“We were married, it didn’t work out, so she left.”

Nathaniel spits out his words like they’re poison, as is the topic at large, but Wren doesn’t want to back out. It’s too important, and too confusing.

“She said she didn’t want to abandon me.”

Nathaniel inhales sharply and crosses his arms. “I don’t know what she did or didn’t want. You can ask her.” He finally faces Wren, his gaze like the dark sky before a thunderstorm. “‘I don’t want to talk about this.”

His tone is harsh, and it makes Wren freeze. There it is, the tension he’s felt for so long, his instincts urging him to run, and he feels so small and insignificant, but not in the same way that SV-240 made him feel. He doesn’t feel like a human being confronted with the unimaginable loneliness of being trapped on a distant planet. He feels like a helpless kid.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, looking away, his heartbeat deafening, his hands shaking.

Nathaniel seems surprised by Wren’s reaction, but he doesn’t add anything. The sense of immediate danger slowly fades, though the implications linger in Wren’s mind.

Nothing has changed. The events of the last two years did not overwrite his earlier memories and instincts, not that he really expected otherwise. What Daniel had put him through made him discover mechanisms within his psyche that he wasn’t aware of before, and which he figures must have come from his childhood. Now he gets to see their root cause with new eyes, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it.

Between living alone, struggling with the way his body and mind work now, and going back to living with his father, he’s not sure if there exists an option that isn’t terrible.

“Do you need help packing?”

He nearly jumps in place and shakes his head.

“No, no, I’ll do it myself. It’s not a lot.”

His hands are shaking as he puts what little he’d taken out back in the bag and zips it up.

As much as he wanted to leave the hospital before, now he wishes he could stay.

***

When they exit, there are people waiting for them, a small crowd gathered near the entrance, the sight of which causes Wren to stop abruptly, his eyes going wide. And then there’s noise, voices, and they don’t sound angry, but they’re too overwhelming for Wren to register anything. He stepped out of the hospital and fell into a void, and he’s frozen in place, gripping the strap of his bag so hard his knuckles turn white.

Someone grabs his arm and pulls, and his immediate reaction is to try and free himself, but when he manages to tear his gaze away from the crowd, he sees it’s just his father, so he forces himself to move, to put one foot in front of the other, to get the hell out, away from those people, everything is too much, too crowded, and it isn’t until he’s seated in the car that he can breathe again.

He exhales and leans forward until he rests his forehead against the back of the front seat, but he has to straighten up when the car starts. He blinks and his gaze flits towards the window, but he has to look away when he sees the crowd again.

“What happened?”

Wren winces. He can feel Nathaniel’s eyes boring into him, but he doesn’t want to look. It’s not like he knows what happened, anyway; for all he knows, he left the hospital building and regained consciousness in the car.

“Sorry,” he says, and Nathaniel doesn’t push, he never does anymore, he only wants uncomfortable conversations to end, and that’s exactly what happens. The drive home passes in silence, and Wren spends its entirety swallowing back tears.

***

Unlike him, the house hasn’t changed at all. It’s still neat, but unremarkable, average in just about every way; Nathaniel never flaunted his position by going for unnecessary luxury. Still gripping the strap of the bag tightly, Wren enters, and the inside is the same too, because it has always been comfortable, and that was enough. There are some new things, things he doesn’t recognize, but they’re minor, they don’t matter.

The door closes behind him, and something about the sound both sobers him up and sends him back to a day he’d rather not reminisce about. He can’t breathe, he can feel tears coming again, and this time he can’t hold them back, so he rushes upstairs, to his old room, which is also the same, the only difference being the boxes strewn about the floor. His things, brought back to the place he had escaped years ago.

He’s home.

Tears overflow and he furiously wipes them away. All he wants to do is sit on his bed and wallow in emotions that he can’t even identify, but he hears his father’s footsteps on the stairs, and he knows he has to appear at least a bit more put-together. He sits down on the bed anyway, unzips his bag, and starts unpacking it.

“Hey,” Nathaniel says after a symbolic knock on the doorframe. “Need any help?”

At first Wren wants to refuse again. These are his things, he can handle unpacking, and having his father here will probably only lead to more tension, more awkwardness, but…

He looks at the boxes. The bag he can handle, but with how he’s feeling he’s not sure the same can be said about the boxes. Besides, if he’s left on his own, he might just burst into tears and accomplish nothing, and his room being a mess will only drag him further into misery.

“Actually, yeah,” he says, looking up from the bag with a slightly forced smile. “I don’t know what I’m going to put where yet, but if you could help with the boxes, that would be great. Just… clothes on one pile, other stuff on a different pile, something like that.”

“Sounds doable,” Nathaniel laughs, and Wren does too, and they get to work, mostly in silence, sometimes making small talk or commenting on their finds.

“You still have this T-shirt?”

“Yeah, it’s living its best life as pajamas now.”

“Mhm. And this one?”

“Pajamas. Or, uh, for cleaning days.”

“This one too?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a hole in it.”

“Exactly. It’s perfect.”

They laugh, Wren through tears, because of course he’s crying, because he hasn’t seen these things in such a long time, he thought he’d never see them again. There are tears in his breaking voice too, which go unaddressed; it feels absurd, this elephant in the room, his silent breakdown and its cause, but he convinces himself that it’s better this way, that they can both pretend that everything is fine, even when nothing is.

Their conversations are normal, ignoring the context that is anything but. Catching up, how much has the city changed? It must have changed, it’s been… a while. Food. Food is a normal subject. They can get takeout, whatever Wren wants. Not from that one place, though. It closed down a year or so ago. 

It’s strange to think that normal things were happening while he was away. A silly thought, of course he’d never think that everything was put on hold when he was kidnapped, but somehow it still hits him hard. The restaurant closed down, and he was busy being a captive. He doesn’t even know what was going on with his father when he was presumed dead, but he doesn’t want to start that conversation yet; he can ask about it later. Right now he focuses on dividing his clothes into categories with some semblance of sense before putting them in the closet.

The last thing he reaches for is his running T-shirt, and he pauses, holding it up, rubbing the slippery fabric between his fingers.

“I think I’m gonna go for a run,” he says, his idea verbalized as soon as it appears in his mind. Nathaniel, busy collecting the now empty boxes, looks at him with a frown.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

Naturally, Wren starts doubting himself, and maybe it is a stupid idea, but it’s an exciting one, and he doesn’t want to just give it up.

“Yeah, I… think I need it. I miss running.”

“Alright,” Nathaniel says, still seemingly unconvinced. “Now?”

“No.” Wren shakes his head. “I’ll wait until the evening. So it’s less warm.” And, hopefully, so there’s fewer people. He doesn’t say that part out loud. Being concerned about the weather is normal. Freaking out after being one of the only two people on an entire planet is not. He wants to be normal, and if he can’t, he’ll at least pretend.

The food they get from a place Wren knows well tastes different from what he remembers, but maybe he just doesn’t remember it well, it’s been so long, after all. They talk for a bit about nothing in particular, and when the silence threatens to turn awkward, Wren suggests watching something light, maybe a game show, and they do just that, joking and trying to guess the answers before the contestants do. It’s a familiar scenario in a way that fills Wren with unease as time goes on; he’s relieved when evening comes and he can excuse himself to get ready.

Putting up his hair to keep it out of the way and warming up before leaving the house is a routine he hasn’t forgotten, but it’s not as nostalgic and uplifting as it should be, because he used to do this on SV-240 too. Back then it made him feel better, but the price he pays now is that it’s become tainted, linked to memories of running laps around Daniel’s house, of working out alongside him. That, however, is reduced to a triviality when Wren leaves the house and faces the world outside.

Running laps within the safe area around the house, guarded from the dangers of the planet, was one thing; being faced with the startling realization that he can go wherever he wants is something else entirely. He’s no longer confined, be it to the house, the spaceship, or the hospital. He’ll have to go back home eventually, but he’s the one who gets to decide when that will be.

He’s free.

He sways on his feet a little, and has to take a deep breath of Earthly air. For just a moment he considers turning back, going back inside, but above all he feels… excited. Energized. He wants to get the most out of his newfound freedom, so he braces himself, chooses a direction, and starts running, maybe a bit faster than he usually would, and a wave of euphoria the likes of which he hasn’t felt in a long time spreads throughout his body, through his every nerve. His shoes hit the pavement at a steady pace, and his breathing falls into a familiar rhythm. That’s all that matters.

When he comes back home, he’ll have no choice but to face his thoughts. His first therapy session is coming up - how should he approach it? How much can he tell his therapist? He’ll have to bring up something, think about the last two years with Daniel, recall some of the physical torture, because he can’t imagine himself talking about anything other than that, even though it’s the other memories that give him nightmares each and every night. Is he going to have one tonight, in his old room? He doesn’t want his father to hear it. His father… The time they spent together was nice, and Wren knows it’s nothing new, nor was it a one-off. There have always been days like this, filled with casual, lighthearted conversations, joking and laughter, and yet, when he was away, he could only remember the other days, raised voices, disappointment and contempt. He got a reminder of that earlier, Nathaniel’s reaction to his question about Jonna, Jonna, his mother, who didn’t want to abandon him, who’s one message or call away…

He never wants to stop running.

~~~

He doesn’t remember this voice ever being soothing, but it works. Breathing deeply, he nods, his body in a state of panic even though he can hardly remember why. He reaches up to wipe his tears away, and his breath stutters again. There’s no way he can speak in this state.

“Are you okay?” Nathaniel asks, just as, if not more, nervous as his son.

No. Isn’t it obvious?

Wren nods again, and Nathaniel frowns.

“Sorry I had to wake you. You were…” He hesitates, looking for the right word, or maybe considering how much to tell him. “Thrashing.”

Another nod. Wren’s throat is squeezed tight, his heart fluttering in his chest, so he stays silent, focused on breathing.

He had a nightmare, and his father saw it.

It’s a strange realization, as if he had mentally placed a division between the person he was on SV-240 and the person he’s here now. He knew that returning to Earth wouldn’t erase his memories and trauma, but Daniel’s strong presence in his mind is the most striking reminder of that. The captive from SV-240 has been transported to Earth and sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Must’ve had a nightmare.”

It’s Nathaniel’s turn to awkwardly nod. He parts his lips as if to say something, and his grip on Wren’s shoulder tenses, but in the end he lets go and looks away.

Despite knowing better than to expect any comfort, Wren’s disappointment is almost painful, and he barely stops himself from reaching out to grab his father’s hand, begging him to care.

“I brought you some things,” Nathaniel says, and when Wren follows his gaze, he notices a large bag by the wall - his bag, one he hasn’t used in years, but seeing something that belongs to him fills him with warmth, a feeling so strong he can’t believe it’s caused by something as mundane as an old object.

“Thanks.” Smiling requires a shocking amount of effort even when it’s for the most part genuine.

“Have you thought about where you want to stay?” Nathaniel pulls a chair closer to sit down. “I’ve found some places for sale or for rent, I can send you the offers.”

“Can I stay at your place?” Wren blurts out before he can stop himself. It’s a terrible idea, he knows it is, but the thought of having to choose is overwhelming. His recent nightmare also causes him to tense up and his mind to protest when he imagines being alone. Just him and a ghost, and nobody else.

“Of course.” Nathaniel’s response is immediate despite the look of surprise on his face. “It’s still your home too.”

This time there’s nothing forced about Wren’s smile.

“Thanks. I won’t stay long, just until… I get back on my feet.”

“You can stay as long as you like.”

That’s a relief when Wren has no idea how long it will take him to get back on his feet, if that’s even possible. What does that even mean? Functioning on his own, probably; the thought makes him anxious, so he drops it for now.

“Thank you. Really.”

Nathaniel nods, and they both fall silent, with too many unsaid words ringing in the air. There has always been a barrier between them that Wren couldn’t get through, and even now, when Nathaniel’s being more vulnerable than Wren’s ever seen him, the barrier is standing strong, intimidating and stifling. Worst of all, it prevents him from telling his father about anything, really. He should at least mention the tracker that’s going to be removed shortly, but even that fills him with deep shame. And then, of course, there’s the relationship Daniel had forced him into, the affection and intimacy that affected him more than anything else did, which is the last thing he wants to reveal to anyone, period.

Bearing it alone makes it hard to breathe, but he can’t imagine choosing the alternative.

---

The bag contains clothes, his clothes: familiar flannel shirts, plain t-shirts and relaxed pants, all ironed out and neatly folded. He reaches inside the bag and rests his fingertips on the clothes, and the feel of the fabric is familiar too. He clears his throat and blinks rapidly when tears threaten to gather in his eyes, and pulls out one of the shirts, unfolding it and holding it in the air, staring at it while his mind is racing.

It’s been years since he was allowed to choose what to wear. The clothes chosen by Daniel weren’t bad, they were comfortable and practical, but that was the problem - they couldn’t get in the way of Daniel’s sadistic ideas, and it wasn’t much of an issue if they ended up stained with blood. He was a plaything, a blank canvas, dressed accordingly, even when Daniel tried to convince him that they could be close to equals if he only gave in.

Now, he can finally make a choice, even one as seemingly inconsequential as this.

Once he’s dressed, he stands in front of the mirror and chokes on his breath.

The clothes still fit him well; they would’ve been noticeably more baggy if he’d stayed malnourished like he was during the first few weeks on SV-240, but since his starvation ended and Daniel allowed him to start working out again, he’s gone back to looking like himself, the person he used to be. It’s all the more jarring as he stares in the mirror at someone from over two years ago.

Someone he no longer is.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath when tears come back, this time impossible to stop. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks up at the ceiling, away from the mirror. “I’ll get used to it,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “It’s just clothes, and they should make me feel better, for fuck’s sake.”

Wearing them does help, but seeing them does the exact opposite, so he ends up walking away from the mirror, and avoids looking into it if he can help it.

---

He spends a few more days in the hospital, and every single morning he wakes up from a nightmare. While it might be better than waking up to a nightmare, it’s exhausting in its own right, and leaves him a mess.

Reality doesn’t help as much as he hoped it would. He’s free, but everything feels like too much.

Someone visits him and introduces herself as a therapist; that information alone makes him so anxious he fails to catch her name. She talks to him, and he’s tense the whole time, mentally building walls around his mind as if the therapist could read it and learn about everything he went through. His input is limited to nodding along, waiting for the conversation to be over. He doubts therapy will help when his plan is to take the full scope of his trauma to the grave.

Later that day he’s scheduled for surgery. Something in him flares up in protest when he slowly slips into unconsciousness, a scared part of him that doesn’t want him to be defenseless, at someone else’s mercy, with no guarantee that they won’t hurt him or tie him up, but there’s nothing he can do at this point. When he wakes up, everything is alright, his shoulder is bandaged and the tracker is… gone. He can’t help but think that it would feel more significant if he wasn’t still branded - and he can see the sympathetic looks on the faces of the doctors who saw his back. He stays silent.

His father visits him again, they talk about nothing in particular. With the visible bandage on his shoulder Wren can’t hide the truth any longer. He had a chip. A tracker. It was nothing, and it’s gone now.

“That’s good.” Their conversation dies down.

Another night, another nightmare, which a nurse wakes him up from. His face burns with embarrassment, and he doesn’t know how to explain himself. Thankfully, they don’t pry.

He’s sitting in an armchair by the window, looking outside, when raised voices out in the corridor make him flinch. He looks in the direction of the door with a frown, and recognizes one of the voices as his father’s, but the other one he’s never heard before. It’s probably a hospital worker, but the conversation certainly sounds… heated, though he can’t make out enough words for it to make sense. The voices get calmer eventually, and he can hear footsteps getting closer. Then a moment of silence - and someone knocks on the door. His father and the hospital staff have used knocking as a mere formality, letting themselves in unless he tells them to wait, but this person doesn’t open the door.

“You can come in!” he says.

He doesn’t recognize the person that enters the room, but there’s something about the way she looks him up and down and her eyes widen that gives him the impression that she recognizes him.

“Hi,” he says, standing up.

“Hi,” she responds and clears her throat when her voice trembles. “Wren, right?”

“Yeah. Wren Rackham.” Who is she? He narrows his eyes when he considers all the options and lands on one he’s not excited about in the slightest - that the person in front of him is a journalist, here to ask him about everything he went through. That would explain the heated discussion, too, but he really hopes that’s not the case. “Do I know you?”

There’s a flash of emotion on her face, too brief for him to try and understand it before she speaks.

“No, I suppose not,” she lets out a soft sigh. “I’m… My name is Jonna Schulte.”

Should that tell him something? She looks at him expectantly, but no matter how hard he tries to place the name in his memory, he fails.

“I’m sorry, I don’t…” He shakes his head helplessly.

“So he never… okay.” Jonna clears her throat again. “How do I even say this… You… you’re my son, Wren.” Her words feel like a punch to the face, and Wren’s eyes go wide. He doesn’t get to say anything to that - and he has no idea what he could say anyway - as she continues, clenching her fists to hide the trembling of her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, Wren. I never wanted to abandon you, but I was forced to, and I regret it every single day. I-I know I can’t make up for my absence, and I’m sorry I’m visiting you out of nowhere, but when I heard what happened to you I… I had to see you.”

Wren puts his hand against the wall to steady himself when his legs threaten to buckle under him. As he’s staring at Jonna’s face in disbelief, he can’t help but notice that there is some physical resemblance between them, which means… she might not be lying.

The thought turns his world upside down to the point where the memories plaguing him are overshadowed for a short moment.

His mother was never in the picture, and he was used to it. Nathaniel didn’t seem to like talking about her and avoided the topic until Wren gave up and dropped it. All he knew was that she left him when he was three, and since he couldn’t remember her at all, he just… never had a mother. As hard as it was sometimes, he had to accept it.

And now she’s here. A complete stranger, appearing in his life when he’s already overwhelmed and her presence feels like an explosion that only destabilizes him further, his mind racing, torn between confusion and… anger. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, not wanting to say something he’ll regret later.

“I’m sorry,” Jonna repeats. “I shouldn’t have- You’re already going through a lot and I- I’ll leave you alone.” She turns to leave, but before taking a single step she pauses and hesitantly takes out a small notepad and a pen. “We can pretend this never happened, but if, um, you’d like to get in touch someday…” She writes something down and sets the note on an end table. “Here’s my number. You don’t have to do anything with it, I just… thought I’d leave it here.” When he doesn’t respond, she swallows and looks away. “Goodbye, and… I hope you make a good recovery.”

Does he want to pretend this never happened? Maybe. It would be easier not to have this bomb of a revelation on his mind, but he can’t just forget about it. He used to think his mother had decided to abandon him, but if she hadn’t, and she seems to really regret it… it changes everything.

“Wait,” he says, stopping her in her tracks.

“Yes?” She looks so tense, like she’s waiting for him to start screaming at her, and a tiny part of him almost wants to do that, to vent his frustrating confusion, but he nips that thought in the bud.

“I-I’ll think about it. It’s a lot right now, but I’m… not saying no. I just need some time.”

She nods and relaxes her shoulders.

“Of course. I’m not going to push, it’s your decision.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

The corners of Jonna’s lips rise in a slight smile of relief, and Wren can’t help but wonder if their smiles are similar too.

When the door closes behind her, Wren can finally breathe again. He sits down and works his fingers into his hair, and sits motionless in the quiet room - too quiet, oppressively so - for a long while, until reality becomes blurred enough that he’s not sure if Jonna Schulte had actually visited him. Maybe it was another dream, a weird one that’s still preferable to the nightmares tormenting him every time he falls asleep, but…

He lifts his head and his gaze lands on the note left on the end table near the door. It’s real without a doubt; he confirms it when he picks it up. He reads the number several times until he’s memorized it, and hides the note in his pocket.

For the rest of the day it’s all he can think about, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the note somehow burned through his pocket with how aware he is of it at all times.

At least, no matter how he feels about it, it’s a welcome distraction until Daniel inevitably visits him in his dreams again.

~~~

[next]

"How many people have been arrested?"

"A lot." Nathaniel shakes his head. "Hard to say right now. It's weird. It's good that so many people involved have been arrested, but mortifying that there even were that many people. But thanks to you they'll all be brought to justice."

It's an overwhelming thought that makes Wren choke a bit, so he desperately tries to focus on something smaller.

"And the people who kidnapped me? Have they been arrested?"

“Yes. They were among the first ones, in fact. That… division of the trade led us to the others, it was our starting point.”

“So Berkeley… Peter Berkeley, I mean…”

“Arrested. Yes.”

Daniel is dead, and Berkeley is locked up. Wren nods slowly and forces himself to breathe. Too stunned to talk, he doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Nathaniel for the remainder of the drive.

~~~

When the car stops behind the towering building of the hospital, Wren feels his heart skip a beat. He's going to have to leave the car. He's going to have to walk through the corridors of the hospital, see people who are going to see him, and it's way harder than he thought it would be. He's shivering, looking down at his shaking hands, his knuckles white as a sheet. 

"Wren?"

He jerks his head up to look at his father, who's left the car and is now leaning down to look inside with a slight frown. Wren nods, opens the door on his side, and gets out, even though he feels like his legs are going to give out under him.

“Are you feeling okay? Can you walk?”

His jumpiness surprises him, but he can’t help it when all his senses are assaulted by sights and smells and sounds he hasn’t experienced in so long, unfamiliar voices being one of them. People. He looks at the source of the voice, a doctor, and forces himself to nod, averting his gaze pretty quickly when he realizes that there are a few other people standing near the door.

“Yeah,” he says as he looks back at his father, the only familiar person around. “Are you going too?”

To his relief, Nathaniel nods, and the two of them follow the doctor inside, Wren trying not to sway on his feet too much, his body both tense and weak. It didn’t quite hit him back at the dock, but now that he’s still struggling, realization strikes him, so powerful that it makes his ears ring.

The gravity was slightly different on SV-240, and he was used to it.

The difference isn’t even that stark; he must have felt it for the first few days after arriving, but he was usually tied up, dragged from place to place or forced to his knees, so it wasn’t that noticeable. He’s nervous now, and it’s affecting his walk, and he’d spent a few days on a spaceship, but he can swear there’s more to it, that there’s something about Earth that he has to get used to again, something other than the people and the sights and the other stimuli.

It’s not the first time and he’s hardly the only one who has to deal with the readjustment period, but it’s still unsettling.

“Mhm.” He winces when he steps off his ship to join the rest of his squad. “Never pleasant, but it will pass.”

“Sure hope so,” Private Berkeley grimaces, stretching his arms, struggling to readjust after his first longer space travel.

Wren blinks back to reality, and it makes him shiver. He can feel eyes on him - his father looking at him from time to time, the doctor shooting him reassuring glances, but also other people, patients and doctors who can’t stop themselves from staring when they no doubt recognize him. He manages a weak smile, his heartbeat deafening, even though he’s just walking, and he knows nothing scary is going to happen to him.

By the time they stop at one of the doors, Wren can barely breathe.

“Wren.”

“Hm?” His head jerks up and a shiver runs up his spine.

“Do you want me to wait here?” Nathaniel asks, nodding in the direction of a sitting area further down the hallway. “You need to go through an examination, so I can wait until that’s finished or visit you later.”

“Oh, you… you can come back later, I think. You must be busy.”

“A little bit.” He shrugs. “But I could also bring you some things from home. Clothes, food, whatever you need.”

“Okay,” Wren says with a pale smile. Everything he does seems to require inhuman effort.

Nathaniel nods, and he seems to be struggling too, fighting with his thoughts. Eventually he sighs and manages to get more words out.

“Well, after you’re discharged, you’ll need to stay somewhere. Unfortunately your apartment had to be sold.”

“Mhm.” It’s only logical, but it still hurts. He loved that apartment, it was only his, and all his things were there, which means…

He might have nothing to his name now.

It’s clearly a day of overwhelming realizations, and Wren has to try not to sway on his feet.

“I can look for a new place for you,” Nathaniel offers, “or… you can stay with me, if you want.” As Wren stares at him confused, he averts his gaze, looking almost embarrassed. “Your bedroom is still there, and… your things, too.”

“You kept them?” Wren frowns. It’s been over two years, and he assumed everything had been sold or thrown away, that his old bedroom had been repurposed after his staged death. The thought of his father of all people being this sentimental seems absurd, especially when he sees the look of embarrassment on his face.

“I never had time to look through them. I suppose it was for the best. I washed some of your clothes when I found out, so I can bring them to you later.”

“Alright.” Wren cracks another smile. “So, uh, see you?”

“See you later.” Nathaniel mirrors his smile, and for the briefest of moments he looks like he’s considering giving Wren a hug, but in the end he just nods and walks away, followed by Wren’s gaze until he disappears behind a corner. 

He’s not starting with nothing, then. Earth remembers him after all. 

The door is cracked open, and he can hear footsteps inside. The doctor must have gone in earlier, giving Wren and Nathaniel some privacy, which he’s grateful for, and he’s sure his father is too, considering how strange his behavior was, so unlike him.

Knowing Nathaniel, and wallowing in the feeling of being forgotten, Wren had assumed that his father’s reaction to his death had been… nothing. A nod, a sigh, dealing with the funeral and selling his apartment, and then moving on. Maybe that was still the case, but him keeping Wren’s old bedroom unchanged and not giving away or selling his things doesn’t fit into that, and now he seems to care, as stilted and unnatural it is for him.

Nevermind, Wren thinks as he enters the room, closing the door behind him. Maybe it won’t last long.

Now he has to deal with a stranger and let them find out about what he had gone through; confusion swiftly gives way to anxiety.

At first glance he’s fine. The doctor, who introduces themself as Diaz Sandoval, nods with a slight frown every time they write something down and put a checkmark next to it to indicate that the results of the examination are nothing out of the ordinary. It’s as if Wren had never gone through a prolonged captivity - physically, at least.

Then, of course, Sandoval sees the brand.

“Yeah, he was kinda full of himself,” Wren says in as lighthearted a tone as he can muster, which is still overshadowed by tension. “So, um, he left his signature.”

“I see,” Sandoval says, noting it down diligently, immortalizing the burned words. “Do you have any other scars? Wounds?”

“None that I’m aware of.”

And there it is, a feeling of shame and a fear of being belittled. He’s healthy. There are no reminders of the torture he’d gone through other than the brand, and Sandoval knows it now.

“Oh, but…” Wren perks up, almost relieved to remember something else, something that had happened to him, of which there is still undeniable proof. It’s not much, but it’s all he has to paint a picture of his captivity that’s at least a fraction of the nightmare it was for him. “There’s also a chip in my shoulder. Left, I… think. A tracker. So I couldn’t escape.”

His words sound so desperate, a plea for his experience to be taken seriously, and his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He clears his throat and fixes his eyes on Sandoval’s stylus as they write down this new information.

“I can schedule a procedure to have it removed. As for the… scar, it can’t just be removed. It would require a more complicated procedure and a transplant.”

“Oh.” So there is a way, but the revelation is too sudden for him to decide. “Well, I- I’ll think about it. I’d like to have the tracker removed, but I’d also like to get out of the hospital soon, so…” He shrugs with a smile. “But maybe on a later date.”

“Of course.” Sandoval mirrors his smile. “There is no rush. For now I think you should rest, I know how overwhelming this must be.”

Rest. He’s been resting plenty, but it’s true that he’s still tired, constantly assaulted by stimuli he hasn’t experienced in so long, fighting his memories and having to put a tremendous amount of effort into forming his answers to questions, overthinking, concealing facts.

Once he’s left alone, he lies down on the hospital bed and exhales.

I’m on Earth. He doesn’t know when it’s going to stop being a startling realization every single time. And I won’t be hurt anymore.

He won’t be whipped, cut, tortured. After two years of considering pain just part of the routine it’s a thought he can’t quite wrap his head around, but it’s true. The events leading up to his rescue and Daniel’s death, his broken ribs, the knife slipping into his abdomen, the wound reopening, his ears ringing when his head was bashed against the wall… nothing like that will happen again. 

It’s a thought both relieving and intimidating - here he is, a former plaything and pretend partner to a sadist, his mind still somewhat stuck in his old routine, and now that he’s free, he has to learn how to cut himself off from it.

No matter how hard it will be, he can’t wait to get started.

~~~

[next]

“You’ll feel better soon. But that reminds me… You might not like this, but once we’re on Earth, you’ll need to first spend a few days in the hospital.”

Wren winces.

“Because of my immune system?”

“Among other things, yes. We also need to make sure everything is alright in general, this medbay can’t do everything. Besides, it will give you some extra time for you to get used to being on Earth again. And…” Vitkus pauses for a moment. “You’ll need to receive psychological help as well.”

This time Wren flinches, his heart suddenly beating faster.

“Oh,” is all he manages to say at first. “Really?”

It’s a dumb question, he realizes as soon as it leaves his mouth, but somehow he hasn’t really thought about that, despite Johnson telling him he was going to receive the help he needed. And this is the kind of help he needs, isn’t it?

Vitkus nods.

“You can take all the time you need, Wren, but therapy will be strongly advised. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

“It’s okay, I get it,” Wren replies even as strange pressure in his chest makes it harder to breathe. He decides to blame it on the cold. “I just haven’t… Yeah. It’s a lot. But it’s okay.”

Vitkus silently nods again with a sympathetic smile, and Wren closes his eyes and grimaces when the pounding in his head gets stronger.

“I-I think I should rest a bit. I don’t really want to be half-dead when we reach Earth,” he manages a dry laugh.

“Of course. And… you can do it, okay? We’re here to help you.”

“I know.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you.”

~~~

For a few minutes he contemplates going to the observation deck to watch Earth get closer and closer, but in the end he decides against it. He doesn’t trust himself not to start crying - he’s close to tears just picturing the planet in his mind.

Breathing is a struggle as he’s walking down the corridors towards the main hatch, accompanied by Johnson. He’s trembling, and he can’t even blame it on the cold - he really is feeling better already. Everything around him is a blur. He’s aware of the other crew members looking at him as he walks past them, probably saying something, but he doesn’t hear them and barely sees them, only focused on the feeling of the spaceship slowing down, gently moving downwards to dock.

There is nobody else near the hatch, and he’s glad that the crew has decided to give him space. Perhaps they simply don’t want to witness his reaction, which he suspects will be anything but mild, but he appreciates it nonetheless. He stops and crosses his arms, taking deep breaths, and his stomach sinks when the spaceship stops completely with a barely-there tremble. Silence rings in his ears.

“Are you ready?” He hears Johnson’s quiet voice. At first he shrugs, then forces himself to take another deep breath, and nods before he can change his mind.

A hiss reverberates in his ears and the hatch opens.

He can’t see much through it yet, only the - familiar - dock, and he feels like his feet have been encased in concrete, making it impossible to take a single step. He throws a glance at Johnson, who smiles and nods towards the hatch. They want to give him space too, then, allow him to leave the ship at his own pace, when he’s ready.

He will never be ready, so there is no point waiting around for something that isn’t going to happen.

Every step requires inhuman strength, but he keeps walking until he leaves the ship, his body tense to the point of pain, his heartbeat almost painful.

His gaze is immediately drawn to the sky and he forgets how to breathe.

It’s a cloudy day, but that doesn’t upset him in the slightest. The sky is obstructed by a soft layer of silvery clouds, but in one spot there is a patch of bright light, only one star lighting the planet up, a star he knows well.

His legs threaten to buckle under him, but he forces himself to stay standing, and he manages to tear his gaze away from the sky and look forward at the lone figure standing motionless like a statue. His throat is squeezed tight and he loses the battle with tears gathering in the corners of his eyes; he laughs in disbelief and walks down the gangplank, his steps getting quicker and quicker as Nathaniel Rackham smiles and approaches as well. Wren’s feet touch the dock, touch Earth, and he breaks into a run, not caring about acting stoic. Nathaniel nearly stumbles when Wren embraces him.

“Hey, dad,” Wren says, laughing through tears. “I’m back.”

Nathaniel hugs him back tight, laughing too.

“You’re back,” he repeats. For the first time in his life Wren can hear tears in his voice. He doesn’t even mind that his father’s embrace is so stiff and awkward, and he chooses not to pay any mind to how few times they’ve hugged throughout his life.

He doesn’t want to let go, scared that all of this is going to disappear, that he’s not really on Earth, that this is just a cruel trick, but he knows he can’t stay like this forever, even though time seems to have stopped at the empty dock. With a sigh he pulls away from the hug, looks at his father’s face and immediately shakes his head with a choked laugh, trying to wipe his tears away.

“Sorry,” he says, fighting to stop crying, but it proves to be an impossible task. Nathaniel just smiles slightly, his eyes glistening with tears too, which is a sight so absurd Wren’s still not sure he’s not dreaming.

“It’s alright. You- I-” Nathaniel frowns, unable to find the right words. In the end he simply rests his hand on Wren’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Wren whispers. “I-I have to go to the hospital first, though, I don’t know if… you know?”

“I know.” Nathaniel nods towards where Wren still remembers the exit is. “There’s a car waiting for when you’re ready to go. I’ll go with you, of course.”

“Okay.” Wren looks up to take in more of the sky. The air filling his lungs isn’t cold, but it’s not very warm either, and he frowns. “What… month is it?”

“August. The fourth.”

“The fourth…” he repeats. The day he came back to Earth.

It’s… different. He knows, of course, he’s painfully aware, that over two years have passed, but learning the exact date feels like an unexpected punch to the gut, a bitter reminder.

He left Earth in November, but it was a November forever ago.

Lightheadedness overwhelms him. He’s on Earth, but Earth has long moved on. He’s found himself back here on an unfamiliar day. All of a sudden he feels so small here, so lost, strange terror grips his heart, but he shakes his head to clear his mind and looks back at his father.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly.

On the way to the car he stares at his own feet, emotions tearing him apart. Anxiety, melancholy, the ice-cold feeling of being completely lost, of not belonging - but above all, still able to overshadow them, are happiness and relief. He’s back. He’s on Earth. Nothing and nobody can take that from him again.

He gets in the back of the car, which feels almost ridiculously mundane. With a deep breath he dares to look out the window when the car starts, but quickly has to look away when dizziness hits him again from the sight of all the buildings, all the vehicles, all the people-

Small steps. He looks down at his hands folded on his lap and smiles.

It will be okay. I will be okay.

Back at the docks a cryopod is carried out of the ship, but at this moment there is no place for it in Wren’s thoughts.

~~~

Next

Wren would keep it to himself, it's just... not something he thinks about a lot, and Nathaniel regrets it plenty even without that information going public. Well, Daniel's name does go public, but it's accepted that Nathaniel didn't know. With the existence of the slave trade being the biggest revelation, Daniel's survival is less interesting to the public.

The uncertain relief he feels is quickly overshadowed by everything else in the message that makes his stomach turn, the details that have no right to make sense as a whole, but somehow do.

SLAVE TRADE - SQUAD B46 P. BERKELEY

Berkeley. That was the name of the soldier who visited him some time after Wren’s death - "death"? - once he came back from the outpost he was assigned to. He brought condolences, nothing but praise for Wren, who, as he said, he knew quite well, and a photograph. The one that Nathaniel had framed and put on the shelf in front of the urn - just what is in there? - the one with Wren genuinely smiling, beaming, looking at something out of frame.

He wonders for a moment just why Berkeley took that picture, and he feels sick. He blinks, manages to close the message - and finally getting it out of his sight feels like taking a deep breath after being stuck underwater - and leaves his office, doing his best to focus. He can’t appear distracted, not when only a handful people other than him know about the message, and for now their operations need to stay covert. He wishes he could take part in them in person, but he can’t, he’s too far away, and a rescue squad has already been sent from a closer outpost. All he can do is stay on Earth, give orders, try to pretend that nothing is amiss, and fight the whirlwind of chaotic thoughts that broke into his mind when he first read the message and refuses to disappear.

He stops in front of the wall of remembrance, and the whirlwind picks up the pace.

Daniel Rooney.

Another one to come back from the dead, the man Nathaniel wished a quick and painless death all those years ago. But he survived, because of course he did. And now, apparently, he’s keeping Wren imprisoned on SV-240, and Nathaniel can’t shake off the feeling that revenge could be the reason.

His gaze moves to the other plaque that sticks out to him, that he has been trying not to look at too often those past few years.

Wren Rackham.