FRAGMENTED - Fragment 9, Part 1
Title: Fragmented
Author: gildeddiscourse
Beta: callmeliyah
Rating: Strong R
Genre: Action, Horror, Suspense, Drama, Angst, Thriller
Summery: 2006 was a hard year, rocky, strained; mottled with obstacles and too many pains to count. As 2007 approaches, promising a horizon of new possibilities and kinder times, Dong Bang Shin Ki happily immerse themselves in the upcoming release of their latest Japanese single; eagerly praying for a successful year free of pain and hardship. However, when one of their members suddenly turns up missing, their hopes are swiftly shattered. The five boys are immediately thrust into a cruel reality far more harsh and twisted then the evil in the depths of their darkest nightmares. An unknown man with an ugly agenda destroys their world and possibly their lives as they are forced to play with the very strings of life and death to save someone they love.
How far would you be willing to go to save the life of your friend, your brother? Would you be willing to sacrifice blood? Flesh? How about your very soul? The boys of Dong Bang Shin Ki will quickly discover just how far a human can be pushed all for the sake of love...
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This work is a piece of fiction only. I make no claims to know or own anyone there in mentioned. (Save of course for the occasional original character) I am making no profit from this; it is strictly for entertainment purposes slowly. The boys are property of themselves and each other. The plot/interpretation however is mine.
Previous Fragments :
Trailer, Part 1A, Part 1B, Part 2, Part 3A, Part 3B, Part 4A, Part 4B, Part 4C, Part 5A, Part 5B, Part 6A, Part 6B, Part 7A, Part 7B, Part 7C, Part 8A, Part 8B, Part 8C
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“Fragmented”
Ninth Fragment : “Living On Pins And Needles. ”
I keep on stumbling on the rough path
But it’s better than giving up
My weary body’s beat,
Sadness lingers around my eyes
Even though it’s hard and I might fall
I can endure it for you
- “Rising Sun” (Japanese) By DBSK
-Wednesday, January 17th 2007
- 7:06 am
Yunho really did not know what exactly he had expected to see once the door slid open and they peered inside.
But he knew without a doubt, that this… wasn’t it.
Ever since they each had awoken some hours ago, shuffling through the sterile hospital halls to find one another, they had been worried for their ill tenor. Frightened even. They had been informed over and over that no one under any circumstances could see him; that the poor boy was too unstable to suffer the stress of visitors. The fact that their friends life, not just Junsu’s, was in jeopardy, did not seem to matter.
They had received sympathetic looks, a pat on the head or shoulder, then were told to get back in bed and eat their jello.
As if that could magically make it all better.
For several hours, despite the irritation and anxiety, they had begrudgingly agreed. What else could they do? With police escorts dogging their every step and nurses flying into a frenzy the moment any of them even entertained the idea of leaving their respective rooms, there really was very little they could do.
At least, not alone.
Now, however, they were done playing nice. Rules be damned. This was more important then rules, or their own safety and hospital policy. This was life and death!
Upon their request, Man-Young had pilfered a small video camera for them and distracted the guards long enough for the three mobile members of Dong Ban Shin Ki to stealthily sneak their way into the intensive care unit. How they’d succeeded they weren’t exactly sure. Perhaps Yoochun had sweet talked a nurse into opening the secured entrance, or Changmin had slipped into a computer nerd moment and hacked the electronic lock? It didn’t really matter. They had made it, and now they were faced with a far different sight then they had expected.
From the descriptions they had managed to weasel out of the medical staff, Junsu was supposedly all but knocking on deaths door; barely clinging to life by a thread. Someone so afflicted, one would imagine, would most likely greet them prone and unconscious in bed, surrounded by miles of tubes and machines dutifully keeping his heart beating like some hapless victim in a bad drama.
But when that door opened, what actually met them were two bright, warm hazel eyes and a brilliant smile.
None of them moved; they were quite thoroughly shocked stupid in their slippers.
Not until that familiar peel of laughter echoed through the room did any of the three statues of surprise finally gather their jaws from the floor. Yunho, standing in the entryway, snapped out of his state of shock first and quickly ushered the two younger boys into the room, closing and locking the door behind them.
Junsu, lying on his right side smiled at his friends as they dumbly stumbled towards the bed and held out his good hand. Changmin surprisingly was the first to grasp it; squeezing tight.
Multiple sets of arms enfolded the small tenor, carefully hugging him close as if to assure themselves that he was, in fact, alive. Junsu did not protest, quietly returning the embraces they all so desperately needed. No words were exchanged. At that moment, they were unnecessary. They needed the affection, the physical reassurance, the touch and scent of each other; the familiarity. The grounding, undeniable, solid proof that they were each alive and in one piece. And those sweet sensations eased fears and worries far quicker then any word ever could.
Several minutes ticked by, and the claustrophobic press of bodies did not ebb.
“Alright, alright.” Chuckling softly, the ill boy untangled the needy arms and eased his companions back. “What took you so long?” Junsu questioned, that glittering smile never once slipping from his too pale face, even as he sniffled and rubbed a cold nose. Despite the beautiful expression, it was hard to miss the waxy pallor or the near translucent quality of his wrists. Yoochun swallowed as he shuffled around to the foot of the bed, silently taking in the tenor’s appearance. There was a tremble in those tiny digits, it drew his gaze in and held firm.
“What?... Junsu-ah, are..” Changmin hesitated, moving to gaze down into the prone vocalists face; he did not miss the milky hew of once vibrantly flushed cheeks. “Are you ok?”
He had been terrified. So damn terrified. Out of all of them, the magnae alone had seen the sick Kim pulled from the wreckage that was once their home. He had seen all the blood the boy had lost; he had seen the medics struggle to keep the tenor breathing. It was hard for his brain and his heart, even if he wouldn’t admit it, to reconcile that last image of his friend dying before his very eyes with this smiling, jovial boy.
Junsu, as if aware of the younger teens dilemma gently squeezed the hand still tightly entangled with his own. “I’m fine. Now come on, we don’t have much time.” He insisted, grasping the blankets and tossed them aside. Three sets of eyes blinked dumbly at him.
“What?” The magnae intoned, almost jerking back a step in his surprise. The ill Kim next attacked the nasal cannula plucking it carefully from each ear, then nostril, before draping the softly hissing air tube over the raised arm of his bed. Still no one moved.
That familiar jingle of laughter echoed through the room once again, loud but very welcome. “You came to film the reply didn’t you?” He paused only long enough to glance the clock positioned on the far wall by the door. “It’s after seven already. We have to hurry.”
“Yeah, but-” Changmin mumbled again, still too caught in the realization that their companion was alive and seemingly far better off then they’d been led to believe to process what exactly was going on.
“Well, come on. Don’t just stand there.”
Yunho, as always, snapped out of the shared stupor first and moved to start setting up the camera. “He’s right. The quicker we do this the quicker he can rest.” He nodded, ushering the silent baritone around the foot of the bed and out of his immediate path.
Withdrawing from the tall brunette, the youngest Kim pressed his working hand into the mattress trying to lever himself up. It wasn’t working. Pain ricocheted through his abdomen and up into his skull managing to broadcast the barest hint of agony behind dark eyes before they clenched closed. “Help me.” Junsu insisted, still struggling to sit despite the pain lighting up his nerves like a Christmas tree. A hand extended towards the Former American, who eyed the pale appendage strangely. He made no move to take it. Changmin blinked, glancing at his quiet hyung before moving back to the older tenors’ side.
“What?” he mumbled, drawing the ill boys gaze.
The leader shook his head, idly brushing an errant brunette strand from his eyes as he set the recording device before casting a stern eye to the shorter young man. “Junsu-ah, really you should stay in bed. You’re in no condition-”
“Do you really want him to know we’re here?” The ill boy cast a firm gaze over the gathered faces before offering his hand once again; bare feet slipping onto the cold floor. No one replied. Admitting they were in a hospital would be admitting that that man had managed to hurt them. They had no idea the extent of the media coverage, but they knew they could not give him the satisfaction of knowing just how close they had been to death. Junsu read these thoughts behind subdued eyes, reaching towards the leader when the baritone again did not move. “Then help me. We don’t have much time.” Yunho swallowed and against his better judgment, quietly complied grasping the extended arm. Gently he pulled the young man from the bed, supporting his slight weight as the tenor wavered weakly.
The baritone eyed the fragile shake in the younger boys’ limbs as he silently gathered his footing. Something inside him clenched.
Changmin slipped in on the sick youths’ right, his good arm coiling carefully around Junsu’s waist as the other hooked the i.v. caddy. “Yoochun-ah, move that chair against the wall.” Yunho ordered softly without sparing the silent blond a glance. He was too absorbed in keeping the sick tenor from collapsing straight to the floor. Several heartbeats later, the dull scrape of wood on polished laminate heralded the acquiesce to his request.
Slowly the huddled figures made their way across the room, selecting the barest wall as the most appropriate back drop. “Changmin-ah, move that tray out of the way. Yoochun-ah, grab a blanket please.” Yunho quietly ordered, lowering the ill tenor gently into the waiting chair. Grasping the i.v. caddy, he positioned it carefully out of frame but close enough not to strain Junsu’s arm. Each boy moved to comply with his commands, and the bustle of noise that followed was subdued. They knew they had to be quick and they knew they had to be quiet. It would not be long before their diversion lost its usefulness and their little escapade was discovered.
Yoochun silently stripped a warmed fleece blanket from the foot of the vacant bed and gently arranged it across Junsu’s lap; careful to conceal the catheter embedded in his skin. The younger boy observed the diligent former American, offering a soft smile. “Thank you, Yoochun-ah.” The baritone nodded, but did not return that searching gaze; did not meet his eyes at all, in fact. Straightening, the blond moved to the magnae’s side, positioning the younger boy in between he and the ill singer.
Yunho moved to the counter across the way, checking the camera one last time before stepping back. Against advisement from the hospital staff, the leader unfurled the gauze wrappings from about his head, laying them aside and out of immediate view. Catching the action, Yoochun and Changmin silently followed suit, removing or carefully concealing any visible bandages.
Their manager, in a wonderful moment of foresight, had procured scrub pants and four sweaters from the hospital lost and found. Seeing as almost all their belongings had been destroyed and or sealed off for the time being, pending investigation, the nurses were more then happy to provide them. These easily concealed the tell tale hospital gowns they were forced to wear beneath. Grabbing the fourth, the leader gently helped the ill tenor into a pale cream sweater, zipping it up to an equally pale collar bone. Gazing into the young man’s face, he couldn’t help but pause. Without a word, Yunho gathered the sleeve of his own jacket, grasped the shorter boys chin and gently blotted away the pearls of moisture glistening across his brow and cheeks.
Junsu smiled.
Junsu always smiled.
With a deep breath, the dancer finally took his position at the tenors left, careful not to disturb the low hanging i.v. line that hung just out of frame.
“Alright.. Let’s do this.”
The little red light on the small borrowed camera blinked, recording the awkward silence as each boy waited, although they weren’t entirely sure what they were waiting for.
Changmin shifted, a daring hand rising to scrub at the pale auburn strands curling around his neck before he blinked and swallowed. “Does… anyone remember the question?” he asked suddenly, dread filling his belly like hot lead; heavy and condemning. For one terrible moment, no one moved, no one even breathed as they realized the ensuing chaos following the last video viewing had nearly wiped the recollection of the entire tape from their collective minds.
The leader couldn’t believe it. They’d been so consumed with getting in to see Junsu and film the video that they hadn’t stopped to think about the contents of the video itself. How could they be so foolish?
“… I… don’t remember..” Yunho mumbled softly, wide-eyed as realization sank in. Methodically, he replayed what he could remember of the video over and over in his mind, but he could not recall the next task to save his life. Or, more accurately, Jaejoong’s. It unnerved him how little he actually remembered, and even worse, that little smidgen of memory seemed to center firmly on Jaejoong’s pain alone. Of all the things to remember, why did it have to be that? Wasn’t seeing the boy scream once, enough? What was wrong with him? And what was this strange unsettled feeling rumbling in his stomach?...
“I remember.. It was needles. Right?... Something to do with needles.” Junsu’s voice broke through the uncomfortable silence, and equally uncomfortable thoughts. Yunho blinked, glancing down at the seated tenor before gazing up at the two boys beyond. Yoochun stared blankly, seeming as lost as he was. And Changmin.. There was a haunted look in the magnae’s eyes for just a moment, before the taller brunette turned away, hiding whatever dark thoughts were plaguing him. Yunho frowned, trying to catch the boys’ gaze. But the tenor skillfully avoided him.
The magnae cleared his throat, fidgeting with the collar of his jacket before flipping the hood up and over his head hiding the abrasions skirting his cheek beneath the veil of hair and fabric. “I think you’re right...”
“Well, what was it? We’re running out of time.” Yunho urged softly, glancing at the clock. They were cutting it close, dangerously close. It would be a miracle if they got this filmed and to the station on time, never mind edited.
Junsu shifted in his seat, hiding any signs of pain or discomfort as he quickly thought over what he remembered.
“I think.. I think it was how many he could handle. I think that was it.” He mumbled, glancing up at the tall leader hovering over his shoulder, as if asking for confirmation. The dancer met his gaze. He himself was unsure, but he refused to allow his band mates to see it. He had to be strong, for them, and for Jaejoong. That was his cross to bear, his mantle. And he bore it readily.
“Are you sure?” Yunho questioned. The situation was delicate; they did not have the luxury of being wrong. They all knew it. It weighed across their shoulders like great beasts of burden; breathing hotly down their necks at every waking moment. Junsu paused a moment, eyes clouded as he concentrated then nodded his affirmative.
“I’m positive.”
Changmin shifted with a frown, nervously rubbing palms at his thighs before a hand rose fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket. “We don’t have time to research… We don’t even have a way to.. What are we going to do?” Large mocha eyes rose, glancing in the dancers’ direction without making contact. The loss of all their worldly possessions was a rather harsh blow, felt keenly by the youngest. Yunho straightened, affecting the posture of leader and eldest, easily wiping any emotion from his face.
“Give it our best guess.. What else can we do?” He replied, his voice firm despite the spike of fear that single statement sent rampaging through his gut. No one questioned him, even though they all wished they could.
“I don’t like this...” The magnae muttered, more to himself then the others. What he wouldn’t give to have his computer; to be able to research the task. To be able to contribute something… to do something, anything at all. He felt so useless...
A hand found his shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze but he did not look up to acknowledge it, nor determine whom that touch belonged to.
“None of us do. But we don’t have a choice.. It’ll be ok.” The ill tenor assured softly, stifling a cough that despite his efforts sent a jab of agony through his insides. Glancing up at his members, he smiled hoping to ease their worry, even if only a little. Yes, it was a delicate situation, yes, if he could change it he would, in a heart beat, but he still had hope, and faith. They had each other, their health, and their strength. They would make it yet. They would.
“Well... then how many?” Changmin asked, straightening his back, tucking his hands into the pockets of borrowed slacks; face schooled into perfect indifference.
“Twenty.” The young Kim supplied, turning to gaze at the waiting camera. Yunho paused, mulling over the suggestion before nodding. It seemed like a reasonable number. He could only hope they were right.
“Alright then. Let’s get this over with.”
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-Wednesday, January 17th 2007
- 9:01 am
The bare bulb flickered and swayed as the unforgiving metal portal swung wide. Light splayed mildly across the dingy stone yet it could not chase away the darkness just beyond the door frame. Caustic eyes peered into the enrobing shadows, searching diligently for his favored plaything.
A flick of the head sent the Chinamen forward, bearing a single wick lantern.
Xiao Wen had taken no more then a step into the filthy cell when a disgusting squelch stopped him in his tracks. Beneath his boots lay the splattered remnants of chopped, wet dog food.
Eien’s eyes narrowed and a sharp fist snatched up the light source. Shoving by the redhead, he pushed into the cell and stared hard at the figure pressed into the far wall. The little rat appeared asleep, curled on his side to preserve what little body heat he still maintained in this frigid cement block.
“Time to wake up little one.”
Stalking forward, a hard boot connected smartly with the base of the boy’s spine; jerking the singer roughly from the land of dreams. Groggily, doe-eyes flickered open, blank and muddled.
“Get up.”
Another sharp kick to the boys’ hip sent the youth scrambling to his knees and away from the offending foot. A breath later found the boy standing, his back to the wall as he struggled to blink away the sleep from tired eyes. With an amused snort, Eien stepped back, savoring the moment of drowsy confusion.
Looking him over, Jaejoong stood much as he had the day before, rigid and defiant. Yet, beneath the obvious, there was an apprehension in the lines of his slender frame that had not been there before.
The Japanese man had to resist the urge to grin in delight.
Oh yes. The boy was cracking nicely.
Drawing himself to his full height, Eien ‘tsk-ed’ softly, and shook his head in disapproval; toeing the tin dog dish now upturned and empty at his feet.
“You disobeyed me again boy. We can’t have that, now can we?” The man purred softly, the voice, had it come from anyone else could almost have been mistaken for remorseful.
Jaejoong’s shoulders tensed, yet he remained silent. Whether that was out of obedience or foolish defiance, Eien did not know. Given the boy’s track record however, he was almost certain it was the latter.
A hand rose, expectantly extending the lantern, and the Chinese man moved to accept it without a word. The Korean kept his attention focused firmly on neither threat, and yet, carefully on both simultaneously. Grasp now empty, Eien clasped his hands behind his back rocking, heel to toe and back again as he examined the young man with a critical eye.
“I ordered you to eat. And you rudely denied my generous offering.. Was it not to your liking?” He spoke, thinned eyes rising to latch onto the youth’s smudged face searching out any hint of emotion. The vocalist snorted faintly and met his captor’s eyes. There was still far too much spirit in that gaze, even damaged as it was, for the taller man’s liking. “You have nothing to say? No apology, no explanation for your deplorable behavior?” The Japanese man prodded, cocking his head curiously. The boy remained mute, tense, as if waiting for some expected blow; staring blankly into the space before him.
The silence grated on his nerves.
Eien resisted the urge to snarl and back hand the boy to the ground.
“You need to learn to respect your betters boy. My generosities are not to be taken lightly. Nor are my commands.” Still the boy did not speak. Huffing he turned, catching Yosuke’s eye at the door. The sentry was diligently waiting, and nodded at the unspoken commands, turning to converse with the man at his side.
“Naughty doggy” Eien drawled, “It seems you’re in the mood for another lesson.” The wicked gleam in his eye easily undermined the almost regretful tone with which he spoke. The singer refused to react. “On your knees.” The madman demanded, tapping a boot against the floor. Jaejoong tensed almost violently, the remembrance of his humiliation the night before nauseating and vivid in the forefront of his mind. He made no move to comply. A thick brow arched at the obvious defiance, and a familiar cell phone appeared in warning; the singer swallowed.
“Keep up this horrid attitude child, and I will have you bound and tethered on a leash, and lead you on your hands and knees like the dog you are.” Eien growled in warning, earning a rather impressive shiver from the woefully malnourished figure. A leather leash suddenly appeared in one of the waiting lackeys hands as further incentive to cooperate.
“Now. On. Your. Knees.”
Jaejoong hesitated a moment more, his gaze flickering from the floor to that unassuming looking cell phone and back again. The familiar click of the device being opened finally dropped him to the ground; skinned knees protesting. Eien snorted and stepped aside.
“Hands behind your back.” The Japanese man commanded, idly pressing buttons on the keypad without really paying attention to it. Unwillingly the youth complied and he nodded as his subordinate entered the cramped cell. The room could barely house three bodies let alone four. “Bind him.” He ordered unnecessarily, as Yosuke knelt and grasped the boys shoulder. The silent man turned the youth, guiding bruised wrists against one another before lashing them together with an expert touch. He was surprisingly mindful of broken digits, almost gentle, but by no means incompetent. An experimental twist and tug proved the set of coils and knots would hold firm.
Turning, Eien made his way to the door. “Bring him.” He called over his shoulder as he passed the threshold.
The Chinamen handed off the lantern to a faceless pair of hands and moved to the stoic mercenaries’ side. Together they dragged the unhappy youth back to his feet, and sent him stumbling into the hall.
“The table sir?” Yosuke questioned, guiding the captive through the halls and after the enigmatic leader. Eien shook his head.
“No. No I want him to feel every minute of it. I want him to feel the hands holding him down, to feel the helplessness of his situation; to feel the consequences of defiance.” The man muttered, flashing a truly gruesome grin over his shoulder without missing a step. The redhead at Jaejoong’s side mirrored the expression with a greasy smirk of his own and it took everything the boy had not to shudder.
“Take him to the hall.” Eien ordered, trudging on through the nondescript hallways with practiced ease.
Continue to Part 2