A/N: I have to give a BIG shout out to my lovely friend TheIncredibleDancingBetty. Thanks to her vast knowledge on all things regarding torture and medical information, I am loading myself with some fascinating stuff that I will be applying to this story. So you can thank her as I do for the wonderful and HUGE amounts of information she has been supplying me. If you haven't read her stuff and you are enjoying this story - I really recommend her stories. I particularly am enjoying Light Purple Dark and My Friend Al. Dark and lovely. Just how I like my stories.


Chapter 12 – Darkness Creeps Between the Cracks


His breath was getting more and more ragged as he pressed himself harder into the corner. His body wouldn't stop shaking. He'd heard of people going into shock after being in an accident and he wondered if what he'd just gone through would be enough to put him into shock. The soft mewling sound wouldn't stop squeezing out of his throat. He pressed his lips together but still the sound came.

The awful images continued to flash before his clenched eyes. The soldier coming out of the darkness. Fighting for his life. The blade slicing through his arm, the arm that he clutched to his chest, even now sending a fresh sheet of blood to cover the sticky mess left on him from the body. And that was the other image that would not leave him be: that of Malcolm savaging the ninja's body and then . . . then shoving him into the gore. Mikey's stomach rolled and he shook his head in brief quick movements, as though denying it had actually happened. The rough stone bit into his forehead but he only registered the sting dimly. His bottom and tail was a non-stop throb of pain, his arm burned as if it were on fire and the rest of his battered, starved body ached in more places than he ever realized he even had.

He hiccupped and bit back the surge of frantic panic clawing at the edges of his mind. He knew he should control himself. He had to behave like a proper ninja. It would not help him any if he went into hysterics. He knew this. But he also knew he was quickly losing his grip on his composure.

Leonardo would be so disappointed if he learned how easily his younger brother broke. If Leo were here, he'd be stoic and hard. Nothing could break him down. His quiet defiance would undermine everything that Malcolm would try to do to him. Mikey trembled and licked his bottom lip. He had to be like Leo. He had to be strong. He squeezed tighter into the corner. But he was so scared. He was so tired and hungry.

And deep inside he knew he was weak. Leo knew this, too. He could see it in his brother's eyes whenever he did something stupid or messed up a kata or joked around once too many times when they were out scouting. A soft moan escaped Mikey's lips and a fresh stream of tears trickled free from his tightly clamped eyes. More than a few times Leo had reprimanded him like he was a child in front of the others; making him blush and choke on his humiliation. What would Leo think of him now? Huddled in a corner, crying like a baby, shaking like a terrified animal.

What will he think when he learns what I let Malcolm do to me? The thought sent another bolt of panic and despair through him. Without realizing, his knuckle was suddenly pressed to his mouth and he began to nibble and suck on it; tasting the coppery blood, licking it away until it was his own flesh that he tasted. The motion and the flavor of his own skin comforting him a little. His breathing slowed. But a wicked line of thoughts marched through his mind serving only to cripple his waning mental strength, but he couldn't stop them.

I'm like an infant. I'm disgusting. It's better this way. I'd only bring disgrace to the family when they learn I was . . . raped. He shuddered and mewed in pain. No. Stay calm. His shallow breaths came in huffs from between his gritted teeth and his knuckle, biting hard enough to leave indentations in his finger.

He knew he should think. There had to be a way out of this. If Donatello were here he would have figured out a way to free himself. Something with math. He was sure that math held some secret to solving every problem there could be, but as most things that required a lot of concentration, math eluded Mikey. If he could be logical and calm like Donnie he'd find the answer to this problem.

Donatello never faced a challenge that he didn't eventually solve. His brother was a genius. Mikey knew Don would be sickened by his complete stupidity. He'd heard him on more than one occasion going on and on about how he couldn't stand the general idiocy of people. Blinking in the dark, Mikey tried to concentrate. If he could just think. If he was only smarter. He was sure there was something simple right in front of his nose that he was completely missing. If he were here, Don would point it out to him with a snort of irritation and disgust and only then would he see it. But that's the way it always was with him.

Whenever his intelligent brother tried to teach Mikey how to do anything, it was an exercise in frustration. After going over it several times, Don would finally get so angry he'd send him running from his sight, heart pounding with disappointment that he let Donatello down once again. And Don would be disgusted and frustrated with his inability to grasp what he considered beyond simple. He made it clear to the others that Mikey was too slow to understand even the most elementary of concepts.

Once, Mikey had overheard him talking about it with Leo. They thought he'd gone to bed. But he had been thirsty, stopping on his way to the kitchen as he heard Don expressing in a low voice his irritation to Leonardo.

"You don't understand my frustration with this situation Sensei has placed me in. Leo, he's so thick, it's nearly incomprehensible, even to me. I have to waste so much time tutoring him when it's obvious he'll never understand but the most simplistic of concepts. I'm surprised he learned to read, honestly, Leo."

Leonardo chuckled, "Come on, Don. He can't be that bad." Don snorted with derision.

Michelangelo had slunk away, back to his room, hearing more than enough. Heart racing, he'd set out to prove Donatello wrong.

Master Splinter had assigned Don to tutor him in addition to his usual homework. An extra hour a day with Donatello's evaporating patience with his stupidity. Mikey wanted more than anything to prove Donatello's assessment of his intelligence wrong, but he discovered that was harder than he thought it would be. For he found himself hopelessly lost no matter what subject they covered. And he found himself berated and reminded how slow and thick he was most days. In his brother's frustrations with his struggle to understand, Donatello would continually lose his own battle with patience, something the brainy mutant never had much of to begin with. Mikey's fear of his own inferior intelligence was confirmed time and time again.

Finally, they had agreed that Don would just do his extra work for him. Of course, he'd dumb it down quite a bit so that their father wouldn't realize. And Donatello made sure to explain he was doing just that to Mikey each and every time. But Mikey had agreed it was for the best. He bore the insults in silence. It was after all not his brother's fault that he was so stupid. He didn't mean to take up Don's precious time. If it were up to him, he'd have never bothered Don in the first place.

But they had come to the decision that would work out best for everyone involved. Mikey could pretend to learn something that he was obviously incapable of learning and Donatello then could be free to get back to the more important work that he focused on in his lab. They would go to the lab together, Don would do the work in a few seconds, then get to his own tinkering while Mikey was left to sit at the desk in silence and doodle on scraps of paper until their tutoring time was up. Don would then usher him out of his sight as quickly as possible. Happy to be rid of him.

Maybe it's better that Malcolm has me.

His eyes snapped open wider. He shivered. What was he thinking? His brothers loved him. Of course it wasn't better that he was here with this nutcase. And yet, the thought remained, like a blight catching hold of his subconscious and spreading its poison spores through his system.

"Raph would miss me," he croaked.

And even as he spoke the words aloud, he was unsure. How many times did Raph get so angry with him that he'd hit him and beat him to the ground? Mikey knew that his pranks could get annoying, but sometimes, it was like Raphael hated him. Really hated him. How many times had he seen it in his brother's fiery gaze? The look he gave him sometimes was like he wanted to kill him. Really kill him. He was constantly reminding Mikey how inferior he was compared to his brother's amazing strength. Every time he pinned him, every time he got him into an impossible lock or hold, his brother's laughter would rain down over him. Washing him in humiliation as he was forced to submit and tap out, or cry uncle, or Raph's the best or some other disgracing decree.

But Mikey knew, if Raphael were here he'd have killed Malcolm. He'd have taken the man by the throat and shook him like a dog savaging a rabbit; snapping his neck between his enormous hands. He would have never let that creep touch him . . . let alone take him and use him like that. When Raphael learns that he was raped . . . What is he going to say? He's going to tease me. He could just hear the insults his brother would no doubt lob his way. Mikey choked and the sob rocked his aching body. He bit and sucked on his knuckle, shaking his head in denial; moaning out the wordless sounds of his fear and refusal to believe that Raph would hurt him like that.

And yet . . . his brother could be so cruel sometimes . . . Mikey knew this better than anyone. Memories of Raphael's sharp witted, cutting remarks rose up in his mind. It was as if every slight and demeaning quip were being thrown his way down in that pit of horrors. He could feel Leonardo's disappointment and disgust, sense Donatello's dismissal of him, Raphael's loathing and malice. Shame, thicker than the blood coating his body, oozed over him, sinking past his drugged and frantic mind, down deeply into his psyche. Into his quivering, despairing soul.

And he couldn't fight the tide of self-pity drowning him in his lowest point. He was too exhausted, too frightened, too hungry, nerves too frayed to fight it back. No one would really mind that he was gone. That's why they hadn't come for him. They were probably enjoying the peace in the lair without him there bothering them. They were going to take their time if they would even look. Maybe Splinter would force them to go out looking eventually. But he believed that down deep, it wouldn't really matter to them if they ever found him or not.

He was going to die here. With Malcolm. With the dismembered head of that Foot ninja staring at him. Silently mocking him. He moaned and choked on another sob. The sob turned into a broken cry, hoarse and strained. Then another and another. He couldn't stop them. He rocked where he sat but the pain lanced through him and he instead huddled tighter into himself.


Leonardo's legs shook as he trudged through the snow. It came up to his knees and in places rose above to his thighs. The flakes were blinding him but he pressed on. A low repeating whistle informed him of his brothers' locations as they hunted for any sign of Michelangelo. He beat back the knowledge that their attempts were more than futile in this storm. But he could not return home without his brother. Master Splinter made it clear that he would not be able to return until he had him. And Leonardo did not resent this command. It was his responsibility to protect his brothers. It was his responsibility to bring them home. Always.

His stomach was hollow and empty and though they had regrouped to go over their plan of searching for their missing sibling once more and Donatello had handed out sandwiches to keep them fueled, Leonardo found he couldn't bring himself to eat. Don had pushed and pointed out that they needed to keep their energy up or risk becoming lax and incompetent in their searching, so to make him happy, Leo had shoved it into his coat pocket, promising to eat it later on the search. That was enough to shut Donatello up. But later, as the hours wore on and exhaustion pulled at his limbs, he pressed on, ignoring the fatigue in his limbs. He knew he should eat, but he couldn't do it. What was the point if it would only come right back up. The guilt was knotted in his stomach, taking up any space that was there anyway.

He had let them all down. Mikey most of all. He should have never gone to talk with Karai. Just thinking of her name sent a bolt of self-hatred and pain through him. He'd been selfish to ever even entertain the notion of pursuing anything romantic with the woman. Not only was there no room in his life for such frivolous things, but Karai belonged to the very organization that wished harm to befall his father and brothers. Was there ever a bigger fool than he? His family had to come first and he allowed something as shallow as his heart get in the way of that. He swore to himself it would never happen again.

His stormy eyes searched the clouds above. A shadow leapt between two buildings. Then there was Raphael. His brother was completely strung-out and taking all of this hard. Mikey being gone was almost too much to bear. The heartache and strain between them only added to the burden and stress of the situation. Leonardo felt like he was on the verge of having either a stroke or a heart attack at any given moment. He could only imagine what Raphael was going through. His brother never handled stress well.

Honestly, Leo was worried about his younger brother. He couldn't help it. He was refusing to speak to him any more than a few rough grunts when Leo laid out the plan for their searching. Leo didn't blame him. He was sure that Raphael would never forgive him. It would be ironic if Leonardo had the time to really give it any thought. The fact that Raphael wouldn't forgive him for something he couldn't help. He'd always loved Karai. Fool that he was, he loved her since the moment he'd first seen her. And he'd clung to that doomed flight of fancy like a lifeline.

If anything, it should have been Raphael seeking forgiveness from him. But Leonardo knew Raphael would never see it that way. Raphael had no idea that he harbored such intense feelings for the kunoichi, of that he was sure. He was also sure that Raphael felt he had done nothing wrong in acting on Karai's invitation. She had chosen him to be physical with, after all.

He said it had been months. The thought sent a sharp pain through his heart. It could've been me, his mind whispered. He shoved the thought away. It was doing him no good to think such thoughts. Not now. Really, not ever. It was over. It was done. Nothing could be salvaged now. She had shattered him. The pieces could never be put back together again.

Leo leapt to a fire escape and scaled it to the roof. His foot slipped and he scrambled for a hold along the icy railing that bordered the roof's parapet. He gasped as his fingers numb with the frigid temperature slid and he found that he couldn't hold on.

"Dammit!" he ground out.

A hand caught him around the wrist and steadied him enough to allow him to clamber up and over the railing. He stumbled forward into the thick bank of snow gathered next to the low wall. His eyes raised up and he blinked at the flakes temporarily blinding him. A familiar shadow loomed over him.

"Are you alright?" Karai asked.

"What are you doing here?" he asked gruffly, making a point not to look at her directly. He stood up and brushed the snow from his coat and legs.

"I've been waiting for a report from one of my men and I grew restless. I figured I would search for your brother as well."

Leonardo huffed. "Why?" he snapped.

She stepped closer to him and he stiffened, still not looking at her, but not stepping away either. "What concerns you concerns me as well."

He couldn't help but cock a brow at that and give her a sidelong glance. Her proximity caused his heart to flutter and he hated himself bitterly for the reaction.

"I have my suspicions as to your brother's whereabouts."

And still she moved closer. Leonardo stood his ground, though part of his mind wanted to back away, the part that was burning and in pain, another part wanted to learn what she knew, hoping that maybe it would give them a lead. Something, anything to go on.

And he could not deny that he also wanted to grab her and shake her; demand to know why she hurt him the way she had. Ask her if there was anything ever between them besides the brittle teasing. Had it always only been a game to her? He wanted to demand to know what she was thinking when she turned to his brother. Ask her what he could have done to keep her interest. His mind shied away from that last one. He knew the answer to that. His regret was a coiled constrictor around his bleating heart.

The questions were on his tongue, poisoning him. But there would be no good of speaking them. He would be destroyed if he asked her, destroyed if he withheld them. A piece of him was dying slowly at her hands and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all, except endure the pain. And that was something Leonardo was good at: enduring pain.

The snow fell around them and he found himself staring openly at the stark beauty of the woman before him; of her black hair speckled with the intricate flakes, downy like feathers spilling all around her head and shoulders; her green eyes gazing from beneath the thick fringe of her hair; mesmerizing him. As he drowned inside her eyes a figure emerged from the darkness like a ball of fury. The crimson scarf snapping in the wind, bright with accusations. The harsh voice laced with hatred and spite ripped him from his reverie, his rare and miniscule moment of peace.

"Leo!"

Startled, he immediately backed away from Karai as Raphael stormed towards them. His golden eyes flicked between them. The snarl on his face more terrible and fierce as his face darted back and forth between them. The hatred and spite was thick in the air, coming off him in almost physical waves.

"The fuck you doin'? This how you been searchin' for Mikey? You fuckin' lousy bastard! You slimy, lyin' fuck!"

Leonardo withstood the volley of curses and insults like a mountain enduring a raging storm.

"I have a man investigating a lead," Karai said coolly.

Raphael merely raked his gaze over her and turned his head and spat into the snow. To Leo, he said, "Done wastin' time here, Fearless? Can't wait ta explain ta Mikey how hard you were lookin' for him."

Leonardo stared at him, eyes burning, then dropped them away as the guilt from his momentary peace ate at him. Raphael was not wrong. He had the nerve to seek respite even if it was but a few seconds when his brother was missing and most likely hurt. His leaden stomach sank. He turned to leave with a heart aching and filled with self-loathing. He never hated himself more than at that moment.

Karai called out, "Wait, please. If I hear from Kenso, how will I reach you?"

Leonardo's steps faltered. He turned as Raphael came at her, marching into her personal space so aggressively she stumbled back more than a few steps. He brought his face close to hers. The fear was clearly written in her features.

"What? You know somethin' slut? Answer me!"

Leonardo's hand on his shoulder was all it took to make him snap. He spun with a fist balled tight and aimed for Leonardo's jaw. The strike connected with a sharp crack. Leo's head snapped to one side, but his grip only tightened on Raphael's shoulder. Raph followed with an upper cut to Leonardo's mid-section. Leo grunted and dropped to sweep Raphael's legs. Raphael tumbled backwards with a loud snarl. In an instant, he snapped his legs back and jumped to his feet, launching himself into Leo, tackling him back into the snow.

"Enough!"

The bo staff knocked Raphael to one side. The resounding crack echoed through the densely falling snow. Donatello stood over Leonardo, emerging from the storm like a wrathful angel, his eyes obscured in inky shadow. He reached down and gripped his older brother by one lapel and dragged him to his feet, only to give him a rough shove backwards. He stared coldly at Leo as he wiped the blood from his lip.

"Give her your number."

Leonardo blinked stupidly at his brother. "Wh-What?"

"If you haven't already," he said in an icy voice, thick with revulsion. Leonardo stood staring at him. Don snapped, eyes flat with fury, "Do it, fool. Any information we can get will be useful. No matter from where it comes."

Leonardo remained where he stood. Unsure. Immobilized by indecision. Donatello's eye twitched. Once again, Leonardo, their leader, was inept. He didn't have time for this.

"Are you nuts?!" Raph roared at Donatello and he merely stared at him. Raphael climbed to his feet, rubbing his arm where the staff had connected, even in the dim light, the large bruise could be seen darkening across his green flesh.

Donatello shot them both a look that had Raphael snapping his mouth shut and Leo blinking and dropping his gaze. He then spun on his heel and marched over to Karai. He stopped a few inches away from her. His dark eyes scanned her face, searching for something, she didn't know what. He murmured the number under his breath, pausing as she entered it into her phone.

"I don't need to tell you what will happen if you let that number slip to anyone else before our brother is discovered. Or if you attempt to track it." The ends of the words 'track' and 'it' were crisp and annunciated to a painful clarity.

She shook her head.

He remained there, unmoving. His eyes bore into hers as he stood assessing her with a fathomless gaze. He continued like that for a few more minutes and Karai squirmed where she stood, feeling more and more like a specimen being examined and dissected. There was something strange about this one. His sharp intellect was clearly defined behind the dark eyes hidden only partially by a purple mask. Even the color itself suggested mystery and cunning. Karai wasn't sure why the thought popped into her mind but she was reminded of some of the people they had in research and development. Minds ahead of their time, working at unimaginable programs, all of them had eyes that didn't look so much at you as through you. As though by looking at you they could read the intrinsic code of your DNA and decipher its worth with a moment's glance.

Finally he said in a calm voice that chilled her more than the air around her, "Contact us moment you hear anything. Understood?"

She couldn't find her voice so she only nodded. Then stood by frozen in place as Donatello turned. The ends of his long coat billowed around him as he gathered his brothers and they disappeared into the snow. She caught a momentary backwards glance by Leonardo and her heart jumped into her throat.

He looked back.

He still cared, she was certain. But the thought, as comforting as it should have been did little to calm her frightened, skittering heart. Karai brought one hand to her throat and for some reason felt as though she had come very close to something more dangerous than she'd ever been before.


Malcolm carried Kenso's body out to the cemetery. As he trudged through the slushy snow, he hummed his favorite tune, Dream Lover. Despite his socks becoming soaked through from the icy snow, he was in a wonderful mood. He had been given the chance to prove his devotion and love for Mikey in the most amazing of ways. He was his rescuer! His knight in shining armor! Malcolm chuckled. His heart was light as he slung the body out from the bridal hold into the open grave at the very edge of a scrub of woods on the furthest most edge of the property line.

Here there were many open graves, left that way for the Foot to use as hiding holes for weapons, or whatever else they needed to stash for any short period of time. It was simple. It was clean. It was a fine way to stash something you didn't want anyone to find at least for a while. Malcolm stared down into the depths where Kenso's body lay. He smiled. Kenso really paid off in a way that Malcolm never dreamed he would. The guy was a constant source of irritation. And now he was gone. Forever.

He'd come back and set the body on fire, but he'd do that later. There was no rush. The Foot owned all this property. There was only the slightest chance that a homeless person may wander through here, but that chance was slim at best. Mostly they stayed close to the docks if anywhere. Still, Malcolm threw a pile of branches and stones on top of the body for added coverage. The cold would keep the smell at a minimum for the time being as well.

He turned back towards the house. What was more pressing was the fact of Kenso's disappearance. Malcolm needed to consider that he may have been sent here to spy on him. But why? No one suspected him of any wrong doing. Why would anyone be interested in what he'd been up to? Malcolm shook his head. It made no sense. No. More likely, the man was out to set him up for some kind of prank or immature hazing type of scenario. It wouldn't be the first time. Malcolm ground his teeth together. Ever since he'd been assigned to the slut's regiment, he'd been the butt of jokes and the imagination of his tormentors seemed to know no bounds. It had to be a fluke that Kenso decided to investigate the shelter in the yard. Maybe he was planning on using it in some way in conjunction with whatever wicked little pratfall he was planning. Probably meant to surprise him by hiding inside there or something. A giggle burst from Malcolm. Well, he certainly got a surprise, didn't he?

"It's nothing," Malcolm reassured himself.

Though he had to make sure he kept his story straight should he be questioned about Kenso's whereabouts. No one would ever suspect mousey, sweet, mumbling Malcolm to have anything to do with an officer's disappearance. Not someone as high ranking and close to their little slut leader. Everyone dismissed him as a helpless, frail little nothing. He huffed and shrugged. The Foot was a dangerous organization to belong to. Enemies were always about. Men disappeared and were never seen from again. Often it was the Purple Dragons, but sometimes it was the nature of the missions in and of themselves. Let them think whatever they wanted. Nothing mattered except his lover. He stood at the edge of the property and gazed upon the double doors leading to his Mikey. Time for some much deserved fun.

"Your hero is coming, Dream Lover," Malcolm murmured and skipped through the snow towards the doors.


Lost in his despair, Mikey's head was spinning and his heart wouldn't stop beating like he was running a race. It was hard to breathe, each inhale and exhale were with a forced effort. A part of his mind remaining clear and free from the haze of pain and fright, the doubt and self-pity. It continued to shriek at him to make an escape. To go while Malcolm was busy disposing of the body. That he was wasting precious time. Now was his best chance. He had to escape. Now! Hurry!

"HOW?!" Mikey shouted hoarsely into the wall and slammed the side of his fist into the stone.

He clawed at the collar around his neck with sticky, shaking fingers coated in thick syrup-like blood. His injured arm stung and ached with the movement, sending fresh amounts of blood to cascade down to his elbow where it dripped onto his thigh. The flesh of his hands stuck against the metal as he pulled away in frustration. The blood making everything feel tacky. The chains rattled. The cheerful tinkling sound a mockery to his ears. His earlier dark thoughts of his family weighed down on him like a thick blanket of despair.

Break the chain, dumbass, a voice that sounded like Raph's seemed to come from outside his head and he started. His eyes snapped open and darted around. For a second he thought they had come. They loved him! He knew it! His brothers were here; they had finally found him and had come to take him home. His galloping heart leapt into his throat with hopeful fright. But as his eyes strained in the gloom, he found himself alone. His heart plummeted with disappointment and confusion. But he thought . . . he could have sworn he heard his voice . . .

"Raph," he whispered, eyes still searching, still not believing he just imagined the voice. It sounded so real. So clear.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out the rounded shape of the other one's head, looming like a partially deflated balloon just across the room. He could feel the eyes on him. His skin crawled with repulsion and a wave of irrational terror swept through him. He swallowed dryly and pinched his eyes shut.

It can't hurt me. It isn't even there, he thought in a desperate attempt to keep the fright and panic from overtaking him.

He shifted on his throbbing bottom and gazed over his shoulder to the wall above his head. He turned and with one hand, he gripped the chain. He braced both feet against the wall but that put pressure onto his tail and immediately a bolt of pain raced up his spine. He jerked and dropped his legs with a hiss of pain. The doors opened and he jumped and scrambled back into the corner.

"No, no, no," he started to babble, unable to stop himself as his body began to quiver and shake.

Malcolm's singing carried down to him, ". . . to call my own, I wanna dream lover, so I don't have to dream alone . . . Please don't make me dream alone . . ."

Mikey covered his ears with the heels of his sticky hands and closed his eyes. "Please no. Please," he whispered.

The stairs creaked and Malcolm stopped singing. "Aw, you look so cute all curled up like that." Malcolm looked around. He wrinkled his nose at the large puddle of blood left from where he'd torn into Kenso's body. The coppery stench of blood was enough to make him cover his mouth and nose with one hand. "Ugh. Let's get you cleaned up." Malcolm looked at the tub then at Kenso's head. He smirked and wagged a finger at it. "Ah, ah. No peeking," he said with a chuckle and climbed up onto the mattress.

Mikey felt the shifting weight of Malcolm's body as he came closer. He laid a hand on Mikey's shoulder and Mikey cried out and cramped himself into a tighter ball.

Malcolm's voice was close to his ear, "Now, now. Relax," he said, then gasped. "Mikey! You're hurt!"

He grabbed at Michelangelo's sliced arm and Mikey quailed at the man's touch. He knew being around Malcolm would be hard after watching him rip apart the ninja, and having been raped by the man, but he didn't anticipate how terrified he would feel with the man so close to him. How weak and vulnerable he would feel. Helpless. Like a sick child. It was only after the chains rattled and fell away that Mikey realized that Malcolm had undone the collar around his throat.

"C'mon, sweetheart, let's get you into the house," Malcolm purred and helped Mikey to stand on legs that made of jelly. He could barely stand, he was so very tired and weak.

Run! Run now! Mikey, Run! The voice shrieked in his mind, but Mikey could only lean on Malcolm as he helped him up the stairs, each step a stumbling effort through weakness and terrible pain. Each fumbling movement forward encouraged with soft words and gentle support. The voice pleaded and begged, cursed and shrieked in Mikey's mind, but all Mikey could focus on was the tender way that he was being supported; soaking in and believing every utterance of Malcolm's promised safety and care. Malcolm's steady murmuring was like a hypnotic rhythm of soothing nonsense. But it lulled his mind enough to ignore the spears of pain he felt with each step.

"I'm going to clean you all up, wash off all that icky blood and get your arm all bandaged really good. I'll get you something for the pain, too. I have some pills that will take it all away. Aw, it hurts? I can tell you're hurting by the way you're panting like that. It'll be okay. I swore I'd take good care of you, remember? I love you, Mikey. Aw, I love you so much. You're the most wonderful thing in the world to me, you know that. Oh, here, put your arm like this over my shoulders. There, that's better. I'm here for you, Mikey. I'll always be here.

He knew he should be trying to escape. That now was his best chance yet, but . . . he was so tired; so weak he could barely carry his own weight. His head swam with the lingering effects of the drugs in his system and the dizziness made him lean into Malcolm's body. Through the snow they moved and Mikey allowed Malcolm to lead him up the short flight of stairs and into the house. The front door clicked quietly closed behind them.


A/N: Mikey is breaking. Thoughts? Rants? C'mon tell me all about it.

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