"came back wrong" what about Came Back Afraid. You used to be brave. Too brave maybe, defying the odds at every turn, a fighter, cocky, playing with fire, first to throw yourself at the enemy. Until one day it all caught up to you. You came back, somehow, but now you know all too intimately how it feels to lose, to die, to be destroyed. Now you flinch and freeze and cower at the slightest provocation. Who even are you now if you can't be brave? The grave may have let you go, but the mortal fear still grips you tighter than ever.
when character is pinned under rubble— like fatally injured and struggling to breathe under pieces of a building
then there’s fire everywhere and scary noises from things falling
but there’s this kid that’s super scared and got left behind— and they found our whumpee
kid asks if whumpee is ok, because kids are innocent of course. whumpee knows they’re about to die, but they lie to make the kid feel less scared. they don’t tell the kid they’re trapped
they listen to this kid and reassure them that someone’s gonna rescue them both, fighting for breath but trying to help this poor kid
they fight really hard to hold on, and the rescuers find them.
but whumpee’s already dead.
and this kid is never gonna forget that brief friendship
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.
contents: GRAPHIC MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, slavery whump, forced relationship, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant/resilient whumpee, rescue, recapture attempt, brainwashing, blood, reopened wound, mention of noncon kissing, restraints, tape gag, guns, head bashing, killing in revenge, swearing.
~~~
He wasn’t expecting just how exhausted the rescue would leave him, paired with the medpod - faster healing meant bigger effort, even when all he was expected to do was lie still - and… the last two years, really. Two years of fear, of alertness, of being unable to sleep through the whole night save for the final few months. No wonder his sleep is as deep as it is, then, and even when something wakes him up, he doesn’t become aware at first. It’s strange; there are light footsteps, a presence right next to him, then above him, a grip on his wrists, then something soft being wrapped around them, and he blinks, still out of it, when something is pressed to his lips and smoothed out.
It isn’t until he’s carefully lifted up and loud beeping fills the room before abruptly ceasing that he emerges from his sleep, like he’s swimming to the surface in a lake of tar. He groans and stirs, feeling blood rushing to his head in the weird position he’s in, and something stops him when he tries to open his mouth, a familiar sensation, everything about this feels familiar, and…
cw: slavery whump, rescue, hospital setting (medbay on a spaceship), referenced stabbing, wounds, swearing, creepy/intimate and deranged whumper, knocked out.
~~~
Wren’s consciousness tries to surface a few times. Harsh lights tear their way under his eyelids, he hears voices, talking above him, muffled, unintelligible. Those moments never last long enough for him to become fully aware of his surroundings; his mind retreats back into darkness.
And then he wakes up, confused and weak, every nerve in his body itching, every sensation increased tenfold.
Timeline: Escape arc, set after Calm After the Storm.
requested by @whatwasmyprevioususername.
cw: slavery whump, forced relationship, creepy/intimate and delusional whumper, rescue, murder attempt, character expects to die, talk of suicide, violence, conditioning, escape attempt, hopelessness, muzzled, restrained, stabbing, guns, noncon kiss, manhandling, tranquilizing.
~~~
Restraints are back, as if he has gone back to the very beginning, when he was still an unpredictable captive Daniel preferred to have full control over.
He still has it, of course. He’s had nearly full control over everything but Wren’s thoughts for well over two years now, but a visual reminder of Wren’s helplessness seems to calm him down in his distraught state. It’s the one advantage he has; without it he wouldn’t be too different from Wren - trapped on a planet that for years has been his home, but has now become his prison.
cw: forced relationship whump, slavery whump, creepy/intimate whumper, violence, swearing, broken bones, head bashed against a wall, insults, strangulation, restraints, mention of death.
~~~
It doesn’t take long before doubts start to appear - the moment he put the communicator back in the drawer he lost any control of the situation once again. There’s no way of checking if the signal has reached anyone, and if it has - whether they’re coming to save him, and, as he wonders in his darkest moments, whether they consider him worth saving at all. SV-240 is far from Earth, but there are closer outposts, though how close they are he doesn’t know, so all he can do is hope and wait like he had been waiting the whole time; this time, though, the finish line is clearer and closer than ever.
After two days he cautiously accepts that Daniel doesn’t suspect a thing. There’s nothing hinting at it in his behavior or his expression, and Wren keeps glancing at him, watching out for any sign of danger, but there’s nothing, and Daniel seems genuinely confused when he catches Wren staring.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
He nods with a smile and lets his gaze wander out the window, as if expecting help to arrive any minute now.
cw: slavery whump, forced relationship whump, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, mention of noncon kissing, referenced character death, swearing, mild struggling to breathe.
~~~
Every single day he’s forced to look at the communicator, his hope. Sometimes his fingers brush over it, and he doesn’t give it a second thought. It’s there, teasing him, it’s right there, and yet he’s been unable to use it.
It seems easy, in theory. Attack Daniel, outsmart him. Defeat him, knock him out, tie him up, rip the communicator off his wrist, force his finger on the fingerprint scanner, threaten or torture him into revealing the code; but it’s still too much of a risk - I’ve been brainwashed into thinking that - and so he waits for an opportunity. Continues to bring Daniel’s guard down. Watches every single night as Daniel goes through his routine - taking the communicator off, putting it in the drawer of the nightstand, then securing it with an electronic padlock. Another code Wren doesn’t know. Another difficulty to overcome, somehow.
Also, do not walk close to walls. It will be easier for someone so walk past you and push you against it or corner you.
If your gut is telling you to cross the street or change your path, do it. Don’t risk it. Your body knows.
If you can, buy a large umbrella and walk holding it. Studies say that predators are less likely to attempt an attack on someone that could fight back. Keys around your knuckles is fine but you’ll need to get very close to do damage. Umbrellas are more precise.
Avoid wearing headphones if you are alone on an empty street. Look aware.
Again: Stay. Away. From. Walls.
Entering an uber alone? Call your father (or anyone you trust) and say “hey dad! Yep, I’m almost there, I’m sending you the route.” outloud. Then proceed to send them the route so they can follow the uber drive. This will most likely intimidate the predator.
If you see someone in an uncomfortable or possibly dangerous situation, walk up to them and say “Betty, oh my god, I haven’t seen you in so long!”. If she gets slightly confused, you can whisper and let her know you’re trying to help and that she should follow along. Walk together to another station or away from where you are. The man will most likely not follow. I have done this one 2 times and can be very helpful.
If you are unsure she needs help, you can pass her a note saying something like “hey, I noticed this man beside you is making you uncomfortable. If you’d like help, fake a sneeze right now and I will come up to you and pretend we are friends.” This is a long note, but its an example. Be discrete. If she follows along, proceed with the previous tip. This is helpful when you’re in a crowded train and you notice harassment.
Help your sisters. Trust them. Trust yourself. Be safe.
I made this google doc covering 14 different self defense tips and tricks. it was made on January 15th, 2020 so it was before I decided I’d come back to tumblr jhjshdbjfh.
cw: forced relationship whump, slavery whump, creepy/intimate and delusional whumper, defiant whumpee, beaten with a blunt weapon, conditioning, brainwashing, broken nose, blood, hopelessness, swearing, restraints, struggling to breathe, referenced/briefly mentioned cutting, whipping, blindfolds, noncon kiss.
~~~
It’s torture day.
It never gets easier, no matter how many times Wren has gone through this. He shudders and swallows heavily as his heart flutters in his chest. No matter what he does, I can take it. I just need to get through this.
Thankfully Daniel has a style, his favorite means of making Wren suffer, so no matter what happens, it shouldn’t be anything drastically different from the usual. Cutting seems the most probable considering his current position, chained to the pulley system in the living room, his arms raised above his head, just high enough that he can’t take a full step in any direction; Daniel had blindfolded him before leading him here, but he can tell that he’s standing on the hated familiar tarp - a protection from blood, easy to clean up, bring back the illusion of a perfectly normal household in a matter of seconds. He’s bare-chested, wearing only shorts, leaving his legs exposed too, plenty of vulnerable areas to cut. Whipping seems less likely, as he’s usually made to kneel for it, but still not out of the question, and he shivers at the thought of the whip falling on his legs as well.
Cafuné (Portuguese) - the act of tenderly running one’s fingers through a loved one’s hair.
Kilig (Tagalog) - the thrilling feeling of butterflies in your stomach when something romantic happens.
Timeline: set after Never Alone.
cw: mouth stitched shut (fairly graphic), slavery whump, forced relationship, defiant whumpee, creepy/intimate and delusional whumper, swearing, panic, threats, blood, manhandling, noncon kissing (not on the lips), briefly struggling to breathe, nausea, beginning of a nervous habit.
~~~
He’s not sure whether the second time is more bearable, or somehow even worse.
