Fic: No More Natural 1/2 (Hard R, read the warnings)
Title: No More Natural
Author: arsenicjade
Rating: R
Fandoms: WC, Leverage, bandom, Suits, M7, GW, ST: AOS, SGA, HG (books), Avengers(2012)
Warnings: Non-consensual sex between an adult and a 17 year old, violence, and electrical torture.
Summary: The fourth fic in the Dickens-verse, it's not going to make a lot of sense without the earlier fics. The people Parker rescued Eliot from catch up to him. (Working title: If You Thought The PREVIOUS Chapters Were Ridic, Oh, Just Wait...)
AN: As always, this is for egelantier, who puts up with me and all my wrong opinions. Special thanks to ivorysilk and hoosierbitch for hand-holding and cheerleading. These fics are unbeta'ed. I refuse to grant them the dignity of betaing.
Home life is no more natural to us than a cage is natural to a cockatoo. -George Bernard Shaw
Ezra Paris Standish-Wilmington used words excavated from the depths of the Oxford English Dictionary, ran a floating poker game right under the school’s nose, smiled with all his teeth, and reminded Neal far too much of himself to be trusted, even just a little bit. Ezra was the kind of kid you had to play with at his level of play, or not at all. Neal knew he could manage it, but he also knew it would lead to trouble, and the last thing Neal needed was trouble. He ignored the part of himself that missed the kind of fun Ezra’s sort of trouble could bring.
Neal’s intention to resist Ezra’s siren call lasted all of two weeks after he, Eliot and Parker had begun school. In fairness to himself, his excuse for failure was pretty strong. He was checking the science lab, where Eliot liked to work on homework until they were all ready to catch the bus back home. Eliot wasn’t there, though, so Neal made his way to the recess grounds in the back. It was still warm enough out that Eliot could be found kicking around a soccer ball, or shooting hoops on the asphalt.
Instead Neal found a group of kids he didn’t recognize at all surrounding Ezra and the kid Eliot was in a specialized reading class with, Davin Tanner-Larabee, Vin. Neal thought to himself, not your problem, thought, turn around and leave, but the kids in question looked like they might be from the community college a few blocks over-considerably bigger than either Vin or Ezra-and Neal had heard the word “retard” snickered, seen Vin stiffen. It reminded him too damn much of Eliot’s quiet fragility over his illiteracy to just walk away.
Ezra’s body language was gorgeously relaxed, and though Neal couldn’t hear what he was saying, he could tell it was being said with just the right amount of charm. He could also tell-and was pretty sure Ezra knew-that it wasn’t going to deter the others from tormenting Vin, possibly more.
Neal didn’t exactly have a plan, but three on four was better than two on four, which were the odds before he arrived. He tried a simple, “Oh, hey, I’ve been looking for you. Your parents are here.”
It didn’t have the desired effect, possibly because while Ezra caught on instantly and began to say, “Right, come on, Vin,” Vin blinked at Neal, whom he’d never officially met. And in the instant of distraction, one of the older, bigger kids, shoved Vin.
Vin was maybe all of fourteen and small at that. He tried standing his ground, but the other kid had at least fifty pounds on him. Vin got right back up but before he could manage, Ezra was in between them, his calm demeanor terrifying for anyone who knew what to look for. The Neanderthals who had started this were pretty obviously not in that group, since they laughed, and by then, Neal was there, standing next to Ezra. Ezra blinked at him, maybe would have said something, but their concentration was diverted by the fact that the bigger kids were in the mood for a fight, and shoving was just an appetizer.
Neal had no idea how long it went on before Mr. Winner and Mr. Barton were out there, pulling the larger kids off of them and herding them into the school with a surprising amount of force and efficiency. Mr. Hardison was right behind them, helping the three of them up and asking, “Wanna explain what that was all about?”
So far, Mr. Hardison was Parker’s very favorite thing about this school, which recommended him to Neal, but this wasn’t Neal’s story to tell, not really, and he might not trust Ezra, but the kid had put himself between four guys bigger than him for the sake of one quiet, highly dyslexic other kid. Neal had his back on this, assuming it didn’t mean lying to Elizabeth or Peter.
Ezra, who had the start of one impressive shiner, did his best to smile-he was good at keeping it small, Neal noticed, so that it didn’t cause him to wince-and say, “They were uninterested in the finer details of special education, Mr. Hardison.”
Mr. Hardison rolled his eyes. “In other words, you have taken a vow of silence in relation to authority figures.”
Ezra gave him a look of such untainted innocence that it was all Neal could do not to snort. Mr. Hardison said, “Fine, kid, but I’m calling your parents.”
Ezra did flinch at that, but all he said was, “Mine. I started it. Vin’s got nothing to do with this.”
Vin, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, said quietly, “Shut up, Ez.” Then, to Mr. Hardison, “They started it. Over me. Ezra and Neal were just helping.”
Mr. Hardison looked over at Neal, who was starting to feel the bruising on his stomach, where one of them had gotten in a punch. “You’re Parker’s older brother, right?”
Neal never knew how to answer questions like that. He didn’t mind Parker telling people that, or anything, would have loved to have been able to say yes without feeling like he was committing some type of crime, but it wasn’t that simple. Still, he figured they were probably registered with the school that way, so he nodded. Mr. Hardison asked, “What were you doing out here?”
“Getting some fresh air,” Neal told him sincerely.
Mr. Hardison responded with an expression that said he would like to gently strangle them all to death. Neal figured that was pretty fair. Instead he ran a hand over his head and said, “C’mon. They probably put those jerks in the office, so we’ll just commandeer the nurse’s station.”
Ezra spoke up, “You’ll call Sara and Buck, though, Mr. Hardison, yes? Leave Mr. and Mrs. Larabee out of this.”
Mr. Hardison looked at Vin. “Detective Wilmington’s your dad’s partner, right?”
Vin nodded. Mr. Hardison shrugged and told Ezra, “Sure, kid. One call is better than two.”
Neal didn’t miss how Ezra put himself between Vin and Mr. Hardison on their way to getting patched up.
*
The nurse was just about done checking them all over-Ezra was the only one who needed something more than ibuprofen, and even there it was just some alcohol and antibiotic cream and a bandage-when Neal noticed Parker sneaking into the room. He rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to ask if she was supposed to be there; of course she wasn’t. Instead he asked, “Where’s Eliot?”
“On the bench outside. He’s the lookout.”
Neal bit back a sigh. “Go sit with him. I don’t want either of you coming in here when Elizabeth or Peter gets here.”
“But-“
“No buts, Parker Burke, and if I find out you’re not sitting with Eliot when they get here, I’ll tell the Burkes you want dresses for your birthday.”
Parker made a face. “You’re mean. And Burke isn’t--”
“Cruel, even,” Neal agreed, cutting her off. Burke wasn’t her official last name yet, but it would be, it would, and a single name didn’t work as well as a double one when being firm. He made a shooing motion with his hands. She huffed and flounced off.
After a second, Ezra laughed, short and sharp. “I like her.”
Neal was about to answer when the sound of Mr. Hardison saying, “Special Agent Ellis-Wilmington,” and a woman responding, “Sara, please,” filtered past the door, and Ezra’s walls, which had been at half-mast, went right back up. Vin kicked at his ankle, but Ezra ignored him, standing as the door opened.
A very attractive, very fashionable woman walked in, raked her gaze over Ezra and Vin and said, “Rough day, huh?”
Ezra was standing in front of Vin again, not obviously, but enough that Neal noticed. He thought the woman, Sara, probably did as well. Ezra gave a lazy smile and said, “My charm is world-famous.”
She stepped closer and Ezra flinched back. Neal knew it was a mistake, instinct more than anything. She backed off immediately. Ezra looked to the side. Vin stood up, pushing Ezra out of his way gently. He asked, “Chris and Buck at work?”
She tore her eyes off Ezra and nodded. “They caught a case. They’re sorry, both of them. And Mary’s-“
“At Billy’s tournament,” Vin finished.
“So you’re stuck with me,” she confirmed. Then, “What happened?”
“I got in a fight,” Ezra said casually.
“Looks to me like you lost a fight,” she said, equally casual.
Neal had to bite back a laugh. She didn’t seem mad, although Ezra was still on edge, so maybe Neal was reading her as wrongly as he’d read Ezra. Then Vin spoke up.
“They called me a retard.”
Sara’s eyes darkened. “I want their names.”
Ezra backed up a little more. Sara took a breath. “Sorry. That wasn’t-- I do want their names, but just because Mr. Hardison said they weren’t from this school, so I want to pursue their asses for trespassing and assault. I’m not mad at you, Ezra.”
Ezra didn’t seem entirely sure what to do with that. Neal could appreciate the smoothness of his, “I did not believe you were.”
Sara called him on it with a look of patent disbelief. Then she turned to Neal. “You’re one of the kids Harvey Specter’s working on helping the Burke’s adopt, right?”
Neal blinked at her. “Yes?” He hadn’t meant it to sound like a question.
Sara smiled. “Harvey used to work with my husband and his partner back when he was with the prosecutor’s office.”
Several things clicked into place at once, things that Neal should have had enough clues to figure out well before now. Neal pulled himself together and said, “Pleasure meeting you, ma’am.”
“Sara. I’ll call your parents and if they haven’t left work, I’ll drop you off.”
Neal shook his head. “There are three of us-“
“Buck decided I needed an SUV for the kid-singular-we were adopting. There could be eighty of you.”
Neal tried, “You don’t need to go out of your way, if you just walk us to the bus station we can get back. I don’t think the school’s going to let us leave without someone signing me out.”
Sara looked at him for a long moment and said, “For that, we’re all stopping for gelato. Every single last one of us.”
Vin smiled a little. “I like tangerine.”
*
It was weird, having a friend, friends, at school, like some normal kid, who left home in the morning and always knew he would be welcome to return. Neal almost tried to resist it, except that it was obvious Ezra would have let him-and Vin, with his too serious eyes and overly quiet smiles would be disappointed without ever admitting it-and Neal wasn’t one to do what was expected of him.
Of course, Eliot and Vin had already decided that they had each other’s backs, so it was almost impossible for Ezra and Neal not to hang out if they were to keep an eye on the others. It was clear not doing so wasn’t really an option for either of them, so it just came together that the four of them spent every non-class moment together, and occasionally some tutoring sessions, with Ezra and Neal helping Eliot and Vin.
More often than not, Ezra and Vin would come back to the Burke’s place and have an after school snack, hang out until Chris, Buck, Mary or Sara got off work and came to pick them up. It was weird, yeah, but it was also kind of perfect in a way that Neal didn’t like to think about, even as he kept the feeling tucked somewhere tight and safe within himself for when he needed something to remember.
Parker had joined the soccer team, which meant that three days out of every week the four of them waited for an hour and a half for her to finish up with practice before heading home. It was on one of these days when it was unusually warm for the late fall. The four of them ventured just slightly off school grounds, into the area shaded with trees outside the school’s fence.
Vin climbed one of the trees, but stayed low enough that he could ask questions without shouting. Eliot and Ezra sat with their backs to the tree, and Neal laid flat on the ground, closing his eyes for a bit. He opened them to the sound of leaves rustling, just in time to see Eliot open his mouth, his eyes wide with panic. Neal sat up, asked, “What?”
Eliot launched himself at something behind Neal; Neal turned just enough to realize it was someone, not something. Vin was scrambling down from the tree and Ezra was on his feet, shouting at Vin to stay up there, when suddenly there were other men, bigger than the one Eliot was attacking. Neal kicked at the knee of the one closest to him, but the man evaded and punched Neal in the jaw, which took Neal to the ground. He was hoisting himself back onto all fours when there was a quick shift of air behind his head and everything went dark.
*
It had been awhile since Neal had forced himself to stay utterly still, maintain the illusion of sleep upon waking, but something instinctive made him do so when he came to. He listened for anything that might give him clues as to whether he was with the others, anything. There was a soft whispering that did not sound familiar, but nothing else.
Neal was unbound. His head hurt enough that even cracking his eyes took some convincing, and he felt bruised all over, as if he’d been jolted around thoroughly, but other than the damp of the atmosphere, the cold that was working its way from the concrete he was lying on right into his very core, Neal was pretty sure he was physically fine. He made himself open his eyes the rest of the way, which caused his stomach to roll over. He took a breath to try and calm it.
Wherever he was, it was dark enough that it was hard to make out the space. After a few more breaths, he started seeing figures. At least one of them was Eliot. Neal began to push himself to a sitting position just to have Eliot come to him, help prop him up against a wall. Eliot said, “Easy, I think you have a concussion.”
“Possible,” Neal admitted. There wasn’t anything to be done about it, though, so Neal just asked, “Have any idea of where we are? And who’s your friend?”
Said “friend,” a wiry kid with startling blue eyes, grinned, but Neal noticed how it bordered on a grimace. Eliot didn’t bother to hide his own grimace. “Neal, meet Jamie Kirk.”
Despite the pain in his head, things clicked into place for Neal. “Those guys, the people holding us, they’re the ones Parker took you from.”
Eliot’s nod was tight. “Neal, I’m sorry, if I’d just-“
Neal shook his head then squeezed his eyes shut against the intense desire to throw up. When he could, he said, “No. This isn’t on you. You didn’t even ever give us your real name. Do we have any idea where the others are?”
Neal opened his eyes in time to see Eliot look to Jamie. “Who’s left?”
Jamie tossed his chin toward another corner of what Neal could only assume was their cell. He said, “You’ve seen ‘Kari and Nyota. John and Ronon were in here earlier, but they moved them out to move you in. Heero, Duo and Une are somewhere. I haven’t seen in any of them in a few days, but there’d’ve been news if something’d happened to one of them. Clint and Tasha are probably with them. Kat, Jo and Finn might have your others.”
Eliot shared a look with Jamie. “Gale? Rei? Dory? Steve? Aiden? Will?”
Jamie didn’t look away, but Neal could tell how much he wanted to. Gently, ever so gently, Eliot asked, “Pavel?”
Jamie did look away at that. When he looked back, he told Eliot, “We thought you, too. We thought-- Because you would have come, you would have helped.”
And as confused and lost as this Jamie seemed, as much as Neal knew he was missing, he couldn’t help hissing at the other boy. “Fuck you right in your self-righteous face.”
Neal wasn’t sure who looked more surprised: Jamie or Eliot. Neal supposed he didn’t use swear words all that often; other things were far more useful. Jamie started toward him, but Eliot hauled him off, and though Eliot hadn’t been fighting all these months-almost a year now-he had regular meals and sleep in beds and about a million other things on Jamie. Also, Jamie gave in the second he realized who he was fighting, the second he realized Eliot was apologizing, over and over.
Jamie said, “Why-- What-“
“I didn’t even mean to go. Parker-- They would have hurt her, because she wasn’t going to leave if I didn’t.”
“Parker?”
Eliot looked at Neal. Neal said, “Sister.”
Eliot repeated, “Sister.”
Jamie ran a hand over his face. Over in the other corner, there was a rustling, and a boy of about thirteen or so came over to them. Neal thought Jamie was about the same age, maybe even a little younger, but it was clear the other boy deferred to him, settling his chin on Jamie’s shoulder. He looked at Eliot, “We thought you were dead.”
Eliot nodded. “Hey, ‘Kari.”
“Sucks to see you again, man,” ‘Kari told him. “You should’ve stayed far away.”
Jamie sighed, but nodded in agreement. After a second, the girl who had been sleeping got to her feet and ambled over. She looked Eliot up and down. He said, “Hi, Nyota,” sounding uncertain.
She made a face and hugged Eliot. “You’re stupid,” she told him, which he seemed to accept.
When she let go, he said, “The other kids, the ones that were with us, we need to find out if they’re still here.”
“Likely,” Nyota said through a yawn. “They’ve been looking for fresh blood.”
Jamie stiffened beside her and she kicked his ankle softly, but followed it up by wrapping herself around him as best she could with ‘Kari still holding himself up with Jamie’s shoulder. She murmured, “We couldn’t’ve done anything,” but for the first time since she’d woken, Neal heard the doubt in her voice, the guilt. If he could hear it, he knew damn well Jamie could. Jamie just squeezed one of her hands, the one that didn’t look like someone had driven over it with a Hummer.
Eliot said very quietly, “Their parents are, collectively, two New York detectives, a White Collar unit FBI agent, and an investigative reporter. And there are-- People will look for me and Neal.”
He looked over at Neal and said, “They will.”
Neal thought of the limp ‘Kari had sported walking over, Nyota’s hand, and the way there was a scar down the entirety of the right side of Jamie’s face. He thought of the scars he’d seen on Eliot back when they hadn’t had rooms or much in the way of privacy. He said, “I’m not sure waiting for that to happen is the best idea.”
He was kind enough not to voice his concerns over Eliot’s belief. Eliot needed that belief. And Peter and Elizabeth were good people. If they didn’t want Neal back for themselves, or even Eliot, they wouldn’t just allow them to disappear, they hadn’t before. Then again, maybe this was a case of boys who cried wolf. How many times could Peter and Elizabeth really be expected to expend the resources to find them? Maybe if the other kids were insistent enough, but it might just be easiest to put them back in the system, now that they were all legally reregistered. Fuck, Neal should have thought about that. He stopped the train of thought, there was nothing he could do about it.
For the moment, Neal was pretty sure Eliot was dead on about Vin and Ezra’s parents moving hell and high water. Having met Chris and Mary Larabee, those were two people who didn’t often take no for an answer. And Chris clearly thought Vin was made of ponies and sugar and anything else that made life that much better. Sara was the same way. Buck was more laid back, but he was, as far as Neal could tell from the few times he’d met the man, willing to move heaven and earth for Ezra, no matter how much Ezra seemed to doubt that.
Now they just had to selfishly hope that Vin and Ezra were there with them. Sometimes, it was all Neal could do not to absolutely abhor himself.
*
Neal lost track of time fairly quickly, which made him nervous. There was no natural light in the cells; when the lights were on or off did not seem to conform to any day or night related cycle; and it was patently obvious they weren’t being fed on a regular schedule. In fact, so far as Neal could figure out, they were fed in ways meant to throw them off, and meant to allow continued health enough for the fighting, but not any sort of sustainable good condition.
That said, he was fairly certain it had been less than a couple of days before they learned that Ezra and Vin were still alive and in the same complex as them. In hindsight, Neal would have almost preferred things continuing on as they were, given the way they received the intel.
He knew something was wrong almost immediately when men with tasers and nightsticks herded them out of the cell, and every single one of the others shared a glance that clearly said, what the hell? The unknown was almost never a good thing, in Neal’s experience. Or, well, it had been, somewhat bizarrely, for about a year now, but that was overridden by the sixteen years prior, and also, the tasers and nightsticks involved.
Neal’s instinct of oh shit turned out to be dead-on, since he was placed in another cell with Jamie, ‘Kari, Nyota and a few other kids he didn’t know, and forced to watch Eliot and Vin fight until one was unconscious. At first Eliot and Vin just stood there, talking quietly, but then the announcer spoke up. “Winner wins a night of safety for a friend. Loser’s friend goes in the cage. If you chose not to fight, or give in too easily, both of your friends will be paired up with more seasoned fighters for death matches.”
Neal does his best to signal to Eliot. They need Ezra alive and they both know it. Neal cannot even imagine what Buck would do, let alone Sara, if they arrived only to find Ezra a casualty. Eliot snarled, but Vin said something, soft and most likely accepting, Vin could be so fucking accepting, and the two of them squared off.
Vin was fast and clever and willing to fight dirty. Even so, Eliot clearly should have won. He was sturdier and more accustomed to fighting. He was also, as it turned out, very, very good at throwing fights. Neal didn’t think he would have known had he not been aware Eliot was going to do it. Watching the men surrounding the cage, he suspected they knew as well, perhaps just from years of watching Eliot fight-the thought made Neal’s stomach clench, he’d only had to watch once now, and it had been one of the hardest things he’d done, in a lifetime of hard things-but the crowd clearly did not, not from the way they were swearing or cheering, depending on their placed bets.
They put Neal in the cage with a kid named Ronon, who was roughly twice the size of Neal, and whose expression reminded Neal of the feral cats he’d sometimes fed back when just he, Mikey and Gee were living in alleyways for the most part. Somewhat shockingly, when they fought, however, Ronon wasn’t vicious. Neal knew better than to think he or Ronon could get away with not fighting, any more than Eliot or Vin had been able to. Fighting wasn’t Neal’s strength, not really, he was better at the con, but like Vin, he was fast and able to think well under pressure.
Ronon was also fast, but he didn’t use the fact to taunt Neal. He was quick about the way he attacked, almost professional. During his third hit, he held Neal close enough to him to murmur, “I’m going to make this as quick as I can,” his tone flat, not threatening, if anything holding back compassion.
Neal huffed out something that probably sounded like agreement. It wasn’t disagreement. Mostly, Neal just wanted to be hit as few times as possible without getting either of them in trouble. He came up, bringing the back of his head directly into Ronon’s chin, which hurt like a bitch. Ronon kept to his word. Neal counted three more hits, and it was over.
*
Ezra was there when Neal woke up. Vin and Eliot weren’t. He coughed, then regretted it. His ribs were definitely at least bruised. Most everything felt bruised, though, so he wasn’t surprised he hadn’t noticed it first thing. “Vin? Eliot?”
Ezra said softly, “Different cell. Your new friend is over there.”
Neal followed the tilt of Ezra’s head to where Ronon was curled up on the floor, his head on another boy’s lap. A red-haired girl who couldn’t have been older than ten or eleven was all-but fused to the side of a boy who was maybe a year older than her. All three of the kids were watching Ronon with wary, tired expressions. “He looks-“
“They took a cane to him, after, for not prolonging the match to their preferences.”
Neal shivered, then bit his lip against the pain of movement. “Oh.”
“Neal-“ Ezra hesitated, which was weird, that wasn’t his style. Lying or making a joke of things, certainly, but not eliding them.
“Ez?”
“They were displeased with Eliot’s tactics to allow Vin’s win.”
Neal winced. “You noticed.”
“No, or, not entirely, although I suspected there was something not altogether right. They informed him the punishment would be meted out upon you in the morning.”
Neal took a breath, and said, “Oh,” again.
“Chris will tear down buildings with his bare hands, should that be what it takes to find Vin, but circumstances might necessitate us hastening our discovery.”
Neal similarly had the feeling that their keepers might be all too happy to get rid of them merely to punish Eliot for his disobedience, or because they thought them too big a risk. Either way, Ezra was right, they couldn’t just sit around and wait. Neal closed his eyes for a second, breathing in time with the slow throbbing of his body. He opened his eyes and said, “There was a guard watching us fight, not for the fight itself.”
Ezra nodded slowly. “No, indeed. He had other expenditures of energy on his mind.”
“He was being careful. I don’t think-- Whatever else they allow here, I think that might be frowned upon.”
“Perhaps,” Ezra agreed. “Blackmail?”
“Or charm. Maybe both,” Neal made his voice stay even.
“Very well, I’ve some experience in both areas.”
Neal shook his head sharply. “We need you with Vin, and relatively unharmed. Chris and Buck get what they come for.”
“Neal-“
Neal fixed Ezra with a sharp look. “Alternatively, I could tell Vin the plan.”
Slowly, Ezra whispered, “I loathe you.”
“Entirely mutual,” Neal said easily. “Now, mind sharing some body warmth? I don’t think the cold is working quite like an ice pack on anything left by that short little tussle I had.”
Ezra sighed, and worked so that he was in a position that meant they kept each other a little warmer, but hurt Neal as little as possible. Almost silently he told him, “I owe you.”
“No,” Neal said, and pretended to sleep as a way of avoiding a further argument.
*
Neal had been beaten with all sorts of things: belts, frying pans, hairbrushes, bare hands, even a chair, once. He’d lived through several New York winters without the benefit of what could reasonably be called shelter, and had survived food poisoning from unwise dumpster diving. Discomfort and pain were kind of the devils he knew.
Their captors didn’t beat him. They hooked the insides of his thighs, his lower back and his stomach muscles up to what looked disturbingly like a car battery, and turned it on.
It wasn’t subtle. They didn’t start at some low level of shocks, didn’t use the pain in pulses, didn’t do anything but flood Neal’s nerves with electricity. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t beg, not with the others watching, not with Eliot looking wan and miserable, the way Neal remembered him first being. Neal was begging within seconds, not even coherently, purely screaming for it to stop, please, stop.
It did, eventually. Somewhere, in the part of his brain that was always dissecting situations, keeping himself and the others safe, he knew it hadn’t been that long. His mouth was dry and his throat hurt from the screaming. He thought the bruised ribs might have cracked in his struggles, his chest hurt that much, but not quite enough to distract him from the way his stomach and thighs and back burned, as though someone had set a torch down inside them and forgotten it there. He made himself breathe, it seemed the only thing he could do.
Somebody was saying something. Neal thought he should pay attention. He blinked a few times, trying to focus. It was something about defiance, blah, blah, blah. And then the others were moving, leaving, and Neal closed his eyes. He would not panic. He had begged, but that had only made sense, really. Panicking never helped anything.
When the others were gone-he couldn’t hear them any more-someone said, “Let’s get you free, huh?”
Neal opened his eyes and almost laughed, almost. They’d left him with the one guard he most and least wanted to be alone with, particularly at this very moment. The man was looking at him with sympathetic eyes that made Neal’s stomach, already pitchy, turn over. Neal made himself swallow, made himself think about Eliot and about getting out of here. He used his most sweetly innocent, most small tone, to say, “Thanks.”
It was work. He wanted to snarl. He wanted to kick once one of his legs was free. Instead he made himself stay still, made himself let this man get him back in the thin scrub-like outfits they kept all of them in when not in the center cage. He let the man hold him a little too close as Neal limped back down the corridors of cages. Most of all, he made himself pay attention to the layout of things. It didn’t tell him much, but it was something.
The man set Neal down almost gently, but with a leer Neal did not miss. Neal laid back on the cool of the cement and looked around to see if he was in with anyone he knew. He wasn’t. In one corner sat a boy and a girl, and a third kid who might have been either. Neal wanted water, but he knew there wasn’t any to be had. He closed his eyes and let himself float, somewhere as far away from the remaining pain as he could possibly get.
*
He woke up with his head in someone’s lap, water being gently pressed along his lips. He struggled to get his eyes open. He felt as though someone had baked him, drying his insides up like a desert, leaving them to crack. He had just managed to struggle to consciousness when the kid above him smiled and said, “Hey. Try some more water, okay?”
Neal croaked, “Thanks,” and did as told. The kid had purple eyes, not deep blue, actually violet, and a braid, but he was also a guy, Neal could tell this close up. When the kid had gotten a few more sips into Neal, Neal tried turning on his side and did his best to push himself up. It left him panting and sick to his stomach, but he managed. The kid put the cup of water to Neal’s mouth and gave him a little more.
Neal swallowed. “You need some.”
“Not like you,” the other boy said, and both the girl and the boy taking care of Neal looked at him. Neal got the feeling he didn’t speak up much.
Neal heard the chill in his caretaker’s voice when he said, “Hee was the last one they did it on. A while back.”
“But Hee just refused to kill,” the girl said with an eerie calm. “Kane escaped, scared them. You’re fucked.”
“Une,” they both said, in unison.
She shrugged. “It’s true. And Dory died anyway, so you might as fucking well have spared yourself.”
Neal’s erstwhile pillow sighed and said, “That little ray of sunshine is Une, and she’s got a soul, she’s just preferred to hide it since-- Well, it’s in there somewhere. Heero over there has got too much soul for his own damn good, and I balance us all out.” The last was accompanied by a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I’m Neal. Is Kane, is that Eliot’s real name?”
“Duo, and yeah, but he seems to have chosen Eliot. It’s just hard to always remember.” Duo held out his hand, like they weren’t in a cell, like this was an everyday meeting between friends. Neal shook it, letting the warmth of Duo’s palm seep into him, just a bit.
“They’re going to make John and Ronon fight for Ronon’s little stunt, you know,” Une said, almost like she was continuing a conversation.
“Not the first time,” Duo said, but even without knowing him, Neal could tell he was uneasy.
“John’ll be lucky if they let either of them out of that cage without at least a couple of broken bones, just to prove a point. Poor thing, the caning almost gives him a fighting chance.” Her tone was brittle, so near to amused, but also, miles away.
“Stop,” Heero said.
She stood and walked to the far corner of the cell. “Whatever. Maybe they’ll put me in with Kat and Jo next time. A splash of reality would be welcome.”
Heero and Duo shared a look and Duo stood up to go to her, passing the cup of water to Neal. Neal tried not to watch, but he couldn’t help noticing Duo being careful with her, then pouncing, holding her despite her struggles, the way she didn’t fight as hard as she probably could, gave in after awhile, limp and somehow small in his arms.
Heero said softly, “We were supposed to protect Dory. She was the youngest.”
Neal nodded. He knew the feeling. He also knew there were some things no amount of protection from another kid could stop.
Heero told him, “Finish the water. Ka-- Eliot needs you to be okay, and the rest of us-- The rest of us need Eliot to be okay.”
Neal took another sip.
*
Une was right. Even not knowing her, Neal had the feeling she often was. They put John and Ronon in the cage together, and before it was done, before Ronon could get John to stay down, there were at least two broken bones, and Neal thought maybe three. All three were John’s, but the scabs from Ronon’s caning had opened and he was more blood than skin by the end of it. Neal swallowed back bile, breathing carefully though his nose.
They followed it up with the little redheaded girl and her blond boy. Neal was terrified, expecting the boy to have to take her to pieces, but in some ways it was worse watching her do it to the boy; Clint, Neal heard someone murmur, Clint, let go. By the time Clint did the girl was barely hanging onto consciousness, and from the look in her eyes, she didn’t seem to much care if letting go was her last act.
Neal caught the eye of His Guard-the way he would think of the man until he had a name-and let a flirtatious look come into his eyes. Not too much, he knew, not for someone like this man, who would want Neal to be both cowed by and yet hesitantly interested in him. For that matter, he probably would enjoy the actual disgust that marked Neal’s real reaction to the situation, but Neal wasn’t willing to give him that, not unless he absolutely had to.
Neal ended up back in a cell with Vin and Eliot, wondering where the hell they’d put Ezra. When Eliot asked the others, the impossibly good looking boy who was sitting between two girls on the other side of the cell said, “I think they put him in with Une and her boys.”
Eliot nodded. “Thanks, Finn.”
Neal was suddenly glad Ezra was good at fending for himself. One of the girls said, “The bosses don’t know quite what to do with that one. He doesn’t look like a good bet.”
Vin snarled. “Whatever they do, he’ll beat them at their own game.”
It was the first time Neal had heard Vin talk in a while, and one of the longest sentences he’d ever heard from him. The other girl just rolled her eyes. “Sure, new boy.”
Vin smiled, a strange, unkind smile. “Where do you come from? The streets? The circus? An actual home?”
Neal made a puzzled face at that second one and Eliot mouthed, “Clint and Tasha,” which did not clear up anything at all so far as Neal was concerned, but whatever. He’d find out later, or not, as it were.
There was silence for a bit before the second girl, the sarcastic one, answered, “Kiddie brothel, sold there, and then sold out of there. Yay, human trafficking.”
“Ez ‘n I, we got picked out from a crawlspace under the floorboards of a trafficking holding space in a police search. We’d been down there, I don’t know, we’ve never-- Over a week. The three kids we were put down there with, two died within four days, the third died around the fifth. Ez, he was the one who kept them alive that long, kept me and him going until they found us. I knew about condensation about how to stay still and conserve energy, but he knew about how to play mind tricks, keep us calm as could be in that hole.” Vin took a breath, then another. “He will beat them.”
He wasn’t going to have to, if Neal had anything to say about it. The story explained a lot. It explained the way Chris and Buck looked at Vin and Ezra, for one. And it explained why Vin never let himself get in a situation where he couldn’t see a window. Neal didn’t miss the way his breathing was always rapid now, the way he clawed into him palm, his legs, anything available.
Neal told him, “So will you.”
Vin swallowed. Neal said, “He needs that, Vin.”
“Yeah,” Vin agreed. “I-- yeah.”
Neal looked over at where the other three kids were still sitting, the first girl with her eyes closed and the second with her expression dark, thoughtful. Finn put his arms around both of them. Neal pulled Eliot into a corner and thought about how to explain the plan in a way that wouldn’t end with Eliot doing something to sabotage it. Neal sighed. This was going to be fun.
*
Neal tuned everything out. He pushed Vin’s growing desperation, the way Eliot was pulling back into himself, refused to acknowledge pain that came from being put in the cage with Jo, who growled sub-vocal apologies, but did her damn job, and kept Finn and Kat safe all the same. He ignored the marks that being pitched against Nyota left on Ezra, the fact that they put Ronon in the ring against Finn before the stitches had even come out. None of that mattered. What mattered was the game as Neal had framed it, with winning being getting out, getting word to Chris or Buck or even Sara. They’d been kidnapped, after all, right? The FBI dealt with kidnappings.
Neal was pretty certain Sara was in the White Collar unit, and that the FBI only dealt with interstate kidnappings, which, given that he had no clue where he was, didn’t necessarily cover this situation, but he didn’t doubt Sara would pull more than a few strings to get Ezra back, so he figured any of the three would work. Probably even Sara’s partner. Neal had had to think for a few seconds to actually get that information to stir; she’d only dropped the name once, but it had been in the context of, “If you need anything, make them give you to me or Agent Coulson.” Coulson, yes.
But first Neal had to get himself out of the complex. Once he set his mind on the plan, it was strangely, disconcertingly, easy, so long as he only thought in terms of the goal, leaving everything else that mattered behind. He hadn’t done this before, not exactly, not the slow mindfuck of seduction by emanating intimidation, not the mechanical aspects of opening his mouth, his throat, when all he wanted was to turn his head away.
The first time, he tried to think about Gee, how it would be easy, how they’d laugh, how Gee would never, ever pull his hair or call him a slut, not if he didn’t want it. The nightmares that caused were enough to teach Neal not to think about anything, to just do, to push out feeling. Taking a cock further down his throat than he wanted to wasn’t any worse than a kick to the kidneys, not if he didn’t let himself think about the difference.
Neal found the right favors to ask for: a visit to the infirmary, to better figure out the layout of the place; some chocolate, to make one of other kids smile and seem just that side of innocent himself; eventually, eventually, a breath of fresh air.
The guard didn’t go for it when Neal first asked, so Neal backed down, went back to the slow and steady pace he’d developed over the days. Neal thought it had been a week since he’d actively begun the game, probably two since they’d disappeared, maybe a little longer. Tracking time was still a problem. So was taking things slowly. They’d put Eliot in with Jamie and Kat for a little two-on-one action the night before. They didn’t want him dead, but they wanted him to wish he was.
Time was one of many luxuries Neal did not have. He backed down for two days, and then, when he figured out how, insinuated that getting out of the building would mean more safety for the guard to do what he really wanted without being caught. Blowjobs and handjobs were great, and all, but…
It was hard not to oversell it, not to seem eager. Eager wouldn’t do, eager wasn’t a turn on. There was a perfect balance, of needing fresh air enough to be willing to sell himself, to give the last part of himself left. It was only partially a lie, and Neal was very, very good at twisting truths and deceptions to mean what people wanted them to, what he needed them to.
Plan A was to incapacitate the guard once outside and run like hell. Plan B, barring that, was to learn the way out, and figure out how to get himself back outside later.
The guard didn’t let Neal put shoes on-he wasn’t a complete idiot-which would have made Neal lean toward Plan B, except he had fuck all idea of where he’d get shoes, and the time issue was a hell of a lot more important than the comfort of Neal’s feet.
He let the guard push him face-first into the wall outside as he took a deep breath of the first non-recycled air he’d tasted in at least two weeks. It smelled industrial, and Neal really didn’t care, he was outside. As soon as the guard got close enough, he threw an elbow, and then it was on. The guard was bigger than Neal, better fed and hadn’t been the loser in two cage fights in as many weeks. The guard also wasn’t desperate to save his family, to get the fuck away, nor was he as smart as Neal.
By the time it was over, Neal was pretty sure his dominant arm was broken and the pain in his torso made the edges of his vision go white if he allowed himself to think about anything but running. He didn’t. Gravel and broken glass and shards of the city cut into his feet, ribs that weren’t healed screamed, and Neal didn’t think, he ran, ran and ran, and then ran further, until stopped by a blur of blue and Neal fought, fought until his brain kicked back in, and he recognized the blue as a police uniform. Then he said, “Detectives Larabee and Wilmington, 8th Precinct,” over and over again, unable to remember how to stop.
Part Two
Author: arsenicjade
Rating: R
Fandoms: WC, Leverage, bandom, Suits, M7, GW, ST: AOS, SGA, HG (books), Avengers(2012)
Warnings: Non-consensual sex between an adult and a 17 year old, violence, and electrical torture.
Summary: The fourth fic in the Dickens-verse, it's not going to make a lot of sense without the earlier fics. The people Parker rescued Eliot from catch up to him. (Working title: If You Thought The PREVIOUS Chapters Were Ridic, Oh, Just Wait...)
AN: As always, this is for egelantier, who puts up with me and all my wrong opinions. Special thanks to ivorysilk and hoosierbitch for hand-holding and cheerleading. These fics are unbeta'ed. I refuse to grant them the dignity of betaing.
Home life is no more natural to us than a cage is natural to a cockatoo. -George Bernard Shaw
Ezra Paris Standish-Wilmington used words excavated from the depths of the Oxford English Dictionary, ran a floating poker game right under the school’s nose, smiled with all his teeth, and reminded Neal far too much of himself to be trusted, even just a little bit. Ezra was the kind of kid you had to play with at his level of play, or not at all. Neal knew he could manage it, but he also knew it would lead to trouble, and the last thing Neal needed was trouble. He ignored the part of himself that missed the kind of fun Ezra’s sort of trouble could bring.
Neal’s intention to resist Ezra’s siren call lasted all of two weeks after he, Eliot and Parker had begun school. In fairness to himself, his excuse for failure was pretty strong. He was checking the science lab, where Eliot liked to work on homework until they were all ready to catch the bus back home. Eliot wasn’t there, though, so Neal made his way to the recess grounds in the back. It was still warm enough out that Eliot could be found kicking around a soccer ball, or shooting hoops on the asphalt.
Instead Neal found a group of kids he didn’t recognize at all surrounding Ezra and the kid Eliot was in a specialized reading class with, Davin Tanner-Larabee, Vin. Neal thought to himself, not your problem, thought, turn around and leave, but the kids in question looked like they might be from the community college a few blocks over-considerably bigger than either Vin or Ezra-and Neal had heard the word “retard” snickered, seen Vin stiffen. It reminded him too damn much of Eliot’s quiet fragility over his illiteracy to just walk away.
Ezra’s body language was gorgeously relaxed, and though Neal couldn’t hear what he was saying, he could tell it was being said with just the right amount of charm. He could also tell-and was pretty sure Ezra knew-that it wasn’t going to deter the others from tormenting Vin, possibly more.
Neal didn’t exactly have a plan, but three on four was better than two on four, which were the odds before he arrived. He tried a simple, “Oh, hey, I’ve been looking for you. Your parents are here.”
It didn’t have the desired effect, possibly because while Ezra caught on instantly and began to say, “Right, come on, Vin,” Vin blinked at Neal, whom he’d never officially met. And in the instant of distraction, one of the older, bigger kids, shoved Vin.
Vin was maybe all of fourteen and small at that. He tried standing his ground, but the other kid had at least fifty pounds on him. Vin got right back up but before he could manage, Ezra was in between them, his calm demeanor terrifying for anyone who knew what to look for. The Neanderthals who had started this were pretty obviously not in that group, since they laughed, and by then, Neal was there, standing next to Ezra. Ezra blinked at him, maybe would have said something, but their concentration was diverted by the fact that the bigger kids were in the mood for a fight, and shoving was just an appetizer.
Neal had no idea how long it went on before Mr. Winner and Mr. Barton were out there, pulling the larger kids off of them and herding them into the school with a surprising amount of force and efficiency. Mr. Hardison was right behind them, helping the three of them up and asking, “Wanna explain what that was all about?”
So far, Mr. Hardison was Parker’s very favorite thing about this school, which recommended him to Neal, but this wasn’t Neal’s story to tell, not really, and he might not trust Ezra, but the kid had put himself between four guys bigger than him for the sake of one quiet, highly dyslexic other kid. Neal had his back on this, assuming it didn’t mean lying to Elizabeth or Peter.
Ezra, who had the start of one impressive shiner, did his best to smile-he was good at keeping it small, Neal noticed, so that it didn’t cause him to wince-and say, “They were uninterested in the finer details of special education, Mr. Hardison.”
Mr. Hardison rolled his eyes. “In other words, you have taken a vow of silence in relation to authority figures.”
Ezra gave him a look of such untainted innocence that it was all Neal could do not to snort. Mr. Hardison said, “Fine, kid, but I’m calling your parents.”
Ezra did flinch at that, but all he said was, “Mine. I started it. Vin’s got nothing to do with this.”
Vin, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, said quietly, “Shut up, Ez.” Then, to Mr. Hardison, “They started it. Over me. Ezra and Neal were just helping.”
Mr. Hardison looked over at Neal, who was starting to feel the bruising on his stomach, where one of them had gotten in a punch. “You’re Parker’s older brother, right?”
Neal never knew how to answer questions like that. He didn’t mind Parker telling people that, or anything, would have loved to have been able to say yes without feeling like he was committing some type of crime, but it wasn’t that simple. Still, he figured they were probably registered with the school that way, so he nodded. Mr. Hardison asked, “What were you doing out here?”
“Getting some fresh air,” Neal told him sincerely.
Mr. Hardison responded with an expression that said he would like to gently strangle them all to death. Neal figured that was pretty fair. Instead he ran a hand over his head and said, “C’mon. They probably put those jerks in the office, so we’ll just commandeer the nurse’s station.”
Ezra spoke up, “You’ll call Sara and Buck, though, Mr. Hardison, yes? Leave Mr. and Mrs. Larabee out of this.”
Mr. Hardison looked at Vin. “Detective Wilmington’s your dad’s partner, right?”
Vin nodded. Mr. Hardison shrugged and told Ezra, “Sure, kid. One call is better than two.”
Neal didn’t miss how Ezra put himself between Vin and Mr. Hardison on their way to getting patched up.
*
The nurse was just about done checking them all over-Ezra was the only one who needed something more than ibuprofen, and even there it was just some alcohol and antibiotic cream and a bandage-when Neal noticed Parker sneaking into the room. He rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to ask if she was supposed to be there; of course she wasn’t. Instead he asked, “Where’s Eliot?”
“On the bench outside. He’s the lookout.”
Neal bit back a sigh. “Go sit with him. I don’t want either of you coming in here when Elizabeth or Peter gets here.”
“But-“
“No buts, Parker Burke, and if I find out you’re not sitting with Eliot when they get here, I’ll tell the Burkes you want dresses for your birthday.”
Parker made a face. “You’re mean. And Burke isn’t--”
“Cruel, even,” Neal agreed, cutting her off. Burke wasn’t her official last name yet, but it would be, it would, and a single name didn’t work as well as a double one when being firm. He made a shooing motion with his hands. She huffed and flounced off.
After a second, Ezra laughed, short and sharp. “I like her.”
Neal was about to answer when the sound of Mr. Hardison saying, “Special Agent Ellis-Wilmington,” and a woman responding, “Sara, please,” filtered past the door, and Ezra’s walls, which had been at half-mast, went right back up. Vin kicked at his ankle, but Ezra ignored him, standing as the door opened.
A very attractive, very fashionable woman walked in, raked her gaze over Ezra and Vin and said, “Rough day, huh?”
Ezra was standing in front of Vin again, not obviously, but enough that Neal noticed. He thought the woman, Sara, probably did as well. Ezra gave a lazy smile and said, “My charm is world-famous.”
She stepped closer and Ezra flinched back. Neal knew it was a mistake, instinct more than anything. She backed off immediately. Ezra looked to the side. Vin stood up, pushing Ezra out of his way gently. He asked, “Chris and Buck at work?”
She tore her eyes off Ezra and nodded. “They caught a case. They’re sorry, both of them. And Mary’s-“
“At Billy’s tournament,” Vin finished.
“So you’re stuck with me,” she confirmed. Then, “What happened?”
“I got in a fight,” Ezra said casually.
“Looks to me like you lost a fight,” she said, equally casual.
Neal had to bite back a laugh. She didn’t seem mad, although Ezra was still on edge, so maybe Neal was reading her as wrongly as he’d read Ezra. Then Vin spoke up.
“They called me a retard.”
Sara’s eyes darkened. “I want their names.”
Ezra backed up a little more. Sara took a breath. “Sorry. That wasn’t-- I do want their names, but just because Mr. Hardison said they weren’t from this school, so I want to pursue their asses for trespassing and assault. I’m not mad at you, Ezra.”
Ezra didn’t seem entirely sure what to do with that. Neal could appreciate the smoothness of his, “I did not believe you were.”
Sara called him on it with a look of patent disbelief. Then she turned to Neal. “You’re one of the kids Harvey Specter’s working on helping the Burke’s adopt, right?”
Neal blinked at her. “Yes?” He hadn’t meant it to sound like a question.
Sara smiled. “Harvey used to work with my husband and his partner back when he was with the prosecutor’s office.”
Several things clicked into place at once, things that Neal should have had enough clues to figure out well before now. Neal pulled himself together and said, “Pleasure meeting you, ma’am.”
“Sara. I’ll call your parents and if they haven’t left work, I’ll drop you off.”
Neal shook his head. “There are three of us-“
“Buck decided I needed an SUV for the kid-singular-we were adopting. There could be eighty of you.”
Neal tried, “You don’t need to go out of your way, if you just walk us to the bus station we can get back. I don’t think the school’s going to let us leave without someone signing me out.”
Sara looked at him for a long moment and said, “For that, we’re all stopping for gelato. Every single last one of us.”
Vin smiled a little. “I like tangerine.”
*
It was weird, having a friend, friends, at school, like some normal kid, who left home in the morning and always knew he would be welcome to return. Neal almost tried to resist it, except that it was obvious Ezra would have let him-and Vin, with his too serious eyes and overly quiet smiles would be disappointed without ever admitting it-and Neal wasn’t one to do what was expected of him.
Of course, Eliot and Vin had already decided that they had each other’s backs, so it was almost impossible for Ezra and Neal not to hang out if they were to keep an eye on the others. It was clear not doing so wasn’t really an option for either of them, so it just came together that the four of them spent every non-class moment together, and occasionally some tutoring sessions, with Ezra and Neal helping Eliot and Vin.
More often than not, Ezra and Vin would come back to the Burke’s place and have an after school snack, hang out until Chris, Buck, Mary or Sara got off work and came to pick them up. It was weird, yeah, but it was also kind of perfect in a way that Neal didn’t like to think about, even as he kept the feeling tucked somewhere tight and safe within himself for when he needed something to remember.
Parker had joined the soccer team, which meant that three days out of every week the four of them waited for an hour and a half for her to finish up with practice before heading home. It was on one of these days when it was unusually warm for the late fall. The four of them ventured just slightly off school grounds, into the area shaded with trees outside the school’s fence.
Vin climbed one of the trees, but stayed low enough that he could ask questions without shouting. Eliot and Ezra sat with their backs to the tree, and Neal laid flat on the ground, closing his eyes for a bit. He opened them to the sound of leaves rustling, just in time to see Eliot open his mouth, his eyes wide with panic. Neal sat up, asked, “What?”
Eliot launched himself at something behind Neal; Neal turned just enough to realize it was someone, not something. Vin was scrambling down from the tree and Ezra was on his feet, shouting at Vin to stay up there, when suddenly there were other men, bigger than the one Eliot was attacking. Neal kicked at the knee of the one closest to him, but the man evaded and punched Neal in the jaw, which took Neal to the ground. He was hoisting himself back onto all fours when there was a quick shift of air behind his head and everything went dark.
*
It had been awhile since Neal had forced himself to stay utterly still, maintain the illusion of sleep upon waking, but something instinctive made him do so when he came to. He listened for anything that might give him clues as to whether he was with the others, anything. There was a soft whispering that did not sound familiar, but nothing else.
Neal was unbound. His head hurt enough that even cracking his eyes took some convincing, and he felt bruised all over, as if he’d been jolted around thoroughly, but other than the damp of the atmosphere, the cold that was working its way from the concrete he was lying on right into his very core, Neal was pretty sure he was physically fine. He made himself open his eyes the rest of the way, which caused his stomach to roll over. He took a breath to try and calm it.
Wherever he was, it was dark enough that it was hard to make out the space. After a few more breaths, he started seeing figures. At least one of them was Eliot. Neal began to push himself to a sitting position just to have Eliot come to him, help prop him up against a wall. Eliot said, “Easy, I think you have a concussion.”
“Possible,” Neal admitted. There wasn’t anything to be done about it, though, so Neal just asked, “Have any idea of where we are? And who’s your friend?”
Said “friend,” a wiry kid with startling blue eyes, grinned, but Neal noticed how it bordered on a grimace. Eliot didn’t bother to hide his own grimace. “Neal, meet Jamie Kirk.”
Despite the pain in his head, things clicked into place for Neal. “Those guys, the people holding us, they’re the ones Parker took you from.”
Eliot’s nod was tight. “Neal, I’m sorry, if I’d just-“
Neal shook his head then squeezed his eyes shut against the intense desire to throw up. When he could, he said, “No. This isn’t on you. You didn’t even ever give us your real name. Do we have any idea where the others are?”
Neal opened his eyes in time to see Eliot look to Jamie. “Who’s left?”
Jamie tossed his chin toward another corner of what Neal could only assume was their cell. He said, “You’ve seen ‘Kari and Nyota. John and Ronon were in here earlier, but they moved them out to move you in. Heero, Duo and Une are somewhere. I haven’t seen in any of them in a few days, but there’d’ve been news if something’d happened to one of them. Clint and Tasha are probably with them. Kat, Jo and Finn might have your others.”
Eliot shared a look with Jamie. “Gale? Rei? Dory? Steve? Aiden? Will?”
Jamie didn’t look away, but Neal could tell how much he wanted to. Gently, ever so gently, Eliot asked, “Pavel?”
Jamie did look away at that. When he looked back, he told Eliot, “We thought you, too. We thought-- Because you would have come, you would have helped.”
And as confused and lost as this Jamie seemed, as much as Neal knew he was missing, he couldn’t help hissing at the other boy. “Fuck you right in your self-righteous face.”
Neal wasn’t sure who looked more surprised: Jamie or Eliot. Neal supposed he didn’t use swear words all that often; other things were far more useful. Jamie started toward him, but Eliot hauled him off, and though Eliot hadn’t been fighting all these months-almost a year now-he had regular meals and sleep in beds and about a million other things on Jamie. Also, Jamie gave in the second he realized who he was fighting, the second he realized Eliot was apologizing, over and over.
Jamie said, “Why-- What-“
“I didn’t even mean to go. Parker-- They would have hurt her, because she wasn’t going to leave if I didn’t.”
“Parker?”
Eliot looked at Neal. Neal said, “Sister.”
Eliot repeated, “Sister.”
Jamie ran a hand over his face. Over in the other corner, there was a rustling, and a boy of about thirteen or so came over to them. Neal thought Jamie was about the same age, maybe even a little younger, but it was clear the other boy deferred to him, settling his chin on Jamie’s shoulder. He looked at Eliot, “We thought you were dead.”
Eliot nodded. “Hey, ‘Kari.”
“Sucks to see you again, man,” ‘Kari told him. “You should’ve stayed far away.”
Jamie sighed, but nodded in agreement. After a second, the girl who had been sleeping got to her feet and ambled over. She looked Eliot up and down. He said, “Hi, Nyota,” sounding uncertain.
She made a face and hugged Eliot. “You’re stupid,” she told him, which he seemed to accept.
When she let go, he said, “The other kids, the ones that were with us, we need to find out if they’re still here.”
“Likely,” Nyota said through a yawn. “They’ve been looking for fresh blood.”
Jamie stiffened beside her and she kicked his ankle softly, but followed it up by wrapping herself around him as best she could with ‘Kari still holding himself up with Jamie’s shoulder. She murmured, “We couldn’t’ve done anything,” but for the first time since she’d woken, Neal heard the doubt in her voice, the guilt. If he could hear it, he knew damn well Jamie could. Jamie just squeezed one of her hands, the one that didn’t look like someone had driven over it with a Hummer.
Eliot said very quietly, “Their parents are, collectively, two New York detectives, a White Collar unit FBI agent, and an investigative reporter. And there are-- People will look for me and Neal.”
He looked over at Neal and said, “They will.”
Neal thought of the limp ‘Kari had sported walking over, Nyota’s hand, and the way there was a scar down the entirety of the right side of Jamie’s face. He thought of the scars he’d seen on Eliot back when they hadn’t had rooms or much in the way of privacy. He said, “I’m not sure waiting for that to happen is the best idea.”
He was kind enough not to voice his concerns over Eliot’s belief. Eliot needed that belief. And Peter and Elizabeth were good people. If they didn’t want Neal back for themselves, or even Eliot, they wouldn’t just allow them to disappear, they hadn’t before. Then again, maybe this was a case of boys who cried wolf. How many times could Peter and Elizabeth really be expected to expend the resources to find them? Maybe if the other kids were insistent enough, but it might just be easiest to put them back in the system, now that they were all legally reregistered. Fuck, Neal should have thought about that. He stopped the train of thought, there was nothing he could do about it.
For the moment, Neal was pretty sure Eliot was dead on about Vin and Ezra’s parents moving hell and high water. Having met Chris and Mary Larabee, those were two people who didn’t often take no for an answer. And Chris clearly thought Vin was made of ponies and sugar and anything else that made life that much better. Sara was the same way. Buck was more laid back, but he was, as far as Neal could tell from the few times he’d met the man, willing to move heaven and earth for Ezra, no matter how much Ezra seemed to doubt that.
Now they just had to selfishly hope that Vin and Ezra were there with them. Sometimes, it was all Neal could do not to absolutely abhor himself.
*
Neal lost track of time fairly quickly, which made him nervous. There was no natural light in the cells; when the lights were on or off did not seem to conform to any day or night related cycle; and it was patently obvious they weren’t being fed on a regular schedule. In fact, so far as Neal could figure out, they were fed in ways meant to throw them off, and meant to allow continued health enough for the fighting, but not any sort of sustainable good condition.
That said, he was fairly certain it had been less than a couple of days before they learned that Ezra and Vin were still alive and in the same complex as them. In hindsight, Neal would have almost preferred things continuing on as they were, given the way they received the intel.
He knew something was wrong almost immediately when men with tasers and nightsticks herded them out of the cell, and every single one of the others shared a glance that clearly said, what the hell? The unknown was almost never a good thing, in Neal’s experience. Or, well, it had been, somewhat bizarrely, for about a year now, but that was overridden by the sixteen years prior, and also, the tasers and nightsticks involved.
Neal’s instinct of oh shit turned out to be dead-on, since he was placed in another cell with Jamie, ‘Kari, Nyota and a few other kids he didn’t know, and forced to watch Eliot and Vin fight until one was unconscious. At first Eliot and Vin just stood there, talking quietly, but then the announcer spoke up. “Winner wins a night of safety for a friend. Loser’s friend goes in the cage. If you chose not to fight, or give in too easily, both of your friends will be paired up with more seasoned fighters for death matches.”
Neal does his best to signal to Eliot. They need Ezra alive and they both know it. Neal cannot even imagine what Buck would do, let alone Sara, if they arrived only to find Ezra a casualty. Eliot snarled, but Vin said something, soft and most likely accepting, Vin could be so fucking accepting, and the two of them squared off.
Vin was fast and clever and willing to fight dirty. Even so, Eliot clearly should have won. He was sturdier and more accustomed to fighting. He was also, as it turned out, very, very good at throwing fights. Neal didn’t think he would have known had he not been aware Eliot was going to do it. Watching the men surrounding the cage, he suspected they knew as well, perhaps just from years of watching Eliot fight-the thought made Neal’s stomach clench, he’d only had to watch once now, and it had been one of the hardest things he’d done, in a lifetime of hard things-but the crowd clearly did not, not from the way they were swearing or cheering, depending on their placed bets.
They put Neal in the cage with a kid named Ronon, who was roughly twice the size of Neal, and whose expression reminded Neal of the feral cats he’d sometimes fed back when just he, Mikey and Gee were living in alleyways for the most part. Somewhat shockingly, when they fought, however, Ronon wasn’t vicious. Neal knew better than to think he or Ronon could get away with not fighting, any more than Eliot or Vin had been able to. Fighting wasn’t Neal’s strength, not really, he was better at the con, but like Vin, he was fast and able to think well under pressure.
Ronon was also fast, but he didn’t use the fact to taunt Neal. He was quick about the way he attacked, almost professional. During his third hit, he held Neal close enough to him to murmur, “I’m going to make this as quick as I can,” his tone flat, not threatening, if anything holding back compassion.
Neal huffed out something that probably sounded like agreement. It wasn’t disagreement. Mostly, Neal just wanted to be hit as few times as possible without getting either of them in trouble. He came up, bringing the back of his head directly into Ronon’s chin, which hurt like a bitch. Ronon kept to his word. Neal counted three more hits, and it was over.
*
Ezra was there when Neal woke up. Vin and Eliot weren’t. He coughed, then regretted it. His ribs were definitely at least bruised. Most everything felt bruised, though, so he wasn’t surprised he hadn’t noticed it first thing. “Vin? Eliot?”
Ezra said softly, “Different cell. Your new friend is over there.”
Neal followed the tilt of Ezra’s head to where Ronon was curled up on the floor, his head on another boy’s lap. A red-haired girl who couldn’t have been older than ten or eleven was all-but fused to the side of a boy who was maybe a year older than her. All three of the kids were watching Ronon with wary, tired expressions. “He looks-“
“They took a cane to him, after, for not prolonging the match to their preferences.”
Neal shivered, then bit his lip against the pain of movement. “Oh.”
“Neal-“ Ezra hesitated, which was weird, that wasn’t his style. Lying or making a joke of things, certainly, but not eliding them.
“Ez?”
“They were displeased with Eliot’s tactics to allow Vin’s win.”
Neal winced. “You noticed.”
“No, or, not entirely, although I suspected there was something not altogether right. They informed him the punishment would be meted out upon you in the morning.”
Neal took a breath, and said, “Oh,” again.
“Chris will tear down buildings with his bare hands, should that be what it takes to find Vin, but circumstances might necessitate us hastening our discovery.”
Neal similarly had the feeling that their keepers might be all too happy to get rid of them merely to punish Eliot for his disobedience, or because they thought them too big a risk. Either way, Ezra was right, they couldn’t just sit around and wait. Neal closed his eyes for a second, breathing in time with the slow throbbing of his body. He opened his eyes and said, “There was a guard watching us fight, not for the fight itself.”
Ezra nodded slowly. “No, indeed. He had other expenditures of energy on his mind.”
“He was being careful. I don’t think-- Whatever else they allow here, I think that might be frowned upon.”
“Perhaps,” Ezra agreed. “Blackmail?”
“Or charm. Maybe both,” Neal made his voice stay even.
“Very well, I’ve some experience in both areas.”
Neal shook his head sharply. “We need you with Vin, and relatively unharmed. Chris and Buck get what they come for.”
“Neal-“
Neal fixed Ezra with a sharp look. “Alternatively, I could tell Vin the plan.”
Slowly, Ezra whispered, “I loathe you.”
“Entirely mutual,” Neal said easily. “Now, mind sharing some body warmth? I don’t think the cold is working quite like an ice pack on anything left by that short little tussle I had.”
Ezra sighed, and worked so that he was in a position that meant they kept each other a little warmer, but hurt Neal as little as possible. Almost silently he told him, “I owe you.”
“No,” Neal said, and pretended to sleep as a way of avoiding a further argument.
*
Neal had been beaten with all sorts of things: belts, frying pans, hairbrushes, bare hands, even a chair, once. He’d lived through several New York winters without the benefit of what could reasonably be called shelter, and had survived food poisoning from unwise dumpster diving. Discomfort and pain were kind of the devils he knew.
Their captors didn’t beat him. They hooked the insides of his thighs, his lower back and his stomach muscles up to what looked disturbingly like a car battery, and turned it on.
It wasn’t subtle. They didn’t start at some low level of shocks, didn’t use the pain in pulses, didn’t do anything but flood Neal’s nerves with electricity. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t beg, not with the others watching, not with Eliot looking wan and miserable, the way Neal remembered him first being. Neal was begging within seconds, not even coherently, purely screaming for it to stop, please, stop.
It did, eventually. Somewhere, in the part of his brain that was always dissecting situations, keeping himself and the others safe, he knew it hadn’t been that long. His mouth was dry and his throat hurt from the screaming. He thought the bruised ribs might have cracked in his struggles, his chest hurt that much, but not quite enough to distract him from the way his stomach and thighs and back burned, as though someone had set a torch down inside them and forgotten it there. He made himself breathe, it seemed the only thing he could do.
Somebody was saying something. Neal thought he should pay attention. He blinked a few times, trying to focus. It was something about defiance, blah, blah, blah. And then the others were moving, leaving, and Neal closed his eyes. He would not panic. He had begged, but that had only made sense, really. Panicking never helped anything.
When the others were gone-he couldn’t hear them any more-someone said, “Let’s get you free, huh?”
Neal opened his eyes and almost laughed, almost. They’d left him with the one guard he most and least wanted to be alone with, particularly at this very moment. The man was looking at him with sympathetic eyes that made Neal’s stomach, already pitchy, turn over. Neal made himself swallow, made himself think about Eliot and about getting out of here. He used his most sweetly innocent, most small tone, to say, “Thanks.”
It was work. He wanted to snarl. He wanted to kick once one of his legs was free. Instead he made himself stay still, made himself let this man get him back in the thin scrub-like outfits they kept all of them in when not in the center cage. He let the man hold him a little too close as Neal limped back down the corridors of cages. Most of all, he made himself pay attention to the layout of things. It didn’t tell him much, but it was something.
The man set Neal down almost gently, but with a leer Neal did not miss. Neal laid back on the cool of the cement and looked around to see if he was in with anyone he knew. He wasn’t. In one corner sat a boy and a girl, and a third kid who might have been either. Neal wanted water, but he knew there wasn’t any to be had. He closed his eyes and let himself float, somewhere as far away from the remaining pain as he could possibly get.
*
He woke up with his head in someone’s lap, water being gently pressed along his lips. He struggled to get his eyes open. He felt as though someone had baked him, drying his insides up like a desert, leaving them to crack. He had just managed to struggle to consciousness when the kid above him smiled and said, “Hey. Try some more water, okay?”
Neal croaked, “Thanks,” and did as told. The kid had purple eyes, not deep blue, actually violet, and a braid, but he was also a guy, Neal could tell this close up. When the kid had gotten a few more sips into Neal, Neal tried turning on his side and did his best to push himself up. It left him panting and sick to his stomach, but he managed. The kid put the cup of water to Neal’s mouth and gave him a little more.
Neal swallowed. “You need some.”
“Not like you,” the other boy said, and both the girl and the boy taking care of Neal looked at him. Neal got the feeling he didn’t speak up much.
Neal heard the chill in his caretaker’s voice when he said, “Hee was the last one they did it on. A while back.”
“But Hee just refused to kill,” the girl said with an eerie calm. “Kane escaped, scared them. You’re fucked.”
“Une,” they both said, in unison.
She shrugged. “It’s true. And Dory died anyway, so you might as fucking well have spared yourself.”
Neal’s erstwhile pillow sighed and said, “That little ray of sunshine is Une, and she’s got a soul, she’s just preferred to hide it since-- Well, it’s in there somewhere. Heero over there has got too much soul for his own damn good, and I balance us all out.” The last was accompanied by a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I’m Neal. Is Kane, is that Eliot’s real name?”
“Duo, and yeah, but he seems to have chosen Eliot. It’s just hard to always remember.” Duo held out his hand, like they weren’t in a cell, like this was an everyday meeting between friends. Neal shook it, letting the warmth of Duo’s palm seep into him, just a bit.
“They’re going to make John and Ronon fight for Ronon’s little stunt, you know,” Une said, almost like she was continuing a conversation.
“Not the first time,” Duo said, but even without knowing him, Neal could tell he was uneasy.
“John’ll be lucky if they let either of them out of that cage without at least a couple of broken bones, just to prove a point. Poor thing, the caning almost gives him a fighting chance.” Her tone was brittle, so near to amused, but also, miles away.
“Stop,” Heero said.
She stood and walked to the far corner of the cell. “Whatever. Maybe they’ll put me in with Kat and Jo next time. A splash of reality would be welcome.”
Heero and Duo shared a look and Duo stood up to go to her, passing the cup of water to Neal. Neal tried not to watch, but he couldn’t help noticing Duo being careful with her, then pouncing, holding her despite her struggles, the way she didn’t fight as hard as she probably could, gave in after awhile, limp and somehow small in his arms.
Heero said softly, “We were supposed to protect Dory. She was the youngest.”
Neal nodded. He knew the feeling. He also knew there were some things no amount of protection from another kid could stop.
Heero told him, “Finish the water. Ka-- Eliot needs you to be okay, and the rest of us-- The rest of us need Eliot to be okay.”
Neal took another sip.
*
Une was right. Even not knowing her, Neal had the feeling she often was. They put John and Ronon in the cage together, and before it was done, before Ronon could get John to stay down, there were at least two broken bones, and Neal thought maybe three. All three were John’s, but the scabs from Ronon’s caning had opened and he was more blood than skin by the end of it. Neal swallowed back bile, breathing carefully though his nose.
They followed it up with the little redheaded girl and her blond boy. Neal was terrified, expecting the boy to have to take her to pieces, but in some ways it was worse watching her do it to the boy; Clint, Neal heard someone murmur, Clint, let go. By the time Clint did the girl was barely hanging onto consciousness, and from the look in her eyes, she didn’t seem to much care if letting go was her last act.
Neal caught the eye of His Guard-the way he would think of the man until he had a name-and let a flirtatious look come into his eyes. Not too much, he knew, not for someone like this man, who would want Neal to be both cowed by and yet hesitantly interested in him. For that matter, he probably would enjoy the actual disgust that marked Neal’s real reaction to the situation, but Neal wasn’t willing to give him that, not unless he absolutely had to.
Neal ended up back in a cell with Vin and Eliot, wondering where the hell they’d put Ezra. When Eliot asked the others, the impossibly good looking boy who was sitting between two girls on the other side of the cell said, “I think they put him in with Une and her boys.”
Eliot nodded. “Thanks, Finn.”
Neal was suddenly glad Ezra was good at fending for himself. One of the girls said, “The bosses don’t know quite what to do with that one. He doesn’t look like a good bet.”
Vin snarled. “Whatever they do, he’ll beat them at their own game.”
It was the first time Neal had heard Vin talk in a while, and one of the longest sentences he’d ever heard from him. The other girl just rolled her eyes. “Sure, new boy.”
Vin smiled, a strange, unkind smile. “Where do you come from? The streets? The circus? An actual home?”
Neal made a puzzled face at that second one and Eliot mouthed, “Clint and Tasha,” which did not clear up anything at all so far as Neal was concerned, but whatever. He’d find out later, or not, as it were.
There was silence for a bit before the second girl, the sarcastic one, answered, “Kiddie brothel, sold there, and then sold out of there. Yay, human trafficking.”
“Ez ‘n I, we got picked out from a crawlspace under the floorboards of a trafficking holding space in a police search. We’d been down there, I don’t know, we’ve never-- Over a week. The three kids we were put down there with, two died within four days, the third died around the fifth. Ez, he was the one who kept them alive that long, kept me and him going until they found us. I knew about condensation about how to stay still and conserve energy, but he knew about how to play mind tricks, keep us calm as could be in that hole.” Vin took a breath, then another. “He will beat them.”
He wasn’t going to have to, if Neal had anything to say about it. The story explained a lot. It explained the way Chris and Buck looked at Vin and Ezra, for one. And it explained why Vin never let himself get in a situation where he couldn’t see a window. Neal didn’t miss the way his breathing was always rapid now, the way he clawed into him palm, his legs, anything available.
Neal told him, “So will you.”
Vin swallowed. Neal said, “He needs that, Vin.”
“Yeah,” Vin agreed. “I-- yeah.”
Neal looked over at where the other three kids were still sitting, the first girl with her eyes closed and the second with her expression dark, thoughtful. Finn put his arms around both of them. Neal pulled Eliot into a corner and thought about how to explain the plan in a way that wouldn’t end with Eliot doing something to sabotage it. Neal sighed. This was going to be fun.
*
Neal tuned everything out. He pushed Vin’s growing desperation, the way Eliot was pulling back into himself, refused to acknowledge pain that came from being put in the cage with Jo, who growled sub-vocal apologies, but did her damn job, and kept Finn and Kat safe all the same. He ignored the marks that being pitched against Nyota left on Ezra, the fact that they put Ronon in the ring against Finn before the stitches had even come out. None of that mattered. What mattered was the game as Neal had framed it, with winning being getting out, getting word to Chris or Buck or even Sara. They’d been kidnapped, after all, right? The FBI dealt with kidnappings.
Neal was pretty certain Sara was in the White Collar unit, and that the FBI only dealt with interstate kidnappings, which, given that he had no clue where he was, didn’t necessarily cover this situation, but he didn’t doubt Sara would pull more than a few strings to get Ezra back, so he figured any of the three would work. Probably even Sara’s partner. Neal had had to think for a few seconds to actually get that information to stir; she’d only dropped the name once, but it had been in the context of, “If you need anything, make them give you to me or Agent Coulson.” Coulson, yes.
But first Neal had to get himself out of the complex. Once he set his mind on the plan, it was strangely, disconcertingly, easy, so long as he only thought in terms of the goal, leaving everything else that mattered behind. He hadn’t done this before, not exactly, not the slow mindfuck of seduction by emanating intimidation, not the mechanical aspects of opening his mouth, his throat, when all he wanted was to turn his head away.
The first time, he tried to think about Gee, how it would be easy, how they’d laugh, how Gee would never, ever pull his hair or call him a slut, not if he didn’t want it. The nightmares that caused were enough to teach Neal not to think about anything, to just do, to push out feeling. Taking a cock further down his throat than he wanted to wasn’t any worse than a kick to the kidneys, not if he didn’t let himself think about the difference.
Neal found the right favors to ask for: a visit to the infirmary, to better figure out the layout of the place; some chocolate, to make one of other kids smile and seem just that side of innocent himself; eventually, eventually, a breath of fresh air.
The guard didn’t go for it when Neal first asked, so Neal backed down, went back to the slow and steady pace he’d developed over the days. Neal thought it had been a week since he’d actively begun the game, probably two since they’d disappeared, maybe a little longer. Tracking time was still a problem. So was taking things slowly. They’d put Eliot in with Jamie and Kat for a little two-on-one action the night before. They didn’t want him dead, but they wanted him to wish he was.
Time was one of many luxuries Neal did not have. He backed down for two days, and then, when he figured out how, insinuated that getting out of the building would mean more safety for the guard to do what he really wanted without being caught. Blowjobs and handjobs were great, and all, but…
It was hard not to oversell it, not to seem eager. Eager wouldn’t do, eager wasn’t a turn on. There was a perfect balance, of needing fresh air enough to be willing to sell himself, to give the last part of himself left. It was only partially a lie, and Neal was very, very good at twisting truths and deceptions to mean what people wanted them to, what he needed them to.
Plan A was to incapacitate the guard once outside and run like hell. Plan B, barring that, was to learn the way out, and figure out how to get himself back outside later.
The guard didn’t let Neal put shoes on-he wasn’t a complete idiot-which would have made Neal lean toward Plan B, except he had fuck all idea of where he’d get shoes, and the time issue was a hell of a lot more important than the comfort of Neal’s feet.
He let the guard push him face-first into the wall outside as he took a deep breath of the first non-recycled air he’d tasted in at least two weeks. It smelled industrial, and Neal really didn’t care, he was outside. As soon as the guard got close enough, he threw an elbow, and then it was on. The guard was bigger than Neal, better fed and hadn’t been the loser in two cage fights in as many weeks. The guard also wasn’t desperate to save his family, to get the fuck away, nor was he as smart as Neal.
By the time it was over, Neal was pretty sure his dominant arm was broken and the pain in his torso made the edges of his vision go white if he allowed himself to think about anything but running. He didn’t. Gravel and broken glass and shards of the city cut into his feet, ribs that weren’t healed screamed, and Neal didn’t think, he ran, ran and ran, and then ran further, until stopped by a blur of blue and Neal fought, fought until his brain kicked back in, and he recognized the blue as a police uniform. Then he said, “Detectives Larabee and Wilmington, 8th Precinct,” over and over again, unable to remember how to stop.
Part Two