And yes this is my surprise: three chapters in one day! And we have our beloved Jay and whump!
Warning: emotional broken state, bullying, mention of death, torture.
Anyways, what about we go? Let's go!
They were so furious. They blame you. They hate you. They told me how insignificant you are. How worthless you are. How you were always a burden to carry around. How bored they were about having you around. How they never considered you their family but, their merit, they fooled you so good you had believed. How suck you are as a cop. How suck you are as a friend, brother, partner and boyfriend. How much they wish you had died. Let's be straight, boy, have you ever thought they loved you? Have you ever thought they care about you? When I told my plans, they couldn't express in words their gratitude for me to stay forever with you and show what we agreed that you are really born for. You are worthless. You are a burden. You are a shame. You don't deserve to be loved. You deserve to be fucked. You are just my fucktoy, my whore, my bitch meant to beg on your knees for my cock in your holes.
Nathan's words and the following excruciating pain make him wake up facing the floor under him. He lifts his head to his arms above his head, his hands slightly purple and numb to the tightness, his shoulders arch to an unnatural angle and for his weight hanging on it and he is on his knees on the floor, in the same position where he was laying. In his diagonal right, it's the locked door (which he prays it's keeping it that way unless a miracle coming to save him), the wall faced where there was a table are out, the two chairs are out too, leaving him completely lonely. Holding his breath, the emergency urge to vomit, and controlling the shaken bloodied legs, he stands up for the first time since the kidnapping, every bone, muscle, and joint snapping, putting his arms in front of him to soften his burning and dislocated shoulder. Checking his surroundings, he finds himself alone, which he deeply appreciates. Slowly, leaning towards the cold iron, he observes his naked bruised body, the dried blood inside his thighs and in his shins, and despite the fact he is alone, he feels been watching from somewhere except the local seems without apparent cameras, crossing his legs to preserve in case. It's not from cameras the person in specific is watching. It's from above. It's from somewhere far. No, it's not God looking out for him to send a miracle to his escape. The persons in specific aren't helping him, they are judging him instead. For the most part, they are on the Earth while one is prematurely in the sky.
Voight is dead.
Will. His only older brother, who grew up under the same traumatic ceiling, helped him in many circumstances, gave the recommendation, stayed beside him no matter what, after many years apart due to the job, rebuilt the relationship. Kim. The best sister everybody would ask for and the police gave him, almost took out two times. Trudy. The most sarcastic, lovely, and motherly Sergeant he had seen in his existence. Alvin. The old veteran, one of the few that comprehends literally what is a war and the aftermath of battling. Kevin and Adam. Two inseparable brothers who, someday, will be greater detectives than him and he would love to see their ceremony. Mouse. What an uncountable and terrifying experience he and his brother in the Army had seen overseas and come back home. Antonio. The man who convinces Voight to allow him to enter the unit, he was something in his life because of him. Erin. An angel, salvation on the Earth, the most badass partner and most beautiful woman of his life. What do they have in common? Their hate for him. Well deserved in his perspective. How could you think anyone could love you? You are nothing but trouble! His first director in school.
Voight is dead.
The image. Voight's lifeless body lay on his back in a pool of blood under him from a single shot on his head. Execution style. He was executed. His boss was executed. His source of hope and salvation was executed. His dad was executed. Had he died thinking about what? About how weak, insignificant, worthless his subordinate is to not have the capacity to protect himself and whom he swore to? Hadn't you realized yet everybody among you walks away and you are the motive, your insignificant kid! Father.
Voight is dead.
What was the team thinking about while seeing the boss' dead body? They would be devastated. More than losing their boss, they lost a cop, a friend, a family member, a mentor, a leader, a dad, a person. What burns him alive is knowing he can't do anything; he can't hug each of them, convince someone to not touch the body, wait for the forensic, go to their house later with a beer or the favorite food, offer supportive words despite he wouldn't have it inside himself and overcoming piece by piece the grief; he can't be there to Erin, to hold her shaken, screaming and crying form firmly in his arms while pulling her away from the body of her father figure, taking harder the crime scene and the aftermath than a year ago, standing above Nadia's raped tortured dead body on the New York's beach.
Mentioned here, what she was probably thinking while Yates was doing what he has done? She knew she was dead before the act itself happened?
Voight is dead.
While Nathan said he had ordered the execution? While Nathan uttered the plan? Were all the people telling the truth? Is Nathan telling the truth? Yes. Is it something his father used to utter at him while in fighting? Is it something his teachers used to utter at him when he questioned because he is just curious? Is it something his first director used to utter at him because he wanted him to do something to stop people from saying all the hate he had just spilled? Is it something his colleagues used to utter at him due to him being himself and has his unique, different from the majority of the boy's, likes? Is it something other people would say after he saved them from beating and, rather than retribution or helping to get them down, more hate and another group expecting their time to beat him physically and psychologically more? Yes, he can replace them perfectly and the hate speech would be a copy. That's the reason behind his breakdown in tears in front of a fucking criminal. Why do you just kill yourself? It would be better for the world! His school colleagues after beating him to steal his food and money.
Voight is dead.
He screams what is choked in the throat. By the time and the velocity of the news fly like rumors on the Windy City, Gaffney, Firehouse, and every cop and civilian knows about his failure. Know about his worthlessness. Know about his insignificance. Know about his smallness. Is he dumb sufficient to imagine a heart would love his brokenly? Is his Pandora's Box opens in his Panic Room and all the traumas and dark secrets he graved deeply by the years passed without any support there returning to haunt him? Was he a fool who forces in the fine line of hope and urge of contradicting his father, teachers, directors, colleagues, everyone, and himself that he has value, he is enough and he isn't anything? Is he meritorious of love, care, and living? Is he worthless, insignificant, shameful, a burden, a lost boy, preferable if he dies? Is he already replacing all his nightmares' people to the team? Yes. He can imagine them uttering all that. It was a matter of time until they saw his insignificance. He always had smaller himself to them. He doesn't blame them for being sincere. He thinks the same. He preferred to get himself hurt than other people get. He preferred to get justice for others. The few who know walk away, why is he going to continue telling? Is that the reason he became a cop? He didn't get justice for him but do whatever it takes to get the other justice? Yes. That's what makes him, him. I'm sorry, Sarge. I'm sorry, team. He's telling the truth about me. Don't come…I don't deserve.
"Who said you are allowed to get up, bitch?" He shivers hearing Nathan's voice, the man in white closing the door with the left hand behind his back, hiding something on it. "Get on your knees as I put."
"What if I don't want to?" He tried to sound as stoically and courageous as he is.
"I own you. You said this yourself."
"You don't fucking own me. I just said to let Hank out of here and, you maniac motherfucker, you killed him." He caught his breath. "You killed a police officer. Don't you think the city is haunting you down and they will never give up until you are arrested?" He lances himself front as possible as the chains permit. "If I didn't kill you with my bare hands first because that's why you chained me. I can easily get you down, we both know it, that's why you are so cowardly. I'm not going down without a fight, no matter what you have scheduled for me. Screw yourself." Where in hell he had taken the courage to talk like this if mere seconds ago he was breaking down? Maybe a glimpse of fear appeared in his eyes and he couldn't contain himself not to smirk provoking brightly.
"Need help to control the whore, Nathan?" A new male voice is heard followed by the black owner entering the room. He analyzes him. He looks older but the same height as Nathan, he is better built psychically; the torso, shoulders, and hands more like Atwater's physical type than his captor, probably in his fifty years if the gray hair is something to consider, wearing a rich white toned with the most top quality outfit with a personalized cane of unidentifiable designs at a distance, by his authority, confident and powerful corporal posture he is a rich boss illegal businessman - he would kick a drug dealer or a people dealer or the two combined - but if Nathan's smile is horrifying, this man is breathtakingly worse horrifying, principally for the shiny golden incisor tooth and giant black eyes identical to an American eagle look at him like a meal that took the place from the serious and frightening features. He detests this man without even knowing him. "Is he the cop Halstead?"
"Yes. Former police officer…"
"Detective!" He screams his credential, offended.
"Former detective...whatever…it's just my fucktoy whore now!"
"What an acquisition Nathan, your brother would be proud!" The man becomes shamefully red for the mentioning of his brother "I'm thrilled to bury my friend inside your white tight little ass, cop slut." He grabs his genitals.
"It's been a long time since you last used your friend, right? You are too weak for someone to stay with you, your son of a bitch."
"Watch your mouth!" A knife. The newly sharpened and bright blade ominously spinning between the captor's left fingers. He steps back watching him playing with the knife and his unique psychic smile, a hunter studying his prey before the mortal attack. He feels a slight burn on his cheek where the blade cut shallow his skin and, unexpectedly, he takes a strong trip from behind, his knees give way and he almost fell on his ass, what stopped him was the chains, closing his eyes and crying out in pain when the shoulders' dislocated bones snapped due to the improper traction with one another and the familiar blood is felt against going down his face to his chin. His vision becomes cloudy, the bill climbs up his trachea, when he finally gains his senses again, a cold metal is against his throat, a powerful hand holding his head in place makes him start to struggle and a murmur in his ear sends shivers across his spine.
"Do not disobey me. I'm your master and you're my bitch." He opens his mouth to answer, nonetheless, a hand covers. "Before you say shit, I swear I'm hurting you and it would be a pleasure to go even further due to your disobedience. Friends of mine, like this well outfitted and excellent person one, are experts in suffering, they do worse than me and I have no fear in them teaching the greatest lesson to you. Moreover, they were invited to a party."
"What party?" He murmurs under the palm, becoming sickly intrigued by what 'party' he meant transferred to his look. It isn't something good.
"Glad you asked, curious baby. Know Mrs. Bunker, a friend of mine. He lovely opened his house to our move-in there today. For a celebration, I invited them to a party tomorrow. They all agreed. The only rule is not to kill you. You are going to be the fucktoy for me and my guests!" He says moving his hand from his mouth down.
"I'm not going to be anything at any party." Slap.
"You are going to be. I'm sure you don't want innocent people involved because of you, right bitch?"
"Do not touch anyone else!" This man is capable of doing anything in his wishes. The idea of a random man, a random woman, a random child being kidnapped and raped by Nathan and his "guests" because of him...no, anything but that, he can deal with it, one person has already died because of him. Voight is dead. It's his fault. More people get hurt and it will be the death of him.
"It's fabulous how easily he surrenders himself when you mention citizens. Good cop. Good purple on you. They related to you, both majestically beautiful. Can I have him sooner?"
"No!" Jay shouts and receives another punch.
"You can have him for a test drive tonight, Mrs. Bunker. Furthermore, you are the house's owner, whatever you want to do with my bitch, be free."
"Awesome." He says, kneeling in front of the prisoner and holds tight his chin. "I need to free my groin and nothing better than on the kind of people I hate the most: cops. And in one of the most handsome male cops I have ever seen, mommy did a good job on you, darling!" He becomes tense when he mentions his mother indirectly. "It will be delightful revenge for the people who killed my parents." He kisses him on the lips. "Good lips!"
"Touch your dirty lips in mine again and I swear I'll rip your tongue out of your mouth." He says unafraid but conscious of the probable consequences for his misbehaving.
"Nathan, I'm picking the things upstairs and waiting in the car." He announces while walking away.
"It is tomorrow night, you have time to and are changing your mind for good. If you don't, it will happen in the same way. Am I clear?" He nods silently, looking at the ground. "Verbalize."
"Yes." Punch. "Hey, I did what you wanted, your psychopath! What's the necessity of a punch?" The blood runs more freely down his cheek from the cut as he looks at the man standing in front of him and the knife on his hand, returning spiraling it between the fingers.
"It is yes master! And I will punch you whenever I want because it's entertaining. Now say it correctly."
"Yes, master." He murmurs the words, not believing he is submissive himself to him.
"Let's start the preparation shall we? Raphael and George!" He shouts, ordering the henchmen to join into the room, what is corresponded in a matter of seconds.
"Boss," George says with a clear New York accent.
"What do you need from us?" Raphael completes a Boston accent. The two of them seemed like robots, marionettes, or characters of some virtual video games, just waiting for orders from the superior.
"General opinion. How should I mark him with this beauty? I'm thinking of my initials, NA, but where?" Jay becomes speechless, the air escaping from his lungs, feeling the color on his face giving a goodbye forever, and his eyes widening. It isn't similar to a simple scar or a contusion that takes a while but fades away, his body becoming the rainbow and the treatment of a baby by everyone among him pisses him off to the full recovery. He is used to this procedure. But the initials of his rapist in his skin will never fade away, the mark will leave a resistant unhealed scar as long as he lives.
"I suggest in the base of his throat or above his groin, at the end of the belly button."
"That's what I was thinking." Were they taking the question seriously?
"Great ideas, boys." Nathan congratulates them. "Above his groin I prefer. Near to my interest point." He says staring at Jay's genitals and the cop shivers, stepping back kneeled as long as he could while Nathan goes in his direction. "There is no point in evading, bitch. Consider it a pleasure to have my initials on your bitch body!"
"Never!"
"Boys! Hold him firmly!" Raphael and George approach and his Ranger survival mode turn on. He gets back with a jump to his feet and, about George was going to catch his arms, he kneeled his genitals and kicked his nose, satisfied when the man yelped and fell holding it. Distracted by his satisfaction, he didn't see Raphael coming from behind and giving a rear-naked choke, he tried to elbow his nose unsuccessfully, dominating him for once. George recovered himself and was pissed off, blood falling like a waterfall from the nose, looking at the master begging for permission to retribute the pain caused on him. "Not now."
"This fucking bitch broke my nose."
"I already have his punishment planned and you can take retaliation. First, we have to mark so do what I have said!" Nathan says impatiently.
"You are going to regret breaking my nose, whore." He couldn't contain and whispered in Jay's ear, before grabbing his feet and together with Raphael still choking his pale half-conscious half-unconscious victim, awkwardly lay him down as straight as possible.
"Release him a little to give breathing and screaming space." Nathan chuckles picking a small blowtorch, turning it on, and directions to the blade.
"Please...find...another...way...to...this...a collar maybe?" Why is he opining? He can try as loud and hard as he wants, none is listening to him or would order him to keep his mouth shouted down. And why isn't he trying to negotiate to convince them to put anything on him? The shame is the same as using a collar or having a mark but a collar can be put out and fire down to the point it fades away, the mark doesn't.
"Why are you opining? Your opinion doesn't make a difference." He should win a guessing award. The captor turns off and throws away the blowtorch, shows the vivid red blade, and approaches a millimeter away from the chosen place. "Prepare to scream!"
"NO AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" the mantra Militar used before 'Put your head in somewhere where they can't access and they won't break you' didn't work at all. He thought about the rare Alvin's smile; he thought about Kim's, Kevin's, and Adam's joking around about everything; he thought about Antonio and the extraordinary bond with Eva and Diego; he thought about Trudy teasing him with a nickname and rolling her eyes after he corrected; he thought about every beer shared with Mouse and Will; he thought about the rare occasions when everyone was reunited in Molly's, laughing and taking pictures at full speed; he thought about waking up every morning with Erin in his arms and their legs magically entwined under the fluffy cotton sheets; he thought about Voight. Voight is dead. Reality takes over imagination. He hears the three sadistic men laughing at his begging and screaming while marking him gradually. He feels the hot and sharp blade sending hallucinating pains to his entire shape and tracing every line of the two letters centimeter by centimeter. He smells the smell of burning flesh, his flesh, his burning flesh in the room. An ocean of unwanted tears is formed in his eyes but he can't let them fall on his face. After 5 distressing minutes, the blade is removed for once and his legs and neck are released from the holdings. He quickly knees as protective and ominously as he could.
"You look wonderfully. See by yourself." George takes a mirror from the corner and gives it to the master, who puts it in front of Jay at a favorable angle to see the damage. Somehow, the burn became more real and the smell seemed to dissipate more with the help of the slightly cracked mirror with a golden edge - relevant observation: poor and worn out edge, seemed recuperated of the 1940s from the sunk Titanic, even for someone like him who doesn't know anything about decoration objects. In a vivid red newly burning tone, the swollen cut initials NA, about 2 centimeters long, are right under his belly button surrounded by black dust from the combustion. In some hours, hideous and painful pus bubbles will form. Nathan leans to him. "Except for you, my whore, my initials on your perfect porcelain skin are the second most beautiful thing I have ever seen!"
"I'm going to kill the three of you!" He hoarsely says through clenched teeth. The master rolls his eyes, murmurs something unheard to Raphael who nods and goes out of the room.
"I'm faking I hadn't heard what you just said. You are a disappointment." He says while tracing his sternum from the base of the throat to the recent mark and pressures, the prisoner writhes and winces loudly to the pain. "Let me be very clear unless you wish for a drawing or a worse punishment." He grabs his hair and puts his head behind. "You obey me, my men, and my guests with the same respect you, you oppressor pig cop, love demanding from the population. If they don't correspond, cowardly your kind of people deliberately torture and kill one by one. Exactly how your sergeant made it for my brother. One of your master's satisfaction was to pull the trigger on Hank's head and shoot that son of a bitch."
"Do not say his name! He worked in legitimate defense. You are the hypocrite one here who killed him deliberately, your motherfucker!" He speaks sadly, his death was hurting more than he thought someday in the distant future would.
"You disobeyed your master's authority and hurt my man so you must be punished."
"Here." Mrs. Bunker returned holding something in his big hands. A whip. A black leather whip. At least 2 meters long from a high-quality leather whip with coiled wire in the whole extension. The man admires inch by inch the whip for a while like it's the first time he has ever seen one in life but it's fake, he's just making a drama scene. Suddenly, he beats them on the ground, and loud CRACK echoes like lightning in the middle of an apocalyptic storm sent by Thor. He shivers at the thought of the weapon hitting him, which it was certain it would, and his shiver doesn't go unnoticed by the new residence's host. "Someone is shivering with fear at your power instrument." Has he said he hates this man or it's the first time? Anyways, he at least is repeating, he hates him. "He makes me hard!"
"Yeah, me too. So, let me count: three for disobedience towards me, three towards your host, two for fighting, three for breaking George's nose, and four because it's pastime; fifteen whipping for the first time is an excellent number. Mrs. Bunker, want to do the honors of the first five?" He says, returning the whip to the one who originally brought it.
"It's a pleasure! Back or chest?" He shrugged. "Back. Count for us, baby boy." CRACK! He stayed quiet, he would not give in and give satisfaction to these two miserable tormentors, despite his back arching in burning agony, opening a vertical giant injury for the whole extension of his back and reopening some bruises for the previous beating when the cord made contact with his bareback, the sound worse and dangerously closer to the side oh his face than on the tentative on the floor.
"This one didn't count. Add one more for not having counted, 16 whipping in total." He snorted at his captor's demand.
"Not a problem for me." CRACK. Jay murmurs something unheard. "What have you said, whore?"
"One!" He feels like obeying trash respecting their orders but as fast as he can do and finish his painful ordeal, the better.
CRACK! "Two!"
CRACK! "Three!"
CRACK! "Four!"
CRACK! "Five!" a pause, a very appreciated pause, his back killing him from the three vertical parallel whipping - the guy knew what he was doing - the blood can be felt slipping down his ass and dripping down his calf and the floor.
"George, revenge time." Nathan hums and lends the whip to the injured man whose nose is bandaged with gauze.
"Excellent." He positions in the same spot as Bunker was and restarts.
CRACK! "Six!"
CRACK! "Seven!"
"My time." Coldly, Nathan picks the whip from his hands, the man certainly wanting much more than that to avenge worthy revenge. "Go and help Raphael with putting the things on the van." The man nods and, after giving a light slap on the back of the tired prisoner, walks away. "You continue to be the obedient bitch!"
CRACK! "Eight!"
CRACK! "Nine!"
CRACK! "Ten!" His body gives up and he lances forward and down, the scraping sound of his dislocated bones making him nauseous and his back burning like it was on fire.
"Come back to the original position, stupid," the master says. "Just if you want me to start all over again, continue in this incorrect position." Stubbornly and breathtakingly, he orders his tired hurt body to do the ultimate sacrifice to return to that damn position.
CRACK! "Eleven!"
CRACK! "Twelve!"
CRACK! "Thirteen!"
CRACK! "Fourteen!"
CRACK! "Fifteen!"
CRACK! "Fucking sixteen! Ahhhh!" His shaken and sweating cold body gives up for once due to the blood waterfall in his back, he can't see but he is sure that doesn't have any blank area, his voice screaming hoarsely, he is at a point to relieved cry as a lonely tear rolls down his face, black spots appearing in his vision and his mind is dripping to the unconscious world. So numb by the pain, he didn't notice Nathan taking out a syringe and injected the content into his neck, leading like in light out to the oblivious.
"Good night Cinderella!"
"Chief, we are ready to go!" He releases him from the chains and his body falls like a log of wood face down on the ground with a thud. He drags him out of the room by the shoulders, the henchmen opening every single door to free the passage until the black stolen van, throwing him incautiously inside the back.
"Let's go!" He says while joining the back with his henchmen, Bunker's gums on the driver seat and the businessman on the passenger. They start the car and drive away like it was just another normal day.
I hope it was worth waiting for three chapters Jay! Let's be honest, I missed writing him as well. From now on approximately three chapters the unit is going to fade away and just our beloved Jay and whump will be here. Give me suggestions about what more Nathan can do to Jay! I have some but I would love to hear from you.
Besides, tomorrow after fucking 9 years, we will learn Jay's military past!!!! I'm so excited!!!
Hope you liked the three-chapters-in-one-day gift!
See you soon!!