As soon as the doors open, they prepare to attack. They are perfectly aware of how futile this will probably be, but they have to try anyways. The alternative, docilely waiting for these… these monsters to just come and collect them for more painful experiments, is unacceptable.

So Lincoln fires up electric blasts as best as his weak body will allow, and when they see the strange creatures in their cloaks of humanized forms, he shoots bolts of crackling static at them until his body is shaking so badly again that he can only watch passively as Ward continues their attack in his own way: with his body ramming into their captors, trying to pummel them, until they lie in heaps on the ground.

Lincoln is too out of it, too weak to quite comprehend as he sees his companion in action. It's as if this is not his life at all, he is just watching from very far away.

But suddenly, he feels Ward pull at him, sees his mouth move as the guy is saying something that he can't hear with his butchered ear, but he stumbles after the other man anyway, staring back at the now flickering forms of the aliens as they rush past them.


They don't make it very far. Grant has just allowed himself to hope they can make it, has just spotted a large gate of some sort that he tries to get to, still tugging hard at Lincoln as he runs, when out of nowhere, a searing pain shoots into his body, and the next thing he knows, he crumples down on the ground, staring at Lincoln falling right next to him before his chin connects harshly with the cold floor and the darkness of unconsciousness erases the world around him.

...

When he comes to, he knows immediately where he is. Back on the examining table, or gurney, or whatever you want to call it. He is wearing the same scrub-like clothes he has worn before, just a different color, white.

He closes his eyes and tries to take a calming breath. Despair is hovering at the edges of his conscience, and he has to fight it down or he will not ever get out of that horrible feeling or this horrible place. He needs to keep his spirits up.

But how, when all he sees is the eerie white of the ceiling and walls of that vast room they tortured him in before, a room so seamless that his eyes can't find anything to occupy themselves with besides the beeping monitor recording the fluctuations in his heartbeat when these… things practice their torture skills on him.

He almost laughs when they do. In fact, when they begin tearing out his toenails and fingernails, he does catch himself chuckling like an insane man, because, come on, the irony is just a little too obvious.

The tortured soul becomes the torturer only to become the tortured one once again. It's like he's come full circle. Karma is, indeed, a bitch.

Is this it, then? Is this "Ward dies at the end?" An endless loop of pain until there will be nothing left of him and he dies a forgotten death, because to the world, he is dead already.

No. He's not willing to accept that. He doesn't break easily, he won't do it now. He survived so much, he will survive this too. They'll just have to hone their plan and then...

That is easier said than done.

He must have passed out at some point during their treatment, because when he opens his eyes again, his hands and feet are pulsing with pain, but the brightness of the glaring walls is gone and he finds himself in his cell. No, not his cell. He slowly pushes himself up on his elbows and looks around in confusion, assessing the situation.

This cell is way smaller. Way way smaller. Just a bed and a toilet and a sink, no fancy half walled off privacy this time around, because he notices he won't need it here.

He doesn't have a companion anymore. Lincoln is somewhere else. The realization sends an unexpected spark of panic down his spine, something he doesn't even quite understand because he's been a lone wolf for so long now that he forgot he actually craves human interactions.

That kid has really grown on him, hasn't he? Grant chuckles humorlessly to himself. It's a whole new level of torture for him. Being alone when he's gotten used to company...

Great. Now he'll have to find his way out of here alone, maybe find Lincoln on the way, because if they want a real chance, they still need each other. He can't take them all on by himself.

(He doesn't want to be alone in this…)



It is surprising how resilient these humans are. The older one, the one that had a larva of some form hugging his cerebral cortex, seems to be especially sturdy, even after they extricated the thing that made him so strong.

Sadly, the organism died when it tried to find a new home in one of them, so they couldn't study it properly, but these human specimen are interesting on their own.

It's hard to understand the man that used to be just a shell, a house. They have a hard time making sense of him. They needed a while to get his system functioning again, repairing his body, restoring his brain activity, filtering his memories. But in the end they succeeded, they brought him back, and what they learned confuses them.

This man has survived a lot. But will he survive what they have in store for him? They want him to be resilient, because maybe they can use him again, like the Inhuman larva used him, a carrier of their most powerful weapon against humanity, and against the Kree, those idiots that botched their job of creating powerful weapons so horribly.

As evidenced not only in the larva's - their creatures' god - too easy death, but also in what they find through examining one of said weapons thoroughly.

While they don't understand yet how these strange powers are created and how they work, they are pretty sure they'll find a way to inhibit them - or maybe even remotely turn against the ones wielding them.

Like bombs of sorts, activated from a distance to aid in taking over this new lush planet so that they can finally live above ground again, not miles under rock on their forsaken home planet.

They will just have to find a different means than the corrobo worms, since clearly, their subjects had a too easy time extracting those. Something more permanent then, faster acting, perhaps. Or embedded where it can't as easily be taken out…



The noise is unbearable. He can only hear it with one ear of course, but it's enough. Can't it stop? Can't it please stop?

Stoooooop!

When Lincoln wakes up, his good ear is still ringing with the echo of that horrible noise that he now realizes came from a drill of sorts, something sharp they used to drill straight into his poor hands, probably in order to see whether he could still shoot electricity out of them once they were done.

He could.

He vaguely remembers doing it. At the height of it all, the pain, the noise, the desperation, electricity was finding its way out of him as if of its own accord, the power surging through him involuntarily, tearing at the raw edges of his broken skin and bones. He couldn't stop it, even though it was agony.

Their crooked humanized faces looked interested, fascinated even, but what he remembers most is Grant Ward, lying just a few feet away from him and imploring him.

"Look at me, kid. Look at me…"

The voice was all he could cling to in order to stay sane, in order to survive. It's why he is still here. He scoffs very softly, the small sound making him flinch because it rips at his sore throat, the pain everywhere now, a part of him.

Very slowly, he moves his head to the side, finding that his arms are secured by his sides, thick straps across his wrists and upper body, another one across his hips and legs, and ankles. He can't move an inch, or the band around his neck cuts off his air supply.

This is even worse than before. Losing hope, he closes his eyes again, all fight leaving him before he can get it to a level that would have made him strain against his binds.


As the days pass, Lincoln Campbell shuts down. There is no way for him to fight when the straps are never released, but somewhere deep deep down, a smidgen of fight remains, lying dormant, waiting until the day they will loosen the binds for whatever reason, waiting for them to think he's given up completely and for them to get lax about the way they treat him, while just a few feet away, Grant Ward is doing the same, spending his days trying to remain sane, trying to weather the abuse to his body and mind.

...

"On the plus side I'm not as alone as I first thought," Grant jokingly informs Lincoln one day, earning himself a confused glare. He can't exactly shrug, but he tries to anyways, his grin widening when he sees the younger man's blank face. "At first I thought they'd keep us isolated from each other, you know, with the new cells. Thought they'd let us go insane, starved for any and all human contact?"

Lincoln clenches his jaw. "Yeah. Not sure which I would have preferred," he states drily and Grant chuckles.

"Not a fan of my company?"

"I don't know. Anyone but you, maybe? I mean, really? Of all the people to be trapped in hell with, I get to be stuck with the guy that tortured and manipulated all of the few people I have left that I care about?" Lincoln hisses in pain when a chuckle tears at his vocal cords too much, and Grant finds himself telling him, "Easy, kid," even though that "kid" just insulted him. He sighs, closing his eyes as he turns his head away from Lincoln.

"Who would have thought indeed," he whispers, smiling to himself, then pausing, contemplating. "You shouldn't even be here," he eventually surmises. "In hell, I mean. That place is not for you. It's for people like me. I deserve this, but you?" He sighs, looking over to the other man again when he doesn't get a reply, not even a scoff.

There is no bodily tension visible in the other man, his head lolling to the side as much as the binds allow. He's unconscious, the one solace they still have: a moment of peace when their bodies give out.

If only he could have a moment like that, too.


The yells and screams become part of Ward's world, not just his own, but Lincoln's, too. What they're doing to the kid, it angers him beyond reason.

Cutting open his arms as if they're trying to carve out the trail the electricity is following; shocking him with electricity until his heart stops as if trying to gauge whether electricity will fight electricity or boost it up.

Strangely, Grant has found himself imploring the kid to hang on, but also telling him about his sad past, all the things that went wrong in his life, about Skye, too, and the plans he has for when they make it back home.

He puts as much conviction into his tone as he possibly can, almost as much to convince himself as Lincoln, because they both need something to believe in, something to keep them from giving up completely.

Another loud yell, and for a moment, he doesn't even know whether it was him or the kid. That happens sometimes. Usually Grant gets his "treatment" once they're done with Lincoln, as if they want to focus solely on one person at a time. But every so often, he finds himself screaming in agony alongside his Inhuman companion, their tormentors rushing through their experiments as if they're a little behind timewise and have to pick up the slack.

Right now, though, the screams are only the kid's. His arms are wide open, the electricity crackling inside like blueish veins, and his whole body begins shaking as Ward looks on in horror.

"Come on, kid," he croaks, his voice hoarse from his own previous torments, and he tries to get the other man's attention, somehow, just to get him out of his head, out of the all encompassing pain, and back here, into the too bright room, with Grant.

"Lincoln. Listen to my voice. Hang in there. Come on, kid. Stay here…"

He doesn't really know what to say so he just rambles on, empty cajoling words as the shaking over on the other examining table continues, the aliens all studiously staring from their test subject to their little tablets then back at the monitors.

It seems to be going on forever. Until an eerie silence replaces the yells, and then… a loud monotonous beeping from one of the monitors, indicating a flatline.

No.

Grant barely notices his breathing picking up, his nostrils flaring as something in him snaps.

"Do something!" he yells at their captors. "Fucking do something! Bring him back!" His fists clenched, he strains against his binds until they cut unpleasantly into his flesh, where they have already badly chafed the skin. Not that he cares. He can barely feel it; there's other things, worse things causing him pain. (Like that broken knee cap, or the cuts in the soles of his feet meant to prevent him from running away again… But he doesn't allow himself to dwell on that either.)

They cannot let Campbell die. Not after everything. There's gotta be some rhyme and reason behind their atrocious doings, a plan, something that involves him and Lincoln staying alive, because why else would they even bother?

He has to tell himself that because the alternative - that this is all just so that some creepy-ass aliens can get off on torture porn - is too much to bear.

"Lincoln! Linc! Come on, kid! You can't die! You can't…" leave me alone, he wants to say, so out of character for him and yet exactly what he feels right now, but the words get choked off as one of their captors comes over to look at him curiously, waving a dismissive hand at his quietly chattering comrades.

"Grant Ward is upset," it says with a gnarly nasal voice that doesn't sound very human at all, and the inflectionless tone makes Ward irate.

"Hell yeah, I am!" he snarls, then spits at the thing, but doesn't get much of a reaction.

"About Lincoln Campbell's condition."

"Condition?! He's freaking dying!" Ward is livid. And so horribly powerless. The strains bite into his flesh mercilessly.

"Interesting," the alien says and Grant wants to punch something.

"Resuscitate him, goddammit," he finally hisses, and the alien cocks its head, watching him as he seethes helplessly.

"Yes," it says. Cold, clinical. Then it turns around, back to the other table, and not a moment later, a massive shock rakes through the kid's body, a crude defibrillator of sorts having been placed on his naked chest, and after another few rounds, Ward finally hears a gasp of breath, before the beeping finally ceases, is replaced with a heart rhythm, before it is quiet once more.

He allows himself to take a deep breath, only now noticing how much he is shaking, his limbs exhausted and spent from the involuntary tremors of his muscles.

Lincoln is back, still alive, if barely, and Grant Ward is not completely alone.

This can't go on. Or he soon will be…


Soon, they notice a certain pattern. There'll be a couple of days of extensive testing, torture, pain, then a week or so of "recess", time for their bodies to recuperate until the next round.

While Ward hates to be alone, the weeks where they leave him in his cell are admittedly soothing. But he misses company, and the loneliness is enough for him to almost be relieved when they finally come to get him again, to bring him into the hated examining room, where he gets to see his brother-in-hell.

Lincoln winks at him when he is wheeled in yet again, an almost grin on his features that is shadowed by the deep circles under his eyes and the thick bandages around his arms, and hands.

There is never enough time for them to truly heal. Not from what they have to endure.

...

But then one day, Grant catches Lincoln trying to use his electricity against himself again, and he snaps out of it, for the kid's sake, maybe even for Skye's more than his own, and he talks the younger man into making plans again once more. Plans for something happening soon. As in, days away, all or nothing. Because they need hope, Lincoln needs hope, or he won't survive this much longer. Neither of them will.

By then, Ward has picked up quite a few details about their captors, has discerned small patterns. He is better trained, a spy, someone with an eye for things that others don't pick up on. Like the fact that they usually are alone for ten to fifteen minutes after being wheeled back into the room, and before the first round of treatment starts.

Those ten to fifteen minutes will have to be their window. Their way out. Their last hope.

After his first stunt with the spoon, the aliens got more careful, always making sure he doesn't keep anything from them. But they didn't count his teeth…

He flinches briefly at the memory of forcing one of his canines out, but there's no time for reminiscing. He's had a few weeks to perfect this, and it has to work now. Once his captors come to bring him to the room, he is ready. As soon as they restrain him, he moves his hand until he can reach the strap binding it down. Using his tooth, he begins the tedious task of sawing through the material.

By the time he sees Lincoln again, he has almost gotten his arm free. The aliens leave them both alone as per usual, and Grant perks up immediately, giving his task his all. He doesn't have much time. This has to work.

Hurrying, he manages to cut through the last piece of restraint until it snaps back and he can move his arm freely. Exchanging a glance with Lincoln, he quickly uses his new freedom to open the rest of his binds, then lets himself fall off the gurney with a harsh thud, briefly cursing before gathering his bearings and starting to crawls over to his companion.

They don't speak a single word through all of it. Eye contact has to function as their only means of communication because they can't risk being detected prematurely.

They only have this one chance. No matter what happens, it will be their last. Grant knows this, so he tries to rush, getting to his cut feet and wincing slightly as he does. Closing his eyes for a split second, he focuses, limping through the pain.

Right now, they don't have the luxury of allowing themselves to let pain rule their bodies or their minds. All that counts is getting out. They can break down after. If they make it.

Touching Lincoln's bandaged arm sends a peculiar sensation down his own, almost like some lingering electricity, yet slightly different.

Somewhere in the corner of his mind he realizes that he hasn't touched another human being for months. Not since extricating that worm from the kid's ear.

His fingers with their raw tips work surprisingly efficiently at getting the Inhuman out of his restraints now, and soon, Grant finds himself helping the other man off the gurney and onto his feet.

Lincoln falls heavily against him, unable to control it, his body too weak and abused to stand without help, and Ward makes a face as his own battered body tries to keep up with the added weight.

Old Ward might have left the kid behind. He can feel it like a forbidden urge still inside of him. But it's not strong enough to surface, and besides, he won't allow it to overcome him again. Not this time.

The kid will get out of here with him, or they both won't make it. Maybe it's his way of paying off some of his past debts, though it's arguable that it'll influence the balance enough to tip the scales.

Redemption for Grant Ward? He almost chuckles at the thought.

Not gonna happen.

"Come on, kid," he eventually whispers against Lincoln's ear. Then he pulls the younger one's arm over his shoulders and walks them both closer to the large sliding door on the other side of the room, so damn far from the examining stations that he grimaces.

They'll have to try and make it through there and then out of the hallway in less than four minutes.

"Leave me here," Lincoln suddenly breathes, as if he can sense Grant's thoughts. The kid's weight is heavy against his exhausted body, but he manages to pull him up a little higher anyways, shaking his head briefly as he does.

"No," he presses out between gritted teeth, barely hearing Lincoln's weak protests.

"I'll slow you down, I can…" His voice ebbs away, and Grant decides not to use up more energy to convince his companion with more words, instead simply pulling him further, until they reach the doors. He fumbles with a few buttons before a loud whoosh makes him flinch as the doors open wide, presenting the wide white glaring hallway that awaits them now.

"We gotta look for an opening to the vents or a door to a staircase. I heard them say something about this being an underground facility," Ward muses, dragging Campbell on, but he doesn't actually count on the kid helping him.

Lincoln is right. Grant would have a better chance on his own. But.

Yeah, but what exactly? He hasn't even been this nice to Fitz, and there was a time when he had felt like the smartest kid he knew on this planet was something like a little brother to him.

He scoffs at himself. Part of him is almost annoyed at the fact that life after Hive has made him so… soft.

On the other hand…

"I can't…" Lincoln is heaving, looking up at him miserably, and Grant comes out of his thoughts with a jolt.

"I don't think Skye… Daisy," he corrects himself with a grin, "has ever gone for the weak and meek type. So you better pull yourself together, or you won't even get a chance with her if we do make it out of here."

He gives the other man a stern look, almost slipping into a smile when he sees the scowl on Lincoln's features, before he can feel the guy actively force himself to keep going. Good, he thinks, his little pep talk worked.

They hobble into the hallway, searching wild eyed for a way to hide, and when Ward eventually sees a small vent to the right, he breathes a small breath of relief. Thankfully, the cover opens easily and noiselessly. A little bit of much needed luck after all they've been through.

He shoves Lincoln forward first, helping him into the narrow vent, then follows quickly after, and just in time because right as he is trying to put the cover back in place, they both hear noises coming closer.

Their captors are on their way back. Soon, they'll know that he and Lincoln escaped, and they'll come looking for them. His hands holding the cover freeze. He is completely unaware that he is shaking, until he feels the other man's gentle touch on his shoulder, hears a soft whispered, "Hey…"

He whips his head around to look at Lincoln for a second, then manages to pull himself together and closes the vent.

Go, he mouthes, following quickly after as the other man leads the way, crawling through the dark vents with no idea where they're even headed.

Hopefully out. One thing is certain, at the end of this trip they'll either find a way out of this maze, or death.

Both options are better than staying. Anything is better than that.



They are gone. The subjects managed to escape their confinement but they can't have gotten far.

This is not good. They've made so much progress. They were almost ready to activate the symbiotic components they implanted, carefully crafted for their new task, and now…

If they don't hurry, if they don't catch them before the subjects reach the top, it could be over before it has really begun.

No, not over. Delayed, however. And delayed is bad enough…



Daisy smiles at Coulson, at May, Mack, Yo-Yo, Jemma and Fitz, allowing herself to finally feel at home again.

Fitz was angry with her, understandably so, but he got over it quickly. And Jemma, Jemma understands.

After they all got out of the Framework, Jemma is the one to understand Daisy's awkward all over the place feelings, for a Ward-that-could-have-been, for a Lincoln she wanted so bad to be resurrected, but chose not to. For possibilities taken away from her.

Loneliness has been her constant companion ever since she was little, and sometimes it's hard to remember that she doesn't have to be alone anymore.

"Grief doesn't go away, Daisy," Jemma was wisely telling her once, after it all, smiling at her sadly, and she was glad to feel her friend's hand on her own, gripping it reassuringly. "It doesn't ever fully heal. It will scab over, however, the pain will become more manageable, sometimes almost forgotten. Until you pick at it again, and the scab comes off in places, bringing back the pain."

Daisy tries to smile at her friend. The words sound wise and true, oh so true. Her grief is still strong, though, the scab too thin. There was a time when she thought she'd never find a good guy, one that is true to her and doesn't betray her trust.

Then she found Lincoln, someone who understood her, who was Inhuman like her, who was honest, kind. He had his faults and dark past, he wasn't perfect, either, but he never betrayed her. He told her he loved her, and she never got to say it back, never got to say goodbye either, before she lost him.

Screw grief, she thinks now, shaking her head to get strands of her dark hair out of her face, and she tries to smile at Coulson once more.

"So, what's with that alien residue you found?"

Phil nods, smiling a sad kind of smile, a worried smile. In turn, Daisy feels herself stiffen, a frown creasing her brow. If Coulson is worried, it's never a good sign. "We got alerted to it after the… wreck got detected in the ocean."

The wreck. Daisy knows what he means.

It's a bit unlike Coulson to be so vague about it, but she doesn't mind. Nodding, she places her elbow on the table, her hand on her chin, holding her head upright like that.

"Okay. So…?"

Phil swallows. His lips form a thin line as he sighs through his nose. "There's something you should probably see…"

When she stands in front of it, she doesn't know what to think. The wreck is not a wreck at all, but almost looks intact.

It can't be. They all saw the explosion, the ball of fire expanding silently into the width of the universe. She saw it, dammit. She saw it.

"What the hell, Coulson?! What does that even mean?! Is Hive…" She feels her voice begin to shake alongside her limbs. Coulson gently touches her shoulder, pulls her closer. She wants to fight it, and yet she craves it: his soothing touch.

This can't be.

"We don't know anything for certain. But after a first scan, FitzSimmons believe that they might have made it out of there alive…"

The monster might not be dead yet. And her boyfriend…?



The vents are so narrow that Lincoln has to fight a growing sense of claustrophobia. He can't die in these freaking things, caged in between walls of cool metal, with only Grant Ward for company.

Could be worse, though, could be Hive. In fact, if he's being honest, he has grown to like the man, almost like a big brother. He's been kind to him, he's watched out for him...

...

When they reach yet another sort of intersection, where the vents widen in such a way that they can sit up for a moment, he lets himself slump against one of the sides, trying to catch his breath. His arms feel like they are on fire, the incisions burning as if they are tinged with acid or poison or god knows what. His whole body is sore, and he doesn't think he will last for much longer.

"I'm done."

He doesn't have the energy to say anything else, doesn't even care that Ward looks at him with what seems to be contempt or disappointment.

"You can't give up now. We have to keep going," the older man says quietly, and even though his tone was level and not hostile at all, Lincoln feels the urge to defend himself, to lash out.

"I can't, okay?! You're right. I'm not good enough for her. I'm not good enough... She deserves so much more, Daisy... And I..." His voice breaks. "I can't fight anymore. I want to, but I… I just can't…" To his horror, he starts sobbing. He hasn't really cried much during their ordeal, in all these months, but now he's breaking down? Feeling Grant Ward's dark eyes trained on him, he averts his face and tries to bury it in his hands, tries to pull himself together and fails.

He doesn't know when exactly it happens, or how, but at some point he ends up with his face pressed against Ward's shoulder, the older man's arms gently wrapped around him. There is no ridicule, no shaming, just unadulterated compassion in Grant's gesture, and eventually, Lincoln quiets down again.


...

It takes a while before they continue on their arduous uncertain journey, Ward now taking the lead. He gives Lincoln an almost cajoling look and one more pat on the back, but aside from that he doesn't acknowledge the breakdown anymore, and Lincoln is grateful for that.

He suspects that the man gave him an extra hour or so of rest afterward and he is thankful for that, too, even though an hour is nowhere near enough time for either of them to recuperate. But they have to keep going if they want to have a chance, they'll have to function a little while longer.

And they do.

...

The vents seem to be a never ending labyrinth for the longest time. The only hint they have that they might be getting somewhere is the fact that it keeps going slightly upward. As if they're climbing up a hill. Lincoln feels his body grow tired and his mind going numb. He keeps going anyways, almost automatically, until suddenly, Grant holds up a hand in a silencing gesture, then points over to where their path narrows even more.

Lincoln stops and squints at him in disappointment, but his companion shakes his head, then points again. His eyes are gleaming strangely in the dark. Excitement is written in them, and promise.

Lincoln tries to see what the other man is seeing. Crawling even closer, his wrists ready to give out, his arms shaking with the effort, he eventually sees it, too: a strange light seeping in from somewhere, reddish, pulsating.

They found the exit.

Before he has time to say anything, wonder aloud what will await them out there, whether it's safe, Ward is already almost at the red lighting, and Lincoln tries hurrying after him as quick as possible, which is not very fast at all.

By the time he makes it, Ward is looking back at him from the other side of the now open cover, triumph written on his features as he peeks back into the tunnel of the vents.

"Come on," he whispers, "you need to see this." He extends a hand, then pulls Lincoln out the last few feet and what he sees next, makes him stare in awe. He almost forgets to breathe until Grant's hand lands on his shoulder with a bit too much force and he almost buckles under it, before the man pulls him into an unexpected hug.

"We're going home, kid. We are going home…"