Chapter Text
There was another knock on the door.
“It’s Joseph, can I come in?”
“Yessir.” Wolf’s voice felt chipped, anxiety creeping in. He still had to get through X-rays and labs and whatever else the medics had in store for him today. Joseph slid the door open, blankets in hand.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Wolf was surprised how soft they were - another kindness to repay. He used to just lie there and cry over the scratchy blankets in the INSUPA cells, unless he decided to wake shivering every few hours. Joseph sat back down.
“You’re not scheduled for a blood draw and x-ray until later, so you’ve got time to relax.”
Time to relax? Wolf curbed his scoff and sighed, nodding. More miserable waiting. The anxiety in his blood wanted him to be doing something now, to get it over with now. But his wants weren’t important - the medics probably had other patients to see to. He worked at the weave of one of the blankets Joseph brought, pulling a loose thread.
“If you want, I can get you some music, maybe a magazine?”
“…maybe both? Don’t like just sitting here.” Wolf didn’t deserve deserve deserve but he couldn’t stand the quiet boredom.
“Sure. Anything specific?” His tone for oddly relaxed, considering how Wolf’s heart was racing.
Wolf kept pulling at the loose thread in the blanket. Magazines, music - he hadn’t been allowed, had time, had the interest for those things. Not since INSUPA.
“I - I don’t know.”
“I’ll get a collection.” Joseph smiled, standing again. Because Wolf had made him leave. Again. (Stupid stupid stupid.) Why ask for things he didn’t deserve? (He didn’t deserve to have Joseph stay.) Why bother? This was better than the wallowing misery of the INSUPA ward, just sitting here in mere boredom. (Joseph’s footsteps were retreating deeper into the house, beyond where he retrieved supplies for the bath.) He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve any of it. Not the blankets, or the gentle touch, or a random magazine.
Wolf knew he was spiraling again. (Jesus Christ, you broke? That easy?) He knew his handler’s voice was just a memory but it was still cruel and cutting to remember he was weak and pathetic and didn’t deserve a single scrap of mercy, let alone comfort. The words rattled over and over again in his head. He was a volunteer, a villain, and that was all that mattered. Wolf’s breathing stuttered, eyes dry but heart in his throat. He needed to (Stop fucking crying, you piece of shit). He could pull it together. He had to, (or I’ll make you someone else’s bitch). He was property of INSUPA - he didn’t have wants or feelings or needs, just a tool a toy a thing - (Good. You remember your place, dog.) Part of him still knew Smith wasn’t there, the voice merely a memory, but the blood roaring in his ears drowned that thought.
Why did this have to be so hard? This was all so confusing, so much. Too much. He could feel his heart pounding, chest burning as his thoughts circled. All he wanted was to be good. He raised his hand to his mouth, then put it down. Joseph didn’t like it when he bit his hand last time. (Smith had broken his arm when he had caught Wolf hurting himself.) Wolf needed an anchor before he drowned in the rising tide of panic and confusion. His eyes flickered around the room, searching for something. It was all expensive equipment, and all not his, and all too much.
Wolf tangled his hands in his hair (too clean too soft). The pain helped, though not as much as he needed. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, but it wasn’t enough pain to earn all of this luxury. (If only he knew what Joseph wanted - what he really needed - ) He couldn’t figure the medic out. Nothing he did made sense. He was INSUPA. He had every reason to hate Wolf, and to hurt him.
(“I’ve done things I’m not proud of too.”)
The sadness, the grief and regret in Joseph’s eyes, his voice -
(“My family’s here. Where else am I going to go?”)
He understood Joseph too well and not at all. Wasn’t Joseph angry? If not with Wolf, then with INSUPA? Wasn’t he tired of taking care of Wolf? Wasn’t he annoyed by the constant hysterics Wolf worked himself into when he was left alone for five fucking minutes - ?
Familiar footsteps were walking the hall again, getting closer.
He tried to get his breathing under control, frantically wiping the tears from his eyes. Joseph didn’t need to know about this, about how pathetic he was. (God you’re pathetic - get over yourself before he realizes something’s wrong.) The echo of Smith and the threat that followed felt like lead in Wolf’s gut, his panic icing over. He knew Smith wasn’t here, his threat held no weight, but it helped to force Wolf calm. As calm as he could be by the time Joseph knocked.
Joseph always asked. There was so much of it, so much asking, so many questions. Questions about things he wasn’t supposed to have an opinion about.
“It’s Joseph, can I come in?”
(Handlers could do whatever they wanted when volunteers were involved.)
“Yessir.” It didn’t feel like Wolf’s voice in his throat, hoarse and strained.
Joseph slid the door open, smiling behind his mask.
“Alright, Wolf, I think I’ve got a good collection here.” He held up a stack of magazines. “Aarav wouldn’t let me take the newer Vogues, sorry.”
“Yessir.” Wolf’s voice was hollow and the way Joseph’s brow pinched meant he could hear it. He tried to force more life into his words. “Thank you, sir.”
“No problem.” Joseph set the magazines down on the over-bed table, then held up an iPod. “There’s plenty on here, I’m not sure what you like.”
Wolf glanced from the device to Joseph’s face. (Not meeting his eyes - eye contact wasn’t permissible.)
“Whatever you’d like, sir.” Still not his voice, still wrong wrong wrong Joseph was safe why was he fucking this up -
Joseph shrugged.
“I got headphones for you too. You can listen to whatever, I don’t really mind.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Wolf didn’t reach for the iPod even after Joseph set it down on the table. His heart was still thundering so loudly he swore Joseph could hear it. He picked through some of the magazines with shaking hands. They all featured movies he hadn’t seen, celebrities he didn’t know. He had missed so much, hadn’t he? (He was supposed to. He wasn’t supposed to be out. Wasn’t supposed to know what was happening or why.) Wolf’s hands felt cold as he pushed the magazines aside, nausea rolling in his gut. (Something was wrong wrong wrong and he didn’t know how to fix it.)
Joseph shifted forward in his chair, sensing Wolf’s distress.
“Wolf, hey, what’s up?”
Wolf shrugged, or tried to, his left shoulder burning.
“Nothing, sir.”
(Everything was wrong and his body didn’t feel like it fit how small he felt.)
“Alright,” he shifted. “Do you want me leave?”
“No, sir.” Wolf didn’t want Joseph to leave. He wasn’t supposed to want anything.
Joseph nodded.
“That’s okay.” He reached for one of the magazines, a National Geographic with a scenic picture of a canyon on the front. Wolf flinched as the hand came toward the table. He could feel the backhanded slap in his memory. (Wrong answer. Fucking idiot.) But no. Instead, Joseph was simply thumbing through a magazine, head tilted down. Wolf shuddered, a sweat breaking across his chest. He just wanted to know what (his handler) Joseph wanted, needed that Wolf could give him -
His legs twitched. He would give it, all of it, any of it. Joseph just needed to ask.
(Why wouldn’t he just ask already?)
Wolf flinched again, realizing there were tears dripping from his chin, leaving hot tracks down his cheeks.
(Fucking weak weak weak Joseph would realize he was weak and useless and pathetic and didn’t deserve comfort or company or treatment -)
He sniffled, trying to stay quiet. If he didn’t want Joseph to leave, he needed to keep himself under control. He needed to be good. (Like a liar, because he was one.) Wolf didn’t know how to be good - not for Joseph. Joseph didn’t want him on his knees or stripped or bleeding. What else could he want? What else did Wolf have to give? His breaths were starting to hitch. (No no no he needed to calm the fuck down before Joseph noticed or asked or touched or did something that broke him - )
Joseph looked up from his magazine.
“Wolf?”
“Y’ssir?” Wolf’s breathing caught on the word, anxiety like fire under his skin. He needed orders he needed something to work with because just sitting here felt like he was failing failing failing whatever test this was.
“Is your breathing okay?” He shifted forward.
(Wolf didn’t want to lie he didn’t know if it was okay or what answer Joseph wanted - )
“I - I dunno, sir.” His tongue felt wooden in his mouth, useless and clumsy. (Smith preferred him quiet.)
“That’s alright,” he started to stand. “Can I check you out?”
“Yessir.” This was familiar. Good. Wolf just needed to let Joseph do what he wanted to do and then he wouldn’t have this looming question of payment hanging over his head. The medic reached for a stethoscope.
“I’m going to have a listen, alright?” His eyes flickered over to the monitor, checking his vitals.
“Yessir.” Wolf numbly replied again, heart still galloping. His hands were staticky, pins and needles and cold.
“Can I pull your gown down?” He warmed up the bell of the stethoscope in his gloved hands, the material rustling.
“Yessir.” Wolf was feeling his eyes glaze over with anticipation, the siren call of the Far Away a safe distance from which to observe what Joseph really wanted.
The hands approached slowly, gently lowering the thin fabric just low enough.
“Sorry if it’s cold.”
Wolf shivered, but the cold was a distant sensation compared to the hands hands hands -
(Too cautious. Too gentle.)
They barely touched him, barely grazed his skin. It didn’t hurt. He didn’t push into the bruises or cuts, or brush the scars, or pick at his stitches. Nothing like the other INSUPA agents. (Why?) He wanted to grab Joseph, to scream at him to just act the way Wolf understood. Like apathetic INSUPA medics. Like Anders, soft hands and sharp nails. Like Smith, harsh and controlling. He just wanted to understand. The not-knowing was going to kill him.
“They don’t sound any worse than they did yesterday.” Joseph wrapped the stethoscope back around his neck. “Are you still having difficulty?”
“Yessir.” Wolf could feel the tears welling again; the one word he could force from his uncooperative tongue a plea and a curse.
(Help me help me help me understand - why won’t you just let me understand what you fucking want - ?)
“Your breathing is a little fast.” He pulled the gown back up, recovering his chest and shoulders. “I’m going to call Henle, and we can get to the bottom of this, yeah?”
Wolf physically recoiled at the thought of Henle - not now, not when he could barely grasp Joseph’s wants. (The gown was back on but Wolf was shivering, shaking violently in terror.)
“Ye - no, sir, please.” The whimper in his chest threatened to become a sob. He couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t - “ ‘m sorry. I’m sorry, sir, please - please, I can - please, please sir, ‘m sorry.”
“Okay, it’s okay.” Joseph was right back at Wolf’s bedside. “What’s going on, Wolf?”
Wolf shook his head, tears rolling along the seam of the mask. He didn’t know what was wrong - (he was weak) - he shouldn’t have said anything - (idiot) -
“S’rry. M - ‘m sorry - sir - ” Fear burned bright in every wheezing breath.
“I’m not mad, Wolf.” His voice was still gentle, beyond reason. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Wolf whimpered, a sob tearing from his chest. He wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to ground himself in the pressure if he couldn’t ground himself in pain.
“Can you breathe with me, Wolf?” Joseph's eyes were fixed on his, gaze still kind.
“Y’ssir.” Wolf wasn’t sure if he actually could, but the lie was the best he could manage before the choked sobs.
“Okay, in and out.” He placed a hand on their shoulder. “You’re doing just fine.”
The touch was the anchor Wolf needed; Smith wasn’t in his head, but he wasn’t alone either. (Like Anders, but better. Safer. It was Joseph.) The wail in his chest was strangled, rattling in his lungs.
“Just breathe,” he smiled, hands still soft. “Take the time you need.”
Wolf reached for the hand on his shoulder - to hold it, to dislodge it, to put it around his throat - he needed to do something and he had no idea what that something was. He shook his head, voice ragged.
“D - don’t get it.” (Stupid. Idiot. He didn’t need to understand he just needed to follow orders but it was Joseph.)
“Don’t get what?” He shifted, moving weight away from his hand, as if he was about to remove it.
Wolf clamped the hand to his shoulder - he couldn’t, he couldn’t lose his tether to reality right now. He didn’t care what correction followed.
“Don’t get you.”
Joseph nodded.
“Alright. What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t - don’t understand.” He didn’t understand anything. He was an idiot who didn’t need to understand. Wolf sniffled. “What - what do you want? I can’t - I need - I need orders, sir.”
(He needed correction.)
Joseph nodded, eyes still too kind.
“That’s okay.” He was quiet for a moment. “I-I don’t know, if I can give you what you’re asking for, Wolf.”
Wolf shuddered, a thin whine in his throat.
“It - it doesn’t - I need something, sir. To - to - to focus on.” To help him understand how to be good for Joseph. “I can’t - it’s too much. The - the not-knowing, the - I need a, a directive, sir.”
“Okay.” His thumb started to rub his collar bone. “Would telling you to rest and heal work?”
“M, maybe?” Wolf shuddered at the too-soft touch, but his breathing was calming. “Need - I don’t know - I don’t know if that’s, that’s concrete enough.”
The thumb stopped.
“That’s okay. Could I tell you to keep yourself safe?”
“Safe’s - what, what’s your, your expectation of ‘safe’?” Wolf couldn’t protect himself, couldn’t get out of bed or fight. He could barely even breathe on his own.
“For now, ask for help if you need it. Say if you think something’s wrong, or if you’re in danger.” His voice was relaxed, somehow. “I know it’s hard, but it’s okay to chose yourself.”
“Hm, I - I can try, sir.” Wolf still trembled, but the tears were drying. He still felt like a fucking idiot; was this really what Joseph wanted? “…’m sorry, Joseph.”
“It’s alright. Not on you, kid,” he smiled again, hands still gentle.
Wolf shook his head, the movement halting and unsteady.
“Shouldn’t - sorry. Should - trying - to, to be good.” Because if he couldn’t do that, he could never repay all this treatment and comfort and care.
“What’s being 'good' mean?” Joseph's voice was quieter.
Wolf didn’t know. He didn’t know but he knew he was supposed to be good. Supposed to be whatever (his handler) Smith made him. He shook his head again, shrugging.
“Whatever you want it to mean, sir.”
Joseph seemed hesitant.
“Okay…” his brow was furrowed. “I tend to stay away from that word. I’d rather you do what you think is right, then try to appease me…”
“I know - I know I don’t, I don’t know how to - ” Wolf’s misery bled to frustration. Keeping his handlers and trainers and overseers appeased kept him alive. Saved him from a lot of pain, probably. He couldn’t just - just stop. It felt like taking a step off solid ground, throwing himself off a cliff.
“I know, and that’s okay.” He squeezed his shoulder. “It’s hard. It’s really hard.”
“It’s stupid.” Wolf mumbled. (He was stupid; he knew he was safe he knew Joseph was good and he still couldn’t convince himself of any of those things.)
“I don’t think so.” The touch made him feel raw. “Your body is just trying to keep you safe. It’s just doing what it knows. That’s very normal.”
“But I know - ” Wolf’s voice cracked, broken and chipped. “I know and it’s stupid that I can’t - can’t fucking figure it out.”
Joseph tilted his head.
“Figure what out? What I want from you?”
“…what I want.” His voice was hoarse from crying and almost too soft. Of course he wanted to figure out what Joseph wanted from him too; but he knew, deep down, that the medic didn’t want anything Wolf could give.
“Oh.” Joseph smiled again. “I think that’s hard for everyone, if it helps. I think-I think you just have to try stuff. And figure out what you like. And eventually you get better at knowing before you try.”
Wolf nodded, tired eyes drifting back to the iPod on the table. Trying things seemed impossible, especially stuck in a hospital bed. But he had to start somewhere. His fingers tentatively picked up the device, unsteady and unsure.
“Got - got any recommendations?”