Illya kuryakin + Shock collar for the whump wheel, requested by @huggiebird It got a little long but it's still barely under 1k so loooool Enjoy!
Napoleon walks into the room in slow, careful steps, gun up and forcing his eyes to keep wandering around even after he recognizes the shadow seated in a corner. His instinct would be to run to Illya immediately, even more so as he registers that his head is hanging motionlessly against his chest and that he didn’t react at all to his arrival.
Still, he takes a few breaths in an attempt to calm his thundering heart, which is trying its best to escape up his throat, and he silently keeps looking around the room, examining the exits and searching for hiding spots that he could be ambushed from.
“Peril?” he can’t help calling, eventually. He hasn’t properly cleared the room, but it should be alright. “Are you alright over there?”
No answer. Not even a twitch.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He walks up to him in barely restrained strides, looking around for any threats and finding none. There’s still the very real possibility that he has missed something and he’ll end up dead on the floor in five minutes, but he can’t bring himself to worry too much about that.
Illya is slumped against the wall, with his hands behind his back, likely cuffed or bound in some way, chin to his chest.
“Peril?” Napoleon calls again, gently pushing his head up to assess the damage: maybe he’s drugged, or they bashed his head in to keep him down, or—or there’s a fucking shock collar secured around his throat.
[More on Ao3]
