["twist the knife" for diabolicalfiend]
Title: twist the knife
Author: Sionnain
Recipient: diabolicalfiend
Characters: Zero, Cain. There is the briefest reference to Zero/Azkadellia.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Angst, psychological torture.
Summary: The first night in the suit, Zero thinks he hears singing.
AN: Written for diabolicalfiend in the demilos_wagon Tin Man ficathon, for the prompt "Zero is kidnapped by people who try to break him." The song quoted is Southern Cross by Crosby, Stills and Nash. I hope you enjoy this, diabolicalfiend! Thanks to faycequevoudras for the beta! Title/title quote is from the Neko Case song Twist the Knife.
twist the knife
Please take my breath from me/Into the fountain/And up from the graves.
The first night in the suit, Zero thinks he hears singing.
It's too hot, the air is stifling, and every few hours he thinks he's suffocating. A few times he thinks he's falling asleep and he dreams that he's outside, lying on the grass, staring up at the star-dotted night sky. When he opens his eyes all he sees is metal, and the sides of the suit feel like they're closing in. And that's when he hears it, a soft sound that slips inside like a dream; singing, quiet and low.
He strains towards it, fingers pressed against the metal. The words are faint and he can barely make out what they are--some sweet song about blue skies and wide open fields, a farmer's ode to crisp days and bountiful harvests. Zero cut his teeth in Central City, the only child of an angry man and a broken women to survive into adulthood, and this song of pastoral beauty is foreign, strange. He is used to the dirty streets and neon lights of an urban landscape, to sinister laughter and quiet whispers from dark alleys.
It goes on for a long time, and he's half-mad by the time the voice finally stops. His mind is awash with images of wide-open fields and open space and air, and it is then he realizes the song is not intended as a comfort.
* * *
He sleeps fitfully, never for more than an hour at a time. In his dreams, he's killing Wyatt Cain or strangling that stupid son of his and making him watch. It's a pleasant dream, full of violence, and when he wakes up his hands are clenched in rage.
The hours drag by interminably, the glass fogged up by his hot breath. He's a soldier, a general of the dark witch Azakdellia's army, and he manages to keep from screaming only by the sheer force of will. When he learns how to slow his breathing, how to keep it deep and even and calm, he can see out of the small scrap of glass. The sight of the small field and the grove of trees is the only thing that keeps him sane.
The panic sets in when the sun begins to set, a slow silent slide into darkness, and then he can't see anything at all. When he starts seeing things again he figures he must be asleep. He dreams of Central City, of the Longcoat Barracks, Azkadellia's quarters.
The singing doesn't happen every night, but when it does, it is of a similar type to the first night; songs about the open sky, the open road, the sea hammering against a shore. Endless horizons and plenty of cool, sweet air. His mind conjures up the images so very easily, taunting him with space and freedom.
He bangs his fist ineffectually against the metal suit, commands whoever it is to stop and release him at once.
In the morning, when the sun rises, he presses his face against the glass and watches the landscape come to slow life in front of him as the darkness fade away. He is grateful that Azkadellia's plan has not succeeded; he thinks eternal darkness would have been the end of him.
* * *
It's Wyatt Cain, of course. No one else knows he's here but Wyatt and that bratling of his, and he doesn't think Jeb has the patience to stand beside his suit every night and sing. No, Jeb would have already killed him; a knife to the throat, a rope around his neck, some quick death that would satiate Jeb's need for vengeance.
Cain, however, knows what it's like to be kept prisoner in this metal jail. He knows what it's like to live for the light, knows how it feels to think you are free, on your hands and knees in the grass and gasping in relief--only to wake up and taste the fetid air in the suit and know it to be a dream. And he would know exactly how to use words to paint pictures that call to the panic within, bringing it forth like some sick magic.
Zero tries to gain the upper hand by saying he knows it's him, but it doesn't matter. The songs go on, night after night, until he's forgotten how long he's been encased in iron. He's beginning to think it's been forever, and his life before darkness and metal seems like some vague, blurred dream.
It's not too long before he starts begging, promising anything, babbling apologies in a voice gone hoarse from pleading. His words echo in the suit, ringing back in his ears, and in the morning he hates himself and thinks only of vengeance, and swears he won't do it again.
But he always does.
* * *
The time comes when even the light brings no relief. His voice is lost from screaming (it happens eventually, one night when the song is too loud and it's a ballad about sailing on the open ocean, under a blanket of stars), and the glass is dirty from spit and his rapid breaths, and he can't see anything but muted lights and the faintest outlines of shapes.
He starts closing his eyes against the light, all sharp panic and racing pulse as light filters in through the suit. It makes him angry that he's trapped, the sunny landscape becoming a torment simply by being so close and yet tantalizingly out of reach. Darkness now brings relief, and he sinks into it like a bath.
For three nights in a row, there is no singing. Zero goes weak with relief. The silence is beautiful and blessed, and though he shivers from the cold he thinks maybe this won't kill him after all. He can find his strength, he can do something, he can outlast and survive. Fresh determination wells within him--this will not be his coffin.
On the fourth night, the singing returns. He feels his hope die inside of him, like a flower strangled by weeds, and he has no voice left to scream.
* * *
When the suit is finally opened, he is a wreck of a man, and he has lost his mind.
Wyatt Cain stands there, staring down at him, not a trace of pity in the weathered lines of his face. Zero presses his face to the grass and has a wild moment where he wants to be back in the suit, embraced by consuming darkness. The light hurts his eyes, the grass is rough against his skin. Freedom is a vague thing, unwanted and so terrifyingly real.
"You're going to stand trial," Cain says. "They'll hang you, I expect." His voice is too loud. It makes Zero wince, mumbling beneath his breath, snippets of songs sung so sweetly in the darkness.
What heaven brought you and me cannot be forgotten--.
Cain makes a sound, maybe a laugh. In a quiet voice, he sings, When you see the Southern Cross for the first time, you understand now why you came this way, and Zero shudders and presses his face into the earth.
"You want to know how long you lasted, General?" Cain asks, and his voice sounds empty, hollow. "Want to know how long it took me to break you?"
He doesn't, not really. He's still muttering against the grass, which tastes like dew, tastes like life. She is all that I have left and music is her name... He gives a slight shake of his head which will do nothing to stop Cain from telling him what he doesn't want to know. So he lies prone on the ground, muscles cramped and atrophied from confinement, and waits to hear how many months, years have passed.
"Two weeks."
Despite the light of the clear sky, all Zero sees is darkness.
Author: Sionnain
Recipient: diabolicalfiend
Characters: Zero, Cain. There is the briefest reference to Zero/Azkadellia.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Angst, psychological torture.
Summary: The first night in the suit, Zero thinks he hears singing.
AN: Written for diabolicalfiend in the demilos_wagon Tin Man ficathon, for the prompt "Zero is kidnapped by people who try to break him." The song quoted is Southern Cross by Crosby, Stills and Nash. I hope you enjoy this, diabolicalfiend! Thanks to faycequevoudras for the beta! Title/title quote is from the Neko Case song Twist the Knife.
twist the knife
Please take my breath from me/Into the fountain/And up from the graves.
The first night in the suit, Zero thinks he hears singing.
It's too hot, the air is stifling, and every few hours he thinks he's suffocating. A few times he thinks he's falling asleep and he dreams that he's outside, lying on the grass, staring up at the star-dotted night sky. When he opens his eyes all he sees is metal, and the sides of the suit feel like they're closing in. And that's when he hears it, a soft sound that slips inside like a dream; singing, quiet and low.
He strains towards it, fingers pressed against the metal. The words are faint and he can barely make out what they are--some sweet song about blue skies and wide open fields, a farmer's ode to crisp days and bountiful harvests. Zero cut his teeth in Central City, the only child of an angry man and a broken women to survive into adulthood, and this song of pastoral beauty is foreign, strange. He is used to the dirty streets and neon lights of an urban landscape, to sinister laughter and quiet whispers from dark alleys.
It goes on for a long time, and he's half-mad by the time the voice finally stops. His mind is awash with images of wide-open fields and open space and air, and it is then he realizes the song is not intended as a comfort.
* * *
He sleeps fitfully, never for more than an hour at a time. In his dreams, he's killing Wyatt Cain or strangling that stupid son of his and making him watch. It's a pleasant dream, full of violence, and when he wakes up his hands are clenched in rage.
The hours drag by interminably, the glass fogged up by his hot breath. He's a soldier, a general of the dark witch Azakdellia's army, and he manages to keep from screaming only by the sheer force of will. When he learns how to slow his breathing, how to keep it deep and even and calm, he can see out of the small scrap of glass. The sight of the small field and the grove of trees is the only thing that keeps him sane.
The panic sets in when the sun begins to set, a slow silent slide into darkness, and then he can't see anything at all. When he starts seeing things again he figures he must be asleep. He dreams of Central City, of the Longcoat Barracks, Azkadellia's quarters.
The singing doesn't happen every night, but when it does, it is of a similar type to the first night; songs about the open sky, the open road, the sea hammering against a shore. Endless horizons and plenty of cool, sweet air. His mind conjures up the images so very easily, taunting him with space and freedom.
He bangs his fist ineffectually against the metal suit, commands whoever it is to stop and release him at once.
In the morning, when the sun rises, he presses his face against the glass and watches the landscape come to slow life in front of him as the darkness fade away. He is grateful that Azkadellia's plan has not succeeded; he thinks eternal darkness would have been the end of him.
* * *
It's Wyatt Cain, of course. No one else knows he's here but Wyatt and that bratling of his, and he doesn't think Jeb has the patience to stand beside his suit every night and sing. No, Jeb would have already killed him; a knife to the throat, a rope around his neck, some quick death that would satiate Jeb's need for vengeance.
Cain, however, knows what it's like to be kept prisoner in this metal jail. He knows what it's like to live for the light, knows how it feels to think you are free, on your hands and knees in the grass and gasping in relief--only to wake up and taste the fetid air in the suit and know it to be a dream. And he would know exactly how to use words to paint pictures that call to the panic within, bringing it forth like some sick magic.
Zero tries to gain the upper hand by saying he knows it's him, but it doesn't matter. The songs go on, night after night, until he's forgotten how long he's been encased in iron. He's beginning to think it's been forever, and his life before darkness and metal seems like some vague, blurred dream.
It's not too long before he starts begging, promising anything, babbling apologies in a voice gone hoarse from pleading. His words echo in the suit, ringing back in his ears, and in the morning he hates himself and thinks only of vengeance, and swears he won't do it again.
But he always does.
* * *
The time comes when even the light brings no relief. His voice is lost from screaming (it happens eventually, one night when the song is too loud and it's a ballad about sailing on the open ocean, under a blanket of stars), and the glass is dirty from spit and his rapid breaths, and he can't see anything but muted lights and the faintest outlines of shapes.
He starts closing his eyes against the light, all sharp panic and racing pulse as light filters in through the suit. It makes him angry that he's trapped, the sunny landscape becoming a torment simply by being so close and yet tantalizingly out of reach. Darkness now brings relief, and he sinks into it like a bath.
For three nights in a row, there is no singing. Zero goes weak with relief. The silence is beautiful and blessed, and though he shivers from the cold he thinks maybe this won't kill him after all. He can find his strength, he can do something, he can outlast and survive. Fresh determination wells within him--this will not be his coffin.
On the fourth night, the singing returns. He feels his hope die inside of him, like a flower strangled by weeds, and he has no voice left to scream.
* * *
When the suit is finally opened, he is a wreck of a man, and he has lost his mind.
Wyatt Cain stands there, staring down at him, not a trace of pity in the weathered lines of his face. Zero presses his face to the grass and has a wild moment where he wants to be back in the suit, embraced by consuming darkness. The light hurts his eyes, the grass is rough against his skin. Freedom is a vague thing, unwanted and so terrifyingly real.
"You're going to stand trial," Cain says. "They'll hang you, I expect." His voice is too loud. It makes Zero wince, mumbling beneath his breath, snippets of songs sung so sweetly in the darkness.
What heaven brought you and me cannot be forgotten--.
Cain makes a sound, maybe a laugh. In a quiet voice, he sings, When you see the Southern Cross for the first time, you understand now why you came this way, and Zero shudders and presses his face into the earth.
"You want to know how long you lasted, General?" Cain asks, and his voice sounds empty, hollow. "Want to know how long it took me to break you?"
He doesn't, not really. He's still muttering against the grass, which tastes like dew, tastes like life. She is all that I have left and music is her name... He gives a slight shake of his head which will do nothing to stop Cain from telling him what he doesn't want to know. So he lies prone on the ground, muscles cramped and atrophied from confinement, and waits to hear how many months, years have passed.
"Two weeks."
Despite the light of the clear sky, all Zero sees is darkness.