Donor Treatment
I was sort of in the mood to torture Xander. This could be the start of a longer story, I'll have to see what my muse thinks. It uses the prompt rejected for tamingthemuse .
Title: Donor Treatment
Rating: R
Warnings: torture, dark
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, they belong to Joss and Mutant Enemy and other people who actually have things like money.
Summary: Xander ends up somewhere very unpleasant.
Word Count: 727
Ow. Ow! Owowowowowow!!! Xander writhed in pain, not really getting anywhere because of the restraints at his wrists and ankles. There was also a strap across his chest and thighs making sure he wasn’t getting up off this table on his own. He would have been screaming, was in fact trying to scream, but he was gagged so that even as he strained his vocal cords to their limit all that could be heard was a muffled whine.
Oh god, oh god, stop, make it stop! Unable to beg verbally, he tried to catch the eyes of one of the men in white coats, willing them to see how desperate he was. How much they were hurting him. Whatever they’d injected him with burned. It felt like it was melting his veins from the inside out and there was no part of his body that wasn’t on fire with pain.
Please please please please please. None of the white coated men looked him in the face. They just jotted down things onto their clipboards and talked among themselves. He tried to listen, tried to find out what they were doing to him. Find out why they were doing this to him. However he couldn’t hear anything outside the stifled screams and frantic begging in his own head. The pain was all consuming.
No more! No more, stop it, ahhh! Tears streamed down the sides of his face, snot ran out of his nose making it harder to breathe. He convulsed in panic as he saw a man approach with another syringe. He shook his head back and forth hard, finally catching the eye of the man, pleading with him silently to not hurt him anymore. The man looked away again, and injected whatever it was into his arm. It took a moment to feel it through the haze of pain, but the effect was immediate. A soothing coolness started at the injection site, and then traveled up his arm, moving to his entire body. He sobbed into his gag with relief, the burning had stopped.
Thank you, thank you, thank you. He was ridiculously grateful to the white coated man for ending his suffering, considering that he had caused him the pain in the first place. However, since he had made it stop Xander found himself willing to forgive him anything, even starting it in the first place. He’d have to remember to send him a Christmas card next year, and yeah, maybe that was a little optimistic when you take into account that he’d been kidnapped and was now being tortured, but he was a Scooby. Optimism and dark sarcasm were what they did when faced with horrible situations.
I’m so tired, can I go home now? Now that he could think clearly again, he tried to listen to what the men were saying. What he heard was far from comforting.
“The subject took to the first treatment very well. The serum wasn’t rejected by his white blood cells at all. He’s a prime candidate to be a Donor.”
“Yes, I agree, you send the report up to Walsh and I’ll start prepping the next serum.”
“Which Hostile should we pair him with?”
“I think 17; he’s been progressing quite well in his training.”
“Okay, I’ll label his paperwork Donor 17, and get an order in for his tagging once he’s through the treatments.”
First treatment?! Donor? Hostile? What’s going on? Xander was still processing the dialogue as the man came back over, yet another syringe in his hand. He tensed up as he was injected once again. The area around where the needle entered his skin started to itch right away. It spread quickly, a new and different kind of agony. He was soon screaming again, though this time his throat was so abused that his best attempts at a proper scream where more like whimpers. As the tears and snot started again it became harder and harder for him to breathe through his clogged nose. His whole body itched, like the worst case of poison ivy you’d ever heard of times ten. He squirmed on the table, trying to get friction to ease the sensation but it wasn’t helping. Finally his nasal passages completely clogged and he faded into unconsciousness. His last thought was that the man didn’t deserve a Christmas card after all.
Title: Donor Treatment
Rating: R
Warnings: torture, dark
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, they belong to Joss and Mutant Enemy and other people who actually have things like money.
Summary: Xander ends up somewhere very unpleasant.
Word Count: 727
Ow. Ow! Owowowowowow!!! Xander writhed in pain, not really getting anywhere because of the restraints at his wrists and ankles. There was also a strap across his chest and thighs making sure he wasn’t getting up off this table on his own. He would have been screaming, was in fact trying to scream, but he was gagged so that even as he strained his vocal cords to their limit all that could be heard was a muffled whine.
Oh god, oh god, stop, make it stop! Unable to beg verbally, he tried to catch the eyes of one of the men in white coats, willing them to see how desperate he was. How much they were hurting him. Whatever they’d injected him with burned. It felt like it was melting his veins from the inside out and there was no part of his body that wasn’t on fire with pain.
Please please please please please. None of the white coated men looked him in the face. They just jotted down things onto their clipboards and talked among themselves. He tried to listen, tried to find out what they were doing to him. Find out why they were doing this to him. However he couldn’t hear anything outside the stifled screams and frantic begging in his own head. The pain was all consuming.
No more! No more, stop it, ahhh! Tears streamed down the sides of his face, snot ran out of his nose making it harder to breathe. He convulsed in panic as he saw a man approach with another syringe. He shook his head back and forth hard, finally catching the eye of the man, pleading with him silently to not hurt him anymore. The man looked away again, and injected whatever it was into his arm. It took a moment to feel it through the haze of pain, but the effect was immediate. A soothing coolness started at the injection site, and then traveled up his arm, moving to his entire body. He sobbed into his gag with relief, the burning had stopped.
Thank you, thank you, thank you. He was ridiculously grateful to the white coated man for ending his suffering, considering that he had caused him the pain in the first place. However, since he had made it stop Xander found himself willing to forgive him anything, even starting it in the first place. He’d have to remember to send him a Christmas card next year, and yeah, maybe that was a little optimistic when you take into account that he’d been kidnapped and was now being tortured, but he was a Scooby. Optimism and dark sarcasm were what they did when faced with horrible situations.
I’m so tired, can I go home now? Now that he could think clearly again, he tried to listen to what the men were saying. What he heard was far from comforting.
“The subject took to the first treatment very well. The serum wasn’t rejected by his white blood cells at all. He’s a prime candidate to be a Donor.”
“Yes, I agree, you send the report up to Walsh and I’ll start prepping the next serum.”
“Which Hostile should we pair him with?”
“I think 17; he’s been progressing quite well in his training.”
“Okay, I’ll label his paperwork Donor 17, and get an order in for his tagging once he’s through the treatments.”
First treatment?! Donor? Hostile? What’s going on? Xander was still processing the dialogue as the man came back over, yet another syringe in his hand. He tensed up as he was injected once again. The area around where the needle entered his skin started to itch right away. It spread quickly, a new and different kind of agony. He was soon screaming again, though this time his throat was so abused that his best attempts at a proper scream where more like whimpers. As the tears and snot started again it became harder and harder for him to breathe through his clogged nose. His whole body itched, like the worst case of poison ivy you’d ever heard of times ten. He squirmed on the table, trying to get friction to ease the sensation but it wasn’t helping. Finally his nasal passages completely clogged and he faded into unconsciousness. His last thought was that the man didn’t deserve a Christmas card after all.