A/N: Hey y'all! Sorry it's been so long! This is technically a Christmas/holiday prompt, but I'm finally writing it on *checks calendar* DANG IT'S THE 29TH ALREADY!
Any errors here are mine and mine alone.
Anyway, kudos to promptsforyourwhumpfic on tumblr (they also have an account here) for this awesome prompt!
Manipulation - the Villain has kidnapped a, they've destroyed A's concept of time, its been two weeks of endless torture and manipulation for information, the villain soon discovers how to hit A where it hurts…
Villain: "Its been three months, you've even missed the holidays, but your friends/family didn't miss you - one less mouth to feed, one less person to talk to, if anything they're grateful I took you, I can show you the footage if you want - look, they don't even care you've gone, look how happy they are, you never deserved any of that." there's a pause as silent tears stream down A's face, "Are you ready to listen to me now?"
Day Three
The light was agony. John Laurens shifted against the rough ropes securing him to a stiff wooden chair as a door opened in front of him.
"Hello again," a slow British voice drawled. This particular guard was known as Baldy for the very original reason that he was bald. He was generally never seen without his friend—ah, there he was. The friend was known as Nasty, as he was—well, a rather nasty person. Nasty grinned and cracked his knuckles.
"So, would you like to tell us what we want to know?" Baldy drawled. John forced his head upward, ignoring the pain.
"No," he whispered. He wouldn't break. He couldn't break.
"Well then," came Baldy's voice behind him. "I guess we'll have to make you talk." John barely had time to process this statement before a fist came from the side and barreled into his head.
Ow.
More fists came, pummeling his face, ribs, stomach. For Alex, John told himself. Think happy thoughts. Alex. He whimpered as he felt a rib crack, then he was falling.
Crack.
His arm suddenly blazed with agony as he twisted away, and the pain was replaced with pins and needles. Dislocated. Nice job, John.
The door slammed closed as he passed into oblivion.
Day Seven
The pain never stopped. Baldy and his friend came daily, asking if he would give them the information. John never did.
Alex… help me.
Day Nine
This time, John heard a new voice. Still British, but colder.
"Good morning. I am Sir Thomas John Percival Wulfric Brian Peter George Taylor V." John sniggered, which turned into a coughing fit. He cursed himself in his mind.
"I would like to know if you can tell me what I would like to know. Where is the Continental Army moving to next?" John shook his head.
"I-I'm not going to tell you, Redcoat s-scum." He could barely hold his head up to see the man's face contort into rage.
"Oh really."
That was a stupid idea, John thought just before a hand smacked into his already broken nose. The hand grabbed his chin, digging into the sides of his face, and forced his head upwards.
"This is your last chance," Fancy Pants McBritish Jerk growled. John managed to stick out his tongue, the only act of defiance he could manage. McBritish pulled out a knife…
No please I don't wanna die…
…and sliced away the restraints binding John to the chair. He breathed a sigh of relief, then gasped as his entire body exploded in pain.
McBritish whistled and the door opened. Baldy and Nasty entered, Nasty carrying a bag which he handed to McBritish. The henchmen grabbed John by the arms, and he almost blacked out as more pain surged through his body than he thought possible. Rough ropes were tied around his arms and secured to the ceiling.
Kriff.
Despite knowing exactly what was going to happen, John was not nearly prepared enough for the pain that exploded through his body yet again as the first stroke of the whip fell across his bare back.
Freezing, in pain, and barely able to hold his head up straight. I'm a mess. A failure. Alex would've instantly disagreed with him if he said these things. But Alex isn't here.
After the second stroke, John couldn't take it. He screamed. Was that McBritish snickering behind him? He couldn't focus enough to hear properly. I probably deserve this anyway.
Then, darkness beckoned to him and he fell into its embrace.
Day Fourteen
McBritish was back again.
"What… do you want?" John's voice was hoarse from screaming.
"It's been three months, you've even missed the holidays, but your friends didn't miss you, John."
How does he know my name?
"You being gone only means one less mouth to feed, one less person to talk to, if anything they're grateful I took you."
But… but Alex? He misses me… right?
"I can show you this letter if you want - look, they don't even care you've gone, look how happy they are, you never deserved any of that."
He's right.
The letter read:
Dear Thomas John Percival Wulfric Brian Peter George Taylor V:
Please keep John Laurens as long as you'd like. We would like to thank you…
A pause as silent tears streamed down John's face.
"Are you ready to listen to me now?"
He nodded.
Five days later:
"John. Wake up, John." He was dreaming. Alex couldn't be here. This was England. Alex was in America. Happy. Without him.
"I'm-I'm sorry, Lex," John mumbled. "I was… a burden. You guys are better off without me…"
"John, wake up! We're here! It's us! Herc and Laf are here!" John's eyes finally fluttered open.
"A-Alex?" He was in a tent. A military tent. "Where are we?" He slurred slightly, too tired to properly form words.
"America!" he heard Hercules say somewhere behind Alex.
"C'est Noel!" Lafayette said, obviously excited. "Er… it is…"
"Christmas," Alex supplied.
"Oui! It is Christmas, John!" John blinked.
Christmas?
"But… I missed Christmas. That's what McBritish said." The three men standing next to him blinked.
"Hoy es Navidad!" Alex said. Again, rather excited. John smiled. He was so cute when he mixed up Spanish, English, and French.
"Het is Kerstmis!" Hercules supplied. John laughed, then clutched his side as his rib shot pain throuh his body.
"John! Cuidado—er, be careful!" Alex said, still stuck in Spanish mode. "But c'mon, it's Christmas!" He pulled a package out of a bag on the bed. The tag read, To John, From Alexander.
John pulled off the paper, revealing a lined journal and a fountain pen. Trust Alex to get him stationary. He grinned up at the man.
"It's awesome. Thanks, Alex."
"Merry Christmas, John."
Review? Merry (late) Christmas for those celebrating.