Word: Suffering

Heavy trigger warnings for dark stuff ahead- survivor's guilt, kidnapping, implied violence/torture/abuse, panic attack, feelings of self-guilt, and just general dark stuff :P Stay safe reading ahead!

1k words

"What…?"

His voice was so quiet, you could barely hear the word, emotions badly concealed.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Cavendish's grip on his knees tightened. His heart beat harder, frightened. It couldn't be true.

"We haven't been able to locate the men you've described. Patrols are currently searching, but for the moment-"

"No!" Cavendish jumped out of his seat, the chair falling back onto the floor, loudly, but he didn't notice it. He was too busy wiping away the insistent tears that wouldn't leave him alone. "You can't just...give up!"

"Sir, please calm down. We are not giving up, I'm simply stating that we currently have been unable to locate the assailants at this time-"

"But-! You have to find them! He- he could be tortured more, or, or...or dead…" The realization hit Cavendish full force, and he dropped his head, wide eyes tracking the carpet. He vaguely felt a hand on his shoulder, leading him back on the seat that he'd just overturned. A cup of water was pressed firmly into his palm, and a tissue into his other one. In robotic movements, he drank the water, wiped his eyes and blew his nose with the tissue, letting them rest on his lap.

" ?"

He looked up, suddenly feeling exhausted. The Detective looked at him with sympathetic eyes, something that Cavendish found himself hating.

"I can assure you, we are trying our very best to find those that kidnapped you and your partner, and we are trying very hard to locate . Right now, I suggest you go home and get some rest. If you have friends or family, inform them of your well-being."

You look like you might self-harm. Stay with someone at all times.

The Detective didn't say that, no, but Cavendish knew that's what his words meant. He might not be good with social cues, but it was hard to forget a cue he's learned throughout his years.

Silently, Cavendish stood up, and shuffled towards the exit. Instinct stemming from childhood was the only reason he threw a weak, "Thank you, Detective" over his shoulder. He hardly recognized the walk home, letting his legs start and stop as they needed. He felt like an outsider, watching as his arms moved on their own accord as they placed the key within the door, turning it until it opened. His body only stopped moving automatically when he stepped inside and closed the door.

Because there was no instinct to raise his arms anymore, to hug the ball of excitement that would always jump into his arms whenever he came home, place a hello kiss to his lips. There was no excited question on how his trip was, or a squeeze of his hand. No loud laughter if it was good, or gentle smile and offer of tea if it was bad. No...him.

Dakota wasn't there.

Dakota wasn't there.

A hand rose to quiet the sob that escaped as he sunk to his knees, heart twisting, voice screaming, screaming, until his throat was raw, his head threw back to hit the door, hand hitting his leg, the other squeezing the fabric almost painfully but he didn't notice, couldn't notice, where was Dakota?!

Another wail escaped his lips, swears and begged pleas as his lungs felt too small, too big, he couldn't breath, please stop scratching, stop scratching his throat, he couldn't breath.

And he did, then, took a desperately deep breath, one that got stuck in his chest as he wheezed, throwing himself forward and back again, crying out for him.

And it stayed like that, a horrible, horrible suffering, as he screamed and cried and begged, until he was too exhausted to move his arm, his limbs heavy and too much to care for. Until he let his head rest against the wooden door, the back hurting from throwing it against the hard door, and a massive headache pressing into him that made him wince. His throat was raw, painful, inside and out, and he was sure that there were horrible claw marks where he scratched his throat, his arms, his legs, his stomach.

He whimpered, but it wasn't for his pain. He didn't care. Exhausted and in pain, from these new injuries as well as the old ones sustained during the kidnapping, burned and hurt, but he didn't care about them.

No, he just cared about him.

God, Cavendish thought he was going to lose his mind when he realized that Dakota was nowhere to be found when he escaped.

When he ran from the kidnappers, desperately searching each and every room he could in the converted warehouse, twice over, before gunshots forced him to run.

Why had he run?

God, why did he run?! He should have stayed, he should have stayed and found him, even if it meant he'd be captured again, he should have found him, no matter what.

"Vinnie…" Cavendish sobbed, and his right hand somehow found the energy to grasp his left bicep tightly as a fresh set of tears and sobs ravaged his raw throat and pounding headache.

He should have stayed. It was his fault. It was his fucking fault that he wasn't here right now!

They were tortured, beaten, abused, starved, and Cavendish left him there.

What the fuck was wrong with him?!

"Fuck, Vincent, I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry, I never should have...I- I sh...shouldn't…"

He threw his head back, a horrible sound escaping him, voicing his suffering.

"I shouldn't be here…"

He hiccupped, curling in on himself, forcing himself to believe that he was still alive, that he wasn't dead, that he was just taken from where Cavendish was, before he searched, that's why the warehouse was abandoned when he brought the police there, he was still alive, please.

His throat hitched, another attack just on the edge, and though his throat was raw, he still screamed, sobbing, begging, uttering his guilt, his fear, his suffering.

"Vinnie, I'm sorry! I'm so fucking sorry, I shouldn't be here…I shouldn't be here…"

That was a bit darker than my usual uploaded stuff ._. Hopefully, it wasn't too bad, I tried to keep it somewhat vague with it only being implied and not with flashbacks or the like, because I didn't want to unintentionally hurt anyone. Hopefully, you enjoyed the story regardless though, and if you could, please leave a review or a piece of constructive criticism, I would strongly appreciate it! Have a remarkable morning/afternoon/evening/night and get more than your usual amount of sleep tonight, or take a nap!