WARNING: There is a period of mentions of sexual content, but the rest of it is fine.

Mentions of torture, serious, serious torture.

I hope this makes you feel angsty :)


Frank paced back and forth in his quarters, making laps around a table with his phone on it.

He has exactly two hours to get Reagan's god damn stupid enamel for his stupid project before the idiot turns him in.

Where the hell does he get enamel? The black market and all other illegal places have nothing but old historical teeth on display, and that will do nothing to help Reagan and his experiment to keep food supply fresh.

Should he tell Reagan to go fuck himself and risk getting thrown off the ship, or does he give into the humiliation of asking for help?

He's no damn scientist! He's just following his "friends" around in circles so he can get his hands on Jimmy.

And he has Jimmy now. Jimmy seems to have become attached to him—trust him, thanks to the hypo he jammed in his ass yesterday. But that will wear off eventually. He only had three hypos left and couldn't afford to keep getting new ones.

He had to get the damn implant in Jim's head so that the changes would become permanent.

And without Reagan to do the surgery, he can't. Because he still owes Reagan for the damn enamel!

Cursing, he grabbed his phone from the table and looked at the time.

1100 hours. His appointment with Jimmy is within the next hour.

As he was about to tuck his phone away, but there was a chime on the door to alert him someone wanted to enter.

"Ugh" he grumbled to himself, turning to the door and raising his voice, "Yeah?"

Not even half a second later, the door slid open and in stormed McCoy.

Shit.

"Oh, it's you," he mocked sarcastically, "What do you want?"

McCoy scowled and stormed over, "I want you to tell me what the fuck you've done with Jim."

Frank crossed his arms and stared daggers into the man. How rude. He ought to punish him.

Unfortunately, that would get him caught.

"What'd you mean? You mean his behaviour?" He'll just have to wing it and tell him everything Reagan told him. McCoy raised his finger to say something, paused, then changed his mind, sighing and taking out his PADD.

"You see this?" McCoy shoved a PADD in his hands. All the data was rocket science to him. Hopefully the doctor would explain it. "Jim was fine yesterday right up until you entered. When I examined him, I found his heart was under massive strain, it was tachycardia—in fact there was atrial fibrillation. We had to restart it before he had a heart attack." His face was absolutely beet red with anger, gritting his teeth the entire time he was talking.

"I forwarded you the scans, doc. He's got brain damage. You didn't scan for it in time and this is what has happened."

McCoy scowled, "Brain damage or not, that doesn't account for why his heart was going damn ballistic!"

Frank sighed. Perhaps he'd have to make himself look bad in a good way, without telling him the whole truth.

"Alright, okay? He's got the mind of a kid. He refused to eat after he threw his last meal up and I got pissed, I yelled, I shouted and I threatened him saying I'd make sure he'd be kept in the institution for the rest of his life. I was pretty pissed, doc."

McCoy looked like he was about to commit murder right there and then.

"He cried and had a pretty big meltdown, it was awful. I silenced the alarms because I didn't want you knowing." Well at least that part was true.

McCoy stared daggers into him for another ten seconds before dropping his shoulders. "I guess that's not as bad as I thought you'd done."

The man is smarter than he looks.

"You're messing up a lot, Dr Schaidon, I can't have you constantly coming back if you put him through this stress every day."

Frank was quick to defend himself, "Sorry doc, I guess I just get frustrated with stubborn kids like him. I diagnosed his brain damage and now I must continue my investigation to find out what's caused it. You said something about chemicals?" he tried to change the subject to make him look good.

It worked in his favour.

"Yeah, something is producing chemicals that's affecting his brain. I don't know where it's coming from or how it's done, and that frustrates me. So, I hired you to dedicate all your time to it, because we've got better chances of figuring it out with two pairs of hands instead of one."

Frank pretended he understood a word he was saying and nodded absentmindedly.

"I have an appointment with him now. If you have no objections…?"

Bones waved him off and gestured to the door.
Frank darted to the door the second he was given the all clear before being suddenly blocked by a hand.

Bones stood in front of him.

"If I find that you've damaged him in some way, I'm throwing your god damn ass in the brig and taking you to the nearest prison facility, you understand?" Bones growled through clenched teeth, "The only god damn reason why you're still here after all these fuck-ups is because you're the highest-ranking neurologist in the area and Jim only deserves the best. But I won't hesitate to throw you out a damn airlock if you lay one bad finger on him."

Frank, despite himself, put a hand on McCoy's shoulder and gave his best reassuring smile, "Don't worry doc, Jim's getting the special treatment."

And with that, he left the CMO alone to scowl at his life choices.

Special treatment. Oh, he has no idea how true that is.

….

"Why do I keep needing these injections, sir?" Jim asked, as Frank decompressed another hypo into his arm. He was being given them every day now, and only by that doctor. Perhaps it was to help his head.

"It's to get your brain working the way it should do" Frank replied, packing the hypo away so that no-one would accidently stumble upon it.

Or get it working the way I want it to.

Frank adjusted the head of Jim's bed to tilt backwards another 60 degrees until his neck was at an awkward position compared to the rest of his body.

He unzipped his trousers that he'd put on especially for the plan he had today, then unzipped his pants.

Jim was still ignorant to what was right and wrong, and just lay content on the bed, not flinching as Frank's fingers crawled under his neck and tilted his head back.

"You're gonna need to open real wide for this load, Jimmy" Frank sneered, bracing Jim's mouth to accept his cock.

Jim obeyed, wanting to do anything for his master. He would do anything to make him happy. Having no sense to understand the size of his master's genitalia in comparison to his mouth, he needed to be guided to keep opening wider, much to Frank's frustration.

Perhaps he was drugging him too much. The kid had no damn intellect.

"Wider, Jimmy," he coaxed, trying to fit his cock in at that miniscule amount of inch Jim's mouth had opened. "Wider, really wide. Don't make me get the gag."

At that, Jim instantly yanked his mouth open as wide as it would go, feeling tranquil and calm as Frank's cock settled as it slid past his lips.

He looked really confused. His genitals were sitting in his mouth and he looked like he had no idea what to do with it.

For fuck sake, do I really have to retrain him in how to pleasure a man?
…Is he really that intelligently deficient?

He sighed, "Suck on it Jim, like you're sucking a straw. Yeah—FUCK NOT THAT MUCH—STOP YOU FUCKING MORON! ARGH!" he shouted and tried to pull away, Jim's teeth digging into the flesh.

Jim's eyes filled with tears as he let down his master. He just wanted to make him happy.

"Your teeth! Your god damn teeth are…. wait a minute." Frank pulled his cock out Jim's mouth and stared down at his confused face. "Teeth. Jim, smile with your teeth. Now."

Jim blinked slowly, then offered an unsure toothy grin.

Suddenly, something lit up inside Frank. How could he have been so stupid?

Enamel. He could use enamel from a real, healthy tooth!

But, shit… Reagan had an annoying sense of morality and wouldn't operate on someone who didn't give consent.

"Hey, Jim.." Frank began, petting Jim's hair, who's smile starting fading into a worried frown. "You're such a pretty boy, you know that?"

Jim's frown gradually formed into a real smile and nodded.

"How would you like to help me save some planets from starvation? Huh? You like that?"

Another quick nod.

This should be easy, Frank thought to himself, Jim is thick as thieves under all these drugs right now. He couldn't tell a cow from a horse.

"You remember my friend Reagan?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Well, Reagan has a mission to save worlds from starvation," Frank said, removing the part of the story where Reagan was actually going to sell the finished product for other companies to distribute instead of sending them to worlds himself, "And he needs some enamel for part of his experiment. I think a really healthy pretty boy like you would want to help him, don't you?"

Jim, completely ignorant of what he was getting himself into, eagerly nodded. "How do I do it?"

Frank was a tiny bit concerned about explaining this part, "Well…. You can save millions of people by donating your enamel. How about that? Reagan said that food would be coated in enamel, along with other stuff that I've no idea the name of, and that will preserve food long enough to send to other planets for years! Sound good?"

All he knew about the experiment was that the enamel was supposed to react to other chemicals that he had no recollection of the name of, and that was theorized to preserve any type of food.

He didn't know what he expected. Jim continued gleaming and was nodding enthusiastically. His ignorance was bliss—he could do anything to Jim that he wanted to, shape him in any way he pleased, train him to be his perfect pet… but he was still thick and susceptible to anything, just like a child.

"My deadline from the bastar—from Reagan is the next hour, so how about I phone him up and we'll see what he says?"

Jim nodded. "Do you want me to make you happy again, sir?"

Frank almost started smiling with joy when Jim was offering to suck his cock again. He didn't seem to feel any shame from it. The rational and logical side of his brain had been severely numbed by the drugs.

"Later, Jimmy." He never thought he'd be refusing an offer to get his dick sucked. Jim was truly going to be a wonderful pet to him.

His brought out his phone, practically beaming with how his plan was going.

Jimmy—his pet, had agreed, consented to donate his enamel to Reagan for his experiment.
Regardless, it was going to hurt like a bitch, and it was likely Jimmy would be scared shitless of Frank when the procedure was over. But for now, he had a way to keep Jimmy and wasn't going to be turned in.

"Yeah, Reagan? It's Frank. I have the enamel for you, and he's sitting right in front of me."

"Yeah, I said enamel, not an animal, and yes he is sitting right in front of me."

"Yeah, he's giving me his consent."

"What? You want proof? You son of a-…" he paused, not wanting to confuse Jim. "Heh. Jimmy, tell Reagan here you give your consent."

Jim broke out into a grin and tried to lift his head towards the phone, "I agree to it!" he shouted childishly.

Jeez. He's not my Jimmy anymore. He's a kid, and not even the kid I knew. But oh well. He's mine now.

"See? He's all ready for you. Uh-huh. Yes he knows that it's going to be painfu—"

Luckily, Jim was too distracted whipping his head back and forth.

"Let's just say… I had a proposition for him. Yeah. WHAT?"

Jim jumped and started shaking. Frank smiled downwards at him and run his free fingers across Jim's lips. Good boy, he mouthed.

"Yeah, coming down here in the next hour is perfectly fine" he spat through gritted teeth.

How the hell was he supposed to arrange that? They were not scheduled to land at a starbase for a whole month!

"Yeah, come in a shuttle. I'll think of something. What? Why do you—oh yeah. I'll speak to the idiot doctor here and see if I can rent out a dent—an office for you." Frank stopped himself before he finished the word dental. He didn't know how Jim would react.

"Uh-huh. I'll see you in an hour then."

He hung up the phone and glared down at Jim.

Shit. He's gonna arrive in an hour.

"Jimmy, I gotta make a call to your doctor friend, how do I get him here?"

Jim got so excited that every single clamp on the bed rattled at his sudden movement. "I can get him on my communicator! Will that make you happy?"

Frank sighed. "Yeah, Jimmy, it'll make me happy."

Half an hour later, and Jim's behaviour was starting to become a real problem for Frank. He was spewing out random bits of information he'd heard over the phone and didn't have the logic to keep it a secret.

"So, let me see the results of this session," McCoy asked, wanting solid proof that these appointments were actually helping Jim, what with his recent experiences.

"Yeah, here's the electro activity in his…" he tried to remember the name of the part of the brain that Reagan talked about, "Neocortex" he remembered, passing the PADD to him with the forged results Isaac had sent him.

Reagan was a surgeon, Isaac was a highly accomplished computer technician. He really did have the luck of the draw with his friends.

They both hated him for his sadistic thoughts though, whatever they were.

"I see. So, there's a small improvement in the parietal and temporal lobe, so at least there's some signs of progress." McCoy's smile turned into a frown, "How did you do it? You never consulted me."

Frank was silent for a few seconds while he came up with an excuse on the spot, "These are merely experiments, doc. I didn't know they'd worked until today when I got these results. Was gonna tell you after the appointment but you beat me to it!" he offered his best smile, and to his relief McCoy offered a smirk.

Good, he wasn't suspicious.

"What experiments are we talking about here? Show me the serum."

Fuck. His hyposprays were in his bag—the bag full of the toys he forces into Jim.

"Sure, uh, let me get my bag." He very cautiously walked over, feeling all eyes were on him, then for good measure added, "These are just experiments though, it might turn sideways in a few hours."

McCoy gave a grunt of acknowledgement and waited for the serum.
Jim was still at the slightly reclined angle on the bed, and McCoy was eying him constantly now.

While Frank was getting the serum, McCoy stepped over to Jim and brought out a penlight, waving it in front of Jim's eyes.
He didn't scream and start squirming this time, just seemed completely oblivious to it.

But his eyes were reacting to stimulus just fine.

"Here ya go, doc," Frank gave him the hypospray, thanking his luck that McCoy was too distracted by Jim to see what was in his bag.

McCoy eyed the hypo and took out the vial, filled with blue tinted liquid. "And this is what you've been giving Jim?"

Frank nodded, hoping he wouldn't want to take it away and examine it. The drug was purely created for numbing a particular part of someone's brain, it wouldn't take long for him to realise what his true purpose here was.

McCoy slid the vial back into the hypo and handed it back to Frank, "This your only source?"

Frank nodded.

No, but you can't take it away if I have nothing to inject him with.

McCoy pursed his lips, "Fine, but create a sample for the labs to examine. If it turns out fine then I want the serum replicated to last three months at least, that clear?"

Frank had to physically stop himself from letting out a sigh of relief. "Okay, thanks doc."

McCoy shook his head, godknows why, and then went over to Jim.

"Hey buddy," he said, kneeling down to his level, "Hey, why is his head slightly reclined?"

Shit.

"He had a little dizzy episode, so I thought to recline his head back while I examined him. Didn't you Jimmy?"

Jim obviously had no recollection for this, but trusted Frank with his life, so nodded in agreement.

McCoy nodded, pulling an eyelid back and once again waving a penlight over his eyes, "Follow the light for me, Jim."

Jim's lower lip pouted. He was told about how horrible the doctor was by Frank, he didn't trust him. But after he turned his head to Frank for help, and saw his master just nodding his approval, Jim nodded to McCoy and followed the light.

"Okay… doin' real good kiddo," McCoy praised, waving it in the opposite direction. He wasn't able to do this yesterday, since all Jim did was squeeze his eyes shut and refuse.
Apparently, this doctor had Jim wrapped around his little finger.

McCoy was glad that Schaidon and Jim were getting on so well.

"All good," the CMO announced to Frank's relief, standing to his feet. "Send the scans from today to me and fill out the forms for his progress."

Frank nodded again, wishing the doctor would just leave.

He had an appointment with Reagan.

"I'm tellin' you, Spock, something ain't right here!" McCoy boomed, pacing around the room nervously. He had practically dragged Spock into his office the second he left the room with Schaidon.

"Doctor, there are signs of progress in the imagery, and Jim has stopped fighting when receiving treatment. My opinion in the matter is that you are, in frank terms, jealous."

McCoy spun around on the spot and stomped up to the Vulcan, "Jealous?!" he exclaimed, scoffing and shaking his head, "Jealous? What of? That Schaidon has Jim wrapped around his finger?"

"No. Simply that the doctor discovered an antidote before you did. You are chief medical officer of the ship, and Doctor Schaidon created a treatment within three days. This must be detrimental to your confidence."

McCoy was on the edge of strangling the Vulcan on the spot.

Jealous. Jealous? He, Doctor McCoy, chief medical officer of the Tin-Can Death-Machine Enterprise, jealous?

"There's somethin' wrong, Spock. I'm telling you. No-one comes on board for three days and figures out a cure. Yesterday Jim almost had a heart attack being in the room with him, and I'm not exaggerating, we had to restart his heart, damn it!"

Spock tilted his head. "I was informed by Nurse Chapel in my off time, as I had visited her for an update on Jim at approximately 2300 hours yesterday." Then he paused, and thought some more, "It is possible that the doctor took a more aggressive approach to Jim's condition, whereas we have, as you would say, been babying him."

McCoy put a hand to his forehead, letting out a stressed breath and pacing some more, "What if he tortured him, Spock? What if that was why his heart was beating so damn fast? What if that was the aggressive approach?"

Spock folded his arms behind his back and visibly sighed, something he rarely did in the presence of other people, "Jim's next physical is scheduled tomorrow at 0800 hours, one hour before the appointment with Schaidon," he explained calmly, "I suggest that you enable the imaging logs for the isolation room after you have seen Jim for his physical. You will be able to record the events of what happens during the appointment with Schaidon."

McCoy frowned, but nodded slightly, agreeing with the idea, "Yeah. That's…that's actually a great idea, Spock, thank you."

The Vulcan merely offered a subtle bow of his head and took a step to the door, "If I may take my leave? I must return to duty in three point seven minutes."

McCoy waved his hand at him, "Yeah, yeah, whatever, thanks again."

The Vulcan left, leaving McCoy to ponder over the thoughts in his hand.

"Over here, Frankie, over here!" came over the communicator.

Frank turned in place in the shuttle bay, seeing Reagan hiding behind one of the container boxes. There were security guards everywhere, sneaking around was going to raise suspicions.

"Damn it, Reagan! Why the fuck are you hiding? I'll distract the security officer while you get out the shuttle bay." He slipped his communicator and turned to Jim, who was following behind him.

He looked up to him with his innocent blue eyes, "Frankie? Why does he call you Frankie?"

Frank almost scoffed, is he really this god damn thick?

"It's his nickname, like I call you Jimmy but your name is really James."

He nodded excitedly, "So can I call you Frankie, too?"

Frank sighed, "Not around here, you can't. I have a feeling your doctor friend knows my name."

Jim frowned, "But doctor McCoy is not my friend. He's angry at me all the time, just like you said."

Frank nodded, "Exactly, and he's frowning and angry all the time because of you, just like I said."

"Okay."

Jim didn't understand why Doctor McCoy was angry with him, but he trusted Frank.

Half way across the corridor and dodging a load of security guards, they were now in the turbolift to the 3rd floor.

"Frankie, I thought you were going to book the dental office? Why are we hiding?"

Frank almost slapped Reagan for mentioning it was a dental office. He felt Jim stand just a little bit closer to him, his shoulder next to his.

"I couldn't get one, I couldn't think of an excuse. We have to sneak our way in there. It's never used, at least that's what Jimmy said."

The doors hissed open.

The coast was clear.

Jim took the lead, being the only person who knew where the dental office was. He felt quite scared, why was he going to see the dentist? Did his breath smell?

"Frankie, who is my dentist?" Jim asked, turning back to look at Jim. Reagan caught up with him, "We're not going to see a dentist, I'm just here to do the procedure and that's it. I just needed the equipment."

Jim nodded, a little bit more happy now. Everyone was scared of the dentist, he knew that. But it wasn't a mandatory appointment for the Enterprise, thank god. Only physicals were.

He stopped outside a door, it had no label on it that would give away what the room was for, in fact it only had the room number "305" on it and that's it.
Jim pointed at the door, and looked to Frank.

"Go ahead and get set up, Reagan, I have a feeling I need to talk to Jimmy, thanks to you."

Frank could not have Jim being scared and refusing consent at this point. Without consent, Reagan would not do surgery, and without the enamel, Reagan threatened to throw him off the ship.

But he was not a fatherly figure.

"Now Jimmy, I want you to listen to me."

"Uh-huh."

"I want you to go in there and no matter what, you must give consent. You must not lash out, you must not start crying or do any of that shit that I saw yesterday, you must stay silent shut up on the chair while my friend Reagan works on you."

Jim's lip was quivering. He was really scared now.

"Will it make you happy?"

That seemed to be a common question. All he had to say was yes and Jim would probably jump off a bridge for him.

"Yeah."

"Okay!"

But Jim grabbed his hand—like a child did, and walked into the room with Frank.
He stopped outside the door again.

"I'm scared."

Frank pulled his hand away from Jim, "Just go inside and do as I say you little shit!"

Jim practically ran inside before the doors finished opening without a word.

Inside the room was exactly how Frank had expected it. It looked like a dental office, except it was massive. Unnecessarily huge. And there was only one dental chair and 2 stools, one of which Reagan was currently occupying.

Reagan looked up and saw Jim sprinting in.

"Ah, Jim, come take a seat over here, I'm just getting ready."

Jim complied, knowing it was what Frank wanted. He tiptoed over to the chair, gave it a good scrutinizing stare, then jumped onto it, shuffling all the way back until his head was against the head-rest, sitting in an upright position.

Frank was leaning up against the wall, watching both of them in curiosity.

Reagan wheeled over a tray of instruments, and Jim felt a pit of anxiety in his stomach.
He started snivelling.

He didn't want those tools in his mouth.

With a frustrated grunt, Frank came storming over, standing next to Jim. "What the hell's the matter now?"

"I don't want to do it anymore!"

A low angry huff came from Frank's mouth, and Reagan looked up at Jim's request.

If the patient didn't want the procedure, no matter how crooked he was as a surgeon (such as the fact he did all his procedures without anaesthetic, hence the pain)– he would not perform it.

"Reagan, give me the bag I had earlier."

Jim curled up in a ball in the chair, feeling his anxiety start to flood his system. Frank brought out a hypo from the bag Reagan gave to him, and forced Jim's head to the side with a yelp.
The hypo was plunged into his neck.

"Give him five minutes and ask for consent again."

Reagan, confused, narrowed his eyes but shrugged, continuing to set up his equipment.

"I'm gonna lock the fuckin' door." Frank stormed off to the door to lock it with his officer credentials.

At this chance, Reagan turned to Jim, who was still curled up in the chair.

"Jim, be honest with me, do you want this procedure?"

Blue eyes lifted from the floor to the older man, there seemed to be some confusion in them.

"I don't know…"

"Do you know what it entails?"

"You want to take away my enamel so you can use it to save worlds."

Reagan was surprised at this, but assumed that was the way Frank worded it to get through to Jim. "Yeah, I suppose that's one way to put it."

"Then I want to do it" Jim said, the drugs kicking in again.
Reagan nodded.

"I'll replace your enamel with a filling that matches the colour of your teeth so no-one knows what happened. There will be no anaesthetic. It's important that you don't tell anyone what we do today. Understand?"

Jim hastily nodded, feeling a lot more confident now the drugs were settling in.

At this point, Frank returned from ordering the door on lock down.

"He's consented," Reagan said, pressing a couple of buttons on the side of the chair. Frank gave a grunt of acknowledgement, and sat down on the stool beside Jim to watch.

The chair slowly started reclining, moving Jim to a flat position, much like he was when clamped down.
He was now staring at the ceiling.

Then, hands started grabbing at his wrists and putting them on top of the arm rests, as Frank started locking him in place. Jim blinked slowly, although not very worried about it. Frank was doing it, so it was okay.

Reagan adjusted the light above Jim's head, turning it on and pulling his mask up. Frank approached from the side with a strange two strange looking contraptions.

"Open your mouth please," Reagan ordered, slightly muffled behind the mask.
Jim obeyed.

"Put one retractor inside each cheek, I'll get a retractor to open his jaw."

Frank dug a cheek retractor inside both cheeks, while Reagan inserted two on each side of his jaw, effectively stretching his mouth as wide as it would possibly go.

"You know, I really appreciate you agreeing to do this, Jim," Reagan said, taking a small blue bag and placing it on the floor, a tube connected to it, Reagan hooked it on the inside of his mouth. All bits of enamel would get drained into the bag. "I seriously commend what you're sacrificing for this."

"Frankie, you might wanna leave," he warned, knowing how much pain Jim was going to be in.

"Nah, I want to stay and watch the show." He gave a sly smirk to Jim, who just looked at him happily.

"Okay, well, feel free to leave if it gets too much." He picked up a small electric drill and leaned over to the inside of Jim's mouth, "Starting from the right lower third molar," he switched on the handpiece, the highpitched squealing ringing in the air and watched Jim for any sign of hesitation. He seemed extremely happy.
So he brought the drill down to the tooth, the whirring growing more intense as it vibrated against the tooth.

Instantly, Jim jumped in shock and grunted, beginning to kick his feet.

"Keep still, Jimmy" Frank muttered, wheeling over and pinning his legs down.

"Augg Ihh urrrsh!" he cried, trying to shift inside the restraints as the sound of the drill overwhelmed his ears. Bits of the tooth enamel broke off from the high-speed handpiece and was suctioned away to the bag.

Jim couldn't see anything but the older masked man hovering over him, who was squinting in deep concentration as he dug the drill into his tooth, moving the piece around and getting rid of all the enamel he could. His cringed and squeezed his eyes shut in the seat.

Then he suddenly stopped.

"What? Look at it, there's tons of enamel left!" he heard Frank shout.

"I know, it's taking too long, I'm changing handpieces,"

Frank grunted at then sat back on his PADD, Reagan picking up a new handpiece and then readjusting the light.

"Sorry about this, but it'll get it done faster."

Jim squinted his eyes in confusion ,"Agh aga ha—"

The drill rung in the air and was brought down to the tooth against.

This time he screamed.

"There we go, that's much better" he heard Reagan say, the noise impossibly loud to his ears.

Jim vibrated in the seat, the pain excruciating and the high-speed drill started hitting sensitive parts of his tooth. He screamed for him to stop and started kicking his legs, before Frank rammed another hypo into his leg.

Now he couldn't move his limbs.

"Okay, moving onto the lower right 1st molar," Reagan mumbled to himself, and began drilling all over again to the first molar.

The only thing Jim could do was scream in agony, his breaths coming in short gasps.

"'eease! 'eease! 'eease! 'eease!"

"So what'cha doing, Frankie?"

" 'hap! 'hap! 'hap! 'hap! 'eease! 'eease urr!"

"Just going over some… videos… that I recorded yesterday."

Reagan nodded, Jim crying as he felt the drill dig deeper into his tooth, cutting off the enamel that protected him. He felt his emotions, his feelings and thoughts flood back to him at once, every instinct in his body telling him to run, pounding his brain with the impulse to get away, as if it was all hidden away and by the drug and only just reaching his brain.

"Lower right bicuspid," and once again the drill broke away the surface of another tooth, a scream tore out from his mouth that even got Frank glancing up.

"Damn, that sounds like it really hurts."

"Yeah, I keep hitting the nerves trying to get everything."

The drill was moved away for a second as the light was readjusted to directly over his mouth, before the loud high-pitched whine returned, "Lower right cuspid."

Jim screamed louder than he'd ever done with his sessions with Frank. He was sure he was going to lose his voice as his body trembled from the force of the screaming.
The drill whined as it broke off the surface of the tooth at the gumline at an angle.

I want to die I want to die I want to die I want to die…

Let me die please please please…

"Lower left lateral and central."

Jim's eyes rolled back in his head as he passed out from the pain.

…..

"I thought you locked the door?"

"It is locked! I did it before you started!"

"Then why is it making that noise?"

"It's a request to open it!"

"Then open it!"

"I can't! It's McCoy!"

"Open the damn door, Frankie!"

"I can't, he doesn't know Jim's in here!"

"What?!"

"I told you the damn room isn't booked!"

"Fuck! What do we do, I'm half way through the right side of his mouth!"

"Uh… okay, stuff something in his mouth to quiet him and keep the drill going on in the background"

"What? Why?"

"Just do it for fuck sake! Do it!"

Jim, in a haze of confusion, heard rummaging and then something being stuffed between his teeth. He let out a whimper as the pressure caused pain.

….

"Doctor McCoy! How can I help you?" Frank exclaimed in fake surprise, opening the door to find his doom standing in front of him.

McCoy tried to get a peek inside but the door was only slightly opened due to Frank obstructing it.

"Hey, uh, Schaidon, can I come in?"

Frank blinked and tried to gather words in a panic, "Uh, no! My patient was absolutely clear about not letting anyone else in the room and I have to go by his wishes."

"Uh huh," McCoy mumbled, "Listen, I've been getting reports to my office from this floor about the sound of someone screaming. Know anything about this?"

Frank laughed nervously."Why? You think we're holding someone hostage?"

McCoy smirked, "I don't know are you? I can't hear anything…"

Frank shifted legs that blocked the doorway, "I don't hear anyone screaming do you? I mean there's the drill but that's it."

McCoy sighed and dropped his shoulders.

"This room is never used, doc," he remembered Jim saying, "You sure they weren't pranking you?"

McCoy glared up at him, "They damn well better not be!"

"I don't know doc, we're all fine in here, the patient is asleep." I mean that's not a lie, he passed out from the pain but the doc doesn't need to know that.

"Those god damn sons of bitches! They think this is a game! I'll show them what pain sounds like!" and with that, the CMO stormed off.

With a sigh of relief, Frank drew himself back into the office and let the door slide shut.

"We good?" he heard Reagan say over the dental drill.

"Yeah, there's been reports of screaming coming from here but I managed to convince him they were toying with him."

"Ah…" Reagan acknowledged. The sound of the drill continued to ring in the air for another ten seconds before it stopped.

"Need to move onto the upper teeth now, Frankie I need to open his mouth wider so I can get a better look, can ya give your man a hand?"

"Sure, sure, I know a thing or two about getting his mouth to open," he chuckled, stomping over to the chair. Jim's eyes were slits, half open and half closed. He took the ball that was supposed to be used for his toys out of his mouth and sat on the stool.

"What you need me to do?"

"I'm gonna tilt his head back a little, hold on," Reagan pressed a button on the control panel and Jim's head instantly started tilting to the point where his head was now diagonal to the ground.

"Okay, press the top button on the jaw retractors to extend how far it goes," Reagan said, adjusting overhead light to position above Jim's mouth again.

As Jim's jaw was forced open wider, the kid let out a strained groan from his muscles being stretched past their limits.

"Not too much or you'll pop the bone out of its socket. Yeah that's enough."

"'uuuuurts" Jim whined through the gag.

"Yeah, I know, just doing your top teeth and we'll be done." Reagan says, pulling his mask up and turning the drill on again, the shrill noise resounding around the room. "Upper right third molar."

Jim whined loudly as he anticipated the pain—agony shot through every nerve in his tooth the second the drill touched the surface. He squealed and cried out in agony.

"Whoa, have you seen the enamel bag?" Frank exclaimed, suddenly realising how much had fallen in. You'd think that there'd only be a small amount of enamel being collected considering how small teeth were.

"Yep, there's a lot Frankie," Reagan murmured, drilling the pockets of the molar again.

"How many teeth are you gonna drill?"

"I was only going to do the molars, but I've decided to do all of them. Not much left to go…Upper right second Bicuspid."

The shrill noise rang in Jim's ears. His screaming had got to the point where his throat was burning, no noise could come out anymore. He'd been screaming almost constantly for two hours. He shut his eyes and vibrated in his seat, nothing but pure terror wracking his body, a constant stream of tears running down his face.

"Upper right lat…."

He fell unconscious again.

….

….

"Are…filling…yet?"

"…Four…lower….left…"

Jim started coming back to his senses. The drilling had stopped, but there was a massive throbbing pain in every corner of his mouth. Upon opening his eyes, he gathered that they still weren't done with the procedure as the doctor was still bent over him with tools stuck in his mouth.

Jim blinked, and suddenly the man was sitting up, speaking to Frank who had also appeared. How much time had gone?

"Seriously Frankie, I can't thank you enough for bringing James here. It wasn't pleasant at all but now I have tons of enamel to test my experiment out on."

"Nah, it's alright, it wasn't like you was gonna rat me out if I didn't."

Both men laughed with each other. Reagan was about to stand up before Frank had called out to him.

"Oh Reagan! One more favour?"

"Yeah?"

"I have this implant here, I totally forgot to ask but I didn't have time to insert it into his brain when I first caught him. I mean I couldn't do it anyway because I've no idea where to put it."

"You want me to insert it?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Okay, show me what it is?"

He heard Frank rummage around in his bag for a few seconds before the sound of metal was scraping out of the box. "Here. At the moment I'm using hyposprays to numb his neocortex, that's what you said it was anyway, that implant is supposed to permanently shut down that area of his brain."

Reagan took it from him and hummed as he looked at it. "Sure thing Frankie. It's small so should only take a couple of minutes. Help me position his head and I'll do it."

He felt two pairs of hands latch onto his head.

"Where'd you want him?"

"Just turn his head to the side, like this," he felt his head being moved. It was a weird position and it made his neck ache. In fact, everything was aching right now.

"Okay, you with me?"

Jim moaned through the gag.

"Right, well I'm putting this clamp on your head so you don't move, unless you really want some proper brain damage, in that case keep squirming."

Jim released another moan and shut his eyes as his head was secured.

He heard he and Frank murmur something between each other, not being able to understand what, until he felt something cold, metal, press against the side of his head next to his ear.

Then seconds later, the sound of yet another drill rang in the air and soon the pain radiating through his skull took him exactly six seconds to deal with before he passed out again.

….

"All done."

He opened his eyes.

"Whaa…?" the gag was gone.

"It's going to take another hour before the chemical reacts with the chemical you injected into his stomach a few months ago—it's still producing it right?"

"Yeah," he heard Frank say, "McCoy said it's been producing it for months."

"Alright, well you'll notice a permeant change in a few days, but until then keep using the hypos."

Jim blinked slowly. He was so tired.

"Frankie, I gotta speak to you alone for a sec. I wanna make sure you know exactly what that implant has done to him."

Jim heard an annoyed grunt before both men took off to the other side of the large room.
Wiggling his legs and tensing his arms, he realised he was no longer restrained.

Now's my chance. Now's my chance!

He eyed the door in the distance. It was only a few seconds away. If he could just get up…

He sat up rigidly, and had to stop himself from screaming at the pain radiating through his skull. His mouth was absolutely torturing him, as if every single nerve was engulfed in flames. His head was giving him splitting nauseous pain.

"Oi! Jim lay back down, that's dangerous!"

Fuck.

It's now or never.

Jumping up and almost stumbling at his blurred vision, Jim took advantage of the distance between he and the men and slid off the bed shakily, darting instantly towards the door without thinking.
His legs were like jelly, feeling like they were about to collapse under him.

But a rational side of his brain—probably for the last time, was screaming run. Run. Run. For fuck sake, run.

Jim ran anywhere—everywhere he could. He couldn't feel his legs, he was just moving, running, he didn't know where, just running.

He didn't know how long for.

Until a loud shrill beep – it was the intercom.

A voice roared into his ear.

"This is acting Captain Spock, we have received intel that Captain Kirk has escaped confinement and is extremely violent. Locate and restrain Captain Kirk, stun him if necessary." The intercom beeped again.

Jim rammed his hands over his ears, every single noise—every footstep radiating deafeningly into his skull.

He wanted it to end.

He just wanted it to end.


I hope I made you cringe at some point, hahaha :D

Please do anything to help me realise you're reading this, even if it means commenting an image of a chair.


Next Chapter: Jim manages to escape and tries to seek out help, but his quickly numbing mind starts conflicting with his reasoning.