Author's Note: Okay, rabid updating for me. If you notice, on half the things I write, I take months to update it. I just happen to like this one right now, and it has the benefit of being part of a show that's still airing, instead of being cancelled. It's considerably shorter than the last chapter, but as it's Ward's very, very messed up point of view, it's hard to make it any longer without losing the reader. Please let me know how I did. Reviews are love!

"There's a reckoning a'coming
It burns beyond the grave
There's lead inside my belly
'Cause my soul has lost its way

Oh Lazarus, how did your debts get paid?
Oh Lazarus, were you so afraid?"

Ward didn't know where he was.

He was fairly positive he should be dead. Nothing responded when he tried to move. Not his eyes, not his tongue, not his limbs. Everything hurt too much to tell if it was because he was still restrained in the Training Room, or if there was something was wrong with him.

He wanted to laugh at that thought. Of course there was something wrong with him. There was always something wrong with him.

He suspected he dreamed. At least he hoped they were dreams. Thomas was with him. Sometimes he was the one behind the goggles and the drill. He didn't mind. After what he did to Thomas, the kid had more than earned the right to a little payback.

Sometimes Thomas was sitting next to him, running cautious and untrained hands over the multiple injuries he'd inflicted, stuttering an apology in a heavily accented voice. Those dreams were less okay. They made less sense. Every time he felt the hands, heard the frantic apologies, he flinched. If he could move, he would slap the helping hands away.

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He couldn't form the words to tell Thomas to leave him. This was okay. He didn't have to apologize for what he did to Grant because he had done so much worse to Thomas.

Few sentences drifted through the haze he found himself in. Mostly it was turns of phrase that would make a sailor blush. He didn't know Thomas swore like that.

He also wasn't sure when Thomas started referring to him by their last name.

Other times he heard Thomas yelling at someone about medical supplies. Those unanswered pleas were what made him want to get up. Open his eyes. Do something because he had a lifetime of doing nothing to make up for. He tried to tell Thomas not to worry.

Instead of words, all he managed was a whimper. Thomas panicked even more.

"Jesus, Ward, how are you even alive?"

Because the one thing he never took the easy way out with was dying.

"I'm not a doctor! I barely passed first aid!"

That's okay, because he knew enough about patching up his own injuries. Thomas didn't have to worry about it.

"Shit. You're shivering. I don't know if that's because you're cold, or you're going in to shock."

A little bit of both, really. He suffered through them both often enough that he could tell the difference. As he lost blood, he lost body heat. Less blood circulated. His temperature dropped.

Cautious, gentle fingers prodded along his skull.

This time the whimper wasn't because he was trying to speak and failing miserably.

It hurt.

"Come on, Ward, I just need to see how bad it is."

Bad. It was bad. He couldn't even remember what happened. He had vague memories of being thrown face first onto a table, head twisted to one side. Mask jammed over his face and something sickly sweet that filled his mouth and lungs until he couldn't move and couldn't think but still felt. The sound of a drill and the warmth of blood through his hair and in his eye and pooling underneath his face. He was grateful for the mask – he thought he might've drowned in his blood without it.

And after that…

Nothing.

He knew the memories would come back slowly. Even when they told him he would forget, he never did. Not for long.

He made the mistake of letting them know he always remembered. After that, he was a favorite of the Research and Science division until Garrett made him a permanent field operative.

It took forever for the shakes to go away every time he went to medical.

"Oh hey, whoa…shit. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't know. I'm sorry. I didn't know. Shhh…"

The cautious and gentle hands were gone.

"God, I can't do this…"

He could. He knew from experience he could. Didn't mean he wanted to. He wanted to curl over on himself. He wanted to hurt them the way they hurt him. He wanted Thomas to keep talking but stop touching. He wanted lots of things, and this was not one of them.

But if one of them had to do it, he was glad it was him and not Thomas.

He heard a door slide open.

"If you want him alive, you have to help me! He's dying!"

Is that what was happening? He could feel his teeth chattering, the bone aching chill that numbed his limbs, the rapid and thready beat of his heart.

His head hurt.

"I thought you didn't care if he was hurt?"

He flinched, hard, at the sound of that voice.

"I – I don't. But you said if he died, I would take his place. I care about that."

He wasn't surprised by the words, but they hurt just the same.

"You are a terrible liar."

"Believe what you want. Do you want him to live or not? Because if you leave us here like this, he's not going to."

He must look pretty awful then. He's glad he can't get his eyes to open. He doesn't want to see what's been done, what new scars he'll have once the bruises fade.

"Are you ready to comply? Compliance will be rewarded."

There was silence, and he thought maybe Thomas nodded instead of answering out loud.

"Fuck you."

His lips twitched in proud big brother approval.

"Is that a no?"

No answer came, and instead he heard the door close, and the tearing of fabric.

"If I accidentally kill you, I'm not sure I'm going to be sorry about it, but I don't really want to be here alone. So…try not to die, okay?"

Scratchy hospital scrubs material was pressed to the back of his head, and the world exploded into a kaleidoscope of color, every nerve ending igniting with sheer, unadulterated agony. Adrenaline surged through sluggish limbs and he fought with everything he had. It didn't make any difference and he felt himself being dragged and pulled across the floor. He wasn't ready to go back. He wouldn't survive another round. Not this early. He couldn't die and leave Thomas alone. Not here.

He was dropped onto a cot, falling face first again and he panicked. No. He wouldn't live this time. He'd lost too much blood and too much time and he just couldn't. He pushed himself up again, but his body failed him yet again. One arm collapsed under him, and he fell awkwardly on his side. He tried to sit up, but hands stopped him, pushing him back down.

"Ward! Stop it! You're fine, you're fine, you're not going anywhere!"

He wasn't going anywhere because he was already here. Any minute Christian would be back and Thomas would be gone and his brain would be one fire and he'd be drowning and this time he wouldn't make it out. They wouldn't stop in time.

"No, no, no…don't do this again. Stop, Ward! You're bleeding everywhere!"

He didn't care. Blood loss was just as good as any way to go.

"Shit…where can I touch you that it's not going to hurt?"

It didn't matter if it hurt if they were going to kill him. He would be dead, and Thomas would be next. Before they could stop him, he shoved himself back upright, latching on to his brother as well as numbed limbs would allow.

"Do you just not want to lie down?" There was a pause, and he heard Thomas hiss. "You're still bleeding pretty badly. This is going to hurt. But it needs pressure to stop."

Thomas pressed the wadded up cloth against his head, and Grant couldn't stop the choked whimper. He pushed his face against his brother's shoulder, fisting his hands in his shirt as he held on to him.

"I'm sorry. I know it hurts. I know, I know," Thomas soothed. He sounded desperate but trying to keep calm. "God, you're freezing."

Thomas used his free hand to rub his back, trying to force circulation of what little blood Grant had left.

"If someone had told me yesterday that I would be hugging Grant Ward while he cried in my arms, I would've laughed," Thomas muttered. It was quiet enough he wasn't sure he was supposed to hear the words, but Thomas's chin was resting just near his ear. There was a quiet chuff of laughter, and Thomas's chin dropped to Grant's shoulder.

"I don't feel like laughing now."

So, what do you think? Just in case it wasn't clear, Ward is in the aftermath of severe psychological torture. No, Thomas is not really there, but Ward is imagining that Fitz is him. I like the comparison - Ward tortured his brother when he was younger because Christian threatened to torture them both worse if Grant didn't do it. Ward threw Fitz and Simmons into the ocean because Garrett told him to. I wonder if it was under the same threat, or in some twisted way, Ward considered it a small mercy to let them die than to let HYDRA get their hands on them. Just wondering if you had another opinion!

Also, don't think Fitz has forgiven Ward anything. But as established in "Dirty Half Dozen" when Simmons suggests a way to kill Ward, Fitz doesn't agree. And that was relatively quick and painless compared to what's going on here. Fitz is a gentle soul who gets pushed too often, I think. And he was still a believer in Ward for the longest time during the SHIELD Civil War.