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Through labored breaths, Steve tried to focus on what was even being said anymore. He couldn’t remember what he was asked. All he knew is they were getting increasingly impatient with him. The throbbing through his head was a clear indication of that. He wasn’t sure when the questions stopped and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. At the very least, it provided somewhat of a break which he was more than thankful for and he planned to take full advantage of it.
He leaned back against the wall as he waited for his ears to stop buzzing and his head to stop spinning. Honestly, all the swirling in his skull was making him nauseous. Steve allowed his eyes to slide shut and just focused on counting his breaths, letting that calm him as much as he could. Which wasn’t much considering the situation he was in.
With little time to really prepare, Steve jolted back upright at the slam of a door. They didn’t even give him a chance to fully reorient himself before one of his restrained wrists was grabbed and he was yanked from the bench. He drew in a sharp gasp from the stabs the action sent down his arms.
“H-Hey,” he stammered, trying to twist his battered body around. It was futile; he could barely turn his head more than a couple inches. “What’r you doing!?”
He got no reply. Instead, another man grabbed his other arm and they began dragging him. They were none to gentle about it, either. He was fully capable of walking, and would if they would just stop and let him get his bearings. A hiss escaped his lips when they turned around a corner and he was pulled hard to accommodate.
Steve bit down on his lower lip to stifle a cry. The last thing he wanted was to give them satisfaction. He was dragged for a few more minutes before they thankfully stopped and dropped him to the floor. His relief was short lived as he was snatched up again and his arms were forced above his head. Both wrists were shackled once more, leaving the tips of his toes to barely scrape over the floor.
Breath catching in his throat, Steve peered through a single cracked eye. The room was pretty reminiscent of the first. There was one, extra detail, though. That had Steve’s insides twisting. There were old stains on the floor that looked oddly like rust. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t.
He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth at the sight.
That was definitely blood.
Out of instinct, he tugged uselessly at the cuffs; chains rattled above him, vibrating down his arms. He had no idea what the hell they were planning, but he sure wasn’t going to make it easy for them. Steve tried to swing around, to kick out, anything that could hinder them even the smallest amounts.
It wasn’t much, but it at least seemed to annoy them if nothing else. Which he would take. It was better than nothing. A nuisance 'til the bitter end.
Once his shackles were in place, they were tugged, hoisting him up so that his toes could no longer touch the floor.
“Ok, we’re going to take another crack at this,” his captor announced, pacing back and forth with his hands crossed behind his back. “I believe I have not been clear enough. Or perhaps there has not been enough motivation for you.” He paused and held out his hand. A second later, the other guy slapped something down it.
Steve’s heart stopped at the sight. The man was holding a whip, running his thumb down the handle.
“Tell me, who are you?”
For a solid three seconds, Steve could not utter a word. He couldn’t answer that because no matter what he said, it was going to be wrong. If he kept giving his honest answer, it was going to get worse. And if he said what the man wanted to hear, he had a feeling it was going to get much worse.
There was no choice but to go with the better of the two options. With a heavy sigh, Steve let his head drop forward and repeated himself for about the hundredth time.
“S-Steve Harrington” he sighed, screwing his eyes shut in preparation. And not a second too soon as it felt like a knife tore through his chest. It easily ate through his uniform. No amount of anticipation readied him for the intense stinging that seemed to burrow deep, straight through him. And no matter how tense his jaw was, he failed in holding back any noise.
It was only a small whimper, but that was more than enough to prove the effectiveness of the whip’s wrath. He knew, if there really was information to give, he would crack in a matter of minutes.
He stuttered in a breath and shakily let it back out. He just had to stay calm. Don’t give the bastards what they want. A little difficult when most of your composure was right out the window. His eyes fell to his chest, to the blood that already soaked into the edges of the tear in his uniform.
The worst part: for a brief moment, he hoped that wouldn’t come out of his paycheck. Surely Russian Torture was a good enough excuse. A loud snap brought him back to the real issue at hand. The man still stood before him, whip stretched between his hands. He knelt slightly to peer up at Steve’s face and he clicked his tongue.
“Don’t tell me this is already too much for you.” He lifted Steve’s chin with a single finger, forcing him to peer through the fringe of his bangs. Something glinted in the man’s eyes that sent a cold chill down his spine. The man was seriously enjoying this.
He stepped back. “Who sent you?”
Steve let out a bitter laugh. It wasn’t intentional, it just slipped out. “I-I told you,” he breathed out, forcing his head up. “No one. I-It was an accident! I don’t even know who the hell you people are!”
Wrong answer: as expected.
The man lashed out again, crossing over the first strike. He swore that one was about twice as worse as the first. Not only did it sting, but it also reignited the first one.
“ Shit,” he hissed out, struggling to draw in another breath. Steve couldn’t understand how something so minimal could hurt so damn bad. They weren’t particularly deep or wide, but they had a way of making his skin feel like it was lit ablaze. He didn’t realize he was whimpering until the white haze faded.
Not the most becoming of him, but he was really starting to lose his ability to care. In a split second, there was another strike right across his left side. That one, he knew without looking, was a lot deeper than the others. The man didn’t even ask a question that time. He did it just for the hell of it, it seemed.
Two more, both back to back. One more on his left side and another close to his right shoulder. The chains clinked above him as a slight tremor started through his body. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the fire wrapping around his torso or the pulling at his arm sockets. All his thrashing and wiggling around was putting more strain on them. Not even a few minutes and it already felt like his arms were being ripped off.
“Jus’kill me,” he wheezed out before he could think about what he was saying.
Obviously, he didn’t really want to die. Not by any means. He knew that was just desperation talking. He was willing to say just about anything to make them stop.
“In due time.”
Not what Steve wanted to hear, but he also didn’t know what he wanted to hear. Maybe ‘Sorry, turns out we were wrong and you were right. You’re free to go?’ That would be ideal. Fat chance of that happening. He took a deep breath and tried readjusting himself again to relieve some of the pressure from his arms. No luck. All he managed to do was make his shoulders throb even more.
“You’re making this more difficult for yourself,” the man cooed, clutching Steve’s face, fingers digging into his cheeks. Out of spite alone, Steve swiveled his head away with a quiet scoff. Honestly, even the slightest of touches stung against the undoubted bruising. “So, let’s say we get this over with and you tell me everything I want to know, yeah?”
“Y-You’re ins’ne,” Steve panted, dropping his head back down as he attempted to steady his breathing. “I don’know anything!” he declared. He was getting tired of repeating himself. They were going in circles. “Please, j-just lemme go.” In one last attempt at rebellion, he kicked as hard as he could.
With how unexpected it was, the kick landed, catching the guy right under his chin. It wasn’t as impactful as Steve had imagined, but it was all he needed to knock the guy back.
There was nothing but silence for a few moments.
“Stupid asshole .” the man spat, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. Even though the kick wasn’t all that hard, Steve was pleased to know he at least drew blood. That satisfaction was short-lived as a new rage sparked behind the man’s eyes. Steve realized a little too late that that may have been a mistake.
Knuckles white around the handle, the man straightened back up. His hand shook as he raised the whip high above his head.
Steve barely had time to close his eyes before the strike fell, fast and sharp down his left ribs. It didn’t stop there. One after another, the man swung, leaving no time for relief. It wasn’t long before Steve lost count of how many times he was hit. He got to five before the ringing in his ears started.
There was more after that, but he wasn’t sure how many; they all started to blend together until his body began to go numb. With his head bowed, he could see nothing going on, could never see the next strike coming. At some point, he wasn’t even sure they were still coming. He could only assume they were as everything just kept darkening around him.
The moment he noticed a change was when his arms were finally freed from their restraints and he was suddenly falling. He couldn’t move. He could only open his eyes a little and that was barely enough to see a bunch of fuzzy blobs around him. The buzzing drowned out any sounds or voices he may have been able to pick up on.
He blinked slowly, trying to clear his vision. But every time he closed his eyes, they were that much harder to open. Until, finally, he just gave up and let himself cave in to painless bliss.
“Is he waking up?” Robin asked, sitting up in her seat. Her hands clamped over her knees as she set her gaze, unwavering, on Steve. She had barely looked away from him during the last twelve hours. But as soon as there was a hitch in his breath, her eyes bore in even deeper.
Dustin put his comic down and sat up straighter next to her as well. He heard it as well. It wasn’t very loud but it was obvious when it’s been so quiet for so long. There was a soft sigh.
“Steve?” Dustin called out gently, almost afraid of startling him. From the pallor and blotches on his face, the guy had gone through Hell and back. Gazing at him, Dustin half expected to still see blood. There was so much, he was surprised they were able to wash it all away. He could still feel it. Even after blood transfusions, there was practically no color to Steve. Almost every inch of him below his neck was covered in gauze. It was nothing short of a miracle that he was still alive.
The corner of his mouth twitched, distracting the both of them from their thoughts.
“That’s it,” Dustin encouraged, on his feet. He slowly stepped closer, Robin right next to him. At last, there it was, a thin sliver of his eye as he squinted at them, confusion clear across his features.
“Hey,” Robin greeted, leaning a little closer so she was easier to see.
Steve said nothing as he glanced between the two of them. “Wha-” he croaked, wincing as he tried to move.
“Don’t do that,” Dustin instructed. “You, uh, you’re a little messed up. You really don’t want to tear any stitches.” That statement only seemed to deepen the creases in Steve’s forehead. “How much do you remember?”
Steve shook his head, raising a hand to rest on his chest. Through the thin sheet he could feel the thick bandages. “Cr’zy Russians,” he muttered. “Th’y kept asking th’ngs. Again’n again.” He took a slow breath. “The whip,” he added, eyes dropping to his body. That was why he was so stiff, he assumed.
That was good, he wasn’t as bad off as he could have been. At least he didn’t have another concussion. Dustin wasn’t sure how many more of those he could take.
“Well, good news: you’ll be fine,” Ronin assured. “Just need to take it easy and let your body catch back up.” She went quiet for a moment, and Steve was waiting for the rest of it. “There will be some decent scarring, though.”
Without even thinking, Steve shrugged. “That’s it?” he asked. In the grand scheme of things, that really was not all that bad. He could live with that. “Scars are b’dass.”
“Yeah, they kinda are,” Dustin agreed. “That’s just common knowledge.”
Robin sighed and shook her head. “Really? That’s the takeaway here? ‘Scars are badass’?” She really would never understand any of them. Guess that was their way of looking on the bright side. “Well, try to get some more sleep, you still look like shit. When you’re more awake, we’ll fill you in on everything.”