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writeintrees · 4 years

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Carter Part 4 of 4

Summary: This is it, Carter is going to die here. His torturers are relentless and no one is coming for him. At least that is what he thinks until a mysterious stranger busts into the building searching for their sister. Carter is brought to the rebels, who surprise him, keeping him on his toes and helping him to work through a few things. This group is so happy and kind and better than he could ever dream of.

Found family, trans mc, chronic pain mc, trauma, hurt/comfort

Content warnings: opioids, torture (simple physical injury and neglect), blood, low self esteem, negative self talk, history of physical and mental abuse from family and a partner, self harm scars, panic attack, getting triggered, derealization, dissociation

3192 of 15060 words total

part 1, part 2, part 3

It is nerve wracking to be left in the car while negotiations are underway. The building towers black and menacing above him with only the top floor lit. Orange light seeps through the shaded windows but he cannot help but feel dread for what might be going on behind the glass.

He is in the backseat and parked a half block away, so he has good visibility of the entire entrance. He checks the phone in his hand again, left behind by Naji. Just the two texts from Emille, the first saying they had arrived at Mister Kodua’s door and the second that they are starting negotiations and it may take a while. Sent three minutes ago. Fuck.

He runs a hand through his hair and leans with his face against the window. His breath fogs up the glass and he draws a little heart before it disappears.

A black SUV pulls up and at first Carter does not think anything of it. But as he looks around at the surroundings, he notices that the people stationed at the street corners have vanished. One is leaning into a storefront with their phone to their ear. A third person begins to step out of the SUV and Carter’s blood runs cold. He sees platinum blonde box braids and his mind is back in that chair, in pain and waiting for death. His hands fumble with Naji’s phone and it only does a half-ring before going straight to voicemail. “Shit.” He gropes around in the dark of the backseat until he finds the walkie-talkie. “Hello? Hello, Naji, come in.” Panic edges into his voice.

There is a moment of silence before the static turns on and Naji comes through. “What is it Carter?”

“The coalition is here. They’re walking towards the building.”

When the static turns back on, there are various crashes and thumps. Someone is talking but they must be too far from the microphone to come through clearly. The static clicks off. Dread raises the hairs on the back of his neck and his face is hot with panic. Before he can spiral too far into wondering whether he should reach out again or if they should be on radio silence, the static clicks back on. Carter holds his breath. There is another slam before Emille’s voice comes through. “We’re going down the back stairwell. Can you start the car and circle to the back entrance?”

“Yeah. I’ve got you.” He climbs over the center console and turns on the car, too impatient to mind the beeping asking for him to buckle his seatbelt. It has been a few years since he has sat in the driver’s seat so he takes the corner a little too sharply and grits his teeth as he urges his body to stay upright. He pulls up just in time to see Naji limping her way to the curb. Stairs, right.

Emille helps her into the backseat and barely has the passenger door open before yelling to “go go go!”

He accelerates. “Which way?” He asks.

“Left. That should take you to the highway.”

He does that and has the wherewithal to buckle his seatbelt on a straightaway. His heart is pounding wildly in his chest and he wonders whether he should be driving in this condition. He was already iffy when he moved to the state a few years back.

“My goddamn wheelchair.” Naji says through clenched teeth.

“We’ll get it back.” Emille says as if trying to speak it into existence. “At least we got a powerful ally.”

“What the fuck happened back there?” Carter cranes his head, trying to see Naji in the rearview mirror. The car beeps to tell him that he is drifting out of the lines and he snaps back to focusing on the road.

“Take the next exit.” Emille points towards the sign.

They focus on directing him back and before he can get his bearings enough to ask questions, they are pulling up to the building. Carter turns the car off. Emille takes the keys and hops out to start unscrewing the license plate.

“Carter, be a dear and get my spare wheelchair?”

“Sure. It’s in the closet, right?”

“Actually… Just go in the first door to your right. You’ll see it.”

Tasha has come out to give Emille a spare plate. Carter goes in the open front door. He is surprised he has never noticed this room before. The hallway does blur together a bit with all the glass with different patterns over it. There is a fifth office structured much like the others but with simple white foam leaned up against the glass wall. Its door is partially covered by the open front door and he has to maneuver them so he can enter.

It is an absolute mess inside. There is a gurney covered in so many items he doubts it would actually help in an emergency. He finds a simple folded up hospital wheelchair to the side behind some rolled up schematics.

Naji glowers at it as he brings it out. “Damn. I loved that wheelchair.”

“Emille says you can still get it back.” He says as he unfolds the spare. The foot rests click as he lowers them.

“Yeah, well Emille is more hopeful than I dare to be.” She takes one step and collapses into the chair. “And that is more walking than I want to do in the next month.��

He hovers awkwardly, distantly remembering that it is intrusive to touch someone’s mobility aid. “Do you want me to push you?”

She sighs defeatedly. “Yeah. Go ahead.

The car beeps and Carter looks up to see Emille hovering by the door, the keys in their hands. They follow him and Naji in and make a beeline to the living room.

“What happened?” Tasha asks, eyeing Naji’s wheelchair as she angrily puts on the manual brakes.

“The coalition fucking happened.” Emille mutters.

“It was doomed from the start. They knew Mister Kodua would have the vase locked down tight. So they waited for someone to entice it out of hiding.” Naji says.

“Carter gave us an early warning that saved our asses. They had the front and elevator blocked and fucking broke into the penthouse. After trashing half his place, Mister Kodua gave us the vase and an escape in exchange for us giving those bastards hell.”

“You got it?!” Joao asks, so loud that Carter winces.

Emille opens up their satchel and produces a shape wrapped in cut paper to cushion it, something like the rich man’s bubble wrap. They are grinning. “Yup. I’ll go put it in our safe now.”

“I need a break.” Naji announces. “Walking down five flights of stairs was hell.” She rolls towards her room, her elbows bumping the arm rests every once in a while and her cursing under her breath.

“Hey nice going on the early warning man!” Joao rounds the couch and raises his hand to give Carter a high five.

He stiffens and his arms immediately go up to protect his head. His breaths come short and shallow as his brain shuts down against the pain. He barely registers how raising his arms tugs at stitches and causes his injured muscles to scream. A hand touches his shoulder and he flinches with a gasp. He claps one hand over his mouth.

“Hey. Hey it’s okay, you’re safe.” Emille’s voice cuts through the haze. He dares to slowly open his eyes to find Emille to his side, giving him a small smile. “Good. See? You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you.”

His chest is still rising and falling like that of a rabbit. He nods weakly. Mercifully, no one looks at him strangely when he excuses himself from the dwindling conversation to lie down. He hugs his midsection and stares at the posters on the far wall then closes his eyes against images that rise intrusively in his mind. His fingers run over the scars on his wrist, feeling the ridges there, hearing how his ex yelled at him every time he found a new cut even though he had no trouble marring Carter’s skin himself.

“I’m not there. I’m safe.” He whispers to himself. His past is two states away between his ex and his family. Even with the more recent shit, he will never have to see that torture building again.

If he goes back to his boring job and boring apartment now there is no reason that anyone should hurt him again. He does not know anything, at least way less than everyone here. He can just fade into anonymity without any attachments. That would be fine. He has dealt with it before and can deal with it again.

He looks around the personalized room. The little touches make him smile. It is Emille’s room, he reminds himself. There is no place for him here. He is overstaying his welcome.

There is a knock on the locked door. He startles and tries to not make any noise. His mom would leave him alone if he was quiet.

“Carter?” Emille’s voice comes through the glass.

That voice seems so foreign among all of the bad memories. He realizes with guilt that they are having to knock on their own door. That he has taken over their space. He stands and opens it, forcing himself to open it more than a hair’s breadth, to not block them out of their own room, to not be suspicious.

“Hey.” They say, their voice soft. They are leaning with their shoulder against the doorframe.

“Hi.” He says. He cringes against how lifeless it sounds.

They shift and suddenly Carter imagines it so clearly: someone putting either hand on the doorframe and blocking his exit, forcing the door open before he can lock it, pushing into his space and- and-

His breaths are coming fast again. His eyes dart around mostly unseeing but wary of movement into his space.

“Shit. Shit shit hey Carter. Do you want me to go get Joao?” He shakes his head so emphatically it makes him dizzy. He grasps the door jam tightly. “I can leave you but I don’t want to leave you alone like this. How about Tasha?” Their knees are bent like they are not sure whether or not they should sit on the ground. A few strands have fallen out of their messy bun to lay over their sweater. They look soft and warm and safe.

He shakes his head again. “Can- can I hug you?”

“Yeah of course, why- oof.”

He surges forward and wraps his arms around them. The fuzzy material of their sweater twines between his fingers and helps to ground him. Their arms come up hesitantly and shift away from the bandages until they find a relatively un-injured path over which to wrap. They straighten up and shift to tilt their cheek against the top of his head. He lets out a shaky breath and burrows more tightly into their chest, welcoming the throb of his ribs beneath all this comfort.

They stay like that while the hallway seems to settle in around them. As if the building was partially transparent before, a ghost of its true self because reality had detached from him. His breathing slows and his arm muscles begin to ache from the exertion of holding the position. He slowly releases their sweater and pulls away. They match his movements. Once they are far enough away to see each other’s faces, Carter cannot help the happiness from shining through his bashful expression. They look calmer too, although that is not hard to do with having to deal with someone having a panic attack. Oh shit he had a panic attack in front of them.

“I’m sorry.” He says automatically.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

His brows furrow but he does not dare risk an argument while so on edge. He does not think he could deal with any conflict without slipping back into a panic attack. There is so much to apologize for, he does not even know where to start. About not being able to deal with normal things, about them having to see him that way and having to calm him down, about taking their room, about latching onto them at the coalition building and being a burden on all of them ever since. He is crumpling underneath the weight of it all and surprised that they have not gotten rid of him yet.

------------

Everyone is scrambling to find their connections and make sure none of this is traceable. There is a buyer in France who helped to fund them in the past. They are reasonably certain she is secure. They work overtime to shorten the turnaround period as much as possible. The less time they have the vase, the less time it gives the coalition to find them. The local coalition buyer is getting impatient, or so sources say, and by the time the vase is out of the country he will likely have black listed the coalition from his payrolls.

Mister Kodua comes in handy again. He sends one of his men to rendezvous with a list of international collectors he trusts. They bring Naji’s wheelchair back too. Carter is pretty sure she is more happy about that than about the buyers.

Which leads him to this: sitting in the passenger seat of that same red SUV, radio turned low and Emille tapping their fingers along. It feels wrong to be leaving them but he has to remind himself that this is not his fight. They never even invited him to their home, they just felt obligated to break him out and he far overstayed his welcome.

Emille is now bobbing their head to the music. He smiles to himself. He cannot believe he was intimidated by them at the start. Granted, his first introduction to them was while severely injured and they were black-clad, holding a gun, and on a mission to save their sister.

He is wearing one of Joao’s shirts and a pair of Emille’s pants and the same beat-up sneakers he had on through the whole torture thing. He cannot wait until he can toss these in some dumpster somewhere. Maybe set it on fire. Whatever removes them from existence.

“Here?”

His head jolts up to find the same drab apartment building he has lived in for the past two years. Much better than where he lived when he first came to the city though. “Yeah.”

The car turns off and Emille steps out with him. It is awkward but he tries to be flattered that they are making sure he gets back safe. He catches the door before it locks behind one of his neighbors. They go up one flight of stairs and halfway down the hall before Carter realizes he does not have his keys. His pockets had been emptied by the time he had come to.

It is not an issue though because the door swings open. Unlocked.

“This-” Their voice shakes and they take a steadying breath. “This is where you live?”

He looks around at the room with its peeling wallpaper. Only a sliver of natural light comes in from between the apartment buildings, crammed together for maximum occupancy. The room is baren and dull -- and room describes this place better than apartment with only a hip height wall separating the sleeping space from the kitchen. There is little distinguishing it from when he first moved in except for his pain supplies littered about. There is a mattress on the floor and some dirty dishes that are smelling especially rank now. His phone is on the bed, staring at him. When was the last time he missed using those apps?

He swallows weakly. With a slap in the face Carter realizes that there is nothing tethering him to this place. “Yeah. I guess it is.” He turns awkwardly toward Emille, wishing he felt embarrassed when he met their mixed expression. Instead he just feels tired like none of it even matters anymore. Once they walk out that door he will get back to his days that slide into one another with the only excitement coming from books. “Thanks for bringing me back. You didn’t have to.” He smiles weakly and tries to end this interaction. There is a sick feeling in the back of his skull and he cannot wait for that door to close behind them so he can just sink to the floor and cry. The room around him does not feel real and he fucking hates it. Nothing is right.

“Will some family be over later to take care of you?” He shakes his head. “Friends?” He stares blankly into the floor. “You don’t have anybody?”

“I’m fine. My ribs are barely bugging me anymore so I should be able to start work again tomorrow.” He laughs bitterly. “Assuming they didn’t fire me for leaving out of the blue. Shit they probably did. God I need a new job.” He runs his hand through his hair and tries not to wince when the skin over his abdomen pulls a little too tight.

Emille is studying him carefully. He tries to put up a show of lowering his hand and leaning against the wall casually. They look slowly around the apartment again, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“It’s okay, you have no obligation to stay any longer. You guys have done so much for me already. There’s no way for me to repay you but maybe if you need a favor some time? I don’t know-”

“Come back with us.”

“What?”

“That’s how you can repay us. Move in and keep working with us. We can clean out the extra bedroom for you. Just- don’t stay here all alone.”

“Why would you want me?”

Emille rolls their eyes and pulls out their hand, counting out on their fingers. “You’re the only one who knows how to talk to Tash about that shit you went through. You might still have helpful info on the people in that facility. You’re a damn fine cook. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for. Besides, I need some more cushion from all the cis people. They’re fucking smothering me in that place.” They say these things with a tone as if they are jabbing at Carter but he feels himself getting flustered by all the compliments. “And believe it or not we actually like you. Even Naji’s grown fond of you.”

He smiles, big and genuine. His chest is so full and he cannot believe this is real life. He does not quite believe them, not yet, but he is starting to think he is not quite as unloveable as he believes.

“So you coming? Not gonna wait all day you know.”

He locates a duffel and fills it with clothes and other items. Fuck this place. He leaves the mess and does not contact his boss or the building manager. For all they know he just up and disappeared.

This is going to be so much better.

#writeblr #writing #oc #original story #milo's stories #hurt/comfort #chronic pain #fibromyalgia #fibro #pain

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