Haze’s mind spun trying to work out why this was important. He knew somehow that it was, but couldn’t figure out why.
He felt lightheaded. Every part of his body buzzed with pain. That wasn’t unusual. He felt hot and sticky, and it took him a bit to remember that it was blood. He was being beaten. By Davian. Or Davians. Was that why there were two now? Because the first one was tired so the second came to take his place?
His fears seemed to prove true for an instant as he saw one of the Davian’s move closer to him with alarming speed, running toward him. That Davian punched the other one, sending him flying backwards and crashing into the far wall. Haze watched, stunned, as the man who’d been beating him just moments prior became nothing more than a ragdoll on the floor.
This new Davian crouched down at Haze’s side and threaded his fingers through his bloody hair. He didn’t tear or rip or pull, but held him gently, resting Haze’s head in his lap.
Ah, so this was another one of those peaceful visions.
He must have had his fill of pain and his mind had conjured up this image to comfort him, just like Davian giving him the apples. The blankets. Holding him like he was now, stroking his bloody cheeks with his thumbs, caressing him like he was something precious and breakable.
Haze tried to smile, split lips pulling back to reveal bloodied teeth. His eyes became glazed and unfocused and he saw Davian’s own lips moving, saying something but making no sound. Haze couldn’t tell what the words meant, even if the world seemed to play out in slow-motion. Davian’s mouth moved and made words, but all Haze could hear was ringing in his ears. He tried to focus on the shape of Davian’s lips, what they were trying to say, but all he got from that was how he’d never really taken a chance to look at them and realize how beautiful they were.
…
Davian looked down at the villain in his lap, heart thumping so hard against his ribcage he thought it might break. The sting of his fist from punching Lisle was negligible, incomparable to the hot blood that slicked over his fingers as he touched Haze. He reached out slowly at first, disbelieving of the battered figure that lay on the floor in front of him was the man who had lain in his bed with him just yesterday.
The Haze now was practically unrecognizable from that man. He lay near-motionless on the ground, covered in blood, his arms out at his sides and one of them bent at an unnatural angle. His hair was mussed and matted, wet and sticky, and his eyes had glazed over and now stared right through him. What scared him the most was the smile—sharp and bitter, like nothing he’d ever seen before, it was plastered over Haze’s face with blood-stained teeth and malice. So much malice.
Davian would’ve thought the man dead if it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the unstable rhythm of his hitching breaths.
He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream.
Why did this have to happen? He’d told Haze that he was safe. That he’d be safe here. He was supposed to be safe.
He gathered Haze into his lap, running a hand through his hair. Was horrified when it came away red. He shivered along with the villain he held, who’s expression hadn’t changed.
“Hey, Haze, Haze, wake up. It’s me. It’s me, Davian.”
Not Lisle.
He’d seen Lisle on the ground, straddling his former torturer’s hips, beating him to a pulp. More accurately, he’d seen himself doing it, the shape-shifted form of himself Haze's tormentor wore. He knew who it was without having to think—he knew all of Lisle’s tricks with shapeshifting from the academy.
Or at least, he thought he did.
Lisle had shifted into Davian himself to beat up Haze…he’d taken on the guise of the one person Haze found safe and desecrated it. A pressure built up in Davian’s chest that he couldn’t seem to get rid of.
Why did this have to happen?
He brushed the back of his hand over Haze’s cheek. “Hey, Haze. It’s okay. You’re alright. You’re safe—sa-fe—”
Davian couldn’t even get the words out. He inhaled sharply in the middle of it, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes burned and soon he felt hot tears escape them, only to land on the unchanging face of the villain he held in his lap.
He wasn’t safe. He was hurt. Davian had failed him, he failed to protect him, he lied lied lied—
Fucking useless, you are! There you go, screwing it all up again, a nasty voice in the back of his mind told him.
Davian was used to it by now, always whispering to him during missions what a failure he was. How he didn’t deserve to be known as the city’s greatest hero. That he was a fraud.
But this wasn’t about him.
So why couldn’t he stop crying?
Through the bleary haze of tears, Davian didn’t notice the smoke building up in the room until it was too late. He tried to cover his mouth, but he knew that would do no good, for this was not real smoke, not the kind from fires or those blasted cigarettes Lisle wouldn’t stop buying. This was the kind that didn’t rise or fall and didn’t blow away in the wind. The kind that brought with it not coughing fits but visions of disaster and torment.
This was Haze’s power.
Davian only had a moment to glance down at Haze’s wrist and the broken armband that had been restraining his powers thus far—evidently damaged in the scene Lisle had caused. After that, the smoke wrapped around him, obscuring his vision until it warped into something else entirely.
Haze sat in his cell, his body curled in on itself. Unhealed wounds wept with fresh blood, though he made no move to fix them. A voice came from behind. Haze turned around.
Lisle.
Then came the salt crystals. Rough, gritty, and coarse, Lisle rubbed it into the lashes on Haze’s back, tearing into them with his hands with a bitter callousness Davian never expected to see from his friend. An awful chill had settled over the man as he tortured the villain, a smile cresting on his face.
You broke faster than I did.
Lisle’s words. Teasing, mocking, vindicated.
He wondered for how long this had been happening, how long Davian had let this happen. Davian sucked in a breath, only filling himself up with more of the vision-smoke. Distantly, he figured it didn’t matter. All that really mattered was what the smoke showed him—how clueless he’d been. How blind.
Haze wasn’t the villain here.
Lisle was.
The smoke shifted again. The air grew thicker and Davian struggled to breathe. He pitched forward, trying desperately to get air into his lungs, but it was only visions. Memories.
The smoke settled and Davian could breathe again.
He was in the hospital room. The visions overlayed itself with where Davian presently sat in reality, though the unconscious body of Lisle that Davian had punched was not lying on the floor in the corner as he realistically should be. No, the vision-Lisle stood by Haze’s bedside, while Haze himself looked up with fearful eyes. Cali was there as well, standing on the other side of the bed. She held out her hands and asked Lisle for confirmation, to which he replied with words that sounded so wrong to Davian’s own ears, but seemed to convince Cali of his goals and her assumed purpose.
No.
Davian realized what they were going to do. He knew what Haze had suffered at the hands of the vigilante Sorrowborn, he knew what this would do to him. Lisle knew it all and intended to use Haze’s greatest fear, his greatest pain, against him. For revenge.
Davian tried to move. He made to leap up and stop the scene from happening, but his body wouldn’t obey. He was trapped, motionless, helpless as he could only watch as Haze thrashed under Cali's power as she sent jolts of electricity into his body. Worse than being tazed, worse even than if he were to stick a fork in an electric socket, the shock tore through the man’s body without mercy.
Davian screamed for them to stop, but the vision never wavered. Haze begged in the same voice as Davian was now, and neither of them could do a thing.
The smoke dissipated and Davian sucked in a breath. He was back in the hospital room, the real one this time, with everything where it had been moments prior. Lisle still lay unconscious to the side, but Davian couldn’t even look at him right now. He didn’t even know what to think about his former friend, the same man he’d gone to the academy with, studied together, laughed together, saved innocent lives together with.
And Haze.
The villain. The monster. The lackey for a group of people so evil that it couldn’t be put into words.
The injured boy. The fragile thing. the one who had been wronged so thoroughly and by so many people. Including himself.
{ Chapter summary: enough comfort, back to the pain }
warnings: beating, medical references, unreality, memory issues, flashbacks, self-blame
//
Haze shot up in bed, gasping for air. He stretched a hand over the sheets, searching for a presence, for Davian, before remembering he was back in his own cell—room, his own room, and in his own hospital cot. He was alone.
Another nightmare had him strangled in his sleep. He struggled to breathe, taking deep gulps of air into his lungs at an unsteady pace, the rapid beating of his heart eating up what little energy he had. He stayed like that for a few moments, just focusing on his breaths. In. Out. In. Out. That’s good.
He imagined Davian rubbing a soothing hand over his shoulders and it calmed him down more than he thought it would. In mere moments he was able to bring himself back to the present, out of his garish thoughts and memories. Back to the cold and sterile environment of the medbay.
“Well, that took you long enough.”
His heart sped up again.
Haze flicked his eyes upward to see a lean figure nestled in the doorway, resting a shoulder on it and watching him with keen interest. The voice was laced with boredom betrayed by the sharp glint in the man’s eyes as he stared at Haze.
Lisle took a step forward.
Haze grit his teeth. “What do you want?”
“Hah,” Lisle breathed out. Almost a laugh, but not quite. He canted his head to the side. “I think you should know the answer to that.”
Lisle moved slowly, but not due to injury or fear. No, this was calculated—made to look casual though it was anything but. He stepped like he had not a care in the world, and it was obvious he was trying to intimidate Haze with how unbothered he appeared.
Haze took measured breaths. His tormentor and former captive was obviously here for one particular purpose, and after last time—
No, no, no, don’t think about that. Don’t think about it.
His hands began to shake. He tucked them under the sheets to hide them from view. Lisle didn’t have the girl with him today. He didn’t have any means to produce that much electricity for—stop it. Don’t think about it.
Lisle graced him with the barest of smiles. His hands remained in his pockets and took Haze to terrible imaginings of what he could be hiding.
It couldn’t be worse than the electrocution, it can’t be. Unless he’s found a device for it, so he doesn’t need the girl, so he—
Lisle slammed his hands down on the metal bar at the foot of the bed. Haze jolted, and for a second he was practically airborne. He fell back onto the cot with a puff of air coming from the material and any pain Haze might have felt from the impact was lost to his blinding terror.
“Oh my gosh, I can almost hear you thinking!” Lisle said. “Is this what you thought of me? Being so predictable?”
Haze huffed, trying to tamp down his rising panic. “All heroes are predictable. You specifically, were just pathetic.”
Lisle’s eyes glowed with rage and in an instant, Haze saw white. His head snapped to the side from the force of the punch and he didn’t have time to ponder how fast Lisle had moved from the foot of the bed to the side because the man drove another fist into the villain’s cheek.
Haze’s eyes burned with tears and his nose had already started dripping blood onto his pristine white shirt. Lisle was saying something, but he couldn’t make it out. His ears rang from the shock or perhaps the memory he was falling back into.
He was sitting on the bed, Lisle was there, he was angry and he was electrocuting him. He was in that room again, he was sitting in a chair, there were electrodes on his forehead and they were burning burning burning—
“Listen to me!” Lisle screamed.
Haze snapped back to the present.
“You don’t get to disappear like this! You don’t have the right!”
Lisle continued his tirade and Haze had to agree. He didn’t have the right to lapse back into memories as if they were an escape from present pain. No, no, they were worse, so much worse, but that wasn’t an excuse.
Another punch slammed into his gut. Haze’s ribs were still broken and the added strain on them just made him pitch forward as Lisle’s fist sunk into the soft flesh of his stomach. All the air whooshed out of his lungs in a long breath and he made a low keening sound to accompany it.
“I-I’m sorry, Lisle, I—”
An uppercut to his jaw.
“You don’t get to say my name!”
Haze flinched back, blinked rapidly, and remembered his rules. “S-sorry, sir. I’m sorry.”
Lisle sneered. “No you’re not! You’re just scared! You just don’t want me to hurt you, you’re not sorry at all about what you did to me!”
No, no that’s not it—really—it wasn’t like that. Haze was so sorry, he didn’t know what he could do about it now, but he regretted it immensely. He hated that he had damaged Lisle so severely, that he had hurt him, that he had ruined his face and his life and he didn’t know what to do. There was nothing to be done, he knew that. He couldn’t do a single thing but sit here under the weight of his guilt and Lisle’s anger and let the man take out his frustrations.
Was that redemption? Was this his penance?
He’d wondered these questions often while captive in the Sorrowborn’s lair, but he was sure now that this was the true redemption. The previous stint of torture was just a trial meant to build up his endurance so he would be able to stand what was to come.
Would this be enough?
Tears fell from his eyes and dripped down his bruised and bloody cheeks. Lisle punched him again and again, shouting at the battered villain.
No, nothing would ever be enough.
“You ruined me! You ruined my life! You ruined everything!” Lisle shouted.
Haze cringed under the accusations, the volume, and the blows. Lisle took hold of Haze’s arm and for the first time the villain realized that he wasn’t handcuffed to the bed. Lisle ripped Haze off the bed and threw him to the floor, where he landed with a muffled crash and a tumble of limbs.
Haze hit the ground on his shoulder and something cracked. He made a small noise of pain that was quickly snuffed out when Lisle placed his boot on the villain’s chest.
“Now you see what it’s like, you fucker.”
Haze stared up at him, chest rising and falling in unsteady rhythm. Lisle panted heavily, his fists scraped and bloody, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I heard—” Lisle began, pausing between words to suck in gulps of air. “I heard that you—that you went and visited Davian, huh? Have fun cuddling with my goddamn best friend, huh?”
Haze opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Not even air. He concentrated all his energy on the sensation of Lisle’s boot on his chest, crushing his broken ribs. It was better than thinking what Lisle could possibly have meant.
“No—” he managed to finally squeak out, but was interrupted before he could say any more.
Lisle stomped on Haze’s chest hard. Haze keened, twisting, writhing. His ribs crunched audibly. The bright flash of pain sent him into darkness, his vision going black and then white and then slow to return to normal.
“I’m not fucking around!” Lisle shouted, then kicked Haze in the side for good measure. “Don’t you dare try to cuddle up to him, not when you did this to me. You’re the reason he had to take care of me after I was rescued. You’re the reason…the reason I can’t look him in the eyes in anymore…”
Lisle said the last bit through gritted teeth. His face was red with shame and he still panted hard with either exertion or anger.
“You wanna see Davian so bad? Here you fucking go!”
Haze watched with horror as Lisle’s face morphed into Davian’s. Same chestnut brown hair, same warm brown eyes, same…everything. Except the smile. His mouth was all wrong, sharp and bitter. Not the same softness Haze knew when Davian had given him apples to eat and laid blankets over his shoulders. Not the same Davian who held him close and told him it was okay to cry…because he was safe. Even if he wasn’t.
But it looked so much like him.
Haze let out a cry of despair. He knew it wasn’t Davian. He knew. But his mind was frenzied and stuck in survival mode and he couldn’t tell real from fake and it just looked so much like him.
He watched as Davian—Lisle—kicked him in the ribs, in the stomach, in the face. Over and over, he took a beating from the man who he had once tortured, now wearing the appearance of the man who saved his life.
He had to remember. He had to. This was not Davian. This was Lisle. This was not Davian.
Haze repeated this over and over in his head like a mantra, telling himself to remember. But it was so hard. He kept seeing kind memories dashed like the breaking of his bones as Lisle stomped on them, as he bent down and got up close so Haze couldn’t turn away. As Lisle—Davian—Lisle—grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head up by it, tearing at the tangled strands and spitting in his face.
Haze wailed with despair, and the sound only added fuel to the fire. Lisle did and did not like to see him upset, as if Haze did not have the right to the emotion. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe this wasn’t happening at all, and was all another nightmare.
Maybe this wasn’t Lisle at all, maybe Davian really did hate him. Maybe all those memories had been the dream, a sweet escape, a nice illusion to hide the truth.
Why would Davian care for him? He’d destroyed the man’s best friend. He was a villain. He was the antithesis to everything Davian stood for.
He hurt people.
Haze knew what he’d done to Lisle. He had done it willingly, efficiently, effectively. He’d carved Lisle up, marred his face and taken his eye. He’d stolen his innocence and watched as the bright light in his eyes that always seemed to glimmer in those of the heroes faded into nothingness.
He hadn’t seen much of Lisle’s shapeshifting powers. The cuffs he’d used had restricted them, so it hadn’t been an issue.
Shapeshifting.
Right. Lisle had shapeshifted in Davian.
Haze tried to keep this in his mind as he was beaten to a bloody pulp. His head smashed against the floor, leaving him woozy. His wrist stomped on, leaving the bones cracked and likely broken. He was broken. He would never not be broken.
Why shouldn’t he be, then, when he had broken so many others?
Somehow, a voice deep down inside of him rose to the surface and surged to the forefront of his mind. A voice he’d tried to suppress, to pretend didn’t exist, because it was too shameful to admit to having.
IT WASN’T MY FAULT.
So selfish a sentiment. Of course it was.
Davian straddled him now, punching his face in rapid succession. Each time his fists came away bloodier, and Haze found himself smiling. It hurt it hurt it hurt. His lips were split and blood stained his teeth and he was smiling.
“What?”
A horrified whisper amidst the chaos. Haze couldn’t help but find it hilarious that there were two Davian’s to hurt him now.
Discovered your hazeshift series last night and can I just say I love Lisle 😍😍😍 ya he did some fucked up and morally questionable things but I can’t find it in me to blame him for wanting to torture his torturer (even if said torturer isn’t actually that bad of a person HE DOESNT KNOW THAT OK). Anyways basically what I’m trying to say is I’m president of the Lisle fan club
oh man oh boy now I really just wanna pair you up with @hurting-fictional-people and see what chaos comes from it
This is honestly great omg, the exact thing I wanted when I created Lisle was to see the reactions people had to him because I tried making him more complex than "hehe hurting peopel" and portray that dynamic of a man who's been through something horrible and has a lot of trauma around the fact, but who also resorts to unhealthy coping mechanisms of destroying himself and hurting those around him (namely Haze) and becoming consumed with anger and revenge.
What people take away from that is the fun part because I love both sides. Whether you hate him for what he's doing or can't hate him for what he's been through and what he's choosing to do about it, I just really like complicated dynamics.
Also this means that if Hazeshift were famous, Lisle would be the new Kylo Ren or Aleksander Morozova. Meaning: everyone has an opinion on this character. they either hate this character or love him. but they have an opinion and fight about it.
Friendly reminder that it took six weeks for Lisle to be rescued, but it took eleven months for Haze to be rescued and that was only by accident because no one was looking for him :)
4 and/or 5 for Lisle? I unfortunately love him lol
found my 'horny for the whumper' reader
4. Describe their worst nightmare.
oh he's had quite a few ever since Haze's tortures. He often dreams of the moment Haze carved his eye out, which was probably the worst thing he experienced in that period of time. In a less literal sense, his worst nightmare would be the rest of the team getting captured and tortured just like he was...and how he fears not having the courage to go and rescue them (he never wants to see that place again)
5. List 3 fears; one “surface level” fear, one “repressed” fear, and one “deep dark” fear.
surface level: being recaptured
repressed: the things he told Haze and the Varavos family coming back to hurt his team, or his team finding out that Lisle broke under the torture and told them vital information
deep dark: feelings of his own cowardice, that he doesn't know if he would be able to protect his team in a fight. that if his team was captured, he wouldn't risk himself to save them.
i have a tiny question : why is haze so cocky [ish(?)] with lisle? have a great day <3
He’s trying to maintain some form of composure in the face of someone who was once beneath him yet now has the power to hurt him so terribly or maybe he’s deliberately reminding Lisle of those bad memories to piss him off so Lisle will hurt him more because Haze thinks he deserves it 🤷🏼♀️
