So, remember how I said I had a hard time writing the last chapter? This one was so much worse. So. Much. Worse. So if you read this, please, please tell me what you think. Reviews definitely help me write faster, not because I want praise, but they're actually usually where a lot of the inspiration for the story's progress comes from. So if you could kindly let me know how I'm doing (remember, I can't improve if you don't let me know what's wrong/needs fixing).
The Cocky Undead - you flatter me. And totally make my day. Updating this fast is definitely an alien concept for me, but it seems to be working, and as long as I am 'in the zone' for this story, I will post as fast as the chapters come to me.
The doors slid open just as Fitz was finishing the final programming on the device, and Zola stepped in. Guards flanked him on either side, as per usual, and Ward was surprisingly on his feet and under his own power.
He was also high as a kite, if his blown and uneven pupils were anything to go by. He stumbled, limping still from the damage to his feet, and he kept one arm out for balance. Attached to his neck was something new – instead of the central line catheter, it looked more like an insulin pump. He doubted that's what the tiny machine was pumping into Ward's system.
"What's with that thing?" Magnus asked, glancing at the device.
Zola shrugged. "I was in the middle of something I would prefer not to have to restart. So I brought it along with me."
Magnus huffed, rolling his eyes. "He's going to be worthless in the field if he hasn't got any cognitive function left. Do you even know what you're giving him?"
Zola bristled indignantly. "Of course I do. I am a doctor, after all."
Magnus raised a dubious eyebrow. "You know, I don't know if that still counts if you blatantly disregard the Hippocratic Oath."
"I didn't say I was a medical doctor, did I?" Zola said. He turned to Ward, who swayed dangerously on his feet. "Agent Ward, you know where you're supposed to go." He indicated the Faustus Machine with a nod of his head. "Go on."
Ward hesitated, glancing around the room like he wasn't entirely sure where he was, but Fitz recognized that searching look. He knew exactly where he was. He was just looking for a person.
"Come on," he said quietly, stepping away from the machine. "I'm right here." Fitz held his hand out for Ward to take, and he did so without question. The corner of his lips twitched upwards in an unsure smile, and Fitz really wished he knew where Ward went in his head. It was an odd defense mechanism, though not completely unheard of – a form of dissociative personality disorder. He could survive almost anything simply because he could shut out the outside world. The problem was that normally he would revert to stone cold killer who operated more like a machine than man, but thanks to Zola's meddling, his protective world became a made up creation with just him and Thomas, in a world where he accepted his punishment to protect his brother.
It was that protective barrier that Magnus wanted to crack.
Ward followed obediently after Fitz, neither resisting nor protesting as Fitz fastened him into the device. That probably bothered Fitz more than anything. Every time Ward was put in the device, it was Fitz who put on the restraints and wired him in. And every time, Ward let him, with less and less resistance, despite knowing what would happen. The fact that he willingly accepted pain from the shadow of his brother was unnerving, in the same way that he sought solace from pain in the same person who caused it.
"Hey, Tommy," Ward rasped. His voice was barely above a whisper, and Fitz doubted the two bickering scientists could hear him. "How's your eye?"
Fitz ignored the question, keeping his focus resolutely on the straps as he fastened them around Ward's wrist. His black eye he'd gotten from one of the guards was mostly gone, and the fracture to his cheek healed. "It's fine," he whispered back. "You?"
Ward shrugged as best he could fully restrained. "Fine."
Looks like they were both liars now.
"So what is this breakthrough you have planned for my subject?" Zola asked. "So far I think you've done more damage than I have with this…thing of yours."
Magnus shot him a scathing look. "We were just going about it the wrong way. Thanks to Leo over there, it finally occurred to be that instead of trying to breach the barriers he has in place, we're just going to take them down entirely."
Zola looked non-plussed. "And how, exactly, do you think you're going to manage that? It's been weeks, and I'm only just starting to make progress with the GH-119 and external stimulation."
Translation: he's finally starting to break thanks to indiscriminate use of non-tested drugs and physical torture.
"Yes, yes, Garrett made progress too. The point isn't that he never makes progress, it's the length of time that he maintains it. Right now he's right where we need him, subjectively. You've at least trained him to consistently retreat to the same protective deluded state. He still comes out of it though, right? He can still resist?"
Zola nodded. "He hasn't been recently."
Magnus waved his hand. "That has nothing to do with us. That has to do with him." Magnus pointed to Fitz. "As long as we have the threat that if he resists, his 'brother' takes his punishment, Agent Ward lets us do whatever we want. He's still capable of resistance, and if given enough time, I think he's going to go right back to the way he was."
Fitz hated the way they would talk about them as if they weren't even there. Ward may be mentally checked out for the most part, but that didn't mean he was. He no longer cared what Ward did in the past. He didn't care how many people died at his hands. If this is what it was like for him before Garrett pulled him into the field as a sleeper agent, he didn't blame him for his warped view of the world. Hell, even the truth serum incident on the Bus on their first day, which at the time had been pretty funny, now seemed twisted and cruel when put in context with the rest of Ward's life.
Fitz didn't think he could even force aspirin on someone with a migraine anymore. Simple choices were never going to be taken for granted again.
Ward's breath suddenly caught, and he squeezed his eyes shut, hands fisting into white knuckled grips on the supports.
"What's wrong?" Fitz asked quietly, trying to keep Zola and Magnus from noticing.
Ward bit his lip, hard enough he drew blood. "N-nothing."
God only knew what the hell the side effects were from whatever that blue stuff in the pump was, but Fitz regrettably had more than enough experience with Ward going through them.
"World moving too fast again?"
"Too loud."
Fitz nodded in understanding even though Ward couldn't see, and carefully put both hands up around Ward's head, covering his ears. It didn't necessarily stop the noise, but it at least muffled it enough that Ward gave an audible sigh of relief.
"What are you doing?" Zola demanded, breaking away from his argument with Magnus. "I told you, repeatedly, not to touch him once he was in the device. Are you so eager for another lesson?"
Fitz unwillingly shuddered at the memory, but he held steadfast against the smaller doctor.
Magnus stepped in before the doctor could do anything. "You're entirely too possessive. Leo is doing what he's supposed to. Now, if you were listening, I was saying that all we have to do is make him unable to form those protective walls long enough that we can use the device on him."
Zola glared at Fitz, and Fitz glared defiantly right back. It was the doctor who looked away first.
"You want to give him a chemical lobotomy and impair the function of his limbic system so he can't help but let the suggestions of the Faustus Device in," Zola summarized, turning back to Magnus.
Magnus grimaced. "Crudely put, but yes. A temporary one, anyway. We just need a root suggestion behind his defense walls and we should be okay."
"And you plan on using your…protégé here, to help you with that?" Zola didn't sound convinced.
"Young Leo here is already established as a fixture behind that wall. As far as Agent Ward is concerned, this is Thomas, beloved younger brother who he'll do anything to save this time around."
"You want to use him as the anchor? That means you have to keep them together. What good does that do us in the field?"
Magnus shrugged. "That's not much of a concern for me. As proven already, Leo can hold his own in the field with Ward, and he's not immune to the device. Once we establish him as a control for Agent Ward, we'll be able to establish control over him."
Fitz had to force himself to relax his hands, even as the rest of him shook. He knew that was Magnus's plan, but it didn't change how he felt about it. Somewhere in that rage against Zola and Magnus was something similar for SHIELD and his teammates. There had better be one hell of an explanation as to why they couldn't come and get them in the month they'd been captive. Right now, the only excuse he was willing to accept was they were in a trans-dimensional pocket of space that was inaccessible unless it was during the Harvest Moon and all nine planets aligned.
Not that he was bitter. Nope. Not him.
Zola contemplated the proposal for a moment, tapping one stubby finger against his chin. "What's the likely damage?"
"No more than we're already doing."
Zola sighed. "He's my favorite. I would be most…unhappy if something permanent happened. But carry on."
Fitz really wished that Zola was feeling just a little more possessive about his toys, because he really, really didn't want to be a part of what was coming next.
Magnus almost clapped his hands in excitement, but managed to restrain himself. "Excellent! We'll leave that pump where it is. It should help the process along quicker, and it looks like it's already saturated his system."
If that was code for starting mild absence and myoclonic seizures, then sure. Ward was starting to twitch sporadically, hands clenching and unclenching, his gaze alternating between staring a thousand miles away and on Fitz's face. The restraints pulled and creaked every time one of his muscles seized, pulling against them.
Magnus reached over Fitz's hand, humming happily to himself as he placed various electrodes against Ward's forehead. "These will keep a better eye on his brain activity." He fussed over the lines, completely ignoring both Fitz and Ward as if they weren't anything more than dolls. "And this," he said, pulling over a medical tray lined with various instruments, "should be the final dose."
Without bothering to use the IV port in his hand, Magnus swabbed the side of Ward's neck, just above where the pump was attached. Ward jerked his head fractionally to the side, and Magnus made to back hand him when Fitz pushed closer, blocking Ward's face.
"He's not resisting!" Fitz said quickly. "It's just cold and you startled him."
"Hmph," Magnus grumbled. "Specialists used to be made of stronger stuff."
"I thought you wanted him weaker," Fitz spat back. "So far he's still stronger than everything you've done."
"Now you have to convince him otherwise," Magnus warned, and emptied the contents of the 30ml syringe into Ward's neck.
The reaction didn't take long. Magnus warned him it wouldn't, but seeing it instead of hearing about it were two totally different things.
Fitz could feel Ward's pulse skyrocket, heard the shrill alarm of the monitors as all of his vitals went haywire. Ward's eyes shot open, dark brown irises swallowed whole by blown pupils and his chest heaved as he tried to breathe through the pain.
"I'm sorry," Fitz said, hands never leaving the side of Ward's face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, just please – don't fight. Don't fight, for once in your life, don't fight!"
Ward's face twisted in agony, tendons in his neck sticking out in stark contrast of his skin. And oh god, that sound. Nobody, nothing should be able to make that noise.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Fitz repeated frantically, trying to keep Ward's heart rate down from stroke inducing staccato. "I know it hurts. I know it hurts. Shhh…" It was nonsense, and he knew it, but it was what he often repeated when they were alone in recovery. Apparently Thomas was someone Ward always sought shelter with, and made it that much easier for Fitz to calm him. To betray and manipulate him.
"It's working!" Magnus said. "Just look at these scans!"
"Don't fight. Please, don't fight. Just let them in, and it won't hurt. It won't hurt, I promise," Fitz swore.
Ward twisted his face away from him, tears of pain coursing down his cheeks as Magnus's concoction tore his mind apart.
"Fascinating," Fitz heard Zola mutter, looking over at the screens. "Just look at the spikes when Mr. Fitz speaks to him."
"I told you he was the right man for the job," Magnus said smugly. "Okay Leo, I've done my part. Now do yours, or I'll fulfill the rest of my promise."
Fitz spared a moment to glare at the scientist, who looked unaffected by the withering scowl. If Fitz ever got the chance, that man would be the first to die. Slowly. Painfully. Creatively.
"Grant," he called, trying to keep his voice as smooth as possible. "Grant, hey, look at me. Look at me."
Ward's unfocused gaze shifted towards Fitz, but couldn't stay there. His eyes started to roll, and Fitz shook him slightly.
"Grant, it's Thomas. Tommy, yeah? Come on. Just look at me. Come on Grant. You can do this," Fitz pleaded, hating himself with every poisoned word. "That's right. Just look at me."
Predictably, as soon as he heard Thomas's name, Ward fought his way back to awareness. He forced his eyes open, squinting against the pain in his head. "'mas?" he slurred, his voice cracking on the word.
"Yeah, yeah, that's right. It's me. I need you to let go," Fitz soothed, brushing sweat dampened hair away from Ward's face. "It hurts because you're fighting. Don't fight. Don't fight and it will stop."
Fitz could see the war going on in Ward's head, but the conditioning Zola had started weeks ago with Fitz/Thomas as Ward's safe haven wormed its way through his defenses. It was hard to describe, how he could watch the man before him struggle against his own nature. It was even harder to watch.
In the end, Ward's walls came crumbling down, and Fitz knew, knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Ward was fully aware of the betrayal of his younger brother to the enemy. Worse was that for the first time in his life, he couldn't stop it. There was no safety net for his mind to retreat to. It was just a raw, open wound for HYDRA to dig around in, stitching it back the way they wanted and making him into the monster he always believed he was.
"I'm sorry," Fitz whispered. "I'm so, so sorry Grant."
Sorry for everything he'd done. And sorry for what he was about to do.
He heard Magnus and Zola congratulating themselves, praising him for his insight into Agent Ward's defenses. That with this breakthrough, Agent Ward of HYDRA would be the first of a new generation. A spearhead for the new HYDRA – all of the ruthless training, and none of the variable of free will, little more than a machine, an instrument of destruction.
Fitz knew what Ward would choose. Knew what he would want, if he still had a will of his own, because Fitz wanted it too.
Dead was better than a slave. Better than being stripped down to nothing without even your mind to call your own. It didn't matter what transpired between them before. There was no before. This shared hell was all there was.
And fuck it all if Fitz was going to let it stand.
He knew if he killed Ward, there would just be someone else in that device. Magnus already said they weren't essential, just preferred. Even if they were dead, HYDRA would continue.
He leaned upwards towards Grant's face, and whispered in his ear. "Grant. Help me. Help me, Grant. They're going to throw me in the well again. They're going to kill me, Grant…"
The words had exactly the effect Fitz hoped for – Ward may be unable to block emotion, but right now he wanted him to feel. He wanted that rage, that anger of a defining moment in Ward's life to come to the surface. He wanted the only thing on Ward's mind to be that day when Christian made Ward throw Thomas into the well to drown. This time, there was no mental safety net to keep that rage in control. It was the same effect except worse than the berserker staff. There were no inhibitions. No ability to control, catalog, or force an emotion away. Everything was just on the surface.
Fitz heard the thready beep of the heart monitor slow marginally, even and loud, could see the way that his eyes stopped rolling and focused on Fitz, watched as the man before him went from near stroke inducing symptoms to single minded rage.
"What the…what are you doing?" Magnus said, tapping furiously at the tablet. "Get away from him!"
Fitz ripped away the bindings, yanking Ward's arms and shoulders free. He tore the pump away from his neck, ignoring the spurt of blood and continued to untie Ward.
"They're going to kill me, Grant," Fitz hissed, pulling Ward's face towards his. "Help me, Grant. Don't let them kill me."
Ward was a loaded gun, just waiting to be aimed. Magnus and Zola wouldn't live to regret making Fitz into his only trigger. It was awful, and it was terrifying, and Fitz felt like he was tainting Grant's only memory of a long lost innocent little brother into something twisted and malicious.
But Ward was his only weapon.
And he pulled the trigger.
"Kill them first."
Ta da! What do you think? It was UNBELIEVABLY difficult to write. I think I managed...but I could just be deluding myself. I tried to keep the descriptors to a minimum because I think the reader's imagination doesn't need everything spelled out in order for them to see what's happening. However, if you feel like that it doesn't work (I mean, I wrote it, so I know what's happening, but that doesn't mean I pulled it off as well as I think I did). Also, in case anyone is wondering - the Team finally shows up next chapter. Better late than never, right?
Or DO they...? Muwahahahaha. Read and review!