i would love to see daniel making what he feels like is a mistake with wren (similar to how he fucked up with wren getting attacked by the local wildlife in the beginning of the story). like he pushes wren too far without realizing it, or hurts him in a way he didn't intend to (like rope failure during suspension bondage). love to see wren suffering and i also love to see daniel feeling guilty so like. best of both worlds lol
“Uh, could you… check the ropes again? Something’s weird about the balance.”
“I know what I’m doing, sweetheart.”
“But-”
“Just trust me. Besides, just a few more pictures and we’ll be done, okay?”
Daniel snaps a picture. One of the knots in the elaborate ropework keeping Wren suspended snaps too.
It happens in a blink of an eye. Wren becomes certain that something is wrong with Daniel’s handiwork, that it wasn’t just his imagination, and in the next moment his body jolts downwards. If that was the end of it, it wouldn’t be bad - he’d just be a bit startled, he’d get to savor Daniel being proven wrong, but, unfortunately, he mostly did know what he was doing.
Wren’s right arm was still secured with rope, and when he shifted, it stayed in exactly the same position.
He sees stars. His scream of agony comes out as a strained gasp. His shoulder is on fire.
Daniel curses, sets his camera aside and rushes to start painstakingly undoing the knots while Wren hyperventilates, eyes wide, forehead lined with cold sweat.
"I told you!" he chokes out, close to sobbing. "I fucking told you and you didn't- Why the fuck didn't you believe me?!"
Daniel doesn't answer, focused on untying the ropes; Wren's shaky breathing is the only sound. When he's finally freed, the pain only gets worse when his shoulder shifts, and he can't stop tears from falling from his eyes. It hurts so much, a completely new pain. Daniel cradles him in his arms, petting his hair, and the look of remorse on his face is nowhere near as satisfying as it would be if Wren could think more clearly.
"I'm sorry," Daniel says, carefully laying his hand on Wren's injured shoulder, making him tense up and gasp. "Next time I'll make sure the ropes are secure."
"Next time?!" Wren cries. “My shoulder is-”
"I know, I know. And… I need to set it, so be still. Just trust me."
"Again?! You just fucking showed me why-"
Once again, he doesn't get to finish his sentence - with practiced confidence Daniel grabs his arm, lifts it up, and pulls, and Wren howls in agony feeling it pop back into place.
“Okay, okay, it’s okay now,” Daniel whispers, holding Wren close as he struggles to breathe. “You can rest.” He sighs, then the corners of his mouth rise in a playful smirk. “First that animal, now this. I guess I’ll just ask Berkeley to bring me some new rope next time so there’s no more accidents, hm? I really am sorry, though. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“You didn’t learn shit,” Wren rasps, somehow mustering enough strength and clarity to glare at Daniel, who, much to his fury, laughs.
“See how quickly you bounce back? You’re stronger than you realize, sweetheart.”
Wren presses his lips tightly together and shakes his head. He’s not strong enough to fight back in a way that matters, not strong enough to escape. At the moment his strength seems completely meaningless to him, and he’s so tired of staying strong this way when Daniel only seems to find delight in it.
For the muse ask game: Wren would really admire Zander's defiance, and he'd be shocked to find out that he was taken at eighteen - but that would only make Zander seem so much stronger, since he lasted so long in captivity. Also the Protect instinct would be strong, even though Wren is shorter and knows that Zander is capable of taking care of himself.
OOOOOH, I think Zander would have kind of a mutual admiration for Wren. Kidnapping he can handle, that’s nothing to him, but the idea of being kidnapped and taken to a whole other planet would absolutely stun him, he’d have so much respect for him for not losing his mind through that. He would probably have a mutual protect instinct too though, but he’s like that with most people he meets who are smaller than him
Timeline: post-captivity, set after Ghosts of the Past.
contents: recovery from slavery whump and forced relationship, hospital setting, childhood trauma, mention of therapy.
~~~
“Jonna Schulte visited me yesterday.”
Nathaniel is looking out the window, so Wren can’t see his expression, but he does notice the tension in his shoulders.
“I know.” Nathaniel’s voice is forced, stiff. “I talked to her.”
“Yeah, I heard you talking.” The emphasis Wren puts on the last word goes unnoticed. “So, what’s the deal with… all that? She didn’t tell me much.”
“We were married, it didn’t work out, so she left.”
Nathaniel spits out his words like they’re poison, as is the topic at large, but Wren doesn’t want to back out. It’s too important, and too confusing.
“She said she didn’t want to abandon me.”
Nathaniel inhales sharply and crosses his arms. “I don’t know what she did or didn’t want. You can ask her.” He finally faces Wren, his gaze like the dark sky before a thunderstorm. “‘I don’t want to talk about this.”
His tone is harsh, and it makes Wren freeze. There it is, the tension he’s felt for so long, his instincts urging him to run, and he feels so small and insignificant, but not in the same way that SV-240 made him feel. He doesn’t feel like a human being confronted with the unimaginable loneliness of being trapped on a distant planet. He feels like a helpless kid.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, looking away, his heartbeat deafening, his hands shaking.
Nathaniel seems surprised by Wren’s reaction, but he doesn’t add anything. The sense of immediate danger slowly fades, though the implications linger in Wren’s mind.
Nothing has changed. The events of the last two years did not overwrite his earlier memories and instincts, not that he really expected otherwise. What Daniel had put him through made him discover mechanisms within his psyche that he wasn’t aware of before, and which he figures must have come from his childhood. Now he gets to see their root cause with new eyes, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it.
Between living alone, struggling with the way his body and mind work now, and going back to living with his father, he’s not sure if there exists an option that isn’t terrible.
“Do you need help packing?”
He nearly jumps in place and shakes his head.
“No, no, I’ll do it myself. It’s not a lot.”
His hands are shaking as he puts what little he’d taken out back in the bag and zips it up.
As much as he wanted to leave the hospital before, now he wishes he could stay.
***
When they exit, there are people waiting for them, a small crowd gathered near the entrance, the sight of which causes Wren to stop abruptly, his eyes going wide. And then there’s noise, voices, and they don’t sound angry, but they’re too overwhelming for Wren to register anything. He stepped out of the hospital and fell into a void, and he’s frozen in place, gripping the strap of his bag so hard his knuckles turn white.
Someone grabs his arm and pulls, and his immediate reaction is to try and free himself, but when he manages to tear his gaze away from the crowd, he sees it’s just his father, so he forces himself to move, to put one foot in front of the other, to get the hell out, away from those people, everything is too much, too crowded, and it isn’t until he’s seated in the car that he can breathe again.
He exhales and leans forward until he rests his forehead against the back of the front seat, but he has to straighten up when the car starts. He blinks and his gaze flits towards the window, but he has to look away when he sees the crowd again.
“What happened?”
Wren winces. He can feel Nathaniel’s eyes boring into him, but he doesn’t want to look. It’s not like he knows what happened, anyway; for all he knows, he left the hospital building and regained consciousness in the car.
“Sorry,” he says, and Nathaniel doesn’t push, he never does anymore, he only wants uncomfortable conversations to end, and that’s exactly what happens. The drive home passes in silence, and Wren spends its entirety swallowing back tears.
***
Unlike him, the house hasn’t changed at all. It’s still neat, but unremarkable, average in just about every way; Nathaniel never flaunted his position by going for unnecessary luxury. Still gripping the strap of the bag tightly, Wren enters, and the inside is the same too, because it has always been comfortable, and that was enough. There are some new things, things he doesn’t recognize, but they’re minor, they don’t matter.
The door closes behind him, and something about the sound both sobers him up and sends him back to a day he’d rather not reminisce about. He can’t breathe, he can feel tears coming again, and this time he can’t hold them back, so he rushes upstairs, to his old room, which is also the same, the only difference being the boxes strewn about the floor. His things, brought back to the place he had escaped years ago.
He’s home.
Tears overflow and he furiously wipes them away. All he wants to do is sit on his bed and wallow in emotions that he can’t even identify, but he hears his father’s footsteps on the stairs, and he knows he has to appear at least a bit more put-together. He sits down on the bed anyway, unzips his bag, and starts unpacking it.
“Hey,” Nathaniel says after a symbolic knock on the doorframe. “Need any help?”
At first Wren wants to refuse again. These are his things, he can handle unpacking, and having his father here will probably only lead to more tension, more awkwardness, but…
He looks at the boxes. The bag he can handle, but with how he’s feeling he’s not sure the same can be said about the boxes. Besides, if he’s left on his own, he might just burst into tears and accomplish nothing, and his room being a mess will only drag him further into misery.
“Actually, yeah,” he says, looking up from the bag with a slightly forced smile. “I don’t know what I’m going to put where yet, but if you could help with the boxes, that would be great. Just… clothes on one pile, other stuff on a different pile, something like that.”
“Sounds doable,” Nathaniel laughs, and Wren does too, and they get to work, mostly in silence, sometimes making small talk or commenting on their finds.
“You still have this T-shirt?”
“Yeah, it’s living its best life as pajamas now.”
“Mhm. And this one?”
“Pajamas. Or, uh, for cleaning days.”
“This one too?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s a hole in it.”
“Exactly. It’s perfect.”
They laugh, Wren through tears, because of course he’s crying, because he hasn’t seen these things in such a long time, he thought he’d never see them again. There are tears in his breaking voice too, which go unaddressed; it feels absurd, this elephant in the room, his silent breakdown and its cause, but he convinces himself that it’s better this way, that they can both pretend that everything is fine, even when nothing is.
Their conversations are normal, ignoring the context that is anything but. Catching up, how much has the city changed? It must have changed, it’s been… a while. Food. Food is a normal subject. They can get takeout, whatever Wren wants. Not from that one place, though. It closed down a year or so ago.
It’s strange to think that normal things were happening while he was away. A silly thought, of course he’d never think that everything was put on hold when he was kidnapped, but somehow it still hits him hard. The restaurant closed down, and he was busy being a captive. He doesn’t even know what was going on with his father when he was presumed dead, but he doesn’t want to start that conversation yet; he can ask about it later. Right now he focuses on dividing his clothes into categories with some semblance of sense before putting them in the closet.
The last thing he reaches for is his running T-shirt, and he pauses, holding it up, rubbing the slippery fabric between his fingers.
“I think I’m gonna go for a run,” he says, his idea verbalized as soon as it appears in his mind. Nathaniel, busy collecting the now empty boxes, looks at him with a frown.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”
Naturally, Wren starts doubting himself, and maybe it is a stupid idea, but it’s an exciting one, and he doesn’t want to just give it up.
“Yeah, I… think I need it. I miss running.”
“Alright,” Nathaniel says, still seemingly unconvinced. “Now?”
“No.” Wren shakes his head. “I’ll wait until the evening. So it’s less warm.” And, hopefully, so there’s fewer people. He doesn’t say that part out loud. Being concerned about the weather is normal. Freaking out after being one of the only two people on an entire planet is not. He wants to be normal, and if he can’t, he’ll at least pretend.
The food they get from a place Wren knows well tastes different from what he remembers, but maybe he just doesn’t remember it well, it’s been so long, after all. They talk for a bit about nothing in particular, and when the silence threatens to turn awkward, Wren suggests watching something light, maybe a game show, and they do just that, joking and trying to guess the answers before the contestants do. It’s a familiar scenario in a way that fills Wren with unease as time goes on; he’s relieved when evening comes and he can excuse himself to get ready.
Putting up his hair to keep it out of the way and warming up before leaving the house is a routine he hasn’t forgotten, but it’s not as nostalgic and uplifting as it should be, because he used to do this on SV-240 too. Back then it made him feel better, but the price he pays now is that it’s become tainted, linked to memories of running laps around Daniel’s house, of working out alongside him. That, however, is reduced to a triviality when Wren leaves the house and faces the world outside.
Running laps within the safe area around the house, guarded from the dangers of the planet, was one thing; being faced with the startling realization that he can go wherever he wants is something else entirely. He’s no longer confined, be it to the house, the spaceship, or the hospital. He’ll have to go back home eventually, but he’s the one who gets to decide when that will be.
He’s free.
He sways on his feet a little, and has to take a deep breath of Earthly air. For just a moment he considers turning back, going back inside, but above all he feels… excited. Energized. He wants to get the most out of his newfound freedom, so he braces himself, chooses a direction, and starts running, maybe a bit faster than he usually would, and a wave of euphoria the likes of which he hasn’t felt in a long time spreads throughout his body, through his every nerve. His shoes hit the pavement at a steady pace, and his breathing falls into a familiar rhythm. That’s all that matters.
When he comes back home, he’ll have no choice but to face his thoughts. His first therapy session is coming up - how should he approach it? How much can he tell his therapist? He’ll have to bring up something, think about the last two years with Daniel, recall some of the physical torture, because he can’t imagine himself talking about anything other than that, even though it’s the other memories that give him nightmares each and every night. Is he going to have one tonight, in his old room? He doesn’t want his father to hear it. His father… The time they spent together was nice, and Wren knows it’s nothing new, nor was it a one-off. There have always been days like this, filled with casual, lighthearted conversations, joking and laughter, and yet, when he was away, he could only remember the other days, raised voices, disappointment and contempt. He got a reminder of that earlier, Nathaniel’s reaction to his question about Jonna, Jonna, his mother, who didn’t want to abandon him, who’s one message or call away…
Timeline: post-captivity, set after A Day of Revelations.
contents: recovery from slavery whump and forced relationship, hospital setting, nightmares, mentioned surgery, torture, branding, therapy and past weight loss, absent parent.
~~~
He must have fallen asleep.
He wakes up with tears in his eyes and the memory of Daniel clear in his mind, in the hospital room, not alone. Blinking, he expects to see steel-gray eyes and a familiar fond smile, feel a hand brushing his hair away from his forehead, hear a voice that tries and fails to be soothing. Instead he sees brown eyes and concern written all over the familiar face of the person leaning over him, their hand still resting on his shoulder after they shook him awake.
“Breathe, Wren. Breathe.”
He doesn’t remember this voice ever being soothing, but it works. Breathing deeply, he nods, his body in a state of panic even though he can hardly remember why. He reaches up to wipe his tears away, and his breath stutters again. There’s no way he can speak in this state.
“Are you okay?” Nathaniel asks, just as, if not more, nervous as his son.
No. Isn’t it obvious?
Wren nods again, and Nathaniel frowns.
“Sorry I had to wake you. You were…” He hesitates, looking for the right word, or maybe considering how much to tell him. “Thrashing.”
Another nod. Wren’s throat is squeezed tight, his heart fluttering in his chest, so he stays silent, focused on breathing.
He had a nightmare, and his father saw it.
It’s a strange realization, as if he had mentally placed a division between the person he was on SV-240 and the person he’s here now. He knew that returning to Earth wouldn’t erase his memories and trauma, but Daniel’s strong presence in his mind is the most striking reminder of that. The captive from SV-240 has been transported to Earth and sticks out like a sore thumb.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “Must’ve had a nightmare.”
It’s Nathaniel’s turn to awkwardly nod. He parts his lips as if to say something, and his grip on Wren’s shoulder tenses, but in the end he lets go and looks away.
Despite knowing better than to expect any comfort, Wren’s disappointment is almost painful, and he barely stops himself from reaching out to grab his father’s hand, begging him to care.
“I brought you some things,” Nathaniel says, and when Wren follows his gaze, he notices a large bag by the wall - his bag, one he hasn’t used in years, but seeing something that belongs to him fills him with warmth, a feeling so strong he can’t believe it’s caused by something as mundane as an old object.
“Thanks.” Smiling requires a shocking amount of effort even when it’s for the most part genuine.
“Have you thought about where you want to stay?” Nathaniel pulls a chair closer to sit down. “I’ve found some places for sale or for rent, I can send you the offers.”
“Can I stay at your place?” Wren blurts out before he can stop himself. It’s a terrible idea, he knows it is, but the thought of having to choose is overwhelming. His recent nightmare also causes him to tense up and his mind to protest when he imagines being alone. Just him and a ghost, and nobody else.
“Of course.” Nathaniel’s response is immediate despite the look of surprise on his face. “It’s still your home too.”
This time there’s nothing forced about Wren’s smile.
“Thanks. I won’t stay long, just until… I get back on my feet.”
“You can stay as long as you like.”
That’s a relief when Wren has no idea how long it will take him to get back on his feet, if that’s even possible. What does that even mean? Functioning on his own, probably; the thought makes him anxious, so he drops it for now.
“Thank you. Really.”
Nathaniel nods, and they both fall silent, with too many unsaid words ringing in the air. There has always been a barrier between them that Wren couldn’t get through, and even now, when Nathaniel’s being more vulnerable than Wren’s ever seen him, the barrier is standing strong, intimidating and stifling. Worst of all, it prevents him from telling his father about anything, really. He should at least mention the tracker that’s going to be removed shortly, but even that fills him with deep shame. And then, of course, there’s the relationship Daniel had forced him into, the affection and intimacy that affected him more than anything else did, which is the last thing he wants to reveal to anyone, period.
Bearing it alone makes it hard to breathe, but he can’t imagine choosing the alternative.
---
The bag contains clothes, his clothes: familiar flannel shirts, plain t-shirts and relaxed pants, all ironed out and neatly folded. He reaches inside the bag and rests his fingertips on the clothes, and the feel of the fabric is familiar too. He clears his throat and blinks rapidly when tears threaten to gather in his eyes, and pulls out one of the shirts, unfolding it and holding it in the air, staring at it while his mind is racing.
It’s been years since he was allowed to choose what to wear. The clothes chosen by Daniel weren’t bad, they were comfortable and practical, but that was the problem - they couldn’t get in the way of Daniel’s sadistic ideas, and it wasn’t much of an issue if they ended up stained with blood. He was a plaything, a blank canvas, dressed accordingly, even when Daniel tried to convince him that they could be close to equals if he only gave in.
Now, he can finally make a choice, even one as seemingly inconsequential as this.
Once he’s dressed, he stands in front of the mirror and chokes on his breath.
The clothes still fit him well; they would’ve been noticeably more baggy if he’d stayed malnourished like he was during the first few weeks on SV-240, but since his starvation ended and Daniel allowed him to start working out again, he’s gone back to looking like himself, the person he used to be. It’s all the more jarring as he stares in the mirror at someone from over two years ago.
Someone he no longer is.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath when tears come back, this time impossible to stop. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks up at the ceiling, away from the mirror. “I’ll get used to it,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “It’s just clothes, and they should make me feel better, for fuck’s sake.”
Wearing them does help, but seeing them does the exact opposite, so he ends up walking away from the mirror, and avoids looking into it if he can help it.
---
He spends a few more days in the hospital, and every single morning he wakes up from a nightmare. While it might be better than waking up to a nightmare, it’s exhausting in its own right, and leaves him a mess.
Reality doesn’t help as much as he hoped it would. He’s free, but everything feels like too much.
Someone visits him and introduces herself as a therapist; that information alone makes him so anxious he fails to catch her name. She talks to him, and he’s tense the whole time, mentally building walls around his mind as if the therapist could read it and learn about everything he went through. His input is limited to nodding along, waiting for the conversation to be over. He doubts therapy will help when his plan is to take the full scope of his trauma to the grave.
Later that day he’s scheduled for surgery. Something in him flares up in protest when he slowly slips into unconsciousness, a scared part of him that doesn’t want him to be defenseless, at someone else’s mercy, with no guarantee that they won’t hurt him or tie him up, but there’s nothing he can do at this point. When he wakes up, everything is alright, his shoulder is bandaged and the tracker is… gone. He can’t help but think that it would feel more significant if he wasn’t still branded - and he can see the sympathetic looks on the faces of the doctors who saw his back. He stays silent.
His father visits him again, they talk about nothing in particular. With the visible bandage on his shoulder Wren can’t hide the truth any longer. He had a chip. A tracker. It was nothing, and it’s gone now.
“That’s good.” Their conversation dies down.
Another night, another nightmare, which a nurse wakes him up from. His face burns with embarrassment, and he doesn’t know how to explain himself. Thankfully, they don’t pry.
He’s sitting in an armchair by the window, looking outside, when raised voices out in the corridor make him flinch. He looks in the direction of the door with a frown, and recognizes one of the voices as his father’s, but the other one he’s never heard before. It’s probably a hospital worker, but the conversation certainly sounds… heated, though he can’t make out enough words for it to make sense. The voices get calmer eventually, and he can hear footsteps getting closer. Then a moment of silence - and someone knocks on the door. His father and the hospital staff have used knocking as a mere formality, letting themselves in unless he tells them to wait, but this person doesn’t open the door.
“You can come in!” he says.
He doesn’t recognize the person that enters the room, but there’s something about the way she looks him up and down and her eyes widen that gives him the impression that she recognizes him.
“Hi,” he says, standing up.
“Hi,” she responds and clears her throat when her voice trembles. “Wren, right?”
“Yeah. Wren Rackham.” Who is she? He narrows his eyes when he considers all the options and lands on one he’s not excited about in the slightest - that the person in front of him is a journalist, here to ask him about everything he went through. That would explain the heated discussion, too, but he really hopes that’s not the case. “Do I know you?”
There’s a flash of emotion on her face, too brief for him to try and understand it before she speaks.
“No, I suppose not,” she lets out a soft sigh. “I’m… My name is Jonna Schulte.”
Should that tell him something? She looks at him expectantly, but no matter how hard he tries to place the name in his memory, he fails.
“I’m sorry, I don’t…” He shakes his head helplessly.
“So he never… okay.” Jonna clears her throat again. “How do I even say this… You… you’re my son, Wren.” Her words feel like a punch to the face, and Wren’s eyes go wide. He doesn’t get to say anything to that - and he has no idea what he could say anyway - as she continues, clenching her fists to hide the trembling of her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, Wren. I never wanted to abandon you, but I was forced to, and I regret it every single day. I-I know I can’t make up for my absence, and I’m sorry I’m visiting you out of nowhere, but when I heard what happened to you I… I had to see you.”
Wren puts his hand against the wall to steady himself when his legs threaten to buckle under him. As he’s staring at Jonna’s face in disbelief, he can’t help but notice that there is some physical resemblance between them, which means… she might not be lying.
The thought turns his world upside down to the point where the memories plaguing him are overshadowed for a short moment.
His mother was never in the picture, and he was used to it. Nathaniel didn’t seem to like talking about her and avoided the topic until Wren gave up and dropped it. All he knew was that she left him when he was three, and since he couldn’t remember her at all, he just… never had a mother. As hard as it was sometimes, he had to accept it.
And now she’s here. A complete stranger, appearing in his life when he’s already overwhelmed and her presence feels like an explosion that only destabilizes him further, his mind racing, torn between confusion and… anger. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, not wanting to say something he’ll regret later.
“I’m sorry,” Jonna repeats. “I shouldn’t have- You’re already going through a lot and I- I’ll leave you alone.” She turns to leave, but before taking a single step she pauses and hesitantly takes out a small notepad and a pen. “We can pretend this never happened, but if, um, you’d like to get in touch someday…” She writes something down and sets the note on an end table. “Here’s my number. You don’t have to do anything with it, I just… thought I’d leave it here.” When he doesn’t respond, she swallows and looks away. “Goodbye, and… I hope you make a good recovery.”
Does he want to pretend this never happened? Maybe. It would be easier not to have this bomb of a revelation on his mind, but he can’t just forget about it. He used to think his mother had decided to abandon him, but if she hadn’t, and she seems to really regret it… it changes everything.
“Wait,” he says, stopping her in her tracks.
“Yes?” She looks so tense, like she’s waiting for him to start screaming at her, and a tiny part of him almost wants to do that, to vent his frustrating confusion, but he nips that thought in the bud.
“I-I’ll think about it. It’s a lot right now, but I’m… not saying no. I just need some time.”
She nods and relaxes her shoulders.
“Of course. I’m not going to push, it’s your decision.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The corners of Jonna’s lips rise in a slight smile of relief, and Wren can’t help but wonder if their smiles are similar too.
When the door closes behind her, Wren can finally breathe again. He sits down and works his fingers into his hair, and sits motionless in the quiet room - too quiet, oppressively so - for a long while, until reality becomes blurred enough that he’s not sure if Jonna Schulte had actually visited him. Maybe it was another dream, a weird one that’s still preferable to the nightmares tormenting him every time he falls asleep, but…
He lifts his head and his gaze lands on the note left on the end table near the door. It’s real without a doubt; he confirms it when he picks it up. He reads the number several times until he’s memorized it, and hides the note in his pocket.
For the rest of the day it’s all he can think about, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the note somehow burned through his pocket with how aware he is of it at all times.
At least, no matter how he feels about it, it’s a welcome distraction until Daniel inevitably visits him in his dreams again.
if wren started begging for something during a torture session (a small break bc he feels like he's gonna be sick, or some water) would daniel grant that to him? or would it be situationally dependent?
I know you were probably expecting a straightforward answer, but your ask made a WIP happen, so here it is.
It’s nothing out of the ordinary for him, but that morning he felt terrible in a different way. He felt ill; weak and slightly dizzy, shivering despite it not being cold in the house. He didn’t tell Daniel, even though he wanted nothing more than to be given medication, hot tea, and some peace and quiet. No, telling Daniel would also mean him being overly caring and doting, which was the last thing Wren wanted to deal with.
So he didn’t say anything, and then he learned that Daniel was in the mood for some handiwork with his favorite knife.
Shit.
He still didn’t say a word when Daniel closed handcuffs on his wrists and attached them to a chain connected to a hook in the ceiling, forcing him to keep his arms outstretched and stand on his tiptoes. He didn’t say a word when Daniel put a blindfold on his eyes and earplugs in his ears. He just shuddered and gritted his teeth when the knife pierced his arm and was dragged downwards.
Just get through this, he thinks to himself while Daniel makes small, precise cuts around his shoulder blades in a pattern that only makes sense to him and his artistic vision. It’s not the first time.
But it’s the first time when he feels this awful during torture, and the position he’s in doesn’t help. His body is under so much strain, stretched out uncomfortably, he can barely stay upright, his arms hurt, his head hurts, everything hurts, and Daniel’s only adding more pain. He still feels dizzy despite the darkness - or maybe because of it - his face is covered in cold sweat, he starts feeling slightly nauseous. The blindfold is soaked with tears of frustration, he can hear his heartbeat way too clearly, it’s the only sound he hears, he feels horrible, he wants out, he wants this to end, he can’t handle this after all, but that means…
“Stop,” he mumbles weakly, shaking his head and whining when the pain from the cuts seems to intensify now that he’s not fully preoccupied with his illness. Talking with the earplugs in is an unpleasant, almost surreal experience, and he can only hope he’s actually saying something, that his voice isn't too weak. "Please stop."
But this is Daniel, so Wren can imagine him laughing at his begging, making a stupid comment promising that this will be over soon, sweetheart, but this isn't about that. He whimpers when the knife cuts into his back again.
"I'm serious, stop, I-I think I'm gonna be sick, I just need a break."
The knife disappears, and Wren swallows desperately, struggling to take a deep breath.
He flinches when he feels Daniel grip his arm - thankfully an undamaged part of it - and a moment later his wrists are released. Daniel catches him before he can collapse, unable to stay upright after the punishing position.
The earplugs are removed, and the blindfold follows. Wren winces and blinks, and when his eyes get used to something other than darkness, he sees Daniel's face, with worry written all over it.
"Are you still feeling sick?" he asks, and Wren nods.
Daniel wraps Wren's arm around himself to support him and leads him to the bathroom, where the nausea gets overwhelming. Daniel holds his hair back for him, not saying a word for now.
Wren closes his eyes, exhausted, and fuck does everything hurt, but mostly his arms and back now that he's moving again. He's trembling, getting up feels like an impossible task, and he's still crying, from pain and from his awful state, and he's not even mad at himself for it.
"Better now?"
"I think so," he mutters. Daniel lets go of his hair.
"I'll get you some water."
Wren nods, keeping his eyes closed, not daring to move an inch for fear of his body igniting with pain again and the room spinning.
Anxiety creeps up on him; nothing like this has ever happened before, and he doesn’t know what to expect from Daniel.
He comes back and hands Wren a glass of water, then sits down next to him, looking at him with a puzzled expression.
"What happened?" he asks.
"I think I'm sick." Wren stares down at the water, every breath causing his fresh wounds to shift and hurt even more. "I feel like shit, and… you just saw for yourself, I guess." He sighs. “So just get the session over with before it gets worse.”
Daniel firmly shakes his head, frowning.
“No. You need to rest. I’ll take care of your wounds and then you can lie down.” He pets Wren’s hair. “We can continue some other time.”
Wren huffs, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You do realize how fucked up that sounds, right?”
Daniel just chuckles in response. He does know. It changes nothing.
The knife will return in a few days, and yet Wren can’t help but be relieved as Daniel cleans and dresses his wounds, then gives him a shirt and carries him to the living room.
“I can carry you to the bedroom, if you’d like. Unless you prefer the couch.”
“Couch,” Wren mutters. The bed is more comfortable and the bedroom would offer more peace and quiet, provided Daniel leaves him alone, but he wants to stay out of there as much as he can, and the couch is too small for Daniel to lie down next to him.
As much as he hates the couch, he can’t deny that it’s comfortable, and in his exhaustion he practically melts into it. Daniel even brings him a blanket, which Wren curls up under, pulling it up to his neck.
“I’ll bring you some pills,” Daniel says, pressing his palm to Wren’s forehead; he clicks his tongue when he confirms that it’s unnaturally warm, and brushes Wren’s hair away from his face, making him wince. “Do you need anything else, sweetheart?”
“Rest,” Wren sighs, struggling to keep his eyes open. Now that he’s stopped ignoring it, his illness has decided to hit him with everything it’s got.
“Okay. I’ll fetch the pills and you can sleep after you’ve taken them, alright? Try to stay awake.”
“Mhm.”
Daniel leaves, and Wren wraps the blanket tighter around himself, blinking slowly, trying to fight his exhaustion off for a bit longer. Daniel is just as doting as he’d feared he would be, but… aside from his usual sweethearting it feels good to be taken care of, and to be listened to. The wounds still sting, a reminder of the torture he’d gone through and will go through again soon, but he can’t bring himself to care. He waits for his captor and torturer to come back with the medicine, and he has to remind himself not to thank him for this bare minimum of kindness, more than most of what he’s gotten throughout his life.
He wishes it wasn’t like this, moments of kindness and loving care juxtaposed with pain and tears and coercion; he knows how much Daniel enjoys doing this, being the sole source of both suffering and comfort.
He’s aware of so many mechanisms of his captivity, yet he’s powerless to fight them, forced to accept them, and all he can hope for is that all these processes won’t shape him into something else, whatever Daniel, whose smile is unnervingly genuine and fond when he enters the living room, wants him to be.
“Sleep well, sweetheart," Daniel says softly once Wren's washed the pills down with water. "I hope you’ll feel better when you wake up.”
“So you can torture me more?” Wren mutters, closing his eyes.
Daniel’s lighthearted laughter keeps ringing in his ears long after he's fallen asleep.
do you have a post describing what sv-240 characters look like? or any picrews or art of them?
Sure! I found an old post with picrews of four of the SV-240 characters here, but i'm gonna add more about the main trio under the cut
Wren:
art 1 art 2
Picrews are very hit or miss for Wren, some don't have the right hair for him, some don't have heterochromia, so picrew 1 has accurate heterochromia, picrew 2 has accurate hair.
He's 5'8, thin and athletic, used to do swimming, has since mostly switched to running. He loses some of his muscle while on SV-240, but builds it back up once Daniel lets him start exercising again. Enjoys casual clothes, mostly flannel, on SV-240 wears plain T-shirts and sweatpants or jeans.
Daniel:
He's 6' and athletic, has several scars, described here. Wears military-style clothes and heavy boots.
Berkeley:
6'1, used to be a sprinter. Signature outfit is blue hoodie, bleached jeans and red sneakers. Has a silver three-strand necklace he likes to wear.
Timeline: post-captivity, set after Another Arrival.
contents: recovery from slavery whump and forced relationship, hospital setting, past human trafficking, referenced branding and torture.
~~~
"People know that you're alive."
The car is getting closer and closer to the hospital, and Wren digs his fingers into his thighs, not too hard so Nathaniel doesn’t notice. At the dock it was just the two of them, on the ship it was him and the crew, but now there will be so many people surrounding him, and he tries to keep his breathing steady.
"Do the hospital staff know I'm going to be there?" he asks, his throat squeezed tight.
"Yes." Nathaniel nods. "I was told they would do their best to keep your arrival secret for now. We won't walk in through the main entrance."
"Okay. That's good." Wren bounces his leg, but stops himself, not wanting his anxiety to show too much. "But it's not gonna stay a secret forever."
"No." Nathaniel takes a slow, deep breath. "But your return isn't the only thing people are focusing on right now. You've exposed the trade, and that was a shock to everyone. Myself included." He looks at Wren with an almost apologetic smile. "I had no idea that had been going on. It makes sense, a lot of the… slavers worked pretty high in the League so they could manipulate data, but still…" He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter right now. The point still stands: people are being rescued, people are being arrested, really influential ones at that, so the focus won't be entirely on you."
Wren's not sure how comforted he feels after this answer, but at least he's sufficiently distracted by questions forming in his mind.
"How many people have been arrested?"
"A lot." Nathaniel shakes his head. "Hard to say right now. It's weird. It's good that so many people involved have been arrested, but mortifying that there even were that many people. But thanks to you they'll all be brought to justice."
It's an overwhelming thought that makes Wren choke a bit, so he desperately tries to focus on something smaller.
"And the people who kidnapped me? Have they been arrested?"
“Yes. They were among the first ones, in fact. That… division of the trade led us to the others, it was our starting point.”
“So Berkeley… Peter Berkeley, I mean…”
“Arrested. Yes.”
Daniel is dead, and Berkeley is locked up. Wren nods slowly and forces himself to breathe. Too stunned to talk, he doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Nathaniel for the remainder of the drive.
~~~
When the car stops behind the towering building of the hospital, Wren feels his heart skip a beat. He's going to have to leave the car. He's going to have to walk through the corridors of the hospital, see people who are going to see him, and it's way harder than he thought it would be. He's shivering, looking down at his shaking hands, his knuckles white as a sheet.
"Wren?"
He jerks his head up to look at his father, who's left the car and is now leaning down to look inside with a slight frown. Wren nods, opens the door on his side, and gets out, even though he feels like his legs are going to give out under him.
“Are you feeling okay? Can you walk?”
His jumpiness surprises him, but he can’t help it when all his senses are assaulted by sights and smells and sounds he hasn’t experienced in so long, unfamiliar voices being one of them. People. He looks at the source of the voice, a doctor, and forces himself to nod, averting his gaze pretty quickly when he realizes that there are a few other people standing near the door.
“Yeah,” he says as he looks back at his father, the only familiar person around. “Are you going too?”
To his relief, Nathaniel nods, and the two of them follow the doctor inside, Wren trying not to sway on his feet too much, his body both tense and weak. It didn’t quite hit him back at the dock, but now that he’s still struggling, realization strikes him, so powerful that it makes his ears ring.
The gravity was slightly different on SV-240, and he was used to it.
The difference isn’t even that stark; he must have felt it for the first few days after arriving, but he was usually tied up, dragged from place to place or forced to his knees, so it wasn’t that noticeable. He’s nervous now, and it’s affecting his walk, and he’d spent a few days on a spaceship, but he can swear there’s more to it, that there’s something about Earth that he has to get used to again, something other than the people and the sights and the other stimuli.
It’s not the first time and he’s hardly the only one who has to deal with the readjustment period, but it’s still unsettling.
“Mhm.” He winces when he steps off his ship to join the rest of his squad. “Never pleasant, but it will pass.”
“Sure hope so,” Private Berkeley grimaces, stretching his arms, struggling to readjust after his first longer space travel.
Wren blinks back to reality, and it makes him shiver. He can feel eyes on him - his father looking at him from time to time, the doctor shooting him reassuring glances, but also other people, patients and doctors who can’t stop themselves from staring when they no doubt recognize him. He manages a weak smile, his heartbeat deafening, even though he’s just walking, and he knows nothing scary is going to happen to him.
By the time they stop at one of the doors, Wren can barely breathe.
“Wren.”
“Hm?” His head jerks up and a shiver runs up his spine.
“Do you want me to wait here?” Nathaniel asks, nodding in the direction of a sitting area further down the hallway. “You need to go through an examination, so I can wait until that’s finished or visit you later.”
“Oh, you… you can come back later, I think. You must be busy.”
“A little bit.” He shrugs. “But I could also bring you some things from home. Clothes, food, whatever you need.”
“Okay,” Wren says with a pale smile. Everything he does seems to require inhuman effort.
Nathaniel nods, and he seems to be struggling too, fighting with his thoughts. Eventually he sighs and manages to get more words out.
“Well, after you’re discharged, you’ll need to stay somewhere. Unfortunately your apartment had to be sold.”
“Mhm.” It’s only logical, but it still hurts. He loved that apartment, it was only his, and all his things were there, which means…
He might have nothing to his name now.
It’s clearly a day of overwhelming realizations, and Wren has to try not to sway on his feet.
“I can look for a new place for you,” Nathaniel offers, “or… you can stay with me, if you want.” As Wren stares at him confused, he averts his gaze, looking almost embarrassed. “Your bedroom is still there, and… your things, too.”
“You kept them?” Wren frowns. It’s been over two years, and he assumed everything had been sold or thrown away, that his old bedroom had been repurposed after his staged death. The thought of his father of all people being this sentimental seems absurd, especially when he sees the look of embarrassment on his face.
“I never had time to look through them. I suppose it was for the best. I washed some of your clothes when I found out, so I can bring them to you later.”
“Alright.” Wren cracks another smile. “So, uh, see you?”
“See you later.” Nathaniel mirrors his smile, and for the briefest of moments he looks like he’s considering giving Wren a hug, but in the end he just nods and walks away, followed by Wren’s gaze until he disappears behind a corner.
He’s not starting with nothing, then. Earth remembers him after all.
The door is cracked open, and he can hear footsteps inside. The doctor must have gone in earlier, giving Wren and Nathaniel some privacy, which he’s grateful for, and he’s sure his father is too, considering how strange his behavior was, so unlike him.
Knowing Nathaniel, and wallowing in the feeling of being forgotten, Wren had assumed that his father’s reaction to his death had been… nothing. A nod, a sigh, dealing with the funeral and selling his apartment, and then moving on. Maybe that was still the case, but him keeping Wren’s old bedroom unchanged and not giving away or selling his things doesn’t fit into that, and now he seems to care, as stilted and unnatural it is for him.
Nevermind, Wren thinks as he enters the room, closing the door behind him. Maybe it won’t last long.
Now he has to deal with a stranger and let them find out about what he had gone through; confusion swiftly gives way to anxiety.
At first glance he’s fine. The doctor, who introduces themself as Diaz Sandoval, nods with a slight frown every time they write something down and put a checkmark next to it to indicate that the results of the examination are nothing out of the ordinary. It’s as if Wren had never gone through a prolonged captivity - physically, at least.
Then, of course, Sandoval sees the brand.
“Yeah, he was kinda full of himself,” Wren says in as lighthearted a tone as he can muster, which is still overshadowed by tension. “So, um, he left his signature.”
“I see,” Sandoval says, noting it down diligently, immortalizing the burned words. “Do you have any other scars? Wounds?”
“None that I’m aware of.”
And there it is, a feeling of shame and a fear of being belittled. He’s healthy. There are no reminders of the torture he’d gone through other than the brand, and Sandoval knows it now.
“Oh, but…” Wren perks up, almost relieved to remember something else, something that had happened to him, of which there is still undeniable proof. It’s not much, but it’s all he has to paint a picture of his captivity that’s at least a fraction of the nightmare it was for him. “There’s also a chip in my shoulder. Left, I… think. A tracker. So I couldn’t escape.”
His words sound so desperate, a plea for his experience to be taken seriously, and his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He clears his throat and fixes his eyes on Sandoval’s stylus as they write down this new information.
“I can schedule a procedure to have it removed. As for the… scar, it can’t just be removed. It would require a more complicated procedure and a transplant.”
“Oh.” So there is a way, but the revelation is too sudden for him to decide. “Well, I- I’ll think about it. I’d like to have the tracker removed, but I’d also like to get out of the hospital soon, so…” He shrugs with a smile. “But maybe on a later date.”
“Of course.” Sandoval mirrors his smile. “There is no rush. For now I think you should rest, I know how overwhelming this must be.”
Rest. He’s been resting plenty, but it’s true that he’s still tired, constantly assaulted by stimuli he hasn’t experienced in so long, fighting his memories and having to put a tremendous amount of effort into forming his answers to questions, overthinking, concealing facts.
Once he’s left alone, he lies down on the hospital bed and exhales.
I’m on Earth. He doesn’t know when it’s going to stop being a startling realization every single time. And I won’t be hurt anymore.
He won’t be whipped, cut, tortured. After two years of considering pain just part of the routine it’s a thought he can’t quite wrap his head around, but it’s true. The events leading up to his rescue and Daniel’s death, his broken ribs, the knife slipping into his abdomen, the wound reopening, his ears ringing when his head was bashed against the wall… nothing like that will happen again.
It’s a thought both relieving and intimidating - here he is, a former plaything and pretend partner to a sadist, his mind still somewhat stuck in his old routine, and now that he’s free, he has to learn how to cut himself off from it.
No matter how hard it will be, he can’t wait to get started.
