Azazel flushed. Their hand tightened around the sword.

Ezekiel stepped forward. “Disarm me once more, and we can rest.” Before Azazel could respond, he slashed at their throat.

Azazel brought up their sword to block with only an inch to spare. The consecrated steel rang in the vaulted ceiling. Their arms pushed back against Ezekiel with all the force they could muster. He did not budge.

“This isn’t fair,” their spat. “You’re… you’re full-blooded angel. And I’m—”

“Angel,” Ezekiel said, stone-faced. “Do not ever forget. Draw on your strength.”

Azazel shoved him away. “I’m tired!” they cried. “I’m out of strength.” With each word, they tried to strike a blow. Each one sent a force juddering up Ezekiel’s arm. Azazel was too tired to feel satisfied, too tired to feel much of anything except desperation. The angel stepped forward, parried, stepped back, struck. Tears of frustration stung Azazel’s eyes. Their arm burned, the muscles in their back screamed for relief. Their hand was numb from striking blow after blow.

“Stop,” Azazel panted. They aimed for Ezekiel’s neck. “Stop. I’m done with this.”

“Not until you—”

“Stop!” Azazel thundered. The room shuddered with the command. Ezekiel froze – for a moment. For a breath.

It was long enough.

Azazel struck the sword from Ezekiel’s hand and held their blade to his chest. The tip of it hovered over his heart – where it would be, if he had one. Azazel’s own chest heaved. The sword shook in their hand. They almost dropped it from trembling fingers.

The shadow of a smile flitted over Ezekiel’s face, and he nodded. “Good,” he said softly. “That was good. Now, rest, and we try again tomorrow. Starting with your voice.”

Azazel sagged with bone-deep exhaustion. Hunger twisted in their stomach, joined thirst as yet another sensation in their body. Another sensation was growing in them, though, unfamiliar and strong, fluttering in their chest as they watched Ezekiel turn and leave the room without a speck of sweat on his clothes: satisfaction.

“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.

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“I…I don’t want to leave him alone.” Both for his safety and just in case…just in case he didn’t want to be alone.

“Go. I can watch him. If something happens I’ll page…” They didn’t have a code for Ferguson’s name, but Elias could read Harrison’s lips when he mouthed the name. With a shaky nod, Elias stood from where he had crouched between the two beds.

Anders couldn’t be trusted. Why or what that meant, Elias wasn’t sure. But he was sure he needed to tell Merrick before the feeling of the Wolf’s shaking hands begging for help started to fade.

(He knew their code. He saw it, listened to it, and did nothing to discourage it. He let them have what words they could when Merrick was collared and Goldtooth threatened whippings for any conversation.) 

The officer’s quarters were across the base, and Elias braced through what odd looks he got from the patrols. It was almost midnight - and his hospital slippers were awkward but swift among the heavy steel toed boots stalking the halls.

He knocked once. Twice. Merrick was always a light sleeper where was he - 

“Do you need something, Walker?” He physically flinched away from with voice with an embarrassing yelp. Anders. Anders had the room next to Merrick’s and Anders couldn’t be trusted. “Sorry, I’m a light sleeper. If you’re looking for your Captain, I think Merrick was trying to finish his mission report in his temporary office.”

“Right. Thanks.” The words felt rubbery in his mouth.

“Is something wrong?” Anders’ body language shifted, loose pyjamas betraying a well trained physique beneath. He looked concerned, brow furrowed and dark eyes gentle.

Anders couldn’t be trusted.

“Harrison - he, um,” hopefully he seemed as flustered as he felt, “he had a nightmare. Bad one. He wants Merrick - just, just to know he’s okay.”

“I understand.” Did he? Elias thought bitterly. But Anders’ eyes were so soft and sympathetic he almost believed him. “Better get Merrick quickly then. Goodnight - hope you all sleep easier.”

“Thanks, you too.”

—

“Merrick - ”

“Jesus fuck - Elias what the hell are you - ”

“Now.” Elias knocked the pen from his hand and dragged his commanding officer out of his office like a kid that refused to leave the birthday party when their parents were ready to leave.

“What’s wrong?” Merrick quickly straightened up and kept stride with Elias, voice low. Elias opened his mouth, then closed it. Anders couldn’t be trusted. He could hear them. Just in the room or elsewhere? Elias was beginning to regret not needleing Wolf for details.

“Harrison had a bad dream, wants to - to know you’re okay.”

“Right.” Merrick’s tone was conflicted. He believed Elias enough to keep following him - good. Hopefully Anders had as well. “And you’re alright?”

“Just, just rattled. He was really upset.” The longer he thought about Harrison and Wolf alone on the other side of the base, the deeper the pit in his stomach became. “Let’s hurry.”

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The early days, when Orson and Thatch were still around, those were oddly fuzzy. Hazy, faces obscured by time. Back then, Harrison was the only one who knew Arabic, so he was translating demands and orders to them in urgent whispers. Merrick and Elias knew enough by the time Orson died it wasn’t a problem when they took Harrison away.

Away to the Box.

Harrison didn’t talk about it much, and neither Elias nor Merrick knew exactly what happened in that coffin shaped space. So Merrick could only report what he knew: Harrison’s screams.

(He always wondered if Harrison could hear their screams over his own in there.) 

Merrick knew the Red Room - the furnace room - intimately. It was where they were most often dragged to be tortured. Sometimes strung up by their wrists, sometimes bound to a chair, sometimes blindfolded with their hands bound behind their back.

He wasn’t sure they ever washed the floor - it was always sticky with old blood and gritty from broken glass. At least he assumed it was broken glass - he never remembered seeing any.

Merrick was trying to recount one of the last few sessions they had with Goldtooth (Smith, he knew now). He remembered Elias strung up and whipped, Goldtooth stalking around him with saccharine promises to treat him well if he just agreed to…something. Those demands got blurry and vague the harder Merrick tried to think about them.

But he could remember Goldtooth in crystal clear color. His blue eyes were hungry when they watched Elias flinch under the blows, a smile drinking in every sob and scream. And when he remembered Goldtooth cutting Elias down, cradling his bare, broken body with far too much tenderness, Merrick couldn’t write anymore for the day.

Knowing what Smith did to Wolf, he wondered if they ever came close to his monstrous bloodlust.

Merrick stepped out of his office (a cramped closet cubicle, his old office had been given to a different soldier after all this time). He made his way to the restroom to splash some cold water on his face. The bruise from the Wolf’s solid right hook was starting to show through his dark skin, even though the tenderness had faded to an occasional ache.

He glanced to the mirror as Agent Anders stepped out of a stall, scrubbing his hands with soap and water.

“Captain Merrick.” He nodded in acknowledgement, quirking a brow at the water droplets still damp on his face. “Rough report to write, I assume?”

“Rough is right.” He huffed before sighing. “I keep…thinking of what could have happened.”

“That’s a good way to go insane, Captain.” Anders’ smile was sympathetic. “I’ve seen it happen. You’ll drive yourself crazy. Best not to dwell on it and move on.”

“I just…we could have ended up like the Wolf.”

“You’re not the torturing type, if I may make a naive assessment.”

“Neither was he.” Merrick snagged a paper towel from the dispenser. “Broke some bones, burned some skin but at least he never…he could have done worse.”

“Careful Captain.” Anders voice still had a lilt of friendliness veiling his cold, calculating eyes. “A little close to Stockholm Syndrome to be sympathizing with your torturer.”

“He saved our lives.” Saved them from whatever horrors Smith would inflict when he came to the forefront again. “Puts things into perspective.”

Anders hummed, dark eyes sharp and narrowed in thought. 

“That it does. That it does…”

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Taglist: @stargeode @genuineformality @i-eat-worlds @light-me-on-pyre

Parker was leading the charge, stocky and well built enough to dive between the other soldiers in the field like a plow tilling soft earth. Gale followed in his shadow, steps light and measured - showing off his childhood training as a ballet dancer. Moe stumbled after them, glasses knocked askew but saved from falling off his face with sweaty hands.

“You’re looking better, Gomez.” Gale huffed, leaning on Harrison’s wheelchair.

“And I’m chopped liver?” Elias complained half heartedly, an echo of grief in his chest. He missed Thatch and Clements and Orson, his clique even before the taskforce organized. Harrison still had friends here, and the look he shot Elias bled with sympathy. Parker didn’t notice.

“Nah, you’re just still lookin’ the same as before Walker.”

“Glad to know a little torture didn’t damage my good looks.” Elias couldn’t quite strangle his misplaced discomfort with humor.

“Well, it didn’t do you any favors, that’s for sure.” Gale quipped, Parker snorting while Moe cracked a nervous smile, scrubbing his glasses clean with the hem of his shirt.

Elias felt bad for the kid - he was a Private like him, but just behind his cohort. Parker and Gale seemed to tolerate him for his use as a scapegoat, but Moe was just happy to be included. It never sat right with Elias.

“You two got any juicy gossip from the higher ups?” Parker hummed, sitting on the bench between Elias and where Harrison’s chair was parked. He told himself the spike of resentment and stress was just the separation anxiety acting up.

“What do you mean?” Harrison’s laugh was tense, a hand weakly failing to bat away Gale’s arm where it leaned on his chair. Harrison and these three were close before the taskforce. Time didn’t appear to have made the heart grow fonder.

“Haven’t you realized?” Gale finally stood up, gesturing to the throngs of soldiers standing around between drills and marches. “Entire base is on fucking lockdown.” He huffed, as though offended. “First she says we’re on disciplinary leave then we’re on lockdown. Can’t a bitch make up her mind…”

“Watch it Gale.” Harrison’s growl was genuine, and the medic threw up his hands in mock surrender.

“I was just - ”

“No wonder you’re on disciplinary leave.” Elias huffed, poking at the plate on his lap. Moe was still hovering in the background, silent.

“Hey, it was for you, jackass.” Parker shouldered him gently despite his strength. He knew not to push the still recovering soldier too hard, so Elias took his insult lightly.

“What are you talking about? Had to defend our honor like some kinda damsel?” Harrison batted his eyes at Parker, but Gale’s dry hum had a venomous undercurrent.

“Someone had to make sure that fucker knew his place.”

“What?” Harrison’s voice was shaken, and Elias knew he had the same sinking feeling in his gut. Parker shrugged, leaning back on the bench with far less righteous satisfaction in his voice.

“Went down to holding. Roughed up that Wolf you brought back.” Harrison was looking at Parker with abject horror, and he tried to backtrack accordingly. “Just a few hits. Didn’t even break nothin’ - he took it like a champ.”

“You cracked his fucking ribs, jackass.” Elias shoved back a little too hard, swallowing back the anger in his throat.

“I - I pulled my punches, unlike someone.”

“Oh, shut up. You think he took his jacket off just to keep a bit of blood off it?” Gale crossed his arms over his chest, finally taking a step back from where Harrison was seething in his chair. “He wanted a little fight to take the edge off and we gave it to him is all.”

“You had him strip, G.” Moe’s soft voice made Elias suck air through his teeth. Gale would give the poor kid hell for - wait, what did he say?

“I joked that he was being a tease. Fucker didn’t have to - ”

“You made him strip?” Elias’ breath shuddered, words so quiet he wasn’t sure anyone would hear them. He wasn’t hungry anymore. In fact, the cafeteria food wasn’t sitting right with him.

“Hey, he’s the one that took off his pants - I, I didn’t make him do anything.”

“You saw the shape he was in and you still kicked the crap out of him?” Harrison had turned in his chair, but Elias didn’t need to see his face to know the disgust and anger painted on his face.

“Yeah, considering the shape you are in.” There was a thread of discomfort in Gale’s voice, but he was still defensive. Righteously convicted, he continued with a twinge of sincerity. Or at least Elias hoped it was sincerity. “We’re your friends, H. We thought you fucking died out there.”

“And that gives you the right to strip and beat a prisoner who didn’t even fight back?” Harrison’s head whipped back to Elias, eyes bright with anger. “I want to go back inside now, Elias. Are you done?”

“Yeah. Yeah I think I am - ”

“Oh my god Hbomb chill - we’re sorry alright, Gale - we took it too far.” Parker, at the very least, didn’t try to stop Elias from getting up. But Gale grabbed hold of Harrison’s wheelchair.

“Hey!”

“Dude, seriously, he fucking tortured you. Doesn’t he deserve a taste of his own medicine?”

“He’s had plenty now let, me, go.” Harrison’s glare was poisonous, and with Elias rounding on him, Gale finally took the hint and backed off. Not without rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, fine. Christ, what’s the matter with you? Defending that fucking monster - Stockholm syndrome much?”

“Gale. That’s enough.” At least Parker could keep that jackass busy. Elias pushed Harrison along the path, plate left cold on the bench. It wasn’t like he had the stomach for that mediocre cafeteria slop anyway. Harrison’s muttering was simmering with rage.

“Merrick should have told us - ”

“Protocol. He can’t rat out every asshole on base as a captain. Abuse of power and all.”

“As though they didn’t fucking abuse their power.” Harrison’s stage whisper dropped quieter as they passed a patrol. “God. Elias do you think they - do you think he thought - ?”

“No. And yes.” Those idiots were assholes, but they weren’t monsters. Not like that CIA schmuck that butchered Wolf. But the Wolf wouldn’t know that - he clearly didn’t expect anything less - and god, they weren’t giving him great evidence to the contrary.

“If they knew - ”

“They can’t. Merrick said this stays between us, Fergie, the Frizz and Briggs. And Mav too, I guess.” Elias didn’t like how the temperature dropped - just slightly - as they left the warm glow of the sunlight and entered the medical building.

He hoped the Wolf was having a better afternoon than them.

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Taglist: @stargeode @genuineformality @i-eat-worlds @light-me-on-pyre

“I made some calls. Agent Smith is returning to his supposed post in Cali in two days.” Her pale eyes were sharp. “We don’t have time. Chances are, since he hasn’t bugged out yet, Smith doesn’t know you’re missing. That Wolf is here. We have a very short timeframe before he’s tipped off and drops off the grid.”

“Oh fuck off…” Merrick muttered, scratching his head. (How nice it felt to have a proper buzz after months unshaven.) “Wolf’s not going to talk. I know he won’t. What else can we do?”

“Mav’s digging into Loggerhead. They’ve worked with the military on some overseas operations before. But we need to be…delicate. Loggerhead is one of our strongest and most reliable PMCs and we can’t accuse the entire company of - of running a torture bunker. There’s a good chance employees are involved, but to implicate the entire institution would make enemies we cannot afford.”

“What about - the truck. It has a serial number, doesn’t it? Can’t you track what - what batch it was in? Who purchased it?”

“Filed off.” Briggs sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Mechanics are looking it over for tracking devices, bugs - anything that can be traced back - but no luck so far.”

“So…we’re fucked? Dead in the water?”

“Well, probably. Hell, they might have already scuttled the entire operation the day you flew the coop. Smith could be their fall man for all we know.”

Not that he didn’t deserve to fall, Merrick thought with a huff. But hopelessness was settling into his chest, a familiar resignation like a collar laid heavy around his throat.

“They - damn, they’re really gonna get away with this?”

“No.” She leveled him with a steady gaze. Solid as stone. “I told you. I made some calls. Managed to get in contact with the CIA’s internal investigation division.”

“You just said Smith’ll slip the noose any day now.”

“He will. But if anyone can track him down, and help us figure out what the hell happened in that bunker, it’ll be them.”

“How soon can they get here?”

“They’re sending over an agent today. Anders, I think his name was.”

__

The director couldn’t find out. More explicitly, the director couldn’t tell any of the higher ups who funded the project. This kind of sloppy management would get them all canned, if not worse.

And the overseer knew worse.

So, he called the closest thing to a contingency plan as they had for Smith and his pet project.

“Agent Anders?”

“You lost the Wolf?”

He stuttered a moment, panic bright as he tried to think of who could have told the agent. The entire bunker was on lockdown - the overseer had killed the three guards who had been sloppy enough to be taken down by the Wolf, and another two were halfway to the Box begging that they had no idea about the breakout.

“Well, - how - ”

“Volunteers dragged him to a local installation. Seems they found out about Smith and figured the CIA’s internal investigation division would be their best option.” Anders voice crackled over the line, cold and clinical. “The director doesn’t know. Yet.”

“Thank you.” The overseer kept his words measured. The last thing he wanted was to be indebted to Anders of all agents.

“The director will find out, eventually, so we need a plan.” A plan that probably involved Anders taking over a not-insignificant portion of the project. “How attached are you to Agent Smith?”

“As much as I hate the bastard, how confident are you that we can keep the Wolf under control without him?” Assuming they could even reacquire the asset.

“100%. The Wolf knows what’s good for him. I helped make sure, if you recall.”

The overseer did, to his chagrin. He didn’t mention that Anders’ methods damaged the asset beyond use, as far the intelligence office was concerned.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Keep the bunker quiet. Oh, and don’t let Smith know about this. I don’t feel like tracking him down if he runs.”

And if Anders couldn’t get the Wolf back in time, they would need someone to take the fall. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him.

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They were waiting for Dr. Amanda Fritz, who had apparently been the one to look over the absent former-torturer. Having seen him withered in that hospital bed, Elias was barely restraining the urge to run back to the room and check on him. Hiding a shock collar was understandable to an extent - he didn’t want them to know he was on someone else’s leash. But the sheer extent of his injuries - what bandages Elias could see - those were far beyond a clumsy accident or sour shame.

He was hurt. Badly, and with intent to cause harm.

The extent to which, Dr. Fritz would explain. Not that anyone actually called her Dr. Fritz - not unless they were in trouble or trying to get out of trouble. They called her the Frizz, or Frizzle - for obvious reasons, her curly red hair and prominent nose well matched with her curious enthusiasm and warm presence.

(Thatch had gifted her an ‘iguana’ pin, before the Taskforce left for their final, fated mission. She took it in good humor, none of them realizing it would be the last laugh they heard from Thatch.)

She was wearing it today, a cheap piece of metal and plastic shaped as a generic gecko.

“Is this everyone?” Briggs was sitting at the comically small coffee table, a soldier next to her.

“Yes ma’am.” Merrick said, locking the door behind Frizzle. He winced as he spoke, pain pulling across his face. Wolf had really done a number on his nose.

“Then let’s get started.” Briggs gestured to her aid - Mav, Elias remembered him from an interview months, maybe more than a year, ago - who set out a tape recorder.

“Name and rank, for the record.”

“Josiah Merrick, Captain and commanding officer of Taskforce 42.” He nodded to Harrison. 

“Sargent Harrison Gomez. Translator and field technician for TF-42.” He nodded to Elias. 

“Private Elias Grainger of TF-42.” He swallowed, unsure why the words tasted so bitter. (He had said then a dozen times, bleeding and begging and breaking for the enemy - or, whoever it was that captured them.) 

“Medical officer Chris Ferguson of Firebase Charlie.”

“Doctor Amanda Fritz, Firebase Charlie.”

“Commander Faith Briggs, Firebase Charlie.”

The commander nodded to Mav, who listened back to the tape and gave a thumbs up before letting it continue recording. Briggs cleared her throat, reading from a heavily redacted document on the table.

“Taskforce 42 was deployed from Carson City, Nevada Tuesday June 3rd, 2003 en route to a covert Siberian outpost. Contact was lost 7 hours into your flight. No wreckage or plane was found.” She sighed, closing her eyes a moment. “You were declared MIA four months ago, after two months without contact. Let’s start where we left you - the flight. What happened?” Harrison and Elias looked up to Merrick. They all knew - or at least, knew what they didn’t know - but he was their commanding officer.

“We don’t know.” His words were slow but steady. Bare and uncomfortable truth. “I remember boarding, closing my eyes for a bit after we got settled in and then…we were there.” 

“Where?” 

“A bunker. A compound of sorts - small holding cell area. Four separate cells, two on each side of the aisle. Each about four by four meters in size.”

“And the Box.” Harrison’s mutter was soft but tight. 

“The Box?” 

Elias didn’t like the way Harrison minutely trembled at Brigg’s prompting. He hadn’t talked about it with them - he sure as hell wasn’t going to talk to the commander about his personal hell. He stepped in, trying to spare the details.

“A fifth cell - sort of - at the back of the hall. It - it was small.”

“Like an upright coffin.” Harrison added, eyes briefly blank before he blinked and looked at Briggs. “There was another hall at the other end of the holding cell area. Six doors.”

“They only ever took us in the first two closest to the cells.” Elias picked at the skin around his fingernails. “One had a drain and - and water. The other had a furnace.” 

The burn scars on his back itched. Looking back, he was grateful Goldtooth had faded to the background when the Wolf took over. The Wolf never looked at him like he was a piece of meat he could eat. 

“Where was this bunker?” 

“About 12 hours north of here, give or take.” Merrick shrugged, clearly trying to ignore the shocked disbelief on the commander’s face. Elias tried to explain, at least to himself, how such a thing was possible - hidden, under American sand.

“We were underground - probably, maybe five or six stories? Came up into a - a more standard military complex. There was a pretty sizable vehicle bay.” 

“How did you escape?”

Merrick picked up; good thing, too. Elias didn’t think he could articulate their surreal escape without losing a bit on his sanity.

“Wolf let us out of our cells, led us through a checkpoint, and had keys for the truck.” 

“Who is Wolf? For the record.” 

Harrison gave Marrick a tense glance, not unlike the one Elias flickered between them. Who he was, they didn’t know. What he had done was a different story.

“We don’t know.” Merrick finally said. “He…said he needed three escorts to get through the checkpoint, and we were in the right place at the right time.”

“So he was also a prisoner?” 

“No.” Harrison answered automatically, before he cringed under Briggs’ calculated eyes. “Maybe? It’s - this couldn’t have waited until he was awake to ask yourself?” 

“We were going to speak with Wolf first before…the incident.” Her eyes flicked between Merrick and them - they weren’t getting any details. Not now. “What can you tell us about him? I personally haven’t had the pleasure of speaking with him, so any information would be appreciated.”

“He tortured us.” Harrison’s voice was flat, a sneer of offense on his face when Elias’ wide eyed stare didn’t waver. “Oh, are we just gonna pretend that didn’t happen? He damn near drowned me - collared you, Merrick - ”

“He saved our lives.” Elias’ voice felt small, the defense weak. He knew he probably cared too much - he always did - but he had thought - Harrison was so worried back at the room -

“He made our lives hell for fuck knows how long. And, what, he gets a free pass because someone else was holding his leash?”

“I don’t think he had much of a choice, Harrison.” Merrick’s voice was low and soft, sympathetic to Harrison’s frustration. But Elias didn’t like the look in his eye, the way he glanced at Dr. Fritz… Harrison opened his mouth to make a retort, but Briggs cut him off.

“He tortured you under someone else’s orders. Whether he was under duress or not can be determined when he’s lucid. Is there anything else Dr. Fritz’ medical report won’t cover?”

“German.” Elias half whispered, still mumbling when the Commander raised a brow in curiosity. “He’s German. I think. The other - there were other guards before him, everyone always spoke Arabic. Harrison translated for a while before…” Before the Box. Before Elias and Merrick needed to learn on their feet to survive without him. “…before we learned enough to understand their demands and orders. Wolf spoke Arabic too, but…his accent is German, when he speaks English.”

“His Arabic was always a little stilted.” Harrison grumbled, shrugging in his chair. “Thought he was a Russian merc or something for a while.”

“But the guards at the checkpoint, the ones that frisked him while we played the part of his escort,” Merrick’s eyes were hard and clear, “they were American.” Briggs practically bristled at the statement.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

The beat of silence was sour and cold. It was far from confirmed, but Elias could feel in his gut - they had been captured by Americans. Tortured by Americans. (Their brothers were killed by their fellow Americans.)

Frizzle broke the silence.

“Would you like my medical report now, ma’am?” There was a heaviness to her eyes, and Elias’ glance to Fergie was far from reassuring. The medic refused to make eye contact, staring at the ground, lips pressed in a tight frown.

“Should - are we supposed to stay or - ?”

“You might be able to help put some of his injuries in context.” Dr. Fritz’ words held logic, but her tone implied that she knew that they couldn’t. The Wolf had been their torturer, and only their torturer until a day ago. But she still looked to the commander for permission to continue.

“Nothing leaves this room. Prisoner, torturer, or not - this conversation is confidential.” Briggs leaned back in her chair. Elias’ eyes slid to the still rolling tape recorder. His gut instinct wished Wolf - the patient - was here, to make a choice in the matter of his own privacy.

(Who knew how long it had been since he made a choice of his own…)

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Merrill paused her scrawl to meet Harrison’s eyes. They had decoded most of the redacted sections of the other files together (as much as Harrison could help with his mild concussion). Decoding Wolf’s…Harrison wasn’t sure she had finished before starting the copying project. He didn’t blame her if she hadn’t.

“Not sure I can do that right now. Just - stressed.” Thomas said he would stop by after doing his rounds and he hadn’t; it had been hours. What was keeping him?

“Kid, go close your eyes for a few minutes. Or at least check on Wolf - he turned down pain meds earlier and we both know he could use ‘em.” Dan was right. And Harrison was happy to stand and stretch, as much as his body protested.

The bedroom was quiet and dark, blinds drawn but the little blue night light casting its soft glow across the floor. Wolf wasn’t on the bed - as Harrison expected - but the cot was also empty. Looking at the floor, he had moved the pillows from the bed to the carpet and stripped the blankets from the cot to make a slightly worse combination of the both on the ground.

But Harrison wouldn’t deny, the nest Wolf had made looked safe in a way he couldn’t describe.

(Did he really miss sleeping on hard cell floors or did he just miss sleeping next to another warm body?)

Wolf sat up, hair mussed and eyes bloodshot as though he had been crying. The hoarseness to his voice didn’t do the suspicion any favors either. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Dan said you didn’t take your pain meds.” Harrison crouched and handed over the glass of water and pills. Wolf looked at both for a moment before dry swallowing the medication and downing the glass in a few gulps.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Harrison took the empty glass and set it on the nightstand by the bed, still crouching next to Wolf. Who was watching him with…expectation? Anticipation? “Uh, I suppose - I’m supposed to try and get some sleep too. Doctor’s orders.” He chuckled nervously, tilting his head to the closed door in reference to Dan. Wolf nodded seriously, unraveling the blanket nest he had crafted on the floor.

“I understand - here, they’ll be warm for the bed - ”

“Wait I was - ” Would Wolf even want to share his space with anyone? Let alone Harrison, all bony and cold and - fuck it. Wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it? “I wouldn’t mind sleeping down here, if that’s alright.”

Wolf didn’t freeze up, but his hand slowly stopped stripping away the blankets around him. His brow furrowed, unreadable eyes glancing up to Harrison.

“Oh.”

Harrison was suddenly less sure that asking wouldn’t hurt.

“You can say no - I - it’s fine - ”

“No.” Wolf didn’t quite pause, but it was clear the words in his mouth weren’t wholly confident. “No, it’s alright. It’s - it’s a little…cramped.”

“Cozy.” Harrison suggested, carefully shifting to sit at the edge of the nest. “Uh, how - how close are you comfortable being?”

“As close as you need.” Wolf shifted, laying back down and leaving roughly half the nest open. Wolf rolled to his side, his back to Harrison as he carefully curled into the blankets.

(They were warm. Just as Wolf had said they would be.)

Harrison procured a pillow from the upper perimeter of the nest, the neck support a luxury he had sorely missed. He closed his eyes and breathed.

The carpet was a nostalgic kind of dusty, like the guest bedroom at a cousin’s house. The pillow sheet was freshly washed, the cotton clean and dry under his skin. It almost startled him that he recognized the faint smell of sweat and sterile gauze as coming from the body behind him.

(He briefly wondered what Wolf smelled like when he wasn’t injured and exhausted.)

Harrison turned his back to Wolf’s, tucking the blankets around him an under his chin - snug as a bug on a rug, he supposed. He had nearly drifted off when Wolf shifted behind him - closer to Harrison.

He started to doze again, the warmth and safety relaxing whatever fears he had about the future. Harrison leaned back, into that solid warmth, dimly aware Wolf’s meaty shoulder was under his head. It didn’t matter. Right now they were warm, and safe.

And Harrison didn’t survive the bunker by ignoring the little moments of respite and safety. Here he could sleep, for however long the peace lasted.

Which apparently wasn’t long. (Not that he was sure how much time had passed since he fell asleep.)

He woke with a jolt as Wolf’s arm snaked around him and hugged Harrison against his chest. The door squeaked slightly as it finished opening, Merrill’s familiar silhouette above them.

“Thomas is back. He has news.”

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(An AU of my Freelancers series)