#past captivity

"That didn't look fine," Leader stepped in, and Villain immediately felt herself shrink under their scrutiny. "What's with you? Are you hiding something?"

Hiding something. That was their first reaction; she must have a guilty conscience. Surely, it wasn't the years of having been captive and tortured. It must've been her fault.

"No," she said quietly. "I'm not."

"So why the flinching?"

"Leader, come on," Youngest tried, but Leader silenced them with a look.

"I just…" Villain didn't know how to explain. Or, better yet, she knew and didn't want to. She didn't want to bring up those memories.

"Don't you trust your team?" Leader pressed.

"I do! I do."

"Aren't you part of this team now?"

"I am."

"So why the flinching?"

Villain looked away, tears forming in her eyes. Why the flinching. Why. Why. She didn't mean to. But there were so many scars littering the arm that had been hit by Youngest, so many memories attached to being thrown around and beaten, she just couldn't help it. "I'm sorry."

"That's not an answer."

"I didn't mean to flinch like that. You guys have been good to me. I'm sorry."

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Villain looked up. She wiped her eyes and gritted her teeth, trying to summon some strength to be able to stand Leader's gaze.

"If you really are a part of this team, you can't act like an outsider. Like a villain."

"Understood," Villain said.

"You get one chance at being a part of this team, I hope you understand that. If I find out you've backslided—"

"No such thing," she affirmed confidently. Leader stared her down for a few more seconds. She stood their gaze.

"Alright," they said, turning around to walk off. "This team is your family now. So don't act like we're out to get you."

Villain let out a ragged sigh.

"Sorry," Youngest said quietly. "I didn't mean to make to flinch and subject you to all… that. Leader can be a little intense."

Villain gave them a tentative smile. "It's okay. We're… family."

Family.

"You alright?"

Caretaker drags a chair close to their cot and slumps into it. A sarcastic uptick of his lips accompanies the sarcastic response, "Never better. How are you coping with being abducted and tortured within an inch of your life?"

Whumpee is distracted by the drink. "You don't even like coffee. Compared it to the taste of tar mixed in with dishwater." And because Whumpee is never confrontational, they add, "give me some."

A dry snort escapes Caretaker. He shakes his head, opening the can and taking small sips. His eyes leave Whumpee and settle on the monitors mapping out their heart rate and vitals. It gives Whumpee the chance to really look at him. The lack of bandages should appease them, but they can't stop thinking about those splotches of red on his collarbones, chest, and lower.

Caretaker catches their line of sight, and Whumpee glances away before he can spot emotion.

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

Whumpee shrugs.

"Please, Whumpee. Tell me."

Whumpee drags their gaze back to him. Caretaker's shoulders are hunched and drawing close to his ears. The coffee is balanced between his thighs, which he cups with both hands. Whumpee's heart turns over, uncomfortable with this development. They pick at the blanket in their lap.

"You, uh, gonna tell the cops about everything?" they ask.

"They'll need all the information they can get to keep Whumper behind bars for life."

Whumpee hums, letting the sound elongate and crawl into the air. Caretaker finally lifts his head, a knowing twitch to his brows. "You don't agree?"

They make grabby hands at Caretaker, luring him in for the response. He stands and takes Whumpee's hand, but doesn't get on the bed; Whumpee will take what they can get. "I'm pretty sure Whumper will get what they deserve from all the things they did to me."

"You don't know that."

"I'm just saying—"

"What are you saying?" Caretaker snatches his hand back. He walks to the foot of the bed. Stops. Before Whumpee can ask him to come back, he spins on his heel and points an accusing finger at them. "You don't want me to say anything, is that it?"

"You've lost me, Caretaker."

A full-fledged frown overtakes his gentle features. He is shaking, a threadbare jostle of limbs that he tries to hide by lowering his hand and taking another swing of coffee.

"Caretaker?" Whumpee whispers, feeling wrongfooted. Their heart does a whole cartwheel this time, pained to be at odds with him. Whumpee hates that the spike of worry is so similar to what they felt chained in a dark cellar. It feels like he'll be comparing every moment to those days in captivity. Because fear tastes and smells and feels the same.

Whumpee inhales deeply. Wherever they are, one thing is consistent. They swallow the hard rock bubbling in their throat and dumps the talk of cops, cases and investigations in the trash. The only thing that matters is right in front of them. "Baby?"

Caretaker blinks at them, fingers twisting the coffee can with vengeance. It's a miracle none of it spills out. He slowly approaches the bedside and resumes his spot on the chair. "Calm down," he says, gesturing at the heart rate monitor going haywire.

"Sorry," Whumpee says, a little more than embarrassed.

He tosses the empty can. It flies in a perfect arc and lands in the trash. If this were a year ago, Whumpee would have gotten competitive and grabbed more things to throw. Caretaker would have started off with scathing remarks that devolved into giggles. Today, they remain quiet.

"It's my fault," Caretaker says, "I didn't mean to scare you."

You didn't, Whumpee wants to reassure. It's just their stupid body's reaction.

"I will tell the cops everything," Caretaker asserts, though he sounds small and tired. "You- we- I know what happened changes things between us. I get it if you need to rethink, or- or change your mind about our relationship. But I don't want even the slightest chance of Whumper being free again. You barely made it out this time."

Whumpee is... Whumpee's head is reeling, to say the least. They think it must be the morphine dripping into their system. "Caretaker, you know I would never leave you, right?"

Caretaker bites his lip. "I'm just saying... I- you don't know everything that happened yet."

"I know enough."

He scowls, a clear disagreement if any.

Whumpee can't lift their arm, but they open their palm and beckon Caretaker, who rolls his eyes before bending over and resting their chin on their hand. "You really don't know," he says again, doing his best to stay disgruntled.

They stroke his cheeks, brushing stray hair behind his ears. "Tell me then."

Caretaker's eyes become wet. He shudders and wraps an arm around Whumpee's waist. Whumpee thinks that if mummifying Caretaker would protect him, they'd switch places with him this instant.

"I can't sleep," Caretaker admits after a while. "I need the coffee to overpower the other tastes. It's hard to shower with the lights on, and I worry every day that my mother is going to find the pictures Whumper took."

Whumpee nods, holding back tears of their own. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry."

Caretaker blows out a noisy, congested, exhausted breath. "Whumper was so focused on you, and I- I can't do this whole life gig without you, so- so—"

"I know, I know," Whumpee shushes him. With lots of coaxing and nudges, Caretaker lies down next to them. His body brackets theirs, and he rests his head right next to theirs on the same pillow, ensuring that he never puts weight on Whumpee.

"Go to sleep," Whumpee says. "You must be fatigued from the spontaneous love confessions."

"Fatigue— big word. Did the nurse teach you that?" Caretaker murmurs, melting into the cot. Whumpee retorts, but gets no response save for snores and snuffles. Whumpee sighs.

The weight of Caretaker's sacrifice sits on their chest. Then, Caretaker wraps an arm around them again. Whumpee decides that the sacrifice started as love. And too much love is never a bad thing.

Azazel’s eyes slid closed. The sword beside them seemed to draw the warmth right out of the room. They shivered in their linens, even as they drew their strength around them like a mantel. They could do this. They could. They had been preparing for months. They had built their strength with training and food and rest, more of each than they had ever known in their life. They hadn’t felt chains at their wrists or throat since Ezekiel had borne them from their mother’s cellar. He had been kind to them, had held them when they woke screaming from nightmares, had provided for their every need. He had clothed them, fed them, armed them. This was all he asked in return. They could do this. They could do this.

A tear slipped from their closed eye and ran down their cheek.

They felt him at their side, then. He knelt in front of them and gently touched the tear stain, felt his cold hand chill the wetness there.

“Why are you crying?” he whispered.

They swallowed hard, pushed down the urge they still felt to beg. Beg for mercy, for forgiveness.

Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry. Please, please, I didn’t mean it…

“I am… frightened,” they managed through a tight throat.

“Hm. Of what?” Both hands cradled their face now, with unbelievable gentleness. They leaned into the touch and tried not to cry harder.

“I’m scared I’ll… fail you, angel,” they said. It was close enough to the truth. They bit their lip and opened their eyes to see him staring back at them, dark eyes gleaming.

He huffed. Cold breath wafted over their face, smelling of ozone. “You won’t disappoint me, Azazel,” he said. “You have proven yourself in training a dozen times over. It is time for you to take your place at my side, to begin the work that was begun long before even your mother was born. I know you, dear one. I’ve watched you. You may yet outshine even me, when all is over. This is my opportunity for me to… well.” He let his hands fall. Azazel swallowed tightly. “To set things right on my own account. I’ve made my own mistakes, Azazel. And now, with you, I can start anew. I’m the one who failed you. And I hope you can forgive me.”

Azazel smoothed their hands over their pants, soothed by the texture of the linen beneath their fingers. Their throat bobbed as they swallowed again.

“I fear this is not… the work for me,” they rasped.

Ezekiel grinned and smoothly got to his feet. He held out a hand, helping Azazel up, too. “Now, there at least I believe I can dispel some fear. You were born for this work, Azazel. It is the work your mother was made for, the work my garrison has carried on for thousands of years. You are my garrison now, and we will carry it on together.” His smile was radiant now. Azazel felt the urge to look away, even though they were half-angel themself. Their hand shook as they bent to pick up their sword.

He reached out and touched the center of Azazel’s forehead, pressing a thumb between their brows. “Come, child,” he rumbled, his voice growing in volume as his excitement mounted. “I’ll show you the holy work of our order. I’ll show you the blessed work of our Lord, the work that has claimed the lives of so many angels much less skilled than we. I will show you how to purge a demon from this earth.”

Azazel shut their eyes against the light that poured from Ezekiel’s skin and nodded silently.

Continued here

Guilt pushes him down the stairs to Morgan's cell with a bag of medical supplies he's taken from Misha. It gnaws at him as he unlocks the cell.

It stabs him in the side when he sees the man sprawled across the floor in a smeared mess of mud and blood.

Adrian struggles to rise, stiffly pushing himself into a sitting position.

"What'll it be today?" He croaks.

He looks awful. Both eyes are darky bruised and almost swollen shut. His lips cracked and bloody. It doesn't look like he bothered to try and get clean, dried blood still covers his face from his broken nose.

"Come on. Got to get you cleaned up." Logan grabs his bicep and pulls him to unsteady feet. He won't help this man any more than necessary so he let's go, allowing him to walk on his own, shepherding him out of the cell and through the next door.

"Go on." The bathroom is small with a toilet, sink and standing shower. The shower has no door and there's no mirror above the sink, no glass or easily detachable fixtures that might be weaponized.

Logan isn't comfortable watching the man shower so he turns his back, pulling out his phone and flicking aimlessly through the apps. He hears a soft groan behind him and glances over to see Adrian drinking water from the sink

"Don't drink that! I was going to give you water. You know water from the pipes isn't safe to drink!”

Adrian shuts off the taps, shrugging.

"Thought you wanted me dead? Why do you care?"

He shucks off his pants and Logan turns away again, listening to the shower run. Steam billows from the open door and he hears a contented sigh

"This is great, you sure are generous to your prisoners. If mine earn a bath I just hose em down. That reminds me, how'd Jesse do in the the shower when you got them back?"

Logan's fists clench, remembering Jesse's terror as they tried to get them clean.

"Shut up. Or we won't be doing this again."

"My bad," He chuckles, "sensitive subject, I get it, just be glad you didn't try a bath." He says with a laugh

Logan compresses his lips into a hard line, not wanting to give this monster any more ammunition. They did try a bath.

Once the shower turns off he tosses the man a towel.

"Put that on then come out here." He orders. "Have to keep you from bleeding all over your new clothes."

"Wow, a shower and medical attention. You feeling guilty or something?"

Adrian looks different clean. For the first time since finding him in the road, Logan can really see Intelligence Specialist Adrian Morgan. Before, it was almost jarring to think of the sickly, bedraggled man as being the same person to put Jesse through such hell. Now, though, despite his injuries, Logan can see it.

Making the man sit on the floor, he examines his wounds. They're all bad, but the ones on his back are by far the worst. Infection spreads through most of them, seemingly concentrated in the places where the wounds won't close. He has no idea if they need new stitches. Some definitely look broken, probably most of them after his beating. The thought makes him wince.

Looking closer, Logan can see that it's not just the obvious injuries on his back. These fresh wounds are layered over a dense network of scars, running from his shoulders to where the towel sits around his waist.

"Seriously, where the fuck did all these scars come from?" He asks

"Can't be that hard to guess. I'm on the wrong side of every hero in the city, not to mention working for a brutal, dictatorial regime who's violently ousted the democratically elected governments all over the country. I know it's surprising, given my roguish good looks and charming personality, but some people really don't like me. This isn't the first time I've been… detained by you so called heros."

“Heros did this?" Logan is surprised other heroes would stoop so low. Most of them have impeccable reputations, even after the Collapse.

Just like you do. A small voice reminds him.

"What do you think happened to us in your prisons? You'd catch us, turn us over, then what?" He holds out his wrists so Logan can see three sets of numbers tattooed there. Two of the numbers are crossed off. All three have numerous thick scars running through them.

"That's definitely not true. The prisons were run by the real government. AQUA is the one who tortures people." Even if other heroes took revenge, the idea of the authorities doing it is absurd. They existed specifically to combat behavior like this.

Morgan laughs “You can't be this naive. Seriously, how old are you? Your precious government and AQUA were at war for decades! You really think your side never got their hands dirty? Torture’s a great way to keep unruly villains in line." He pauses. "Didn't work, obviously. Now the prisons are gone, and we're still here, thriving."

"You don't look like you're thriving."

He makes a non committal sound

Disinfecting the wounds will take the longest and be the most painful. He expects Adrian to resist, but he doesn't flinch when the alcohol touches him. He spreads antibiotic cream on the wounds that look infected, then covers the open ones with bandages. He doesn't know proper medicine, but he's watched Misha enough for this.

When he's done, he gives him a pair of old sweatpants, turning around again while he changes.

"You know what I think." Adrian says from behind him. "I think you are that naive. I think you've been living a cute little fantasy where you're the good guys fighting against evil AQUA. That's how you justify all the people you've had thrown in prison.”

“Come on. Even you called AQUA a brutal dictatorial regime. How the hell could you support something like that if you aren't a villain?”

“Like the last governement was any better, and you still call yourself a hero.”

“They were better. And we are better.”

“Of course you are." He chuckles. "Takes a real good guy to come down here and take care of someone you hate so much. Almost makes up for the torture."

Logan faces him, watching as he slinks to the back of the cell and gingerly lowers himself to the ground. He moans and complains theatrically touching his bruised face.

"Does it bother you to know you'd hurt someone injured and defenseless?" He continues with a dramatic pout.

"Fuck off. You've done way worse." Logan snaps, annoyed at his performance

"Obviously. We've already established what I am." He pauses for a long moment. "You on the other hand. I think you're feeling sorry for me. Just a bit. Enough to make you hesitate. Enought to make you think you can walk that line. Good person? Monster?" He weighs the options in his hands, balancing them. "But I'll tell you what, hesitation, that conscience of yours, if anything will fuck you up down here it'll be that. You need to know why you're doing this. Hold on to that reason. Remember why I'm here."

Despite himself, Logan considers the words as he fishes two waterbottles and three nutrition bars from his bag, tossing them at Adrian's feet.

"I know why I'm here." He pauses, watching Adrian's raised eyebrow.

"Before you, they would hum. All the time -" Tears well in his eyes, and he doesn't bother to blink them back. "You took them and made them silent."

He slams the cell door behind him, and crumples to the floor, dissolving in tears for the first time since Jesses been back.

Prev | masterpost | next

“We need to talk this out.”

“No.” Elias tapped back. “Said he could hear us. In the room - I don’t trust it.” Merrick bit his lip and nodded. Where hadn’t Anders been?

The elevator doors opened to their answer.

“Fergie!” Elias sounded horribly relieved. “Did Harrison page you or…?”

“No?” The medic was genuinely confused, trying to step past them to the elevator. “I’m on call tonight. Was gonna head down to - ”

“Is the staff breakroom unlocked?”

Ferguson stared at Merrick, bewildered by the sudden request.

“I - yes? I think so? What’s going on? Is everyone alright?” Fergie kept pace with the pair, voice hushed as they sped down the hall.

“We need to have a talk.”

The three filtered into the cramped breakroom, Elias being extra paranoid as he scanned the hall before closing the door completely. Merrick spoke up as soon as the door latched.

“What do you mean we can’t trust Anders?”

Ferguson’s eyes darted between Elias and Merrick.

“Agent Anders? The CIA Internal Investigator Briggs specifically brought on base because we can trust him?”

“You don’t understand.” Elias’ voice was still hushed, desperate. Merrick tried to force down his own mounting panic. They only recently escaped a hell where even a moment of vulnerability meant pain or worse. He put a steady hand on the younger soldier’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

“Tell us what happened, from the beginning.”

“Wolf - Wolf was having a nightmare. A bad one - he was begging.” Elias didn’t elaborate, expression soured but breathing shaky. “I woke him up because he, he - it was bad. And he was upset and mad and I was gonna go back to bed with Harrison but he - Merrick, did you know he understood? The code?”

“No.” That was news to the captain. “Are you sure - ?”

“What code?”

“When we were there, Harrison and us came up with a code. We got in trouble for talking so it’s a pseudo-Morse something or other.” Elias explained, turning back to Merrick. “And Wolf apparently understands it enough to tell me we can’t talk because someone is listening.”

“I - is that really a surprise? I was under the impression Briggs was already monitoring your room after what happened to Wolf in holding.”

“He just…you didn’t see his face. Said we couldn’t trust ‘him,’ that he was dangerous and we needed to stay away, or we’d get hurt.”

“Elias…did he actually say he was talking about Anders?” Merrick hated to doubt the kid, but…it just sounded like Wolf was scared, half awake from a bad nightmare. Would he even remember telling Elias this in the morning?

“Well when I suggested Anders he fucking lost it and kept telling me he couldn’t, over and over again.” Elias was getting defensive, and the look Fergie shot the captain wasn’t helping. “You’re telling me you don’t think it’s weird that for all his snapping, Wolf wanted to talk to a stranger, alone? I think…I don’t think we can trust Anders. I don’t want to leave the Wolf alone with him again.”

“I'll check for any new injuries tomorrow.” Ferguson’s voice was soft, trying to sound nonconfrontational. “But - Elias - what are the chances Wolf was just…confused? Shaken by that nightmare? He’s been through a lot and this is a big adjustment for him.”

“I can’t - x” Elias shuddered, eyes begging the captain for support. Support he couldn’t give - not without more evidence. It pained Merrick to watch desperation morph to hollowed out acceptance. He hadn’t seen Elias so empty since they left that hell. “Maybe you’re right.” His voice was flat, tired. “But I can’t live with myself if you’re wrong about this.”

Merrick wrapped his arms over Elias’ shoulders, the hug grounding him enough to blink light back into his eyes as he looked up at his captain.

“I’ll sleep in the room tonight. We can take shifts keeping an eye on Wolf.” Elias nodded numbly, ignoring Ferguson’s attempts to coax him back out of his shell. Merrick dismissed the medic with a curt shake of his head. Elias was gone for the night. Even walking him back to the room, exchanging a brief coded conversation with Harrison, Elias stayed quiet and cold. He would be better by the morning.

Or so Merrick prayed.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

"What's wrong?" a nurse asked as they came into the room.

"Nothing," they lied.

"Don't bullshit me. I've been doing this work twenty years. What's wrong?"

Whumpee swallowed. "I think I'm in withdrawal."

"From what? You didn't tell the intake nurse that you were dependent on anything."

"Yeah, that's because… I don't know. The guy who kept me — they kept mixing something into my food. Some sedative to keep me woozy. I never saw it, never knew what it was, I just knew there was something. And now I'm withdrawing."

The nurse hummed. "That's an issue. We'll take some blood from you and run labs. Okay? We'll figure it out."

Whumpee nodded. "Thanks."

The nurse nodded back and left the room.

Soon, another nurse came into the room to take their blood, and they almost passed out at the sight of the needle. An unfortunate phobia to have now that they were in the hospital. "We'll get results back in a few days," the nurse explained.

"Days? But I— I feel like absolute shit, excuse my language."

"We can't give you anything to hold you over until we know what it was that they used to give you. I'm sorry."

"But—" Whumpee suddenly shot up in bed and ran out to the bathroom to throw up. "Oh, man…" they muttered, still on the floor, clutching the toilet bowl.

"Everything okay in there?" the nurse asked.

"No…"

"Someone's calling me in the other room. Will you be okay alone?"

"I don't think so…"

"I gotta go. Lab results in a few days, hang in there!" Whumpee heard the door open and close, and they were alone again.

"Whumper, you son of a—" They had to retch again. Whumper had wrecked their life in more ways than one, and they wanted to wring their neck for it. They dragged themself out of the bathroom and back onto their bed, wrapping themself up in their hospital blanket. They felt so sick.