The Game 2/?
Title: The Game
Author: Bayre
Characters: Dean, Sam, a passel of nasty people
Rating: Seriously an R
Spoilers: Nothing serious, doubt there will be many
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: The meek shall inherit nothing…
Many thanks to my betas Tree66,
supernaturalsam and
maygin80 . Totally spectacular banner and icon by
tru_faith_lost , who rocks.
This fic goes out to
agt_spooky , who was kind enough to bid on me at Kazcon 2007 author auction. I hope it’s got all the requested elements, and mostly that she enjoys it. This fic is rather dark, ok, very dark. There’s some adult concepts implied, and violence, though not really much in the way of gore.
The kid was out cold and securely in chains, but still Carter stood back. He studied the boy on the low bed. It was bolted to the floor. The kid was in wrist and ankle chains attached firmly to the bed frame. He wouldn’t be going anywhere soon, which was Carter’s intent all along. He hoped they could lose the chains eventually.
He could give this kid, if they were both lucky, twenty-four hours before he was put inside. Curious about this one Carter studied him, he wasn’t quite like the others who’d come and gone through here before him. Military in his actions, the kid fought like a deranged tiger until he’d been overpowered by six of Del Villar’s goons. But he wasn’t military. Carter could tell that by his hair cut, or more exactly the lack there of. The boy was in shape, all muscle, knew moves, not just another college athlete. He was too young to be an undercover cop, too much emotion in his expression for anything of that sort. Far, far too young to be in here.
The boy knew moves, that was for certain, defended himself. Another certainty, he wasn’t a fighter. Not this kid. This one had been brought here for a different reason or reasons entirely. It churned rough in Carter’s stomach. The kid wouldn’t go along, he’d fight it. Maybe he was smart enough to try and submit for a while, try to find a way out. That never worked either, he’d seen others try. There was no way out that didn’t include a body bag.
Carter stared down at the shaggy hair, long limbs, lighter build. He had long enough legs Carter bet he could outrun a freaked out cheetah if he wanted to. This boy wouldn’t last much beyond one match in the games, he might know how to fight, but it wasn’t in him, he wasn’t one of them. Whichever way it happened, this one was bound to die, and die soon.
As far as Carter was concerned it would be a mercy killing.
Twenty four hours and this innocent looking boy would one way or another be at the mercy of the men-animals-that lived here. Fought here. Twenty four hours if he was lucky.
The kid stirred, groaned something Carter almost caught, a name maybe, he wasn’t sure. He watched the kid’s eyes crack open slightly. Wincing away from the light the kid closed his eyes for a few seconds, brought one hand up to rub against them. The heaviness and sound of the chains must have gotten through to his subconscious. In the next instant the kid was awake, eyes clearing, taking in the fact he was here, chained, a prisoner.
In one smooth, fluid motion he was off the low bed, rolling away from Carter. Probably caught off guard by how short the chains were, or maybe he wasn’t really coherent enough yet to process them, the kid back pedaled away. Reaching the end of the chains, pulling them taunt, he went down with a harsh grunt. Yanking his arms toward his chest, the kid tested their hold, lips curled up to a snarl; stilling after a few minutes of frantic pulling.
Dark, haunted eyes met his, for a brief instant the glare that shone out from under those bangs was vulnerable, lost, alone, desperately needing to trust. It morphed almost immediately to something hard and emotionless. He’d been taught to do that, it was plain as day to Carter. What he’d seen first, that was the real kid in there, not this shell of a kid who’d learned to hide his feelings. Carter wondered if there’d been a reason someone this young was forced to learn that, or had it been beaten into him by someone?
Carter certainly understood fully the meaning of the expression ‘if looks could kill.’ This kid’s glare should have bore him straight into the ground. Vibrant intelligence sparked right along side the defiance. With slow, exaggerated movements, aware the boy’s eyes never wavered from him, saw every move he made, Carter crossed to the refrigerator along one wall, pulled out a bottle of water. Setting it carefully within the kid’s reach, he backed away, settled on the floor facing the boy.
“Go on, I know you’ve got to be thirsty. Check it out yourself, the bottle is still sealed.”
The boy’s eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail Carter was sure. Dark eyes rested for a few beats on the partially opened door before shifting to Carter, then the water. Looking up again, pinning Carter with a cold stare, desperation and need for someone lurking behind it, visible for only for a second. Visible only because Carter had too many years practice looking for hidden emotions.
He was looking for someone, this boy had someone; someone he was expecting to see, wanting…no needing to see. This boy wasn’t used to alone, he didn’t like it, wouldn’t accept it. This kid was lure, bait, a bargaining chip to provoke someone else, keep someone else in line. Carter had seen too much of this, for too long. This kid didn’t belong in here, those that did were hard and bitter, killers. It was plain to Carter, used to seeing inside people, this kid wasn’t a killer, wasn’t hard. He could fight, yes, and would if he had to, but he wasn’t an arena fighter.
That was part of Del Villar’s game the last few years. He’d take them in pairs, or small groups. Men who were friends, cousins, sometimes fathers and sons, sometimes brothers, it didn’t matter. They all had one thing in common; they were willing to fight for one another. Unlike those who lived here, had done so for a decade or more, these outsiders weren’t savages dressed as men.
“You were with someone before they took you? Buddies, parents?”
Nothing, no reaction. The kid avoided looking Carter in the face, the eye. He couldn’t give anything of himself away if Carter couldn’t see what the boy felt.
“Cousins, girlfriend, sisters…brothers?”
At the mention of brother the boy’s eyes popped up, skimmed the room again before dropping to the water bottle. Bingo. A brother, this kid was in here, and it was likely his brother was here too, or would be shortly. Carter was willing to bet the brother was more aggressive, probably older.
Giving the water bottle a small shove with his foot before backing away again, “My name’s Carter Bitner.” He’d leave the rest of the details until later, right now he simply wanted this boy to drink the water, then he’d try getting him some food.
Voices, movement outside the door took the boy’s attention back there. Looking, and hoping for that someone…brother…to come waltzing through it no doubt. A brother, it was plain to see, this kid loved very much, worshiped. A brother who probably loved him very much. A brother this boy was going to watch die, eventually beaten to death in the arena.
“What’s his name?”
The kid’s eyes flicked to him, and there it was again, covered as quickly as it formed. Desperate need to not be alone, confusion, plain afraid, it all sluiced through those dark eyes. “Dean.” His voice as soft and open as his eyes were hard and guarded. Carter’s heart bled for this boy, for his brother. He’d not even questioned who Carter was asking about.
“What’s your name?”
Carter was pleased to see the boy’s shoulders relax by the very tiniest degree as he leaned forward, grasped the bottle of water and pulled it to him. He held it, didn’t open it, eyes shifting again to Carter’s, lost and alone lingered a tad longer this time. One corner of the kid’s mouth twitched up for an instant, he looked down at the floor between his feet, for the briefest time Carter saw a boy with no idea where he was, or what would happen to him, just a frightened kid.
“Sam.” His voice sounded raw, Carter hoped he’d try to drink some of the water; it would make him feel better. Telling him this, however, Carter saw would be a totally lost cause.
“How old are you Sam?”
“Twenty four.”
Christ this kid wasn’t even half Carter’s age. “How’d you get here Sam? Where were you?”
Sam looked at the bottle in his hands, picked at the label a few times before he cracked the seal. “We were, my brother Dean and I, taking a road trip. I fell asleep in the car, we needed to stop for gas. That’s when they grabbed me, Dean must have gone inside.” Gaze lifting to meet Carter’s the older man was stunned by what he saw. The sheer faith in that brother, the need to defend him was over powering. “He’d locked the door, checked it when he got out, I remember him doing that.”
Cold shivers rippled down Carter’s spine, chilling straight through to his heart. That was beyond cruel, taking someone in their sleep, stealing him from right under his brother’s nose. He wasn’t sure this boy didn’t blame himself for what happened. “It wasn’t his fault.” Carter could say that with conviction and confidence knowing it was truth.
Sam took a long swig of the water. “I know that, but he’ll think it is.”
“It wasn’t your fault either.”
The boy studied him for a few seconds, drank more of the water and fixed his eyes on the floor.
Again voices from outside the room drew his attention to the door. This time Carter’s attention was drawn there too. They’d changed, not the people normally here, in his clinic. Standing slowly, easing the kinks out of his legs Carter turned to the door in time to see the huge man standing in the doorway, taking it up completely. A quick glance back at the kid confirmed Marlin had been involved in bringing him here, Sam immediately recognized him. As before the emotions Sam felt were pushed out of his eyes, as before not quick enough Carter didn’t see them. Recognition, shock, more confusion and anger, deep seated anger.
Sam stilled, other than looking from Carter to Marlin and back again.
Moving into the room with a grace and efficiency surprising for his bulk, he nodded curtly to Carter, went to the counter alongside the refrigerator and retrieved the keys. Sam was yanked roughly to his feet. Two more followed Marlin, stood on either side of the opened door.
“Twenty four hours, I always get them for twenty-four hours.” Carter grabbed the big man’s forearm.
“Plans changed this time doc. Mr. Del Villar wants the new arrivals in now.” He unlocked the chains holding Sam to the bed, but not from around his ankles or wrists. Standing next to him, even though Sam was taller by quite a few inches he looked small in comparison to Marlin’s girth. He nodded to the two men with him. They stepped between Carter and Sam.
Marlin jerked mercilessly on the chains holding the boy. Blood oozed from his cuffs, the kid’s startled yelp made one of the two guards smirk. Scrambling to regain his footing Sam glanced back at Carter for a split second before being dragged out the door.
Carter watched, powerless to do anything, to help this boy, help the brother this boy watched for, wanted to come through that door instead of Marlin and his band of creeps.
It’d be a mercy killing.
No, Carter decided, it was time to end this, time he did something. This boy, if he survived the next few hours wasn’t going to go down like the rest had. Maybe before he died himself, if he could save just one, he’d be doing something good to make up for all the bad.
Chapter 3