soldier out of my sight.” The guards led Braughtman away, and once the tent flap closed Aldon’s shoulders drooped. Gods.

“That went well,” Karl said from where he was leaning against the desk, arms crossed.

Aldon sighed.

“I’m going to bed.”

…

Reeve was laying on his back on the cot, still in awe that he wasn’t dead. The General was odd. Asking him his name, giving him venom without feeding. It was almost like he actually cared. Reeve shook his head at that thought. That couldn’t be it. He probably just wanted to make sure military property was kept in good shape.

He looked around the tent. It was spacious but cozy, with carpets covering the ground. And it was quiet. Not like the mess, where there always seemed to be the low hum of conversation either from humans or vampires. Reeve sat up, gasping at the pain in his ribs. The tent was slowly getting darker. Reeve’s stomach grumbled and he realized that he must have slept all day. That venom really was good shit.

A hand clamped over his mouth and an arm wrapped around his body.

“Miss me, little snitch?” A voice said. Reeve’s blood ran cold. Braughtman hauled him to his feet and led him out of the tent.

“General Von Sleet! I have something you might be interested in!” Braughtman yelled. Soldiers stopped what they were doing to stare. That’s when Reeve felt the cold metal of a pistol. His mouth went dry.

“P-please sir,” Reeve began.

“Shut up,” Braughtman spat. “General, I’m getting impatient.”

Please don’t let me die, please don’t let me die Reeve prayed to whatever gods might hear him.

A crowd was starting to gather, soldiers murmuring as they watched. Braughtman was holding Reeve against his chest as a shield. Reeve couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He let out a cry of relief when he saw the General.

“What are you doing, Braughtman?” The General said. Reeve picked up on a quiver in his voice.

“I want to see the look on your face when I blow the fucking blood bag’s brains out,” Braughtman snapped.

Reeve was sobbing now. Oh gods oh gods. There was no way he was making it out of this alive.

…

“Braughtman, put down the gun,” Aldon said calmly, hand outstretched. He met Reeve’s eyes. The human was terrified with the gun pressed against his head. This could go very wrong very quickly. Aldon needed Braughtman to calm down before blood was shed.

“I’m sick of following your fuckin’ orders, General,” Braughtman infused the title with contempt. “You don’t deserve to be in command. You’re what, 25? And you walk around like you own the place. I’ve been in this godsforsaken army since before you were born. If anyone should be in charge, it should be me. Not some snot nosed kid who just so happens to have gotten lucky.”

Aldon gritted his teeth at the insult and swallowed his pride.

“Why don’t you let the human go and put the gun down and then we can talk about it?” Aldon said. Braughtman’s eyes were crazed and on top of that a crowd of soldiers was starting to gather around them. This isn’t good. The more people the more variables, the greater chance that someone would get hurt.

…

Reeve could hardly hear the conversation over the pounding of his heart. The cold muzzle of the gun was pressed against the base of his jaw. Braughtman’s arm was like iron across his chest.

Every breath was excruciating.

Every breath could be his last.

Reeve whimpered as tears ran down his cheeks.

…

Three things happened at once. Braughtman let go of Reeve, threw him to the ground in front of him and fired his pistol. The human’s scream pierced the air. Aldon didn’t even think. He whipped his pistol out and fired, hitting Braughtman right between the eyes. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Aldon threw his pistol to the side and ran to Reeve’s side, collapsing to his knees next to him.

“Fuckfuckfuck I’m so sorry Reeve oh gods there’s so much blood.” The bullet had hit him in the right hip. Aldon carefully moved aside his clothes, revealing white bone poking through the muscle. Gods, the bone had shattered.

“Medic! Now!” Aldon yelled at the surrounding soldiers who were standing in shock. One of them turned and ran to get the medic. Aldon turned back to the human. His face was pale and sweat coated his skin. He was losing too much blood, the bullet must have hit an artery. Aldon bent over Reeve, stroking his hair. The human’s eyes were glazed, his breath shallow.

“You’re going to be okay,” Aldon said. Then he bit down on Reeve’s neck, injecting as much venom as he could. It should slow his heart rate, which should theoretically slow the bleeding too. As he sat up he saw the medic running up. It was Blair.

“What the hell happened?” They asked, kneeling down next to Reeve, hands moving to their medical bag.

“Braughtman shot him. Point-blank,” Aldon said with a shaking voice.

“Gods.”

Blair pulled a cloth out and pressed it against the wound.

“Keep pressure on this. I need to cauterize the wound, otherwise he’s going to bleed out. The venom isn’t going to help for long.”

Aldon nodded, pressing down firmly. His hands were shaking. Not now Al, not now. He couldn’t afford to freak out right now. But he could feel the panic starting to claw at his throat. He had promised Reeve that Braughtman wouldn’t hurt him. No. I’m not going to indulge in those thoughts now.

Blair returned quickly. They were holding a red-hot knife in their hand.

“Okay, when I give the word I’m going to need you to pull back and remove the cloth.”

Aldon nodded.

“Now!”

Aldon pulled back and Blair leaned forward, pressing the hot knife into Reeve’s wound. The human’s scream split the air, making the hair on Aldon’s arms stand up. Aldon gagged on the scent of burning flesh.

“I need to get him back to medical,” Blair said. “He’s lost a hell of a lot of blood and I don’t know what the internal damage is. Can you carry him?”

Aldon nodded. Reeve screamed when he picked him up, tears running down his cheeks. His eyes were unfocused. Aldon supported the human with one arm under his back and the others under his knees as he and Blair rushed towards the medical tent.