Difficult Conversations, Part Two
Trope: Survivor’s Guilt
Fandom: Original Work
[Masterlist]
[gray for requested, blue for completed]
Timeline: set after Difficult Conversations, Part One.
contents: rescue and recovery from slavery whump and forced relationship, medical setting (medbay on a space ship), trauma, discussion of death and broken whumpees, referenced noncon kissing, downplaying trauma, swearing.
~~~
Hey. Sorry I haven't called you. Let's talk in person when I'm back, okay? It's just a few more days.
Alright.
Wren stares at the single word, the response that came not even a minute after he sent his message, and exhales slowly. Doubts are tearing him apart, he should call, that’s the right thing to do, but he can’t imagine himself doing that just yet.
Not over a call.
He runs his fingers over the strap of the communicator circling his wrist, just to remind himself that it’s there. Johnson gave it to him and let him keep it, and he didn’t expect just how comforting having it would be.
Something he couldn’t get his hands on for two years. A link to civilization.
Before he can turn the communicator off, the sound of a new message makes him flinch.
I’m glad you’re okay.
He blinks in disbelief, but can’t help but smile a little bit. It’s the last thing he expected to read, given who sent it, but it’s enough to make him tear up. He wipes his tears away with a laugh, then types a message of his own.
I’m glad too.
He’s not okay, no matter how much he pretends otherwise and wishes he was, but he knows that now… he’s capable of being okay, eventually. Daniel is dead. He’s free. Earth’s waiting.
He turns the communicator off, closes his eyes with another exhale, and smiles.
~~~
There are people here, on the I.S.S. Brittany, and the thought still makes him lightheaded. It’s a fairly small crew, but it doesn’t seem like it after two years spent with two other people at most, with his hope of seeing anyone other than his tormentors ever again diminishing every day; he tries not to think about being surrounded by even more people when he’s back on Earth for now.
In the medbay it’s just him and Vitkus, and Johnson, occasionally checking up on him. He was instructed to continue sleeping in the medpod to ensure that the wound that had almost killed him twice doesn’t scar, but eventually Vitkus decides that it shouldn’t reopen.
“You can leave the medbay if you’re ready,” she says. “See the ship, meet the others.” She sees the panic in his eyes, and gives him a sympathetic smile. “I know it might seem scary, but you can always come back here if you feel overwhelmed.”
He nods, but he’s far from confident. “I want to try. I have to try. There will be… other people, and I can’t hide from them forever.”
“Just try to take it slow.”
He does. Walking out of the medbay feels like a feat in and of itself, and he can’t stop himself from laughing. He never thought he would consider leaving a room an achievement, and yet here he is.
The ship’s layout is similar to the ones he’s used to, so it doesn’t take long for him to find his way around - and he’s grateful for his knowledge of where cryopods should be located. He avoids so much as looking in the direction of the room. Thinking about what’s in there, how only a single metal wall stands between him and Daniel’s lifeless body, is harder to avoid, as is the brief irrational and terrifying instinct to enter the room and try to see through the frosted glass, facing his captor and the weight of what he’s done.
He has to consciously take a deep breath as Daniel’s final moments flash through his mind. His hands hurt from how hard he’s clenching his fists to get rid of the memory of closing his fingers around the gun. He can see the raw panic in Daniel’s eyes when he realized what was coming. The gunshots ring in his ears.
Vitkus lifts her head and frowns with worry when he enters the medbay and leans against the wall.
“Cryo room,” he explains, not letting any emotion show. “But I didn’t walk in.”
Vitkus nods. “It’s locked, you need a code to open the door.”
He sighs with relief. “That’s… good.”
His next trip is more successful; he chooses a different route this time.
Then he starts running into people. It’s startling, it makes him nervous, but he can see it’s mutual, no matter how casual the other rangers try to act. They exchange formalities. Bakradze. Vue. Pereira. Kumar. They address him by his rank, then seem to relax when he asks them to address him by his first name. That’s something, at least.
Still, he can see wariness in their eyes. Uncertainty. He can't blame them; now, on top of being a former victim of the slave trade, he has killed his captor too. They witnessed it. They saw him being thrown into that shuttle, they were there when the hatch opened. They saw him shivering, eyes wide, as crimson soaked his shirt.
It didn't help with his feeling of not belonging.
He doesn't hide, though. He does his best to spend time with the crew, joining them for meals, usually sitting next to Johnson. There's always a moment of silence when he arrives, but thankfully it always passes. Conversations resume, and Wren chimes in from time to time, and it almost feels… normal, reminding him of when he’d visit the canteen on his own ship, with his own crew.
Spending time around people is intimidating, but comforting; but when he finds himself getting overwhelmed, which never takes long, he leaves, just as doctor Vitkus suggested. Rather than go to the medbay, though, he sneaks out to the place he finds more comforting - the observation deck.
He watches the stars pass by, the galaxies change, and the visual reminder of getting farther and farther away from SV-240 and closer to Earth helps more than anything else could.
~~~
He's not alone in the bed.
"Gh-" He crawls out of it, frees himself from Daniel's arms, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest; he scrambles to his feet and stumbles backwards.
The bed is empty.
His breathing is ragged as he stares at the bed, which is nothing like Daniel's, it's sleek, more oval in shape.
And yet Daniel has found his way into it to hold Wren close.
Before he knows it tears are streaming down his face, and he doesn't have it in him to stop them. A sob escapes him, and he covers his mouth to be quiet.
He can't even fucking sleep.
Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.
He shakes his head with another sob.
I love you too.
He should get back to sleep; otherwise he'll be half-dead for the next day cycle, and he doesn't want that, he doesn't want to look completely miserable.
But he can't get back into this bed either.
He leaves the room - his room, only his - and walks to the bathroom on shaking legs, careful not to make a sound. The bathroom was safe… most of the time. It's where he'd lock himself when he needed a moment, when he had to stand in front of the mirror and remind himself that he couldn't break, that there was hope.
He was right, but he still finds himself gripping the edges of the sink here, staring in the mirror.
When he first did it, he noted with a small spark of happiness that he was already looking better, healthier. That's not gone, but there's a familiarity to his reflection now - dark circles under his eyes, tear tracks on his face, a haunted expression.
"I'm safe," he whispers to himself, his grip on the sink getting tighter. "I'm free. Daniel is a fucking corpse. I'm safe."
His words barely mean anything when nearly everyone else is asleep and he feels like he's dreaming, or floating in the void. He closes his eyes and stays still for a moment, taking deep breaths, then reluctantly leaves the bathroom. His nerves pick up when he enters his room again and sees the bed.
A normal bed. He wanted to be able to sleep in a normal bed, alone, that was why he was eager to leave the medbay, but Daniel had made sure that wouldn't be possible.
Daniel embraces him and presses a kiss to the back of his neck.
Wren recoils.
He lies still, staring at the wall with empty eyes, feeling Daniel's hand steadily moving up and down his side.
He starts shaking.
He can't. He can't do this. Not yet.
He exhales, gathers the sheets off the bed, and takes them to the corner of the room; he sits down, wraps the blanket around himself, and rests his head on the pillow pressed to the wall. It's uncomfortable, and he knows his spine will pay the price, but it's his only hope of getting some hopefully uninterrupted sleep. Daniel can't get him here. He’s uncomfortable, but he’s safe, and he’s finally alone.
~~~
“People know that you’re alive.”
The world flashes for a moment, blinding Wren, and he has to blink away the shock. He nods numbly, his hands starting to shake. Why is his body reacting like that? Of course people had to find out. He’s going to be back among them soon, after all.
“We waited as long as we could,” Johnson continues in a soothing voice, looking at him with worry in their eyes. “But now the League is pretty sure they have information for most, if not all, of the trade, and… we’re going to reach Earth in about thirty-six hours. I wish you had more time, I know this must be overwhelming for you, but this information had to be made public before your return.”
“No, no, I understand,” Wren says quietly. “I’ll be fine.”
Johnson nods, not responding, their worry increasing as they watch Wren shivering, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. Thankfully it’s just the two of them in the briefing room, so there’s nobody else to witness his reaction; Johnson had made sure of that.
“Hey, Wren,” they say, and once he looks at them, they give him a small smile. “I just want you to know… The slavers are currently being tracked down and arrested, and there are operations underway to find and rescue the victims of the trade, and it’s all thanks to you. You saved so many lives, Wren. You’re a hero.”
He flinches, eyes wide.
“I-I was just saving myself, though,” he explains, glancing away. “I had to expose the trade, but… it didn’t feel heroic.” He continues before Johnson can try to protest. “And… how are the victims?”
The heavy pause before he gets his answer only makes him more certain that there is something unpleasant at play, and that Johnson probably regrets bringing it up in the first place.
“A lot of them have been rescued already, and the people who’d bought them were arrested,” they start explaining slowly, carefully. "What they went through had a deep impact on them, but they're receiving the help they need. They're safe."
"Not all, though." There is no answer, and he sighs. "You can tell me, Lieutenant. I-I need to know."
“I understand, but you know what the answer is going to be, and I don’t think you’re ready to hear more about it.”
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Wren lifts his chin, looking Johnson right in the eye. They exhale with a pained expression.
“Some of them, yes.”
“And others?”
“The trade had existed for years, completely in secret, so there are people who were there for years, too, and that… left a mark on them.”
“They’re broken,” Wren whispers.
“They’re alive. They can be helped. And, Wren… Even those who didn’t survive… Their loved ones have finally gotten closure, the people responsible have been arrested. Please don’t beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, and if it hadn’t been for your signal, it could’ve taken so much longer for the trade to even be discovered.”
It makes sense, but Wren’s mind doesn’t care for sense, not when he’s filled with doubts, when his thoughts are screaming that he should’ve been faster, he should’ve contacted the League sooner, he should’ve- should’ve-
There must have been another way, months earlier, to escape, he was just too stupid to figure it out, and because of that more people suffered. He swallows.
“I have to go,” he mumbles, standing up.
“Wren.” They try to stop him, but he shakes his head and leaves in a hurry, his heartbeat nearly painful, his thoughts fixated on all those people, dead, broken, ones he couldn’t save. And it wasn’t like his purpose had been to save them, it just happened, but now that he knows, guilt rises in his throat like bile.
Dead. He had been terrified of dying on SV-240, dying before getting a chance to break free, and that’s exactly what had happened to some of those people before his message could save them.
Broken. He remembers being an empty shell. Staring at the wall, crying soundlessly. “Happy anniversary.” Somehow he came back every time, back to being determined, but some never did, and he can’t help but think that maybe some never will.
He picks up the pace until he reaches his room, where tears threaten to overflow when he sees the bed, the damn bed that he can’t even sleep in, the clinging remains of his captivity. He curses under his breath and walks to the corner, where he leans against the wall and fixes his eyes on the ceiling, forcing himself to breathe.
Dead. Broken. And he’s here, alive against all odds, hanging on to himself, and… why? Why him? Why did he of all people succeed?
Everyone knows now.
He feels weak; he slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor. The thought that is so clear in his mind constricts his lungs and heart.
Everyone knows. Everyone - including the surviving victims of the trade, including their loved ones, and they can see that he’s alive, that he managed to gain the upper hand in the end, and they can question it the same way he is questioning it right now - why is he alive when the others aren’t? Why is he still himself when others had themselves being beaten and brainwashed out of them ages ago?
And now he’s crying because of a bed, and he knows that once he’s back on Earth, it will only get worse. There are people there, everyone knows what he’s been through, he’s going to be surrounded by people who are going to take one look at him and know.
“Wren?”
The door slides open, and he turns his face away to hide his tears from Johnson, as if they couldn’t see the state he’s in.
“If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know, okay? Or do you just want to be left alone?”
He wants to nod at first, but then he realizes that he wouldn’t be alone, having the nagging thoughts as companions, feeling like they’re going to crush him, hearing accusations and hissed insults in his head.
“It’s alright. You can stay,” he says, keeping his voice low to hide its shaking. There are footsteps, then Johnson sits down next to him. The only sound is Wren’s sniffling as he tries in vain to stop crying.
“I’m going to spend some time on Earth once we’re there.” Johnson glances at Wren before looking straight ahead again, not wanting to stare while he’s in this state. “So if you need to talk to someone, you can contact me. I… I’ll do my best to help.”
“Thanks,” Wren whispers. “Really. It’s just… It was just me and him on that planet and I’d… forgotten about the other people, about the trade. And that whole time they were in captivity too, suffering and dying and- and it took me so long to do anything and I feel like I should’ve done… more. And sooner.”
“You were a captive, though, just like them. You did what you could, when you could. It was so dangerous, but you did it, and now? You’re free, and so are many other people.”
“But so many didn’t make it.”
“It’s not your fault, and nobody’s going to think it is. Focus on the lives you’ve saved, and most importantly… on yourself. You went through something horrible too, and you need help as much as all the others.”
Wren frowns. He’s… feeling fine, though. Daniel is dead, he’s free, he’s still himself, more or less, and that’s more than some of the others can say.
But there is still a phantom in the bed. There are still memories, pain and torture and kisses and I love you’s. There is still tension in his body that he can’t imagine going away anytime soon. There is a part of him that remains on SV-240, in Daniel’s house, and there is so much he doesn’t want to tell anyone about, and as long as he keeps it a secret, nothing will help.
He nods as new tears gather in his eyes from the overwhelming words and emotions and realizations of the day, from the weight of being the one to expose the trade and feeling weaker than ever before, even though he’s no longer being starved, hurt, restrained.
Johnson sits with him in silence until he forces himself to pull himself together, because no matter how long he cries, it never brings him even a sliver of relief.
~~~
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