Author's Note: Alas, I have taken on seriously whumping Walter. It's been on my mind for awhile, as I'm often drawn to holes that need to be filled. Frankly, I feel like there just isn't enough Walter whump around here. I do apologize if Walter is a bit OOC; considering the normally light nature of the show, this posed an unusual situation for me. However, I wasn't willing to let it go. So, fellow humans, go forth. It is one of my darker tales, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. As always, please review if you've got a moment.

Trigger Warning: Torture, human suffering

1. An Unexpected Visitor

Walter sighed as he stared down at his desk. It was late, and he was alone in the garage, doing some thinking in his down time. As much as he valued his team, he appreciated the silence in the dark hours of the night. It was the best time to ponder possible solutions to his sister's illness.

Dating Sylvester, she'd been so much happier as of late. It sometimes made it difficult to recognize how little time she had left, but Walter didn't forget. He would never forget.

Sighing heavily, he dropped into his chair, rubbing his eyes wearily. When he thought he was making headway in his research, he'd hit a snag, and he'd realize he hadn't truly made much progress at all. He was growing steadily frustrated, his confidence in his own abilities strangely diminished. It wasn't often he questioned his own aptitude, but—somehow—her illness was getting to him.

His head flicked up as the door burst open, banging loudly against the wall. Walter shot up from his seat as a man clad in black slid inside, slamming the door shut behind him. The stranger's eyes met Walter's, dark and furious in the dim light. Something about the way he looked at Walter…it left the genius a little uneasy.

Sensing a threat, Walter held his hands up in surrender. "May I…assist you?" he asked calmly, his eyes still connected to the stranger's gaze.

"They'll never find me," the man grumbled, his posture stiff and crouched as he swiftly locked the door. Walter watched him carefully, quickly picking up signs of dangerous behavior. He glanced around at the desks, trying to think of way out without further agitating the man.

There was a familiar click as Walter flicked his gaze back to the stranger, swallowing thickly when his eyes fell on the gun. He assumed it was loaded, and it was aimed straight at his head.

"I'm afraid I don't know who you're referring to," Walter muttered, stiffening a little as the man moved slowly towards him.

"They won't find me," the stranger spat, a dark look shadowing his face. "I won't let them."

Walter's brow furrowed a little, careful not to move much in the face of a gun. "Who?"

"You're helping them," the man growled. "I've seen them. You're helping them, and I won't let you."

Walter shook his head slowly, staring at the intruder warily. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"You're lying!" the man screamed, surging forward to press the gun to Walter's chest. "I've seen them and you've been helping them."

Walter frowned, ignoring the frantic beat of his heart. He didn't get scared. Fear only made you do stupid things. Walter didn't do stupid things. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Liar!" the man screeched, shoving Walter into the chair he'd just vacated. Walter quickly combed through his memories to try and understand the situation, but came up empty. He was puzzled by the entire experience, looking for clues as to why this stranger would come to the team's garage and who he thought was looking for him.

The intruder slung a backpack off his shoulder, still keeping his gun trained on Walter. Walter watched him carefully as the man unzipped the pack, digging through the contents.

Then he pulled out a roll of duct tape.

Quickly realizing what was happening, Walter hurriedly glanced at the nearest exits. He'd run out of time, and he had no proper plan in place. There was nothing for it now, and Walter knew that if he stayed here, the outcome would be less than favorable.

Without a second thought, he bolted for the door, hoping to catch the intruder off guard. He hadn't made it ten feet before arms wrapped around his legs and sent him crashing to the concrete floor.

Walter attempted to pull himself free, only to feel strong hands grappling at his waist and shoulders while he struggled. He knew this was it. For the first time in his life, he wished he was capable of hope.

But it didn't stop the butt of the gun connecting with his skull.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Walter awoke with a start, wincing heavily as his head burst with sharp tendrils of pain. He squinted in the dim light, staring down at the shine of silver duct tape around his arms. Vaguely stunned by the image, he wriggled a little, feeling the same tight material around his ankles.

He looked up, unsurprised to see his attacker glaring at him from the darkness. The man took a few steps forward, something glinting in his fist. A knife. A combat knife.

Walter glanced down at his lap, knowing exactly what was about to happen. He wasn't afraid, but he was hesitant to face the inevitable future. Pain was still pain, and he wasn't one to welcome it.

"What did you tell them?" the man snarled, taking a few steps out of the shadows.

"I'm afraid I don't know who you're referring to," Walter sighed, keeping his eyes on his knees. He heard it coming before he felt it. There was a flurry of shuffling as the intruder rushed forward, knife tightly held in his fist.

Walter cried out abruptly as the blade plunged into his thigh, tearing deep into the muscle before sliding out in the same, quick motion. He panted in the aftermath, staring down at the growing stain on his pant leg.

"What did you tell them?" the man repeated, strangely calm despite the enraged expression on his face.

"T-tell who?" Walter huffed, blinking rapidly against the burning agony in his leg.

"You know who!" the man shouted, white knuckling the knife. "What did you tell them?"

Walter shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Toby would tell him to lie, but Walter had no real knowledge in deception. "I…I don't know who you're talking about."

"Don't lie!" the man screamed, quickly driving the blade into the same leg. Walter screamed painfully behind pursed lips, the sound rough and guttural. "Tell me what you told them!"

Walter could feel his breathing beginning to hiccup in the face of fresh agony, sweat beading on his face. "I can't…I can't tell you if…if I don't know who," he wheezed, shutting his eyes against the pain bouncing around his skull and leg.

"You know who!" the man snarled, ripping the knife out of Walter's leg. Walter yelped at the sudden tear of the blade, his body trembling under the abuse.

"I don't know who!" Walter shouted desperately, his voice breaking under the strain as a sudden surge of adrenaline bolted through his veins. "I don't know who you're talking about! I don't!" He blinked harshly, stunned by his own outburst.

"Don't lie!" the man yelled, holding the knife dangerously close to Walter's throat.

Walter shook his head, swallowing heavily. "I'm…I'm not lying. I don't know who the hell…you're talking about." he answered breathlessly, his voice low.

"I've seen the cars. The suits. I know it's them you're talking to. You're helping them," the man accused, narrowing his eyes threateningly.

Walter panted as he processed the information. Suits? The only people he could think of…

"The government?" Walter huffed, frowning in puzzlement. He could see it now. The crazed look of paranoia in the man's eyes; the look of a hermit, marinating in the ideas of an imagined threat. A man that saw something that wasn't there.

"And you're helping them!" the man yelled, pointing the blade towards Walter. "You're going to tell me what you told them about me, so I can stay ahead of them. They'll never find me."

"No, you don't…you don't understand," Walter reasoned, knowing his attempts would most likely be useless. He winced against the strong throbbing in his leg, eyes glued to the bloodied knife. "I haven't told them anything. I…I solve problems for them. I'm a problem solver." Walter focused on breathing evenly through the pain, pushing the wound to the back of his mind.

"You can't fool me," the man growled. "You told them about me. You've been helping them find me!"

Walter shook his head, peering up at his captor. "No, I swear. All I do is solve problems."

"Like hell you do!" the man snarled, shoving the blade deep into Walter's shoulder. Walter yelled, his legs squirming a little at the fresh wave of pain. With one, swift motion, his captor tore the knife out, forcing another scream from the genius.

Walter attempted to control his breathing, overwhelmed by the pulsing agony bolting through his body. He had to think a way out of this, or he would be dead before the team even realized he was in danger.

"Perhaps this isn't enough motivation to talk," the man grumbled, glaring thoughtfully at the knife. He swept his dark eyes around the garage, curiously scanning his surroundings. "I think I can find something."

Walter watched the man carefully as he disappeared into the belly of the garage. He winced at the very idea, knowing what Happy kept back there. Sensing the burst of urgency, Walter's brain flipped into overdrive, frantically trying to think of how to get out of this.

Shifting a little in his seat, Walter was surprised to feel the familiar weight of his phone in his pocket, faintly wondering why his captor hadn't taken it from him. It didn't matter, this opened up a small possibility. A chance to find his way to safety.

Walter was suddenly grateful he hadn't been bound around his waist or torso, flexing his right hand as he stared down at the rectangular shape in his pocket. The injuries in his leg would complicate things, but he had to try.

Gritting his teeth, Walter tried to push his body upwards, moving his pocket closer to his wriggling fingers. White hot pain spiked in his thigh, forcing his eyes shut as he desperately fought the scream in his throat. He pushed harder, time slipping away the longer he struggled.

His fingers fumbled against the lip of his pocket, stretching as far as they could. He nearly let out a hysteric laugh when his fingertips brushed the device, extending a little further before managing to get a hold of it. Carefully, he pulled it from his pocket, gripped only in his fingertips until he was able to get a proper hold.

It took everything not to cheer for his success.

He glanced worriedly towards the shadows, knowing his captor would be back soon. As quick as he could manage with trembling fingers, he dialed Cabe's number, releasing a sigh as the call went out.

Walter was startled by a loud clang, dropping the phone as it clattered to the floor. For a moment, panic fluttered in his chest, certain the phone had been damaged by the drop.

Thankfully, it was still on and dialing out.

Glancing up, he saw the man returning, holding something sizable. Alarmed, Walter swiftly kicked the phone under his desk, despite the limited mobility of his feet.

"This should help loosen your tongue," the man muttered, setting up his newfound toy. Walter's eyes widened as he recognized Happy's torch. It was her favorite for soldering.

For the first time, he was sure he was feeling fear.

None of this was logical. None of what the man believed was even based on fact. However, what frightened Walter the most was the very notion that his captor was sure in his delusions. No matter what Walter said, he was rather certain that he was going to die, because he would never be able to give the man the answers he wanted. Even if he lied, nothing was going to be enough for the madman.

His tormentor would always demand for more information. More and more until Walter was dead.

Walter watched the bright flame burst from the end of the torch, solid and unwavering. He already knew what it was for. Part of him wondered if Cabe had even answered. Walter was dead if he hadn't.

"Tell me what you told them," the man urged, narrowing his eyes. "Tell me." The torch came closer, and Walter swallowed thickly at what would follow.

"I didn't tell them anything," Walter whispered, staring glassily at the torch. "Because I don't even know who you are."

"You're lying!" the man screeched. He forced the torch towards Walter's chest, barely touching the burning flame over the thin fabric of his captive's shirt. Walter screamed, clenching his eyes shut tightly against the blinding agony on his skin. The smell of burning flesh wafted to his nostrils, his stomach swirling dangerously.

"I didn't tell them!" Walter yelled, his voice ravaged and broken by desperation. "I didn't tell them!"

"Liar!" the man bellowed, dragging the torch along Walter's chest. Walter yelled wildly, quickly growing hoarse at the immense strain.

Mercifully, the man pulled the torch away, allowing Walter a small moment of reprieve. Walter gasped for air, a sob stuck in his throat as his chest burned and throbbed with every breath.

"Tell me what you told them!" the man demanded angrily, unsympathetic as Walter hiccupped and wheezed.

"I-I didn't—"

"Yes, you did!"

The hard fist smashed into Walter's cheekbone, mercilessly snapping his head to the right. He blinked rapidly, his vision blurring a little from the collision.

"Tell me!" the man urged, throwing another fist against Walter's face. "Tell me!"

Walter's brain just wanted to shut down. He wasn't sure if he could take much more of this. Injury, he could handle. Pain, he could endure. But torture…that was something else entirely.

He could hear the torch being turned on again, the surrounding silence almost mocking him in his own growing terror.

"You're going to tell me what you told them," the man threatened, holding the burning flame against Walter's stomach, and slowly trailing it across the abdomen. Walter screamed, flaring up the pain from his other wounds as he squirmed and thrashed.

He was going to die here. Alone. Cabe probably didn't even answer. He probably wouldn't even know Walter called until the morning.

He was going to die here.

Walter couldn't hear anything beyond his own screams of terror and agony, the man's shouts melting into the muffled background. Suddenly, the burning heat was gone, leaving a trail of pain behind it. Walter looked up at the lunatic, tears biting at his eyes. It was a strange feeling, the tears, but not wholly unwarranted.

His heart plummeted at the sick shine of the bloody knife.

"They'll never find me," the man repeated, the words bringing something cold and dreadful to Walter's chest.

Because he was beginning to think that Cabe wouldn't find him either.

"You're going to tell me what you told them," the madman spat, pressing the sharp side of the blade against Walter's thigh. "I'll make you talk."

Walter stared fearfully at the knife, unsure if he could even talk. His voice felt dead in his throat, ripped to shreds in the throes of pain.

Slowly, the man slid the blade along his thigh, leaving a thin trail of red in its wake. Walter clamped his mouth shut, breathing shakily through the stinging stripe on his leg. The man began another line next to the first, moving slowly as he watched his captive with a look of determination.

Walter began to wish that blood loss had already taken him. He just wanted it all to be over, to be free from all this torture.

He looked up at his captor's eyes, seeing something horrifying in the dark orbs. Somehow, Walter knew his captor's intentions had morphed from simply getting information to breaking his captive. To breaking Walter. And the man was quickly growing frustrated.

In an instant, the lunatic's last bit of sanity seemed to snap with full-blown irritation.

He let out a furious cry before forcing the blade into Walter's abdomen, pushing it as deep as he could. Walter released a hoarse shout of pain as he curled inward, breathing shallowly against the burning wound in his stomach.

His captor let go of the handle, leaving the weapon lodged in his belly. Walter stared at it with an almost dazed look, eyes trailing the handle protruding from his own body. He felt sick.

Walter slowly moved his gaze upward as his tormentor returned to the torch, staring at it with an impatient expression.

"This might not even be enough," the man muttered irritably, dropping it unceremoniously back onto Paige's desk. Flicking a glare at Walter, he disappeared back into the blackness, leaving Walter alone in the pit of the garage.

For a moment, Walter just shut his eyes, attempting to breathe evenly through the collecting agony. He could feel the sob in his throat, but quickly swallowed it. No, he wasn't scared. Fear made you do stupid things.

Except he was scared. Walter was actually terrified.

He could still smell the lingering scent of burnt flesh, sickened by the thought that it was him being mutilated. Burnt by a madman for information he didn't have. Tortured because of the delusions of a single person. And it appeared to be far from finished.

His eyes fell to the broad, red stain on his pant leg. He could see blood dripping off his thigh, creating a small pool beneath it. Maybe he'd bleed out soon. Maybe this could all be over.

He'd never felt panic before. Not like this. With everything he'd experienced with his job, he'd never really panicked. Even when he was left behind with an explosive, he hadn't panicked. However, he'd chosen to be in all those situations. He'd known the risks and the possible outcomes, and he'd still volunteered.

Even when he'd driven his car off the cliff's edge, he'd accepted his fate. He was prepared to face the consequences of his actions, however unwilling he was to admit it.

He hadn't volunteered for this. He wasn't prepared for this. None of it was even for the greater good.

Walter stiffened at the sound of sloshing liquid, dreading what was next. His tormentor emerged from the shadows, carrying a bucket with an old cloth slung over his shoulder. Walter quickly put two and two together, the panic ratcheting considerably.

No, he couldn't. He couldn't.

Walter squirmed in his seat, struggling against the restraints as pain surged from his injuries. He didn't care about anything else at the moment, gritting his teeth as his eyes frantically glanced between the bucket and the cloth.

The man put the bucket down on Walter's desk, holding the cloth tightly in one hand. "Tell me what you told them."

Walter shook his head, staring wide-eyed at his captor. "I didn't tell them anything," he insisted heatedly, his voice rough. "I didn't tell them anything, because I don't know you! I don't!"

"Don't lie!" the man roared, covering Walter's face in the cloth as he roughly turned the chair, and leaned it against the desk.

Even though Walter knew what was coming, he wasn't prepared. Water dumped over his face, soaking the cloth as it plastered against his mouth and nose. He couldn't breathe, his lungs burning as he struggled wildly in his seat.

Black dots spotted his vision, his body growing feeble with the lack of oxygen. He coughed and spluttered against the water, unable to keep from inhaling it as it continuously poured over his face. Just when he was sure he would pass out, it stopped. His chair was righted, and the cloth was ripped from his face, leaving him coughing and desperately inhaling precious oxygen.

His abdomen spiked with pain, the knife in his gut shifting a little with every cough and deep breath. Walter didn't care. He didn't care that it hurt. He was just happy to breathe.

"Tell me," his captor demanded, fury molding harsh lines into his face.

Walter shook his head, the familiar bite of tears returning full force as he coughed and gasped for air. "I-I didn't…I didn't tell them." He coughed heartily, the act tearing further at his strained throat.

Without saying a word, the cloth was back, and his chair was leaning against the desk. He tried to flail, cries of terror easily slipping from his lungs.

Then, the water was there, and he was battling for oxygen with everything he had.

He nearly had the mind to give up.

He almost had when the water and cloth disappeared, and all four legs of the chair were firmly on the floor.

"Tell me," the man hissed, the soaked cloth gripped tightly in one fist.

Walter coughed as his lungs heaved, desperate to be liberated from this torture. "I-I didn't—"

The cloth was nearly over his face when the panic seized his chest.

"Wait!" he shouted, coughing bitterly as he stared up at his tormentor. The man lowered the cloth, glaring down at Walter with a silent threat. Walter swallowed, huffing to catch his breath. "I told them you were in Los Angeles," he lied, his voice tight as he held back an onslaught of coughs. "I told them…I told them you were within three miles from this garage." It was just a guess, but Walter was desperate for relief. He couldn't face waterboarding again.

The man watched him with a look of scrutiny, searching every line and shadow on Walter's face. Walter only hoped he'd picked a few things up from Toby.

"Not good enough," the man mumbled, grasping the cloth in both hands. Walter's breathing grew frantic, his eyes staring up with a look of horror.

This was it. This was the end.

His tormentor jumped when the door crashed open, and he jerked back with the cloth still in his hands.

"Homeland Security! Put your hands up!"

Walter let out a hysterical, breathy laugh mixed with a quiet sob, relief flooding his system. Cabe was here. Cabe found him.

He gasped when he felt his captor latch onto the knife in his abdomen, the man's fist wrapped tightly around the handle. Abruptly, Walter felt the knife rip out of his stomach, crying out as his eyes clenched shut. A single gunshot rang through the air, and something fell to the floor. The soft, sloppy thud filled the silence, practically echoing off the dark walls. Walter managed to peel his eyes open, finding his captor dead on the floor with a hole in his head.

He was dead. It was over.

"Walt?"

Walter heard quick footsteps. Running, his mind supplied. Someone was running.

"Walt?"

Familiar brown eyes peered into his, soft and concerned.

"T-Toby?" Walter huffed. His mind suddenly grew foggy, making it difficult to really think. He thought he heard sirens in the background, but he couldn't be sure.

"Keep still, Walt. Stay still," Toby advised, but his voice sounded strangely muffled.

Walter couldn't remember passing out.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading, gentle souls. Please review and tell me what you think. Should I continue?