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Everything hurts. He’s not altogether sure how long he’s been chained here, or how many times his captor has come in to talk to him; the beatings have run together, and he has lost track of where exactly each bruise comes from. He can’t remember the last time he’s had water, although it must have been recently; he isn’t dead, after all. Just disoriented, miserable, and sore to his bones. His wrist is particularly bad; he thinks it must be broken, although he can’t remember when that happened.
Has he told his kidnapper anything? He doesn’t think so, although he can’t say for sure. Obviously he hasn’t told the person (or persons?) what they want to know, because he’s still here, rather than free or (more likely) dead in a ditch somewhere. But is that good or bad?
The door clicks, and he flinches before he realizes it, then grimaces, trying to hide his reaction. He’s a prince, a Zauberbiest, and the captain of a police precinct. He has a reputation to uphold here. (Although his eyes sting, and he thinks he might have already wept once or twice. Irritating, really.)
“Well, well, well,” an unpleasantly familiar voice drawls. “Look who’s awake.”
Eric. Wonderful. He should probably be more surprised, but deep down, a part of him always wondered if his brother somehow survived. This can’t be the man that’s been torturing him until now-Sean would have recognized him, he’s quite sure-so Eric must have hired someone to do his dirty work for him. That is the Royal way, after all. (His mind flickers to Meisner, just for a moment, but he does not allow himself to dwell.)
“Really?” He manages, and his voice is rough, but the words are mostly steady. “That’s the best opening line you’ve got?”
The slap isn’t a surprise, and he’s quite sure it’s worth it.
Eric rolls his eyes. “Forgive me, brother. Is captivity too dull for you?”
“Just wondering… Why I’m here.” He can hardly concentrate to form the words.
“You did try to have me killed.”
“I should’ve tried harder.”
The words are barely out of his mouth before Eric steps forward, kicking him squarely in the stomach. And oh, for a moment, he truly expects to lose whatever fragments of food are left in his stomach. It hurts, and he can’t think, and-
“Regardless, that’s not why you’re here. Well-” Eric considers, then chuckles to himself. “Not the only reason, at least. That just made you a convenient choice.”
Convenient choice? Forcing himself to take a few steadying breaths, he replies, “Choice? What kind of choice?’
“For bait, of course.” Eric shrugs, taking Sean’s injured hand and squeezing. And oh, that wrist is definitely broken. His vision swims from the pain, and for a terrifying second, he thinks he might pass out altogether. Then Eric releases him, and continues. “When the Grimm comes to save you, he’s going to have a nasty surprise waiting for him.”
It takes a few seconds for the words to register, drowned out by the way his body is screaming in protest to everything, but when he finally realizes what Eric said, he can’t help himself: he laughs.
His lungs and ribs object, but he ignores them, laughing all the harder. It’s a desperate laugh, bordering on deranged, the absurdity of the situation hitting him all at once.
By the time he calms down enough to breathe, Eric is watching him a little cautiously. A little uncertainly. Good. “A lot’s changed since you’ve been dead, ” he bites out, shaking his head. “Trust me, Burkhardt’s not going to come save me. You might as well kill me now.”
Maybe a part of him has always known it would come to this. That is the Royal life after all: kill or be killed. And there’s no denying that he deserves it, after the things he’s done- to innocent people, to his team, to those who trusted him.
Eric shifts on his feet. “You’re bluffing,” he grits out, but he doesn’t sound sure.
“Believe me, I’m not.” Sean lets his head drop back against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut. It at least takes some of the strain off his neck. “After what I did to him, the most you’re going to get out of him for this is a thank-you card.”
Silence. He can almost feel Eric weighing his words. Finally, his brother chuckles, unbearably loud. Or maybe that’s just his senses going into overdrive, hyper-aware of his imminent death.
“You’re serious. You’ve truly done something so stupid that the Grimm has abandoned you. Well, you never have been the best at keeping people around.” A strange sound, like fabric scratching, and a thousand cop instincts tell Sean that Eric is pulling a gun. Sure enough, a click fills the air, and he knows the gun is aimed at him, cocked and ready to fire.
All things considered, there have to be worse ways to go.
“You’re going to die here, sad and alone, and no one’s even going to miss you.”
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Rapid-fire, one after the other. He doesn’t bother to move or flinch; there’s no point. At least this way, it’ll hopefully be over fast.
Except… It isn’t. It takes him a few seconds to register that he isn’t shot, that no bullets have buried themselves in his skin. He… Isn’t dead? He tentatively opens his eyes, to see the bullets quite literally suspended in mid-air, dangling between them. After a beat, they drop to the ground, harmless as feathers.
What in the world-?
“Well, would you look at that?” An ice-cold but somehow comforting voice fills the air. “You missed him.”
Eve, he thinks, and barely has time to smile.
The next part happens fast, and he can’t quite track it. He knows that Eve didn’t come alone; Nick is there, certainly (he came? After everything?), and he thinks he hears Hank and Wu chiming in. Adalind he hears once, although that might just be his imagination.
Eric, who clearly isn’t anticipating an angry Hexenbiest or two, not to mention whatever Wu’s turning into over there (and seriously, what exactly has Sean missed? How long has he been imprisoned here?), hardly puts up a fight. Within seconds, he’s in cuffs, along with his lackeys from the other room. Sean doesn’t recognize them, but their voices send his fight-or-flight reflexes into overdrive, and he’s quite sure they’re the ones who’ve been torturing him.
With them subdued, the team turns to him.
Nick’s the first to his side, kneeling beside him. “You okay?”
No, he thinks, but that seems pointless. “Been better,” he admits instead. Then- “Didn’t think you’d come.”
Nick’s expression tightens, and he opens his mouth, but Hank cuts him off firmly.
“Of course we came, Captain. That’s what we do.” He settles on Sean’s other side, patting his arm. He lands firmly on a bruise, obscured by Sean’s sleeve, and Sean struggles to hide a wince. “Don’t get me wrong, we’re not happy about the stuff you did, but… Doesn’t mean we’d leave you to die.”
He wants to say something else-thank them, possibly, or apologize, or promise to do better, or something- but a new wave of pain shoots through him, and he closes his eyes, willing it to stop.
Nick and Hank steady him, and he focuses on their touches, on those little points of contact, rather than the way his body feels like it’s been run through a meat grinder a few times. Finally, the pain eases, and he exhales shakily, opening his eyes.
“We need to get him to a hospital,” Eve says, and Adalind clears her throat (so apparently she is here, he decides).
“An ambulance is on the way,” she offers, but she sounds a little unsure. If she’s worried, he must be even worse-off than he feels, which is absolutely terrifying.
“I’ve got a First-Aid kit in my truck,” Nick says after a long moment. “I know it’s not going to help with everything, but maybe we can at least-”
“Get it.” Eve barely glances at Nick as she gives the order, settling on the ground and looking Sean over. It’s unsettling how clinical her expression is-so different from Juliette’s open emotions-but it’s still far preferable to his brother’s face.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Nick rise and walk away, obviously in search of the-of the-
He blinks, trying to track the thought back. There was something… Something Nick was supposed to get. It was important, wasn’t it? It was….
“Hey!” Hank snaps his fingers, and Sean’s eyes open reflexively. Then he frowns; when had he closed them? “Stay with me,” Hank adds.
“Trying,” he mutters.
“Talk.” Eve reaches out, taking his hand, and he’s so struck by the gesture-far more tender than he’d expect from her-he doesn’t realize which hand it is, or what she’s doing, until it’s too late. His wrist and hand burn suddenly, a thousand fires scorching and consuming. He wants to pull away, to beg her to stop, but all he can focus on is the pain.
Pain that fades as quickly as it starts, he realizes after a moment. He stares down at his hand in confusion as she releases it.
“That should be better,” she says quietly, and he hesitates, before flexing it experimentally. Sure enough, he can move and rotate his wrist without a problem.
“Neat trick,” he mutters.
“HW taught me.”
It’s hard to know what to make of her tone, and he’s too drained to try to parse it out, so he simply nods. She told him to do something, didn’t she? He struggles to remember. Why can’t he remember?
“Can’t… Remember,” he manages, hoping someone will understand.
“Remember what?” Adalind frowns.
“Anything.” Wait, that’s not right. “Some things. It’s not… Right. Up there.”
“Think I can explain that,” Wu announces, and where did he come from? He steps into Sean’s line of vision, holding up an evidence baggie with a small medicine bottle inside. “Looks like Sir Prince-A-Lot was keeping you pretty out of it. Benzos,” he clarifies. “As soon as they’re out of your system, you’ll be feeling a lot better.”
Benzos. Wonderful. Sean groans. What Wu is too kind to mention, of course, is that the next few days are going to be absolutely miserable. He’s seen withdrawals from Benzodiazepines; not a fun sight, and he really isn’t looking forward to being on the other side of it.
“Here.” Nick reappears, kit in hand, along with a small bottle of his own. “Thought you might want some water.”
Water sounds… Really good, suddenly. He reaches out to take it, before blinking down at his hands. When did someone take his cuffs off?
“Adalind took care of them when we first got here,” Eve explains, and he briefly wonders if he voiced the question aloud. Rather than dwell on it, he simply gives a nod of thanks, before taking the water.
At the first taste, his body seems to awaken, something in his brain screaming yes, this is exactly what we need. He takes a couple more gulps, before a cough overtakes him. The water would spill if it weren’t for Eve catching the bottle mid-air, pulling it back toward her.
Hank rests his hand against Sean’s back. “Easy, Captain. You’ve got to take it slow.”
Right. He knows that. Right? Tentatively, he reaches for the bottle once more, and Eve lets him. This time, he’s careful, forcing himself to take slow, even drinks. Still, before long, the bottle is empty.
He’s not sure where it goes, but the next time he looks at his hand, it’s gone.
“Alright, let’s see what we can do here.” Nick sets to work, wiping off the cuts and bruises littering Sean’s face and arms. Sean wants to ask why, and he kind of also wants to ask Nick to stop, because the antiseptic stings, and he’s so tired of hurting. He knows it’s helping, though, so he forces down the question, shifting his focus to Wu.
“You, ah… You did something,” he points out. “Changed. That’s… New.”
Wu tilts his head, brows furrowing. Then, all at once, realization dawns, and he laughs. “Not really new, Captain. Guess I just never really got around to mentioning it.”
Wait, what? Also, he tries not to linger on the word Captain, but Hank called him that too, and it’s been a lifetime since any of them have called him anything but Renard. And he’s probably reading too much into it, but it feels a little like forgiveness. Like acceptance. Or at least a step in that direction.
…. Or maybe he’s just delirious from torture and drugs. Could go either way, really.
“How long?” He asks, choosing to focus on whatever Wu did.
Wu shrugs. “Couple of years, now. Oh, yeah,” he adds, when Sean starts to do the math. “You almost had a really bad day when you took our badges.”
Oh, that’s…. Just slightly terrifying, and he’s going to try to think of that… Never again, thank you. “Thanks for not, uh…”
“Killing you?” Wu shrugs. “Don’t mention it.”
He definitely won’t be. Ever again. Nope. He’s fine. And also possibly about to fall asleep on the floor, now that his adrenaline is fading and the pain is easing, but that’s neither here nor there.
The sound of sirens drags him from his thoughts, and relief washes over him anew, even as he wishes they could be a little quieter. Don’t these people know that his head feels like it’s about to explode?
Unfamiliar figures approach him, all in paramedic uniforms, and a brief wave of panic darts through him. What if this is a trap? What if they aren’t really EMTs? “Stay with me?” He asks, not even sure who he’s talking to. But if someone on his team stays, he’ll be safe. Right?
Nick clears his throat. “Everyone will meet us at the hospital,” he promises. Then- “And I’m right here, Captain.”
Captain.
Sean lets himself fade to sleep, then. He’ll be okay. His team will take care of him.