I've had a bad work week, and take it out on the characters. Thanks to @hackles-up for letting me borrow big, strong, scary, sad B and writing this with me.
[Dany's Story]; set after Ridley's death.
Content / warnings: noncon (fade to black), living weapon, conditioned / brainwashed whumpee falling back into conditioning, noncon between survivors, betrayal, blood, a tiny touch of gore, abuse of power. This is a dark one.
"Are you alone, Madam?"
The policeman's pale green eyes take me in, and from the way his teeth play with his lip, I can tell he likes what he sees, even in the dim light of the flickering streetlight at the edge of the parking lot, even with my body hidden away in a man's clothes.
"This isn't a safe area for a pretty, young woman as yourself," he observes, almost thoughtful. "Many shady figures around." I know, I think. That's why I'm here. Why we are here. But if the cop sees B, he'll consider him exactly the sort of dangerous figure he's warning me about. And I can't let that happen.
It feels almost sickening to smile in return. But it's been my only chance, my only option, so often, that he doesn't notice my disgust as I slip on my softest, most helpless smile.
"Oh. I promise, I'll watch out, Sir."
Sir. The word falls from my lips easily but it leaves a pain in my stomach so physical, the man actually seems to notice.
"Show me your wrists," he says, his voice significantly cooler.
I obey. Offer both my hands to him, wrists facing up, so he can see the blank skin where he likely suspected a bar code.
He sees something else of interest though.
"Huh." His voice softens again, while his grip on my wrists gets harder. His thumb runs over the deep scars crossing my palm, sending shivers down my spine. "You're not a pet, but you've got something to run away from, too, don't you, sweets?"
He pulls me in a little closer.
"Please," I whisper, unable to tell if my despair is an act any longer. "I can't go back."
The cop steps in, his hands still clasped around my wrists.
"You're a pretty girl," he mumbles."Maybe we can help each other out." Slowly he guides my wrist down between our bodies, places my hand on the bulge in his pants.
I swallow. B is somewhere in the park, waiting for me. But I can make this quick. Nobody needs to worry. The cop doesn't know who I am. He wants a quick fuck, maybe even only that hand job he's implying. I hate sex. But I'm fucking efficient at it.
So I nod, shyly enough to make it feel like a triumph for him. "Yes, Sir, please, I -"
A huge figure slams into the cop, a solid mass of muscle and fury.
B.
The cop's hands are still gripping mine when he goes down under B's impact, and he yanks me down along with them.
I fall half onto his body, half onto the pavement, and before I can fully grasp what's happening, B straddles the cop, his fists are raining down on him, inches from my face, an unstoppable brutal hailstorm of punches, breaking bones and tearing up skin.
He doesn't hear me. He's in some sort of tunnel. I struggle to my knees, try to find an opening to rest a hand on his shoulder, calm him down.
His forearm catches me square on the chest and throws me back, meters away. The world fades out for what could've only been seconds, but when I look back at the scene, the cop isn't moving any longer.
B is over him, holding a gun, his chin and shirt dripping with blood, titanium teeth flashing in the moonlight. The cops throat is shredded open in a bloody mess.
I feel like I'm passing out again. This can't be real. This can't be true. We're on the run. We're hiding. And now, we've killed a cop. No. Not killed. Slaughtered.
Bile is rising in my throat. I press my hand to my mouth. Fuck. Fuck. We need to keep cool. Whatever happened, we can't get caught. I didn't lie to the cop. I can't go back.
I stumble towards B. "B," I call. "B, we need to leave."
He slowly gets up from the shredded corpse, panting, wipes his stained hands on his pants.
A crackle of radio static and chatter explodes from the belt of the man, and the seems to snap B back to me.
He lunges forward, seizes my hand and bolts forward in the trees, towards the forest.
I struggle keeping up his pace. His hold of me makes tears well up in my eyes. We're together. It's us against the world. We can do it. He's got us. I just hope he won't murder anyone else today.
"Where are we going?"
He doesn't reply, just looks around to take in the surrounding, me. With a scowl, he leans in to scoop me up into his arms, holding me to his chest before he continues to run.
He's still not talking. I can feel his heart drumming under his blood soaked shirt, strong and steady, even as he's racing with my weight in his arms.
The cop's blood is everywhere. When he finally comes to a stop, most has dried, on both of us. I can taste it on my lips, metal and death.
B is still holding me tight, hugging me, his hands roaming over me. His body is shaking. I put a hand on his chest. "Let me down, B. Fuck. We killed a cop. We need to make a plan."
B rumbles through his chest, almost like he's ready to talk finally.
But he does not let me down.
Instead, his bloody lips lower to my neck. He's kissing my skin, nipping at my throat, softly, loving, reverently. His teeth are on my skin, those same teeth that just ripped a man's trachea open. My heart is racing, suddenly. He won't hurt me, I tell myself. He won't. He loves me.
"B," I breathe, trying not to move to much under his sharp teeth. "B, listen to me. I don't want this. Let me down. Now."
B's hold around me only tightens, his breath quickened, faster than it has been during all his running.
A hand grabs at my shirt, Ridley's fucking stupid band shirt, and B rips at it. The shirt doesn't tear though, his pull just yanks up my neck by the shirts collar and gets me closer to his caressing teeth. B's eyes have darkened. Fuck. Fuck.
"B. B. No." I reach down for the shirt's seam myself, pull it up, desperate to give him what he wants, without him accidentally hurting me. "Here. Babe. It's okay. I'm good. Let me down."
The roughened pads of his fingers run over my skin. He has to feel my racing pulse. "Shhh...", he mumbles. "No, you're mine.... You're mine."
He lowers me to the ground, but before I can struggle to get to my feet, his weight follows, and he's over me, on me, kissing me, groping at my breasts, moaning softly.
I struggle to at least lift my hands, bring them to his chest, push him back.
"No," I say, try to stick my words between his bloody kisses. His metal teeth clink against mine in a harrowing noise that echoes in my head. "Please, please, no, B, I don't want this."
"Shhh." B's hands are over my breasts, playing with them in a way that I used to love once, in a way that Ridley never did, that was special, that was ours, but his touch is nauseating now.
"I love you, B, please, stop."
I feel him harden against me, untouched by anything I said.
B grunts and reaches around my waist. I let him.
I'm crying, I realize dimly, tears running freely down my face, falling down to the forest floor when he easily flips me onto my stomach.
He kisses the back of my back, mumbling into my skin. "I love you... that's my girl... You're all mine, see?"
It's his voice talking, his deep, soft voice, but the words are Ridley's, harsh and possessive.
My girl.
"You're hurting me." I'm begging now, between desperate sobs. I love him. He loves me. Why can't he understand, this is not what love looks like?
His weight on my back is brutal, yet his kisses are still soft. Still him.
No. It's both him.
He'll take me. Against my will. I know it. There's nothing I can do. Because that's who they made him to be, who Ridley made him to be.
Even after his death, I'm losing to Ridley over and over again.
I close my eyes, press my forehead into the dirt, as I feel B's hand shift to work his pants, then mine.
"I love you," I whisper, and offer one last plea. "Please. Please be gentle."
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: referenced nonconsensual tattooing, noncon, pet whump, starvation, emeto, medical whump, degradation, humiliation, mentions of training in a torture environment, 18+, dead dove do not eat, this is a really rough one so mind the warnings
***
Traditionally, the victim would be questioned by OSI agents. However, these are special circumstances. General Liam Keizer has been given a list of questions and will question the victim at the OSI office with an OSI agent in the room to supervise.
Marlow’s heart is beating out of her chest, and she knows this is only going to get harder. Liam just finished asking her the most basic questions, so it’s time to move on. She was transported to the secure OSI office via an ambulance, transferred to a wheelchair, and taken to the interrogation room with her heart monitor and oxygen and all her IVs. She’s grateful that Liam is the one doing this…even though the female OSI agent in the corner seems terrifying.
“Okay, Marlow. Ready to start?” At her nod, Liam flips to the next page in the packet given to him by OSI. “While you were held hostage at Hunter Bianchi’s manor, how were you dressed?”
“I was not,” Marlow responds. Just breathe. Hunter is in jail, not standing behind her. “I was kept fully nude, unless Hunter wanted me dressed in a sexual costume for a party, and that was torn off quickly. I was even naked when he had me go outside into his backyard, regardless of the weather.”
“Okay.” Liam checks the notes, then asks his next question. The whole interrogation is being recorded by multiple cameras, so he doesn’t need to write down her responses. “Tell me about how you were fed.”
Fuck, this is getting harder. She’s humiliated to say this, she lowers her head and feels her face heat up, trying to hide behind her oxygen cannula. “I wasn’t fed often. Hunter liked skinny girls because he said I looked younger and it made me more beautiful when I was hurt. He had dog bowls for me, one with water and the other…he fed me dog food. Literal…dog food. Sometimes the hard kind, sometimes the mushy kind from the can. Occasionally, he’d hand feed me small amounts of people food at parties to show his guests I would eat out of his hand.”
“And did you do it?” Liam asks, his voice suddenly cold. That question didn’t come from the sheet.
Marlow picks at her hospital bracelet, but remembers what Bruno told her. You did what you needed to come home to us, and there’s nothing wrong about that, kiddo. She straightens up, looking right at Liam. “Yes. When Hunter Bianchi offered me real food from his hand, I ate it. I was starving to death and anything helped keep me alive.”
His gaze softens, and he turns back to the list. “Were you ever restrained?”
A million memories flood her once, and Marlow takes a deep breath to calm herself down. Her answers will help Hunter rot in jail forever. “Yes, I was restrained at least once daily in a variety of ways. There was a dog cage I was often kept in, especially while Hunter was at work. He also had sexual restraints, like BDSM devices and metal poles used to force my body into certain positions. There were leather things like cuffs and armbinders, and spreader bars, handcuffs, and just a lot of rope. He sometimes didn’t want to restrain my hands though, so he found another way to keep them out of the way while binding my legs or breasts.”
Liam is doing a remarkable job not showing any emotion. He told her before this that he’d need to seem impassive, but he’d be sure to hug her and love her when today was over. “What do you mean when you say that?”
She still feels the pain in her knuckles, her joints, feels it every day when she tries to even move her hands. “When he didn’t want to use physical restraints on my hands, he would take a hammer or baseball bat or crowbar and shatter my hands. This was done…” She can still feel the blows as if they happened yesterday. No matter how many surgeries she has, her hands will always be warped. “More than ten times throughout my captivity.”
Liam pauses, opening his mouth, but when the OSI agent shakes her head at him, he sighs and looks at the next question. “A bloody metal dog cage was found in the basement. Here’s a picture.” He slides it across the table and Marlow wants to vomit…so she does. She grabs the bag next to her and throws up, gagging and wiping her mouth. Liam winces, but asks his question anyway. “Were you kept in this cage, and if so, what was the longest duration you spent in it? As many details about the cage as possible.”
The cage. She could never forget the cage. It used to feel like a safe space, but now…she’s shaking so bad, her heart monitor going wild. “The longest I was in there was eighty straight hours. He left me there on a work trip. The cage was also used in videos to start or end a scene, and if he wanted me to sleep in his bedroom instead of the pet room, I’d be in the cage up there. Also if he had a work meeting in his study, I’d be kept in the cage for viewing pleasure until Hunter took me out to service them.”
Liam is starting to look nauseous, his eyes scanning the heart monitor. He pulls the cage picture back, folding his hands on the table. “Just a few more questions and we can call it for the day.” When the OSI agent tries to protest, Liam snaps, “My goddaughter needs to go back to the hospital with her competent team of nurses and doctors so they can reduce her pain and make sure her body doesn’t fail. We are doing three more questions and then we are done.” He turns back to Marlow, smiling at her. “Let’s continue. How frequently were you raped by Hunter Bianchi?”
Stick to the facts, focus on the numbers. She pulls the emotions out of it, takes away her screams and cries as she was defiled and humiliated. “I was raped by Hunter Bianchi at least once every day. He sold me to other men at least five times a week, and at his weekly parties, I could expect to be raped more than thirty times, depending on how extensive the guest list was.”
“Did he start with the clients and the parties from the beginning of your captivity?”
Marlow shakes her head. This question is much easier to answer. “The first party was a week after I arrived. It took two months for him to start sending me to clients. He wanted an opportunity to train me and ensure I wouldn’t bite. I fought hard, General Keizer. I made it really hard for them for as long as I could. Until…” She stares at her hands, chewing on her inner lip. “He raped me so hard my pelvis cracked. That was when I started to comply with the training.”
“And this training…” Liam wipes his eyes, but his voice is firm and authoritative. He has to be her general here, nothing else. “Please briefly explain what this training would entail.”
“He would do it when he was working from home. He had a dildo mounted on the wall, and above it was a clicker. I had to hit the clicker and deepthroat the cock one hundred times.” She can’t stop shaking. The room is closing in on her and she’s reliving all those awful days as she speaks. “He had a fucking machine. I would be strapped in for an hour. Then he would force me to...myself... on camera to the point of overstimulation. Then we’d practice positions and commands he wanted me to learn, and then I was made to take preventative punishments, normally just the wooden paddle on me. And then puppy training…where I’d act like a dog and have to fetch.” She grabs the bag and throws up again, her skin pale. She’s shutting down, going into a dark place of her mind that no one can save her from, and Liam notices.
He shuts his folder, standing up. “Okay, we’re done. Tell EMS to pull to the entrance of the building and be ready with a full oxygen mask and the EKG machine.”
Just as he’s about to grab Marlow’s wheelchair, the female OSI agent pushes him out of the way and throws a picture on the table in front of Marlow. “Tell me about this,” she snaps, and Marlow’s world falls apart.
She recognizes herself in the picture, although she doesn’t remember it being taken. The flash is on, making her pale body stand out against the dark wood and the puddle of blood she’s lying in. Her brown hair is in a tangle around her head and a litany of bruises and cuts cover her body, her face half hidden by her arm. There are new wounds over old wounds, indented scars and raised scars all on a stick thin body, so small and twisted that she doesn’t look human. Come and blood smear around her mouth and between her thighs, a few drops of come on her shoulders. There’s a muzzle on her face and shackles on her ankles, but the main focus falls on her back area. She has whip marks, so many whip marks both old and new, but there’s something far darker than that. A tattoo, bold black letters written across her back. A reminder that she will never escape from. A reminder of who she was to Hunter, to Kovacevic, and to most men who look at her.
Dog.
It’s tattooed on her back and she’s tried her absolute hardest to hide it from the team, but she’s seeing it and Liam is seeing it and the whole world is falling away. She hears her heart monitor’s rapid beeping but it’s like it’s coming from an underwater tunnel, the main thing she can hear is herself hyperventilating and a voice in her head: what’s the matter, little Starshine? Did the stick up your ass finally fall out? Are you going to be my good cocksucking girl or a bad worthless doggie?
The team does not know the full extent of Hunter Bianchi. They do not know how good he was at creating pain. And they do not know how good she was at receiving it.
Liam is shouting in the distance, or maybe that’s just the wind. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything anymore. She forgot how to read in that seven months save for two things: HB, for Hunter Bianchi, and Dog, for her.
It’s too much. There isn’t enough air in the world to make her breathe, to make her stay awake, to make the reality of this situation any different.
Marlow passes out in her wheelchair, medical alarms echoing through the interrogation room as Liam screams for help.
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr (sorry for the awkward gap between this post and the last)
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: medical whump, mostly fluff
***
“Today’s the big day, Marlow,” Hannah says, coming into the room and hanging a new bag of saline for Marlow’s IV. “Are you ready?”
“Fuck yes. No offense, I don’t want to leave you, but I hate the ICU.” It’s so cold and empty and scary here, and Marlow can’t wait to go to the regular cardiac care floor where she’ll get to decorate her room and have more chances to work with physical therapy. “I can’t wait for the patient movers to get here.”
Hannah smiles softly, starting the slow process of hooking Marlow up to a portable monitor. “I’m excited for you. It means you’re one step closer to returning home. It’s been a pleasure to care for you, Marlow. Truly. I’m so proud of you for surviving and fighting. I know I’m not supposed to get attached to my patients…but I got attached to you. Doing your hair and making sure you were under the blankets…for a girl who suffered so much, it’s amazing to see you coming out on top.” Hannah finishes getting the monitor attached and places it on the bed next to her. “Your family is waiting upstairs for you. Let’s get you to them, hmmm?”
The patient movers come in, getting all of Marlow’s IV poles together and ready to roll alongside, and slowly, she’s pushed out of the room.
She never could have expected what she sees in the hallway. The doctors, nurses, PAs, and PCAs line the hall, smiling down at her as her bed passes through. They’re acknowledging her, acknowledging the torture she survived, acknowledging that she made it. She actually fucking made it. Hunter didn’t win. And they’re honoring her.
Marlow can't stop smiling as she’s pushed into the elevator. She’s finally leaving the ICU. She’s finally well enough to be out of intensive care and she can wait for her new heart in a new room surrounded by the people she loves.
As she’s rolled out of the elevator, her new floor seems impossibly brighter. They pass by the nurse’s station, and while they’re not Hannah, they seem nice and they wave as she passes. Her room is towards the end of the hall, and she’s wheeled into it…
“Surprise!” The whole team is waiting for her in the room, already decorating it with balloons and lights and pictures. It looks amazing, so much more comfortable than her ICU room. The patient movers get her bed slid into place, and Lukas walks over with a fanfare. “Mar Mar, now that you’re out of the ICU, you are no longer forced to wear that hospital gown. I present to you…your new pajamas.” He hands the clothing to her, plaid pajama pants and a black band shirt.
Marlow laughs, running her hands over the soft fabric. “Thank you, Lukas. I love it.”
“And a blanket for my Pip.” Chevy is quieter than Lukas, but he still drapes the Disney blanket over her with so much care.
She loves being surrounded by her family. The ICU didn’t allow them in together, but to see her team reunited makes her feel so warm inside. Both of her brothers stand by her bed, while her dad and fiance stand on the other side.
“I have another gift for you,” Val says. “Although I have to admit, I had some help from Khrystyna.” From behind the table, he produces a thick book and hands it to Marlow. On the front is a picture of Cinderella’s castle and the word ‘wedding’ written in rhinestones. She flips it open, looking at the pictures of possible venues and menus and dresses. She smiles softly, running her fingers over the carefully put together book.
“I…love it,” she murmurs, her eyes darting across a collection of different white dresses. “It’s perfect. It’s everything I could have dreamed of.”
Val rests his hand over hers, looking more relaxed than he has in months. “You’re one step closer, baby girl. We’re all so relieved that you finally made it out of the ICU. It was touch and go for so long…but now you’re in recovery. It’ll be wedding time soon.”
He still wants to marry her, even after Hunter ruined her. Marlow holds the book to her chest, looking around at the team surrounding her…the team she’s too sick to still be part of. “Right. I’m getting better.”
But is she? Hunter is still crowding her mind, and she feels like she’ll never be able to shake him.
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr!
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: medical whump, near death
***
Bruno carefully sets the cake down in front of Marlow, stepping back with a smile on his face. “Happy birthday, kiddo,” he says. “Make a wish.”
They’re not allowed to have candles in the ICU, but the cake is beautiful anyway. It’s a strawberry cake covered in a pink strawberry frosting, decorated with swirls of buttercream and ‘Happy Birthday Marlow’ written on the top in white icing. Marlow laughs, knowing exactly which bakery Bruno got the cake from, the same one he’s used for her other birthdays. She closes her eyes and holds her wish in her heart, pretending to blow out imaginary candles.
“What’d you wish for, Mar Mar?” Lukas asks from his spot by the window, leaning against Sebastian.
“You know I can’t tell you that, otherwise it won’t come true.” She really needs her wish to come true. She wished that she was stable enough to move out of the ICU and that she’d find her match for organs. She just wants to go home…she went right from Hunter’s to the hospital and it’s been so long since she’s been home.
Bruno takes out a knife, slicing the cake into pieces. He hands the first one to Marlow along with a plastic fork. “There you go, kiddo. Enjoy your birthday cake.”
Val takes the next piece and sits on the side of Marlow’s bed, kissing her cheek. “We got you some presents too, kitten. We’re just so happy that you’re home for your birthday.”
The whole team is gathered for her birthday, along with Richie, Chevy, Reaper, and Liam. There’s not enough room for everyone to sit, so most people are standing, with Reaper and Chevy next to the stack of presents, one from each team member.
She doesn’t know what to do with all this attention on her. It’s so different from the way she had all the attention at Hunter’s parties. That felt like she was a bug trapped under glass, this feels like she’s surrounded by so much love that it’s overwhelming. “I don’t know what to say, guys,” she whispers. “This is all too much. I don’t deserve this.”
“Of course you do, princess,” Richie says, and everyone nods their heads in agreement. “You deserve the happiest birthday possible.”
She blushes, cramming another bite of cake in her mouth. She’s still in shock that she’s not with Hunter, let alone that she’s being spoiled like this.
Bruno makes sure everyone has a slice of cake, and after they’ve all eaten, they slowly trickle out of the room, leaving just her and Bruno behind. Bruno goes over to the stack of presents, grabbing one off the top. “Open mine first.” Bruno hands her a box wrapped in blue paper. “There’s two things inside, so be careful.”
“Wow, two things. You’re spoiling me.” Marlow unwraps the box, pulling the first item out. It’s a framed picture of her and Bruno before she went to the Academy, Bruno ruffling her hair while she gave the camera an evil smile. It feels like forever ago that the picture was taken…so much has happened since then. She sets the picture on the small table next to her bed and reaches in to grab the second present. She pulls out a small golden locket. Inside, there’s a picture of her and Bruno at her graduation, and the other side is empty.
“I thought you could put a picture of your wedding in it,” Bruno explains. “That way, you’ll always have me and Val close to your heart.”
“It’s gorgeous,” she whispers, turning it over in her hand. The front is engraved with a border of dainty leaves, and the picture inside makes her smile. She remembers it so well…she wishes she was still that girl, but she knows that version of Marlow lives deep down inside of her.
“So was this a good birthday?” he asks, looking over at her nervously. “I know you’re still in the ICU…and you’ve had a hard year…but I really tried to make it special, kiddo. I know you haven’t wanted to be alive after what that man did to you…”
“Dad, it’s okay.” Marlow cuts him off, holding his hand. “I do want to be alive and be with everyone. This was an amazing birthday. I couldn’t have asked for better. I feel so loved with all the effort you’ve put into making me happy. To making me whole again.”
“I’d do anything, baby girl. I’d do anything to make you feel like yourself again.” Bruno strokes her hair out of her face, smiling softly. “You’re my precious daughter. No matter what happened to you, it doesn’t change how much I love you. If anything, it just makes me love you more for being so brave and strong.”
Marlow blushes at the compliment, looking down at the locket in her hands. “Hey, remember when you were trying to make me a bubble bath for my birthday and you fell in the tub? You were covered in bubbles and it was hilarious.”
Bruno chuckles. “Of course I remember. I just wanted to give you something to relax your muscles from all the hard work you were doing to keep up with the team, and I got distracted. At least you got some fun out of my misery.”
Marlow stares at him, opening her mouth like she’s going to say something, but no words come out. Painful moments pass of her staring at Bruno, and the man doesn’t know what to do. “Marlow?” he asks, shaking her shoulder. “Kiddo, what’s going on?”
A loud, flat noise fills the room, and Bruno’s gaze snaps up to see the heart monitor showing a flat line. “Kid? Baby girl?” he screams, jumping up and looking into the hallway. “Nurse! Doctor! My daughter is dying!”
Her green eyes are closed, she looks almost peaceful as the nurses and doctors rush into the room, but the reality is, she’s anything but peaceful. She’s dying, and Bruno backs himself against the wall, his eyes stuck on the locket still clutched in her hands.
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr!
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: implied noncon, guilt, mentions of past torture
***
It’s a peaceful day in the hospital. Marlow did her absolute best to eat her breakfast, getting most of it down with Val encouraging her. He left to go meet with the lawyer, giving Marlow some time alone in her room. Alone time is the hardest, she doesn’t like sitting with her thoughts and trauma and the sedatives they’ve been giving her stopped working, so she’s been trying to fill her time in other ways. Hunter didn’t allow her to read, threatening her with torture if he caught her, so overtime, she forgot how to. Luckily, Bruno has been dropping off kids books, and today she’s working on a Little Golden Book, The Shy Little Kitten. She cuddles up with her plushies, opening the book and beginning to read slowly.
She gets a few pages in before there’s a knock on the door, and Kieran pokes his head in. He’s wearing jeans and a Navy hoodie, a visitor sticker on his chest. “Hey, Mar…” He steps in the room, his eyes first going to all the tubes, needles, and medicine bags. He takes in her PICC line with her iron infusion, her feeding tube and feed bag, the oxygen cannula, the heart monitors, the IV in her hand connected to her cardiac meds, all her bandages from surgery. “I wanted to talk…and I brought bribes.”
They’ve needed to talk for a while. She’s just been waiting for him to initiate, for him to do something more than give her awkward glances. She nods, making space on the bed and pointing to the table used for meals. “Of course. Put the bribes on the table and sit down.”
Kieran unloads a box of chocolate chip cookies and two Magic Treehouse books onto the table before setting his backpack down and sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s quiet for a minute, playing with his hands, and then he clears his throat and looks right at her. “Marlow, I am so sorry for what happened. And just let me say all this before you interrupt and tell me it wasn’t my fault. I never…connected with you. I never thought much of you because I never gave you a chance. That mission…I keep replaying it. I got pissed at you for something that you didn’t even do, and I broke the most important rule. I left you alone in a camp full of hostile forces with limited ammo. When you weren’t answering your comms…we all reconvened at the spot I left you, and you were gone. And I knew. I knew it was my fault. We tried so goddamn hard to find you, but all we got was that you had been sold into sex trafficking. And don’t worry, Val beat the shit out of me when he found out how it went down, and Khrys wouldn’t talk to me, and Bruno was so…cold. But that was nothing compared to what I did to myself…I fell apart. I abandoned my teammate, and because of that you were lost. The day Oscar finally found a video, it was a relief for everyone to know that you were still alive, but it just made my guilt grow deeper. It was my fault that you were put through…so much. I can’t be forgiven and I don’t want you to forgive me, but I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll do anything I can to protect you for the rest of my life.”
“I know. Khrystyna told me that you were sleeping by the door when I was still in a coma.” Marlow holds Kieran’s hands, looking at him. Her heart monitor remains steady, a soft beeping in the background. “It is not your fault. Kieran, we all make mistakes. Remember when I almost shot you? Mistakes happen. I’m not mad, I’m just happy to be home.”
“Marlow, my mistake…my mistake ended with you being tortured and violated.” He’s shaking, unable to meet her eyes. “I watched all the videos to punish myself. Everything Oscar found, I watched. I saw you…watched you slowly dying. I can’t forget it, Mar. I can’t forget the blood between your legs. I can’t forget that empty look in your eyes when that Scottish man…” He shudders, his breath coming in short bursts. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. What I did cannot be forgiven. Marlow, you were kidnapped and raped because of me!”
“Kieran.” She squeezes his hands, not breaking eye contact. “If you were with Khrys, you would have done the same damn thing. You would have left her alone. And that wouldn’t be your fault because you’re an arrogant ass sniper with a chip on your shoulder. And if I had left, you would have been taken. It was just a bad place and a bad time.”
“How can you so easily forget my mistake after what was done to you? You were so horribly hurt, Mar. We didn’t think you would make it for a minute.” Kieran looks at where their hands are interlocked, taking a shuddering breath. “You lost everything because of me.”
“I lost nothing. I actually gained a closer relationship with all of you, knowing that you’d be there for me to help me up when I fall and work with me through my nightmares and memories.” Marlow presses her forehead to his, letting the connection flow through them both. They’re here. And she means every word she says. She doesn’t hate Kieran for anything. “I don’t hate you,” she whispers. “I don’t hate you. I love you, brother. Thank you for being here today.”
“I love you too, little sister.” Kieran presses back before kissing her forehead, letting go of her hands to smooth her hair. “Thank you for forgiving me.”
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr!
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: medical whump, mentions of past torture/captivity
***
There’s a knock on the door of Marlow’s hospital room, and she turns off the TV, clearing her throat and adjusting her oxygen cannula. “Come in,” she calls out, wondering who it could be and what they want. Khrystyna and Lukas were already here to pester the nurses, Bruno was here for coffee and croissants, and Val was here for their virtual couples counseling session and a phone call with one of the wedding vendors.
To her surprise, Chevy and Reaper burst in, Chevy dropping a box of donuts on the counter. He comes over to kiss her head, softly smoothing back the tape on her feeding tube. “Hey Pip,” he whispers softly. “How are you feeling today?”
“Scared. Tired. My body hurts today, but that’s kinda expected. I’m just waiting for my next dose of morphine.” Marlow lets Reaper kiss her cheek, knowing that both her brothers love to show affection to her. It helps them feel better about what had been done to her, like showing her all the love could help cancel it out. “What’s up with you guys?”
“We wanted to introduce you to some guys, Querida,” Reaper says. “You’ve met them before.”
Richie walks in, holding a bag of microwavable mac and cheese, smiling a little. "Well look at the mouse that made it out of the cat's den." He sets the bag on the metal tray and crosses his arms, looking over her face. Nothing in his eyes change to show pity, but he looks proud. "I should make a few calls and snag you to replace Chevy over here. Well... maybe best not to have another rabid Stenberg."
Chevy’s jaw drops. "Oh fuck you too, Dick."
"No thanks. I'm talking to your sister. Hush or eat a donut."
Marlow remembers the man, flashes from the day she was rescued from Hunter's and seeing him on missions and in the gym before. "Oh. Uhm, hi, Richard. I probably can't replace Chevy because my pelvis is held together by pieces of metal, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
He raises an eyebrow and pats Chevy’s back. "Well there goes another chance to get rid of your crazy ass. You can call me Richie-"
"Or Dick. Because he is a dick," Chevy mutters, taking a big bite from a sprinkle donut.
"Uh huh. Or Dick. I'm in charge of the crew for the SEALs. Usually I just talk to Bruno, Khrystyna, or Kieran since he was robbed from us."
"It's...nice to meet you again." Marlow sits up a little more, glancing around nervously. "Am I in trouble?"
"Not even. We were just here to show out appreciation to you and show you that it doesn't matter what branch you're in; we're a family. Fucked up and busted, but still a better family than the ones we have related to us." He winks at Marlow. "Plus I snuck in a few bullets to that asshole for fucking with the wrong people."
Marlow laughs a little. "I appreciate that. It hasn't been easy coming back...I worry that someone you guys didn't capture is going to come to the hospital and take me again. Shrink says it's the PTSD talking, but it feels pretty real."
Richie scratches at his neck, humming softly, "Well I wouldn't worry too much about it. Damien and Namdar have been on the hunt the whole time, especially with Oscar supplying through Intel. They didn't know if you wanted to meet them as well."
“Yeah, I’d love to meet them…if you don’t mind. I’m sure Reaper and Archie are getting tired of standing outside my door at night.” Marlow grins. “They don’t complain, but they get tired too.”
"Is that so?" He turns to Reaper and Chevy. "Why didn't you both speak up about this. We care about her too."
Reaper blushes a little and runs his hand through his hair. "Well, Lieutenant Commander, we didn't want to bother you guys with it. She's our sister. It's kind of our job to watch over her."
"Plus, I can snag more donuts from her ass when she's knocked out," Chevy chuckles happily.
"So as an order from your commanding officer, take a break from fire watch. Me and the others can handle it. We'll come up with a rotation while also going on manhunts. Is that understood?" Richie grins at Marlow when the two men shout out their approval.
“Woah…they listen to you.” Marlow stares in awe for a minute before focusing on something Richie said. “You…care about me? But you don’t know me. All you know is that you had to save me from the manor when I was in pieces.”
"They have to unless they want to face a Captain’s Mast or fight me in the ring. Hint hint, Chevy loses to me." Richie looks somber for a moment and shrugs. "Of course we care about you. I care about those that matter to my brothers and sisters in arms. I will always answer the call if need be. I didn't know if we were too late to save you, but when I found you in that room, I was thankful to the stars and above."
“Can I ask…what did I look like when you found me?”
"You looked lost and hurt. You couldn't tell your ups from downs from your lefts and rights. Your ribs were visible and there was blood coming from most if not all your orifices. To say that you were on Death's doorstep is an understatement. You died on us three times on the way here, and I was giving compressions while Damien and Namdar took care of the air. I tell it to you how it is; you're a fighter, not a survivor."
“Did…you see any videos of me?”
"The videos are what helped me figure out what part of the house you were in. So I could get to you first."
“Oh…” She pulls her blanket tighter around herself. “Sorry.”
He smiles and waves his hand. "It's okay. I've seen way worse. It just made me more determined to find you."
“Did the others see the videos too?”
"Only Damien. Namdar was working with Interpol to see if we could freely travel to get foreigners involved."
“Will I ever meet them?”
"They were actually grabbing food from the gas station to survive off of all night. They should be here soon. They were going to take first watch and I was going to take care of it solo after 4am."
“You don’t have to…I don’t deserve it. I’m still in the hospital. Still not getting better. I don’t deserve so much attention.”
Richie puts a hand up. "Shut up. You're letting the trauma talk. We'll do our jobs and let you heal."
“Thanks, Richie.” She snaps her fingers, remembering something. “Oh. Are you cool if my fiance comes by during your shift?”
"Of course. Also, Valdemar is more than welcome to come whenever. I would uh... just hope you let me know when not to come in. Valdemar has been too excited about you being back. Something about his Kitten and all that nasty shit."
She giggles. “We’re taking it slow on that front. He doesn’t want to push too hard with all the sexual trauma and my heart problems. But I’ll make sure to let you know if we’re fucking. Oops. Sorry, Archie.”
Chevy groans and rubs his face. "Eww. Nasty. Fucking hell, I'm kicking Val's ass later."
Richie laughs and rolls his eyes. "Sounds about right. Just wanted to clear the air. You both are consenting adults."
“Yes, exactly. So now…what’s next? I’m guessing you have questions before I meet the others?”
“No questions, princess. I just want you to relax and take it easy. And enjoy your mac n cheese. I’ll be outside coming up with Reaper coming up with a game plan to keep you safe.”
Chevy sits down on the bed, and together they watch Richie lead the other man out the room, giving Marlow one last wink as he goes.
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr!
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: medical whump, harmful thoughts about disability, noncon
***
It’s another hour until Marlow’s next dose of morphine, and she doesn’t think she’ll make it again. Everything hurts. Fucking everything hurts. Her mangled hands, her pelvis, her back, her legs. It feels like hell. The doctors said that the pins in her hands and plates in her pelvis would help, but it seems to just be making everything worse.
Water. She needs water. Her mouth is dry, a side effect from the drugs, and she needs water. But she’s sick and tired of needing to have someone hold the cup to her lips. She has to do this on her own for once. There’s a cup of water on the table next to her. All she has to do is lean over and reach it…
It’s a simple movement. That’s all it is. A deep breath and just move, just get her lazy ass to cooperate. It should be simple. Anyone should be able to do this. Angry tears burn at her eyes, the hatred for herself builds and builds until she has the fight to reach for the glass.
And the second she moves, she screams. It’s such an overwhelming pain, it’s a pain that burns and burns and burns through her body. She’s being torn apart, she screams and screams and her mouth is open as wide as her jaw will allow. She’s dying. Or at least that’s what it feels like. She’s dying again. And she can’t stop fucking screaming, screaming from the pain that’s ripping her to shreds.
“Kitten!” Val races into the room, immediately helping Marlow lay back in the bed. “Baby girl, what happened? What’s going on? Shhh, just relax. Don’t try to move. It’s not good for you.”
She’s trying to catch her breath, the air from the oxygen cannula barely helping. “I can do it, Val…let me try again. Please let me try again!”
“Try what? Kitten, you were screaming so loud I could hear it from the elevator. Did the morphine wear off already?” Val strokes her hair, so much concern on his face. “Did you try to move? You know you can’t do that when the drugs wear off.”
“I wanted…I wanted water. That’s all I wanted!” Tears stream freely down her cheeks, her heart monitor beeping wildly. “I wanted to get my own cup of water. I wanted to do something for myself for once. But he broke me! He broke me and now my body is useless.”
“You’re not useless, kitten. Hey, you’re not useless. You just need some extra help, that’s all.” He tries to give her a smile, picking up the cup of water and moving it to her lips. “Here. Here’s your water.”
Marlow shakes her head, trying to move her head back from the cup. “I don’t want help anymore. I hate being alive like this! This isn’t a life! I’m trapped in my own body. I can’t escape the pain when I’m awake and I can’t escape the nightmares when I’m asleep. Val, it hurts! My body is held together with pins and plates and I’m covered in wires! I’m miserable. I’m so fucking miserable, Val. Get the cup out of my face.”
Val sets the cup down, looking like he’s at a loss for words. “Baby girl, I…I know you’re miserable, but we’re trying to keep you as comfortable as possible. I can see if your psychiatrist will give you something more for the nightmares, but they can’t give you more morphine until it’s safe to do so. They’re trying and we’re trying to help you. We all want to help however we can.”
“But you’re going to be my husband,” she sobs. “You’re not supposed to have to help me like this. To feed me and dress me and clean me. It’s humiliating, Val. We’re supposed to be happy and in love and instead, you’re seeing the worst possible outcome of this situation.”
“This is what love is, baby girl. Love is for good and bad, health and sickness. After having you gone for so long, I’m just glad you’re here. I don’t care about what I need to help you with, I’m just lucky that you’re back and able to be helped.” Val holds her shoulder, brushing her hair out of her scarred face. “It’s not changing how I feel about you.”
Marlow sniffles, crying from the words being shared and the pain burning through her body. “It’s changing how I feel. I don’t want you to be just my caretaker. I don’t want you to see the disgusting parts of me. I’m broken, Val. I’m unloveable. What am I except for a waste of a bed? Someone could be in here who has a shot at getting better.”
“No. I can’t let you talk about yourself like that. Where is my strong girl who could kick my ass on the mat? Where is the girl who walked out of hell with a smile on her face? You are Second Lieutenant Marlow Laurel Stenberg. You are my wife. You are going to get better. I know it might feel hopeless, but you’re on the UNOS list. You’re starting physical therapy soon. You are not broken or unloveable.” Val’s eyes are full of tears, his hand softly cupping her cheek. “If it’ll make it easier, I’ll get Hannah to come help you with water. Just please don’t move when the morphine runs out. You’ve already endured enough pain to last a lifetime.”
Marlow’s voice is quiet when she finally gathers the strength to reply. “W-we can try Hannah helping with water…if that’s okay.” This is a miserable life, but she has to do something so Val doesn’t cry. She has to make an effort to pretend that she still wants to be here.
“Stay put, baby girl. I’ll be right back.” Val returns shortly with Hannah in tow, the young nurse wearing her signature lilac scrubs.
“I heard you screaming, Marlow,” she says, doing a brief check of all the IVs connected to her. “Valdemar told me he could handle it, but I know you’re probably needing another dose of medicine. I already left the doctor a message about trying to get you some oxycodone pills. But remember, it’s best that you try not to move when your pain gets this high. You've still got a few more surgeries left before your pelvis is stable. Now, Val told me you were thirsty?”
Marlow nods, and she allows Hannah to bring the cup to her lips and help her drink some water. That at least soothes her sore throat, and she takes a deep breath when she’s done. “Thank you, Hannah.”
“It’s no problem, Marlow. This is part of my job, so please don’t hurt yourself trying to do everything on your own.” Hannah sets the cup down and puts on a pair of gloves. “Okay, I’m just going to check your pelvic binder.” She gently grabs the blanket, pulling it down and Marlow’s hospital gown up to reveal the thick binder encircling Marlow’s pelvis. She carefully checks it over, her expression growing dimmer by the second. “Marlow…I need to tighten your pelvic binder.”
“No,” Marlow says, her eyes growing wide. “No, you can’t! Please wait, Hannah. Please wait until I can have more pain medicine. I can’t take it. Please!”
Her begging falls on deaf ears, although Hannah looks incredibly guilty. “I’m so sorry, Marlow. We can’t have the binder be loose or it could jeopardize your healing. Just take a deep breath. I’ll go as fast as I can.”
Hunter liked to keep Marlow in a dog cage. He found it hot to have her trapped and confined, caged in by the metal bars. But even though she left the manor, she never left the cage. This bed has become her cage. She can’t leave, she can’t escape the pain. Hannah pulls the straps of the pelvic binder and Marlow screams at the top of her lungs, tears streaming down her face as she begs for mercy. She’s not connected to reality. All she can think about is when Hunter kept her pelvis together with a bloody towel so people could still fuck her.
“Marlow!” Val shouts, trying to hold her down so the binder can be tightened. “Baby girl, it’s okay! Calm down!”
Even when the binder is secured in place, Marlow’s screams still echo in the room, sounding off for a few more minutes before she collapses lifelessly against the bed, panting from the force of her cries. “It’s not a towel,” she mumbles to herself, trying desperately to calm down. “It’s not a towel. They’re not gonna rape you.”
“Oh, baby girl,” Val whispers, realization dawning on his face that this is about more than just pain. This is about months of rape and torture…and he can’t do anything to save her from her own twisted mind. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m safe,” she says again, all for herself. “I’m safe. I have to be safe.” But it hurts too damn much for her to ever feel safe again.
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr!
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: graphic medical descriptions, lots of medical descriptions/medical devices like catheters, thoughts of death
***
Marlow Stenberg hates her life. She hates her life so much. Most days, she wishes Hunter killed her before she was rescued. She knows that based on the state she was found in, it’s a miracle she’s alive. Her pelvis was broken in multiple places, her hands were smashed to smithereens. Her skin was rotting off her muscles in clumps. Her organs were breaking down, her leg was broken, she was malnourished down to the bone, and she had brain damage. She should feel lucky to still be alive, even if she is hooked up to dozens of monitors, tubes, and IVs.
But she doesn’t feel lucky. She feels trapped. She watches the morphine drip into her IV, the light from the small window catching it at just the right angle. In a way, this is more miserable than her time with Hunter. She can’t leave the bed, not even to use the bathroom. She has a catheter in, gets sponge baths, and uses a bedpan, which is humiliating.
It’s not just the catheter. She's had so many IVs in her arm that she can barely see the skin underneath with all the bandages. Monitors are stuck all over her chest and her head, and she has an oxygen cannula across her nose and looped behind her ears. Her hands and her left leg are both in soft casts, and a binder is wrapped around her pelvis to keep it together. A feeding tube goes into a hole in her stomach, and one of the IVs keeps her hydrated. The morphine is the only thing helping her survive. Otherwise, she’d be laying still and being in agony too.
The ICU limits what personal belongings patients have in the room. It has to all fit on one small table and one small whiteboard. The team hung up some pictures on the whiteboard from before: a team picture they took on a mission, a picture of her and Bruno at the cabin they rented every Father’s Day weekend, and her and Val’s engagement photo. In the remaining space, they signed their names underneath ‘We love you’ written in Khrys’s neat handwriting. On the table, there are four picture books, a vase of flowers, and her engagement ring in a blue velvet box. She can’t wear it because of her broken fingers, and with the state of her hideously deformed face, she doubts Val would even want her wearing it.
Marlow hates it here. She absolutely hates living in this room. Hunter Bianchi enjoyed keeping her in cages. For videos, for display, for whatever sick urge he was feeling at that moment. This bed has become her new cage, keeping her trapped and lifeless and away from the world. It feels like she’s frozen in time, the only thing keeping her consistent is the nurses’ shift change. Occasionally, members of the team come to visit, but they’ve been fewer and far between. It’s hard to visit someone who can’t move save for turning her head. They can’t wheel her to the garden or bring her food or laugh with her.
So they’re leaving, slowly but surely. It started with Sebastian and Oscar, then kept going until her only consistent visitor is Lukas, who reads to her from the picture book and replaces the flowers when they begin to wilt. He doesn’t mind that she can barely speak. It’s just Lukas that’s there twice a day, before and after work. He’s the only thing keeping her from trying to end it all again.
But she’s still stuck in this cage of a bed, and nothing will change that.
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr!
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: mentioned noncon, medical whump, kinda hurt/comf
***
Marlow looks across at the whiteboard on the ICU wall, struggling to remember how to read. She sounds the letters out for the hundredth time, reminding herself where she is. She’s at the hospital. Today is the 17th of June. Hunter Bianchi is in federal custody. Her nurse is named Hannah. She runs her finger over the tape keeping her feeding tube in place, adjusts her oxygen cannula, tries not to mess up the wires and sensors on her chest. She didn’t wake up and ask for the doctor, ask what was going on. Based on all her IVs and the code cart positioned right by her bed, she can assume it’s nothing good. The first thing she did when the breathing tube got pulled was ask for her family. Fuck, she’s shaking just thinking about seeing her dad, her fiance, and everyone else again. It’s been so long…she doesn’t know how they’ll react. She doesn’t know if they even want her anymore.
There’s a knock on the door, snapping her out of her daze, and Hannah pokes her head in. “Lieutenant Stenberg?” she says, a small smile on her face. Apparently the nurses grew attached to her while she was in her coma, probably because of the stories the team told. “Your family is here and ready to see you. Should I send them in?”
“Please,” Marlow says, forcing herself to take deep breaths. She’s been through hell the past seven months. She lost herself in Hunter’s manor, and she doesn’t think she’ll get all of her broken pieces back. But this was her one lifeline. Her family was the reason she held on night after night, why she didn’t just give into the darkness. She’s excited and terrified at the same time.
The door opens, and she doesn’t get even a second to take it all in before Lukas comes flying out her, stopping just short to give her a soft yet strong hug. “My Mar Mar,” he breathes out, and for the first time since she’s known him, she can’t smell alcohol on his breath. “Oh, my Mar Mar. You’re awake.”
“Easy there, boy. Let me and the old man see her too.” Val taps Lukas’s shoulder, having the boy move to the side. He doesn’t kiss her lips, even though he looks like he wants to. He just hugs her, hand rubbing her bony back through the thin hospital gown. “We missed you…” He chokes up, a small sob leaving him. “Fuck, baby girl, we missed you so much. We thought you were gone…we thought…” He steps back, wiping the tears from his eyes.
And only then can she see Bruno standing there, looking frozen, petrified, exhausted. He’s holding his breath as he takes her in, the seconds crawling by. They haven’t talked in so long, not directly. Hunter enjoyed calling Bruno most of all, calling him so her dad could listen to her screams. It’s not the same proud Bruno that she remembers from that fateful mission. He’s wearing a stained sweatshirt and sweatpants, stubble on his face and bags under his eyes. “K-kiddo,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.
Marlow’s hands clench into fists and relax, she just wants to jump out of bed and run to him but she knows that won’t be a good idea with all the morphine in her. “Dad, get over here and fucking hug me already before I start crying.”
All he needed was her go ahead, and Bruno runs forward, hugging his daughter and crying into her. He presses his face into her neck, sobbing until he’s breathless. “It’s really you,” he cries. “We were losing hope that you’d wake up…each day it was harder and harder…so hard to see you in this bed with the tube in your mouth…it broke my heart.”
“I’m here,” she whispers back, holding him back as much as she can with her mangled fingers. “I’m awake, Dad. I’m awake for good. I missed you so much…I can’t wait to hear everything I missed. And I want to hear everything.” She doesn’t let go of Bruno, but she does turn her head to look around. The whole team, Chevy, Reaper, and Liam are gathered around, having set up flowers and brought in two plushies while she was reuniting with Lukas, Val, and Bruno. “Thank you all for coming…it means a lot.”
“We wouldn’t miss this for the world, Querida.” Reaper smiles at her, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “You’ve been on our minds the whole time you were gone.”
It’s all so much in the best ways possible. She doesn’t remember much of the rescue because Hunter attempted to murder her when the door broke down, but she does remember faint voices, Chevy and Reaper’s SEAL team, and Hunter being taken to the ground in handcuffs. To go from that, to go from the pet room and being cold and alone and suffering, just waiting for Hunter to rape her, to go from that to this…
Hunter’s manor is still there...the acts she was forced to perform will never leave her. For the rest of her life, she will feel Hunter’s hands on her body. She will remember the collar cutting off her breath. She will look at each scar marking her body and remember how it got there.
And she won’t tell the team everything.
Some truths are too dark to share.
But for now, she’s with her team and she’s going to love every second of it.
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: implied noncon, pet whump, lady whump, videos of extreme torture, 18+
***
Ten months. There are ten months worth of videos and pictures from Marlow’s captivity at Hunter Bianchi’s manor. Oscar sits down at his desk, cracking his knuckles and tucking his lucky chess piece into his pocket. He finds the horrible spot he left off, the horrible, horrible spot where he stopped working last night, and opens up his notes.
The last thing he wrote was Lieutenant Stenberg’s condition is notably worse compared to the videos dated a month earlier. Here, she presents with severe malnutrition, noted by her visible ribs, vertebrae, and hip bones. Some of her bruises remain consistent, noting a delayed healing process. Her back is covered in open and healed whip marks, some torn at the edges as though they were done with a jagged material like barbed wire or a serrated blade. Her fingers and legs are crooked from past breaks. Her face continues to be scarred, with a new cut extending from her ear to her jaw, just to the side of her lips.
In his notes, he writes about her condition and about the actions taken in the videos so that they can be added to her file and presented in court when it comes time to sentence Hunter Bianchi. He’s nervous about being used as a main witness, but he knows that it’s what Marlow needs. An expert needs to come forward to speak on the digital evidence. Better him than Bruno.
He opens up the next video he needs to watch, the overnight footage from the pet room. He can’t believe these were the conditions she was forced to survive in. The room is so small and dirty, light filtering in through a small window to illuminate the blood and other bodily fluids soaking the floor. All she’s given for comfort is one thin bedsheet, once white and now completely stained with blood. The poor girl is using it as a pillow of sorts, tucked under her head while the rest twirls around her naked body.
Oscar puts the video on two times the speed, knowing the footage on these often extends for eight hours. He watches her toss and turn on the floor, and each time she cries out, he marks it down on his notepad, along with who she was crying for. Tears build in his eyes as he listens to her scream his own name in her sleep. Oscar, she cries, thrashing around. Oscar, make him stop hurting me. It’s like being stabbed in the heart, the fear in her voice palpable.
The nightmares go on until the sun rises, she’s still deep in one when Hunter storms into the room and kicks her harshly in the back. She jolts like she’s been shot, sitting up and looking at him with her doe like green eyes, like she’s a harmless baby deer. Oscar doesn’t know how Hunter could hurt her, but the man still grabs her by her hair and spits in her face, cruelly laughing when she whimpers. The video ends with him dragging her out by her hair, light streaming in the cramped room from the hallway.
He pulls up his notes again, making the final additions he needs to close out this video, finishing it with his own personal note of Lieutenant Stenberg attempted no hostile actions against her captor. She was docile and compliant, and under normal circumstances, her captor would have no reason to treat her harshly. Yet Hunter Bianchi still chose to remove Lieutenant Stenberg from the room by her hair instead of allowing her the decency of walking of her own accord, even in restraints.
With a sigh, he flips to the next piece of media, wondering what horrors await him next. It’s a shorter video this time, shot on Hunter’s cell phone and slightly blurry. Hunter is sitting at his dining room table, videoing Marlow, who’s a short ways away. She’s still nude and on her hands and knees, bent over a dog bowl. This is later on in her captivity, where her hair has been shorn short to her shoulders. “Eat it,” Hunter goads.
Marlow looks disgusted at the prospect of eating whatever’s in that bowl, and she’s trembling on her weak limbs. “D-do I have to?” Her voice is weak and reedy, her eyes are full of hesitancy. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Mr. Bianchi, but…”
“Eat your dog food already, slut,” Hunter orders with a laugh, the camera shaking. “You know you love eating dog food. It’s your favorite. Besides, this is all you get for the day.”
“But I don’t—” Marlow sighs and brushes her hair out of her face, lowering her head down into the bowl. The sick sound of her chewing fills the room, and Oscar cringes away from the video monitor, knowing exactly what she’s eating. The video ends not long after, and he goes back to his notes to wrap this one up. This video echos many others where Hunter Bianchi recorded the humiliating act of forcing Lieutenant Stenberg to consume dog food, clearly contributing to her malnourishment that developed over the months of her captivity.
He really just wants to scream, not write carefully thought out notes on the tortures his teammate and friend endured. He wants to scream and throw his keyboard against the wall and he did, once, leaving a dent in the plaster, but that got him and Bruno in trouble with the higher ups so now he can’t show his emotions. All he can do is take a deep breath, rub his lucky chess piece, and dive headfirst into the next video.
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr!
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: medical whump
***
Dr. Parks, followed by a trail of med students, interns, and residents, makes his way through each room to check on his patients in the ICU. He stops outside one room in particular, hesitating slightly before he turns to look at his followers. “Let me go in first. If it’s all okay, I’ll call you in after to do the rounding.”
Room 607 is his least and most favorite patient, all in one. The girl lying in that bed is twenty-three year old Second Lieutenant Marlow Laurel Stenberg, a victim of human trafficking and torture that’s been unconscious ever since she arrived to the hospital. It seems like they discover a new problem with her every day, and her chance of survival is so low, yet Dr. Parks can’t help but feel for the girl and her family. He’s not supposed to get attached to patients, but knowing what she’s endured and overcome just to be in this hospital makes him wish for a miracle to happen.
He opens the door to the room, seeing the girl on the bed covered in tubes and wires, and the two men sitting beside her. Bruno Stenberg and his adopted son, Chevy, look at her with so much worry, her father holding and kissing her IV-covered hand. There’s always someone in here with her, whether it be her dad, brothers, or fiance, always talking to her in a desperate bid to get her back.
Dr. Parks clears his throat, drawing the attention of both men as he stands at the foot of the girl’s bed. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he says, smiling down at them. “How was your night?”
“S-she had another seizure,” Chevy stammers, unable to look anyone in the eye. “It was scary. We didn’t sleep after that.”
“That’s understandable. Well, the night shift did a full workup, and we’re going to raise her seizure medications to hopefully prevent another one from occurring. Luckily, it was a quick one and her brain wasn’t compromised at all.” There’s always something with this poor girl, some other complication or side effect or catastrophe. “Can we come in and do our morning rounds?”
Chevy looks doubtful, but Bruno nods. “Of course. The more people who know her and can help her, the better.”
“Great. Guys, come on in.” Dr. Parks waits for his interns, residents, and students to pile in the room before he turns to one of his residents, a tall blonde girl. “Dr. Young. Tell us about the patient.”
Dr. Young clears her throat, picking up the clipboard from the end of the girl’s bed and reading aloud. “Second Lieutenant Marlow Stenberg, twenty three years old, comatose and in multiple organ failure after a hostage situation. Patient’s state of severe malnourishment is putting strain on her heart and lungs, making her a high priority on the transplant list. On a calorie surplus diet via a feeding tube. Patient had a seizure during the night. No damage was done and medications were upped. Today’s plan is to get updated x-rays of the patient’s chest, hands, and legs, as well as conduct a thorough evaluation of her lung capacity.” She looks hesitantly at Bruno and Chevy before continuing. “Social work is scheduled to speak to the family today about…alternative plans should the patient not wake up.”
“Not wake up?!” Chevy jumps to his feet, rage flickering in his cold blue eyes. “She’s going to wake up! It’ll be any day now. You’ll see. You’ll all see. She’s going to wake up soon and prove you all wrong!”
“Easy, son,” Bruno says, resting his arm on Chevy’s back. “The doctor didn’t mean anything by it. Marlow…she’s going to wake up. She has to wake up. Talking to social work is just a formality. Our baby girl is going to wake up. Right, Dr. Parks?”
He hates that question, he hates the hope on Bruno’s face. The truth is, nothing is guaranteed with any patient, especially this one. “That’s our hope, which is why we’re monitoring her so closely. Right now, we’re concerned about her temperature, which is a little higher than we’d like, so we’re watching to make sure her sepsis hasn’t come back.”
“And if it has?” Bruno asks quietly. “If her sepsis has come back?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. If we get to it. Hospital related infections are common, but here in the ICU, we can catch it early and treat her with IV antibiotics. I promise you that we are keeping such a close eye on her. I’ve ordered ten minute checks on her.” Dr. Parks takes the clipboard from Dr. Young, signing the bottom of it. He takes out his flashlight, pulling back Marlow’s eyelids and checking her pupils. No response, but her pupils are equal and reactive to light. She’s still alive in there, just not awake.
Bruno holds his daughter’s hand, glancing nervously at the team of doctors in the room. “We’ll watch her too. She’ll always have a visitor in here talking to her and trying to bring her back to us.”
“Good, that’s good. She might be able to hear us, and at this point, anything could help her to wake up.” Dr. Parks steps back, putting his flashlight back in his jacket pocket. “Dr. Young, Dr. O’Connor, do an exam on the patient and help Hannah with bandage changes and IV meds. Lieutenant Colonel Stenberg, Petty Officer Stenberg, I’ll check in on you later.”
Dr. Parks steps by the nurses’ desk, dropping off orders for medications for the poor girl before he starts walking down the hall. This has been one of the hardest cases of his career, not just in difficulty, but in how it sticks with him when he goes home. He had to explain to his wife what was going on, knowing he was becoming more and more distant.
He’s not owed any vengeance, not like her family is, but part of him wants to destroy Hunter Bianchi, or at least put him in a cell under the prison where no light ever shines. To do something like that to another human being…he just can’t shake the feeling that he has to make sure Marlow Stenberg survives.
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: medical whump, lady whump, broken bones
***
“When is she going to wake up, Doctor?” Val asks quietly, barely able to be heard over the beeping of all the machines in the ICU room.
“There’s no way to tell,” Doctor Parks responds, clipboard tucked under his arm. “Her body and mind went through incredible trauma. She’s fortunate to be alive right now. We’ll hold out hope that we can procure organs for her, but as for now, it’s a waiting game. I have to be honest with you, Sergeant Ackermann. There is a chance she may never wake up. Her healing is up to her now. She has to find that strength inside herself to wake up and fight. But we’ll do everything possible for her from the medical side of things.”
“Fuck…” Val runs his hand through his hair, stress wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Is there…is there a percent chance that she’ll live? That I’ll get to see my fiancee again? She’s all I have, man. She’s my everything. And after so many months of her being gone…to have her like this is killing me. So close and so far…”
Doctor Parks rubs the back of his neck, hesitating slightly at the muscular, towering sergeant’s question. “We don’t like to give percent chances of survival, Sergeant Ackermann. It’s guesswork at best, and sometimes we find that it can negatively affect patient outcomes.”
“Please.” For once, Val looks desperate, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes never leaving the frail girl on the bed. “Please. I need a number. I need to know if my girl’s going to make it.”
“Seventeen percent.” Those two words hang heavy in the air, like all life had been sucked out of the room. “Second Lieutenant Marlow Stenberg has a seventeen percent chance of survival. Higher if she moves up on the UNOS list. Lower if her body rejects the medications we’re giving her.”
Val stumbles back, collapsing into one of the hard plastic chairs in the room. “S-seven…seventeen…” He sobs once, the broken noise of a man who’s heart shattered in a million pieces. “We were supposed to be planning a wedding! She was going to be my wife! Why am I using ‘was’?! She is going to be my wife! She can’t die yet!”
“Don’t give up hope,” Doctor Parks says softly. “She lasted months inside that manor. She lived through indescribable pain and still made it out. She’s a fighter. I assure you that she is doing all she can to come back to you.” He pauses for a minute, adjusting his grip on his clipboard. “Oftentimes, coma patients can still hear what’s happening around them. Talk to her. Tell her she’s safe. Tell her you’re here.” He gives the man one last glance before he leaves the ICU room, hoping to hell that Marlow Stenberg can beat the odds.
***
Her name was Marlow Stenberg, his name was Hunter Bianchi, and their paths were never meant to cross. She was never meant to be taken from a mission by human traffickers, and he was never meant to purchase her at auction. They were never meant to meet each other, for they would be each other’s undoing.
Marlow feels trapped in the darkness. She can faintly hear voices echoing around her, but when she blinks a few times and opens her eyes, she’s in an empty room with wood floors and beige walls. “Hello?” she calls out, looking around. “Where am I?”
It takes a minute, but the pieces slowly click together. She remembers Richie rushing into the pet room as the world was going dark, she remembers him screaming something as her eyes shut, and then…nothing. It’s all blank after that.
Marlow walks around the room, running her hand along the walls. There’s no windows or doors or furniture, and she doesn’t feel any secret passages in the room. After what feels like an eternity of walking around the perimeter of the room, she sits in the middle and tries to listen.
There’s a steady beeping noise in the background, a soft clicking too, and then she hears a voice. “Talk to her. Tell her you’re safe. Tell her you’re here.” She doesn’t recognize it, not at all, but she still calls out.
“Hello? Hey, can you hear me! I’m here! I'm here!” she shouts, standing up and jumping around, waving her arms as if someone could see her.
The next voice is one she recognizes and it brings her to her knees, hands over her mouth. “I guess I can try that…baby girl? Kitten? I don’t know if you can hear me…but you’re not with Hunter anymore. You’re in the hospital and I’m right here. I’m gonna be right here. I haven’t given up on our wedding, kitten. Don’t make me lose hope. I don’t know what life would be without you sharing it with me.”
Val…Sergeant Valdemar Ackermann. Her fiancee. Fuck, she hasn’t heard his voice in so long…just words gritted out on Hunter’s sadistic phone calls, but this is different. It’s Val. She can hear Val and he said that Hunter is gone…
But she’s in the hospital. That’s what he said. And she gets the feeling that no matter how much she screams, he won’t be able to hear her.
***
Bruno wakes with a start, coming to in a chair next to his daughter’s bed. He rubs the bleariness from his eyes before he looks over her, making sure her chest is still rising and falling from the tube helping her breathe. She’s such a small, helpless thing, especially compared to the brute of a man Bruno is, so when he takes her IV-covered hand, he’s extra gentle. Her whole body is covered in tubes and wires, so many IVs surrounding her bed and monitors measuring her heart activity.
In the time he’s spent here, Bruno learned a little bit about what the monitors and medicines all mean, and he doesn’t like the way her heart monitor looks. He doesn’t like the uneven line running across the screen, but he knows why. His daughter’s heart is failing, and there’s no telling if she’d survive a complex surgery.
The door opens, snapping Bruno out of his haze. Hannah is standing there, a basket of hair products in her hand. She’s one of the ICU nurses, the one who’s been taking care of Marlow the most and who’s grown affectionate towards the unconscious girl. “Hi, Lieutenant Colonel,” she says softly. “Hi, Marlow. Is it okay if I brush and redo your hair?”
Bruno clears his throat and sits up more. “Yes. Please. It means a lot that you do this for her. And please call me Bruno. When I'm here, I’m just a father waiting for his daughter to wake up.”
Hannah smiles and sits down on the opposite side of the bed, carefully undoing the side braid she did for Marlow earlier in the week. “Okay, Bruno. Did you have any questions for me while I’m here?”
“No. No questions.” Bruno looks at his little girl, tears starting to brim in his eyes. Last time Chevy was here, he put a small sticker on the bed rails of a little flower with a happy face. He doesn’t stay for long, unable to bear the sight of Marlow in such a state. “Just…yeah. I need her to wake up.”
“She will. I have faith in her.” Hannah spreads dry shampoo in Marlow’s hair, brushing carefully so she doesn’t yank. There’s a small shaved spot where they had to drill a hole to relieve pressure in her brain after one of the medicines caused her brain to swell, and Hannah works around it, moving Marlow’s short hair over it.
Bruno watches carefully, sighing a little. “She used to have such long hair. She pretended not to care about it, but she was a bit of a diva. Always buying fancy hair products with my money.” He wipes his eyes, fighting back tears. “I hate that this…monster cut it off.”
“It’ll grow back. Just like she will.” Hannah rests her hand on Marlow’s forehead, brushing a thin strand of hair to the side. “You’ll grow back, Marlow. After all, you have a wedding to plan.”
***
Every time Marlow punches and cracks the drywall, it seals itself back up. “Fuck!” she screams, aiming a kick at the wall to no no avail. Earlier, she heard the doctors speaking over her, something about her organs failing and surgeries to fix it.
She knows she’s dying. The wooden floor is losing its color, like life is bleeding out of it. What was once a deep mahogany is now more bronze. She hears them discussing her prognosis. And it scares her and it pisses her off and she hates being trapped in this room. She survived Hunter fucking Bianchi and for what? To die in some military hospital?
Fuck this. Fuck Hunter for doing this to her. She’s not feeling positive about her recovery, she’s just feeling angry.
“It’s going to be a big wedding. Bigger than she could have ever fathomed,” she hears her dad say to the nurse named Hannah. “I want to give her the day she’s dreamed of. I just hope she’ll give me the privilege of walking her down the aisle. I never was able to have biological kids, so I gave up on that until she somehow burst into my life. Who am I kidding… She practically is my real kid. She acts like me. So fucking stubborn. I just hope she refuses to die like how I have all these years.”
“Of course I’d let you walk me down the aisle, Dad,” she says, sinking down to the floor and leaning against the wall. “It wouldn’t be my wedding without you doing that.” She wipes a tear from her face, trying not to sob. “And I’d tell you that if I could just get out of this place. But I don’t know how, Dad. I don’t know how to get out of here.”
She buries her head in her hands and cries and cries and begs something, anything to save her from this place
***
“Tell me why you added that medication,” Khrystyna demands, arms crossed over her chest. She’s still in her gym clothes, having rushed over the second she heard about the change. “That’s a sedative. I thought we were getting her off the sedatives so she could be higher up on the UNOS list.”
Doctor Parks stares down at the feisty girl before him, not knowing exactly what to say. “Myself and the rest of her care team think it’s best to allow her body some more rest before we begin the process of waking her up. Having her on a breathing tube is doing wonders to support her heart and lungs, and we don’t want to disrupt what’s been working so well.”
“She needs a new heart. Because he…he starved her until her fucking heart broke! Until her body just gave up on keeping her fucking alive!” Khrystyna takes a deep breath, trying to stop herself from yelling. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m just tired. If she gains more weight, will we be able to take her off the sedatives?”
“Once we have her body weight up, we will most definitely reevaluate the situation. I’ll make sure you’re kept updated.” He pats her shoulder, offering her a sympathetic smile. “Excuse me, Paszek. I have to round on my other patients.”
Khrystyna shakes her head, then steps into the hospital room. She hates seeing her best friend like this, and it’s been weeks. There are dark circles under her eyes from nights spent pouring over medical textbooks and UNOS guidelines, trying to find some loophole in the system that will get Marlow back. Kieran tells her that she needs more rest, but she was on the team that rescued Marlow. She froze until Richie snapped at her, and those precious seconds will always leave her wondering if she wasted crucial time and made Marlow’s condition worse.
“I’m back, kotku,” she says softly, kissing Marlow’s head. “Val has been driving us up the wall lately. I’ve never seen him so nervous and on edge before. I think he’s going to smother you with wedding ideas the second you wake up. But don’t worry, I’ll hold him back.” Khrystyna knows some coma patients can hear, so she always gives Marlow an update when she visits. “Oscar’s insomnia has gotten worse, but he’s also working himself too hard. Sebastian is trying to distract Lukas, but that’s also going rough because Lukas just wants to drink so bad, and we have to keep him busy. Bruno broke up with Miranda, but it was amicable enough. He said he needed to pay more attention to you. But don’t blame yourself. That was Bruno’s fault. And Kieran is…Kieran. He feels guilty for what happened. I keep trying to get him to come visit, but he’s scared. I think he’s trying to find the courage to show up, so don’t give up on him yet. He… he hasn’t been the same since you left us. You coming back could help fix all this madness.”
She notices the little bow braided into Marlow’s hair and smiles. “I’m glad Hannah’s still taking good care of you. She’s a good nurse. I’ll try to get Kieran to visit and talk to you. Maybe it’ll help both of you. Anyways…” She pulls out a medical textbook, opening it to her bookmark. “I’m going to read a little bit, but I’m still here. Don’t forget that, kotku. I’m still here. You aren’t alone anymore. Not on our watch.”
***
Marlow listens carefully to the updates on the team, knowing that it’ll be a long shot to get Kieran to visit. It’s not his fault that the mission went south, but she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to tell him that. The floor is still the same shade of bronze, so something they did must be working.
At least for now.
She hears Khrystyna flipping the pages of her book and wonders what she’s reading. She hopes it’s not some medical book. Marlow has the sinking feeling that it’s going to take more than medicine to save her.
***
Oscar doesn’t like hospitals. He doesn’t like the noise or the bright lights or the yelling, but he promised himself that he’d visit Marlow on his own today. She…she’s the only person who could possibly understand how brutal his job is right now.
He has to go through every single recorded piece of evidence from Hunter’s house. Six terabytes of data that solely falls on his shoulders. Pictures, videos, audio…he has to watch it, document it, and move onto the next one. But it’s never ending. There’s never a good stopping point, it’s torture blending into torture blending into torture. He’s seen some of the most heinous things imaginable, and they’ve all been done to his teammate.
He quietly slips into the hospital room after making sure no other members of the team are walking around, and the state of her makes him hesitate. With the breathing tube and the medicines…he doubts that she can hear anything, but Khrystyna swears he can.
Marlow is the only one who understands what he’s seen, and keeping it inside is killing him. He sits down next to the bed, playing with a queen chess piece. “Marlow…” he starts. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. I…watched the videos. I saw the pictures. I listened to the recordings. I know everything from the beginning until now. I’m sorry for what Hunter did to you.”
Talking is hard for him. He doesn’t know the right words, but he pulls hard on his feelings about the videos and lets it out. “I can’t sleep anymore thinking about you. It’s been-” he chokes back a sob- “so traumatic to witness what happened; to know the truth. I can only imagine how traumatic it was for you. I wonder if you’ll be able to sleep when you’re out of the coma…”
He clutches the chess piece, the sharp edges digging into his skin. He wants it to break his skin, so he could help atone for his mistakes in not finding her fast enough. “If you can’t sleep, I’ll be up with you. We can play chess together and hide from the nightmares. The good thing about nightmares is that they can’t find us in the real world.”
He stands up, leaning over to kiss her head. “I’m going to bury him in evidence, Marlow. I will go over every piece until there’s so much stacked against him that he gets life without parole. That is my promise to you. I’m going to go back to my room to keep working. I do have something for you to do while I’m gone… think about your opening move against me during our next game. I was thinking of Queen’s Gambit. Pun intended. Love you, Marlow. Platonically, of course.”
With a soft kiss to her forehead, he sets the queen chess piece down on the table next to her and walks silently out of the room.
***
Oh, Oscar. Marlow’s heart breaks listening to his words. He sounds so exhausted and she hates that he’s putting himself through so much to make sure Hunter gets put away.
She wishes she could stay up with him and play chess when they both have nightmares about Hunter. Even here, she can’t escape him, having flashes of the horrible things he did to her. The floor is no longer bronze, it’s more of a light brown, and Marlow knows she’s running out of time.
***
Richie grips Chevy firmly by the shoulders, forcing the man to look at him. “Archer, you have to go in there for longer than three seconds. That is your baby sister and she needs you.”
Chevy is actually trembling, no sign of the reckless and wild SEAL he is. “B-but…all the tubes…the thing in her mouth…she doesn’t look like my sister. What did he do to her, man?”
“No. You will be going in there and sitting with your sister today because she needs a reason to wake up.” Richie draws on all his experience as a Lieutenant Commander and raises himself up to full height. “That’s an order, Stenberg. I’ll go in first. You sit your ass down and work your way up to going in there. Be the brother she needs, or I will give you some motivation.” With that, he leaves Chevy in the chair and walks into Marlow’s room.
She still looks sick and frail, but she’s put on weight from the feeding tube in her stomach. Richie stands by the end of her bed, arms folded in front of him. “Hey, princess. Missed me yet?” He leans on the bed frame, shaking his head. “You have to wake up. I didn’t risk my ass going in and saving you just for you to die in the hospital. Come on, princess. You’re a fighter so don’t you even fucking think about giving up. I’ve been around you Stenbergs long enough to know you are all stubborn fuckers, so don’t go dead on us. I’m going to drill your ass every day until you come back to us. So please. Start fucking fighting.”
There’s a knock on the door, and Chevy slowly steps in. “Don’t yell at my sister,” he whispers, his eyes averted from the bed. “She doesn’t deserve that. She’s trying her hardest.”
Richie narrows his eyes and scoffs with a head tilt. “Finally decided to be a man, Stenberg?”
“Respectfully, Sir… get the fuck out and let me speak with my sister.”
Richie nods, a sign of acknowledgement and respect to Chevy before he walks out of the room. “That’s what I need from you every day, Archer. Don’t forget that.”
Chevy sits on the edge of Marlow’s bed, rubbing her non-broken leg through her blanket. “H-hey, Pip. Sorry I h-haven’t been here…uhhh…I got scared of seeing you like this. But I’m here now. And not just because Richie made me.” He takes a deep breath, his throat bobbing. “I love you. I hope you know that. Even though I haven’t been here, I love you. And that’s a hard thing for me to say because I am messed up in the head. So fucking messed up. But it’s true, pipsqueak. You’re my little sis. I wouldn’t be the same without you. So…wake up already. Come on, Pip. Wake up. I’ll be a better brother.”
***
Pip. Marlow secretly likes that Chevy calls her that, even though she protested it at first. She wishes she could ease her brother’s pain. She knows he’s not comfortable seeing sickness, and although she doesn’t know how her body looks, she imagines that it’s not good.
The floor in the room is the color of driftwood. She’s running out of time, and she doesn’t know how to find her way out of this godforsaken room.
***
Reaper holds the picture of Marlow carefully, his fingers tracing over her face. It’s her official Second Lieutenant photo, and even though she hates it, they were all so proud of her. Reaper loves the cocky smirk she’s giving the camera, compared to her perfectly pressed uniform.
He approaches the ofrenda carefully, setting the picture of Marlow next to the photos of his deceased family members and bouquets of flowers. Dia de los Muertos always carried a lot of significance for him, but this year, it has a different meaning.
Marlow is in a coma, caught in the land between the living and the dead, and Reaper wants this ofrenda to help be a bridge between those two worlds. She’s his little sister, just like Chevy is his little brother, and Reaper needs her back. He finally got a little family back, and if he lost Marlow, he knew he would subsequently lose Chevy as well.
He needs her to wake up.
This is one of the first times he’s been away from the hospital in a while. He’s been choosing to sleep outside her hospital room with Chevy, both on guard in case one of Marlow’s other attackers comes back to harm her.
He kneels in front of the ofrenda, murmuring a silent prayer. She will wake up. She has to wake up.
***
The room is crumbling around her. The walls are cracking, the floor is disintegrating, and Marlow knows that this is the end.
It can’t be the end. She’s breathing heavily, curled up in the center of the room, when she feels an energy surging through her. It’s like a second wind, and she finds herself standing up and looking around. She’s Marlow fucking Stenberg. She’s not going to die like this.
“I’m not going to die, fucker!” she screams, spinning around the room as the ceiling starts to crack. “You can’t take me! I survived Hunter and I will outlast you!”
She lowers her gaze, her juniper green eyes sparking. “I’m getting married, Hunter. I win. You lose. And I’m not staying here for a second longer.”
Chunks of the room are falling now, showing an infinite darkness beyond, but Marlow doesn’t give up. She feels a burst of energy in her soul, and just as her heart skips a beat, a door appears on one of the walls.
Without hesitation, Marlow runs to the door, opens it, and bursts through to the other side.
***
Lukas snuck a blanket into the ICU, even though there aren’t supposed to be outside items in the room. Hannah turned a blind eye as the boy draped the heart-print blanket over the skinny girl, then sat in the chair next to her and leaned on the bed rail close to her head. Valdemar is asleep on the couch, snoring softly.
Lukas is about to drift into sleep himself, when the heart monitor skips a beat. He looks up in confusion, his hand automatically going to the nurse call button. He doesn’t want to disturb them if it’s nothing…but this is the girl he loves. She’s the reason he stopped drinking. He doesn’t want to be too late if she’s in danger.
He’s just about to press the button when the impossible happens. Marlow opens her eyes, her broken hand twitching in Lukas’s, and the boy presses the call button with a sob.
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr.
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: medical, aftermath of whump, graphic descriptions of injuries, mention of noncon
***
Dr. Parks stands outside of his newest patient’s room, working on her chart. Second Lieutenant Marlow Stenberg just survived a grueling eighteen hour operation with multiple specialities working on her at the same time, and now she’s in his ICU, unconscious and breathing through a tube.
When the rescue team brought her in and he received the report, he didn’t think she was going to make it. That suspicion only deepened once the true extent of her injuries was revealed. But she survived through some miracle, and now it’s his job to keep her in this mortal realm.
The dust has settled now, her vitals have stabilized, and he can write up the extent of her injuries. She’s incredibly malnourished, weighing only seventy-five pounds at five feet, six inches, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Every bone in her hands was broken over and over again, new fractures on top of old ones. When she’s more stable, she’ll have to go in for countless surgeries to put pins and screws in her hands and fingers to fix the crooked, warped digits. Her fingers aren’t the only broken bones she has.
Her chest x-ray revealed several broken ribs, with evidence of past breaks and fractures. It’s like she was kicked in the side or hit with a crowbar or bat over and over. Her leg was broken at some point in the ten months she was missing, and it set wrong, so the orthopedic surgeon had to break it again to repair it.
Worst of all, her pelvis was broken from how hard she was raped. Dr. Parks can hardly fathom enduring an injury like that. To break someone’s pelvis from rape is practically incomprehensible, and yet it happened to this poor girl. They repaired it with plates and screws, but she’s going to need months, if not years of physical therapy to be able to walk and sit properly again.
She has wounds and bruises covering eighty five percent of her body; most notable is the huge section of skin missing from her upper arm. Her fiance, Sergeant Valdemar Ackermann, said she used to have a tattoo there. The monster must have cut it off. It’s infected, along with several other of her wounds, and they’re pumping her full of antibiotics to try and avoid her going into septic shock.
Her heart and lungs are failing. She was dead when they found her, they just barely managed to get a pulse back. The cardiologist started her on several heart medications and put her on the transplant list, but she won’t get a new heart for a while. Same with her kidneys and liver, it’ll be a long wait for those as well. She’s critical, but not considered stable enough to survive a transplant surgery.
There are so many IV bags surrounding the young girl. So many different medications she’s on to keep her alive, along with a feeding tube running continuous nutrients into her malnourished body. She looks so small in the bed…but most tragic is what’s going on around her.
There’s a man in the hospital room with her, sitting in a chair and watching her carefully. Bruno Stenberg has been here for hours, not moving, just watching his daughter. He brought in a stuffed bear and tucked it under his daughter’s arm, and now he’s sitting in a chair sobbing.
Dr. Parks can’t tear his eyes from the sad man. This is the first time he’s seen his daughter in ten months, and it’s like this. With her half dead and unable to talk to him. He wishes the kid would wake up and talk to her old man already, but he knows that’s not possible. Not with her injuries.
But still, Bruno sits there with Marlow as the sun begins to set. Dr. Parks doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he needs to leave, that visiting hours are over. Bruno reaches out, adjusting the blankets over her body. “Why’d you have to leave me, kiddo?” he whispers. “Why did you get taken from me? Why did he do this to you? Oh, baby girl…” He sobs and leans over her bandaged hand, kissing the white gauze that covers most of her body. “Oh, my stubborn, sweet, perfect girl.”
Dr. Parks looks away, not wanting to hear anymore. They deserve a moment of privacy. He finishes his last note on the chart and closes it up, walking away to clock out. He’ll see them both tomorrow, and in the light of day, they’ll take another look at Marlow Stenberg and see if she’ll have any chance of survival.
The next part of @ocean-blue-whump and I's collab From Tyrant to Martyr.
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: Military, lady whump, broken bones, medical, mentions of abuse, guns, and slight violence
Beware this is a long chapter (5.5k words)
***
It’s been a long time coming, and Richie, codename ‘Demon’, is more than happy to finally bring Marlow home after ten months. It took countless months for Oscar to work on figuring a way to track her and Hunter’s location, but once it was found, the plan then got set in motion. He is sitting in the helicopter now, tapping at his tablet on his knee, making sure to memorize every nook and cranny available at the mansion if he is going to feel confident enough to go in and clear it room by room. Richie isn’t the kind to make mistakes that can cost the team an unwanted casualty or a hindrance where it could cost them valuable time. He takes a moment to look out the window, seeing the vast expanse of the forest, thinking about the very meeting he had just hours ago with Bruno and General Liam.
“What the hell do you mean I have to bring Hunter Bianchi back alive? Have you seen the shit he’s been doing to her? You want me to show mercy?” Richie’s voice rang out in the room, glaring at Liam and peeking over at a distraught Bruno.
Liam’s face was gaunt and he waved his hand. “I said what I said, Lieutenant Commander. You are to bring back both Lieutenant Marlow and Hunter Bianchi alive. That doesn’t mean you can’t use force or rough him up, but the idea is that he has to face justice.”
“Face justice? What kind of fucking justice will be served to a monster like him? Huh? He’s violated her and mocked her in videos. He’s attempted to murder her countless times. Look at Bruno, for God’s sake!”
Bruno barely had the will to look over at the men. “The longer you two bicker… the less likely the chance is that my daughter is going to live.” His voice, hoarse and tired, added onto his previous statement, “I don’t want him alive either, but… I want my daughter back.” He started to cry brokenly into his hands, shoulders shaking from the emotional distress caused by his daughter’s absence.
Liam sighed despondently and rubbed at his own face. “Marlow comes first. If Hunter does try anything, you can neutralize the threat, but I know you have it in you to do the right thing, Richie. Do it for her and Bruno, won’t you?”
“I’ll do it for both of them, but the right thing is to put a bullet between his eyes. I can’t believe you are letting me take Reaper and Khrystyna with me. Khrystyna especially. She’s her best friend. Are you really going to make her see Marlow in that state, Liam?”
“She is our best Medic, and you know that. Anything that needs immediate attention, she could do, and it can very well save her life. I suggest you go now before I have someone else go. Other’s that won’t have Marlow’s best interest as much as you all. You’re dismissed.”
Richie’s eyes were glued onto Liam’s, both men having their differences, but they both knew the stakes of the mission enough. Eventually, he saluted and spun on his heels to gather the resources and teammates he needed to make this mission a success. Before he made it through the door, he felt someone grab his sleeve. He didn’t need to look back to know who it was, but he turned his head enough to give Bruno his full attention.
“Whatever you do, just make sure she knows she’s loved, okay? I know she’s scared and traumatized. Don’t treat her any differently, please. From a father to you… save her.”
Richie forced an understanding smile. “Of course. She’ll be in good hands. Don’t stress about it. She’ll be back with us in no time.”
Truth be told, when he replays that memory in his head, he doesn’t know how close he can keep his promise. He’s seen the most recent video Hunter published, and in there, Marlow’s state was abysmal; Marlow was emaciated to the point her ribs were protruding, her bruises from videos ago still as prominent as ever, her eyes appearing with that thousand yard stare and dull, and her screams sounded even more agonized than prior ones. He has no idea if she’s still going to be alive when they reach her, the fear now clawing at his dark heart. What if they are too late? What will he have to tell her already deteriorating father? That his kid didn’t make it because they weren’t fast enough?
He rolls his shoulders and forces the sinister thoughts out of his mind, wanting to instead focus on the mission planning and possibly check on the others going on the mission as well. Running a quick hand through his hair, he stands up in the helicopter, holding onto one of the safety ropes once he addresses the group. “Alright, people, we have an ETA of roughly ten mikes. Mission is simple if you follow the right steps. We land in the clearing posterior to the mansion, obscured by the forest. We will each take an exit and enter through, looking into each corner and room like never before. Hunter Bianchi will be brought back alive, so if he is violent or tries anything, put him on his face and neutralize him. The main goal here is to find Second Lieutenant Marlow Stenberg and get her back here ASAP.” He watches each face carefully, settling on Khrystyna’s worried expression.
“She will most likely need life saving support, so when one of us finds her, it is detrimental that we call out the location and get back up. Is that clear? We are not bringing back anyone in a body bag. Not on this mission.” Richie gets a resounding roar back from the group, but he isn’t paying too much attention. It’s how Reaper is trying to console Khrystyna, whispering into her ear and offering a handkerchief for the young pararescuewoman. He still can’t imagine what it must be like for her, having scrutinized many videos so she can be prepared for what injuries and illnesses poor Marlow may have.
It doesn’t help either that Reaper, practically Marlow’s more sane brother, unlike Chevy, is also going with them. The man, religious and pious as ever, forced himself to watch over five hours worth of videos, each time retching and sobbing that his poor sister doesn’t deserve that fate. Chevy was originally supposed to attend the mission, but upon further inspection, the man wasn’t deemed safe enough to go due to his rage and the high likelihood that Hunter Bianchi would have been killed on the spot or tortured heavily. Not that Richie minded the thought of it, but he has orders, and if anyone makes a mistake today, that will be on his conscience and Liam will beat his ass for insubordination.
“Khrys? You want to have a chat with me?” Richie pops the question into reality, adjusting his rifle and clearing his throat. He watches her every move, needing to be ready to make the decision if she will really be going in with them or not.
Khrys stands up fully, forcing a smile and walking past Richie to a more secluded part of the helicopter. “I am all ears, Sir. What’s going on?”
One more sweep with his eyes, and he finally can find the words he wants to tell her. “I know this is a lot for us, but I need you to promise me that you won’t freeze up or let your emotions get in the way of this, because Marlow needs us to get her help. If I can’t trust you to do your job, I will ground you from this mission and I can get one of the other medics to step up and follow us in.” His voice is both sincere yet commanding. He has his own feelings too, but he can’t let it cloud his judgement nor his mind.
She looks him in the eye and purses her lips, letting out a small sigh. “She is my best friend, Richie. You think I want to be stuck in this damn plane when you damn well know I am the best medic we have here? I want to be there for her.” Her eyes well up with tears and she wipes them away with the palm of her tactical glove. “I can’t bear to know that I could have helped her and I was stuck here because I miss her so much. It’s been far too long and lonely without her. I am going in there.”
He swallows and nods his head slowly, musing over every word and action Khrys has done up to that point in time, and he looks out the window. “It has been a long time without our little Tyrant, hasn’t it? Just don’t let it cloud your judgement and do the job you are great at, exceptional even. Be there for her and save her life as best as you can. Okay? When you take a seat, have Reaper come over here so I can have a word with him.”
She doesn’t say another word and she heads back to where she and Reaper are sitting, tapping his shoulder and pointing to where Richie is standing. Both Reaper and Richie stare down one another, trying to get a read from what they can see, and it doesn’t take long for Reaper to make his way to Richie, standing tall and broad. “Sir.”
“Reaper…” Richie licks his lips and tries to think of what he can say to him, but Reaper beats him to the punch.
“I understand that you are worried about my relationship with Marlow, but I know what I have to do here. Hunter won’t die and neither will Marlow. That’s a promise from a brother to a sister. I promised her a while back that I would look out for her and teach her about dia de los muertos. I swore to her I would teach her how to make a quesadilla without a spatula. I swore to her that I would be a good brother, so if you try and ground me here, I won’t listen, because in my heart, she comes first.” Reaper’s voice is lower than usual, almost holding back the unimaginable amount of emotions he must be feeling.
Richie understands what it is like to have someone you care about get hurt, but never in this situation would he have been able to be like Reaper. He can’t afford to let his emotions get in the way of saving her life. He reaches out and places a warm hand on Reaper’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “You are a great brother for Marlow. I know she’s going to be in great hands. Don’t forget the mission details, and let’s bring her home, okay?”
Reaper smiles back at Richie, and it’s a genuine one of hope and love. “She’s coming back home today. My sister is coming back home.” He turns to meet up with Khrystyna, hugging her tight and helping her do some final preparations for the landing.
It’s almost time. He checks his watch and walks over to the pilot, seeing it’s Sebastian. “Any change in plans or are we still green for the mission?” Out of everyone on that aircraft, Sebastian seems to be the only one holding himself together so well that he doesn’t feel the need to worry about him as much as the others.
They glance over at Richie, half scoffing, “You think I would turn this heli around if things weren’t green?” They focused back on the controls and cracked their neck. “I miss Marlow too, but I know you guys will get her back here in one piece. Plus-” he gives a cocky grin that Richie knows pilots have- ‘if you don’t bring her back, then I am leaving all your asses here until you do. So no pressure. Have fun.”
That makes Richie laugh for the first time in weeks and he shakes his head. “You are too much to deal with, Seb. How long do we have now?”
“Yeah, but I am one hell of a pilot. We got about two minutes. I would get everyone rounded up for landing. Once you are all inside, I will move the heli closer to the mansion so we can get a quicker evac. Sounds good?”
“That sounds perfect to me. Alright, I’m off. If you need anything, call us or use your survival pistol.” Richie gives one helmet tap to Sebastian and makes a hand motion for everyone to round up and get ready. “This is it, people! You know my expectations of you. Everyone is coming home at the end of the day, so make it happen. Good hunting.”
The landing comes so quickly, that within seconds, everyone disembarks towards the mansion in different directions, flanking every exit, their sights aimed at any movement. Richie speaks into his comms, his voice low and gravelly, “Top priority is locating Marlow Stenberg. If you run into Hunter Bianchi, handle it as swiftly as possible. On my mark, we head in.” He makes it to the back door by the kitchen, inhaling slowly and settling into his demeanor for the mission. His heart will have to be locked away for the duration of this until they make it home. Maybe then he can ponder over the events.
“Alright, mark. Get to work.” He uses his shoulder to bust through the wood and glass door, forcing his way into the mansion, eyes scanning the area followed by this rifle. The moment he steps inside the mansion does something deep in his gut tell him something is wrong. It’s this eerie feeling he gets when there’s death in the air, his jaw tightening when his brain tries to tell him they may be too late.
“Irrelevant. I’m bringing her home,” Richie whispers to himself, adjusting his grip on the rifle and trudging along both slowly enough to not miss any key details, but quick enough in case Marlow is in dire need of attention. He’s been around Marlow ample times to understand she’s a strong, stubborn, and resourceful woman, but even with the training she has from Valdemar’s resistance training, no one could handle Hunter Bianchi for as long as her. Not without shattering like some fragile little porcelain doll. No matter how much he trusts himself and is confident in his own abilities, Richie is well aware he would have been in a body bag or worse.
This only hastens his mission in looking around the area, clearing each room he runs into, every closet he tears open just hoping for a chance to shoot the monster that has been hurting Marlow, his sister in arms. He checks his watch and exhales through his nose, counting the minutes passing by. Every sixty seconds that passes by without an update is as good as Marlow getting more than a foot through the door of death. Two hundred and eighty four seconds since the mission launched. That’s four minutes and forty four seconds that Marlow has now lost.
The next room is different now; no longer a guest bedroom or a utility closet, but now a surveillance room, multiple screens along the wall, some playing videos of Marlow in… various positions, all demeaning and sexual in nature. Others, however, showed a live feed, from seeing Namdar and Damien, both his teammates, scouring around the mansion in hallways and passages, to then seeing a small blip in the center of a tiny room. He approaches the screen, eyes narrowing to focus in on the image until realization hits him like a truck.
It’s Marlow.
Adrenaline rushes through his veins, the objective now clear in sight. His next item is to see where she is exactly so he can route his way to her, and in the corner of the video, it’s labeled ‘Pet-Room 2F4R’. Second floor, fourth room. His options were now going to the East or West wing when he’s on the second floor, and he focuses on the window, seeing the slight outline of the moon in the back. Room is facing East, so the room is in the East Wing. He has his mark.
Another glance at his watch. Seven minutes, thirty three seconds. Time is ticking, and it’s not in Marlow’s favor, seeing how she’s motionless in the room. It’s not looking good, but he will be the one getting to her. His voice finally breaks through the silence as he rushes through the mansion, getting to the grand staircase headed to the East Wing. “Found a hostage target. Second floor, East Wing. Should be the fourth room. Await confirmation. Aggressor not spotted yet. Assume he’s dangerous and armed until neutralized. Patches, I need you at my location. Ranger, Gator, and Reaper: Hunt him down. Surveillance room is in the West Wing, ground floor, three doors from the kitchen. Make it happen.”
He doesn’t care to listen to their acknowledgements, making it to the second floor, instincts kicking in and raising his rifle to face down one side of the hall before spinning to face the other side. Taking care not to make unnecessary sounds, he nimbly navigates the hall, the scent of death and decay nearing, growing far stronger. He’s headed in the right direction until he arrives at a door with the lock on the outside, facing the hallway. Just that little fact alone that someone would go out of their way to change the orientation of the lock tells him his answer.
Reaching out and taking the handle by the hand, he turns it, hearing the click of the lock undoing itself in the process. He pushes the door open, rifle at the ready in case there’s someone waiting for him. In all his years of being a Navy SEAL and seeing the atrocities the world has to offer, none of those situations came close to this. There she is, Marlow Stenberg, on the floor, exhaling her last breath, body in such a state that she is basically a living- more so dying- corpse.
“Medic!” He screams into his comms, snapping into action within milliseconds of seeing Marlow’s decrepit body. He slides to her side, setting the rifle to the side and getting his bag ready, fingers at her neck to find a pulse. It’s barely registerable, and his voice is quick, “Carotid pulse negligible. We’re losing her. I needed a medic fucking yesterday, hurry your ass up, Patches!” He commands into the earpiece, leaning down to tilt her head by lifting her chin, bringing his lips to hers so he can provide a few rescue breaths.
Seconds feel like centuries to him, but he won’t stop until he’s dead or somebody tears him off her. His hands interlock just above her chest, his eyes grazing over all the injuries scattered throughout her body just before pressing down two inches in succession of another press. The sickening sounds of ribs and her sternum snapping under his force will stay with him for many years, he is certain, but he refuses to give up. Having practiced CPR in the past prepares him for this, working at around one hundred to one hundred and twenty compressions a minute.
After thirty compressions, he once again provides rescue breaths, his eyes darting to the side to see Khrystyna just standing there, her own eyes wide with terror. The way her body is tense tells Richie that the medic is in shock, and he doesn’t have the patience to deal with her hesitation at such an awful time. “Khrystyna, get your fucking ass over here before she dies on us! Give me an epi IV right this second!”
Khrystyna still stays frozen in time, her eyes glued onto Marlow’s body being shattered by his attempts to resuscitate her. Richie wastes no time and gives the command one last time, “Get over here or she dies! You want her to die?! Then. Get. Here. NOW!” Somehow that’s what finally snaps the girl out of her fearful stupor, Khrys coming over with newly-found haste, her medic bag in front.
It only takes a few seconds to get the needed equipment out, from the IV bag, IV catheters, and start kit to the antiseptic, local anesthetic, and gloves. Khrys finally holds Marlow’s arm, eyes grazing over the bruises, cuts, needle tracks, and the rest of the evidence proving a horrible situation that has gone on for far too long. “There’s signs of drug use… I don’t know how good her veins will b-”
“Can you do it or not?” Richie asks in between compressions, locking gazes with the flustered medic. “I did not bring you all the way to the end just for you to find excuses.” He gives Marlow a few breaths and resumes his work, sweat finally building up on his brow. “So get me vein to work with. If not, she’s not making it another minute. You signed up to be here, you raised your right hand, now do it.”
The medic ducks her head and focuses her efforts back on Marlow, using her fingers to look for the most suitable vein. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long to find a vein on the back of her right hand, working the needle and IV catheter in. She sets the IV bag on a portable stand, prepares the saline push and epinephrine, pressing the plunger down so Marlow gets the dosage she needs. “D-done, Sir. Now what?”
Richie nods his head, groaning slightly and jutting his chin over to the bag. “Get me some way to monitor her vitals. We need to track blood pressure, heart rate, and anything else we can get. Actually, I am going to have you switch with me. Take over and I can get her hooked up with the monitoring equipment.” The way her eyes widen at the prospect makes his jaw set tight, but he’s been mad for far too long. “I can’t keep doing this alone. I need you to pick up the slack. So take care of her, and we can get her home. The boys are finding Hunter.”
Khrys, once beside him, gives a quick nod, her hands ready to land on Marlow’s chest to provide her own compressions. It’s different when it’s someone you love and care about, so when she feels Marlow’s sternum and ribs give way, crumbling under the pressure to keep her alive, a choked sob escapes Khrys’ lips. “Oh, Marlow… oh my God, Marlow… Don’t die on me, please don’t,” the medic begs with each press.
Richie’s voice breaks the momentary silence, “Keep going. One, two, three, four, repeat. Keep it up, darling. Marlow, don’t give up on me.” He stands up, finally able to take the second of respite Khrys is giving him, taking another sweep of Marlow’s body, trying to find any other injuries that need immediate action. The extremely dark bruising around her intimate areas, hips included, indicate something to him that forces a bubbling rage to ensue. “The… this fucking son of a bitch,” he growls lowly, digging his fingers into his face and dragging it along to his jaw, using the pain to bring him back to focus. Khrys gives him a quizzical expression, to which he responds softly, “He fractured her pelvis. Discoloration matches the possible diagnosis, along with sexual battery.”
Gasping from the shock of the revelation, Khrystyna falters in her compressions but doesn’t need Richie to tell her, returning her full efforts to keeping Marlow’s weak heart going. “Her pelvis… how… are we going to move her?” Tears fall down her face at an unprecedented rate, falling on the marred-up woman’s body as she jolts from the life saving actions being taken. “Is she going to make it?”
“We’ll move her with a stretcher. I’ll have one of the boys grab it here once she is stable. She will make it. She is the best fighter I’ve ever met. She won’t give up so easily. Not if she made it this far.” Richie is telling himself that as much as he is telling Khrystyna to not give up hope. He makes sure the fluid is getting into Marlow, his eyes narrowing at the missing skin on her arm where her tattoo used to be. He was forced to memorize any bodily marks she has in case he would have had to… identify a body. It’s not something he wanted to do, but it is an avenue he is prepared to go down.
His character and ability to hold down his emotions is what separated him from Bruno, the courageous yet stubborn man unable to think about his daughter in such a light without shattering. Believe me, old man, you wouldn’t have survived through this. No one else could do this. Someone is going to have to brief you on this later, and that will be me.
He helps set up the heart monitor on Marlow, being careful to not disturb Khrystyna’s movements, seeing the number pop up on the portable screen. “Not great, but you are doing good, Patches.” His wondering about how the search is going gets answered when gunfire rings out in the manor, his eyes darting to the door, rifle unslung and aiming just in case things go wrong.
“Someone give me an answer of what the hell just happened,” Richie calls out into his comms, giving the standard five second wait when Damien responds back.
“We found him and he started firing at myself and Reaper,” the naval NCO speaks with a clear voice.
Reaper adds to the mix, “Target neutralized and restrained. Currently having Namdar escort them to the aircraft for detention. Do I need to do anything else, Sir?”
Richie looks to Marlow, seeing some color return to her, but they aren’t out of the woods yet. “Get me a stretcher for Marlow. We need her evacuated while she is stable enough. Hurry. The other two: keep an eye on our target. I don’t want the fucking weasel finding a way out of this.” With his orders given, he knows they will be followed to perfection, kneeling next to Marlow, focusing on the monitor. “Stop compressions.”
Khrystyna’s face falls for a brief second, the young pararescueman hesitating and pulling her hands back, holding them up to see how Marlow is doing. To both their shock, she’s actually keeping a fairly decent enough rhythm without assistance, and there’s a collective sigh of relief. For the moment, Marlow is going to be okay. “I’ll work on wrapping her pelvis if you help me with that, Demon?”
Right. Her pelvis.
Her shattered, pulverized pelvis has to be held together with bandages and wrapping so the surgeons can go in to fix it in the operating room. The dark bruising along her fair skin shows the level of damage and blood simply pooling underneath the surface, but with how emaciated she is as well, it’s the fact Richie can see where some of the fractures occurred, the subtle swelling barely trying to hide it. “I can help. Just tell me what to do, Patches.”
Going along with each instruction Khrystyna gives him, he holds her legs together while they work the bandages underneath her posterior hips and at the level of… the great trochanters. Richie knows a lot about killing people, but he will leave the medical jargon to Khrystyna. All he can do for Marlow is help her pelvis get wrapped with what they have on hand, helping tie it off so it stays still and stable. When he tightens the bandages, he hears an audible whimper, and his blood boils, wanting to spend ten unsupervised minutes with the weasel that did this to her.
Hearing footsteps behind him, he glanced back to see a worry-stricken Reaper, the SEAL operator wiping his eyes quickly with his gloved hands and bringing the stretcher over. “I… I brought it, Sir. Is she…?”
“She’s alive, Reaper. I wouldn’t lie to you. She was close to going through the doors, but I am too stubborn and Patches here is a great medic. She’s going to pull through,” Richie replies back in a softer tone, but there’s still business to be done. “Now do you want to help get her on the stretcher and carry her to the chopper?”
Reaper can only force himself to nod, his eyes slowly looking over the poor girl’s body, taking in the horrors that afflicted her for almost a full year. He crouches by her head, hands working under her shoulders. “Ay, mija… ¿Qué te pasó?” He asks in a horrified voice, picking her up with too much ease along with Richie. The only guess they have is that she is under 90 pounds, which for a woman of her age and height, is abysmally low.
Her heart monitor only spikes for a quick moment, but it goes back to normal, and Richie can only attribute that pain to her pelvis… among other things too. He doesn’t have an issue helping Reaper and Khrystyna lead Marlow’s limp body down the stairs, through the manor of horrors, and eventually out into the grassy yard, where the helicopter is now idling about. A few feet away, there’s an individual cuffed, in between Damien and Namdar’s rifles.
The fucking weasel is smirking and laughing at Marlow. Richie clenches his jaw so tightly, his teeth might break under the pressure, but he is on a mission right now to get Marlow into the helicopter. That’s exactly what he, Reaper, Sebastian, and Khrystyna do, locking her stretcher in place and hooking her up to far better medical equipment and IV fluids. The whole debacle lasts a few minutes, and Reaper finishes it off by tucking in Marlow, making sure she is covered and that it doesn’t disturb the intubation they have set up for Marlow’s breathing. Richie places a hand on her forehead, giving her a small kiss on the head before stepping out of the helicopter and whistling at the two remaining SEAL members to step away from the bastard.
Time for business.
Richie pulls his gloves to be taut on his hand and without even wasting a breath, swings a fist right into Hunter’s jaw, sending the weasel sprawling on the floor. He places his boot on Hunter’s head, applying pressure down, forcing his head into the soft earth. “If I see you smile one more time, I am going to make sure you drown in a puddle of blood. Damien? Did this waste of life fire at you guys?”
Damien clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Five times. Three missed, two hit the vest.”
“Five. I can do five. How’s five more counts of attempted murder sound?” Richie chuckles down at Hunter, who is now glaring at the Navy SEAL commander.
“How was it seeing my masterpiece? She’s gorgeous, huh? My little Starshine,” Hunter groans out, writhing in his restraints.
Richie’s eyes darken and he pulls Hunter up by the handcuffs only, his voice low. “You are lucky I care enough about the law and justice. That woman you have been tormenting is a Second Lieutenant of the United States Air Force. She may not have had anyone to protect her while she was here, but she has me now. I am going to be that girl’s wall, her protector, and her personal demon. That being said, you call her by that sick name again, and we are going to have problems. Just to make it crystal clear-” he punches Hunter in the stomach, keeping him up while the weasel coughs relentlessly.
Hunter looks over at Khrystyna, humming. “I could have had a pair of puppies.”
Richie tosses him over to Damien, snarling, “Tape his mouth shut and keep him away from anything important in the helicopter. Now.” He steps away, trying to collect his emotions, upset at himself for letting Hunter get to him, but what kind of a man would he be if he didn’t care about Marlow? He rubs his face and stares out at the stars in the sky, knowing Bruno is worried sick about the mission. He pulls out his phone, and dials in a number, holding the device to his ear, the ringing tone cutting out to a hoarse voice.
“Where is she, Richie?” Bruno’s voice gives away the audible fear laced in the words, almost like a serpent coiled around its prey.
Richie smiles proudly, responding with the simplest answer he can muster, “We got her back, Bruno. We got our Marlow.”
He doesn’t know why, but hearing Bruno’s cries of thanks and gratitude warms him up, and just the amount of love Bruno has for his daughter gives him his reason.
The reason why he risks his life for others.
It’s not for himself or for the military. It’s not even a reason to kill. It’s for the little moments of telling a grieving father he’s found their long lost daughter and they can have a reason to hope again. “Mission complete.”
Sorry for the wait, y'all. I'm bringing 479 and Dennison back finally!
Dax Del Mar Masterlist
Tagging @outofangband @batfacedliar-yetagain @painful-pooch - let me know if you want to be added/removed!
CW: BBU, possesive whumper, gaslighting over memories
***
479 stands in the center of the white room, his hands clutching the hem of his white shirt. He’s nervous, he’s so, so nervous. He knows he messed up, he knows he wasn’t his Handler’s perfect boy, but he doesn’t want to face his punishment. He wishes he was back in the dance room working on his turns and leaps, but instead he’s here.
“Take it from the top,” Handler Dennison says, tapping his pen against his lips. He has a clipboard in his lap, where he’s taking notes for the official incident report. Or at least, that’s what 479 thinks he’s doing . He can’t read the paper to know what’s going on. “Start from the beginning and tell me everything.”
479 takes a deep breath, running his hand through his messy black hair. He doesn’t want to repeat what happened this morning. He doesn’t want to disappoint Handler Dennison, but he was given an order and he has to follow through. “I woke up and had my nutrient loaf, Sir. Then they came and got me for my dance lesson. While I was walking, I saw a man…he looked so familiar…” He trails off, trying to remember the man’s face, but now, hours later, it’s all just a blur.
“And then?” Handler Dennison prompts. “And then what did you do?”
“I had a false memory.” 479 clears his throat and the ground is blurry beneath him. “I remembered flashing lights and loud music…I remembered someone taking my hand and pulling me outside. I remember feeling free. And then I saw the man and he was kissing me.” He sniffles, wiping his eyes. “Did I…did I live outside? Have I seen the outside?”
“No, you haven’t.” He makes some notes on his clipboard. “You’ve always been here. You’ve always been 479. You haven’t kissed any other men than me, have you?”
The tone in Handler Dennison’s voice…it’s dark, it’s dangerous, it’s too much. Nothing good ever comes when he sounds like that. 479 has watched him make other pets scream, watched him draw blood. He doesn’t like when Handler Dennison sounds like that. “No, Handler. I haven’t kissed any other men than you.”
“And you’re not going to kiss any other men than me, right?”
“Well…my owner, Handler,” 479 stammers out. He’s being made for his owner. He’s supposed to be good for his owner.
Handler Dennison scoffs and waves his hand. “Right, your owner. Sure. I don’t care about your prospective owner right now, slut.”
479’s cheeks burn with the casual, degrading term.
Handler Dennison clicks his pen once, twice, three times. “But you didn’t just have a false memory. You did something, baby. What did you do? Tell me.”
“Handler…” 479 squirms around, running his hand through his hair again. He doesn’t like this, but he doesn’t have a choice. “I made a mistake, Handler.”
“What kind of mistake, baby?”
“The false memory…it made me do something. It made me…” Shame. That’s all 479 feels is shame. Handler Dennison has been good to him. He’s made him better, and all he gets for it is 479’s misbehaviour. “I grabbed onto the man. I begged him to save me.”
“Save you from what?”
“Save me from…from here.”
Handler Dennison tilts his head. “What’s there to save you from, baby? You’re lucky. You get food and water and shelter. You’re treated kindly, not like Handler Hanford’s trainees. You get treats and you get to go to dance classes and you get all of my attention. What exactly do you need saving from?”
479 crumples at Handler Dennison’s feet, gripping the man’s legs. “I don’t need saving, Handler,” he sobs, his chest so tight and empty. “I like it here. I like you. I need to be good for you.” There’s a difference between wanting and needing. He knows he needs to be good for Handler Dennison. But wanting…
He wants it too because he wants to be touched and held and loved.
Handler Dennison holds 479’s chin, forcing the boy to look up at him. “Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay. I know that false memory must have been distressing you. I don’t want to punish you if you promise me you won’t ask to leave again.”
479 nods as fast as he can. He doesn’t want to be a bad pet. He doesn’t want to be punished.
Handler Dennison lifts 479 onto his lap, holding the boy to his chest and rubbing his back. “There, there. It’s okay. I promise. I’ve got you. Just relax.”
479 leans against his handler, his heart racing. Safe…he has to feel safe. This is right. This is the way things are supposed to be.
And yet, he can’t help thinking about the way the stars sparkled in his false memory…about the way it felt to be free.
