Verso’s death wish push him into the Serpenphare’s belly. This was, admitedly, not his best idea.
For day 15 of @ailesswhumptober : Came back wrong, no.14 of @whumptober : “In the end, it’s worthwhile.”, and day 15 of @angstober : In Limbo
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The thing was, Verso liked to fly. He loved being able to glide above the sea, to cross the fractured fragments of the continent by a few beats of wings. It was something that was fully his. Something the Verso he inherited his memories from could never have experienced.
The thing was, there was another inhabitant haunting the skies: the Serpenphare. As it was a large predator roaming the sky, on the exact route Verso generally took, their paths often crossed. Mostly in Verso’s disfavour as the Nevron loved taking him as a snack.
It never chased down Renoir, the other main inhabitant of the sky beyond Esquie. Perhaps it was because it remembered the only time it did, and the scar it wore ever since.
Now, most of his meetings with the Serpenphare were unpleasant and unplanned. There was only so many times you could stand the hideous smell and acid burn of a flying snake stomach before growing to hate it. This time however, Verso almost hoped to see the whoosh of pink fur announcing its arrival and Verso’s next demise.
He glided along the coast, from the Painting Workshop to the White Sands. Flying held its own kind of peacefulness. In the endless azure of the sky, there was nothing; no one to remind him of his nature or his failures. Sometimes, when everything became too much, Verso just took the air and flew until his wings hurt too much to lift him. But today, the sky’s brand of emptiness was not enough to quell the restlessness of his heart. Verso needed more.
His wish was granted eventually by a flash of green scales and the snap of a rock-strewn maw. It was only once trapped between the tunnels of Nevron-flesh that Verso realised how stupid his idea had been. As far as deaths went, a mad climb to the stars would have been quicker, and was relatively painless before reaching oblivion.
Here, Verso was trapped. Flexible walls contracted at a rhythm known only by the Serpenphare itself, pushing him further and further into the narrow darkness until he was too big to be pushed anymore. His arms were stuck in front of his chest and his legs uncomfortably kneeing his stomach. One wing hadn’t folded in time when the Nevron had swallowed him and was stuck in an awkwardly twisted position. The acid covering the Nevron insides was already beginning to do its work, his feathers slowly dissolved while his skin burned and blistered.
Usually, this was when Verso used what little movement his arm had left to summon his weapon and cut his way through, before he was pushed even further into the Serpenphare stomach and fully immobilised. This time however he refrained, letting the churning prison press him into a slow death.
Verso had sought the Serpenphare out for one the most complete forms of oblivion he could find. He needed a place where no one would find him after the fight his father and him had had. Most of the words exchanged had been puerile in nature, aimed to hurt rather than persuade, but Verso couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t watch his father slowly lose more and more parts of himself as he turned into a cold blooded murderer. He couldn’t smile at Aline’s disintegrating appearance as she called him my son, even though he wasn’t the one she called for. He couldn’t look Alicia in the eye and swear to her she was loved, when her face still bore the scars of the eternal torment she had been painted to bear.
He had tried drowning, but generally Esquie fished him back right out. Verso honestly had no idea how his friend kept finding him in the vast ocean separating the fractured bits of the continent. He’d once buried himself, but his regeneration didn’t allow for more than bits of unconsciousness between the long length of intolerable awareness despite the lack of oxygen, and the earth pressing on him on all sides had made him so claustrophobic he had dug his way out like a wild dog.
The desperation that had then fuelled him was not dissimilar to the claustrophobia haunting him now. The air was rancid. His throat was burning from the inside, hurting him at each inhale. Panic clawed at him as he choked on nothing, unable to properly breathe.
Verso forced himself to calm down. He had chosen this. He just had to wait. The acid would kill him soon enough, and then he wouldn’t care anymore about the painful twist of his arm or the ache of his half-melted wings.
He just wanted the pain to stop.
Time slowed itself to an eternity. Skin melted, bone broke, then bone mended and skin regenerated, as healthy as before - if not for the blisters already reappearing on it. Vero alternated between loss of consciousness and agonising awareness. He must have died more than once by now, but it was hard to keep track. There was nothing but the pain, the slow numbness spreading through his nerves, and darkness. Light danced before his eyes in impossible patterns, and Verso liked to think they were small stars Clea had painted to guide explorers eaten by Nevrons to their rest. He knew the real Clea was much harsher than that: she had painted the Lampmaster to mock the other Verso’s fear, not to illuminate his nights, but the thought felt nice to entertain. It wasn’t as if there was anyone to contradict him in the Serpenphare stomach.
Verso was hovering on an invisible edge of agony, letting the pain break his thoughts into powder with its particularly cruel brand of mercy, when the constricting walls around him contracted. They pushed inward in waves, breaking any shape his skeleton still had in their squeeze. He would have screamed if his throat wasn’t already ruined. Oblivion thankfully met him soon after, sparing him the memory of the torture that followed.
When he opened back his eyes, the darkness had become lighter. His arms and his legs had space to move again, and his wings had recovered enough to properly settle along his back. The Serpenphare innards were still cramping, pushing him further forward, towards wider spaces and less rancid air.
Verso had barely time to brace himself before he was projected onto wet earth. Sunlight immediately assaulted his eyes. They must have been damaged during his journey in the Serpenphare stomach, because the world was filled with blurry shapes instead of its usual clear colors. A hiccuping whine filled his ears. The Serpenphare was spasming above him, its usually bright flashy fur a damp, sorry figure.
Verso braced himself for the Nevron to notice him and devour him again, but even after the spasming ceased, the Serpenphare just kind of stayed here, floating above the mess of half melted-petrified expeditioner’s remains it had just coughed up.
The sun ran its course while Verso's body knitted itself back together, all under the Nevron's passive watch. Perhaps it was simply waiting for him to move. If that was the case, Verso would simply outwait it. The grass he had been thrown on was rather comfortable, the island stuck in a perpetual early spring climate, and he had all the time in the world.
Nevrons didn't need to sleep, but surely this one would grow distracted at some point. It wasn’t even truly looking at Verso, just kind of contentedly floating while keeping the island in a corner of its vision.
His resolution lasted as long as the growing itch of his back. It was inconveniently localised just between the base of his wing and his spine, in a place Verso could barely reach sitting up, much less laying down on his belly, arms trapped in awkward positions. Verso stealthily wiggled, hoping one of the island rocks poking at his skin would reach far enough to scratch it, to no avail. Thinking about it was a mistake. The need to scratch spread, until it felt like his whole body was calling out its complaints and demands from its extended immobilisation. It went to the point where even his right toe itched.
Verso slowly sat up, carefully monitoring the Serpenphare reaction. It curiously tilted its head towards him, but when Verso didn't move more, it focused back on the horizon. Verso made one step towards the cliff. The Nevron turned its head. He froze. The Nevron looked elsewhere. He made another step. He felt a bit like he was playing red light, green light as a child. A laugh threatened to escape his lips as he reached the edge of the island.
Verso shook his wings, making sure the ruffled feathers were in flying order, then let gravity take him into the air.
His flight didn't last longer than half a meter. As soon as his feet left the ground, a large tail whacked him back onto the island he had just left. Verso groaned, his mouth full of dirt and things he didn’t want to think of.
Fluff wrapped around his waist and trapped him against the Serpenphare’s side. The Nevron had apparently stopped its passive observation in favor of exploring every inch of Verso’s skin. Its large head nuzzled him, as if scenting a familiar smell from his body. Verso expected it to open and swallow him at any moment, now that he had fully revealed to the Nevron he was alive, but found once again his expectations disabused.
His healing generally used the surrounding chroma to fix his body. Verso wondered if, having spent so long in the Serpenphare’s stomach being unmade and remade, his cells had taken a similar feel as the Nevron’s body. Did it think Verso was a part of him, like an extra tail that could fly away?
Verso reached out. The fur was soft, kind of reminiscent of Monoco’s hide, if more brightly-colored. The harder parts felt cool and surprisingly smooth, between wood and scales.
The Nevron didn’t bat an eye at his petting, calm despite the unprecedented human touch. Its patience did have one limit: any attempt to escape the hold he was trapped in was met with a firm tightening of the Serpenphare’s grip. Verso adjusted his wings and leaned back, resigned to being a Nevron playdoll for the foreseeable future. At least the cushioning fur was a lot more comfortable than the dark rancid insides of the Serpenphare’s stomach.
After a while, it must have gotten tired of this specific island, because it flew away with Verso still solidly coiled in its tail. They traveled together through the sky of the continent, the Nevron sometimes stopping at things only it could sense before continuing its route. Having its tail in a knot should have bothered its flying, but it never released the loop around Verso’s waist.
Tired of the position, Verso attempted to summon his sword while the Serpenphare was drifting aimlessly through the air, likely dozing off. He barely scratched the hard skin, lacking the necessary momentum. Still, it was enough to wake the Nevron up and surprise it enough to slightly loosen its tail. Verso used the opportunity as best as he could, wiggling out of the hold and into the wide-open air.
Like the first time, his escape attempt didn’t last long, and Verso found himself trapped back by the sinuous Nevron body. Only this time, his arms were trapped as well, banishing any thought of resummoning a weapon. The Serpenphare chuckled at him, like chiding a misbehaving child, before resuming its aimless drifting.
If there was anything Verso loved about flying, it was the absolute peace of it. The sky stretched endlessly beyond him, the constricting borders of the canvas almost forgotten and any worries left far below on the fractured earth. Generally flights never lasted more than a day, limited by the width of the canvas and the weariness of Verso’s wings or by the urge to escape his own thoughts. He had never expected to be stuck in the sky with a Nevron as a lone companion and unable to move more than a bit of wiggling. It was a surprisingly, awfully dull experience.
After a lot of wordless coaxing, Verso managed to convince the Serpenphare to let him glide next to it, rather than being stuck in its tail swallowing a mouthful of pink furs at every breath. It was a harrying experience: the massive Nevron’s speed was hard to follow and being too slow afforded him either a nip at the heels or another forced napping session in the Serpenphare coils. It was still much better than being gripped by the mix of soft and hard skin, unable to move for hours to end, nothing to rest his gaze on than the Serpentphare’s swoops and the unreachable void of the horizon. The physical exercise felt good as well, quieting the unrest of his mind and lengthening the time he slept, letting time flow while he enjoyed dreamless unawareness.
Verso had been sleeping amidst the Serpenphare loose coils, its grip on him just tight enough to keep him airborne, when he felt the powerful muscles tense under him. He escaped the clamping trap just before it crushed him.
Verso raised bleary eyes to the wide open mouth of the Serpenphare. All the curious attentiveness of the last few days was gone from the Nevron, replaced by a painfully familiar aggressive animosity. His regeneration must have finished absorbing the foreign chroma, converting its signature into something that was indisputably Verso.
As far as the Nevron was concerned, he was not a strange novel part of its body anymore, but one of the creatures it had been painted to kill.
Verso folded his wings and let himself drop towards the continent. He felt the Serpenphare’s growls follow him. Making use of the painful experience he won during previous encounters, Verso alternated between wild drops and mad slaloms between the islands to throw the large Nevron off. It didn’t like the low altitude and generally dropped the chase if Verso managed to reach lower levels. More than once, he almost felt its muzzle snap closed right after his toes. Each time prompted a more powerful wingbeat than the last in his despair not to end up back in the Serpenphare’s stomach, the idea entirely unpleasant once his death wish had passed.
He was now more glad than ever of the hours spent following the Serpenphare. Verso didn’t think his wings had ever beat so strongly before, nor his loops reached such speed. He crash-landed into the humid pine-filled ground of a forest near the Coastal Cave. The Serpenphare took one glance at the raised-spear shapes of the trees and turned around, its graceful dance reducing to a point between clouds.
Verso flipped on his belly and closed his eyes, utterly spent. His muscles were shaking from the mad chase he’d just lived through, his mind struggling to connect the blissful fog of sleep to the panic-fuel adrenaline that followed. He didn’t even bother to check for Nevrons before deciding to continue his nap here. With enough imagination, the branches of the trees were a roof, and the itchy ground under him a comfortable bed.
He dreamt of pink fur and smooth scales. When he woke up, there was a wordless ache in his chest that wore the color of the sky.
There's another part to this that you can read HERE
"You've been avoiding me." Kid narrowed his eyes.
"I've just been busy-" you attempted to tell him only to be cut off by his fist slamming against the wall.
"Cut the bullshit!" Kid demanded. "Why have you been avoiding?"
"I..." You hugged your books closer to your chest, not knowing how to answer.
Kid may have grown on you and you'd call him a friend by now. In fact, you had been finding yourself hanging around him and his gang a few times during class. Ironic considering you thought you were never going to even make yourself acquainted with him, yet you did, and it surprised you and your friends Hawkins and Apoo.
Everything had been going well, until...
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"Let hell you'll stop me!"
You flinch, hearing Kid yell at someone. Deciding it was best not to be seen, you hid behind the row of lockers. You were just going to wait it out.
"I'm not saying I will," Hawkins said. "But I think you should reconsider."
"What do you mean?" Kid questioned.
"Knowing [Y/n]'s past, it's clear that you're not suited for her."
"And what? You are!?"
"No, our relationship is as she once stated 'loners who stick together', but you, on the other hand, are a bit more complicated now that you've developed feelings for her."
"That's none of your business!"
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
You didn't need any more information to know Kid has a crush on you.
You try to look at Kid but his glaring eyes stared at your smaller form. You bow your head down, a dog tucking its tail between its legs.
"I... I'm sorry," you apologized. It's always easier to dodge hostility when you try to be polite. "It... it won't happen again. I- I didn't mean to upset you. It won't happen again-"
"I didn't ask for an apology, I want to know why you're avoiding me," Kid repeated, beginning to lose patience. You felt yourself grow cold feet. Your anxiety leaked from beads of sweat dripping down your forehead. Fear sent chills down your spine when you heard Kid growl. "Did Hawkins say something?"
"No."
"You sure, cuz it sure seems like he did."
"He didn't say anything."
"What about Scratchman?"
"No." You sensed the cold air growing thicker.
"Why were you avoiding me then?" Kid took a step closer to you, you flinched back. Looking into his eyes, you weren't able to read his expression. "Are you scared of me?"
"No," you lied but your expression gave it away. Fear gazed at Kid.
"What did he say?! That I beat up girls?"
"He didn't say anything!"
"Is it because I fight gangs?"
"No!"
"Then what? Why are you acting like this?! Why are you avoiding me!?"
"I-"
"Speak up!"
"iT'S BECAUSE YOU HAVE FEELINGS FOR ME!"
Silence let you catch your breath after you finally let out the truth before continuing.
"I was afraid you were going to confess to me..." you admitted, looking down. "I... I accepted your friendship, heck I even found it fun hanging around you... and I don't want to break your heart... but I just can't... I can't- I can't be with you..."
You were shaking, at your limit. You felt your brain burn and tears streaming down your face, when it started you can't remember. You saw Kid's hands move towards you and you stepped back, hugging the books tighter.
"I just can't..." You weren't able to finish before you turned tailed and ran from the scene, your noisy thoughts blocking out Kid's calls to come back.
We probably moaned about them when they were around in the 1980s, but now it feels like a treat riding around in a heritage bus. TFL still operate a few of the old-style double-deckers on the No.15 route between the Tower of London and Trafalgar Square, complete with bus conductors and the open-platform at the back. Their only concession to modernity is they haven't frozen the fares at 1980s prices (10p each way). So you have to pay by Oyster card instead.
February was always cold and dark. Rain, rain and more rain. Fao always loved the winter, preferred it to the summer, but it was easy to be depressed when you left the house in the dark and finished work in the dark. Though they’d not been on tour, Fao and Alex had seemingly been working flat out, endless shifts at the hospital. They rarely saw each other, the shift pattern so out of whack that it was mostly a passing kiss in the hall as one of them got in and the other left.
With Fao’s birthday coming up, their mutual leave was incredibly welcome. Alex’s parents were away (they always were, enjoying their freedom now that both of their children were adults and doing well for themselves) and Fao had no intention of spending his birthday anywhere else than at home. Sheila would come for his blood if he didn't come home when he had leave.
He didn't mind one bit. It was nice to have family, still almost a novelty to celebrate his birthday. The drive back home from Birmingham wasn't too bad, Fao's car was a nice drive and Alex always picked the best music. They'd left early-ish, and so arrived at the Daniels’ in the late morning, keen to make the most of their time off. With his bag thrown over his shoulder, Fao knocked on the door.
Sheila's warning shout of "Finn!" was ignored and the younger boy barrelled to the front door, knocking Fred out of the way.
"Fao!"
“Hey, kid.” Fao said, pulling his brother in for a hug. “Missed me?”
Finn squeezed him tight. "Can't believe you didn't come back straight away."
“We have to work too.” Fao said. “I swear you've gotten taller since Christmas.”
"Course I have. Told you I was gonna grow! Not my fault you're tiny."
“You're a weed. Can we come in? It's fucking cold out here.”
He finally let go. "Yeah, sorry."
Fao ruffled his brother's hair, though it was becoming difficult to do without having to reach. Alex laughed.
“Do I not get a greeting?” She teased.
"Fao was being too grumpy." Finn grinned before gripping her tight. She was basically a sister to Finn and the whole family loved her.
“He's always grumpy, what's new? And I have to live with him.”
"He's always been grumpy." Fred teased from behind them as he gave Fao a one armed hug. "Your mum's just making teas."
"I've missed you guys so much." Finn interrupted before they had a chance to say anything. "You've been gone forever! Steve says hi too."
“You can tell him hi back.” Fao said, leaning into Fred for a moment before he shut the door behind them and toed his shoes off in the hallway. He dumped his bag down, far too lazy to take it up to his room.
Alex headed to the living room to flop down on the sofa, whilst Fao went into the kitchen in the hopes of finding Sheila.
Sheila turned with mugs in her hand, spotting Fao in the doorway. It was always the best type of surprise to see her eldest, and her smile was warm and genuine as she placed them back down.
“Fao!”
“Hey, Mum.” He said, pulling her in for a hug.
"I've missed you. How are you doing? Alex treating you okay?"
“Oh, Alex? Bullying me as ever.”
She laughed. “Of course. I’d expect nothing else.”
“Me neither. We’re doing alright though, just been busy.”
“You always seem it when we call.”
“Yeah. Long shifts, trying to learn things.”
"I know, I know. Why don't you grab some of these and take them through? I can't carry them all."
“Of course. Who’s is who’s?”
She turned back to the mugs, face falling. "Uh, I can't remember."
“Doesn’t matter.” Fao said, picking up two mugs. “We’ll take them in and we can fight about them in a bit.”
"Thanks, Fao. You’re a star.”
He grinned. “Mm, I know.”
She mirrored his grin. “Come on then, go through.”
He headed on through, distributing tea to people and settling down on the sofa with Alex.
Finn had launched into some fantastical tale, limbs flying everywhere as he recounted the events. Fred watched on with an amused smile, shaking his head in disbelief.
Fao was happy to listen to Finn rambling away, curled up next to his girlfriend.
They fell back into a routine, easy and comfortable. When Fred and Sheila stood to go shopping, Fao offered to go too, leaving Finn alone with Alex. He enjoyed her company, loving her like a sister and teasing her just as bad.
He disappeared upstairs to grab Fao's presents, planning on showing them off to Alex and getting her to wrap them for him too. His foot slipped on the stairs, jolting him and making his stomach flip. He shook his head, it would pass. Just a shock, that was all.
It didn't pass, leaving him stumbling into the front room and dropping the presents onto the sofa. Alex was nowhere in sight and Finn wasn't entirely sure she was actually home anymore. She might have gone with the others. They'd been forever, probably weren't even coming back.
Finn didn't remember dropping to his knees, or falling against the sofa, but it was getting harder to think and focus on what he needed to do.
Alex had only slipped out for a smoke whilst Finn fucked about upstairs, but when she came back to the living room he was in a full grand mal.
“Oh, fucks sake.” She muttered, glancing at her watch. She had no idea how long he'd been going for, but she'd not been gone all that long. Where were his meds? She didn't remember. Surely they were around somewhere. She'd look for them if he needed them. She just prayed he wouldn't. He didn't look to have injured himself, and his airway seemed fine. It was just a waiting game.
Finn didn't stop, forcing his head back into the floor as he continued to convulse. He'd been doing well, his medications controlling them well and giving him his life back. He bit his tongue, jaw clenched down on it and causing blood to collect in his mouth.
The blood was enough for Alex to call it. He wasn't stopping any time soon, and he was going to lose his airway if they weren't careful. She grabbed a thick pillow off of the sofa, and managed to use it to get him somewhat on his side whilst she looked for his meds. Of course this happened when it was only the two of them.
Swearing under her breath, she dug about in a couple of drawers until she found the right one, relieved to find the pack full and in date. Returning to Finn, she quickly gave the midaz, praying that it would work.
Thankfully, it did. He slowed then stopped, coughing and spluttering to get the blood from his throat. The midaz always made him more sleepy, it taking forever for him to come back to himself.
The floor was soft under his side, and while something stabbed him in the ribs, it was nice. He rubbed the carpet under his fingers, focusing on that.
Alex rubbed his arm. “Hey, Finn. Welcome back.”
The voice shocked him and he jumped, looking around. He finally focused on Alex, his mind catching up and he broke into a grin.
"Lex."
“Hey Kiddo. You're keeping me on my toes today.”
He grinned, her words going straight over his head. "Cuddle?"
“Let’s get you cleaned up first. Should help you feel better.”
"No." He whined, pressing his head to her leg.
“You’ve got blood on the carpet.”
He tilted his head slightly. He wasn't sure what she wanted him to do about it. His tongue hurt though, and he stuck it out to show her.
“Yeah, you bit your tongue. Anything else hurt?”
He frowned, trying to look at it. “Hurts.”
She hummed. “I know, Kiddo. Just that? Anything else?” She asked gently, hands skimming over him.
“Hey.” He grumbled at her, pushing her hands away. “Off.”
“Hey, hey. Just making sure you’re not injured.”
He grew more agitated. “Off!”
“Alright, alright, I’m off.” She said, pulling her hands away. “You’re okay.”
That was better. He smiled. "Hug?"
“Yeah?”
"Now." He smiled sleepily. "Hug."
“You do realise I'm gonna have to touch you to do that, yeah?”
"Yeah." He looked up at her, waiting expectantly before repeating. "Hug."
“Alright, come here.” She said, reaching down to hug him. “I'm not Fao, though. He gives the best hugs.”
He hummed, grabbing onto her top. "Where's Fao?"
“Went shopping with your Mum.”
"Mum here?"
“No. Just me and you.”
"I like you."
“I like you too, kiddo.”
"Fao likes you too."
“I'd hope so.”
"A lot." He dragged the word out.
She laughed. “So I’ve heard.”
“Gonna marry you.”
“Oh, is he now?”
“Yeah.” He wiped his mouth on her trousers. “Said so.”
“He better get his act together, then.” She said, trying not to wince. “Shall we get you cleaned up before everyone gets home?”
“Wanna nap.”
“I know. I’ll help you upstairs.”
“Don’t wanna move.” He huffed, gripping onto her. “Nap.”
“Better to nap in bed though, change out of these clothes.”
He weighed up his options slowly, squinting at her. “Fine.”
You ready? I’ll help you up.”
“‘kay.”
Alex got herself up, and then helped Finn. He was still lanky, but starting to bulk out, and taller than her by a fair margin. Woozy from the midaz and the seizure itself he wasn’t exactly easy to get to his feet, but she was used to somewhat uncooperative patients.
“Right, let’s get you changed and in bed, yeah?”
Finn nodded, raising his arms above his head for her to take it off. It wasn’t as slick as his routine with Fao, but Alex had been there often enough to know the drill. Finn wasn’t with it enough to be bothered, and it was Alex anyway. She was family.
It didn’t take Alex long to get Finn out of his clothes and into a fresh set. She was used to it, she’d been with Fao for long enough - known Finn for long enough. Soon he was happily under the duvet, and Alex quickly changed her jeans too, pulling on a pair of leggings. She’d sort the jeans out later.
She’d just gotten settled with Finn when she realised she needed to clean the carpet downstairs. It was a mess, and Sheila was probably going to kill her when she saw the state of it. But Finn had an iron grip on her top, and she was going nowhere. She just stroked through his hair and chatted away about nothing and everything, letting him drift off to sleep.
The words are simple. The implication behind them clear. He’s heading back into the chair. For what may be the tenth or ten thousandth time. He doesn’t care anymore. There was a man. He had a voice the soldier’s soul knew. The soldier isn’t allowed to have a soul.
First the sharp pinpoints of needles in his arm. Relief. They’re using surface agents. Nothing central. He’ll still remember the man. He’ll be able to find him. Ask him who he is. Who they were to one another. Then the restraints. Across his chest. His arms. His thighs. The bite guard. All the technology available to the allegedly all-powerful HYDRA. And they give him a strip of rubber to stop his teeth from crushing themselves to dust in his mouth.
There is just enough valium in his system that his body feels like a broken marionette when the current hits the first time. The second time, though, the sedative doesn’t matter anymore. There are only pain medications when cryo is being given as respite. Not when he’s placed in the chair for impudence. Knowing the man is reason enough for punishment. Failing to kill him – that gets him full voltage and mostly saline in the IVs.
The third pulse of electricity through him loosens his bladder and bowels. His head hurts too much for him to care. Someone will hose him down later. There’s an echoing scream. He thinks it’s probably his. There is vomit in his throat, thin liquid pressing into his mouth, dribbling around the bite guard. Some is in his lungs. Aspiration inevitable when he’s gagged like this with the bite guard strapped in so tightly he can only scream through it and not around. His stomach tightens again, and the bile is in his sinuses. He huffs, trying to clear the passage. It burns. The current burns. Everything burns.
Another pulse of blinding pain and there is darkness. He can’t see, can’t move any part of his body with voluntary control. There is still the screaming, the wounded animal sound that gurgles and pours from him.
There are hands, technicians muttering about heartrate and oxygen saturation. There is a tube passed through his lips, into his lungs. Acrid fluid suctioned out. Another passed through his nose and into his stomach. More suction. He wants to tell them not to bother. That everything within him is already out.
Wet clothes are stripped off, cold water over him and then the dryers. He wonders if they came from a zoo. Pictures captive primates being hosed off and dried like this. Remembers that he is a captive. Remembers reciting his serial and rank. Remembers that it didn’t matter.
He still remembers the man. He wants to know who he is. Wants to know why his face feels like home. Needs to find him. Needs to save him. He thinks he was in charge of saving him before he became the soldier. A very deep part of him recalls that the man once saved him – though he had already been beyond help by then.
