Fic: Fractures
Title: Fractures
Verse: Movieverse, AU, post-Revenge of the Fallen
Characters: Will Lennox, Sarah Lennox, Annabelle Lennox, Ironhide
Warnings: Dark theme, torture, death.
Summary: Small mercies at the end of all things.
~ Fractures ~
He lies on the pile of tattered blankets and stares unblinking at the vidscreen showing his beloved lady and child, and looming behind them, the massive burned out shell of Ironhide.
One large grey hand stretched out, half curled around them. Guardian, to the end.
It was a blessing when he could pretend they were sleeping. Drifts of smoke would veil the shattered bulk of his Guardian. The wind would blow Sarah's long hair into gentle sweeps of blonde silk across desiccated greyed skin stretched to skeletal tightness over bone, and he could be forever grateful that Annabelle's face was always hidden against her mother's breast. Asleep, with their Guardian keeping watch. His lady was resting, and his baby was napping, dreaming little girl dreams of pink unicorns and rainbows and an ever-present black truck that always managed to show up in everything Annabelle said and did.
When the wind failed to cooperate and show him mercy, Will would beg, from his knees, to turn it off-- please for the love of god, let me bury them, make it stop!--until he was sick and retching from the sight.
His pleas fell into cold indifferent silence and he would crawl to a corner, soldier, Ranger, hardened in battle and trained to kill, and vomit until his vision went black and he passed out.
It was a mercy when they broke her, finally. She lasted a long time, longer than Will thought she would, through terror and starvation and torture and all of Will’s pleas for her not to speak, driven on by the desperate hope that Annabelle was still alive.
Will begged her to understand, to stay silent, not to believe them. She wasn’t the goal, he was. “Sarah... my lady, my love... they wouldn't spend the time, the resources... our baby's gone."
He knew the moment it happened, the look on Sarah’s face. An image of Annabelle flashed on the vidscreen, tears tracking through the dirt on her cheeks, sobbing and reaching for an image of her mother, and a recording of their little girl crying. Mama, Mama!
It played on a loop, over and over, until he could hear the high thin crack of something breaking deep inside of his beloved. It might be a mercy that Sarah no longer heard what he tried so hard to tell her.
What will you do, to see your child again?
Anything. I’ll do anything.
He was chained to the floor in the middle of his cell when they brought her into the cage just next to his.
Her blonde hair framed a pale gaunt face, blue eyes dulled and that dumb suffering animal look in them. Her fingers clutched pathetically into the tatters of the too large shirt wrapped around her. Bruises were everywhere, livid and dark, mottled and blotched over white skin.
He knew it was the end, after she broke and talked and babbled and it still wasn’t enough for them. She didn’t know, none of them did; not even Will screaming at them from his cage would satisfy them.
You have the codes to NEST, my deposit box, my bank accounts, and my fucking garage door! I don’t HAVE any other codes to give you!
He howled when the careless sweep of a large clawed hand knocked Sarah to the floor again and again, and each time Sarah climbed to her hands and knees, moaning and breath rasping, coughing out pink tinged and frothy blood. I told you everything I know. Everything. … you promised… you promised…
What would you do to save her, Major?
Will babbled just as Sarah had, frantically, repeatedly.
Anything. I’ll do anything.
And it wasn’t enough, it was never going to be enough. Prime had known, maybe Ironhide had, those mysterious codes they kept asking for, but Will didn’t know; he had never known.
They made him watch until he was nearly insane, roaring and tugging at the razor-thin wiring binding his hands behind his back. His wrists were bleeding, he could feel hot little rivulets of blood drip-dripping down his fingers. It dribbled along the chain to puddle beneath him, where the short links kept him kneeling with thighs splayed and barely balanced.
He heard Sarah’s labored breaths. Dying, she was dying. He ached to hold her.
Please, he whispered brokenly, let me go to her, let me hold her, just once.
They mocked him, laughing. Look but don’t touch, Major.
Touch her? If Will could get to her, he’d kill her himself. Anything to save his lady from this. Anything.
Another blow; blood spattered everywhere. Something happened then, to his vision, to his mind, stretched so far something snapped and he was flung into a grey haze of nothingness.
He counts the smallest of blessings and mercies now. He never saw Sarah die, he feels vaguely guilty for that. She was alone, he should have been there. ‘Til death do us part.
But there is the mercy of never having had to watch Annabelle die, the blessing that Sarah is now beyond all pain.
Days, weeks, months, maybe years. Time stood still in a world so thoroughly destroyed and stripped of life, not even bacteria remained. There was no time here, no night and day, no slow decay in death, and there was no more pretending. No more crying and screaming, no more grief and fits of rage.
Will doesn't speak anymore, not even to curse them, not even to beg.
The winds have stopped and they are together, his lady and his baby with Ironhide watching over them, fiercely possessive, guarding them forever.
In the infinitely gentle fog that surrounds him, nothing reaches him, nothing is real, save for his loved ones up on that large vidscreen. They are there; they are waiting.
+++++++
The Decepticon hovered over him for a long time, examining him. Clothes sliced away, bound naked to cold metal, sharp claws poked and prodded, digging into half-healed wounds, probing bruised and blackened skin.
Will never spoke, never even twitched. His eyes remained fixed on the vidscreen while voices murmured far above his head.
You won’t get anything out of this one. He’s barely functioning, his mind is gone. He’s finished.
We need those codes.
A huff of warm air touched his face, a sharp claw pricked his throat. Will stared at the vidscreen and never moved.
No survival instincts left, reflexes nonexistent…. Maybe he’s been telling you the truth all along. He never knew them, and the Autobot is the one you should have kept alive.
Then kill him. He’s of no further use to us.
As soon as I’ve prepared my report….
The voices faded, a large metal door slammed shut.
Will blinked slowly, once, then again, and something banked down and long hidden flared to life in his eyes.
Ironhide, my ladies, I’m coming home.
-----------------------------
A/N: I like bunnies where there is hope, a happy ending, but occasionally one comes along that is the complete opposite of what I like to write and refuses to let go. Originally a nightmare about Sarah that I could only remember a fragment of, it jumped to quidamling and she blamed me for getting the darkest plot ever stuck in her head (you’re welcome! >3). It stayed there for a while, then out of nowhere it latched onto me and offered up an image of a catatonic Will. With much idea batting, scene development, and boatloads of encouragement from quidamling, along with the title suggestion, ficlet was finally spawned.
All the love and many, many thanks, hun. Your writing is in this too. <333
Verse: Movieverse, AU, post-Revenge of the Fallen
Characters: Will Lennox, Sarah Lennox, Annabelle Lennox, Ironhide
Warnings: Dark theme, torture, death.
Summary: Small mercies at the end of all things.
~ Fractures ~
He lies on the pile of tattered blankets and stares unblinking at the vidscreen showing his beloved lady and child, and looming behind them, the massive burned out shell of Ironhide.
One large grey hand stretched out, half curled around them. Guardian, to the end.
It was a blessing when he could pretend they were sleeping. Drifts of smoke would veil the shattered bulk of his Guardian. The wind would blow Sarah's long hair into gentle sweeps of blonde silk across desiccated greyed skin stretched to skeletal tightness over bone, and he could be forever grateful that Annabelle's face was always hidden against her mother's breast. Asleep, with their Guardian keeping watch. His lady was resting, and his baby was napping, dreaming little girl dreams of pink unicorns and rainbows and an ever-present black truck that always managed to show up in everything Annabelle said and did.
When the wind failed to cooperate and show him mercy, Will would beg, from his knees, to turn it off-- please for the love of god, let me bury them, make it stop!--until he was sick and retching from the sight.
His pleas fell into cold indifferent silence and he would crawl to a corner, soldier, Ranger, hardened in battle and trained to kill, and vomit until his vision went black and he passed out.
It was a mercy when they broke her, finally. She lasted a long time, longer than Will thought she would, through terror and starvation and torture and all of Will’s pleas for her not to speak, driven on by the desperate hope that Annabelle was still alive.
Will begged her to understand, to stay silent, not to believe them. She wasn’t the goal, he was. “Sarah... my lady, my love... they wouldn't spend the time, the resources... our baby's gone."
He knew the moment it happened, the look on Sarah’s face. An image of Annabelle flashed on the vidscreen, tears tracking through the dirt on her cheeks, sobbing and reaching for an image of her mother, and a recording of their little girl crying. Mama, Mama!
It played on a loop, over and over, until he could hear the high thin crack of something breaking deep inside of his beloved. It might be a mercy that Sarah no longer heard what he tried so hard to tell her.
What will you do, to see your child again?
Anything. I’ll do anything.
He was chained to the floor in the middle of his cell when they brought her into the cage just next to his.
Her blonde hair framed a pale gaunt face, blue eyes dulled and that dumb suffering animal look in them. Her fingers clutched pathetically into the tatters of the too large shirt wrapped around her. Bruises were everywhere, livid and dark, mottled and blotched over white skin.
He knew it was the end, after she broke and talked and babbled and it still wasn’t enough for them. She didn’t know, none of them did; not even Will screaming at them from his cage would satisfy them.
You have the codes to NEST, my deposit box, my bank accounts, and my fucking garage door! I don’t HAVE any other codes to give you!
He howled when the careless sweep of a large clawed hand knocked Sarah to the floor again and again, and each time Sarah climbed to her hands and knees, moaning and breath rasping, coughing out pink tinged and frothy blood. I told you everything I know. Everything. … you promised… you promised…
What would you do to save her, Major?
Will babbled just as Sarah had, frantically, repeatedly.
Anything. I’ll do anything.
And it wasn’t enough, it was never going to be enough. Prime had known, maybe Ironhide had, those mysterious codes they kept asking for, but Will didn’t know; he had never known.
They made him watch until he was nearly insane, roaring and tugging at the razor-thin wiring binding his hands behind his back. His wrists were bleeding, he could feel hot little rivulets of blood drip-dripping down his fingers. It dribbled along the chain to puddle beneath him, where the short links kept him kneeling with thighs splayed and barely balanced.
He heard Sarah’s labored breaths. Dying, she was dying. He ached to hold her.
Please, he whispered brokenly, let me go to her, let me hold her, just once.
They mocked him, laughing. Look but don’t touch, Major.
Touch her? If Will could get to her, he’d kill her himself. Anything to save his lady from this. Anything.
Another blow; blood spattered everywhere. Something happened then, to his vision, to his mind, stretched so far something snapped and he was flung into a grey haze of nothingness.
He counts the smallest of blessings and mercies now. He never saw Sarah die, he feels vaguely guilty for that. She was alone, he should have been there. ‘Til death do us part.
But there is the mercy of never having had to watch Annabelle die, the blessing that Sarah is now beyond all pain.
Days, weeks, months, maybe years. Time stood still in a world so thoroughly destroyed and stripped of life, not even bacteria remained. There was no time here, no night and day, no slow decay in death, and there was no more pretending. No more crying and screaming, no more grief and fits of rage.
Will doesn't speak anymore, not even to curse them, not even to beg.
The winds have stopped and they are together, his lady and his baby with Ironhide watching over them, fiercely possessive, guarding them forever.
In the infinitely gentle fog that surrounds him, nothing reaches him, nothing is real, save for his loved ones up on that large vidscreen. They are there; they are waiting.
+++++++
The Decepticon hovered over him for a long time, examining him. Clothes sliced away, bound naked to cold metal, sharp claws poked and prodded, digging into half-healed wounds, probing bruised and blackened skin.
Will never spoke, never even twitched. His eyes remained fixed on the vidscreen while voices murmured far above his head.
You won’t get anything out of this one. He’s barely functioning, his mind is gone. He’s finished.
We need those codes.
A huff of warm air touched his face, a sharp claw pricked his throat. Will stared at the vidscreen and never moved.
No survival instincts left, reflexes nonexistent…. Maybe he’s been telling you the truth all along. He never knew them, and the Autobot is the one you should have kept alive.
Then kill him. He’s of no further use to us.
As soon as I’ve prepared my report….
The voices faded, a large metal door slammed shut.
Will blinked slowly, once, then again, and something banked down and long hidden flared to life in his eyes.
Ironhide, my ladies, I’m coming home.
-----------------------------
A/N: I like bunnies where there is hope, a happy ending, but occasionally one comes along that is the complete opposite of what I like to write and refuses to let go. Originally a nightmare about Sarah that I could only remember a fragment of, it jumped to quidamling and she blamed me for getting the darkest plot ever stuck in her head (you’re welcome! >3). It stayed there for a while, then out of nowhere it latched onto me and offered up an image of a catatonic Will. With much idea batting, scene development, and boatloads of encouragement from quidamling, along with the title suggestion, ficlet was finally spawned.
All the love and many, many thanks, hun. Your writing is in this too. <333