#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

Outside, trees sway in a gentle breeze. Beams of moonlight stream in illuminating the living room and Isa's familiar form curled on the next sofa. They watch her easy breathing.

She is real. She is here. They are here. They are home.

The gentle rhythm of her breathing relaxes them and their eyelids droop.

"There you are."

Their eyes fly open, heart stuttering in their chest. That was him. His voice, clear as day. Sitting up in a panic they search the room, too terrified to look towards the window. They know they'll see him standing there. Grin on his face, knife in hand. Their heart races

Just look. He's not here, he can't be here. It's just your mind playing tricks. It's fine.

They force a peek.

Nothing, but swaying pines.

They try to relax, breathing deeply, their heart begins to slow.

A soft click at the door obliterates their calm. They're on their feet, falling, crawling somewhere safe. Anywhere.

Maybe they imagined it.

But then they hear the soft creek of old hinges as the heavy door is eased open as quietly as he can manage.

He's here, he's really here! He's going to take me again

They drag themself across the floor to the kitchen, only a few steps away around a long breakfast bar. They reach the sink just as the door clicks shut.

He will not take me again, he will not take me again, he will not take me again, he will-

Their fingertips scrabble across the counter trying to find the knife block.

Quiet footsteps in the hall.

They spin, knife clenched in trembling hands.

"Woah" the word is a startled breath. Moonlight shimmers off golden hair not dark and his hands are raised, but in surrender not attack.

It takes them a moment to register what they're seeing. Then their eyes dart around the room, scanning every corner and shadow.

Slowly they lower the knife a fraction.

Logan takes a tentative step closer.

"Hey, it's ok Jes, just me... I'm sorry I scared you."

"Logan?" The terror still lingers, but they feel their rational mind trying to reassert itself.

"Logan" they repeat more confidently "I- shit, I'm sorry!" They look down at themself, huddled trembling against the cabinets, large kitchen knife in hand. How did they even get here? "I- I don't know what happened, I was on the couch and..."

"Hey it's ok, don't worry about it." He comes closer, seating himself in front of them, reaching out to take the knife.

Instinctively they jerk it away, clutching it close to their chest

"Woah, ok, be careful, I won't take it."

Their breath is still coming too fast adrenaline zinging through them like rocket fuel.

"Here, come on, let's just take a couple deep breaths ok?"

They nod

"Ok, close your eyes-"

"No, no I can't, I can't!"

"Ok, ok, that's alright, that's even better, just watch me then."

Their eyes roam the corners, again looking for any sign of that telltale silhouette, dark hair, the scent of clove and cedar always just failing to mask the sour, metallic tang of blood.

"Jesse?"

They snap back to Logan, crouching on the floor in front of them. Logan.

"It's ok, just follow my breathing, in..."

Air doesn't want to fill their lungs.

"...and out..."

They force it out anyways.

"...in..."

More air this time.

"...and out..."

It's Logan sitting in front of them.

"...in..."

Logan is safe.

“...and out…”

They are safe with Logan.

“...in…”

They lose themself in the rhythm of his words.

"...and out..."

Focusing entirely on the feeling of their lungs contracting and expanding.

"...in..."

They don't know how long it goes on, but eventually, they feel the panic releasing them. Each breath loosening its hold a little more. Tears well in their eyes. Noticing, Logan cuts off his chant.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better..." the word sounds weak and uncertain, their eyes are drawn back to the corners

"Can I get closer to you?"

They nod.

"Is this ok?" Logan wraps an arm gently around their shoulders pulling them in close.

Another nod

"Good, I've got you. You're safe now" his hand rubs slow circles on their back, careful to avoid their injuries. "I locked the door behind me. No one's here, but you and I... well, and Isa on the couch." His lips quirk against their hair. "You're safe."

"I-" They stop, not wanting to fall apart again, but the words feel like fire in their throat, now that they've come they'll burn a hole through their windpipe to be spoken. "I haven't felt safe in so long I can't... I can't even remember what it feels like." He grips them tighter, so tight it hurts, a good kind of hurt.

"You're safe now. You're home. Nothing and no one on earth will hurt you like that ever again." The words are good, but Jesse doesn't believe them, after all, how can Logan stop someone like Morgan? Someone who's ripped out parts of their soul and left them bleeding on the floor of that cell. They feel like a rag that's been worn down to nothing but a tangled, dirty pile of thread.

“Logan” they whisper. More words they don't want to speak. “I think… I don't think… what if… what if I can't fix it?”

“Fix what?”

“What he did to me. What if I'm- broken…” they trail off again “permanently damaged.” they whisper.

“That's not- Jesse. You aren't broken. You are still the same person, You're still-”

“Stop!” They snap, pulling away from him. “You don't understand. Logan. You don't know what he did-” they stop. “He changed me.” They watch him intently, looking for any sign of misgiving. He swallows.

“I know Jes.” He takes their hands, gentle fingers carefully avoiding their crooked fingers. “It doesn't feel right to tell you everythings going to be ok, at least not now, not right away, but…” he meets their eyes. “But Jesse, I promise you. I’ll do everything in my power to help you feel ok again. No matter how long it takes, no matter what he changed, no matter what. You are the strongest person I know, and you are surrounded by the other strongest people I know. You will be ok again, and we’ll all be here to help support you till then.”

His words bring more tears to their tired eyes and they let themself be soothed. They don't know if they believe him, but as they lean into his arms, feeling ok again doesn't seem impossible.

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.