There was nothing but an empty, endless void of darkness that Killian could see. The only source of light came from the thin crack beneath the door of the truck, barely the width of a pinhole. It had been days since he'd been outside, felt the sunlight on his skin. There was no warmth provided to him, nothing to comfort him except for the oversized and worn jacket that still held the lingering scent of his boyfriend, Jasper. He could read the name on a patch near the top of the jacket. Killian longed to see the muddled dark green, brown and black patterns of the rough fabric.
The rumbling of the wheels beneath the armored truck and faint yelling, gunshots, or menacing voices were constantly overwhelming Killian's ears. If it wasn't those, it was complete silence. At night, he couldn't hear the crickets chirping, owls hooting or cracking of twigs from smaller forest animals traipsing through the foliage. The first few hours of confinement had been pure hell, he'd thrown himself against the heavy metal doors several times trying to escape. Killian had never thought of what he'd do if he fell out of the truck and injured himself, if the dark bruises from battering against the edges of his prison hadn't been enough.
How many turns had they taken? How many long roads had they travelled through, how many stops were made? How far away from home was he, was Jasper even still alive? These questions raced through Killian's mind, never ceasing. He'd tried keeping up with the distance and route back home, made several plans of escape, but eventually he realized it was a hopeless cause. He was alone, praying for one more hug, one more kiss, one more touch from Jasper or any company of his groupmates. A miniscule thought began to linger at the back of Killian's mind, the morbid wish for a final escape. If the Reapers were going to kill him, he wished they would get it over with. Why make him wait such a torturous amount of time, wondering just why they had taken him and nobody else?
When Killian began to wonder the reasons why the Reapers would want to keep him, his stomach began to churn to the point of making him sick. He'd already vomited before, the man assigned to bring him food and water had cleaned it up as Killian pushed against the farthest wall in an attempt to stay out of their way as much as possible. He was too stressed to eat or drink, the idea of it made his head spin and his body retch. He didn't want to take anything they offered him, there was no pride in having somebody treat you like an animal to care for. He wouldn't let any of them think he was accepting his fate, no matter how hungry or thirsty he was.
Gazing around the confines of the truck despite being blinded in the shroud of darkness, Killian hadn't slept for any of the days he was trapped. Exhaustion weighed at his body, he'd began to hear muffled voices at the back of his head, like spirits in the wind. Small pockets of colors lingered at the corner of his vision, only to disappear or move when he tried to focus on it. Sometimes the walls began to close in, or his chest began to tighten and made it hard to breathe. Waking nightmares plagues his daydreams, the image of his groupmates pinned to the ground, blood splattered onto the snow and Jasper's beaten body floated through his memories.
It was getting harder for Killian to focus on smaller details, like remembering his train of thought. He could no longer remember the features of his groupmate's faces, only a concept of what they'd looked like. He could envision Jasper's safe, warm blue eyes. He could recall Aubrey's curly, fiery-ginger hair. The memory of Darren's barely-smiles, Casimir's irritable frowns. But nothing more than small snatches here and there. Killian couldn't understand what day it was, the last thing he had eaten before being stolen away or even the smallest details of his surroundings. It was almost as if his brain had been wrapped in a soft layer of cotton, fuzzy and unfocused.
Then, the truck stopped. Killian half-expected to only station for half an hour or so like the Reapers usually did when they needed to take the occasional break or camp for the night. But almost immediately after they'd stopped, they inched forward again. The obnoxiously loud creak of unoiled hinges assaulted his ears and with a jolt, Killian sluggishly attempted to shut out the noise by covering his ears, but to no avail. It creaked, then stopped. The truck moved forward again, then stopped one last time. The creaking returned, then came to an end. Where was he? What had made that horrid racket?
Abrupt light pierced through Killian's half-closed eyelids, burning and unmerciful. He raised an arm to push it away, but it only kept coming. The doors of the truck had been opened, silhouettes were the only breaks in the sunlight. Killian's heart nearly leapt to his throat. A chance of escape, finally! But as soon as one silhouette grew bigger and bigger, the sound of heavy boots against the floor of the truck stomping towards him, Killian backpedaled against the freezing metal walls. Without a single thought, he'd cornered himself, leaving him at the mercy of whoever was approaching. You're an idiot. Run. Escape. Get out of here! But he couldn't move. Not a single muscle twitched, Killian was immobile, locked like a dear in the glare of headlights.
Killian's vision adjusted just in time for him to see the catch pole, the same device that had trapped him in the first place. He attempted to dart away and lower his head enough to avoid the thin metal ring closing around his throat, but the other man was faster. They moved the ring just in front of Killian, he didn't have enough time to avoid running right into it. You trapped yourself. You did this. He thought hopelessly. You need to fight. Kill them, hurt them. As Killian whipped around and thrashed against his attacker, he attempted to do the only thing he could possibly do and swung at them with a closed fist. It landed against the other man's abdomen, but the impact wasn't enough to do anything. You've just made him angry. Every instinct screamed at him to struggled, but the more he did, the tighter the ring around his neck became. It was getting harder to breathe.
Dragged away from the only shelter Killian had been given, the ground rushed up at him faster than anticipated. With a painful thump, his body crumpled against the rough soil beneath him. Straining against the catch pole and whipping his head from side to side, Killian thrashed against the ground and gripped onto the thin metal, trying to rip it away just as he'd done the first time. "Stephan," just hearing that name raised the hairs on the back of Killian's neck, a shudder running down his spine. Biting down on the actual pole, Killian grappled onto it and managed to stand up, only to be forced to the ground again. "He's struggling." The man who'd wrestled him away from the truck was infuriatingly calm.
"I'll kill you, you stupid son of a bitch, let me go!" Talking after three days of silence felt as if Killian's vocal chords had been torn away. His voice was raspy, an almost feral snarl lingering beneath his words. "I'll...I'll..." The more he yelled, the harder it became to find his words and form a proper sentence.
"Hold him still. He'll tire himself out eventually." Stephan's hauntingly familiar, deep voice rumbled. "Just pin him down and wait."
Killian only grew angrier as his face was forced against the ground. His nails dug hard into the soil, his back ached as he tried to force himself to his feet. Killian's mind grew hazy, an impossibly dizzying headache stunned him as the blood rushed to his head when he tried to stand again. When I get up, you're dead. He silently promised. Despite his determination, the almost painful exhaustion weighed down on him, as if the sky had fallen on his shoulders. Killian's arms shook in an attempt to hold his body weight up, days of malnutrition finally taking its toll. The catch pole shoved his throat sideways and against the ground, this time Killian couldn't fight back.
Panting, Killian grit his teeth. His dry lips cracked, muscles aching. With his chest growing stiffer by the second, his breathing became raspy and labored. Killian jerked away as a large and rough, deceptively gentle hand forced his face out of hiding. Stephan tilted Killian's head this way and that, almost examining him as if he were a science experiment. "Come now, Rabbit."
He said sternly. "You're only hurting yourself." The massive man stood up again. Killian watched the Reaper's leader warily, unsure what they would do with him.
"How long has it been since he ate?" Stephan demanded. "Slept, had any water?" That deep, rumbling voice held a deadly-calm tone. Killian watched helplessly as the giant towered over the Reaper who'd dragged him out of the truck.
"He hasn't done anything but cower against the wall since we got him. Not sure when he's slept, but it looks like he's been awake since then too." They reported as if they had rehearsed it in private. Killian wouldn't be surprised. One pitch out of line and Stephan could kill them.
Killian held his breath as Stephan remained eerily silent. There was a barely noticeable annoyance on the man's face as he growled, "Bring him to Doctor Lennox. If he doesn't eat or drink soon, we'll force him to." Killian shuddered. "When you've finished that, tell Willow another...companion has been brought in." Companion? Killian's blood ran cold. The only thing he could think of was the absolute worst. Thinking of what could possibly happen to him was a fate worse than death.
Stephan barked several orders to his Reapers, his booming voice echoing through Killian's head. Somebody kicked him in the ribs, not too hard, but just hard enough. "On your feet." The Reaper huffed. Killian sat up instead, glaring at them and refusing to move. He wasn't going to listen to a word they said. If they wanted him to move, they would have to drag him. Instead, he took the time to observe his new surroundings.
The trucks came in through a set of massive gates, opened only by people surveying the outside. Beside the entrance was a group of motorcycles, where the Reaper's scouts were. Several tents had been placed in select groups around them, as well as actual buildings being constructed. But this was only a small part of the camp that Killian could see. Across the dirt-strewn ground, there was another gate leading to a different part of the camp. Just outside of the second gate was a large campfire, with several men and women gathered around, all dressed in Reaper attire.
The Reaper's glare was withering as he just grabbed onto Killian's hair and jerked his head back, "Listen to me, kid." They hissed. Killian's nose wrinkled unpleasantly, he could smell the cigarette smoke on the other man's breath. "You belong to us now. As far as you know, you don't even have a name until we give one to you. Do as your told."
"My name is Killian." Killian spat at the man's feet, the most disrespectful thing he could think of. "I don't belong to anybody."
When the Reaper's fist clenched, Killian could only brace himself before they struck out. But a silky-smooth, velvety voice interrupted them. "Gerald, calm yourself. Can't you see the poor thing is terrified?" A man casually strolled across the dusty camp. A long white coat was slung over his shoulder, he wore a tight-fitted, plain t-shirt. Around his dark jeans on his upper thigh was a dark leather strap, which held a horrifyingly jagged pair of scissors and several needles. A tool belt that held an assortment of knives, scalpels and suspicious-looking vials was strapped to his waist—as well as a gun at his hips. Scars laced across his neck, the top of his right ear had been sliced off. As he spoke, the smoke from the cigarette held between his lips wafted through the air.
"Lennox," The Reaper named Gerald greeted the Doctor with a curt nod. "I was just about to drag this one to the medical bay for looking over." The Doctor reached out to set his hand beneath Killian's chin. "Careful," Gerald muttered. "It bites."
"It?" Killian snapped, "I already told you my name, how fucking stupid are you?" Gerald's lips tugged into a deep scowl as he rolled his eyes. "Got something in your eyes?" Killian retorted, "Cause' rolling them around in that useless skull of yours isn't going to help!"
"My my," Lennox tutted, shaking his head. "You are a feisty one, aren't you?"
"Lay a single finger on me and I'll bite it off." Killian's voice cracked halfway through his sentence, laced with the tiredness that betrayed his fierce defenses.
Gerald jerked the catch pole, forcing Killian to his feet. Killian wanted to cry—his legs were nearly shaking, terror firmly planting his feet in the ground. He attempted to glare at Lennox and the Reaper, but they knew he was in no position to fight. "If it's any consolation," The doctor drawled, "Stephan would only send you to me if he wanted to keep you alive."
"I'd rather die." Killian attempted an intimidating growl, but it only came off as a halfhearted grumble.
"You don't get a choice." Lennox snapped. The doctor wasn't built like what Killian would imagine a doctor to be. Cohen had been healthy, but he'd never been this healthy. Lennox's powerful muscles were accentuated by his tucked-in shirt, with broad shoulders and large hands. He looked more like any other Reaper than a doctor. Is he even a doctor or is he just pretending?
Despite Killian's better judgement, he was too sleepy to fully take in the layout of the Reapers camp. He didn't know just how far he was forced to walk, but every footstep felt as if it took an eternity. Shoved forward into a scarlet-red tent, Killian could barely register his new surroundings. He was lightheaded and dizzy, a migraine raging its way through his skull. In the center of the large tent was a sturdy table. There were makeshift counters surrounding the corners, cabinets drilled into them—Killian could only guess it was to hold any medical equipment the Reapers gathered.
Killian frowned as catch pole was tightened around his neck, throwing a seething glare to Gerald. A hole in the far end of the table was just big enough for the pole end, which Gerald shoved in and lodged it in place. Now without needing to constantly keep hold of Killian, the Reaper swiftly left the tent to tend to their duties. Alone with Lennox, Killian's eyes began to scan all of the sharp objects on the doctor's belt, which looked less than friendly to say the least. "Why are you doing this?" He choked out.
Doctor Lennox ignored Killian's question. Instead, he retrieved a small notepad and pen from his jeans pocket, writing down basic information that Killian couldn't see. He became even more suspicious when the doctor opened a cabinet and retrieved two plastic gloves, slipping them on over his hands effortlessly. As soon as the doctor reached out, Killian jerked away from him. "There's no need to be so aggressive, I'm not going to hurt you." Lennox said smoothly.
So I'm just supposed to trust a complete stranger with knives strapped to his thigh? I don't think so. Before Killian could duck away again, Lennox clenched onto his hair painfully and pulled his head back. Delicate fingers felt along the sides of Killian's throat.
No matter how much Killian tugged away, Lennox's grip became even tighter. The man pulled a pocket watch from his jeans pocket, setting it on the table so he could watch it without letting go of Killian, then set two fingers on one spot. After a minute or so, he loosened his grip and put his watch away again, picking up the notepad briefly to write something down and laying it back on the counter.
"What's that for?" Killian muttered suspiciously.
Lennox raised a brow. "Have you never been to a doctor before? I was checking your pulse." The doctor continued on poking and prodding Killian's body, shining a light in his eyes, ears and mouth. He'd struggled with the mouth part—Lennox had to pry his jaw open.
"Have you ever been vaccinated for tetanus, poliomyelitis, influenza, meningitis, or any other sicknesses?" The doctor demanded, "It seems like you've never had a checkup before."
Killian shrugged, refusing to answer. In all honesty, he wasn't completely sure. He'd been given needles before when he was younger, he just didn't know what they were actually for. What ensued was a series of several vials being filled with needles retrieved from a cabinet. Killian could feel his heart racing, goosebumps raised along his skin. "The more you struggle, the more difficult this will be and the more it will hurt."
With the warning of pain, Killian remained still. He'd gradually began to learn that there was no use trying to get away. With every test, Lennox wrote down the result on the paper. "Tell me, have you had any medical issues in the past?"
Swallowing back the bile at the back of his throat Killian replied, "A heroine addiction a few years ago. I was shot in the leg by one of your scouts, a few months or so before I was kidnapped."
"Headache, nausea, anything bothering you?"
"Voices." Killian mumbled.
Lennox raised his brows. "Voices?" He prompted. "How long has it been since you slept, ate or drank any water?"
"I can't remember." Killian rasped. His mind had begun to grow fuzzy. Now, no matter how much he wanted to keep the information to himself, he couldn't seem to hold back any of his thoughts. "However long it's been since I was taken."
"Three—almost four—consecutive days." Lennox muttered to himself. "That would explain the hallucinations, if it hasn't happened before now. If it gets worse even after you get some rest, you might need a mental evaluation. Last question, how old are you?"
"Twenty four, turned recently."
Once again, Lennox seemed puzzled. "You look younger than you are. Lying about this might be detrimental."
"If I was lying, then my boyfriend would have some issues." Killian snarled. His patience was beginning to run thin.
"Boyfriend? Have you been physically-"
"None of your business. Nothing is wrong with me, if that's what you're thinking." Killian hissed. His body stiffened as somebody walked into the tent. Through his blurring vision, he could make out the shape of a stoutly woman.
To Killian's surprise, the strange woman walked straight towards him. He flinched away from her, gritting his teeth into a dangerous snarl. "My goodness Lennox," The woman chided. "What have you done to upset this poor man so much?"
"He's been difficult ever since he was dropped off." The doctor retorted sharply, "Fought me so much I was tempted to bring in assistance to hold him down."
"Poor thing," The woman fussed, "You look absolutely miserable." Well if somebody beat your boyfriend to the ground and then kidnapped you then you'd be pretty miserable yourself, old woman. "What's his name?" She demanded.
Lennox mused over the question, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "Stephan's been calling him Rabbit. Strange name, but it suits him." Was that a sneer in the man's voice, or had Killian imagined it?
"It's Killian." Killian managed to protest. He swallowed hard as he added, "Killian Adachi."
"Awfully young to be taking your boyfriend's last name, aren't you?" Lennox snorted.
"It...doesn't matter anymore." Killian whispered, barely audibly. He wrinkled his nose with disgust. "It isn't as if it'd make a difference."
"Of course it does," The woman sniffed. "Now, take that horrid thing off of his neck. I've gotten a warm bath ready for him and I won't wait until it gets cold."
Lennox grumbled under his breath for a few seconds, then unceremoniously jerked the ring over Killian's head to free him. Every instinct demanded that he run as fast as he could, but his body refused to move. "Bring him back tomorrow morning. He'll need stitches in his mouth. Either I'll make some chloroform to knock him out or we'll have some restraints to hold him down."
The woman reluctantly nodded to Lennox, then said to Killian, "Come now, love. We'll get you cleaned up and find a nice place for you to sleep away from everybody's prying eyes."
"Don't call me that." Killian murmured, immediately reminded of Jasper. If he said it loud enough for the old lady to hear, she didn't acknowledge it.
As the woman took Killian's hand in her own, he could feel her wrinkled, soft skin. He was suddenly reminded of the soft hands that tried to stop him from biting down on the metal the night he'd been taken. Was this the same person? "You can call me Willow, or anything respectful that you'd like." She said.
I won't be calling anybody anything for long. Killian thought to himself. I'll find my way out of this place, with or without a fight.
A single name then lingered in Killian's mind.
I'll find Jasper.