Chapter Text
Dundee winces when he wakes up in the morning and looks at his face. It’s red and pussy, and maybe he should've fucking gone to the hospital yesterday instead of trying to treat it himself. Never in a million years would he think that his face would be mutilated by a dragon over stealing a fucking chain, but here he is. His hair is gone and his beard is missing patches where the claws slashed him. He touches the wounds gently and winces at the pain. He wants this war over. Why in every war does it feel like he sacrifices more than everyone else? First, he got shot in the head and lost his best friend and now he’s lost his fucking good looks.
He decides to ignore that thought. He has other things to worry about and that is if his fucking club is awake or not. He knows that Barry is. His husband had woken up earlier in the morning and told Dundee that he’d be back, he was headed out to go get some antibacterial cream for his scratches. That was a while ago though and Dundee checks his phone to see if there are any new messages. His wallpaper flashes at him but other than that, there's no notifications on his message app. Barry probably just got distracted, he is a goldfish after all. A cute goldfish. Dundee smiles at that thought and it quickly turns into a grimace as the wounds on his face stretch. Worth it though.
Well, he’ll meet up with Barry eventually today, so Dundee decides to leave the house and start his day. He doesn't really have to stay in the house and wait for his beloved husband to return. Dundee throws on his pink hoodie and heads out the doors to get the Paragon. Aaaand, the bubblegum car is missing from the garage, meaning Barry must've taken it. He sighs a little annoyed, but takes out the Sultan instead. Just to be a little shit, he calls his husband to complain. But the phone rings and rings and rings. The call disconnects with no answer. A little weird, but not uncommon. Barry’s probably too busy in a conversation to pick up, he’ll call back later. Dundee isn’t too worried.
The Sultan is a little beat up and why are all the cars he takes out always fucked? He checks his wallet and luckily there’s enough for a Benny’s visit. Dundee turns on his music and speeds away to get a repair. He notes that the city feels a little dead today and there’s ominous clouds building in the distance. If he believed in omens, Dundee might say that those clouds spell danger. But he’s not a fucking omens guy. Instead, he’s just pissed that it's going to rain later and it's always harder to drive when it rains. He pulls into Benny’s and the car gets fixed quickly and efficiently and he’s off again, speeding through the streets.
He gets bored about an hour in with having no one to talk to. Barry hasn’t called him back and Dundee feels a little disappointed his husband hasn’t even texted. Did he somehow piss off Barry without even fucking trying? Usually when that happens though, he gets a ping from a very pissed off husband so they can have a serious talk on a mountain side somewhere. But it's radio silence--even from the fucking radio. It’s like no one is awake, or they're not talking on the radio at least.
Dundee pulls out his phone to call Collin to see if anyone else is awake and luckily, the cowboy answers. “Hey, Dee, what's up?”
“Booooooooorrrrrreeed.” Dundee basically yells into the phone.
Collin is chuckling on the other end. “I take it you're bored?”
“There's nothing to do!” He looks down to see he’s going 160mph. It's horrible to drive fast and be bored, it can lead to terrible outcomes. If he crashes now, then he would probably go to the hospital. And he really doesn't feel like visiting the hospital today.
“Whaddya wanna do then? Meth?”
“Ugh, I don’t fucking know. Have you heard from Barry at all?” Dundee takes a wicked drift.
Collin is quiet for a second. “No. I haven’t heard from him so I figured he was with you. Husband date day or some shit like that.”
Okay, that's a little bit more worrisome. “He left this morning and I haven't fucking heard from him since.”
“Not again.” Collin groans. “I can't deal with another missing person in this fucking club.”
“He’s not missing.” Dundee tries reassuring himself too. “He’s probably just hanging out with the fucking Clown.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Dundee slows down as he notices the low fuel gauge and pulls into the nearest 24/7 to fill up. “I’ll call you if I hear anything else.” He hangs up before Collin can say anything.
Barry’s allowed to have off days, Dundee reminds himself. It’s just a little odd that he promised this morning that he’d go get the ointment and come straight back. It's been hours now though and he hasn’t heard anything from the man and now he knows Collin hasn’t heard anything either? Well, now he’s starting to get worried. Is this how Barry felt when Dundee went missing? Denying it until accepting the fact that his husband was actually gone? It’s a shit feeling if that's the case. But it’s not. Because Barry isn’t fucking missing. Just to make sure, he calls again and this time the phone instantly disconnects. It doesn’t help Dundee’s nerves and he taps the phone nervously on the steering wheel. Barry isn’t missing. He just isn’t. Barry Benson doesn't go fucking missing. He’s about to get out of the car to fill up the tank to distract himself from his swirling thoughts when his phone rings.
Barry.
But it’s not Barry.
It’s Pillbox Medical Center.
Dundee’s blood freezes as he sees the words scrolling across the screen of his phone. The last time Pillbox called him, it was for Wingman and that phone call wasn’t pleasant despite Dundee knowing what to expect. Now, he’s completely blindsided to why he is getting a call. The storm clouds are closer now and he can see the lightning in the distance. He slides the phone to unlock it and answers the call.
“Yes?” He asks in a cautious tone.
“Irwin Dundee?” A woman on the other end asks. She sounds nervous and Dundee takes this as a compliment; his reputation is spreading.
“Can I fucking help you?”
There’s a small pause. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but we have a Barry Benson currently in our ICU and you’re the top name on his contact information.” A well timed rumble of thunder echoes across the city.
Dundee nearly drops his phone as his whole body feels like it’s washed in ice water. He suddenly loses all control of his body as it goes completely numb and he can’t even tell if he’s sitting in the car or standing out beside it. This is a joke, right? Barry hates fucking hospitals. It would be a cruel fucking joke if it was though.
“Sir?” The voice on the other end of the phone pulls him back into a stronger sense of awareness.
“I’m on my fucking way.” He growls into the phone as he starts the car.
There’s a mantra in his head as he speeds through the streets of Los Santos and it’s only one name. Barry. Barrybarrybarrybarrybarrybarry. The numbness has spread to his head and mind now and he can’t focus on anything else. Not the road. Not the wheel in his hands. Not the pedals under his feet. It’s only Barry. Barrybarrybarrybarrybarrybarry. It’s a fucking miracle he even manages to weave through the traffic on the way to his hospital and he doesn’t remember a split second of it. One moment, he was at the gas station and now he’s literally jumping out of the car in the drive thru of the hospital. He thinks he can hear rain, but he’s not sure. Barrybarrybarrybarrybarrybarry. The car crashes as he tumbles out and onto the ground. The asphalt drives into his palms and knees but he feels no pain. There’s only the terrifying numbness. His legs feel like jelly as he runs into the hospital, nearly taking out the sliding doors as he does so.
Emma is waiting for him. She gasps a little. “Your face.”
“Barry?” Dundee ignores her comment, but he’s reminded of the state of his face again. He can’t be bothered with right now though. Barry. It’s the only thing he can say and the only thing he can think. And it feels wrong not demanding to see his husband instantly.
She looks sad and it’s obvious that she’s trying to hide back tears. “Irwin.”
And the use of his first name pulls him out of the fog slightly. He focuses on her and for the first time, feels the fear of the situation. His husband is in the ICU. “I need to fucking see him.”
She nods. “Just…” She takes a breath and grabs his hand. “He doesn’t really look like him right now, okay?”
He nods, but doesn’t understand. “What happened?”
She bites her lip. “I’ll tell you that in private.” She pulls him through the double doors and down the hall to the locked ward which she unlocks and lets him through.
Intensive Care Unit. Barry is in the same building as him and Dundee can’t fucking hear him which feels so wrong. Sure, Barry is quiet compared to him, but Dundee can pick that voice out of a crowded room. This side of the hospital feels, for a lack of a better word, dead. Not that many people must be in the ICU right now so the staff isn’t milling about as heavily as they are in the front. Dundee follows Emma as she leads him through the corridors. She stops at a closed door and Dundee stops too. Just on the other side of the door is his husband. The last time he saw Barry was this morning as he gave Dundee a quick kiss goodbye. Dundee didn’t even think that it could possibly be the last time that Barry ever kissed him. He feels like he now took advantage of it for not appreciating it like he should’ve.
“Before you go in,” Emma starts. “I, uh, need to tell you what you’re going to expect, okay?”
Barrybarrybarrybarrybarrybarry. Dundee nods, staring at the wooden door.
“The cops--” Her voice cracks and she clears it. “The cops, thirty minutes ago, were anonymously pinged to Grapeseed.”
Dundee closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. “The fucking torture room.”
“Yeah.” She says softly. “They found him down there.”
Dundee winces and opens his eyes. He knows exactly what kind of shit can go on in that room. Hell, he fucking took Pond down there himself to teach her a lesson. Nothing good ever comes out of that place. And to now know that Barry was taken down there? Something is boiling under his skin and it threatens to take over the numbness still washing over him. Who the fuck would take his husband down there and torture him? He knows the answer, but he’s too scared to even think it, because if it’s true… then it’s his fault. In more ways than one.
“He… he has deep claw marks from his torso up.” He can hear her statement without it being worded; claw marks that look remarkably similar to the marks on his face. “That alone caused a lot of the bleeding. He, uh,” She clears her throat again and when she speaks, it’s in her doctor tone. “He had a screwdriver lodged into his left knee. Both wrists broken. The fingernails on his right hand were pulled out. It also looks like his face was beaten, resulting in a fractured jaw which has caused an extreme amount of swelling around his brain. He’s in a medically induced coma in hopes the swelling can go down.”
With every injury Emma listed, the burning underneath his skin grows. It burns away the last of the numbness and all he feels is anger. He’s going to fucking kill whoever did this to his husband. Half of him wants to go and burn half the city down until he gets revenge, but the other half of him needs to see Barry. Needs to be with his fucking husband until he wakes up, because if Barry Benson dies… well, he doesn’t want to think about that. Dundee clenches his jaw. Medically induced coma. That means that Barry was probably conscious a lot longer than he should’ve been.
“Unlock the door.” Dundee says through gritted teeth.
“Irwin.” Her voice sounds back to normal and less like she’s reading something.
“Unlock the fucking door, Emma. I need to see my fucking husband.”
Emma sighs and reaches over and unlocks the door. “I’m here for you, okay?”
Dundee ignores her and pushes open the door and walks through. Whatever he thought he was prepared for, it’s ten times worse. His breath catches in his throat and he stops mid step. Emma was right earlier when she said that Barry doesn’t look like himself. Most of his face is swollen and is a sickly greenish-blue color. There’s wicked marks running crookedly down his face, almost exactly matching Dundee’s own. There’s also a oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose. Barry’s chest is covered in bandages, but Dundee knows that the marks travel down there as well. Emma says that they go down to his waist. There’s casts on both of his hands, extending down to the wrist area and the fingers poking out of the cast on the right hand are bandaged like the chest . Dundee can’t see Barry’s lower body as it’s covered with a blanket, but he can imagine what it looks like. It feels odd being on this side of a torture scenario.
The first thing he wants to do is call Barry, because that’s what Dundee always does whenever something happens. He calls Barry first. He always calls Barry first and now… fuck. His legs start to tremble and he maneuvers over to a chair and sits down quickly. He can’t help but stare at his poor husband. He looks so small and frail despite his height. He lacks any life and the only thing that proves he is alive, besides the breathing, is the beeping of the machines in the room tracking Barry’s heartbeat. Fuck, there’s so many machines and Dundee has no clue what they’re used for. He’s scared that if he reaches out and even touches Barry, the man is going to break. It feels so wrong to see Barry’s face so blank and if Dundee uses his imagination, he can almost convince himself that his husband is just sleeping and he’s going to wake up with a dopey smile and wish Dundee a good morning. But that’s not going to happen. And there’s a little voice in his head telling him that it might never happen again.
It’s too fucking quiet. It’s way too quiet for both Barry and Dundee to be in the same room. Usually they’d be giggling or fucking bickering about something stupid, or fuck it, maybe they’d be giggling about what they’re bickering about. Now there’s the question of if Barry is ever going to be able to talk again. Is he even going to be able to walk after this? A screwdriver to the knee is fucking brutal. Blunt object wounds never heal right. Dundee wants to vomit. He wants to break things. Shout. Shoot every last person who did this. But most importantly, he wants to feel grounded and the one person that helps him with that is fucking in the ICU and the only comfort to be had is from the beeping of the machine. The boiling feeling under his skin is burning an odd hollow feeling in his chest. They’ve gone through so much shit and it can’t just fucking end with Barry in a hospital. Barry deserves to go out with a bang, not being tortured alone. Dundee should’ve known something was wrong. He should’ve done something instead of driving around for hours bored today while his fucking husband was being tortured. Alone. Fuck, what if Barry was waiting for someone to come and save him and no one fucking came?
Dundee’s breath starts to come faster and he clutches the arms of the chair tightly. The need to do something destructive is almost impossible to ignore, but he needs to be here for Barry. He can’t let his husband be alone again. Dundee knows what that feels like; to feel so alone with no one coming for him. The difference in his situation is that he was alone on an island. Barry was alone without any other BBMC members. He can’t help but imagine Barry’s screams and it’s so fucking easy. Way too fucking easy. It makes Dundee reach up to pull at his hair to help him focus on something else, but his fingers meet bare scalp and he drops his hands into his lap. He feels utterly lost in the quiet room as his mind spirals. Finally, his legs feel sturdy enough to stand and he does so, moving closer to Barry’s bedside. He’s supposed to say something, right? That’s what people fucking do when a loved one is in the hosptial.
“I’m going to fucking find these bastards, B.” He says in a quiet voice. He takes in a deep breath and hates the hospital scent that floods his nose. “I’m going to fucking make sure of it. You just… you just get better, yeah?”
The door swings open and a whirlwind named Collin practically runs in. He pauses in nearly the exact same spot Dundee did and stares at Barry as he lets out a slow breath. “Jesus Christ.”
Dundee goes back to staring at Barry. “Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I was going to.” Dundee honestly forgot.
“Apparently I’m on his contact list.” Collin moves closer. “How the fuck did this happen?”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know!?” Dundee asks, immediately getting defensive.
“Hey, man. Calm down. I’m not accusing you.” Collin keeps staring at Barry. There’s a sniffle and Dundee looks over to see Collin wiping a tear off his cheek. “Sorry, it’s just… fucking hard.”
Dundee watches another tear roll down Collin’s cheek and the hollow feeling grows even larger. He’s not crying. Why the fuck is he not crying? His fucking husband is hooked up to oxygen and he’s not even misty eyed. Shouldn't he be crying right now? Come to think of it, the fear that he felt earlier is gone. The worry? It's gone. The relief that Barry's alive despite everything? Gone. The feeling of being lost? Fucking gone. There's nothing as his anger burns everything away and all that’s left is the dull hollow feeling. Nothing feels real right now, even his own body feels strange. It feels like nothing else exists out of this room.
“I’m going to fucking kill whoever did this.” Collin leans against the foot of the bed.
Dundee has a theory of who it is, but he doesn't want to admit it. It also doesn’t fully make sense of why they would go this hard just to send a fucking message. One that was already received just yesterday. He could understand them shooting Barry, but torture? Something doesn't fucking add up. Especially to this level of torture.
“They're going to fucking pay.” Collin’s voice chokes a little and Dundee doesn’t need to look over to know the cowboy is crying.
It feels like everything is underwater. Movements are made in an odd slow motion as Dundee has difficulty processing everything. Collin’s voice is muffled and sounds far away. Dundee only is focused on one thing at the moment and it’s revenge. Collin is right when he said that these bastards are going to pay. Dundee will make sure of it, one by fucking one.
There's suddenly a hand clasping his shoulder and he looks over to see that Collin’s moved closer. He’s by Dundee’s side looking down at Barry. “There’s gotta be a clue or something to who did it. Maybe… maybe his pockets.”
“They fucking pocket wiped him, Collin.”
“How do you know that, did you check?” The hand on his shoulder slips off.
“No. Everyone who goes down to Grapeseed gets pocket wiped.”
“You didn’t even check?” Collin sounds annoyed.
Dundee grinds his teeth. “No, Collin. I didn't fucking check if my husband is pocket wiped when I already know he is. It’s not fucking hard to understand, get your head of your ass and think straight. Besides, when has anyone left a clue after they pocket wipe someone?”
Collin doesn’t have a response for that and Dundee can tell he pissed the man off, and he doesn’t fucking care. “Look, Dundee. I get it that we’re both upset right now, but I think I know a thing or two more about figuring out these things instead of you, okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Completely forgot you’re a failed fucking private investigator.”
“Ow.” Collin lets out a loud, slow controlled breath. “I don't want to do this right now, okay?”
But Dundee does. He wants so badly to get a rise out of someone, but Collin’s right. They shouldn’t do this right now, especially at Barry’s bedside table. So, he concedes. Both men stand over the hospital bed in silence as they stare down at Barry. The other club members will need to be told and some of Barry’s friends too. Like Chatterbox. Dundee’s already certain that TJ has probably already been notified by the hospital. He’s honestly surprised the younger man isn't already here. TJ is probably already on his way and Dundee doesn’t know if he can handle that right now.
“I need to call Pez.” Collin finally breaks the silence.
“I can do it.” Dundee pulls out his phone. He needs to keep up his duties as the Prime Minister of the BBMC.
“Yeah. Yeah, that works too.” Collin pulls out his phone still.
Dundee goes to his contact information and types in Speedwagon. He’s about to hit the call button whenever his phone trills with an anonymous ping. He’s about to decline it, but then he remembers that Emma mentioned that the cops were anonymously pinged to Barry’s location. He holds his breath and accepts the ping instead. Instantly, he opens up his GPS to check where the ping is located. He scans the map and it’s nowhere in the immediate city and on a whim, he scrolls over to Grapeseed. And of fucking course. There’s the little blip of a person waving hovering right over where the torture room is. Dundee lets out his breath slowly and grips the phone.
“I have to go.” He announces, putting the phone away.
“What?” Collin eyes him. “What happened?”
“I just have to fucking go.” Dundee makes his way towards the door and Collin blocks him.
The enforcer crosses his arms and despite them being nearly the same height, he still manages to stare down at Dundee. “Where are you going?”
“Fucking move, Collin.”
“Barry Benson, your fucking husband is in that hospital bed.” Collin points over Dundee’s shoulder to the bed. “And you’re just going to fucking leave?”
“Collin, get out of my way.” He doesn’t have to explain himself.
“Barry wouldn’t leave your side if you were in that bed.”
Dundee gets in Collin’s face. “If you don’t get out of my fucking way, then I’ll make sure that Barry isn’t the only one in this fucking hospital, do you understand me? Now, as an order from your Prime Minister: Move. Away.”
It’s obvious that Collin wants to say more about the situation, but he eventually slides to the side, giving Dundee a clear path to the door. “I’m staying here.”
“I didn’t ask.” Dundee calls over his shoulder as he exits the room.
In a way, Dundee is slightly relieved to be out of the hospital room. Seeing Barry so lifeless… it bothers him despite only being in there for such a little amount of time. Being out is like a breath of fresh air and, if Dundee doesn’t think about it, he can trick himself into thinking that Barry is okay. That Barry isn’t in the one fucking place he hates the most. It calms Dundee down a bit and he feels a little bit more connected to his surroundings and his body. Barry is fine. It’s going to be okay. He just needs to get out of this fucking hospital.
It’s heavily raining outside and Dundee pulls his hood up tighter around his face. He should’ve fucking put on his leather jacket instead of a cloth hoodie because now he’s going to be fucking soaked. Plus, his hoodie is meant for good days. Today is not a fucking good day. Today is one of the worst days in an extremely long time and it’s officially ruined the good vibe of the pink outfit. The rain pelts through his clothes instantly as he darts to the Sultan which is now nicely parked where it should be; he figures that it was probably Collin’s doing. He gets in the car and speeds off despite the slippery roads. He needs to get to fucking Grapeseed. He doesn’t know what the fuck is waiting for him there, but he knows that what ever it is, it’ll be a step closer to some fucking answers.
Thanks to the fucking weather, it takes longer to get up there than Dundee would like. He can’t go as fast as he would like and it’s hard to keep the goddamn car under control. There’s other drivers spinning out all over the road and he has to be careful not to ram into them. The Sultan is already in a rough condition from the crash at the hospital and he doesn’t want to make it worse. He’s a good fucking driver, but the rain can hinder even the best drivers. It gives him something else to focus on though and he welcomes it with open arms. He needs to focus on something other than Barry and the hollowness inside him and driving is always a great distraction.
He finally gets to the fucking ping and jumps out of the car before it even fully comes to a stop again. The ping isn’t exactly at the torture room, but it’s close enough to know that the two are at least connected. The exact ping leads him to a dumpster near the actual room and Dundee stops and stares at it. The rain makes a pool of water around the bin and Dundee doesn’t even hesitate to splash his way through it, soaking his red canvas boots as he does so. Great, now he’s literally soaked from head to toe. Hesitantly, he opens the lid and peers inside. He first eyes an umbrella that is instantly familiar and Dundee knows with every fiber of his being that it’s Barry’s dumb, stupid, fucking dramatic umbrella. He pulls it out slowly and opens it, resting it in the crook between his shoulder and neck, finally getting a break of the rain on his back and head. He looks in the trash again and sees more evidence.
A matching fish to Dundee’s own.
A phone with Barry’s phone case.
A lawn chair.
And the most damning evidence of them all is the Irwin Dundee card crumpled at the bottom. Dundee reaches and grabs it delicately, trying his hardest not to get the card any more wet than it already is. It’s Barry’s favorite card, after all. Now that it’s closer, Dundee can see a slight smudge of blood, which means that they emptied his pockets after torturing him. The thought makes Dundee see red for a second and he has to drop the card back in the trash so he doesn’t crush it out of anger. After a few calming breaths, he reaches for it again and spots a note beside it. He picks them both up and reads the note as more thunder rumbles in the sky:
Told you I like to take loved ones.