aut_nihil | (no subject)

They were supposed to focus on Pope. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

He unfastens his belt, unzips his fly, glances at Carver and decides for the rest of this he can't look at him.

The leader squeezes Pope’s throat, turning his head one way, then the other. “You really thought you’d win,” he observes. He stands, stepping back. “Get naked. You remember what I said the first time, about how I could make your boy cry if I put a vibrator in him? Mhmm. Well, he’s gonna have a good time relaxing with that until you get everybody else off. So better make it good, or we’ll be here all night and I’ll make your boy ride that thing the whole time.”

He gets up, strips off his shirt, doesn't look at Carver. Just prays the kid will hold it together. Pants off, and he shuts out as many of his own thoughts as he can. This is just going to happen. He can go with it or things will get worse.

"Well line 'em up."

"That's the spirit! Now get on your back and spread your legs."

The enemy behind Carver smooths his hand down Carver's back. Holds the vibrator in place and then pushes, rocking him forward. Making him take it harder, pressing inside. Carver's breath hitches. He curls his fingers into the sheets, holding tight as the first one lines up before Pope.

He's going to kill every one of these men. He's going to watch Carver take a few out, too.

He thinks about their inevitable screams as he lays back, and he listens for signs they're doing worse to Carver.

It’s different this time. You can get numb to pain. Learn to shut it away, focus on other things. Pope taught him well on that count and it’s one of the reasons Carver knows he’s survived. But this?

Somehow, this is different. It’s not sharp enough. Even the enemy holding him still is almost gently, a hand on the back of his neck to keep him down. Bent over the mattress with nothing to do except take it, and watch as the first one climbs on top of Pope and pushes inside.

“Hold still,” the enemy warns when Carver tenses, wanting to fight, protect Pope. “Hold fucking still.”

“Sir—“ Carver hisses, gasping as the enemy grinds the vibrator into him harder, and turns the intensity up.

“Shut up and enjoy the show.”

Pain he can handle but this? This makes him cry out and writhe, makes him push at the man on top of him.

He hears them warn Carver and he grinds out, "Stand down!" Don't fight. Don't make it worse don't get injured.

Carver hears Pope cry out and hisses, thrashing. “Sir—!”

“Hold still.” The enemy lays his weight over Carver, bearing him down into the mattress until he can barely breathe. “Just let it happen, motherfucker, you take it so well.”

His hand presses against Carver, fingers threatening to slip inside alongside the vibrator, and Carver takes a sobbing breath and holds still. He can hear Pope being fucked. It’s not slow, not careful. He’s never heard the commander cry out before. Not like this.

“Be good,” the leader warns. “Both of you. You make this hard and I’ll mess you both up, so be fucking good.”

They will never speak of this. Not to anyone.

He bites his fist and strangles on a scream but he makes himself lie still. He's not going to get Carver beaten for this, not him.

“That’s better,” the leader taunts. Someone else laughs. And the first finishes inside Pope with a grunt. Slaps him on the thigh and pulls out rough.

There’s another. And the man holding Carver doesn’t let up at all, just holds him by the hair and fucks him slow with the vibrator. There’s no here to go, he can’t get away, not even inside his head.

It goes on like that for a long time. Carver makes small sounds when they make him come once, twice, three times, shaking and digging his nails in the mattress. He was Riley so bad. And it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop even when he’s exhausted and numb, trying to reach out and grab onto Pope’s arm just to touch him, hold onto him. It doesn’t stop when the one holding Carver down comes on his back and the leader finally lines up to fuck Pope. Going last like he’s owed.

I'm going to destroy you, he thinks, through the agony and the goddamned tears. He's crying bitterly, silently, and ignoring it as best he can.

"Funny how you can't seem to get off without your audience," he sneers. "You need people to fluff you up, is that it?"

Carver grinds his cheek into the mattress, barely breathing as he's fucked. There's no one inside him but he's realizing that doesn't matter. It's the same violation and he aches. He doesn't want to exist anymore, he can't stop himself from reacting. There's come on his stomach and the man behind him keeps stroking his hair, murmuring softly to him as Carver jerks and tries not to cry. As his commander is brutalized in front of him. As the leader lines up, hitching Pope's leg over his shoulder, and takes him hard.

"Nah," the leader grunts. "I just like seeing you wrecked."

Someone pushes Carver's head down. "Shh. Hold still. Just...hold still."

They pull the vibrator out. Pat his hip. He almost cries, relieved and anxious and hurting. He does cry when the man shoves him down a moment later, and starts to fuck him.

They lied. Of course they did.

Carver closes his eyes tight. It hurts but he reaches for Pope's wrist and holds onto him tight.

Pope feels a hand on his wrist and knows without looking who it is. He turns his hand, grasping Carver back, nails biting into his skin, holding on like one of them is sliding off a cliff.

That's how it feels. He could fight but they're weakened and outnumbered and Carver is on his knees and-

No he can't fight yet. And he feels sick with guilt for it.

The leader finishes first, going still with a grunt and then biting Pope hard on the shoulder before he pulls out. It'll leave a mark. The sort of thing that'll ache until it heals. He watches almost idly as he does his belt up, patting Pope's hip.

"Told you we'd make him cry," he observes, with a cool sort of triumph.

Carver holds tight onto Pope's wrist. Crying almost silently as he's fucked, every nerve overstimulated and hurting. He flinches when the enemy finishes and shoves his head down.

Pope's temper snaps. He launches himself, naked and bleeding and miserable, and tackles the man fucking Carver to the ground. Punches him, grabs his head, jamming his thumbs in the man's eyes, slamming his head against the floor over and over.

The world tilts. It feels like the aftermath of an explosion. Carver pushes himself up, tries to stand, but his legs are like rubber and he stumbles. Has to brace himself against the bed as the leader stalks closer, drawing a knife. Advancing on Pope.

No, Carver thinks, no, no, no.

He's crying when he lashes out. Grabbing the leader's wrist and twisting hard. The fucker's so surprised he drops the blade and it's easy, isn't it, just to open his belly up so his guts spill out.

They're outnumbered but it turns out the element of surprise and raw, visceral hatred can make up a lot of ground. Pope gets off the man and attacks the next closest guard, relying on years of experience. He gets slashed across the chest and it bleeds badly but he gets the knife away and slits the man's throat. He spins, looking for Carver.

The iron tang hangs so heavy in the air. Carver staggers, catching a blow across the face that sends him sprawling into a painful heap. But he twists enough to slash someone's leg open and get them down hard enough to cut their throat, to stab and keep stabbing.

He's crying furiously, silently, blood thick against his hands.

And like that it's just them in the room, the sounds of men gurgling as they die, and the slap of the knife in that last man's torso over and over.

"Carver! We're going!"

He grabs pants, pulls them on. Boots. Get boots, too.

Oh, God. The knife cuts his palm where the blood makes the blade slip. Carver lowers the knife down, staring at the corpse. Feeling nothing, or feeling too much. And he's crying, just like he did his first time in combat.

Slowly, very slowly, he reaches for his pants. Gets them on mechanically. His boots, too. Feeling nothing at all.

Pope raids the bodies for weapons, and he looks at Carver.

"Pull it together," he tells him, but gently. "We're going home."

Carver just stares at him, utterly silent. He takes a gun from one of the dead and a jacket too. Zipping it up to hide the blood. This isn't happening to him, Carver decides then. It's happening to someone else ad he's just floating.

Time to find out if Carver can hack it, he thinks. He gets a gun and it's loaded and he feels so, so much better with it in his hands.

He opens the door and takes point, leading the way down the hallway.

There's pain, he thinks. Someone else feels pain. Someone else checks the clip in his pistol, ensuring its function. Someone else follows Pope out and covers his back. Someone else shoots the guard coming round the bend twice in the chest.

They're so many stories up, Pope knows. He's tried to count but it isn't until they're in the elevator that he realizes it's 14. Or is it 13? This is an old building, a nice one, a classy one that skips the 13th floor out of superstition.

And they've left it with a massacre to clean up. He feels grim pleasure about that.

Down to the lobby.

He shoots the first person he sees, doesn't care if it's a civilian or not.