Bob pushes the fire stick, playing around to distract himself from the sounds of pained cries and cruel laughter. They let him have a sleeping bag and allowed him to make a small fire for warmth.
It's a small mercy, but he knows better than to think it's out of kindness.
"Here," a soft voice greets his ear, and he looks up to see one of the unfortunate girls holding out a bowl of slop, a mixture of whatever they could find at the moment.
Sarah, the newest of the three. She's got brown hair and pale skin that bruises too easily. Her eyes, once bright, are now dull, haunted,
"You should be careful," Bob says as he takes the bowl from her.
"I don't want you to get hurt over me." He glances at the others, Anne, the redhead, who's been here the longest, and Lydia, the petite blonde who tries to remain invisible. They're huddled together near the edge of the camp, whispering softly.
Sarah looks down at him, her gaze weary. "They'll do what they want without an excuse," she murmurs.
She's right, of course, and that makes his stomach churn with helpless rage.
"Still," Bob starts, but the sound of an engine revving and the sure sign of hooting cuts him off, warning them that the leader, Harold, has returned. The others simply follow because they get to indulge in their dark desires.
"Go," he whispers urgently, nodding toward the girls' tent, even if it's rarely used. The reason for its lack of use makes bile rise in his throat.
Sarah hesitates for a moment, then glances back at the others before shuffling back to the tent, her shoulders hunched in defeat.
Bob watches her go, his heart aching.
He shifts the shackle digging into his leg, reminding him of what's preventing his escape.
If it was just him, he'd have tried to get out long ago, but with the girls... He would rather die than leave them to this fate. The least he can do is tend to them, offer some small comfort, and make sure they have someone who doesn't treat them cruelly.
The ranger pulls up, and the wack job steps out, his beer belly and untamed blonde hair just as wack. The sound of motorcycles pulling up only makes it worse as his groupies start gathering around.
Harold swats the ass of another girl as he passes by her. "Lookin' good, might taste you later!" he hollers.
"Huh, Russell!" The man chortles as he nudges his right-hand man. The redhead, Anne, ducks her head and simply continues with her task, having learned early on that no reaction bores them.
Bob wants to groan as the man walks up to him and stops, staring down at him. "Now, why don't you greet your master right?" Bob wants to snarl as the man wiggles his foot, expecting him to kiss it.
And like always, Bob spits out, "Fuck you."
Not a second later, the same shoe slams into the side of his temple. He lets his body fall with the force, groaning and spitting out a glob of blood, and maybe a tooth. He tries to wipe his mouth but is yanked as the chain is pulled.
He hisses as he is dragged back, raised, and left dangling like a pig. Fortunately, he was smart enough to build his fire away from the tree.
Otherwise, he'd be hovering over the flames.
"Maybe a little time in timeout will give you some encouragement. How long do you think you'll be able to handle it before your head pops from the pressure?" The man then pokes him with the fire stick, making him yell out as the hot end sears his rib.
"Squeal, piggy," Harold taunts. Bob snaps his teeth shut, refusing to give them the satisfaction. He might have a concussion from the kick to the head because why is he seeing glowing eyes in the bushes?
He swallows a mouthful of spit, trying to control his breathing. Panicking won't do him any good. He needs to keep his blood pressure low.
He opens his eyes, wondering when he shut them. The group is gathered around a fire, and he looks away when he sees one of the girls, Lydia, sitting on one of the men's laps.
He can see the scumbag's hand up her skirt. Bob wiggles his fingers, trying to lift his arms so he can pull himself up. He can't stay upside down much longer, and if they forget about him, he's going to die.
Unfortunately, he can't keep his arms up long enough.
A bird call goes off. It's too late for any birds to be active, and why does that sound familiar?
"Johnny, get a room, man! Damn!" He doesn't want to look.
"What, you don't want a show? Huh, honey, want to give them a show?" Bob feels like scum. He should've killed them when he had the chance. Instead, he's just a coward.
"What? No? Alright," Johnny says with a pout in his voice. Bob forces himself to turn and watch as the vile man drags Anne toward his tent a little ways away. He can only see because he's up in the air.
He is disgusted by how trivial the men act while the girl is crying.
Bob watches as they just reach the tent when Johnny suddenly stumbles and slumps. It takes a second for him to recognize the soft sound of a silencer going off. He watches as a big man steps out and rushes to cover Anne's mouth before she can let out a noise and alert the others.
A smaller man steps out, and Bob can see him only because of the full moon. The man is decorated in tattoos and seems to be able to calm Anne.
'Anne,' Bob thinks, her name finally coming back to him.
He watches as the man waves a hand, and Anne slumps onto the other. He watches as the man with a crossbow steps out and says something, to which the smallest of them nods.
Bob watches as they spread out, his focus on the smallest as he creeps closer while the others fade into the woods. The strange thing is, they don't seem to be making any noise.
He marvels at how the group isn't noticing the smaller man as he gets within a few feet, hidden behind a tree trunk but still in Bob's view.
He watches, wondering if he's becoming delirious as the man pulls out a knobby stick and points it toward the group.
A strange beam of light shoots out, and to his horror, the laughing man closest seizes up. The guy next to him looks confused before his body seizes too. A chain reaction occurs as they start freaking out. The few who try to get up only take a step before they too seize and become immobile.
'What the fuck!' Bob thinks.
He watches as the small one walks out and is confused when the two burly men come back with a bunch of wood and rope.
The smaller one waves his stick, and the group twitches before they seem to move as if pulled by a string, lining up and being placed in a kneeling position.
Bob lets out a choked noise as green eyes turn to him with a sharp look. The next thing he registers is the guy nodding his way and him being lowered.
The man says something, and then Bob's world goes black.
Sarah watches, stunned, as the men who have tormented her, Anne, and the others are brought to their knees before three strangers, Harold, is kneeling as if in submission, something Sarah never thought she'd witness.
The sight sends a thrill of fear and confusion through her, but there's also a flicker of hope, a feeling she'd buried long ago.
Standing in front of Harold is a young man with dark, messy hair and a piercing gaze.
He stands with an air of authority that commands attention, flanked by two men who look just as deadly, one with a crossbow slung over his shoulder, and the other with an intimidating presence, but it's the young man in the center who holds her attention.
He steps forward, his eyes locking onto hers and Anne's as they peek out from the tent.
For a brief moment, Sarah feels exposed, vulnerable, as if he can see every horror she's endured, a soft whisper escapes his lips. "Obliviate."
"That's four now," Merle mocks, setting the unconscious girls down.
Ignoring the man, he turns his attention back to the men kneeling before him, rage simmering just beneath the surface.
He's seen enough evil in his life to know that some stains can't be washed away.
"Merle, Daryl," he says quietly, his voice carrying a lethal edge. "Get the ropes." He feels vindictive when the men start struggling against his magic.
Both nod, moving swiftly to carry out the task.
Harry keeps his wand trained on the men, their eyes wide with fear, but unable to move.
They'd lost all control the moment he and the Dixon brothers arrived. Merle and Daryl work quickly, stringing up the men one by one along the highway that borders the camp.
Harry's stomach churns with disgust as he watches them dangle in the night air, the moon casting a pale glow over their lifeless forms. He steps forward, his expression cold and detached, as he points his wand at each of them in turn.
"Rapist," he mutters, and the word etches itself into the flesh of each man, a permanent reminder of their crimes. The red letters stand out starkly against their skin, a warning to anyone who might pass by and find them.
Harry steps back, surveying his work with grim satisfaction. "Let this be a message," he says, mostly to himself. The road is quiet now, save for the soft rustle of leaves in the wind and the distant hum of the Dixon brothers packing up their gear.
As they prepare to leave, Harry spares one last glance at the tent where Sarah and Anne sleep. He knows their lives won't be easy after this, but at least they'll be free. He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of what he's done, but it clings to him like a shadow.
"Come on," Daryl says quietly, nodding towards the forest. "We've done what we came to do."
Harry nods and follows them into the darkness, leaving the men to swing in the wind, a grim testament to the price of their sins.
Harry stands before the kneeling men, his eyes cold and calculating.
The memory of what they've done to Sarah, Anne, and countless others fester inside him like poison. He won't allow these scum to escape justice-not this time. Merle and Daryl are a silent but comforting presence like always, their faces hard with the same resolve.
Harry twirls his wand slowly between his fingers, letting the tension build. The men glance up at him, their fear palpable. Harold, the so-called leader, trembles slightly, his bravado drained away now that his fate is in someone else's hands.
"You think you can prey on the weak?" Harry's voice is sharp, cutting through the night air like a blade. "You think you can torment and destroy lives without facing the consequences?"
Harold opens his mouth to protest, but Harry flicks his wand, silencing him with a sharp, painful spell that clamps his mouth shut.
The man gags, his eyes bulging with the sudden pressure.
"Silence"" Harry hisses, feeling like Voldemort and not ashamed at the satisfaction that creeps in his veins at the terror in their eyes as they bend to his will.
"Now." He intones coldy, and with a wave of his wand, Harry forces the men to their feet.
"You're going to walk," he says, a cruel edge to his voice, "And with every step, you'll feel the pain you've inflicted on others."
"A thousand needles in your feet for every inch you move" He then mutters a spell, and immediately the men gasp and stumble as if the very ground beneath them has turned to shards of glass. Their feet drag against the earth, every step a struggle, but they can't stop, as Harry's magic compels them forward, out of the camp and into the dark woods.
The sound of their labored breathing fills the air as they move, their feet scraping against the dirt. Harry walks beside them, unrelenting, watching them suffer.
"Keep moving," he orders, his voice merciless. "You'll reach the highway soon enough, then everyone will see what you truly are and how scum like you should be treated."
One of the men whimpers, his knees buckling beneath him, but Harry doesn't let up. "Oh no, you don't get to rest," he sneers, lifting his wand. The man's legs straighten involuntarily, and he's forced to continue the agonizing march.
Merle beside him casually starts a conversation as they approach the highway. "Do you know how long it takes for someone to die from hanging?" he asks.
"It's not quick." Merle shakes his head not bothering t o hide his glee, "No, it's a slow, agonizing process."
"Your necks won't snap like in the movies. You'll dangle there, fighting for breath, your faces turning purple as you desperately try to suck in air that won't come."
Merle makes sure his voice is heard and cackles as their faces pale, horror dawning on them as they realize what awaits them.
Daryl chimes in with a hint of mischief as he takes over, his voice a low growl, "You'll feel your lungs burn, your heart pounding in your chest as the blood vessels in your eyes burst."
"You'll claw at the ropes, your fingers scraping the rough fibers until they're bloody stumps. But no one will come to help you."
They finally reach the highway, and at his nod Merle and Daryl step forward, working with a swift, practiced efficiency. The men are trembling now, their bravado completely shattered as the Dixon brothers string them up one by one along the side of the road.
Harry watches with a detached expression as the ropes tighten around their necks. The moonlight casts a pale glow over the gruesome scene, illuminating the fear etched into their faces.
He steps forward once more, wand in hand, and mutters the final word of their sentence. "Rapist." The letters burn into their flesh, glowing a deep, angry red, stark against their pale skin. They all cry out as the brand sears into their skin.
It's a mark that will remain long after their deaths, a final declaration of their crimes.
Harry steps back, surveying his work with grim satisfaction.
"Let this be a message," he says quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. The night is silent, the only sound is the creak of ropes as the men sway in the wind. He snaps his finger and the ropes yank up and he lets go of the magic holding them all, watching as they all helplessly and fruitlessly swing and jerk as the ropes tighten.
As the Dixon brothers finish packing up their gear, Harry spares one last glance at the tent where Sarah and Anne sleep, blissfully unaware of the horrors that have unfolded. He knows their lives won't be easy after this, but at least they'll be free-free from the torment these men inflicted.
Miles away a gunshot goes off and a barn is set on fire.
A/n:
I always adored bob, so I included him into the story early.
I hope the revenge is satisfying, I tried to make it good.
I'll be honest I totally forgot about Randal until I finished this chapter, just know he was killed off screen. Hope that isn't too much of a bummer.
I can't write a scene if you want and add it later.
So what is Harry gonna do with four new people, and if it's not clear Harry oblivated them all.
Thoughts? I don't think it was ever confirmed if the claimers were Randal's group so I made my own, and tbh I forgot they existed.
Of course shane and Rick still fuck shit up