#std testing

Marcus did feel a little guilty about the cornfield. But ditching it anywhere in the town risked being caught on camera, and he simply could not risk that. Maybe the farmer would get a good settlement from the trillionaire asshole who slapped his name on the stupid fucking transports with their stupid fucking timebomb batteries. A quiet settlement would probably be a better outcome than having it plastered over the news that yet another one caught fire and couldn’t be put out for days.

Again.

The train ride back had gone off without a hitch, too. Marcus had jogged from the train station to Lars’s house – a route he knew intimately now, after spending weeks wandering this town with nothing better to do than waste time waiting for his shoulder to heal. The jog took about thirty minutes, and the train ride had taken an hour. This whole thing had taken only three hours, all told.

Plenty of time for AMTEC to find Lars’s house, find Jake, and shoot him to death where he lay.

Plenty of time for Jake to die of his injuries, if Lars had missed something – or if Marcus had simply been too late in getting him to them.

His shirt was entirely soaked through as he rounded the corner onto Lars’s street. He began to sprint as he saw Lars’s house. Nothing seemed amiss; the door was still in its frame, the lights on, no strange vehicles on the street. The place looked as normal as it had yesterday.

Things had looked mostly normal at the train station, too.

Marcus ran up Lars’s driveway and tried to open the front door. Frustration and relief both crashed through him as the handle refused to turn. He banged on the door.

“It’s me,” he called.

After a few seconds, the lock scraped, and the door opened. Lars stood in the doorway, looking like they’d seen a ghost.

Marcus paled. “No.” The word left him like air after someone’s been punched. He stepped over the threshold. Lars moved in front of him.

“Marcus, wait,” they said urgently. “He’s okay, he’s alive, but—”

“Let me see him,” Marcus said. His hands shook. His flesh-and-blood arm ached – and he knew it was because he needed to be holding Jake.

“You can, I just think we should talk first,” Lars said. They stepped in front of him again.

Desperation, clean and strong, surged through Marcus’s body. He shoved Lars out of his way, pinning them against the wall so hard they grunted. Their head cracked against the plaster. He brushed past them and went to Jake’s room. Dread churned in his stomach. He prepared himself for blood.

He prepared himself for a missing limb.

The Jake he found still had all his limbs, and had no more blood on him than when Marcus left. He looked so small in the bed, all gangly six-foot-two of him. He raised his gaze to Marcus when he came in, but his eyes didn’t focus. Marcus went to his knees beside the bed and cradled Jake’s head. The swelling around his eye had gone down a little bit, but the bruising on his face was even worse.

“Hey, Jake,” he said softly. “I’m back. You’re okay.”

Jake stared at Marcus, lips forming silent words for an uncomfortably long time.

“M-Marcus,” he finally croaked.

“Yeah, Jake,” Marcus said, lifting Jake’s fingers to his lips and kissing them. “Told you I’d come back, right?” He felt the air change as Lars came into the room behind him. His hackles rose, but he didn’t tear his gaze from Jake.

“P-please don’t leave,” Jake said, his voice raw, like he’d been crying for hours.

“Not planning on it,” Marcus said. “I’m all yours. Except for bathroom breaks, I don’t have to leave you again, okay?”

“It hurts,” Jake sobbed. Tears ran from his eyes and down his temples, pooling in his ears.

Marcus lifted his head, still not looking away from Jake. “Hey, do you think he could get more of that—”

“Th-they raped me,” were the next words out of Jake’s mouth.

Agony blazed through Marcus from skull to spine. His fingers locked hard on Jake’s hand. He was frozen in place; he couldn’t have moved if he tried. But he shouldn’t be touching Jake, he… he tried to kill Jake, after Jake touched him when he was like this. After Jake knew.

He couldn’t make himself let go. He couldn’t force his fingers to release. “They…” he croaked.

Jake began to sob. “B-Brady and Surles,” he said. “They raped me, it… it hurt.”

Marcus was shaking. He could feel the room spinning around him, could feel the air freezing in his lungs, but he couldn’t do a thing to make it all stop. He swallowed. The air got caught halfway down.

“I-I… I begged them to stop,” Jake whimpered in a broken voice. “I couldn’t make them stop.”

There was a knife in his chest, and every word was twisting it harder. “Jake…”

Jake wailed softly, rolling closer to Marcus as he shook apart. Marcus froze for a moment; he shouldn’t touch Jake. The knowledge felt base-level, as simple as his own name.

Like an even deeper reflex, Marcus’s arms moved on their own. He gathered Jake close and held him against his chest. Jake’s tears wet his shirt. Marcus felt the echo of disgust, as if he was borrowing something he thought Jake should have. Jake only pulled him closer.

“I… I wanted to warn you,” Lars said timidly from the doorway.

Marcus was beyond words. He felt their absence, practically heard the crackling, vicious snap of words that he would have thrown back at them if he was able. He couldn’t even form them in his mind. All he heard and felt was screaming horror. He held Jake tight and rocked him – more instinct, motions he didn’t care to question or stop – eyes wide with grief and guilt as he stared at the wall.

“M-Marcus,” Jake whimpered as his fingers gripped Marcus’s shirt. “Marcus.”

Marcus swallowed hard. “Hmm,” he croaked out, just to show Jake he was there.

Slowly, Jake’s sobs eased. Marcus laid him back down on the bed and stroked his fingers through Jake’s sweaty, tangled hair. Jake raised fogged eyes to Marcus’s once more. He felt his heart crack in his chest.

“Marcus,” Jake murmured.

“Here,” Marcus said flatly.

“Please don’t leave,” Jake whispered.

Marcus shook his head. “Already said.” His fingers gently traced Jake’s brow, his nose, his chin. “Not going anywhere.”

“It hurts,” Jake said softly.

Marcus’s nostrils flared. “I know,” he said, turning to Lars. “Can he please get—”

Lars was staring at them both in horror.

“They raped me,” Jake said, in that same broken voice as before.

Marcus turned back to Jake and watched him devolve into sobs once again. His heart thundered in his chest. “Wh-why is he doing that?” he breathed.

Lars stepped fully into the room, hands tucked into their armpits. “He’s perseverating,” they said, mouth drawn. “Asking repetitive questions, saying repetitive things. It’s a sign of head injury. He’s got… a pretty bad concussion.”

Marcus stared at Jake with dread tingling in his chest. “How long… has he been like this?”

“Since a few minutes after you left.” Lars’s voice sounded dry and dead.

Tears pricked at Marcus’s eyes. “And how long…?”

“Hard to say,” Lars said weakly. “Maybe a few hours. Maybe a few days. There isn’t much to do but monitor him. He can sleep; not letting them sleep is a myth. Sleeping might be good for him, actually.”

Jake was already beginning to settle again. “Wh-what else did he tell you?” Marcus said. The tears in his eyes fell down his cheeks.

“Pretty much just that,” Lars said. “‘Who are you?’ ‘Where is Marcus?’ ‘It hurts.’ ‘They raped me.’ And then talked about the rape a bit, sometimes. Just that, over and over again for three hours. So.” They shrugged and rubbed the back of their head.

Marcus’s brows twitched together. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “For… for hurting you.”

“It’s fine, dude,” Lars said. “I shouldn’t have stopped you. Now we should, um…” They stared at the floor, arms crossing across their chest. “We really should… test him for… well. Everything. I already pulled some blood and sent that to the clinic under a false name. But the other stuff…” They chewed their lip. “It’s… a swab, around and just slightly in his, um… his anus. But I didn’t want to… to do that, until you got back.”

More static in Marcus’s brain. It was hard to think.

Lars spread their hands. “It’s important, Marcus,” they said heavily.

Marcus blinked. “Yeah.” His mouth was so dry. He stood, only for long enough to kick off his boots.

“M-Marcus?” Jake breathed.

Marcus was shaking as he climbed into bed beside Jake and smoothed his fingers through Jake’s hair. “Hey, Jake. We… just need to get a quick swab, okay? Just a quick swab, to see if you caught anything. It’ll be fast.” His eyes flicked to Lars. “Right?”

They were already putting on gloves. “It’ll be fast,” they said, unwrapping what looked like a long q-tip. They knelt beside the bed, on Jake’s other side. “Jake, could we – could Marcus – pull your pants down for just a second? Just for long enough for me to swab you? Just a little pressure around your anus, and then I’ll be done.”

Jake looked at Marcus, his eyes huge and trusting. Marcus’s throat swelled as Jake nodded weakly. Marcus drew the blanket back and, with one hand, carefully eased Jake’s sweatpants down off his hips.

He didn’t mean to look. He didn’t. But his eyes landed on the bruises that marked Jake’s hipbones. He saw the clear shape of each finger that had gripped Jake, the deep blue color that meant the bruises were only a few days old.

Marcus gasped softly and pressed his face into Jake’s temple. Jake turned his head, whimpering softly, and ground his forehead against Marcus’s.

“Just bend your knees up for me?” Lars murmured.

“I gotcha,” Marcus said. He cradled Jake tightly. “It’s okay.”

Jake’s breath caught. His fingers tightened in Marcus’s shirt.

“I gotcha.” It was a promise, and a plea. “I gotcha.”

“And we’re done,” Lars said, snapping the swab off into a specimen tube.

Marcus tugged Jake’s pants back up and covered them both with the blanket. Jake rolled onto his side, burying his face in Marcus’s neck.

Lars finished prepping the swap and stripped off their gloves. “I can… leave you two alone, if you want,” they said. They headed for the door.

“Marcus?” Jake whimpered in Marcus’s arms.

“Lars,” Marcus said roughly. They paused. “I… I really am sorry. And grateful. He’d be dead… we’d both be dead, if not for you. And…” He dashed tears from his eyes. “He’s… he’s my…” His throat threatened to close.

“Yeah,” Lars said. “He’s yours. I get it. And for the record… he cares about you, too. Head injuries can make people act weird, but… this isn’t that. He loves you. More than life. Hope you know that.” They turned without another word and stalked out of the room.

Marcus’s chest ached as Jake trembled in his arms. “Marcus,” he whispered. “Please don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” he said, trailing his metal fingers across Jake’s forehead. His sweaty shirt clung to his skin, but he didn’t care. “I’m not going anywhere, Jake.”

“It hurts.”

“I know. I know it does, Jake. But I’m here. I gotcha.”

A sob. “They r-raped me.”

“I know.” A kiss into Jake’s hair. “I know, Jake.” A kiss against his forehead. “I’m so… fuck, I’m sorry.”

“They raped me, Marcus, th-they cuffed me and… I s-screamed…”

Marcus shuddered as a sob of his own broke through him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have come for you sooner. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Jake.”

“I wanted you to come for me. Even when I thought you w-were… dead.” Jake’s grip was so weak on his shirt.

Marcus thought he might break apart from shame. “I’m here now,” he offered pathetically.

Jake sobbed against his chest. “Marcus,” he whimpered. “Marcus, Marcus, Marcus.”

“I’m here,” Marcus said. “I’m here.”

“Marcus,” Jake sobbed. “Please don’t leave.”

Marcus gritted his teeth against the pain and prepared himself for another onslaught. “I won’t, Jake. I promise. I swear, Jake, you have me. Feel me, yeah? Not going anywhere.”

“It hurts,” Jake whimpered.

“Yeah, Jake.” More tears burned in Marcus’s eyes. “I know.”

Continued here

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