aut_nihil | (no subject)

Pope hates this. He hates it when he needs to move so he never does it for more than a few seconds, and he wants to snap at Carver to stop it, to be still and calm the fuck down already.

But he doesn't. Let the kid move. Let him try to shake it all off. It's not like they have anywhere to go to burn off steam. So he sits and he watches.

"Talk it out," he says. "Purge it all out before they come back, you hear me?"

Carver takes a shuddering breath, grasping at his head. He can't stop. Has to move or he's going to bust out of his own skin. It hurts to exist. He paces in tighter and tighter circles, desperate to move. He barely hears Pope except for the order.

Purge it. Get rid of it.

He paces for a long time. And then, finally, he goes still. Exhausted and swaying on his feet.

Pope is sitting in the chair by the desk at that point, just watching, worrying.

"Come here, son." He motions Carver over. "Come kneel here."

There's no hesitation. Carver just goes to him, dropping to his knees before Pope. Head bowed, exhausted. Hurting.

He strokes Carver's hair and just holds him that way, Carver's head against his lap. "You back with me, kid?"

He doesn't fight it. Just closes his eyes and sags against Pope, almost absurdly grateful for the way that Pope touches his hair. "Yes, sir," he murmurs.

"Let it out." They can't afford to break in front of their captors but maybe he can allow Carver this space to fracture. Maybe he can keep him strong, keep him in one piece.

"We're getting out of here."

Carver grinds his forehead against Pope's knee, clinging to him. Not crying, but he shudders. "It hurts, sir," he whispers.

He failed him. He failed Carver in so many ways.

"I know. I know it does. That's why I'm going to take it from here on out. You just focus on resting and getting strong. Get ready to help me fight our way out."

He hooks an arm around Pope's leg, holding onto him tight. I don't want to see you hurt, sir, he almost says. I just want them to stop. But you can't say that shit. You can't ask a test to be done before it's done.

Carver shudders hard. He doesn't cry, though. He doesn't beg. And in the distance, he thinks he hears footsteps.

Pope hears them, too. He holds Carver's shoulder tighter. Don't show weakness, he thinks fiercely.

"In bed, son. Now. Pretend you're asleep."

There's no time. Carver swallows, but he doesn't argue. Just gets up and does what he's fucking told. He lies down on the mattress, with all the stains and filth, and curls onto his side. Covers his face with his arm.

Pope composes himself and just waits. Whatever they're going to do now, they're going to do. He just plans to take the brunt of it. Carver clearly can't handle much more.

Click goes the door. He hears boots on the carpet. The leader humming some song under his breath. And then the thumb of something landing on the floor. A case of some sort.

"Gosh, he's out like a light." The leader snickers. "You keeping watch on your boy, Pope?"

"We take it in shifts," Pope grunts. "What do you want now? Bored with guard duty already?"

"You don't need to worry your head about that," the leader drawls. "You two have a nice discussion about who's gonna be entertaining my guys?"

Carver twitches. He holds as still as he can.

"Depends on which guys those would be," Pope says, pushing himself up out of the chair, sizing them all up.

Carver shivers. There's a lot of them. Too many to take at once, not while he's hurt and they're both exhausted, hungry. Unarmed.

"All of 'em, I think," the leader drawls. "Folks get twitchy, need a little...exercise, you know how it is."

He grunts. Walks up to one of them, right in his face. "I can take whatever you're giving. Lot of small dicks in this room."

It gets Pope hit. A blow to the gut to knock the breath from him, make him feel small even as the leader steps around him and sits on the edge of the bed. Laying a hand on Carver's hip.

"Hey, kid. Wanna get with the program? I know you're not sleeping through this shit."

Carver goes very still.

The leader snickers. "C'mere, Pope. Come lie down, relax. We're gonna have some fun, all of us."

He knows how to take a hit. It doesn't take him to the ground but it does hurt, it does make him limp to the bed despite himself. He pushes the leader back onto the bed, crawls onto his lap, bites his lips.

That gets a laugh, the leader grabbing Pope hard by the hips and digging his nails in. "Oh, you're enthusiastic. C'mon, grind, motherfucker. Get me hard."

Carver sits up with a hiss, eyes wide. No.

"Ah-ah," someone else murmurs, tightening a hand in Carver's hair. Jerking his head back. "Hold still. Just hold still."

Someone else clicks the case open.

"One of you gets to just...lie back and relax," the leader drawls. "Other one has to work. You gonna be working, Pope?"

He's going to burn this fucking place to the ground.

He looks over his shoulder to see what they've brought, grinding against the leader all the while.

"Look at that." The leader laughs, and hits Pope on the ass hard. The sound echoes through the room. "Old dog can still learn some new tricks."

The one holding Carver by the hair slides a hand under his shirt, over his stomach. Digging his nails in hard until Carver grunts, twitching. The case worries him. That's different. That's new. And it's full of unlabeled vials and -

Sex toys? Really?

"Stand up," the one behind Carver murmurs, pulling on his hair. "Stand the fuck up."

He does, twitching. Hands clenched into fists.

"Get your pants off, Pope," the leader drawls, bucking against him and laughing. "Then show me a good time. Your boy gets to relax a bit. Oh, don't give me that look, kid, I'm not gonna be rough with you this time. You get to relax. All you gotta do is bend over for a little."

And then he's shoved down hard, bent over the bed.

No.

But protesting will only spur them on.

He gives the leader a withering look. "So all I get is you? He gets all the toys?"