A young doctor, down on his luck, finds himself working in a facility of institutionalized slavery. The horrors he discovers inside those walls, as well as the patients he meets, force him to examine the world through a new lens.
Fifty-Eight Days: Elijah & Grayson
Two missionaries endure a brutal captivity side by side when they cross a powerful drug lord. Told partially through their future therapy sessions as they unpack what happened between them and find their way back to each other.
BBU Hollywood: Henry's Story
The use of contracted Companions in the film industry is controversial at best, but Maxwell Entertainment has no such qualms. Paul Maxwell himself likes to keep a slew of fresh talent under contract. Henry is his best and brightest young star.
Sins of the Father: Auden Bell-Webb
A young man’s life is uprooted when he is sentenced to a period of indentured servitude in The Colonies to pay for the crimes of his adoptive father. (He’s new here, more to come).
Hello beautiful people, look at this wonderful art of Jaime & Sebastian that @technicallydeliciousdeer commissioned from @hidingintheleaves !!!!!!!!!!!
always compelled by whumpee offering themself sexually to caretaker and it being really, abundantly, horribly obvious that this is the last thing they want. they’re trying to hide it but they’re shaking and can’t look caretaker in the eye and their breathing is all strange and shallow. they don’t want this. it terrifies them. that’s never been the sort of relationship they had in the first place. but after whumper… they believe this is all they’re good for, or that no one could waste time on caring for them without getting something in return, or they’re just tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop and want to get it over with.
the offer combined with how loudly, disturbingly clear is they don’t want it. how horrifying and devastating it would be for caretaker to hear. the knees-giving-out, break-immediately-down-crying relief when caretaker - gently or firmly or even sharply, almost angrily - says no. obviously not.
living for the unintentional series !!! wouldn’t it be terrible if Leo had to ask Aiden for his number to confirm the papers? the conditioned response and angst of all the nicety being fake? idk could be fye.
Have been daydreaming this follow-up since I posted part one a little less than a ear ago (honestly, thought it was longer so this feels entirely reasonable). thanks for the ask/reminder that it was outstanding, got really distracted by nail guns.
Previous — Masterlist — Next
“You just said you wish you hadn’t read it,” Delia whispers. “We can focus on the number alone for now.”
“No, we can’t.” Leo kneads his forehead. “It would feel like lying by omission. It’s not him anyway, it can’t be.”
She waits.
“Don’t give me that look. You have no way of being 100% sure, it’s not like there’s a name on the form.”
“Is there a tiny chance this form belongs to someone else? Sure, I guess. But for all the no-longer-hypothetical hurt that would save Aiden, it would also mean we’re no closer to getting a legitimate status to protect him today. That’s what really matters.”
Leo wrings his hands.
“If we start with the number, we’ll know right away if it’s wrong and save him the—”
“No.”
“Seriously? You need to chill the fuck out—”
“L-Leo?”
Aiden stands at the bottom of the stairs. He’s already worried, fingers gripping the hem of his t-shirt tightly. This is going to put a dent in the considerable effort Leo has been making to help Aiden trust that not every step off plan is a bad thing. He notices Leo’s gaze on his hands and straightens them at his sides. A self-imposed correction that Leo hasn’t had the heart to tell him is even more concerning.
“Hey, kiddo,” Delia says when words seem to fail her brother.
Aiden barely takes his eyes off Leo to acknowledge her. “Hi…Delia.”
She waits another beat in case Leo reanimates. He doesn’t. “Why don’t we sit down and talk a bit?”
Nothing ever sounds casual in the presence of a recovering companion, even to her ears. Aiden’s swallow is practically audible as he slides into a chair at the table. Tucked on the far side with his back to the wall, directly across from Leo. A defensive position more than anything, though it’s a wonder he doesn’t also feel cornered.
She waits a beat for Leo to take the lead, which of course he doesn’t.
“So, we may have made some progress with finding your number,” Delia starts carefully, trying not to slip too much into her medical professional talking to laypeople tone. She slides the slightly crumpled paper across the table. Leo’s actually holding his breath. This whole endeavor is doomed.
Aiden tries valiantly but can’t hide the fact that his hands are shaking as he presses his fingertips against the paper to center it in front of him.
“I—it’s the-the… mmm’handwriting. It’s too—” He shakes his head. “I can’t.”
That and the fact that he can’t tear his eyes away from Leo for more than a second at a time.
“It’s okay,” Delia says gently, pulling the paper back over.
Aiden looks momentarily relieved to be able to bury his hands in his pockets again.
“Our contact pulled this because it has your date of birth and seems to fit your timeline. May 17th, right?”
Aiden nods with zero confidence.
“Millions of people have the same birthday,” Leo says stubbornly.
Delia ignores him. “So, we can either—”
“Read it.” Leo keeps his eyes fixed on the table.
Aiden looks at her, concern creasing his brow.
“Leo…” She tries to catch his gaze.
“Trust me, it’s not going to be him.” He pushes the form at her. “Read it.”
She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “We don’t have to,” she tells Aiden.
He chews his lip, watching Leo study the woodgrain. “It’s…okay.”
How did she get dragged into this again? She sighs. “This says you were assigned domestic designation under handler Archer.”
Aiden freezes, even stops looking at Leo as he seems to retreat into himself. It takes a few seconds and then he pulls in a shaky breath. “That-that…was me.”
“Okay—”
“It’s still not enough,” Leo interrupts. “There are over a hundred thousand people in the System.”
Aiden shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
Nice fact, Leo. She tries to glare at him but he’s still committed to avoiding any eye contact.
“Keep reading, it can’t be him.”
“Leo.” She looks at Aiden apologetically but he nods for her to keep going.
These two are idiots.
“Uhm. This says you were…uh, committed…” Aiden’s still staring at Leo, willing him to look at him, while Leo just keeps staring at the damn table. “Sorry,” she apologizes to Aiden, then turns to Leo. “There is no reason to drag this out. You’re being—”
“Fine.” He snatches the paper from her hands. Aiden tenses. “I’ll read it then.”
“Subject was committed by his parents due to concerns about deviant compulsions…”
Aiden visibly flinches but Leo isn’t looking at him.
Delia crosses her arms and tries to be subtle as she gauges Aiden’s reactions. She is not above taking him out of this room to save him from her pig headed brother.
“They have always generally struggled to control his defiant, delinquent personality…”
Aiden lifts his chin a fraction. Is it her imagination or are there tears in his eyes? “That… was me.”
“Leo, that has to be enough.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the paper. “You said yourself these were common entry points. This isn’t his form.”
She wants to raise her voice but Aiden’s already freaked out enough. And it would do no good to insist they talk alone, which might not even do any good. It seems better not to draw attention to the fact that Aiden’s losing a hold of himself, it will feel like a criticism against showing emotion. Fuck, Leo.
He’s onto the background details.
“Subject is a student. Plays lacrosse and is an accomplished swimmer...”
“That… was me.” A tear slips down Aiden’s cheek and he doesn’t bother to swipe it away, like he’s begging for Leo to just look up and notice.
“Hon, you don’t have to sit through this,” Delia says.
Leo doesn’t look up.“Trust me, something in here isn’t going to match.”
“Aiden?”
He doesn’t look over as he shakes his head, like he can’t risk glancing away or he might miss the chance to catch Leo’s gaze.
Leo drags him through the entire rest of the document, pausing after each section to wait for Aiden to verbally confirm so he doesn’t have to look at him. By the end, Aiden is full on crying and it’s all Delia can do just to keep a supportive hand on his shoulder and not pull him from the room.
“Subiect became more relaxed and cooperative once parents left…”
Delia stares daggers at Leo.
Aiden has to clear his throat to speak. “L —” His voice cracks. “That…was…me.”
Leo tries to flip over the form, still convinced he can save Aiden. “But—”
“It’s—it is…me.” He puts his hand on the table, offering more than reaching. He must think it appears plausibly deniable but in reality, it’s heartbreaking to watch him hang there, waiting, raw. Doubly so with everything the form laid bare and Leo unable to accept it. Leo can’t even look at him.
Another minute passes of Aiden crying silently and Leo staring down at the form. The muscles in Aiden’s cheek twitch under the tension of his jaw. Her brother looks like he’s made of stone.
So different from the night they should be having. When she first came in, the kitchen still smelled like Leo's tomato sauce from earlier. He was probably just about to cajole Aiden into some over-the-top dessert for Friday night. Ice cream covered in whipped cream, m&ms and mini marshmallows. A tradition he started when it was just the two of them but back then it was usually just buttered toast with cinnamon and sugar. If Aiden was up for a boardgame they’d play at the table or just put something easy on the TV. One or both of them falling asleep by ten.
When she can’t take it anymore she stands. Aiden pulls his hand back into his lap. “Listen, I think we should just—”
“Finish it,” Aiden says.
“What?” Delia hopes he’s not suggesting what she thinks he is.
He wipes his face with his sleeve and stands. “The number…my-my number…say it.”
“Aiden, come on…” He’s too busy daring Leo to engage to look at her. “Leo, seriously, this isn’t a good idea.”
The seconds stretch into a minute and she starts to think Leo might finally be returning to the land of logic. “I don’t think any of us want to revisit this a second time,” he says to the table.
Are you off your meds? She almost asks but that wouldn’t be very doctorly. She can’t really blame him for overreacting like this but part of her does wonder if it’s a little above and beyond the call of anxious duty. Either way, her dumb brother might have a point about wrapping this up once and for all.
She takes a deep breath. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
Aiden nods, a little too resigned to this outcome for her liking.
“Wait—” Leo holds up his hand. Finally.
But it’s too little too late. Aiden refuses to look at him. Not an easy feat, the kid is holding his breath, fingers balled into fists at his sides. He grips his flannel pajama pants, probably to hide the fact that his hands are shaking.
“Never mind,” Leo mumbles. Where was this defeatist attitude earlier?
“Are you sure—”
“Delia,” Aiden says at the same time Leo tells her, “Just do it.”
A clean break is easier to set. One final cut.
“75419359.”
Aiden doesn’t move, doesn’t react in the slightest.
“Aiden?” Leo takes a half step forward.
She catches his sleeve. “Wait—”
The absence of recognition is their answer. Either because Aiden’s consciously fighting the conditioning or it’s just buried too deep to surface. They have his number.
Leo pulls out of her grip. “Hon, are you alright?”
For some reason, the void of reaction makes her think of a star collapsing in on itself.
“I think—”
Leo’s panic rises to fill the vacuum. “Aiden, look at me.” He reaches for his arm.
“Wait—”
Leo grips Aiden’s shoulder. She holds her breath. “Talk to me, kiddo.”
For a split second, there’s a flash of what might be recognition across his face. But it disappears as fast as it came. And then everything implodes.
Aiden’s knees hit the floor and Leo follows like they’re connected by an invisible tether.
“Aiden!” Leo catches him by the tops of the arms before he can fall further, presumably to press his forehead to the ground. Yup, they got his number alright. Yipee.
“Leo, you shouldn’t—”
“W-where—where am’I, s-s-s—”
“What? Aiden—”
He looks right through Leo, eyes filmed with tears. “Where-where’s…mmm’Archer?”
“Aiden—”
“H-handler…mmm’Archer?”
“Listen to me—”
Aiden lifts a shaking hand to his neck. “W-what-what did’I’do?”
“Oh, shit. Leo—”
“What?” Leo looks back at her in a panic.
“Give him some space.”
“What? Why?”
“Please-please, w-w-what did I do?” He gropes at his throat.
“What’s happening?”
“He’s looking for his collar, they take them off for the worst punishments…” His eyes are wide with panic as he scans the room unseeing, fingers clawing at his neck.
“What? No, Aiden, no.” Leo catches his hands and Aiden whimpers. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
He nods, gaze never lifting higher than Leo’s jaw. He pulls his hands back and doesn’t go straight for his own throat.
Instead, he starts undoing Leo’s belt.
“No!” Leo’s on his feet, stumbling away. “What the hell are you doing?!”
Aiden shrinks back, hands coming up defensively as he makes himself smaller in that special way that comes from being brainwashed to believe you don't deserve to take up space. “S-s-s-s…m’sorry…m’sorry—” He gasps between sobs, shaking his head. He starts raking at his neck again.
Leo takes a half-step forward but seems to think better of it. “Delia, do something.”
She kneels next to Aiden. The poor kid is starting to draw blood but his breathing is so thin and panicked, she wonders if it’s not about the collar anymore.
Delia catches his hands, squeezing them gently to try to bring him back to awareness. “Aiden, can you look at me?”
His breathing is even more strained. Probably because even this is enough to feel like he’s restrained.
“He can’t breathe!” Leo’s back at her side, one hand pressed to his sternum like he can feel it himself.
“Aiden, can you squeeze my hands?”
“Delia!”
“Leo, relax. You’re not helping.”
He sits back on his heels and crosses his arms.
“Aiden, hey, you’re good. You’re a good boy. You’re—”
The strangled sound that comes out of Aiden sends a chill down her spine. Worse than the screams and groans of physical pain she’s used to, this is different. A sound she wouldn’t wish on anyone, not only because it’s beyond imagination. Made worse by the fact that he sounds like he collapsed a lung. She almost wants to check but doesn’t want to add oil to the fire.
“Give me your belt, we can—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence.”
Aiden continues to choke on thin air right in front of them.
“That’s all I can think of! It’s just a pressure thing—”
“No.”
Like they haven’t all suffered enough because of his obstinance.
“Then it’s going to be a while,” she grits.
“No, it’s not. He shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“Leo, enough. Just because—”
Aiden’s eyes widen a fraction when Leo stands over them but he doesn’t cower back, his hands still limp in her grip. At least he’s not completely gone to the world. And her brother just walks away. Stubborn idiot.
Maybe it’s time to just hold the kid for as long as it takes. Grounding pressure to reset his central nervous system, right? Not the worst idea.
“Move.”
“What?”
Leo brushes her aside as he wraps a blanket around Aiden’s shoulders. Finally, something.
“Let’s go,” he says, mostly to Aiden as he hauls him to his feet. Aiden rasps a whine.
She scrambles to follow. “Where?”
“Outside. Come on, hon.”
“Leo, it’s raining.”
“All the better.”
She shakes her head, hoping he’s right as she hurries to get the door.
Leo half-carries the shaking, wheezing bundle that is Aiden out of the house and down the three steps to the walkway. He makes him stand on his own two feet, one arm holding him close.
“Come on, you’re okay. Let’s walk it off, yeah?”
By some miracle, her brother gets a semblance of a nod out of Aiden.
Leo leads him along at a surprisingly clipped pace, Delia following behind with her heart in her throat. By the time they round the first corner of the parking lot, she can’t hear Aiden’s panicked breathing over the rain anymore. The blanket is soaked through, dragging along the pavement. No longer a shelter, it only serves to burden. Weighing on his shoulders, a second skin sapping his warmth.
At the far end, under the streetlight, they turn back. Aiden plants his feet and Leo almost trips, trying not to drag him forwad.
“Aiden?” Leo snaps right back to panic as he turns to face him. Obviously, this was his single life line.
Aiden finally meets his eyes. His eyelashes are full of tears or raindrops. He clings to the sodden blanket, shaking hard from the combination of the cold and the crash.
“I…I’mmm’sorry.”
“Sorry?” Leo shakes his head. “Hon, you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m sorry for getting so—”
“N-n-no,” Aiden sniffles and swipes the back of his hand under his nose. “Not-not…for th-that.”
Maybe Delia should have let them take this walk alone.
“I don’t—”
A car passes on the main road, headlights flashing through the trees and reflecting off all the wet surfaces like a lightning strike.
“I…I should’ve—” His voice breaks and he squeezes his eyes shut. “I didn’t-didn’t mmm’try hard…enough.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mmm’should’ve…f-f-fought harder,” he cries. “I went-I went too…mmm’easily.”
“God. Aiden, no—”
He steps back like it was a blow.
Leo repairs the distance between them. “Wait, listen to me—” He puts his hands on Aiden’s shoulders. “Jesus, you’re freezing, come here.” He pulls Aiden under his arm. “Let’s get you inside.”
Aiden lets himself be led back to the house, peeking up at Leo’s face every few steps, his brow creased.
God, these two.
Leo shepherds them all straight upstairs, wet clothes into the laundry. Everyone gets a pair of Leo’s pajamas even though she knows Aiden has his own now. She steps into the bathroom to change.
“You think you’re up for a hot shower?” Leo asks in the hall, voice slightly muffled by the door.
There’s a weighted pause.
“Do you…mmm’want-want me to?”
“Hon…”
“Mmm…” The floor creaks. “N-no…shower, please.” A sniffle. “S-sorry.”
“Baby.”
“I know,” Aiden says, voice quieter.
“Come here.”
“Leo—”
“Nope. Come here.”
“Mmm.”
Delia waits a few extra minutes. And then a few more. Still, when she finally opens the door, it’s too soon.
Leo keeps one arm around Aiden for the rest of the night.
Even when they fall asleep on the couch ten minutes into an episode of some HGTV show. She smiles and heads upstairs to take her stubborn brother's bed.
Toxic Yaoi Ken Doll Anon, here. Can I request Aiden genuinely just like... being sick. Like, he genuinely just caught a virus or something completely independent from Harrison's horrific experiments. I'm curious how that would go when Harrison is faced with like... normal sickness.
Unfortunately, nothing is ever 'normal' with these two... but that's why you're here, right? This is the post I was talking about in this ask, where the silent treatment hurts Aiden a lot more than Harrison.
cw: captive surgical lab rat whumpee, doctor whumper, noncon drugging (ibuprofen), sickfic, finger whump, weird power dynamics
Masterlist
“Harrison?” He’s opened and closed his mouth a dozen times in the last half hour. He can’t decide what exactly he’ll be inviting by pulling out this jenga block. Would it be worse to say nothing?
“Mmm?” Harrison is only half paying attention, noiselessly working at the counter behind the table. “Yeah, what?”
“Uhm.” He swallows, wincing at the lancing pain in his throat. “I don’t—I don’t feel very good.”
Harrison sighs long-sufferingly. He doesn’t bother to check his reactions and the heart monitor announces just how much that exhale sets him on edge.
After a minute, Harrison finishes whatever he’s working on and comes to his side, looking bored like he’s already decided this isn’t worth his attention. “Be more specific.”
“My throat is sore,” he admits quietly. “And I have a headache—but that might just be… I don't know.”
Harrison pulls out his penlight. “Open.”
He does as he’s told, grateful that the head of the table is raised today. Having Harrison looking down his throat is ten times worse when he’s pinned flat on his back. Harrison walks away without comment and returns with a thermometer. He’s not gentle as he shoves it into his ear, eyes flicking impatiently around the ceiling as he waits for it to beep. His heart feels like it’s beating in his cheeks.
“You have a fever,” Harrison grits, even though the double tone on the thermometer announced it already.
His chest tightens. “I’m sorry,” he says automatically.
“No,” Harrison corrects and he holds his breath. “It’s good you told me.”
He searches Harrison’s face, still feeling precarious but Harrison turns away. “I’ll be back.”
It feels like it’s taking ages for Harrison to come back but the next thing he knows, the door slams and he’s there. He must have fallen asleep waiting, and if he had any luck at all, he’d think he was still in a nightmare.
Harrison is wearing a mask.
His pulse shoots up, the monitor blaring. “Wait, what—what are you doing?”
Harrison has something in sterile packaging in his gloved hands.
“Wait—I don’t need—”
Harrison stops at his side, eyebrows raised. “Listen—”
“Please, don’t—” He pulls at the restraints. “I’ll get better, I promise. Please.” Tears start running down his cheeks. He pulls against the limits of the restraints and his eye sockets to watch Harrison’s hands.
“Are you finished?”
He tears his gaze away for a second to take in Harrison’s frown. “Yes, doctor,” he whispers.
Harrison rolls his eyes. “What’s gotten into you?”
He blinks at him. “I thought…” He bites his tongue.
“You thought what?” Harrison repeats slowly, emphasizing every word. Impatient at having to ask a second time.
He wants to shake his head. He wants to run away. He’s locked to the table, locked in Harrison’s stare.
Harrison clears his throat, the look in his eyes just as plain: Last chance.
“Uhm…I thought—” He swallows. “—you were going to take my tonsils out...”
Harrison stares at him flatly, long enough that he has to blink. Expression still frozen, he lifts the sterile packet between them and tears it open with taunting slowness. Inside is a long Q-tip and a little plastic tube. “With a strep test?”
His stomach curdles a little. “But…but the surgical mask,” he defends weakly.
“You’re probably contagious.”
“Oh.”
Harrison finally moves, a deep crease settling between his brows. “You really think I’d cut your tonsils out because you got one sore throat?”
He presses his lips together. There is no right answer.
Harrison raises his eyebrows.
An answer is expected nonetheless. “I’m not a mind reader.”
Not good enough. Harrison waits, brows still furrowed. Does he really care about the answer or is he just trying to goad him into something worth punishing?
“There’s a non-zero chance…” he admits quietly.
“Hm,” is all Harrison says. The apology rises to the tip of his tongue but Harrison doesn’t give him time. “Open.”
He doesn’t gag at all when Harrison swipes it across the back of his throat. Now does not seem like the moment to make a suggestion or joke about that.
Harrison drops the Q-tip into the test tube and scribbles something on the label before putting it and the pen into the chest pocket of his lab coat. He reaches into the pocket at his side and produces a syringe. The flat kind with no needle that fits right into the ports of his central line.
“Relax,” Harrison drones, taking in his panicked expression. “It’s ibuprofen.”
He isn’t sure if he hears Harrison over his ragged breathing. He tries to pull in a longer one but it feels like there’s a new restraint binding his ribs tight over his lungs.
“It will reduce your fever and help with the pain.”
“That’s it?” he gasps out.
“Oh my god.” Harrison lifts his eyes to the ceiling in a bid for patience.
He flinches. “Sorry.”
“I’m not an actual sadist, you know.”
It takes him a second to find his voice. “...do I?”
Harrison lets his hand fall. “Seriously?”
He wants to look away but can’t tear his eyes away from Harrison’s gaze, not recognizing what he sees there. “Well…”
“Let’s start with the fact that I wouldn’t be able to take your tonsils out without properly sedating you. You’d asphyxiate.”
He flinches at the venom in Harrison’s tone.
“You’ll recall that I often offer to sedate you and you are the one who declines.”
“Yeah but—”
Harrison holds up a gloved index finger and he bites his tongue. “Not that I have to explain myself to you but analgesics and sedatives are very limited and highly controlled here. I take a risk every time I bring down any supplies but the risk with those is tenfold.”
He swallows. “I know,” he offers quietly when Harrison waits for his acknowledgement.
“It both hinders my focus and annoys me to no end to have you awake and whinging on and on or actively antagonizing me while I am trying to work.”
He bites his lips together. Harrison hasn’t raised his voice like this in a long time. It sets his hands shaking and he curls them into fists, pulling until he feels the grounding bite of the restraints at his wrists.
Harrison opens his mouth to say morebut snaps it shut, schooling his anger away with visible effort. “Whatever.” His tone is flat, words equally shallow. “I don't need you to understand me.”
“I—”
Harrison tears the buttons at his shoulder open and grabs the port roughly, making him hiss at the painful tug on the thick needle buried in his chest. He jams the syringe in and empties it quickly, tossing it in an underhand throw so that it clatters onto the counter somewhere. Against all reason, Harrison moves to the other side of the table and unclips his left arm.
Harrison unceremoniously drops a bottle from his other pocket onto his lap. “Here’s some fucking Pedialyte. Drink it yourself. I’ll be back with your results.”
He doesn’t move. His mouth opens and closes like a fish on dry land, his arm like an alien limb at his side.
“I’m sure you and your melodramatic imagination can invent plenty of possible catastrophic consequences if you touch any of those ports or electrodes.”
Tries to nod but remembers the restraints.
Harrison doesn’t wait for him to find his voice, letting the door slam with its own weight behind him.
He stares at it in disbelief.
Slowly, like it might betray him or disappear at any moment, he reaches up to touch his face. Runs his fingers down his cheeks, wipes his nose with the back of his hand, and itches a spot on his neck. He can’t bring himself to touch his head even though he knows all the incisions are healed enough to not have bandages.
It takes a few tries to unscrew the lid with one hand. His grip strength is weak from lack of use and the dexterity tests have been fewer and further between. It’s heavenly to sip a drink himself, hold the weight of it in his hand and tip it against his lips at will. Harrison must have gotten it out of a fridge and the cool liquid is soothing on his throat.
Too soon, he’s wondering if Harrison really isn’t a sadist or if he just can’t admit it. A sadist wouldn’t get mad at begging or screaming, probably. He must still be psychotic in some kind of way to be doing all of this, even if he thinks it's for some greater purpose. It can’t all be absolved by his pursuit of replacing training and conditioning with modifications and implanted electrodes.
He tries to guess the sweet spot between savoring the drink and his unexpected freedom or getting interrupted before he gets a chance to actually finish it . He winds up draining the last drop too soon and then he’s left with the empty bottle for what feels like at least an hour.
When Harrison finally comes back, something feels off immediately. A feeling that is only confirmed by the meticulous way he’s arranged his expression into one of boredom, at least what can be seen around the mask.
Harrison produces a small bag of fluid to hang on the IV pole.
“Is it strep?” he asks quietly, the tremor of his voice giving away his anxiety at a new infusion even as he tries to keep his heart rate steady.
Nothing. Not even a blink. He loses his control and his pulse kicks up to a sprint, monitor blaring. Harrison thrusts the new line into the open port, flipping the shoulder of his shirt back together and haphazardly buttoning it closed.
“What—what are you giving me?”
It’s like he isn’t even here. His breath grows ragged, mind catastrophizing just like Harrison said.
“Harrison?”
He grips the bottle hard enough to dent the plastic with his fingertips. The tension makes his whole disused arm shake.
Harrison walks around the table to stand beside his free arm and holds out his hand. He relinquishes the bottle instead of his wrist. Harrison just drops it onto the floor and reaches out again.
He pulls away, dodging his gloved hand. Not that he has a huge range of motion but Harrison is making a point of not engaging, not trying harder than the bare minimum.
“Is this really about the sadist thing?”
Harrison reaches for him again. He lifts his arm back over his head, shoulder protesting at the sudden, foreign stretch.
“Look, I’m sorry.”
Nothing.
“Harrison.”
Harrison won’t even meet his eyes, just holds his hand out for his wrist. His heart stutters in his chest at his brazen, desperate defiance.
“You can’t just stop talking to me.”
Harrison stands there frozen, waiting for him to surrender his free arm.
“At least tell me what you just hung or I’ll pull it out.” He starts to lift his hand to the port at his chest.
The look in Harrison’s gaze, fixed on the spot where his central line is implanted into his chest, stops him dead.
He feels the cool liquid spreading through his chest, down his arm. It sets his pulse racing, makes his fingertips tingle and his vision blur. Is it just his own panic or the effects of some new drug? “Please? I said I was sorry.” He hates the raw sound of his voice.
Harrison tries to catch his arm again. Before he realizes what he’s doing, in the arc of dodging him, he brings his palm across Harrison’s cheek in a sharp slap. “Look at me!”
Harrison does, eyes ablaze as he finally grabs his wrist in a bruising grip and breaks his smallest finger. No hesitation. So fast, he’s confused by the crack-pop until the pain hits. He chokes out a strangled cry.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” Harrison grips his ring finger. “Wait— No, please. Harrison—”
Another crack.
He screams.
“Fuck you,” he rasps, voice already lost thanks to his sore throat.
Harrison grabs his middle finger, holding his gaze without blinking like he’s still deciding if he should break this one or not.
He stares right back despite the tears running down his cheeks as his broken fingers start to throb.
Something in the air shifts, gathering weight, momentum. It feels more brittle than their habitual challenges or daily standoffs. He has no idea who has the upper hand. His finger is already broken, they've both already lost something.
“Fucking sadist,” he hisses, releasing them both.
Harrison matches his surrender and breaks his finger with a decisive snap.
He bites through the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out, blood mixing with his saliva until he doesn’t want to swallow.
Harrison drops his hand like he’s surprised he’s still holding it. He disappears behind the bed and pulls open a drawer, it rattles as he slams it closed. Harrison returns with a plastic ice pack and breaks the chemicals inside with a crack that makes him flinch against his restraints. Harrison pretends not to notice as he collects his swelling fingers and gingerly cradles them against the quickly-cooling ice pack.
When the monitor falls into a monotonous background rhythm, Harrison says, “You don’t get to hit me.”
“You can’t ignore me,” he snipes back.
Harrison takes a deliberately measured breath. “You don’t call the shots here.”
“You’re the one who dignified my shot with your middle school silent treatment crap.”
Harrison blinks at him, real slow. “Are you happy with what we’ve learned today?”
“Fuck off. I hate you.”
“Then why do you care so much if I don’t talk to you?”
This fucked up power struggle is his single lifeline. They both know he wouldn't survive without it and Harrison needs him to survive. He thinks there's probably more to it on Harrison's side but now doesn't feel like the time to pull that thread. “Go to Hell.”
Harrison holds his gaze for a minute, just long enough to unsettle his pulse again. “Done,” he finally says.
He rolls his eyes. “Now who’s melodramatic?”
Harrison ignores him, focused on his fingers again. He bets the mask is hiding more than a flat expression now and it brings a smirk to his own lips. Maybe Harrison isn’t the only one he should be trying to label after all.
No pressure, but just really missing your writing here. Are your stories still active?
Hello! It’s good to hear someone misses my writing. For what it’s worth, these stories and characters are everliving in my mind, I still think of them constantly.
“Active” might be too strong a word because I really can’t promise any amount of consistency, but I don’t think you’ve seen the last of Do No Harm/Fifty-Eight Days.
I’m sure the day will come when an idea won’t let me go until I put it on paper (screen?) and share it here again.
I take small comfort in knowing I’ve placed both stories at a somewhat-comfortable-for-now-kinda spot (or as much as they can be for an incomplete story about horrifying realities) 😅
The long-awaited follow-up to Nailgun, wherein vandals found Aiden alone and when he tried to fight back, they nailed him to a wall, mostly by his sweatshirt. Mostly. Now, Leo comes to the rescue. We can only imagine how Harrison would handle it.
cw: nail in hand, trauma response/conditioning (barely), loss of consciousness, victim self-blaming, internalized abelism, comfort and fluff, rainbows and unicorns.
Previous — Masterlist — Next
Leo kills the radio as soon as he pulls into the driveway and sees the busted front door.
The damage barely registers as he checks the ground floor. There’s only one thing he cares about right now. When he doesn’t see anyone on the crew his chest tightens, adrenaline rushing through his veins.
He takes the stairs two at a time.
They’re all crowded into the back bedroom. Leo pauses in the hallway, unsure what he’s hoping to hear. Maybe some signal that it’s not half as bad as any of the worst case scenarios he’s imagining.
“If a few of us hold him still, can you cut him down?” someone asks.
“No, no way,” Jesse says immediately. “He’s freaked out enough as it is.”
Leo pushes into the room.
It is decidedly worse than he imagined, seeing Aiden down on his knees and nailed to the wall. Mercy doesn’t seem like it was part of the equation here but for whatever reason, the assailants mostly aimed for his sweatshirt. Except for his left hand. The sight of it makes Leo’s stomach drop. Always that poor left hand.
“Leo’s here,” Riley says unhelpfully.
Aiden doesn’t react. His head is turned the other way but his ragged breathing, fast and shallow, is audible across the room.
Leo starts toward him but Jesse catches his arm. “He won’t let anyone touch him. Every time we get close, he freaks out.”
“I think he’s in shock,” Tony supplies. “My cousin dropped a nail gun on his foot once and just started taking off his clothes.”
“Alright,” Jesse clips.
The room falls silent as Leo makes his way to Aiden’s side and falls to his knees. “Aiden, hey, it’s Leo.”
It’s probably the same naive part of him that couldn’t even stoop to imagine this level of cruelty that also hopes he’ll be able to reach Aiden. It’s been months since Leo felt in over his head but the far away look in Aiden’s eyes makes it feel like their first night all over again and he has no idea where to start.
“Are you okay?” Stupid question, of course he’s not. Everyone can see he’s not. “What happened?”
“M’sorry…m’sorry…s-s-sir.”
Shit. Of all the times for that word to rear its ugly head. He isn’t crying which is an even bigger red flag.
Leo clears his throat, acutely aware of their audience. They’re all good guys but Jesse’s the only one he trusts with Aiden’s history and, even then, it’s just need-to-know.
“No need to apologize. It’s not your fault. Can we help you get down from there?”
“Mmm’I didn’t— I don’t— Please, mmm’sorry— Please, sir…” It doesn’t seem like he even knows what he’s begging for at this point. Probably to not make it hurt any worse.
“Aiden, listen—” He reaches to put a hand on Aiden’s shoulder and Aiden cries out, pulling uselessly against the nails to avoid the touch. Leo raises both hands where he can see them. “Easy, easy, I won’t touch you.”
He twitches a few more times, like it takes his body a minute to catch up with his brain. When he finally does stop, his eyes are even more vacant. “Mmm’sorry, m’sorry, s-sir…mmm’please, please…”
Someone clears their throat.
Leo looks at Jesse. This is starting to sound like way more than a roughed up kid afraid of losing his job. Especially since they all think Aiden is Leo’s nephew. Or did he say cousin? Either way, at best they’ll think his family believes in some serious corporal punishment. At worst, they’ll recognize the truth.
“Alright, let’s everyone start cleaning up this mess.” Jesse herds the crew out of the room, assigning jobs. Leo stops listening.
Aiden stares ahead blankly, his labored breathing the only sign that he has any remaining awareness.
Leo’s palms start to sweat and he wipes them on his jeans. Aiden hasn’t been this freaked out since he woke up in the hospital. Or maybe that night with the nosebleed but even then, they were at home, Aiden wasn’t in pain. They had time. If there’s one thing Leo has needed with Aiden from the beginning, it’s time. He sends a quick text to his sister but doubts he’ll get a response inside the hour.
“Leo?” Jesse tilts his head, eyebrows raised like he had to say his name more than once. “What do you want to do?”
“We have to get him down.”
“Right,” Jesse says slowly. “How?”
“Go get some scissors and the first aid kit.”
“We already did.” Jesse gestures to Leo’s other side.
“Oh. Okay, good.” He swallows. “Bolt cutters?”
“I’ll be right back.”
Starting anywhere is better than sitting here doing nothing. He doesn’t need to overthink this to death.
Leo moves as close as he can, keeping his hands visible. “Aiden, can you look at me?”
He raises his eyes but his gaze never lifts higher than Leo’s cheekbones.
“Good. Nod if you can hear me.”
He does, brow furrowing like he thinks it’s a test.
“Good. Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No,” he says as gently as he can. Aiden still flinches. God, he’s so far gone. “Say my name.”
“Mmm…” He wets his lips nervously, searching Leo’s face. “...sir?”
“You can do it, say my name.”
His eyes fill and he shakes his head.
Leo’s heart aches. “I’m so sorry.”
Aiden squeezes his eyes shut, a few tears escaping.
He holds Aiden’s cheek and brings their foreheads together. “Come back to me, baby,” he whispers.
“L-Leo,” he sobs. “Leo, it hurts.”
Leo releases the breath he was holding. “I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I’m gonna get you down, I’m gonna take care of you.”
Aiden sniffles, leaning into his hand.
“Jesse’s going to help us, okay?” He brushes the tears off Aiden’s cheek with his thumb. “We’ll be as fast as we can.”
Those big brown eyes finally meet his. “I-I—”
Jesse walks into the room, making Aiden tense. “Okay, all set.” He holds up the bolt cutters for Leo to see.
“Easy, it’s just Jesse.” He moves his hand to the back of Aiden’s neck, rubbing his thumb in circles there to keep him calm.
“Hey, kiddo.” Jesse moves into his eyeline and Aiden grants him the briefest flash of eye contact before looking back to Leo. “So, what’s the plan?”
“We’ll cut your clothes free first so that when we do your hand, you’re done. Sound good?”
Aiden nods, worry lining his face.
Jesse digs the scissors out of the first aid kit. It’s a small blessing that they’re actually the kind made for cutting someone’s clothes away. “Ready when you are.”
“I’m gonna help you stay still.” Leo puts his hand between his shoulder blades. “If you need a break, you just tell us to stop, yeah?”
“O-okay.”
“Jesse’s gonna start with your right arm.”
“Mhm.”
“You ready?”
“Mmm.”
Leo waits for Aiden to meet his eyes again before nodding at Jesse to start.
“I’m going to hold your sleeve here—” Aiden stops breathing when Jesse slips the scissors into his sweatshirt. He cuts in a straight line all the way to the middle of his shoulder.
Aiden keeps his arm pressed against the wall even once Jesse moves back.
“You can move your arm now,” Leo says gently.
Aiden blinks at him, flexing just his fingers first before he slowly bends his arm at the elbow like he doesn’t believe it’s possible. Finally, he lets his arm fall to his side, clutching his jeans. There are a handful of nicks on either side of his arm but thankfully none of them look deep.
Leo collects Aiden’s trembling fingers in his. “Breathe, hon. You’re doing good.”
He releases a shaky exhale, squeezing Leo’s hand tightly.
“Can I do your right side now?”
“Uhm—” He clears his throat. “Yeah.”
When Jesse reaches the top, Leo stops him before he pulls the scissors out. “Cut the rest of this shoulder free and the front.” Jesse does as instructed, cutting him half of an awful semblance of a poncho. Leo keeps his hand in the center of Aiden’s back to hold the fabric against his skin. In retrospect, it seems like a stupid thing to be protective of at this moment.
Still, he thinks Aiden looks a tiny bit relieved not having his back bared.
Jesse starts on his left side. He’s almost finished when Aiden inhales sharply, fresh tears springing to his eyes.
“Aiden?” Leo can’t keep the panic from his voice.
“Mm’okay,” he says, trying to catch his breath. “K-keep…going.”
Jesse continues slowly. He lifts the edge of the cut fabric to reveal a trail of blood down Aiden’s side from a spot where a nail pierced through the underside of his arm. “You okay, kiddo?”
He nods bravely. There are bruises too.
Leo’s blood boils. He’ll press every single fucking charge he can against these motherfuckers, if he doesn’t find them and kill them himself first.
“Anywhere else that bad?” Jesse asks, snapping Leo out of his thoughts.
“I-I don’t…mmm’think so,” Aiden says softly.
“Leo, you want to hold his wrist? Just in case?”
“Is that okay?”
Aiden nods.
“Just say the word and we’ll stop, okay?” Leo reminds him.
“Mhm.”
He covers Aiden’s wrist with his hand, holding it fast against the wall. It doesn’t escape him that Aiden stops breathing altogether.
Jesse stops when he reaches Leo’s hand.
“You’re going to have to hold him better. Once I’m through, he won’t be able to keep his arm steady at this height.”
He’s right. Leo takes a breath and releases Aiden’s hand. “I’m just—”
“S’okay,” Aiden says, nodding.
Leo’s throat feels thick. “Good boy,” he says without thinking.
Aiden looks down shyly.
“Ready?” Jesse prompts.
Leo grips Aiden by the elbow and moves his other hand to the end of the cut fabric, locking his arm against the wall.
“Okay, there.” Jesse drops the scissors like they’re inflammatory. “Done.”
Aiden’s starting to tremble in his grip, breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
“Get the bolt cutters,” he tells Jesse urgently. “Aiden, look at me.” It takes a second too long for his eyes to focus on Leo’s. “Trust me?”
“Yes.”
Leo feels a rush of adrenaline and maybe something else. “Close your eyes.”
Aiden squeezes his eyes shut and leans into Leo’s side as much as he can with his arm pinned to the wall. He braces his free hand beside his chest, fingertips curling like he wants to dig into the drywall.
Leo nods at Jesse.
The bolt cutters seem like they’re made to take off his very fingers. It looks horrific, using such a monstrous tool right next to a vulnerable, exposed wound. Leo wants to look away himself.
Jesse is careful and precise. He lines up as close to Aiden’s hand as he can get without touching it and cuts. Leo doesn’t hesitate either, pulling Aiden’s hand off the nail. It all happens in the span of a few seconds.
Aiden chokes halfway through the whimper he started when the bolt cutters bit the nail. His expression twists in pain, mouth open in silent, surprised agony like he got the wind knocked out of him. Leo feels guilty for choosing speed over warning. Aiden grabs the wrist of his injured hand protectively and turns his face into Leo’s shoulder.
“I got you, I got you,” Leo wraps an arm around him. “You’re gonna be okay.”
He coughs a sob into Leo’s sweatshirt, turning his face out of the fabric to gasp a shaky inhale.
Jesse ducks out of the room, mumbling about getting him water.
“You did good, sweetheart. You did good.”
He lifts his head to look up at Leo, still trying to catch his breath. “I-I’m s-sorry…mm’about the-the house.”
Leo crushes him in a hug, mindful of his hand, and rests his cheek against Aiden’s temple. “I don’t give a shit about the damn house.”
Aiden huffs in his arms.
God, he doesn’t know what he would have done if Aiden wasn’t okay.
Jesse comes back with Aiden’s water bottle and phone. Leo avoids the look he’s trying to share. Aiden takes a few sips of water, letting Leo help him when even his uninjured hand is too shaky.
“You think you can hold out on the first aid until we get home?” Leo suggests. “I don’t think any of these are bleeding anymore.”
He nods, looking relieved.
Aiden and Jesse each take a side to lift him to his feet. He looks ridiculous, and a little pathetic, though Leo would never say either outloud. The butchered hoodie hangs off him like a poncho, his bruised ribs visible on either side, looking totally out of place over his dry-wall dusted jeans and workboots.
“Let me give you my jacket,” Jesse offers, picking it up from where he must have tossed it earlier. He drapes it carefully around Aiden’s shoulders before clearing his throat. “Listen, I’m—”
“Later,” Leo clips.
Aiden searches his face.
“Come on, let’s get you home.”
He nods, brow still creased.
“Hope it feels better quick, kiddo,” Jesse says, patting him on the shoulder.
“It-it doesn’t…mmm’hurt that-that bad.” Leo would bet the winning powerball numbers that’s a load of bullshit. Aiden just has an impossible pain tolerance and a knee-jerk need to placate people. He lifts his hand to look for himself…and slumps toward the floor.
Leo barely manages to catch him with Jesse getting in the way trying to do the same. “I got him, I got him,” he snaps.
Jesse holds up his hands. “Just trying to help, Leo.”
“Yeah, now.” He carefully lays Aiden down, making sure Jesse’s jacket is under him.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He pulls his hoodie off and folds it up to put under Aiden’s head. He sits beside him and puts a hand to his cheek. “Hon, can you hear me?”
“Is he alright?” Jesse clicks his tongue when Leo doesn’t answer right away. “I’ve been helping this whole time.”
Aiden’s out cold. “He’ll be fine, it was just too much,” he says to stop Jesse from hovering. “Hand me the first aid kit.” He might as well save Aiden more stress later.
Jesse drops the bag at his side and paces away. And back. Forward and back.
Leo grinds his teeth. “None of this would have happened if you had just waited for me to come back before leaving.”
“I set the alarm!” Jesse defends. “You were supposed to be back two hours ago, what about where the fuck you were?”
“The Woburn store was out, I had to drive all the way to Lowell.”
Leo sprays antiseptic onto some gauze and starts dabbing the wound on Aiden’s hand, front and back. The burn is only just-healed, crossed over the deep wound from the beginning. Now this. God, what if he needs a tetanus shot?
“Setting the alarm is not the same thing as being here,” he grits. “I trusted you.”
Jesse’s mouth falls open. Leo looks away to open a new piece of gauze. “That’s not fair. You never said I couldn’t leave him alone at all. You know if you had, I would have stayed.”
Leo focuses on bandaging his hand, taping the edges neatly. He wants to work quickly and finish all of it before Aiden wakes up. He sighs. “Can you hold his wrist? I don’t want to bump his hand.”
Jesse folds into a seat and takes Aiden gently by the wrist so Leo can clean the puncture under his arm. His eyes trace the scar on his forearm. “This was that night?”
Leo keeps his focus on what he’s doing. “Yeah.” All of Aiden’s scars are hard to look at but especially those. They happened when Leo was supposed to be keeping him safe. He takes a breath. “I’m saying it now.”
“Leo—”
“You’re right about today,” he agrees. “You didn’t know before so I’m saying it now.”
He tapes the edges of another square of gauze to make a bandage. Once it’s on the wound, he takes Aiden’s wrist back and carefully crosses his arm over his chest so his hand rests by his shoulder. At least the poor kid almost looks peaceful.
He pauses to drag a hand over his face. “This is what it’s like though. Most of the time, it’s fine. It’s almost normal. But when it goes bad, it goes really, really bad.”
Jesse glances down at Aiden.
“For example, who turned off the alarm?”
“It—I—”
“Exactly. What are the odds any given day that a site is vandalized? What are the odds those assholes know how to cut the alarm before they even get in? And what are the chances those same fuckers have a streak of sadism?” He dabs antiseptic on all of the other nicks he can see. “So, yeah, five minutes, fifteen minutes, it’s too long.”
Jesse swallows. “Leo, I’m—”
“I know. You won’t let it happen again. Neither will I.” He looks down at Aiden. “And as soon as he’s feeling a little better, I’m gonna kill him for not having his phone on him. He better bet his ass he’s getting a fucking Apple watch sautered onto his wrist.”
Jesse huffs a laugh. “I’m surprised you haven’t done that already.”
“No kidding.” Satisfied with this first aid sprint, Leo zips up the case. Jesse reaches over to take the trash from him.
“You’re doing a great job, you know.”
Leo waves him off.
“No, really. I don’t think you hear it enough. Probably because you won’t listen.” Leo rolls his eyes. “He’s a completely different person than the first day I met him. Speaking of…”
Aiden scrunches up his face and lets out a soft whimper. “No,” he whispers under his breath. He’s still as stone, like he’s afraid to move.
Or thinks he can’t.
Leo pulls him up by the tops of his arms and his eyes fly open. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He holds his cheek. “That’s it. You’re here with me. I’ve got you.”
He shakes his head like he’s dispelling whatever had him confused.
Leo waits until his eyes are clear. “You took a little nap so I did some first aid,” he gently lifts his arm by the wrist to show him that his hand is bandaged.
“Ahh, okay.” He looks relieved and pulls in a deliberate, deep breath.
Leo doesn’t pry. “What do you say we get you home?”
Aiden nods.
“Take two,” Jesse jokes.
Aiden awards him a small smile. He lets them balance most of his weight going down the stairs but at the bottom, he steps away. Leo almost reaches out to help him but Jesse catches his sleeve.
“Ayy, look who’s back.” Tony swoops in to fist bump Aiden and sparks a rush of attention.
As they slowly make their way to the front door, every single person on the crew comes up to check that he’s okay. Telling him to get some rest and heal up quick so he can come back soon. A few more reach out for a fist bump or to lightly pat him on the shoulder. Aiden smiles shyly and even joins in the banter with a one-word quip that earns him another round of fist bumps.
Far from the skinny, shivering kid who wouldn’t make eye contact and could barely stand on his own two feet when Leo pulled him out of the snowbank. Leo’s heart swells.
Once they get Aiden situated, Jesse walks Leo to the driver’s side. “Take as much time as you need, I can hold things down for a few days. And, sorry again. I didn’t—”
“It’s all good. Thanks for helping with everything. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Aiden returns Jesse’s wave as Leo turns around.
Leo swings out of the driveway onto the tree-lined lane. It’s a nice neighborhood which is why he and Jesse jumped at the chance to get the house in a foreclosure auction. Maybe next time Aiden doesn’t work those jobs.
The light at the end of the street is green, he takes a left.
“A movie on the couch sounds really good.” He changes lanes for some moron in a Beamer trying to get a ticket. “Aiden? What do you think?”
He doesn’t answer.
Because he’s crying. Good hand covering his face while the bandaged one trembles in the air.
“Hon,” Leo reaches over and puts his hand on the back of his neck.
That only opens the floodgates and Aiden starts sobbing. “I—I—don’t—”
“I’m gonna stop, hang on.” Leo rubs his neck, chest tightening every time he has a chance to glance over.
He takes the first turn he can, pulling into a Wendy’s and swinging into the closest parking spot. Leo’s got his seatbelt off before he even kills the engine. He reaches over and unbuckles Aiden’s, pausing when he sees the look on his face.
“H-h-how do…they-they…mmm’always…know?” he sobs.
Leo’s heart splinters. “Oh, sweetheart.” He pulls the sobbing, shaking boy into his arms.
“I-I—tried to-to…mmm’fight…b-back.”
Oh, God. Leo clears his throat. “Aiden, listen to me. Nothing about you or what you did invited what happened.”
He sits up to search Leo’s face. His is a mess of snot and tears. “But-but—”
“I mean it.” Leo reaches around him to pull a handkerchief out of the glove box, gently cleans his face. “We don’t know how this would have played out with someone else.”
Aiden sniffles, looking down at his hand.
“I was going to wait until tomorrow to ask you any questions but how many people broke in?”
“Mmm’three…three guys.”
He refuses to let himself picture it. “I don’t know if I could best three guys.”
Those dark eyes flick up to his face and then back down. “That-that…uhmmm, first…night.”
Leo grimaces internally. “Alright. I mean, yeah…but they didn’t have anything to fight with.”
Aiden frowns.
“Just because someone else might have been stronger, doesn’t mean they would have come away scott free.”
Aiden flinches, looking down to hide his face so Leo can’t catch his gaze. He makes a mental note to ask about it later, when the kid wasn’t still nailed to a wall within the last hour.
“For all we know, a longer fight could have made things worse.”
No dice. At least he’s not crying anymore.
Leo wishes he knew exactly what to say, exactly what the kid needed to hear. Since words are failing him, he just pulls Aiden back into his arms. Aiden melts into the hug, sniffling. Leo holds him tight, rubbing slow circles on his back. They sit in the parking lot until Aiden’s breathing is long and steady, the sun starting to set.
“Can-can…we…?”
“Yeah, let’s go home.”
Leo helps him buckle into the middle seat so he can lean into Leo’s side for the rest of the drive.
They’re almost home when Leo realizes that Aiden has been gearing up to say something for the last ten minutes. His lips moving while he parses the words, a crease between his brows. Leo catches his gaze and Aiden bites his lips together.
He squeezes his knee. “What is it, hon? I’m listening.”
Aiden keeps his eyes trained out the windshield, like he’s afraid to look at Leo. “Mmm’can, can I…can I…really go…mmm’back?”
“What do you mean? Back to work, like once you're better?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course you can.” Leo pulls into the driveway, following as it curves around the first condo in the row and leads into the tiny parking lot at the back. He parks in his usual spot, glad he can turn to see Aiden fully now. “That is, if you want to.”
Aiden finally looks at him. “I…w-want to.”
“Good.” Leo pats his knee. “Because you kind of don’t have a choice.”
Aiden raises his eyebrows.
“In case you didn’t notice with that goodbye, you’re part of the crew. They’d come find you if you didn’t come back.”
Aiden shakes his head but as he turns to open the passenger side door, he’s smiling.
Trauma ask game: 1 and 2 for Leo, or River if someone beat me to Leo?
from this ask game (river answered here)
What would your OC say is their biggest trauma?
"I'm not sure," Leo says. "I think it's a little bit easier to pinpoint now, with some distance from the worst of it. I–" he presses his fingers into the back of his neck nervously. His hair, a little longer now, curls out. "There are... countless moments in my life that..."
He takes a deep breath, mulling over how much he wants to share. None, is what his brain screams at him, but he presses forward against his better judgment.
"The day I was arrested, knowing that I'd never see my family again. Learning about Isaac, and being completely helpless to do anything about it. The entire Parker contract, up through its brutal ending, and then–" he flinches at the memory "–the second, even more brutal ending. Everything that happened with Ivan, and everything that happened at the clinic after."
The words flow faster now, and Leo shakes his head, pressing forward. "Losing Will," he says softly. His lips press into a tight line and he blinks hard.
"I think I would say the worst of it, though, was when they took Luke away. It was... after, everything. We were already out of the townhouse, and living in the shittiest little apartment in Baltimore, when they arrested him. Even after every horrible thing that's been done to me, to the people I love, and to Luke... I don't think anything has impacted me the way that did."
River's eyes immediately, uncharacteristically, dart to the corner of the small room. That's the most obvious sign of distress, but there are less obvious ones, too. Fingers that have been relentlessly fidgeting still in an instant, the subtle pink of his cheeks fades to nothing. For a single, suspended moment, something other than anger bubbles beneath the surface.
Next to him, Felix pulls his knees in tighter, but his eyes don't leave River. Not for a second.
And then the moment is over, and River takes a breath, and his eyes find yours, and what you would swear was fear is replaced with sadness. He takes a breath, shakes his head.
"I don't know how to say it," he says then, softly. "The thing you want me to say. The thing we all know is the truth."
Felix closes his eyes, burying his head between his knees.
"It changed things," River whispers. "When Jake made me..." He swallows. "When they made me do that to him."
There's an image, one that will never leave ever leave River's mind, of them dragging Felix away after. Almost worse than the image are the sounds that haunt him. The sounds of the deep, uncontrollable sobbing. Was it Felix crying, or River? He could barely hear Jake's voice over it, but he knew the handler was speaking to him. It would take hours to calm him down, and even longer to get him cleaned up, fed. He–
He blinks himself back to the present, his eyes landing on Felix's, who offers him a shy smile.
