Marcus knows his role on his team: he’s the one who carries the gun, makes the hard calls - and takes the hits. He has no time or patience for anyone or anything else. But when Jake - a brand-new recruit Marcus has been tasked with training - messes up on his first mission and gets them both captured, nothing could prepare Marcus for the way his world quickly spirals out of control.
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Masterlist
This is a series. Start here, continued from here.
Levy: (historical) the act of enlisting someone for military service
Contents: comfort, post-rescue, aftermath of torture, bruises, implied mouth whump, past strangulation, head injury, perseveration, memory loss, pain medication, discussion of noncon, trauma reveal, discussion of STDs, medical exam, tagging nsfwhump
~
Jake’s sobbing eased quickly, and Lars was grateful for that. They awkwardly stroked their fingers through Jake’s tangled hair, leaning over him on the bed as he sniffled.
He looked awful. They’d been downplaying his injuries, mostly for Marcus’s benefit. But Marcus had to know, didn’t he? He had to see the bruises on Jake’s face just as clearly as Lars did – the nearly-swollen-shut eye, the layers of purple and red and green around his throat, the chipped front tooth. His most recent injuries couldn’t possibly be his worst ones.
A broken arm was bad, but weeks of strangulations posed a much bigger risk to Jake’s life. Any one of them could have killed him. And each one increased his risk of stroke by… what, 5%? 10%? They couldn’t remember.
They shuddered and put the thought out of their mind. Thinking about that wouldn’t help Jake now.
Jake heaved a shuddering sob in the bed and turned tear-filled eyes on Lars. They bit their lip as they saw how bloodshot his one open eye was. Was that from crying? From screaming? From something else? They trailed their fingers through his hair again and felt, for not the first time today, so very fucking inadequate.
Jake’s lips parted. “Wh-who are you?” he croaked.
“I’m Lars,” they said gently. “A friend of Marcus’s.”
More tears formed in his eyes. “Where is Marcus?”
Lars’s mouth turned down. Might be a side effect of the pain meds. I’ve given him a lot. “He’s getting rid of the transport. Do you remember him bringing you here?”
As Jake squeezed his eyes shut, his tears escaped and rolled down his temples. “It hurts,” he whimpered softly.
“Yeah,” Lars said, reaching for Jake’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ve already given you a lot of pain meds, though, can we try and make it another hour or so before I give you more? If I give you too much… it could be bad. I have my Narcan kit but—”
“They raped me,” Jake breathed.
Lars went rigid. A chill flooded down their back. “…wh-what?” they whispered.
Jake sobbed weakly. “B-Brady and Surles… they raped me. I… I t-tried to fight, but… they always had me cuffed, and… and they hurt me…”
“Oh, fuck.” Lars fumbled for their phone. “And did they… did they make contact with…” They bit down on the stupid question. They pulled up Leena’s contact and shot off a quick text:
[Go to the clinic and ask for Celeste. I need a full STD testing kit. HIV included. I need this fast, please bring it to the house.]
They set down the phone and turned their attention on Jake again. “Hey,” they murmured. “I’m so sorry, Jake. I’m so sorry that happened. I’ll I need to get you tested for STDs to make sure they didn’t give you anything, okay? Is it okay if I do that? I can wait until Marcus gets back, but… we should do this as soon as we can.”
Jake just sobbed. “It hurt,” he wailed. “It… it hurt.”
“I’m sorry.” Tears pricked at their eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Their phone buzzed.
[I told you not to fuck that guy, he’s bad news!!!!]
Lars set their jaw and typed out another text.
[Not for me. For a patient. Please hurry.]
The next text followed seconds later.
[Oh. Oh shit I’m sorry]
Lars tucked their phone away and turned back to Jake. His tears were slowing, his bruised face turned toward Lars. He looked dazed.
He’s been through a lot today. He’s earned that.
He’s been through a lot in the past six weeks.
Lars wet their lips. “Is it okay if we do that testing?” they said softly.
“Wh-who are you?” Jake whimpered.
Dread gripped Lars deep in their ribcage.
“Oh, shit,” they breathed. “I’m Lars,” they said. “A friend of… of Marcus’s. He had to step out—”
“Where is Marcus?” Jake said, fogged eyes glancing slowly around the room.
Oh, no. Oh, shit.
Lars reached for their penlight and clicked it on. “He’s dropping off the transport,” they said. “He brought you here in a transport, do you remember that?” They shined the light into Jake’s pupils. They had to pry Jake’s swollen eyelid open to get his left eye. Both pupils looked normal.
So, a bad concussion, but probably not gonna die on me.
Jake whimpered softly. “It hurts.”
“I know,” Lars said with a dry mouth. “I’m sorry.”
The tears began again, and Lars knew what Jake was going to say. They braced. He opened his mouth.
“They raped me.”
Lars squeezed their eyes shut. “Y-yeah, Jake,” they said. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got a testing kit on the way, okay? Gonna swab you and test your blood. Is it okay if I do that? Make sure you don’t have an STD? I’m… I’m a-assuming they didn’t wear protection?”
“No,” Jake sobbed. “N-no, they… they didn’t use condoms. They raped me, just…” He let out a horrible, bleating moan and shoved a fist against his mouth. “Just like they did to Marcus.”
Lars gasped. “No, no, Jake, shh…” They smoothed their fingers through his hair, hand shaking with the panic of just having heard something they knew they were never supposed to know. “Jake, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay…”
“They hurt me,” he whimpered.
“I know, I know, I…” Lars cast a glance at the door, as if half-expecting to see Marcus standing there. “Fuck.”
Jake’s hitching sobs slowed and quieted under Lars’s touch. He almost seemed to be falling asleep. Lars sagged with relief – and that relief was crushed when Jake opened fogged, confused eyes and stared up at him again.
“Wh-who are you?” he croaked.
Lars hung their head. “I’m… I’m Lars, Jake,” they said flatly. “And Marcus is—”
“Where is Marcus?”
Lars forced themself to answer that question. They forced themself to answer each sobbed plea that came after it. They leapt to their feet when there was a knock on the door thirty minutes later, heart leaping in their chest, torn between relief and dread.
It was only Leena at the door with the STD kit. They offered no explanation, just took the kit and shut the door again. They could hear Jake sobbing, all the way from the bedroom.
Continued here
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Or AI-less Whumptober #20: Enemy/Stranger to Caretaker
Captivity, past trauma, past abuse, past strangulation, implied past noncon, implied threat of murder
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“You’re a right mess.”
Clay called her Betty. Liza didn’t know if that was her real name. Part of her doubted it was. She was dark and short and broadly built but well figured, the kind of woman of the night Liza would see her father invite home after her mother died.
“C’mon love, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Liza sobbed when Betty pulled her up from the bed sheets, blood and worse gone tacky. Betty didn’t shy away from it, her clean, soft hands unfazed by the filth coating Liza’s skin from days and nights of abuse. Liza tried to pull her arm away with another sob, but Betty didn’t relent. She instead harshly tossed Liza from the bed, expression tinged indignant.
“Love, listen to me.” Liza stared up, eyes red rimmed from crying and bloodshot from the alcohol Clay had forced down her throat. “I’m here to clean you up and make you presentable. Mr. Clay knows I will do my best. But you need to let me, because he will know if you don’t. Understand?”
Liza stared at Betty, fresh tears welling in her eyes.
“Please…” She begged, voice hoarse. (From screaming. From silently crying. From his hands wrapped too tight around her throat in a blind ecstasy when he - ) “Please - I - I can’t - I can’t - ”
“You already have, love. You can. And you will.” There was a softness in Betty’s eyes Liza didn’t expect when the woman crouched in front of her. “Do you want to live?”
Liza was so startled by the question she didn’t answer, pathetic sobs dying in confusion.
“Do you want to live, Liza?”
“…yes.” She did. Just not here. Anywhere but here. “But - ”
“You live on Mr. Clay’s terms right now. Or you will die on his terms. Do you understand?”
Liza shook her head, trembling. Couldn’t Betty see her? Her bruises and blood and tangled hair and unwashed skin?
“I - he - you don’t understand what he did - what he does to me - I can’t - ”
“He called me here to clean you up. He told me what to expect. I understand. And I also understand that if you want to stay alive, you need to stay useful and agreeable to his every whim.” Betty stood, stalking towards the bathroom and starting the shower. When she returned, she offered Liza a hand. “Last time I’ll ask, love. Do you want to live?”
Liza stared at Betty’s manicured fingers, hands stained with her blood. She took Betty’s hand, crawling to her feet even as her legs trembled in pain and weakness.
“Good girl. Let’s take it slow, one step at a time.”
