#peacemaker tv

It turns out that the superhumans value life enough to let you hang onto yours, but not so much that they’re not willing to play with it as a form of punishment for you. They have a variety of weapons— and a variety of powers— and you get to witness so many of them in action, in ways you wish you never had, in ways you wish you could forget, in ways that will scar you for the rest of your life— which might not be that long, depending.

You endure sonic shrieks that make your ears ring and your head throb and your nose bleed. You’re tied to a chair, and have been this entire time, unable to move; your body aches horribly, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to get out of this position. You know both kneecaps are broken; one swing from a superhuman with super-strength had shattered them both. Even if you could break the silver, impenetrable ropes keeping you bound to the uncomfortable wooden chair, you wouldn’t be able to walk anywhere. You probably wouldn’t even be able to crawl by this point.

Burns from a super with pyrokinesis; lightning-bolt marks electrocuted through you by a super with electrokinesis; constantly soaked-through and shivering in this tiny shed they keep you in, because a weather-manipulating super has it storming constantly in here, no reprieve from the cold rain that pelts you at all times.

Occasionally, you manage to slip into sleep and get a break from it all— but it always comes roaring back when they wake you up again. They seem to enjoy having someone to test their superpowered weapons on; you don’t know how many knife blades they’ve brought to you by this point, testing on every inch of available skin. There’s a bullet festering in your shoulder made of alien material; that’s all you’d been able to find out before they’d experimented with it by firing it on you. You’d barely been able to feel the ball-ended whips they’d tested on you afterwards, you’d been so focused on not throwing up and passing out.

Now, after a week of this, you’d love nothing more than to just pass out and stay that way. You’re exhausted, you’re in so much pain you feel like you’ve moved onto another level of existence just to handle it, and you’re starting to wonder if the team’s coming for you— if they even can.

You feel a sense of panic at the thought of them being captured, too— of John, and Leota, and Emilia, and Chris, and— and Adrian—

You especially can’t think of Adrian in another tiny shed like this, being subjected to the same treatment you’ve been subjected to for the last seven days. At least, you think it’s been seven days; it’s getting harder and harder to keep track, and you think you’re losing time.

Blinking, you know you’ve just lost it again. It’s the strange feeling of slipping sideways, and you just know you’re coming in and out.

You just wish you could feel any relief in the moments you’re out. You barely remember them or notice them anymore.

In the distance— you don’t know when, or where, or why, but you feel a rumble.

Your brain foggily tries to tell you that this is something different, but your body is reacting instinctively. Every time there’s been a noise in the last week, the door has opened into your shed, and you’ve been hurt. Your body is still trying to protect itself, even after everything, and you cry out at the pain that jolts through you as a result.

Outside there’s the sound of gunfire, then shouting.

And you think you recognize a couple of the voices.

Not as belonging to people here, but as belonging to your people. You think you can hear the Kids— Emilia shouting instructions, Chris calling back to her— it’s them—

But—

This could be another trap. Another method of torture. You’d been wondering when they’d move on from physical torment to mental; it was only a matter of time before some superhuman with illusion magic, or manipulation abilities, or— or any number of horrors you could easily come up with, after the week you’ve had— before they decided to break your brain as well as your body.

Despite this fear, your heart still lurches into your throat when you hear Adrian in a shout of, “Not here!”

If he isn’t real, you’ve got nothing to lose. You’ll be hurt anyways; you’ll probably die here.

If he is real—

“Here,” you whisper, licking at your dry lips, cracked beneath your tongue. You can’t manage to get your voice very loud at first, your throat aching as you try again, “Here, I’m— I’m here—” You cough, then shout, crackling but louder, “I’m here!”

There’s more gunfire outside, then Leota shouting, “I hear something!”

Your eyes fill up with tears. You don’t stop, making yourself keep shouting, “Here, I’m here, please, I’m right here, please, I’m here,” on an endless, begging loop, louder and more frantic with each pass, until the door is crashing in. You flinch; every time that door has banged in, it’s been followed by pain.

This time, though, Leota and Chris are rushing through the doorway into the rain, and you sob with relief. In better circumstances, you might be embarrassed, but you have been hurt and drained and broken; you can’t hold back your relief at seeing them, hallucinations or not.

“You guys came,” you gasp out.

“Of course we did,” Leota says, coming to crouch beside you. She can’t stop looking you over with this horrified expression on her face; she looks back at Chris, asks, “What do we do?”

“Well, we can’t just— pick up the whole chair, we have to get (Y/N) out of it first,” Chris points out.

“But—” Leota starts, then stops. You can hear the unspoken words; you look like you’re about to fall apart, a beaten, wet mess held up by the ties keeping you attached to the chair.

Together, with knives Leota pulls from her belt, they work at sawing through the ropes binding you. You let your head drop; relief is flooding your system as you start to believe they’re real, their touch on you actually having weight and feeling, and exhaustion is seizing you.

“Hey, stay up,” Chris warns you. Into his communicator, he tells the rest of the time, “We’ve got (Y/N). Location is—”

“I’m on my way,” Adrian’s voice crackles through.

Your chest tightens hearing him. You’ve missed him so much; thoughts of him were one of the only things that got you through this. You’ve only officially been together exclusively for a couple of months, and you’ve still been keeping it a secret from the rest of the team.

You wonder how Adrian has been handling your absence. If the roles were reversed, you’re sure you’d be a wreck, determined to get him back, wouldn’t rest until you had.

When Adrian spills through the doorway, you know he’s felt the exact same as you would have.

Even with his entire body covered— face included, the prescription Vigilante visor shining red and getting speckled with rainwater— you can tell how destroyed he is about this from the tense lines of his body, the way he freezes when he first comes in, and then—

And then, him sprinting to you, sliding to his knees in front of you, grasping your face between his gloved hands. You flinch at the pain, and his hands leave; you beg him, “No, come back,” and he’s cradling you again, shifting upwards as the ropes are finally cut and you can sag into him.

“I’m so sorry,” Adrian babbles in your ear, desperate, words rushing together. He rips his helmet off in an uncharacteristic move, but it’s exactly what you need: to see his face, to meet his eyes, to see his red-flushed skin and his terror and him, to know he’s real. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I should’ve gotten here sooner, oh— Oh, shit, you look so bad, I’m so sorry, I’m— I’m gonna fix it, okay?”

You nod blearily against his shoulder. He lifts you up again, nudging you back so he can evaluate your face between his cupped hands again. The gloves are rough on your bruised skin, but you’re so happy he’s here, you just smile dazedly up at him.

“Thank you for coming,” you mumble upwards. “Love you.”

Adrian’s eyes widen, eyebrows lifting. “What? You— Wait— Sorry, wh—”

“I told myself I’d say it if I saw you again,” you tell him. Your blinks are getting longer, slower; you wish you weren’t in this rain anymore. “So, I am. I love you.”

It only takes a second for this to process through Adrian before he’s grinning. It’s a strange expression on his face, the simultaneous horror and elation, but you can see both there in spades.

“I love you, too,” he replies in a rush. “I love you so much, I’ve loved you since I met you, it’s been torture not telling you— Oh, shit, I shouldn’t be saying that, that’s insensitive as fuck—”

You huff a laugh that has him stopping, looking down to your mouth then back up to your eyes before he ducks in, pressing a gentle kiss there, careful with you.

It’s real. He’s real. This is real.

“What the fuck?” Chris demands from beside them.

“Is this really happening?” Leota asks. “Should I be stopping him? Is he taking advantage of—”

“I kinda think they’re into it,” Chris comments.

Your kiss breaks, and you loll against Adrian again, barely able to keep yourself upright. Everything is pain; you look up to Adrian, tell him, “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” he demands. “What sorry? What the fuck could you possibly be sorry for?”

“The secret,” you remind him. “Now they’ll know.”

His face is flushing from pink right into red when he tells  you, “I want them to know. Just— Not the bad guys.”

You smile, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “Love you.”

He kisses the top of your head, then moves to scoop you up. You hiss at the pain in your knees, your ribs, your head, your everything, and he kisses your cheek again, telling you, “I got you. I know it hurts, we’re gonna fix it all up, don’t you worry.”

“We are talking about this later,” Chris informs you and Adrian firmly. “Once you’re, you know— in one piece again.”

“Mmkay,” you agree, eyes closing. “Wake me up then.”