Illusive
Part 1 of 2
Warning(s): Slightly Referenced Infantilism, Diapering of an Adult, Urinating, Psychological Abuse, etc.
Description: Secretive AU. What happened to Agent Washington after Project Freelancer fell apart? Even in this universe, it's rare that anyone remembers him until it's too late. It takes a great spirit to heal, and an even greater one to remember who they were before they were broken. Agent Washington is nothing like he used to be, but people who break are put back together all the time. He's just glad someone remembered him.
"Start with what is right rather than what is acceptable." ~Franz Kafka
A/N: Here's another bit to my Secretive AU! There'll be another part later on, but hopefully this will suffice for now! Please R&R, it'd mean the world to me!
...
There was too much movement, too many people talking, pacing, prodding, asking. It was too much to handle. It didn't help that Washington couldn't handle anything in his condition, not that they thought he was conscious. They thought he was asleep, but they were wrong. Agent Washington was very much awake, and he breathed like a rabbit cornered by a wolf, or a street cat locked in a cat-carrier in an Animal Control van. The Freelancer pretended to sleep, maybe even tried to in order to ignore the reality of the situation, but a wetness in-between his legs under his power armor kept him from finding any peace, not to mention the AI in his head. Epsilon was like him; awake. Epsilon breathed in sync with Washington, thinking and feeling as he too awaited their fates. Non-solidified shivers and whimpers ran up and down Wash's spinal cord like fingers on a harp. Epsilon was scared- no- terrified.
They both were. Washington hid it better, if only because the numerous drugs pumped into his veins kept his voice from screaming out for her, kept him from clawing his own skin off to find her underneath, kept him from- it kept him from thinking too hard as well. Thinking gave him a headache, or was that Epsilon? Wash had no way of knowing. Epsilon wasn't as calm as Washington's drugged mind wanted him to be, an erratic voice begging Wash to stand, to make his numb legs run and move and escape from that Hell. Washington couldn't though, was so tired he could hardly breathe. His eyes were closed as he lied on a medical bed motionless in a room of movement, of blurs and numbers and words that never made much sense to begin with. Wash never liked doctors. Epsilon didn't seem to either.
"We need to remove Epsilon immediately!" The Director boomed, and if Wash could've moved, he would've flinched and drawn back, away from the voice. "The damage has been bad enough. If we don't remove it, we might lose Epsilon!"
"Sir, what about Agent Washington?" The Counselor questioned, closer to Washington, his hand on the half-conscious Agent's shoulder, fingers pressed in just enough to be found almost comforting. It wasn't to Epsilon. Epsilon remembered the Counselor. "Shall I contact his loved ones?"
"Don't bother. Agent Washington is an orphan. No one in the UNSC will question what happened to him." The Director explained, and Wash felt a twinge of hurt from the comment, felt like it was almost an insult to be called an orphan by the Director. "For now, we'll remove the AI. We'll move on from there.
"No!" Epsilon screamed, in the back of Washington's mind, terrified and clinging to Wash's neural implants, like they might somehow save him. "Don't let them take me! David, please! Don't let them take me! We need to find her, please, we need to find her!"
"Sir, Epsilon is already connected deep into Agent Washington's implants. Removing him could cause permanent damage to Agent Washington's nerve endings." The Counselor warned, gripping the table Wash was on, slim fingers wrapped around paper hospital sheets.
"We have no choice, Counselor. Either we remove Epsilon now, or we lose them both." The Director deadpanned, turning to someone Wash couldn't hear quite right from where he was lying. "Doctors, remove Agent Washington's AI Unit at once. And for God's sake, change him before you put him in Recovery!" He left the room, Wash feeling the Counselor let go of the table to follow after his employer.
As Wash finally began to black out, the doctors got the operating room ready again for another surgery. Epsilon sobbed in Washington's implantation, knowing he was doomed, knowing Wash was his last and only hope. "Look, I know I'm gonna die now, but... please, just save her. Don't let them get her, too." The AI begged, just as Wash finally drifted into a deep, deep sleep.
...
When Washington finally awoke again, he was alone in a large, furnished bedroom. The Freelancer felt incredibly nauseous, a feeling not entirely unknown to the man, but was still a bit uncomfortable for obvious reasons. He shifted, surprised to find his armor gone, and sat up slowly, looking around the unfamiliar bedroom with military-trained eyes. A large mirror covered a good portion of one of the walls, which Wash immediately recognized was made of one-sided glass. He stared at himself, finding his own face foreign at first glance. He'd never found himself attractive, as he could never keep a lover for very long, was always too distracted to listen to them talk, couldn't sit still long enough to love them the way that only he alone could love. Well... there was one, but it hurt to think about him.
Looking around the room more, Wash was surprised by how strange it seemed. It was colorful, too colorful to be a room on the MOI, that is, unless he was in another Freelancer's room. He didn't recognize it though, the pastel blue walls with white clouds painted on them making his stomach twist uneasily. He'd had nightmares like this, except where he was trapped in a baby crib, wrists and ankles chained to the posts while his diaper got changed by someone he didn't recognize. They always managed to shake him up afterwards. Shaking his head to rid it of the painful memories, Wash yanked the pastel blue blanket he was under off of his body, looking himself over to see what he could possibly be wearing if it wasn't power armor. Two years of almost nonstop power armor made civilian clothing seem alien and unsafe.
Underneath his sheets, Wash found himself to be dressed in a blue hoodie (The hood strings removed, he noted) with grey lettering reading 'Maria Juniper's Mental Hospital for the Criminally Insane', and a plain white diaper with classic yellow straps. The Freelancer shifted uneasily upon seeing the childish clothing, but was even more put off by his hoodie. Maria Juniper's Mental Hospital for the Criminally Insane? What in God's name was he doing there? Was he... no, no way in Hell was Wash crazy! Heck, Wash figured this was all some sort of sick joke pulled by the others. Yeah. It was probably just York and the guys trying to lift everyone's spirits with a harmless little prank on dumb Wash! Even if it did seem too mean to be York's doing... no, it couldn't be real. Wyoming probably planned it, that's all!
The Freelancer almost chuckled as he stood up, silently wondering who of the Freelancers lost the battle of who would have to change him into the stupid diaper. "Alright, guys! Jokes over! I've been fooled! Come on out!" Wash called, searching around the room for his friends, his panic hidden behind fake humor.
No one answered, so Washington searched until he found a big, white door, which he knocked on calmly at first, smiling at the white-painted steel. "Good one, York! Come on, I'm done with the joke. I haven't eaten in hours, man. Let me out."
Still, no noises came. Washington's nerves began to unwind, the child-like fright of being abandoned surfacing to the forefront of his mind. "Guys, I'm done kidding around. Please, just let me out! I dunno what I did, but come on! Open up, York!" When that didn't work, Wash began to knock harder, still only using his left fist. "York? Wyoming? 'Lina? Come on, let me out!"
Frantically and running out of options, Wash began pounding his fists against the door, screaming at the top of his lungs for someone to answer. No one was coming for him, he thought, terrified to his very core by the idea. Everyone had left him, probably forgotten about him already. They'd replace him, replace him with someone new, someone bigger and stronger and smarter. Someone who'd understand how jet-packs work, and knew how to keep his balls from getting stuck on a grappling hook, or keep his fucking mouth shut when ordered to! Wash screamed louder, banged harder and harder until he could feel deep, aching bruises on his fists, but he didn't care, he just kept yelling and begging for help while damaging his own skin.
Suddenly, the door opened, pulled sideways into the wall as four men wearing white clothing and security uniforms grabbed ahold of the Freelancer, being surprisingly gentle. Wash screeched, not wanting to be held back and kept from his friends, who he believed to be on the other side of the opened door. With the strength and skills built into him by Project Freelancer and the UNSC, Washington broke away from the security guards before they could possibly drug or detain him. The Freelancer ran, ran like he'd never run before, managing to get out the door and down the hall. The whole inside of the building was eggshell white, but Wash ignored it in favor of finding a way out.
Without much time to think, Wash chose to go right and was rewarded with a long, holographic list of patients being held on his floor, which he discovered to be the tenth floor of the mental hospital. With unsteady eyes, Wash looked up and down the list, ignoring any names he didn't recognize, until he found his own. He'd hoped it wasn't true, but it was written right in front of him. 'David Alexander Cooper - Room 57. Instructions: Handle with special instructions from doctor'. Wash was stunned, unable to move from where he stood, even as two of the four security guards from earlier finally caught up to him, still for whatever reason handling him gently as they each took an arm and led him away, a needle in Wash's arm sending the Freelancer spinning back into unconsciousness.
...
Washington sat curled up on his bed two hours later, re-made by someone while he'd been knocked out, and kept his distance from the two guards now at the opposite corner of the room, both chatting as if they were at some business meeting or party. It bothered Wash, but not like the needle from before. He stayed away from the first guard, who still held said needle from earlier, still pushed in from when he'd injected Wash before. The Freelancer wasn't taking any chances, and as a result didn't want anything more to do with that damned needle. The men paid no attention to him, seemingly fine with being near the 'Criminally Insane' patient. That would take some getting used to, Wash mused, but he had a lot to get used to if this whole hospital deal was anything to go by.
"Do I at least get a phone call?" It was the first thing Washington had said since the guards had caught him. And for a moment, he expected no answer. Until one guard spoke up.
"Is there anyone you wanna call, buddy?" The guard asked, voice sickeningly laced with sweetness that made Wash's blood boil. "I can get you a phone. Would you like that?"
"Where is the Director?" Wash questioned, put off by the guard's easiness. Security guards in hospitals were supposed to be evil and gruff to him, not sweet and patient.
The guards shared a look, before the second one looked to Wash, pulling off his helmet to smile warmly at him. He had light brown hair, along with bright yellow eyes. He looked to be a Patch Baby, like Wash was. "Don't worry about that. Right now, it's your health that matters! I'm Nelson, and my buddy here is Robinson!"
"I'm not interested in names. I need to speak with the Director immediately. Where is he?" Wash again asked, feeling anger bubbling in his chest.
Nelson gave Wash a concerned look, as if he were an orphaned child asking where his parents had gone. Wash had memorized that look a long time ago. "I'm sorry, David. The Director isn't here right now, but the Counselor should be here in a little while to see you."
Wash didn't respond to Nelson, staring at his feet to distract himself. He felt tired, the drug having been a muscle suppressant that kept him from being able to stand, much less move much. With no movement to distract him, Wash had been remembering more of what had happened, before he'd been taken to the mental hospital. He remembered being implanted, a voice in his head that was too unstable to focus on for very long, and the Director ordering for Epsilon to be removed. After that, everything went dark in Washington's mind, leaving little room for remembrance. He figured more would come in time, but for now, he was trapped in an immensely confusing place, not getting nearly as many answers as he wanted. He silently hoped the Director would come and explain why he was there.
"Do you need a change?" Robinson suddenly asked, snapping Wash away from his own thoughts. The Freelancer stared at him, eyes wide in shock. "A change. Is your diaper dirty?"
"I..." Washington was stunned, unused to being asked such a question. Sure, every once in awhile after a mission the Counselor might've asked, but... to have a guy he didn't even know ask such an embarrassing question made his stomach ache. "Um... no. I'm okay."
He wasn't really okay, but like Hell was Wash telling those guards that. He wanted to keep a very thick wall between him and the staff of the hospital, for sanity's sake... er, more like IN-sanity's sake, but whatever. "Alrighty then. Tell me when you do, buddy." Robinson replied.
Wash hadn't planned on responding, but felt he needed to upon being called by such a childish nickname. "I'm not your 'buddy'." He made sure to inform the guard, eyes glaring at the black visor of the guard's helmet. "Don't call me that."
Robinson was unaffected by Wash's irritation, and shrugged in response to the Freelancer's words. "Sorry, I'm ordered to call you 'buddy' when handling you. Orders are straight from your doctor."
"Let me talk to my 'doctor'." Washington ordered, a fire not entirely uncomfortable burning like charcoal in his gut, twisting and smoking to stay alive as anger and determination filled the void uncertainty made in the Freelancer's heart and soul.
"Was that a threat, David?" Nelson asked, taking the needle from Robinson to hold up to Wash, silently threatening the Freelancer with another dose of muscle relaxant. Wash shivered, drawing back, like a kicked dog to it's master. "Do you need any medication?"
"You heard Dr. King, Nelson. We can't dose him up again." Robinson warned, giving his partner a stern look from behind his helmet's visor, which he seemed determined not to remove. "Put that thing down before he has a panic attack."
"Right... sorry, Robinson." Nelson muttered, sounding honest to God regretful before he stuck the syringe into an empty pocket on his security armor. He looked to Wash, smiling again at him. He reminded Wash of Florida. "Sorry, buddy. Didn't mean it, really."
Washington didn't believe him, but it wasn't like it mattered. No one there cared about him, they were only holding him there until he either died or turned normal again. Thing was, Wash was having trouble remembering what 'normal' meant, and how exactly to act like it. He'd never been a good actor, except for his impressions, so he figured escaping would be difficult. No matter, he had all the time in the world it seemed like. He still held on- no- clutched to the idea that another Freelancer might save him soon. He nailed it into his skull as a hook to hang onto, to swing on while he waited. They'd come soon, he figured, as he felt his diaper grow awfully warm underneath him. He could only hope the Counselor would have answers when he arrived to finally see him. Maybe then he'd gain some more hope.
...
As soon as the Counselor arrived at Maria Juniper's Mental Hospital for the Criminally Insane, he was greeted by two security guards. They were both female, and smiled sweetly upon seeing the man. The Counselor followed them into the elevator, which took them to the ninth floor of the facility, where the Counselor was taken to one of the therapy rooms. The room had very little furniture, having only a long, eggshell white couch, a brown arm chair, a steel coffee table screwed into the floor, and potted plants on either side of both doors on opposite sides of the room. On the couch was Agent Washington, who was curled up into a ball. The Counselor took a minute to analyze Wash. Wash had short, bright blond hair that went just below his ears, grey-blue eyes that matched tap-water, and terribly pale skin with dark brown freckles covering every inch of his skin. He was a perfect example of a Patch Baby. Well, almost perfect. No Patch Baby would ever be called 'perfect' by anyone in society. Except by each other maybe.
"Hello, David." The Counselor greeted, smiling warmly at the mental patient, who showed no signs of addressing him in return. "Are you enjoying your stay so far?"
"No." Wash bit out, not providing anything more for the Counselor. To be honest, he was terrified of everything that had gone down thus far, and Epsilon's voice still rang through his ears every so often, warning him to not trust them. They'd kill him for what he knew.
"No?" The Counselor repeated as he took a seat in the arm chair, folding his hands over his lap to seem less threatening to the severely damaged Freelancer. "Do the people at this new facility intimidate you, David?"
"No." Wash again replied, glaring at the Counselor, his arms tightening around his curled in legs, the lack of room for his ribs making it hard for him to breathe properly. "They're just fine. They're just too nice to me."
"Too nice? What do you mean? Is anything these people are saying triggering you, David?" The Counselor questioned, leaning in more towards the patient, who he was hoping he'd been making a break-through with.
"They're not like most security guards. It's like... it's like I'm a kid to them here. I'm not being treated like an adult." Washington admitted, something in the Counselor's presence breaking his tough guy act enough to relax him just enough to talk more openly.
"Is this because of your diapers?" The Counselor asked, and upon earning a nod, he sighed deeply to himself. "I understand you are troubled by your current situation, David. But you must understand, it is for your own good. You need to get better, David. Mentally and emotionally."
"It's making it worse!" Wash almost shouted, completely unfolding, though he didn't dare stand up. He'd been warned prior to the Counselor arriving that any signs of aggression would lead to guards injecting him immediately with more muscle relaxant. "I'm not a fucking baby!"
"I'm very aware of that, David." The Counselor promised, unaffected by Washington's bubbling anger, which was all focused on him. "However, this specific hospital has very special ways of curing their patients. They are only trying to help you, even if it means regressing you to an earlier time in your life, where you were less afraid and conflicted by your emotions."
"There wasn't ever any 'safe' in my childhood." Wash deadpanned, unimpressed by the Counselor's mediocre explanation. No way was he going to believe that bullshit, he was a grown man for God's sake! He wasn't some unstable little kid anymore.
"Which is why you're under very special care here, David." The Counselor explained, nodding at the younger man with a terrifyingly kind smile. Wash didn't like people who were so nice. They always hurt him in the end, if the Freelancers were anything to go by.
"Can I just leave? I'm fine, honest I am!" Washington insisted, looking fearful as the Counselor just continued to act passively to everything he said. "I just wanna see my friends again. I swear, I won't have another breakdown. Just please... let me go."
"David-" The Counselor began, voice lighthearted. It filled Washington with a new brand of pure, unadulterated hatred. "-I understand how difficult this must be to deal with, but you must understand that the other Freelancers are gone."
Wash stopped, his hatred suddenly gone cold, an ice block stuck where he figured the knife scars were, too. Chilling and unforgiving, it filled Wash with dread. "... Gone? What do you mean 'gone'? They didn't leave the MOI, they were all there before I was moved!"
The Counselor didn't budge, smile becoming an almost sad frown as he looked Washington in the eyes, sending chills up the Freelancer's spine. "Agents Texas, New York, North Dakota, South Dakota, Florida, and Wyoming have all gone MIA. As for Agent Carolina, she has gone KIA. They're all gone, David."
Wash was shaking, and he swallowed around a small lump in his throat, heartbeat increasing as he tried to soften the blow, tried to make sense of it, tried to tear it apart and find a weak spot that he could count on. "Maine!" He shouted, excitement driving him to stand. "Maine! He's still gotta be there!"
The Counselor was dead silent, closing his eyes in thought, making Washington's breath catch in his throat. "... He's gone too, isn't he? No... no, it's worse. Isn't it? Somehow..." He fell back into his seat, the palm of his left hand finding his forehead to comfort himself with. "... Somehow... it's worse."
"Agent Maine has gone Meta, David." The Counselor filled in, sounding regretful, if only for a moment. But then, the rage returned in Washington, melting the ice and boiling the water it left behind, the heat driving him to jump out of his seat like a wild animal and attempt to attack the Counselor, to kill him even.
"You bastard!" Wash screamed, even as Nelson and Robinson came rushing in, injecting a needle of muscle relaxant into his arm. However, the Freelancer was too pumped up on adrenaline, and tried to rip past the guards to murder the Counselor where he sat, seemingly smug to Wash's eyes as he sat so calmly in his seat, unaffected by Washington's outburst. "You motherfucking bastard! You let this happen! You made them leave me for dead!"
"No one opened the doors for them, David. They chose to leave by their own accord." The Counselor promised, standing up as two more guards ran in, joining Robin and Nelson in very gently securing Washington, who was still in a panic as he tried to rip the Counselor apart, but he was just out of arm's reach. "I'll be seeing you again next week. Be good, David." With that, the Counselor left the room, the sounds of Wash finally collapsing in his wake.
...
Patience.
Patience is the key.
It didn't take long for Washington to realize this, though, he wished he'd learned it earlier. It had been three months since his hospitalization before he'd realized why nothing was working. Life in the hospital was hard. Not because they were bad to him, but because of how demeaning it was! Washington had never felt so embarrassed in his life, with all the babying driving him up the wall, it was no wonder he'd almost lost it. Before he found patience, he'd been nothing but a nuisance to the staff, not that he'd cared much. He refused to let them come within a few feet of them, fought them with changes until they had to sedate him for them, and once even bit a man for trying to bathe him. However, finding patience had definitely improved his life.
Although Wash was still keen on keeping his dignity intact (If that was even possible anymore), he'd started to accept it in a way, no longer attacking the staff with words and fists. They seemed delighted by his change, convinced that Wash was improving with his mental health. You see, Washington had a plan, and a good one at that: 1, act like everything was okay and that he was accepting the situation, 2, convince the staff and the Counselor that he was completely healthy again, and 3, search for and destroy everything the Director ever built-up in his military career. It was a pretty solid plan in Wash's opinion, save for the fact that he had no idea how exactly he'd prove himself to be sane to the Counselor. The Counselor was a smart cookie, and Wash doubted he would be easily swayed by his little performance.
But in the mean time, Wash would have to endure living in an insane asylum... which included getting used to people cleaning him everyday.
"You've been really good lately, buddy." Robinson commented as he changed Washington, who lied unmoving on the changing mat. "I really think you're improving."
"M'hm." Wash mumbled back, not really paying attention. He'd been practicing just zoning out during the more embarrassing procedures. "I guess so."
"All done!" Robinson announced, clipping the cloth diaper pins in place. The hospital seemed to prefer cloth diapers to disposable diapers. "You can get up now, buddy."
"Thanks." Wash managed, because actually thanking a security guard for changing him like a baby still felt foreign. It wasn't sane, he figured. "I'd like to stay in my room today." He announced, which didn't surprise Robinson.
"Got it. I'll tell the warden, you just hang out in here then." Robinson agreed, leaving Wash alone in the room. He stopped, however, at the door, giving Wash a sad glance. "I know it's hard, Wash-" He rarely called Wash by his preferred nickname, so he got his attention right away. "-But one bad start ain't the end of the world... call me if you want out."
Washington watched Robinson leave, before standing up on slightly shaky legs, pulling on his sweatpants as second instinct before walking back over to his abandoned bed, lying himself down to brood. He liked lying in bed most days, letting himself get lost in the constant stream of 'Allison, Alpha, Allison, Alpha, Allison, Alpha' until his head hurt too much to continue. He was used to it, found it almost calming. The calm in the storm, as they say. It was calm because it wasn't, as weird as that might be to understand, but Wash didn't need to understand it to admire it. As his head got lost in thought, he couldn't help but remember what Robin had said: "One bad start ain't the end of the world". Easy for him to say, he hadn't been the one almost choked to death by a psychopath.
That was the thing Wash hated the most about this place by far. They treated him differently than the other psycos, leading to a lot of jealously from the more poorly treated patients. So of course, during Wash's third week at the hospital, when he'd been released from his room to socialize with the other inmates, they took full advantage of the situation. For Wash, that meant being dragged into a bathroom when the guards weren't looking and getting his head dunked into a toilet while a psyco called him every terrible slang word in the book. Luckily, Wash wasn't above using his military training to fight against far more under-trained men, and had lashed out without a moment's hesitation as soon as the psyco had flushed. The warden hadn't been happy, but Wash had gotten away either way.
Afterwards, Wash kept his distance from any of the other patients, who were intent on making him as miserable as humanly possible. The guards didn't comment on the incident very often- maybe because they felt bad, maybe because they knew it was their fault for not treating Wash like everyone else- but when they did, it was quiet and only referenced, not flat out explained. No one mentioned that he'd nearly drowned, which Wash was thankful of. He'd been one of the lucky ones, said a smaller patient once to him who was also bullied, because most patients that were Wash's size got attacked all the time. Wash supposed he should've been happy about that, but was too disgusted by the fact that it happened in the first place.
If he ever got out- a strong 'if'- he was gonna put his foot down against the ridiculous treatment of mentally disabled criminals.
Just when Washington was beginning to doze off, a siren started to go off. At first, he thought it was just another fire drill- those weren't very often, but at least the hospital tried to be prepared for that sort of thing- but once he heard the rush of people down his hallway he knew exactly what was going on. Someone had either gotten out or gotten in. Either way, Wash was on his feet in seconds, shaking slightly as he ran to his door, banging on in it intensely to gain some form of attention. If he was very lucky- people said he had a thing going on with luck these days that was either good or bad- than whoever was running for it or breaking in would take pity on him and let him out.
As Washington continued to knock on the door, he heard two, swift rasps to his door, before all went silent. Wash froze, before repeating the other person's pattern with two equally as swift rasps. "Knock knock." A voice asked from the other side, hard to hear yet very familiar. "Come on, mate. It's simply. Knock knock."
Washington swallowed around a lump in his throat, shivering as he tried to gather enough courage to speak up to the intruder. "U-Um... who's there?" He offered, not knowing if that was what he should've responded with.
The other voice laughed loudly in response, making Wash smile, if only to try and clear the tension that he'd built into the air. "Wire." The person finally responded, unlocking the door by the sound of it from outside.
Washington wanted to jump up and down and scream with joy, but he kept his cool. "Wire who?" He asked, feeling himself grow more and more hopeful. He couldn't remember who exactly owned this voice, but he knew, somewhere in his brain, that it was a friend.
"Why are you here, mate?" Wyoming asked, revealing himself as the door swung open, helmet held under his left arm as he gave Wash a victorious grin. His mustache was as well-tended as ever, making Wash feel just a bit better. "Well, we'll get to that later on. Come, we must be on our way. They'll send back-up if we're not out of this building in the next five minutes."
Washington couldn't help but grin, nodding to show that he understood before following Wyoming towards the nearest elevator. He was so nervous, yet so happy all at once. Someone had come back for him! They hadn't forgotten! They'd sent Wyoming to come rescue him so that the team could be together again! Wash wanted to hug Wyoming as tightly as possible, or cry from happiness, but he kept such urges at bay long enough to help himself get free. Wyoming was silent as he lead the way through the hospital, occasionally talking to himself- or to someone- about security details and things Wash couldn't understand. What was he even going on about? The Meta? Completing the objective? It was very confusing.
However, Wyoming was right in his element as he rescued Washington from the asylum. While he was no master at martial arts or explosives, Wyoming made an absolutely astonishing sniper/hit-man/undercover agent. Wash supposed it was a necessity for Wyoming to have these skills, as Carolina had once explained to him that Wyoming was originally a top-of-the-line hit-man in the outer colonies. Apparently, he'd eventually been caught, but instead of serving his several life sentences- the number always changed when Washington asked- Project Freelancer had talked the tiny governments of the outer colonies into releasing Wyoming into their custody.
Wyoming hadn't joined Project Freelancer by choice, due to these circumstances. Well, he sort of had, as he had to agree to this custody change, but Washington had no idea if the entire mess was legal or even consensual. He didn't ask though, as he'd never known Wyoming as well as everyone else. There's just never been a chance- the age difference between Wyoming and the others made socializing hard- so Wash had stuck with his peers and Wyoming watched from the shadows with Florida. Even as they ran to the bottom floor of the hospital, floor littered with dead/unconscious guards and nurses, Washington wondered in silence if either agent had seen this coming. He supposed they had.
"Almost home free." Wyoming muttered to himself, drawing Washington to pay more attention as they neared freedom. He could almost smell the grass outside, it was so damn close. "Just a little longer... Gary, mate, what in the devil is taking so long?"
"Unforeseen security errors." A voice answered back through the hospital's speakers, making Wash jump due to surprise, having not expected the voice. "In other news, I have successfully taken control of the asylum's communication systems. Hello, Agent Washington, I am glad to see that you have been rescued without harm."
"Who are you?" Washington asked, feeling very, very small. In his mind, the voice felt like it belonged to a giant, maybe ten to eleven feet tall. "And how do you know who I am?"
"Oh, you two haven't met?" Wyoming asked, scratching behind his head as he took a second from unlocking the door to smile bashfully at Wash. "Sorry, lad. Guess you and he never got the chance to chat back in the Project. This is Gamma, but I just call him Gary."
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Agent Washington." Gary promised, though Washington had the nagging feeling that the AI was lying, for whatever reason. "I remember you well from Project Freelancer. I sincerely apologize for the damage caused by Epsilon."
Wyoming glared up at the ceiling as Wash shivered in response to a series of flashbacks triggered just by the use of Epsilon's name. "Really, Gary? We agreed not to mention that... that rampant AI while retrieving Washington."
Washington started to zone out as memories flashed through his brain. "Don't say goodbye." Allison. Dead. Gone. She left you, left HIM, left a life behind that you promised her would be safe and away from a war but - "Get the FUCK off the table, kid!" Dad. Maybe dad? You don't know, you only know the hand that connects with your left cheek stings before you can get away from it, sending you crashing to the floor, now an endless abyss. - "... I hate goodbyes." Allison, no, don't go! You love her, you love her so damn much, she's like nicotine in your lungs and cocaine in your blood stream. She is a paradise built on cancer. - "Wash, no, I'm fine, leave me the Hell alone, okay?" Connie won't look at you, won't look at anyone, content with her arms around her torso as she looks away, contemplating her own fate. This is, you realize, the moment she chose him over you.-
"What do you MEAN she's dead!? You come back here, David! Do you fucking hear me? What do you mean she's DEAD!?" South is scared. Scared of losing her, of losing Connie to someone no one had ever expected. She's gone and you're the bearer of the bad news because North is talking to Tex and since when is North talking to Tex? - "You make things worse, ya know that, right? You're making it worse. Just... come on, man. Can ya let us handle it?" York didn't mean to sound so... mean. He didn't, not at all, he's just angry and hasn't had any coffee and where's Carolina when you need her anymore? Where is ANYONE when you need them these days? - "Really, Wash?" North sounds mad, in his special 'I'm not mad' kinda way that sends shivers up your spine and makes you regret asking him for advice because when has North helped you with anything since he got Theta?-
"Leonard, please, put the camera away. Caroline's gonna hear you!" Allison, again, pushing you away with promises to return once the war is over. It will be over, right? It has to end... for her sake. For the baby's sake. - "Don't go... not yet... please, *******, please!" Who is this? Allison? Connie? You're not sure, no one can be, not with a head as fucked up as your's, Leonard Church. Or is it Agent Washington? David maybe? - "Agent Maine has gone Meta, David." The Counselor is firm, and not very good at counseling you as you get the news, shaking until another doctor comes and pokes you full of poison to shut your mouth and keep you still - "There are about a million things that can go wrong... you ready to get wrecked, kid?" Texas is kindness, in the darkness, for a half second as the Covenant close in on the two of you, alone, without 479er or anyone as back-up. You are alone, Agent. Or Leo. You don't care anymore... you are who you are, even if it's not you - "I'M SORRY!" Goodbye, Leonard-
...
"Agent Washington! David!" It was Gary talking as Washington blinked up blearily at the ceiling of a car, feeling nauseous as he finally came to, feeling like he'd been swimming or drowning- either one really- as the car seemed to spin constantly.
The dizziness stayed as Washington tried to sit up, only to have a big, strong hand push him gently back down to lying in the back seat of the car he was in. He looked outside, squinting as he saw hundreds upon hundreds of big, empty wheat fields. The sun was shining and the world outside of the car was alive and beautiful. Washington swallowed, looking around inside the car for any clues of what might have been going on. Wyoming was in the backseat with him, his hand holding Wash down while Wash's legs rested on his lap, keeping the Brit pinned. There was no one driving- something that alarmed Wash, since the car was clearly moving- but a big, blueish spark from the radio system clued in that it was Gary's doing.
"Are you quite alright?" A voice asked, and Washington turned his head to stare at Wyoming, realizing that it was the older man who was speaking to him. "You had a bit of a panic attack there, lad. Fainted right on the spot. None to worry though, we escaped without much delay."
"Escaped?" Wash rasped out, struggling to escape his early morning-like drowsiness, which made it hard to stay awake, much less think straight. "Escaped from where?"
"The hospital." Wyoming explained, sitting up as he coughed into his fist, calling for Wash's attention as he readied his tale. "You're in far deeper than you were ever meant to be, Agent Washington. As I'm sure you've deciphered, Project Freelancer is- was, I'm not sure if it's still going as strong- the project wasn't nearly as perfect as they promised it would be. People got killed and assassinated. Georgia and Utah were no accidents- poor fools knew too much, so I and Butch were ordered to take them out- and Connecticut was just a lass who was too damned smart and stealthy for her own good. It was no surprise when she was killed by Agent Texas during her escape with the Insurrectionists."
Wyoming continued on, looking a little paler as he told more and more to Washington. "To be honest with you, when you arrived, me and Butch didn't expect anything like this to happen to you. You seemed too naive, too preoccupied with your life to realize how many dangers were around you. To be quite honest, we were glad for it- one less kid getting his arse beaten by the lies of the Project- but we should've known better. We let you slip under the radar with our monitoring, and you got, well-" He gestured to Wash's lap, referring to the diaper he had on under his clothing. "- You get the picture. Either way, we let you do as you pleased, and by the time we realized what Epsilon could do... you were already in surgery."
"Afterwards, the Director had Epsilon ripped from your neural implants- damn fool hoped you would die in the process so evidence would be leaked of Epsilon's damage- but you really are a cockroach, aren't you?" Wyoming smiled softly at Wash, but still looked depressed as he told his somber story. "You survived the surgery. And since they couldn't euthanize you without there being too many witnesses, they shipped you to the nearest insane asylum. Figured that you'd suffered enough brain trauma to pass off as a mentally unstable character. The Counselor, however, still seems intent on doing... something. I have yet to find out what. It's due to his transmissions to Recovery that I found you, Washington."
It was then that Wyoming stopped, finished with his tale, and took a moment to really look Washington in the eyes. Wyoming's eyes were much different than Wash's, being a heavy hazel color, which seemed to act as an opposite to Wash's gunmetal blues. Wash stared at Wyoming, feeling terribly conflicted. On one hand, he was glad to know that all of what had happened hadn't gone unseen by the other Freelancers, on the other, he was immensely disappointed that it appeared that Wyoming was going solo, and judging by his story, Wash doubted he was in contact with anyone from the Project, except maybe Florida, but Wash had a feeling that he was just as off-the-radar as most everyone else.
"So everyone's just... gone?" Washington finally asked, finding his voice as his mind still struggled to work out the story in his mind.
"Some are dead." Wyoming admitted, looking away as he swallowed, probably feeling far more uncomfortable than Wash. Then again, he probably hadn't shit himself in the last few minutes, so Wash doubted he felt QUITE as uncomfortable as him. "Carolina was killed by the Meta, at least, as far as we know. To make an even longer story than the last one short: North kidnapped South, Florida is seemingly nowhere, Maine went Meta, York beat by arse- only because he got the drop on me- and then took off with Tex, Tex has gone completely rough like me, and I'm teetering on the edge of hit-man-ship as of late. You haven't been forgotten, though. North and York... they talk about you sometimes, on a private channel. Well, not THAT private anymore. The coding was so amateur, I had to listen in. Damned idiots." There was a tenderness to Wyoming's voice as he insulted the others, making Wash smile just a bit.
"Did they know where I was- I mean, before you broke me out?" Washington asked next, feeling now was as good a time as any for questions. He doubted they were even close to their next location or hiding spot from the UNSC or Project Freelancer.
"I believe Tex did." Wyoming muttered, more under his breath talking to himself than as an answer to Wash's question. "No way to be sure, though. She rarely uses names on the channels out there, and North and York haven't mentioned you being in an insane asylum before. Sorry, lad. Again, I only found you due to the Counselor's conversations with Command in-between trips visiting you."
"Well, for what it's worth... thanks for saving me." Wash finally replied, feeling heavy as drowsiness again started to drive him closer and closer to unconsciousness. He yawned- rather loudly- and squirmed his body to adjust better. "God, I'm wiped. I just slept, too."
"Well, don't pressure yourself to stay awake, lad." Wyoming suggested, absentmindedly running his hand over Wash's pants covered legs, trying to usher the younger man asleep. "We're still a long, long ways from our destination. I hope you like city-life, David. Because that's where we'll be for quite some time."
Washington simply nodded in acceptance to this to Wyoming, allowing sleep to claim him as he again yawned aloud, curling in more on himself. He felt dirty, sweaty, and gross, but the feeling of true freedom gave him enough assurance and comfort to find rest. He closed his eyes, drifting...
...
When Washington next found himself conscious, he wasn't in the car anymore. He grumbled something lost even to himself as he shifted, trying to find a position that was comfortable wherever he was resting. He looked around, eyes squinted as he tried to make out the situation. It was nighttime, it appears, as the moon was up outside of an old, half-broken window. Wash yawned, realizing as he looked around more that he was in what appeared to be an abandoned factory. He groaned, sitting up on what he noticed to be a long, old, ripped up couch that was probably found in a junkyard. He rubbed his back, temporarily missing his old bed as he remembered where he'd been before his rescue. Speaking of rescue, he looked around for Wyoming, trying to find the old Brit.
Lying on the ground a few feet from the couch was Wyoming, sprawled out with his armor in various areas around him. His mouth was partially open as he snored loudly- not nearly as loud as Maine used to- in the near-empty factory. By his side was his sniper rifle, fully loaded with the safety off. For exactly seventeen seconds, Washington stared at that sniper rifle and considered standing up, taking it, and blowing Wyoming's head off. It would be easy, considering Wyoming was notorious for being a heavy sleeper and would never even see it coming. But at the same time, Wash knew better than to try and kill off his only connection to the project, who also happened to be his savior.
The blond rolled out of bed carefully, landing on sock-covered feet before padding around the factory, trying to look for something to do/eat. He was wired now that he was more awake, and longed for something to pass the time with. He paused as he circled around where the obvious living area Wyoming had made up was, looking up at the broken window longingly. He hadn't seen much of the outside during the car ride over, and hadn't seen anything of the outside during his hospitalization. Feeling a newborn aching in his bones, Wash hesitantly began climbing the many big, wooden/steel crates leading up to the window, which was a good ways off the ground.
Reaching the top of the crate tower, Washington gasped in awe, staring out at the ocean laid outside before him. Wash had no idea why this planet had an ocean- for all he knew at that point, he could have very well been on Earth- but the dark blue mass before him was absolutely breath-taking. It brought back memories of the east coast, of living in a once-in-a-lifetime kind foster home. He remembered that place well, remembered campfires on long summer nights, remembered stray cats coming right up to him to be pet and fed, remembered eating hotdogs on the beach with his foster sister, remembered two parents fighting to keep him, remembered them losing, remembered them watching him go and saying-
"-Washington?" Wash jumped as he heard Wyoming stir below him, the Brit obviously worried for the recently rescued agent. "Where in the devil did you- oh." He looked up at the tower of crates, finally finding Wash. "What are you doing up there?"
"Looking around." Washington offered solemnly, still somewhat lost in all of the emotions that the fresh ocean air and smells gifted him. "The ocean is nice here. Are we on Earth?" He gave Wyoming an almost hopeful look.
"Afraid not, lad." Wyoming admitted, standing up and stretching before climbing up to sit beside Wash, overlooking the ocean with his companion. "Not sure where we are, really. Gary got us a ship and I flew us to the nearest colony Hellhole I could find. It's a temporary thing, I swear." He sounded certain on the matter, not wanting to sleep in old factories and warehouses for the rest of his life. Out of all of the Freelancers, Wyoming was by far the most needing of a proper estate.
"It's not bad, though." Washington told Wyoming, glancing at Wyoming before focusing all of his attention on the harbor outside the warehouse, and less on the ocean itself. "This is a nice harbor. Probably sells fish in the morning."
"If this planet has fish." Wyoming added, not to discourage Wash from speaking, but more to keep the boy from getting his hopes up. "If they do, however, I'll look into getting us one before we make our leave. There should be another planet a little ways away from here, one where I can get plenty of 'jobs'." The way he said 'jobs' made Wash shiver. "You don't have to come along, Washington. I understand that you're tired, and need more stable footing than I can provide you. However, I can make sure you have a roof over your head and food to eat. Hell, I might bring you on a job once you're feeling up to it. It's your choice."
Washington continued to watch the harbor and ocean, wondering silently what had ever become of that kind foster family. Did they ever think of him? Did they miss him? Had they really wanted to adopt him? Wash sighed aloud, tired to the bone as numbness consumed his mind, trying to cope with all of the emotions and changes around him. Hesitantly, Washington finally turned to look Wyoming in the eyes, his own dark as he turned away from the moon, his shadow making him appear dangerous and unrelenting. Wash supposed that he was all of those things, but he also supposed that Wyoming was now his friend and Wyoming was willing to protect him.
"Okay. I-I'll go with you then." Washington finally agreed, swallowing around a lump in his throat as he looked away, getting lost in his thoughts again.
Wyoming nodded in acceptance, sighing as he tried to release his own pent-up frustration. "We'll leave at dawn. I'm going back to bed." He announced, standing up to stretch and return to bed. He looked over his shoulder at Wash, giving him a cautious look. "You should rest as well, Washington. I have a feeling a lot is in store for us in the near-future."
Washington watched as Wyoming went back to lying on the floor, surrounded by his armor and weapons. Wash, in the end, chose to stay watching the ocean for the rest of the nighttime, too afraid that these would be his last glimpses of the sea.
'Patience.' Washington thought out of seemingly nowhere, smiling to himself as he sighed with content, watching as the moon descended and the sunrise began. 'Patience is the key.'
...
A/N: Not nearly as dwelling on the whole diapers thing as I had wanted it to, but the hospital and occasional hints definitely played a role in this. I'm hoping to get the next part out soon, but knowing me, who knows when it'll be out? Please R&R please, it would mean so much to me!
~Supercasey.