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avvail-whumps · 9 months

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‘guns for hire’ — last chance #36

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content warnings: whumpee referred to as “kid” but they’re an adult, conditioned whumpee, mentioned past character death, whipping scars, stockholm syndrome

Leo should probably stop picking at his fingers, but he couldn’t help himself.

The room he’d been taken into was cold, and dim, not providing much colour apart from the dark grey and blue paint on the walls. He could sometimes see his reflection in the mirror when he glanced up, but for the most part, his eyes were trained solely on his lap.

He couldn’t even begin to piece his thoughts together right now. It felt as though everything had come crumbling down on him, and he could only think about the fact that Roy was somewhere in the building that wasn’t next to him.

His hands were trembling, itching to see him again. It gave him that same anxiety as to when the other mercenaries were still wandering around, and he needed to be close to Roy just to ease the fear in his heart. Like he was always there to protect him.

Leo could already feel the burning sting of humiliation lingering in his chest.

The phantom touches of their hands on his body, examining each and every scar on his skin, as well as the sharp click of the camera’s under stark white light. Tears threatened to burn his eyes from the violating memories, the comfort of a long jacket drawled over his shoulders.

He was worried about Roy. He was worried about being separated for any longer. He was worried about what was going to happen to him. There was nobody in the room, and there hadn’t been for a while. Leo didn’t bother to look at the clock, too agitated by himself, only occupied by the nervous picking of his hangnails to think about anything else.

The opening of the door startled him more than it should have, and his puffy eyes snapped up to the entrance with a jolt. His eyeslashes were still clumped, the damp wetness evident with tears tracks down his cheeks. The man that entered was the one he vaguely recognised when he was sitting in the backseat of the car. Leo had been so out of it at the time, that he barely remembered anything from being dragged out of the house to the journey to the station.

The man looked intimidating. He reminded him of the bearded mercenary a little bit, with the stone cold expression and dark facial hair. He quietly took a seat at the opposite end of the table, but Leo kept his eyes in his lap instead.

He hated this. Every single second of being here; he just wished he could go back to his home, and cook something for him and Roy, and they could just lounge on the sofa eating dinner until they fell asleep. It was all Leo wanted right now.

“Do you need another glass of water?” The man finally spoke. Leo abandoned his hangnail to look at the glass. It was still full. “I can get you something else if you’d like.”

He weakly shrugged his shoulders. “I’m okay.”

The man nodded slowly his head, but by then, Leo was occupied by his lap again. The rapid thumping was heavy in his chest, unable to stop himself from fidgeting every few seconds. The sound of paper being slid along the table almost broke him from his nervousness. His sore eyes flickered up for a moment as the man began to speak again.

“I’m Detective Sharpe,” he spoke, his voice calm and smooth. “I’m here to ask you a few questions, alright, kid? We can go at your pace.”

Leo jerkily nodded his head. The man, Sharpe, tapped his finger on the table to draw his attention to the various photos. His eyes bounced along each one, swallowing the dry lump in his throat. One of them was Roy, and he felt like his heart was constricting painfully on the spot.

“In your own time, can you identify the man who took you from these photographs?” Sharpe asked quietly, his voice softened around the edges. For such an intimidating looking man, he didn’t feel so scared in his presence. Still, Leo knew he wouldn’t get his life back with Roy if he wasn’t careful. His fingers wound through the dark, navy blue sweatpants he’d been given, the emblem of the police department on the side.

“There was, uh,” he let out a shuddering breath, wiping the back of his hand on his clammy forehead. Most of the photos were of people he didn’t recognise, bar three of them. Roy, Bran, and Beard. There was a clear absence of Joey, or even Rafi. “There was more than one.”

Sharpe’s eyes darted up, pinned to his grimacing face. His stomach churned under his gaze, gripping so tightly onto the sweatpants that his knuckles had gone white.

“More than one?” The detective echoed, his face stoic. “Are they here?”

Leo nodded. Tears burned his eyes he let out a shuddering breath, trembling finger coming up to point at the picture of Bran. Just seeing his face made his cells burn with a wanton anger.

“He...He’s the one who killed Jacob,” he whispered quietly, taking a second to pause and keep his wobbling voice under control. “I-I saw his face, and he...that’s when he took me.”

Sharpe’s eyes darkened a little bit, and he quickly looked away. A long, drawn out sigh escaped his lips, and he pulled out a small notepad and pen from his breast pocket, opening it up. Despite showing clear signs of annoyance, his voice was awfully quiet and gentle as he continued to press him.

“Take your time,” he hummed. Leo kept his eyes on the photos, constantly flickering back to the one of Roy with a sinking heart.

He moved onto the one of Beard quickly enough. “There was two others. Him, a-and someone else.”

Sharpe scanned the pictures. “And that third person isn’t pictured here?”

The secretary rapidly shook his head. “No. No, he’s not.”

The detective tapped the back of the pen on the paper, before leaning forward and moving away the photos of the unfamiliar suspects. That only left Bran, Roy and Beard in front of him. The mercenary had told him to leave Joey out of it. If there was anyone Leo would be happy not throwing under the bus, it would be him. The cigerette burned brightly on his shoulder, but he wasn’t going to disobey Roy. At least Joey had never been as cruel.

Roy’s photo was still there, Leo noted. Clearly, Sharpe wasn’t completely convinced just yet. The door opened once more, and other detective stepped in. It was a woman this time, but her presence didn’t stop Sharpe from keeping his focused concentration on the task at hand.

“Okay, kid. I get that this is going to be hard, but we’re going to need you to describe some things for us,” the man spoke, leaning forward on the table. Leo bit his lip softly, drawing the jacket closer to himself. “Could you give us some details, please? Did you know where you were being kept?”

Leo desperately shook his head. The woman took a seat beside Sharpe, placing a plastic wallet with multiple pages and photos inside on the table. His eyes shot to the door, feeling uncomfortableness creeping under his skin.

“I don’t know,” he choked, swallowing uneasily. His mind went straight back to the basement. The horrible terror he felt just at the very thought of being down there for as long as he was stirred in his brain, clamping down on his lungs. “They kept me in some...some dark room. They would come down and they would...”

Leo choked on a gasp, pressing his hands into his eyes. “God, I don’t, I can’t—”

The woman finally stepped in, and he felt a hand on his shoulder, flinching violently away like he’d been burnt. He felt a little guilty when remorse flashed across her face, and she moved back once more.

“Hey, Leo,” she murmured, blinking him out of the memories. The crack of the whip, the seizing pain from the shock collar around his neck. He tried to ignore Roy’s taunting words, instead reminding himself of the time alone with the mercenaries. Because whatever Roy did, he did because Leo broke the rules. At least that was fair. Right?

“I know this is hard,” the woman sighed, her voice dripping with raw sympathy. “You’re safe now. You’re away from them. Nothing is going to happen.”

Leo scrubbed away the tears, wiping his face with shaking hands. He managed a nod, keeping his eyes on the photos instead. She and Sharpe exchanged brief looks with each other that Leo couldn’t quite decipher in time. As he was talking, the woman slid the plastic file over to the Sharpe, who plucked it up.

“I just...” He pressed his hands to his mouth, squeezing them tightly. The table was cold against his elbows. “I don’t want to—”

“That’s fine,” Sharpe cut in, his eyes fixated on the various photos he’d pulled out. He was flicking through them, narrowed eyes seemingly scanning every single detail. Leo pried his aching eyes open, wiping his nose. “We know. You don’t have to go into any details.”

Leo groaned, letting his head fall back into his hands. It was so humiliating.

“Leo, do you mind showing me your wrist, please?”

He swallowed, keeping his eyes pinched shut. “What?”

Sharpe’s eyes turned cold all of a sudden, and he placed the photos he’d been looking at flat on the table. He caught a glimpse of one of them, showing the long, deep scars from the whip along his back.

“Let us see your wrist,” the detective repeated, this time a lot firmer.

“Steven,” the woman quietly warned, but she was promptly ignored.

“I’m asking you to corporate.”

Leo hiccuped softly, his eyes falling back down to his lap. His fingers itched, the scar from Roy’s knife suddenly flaring against his skin. He hesitantly began peeling the jacket back, before showing it to the detectives. His lips stayed permanently curved into a frown, feeling shame prick the back of his neck after a while. He quickly hid it away again.

Sharpe nodded his head, flicking one of the photos on the table. The one of the initial on his wrist.

“R for Roy, am I right?” The detective pressed, making Leo wince. “Look, kid. I don’t know your reasoning for protecting him, but you’re safe. There’s no way he can hurt you again.”

The secretary’s voice was frustratingly quiet, unable to find the strength in his voice to speak any louder.

“It wasn’t him,” he quietly whispered. Sharpe sighed heavily, leaning back in his seat.

“Come on, kid...”

“The R, it was for...” His throat closed up, shivering. “It was for...Rafi.”

The detective stared at him.

“Rafi,” he repeated slowly, shaking his head. “And, what? Was that the perpetrator that isn’t on these photos?”

Leo nodded hastily.

“Right,” the man scoffed, shaking his head as he gathered the photo up and popped it back into the plastic wallet. A long sigh escaped his lips once more as he turned towards the woman, who hadn’t taken her eyes off him.

“Could you identity the names of the men in these photos, Leo?” She asked, much softer than the other, motioning towards Bran and Beard. Leo did, to the best of his ability, considering Beard’s name was still a complete mystery to him. It wasn’t like that mattered much anyway. She nodded once he was done, eyes flickering over to Sharpe. There was a hint of annoyance in them.

“Okay, kid,” the man coughed, gaining his attention once again. “Tell us about Roy Gatlin. Why were you at his house if he didn’t have anything to do with your kidnapping? Tell us slowly and carefully.”

Leo bit the inside of his cheek, trying to scramble his thoughts together. The story before had at least been mostly the truth. The pain he’d suffered at their hands wasn’t so easy to forget, or even fake. But his heartbeat was starting to rise out of nervousness now. Because this was really what could separate the two of them permanently, and he didn’t want that.

“They told me that they weren’t planning on keeping me alive,” he whispered softly, clearing his throat. “I...I got out and I ran.”

“Ran?” Sharpe parroted. “Did you see the place you were being held?”

“No,” the secretary choked. “It was too dark. There was just trees for so far out and I didn’t think twice about running. I-I just panicked...”

He shifted uncomfortably, remembering the anxiety of the chase when he’d made it into the forest. The burning desire to make it home, even if it wasn’t in one piece. He swallowed that down for the sake of finding his voice once again.

“I found a road, and...and someone was—”

Leo cut himself off. The screeching of tires and the smack of the boot crippling against the tree stirred in his mind, and his fingers dug into his disheveled hair in horror. Burning tears slipped down his cheeks as he recalled Michael’s face.

“It was my fault,” he sobbed. “Oh, god. I-I...I got him killed...”

The woman was at his side in a second, and she tentatively placed her hand on his back. Leo was shaking visibly under her palm, and he quickly pressed his hands into his face to hide his shame.

“Who, Leo?” Sharpe asked softly. He choked on a breath, his chest rattling.

“He said his name was Michael,” he sniffled, pain stabbing at his lungs. “I-I asked him for help. He was driving me away, but...but Bran he—” The jarring smash of glass. Blood running down the wheel. He sobbed quietly. “Bran shot him.”

The detective’s eyes both snapped up towards each other.

“Michael Bardin?” The woman murmured, and Sharpe grimly nodded his head.

“Shit. I think so.”

Leo clenched his jaw, sucking in a sharp breath through his cheeks, and leaning away from the woman’s touch. She let him go without any resistance, her expression morphing into deep sympathy once again.

“That wasn’t your fault, Leo,” she assured, but the words didn’t reach him at all. He frantically shook his head, murmuring incoherently under his breath. It was his fault Michael had died. He’d been the one to kill him, whether he pulled the trigger or not. Roy had said so; Leo believed it. If it wasn’t for him, Michael would have returned home and lived his life how he should have. It was his fault.

“It was,” he croaked. “I killed him.”

The detective seemed to tap his pen harshly against the notepad, his beady eyes staring at the notes he had taken earlier. Leo wasn’t quite sure if he had already spoken to Roy, but judging from his unhappy expression, then the secretary was more than likely doing a good job at making their stories match so far. With that thought spurring him on, he managed to swallow the shaking nerves and continue.

“After the car crashed, I followed these lights for...for ages,” he sniffled, slowly blinking away the tears in his eyes. “I made it to his house, and he...he helped me out. I was scared asking him for help was going to get him killed too, but I was so desperate...”

The woman nodded her head, and turned back towards Sharpe. The man was staring at the notepad in discontent, before she caught his disgruntled attention.

“Steven, can I have a word outside?”

Despite her smile, even Leo could hear the obvious anger in her voice. She didn’t wait for him to follow her out, and instead promptly left the room. When she was gone, Sharpe slowly rose to his feet. The secretary’s puffy eyes met his, and the man leaned forward as if in confidentiality.

“I know it was Roy who took you,” he murmured, and Leo’s heart palpitated. “I know he’s cooked up an elaborate story for you to follow, and I know these other people were most likely involved too. But, listen, kid.”

Despite the fear creeping up his spine, Leo did.

“If you don’t tell us the truth, then he’s going to walk free,” Sharpe told him, firm and concise, completely to the point. “I need you to tell me, kid. Identify that it was Roy who kidnapped you the night he murdered Jacob. You can put him away for good. Please, kid.”

Leo opened his mouth to protest, but something caught in his throat. The man’s eyes were piercing so deeply into his, that he felt like he couldn’t breathe. His mind was tossing all that information over in his head with brutal force. I know it was Roy who took you.

There was no doubt in his voice.

And he was right. Because Roy had taken him, and all he had to do was admit that. Then everything would unravel. Roy would be behind bars.

Some part of Leo lunged at the very opportunity.

“It...” His voice dried up, glossy eyes staring deeply within Sharpe’s. The man had this determined, encouraging look on his face. He could feel his resolve crumbling. One leap was all it would take. Just one leap.

“It wasn’t him.”

The words came out of his mouth before he could think. His eyes lowered to his lap, slumping in the seat.

“It was Bran,” he whispered, picking at his fingers anxiously. “I swear.”

The detective’s eyes closed shut, and a long, disappointed sigh escaped him. He moved himself away from the desk without a word, and left the room. Once the door clicked shut, Leo felt a tear slip down his cheek, and hastily wiped it away.

Just a little bit longer, and he could finally see Roy. That made it all worth it.

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