Day 15 - “You can take a break, if you just tell me that it hurts.”
A/N: This is the next fic for whumptober 2025! List here. Thank you to @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for letting me borrow his bastard Petras and poor Ramiel. Thanks!
Warnings: whipping, corporal punishment, lying, manipulation, wrongful punishment, Petras being Petras, ask me to tag something if I’ve missed it
Summary: Lestras endures a punishment he was forced to take by the schemes of others.
Lestras was kneeling in the main training room, head bowed, hands clasped in prayer. The very picture of a penitent sinner. His eyes were fixed on the ground, and his mouth was closed firmly. He was doing his best to keep his face in a neutral, calm expression, rather than the pained wince or the furious snarl that threatened to get him into even more trouble than he already was.
Reclusiarch Petras was standing ten feet away, overseeing his punishment, alongside Lestras’ own mentor, Battle Brother Ulrich Paragund. So far he had been whipped one hundred and thirty-seven times by a ceramite tipped and barbed whip. His back had been bleeding after the third strike had pierced his skin deep enough to force him to bleed. That had been over half an hour ago.
The Brother wielding the whip was not one that Lestras was angry at. He could hear the way that Ramiel’s breathing hitched every time the whip cracked, and it’s tip bit into the flesh of his back. He did not resent that Ramiel’s was the hand striking at his flesh - the young Chaplain in training had no more choice in this farce than he did.
Crack! One hundred and thirty eight.
Lestras could also hear the slight creak of Cedric’s gloves as the apothecary in training continued to watch his beating. He knew that it went against the other’s training to allow harm to come to his fellow astartes, but as the smug pig-fuckers had quoted to them, pain was a teacher.
Crack! One hundred and thirty nine.
That so long as Lestras did not pass out, or otherwise indicate that the damage being inflicted on him was more than he could bear, the punishment would continue until either he passed out, begged for mercy, or he was struck a thousand times for his insolence, and for allegedly being the one who had set up a prank that had humiliated the high marshal of their crusade by dumping a mixture of befouled water and lurid pink paint on his armor as he walked through the meeting door, to speak with the Sisters of Serenity who had come to visit.
Crack! One hundred and forty.
Lestras had done no such thing, but the firstborn scouts who were almost certainly the culprits claimed that they had seen him setting up the bucket and rope trap, giggling to himself as he set up the humiliation.
Crack! One hundred and forty one.
The young Primaris continued to breathe in through his nose, and out through his mouth, ignoring the barely restrained fury misdirected at him by Petras, nor the dark disapproval radiating from his mentor - who had not believed him when Lestras had told him that he was innocent. Not that Lestras had believed that the bastard would take him at his word, though a small part of him had hoped that the truth would win out.
Crack! One hundred and forty-two.
Lestras continued to softly murmur the Prayer of Salvation and Forgiveness, as he had been ordered to do. He tried not to let his speech falter as blow after blow struck his freely bleeding back. Time was an unending blur of pain, anticipation, and greater pain. It had no meaning, beyond each painful, vicious bite of the whip.
Crack! Five hundred.
Petras spoke up, cruel amusement in his voice, disguised as mercy “You can take a break, if you just tell us that it hurts. Ask for a break and you will grant it. So far you have borne your punishment with the grace and stoicism expected of a Black Templar.”
Oh no, Lestras knew that trap. If he asked for a break, there was a good chance that the pedantic bastard would restart the whipping at zero, or at two hundred and fifty lashes. “I will bear the full brunt of the punishment assigned to me, Reclusiarch. I do not require a break.” The pain had long reached a point where it was difficult for him to breathe, and he knew that the fast healing factor of Primaris was helping his back to not be entirely a bloody mess, though the itching from the healing wounds - and as his back was re-flayed open only intensified the pain further.
But that was likely by design.
“So you admit to the crime for which you are being punished? The truth will grant you mercy, and I will order Judicar Ramiel to stop at the next hundred, if you confess the truth.” Petras intoned, and the smug fuck had the gall to smirk at him.
Lestras took in a deep breath, counted to five - Crack! Six hundred and ninety-three - before answering in as even and penitent a tone as he could manage through the pain and righteous fury “As I said before, Reclusiarch, I have been falsely accused. At the time I was reportedly rigging that bucket of paint and bile water, I was in fact in the conservatory reading star charts and meditating. Sir.”
“And as previously stated, there is no evidence to back up the claim, and four other apprentices reported seeing you in the area of the ship, with a bucket in hand and a devious smirk on your face. Are you accusing them of lying, apprentice mine?” Battle Brother Paragund demanded, voice harsh and sharp.
Yes. But to accuse them of that would give him an additional two hundred lashes “I am saying that it was not me who they saw.” If the fuckers weren’t outright lying and had successfully pinned their prank on him because his training scores were better than theirs. The pain was getting far worse, and the vertigo from blood loss was starting to creep in.
Crack! Seven hundred and thirty six. He could do this. He could last the full punishment in one long, agonizing session and be done with it. Lestras would not admit to wrongdoing he did not commit, even to spare himself pain. He had to believe that the light of the god emperor’s truth would vindicate him. If not now, at some point in the future. He continued the prayers of penance and forgiveness, as he had been ordered, trying not to flinch as the sharp crack of the whip continued to reverberate over and over again in the Reclusiam.
Crack! Nine hundred and ninety-nine.
Blood had been pooling around his knees for some time now. It had irreparably stained the hem of the robe he’d been wearing - though the top half had been rolled down to expose the full span of his back. The vertigo was getting really bad, and his breaths were shallow, to avoid aggravating his wounds. Nausea and pain warred for dominance within his mind and body. The final crack of the whip was deafening.
As was the sting of a needle injecting itself into his jugular. But the cool flash of morpha and the restrained-furious expression on Cedric’s face were sweet, sweet vindication. Lestra collapsed into his brothers’ arms as the medication and darkness took him into the land of dreaming.
Author’s Note: This is set before Cedric was brought to Ancient Terra! I hope that you enjoy this. Masterlist of BT shenanigans here. Thanks to @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for allowing me to borrow her OC Jerahmiel!
Warnings: blood, violence, murder, medical terminology, medical practices, please ask me to tag something if I missed it/something bothers you
Summary: Five times Cedric was able to save injured Brothers and one time he didn’t.
Ansen limped into the med-tent that Cedric as working in and leaning heavily on Malachai, who had helped him get back to the temporary encampment where injured marines and other Imperial Forces could be tended to. The system they were fighting in was embroiled in a huge border war between The IMperium and the duplicitous forces of a new but irritatingly persistent xeno race.
Cedric looks him over, a small frown appearing on his face as he instructed the pair “Please sit on the exam table, Ansen. Are you injured as well, Mal?”
Malachai shook his head “Not really/ I brought Ansen over due to his fucked up leg. My right hand is damaged, but nothing that an hour or so of letting it heal on it’s own won’t fix. My sqord broke and I need to get a new weapon while this one is being reforged.”
“Alright then. Be sure to stop by the food tent before you leave.” Cedric responded, already starting to look Ansen over.
“Heard. See you both later.” Malachai answered with a cheerful wave as he headed off.
“How’d you get injured? Whatever injured your leg it doesn’t seemed to have cut through your armor at all, somehow. Perhaps some kind of phasing technology? How much feeling do you have in this leg?” Cedric asked as he swiftly removed the other’s leg armor and began to clean, suture and bandage his wounds “These stitches are absorbable, so you need not come back to have them removed. If you notice signs of infection or if one or more of your wounds opens up again, please return for treatment.”
“.. One of the xenos cowards managed to sneak up behind me in the bushes while I was taking a piss. Malachai decapitated the motherless bastard while I put my armor back on. It was only after that I realized the blue fuck had managed to stab me several times before it’d been killed.” Ansen huffed. His helmet was on, but Cedric knew the other was blushing.
“That is some shit luck, brother. Keep your weight off of that leg for an hour or so and you’ll be combat ready again… So long as you don’t get stabbed while pissing.” Cedric consoled his brother, just barely able to keep a straight face. He was not going to laugh. Stealthy, cowardly xenos attacks could happen to anyone. “Any other injuries?”
“Other than my pride and reputation? No, not really.” Ansen grumbled.
Cedric patted his fellow Primaris on the shoulder. “Go forth and slay the alien scum in an hour, brother dearest. You’ll be able to reclaim lost honor that way.”
“... Thanks Cedric.” Ansen sighed as he got up and hobbled out of the med tent.
~
It did not take long before another Brother was brought to Cedric in need of patching up.
Lieutenant Aldenbrech was rushed onto the surgical table by his squadmates. Cedric immediately started an IV drop as the amount of blood gushing out of the nasty wound along the firstborn’s abdomen and the ashen tint to his skin spoke of a concerning amount of blood loss, even for an Astartes. The second thing he did was swiftly clean the wound and stitch up the major artery that had been pierced, his hands stone-steady.
Cedric then had to suction the blood that had pooled in the lieutenant’s abdominal cavity, battling the other’s own high healing factor to do so thoroughly enough to ensure that no blood remained where it shouldn’t be to cause trouble later.
“Are you certain that you only want mild local anesthetics? This is going to take some time and it won’t be pleasant in the least, sir.” Cedric asked, a medium-high dose of morpha held in one hand, as he continued to tend to the other’s injuries.
“I want to get back into the fight as soon as possible. A large dose of a heavy anesthetic like that will take me out of the fight for longer than I’m willing to wait and recuperate. I must get back onto the battlefield as soon as possible.” Lieutenant Aldenbrech grumbled, shifting just a little on the surgical table.
“Sir you will need to take the next twenty four hours to recover… Ideally, you should take forty-eight hours to recover, but I am well aware of the fact that the xenos scum are showing no signs of stopping the invasion of this world.” Cedric warned the other marine.
“Are my guts back in place?” The lieutenant demanded a heavy scowl on his face as he looked up at Cedric.
“Yes, the wound wasn’t wide enough to spill organs, nor intestines sir. Bit-” Cedric answered, sighing internally at how stubborn the older marine was being.
Aldenbrech interrupted him “Then pull the IV needle out of my arm. I need to be out there now!” He shifted, as if to get off of the table. He sat up quickly and nearly fell back against the table, his skin going an ashen color “I told you none of the heavy medications!”
“And I obeyed your orders, sir. But you need to wait until the IV has finished at least. You’ve lost several listers of blood on your way to treatment and all that blood needs replacing, or you won’t have the strength to stand, much less fight.” Cedric pointed out, suppressing the annoyed sigh that threatened to escape him.
“You don’t understand! My apprentice Dylies… He was… He was cut down by one of the xenos commanders. He took a blow meant for me, and I must avenge him!” The lieutenant hisses, eyes flashing with determination and desperation.
“I can increase how much it infuses into you at one time by a certain amount, but you must wait. You can’t avenge Dylies if you’re about to go into the Emperor’s Embrace yourself, sir. Dylies would want you to take care of yourself before avenging him” Cedric quietly reminded the firstborn marine. He was pushing aside his own grief at the loss of a Primaris Brother. It was likely that more would fall before the xenos threat were driven from this system. His job was to tend to the living.
Lieutenant Aldenbrecht huffed but nodded, still disgruntled but he said “... YOu have a point. How long must I wait?”
“Three hours sir. However the window of time where you need to be monitored by an Apothecary for possible allergic or other negative reactions has passed. SO long as you keep the IV pole with you and allow the infusion to continue as it is currently set, you may walk about the base camp and tend to light duties as you feel capable of doing them, sir.” Cedric responded, aware that the officer was likely to be needed in the ongoing tactical planning and execution meetings.
“Good. I’ll come back if I start feeling worse, or more likely, when it’s done infusing.” the lieutenant rumbled, nodding as he heaved himself up onto his feet and slowly shuffled out of the tent, followed by his squadmates.
~
Olivar carried Lestras into Cedric’s medical tent, skidding to a halt from the dead sprint that he had galloped into the space with. Lestras had been carried in on Olivar’s back, and their breathing was fast and shallow.
Some of their wounds were immediately apparent to the young Apothecary as he grabbed the wound cleanser and burn ointment “What happened?” cedric asked as his rock-steady hands swiftly took off the rest of Lestras’ ruined chest plate and greaves before he started to clean the other’s extensive and bubbling burn and laceration wounds.
“Xenos bastards implanted bombs in some of the mortal civilians they were tormenting and that our squad had been tasked with rescuing.” Olivar answered bluntly, a slight shudder running through the other Primaris Marine “Lestras spotted the surgical markings on the affected civilians and separated them from the rest of the group… He’d managed to get most of them away from the untainted civilians when the bombs were triggered.”
Lestras looked up at Cedric from where they lay on the table, eyes glassy with shock and pain “Oww…” He mumbles “Everything hurts.”
Cedric’s eyes softened a little as he injected them with a moderate dose of morpha. They were going to need it, as cleaning burn wounds felt truly awful for the patient in question. “Tell me when the pain killer kicks in. You will be able to tell with how much I gave you.”
Lestras let out an agonized laugh through cracked and bleeding lips “That bad, Cedric? We’ve been taught that pain and suffering is good for the body and soul.”
“But excess of anything attracts the attention of the foul despoilers. Burn wound treatment is going to be miserable, even with morpha helping you with the pain. There’s no need to go looking for more Les.” Cedric reminded them kindly.
Lestras nodded, closing their eyes for a couple of moments. Their body relaxed and a soft sigh left them “Ohh… You gave me some of the really good stuff… Big ouch impending then?”
“Yes. There is a lot of wound debridement in your immediate future.” Cedric warned his brother. WIth how fast Primaris Marines healed, for Lestras’ health and safety, ,the first few layers of burned flesh needed to be debrided off in order to encourage even, healthy growth of the other’s injured tissues. Cedric looked over to Olivar “Unless you are injured as well, I would suggest that you head out, Olivar. This is going to be a very unpleasant process.”
Olivar nodded “I’m going to get something to eat, then find an outgoing squad to keep up the fight. May the god emperor guide and protect you both,”
“Oww…” Lestras sighed as he internally braced himself for the agony that he wos about to endure.
“Tell me when the morpha starts to wear off. This process is going to take hours.” Cedric warned his sibling.
“Okay Cedric, I promise. Give me a few moments to get into a meditative state and I’ll be ready for this trial.” Lestras murmured.
Cedric nodded, watching his sibling and started once they had achieved that internal state.
~
Brother Felixald was brought into Cedric’s medical tent on a stretcher, carried there by his squadmates. All five of the firstborn marines were in varying states of injury, but Felixald was unconscious and barely breathing.
One of his legs was gone from the knee down with a makeshift tourniquet in place to keep him from bleeding out. Cedric immediately began assessing the five older marines, suggesting ”You two should seek immediate help. THose puncture wounds look like they need immediate assistance… I think you’ve been poisoned, from the way those wounds look and smell.” Cedric was already getting the cauterization tool ready as he assessed the bloody and raw leg stump, in case he needed to cut off more to ensure that the older marine would heal properly.
The two firstborns he suggested to leave did so immediately. The other two marines sat down heavily on the far side of the tent. One of them asked “Do you want us to recount how we got the injuries, or would you rather we stayed quiet while you take care of Feli, and get report when it’s our turn?” Brother Nulik asked.
“His most obvious injury shouldn’t take me long. Sir, I am going to administer a dose of morpha, as cauterization hurts like hell. Injecting now.” Cedric answered, speaking mostly to his barely conscious patient.
“Have… Ontel. Need to share.” Brother Felixald managed out, his grey-brown eyes flittering open as he stared up desperately into Cedric’s face “No morpha! Need a clear… Fuck! I do feel better. The xenos! They.. They are camouflaging themselves. It’s how I got this way.”
“The intel will be shared immediately. What are they pretending to be?” Cedric soothed his patient as he carefully cleaned and sanitized the older marine’s recently exploded or pehrpss cut off leg stump before he applied the cauterization tool. The sizzle of heat against wet and teh unpleasant smell of burning flesh was an eye-watering stench that Cedric had long become used to. He makes a quick note in the other’s file flagging him for an immediate prosthetic fitting.
“Some of them look like Astartes from an unknown chapter… Others took the colors of the ULtramarines. Their duplicity was revealed when the fuckers tried to kill us. God-Emperor damn them!” Brother Felixald growled, his exhaustion and the morpha causing him to slur his words together a little.
Cedric dutifully sent that urgent bit of intel off to his mentor to handle as he continued to batch up the badly injured marine and his two remaining squadmates. “I have informed Apothecary Xonfried, who will ensure that this information is disseminated quickly. Is there anything that you or your squadmates would like to report?”
Nulik and Bekith both shook their heads “No, Apothecary. That’s the relevant part of what happened, other than the numbers of foul xenos we murdered.”
“Alright. You two are free to go, and they’ve got the food-tent up and running.. Brother Felixald, you’ll need to stay for a bit as you’ve lost a significant portion of blood, and I’m going to start you on an infusion to get your volume back up to what it should be.” Cedric murmured.
“Aye, I can tell by how the world spins unpleasantly beneath me.” Felixald answered, laying back on the table and letting Cedric care for him properly as his squadmates headed off to get something to eat.
~
Cedric was carefully re-sanitizing his workspace when he heard the tell-tale sounds of running astartes headed in his direction. The young Apothecary swiftly finished cleaning, the coppery tang of blood and the chemical-bitter scent of stressed Marine hitting Cedric.
A half-dozen Astartes rushed into his medical tent, carrying Brother-sergeant Jerahmiel between them on a stretcher. The firstborn Marine was very badly hurt, with dozens of armor-piercing wounds inflicted all over his body. To make things worse, the sargent appeared to have lost his helmet during battle, given the extensive new burns all over his head and face.
It did seem as if the older marine’s eyes were still fully functional, despite the awful state they were in, from the way they narrowed at Cedric's approach, a low hiss leaving the sergeant’s ruined lips and broken teeth.
“Honorable Older Brothers.” Cedric began, just loud enough to cover the wordless sounds of protest from the injured marine now on his surgical table, doing his best to protect a sense of concern and urgency “Each of you are also badly injured and I can only tend to one Brother at at im. I urge each of you to seek treatment immediately. I will do what I can to save the honorable brother sergeant.” He did not allow himself to feel anything but concern and determination in this moment.
It worked! The other battered and bleeding first born brothers quickly left to get their own wounds treated without so much as a backwards glance. Aware that if they stayed, Cedric would need to triage all seven of them, and would be forced to leave the brother-sargeant to be treated last, due to his all too tenuous grasp on life at the moment.
Cedric’s hands were steady and his face a mask of calm as he worked to clean, treat and bandage Jerahmiel wounds, listening to the sounds around the two of them. He also double checked to make sure that the sergeant’s armor was, as he methodically checked over the other’s injuries.
If his hands slipped a little occasionally, pressing too hard ,causing more pain than was necessary… Well that was due to his inexperience and exhaustion. Cedric had been diligently tending to his injured Brothers for weeks with minimal sleep or rest and food. Cedric had yet to administer any pain relievers because he needed to conserve supplies. Suffering was good for the body and soul, after all “Stop struggling. You are under my care nd you will take what I give you, BRothe.” Cedric commented.
THe twitchy, badly injured firstborn marine stilled compeltely as he said those words, his half-ruined yes locking onto Cedric’ss. Dread perfumed the air as the sergeant rasped out with ruined vocal cords, barely able to speak “Wh-what did you just say?” He was clearly familiar with the phrase.
Cedric smiled benignly down at the Brother-Sargeant and answered with “I need you restrained. You are resisting the inevitable and what is necessary. Resistance is not just futile, but heretical.”
The dread intensified and the badly injured bastard attempted to stand up and escape Cedric.
Hah
The firstborn Marine had barely managed to sit up when Cedric raised up one hand and lightly shoved Jerahmiel back down onto the surgical table, pressing against the other’s fractured ribs. It truly was remarkable how badly injured the fucker was. A pity he didn’t qualify for dreadnought entombment. He did not possess the skill and experience to save this astares’ life “If you are free of sin, the god-Emperor will ensure that you survive this trial, Brother.”
“How… Why… Why are you saying that? How do you know what I had told that mouthy abomination I culled under the orders of Chaplain Petras?” THe sergeant wheezed, fear and confusion clear on his face, along with a tremendous amount of pain.
“His armor recorded his last moments, and the proceeding conversation… Sir. Unlike yours, his armor was fully functional at the time of his death. I found the recording of you beating him to death for no good reason.” Cedric answered placidly “He was beaten to death because he was going to report your… Indiscretion with that civilian woman that he witnessed. DId you really think he would’ve confronted you about it without ensuring that should something have happened to him, that you would escape justice? The Emperor’s light shines upon us all equally. As does his judgment.”
“Are you..What are you … You… Agk!” Jerahmiel sputtered, clearly trying to make sense of Cedric’s words, and failing, from his clear confusion.
“The honored Primarch decreed Primaris Marines to be made. He sent us out to help our firstborn Brothers in protecting the Imperium. The high marshal has declared that we are not heretical. So what right do you have to brand us as such, for merely existing? Do you believe yourself more righteous than one of the loyal sons of the Emperor?” Cedrc purred, leaning more of his weight onto the badly injured bastard, helpless before him.
Renewed pain bloomed across the sergeant’s face, along with understanding and a primarl fury “You… Fucker! He hissed, spitting up at him, blood bubbling at the corners of his lips. Hisbreathing labored and uneven. Jerahmiel’s hearts were beating rapidly Cedric could feel them under his hands.
Cedric had injected the other with a paralytic which kept him helpless on the surgical table. The much younger marine grinned boyishly as he avoided the flying and bloody spittle “It’s suchc a shame you were too badly injured for me to save you with the resources I have available, sir. I’m sure your loss will be felt by the Crusade… But the relief that your loss by those who were inflicted by your temper and tyranny far outweigh the sorrow caused by your death.” He keeps increasing the pressure on the other’s broken ribs, feeling them shift.
The jagged, broken bone-shards dig into the bastard’s lungs deeper and deeper.
Jerahmiel’ glare was scorching.
Cedric was wholly unthreatened by him. He had the upper hand here, not this firstborn bastard.
Cedric laughed, breathing and victorious as he felt the other’s rib bones slide up into the fucker’s hearts. He kept pressing and shoving until the sergeant’s hearts had stopped beating and his body went limp.
Cedric then removed the other’s geneseed, placing it carefully in the appropriate container for viability testing. After that, Cedric removed all viable useful organts, implants and prosthetics. He had the other stripped of his rumor armor and weapons. Everything of value was sent off to their proper places.
After that, Cedric carried the bastard’s cooling body over to the promethium-fueled flaming body pit and tossed the sergeant’s corpse into it. As his body caught fire, Cedric dutifully logged Jerahmiel ‘s injuries and that he was KIA.
The young apothecary returned to his assigned medical tent, carefully cleaning all of his tools and the table, his hearts light and his conscience clear.
As an Apothecary, two of his jobs were harm reduction and threat nullification. Brother-sargeant Jerahmiel had killed a half-dozen primaris marines with no good cause, and his kills had begun to become more frequent and starting to cluster together. As were the excessive beatings and other acts of cruelty the fucker had visited upon living primaris marines. Cedric took pride in every aspect of being an Apothecary, and would neutralize other threats as the opportunity to do so came up. So long as his curtailing of cruelty did not cause more suffering amongst his fellow Primaris marines, of course.
Cedric hears more running footsteps and greets his next injured Brother-patient with a gentle and concerned smile on his face.
