Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Warnings: See original chapter for all warnings and related information.
Authors Note #1: *Rated for adult language, adult situations, kidnapping, violence, allusions to rape, misogyny, chauvinistic attitudes, injury, use of restraints, and some serious whump.
Sanctuary for All
Chapter 4
Splotches of light and over exposed color exploded across his vision as the ferocity of the blow sent him crumpling into his assailants' waiting arms. Vision spotty and fading as his legs folded underneath him, bending like sun-softened rubber the more he tried to regain his footing.
He sucked in a cautious breath, but expelled it harshly when he was suddenly yanked forward. Boots soles skimming the ground as they dragged him away. Limbs trembling as they half carried him through a set of double doors and down a narrow hallway lined with faded, oak paneled doors.
He held onto consciousness by the skin of his teeth, scrabbling for something… anything to keep him from going under as they wrestled his bound hands up and over what looked like a meat hook hanging down from one of the exposed ceiling beams.
His fears were confirmed when the men didn't leave right away. His skin all but crawling as they fiddled around with the restraints, adjusting them to his height before they pulled his arms above his head with a single, unforgiving tug on the thick metal chain.
He swallowed hard, shoulders screaming as he craned his head upwards, unable to stop himself from taking it in. Perverse and macabre, the wickedly sharp looking hook glinted in the low light. Casting mutilated shadows on the wall behind him like something out of his childhood nightmares as the hook swayed back and forth above him. Its movements grating and hypnotic as his body seemed to slump in on itself.
His head lolled, throat flirting with the tartness of fresh vomit as the noxious liquid rose in the back of his throat. His limbs trembled, spasming strangely as his injured side burned. The pain coming was in waves now, but he gritted his teeth and tried to shake it off. Trying and failing to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that figured that could only mean bad things, as the echoes of the men surrounding him rebounded inside his aching skull.
By the time they were satisfied he was practically hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the spartan, white washed room. The position painful and awkward as it forced him to stand perfectly straight, boot soles barely touching the floor as two of them inspected the knotted ropes that bound his hands together.
He snarled, lip curling at their closeness as the men only chuckled, jostling him cruelly so that he lost his footing and swung backwards. Muscles straining as he tried to regain his balance.
He fought for traction against the dusty tiles, a clammy sweat breaking out across his skin as he realized what the assholes had done. They'd ensured that there was hardly any give to the restraints. Rendering him unable slump or even relax without putting all his weight on his shoulders and arms. In fact, he had to concentrate just to retain his precarious position at all.
Fuck! Where had these assholes learned this shit anyway? Guantanamo?
But even then, despite the fact that he was already walking the tight rope between consciousness and oblivion, that didn't stop him from snapping his teeth and trying to yank himself backwards as one of them approached him with a gag. He backed up, but there was no where to run, shoulders screaming as the restraints sent him flailing into dead space.
It wasn't until one of the geniuses got him in a head lock that they were able to hold him still, shoving the rank smelling fabric into his mouth and fastening it brutally around his injured head. He nearly choked, working the wad of material around in his mouth like a horse chompin' at a bit, fighting for air as he struggled to breathe through blood clogged nostrils.
He was going to make them pay for this…for what they wanted to do, for what they were doing to do. But worse, for what they'd already done. Not just to him, but to others. To the people that had come before him. - Because there had been others, he was sure of it. As horrific as it was to think about, these shit stains weren't first timers. They knew what they were doing and they were fucking good at it. And considering the nearly unbearable smell of rotting flesh only twelve floors down, the evidence was pretty much undeniable.
Shit…
And true to his word, as the group of men made to leave, he tensed all the muscles in his torso. Grabbing the chain in his bound fists as he flung himself forward. Sweeping the last man's legs out from under him as the little twit landed flat on his face in the middle of the room.
He could have fucking smiled.
He couldn't even bring himself to regret it as the man, all messy blond hair and high cheek bones flailed and cursed, clutching at his bloody wreck of a nose as he struggled to his feet. Red faced and spitting mad as he lunged at him, cracking him hard across his face, once then twice before the other three wrestled him away and slammed the door behind them.
But by then it was too late, because the last blow had slammed his head against the wall behind him. Rebounding off the sticky plaster as the world exploded behind his tightly closed lids. - And just like that he was fucking gone. Because this was too much. ...He forgot how to breathe as pain rippled through him, stripping him down to naked tendons and tender flesh as he held back an agonized whimper. Shuddering and curling in on himself as the world came apart around him.
And he just couldn't-...It was too much. He was going to-... He bit off an agonized scream as a pulse of light seared across his vision. Head roaring with the deafening squeal of screeching tires and the hysterical sound of a woman screaming as he slowly started to remember.
His heart rate sped up, pulse pounding in his ears as half remembered flashes pierced through the growing fog. His head rolled, chin tipping down against his chest as he chased the shadows of the odd floater that coasted across the span of his vision. - Uncommonly frustrated by those annoying, squiggly little lines that only got harder to track the more you paid attention to them. Always seeming just an inch outta' of reach...
Christ, if that wasn't a metaphor for his life he didn't know what was…
A trickle of saliva found its way around the gag and dribbled down his chin as he wavered weakly. Muscles threatening to go down like a house of cards as his body gradually went limp. Arms screaming at the abuse as he tried to concentrate on simply breathing.
Something in the center of his chest ached, sending splinters of pain arrowing through his rib cage whenever he tried to breathe. Struggling to keep his breaths shallow and slow as not to jostle what he strong suspected was at least two or three broken ribs. He grimaced and shifted, determined to shake it off as the chaos in his mind slowly faded.
…After all, it wasn't like this was the first time he'd given his maker something to think about.
The chains clicked as he shifted in place, trying to take the brunt of his weight off his arms as his legs trembled in warning. Fuck. He shook his head, trying to remember how to switch off as a slow trickle of blood streamed down across the flair of his hip. The wound on his side burning as half forgotten memories of freckled cheeks and dirty blond hair skipped through his minds eye, searing through his defenses like a sucker punch to the gut.
Focus!
It was only when he concentrated that he could make sense of the memories. He'd been out hunting when it'd happened, having been saddled with Glenn when Rick had tentatively suggested that he start takin' one of the others out with him. ...To try and teach them the ropes or whatever.
Personally he had his doubts. He'd lived his entire life out in woods, and that kind of knowledge and experience didn't come easy. It wasn't a game or a bloody commune with nature, one wrong move and you were dead. His tumble down the ravine while looking for Sophia was evidence enough of that.
But before he could get a word in edge-wise the kid had all but bounced to his feet. Gear already packed and that eager, puppy dog stare firmly in place as he'd looked from him to Rick with an expression that told him that he might as well grit his teeth and bear it. The kid was coming along whether he liked it or not. …Peachy.
Carol had only smiled.
A/N: Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! There will be more to come!
A/N #2: I realize this chapter is a titch short, but I wanted to give you all something to chew on as I suss out the coming chapters.
"Will power is to the mind like a strong blind man who carries on his shoulders a lame man who can see." - Arthur Schopenhauer